'^r<'-*' 
 
 •i^**^*^ 
 
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 h 
 
DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 1 
 
 FRANK BAKER COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 WESLEYANA 
 
 AND 
 
 BRITISH METHODISM 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 IN PROSE, 
 
 By J. and A. L. A I K I N. 
 
 SI NON UNIUS, Q^U^SO MISFKHRE DUORUM. 
 
 PROPERT: 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JPRIKTJ^D FOR J. JOHNSON, IN ST. PAUl's CHURCH-YARD 
 MDCCLVXin. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 \JN the Province of Comedy - i . 
 The Hill of Science y aVifton - 27. 
 On Romances y an Imitation - 39. 
 Seldmay an Imitation of OJJian 47. 
 Againjl Inconfiftency in our Ex- 
 
 pedlations - - 59. 
 
 The Cajial and the BrookyaReverie jg. 
 On Monajlic Injlitutiom - - 88* 
 
 On the Pleafure derived from Ob- 
 je5ts of Terror -, with Sir Ber- 
 t randy a Fragment - - 117, 
 
 On the Heroic Poem of Gondii ert 138. 
 
 An Enquiry into thofe Kinds of 
 Dijlrefs which excite agreeable 
 Senfations y with a Tale - 190. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 15. 1. ult. before nature rend in. 
 
 Page 97. 1. 3. after Malm/bury for a comma put a full Jiop j 
 
 and after Savanarola for 2k. full flop put afcmicolon. 
 Page 122. 1. I. for Introduce read introduced. 
 Page 130. 1. 17. ior fall rezd fell. 
 Page 135. 1. I. for i&a/'/Vi read /jfiZj/V. 
 Page 1 39. 1. 1 1, for inconfijlency read inccnjlancy. 
 Page 141. 1. 8. for methods read method. 
 Page 153. 1. II. for lead rezd led. 
 Page 168. 1. 8. for drawn read i/;da'. 
 
ON THE 
 
 PROVINCE 
 
 O M E D Y. 
 
 VARIOUS are the methods 
 which art and ingenuity have 
 invented to exhibit a pi6lure 
 of human life and manners. Thefe have 
 differed from each other both in the mode 
 of reprefentation, and in the particular 
 view of the fubjed which has been taken. 
 B With 
 
2 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 With refpedt to the firfl, it is univerfally 
 allowed that the dramatic form is by far 
 the mod perfed. The circumflance of 
 leaving every character to difplay itfelf in 
 its own proper language, with all the va- 
 riatipns of tone and gefture which diftin- 
 gurfK it from others, and which mark 
 every emotion of the mind; and the 
 fcenic delufions of drefs, painting, and 
 machinery, contribute to ftamp fuch an 
 appearance of reality upon dramatic re- 
 prefentations as no other of the imitative 
 arts can attain. Indeed, when ill their 
 perfe6lion, they can fcarcely be called 
 imitations, but the very things themfelves; 
 and real nature would perhaps appear lefs 
 perfed than her counterfeit. 
 
 The Drama has from early antiquity 
 been diftlnguifbed into the two grand di- 
 vifions of Tragedy and Comedy. It 
 would feem that the general charader of 
 
 thefe 
 
OF COMEDY. 3 
 
 thefe was univerfally underflood and a- 
 greed on, by the adoption of the terms 
 tragic and comic, derived from them, into 
 the language of every civilized people. 
 The former of thefe is, we know, con- 
 ftantly applied to obje<5ls of terror and 
 diftrefs •, the latter, to thofe of mirth and 
 pleafantry. There is, however, a more 
 comprehenfive diftindlion of our feelings, 
 which it is proper fir ft to confider. 
 
 When we examine the emotions pro- 
 duced in our minds by the view of human 
 a6lions, we fhall obferve a divifion into 
 the ferious, and the ludicrous, I do not 
 think it neceflary to define or analyfe feel- 
 ings with which all are well acquainted. 
 It is enough to obferve that ferious emo- 
 tions are produced by the difplay of all 
 the great paffions which agitate the foul, 
 and by all thofe adtions which are under 
 the jurifdiftion of the grand rules of reli- 
 B 2 gioi) 
 
4 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 gion and morality; and that ludicrous 
 emotions are excited by the improprieties 
 and inconfiftencies of condudl or judg- 
 ment in fmaller matters ; fuch as the ef- 
 fcdis of falfe tade, or trifling paflions. 
 When we now apply the words tragic and 
 comicy we Ihall at once perceive that the 
 former can relate folely to fuch fubje6ls as 
 occafion ferious^ and the latter to fuch as 
 occafion ludicrous emotions. 
 
 Now, although the pra6tice of writers 
 has frequently introduced ludicrous parts 
 into the compofition called a Tragedy, 
 and ferious parts into that called a Come- 
 dy, yet it has ever been underftood that 
 what conflitutes the eflcntial and invari- 
 able character of each is fomething which 
 is exprefTed by the terms tragic and comic^ 
 and comes under the head oi ferious or 
 ludicrous emotions. Referring therefore 
 to a future confidcration, the propriety 
 
 of 
 
OF COMEDY. 5 
 
 of introducing ferious parts in a Comedy, 
 I fhall now lay down the charadler of Co- 
 medy as a dramatic compojition exhibiting 
 a ludicrous fixture of human life and man- 
 ners. 
 
 There are two fources of ludicrous 
 emotions which it is proper here to diftin- 
 guifli. One of thefe arifes from chara^er^ 
 the other from incident. The iirft is at- 
 tached and appropriated to the perfon, 
 and makes a part, as it were, of his com- 
 pofition. The other is merely accidental, 
 proceeding from aukward fituations, odd 
 and uncommon circumftances, and the 
 like, which may happen indifferently to 
 every perfon. If we compare thefe with 
 regard to their dignity and utility, we 
 fhall find a further difference ; fmce that 
 proceeding from chara^er belongs to a 
 very refpedlable part of knowledge, that of 
 human manners ; and has for its end the 
 correction of foibles : whereas that pro- 
 B 3 ceeding 
 
6 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 ceeding from incident is mean and trivial 
 in its origin, and anfwers no other pur- 
 pofe than prefent mirth. 'Tis true, it is 
 perfeftly natural to be pleafed with rili- 
 ble objedls even of the lowefl kind, and a 
 faftidious averfion to their exhibition may 
 be accounted mere affeded nicety-, yet 
 fince we rank Comedy among the higher 
 and more refined fpecies of compofition, 
 let us affjgn it the more honourable office 
 of exhibiting and correcting the ludicrous 
 part of charaBers \ and leave to Bar thole- 
 mew Fair the ingenious contrivances of 
 facetious drollery, and handicraft merri- 
 ment. 
 
 The following fources may be pointed 
 out from whence comic charader is de- 
 rived. 
 
 Nations, like individuals, have cer- 
 tain leading features which diftinguifh 
 
 them 
 
OF COMEDY. 7 
 
 them from others. Of thefe there are al- 
 ways fome of a ludicrous caft which afford 
 matter of entertainment to their neigh, 
 hours. Comedy has at all times made 
 very free with national peculiarities ; and 
 although the ridicule has often been con- 
 dudled in a trivial and illiberal manner, 
 by greatly overcharging the pidlure, and 
 introducing idle and unjuft accufations, 
 yet I think we need not go fo far as en- 
 tirely to reje6t this fort of ludicrous paint- 
 ing ; fince it may be as important to warn 
 againft the imitation of foreign follies, as 
 thofe of our own growth. Indeed, when 
 a Frenchman or Irifhman is brought up- 
 on our ftage merely to talk broken Eng- 
 lifh, or make bulls, there can be no plea 
 either of wit or utility to excufe the illi- 
 beral jeft : but when the nicer di(lin6lions 
 of national charader are expofed with a 
 juft and delicate ridicule, the fpedlacle 
 may be both entertaining and inftrudive. 
 B 4 Amidft 
 
S ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 Amldft the tribe of foreign valets to be 
 met with on the Englifli theatre, I would 
 inftance Canton in the Clajideftine Mar- 
 riage as an admirable example of true na- 
 tional charadter, independent on language 
 and grimace. The obfequioufnefs and 
 attentive flattery of the fervile Swifs- 
 Jfrenchman are quite charadleriftic, as 
 well as the carelefs infolence and affedled 
 airs of Brulh the Englifli footman.* 
 
 O'Flaherty, 
 
 ♦ I AM concerned to obferve an inftance of illiberal na- 
 tional ridicule without any merit of compofition to palliate 
 it, from a refpeftable dramatic writer j which is alfo ren- 
 dered much more obnoxious by the circumftances. Mr. Vol- 
 taire's Ecojfaife was purpofely written to exhibit a worthy 
 Englifh charafterj marked, indeed, with fome whimfical 
 peculiarities, but diftinguifhed by a ftrong fpirit of benevo- 
 lence. It was impoffible to expofe national foibles more 
 gently than by combining them with national virtues. When 
 this piece was brought on our flage under the title of the 
 Englijh Merchant, a French valet was inferted among the 
 ferJoTta dramatisf chara6lerifed by nothing but his falfe Eng- 
 Jifli, and for no other end but to be exhibited as a fcoundrell 
 
OF COMEDY. 9 
 
 O'Flaherty, thelrifh foldier of fortune 
 in the JVeft Indian^ is an example of fimi- 
 lar merit •, much more fo, 1 think, than 
 the character from which the piece has its 
 title. 
 
 Although fome part of the chara6i:er 
 of a nation is pretty uniform and conllant, 
 yet its manners and cuftoms in many 
 points are extremely variable. Thefe va- 
 riations are the peculiar modes and fafhi- 
 ens of the age; and hence the age, as 
 well as the nation, acquires a diftinguilh- 
 ing charader. Fafhion, in general, ufurps 
 a dominion only over the fmaller and lefs 
 important part of manners •, fuch as drefs, 
 public diverfions, and other matters of 
 tafte. The improprieties of fafhion are 
 therefore of the abfurd and ludicrous 
 kind, and conlequently fit fubjedls of co- 
 mic ridicule. There is no fource of Co- 
 medy more fertile and pleafing than this ; 
 
 and 
 
lo ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 and none in which the end of reformation 
 is likely to be fo well anfwered. An ex- 
 travagant fafhion is exhibited upon the 
 flage with fuch advantage of ridicule that 
 it can fcarcely ftand long againft it -, and 
 I make no doubt that Moliere's Marquis 
 de Mafcarille^ and Gibber's Lord Fopping- 
 ton had a confiderable fhare in reforming 
 the prevailing foppery of the times. Fa- 
 fhion has ajfo too much interfered in fome 
 more ferious matters, as the fentiments 
 and ftudies of the age. Here too Comedy 
 has made its attacks ; and the Alchemifl, 
 the Virtuofo, the Antiquary, the Belle 
 Efprit, have in their turns undergone the 
 ridicule of the ftage, when their refpedive 
 purfuits, by being fafhionable, were car- 
 ried to a fanciful extravagance. It is 
 well known that Moliere, in his comedies 
 of the Femmes Scavantes^ and the Precieufes 
 Ridicules^ was as fuccefsful againft the 
 pedantry and pretenfions to wit which in- 
 
 feded 
 
OF COMEDY. II 
 
 fe£led the French nation, and particularly 
 the ladies, at that period, as Cervantes in 
 his attack upon knight-errantry. 
 
 There is another point of national or 
 fafhionable folly in which Comedy might 
 be very ufeful ; yet the attempt has been 
 found dangerous ; and perhaps the fubjedl 
 is too delicate for the flage, confidering 
 the abufes to which it is liable. I mean 
 popular fuperftition, and prieflcraft. Mo- 
 liere, who with impunity had attacked 
 every other fpecies of folly, was almoft 
 ruined by expofing a hypocrite and a de- 
 votee \ and the licentious ridicule of Dry- 
 den, and others of that age, was generally 
 aimed not only againfl fuperftition, but 
 religion. The Spanijh Friar^ however, is 
 an inftance in which, with exquifite hu^ 
 mour, the ridicule can hardly be blamed 
 as improper ; and it certainly did more 
 hurt to Roman catholic fuperftition than 
 
 he 
 
12 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 he could ever remedy by his fcholaftic 
 Hind and Panther, How far the Minor 
 comes under the fame defcription would, 
 probably, be a fubje6t of difpute. 
 
 Particular ranks and profefTions of 
 men have likewife charafteriftical peculi- 
 arities which are capable of being placed 
 in a ludicrous view; and Comedy has 
 made frequent ufe of this fource of ridi- 
 cule. In expofmg profefTional, as well 
 as national abfurdities, great illiberality 
 and unfairnefs have been fhown; both, 
 probably, from the fame caufe ; a want 
 of fufEcient acquaintance with the whole 
 charaders, and taking a judgment of 
 them from a few external circumilances. 
 Yet, upon the whole, good efFe6ts may 
 have arifen even from this branch of Co- 
 medy ; fince by attacking a profefTion on 
 a fide where it was really weak, the mem- 
 bers of it have been made fenfible of, and 
 
 have 
 
OF COMEDY. 13 
 
 have reformed thofe circumftances which 
 rendered them ridiculous. A good-na- 
 tured phyfician can never be angry at 
 Moliere's mod laughable exhibitions of 
 the faculty, when he refledls that the fol- 
 lies ridiculed, though exaggerated in the 
 reprefentation, had a real exiftence ; and 
 by being held up to public derifion have 
 been in a great meafure reformed. The 
 profefTors of law, being neceflarily con- 
 fined to forms and rules, have not been 
 able to benefit fo much from the comic 
 ridicule of which they have enjoyed an 
 equally plentiful fhare. 
 
 Besides the arrano-ements which nation 
 and profeflion make of mankind, there 
 are certain natural clalTes formed from 
 the diverfities of perfonal charafter. Al- 
 though the varieties of temper and difpo- 
 fitioa in men are infinite, fo that no two 
 perfons probably ever exifted in whom 
 
 there 
 
14 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 there was an cxa6t conformity, yet there 
 are certain leading features of chara6tef 
 which produce a general refemblance a- 
 mong numerous individuals. Thus the 
 proud man, the vain, the fanguine, the 
 fplenetic, the fufpicious, the covetous, the 
 lavifh, and fo forth, are a fort of abftrad 
 charadlers which divide the whole human 
 race amonglt them. Now there are, be- 
 longing to all thefe, objefts of ridicule 
 which it has been the bufinefs of Comedy 
 to exhibit ; and though, perhaps, no one 
 individual of each clafs perfedly refem- 
 bled the perfon held to view on the ftage, 
 yet if all the circumflances exhibited are 
 contained in the general character*^ it ap- 
 pears fufficiently natural. The Mifer of 
 Moliere is not a pidure of any one mifer 
 who ever lived, but of a mifer confidered 
 as forming a clafs of human characters. 
 As thefe general clafTes, however, are few 
 in number, they mull be foon exhauHed 
 
 by 
 
OF COMEDY. 15 
 
 by the writers of Comedy; who have 
 been obliged, for the fake of variety, to 
 exhibit thofe peculiarities which are more 
 rare and fingular. Hence have been de- 
 rived many pidures of that charadler 
 which we call an humourift \ by which is 
 meant a chara6ler diftinguifhed by certain 
 ludicrous Angularities from the reft ot 
 mankind. The humourift is not without 
 thofe marks of diftindlion which he njay 
 acquire, like others, from rank, profefll- 
 on, or temper of mind ; but all thefc are 
 difplayed in him after a manner peculiarly 
 his own, and daftied with his leading od- 
 dities. A love of what is uncommon and 
 out of the way has often occafioned fucii 
 extravagance in the reprefentation of thefe 
 charadters as to difguft from their want 
 of probability •, but where a due modera- 
 tion is obferved, and the peculiarities, 
 though unufual, are fuch as really exift 
 ttv. nature, great entertainment may be de- 
 rived 
 
le ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 rived from their exhibition. Of this kind 
 are the admirable Mifanthrcpe and Malade 
 Jmaginaire of Moliere ; and the Old Bat- 
 chelor and Sir Sampfon Lege?id of Con- 
 greve. 
 
 From hence it appears but a fmall gra- 
 dation to the exhibition of individuals up* 
 on the ftage; and yet the difference is 
 important and eflentiaL That which 
 marks out the di{lin6lion between indi* 
 viduals of the fame fpecies is fomething 
 entirely uncommunicable ; therefore the 
 rational end of Comedy, which is the re- 
 formation of folly, cannot take place in 
 perfonal ridicule ; for it will not be al- 
 ledged that reforming the perfon himfelf 
 is the objedt. Nor can it fcarcely ever 
 be juft to expofe an individual to the ri- 
 dicule of the ftage ; fmce folly, and not 
 vice, being the proper fubjed of that ri- 
 dicule, it is hardly pofTible any one can 
 
 deferve 
 
OF COMEDY. 17 
 
 deferve fo fevere a punifhment* Indeed 
 the expofing of folly can fcarcely be the 
 plea; for all the common, or even the 
 rarer kinds of folly lie open to the attack 
 of Comedy under fidtitious characters, by 
 means of which the failing may be ridi- 
 culed without the perfon. Perfonal ridi- 
 cule muft therefore turn, as we find it 
 always has done, upon bodily imperfedli- 
 ons, aukward habits and uncouth gef- 
 tures ; which the low arts of mimickry 
 inhumanly drag forth to public view for 
 the mean purpofe of exciting prefent mer- 
 riment. In the bed hands, perfonal Co- 
 medy would be a degradation of the ftage, 
 and an unwarrantable feverity j but in the 
 hands it would be likely, if encouraged, 
 to fall into, it would prove an intolerable 
 nuifance. I lliould therefore, without he- 
 fitation, join thofe who utterly condemn 
 this fpecies of comic ridicule. It is alfo 
 to be confidered that the author fhows his 
 C talents 
 
18 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 talents to difadvantagc, and cannot lay 
 any bafis of future fame, in this walk. 
 For the refemblance which depends fo 
 much upon mimickry is loft upon thofe 
 of the audience who are not acquainted 
 with the original, and upon every one 
 who only reads the piece. Mr. Foote's 
 works will aptly exemplify this matter -, 
 in which, the fund of genuine Comedy, 
 derived from happy ftrokes upon the 
 manners of the times, and uncommon, 
 but not entirely fmgular charaders, will 
 fecure a lafting admiration, when the mi- 
 mickry which fupported the parts of 
 Squintum and Cadwallader is defpife4 or 
 forgotten. 
 
 Having thus attempted to trace the 
 different fources of what I conceive the 
 eflential part of true Comedy, the ridicule 
 derived frotn chara5fer^ it remains to fay 
 fomewhat of the mixture of additional 
 
 matter 
 
OF COMEDY. 19 
 
 matter which it has received as a compo* 
 fition. 
 
 During a confiderable period of mo- 
 dern literature^ wit was a commodity in 
 great requeft, and frequently to be met with 
 in all kinds of compofition. It was no 
 where more abundant than in Comedy, 
 the genius of which it appeared peculiarly 
 to fuit from its gaiety and fatyrical fmart- 
 nefs. Accordingly, the language of Co- 
 medy was a firing of repartees, in which 
 a thought was bandied about from one to 
 another, till it was quite run out of 
 breath. This made a fccne pafs off with 
 great vivacity -, but the misfortune was, 
 that diflindtion of charadler was quite loft 
 in the conteft. Every perfonage, from 
 the lord to the valet, was as witty as the 
 author himfelf ; and provided good things 
 enow were faid, it was no matter from 
 whom they came. Congreve, with the 
 C a greateft 
 
20 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 greatefl: talents for true comic humour^ 
 and the delineation of ludicrous charac- 
 ter, was fo over-run with a fondnefs for 
 brilliancy, as frequently to break in upon 
 confiflency. Wit is an admirable orna- 
 ment of Comedy, and judicioufly applied 
 is a high relief to humour -, but Ihould 
 never interfere with the^more eflential 
 parts. 
 
 We are now, however, happily free 
 from all manner of danger of an inunda- 
 tion of wit. No Congreve arifes to dif- 
 turb the fententious gravity, and calm 
 fimplicity of modern Comedy. A mo- 
 ralift may congratulate the age on hearing 
 from the theatre compofitions as pure, 
 ferious and delicate, as are given from the 
 pulpit. When we confider how much 
 wit and humour, at the time they were 
 moft prevalent, were perverted to vicious 
 purpofes, we may rejoice at the facrifice ; 
 
 yet 
 
OF COMEDY. 2t 
 
 yet we may be allowed to feel a regret at 
 the lofs of an amufement which might, 
 certainly, have been reconciled with in- 
 nocence ; nay might perhaps have plead- 
 ed utility beyond what is fubftituted in 
 its room. Sentimental Comedy^ as it is 
 called, contains but very faint difcrimi- 
 nation of charader, and fcarcely any thing 
 of ridicule. Its principal aim is to intro- 
 duce elegant and refined fentiment, par- 
 ticularly of the benevolent caft ♦, and to 
 move the heart by tender and interefting 
 fituations. Hence they are, in general, 
 much more affeding than our modern 
 Tragedies, which are formed upon nearly 
 the fame plan, but labour under the dif- 
 advantage of a formal, (lately ftile, and 
 manners removed too far from the rank 
 of common life. One would not, per- 
 haps, wifli altogether to banifh from the 
 llage pieces fo moral and innocent ; yet 
 it is a pity they are not diftinguiihed by 
 C 3 feme 
 
?t2 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 fome appropriated name from a thing they 
 fo little refemble as true Comedy. 
 
 I FEAR, a view of modern manners in 
 other refpedls will fcarcely allow us to 
 flatter ourfelves that this change in the 
 theatre chiefly proceeds from improved 
 morality. It may, perhaps, be more 
 juftly attributed to a falfe delicacy of tafte, 
 which renders us unable to bear the re- 
 prefentation of low life ; and to a real de- 
 ficiency in genius. With refpedb to the 
 firft, genuine Comedy knows no diftinc- 
 ^ion of rank, but can as heartily enjoy 
 a humorous pifture in the common walks 
 of life, where indeed the greateft variety 
 is to be found, as in the mod: cultivated 
 and refined. Some have placed the dif- 
 tinftion between Farce and Comedy in 
 fhe rank from whence ^he charadters are 
 taken; but, I think, very improperly. 
 If there is any real diftindion befides the 
 
 length 
 
OF COMEDY. ftj 
 
 length of the pieces, I fhould take it from 
 the different fource of the humour; which 
 in Farce is mere ludicrous incident, but 
 in Comedy, ridiculous charader. This 
 criterion, however, will not at all agree 
 with the titles under which each fpecies 
 has already appeared. 
 
 As to the other caufe, deficiency of 
 genius, it too plainly appears in many 
 other productions. Cold corredlnefs has 
 laid her reprefling hand upon imagination, 
 and damped all her powers. The exam- 
 ple of the ancients has been thought to 
 juftify the gravity and fimplicity of mo- 
 dern Comedy. But great as they were 
 in many qualities of the mind, in thofe of 
 wit and humour they were ftill more de- 
 fedlive than even ourfelves in the prefent 
 age. They, who would eagerly catch at 
 a wretched pun, or a meagre piece of 
 plot, were certainly with-held from witti^ 
 C 4 cUm 
 
24 ON THE PROVINCE 
 
 cifm and drollery by want of invention, • 
 not juflnefs of tafte. I admire in the pure 
 Latin of Terence the elegant fentiment, 
 and ftill more the knowledge of the hu- 
 man heart with which he abounds ; but I 
 would not for them compare his genius, 
 at lead in Comedy, with Mojiere and 
 Congreve. 
 
 Lejiibus atque utinam fcrlptls adjunfta foret vis 
 Comica • 
 
 Moral fentiment is the cheapeft produdt 
 of the rnind. Novels, and magazines, 
 and even news-papers are full of it ; but 
 wit and humour threaten to leave us with 
 Sterne and Chefterfield. 
 
 Still, however, I would hope the 
 flate of Comedy is not defperate. The 
 Clandeftine Marriage exhibits an example 
 of comic merit, ^as various and perfed as 
 perhaps any piece in our language. All 
 
 the 
 
OF COMEDY. 25 
 
 the fources of ludicrous character liave 
 contributed to it. National ridicule ap- 
 pears in Canton, and profefTional in Ster- 
 ling. Lord Ogleby is an excellent hu- 
 mourift. Mrs. Heidleberg and her niece, 
 befides a comic pettilhnefs of temper, 
 have plenty of falhionable follies, modifi- 
 ed by city vulgarifm. Even the lovers 
 of tender fentiment have their fliarc in 
 the entertainment; and I by no means 
 would objedt to its occafional introdudion, 
 when, as it were, offering itfelf from the 
 circumflances. Then, befides Mr. Foote's 
 comic theatre, we have feveral pieces, 
 which, though ranged under the lift of 
 
 'DO 
 
 Farces, contain true and original Come- 
 dy. Of thefe we may inftance the Citi- 
 zen^ Polly Honeycomb^ the Upholfterer^ the 
 Apprentice^ and the Oxonian in 'Town* 
 It is a miftake to fuppofe that the mat- 
 ter of Comedy can ever fail. Though 
 general charadlers may be exhaufted, yet 
 the prevailing follies and fafhions of the 
 
 times, 
 
26 ON THE PROVINCE, (^c. 
 
 times, with the fingularities ftarting up 
 in particular ranks and orders of men, 
 muft conftantly fupply food for the ridi- 
 cule of the ftage. This is lawful game ; 
 and the purfuit of it is well worthy the 
 encouragement of the public, fo long as 
 it is unattended with the licentioufnefs 
 which difgraced the wit of the laft age. 
 Let ridicule be facred to th€ interefts of 
 good fenfe and virtue ; let it never make 
 a good character lefs refpedable, nor a 
 bad one lefs obnoxious. But let us not 
 refign its ufe to common-place maxim^ 
 and infipid fentiment. 
 
