ed by foreigners to be peculiarly co. pious and expressive, loses its pungency, when times and occasions demand it ; and when events, on which the existence of our nation is de pendent, are to be stated in terms correspondent to the magnitude of the event, the writer finds those terms already monopolized in the detail of some petty controversy between two individuals, both of whom perhaps are unworthy of publick notice. Nor does the evil stop here; the publick, so often alarmed by trifles, feel a kind of apathy for events of moment, and, when the pressure of the grievance is felt, won der why they were never forewarned of its existence. Our immediate business however is with those authors, who recommend an observance of nature,as the standard of propriety in all compo. sitions. No man writes according to nature, in a strict sense, who writes any thing worthy of being read. The ancient poets were licensed by the mythology of their times in a greater exercise of the marvellous, than can possibly be allowed of amongst moderns. Το keep the attention ever on the alert, supernatural agency was employed; the deities of antiquity were infected with human passions, watching with anxiety the event of battles, and each in their respective provinces contributing their assistance. Christianity has of course almost become the death of the epick muse. The Being, whom we worship, is invested with such omnipotence, that the poet, who dares to enlist such an advocate on the side of his hero, sins almost as much against taste as against morals. Whatever difficulties may oppress him, the mind of the reader feels but little solicitude for the issue, when there is a power of extrication so tremendous in reserve. Milton experienced the weight of this embarrassment, and has endeavoured to draw a veil over this part of the subject, as it were to screen from our minds the consciousness of the fact. Still the project on its first statement appears wild and chimerical: the attempt of an angel to usurp the throne of Heaven, with a full knowledge that the Being, with whom he is about to contend, is onnipotent, prevents that jeopardy of the mind for the issue, which the pagan poets excited. With all the assistance of Milton's imagination, no reader is for a moment deluded into the belief, that Satan can possibly accomplish his object. when this power is exerted by another person, the same difficulty occurs: when the Messiah rides forth to quell the rebellion, and commands the "uprooted hills to retire to their places," and they obey him, who doubts the issue of the combat? Milton, whose aim was to astonish by the aid of his overpowering fancy, found so little in nature to answer his purposes, that he soars above it, and introduces but two human personages in his Epick. If this instance is thought to be an exception, let us descend to humbler scenes, and contemplate those writers whose professed design is to portray life and manners. The Vicar of Wakefield is known to every one, and the object of its author undoubtedly was to represent "fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness." Where shall we find in nature such a pattern of apostolick virtue, as the vicar himself; of female excellence, as Sophia; of manly disinterestedness and generosity,as Burchel; or of such knavish duplicity, as Jenkinson? Are not all the characters beyond our observance, and is it not from that very cause, that they derive all their interest? It certainly is, and hence the common observation, that novels injure the female mind by leading it off from a contemplation of real life to scenes of imaginary existence. Thus while the critick celebrates the good Vicar, for his strict adherence to real life, the father condemas him from the society of his children, because he is not found in the company of flesh and blood. Biography has been recommended by our Mentors, as a substitute, because there life is painted as it is, and the reader is made conversant with his own species. Let us examine, how far this remark is founded in justice. Are we perfectly sure, that the biographer adheres to an impartial summary of facts in the life of the person represented? No. It is the interest, and, we will add, the duty of the author, to throw out those traits of character only, which designate the man from ordinary men. If his stream of life murmurs with the insipid serenity of ordinary existence, it will pass like other tranquil streams unnoticed., How far his manners comport with those of other men, is never an object of inquiry where it betrays other qualities, such as serve from their scarcity to excite our surprise, it is worthy of observation. Boswell, in his life of Johnson, undertook the accomplishment of a task superiour to his powers. He deemed him at all events a man resolutely to be admired, and without confining his admiration to those properties really worthy of it, esteems even his breeches a sainted relick. He attends him in all his haunts, whether to a church or to a tavern, acts as a perpetual spy upon his conversation and manners, and after his : death exhibits him for our admiration on a close stool. That the doctor did eat, drink, and breathe, like ordinary men, no man but James Boswell ever thought of doubting; but we have the testimony of his page to assure us of the fact. When the bungling mechanick had large and massy materials furnished to his hands for the