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becke ont at the same time with s up the whole mass of human imbs and earth, the ace hardened and baked Into stone. The human bides that were delving in iron mines were convertal into those common loadstones which attract that metal. Those which were in search of gl became chryso-magnets, and still keep ther fon.er avance in their present state of pe

trifaction.

Ovid had no sooner given over speaking, but the assembly pronounced their opinions of him. Several were so taken with his easy way of writing, and had to formed their tastes upon it, that they had no relish for any composition which was not framed in the Ovidian manner. A great many, however, were of a contrary opinion, till at length it was determined by a plurality of voices, that Ovid highly deserved the name of a witty man, but that his language was vulgar and trivial, and of the nature of those things which cost no labour in the invention, but are ready found out to a man's hand. In the last place, they all agreed that the greatest objection which lay against Ovid, both as to his life and writings, was his having too much wit, and that he would have succeeded better in both had he rather checked than indulged it. Statius stood up next with a swelling and haughty air, and made the following story the subject of his poem :---

A German and a Portuguese, when Vienna was besieged, having had frequent contests of rivalry, were preparing for a single duel, when on a sudden. the walls were attacked by the enemy. Upon this both the German and Portuguese consented to sacri

fice their private resentments to the public, and to see who could signalize himself most upon the common foe. Each of them did wonders in repelling the enemy from different parts of the wall. The German was at length engaged amidst a whole army of Turks, till his left arm that held the shield was unfortunately lopped off, and he himself so stunned with a blow he had received that he fell down as dead. The Portuguese, seeing the condition of his rival, very generously flew to his succour, dispersed the multitude that were gathered about him, and fought over him as he lay upon the ground. In the mean while the German recovered from his trance, and rose up to the assistance of the Portuguese, who a little after had his right arm, which held his sword, cut off by the blow of a sabre. He would have lost his life at the same time by a spear which was aimed at his back, had not the German slain the person who was aiming at him. These two competitors for fame, having received such mutual obligations, now fought in conjunction, and, as the one was only able to manage the sword and the other a shield, made up but one warrior betwixt them. The Portuguese covered the German while the German dealt destruction among the enemy, At length finding themselves faint with loss of blood, and resolving to perish nobly, they advanced to the most shattered part of the wall, and threw themselves down, with a huge fragment of it, upon the head of the besiegers.

When Statius ceased, the old factions immediately broke out concerning his manner of writing. Some gave him very loud acclamations, such as he had received in his lifetime, declaring him the only man

who had written in a style which was truly heroical, and that he was above all others in his fame as well as in his diction. Others censured him as one who went beyond all bounds in his images and expressions, laughing at the cruelty of his conceptions, the rumbling of his numbers, and the dreadful pomp and bombast of his expressions. There were, however, a few select judges who moderated between both these extremes, and pronounced upon Statius, that there appeared in his style much poetical heat and fire, but withal so much smoke as sullied the brightness of it. That there was a majesty in his verse, but that it was the majesty rather of a tyrant than of a king. That he was often towering among the clouds, but often met with the fate of Icarus. In a word, that Statius. was among the poets what Alexander the Great is among heroes, a man of great virtues and of great faults.

Virgil was the last of the antient poets who produced himself upon this occasion. His subject was the story of Theutilla, which being so near that of Judith in all its circumstances, and at the same time. translated by a very ingenious gentleman in one of Mr. Dryden's miscellanics, I shall here give no further account of it. When he had done, the whole assembly declared the works of this great poet a subject rather for their admiration than for their applause; and that if any thing was wanting in Virgil's poetry it was to be ascribed to a deficiency in the art itself, and not in the genius of this great man. There were, however, some envious murmurs and detractions heard among the crowd, as if there were very frequently verses in him which flagged or wanted spirit, and

were

were rather to be looked upon as faultless than beautiful. But these injudicious censures were heard with a general indignation.

I need not observe to my learned reader, that the foregoing story of the German and Portuguese is almost the same in every particular with that of the two rival soldiers in Cæsar's Commentaries. This prolusion ends with the performance of an Italian poet, full of those little witticisms and conceits which have infected the greatest part of modern poetry.

ON RELIGIOUS FEAR. No. 117.

LOOKING Over the late edition of monsieur Boileau's works, I was very much pleased with the article which he has added to his notes on the translation of Longinus. He there tells us, that the sublime in writing rises either from the nobleness of the thought, the magnificence of the words, or the harmonious and lively turn of the phrase, and that the perfect sublime arises from all these three in conjunction together. He produces an instance of this perfect sublime in four verses from the Athaliah of monsieur Racine. When Abner, one of the chief officers of the court, represents to Joad, the high-priest, that the queen was incensed against him, the high-priest, not in the least terrified at the news, returns this answer:

Celui qui met un frein à la fureur des flots
Sçait aussi des micbans arrêter les complots.
Soumis avec respect à sa volonté sainte,

Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n'ai point d'autre crainte.

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He who ruleth the raging of the sea knows also how to check the designs of the ungodly. I submit myself with reverence to his holy will. O Abner, I fear my God, and I fear none but him.' Such a thought gives no less a sublimity to human nature than it does to good writing. This religious fear, when it is produced by just apprehensions of a divine power, naturally overlooks all human greatness that stands in competition with it, and extinguishes every other terror that can settle itself in the heart of man: it lessens and contracts the figure of the most exalted person; it disarms the tyrant and executioner; and represents to our minds the most enraged and the most. powerful as altogether harmless and impotent.

There is no true fortitude which is not founded upon this fear, as there is no other principle of so settled and fixed a nature. Courage that grows from constitution very often forsakes a man when he has occasion for it; and, when it is only a kind of instinct in the soul, breaks out upon all occasions without judgment or discretion. That courage which proceeds from the sense of our duty, and from the fear of offending him that made us, acts always in an uniform manner, and according to the dictates of right

reason.

What can the man fear, who takes care in all his actions to please a being that is omnipotent? a being who is able to crush all his adversaries? a being that can divert any misfortune from befalling him, or turn any such misforture to his advantage? The person who lives with this constant and habitual regard to the great superintendant. of the world, is indeed sure. that no real evil can come into his lot. Blessings may

appear

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