how or other, have been blown thither; which, though improbable enough, in our opinion, we cannot deny. The Californians, we are told, though they had no religion, were yet great pretenders to forcery and magic; our pious jefuit, however, very honeftly acquits them of dealing actually with the devil; alluring us that the fathers could never find among them any real forcery; or that they had any compact with evil fpirits, or any thing of that nature.' As for the reft of this hiftory, it is evidently calculated to magnify the labours, the fufferings, and the religious merit of the jefuits; inftances of whofe wonderful fagacity, moderation, and perfeverance, make up the greatest part of the work: topics that, we prefume, however they may be dwelt on with ap-, probation in Spain and Italy, will afford little fatisfaction to the generality of English readers; few of whom are difposed to beTeve the brethren of this order fo ready to fuffer martyrdom, or fo difinterested in the cause of religion, as our hiftorian would infinuate, Conjectures on original Compofition. In a letter to the author of Sir Charles Grandifon. 8vo. 1 s. 6d. Millar and Dodsley. THIS S HIS piece is faid to be written by the celebrated author of the Night Thoughts; of whofe peculiar genius it bears evident marks throughout. The ftriking allufions, bold metaphors, and animated file of the poet, diftinguish this work, indeed, as much as if it had been divided into lines of ten or eleven fyllables, and been dignified with the title of blank verfe. What fhare of merit the critics. in general, may be willing to allow this kind of diétion; or whether they will chufe to call it profaic verle, or poetic profe, we know not; but, for ourfelves, we cannot help thinking the affectation of writing in this equivocal, motley itile, tends to vitiate the public tafte for the correct modulation and genuine harmony of poetical numbers. A nice ear will, perhaps, difcover fome notes of harmony in many of our author's periods; they do not, however, run in the eafy flow, and manly ftrength of profe, nor rife into the dignity, glow with the ardour, or melt into the fo'tneis, that conftitute the mufic of poetry; but found, at best, like jweet bells, jangled out of tune, unmufical and harsh. The file of this piece is ftill more exceptionable, if we confider it as a letter to a friend; fince nothing can be more fo Kk 3 reign reign to the ease and familiarity of epiftolary writing. It is well for our author, that his acknowledged genius and extenfive reputation enable him to bid defiance to the critics of a neighbouring nation; otherwife, how feverely might he feel the reproaches of the profeffed admirers of Voiture and Madame Sevigné; thofe who hold even the literary correfpondence of Pope and Swift in contempt, and tell us, we never had an Englishman that could write a letter! With refpect to the performance itself, the writer very juftly characterizes it thus. It is mifcellaneous in its nature, fomewhat licentious in its conduct, and perhaps not over important in its end.' And yet literary compofition is the profeffed subject. The writer, indeed, calls his remarks on this head conje&tures z he might, with much greater propriery, have entitled the whole a rhapjody: but perhaps the incongruity of a rhapsody on compo fition was too apparent. However this be, and though the author has not given a beautiful model of composition, as an example to enforce his precepts, it must nevertheless be confeffed, that many of his obfervations, on the merit of original writers and their imitators, are new, ftriking, and juft. He diftinguifhes between them thus. The mind of a man of genius is a fertile and pleasant field, pleasant as Elyfium, and fertile as Tempe; it enjoys a perpetual fpring. Of that fpring, origi nals are the fairest flowers: imitations are of quicker growth, but fainter bloom. Imitations are of two kinds; one of nature, one of authors: the first we call originals, and confine the term imitation to the fecond. I fhall not enter into the curious en◄ quiry of what is, or is not, ftrictly speaking, original, content with what all muft allow, that fome compofitions are more fo than others; and the more they are fo, I fay, the better. Originals are, and ought to be, great favourites, for they are great benefactors; they extend the republic of letters, and add a new province to its dominion: imitators only give us a fort of duplicates of what we had, poffibly much better, before; increasing the mere drug of books, while all that makes them valuable, knowlege and genius, are at a ftand. The pen of an original writer, like Armida's wand, out of a barren waite calls a blooming spring: out of that blooming fpring an imitator is a tranfplanter of laurels, which fometimes die on removal, always languish in a foreign foil. But fuppofe an imitator to be moft excellent (and such there are), yet till he but nobly builds on another's foundation; his debt is, at leaft, equal to his glory; which therefore, on the balance, cannot be very great." On the contrary, an original, I though though but indifferent (its originality being fet afide,) yet has fomething to boast; it is fomething to fay with him in Horace, Meo fum pauper in ære. and to fhare ambition with no less than Cæfar, who declared he had rather be the firft in a village, than the fecond at Rome. Still farther an imitator fhares his crown, if he has one, with the chofen object of his imitation; an original enjoys an undivided applaufe. An original may be faid to be of a vegetable nature; it rifes fpontaneously from the vital root of genius; it grows, it is not made: imitations are often a fort of manufacture wrought up by thofe mechanics, Art, and Labour, out of pre-existent materials not their own. Again: we read imitation with fomewhat of his languor, who liftens to a twice- told tale: our fpirits rouze at an original; that is a perfect stranger, and all throng to learn what news from a foreign land: and though it comes, like an Indian prince, adorned with feathers only, having little of weight; yet of our attention it will rob the more folid, if not equally new thus every telescope is lifted at a new-difcovered ftar; it makes a hundred aftronomers in a moment, and denies equal notice to the fun. But if an original, by being as excellent, as new, adds admiration to furprize, then are we at the writer's mercy; on the strong wing of his imagination, we are fnatched from Britain to Italy, from climate to climate,, from pleasure to pleasure; we have no home, no thought of our own; till the magician drops his