[7]Obras de Quevedo, vida de San Pablo Apoſtol.
[7]Obras de Quevedo, vida de San Pablo Apoſtol.
Variousare the reaſons why the greater part of mankind cannot apply themſelves to arts or letters. Particular ſtudies are only ſuited to the capacities of particular perſons. Some are incapable of applying tothem from the delicacy of their ſex, ſome from the unſteadineſs of youth, and others from the imbecillity of age. Many are precluded by the narrowneſs of their education, and many by the ſtraitneſs of their fortune. The wiſdom of God is wonderfully manifeſted in this happy and well-ordered diverſity, in the powers and properties of his creatures; ſince by thus admirably ſuiting the agent to the action, the whole ſcheme of human affairs is carried on with the moſt agreeing and conſiſtent [oe]conomy, and no chaſm is left for want of an object to fill it, exactly ſuited to its nature.
Butin the great and univerſal concern of religion, both ſexes, and all ranks, are equally intereſted. The truly catholic ſpirit of chriſtianity accommodates itſelf, with an aſtoniſhing condeſcenſion, to the circumſtances of the whole human race. It rejects none on account of their pecuniary wants, their perſonal infirmities, or their intellectual deficiencies. No ſuperiority of parts is the leaſt recommendation, nor is any depreſſion of fortune the ſmalleſt objection. None are too wiſe to be excuſed from performing the duties of religion, nor are any too poor to be excluded from the conſolations of its promiſes.
Ifwe admire the wiſdom of God, in having furniſhed different degrees of intelligence, ſo exactly adapted to their different deſtinations, and in having fitted every part of his ſtupendous work, not only to ſerve its own immediate purpoſe, but alſo to contribute to the beauty and perfection of the whole: how much more ought we to adorethat goodneſs, which has perfected the divine plan, by appointing one wide, comprehenſive, and univerſal means of ſalvation: a ſalvation, which all are invited to partake; by a means which all are capable of uſing; which nothing but voluntary blindneſs can prevent our comprehending, and nothing but wilful error can hinder us from embracing.
TheMuſes are coy, and will only be wooed and won by ſome highly-favoured ſuitors. The Sciences are lofty, and will not ſtoop to the reach of ordinary capacities. But "Wiſdom (by which the royal preacher means piety) is a loving ſpirit: ſhe is eaſily ſeen of them that love her, and found of all ſuch as ſeek her." Nay, ſhe is ſo acceſſible and condeſcending, "that ſhe preventeth themthat deſire her, making herſelf firſt known unto them."
Weare told by the ſame animated writer, "that Wiſdom is the breath of the power of God." How infinitely ſuperior, in grandeur and ſublimity, is this deſcription to the origin of thewiſdomof the heathens, as deſcribed by their poets and mythologiſts! In the exalted ſtrains of the Hebrew poetry we read, that "Wiſdom is the brightneſs of the everlaſting light, the unſpotted mirror of the power of God, and the image of his goodneſs."
Thephiloſophical author ofThe Defence of Learningobſerves, that knowledge has ſomething of venom and malignity in it, when taken without its proper corrective, and whatthat is, the inſpired Saint Paul teaches us, by placing it as the immediate antidote:Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.Perhaps, it is the vanity of human wiſdom, unchaſtiſed by this correcting principle, which has made ſo many infidels. It may proceed from the arrogance of a ſelf-ſufficient pride, that ſome philoſophers diſdain to acknowledge their belief in a being, who has judged proper to conceal from them the infinite wiſdom of his counſels; who, (to borrow the lofty language of the man of Uz) refuſed to conſult them when he laid the foundations of the earth, when he ſhut up the ſea with doors, and made the clouds the garment thereof.
A manmuſt be an infidel either from pride, prejudice, or bad education: he cannot be one unawares orby ſurpriſe; for infidelity is not occaſioned by ſudden impulſe or violent temptation. He may be hurried by ſome vehement deſire into an immoral action, at which he will bluſh in his cooler moments, and which he will lament as the ſad effect of a ſpirit unſubdued by religion; but infidelity is a calm, conſiderate act, which cannot plead the weakneſs of the heart, or the ſeduction of the ſenſes. Even good men frequently fail in their duty through the infirmities of nature, and the allurements of the world; but the infidel errs on a plan, on a ſettled and deliberate principle.
Butthough the minds of men are ſometimes fatally infected with this diſeaſe, either through unhappy prepoſſeſſion, or ſome of the other cauſes above mentioned; yet I am unwillingto believe, that there is in nature ſo monſtrouſly incongruous a being, as afemale infidel. The leaſt reflexion on the temper, the character, and the education of women, makes the mind revolt with horror from an idea ſo improbable, and ſo unnatural.
