"A Companion to the Guide, and a Guide to the Companion; being a complete Supplement to all the Accounts of Oxford hitherto published." The lapse of time, and the new reign, had now entirely restored to Oxford its ancient virtue of loyalty; and Warton, who had lamented the death of George II. in a copy of verses addressed to Mr. Pitt, continued the courtly strain, though with due dignity, in lines on the marriage of George III. and on the birth of the Prince of Wales, printed in the university collection. Still ranking equally with the wits and with the poets of Isis, he edited in 1764 the "Oxford Sausage," of several pieces in which lively miscellany he was the writer. In 1766 he again appeared as a classical editor by superintending the Anthology of Cephalus, printed at the Clarendon-press, to which he perfixed a learned and ingenious preface. He took the degree of B. D. in 1761, and in 1771 was instituted to the small living of Kiddington in Oxfordshire, on the presentation of the Earl of Litchfield, then chancellor of the uni versity. An edition of Theocritus in 2 vols. 4to. which was published in 1770, gave him celebrity not only at home, but among the scholars of the continent. younger brother of Dr. Joseph Warton, and was born at Basingstoke in 1728. He very early manifested a taste for verse; and there is extant a well-turned translation of an epigram of Martial composed by him in his ninth year. He was educated under his father, who kept a school at Basingstoke, till he was admitted in 1743 a commoner of Trinity College, Oxford. Here he exercised his poletical talent to so much advantage, that on the appearance of Mason's Elegy of "Isis," which severely reflected on the disloyalty of Oxford at that period, he was encouraged by Dr. Huddesford, president of his college, to vindicate the cause of the university. This task he performed with great applause, by writing, in his 21st year, "The Triumph of Isis;" a piece of much spirit and fancy, in which he retaliated upon the bard of Cam by satirising the courtly venality then supposed to distinguished the loyal university, and sung in no common strains the past and present glories of Oxford. This on his part was fair warfare, though as a peace-offering he afterwards excluded the poem from his volume of collected pieces. His "Progress of Discontent," published in 1750, in a miscellany entitled "The Student," exhibited to great advantage his power in the familiar style, and A History of English Poetry is said to have his talent for humour, with a knowledge of life been meditated by Pope, who was but indiffer extraordinary at his early age, especially if com- ently qualified by learning, whatever he might posed, as is said, for a college-exercise in 1746. In have been by taste, for such an undertaking. 1750 he took the degree of M. A., and in the fol- Gray, who possessed every requisite for the work, lowing year became a Fellow of his college. He except industry, entertained a distant idea of enappears now to have unalterably devoted him- gaging in it, with the assistance of Mason; but self to the pursuit of poetry and elegant literature he shrunk from the magnitude of the task, and in a university-residence. His spirited satire, readily relinquished his project, when he heard entitled "Newmarket," and pointed against the that a similar design was adopted by Warton. ruinous passion for the turf; his "Ode for Mu- At what period he first occupied himself in this sic ;" and "Verses on the Death of the Prince of extensive plan of writing and research, we are Wales;" were written about this time; and in not informed; but in 1774 he had proceeded so 1753 he was the editor of a small collection of far as to publish the first volume in quarto; and poems, which, under the title of "The Union," he pursued an object now apparently become the was printed at Edinburgh, and contained several great mark of his studies, with so much assiduity, of his own pieces. In 1754 he made himself that he brought out a second volume in 1778, and known as a critic and a diligent student of poeti- a third in 1781. He now relaxed in his labours, cal antiquities, by his observations on Spenser's and never executed more than a few sheets of a Fairy Queen, in one volume, afterwards enlarg- fourth volume. The work had grown upon his ed to two volumes; a work well received by the hands, and had greatly exceeded his first estpublic, and which made a considerable addition mate; so that the completion of the design, to his literary reputation. These various proofs which was to have terminated only with the of his abilities caused him very properly to be commencement of the eighteenth century, was elected in 1757 professor of poetry to the univer- still very remote, supposing a due proportion to sity, an office which he held for the usual period have been preserved throughout. Warton's of ten years, and rendered respectable by the "History of English Poetry" is regarded as his erudition and taste displayed in his lectures. Dr. opus magnum; and is indeed an ample monument Johnson was at this time publishing