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 &^: 
 
 la 
 
 ,_^^J^v 
 
 iv^- 
 
 M
 
 •^£-^f<^
 
 ZD
 
 THIRTY 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 O N 
 VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printedfor T. Cadeli, and T.Evans, in the Strand 
 andB.THOP.>; and Son, In EXETER, 
 
 -M D C C L X X X n I.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 I. 'T'he Force of Cuftom i 
 
 II. On Riches^ Cards y and Du- 
 
 elling J 
 
 III. On Languages i6 
 
 IV. On judging by the Perceptions 
 
 of others 29 
 
 V. On Painting 32 
 
 VI. On Painting 39 
 
 VII. On temporary 'Tafte 46 
 
 VIII. On mufical Exprejfion 49 
 
 IX. On the Parenthefis^ and 
 
 Anticipation 56 
 
 X. 
 
 ^•mf <>f -J^ o <^^ v.y eJ
 
 iv. CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 X. On Catches 6 2 
 
 XI. On the Englijh Language 78 
 
 XII. OnHomers Scale of Heroes 91 
 
 XIII. On the different Manners 
 
 of Reading 94 
 
 XIV. On Shakfpeare 99 
 
 XV. On Writing-hand 103 
 
 XVI . On the want of accurate 
 
 Views 1 08 
 
 XVII. On the Analogy of the 
 
 . , Arts 114 
 
 XVIII. On had Affociation 1 20 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT,
 
 ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 ^^y^HETHER thefe are real 
 letters, or whether the 
 author chofe to throw his obfer-^ 
 vations into the epiftolary form, 
 is a point of no great confe- 
 quence. The invention of a 
 ftory to fhew how they came 
 into the editor's hands is by no 
 means difficult. — A parcel of 
 papers refcued from the trunk- 
 maker or paftry-cook, has faved 
 
 many
 
 vl. ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 many an author from perilling. 
 Cervantes and Sterne were 
 not above fuch fhifts ; but they 
 have ferved fo often, that now, 
 even the truth, tho' without the 
 leaft mixture of the marvellous, 
 pafles for invention. 
 
 Should thefe little volumes 
 contain any new and ufeful ob- 
 fervations on men and things, 
 it is a fufficient reafon for their 
 publication — if the phyfic be 
 wholefome, it is no matter under 
 what form it is adminiftered. 
 
 LETTERS,
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 SINCE you requedthat our cor- 
 refpondence fhould be out of 
 the beaten track, be it fo. My 
 retirement from the world will na- 
 turally give an air of peculiarity to 
 my fentimentSj which perhaps may 
 entertain where it does not con- 
 vince. In juftice to myfelf, lef'me 
 B obferve.
 
 [ 2 ] 
 
 obferve, thit truth fometlmcs does 
 not ftrike us without the afTiftance 
 of cuftom J but (o great is the force 
 of cuftom, that, unaflifted by truth, 
 it has worked the greateft miracles. 
 Need I bring for proof the quantity 
 of nonfenfe in all the arts, fciences, 
 and even religion itfelf, which it 
 has fan6lified ? As poflibly in the 
 courfe of my letters to you I may 
 attack fome received dodlrines on 
 each of thefe fubje6ls3 let not what 
 I advance be inftantly rejeded, be- 
 cause contrary to an opinion founded 
 on prejudices but, as much as pof- 
 fible, diveft yourfelf of the partiality 
 acquired by habit, and if at laft 
 you Ihould not agree with me, I 
 fhall fufpedl my fentiments to be 
 peculiar and not juft, 
 
 4 The'
 
 i 3 1 
 
 Tho* truth may want the af- 
 fiftance of ufe before we feel its 
 force, yet v/hen it is really felt, we 
 det eft what cuftom only made us 
 like. The difficulty is to procure 
 for truth a fair examination. The 
 multitude is always againll it. The 
 firft difcovery in any thing is conii- 
 deredas an encroachment upon. pro- 
 perty^ a property become facred by 
 .pofleffion. Difcoverexs are accord- 
 ingly fef^ated as criminals, and muft 
 have good luck to efcape exe- 
 cution. 
 
 ^"^ I mean not to rank myfelf with 
 iuch bold adventurers; I am nei- 
 ther ambitious of the honour, or 
 the danger, of enlightening the 
 world, but, if I can foften preju- 
 dices which I cannot remove— if I 
 B 2 4 can
 
 [ 4 ] 
 
 can loofen the fetters of cuftom 
 where I cannot altogether unbind 
 thenn, and engage you to think for 
 yourfelf — my end will be anfwered, 
 and my trouble fully repaid. 
 
 Adieu ! &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 C 5 ] 
 
 LETTER II 
 
 TT is natural to fuppofe, that 
 ^ people originally judged of 
 things by their fenfes and imme- 
 diate perceptions. By degrees they 
 found that their fenfes were not in- 
 fallible, and that things frequently 
 contradicted their firfl appearance. 
 This, at laft, was pufhed to an extra- 
 vagance \ and certain philofophers 
 endeavoured to perfuade mankind, 
 that the fenfes deceive us fo often, 
 that we can neverdepend on them — 
 that we cannot tell whether we arc 
 in motion or at reft, afleep or awake^ 
 B 3 witii
 
 [ 6 ] 
 
 with many other fuch abfurdities. 
 They ufed the fame ingenuity with 
 the mental fenfe. Some ancient 
 fage was afked," Who is the richefb 
 man ?" if he had replied '^ He that 
 has moft money," the anfwer would 
 have been, ^natural and juft — what 
 he did fay, every one knows.^ We 
 have fuffered ourfelves to be im- 
 pofed on fo long^ that at lafl we 
 begin to impofe on ourfelves. 
 
 Riches, cards, and duelling, have 
 been conflantly abufed, wTitten, 
 and preached againflj and yet men 
 will ftill hoard, play, and fight. 
 Why fhould they ? All univerfal 
 pafTions we may fairly pronounce to 
 be natural, and fhould be treated 
 with refpe6l. The gratification of 
 ourpafTions are our greatefl^plea- 
 
 fures,
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
 furcs, and he that has mod gratifi- 
 cations is of courfe the happieft 
 man. This, as a general alTertion^ 
 is true, and it is true alfo in parti' 
 culars, provided we pay no more 
 for pleafure than it is worth. 
 
 Every man fhould endeavour to 
 be rich. He that has money may 
 pofTefs every thing that is transfera- 
 ble — this js a fufficient inducement 
 to procure it. Nay, if he poiTelTes 
 nothing but his money, if he con- 
 fiders it as the end, as well as the 
 means, it is ftill right to be rich : 
 for, knowing that he has it in his 
 power to procure every thing, he is 
 as well fatisfied as if the thing itfelf 
 was in his poflefTion. This is the 
 true fource of the mifer's pleafure ; 
 and a great pleafure it is ! A moral 
 B 4 philofopher
 
 [ 8 ] 
 
 philofopher may tell him, *^ that 
 man does not live for himfelf alone, 
 and that he hurts the community 
 by withholding what would be of 
 ufe to it" — this he thinks to be 
 weak reafoning. The fneers of 
 wits fignify as little; for he knows 
 they would be glad to be rich if 
 they could. He feels that the 
 pleafure ariling from the poflelTion 
 of riches, whether ufed or not, is 
 too great to be given up for all the 
 wit, or even the ftrongeft arguments 
 that can be brought againft it. 
 
 It feems to be agreed, that card- 
 playing proceeds entirely from ava- 
 rice — tho' this may fometimes be 
 the motive, yet it may with more 
 probability be derived from other, 
 and more general principles. 
 
 The
 
 [ 9 3 
 
 The mind of man naturally re- 
 quires employment, and that em- 
 ployment is mofi agreeable, which 
 engat^es, without fatiguing the at- 
 tention. There is nothing for this 
 purpofe of luch univerfal attra6lion 
 as cards. The fine arts and belles 
 lettres can only be enjoyed by thofe 
 who have a genius for them — other 
 ftudies and amufements have their 
 particular charm, but cards are the 
 univerfal amufement in every coun- 
 try where they are known. The al- 
 ternate changes in theplay, thehope 
 upon the taking up a new hand, 
 and the triumph of getting a game, 
 made more compleat from the fear of 
 lofing ir, keep the mind in a perpe- 
 tual agitation, which is found by ex- 
 perience to be too agreeable to be 
 
 quitted
 
 [ lO ] 
 
 quitted for any other confideration. 
 The flake played for is a quickcner 
 of thefe fenfations,but not the cairfe. 
 Children who play for nothing feel 
 what I have been defcribing perhaps 
 in a more exquifite degree than he 
 who engages for thoufands. A ftate 
 of ina6lion is of all others the mod 
 dreadful ! and it is to avoid this in- 
 adlion that we feek employment, 
 though at the expence of health, 
 temper, and fortune. This fubjed: 
 is finely couched by Abbe du Bos, 
 in his reflexions upon poetry, &c. 
 indeed he carries it fo far as to fay, 
 that thepleafure arifing from an ex- 
 traordinary agitation of the mind, 
 is frequently fo great as to llifle 
 humanity s and from hence arifes 
 the entertainment of the common 
 
 people
 
 [ II ] 
 
 people at executions, and of the 
 better fort at tragedies. The' in this 
 laft inflance he may be mifbaken^ 
 yet, the delight we feel in reading 
 the a(5lions of a hero may be re- 
 ferred to this caufe. The moralifl 
 cenfures the tafte of thofe who can 
 be pleafed with the adlions of an 
 Alexander or a Nadir Shah — the 
 Truth is, we do not approve the 
 adlions; but the relation of them 
 caufes that agitation of the mind 
 which we find to bepleafant. The 
 reign of Henry the fcventh, tho' 
 of the greateft confequence to this 
 nation, does not intereft us like the 
 contentions of York and Lancafter 
 by which the kingdom w^as ruined. 
 — It is in vain that we are told that 
 fcenes of w^ar and bloodlhed can 
 
 give
 
 [ 12 ] 
 
 give no pleafure to a good mind, 
 and that the true hero is he who 
 cultivates the arts of peace, he by 
 whom men are benefited not he by 
 whom they aredeftroyed — it is to 
 nopurpofe — we fleep over the ani- 
 ons of quiet goodnefsj while afpir- 
 ing, deilroying greatnefs, claims 
 and commands our attention. 
 
 Duelling has in many countries 
 a law againil it— but can never be 
 prevented. The law can infiid no 
 greater penalty for any breach of it 
 than death ; which the duellift con- 
 temns. — There are alfo fome cafes 
 .of injury which the law cannot 
 prevent, nor puniih when commit- 
 ted — thefe mufl be redrefled by the 
 man who fufters, and by him only. 
 He is prompted to do this by fome- 
 
 thing
 
 t 13 ] 
 
 thing antecedent, and fuperior to 
 all law, and by a defire as eager as 
 hunger or lull; fo that it is as eafy 
 for law to prevent or reftrain the 
 two latter as the fornaer. Very 
 luckily for us, occafions for the 
 gratifications of this paffion occur 
 but feldom : and tho' a man may be 
 reftrained from a duel by perfonal 
 fear, which is its only countera6lor, 
 there are very few inftances, perhaps 
 none, of its being prevented by 
 confidering it -fo- a breach of the 
 law. In the beginning of the lafl 
 century duels were •*& frequent, 
 particularly in France, as to occa- 
 fion a fevere edi6l to prevent them 
 — indeed by their frequency, they 
 were by degrees improved into com- 
 bats
 
 [ 14 ] 
 
 bats of two, three, and fometimcs 
 ,more of a fide. — In thofe days a 
 French nobleman was making up 
 his party to decide a quarrel with 
 another man of equal rank, it came 
 to the King's ears, who fent to hirn 
 one of the moftrifing men at court 
 with a command to defifl, afTuring 
 him of the ftri6l execution of the 
 edi(5t in cafe of difobedience. — 
 Every one knows the attachment of 
 the French to their fovereign, but 
 yet it proved weak when fet againft 
 this all-powerful paflion. The no- 
 bleman not only refufed to obey the 
 king, but adually engaged the 
 meflenger to be one of his party. 
 
 The above feem to be the princi- 
 pal reafons why riches, cards, and 
 
 duelling
 
 [ 15 ] 
 
 duelling have fo deep a root in the 
 mind of man — but there are others 
 which come in aid. The defire of 
 fuperiority is of itfelf almoft fuffi- 
 cient to produce this great efFed:. 
 
 Believe me ever yours, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 I i6 ] 
 
 t E T T E R III. 
 
 T Cannot connply with your defire 
 — a regular diflertation is above 
 
 me^ but if you will take my 
 
 thoughts as they occur, the honour 
 of methodizing them fliall be 
 yours. 
 
 Languages are termed lOugh and 
 fmooth, weak or expreflive, fre- 
 quently without reafon. — As thefe 
 are comparative terms, they change 
 their application according to cir- 
 cumflances. The French is faid to 
 be a fmooth or rough language, 
 when compared with the German 
 
 or
 
 C 17 3 
 
 or Italian. Perhaps this is true, 
 and yet we fhould not determine 
 too haftily. In appearance, there 
 are more vowels in the Italian lan- 
 guage than in the French j but in 
 pronunciation the French lofe many 
 ConfonantSj and the Italians none : 
 and yet in French, fo great is the 
 irregularity of that language, many 
 confonants are pronounced which 
 are not written — — fmoothnefs 
 or roughnefs muft therefore de- 
 pend on the ear alone, yet how 
 far a Language is weak or expref- 
 five, may be treated of and deter- 
 mined with precifion, 
 
 Every fentence may be confider- 
 
 ed as the pi6lure of an idea ; the' 
 
 quicker that pidlure is prefented 
 
 to the mind, the ftronger is its 
 
 C Impreflion,
 
 [ i8 ] 
 
 Imprefllon. That language then 
 which is Ihortefl, is the mofl ex- 
 prefTive. If we fhould fix on any 
 language as being in general the 
 moft concife, yet, if in fome in- 
 fVances it is more difFufe than 
 another, then, in thofe inflances 
 the latter is mod exprefTive. This, 
 I believe, is an univerfal rule, and 
 without exception. 
 
 Let us for the prefent fuppofe 
 Latin to be more exprefTive, becaufe 
 fhorter, than any modern language, 
 and compare it with Englifh in 
 fome examples, jufb as they occur. 
 Cap t us c cults and cn^cus — are ufed for 
 the fame thing — the laft is more ex- 
 prefTive than the firfl, and both lefs 
 fo than blind : a fingle fyllable does 
 the ofiice of many. How much 
 
 more
 
 [ '9 3 
 
 more forcibly does it ftrilsie us to 
 be told that our friend is dead, 
 than mortuus efiy or Mors continuo 
 ipfum occupavil ? This lad is indeed 
 poetical, if we fuppofe death a per- 
 fon. Tho' I juft now faid that 
 Latin was clofer in its expreflion 
 than any modern language, it was 
 only in compliance with common 
 opinion j for I have great reafon 
 to believe that it yields in this 
 refped to Englifh : The latin hex- 
 ameter and Terence's line being 
 with eafe included in our heroic 
 verfe, which is not fo long by ma- 
 ny fyllables. There have been 
 many pieces of Englifh poetry 
 tranflated into Latin, and, in ge- 
 neral nothing can read more dead 
 and unanimated. In the eighth 
 volume of the Spedator is a tranf- 
 C 2 lation
 
 [ 20 ] 
 
 lation of the famous foliloquy in- 
 the Play of Cato — compare it with 
 the original, and obferve how the 
 fame thought is ftrong in Englifh 
 and weak in Latin, occaficned en- 
 tirely by its being clofe in one lan- 
 guage, and difFufe in the other: for, 
 as much as one fentence exceeds 
 another in length, in the fame pro- 
 portion does it fail in exprefTion. 
 
 Tranflations, moll commonly, 
 are more verbofe than their ori^ 
 ginal, which is one reafon for their 
 -weaknefs; whenever they are lefs 
 fo, they are ftronger. Suppofe we 
 Ihould find in a French author 
 thefe phrafes, Un Canon de neuf 
 Hires de Bal:e — Un Vaijfeau du Roi 
 du qtiatre vingt dix Pieces du Canon ; 
 and they were rendered into Eng- 
 lifh by a nine-pounder — A 7tinety-- 
 
 gun
 
 [ 21 ] 
 
 Igun Jhip — is not the tranflatlon 
 more fpirited than the original? 
 I purpofely chofe a phrafe with as 
 little matter in it as pofTiblej where 
 the meaning could not be mif- 
 taken, and in which there was no 
 variety of exprefTion^ that the trial 
 might be fairer. I have heard 
 that the German is an exprelTive 
 language — it may be fo, I do not 
 underftand it; but I can perceive 
 thati for the mod part, the words 
 are very long, which makes againil 
 its being fo. French, and Italian 
 particularly, are much more difFufe 
 than Englilh. Tranflations from 
 thefe languao-es have often a force 
 that the originals wanted ; and this 
 not owing to the Englifh being a 
 ftronger language m founds as fome 
 C 3 have
 
 I 22 ] 
 
 have imagined , but to (Irength 
 occafioned by brevity. 
 
 Perhaps it may be imagined, 
 that thofe words which carry their 
 fignification with them fhould be 
 moll expreflive, whether long or 
 jfhort; that is, when they are de- 
 rived from, or compounded of 
 known words, which exprefs that 
 fignification. But this is not fo. 
 When we fay adieu y farewell — we 
 mean no more than a ceremony at 
 parting. — No one confiders adieu 
 as a recommendation to God, or 
 farewell as a wifh for happinefs. 
 — Frequent ufe deftroys all idea 
 of derivation. But if we fpeak 
 a compound or felf - fignificative 
 word that is not common, we 
 perceive the derivation of it. 
 
 Thus
 
 [ 23 ] 
 
 Thus if a Londoner fays butter- 
 milky he has an idea of fomething 
 compounded of butter and milk y 
 but to an Irifhman or Hollander, it 
 is as fimple an idea as either of the 
 words taken feparately, is to us. 
 
 It is but late that our or- 
 thography was fixed even in the 
 mod common words. Two hun- 
 dred years ago, every perfon fpelt 
 as he liked : a privilege enjoyed 
 flill later than that period by 
 '^ royal and noble authors/* who 
 feem, in this inftance, to claim the 
 liberty enjoyed by their anceftors. 
 Since the time orthography has 
 been thought of fome confequence, 
 we have attended partly to pronun- 
 ciation, tho' chiefly to derivation. 
 But, in fome cafes, where we fhould 
 C 4 altogether
 
 [ 24 ] 
 
 altogether have fpelt according to 
 derivation, we have taken pronun- 
 ciation for our guide. And this 
 has occafioned fome confufion ; for 
 inftance naught is lad — nought is 
 nothing j thefe terms were long 
 confounded, and even now are not 
 kept perfectly diflind, which has 
 occafioned ought to be written 
 aught. Wrapt is envelloped — rapt 
 is hurried away, or totally pofTefT- 
 ed : the firfl of thefe is frequently 
 ufed for the laft, by fome of our 
 modern poets. Marry is an aflfe- 
 veration — marry ^ to give in mar- 
 riage — thefpelling thefe words the 
 fame, confounds them together i 
 we fhould have preferved for the 
 lirft, the real wol-d mar\\ It was 
 a common thing formerly to fwear 
 
 by
 
 [ 25 ] 
 
 by Mary^ the a in which was pro- 
 nounced broad, as the Priefts of 
 that time did the Latin Mariay from 
 whom the common people took 
 the pronunciation. In one of the 
 pieces in the firft volume of the 
 colledlionof old plays, it frequent- 
 ly occurs, and is fpelt as a proper 
 name, Marie. Permit me to ob- 
 ferve, that the Editor, by mo- 
 dernizing the fpelling in the other 
 volumes, has prevented their being 
 made this ufe of, as they might have 
 fhewed the progrefs of orthography 
 as well as of dramatic poetry. 
 
 \vi the reign of James the firft 
 were many attempts to reduce or- 
 thography altogether to pronun- 
 ciation. In our time we have feen 
 fome attempts to bring it altoge- 
 ther
 
 [ 26 ] 
 
 ther from derivation — but furely 
 both were wrong. Whoever reads 
 Howel's letters, or Dr. Newton's 
 Milton, will fee, that by a partial 
 principle too generally adopted, 
 they have made of the Englifh lan- 
 guage '^ a very fantaftical banquet 
 — juft fo many ftrange difhes !" 
 
 There are many inverfions of 
 phrafes ufed in poetry which are 
 contrary to the genius of our lan- 
 guage. In the tranflation of the Ili- 
 ad there frequently occurs " thun- 
 ders the Iky" " totters the 
 
 ground,'* meaning that " the iky 
 thunders" and " the ground tot- 
 ters." This change of polition 
 has the authority of fome of our 
 beft poets, tho* it frequently ob- 
 fcures the fenfe, and fometimes 
 
 makes
 
 27 ] 
 
 makes it diredlly contrary to what 
 is intended to be exprelTed. Our 
 language does not, with eafe, ad- 
 mit of the nominative after the 
 verb. If we read, tho' in poetry, 
 *^ fliakes the ground" we do not 
 readily underftand that" the ground 
 ihakes," but rather refer to fome 
 antecedent nominative that has 
 produced this effe6l. To adopt 
 the conilru6lion of the ancient 
 languages is as awkward as to adopt 
 their meafures. You will under- 
 ftand this to be meant as a general 
 obfervation, the truth of which is 
 not deftroyed by a few exceptions 
 where the inverfion may be happily 
 ufed. The fenfe in thefe verfes of 
 Pope *' halts" as much by Roman 
 conftrudtion.
 
 I 28 ] 
 
 confVrudlon, as the Rhythmus in 
 Sidney does by *' Roman feet/' 
 
 In reading Latin and Greek we are 
 obliged to keep the fenfe fufpended 
 until we come to the end of the 
 period, but it is not fo in any mo- 
 dern language thit I know of, ex- 
 cept now and then in Italian po- 
 etry ; fo that there is a famenefs 
 of conftrudion in all of them when 
 compared with the ancient lan- 
 guages. Now, this fufpenfion of 
 the fenfe is furely no advantage, 
 therefore if it were poflible to 
 make Englifh like Latin and Greek 
 in this refped, it would hurt the 
 language. 
 
 In another letter I may poflibly 
 refume this fubje(5l. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 29 ] 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 /^UR greateft miflake in the 
 ^^ purfuit of happi nefs as well as 
 of fcience, is to judge by the per- 
 ceptions of others, and not by our 
 own. This perverfion is adn^.irably 
 ridiculed in fonie comedy, in which: 
 a young fellow naturally fober> 
 gives into debaucheries merely be- 
 caufe they are fafh ion able. ^^I am 
 horrid fick" — fays he — " I am tired 
 to death — I hate cards— but it 
 is life for all that !" 
 
