But as William, though a powerful prince, and the prime mover of the political machine of Europe, was regarded in England, by one half of the nation, as only the head of a faction, many of the nobility and gentry kept at a distance from court; so that the advance of taste and politeness was very inconsiderable, till the reign of queen Anne. Then the splendour of heroic actions called off, for a time, the attention of all parties from political disputes, to contemplate the glory of their country. Then appeared a crowd of great men, whose characters are well known, and whose names are familiar to every ear. Then were displayed the strong talents and elegant accomplishments of a Marlborough, a Godolphin, a Somers, a Harley and a St. John. Then subsisted in full force that natural connection between the learned and the great, by which the latter never fail to be gainers. Swift, Addison, Congreve, Rowe, Steel, Vanburgh, Prior, Pope, and other men of genius in that age, not only enjoyed the friendship and familiarity of the principal persons in power, but most of them in early life obtained places in some of the less burdensome departments of government, which put it in their power to pass the rest of their days in ease and independency. Thus raised to respect, above the necessity of writing for bread, and enabled to follow their particular vein, 5. The man, who rolling in rishes, could make the following unfeel, ing remark deserves no mercy from the candidates for literary merit, none from the prosecutors of the elegant arts-from the poet or the painter, whatever admiration he may profess for their labours; " Want of protec"tion is the apology for want of genius. A poet or a painter may want an "equipage or a villa, by wanting protection; they can always afford to "buy ink and paper, colours and pencils." (Anecdotes of Painting in England, vol. 1. pref. p. vii.) But who is to afford them a subsistence, till they can finish an ingenious work, and what is subsistence without encouragement? without the animating hopes of fame? which in most minds require the fostering hand of patronage, or protection. Hence the more just and generous sentiment of Gray, in speaking of obscure and neglected bards. "Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, those several of those men of genius united their talents, in furnishing the public with a daily paper, under the name of the SPECTATOR; which, by combatting, with reason and raillery, the faults in composition and the improprie. ties in behaviour, as well as the reigning vices and follies, had a wonderful effect upon the taste and manners of the nation. It contributed greatly to polish and improve both. Such a monitor was indeed much wanted. The comedies of Vanburg, so justly admired for their genuine humour and ease of dialogue, are shockingly licentious; and the principal characters in the greater part of Congreve's pieces, where wit sparkles with unborrowed brilliancy, are so libertine or prostitute, as to put virtue and decency utterly out of countenance. Even the last pieces of Dryden, then considered as models of elegance, are by no means sufficiently delicate in sentiment. Like all the authors formed under the reign of Charles II. he still represents love as an appetite rather than a passion. His celebrated tale of Sigismond and Guiscardo, the most pathetic of all his FABLES, is not free from this fault. Thy little care to mend my widow'd nights," says Sigismonda to her father, "Has forced me to recourse of marriage rites, "To fill an empty side, and follow known delights. "Nor need'st thou by thy daughter to be told, "Though now thy sprightly blood with age be cold"Thou hast been young, and canst remember still, "That when thou hadst the power, thou hadst the will, "And from the past experience of thy fires, "Canst tell with what a tide our strong desires "Come rushing on in youth, and what their rage re "quires." Women This may all be very natural in the abstract. of certain complexions, the slaves of animal appetite, may be under the tyranny of such desires; but they are VOL. V. surely not common to the sex; and we sympathize a little with those ravenous and inordinate passions, as we do with an immoderate call for food. In the mouth of so accomplished a princess as Sigismonda, such gross sentiments can only excite disgust. They are alike unsuitable to her character, her condition, and her enthusiastic passion. Dryden knew nothing of the female heart, and little of the heart of man. Having no sensibility himself, he wanted that sympathetic chord which alone could conduct him to the bosoms of others, and enable him to raise correspondent emotions'. I Prior's Henry and Emma is the first poem of any length in our language, in which love is treated with becoming delicacy; if we except those of the epic and dramatic kind by Spencer, Shakspeare, and Milton. cannot forbear quoting the following lines, though perhaps inferior in poetical merit, as a contrast to the sentiments of Sigismonda. Emma speaks: "When from the cave thou risest with the day 6. The extravagant praise lately paid to this tale by a popular critic, has led me to be thus particular, in order to prevent an indiscriminate admiration, raised by the magic of verse, and supported by such high authority, from corrupting the taste and the morals of youth. 