like to be directed, in this dearth of polite literature, to those whose pretensions are fairer. We suspect that their numbers are easily computed; unless the eccentricks of the new school of poetry are to be thrown into the account, who compose elegies on asses, or annually lie-in with an epick. The occasion, however, of this disaffection to the Doctor is readily explained. There are in all literary communities a set of difficult sparks, who pronounce every thing execrable, which is not positively divine, and with one sweeping clause cut up by the root a second-rate author, with the same unconcern, as they cut open his leaves. But we have been too long acquainted with the pretensions of inferiour excellence not to allow, that there is much worth preserving, which falls short of their standard. Though the Doctor in his poetical criticisms may be less copious than Johnson, or elaborate than Hurd, he has performed to the utmost what he seems to have intended, and we could wish, that his opponents were invariably as fortunate. It is a reviving reflection to an author, that it is not in the power of a name to destroy his pretensions; that though the world may be set against him for a time by the oracle of the day, he will attain in the end the celebrity he merits. Notwithstanding Johnson's reputation as a critick, it has been suspected of late that his taste was confined, and it is now considered excusable to fall out with the Prefaces. Poor Collins is every day getting better of the faint praise of his friend, and it is thought that the bard may yet pass for a prophet. We must not be charged with a want of reverence for the Rambler, for there Vol. IV. No. 5. LI are none more alive to his merits, than the gentlemen of the Anthology. We know, that he moved in the literary world with the firm step and imposing port of a giant, but it cannot be concealed, that he sometimes passed,unimpressed, by a sublimity, and sometimes uncouthly set his foot on a grace. In pursuing the track of his predecessor, in the series before us, Doctor Aikin has occasionally done justice to those, who have suffered by his severity. Among the numbers, who have been reinstated in their literary claims, we were happy to notice the eccentrick Dean of St. Patrick's. Whether, because Johnson's aristocracy was hurt by the Doctor's familiarities with the great, or because his Deanship had neglected to procure him a degree, or on what account, or no account, he entertained his dislike, our readers, if disposed, may conjecture for themselves: but we are convinc ed, either for something or nothing, that he was inclined to disparage both the man and his works. However, the superiority of Swift is not easily veiled; and those, who would deny him the first praise as a wit, may expect to be accused of stupidity or prejudice. Sheridan has lately acquainted us with the moral excellences of the Drapier, and Doctor Aikin has now pronounced him a writer ferfect in his kind. With the criticisms on Hammond and Young (we beg pardon of the Muses for coupling them) we are not, we confess, so perfectly satisfied. We conceive that the Doctor has spoken rather timidly in praise of the latter, and and that he might, conscientiously, have said less of the former. Upon the merits of the Love Elegies perhaps we ought to be silent, for some time has elapsed since we had the heart to peruse them. However, should we, from existing impressions, venture an opinion concerning them, we should agree, what with the cloying nature of their theme, and the dieaway style, in which it is treated, that they were peculiarly adapted to give one a surfeit. 'Love, only love, their forceless numbers mean. Of any ill effects, that might attend a close acquaintance with the Night Thoughts, we cannot conceive. Few minds, we believe, owe their melancholy or cheerfulness to the influence of song; and the fears, which our author entertertains of the dejected muse of Doctor Young, appear, we must. say, altogether extravagant. Besides, allowing the lady aforesaid to be rather grave in her suggestions, the critick should recollect that it is wholesome, occasionally, to visit the tombs. We own we love at midnight to follow this mournful sister of poesy over the uneven footing of the church yard, or to pause with her by moonlight on the broken colonade. The tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice.' Were we to go into a particular criticism upon this performance, we should exceed the usual limits allotted to a notice; we must therefore content ourselves with a general acknowledgment of its mevits. To say, simply, that we have been pleased with the style in which it is executed, would be indirectly to withhold what we consider its due. Perhaps no production of a critical cast could have been rendered more enter. taining; and its airiness is not ob tained at the expense of sound comment. This work is neatly executed. ART. 26. The Echo: printed at the Porcupine Press, by Pasquin Petronius. 