MayI be allowed to obſerve, that, in general, the minds of girls ſeem more aptly prepared in their early youth for the reception of ſerious impreſſions than thoſe of the other ſex, and that their leſs expoſed ſituations in more advanced life qualify them better for the preſervation of them? The daughters (of good parents I mean) are often more carefully inſtructed in their religious duties, than the ſons, and this from a variety of cauſes. They are not ſo ſoon ſent from under the paternal eye into thebuſtle of the world, and ſo early expoſed to the contagion of bad example: their hearts are naturally more flexible, ſoft, and liable to any kind of impreſſion the forming hand may ſtamp on them; and, laſtly, as they do not receive the ſame claſſical education with boys, their feeble minds are not obliged at once to receive and ſeparate the precepts of chriſtianity, and the documents of pagan philoſophy. The neceſſity of doing this perhaps ſomewhat weakens the ſerious impreſſions of young men, at leaſt till the underſtanding is formed, and confuſes their ideas of piety, by mixing them with ſo much heterogeneous matter. They only caſually read, or hear read, the ſcriptures of truth, while they are obliged to learn by heart, conſtrue and repeat the poetical fables of the leſs than human godsof the ancients. And as the excellent author ofThe Internal Evidence of the Chriſtian Religionobſerves, "Nothing has ſo much contributed to corrupt the true ſpirit of the chriſtian inſtitution, as that partiality which we contract, in our earlieſt education, for the manners of pagan antiquity."
Girls, therefore, who donotcontract this early partiality, ought to have a clearer notion of their religious duties: they are not obliged, at an age when the judgment is ſo weak, to diſtinguiſh between the doctrines of Zeno, of Epicurus, and of Christ; and to embarraſs their minds with the various morals which were taught in thePorch, in theAcademy, and on theMount.
Itis preſumed, that theſe remarks cannot poſſibly be ſo miſunderſtood, as to be conſtrued into the leaſt diſreſpect to literature, or a want of the higheſt reverence for a learned education, the baſis of all elegant knowledge: they are only intended, with all proper deference, to point out to young women, that however inferior their advantages of acquiring a knowledge of the belles-lettres are to thoſe of the other ſex; yet it depends on themſelves not to be ſurpaſſed in this moſt important of all ſtudies, for which their abilities are equal, and their opportunities, perhaps, greater.
Butthe mere exemption from infidelity is ſo ſmall a part of the religious character, that I hope no one will attempt to claim any merit from this negative ſort of goodneſs, or value herſelf merely for not being the very worſt thing ſhe poſſibly can be. Let no miſtaken girl fancy ſhe gives a proof of her wit by her want of piety, or that a contempt of things ſerious and ſacred will exalt her underſtanding, or raiſe her character even in the opinion of the moſt avowed male infidels. For one may venture to affirm, that with all their profligate ideas, both of women and of religion, neither Bolingbroke, Wharton, Buckingham, nor evenLord Cheſterfield himſelf, would have eſteemed a woman the more for her being irreligious.
Withwhatever ridicule a polite freethinker may affect to treat religion himſelf, he will think it neceſſary his wife ſhould entertain different notions of it. He may pretend to deſpiſe it as a matter of opinion, depending oncreeds and ſyſtems; but, if he is a man of ſenſe, he will know the value of it, as a governing principle, which is to influence her conduct and direct her actions. If he ſees her unaffectedly ſincere in the practice of her religious duties, it will be a ſecret pledge to him, that ſhe will be equally exact in fulfilling the conjugal; for he can have no reaſonable dependance on her attachment tohim, if he has no opinion of her fidelity toGod; for ſhe who neglects firſt duties, gives but an indifferent proof of her diſpoſition to fill up inferior ones; and how can a man of any underſtanding (whatever his own religious profeſſions may be) truſt that woman with the care of his family, and the education of his children, who wants herſelf the beſt incentive to a virtuous life, the belief that ſhe is an accountable creature,and the reflection that ſhe has an immortal ſoul?
Ciceroſpoke it as the higheſt commendation of Cato's character, that he embraced philoſophy, not for the ſake ofdiſputinglike a philoſopher, but oflivinglike one. The chief purpoſe of chriſtian knowledge is to promote the great end of a chriſtian life. Every rational woman ſhould, no doubt, be able to give a reaſon of the hope that is in her; but this knowledge is beſt acquired, and the duties conſequent on it beſt performed, by reading books of plain piety and practical devotion, and not by entering into the endleſs feuds, and engaging in the unprofitable contentions of partial controverſialiſts. Nothing is more unamiable than the narrow ſpirit of party zeal, nor more diſguſting thanto hear a woman deal out judgments, and denounce vengeance againſt any one, who happens to differ from her in ſome opinion, perhaps of no real importance, and which, it is probable, ſhe may be juſt as wrong in rejecting, as the object of her cenſure is in embracing. A furious and unmerciful female bigot wanders as far beyond the limits preſcribed to her ſex, as a Thaleſtris or a Joan d'Arc. Violent debate has made as few converts as the ſword, and both theſe inſtruments are particularly unbecoming when wielded by a female hand.
