ourselves, cannot be of very late introduction. It may be forwarded by
cultivation, but it can scarcely at any rate be very much retarded. For
this sentiment to become perfectly clear and striking, and to be applied
in every case that may come before us, must undoubtedly be an affair
gradual in its progress. From thence to the feelings of right and wrong,
of compassion and generosity, there is but one step.
It has, I think, been fully demonstrated by that very elegant
philosopher Mr. Hutcheson, that self-love is not the source of all our
passions, but that disinterested benevolence has its seat in the human
heart. At present it is necessary for me to take this for granted. The
discussion would lead me too far from my subject. What I would infer
from it is, that benevolent affections are capable of a very early
commencement. They do not wait to be grafted upon the selfish. They have
the larger scope in youthful minds, as such have not yet learned those
refinements of interest, that are incident to persons of longer
experience.
Accordingly no observation is more common, than that mankind are more
generous in the earlier periods of their life, and that their affections
become gradually contracted the farther they advance in the vale of
years. Confidence, kindness, benevolence, constitute the entire temper
of youth. And unless these amiable dispositions be blasted in the bud by
the baneful infusions of ambition, vanity and pride, there is nothing
with which they would not part, to cherish adversity, and remunerate
favour.
Hence we may infer, that the general ideas of merit and character are
perfectly competent to the understanding of children of ten years. False
glory is the farthest in the world from insinuating its witchcraft into
the undepraved heart, where the vain and malignant passions have not yet
erected their standard. It is true, the peculiar sublimities of heroism
cannot be supposed perfectly within his comprehension. But something of
this sort, as we have already said, is incident to every step in the
scale of literature.
But the more perfectly to familiarise to my pupil the understanding and
digesting whatever he read, I would consider it as an indispensible part
of my business, to talk over with him familiarly the subjects, that
might necessarily demand our attention. I would lead him by degrees to
relate with clearness and precision the story of his author. I would
induce him to deliver his fair and genuine sentiments upon every action,
and character that came before us. I would frequently call upon him for
a plain and simple reason for his opinion. This should always be done
privately, without ostentation, and without rivalship. Thus, separate
from the danger of fomenting those passions of envy and pride, that
prepare at a distance for our youth so many mortifications, and at the
expence of which too frequently this accomplishment is attained, I would
train him to deliver his opinion upon every subject with freedom,
perspicuity and fluency. Without at any time dictating to him the
sentiments it became him to entertain, I might, with a little honed
artifice, mould his judgment into the form it was most desirable it
should take, at the same time that I discovered his genius, and
ascertained the original propensities of his mind.
It is unnecessary for me to say any thing respecting morals in the other
sense of the word, I mean as they are connected with the conduct, the
habits of which we should endeavour to cultivate in a pupil; as that
subject has been already exhausted. The vices of youth spring not from
nature, who is equally the kind and blameless mother of all her
children; they derive from the defects of education. We have already
endeavoured to shut up all the inlets of vice. We have precluded
servility and cowardice. We have taken away the motives to concealment
and falshood. By the liberal indulgence we have prescribed, we have
laid the foundation of manly spirit, and generous dignity. A continual
attention to history, accompanied with the cultivation of moral
discernment, and animated with the examples of heroic virtue, could not
fail to form the heart of the pupil, to all that is excellent. At the
same time, by assiduous care, the shoots of vanity and envy might be
crushed in the bud. Emulation is a dangerous and mistaken principle of
constancy. Instead of it I would wish to see the connection of pupils,
consisting only of pleasure and generosity. They should learn to love,
but not to hate each other. Benevolent actions should not directly be
preached to them, they should strictly begin in the heart of the
performer. But when actually done, they should receive the most
distinguished applause.
Let me be permitted in this place to observe, that the association of a
small number of pupils seems the most perfect mode of education. There
is surely something unsuitable to the present state of mankind, in the
wishing to educate our youth in perfect solitude. Society calls forth a
thousand powers both of mind and body, that must otherwise rust in
inactivity. And nothing is more clear from experience, than that there
is a certain tendency to moral depravation in very large bodies of this
kind, to which there has not yet been discovered a sufficient remedy.
