fo(T. OH PERKINS LIBRARY Duke University I^dre Books Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://www.archive.org/details/miscellaneouspieOOaiki MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, PROSE, JOHN A I K I N, M. D. ANNA LiETITIA BARBAULD. THE THIRD EDITION. LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, IN ST.PAVl'« C*»R CH- YARD, M.BCC.XCU. KtiK. CONTENTS, Pags \JN the Province of Comedy - ! The Hill of Science, a Vifon 27 On Romances, an Imitation --------- ^g Selama, an Imitation of Ojfian 47 Again)} Inconftftency in our Expectations - - • 59 The Ca??al and the Brook, an Apologue 79 On Monaflic Injli tut ions 88 On the P leaf ure derived from Objecls of Terror ; with Sir Bertrand, a Fragment - - X17 On the Hertfc Poem of Gondibert 138 An Enquiry into thofe Kinds of Diflrefs which excite agreeable Senfations j with a Tale - - 190 EJfay on Devotional Tafle ----------220 ON THE PROVINCE COMEDY. VARIOUS are the methods which art and ingenuity have invented to exhibit a picture of human life and manners. Thefe have differed from each other, both in the mode of reprefenta- tion, and in the particular view of the fubject which has been taken. With refpect to the firft, it is univerfally al- lowed that the dramatic form is by far the moft perfect. The circumftance of B leaving 2 ©N~ THE PROVINCE leaving every character to difplay itfelf in its own proper language, with all the variations of tone and gefture which diftinguifh it from others, and which mark every emotion of the mind 5 and the fcenic deluiions of drefs, painting, and machinery, contribute to (lamp fuch an appearance of reality upon dramatic reprefentations as no other of the imi- tative arts can attain. Indeed, when in their perfection, they can fcarcely be called imitations, but the very things themfelves -, and real nature would per- haps appear lefs perfed than her coun- terfeit. The Drama has from early antiquity been diftinguifhed into the two grand divifions of Tragedy and Comedy. It would feem that the general character of thefe was univerfally underftood and agreed on, by the adoption of the terms tragic 2 OF COMEDY. 3 tragic and comic, derived from them, into the language of every civilized people. The former of thefe is, we know, conftantly applied to objects of terror and diftrefs ; the latter, to thofe 0^ mirth and pleafantry. There is, how- ever, a more comprehenfive diilinclion of our feelings, which it is proper firft to confider. When we examine the emotions pro- duced in our minds by the view of human actions, we fhall obferve a di- vifion into xheferious, and the ludicrous. I do not think it neceflary to define or analyfe feelings with which all are well acquainted. It is enough to obferve that ferious emotions are produced by the difplay of all the great pafHons which agitate the foul, and by all thofe actions which are under the jurifdiction of the grand rules of religion and morality ; B & and 4 ON THE PROVINCE and that ludicrous emotions are excited by the improprieties and inconfiftencies of conduct or judgment in fmaller mat- ters - } fuch as the effects of falfe tafte, or trifling paffions. When we now apply the words tragic and comic, we fhall at once perceive that the former can relate folely to fuch fubjects as occasion Jer ions, and the latter to fuch as occafion ludi- crous emotions. Now, although the practice of writers has frequently introduced ludicrous parts into the compofition called a Tragedy, and ferious parts into that called a Comedy, yet it has ever been underftood that what conftitutes the effential and invariable character of each is fomething which is expreffed by the terms tragic and comic, and comes under the head of ferious or ludicrous emotions. Referring therefore to a future confideration, the pro- OF COMEDY, 5 propriety of introducing ferious parts in a Comedy, I fhall now lay down the character of Comedy as a dramatic com- p oft ion, exhibiting a ludicrous pclure of human life and manners. There are two fources of ludicrous emotions which it is proper here to diftin- guilh. One of thefe arifes from characler^ the other from incident. The firft 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 awkward 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 ; fince that proceeding from characler belongs to a very refpectable part of knowledge, that of human manners -, and has for its end B3 the 6 ON THE PROVINCE the correction of foibles : whereas that proceeding from incident is mean and trivial in its origin, and anfwers no other purpofe than prefent mirth. 'Tis true, it is perfectly natural to be pleafed with rifible objects, even of the loweft kind, and a faftidious averfion to their exhi- bition may be accounted mere affected nicety; yet, fince we rank Comedy among the higher and more refined fpe- cies of compofition, let us aflign it the more honourable office of exhibiting: and correcting the ludicrous part of cha- racters -, and leave to Bartholomew Fair the ingenious contrivances of facetious drollery, and handicraft merriment. The following fources maybe pointed out from whence comic character is de- rived. Nations, like individuals, have cer- tain leading features which diftinguifh them OF COMEDY. J them from others. Of thefe there are always fome of a ludicrous cad which afford matter of entertainment to their neighbours. Comedy has at all times made very free with national peculiari- ties; and, although the ridicule has often been conducted in a trivial and illiberal manner, by greatly overcharging the picture, and introducing idle and unjuft accufations, yet I think we need not go fo far as entirely to reject this fort of ludicrous painting; 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 upon our ftage merely to talk broken Englifh, or make bulls, there can be no plea either of wit or utility to excufe the illiberal jell : but, when the nicer diftinctions of national character are expofed with a juft and de- licate ridicule, the fpectacle may be both B 4 enter- 8 ON THE PROVINCE entertaining and inftrudtive. Amidft the tribe of foreign valets to be met with on the Englifh theatre, I would inftance Canton in the Clandejline Marriage, as an admirable example of true national character, independent on language and grimace. The obfequioufnefs and atten- tive flattery of the fervile Swifs- French- man are quite character iftic, as well as the carelefs infolence and affected airs of Brush the Englifh footman *. O'Fla- * I Am concerned to obferve an inftance of illiberal national ridicule without any merit of compofitioit to palliate it, from a refpe&able dramatic writer, which is alfo rendered much more obnoxious by the circumftances. 2A. Voltaire's Eeaffaife was purpofely written to exhibit a worthy Englifh character 5 marked, indeed, with fome whimfical peculiarities, but diftinguifhed by a ftrong fpirit of benevolence. It was impomble to expofe national foibles more gently than by combining them with na- tional virtues. When this Piece was brought on our ftage under the title of the Englijh Merchant, a French valet was inferted among the p erj 'on a dramatis, charatterifed by nothing but his faife Englifh, and for no other end but tQ be exhibited as a fcoundrel ! HERTY, OF COMEDY. 9 herty, the Irifh foldier of fortune in the Weft Indian , is an example of fimilar merit j much more fo, I think, than the character from which the piece has its title. Although fome part of the chara&er of a nation is pretty uniform and con- usant, yet its manners and cuftoms in many points are extremely variable. Thefe variations are the peculiar modes and famions of the age ; and hence the age, as well as the nation, acquires a diftinguifh- ing character. Fafhion, in general, ufurps a dominion only over the fmallcr 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 confequently fit iubje&s of comic ridicule. There is no fource of Co- medy more fertile and pleafing than this ; and IO ON THE PROVINCE and none in which the end of reformation is likely to be fo well anfwered. An ex- travagant fafnion is exhibited upon the fcage with fuch advantage of ridicule, that it can fcarcely ftand long againft it $ and I make no doubt that Moliere's Marquis de Majcarille, and Cibber's Lord Fopping- ton, had a confiderable fhare in reforming the prevailing foppery of the times. Fa- fhion has alfo 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 dlchemift, the Virtuojo, the Antiquary, the Belle Efprity have in their turns undergone the ridicule of the ftage, when their refpedtive purfuits, by being fafhionable, were car- ried to a fanciful extravagance. It is well known that Moliere, in his comedies of the Femmes Sgavantes, and the Precieufes Ridicules, was as fuccefsful againft the pedantry and pretentions to wit which in- fefted OF COMEDY. II fecled 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; arid perhaps the fobjcft is too delicate for the flage, confidering the abufes to which it is liable. I mean popular fuperftition, and prieftcraft. 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 againft fuperftition, but religion. The Spanijh Friar y 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 fuperftitton 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 fubject of diipute. Particular ranks and profeffions of men have likewife characleriflical 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 profeflional, as well as national abfurdities, great illiberally and unfairnefs have been ihewn; both, probably, from the fame caufe ; a want of fufEcient acquaintance with the whole characters, and taking a judgment of them from a few external circumftances. Yet, upon the whole, good effects may have arifen even from this branch of Co- medy ; fince, by attacking a profefllon on a fide where it was really weak, the mem- bers of it have been made fenfible of, and OF COMEDY. IJ and have reformed thofe circumftances which rendered them ridiculous. A good- natured phyfician can never be angry at Moliere's mod laughable exhibitions of the faculty, when he reflects 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 profeflbrs of law, being neceiTarily 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 arrangements which na- tion and profeffion make of mankind, there are certain natural clafles formed from the diverfities of peribnal character. Although the varieties of temper and dif- pofition in men are infinite, fo that no two perfons probably ever exifled in whom there 14 OK THE PROVINCE there was an exact conformity, yet there are certain leading features of character which produce a general refemblance among 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 abftract characters which divide the whole human race amongd them. Now there are, be- longing to all thefe, objects of ridicule which it has been the bufinefs of Comedy to exhibit ; and though, perhaps, no one individual of each clafs perfectly refem- bled the perfon held to view on the ftage, yet if all the circumftances exhibited are contained in the general character, it ap- pears fufficiently natural. The Mifer of Moliere is not a picture of any one mifer who ever lived, but of a mifer confidered as forming a clafs of human characters. As thefe general claries, however, are few in number, they mull be foon exhaufted 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 fmgular. Hence have been derived many pictures of that character which we call an humourifi ; by which is meant a character diftinguifhed by certain ludicrous {insularities from the reft of mankind. The humourift is not without thofe marks of diftinction which he may acquire r like others, from rank, pro- feffion, or temper of mind ; but all thefe are difplayed in him after a manner peculiarly his own, and dallied with his leading oddities. A love of what is un- common and out of the way has often occafioned fuch extravagance in the re- prefentation of thefe characters as to difguft from their want of probability; but, where a due moderation is obferved, and the peculiarities, though unufual, are fuch as really exift in nature, great enter- tainment iG ON THE PROVINCE tainmeric may be derived from their ex- hibition. Of this kind are the admirable Mifanthrope and Malade Imaginaire of Moliere ; and the Old Bachelor and Sir < npfon Legend of Congreve. From hence it appears but a fmall gradation to the exhibition of individuals upon the ftage ; and yet the difference is important and eiTential. That which maiks out the diftinction 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 object. Nor can it fcarcely ever be juft to expofe an individual to the ri- dicule of the ftage ; fince folly, and not vice, being the proper fubjed of that ri- dicule, it is hardly polfible any one can deferve OF COMEDY* ij 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 fictitious characters, by means of which the failing may be ridi- culed without the perfon. Perfonal ridi- cule mud therefore turn, as we find it always has done, upon bodily imper- fections, awkward habits, ahd uncouth geflures ; which the low arts of mimickry inhumanly drag forth to public view, for the mean purpofe of exciting prefent merriment. In the beft hands, perfonal Comedy would be a degradation of the ftage, and an unwarrantable feverity; but in the hands it would be likely, if en- couraged, to fall into, it would prove an intolerable nuifance. I mould therefore, without hefitation, join thofe who utterly condemn this fpecies of comic ridicule. It is alfo to be confidered, that the author C ftiews iS ON THE PROVINCE fhews his talents to difadvantage, and- cannot lay any bafis of future fame, ia 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 ; ia which the fund of genuine Comedy, derived from happy ftrokes upon the manners of the times, and un- common, but not entirely fingular cha- racters, will fecure a Lafting admiration,, when the mimickry which fupported the parts of Squintum and Cadwallader is defpifed or forgotten. Having thus attempted to trace the different fources of what I conceive the eiTential part of true Comedy, the ridi- cule derived from charaffer, it remains to fay fomewhat of the mixture of ad- ditional OF COMEDY* I9 ditional matter which it has received as a compofition. 