But, though no one will be frightened out of their opinions, yet they may be perſuaded out of them: they may be touched by the affecting earneſtneſs of ſerious converſation, and allured by the attractive beauty of aconſiſtently ſerious life. And while a young woman ought to dread the name of a wrangling polemic, it is her duty to aſpire after the honourable character of a ſincere Chriſtian. But this dignified character ſhe can by no means deſerve, if ſhe is ever afraid to avow her principles, or aſhamed to defend them. A profligate, who makes it a point to ridicule every thing which comes under the appearance of formal inſtruction, will be diſconcerted at the ſpirited yet modeſt rebuke of a pious young woman. But there is as much efficacy in the manner of reproving prophaneneſs, as in the words. If ſhe corrects it with moroſeneſs, ſhe defeats the effect of her remedy, by her unſkilful manner of adminiſtring it. If, on the other hand, ſhe affects to defend the inſulted cauſe of God, in a faint tone of voice, and ſtudied ambiguity of phraſe, or with an air of levity, and a certain expreſſion of pleaſure in her eyes, which proves ſhe is ſecretly delighted with what ſhe pretends to cenſure, ſhe injures religion much more than he did who publickly prophaned it; for ſhe plainly indicates, either that ſhe does not believe, or reſpect what ſhe profeſſes. The other attacked it as an open foe; ſhe betrays it as a falſe friend. No one pays any regard to the opinion of an avowed enemy; but the deſertion or treachery of a profeſſed friend, is dangerous indeed!
Itis a ſtrange notion which prevails in the world, that religion only belongs to the old and the melancholy, and that it is not worth while to pay the leaſt attention to it, while we are capable of attending to any thing elſe.They allow it to be proper enough for the clergy, whoſe buſineſs it is, and for the aged, who have not ſpirits for any buſineſs at all. But till they can prove, that none except the clergy and the ageddie, it muſt be confeſſed, that this is moſt wretched reaſoning.
Greatinjury is done to the intereſts of religion, by placing it in a gloomy and unamiable light. It is ſometimes ſpoken of, as if it would actually make a handſome woman ugly, or a young one wrinkled. But can any thing be more abſurd than to repreſent the beauty of holineſs as the ſource of deformity?
Thereare few, perhaps, ſo entirely plunged in buſineſs, or abſorbed inpleaſure, as not to intend, at ſome future time, to ſet about a religious life in good earneſt. But then they conſider it as a kind ofdernier reſſort, and think it prudent to defer flying to this diſagreeable refuge, till they have no reliſh left for any thing elſe. Do they forget, that to perform this great buſineſs well requires all the ſtrength of their youth, and all the vigour of their unimpaired capacities? To confirm this aſſertion, they may obſerve how much the ſlighteſt indiſpoſition, even in the moſt active ſeaſon of life, diſorders every faculty, and diſqualifies them for attending to the moſt ordinary affairs: and then let them reflect how little able they will be to tranſact the moſt important of all buſineſs, in the moment of excruciating pain, or in the day of univerſal debility.
Whenthe ſenſes are palled with exceſſive gratification; when the eye is tired with ſeeing, and the ear with hearing; when the ſpirits are ſo ſunk, that thegraſshopper is become a burthen, how ſhall the blunted apprehenſion be capable of underſtanding a new ſcience, or the worn-out heart be able to reliſh a new pleaſure?
Toput off religion till we have loſt all taſte for amuſement; to refuſe liſtening to the "voice of the charmer," till our enfeebled organs can no longer liſten to the voice of "ſinging men and ſinging women," and not to devote our days to heaven till we have "no pleaſure in them" ourſelves, is but an ungracious offering. And it is a wretched ſacrifice to the God of heaven, to preſent him with the remnants of decayed appetites, and the leavings of extinguiſhed paſſions.
Goodſenſeis as different fromgeniusas perception is from invention; yet, though diſtinct qualities,they frequently ſubſiſt together. It is altogether oppoſite towit, but by no means inconſiſtent with it. It is not ſcience, for there is ſuch a thing as unlettered good ſenſe; yet, though it is neither wit, learning, nor genius, it is a ſubſtitute for each, where they do not exiſt, and the perfection of all where they do.
Good ſenſe is ſo far from deſerving the appellation ofcommon ſenſe, by which it is frequently called, that it is perhaps one of the rareſt qualities of the human mind. If, indeed, this name is given it in reſpect to its peculiar ſuitableneſs to the purpoſes of common life, there is great proprietyin it. Good ſenſe appears to differ from taſte in this, that taſte is an inſtantaneous deciſion of the mind, a ſudden reliſh of what is beautiful, or diſguſt at what is defective, in an object, without waiting for the ſlower confirmation of the judgment. Good ſenſe is perhaps that confirmation, which eſtabliſhes a ſuddenly conceived idea, or feeling, by the powers of comparing and reflecting. They differ alſo in this, that taſte ſeems to have a more immediate reference to arts, to literature, and to almoſt every object of the ſenſes; while good ſenſe riſes to moral excellence, and exerts its influence on life and manners. Taſte is fitted to the perception and enjoyment of whatever is beautiful in art or nature: Good ſenſe, to the improvement of the conduct, and the regulation of the heart.