8vo. New-York, 1807. OF the type and paper of this volume, which contains 331 pages, we may justly speak with approbation. The plates likewise, which are eight in number, designed by Tisdale, and engraved by Leney, possess considerable merit. That of the negro-ball contains an admirable likeness of a ci-devant governor of this state. The work itself is said to be the production of various political wits in Connecticut, who, at different periods, have employed their talents in ludicrously versifying the prosaick absurdities, which occasionally appeared in the democratick papers. The Echo amused the publick for the moment, was read, excited a laugh, and was forgotten. We little expected to see a performance, thus local in its subjects, and therefore not likely to excite more than a temporary interest, come forward, at the expiration of several years, in all the dignity of octavo, and ornamented with splendid type, paper, and engravings; nor did we imagine, that the crude and unfinished trifles of an idle hour, would obtrude themselves on the grave tribunal of profest criticism. Vanity is said to be our national foible, and we are sorry that the authors of the Echo have afforded additional confirmation to the truth of the remark. We cannot, indeed, discover sufficient merit, in the contents of this volume, to justify re-publication, which, we firmly believe, can now be read with interest by the writers only. At the same time, we enter our protest against this custom of book-making, by which we are invited to purchase, at an advanced price, what we have already paid for. Should this volume succeed, it may operate as an encouragement for the revival of much deceased trash, and may awaken from the peaceful slumber of oblivion, the Gleanings of the Centinel, the Flowers of the Repertory, and the Beauties of the Palladium. We fear, that New-England wit can be relished only in New-England; and if M'Fingal is an exception, that exception only proves the rule. We excel more in judgment, than in imagination, like the inhabitants of Scotland, whom we are thought greatly to resemble, where wit is so rare a prodigy, as to have become almost proverbial. In the Echo there is some broad humour; a severe critick would say vulgarity, but no wit. We are not yet arrived at a sufficient height of civilization to write satire like gentlemen; as would be soon discovered, were Horace as well understood as he deserves to be: Defendente vicem modò rhetoris, at- ART. 27. HOR. S. 10. . 1. An account of the life and writings of James Beattie, L.L. D. late professor of moral philosophy and logick in the Marischal college and university of Aberdeen. Including many of his original letters. By Sir William Forbes, of Pitsligo, Bart. one of the execu- Earum rerum omnium vel in primis, &c.&c. THE rage for book-making names,' and their history,' to the 'storied urn;' (the reader would, sometimes, be little bettered by this bargain); our only intention is to check the spinsters and the knitters of Lives, Sketches, and Mcmoirs, in their tedious tales, and in wearying us with the trifling anecdotes of men, whose works we view with as much delight, as we look upon their private lives with indifference. Sir William tells us in his appendix to this octavo, that he intended to have inserted the 'Diary, which Dr. Beattie kept of the number of days he was reading Homer;' but finding upon calcula tion that it did not exceed what any young man, with no extraordinary degree of application, might accomplish,' he thought proper to withhold it; and thus the world is deprived of the number of days, and perhaps hours and minutes, consumed by the Doctor, in his 'perusal of Homer.' We are very glad, that we know in what state his gown was, in which he was wrapped while reading it; for he tells us himself, in a letter to the Rev. Dr. Majeudie, that it was 6 very ragged, and, for that reason, facetiously compares himself to Socrates, Of all the ways of presenting a man to the world, hitherto devised, that of publishing his private letters is perhaps the most unfair. It is like taking a man out of his bed, or pulling him from his closet, to thrust him into company, where it is indecent to be seen in an undress. Letters intended for publication are always dull things at best; and those meant only for the eye of a friend ought never to appear in print. The former commonly possess too little of that freedom peculiar to the epistolary style; the latter generally contain too much. Dr. Beattie himself was partly of this opinion, and probably would have heard with regret, that many of these letters were to be seen by others than those to whom they were addressed. In one of his letters to Robert Arbuthnot, Esq. to publish a man's letters,' says