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industry, it is owing, that Enamel Painting has become a highly useful branch of a liberal art; and, as it is no longer confined to things merely ornamental, no longer differing from any other mode of painting as much in its effect as process, it consequently assumes the appearance of highly finished oil-painting, with the advantage of perpetual durability. As Enamel Painting, from its nature, must be always copied, the style of the original should be so scrupulously observed, as to convey an instantaneous recollection of the painter. In this respect, the works of Mr. Bone are preeminent, whether the severity of Leonardo, the purity of Raphael, the glow of Titian, or the splendour of Rubens, is entrusted to his pencil, each is alike successfully pourtrayed.

The greatest performance of this justly celebrated Artist, and that which would alone convey his name to posterity, is the Series of Enamel Paintings of Illustrious Characters in the Reign of Elizabeth. We are extremely happy to find that this splendid collection will be open to public inspection, during the months of May and June; and we cannot excite the public curiosity more effectually than by annexing a list of the distinguished characters that compose this interesting series.

WILLIAM CAMDEN, Historian and Antiquary Author of Britannia.


GEORGE LORD SETONE, who aided Mary Queen of Scots in her escape from Lochleven Castle.

EDWARD COURTNEY, the last Earl of Devonshire of that name.


SIR WILLIAM CECIL, LORD BUrleigh. MARY QUEEN OF Scors, aged 17 years.

SIR NICHOLAS BACON, Lord Keeper. THE LADY ELIZABETH, afterwards Queen, about 25 years old.


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SIR ROBERT CECIL, second Son of Lord Burleigh.



LUCY, COUNTess of Bedford.

SIR FRANCIS DRAKE, the first Circumnavigator.


JOHN ASTLEY, Master of the Jewel Office.

HENRY WRIOTESLEY, third Earl of Southampton.

SIR NICHOLAS THROCKMORTON. SIR JOHN NORRIS, who commanded the Forces in Ireland.

BEN JOHNSON, Dramatic Poet. THOMAS SACKVILLE, first Earl of Dorset.


SIR THOMAS SMYTHE, a learned Writer, &c.

SIR WALTER MILDMAY, Privy Councellor.


JOHN FLETCHER, Dramatic Poet, &c. FRANCIS BEAUMONT, Dramatic Poet. SIR THOMAS GRESHAM, Merchant. George CliffORD, Earl of Cumberland.

EDWARD CLINTON, Earl of Lincoln. FRANCIS, Second Earl of Bedford. EDMUND SPENCER, Poet, &c. THOMAS RADCLIFFE, Earl of Sussex. SIR RICHARD BYNGHAM, Governor of Connaught, &c.

HENRY FITZ-ALLAN, the last Earl of Arundel of that name.


LADY HUNSDON, Wife of Lord Hunsdon.

AMBROSE DUDLEY, Earl of Warwick. LADY COOKE, Wife of Sir Anthony Cooke.

THOMAS SUTTON, Soldier and Merchant.

SIR THOMAS EGERTON, Founder of the House of Bridgwater.

MARY Queen of Scots, aged 32 years. ROBERT DUDLEY, Earl of Leicester. LADY ANNE RUSSELL, Countess of Warwick.

SIR MARTIN Frobister, who commanded against the Armada.

MATHEW PARKER, Archbishop of Canterbury.

The Countess of LINCOLN, the Fair Geraldine.

Walter DeveREUX, Earl of Essex.


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No. III.


I HAVE already observed, that a late writer of an "Essay on Genius," maintains that Pope had too much of that faculty to excel in poetry. If all men agreed to attach one fixed and determinate idea to this ambiguous term, we would have then sufficient grounds for enquiring into the truth of the assertion; but if the ingenious writer of this Essay mean by genius something that no man means but himself, who can pretend to contradict him. If genius be an attribute of mind unfavourable to poetry, and if Pope possessed this attribute in an extraordinary degree, no doubt the assertion is true; but then it must be recollected, that no man can excel in poetry who has not received a certain gift from nature, and if genius be not this certain gift, a question naturally suggests itself; What is it? All men have agreed to call it genius, and if the precept that usus est jus et norma loquendi has been universally admitted; if no other name has been invented to express that faculty which enabled Pope to "lisp in numbers for the numbers came,'