 THE 
 
( ^7 ) 
 
 THE 
 
 HILL OF SCIENCE, 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 IN that feafon of the year when the fe- 
 renity of the fky, the various fruits 
 which cover the ground, the difcolourcd 
 foliage of the trees, and all the fweet, 
 but fading graces of infpiring autumn, 
 open the mind to benevolence, and dif-. 
 pofe it for contemplation ; I was wander- 
 ing in 9- beautiful and romantic country^ 
 
28 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, 
 
 till curiofity began to give way to weari- 
 nefs •, and I fat me down on the fragment 
 of a rock overgrown with mofs, where 
 the rullling of the falling leaves, the 
 dalhing of waters, and the hum of the 
 diftant city, foothed my mind into the 
 moft perfe6t tranquility, and fleep infen- 
 fibly ftole upon me, as I was indulging 
 the agreeable reveries which the objeds 
 around me naturally infpired. 
 
 I IMMEDIATELY found myfclf in avail 
 extended plain, in the middle of which . 
 arofe a mountain higher than I had before 
 any conception of. ' It was covered with a 
 multitude of people, chiefly youth; many 
 of whom prefled forwards with the liveli- 
 eft expreffion of ardor in their counte- 
 nance, though the way was in many 
 places fleep and difficult. I obferved, 
 that thofe who had but juft begun to 
 climb the hill, thought themfelves not 
 far from the top -, but as they proceeded, 
 
 new 
 
A VISION. 
 
 i9 
 
 new hills were continually rifing to their 
 view, and the fummit of the highefl they 
 could before difcern, feemed but the foot 
 of another, till the mountain at length 
 appeared to lofe itfelf in the clouds. As 
 I was gazing on thefe things with afto- 
 nifhment, my good genius fuddenly ap- 
 peared. The mountain before thee, faid 
 he, is the hill of science. On the top 
 is the temple of Truth, whofe head is a- 
 bove the clouds, and a veil of pure light 
 covers her face. Obferve the progrefs of 
 her votaries •, be filent, and attentive. 
 
 I SAW that the only regular approach to 
 the mountain was by a gate, called the 
 gate of languages. It was kept by a wo- 
 man of a penfive and thoughtful appear- 
 ance, whofe lips were continually moving, 
 ;is though fhe repeated fomething to her- 
 felf. Her name was memory. On en- 
 tering this firft enclofure, I was ftunned 
 with a confufed murmur of jarring voices, 
 
 and 
 
30 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, 
 
 and diiTonant founds; which increafed 
 upon me to fuch a degree, that I was ut* 
 terly confounded, and could compare the 
 noife to nothing but the confufion of 
 tongues at Babel, The road was alfo 
 rough and ftony *, and rendered more dif- 
 ficult by heaps of rubbilh^ continually 
 tumbled down from the higher parts of 
 the mountain •, and broken ruins of' anti- 
 ent buildings, which the travellers were 
 obliged to climb over at every ftep ; info- 
 much that many, difgufted with fo rough 
 a beginning, turned back and attempted 
 the mountain no more : while others, hav- 
 ing conquered this difficulty, had no fpi- 
 rits to afcend further , and fitting down 
 on fome fragment of the rubbifh, haran- 
 gued the multitude below with the great- 
 eft marks of importance and felf-compla- 
 €ency* 
 
 About half way up the hill, I 
 obferved on each fide the path a thick 
 
 foreft 
 
A VISION. 31 
 
 foreft covered with continual fogs, and 
 cut out into labyrinths, crofs alleys, and 
 Terpentine walks, entangled with thorns 
 and briars. This was called the wood of 
 error: and 1 heard the voices of many 
 who were loft up and down in it, calling 
 to one another, and endeavouring in vain 
 to extricate themfelves. The trees in 
 many places fhot their boughs over the 
 path, and a thick mift often refted on it •, 
 yet never fo much but that it was difcer- 
 nable by the light which beamed from 
 the countenance of truth. 
 
 In the pleafanteft part of the mountain 
 were placed the bowers of the Mufes, 
 whofe office it was to cheer the fpirits of 
 the travellers, and encourage their faint- 
 ing fteps with fongs from their divine 
 harps. Not far from hence were the 
 fields of fiction ^ filled with a variety of 
 wild flowers fpringing up in the greateft 
 luxuriance, of richer fcents and brighter 
 
 colours 
 
32 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, 
 
 colours than I had obferved in any Other 
 climate. And near them was the dark 
 walk of allegory^ fo artificially Ihaded, 
 that the light at noon-day was never 
 ftronger than that of a bright moon-fhine. 
 This gave it a pleafingly romantic air for 
 thofe who delighted in contemplation. 
 The paths and alleys were perplexed 
 with intricate windings, and were all ter- 
 minated with the ftatue of a Grace, a 
 Virtue, or a Mufe. 
 
 After I had obferved thefe things, I 
 turned my eye towards the multitudes 
 who were climbing the fteep afcent, and 
 obferved amongft them a youth of a lively 
 look, a piercing eye, and fomething fiery 
 and irregular in all his motions. His 
 name was genius. He datted like an 
 eagle up the mountain, and left his com- 
 panions gazing after him with envy and 
 admiration : but his progrefs was unequal, 
 
 and 
 
A VISION. S3 
 
 aild interrupted by a thoufand caprices. 
 When Pleafure warbled in the valley he 
 mingled in her train. When Pride beck- 
 oned towards the precipice he ventured 
 to the tottering edge. He delighted in 
 devious and untried paths -, and made (o 
 many excurfiorts from the road that his 
 feebler companions often outftripped him. 
 I obferved that the Mufes beheld him 
 with partiality ; but Truth often frowned 
 and turned afide her face. While Genius 
 was thus wafting his ftrength in excentric 
 flights, I faw a perfon of a very different 
 appearance named application. He crept 
 along with a flow and unremitting pace, 
 his eyes fixed on the top of the mountain, 
 patiently removing every ftone that ob- 
 ftrufted his way, till he faw moft of thofe 
 below him who had at firft derided his 
 flow and toilfome progrefs. Ind«ed there, 
 were few who afcended the hill with equal 
 and uninterrupted fteadinefs; for befide 
 D the 
 
34 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, 
 
 the difficulties of the way, they were con- 
 tinually follicited to turn afide by a nu- 
 merous crowd of Appetites, PafTions, and 
 Pleafures, whofe importunity, when they 
 had once complied with, they became 
 lefs and lefs able to refift; and though 
 they often returned to the path, the afpe- 
 rities of the road were more feverely felt, 
 the hill appeared more fteep and rugged, 
 the fruits which were wholfome and re- 
 frelhing feemed harfh and ill-tafted, their 
 fight grew dim, and their feet tript at 
 every little obftrudlion. 
 
 I Saw, with fome furprife, that the 
 Mufes, whofe bufmefs was to cheer and 
 encourage thofe who were toiling up the 
 afcent, would often fing in the bowers of 
 Pleafure, and accompany thofe who were 
 enticed away at the call of the Paflions. 
 They accompanied them, however, but 
 a little way, and always forfook them 
 
 when 
 
A VISION. 35 
 
 when they loft fight of the hill. The 
 tyrants then doubled their chains upon 
 the unhappy captives, and led them away 
 without refiftance to the cells of Igno- 
 rance, or the manfions of Mifery. Amongft 
 the innumerable feducers, who were en- 
 deavouring to draw away the votaries of 
 Truth from the path of Science, there 
 was one, fo little formidable in her ap- 
 pearance, and fo gentle and languid in 
 her attempts, that I lliould fcarccly have 
 taken notice of her, but for the numbers 
 Ihe had imperceptibly loaded with her 
 chains. Indolence (for fo (he was called) 
 far from proceeding to open hoftilities, 
 did not attempt to turn their feet out of 
 the path, but contented herfelf with re- 
 tarding their progrefs ; and the purpofe 
 fhe could not force them to abandon, fhe 
 perfuaded them to delay. Her touch had 
 a power like that of the Torpedo, which 
 withered the ftrength of thofe who came 
 D 2 within 
 
S6 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, 
 
 within its influence. Her unhappy cap- 
 tives flill turned their faces towards the 
 temple, and always hoped to arrive there ; 
 but the ground feemed to Aide from be- 
 neath their feet, and they found them- 
 Telves at the bottom before they fufpe<5led 
 they had changed their place. The pla- 
 cid ferenity which at firft appeared in 
 their countenance, changed by degrees 
 into a melancholy languor, which was 
 tinged with deeper and deeper gloom as 
 they glided down the Jiream of injlgnifi- 
 cance ; a dark and fluggifh water, which 
 is curled by no breeze, and enlivened by 
 no murmur, till it falls into a dead fea, 
 where the ftartled pafTengers are awaken- 
 ed by the fhock, and the next moment 
 buried in the gulph of oblivion. 
 
 Of all the unhappy deferters from the 
 paths of Science, none feemed lefs able to 
 return than the followers of Indolence. 
 
 The 
 
A VISION. 37 
 
 The captives of Appetite and PafTion 
 could often feize the moment when their 
 tyrants were languid or afleep to efcape 
 from their enchantment ; but the domi- 
 nion of Indolence was conftant and unre- 
 mitted, and feldom refilled till refiflance 
 was in vain. 
 
 After contemplating thefe things, I 
 turned my eyes towards the top of the 
 mountain, where the air was always pure 
 and exhilerating, the path fhaded with 
 laurels and other ever-greens, and the 
 effulgence which beamed from the face 
 of the Goddefs feemed to fhed a glory 
 round her votaries. Happy, faid I, are 
 they who are permitted to afcend the 
 mountain ! — but while I was pronouncing 
 this exclamation with uncommon ardour, 
 I faw (landing befide me a form of di- 
 viner features and a more benign radi- 
 D 3 ance. 
 
38 THE HILL OF SCIENCE. 
 
 ancc. Happier, faid flic, are thofe whom 
 VIRTUE condudls to the manfions of Con- 
 tent ! What, faid I, does Virtue then 
 refide in the vale ? I am found, faid flie, 
 in the vale, and I illuminate the moun- 
 tain. 1 cheer the cottager at his toil, 
 and infpire the fage at his meditation. I 
 mingle in the crowd of cities, and blefs 
 the hermit in his cell. 1 have a temple 
 in every heart that owns my influence ; 
 and to him that wiflies for me I am alrea- 
 dy prefent. Science may raife you to 
 eminence, but I alone can guide you to 
 felicity ! While the Goddefs was thus 
 fpeaking, I fl:retched out my arms to- 
 wards her with a vehemence which broke 
 my flumbers. The chill dews were fall- 
 ing around me, and the fhades of evening 
 llretched over the landfcape. I hafl:ened 
 homeward, and refigned the night to fi- 
 Jence and meditation, 
 
 ON 
 
( 39 ) 
 
 O N 
 
 ROMANCES, 
 
 AN IMITATION. 
 
 OF all the multifarious produdlions 
 which the efforts of fuperiour geni- 
 us, or the labours of fcholaftic induftry, 
 have crowded upon the world, none are 
 perufed with more infatiable avidity, or 
 dilTeminated with more univerfal applaufe, 
 than the narrations of feigned events, de- 
 fcriptions of imaginary fcenes, and deline- 
 D 4 ations 
 
40 ON ROMANCES, 
 
 ations of ideal charadlers. The celebrity 
 of other authors is confined within very 
 narrow limits. The Geometrician and 
 Divine, the Antiquary and Critic, ho^^- 
 ever diftinguifhed by uncontefted excel- 
 lence, can only hope to pleafe thofe whom 
 a conformity of difpofition has engaged 
 in fimilar purfuits ; and muft be content 
 to be regarded by the reft of the world, 
 with the fmile of frigid indifference, or 
 the contemptuous fneer of felf-fyfficient 
 folly. The colledlor of fhells and the 
 anatomift of infedls is little inclined to 
 enter into theological difputes : the Di- 
 vine is not apt to regard with veneration 
 the uncouth diagrams and tedious calcu- 
 lations of the Aftronomer : the man 
 whofe life has been confumed in adjufting 
 the difputes of lexicographers, or eluci- 
 dating the learning of antiquity, cannot 
 eafily bend his thoughts to recent tranfac- 
 tigns, or readily intereft himfelf in the 
 
 unim' 
 
AN IMITATION. 41 
 
 unimportant hiftory of his contempora- 
 ries : and the Cit, who knows no bufinefs 
 but acquiring wealth, and no pleafure 
 but difplaying it, has a heart equally fhut 
 up to argument and fancy, to the batte- 
 ries of lyllogifm, and the arrows of wit. 
 To the writer of fidlion alone, every ear 
 is open, and every tongue lavifh of ap- 
 plaufe; curiofity fparkles in every eye, 
 and every bofom is throbbing with con- 
 cern. 
 
 It is however eafy to account for this 
 enchantment. To follow the chain of 
 perplexed ratiocination, to view with cri- 
 tical fkill the airy architedlure of fyflems, 
 to unravel the web of fophiflry, or weigh 
 the merits of oppofite hypothefes, requires 
 perfpicacity, and prefuppofes learning. 
 Works of this kind, therefore, are not fo 
 well adapted to the generality of readers 
 as familiar and colloquial compofition ; 
 
 for 
 
42 ON ROMANCES, 
 
 for few can reafon, but all can feel ; and 
 many who cannot enter into an argument^ 
 may yet liften to a tale. The writer of 
 Romance has even an advantage over 
 thofe who endeavour to amufe by the 
 play of fancy ; who from the fortuitous 
 collifion of diflimilar ideas produce the 
 fcintillations of wit -, or by the vivid glow 
 of poetical imagery delight the imagina- 
 tion with colours of ideal radiance. The 
 attradion of the magnet is only exerted 
 upon fimilar particles-, and to tafte the 
 beauties of Homer it is requifite to par- 
 take his fire : but every one can relifh the 
 author who reprefents common life, be- 
 caufe every one can refer to the originals 
 from whence his ideas were taken. He 
 relates events to which all are liable, and 
 applies to paffions which all have felt. 
 The gloom of folitude, the languor of 
 inadion, the corrofions of difappointment, 
 and the toil of thought, induce men to 
 
 ftep 
 
AN IMITATION. 43 
 
 ftep afide from the rugged road of life, 
 and wander in the fairy land of fidion ; 
 where every bank is fprinkled with flow- 
 ers, and every gale loaded with perfume; 
 where every event introduces a hero, and 
 every cottage is inhabited by a Grace. 
 Invited by thefe flattering fcenes, the llu- 
 dent quits the invefl:igation of truth, in 
 which he perhaps meets with no lefs fal- 
 lacy, to exhilerate his mind with new 
 ideas, more agreeable, and more eafily 
 attained: the bufy relax their attention 
 by defultory reading, and fmooth the agi- 
 tation of a ruffled mind with images of 
 peace, tranquility, and pleafure : the idle 
 and the gay relieve the liflileflTnefs of lei* 
 fure, and diverfify the round of life by a 
 rapid feries of events pregnant with rap- 
 ture and aftonifhment ; and the penfive 
 folitary fills up the vacuities of his heart 
 by interefling himfelf in the fortunes of 
 imaginary beings, and forming connexi- 
 ons with ideal excellence. 
 
 It 
 
44 ON ROMANCES, 
 
 It is, indeed, no ways extraordinary that 
 the mind fhould be charmed by fancy, 
 and attra6Ved by pleafure; but that we 
 fliould liften to the groans of mifery, and 
 delight to view the exacerbations of com- 
 plicated anguifh, that we fhould chufe to 
 chili the bofom with imaginary fears, and 
 dim the eyes with fidlitious forrow, feems 
 a kind of paradox of the heart, and only 
 to be credited becaufe it is univerfally 
 felt. Various are the hypothefes which 
 have been formed to account for the dif- 
 pofition of the mind to riot in this fpecies 
 of intelledual luxury. Some have ima- 
 gined that we are induced to acquiefce 
 with greater patience in our own lot, by 
 beholding pi6tures of life tinged with 
 deeper horrors, and loaded with more 
 excruciating calamities; as, to a perfon 
 fuddenly emerging out of a dark room, 
 the fainted glimmering of twilight afliimes 
 a luftre from the contrafled gloom. O- 
 
 thers 
 
AN IMITATION. 45 
 
 thers, with yet deeper refinement, fuppofe 
 that we take upon ourfelves this burden 
 of adfcititious forrows in order to feaft 
 upon the confcioufnefs of our own virtue. 
 We commiferate others (fay they) that 
 we may applaud ourfelves ; and the figh 
 of companionate fympathy is always fol- 
 lowed by the gratulations of felf-compla- 
 cent efteem. But furely they who would 
 thus reduce the fympathetic emotions of 
 pity to a fyftem of refined felfifhnefs, 
 have but ill attended to the genuine feel- 
 ings of humanity. It would however 
 exceed the limits of this paper, fhould I 
 attempt an accurate invedigation of thefe 
 fentiments. But let it be remembered, 
 that we are more attraded by thofe fcenes 
 which intereft our pafTions, or gratify our 
 curiofity, than thofe which delight our 
 fancy : and fo far from being indifferent 
 to the miferies of others, we are, at the 
 time, totally regardlefs of our own. And 
 
 let 
 
46 ON ROMANCES. 
 
 let not thofe, on whom the hand of time 
 has impreffed the charadlers of oracular 
 wifdom, cenfure with too much acrimo- 
 ny produ6lions which are thus calculated 
 to pleafe the imagination, and interefl the 
 heart. They teach us to think, by inu- 
 ring us to feel : they ventilate the mind 
 by fudden gufts of palTion ; and prevent 
 the ftagnation of thought, by a frefli in- 
 fufion of diffimilar ideas. 
 
 SE- 
 
( 47 ) 
 
 E L A M A ; 
 
 AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 
 
 WHAT foft voice of Ibrrow is in 
 the breeze? — what lovely fun- 
 beam of beauty trembling on the rock ? 
 Its bright hair is bathed in fliowers ; and 
 it looks, faint and dim, through its mill 
 on the rufliy plain. Why art thou alone — 
 maid of the mournful look ? The cold 
 dropping rain is on the rocks of Torle- 
 
 na — 
 
48 S E L A M A ; 
 
 na — the blafl of the defart lifts thy yellow 
 locks. Let thy fleps be in the hall of 
 fhells, by the blue winding ftream of 
 Clutha: — let the harp tremble beneath 
 thy fingers •, and the fons of heroes iiften 
 to the mufic of fongs. 
 
 Shall my fteps be in the hall of fhells, 
 and the aged low in the dnft ? The fa- 
 ther of Selama is low behind this rock, 
 on his bed of wither'd leaves : — the thif- 
 tle's down is flrewed over him by the 
 Nwind, and mixes with his grey hair. Thou . 
 art fallen — chief of Etha ! without thy 
 fame *, and there is none to revenge thy 
 death. But thy daughter will fit, pale, 
 befide thee, till Ihe finks, a faded flower, 
 upon thy lifelefs form.. Leave the maid 
 of Clutha — fon of the llranger ! in the 
 red eye of her tears ! 
 
 How fell the car-borne Connal — blue- 
 eyed 
 
AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 49 
 
 eyed mourner of the rock ? Mine arm 
 is not weak in battle •, nor my fword 
 without its fame. 
 
 CoNNAL was a fire in his youth, that 
 lighten'd through fields of renown: — but 
 the flame weakly glimmered through grey 
 afhes of age. His courfc was like a ftar 
 moving througli the heavens: — it walk- 
 eth in brightnefs, but leaveth no track 
 behind -, — its filver path cannot be found 
 in the flcy. The ftrength of Etha is roll- 
 ed away like a tale of other years -, and 
 his eyes have failed. Feeble and dark, 
 he fits in his hall, and hears the diftant 
 tread of a ftranger's Heps — the haughty 
 fteps of Tonthormo, from the roar of 
 Duvranno's echoino; flream. He ftood in 
 the hall like a pillar of darknefs, on whofe 
 top is the red beam of fire : — wide rolled 
 his eyes beneath the gloomy arch of his 
 brow ; as flames in two caves of a rock, 
 over-hung with the black pine of the de-^ 
 E - fart, 
 
eo S EL A MA; 
 
 fart. They had rolled on Selama, and 
 he afked the daughter of Connal. Ton- 
 thormo ! breaker of fhields ! thou art a 
 meteor of death in war, v/hofe fiery hair 
 ftreams on the clouds, and the natbns 
 are withered beneath its path. Dv/ell, 
 Tonthormo ! ainidfl thy hundred hills, 
 and liften to thy torrent's roar -, but the 
 foft figh of the virgins is with the chief 
 of Crono •, — Hidallan is the dream of Se- 
 lama — the dweller of her fecret thoughts. 
 A rufliinof florm in war — a breeze that 
 fighs over the fallen foe — pleafant are 
 thy words of peace, and thy fongs at the 
 mofly brook. Thy fmiles are like the 
 moon-beams trembling on the waves — 
 Thy voice is the gale of fummer that 
 whifpers among the reeds of the lake, 
 and awakens the harp of Moilena with 
 all its lightly trembling firings. Oh that 
 thy calm light was around me ! my foul 
 'fliould not fear the gloomy chief of Duv-r 
 
 ranno. 
 
AN IMITATION OF OSSI AN. 51 
 
 ranno. He came with his ftately fteps. — 
 My (hield is before thee, maid of my 
 love ! a wall of fhelter from the lightning 
 of fwords. They fought. Tonthormo 
 bends, in all his pride, before the jirm 
 of youth. But a voice was in the bread 
 of Hidallan — fhall I flay the love of Se- 
 lama ? Selama dwells in thy dark bo- 
 fom — Ihall my fleel enter there ? Live, 
 thou ftorm of war I He gave again his 
 fword. But — carelefs as he ft rode away — 
 rage arofe in the troubled thoughts of the 
 vanquifh'd. He mark'd his time, and 
 fidelong pierced the heart of the generous 
 fon of Semo. His fair hair is fpread on 
 the duft — his eyes are bent on the trem- 
 bling beam of Clutha. Farev/el, light 
 of my foul ! They are clofed in dark- 
 nefs. Feeble waft thou then, my fathet! 
 and in vain didft thou call for help.— 
 Thy grey locks are fcatter'd, as a wreath 
 of fnow on die top of a withered trunk ; 
 E 2 wWch 
 
52 S E L A M A ; 
 
 which the boy bruflies away with his 
 llaffi and carelefs fingeth as he walks. 
 Who ill all defend thee, my daughter ! 
 faid the broken voice of Etha's chief. 
 Fair flower of the defart ! — the temped 
 fhall rufli over thee ; and thou fhalt be 
 low beneath the foot of the favage fon of 
 prey. But I will wither, my father ! on 
 thy tomb. Weak and alone I dwell 
 amidft: my tears — there is no young war- 
 rior to lift the fpear — no brother of love ! 
 Oh that mine arm were (Irong ! — I would 
 rulli amidft the battle. Selama has no 
 friend ! 
 
 But Selama has a friend, faid the kinr- 
 dling foul of Reuthamir. — I will fight 
 thy battles — lovely daughter of kings; 
 and the fun of Duvranno fhall fet in 
 blood. But when I return in peace, and 
 the fpirits of thy foes are on my fword, 
 meet me with thy fmiles of love — maid of 
 
 Cluthal 
 
AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 5^ 
 
 Clutha ! with thy (low-rolling eyes. Let 
 the foft found of thy fleps be heard in 
 my halls, that the mother of Reuthamir 
 may rejoice. Whence, fhe will fay, is 
 this beam of the diftant land? — Thou 
 Ibalt dwell in her bofom. 
 
 My thoughts are with him who is low 
 in the duft — fon of Cormac ! But lift the 
 fpear — thou friend of the unhappy ! the 
 light of my foul may return. 
 
