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$194. On Accuracy. There is another character left, which, though foreign to the present purpose, I venture to mention; and that is the character of Accuracy. Every work ought to be as accurate as possible. And yet, though this apply to works of every kind, there is a difference whether the work be great or small. In greater works (such as histories, epic poems, and the like) their very magnitude excuses incidental defects; and their authors, according to Horace, may be allowed to slumber. It is otherwise in smaller works, for the very reason that they are smaller. Such, through every part, both in sentiment and diction, should be perspicuous, pure, simple, and precise. Harris.

§ 195. On Diction.

As every sentiment must be exprest by words; the theory of sentiment naturally leads to that of Diction. Indeed, the connexion between them is so intimate, that the same sentiment, where the diction differs, is as different in appearance, as the same person,drest like a peasant, or drest like a gentleman. And hence we see how much diction merits a serious attention.

But this perhaps will be better understood by an example. Take then the following-" "Don't let a lucky hit slip; if you do, belike you mayn't any more get at it." The sentiment (we must confess) is exprest clearly, but the diction surely is rather vulgar and low. Take it another way" Opportune moments are few and fleeting; seize them with avidity, or your progression will be impeded." Here the diction, though not low, is rather obscure; the words are unusual, pedantic, and affected. But what says Shakspeare?—

There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows--

Here the diction is elegant without being vulgar or affected; the words, though common, being taken under a metaphor, are so far estranged by this metaphorical use, that they acquire, through the change, a competent dignity, and yet, without becoming vulgar, remain intelligible and clear,

Ibid.

§ 196. On the Metaphor. Knowing the stress laid by the ancient critics on the Metaphor, and viewing its

admirable effects in the decorating of Diction, we think it may merit a farther regard.

There is not perhaps any figure of speech so pleasing as the Metaphor. It is at times the language of every individual, but above all, is peculiar to the man of genius. His sagacity discerns not only common analogies, but those others more remote, which escape the vulgar, and which, though they seldom invent, they seldom fail to recognise, when they hear them from persons more ingenious than themselves.

It has been ingeniously observed, that the Metaphor took its rise from the poverty of language. Men, not finding upon every occasion words ready made for their ideas, were compelled to have recourse to words analogous, and transfer them from their original meaning to the meaning then required. But though the Metaphor began in poverty, it did not end there. When the analogy was just (and this often happened) there was something peculiarly pleasing in what was both new, and yet familiar; so that the Metaphor was then cultivated, not out of necessity, but for or nament. It is thus that clothes were first assumed to defend us against the cold, but came afterwards to be worn for distinction and decoration.

It must be observed there is a force in the united words, new and familiar. What is new, but not familiar, is often unintelligible; what is familiar, but not new, is no better than common place. It is in the union of the two, that the obscure and the vulgar are happily removed; and it is in this union, that we view the character of a just metaphor.

But after we have so praised the Metaphor, it is fit at length we should explain what it is; and this we shall attempt, as well by a description, as by examples.

"A Metaphor is the transferring of a "word from its usual meaning to an ana"logous meaning, and then the employ

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ing it agreeably to such transfer." For example, the usual meaning of evening is the conclusion of the day. But age too is a conclusion; the conclusion of human life. Now there being an analogy in all conclusions, we arrange in order the two we have alleged, and say, that as evening is to the day, so is age to human life. Hence, by an easy permutation, (which furnishes at once two metaphors) we say alternately, that evening is the age of the day; and that age is the evening of life,

There are other metaphors equally pleasing, but which we only mention, as their analogy cannot be mistaken. It is thus that old men have been called stubble; and the stage, or theatre, the mirror of human life. In language of this sort there is a double satisfaction; it is strikingly clear; and yet raised, though clear, above the low and vulgar idiom. It is a praise too of such metaphors, to be quickly comprehended. The similitude and the thing illustrated are commonly dispatched in a single word, and comprehended by an immediate and instantaneous intuition.

Thus a person of wit, being dangerously ill, was told by his friends, two more physicians were called in! So many! says he - do they fire in platoons?

Harris.

§ 197. What Metaphors the best. These instances may assist us to discover what metaphors may be called the best.