his "Idler," of his reading, as well as of his taste and critical and Warton who had long been intimately ac- judgment. The majority of its readers, however, quainted with him, contributed the three papers will probably be of opinion that he has dwelt too we have mentioned to that work. He gave a minutely upon those early periods in which poespecimen of his classical proficiency in 1758 by try can scarcely be said to have existed in this the publication "Inscriptionum Romanarum country, and has been too profuse of transcripts Metricarum Delectus," a collection of select Latin from pieces destitute of all merit but their age. epigrams and inscriptions, to which were annex- Considered, however, as literary antiquarianism, ed a few modern ones, on the antique model, five the work is very interesting; and though inaccu of them by himself. He drew up in 1760, for the racies have been detected, it cannot be denied to Biographica Britannica, the life of Sir Thomas abound with curious information. His brother Pope, which he published separately, much gave some expectation of carrying on the history enlarged, in 1772 and 1780. Another conto the completion of the fourth volume, but tribution to literary biography was his "Life seems to have done little or nothing towards fuland Literary Remains of Dr. Bathurst," pub-filling it. As a proof that Warton began to be lished in 1761. A piece of local humour, weary of his task, it appears that about 1781 he which was read at the time with great avidity, had turned his thoughts to another laborious undropped from his pen in 1760 with the title, dertaking, which was a county-history of Ox B out scruple, as an honest triumph over unjust fearful, for to such the shortness of every single claims, and exhorbitant expectations. The arti- paper is a powerful encouragement. He that fices of those who put themselves in this hazard-questions his abilities to arrange the dissimilar ous state, have therefore been multiplied in protion to their fear as well as their ambition; and are to be looked upon with more indulgence, as they are incited at once by the two great movers of the human mind, the desire of good and the fear of evil. For who can wonder that, allured on one side, and frightened on the other, some should endeavour to gain favour by bribing the judge with an appearance of respect which they do not feel, to excite compassion by confessing weakness of which they are not convinced; and others to attract regard by a show of openness and magnanimity, by a daring profession of their own deserts, and a public challenge of honours and rewards? The ostentatious and haughty display of themselves has been the usual refuge of diurnal writers; in vindication of whose practice it may be said, that what it wants in prudence is supplied by sincerity, and who at least may plead, that if their boasts deceive any into the perusal of their performances, they defraud them of but little time. -Quid enim? Concurritur-hora Momento cita mors venit, aut victoria leta. The battle join, and in a moment's flight, Death, or a joyful conquest, ends the fight. FRANCIS. The question concerning the merit of the day is soon decided, and we are not condemned to toil through half a folio, to be convinced that the writer has broke his promise. parts of an extensive plan, or fears to be lost in a complicated system, may yet hope to adjust a few pages without perplexity; and if, when he turns over the repositories of his memory, he finds his collection too small for a volume, he may yet have enough to furnish out an essay. He that would fear to lay out too much time upon an experiment of which he knows not the event, persuades himself that a few days will show him what he is to expect from his learning and his genius. If he thinks his own judgment not sufficiently enlightened, he may, by attending to the remarks which every paper will produce, rectify his opinions. If he should with too little premeditation encounter himself by an unwieldy subject, he can quit it without confessing his ignorance, and pass to other topics less dangerous, or more tractable. And if he finds, with all his industry, and all his artifices, that he cannot deserve regard, or cannot attain it, he may let the design fall at once, and, without injury to others or himself, retire to amusements of greater pleasure, or to studies of better prospect. No. 2.] SATURday, March 24, 1749-50. Ante fugam, absentemque ferit gravis ungula campum. Th' impatient courser pants in every vein, STATIUS POPE It is one among many reasons for which I purpose to endeavour the entertainment of my countrymen by a short essay on Tuesday and Saturday, that I hope not much to tire those whom I THAT the mind of man is never satisfied with shall not happen to please; and if I am not com- the objects immediately before it, but is always mended for the beauty of my works, to be at breaking away from the present moment, and .east pardoned for their brevity. But whether losing itself in schemes of future felicity; and my expectations are most fixed on pardon or that we forget the