 He ftrode in his rattling arms. Tall — 
 in a gloomy foreft — flood the furly 
 ftrength of Duvranno. Gleaming— be- 
 hind the dark trees — was his broad fhield ; 
 like the moon when it rifes in blood, 
 and the dufky clouds fail low, and heavy, 
 athwart its path. Thoughts, like the 
 troubled ocean, rulh'd over his foul— 
 and he ftruck, with his fpear, the found- 
 ing pine. Starting, he mix'd in battle 
 E 3 with 
 
54 SELAMA; 
 
 with the chief of woody Morna. Long 
 was the flrife of arms -, and the giant fons 
 of the foreft trembled at their ftrokes. 
 At length Tonthormo fell — The fword 
 of Reuthamir wav*d — a blue flame— a- 
 round him. He bites the ground in rage^ 
 His blood is poured — a dark red ftream— 
 into Oithona's trembling waves. Joy 
 brighten'd in the foul of Reuthamir; 
 when a young warrior came, with his 
 forward fpear. He moved in the light 
 of beauty ; but his words were haughty 
 and fierce. Is Tonthormo fallen in blood 
 —the friend of my early years ? Die — 
 thou dark-foul'd chief! for never fhall 
 Selama be thine— the maid of his love. 
 Lovely fhone her eyes, through tears, in 
 the hall of her grief, when I flood by the 
 chief of Duvranno, in the rifing flrife of 
 Clutha, 
 
 Retire, thou fwelling voice of pride f 
 
 thy 
 
AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. ss 
 
 thy fpear is light as the taper reed. Pierce 
 the roes of the defart ; and call the hunter 
 to the feaft of fongs — But fpeak not of the 
 daughter of Connal — fon of the feeble 
 arm ! Selama is the love of heroes. 
 
 Try thy ftrength with the feeble arm, 
 faid the rifing pride of youth. Thou 
 fhalt vanilh like a cloud of mill before 
 the fun, when he looks abroad in the 
 power of his brightnefs. 
 
 But thou thyfelf didll fall before Reu- 
 thamir, in all thy boafting words. As a 
 tall afh of the mountain — when the tem- 
 peft takes its green head, and lays it level 
 on the plain. 
 
 Come from thy fecret cave, Selama ! 
 
 thy foes are filent and dark. Thou dove 
 
 that hideft in the clefts of the rocks ! the 
 
 E 4 ftorm 
 
56 S E L A M A ; 
 
 florm is over and pad. Come from thy 
 rock, Selama ! and give thy white hand 
 to the chief— who never fled from the 
 face of glory, in all its terrible bright- 
 nefs. 
 
 She gave her hand — but it was trem- 
 bling and cold— for the fpear was deep im 
 her fide. Red, beneath her mail, the 
 current of crimfon wandered down her 
 white bread— as the track of blood on 
 Cromla's mountains of fnow, when the 
 wounded dcQr flowly crofTes the heath, 
 and the hunters cries are in the breeze. 
 Blell be the fpear of Reuthamir ! faid the 
 faint voice of the lovely — I feel it cold 
 in my heart. Lay me by the fon of Se- 
 mo. Why fhould I know another love ? 
 Raife the tomb of the aged— his thin form 
 Ihall rejoice, as he fails on a low-hung 
 cloud, and guides the wintry ftorm. O- 
 pen your airy halls, fpirits of my love ! 
 
 And 
 
AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 57 
 
 And have I quench'd the light which 
 Was pleafant to my foul ? faid the chief 
 of Morna. My fteps moved in dark- 
 nefs — why were the words of ftrife in thy 
 tale ? Sorrow, like a cloud, comes ovei* 
 my foul, and fhades the joy of mighty 
 deeds. Soft be your reft in the narrow 
 houfe, children of grief ! The breeze in 
 the long whiftling grafs fliall not awaken 
 you. The tempeft fliall rufh over you, 
 and the bulmfh bow its head upon your 
 tomb — but filence fhall dwell in your 
 habitation •, long repofe, and the peace of 
 years to come. The voice of the bard 
 fhall raife your remembrance in the dif- 
 tant land ; and mingle your tale of woe 
 with the murmur of other ftreams. Of- 
 ten Ihall the harp fend forth a mournful 
 found j and the tear dwell in the foft 
 eyes of the daughters of Morna. 
 
 StrcH were the words of Rcuthamir, 
 
 while 
 
5a S E L A M A. 
 
 while he raifed the tombs of the fallen. 
 Sad were his fleps towards the towers of 
 his fathers, as— mufing — he crofs'd the 
 dark heath of Lena, and ftruck — at 
 Vmcs---the thiftle's beard. 
 
 AGAINST 
 
( 59 ) 
 
 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 *' What is more realbnable, than that 
 " they who take pains for any thing, 
 " fl-iould get moft in that particular, 
 " for which they take pains ? They 
 " have taken pains for power i you foF 
 " right principles : they for riches ; you 
 " for a proper ufe of the appearances 
 " of things : fee whether they have the 
 *' advantage of you in that, for which 
 *' you have taken pains, and which 
 *' they neglcdt : If they are in power, 
 ^* and you not j y/hy will not you fpeak 
 
 "th<y 
 
6o AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 *' the truth to yourfelf ; that you do" 
 " nothing for the fake of power; but 
 " that they do every thing ? No, but 
 " fince I take care to have right prin- 
 *' eiples, it is more reafonable that I 
 " fhould have power. Yes, in refpedt 
 " to what you take care about, your 
 " principles. But give up to others 
 " the things in which they have taken 
 '' more care than you. Elfe it is juft 
 *' as if, becaufe you have right princi- 
 *' pies, you fhould think it fit that 
 ■ *' when you fhoot an arrow, you fliould 
 " hit the mark better than an archer, 
 *' or that you fhould forge better than 
 " a fmith." 
 
 Carter's Epictetus. 
 
 AS mofi of the un'happinefs in the 
 world arifes rather from difappoint- 
 ed defires, than from pofitive evil, it is 
 of the utmofl confequence to attain jufl 
 
 notions 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 6i 
 
 notions of the laws and order of the uni- 
 verfe, that we may not vex ourfelves with 
 fruitkfs wiflies, or give way to groundlefs 
 and unreafonable difcontent. The laws 
 of natural philofophy, indeed, are tole- 
 rably underftood and attended to-, and 
 though we may fuffer inconveniences, we 
 are feldom dilappointed in confequence 
 of them. No man expedls to preferve 
 oranges through an Englifh winter ; or 
 when he has planted an acorn, to fee it 
 become a large oak in a few months. 
 The mind of man naturally yields to ne- 
 ceflity •, and our wifhes foon fubfide when 
 we fee the impoflibility of their being 
 gratified. Now, upon an accurate in- 
 fpedion, we Ihall find, in the rnoral go- 
 vernment of the world, and the order of 
 the intelle6lual fyflem, laws as determi- 
 nate, fixed, and invariable as any in New- 
 ton's Principia. The progrefs of vege- 
 tation is not more certain than the growth 
 
 of 
 
62 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 of habit; nor is the power of attrafbion 
 more clearly proved than the force of af- 
 fection, or the influence of example. The 
 man, therefore, who has well ftudied the 
 operations of nature in mind as well as 
 matter, will acquire a certain moderation 
 and equity in his claims upon Providence. 
 He never will be difappointed either in 
 himfelf or others. He will ad with pre- 
 cifion 5 and expe6l that effed, and that 
 alone, from his efforts, which they are na^ 
 turally adapted to produce. For want 
 of this, men of merit and integrity often 
 cenfure the difpofitions of Providence for 
 fuffering chara6ters they defpife to run a- 
 way with advantages which, they yet 
 know, are purchafed by fuch means as a 
 high and noble fpirit could never fubmit 
 10. If you refufe to pay the price, v/hy 
 pxpe6l the purchafe ? We fhould confi- 
 der this world as a great mart of com- 
 fierce, where Fortune expofes to our 
 
 view 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 63 
 
 view various commodities, riches, eafe, 
 tranquility, fame, integrity, knowledge. 
 Every thing is marked at a fettled price. 
 Our time, our labour, our ingenuity, is 
 fo much ready money which we are to 
 lay out to the beft advantage. Examine, 
 compare, chufe, rejed ; but iland to 
 your own judgment; and do not, like 
 children, v;hen yoii have purchafed one 
 thing, repine that you do not polTefs ano- 
 ther v/hich you did not purchafe. Such 
 is the force of well-regulated induflry, 
 that a fle^dy and vigorous exertion of our 
 faculties, direded to one end, will general- 
 ly infure fuccefs. Would you, for in- 
 llance, be rich ? Do you think that fm- 
 gle point worth the facrificing every thing 
 elfe to ? You may then be rich. Thou- 
 sands have become fo from the lowed be- 
 ginnings by toil, and patient diligence, 
 and attention to the minuteft articles of 
 expence and profit. But you muil give 
 
64 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 up the pleafures of leifure, of a vacant 
 mind, of a free unfufpicious temper. If 
 you preferve your integrity, it muft be a 
 coarfe-fpun and vulgar honefty. Thofe 
 high and lofty notions of morals which 
 you brought with you from the fchools 
 muft be confiderably lowered, and mixed 
 with the bafer alloy of a jealous and 
 worldly-minded prudence. You muft 
 learn to do hard, if not unjuft things ; 
 and for the nice embarrafiments of a de- 
 licate and ingenuous fpirit, it is neceflary 
 for you to get rid of them as faft as pofli- 
 ble. You muft Ihut your heart againft 
 the Mufes, and be content to feed your 
 underftanding with plain, houftiold truths. 
 In fiiort, you muft not attempt to enlarge 
 your ideas, or polifli your tafte, or refine 
 your fentiments; but muft keep on in 
 one beaten track, without turning afide 
 either to the rig-ht hand or to the left* 
 " But I cannot fubmit to drudgery like 
 
 this-^ 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 65 
 
 this — I feel a fpirit above it." 'Tis 
 well : be above it then ; only do not re- 
 pine that you are not rich. 
 
 Is knowledge the pearl of price ? 
 That too may be purchafed— by fteady 
 application, and long folitary hours of 
 ftudy and refledion. Beftow thefe, and 
 you fliall be wife. " But (fays the man 
 of letters) what a hardfhip is it that ma- 
 ny an illiterate fellow who cannot con- 
 ftrue the motto of the arms on his coach 
 Ihall raife a fortune and make a figure, 
 while I have little more than the com- 
 mon conveniences of life." Et tihi ma^na 
 fatis! — Was it in order to raife a fortune 
 that you confumed the fprightly hours of 
 youth in ftudy and retirement ? Was it 
 to be rich that you grew pale over the 
 midnight lamp, and diftiiled the fweetnefs 
 from the Greek and Roman fpring ? You 
 have then miftaken your path, and ill 
 F employed 
 
66 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 employed your indullry. " What reward 
 have I then for all my labours ?" What 
 reward ! A large comprehenfive foul, 
 well purged from vulgar fears, and per- 
 turbations, and prejudices-, able to com- 
 prehend and interpret the works of man 
 — of God. A rich, flouriihing, culti- 
 vated mind, pregnant with inexhauftible 
 llores of entertainment and refiedion. A 
 perpetual fpring of fre(h ideas ; and the 
 confcious dignity of fuperior intelligence. 
 Good heaven ! and what reward can you 
 afk befides ? 
 
 " But is it not fonie reproach upon 
 the oeconomy of Providence that fuch a 
 one, who is a mean dirty fellow, fhould 
 have amafied wealth enough to buy half 
 a nation ?" Not in the leaft. He made 
 himfelf a mean dirty fellow for that very 
 end. He has paid his health, his confci- 
 mc€y his liberty for it j and will you en- 
 vy 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. ^'^ 
 
 vy him his bargain ? Will you hang 
 your head and blufh in his prefence be- 
 caufe he outfliines you in equipage and 
 Ihow ? Lift up your brow with a noble 
 confidence, and fay to yourfelf, I have 
 not thefe things, it is true ; but it is be- 
 caufe I have not fought, becaufe I have 
 not defired them \ it is becaufe I pofiefs 
 fomething better. I have chofen my lot. 
 I am content and fatisfied. 
 
 You are a modeft man— You love 
 quiet and independence, and have a deli- 
 cacy and referve in your temper which 
 renders it impofiible for you to elbow 
 your way in the world, and be the herald 
 of your own merits. Be content then 
 with a modeft retirement, with the efteem 
 of your intimate friends, with the praifes 
 of a blamelefs heart, and a delicate inge- 
 nuous fpirit ; but refign the fplendid dif- 
 tindiions of the world to thofe who can 
 better fcramble for them. 
 
 F 2 The 
 
6S AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 The man whofe tender fcnfibility of 
 confcience and ftrid regard to the rules 
 of morality makes him fcrupulous and 
 fearful of offending, is often heard to com- 
 plain of the difadvantages he lies under 
 in every path of honour and profit. 
 " Could I but get over fome nice points, 
 and conform to the practice and opinion 
 of thofe about me, I might ftand as fair 
 a chance as others for dignities and pre- 
 ferment." And why can you not ? 
 What hinders you from difcarding this 
 troublefome fcrupulofity of yours which 
 Hands fo grievoufly in your way ? If it 
 be a fmall thing to enjoy a healthful 
 mind, found at the very core, that does 
 not fhrink from the keeneft infpedtion; 
 inward freedom from remorfe and per- 
 turbation; unfuUied whitenefs and fim- 
 plicity of manners -, a genuine integrity 
 Pure in the laft receffes of the mind ; 
 if you think thefe advantages an inade- 
 quate 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 69 
 
 quate recompenfe for what you refign, 
 difmifs your fcruples this inltant, and be 
 a flave-merchant, a diredor, or — what 
 you pleaie. 
 
 If thefe be motives weak, break off by times ; 
 and as you have not fpirit to afTert the 
 dignity of virtue, be wife enough not to 
 forego the emoluments of vice. 
 
 I MuqH admire the fpirit of the anti- 
 ent philofophers, in that they never at- 
 tempted, as our moralifts often do, to 
 lower the tone of philofophy, and make 
 it confiftent with all the indulgences of 
 indolence and fenfuality. They never 
 thought of having the bulk of mankind 
 for their difciples ; but kept themfelves 
 as diftin6t as pofTible from a worldly life. 
 They plainly told men what facrifices 
 were required, and what advantages they 
 were which might be expedled. 
 
 F 3 Si 
 
70 AGMNST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 Si virtus hoc una poteft dare, fortisomiflis 
 Hoc age deliciis 
 
 If you wquld be a philofopher thefe are 
 the terms. You mufl do thus and thus : 
 There is no other way. If not, go and 
 be one of the vulgar. 
 
 There is no one quality gives fo much 
 dignity to a character as confiflency of 
 condud. Even if a man's purfuits be 
 wrong and unjuftifiable, yet if they are 
 profecuted with fteadinefs and vigour, we 
 cannot with-hold our admiration. The 
 moft charadteriftic mark of a great mind 
 }s to chufe fome one important objed, and 
 purfue it through life. It was this made 
 Caefar a great man. His objed was am- 
 bition ; he purfued it fleadily, and was 
 always ready to facrifice to it every inter- 
 fering pafiion or inclination. 
 
 There is a pretty pafTage in one of 
 Lucian's dialogues, where Jupiter com- 
 plains 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 7 1 
 
 plains to Cupid that though he has had 
 fo many intrigues he was never fincerely 
 beloved. In order to be loved, fays Cu- 
 pid, you muft lay afide your asgis and 
 your thunder-bolts, and you muft curl 
 and perfume your hair, and place a gar- 
 land on your head, and walk with a foft 
 ftep, and afiume a v/inning obfequious 
 deportment. But, replied Jupiter, I am 
 not willing to refign fo much of my dig- 
 nity. Then, returns Cupid, leave off 
 defiring to be loved— He wanted to be 
 Jupiter and Adonis at the fame time. 
 
 It muft be confefied, that men of ge- 
 nius are of all others moft inclined to 
 make thefe unreafonable claims. As their 
 relifh for enjoyment is ftrong, their views 
 large and comprehenfive, and they feel 
 themfelves lifted above the common bulk 
 of mankind, they are apt to flight that 
 natural reward of praife and admiration 
 F 4 which 
 
72 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 which i§ ever largely paid to diftinguiih-^ 
 ed abilities ; and to expe6t to be called 
 forth to public notice and favour : with- 
 out confidering that their talents are com- 
 monly very unfit for adlive life; that 
 their excentricity and turn for fpeculation 
 difqualifies them fgr the bufinefs of the 
 world, which is beft carried on by men 
 of moderate genius •, and that fociety is 
 not obliged to reward any one who is not 
 Tjfeful to it. The Poets have been a very 
 unreafonable race, and have often com- 
 plained loudly of the negledl of genius 
 and the ingratitude of the age. The ten- 
 der and pen five Cowley, and the elegant 
 Shenftone, had their minds tin6lured by 
 this difcontent-, and even the fublime 
 melancholy of Young was too much ow- 
 ing to the flings of difappointed ambi- 
 
 tion. 
 
 X HE moderation we have been endea- 
 vouring; 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 73 
 
 vouring to inculcate will likewife prevent 
 much mortification and difguft in our 
 commerce with mankind. As we ought 
 not to wifh in ourfelves, fo neither fhould 
 we expedt in our friends contrary qualifi- 
 cations. Young and fanguine, when we 
 enter the world, and feel our affedions 
 drawn forth by any particular excellence 
 in a charadler, we immediately give it 
 credit for all others ; and are beyond mea- 
 furedifgufted when we come to difcover, 
 as we foon muft difcover, the defedls in 
 the other fide of the balance. But nature 
 is much more frugal than to heap toge- 
 ther all manner of fhining qualities in one 
 glaring mafs. Like a judicious painter 
 fhe endeavours to prefer ve a certain unity 
 of ftile and colouring in her pieces. Mo- 
 dels of abfolute perfeftion are only to be 
 met with in romance ; where exquifite 
 beauty, and brilliant wit, and profound 
 judgment, and immaculate virtue are all 
 
 blended 
 
74 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 blended together to adorn fome favourite 
 charader. As an anatomift knows that 
 the racer cannot have the ftren^th and 
 mufcles of the draught-horfe -, and that 
 winged men, gryffons, and mermaids mufb 
 be mere creatures of the imagination 5 fo 
 the philofopher is fenfible that there are 
 combinations of moral qualities which 
 never can take place but in idea. There 
 is a different air and complexion in cha- 
 ra6ters as well as in faces, though perhaps 
 each equally beautiful -, and the excel- 
 lencies of one cannot be transferred to 
 the other. Thus if one man poffefTes a 
 ftoical apathy of foul, ads independent 
 of the opinion of the world, and fulfils 
 every duty with mathematical exa£tnefs, 
 ycu muft not expc6l that man to be 
 greatly influenced by the weaknefs of 
 pity, or the partialities of friendfhip : 
 you muft not be offended that he does 
 not fly to meet you after a fhort abfence ; 
 
 or 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 75 
 
 or require from him the convivial fpirit 
 and honeft effufions of a warm, open, 
 fufceptible heart. If another is remarka- 
 ble for a lively adtive zeal, inflexible in- 
 tegrity, a ftrong indignation againfl vice, 
 and freedom in reproving it, he will pro- 
 bably have fome little biuntnefs in his 
 addrefs not altogether fuitable to polifhed 
 life; he will want the winning arts of 
 converfation -, he will difguft by a kind 
 of hau2;htinefs and nedio-ence in his 
 manner, and often hurt the delicacy of 
 his acquaintance with harfh and difagree- 
 able truths. 
 
 We ufually fay — that man is a genius, 
 to he has fome whims and oddities— 
 fuch a one has a very general knowledge, 
 l?ut he is fuperficial; &c. Now in all 
 fuch cafes we fhould fpeak more ratio- 
 nally did we fubftitute therefore for but. 
 
 He 
 
76 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY 
 
 He is a genius, therefore he is whimfical ; 
 and the like. 
 
 It is the fault of the prefent age, ow- 
 ing to the freer commerce that different 
 ranks and profefTions now enjoy with 
 each other, that characters are not mark- 
 ed with fufficient ftrength : the feveral 
 claffes run too much into one another. 
 We have fewer pedants, it is true, but 
 we have fewer flriking originals. Every 
 one is expeded to have fuch a tindlure 
 of general knowledge as is incompatible 
 with going deep into any fcience \ and 
 fuch a conformity to fafhionable manners 
 as checks the free workings of the ruling 
 pafTion, and gives an infipid famenefs to 
 the face of fociety, under the idea of po- 
 lifh and regularity. 
 
 There is a cafl: of manners pecuhar 
 and becoming to each age, fex and pro- 
 
 feffion \ 
 
IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. ^^ 
 
 felTion ; one, therefore, fliould not throw 
 out illiberal and common-place cenfures 
 againft another. Each is perfedt in their 
 kind. A woman as a woman : a tradef- 
 man as a tradefman. We are often 
 hurt by the brutality and fluggifh con- 
 ceptions of the vulgar ; not confidering 
 that fome there mud be to be hewers of 
 wood and drawers of water, and that 
 cultivated genius, or even any great re- 
 finement and delicacy in their moral 
 feelings would be a real misfortune to 
 them. 
 
 Let us then fludy the philofophy of 
 the human mind. The man who is 
 mailer of this fcience will know whac to 
 expe6l from every one. From this man, 
 wife advice j from that, cordial fympa- 
 thy ; from another, cafual entertain- 
 ment. The pafTions and inclinations of 
 others are his tools, which he can ufe 
 
 with 
 
jS AGAINST INCONSISTENCY. 
 
 with as much preclfion as he would the 
 mechanical powers •, and he can as rea- 
 dily make allowance for the workings of 
 vanity, or the bjafs of felf-intereil in 
 his friends, as for the power of frid:ion^ 
 or the irregularities of the needle. 
 
 THE 
 
( 79 ) 
 
 THE 
 
 CANAL AND THE BROOK. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 A Delightfully pleafant evening fuc- 
 ceeding a fultry fummer-day, in- 
 vited me to take a folitary walk ; and 
 leaving the duft of the highway, I fell 
 into a path which led along a pleafant 
 little valley watered by a fmall meandring 
 brook. The meadow-ground on its banks 
 had been lately mown, and the new grafs 
 
 was 
 
So THE CANAL AND 
 
 was fpfinging up with a lively verdure. 
 The brook was hid in feveral places by 
 Ihrubs that grew on each fide, and inter- 
 mingled their branches. The fides of 
 the valley were roughened by fmall irre- 
 gular thickets •, and the whole fcene had 
 an air of folitude and retirement, uncom- 
 mon in the neighbourhood of a populous 
 town. The Duke of Bridgewater's canal 
 crofTed the valley, high raifedon a mound 
 of earth, which preferved a level with the 
 elevated ground on each fide. An arched 
 road was carried under it, beneath which 
 the brook that ran along the valley was 
 conveyed by a fubterraneous pafiage. I 
 threw myfelf upon a green bank, Ihaded 
 by a leafy thicket, and reiling my head 
 upon my hand, after a welcome indolence 
 had overcome my fenfes, I faw, with the 
 eyes of fancy, the following fcene. 
 
 The firm-built fide of the aquedud 
 
 fuddenly 
 
THE BROOK. 81 
 
 fuddenly opened, and a gigantic form 
 iflued forth, which I foon difcovered to 
 be the Genius of the Canal. He was clad 
 in a clofe garment of a rufTet hue. A 
 mural crown, indented with battlements, 
 furrounded his brow. His naked feet 
 were difcoloured with clay. On his left 
 Ihoulder he bore a huge pick-ax ; and in 
 his right hand he held certain inftruments, 
 iifed in furveying and levelling. His looks 
 were thoughtful, and his features har(h. 
 The breach through which he proceeded, 
 inftantly clofed ; and with a heavy tread 
 lie advanced into the valley. As he ap* 
 proached the brook, the Deity of the Stream 
 arofe to meet him. He was habited in a 
 light green mantle, and the clear drops 
 fell from his dark hair, which was encir- 
 cled with a wreath of water lily, inter- 
 woven with fweet fcented flag. An an- 
 gling rod fupported his fteps. The Ge- 
 nius of the Canal eyed him with a con- 
 G temptuous 
 
82 THE CANAL AND 
 
 temptuous look, and in a hoarfe voice 
 thus began. 
 
 " Hence, ignoble rill ! with thy fcan- 
 " ty tribute to thy lord, the Merfey -, nor 
 *' thus wafte thy almoft exhaufted urn in 
 " lingering windings along the vale. Fee- 
 " ble as thine aid is, it will not be unac- 
 " ceptable to that mafter ftream himfelf ; 
 " for, as I lately crofled his channel, I 
 " perceived his fands loaded with (Iranded 
 " velTels. I faw, and pitied him, for un- 
 " dertaking a talk to which he is unequal. 
 " But thou, whofe languid current is ob-' 
 " fcured by weeds, and interrupted by 
 " mifhapen pebbles ; who lofeft thyfelf in 
 " endlels mazes, remo,te from any found 
 " but thy own idle gurgling-, how canft 
 " thou fupport an exiftence fo contempti- 
 " ble and ufelefs ? For me, the nobleft 
 " child of art, who hold my unremitting 
 " courfe from hill to hill, over vales and 
 
 " rivers s 
 
THE BROOK 83 
 
 " rivers ; who pierce the folid rock for 
 " my pafTage, and connedl unknown lands 
 " with diftant feas •, wherever I appear I 
 *' am viewed with aftonifhment, and ex- 
 *' uking commerce hails my waves. Be- 
 " hold my channel thronged with capa- 
 " cious vefTels for the conveyance of mer- 
 " chandife, and fplendid barges for the 
 " ufe and pleafu re of travellers •, my banks 
 " crowned with airy bridges and huge 
 " warehoufes, and echoing with the bufy 
 " founds of induftry. Pay then the ho- 
 " mage due from (loth and obfcurity to 
 " grandeur and utility." 
 