Yetthe term good ſenſe, is uſed indiſcriminately to expreſs either a finiſhed taſte for letters, or an invariable prudence in the affairs of life. It is ſometimes applied to the moſt moderate abilities, in which caſe, the expreſſion is certainly too ſtrong; and at others to the moſt ſhining, when it is as much too weak and inadequate. A ſenſible man is the uſual, but unappropriated phraſe, for every degree in the ſcale of underſtanding, from the ſober mortal, who obtains it by his decent demeanor and ſolid dullneſs, to him whoſe talents qualify him to rank with a Bacon, a Harris, or a Johnson.
Geniusis the power of invention and imitation. It is an incommunicable faculty: no art or ſkill of the poſſeſſor can beſtow the ſmalleſt portion of it on another: no pains or labour can reach the ſummit of perfection, where the ſeeds of it are wanting in the mind; yet it is capable of infinite improvement where it actually exiſts, and is attended with the higheſt capacity of communicating inſtruction, as well as delight to others.
Itis the peculiar property of genius to ſtrike out great or beautiful things: it is the felicity of good ſenſe not to do abſurd ones. Genius breaks out in ſplendid ſentiments and elevated ideas; good ſenſe confines its more circumſcribed, but perhaps more uſeful walk, within the limits of prudence and propriety.
The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;And, as imagination bodies forthThe forms of things unknown, the poet's penTurns them to ſhape, and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name.
The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;And, as imagination bodies forthThe forms of things unknown, the poet's penTurns them to ſhape, and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name.
Thisis perhaps the fineſt picture of human genius that ever was drawn by a human pencil. It preſents a living image of a creative imagination, or a power of inventing things which have no actual exiſtence.
Withſuperficial judges, who, it muſt be confeſſed, make up the greater part of the maſs of mankind, talents are only liked or underſtood to a certain degree. Lofty ideas are above the reach of ordinary apprehenſions: the vulgar allow thoſe who poſſeſs them to be in a ſomewhat higher ſtate of mind than themſelves; but of the vaſt gulf which ſeparates them, they have not the leaſt conception. They acknowledge a ſuperiority, but of its extent they neither know the value,nor can conceive the reality. It is true, the mind, as well as the eye, can take in objects larger than itſelf; but this is only true of great minds: for a man of low capacity, who conſiders a conſummate genius, reſembles one, who ſeeing a column for the firſt time, and ſtanding at too great a diſtance to take in the whole of it, concludes it to be flat. Or, like one unacquainted with the firſt principles of philoſophy, who, finding the ſenſible horizon appear a plain ſurface, can form no idea of the ſpherical form of the whole, which he does not ſee, and laughs at the account of antipodes, which he cannot comprehend.
Whateveris excellent is alſo rare; what is uſeful is more common. How many thouſands are born qualified for the coarſe employments of life, forone who is capable of excelling in the fine arts! yet ſo it ought to be, becauſe our natural wants are more numerous, and more importunate, than the intellectual.
Wheneverit happens that a man of diſtinguiſhed talents has been drawn by miſtake, or precipitated by paſſion, into any dangerous indiſcretion; it is common for thoſe whoſe coldneſs of temper has ſupplied the place, and uſurped the name of prudence, to boaſt of their own ſteadier virtue, and triumph in their own ſuperior caution; only becauſe they have never been aſſailed by a temptation ſtrong enough to ſurpriſe them into error. And with what a viſible appropriation of the character to themſelves, do they conſtantly conclude, with a cordial compliment tocommon ſense! They point out thebeauty and uſefulneſs of this quality ſo forcibly and explicitly, that you cannot poſſibly miſtake whoſe picture they are drawing with ſo flattering a pencil. The unhappy man whoſe conduct has been ſo feelingly arraigned, perhaps acted from good, though miſtaken motives; at leaſt, from motives of which his cenſurer has not capacity to judge: but the event was unfavourable, nay the action might be really wrong, and the vulgar maliciouſly take the opportunity of this ſingle indiſcretion, to lift themſelves nearer on a level with a character, which, except in this inſtance, has always thrown them at the moſt diſgraceful and mortifying diſtance.
Theelegant Biographer of Collins, in his affecting apology for that unfortunate genius, remarks, "That thegifts of imagination bring the heavieſt taſk on the vigilance of reaſon; and to bear thoſe faculties with unerring rectitude, or invariable propriety, requires a degree of firmneſs, and of cool attention, which does not always attend the higher gifts of the mind; yet difficult as Nature herſelf ſeems to have rendered the taſk of regularity to genius, it is the ſupreme conſolation of dullneſs, and of folly to point with gothic triumph to thoſe exceſſes which are the overflowing of faculties they never enjoyed."
