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SILVA,

whole, has loosened from its foundations and actually started to crush the whole below!

......I escaped before it fell... soon found my companions, and

POPE.

looking up, saw, half surprised, the hoary rock still firm on its foundations, amidst this seeming crush of worlds.

FOR THE ANTHOLOGY.

SILVA.

Silva gerit frondes.-OVID.

POPE was fond of imitating the ancients, though what he borrowed he improved, and his own thoughts were not inferiour to theirs. Some very beautiful lines, in his Elegy to the memory of an unfortunate young lady, he seems to have imitated from Ovid; and I am surprized that Dr. Warton, in his excellent edition of Pope's works, has not remarked the resemblance. I shall quote both the English and Latin, that the reader may judge for himself.

What can atone, oh! ever-injured shade,
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestick tear
Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful

bier.

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned,

By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned.

Though these are exquisite lines, (for no man, says Hume, can write verses with equal spirit and elegance to Mr. Pope) yet the following passage of Ovid unquestionably supplied the materials.

Argo ego nec lachrymas matris moritura videbo,
Nec, mea qui digitis lumina condat, erit.
Spiritus infelix peregrinas ibit in auras,

Nec positos artus unget amica manus,
Ossa superstabunt volueres inhumata marinæ.

Ovid's Epistles. Ariadne to
Theseus. lin. 119.

It has been the fashion, of late years, to depreciate the poetical merit of Pope, and to exalt, in

No. 11.

strains of lavish encomium, the mushroom poetasters of the day. A writer, who with the rapidity of a Blackmore, shall finish an epick in six weeks, attracts the admiration of many, who consider celerity in writing as a proof of extraordinary genius. The reverse of this however is true; and the greatest master-pieces of writing, far from being dashed off at a hit, have consumed a very considerable portion of time in their composition. Perfection is the reward of great labour, united with great genius. The co-operation of both can alone Without genius,

ensure success.

labour would be dull and insipid; without labour, genius would be absurd and extravagant. Had the Alcander of Pope, an epick poem which he wrote at sixteen, been preserved, he would probably have been deemed a great poet by those, who now dispute his claims to that character. These gentlemen require originality, at the expense of whatever absurdity. They prefer the wilderness to the garden, though the latter may possess the beauties of nature, without her deformities. But true taste admires nature only in her charms, not in the gross. Neither poet would nor painter describe a quagmire, nor expose to view those parts of the person, which Yet nature has decency clothes. claims as equal to what is concealed, as to what is exhibited.

all

• True wit is nature to advantage drest,'

not a ragged gypsy, nor a tawdry strumpet. High, masterly execution is what constitutes a preeminent writer. He exhibits the best thoughts, exprest in the best manner. When he borrows, he improves; what he imitates, he excels. He commands a certain felicity of style, which, though simple, is highly figurative, which convinces by its energy, and charms by its beauty. Of all the ancient poets Pope most resembles Virgil. He has the same correct ness, the same majesty of numbers, allowing for the inferiority of a modern language. There is scarcely a page of Visgil, his Georgics excepted, in which we cannot trace him imitating or translating whole passages from other writers, so that he has fewer pretensions to originality, than almost any poet ancient or modern. And yet what ancient author is so universally read, or affords so "much pleasure, Horace perhaps excepted? Pope has more originality than Virgil, but less than Dryden. Yet who reads more of Dryden than a single satire and a single ode? Pope is the poet of the human species, the favourite of all ages, the oracle of all professions. Originality! Fiddledy diddledy.

BAYLE.

BAYLE was a great and original genius. I believe, that it is not generally known, that his character is admirably drawn by Saurin, which I doubt not will be more acceptable to many readers of the Silva, than any original remarks of the present writer. He was one of those extraordinary men (says that eloquent preacher) whom the greatest wit cannot reconcile with himself, and whose opposite quali

