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and Hector in the Iliad, when he sees Andro- | by the sun, will be pleased to see a fainter oro mache overwhelmed with terrors, sends her for arise on the horizon, that may rescue him from consolation to the loom and the distaff. total darkness, though with weak and borrowed lustre.

Addison, though he has considered this poem under most of the general topics of criticism, has barely touched upon the versification; not probably because he thought the art of numbers unworthy of his notice, for he knew with what mi

It is certain that any wild wish or vain imagination never takes such firm possession of the mind, as when it is found empty and unoccupied. The old peripatetic principle, that Nature abhors a vacuum, may be properly applied to the intellect, which will embrace any thing, however absurd or criminal, rather than be wholly without an ob-nute attention the ancient critics considered the ject. Perhaps every man may date the predominance of those desires that disturb his life and contaminate his conscience, from some unhappy hour when too much leisure exposed him to their incursions; for he has lived with little observation either on himself or others, who does not know that to be idle is to be vicious.

No. 80.] SATURDAY, JAN. 12, 1751.
Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure.
By fingers, or by ear, we numbers scan.

HOR.

ELPHINSTON.

disposition of syllables, and had himself given hopes of some metrical observations upon the great Roman poet; but being the first who undertook to display the beauties, and point out the defects of Milton, he had many objects at once before him, and passed willingly over those which were most barren of ideas, and required labour rather than genius.

Yet versification, or the art of modulating his numbers, is indispensably necessary to a poet. Every other power by which the understanding is enlightened, or the imagination enchanted, may be exercised in prose. But the poet has this peculiar superiority, that to all the powers which the perfection of every other composition can re quire, he adds the faculty of joining music with ONE of the ancients has observed, that the bur- reason, and of acting at once upon the senses den of government is increased upon princes by and the passions. I suppose there are few who the virtues of their immediate predecessors. It do not feel themselves touched by poetical melo is, indeed, always dangerous to be placed in a dy, and who will not confess that they are more state of unavoidable comparison with excellence, or less moved by the same thoughts, as they are and the danger is still greater when that excel- conveyed by different sounds, and more affected lence is consecrated by death; when envy and by the same words in one order than in another. interest cease to act against it, and those pas- The perception of harmony is indeed conferred sions by which it was at first vilified and oppos-upon men in degrees very unequal; but there are ed, now stand in its defence, and turn their ve- none who do not perceive it, or to whom a regu hemence against honest emulation. lar series of proportionate sounds cannot give delight.

He that succeeds a celebrated writer has the same difficulties to encounter; he stands under the shade of exalted merit, and is hindered from rising to his natural height, by the interception of those beams which should invigorate and quicken him. He applies to that attention which is already engaged, and unwilling to be drawn off from certain satisfaction; or perhaps to an attention already wearied, and not to be recalled to the same object.

In treating on the versification of Milton I am desirous to be generally understood, and shall therefore studiously decline the dialect of gram marians; though, indeed, it is always difficult, and sometimes scarcely possible, to deliver the precepts of an art, without the terms by which the peculiar ideas of that art are expressed, and which had not been invented but because the lan guage already in use was insufficient. If, there fore, I shall sometimes seem obscure, it may be imputed to this voluntary interdiction, and to a desire of avoiding that offence which is always given by unusual words.

One of the old poets congratulates himself that he has the untrodden regions of Parnassus before him, and that his garland will be gathered from plantations which no writer had yet culled. But the imitator treads a beaten walk, and with The heroic measure of the English language all his diligence can only hope to find a few flow-may be properly considered as pure or mixed. ers or branches untouched by his predecessor, It is pure when the accent rests upon every sethe refuse of contempt, or the omissions of negli-cond syllable through the whole line. gence. The Macedonian conqueror, when he was once invited to hear a man that sung like a nightingale, replied with contempt, "that he had heard the nightingale herself;" and the same treatment must every man expect, whose praise is, that he imitates another.

Yet, in the midst of these discouraging reflections, I am about to offer to my reader some observations upon "Paradise Lost," and hope, that, however I fall below the illustrious writer may who has so long dictated to the commonwealth of learning, my attempt may not be wholly useless. There are, in every age, new errors to be rectified, and new prejudices to be opposed. False taste is always busy to mislead those that are entering upon the regions of learning; and the traveller, uncertain of his way, and forsaken S

Courage uncertain dangers may abate,
But who can bear th' approach of certain fate.

DRYDEN.

Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings,
Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile
Of hárlots, loveless, joyless, únendeared. MILTON.

The accent may be observed, in the second line
of Dryden, and the second and fourth of Milton,
to repose upon every second syllable.