7. A Stronger proof of this assertion cannot possibly be given than in the sorrow of Sigismonda over the heart of her beloved husband; which, instead of drawing tears of compassion down the most obdurate cheek, as might have been expected, must fill every reader of taste and sentiment with contempt. The heart was in a cup. ." Though once I meant to meet "My fate with face unmov'd, and eyes unwet; "My tears shall set thee first afloat within my tomb!" The "The choicest herbs I to thy board will bring, "And draw thee water from the freshest spring. ་་ My thoughts shall fix, my latest wish depend “On thee, guide, guardian, kinsman, father, friend! "By all these sacred names be Henry known "To Emma's heart; and grateful let him own, "That she, of all mankind, could love but him alone." To Prior we are also indebted for the art of telling a gay story with ease, grace, and levity. He is the first English poet who has united elegance and correctness. His Alma is a delightful performance of the burlesque kind; and his Solomon, though somewhat tedious for want of incident, has great and various merit. It is a school of wisdom, and a banquet of intellectual pleasure. Our polite literature, in all its branches, now tended fast towards perfection. Steel freed English comedy from the licentiousness of former writers. If he has not all the wit of Congreve, or the humour of Vanburgh, he is more chaste and natural than either. He knew life well, and has given us in his comedies, as well as in his numerous papers in the Tatler and Spectator, many just and lively pictures of the manners of that age of half refinement. Rowe, in like manner, purified our tragic poetry, by excluding from his best pieces all grossly sensual descriptions as well as impious and indelicate expressions. Though intimately acquainted with the best models, both ancient and modern, he may be deemed an original writer. His plots and his sentiments are chiefly his own. If he paints the passions with less force and truth than Shakspeare or Otway, he is free from the barbarism of the one, and the licentiousness of the other; and his tragedies abound with so many noble and generous sentiments, introduced without any flagrant violation of the propriety of character or the verisimilitude of nature, that they continue to give pleasure, after half a century, equally in the closet and on the stage. This favourable reception proceeds partly from what has been considered as his greatest fault: he is never sublime in the the highest degree, or pathetic in the extreme, but always tender, interesting, and elevating. Terror and pity, the two throbbing pulses of tragedy, are not carried, in his compositions, to a painful excess. His language is rich, and his versification is easy and flowing; but it wants vigour. Like most of our dramatic writers, he frequently violates not only the critical, but the rational unities of time and place, and to the great injury of the general effect of every piece in which such liberty is taken. I have already had occasion to explain myself on this subject in speaking of the plays of Shakespear3. Addison's Cato has more vigour of versification than the tragedies of Rowe, but less ease. It is, however, a noble effort of cultivated genius; and notwithstanding its supposed want of pathos, because it provokes no womanish tears, it is perhaps our best modern tragedy. Addison has also written verses on various subjects both in English and Latin, and is always polished and correct, though not enthusiastically poetical. But whatever merit he may have as a poet, he is great, as a prose writer. Swift had given perspicuity and conciseness to the clouded redundancy of Clarendon, and compactness to the loose, though harmonious periods of Temple; but it was left to Addison to furnish elegance and grace, and to enchant us with all the magic of humour, and all the attractive charms of natural and moral beauty. He wrote the most admired papers in the Spectator, Tatler, Guardian, and other publications of the same kind. In those papers he has discussed an infinite variety of subjects, both comic and serious, and has 8. Part 11. LET. XIX. There, it was observed, that the scene may be shifted, or, in other words, the place changed, to any distance consistent with probability, and that any portion of time may elapse between the acts, not destructive of the unity of the fable, without imparing the effect of the representation, or disturbing the dream of reality; but that no such change can be made in the middle of an act without an injury to both, as the chain of emotions must by that means be broken, as well as the connection of ideas, and the spectator left nearly in the same cool and disengaged state of mind as when he entered the theatre, or when the act began. treated |