ties leave us room to doubt, wheth er we ought to look upon him as the best, or as the worst of men. On the one hand, he was a great philosopher, who knew how to distinguish truth from falsehood, who could at one view perceive all the consequences of a principle, and discover how they are linked together. On the other hand, he was a great sophist, who undertook to confound truth with falsehood, and knew how to draw false inferences from the principles he supported. On the one hand, a. man of learning and knowledge, who had read all that can be read, and remembered all that can be remembered. On the other hand, ignorant, or at least feigning to be so, with regard to the most common things; proposing such difficulties, as had been a thousand times answered, and urging objections, which a schoolboy could not make without blushing. On the one hand, attacking the most eminent men, opening a large field for their labours, leading them through the most difficult roads, and, if he did not vanquish them, giving them at least a great deal of trouble to vanquish him. On the other hand, a man who made use of the worst of authors, to whom he was lavish of his praises; and who disgraced his writings by quoting such names as a learned mouth never pronounced. one hand, free, at least in appearance, from all the passions, which are inconsistent with the spirit of christianity; grave in his discourses, temperate in his diet, austere in his manner of living. On the other hand, employing all the strength of his genius to overthrow the foundations of moral virtue, attacking, as much as lay in his power, chastity, modesty, and all the christian virtues. On the one side,

On the

appealing to the throne of the most severe orthodoxy; going to the purest springs, borrowing his arguments from the least suspected writers. On the other hand, following the paths of hereticks, proposing again the objections of the ancient heresiarchs, lending them new arms, and collecting together in our age all the errours of past ages. May that man, who had been endowed with so many talents, be acquitted before God of the ill use he made of them! May that Jesus, whom he so often attacked, have expiated his sins!'

PARNELL AND VOLTAIRE. THE story of the hermit, which Parnell tells in verse, Voltaire re lates in prose, precisely in the same order, in his romance of Zadig. Quere, which is the plagiary, or have they both borrowed the story from another? Voltaire continued an author for more than sixty years, but still I think that Parnell must have been his senior. Few have written so well as Voltaire on such an infinite variety of subjects; but in every department of literature he has been excelled by some. His immortality would have been more secure, had he confined his genius to any one species of composition, though his temporary popularity would have been less extensive.

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might transpose the paragraphs as you read without injury. The style is indeed more pure and classical than that of Thomson, which abounds with gorgeous epithets and ill-sounding compound adjectives. But the latter has infinitely the advantage in the superiour interest which he excites, in more vigour of conception, in greater tenderness and delicacy, and in every poetical embellishment. I give the Seasons an annual perusal, and they always afford me fresh pleasure. I have never been able to read the Task a second time. As to Cowper's produc tions in rhyme, if any man can read them at all, I shall rather applaud his patience, than imitate his example. He seems to have no ear for harmony, so that, were we not acquainted with his age, we should scarcely suspect him of be ing a modern. Though there may be harmony without poetry, there can be no good poetry without harmony. The want of this indispensible requisite constitutes the principal charge of Horace against Lucilius, as the possession of it in a pre-eminent degree gives to Virgil and Pope the exalted rank which they hold among the poets of their respective countries. The satires and epistles of Horace we probably know not the true method of reading. We cannot at present discover in them that harmony, the want of which he censures in Lucilius, and which, for this very reason, they must undoubtedly possess. I once endeavoured to read Cowper's Homer, but I found it an herculean task, and I was no Hercules. It may possess every other merit, but certainly wants the power of keeping its readers awake. The first lines of the Seasons are ridiculous, as they contain absurd imagery. Observe.

Come, gentle Spring, ætherial mildness, come! And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, While musick wakes around, veiled in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

I quote from memory, but I be lieve correctly. Now reduce this to painting, and what kind of picture does it present? Spring, an allegorical personage, is described as descending from the bosom of a dropping cloud (quere, what does the cloud drop?) while musick wakes around. What músick, vocal, or instrumental? non liquet, veiled in a shower of shadowing roses. If Thomson had often written as ill as this, there would be no comparison between him and Cowper. But at present, as a poet, I think the latter decidedly inferiour. Though he may possess no passage so faulty as the one just quoted, yet he seldom rises above the level of mediocrity. Notwithstanding that the style of Cowper is unusually chaste, yet is there a sombre cast of thought, which seems to proceed from a mind not altogether sound and at ease.

EDUCATION.