Whatthe greater part of the world mean by common ſenſe, will be generally found, on a cloſer enquiry, to be art, fraud, or ſelfiſhneſs! That ſort of ſaving prudence which makes men extremely attentive to their own ſafety,or profit; diligent in the purſuit of their own pleaſures or intereſts; and perfectly at their eaſe as to what becomes of the reſt of mankind. Furies, where their own property is concerned, philoſophers when nothing but the good of others is at ſtake, and perfectly reſigned under all calamities but their own.
Whenwe ſee ſo many accompliſhed wits of the preſent age, as remarkable for the decorum of their lives, as for the brilliancy of their writings, we may believe, that, next to principle, it is owing to theirgood ſenſe, which regulates and chaſtiſes their imaginations. The vaſt conceptions which enable a true genius to aſcend the ſublimeſt heights, may be ſo connected with the ſtronger paſſions, as to give it a natural tendency to fly off from the ſtraitline of regularity; till good ſenſe, acting on the fancy, makes it gravitate powerfully towards that virtue which is its proper centre.
Addto this, when it is conſidered with what imperfection the Divine Wiſdom has thought fit to ſtamp every thing human, it will be found, that excellence and infirmity are ſo inſeparably wound up in each other, that a man derives the ſoreneſs of temper, and irritability of nerve, which make him uneaſy to others, and unhappy in himſelf, from thoſe exquiſite feelings, and that elevated pitch of thought, by which, as the apoſtle expreſſes it on a more ſerious occaſion, he is, as it were, out of the body.
It is not aſtoniſhing, therefore, whentheſpirit is carried away by the magnificence of its own ideas,
Not touch'd but rapt, not waken'd but inſpir'd,
Not touch'd but rapt, not waken'd but inſpir'd,
that the frail body, which is the natural victim of pain, diſeaſe, and death, ſhould not always be able to follow the mind in its aſpiring flights, but ſhould be as imperfect as if it belonged only to an ordinary ſoul.
Besides, might not Providence intend to humble human pride, by preſenting to our eyes ſo mortifying a view of the weakneſs and infirmity of even his beſt work? Perhaps man, who is already but a little lower than the angels, might, like the revolted ſpirits, totally have ſhaken off obedience and ſubmiſſion to his Creator, had not God wiſely tempered human excellence with a certain conſciouſneſs of its own imperfection. But though this inevitable alloy of weakneſs may frequently befound in the beſt characters, yet how can that be the ſource of triumph and exaltation to any, which, if properly weighed, muſt be the deepeſt motive of humiliation to all? A good-natured man will be ſo far from rejoicing, that he will be ſecretly troubled, whenever he reads that the greateſt Roman moraliſt was tainted with avarice, and the greateſt Britiſh philoſopher with venality.
Itis remarked by Pope, in his Eſſay on Criticiſm, that,
Ten cenſure wrong for one who writes amiſs.
Ten cenſure wrong for one who writes amiſs.
But I apprehend it does not therefore follow that to judge, is more difficult than to write. If this were the caſe, the critic would be ſuperior to the poet, whereas it appears to be directlythe contrary. "The critic, (ſays the great champion of Shakeſpeare,) but faſhions the body of a work, the poet muſt add the ſoul, which gives force and direction to its actions and geſtures." It ſhould ſeem that the reaſon why ſo many more judge wrong, than write ill, is becauſe the number of readers is beyond all proportion greater than the number of writers. Every man who reads, is in ſome meaſure a critic, and, with very common abilities, may point out real faults and material errors in a very well written book; but it by no means follows that he is able to write any thing comparable to the work which he is capable of cenſuring. And unleſs the numbers of thoſe who write, and of thoſe who judge, were more equal, the calculation ſeems not to be quite fair.
A capacityfor reliſhing works of genius is the indubitable ſign of a good taſte. But if a proper diſpoſition and ability to enjoy the compoſitions of others, entitle a man to the claim of reputation, it is ſtill a far inferior degree of merit to his who can invent and produce thoſe compoſitions, the bare diſquiſition of which gives the critic no ſmall ſhare of fame.
Thepreſident of the royal academy in his admirableDiſcourſeonimitation, has ſet the folly of depending on unaſſiſted genius, in the cleareſt light; and has ſhewn the neceſſity of adding the knowledge of others, to our own native powers, in his uſual ſtriking and maſterly manner. "The mind, ſays he, is a barren ſoil, is a ſoil ſoon exhauſted, and will produce no crop, or only one, unleſs it be continually fertilized, and enriched with foreign matter."
