file, because it is that part of him in which he appears the most singular. The remarks I have here made upon the practice of other poets, with my observations out of Ariftotle, will perhaps alleviate the prejudice which some have taken to his poem upon this account; tho' after all, I must confess, that I think his stile, tho' admirable in general, is in fome places too much tiffened and obscured by the frequent use of those methods, which Ariftotle has prescribed for the raifing of it. several elisions, that are not cu stomary among other English poets, as may be particularly observed in his cutting off the letter r, when it precedes a vowel. This, and some other innovations in the measure of his verse, has varied his numbers, in such a manner, as makes them incapable of fatiating the ear and cloying the reader, which the same uniform measure would certainly have done, and which the perpetual returns of rime never fail to do in long narrative poems. I shall close these reflections upon the language of Paradise Loft, with observing that Milton has copied after Homer, rather than Virgil, in the length of his periods, the copiousness of his phrases, and the running of his verses into one another. This redundancy of those seve ral ways of speech which Aristotle calls forei foreign language, and with which Milton has so very much enriched, and in some places darkned the language of his poem, was the more proper for his use, because his poem is written in blank verse. Rime without any other afI HAVE now confider'd Milton's fistance, throws the language off Paradise Lost under those four great from prose, and very often makes heads of the fable, the characters, an indifferent phrase pass unre- the sentiments, and the language; garded; but where the verse is and have shown that he excels, in not built upon rimes, there pomp general, under each of these heads. of found, and energy of expreffion, are indispensably necessary to support the stile, and keep it from falling into the flatness of prose. Those who have not a taste for this elevation of stile, and are apt to ridicule a poet when he goes out of the common forms of expreffion, would do well to see how Aristotle has treated an ancient author, called Euclid, for his infipid mirth upon this occafion. Mr. Dryden used to call this fort of men his profe-critics. I should, under this head of the language, consider Milton's numbers, in which he has made use of VOL. I. I hope that I have made several discoveries which may appear new, even to those who are versed in critical learning. Were I indeed to choose my readers, by whose judgment I would stand or fall, they should not be such as are acquainted only with the French and Italian critics, but also with the ancient and modern who have written in either of the learned languages. Above all, I would have them well versed in the Greek and Latin poets, without which a man very often fancies that he understands a critic, when in reality he does not comprehend his meaning. I It It is in criticism, as in all other Greek or Latin critic who has not sciences and speculations; one who brings with him any implicit notions and observations which he has made in his reading of the poets, will find his own reflections methodized and explained, and perhaps several little hints that had passed in his mind, perfected and improved in the works of a good critic; whereas one who has not these previous lights, is very often an utter stranger to what he reads, and apt to put a wrong interpretation upon it. Nor is it fufficient, that a man who fets up for a judge in criticism, should have perused the authors above-mentioned, unless he has also a clear and logical head. Without this talent he is perpetually puzzled and perplexed amidst his own blunders, mistakes the sense of those he would confute, or if he chances to think right, does not know how to convey his thoughts to another with clearness and perfpicuity. Aristotle, who was the best critic, was also one of the best logicians that ever appeared in the world. shown, even in the stile of his criticisms, that he was a master of all the elegance and delicacy of his native tongue. The truth of it is, there is nothing more absurd than for a man to fet up for a critic, without a good infight into all the parts of learning; whereas many of those who have endevored to signalize themselves by works of this nature among our English writers, are not only defective in the abovementioned particulars, but plainly difcover by the phrases which they make use of, and by their confufed way of thinking, that they are not acquainted with the most common and ordinary systems of arts and sciences. A few general rules extracted out of the French authors, with a certain cant of words, has sometimes set up an illiterate heavy writer for a most judicious and formidable critic. One great mark, by which you may discover a critic who has neither taste nor learning, is this, that he feldom ventures to praife any passage in an author which has not been before received and