cil, now takes the name of embellishment. Thus we still recognize the features of our old acquaintance, whenever he is presented to us, who bears a resemblance to the character of Proteus only in his name. R. For the Anthology. REMARKER, No. 35. Who shall decide, when Doctors disagree?...................POPE. The readers of the Remarker will gladly peruse, instead of his lucubrations, the following Sir, LETTER TO THE REMARKER, No. 34. WHATEVER credit your defence of Gray may reflect on your talents, as a writer, it will never convince reasonable incredulity, that "he is one of those few poets, who, at every new reading, recompenses you dous ble for every encomium, by disclosing some new charm of sentiment or of diction." I have perused and reperused him since the publication of your panegyrick,but I am still unable to discover those beauties, which seem to have charmed you. The result of repeated readings has more thoroughly convinced me of the just ness of Johnson's criticism, whom you misrepresent, when you say, that he could find nothing in Collins, but clusters of consonants.' On the contrary, the Doctor affirms, that his poems are the productions of a mind not deficient in fire,' that his efforts produced, in happier moments, sublimity and splendour,' though he observes, at the same time. that his lines are commonly of slow motion, clogged and impeded with clusters of consonants.' This surely is very different from saying, as you assert, that he could find nothing in Collins but clusters of consonants; nor was it necessary, Sir, in praising Gray, to misrepresent Johnson. Your remarks on the difference of taste in poetry are perfectly just, but your inference, if Pindar and Horace were poets, so was Gray too,' cannot be admitted, because the merit of the two former, consecrated by the applause of ages, has never been disputed, whilst the ly. rick fame of the latter still remains unsettled in the minds of many competent judges I might, with equal propriety affirm, if Dryden and Pope were poets, so is Humphreys too. Your quotation from Horace will not prove Gray a poet; for though we grant, that he possesses the or magna sonaturum in common with Blackmore and many others, yet whether in lyrick poetry he has any claim to the mens divinior, is still the disputed point, which, with all your ingenuity, you have not settled to our satisfaction. In reply to your authority from Burke, I will transcribe a sentence from the reviewer of his celebrated treatise, which you will find in the tenth volume of Johnson's works, by Hawkins, though the review has by some, been attributed to Murphy. Obscurity,' our author observes, increases the sublime, which is certainly very just; but from thence erroneously infers, that clearness of imagery is unnecessary to affect the passions. But surely nothing can move but what gives ideas to the mind." If this remark be just, which I think cannot reasonably be disputed, all your defence of Gray's obscurity falls to the ground. If obscurity increases the subiime, it must be the obscurity arising from the ambiguous meaning of one or two expressions, where something is left to the imagination, not from a whole passage, which in that case would not be sublime but corrupt. The obscurest of all poets is Lycophron, but no critick has yet contended for his superiour sublimity. I know of no sublime passage in Homer, Virgil, or Milton, but what is perfectly intelligible, and scarcely a description which would not make a good picture. Indeed I lay it down as a general maxim, that WHATEVER IMAGERY A GOOD PAINTER CANNOT EXECUTE ON THE CANVASS, MUST NECESSARILY BE INCORRECT. If there be any exception to this rule, it can only be, where images are presented to the mind, which are not subjects of the eye, as the rattling of the quiver on the shoulders of Apollo, on his march to avenge his insulted priest, Εκλαγξαν δ ̓ ἄς οἴσοὶ ἐπ ̓ ὤμων χωμέ odes which you think sublime, is perpetually obscure, and even should you find his meaning, I am far from certain that it will repay the labour of the search. I should be glad to know what is the meaning of the purple light of love, in the passage, which you quote with so much delight and enthusiasm? The Greek poet, from whom he borrows, says intelligibly enough, The light of love shines on her purple cheeks- But Gray, determined to write like no one but himself, transfers the epithet, purple' from the cheeks, to which it was appropriate, to love, which almost any other epithet would have suited as well. And this is the man, who, you would persuade us, is distinguished for the astonishing force and beauty of his epithets. In his 'Ode for Musick' (an odd title by the way) he has these lines: And thus they speak in soft accord The liquid language of the skies. Now I should be happy if you would inform me, in what consists the astonishing force and beauty of this epithet? If he had written the language of the liquid skies,' we thunder in fine weather. But, I might have supposed that he meant presume, the beauty of this epithet presume, the beauty of this epithet arises from that inimitable obscuri ty, which is the great source of Gray's sublimity. I equally dissent from you, as to the unrivalled power of his numbers. What do you think of such numbers as these? What cat's averse to fish? She tumbled headlong in. In unrivalled numbers, we might reasonably expect correct rhymes. But even of this mechanical excellence Gray cannot boast, his inaccuracy is aggravated by the extreme brevity of his performances. If you run your eye along his first odes, you will find stretch and beech, noon and sun, low and thou, flown and gone, declared and beard, between and in, flood and God, towers and adores, wave and cleave bent and constraint, descry and joy, doom and come, train and men, paradise and bliss, fly and joy, heard and clad. Would a poet, unrivalled in the power of his numbers, employ so low a word as take in the following line? A thousand rills their mazy progress take. those sublime obscurities, I suppose, which overpower the admirers of Gray with the blaze of embellishment, but which fifty interpreters would probably explain each in a different manner. The successful manner in which he has lately been imitated, is a sufficient proof, that there is little difficulty in writing like Gray. The ode on Summer, published in the last Sylva, is superiour to Gray's on the Spring, and, without borrowing a thought or expression from him, exhibits all his peculiarities, his quaintness of epithet, his affected alliterations, and the general glitter and tinsel of his style. I hope that the same gentleman will shortly Or the word goes in this line of the gratify the publick by imitations of