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 Co- medy, the genius of which it appeared peculiarly to fuit, from its gaiety and fatyrical fmartnefs. Accordingly, the language of Comedy was a firing of re- partees, in which a thought was bandied about from one to another, till it was quite run out of breath. This made a fcene pafs off with great vivacity; but the misfortune was, that diftin&ion of character was quite loft in the contefL 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 C 2 came, 2.0 ON THE PROVINCE came. Congreve, with the greater!: talent? for true comic humour, and the delinea- tion of ludicrous characters, was fo over- run with a fondnefs for brilliancy,, as fre- quently to break in upon confiftency. Wit is an admirable ornament of Co- medy, and, judicioufly applied, is a high relief to humour, but fhould never inter- fere with the more effential 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 fnnplicity of modern Comedy. Amoralift may congratulate the age on hearing from the theatre compositions 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 pre- valent, were perverted to vicious pur- pofes, we may rejoice at the facrificej yet we OF COMEDY, 21 we may be allowed to feel a regret at the lofs of an amufement which might, cer- tainly, have been reconciled with inno- cence; nay, might perhaps have pleaded utility beyond what is fubftituted in its room. Sentimental Comedy, as it is called, contains but very faint difcri mi nation of character, and fcarcely any thing of ridi- cule. Its principal aim is to introduce elegant and refined fentiment, particularly of the benevolent cart ; and to move the heart by tender and interesting filiations. Hence they are, in general, much more afFeding than our modern Tragedies, which are formed upon nearly the fame plan, but labour under the difadvantage of a formal, ftately ftile, and manners removed too far from the rank of com- mon life. One would not, perhaps, wifh altogether to banifh from the ftage pieces fo moral and innocent - 3 yet it is a pity they are not diftinguifhed by fome appro- C 3 priated 22 ON THE PROVINCE priated name from a thing they fo little refemble as true Comedy. I fear, a view of modern manners in other refpecls 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 refpect to the firftj genuine Comedy knows no difbinc- tion of rank, but can as heartily enjoy a humourous picture in the common walks of life, where indeed the greateft variety is to be found, as in the moft cultivated and refined. Some have placed the dis- tinction between Farce and Comedy in the rank from whence the characters are taken j but, I think, very improperly. If there is any real diftinclion befides the length OF C0M2DV, 23 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 character. 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 correctnefs has laid her reprefiing hand upon imagina- tion, and damped all her powers. The example of the ancients has been thought to juftify the gravity and fimplicity of modern Comedy. But, great as they were in many qualities of the mind, in thofe of wit and humour they were dill more de- fective than even ourfelves in the prefent age. They, who would eagerly catch at a wretched pun, or a meager piece of plot 5 were certainly with-held from witti- C 4 cifm 24 ON THE PROVINCE cifm and drollery by want of invention, not juftnefs of tafte. I admire, in the pure Latin of Terence, the elegant fenti- ment, and flill more the knowledge of the human heart, with which he abounds ; but I would not on that account com- pare his genius, at leaft in Comedy, with Moliere and Congreve. Lenibus atque utinam fcriptis adjun&a foret vis Comica ■ Moral fentiment is the cheapeft product of the mind, Novels, and magazines, and even news-papers, are full of it ; but wit and humour threaten to leave us with Chefterfield and Sterne. Still, however, I would hope the Hate of Comedy is not defperate. The Clandefiine Marriage exhibits an example of comic merit, as various and perfect as perhaps any piece in our language. All the fources of ludicrous character have con- OF COMEDY. 25 contributed to it. National ridicule ap- pears in Canton, and profeflional in Ster- ling. Lord Ogleby is an excellent hu- mourift. Mrs. Heidleberg and her niece, befides a comic pettifhnefs of temper, have plenty of fafhionable follies, modi- fied by city vulgarifm. Even the lovers of tender fentiment have their fhare in the entertainment; and I by no means would object to its occafional introduc- tion, when, as it were, offering itfelf from the circumftances. Then, befides Mr. Foote's comic theatre, we have fe- veral pieces, which, though ranged under the lift of Farces, contain true and ori- ginal Comedy. Of thefe we may infhnce the Citizen, Folly Honeycomb, the Up- holfterer, the Apprentice, and the Oxonian in Town. It is a miftake to fuppofe that the matter of Comedy can ever fail. Though general characters may be ex- haufted, yet the prevailing follies and faihions 26 ON THE PROVINCE, &C, fafhions of the times, with the Angulari- ties flatting up in particular ranks and orders of men, mull conflantly fupply food for the ridicule of the flage. 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 the interefts of good fenfe and virtue s let it never make a good character lefs refpectable, nor a bad one lefs obnoxious; but let us not refign its ufe to common- place maxim, and infipid fentiment. V THE ( *7 ) THE HILL of SCIENCE, A VISION, IN that feafon of the year when the ferenity of the fky, the various fruits which cover the ground, the difcoloured 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 a beautiful and romantic country, till curiofity began to give way to weari- nefs j and 1 fat me down on the fragment of a rock overgrown with mofs, where 2 the 2$ THE HILL OF SCIENCE* the ruftling of the falling leaves, the darning of waters, and the hum of the diftant city, foothed my mind into the moil perfect tranquillity, and fleep infen- fibly ftole upon me, as J was indulging the agreeable reveries which the objects around me naturally infpired. I immediately found myfelf in a vail extended plain, in the middle of which arofe a mountain higher than I had be- fore any conception of. It was covered with a multitude of people, chiefly youth ; many of whom prefTed forwards with the livelieft exprefiion of ardour in their countenance, though the way was in many places fteep and difficult. I ob- ferved, that thofe who had but juft be- gun to climb the hill, thought themfelves not far from the top ; but as they pro- ceeded, new hills were continually rifing to their view i and the fummit of the higheft A VISION, 2^ higheft they could before difcern, Teemed but the foot of another, till the moun- tain at length appeared to lofe itfelf in the clouds. As I was gazing on thefe things with aftonilhment, my good Genius fuddenly appeared. c The mountain be- fore thee/ faid he, c is the hill of science. On the top is the temple of Truth, whofe head is above the clouds, and whofe face is covered with a veil of pure light. Obferve the progrefs of her votaries - 3 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 woman of a pen five and thoughtful ap- pearance, whofe lips were continually- moving, as though fhe repeated fome- thing to herfelf. Her name was memory. On entering this firft enclofure, I was ftunned with a confufed murmur of jarring voices, and diflbnant founds ; which in- creafed 30 THE HILL OP SCIENCE, creafed upon me to fuch a degree, that I was utterly confounded, and could com- pare the noife to nothing but the con- fufion of tongues at Babel. The road was alfo rough and flony, and rendered more difficult by heaps of rubbifh, con- tinually tumbled down from the higher parts of the mountain ; and by broken ruins of ancient buildings, which the tra- vellers were obliged to climb over at every ftep; infomuch that many, dif- gufted with fo rough a beginning, turned back, and attempted the mountain no more : while others, having conquered this difficulty, had no fpirits to afcend further, and fitting down on fome frag- me: >t of the rubbifh, harangued the mul- titude below with the greater!; marks of importance and felf-complacency. About half way up the hill, 1 ob- ferved on each fide the path a thick foreft covered with continual fogs, and cut out into A VISION, into labyrinths, crofs alleys, and Terpen- tine walks, entangled with thorns and briars. This was called the wood of error: and I heard the voices of many who were loft up and down in it, calling to one another, and endeavouring in vain to ex- tricate themfelves. The trees in many places fhot their boughs over the path, and a thick mift often relied on it ; yet never fo much but that it was difcernable by the light which beamed from the countenance of Truth. Int the pleafanteft part of the moun- tain 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 fistioviy filled with a variety of wild flowers fpringing up in the greater! luxuriance, of richer fcents and brighter colours 32 THE HILL OF SCIENCE;, colours than I bad obferved in any other climate. And near them was the dark walk cf allegory, fo artificially fhaded, that the light at noon-day was never (Ironger than that of a bright moon- fhine. This gave it a pleafingly romantic air for thofe who delighted in contempla- tion. The paths and alleys were per- plexed with intricate windings, and were all terminated with the flattie of a Grace, a Virtue, or a Mufe. After I had obferved thefe things, I turned my eyes 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 darted 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. 23 and interrupted by a thou fa nd caprice?. 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 to many excurfions 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 Geni'is was thus wafting his ftrength in eccentric 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 obftru&ed his way, till he faw mod of thofe below him who had at fir ft derided his flow and toilfome progrefs. Indeed there were few who afcended the hill with equal and uninterrupted fteadinefs ■> for> beflde the difficulties of the way, they D were 34 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, were continually folicited to turn afide by a numerous crowd of Appetites, Paffions, and Pleafures, whofe importunity, when they had once complied with, they be- came lefs and lefs able to rend; and, though they often returned to the path, the afperities of the road were more fe- verely felt, the hill appeared more fteep and rugged, the fruits which were whole- fome and refrefhing, feemed harfh and ill- tailed, their fight grew dim, and their feet tript at every little obftruction. I saw, with lbme furprize, that the Mufes, whole bufmefs was to cheer and encourage thofe who were toiling up the afcent, would often fing in the bowers of Pkafure, and accompany thofe who were enticed away at the call of the Paffions. They accompanied them, however, but a little way, and always forfook them when they loft fight of the hill. Their tyrants then doubled their chains upon 2 the A VISION. 