applauded by the public, and that his criticism turns wholly upon little faults and errors. This part of a critic is so very easy to fucceed in, that we find every ordinary Mr. Lock's Efssay on Human Understanding would be thought a very odd book for a man to make him self master of, who would get a reputation by critical writings; tho' at the fame time it is very certain, that an author, who has not learn- reader, upon the publishing of a ed the art of diftinguishing between new poem, has wit and ill-nature words and things, and of ranging enough to turn feveral passages of his thoughts, and setting them in it into ridicule, and very often proper lights, whatever notions he may have, will lose himself in confufion and obscurity. I might further observe, that there is not a in the right place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably remarked in those two celebrated lines, Errors, : Errors, like straws, upon the furface flow; He who would search for pearls must dive below. A true critic ought to dwell rather upon excellencies than imperfections, to discover the concealed beauties of a writer, and communicate to the world such things as are worth their observation. The most exquifite words and finest ftrokes of an author are those which very often appear the most doubtful and exceptionable to a man who wants a relish for polite learning; and they are these, which a four undistinguishing critic generally attacks with the greatest violence. Tully observes, that it is very easy to brand or fix a mark upon what he calls verbum ardens, or, as it may be rendered into English, a glowing bold expreffion, and to turn it into ridicule by a cold illnatured criticism. A little wit is equally capable of expofing a beauty, and of aggravating a fault, and though such a treatment of an author naturally produces indignation in the mind of an understanding reader, it has however its effect among the generality of those whose hands it falls into, the rabble of mankind being very apt to think that every thing which is laughed at with any mixture of wit, is ridiculous in itself. Such a mirth as this, is always unseasonable in a critic, as it rather prejudices the reader than convinces him, and is capable of making a beauty, as well as a blemish, the subject of derision. A man, who cannot write with wit on a proper subject, is dull and stupid, but one who shows it in an improper place, is as impertinent and absurd. Besides, a man who has the gift of ridicule, is apt to find fault with any thing that gives him an opportunity of exerting his beloved talent, and very often censures a passage, not because there is any fault in it, but because he can be merry upon it. Such kinds of pleafantry are very unfair and disingenuous in works of criticism, in which the greatest masters, both ancient and modern, have always appeared with a serious and instructive air. As I intend in my next paper to show the defects in Milton's Paradise Loft, I thought fit to premise these few particulars, to the end that the reader may know I enter upon it, as on a very ungrateful work, and that I shall just point at the imperfections, without endevoring to inflame them with ridicule. I must also observe with Longinus, that the productions of a great genius, with many lapses and inadvertencies, are infinitely preferable to the works of an inferior kind of author, which are scrupulously exact and conformable to all the rules of correct writing. I shall conclude my paper with a story out of Boccalini, which sufficiently shows us the opinion that. judicious author entertained of the fort of critics I have been here mentioning. A famous critic, says he, having gathered together all the faults of an eminent poet, made a present of them to Apollo, who received them very graciously, and resolved to make the author a fuitable return for the trouble he had been at in collecting them. In order 12 order to this, he fet before him a sack of wheat as it had been just threshed out of the sheaf. He then bid him 'pick out the chaff from among the corn, and lay it aside by itself. The critic applied himfelf to the task with great industry and pleasure, and after having made the due separation, was presented by Apollo with the chaff for his pains. AFTER what I have faid, I shall enter on the subject without farther preface, and remark the se veral defects which appear in the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language of Milton's Paradise Lost; not doubting but the reader will pardon me, if I allege at the same time whatever may be faid for the extenuation of such defects. The first imperfection which I shall observe in the fable is, that the event of it is unhappy. The fable of every poem is according to Aristotle's division either fimple or implex. It is called fimple when there is no change of fortune in it, implex when the fortune of the chief actor changes from bad to good, or from good to bad. The implex fable is thought the most perfect; I suppose, because it is more proper to stir up the passions