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Pococke modesty and humility, and all the virtues that can adorn 1 a Christian. His theological works were republished Postum. at London in 1740, in two volumes in folio. PODAGRA, or the GOUT. See MEDICINE, N°

211.

PODALIRIUS, son of Esculapius and Epione, was one of the pupils of the Centaur Chiron, under whom he made himself such a master of medicine, that during the Trojan war the Greeks invited him to their camp to stop a pestilence which had baffled the skill of all their physicians. Some suppose, however, that he went to the Trojan war, not in the capacity of a physician in the Grecian army, but as a warrior, attended by his brother Machaon, in 30 ships, with soldiers from Oechalia, Ithome, and Trica. At his return Podalirius was shipwrecked on the coast of Caria, where he cured of the falling sickness a daughter of the king of the place. He fixed his habitation there; and built two towns, one of which he called Syrna, after his wife. The Carians, on his death, built him a temple, and paid him divine honours.

PODEX, in Anatomy, the same with ANUS.
PODGRAJE. See ASISIA.

PODOLIA, a province of Russian Poland, bounded on the north and north-east, by Volhinia and Kiew; on the south-east, by Cherson, and on the south-west and west, by Moldavia and Buckovina. The principal rivers are the Dneister and the Bug. This province is extremely fertile in grain, great quantities of which are conveyed by the rivers to Odessa, and thence shipped to the Mediterranean. It also abounds in cattle. The chief town is Kaminiek. In 1815, this province contained 1,181,200 inhabitants upon an area of 14,700 square miles.

PODOPHYLLUM, a genus of plants belonging to the polyandria class; and in the natural method ranking under the 27th order, Rhæada. See BOTANY Index.

PODURA, or SPRINGTAIL, a genus of insects of the order of aptera. See ENTOMOLOGY Index.

POE-BIRD is an inhabitant of some of the South sea islands, where it is held in great esteem and veneration by the natives. It goes by the name of kogo in New Zealand: but it is better known by that of poe-bird. It is somewhat less than our blackbird, and is remarkable for the sweetness of its note, as well as the beauty of its plumage. Its flesh is also delicate food.

POECILE was a famous portico at Athens, which received its name from the variety (oxidos) of paintings which it contained. Zeno kept his school there; and there also the stoics received their lessons, whence their name à sox, a porch. The Poecile was adorned, among many others, with a picture of the siege and sacking of Troy, the battle of Theseus against the Amazons, and the fight between the Lacedaemonians and Athenians at Oenoe in Argolis. The only reward which Miltiades obtained after the battle of Marathon was to have his picture drawn more conspicuous than that of the rest of the officers that fought with him, in the representation which was made of the engagement, and which was hung up in the Poecile in commemoration of that celebrated victory.

POEM, a poetical composition. See POETRY. POESTUM, or POSIDONIA, an ancient city of Grecia Magna, now part of the kingdom of Naples. 3

It was founded by one of those colonies from Greece Postum which in the early ages established themselves in Italy; and it flourished before the foundation of Rome itself. It was destroyed by the Goths on the decline of the Roman empire, who in their barbarous zeal for the Christian religion overturned every place of Pagan worship which was exposed to their ravages. Since that time it has been in ruins ; and these ruins were unknown till they were discovered in the following manner: " In the year 1755 (says the author of the Antiquities, History, and Views of Paestum), an apprentice to a painter at Naples, who was on a visit to his friends at Capaccio, by accident took a walk to the mountains which surround the territory of Poestum. The only babitation he perceived was the cottage of a farmer, who cultivated the best part of the ground, and reserved the rest for pasture. The ruins of the ancient city made a part of this view, and particularly struck the eyes of the young painter; who approaching nearer, saw with astonishment walls, towers, gates and temples. Upon his return to Capaccio, he consulted the neighbouring people about the origin of these monuments of antiquity. He could only learn, that this part of the country had been uncultivated and abandoned during their memory; that about ten years before, the farmer, whose habitation he had noticed, established himself there; and that having dug in many places, and searched among the ruins that lay round him, he had found treasures sufficient to enable him to purchase the whole. At the painter's return to Naples, he informed his master of these particulars, whose curiosity was so greatly excited by the description, that he took a journey to the place, and made drawings of the principal views. These were shown to the king of Naples, who ordered the ruins to be cleared, and Paestum arose from the obscurity in which it had remained for upwards of 700 years, as little known to the neighbouring inhabitants as to travellers."