3S the unhappy captives, and led them away without refiftance to the cells of Ig- norance, or the manfions of Mifery. Among-ft the innumerable feducers, who were endeavouring to draw away the votaries of Truth from the path of Science, there was one fo little formidable in her appearance, and fo gentle and languid in her attempts, that I mould fcarcely have taken notice of her, but for the numbers (he had imperceptibly loaded with her chains. Indolence (for fo me was called), far from proceeding to open hoftilities, did not attempt to turn their feet out of the path, but contented herfelf with retarding 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 flrength of thofe who came within its influence. Her unhappy captives ftill turned their faces towards the temple, and always D 2 hoped J 6 THE HILL OF SCIENCE, hoped to arrive there ; but the ground feemed to Aide from beneath their feet, and they found themfelves at the bottom before they fufpected that they had changed thejr place. The placid ferenity which at firft appeared in their counte- nance, changed by degrees into a melan- choly languor, which was tinged with deeper and deeper gloom as they glided down xhtftream of infignificance ; a dark and fluggilh water, which is curled by no breeze, and enlivened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead fea, where the ftartled paflengers are awakened by the mock, 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 r The captives of Appetite and Pafiion could often feize the moment when their tyrants were languid or afleep to efcape from A VISION, 27 from their enchantment j but die do- minion of Indolence was conftant and unremitted, and Seldom refitted till re- finance was in vain. After contemplating thefe things, I turned my eyes towards the top of the mountain, where the air was always pure and exhilarating, 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 J, are they who are permitted to afcend the mountain !— but while I was pro- nouncing this exclamation with uncom- mon ardour, I faw (landing befide mc a form of diviner features and a more benign radiance. Happier, faid fhe, are thofe whom virtue conduces to the manfions of Content ! — What, faid I, does Virtue then refide in the vale ?— I am found, faid fhe, in the vale, and D 3 I illumi- 38 THE HILL OF SCIENCE. I illuminate the mountain. I 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. I have a temple in every heart that owns my influence -, and to him that wifhes for me I am already prefent. Science may raife you to eminence, but I alone can guide you to felicity ! While the Goddefs was thus fpeaking, I ftretched out my arms towards her with a vehemence which broke my {lumbers. The chill dews were falling around me, and the fhades of evening ftretched over the land- fcape. I haftened homeward, and religned the night to filence and meditation. o tt ( 39 ) O N ROMANCES, AN IMITATION. f\F all the multifarious productions which the efforts of fuperior ge- nius, or the labours of fcholaftic induftry, have crowded upon the world, none are peruied with more infatiable avidity, or diffeminated with more univerfal ap- plaufe, than the narrations of feigned events, defcriptions of imaginary fcenes, and delineations of ideal characters. The celebrity of other authors is confined D 4 within 40 -within very narrow limits. The Geome- trician and Divine, the Antiquary and the Critic, however diftinguifhcd by un- contefled excellence, can only hope to pleafe thofe whom a conformity of dif- poiition 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 feif-fufficient folly. The col- lector of fhells and the anatomift of in- fects is little inclined to enter into theo- logical difputes : the Divine is not apt to regard with veneration the uncouth diagrams and tedious calculations of the Aftronomer : the man whofe life has been confumed in adjufting the difputes of lexicographers, or elucidating the learning of antiquity, cannot eafily bend his thoughts to recent tranfactions, or readily intereft himfelf in the unimportant hiftory of his contemporaries : and the Cit, AN IMITATION. 4I Cit, who knows no bufinefs but acquiring wealth, and no pleafure but difplaying it, has a heart equally fluit up to argu- ment and fancy, to the batteries of fyl- logifm, and the arrows of wit. To the writer of fiction alone, every ear is open, and every tongue lavifh of applaufe j curiofity iparkles in every eye, and every bofom is throbbing with concern. It is, however, eafy to account for this enchantment. To follow the chain of perplexed ratiocination, to view with critical fkill the airy architecture of iyftems, to unravel the web of fophiilry, or weigh the merits of oppofite hypo- thefes, requires perfpicacity, and pre- fuppofes learning. Works of this kind, therefore, are not fo well adapted to the generality of readers as familiar and colloquial compofition ; for few can rea- fon, but all can feci ; and many who cannot 42 ON ROMANCES, 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 collifon of dif- fimilar ideas produce the fcintillations of wit; or by the vivid glow of poetical imagery delight the imagination with colours of ideal radiance. The attrac- tion of the magnet is only exerted upon fimilar particles ; and to tafte the beau- ties of Homer, it is requifite to partake 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 paflions which all have felt. The gloom of folitude, the languor of in- action, the corrofions of difappointment, and the toil of thought, induce men to ftep afide from the rugged road of life, and AN IMITATION. 43 and wander in the fairy land of fiction ; where every bank is fprinkled with flowers, and every gale loaded with per- fume ; where every event introduces a hero, and every cottage is inhabited by a Grace. Invited by thefe flattering feenes, the ftudent quits the inveftigation of truth, in which he perhaps meet* with no lefs fallacy, to exhilarate his mind with new ideas, more agreeabk, and more eafily attained : the bufy relax their at- tention by defultorv reading, and fmooth the agitation of a ruffled mind with images of peace, tranquillity, and pleafure : the idle and the gay relieve the liftieflhefs of leifure, and diverfify the round of life by a rapid feries of events pregnant with rap- ture and ailonifhment j and the pen five folitary fills up the vacuities of his heart by interefting himfelf in the fortunes of imaginary beings, and forming con-* neclions with ideal excellence. It 44 OW ROMANCES-, It is, indeed, no ways extraordinary that the mind mould be charmed by fancy, and attracted by pleafure , but that we fhould liiltn with complacence to the groans of mifery, and delight to view the exacerbations of complicated anguifh^that we fhould choofe to chill the bofom with imaginary fears, and dim the eyes with fictitious ibrrow, teems a kind of paradox of the heart, and can only be credited becaufe it is univerfally felt. Various are the hypothefes which have been formed to account for the difpofition of the mind to riot in this fpecies of intellectual luxury. Some have imagined that we are induced to acquiefce with greater pa- tience in our own lot, by beholding pic- tures of life, tinged with deeper horrors, and loaded with more excruciating cala- mities > as, to a perfon fuddenly emerging out of a dark room, the fainteft glimmer- ing of twilight aflumes a luftre from the contrafted AN IMITATION. 45 contrafted gloom. Others, with yet deeper refinement, fuppofe that we take upon ourfelves this burden of adfcititious forrows, in order to feafr. upon the con- fcioufnefs of our own virtue. We com- miferate others, fay they, that we may applaud ourfelves; and tUt figh of com- panionate fympathy is always followed by the gratulations of felf-complacent 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 feelings of humanity. It would, however, ex- ceed the limits o^ this paper, fhould I attempt an accurate investigation of thefe fentiments. But, let it be remembered, that we are more attracted by thofe fcenes which intereft our paifions, or gratify our curio fity, than thofe which delight our fancy : and, ^o far from being indifferent to the miferies of others, we are, at the 46 ON ROMANCES. time, totally regardlefs of our own. And let not thofe on whom the hand of Time has imprefTed the characters of oracular wifdom, cenfure with too much acri- mony productions which are thus calcu- lated to pleafe the imagination, and in- tereft the heart. They teach us to think, by inuring us to feel : they ventilate the mind by fudden gufts of paffion ; and prevent the ftagnation of thought, by a frefh infufion of diflimilar ideas. SELAMA; ( 47 ) S E L A M A ; IMITATION of OS 5 I AN. m \J[THAT foft voice of forrow is in * * the breeze ? what lovely fun- beam of beauty trembling on the rock ? Its bright hair is bathed in fhowers ; and it looks faint and dim, through its mift on the rufhy plain. Why art thou alone, maid of the mournful look ? The cold dropping rain is on the rocks of Tor- lena — 48 S E L A M A. lena, the blaft of the defart lifts thy yellow locks. Let thy fteps be in the hall of mells, by the blue winding flream of Clutha : let the harp tremble beneath thy fingers -, and the fons of heroes liften to the mufic of fongs. Shall my fteps be in the hall of fhells, and the aged low in the duft ? The fa- ther of Selama is low behind this rock, on his bed of wither'd leaves : the thiftle's down is flrewed over him by the wind, 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 fhe finks, a faded flower, upon thy lifelefs form. Leave the maid of Clutha, fon of the ftranger ! in the red eye of her tears ! How fell the car-borne Connal, blue- eyed mourner of the rock ? Mine arm is AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 49 is not weakened in battle ; nor my fwor J 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 courfe was like a (tar moving through the heavens : it walk- cth in brightnefs, but leaveth no track behind; its filver path cannot be found in the fky. The ftrength of Etha is roll- ed away like a tale of other years; and his eyes have failed. Feeble and dark, he firs in his hall, and hears the diftant tread of a Arranger's fteps ; the haughty fleps of Tonthormo, from the roar of Duvranno's echoing ftream. He flood 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 bent brow ; as flames in two caves of a rock, over-hung with the black pine of the de~ E fart. 50 SELAMA; 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, whofe fiery hair ftreams on the clouds, and the nations are withered beneath its path. Dwell, Tonthormo L amidft thy hundred hills, and liften to thy torrent's roar ; but the foft figh of the virgins is with the chief of Crono j Hidallan is the dream of Se- lama, the dweller of her fecret thoughts, A rufhing ftorm in war, a breeze that fighs over the fallen foe; pleafant are thy words of peace, and thy fongs at the mofTy 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 fhould not fear the gloomy chief of Duv- 2 ran no. AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. $1 ranno. He came with his (lately fteps. — My fhield is before thee, maid of my Jove ! a wall of ihelter from the lightning of fwords. They fought. Tonthormo bends in all his pride, before the arm of youth. But a voice was in the breaft of Hidallan, mail I flay the love of Se- lama ? Selama dwells in thy dark bo- fom, fhall my fteel enter there ? Live, thou ftorm of war ! He gave again his fword. But, carelefs as he ftrode 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. Farewel, light of my foul ! They are clofed in dark- nefs. Feeble waft thou then, my father ! and in vain didft thou call for help. Thy grey locks are fcatter'd, as a wreath of fnow on the top of a wither'd trunk ; E Or which $2 SELAMA; which the boy brufhes away with his ftaff; and carelefs fingeth as he walks. "Who mall defend thee, my daughter ! faid the broken voice of Etna's chief. Fair flower of the defart ! the tempeft fhall rum over thee ; and thou malt 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 ftrong ! I would rufh amidft the battle. Selama has no friend ! But Selama has a friend, faid the kin- dling foul of Reuthamir. I will fight thy battles, lovely daughter of kings y and the fun of Duvranno fhall fet in blood. But when I return in peace, and the fpirits of thy foes are on my fvvord, meet me with thy fmiles of love, maid of Clutha! AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 53 Clutha ! with thy flow-rolling eyes. Let the lb ft iound of thy Heps be heard in my halls, that the mother of Reuthamir may rejoice. Whence, me will fay, - this beam of the diftant land ? Thou ihalt dwell in her bofom. My thoughts are with him who is low in the dud, fon of Cormac ! But lift the fpear, thou friend of the unhappy ! the light of my foul may return. He flrode in his rattling arms. Tall, in a gloomy foreft, flood the furly ilrength of Duvranno. Gleaming be- hind the dark trees was his broad fliield; like the moon when it rifes in blood, and the dufky clouds fail low, and heavy, athwart its path. Thoughts, like the troubled ocean, rufh'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 ftrife of arms ; and the giant fons of the foreft trembled at their flrokes. 