 My friend, examine your heart — 
 You yourfelf are the bcft judge of 
 
 what
 
 t 30 ] 
 
 what contributes to your own hap- 
 pinefs. Is the pleafure of fhooting 
 equal to the fatigue ? . . . Put 
 down the gun. Is the cry of the 
 hounds a fufficient charm to re- 
 move the fear of breaking your 
 neck ? . . . Come off your horfe, 
 — And in pure charity let me ad- 
 vife the " impa,titnt fiiher" to con- 
 vert his rod into a walking fbick, 
 jemmy, and fwitch. '^ For what ? 
 Do not gentlemen love country 
 diverfions ?" But if you do not, 
 why Ihould you be governed by 
 fheir inclinations ? 
 
 Mr. ConnoifTeur, do not pretend 
 raptures at mufic, you know you 
 have no ear. — Stare not at that 
 picture, you are fenfible you have 
 no eye. — Clofe that book, let others 
 
 weep i
 
 C 31 ] 
 
 weep ; you have no heart. " Sir, 
 it is the tafte to admire mufic, 
 painting, and fine writing." — I am 
 very glad of it. — But it is not )Our 
 tafte, here 
 
 hinc Vos, 
 Vos hinc, mutatis difcedite partibus — 
 
 Now confefs honeftly Mr. Sportf- 
 man, that you have more pleafure 
 in Snyder's pidlures, than from 
 hunting in propria perfona — that 
 the French horns at a concert have 
 more harmony than in a wood. And, 
 Mr. Connoifleur, you are now in 
 your element. — Is it not better to 
 '^ join the jovial chace" than the 
 infipid crew of the dilettanti ? 
 
 Let us remember and practice 
 the old maxim. 
 
 ' UdAiil/ua quemque Voluptas. 
 LETTE R
 
 C 32 ] 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 T Am glad you go on with your 
 painting. Though you fhould 
 never arrive at any great degree of 
 excellence yourfelf, it will infallibly 
 make you a better judge of the ex* 
 cellencies of others. You tell me, 
 what indeed every ConnoifTeur fays 
 by rote, that the great painters 
 painted above, beyond nature [ 
 That they painted beyond nature 
 I grant, but not above, if by above 
 we are to underftand fomething 
 
 more
 
 I 33 ] 
 
 more excellent than what we find 
 in nature. I have long been Tick 
 of the cant of writers and talkers 
 upon this fubjed:. If it be poflible, 
 let us fpeak a little common-fenfe 
 — endeavour to fhew what feems 
 by our feelings to be the truth, and 
 then prevent a wrong application 
 of it. 
 
 The great painters, it is agreed, 
 painted beyond nature — but how ? 
 Why, if I may venture to fay it, 
 by drawing and colouring extrava- 
 gantly. But were they right or 
 wrong in doing fo ? This depends 
 upon circumftances. I remem- 
 ber feeing at a Painter's a head 
 taken from nature, another copied 
 from Hans Holbein, and a third 
 from Giulio Romano — upon which 
 D the
 
 [ 34 ] 
 
 the artill made a diflertation. — He 
 firfl produced the portrait from 
 nature, and afked me how 1 liked 
 it? I told him that there appeared 
 to me great fimplicity and elegance 
 in it, and an excellence which I 
 thought eflential to a good pidure 
 —a proper ballance between the 
 light and fhade of every part. (I 
 meant that the fliade of the white 
 was lighter than that of blue — 
 of blue fainter than of black, &c. 
 fo that each colour was as perceiv- 
 able in thefhadows as lights.) Ay, 
 fays he, that is true, but I will fhew 
 you a ftyle preferable to it — Upon 
 which he produced the copy from 
 Holbein. — I agreed, that it was 
 llronger, and fuch as nature nriight 
 appear in many inflances. But 
 
 here.
 
 [ 35 ] 
 
 here, fays he, is fomething l>eyond 
 nature ; this I call the fublime (tyle 
 of painting, and this I will try to 
 bring my heads to, — Then he difco- 
 vered the copy from Giulio — ^there 
 is ftrength, fays he — fee how faint 
 the others are. — Now, acknowledge 
 that the pi6i:ure I painted from na- 
 ture is nothing to it. It muft be 
 confelTed, I replied, that the extra- 
 vagance of the lafl pidlure does for 
 a moment dazzle our eyes— yours 
 feems weak by the comparifon, it 
 is like looking upon white paper 
 after flaring at the fun. — On the 
 contrary, if I pafs from yours to 
 this, I am hurt at feeing every 
 thing fo extravagant, and fo far 
 
 beyond the modefty cf nature ! 
 
 ** It is not intended to be (tridlly 
 D 2 natural
 
 [ 36 ] 
 
 natural, it is the fine ideal, it is 
 fomething above, beyond nature l" 
 *^ I mud own that 1 have no idea of 
 any beauty beyond what may be 
 found in nature — indeed, whence 
 is the idea to be taken ? But do not 
 think I rate Giulio or any of the 
 fublime painters lightly; I am fo 
 fenfible of their merit, that, con- 
 trary perhaps to your expedlation, 
 I am about to defend their prac- 
 tice. They generally painted for 
 churches, where the picture is i^Qcn 
 in a bad light, or at a diftance -, fo 
 that it could not be feen at all if 
 the manner was not violent : both 
 the drawing and colouring mufl be 
 extravagant to fbrike — for which 
 reafon, they overcharged their at- 
 titudes, blackened their fnadows, 
 
 reddened
 
 [ 37 ] 
 
 reddened their carnations, and 
 whitened their lights; and all this 
 with the greateft propriety. But 
 if you apply this pradlice to clofct 
 or portrait painting, what is an ex- 
 cellence in them, becomes a defetl 
 in you. This piclure which you 
 have copied with fo much fuccels, 
 I dare fay has an admirable effe6l 
 where it hangs ; but near the eye 
 or in a ftrong light, it is hard and 
 over-done. On the other hand, if 
 your portrait was to be hung at a 
 great diftance, or in an obfcure 
 place, the delicate touches I now 
 admire would efcape the fight. 
 The fbyle proper for the church is 
 improper for the clofet, and the 
 contrary. The great painters were 
 in the right then, in painting beycnd 
 D 3 nature ;
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
 fiature-y but let us not imagine that 
 iuch figures and chara6lers are 
 therefore the moft beautiful. No 
 painter can invent a figure furpaf- 
 fing the fineft of nature : for cha- 
 rader and form, nature is the juft 
 and only flandard. He fhews his 
 genius more by properly aiTociat- 
 ing natural objecls, and exprefTing 
 natural charaders, than by exag- 
 gerating them or by inventing 
 new ones." 
 
 When I receive the picture you 
 have promifed me, I will criticife 
 it with as much finceri ty as 
 
 I am your Friend, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 E 39 ] 
 
 LETTER Vr. 
 
 'VT'OU have turned my thoughts 
 •** much towards painting of late 
 —I have been trying to folve this 
 queftion. 
 
 What is the reafon that thofe 
 objedls which difpleafe us, or at 
 beft, that pafs unnoticed, in nature, 
 pleafe us moil in painting ? 
 
 A deep road, a puddle of water, 
 a bank covered with docks and 
 briars, and an old tree or two, are 
 all the circumflances in many a fine 
 landfcape. As clowns and half 
 ftarved cattle are the figures a land- 
 D 4 fcape-
 
 [ 40 ] 
 
 Icape-painter chufes for his pic- 
 tures J lb, rough-looking fellows 
 ■wrapt up in fheets and blankets, 
 are chofen by the hiflory-painter, 
 to exprefs the greateft perfonages, 
 and in the moft dignified adtions 
 of their lives. 
 
 Let the following obfervations 
 have what weight they may — the' 
 they do not clearly anfwer, they 
 feem to throv/ fome light on this 
 difficult queftion. 
 
 I. While we are uncultivated, 
 like the Irifh Ofcar, if wc are to be 
 awakened, it muft be by having a 
 great flone thrown againft our 
 heads. The man of the utmcft 
 elegance and refinement may re- 
 member the time when, in reading, 
 nothing moved him but the mar- 
 vellous.
 
 [ 41 1 
 
 vellous, and in painting, nothing 
 pleafed him but the glaring. While 
 he was in this ftate, he delighted in 
 books of chivalry and Chinefe 
 pidlures — ^^thefe gave place to lefs 
 extravagant reprefentations of life ; 
 and at laft by much converfe with 
 men of tafte, reading purer au- 
 thors, and feeing better pidures, 
 he is taught how to feel, and finds 
 a perfect revolution even in his 
 fenfations. Thofe obje6ls which 
 once delighted him, he now de- 
 fpifes — thefe, on the contrary, he 
 formerly took no notice of, he now 
 fees with rapture ; and even goes 
 fo far as to admire the objeds 
 in nature, be has learnt to like in 
 reprefentation. — Now, it is this 
 improved, tho' artificial ftate of 
 
 the
 
 t 42 ] 
 
 the mind that conftitutcs the judge 
 of painting — and it is the judge 
 the painter is follicitous to pleafc. 
 — He is to attain this end then, by- 
 departing as much as pofTible frora 
 what is our natural barbarous tafte, 
 and by conforming to that we have 
 acquired. 
 
 2. It is moft certain that in all 
 the arts we make difficulties in or- 
 der to fhew our fkill in conquering 
 them. — Some French writer calls 
 this principle Ja difficuUe ^vaincue^ 
 and this conqucfl is the fource of 
 much pleafure. What is it but 
 this that induces the novellift and 
 play-writer to embarrafs their cha- 
 racters with difficulties and trou- 
 bles? What is there but this that 
 can make a mufical canon to be 
 
 thought
 
 r, 43 ] 
 
 thought fine in compofition, or 
 extravagant execution in perform- 
 ance agreeable, when the mind 
 cannot comprehend the one, nor 
 the ear follow the other ? and, to 
 bring it to the prefent fubjed — 
 what is it but this that induces 
 the painter to make ufe of the moft 
 unpromifmg objedis, and produce 
 beauty where you might exped: 
 nothing but deformity ? 
 
 3. It is neceffary that a painter 
 Ihould chufe fuch obje6ls as are 
 capable of variety either from 
 fhape or arrangement. Regular 
 formal objeds admit but little, 
 efpecially thofe where art has the 
 greateft fhare in their produdion, 
 unlefs they are capable of motion, 
 as Ihips, v/indmills, &:c. and then 
 
 they
 
 C 44 ] 
 
 they become pidorefque by a pro- 
 per choice of attitude. It is cu- 
 rious to obferve the ihifts to which 
 artifts are reduced^ when they are 
 obliged to paint fuch objeds as 
 are in themfelves unpidorefque — 
 fuppofe a fine houfe with avenues 
 of trees. They will vary the tint 
 of the ftones in the one, and of 
 the leaves in the other, or by 
 throwing in accidental fhades and 
 lights produce a variety. In like 
 manner, portrait-painters undrefs 
 the hair, loofen the coat, and wrin- 
 kle the (lockings that they may 
 produce a variety in the manner of 
 treating a fubjed: which wanted it 
 in form. 
 
 Thofe objeds which have no fet 
 form have of courfe mofl variety. 
 
 A
 
 [ 45 1 
 
 A road or river may wind in any 
 direction — trees are of all fizes and 
 fhapes, may ftand here or there — 
 loofe drapery admits of a thoufand 
 folds and difpofitions which the 
 iliff modern drefs is incapable of. 
 So that the painter by taking thefe 
 has ample materials for fhewing 
 his judgment in form, or fkill in 
 
 arrangement for making, and 
 
 overcoming diiiiculties — and laft- 
 ly, by the uniting both thefe he 
 conforms to the principles by which 
 the cultivated tafte is pleafed — the 
 ultimate end of all the fine arts. 
 
 If you are not fatisfied with this 
 folution, help me to a better — but 
 give a fair reading to this of 
 
 Your fincere friend, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 C 46 3 
 
 LETTER Vir. 
 
 T Do not admit your excufe. — A 
 -^ genius fhould never complywith 
 local or temporary tafte — inftead of 
 debafing himfelf to the people, he 
 fhould elevate the people to him. 
 When Milton fubtilizes divinity, 
 and Shakefpeare *^ cracks the wind 
 of a poor phrafej" who but wifhes 
 that thofe great poets had not de- 
 fcended from their fphere ? 
 
 Your allufions to incidents which 
 mud foon be forgot, are only wor- 
 thy of a writer who expedls but a 
 fhort exillence. It is true our 
 
 plays
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
 plays abound with fuch allufions. 
 When Foigard, in the Beaux Stra- 
 tagem, fays he is a fubjed of the 
 King of Spain — they aflc him in a 
 fury " which King of Spain ?" 
 This did very well at the time; 
 but thefe two Kings of Spain are 
 now of much lefs confequence than 
 their brother monarchs of Brent- 
 ford. I think it is in the fame 
 play where one of the characters 
 is afked " when he was at church 
 laft?'' he Ihould anfwer " at the 
 coronation /' but it is a point to 
 give a reply that fhall fuit the time 
 when the play is performed, for- 
 getting that there are many ex- 
 prefTions which remove you back 
 into the laft century when the play 
 v/as written, I remember in the 
 
 late
 
 [ 48 ] 
 
 late King's reign the reply ufed to 
 be *^ at the inftallation;" at the 
 acceflion of his prefent Majefty 
 an adlor thought he had a good 
 opportunity of returning to " co- 
 ronation/' but unluckily it was 
 before the King was crowned. 
 
 Allufions of this fort foon be- 
 come obfcure, and yet they will 
 not bear being altered. " Pray 
 you avoid them." 
 
 Adieu, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 i 49 ] 
 
 1 £ T T E R Vm. 
 
 T^RUE, my friend, muficians 
 **• do commit ftrange abfurdities 
 by way of expreflion — but fanciful 
 people make them commit others 
 which they never thought of. 
 
 The moll common miftake of 
 compofers is to exprefs words and 
 not ideas. This is generally the 
 cafe with Puree), and frequently 
 with Handel. I believe there is 
 not a fmgle piece exifting of the 
 former, if it has a word, to be 
 played upon, but will prove my 
 afTertion : and the latter, if the 
 E impetuofity
 
 C so 1 
 
 impetuofity of the mufical fubjedt 
 will give him leave, will at any 
 time quit it for a pun. There is 
 no trap fo likely to catch compofers 
 as the words high and low, down 
 and up, " By G — (as Quin fays) 
 they muft bite.'' In what raptures 
 was Purcel when he fet " They 
 that ^0 down to the fea in fhips." 
 How kuky a circumflance, that 
 there was a finger at that time, 
 who could go down, to DD, and go 
 up two 06lavcs above ? for there is 
 in other parts of the anthem a 
 going up as well as down. The 
 whole is a conflelkrion of beauties 
 of this kind. Handel had leifure,. 
 at the conclufion of an excellent 
 movement, to endeavour at an imi- 
 tation of the rocking of a cradle 
 
 (See
 
 [ 51 ] 
 
 (See the end of the anthem " My 
 heart is inditing"', and has his 
 ups and downs too in plenty. If 
 many examples of this may be 
 found in thefe great geniufes, it 
 would be endlefs to enumerate the 
 inftances in thofe of the lower 
 order. Let it fuffice to obferve, 
 that all operas without exception, 
 the greateft part of church-mufic, 
 and particularly Marcello's pfalms, 
 abound in this ridiculous imitative 
 expreflion. 
 
 This is trifling with the words 
 and negledling the fentiment ; but 
 the fault is much increafed when a 
 word is exprelTed in contradidion 
 to the fentiment. A moft flagrant 
 inflahce of this is in Boyce's Solo- 
 mon, in the fong of *^ Arife my 
 E 2 Fair
 
 [ 52 ] 
 
 Fair One come away." — The hcrdi 
 of the piece is inviting his miftrefs 
 to come to him, and to tempt her 
 the more, in defcribing the beaut/ 
 of the fpring, he tells her that 
 
 ** Stern winter's gone with all its train 
 " Of chilling frofts and dropping rain," 
 
 but it is come in the mufic^ — the 
 unlucky words of a7'«/^?', frojly and 
 raht^ made the compofer fet the 
 lover a fhivering, when he was 
 full of the feelings of the *^ genial 
 ray !" 
 
 But fometimes exprefTion of the 
 fentiment is blameable, if fuch 
 exprefTion is improper for the ge- 
 neral fubjedl of the piece. Reli- 
 gious folemnity fhould not appear 
 at the theatre, nor theatrical levity 
 at the church. In the Stahat Mater 
 
 of
 
 [ 53 ] 
 
 of Pergol efi, and in the Meffiah of 
 Handel, there is an exprefTion of 
 whipping attempted, which, if it is 
 underftood at all, conveys either a 
 ludicrous or prophane idea, ac- 
 cording to the difpofition of the 
 hearer. Permit me to fufpend my 
 fubjecl a moment juft to obferve, 
 that there is fometimes mention 
 made in plays, of providence, God, 
 and other fubje6ts, which are as 
 incompatible with a place of pub- 
 lic entertainment, as the common 
 fentiments of plays are with the 
 church. If we are difgulled at a 
 theatrical preacher, we are not lefs 
 offended when an adlor heightens 
 all thefe ill-placed fentiments — 
 forcing them upon your notice by 
 an affectation of a deep fenfe of re- 
 E 3 ligion.
 
 f 54 ] 
 
 iigion, and moll folemnly preach- 
 ing the fcrmon which the poet fo 
 improperly wrote. 
 
 All thefe, and many more, are 
 fault"' which muficians really com- 
 mit; but a connoifleur will make 
 them guilty of others, by way of 
 compliment, which the compofers 
 never dreamt of. The introduction 
 of the Coronation anthem, Zadok 
 the Priefiy is an arpeggio, wflich 
 Handel probably took from his own 
 performance at the harpfichord ; 
 but a great judge fays, it is to ex- 
 prefs the m.urmurs of the people 
 aiTcmbkd in the abbey. " All we 
 like fheep are gone aftray" in the 
 MefTiah is confidered as moft ex- 
 cellently exprefling the breaking 
 out of fheep from a field.— 
 
 But
 
 C 55 ] 
 
 But out of pity to the connoifieurs, 
 virtuofi, and the mod; refpedlable 
 Conofcen iy I will not increafe my 
 inftances — God forbid I fliould rob 
 any man of his criticifm ! 
 
 Left I Ihould encroach upon yrur 
 premifes, I will quit fuch dan- 
 gerous ground, and leave you with 
 more celerity than ceremony. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 56 3 
 
 LETTER JX. 
 
 T Like every part of your poem 
 •^ except the parenthefis towards 
 the conclufion. In the midfl of 
 a rapid defcription, or tender fen- 
 timentj or any thing that com- 
 mands the attention, or attaches 
 the heart; what is more difguftful 
 than to have the image cut in two, 
 for the fake of explaining a word, 
 or removing an objedion, which 
 the reader may poflibly make ? 
 
 Milton and Shakefpeare fre- 
 quently interrupt the moft lively 
 
 and
 
 E 57 1 
 
 stnd ardent paflages — take fomc 
 inftances as they occur. 
 
 Their arms away they threw, and to the hills 
 (For earth hath this variety from heav'a 
 Of pleafure fituate in hill or dale) 
 Light as the lightning's glimpfe they ran, 
 they flew. 
 
 Par. Lost. B. VL 
 
 ■when on a day 
 
 (For time, though in eternity, apply'd 
 To motion, meafures all things durable 
 By prefent, paft, and future) on fuch a day 
 As heaven's great year brings forth. 
 
 Par. Lost. B. V» 
 
 ■ evening now approach'd 
 
 (For we have alfo our evening and our morn^ 
 We ours for change delegable, not need) 
 Forthwith from dance to fvveet repall they turn 
 Defirous ; &c. 
 
 Upon the mention of bills m 
 
 the firft quotation, and of (*ay and 
 
 •evening in the fecond and lafl — he 
 
 knew
 
 [ 58 ] 
 
 knew that he had fome objedlions 
 to anfwer, and accordingly fet 
 about doing it for fear of the con- 
 fequences — 1 wifh they had re- 
 mained in their full force. 
 
 You have often read the Mid- 
 fummer Night's Dream — do you 
 recoiled this pafTage ? 
 
 Lyf* Hermia, for ought that ever I could 
 read. 
 Could ever hear by tale or hiftory, 
 Thecourfeof true love never did run fmooth; 
 But, either it was different in blood ■ 
 
 Her, O crofs ! too high, to be enthralled 
 
 to low! 
 
 Ly/. Or elfe mifgrafted in refpedt of 
 
 years— 
 Her. O fpite ! too old, to be engag'd to 
 
 young! 
 Lyf. Or elfe it flood upon the choice of 
 
 friends — 
 Her, O hell ! to chufe love by another'i 
 
 eye! 
 
 LyA
 
 L 59 3 
 
 Lyf Or if there were a fympathy in 
 
 choice — 
 War, death, or ficknefs did lay fiege to it. 
 
 Read it without Hermia*s inter- 
 ruptions and it becomes one of the 
 fineft parts of the author — but it 
 is miferably mangled as it (lands. 
 You will remeiT her that it is the 
 improper ufe of the parenthefis I 
 object to and not to the thing it- 
 felf. " This figure of compofition," 
 fays a late ingenious author, which 
 is hardly ever ufed in common 
 difcourfe, is much employed by 
 the bed writers of antiquity, in 
 order to give a caft and colour to 
 their llyle different from comanon 
 idiom, and by Demofthenes par- 
 ticularly; and not only by the 
 erators, but the poets.'* . 
 
 I would
 
 [ 6o ] 
 
 I would recommend to your 
 confideration whether you had not 
 better avoid giving any hint how 
 the ftory of your poem is to con- 
 clude ? Anticipation frequently 
 fpoils a fine incident. When 
 ^neas is reciting to Dido what 
 paft at Troy, fays he, 
 
 Arduus armatos medii? in m^enibus aflans 
 
 Fundit cQuus. 
 
 JEu. II. 
 
 The firil mention of the Horfe's 
 having armed men v/ithin, fhould 
 have been referved for this place. 
 There is fomething truly terrible 
 and fublime in iEneas's being 
 waked by fuch a variety of horrid 
 founds, and ignorant of thecaufe; 
 the reader alfo Ihould have been 
 ignorant until Parntheus explained 
 
 the
 
 t 6i ] 
 
 the myftery. See the whole paf- 
 lage in -^n. II. beginning at the 
 298th verfe^ and if poflible, forget 
 that this went before. 
 