Our author gives the following description of it in its present state. It is, says he, of an oblong figure, about two miles and a half in circumference. It has

four gates, which are opposite to each other. On the key-stone of the arch of the north gate, on the outside, is the figure of Neptune in basso relievo, and within a hippocampus. The walls which still remain are composed of very large cubical stones, and are extremely thick, in some parts 18 feet. That the walls have remained unto this time is owing to the very exact manner in which the stones are fitted to one another (a circumstance observed universally in the masonry of the ancients), and perhaps in some measure to a stalactical concretion which has grown over them. On the walls here and there are placed towers of different heights: those near the gates being much higher and larger than the others, and evidently of modern workmanship. He observes, that from its situation among marshes, bituminous and sulphureous springs, Postum must have been unwholesome; a circumstance mentioned by Strabo, Morbosam cam facit fluvius in paludes diffusus. In such a situation the water must have been bad. Hence the inhabitants were obliged to convey that necessary of life from purer springs by means of aqueducts, of which many vestiges still remain.

The principal monuments of antiquity are a theatre, an amphitheatre, and three temples. The theatre and amphitheatre are much ruined. The first temple is bexastylos,

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Paestum. hexastylos, and amphiprostylos. At one end, the pilasters and two columns which divided the cella from the pronaos are still remaining. Within the cella are two rows of smaller columns, with an architrave, which support the second order. This temple our author takes to be of that kind called by Vitruvius hyphethros, and supports his opinion, by a quotation from that author. The second temple is also amphiprostylos: it has nine columns in front and 18 in flank, and seems to be of that kind called by Vitruvius pseudodipteros. The third is likewise amphiprostylos. It has six columns in front and 13 in flank. Vitruvius calls this kind of temple peripteros. "The columns of these temples (says our author) are of that kind of Doric order which we find employed in works of the greatest antiquity. They are hardly five diameters in height. They are without bases, which also has been urged as a proof of their antiquity; but we do not find that the ancients ever used bases to this order, at least till very late. Vitruvius makes no

mention of bases for this order and the only instance we have of it is in the first order of the Coliseum at Rome, which was built by Vespasian. The pillars of these temples are fluted with very shallow flutings in the manner described by Vitruvius. The columns diminish from the bottom, which was the most ancient method almost universally in all the orders. The columns have astragals of a very singular form; which shows the error of those who imagine that this member was first invented with the Ionic order, to which the Greeks gave an astragal, and that the Romans were the first who applied it to the Doric. The echinus of the Capitol is of the same form with that of the temple of Corinth described by Le Roy." See Swinburne's Travels in the Two Sicilies, vol. ii. p. 131-140.

POET, the author of a poem. See the article POETRY.

Provençal POETS. See TROUBADOURS.

Postum,

Poet.

I

poetry.

POETRY.

AMIDST those thick clouds which envelope the first ages of the world, reason and history throw some lights on the origin and primitive employment of this divine art. Reason suggests, that before the invention of letters, all the people of the earth had no other Origin of method of transmitting to their descendants the principles of their worship, their religious ceremonies, their Jaws, and the renowned actions of their sages and heroes, than by poetry; which included all these objects in a kind of hymns that fathers sung to their children, in order to engrave them with indelible strokes in their hearts. History not only informs us, that Moses and Miriam, the first authors that are known to mankind, sung, on the borders of the Red sea, a song of divine praise, to celebrate the deliverance which the Almighty had vouchsafed to the people of Israel, by opening a passage to them through the waters; but it has also transmitted to us the song itself, which is at once the most ancient monument and a masterpiece of poetic composition.

The Greeks, a people the most ingenious, the most animated, and in every sense the most accomplished, that the world ever produced-strove to ravish from the Hebrews the precious gift of poetry, which was vouchsafed them by the Supreme Author of all nature, that they might ascribe it to their false deities. According to their ingenious fictions, Apollo became the god of poetry, and dwelt on the hills of Phocis, Parnassus and Helicon, whose feet were washed by the waters of Hippocrene, of which each mortal that ever drank was seized with a sacred delirium. The immortal swans floated on its waves. Apollo was accompanied by the Muses-those nine learned sisters-the daughters of Memory: and he was constantly attended by the Graces. Pegasus, his winged courser, transported him with a rapid fight into all the regions of the universe. Happy emblems by which we at this day embellish our poetry, as no one has ever yet been able to invent more brilliant images.

