Corrective. The business of this at first was painfully to collate all the various copies of authority, and then, from amidst the variety of readings thus collected, to establish, by good reasons, either the true, or the most probable. In this sense we may call such criticism not only corrective but authoritative. As the number of these corruptions must needs have increased by length of time, hence it has happened that corrective criticism has become much more necessary in these later ages, than it was in others more ancient. Not but that even in ancient days various readings have been noted. Of this kind there are a multitude in the text of Homer; a fact not singular, when we consider his great antiquity. In the comments of Ammonius and Philoponus upon Aristotle, there is mention made of several in the text of that philosopher, which these his commentators compare and examine. We find the same in Aulus Gellius, as to the Roman authors; where it is withal remarkable, that, even in that early period, much stress is laid upon the authority of ancient manuscripts, a reading in Cicero being justified from a copy made by his learned freed-man, Tiro: and a reading in Virgil's Georgics, from a book which had once belonged to Virgil's family. in Greek and Latin, of Arrian's Epictetus (the first of the kind that had any pretensions to be called complete) having rendered themselves, as scholars, lasting ornaments of their country. These two valuable men were the friends of my youth; the companions of my social, as well as my literary hours. I admired them for their erudition; I loved them for their virtues; they are now no moreHis saltem accumulen donis, et fungar inani Munere- AND VIRG. Harris. $175. Criticism may have been abused— yet defended, as of the last Importanc e to the Cause of Literature. But here was the misfortune of this last species of criticism. The best of things may pass into abuse. There were numerous corruptions in many of the finest authors, which neither ancient editions, nor manuscripts, could heal. What then was to be done?-Were forms so fair to remain disfigured, and be seen for ever under such apparent blemishes?— "No (says a critic), Conjecture can cure "all--Conjecture, whose performances are "for the most part more certain than any " thing that we can exhibit from the au"thority of manuscripts."-We will not ask, upon this wonderful assertion, how, if so certain, can it be called conjecture? "Tis enough to observe (be it called as it may) that this spirit of conjecture has too often passed into an intemperate excess; and then, whatever it may have boasted, has done more mischief by far than good. Authors have been taken in hand, like anatomical subjects, only to display the skill and abilities of the artist: so that the end of many an edition seems often to have been no more than to exhibit the great sagacity and erudition of an editor. The joy of the task was the honour of mending, while corruptions were sought with a more than common attention, as each of them afforded a testimony to the editor and his art. But since the revival of literature, to correct has been a business of much more latitude, having continually employed, for two centuries and a half, both the pains of the most laborious, and the wits of the most acute. Many of the learned men before enumerated were not only famous as historical critics, but as corrective also. Such were the two Scaligers (of whom one has been already mentioned, § 170.) the two Casaubons, Salmasius, the Heinsii, Grævius, the Gronovii, Burman, Kuster, Wasse, Bentley, Pearce, and Markland. In the same class, in a rank highly eminent, I place Mr. Toupe, of Cornwall, who, in his emendations upon Suidas, and his edition of Longinus, has shewn a critical acumen, and a compass of learning, And here I beg leave, by way of dithat may justly arrange him with the most gression, to relate a short story concerning distinguished scholars. Nor must I for- a noted empiric. "Being once in a ballget Dr. Taylor, residentiary of St. Paul's, "room crowded with company, he was nor Mr. Upton, prebendary of Rochester. " asked by a gentleman, what he thought The former by his edition of Demosthe- " of such a lady? was it not pity that she nes, (as far as he lived to carry it) by his "squinted ?"