 " I READILY acknowledge," replied 
 the Deity of the Brook, in a modeft ac- 
 cent, " the fuperior magnificence and 
 " more extenfive utility of which you fo 
 " proudly boaft ; yet, in my humble walk, 
 " I am not void of a praife, lefs fhining, 
 " but not lefs folid than yours. The 
 G 2 " nymph 
 
S4- THE CANAL AND 
 
 " nymph of this peaceful valley, rendered 
 *' more fertile and beautiful by my dream ; 
 " the neighbouring fylvan deities, to whofe 
 " pleafure I contribute, will pay a grate- 
 " ful teftimony to my merit. The wind- 
 " ings of my courfe, which you fo much 
 " blame, ferve to difFufe over a greater 
 " extent of ground the refrefhmentof my 
 " waters •, and the lovers of nature and 
 " the Mufes, who are fond of ftraying on 
 " my banks, are better pleafed that the 
 " line of beauty marks my way, than if, 
 " like yours, it were direded in a ftraight, 
 " unvaried line. They prize the irregu- 
 " lar wildnefs with which I am decked, 
 " as the charms of beauteous fimplicity. 
 " What you call the weeds which darken 
 " and obfcure my waves, afford to the 
 " botanift a pleafmg fpeculation of the 
 " works of nature j and the poet and 
 " painter think the luftre of my ftream 
 " greatly improved by glittering through 
 
 " them. 
 
THE BROOK. 85 
 
 " them. The pebbles which dlverfify 
 " my bottom, and make thefe ripplings 
 " in my current, are pleafing objedls to 
 " the eye of tafte ; and my fimple mur* 
 *• murs are more melodious to the learned 
 ** ear, than all the rude noifes of your 
 " banks, or even the mufic that refounds 
 *' from your (lately barges. If the un- 
 " feeling fons of wealth and commerce 
 " judge of me by the mere flandard of 
 " ufefulnefs, I may claim no undiftin- 
 " guifhed rank. While your waters, con- 
 " fined in deep channels, or lifted above 
 ** the vallies, roll on, a ufelefs burden to 
 " the fields, and only fubfervient to the 
 " drudgery of bearing temporary mer- 
 " chandifes, my ftream will beftow un- 
 " varying fertility on the meadows, du- 
 " ring the fummers of future ages. Yet 
 " I fcorn to fubmit my honours to the 
 " decifion of thofe, whofe hearts are fhut 
 up to tafte and fentiment. Let me ap- 
 G 3 " peal 
 
 cc 
 
86 THE CANAL AND 
 
 " peal to nobler judges. The philofopher 
 " and poet, by whofe labours the human 
 " mind is elevated and refined, and open- 
 " ed to pleafures beyond the conception 
 " of vulgar fouls, will acknowledge, that 
 *' the elegant deities who prefide over 
 " fimple and natural beauty, have in- 
 " fpired them with their charming and 
 *' inftru6live ideas. The fweeteft and 
 " moft majeftic bard that ever fung, has 
 ^' taken a pride in owning his affeftion to 
 *^ woods and ftreams ; and while the ftu- 
 " pendous monuments of Roman gran- 
 " deur, the columns which pierced the 
 *' fkies, and the aquedudls which poured 
 " their waves over mountains and vallies, 
 '' are funk in oblivion, the gently wind- 
 " ing Mincius Hill retains his tranquil 
 *' honours. And when thy glories, proud 
 ^' Genius ! are loft and forgotten ; when 
 *^ the flood of commerce, which now fup- 
 ** plies thy urn, is turnecj into another 
 
 " courfe, 
 
THE BROOK. By 
 
 " courfc, and has left thy channel dry 
 " and defolate ; the foftly-flowing Avon 
 " fhall ftill murmur in fong, and his 
 *' banks receive the homage of all who 
 ^ are beloved by Phoebus and the Mufes." 
 
 G4 ON 
 
( 88 ) 
 
 O N 
 
 MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS, 
 
 I Happened the other day to take a fo* 
 litary walk amongft the venerable ru- 
 ins of an old Abb^y. The ftillnefs and 
 folemnity of the place were favourable to 
 thought, and naturally led me to a train 
 of ideas relative to the fcene -, when, like 
 a good proteftant, I began to indulge a 
 fecret triumph in th^ ruin of fo many 
 
 ftrudlures 
 
MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. 89 
 
 ftruftures which I had always confidered 
 as the haunts of ignorance and fuperili- 
 tion. 
 
 Ye are fallen, faid I, ye dark and 
 gloomy manfions of miftaken zeal, where 
 the proud prieft and lazy monk fatten'd 
 upon the riches of the land, and crept 
 like vermin from their cells to fpread their 
 poifonous do6lrines through the nation, 
 and difturb the peace of kings. Obfcure 
 in their origin, but daring and ambitious 
 in their guilt ! See how the pure light of 
 heaven is clouded by the dim glafs of the 
 arched window, ilained with the gaudy 
 colours of monkifh tales and legendary fic- 
 tion ; fit emblem how reludantly they ad- 
 mitted the fairer light of truth aniidft thefe 
 dark recefles, and how much they have 
 debafed its genuine luflre ! The low cells^ 
 the long and narrow aifles, the gloomy 
 arches, the damp and fecret caverns which 
 
 wind 
 
9a ON MONASTIC 
 
 wind beneath the hollow ground, far from 
 imprefTing on the mind the idea of the 
 God of truth and love, feem only fit for 
 thofe dark places of the earth in which 
 are the habitations of cruelty. Thefe 
 mafly ftones and fcattered reliques of 
 the vaft edifice, like the large bones and 
 gigantick armour of a once formidable 
 ruffian, produce emotions of mingled 
 dread and exultation. Farewel, ye once 
 venerated feats ! enough of you remains, 
 and may it always remain, to remind us 
 from what we have efcaped, and make 
 pofterity for ever thankful for this fairer 
 age of liberty and light. 
 
 Such were for a while my meditations ; 
 but it is cruel to infult a fallen enemy, 
 and I gradually fell into a different train 
 of thought. I began to confider whether 
 fomething might not be advanced in fa- 
 vour of thefe inftitutions during the bar- 
 barous 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 91 
 
 barons ages in which they flourifhed ; and 
 though they have been productive of 
 much mifchief and fuperftition, whether 
 they might not have fpread the glimmer- 
 ing of a feeble ray of knowledge, through 
 that thick night which once involved the 
 weftern hemifphere. 
 
 And where, indeed, could the precious 
 remains of clafTical learning, and the di- 
 vine monuments of ancient tafte, have 
 been fafely lodged amidft the ravages of 
 that age of ferocity and rapine which fuc- 
 ceeded the defolation of the Roman em- 
 pire, except in fandluaries like thefe, con- 
 fecrated by the fuperftition of the times 
 beyond their intrinfic merit ? The fre- 
 quency of wars, and the licentious cruel- 
 ty with which they were condu6bed, left 
 neither the hamlet of the peafant nor the 
 caftle of the baron free from depredation 5 
 but the church and monaftery generally 
 
 remained 
 
52 ON MONASTIC 
 
 remained inviolate. There Homer and 
 Ariftotle were obliged to fhroud their 
 heads from the rage of gothic ignorance ; 
 and there the facred records of divine 
 truth were preferved, like treafure hid in 
 the earth in troublefome times, fafe, but 
 unenjoyed. Some of the barbarous nati- 
 tions were converted before their con- 
 quefts, and mod of them foon after their 
 fettlement in the countries they over-ran. 
 Thofe buildings which their new faith 
 taught them to venerate, afforded a fhel- 
 ter for thofe valuable manufcripts, which 
 muft otherwife have been deftroyed in the 
 common wreck. At the revival of learn- 
 ing they were produced from their dor- 
 mitories. A copy of the pandedl of Juf- 
 tinian, that valuable remain of Roman 
 law, which firft gave to Europe the idea 
 of a more perfe6t jurifprudence, and gave 
 men a relilh for a new and important 
 ftudy, was difcovered in a monaftery of 
 
 Amalphi. 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 93 
 
 Amalphi. Moft of the claiTics were re- 
 covered by the fame means ; and to this 
 it is owing, to the books and learning 
 preferved in thefe repofitories, that we 
 were not obliged to begin anew, and trace 
 every art by flow and uncertain fleps 
 from its firft origin. Science, already full 
 grown and vigorous, awaked as from a 
 trance, fhook her pinions, and loon foar- 
 ed to the heights of knowledge. 
 
 Noa was (he entirely idle during her 
 recefs ; at -lead we cannot but confefs that 
 what little learning remained in the world 
 was amongft the priells and religious or- 
 ders. Books, before the invention of 
 paper, and the art of printing, were fo 
 dear, that few private perfons pofTelTed 
 any. The only libraries were in convents ; 
 and the monks were often employed in 
 tranfcribing manufcripts, which was a very 
 tedious, and at that time a very neceflary 
 
 talk. 
 
94 ON MONASTIC 
 
 tafk. It was frequently , enjoined as a. 
 penance for fome flight offence, or giv- 
 en as an exercife to the younger part of 
 the community. The monks were oblig- 
 ed by their rules to fpend fome dated 
 hours every day in reading and ftudy; 
 nor was any one to be chofen abbot with- 
 out a competent ihare of learning. They 
 were the only hiftorians ; and though 
 their accounts be interwoven with many 
 a legendary tale, and darkened by much 
 fuperftition, ftill they are better than no 
 hiftories at all ; and we cannot but think 
 ourfelves obliged to them for tranfmitting 
 to us, in any drefs, the annals of their 
 country. 
 
 They were likewife almoft the fole in- 
 ftrudors of youth. Towards the end of 
 the tenth century there were no fchools 
 in Europe but the monafteries, and thofe 
 which belonged to epifcopal refidences ; 
 
 nor 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 95 
 
 nor any matters but the Benedidllnes. It 
 is true, their courfe of education extended 
 no further than what they called the {cvtn 
 liberal arts, and thefe were taught in a 
 very dry and unintereiting manner. But 
 this was the genius of the age, and it 
 Jhould not be imputed to them as a re- 
 proach that they did not teach well, when 
 no one taught better. We are guilty of 
 great unfairnefs when we compare the 
 fchool-men with the philofophers of a 
 more enlightened age : we fhould contrail: 
 them with thofe of their own times ; with 
 a high-confbable of France who could not 
 read ; with kings who made the fign of 
 the crofs in confirmation of their charters, 
 becaufe they could not write their names ; 
 with a whole people without the lead 
 glimmering of tafte or literature. What- 
 ever was their real knowledge, there was 
 a much greater difference between men of 
 learning, and the bulk of the nation, at 
 
 that 
 
96 ON MONASTIC 
 
 that time, than there is at prefent ; and 
 certainly, fome of the difciples of thofe 
 fchools who, though now fallen into dif- 
 repute, were revered in their day by the 
 name of the fubtle do£tor, or the angelic 
 dodor, fliewed an acutenefs and ftrength 
 of genius, which, if properly direded, 
 would have gone far in philofophy ; and 
 they only failed becaufe their enquiries 
 were not the objedls of the human powers. 
 Had they exercifed half that acutenefs on 
 fafe and experiments, they had been tru- 
 ly great men. However, there were not 
 wanting fome, even in the darkeft ages, 
 whofe names will be always remembered 
 with pleafure by the lovers of fcience. 
 Alcuin, the preceptor of Charlemagne ; 
 the firft who introduced a tafte for polite 
 literature into France, and the chief in- 
 ftrument that prince made ufe of in his 
 noble endeavours for the encouragement 
 of learning-, to whom the univerfities of 
 
 SoiiTons, 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 97 
 
 Soififons, Tours and Paris owe their ori- 
 gin. The hiftorians, Mathew Paris, 
 William of Malmfbury. Savanarola. The 
 elegant and unfortunate Abelard ; and, to 
 crown the reft, the Englilh Francifcan, 
 Roger Bacon. 
 
 It may be here obferved, that forbid- 
 ding the vulgar tongue in the offices of 
 devotion, and in reading the fcriptures, 
 though undoubtedly a great corruption 
 in the Chriftian church, was of infinite 
 fervice to the interefts of learning. When 
 the ecclefiaftics had locked up their reli- 
 gion iitt^a foreign tongue, they would take 
 care not to lofe the key. This gave an 
 importance to the learned languages ; and 
 every fcholar could not only read, but 
 wrote and difputed in Latin, which withr 
 out fuch a motive would probably have 
 been no more ftudied than the Chinefe. 
 And at a time when the modern langua- 
 H ges 
 
98 ON MONASTIC 
 
 ges of Europe were yet unformed and 
 barbarous, Latin was of great ufe as a 
 kind of univerfal tongue, by which learn- 
 ed men might converfe and correfpond 
 with each other. 
 
 Indeed, the monks were almoft the 
 only fet of men who had leifure or oppor- 
 tunity to pay the leaft attention to literary 
 fubjedls. A learned education (and a 
 very little went to that title) was reckon- 
 ed peculiar to the religious. It was al- 
 moft efteemed a blemifh on the favagc 
 and martial charadler of the gentry to 
 have any tindlure of letters. A man, 
 therefore, of a ftudious and retired turn, 
 averfe to quarrels, and not defirous of 
 the fierce and fanguinary glory of thofe 
 times, beheld in the cloifter a peaceful 
 and honourable fanduaryj where, with- 
 out the reproach of cowardice, or danger 
 of invafion, he might devote himfelf to 
 
 learning 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 99 
 
 learning, afTociate with men of his own 
 turn, and have free accefs to libraries and 
 manufcripts. In this enlightened and po- 
 lilhed age, where learning is difFufed 
 through every rank, and many a mer- 
 chant's clerk poflefles more real know- 
 ledge than half the literati of that asra> 
 we can fcarcely conceive how grofs an 
 ignorance overfpread thofe times, and 
 how totally all ufeful learning might have 
 been loft amongft us, had it not been for 
 an order of men, vefted with peculiar pri- 
 vileges, and proteded by even a luper- 
 ftitious degree of reverence. 
 
 Thus the Mufes, with their attendant 
 arts (in ftrange difguife indeed, and un~ 
 couth trappings) took refuge in the peace- 
 ful gloom of the convent. Statuary car- 
 ved a madonna or a crucifix. Painting 
 illuminated a miflal. Eloquence made 
 the panegyric of a faint j and Hiftory com- 
 H 2 pofed 
 
too ON MONASTIC 
 
 pofed a legend. Yet ftill they breathed, and 
 were ready, at any happier period, to' 
 emerge from obfcurity with all their native 
 charms and undiminifhed luftrer 
 
 But there were other views in which 
 thofe who devoted themfelves to a mo- 
 naftic life might be fuppofed ufeful to fo- 
 ciety. They were often employed either 
 in cultivating their gardens, or in curious 
 mechanical works \ as indeed the nuns 
 are ftill famous for many elegant and in- 
 genious manufactures. By the conftant 
 communication they had with thofe of 
 their own order, and with their common 
 head at Rome, they maintained fome in- 
 tercourfe between nations at a time when 
 travelling was dangerous, and commerce 
 had not, as now, made the moft diftant 
 parts of the globe familiar to each other : 
 and they kept up a more intimate bond 
 of union amongft learned men of all coun- 
 tries. 
 
INSTITUTIONS. loi 
 
 tries, who would otherwife have been fe- 
 ci uded from all knowledge of each other. 
 A monk might travel with more conve- 
 nience than any one elfe •, his perfon was 
 fafer, and he was fure of meeting with 
 proper accomodations. The intercourfe 
 with Rome mud have been peculiarly fa- 
 vourable to thefe northern nations-, as 
 Italy for a long time led the way in every 
 improvement of politenefs or literature: 
 and if we imported their fuperllition, we 
 likewife imported their manufii6tures, their 
 knowledge, and their tafte. Thus Alfred 
 fent for Italian monks, when he wanted to 
 civilize his people, and introduce amongft 
 them fome tindure of letters. It- may 
 likewife be prefumed that they tempered 
 the rigour of monarchy. Indeed they, as 
 well as the fovereigns, endeavoured to en- 
 flave the people •, but fubje6lion was not 
 likely to be fo abje6t and unlimited 
 where the objed of it was divided, and 
 H 3 each 
 
102 ON MONASTIC 
 
 each fliowed by turns that the other might 
 be oppofed. It mud have been of fervicc 
 to the caufe of Hberty to have a fet of men, 
 whofe laws, privileges and immunities 
 the mod daring kings were afraid tq 
 trample on ; and this, before a more en- 
 lightened fpirit of freedom had arifen, 
 might have its effedt in preventing the 
 Hates of chriftendom from falling into 
 fuch entire flavery as the Afiatics. 
 
 Such an order would in fome degree 
 check the excefTive regard paid to birth. 
 A man of mean origin and obfcure paren- 
 tage faw himfelf excluded from almoft 
 every path of fecular preferment, and al- 
 moft treated as a being of an inferior fpe- 
 cies by the high and haughty fpirit of 
 the gentry ; but he was at liberty to afpire 
 to the higheft dignities of the church; 
 and there have been many who, like Sex- 
 tus V, and cardinal Woifey, have by their 
 
 induftry 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 103 
 
 induftry and perfonal merit alone raifed 
 themfelves to a level with kings. 
 
 It fhould likewife be remembered that 
 many of the orders were charitable infti- 
 tutions ; as the knights of faith and cha- 
 rity in the thirteenth century, who were 
 aflbciated for the purpofe of fupprefTing 
 thofe bands of robbers which infefted the 
 public roads in France \ the brethren of 
 the order of the redemption^ for redeem- 
 ing flaves from the Mahometans ; the 
 order of St. Anthony^ lirft eftablifhed for 
 the relief of the poor under certain difor- 
 orders •, and the brethren and Jijlers of 
 the pious and chriflian fchools, for edu- 
 cating poor children. Thefe fupplied 
 the place of hofpitals and other fuch foun- 
 dations, which are now eftablifhed on the 
 broader bafis of public benevolence. To 
 'bind up the wounds of the ftranger was 
 peculiarly the office of the inhabitants of 
 H 4 the 
 
104 ON MONASTIC 
 
 the convent ♦, and they often fhared 
 the charities they received. The exercife 
 of hofpitality is flill their chara6leriftic, 
 and muft have been of particular ufe for- 
 merly, when they had not the convenien- 
 ces and accomodations for travelling 
 which we now enjoy. The learned ftrang- 
 erwas always fure of an agreeable refidence 
 amongft them i and as they all underftood 
 latin, they ferved him for interpreters, and 
 introduced him to a fight of whatever was 
 curious or valuable in the countries which 
 he vifited. They checked the fpirit of 
 favage fiercenefs, to which our warlike 
 anceflors were fo prone, with the mild- 
 nefs and fandity of religious influences ; 
 they p refer ved fome refped to law and 
 order, and often decided controverfies by 
 means lefs bloody than the fword, 'though 
 confefTedly m.ore fuperftitious. 
 
 A PROOF that thefe inftitutions had a 
 
 favourable 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 105 
 
 favourable afped towards civilization, 
 may be drawn from a late hiftory of 
 Ireland. " Soon after the introduction of 
 " chriftianity into that kingdom " fays 
 Dr. Leland, " the monks fixed their ha- 
 '' bitations in defarts, which they culti» 
 " vated with their own hands, and render- 
 " ed the moft delightful fpots in the 
 " kingdom. Thefe defarts became well 
 " policed cities, and it is remarkable 
 " enough that to the monks we owe fo 
 " ufeful an inftitution in Ireland as the 
 " bringing great numbers together into 
 " one civil community. In thefe cities 
 " the monks fet up fchools, and taught, 
 *' not only the youth of Ireland, but 
 •' the neighbouring nations -, furnilliing 
 *^ them alfo with books. They became 
 " umpires between contending chiefs, 
 >' and when they could not confine them 
 '^ within the bounds of reafon and religi- 
 " on, at leaft terrified them by denoun- 
 
 " cing 
 
io6 ON MONASTIC 
 
 " cing divir 
 " excefTes. " 
 
 " cing divine vengeance againfl: their 
 
 Let it be confidered too, that when the 
 minds of men began to open, fome of the 
 mofl eminent reformers fprung from the 
 bofom of the church, and even of the 
 convent. It was not the laity who began 
 to think. The ecclefiaftics were the firft 
 to perceive the errors they had introduced. 
 The church was reformed from v/ithin,not 
 from without -, and like the filk-worm, 
 when ripened in their cells to maturer vi- 
 gour and perfedtion, they pierced the 
 cloud themfelves had fpun, and within 
 which they had fo long been envelo- 
 ped. 
 
 And let not the good proteftant be too 
 much ftartled if I here venture to infinu- 
 ate, that the monafteries were fchools of 
 fome high and refpedable virtues. Pover- 
 ty. 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 107 
 
 ty, chaftity, and a renunciation of the 
 world, were certainly intended in the firfl: 
 plan of thefe inftitutions •, and though, from 
 the unavoidable frailty of human nature, 
 they were not always obferved, certain 
 it is, that many individuals amongft 
 them have been ftriking examples of 
 the felf-denying virtues : and as the in- 
 fluence they acquired was only built 
 upon the voluntary homage of the 
 mind, it may be prefumed fuch an af- 
 cendancy was not originally gained with- 
 out fome fpecies of merit. The fondnefs 
 for monkery is eafily deduced from fome 
 of the bed principles in the human heart. 
 It was, indeed, neceflity, that, in the 
 third century, firfl drove the chriftians tO 
 flicker themfelves from the Decian perfe- 
 cution in the folitary defarts of Thebais ^ 
 but the humour foon fpread, and num- 
 bers under the name of hermits, or ere- 
 mites, ftclyded themfelves from the com- 
 merce 
 
io8 ON MONASTIC 
 
 merce of mankind, chufing the wildeft 
 folitudes, living in caves and hollows of 
 the rocks, and fiibfifting on fuch roots 
 and herbs as the ground afforded them. 
 About the fourth century they were ga- 
 thered into communities, and increafed 
 with furprifmg rapidity. If was then that, 
 by a great and fudden revolution, the fu- 
 ry of perfecution had ceafed, and the go- 
 verning powers were become friendly to 
 chrillianity. But the agitation of men's 
 minds did not immediately fubfide with 
 the ftorm. The chriftians had fo Ions; ex- 
 perienced the necefTity of refigning all the 
 enjoyments of life, and were fo detached 
 from every tie which might interfere with 
 the profeflion of their faith, that upon a 
 more favourable turn of affairs tliey hard- 
 ly dared open their minds to pl^afurable 
 emotions. They thought the life of a 
 good man mud be a continual warfare 
 between mind and body ; and having been 
 
 long 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 109 
 
 long ufed to fee eafe and fafety on the one 
 fide, and virtue on the other, no wonder 
 if the affociation was fo flrong in their 
 minds, as to fuggeft the necefTity of vo- 
 luntary mortification, and lead them to 
 inflid thofe fufferings upon themfelves, 
 which they no longer apprehended from 
 others. They had continually experien- 
 ced the amazing efFefls of chriftianity in 
 fupporting its followers under hardfhip, 
 tortures, and death •, and they thought 
 little of its influence in regulating the 
 behaviour of life, if it produced none of 
 thofe great exertions they had been ufed 
 to contemplate. They were ftruck with 
 the change from heathen licentioufnefs to 
 the purity of the gofpel; and thought 
 they could never be far enough removed 
 from that bondage of the fenfes which it 
 had juft coft them fo violent a ftruggle to 
 efcape. The minds of men were work- 
 ing with newly received opinions, not yet 
 
 mellowed 
 
no ON MONASTIC 
 
 mellowed into a rational faith ; and the 
 young converts, aftonifhed at the gran- 
 deur and fublimity of the dodlrines which 
 then firft entered their hearts with irrefif- 
 table force, thought them worthy to en- 
 grofs their whole attention. The myftic 
 dreams of the Platonift mingled with the 
 enthufiafm of the martyr-, and it foon 
 became the prevailing opinion, that fi- 
 lence, folitude, and contemplation were 
 necefiary for the reception of divine 
 truth. Miftaken ideas prevailed of a pu- 
 rity and perfection far Tuperiour to the 
 rules of common life, which was only to 
 be attained by thofe who denied them- 
 felves all the indulgences of fenfe ; and 
 thus the afcetic feverities of the cloifter 
 fucceeded in fome degree to the philofo- 
 phic poverty of the Cynic fchool, and 
 the lofty virtues of the Stoic porch. 
 