pen: and then falling down into ourselves, we awake to flat realities, lamenting the change, like the beggar who dreamt himself a prince. What our very ingenious author obferves, on the fcarcity of originals, is alfo no lefs worthy our tranfcribing. • But why are originals fo few? not because the writer's harvest is over, the great reapers of antiquity having left nothing to be gleaned after them; nor because the human mind's teeming is paft, or because it is incapable of putting forth unprecedented births; but because illuftrious examples engrofs, prejudice, and intimidate. They engrofs our attention, and fo prevent a due infpection of ourselves; they prejudice our judgment in favour of their abilities, and fo leffen the fenfe of our own; and they intimidate us with the fplendor of their renown, and thus under diffidence bury our ftrength. Nature's impoffibilies, and those of diffidence, lie wide afunder. Let it not be fufpected. that I would weakly infinuate any thing in favour of the moderns, as compared with antient authors; no, I am lamenting their great inferiority. But I think Kk4 it it is no neceffary inferiority; that it is not from divine deftination, but from fome caufe far beneath the moon: I think that human fouls, through all periods, are equal; that due care and exertion would fet us ncarer our immortal predeceffors than we are at prefent; and he who queflions and confutes this, will fhow abilities not a little tending toward a proof of that equality, which he denie. After all, the fit ancients had no merit in being originals: they could not be imitators. Modern writers have a choice to make; and therefore have a merit in their power. They may foar in the regions of liberty, or move in the loft fetters of ealy imitation; and imitation has as many plaufible reafon, to urge, as Pleasure had to offer to Hercules. Hercules made the choice of an hero, and fo became immortal. Yet let got affertors of claffic excellence imagine, that I deny the tribute it to well deferves. He that admires not antient authors, betrays a fecret he would conceal, and tells the wor'd, that he does not understand them. Let us be as far from neglecting, as from copying, their admirable compofitions: facred Le their rights, and inviolable their fame. Let our understandings feed on theirs; they afford the nobleft nourishment: but let them nourish, not annihilate, our own. When we read, let our imagination kindle at their charms; when we write, let our judgment fhut them out of our thoughts; treat even Homer himself, as his royal admirer was treated by the cynic; bid him ftand afide, nor fhade our compofition from the beams of our own genius; for nothing original can rife, nothing immortal can ripen, in any other fun. Muft we then, you fay, not imitate antient authors? Imitate them by all means; but imitate aright. He that imitates the divine Iliad, does not imitate Homer; but he who takes the fame method, which Homer took, for arriving at a capacity of accomplishing a work fo great. Tread in his fteps to the fole fountain of immortality; drink where he drank, at the true Helicon, that is, at the breaft of nature: imitate; but imitate not the compofition, but the man. For may not this paradox pa's into a maxim? viz. "The lefs we copy the renowned antients, we fhall refemble them the more." What glory, continues our Author, to come near, what glory to reach, what glory (prefumptuous thought!) to furpass, our predeceflors? And is that then in nature abfolutely impoffible? Or is it not, rather, contrary to nature to fail in it? Nature herfelf fets the ladder, all wanting is our ambition to climb. For by the bounty of nature we are as ftrong as our predeceffors; and by the favour of time (which is but another round in nature's icale,) we ftand on higher ground. As to the firit, were were they more than men? Or are we lefs? Are not our minds caft in the fame mould with thofe before the flood? the flood affected matter, mind efcaped. As to the fecond; though we are moderns, the world is an antient ; more antient far, than when they filled it with their fame, whom we most admire. Have we not their beauties, as ftars, to guide; their defects, as rocks, to be fhunn d; the judgment of ages on both, as a chart to conduct, and a fure heim to fteer us in our pallage to greater perfection than theirs?' If antients and moderns were no longer confidered as masters and pupils, but as hard-match'd rivals for renown; then moderns, by the longevity of their labours, might, one day, become antients themfelves: and old time, that best weigher of merits, to keep his balance even, might have the golden weight of an Auguitan age in both his fcales or rather our scale might defcend; and antiquity's (as a modern match for it strongly fpeaks) might kick the beam. And why not? for, confider, fince an impartial Providence fcatters talents indifferently, as through all orders of perfons, fo through all periods of time; fince, a marvelous light, unenjoy'd of old, is pour'd on us by revelation, with larger profpects extending our understanding, with brighter objects enriching our imagination, with an ineftimable prize fetting our paffions on fire, thus ftrengthening every power that enables compofi-. tion to fhine; fince, there has been no fall in man on this fide Adam, who left no works, and the works of all other antients are our auxiliars against themfelves, as being perpetual spurs to our ambition, and shining lamps in our path to fame; fince, this world is a fchool, as well for intellectual, as moral, advance; and the longer human nature is at fchool, the better scholar it fhould be; fince, as the moral world expects its glorious milennium, the world intellectual may hope, by the rules of analogy, for fome fuperior degrees of excellence to crown her latter fcenes; nor may it only hope, but muft enjoy them too; for Tully, Quintillian, and all true critics allow, that virtue affifts genius, and that the writer will be more able, when better is the manAll thefe particulars, I fay, confidered, why fhould it feem altogether impoffible, that heaven's latest editions of the human mind may be the most correct, and fair; that the day may come, when the moderns may proudly look back on the comparative darkness of former ages, on the children of antiquity; reputing Homer, and Demofthenes, as the dawn of divine genius; and on Athens as the cradle of infant fame; what a glorious revolution would this make in the rolls of renown! What a rant, fay you, is here?-I partly grant it: yet, confider, my friend! knowlege phyfical, mathematical, moral, and |