 Delefta virum fortiti corpora furtim 
 
 Includunt casco lateri, &c. 
 
 One of the fineft parts of Don 
 Quixote is alfo fpoiled by menti- 
 oning a circumftance which fnould 
 have been delayed. The Knight 
 and his 'Squire, at the clofe of the 
 day, hear the clank of chains, and 
 dreadful blows, which would have 
 puzzled the reader as much as it 
 frightened them, had not the author 
 unluckily faid *' that the ftrokes 
 were in time and meafure,'* v/hich 
 is telling us very plainly that it was 
 a mill. The whole fcene is highly 
 piulorefque and beautiful. 
 
 If
 
 E 62 1 
 
 If thefe hints will be of any 
 fervice to you it will be a great 
 pleafure to 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [• 63 ] 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 THHE produ6lions of genius re- 
 . quire fome ages to be brought 
 to perfedion. The liberal arts 
 have their infancy, youth and 
 manhood ; and, to carry on the 
 allufion, continue fometime in a 
 ftate of ftrength, and then verge 
 by degrees to a decline, which at 
 lafl: ends in a total extindion. 
 The Englilh language, poetry, and 
 mufic, exhibit proofs of this ob- 
 fervation, as far as they have as 
 yet gone : with the two former I 
 have at prefent nothing to do, but 
 
 fhall
 
 r 64 ] 
 
 Ihall confine what I have to fay oit 
 this fubjedl to the latter. 
 
 What the mufic of the times 
 preceding Harry the eighth was, I 
 confefs myfelf ignorant, nor in- 
 deed is the knowledge of it necef- 
 fary : we may conclude that it was 
 more barbarous than that of the 
 fixteenth century, as the times 
 in which it was ufed Were lefs 
 enlightened. Some mafles, mot- 
 tets, and madrigals are what have 
 reached us. The whole confifls of 
 a fucceffion of chords without art 
 or meaning, and perfectly deftitut^ 
 of air. In Elizabeth's reign ap- 
 peared fome compofers, Tallis, 
 Bird, Morley, and Farrant, which 
 improved the barren flyle of their 
 j)redeceflbrs : they had more choic^ 
 
 in
 
 [ 65 ] 
 
 in their harmony, and made fomc 
 little advances in melody. There 
 are fome pieces of inftrumental 
 mufic compofed at this time which 
 ftill exift : particularly a book of 
 leflbns, for the virginals, which was 
 ihe Queen's. — Whether the com- 
 pofers thought that her facred 
 Majefty excelled in mufical abili- 
 ties as much as in rank, or as fhe 
 wifhed to do in beauty, I know 
 not i but this is certain, that thefe 
 pieces are fo crowded with parts, 
 and fo aukwardly barbarous, as to 
 render the performance of them 
 impoflible — fo natural is it, even 
 in the infancy of art, to miftake 
 difficulty for beauty. 
 
 I do not recoiled any compofer 
 
 that really improved mufic for the 
 
 F firfl:
 
 [ 66 ] 
 
 firft half of the feventeenth cen- 
 tury, except Orlando Gibbons ; of 
 whom, a fervice for the churchy 
 and two or three anthems remain, 
 the harmony of which is good, and 
 the melody pleafing. In the Gloria 
 Patri of the Nunc Dimittis is the 
 befl canon, in my judgment, that 
 was ever made. Gibbons was alfo 
 a compofer for the virginals, but 
 in no refpe6l better than his pre- 
 decelTors, I believe it was about 
 this time that the fpecies of canon 
 called the catch, was produced. 
 The intent of my making this 
 ihort recapitulation of the former 
 ftate of mufic is purely prefatory 
 to what I have to fay upon the fub- 
 jed of catches* 
 
 This
 
 [ 67 3 
 
 This odd fpecies of compofition, 
 whenever invented, was broughtto 
 its perfcdlion by Purcel. Real 
 mufic was as yet in its childhood ; 
 but the reign of Charles the fecond 
 carried every kind of vulgar de- 
 bauchery to its height. The pro- 
 per sera for the birth of fuch pieces 
 as ^^ when quartered, have ever 
 three parts obfcenity, and one part 
 mufic.'" 
 
 The definition of a catch is a 
 piece for three or more voices, one 
 of which leads, and the others fol- 
 low in the fame notes. It muft be 
 fo contrived, that reds Twhich are 
 made for that purpofe) in the mufic 
 of one line be filled up with a 
 word or two from another line j 
 thefe form a crofs-purpofe or catch, 
 F 2 from
 
 { 6? 3 
 
 from whence the name. Now, this 
 piece of wit is not judged perfect, 
 if the refult be not the rankeft 
 indecency. 
 
 Perhaps this definition may be 
 objeded to, and I may be told 
 that there are catches perfedUy 
 harmlefs. It is true that fome 
 pieces are called catches that have 
 nothing to offend, and others that 
 may juftly pretend to pleafe; but 
 they want what is abfolutely ne- 
 ceffary for a catch — the break, and 
 crofs-purpofe. 
 
 It may alfo be faid that the re- 
 fult of the break, is not always 
 indecency. I confefs there are 
 catches upon other fubjedts, drunlc- 
 ennefs is a favourite one ; which, 
 though good, is not fo very good 
 
 as
 
 I h ] 
 
 as' the other : and there may pofli- 
 bly be found one or two upon 
 bther topicks which might be 
 heard without difguft ; but thefe 
 are not fufficient to contradid a 
 general rule, or make me retra6t 
 what I have advanced. 
 
 I will next examine their mufical 
 merit. — And this as compofitions 
 muft confift either in their harmo- 
 ny, or melody j or their efFedl in 
 performance. 
 
 The harmony of a catch is no- 
 thing more than the common refult 
 of filling up a chord. — There is 
 not contrivance enough to make 
 it efteemed as apiece of ingenuity. 
 " What ! they are all canons !*' 
 So is every tune in the world, if 
 you will fet it in three or more 
 F 3 parts,
 
 C 70 1 
 
 parts, and fing thofe parts in fuc- 
 ceffion as a catch — but 2Lreal canon 
 is not fo eafily produced : it is one 
 of thofe difficult trifles which cofts 
 an infinite deal of labour, and after 
 all is worth nothing. I do not 
 except the famous Non nobis of 
 Bird, in which are fonne pafTages 
 not to be endured. The excel- 
 lence in the compofition of a catch 
 confifls in making the breaks, and 
 filling them up properly. The 
 melody is, for the mod part, the 
 unimproved vulgar drawl of the 
 times of ignorance. 
 
 Let us next attend to the man- 
 ner of performance. One voice 
 leads, a fecond follows, and a third, 
 &:c. fucceeds, unaccompanied with 
 any inllrument to keep them in 
 
 tune
 
 [ 7« ] 
 
 tune together. The confequence 
 is, that the voices are always fink- 
 ing, but not equally, for the bell 
 finger will keep nearell the pitch, 
 and the others depart fartheft from 
 it. If the parts are doubled, which 
 is fometimes the cafe, all thefe de- 
 feds are multiplied. To this let 
 there be added the imperfe<5l fcale 
 of an uncultivated voice, the de^ 
 parting from the real found by way 
 of humour, the noife of fo many 
 people iVriving to outfing each 
 other, the confufion of fpeaking 
 different words at the fame time, 
 and all this heightened by the 
 laughing and other accompani- 
 ments of the audience — it prefents 
 fuch a fcene of favage folly as 
 would not difgrace the Hottentots 
 F 4 indeed.
 
 I 72 ] 
 
 indeed, but is not much to the 
 credit of a company of civilized 
 people. 
 
 As the catch in a manner owed 
 its exiftence to a drunken club, of 
 which fome muficians were mem- 
 bers; upon their dying, it languifh- 
 ed for years, and was fcarce known 
 except among choir-men, who now 
 and then kept up the fpirit of their 
 forefathers. As the age grew more 
 polifhed, a better ftyle of mufic 
 appeared. Corelli gave a new turn 
 to Inftrumental mulic, and was fuc- 
 cefsfully followed by Geminiani 
 and Handel; the laft excelled in 
 vocal as well as inftrumental mufic. 
 
 There have been refinements 
 and confelTed improvements upon 
 afU thefe great men fmce > and no 
 
 doubt-
 
 t 73 1 
 
 doubt but at this time there are 
 -much better performers, and more 
 elegant, tho' lefs folid compofers. 
 This is the united efFed of the la- 
 bours of the whole together, for 
 there is no one man to be compared 
 with either of the above-men- 
 tioned. 
 
 Now, if this were fpeculation 
 only, is it credible that tafte fhould 
 revert to barbarifm? Its natural 
 death is, to be frittered away in 
 falfc refinement ; and yet, contrary 
 to experience in every other in- 
 ftance, we have gone back a cen- 
 ■tury, and catches flourifh in the 
 reign of George the third. There 
 is a club compofed of fome of the 
 firft people in the kingdom which 
 raeetprofeflediy to hear this fpecies 
 
 of
 
 C 74 ] 
 
 of compofition : they cultivate it 
 and encourage it with premiunas. 
 To obtain which, many compofers, 
 who ought to be above fuch non- 
 fenfe, become candidates, and pro- 
 duce fuch things 
 
 — — «* one knows not what to call, 
 •* Their generation's fo equivocal." 
 
 Sometimes a piece pnakes its ap- 
 pearance that was lately found by 
 accident after a concealment of a 
 hundred and fifty years. When it 
 is approved, and declared too ex- 
 cellent for thefe degenerate days, 
 the author fmiles and owns it. I 
 fcarce ever faw one of thele things 
 that did not betray itfelf, within 
 three bars, to be modern. It is as 
 difficult to imitate ancient mufic 
 as ancient poetry 5 a few fquare 
 
 notes
 
 [ 75 ] 
 
 notes are not fufficient for the one, 
 nor will two or three wbitofns and 
 ekes do for the other. And yet in 
 this lafl inftance a few affcdled 
 antiquated fpellings have been 
 thought by one half of the world, 
 fufficient to weigh againft modern 
 phrafeology, modern manners, and 
 even modern fads. Surely it re-*- 
 quires no great difcernment to 
 difcover that what has exifted may 
 be imitated, but nothing lefs than 
 the gift of Prefcience can dive 
 into futurity. If it is improbable 
 that an uneducated boy fhould be 
 able to produce what are called 
 Rowley*s Poems, it is impojjible that 
 Rowley could write in a ftyle and 
 allude to fa6ls of after times. 
 Forgive me this digreflion, but 
 
 indeed
 
 r 76 ] 
 
 indeed I have nearly finifhed my 
 fubjed; and letter. 
 
 I profefs that I never heard a 
 catch fung, but I felt nnore alhann- 
 ed than I can exprefs. I pretend 
 to no more delicacy than- that of the 
 age I live in, which is very properly 
 .too refined to endure fuch barba- 
 rifms — I was afhamed for myfelf-— 
 •for my company — and if a foreigner 
 -was prefent — for my country. 
 
 It has juft occurred to me that 
 you like catches, and frequently 
 help to fing them — revenge your^ 
 felf for the liberties I have takenr, 
 by compelling me to hear fome of 
 thde pleafant ditties, when perhaps 
 I may be forced to fmg in my own 
 defence. 
 
 Adieu, 
 
 P. S.
 
 [ 77 ] 
 
 P. S. If you fhould have a de- 
 fign to convert me — take me to 
 the catch-club. — I confefs, and ho- 
 nour, the fuperior excellence of its 
 performance, while I lament that 
 fo noble a fubfcription Ihould be 
 lavifhed for fo poor a purpofe as 
 keeping alive mulical falfe-wir, 
 when it might fo powerfully fup- 
 port and encourage the beft ilyie 
 of compofitionj and rather advance 
 our tafte by anticipating the im- 
 provements of the coming age, 
 than force it back to times of bar- 
 harifm, from which it has coft us 
 fuch pains to emerge. 
 
 LETTEK
 
 I 78 ] 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 T Know that you are one of thofc 
 who confider our language as 
 pail its meridian. Some think it 
 was in its highefl luflre in the age 
 of Sidney 5 others, in that of Ad- 
 difon. Perhaps, upon an impartial 
 review of it, we fhall find it more 
 perfect now than ever. 
 
 In the authors before the reign 
 of Elizabeth, there feems not the 
 leafl pretence to a fimple, natural 
 flyle. A man was held unfit 
 to write, who could not exprefs 
 his thoughts out of the common 
 
 language;
 
 t 79 ] 
 
 language ; fo that it is pofTible,. 
 there was as much difficulty in un- 
 derftanding them at the time they 
 lived, as now. If we are to judge 
 of the Englilh they fpoke, by that 
 they writ, we have no reafon to 
 complain of the fluduation of our 
 tongue. But it is very proba- 
 ble that converfation-language was 
 much the fame two hundred years 
 ago as at prefent -, there are proofs 
 of this in private letters ftill ex- 
 ifting — I mean from fuch people 
 as had no ambition to be thought 
 learned, or from fuch as felt too 
 much for afteclation. The famous 
 letter of Ann Boleyn to Henry 
 the eighth, is of this lad fort, in 
 which there is fcarce an obfolete 
 cxpreflion. . I hope you make a 
 
 diftindlion
 
 [ 8o ] 
 
 diftindlon between expreflion and 
 fpelling — for as I once obferved to 
 you, it is but of late that our 
 orthography has been fixed. In 
 the State-tryals in Elizabeth and 
 James's reign, we find near the 
 fame language we ufe at prefent, 
 and this was taken immediately 
 from the mouth. In thofe paffages 
 where Shakefpeare's genius had not 
 its full fcope, may be obferved his 
 attempts to be thought learned, 
 and refined i but where the fubjed 
 was too impetuous to brook re- 
 fbraint, the language is as perfed 
 as the idea. Upon the whole, tho' 
 the colloquial Englifhwas much the 
 fame as at prefent, we may fafely 
 pronounce the ftyle of the authors 
 oi this ptriod to be barbarous. 
 
 Th€
 
 I 81 ] 
 
 The difputes between Charles 
 the firft and the Parliaaient, were 
 of great ufe in polifhing the lan- 
 guage; and tho' the King's papers 
 are thought to be moft elegant, 
 yet it is evident that both parties 
 endeavoured at ilrength for the 
 good of their caufe, and at per- 
 fpicuity for the fake of being uni- 
 verfally underftood — and thefe two 
 principles go near towards making 
 a perfedl ftyle. Milton's profe is 
 in general very nervous, but it is 
 not free from ftiffnefs and affedla- 
 tion. 
 
 The other period is that of Ad- 
 difon. He was undoubtedly one 
 of our fmootheft and bed writers: 
 he had the (kill of uniting eafe, 
 ftrength, and correftnefs, and did 
 G more
 
 [ 82 ] 
 
 more towards improving the lan- 
 guage than the united labours of 
 fifty years before him. But yet 
 there were fome little remains of 
 barbarifm flill left, which are evi- 
 dent enough in his contemporaries, 
 and may be difcovered even in him, 
 by attending to the (lyle and not to 
 the matter. Will you believe that 
 fo elegant a writer has ufed autben- 
 
 ticalnefs for authenticity P You 
 
 may find this horrid word in his 
 Dialogues on Medals. 
 
 Political difputes have produced, 
 among many bad effedls, the fame 
 good, now, as formerly — they have 
 improved our language. Thofe in 
 the Adminiftration of Sir Robert 
 Walpole, but more particularly 
 thefe in our own times, have oc- 
 
 cafioned
 
 [ 83 3 
 
 cafioned fome of the mofl: perfe(5l 
 pieces of writing we have in our 
 tongue. Though, from the nature 
 of the fubjed, the pieces them- 
 felves can fcarce exift longer than 
 the difpute which gave them be- 
 ings yet certainly their efFe6t upon 
 the language will be felt when the 
 quarrel itfelf is no more, and every 
 thing relating to it forgotten. 
 
 Tho' I have affirmed that our 
 language is more perfect now than 
 in any paft period — yet there is 
 ilill much left in it to be correded. 
 — Indeed there are fome defcds in 
 all languages, which have crept in 
 by degrees, and are fo fandined by 
 cuftom, that they can never be 
 corre6led. In Englifli there is no 
 difference in writing, tho' there Is 
 G 2 in.
 
 C 84 3 
 
 in pronouncing, the prefent, and 
 prete»'perfe6b tenfes of the verbs 
 ready and eaty and fome others. 
 Some unfuccefsful attempts have 
 been made to diftlnguifh them by 
 writing redde and ate. There are 
 more words in Latin of contrary 
 iignifications which are written the 
 fame, than, I believe, in any other 
 language. It is a defe5i if the 
 pronunciation of different words 
 be alike, and a grtdit fault if fuch a 
 pronunciation be the confequence 
 of a refinement. We now pro- 
 nounce fore and fouVy the fame ; 
 which fometimes makes an odd 
 confufion. " I will come to you 
 at three, I can*t come before" — and 
 " I will come to you at three, I 
 can't come by /(?«r"— -are pro- 
 nounced
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
 nounced jufl: the fame way. This 
 we get by afFedledly dropping the 
 u. In French au dejfous and au 
 dejfus are too much alike for con- 
 trary fignifications. Nature dic- 
 tates a difference of found for 
 different meanings: the adverbs 
 of negation and affentj bear no 
 refemblance to each other in any 
 languages and almofl all lan- 
 guages agree in fome fuch found 
 as no for denial. 
 
 The London diale(fl is the caufe 
 of many improprieties, which, if 
 they were only ufed in converfa- 
 tion, wouM not much fignify; 
 but as they have begun to make 
 part of our written language, they 
 deferve fome animadverfion. To 
 mention a few. The cuflom a- 
 G 3 mong
 
 r s6 ] 
 
 mong the common people of ad- 
 ding an s to many words, has, I 
 believe, occafioned its being fixed 
 to fome, by writers of rank, who 
 on account of their refidence in 
 London did not perceive the im- 
 propriety. They fpeak, and write^, 
 chickens — coals — acquaintances — af-^ 
 fiftancesy &c. Chicken is itfelf the 
 plural of chick y as oxen is of ox, 
 kine (cois^en) is of cozvy and many 
 others. Coal^ acquaintance^ being 
 aggregate nouns, admit of no plu* 
 ral termination, nor does f.ffiftance. 
 If I wxr€ to fay a bag of Ihots, or 
 fands, the impropriety would be 
 inftantly perceived y and yet one is 
 full as good Englifh as the other. 
 A certain author of great credit, 
 who has taken a ftricl, nay, a ver- 
 bal
 
 I 87 ] 
 
 bal review of the Englifli language, 
 ufes them as often as they occur. 
 
 As the Londoners fpeak, fo they 
 alfo write learn for leac/j, this is a 
 very old miftake, and occurs fre- 
 quently in the pfalms, do for does 
 (and the contrary), fet for JJt, fee 
 for fawy tin for latten (which are 
 two different things as well as 
 words), fulky for fuller?^ &c. Sec, 
 ^Change and f ample have been long 
 
 admitted denizens. Even in a 
 
 di6lionary you may find million ex- 
 plained to be a fruit well known— 
 as perhaps in a future edition we 
 lliall be told that a fly fignifies a 
 coachy and dilly a chaife^ 
 
 The London phrafeolo^y has alfo 
 
 been too hard for Englifh. / got 
 
 'ne up — he fets him down — 7 got no 
 
 G 4 Jleep
 
 [ 88 I 
 
 fieef — I Jlept none — fuch a thing is 
 a doing — a going — a coming — live 
 lobflers — liv- cattle — I will call of 
 you — do not tell on it. All thefe 
 are writ without fcruple. Our 
 niodern connedies, and the London 
 news-papers, abound fo much in 
 this language, that they are fcarce 
 intelligible to one who has never 
 been in the capital. Nay in books 
 for the ufe of fchools, the London 
 dialedl is fo predominant, that ma- 
 ny of the fentences are not to be 
 underflood by a country boy, and 
 impofTible to be rendered into La- 
 tin even by thofe who do underftand 
 them. *' I will go and fetch a walk 
 in the Green Park" — '' I will go 
 get me my dinner," and fuch jargon 
 13 perpetually occurring. 
 
 Englifh
 
 I 89 ] 
 
 Englifli has alfo been corrupted 
 by London emphajis and accent — I 
 will not tire you by quoting ex- 
 aniples, of whicph a long lift might 
 be made to prove the great pro- 
 peniity of the common people to 
 thofe defects; and would be a 
 farther confirmation of what I jufl 
 now advanced, that men of learn- 
 ing really commit improprieties, 
 becaufe their ear is familiarized to 
 them. 
 
 I have yet fomething to add on 
 this fubjedl — but I muft caution 
 you from imagining that becaufe I 
 find out the faults of others, I 
 pretend to perfedion myfelf. Ho- 
 garth fays very properly in his 
 Analyfis of Beauty, " do not look 
 
 for
 
 C 90 ] 
 
 for good drawing in thofe exam- 
 ples which I bring of grace and 
 beauty — they are purpofely neg- 
 lected — attend to the precept.'* 
 
 lettex
 
 I 9^ ] 
 
 LETTER Xir, 
 
 T Sometimes provoke you by 
 -^ fporting with what you deem 
 .facred matters. Homer I knoW 
 is one of your divinities— may I 
 venture to tell you that I nevef 
 could find that fcale of heroes in 
 the Iliad which critics admire as 
 fuch a beauty ? 
 
 He6tor is fuppofed in valour 
 fuperior to all but Achilles — upon 
 what authority ? Ajax certainly 
 beat him in the fmgle combat be- 
 tween them } and there are fome 
 
 inftances,
 
 inftances, tho* I cannot recollect 
 the paflfages, of his inferiority to 
 others of the Greeks. 
 
 It is furely a blindnefs worfe 
 than Hoinerican, not to fee many 
 inconfiftencies in the Iliad, and it 
 is ridiculous to attempt to make 
 beauties of them. From many 
 which might eafily be pointed out, 
 take one or two as they occur 
 to my memory. After defcribing 
 Mars as the moH terrible of beings, 
 and to whom whole armies are as 
 nothing; what poetical belief is 
 flrong enough to fuppofe he could 
 be made to retire by Diomed ? 
 If Minerva's fliield is fo vaft (the 
 fliell of a Kraken, I fuppofe), can 
 one help wondering why fhe does 
 not ufti it as the King of Laputa 
 
 does
 
 E 9i ] 
 
 does his ifland, when his fubjedls 
 on Terra-firma rebel ? I do not 
 recoiled parallel inllances in Mil- 
 ton. 
 