he, or his conversation, without his consent, is not in my opinion fair: for how many things, in friendly correspondence, does a man throw out, which he would never wish to hear of again; and what a restraint would it be on all social intercourse, if one were to suppose, that every word one utters would be entered in a register.' In this compilation of Letters, occasionally illustrated by Sir W. F., and which he has thought proper to entitle the Life of Dr. Beattie,' the Dr.'s thoughts and opinions on men and things, together with the state of his health at various times, are given with all the frankness of undisguised friendship. There are also some of a more dignified nature, inscribed to men, who, he well knew, would exhibit them to others; and in these the studied manner of the composition distinguish them from the rest. If the letter to Dr. Porteus is not in this class, it is one which seems to betray not a little art and vanity in the author. His opinion of Johnson as a critick, and his observations on the Tour to the Hebrides, must be taken with some indulgence; for it must not be forgotten, that Dr. Beattie was born in Scotland. The extravagant encomium, however, which he bestows on Mirs, Montagu and her book, reflects but little credit on the author of the Essay on Truth: 'Johnson's harsh and foolish censure on Mrs. Montagu's book does not surcontemptuously of it. It is,for all that, prise me; for I have heard him speak one of the best, most original, and most elegant pieces of criticism in our language, or any other. Johnson had many of the talents of a critick; but his want something, I am afraid, of an envious of temper, his violent prejudices, and turn of mind, made him often a very unfair one. Mrs. Montagu was very kind to him, but Mrs. Montagu has more wit than any body; and Johnson could not bear that any body should have wit but himself. Even lord Ches terfield, and, what is more strange, even Mr. Burke, he would not allow to have wit! He preferred Smollet to Fielding. He would not grant that Armstrong's poem on Health,' or the trage dy of Douglas,' had any merit. He told me, that he never read Milton through, till he was obliged to do it in order to gather words for his Dictionary. He spoke very peevishly of the masque of Comus, and when I urged, that there was a great deal of poetry in it, yes, said he, but it is like gold under a rock; to which I made no reply, for indeed I did not well understand it.' His observation on Swift, Voltaire, Rousseau, &c. his criticisms on the Henriade' and Eloise,' and various other works, if not delivered with more justice, are giv en with more temperance. We have reviewed this volume, as the Letters of Dr. Beattie; for it contains little beside of much value or importance. As to that part of it, which Sir William may probably call the Life,' it is but a meagre performance,possessing all the monotony of Boswell, without Johnson for its subject. As the 'Letters of Dr. Beattie,' it has afforded us all that pleasure, which we expected from the author of the Minstrel. 'He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses Minst. ver. Ixi. mourn:' There are no less than eight paragraphs, which we have noted, and doubtless many have escaped us, in almost the same number of pages, beginning with it is very curious,' and it is very singular,' and it is not a little curious, in the illucidations of Sir William; from which we are inclined to give to his part of this performance the not a little curious' style. Sir William debated with himself, whether to print his notes at the foot of each page, or, in the manner of fashionable publications,' place them at the end of the vol ume; he ultimately chose the former mode, as by far the most convenient; and in our opinion his choice was assuredly most wise. We cannot but admire a part of note 1. §. 1. It has been remarked by some, who are fond of fanciful analogies, that the tomb of Virgil, in the neighbourhood of birth-place of Dr. Beattie was partly Naples, was adorned with a laurel; the covered with ivy, as if to denote that it had produced a poet? The other notes, though many in number, are of little conseIn the 3d of page 12, quence. Twenty six sermons to young peo ple; preached A.D, 1803, 1804: to which are added prayers, also three other sermons. By James Dana, D. D. Sydney Press, New-Haven. 1806. A NEGATIVE character is universally allowed to be of all others the most difficult to be delineated. Of pre-eminent excellence a man may with the utmost safety express his opinion; for, though he may not give to excellence its due, yet will he always obtain credit for what commendation he bestows : and of indisputable worthlessness his modesty may with equal safe, ty permit him to speak; for whether he break out in direct abuse, or utter but a gentle censure, the one is always too much relished |