They ought not, in an elegant and polite style (the style of which we are speaking) to be derived from meanings too sublime; for then the diction would be turgid and bombast. Such was the language of that poet who, describing the footman's flambeaux at the end of an opera, sung or said, Now blaz'd a thousand flaming suns, and bade Grim night retire

Nor ought a metaphor to be far-fetched, for then it becomes an enigma. It was thus a gentleman once puzzled his country friend, in telling him, by way of compliment, that he was become a perfect centaur. His honest friend knew nothing of centaurs, but being fond of riding, was hardly ever off his horse.

Another extreme remains, the reverse of the too sublime, and that is, the transferring from subjects too contemptible. Such was the case of that poet quoted by Horace, who to describe winter, wrote

Jupiter hybernas canâ nive conspuit Alpes, (HOR. L. II. Sat. 5.) O'er the cold Alps Jove spits his hoary snow. Nor was that modern poet more fortunate, whom Dryden quotes, and who,trying his genius upon the same subject, sup

posed winter

To periwig with snow the baldpate woods. With the same class of wits we may ar range that pleasant fellow, who, speaking of an old lady whom he had affronted, gave us in one short sentence no less than three choice metaphors. I perceive (said he

her back is up;-I must curry favour of the fat will be in the fire.

Nor can we omit that the same word, when transferred to the same subjects, produces metaphors very different, as to propriety or impropriety.

It is with propriety that we transfer the words to embrace, from human beings to things purely ideal. The metaphor ap pears just, when we say, to embrace a proposition; to embrace an offer; to embrace an oppportunity. Its application perhaps was not quite so elegant, when the old steward wrote to his lord, upon the subject of his farm, that, " if he met any oxen, he "would not fail to embrace them."

If then we are to avoid the turgid, the enigmatic, and the base or ridiculous, no other metaphors are left, but such as may be described by negatives; such as are neither turgid, nor enigmatic, nor base and ridiculous.

Such is the character of many metaphors already alleged; among others that of Shakspeare's, where tides are transferred to speedy and determined conduct. Nor does his Wolsey with less propriety moralize upon his fall, in the following beautiful metaphor, taken from vegetable

nature:

This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And-nips his root

In such metaphors (besides their intrinsic elegance) we may say the reader is flattered; I mean, flattered by being left to discover something for himself.

There is one observation, which will at the same time shew both the extent of this figure, and how natural it is to all men.

There are metaphors so obvious, and of course so naturalized, that, ceasing to be metaphors, they become (as it were) the proper words. It is after this manner we say, a sharp fellow; a great orator; the foot of a mountain; the eye of a needle; the bed of a river: to ruminate, to ponder, to edify, &c. &c,

metaphors we require we wish to be someThese we by no means reject, and yet the thing more, that is, to be formed under the respectable conditions here established.

We observe too, that a singular use may be made of metaphors, either to exalt or to depreciate, according to the souces, from which we derive them. In ancient story, Orestes was by some called the

murderer of his mother; by others, the avenger of his father. The reasons will appear, by referring to the fact. The poet Simonides was offered money to celebrate certain mules, that had won a race. The sum being pitiful, he said, with disdain, he should not write upon demi-asses-A more competent sum was offered; he then began,

Hail! Daughters of the generous horse,
That skims, like wind, along the course.

There are times, when, in order to exalt, we may call beggars petitioners, and pickpockets collectors; other times, when, in order to depreciate, we may call petitioners beggars, and collectors pick-pockets. -But enough of this.

We say no more of metaphors, but that it is a general caution with regard to every species, not to mix them, and that more particularly, if taken from subjects which are contrary.

Such was the case of that orator, who once asserted in his oration, that" If "cold water were thrown upon a certain measure, it would kindle a flame, that "would obscure the lustre," &c. Harris.

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§ 198. On Enigmas and Puns.

A word remains upon Enigmas and Puns. It shall indeed be short, because,

though they resemble the metaphor, it is as brass and copper resemble gold. A pun seldom regards meaning, being chiefly confined to scund.

Horace gives a sad example of this spurious wit, where (as Dryden humorously translates it) he makes Persius the buffoon exhort the patriot Brutus to kill Mr. King, that is, Rupilius Rex, because Brutus, when he slew Cæsar, had been accustomed to king-killing:

Hunc Regem occide; operum hoc mihi crede

tuorum est.

Horat. Sat. Lib. I. VII.

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This enigma is ingenious, and means the operation of cupping, performed in ancient days by a machine of brass.

In such fancies, contrary to the principles of good metaphor and good writing, a perplexity is caused, not by accident but by design, and the pleasure lies in the being able to resolve it. Harris.