-" Squint! Sir!" replied Lysias, by his Comment on the Marmor the doctor, "I wish every lady in the Sandvicense, and other critical pieces; the "room squinted; there is not a man in latter, by his correct and elegant edition," Europe can cure squinting but myself.” But to return to our subject-well indeed would it be for the cause of letters, were this bold conjectural spirit confined to works of second rate, where, let it change, expunge, or add, as happens, it may be tolerably sure to leave matters as they were; or if not much better, at least not much worse: but when the divine geniuses of higher rank, whom we not only applaud, but in a manner revere, when these come to be attempted by petulant correctors, and to be made the subject of their wanton caprice, how can we but exclaim, with a kind of religious ab horrence procul! O! procul este profani! These sentiments may be applied even to the celebrated Bentley. It would have become that able writer, though in literature and natural abilities among the first of his age, had he been more temperate in his criticism upon the Paradise Lost; had he not so repeatedly and injuriously offered violence to its author, from an affected superiority, to which he had no pretence. But the rage of conjecture seems to have seized him, as that of jealousy did Medea: a rage which she confessed herself unable to resist, although she knew the mischiefs it would prompt her to perpetrate. And now to obviate an unmerited censure, (as if I were an enemy to the thing, from being an enemy to its abuse) I would have it remembered, it is not either with criticism or critics that I presume to find fault. The art, and its professors, while they practise it with temper, I truly honour; and think, that were it not for their acute and learned labours, we should be in danger of degenerating into an age of dunces. Indeed critics (if I may be allowed the metaphor) are a sort of masters of the ceremony in the court of letters, through whose assistance we are introduced into some of the first and best company. Should we ever, therefore, by idle prejudices against pedantry, verbal accuracies, and we know not what, come to slight their art, and reject them from our favour, it is well if we do not slight also those classics with whom criticism converses, becoming content to read them in translations, or (what is still worse) in translations of translations, or (what is worse even than that) not to read them at all. And I will be bold to assert, if that should ever happen, we shall speedily return into those days of darkness, out of which we happily emerged upon the revival of ancient literature. Harris. § 176. The Epic Writers come first. It appears, that not only in Greece, but in other countries more barbarous, the first writings were in metre, and of an epic cast, recording wars, battles, heroes, ghosts; the marvellous always, and often the incredible. Men seemed to have thought, that the higher they soared the more important they should appear; and that the common life, which they then lived, was a thing too contemptible to merit imitation. Hence it followed, that it was not till this common life was rendered respectable by more refined and polished manners, that men thought it might be copied, so as to gain them applause. Even in Greece itself, tragedy had attained its maturity many years before comedy, as may be seen by comparing the age of Sophocles and Euripides with that of Philemon and Menander. For ourselves, we shall find most of our most of our first prosaic writers to a pefirst poets prone to a turgid bombast, and dantic stiffness; which rude styles gradually improved, but reached not a classical purity sooner than Tillotson, Dryden, Addison, Shaftsbury, Prior, Pope, Åtterbury, &c. &c. Ibid. § 177. Nothing excellent in literary Performances happens from Chance. As to what is asserted soon after upon the efficacy of causes in works of ingenuity and art, we think, in general, that the effect must always be proportioned to its cause. It is hard for him, who reasons attentively, to refer to chance any superlative production. Effects indeed strike us, when we are not thinking about the cause; yet may we be assured, if we reflect, that a cause there is, and that too a cause intelligent, and rational. Nothing would perhaps more contribute to give us a taste truly critical, than on every occasion to investigate this cause, and to ask ourselves, upon feeling any uncommon effect, why we are thus delighted; why thus affected; why melted into pity; why made to shudder with horror? Till this why is well answered, all is § 178. The Causes or Reasons of such Excellence. To explain, by a few examples, that are known to all, and for that reason here alleged, because they are known. I am struck with the night scene in Virgil's fourth Eneid-"The universal "silence throughout the globe-the sweet "rest of its various inhabitants, soothing "their cares and forgetting their labours "the unhappy Dido alone restless; rest"less, agitated with impetuous passions." -En. iv. 522. I am affected with the story of Regulus, as painted by West-" The crowd of "anxious friends, persuading him not to "return his wife fainting through sensi"bility and fear-persons the least con"nected appearing to feel for him, yet "himself unmoved, inexorable, and "stern." Horat. Carm. L. iii. Od. 5. Without referring to these deeply tragic scenes, what charms has music, when a masterly band pass unexpectedly from loud to soft, or from soft to loud!