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Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never

Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry
The affliction, nor the fear.

Let the great Gods,

That keep this dreadful pother (a) o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes

Unwhipped of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjure, and thou similar of virtue,
That art incestuous. Caitiff to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming

Hast practised on man's life! Close pent-up (b) guilts,
Rive your concealing continents! and cry

These dreadful Summoners grace. I am a man
More sinned against, than sinning.

SHAKESPEARE's King Lear, Act. III.

(a) Pother, gebulder. (b) Pent-up, opgesloten, verborgen.

LECTURE III

Historical account continued, down to the

Present Day.

Addison b. 1672; d. 1719.

Character of ADDISON, as a Writer.

It is not uncommon for those who have grown wise by the labor of others, to add a little of their own, and overlook their masters. Addison is now despised by some who, perhaps, would never have seen his defects, but by the lights which he afforded them. That he always wrote as he would think it necessary to write now, cannot be affirmed; his instructions were such as the characters of his readers made proper. That general knowledge which now circulates in common talk, was in his time rarely to be found. -Men not professing learning were not ashamed of ignorance; and, in the female world, any acquaintance with books was distinguished only to be. censured. His purpose was to infuse literary curiosity, by gentle and unsuspected conveyance, into the gay, the idle, and the wealthy; he therefore presented knowledge in the most alluring form: not lofty and austere, but accessible and familiar. When he showed them their defects, he showed them likewise that they might easily be supplied. His attempt succeeded; enquiry was awakened, and comprehension expanded. An emulation of intellectual elegance was excited, and from his time to our own, life has been gradually exalted, and conversation purified and enlarged.

Dryden had, not many years before, scattered criticism over his Prefaces with very little parsimony (a) but, though he some-times condescended to be some-what familiar, his manner was, in general, too scholastic for those who had yet their rudiments to learn, and found it not easy to understand their master. His observations were framed rather for those that were learning to write, than for those that read only to talk.

(a) With very little parsimony, pretty liberally, plentifully; niet karig, ruim.

An instructer like Addison was now wanting, whose remarks being superficial, (a) might be easily understood, and being just, might prepare the mind for more attainments. Had he presented Paradise Lost to the public withi all the pomp of system and severity of science, the criticism would perhaps have been admired, and the poem still have been neglected; but by the blandishments of gentleness and facility he has made Milton a universal favorite, with whom readers of every class think it necessary to be pleased.

Before the profound observers of the present race repose too securely on the consciousness of their superiority to Addison, let them consider his Remarks on Ovid; in which may be found specimens of criticism sufficiently subtle and refined: let them peruse likewise his Essays on Wit, and on the Pleasures of Imagination, in which he founds art on the base of nature, and draws the principles of invention from dispositions inherent in the mind. of man, with skill and elegance; such as his contemners will not easily attain.

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As a describer of life and manners, he must be allowed to stand perhaps the first of the first rank. His humor which, as Steele observes, is peculiar to himself, is so happily diffused, as to give the grace of novelty to domestic scenes and daily occurrences. He never outsteps the modesty of nature, nor raises merriment or wonder by the violation of truth.. His figures neither divert by distortion, nor amaze by aggravation. He copies life with so much fidelity, that he can be hardly said to invent; yet his exhibitions have an air so much original, that it is difficult to suppose them not merely the product of imagination.

As a teacher of wisdom, he may be confidently followed. His religion has nothing in it enthusiastic or su perstitious: he appears neither weakly credulous, nor wantonly sceptical; his morality is neither dangerously lax nor impracticably rigid. All the enchantment of fancy, and all the cogency of argument, are employed to recommend to the reader his real interest, the care of pleasing the Author of his being. Truth is shown sometimes as the phantom of a vision, sometimes attracts regard in the robes of fancy, and sometimes steps forth in the confidence of reason. She wears a thousand dresses, and in

all is pleasing.

His Prose is the model of the middle style; on grave (a) Superficial, not profound.

subjects not formal, on light occasions not grovelling, pure without scrupulosity, and exact without apparent elaboration; always equable, and always easy, without glowing words or pointed sentences. Addison never devi

ates from his track to snatch a grace; he seeks no ambitious ornaments, and tries no hazardous innovations. His page is always luminous, but never blazes in unexpected splendor.

It was, apparently, his principal endeavour to avoid all harshness and severity of diction; he is therefore sometimes verbose in his transitions and connections, and sometimes descends too much to the language of conversation; yet if his language had been less idiomatical, it might have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. What he attempted, he performed; he is never feeble, and he did not wish to be energetic; he is never rapid, and he never stagnates. His sentences have neither studied amplitude, nor affected brevity: his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison.

JOHNSON.

There is one who, to judge from the Dramatic Sketch he has given us in Manfred, must be considered as a match for Eschylus, even in his sublimest moods of Horror.

MANFRED'S Nocturnal Soliloquy.

The Stars are forth, the Moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains-Beautiful!

1 linger yet with Nature, for the Night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of Man; and in her Starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,

I learned the language of another world.

I do remember me, that, in my youth,
When I was wandering, upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's wall,
'Midst the chief Relics of almighty Rome;

SCOTT.

The Trees, which grew along the broken arches,
Waved dark in the blue midnight; and the Stars

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Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar,
The Watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and,
More near, from out the Cesars' palace, came
The Owl's long cry; and, interruptedly,

Of distant Sentinels the fitful song

Begun and died upon the gentle wind.

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Some Cypresses, beyond the time-worn breach,
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bowshot; where the Cesars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levelled battlements,
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths;!
Ivy usurps the Laurel's place of growth;

But the Gladiators' bloody Circus stands

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!

While Cesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,
Grovel on earth, in indistinct decay.

་ །

And Thou didst shine, thou rolling Moon, upon o
All this, and cast a wide and tender light
Which softened down the hoar austerity
Of rugged Desolation, and filled up,
As 'twere, anew the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not till the place
Became Religion, and the heart ran o'er

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With silent Worship of the great of old!

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The dead, but sceptered Sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns.

'Twas such a Night 'Tis strange that I recal it at this time!

But I have found our thoughts take widest flight
E'en at the moment when they should array
Themselves in pensive order.

"

BYRON.

January 25th, 1818. Drove at midnight to see the Coliseum by Moonlight; but what can I say of the Coliseum? it must be seens to describe it, I should have thought impossible, if I had not read Manfred. To see it aright, as the Poet of the North tells us of the fair Melrose, one must Go visit it by the pale Moonlight." The stillness of night, the whispering echoes, the moonlight shadows, and the aweful grandeur of the impending ruins, form a scene of roman-tic sublimity, such as Byron alone can describe as it deserves, His description is the very thing itself; but what cannot He do on such a subject, the touch of whose pen, like the wand of Moses, can produce waters even from the barren rock!

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Aman should go alone to enjoy, in full perfection, all the enchantment of this moonlight scene; and if it do not excite in him emotions that he never felt before let him hasten home, eat his

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