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cated by time, the remedy is one of the hardest tasks of reason and of virtue. Its slight attacks, therefore, should be watchfully opposed; and he that finds the frigid and narcotick infection beginning to seize him, should turn his whole attention against it, and check it at the first discovery by proper counteraction.
The great resolution to be formed, when happiness and virtue are thus formidably invaded, is that no part of life be spent in a state of neutrality or indifference ; but that some pleasure be found for every moment that is not devoted to labour; and that, whenever the necessary business of life grows irksome or disgusting, an immediate transition be made to diversion and gaiety.
After the exercises which the health of the body requires, and which have themselves a natural tendency to actuate and invigorate the mind, the most eligible amusement of a rational being seems to be that interchange of thoughts which is practised in free and easy conversation ; where suspi. cion is banished by experience, and emulation by benevolence ; where every man speaks with no other restraint than unwilligness to offend, and hears with no other disposition than desire to be pleased.
There must be a time in which every man trifles; and the only choice that nature offers us, is, to trifle in company or aloné. To join profit with pleasure, has been an old precept among men who have had very different conceptions of profit. All have agreed, that our amusements should not terminate wholly in the present moment, but contribute more or less to future advantage. He that
well chosen companions, can scarcely fail to receive from the most careless and obstreperous merriment which virtue can allow, some useful hints ; nor can converse on the most familiar topicks, without some casual information. The loose sparkles of thoughtless wit may give new light to the mind, and the gay contention for paradoxical positions rectify the opinions.
This is the time in which those friendships that give happiness or consolation, relief or security, are generally formed. A wise and good man is never so amiable as in his unbended and familiar intervals. Heroic generosity, or philosophical discoveries, may compel veneration and respect ; but love always implies some kind of natural or voluntary equality, and is only to be excited by that levity and cheerfulness which disencumbers all minds from awe and solitude, invites the modest to freedom, and exalts the timorous to confidence. This easy gaiety is certain to please, whatever be the character of him that exerts it: if our superiors descend from their elevation, we love them for lessening the distance at which we are placed below them; and inferiors, from whom we can receive no lasting advantage, will always keep our affections, while their sprightliness and mirth contribute to our pleasure.
Every man finds himself differently affected by the sight of fortresses of war, and palaces of plea
We look on the height and strength of the bulwarks with a kind of gloomy satisfaction ; for we cannot think of defence, without admitting images of danger ; but we range delighted and jocund, through the gay apartments of the palace, because nothing is impressed by them on the mind but joy and festivity. Such is the difference between great and amiable characters: with protectors we are safe ; with companions we are happy.
N° 90. SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1751.
In tenui labor.
What toil in slender things ?
It is very
difficult to write on the minuter parts of literature, without failing either to please or instruct. Too much nicety of detail disgusts the greatest part of readers ; and to throw a multitude of particulars under general heads, and lay down rules of extensive comprehension, is to common understandings of little use. They who undertake these subjects are therefore always in danger, as one or other inconvenience arises to their imagination, of frighting us with rugged science, or amusing us with empty sound.
In criticising the work of Milton, there is indeed opportunity to intersperse passages that can hardly fail to relieve the languors of attention ; and since, in examining the variety and choice of the pauses with which he has diversified his numbers, it will
be necessary to exhibit the lines in which they are to be found, perhaps, the remarks may be well compensated by the examples, and the irksomeness of grammatical disquisitions somewhat alleviated.
Milton formed his scheme of versification by the poets of Greece and Rome, whom he proposed to himself for his models, so far as the difference of his language from theirs would permit the imitation. There are indeed many inconveniencies inseparable from our heroick measure compared with that of Homer and Virgil; inconveniences, which it is no reproach to Milton not to have overcome, because they are in their own nature insuperable ; but against which he has struggled with so much art and diligence, that he may at least be said to have deserved success.
The hexameter of the ancients may be considered as consisting of fifteen syllables, so melodiously disposed, that, as every one knows who has examined the poetical authors, very pleasing and sonorous lyrick measures are formed from the fragments of the heroick. It is indeed scarce possible to break them in such a manner,
but that invenias etiam disjecti membra poete, some harmony will still remain, and the due proportions of sound will always be discovered. This measure therefore allowed great variety of pauses, and great liberties of connecting one verse with another, because whereever the line was interrupted, either part singly was musical, But the ancients seem to have confined this privilege to hexameters; for in their other measures, though longer than the English heroick,
those who wrote after the refinements of versifica. tion, venture so seldom to change their pauses,
variation may be supposed rather a compliance with necessity than the choice of judgment.
Milton was constrained within the narrow limits of a measnre not very harmonious in the utmost perfection ; the single parts, therefore, into which it was to be sometimes broken by pauses, were in danger of losing the very form of verse. This has, perhaps, notwithstanding all his care, sometimes happened.
As harmony is the end of poetical measures, no part of a verse ought to be so separated from the rest as not to remain still more harmonious than prose, or to shew, by the disposition of the tones, that it is part of a verse. This rule in the old hexameter might be easily observed, but in English will very frequently be in danger of violation, for the order and regularity of accents cannot well be perceived in a succesion of fewer than three syllables, which will confine the English poet to only five pauses ; it being supposed, that, when he connects one line with another, he should never make
at less distance than that of three syllables from the beginning or end of a verse.
That this rule should be universally and indispensibly established, perhaps cannot be granted ; something may be allowed to variety, and something to the adaptation of the numbers to the subject; but it will be found generally necessary, and the ear will seldom fail to suffer by its neglect.
Thus when a single syllable is cut off from the rest, it must either be united to the line with which
a full pause