proper use of the time now in praise, I think it not necessary to discover; for our power to provide for the enjoyment of that having accurately weighed the reasons for arro- which, perhaps, may never be granted us, has gance and submission, I find them so nearly been frequently remarked; and as this practice equiponderant, that my impatience to try the is a commodious subject of raillery to the gay, event of my first performance will not suffer me to and of declamation to the serious, it has been riattend any longer the trepidations of the balance. diculed with all the pleasantry of wit, and exag There are, indeed, many conveniences almost gerated with all the amplifications of rhetoric. peculiar to this method of publication, which may Every instance, by which its absurdity might ap naturally flatter the author, whether he be con- pear most flagrant, has been studiously collect fident or timorous. The man to whom the ex-ed; it has been marked with every epithet of tent of his knowledge, or the sprightliness of his contempt, and all the tropes and figures have been imagination, has, in his own opinion, already called forth against it. secured the praises of the world, willingly takes that way of displaying his abilities which will soonest give him an opportunity of hearing the voice of fame; it heightens his alacrity to think in how many places he shall hear what he is now writing, read with ecstacies to-morrow. He will often please himself with reflecting, that the author of a large treatise must proceed with anxicty, lest, before the completion of his work, the attention of the public may have changed its object; but that he who is confined to no single topic, may follow the national taste through all its variations, and catch the aura popularis, the gale of favour, from what point soever it shall blow. Nor is the prospect less likely to ease the doubts of the cautious, and the terrors of the Censure is willingly indulged, because it always implies some superiority; men please themselves with imagining that they have made a deeper search, or wider survey than others, and detected faults and follies, which escape vulgar observation. And the pleasure of wantoning in common topics is so tempting to a writer, that he cannot easily resign it; a train of sentiments generally received enables him to shine without labour, and to conquer without a contest. It is so easy to laugh at the folly of him who lives only in idea, refuses immediate ease for distant pleasures, and, instead of enjoying the blessings of life, lets life glide away in preparations to enjoy them; it affords such portunities of triumphant exultation, to exem op plify the uncertainty of the human state, to rouse guine, may, indeed, be easily vitiated by the mortals from their dream, and inform them of luxurious indulgence of hope, however necessary the silent celerity of time, that we may believe to the production of every thing great or excelauthors willing rather to transmit than examine lent, as some plants are destroyed by too open so advantageous a principle, and more inclined exposure to that sun which gives life and beauty o pursue a track so smooth and so flowery, than to the vegetable world. attentively to consider whether it leads to truth. This quality of looking forward into futurity, seems the unavoidable condition of a being, whose motions are gradual, and whose life is progressive: as his powers are limited, he must use means for the attainment of his ends, and intend first what he performs last; as by continual advances from his first stage of existence, he is perpetually varying the horizon of his prospects, he inust always discover new motives of action, new excitements of fear, and allurements of desire. The end therefore which at present calls forth our efforts, will be found, when it is once gained, to be only one of the means to some remoter end. The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure, but from hope to hope. He that directs his steps to a certain point, must frequently turn his eyes to that place which he strives to reach; he that undergoes the fatigue of labour, must solace his weariness with the contemplation of its reward.) In agriculture, one of the most simple and necessary employments, no man turns up the ground but because he thinks of the harvest, that harvest which blights may intercept, which inundations may sweep away, or which death or calamity may hinder him from reaping. Perhaps no class of the human species requires more to be cautioned against this anticipation of happiness, than those that aspire to the name of authors. A man of lively fancy no sooner finds a hint moving in his mind, than he makes momentaneous excursions to the press, and to the world, and, with a little encouragement from flattery, pushes forward into future ages, and prognosticates the honours to be paid him, when envy is extinct, and faction forgotten, and those, whom partiality now suffers to obscure him, shall have given way to the triflers of as short duration as themselves. Those who have proceeded so far as to appeal