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 j when a young warrior came, with his forward fpear. He moved in the light of beauty - 3 but his words were haughty and fierce. Js Tonthormo fallen in blood, the friend of my early years ? Die, thou dark-foul'd chief ! for never ihall 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 ftrife of Clutha. Retire^ thou fwelling voice of pride ! thy AN IMITATION OF OSSIAN. 55 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 vanifh like a cloud of mift before the fun, when he looks abroad in the power of his brightnefs, and the ftorms are rolled away from before his face. But thou thyfelf didft 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 florm 56 SELAMA ; ftorm is over and paft. 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 in her fide. Red, beneath her mail, the current of crimfon wandered down her white breafr, as the track of blood on Cromla's mountains of fnow, when the wounded deer flowly crofTes the heath, and the hunters cries are in the breeze. Bleft 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 mould I know another love? Raife the tomb of the aged, his thin form mail rejoice^ as he fails on a low-hung cloud, and guides the wintry ftorm. O- pen your airy halls, ipirits 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 over my foul, and fhades the py of mighty deeds. Soft be your reft in the narrow houfe, children of grief ! The breeze in the long whittling grafs fhall not awaken you. The temped mail rufh over you, and the bulrufh bow its head upon your tomb, but filence fhall dwell in your habitation j 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 fhall the harp fend forth a mournful found, and the tear dwell in the foft eyes of the daughters of Morna. Such were the words of Reuthamir, while 5$ SELAMA. 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 times, the thiftle's beard. AGAINST ( S9 ) AGAINST INCONSISTENCY IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. cc What is more reafonable, than that u they who take pains for any thing, " fhould get mod in that particular " for which they take pains ? They €t have taken pains for power, you for cc right principles 3 they for riches, you (t for a proper ufe of the appearances " of things : fee whether they have the (e advantage of you in that for which 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- racters 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 pofTeffes a ftoical apathy of foul, acts independent of the opinion of the world, and fulfils every duty with mathematical exactnefs, you mud not expect that man to be greatly influenced by the weaknefs of pity, or the partialities of friendfhip : you muft not be offended that he does n©t fly to meet you after a fhort abfence ; or Jtf OUR EXPECTATIONS. 75 or require from him the convivial fpirit and honeft effufions of a warm, open, fufceptible heart. If another is remark- able for a lively active zeal, inflexible in- tegrity, a ftrorig indignation againft vice, and freedom in reproving it, he will pro- bably have fome little bluntnefs in his addrefs not altogether fuitable to polifhed life; he will want the winning arts of converfation ; he will difguft by a kind of haughtinefs and negligence in his manner, and often hurt the delicacy of his acquaintance with harm and difagree- able truths. We ufually fay — that man is a genius, but he has fome whims and oddities — fuch a one has a very general knowledge, but he is fuperficial ; &c. Now in all fuch cafes we mould fpeak more ratio- nally did we fubftitute therefore for but. He f6 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 profefiions now enjoy with each other, that characters are not mark- ed with fufficient ftrength: the feveral claries run too much into one another. We have fewer pedants, it is true, but we have fewer ftriking originals. Every one is expected to have fuch a tincture $f general knowledge as is incompatible with going deep into any fcience -, and fuch a conformity to fafhionable manners as checks the free workingsof the ruling paffion, and gives an infipid famenefs to the face of ibciety, under the idea of po- lifh and regularity. There is a caft of manners peculiar and becoming to each age, fex, and pro- feflion ; IN OUR EXPECTATIONS. 77 feflionj one, therefore, fhould not throw out illiberal and common-place cenfures againft another. Each is perfect in its 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 ftudy the philofophy of the human mind. The man who is mailer of this fcience, will know what to ocpect from every one. From this man, wife advice; from that, cordial fympa- thy ; from another, cafual entertain- ment. The paflions and inclinations of others are his tools, which he can ufe with 78 AGAINST INCONSISTENCY, with as much precifion as he would the mechanical powers •> and he can as rea- dily make allowance for the workings of vanity, or the bias of felf-intereft in his friends, as for the power of friclion, or ihe irregularities of the needle. THE ( 79 ) THE CANAL and the BROOK- An APOLOGUE. A DELIGHTFULLY pleafant even- ing fucceeding 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 meandering brook. The meadow-ground on its banks had been lately mown, and the new grafs was 80 THE CANAL AND THE BROOK, was (pringxng up with a lively verdure. The brook was hid in feveral places by fhrubs 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 croffed the valley, highraifed on 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 pafTage. I threw myfelf upon a green bank, fhaded by a leafy thicket, and reding 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 aqueduct fuddenly THE BROOK. St fuddehly opened, and a gigantic form ifTued forth, which I foon difcovered to be the Genius of the Canal. He was clad in a clofc garment of a ruiTet hue. A mural crown, indented with battlements, iurrounded his brow. His naked feet were difcoloured with clay. On his left fhoulder he bore a huge pick-ax ; and in his right hand he held certain inftruments, ufed in furveying and levelling. His looks were thoughtful, and his features harm. The breach through which he proceeded, inftantly clofed; and with a heavy tread he advanced into the valley. As he approached 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 encircled with a wreath of water lily, interwoven with fweet fcented flag. An angling rod fupported his fteps. The Genius of the Canal eyed him with a G con- 82 THE CANAL AND contemptuous look, and in a hoarfe voice thus began : cc Hence, ignoble rill! with thy fcanty and 1 certainly, fome of the difciples of thofe fchools who, though now fallen into dif- repute, were revered in their day by the names of. the fubtle, or the angelic doctors, (hewed an acutenefs and ftrength of genius, which, if properly directed, would have gone far in philofophy ; and they only failed becaufe their enquiries were not the objects of the human powers. Had they exercifed half that acutenefs on facts and experiments, they had been truly great men. However, there were not wanting fome, even in the dark eft ages, whole names will be always remembered with pleaiure by the lovers of fcience. Alcuin, the preceptor of Charlemagne, the ftrft who introduced a tafte for polite literature into prance, and the chief in- ftrument that prince made ufe of in his noble endeavours for the encouragement of learning ; to whom the univerfities of Soiilbns, ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. 97 Soiflbns, Tours and Paris owe their ori- gin : the hiftorians, Mathew Paris, William of Malmfbury; Savanarola; the elegant and unfortunate Abelardj and, to crown the reft, the Englifh Francifcan, Roger Bacon. ■ It may be here obferved, that forbid- ing 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 interefls of learning. When the ecclefiaftics had locked up their reli- gion in 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 with- out fuch a motive would probably have been no more ftudied than the Chinefe, And at a time when the modern lan- H guages 9$ ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. guages 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 fubjecls. 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 favage and martial character of the gentry, to have any tin&ure 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 fancluary ; where, with- out the reproach of cowardice, or danger of invafion, he might devote himfelf to 3 learning, ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. 99 learning, aflbciate with men of his own turn, and have free accefs to libraries and manufcripts. In this enlightened and po- limed age, where learning is diffufed through every rank, and many a mer- chant's clerk pofTefTes more real know- ledge than half the literati of that Sfcra, we can fcarcely Conceive how grols 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 protected by even a fuper- flitious degree of reverence. D 4 Thus the Mufes, with their attendant arts, in flrange 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; andHiftory com- H 2 pofed 100 ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. pofed a legend. Yet ftill they breathed, and were ready, at any happier period, to emerge from obfcurity with all their na- tive charms and undiminifhed luftre. But there were other views in which thofe who devoted themfelves to a mo- nadic 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, ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. IOl tries, who would otherwife have been fe- cluded 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 accommodations. The intercourfe with Rome mull have been peculiarly favourable to thefe northern nations 5 as Italy for a long time led the way in every improvement of politenefs or literature: and if we imported their fuperftition, we likewife imported their manufaclures,their knowledge, and their tafle. Thus Alfred fent for Italian monks, when he wanted to civilize his people, and introduce amongft them fome tinclure 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 fubje&ion was not likely to be fo abjed and unlimited where the objecl of it was divided, and H 3 each 102 ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. each fhowed by turns that the other might be oppofed. It muft have been of fervice to the caufe of liberty to have a fet of men, whofe laws, privileges, and immunities the mod daring kings were afraid to trample on -, and this, before a more en- lightened fpirit of freedom had arifen, might have its effect in preventing the ftates of chriftendom from falling into fiich entire flavery as the Afiatics. Such an order would in fome degree check the exceflive 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 j but he was at liberty to afpire to the highefl dignities of the church; and there have been many who, like Sex- tus V. and cardinal Wolfey, have by their induftry ON MONASTIC 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 fupprefiing 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, firft eftablifhed for the relief of the poor under certain difor- ders 5 and the brethren and fifters of the -pious and chrifiian fchools, for edu- cating poor children. Thefe fupplied the place ofhofpitals 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 H4 the 104 ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS, the convent; and they often fhared the charities they received. The exercife of hofpitality is ftill their chara&eriftic, and muft have been of particular ufe for- merly, when there were not the conveni- ences and accommodations for travelling which we now enjoy. Thelearned ftranger was always fure of an agreeable refidence amongfl them; 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 flercenefs, to which our warlike anceflors were fo prone, with the mild- nefs and fanctity of religious influences ; they preferved fome refpecl; to law and order, and often decided controverfies by- means lefs bloody than the fword, though confefledly more fuperftitious, A proof that thefe initiations had a favourable ON MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS. IOJ favourable afpecl towards civilization, may be drawn from a late hiftory of Ireland. " Soon after the introduction of Jbut the furies, and other fabulous inhabitants of the infernal regions. Col- lins, in his mod poeiical 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 Eaftern tale, with their genii, giants, en- chantments, and transformations, how- ever a refined critic may cenfure them as abfurd and extravagant, will ever re- tain a mod