If, by the pursuit of principles like these, the powers of the
understanding and the heart might be developed in concert; if the pupils
were trained at once to knowledge and virtue; if they were enabled to
look back upon the period of their education, without regretting one
instance of anxious terror, or capricious severity; if they recollected
their tutor with gratitude, and thought of their companions, as of those
generous friends whom they would wish for the associates of their
life,--in that case, the pains of the preceptor would not be thrown
away.
FINIS.
THE
HERALD OF LITERATURE.
[PRICE TWO SHILLINGS.]
THE
HERALD OF LITERATURE;
OR,
A REVIEW
OF THE
MOST CONSIDERABLE PUBLICATIONS
THAT WILL BE MADE IN THE
COURSE OF THE ENSUING WINTER:
WITH
EXTRACTS.
* * * * *
LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. MURRAY, NO. 32, FLEET-STREET.
M DCC LXXXIV.
TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS.
GENTLEMEN,
In presenting the following sheets to the public, I hope I shall not be
considered as encroaching upon that province, which long possession has
probably taught you to consider as your exclusive right. The labour it
has cost me, and the many perils I have encountered to bring it to
perfection, will, I trust, effectually plead my pardon with persons of
your notorious candour and humanity. Represent to yourselves, Gentlemen,
I entreat you, the many false keys, bribes to the lacqueys of authors
that can keep them, and collusions with the booksellers of authors that
cannot, which were required in the prosecution of this arduous
undertaking. Imagine to yourselves how often I have shuddered upon the
verge of petty larceny, and how repeatedly my slumbers have been
disturbed with visions of the King's-Bench Prison and Clerkenwell
Bridewell. You, gentlemen, sit in your easy chair, and with the majesty
of a Minos or an Aeacus, summon the trembling culprits to your bar. But
though you never knew what fear was, recollect, other men have snuffed a
candle with their fingers.
But I would not be misunderstood. Heroical as I trust my undertaking
proves me, I fear no man's censure, and court no man's applause. But I
look up to you as a respectable body of men, who have long united your
efforts to reduce the disproportioned members of an ancient republic to
an happy equality, to give wings to the little emmet of Grub-street, and
to hew away the excrescences of lawless genius with a hatchet. In this
character I honour you. That you have assumed it uncompelled and
self-elected, that you have exercised it undazzled by the _ignis fatuus_
of genius, is your unfading glory.
Having thus cleared myself from the suspicion of any sinister view, I
cannot here refrain from presenting you with a peace-offering. Had it
been in my power to procure gums more costly, or incense more fragrant,
I would have rendered it more worthy your acceptance.
It has been a subject upon which I have often reflected with
mortification, that the world is too apt to lay aside your lucubrations
with the occasions that gave birth to them, and that if they are ever
opened after, it is only with old magazines by staid matrons over their
winter fire. Such persons are totally incapable of comparing your
sentences with the maturer verdict of the public; a comparison that
would redound so much to your honour. What I design at present, is in
some measure to remedy an evil, that can never perhaps be entirely
removed. As the field which is thus opened to me is almost unbounded, I
will confine myself to two of the most striking examples, in Tristram
Shandy, and the Rosciad of Churchill.
In the Monthly Review, vol. 24, p, 103, I find these words:
"But your indiscretion, good Mr. Tristram, is not all we complain of in
the volumes before us. We must tax you with what you will dread above
the most terrible of all insinuations--nothing less than DULLNESS. Yes,
indeed, Mr. Tristram, you are dull, _very dull_. Your jaded fancy seems
to have been exhausted by two pigmy octavos, which scarce contained the
substance of a twelve-penny pamphlet, and we now find nothing new to
entertain us."
The following epithets are selected at random. "We are sick--we are
quite tired--we can no longer bear corporal Trim's
insipidity--thread-bare--stupid and unaffecting--absolutely
dull--misapplication of talents--he will unavoidably sink into
contempt."
The Critical Review, vol II, p. 212, has the following account of the
Rosciad:
"It is _natural_ for young authors to conceive themselves the
cleverest fellows in the world, and withal, that there is not
the least degree of merit subsisting but in their own works: It
is _natural_ likewise for them to imagine, that they may conceal
themselves by appearing in different shapes, and that they are
not to be found out by their stile; but little do these
_Connoisseurs_ in writing conceive, how easily they are
discovered by a veteran in the service. In the title-page to
this performance we are told (by way of quaint conceit), that it
was written by _the author_; what if it should prove that the
Author and the Actor[A] are the same! Certain it is that we meet
with the _same_ vein of peculiar humour, the same turn of
thought, the same _autophilism_ (there's a new word for you to
bring into the next poem) which we meet with in the other;
insomuch that we are ready to make the conclusion in the
author's own words:
[Footnote A: _The Actor, a Poem, by Robert Lloyd, Esq._]
Who is it?------LLOYD.