to the tribunal of succeeding times, are not likely to be cured of their infatuation; but all endeavours ought to be used for the prevention of a disease, for which, when it has attained its height, perhaps no remedy will be found in the gardens of philosophy, however she may boast her physic of the mind, her cathartics of vice, or lenitive of passion. I shall, therefore, while I am yet but lightly touched with the symptoms of the writer's malady, endeavour to fortify myself against the infection, not without some weak hope that my preservatives may extend their virtue to others, whose employment exposes them to the same danger. Laudis amore tumes? Sunt certa piacula, que to Is fame your passion? Wisdom's powerful charm, FRANCIS. Yet as few maxims are widely received or long retained but for some conformity with truth and nature, it must be confessed that this caution against keeping our view too intent upon remote advantages is not without its propriety or usefulness, though it may have been recited with too much levity, or enforced with too little distinction; for, not to speak of that vehemence of deIt is the sage advice of Epictetus, that a man sire which presses through right and wrong to its should accustom himself often to think of what gratification, or that anxious inquietude which is is most shocking and terrible, that by such rejustly chargeable with distrust of Heaven, sub-flections he may be preserved from too ardent jects too solemn for my present purpose; it fre- wishes for seeming good, and from too much de quently happens that by indulging early the rap-jection in real evil. tures of success, we forget the measures necessary to secure it, and suffer the imagination to riot in the fruition of some possible good, till the time of obtaining it has slipped away. There is nothing more dreadful to an author than neglect; compared with which, reproach, hatred, and opposition, are names of happiness; yet this worst, this meanest fate, every one who dares to write has reason to fear. I nunc, et versus tecum meditare canoros. ELPHINSTON There would, however, be few enterprises of great labour or hazard undertaken, if we had not the power of magnifying the advantages which we persuade ourselves to expect from them. When the knight of La Mancha gravely recounts to his companion the adventures by which he is to signalize himself in such a manner, that he It may not be unfit for him who makes a new shall be summoned to the support of empires, so- entrance into the lettered world, so far to suspect licited to accept the heiress of the crown which his own powers as to believe that he possibly may he has preserved, have honours and riches to deserve neglect; that nature may not have quali scatter about him, and an island to bestow on fied him much to enlarge or embellish knowledge, his worthy squire, very few readers, amidst their nor sent him forth entitled by indisputable supe mirth or pity, can deny that they have admitted riority to regulate the conduct of the rest of manvisions of the same kind; though they have not, kind; that, though the world must be granted to perhaps, expected events equally strange, or by be yet in ignorance, he is not destined to dispel means equally inadequate. When we pity him, the cloud, nor to shine out as one of the luminawe reflect on our own disappointments; and ries of life. For this suspicion, every catalogue when we laugh, our hearts inform us that he is of a library will furnish sufficient reason; as he not more ridiculous than ourselves, except that will find it crowded with names of men, who, he tells what we have only thought. though now forgotten, were once no less enterThe understanding of a man naturally san-prising or confident than himself, equally pleased with their own productions, equally caressed by | ment, to hinder the reception of every work of their patrons, and flattered by their friends. But, though it should happen that an author is capable of excelling, yet his merit may pass without notice, huddled in the variety of things, and thrown into the general miscellany of life. He that endeavour after fame by writing, solicits the regard of a multitude fluctuating in pleasures, or immersed in business, without time for intellectual amusements; he appeals to judges, prepossessed by passions, or corrupted by prejudices, which preclude their approbation of any new performance. Some are too indolent to read any thing, till its reputation is established; others too envious to promote that fame which gives them pain by its increase. What is new is opposed, because most are unwilling to be caught; and what is known is rejected, because it is not sufficiently considered, that men more frequently require to be reminded than informed. The learned are afraid to declare their opinion early, lest they should put their reputation in hazard; the ignorant always imagine themselves giving some proof of delicacy, when they refuse to be pleased: and he that finds his way to reputation through all these obstructions, must acknowledge that he is indebted to other causes besides his