The literary annals of all nations afford vestiges of VOL. XVI. Part II. +

poetry from the remotest ages. They are found among the most savage of the ancient barbarians, and the most desolate of all the Americans. Nature asserts her rights in every country and every age. Tacitus mentions the verses and the hymns of the Germans, at the time when that rough people yet inhabited the woods, and while their manners were still savage. The first inhabitants of Runnia and the other northern countries, those of Gaul, Albion, Iberia, Ausonia, and other nations of Europe, had their poetry, as well as the ancient people of Asia, and of the known borders of Africa. But the simple productions of nature have constantly something unformed, rough, and savage. The Divine Wisdom appears to have placed the ingenious and polished part of mankind on the earth, in order to refine that which comes from her bosom rude and imperfect and thus art has polished poetry, which issued quite naked and savage from the brains of the first of mankind.

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But what is Poetry? It would be to abridge the Definition limits of the poetic empire, to contract the sphere of of poetry. this divine art, should we say, in imitation of all the dictionaries and other treatises on versification, That poetry is the art of making verses, of lines or periods that are in rhyme or metre. This is rather a grammatical explanation of the word, than a real definition of the thing, and it would be to degrade poetry thus to define it. The father of criticism has denominated poetry rixon spelen, an imitative art: but this, though just in itself, is too general for a definition, as it does not discriminate poetry from other arts which depend equally on imitation. The justest definition seems to be that given by Baron Bielfield, That poetry is the Elem. of art of expressing our thoughts by fiction. In fact, it is Univ. Erud. after this manner (if we reflect with attention) that all the metaphors and allegories, all the various kinds of fiction, form the first materials of a poetic edifice: it is thus that all images, all comparisons, allusions, and figures, especially those which personify moral subjects, as virtues and vices, concur to the decoration of such a 5 C structure.

Essence of Poetry.

tion could subsist without it: for it will perhaps, upon examination, be found, that in every poetical description some of the qualities of Animal Nature are ascribed to things not having life. Every work, therefore, where the thoughts are expressed by fictions or images, is poetic; and every work where they are expressed naturally, simply, and without ornament, although it be in verse, is prosaic.

structure. A work, therefore, that is filled with invention, that incessantly presents images which render the reader attentive and affected, where the author gives interesting sentiments to every thing that he makes speak, and where he makes speak by sensible figures all those objects which would affect the mind but weakly when clothed in a simple prosaic style, such a work is a poem. While that, though it be in verse, which is of a didactic, dogmatic, or moral nature, and where the objects are presented in a manner quite simple, without fiction, without images or ornaments, cannot be called poetry, but merely a work in verse; for the art of reducing thoughts, maxims, and periods, into rhyme or metre, is very different from the art of poetry.

An ingenious fable, a lively and interesting romance, a comedy, the sublime narrative of the actions of a hero, such as the Telemachus of M. Fenelon, though written in prose, but in measured prose, is therefore a work of poetry: because the foundation and the superstructure are the productions of genius, as the whole proceeds from fiction; and truth itself appears to have employed an innocent and agreeable deception to instruct with efficacy. This is so true, that the pencil also, in order to please and affect, has recourse to fiction; and this part of painting is called the poetic composition of a picture. It is therefore by the aid of fiction that poetry, so to speak, paints its expressions, that it gives a body and a mind to its thoughts, that it animates and exalts that which would otherwise have remained arid and insensible. It is the peculiar privilege of poetry to exalt inanimate things into animals, and abstract ideas into persons. The former licence is so common, that it is now considered as nothing more than a characteristical dialect appropriated by the poets to distinguish themselves from the writers of prose; and is at the same time so essential, that we question much if this species of composi

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essentia

of its ex

Verse, however, is not to be regarded as foreign or superfluous to poetry. To reduce those images, those fictions, into verse, is one of the greatest difficulties in poetry, and one of the greatest merits in a poem: and for these reasons, the cadence, the harmony of sounds, particularly that of rhyme, delight the ear to a high degree, and the mind insensibly repeats them while the eye reads them. There results therefore a pleasure to the mind, and a strong attachment to these ornaments: but this pleasure would be frivolous, and even childish, if it were not attended by a real utility. Verses were Verse, invented in the first ages of the world, merely to aid thought and to strengthen the memory: for cadence, harmony, poetry, and especially rhyme, afford the greatest assistance to the memory that art can invent; and the images, or ceileacies. poetic fictions, that strike our senses, assist in graving them with such deep traces in our minds, as even time itself frequently cannot efface. How many excellent apophthegms, sentences, maxims, and precepts, would have been buried in the abyss of oblivion, if poetry had not preserved them by its harmony? To give more efficacy to this lively impression, the first poets sung their verses, and the words and phrases must necessarily have been reduced, at least to cadence, or they could not have been susceptible of musical expression. One of the great excellencies, therefore, though not a necessary constituent of poetry, consists in its being expressed in verse. See Part III.