 LETTEK
 
 [ 94 ] 
 
 LETTER XIIL 
 
 XT'OU have not done me juflice 
 ■*^ — read the memoirs I fent you 
 proper lyhtfoxQ they are condemned: 
 —what is any book if it be not 
 read in that manner by which it 
 may bell be underilood ? A novel, 
 v/hofe merit lies chiefly in the flory, 
 Ihould be quickly pafled through ; 
 for the clofer you can bring the 
 feveral circumflances together, the 
 better. If its merit confills in 
 charadler and fentiment, it fliould 
 be read much flower j for the leafl: 
 
 obvious
 
 [ 95 1 
 
 obvious parts of a charadler are 
 frequently the mofl beautiful, and 
 the propriety of a fentiment may 
 eafily efcape in a hafty perufal. 
 Detached thoughts ought to be 
 dwelt on longer than any other 
 manner of writing; for different 
 fubjedls following clofe, do rather 
 confound than inftruct ; but if we 
 allowed ourfelves time to refled:, 
 we fhould underftand the author 
 and perhaps improve ourfelves. 
 Each thought fhould be confidcred 
 as a text;, upon which we ought to 
 make a commentary. 
 
 Bayle's manner of writing by 
 text and note is generally decried, 
 but without reafon. When there 
 is a necefiity of proving the afier - 
 tion by quotation j which v/as his 
 
 cafe>
 
 C 96 J 
 
 cafe, no other way can be taken 
 equally perfpicuous. The autho- 
 rities muft be produced fomewherc 
 -—they cannot be in the text, and 
 if they are put at the end of the 
 book, which is the modern fafhion, 
 how niuch more troublefome are 
 they for referring to, than by being 
 at the bottom of the page ? The 
 truth is, this is another inftance of 
 ignorance in the method of read- 
 ing. Bayle, Harris, and other wri- 
 ters of this clafs, fhould have the 
 text read firft, which is quickly dif- 
 patchedj then, begin again and 
 take in the notes. By %kk means you />^ 
 preferve a connedlion, and judge 
 of the proofs of what is aflerted. 
 
 I might in other refpeds com- 
 plain of your treating me rather 
 
 unfairly;
 
 C 97 ] 
 
 unfairly; indeed, none judge lefs 
 favourably of an author than his 
 
 intimate friends their perfonal 
 
 knowledge of him as a man, de- 
 ftroys a hundred delufions to his 
 advantage as an author. — ^' Who is 
 a hero to his Valet de Chambre ?" 
 faid the great Conde, and he might 
 have added, ^^ or to his friends ?" 
 Befides the obvious reafon for this, 
 it is mofl likely that an author 
 has in his common converfation 
 made his friends acquainted with 
 his fentiments long before they are 
 communicated to the public. The 
 confequence is, that to tbem his 
 work is not new ; and it is pofTi- 
 ble that they may take to them- 
 felves part of his merit ; for I 
 have known many inftances, where 
 H a
 
 C 98 ] 
 
 a perfon has been told fomething 
 by way of information, which he 
 himfelf told to the informer. 
 
 I know you will take this to 
 yourfelf. — Do fo, but ftill think 
 me 
 
 Yours, &c« 
 
 LETTEIl
 
 [ 99 3 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 "T^yTE are got into a cuftom 
 of mentioning Shakfpeare 
 and Jonfon together, and many 
 think them of equal merit, tho' 
 in different ways. In my opinion^ 
 Jonfon is one of the dulleft wri- 
 ters I ever read, and his plays, 
 with fome few exceptions, the moft 
 unentertaining I ever faw. He has 
 fome fhining pafTages now and 
 then, but not enough to make up 
 for his deficiencies. Shakfpeare, 
 H 2 on
 
 on the contrary, abundantly recomw 
 penfes for being fometimes low and 
 trifling. One of his commentators 
 much admires his great art in the 
 Gonftru<5lion of his verfes — I dare 
 fay they are very perfe6t ; but it is 
 as much out of my power to think 
 iipon the art of verfe-making when 
 I am reading this divine poet, as it 
 is to confider of the beft way of 
 making fiddle-ftrings at a concert* 
 I am not mafter of myfelf fufH- 
 ciently to do any thing that re- 
 quires deliberation : I am taken 
 up like a leaf in a whirlwind, and 
 dropped at Thebes, or Athens, as 
 the poet pleafes ! 
 
 I have feldom any pleafure frorrt 
 the reprefentation of Shakfpeare's 
 plays, unlefs it be from fome fcencs 
 
 of
 
 ^f converfation merely, without 
 paflion. The fpeeches which have 
 any thing violent in the exprefTion, 
 are generally fo over-adled as to 
 ceafe to be the ^^ mirror of na- 
 ture" — but this was always the cafe 
 — " Oh ! it offends me to the 
 foul, to fee a robuflious perriwig- 
 pated fellow tear a pafTion to tat^ 
 ters :" — 'tho' this is a^' lamentable 
 thing," yet it appears to be with- 
 out remedy. An aclor, in a large 
 theatre, is like a picture hung at a 
 diftance, if the touches are delicate, 
 they efcape the fight : both mufl 
 be extravagant to be feen at all, 
 and hence the cuftom of the an- 
 cients to make ufe of the Perfona 
 and Bufkin. Ading has a very 
 different effe6t in the flage-box 
 H 3 from.
 
 [ 102 ] 
 
 from what it has in the back of 
 the gallery. In the one, every 
 thing appears rough and rude, like 
 a pidlure of Spagnolet's near the 
 eye; in the other, it is with diffi- 
 culty that the play can be made 
 out. Perhaps, the bed place is the 
 front of the firft gallery; as being 
 fufficiently removed to foften thefe 
 hardneffes, yet near enough to fee 
 and hear with advantage. But 
 there is no place can alter the im- 
 propriety of rant and turgid de- 
 clamation, which the performer 
 naturally runs into by endeavour- 
 ing to be ftrong enough to be 
 heard — fo that, as I obferved, the 
 evil feems to be incurable. 
 
 ^ ^ ')^ *- * * 
 
 LETTER
 
 t 103 ] 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 A N acquaintance of ours has 
 ^ ^ correfponded with a writing- 
 mafter many years, not from any re- 
 gard to the man, but for the plea« 
 fure he takes in feeing fine writing. 
 He preferves his letters carefully, 
 and though he reads them to none, 
 (perhaps they are ftill unread by 
 himfelf ) he fiews them to all who 
 can relifh the excellence of a flou- 
 
 rifli ^' long drawn out." Our 
 
 friend's tafte may be ridiculed by 
 
 ihofe who ^^ hold it a bafencfs to 
 
 H 4 write
 
 [ 104 ] 
 
 •write fair," but yet it is certain, 
 that the true form of letters, in 
 writing, is underilood no where 
 but in England. I never faw a 
 fpecimen of a corredb hand either 
 written or engraved, from any- 
 other country, that was upon a 
 right principle. Perhaps it may be 
 objedled, that every nation, preju- 
 diced in favour of their own par- 
 ticular manner, will fay the fame 
 thing. Let us examine this. 
 
 Modern writing-hand had its 
 rife from an endeavour to form the 
 true letters as they are printed, 
 with expedition. The firft varia- 
 tion from the original, muft be an 
 oblique inflead of a perpendicular 
 fituation, this naturally arifes from 
 the pofition of the hand — the next, 
 
 a
 
 C »o5 ] 
 
 a joining of the letters 3 thefe two 
 neceflarily produce a third, an al- 
 teration of the form. So that 
 yrriting hand differs from printing 
 in this, that the former is an ar- 
 rangement of conne5fed charaders, 
 the latter of diflindl ones. The 
 flit in the pen makes the down- 
 flrokes full, and the up-flrokes 
 flight, fo that the body of the 
 letter is ftrong, and the joinings 
 weak; as they fhould be. It is 
 mod natural and eafy alfo to hold 
 the pen always in the fame pofi- 
 tion, by which means, the full and 
 hair-ftrokes are always in their 
 right places. So far feems the ne- 
 cefTary confequence of endeavour- 
 ing to make the letters expediti- 
 oufly with a pen. This being 
 
 granted.
 
 [ io6 ] 
 
 granted, the ornamental part comes 
 next to be confidered. For this, ic 
 is requifite that the letters fhould 
 be of the fame fize and diftance, 
 that their leaning fhould be in the 
 fame direction, that the joining be 
 as much as pofTible uniform, and, 
 laftly, that the fupcradded orna- 
 ment of fiouriihing, ihouid be 
 continued in the fame pofition of 
 the pen in which it was firft begun, 
 (generally the reverfe of the ufual 
 way of holding it), and that the 
 forms be diftincl, flowing, and 
 graceful. 
 
 Thefe appear to me to be the 
 true principles of writing. Exa- 
 mine the Italian and French hands 
 by thefe rules, (fome of the bell fpe- 
 cimens are the titles of prints, &c.) 
 
 and
 
 [ I07 ] 
 
 and the hand which they ufe will 
 ht found to be unconnedled, full of 
 unmeaning twills and curlings ge- 
 nerally produced by altering the 
 pofition of the pen, and upon the 
 whole awkwardj ftifF, and un- 
 graceful. 
 
 As they now write, we ^/i, about 
 feventy or eighty years fince ; fo 
 that our prefent beautiful hand is 
 a new one, and by its being ufed 
 no where but in England, I muft 
 conclude it to be an Engliih in- 
 vention. 
 
 Believe me, in my beft writing, 
 and with my beft wifhes, ever 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 108 ] 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 J Have often reflefled with great 
 grief, that there is fcarce any- 
 remarkable natural object in the 
 fublime Ityle, of which we have a 
 draught, to be depended on. The 
 cataradl of Niagara. — The peak of 
 TenerifFe, we know nothing of but 
 that the one is the greateft water- 
 fall, and the other the higheft fin- 
 gle mountain in the world. It is 
 true, Condamine fays, that the 
 Andes far fjrpafs the peak of Te- 
 fieriffei more than a third — but, 
 
 it
 
 [ 1^9 ] 
 
 it fhould be confidered, that the 
 valley of Quito is 1600 fathoms 
 above the fea, and that it is from 
 the foot of the mountain that the 
 eye judges of its height. The 
 peak of Teneriffe rifes at once, 
 and has, comparatively, but afmall 
 bafe — fo that, in appearance, Te- 
 neriffe is the highefl- of mountains. 
 The cataract of Niagara, indeed, 
 is mod excellently dejcrihed by Mr. 
 Kalm i but all defcriptions of vi~ 
 fible objects cornel fo fhort of a_ 
 reprefentation, and ^' *neceffarily 
 fo imperfed, that if ten different 
 painters were to read Mr. Kalm's 
 account of this amazing fall, and 
 to draw it from his defcription, 
 we fhould have as many different 
 draughts as painters. The peak 
 
 of
 
 C "0 ] 
 
 of TenerifFe has been afcended by 
 many, but defcribed by none, for 
 I cannot call thofe accounts de- 
 fcriptions, which would fuit any 
 other high mountain as well. Some 
 travellers give views of what they 
 apprehend to be curious, but all 
 that we can find from them is, that 
 they cannot poflibly be like the 
 objed defcribed. There muft be 
 fome amazing fcenes in Norway 
 by Pontoppidan's Defcriptions, and 
 in the Alps by Schuchtzer's, but 
 their draughts cannot bear the lead 
 refemblance to what they defcribe. 
 Nay, thofe objeds which lie in the 
 common road of travellers have 
 juft the fame fate. — The view of 
 Lombardy from the Alps — the 
 bay of Naples — the appearance of 
 
 Genoa^
 
 [ III ] 
 
 Genoa, from the fea, &c. &c. are 
 much talked of, but never drawn : 
 or if drawn, not publifhed. From 
 this general cenfure I fhould ex- 
 cept a view of Vefuvius taken by 
 a pupil of Vernet's, and two views 
 of the Giant's caufeway in Ireland, 
 but above all Gafpar PoufTin's 
 drawings from Tivoli. Thefe 
 have fomething fo chara<5leriflic, 
 that we may be fure that they give 
 a proper idea of the fcenes from 
 whence they were taken. Of the 
 many thoufands that are conilantly 
 going to the Eaft-Indies, not one 
 has publilhed a drawing of the 
 Cape of Good Hope, nor of Adam's 
 peak in Ceylon, nor fifty other re- 
 markable objedls which are feen in 
 
 that
 
 t tI2 ] 
 
 that voyage. Even the rock of 
 
 Gibraltar is as yet undrawn. What 
 I mean by a drawing is a.pi^orefque 
 view, not a meer outline for the 
 ufe of navigators, nor the un- 
 meaning marks of a pencil direct- 
 ed by ignorance. I greatly fufpeft 
 the fo much commended draughts 
 in Anfon's voyage to be nothing 
 but outlines filled up at random ; 
 and more than fufpedt, that many 
 defigns in a late publication of 
 this fort, are mere inventions at 
 home. 
 
 I have been led into this fubjeA 
 by the two admirable defcriptions 
 of iEtna by Sir W. Hamilton and 
 Brydone — as much as words csin 
 realize objedls, they ^r^ realized.— 
 
 But
 
 [ "3 ] 
 
 But yet, a dozen different views 
 taken by real artifls, would have 
 done more in an inftant, than any 
 iefFedt within the power of defcrip- 
 tion. 
 
 htTTHA
 
 [ "4 ] 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 TS there not fomething very fan- 
 ciful in the analogy which fome 
 people have difcovered betv/een the 
 arts ? I do not deny the commune 
 quoddam vinculum, but would keep 
 the principle within its proper 
 bounds. Poetry and paintings I 
 believe, are only allied to mufic 
 and to each other ; but mufic, be- 
 fides having the above-named ladies 
 for fifters, has alfo aftronomy and 
 geometry for brothers, and gram- 
 mar — for a coufin, at leaft. I am 
 llire I have left out many of the 
 
 family,
 
 [ "5 ] 
 
 family, though, if I could enume- 
 rate what feems at prefent the whole, 
 it is odds, but there would be a new 
 relation difcovered foon by an adept 
 in this bufinefs. — Why fnould not I 
 find out one or two ? — I will try. 
 
 Let me fee — what is there near 
 me? Oh! a llandifh — ^mufic then 
 Hiall be like my ilandifh. Any 
 thing elfe ? — Yes — like the grate — 
 or like that fhirt now hanging by 
 the fire, which makes fo excellent 
 a fcreen. 
 
 " How prove you this in your 
 great wifdom ?" 
 
 Marry! thus — mufic bears great 
 analogy to my ftandifn ; becaule 
 there is one bottle for the ink, ano- 
 ther for the fand, and the third for 
 wafers — thefe are evidently the uni- 
 I 2 fon,
 
 [ >i6 ] 
 
 A)n, third, and fifth, which make a 
 compleat chord ; and thofe three a 
 complcat ftandifh. — The pen is fo 
 evidently the pleclrum, that it is 
 infulting you to nnention it. 
 
 " But why like the grate ?" 
 
 Blefs me ! did you never fee a 
 teftudo, — a lyre ? The bars are the 
 firings, the back is the belly — need 
 I enlarge ? What is the fire but the 
 vis mufica? — and here, the poker is 
 the pledrum. 
 
 ^^ But how can it pofTibly be like 
 the Hiirt ?" 
 
 Pho ! any thing in analogy is pof- 
 fibie. — Like my fhirt? — Why, the 
 body is the bals, the fleeves are 
 two trebles — the ruffles are fhakes 
 and fiourifhes — the three buttons 
 of the collar are evidently the com- 
 mon
 
 [ "7 3 
 
 mon chord. — But, a truce. , with 
 fuch nonfenfe. — There are fcarce 
 any two things in the world but 
 may be made to refemble each other. 
 Permit me to fhew the flightnefs of 
 another received opinion concerning 
 mufic. 
 
 *^ What paflion cannot mufic raife 
 or quell ?" fays Dryden, or Pope, I 
 forget which : and the fame thought 
 is fo often expreffed by other poets, 
 and fo generally adopted by all 
 authors upon this fubje61:, that it 
 would be a bold attempt to contra- 
 di6t it, were there not an immediate 
 appeal to general feeling, which I 
 hope is fuperior to all authority. 
 Thus fupported then, I afk in my 
 turn — " What pafTion can mufic raife 
 or quell ?" Who ever felt himfelf af- 
 1 3 feded.
 
 [ 1,8 i 
 
 fcdbed, otherwife than with pleafur^, 
 at thofe ftrains which are fuppofed 
 to infpire grief — rage — joy — or 
 pity? and this, in a degree, equal 
 to the goodnefs of the compofitioh 
 and performance. The effect of 
 mufic, in this inflance, is juft the 
 fame as of poetry. We attend — are 
 pleafed — delighted — tranfported— 
 and when the heart can bear no 
 more, '^ glow, tremble, and weep." 
 All thefe are but different degreed 
 of purt pkafure. When a poet or 
 mufician has produced this lafl: ef- 
 fect, he has attained the utmoft irt 
 thepower of poetry or mufic. Tears 
 being a general expreflion of grief, 
 pain, and pity; and mufic, when in 
 its perfedion, producing them, has 
 occafioned themiflake, of its raifing 
 
 the
 
 [ "9 3 
 
 the paflions of grief, &c. But tears, 
 in fad, are nothing but the mecha- 
 nical effed of every flrong afFedlion 
 of the heart, and produced by all 
 the paflions i even joy and rage. It 
 is this effedb, and the pleafurable 
 fenfation together, which Oflian 
 (whether ancient or modern I care 
 
 not) calls the " joy of grief." 
 
 It is this efFedt, when produced by 
 fome grand image, which Dr. Blair, 
 his Critic, ftyles the *^ fublime 
 pathetic." 
 
 I have chofen to illuftrate thefe 
 obfervations from poetry rather than 
 from mufic, becaufe it is more ge- 
 nerally underftood, and eafier to 
 quote — but the principle is equal 
 in both the arts. Adieu. 
 
 I4 LETTER
 
 [ 120 ] 
 
 LETTER XVIIK 
 
 ^VT'OUR piftures came fafe — my 
 opinion of them you will in 
 part know from the following ob- 
 fervationSj which, though made on 
 another occafion, are equally ap- 
 plicable to this. 
 
 There is in landfcape-painting and 
 novel-writing a fault com.mitted by 
 fome of the bell artifts and authors, 
 which is as yet unnamed, becaufc 
 perhaps unnoticed, permit me to 
 call it a had aJJ'cciaticn. 
 
 In
 
 ■ [121 ] 
 
 In a landfcape, it is not fufficient 
 that all the objeds are fuch as may- 
 well be found together. — In ailory, 
 it is not enouo-h that the incidents 
 are fuch as may well happen — it is 
 necelfary in both, that all the circum- 
 Ilances fhould be o( xh^ fame family . 
 
 Suppofe a landfcape had for its 
 fubjedt one of Gafpar Pouflin's 
 Views of Tivoli — now, tho* there 
 is nothing more natural than to find 
 mills by running water, yet a mill 
 is not an objeft that can polTibly 
 agree with the other parts of the 
 pifture. Suppofe in a landfcape of 
 Ruyfdale there were introduced the 
 ruins of a temple ; tho' a tem.ple may 
 be properly placed in a wood near 
 water, yet it does not fuit the ruftic 
 
 fimplicity
 
 [ 122 ] 
 
 fimplicity of the pidlures of this 
 artifl. — Give the mill to Ruyfdale 
 and the temple to Gafpar— all will 
 be right. Thefe two painters v/ere 
 the mod perfect in their different 
 ftyles that ever exifted. Both formed 
 themfeives upon the ftudy of nature, 
 both v/ere corred, both excellent ; 
 and yet fo totally different from each 
 other, that there are fcarce any 
 parts of the pictures of one, that 
 will bear being introduced into thofe 
 of the other. Claude's magnificent 
 ideas frequently betrayed him into 
 
 a bad ajjociation. Large grand 
 
 maffes of trees agree but ill with 
 fea and Hiips, uniefs they are re- 
 moved to a diflance. — An Englilh 
 painter, who formed himfelf upon 
 
 the
 
 [ 123 ] 
 
 the ftiidy of Gafpar, took his trees> 
 rocks, and other circumilances from 
 that mafler, but his buildings from 
 the Gardiner's huts at Newington. 
 
 A ftory which proceeds upon a re- 
 gular circumfcribed plan, chiefly 
 confilling of dialogue and fenti- 
 ment, where the fcene is laid in 
 London, and the charaders fuch 
 as are natural to the place; has a 
 had ajfociation if the author goes to 
 Africa in queft of adventures. On 
 the other hand, a novel which fets 
 out upon the principle of variety, 
 and where a frequent change of 
 place is neceflary to the execution 
 of the defign, has a bad ajjociation 
 if the author in any part of it quits 
 adventure for fentiment or fatire. 
 
 And
 
 [ i24 ] 
 
 And yet, this has been done by 
 Fielding and SmoUet, the two beft 
 novel-writers of the age. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 THIRTY 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 O N 
 VARlbUS SUBJECTS. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES, 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for T. Cadell, and T. Evans, In the Strand 3 
 and B, Thorn and Son, in EXETER. 
 
 MDCCLXXXIII,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 IX. Criticifm on paries 5 
 
 XX. On Warm Colouring 27 
 
 XXL A falfe Principle in Painting 
 
 expojed 3 2 
 
 XXIL Pajfages in Shakefpeare ex- 
 plained 41 
 'XXWl. Petition of To and The 49 
 
 XXIV. On Self-Produ£iion s^ 
 
 XXV. Some Phrafes explained 7 1 
 I XXVI. Ohftru£iions in the Way of 
 
 Fame 77 
 
 XXVII.
 
 iv. CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 XXVII. On Alliteration and Li- 
 
 terati on 8 2 
 
 XXVIII. On common Superftitions 88 
 
 XX IX . Wrong Reprefentations of 
 
 the Solar Syftem 92 
 
 XXX. Criticifm on paries con- 
 
 eluded 103 
 
 LETTERS.
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 TPHERE was never a poet more 
 admired in his life or more 
 defpifed after his death thanQuarles. 
 He was patronized by the beft of his 
 age while living, and when dead 
 was firft criticized, then contemned, 
 and laft of all totally forgotten, 
 unlefs when fome bard wanted a 
 name of one fyllable to fill up a lilt 
 of miferable rhymers. Pope was 
 the laft who made this ufe of him, 
 VOL. II. B and
 
 [ 6 ] 
 
 and at the fame time, in a notCi 
 abufed Benlowes for being his pa- 
 tron. I think it is Sir Philip Sid- 
 ney who fays that no piece was ever 
 a favourite of the common people 
 without merit. Now, though every 
 thing I had heard of Quarles was 
 much in his disfavour, I could not 
 help thinking but that he had fome - 
 thing good in him, from my neven 
 feeing one of his books of emblems 
 that was not worn to rags j a fign of 
 its being read a good deal, unlefs it 
 may be imagined that it was fo ufed 
 by children in turning over the 
 prints. Be that as it may, I have 
 pcrufed as much of him as a very 
 dirty tattered book would give mc 
 leave, and will rifque the declaring, 
 that where he is good, I know but 
 
 few
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
 few poets better. He has a great 
 deal of genuine fire^ is frequently 
 happy in fimilies, admirable in epi- 
 thets and compound words, very 
 fmooth in his verfification, fo dif- 
 ferent from the poets of his own 
 age ; and pofTefTed that great qua- 
 lification of keeping you in perpe- 
 tual alarm, fo very different from 
 the elegant writers of the prefenc 
 times. 
 