industry, his learning, or his wit. THE task of an author is, either to teach what is not known, or to recommend known truths by his manner of adorning them; either to let new light in upon the mind, and open new scenes to the prospect, or to vary the dress and situation of common objects, so as to give them fresh grace and more powerful attractions, to spread such flowers over the regions through which the intellect has already made its progress, as may tempt it to return, and take a second view of things hastily passed over, or negligently regarded. learning, or genius, who stand as sentinels in the avenues of fame, and value themselves upon giving Ignorance and Envy the first notice of a prey. To these men, who distinguish themselves by the appellation of Critics, it is necessary for a new author to find some means of recommendation. It is probable, that the most malignant of these persecutors might be somewhat softened, and prevailed on, for a short time, to remit their fury. Having for this purpose considered many expedients, I find in the records of ancient times, that Argus was lulled by music, and Cerberus quieted with a sop; and am therefore inclined to believe that modern critics, who, if they have not the eyes, have the watchfulness of Argus, and can bark as loud as Cerberus, though, perhaps, they cannot bite with equal force, might be subdued by methods of the same kind. I have heard how some have been pacified with claret and a supper, and others laid asleep with the soft notes of flattery. Though the nature of my undertaking gives me sufficient reason to dread the united attacks of this virulent generation, yet I have not hitherto persuaded myself to take any measures for flight or treaty. For I am in doubt whether they can act against me by lawful authority, and suspect that they have presumed upon a forged commission, styled themselves the ministers of Criticism, without any authentic evidence of delegation, and uttered their own determinations as the decrees of a higher judicature. Criticism, from whom they derive their claim to decide the fate of writers, was the eldest daughter of Labour and of Truth: she was, at her birth, committed to the care of Justice, and brought up by her in the palace of Wisdom. Being soon distinguished by the celestials, for her uncommon qualities, she was appointed the governess of Fancy, and empowered to beat time to the chorus of the Muses, when they sung before the throne of Jupiter. When the Muses condescended to visit this lower world, they came accompanied by Criticism, to whom, upon her descent from her native regions, Justice gave a sceptre, to be carried aloft in her right hand, one end of which was tinctured with ambrosia, and inwreathed with a golden foliage of amaranths and bays; the other end was encircled with cypress and poppies, and dipped in the waters of oblivion. In her left hand she bore an unextinguishable torch, Either of these labours is very difficult, be- manufactured by Labour, and lighted by Truth, cause that they may not be fruitless, men must of which it was the particular quality immedinot only be persuaded of their errors, but recon-ately to show every thing in its true form, howciled to their guide; they must not only confess their ignorance, but, what is still less pleasing, must allow that he from whom they are to learn is more knowing than themselves. It might be imagined that such an employment was in itself sufficiently irksome and hazardous; that none would be found so malevolent as wantonly to add weight to the stone of Sisyphus; and that few endeavours would be used to obstruct those advances to reputation, which must be made at such an expense of time and thought, with so great hazard in the miscarriage, and with so little advantage from the suc cess. Yet there is a certain race of men, that either Imagine it their duty, or make it their amuse ever it might be disguised to common eyes. Whatever Art could complicate, or Folly could confound, was, upon the first gleam of the torch of Truth, exhibited in its distinct parts and original simplicity; it darted through the labyrinths of sophistry, and showed at once all the absurdities to which they served for refuge; it pierced through the robes which rhetoric often sold to falsehood, and detected the disproportion of parts which artificial veils had been contrived to cover. Thus furnished for the execution of her office, Criticism came down to survey the performances of those who professed themselves the votaries of the Muses. Whatever was brought before her, she beheld by the steady light of the torch of Truth, and when her examination had convinced her, that the laws of just writing had been observed, she touched it with the amaranthine end of the sceptre, and consigned it over to immortality. But it more frequently happened, that in the works which required her inspection, there was some imposture attempted; that false colours were laboriously laid; that some secret inequality was found between the words and sentiments, or some dissimilitude of the ideas and the original objects; that