§ 199. Rules defended.

Having mentioned Rules, and indeed this whole theory having been little more than rules developed, we cannot but remark upon common opinion, which seems to have arisen either from prejudice or mistake.

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"Do not rules," say they, "cramp genius? Do they not abridge it of cer"tain privileges?"

'Tis answered, If the obeying of rules were to induce a tyranny like this, to defend them would be absurd, and against the liberty of genius. But the truth is, rules, supposing them good, like good government, take away no privileges. They do no more than save genius from error, by shewing it, that a right to err is no privilege at all.

'Tis surely no privilege to violate in the rules of syntax; grammar in poetry, those of metre; in music, those of harmoin logic, those of syllogism; in painting, those of perspective; in dramatic poetry, those of probable imitation.

ny;

Ibid.

§ 200. The flattering Doctrine that Genius will suffice, fallacious.

It must be confessed, 'tis a flattering doctrine, to tell a young beginner, that he has nothing more to do than to trust his own genius, and to contemn all rules, as the tyranny of pedants. The painful toils of accuracy by this expedient are eluded, for geniuses, like Milton's harps, (Par. Lost, Book III. v. 365, 366) are supposed to be ever tuned.

But the misfortune is, that genius is something rare; nor can he who possesses it, even then, by neglecting rules, produce what is accurate. Those, on the contrary, who, though they want genius, think rules worthy their attention, if they cannot become good authors, may still make tolerable critics; may be able to shew the difference between the creeping and the simple; the pert and the pleasing; the turgid and the sublime; in short, to sharpen, like the whetstone, that genius

in others, which Nature in her frugality has not given to themselves.

Harris.

Besides quotations already alleged, we subjoin the following as to character. When Falstaff and his suite are so ig

§ 201. No Genius ever acted without nominiously routed, and the scuffle is by

Rules.

Indeed I have never known, during a life of many years, and some small attention paid to letters, and literary men, that genius in any art had been ever crampt by rules. On the contrary, I have seen great geniuses miserably err by transgressing them, and, like vigorous travellers, who lose their way, only wander the wider on account of their own strength.

And yet 'tis somewhat singular in lite rary compositions, and perhaps more so in poetry than elsewhere, that many things have been done in the best and purest taste, long before rules were established and systematized in form. This we are certain was true with respect to Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, and other Greeks. In modern times, it appears as true of our admired Shakspeare; for who can believe that Shakspeare studied rules, or was ever versed in critical systems? Ibid.

§ 202. There never was a time when

Rules did not exist.

A specious objection then occurs: "If "these great writers were so excellent be"fore rules were established, or at least were known to them, what had they to "direct their genius, when rules (to them "at least) did not exist?"

To this question 'tis hoped the answer will not be deemed too hardy, should we assert, that there never was a time when rules did not exist; that they always made a part of that immutable truth, the natural object of every penetrating genius; and that if, at that early Greek period, systems of rules were not established, those great and sublime authors were a rule to themselves. They may be said indeed to have excelled, not by art, but by nature; yet by a nature which birth to the pergave

fection of art.

The case is nearly the same with respect to our Shakspeare. There is hardly any thing we applaud, among his innumerable beauties, which will not be found strictly conformable to the rules of sound and ancient criticism.

That this is true with respect to his characters and his sentiment, is evident, hence, that in explaining these rules, we have so often recurred to him for illustrations.

Falstaff so humorously exaggerated, what can be more natural than such a narrative to such a character, distinguished for his humour, and withal for his want of vera, city and courage?

The sagacity of common poets might not perhaps have suggested so good a narrative, but it certainly would have suggested something of the kind, and 'tis in this we view the essence of dramatic character, which is, when we conjecture what any one will do or say, from what he has done or said already.

If we pass from characters (that is to say, manners) to sentiment, we have already given instances, and yet we shall still give another.

When Rosincrosse and Guildernstern wait upon Hamlet, he offers them a recorder or pipe, and desires them to playthey reply they cannot-He repeats his request they answer, they have never learnt-He assures them nothing was so easy-they still decline-"Tis then he tells them with disdain, "There is much mu"sic in this little organ; and yet you can"not make it speak-Do you think I am "easier to be played on than a pipe?" Hamlet, Act III.

This I call an elegant sample of sentiment, taken under its comprehensive sense, But we stop not here-We consider it as a complete instance of Socratic reasoning, though 'tis probable the author knew nothing how Socrates used to argue."