 I have run through his book of 
 emblems to fele6t fome pafTages for 
 your obfervation — they are buried, 
 it mull be confefTed, in a heap 
 of rubbifh, but are of too much 
 value not to be worth fome pains 
 in recovering. — Where Quarles is 
 bad, " he founds the very bafe-flring 
 of humility" — but this may be faid 
 B2 of
 
 C 8 ] 
 
 of Shakfpeare and Milton as welL 
 — I mean not to put him in the 
 fame rank with thefe two poets; he 
 has a much greater proportion of bad 
 to good than is to be found in them, 
 fo much indeed as ahnoft to prevent 
 his good from appearing at all. 
 My intention is to clear fome of 
 his fhining pafTages of their incum- 
 brances ; which may occafion their 
 being noticed, and preferved fronri 
 oblivion. 
 
 What think you of the following 
 fimilies ? 
 
 Look how the ftrlcken hart that wounded flies 
 Oe'r hills and dales, and fecks the lower grounds 
 
 Fcr running ftreams, the whilft his weeping eyes 
 Beg filent mercy from the following hounds j 
 
 At length, emboft, he droops, drops down, and lies 
 Beneath the burthen of his bleeding wounds : 
 Ev'n fo my gafping foul, difTolv'd in tears, &c. 
 Emb. II. Book IV. 
 
 Mark
 
 t 9 ] 
 
 Mark how the wldow'd turtle, having loll 
 The faithful partner of her loyal heart. 
 Stretches her feeble wings from coaft to coaft, 
 
 Hunts ev'ry path j thinks cv'ry fhade doth part 
 - Her abfent love and her ; at length, unfped. 
 
 She re-betakes her to her lonely bed, 
 'And there bewails her everlafting widow-head. 
 
 Emb. 12, Book IV. 
 
 « 
 
 Look how the fheep, whofe rambling fteps do ftray 
 
 From the fafe blefling of her fhepherd's eyes, 
 Eft-foon becomes the unprotefted prey 
 
 To the wing'd fquadron of beleag'ring flies ; 
 Where fwelt'red with the fcorching beams of day 
 She frifks from buih to brake, and wildly flies away 
 From her own felf, ev'n of herfelf afraid j 
 She fhrouds her troubled brows in ev'ry glade 
 And craves the mercy of the foft removing fhade. 
 Emb. 14. Book IV, 
 
 The firft, will probably remind 
 you of Shakfpeare's defcription of 
 the wounded flag in As you like it -, 
 which it may do, and not fufFer by 
 the comparifon. The fecond, is 
 very original in the expreflion — the 
 B 3 circum-
 
 [ lO ] 
 
 circumilance of 
 
 thinks e'very Jhade doth part 
 
 Her abfent love and her- 
 
 is I believe new, and exquifitely 
 tender. There are others not nnuch 
 inferior to thefe. 
 
 The following verfes allude to the 
 print prefixed, where a bubble is 
 reprefented as heavier than the 
 globe. It is necefTary to obfervc, 
 that the prints were defigned firft, 
 and the poems are in a great mea- 
 fure explanatory of them. 
 
 Lord! what a world is this, which day and night 
 
 Men leek with {o much toil, with fo much trouble. 
 Which weighed in equal fcales is found fo light. 
 So poorly overbalanc'd with a bubble ? 
 Good God ! that frantic mortals fhould deftroy 
 Their higher hopes, and place their idle joy 
 Upon fuch airy tra/h, upon fo light ^ toy ! 
 
 Thrice happy he,.whofe nobler, thoughts defplfe 
 To make an objeft of fo eafy gains j 
 
 Thrice
 
 Thrice happy he, who fcorns fo poor a prize 
 Should be the crown of his heroic pains: 
 Thrice happy he, that ne'er was born to try 
 Her frowns or fmiles : or being born, did lie 
 In his fad nurfe's arms an hour or two, and die. 
 
 Emb. 4. Book I. 
 
 Tho' the confidering mortality 
 on the gloomy fide, is not produ6tive 
 of much happinefs, yet there are 
 certain difpofitions which feel fome 
 gratification in it — Quarks was one 
 of thefe. He fcizes ail opportu- 
 nities of abufing the world j and 
 it muft be confefTed he has here 
 done it in " choice and elegant 
 terms." 
 
 Sometimes he is more outrageous 
 in his abufe. 
 
 Let wit, and all her ftudied plots effedl 
 
 The beft they can ; 
 Let fmiling fortune profper and perfect 
 
 What wit began j 
 
 B~4 Lei
 
 [ .2 ] 
 
 Let earth advife with both, and fo projcft 
 
 ^ happy man j 
 Let wit or fawning fortune vie their beft; 
 
 He may be bleft 
 With all that earth can give j but earth 
 
 Can give no reft. 
 
 Emb. 6. Book I. 
 
 Again — 
 
 Falfe world, thou ly'ft : thou canft not lend 
 
 The leaft delight : 
 Thy favours cannot gain a friend. 
 
 They are fo flight : 
 Thy morning-pleafures make an end 
 
 To pleafe at night : 
 Poor are the wants that thou fupply'ft : 
 , And yet thou vaunt'ft, and yet thou vy'ft 
 With heav'n j fond earth, thou boaft'ft, 
 
 Falfe world, thou ly'ft. 
 
 Emb. 5. Book II. 
 
 The next quotation is an allufion 
 to the print, where the world is 
 made a mirror. 
 
 Believe her not, her glafs diffufes 
 Falfe portraitures . ■■ 
 
 Were
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
 Were thy dimenfions but a ftridc. 
 Nay, wcrt thou ftatur'd but a ipan» 
 
 Such as the long-bill'd troops defy'd, 
 A very fragment of a man !. 
 
 Had furfeits, or th' ungracious ftar 
 Confpir'd to make one common place 
 
 Of all deformities that arc 
 
 Within the volume of thy face> 
 
 She'd lend the favour fhou'd out-move 
 
 The Troy-bane Helen, or the Queen of Lore. 
 
 £mb. 6. Book II. 
 
 This is finely wrought up — 
 Quarks perfedlly comprehended the 
 effe6t of the mufical crejcendoy which 
 is inftanced particularly in the lafl, 
 pafiage. 
 
 There is fome thing very dread- 
 ful in the 4th line of this ilanza. 
 
 See hovy the latter trumpet's dreadful blaft 
 Affrights ftout Mars his trembling fon ! . 
 
 Sec
 
 C 14 1 
 
 'See how he ftartlfrs ! haw he ftands aghaft, 
 And fjrambies from his melting throne f 
 Hark ! how the direful hand of vengeance tears 
 The fweltVing clouds, whllft Heav'n appears 
 A circle fili'd with flame, and centered with his fears. 
 £mb. 9. Book II. 
 
 Dr. Young has fome lines on this 
 fubjed which are by fome much 
 admired. — But tho' the fubjed be 
 the fame, it is differently circum- 
 llanced. — Young's is a general de- 
 fcriptlon of the laft judgment. 
 Quarks defcribes its effect on a 
 fingk being who is fuppofed to 
 Jiave lived fearlefs of fuch an event. 
 
 ■At the deftin'd hour 
 
 Ey the loud trumpet fummonM to the charge, 
 ■'See all the formidable fon^ of fire. 
 Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, pby 
 Their various engines ; all at once dilgorge 
 Their blazing magazines ; and take by llorm 
 This poor tcrrefhial citadel of man. 
 ^Amazing period I w^hcn each mountain height 
 Ou^-bums Vefuvius! rocks eternal pour 
 
 Their
 
 [ 15 J 
 
 Their melted' mafs, as rivers once they pour'dj 
 Stars nifli, and final Ruin fiercely drives 
 Her plough-fhare o'er creation. 
 
 Now to me, all this is a "peftilent 
 
 congregation of vapour." The 
 
 formidable fons of fire fpewing out 
 blazing magazines — and Ruin like 
 a plaugh-man (or rather plough- 
 woman) driving ber plough-lhare 
 — are mean, incoherent images. 
 How much more fublimely Quaries 
 exprefles the fame, and indeed fome 
 additional ones, in the lafl three 
 lines ? 
 
 In the print belonging to the 
 emblem from which the following 
 is taken, is a figure ftriking a globe 
 with his knuckles. — The motto, 
 Tinnit, inane eft. 
 
 She's empty — hark ! fhe founds— there^s nothing there 
 But noiie to fill thy ear j 
 
 Thy
 
 [ i6 1 
 
 Thy vpiin enquiry can at length but find 
 A blafl of murmuring wind : 
 
 It is a caSs., that f^eme, as full as fair, 
 
 But merely tcnn'd with air j 
 
 Fond youth, go boild tby hopes on better grounds : 
 The foul that vainly founds 
 
 Her joys upon this world, but feeds on empty founds I 
 £mb. 10. Book If. 
 
 But that you may not think the 
 good pafTages of this poet are only 
 fcattered unequally through his 
 poems ; take fome entire ones — or 
 nearly fo. 
 
 What fullen ftar ruIM my untimely birth, 
 
 That MKJuld not lend my days one hour of mirth? 
 
 How eft' have thefc bare ksees been bent to gain 
 
 The flender alms of one poor fmile in vain ? 
 
 How often, tir'd with the fafiidlous light. 
 
 Have my fa'nt lips impbrMthe fiiades of night ? 
 
 Hovr oiten fciTc znv nightly torments pray'd 
 
 F!or Ung'nng twligbt, glutted with the fliade ? 
 
 Day woife than night, night worfe than day appears, 
 
 la fighs I fpcpd X3iy nights, my days in tears : 
 
 J moan unpity'd, groan without relief, 
 
 There is no end nor nirafure of my grief. 
 
 The
 
 [ 1/ ] 
 
 The fmlling flow'r falutes the day ; It'grovps 
 Uiitouch'd with care 5 it neither fpins nor fows : 
 O that my tedious life were like this flow'r. 
 Or freed from grief, or finifli'd with an hour: 
 Why was I born ? why was I born a man ? 
 And why proportion'd by fo large a fpan? 
 Or why fufpended by the common lot. 
 And being born to die, v.-hy die I not ? 
 Ah me ! why is my forrow-wafted breath 
 Deny'd the eafy privilege of death ? 
 The branded flave, that tugs the weary oar. 
 Obtains the fabbath of a welcome fhore. 
 His ranfom'd ftripes are heal'd ; his native foil 
 Sweetens the mem'ry of his foreign toll : 
 But ah ! my forrows are not half fo blefl ; 
 My hbour finds no point, my pains no rdl^. 
 
 Thou juft obfer\'er of our flying ho-jrs. 
 That with thy adamantine fang?, devours 
 The brazen mon'ments of renov.-ned kings. 
 Doth thy glafs ftand ? or b; thy moulting viriags 
 Unapt to flie ? if not, wjiy doft thou fpare 
 A willing breaft ; a breaft that ftands fo fjlr? 
 A dying breaft, that hath but only breath 
 To beg the wound, and ftrength to crave a death? 
 O that tha pleafed hea/ns would occc dirTcI^e 
 Thefe flefhly fetters, that fo fail invely?
 
 I 13 ] 
 
 My hamper'd foul j then would my foul be bleft 
 Front all thofe ills, and wrap her thoughts in ifeftf 
 ***♦*« 
 
 Emb. 15. Book III. 
 
 At Other times he complains of 
 the fhortnefs of life, and in ftrains 
 equally pathetic. 
 
 My glafs is half unfpent; forbear t'arreft 
 My thriftlefs day too foon : my poor requeft 
 Is that my glafs may run but out the reft. 
 
 My time-devoured minutes will be done 
 Without thy help; fee — fee how fwift they run: 
 Cut not my thread before my thread be fpun. 
 
 The gain's not great I purchafe by this ftay; 
 What lofs fuftain'ft thou by fo fmall delay. 
 To whom ten thoufand years are but a day ? 
 
 My following eye can hardly make a fhift 
 To count my winged hours; they fly fo fwifr, 
 They fcarcc deferve the bounteous name of gift. 
 
 The fecrct wheels of hurrying time do give 
 So fhort a warning, and fo faft they drive, 
 That I am dead before I feem to live. 
 
 »*. And
 
 [ 19 ] 
 
 And whafs a life ? a weary pilgrimage, 
 Whofe glory in one day doth fill the ftage 
 With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age. 
 
 And what's a life ? the flourifhing array 
 
 ©f the proud fummer-meadow, which to-day 
 
 Wears her green plufh, and is to-morrow hay. 
 
 Read on this dial, how the Ihades devour 
 
 My fhort-liv'd winter's day ; hour eats up hour ^ 
 
 Alas ! the total's but from eight to four. 
 
 Behold thefe lilies, which thy hands have made 
 
 Fair copies of my life, and open laid 
 
 To view, how foon they droop, hovi' foon they fade ! 
 
 Shade not that dial, night will blind too foon j 
 My non-aged day already points to noon; 
 How fimple is my fuit ! how fmall my boon ! 
 
 Nor do I beg this flender inch, to while 
 The time away, or falfely to beguile 
 My thoughts with joy ; here's nothing worth a fmile. 
 t 
 
 No, no, 'tis not to pleafe my wanton ears 
 With frantic mirth ; I beg but hours, not years : 
 And what thou giv'ft me, I will give to tears ! 
 
 » * * » « 
 
 Emb« 13. Book Iff. 
 
 <( 
 
 Rc:id
 
 [ 20 ] 
 
 *^ Read on this dial"— " Behold 
 thefe lilies" — does not this put you 
 in mind of the fame form of ex- 
 preiTion in Oflian ? " His fpear was 
 like that blafted fir." 
 
 Quarles was commenting on his 
 print in which the dial and lilies 
 were reprefented; Oflian faw his 
 
 images " in his mind's eye" 
 
 but both the poets confidered them 
 as really exifting — at leafl, they 
 make them exift to their readers. 
 
 " How the Ihades devour," &c. 
 Shakfpeare has the fame figure 
 
 ; the tide 
 
 Eats not the flats with more impetuous hafte 
 
 it is wonderfully exprefTive ! 
 
 In what he calls his hieroglyphics, 
 Quarles compares man to a taper, 
 wliich furnifhes him with a num- 
 ber
 
 t 21 ] 
 
 her of very ftriking allufions. It 
 is at firll unlighted, then a hand 
 from heaven touches it with fire — 
 the mottOj Nefcius unde. 
 
 This flame-expefting taper hath at length 
 Received fire, and now begins to burn : 
 it hath no vigour yet, it hath no ftrength ; 
 Apt to be puft and quencht at every turn : 
 It was a gracious hand that thus endow'd 
 This fnuff with flame: but mark, this hand 
 doth fhroud 
 Itfelf from mortal eyes, and folds it in a cloud. 
 
 Thus man begins to live. An unknown flame 
 
 Quickens his finifhed organs, now pofTeft 
 -With motion 5 and which motion doth proclaim 
 An adVive foul, though in a feeble breaft : 
 But how, and v.-hen infus'd, aflc not my penj 
 Here flies a cloud before the eyes of men, 
 I cannot tell thee how, nor canft thou tell me whea. 
 
 Was it a parcel of celefliial fire, 
 
 InfusM by heav'n into this flefhly mould ? 
 Or was it, think you, made a foul entire? 
 
 Then, was it new created, or of old ? 
 
 yoL. II. C
 
 [ " ] 
 
 Or Is't a propagated frark, rak'd out 
 From nature's emb.^rs i" while we go about 
 By leafon to refolve, the more we raife a doubt. 
 
 If it hz part of that celeftial flame. 
 
 It muft be e\'n as pure, as free from fpot, 
 As that eternal fountain whence it came j 
 
 1/ pure and fpctlefs, then whence came the blot? 
 Itfelf b2ing pur--, could not itfelf defile j 
 Nor hath unaflive matter pow'r to foil 
 Her pure and aftivc form, as jars corrupt their oil. 
 
 Or if it were created, tell me when? 
 
 If in the firft fix days, where kept 'till now? 
 Or if thy foul were new-created, then 
 Heav'n did not all at firft, he had to do: 
 Six days expired, all creation ceaftj 
 All kinds, ev'n from the greateft to the leaft. 
 Were finifh'd and compleat before the day of reft. 
 
 But why fhould man, the Lord of creatures, want 
 
 That privilege which plants and beafts obtain? 
 Bcafts bring forth beafts, and plant a perfect plant ; 
 And ev'ry like brings forth her like again; 
 
 Shall fowls and fifhes, beafts and plants convey 
 Life to their iflue, and man lefs than they ? 
 Shall thefe get living fouls, and man dead lumps of 
 day ? 
 
 Muft
 
 C 23 ] 
 
 Muft human fouls be generated then?-- -» 
 My water ebbs j behold a rock is nigh : 
 If nature's work produce the fouls of men, 
 Man's foul is mortal — all that's born muft die. 
 What fhall we then conclude! what fun/hine will 
 Difperfe this gloomy cloud? till then, be ftiU 
 My vainly ftriving thoughts 5 lie down my puzzled 
 
 ^"^^'* Hieroglyph. 2. 
 
 The clofenefs of the reafoning, 
 and the freedom of the verfes can- 
 not be enough admired. I believe 
 it would be difficult if not impoffi- 
 ble to reafon fo fhortly and yet fo 
 clearly in profe. Pope fays the 
 thoughts in hisEfTay on Man are in 
 lefs compafs for their being in verfe. 
 The poetical language admits of 
 elifions and other varieties we can- 
 not have in profe. This poem is 
 followed by another^, before v/hich 
 is a defign of the winds blowing 
 the flame of the taper, with this 
 C 2 motto.
 
 motto, '^ l!he wind pajfeth over ii, 
 and it is gone F^ 
 
 No fooner is this lighted Taper fet 
 Upon the tranfitory ftage 
 Of eyc-bedark'ning night. 
 But it is fi-aight fubjefted to the threat 
 Of envious winds, whofe waileful rage 
 Difturbs her peaceful light. 
 And mi!r?s her fubftance wafte, and makes her flame 
 lefs bright. 
 
 No fooner ar? we born, no fooner come 
 To take pofTeflion of this vail. 
 This foul-affli£tlng earth. 
 But danger meets us at the very womb j 
 And forrow with her full-mouth'd blaf?^ 
 Salutes our painful birth 
 To put out all our joys, and puff out all our mirth. 
 
 Nor infant innocence, nor childifh tears. 
 
 Nor youthful wit, nor manly pow'r. 
 
 Nor politic old age, 
 
 Nor virgins pleading, nor the widows pray'rs, 
 
 Nor lowly cell, ncr lofty tow'r. 
 
 Nor prince, nor peer, nor page. 
 
 Can 'fcape thi^ common blaft, nor curb her ftormy 
 
 rage. 
 
 # ifr » * % * 
 
 Toft
 
 [ 25 ] 
 
 Toft to and fro, our frighted thoughts are driv'n 
 With ev'ry puff, with ev'ry tide 
 Of life-confuming care; 
 Our peaceful flame, that would point up to heav'n 
 Is ftill difturb'd and turn'd afide; 
 And ev'ry blaft of air 
 Commits fuch wafte in man, as man cannot repair. 
 
 What may this forrow-fhaken life prefent 
 To the falfe relilh of our tafte 
 That's wor:h the name of fweet ? 
 Her minute's pleafure's choak'd with difcontent. 
 Her glory foil'd with ev'ry blaft— 
 How many dangers meet 
 Poor man betwixt the biggin and the winding fheet ! 
 Hieroglyph. 3, 
 
 Tho' I have purpofely omitted 
 pointing out many of the particular 
 beauties of thefe poems, I would 
 wifh you to oblerve, in this laft, 
 the fine effect of compound words 
 in which this author is fo happy: 
 alfo the noble fwell in the tliird 
 C 2 flanza—
 
 [ 26 ] 
 
 ftanza — the application of his alle- 
 gory to its meaning, in the fourth, 
 where the expreffion fo admirably 
 fiiits with both " our peaceful flame, 
 
 &c." if thefe are not genuine 
 
 ftrokes of genius, I mufl, as a great 
 critic fays on a like occafion, ac- 
 knowledge my ignorance of fuch 
 ful>je(fl:s. I wifh we had fome word 
 in our language to exprefs the fame 
 idea in poetry as crefcendo does in 
 mufic ; fwell is applied to fo many 
 other purpofes, that it has not the 
 fite(5c of an appropriated term. 
 
 But for the prefent I mufl quit 
 the fubjedl— in a little time expe6l 
 the rem.ainder of my obfervations 
 on tliis poet. 
 
 LETTER
 
 C 27 ] 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 T^ VERY one feems to be fatisfied 
 "^ that warm colouring is efTential 
 to a good pi6lure : but what is warm 
 colouring is not determined. Soxne 
 have joined the idea of warmth to 
 yellow, others to red, others to the 
 compound of both, the orange — 
 they alfo differ in the degrees of 
 each. A warm pidlure to fome, is 
 cold to others ; and vice verfa, 
 Lambert's idea of warmth, was to 
 make his pictures appear as if they 
 were behind a yellow glafs. Van- 
 bloom's have a red glafs before 
 C 4 them.
 
 C 28 ] 
 
 them. Both's an orange colour. 
 Each has its admirers, who con- 
 demn the reft. 
 
 Who fhall decide when Doftors difagree? 
 
 Nature. All thefe hues are right 
 as particulars, but wrong as uni- 
 verjals. 
 
 Let us examine the different ap- 
 pearances of light from the dawn 
 to noon. The firft break of day- 
 is a cold light in the Eaft — this,, 
 by degrees, is tinged with purple,, 
 which grows redder and redder until 
 the purple is loft in orange — the 
 orange in yellow, and before the 
 fun is two degrees high, the yellow 
 is changed to white. Invert the 
 order of thefe, and it is the coming 
 ©n of the evening. All tliefe hues 
 
 thea
 
 C 29 ] 
 
 then exiil in nature, and one is jufl 
 as right as the other. 
 