 Indeed, it is now the prevailing tafte 
 
 in 
 
INSTITUTIONS. m 
 
 in morals to decry every obfcrvance which 
 has the leaft appearance of rigour ; and 
 to infift only on the fofter virtues. But 
 let it be remembered, that felf-command 
 and felf-denial are as neceflary to the 
 pradice of benevolence, charity, and 
 companion, as to any other duty ; that it 
 is impoffible to live to others without de- 
 nying ourfelves •, and that the man who 
 has not learned to curb his appetites and 
 pafTions is ill qualified for thofe facrifices 
 which the friendly affedions are continu- 
 ally requiring of him. The man who 
 has that one quality of felf-command will 
 find little difficulty in the pradiice of any 
 other duty ; as, on the contrary, he who 
 has it not, tho' poflciTed of thegentleft 
 feelings, and mofh refined fenfibilities, 
 will foon find his benevolence fink into a 
 mere companiable eafinefs of temper, nei- 
 ther ufeful to others nor happy for himfelf. 
 A noble enthufiafin is fometimes of ufc 
 
 to 
 
112 ON MONASTIC 
 
 to fhew how far human nature can go. 
 Though it may not be proper, or defirable, 
 that numbers fhould feckide themfelvTs 
 from the common duties and ordinary 
 avocations of life, for the aufterer leflbns 
 of the cloifter, yet it is not unufeful that 
 fome Ihould pufli their virtues to even a 
 romantic height ; and it is encouraging to 
 refled in the hour of temptation that the 
 love of eafe, the averfion to pain, every 
 appetite and paflion, and even the ftrong- 
 eft propenfities in our nature, have been 
 controuled ; that the empire of the mind 
 over the body has been aflerted in its 
 fulleft extent ; and that there have been 
 men in all ages, who voluntarily renounce 
 all the world offers, voluntarily fuffer all 
 it dreads, and live independent, and un-" 
 connected with it. Nor was it a fmall 
 advantage, or ill calculated to fupport 
 the dignity of fcience, that a learned man 
 might be refpedlable in a coarfe gown, 
 
 a lea- 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 113 
 
 a leathern girdle, and bare- footed. Car- 
 dinal Ximenes preferved the fevere fim- 
 plicity of a convent amidft the pomp and 
 luxury of palaces ; and to thofe who thus 
 thought it becoming in the higheft flati- 
 tions to affedl the appearance of poverty, 
 the reality furely could not be very 
 dreadful. 
 
 There is yet another light in which 
 thefe inftitutions may be confidered. It 
 is, furely, not improper to provide a re- 
 treat for thofe, who ftained by fome deep 
 and enormous crime, wifh to expiate by 
 fevere and uncommon penitence thole 
 offences which render them unworthy of 
 freer commerce with the world. Repen- 
 tance is never fo fecure from a relapfe as 
 when it breaks off at once from every 
 former connexion, and entering upon a 
 new courfe of life, bids adieu to every 
 objeft that might revive the idea of temp- 
 I tations 
 
114 ON MONASTIC 
 
 tations which have once prevailed. In 
 thefe folemn retreats, the flillnefs and ac- 
 knowledged fan6lity of the place, with 
 the ftriking novelty of every thing around 
 them, might have great influence in 
 calming the pafTions -, might break the 
 force of habit, and fuddenly induce a new 
 turn of thinking. There are likewife af- 
 Hidions fo overwelming to humanity, that 
 they leave no relilh in the mind for any 
 thing elfe than to enjoy its own melancho- 
 ly in filence and folitude ; and to a heart 
 torn with remorle, or oppreft with forrow, 
 the gloomy feverities of La Trappe are 
 really a relief. Retirement is alfo the fa- 
 vourite wifli of age. Many a ftatefman, 
 and many a warriour, fick of the buftle 
 of that world to which they had devoted 
 the prime of their days, have longed for 
 fome quiet cell where, like cardinal Wol- 
 ky or Charles V. they might fhroud their 
 grey hairs, and lofe fight of the follies 
 
 with 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 115 
 
 with which they had been too much taint- 
 ed. 
 
 Though there is, perhaps, lefs to 
 plead for immuring beauty in a cloifter, 
 and confining that part of the fpecies who 
 are formed to fhine in families and 
 fweeten fociety, to the barren duties and 
 auftere difcipline of a monadic life ; yet, 
 circumftances might occur, in which 
 they would, even to a woman, be a wel- 
 come refuge. A young female, whom 
 accident, or war, had deprived of her 
 natural protedors, mull, in an age of 
 barbarifm, be peculiarly expofed and 
 helplefs. A convent offered her an afy- 
 lum where (he might be fafe, at lead, if 
 not happy •, and add to the confcioufnefs 
 of unviolated virtue the flattering dreams 
 of angelic purity and perfedion. There 
 were orders, as well amongfl the women, 
 as the men, inftituted for charitable pur- 
 1 2 pofes. 
 
ii6 ON MONASTIC 
 
 pofes, fuch as that of the Virgins of tove^ 
 or Daughters of mercy ^ founded in 1660, 
 for the relief of the fick poor j with 
 others for inftrudling their children. 
 Thefe mufl: have been peculiarly fuited 
 to the foftnefs and compaflion of the fex ; 
 and to this it is no doubt owing, that ilill, 
 in catholic countries, ladies of the higheft 
 rank often vifit the hofpitals and houfes 
 of the poor ; waiting on them with the 
 moft tender afllduity, and performing 
 fuch offices as our proteftant ladies would 
 be fliocked at the thoughts of. We 
 Ihould alfo confider, that moft of the fe- 
 males who now take the veil, are fuch as 
 have no agreeable profpedls in life. Why 
 fhould not thefe be allowed to quit a 
 world which will never mifs them ? It is 
 eafier to retire from the public, than to 
 fupport its difregard. The convent is to 
 them a flielter from poverty and negledt. 
 Their little community grows dear to 
 
 them. 
 
INSTITUTIONS. 117 
 
 them. The equality which fubfifts a- 
 mong thefe fillers of obfcurity, the fitni- 
 larity of their fate, the peace, the leifure 
 they enjoy, give rife to the mod endear- 
 ing friendfhips. Their innocence is fhield- 
 ed by the fimplicity of their life from even 
 the idea of ill ; and they are flattered by 
 the notion of a voluntary renunciation of 
 pleafures, which, probably, had they con- 
 tinued in the world, they would have had 
 little Ihare in. 
 
 After all that can be faid, we have rca- 
 fon enough to rejoice that the fuperftitions 
 of former times are now fallen into difre- 
 pute. What might be a palliative at one 
 time, foon became a crying evil in itfelf. 
 "When the fuller day of fcience began to 
 dawn, the monkilh orders were willing to 
 exclude its brightnefs, that the dim lamp 
 might ftill glimmer in their cell. Their 
 growing vices have rendered them juftly 
 I 3 odious 
 
ii8 ON MONASTIC 
 
 odious to fociety, and they feem in a fair 
 way of being for ever abolifhed. But 
 may we not flill hope that the world was 
 better than it would have been without 
 them ; and that he, who knows to bring 
 good out of evil, has made them, in their 
 day, fubfervient to fome ufeful purpo- 
 fes. The corruptions of chriftianity, 
 which have been accumulating for fo ma- 
 ny ages, feem to be now gradually clear- 
 ing away ; and fome future period may 
 perhaps exhibit our religion in all its na- 
 tive fimplicity. 
 
 So the pure limpid ftream, when foul with ftalns 
 Of rufliing torrents, and defcending rains; 
 Works itfelf clear, and as it runs refines. 
 Till by degrees the floating mirrour fhines ; 
 Refleds each flower that on its borders grows, 
 And a new heaven in its fair bofom fliews. 
 
 ON 
 
( "9 ) 
 
 ON THE PLEASURE DERIVED FROM 
 
 OBJECTS OF TERROR; 
 
 W I T R 
 
 Sir BERTRAND, a Fragment, 
 
 THAT the exerclfe of our benevolent 
 feelings, as called forth by the view 
 of human afRidlions, fhould be a fourcc 
 of pleafure, cannot appear wonderful to 
 one who confiders that relation between 
 I 4 the 
 
120 ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 
 
 the moral and natural fyftem of man, 
 which has connedled a degree of fatisfa6li- 
 on with every adlion or emotion produc- 
 tive of the general welfare. The painful 
 fenfation immediately arifmg from a fcene 
 of mifery, is fo much foftened and allevi- 
 ated by the reflex fenfe of felf-approbati- 
 on attending virtuous fympathy, that we 
 find, on the whole, a very exquilite and 
 refined pleafure remaining, which makes 
 us defirous of again being witnefTes to fuch 
 fcenes, inftead of flying from them with 
 difgufl and horror. It is obvious how 
 greatly fuch a provifion muft conduce to 
 the ends of mutual fupport and afTiftance. 
 But the apparent delight with which w? 
 dwell upon objects of pure terror, where 
 our moral feelings are not in the leaft con- 
 cerned, and no palTion feems to be exci- 
 ted but the deprefTing one of fear, is a 
 paradox of the heart, much more diffi- 
 cult of folution. 
 
 The 
 
ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 12 ? 
 
 The reality of this fource of pleafure 
 feems evident from daily obfcrvation. 
 The greedinefs with which the tales of 
 ghofts and goblins, of murders,earthquakes, 
 fires, fhipwrecks, and all the mod terri- 
 ble difafters attending human life, are 
 devoured by every ear, muft have been 
 generally remarked. Tragedy, the mod 
 favourite work of fi6tion, has taken a 
 full Ihare of thofe fcenes ; " it has fupt 
 full with horrors" — and has, perhaps, 
 been more indebted to them for public 
 admiration than to its tender and pathetic 
 parts. The ghoft of Hamlet, Macbeth 
 defcending into the witches' cave, and 
 the tent fcene in Richard, command as 
 forcibly the attention of our fouls as the 
 parting Jaffeir and Belvidera, the fall of 
 Wolfey, or the death of Shore. The in- 
 fpiration of terror was by the antient cri- 
 tics afligned as the peculiar province of 
 tragedy j and the Greek and Roman tra- 
 gedians 
 
122 ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 
 
 gedians have introduce fome extraordina- 
 ry perfonages for this purpofe : not only 
 the fhades of the dead, but the furies, 
 and other fabulous inhabitants of the infe- 
 nal regions. Collins, in his mod poetical 
 ode to Fear, has finely enforced this idea. 
 
 Tho' gentle Pity claim her mingled part. 
 
 Yet all the thunders of the fcene are thine. 
 
 The old Gothic romance and the Eaf- 
 tern tale, with their genii, giants, enchant- 
 ments, and transformations, however a 
 refined critic may cenfure them as abfurd 
 and extravagant, will ever retain a moft 
 powerful influence on the mind, and in- 
 terefl the reader independently of all pe- 
 culiarity of tafte. Thus the great Milton, 
 who had a ftrong biafs to thefe wildnefTes 
 of the imagination, has with flriking ef- 
 fedt made the flories " of forefls and en- 
 chantments drear," a favourite fubjeft' 
 
 with 
 
ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 123 
 
 with his Penferofo ; and had undoubtedly 
 their awakening images (Irong upon his 
 mind when he breaks out. 
 
 Call up him that left half- told 
 The ftory of Cambufcan bold ; &c. 
 
 How are we then to account for the 
 pleafure derived frorn fuch objedts ? I 
 have often been led to imagine that there 
 is a deception in thefe cafes ; and that the 
 avidity with which we attend is not a 
 proof of our receiving real pleafure. The 
 pain of fufpenfe, and the irrefifbible defire 
 of fatisfying curiofity, when once raifed, 
 will account for our eagernefs to go quite 
 through an adventure, though we fuffer 
 aclual pain during the whole courfe of 
 it. We rather chufe to fuffer the fmart 
 pang of a violent emotion than the uneafy 
 craving of an unfatisfied defire. That 
 this principle, in many inftances, may in- 
 
 vol- 
 
:h 
 
 124 ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 
 
 voluntarily carry us through what we dii- 
 like, I am convinced from experience. 
 This is the impulfe which renders the 
 pooreft and moft infipid narrative intereft- 
 ing when once we get fairly into it ; and 
 I have frequently felt it with regard to 
 our modern novels, which, if lying on 
 my table, and taken up in an idle hour, 
 have led me through the moft tedious and 
 difgufting pages, while, like Piftol eating 
 his leek, I have fwailowed and execrated 
 to the end. And it will not only force us 
 through dullnefs, but through a6lual tor- 
 ture — through the relation of a Damien's 
 execution, or an inquifitor's a6t of faith. 
 When children, therefore, liften with pale 
 and m.ute attention to the frightful ftories 
 of apparitions, we are not, perhaps, to 
 imagine that they are in a ftate of enjoy- 
 ment, any more than the poor bird which 
 is dropping into the mouth of the rattle- 
 fnake — they are chained by the ears, and 
 
 fafci- 
 
ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 12^ 
 
 fafcinated by curiofity. Thlh folution, 
 however, does not fatisfy me with refped 
 to the well-wrought fcenes of artificial 
 terror which are formed by a fublime and 
 vigorous imagination. Here, though we 
 know before-hand what to expe6t, we en- 
 ter into them with eagernefs, in queft of 
 a pleafure already experienced. This if; 
 the pleafure conftantly attached to the ex- 
 citement of furprife from new and won- 
 derful objeds. A ftrange and unexpeft- 
 ed event awakens the mind, and keeps it 
 on the ftretch -, and where the agency of 
 invifible beings is introduced, of" forms 
 unfeen, and mightier far than we," our 
 imagination, darting forth, explores with 
 rapture the new world which is laid open 
 to its view, and rejoices in the expanfion 
 of its powers. PafTion and fancy co-ope- 
 rating elevate the foul to its higheft pitch ; 
 and the pain of terror is loft in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Hence 
 
126 ON OBJECTS OF TERROR; 
 
 Hence, the more wild, fanciful, and 
 extraordinary are the circumftances of a 
 fcene of ho.ror, the more pleafure we re- 
 ceive from it; and where they are too 
 near common nature, though violently 
 borne by curiofity through the adven- 
 ture, we cannot repeat it or refled on it, 
 without an over-balance of pain. In the 
 Arabian nights are many mofl ftriking 
 examples of the terrible joined with the 
 marvellous : the (lory of Aladdin and the 
 travels of Sinbad are particularly excel- 
 lent. The Caftle of Otranto is a very fpi- 
 rited modern attempt upon the fame plan 
 of mixed terror, adapted to the model of 
 Gothic romance. The beil conceived, 
 and moil ftrongly worked-up fcene of 
 mere natural horror that I recolledl, is in 
 Smollett's Ferdinand count Fathom \ where 
 the hero, entertained in a lone houfe in a 
 foreft, finds a corpfe jufl flaughtercd in 
 the room where he is fent to fleep, and 
 
 the 
 
ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 127 
 
 the door of which is locked upon him. 
 It may be amufmg for the reader to com- 
 pare his feelings upon thefe, and from 
 thence form his opinion of the jullnefs of 
 my theory. The following fragment, in 
 which both thefe manners are attempted 
 to be in fome degree united, is offered to 
 entertain a folitary winter's evening. 
 
 After this adventure, SirBer- 
 
 trand turned his deed towards the woulds, 
 hoping to crofs thefe dreary moors before 
 the curfew. But ere he had proceeded 
 half his journey, he was bewildered by 
 the different tracks, and not being able, 
 as far as the eye could reach, to efpy any 
 obje6t but the brown heath furrounding 
 him, he was at length quite uncertain 
 
 which 
 
118 SIR BERTRAND, 
 
 which way he fhovild dire6l his courie. 
 Night overtook him in this fituation. It 
 was one of thofe nights when the moon 
 gives a faint glimmering of light through 
 the thick black clouds of a lowering fky. 
 Now and then fhe fuddenly emerged in 
 full fplendor from her veil j and then in- 
 flantly retired behind it, having juft ferv- 
 ed to give the forlorn Sir Bertrand a wide 
 extended profpedt over the defolate wafte. 
 Hope and native courage a while urged 
 him to pufh forwards, but at length the 
 increafing darknefs and fatigue of body 
 and mind overcame him-, he dreaded 
 moving from the ground he flood on, for 
 fear of unknown pits and bogs, and a- 
 lighting from his horfe in defpair, he 
 threw himfelf on the ground. He had 
 not long continued in that pofture when 
 the fullen toll of a diftant bell ftruck his 
 cars — he ftarted up, and turning towards 
 the found difcerned a dim twinkling light. 
 
 Inftantly 
 
A FRAGMENT. 129 
 
 Inftantly he feized his horfe's bridle, and 
 with cautious fteps advanced towards it. 
 After a painful march he was ftopt by a 
 moated ditch furrounding the place from 
 whence the light proceeded ; ,and by a 
 momentary glimpfe of moon-light he had 
 a full view of a large antique manfion, 
 with turrets at the corners, and an ample 
 porch in the centre. The injuries of time 
 were ftrongly marked on every thing a- 
 bout it. The roof in various places was 
 fallen in, the battlements were half demo- 
 lifhedj and the windows broken and dif- 
 mantled. A draw-bridge, with a ruinous 
 gate-way at each end, led to the court 
 before the building— He entered, and in- 
 ftantly the light, which proceeded from 
 a window in one of the turrets, glided 
 along and vanifhed -, at the fame moment 
 the moon funk beneath a black cloud, 
 and the night was darker than ever. All 
 was filent— SirBertrand faftened his fteed 
 K under 
 
ijo SIR BERTRAND, 
 
 under a fhed, and approaching the houfe 
 traverfed its whole front with light and 
 flow footfteps — All was ftill as death — 
 He looked in at the lower windows, but 
 could not diftinguifh a fingle objedt 
 through the impenetrable gloom. After 
 a fliort parley with himfelf, he entered 
 the porch, and feizing a mafly iron 
 knocker at the gate, lifted it up, and he- 
 fitating, at length ftruck a loud ftroke. 
 The noife refounded through the whole 
 manfion with hollow echoes. All was 
 ftill again — He repeated the ftrokes more 
 boldly and louder — another interval of 
 filence enfued — A third time he knocked, 
 and a third time all was ftill. He then 
 fall back tdXome diftance that he might 
 difcern whether any light could be ktn 
 in the whole front — It again appeared in 
 the fame place and quickly glided away 
 as before — at the fame inftant a deep ful- 
 ler! 
 
A FRAGMENT. 131 
 
 len toll founded from the turret. Sir 
 Bertrand's heart made a fearful flop — 
 He was a while motionlefs ; then terror 
 impelled him to make fome hafly fleps 
 towards his fleed — but ihame ftopt his 
 flight ; and urged by honour, and a re- 
 fiftlefs defire of finifhing the adventure, 
 he returned to the porch ; and working 
 up his foul to a full fteadinefs of refolu- 
 tion, he drew forth his fword with one 
 hand, and with the other lifted up the 
 latch of the gate. The heavy door, creak- 
 ing upon its hinges, reludtantly yielded 
 to his hand— he applied his Hioulder to ic 
 and forced it open— he quitted it and 
 ftept forward— the door mftantly fliut 
 with a thundering clap. ^.^. Sir Bertrand's 
 blood was chilled— he turned back to find 
 the door, and it was long ere his trem- 
 bling hands could feize it— but his utmoft 
 ftrength could not open it again. After 
 K 2 feveral 
 
132 SIR BERTRAND, 
 
 feveral inefFedual attempts, he looked 
 behind him, and beheld, acrofs a hall, 
 upon a large ftaircafe, a pale bluifh flame 
 which caft a difmal gleam of light around. 
 He again fummoned forth his courage 
 and advanced towards it — It retired. He 
 came to the foot of the flairs, and after a 
 moment's deliberation afcended. He went 
 flowly up, the flame retiring before him, 
 till he came to a wide gallery— The flame 
 proceeded along it, and he followed in fl- 
 lent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes 
 of his footfteps ftartled him. It led him 
 to the foot of another ftaircafe, and then 
 vaniflied-— At the fame inftant another 
 toll founded from the turret— Sir Bertrand 
 felt it ftrike upon his heart. He was 
 now in total darknefs, and with his arms 
 extended, ~ began to afcend the fecond 
 ftair-cafe. A dead cold hand met his left 
 hand and firmly grafped it, drawing him 
 
 forcibly 
 
A FRAGMENT. 133 
 
 forcibly forwards — he endeavoured to dif- 
 eno-agre himfelf, but could not — he made 
 a furious blow with his fword, and in- 
 flantly a loud fhriek pierced his ears, and 
 the dead hand was left powerlefs in his — 
 He dropt it, and rulhed forwards with a 
 defperate valour. The flairs were narrow 
 and winding, and interrupted by frequent 
 breaches, and loofe fragments of ftone. 
 The ftair-cafe grew narrower and narow- 
 cr, and at length terminated in a low iron 
 grate. Sir Bertrand pufhed it open- it 
 led to an intricate winding pafTage, juft 
 large enough to admit a perfon upon his 
 hands and knees. A faint glimmering 
 of light ferved to fhow the nature of the 
 place. Sir Bertrand entered — A deep 
 hollow groan refounded from a diflancc 
 through the vault — He went forwards, 
 and proceeding beyond the firft turning, 
 he difcerned the fame blue flame which 
 K 3 had 
 
134 SIR BERTRAND, 
 
 had before conduced him. He followed 
 it. The vault, at length, fuddenly open- 
 ed into a lofty gallery, in the midft of 
 which a figure appeared, compleatly arm- 
 ed, thrufting forwards the bloody ftump 
 of an arm, with a terrible frown and me- 
 nacing gefture, and brandilhing a fword 
 in his hand. Sir Bertrand undauntedly 
 fprung forwards ; and aiming a fierce 
 blow at the figure, it inftantly vanilhed, 
 letting fall a mafTy iron key. The flame 
 pow refted upon a pair of ample folding 
 doors at the end of the gallery. Sir Ber- 
 trand went up to it, and applied the key 
 to a brazen lock— with difficulty he turn- 
 ed the bolt — inftantly the doors flew open, 
 and difcovered a large apartment, at the 
 end of which was a coflin refted upon a 
 bier, with a taper burning on each fide 
 of it. Along the room on both fides 
 were gigantic ftatues of black marble, 
 
 attired 
 
A FRAGMENT. 135 
 
 attired in the Moorifh habits, and holding 
 enormous fabres in their right hands. 
 Each of them reared his arm, and advan- 
 ced one leg forwards, as the knight en- 
 tered ; at the fame moment the lid of the 
 coffin flew open, and the bell tolled. The 
 flame ftill glided forwards, and Sir Ber- 
 trand refolutely followed, till he arrived 
 within fix paces of the coffin. Suddenly, 
 a lady in a (hrowd and black veil rofe up 
 in it, and ftretched out her arms towards 
 him— at the fame time the ftatues clafhed 
 their fabres and advanced. Sir Bertrand 
 flew to the lady and clafped her in his 
 arms— flie threw up her veil and kiffed 
 his lips ; and inftantly the whole building 
 fliook as with an earthquake, and fell afun- 
 der with a horrible cralh. Sir Bertrand 
 was thrown into a fudden trance, and on 
 recovering, found himfelf feated on a vel- 
 vet fofa, in the mod magnificent room 
 K4 he 
 
1^6 SIR BERTRAND, 
 
 he had ever fecn, lighted with innumera-!' 
 ble tapers, in luftres of pure cryflal. A 
 fumptuous banquet was fet in the middle. 
 The doors opening to foft mufic, a lady 
 of incomparable beauty, attired with a- 
 mazing fplendor entered, furrounded by 
 a troop of gay nymphs more fair than 
 the Graces — She advanced to the knight, 
 and falling on her knees thanked him 
 as her deliverer. The nymphs placed a 
 garland of laurel upon his head, and 
 the lady led him by the hand to the 
 banquet, and fat befide him. The 
 nymphs placed themfelves at the table, 
 and a numerous train of fervants en- 
 tering, ferved up the feaft j delicious 
 mufic playing all the time. Sir Ber- 
 trand could not fpeak for aftonifhment — 
 he could only return their honours by 
 courteous looks and geftures. After 
 the banquet was finifhed, all retired but 
 
 the 
 
A FRAGMENT. 137^ 
 
 the lady, who leading back the knight 
 to the fofa, addrefled him in thefe 
 
 words : ■— ■■« 
 
 ON 
 
( 138 ) 
 
 ON THE 
 
 HEROIC POEM 
 
 G F 
 
 GONDIBERT. 
 