Yetit has been objected that ſtudy is a great enemy to originality; but even if this were true, it would perhaps be as well that an author ſhould give us the ideas of ſtill better writers, mixed and aſſimilated with the matter in his own mind, as thoſe crude and undigeſted thoughts which he values under the notion that they are original. The ſweeteſt honey neither taſtes of the roſe, the honeyſuckle, nor the carnation, yet it is compounded of the very eſſence of them all.
Ifin the other fine arts this accumulation of knowledge is neceſſary, it is indiſpenſably ſo in poetry. It is a fatal raſhneſs for any one to truſt too much to their own ſtock of ideas.He muſt invigorate them by exerciſe, poliſh them by converſation, and increaſe them by every ſpecies of elegant and virtuous knowledge, and the mind will not fail to reproduce with intereſt thoſe ſeeds, which are ſown in it by ſtudy and obſervation. Above all, let every one guard againſt the dangerous opinion that he knows enough: an opinion that will weaken the energy and reduce the powers of the mind, which, though once perhaps vigorous and effectual, will be ſunk to a ſtate of literary imbecility, by cheriſhing vain and preſumptuous ideas of its own independence.
Forinſtance, it may not be neceſſary that a poet ſhould be deeply ſkilled in the Linnæan ſyſtem; but it muſt be allowed that a general acquaintance with plants and flowers will furniſhhim with a delightful and profitable ſpecies of inſtruction. He is not obliged to trace Nature in all her nice and varied operations, with the minute accuracy of a Boyle, or the laborious inveſtigation of a Newton; but hisgood ſenſewill point out to him that no inconſiderable portion of philoſophical knowledge is requiſite to the completion of his literary character. The ſciences are more independent, and require little or no aſſiſtance from the graces of poetry; but poetry, if ſhe would charm and inſtruct, muſt not be ſo haughty; ſhe muſt be contented to borrow of the ſciences, many of her choiceſt alluſions, and many of her moſt graceful embelliſhments; and does it not magnify the character of true poeſy, that ſhe includes within herſelf all the ſcattered graces of every ſeparate art?
Therules of the great maſters in criticiſm may not be ſo neceſſary to the forming a good taſte, as the examination of thoſe original mines from whence they drew their treaſures of knowledge.
Thethree celebrated Eſſays on the Art of Poetry do not teach ſo much by their laws as by their examples; the dead letter of their rules is leſs inſtructive than the living ſpirit of their verſe. Yet theſe rules are to a young poet, what the ſtudy of logarithms is to a young mathematician; they do not ſo much contribute to form his judgment, as afford him the ſatiſfaction of convincing him that he is right. They do not preclude the difficulty of the operation; but at the concluſion of it, furniſh him with a fuller demonſtration that he has proceeded on proper principles. When he has well ſtudied the maſters in whoſe ſchools the firſt critics formed themſelves, and fancies he has caught a ſpark of their divine Flame, it may be a good method to try his own compoſitions by the teſt of the critic rules, ſo far indeed as the mechaniſm of poetry goes. If the examination be fair and candid, this trial, like the touch of Ithuriel's ſpear, will detect every latent error, and bring to light every favourite failing.
Goodtaſte always ſuits the meaſure of its admiration to the merit of the compoſition it examines. It accommodates its praiſes, or its cenſure, to the excellence of a work, and appropriates it to the nature of it. General applauſe, or indiſcriminate abuſe, is the ſign of a vulgar underſtanding. There are certain blemiſhes which thejudicious and good-natured reader will candidly overlook. But the falſe ſublime, the tumour which is intended for greatneſs, the diſtorted figure, the puerile conceit, and the incongruous metaphor, theſe are defects for which ſcarcely any other kind of merit can atone. And yet there may be more hope of a writer (eſpecially if he be a a young one), who is now and then guilty of ſome of theſe faults, than of one who avoids them all, not through judgment, but feebleneſs, and who, inſtead of deviating into error is continually falling ſhort of excellence. The meer abſence of error implies that moderate and inferior degree of merit with which a cold heart and a phlegmatic taſte will be better ſatiſfied than with the magnificent irregularities of exalted ſpirits. It ſtretches ſome minds to an uneaſy extenſion to be obligedto attend to compoſitions ſuperlatively excellent; and it contracts liberal ſouls to a painful narrowneſs to deſcend to books of inferior merit. A work of capital genius, to a man of an ordinary mind, is the bed of Procruſtes to one of a ſhort ſtature, the man is too little to fill up the ſpace aſſigned him, and undergoes the torture in attempting it: and a moderate, or low production to a man of bright talents, is the puniſhment inflicted by Mezentius; the living ſpirit has too much animation to endure patiently to be in contact with a dead body.
Tasteseſms to be a ſentiment of the ſoul which gives the bias to opinion, for we feel before we reflect. Without this ſentiment, all knowledge, learning and opinion, would be cold, inert materials, whereas they become activeprinciples when ſtirred, kindled, and inflamed by this animating quality.