 It is neceflary to diftinguifh be- 
 tween the painter's warmth^ and the 
 fenfation. A pidlure, that has moft 
 warmth of colouring, reprefents that 
 time of the day when we feel leaft. 
 A true reprefentation of noon mufl 
 have no tinge of yellow or red in 
 the fky; and yet from its being 
 noon, one might be led to imagine 
 it mufl be warm. It is the critic, 
 and not the artift, which confounds 
 the meaning of thefe terms. In 
 like manner, fummer and winter^ 
 in refped: to light, are jufl the 
 fame : the fun rifes and fets as 
 gorgeoufly in December, if the 
 weather be clear, as in June. I 
 remember feeing two pidlures of 
 
 Cuyp,
 
 C 30 ] 
 
 Cuyp, companions — one, a cattle 
 piece in fummer; the other, winter 
 with figures fkaiting. The fl<y in 
 both was equally warm, for which 
 the painter was much cenfured by 
 an au6lion-connoiireur,who declared 
 that it was impoiTible the fky could 
 be warm in winter. 
 
 I believe it is a common millake 
 to apply the red and purple tints to 
 the morning, and the orange and 
 yellow to the evening. We hear 
 pictures of Claude called mornings 
 and evenings, which may be either. 
 It is really odd enough, that there 
 fhould not be a fingle circumflance 
 to diflino;uiih the mornino; from the 
 evening, unlcfs it be in a view of 
 a particular place — in this cafe, 
 the reverfing of the light fhews the 
 
 difference.
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
 difference. In a pi6ture, there is 
 no diftindion between going to 
 work, or milking, or returning 
 from it — men ride, drive cattle, are 
 filhing, &c. as well early as late. 
 
 Thefe confiderations Ihould fof- 
 tcn the peremptory ftyle of fome 
 judges, and extend their tafte, which 
 at prefent feems much confined. 
 We have feen that there are m.ore 
 natural hues than one or two. I 
 will allow them to fay, that a pic- 
 ture is too warm, too cold, too red, 
 too yellow to pleafe them, but let 
 them not deny that thefe hues are 
 all in nature, and that well-managed 
 they are all pidorefque. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 32 ] 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 A T the revival of the arts, fomc 
 ^ evil genius, who was deter- 
 mined to retard the progrefs of 
 painting, didlated this rule. " A 
 pidlure fhould always have its ho- 
 rizon the height of the eye that looks 
 at it — in nature, the eye being al- 
 ways the height of the horizon ; 
 therefore a pidlure will be moil like 
 nature that has its horizon the height 
 of the natural eye'' One of the 
 falfeft rules that ever was founded 
 on a falfe principle ! and this is the 
 more lamentable, as it has fpoiled, 
 
 in
 
 [ 33 1 
 
 in point of perfpediive, three parts 
 of the hiftorical pidures that have 
 ever been painted. 
 
 As it is very difficult to deftroy 
 a rooted error, and as this is a moft 
 pernicious one, it is n^c-efTary to be 
 full and particular. 
 
 When I fay eye and horizon — the 
 natural eye and horizon are meant. 
 When the terms artificial eye and 
 artificial horizon are ufed, the eye 
 and the horizon reprefented in 
 painting are to be underftood. We 
 muft be clear in this diftindion, for 
 it is the confounding of the ideas 
 expreffed by thefe terms which has 
 occafioned the mifchief. 
 
 The eye, and the horizon, are 
 always of the fame height — there- 
 fore 
 
 The
 
 [ 34 I 
 
 The artificial eye and the arti- 
 ficial horizon mud always be fo— 
 but 
 
 There is no connection between 
 the real eye, and the artificial ho- 
 rizon. 
 
 In every pidlure the artificial eye, 
 or point of fight, is fuppofed to be 
 at a certain height from the bafe- 
 line; as high as a human figure 
 would be, reprefented as flanding 
 there. To this point every thing 
 in the pi6lure tends, as every thing 
 in a real view tends to the natu- 
 ral eye. The picture then, as far 
 as this circumfbance is concerned, 
 is perfed, if the artificial eye and 
 the artificial horizon go together; 
 for thefe always bear the fame rela- 
 tion to each other, let the pi6lure be 
 placed any v/here. 
 
 Let
 
 [ 35 ] 
 
 B c 
 
 
 • I 
 
 > 1 
 « I 
 » I 
 
 • I 
 
 -..] 
 
 B 
 
 c 
 
 c B 
 
 Let A be the eye, B the pidlurc 
 (in fedion) and c the horizon of 
 the pidure. — The eye is always the 
 
 apex
 
 [ 36 ] 
 
 apex of the cone; there is con- 
 ftantly the fame relation between 
 the parts in every pofition. It muft 
 be obferved that there is a defeft 
 in this illuflration which it was im- 
 poflible to avoid — for tho* I have 
 confidered A as the eye, yet upon 
 paper, it is artificial as well as the 
 pidure B. If you cannot make 
 this diflindtion, I propofe the fol- 
 lowing demonflration, Take a 
 
 landfcape and Hand it upon a table 
 — hang it up the height of the eye 
 — above the height — put it upon a 
 chair — upon the floor — it flill, per- 
 fpe6tively confidered, is feen equally 
 well — for 
 
 The real eye is always the height 
 of the artificial eye, whether the 
 picture be fixed in the cieling or 
 laid upon the floor. 
 
 Indeed
 
 C 37 ] 
 
 Indeed if this was not fo, how 
 would it be pofTible to hang one 
 picture Qver another? and yet this 
 is done^ and with th^ greatefl pro- 
 priety. 
 
 I have often lamented the fhifts 
 to which painters are reduced, who 
 have followed this rule in oppofi- 
 tion to their fenfes. LarelTe was 
 fo thoroughly polTefTed with it, that 
 his idea of fitting up a room with 
 pi6tures, was to have thofe which 
 were below the eye to contain no- 
 thing but ground, and thofe which 
 were above, the flcy and clouds. 
 But though he was convinced of 
 the re6litude of his principle, , he 
 was flruck with the oddity of the 
 praftice — he therefore recommend- 
 ed that there fhould be but one 
 
 VOL. II. D picture
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
 pidure from the floor to the cieling, 
 in which there might be a perfedk 
 coincidence of the natural and ar- 
 tificial horizon. 
 
 A portrait-painter fets the perfon 
 he is to draw generally the height 
 
 of his eye. Suppofe it to be a 
 
 whole-length with a landfcape in 
 the back-ground : the artift confi- 
 ders his pi6lure is to hang above 
 the eye, and for that reafon makes 
 his horizon low, about the height 
 of the knees. The confequence is, 
 that there are two points of fight, 
 which fuppofes an impofTibility ; 
 for the eye cannot be in two places 
 at the fame time. If the eye be 
 fuppofed on a level with the head 
 of the figure, as it was on drawing 
 the face, then the back-ground is 
 
 too
 
 [ 39 J 
 
 too low ; if equal to the horizon of 
 the back-ground, then the figure is 
 too high, unlefs we fuppofe it on 
 an eminence, or ourfelves in a pit ; 
 in that cafe, inftead of feeing the 
 face in front, we muft have looked 
 under the chin — but as we do nor, 
 the figure always appears to be fall- 
 ing forward. 
 
 Raflfaeie's horizon is moft com- 
 monly the height of his figures, fo 
 that they ftand properly, and feem 
 to be, whether in a print or a pic- 
 ture, the fize of human creatures ; 
 -— on the contrary, when the ho- 
 jizon is low, the figures always ap- 
 pear gigantic. When I was a boy, 
 I had formed fo very exalted an 
 idea of the fize of running horfes, 
 from feeing them drawn with the 
 D 2 dillant
 
 [ 40 ] 
 
 diflant hills appearing under their 
 bodies,, that the firft time I was at 
 a courfe,. it appeared but as a rat- 
 race. 
 
 Every whole length pi6lure will 
 furnifh you with an inftance of this 
 falfe principle, which would appear 
 more difegreeable, if cuftom had 
 not in fome meafure reconciled us 
 to it. I am aware that the practice 
 of fo many great men is a ftrong 
 objedion to my argument; but as 
 I conceive, with due fubmiflion to 
 luch authority, that there is de- 
 mcvfiration on my fide, I cannot 
 eafily retrad what I have advanced. . 
 
 JLETTEIl
 
 i 41 ] 
 
 LETTER XXII, 
 
 ^^H E commentators of Shakf- 
 -*• peare think themfelves obliged 
 to find fbme meaning in his non- 
 . feTife ; and to come at it, twifl and 
 turn his word^ without mercy: ne- 
 ver confidering, that in his fcenes, 
 as in common life, fome part muft 
 be necelTarily unimportant. 
 
 Many a palTage has been criticifed 
 into confequence. The meaning, 
 to ufe Shakfpeare's words on a like 
 occafion, " is like a grain of wheat 
 hid in a buihel of chaff; you fhall 
 feek all day e'er you find it, and 
 D 3 when
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
 when you have it, it is not worth 
 the fearch." 
 
 An exprefTion o( Shallow's in the 
 lecond part of Henry the fourth has 
 been the fubjedt of much criticifm 
 and hypercriticifm. " We will eat 
 a lail year*s pippin with a difh of car- 
 raways;" and it is certain that there 
 was fuch a difh, but if Shakfpeare 
 had meant it, he would have faid, 
 " A dilh of laft year's pippins with 
 carraways" — ^^ with a dilh, &c." 
 clearly means fomething diftind 
 from the pippins. Roafled pippins 
 fluck full of carraways, fays one — 
 carraway confe6t, or comfit well 
 known to children, fays another — 
 as if every one did not know what 
 carraway comfits were, fays a third, 
 laughing at the fecond. Dine with 
 
 any
 
 [ 4J 3 
 
 any of the natural inhabitants of 
 Bath about Chriftmas, and they 
 probably will give you after dinner 
 a difli of pippins and carraways — 
 which laft is the name of an apple 
 as well known in that country as 
 nonpareil is in London, and as 
 generally aflbciated with golden 
 pippins. 
 
 " Then am I a fous'd gurnet/' 
 fays FalftafF. This fifh has puzzled 
 the commentators as much as the 
 apple did before. — What can it be ? 
 —I never heard of fuch a fifh.-— 
 There is no fuch fifh. A magazine 
 critic, afTured of its non-exiflence, 
 propofed reading grunty gurnet, 
 
 quafi grunet, quafi grunt well, 
 
 and what do we get by that ? Why, 
 
 becaufe hogs grunt, and pork is 
 
 D4 the
 
 [ 44 ] 
 
 the flefh of hogs^ fous'd gurnet 
 means pickled pork! Very lately 
 a commentatcrj who once denied its 
 exiflence, has difcovered in confe- 
 quence of his great learning, that 
 
 tliere is really fuch a fifh he is 
 
 redly in the right — if he will go to 
 the South coaft of Devonihire, he 
 may fee plenty of them — but not 
 Jous'd, 
 
 And now I mention Faiftaff, let 
 me explain his copper ring. He 
 complains of being robbed when 
 he was afieep^ and " lofing a feal- 
 ring of his grandfather's worth forty 
 marks.'' " O Jefu," fays the hoftefs^ 
 ^' I have heard the prince tell him 
 I know not hov/ oft, that the ring 
 y/as ccppcrJ' Is the appearance of 
 copper fo much like gold, that one 
 
 may
 
 [ 45 1 
 
 may be miftaken for the other f 
 Formerly, (about the time of Fal- 
 ftaff 's grandfather) gold was a fcarcc 
 commodity in England, fo fcarce 
 that they frequently made rings of 
 copper and plated them thinly with 
 gold; I have feen two or three of 
 them. As the look of both was 
 alike, FalflafF might infift upon 
 its being gold; on the contrary, 
 the prince, from the quality of the 
 wearer and lightnefs of the ring, 
 might with equal fairncfs maintain 
 that it was only plated. 
 
 Though it is not my intention 
 to make one of the number of 
 Shakfpeare's commentators, I will 
 take this opportunity of refboring 
 a paflage in King Lear. In the 
 
 agony
 
 [ 46 ] 
 
 agony of his paflion with his 
 daughter, he fays (in the modern 
 editions) 
 
 •* Th' untented woundings of a Father's 
 
 curfe 
 Pierce every fenfe about thee.** 
 
 In the old editions it is printed ex- 
 ceeding plainly, " Th' untender 
 woundings, &c.'* that is^ not ten- 
 der, or cruel. It would be wafte 
 of time to fhew its propriety, and 
 that there is no fuch word as un- 
 tented. Who firft threw out the 
 true reading and fubftituted the 
 falfe, I know not. Is it worth while 
 to fay, that the word is often ufed 
 by Shakfpeare, and once at leaft 
 befides in the fame play, " fo young 
 ■and lb untender ?" 
 
 One
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
 One more and I will releafe you. 
 — Shylock fays. 
 
 Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; 
 Some that are mad, if they behold a cat; 
 And others, when the bag-pipe fmgsin the 
 
 nofe. 
 Cannot contain, &c. for affeBion, 
 
 that is, becaufe they are fo affe^ed, 
 Thefe poor lines have been new- 
 worded, new flopped, and all to 
 find the meaning of as plain a paf- 
 fage as can be written. " Some 
 men cannot abide this thing, others 
 have an averfion to another, which 
 fometimes produces flrange efFeds 
 on their bodies, becaufe their ima- 
 gination Is fo ^xon^y affe^ed. Maf- 
 terlefs pafFion, fuffering, or feeling, 
 compels them to follow the im- 
 pulfe." The not underflanding 
 
 affeElion
 
 [ 48 3 
 
 affeEiion and paffion in Shakfpeare's 
 quaint fenfe has occafioned the dif- 
 ficulty. 
 
 There are many other corrupted 
 and milunderftood paflages that re- 
 quire as little attention, to fet them 
 right, as what has been exerted on 
 this occafion, by 
 
 Yours fmcerely, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 49 ] 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 C CARCE a year palTes but our 
 ^ language has fome new trick 
 played with it. — But let the fufFer- 
 trs fpeak for themfelves. 
 
 fo the People of Great-Britain. 
 
 The Petition of "To and ne^ 
 Humbly Jhewefh^ 
 
 That your Petitioners have,, 
 tim^ out of mind, pofTefTed certain 
 places allov/ed to be their undoubt- 
 ed right, and that they lately have 
 been, vi et armisy thrufl from their 
 
 ancient
 
 C 50 ] 
 
 ancient pofleflions. Their misfor- 
 tune being in common, they prefent 
 their common petition j hoping that 
 the laudable zeal for the reforma- 
 tion of abufes will extend even to 
 them, and that they Ihall be re- 
 flored to their prifline ufe and con- 
 fequence. 
 
 Though your petitioners labour 
 under a common misfortune, yet it 
 is neceflary that they feparately 
 ftate their cafe. — And firft 'To for 
 himfclf fays. 
 
 That he has for years pad had a 
 place in the diredlion of all letters 
 — that he was firft removed from 
 thence, as he apprehends, by fome 
 member of parliament, who was 
 too much bufied in his country*s 
 good to attend to propriety. As 
 
 it
 
 [ ir ] 
 
 it is the wicked cuflom oftlie world 
 to prefs down a falling man, the 
 faid "To is in a manner totally dif- 
 placed from his ancient pofleffion: 
 all people, except the very few who 
 prefer grammar to fafhion, agree- 
 ing to his removal. Were his place 
 filled by a worthy fuccefTor he 
 fhould keep his complaints fecret, 
 remembering that he himfelf fuc- 
 ceeded For — but to be fucceeded 
 by nothing, is reviving the old fa- 
 natic principle of the laft century, 
 which all who are lovers of the con- 
 ftitution muft ihudder at ! Confider 
 good people, you who lb well know 
 the value of property, what quan- 
 tities of letters are at this inftant in 
 the poft-office that are neither 'To 
 nor For any perfon ? In many in- 
 
 ilances
 
 t 5^ ] 
 
 fiances you condefcend to be in- 
 ftrufted by your neighbours — is the 
 A Monfieur yet left out in the 
 dire(5lion of French letters ? If you 
 were to addrefs in Latin, would 
 you not ufe the dative cafe — and 
 pray what is the fign of the dative 
 but your petitioner 
 
 To? 
 
 Secondly, ^he for himfelf fays. 
 That he has had, from the firil 
 exillence of our language, prece- 
 dence of army, navy, commons, 
 lords, and even government itfelf ; 
 — that he is moft bafely removed 
 from this his juft ftation — for he 
 appeals to all impartial judges, if 
 fuch are to be found, what a fooliHi 
 figure does army, navy, commons, 
 
 lords. 

 
 [ S3 ] 
 
 lords, and government cut without 
 he takes the lead. If this were 
 alone the damage it is furely of 
 great concern, but alas ! the evil 
 is fpreading ! fcarce a day pafTes but 
 he lofes fome ancient pofleflion of 
 truft and confequence ! It is, in- 
 deed, infinuated, that your petitioner 
 formerly ufurped a flation he had 
 by no means a right to, and that 
 his prefent lofs is a juft retaliation. 
 What bufinefs had The, fays thefe 
 meddlers, before Faufiina and C^z- 
 zoniy and fo on through all the inf.s 
 and onis to the prefent time P Alas ! 
 my good countrymen, confider, 
 thefe were but pofleffions of a day ! 
 ne Faufiina and her fucceffors 
 were but the grafshoppers of a fea- 
 fon — from this encroachment he 
 VOL. II. E was
 
 [ 54 ] 
 
 was foon difpolTefled ; but navy, 
 army, miniftry, are of perpetual 
 duration. Perhaps you will reply 
 that your petitioner is but an arti- 
 cle — true — but think of the confe- 
 quence — if you deftroy your parti- 
 cles and articles, and reduce your 
 language by degrees to noun fub- 
 ftantives, who knows but the next 
 innovation will be the fubftituting 
 things inftead of words — you have 
 heard of a country fo incumbered. 
 -Confider the expence of car- 
 riage. — Think, O ye wits, of having 
 your coaches attended with waggon 
 loads of converfation. Nip the 
 evil in its bud, ihew your regard 
 for pofterity, and confider the pe- 
 tition of 
 
 fhc. 
 
 In
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
 In a general wreck it is worth 
 
 while to fave fomething. Your 
 
 Petitioners are contented to be thrufl 
 out of parliament — it is confefled 
 that the members of that honour- 
 able houfe fhould not attend to 
 trifles. — But confider, good people, 
 you are not all members of par- 
 liament, you may reftore us to our 
 ancient rights, our juft privileges, 
 and legal poffelTions — which we 
 truft you will do, and your poor 
 Petitioners 
 
 Shall ever pray, &c 
 
 E2 L ETTER
 
 [ 56 ] 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 T Cannot agree with you in the 
 '^ caufe of that uncommon pro- 
 du6lion you mention ; my thoughts 
 on this fubje6l, and on fome others 
 conne6ted with it, will appear by 
 the following refle6tions. 
 
 Until the laft hundred years or 
 thereabout, it was fuppofed that in 
 many inilances life was produced 
 by putrefa6lion, fermentation, &c. 
 Leuwenhoek and other naturalifts, 
 clearly demonftrated that fome ani- 
 mals which were fuppofed to owe 
 their exiflence to the above caufes, 
 
 or
 
 C 57 ] 
 
 or in other words, to fpontaneous 
 generation, really had a regular 
 produdtion. This difcovery efta- 
 blifhed the general principle of 
 smnia ah ovo — but it mud be re- 
 ceived with referve and exception. 
 After giving every theory of the 
 earth a patient reading, it feems to 
 me probable that the whole world 
 was originally covered with water 
 to the depth of about three miles, 
 which is about as much below the 
 furface, as the higheft mountains 
 rife above it. This depth, though 
 far below all foundings, bears no 
 more proportion to the earth's dia- 
 meter, than that of the paper it is 
 covered with does to a common 
 globe. The idea of the fea ap- 
 proaching the center, and of courle, 
 E 3 pofTefTing
 
 [ 58 ] 
 
 poflefling a fuperior fhare in quan- 
 tity as well as furface of the earth,, 
 has occafioned many difficulties ia 
 accounting for the balance between 
 the different fides of the globe; 
 which vanifh, if the fea is not fup- 
 pofed of a greater depth than ne- 
 ceffity requires^ or reafon and pro- 
 bability warrant. 
 
 I confider all continents as a 
 congeries of illands heaved up from 
 the bottom of the fea at different 
 times by vulcanos and earthquakes. 
 Modern philofophers have difco- 
 vered ancient vulcanos where they 
 were never fufpecSted to have exifted,. 
 and the whole earth is full of evi- 
 dence that it was once beneath the 
 ocean. Marble, freeftone, and ma- 
 ny other fubilances abound in fea- 
 
 lliells
 
 i S9 1 , 
 
 lliells and marine produ6tions. It 
 is frequently faid that the fea has left 
 many places which were once co- 
 vered by it. Is it not rather to be 
 fuppofed that thofe places have 
 been elevated above the fea, than 
 that the fea has funk below them ? 
 There feems to be no caufe in na- 
 ture equal to the altering the quan- 
 tity of water in the ocean, but we 
 know that there are many caufes 
 equal to the elevating the land 
 above it. If the fea had retired 
 from the land, the retiring muft 
 have been equal in all places; this 
 we are fure is not the cafe, therefore 
 it is the land in that particular 
 place that mull be rifen. 
 
 In the manner I fuppofe all land 
 
 to have been firft brought to light, 
 
 E4 many
 
 [ 6o ] 
 
 many iflands have been produced in 
 our own time. What was under 
 the water is forced above it. The 
 marine fubftances on the furface by- 
 degrees decay ; mofs appears, grafs 
 fucceeds, then the fmaller kind of 
 plants, bulhes and trees. Animal 
 life begins and goes on upon the 
 fame fcale from the minuter, to 
 beings of more confequence. This 
 fyftem is at leaft as general as the 
 other, but like that muft be re- 
 ceived with many reflridlions ; for 
 it is certain that by far the greater 
 part of vegetables and animals 
 would never be found felf-pra* 
 duced in any one place, tho* many 
 might live, and indeed flourifh, if 
 brought there. 
 
