and manners; but if he would fundamentally alter composition, he must probably make small progress in his own time; and perhaps his posterity, in the third and fourth degree, may hardly be prepared for a description of such beings as the heroes of modern philanthropy. Such is the absurdity exhibited by a great predominance of sentiment in literature! It is sometimes encouraged by the favourable point of view in which its principle is shewn, and sometimes by an assistant one. Lessing's idea was nearly the same thing as Dr. Johnson's preference of the manners of nature, to the manners of custom. This opinion being more plausibly expressed by the latter is particularly calcu lated to attract; nor is it less just. It forms however a rule extremely liable to abuse, and which, like many others, ought not to be repeated on all occasions. The assistant principle operates, when not only the manners of custom are simply violated, but when, in the violation of them, the imagination is defrauded of some heightening to the picture it can, to be surfeited with some it cannot, enjoy. It is certain that a display of the passions has more importance poetry, than moral and political remarks; or the and pageantry that may be either summoned into a laboured description, or exhibited at the

in

pomp

theatre. It may, on the other hand, happen, that nature would be ever more faithfully described by a presumption and brilliancy of colouring, and would be lost sight of by the vulgar, and yet vain mannerism of sentiment, which, by stripping to shew it plainer, would disguise it. Moral and poli+ tical remarks in Virgil and Milton are not, as in the Henriade, ever prominent, or principal: they are always kept down, and made subordinate; in consequence of which they seem to me to give relief and energy to their composition. Nor does Homer, the simplest poet in his style, banish every thing that glitters, from his imagery. Though he constantly, as he ought, renders the manners of custom subservient to the manners of nature, he profusely enough scatters over his writings epithets and descriptions, dazzling us with arms and accoutrements; and such are to be found in most pages of the Iliad. For the same good sense that made him keep out of view such images in Ithaca, induced him sedulously to rouze the imagination with the whole

Pomp and circumstance of glorious war

* As the τευχεα παμφανόωνία, the ηνια σίγαλονια, the φαίην μαλία, οι ασπίδα, οι τρυφάλειαν, &c, &c.

on the plain before Troy. It is therefore truly in the spirit of reform, to adopt one principle of com, position as our favourite, and push it as far as it will go, whatever others we violate by our sys tematic prejudice. Indeed, before we loudly cons demn any real defect which offends us, we even then should examine, whether there be not some excellence, on a different principle, to compensate for it, which, by drawing off the mind rationally, might account for its failure in one part of composition. Yet the present rage for sentiment, which has succeeded the rage for propriety of the old French writers, is too prevalent to deserve tender. ness. Indeed sentiment cannot have its effect as such, without propriety; and those imitators of the German critics and poets, who would direct our attention only to dramas containing a huge unformed mass of sentiment, might well attend to Burke's remarks in his Introduction on Taste. Among its objects, he names, not only the passions, but their relations. Thus reason must be called in to the aid of sentiment, in order, as it were, to turn it to the sun, and shew its latent colours either in the poet's or the critic's view. The brightest passage, or the criticism marked with

the truest enthusiasm, displays the greatest command of reason; the ideas of which must be collected by the same rapidity of genius as those of sensibility, and treasured up, (allowing for the various charac ters of minds) in the same proportion. But the unnatural excessive horror that affects the tragic spirit, or the taste that only inquires whether there exist either such horror, or scenes, well described by sentiment. run wild, while it pretends to be nothing but passion and sensibility, indicates the most mechanical and mathematical of all turns of mind; since the only effort looked for is a continuation of the same dull and monotonous strain, from the beginning to the end of the work, without any effectual endeavour to change our ideas, or elevate and relieve our fancy.*

But a more material impropriety, or deformity, is justly complained of in more direct, attacks of sentiment on morality. I will instance them in the

* For a character of the principal works of this kind, I refer the reader to the edition lately published of the Baviad and Mæviad; the author of which is not only competent to judge of them by acknowledged taste, but by an acquaintance with the German language.

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popular play, called the Stranger. There, a wo man, who has eloped with an unworthy wretch, from a husband possessing admirable qualities, is, by a pathetic denouement, at which it would not be unnatural for principled persons, at intervals, to smile, restored to the favour of the husband, and the esteem of a part of the audience. This event has been erroneously supposed similar, in moral tendency, to that which forms the subject of Jane Shore; though in the one case, no obvious temptation has led to the fault, and all desirable happiness followed it; while in the other, the greatest and most ac↓ knowledged temptation caused it, and death and protracted misery are shewn its punishment. The fate of Jane Shore reminds us of the woman taken in adultery. To shew pity, and abstain from harshness, is very possible in observing the difference between actions; but when not contented with a little loss of consequence, for a very public viola tion of duty, a female grows sentimental, and aspires, as to a prize given by the Society of Arts, to the honour of becoming the heroine of a family tale, I think if it is candour that indulges her, it is candour of a modern stamp. Rational lenity will allow all