To explain-Xenophon makes Socrates as follows with an ambitious youth, by name Euthydemus.

reason

""Tis strange (says he) that those who "desire to play upon the harp, or upon "the flute, or to ride the managed horse, "should not think themselves worth no"tice without having practised under the "best masters-while there are those who

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aspire to the governing of a state, and can "think themselves completely qualified, "though it be without preparation or la"bour.' Xenoph. Mem. IV. c. 2. s. 6.

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Aristotle's Illustration is similar, in his reasoning against men chosen by lot for magistrates. 'Tis (says he) as if wrestlers were to be appointed by lot, and not those that are able to wrestle; or, as if from among sailors we were to choose a pi X2

lot by lót, and that the man so elected was to navigate, and not the man who knew the business." Rhetor. L. II. c. 20. p. 94. Edit. Sylb.

Nothing can be more ingenious than this mode of reasoning. The premises are obvious and undeniable: the conclusion cogent and yet unexpected. It is a species of that argumentation, called in dialectic 'Eraywyn, or induction.

Aristotle in his Rhetoric (as above quoted) calls such reasonings rà Zwкparuka, the Socratics; in the beginning of his Poetics, he calls them the Zwкрamikoì λóyot, the Socratic discourses; and Horace, in his Art of Poetry, calls them the Socraticæ chartæ. Harris.

§ 203. The Connexion between Rules and Genius.

If truth be always the same, no wonder geniuses should coincide, and that too in philosophy, as well as in criticism.

We venture to add, returning to rules, that, if there be any things in Shakspeare objectionable (and who is hardy enough to deny it?) the very objections, as well as the beauties, are to be tried by the same rules; as the same plummet alike shews both what is out of the perpendicular, and in it; the same rules alike prove both what is crooked and what is straight.

We cannot admit that geniuses, though prior to systems, were prior also to rules, because rules from the beginning existed in their own minds, and were a part of that immutable truth, which is eternal and every where. Aristotle, we know, did not form Homer, Sophocles, and Euripides; 'twas Homer, Sophocles, and Euripides, that formed Aristotle.

And this surely should teach us to pay attention to rules, in as much as they and genius are so reciprocally connected, that tis genius which discovers rules; and then rules which govern genius.

"Tis by this amicable concurrence, and by this alone, that every work of art justly merits admiration, and is rendered as highly perfect, as by human power it Ibid. can be made.

§ 204. We ought not to be content with knowing what we like, but what is really worth liking.

"Tis not however improbable, that some intrepid spirit may demand again, What avail these subtleties?-Without so much

-I trouble, I can be full enough pleased-1 know what I like.-We answer, And so does the carrion-crow, that feeds upon a carcass. The difficulty lies not in knowing what we like, but in knowing how to like, and what is worth liking. Till these ends are obtained, we may admire Durfey before Milton; a smoking boor of Hemskirk, before an apostle of Raphael.

Now as to the knowing how to like, and then what is worth liking; the first of these, being the object of critical disquisition, has been attempted to be shewn through the course of these inquiries.

As to the second, what is worth our liking, this is best known by studying the best authors, beginning from the Greeks; then passing to the Latins; nor on any account excluding those who have excelled among the moderns.

And here, if, while we pursue some author of high rank, we perceive we don't instantly relish him, let us not be disheartened-let us ever feign a relish, till we A morsel perhaps find a relish come. pleases us-let us cherish it-Another morsel strikes us-let us cherish this also. -Let us thus proceed, and steadily persevere, till we find we can relish, not morsels, but wholes; and feel, that what began in fiction terminates in reality. film being in this manner removed, we shall discover beauties which we never imagined; and contemn for puerilities, what we once foolishly admired.

The

One thing however in this process is indispensably required: we are on no account to expect that fine things should descend to us; our taste, if possible, must be made to ascend to them.

This is the labour, this the work; there is pleasure in the success, and praise even in the attempt.

This speculation applies not to literature only: it applies to music, to painting, and, as they are all congenial, to all the liberal arts. We should in each of them endeavour to investigate what is best, and there (if I may express myself) fix our abode.

By only seeking and perusing what is truly excellent, and by contemplating always this and this alone, the mind insensibly becomes accustomed to it, and finds that in this alone it can acquiesce with content, It happens indeed here, as in a subject far more important, I mean in a moral and a virtuous conduct; if we choose the best life, use will make it pleasant.

Ibid.

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