EDUCATION has been greatly improved in this country of late years. But though much has been done, yet much remains to be done. Our literary discipline is well calculated for common purposes, and our professional men are little inferiour to those of other countries in the knowledge of their profession. But here our claims to praise must end. Our lawyers are mere lawyers, our physicians are mere physicians, our divines are mere divines. Every thing smells of the shop,and you will, in a few minutes conversation, infallibly detect a man's profession. We seldom meet here with an accomplished character, a young man of fine genius and very general knowledge, the scholar and the gentleman, united. Such a character is not

uncommon in Europe, but is here a rara avis interris. Whence pro ceeds this difference? From the inferiority of education among us. Our schoolmasters receive a mere pittance, and are consequently men of inferiour talents. Every man, capable of instructing well, follows some profession or business, able to support him. A preceptor, without genius, can never inspire a pupil with the love of learning. Instead of reading Virgil and Horace with the enthusiasm of an amateur, and of explaining them with the taste and acuteness of a Busby, he will barely require a verbatim translation, and a knowl edge of the rules of grammar. The spirit and beauties of the author remain without notice; and what has never been taught will seldom be discovered. They go to college with but a smattering of learning, and often leave it with still less. For the same system of economy pervades our academick walls, and a college tutor receives rather less thair a Boston labourer. Those, who are qualified for nothing else, consequently become tutors, and our guides to Parnassus are themselves ignorant of the road that leads thither.

The schoolmasters of Europe, particularly of Great-Britain, are amply rewarded for their labours, and generally consist of the best scholars in the kingdom. The employment is honourable and lucrative, and is almost always rewarded with some distinguished ecclesiastical preferment, the preceptors themselves being always clergymen of the established church. I shall close this article with the character of Dr. Sumner, master of Harrow-school, drawn by his pupil, Sir W. Jones, in the preface to his treatise on Persian poetry. The translation of course must be very inferiour to the

elegance of the original Latin. The reader, I hope, will pardon me, if I cannot here resist the temptation of extolling the virtues of this most learned man, who was my intimate friend, and of express ing just sorrow at his lamented death. He was a man of distinguished genius and integrity, of admirable temper, polite manners, and exquisite learning. He possessed, beyond any instructer I ever knew, the faculty of communicating knowledge; and such was the pleasantry of his deportment, that it was difficult to determine, whether he was more agreeable to his friends, or scholars. In Grecian and Roman literature he was profoundly skilled; and, though like

another Socrates, he wrote little himself, no one could more ably detect the faults, or point out the beauties of authors of every description. Had fortune destined him for the bar or senate, and not confined him to the employment of tuition, he would have yielded to no one in eloquence, which is exclusively cultivated in Great Britain. For he possessed, if not in perfection, at least in a very high degree, all the accomplishments commendable in an orator, a musical voice, purity of language, a flowing style, uniting elegance and wit with a most tenacious memory; in a word, the eyes, the countenance, the action, not of a player, but of another Demosthenes.'

FOR THE ANTHOLOGY. THE REMARKER.

Darent operam censores, ne quid respublica SO little have the writers of our country been accustomed to the rigour of a critical tribunal, that, to secure a comfortable seat in some of the out-houses belonging to the temple of fame, nothing has been hitherto necessary, but the resolu tion to write, and the folly to publish. While, however, the same models of excellence are accessible, the same laws of taste are promul gated, and the same language is vernacular on both sides of the Atlantick, I know not why the sentences of criticism should not be executed in all their rigour on these western shores; or why the majesty of the republick of letters should be insulted with impunity in the remotest provinces of the empire, Every man of reading, who has watched the jealous spirit of the times, must have observed, that whenever an American work is censured in the journals of British riticism, their judgment is attribated to some unextinguished re

No. 5.

[literarum] detrimenti caperet.—Sall. Cat. mains of national animosity; and when a critick among ourselves has sometimes ventured to speak in a tone of authority, he has been set down for a conceited imitator of foreign impertinence. So rare have been the instances among us of manly and unprejudiced criticism, that, to point out the faults of a living author, instead of making him grateful, only makes him mad; and he discovers all the fu ry, which is felt by an antiquated belle, when her little niece unluckily espies a gray hair among the sable honours of her head, and innocently presumes to pull out the intruder.

So imperfectly has the right of criticism been attended to among us, that many a sober citizen, I doubt not, is unable to distinguish between the privilege of finding fault with an author, and the wick edness of publishing a defamatory libel. But in truth this right of literary censure is bestowed upon

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