 APerfon engaged in the purfuit of 
 literary fame muft be feverely mor- 
 tified on obferving the very fpeedy ne- 
 gled into which writers of high merit fo 
 
 frequently 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 139 
 
 frequently fall. The revolution of cen- 
 turies, the extindion of languages, the 
 vaft convulfions which agitate a whole 
 people, are caufes which may well be 
 fubmitted to in overwhelming an author 
 with oblivion ; but that in the fame coun- 
 try, with little variation of language or 
 manners, the delights of one age Ihould 
 become utter ftrangers in the next, is 
 furely an immaturity of fate which con.- 
 veys reproach upon the inconfiftency of 
 national tafte. That noble band, the 
 Englilh Poets, have ample reafon for 
 complaining to what unjuft guardians 
 they have entrufted their renown. While 
 we crown the ftatue of Shakefpeare as the 
 prince of dramatic poets, fhall we forgeC 
 the works, and almoft: the names of his 
 contemporaries who poflefled fo much of 
 a kindred fpirit ? Shall the Italian Paftor 
 Pido and Amyntas ftand high in our efti- 
 mation, and the Faithful Shepherdefs, the 
 
 mbft 
 
140 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 moft beautiful paftoral that a poet's fancy 
 ever formed, be fcarcely known amongft 
 us ? Shall we feel the fire of heroic poe- 
 try in tranilations from Greece and Rome, 
 and never fearch for it in the native pro- 
 dudlions of our own country ? 
 
 . The capital work of Sir William 
 JD^avenanty which I now defire to call 
 forth from its obfcurity, may well be 
 confidered as in a ftate of oblivion, fince 
 we no where meet with allufioris to it, or 
 quotations from it, in our.modern writers; 
 and few, I imagine, even of the profelTed 
 fludents in Englifh claflics, would think 
 their tafte difcredited by confefling that 
 they had never read Gondibert. A very 
 learned and ingenious critic, in his well- 
 known difcourfe upon poetical imitation^ 
 has, indeed, taken notice of this poem ; 
 but though he beftows all due praife up- 
 pn its author, yet the purpofe for which 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 141 
 
 it is mentioned being to inftance an eflen- 
 tial error, we cannot fuppofe that his au- 
 thority has ferved to gain it more readers. 
 Having very judicioufly laid it down as a 
 general obfervation, that writers by flu- 
 dioufly avoiding the fancied difgrace of 
 imitation are apt to fall into improper 
 methods, forced conceits, and affeded ex- 
 prefTion ; he proceeds to introduce the 
 work in queftion after the following man- 
 ner. " And, that the reader may not 
 *' fufped me of alTerting this without ex- 
 " perience, let me exemplify what has 
 " been here faid in the cafe of a very emi- 
 *' nent perfon, who, with all the advan- 
 " tages of art and nature that could be 
 " required to adorn the true poet, . was 
 " ruined by this fmgle error. The perfon 
 " I mean was Sir William D'avenant, 
 *' whofe Gondibert will remain a perpetual 
 " monument of the mifchiefs which muft 
 " ever arife from this affectation of origi- 
 
 " nality in lettered and polite poets." 
 
 A con- 
 
t4^ ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 A CONSIDERABLE degree of deference 
 is undoubtedly due to a critic of fuch ac-* 
 knowledged tafte and abilities ; yet, fince 
 it appears to me that in this inftance he 
 writes under the influence of fyftem and 
 learned prejudice, I Ihall venture to can- 
 vafs the principles upon which he fup* 
 ports his cenfure. 
 
 The method of Gondibert is firft obje6l- 
 cd to by Dr. Hurd, and upon two ac- 
 counts. Firfl, that the compafs of the 
 poem is contraded from the limits of the 
 ancient epic, to thofe of the dramatic 
 form ; and by this means, purfuing a clofe 
 accelerated plot, the opportunity is loft 
 of introducing digreflive ornaments, and 
 of giving that minutenefs of defcription 
 which confers an air of reality. Now, 
 fince the author fets out with difa vowing 
 the common rules of epic poetry, it is 
 certainly unjuft to try him by thofe rules. 
 
 That 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 14J 
 
 That effeAs are not produced which he 
 never defigned to produce can be no mat- 
 ter of blame -, we have only to examine 
 the jullnefs of the defign itfelf. It is 
 wrong to expedl incompatible qualities as 
 well in compofitions as in men. A work 
 cannot at the fame time pofTefs force and 
 diffufivenefs, rapidity and minutencfs. 
 
 Every one who has read Homer with- 
 out prejudice, will, I doubt not, confefs 
 that the cfFe6ls which fhould refult from 
 the great events of the flory are much 
 broken and impeded by that very minute- 
 nefs of defcription, and frequency of di- 
 greflion which D'avenant is blamed for 
 rejeding. The mind, warmed by an in- 
 terefling narration, either in hiflory, poe- 
 try, or romance, requires the writer to 
 keep up with its exertions, and cannot 
 "bear him to flag in his pace, or turn afidc 
 in purfuit of other objeds. The proper 
 
 end 
 
144 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 end of epic poetry, according to Df* 
 Hurd, is admiration. This, I imagine, 
 would by no means have been allowed by 
 our author, who feems rather to have 
 placed it in interefting the paflions, in- 
 culcating noble fentiments, and informing 
 the underftanding. Nor does it anfwer 
 the idea of Horace, who praifes Homer 
 for his moral leiTons, for teaching 
 
 — quid fit pulcrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non. 
 
 However, a due limitation of fubjedt, and 
 fomething of rapidity in purfuing it, ap- 
 pear very necelTary to the produdlion of 
 a confiderable effedl, of what kind foever; 
 and a pompous difplay of foreign circum- 
 ftances muil always debilitate more than 
 adorn. It appears an extremely bad com- 
 pliment to an epic poem, to fay that its 
 chief beauty lies in the epifodes. Indeed, 
 epic poetry as exifting in the models of 
 
 antiquity^ 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 145 
 
 antiquity, or their copies, by no means, 
 I think, deferves the title given by cri- 
 tics, of the higheft fpecies of poetical 
 compofition. The tedious compafs of the 
 fubjed, the neceflity of employing fo 
 large a fhare of the work in the relation 
 of trifling occurrences for the fake of con- 
 nexion, and the frequency of interruptions 
 from collateral matter, inevitably caufe 
 both the poet's exertions and the reader's 
 attention to intermit ; and it is no wonder 
 that Homer and Virgil too fometimes 
 nod over their labours. The author of 
 Gondibert feems to have been fenfible of 
 thefe inconveniences, and upon fair com- 
 parifon of the epic and dramatic form, ta 
 have preferred the latter as capable of 
 more fpirit, and uniform dignity. We 
 Ihall find, however, in reviewing the 
 poem, that he has by no means reftrid- 
 ed himfelf fo narrowly as to preclude 
 all ornamental deviations 5 and though 
 L they 
 
146 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 they may not deferve the title of epifodes, 
 yet in his fhort and unfinifhed piece, they 
 have all the defirable efFedl of a pleafing 
 variety. 
 
 'The fecond objedlion which Dr. Hurd 
 brings againft the method of this poem, is 
 the rejection of all fupernatural agency, 
 or what conflitutes the machinery of the 
 antient epic poem. But, for this, the 
 critic himfelf offers a vindication, when 
 he commends the author for not running 
 into the wild fables of the Italian roman- 
 cers, " which had too flender a founda- 
 " tion in the ferious belief of his age to 
 " juftify a relation to them." Now by 
 making this belief an effential rule of pro- 
 priety with refped to the machinery, an 
 author in an enlightened period, fuch as 
 that of D'avenant, is, in eff^edl, prohibited 
 from its ufe altogether ; for the abftradled 
 nature of a pure and philofophical religion 
 
 renders 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 147 
 
 renders it utterly unfit for the purpofes of 
 poetical fidion. The works of fucli 
 Chriftian poets as have attempted to form 
 a fyftem of machinery upon the ideas of 
 faints, angels, and tutelary fpirits, will 
 fufficiently prove that their religion, even 
 with a mixture of popular fuperftition, 
 was ill calculated to afTifl: their imaginati- 
 on. Two writers, whom one would little 
 expe61: to meet upon the fame ground. 
 Sir Richard Blackmore and Monf. Vol- 
 taire, have given inftances of the fame 
 faulty plan in this refpedt ; and nothing 
 in the good Knight's epic labours can 
 more deferve the attack of ridicule, than 
 the divine mifTion in the Henriade for in- 
 ftruding his Majefty in the fublime myf- 
 teries of tranfubilantiation. 
 
 It was a very juft charge which Plato 
 
 broup-ht a^rainft Homer, that he had 
 
 greatly contributed to debafe religion by 
 
 L 2 the 
 
148 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 the unworthy and abfurd reprefentations 
 he has given of the celeftial beings, both 
 with refped to their power, and their juf- 
 tice •, and this is a fault which the poet 
 muft always in fome meafure be guilty of 
 when he too familiarly mixes divine agen- 
 cy with human events. Nor does it ap- 
 pear more favourable to the greatnefs of 
 the human perfonages that they are on all 
 occafions fo beholden to the immediate 
 interpofition of divine allies. The refined 
 and judicious Virgil, though he has tole- 
 rably kept up the dignity of his Deities, 
 has yet very much lowered his heroes 
 from this caufe. When we fee iEneas, 
 the fon of a Goddefs, aided by a God, 
 and covered with celeftial armour, with 
 difficulty vanquifhing the gallant Turnus, 
 we conclude that without fuch odds the 
 vidtory muft have fallen on the other 
 fide. Under fuch a fyftem of fupernatu- 
 ral agency there was no other way of ex- 
 alting 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 149 
 
 altlng a man than making him, like 
 Diomed, war againll the Gods, or, like 
 Cato, approve a caufe which they had 
 unjuftly condemned. Surely a '•^ fiber in- 
 termixture of religion" can never be at- 
 tributed to the antient epic. The poem 
 of Gondibert is, indeed, without all this 
 mixture of religious machinery, whether 
 it be termed fober or extravagant. Hu- 
 man means are brought to accomplifli 
 human ends ; and Cowley, in his recom- 
 mendatory lines prefixed to the work, 
 has thus exprefled his approbation of this 
 part of the plan. 
 
 Methinks heroick poefie till now 
 Like fome fantaftique fairy-land did fliow ; 
 Gods, Devils, Nymphs, Witches, and Giant's race, 
 And all but Man, in man's beft work had place. 
 Thou, like fome worthy Knight, with facred arms 
 Doft drive the Monfters thence, and end the charms : 
 Inftead of thefe doft Men and Manners plant. 
 The things which that rich foil did chiefly want. 
 
 L3 We 
 
I50 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 We fhall fee hereafter that the author 
 has not negledled to introduce religious 
 fentinunt^ and that of a more noble and ele- 
 vated kind than can eafily be parallelled 
 in poetry. 
 
 But as the Poet, in the critic's opinion, 
 did too much in banifhing every thing 
 fupernatural in the events, fo he did too 
 little in retaining the fantaftic notions of 
 love and honour in the charaders of his 
 piece, which were derived from the fame 
 fource of fidlion and romance. There 
 is, however, an effential difference between 
 the cafes. Artificial fentiments, however 
 unnatural at fir ft, may, from the operati- 
 on of particular caufes, become fo fami- 
 liar as to be adopted into the manners of 
 the age. Inflances of fafhion in fenti- 
 ment are almofl as frequent as of fafhion 
 in drefs. It is certain that the romantic 
 ideas of love and honour did in fad: pre- 
 vail 
 
OF GONDTBERT. 151 
 
 vail in a high degree during a confidera- 
 ble period of the later ages, owing to 
 caufes which the fame ingenious critic 
 has in a very curious manner inveiligated, 
 in his letters on Chivalry and Romance, 
 They gave the leading tone to all polilh- 
 ed manners •, and gallantry was as ferious 
 a principle in the Italian courts, as love 
 to their country in the dates of Greece or 
 old Rome. Supernatural agency in hu- 
 man events, on the other hand, however 
 commonly pretended, or firmly believed, 
 would nev^er approach one flep nearer to 
 reality. After all, the author of Gondi- 
 bert could not intend to reduce his poem 
 to mere hiftory ; but he chofe to take a 
 poetical licence in the dignity and eleva- 
 tion of its fentiments, rather than in the 
 marvelloufnefs of its events. He thoudic 
 he might attribute to the exalted perfo- 
 nages of courts and camps the fame no- 
 blenefs of mind which himfelf, a courtier 
 L A and 
 
152 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 and a foldier, pofTefled. If his work be 
 allowed lefs grand and entertaining from 
 the want of fuch ornaments as thofe of 
 his predecelTors are decorated with, it 
 will yet be difficult to fhow how, at his 
 time, they could have been applied con- 
 fidently with good {^nk and improved 
 tade. 
 
 So much in vindication of the general 
 method of Sir W. D'avenant's poem. 
 With refpe(5l to its execution^ the juftice 
 of Dr. Hurd's cenfure cannot be contro- 
 verted. That his fentiments are frequently 
 far-fetched and affeded, and his expreffi- 
 on, quaint and obfcure, is but too obvi- 
 oufly apparent ; and thefe faults, together 
 with the want of harmony in verfification, 
 will fufficiently account for the negled in- 
 to which the work is fallen, though inte- 
 refting in its flory, and thick-fown with 
 beauties. Readers who take up a book 
 
 merely 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 153 
 
 merely for the indolent amufement of a 
 
 leifure hour, cannot endure the labour of 
 
 unharbouring a fine thought from the 
 
 cover of perplexed exprefTion. The plea- 
 
 fure arifing from a flowing line or a 
 
 rounded period is more engaging to them, 
 
 becaufe more eafily enjoyed, than that 
 
 from a fublime or witty conception. The 
 
 author's faulty execution^ however, arofe 
 
 from a fource diredly contrary to the 
 
 " dread of imitation." Imitation itfelf 
 
 lead him to it ; for almoft all the models 
 
 of polite literature exifling in his own 
 
 country, and indeed in the other polifhed 
 
 nations of Europe, were charaderized by 
 
 the very fame vitiation of tafte. Among 
 
 our own v/riters it is fufficient to inftance- 
 
 Donne, Suckling and Cowley for this 
 
 conflant affedation of wit and uncommon 
 
 fentiment, and for a confequent obfcurity 
 
 of exprefTion. Yet all thefe, and Sir 
 
 W. D'avenant, perhaps, in a more emi- 
 nent 
 
154 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 nent degree than the reft, had for great 
 occafions, above the temptation of trifling, 
 a majeftic and nervous fimplicity both of 
 fentiment and expreffion •, which, with our 
 more refined tafte and language, we have 
 never been able to equal. 
 
 I SHOujLD now hope that the reader 
 would {ct out with me upon a nearer in- 
 fpe6lion of this poem, with the general 
 idea of its being the work of an elevated 
 genius, pregnant with a rich ftore of free 
 and noble fentiment, faftiioned by an in- 
 timate commerce with the great world, 
 and boldly purfuing an original, but not 
 an unfkilful plan. 
 
 The meafure chofen for this poem is 
 that which wq now almoft confine to ele- 
 gy. This choice does not appear very 
 judicious ; for although our elegiac ftanza 
 pofTefies allrength andfullnefs which ren- 
 ders 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 155 
 
 ders it not unfuitable to heroic fubjeds, 
 yet in a piece of confiderable length, every 
 returning meafure muft become tirefome 
 from its frequent repedtions. And this 
 is not the worfl effed of returning (lan- 
 zas, in a long work. The necefTity of 
 comprizing a fentence within the limits 
 of the meafure is the tyranny of Procruiles 
 to thought. For the fake of a dilagree- 
 able uniformity, exprefiion muft conltant- 
 ly be cramped or extenuated. In general 
 the latter expedient v/iU be pradifed, as 
 the eafieft ; and thus both fentiment and 
 language will be enfeebled by unmeaning 
 expleuves. This, indeed, in fome mea- 
 fure is the effea of rhyme couplets -, and 
 ftill more of the latin hexameter and 
 pentameter. In our author, a redundancy 
 of thought, running out into parenthefes, 
 feems to have been produced, or at leaft 
 encourao:ed by the meafure. But I think, 
 
 he 
 
iS6 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 he has generally preferved a force and 
 majefly of expreflion. 
 
 It would have been highly injudicious 
 for one who has rejedled all poetical ma- 
 chinery, to have begun his poem with 
 the antient form of invoking a Mufe. In- 
 deed, in all modern writers this invocation 
 appears little better than an unmeaning 
 ceremony, pra6tifed by rote from antient 
 cuftom ; and very properly makes a part 
 of the receipt for an epic poem humouroufly 
 laid down after the exad model of me- 
 chanical imitation, in the Spectator. Our 
 author, with fimple and unaffefted dignity, 
 thus opens at once into his fubjed : 
 
 Of all the Lombards, by their trophies known. 
 Who fought fame foon, and had her favour longt 
 
 King Aribert beft feem'd to fill the throne. 
 And bred moll bulinefs for heroick fong. 
 
 This conquering monarch, we are foon 
 
 acquainted, 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 157 
 
 acquainted, was bled with an only child, 
 the heroine of the ftory. 
 
 Recorded Rhodalind! whofe high renown 
 Who miis in books not luckily have read; 
 
 Or vexM with living beauties of their own 
 Have lhunn*d the wife records of lovers dead. 
 
 Description's of female beauty have 
 engaged the powers of poets in every age, 
 who have exhaufled all nature for imagery 
 to heighten their painting ; yet the pidturc 
 has ever been extremely faint and inade- 
 quate. Our poet judicioufly confines his 
 defcription of Rhodalind to the qualities 
 of her mind, contenting himfelf with ge- 
 neral praifes, though in the high-flown 
 gallantry of the times, of her perfonal 
 charms. 
 
 Her looks like empire Ihew'd, great above pride ; 
 
 Since pride ill counterfeits exceffive height : 
 But nature publifh'd what fhe fain would hide. 
 
 Who for her deeds, not beauty, lov*d the light. 
 
 To 
 
158 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 To make her lowly mind's appearance lefs, 
 She us'd feme outward greatnefs for difguife ; 
 
 Efteem'd as pride the cloyft'ral lowlinefs. 
 
 And thought them proud who even theproud defpife. 
 
 Oppreflbrs big with pride, when fhe appeared 
 Blulh'd, and believM their greatnefs counterfeit 3 
 
 The lowly thought they them in vain had fear'd ; 
 Found virtue harmlefs, and nought elfe fo great. 
 
 Her mind (fcarce to her feeble fex a- kin) 
 Did as her birth, her right to empire fliow; 
 
 Seem'd carelefs outward when employ'd within ; 
 Her fpeech, like lovers watch'd, was kind and low. 
 
 The court of Aribert could not want 
 men of high rank and accomplilhments 
 to pay their devotions at fuch a Ihrine. 
 Among thefe " Oswald the great, and 
 greater Gondibert" moved in the moft 
 exalted fphere of renown. Thefe noble 
 
 perfonages 
 
OF- GONDIBERT. 15^ 
 
 perfonages are chara6lerized and contrafV- 
 ed with fo mafterly a hand that it would 
 be an injury not to tranfcribe the whole. 
 
 In court Prince Ofwald coftly was and gay. 
 Finer than near vain kings their fav'rites are; 
 
 OutihinM bright fav'rites on their nuptial day; 
 Yet were his eyes dark with ambitious care. 
 
 Duke Gondibert was ftill more gravely clad. 
 But yet his looks familiar were and clear; 
 
 As if with ill to others never fad, 
 
 Nor towards liimfelf could others pradlice fear. 
 
 The Prince could porpoife-like in tempefts play, 
 And in court ftorms on (hipwreck'd greatnefs feed; 
 
 Not frighted with their fate when cafl away. 
 But to their glorious hazards duift fucceed. 
 
 The Duke would lafting calms to courts afllire. 
 As pleafant gardens we defend from winds; 
 
 For he who bus'nefs would from florms procure^ 
 Soon his affairs above his manage finds. 
 
 Ofwald 
 
i6o ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 Ofwald in throngs the abjeft people fought 
 With humble looks ; who ftill too late will know 
 
 They are ambition's quarry, and foon caught 
 When the afpiring eagle (loops fo low. 
 
 The Duke did thefe by fteady virtue gain ; 
 
 Which they in adtion more than precept tafte ; 
 Deeds fliew the good, and thofe who goodnefs feign 
 
 By fuch even through their vizards are outfac't. 
 
 Ofwald in war was worthily renown'd ; 
 
 Though gay in courts, coarfely in camps could live; 
 Judg'd danger foon, and firll was in it found ; 
 
 Could toil to gain what he with eafc did give. 
 
 Yet toils and dangers through ambition lov*d. 
 Which does in war the name of virtue own : 
 
 But quits that name when from the war removed. 
 As rivers theirs when from their channels gone. 
 
 The Duke (as reftlefs as his fame in war) 
 With martial toil could Ofwald weary make. 
 
 And calmly do what he with rage did dare. 
 And give fo much as he might deign to take. 
 
 Him 
 
OF GONDIBERT. i6i 
 
 Him as their founder cities did adore ; 
 
 The court he knew to fleer In ftorms of ftate ; 
 In fields a battle lofl he could reftore, 
 
 And after force the vigors to their fate. 
 
 Of thefe great rivals, Gondibert was 
 he whom the king had deftined for his 
 fon-in-law, and the heir of his throne ; and 
 Rhodalind too, in the privacy of her own 
 bread, had n>ade the fame choice. This 
 is related in a manner little inferior to 
 Shakefpear's famous defcription of concea- 
 led love. 
 
 Yet fadly it is fung that Ihe in fhades 
 
 Mildly as mourning doves love's forrows felt 5 
 
 Whilft in her fecret tears her frefhnefs fades. 
 As rofes filently in lymbecks melt. 
 
 Gondibert, however, though of a na- 
 ture by no means unfufceptible of the 
 tender pafTion, had not as yet felt it for a 
 particular objed: •, and Ofwald, who flood 
 forth as the public fuitor to the princefs, 
 M waa 
 
i62 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 was incited by no other motive than am- 
 bition. Not Rhodalind herfelf (fays the 
 Poet) 
 
 Could he affedl but fhlning in her throne. 
 
 His caufe was powerfully pleaded with 
 the princefs by his fifter Gartha, with 
 whom we are next brought acquainted. 
 A bold, full, majeftic beauty, and a 
 correfponding mind, high, refllefs, and 
 afpiring, are her diftinguifhing features. 
 The Prince and Duke were urged on to 
 ambitious purfuits by their refpedive ar- 
 mies, which, juft returned from conqueft, 
 lay encamped, the one at Brefcia, and the 
 other at Bergamo. That of Gondibert 
 was compofed of hardy youth whom he 
 had fele6ted from his father's camp, and 
 educated in martial difcjpline under his 
 own infpedion. Temperance, chaftity, 
 vigilance, humanity, and all the high virtues 
 Qf chivalry remarkably diftinguifh thefe 
 
 young 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 163 
 
 young foldiers from thofe of later times. 
 Beauty, indeed, commanded no lefs re- 
 gard amongft them than in a modern 
 camp -, but it was an objed of pafTion, 
 and not of appetite •, and was the power- 
 ful engine in their education which infpi- 
 red them with noble and exalted fenti- 
 ments. This is an idea on which our au- 
 thor, true to the principles of chivalry, 
 very frequently enlarges, and always with 
 peculiar force and dignity. In the pre- 
 fent inftance it is thus finely exprcfled. 
 
 But tho' the Duke taught rigid difcipline. 
 He let them beauty thus at diftance know ; 
 
 As priefts difcover fome more facred (hrine. 
 
 Which none muft touch, yet all to it may bow. 
 
 When thus as fuitors mourning virgins pafs 
 Thro' their clean camp, themfelves in form they drawj 
 
 That they with martial reverence may grace 
 Beauty, the flranger, which they feldom faw. 
 
 M z They 
 
1 64 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 They vayl'd their enfigns as it by did move, 
 
 Whilft inward, as from native confcience, all 
 Worfhip'd the poet*s darling godhead. Love ; 
 Which grave philofophers did Nature call. 
 
 Indeed, the influence of this pafTion 
 in its pureft and mod exalted ftate, du- 
 ring the courfe of education, is a fubjedt 
 that might, perhaps, Ihine as much in 
 the hands of a moralift as of a poet. 
 
 The foldiers of Ofwald were his father's 
 brave veterans, in whofe arms he had been 
 bred. The ftory thus opened, and our 
 attention awakened to the expectation of 
 important events, the firfl canto is clofed. 
 
 The fecond canto introduces us to a 
 folemn annual hunting, held by Duke 
 Gondibert in commemoration of a great 
 vidlory gained on this day by his grand- 
 fire. His train was adorned by many 
 gallant and noble perfons, the friends of 
 his family, and commanders in his army. 
 