of the reader, and to surprise him with a greater variety of accidents. The implex fable is therefore of two kinds: In the first the chief actor makes his way through a long series of dangers and difficulties, till he arrives at honor and profperity, as we fee in the story of Ulysses. In the second, the chief actor in the poem falls from some eminent pitch of honor and profperity into misery and disgrace. Thus we see Adam and Eve sinking from a state of innocence and happiness into the most abject condition of fin and forrow. The most taking tragedies among the Ancients were built on this laft fort of implex fable, particularly the tragedy of Edipus, which proceeds upon a story, if we may believe Aristotle, the most proper for tragedy that could be invented by the wit of man. I have taken some pains in a former paper to show, that this kind of implex fable, wherein the event is unhappy, is more apt to affect an audience than that of of the the first kind; notwithstanding many excellent pieces among the Ancients, as well as most of those which have been written of late years in our own country, are raised upon contrary plans. I must however own, that I think this kind of fable, which is the most perfect in tragedy, is not so proper for an heroic poem. Milton seems to have been fenfible of this imperfection in his fable, and has therefore endevored to cure it by several expedients; particularly by the mortification which the great adversary of mankind meets with upon his return to the affembly of infernal Spirits, as it is defcribed in a beautiful pafsage of the tenth book; and likewife by the vision, wherein Adam at the close of the poem sees his ofspring triumphing over his great enemy, and himself restored to a happier Paradise than that from which he fell. There is another objection againft Milton's fable, which is indeed almost the same with the former, tho placed in a different light, namely, That Aristotle, that the author of an heroic poem should seldom speak himself, but throw as much of his work as he can into the mouths of those who are his principal actors. Aristotle has given no reason for this precept; but I prefume it is because the mind of the reader is more awed and elevated when he hears Æneas or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own persons. Besides that affuming the character of an eminent man is apt to fire the imagination, and raise the ideas of the author. Tully tells us, mentioning his dialogue of old age, in which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a review of it he was agreeably impofed upon, and fancied that it was Cato, and not he himself, who uttered his thoughts on that subject. That the hero in the Paradise Lost is unsuccessful, and by no means a match for his enemies. This gave occafion to Mr. Dryden's reflection, that the Devil was in reality Milton's hero. I think I have obviated this objection in my first paper. The Paradise Loft is an epic, or a narrative poem, and he that looks for an hero in it, searches for that which Milton never intended; but if he will needs fix the name of an hero upon any person in it, 'tis certainly the Meffiah is the hero, both in the principal action, and in the chief episodes. Paganism could not furnish out a real action for a fable greater than that of the Iliad or Æneid, and therefore an heathen could not form a higher notion of a poem than one of that kind which they call an heroic, Whether Milton's is not of a sublimer nature I will not prefume to determin: It is sufficient that I show there is in the Paradise Loft all the greatness of plan, regula- be surprised to find how little in eirity of design, and masterly beau- ther of these poems proceeds from ties which we discover in Homer the authors. Milton has, in the general disposition of his fable, I must in the next place observe, very finely observed this great rule; that Milton has interwoven in the insomuch, that there is scarce a texture of his fable some particu- third part of it which comes from lars which do not seem to have the poet; the rest is spoken either probability enough for an epic by Adam and Eve, or by fome good poem, particularly in the actions or evil Spirit who is engaged either which he ascribes to Sin and Death, in their destruction or defenfe. and the picture which he draws of the Limbo of Vanity, with other passages in the second book. Such allegories rather favor of the spirit in an epic poem. If the poet, even of Spenser and Ariosto, than of Homer and Virgil. and Virgil. In the structure of this poem he has likewife admitted of too many digressions. It is finely observed by If the reader would be at the pains to see how the story of the Iliad and Æneid is delivered by those persons who act in it, he will From what has been here observed, it appears, that digressions are by no means to be allowed of in the ordinary course of his narration, should speak as little as pofsible, he should certainly never let his narration sleep for the sake of any reflections of his own. I have I3 often |