"We will not pretend however absolutely to assert that Mr. L----
wrote this poem; but we may venture to affirm, that it is the
production, jointly or separately, of the new triumvirate of
wits, who never let an opportunity slip of singing their own
praises. _Caw me, caw thee_, as Sawney says, and so to it they
go, and _scratch_ one another like so many Scotch pedlars."
In page 339, I find a passage referred to in the Index, under the head
of "a notable instance of their candour," retracting their insinuations
against Lloyd and Colman, and ascribing the poem in a particular vein of
pleasantry to Mr. Flexney, the bookseller, and Mr. Griffin, the printer.
Candour certainly did not require that they should acknowledge Mr.
Churchill, whose name was now inserted in the title-page, as the author,
or if author of any, at least not of a considerable part of the poem.
That this was their sense of the matter, appears from their account of
the apology for the Rosciad, p. 409.
"This is another _Brutum Fulinen_ launched at the Critical Review by one
Churchill, who it seems is a clergyman, and it must be owned has a knack
at versification; a bard, who upon the strength of having written a few
good lines in a thing called _The Rosciad_, swaggers about as if he were
game-keeper of Parnassus."
P. 410. "This apologist has very little reason to throw out behind
against the Critical Reviewers, who in mentioning _The Rosciad_, of
which he calls himself author, commended it in the lump, without
specifying the bald lines, the false thoughts, and tinsel frippery from
which it is not entirely free." They conclude with contrasting him with
Smollet, in comparison of whom he is "a puny antagonist, who must write
many more poems as good as the Rosciad, before he will be considered as
a respectable enemy."
Upon these extracts I will beg leave to make two observations.
1. Abstracted from all consideration of the profundity of criticism that
is displayed, no man can avoid being struck with the humour and
pleasantry in which they are conceived, or the elegant and gentlemanlike
language in which they are couched. What can be more natural or more
ingenuous than to suppose that the persons principally commended in a
work, were themselves the writers of it? And for that allusion of the
Scotch pedlars, for my part, I hold it to be inimitable.
2. But what is most admirable is the independent spirit, with which they
stemmed the torrent of fashion, and forestalled the second thoughts of
their countrymen. There was a time when Tristram Shandy was applauded,
and Churchill thought another Dryden. But who reads Tristram now? There
prevails indeed a certain quaintness, and something "like an affectation
of being immoderately witty, throughout the whole work." But for real
humour not a grain. So said the Monthly Reviewers, (v. 21. p. 568.) and
so says the immortal Knox. Both indeed grant him a slight knack at the
pathetic; but, if I may venture a prediction, his pretensions to the
latter will one day appear no better founded, than his pretentions to
the former.
And then poor Churchill! His satire now appears to be dull and
pointless. Through his tedious page no modern student can labour. We
look back, and wonder how the rage of party ever swelled this _thing_
into a poet. Even the great constellation, from whose tribunal no
prudent man ever appealed, has excluded him from a kingdom, where Watts
and Blackmore reign. But Johnson and Knox can by no means compare with
the Reviewers. These attacked the mountebanks in the very midst of their
short-lived empire. Those have only brought up the rear of public
opinion, and damned authors already forgotten. They fought the battles a
second time, and "again they slew the slain."
Gentlemen,
It would have been easy to add twenty articles to this list. I might
have selected instances from the later volumes of your entertaining
works, in which your deviations from the dictates of imaginary taste are
still more numerous. But I could not have confronted them with the
decisive verdict of time. The rage of fashion has not yet ceased, and
the ebullition of blind wonder is not over. I shall therefore leave a
plentiful crop for such as come after me, who admire you as much as I
do, and will be contented to labour in the same field.
I have the honour to be,
Gentlemen,
With all veneration,
Your indefatigable reader,
And the humblest of your panegyrists.
CONTENTS.
ARTICLE I.