are necessarily obliged to retain a term which has been sanctioned by the authority of all ages to express that faculty, without which no man can be a poet. I believe, however, that if we adopt the distinction which I have made between genius and intellectual powers, we shall have little difficulty in ascertaining what that faculty is which abounded in Pope, and which placed him on too proud and elevated a situation to excel in poetry. Pope, then, had in my opinion, too discerning, too thoughtful, and too philosophic a mind to excel in the softer charms and delightful blandishments of the enchanting muse: or, in other words, he thought too much, and felt too little. His strength and powers of mind surpassed the vigour and energy of his feelings; and this, I have no hesitation to say, was the character of Milton's genius. Perhaps it may be thought to derogate from the character and fame Eur. Mag. Vol. 81. April 1822.

of this immortal poet, to place him in the same class with Pope; for the general opinion is, that if he does not rank above Homer, at least he ranks next to him. It is obvious however, from what I have observed in the preceding part of this Essay, that the merits of a writer cannot be ascertained from the class to which he belongs, but from the rank which he holds in that class; for it must be recollected, that I am not now writing criticisms on the merits of his works, and that my object is to ascertain the mould, stamp, or character of the mind, by which these works were produced. The classes into which I have divided writers, embrace prose writers as well as poets; but it is certain that those who belong to the first class are more formed to excel in poetry than either of the other three. As to the last class, they can have no pretensions to it, and the nearer any writer approaches to them, the farther he recedes from that original structure of mind which peculiarly qualifies its possessor to excel in poetry. If Milton, then, belongs not to the first class, it does not necessarily follow, that he is less to be admired than Homer; though it certainly follows that if he excels him, his excellence must be of a different character. A writer has considerable difficulty in making himself clearly understood on certain subjects; and perhaps there is no subject that eludes the tenacity of human reasoning more than enquiries into the mental and sensitive faculties.

In the instance before us, it is difficult to conceive how Milton can equal Homer, unless he equals him as a poet, both of them being known to us only as poets, and both deriving all the celebrity they possess from poetry alone. To make this clearly understood, we must observe, that poetry possesses all the charms, of which prose is capable, and some of which it is incapable. Whatever serves to ennoble the style of a prose writer, may be transferred to poetry, though every thing that tends


to give poetry its charm, cannot be transferred to prose. Sublimity, beauty, elegance, correctness, simplicity, &c. belong as much to the one as to the other, but when we read a sublime passage in poetry, we are apt to speak of its author as a great poet not as a sublime writer. If, however, there were nothing in this passage to distinguish it from prose, but its sublimity, it is certain that the writer of it could have no claim whatever to be entitled a poet. It is obvious, then, that if sublimity alone cannot render a passage poetical, there must be some other essential ingredient necessary to do so; and it is by the quantity of this ingredient which writers infuse into their work, that their poetical merits must be decided. If we suppose then two writers, one of whom abounds in this ingredient, the other in sublimity of conception, it is obvious that the first excels as a poet, the second as a sublime writer. The latter, consequently, cannot be a greater poet than the first though he may be far more sublime than the other is poetical. His sublimity, however, makes him neither more nor less poetical, as a writer who has no talent whatever for poetry may be more sublime than he is, though it is certain that if he unite sublimity of conception with the true poetic spirit, he attains to an excellence which is placed beyond the reach of those who are poetic without being sublime, or sublime without being poetic.