Thereis another feeling which is called Enthuſiaſm. The enthuſiaſm of ſenſible hearts is ſo ſtrong, that it not only yields to the impulſe with which ſtriking objects act on it, but ſuch hearts help on the effect by their own ſenſibility. In a ſcene where Shakeſpeare and Garrick give perfection to each other, the feeling heart does not merely accede to the delirium they occaſion: it does more, it is enamoured of it, it ſolicits the deluſion, it ſues to be deceived, and grudgingly cheriſhes the ſacred treaſure of its feelings. The poet and performer concur in carrying us
Beyond this viſible diurnal ſphere,
Beyond this viſible diurnal ſphere,
they bear us aloft in their airy courſe with unreſiſted rapidity, if they meet not with any obſtructionfrom the coldneſs of our own feelings. Perhaps, only a few fine ſpirits can enter into the detail of their writing and acting; but the multitude do not enjoy leſs acutely, becauſe they are not able philoſophically to analyſe the ſources of their joy or ſorrow. If the others have the advantage of judging, theſe have at leaſt the privilege of feeling: and it is not from complaiſance to a few leading judges, that they burſt into peals of laughter, or melt into delightful agony; their hearts decide, and that is a deciſion from which there lies no appeal. It muſt however be confeſſed, that the nicer ſeparations of character, and the lighter and almoſt imperceptible ſhades which ſometimes diſtinguiſh them, will not be intimately reliſhed, unleſs there be a conſonancy of taſte as well as feeling in the ſpectator; though where thepaſſions are principally concerned, the profane vulgar come in for a larger portion of the univerſal delight, than critics and connoiſſeurs are willing to allow them.
Yetenthuſiaſm, though the natural concomitant of genius, is no more genius itſelf, than drunkenneſs is cheerfulneſs; and that enthuſiaſm which diſcovers itſelf on occaſions not worthy to excite it, is the mark of a wretched judgment and a falſe taſte.
Natureproduces innumerable objects: to imitate them, is the province of Genius; to direct thoſe imitations, is the property of Judgment; to decide on their effects, is the buſineſs of Taſte. For Taſte, who ſits as ſupreme judge on the productions of Genius, is not ſatiſfied when ſhe merely imitates Nature: ſhe muſt alſo, ſays an ingenious French writer, imitatebeautifulNature. It requires no leſs judgment to reject than to chooſe, and Genius might imitate what is vulgar, under pretence that it was natural, if Taſte did not carefully point out thoſe objects which are moſt proper for imitation. It alſo requires a very nice diſcernment to diſtinguiſh veriſimilitude from truth; for there is a truth in Taſte nearly as concluſive as demonſtration in mathematics.
Genius, when in the full impetuoſity of its career, often touches on the very brink of error; and is, perhaps, never ſo near the verge of the precipice, as when indulging its ſublimeſt flights. It is in thoſe great, but dangerous moments, that the curb of vigilant judgment is moſt wanting:while ſafe and ſober Dulneſs obſerves one tedious and inſipid round of tireſome uniformity, and ſteers equally clear of eccentricity and of beauty. Dulneſs has few redundancies to retrench, few luxuriancies to prune, and few irregularities to ſmooth. Theſe, though errors, are the errors of Genius, for there is rarely redundancy without plenitude, or irregularity without greatneſs. The exceſſes of Genius may eaſily be retrenched, but the deficiencies of Dulneſs can never be ſupplied.
Thosewho copy from others will doubtleſs be leſs excellent than thoſe who copy from Nature. To imitate imitators, is the way to depart too far from the great original herſelf. The latter copies of an engraving retain fainter and fainter traces of the ſubject, to which the earlier impreſſions bore ſo ſtrong a reſemblance.
Itſeems very extraordinary, that it ſhould be the moſt difficult thing in the world to be natural, and that it ſhould be harder to hit off the manners of real life, and to delineate ſuch characters as we converſe with every day, than to imagine ſuch as do not exiſt. But caricature is much eaſier than an exact outline, and the colouring of fancy leſs difficult than that of truth.
Peopledo not always know what taſte they have, till it is awakened by ſome correſponding object; nay, genius itſelf is a fire, which in many minds would never blaze, if not kindled by ſome external cauſe.
Nature, that munificent mother, when ſhe beſtows the power of judging, accompanies it with the capacity of enjoying. The judgment, which is clear ſighted, points out ſuch objects as are calculated to inſpire love, and the heart inſtantaneouſly attaches itſelf to whatever is lovely.
Inregard to literary reputation, a great deal depends on the ſtate of learning in the particular age or nation, in which an author lives. In a dark and ignorant period, moderate knowledge will entitle its poſſeſſor to a conſiderable ſhare of fame; whereas, to be diſtinguiſhed in a polite and lettered age, requires ſtriking parts and deep erudition.