construction of a noble edifice, he uses them sparingly, and with preposterous ingenuity selects, and appropriates those only, which other workmen had thrown away. This is writing strictly according to nature. Had James Boswell had genius enough to follow and imitate the idol of his veneration, he would have found in the life of Savage, a precedent worthy of his ambition. Johnson has there emblazoned the virtues of his hero, and found so many apologies for his vices, that he has made these two opposites of the human character equally fascinating to our minds. The former command our admiration and respect; the latter we pity and forgive. Still, amidst all these conflicting varieties of passion, traits of character, in spite of all the caution and prudence of Johnson, occasionally glimmer upon us, which shew too evidently, that nature and the biographer were constantly at variance. Had Burns found a Boswell, and Johnson a Currie, to record their actions for posterity, how very different. would their characters have appeared to our eyes. To write from nature must mean to write according to the precedent set by the example of it, which passes under ordinary observance. If this construction is denied, there is but one other and that is, we must study and adopt those aberrations nature delights in, and thus converting exceptions from the general rule into a rule by itself. When once such eccentricities, either in the natural or the moral world, are made the standards of action, it is literally impossible to act or to write different from nature. She has occasionally given birth to monsters, and Ovid, according to this mode of argument, might cite authentick precedents for all the deformities of his page. This leads to such inevitable absurdity in every art, that the first principles and rudiments of it would be totally overthrown. The astronomer would be calculating,the appearance and departure of comets, and the painter would be distributing his lights and shadows in giving formation to the monster designed by Horace, in his "Arte Poetica." Thus, what of nature is fair and proportionate must be abandoned in our works, and'a bedlamite must be the only proper judge of their execution. Arbitrary combination, either in painting or poetry, has no limits, as the caricaturist in either of these departments will testify upon oath. Nature seems inexhaustible in her wonders, and when the vanity of the philosopher leads him to conjecture, that he has explained every department of her cabinet, she confounds him by the exposure of some unobserved novelty. Of this nature is the recent discovery of the junction of vegetable and animal life, in the island of Java. An animated leaf was found by a French naturalist on the body of a Manguestien tree.* ft had all the properties of animal existence, receded when the hand approached it, and advanced to its The Manguestien is a beautiful aromatick tree in the island of Java, and held in high estimation for its fruit, which from its luscious ripeness is incapable of exportation. former position, when that obstacle was withdrawn. It had eyes, feet and legs, discernable by a microscope, and in shape and colour resembled the leaf of the tree, from whence is was taken. It fed upon the Manguestien leaf, and lived forty days in the possession of the French naturalist on that substance. To shew that this is no fabrication designed to amuse the credulity of our readers, we will refer them for more explicit information to Dr. Woodward, of Baltimore, a man of honour and veracity, who observed this vegetable monster in the hands of the French naturalist. Having dwelt so long on this subject, it now seems proper to prepare a more perspicuous substitute for that indefinable phrase, nature. The truth is, that between the grossness of vulgar life, and a perfectibil. ity unattainable by mortals, there is a sort of fairy ground,or what may well be denominated a middle nature It is an imaginary existence, found in the heads of our poets or our painters chiefly, in which mankind are sublimated from the feculencies of earth, and still not perfect enough to be candidates for heaven. In this visionary world events are at the disposal of the Power, which created it, and that is the fancy. In real life, we know not what futurity may bring forth'; but in this transcript of it, future events are entirely at our disposal. When a man has contemplated a poem or a novel, he knows what difficulties his hero has to encounter, and whether he will be successful or unfortunate in the end. Care must be taken, in the construction of this visionary world, not to violate that species of probability, attached to the character represented. A man, whom we have ereated an hero, must not shrink in the hour of danger from an engagement, notwithstanding real life will afford abundant instances of that sort. The reader is prepared for surprise, when he opens the volume; he knows that he is not treading the ground he usually inhabits, and does not derive his standard of propriety from thence. He feels himself in a more exalted region, which, when it descends to a level with the earth, he calls a flat and insipid one. Recollecting the hero of the tale is a mortal still, and the mechanism of human hands, if angelick virtue be predicated of him, he declares that probability is violated. Whatever forms surrounding nature wears, calculated to excite interest in