powerful influence on the mind, and intered the reader, independ- ently of all peculiarity of tafte. Thus the great Milton, who had a ftrong bias to thefe wildnelTes of the imagination, has, with linking effect, made the dories 4t of foreds and enchantments drear," a favourite ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 1 23 favourite fubje£t with his Penjerojo-, and had undoubtedly their awakening images ftrong upon his mind when he breaks out, Call up him that left half told The ftory of Cambufcan boid ; Sec. How are we then to account for the •pleafure derived from fuch objects ? I •have often been led to imagine that there is a deception in thefecaies; and that the -avidity with which we attend is not a rproof of our receiving real pleafure. The pain of fufpenfe, and^the irrefiftible de- -fire of fatisfying curiofiry, when once raifed, will, account for our eagernefs to tgo quite through an adventure, though *we fuffer actual pain during the whole courfe of it. We rather choofe to furTer the fmart pang of a violent emotion than the uneafy craving of an unfatisfied defire. That this principle, in many inflances, l fnay involuntarily carry us 'through what we X24 ©tf OBJECTS OF TERROR. we diflike, I am convinced from ex- perience. This is the impulfe which ren- ders die poorer! and moil infipid narra- tive interefting 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 difgufling pages, while, like Piftol eating his leek, I have fwallowed and execrated to the end. And it will not only force us through dulnefs, but through actual torture — through the relation of a Damien's execution, or an inquifitor's act of faith. When children, therefore, liflen with pale and mute attention to the frightful iiories of apparitions, we are not, perhaps, to imagine that they are in a flate of enjoyment, any more than the poor bird which is dropping into the mouth of the rattlefnake; they arc chained by the ears, and fafcinated by curiofity. ON 03JECTS OF TERROR. I 2 £ euriofity. This folution, however, does not fatisfy me with refpect 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 expect, we enter into them with eagernefs, in queft of a pleafure already experienced. This is the pleafure conftantly attached to the excitement of furprife from new and wonderful objects. A ftrange and un- expected 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, ex- plores with rapture the new world which is laid open to its view, and rejoices in the expanfion of its powers. Paflion and fancy co-operating, elevate the foul to its higheft pitch ; and the pain of terror is loft in amazement. Hence, llG ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. Hence, the more wild, fanciful^ and extraordinary are the circumftances of a fcene of horror, the more pleafure we receive from it ; and where they are too near common nature, though violently borne by curiofity through the adven- ture, we cannot repeat it, or reflect on it, without an over-balance of pain. In the Arabian Nights are many moft ftriking examples of the terrible, joined with the marvellous : the ftory of Aladdin, and the travels of Sinbad, are particularly excel- lent. The Caftle of Otranto is a very fpirited modern attempt upon the fame plan of mixed terror, adapted to the model of Gothic romance. The belt conceived, and the mod flrongly worked- up fcene of mere natural horror that I recollect, is in Smolett's Ferdinand Count Fathom j where the hero, entertained in a lone houfe in a foreft, finds a corpfe juft flaughtered in the room where he is fent to ON OBJECTS OF TERROR. 1 27 to fleep, and the door of which is locked upon him. It may be amufing for the reader to compare his feelings upon thefe, and from thence form his opinion of the juftnefs of my theory. The following fragment, in which both thefe manners are attempted to be in fome degree united, is offered to entertain a folitaiy winter's evening. After this adventure, Sir Bertrand turned his fteed towards the wolds, hoping to crofs thefe dreary moors before the curfew. But ere he had pro- ceeded half his journey, he was bewildered by the different tracks, and not being able, as far as the eye could reach, to efpy any object but the brown heath furround- ing him, he was at length quite uncertain which 128 SIR BERTRAND, which way he fhould direct his courfe. Night overtook him in this foliation* It was one of thofe nights when the moon gives a faint glimmering of light through the thick black clouds of a lowering Iky. Now and then fhe fuddenly emerged in full fplendor from her veil ; and then in* ftantly retired behind it, having juft ferved to give the forlorn Sir Bertrand a wide extended profpect over the defolate wafte. Hope and native courage a while urged him to pufh forwards, but at length the iricreafing darknefs and fatigue of body and mind overcame him; he dreaded moving from the ground he Hood on> for fear of unknown pits and bogs, and alighting 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 ears — he ftarted up, and, turning towards the found, difcerned a dim twinkling light. Inftantly A FRAGMENT. 12$ Inftantly he feized his horfc'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 j and by a momentary glimple of moon-light he had a full view of a large antique manfion, with turrets at the corners, and an ample porch in the center. The injuries of time were ftrongly marked on every thing about it. The roof in various places was fallen in, the battlements were half demo- lifhed, and the windows broken and dis- mantled. A draw-bridge, with a ruinous gate-way at each end, led to the court before the building. He entered, and inftantly 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. Sir Bertrand fattened his fteed K under I3O SIR BERTRAND, under a fhed, and approaching the houfe, traverfed its whole front with light and flow footfteps. All was flill as death. He looked in at the lower windows, but could not diftinguifh a fingle ob- ject through the impenetrable gloom. After a fhort parley with himfelf, he en- tered the porch, and feizing a mafTy iron knocker at the gate, lifted it up, and hefitating, at length flruck a loud ftroke. The noife refounded through the whole manfion with hollow echoes. All was dill again. He repeated the flrokes more boldly, and louder — ano- ther interval of filence enfued. A third time he knocked, and a third time all was flill. He then fell back to fome diflance, that he might difcern whether any light could be feen in the whole front. It again appeared in the fame place, and quickly glided away as be- fore. At the fame inftant, a deep fullen toll A FRAGMENT. Iji toll founded from the turret. Sir Ber- trand's heart made a fearful flop — He was a while motionlefs 5 then terror im- pelled him to make fome hafty fteps towards his fteed ; but fhame flopt his flight j and, urged by honour, and a re- fiftlefs defire of finifhing the adven- ture, he returned to the porch ; and, working up his foul to a full fteadinefs of refolution, he drew forth his fword with one hand, and with the other lifted up the latch of the gate. The heavy door, creeking upon its hinges, re- luctantly yielded to his hand— he ap- plied his fhoulder to it, and forced it open — he quitted it, and ftept forward — - the door inftantly fhut with a thunder- ing clap. Sir Bertrand's blood was chilled — he turned back to find the door, and it was long ere his trembling hands could feize it— but his utmoit ftrength could not open it agin. After K 2 fever al 132 SIR BERTRAND, feveral ineffectual attempts, he looked behind him, and beheld, acrofs a hall, upon a large ftaircafe, a pale bluilfi flame, which caft a difma! 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 de- liberation, afcended. He went (lowly up, the flame retiring before him, till he came to a wide gallery — The flajne proceeded along it, and he followed in filent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes of his footfteps ftartled him. It led him to the foot of another ftair- cafe, and then vanifhed. At the fame inftant, another toll founded from the turret— Sir Bertrand felt it ftrtke upon his heart. He was now in total dark- oefe, and, with his arms extended, began to afcend the fecond ftaircafe. A dead cold hand met his left hand, and firmly grafped A FRAGMENT. IJ3 grafped it, drawing him forcibly for- wards — he endeavoured to difengage himfelf, but could not -he made a fu- rious blow with his fword, and inftantly a loud fhriek pierced his ears, and the dead hand was left powerlefs in his— He dropt it, and ruined forwards with a defperate valour. The flairs were narrow and winding, and interrupted by frequent breaches, and looie fragments of flone. The flaircafe grew narrower and nar- rower, and at length terminated in a low iron grate. Sir Bertrand pufhed it open — it led to an intricate winding pafTage,jufl large enough to admit a perfon upon his hands and knees. A faint glimmering of light ferved to fhew the nature of the place. Sir Bertrand entered — A deep hollow groan refounded from a diftance 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 fol- lowed it. The vault, at length, fud- denly opened into a lofty gallery, in the midft of which a figure appeared, com-' pletely armed, thrufling forwards the bloody (lump of an arm, with a ter- rible frown and menacing geflure, and brandifhing a fword in his hand. Sir Bertrand undauntedly fprung forwards ; and, aiming a fierce blow at the figure, it inftantly vanifhed, letting fall a mafiy iron key. The flame now refled upon a pair of ample folding doors at the end of the gallery. Sir Bertrand went up to it, and applied the key to a brazen lock. With difficulty he turned the bolt. Inftantly the doors flew open, and difcovered a large apartment, at the end of which was a coffin refted upon a bier, with a taper burning on each fide of it. Along the room, on both fides, were gigantic flames of black marble, attired A FRAGMENT. I35 attired in the Moorifh habit, and hold- ing enormous fabres in their right hands. Each of them reared his arm, and ad- vanced one leg forwards as the knight entered ; at the fame moment, the lid of the coffin flew open, and the bell tolled. The flame ftill glided forwards, and Sir Bertrand refolutely followed, till he arrived within fix paces of the coffin. Suddenly, a lady in a fhroud 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 — ihe threw up her veil, and kifled his lips; and inftantly the whole building fhook as with an earthquake, and fell afunder with a horrible crafh. Sir Ber- trand was thrown into a fudden trance and, on recovering, found himfelf feated K 4 on I36 SIR BERTRANfJ, on a velvet fofa, in the moft magnifi- cent room he had ever feen, lighted with innumerable tapers, in luftres of pure cryftal. A fumptuous banquet was fet in the middle. The doors opening to foft mufic, a lady of incomparable beauty, attired with amazing 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 de- liverer. 