 The 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 165 
 
 The hunting, which is defcribed with 
 much poetical fpirit, terminates in a com- 
 bat. As Gondibert and his party are re- 
 turnino- weary homeward, an antient ran- 
 ger haftily brings the tidings that Ofwald, 
 who had lain in ambulh with a body of 
 chofen horfe, is advancing upon them. The 
 Duke, rejedling all counfels of flight, pre- 
 pares to receive his foes-, and with an 
 account of their principal leaders, and 
 the order of their march, the canto con- 
 cludes. . 
 
 A PARLEY between the chiefs now fuc- 
 ceeds, in which the charadler of each is 
 well preferved. Ofwald warmly accufes 
 his rival for ufurping his claims on the 
 princefs and the kingdom. Gondibert 
 defends himfelf with temper, and difavows 
 all ambitious defigns. The other difdains 
 accommodation j and the conference ends 
 in a generous agreement to decide their 
 differences in fingle fight. 
 
 M 3 When 
 
1 66 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 When every thing is prepared for the 
 combat, Hubert, the brother of Ofwald, 
 Heps forth with a general challenge to the 
 Cppofite party. This is inftantly accept- 
 ed, and ferves for a prelude to fo many 
 others, that a general engagement feems 
 likely to enfue ; when Ofwald reproves 
 their difobedient ardour : and, upon Hu- 
 berts infilling to fhare his fate from the 
 rights of brotherhood, it is at length deci- 
 ded that three perfons of each party fhould 
 enter the lifts along with their generals. 
 The duel then comes on, in the fourth 
 canto ; in which Ofwald, Hubert, Para- 
 dine and Dargonet, are feverally match- 
 ed with Gondibert ^ Hurgonil, the lover 
 of Orna, the Dukes fifter^ and Arnold 
 and Hugo, generous rivals in Laura. 
 Defcriptions of battle are fo frequent in 
 epic poetry that fcarcely any circumftan- 
 ces of variety are left to diverfify them. 
 Homer and his imitators have attempt- 
 ed 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 167 
 
 cd novelty in the multiplicity of their 
 combats by every pofTible variation of wea- 
 pon, pofture, and wound. They con- 
 fidered the human body with anatomical 
 nicety ; and dwelt with a favage pleafure 
 upon every idea of pain and horror that 
 ftudied butchery could excite. I Ihall 
 leave it to the profefTed admirers of anti- 
 quity to determine under what head of 
 poetical beauty fuch objeds are to be ran- 
 ged. The terrible is certainly a princi- 
 pal fource of the fublime •, but a flaugh- 
 t^r-houfe or a furgery would not feeni 
 proper ftudies for a poet. D'avenant has 
 drawn little from them. His battles arc 
 rendered interefting chiefly by the charac- 
 ter and fituation of the combatants. When 
 Arnold, the favoured lover of Laura, is 
 flain by Paradine, Hugo, who had over- 
 thrown his antagonift, fprings to avenge 
 his rival, with thefe truly gallant expref- 
 fions. 
 
 M4. Vak 
 
i68 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 Vain conqueror, faid Hugo then, return ! 
 
 Inftead of laurel which the viflor wears 
 Go gather cyprefs for thy brother's urn, 
 
 And learn of me to water it with tears. 
 
 Thy brother loft his life attempting mine ; 
 
 Which cannot for Lord Arnold's lofs fuffice : 
 I muft revenge, unlucky Paradine ! 
 
 The blood his death will draw from Laura's eyes. 
 
 We rivals were in Laura, ; but tho' Ihe 
 
 My griefs derided, his with iighs approved. 
 
 Yet I, in love's exadl integrity, 
 
 Muft take thy life for killing him fhe lov'd. 
 
 His generofity, however, was fatal 
 both to his foe and himfelf, 
 
 Hubert, difabled by a wound in his arm, 
 is difhonoured by receiving his life from 
 his conqueror ; upon which occafion the 
 poet thus beautifully apoftrophifes. 
 
 O Honour, frail as life thy fellow flower ! 
 
 Cherifti'd and watch'd and hum'roufly efteem'd. 
 Then worn for fhort adornments of an hour ; 
 
 And is when loft, no more than life redeem'd. 
 
 The 
 
OF GONDIBERT. i6g 
 
 The two chiefs are flill left clofely en- 
 gaging-, and when Hurgonil approaches 
 to aflift his lord, he is warmly command- 
 ed to retire. At length, after many mu- 
 tual wounds, Ofwald falls. 
 
 The death of the Prince at the fame 
 time takes off all reftraint from his party, 
 and incites them to revenge. Led by 
 the wounded Hubert, old Vafco, and 
 Borgio, they attack the hunters, who, be- 
 fides the fatigue of the chace, are repre- 
 fented as fomewhat inferior in number. 
 A furious battle, the fubjedt of the fifth 
 canto, now enfues. Gondibert fhines 
 forth in all the fplendor of a hero. By 
 his prowefs his friends are refcued, and 
 the oppofite leaders overthrown in vari- 
 ous feparate encounters ; and by his mi- 
 litary fkill the brave veterans of Ofwald 
 are defeated. The whole defcription of 
 the battle is warm and animated. 
 
 In 
 
170 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 In Gondibert's generous lamentation 
 over the fallen, every heart mud fympa- 
 thize with the following pathetic tribute 
 to the rival lovers. 
 
 Brave Arnold and his rival (Irait remove, 
 
 Where Laura Ihall bellrew their hallow'd ground; 
 
 Protedlors both, and ornaments of love ; 
 
 This faid, his eyes out wept his widefl wound. 
 
 Tell her now thefe, love*s faithful faints, are gone 
 The beauty they ador'd fhe ought to hide ; 
 
 For vainly will love*s miracles be Ihown, 
 
 Since lover's faith with thefe brave rivals dy'd. 
 
 Say little Hugo never more {hall mourn 
 In noble numbers, her unkind difdain ; 
 
 Who now, not feeing beauty, feels no fcorn ; 
 And wanting pleafure, is exempt from pain. 
 
 When fhe with flowers Lord Arnold's grave Ihall ftrew. 
 And hears why Hugo's life was thrown away. 
 
 She on that rival's hearfe will drop a few, 
 Which merits all that April gives to May. 
 
 The Duke now draws off his remaining 
 friends towards Bergamo : but on the jour- 
 ney, 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 171 
 
 ney, overcome by fatigue and lofs of blood, 
 he falls into a deadly fwoon. His atten- 
 dants, amidft their anxiety and confufion 
 upon this event, are furprifed, in the fixth 
 canto, with the approach of a fquadron 
 of horfe. This, however proves to be 
 a friendly body, led by old Ulfin ; who, 
 after recovering the Duke by a cordial, 
 declares himfelf to have been a page to 
 his grandfire, and gives a noble relation 
 of the charadler and exploits of his great 
 mafter. The rumour of Ofwald's attack 
 brought him to the relief of Gondibert; 
 and we have a defcription, which will be 
 thought too much bordering upon the 
 ludicrous, of the ftrange confufion among 
 his maimed veterans, who in their hafte 
 had feized upon each other's artificial 
 limbs. This unfightly troop, with the 
 deficiences of hands, arms, legs and eyes, 
 can fcarcely, with all the poet's art, 
 be rendered a refpedable objed. Such 
 
 inftances 
 
172 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 inftances of faulty judgment are frequent 
 in the writings of an age which was cha- 
 ra6lerized by vigour of imagination rather 
 than correftnefs of tafte. Ulfin leads the 
 Duke to the houfe of the fage A dragon, 
 where, with the approach of night, the 
 canto and the firft book conclude. 
 
 In the beginning of the fecond book, 
 the poet carries us with Hurgonil and 
 Tybalt and their noble dead, to Verona. 
 The diftant turrets firft appearing, and then 
 the great objedts opening, one by one; the 
 river, the palace, the temple, and the am- 
 phitheatre of Flaminius, form a landfcape 
 truly noble and pidturefque. The view 
 of the temple gives occafion to one of thofe 
 elevated religious fentiments which digni^ 
 fy this poem. 
 
 This to foothe heaven the bloody Clephes built; 
 As if heaven's king fo foft and eafy were, 
 
 $9 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 173 
 
 So meanly hous*d in heaven, and kind to guilt. 
 That he would be a tyrant's tenant here. 
 
 We have then a lively defcription of a 
 city morning ; with the various and un- 
 certain rumours of the late event, among 
 the people. The reft of the canto is em- 
 ployed in a debate, rather tedious, though 
 intermixed with fine fentiments, concern- 
 ing the propriety of granting funeral rites 
 to thofe who had perifhed in the quarrel. 
 
 The progrefs of the fatal news is traced 
 in the next canto. Aribert appears fit- 
 ting in council in all the regal dignity. 
 Tybalt relates the ftory. The king in a 
 majeftic fpeech complains of the toils 
 and cares of empire, and predids the bane^- 
 ful confequences likely to enfue. A more 
 interefting fcene is then difclofed, in which 
 Tybalt declares the melancholy events of 
 the combat to Rhodalind and the other 
 
 ladiea 
 
174 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 ladies of the court. Great art is fhown 
 in the delicate ambiguity by which they 
 are prepared to receive the tidings. Lau- 
 ra is overpowered by her lofs ; and calling 
 on Arnold's name, is conveyed away by 
 her female attendants. This tender fcene 
 of forrow is finely contrafted by the abrupt 
 entrance of Gartha, in all the wild pomp 
 of mingled rage and grief. 
 
 No fooner was the pity'd Laura gone, 
 But OAvald's filler, Gartha the renown'd. 
 
 Enters as if the world was overthrown. 
 Or in the tears of the afflifted drown'd. 
 
 Unconquer'd as her beauty was her mind, 
 Which wanted not a fpark of Ofwald's fire; 
 
 Ambition lov'd but ne'er to love was kind ; 
 VexM thrones did more than quiet fhades ddirc* 
 
 Her garments now in loofe negleft (he wore. 
 As fuited to her wild dilheveird hair . 
 
 In 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 175 
 
 In the fury of her pafTion Ihe breaks out 
 into execrations againft the innocent. 
 
 Blafled be all your beauties, Rhodalind I 
 Till you a fhame and terror be to fight ; 
 
 UnwingM be Love, and flow as he is blind. 
 Who with your looks poifonM my brother's fight! 
 
 At length flie mounts her chariot, and 
 flies with the wings of revenge to the ve- 
 teran camp at Brefcia. The terror im- 
 preifed on the people by her hafty depar- 
 ture is imaged with great fublimity. 
 
 She feeiTiM their city's Genius as flie pafsM, 
 Who, by their fins expeli'd, would ne'er return. 
 
 The third canto brings us to Brefcia, 
 where Hubert's arrival with the dead body 
 of Ofwald excites every emotion of fur- 
 .prize, grief and fury in the breafts of the 
 
 brave 
 
176 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 brave veterans. They fpend the night in 
 this ftorm of contending pafTions \ and at 
 day-break afTemble round the tent of Hu- 
 bert, "who by a noble harangue gives ad- 
 ditional fire to their revenge. They in- 
 ftantly arm, and demand to be led to 
 Bergamo;' when Gartha arrives. She 
 turns their vengeance againft the court, 
 where fhe reprefents the triumph of Gon- 
 dibert's faftion, and the difhonour call 
 upon their own. The rage difcovered in 
 her countenance, overpowering the fymp- 
 toms of grief, is painted with amazing 
 grandeur in the following fmiile : 
 
 The Sun did thus to threatened nature ftiow 
 His anger red, whilft guilt look'd pale in all. 
 
 When clouds of floods did hang about his brow; 
 And then fhrunk back to let that anger fall. 
 
 This tempeft is, however, allayed in 
 the next canto by the arrival of the wife 
 
 Hermegild ; 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 17^ 
 
 Hermegild ; who, though grown aged in 
 war and politics, is pofTefTed with a youth- 
 ful pafTion for Gartha. He folemnly 
 binds his fervices to their party, for the 
 reward of Gartha's love-, but perfuades 
 them to fubmit to more cautious and pa- 
 cific meafures. Gartha returns with him 
 to the court ; and the funeral of Ofwald 
 with Roman rites, " Which yet the world's 
 laft law had not forbid," is defcribed in 
 the remaining part of the canto. 
 
 From fcenes of rage and tumult the 
 poet then leads us to the quiet lhadesj3f 
 philofophy in the houfe of Aftragon. 
 This change is not better calculated for 
 the reader's relief, than for a diiplay of 
 the richnefs and elevation of the writer's 
 mind. That the friend of Hobbes fhould 
 defpife the learned lumber of the fchools 
 will not be thought extraordinary, but 
 that he fhould diftindtly mark out fuch 
 N plans 
 
178 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 plans of acquiring knowledge as have 
 fince been purfued with the greateft fuc- 
 cefs, may well be deemed a remarkable 
 proof of high and comprehenfive genius. 
 In Aftragon's domain is a retired build- 
 ing, upon which is written in large let- 
 ters, GREAT nature's OFFICE. Here fit 
 certain venerable fages, fliled Nature's 
 Regifters^ bufied in recording what is 
 brought them by a throng called their 
 Intelligencers. Thefe men are diverfly 
 employed in exploring the haunts of 
 beads, of birds and of iifhes, and col- 
 lecting obfervations of their manners, 
 their prey, their increafe, and every cir- 
 cumftance of their oeconomy. Near this 
 place is nature's nursery, {locked 
 with every fpecies of plants, of which 
 the feveral properties and virtues are di- 
 ligently examined. Is it not flriking to 
 find in the boufe of Aftragon fo exad a 
 model of the fchool of Linnaus ? 
 
 We 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 17^ 
 
 We are next led to the cabinet of 
 DEATH; a receptacle for fkeletons apd 
 anatomical curiofities of every kind : and 
 from thence, by a pleafing analogy, to 
 the library, or, as it is termed, the mo- 
 nument OF banish'd minds. The 
 feelings of his guefts on entering this 
 room are thus defcribed ; 
 
 Where, when they thought they faw in well fought books 
 Th* aflembled fouls of all that men held wife, 
 
 It bred fuch awful rev'rence in their looks 
 As if they faw the bury*d writers rife. 
 
 The poet then goes through a parti- 
 cular furvey of the authors, diftinguilhed 
 into their feveral periods, countries, and 
 profeffions •, in which he exhibits a great 
 extent of learning, and, much more to 
 his honour, a found and liberal judgment 
 of what is truly valuable in learning. Of 
 this, his account of the polemic divines 
 will be thought no unfavourable fpecimen, 
 N z About 
 
I So ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 About this facred little book did Hand 
 
 Unwieldy volumes, and in number great; 
 
 And long it was fince any reader's hand 
 
 Had reach'd them from their unfrequented feat. 
 
 For a deep dull (which time does fofdy fhed. 
 Where only time does come) their covers bear; 
 
 On which grave fpiders ftreets of webs had fpread. 
 Subtle, and flight, as the grave writers were. 
 
 In thefe heaven's holy fire does vainly burn. 
 Nor warms, nor lights, but is in fparkles fpent; 
 
 Where froward authors with difpntes have torn 
 The garment feamlefs as the firmament. 
 
 If the fubje6i:s of this canto appear 
 more noble and elevated than thofe which 
 ufually employ the epi lodes of heroic 
 poetry, that of the enfuing one muft 
 ftrike with flill fuperior dignity. Having 
 acquainted us with the philofophy of his 
 admired fage, the poet now, by a beau- 
 tiful kind of allegory, inftruds us in his 
 religion. Aftragon had dedicated three 
 temples, to prayer, to PENitENCE, and 
 
 to 
 
OF GONDIBERT. i8i 
 
 to PRAISE. The temple of Pj-ayer is de- 
 fcribed as a building quite plain, open, 
 and without bells ; lince nothing fhould 
 tempt or fummon to an office to which 
 our own wants invite us. The duty of 
 Penitence being a feverity unpleafing to 
 nature, its temple is contrived, by its fo- 
 lemn and uncommon appearance, to catch 
 the fenfe. It is a vafl building of black 
 marble, hung with black, and furnifhed 
 with that " dim religious light " which 
 poets have fo finely employed to excite 
 kindred ideas of gloom and melancholy : 
 but none, I think, have painted it with 
 fuch ftreno-th of colouring as our au- 
 
 o V-' 
 
 thor : 
 
 Black curtain's hide the glafs ; whilft from on high 
 A winking lamp Hill threatens all the room. 
 
 As If the lazy flame juft now would die : 
 
 Such will the fun's laft light appear at doom. 
 
 A tolling bell calls to the temple ; and 
 N g every 
 
i82 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 every other circumftance belonging to it 
 is imagined with great propriety and 
 beauty. 
 
 But the poet's greateft exertions are 
 referved for his favourite temple of Praife. 
 A general fhout of joy is the fummons to 
 it. The building in its materials and 
 architedure is gay and fplendid beyond, 
 the mod fumptuous palace. The front 
 is adorned with figures of all kinds of 
 rnufical inflruments ; all, as he mofl: 
 beautifully expreffes it. 
 
 That joy did e'er invent, or breath infpir'd. 
 Or flying fingers touched into a voice. 
 
 The ftatues without, the pi6lures within, 
 the decorations, and the choir of wor- 
 Ihippers, are. all fuited with nice judg- 
 ment, and defcribed with genuine poetry. 
 This diftinguillied canto concludes with 
 
 thefe 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 183 
 
 thefe noble ftanzas, the fum and moral, 
 as it were, of the whole. 
 
 Praifc is devotion fit for mighty minds ; 
 
 The diiF'ring world's agreeing facrifice ; 
 Where heaven divided faiths united finds : 
 
 But Prayer in various difcord upwards flies. 
 
 For Prayer the ocean is, where diverfly 
 
 Men fteer their courfe, each to a fev*ral coaft; 
 
 Where all our interefts fo difcordant be 
 
 That half beg winds by which the reft are loft. 
 
 By Penitence when we ourfelves forfake, 
 'Tis but in wife defign on piteoas heav*n ; 
 
 In Praife we nobly give what God may take. 
 And are without a beggar's blufh forgiv'n. 
 
 Its utmoft force, like powder's, is unknown ; 
 
 And tho' weak kings excefs of Praife may fear. 
 Yet when *tis here, like powder, dangerous grown, 
 
 Heav'ns vault receives what would the palace tear. 
 
 The laft thought will be termed, in this 
 
 cold age, a conceit; and fo may every 
 
 N 4 thing 
 
1 84 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 thing that diflinguifhes wit and poetry 
 from plain fenlc and profe. 
 
 The wonders o^ xht houfe of Aftragon 
 are not yet exhaufled. 
 
 To Aflra^on heaven for fucceffion gave 
 
 One only pledge, and Birth a was her name. 
 
 This maid, her father's humble difci- 
 ple and alTiftant, educated in the bofom 
 of rural fmiplicity, is rendered a more 
 charming obje(5l than even the renowned 
 Rhodalind upon her throne. 
 
 Courts fhe ne'er faw, yet courts could have undone 
 With untaught looks and an unpraftis'd heart ; 
 
 Her nets the moft preparM could never (hun. 
 For Nature fpread them in the fcorn of Art. 
 
 But I check my defire of copying 
 more from this exquifitely pleafmg pic- 
 ture, My intention is to excite curiofity, 
 
 not 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 185 
 
 not to gratify it. I hope I have already 
 done enough for that purpofe ; and fmce 
 the reft of this unfinifhed ftory may be 
 comprized in a fhort compafs, I Ihall 
 proceed, with but few interruptions, to 
 conclude a paper already fwelled to an 
 unexpected bulk. 
 
 That the unpradlifed Birtha lliould 
 
 entertain an unrefifted pafTion for the no- 
 
 bleft of his fex ♦, and that Gondibert, 
 
 whofe want of ambition alone hadfecured 
 
 him from the charms of Rhodalind, fhould 
 
 bow to thofe of his lovely hoftefs and 
 
 handmaid, will be thought a very natural 
 
 turn in the ftory ; upon which, however, 
 
 the reader may forefee the moft interefting 
 
 events depending. The progrefs of their 
 
 love, though fcarcely known to them- 
 
 felyes, is foon difcovered by the fage 
 
 Aftragon. This is expreffed by the poet 
 
 with a very fine turn of a common 
 
 thought, 
 
 When 
 
i86 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 When all thefe fyniptoms he obferved, he knows 
 From Alga which is rooted deep in feas. 
 
 To the high Cedar that on mountains grows, 
 No fov'reign herb is found for their difeafe. 
 
 The remainder of this poem, confifling 
 of a third book written during the au- 
 thor's imprifonment, is compofed of fe- 
 veral detached fcenes, in which the main 
 plot lies ripening for future adtion. Ri- 
 vals are raifed in Birtha. Flattering ad- 
 vances from the court, and more open 
 declarations of love from Rhodalind, are 
 in vain employed to aflail the conftancy 
 of Gondibert. Various conflidls of pafTion 
 arife, and interefting fituations, well ima- 
 gined, and painted in lively colours. 
 Much is given, as in the former parts, 
 to the introdudlion of elevated fentiment-, 
 with one example of which I Ihall finifh 
 my quotations. Several well-born youths 
 are placed about the perfon of Gondibert 
 as his pages, whofe education confifts of 
 
 the 
 
OF GONDIBERT. 187 
 
 the following great leflbns from their 
 lord. 
 
 But with the early fun he rofe, and taught 
 
 Thefe youths by growing Virtue to grow great ; 
 
 ShewM greatnefs is without it blindly fought, 
 A defperate charge which ends in bafc retreat. 
 
 He taught them Shame, the fudden fenfe of ill ; 
 
 Shame, nature's hafty confcience, which forbids 
 Weak inclination ere it grows to will. 
 
 Or Hays raih will before it grows to deeds* 
 
 He taught them Honour, Virtue's bafhfulnefs ; 
 
 A fort fo yieldlefs that it fears to treat ; 
 Like power it grows to nothing, growing lefsj 
 
 Honour, the moral confcience of the great. 
 
 He taught them Kindnefs ; fouPs civility. 
 In which, nor courts, nor cities have a part; 
 
 For theirs is falhion, this from falfhood free. 
 Where love and pleafure know no lull nor art. 
 
 And Love he taught ; the foul's ftol'n vlfit made 
 Tho' froward age watch hard, and law forbid ; 
 
 Her 
 
i88 ON THE HEROIC POEM 
 
 Her walks no fpy has trac'd, nor mountain (laid ; 
 Her friend{hip*s caufc is as the loadfione hid. 
 
 He taught them love of Toil; Toil which does keep 
 Obftruftions from the mind, and quench the blood ; 
 
 Eafe but belongs to us like fleep, and fleep. 
 Like Opium, is our med'cine, not our food. ' 
 
 The plot is at length involved in fo 
 many intricate and apparently unfur- 
 mountable difficulties,^ that it is fcarce 
 poffible to conceive a fatisfa(5Vory termi- 
 nation. Perhaps the poet was fenfible 
 of a want of power to extricate himfelf, 
 and chofe thus to fubmit to a voluntary 
 bankruptcy of invention, rather than ha- 
 zard his reputation by going further. In 
 his poftfcript, indeed, he excufes himfelf 
 on account of ficknefs and approaching 
 diiTolution. However difappointed we 
 may be by his abrupt departure from 
 fcenes which he has filled with confufion, 
 ^e ought not to forget the pleafures al- 
 ready 
 
OF GONDIBERT. i^ 
 
 ready received from them. " If (fays he 
 to his reader, with more than the fpirit 
 of a dying man) thou art one of thofe 
 who has been warmed with poetic fire, 
 I reverence thee as my judge." From 
 fuch a judicature, this noble fragment 
 w6uld, I doubt not, acquire for him 
 what the critic laments his having loft, 
 " the pofTefTion of that true and permar 
 nent glory of which his large foul appears 
 to have been full. " * 
 
 * Difc, on Poetical Imiratlon-. 
 
 AN 
 
( 19° ) 
 
 A N 
 
 E N Q^ U I R Y 
 
 INTO THOSE KINDS OF 
 
 DISTRESS 
 
 WHICH EXCITE 
 
 AGREEABLE SENSATIONS. 
 
 IT is undoubtedly true, though a pha^- 
 nomenon of the human mind difficult 
 to account for, that the reprefentation of 
 diilrefs frequently gives pleafurej from 
 
 which 
 
AN ENQUIRY 191 
 
 which general obfervation many of our 
 modern writers of tragedy and romance 
 feem to have drawn this inference, that 
 in order to pleafe they have nothing more 
 to do than to paint diftrefs in natural and 
 ftriking colours. With this view, they 
 heap together all the affliding events and 
 difmal accidents their imagination can 
 furnifli ; and when they have half broke 
 the reader's heart, they exped he fhould 
 thank them for his agreeable entertain- 
 ment. An author of this clafs fits down, 
 pretty much like an inquifitor, to com- 
 pute how much fuffering he can inflidl 
 upon the hero of his tale before he makes 
 an end of him : with this difference, in- 
 deed, that the inquifitor only tortures 
 thofe who are at leaft reputed criminals ; 
 whereas the writer generally choofes the 
 moft excellent charader in his piece for 
 the fubjedb of his perfccution. The great 
 criterion of excellence is placed in being 
 
 able 
 
1^2 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 able to draw tears plentifully ; and coil- 
 eluding we Ihall weep the more, the more 
 - the pidure is loaded with doleful events, 
 they go on telling 
 
 of forrows upon forrows 
 
 Even to a lamentable length of woe. 
 
