the first ?—and, if their opinions were to be binding upon posterity, whether we might not prefer Cowley to Milton; whether we might not extol Ben Jonson's classick declamations, and quaint evanescent humours, above Shakspeare's flowing fires, and inspired delineations of eternal nature;—whether we might not think that the Muse rejoiced, when the Revolution tore the laurel from Dryden's brow, to strain the unwilling wreath of Apollo round the temples of Shadwell; and whether, while displaying the snarling arch-critick Denuis, the epick Blackmore, with Gildon, Oldmixon, and others, upon our shelves, we ought not to consign the works of one Alexander Pope, above mention'd, to the pastry-cook, and the trunkmaker? The lovers of rust, for rust's sake; the foppish plodders over laborious trifles; the bookish collectors of heavy whip-syllabubs,-who would give an hundred pounds for a fancied original black-letter tract, written to prove that Eve wore a feather,-(which would induce the important discussion of whether she stuck it in her head or her tail)-such readers might be gratified to peruse an accurate Bill of critical Mortality, enumerating each individual who has expe rienced an early, but natural death, after all the slings and arrows" he outrageously directed against his literary survivors. 66 But, without a minute list of those dead, and forgotten heroes, it is gratifying to observe, that departed men of genuine, inventive merit, although they might occasionally fall out in print, have, for . the most part, acknowledged the general abilities of each other; and that, whenever persevering malignity attempted to strip them of all reputation, it has proceeded from their inferiors*. Thus, when heats arose between the rival wits of their day, society witness'd a skilful literary escrime, and the parties fenced like gentlemen; but the envious mob of dullards put them in fear of their poetical lives, upon Fame's highway, and assaulted them with Hyper-criticism's clumsy hatchets, and blud geons. It may be said, in denial of this statement, that some of our most celebrated wits have also wielded bludgeons then let it be remember'd, that they slew none but their low and ruffian assailants; and, if judgment deny that they acted in self-defence, because there was no absolute peril, candour may confess that gross, and repeated provocations, were sufficient to excuse the conduct of the exterminators. I do not mean to contend that a man may not be a sound critick (certainly he may be a good scholiast,) on inventive writers-who is not an inventive writer himself. I know that road-posts, which cannot tra Jeremy Collier was the only inferior who attack'd the Dramatists of his time so as to produce benefit to the publick, by his correction of them. He, certainly, did not want wit; and he was the cause of reforming the obscenities, and immoralities, of the stage. But, as Dryden hints, "the zeal of God's house had eaten him up." He writes with extreme virulence and illiberality, and seems to aim at the abolishment of theatres altogether, rather than the purgation of their impurities. vel, are useful to the traveller; and that some, who cannot ride Pegasus, may be able to curry him; but I am bold to say, that the best, and most lasting animadversions on English Poets, have been written by those who have given proofs of their own poetical powers. Dryden, "who may properly be consider'd the father of English criticism," and soon after him, Pope, and Addison, might alone, without further search, proudly support this position. It would profane the memory of Doctor Johnson*, to place the ephemeral strictures of present journalists in competition with his lasting labours ;-except in that degree of comparison in which, when describing a pyramid of Egypt, we, by chance, mention a mile-stone. In his Lives of our Poets, and Preface to Shakspeare, his discrimination resembles a majestick lake, border'd with polish'd gardens; and the flowers of his style gracefully adorn the expanse and profundity of his judgment. He possesses power to seize a fault with a mental strength, and velocity, equal to the bodily vigour of a lion springing upon his prey; but, more generous than the lion, he feels no ferocious hunger to mangle and destroy. Frequently, when marking a defect in thought, he recommends, even in that very thought, an excellence to excuse it. Occasionally, he deviates into a dignified gaiety of reprobation;-it is, however, the gambol of an * His poetical effusions (though few) are excellent. earthquake; and, when Johnson is sportive, the Par nassian spot, on which an author stands at the moment, trembles under him :—yet the shock is never intended to hurl him from the mountain. I admit that he has, at times, his "sesquipedalia verba;" but they are apposite, and forcible, and, often, introduced with great effect, after his own manner, by this Instructer to the English in their language-pigmy imitators have caught the glaring points, and nothing else, of their gigantick original. This is a matter of more regret than wonder: the redundancies of a genius, like a distortion in a fine· statue, are soonest perceived, and easiest copied, by diligent dulness. He who cannot fight like Alexander, can place his neck awry, to resemble him; hut he who has establish'd a popular school, cannot inspire blockheads, thrust into his academy. The assertion may be ventured, without rashness, that, since the death of Doctor Johnson, and his contemporaries, modern Poetry has not fallen so low, by some degrees, as modern Criticism upon it, in the aggregate which is somewhat extraordinary; for I conceive it to be inore difficult, among the living, to write a play or poem, from the highest to the lowest, : * Johnson had several celebrated contemporary criticks; some of whom, for a few years, survived him. I cannot remember, exactly, when Goldsmith died; nor when the two Wartons;- -my father, I know, lived some years after him. Other conspicuous men might be enumerated; but I have no documents by me. The criticisms of the four I have named will be lasting: and they were all-Poets. than to write a criticism upon it, up to the standard of the work. This the gentlemen whose trade it is to dissect writings, (I beg their pardon, I was about to say cut up,) may deny. It is asserted, however, from excellent authority, that "criticks and annotators can only rank as the satellites of authors." Do the censors mean to reverse this doctrine; as the college, in Moliere's "Medecin malgré lui," removed. the heart from the left side, to the right? They tell. us that Poetry, round which Criticism was wont to revolve, is almost burnt out. The primary Planets being, thus, nearly extinct, of what use are the Satellites, and what is to become of them? - When butchers have cried down animal food, there will be an end of their occupation. It may be objected to me that the sterling authorities I have cited, only discuss'd (except when they were retorting upon their assailants) the works of the mighty dead; and I may be ask'd by some pert Longinus of a Magazine, if former criticks had been obliged to rake into such productions as are now extant, what they could have said of them, better than is said at present. I am confident as to what they would not have said, and what they would not have done : They would not have said any thing in the sterility of style, in the asperity of spirit, nor in the illiberality of system, which characterise their suc cessors: They would not, in the common place cant of all |