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fiatness of prose.
Aristotle calls foreign language, and with which Milton has su very much enriched, and in some places darkened the language of his poem, was the more proper for his use, because his poem is written in blank verse. Rhyme, without any other assistance, throws the language off from prosey and very ofien makes an indifferent phrase pass unregarded ; but where the verse is not built upon rhymes, there pomp sound, and energy of expression, are indispensably neces. sary to support the stile, and keep it from falling into the
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 expression, would do well to see how Aristotle has treated an ancient author called Euclid, for his insipid mirth upon this occasion. Mr. Dryden used to call this sort of men his prose critics.
I should, under this head of the language, consider Milton's Numbers, in which le has made use of several elisions, that are not customary among other English poets, as may be particularly observed in his cutting off the letter Y, when it precedes a vowel. This and some other innovations in the measure of his verse, has varied his numbers in such a Danner, as makes them incapable of satiating the ear and cloying the reader, which the same uniform measure would cer ainly have done, and which the perpeiual returns of Thyme never fail to do in long narrative poems. I shall close these refiections upon the language of Paradise Lost, with observing that Milton has copied after Homer, rather than Virgil, in the lenath of his periods, the copiou: ness of his phrases, and the running of his verses into one another.
I HAVE now considered Milton's Paradise Lost under those four great heads of the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language; and have shown that he excels, in general, under each of these heads. I hope that I have made several discoveries which may appear new, even 10 those who are versed in critical learning. Were I indeed to choose my readers, by whose judginent 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 cither of the learned languages,
Above all, I would have threm well versed in the Greek and Latin poers, without which a man very often fancies that he understands a critic, when in reality he does not comprehend his meaning.
It is in criticism, as in all other sciences and speculations; one who brings with hiin any implicit noticns and observations which he has made in his reading of the poets, will fi d his own reflections met hodized and explained, and pe: haps several little hints hat 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 utier stranger to what he reads, and apt to put a wrong interpretation upon it.
Nor is it sufficient, that a man who sets 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 perspicuity. Aristotle, who was the best critic, was also one of the best logicians that ever appeared in the world.
Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Understanding would be thought a very odd book for a man to make himself master of, who would get a reputation by critical writings ; though at the same time it is very certain, that an author, who has not learned the art of distinguishing between words and things, and of ranging his thoughts, and serting them in proper lights, whatever notions he may have, will lose himself in confusion and obscurity. I might farther obServe, that there is not a Greek or Latin critic who has not shown, even in the stile of his criticisms, that he was a master of the elegance and delicacy of his native tongue.
The truth of it is, there is nothing more absurd than for a man to set up for a critic, without a good insight into all the parts of learning; whereas many of those who have endeavcured to signalize themselves by works of this nature among our English writers, are not only defective in the above-mentioned particulars, but plainly discover, by the phrases which they make use of, and by their confused way of thinking, that they are not acquainted with the most com
mon 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 hus neither taste nor learning, is this, that he seldom ventures to praise 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 succeed in, that we find every ordinary rcader, upon the publishing of a new poem, has wit and ill-nature enough to turn several passages of it into ridicule, and very often in the right place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably remarked in those two celebrated lines,
Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
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 exquisite words, and finest strokes 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 sour 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 expression, and to turn it into ridicule by a cold ill-natured criticism. A little wit is equally capable of exposing 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 amons 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 pas. sage, not because there is any fault in it, but because he can be merry upon it. Such kinds of pleasantry 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 Lost, I thought fit to premise ihese 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 endeavouring to infiame them with ridicule. I must also observe with Longinus, thaç the productions of a great genius, with many lapses and inadvertencies, are infinitely preferable to the works of an in. terior kind of author, which are scrupulously exact and con. formable 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 sort 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 suitable return for the trouble he had been at in collecting them. In order to this, he set before him a sack of wheat, as it had been just threshed cut of the sheaf. He then bid him pick out the chaff from among the corn, and lay it aside by itself. The critic applied himself to the task with great industry and pleasure, and af:er having made the due separation, was presented by Apollo with the chaff for his pains.
AFTER what I have said, I shall enter on the subject withoạt further preface, and remark the several 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 said 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 simple or inplex. It is called simple, when there is no change of fortune in it; implex when the fo tune 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 passione 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 dan. gers and difficulties, till he arrives at honour and prosperity, as we see in the story of Ulysses. In the second, the chief actor in the poem falls from some eminent pitch of honour and prosperity; into misery and disgrace. Thus we see Adam and Eve sinking from a state of innocence and happiness, into the most abject condition of sin and sor.
The most taking tragedies among the Ancients were built on this last sort of implex fable, particularly the tragedy of Edipus, which proceeds upon a story, if we may be. lieve Aristotle, the most proper for tra edy that could be invented by the wit of man. I have iaken some pains in a former paper, to show that this kind of implex fable, wherein the event is unhappy, is more apt to affect any audience than that of the first kind; notwithstanding many excellent pieces among the Ancients, .s 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 hervic poem.
Milton seems to have been sensible of this imperfection in his fable, and has therefore endeavoured to cure it by several expedients; particularly by the mortification which the
great adversary of mankind meets with upon his return