-When the system changes from the greater third to the less; or reciprocally, when it changes from this last to the former. All these effects have a similar and well known cause, the amazing force which contraries acquire, either by juxta position, or by quick succession. Ibid. 179. Why Contraries have this Effect. But we ask still farther, why have contraries this force?-We answer, because, of all things which differ, none differ so widely. Sound differs from darkness, but not so much as from silence; darkness differs from sound, but not so much as from light. In the same intense manner differ repose and restlessness; felicity and misery; dubious solicitude and firm resolution; the epic and the comic; the sublime and the ludicrous. And why differ contraries thus widely? -Because while attributes, simply different, may co exist in the same subject, contraries cannot co-exist, but always destroy one another. Thus the same marble may be both white and hard: but the same marble cannot be both white and black. And hence it follows, that as their difference is more intense, so is our recogni tion of them more vivid, and our impres sions more permanent. This effect of contraries is evident even in objects of sense, where imagination and intellect are not in the least concerned. When we pass (for example) from a hothouse, we feel the common air more intensely cool; when we pass from a dark cavern, we feel the common light of the day more intensely glaring. But to proceed to instances of another and a very different kind. Few scenes are more affecting than the taking of Troy, as described in the second Eneid "The apparition of Hector to "Eneas, when asleep, announcing to him "the commencement of that direful event 46 - 66 --the distant lamentations, heard by "Eneas as he awakes-his ascending the "house-top, and viewing the city in "flames-his friend Penthets, escaped "from destruction, and relating to him "their wretched and deplorable condition-Eneas, with a few friends, rush"ing into the thickest danger-their va"rious success till they all perish, but "himself and two more-the affecting "scenes of horror and pity, and Priam's "palace-a son slain at his father's feet; "and the immediate massacre of the old "monarch himself-Eneas, on seeing this, "all its particulars of the marvellous, and "the terrible." If we pass from an ancient author to a modern, what scene more striking than the first scene in Hamlet?" The solemnity "of the time, a severe and pinching night "the solemnity of the place, a platform "for a guard-the guards themselves; and "their opposite discourse-yonder star in "such a position; the bell then beating one "-when description is exhausted, the "thing itself appears, the Ghost enters." From Shakspeare the transition to Milton is natural. What pieces have ever met a more just, as well as universal applause, than his L'Allegro and Il Penseroso?—The first, a combination of every incident that is lively and cheerful; the second, of every incident that is melancholy and serious: the materials of each collected, according to their character, from rural life, from city life, from music, from poetry; in a word, from every part of nature, and every part of art. To pass from poetry to painting-the is " And to what cause are we to refer these last enumerations of striking effects? To a very different one from the former-not to an opposition of contrary incidents, but to a concatenation or accumulation of many that are similar and congenial. And why have concatenation and accumulation such a force?-From these most simple and obvious truths, that many things similar, when added together, will be more in quantity than any of them taken singly;-consequently, that the more things are thus added, the greater will be their effect. We have mentioned, at the same time, both accumulation and concatenation; because in painting, the objects, by existing at once, are accumulated; in poetry, as they exist by succession, they are not accumulated but concatenated. Yet, through memory and imagination, even these also derive an accumulative force, being preserved from passing away by those admirable faculties, till, like many pieces of metal melted together, they collectively form one common magnitude. It must be farther remembered, there is an accumulation of things analogous, even when those things are the objects of different faculties. For example-As are passionate gestures to the eye, so are passionate tones to the ear; so are passionate ideas to the imagination. To feel the amazing force of an accumulation like this, we must see some capital actor, acting the drama of some capital poet, where all the powers of both are assembled at the same instant. And thus have we endeavoured, by a few obvious and easy examples, to explain what we mean by the words, "seeking the cause or reason, as often as we feel works of "art and ingenuity to affect us."