ners. He who sits at a play, without understanding the dialect, may, indeed, discover which of the actors are best dressed, and how well the scenes are painted or disposed; but the characters and conduct of the drama must for ever remain a secret to him. Adieu. I am, &c. V. TO CLYTANDER. IF I had been a party in the conversation you mention, I should have joined, I believe, with your friend, in supporting those sentiments you seem to condemn. I will venture, indeed, to acknowledge, that I have long been of opinion, the moderns pay too blind a deference to the ancients; and though I have the highest veneration for several of their remains, yet I am inclined to think, they have occasioned us the loss of some excellent originals. They are the proper and best guides, I allow, to those who have not the force to break out into new paths but whilst it is thought sufficient praise to be their followers, genius is checked in her flights, and many a fair tract lies undiscovered in the boundless regions of imagination. Thus, had Virgil trusted more to his native strength, the Romans, perhaps, might have seen an original epic in their language; but Homer was considered by that admired poet as the sacred object of his first and principal attention; and he seemed to think it the noblest triumph of genius, to be adorned with the spoils of that glorious chief. : You will tell me, perhaps, that even Homer himself was indebted to the ancients; that the full streams he dispensed did not flow from his own source, but were derived to him from a higher. This, I acknowledge, has been asserted; but asserted without proof, and, I may venture to add, without probability. He seems to have stood alone and unsupported; and to have stood, for that very reason, so much the nobler object of admiration. Scarce, indeed, I imagine, would his works have received that high regard which was paid to them from their earliest appearance, had they been formed upon prior models; had they shone only with reflected light. But will not this servile humour of subjecting the powers of invention to the guidance of the ancients, account, in some degree, at least, for our meeting with so small a number of authors who can claim the merit of being originals? Is not this a kind of submission, that damps the fire, and weakens the vigour of the mind? For the ancients seem to be considered by us, as so many guards to prevent the free excursions of imagination, and set bounds to her flight. Whereas, they ought rather to be looked upon (the few, I mean, who are themselves originals) as encouragements to a full and uncontrolled exertion of her faculties. But if here or there a poet has courage enough to trust to his own unassisted reach of thought, his example does not seem so much to incite others to make the same adventurous attempts, as to confirm them in the humble disposition of imitation: for if he succeeds, he immediately becomes himself the occasion of a thousand models: if he does not, he is pointed out as a discouraging instance of the folly of renouncing those established leaders which antiquity has authorised. Thus invention is depress ed, and genius enslaved; the creative power of poetry is lost; and the ingenious, instead of exerting that productive faculty, which alone can render them the just objects of admiration, are humbly contented with borrowing both the materials and the plans of their mimic structures. I am, &c. VI. TO ORONTES. March 10, 1729. THERE is nothing, perhaps, wherein mankind are more frequently mistaken than in the judgments which they pass on each other. The stronger lines, indeed, in every man's character, must always be marked too clearly and distinctly to deceive even the most careless observer; and no one, I am persuaded, was ever esteemed in the general opinion of the world, as highly deficient in his moral or intellectual qualities, who did not justly merit his reputation. But I speak only of those more nice and delicate traits which distinguish the several degrees of probity and good sense, and ascertain the quantum (if I may so express it) of human merit. The powers of the soul are so often concealed by 'modesty, diffidence, timidity, and a thousand other accidental affections; and the nice complexion of her moral operations depends so entirely on those internal principles from whence they proceed, that those who form their notions of others by casual and distant views, must unavoidably be led into very erroneous judgments. Even Orontes, with all his candour and penetration, is not, I perceive, entirely secure from mistakes of this sort; and the sentiments you expressed in your last letter con cerning Varus, are by no means agreeable to the truth of his character. It must be acknowledged, at the same time, that Varus is an exception to all general rules: neither his head nor his heart are exactly to be discovered by those indexes which are usually supposed to point directly to the genius and temper of other men. Thus, with a memory that will scarce serve him for the common purposes of life, with an imagination even more slow than his memory, and with an attention that could not carry him through the easiest proposition in Euclid; he has a sound and excellent understanding, joined to a refined and exquisite taste. But the rectitude of his sentiments seems to arise less from reflection than sensation; rather from certain suitable feelings, which the objects that present themselves to his consideration instantly occasion in his mind, than from the energy of any active faculties which he is capable of exerting for that purpose. His conversation is unentertaining; for though he talks a great deal, all that he utters is delivered with labour and hesitation. Not that his ideas are really dark and confused; but because he is never contented to convey them in the first words that occur. Like the orator mentioned by Tully, metuens ne vitiosum colligeret, etiam verum sanguinem deperdebat, he expresses himself ill by always endeavouring to express himself better. His reading cannot so properly be said to have rendered him knowing, as not ignorant : it has rather enlarged than filled his mind. His temper is as singular as his genius; and both equally mistaken by those who only know him a little. If you were to judge of him by his general appearance, you would believe him incapable of all the more delicate sensations; nevertheless, under a rough and boisterous behaviour, he conceals a heart full of tenderness and humanity. He has a sensibility of nature, indeed, beyond what I ever observed in any other man; and I have often seen him affected by those little circumstances, which would make no impression on a mind of less exquisite feelings. This extreme sensibility in his temper influences his speculations as well as his actions; and he hovers between various hypotheses without settling upon any, by giving importance to those minuter difficulties, which would not be strong enough to suspend a more active and vigorous mind. In a word, Varus is in the number of those whom it is impossible not to admire, or not to despise; and, at the same time that he is the esteem of all his friends, he is the contempt of all his acquaintance. Adieu. I am, &c. VII. TO HORTENSIUS. YOUR excellent brawn wanted no additional recommendation to make it more acceptable, but that of your company. However, though I cannot share it with my friend, I devote it to his memory, and make daily offerings of it to a certain divinity, whose temples, though now well-nigh deserted, were once held in the highest veneration; she is mentioned by ancient authors, under the name and title of Diva Amicitia. To her I bring the victim' you have furnished me with, in all the pomp of Roman rites. Wreathed with the sacred vitta, and |