But it will be asked, what is it that renders a passage poetic without the aid of sublimity, elegance, correctness, or any other quality of fine writing except itself? I reply, that the pathetic is the true poetic, because the object of poetry is to affect the feelings and the heart;-to rouse every latent faculty of the soul, and to give life, and soul, and spirit, and animation to every scene which it creates, and to every passion which it describes. If therefore, three writers were to write on the same subject, each of whom aimed at being sublime and poetic, at the same moment, and if one excelled in the sublime, though he failed in the pathetic, another excelled in the pathetic, but could not rise to the sublime, and the third excelled in both, it is obvious that the first was no poet, though a sublime writer, and the two latter equally poetic, though not equal in point of general

excellence. If then Homer be more pathetic than Milton, it necessarily follows that he is more poetic, should it even appear that he was less sublime. To determine then whether Homer or Milton excelled most in the true poetic spirit, we must compare the most pathetic passages in their works with each other, not the most sublime. It is the passage that fires us with rapture, enthusiasm, and delight, not that which perplexes our understanding by its greatness, that will always be deemed most poetic. To judge of Homer and Milton by this standard, I fear the result would be greatly to the disadvantage of the latter. Homer, throughout the Iliad, seems to write purely as he feels, without having ever bestowed a thought on the propriety or impropriety of what he says. We can discover no traces of deliberation, comparison, judgment, &c. in his works, because the ardour and energy that reign throughout, prevent us from attending to the art of the poet, the genius which designed so daring a structure, or the skill which connected its individual members into one harmonious whole. He makes us feel rather than think, and so strongly are our feelings excited by his descriptions, that we never stop to examine whether his representations be true or false, whether they be sense or nonsense. In Milton, on the contrary, we examine critically every sentence, because we find ourselves accosted by a writer of strong sense, and powerful reasoning, who is more studious of saying what is right, than what would banish all ideas of right and wrong from our minds. It is true, Milton is often as interesting as his subject will permit him, but this is not his general character. He scarcely begins to ani mate and inspire us with the ardour of his description when he lets the interest drop, and makes us begin once more to examine and reflect upon every word he says. The pleasure, however, which we derive from poetry, does not arise from the critical degree of attention which we pay to every expression of the poet. The more we find ourselves obliged to examine, the less we feel ourselves pleased. The writer who pleases, is he whom we never think of examining at all; or, in other words, the writer who pleases us, is he who speaks only to our feelings, because man is more the creature of feeling

than of reason. The utmost that reason, and all the acquirements which are gained by a diligent exercise of its powers, can affect, is to convey a moral satisfaction to the mind; for reason is acquired by a long and unwearied exercise of our intellectual faculties; it is not born with us, and therefore it is incapable of inspiring natural emotions or passions. On the contrary, its tendency is to controul, and if its progress be not attended by feeling, ultimately to eradicate from the breast, all the original feelings which are implanted in it by nature. Reason is therefore no source of pleasure, but pleasure or "happiness is" always"the sovereing feeling of poetry." It is not therefore the poet who reasons, but the poet who feels, and who makes us feel, who revels in the luxuriance of sensible representations, and selects all his images from subjects connected with feeling alone, that carries us lightly along through the Elysian creations of poetry; and who will always continue to be read with new and encreasing interest. So much are we the creatures of feeling, and so little is reason attended to while feeling enchants us by the witchery of her seductive smiles, that we are frequently fired to rapture, or filled with indignation, jealousy, or any other passion which the poet wishes to excite, though we find that the passage or passages by which we are thus transported, contains the most execrable, impious, and blasphemous sentiments, the moment we subject them to the tribunal of reason. Who can read without emotion, (and emotions of all kind are pleasing to the soul,) the following passage in which Satan blasphemes God, and expresses his resolution never to "repent or change."

"Yet not for those, Nor what the potent victor in his rage Can else inflict, do I repent or change, Though changed in outward lustre that fixed mind,

And high disdain from sense of injured merit,

That with the mightiest raised me to con-

And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of spirits armed,

That durst dislike his reign, and me pre-

His utmost power, with adverse power opposed

In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the
field be lost;

All is not lost, the unconquerable will
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage, never to submit or yield.
And what is else not to be overcome;
That glory never shall his wrath or
Extort from me.

To bow and sue for

With suppliant knee, and deify his power,
Who from the terror of this arm so late
Doubted his empire; that were low indeed,
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall, since by fate the strength

of Gods,

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Paradise Lost, Book I.