 Let
 
 [ 6i ] 
 
 Let us proceed from reafoning- 
 to fa6ls. Some voyager difcovers 
 an ifland evidently formed by a 
 vulcano, and very remote from 
 other countries ; it is a perfect wood 
 to the water's edge, has fome plants 
 which exift no where but in that 
 fpot, together with others common 
 to places in the fame latitude. It 
 is full of infeds, reptiles, birds, and 
 fometimes quadrupeds. Now, if 
 every one of thefe organized bodies 
 was not brought there, fomething 
 muft be felf-produced. 
 
 In fome iflands of the Eaft-Indies 
 are ferpents of an enormous fize; 
 who could carry them there ? In all 
 dreams there are filh— ' how could 
 they get there } Not from the fea, 
 for fifh which inhabit the fource of 
 
 rivers
 
 [ 62 ] 
 
 rivers are as foon killed by fait wa- 
 ter as in air, befides there are many ri- 
 vers which do not run into the ocean. 
 Perhaps this circumflance was ne- 
 ver fufficiently confidered. "EVeiy 
 let of rivers is perfedly dillindl from 
 any other fet. The greater number 
 have fome fi(h which exift no where 
 but in the particular ftream they are 
 bred. Find any other caufe for 
 their firft produdlion than what muft 
 be taken from the old philofophy. 
 
 Let us attend to what we have 
 always near us. Fill a velTel with 
 water from the pump : it is pure, 
 and contains neither animal, nor 
 vegetable. After Handing fome 
 days, a green fubflance begins to 
 be formed in it, and which is in- 
 habited by myriads of little beings j 
 
 this
 
 [ 63 ] 
 
 this feems the firit ftep towards, 
 plants and animals. We are told 
 indeed that the animalcules are 
 from eggs laid by flies, and the 
 green (lime is a plant which has its 
 proper feed. That the ,water may 
 accidentally receive both eggs and 
 feeds is highly probable; but thefe 
 (by reafoning from other inilances) 
 feem the firft efforts towards veget- 
 able and animal life. Befides, it 
 yet remains to be proved, that the 
 air fo abounds with flying feeds and 
 infers. If the air fwarmed, as is 
 fuppofed, vifion would be obftru6b- 
 ed (as by a fog which confifls of 
 particles inconceivably fmali), and 
 perhaps life in the nobler animals 
 deftroyed. The flime to be pro- 
 duced from feed then mull have 
 
 come
 
 [ 64 ] 
 
 come from fome of the fame fort 
 in the neighbourhood; befides, if 
 its being produced in the water de- 
 pended upon accident^ which it 
 does by this fuppofition, it mufl 
 fometimes fail. Again, if the ani- 
 mals and vegetables, in the above 
 inflance, were from eggs floating in 
 the air, why are the fmalleft always 
 produced firfl ? muft it not fome- 
 times happen that ova of a larger 
 fort precede the fmaller? which is 
 never the cafe : not to mention the 
 total impofllbility of fome ova, par- 
 ticularly of animals, being fo con- 
 veyed . 
 
 It isVeH known that by pepper- 
 water, and a variety of other mix- 
 tures, peculiar animalcules are pro- 
 duced. "Can we fuppofe that the 
 
 ••• fly
 
 [ ^5 1 
 
 fly, which lays the egg from which 
 this creature exifts, continues float- 
 ing in the air until fome philofopher 
 makes a mixture proper for its de- 
 pofit ? is it done often enough to 
 preferve the fpecies ? What muft 
 the fly have done before pepper was 
 brought from India ? You may tell 
 me that the egg was depofited there 
 — well then, if the eggs are not 
 hurt by the pepper being dried in 
 an oven, happen to be brought to 
 Europe, and fall in the way of a 
 naturaliil, the fpecies is preferved. 
 Much is not got by this. There is 
 great reafon for believing that the 
 animalcule was really produced by 
 the infulion, and did not exift before. 
 How are the worms in human 
 bodies to be accounted for? There 
 
 arc
 
 [ 66 ] 
 
 ?n*e fome, it is true, which bear a 
 refemblance to earth-worms, and 
 are luppoied to be eggs we take in 
 with roots, vegetables, &cc. Not 
 to infift upon the impofTibility of a 
 creature intended to live in the 
 cold earth exifling 4» the hot fto- 
 mach, it is well known that there 
 are worms in the inteftines which 
 have no refemblance to any other 
 thing in the creation — the jointed 
 worm, for inftance, which is found 
 of many yards in length : indeed, 
 if fome accounts are to be credited, 
 of fome fcores of yards. Where 
 <ioes this animal exift except in the 
 ilomach where it is found ? Sheep, 
 dogs, horfes, &c. breed worms pe- 
 culiar to themfelves. I have feen 
 frequently between the found and 
 
 back-
 
 [ 67 ] 
 
 back-bone of a whiting, long 
 worms that were evidently bred 
 there. As I have no fyflem to 
 fupport, I fhall have no obje6lion 
 if you can account for thefe fa6ts 
 according to the prefent philofophy 
 —-but to me it feems abfolutely 
 impolTible. 
 
 I may ftrengthen every thing I 
 have advanced on felf-produ6tion 
 with additional arguments, and 
 thofe from inftances on the largefl 
 fcale. The old and new continents 
 are two immenfe iflands. You will 
 get little by fuppofing them once 
 joined at Kamchatka. What Ihould: 
 ever induce thofe animals which are 
 never feen out of a hot climate, to 
 travel fo far North as the Strait be- 
 tween the continents ? They do not 
 
 approach
 
 [ 68 ] 
 
 approach it now, why fhould they 
 then ? Befides, has not each conti- 
 nent fome creatures peculiar to 
 itfeif ? Did thofe in America conrie 
 from countries where no fuch ani- 
 mals exifl ? If they did not, and are 
 found in America only, what is the 
 fair conclufion ? 
 
 When an inhabitant of the old 
 continent alks how America was 
 peopled, why does the queftion 
 flop there ? How was it fupplied 
 with vegetables and animals? par- 
 ticularly river-fifh ; and whence 
 came thofe creatures that exift no 
 where elfe? Pray, what is to hinder 
 an American from reverfing the 
 queftion? When did our people, 
 he may fay, fir ft migrate and give 
 inhabitants to the Eaftern world? 
 
 What
 
 C 69 ] 
 
 What anfwer can be given to thefe 
 queftions confident with the prefent 
 fyflem of philofophy ? 
 
 There is fomething in the found 
 of felf-produ6tion which feems like a 
 contradidtion. I mean nothing more 
 by it^ than that a vegetable or ani- 
 mal does in many inflances firll exifl 
 by a different principle than that 
 upon which the fpecies is afterwards 
 continued. As the term does not 
 exadlly exprefs this, it may eafily 
 be perverted from the fenfe in which 
 I wifh to be undenlood. Perhaps 
 we fhall find that felf-produ6lion 
 Ihocks the imagination more or iefs 
 according to the fizc of the thing 
 produced. Who would not fooner 
 believe that cheefe breeds mites, 
 than that deferts produce elephants ? 
 
 VOL. ir. F And
 
 [ 70 ] 
 
 And yet, according to owr prefent 
 philolbphy, one is as pofTible as the 
 other. 
 
 If the confequences I have drawn 
 from thefe fa6ls appear to you 
 wrong, or the fa6ls themfelves ill- 
 fiipported — convince me of my er- 
 ror, and the whole fhall be retraced 
 as freely as it is advanced by 
 
 Yours moft faithfully, &c. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 71 ] 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 T^HO' I hate to fet out upon the 
 principle of word-hunting, yet 
 it always gives me pleafure when 
 by accident I can trace the meaning 
 of a word or phrafe to its fource, 
 and purfue it through its various 
 changes to its prefent ftate. The 
 pleafure is ftill greater to mark the 
 gradual refinement of language 
 from obfcurity and barbarifm, until 
 it arrives at precifion and elegance. 
 Our tongue, as every one knows, 
 
 is a compound of many. The 
 
 pains which William the Conqueror 
 F 2 took
 
 C 72 1 
 
 took to graft his Norman French 
 upon it, fucceeded in many in- 
 ftances, and there are others where 
 we may trace the dying away of 
 the French by degrees, and the 
 Englifh refuming its old place. 
 Chaucer in his charader of the 
 Monk, fays 
 
 He was a lord full fat and in good point. 
 
 This is the remains of the Frencli 
 embonpoint y or as it was written 
 
 then en hon point, The phrafe 
 
 was wearing out in Chaucer's time, 
 the en hon being tranflated, and 
 point preferved. Now, the whole is 
 tranflated, and we fay in good cafcy 
 or plight. ' You may find many 
 other in (lances of this in the old 
 poets. 
 
 "The
 
 [ 73 ] 
 
 *^ The days are now a cock-ftride 
 longer," fay the country-folks at 
 Twelfth-day — and many have been 
 the conjedlures upon the derivation 
 of this phrafe (fee the Gentleman's 
 Magazine). It is not cock-ftride, 
 but cock's-tread. In the country, 
 tread IS pronounced irede, (not tredj 
 —and in moft of the weftern coun- 
 ties, Devonfhire cxceptedyfl ride has 
 more of the e than i in its found. — 
 But the impofTibility of exprefling 
 by any known figns the different 
 provincial modifications of the found 
 •of the vowels, has occafioned fome 
 ftrange miftakes when people of one 
 county endeavour to write down an 
 expreffion ufed in another. Our 
 old poets, who generally writ in the 
 F 3 dialed
 
 [ 74 ] , 
 
 dialc6l of the province where they 
 refided, and fpelt as well as they 
 could with their own country vow- 
 els, have given birth to much 
 laughable criticifm. 
 
 Help~7nate is an odd corruption. 
 In the Book of Genefis it is faid, 
 " it is not good for man to be alone, 
 I will make an help meet for him'* 
 — that is an help, prefer for him^ 
 'fVeet is an adjective. But thefe 
 two words, like the firft man and 
 his help, foon became one, and of 
 late have been corre6led into help- 
 mate. 
 
 As I was reading John Struys's 
 voyages the other day, I thought I 
 difcovered the original of the word, 
 and perhaps of the liquor, punch; 
 Vvhich, if I am right, has nothing 
 
 to
 
 t 75 } 
 
 to do with that diverting perfonage 
 in puppet-fhews of the fame name, 
 from whom it is ufually derived. 
 Struys was at Gomroon in Perfia, 
 
 where he fays, he drank '^ A 
 
 liquor much in ufe there, called 
 pale punjhen^ being compounded of 
 arak, fugar, and raifms, which is 
 fo bewitching that they cannot re- 
 frain from drinking it." I really 
 believe he forgot to mention the 
 water — for how in fuch a climate 
 as the fouthern part of Perfia it was 
 poflible to drink undiluted arak, 
 I have no conception. The raifms 
 have given place, and very properly, 
 to lemons. But I had better leave 
 this to its own merits. — I am afraid 
 it will not bear toi minute an ex- 
 amination — remember it is only 
 F 4 humbly
 
 [ 76 ] 
 
 humhly offered together with the 
 other conjedlures of 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 As Struys^s Voyages is a fcarce 
 book, I might with great eafe have 
 pradlifed the common trick of au- 
 thors, and introduced water into 
 the quotation without fear of dif- 
 covery. It being fuppofed that few 
 will give themfelves the trouble to 
 turn to the original book to examine 
 extra61:s, authors have been made to 
 give evidence to facts, '^ of which 
 they nothing know,'* and to fupport 
 fyftems which never had exiftence, 
 but in the imagination of the writer 
 who prelTes them into his fervice. 
 
 LETTER
 
 C 77 ] 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 THE rubs and difficulties which 
 the public throw in the way of 
 a genius at his firft appearance, are 
 frequently too great to be fur- 
 mounted. 
 
 We are apt to form our opinion 
 of a man's abilities, by his refem- 
 blance to fome other man of repu- 
 tation in the art or fcience he 
 profefTes. A painter, mufician, or 
 author perfectly new we are afraid 
 to commend — like hounds, we wait 
 for the opening of one whofe cry 
 we may venture to follow.— But it 
 
 ihould
 
 C 78 ] 
 
 Ihould be remembered that a furc 
 mark of a genius is originality. 
 As he is original, and therefore 
 new, perhaps it may be necefTary 
 to conquer fome prepofTeflions be- 
 fore we can judge of his merit; 
 and as he is generally incapable, 
 from that modefty which fo fre- 
 quently attends ability, of infilling 
 on his own excellencies, the world 
 ihould take that taflc from him. — 
 But does it fo? Or from the fear 
 of commending too haftily, leave 
 a Being to languifh in obfcurity, 
 which ihould be proteded and en- 
 couraged. The greateil part of 
 thofe who feem to have been born 
 to make mankind happy, were 
 themfelves miferable. A melan- 
 choly catalogue might be made of 
 
 thefc.
 
 [ 79 ] 
 
 thefe. If we know any thing of 
 Homer, it is, that he ran about 
 baliad-finging. Poor, unhappy, 
 half-ftarved Cervantes, Camoens, 
 Butler, Fielding ! Does it not grieve 
 you to be told that the author of 
 Tom Jones lies in the factory's bu- 
 rying-ground at Lifbon, undiilin- 
 guifhed, unregarded — not a ftone 
 to mark the place ! And would it 
 not raife our indignation to behold 
 {lately monuments ereded for thofe 
 whofe names were never heard of, 
 until they appeared in their epitaph ? 
 
 were they not confidered rather 
 
 as monuments of the fculptor's art, 
 than as preferving the memory of 
 the perfons whofe dull they fo pom- 
 poufly cover. 
 
 The
 
 [ 80 3 
 
 The inflances of thofe original 
 geniufes who in their life-time have 
 enjoyed the public applaufe and 
 lived by it, are very few — indeed I 
 cannot recollect any — Garrick ex- 
 cepted. I do not confider Virgil 
 or Pope in this light — they are not 
 original. It is true that Shakfpeare 
 lived well enough, but the money 
 he got was by adling, not writing. 
 Milton v/as in tolerable circum- 
 ftances, but if he had had nothing 
 more to depend on than the profit 
 arifing from the fale of the finefl: 
 poem in the world, he muft have 
 been ftarved. 
 
 It is common when we fpeak of 
 a genius, to fay, he will not be va- 
 lued until he is dead — not that his 
 death is cffential to his reputation i 
 
 but
 
 [ 8i ] 
 
 but there is a neceflity of his being 
 known and underilood, before he 
 can be efteemedi and it generally 
 happens that life is of too fhort du- 
 ration for that purpofe — 
 
 " But the fair guerdon when we hope tcr 
 
 find 
 And think to burft out into fudden blaze^ 
 Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred 
 
 (hears 
 And flits the thin-fpun life.'* 
 
 LETTER.
 
 C 82 ] 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 A LLITERATION very early 
 "^ made its appearance in Englifh 
 poetry. I have feen an old piece 
 where it was intended to fupply the 
 place of rhyme : the terminations 
 of each line were different; and 
 there were in every one, three or 
 four words which begun with the 
 fame letter. This I fuppofe was 
 thought a beauty. Shakfpeare in 
 feveral places burlefques the im- 
 proper ufe of Alliteration with 
 great pleafantry. It was much in 
 
 requelt
 
 [ 83 ] 
 
 requeft in the days of Thompfon 
 -his 
 
 •—Floor, faithlefs to the fuddled foot, 
 
 is fcarce lefs ridiculous than Shakf- 
 peare's 
 
 Bravely broached his bloody boiling bread. 
 
 I believe wherever it is ferceivedy 
 it difgufts. There is fomething 
 very ridiculous in the pains of an 
 author when he is fearching for a 
 fet of words beginning with the 
 fame letter: this furely argues a 
 *^ lack of matter.*' A man who 
 has things in his head, is never cu- 
 rious about words ^ unlels ic be 
 thofe which exprefs his meaning 
 quickeft and cleareft. I would 
 have given fomething to have feen 
 
 the
 
 [ 84 ] 
 
 the paper upon which Smollet firft 
 fketched the titles of fome of his 
 novels. I dare fay it coft him as 
 much time to fix upon the name 
 Roderick Random^ as to write fome 
 of the beft parts in that fprightly 
 and entertaining performance.— 
 Robert and Richard were common, 
 Roger and Ralph were vulgar — 
 there was a neceflity for a founding 
 uncommon name, and beginning 
 with an R : at iaft, by a lucky 
 chance Roderick occurred — and Ro- 
 derick it is. — Do you think me fan- 
 ciful ? I call upon Peregrine Pickle^ 
 and Ferdinand Fa,thom to prove the 
 contrary. 
 
 If we laugh at tlie hard-fought- 
 for Alliteration of the poet and 
 hiftorian, may we not laugh a little 
 
 louder
 
 [ 8s ] 
 
 louder at that of the comic dra- 
 matift ? Can any language be lefs 
 that of nature or conamon conver- 
 fation, than firings of words be- 
 ginning with an M or N ? And yet 
 this has been done by one who 
 paints the " Manners living as they 
 rife." It is furprizing that fo 
 fprightly a genius as Foote could 
 fubmit to the drudgery of confult- 
 ing his fpelling-book for words 
 proper to be paired — my three 
 fpp's put me in mind of a letter 
 in the Student, in which p is pre- 
 dominant — it is highly humour- 
 ous and well worth your perufing. 
 
 Will you give me leave to make 
 an abrupt tranfition from Allitera- 
 tion to Literatioriy and pardon me 
 alfo for coining ? 
 VOL. II. G The
 
 [ «6 ] 
 
 The Germans in pronouncing 
 Englifli, and writing it too, if 
 they have not ftudied the lan- 
 guage, ahnoft conftantly change b 
 into />, d into /, g (hard) into ky 
 V into /, and the reverfe. This 
 peculiarity of theirs, I find, upon 
 recoUedtion, is not confined to 
 Englifh. In the Burletta of La 
 huofta Figliolay the author makes his 
 German chara6ler to fay trompetti 
 and tampurri —nay they ferve their 
 own language the fame, as I have 
 obferved from their pronunciation 
 of proper names of cities, &c. 
 it feems difficult to account for 
 
 this but perhaps not more 
 
 fo than for the trick of the 
 French in giving an afpirate to 
 thofe Englilh words where there is 
 
 none.
 
 [ 87 ] 
 
 none, and omitting it where it 
 
 fhould be ufed. 1 once faw a 
 
 French-aian much furprized, (not 
 difconcerted) at a general laugh 
 when he was comparing our coun- 
 try women with his — an unlucky 
 mifplaced afpirate was all the caufe 
 — « The Englifh ladies," fays he, 
 ** are fo plain, but the French la- 
 dies are fo ''airyT* 
 
 J,ETT£a
 
 [ ^s ] 
 
 LETTER XXVIir* 
 
 npHOUGH fuperftition is pretty 
 -*• well laughed away, yet there 
 are fome points in which we can 
 never get the better of it. The 
 wedding ring in coffee grounds— 
 the coffin in the candle — theftranger 
 in the fire, are marked by none but 
 vulgar and foolilh eyes. You fee fait 
 fpilt, hear death-watches — owls hoot 
 — dogs howl, and defpife the omen 
 —you are above it. But yet let me 
 afk yo«, an enlightened philofopher 
 — Whether you are above choice 
 of feats at whift? Whether you 
 
 have
 
 [ «9 1 
 
 liave not really believed that your 
 chance for winning was much bet- 
 tered by your taking the fortunate 
 chairs, and of courfe obliging your 
 adverfaries to fit, not in thofe of 
 the fcornful, ^but of the lofers ? 
 When you quit the game on a run 
 of ill luck, what is it but declaring 
 your belief that the games already 
 played have an influence upon thofe 
 which are to come ? 
 
 Each ticket in a lottery has an 
 
 equal chance do you think fo? 
 
 Number looo got the great prize 
 in the lafl lottery — now, confefs 
 honeflly that you feel fomething 
 within that tells you the fame num- 
 ber can never win the great prize 
 again — you would prefer every 
 other number to it — and yet rea- 
 G 3 fon
 
 [ 90 ] 
 
 fon fays, that all the tickets have 
 an equal probability of fuccefs. In 
 thefe inftances an-d many others, 
 fuperflition, even in cultivated 
 minds, will be always more than a 
 match for truth. 
 
 A gentleman coming a pafTenger 
 in a veflel from the Weft-Indies, 
 finding it more inconvenient to be 
 fliaved than to v/ear his beard, 
 
 chofe the latter but he was not 
 
 fufFered to have his choice long- 
 it was the unanimous opinion of 
 the failors, and indeed of the Cap- 
 tain as well, that there was not the 
 leaft probability of a wind as long 
 as this ominous beard was fuffered 
 to grow. They petitioned — they 
 remonftrated, and at laft prepared 
 to cut the fatal hairs by violence. 
 
 Now,
 
 [ 9» 3 
 
 Now, as there is no operation at 
 which it is fo much the patient's 
 intereft to confent, as that of the 
 
 barber the gentleman quietly 
 
 fubmitted — nor could the wind re- 
 fifl the potent fpell which inftantly 
 filled all their fails, and "wafted 
 them merrily away." 
 
 You fee we have only got rid of 
 ^^«^r^/ fuperftition, we ftill retaia 
 that which belongs to our particular 
 profelTion or purfuits. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 G4 LETTER
 
 [ 92 ] 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 T Have often tryed to have a pro- 
 ^ per idea of vaft fpace — great 
 numbers — enorrnous fize and fuch 
 fiibjedls, and as you may fuppofe, 
 without fucccfs. But though I fail 
 in getting a competent idea^ I 
 fometimes make an approach to- 
 wards tt^ which is better than no- 
 thino;. 
 
 o 
 
 The folar fyftem is one of thefe 
 fublime fubjedls in the confideration 
 of which I have frequently been 
 loft. I never attempted to con- 
 ceive the fize of the fun, or the 
 
 diftance
 
 [ 93 1 
 
 diftance of faturn; the impofTibility 
 inflantly repels the moft daring 
 imagination. No, all that I have 
 attempted is to have a juft idea of 
 the proportion (upon any fcale) that 
 the fun and planets bear to each 
 other in refpedt to fize and diftance. 
 At firft fight, this feems eafily done 
 -—Draw fome concentric circles on 
 a fheet of paper, make the fun the 
 centre, and place the planets round 
 in their order. — Or if you would 
 have an idea of their motion as 
 well, look at an orrery. But a 
 little examination will convince you 
 that this is doing nothing towards 
 having an idea of their fize and 
 diftance in proportion to each 
 other, which is the point fought. 
 Nay, it is worfe than nothing, for 
 
 it
 
 [ 94 3 
 
 it impofes a falfity as a reality* 
 Imagination by itfelf can do a grear 
 deal, if affifled it can do nnore, but 
 if perverted, nothing. Let us try 
 to affift the imagination then. 
 