incongruities were linked together, or that some parts were of no use but to enlarge the appearance of the whole, without contributing to its beauty, solidity, or usefulness. Wherever such discoveries were made, and they were made whenever these faults were committed, Criticism refused the touch which conferred the sanction of immortality, and, when the errors were frequent and gross, reversed the sceptre, and let drops of Lethe distil rom the poppies and cypress, a fatal mildew, which immediately began to waste the work away, till it was at last totally destroyed. There were some compositions brought to the test, in which, when the strongest light was thrown upon them, their beauties and faults appeared so equally mingled, that Criticism stood with her sceptre poised in her hand, in doubt whether to shed Lethe, or ambrosia, upon them. These at last increased to so great a number, that she was weary of attending such doubtful claims, and for fear of using improperly the sceptre of Justice, referred the cause to be considered by Time. The proceedings of Time, though very dilatory, were, some few caprices excepted, conformable to justice; and many who thought themselves secure by a short forbearance, have sunk under his sithe, as they were posting down with their volumes in triumph to futurity. It was observable that some were destroyed by little and little, and others crushed for ever by a single blow. Criticism having long kept her eye fixed steadily upon Time, was at last so well satisfied with his conduct, that she withdrew from the earth with her patroness Astrea, and left Prejudice and False Taste to ravage at large as the associates of Fraud and Mischief; contenting herself thenceforth to shed her influence from afar upon some select minds, fitted for its reception by learning and by virtue. Before her departure she broke her sceptre, of which the shivers, that formed the ambrosial end, were caught up by Flattery, and those that had been infected with the waters of Lethe were, with equal haste, seized by Malevolence. The followers of Flattery, to whom she distributed her part of the sceptre, neither had nor desired light, but touched indiscriminately whatever Power or Interest happened to exhibit. The companions of Malevolence were supplied by the Furies with a torch, which had this quality peculiar to infernal lustre, that its light fell only upon faults. No light, but rather darkness visible, With these fragments of authority, the slaves of Flattery and Malevolence marched out, at the C THE works of fiction, with which the present generation seems more particularly delighted, are such as exhibit life in its true state, diversified only by accidents that daily happen in the world, and influenced by passions and qualities which are really to be found in conversing with mankind. This kind of writing may be termed not improperly the comedy of romance, and is to be conducted nearly by the rules of comic poetry. Its province is to bring about natural events by easy means, and to keep up curiosity without the help of wonder: it is therefore precluded from the machines and expedients of the heroic romance, and can neither employ giants to snatch away a lady from the nuptial rites, nor knights to bring her back from captivity; it can neither be wilder its personages in deserts, nor lodge them in imaginary castles. I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon Pontanus, that all his writings are filled with the same images; and that if you take from him his lilies and his roses, his satyrs and his dryads, he will have nothing left that can be called poetry. In like manner almost all the fictions of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, a battle and a ship wreck. Why this wild strain of imagination found reception so long in polite and learned ages, it is not easy to conceive; but we cannot wonder that while readers could be procured, the authors were willing to continue it; for when a man had by practice gained some fluency of language, he had no further care than to retire to his closet, let loose his invention, and heat his mind with incredibilities; a book was thus produced without fear of criticism, without the toil of study, without knowledge of nature, or acquaintance with life. The task of our present writers is very differ ent; it requires, together with that learning which is to be gained from books, that experi ence which can never be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from general converse and accurate observation of the living world. Theit performances have, as Horace expresses it, plus oneris quantum venice minus, little indulgence, and therefore more difficulty. They are engaged in portraits of which every one knows the original, and can detect any deviation from exactness of resemblance. Other writings are safe, except from the malice of learning, but these are in dan. ger from every common reader: as the slipper ill executed was censured by a shoemaker who happened to stop in his way at the Venus of Apelles. But the fear of not being approved as just co |