PART I. GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF THE ART.

SECT. I. Of the Essence and End of Poetry. THE essence of Polite ARTS in general, and consequently of poetry in particular, consists in expression; and we think that, to be poetic, the expression must necessarily arise from fiction, or invention. (See the article ART, particularly from N° 12. to the end). This invention, which is the fruit of happy genius alone, arises, 1. From the subject itself of which we undertake to treat 2. From the manner in which we treat that subject, or the species of writing of which we make use: 3. From the plan that we propose to follow in conformity to this manner; and, 4. From the method of executing this plan in its full detail. Our first guides, the ancients, afford us no lights that can elucidate all these objects in general. The precepts which Aristotle lays down, relate to epic and dramatic poetry only and which, by the way, confirms our idea, that antiquity itself made the essence of poetry to consist in fiction, and not in that species of verse which is destitute of it, or in that which is not capable of it. But since this art has risen to a great degree of perfection; and as poetry, like electricity, communicates its fire to every thing it

touches, and animates and embellishes whatever it treats, there seems to be no subject in the universe to which poetry cannot be applied, and which it cannot render equally brilliant and pleasing. From this universality of poetry, from its peculiar property of expression by fiction, which is applicable to all subjects, have arisen its different species, of which a particular description will be given in the second part.

Horace, in a well-known verse, has been supposed to declare the end of poetry to be twofold, to please, or to instruct:

Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poeta. But Dr Beattie* maintains, that the ultimate end of End of this art is to please; instruction being only one of the poetry. means (and not always a necessary one) by which that Poetry and ultimate end is to be accomplished. The passage rightly Music, understood, he observes, will not appear to contain any part i thing inconsistent with this doctrine. The author is chap. i. there stating a comparison between the Greek and Roman writers, with a view to the poetry of the stage; and, after commending the former for their correctness, and for the liberal spirit where with they conducted their literary labours, and blaming his countrymen for their

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Essence inaccuracy and avarice, he proceeds thus: "The ends and End proposed by our dramatic poets (or by poets in geof Poetry neral) are, to please, to instruct, or to do both. When instruction is your aim, let your moral sentences be expressed with brevity, that they may be readily understood, and long remembered; where you mean to please, let your fictions be conformable to truth or probability. The elder part of your audience (or readers) have no relish for poems that give pleasure only without instruction; nor the younger for such writings as give instruction without pleasure. He only can secure the universal suffrage in his favour, who blends the useful with the agreeable, and delights at the same time that he instructs the reader. Such are the works that bring money to the bookseller, that pass into foreign countries, and perpetuate the author's name through a long succession of ages +."-Now, what is the meaning of all this? What, but that to the perfection of dramatic poetry (or, if you please, of poetry in general) both sound morals and beautiful fiction are requisite? But Horace never meant to say, that instruction, as well as pleasure, is necessary to give to any composition the poetical character; or he would not in another place have celebrated with so much affection and rapture the melting strains of Sappho, and the Hor Carm. playful genius of Anacreon -two authors transcendently sweet, but not remarkable instructive. We are sure, that pathos, and harmony, and elevated language, were, in Horace's opinion, essential to poetry §; and lib. 1. sat.4 of these decorations nobody will affirm that instruction is the end, who considers that the most instructive books in the world are written in plain prose.

Hor. Ar. Poet. 333

-347•

lib. iv. ode 9. Hor. Sat.

ver. 40.

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Poetical invention

In short, our author has endeavoured by many ingenious arguments and illustrations to establish it as a truth in criticism, that the end of poetry is to please. Verses, if pleasing, may be poetical, though they convey little or no instruction; but verses, whose sole merit it is that they convey instruction, are not poetical. Instruction, however, he admits, especially in poems of length, is necessary to their perfection, because they would not be perfectly agreeable without it.

SECT. II. Of the Standard of Poetical Invention.

HOMER'S beautiful description of the heavens and earth, as they appear in a calm evening by the light of to be regu- the moon and stars, concludes with this circumstance, *Iliad, viii." And the heart of the shepherd is glad *." Madame

Iated

555.