The repetition of this sound or percussion at equal times, is the most complete harmony of which a single verse is capable, and should therefore be exactly kept in distichs, and generally in the last line of a paragraph, that the ear may rest without any sense of imperfection.

But, to preserve the series of sounds untrans- | retrograde or inverted; the first syllable being posed in a long composition, is not only very diffi- strong or acute, and the second weak. The decult, but tiresome and disgusting; for we are soon triment which the measure suffers by this inverwearied with the perpetual recurrence of the same sion of the accents is sometimes less perceptible, cadence. Necessity has therefore enforced the when the verses are carried one into another, but mixed measure, in which some variation of the is remarkably striking in this place, where the accents is allowed; this, though it always injures vicious verse concludes a period, and is yet more the harmony of the line, considered by itself, yet offensive in rhyme, when we regularly attend to compensates the loss by relieving us from the the flow of every single line. This will appear continual tyranny of the same sound, and makes by reading a couplet in which Cowley, an author us more sensible of the harmony of the pure not sufficiently studious of harmony, has commit ted the same fault.

measure.

Of these mixed numbers every poet affords us innumerable instances, and Milton seldom has two pure lines together, as will appear if any of his paragraphs be read with attention merely to

the music.

Thus at their shady lodge arrived both stood,
Both turn'd, and under open sky adored
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven,
Which they beheld; the moon's resplendent globe,
And starry pole: thou also mad'st the night,
Maker omnipotent! and thou the day,
Which we in our appointed work employ'd
Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help,
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
Ordain'd by thee; and this delicious place,
For us too large; where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropp'd falls to the ground;
But thou hast promised from us two a race
To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.

In this passage it will be at first observed that all the lines are not equally harmonious, and upon a nearer examination it will be found that only the fifth and ninth lines are regular, and the rest are more or less licentious with respect to the accent. In some the accent is equally upon two syllables together, and in both strong. As

Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood,
Both turn'd, and under open sky adored

The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven.

In others the accent is equally upon two syllables, but upon both weak.

-a race

To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.

-his harmless life

Does with substantial blessedness abound,
And the soft wings of peace cover him round.

In these the law of metre is very grossly violated
by mingling combinations of sound directly op-
posite to each other; as Milton expresses in his
sonnet, by committing short and long, and setting
one part of the measure at variance with the rest.
The ancients, who had a language more capable
of variety than ours, had two kinds of verse, the
Iambic, consisting of short and long syllables al
ternately, from which our heroic measure is de
rived, and the Trochaic, consisting in a like altera
tion of long and short. These were considered
as opposites, and conveyed the contrary images
of speed and slowness; to confound them, there-
fore, as in these lines, is to deviate from the es-
tablished practice. But where the senses are to
judge, authority is not necessary, the ear is suffi-
cient to detect dissonance, nor should I have
sought auxiliaries on such an occasion against
any name but that of Milton.

THAT few things are so liberally bestowed, or In the first pair of syllables the accent may devi- squandered with so little effect, as good advice, has been generally observed; and many sage poate from the rigour of exactness, without any un-sitions have been advanced concerning the reapleasing diminution of harmony, as may be observed in the lines already cited, and more remarkably in this,

-Thon also mads't the night, Maker omnipotent! and thou the day.

But, excepting in the first pair of syllables, which may be considered as arbitrary, a poet who, not having the invention or knowledge of Milton, has more need to allure his audience by musical cadences, should seldom suffer more than one aberration from the rule in any single verse.

There are two lines in this passage more remarkably unharmonious:

This delicious place,

For us too large; where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropp'd falls to the ground.

Here the third pair of syllables in the first, and
fourth pair in the second verse, have their accents

sons of this complaint, and the means of removing it. It is indeed an important and noble inquiry, for little would be wanting to the happiness of life, if every man could conform to the right as soon as he was shown it.

This perverse neglect of the most salutary precepts, and stubborn resistance of the most pathetic persuasion, is usually imputed to him by whom the counsel is received, and we often hear it mentioned as a sign of hopeless depravity, that though good advice was given, it has wrought no reformation.

Others, who imagine themselves to have quicker sagacity and deeper penetration, have found out that the inefficacy of advice is usually the fault of the counsellor, and rules have been laid down, by which this important duty may be successfully performed: we are directed by what tokens to discover the favourable moment at which the heart is disposed for the operation of

truth and reason, with what address to adminis | viate the rage with which the slothful, the impoter, and with what vehicles to disguise the cathartics of the soul.

But, notwithstanding this specious expedient, we find the world yet in the same state: advice is still given, but still received with disgust; nor has it appeared that the bitterness of the medicine has been yet abated, or its power increased, by any methods of preparing it.