the feelings,may be safely transcribed for this new creation, provided they all preserve their identity throughout. This middle ground is not created by caprice; it results from the defects observable in the works of ordinary nature. Wherever we discover deformity in alliance with beauty, fancy immediately suggests an amendment. A painter, for instance, whose pencil was employed in portraying the features of a fascinating face, would trespass on all propriety, if he should make a wart upon the nose the subject of his imitation. Nay, where the whole countenance is deformed, a graceful departure from the original is allow ed, provided the main features retain their resemblance. This is identically the same principle, by the tacit consent of all ages allowed to the poet, the novelist, and even to the biographer in their respective departments. The pleasure we derive from the contemplation of a fine portrait is not from the bare recognition of the resemblance; it results more from that imperceptible variation, that gives interest to a face where nature has denied any. Hence it appears, that a man who possesses no fancy can never be a man of taste. Accustomed to compare fact with fact, and making no allowance for any thing beyond, he looks on a painting and censures all such licence. Reading a novel or a poem, he encounters the same difficulty, because in both instances his standard of infallibility deserts him. This middle ground therefore, this delicate and judicious combination of fancy and fact, where each loses its identity, so as to appear a perfect whole, is what we mean by the term taste. Wherever the point of their union is discovered,the alliance seems forced and unnatural, and we pronounce the artist destitute of taste, or, in plainer dialect, of that skill to combine those two opposites, so as to fascinate us into the belief, that the representation is just. Poetry is but a species of painting; the same images are raised in the mind by the disposition of words, as by the disposition of light and shadOw. The "licentia poetica," or the liberty assumed by poetry to embellish fact, has been allowed in all ages, and is an express recognition of the existence of this wedlock between fancy and fact, falsely denominated to be the exclusive prerogative of the poet. The painter adopts the same mode, raises and rounds his figures beyond real life, and what was once the "licentia poctica," is now the flattery of the pencil. The novelist, and even the biographer, as we have seen, are allowed the self-same indulgence; fact is heightened by fancy, until a character flat and insipid is raised above the canvass of nature, and rendered interesting by the assistance of such imaginary attributes. This superaddition of fancy, heretofore denominated the licentia poetica, and the flattery of the pen cil, now takes the name of embellishment. Thus we still recognize the features of our old acquaintance, whenever he is presented to us, who bears a resemblance to the character of Proteus only in his name. R. For the Anthology. REMARKER, No. 35. Who shall decide, when Doctors disagree?.................POPE. The readers of the Remarker will gladly peruse, instead of his lucubrations, the following Sir, LETTER TO THE REMARKER, No. 34. WHATEVER credit your defence of Gray may reflect on your talents, as a writer, it will never convince reasonable incredulity, that "he is one of those few poets, who, at every new reading, recompenses you double for every encomium, by disclosing some new charm of sentiment or of diction." I have perused and reperused him since the publication of your panegyrick,but I am still unable to discover those beauties, which seem to have charmed you. The result of repeated readings has more thoroughly convinced me of the justness of Johnson's criticism, whom you misrepresent, when you say, that he could find nothing in Collins, but clusters of consonants.' On the contrary, the Doctor affirms, that his poems are the productions of a mind not deficient in fire,' that his efforts produced, in happier moments, sublimity and splendour,' though he observes, at the same time, that his lines are commonly of slow motion, clogged and impeded with clusters of consonants.' This surely is very different from saying, as you assert, that he could find nothing in Collins but clusters of consonants; nor 6 was it necessary, Sir, in praising Gray, to misrepresent Johnson. Your remarks on the difference of taste in poetry are perfectly just, but your inference, if Pindar and Horace were poets, so was Gray too,' cannot be admitted, because the merit of the two former, consecrated by the applause of ages, has never been disputed, whilst the lyrick fame of the latter still retains unsettled in the minds of many competent judges. I might, with equal propriety affirm, if Dryden and Pope were poets, so is Humphreys too. Your quotation from Horace will not prove Gray a poet; for though we grant, that he possesses the os magna sonaturum in common with Blackmore and many others, yet whether in lyrick poetry he has any claim to the mens divinior, is still the disputed point, which, with all your ingenuity, you have not settled to our satisfaction. In reply to your authority from Burke, I will transcribe a sentence from the reviewer of his celebrated treatise, which you will find in the tenth volume of Johnson's works, by Hawkins, though the review has be |