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 entering, ferved up the fea{t ; delicious mufic playing all the time. Sir Bertrand could not fpeak for aftonifhment : he could only return their honours by courteous looks and geftures. A FRAGMENT* I37 geftures. After the banquet was finished, all retired but the lady, who, leading back the knight to the fofa, addrelTed him in thefe words : ON ( *3* ) ON THE HEROIC POEM GONDIBERT. A Person engaged in the purfuit of literary fame muft be feverely mortified on obferving the very fpeedy neglect into which writers of high merit fo fre- quently fall. The revolution of cen- turies, the extinction of languages, the vaft convulfions which agitate a whole people, ON CONDIBERT. I39 people, are caufes which may well be fubmitted to in overwhelming an author with oblivion -, but that in the fame country, with little variation of lan- guage or manners, the delights of one age fhould become utter ftrangers in the next, is furely an immaturity of fate which conveys reproach upon the in- conftancy of national tafte. That noble band, the Englifh poets, have ample reafon for complaining to what unjuft guardians they have entrufted their re- nown. While we crown the flatue of Shakefpeare as the prince of dramatic poets, fhall we forget the works, and almoft the names of his contemporaries who porTeffed fo much of a kindred fpirit ? Shall the Italian P aft or Fido and Amyntas (land high in our eftimation, and the Faithful Sbepberdefs y the mod beautiful paftoral that a poet's fancy ever formed, be fcarcely known amongft us ? Shall J4<3 OPT THE HEROIC POEM" Shall we feel the fire of heroic poetry in tranflations from Greece and Rome, and never fearch for it in the native pro- ductions of our own country r* The capital work of Sir William jyAvenanty which I now denre to call forth from its obfeurity, may well be confidered as in a (late of oblivion, fince we no where meet with allufions to it, or quotations from it 3 in our modern writers; and few, I imagine, even of the profeffed fcudents in Englifh daffies,, would think their tafte difcredited by confeffing that they had never read Gondibert. A very learned and ingenious critic, in his well- known difeourfe upon poetical imitation, has, indeed, taken notice of this poem ; but, though he bellows all due praife upon its aothor, yet the purpofe for which it is mentioned being to inflance an effential error, we cannot fuppofe that his Or GONDI1ERT. I4I his authority has ferved to gain it more readers. Having very judicioufly laid it down as a general obfervarion, that writers, by ftudioufly avoiding the fan- cied difgrace of imitation, are apt to fall into improper method, forced con- ceits, and aiFecled expreflion; lie pro- ceeds to introduce die work in queftioa after the following manner : the decorations, and the choir of wor- shippers, are all fuited with nice judg- ment, and defcribed with genuine poetry. This diftinguifhed canto concludes with * Difc. on Poetical Imitation, A* ( *9° ) A N- ENQUIRY INTO THOSE KINDS OF DISTRESS WHICH BXCITE AGREEABLE SENSATIONS, I T is undoubtedly true, though a phenomenon of the human mind diffi- cult to account for, that the reprefenta- tion of diftrefs frequently gives pleafure; from which general obfervation many of our modern writers of tragedy and ro- mance AN ENQUIRY. I9I mance feem to have drawfr this in- ference, 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 afflicting events and difmal accidents their imagination can furnim ; and when they have half broke the reader's heart, they expect he fhould thank them for his agreeable entertainment. An author of this clafs fits down, pretty much like an inquifitor, to compute how much iufFering he can inflict upon the hero of his tale before he makes an end of him ; with this difference, indeed, that the inquifitor only tortures thofe who are at lead reputed criminals ; whereas the writer generally choofes the molt excellent character in his piece for the fubject of his perfecution. The great criterion of excellence is placed in being able to draw tears plentifully; and con- I- chiding tC)2 AN EUQUIRY eluding we fhall weep the more, thft' more the picture is loaded with doleful events, they go on, telling *J of forrows upon forrovvs Even to a lamentable length of woe. A monarch once propofed a reward for the difcovery of a new pleafure j 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 fabricated books of enter- tainment. 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 affected by every thing that excites 6ur fympathy. It fhall therefore be the bufinefs of this eiTay to diftinguilh thofe kinds of diftrefs which are pleating in the repr-e- CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. IpJ feprefentation, from thofe which arc really 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 diftincl fenfations, marked by very different extenul expi-effion. One caufes the nerves to tingle, the flefli to fhudder, and the whole countenance to be thrown into ftrong contractions ; the other relaxes the frame, opens the features, and produces tears. When we crufli a noxious or loathfome animal f we may fympathize ftrongly with the pain it fuffers, but with far different O emotions I£4 AN ENQUIRY emotions from the tender fentiment we feel for the dog of UlyfTes, who crawled to meet his long-loft mafter, looked up, and died at his feet. Extreme bodily- pain is perhaps the mod 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 operation, would have a fine effect in a tragedy. But there muft be fome other fentiment combined with this kind of in- ftin&ive 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 rendered more interefting, by circum- fiances of pain and danger. Tendernefs is, much more properly than forrow, the fpring of tears - t for it afrecls us in that manner, CONCERNING DISTRESS, &JC. I 95' manner, whether combined with joy or grief j perhaps more in the former cafe than the latter. And I believe we may venture to afTert, that no diftrefs which produces tears is wholly without a mix- ture of pleafure. When Jofeph's brethren were fent to buy corn, if they had periihed in the defart by wild beads, or been re- duced (as in the horrid adventures of a Pierre de Vaud) to eat one another, we might have fhuddered, but we fhould not have wept for them. The gum of tears breaks forth when Jofeph made himfeif known to his brethren, and fell on their neck, and kifTed them. When Hubert prepares to burn out prince Arthur's eyes, the fhocking circumftance, of itfelf, would only affect us with horror ; it is the amiable fimplicity of the young prince, and his innocent affection to his intended murderer, that draws our tears* and excites that tender forrow which we O 2 love 1^6 AN ENQUIRY love to feel, 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 connected with the diiplay of fome moral excellence, or agreeable quality. If fortitude, power, and ftrength of mind are called forth, they produce the fublime feelings 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 object. 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 circumitances that work mod fen fibly \ CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. \Cf] fcnfibly upon the tender feelings. For this reafon, a well -written novel generally draws more tears than a tragedy. The diftrerTes 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- racters, the importance of the events, the pomp of verfe and imagery intereft the grander paflions, and raife the mind to an enthufiafm little favourable to the weak and languid notes of pity. The tragedies of Young are in a fine ftrain of poetry, and the fituations are worked up with great energy; but the pictures are in too deep a fhade : all his pieces are full of violent and gloomy paflions, and fo over-wrought with horror, that inftead of awakening any pleafing fenfibility, they leave on the mind an impreflion of fad- nefs mixed with terror. Shakefpeare is fometimes guilty of prefenting fcenes too O 3 ihocking. l^S AN ENQUIRY feocking. Such is the trampling out cf Glofter's eyes ; and fuch is the whole play of Titus An.dronicus. But Lee, beyond all others, abounds with this kind of images. He delighted in painting the rnoft daring crimes, and cruel maiTacres ; and though he has fhevvn himfelf ex- tremely capable of raifing tendernefs, he continually checks its courfe by mocking and difagreeable exprefiions. His pieces are in the fame tafte with the pictures of Spagnolet, and there are many fcenes in his tragedies which no one can rclifh who would not look with pleafure on the flay- ing of St. Bartholomew. The following fpeech of Marguerite, in the mafTacre of Paris, was, I iuppofe, intended to exprefs the utmdft tendernefs of aftedion. Die for him ! that's too little ; I coald burn Pjece-meal away, or bleed to death by drops, iy'd alive, then brcke upon the wheel, l r et with a fmlle endure it all frr Guife : An4 CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. 1 99 A"d when let looie from torments, all one wound, Run with my mangled arms and crufti 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 likewife apt to make too free with the more violent expreflions of paffion and diftrefs, by which means they lofe their effect. Thus an ordinary author does not know how to exprefs any ilrong emotion otherwife than by fwoon- ings or death; fo that a perfon expe- rienced 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, confidcrs it as the eftablifhed O 4 etiquette 2430 AN ENQUIRY etiquette upon fuch occafions, and turns over the pages with the utmofl coolnefs and unconcern s whereas real fenfibility, and a more intimate knowledge of human nature, would have fuggefced 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 afFecling incidents, imagined with delicacy, and told with grace. Perhaps they have a better turn than we have for this kind of writing. A judicious author will never attempt to raife pity by any thing mean or dif- gufting. As we have already obferved, there mufl be a degree of complacence mixed with our forrows to produce an agreeable fympathy ; nothing, therefore, mufl: be admitted which deftroys the grace and dignity of fufferihg ; the ima- gination mufl have an amiable figure to dwell CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. £01 dwell upon; there are circumftances fo ludicrous or difgufting, that no character 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- panion entirely deftroyed by averfion and loathing ? • His bloody hand Snatch'd two unhappy of my martial band, And d$fh*d like dogs againft the ftony floor, The pavement fwims with brains and mingled gore ; lorn limb from limb, he fpreads his horrid feait, And fierce devours it like a ;nountain beait, He fucks the marrow, and the blood he drains, Nor entrails, flelh, nor folid bone remains. Or that of Scylla, Jn the wide dungeon fhe devours her food, And the flefh trembles while fhe churns the blood. Deformity 102 AN ENQUIRY Deformity is always difgufling, and the imagination cannot reconcile it with the idea of a favourite character ; therefore the poet and romance-writer are fully justified in giving a larger {hare 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 {lory ; but the circumftance fpoils the picture ; and though in the courfe of the {lory it is kept a good deal out of fight, whenever it does recur to the ima- gination we are hurt and difgufted. It was 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 fub- ject for a po^m or a play. Something- akin to this is the reprefentation of any thing unnatural -, of which kind is the famous ftory of the Roman charity, and fir CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C, 20J for this reafon I cannot but think it an unpleafing fubject 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 com- panion, the rags and dirt, the fqualid ap- pearance and mean employments inci- dent to that (late muft be kept out of fight, and the diftrefs muft arife from the idea of depreifion, and the fhock of falling from higher fortunes. We do not pity Belifarius as a poor blind beggar; and a painter would fucceed very ill who mould fink him to the meannefs of that condition. He muft let us ftill difcover the conqueror of the Vandals, the general of the imperial armies, or we fhall be little interefted. Let us look at the pic- ture of the old woman in Otway : 204 AN ENQUIRY A wrinkled Lag with age grown double, Picking dry flicks, and muttering to herfelf ; Her eyes with Icalding rheum were gall'd and red; Cold palfie ("hook her head ; her hands feem'd wither'dj And on her crooked ihculder had me 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 fhould turn away with difguft, if we were not pleafed with it, as we are with a Dutch painting, from its exact imitation of na- ture. Indeed the author only intended it to ftrike horror. But how different are the fentiments we feel for the lovely Bel- videra ! We fee none of thofe circum- stances which render poverty an unamiable thing. When the goods are feized by an execution, our attention is turned to the files of maffy plate, and all the ancient, mofi domeftic ornaments, which imply grandeur and confequence ; or to fuch inftances of their CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. 