 A MONARCH once propofed a reward 
 for the difcovery of a new pleafure -, but 
 if any one could find out a new torture^ 
 or non-defcript calamity, he would be 
 more entitled to the applaufe of thofe 
 who fabricate books of entertainm.ent. 
 
 .** But the fprings of pity require to be" 
 "' touched with a more delicate hand -, and 
 it is far from being true that we are agree- 
 ably affedled by every thing that excites 
 our fympathy. It Ihall therefore be the 
 bufmefs of this EfTay to diftinguifh thofe 
 kinds of difirefs which are pleafing in the 
 
 repre- 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, £ff^. 193 
 
 reprefentation, from thofe which are real- 
 ly painful and difgufting. 
 
 The view or relation of mere mifery 
 can never be pleafing. We have, indeed, 
 a ftrong fympathy with all kinds of mi- 
 fery ; but it is a feeling of pure unmixed 
 pain, fimilar in kind, though not equal 
 in degree to what we feel for ourfelves 
 on the like occafions; and never produces 
 that melting forrow, that thrill of tender- 
 nefs, to which we give the name of pity. 
 They are two diftind fenfations, marked 
 by very different external expreflion. • 
 One caufes the nerves to tingle, the flefh 
 to Hiudder, and the whole countenance 
 to be thrown into flrong contradti- 
 ons •, the other relaxes the frame, opens 
 the features, and produces tears. When 
 we crufh a noxious or loathfome animal, 
 we may fympathize llrongly with the 
 pain it fuffers, but with far different 
 O emotions 
 
194 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 emotions from the tender fentiment we 
 feel for the dog of Ulyfles, who crawled 
 to meet his long-loft mafter, looked up, 
 and died at his feet. Extreme bodily 
 pain is perhaps the moft intenfe fuffering 
 we are capable of, and if the fellow-feel- 
 ing with mifery alone was grateful to the 
 mind, the exhibition of a man in a fit of 
 the tooth-ach, or under a chirurgical ope- 
 ration, would have a fine efle6t in a tra- 
 gedy. But there muft be fome other 
 fentiment combined with this kind of in- 
 ftin6live fympathy, before it becomes in 
 any degree pleafing, or produces the fweet 
 emotion of pity. This fentiment is love, 
 efteem, the complacency we take in the 
 contemplation of beauty, of mental or 
 moral excellence, called forth and ren- 
 dered more interefting, by circumftances 
 of pain and danger, Tendernefs is, much 
 more properly than forrow, the fpring of 
 tears-, for it affeds us in that manner 
 
 whether 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, y^. 195 
 
 whether combined with joy or grief; per- 
 haps more in the former cafe than the 
 latter. And I beheve we may venture 
 to aflert that no diftrefs which produces, 
 tears is wholly without a mixture of plea- 
 fure. When Jofeph's brethren were fent 
 to buy corn, if they had perifhed in the 
 defart by v/ild beads, or been reduced 
 (as in the horrid adventures of a Pierre 
 de Vaud) to eat one another, we might 
 have fhuddered, but we fliould not have 
 wept for them. The gufli of tears is 
 when Jofeph made liimfelf known to his 
 brethren, and fell on their neck, and 
 kiiTed them. When Hubert prepares to 
 burn out prince Arthur's eyes, the ihock- 
 ing circumftance, of itfelf, would only 
 afFed us with horror ; it is the amiable 
 fimplicity of the young prince, and his 
 innocent affedtion to his intended mur- 
 derer that draws our tears, and excites 
 tihat tender forrpw which we love to feel, 
 O 2r and 
 
196 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 and which refines the heart while we do 
 feel it. 
 
 We fee, therefore, from this view of 
 our internal feelings, that no fcenes of 
 mifery ought to be exhibited which are 
 not conneded with the difplay of fome 
 moral excellence or agreeable quality. If 
 fortitude, power, and flrength of mind 
 are called forth, they produce the fub- 
 lime feeling;s of wonder and admiration : 
 if the fofter qualities of gentlenefs, grace, 
 and beauty, they infpire love and pity. 
 The management of thefe latter emotions 
 is our prefent objed. 
 
 And let it be remembered, in the firft 
 place, that the misfortunes which excite 
 pity muft not be too horrid and over- 
 whelming. The mind is rather ftunned 
 than foftened by great calamities. They 
 are little circumftances that work moft 
 
 fenfibly 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, ^r. 197 
 
 fenfibly upon the tender feelings. For 
 this reafon, a well written novel generally 
 draws more tears than a tragedy. The 
 diftrefles of tragedy are more calculated 
 to amaze and terrify, than to move com- 
 panion. Battles, torture and death are 
 in every page. The dignity of the cha- 
 raders, the importance of the events, 
 the pomp of verfe and imagery intereft 
 the grander pafTions, and raife the mind 
 to an enthufiafm little favourable to the 
 weak and languid notes of pity. The 
 trao-edies of Youns are in a fine drain of 
 poetry, and the fituations are worked up 
 with great energy, but the pi6lures are in 
 too deep a fhade : all his pieces are full 
 of violent and gloomy palTions, and fo 
 over- wrought with horror, that in (lead of 
 awakening any pleafing fenfibility, they 
 leave on the mind an impreflion of fad- 
 nefs mixed with terror. Shakefpear is 
 fometimes guilty of prefenting fcenes too 
 O 3 fhock- 
 
19S AN ENQUIRY 
 
 fliocking. Such is the trampling out of 
 Glofter's eyes-, and fuch is the whole 
 play of Titus Andronicus. But Lee, 
 beyond all others, abounds with this kind 
 of images. He delighted in painting the 
 moft daring crimes, and cruel maffacres ; 
 and though he has lliewn himfelf extreme- 
 ly capable of raifmg tendernefs, he con- 
 tinually checks its courfe by fhocking 
 and difagreeable exprefiions. His pieces 
 are in the fame tafte with the pidtures of 
 Spagnolet, and there are many fcenes in 
 his tragedies which no one can relifh who 
 would not look with pleafure on the flay« 
 ing of St. Bartholomew. The following 
 fpeech of Marguerite, in the maffacre of 
 Paris, was, I fuppofe, intended to ex- 
 prefs the utmoft tendernefs of affedion. 
 
 Die for him ! that's too little ; I could burn 
 Piece-meal away, or bleed to death by drops. 
 Be flay'd alive, then broke upon the wheel, 
 ■ Yet with a fmile endure it all for Guifc : 
 
 And 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, ^sfr. 199 
 
 And when let loofe from torments, all one wound. 
 Run with my mangled arms, and crufli him dead. 
 
 Images like thefe will never excite the 
 fofter pafTions. We are lefs moved at the 
 defcription of an Indian tortured with all 
 the dreadful ingenuity of that favage 
 people, than with the fatal miftake of the 
 lover in the Spectator, who pierced an 
 artery in the arm of his miftrefs as he 
 was letting her blood. Tragedy and ro- 
 mance-writers are like wife apt to make 
 too free with the more violent exprefTions 
 of pafTion and diftrefs, by which means 
 they lofe their effed. Thus an ordinary 
 author does not know how to exprefs any 
 flrong emotion otherwife than by fwoon- 
 ings or death; fo that a perfon experi- 
 enced in this kind of reading, when a 
 girl faints away at parting with her lover, 
 or a hero kills himfelf for the lofs of his 
 miftrefs, confiders it as the eftabliflied 
 O 4 etiquette 
 
20O AN ENQUIRY 
 
 etiquette upon fuch occafions, and turns 
 over the pages with the utmoft coolnefs 
 and unconcern ; whereas real fenfibility 
 and a more intimate knowledge of human 
 nature would have fuggefled a thoufand 
 little touches of grief, which though flight 
 are irrefiftible. We are too gloomy a 
 people. Some of the French novels are 
 remarkable for little afFeding incidents, 
 imagined with delicacy and told with 
 grace. Perhaps they have a better turn 
 than we for this kind of writing. 
 
 A JUDICIOUS author will never attempt 
 to raife pity by any thing mean or dif- 
 gufling. As we have already obferved, 
 there muft be a degree of complacence 
 mixed with our forrows to produce an 
 agreeable fympathy ; nothing, therefore, 
 muft be admitted which deftroys the 
 grace and dignity of fufFering ; the ima- 
 gination muft have an amiable figure to 
 
 dwell 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, £5?^. 20 1 
 
 dwell upon , there are circumflances fo 
 ludicrous or difgufting, that no charadter 
 can preferve a proper decorum under 
 them, or appear in an agreeable light. 
 Who can read the following defcription 
 of Polypheme without finding his com- 
 paflion entirely deftroyed by averfion and 
 loathing ? 
 
 His bloody hand 
 
 SnatchM two unhappy of my martial band. 
 
 And dafli'd like dogs againft the Hony floor. 
 
 The pavement fwims with brains and mingled gore; 
 
 Torn limb from limb he fpreads his horrid feaft. 
 
 And fierce devours it like a mountain bead. 
 
 He fucks the marrow and the blood he drains. 
 
 Nor entrails, flefh, nor folid bone remains. 
 
 Or that of Scylla, 
 
 In the wide dungeon ihe devours her food, 
 
 And the flefli trembles while Ihe churns the blood. 
 
 Deformity 
 
202 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 Deformity is always difgnfting, and the 
 imagination cannot reconcile it with the 
 idea of a favourite charader; therefore 
 the poet and romance-writer are fully 
 juftificd in giving a larger fhare of beauty 
 to their principal figures than is ufually 
 met with in common life. A late genius 
 indeed, in a whimfical mood, gave us a 
 lady with her nofe crufhed for the heroine 
 of his flory ; but the circumflance fpoils 
 the pidlure ; and though in the courfe of 
 the ftory it is kept a good deal out of 
 ficrht, whenever it does recur to the ima- 
 gination we are hurt and difgufted. It 
 v/as an heroic inftance of virtue in the 
 nuns of a certain abbey, who cut off their 
 nofes and lips to avoid violation ^ yet this 
 would make a very bad fubjed for ^ 
 poem or a play. Something akin to this 
 is the reprefentation of any thing unnatu- 
 ral •, of which kind is the famous flory 
 of the Roman charity, and for this reafon 
 
 I can- 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, y^. 203 
 
 I cannot but think it an unpleafing fub- 
 je6t for either the pen or the pencil. 
 
 Poverty, if truly reprefented, fhocks 
 our nicer feelings ; therefore whenever it 
 is made ufe of to awaken our compalTion, 
 the rags and dirt, the fqualid appearance 
 and mean employments incident to that 
 ftate mud be kept out of fight, and the 
 diftrefs muft arife from the idea of depref- 
 fion, and the fhock of fallino- from higher 
 fortunes. We do not pity Belifarius as a 
 poor blind beggar -, and a painter would 
 fucceed very ill who fhould fink him to 
 the meannefs of that condition. He mufl 
 let us flill difcover the conqueror of the 
 Vandals, the general of the imperial ar- 
 mies, or we Ihall be little interefted. Let 
 us look at the pidure of the old woman 
 in Otway ; 
 
204 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 A wrinkled hag with age grown double, 
 
 Picking dry (licks, and muttering to herfelf; 
 Her eyes with fcalding rheum were gall'd and red ; 
 Cold palfie fhook her head ; her hands feem'd withered ; 
 And on her crooked fhoulder had fhe wrapt 
 The tatter'd remnant of an old ftrip*d hanging, 
 Which ferv'd to keep her carcafe from the cold ; 
 So there was nothing of a piece about her. 
 
 Here is the extreme of wretchednefs, and 
 inftead of melting into pity we turn away 
 with averfion. Indeed the author only in- 
 tended-it to ftrike horror. But how dif- 
 ferent are the fentiments we feel for the 
 lovely Belvidera ! We fee none of thofe 
 circumftances which render poverty an 
 nnamiable thing. When the goods are 
 feized by an execution, our attention is 
 turned to the piles of majjy plate^ and all 
 the antient moft domejlic ornaments^ which 
 imply grandeur and confequence •, or to 
 fuch inilances of their hard fortune as will 
 lead us to pity them as lovers : we are 
 
 (Iruck 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, y^. 205 
 
 ftruck and affeded with the general face 
 of ruin, but we are not brought near 
 enough to difcern the uglinefs of its fea- 
 tures. Belvidera ruined, Belvidera de- 
 prived of friends, without a home, aban- 
 doned to the wide world — we can con- 
 template with all the pleafing fympathy 
 of pity ; but had fhe been reprefented as 
 really funk into low life, had we feen her 
 employed in the moft fervile offices of 
 poverty, our compafllon would have 
 given way to contempt and difguft. 
 Indeed, we may obferve in real life that 
 poverty is only pitied fo long as people 
 can keep themfelves from the effedls 
 of it. When in common language we 
 fay a miferable ohje^f^ we mean an ob- 
 jedV of diftrefs which, if we relieve, we 
 turn away from at the fame time. To 
 make pity pleafing, the objed of it mufl 
 not in any view be difagreeable to the 
 imagination. How admirably has the 
 
 author 
 
2o6 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 author of ClarilTa managed this point ? 
 An:iidft fcenes of fuffering which rend the 
 heart, in poverty, in a prifon, under the 
 nioft fliockins; outrages, the grace and 
 dehcacy of her charader never fuffers 
 even for a moment : there feems to be a 
 charm about her which prevents her re- 
 ceiving a ftain from any thing which 
 happens ; and Clarifla, abandoned and 
 undone, is the obje6t not only of com- 
 placence but veneration. 
 
 I WOULD likewife obferve, that if an 
 author would have us feel a ftrong de- 
 gree of compaffion, his charaders muft 
 not be too perfed. The flern fortitude 
 and inflexible refolution of a Cato may 
 command efleem, but does not excite 
 tendernefs -, and faultlefs reditude of con- 
 du6l, though no rigour be mixed with it, 
 is of too fublime a nature to infpire com- 
 paffion. Virtue has a kind of felf-fuffi- 
 
 ciency 5 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, ^r. 207 
 
 ciency -, it flands upon its own bafis, and 
 cannot be injured by any violence. It 
 muft therefore be mixed with fomething 
 of helpleifnefs and imperfedlion, with an 
 excefTive fenfibility, or a fimplicity bor- 
 dering upon weaknefs, before it raifes, in 
 any great degree, either tendernefs or fa- 
 miliar love. If there be a fault in the 
 mafterly performance juft now mentioned, 
 it is that the charadler of ClarifTa is fo in- 
 flexibly right, her paflions are under fuch 
 perfedt command, and her prudence is fa 
 equal to every occafion, that fhe feems 
 not to need that fympathy we fliould be- 
 ftow upon one of a lefs elevated charac- 
 ter : and perhaps we fhould feel a livelier 
 emotion of tendernefs for Lovelace's 
 Rofe-bud, but that the (lory of ClarifTa 
 is fo worked up by the flrength of co- 
 louring and the force of repeated impref- 
 fions, as to command all our forrow. 
 
 Pitt? 
 
2o8 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 Pity feems too degrading a fentimei)t 
 to be offered at the fhrine of faultlefs 
 excellence. The fufferings of martyrs 
 are rather beheld with admiration and 
 fympathetic triumph than with tears; 
 and we never feel much for thofe whom 
 we confider as themfelves raifed above 
 common feelings. 
 
 The laft rule I fhall infift upon is^ 
 that fcenes of diftrefs fhould not be too 
 long continued. All our finer feelings 
 are in a manner momentary, and no art 
 can carry them beyond a certain point, 
 either in intenfenefs or duration. Con- 
 ftant fuffering deadens the heart to tender 
 impreffions •, as we may obferve in failors, 
 and others who are grown callous by a 
 life of continual hardfhips. It is there- 
 fore highly neceffary in a long work to 
 relieve the mind by fcenes of pleafure 
 and gaiety ; and I cannot think it fo ab- 
 
 furd 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, ^c. 209 
 
 furd a pradlice as our modern delicacy - 
 has reprefented it, to intermix wit and 
 fancy with the pathetic, provided care be 
 taken not to check the paflions while they 
 are flowing. The tranfition from a plea- 
 furable fl:ate of mind to tender forrow is 
 not fo difficult as we imagine. When 
 the mind is opened by gay and agreeable 
 fcenes, every impreflion is felt more kn- 
 fibly. Perfons of a lively temper are 
 much more fufceptible of that fudden 
 fwell of fenfibility which occafions tears, 
 than thofe of a grave and faturnine caft : 
 for this reafon women are more eafily 
 moved to weeping than men. Thofe 
 who have touched the fprings of pity 
 with the fined hand have mingled light 
 ftrokes of pleafantry and mirth in their 
 moft pathetic pafTages. Very difi'erent is 
 the condu6i: of many novel writers, who 
 by plunging us into fcenes of diftrefs 
 without end or limit, exhauft the powers, 
 P and 
 
210 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 and before the conclufion either render 
 us infenfible to every thing, or fix a real 
 fadnefs upon the mind. The uniform 
 ftile of tragedies is one reafon why they 
 affedl fo little. In our old plays all the 
 force of language is referved for the more 
 interefting parts; and in the fcenes of 
 common life there is no attempt to rife 
 above common language : whereas we, 
 by that pompous manner and affedled fo- 
 lemnity which we think it neceflary to 
 preferve through the whole piece, lofe 
 the force of an elevated or paflionate ex- 
 prefTion where the occafion really fuggefts 
 it. 
 
 Having thus confidered the manner 
 in which fidlitious diftrefs muft be ma- 
 naged to render it pleafing, let us refle6t 
 a little upon the moral tendency of fuch 
 reprefentations. Much has been faid in 
 favour of them, and they are generally 
 
 thought 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, ^ffr. 211 
 
 thought to improve the tender and hu- 
 mane feelings \ but this, I own, appears to 
 me very dubious. That they exercife 
 fenfibility is true, but fenfibility does not 
 increafe with exercife. By the conflitution 
 of our frame our habits increafe, our 
 emotions decreafe, by repeated a6ts ; and 
 thus a wife provifion is made, that as our 
 compaiTion grows weaker, its place Ihould 
 be fupplied by habitual benevolence. But 
 in thefe writings our fenfibility is flrongly 
 called forth without any pofllbility of ex- 
 erting itfelf in virtuous adlion, and thofe 
 emotions, which we fhall never feel again 
 with equal force, are wafted without ad- 
 vantage. Nothing is more dangerous 
 than to let virtuous impreflions of any 
 kind pafs through the mind without 
 producing their proper effed. The awa- 
 kenings of remorfe, virtuous fhame and 
 indignation, the glow of moral approba- 
 P 2 tion, 
 
212 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 tion, if they do not lead to aflion, grow 
 lefs and lefs vivid every time they recur, 
 till at length the mind grows abfolutely 
 callous. The being afFeded with a pa- 
 thetic flory is undoubtedly a fign of an 
 amiable difpofition, but perhaps no means 
 of increafing it. On the contrary, young 
 people, by a courfe of this kind of read- 
 ing, often acquire fomething of that apa- 
 thy and indifference which the experience 
 of real life would have given them, with- 
 out its advantages. 
 
 Another reafon why plays and ro- 
 mances do not improve our humanity is, 
 that they lead us to require a certain ele- 
 gance of manners and delicacy of virtue 
 which is not often found with poverty, 
 ignorance, and meannefs. The objeds 
 of pity in romance are as different from 
 thofe in real life as our huibandmen from 
 
 the 
 
CONCERNING DISTRESS, £5?6. 213 
 
 the fhepherds of Arcadia ; and a girl who 
 will fit weeping the whole night at the 
 delicate diftrelTesof a lady Charlotte or lady- 
 Julia, fhall be little moved at the com- 
 plaint of her neighbour, who, in a homely 
 phrafe and vulgar accent, laments to her 
 that fhe is not able to get bread for her 
 family. Romance-writers likewife make 
 great misfortunes fo familiar to our ears, 
 that we have hardly any pity to fpare for 
 the common accidents of life : but we 
 ought to remember, that mifery has a 
 claim to relief, however we may be dif- 
 gufted with its appearance ; and that we 
 muft not fancy ourfelves charitable, when 
 we are only pleafing our imagination. 
 
 It would perhaps be better, if our ro- 
 mances were more like thofe of the old 
 llamp, which tended to raife human na- 
 ture, and infpire a certain grace and dig- 
 P 3 ' nity 
 
214 AN ENQUIRY 
 
 nity of manners of which we have hardly 
 the idea. The high notions of honour, 
 the wild and fanciful fpirit of adventure 
 and romantic love, elevated the mind ; 
 our novels tend to deprefs and enfeeble it. 
 Yet there is a fpecies of this kind of wri- 
 ting which mufl; ever afford an exquifite 
 pleafure to perfons of tafte and fenfibility; 
 where noble fentiments are mixed with 
 well fancied incidents, pathetic touches 
 with dignity and grace, and invention 
 with chafte corre6lnefs. Such will ever 
 intereft our fweeteft pafTions. I fhall 
 conclude this paper with the following 
 tale, 
 
 IN 
 
A T A L E. 215 
 
 IN the happy period of the golden 
 age, when all the celeflial inhabitants 
 defcended to the earth, and converfed 
 familiarly with mortals, among the moil 
 cherifhed of the heavenly powers were 
 twins, the offspring of Jupiter, love 
 and joy. Wherever they appeared, the 
 flowers fprung up beneath their feet, 
 the fun Ihone with a brighter radiance, 
 and all nature feemed embellifhed by 
 their prefence. They were infeparable 
 companions, and their growing attach- 
 ment was favoured by Jupiter, who had 
 decreed that a lailing union lliould be 
 folemnized between them fo foon as they 
 were arrived at maturer years. But in 
 the mean time the fons of men deviated 
 P 4 from 
 
2i6 A T A L E, 
 
 from their native innocence ; vice and 
 ruin over-ran the earth with giant 
 flrides ; and Aftrea with her train of ce- 
 leftial vifitants forfook their polluted 
 abodes. Love alone remained, having 
 been ftolen away by Hope, who was his 
 nurfe, and conveyed by her to the forefts 
 of Arcadia, where he was brought up 
 among the fhepherds. But Jupiter af- 
 figned him a different partner, and com- 
 manded him to efpoufe sorrow, the 
 daughter of Ate. He complied with 
 reludance-, for her features were harjfh 
 and difagreeable, her eyes funk, her fore- 
 head contraded into perpetual v/rinkles, 
 and her temples were covered with af 
 wreath of cyprefs and wormwood. From 
 this union fprung a virgin, in whom 
 might be traced a ftrong refemblance to 
 both her parents ; but the fullen and un- 
 amiable features of her mother were fo 
 
 mixed 
 
A T A L E* 217 
 
 mixed and blended with the fweetnefs of 
 her father, that her countenance, though 
 mournful, was highly pleafing. The 
 maids and fhepherds of the neighbouring 
 plains gathered round and called her 
 PITY. A red-breafl: was obferved to 
 build in the cabin where (he was born ; 
 and while fhe was yet an infant, a dove 
 purfued by a hawk flew into her bofom. 
 This nymph had a dejeded appearance, 
 but fo foft and gentle a mien that fhe 
 was beloved to a degree of enthufiafm. 
 Her voice was low and plaintive, but in- 
 expreflibly fweet; and flie loved to lie 
 for hours together on the banks of fome 
 wild and melancholy ftream, finging to 
 her lute. She taught men to weep, for 
 (he took a ftrange delight in tears ; and 
 often, when the virgins of the hamlet 
 were aflembled at their evening fports, 
 fhe would Ileal in amongft them, and 
 
 captivate 
 
ii8 A T A L E. 
 
 captivate their hearts by her tales full of 
 a charming fadnefs. She wore on her 
 head a garland compofed of her father's 
 myrtles twifted with her mother's cy- 
 prefs. 
 
 One day, as flie fat mufing by the 
 waters of Helicon, her tears by chance 
 fell into the fountain ; and ever fince, 
 the Mufes' fpring has retained a ftrong 
 tafte of the infufion. Pity was com- 
 manded by Jupiter to follow the fteps of 
 her mother through the v/orld, dropping 
 balm into the wounds fhe made, and 
 binding up the hearts fhe had broken* 
 She follows with her hair loofe, her bo- 
 fom bare and throbbing, her garments 
 torn by the briars, and her feet bleed- 
 ing with the roughnefs of the path. 
 The nymph is mortal, for her mother 
 is fo-, and when Ihe has fulfilled her 
 
 deftined 
 
A TALE. 
 
 219 
 
 deftined courfe upon the earth, they 
 Ihall both expire together, and love be 
 again united to joy, his immortal and 
 
 long betrothed bride. 
 
 THE END.