Whena nation begins to emerge from a ſtate of mental darkneſs, and to ſtrike out the firſt rudiments of improvement, it chalks out a few ſtrongbut incorrect ſketches, gives the rude out-lines of general art, and leaves the filling up to the leiſure of happier days, and the refinement of more enlightened times. Their drawing is a rudeSbozzo, and their poetry wild minſtrelſy.
Perfectionof taſte is a point which a nation no ſooner reaches, than it overſhoots; and it is more difficult to return to it, after having paſſed it, than it was to attain when they fell ſhort of it. Where the arts begin to languiſh after having flouriſhed, they ſeldom indeed fall back to their original barbariſm, but a certain feebleneſs of exertion takes place, and it is more difficult to recover them from this dying languor to their proper ſtrength, than it was to poliſh them from their former rudeneſs; for it is a leſs formidable undertaking to refine barbarity, than to ſtop decay: the firſt may be laboured into elegance, but the latter will rarely be ſtrengthened into vigour.
Tasteexerts itſelf at firſt but feebly and imperfectly: it is repreſſed and kept back by a crowd of the moſt diſcouraging prejudices: like an infant prince, who, though born to reign, yet holds an idle ſceptre, which he has not power to uſe, but is obliged to ſee with the eyes, and hear through the ears of other men.
A writerof correct taſte will hardly ever go out of his way, even in ſearch of embelliſhment: he will ſtudy to attain the beſt end by the moſt natural means; for he knows that what is not natural cannot be beautiful, andthat nothing can be beautiful out of its own place; for an improper ſituation will convert the moſt ſtriking beauty into a glaring defect. When by a well-connected chain of ideas, or a judicious ſucceſſion of events, the reader is ſnatched to "Thebes or Athens," what can be more impertinent than for the poet to obſtruct the operation of the paſſion he has juſt been kindling, by introducing a conceit which contradicts his purpoſe, and interrupts his buſineſs? Indeed, we cannot be tranſported, even in idea, to thoſe places, if the poet does not manage ſo adroitly as not to make us ſenſible of the journey: the inſtant we feel we are travelling, the writer's art fails, and the delirium is at an end.
Proserpine, ſays Ovid, would have been reſtored to her mother Ceres, hadnot Aſcalaphus ſeen her ſtop to gather a golden apple, when the terms of her reſtoration were, that ſhe ſhould taſte nothing. A ſtory pregnant with inſtruction for lively writers, who by neglecting the main buſineſs, and going out of the way for falſe gratifications, loſe ſight of the end they ſhould principally keep in view. It was this falſe taſte that introduced the numberleſsconcetti, which diſgrace the brighteſt of the Italian poets; and this is the reaſon, why the reader only feels ſhort and interrupted ſnatches of delight in peruſing the brilliant but unequal compoſitions of Arioſto, inſtead of that unbroken and undiminiſhed pleaſure, which he conſtantly receives from Virgil, from Milton, and generally from Taſſo. The firſt-mentioned Italian is the Atalanta, who will interrupt the moſt eager career, to pick up theglittering miſchief, while the Mantuan and the Britiſh bards, like Hippomenes, preſs on warm in the purſuit, and unſeduced by temptation.
A writerof real taſte will take great pains in the perfection of his ſtyle, to make the reader believe that he took none at all. The writing which appears to be moſt eaſy, will be generally found to be leaſt imitable. The moſt elegant verſes are the moſt eaſily retained, they faſten themſelves on the memory, without its making any effort to preſerve them, and we are apt to imagine, that what is remembered with eaſe, was written without difficulty.
To conclude; Genius is a rare and precious gem, of which few know the worth; it is fitter for the cabinet of the connoiſſeur, than for the commerce of mankind. Good ſenſe is a bank-bill, convenient for change, negotiable at all times, and current in all places. It knows the value of ſmall things, and conſiders that an aggregate of them makes up the ſum of human affairs. It elevates common concerns into matters of importance, by performing them in the beſt manner, and at the moſt ſuitable ſeaſon. Good ſenſe carries with it the idea of equality, while Genius is always ſuſpected of a deſign to impoſe the burden of ſuperiority; and reſpect is paid to it with that reluctance which always attends other impoſts, the lower orders of mankind generally repining moſt at demands, by which they are leaſt liable to be affected.
Asit is the character of Genius to penetrate with a lynx's beam intounfathomable abyſſes and uncreated worlds, and to ſee what isnot, ſo it is the property of good ſenſe to diſtinguiſh perfectly, and judge accurately what reallyis. Good ſenſe has not ſo piercing an eye, but it has as clear a ſight: it does not penetrate ſo deeply, but as far as itdoesſee, it diſcerns diſtinctly. Good ſenſe is a judicious mechanic, who can produce beauty and convenience out of ſuitable means; but Genius (I ſpeak with reverence of the immeaſurable diſtance) bears ſome remote reſemblance to the divine architect, who produced perfection of beauty without any viſible materials,who ſpake, and it was created; who ſaid,Let it be, and it was.