20$ their hard fortune as will lead us to pity them as lovers : we are ftruck and affected with the general face of mini but we are not brought near enough to difcern the uglinefs of its features. Belvidera ruined, Belvidera deprived of friends, without a home, abandoned to the wide world — we can contemplate with all the pleafing fympathy of pity -, but had fhe been re- prefented as really funk into low life, had we feen her employed in the moft fervile offices of poverty, our companion 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 effects of it. When in common language we fay a miserable obje™ } we mean an object of diftrefs which, if we relieve, we tun* away from at the fame time. To make pity pleafing, the object of it mud not in any view be difagreeable to the imagina- tion* £06 AN ENQUIRY tion. How admirably has the author of ClarifTa managed this point ? Amidft fcenes of fuffering which rend the heart, in poverty, in a prifon, under the mod fhocking outrages, the grace and delicacy of her character never fuffers even for a moment ; there feems to be a charm about her which prevents her receiving a flain from any thing which happens ; and ClarifTa, abandoned and undone, is the object not only of complacence, but veneration* I would likewife obfervey that if* an author would have us feel a ftrong de- gree of companion, his characters mud not be too perfect. The ftern fortitude and inflexible refolution of a Gato may command efteem, but does not excite tendernefs ; and faultlefs rectitude of con-r duct, though no rigour be mixed with it, is of too fublime a nature to infpire com- Concerning distress, &c. 207 compaffion. Virtue has a kind of felf- fufficiency ; it (lands upon its own bafis, and cannot be injured by any violence. It muft therefore be mixed with fomething of helpleflhefs and imperfection, with an exceffive fenfibility, or a fimpliciry bor- dering upon weaknefs, before it raifes, in any great degree, either tendernefs or fa- miliar love. If there be a fault in the maflerly performance juft now mentioned, it is that the character of ClarilTa is fo in- flexibly right, her paffions are under fucli perfed command, and her prudence is fo equal to every occafion, that rn Q feems not to need that fympathy we fliould be- llow upon one of a Ms elevated character; and perhaps we ftould feel a livelier emo- tion of tendernefs for the innocent girl whom Lovelace calls his Rofe-bud, but that the ftory of ClarilTa is fo worked up by the ftrength of colouring, and the force of repeated impreffions, as to command all our forrow. Pity 208 AN ENQUIRE Pity feems too degrading a fcntiment 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 lhall infill upon is, that fcenes of diftrefs mould 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 intenfenels or duration. Con- ftant fuffering deadens the heart to tender rmpreffions; as we mayobferve 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. 200, fufd a pra&ice 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 ftate of mind to tender forrow is not fo difficult as we imagine. When the mind is opened by gay and agreeable fcenes, every imprefiion is felt more fen- 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 fineft hand, have mingled light ftrokes of pleafantry and mirth in their molt pathetic paffages. Very different is the conduct 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 flile of tragedies is one reafon why they affect 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 af- fected folemnity which we think it ne- cefTary to preferve through the whole piece, lofe the force of an elevated or pafiionate expreflion where the occafion really fuggefts it. Having thus confidered the manner in which fictitious diftrefs muft be ma- naged to render it pleafing, let us reflect a little upon the moral tendency of fuch reprefentations. Much has been faid in ' favour of them, and they are 'generally thought CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. 21 1 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 cdnftitution of our frame our habits increafe, our emotions decreafe, by repeated acts ; and thus a wife provifion is made, that as our companion grows weaker, its place mould be fupplied by habitual benevolence. But in thefe writings our fenfibility is flrongly called forth without any pofiibility of ex- erting itfelf in virtuous action, and thofe emotions, which we fhall never feel again with equal force, are wafted withouc ad- vantage* Nothing is more dangerous than to let virtuous impreffions of any kind pafs through the mind without pro- ducing their proper effect. The awaken- ings of remorfe, virtuous fhame and in- dignation, the glow of moral approba- tion — if they do not lead to action, aro* P 2 lefs 211 AN ENQUIRY lefs and lefs vivid every time they recur* till at length the mind grows abfolutely callous. The being affected with a pa- thetic ftory 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 apathy and indifference which the ex- perience of real life would have given them, without 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 objects of pity in romance are as different from thofe in real life as our hufbandmen from the fhepherds of Arcadia \ and a girl who will fit weeping the whole night at the CONCERNING DISTRESS, &C. 213 the delicate diflrerTes of a lady Charlotte, or lady Julia, fhall be little moved at the complaint of her neighbour, who, in a homely phrafe and vulgar accent, la- ments to her that fhe is not able to get bread for her family. Romance-writers likewife make great misfortunes fo fa- miliar to our ears, that we have hardly any pity to fpare for the common acci- dents of life : but we ought to remem- ber, that mifery has a claim to relief, however we may be difgufted with its ap- pearance; and that we mud not fancy ourfelves charitable, when we are only pleafing our imagination. It would perhaps be better, if our romances were more like thofe of the old ftamp, which tended to raife human nature, and infpire a certain grace and dignity of manners of which we have hardly the idea. The high notions of ? 3 honour, £14 AN ENQUIRY, &C. 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 writing which muft ever afford an exquifite pleafure to perfons of tafte and fenfibility ; where noble fenti- ments are mixed with well -fancied in- cidents, pathetic touches with dignity and grace, and invention with chafte correctnefs. Such will ever intereft our fweeteft paffions. I fhall conclude this paper with the following tale. IN A TALE, 2I * I N the happy period of the golden age, when all the celeftial inhabitants defcended to the earth, and converfed familiarly with mortals, among the mod cherifrjed of the heavenly powers were twins, the offspring of Jupiter, love and joy. Where they appeared, the flowers fprung up beneath their feer, the fun (hone 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 lading union fhould Jbe folemnized between them as foon P4 as Il6 A TALE, as they were arrived at maturer years. But in the mean time the fons of men deviated from their native innocence; vice and ruin over-ran the earth with giant flrides -, and Aftrea, with her train of celeftial vifitants, forfook their pol- luted 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 affigned him a different part- ner, and commanded him to efpoufe sorp.ow, the daughter of Ate. He com- plied with reluctance; for her features were harfh and difagreeable, her eyes funk, her forehead contracted into per- petual wrinkles, and her temples were covered with a wreath of cyprefs and wormwood. From this union fprung a virgin, in whom might be traced a ftrong refemblance to both her parents j but A TALE. 217 but the fullen and unamiable features of her mother were fo mixed and blended with the ' fweetnefs of her father, that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleafmg. The maids and ftiep- herds of the neighbouring plains ga- thered round, and called her pity. A red-breafl was obferved to build in the cabin where fhe was born ; and while fhe was yet an infant, a dove, purfued by a hawk, flew into her bofom. This nymph had a dejected appearance, but fo fofc and gentle a mien that fhe was beloved to a degree of enthufiafm. Her voice was low and plaintive, but in- exprefiibly fweet ; and fhe 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 Ihe took a ftrange delight in tears ; and often, when the virgins of the hamlet were affembled at their evening fports, fhe 21 8 A TALE. ihe would Ileal in amongft them, and captivate their hearts by her tales full of a charming fadnefs. She wore on her head a garland compofed of her father's myrtles twilled with her mo- ther's cyprels. One day, as fhe fat mufing by the waters of Helicon, her tears by chance fell into the fountain ; and ever fince, the Mufes' fpring has retained a flrong tafte of the infufion. Pity was com- manded by Jupiter to follow the fleps of her mother through the world, dropping balm into the wounds fhe made, and binding up the hearts fhe had broken. She follows with her hair loofe, her bo- ibm 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 fo5 and when fhe has fulfilled her deftined A TALE, 2*9 deftined courfe upon the earth, they fhall both expire together, and love be again united to joy, his immortal and long- betrothed bride. THOV CHTS ( 220 ) THOUGHTS ON THE DEVOTIONAL TASTE, OK SECTS, AND ON ESTABLISHMENTS. I T is obferved by a late moft amiable and elegant writer, that Religion may be confidered in three different views. As a fyftem of opinions, its fole object is truth > and the only faculty that has any thing to do with it is Reafon, exerted Note. This Effay was firfl: printed in 17/5, and prefixed to Devotional Pieces compiled from the Pfalms of David* in THOUGHTS, &C. 221 3n the freeft and mod difpafiionate en- quiry. As a principle regulating our conduct, Religion is a habit, and like all other habits, of flow growth, and gain- ing ftrength only by repeated exertions. But it may likewife be confidered as a tafte, an affair of fentiment and feeling, and in this fenfe it is properly called Devotion. Its feat is in the imagination and the paflions, and it has its fource in that relifh for the fublime, the vaft, and the beautiful, by which we tafte the charms of poetry and other compofitions that addrefs our finer feelings j rendered more lively and interefling by a fenfe of gratitude for perfonal benefits. It is in a great degree conftitutional, and is by no means found in exadt proportion to the virtue of a character. It is with relation to this laft view of the fubject that the obfervations in this l efTay 222 THOUGHTS ON THE cflay are hazarded : for though, as a rul? of life, the authority and falutary effects of religion are pretty univerfally acknow- ledged, and though its tenets have been defended with fufficient zeal, its affections languifh, the fpirit of Devotion is cer- tainly at a very low ebb amongft us, and what is furprifing, it has fallen, I know not how, into a certain contempt, and is treated with great indifference, amongft many of thofe who value themfelves on the purity of their faith, and who are diftinguifhed by the fweetnefs of their morals. As the religious affections in a great meafure rife and fall with the pulfe, and are affected by every thing which acts upon the imagination, they are apt to run into flrange exceffes -, and if di- rected by a melancholy or enthufiaftic faith, their workings are often too ftrong for a weak head, or a delicate frame; and for this reafon they have been almoft excluded Devotional taste, &c. 223 excluded from religious worfhip by many perfons of real piety. It is the characlcr of the prefent age to allow little to fenti- ment, and all the warm and generous emotions are treated as romantic by the fupercilious brow of a cold-hearted phi- loibphy. The man of fcience, with an air of iuperiority, leaves them to fome florid declaimer who profelTts to work upon the paffions of the lower clafs, where they are fo debafed by n,V;fe and nonfenfe, that it is no womier if they move difguft in thofe of elegant and better-informed minds. Yet there is a devotion, generous, liberal, and humane, the child of more exalted feelings than bafe minds can enter into, which affimilates man to higher natures, and lifts him " above this vifible diurnal fphere." Its pleafures are ultimate, and, when early cultivated, continue 224 THOUGHTS ON THE continue vivid even in that uncomfort- able feafon of life when fome of the paflions are extinct, when imagination is dead, and the heart begins to contract within itfelf. Thofe who want this tafte, want a fenfe, a part of their nature* and Ihould not prefume to judge of feelings to which they muft ever be ftrangers. No one pretends to be a judge in poetry or the fine arts, who has not both a natural and a cultivated relifh for them $ and mall the narrow-minded children of earth> abforbed in low purfuits, dare to treat as vifionary, objects which they have never made themfelves acquainted with ? Silence on fuch fubjects will better become them. But to vindicate the pleafures of devotion to thofe who have neither tafte nor knowledge about them, is not the prefent object. It rather de- ferves our enquiry, what caufes have contributed to check the operations of religious DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. 