Bard? In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes. 6 The third stanza of the ode on the Progress of Poesy,' to the musical structure of which, you say that there is nothing in the whole compass of English versification to be compared, is, to my ear, degraded by its double rhymes to the language of a ballad-monger. I will take the liberty of quoting the passage: But let the same per the sublime obscurities of the Progress of Poesy' and the Bard,' and then the admirers of Gray, if not silenced, must at least submit to be laughed at. son attempt to imitate Horace, or Dryden, or any writer distinguished by classick simplicity, (from which no one can be more distant than Gray) and he will find it no easy task. The lyrick fame of Gray, like the epick reputation of Ossian, will probably continue to obtain a 'divided suffrage;' and those who feel no enthusiasm in reading his odes, but are disgusted with his affected refinements, his studied obscurity, and his trite morality, will endeavour to bear the imputation of ignorance and envy, rather than sacrifice their judgment to the whimsical enthusiasm of his admirerers. The authority of Warton, who wrote a long essay to prove, that Pope was no poet, and of Gilbert Wakefield, who affirms, that David Hume could not write prose, can have weight only with the incorrigible admirers of Gray; whilst those, who question The azure deep of air is one of his lyrick superiority, and deny that Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now? Though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Through the azure deep of air. Now, Sir, these lines, in my judgment, are far beneath the dignity of lyrick poetry, and much in the style of Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer. Cupid wave thy purple pinion. the mantle either of Pindar or of Horace graces his shoulders, feel justified in their opinions, by the superiour authority of the mighty Johnson. These odes (says the doctor) are marked by glittering ac cumulations of ungraceful ornaments. They strike rather than please. The images are magnified by affectation; the language is laboured into harshness. The mind of the writer seems to work with unnatural violence, Double, double, toil and trouble. His art and his struggle are too visible, and there is too little appearance of ease and nature." Sincerely wishing that you will, in future, employ your acknowledged talents as a writer more usefully, than in the defence of absurdity, I remain, Sir, With due respect, &c. &c. AN ADMIRER OF SIMPLICITY. MRS. MONTAGU'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH MY LORD, As next summer and Blair Drummond are at a great distance, it is happy for me that I have a rapid imagination, which whirls through space and time faster than the fiery footed steeds of Phoebus, whose progress may be marked by shadows and counted by clocks. I am come; I am arrived; I am actually at Blair-Drummond; I am sitting by your Lordship onthe seat you marked with my name. The river is fretting over the pebbles, or foaming among the rocks; just as we human creatures are fretfully and peevishly murmuring at the little impediments, or raging and storming at the great obstacles that thwart us in the progress of life. I see Ben-Lomond lift his scornful brow, frowning with proud disdain on the vainly emulating hills, and humble unaspiring vales beneath him; just emblem of human greatness, human power! Thou sendest forth the eagle and the vulture, and many a beast What castle, where tyranny and oppression were protected, to give place to a milder Lord, who wields the sceptre of justice, instead of the iron rod of power. Now that we are returned from our walk, I wish my imagination could farther represent to me the chapter of your book, which I know your Lordship would read to me on such an occasion. I have not, alas,the elements of which this book will be made; learning and wit, the foundation on which the structure will be raised. I can only build castles in the air. I cannot therefore at all substitute my empty visions in lieu of it. Finish your work; publish, and put the world in possession of it. Till then I am uneasy and impatient.I inclose this to our friend Dr. Gregory, &c. ELIZ. MONTAGU. II. FROM THE SAME. On the Death of LORD LYTTELTON. Sandleford, October 27, 1773. MY LORD, WITH the History of Man, I dare say your Lordship has (con amore) written the History of Woman. I beg, that, in specifying their characters you would take notice, that time and separation do not operate on the female heart as on the male. We need not go back so far as the time of Ulysses and Penelope to prove this. We may pass over the instances of his dalliance with the sole suitor that addressed to him, the lovely Calypso; and the constant Penelope's continued disdain of the whole herd of her pertinacious wooers. The more near and recent an example is the better; so, my Lord, we will take our own. You feel, you say, when you take up your pen to write to me, the same formality as on our first acquaintance; I on the contrary, find my confidence in you has had time to take root. A long winter, dreary seasons, cannot blast or wither it ; under its shadow I am protected from any apprehensions from your genius and learning. You appear to me in no character but that of my friend,--the sacred character of my old friend. The years of absence, the months of vacation in our correspondeuce, come into the account; for I remembered you, when I did not hear from you; I thought of you, when I did not see you; esteem nursed by faithful remembrance, grew up sans intermission: I am most sincerely rejoiced that your Lordship has completed your great work: may you long enjoy your fame; and may you see mankind derive advantage as well as pleasure from your work! The more Man understands himself, the less averse he will be to those Divine and human laws that restrain his licentious appetites. It is from ignorance of his nature he misapprehends his interest; not comprehending how he is made, he disputes the will of his Maker. I am impatient for the publication of your book, and hope your printer will make all possible haste to indulge us with it. I rejoice that it has pleased God to give you life and health to finish this great work; and I flatter my. self, that, though you may not again embark in so great an undertaking, so able a pen will not be consigned to indolent repose. As to my poor goose quill, it is not much to be regretted, that probably it will scribble no more. I have neither the force of good health, nor the presumption of good spirits left to animate me; without the energy of great talents, these are necessary to the task of undertaking something for the publick. I have been |