-See § 165. 177. Harris. 66 I would advise him farther, to avoid subtle and far-fetched refinement, which as it is for the most part adverse to perspicuity and truth, may serve to make an able Sophist, but never an able Critic. A word more-I would advise a young Critic, in his contemplation, to turn his eye rather to the praise-worthy than the blameable; that is, to investigate the cause of praise, rather than the cause of blame. For though an uninformed beginner may, in a single instance, happen to blame properly, it is more than probable, that in the next he may fail, and incur the censure passed upon the criticising cobler, Ne sulor ultra crepidam. Harris. § 181. On numerous Composition. As numerous Composition arises from a just arrangement of words, so is that arrangement just, when formed upon their verbal quantity. Now, if we seek for this verbal quantity in Greek and Latin, we shall find that, while those two languages were in purity, their verbal quantity was in purity also. Every syllable had a measure of time, either long or short, defined with precision either by its constituent vowel, or by the relation of that vowel to other letters adjoining. Syllables thus characterised, when combined, made a foot; and feet thus characterised, when combined, made a verse: so that while a particular harmony existed in every part, a general harmony was diffused through the whole. Pronunciation at this period being, like other things, perfect, accent and quantity were accurately distinguished; of which distinction, familiar then, though now obscure, we venture to suggest the following explanation. We compare quantity to musical tones differing in long and short, as upon whatever line they stand, a semibrief differs from a minim. We compare accent to musical tones differing in high and low, as D upon the third line differs from G upon the first, be its length the same, or be it longer or shorter. And thus things continued for a succession of centuries, from Homer and Hesiod to Virgil and Horace, during which interval, if we add a trifle to its end, all the truly classical poets, both Greek and Latin, flourished. neg Nor was prose at the same time lected. Penetrating wits discovered this also to be capable of numerous composition, and founded their ideas upon the following reasonings : Though they allowed that prose should not be strictly metrical (for then it would be no longer prose, but poetry); yet at the same time they asserted, if it had no Rhythm at all, such a vague effusion would of course fatigue, and the reader would seek in vain for those returning pauses, so helpful to his reading, and so grateful to his ear. Harris. § 182. On other Decorations of Prose besides Prosaic Feet; as Alliteration. Besides the decoration of Prosaic Feet, there are other decorations, admissible into English composition, such as Alliteration, and Sentences, especially the period. First therefore for the first: I mean Alliteration. Among the classics of old, there is no finer illustration of this figure, than Lucretius's description of those blest abodes, where his gods, detached from providen The sublime and accurate Virgil did not contemn this decoration, though he used it with such pure, unaffected simplicity, that we often feel its force without contemplating the cause. Take one instance out of infinite, with which his works abound: Aurora interea miseris mortalibus almam Extulerat lucem, referens opera atque labores. En. XI. v. 183. To Virgil we may add the superior authority of Homer: Πτοι ο καππεδί ον τό Αληιον οιος ̓Αλατο, “Ον θυμον κατεδων πάτον Αθρωπων ̓Αλεείνων. IX. J. 201. Hermogenes, the rhetorician, when he quotes these lines, quotes them as an example of the figure here mentioned, but calls it by a Greek name, ПAPHXH212. Cicero has translated the above verses elegantly, and given us too Alliteration, though not under the same letters. Qui miser in campis errabat solus Alæis, Aristotle knew this figure, and called it ΠΑΡΟΜΟΙΩΣΙΣ, a name perhaps not so precise as the other, because it rather expresses resemblance in general, than that which arises from sound in particular. His example is—ΑΓΡΟΝ γὰρ ἔλαβεν, APTON πаρ' avтõ. The Latin rhetoricians styled it Annominatio, and give us examples of similar character. But the most singular fact is, that so early in our own history, as the reign of Henry the Second, this decoration was esteemed and cultivated both by the English and the Welsh. So we are informed by Giraldus Cambrensis, a contemporary writer, who, having first given the Welsh instance, subjoins the English in the following verse — God is together Gammen and Wisedóme, that is, God is at once both joy and wisdom. He calls the figure by the Latin name |