 If the fun be only a million times 
 bigger than the earth, (exadbnefs is 
 of no confequence to my argument, 
 fo that I am within the truth) it is 
 plain that I cannot make two cir- 
 cles upon a Iheet of paper (without 
 confidering any thing about dif- 
 tance) that can bear this proportion 
 to each other; and if this cannot be 
 done for the earth, much lefs can it 
 for other planets and moons where 
 the difproportion is greater. Let 
 us take the floor of a large room- 
 on this make a circle of two feet 
 diameter for the fun — the fize of 
 
 the
 
 [ 9S J 
 
 the earth will be about a large p* n's 
 head. The diftance of the iun 
 from the earth is about eighty of the 
 fun's diameters; if fo, there mufl 
 be a circle of three hundred and 
 twenty feet diameter for the earth's 
 orbit, which no room, nor indeed 
 any other building, will contain. 
 
 Let us try a field here we may 
 
 put our fun and draw the earth's 
 orbit round. If we (land in the 
 center (which we Ihould do) the 
 earth is too fmall to be feen. Thefe 
 difficulties occurring fo foon, how 
 will they increafe when we take in 
 the fuperior planets ? The ingenious 
 Fergufon has endeavoured to afliil 
 our imagination by fuppofing St. 
 Paul's dome, in diameter one hun- 
 dred and forty-five feet, to be the 
 
 fun
 
 [ 96 ] 
 
 fun upon this fcale. Mercury 
 
 is between nine and ten inches, 
 and placed at the Tower; Ve- 
 inus near eighteen, at St. James's 
 Palace; the Earth eighteen, at 
 Marybone; Mars t^n, at Kenfing- 
 ton ; Jupiter fifteen feet, at Hamp- 
 ton-Court ; and Saturn eleven feet 
 and half, at Cliffden. Let us be 
 on the top of the dome, and look 
 for the planets where he has placed 
 them. Do you think we could fee 
 anything of Jupiter and Saturn? 
 to fay nothing of their moons— 
 or that we could conceive properly 
 the difference between four miles 
 and twenty, when feen on a line? 
 the four may be two, or one mile; 
 and the twenty may be ten, or thirty, 
 for ought we can judge by the ap- 
 pearance.
 
 [ 97 ] 
 
 pcarance. All that we get by thfs 
 is the knowing that a fheet of paper 
 or an orrery give us wrong •ideas> 
 and that we cannot by any con- 
 trivance put the fize and diftance 
 ©f the planets upon a proportionable 
 fcale, fo as to take in the whola 
 with our eye or underftanding. 
 
 We are as much at a lofs ta 
 Gomprehend the flownefs of their 
 motion — I have not miftaken — I 
 mean flownefs. — A circuit which is^ 
 fix or twelve months or twice as 
 many years performing^ is flow 
 almofl: beyond conception; and yet 
 this motion is called whirling — as- 
 if the planets went round their or- 
 bits like a tap 1 Though quick and 
 flow are comparative terms, w^e 
 have ideas of each arifing from the 
 
 medium
 
 [ 98 ] 
 
 medium of the two, from obfer- 
 vation, and common application, 
 that do not ftand in need of any 
 comparifon to be underftood. The 
 motion of a flea is quick ^ of a 
 fnail, flow; and the common walk 
 of a man is neither quick nor 
 flow. Let us imagine an ele- 
 phant to walk, and a flea to hop 
 the fame difl:ance in the fame 
 time — would you hefitate to fay 
 that the motion of the one was 
 flow, and the other quick ? In fliort, 
 fwiftnefs or flownefs does not de- 
 pend upon the abfolute quantity of 
 ground the animal pafles in a cer- 
 tain time, but upon the relative 
 quantity to its own fize. The earth 
 is about eight minutes in moving 
 the fpace of one diameter, therefore 
 
 its
 
 [ 99 ] 
 
 its abfolute motion is flow — it is 
 twenty-four hours making one re- 
 volution round its axis, which gives 
 no idea of velocity. It is certain 
 that if we were placed very near 
 the earth (unafFedled by its attrac- 
 tion) there would appear an exceed- 
 ing quick change of furface — and 
 fo would the motion of a fnail ap- 
 pear to an animalcule. The quan- 
 tity of fpace when compared to any 
 we can move in the fame time is 
 vaft, and the motion quick, but 
 when confidered as belonging to a 
 body of the fize of a world, 
 the motion is flow. Suppofe a 
 common globe was turned round 
 once in twenty-four hours— imagine 
 an animal as much inferiour to it in 
 fize as we are to the earth, placed 
 
 as
 
 [ 100 ] 
 
 as I conceived the human fpeftatOf 
 placed to view the earth — would 
 the apprehenfion of this Being in- 
 duce you to call a fingle revolution 
 in twenty-four hours, whirling? 
 Would not you fay that though the 
 furface pafied quick in review be- 
 fore him, yet that the abfolute mo- 
 tion of the whole was exceedingly 
 flow. Perhaps it is our meafuring 
 this motion by miles that makes 
 us fancy that it is quick, which is 
 much like taking the heighth of a 
 mountain in hairs- breadths. When 
 we are told that Saturn moves in 
 his orbit more than twenty-two 
 thoufand miles in an hour, we con- 
 ceive the velocity to be great; but 
 when we find that he is more than 
 three hours/ moving his own dia- 
 meter
 
 [ toi ] 
 
 meter, we muft then think it as it 
 really is, flow. Bifhop Wilkins is 
 the only writer I have met with 
 who confiders the motion of the 
 heavenly bodies as I do, and I am 
 rather proud of having my opinion 
 fupported by fo great a man. 
 
 There is another circumftance 
 which prevents the folar fydem, as 
 commonly delineated, from bearing 
 a true refemblance to the apparent 
 pofition and motion of the planets. 
 It is always drawn in plan inftead 
 of feftion, whereas the appearance 
 of the orbits of the heavenly bodies 
 is always in fetition and never can 
 be in plan. This difference is not, 
 as far as I know, noticed in any 
 account of the folar fydem 3 and 
 yet if it be not attended to, it is 
 VOL. II. H impofiible
 
 [ 102 ] 
 
 impofTible to prove the truth of thc 
 fyflem by the apparent paths of the 
 planets. This will be bed under- 
 ftood by confidering the inferior 
 ones. Mercury and Venus remove 
 to a certain diftance from the fun, 
 and then^ after feeming at reft, re- 
 turn in nearly the fame line and 
 remove to the fame diftance on the 
 other fide, where the fame thing is 
 repeated. This to the eye is not a 
 revolution in plan, but a revolution 
 in fedion — and this might be ex- 
 plained by a draught which ftiould^ 
 always accompany the common de- 
 lineation of the planetary orbits. 
 
 LETTER
 
 [ 103 ] 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 TT is fo long fince that I fent 
 -*- you the firft part of my obfer- 
 vations on Quarles that perhaps 
 you have forgot my promife for 
 the remainder. 1 will now re- 
 fume the fubjecl. 
 
 Quarles fometimes introduces 
 perfonages, and makes his poem 
 of the dramatic caft. The fixth 
 hieroglyphic is a dialogue between 
 'Time and Death-, as ufual, alluding 
 to the print, where Death is going 
 to extinguifh the taper, but is 
 prevented by 'Ti7ne, There are a 
 H 2 few
 
 [ 104 J 
 
 few awkward expreflions in this, 
 which are eafier to be overlooked 
 than omitted. 
 
 'Time, Death, 
 
 Time, Behold the frailty of this flendcr foufFj 
 Alas ! it hath not long to laft ; 
 Without the help of either thief or puff". 
 Her weakness knows the way to wafte : 
 Nature hath made her fubftance apt enough 
 To fpend itfelf, and fpend too fail : 
 It needs the help of none 
 That is fo prone 
 To lavifh out untouched, and languifh all done. 
 
 Death, Timtf hold thy peace, and fhake thy flow- 
 pac'd fand ; 
 Thine idle minutes make no way: 
 Thy glafs exceeds her hour, or elfe dOth (land, 
 
 I cannot hold, I cannot ftay. 
 Surceafe thy pleading, and enlarge my hand, 
 I furfeit with too long delay : 
 This brifk this bold-fac'd light 
 Doth burn too bright ; 
 DarJcnefs adorns my throne, my day is darkcft 
 night. 
 
 Time*
 
 t »05 ] 
 
 T-hni, Great Prince of darknefs ! hold thy needlefs 
 hand, 
 Thy captive's faft and cannot flee : 
 What arm can refcue ? who can countermand ? 
 
 What pow'r can fet thy prisoner free? 
 Or if they could j what clofe, what foreign land 
 Can hide that head that flees from thee ? 
 But if her harmlefs light 
 Ofi'end thy fight 
 What need'ft thou fnatch at noon, what muft 
 be thine at night ? 
 
 Death, I have outftald my patience j my quick trade 
 Grows dull and makes too flow return : 
 This long-liv'd debt is due, and fliould been paid 
 
 When firft her flame began to burn : 
 But I have fl:aid too long, I have delay'd 
 To ftore my vaft, my craving urn. 
 My patent gives me pow'r 
 Each day, each hour, 
 To ftrike the peafant's thatch, and fhake the 
 princely tow'r- 
 
 T;W. Thou count'ft too faft : thy patent gives no pow'r 
 
 Till Time /hall pleafe to fay. Amen. 
 Death. Canft thou appoint my fliaft ? Time. Or thou 
 
 my hour ? 
 D:atk. 'Tis 1 bid, do. Time. 'Tis I bid, when ; 
 
 H3 
 
 Alas
 
 [ io6 ] 
 
 Alas ! thou canft not make the poorcft flow'r 
 To hang the drooping head 'till then : 
 Thy {hafts can neither kill. 
 Nor ftrike, until 
 My power gives them wings, and pleafure arini 
 thy will ! 
 
 There is nothing which deftroys 
 the reality in a dramatic dialogue 
 more than when the fpeakers afk 
 queftions and reply in an equal 
 quantity of lines. Perhaps the 
 moft difgufting inftance of this is 
 in Milton's Mafk, where Comus 
 and the Lady have a verfe each 
 alternately, for fourteen lines toge- 
 ther. We are more fenfible of the 
 famenefs in quantity Vv^iere it is 
 fo liiort;, and fo often repeated, 
 than here in Quarles where it is 
 extended to a ftanza, and that re- 
 peated for each fpeaker but once — 
 
 but
 
 I 107 ] 
 
 but even here you begin to feel its 
 bad effedl, when it is finely relieved 
 towards the end by the charaders 
 growing warmer in their difpute, 
 and, ofcourfe^ making their fpeeches 
 ihorter. Yet what I here condemn, 
 
 others admire. You, who are fo 
 
 fond of the ancients, may eafily de- 
 fend this pradice by their example, 
 and if you want any affiflance to 
 demolilh me, may call in Mr.Weft 
 and the author of the Origin and 
 Progrefs of Language. — This paf- 
 fage of the former from his tranlla- 
 tion of the Iphigenia of Euripedes 
 Is quoted by the latter with great 
 
 commendations not indeed be- 
 
 caule the dialogue is in alternate 
 verfe, but for its being a fine imita- 
 tion of the ancient trochaic meafure. 
 H 4 iph.
 
 [ I08 ] 
 
 J^h, Know'ft thou what (hould now be ordered? 
 
 I'ho, 'Tis thy office to prefer! be. 
 tfh. Let them bind in chains the Grangers. 
 
 Tho, Canft thou fear they /hould efcapc ? 
 Jjh, Truft no Greek ; Greece is perfidious. 
 
 ^ho. Slaves depart, and bind the Greeks. 
 fyK Having bound, conduft them hither, &«. 
 
 It is true that here the reply 
 wants one of having the fame num- 
 ber of fyllables as the queftion — 
 but ftill the conftant return of the 
 fame quantity for each fpeaker is 
 difgufling to all unprejudiced ears. 
 You will tell me that it is in the 
 high gufto of the antique, and that 
 the feet are trochaics — I can only 
 reply, that hard words cannot con- 
 vince me contrary to reafon, and if 
 a proper effe(ft is not produced, it 
 is of very little confequence to me 
 whether the authority is brought 
 ficm Greece or Siberia. Horace's 
 
 often-
 
 [ I09 ] 
 
 often-quoted Pallida mors, Zic. was 
 perhaps never better tranflated than 
 at the end of the fourth flanza. 
 
 The ninth hieroglyphic will put 
 you in mind of the poems that are 
 fqueezed or ftretched into the form 
 
 of axes, altars, and wings but 
 
 if you will attend to the matter, 
 and not the form, you will find it 
 
 excellent to write this properly 
 
 requires fome care. 
 
 BeAoid 
 
 How fhort a fpan 
 
 Was long enough of old 
 
 To meafure out the life of man } 
 
 In thofe well-temper'd days, his time w as then 
 
 Survey'd, caft up, and found but threefcore years and ten I 
 
 Alasf 
 
 And what is that ? 
 
 They come, and Aide, and pafs. 
 
 Before my pen can tell thee what. 
 
 The pcfts of Time are fwift, which having run 
 
 Their fev'n ihort ftages o'er, their fhoit-Uv'd talk is done. 
 
 Our
 
 L no J 
 
 Our days 
 
 Begun, we lend 
 
 To fleepj to antick plays 
 
 And toys, until the firft ftage end s 
 
 ^^ warning moons, twice 5 times told, we give 
 
 T© unrecover'd lofs : we rather breathe than live* 
 
 Wefpfnd 
 
 A ten years breath 
 
 Before we apprehend 
 
 "What 'tis to live, or fear a Death : 
 
 Our childifii dreams are fiU'd with painted joys 
 
 Which pleafc our fenfe awhile, and waking prove but toys ! 
 
 How vain 
 
 How wretched Is 
 
 Poor man, that doth remain 
 
 A Have to fuch a ftate as this! 
 
 ,^ ,.> • His days are (hort, at longeft j few at moft; 
 
 They are but bad at beft j yet lavilh'd out, or loft. 
 
 They be 
 
 The fecrct fprlngs 
 
 That make our minutes flee 
 
 On wheels more fwift than eagle's wings ! 
 
 Our Life's a clock, and evVy gafp of breath 
 
 f^rcathcs forth 2 warning grief, till Time ihall ftrike a Deathi 
 
 How
 
 L "J J 
 
 How foon 
 
 Our new-born light 
 
 Attains to full-agM noon ? 
 
 And this, how foon to grey-hair'd night ! 
 
 We fpring, we bud, we blofiom and we blaft 
 
 E'er we can count our days, our days they flee fo faft ! 
 
 They end 
 
 When fcarce begun ; 
 
 And e'er we apprehend 
 
 That we begin to live, our life is done : 
 
 Man count thy days ; and if they fly too faft 
 
 For thy dull thoughts to count, count ev'ry day the laft. 
 
 Methinks Quarles*s ghoft is at 
 my elbow, which will not be ap- 
 peafed unlefs I remark that the firft 
 lines of each ftanza make a verfe, 
 being the text on which the poem 
 is a comment. 
 
 Behold, alas! our days ti>e fptnd\ 
 How vain they be^ how foon they end I 
 
 This is a kind of falfe wit once 
 much in requefl. Jarvis, the tranf- 
 
 lator
 
 { x.a 3 
 
 lator of Don Quixote, calls It glojfing 
 — upon what authority I know not. 
 In the firft chapter of the fecond 
 book of the fecond voluaie may be 
 found a text and glofs — with this 
 difference from Quarles's, that the 
 text is introduced at the end of the 
 ftanza and not at the beginning. 
 
 It is impoffible to avoid fmiling 
 at the pains he muft have taken to 
 preferve the form of the ftanza— 
 in the third he is obliged to have 
 the affiftance of figures, or his line 
 would have been too long; and after 
 all his trouble there muft be fome 
 for the reader before he has cal- 
 culated how much " 12 moons, 
 
 twice 5 times told," are in the 
 
 reft, to fay the truth, it is not 
 fo apparent. If this pyramidical 
 
 ftanza
 
 C i«3 1 
 
 ftanza prevents you frotn attending- 
 to the poetry, it is eafily put in 
 another — of the two firfl lines make 
 one; and the falfe wit immediately 
 vanifhes. — I hope Quarles's ghoft 
 vanilhed before I propofed the al- 
 teration. 
 
 I have, like a prudent caterer, 
 referved the befl thing for the lafl. 
 It is the twelfth emblem of the third 
 book. The fubjedt of the print is 
 a figure trying to efcape from the 
 Divine vengeance which is purfuing 
 
 in thunders: the motto O that 
 
 thou wouldft hide me in the grave, 
 that thou wouldji keep me in Jecret 
 until thy wrath he pajl ! Upon this 
 hint he has produced the following 
 excellent poem, 
 
 Ahl
 
 C "4 ] 
 
 Ah ! whither fliall I fly ? what path untrod 
 Shall I feelc out to 'fcape the flaming rod 
 Of my offended, of my angry God ? 
 
 Where fhall I fojourn? what kind fea will hide 
 My head from thunder ? where fhall I abide # 
 Until his flames be quench'd or laid afide ? 
 
 What, if my feet fliould take their hafty flight, 
 And feek protedlion in the fhades of night ? 
 Alas ! no fhades can blind the God of light. 
 
 What, if my foul fhould take the wings of day. 
 And find fome defert ? if fhe fpring away 
 The wings of vengeance clip as fafl as they. 
 
 What, if fome folid rock fhould entertain 
 My frighted foul ? can folid rocks reflrain 
 The flroke of Juftice and not cleave in twain? 
 
 Nor fea, nor fhade, nor fhieldj nor rock, nor cave. 
 
 Nor filent deferts, nor the fuUen grave. 
 
 Where flame-ey'd fury means to fmite, can fave. 
 
 Tis vain to flee ; 'till gentle mercy fhew 
 
 Her better eye ; the farther off we go. 
 
 The fwing of Juftice deals the mightier blow. 
 
 Th'
 
 [ "5 ] 
 
 Th' ingenuous child, correfted, doth not flie 
 His angry mother's hand, but clings more nigh. 
 And quenches with his tears her flaming eye. 
 
 Great Gqd ! there Is no fafety here below ; 
 Thou art my fortrefs, thou that feem'ft ray foe, 
 *Tis thou that flrik'ft the ftroke, muft guard the blowv 
 
 Six ftanzas, which though very- 
 good, yet being of lefs merit than 
 the reft are omitted. It is obvious 
 that he had the 139th pfahn in his^ 
 eye, of which he has made great 
 ufe. The alarm at the beginning 
 — the fearching all nature for fhel- 
 ter — the impofTibility of being hid 
 from the author of nature — and 
 the acquiefcing at laft in v/hat was 
 unavoidable, are grand and natural 
 ideas. The motion of the wings 
 of vengeance — and the recapitula- 
 tion of the places where prote^ion 
 was fought in vain — are inftances 
 
 of
 
 [ "6 ] 
 
 of expi-eflion rarely met with. But 
 what praife is fufficient for the 
 fimile in the eighth ftanza? To fay- 
 only that it is appofite and beau- 
 tiful, comes very fhort of my fen- 
 fations when I read it. Let me 
 confefs honeftly that I think it onp 
 of the nobleft inllances of the fub- 
 lime pathetic ! As a part of a re- 
 ligious poem it is proper, in a high 
 degree ; the fcripture frequently 
 confidering our conhedion with the 
 Almighty as that of children with 
 a parent. — As a pi6torefque image 
 it is diftindl, natural, and aife6ling. 
 — But to remark all the beauties of 
 this poem would be to comment 
 
 on every ftanza. You will have 
 
 more pleafure in finding them out 
 yourfelf. 
 
 Now
 
 t "7 ] 
 
 Now what think you, is not this 
 rather too good to be loll ? Was it 
 from never reading Quarles, or 
 taking his character from common 
 report, that Pope confidered his 
 productions as the very bathos of 
 poetry ? Poor Quarles ! thou haft 
 had many enemies, and art now 
 forgotten. But thou haft at laft 
 found a friend — not equal, indeed, 
 to the tafk of turning a tide that has 
 been flowing for a hundred years 
 againft thee — not equal to his wifhes 
 for giving thee and every negle6ted 
 genius his due ftiare of reputation 
 —but barely capable of laying the 
 firft ftone of thy temple of fame, 
 which he leaves to be compleated 
 by abler and by ftronger hands ! 
 
 Farewel. 
 
 VOL. II, I P. S.
 
 [ "8 ] 
 
 P. S. I had forgot to inform you 
 that thefe emblems were imitated 
 in Latin by one Herman Hugo, a 
 Jeliiit. The firft edition of them 
 was in 1623, foon after the appear- 
 ance of Quarles ; and the book was 
 reprinted for the ninth time in 
 1676, which laft is the date of the 
 copy in my pofTcflion. How many 
 more editions there have been, I 
 know not. He makes no acknow- 
 ledgement to Quarles, and fpeaks 
 of his own work as original. As 
 a fpecimen of his manner, take the 
 following, which is intended as an 
 imitation of " Ah whither fhall I 
 flyrV. ., 
 
 ^is mihj fecuris dabit hofplta tefla latebrls •* 
 Te^a, quibiis dextrae ferver ah igne tuae ? 
 
 Heu t tuus ante oculos quoties furor illerccurfat, 
 Nulla mih'i toties ftda fat antra reof. 
 
 Tunc
 
 [ "9 ] 
 
 Tunc ego fecretas, umbracula frondea, fylvas, 
 Luftraque folivagis opto relifta feris. 
 
 Tunc ego vel mediis timidum caput abdere terris, 
 Aut maris exesa condere rupe velim, Sec. 
 
 It reads but poorly after the other, 
 though I have given you the beft 
 of it. He afterwards by degrees 
 quits his fubjed, runs into fluff 
 about Cain and Jonah, and has 
 entirely omitted the fnnile. 
 
 You exprefs an inclination to 
 publifh my letters. You fhould 
 confider that the date of fome of 
 them is fo far back, that many al- 
 lufions to pafling incidents which 
 might engage attention at the time, 
 now mufl fail of their effed:.— 
 People are fpoken of as living, 
 
 who are dead and many other 
 
 objeftions might be enumerated. 
 
 However,
 
 [ 120 ] 
 
 However, you are at liberty to do 
 what you pleafe with them. Thofe 
 which are of a private nature, your 
 prudence will, of courfe, keep to 
 yourfelf : and for the others, where 
 fome conje6lures are hazarded which 
 may be thought different from re- 
 ceived opinions ; the writer wifhes 
 them to be read with the fame 
 
 impartiality they were written 
 
 though he is well apprized of the 
 difficulty of difpoffefling old opi- 
 nions. 
 
 I N I S.
 
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