Beattie's Essays, Part i. chap. 2.

Dacier, from the turn she gives to the passage in her version, seems to think, and Pope, in order perhaps to make out his couplet, insinuates, that the gladness of the shepherd is owing to his sense of the utility of those luminaries. And this may in part be the case: but this is not in Homer; nor is it a necessary consideration. It is true, that, in contemplating the material universe, they who discern the causes and effects of things must be more rapturously entertained than those who perceive nothing but shape and size, colour and motion. Yet, in the mere outside of Nature's work, there is a splendour and a magnificence to which even untutored minds cannot attend without great delight.

Not that all peasants or all philosophers are equally susceptible of these charming impressions. It is strange to observe the callousness of some men, before whom all the glories of heaven and earth pass in daily succession,

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without touching their hearts, elevating their fancy, or leaving any durable remembrance. Even of those who Invention. pretend to sensibility, how many are there to whom the lustre of the rising or setting sun; the sparkling concave of the midnight sky; the mountain-forest tossing and roaring to the storm, or warbling with all the melodies of a summer evening; the sweet interchange of hill and dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn, and water, which an extensive landscape offers to the view; the scenery of the ocean, so lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous; and the many pleasing varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdoms, could never afford so much real satisfaction, as the steams and noise of a ball-room, the insipid fiddling and squeaking of an opera, or the vexations and wranglings of a card-table!

But some minds there are of a different make; who, even in the early part of life, receive from the contemplation of Nature a species of delight which they would hardly exchange for any other, and who, as avarice and ambition are not the infirmities of that period, would, with equal sincerity and rapture, exclaim,

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny;
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns by living stream at eve.
Castle of Indolence.

Such minds have always in them the seeds of true taste,
and frequently of imitative genius. At least, though
their enthusiastic or visionary turn of mind (as the man
of the world would call it) should not always incline
them to practise poetry or painting, we need not scruple
to affirm, that without some portion of this enthusiasm
no person ever became a true poet or painter. For he
who would imitate the works of nature, must first ac-
curately observe them; and accurate observation is to
be expected from those only who take great pleasure in
it.

To a mind thus disposed no part of creation is indifferent. In the crowded city and howling wilderness; in the cultivated province and solitary isle; in the flowery lawn and craggy mountain; in the murmur of the rivulet and in the uproar of the ocean; in the radiance of summer and gloom of winter; in the thunder of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze; he still finds something to rouze or to soothe his imagination, to draw forth his affections, or to employ his understanding. And from every mental energy that is not attended with pain, and even from some of those that are, as moderate terror and pity, a sound mind derives satisfaction; exercise being equally necessary to the body and the soul, and to both equally productive of health and pleasure.

This happy sensibility to the beauties of nature should be cherished in young persons. It engages them to contemplate the Creator in his wonderful works; it purifies and harmonizes the soul, and prepares it for moral and intellectual discipline; it supplies an endless source of amusement; it contributes even to bodily health: and, as a strict analogy subsists between material and moral beauty, it leads the heart by an easy transition from the one to the other; and thus recommends virtue for its transcendant loveliness, and makes vice appear the 5 C2

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ΟΙ object of contempt and abomination. An intimate acInvention. quaintance with the best descriptive poets, Spenser, Milton, and Thomson, but above all with the divine Georgic, joined to some practice in the art of drawing, will promote this amiable sensibility in early years: for then the face of nature has novelty superadded to its other charms, the passions are not pre-engaged, the heart is free from care, and the imagination warm and romantic.

by the

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nature.

cily, let. 24.