Here is a passage which no man but he who is "fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils," can read without emotion. But whence does this emotion arise ? not, surely, because reason, or virtue, or morality, or religion, approves of Satan's blasphemy, but because the blasphemy is artfully concealed from our view, and our reason is not called forth to detect the rancour and malignity which characterizes this impious speech of Satan. If Satan had here acknowledged the benificent meekness, forbearance, and all the milder and celestial attributes of that all-merciful Being, whom he dared to oppose, we should then, so far from sympathizing with him, or with

"That fixed mind, And high disdain, from sense of injured merit,

That with the mightiest raised" him "to contend,"

turn from him with horror, and perceive instinctively the black enormity and serpent nature of the fiend, who "vaunted aloud" his opposition to the Deity; and the interest which we unconsciously take in his fate, would immediately cease. Milton, however, very judiciously keeps the goodness of the

Deity out of sight, not but he knew that all his readers were already acquainted with it, but he knew also (and Homer seemed to be still better acquainted with this truth than Milton,) that, in poetry, the reader is only af fected by what is placed before him, while the poet addresses himself to his feelings alone, but that the moment he addresses himself to his understanding, he then suffers nothing to escape him, and he perceives many things connected with his subject on which the poet perhaps never bestowed a thought. the Deity were such a being as Satan's If speech would incline us to believe, every assertion of his, would justly raise him in our esteem: it is a speech that would become Brutus, had he lived, after the battle of Phillippi, substituing Cæsar for God, and Rome, &c. for Heaven; but the poet has artfully avoided using any expression that would make us think otherwise, or put us in mind of the goodness of the Being against whom Satan thunders his vindictive wrath.

In poetry, then, we are altogether governed by our feelings; and where reason is brought in to argue with them, they immediately take their departure, and leave her to enjoy the wisdom of her own councils. Unhappily, however, she cannot enjoy without feeling, for all enjoyments are only modes of feeling; so that when reason is left alone, and deserted by feeling, she may present herself to us in the most harmonious language which the poet can devise, but we look upon her with the greatest calmness, and unconcern, and seem to tell her that we did not expect to be favoured with her company at present; that we are sensible of the honour which she confers upon us, but that we would more willingly enjoy it, at another time, and in other company, than that of the Muses. The fact is, that though the poet requires to have reason always at his elbow, she must never appear in his writings except in a mask, and when he reasons most profoundly, he must not seem to reason at all. Every thing in poetry, should seem to have life and sense in it; and all its images should be such as affect the feelings and the heart, not the reasoning or perceptive faculties. It is in this, Milton appears to me to have failed, and Homer to have excelled all mankind.


reasons and moralizes too much:his reasoning is what passion excites, Homer scarcely at all; or if he does, comparison and enquiry. It is the reaand not the calm result of deliberation, son of passion, however, and not of deliberation or of truth, that affects us in poetry. This truth cannot, perhaps, ring the emotions produced by the be better exemplified, than by compaspeech of God to his Son, vindicating his own conduct towards the Angels, to those produced by the foregoing is the profoundest reasoning which speech of Satan. The following speech Milton could put into the mouth of phemous and impious, but yet far more God, while Satan's speech was blaspoetical than the following, simply beand of passion alone. cause it was the language of feeling

"Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.

Not free, what proof could they have given sincere

Of true allegiance, constant faith or love, Where only what they needs must do appeared,

Not what they would? what praise could they receive?

What pleasure I from such obedience paid When will and reason (reason also is choice)

Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd,

Made passive both, had served necessity, Not me? They therefore as to right belonged,

So were created, nor can justly accuse
Their Maker, or their making, or their

As if predestination over-ruled
Their will, disposed by absolute decree
Or high foreknowledge; they themselves


Foreknowledge had no influence on their Their own revolt, not I: if I foreknew, fault,

Which had no less proved certain unfore


So without least impulse or shadow of fate,
Or ought by me immutably foreseen,
They trespass, authors to themselves in all
Both what they judge, and what they
choose; for so

I formed them free and free they must

Till they enthrall themselves; I else must

Their nature, and revoke the high decree
Unchangeable, eternal, which ordained
Their freedom; they themselves ordained
their fall.

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