2l§ religious imprcfllons amongft thofe who have fteady principles, and are well dH** pofed to virtue. And, in the firft place) there is no- thing more prejudicial to the feelings of a devout heart, than a habit of difputing on religious fubjecls. Free enquiry is undoubtedly necefTary to eftablifh a ra- tional belief; but a difputatious ipirit, and fondnefs for controverfy, give the mind a fceptical turn, with an aptnefs to tall in queflion the mod eftabiifhed truths. It is impoflible to preferve that deep reverence for the Deity with which we ought to regard him, when all his attributes, and even his very exigence, become the fubjeel: of familiar debate. Candor demands that a man Ihould allow his opponent an unlimited free- dom of fpeech, and it is not eafy in the heat of difcourfe to avoid falling into an Q indecent 2lS THOUGHTS ON THE indecent or carelefs expreflion 5 hence thofe who think feldomer of religious fubjects, often treat them with more refpect than thofe whofe profeflion keeps them conftantly in their view. A plain man of a feriaus turn would probably be mocked to hear queftions of this nature treated with that eafe and ne^lie-ence with which they are generally difcufTed by the practifed Theologian, or the young lively Academic ready primed from the fchools of logic and metaphyfics. As the ear lofes its delicacy by being obliged only to hear coarfe and vulgar language, io the veneration for religion wears off by hearing it treated with difregard, though we ourfelves are employed in defending it ; and to this it is owing that many who- have confirmed themfelves in the belief of religion, have never been able to re- cover that flrong and affectionate fenfe of it which they had before they began to- enail ire DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. 22"J enquire, and have wondered to find their devotion grown weaker when their faith was better grounded. Indeed, ftrong reafoning powers and quick feelings do not often unite in the fame perfon. Men of a fcientific turn feldom lay their hearts open to impreflion. Previoufly biaffed by the love of fyftem, they do indeed at- tend the offices of religion, but they dare not truft themfelves with the preacher, and are continually upon the watch to obferve whether every fentiment agrees with their own particular tenets. The fpirit of enquiry is eafily diftin- guifhed from the fpirit of difputation. A frate of doubt is not a pleafant (late. It is painful, anxious, and diflrefling beyond mod others : it difpofes the mind to de- jection and modefty. Whoever therefore is fo unfortunate as not to have fettled his opinions in important points, will Qj2 proceed 22% THOUGHTS Otf TKZ proceed in the fearch of truth with deep humility, unaffected earneftnefs, and a ferious attention to every argument that may be offered, which he will be much rather inclined to revolve in his own mind, than to ufe as materials for dif- pute. Even with thefe difpofitions, it is happy for a man when he does not find much to alter in the religious fyftem he has embraced j for if that undergoes a total revolution, his religious feelings are too generally fo weakened by the fhock^ that they hardly recover again their ori- ginal tone and vigour. Shall we mention Philofophy as an. enemy to religion ? God forbid ! Philo- fophy, Daughter of Heaven, that flow afcending {till lnveitigating fare the form of things | Vi ith radiant finger points to heaven again. Yet DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. 220, Yet there is a view in which fhe exerts an influence perhaps rather unfavourable to the fervor of iimple piety. Philofophy does indeed enlarge our conceptions of the Deity, and gives us the lublimeli ideas of his power and extent of do- minion ; but it raifes him too high for our imaginations to take hold of, and in a great meafure deftroys that affectionate regard which is felt by the common clafs of pious Chriftians. When, after con- templating the numerous productions of this earth, the various forms of being, the laws, the mode of their exigence, we rife yet higher, and turn our eyes to that magnificent profufion of funs and fyftems which aftronomy pours upon the mind — When we grow acquainted with the ma- jeftic order of nature, and thofe eternal laws which bind the material and in- tellectual worlds — When we trace the footfteps of creative energy through re- l^O THOUGHTS ON THE gions of unmeafured fpace, and ftill find new wonders difclofed and pre fling upon the view — we grow giddy with die proipect 3 die mind is aftonifhed, con- founded at its own infigniricance ; we think it almoft impiety for a worm to lift its head from the duftj and addrefs the Lord of fo flupendous a univerfe; the idea of communion with our Maker Ihocks us as prefumption, and the only feeling the foul is capable of in fuch a moment is a deep. and painful fenfe of its own abafement. It is true, the fame phi- lofophy teaches that the Deity is inti- mately prefent through every part of this complicated fyftem, and neglects not any of his works: but this is a truth which is believed without being felt; our ima- gination cannot here keep pace with our reafonj and the ibvereign of nature feems ever further removed from us in proportion as we enlarge the bounds of his creation. Philosophy ©EVOTJONAL TASTE, &C. 2J I Philosophy reprefents the Deity in too abftracted a manner to engage our affeclions. A Being without hatred and without fondnefs, going on in one fteady courfe of even benevolence, neither de- lighted with praifes, nor moved by im- portunity, does not intereft us fo much as a character open to the feelings of in- dignation, the foft relentings of mercy, and the partialities of particular affec- tions. We require fom.e common na- ture, or at leaft the appearance of it, on which to build our intercourfe. It is alio a fault of which philofophers are often guilty, that they dwell too much in ge- nerals. Accuftomed to reduce every thing to the operation of general laws, they turn our attention to larger views, attempt to grafp the whole order of the univerfe, and in the zeal of a fyftcmatic ipirit fcldom leave room for thofe par- ticular and perfonal mercies which are Qj- the it will preferve it from ever finking into contempt. As, to a wo- man in the glow of health and beauty, the mod carelefs drefs is the moft be- coming ; but when the freihnefs of youth is worn off, greater attention is neceflary, and rich ornaments are required to throw an air of dignity round her perfon : fo while a feci; retains its firft plainnefs, fim- plicity and affectionate zeal, it wants no- thing an eftablifhment could give ; but that once declined, the latter becomes far more 254 THOUGHTS ON THE more refpeclable. The faults of an efta- blifhment grow venerable from length of time ; the improvements of a feci; ap- pear whimfical from their novelty. An- tient families, fond of rank, and of that order which fecures it to them, are on the fide of the former. Traders incline to the latter -, and fo do generally men of genius, as it favours their originality of thinking. An eftablifhment leans to fuperftition, a feci to enthufiafm ; the one is a more dangerous and violent excefs, the other more fatally debilitates the powers of the mind j the one is a deeper colouring, the other a more lading dye ; but the coldnefs and languor of a de- clining feci; produces fcepticilm. Indeed, a feci; is never fbationary, as it depends entirely on paffions and opinions ; though it often attains excellence, it never reds in it, but is always in danger of one extreme or the others whereas an old eftablifhment, DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. 255 cftablifhment, whatever elfe it may want, porTeffes the grandeur arifing from (lability. We learn to refpedt whatever reipedb itfelf 5 and are eafily led to think that fyftem requires no alteration, which never admits of any. It is this circumftancc, more than any other, which gives a dig- nity to that accumulated mafs of error, the Church of Rome. A fabric which has weathered many fuccefilve ages, though the architecture be rude, the parts difproportionate, and overloaded with ornament, ftrikes us with a fort of admiration, merely from its having held fo long together. The mviifter of a &££, and of an efta- blifhmenr, is upon a very different foot- ing. The former is like the popular leader of an army j he is obeyed with enthufiafm 2$6 THOUGHTS ON THE enthufiafm while he is' obeyed at all j but his influence depends on opinion* and is entirely perfonal : the latter re- fembles a general appointed by the monarch -, he has foldiers lefs warmly devoted to him, but more fteady, and better difciplined. The difTenting teacher is nothing if he have not the fpirit of a martyr ; and is the fcorn of the world, if he be not above the world. The clergy- man, porTefled of power and affluence, and for that reafon chofen from among the better ranks of people, is reipecled as a gentleman, though not venerated as an apoftle ; and as his profeffion generally obliges him to decent manners, his order is confidered as a more regular and civilized clafs of men than their fellow- fubjects of the fame rank. The difTenting teacher, feparated from the people, but not raifed above them, inverted with no power, entitled to no emoluments, if he cannot DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. 257 cannot acquire for himfelf authority, mult feel the bitternefs of dependance. The minifters of the former denomination can- not fall, but in fome violent convulfion of the flate : thofe of the latter, when in- difference ind mutual neglect begin to fucceed to that clofe union which once fubfifted between them and their fol- lowers, lofe their former influence with- out refource j the dignity and weight of their office is gone for ever; they feel the insignificancy of their pretenfions, their fpirits fink, and, except they take refuge in fome collateral purfuit, and Hand candidates for literary fame, they Aide into an ambiguous and undecided character ; their time is too often facri- ficed to frivolous compliances 5 their manners lofe their aufterity, without having proportionally gained in e'?- gance; the world does not acknow- ledge them, for they are not of the S world i 25S THOUGHTS ON THE world 5 it cannot efteem them, for they are noi fuoerior to the world. Upon the whole, then, it fhould feem, that the ftrictnefs of a fed (and it can only be refpeclable by being itrict) is calculated for a few finer fpirits, who make Religion their chief object. As to the much larger number, on whom fhe has only an imperfect influence, making them decent if not virtuous, and meliorating the heart without greatly changing it -, for all thefe the genius of an eftablifhment is more eligible, and better fitted to cheriih that moderate de- votion of which alone they are capable. All thofe who have not ftrength of mind to think for themfelves, who would live to virtue without denying the world, w!k> wifh much to be religious, . but more to be genteel — naturally flow into the eftablifhment. If it offered no motives x fee DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. 259 to their minds, but fudh as are perfectly pure and fpiritual, their devotion would not for that be more exalted, it would die away to nothing ; and it is better their minds fhould receive only a tincture of religion, than be wholly without it. Thofe too, whofe paflions are regular and equable, and who do not aim at ab- firacted virtues, are commonly placed to moft advantage within the pale of the national faith. All the greater exertions of the mind 3 fpirit to reform, fortitude and conftancy to iuffer, can be expected only from thofe who, forfaking the common road, are exercifed in a peculiar courfe of moral difcipline : but it fhould be re- membered, that thefe exertions cannot be expected from every character, nor on every occafion. Indeed, religion is a fentiment which takes fuch ftrong hold S 2 on l60 THOUGHTS ON THE* on all the moll powerful principles of our nature, that it may eafily be carried to excefs. The Deity never meant our regards to him fhould engrofs the mind : that indifference to fenfible objects, which many moralifts preach, is not perhaps de- firable, except where the mind is raifed above its natural tone, and extraordi- nary fituations call forth extraordinary virtues. If the peculiar advantages of a fe& were well underftood, its followers would not be impatient of thofe moderate re- straints which do not rife to perfecution, nor afFect any of their more material in— terefls : for, do they not bind them clofer to each other, cherifh zeal, and keep up the love of liberty ? What is the Ian- guage of fuch reftraints ? Do they not fay, with a prevailing voice, Let the ti- morous and the worldly depart j no one (hall DEVOTIONAL TASTE, &C. l6l foall be of this perfuafion, who is not fin- cere, difinterefted, confcientious. It is notwithftanding proper, that men fhould be fenfible of all their rights, aflert them boldly, and proteft againft every in- fringement j for it may be of .advantage to bear what yet it is unjuftiflable in others to inflict. Neither would difTenters, if they at- tended to their real interefls, be fo am- bitious as they generally are, of rich con- verts. Such converts only accelerate their decline ; they relax their difcipline, and they acquire an influence very per- nicious in focieties which ought to breathe nothing but the fpirit of equality. Sects are always flricTt in proportion to the corruption of eftablifhments and the licentioufnefs of the times, and they lire uieful in the fame proportion. Thus S 3 the