תמונות בעמוד

ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. It is thou, Liberty! thrice sweet and gracious goddess ! whom all, in public or in private, worship ; whole taste is grateful, and ever will be so till nature herself fall change. No tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy fceptre into iron. With thee to smile upon him as he eats his cruft, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious Heaven! grant ine but health, thou great bestower of it! and give me but this fair goddess as my companion ; and shower down thy mitres, if it seem good unto thy divine Providence, upon those heads which are aching for them.

Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close by my table ; and, leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and fo I gave full scope to my imagina. tion.

I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow. creatures, born to no inheritance but Navery; but, finde ing, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it near me, and that the multitude of fad groups in it did but distract me, I took a single captive ; and, having firft fhut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door, to take his. picture.

I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement; and felt what kind of fickness of the heart it is which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish. - In thirty years, the western breeze had not once fanned his blood: he had seen ilo sun, no moon, in all that time--nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. His children-But here my heart began to bleed and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait.

He was sitting upon the ground, upon a little straw in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed. A little calendar of (mall sticks was laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there. He had one of thele little sticks in his liand; and, with a rusty nail, be

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was etching another day of misery, to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless

eye towards the door-then cast it down-shook his head and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep figh.--I faw the iron enter into his soul.-I burst into tears.--I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn.

XI. The Cant of Criticisms.
-AND how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last

night !-Oh, against all rule, my Lord; molt ungrammatically! Betwixt the substantive and adjective (which should agree together, in number, cale, and gender) he made a breach thus-stopping as if the point wanted settling. And after the nominative case (which your Lord'hip knows should govern the verb) hie fufpended his voice in the epilogue, a dozen times, three seconds and three fifths, by a Itop-watch, my Lord, each time-Admirable grammarian !-But, in fuspending his voice, was the sense suspended likewise ? Did no expression of attitude or countenance fill up the chafın?: Was the eye silent ? Did you narrowly look ! I looks ed only at the stop-watch, my Lord. Excellent obserever !

And what of this new book the whole world makes such a rout about ? -Oh! 'tis out of all plumb, my Lord, --quite an irregular thing !--not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle.--I had my rule and compasses, my Lord, in my pocket. Excellent critic!

And, for the epic poem your Lordship vid me look atz--upon taking the length; breadth; height, and depth of it, and trying them at home upon an exact scale of Bollu's "tis out, my Lord, in every one of its dimenfions.--Admirable connoisseur !

And did you ftep in to take a look at the grand picture in your way back ! -'Tis a melancholy daub, my Lord: not one principle of the pyramid in any one group !--And what a price for there is nothing of the colouring of Titian—the expression of Rubens-the grace of Raphael--the purity of Dominichino--the corregies


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eity of Corregio--the learning of Pouffin-the airs of Guido--the taste of the Carracbisa-or the grand con-tour of Angelo !

Grant me patience !-Of all the cants which are cante ed in this canting world--though the cant of hypocrify may be the worit--the cant of criticism is the moft tormenting ! I would go fifty miles on foot, to kiss the hand of that man whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into liis author's hands, be plea. sed, he knows not why and cares not wherefore.

XII. Parallel between Pope and Dryden. IN acquired knowledge, the fuperiority must be allow-

ed to Dryden, whole education was more fcholaftic,, and who, before he became an author, had been allowed more time for ftudy, with better means of information. His mind has a larger range, and he collects his images and illustrations from a more extensive circumference of science. Dryden knew more of man in his general na. ture, and Pope in his local manners. The notions of Dryden were formed by comprehenfive speculation; . those of Pope by minute attention. There is inore digo nity in the knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty.in that of Pope.

Poetry was not the sole praise of either; for both excelled likewise in prose : but Pope did not borrow his profe from his predecessor. The style of Dryden is caepricious and varied ; that of Pope is cautions and uniform : Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind; Pope: constrains his mind to his own rules of compofitions. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; Pope is al. ways smooth, iform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a patural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the varied-exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is a velvet lawn, shaven by the fcythe, and levelled by the roller.

Of genius--that power which constitutes a poet ;-that quality without which judgment is cold and knowledge is inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates--the superiority must, with some hesitation, De allowed to Dryden. It is not to be inferred, that of abis poetical vigour Pope had only a little, because Dry.


den had more; for every other writer fince Milton must give place to Pope ; and even of Dryden it must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs, he lias not better poems. Dryden's performances were always hasty; either excited by some external occasion, or extorted by domestic neceffity :- he composed without consideration, and publihed without currection. What his mind could fupply at call, or gather in one excursion, was all that he fought, and all that he gave. The dilatory cau. tion of Pope enabled bim to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might produce, or chance might fupply. If the flights of Dryden therefore are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and constant. Dryden often surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight.

XIII. Story of Le Fever. IT

was some time in the summer of that year in which Dendermond was taken by the Allies; when my

oncle Toby was one evening getting his fupper, with Trim fitting behind him at a mall sideboard, --1 say fittingfor in consideration of the Corporal's lame knee (which sometimes gave him exquisite pain) - when my uncle Toby dined or supped alone he would never fuffer the Corporal to Itánd; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my uncle Toby could have taken Dendermond itself, with less trouble than he was able to gain this point over him; for many a time when my uncle Toby supposed the Corporal's leg was at reit, he would look back, and detect him ftanding behind him with the moft dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt tliem, than all other causes for five-and twenty years together.

He was one evening fitting thus at his fupper, when the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of fack : 'Tis for a poor gentleman, I think of the army, said the landlord, who has been taken ill at


my house four days ago, and has never held up his head fince, or had a delire to taste any thing, till just now, that he has a fancy for a glass of fack and a thin toast, -"I think,” says he, taking his hand from his forehead," it would comfort me.

-If I could neither beg, borrow, nor buy such a thing,--added the landlord, I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill. I hope he will still mend, continued he;--we are all of us concerned for him.

Thou art a good-natured foul, I will answer for thee, cried my uncle Toby; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself,—and take a couple of bottles with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more, if they will do him good.

Though I am persuaded, said my uncle Toby, as the landlord shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow, Trim,-yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in him, that in so short a time should win fo much upon the affections of his hoft-And of his whole family, added the Corporal, for they are all concerned for him.-Step after him, said my uncle Toby, -do Trim, and ask if he knows his name.

-I have quite forgot it, truly, said the landlord, coming back into the parlour with the Corporal,-- but I can ask his son again.-Has he a son with himn then? faid my uncle Toby.- A boy, replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age ;-but the poor crea. ture has tasted almost as little as his father ; he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day : He has not stirred from the bed-side thele two days.

My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thruit his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and Trim, without being ordered, took away, without saying one word, and, in a few minutes after, brought him his pipe and tobacco.

Trim! said my uncle Toby, I have a project in my head, as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman. Your honour's roquelaure, replied the Corporal, has Bot once been had on since the night before your ho


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