If we consider the manner in which those who assume the office of directing the conduct of others execute their undertaking, it will not be very wonderful that their labours, however zeal ous or affectionate, are frequently useless. For what is the advice that is commonly given? A few general maxims, enforced with vehemence and inculcated with importunity, but failing for want of particular reference and immediate application.

tent, and the unsuccessful, vent their discontent upon those that excel them. Modesty itself, if it is praised, will be envied; and there are minds so impatient of inferiority, that their gratitude is a species of revenge, and they return benefits, not because recompense is a pleasure, but because obligation is a pain.

The number of those whom the love of themselves has thus far corrupted, is perhaps not great; but there are few so free from vanity, as not to dictate to those who will hear their instructions with a visible sense of their own beneficence: and few to whom it is not unpleasing to receive documents, however tenderly and cautiously delivered, or who are not willing to raise then selves from pupilage, by disputing the propositions of their teacher.

It was the maxim, I think, of Alphonsus of It is not often that any man can have so much Arragon, that dead counsellors are safest. The knowledge of another, as is necessary to make grave puts an end to flattery and artifice, and the instruction useful. We are sometimes not our-information that we receive from books is pure selves conscious of the original motives of our actions, and when we know them, our first care is to hide them from the sight of others, and often from those most diligently, whose superiority either of power or understanding may entitle them to inspect our lives; it is therefore very probable that he who endeavours the cure of our intellectual maladies, mistakes their cause; and that his prescriptions avail nothing, because he knows not which of the passions or desires is vitiated.

Advice, as it always gives a temporary appearance of superiority, can never be very grateful, even when it is most necessary or most judicious. But for the same reason every one is eager to instruct his neighbours. To be wise or to be virtuous, is to buy dignity and importance at a high price; but when nothing is necessary to elevation but detection of the follies or the faults of others, no man is so insensible to the voice of fame as to linger on the ground.

Vanity is so frequently the apparent motive of advice, that we, for the most part, summon our powers to oppose it without any very accurate inquiry whether it is right. It is sufficient that another is growing great in his own eyes, at our expense, and assumes authority over us without our permission; for many would contentedly suffer the consequences of their own mistakes, rather than the insolence of him who triumphs as their deliverer.

It is, indeed, seldom found that any advantages are enjoyed with that moderation which the uncertainty of all human good so powerfully enforces; and therefore the adviser may justly suspect, that he has inflamed the opposition which he laments by arrogance and superciliousness. He may suspect, but needs not hastily to condemn himself, for he can rarely be certain that the softest language or most humble diffidence would have escaped resentment; since scarcely any degree of circumspection can prevent or ob

from interest, fear, or ambition. Dead counsellors are likewise most instructive; because they are heard with patience and with reverence. We are not unwilling to believe that man wiser than ourselves, from whose abilities we may receive advantage, without any danger of rivalry or opposition, and who affords us the light of his experience, without hurting our eyes by flashes of insolence.

By the consultation of books, whether of dead or living authors, many temptations to petulance and opposition, which occur in oral conferences, are avoided. An author cannot obtrude his service unasked, nor can be often suspected of any malignant intention to insult his readers with his knowledge or his wit. Yet so prevalent is the habit of comparing ourselves with others, while they remain within the reach of our passions, that books are seldom read with complete impartiality, but by those from whom the writer is placed at such a distance that his life or death is indifferent.

We see that volumes may be perused, and perused with attention, to little effect; and that maxims of prudence, or principles of virtue, may be treasured in the memory without influencing the conduct. Of the numbers that pass thei. lives among books, very few read to be made wiser or better, apply any general reproof of vice to themselves, or try their own manners by ax ioms of justice. They purpose either to con sume those hours for which they can find no other amusement, to gain or preserve that respect which learning has always obtained; or to gratify their curiosity with knowledge, which, like treasures buried and forgotten, is of no use to others or themselves.

"The preacher (says a French author) may. spend an hour in explaining and enforcing a pre cept of religion, without feeling any impression from his own performance, because he may have no further design than to fill up his hour." A student may easily exhaust his life in comparing divines and moralists, without any practical regard to morality or religion; he may be learning not to live, but to reason; he may regard only the elegance of style, justness of argument, and accuracy of method; and may enable himself to criticise with judgment, and dispute with subtility, while the chief use of his volumes is unthought

of, his mind is unaffected, and his life is unre- | monosyllables is almost always harsh. This, formed. with regard to our language, is evidently true, not because monosyllables cannot compose harmony, but because our monosyllables being of Teutonic original, or formed by contraction, commonly begin and end with consonants, as, -Every lower faculty