But not to insist longer on those ardent emotions that are peculiar to the enthusiastic disciple of nature, may it not be affirmed of all men, without exception, or at least of all the enlightened part of mankind, that they are gratified by the contemplation of things natural, as opposed to unnatural? Monstrous sights please but for a moment, if they please at all; for they derive their charm from the beholder's amazement, which is quick*Brydone's ly over. We read indeed of a man of rank in Sicily *, Tour in Si- who chooses to adorn his villa with pictures and statues of most unnatural deformity: but it is a singular instance; and one would not be much more surprised to hear of a person living without food, or growing fat by the use of poison. To say of any thing, that it is contrary to nature, denotes censure and disgust on the part of the speaker; as the epithet natural intimates an agreeable quality, and seems for the most part to imply that a thing is as it ought to be, suitable to our own taste, and congenial with our own constitution. Think with what sentiments we should peruse a poem, in which nature was totally misrepresented, and principles of thought and of operation supposed to take place, repugnant to every thing we had seen or heard of:-in which, for example, avarice and coldness were ascribed to youth, and prodigality and passionate attachment to the old; in which men were made to act at random, sometimes according to character, and sometimes contrary to it; in which cruelty and envy were productive of love, and beneficence and kind affection of hatred: in which beauty was invariably the object of dislike, and ugliness of desire; in which society was rendered happy by atheism and the promiscuous perpetration of crimes, and justice and fortitude were held in universal contempt. Or think, how we should relish a painting, where no regard was had to the proportions, colours, or any of the physical laws, of Nature:-where the ears and eyes of animals were placed in their shoulders; where the sky was green and the grass crimson; where trees grew with their branches in the earth and their roots in the air; where men were seen fighting after their heads were cut off, ships sailing on the land, lions entangled in cobwebs, sheep preying on dead carcases, fishes sporting in the woods, and elephants walking on the sea. Could such figures and combinations give pleasure, or merit the appellation of sublime or beautiful? Should we hesitate to pronounce their author mad? And are the absurdities of madmen proper subjects either of amusement or of imitation to reasonable beings?

Let it be remarked, too, that though we distinguish our internal powers by different names, because otherwise we could not speak of them so as to be understood, they are all but so many energies of the same individual mind; and therefore it is not to be supposed, that what contradicts any one leading faculty should yield permanent delight to the rest. That cannot be agreeable to reason, which conscience disapproves; nor can that

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tify imagination, which is repugnant to reason.. sides, belief and acquiescence of mind are pleasant, as Invention. distrust and disbelief are painful and therefore, that only can give solid and general satisfaction, which has something of plausibility in it; something which we conceive it possible for a rational being to believe. But no rational being can acquiesce in what is obviously contrary to nature, or implies palpable absurdity.

Poetry, therefore, and indeed every art whose end is to please, must be natural; and if so, must exhibit real matter of fact, or something like it; that is, in other words, must be either according to truth or according to verisimilitude.

And though every part of the material universe abounds in objects of pleasurable contemplation, yet nothing in nature so powerfully touches our hearts, or gives so great variety of exercise to our moral and intellectual faculties, as man. Human affairs and human feelings are universally interesting. There are many who have no great relish for the poetry that delineates only irrational or inanimate beings; but to that which exhibits the fortunes, the characters, and the conduct of men, there is hardly any person who does not listen with sympathy and delight. And hence to imitate human action, is considered by Aristotle as essential to this art ; and must be allowed to be essential to the most pleasing and most instructive part of it, Epic and Dramatic composition. Mere descriptions, however beautiful, and moral reflections, however just, become tiresome, where our passions are not occasionally awakened by some event that concerns our fellow men. Do not all readers of taste receive peculiar pleasure from those little tales or episodes with which Thomson's descriptive poem on the Seasons is here and there enlivened? and are they not sensible, that the thunder-storm would not have been half so interesting without the tale of the two lovers (Summer, v. 1171); nor the harvest-scene, without that of Palemon and Lavinia (Autumn, v. 177.): nor the driving snows, without that exquisite picture of a man perishing among them (Winter, v. 276)? It is much to be regretted, that Young did not employ the same artifice to animate his Night-Thoughts. Sentiments and descriptions may be regarded as the pilasters, carvings, gildings, and other decorations of the poetical fabric: but human actions are the columns and the rafters that give it stability and elevation. Or, changing the metaphor, we may consider these as the soul which informs the lovely frame; while those are little more than the ornaments of the body.

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Whether the pleasure we take in things natural, and our dislike to what is the reverse, be the effect of habit or of constitution, is not a material inquiry. There is nothing absurd in supposing, that between the soul, in its first formation, and the rest of nature, a mutual barmony and sympathy may have been established, which experience may indeed confirm, but no perverse habits could entirely subdue. As no sort of education could make man believe the contrary of a self-evident axiom, great inor reconcile him to a life of perfect solitude; so we fluence should imagine, that our love of nature and regularity over senti might still remain with us in some degree, though we had ment and feeling, and been born and bred in the Sicilian villa above mentioned, of course and never heard any thing applauded but what deserved upon censure, nor censured but what merited applause. Yet poetry. habit must be allowed to have a powerful iufluence over the

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