_The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. By Edward
Gibbon, Esq. Vols._ iv, v, vi, vii. 4to.
ARTICLE II.
_The History of America. By William Robertson, D.D. &c. Vols._ iii,
_and_ iv. 4to.
ARTICLE III.
_Secret History of Theodore Albert Maximilian, Prince of Hohenzollern
Sigmaringen_. 12mo.
ARTICLE IV.
_Louisa, or Memoirs of a Lady of Quality. By the Author of Evelina and
Cecilia. Three vols._ 12mo.
ARTICLE V.
_The Peasant of Bilidelgerid, a Tale. Two vols. Shandean._
ARTICLE VI.
_An Essay on Novel, in Three Epistles, inscribed to the Right Honourable
Lady Craven. By William Hayley, Esq._ 4to.
ARTICLE VII.
_Inkle and Yarico, a Poem. By James Beattie, L.L.D._ 4to.
ARTICLE VIII.
_The Alchymist, a Comedy, altered from Ben Jonson, by Richard Brinsley
Sheridan, Esq._
ARTICLE IX.
_Reflexions upon the present State of the United States of America. By
Thomas Paine, M.A. &c._ 8vo.
ARTICLE X.
_Speech of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, on a Motion for an Address
of Thanks to his Majesty (on the 28th of November, 1783) for his
gracious Communication of a Treaty of Commerce concluded between George
the Third, King, &c. and the United States of America._
THE
HERALD
OF
LITERATURE, &C.
* * * * *
ARTICLE I.
THE HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. BY EDWARD
GIBBON, ESQ. VOLS. IV, V, VI, VII. 4TO.
We are happy to have it in our power thus early to congratulate the
public upon the final accomplishment of a work, that must constitute one
of the greatest ornaments of the present age. We have now before us, in
one view, and described by the uniform pencil of one historian, the
stupendous and instructive object of the gradual decline of the greatest
empire; circumscribed by degrees within the narrow walls of a single
city; and at length, after the various revolutions of thirteen
centuries, totally swallowed up in the empire of the Turks. Of this
term, the events of more than nine hundred years are described in that
part of our author that now lies before us. It cannot therefore be
expected, that in the narrow limits we have prescribed to ourselves, we
should enter into a regular synopsis of the performance, chapter by
chapter, after the laudable example of our more laborious brother
reviewers. We will pay our readers the compliment, however unauthorised
by the venerable seal of custom, of supposing them already informed,
that Anastasius succeeded Zeno, and Justin Anastasius; that Justinian
published the celebrated code that is called by his name; and that his
generals, Belisarius and Narses, were almost constantly victorious over
the Barbarians, and restored, for a moment, the expiring lustre of the
empire. We shall confine ourselves to two extracts, relating to subjects
of the greatest importance, and which we presume calculated, at once to
gratify and excite the curiosity of the public.
The reign of the emperor Heraclius is perhaps more crowded with events
of the highest consequence, than that of any other prince in the series.
It has therefore a proportionable scope allotted it in the plan of Mr.
Gibbon; who seems to understand better than almost any historian, what
periods to sketch with a light and active pen, and upon what to dwell
with minuteness, and dilate his various powers. While we pursue the
various adventures of Cosroes II., beginning his reign in a flight from
his capital city; suing for the protection and support of the Greek
emperor; soon after declaring war against the empire; successively
conquering Mesopotamia, Armenia, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and the
greater part of Natolia; then beaten; a fugitive; and at last murdered
by his own son; we are unable to conceive of a story more interesting,
or more worthy of our attention. But in contemplating the rife of the
Saracen khalifate, and the religion of Mahomet, which immediately
succeeded these events, we are compelled to acknowledge a more
astonishing object.
The following is the character of the impostor, as sketched by the
accurate and judicious pencil of our historian. We will leave it to the
judgment of our readers, only observing, that Mr. Gibbon has very
unnecessarily brought Christianity into the comparison; and has perhaps
touched the errors of the false prophet with a lighter hand, that the
disparity might be the less apparent.
"But Heraclius had a much more formidable enemy to encounter in
the latter part of his reign, than the effeminate and divided
Persian. This was the new empire of the Saracens. Ingenious and
eloquent, temperate and brave, as had been invariably their
national character, they had their exertions concentred, and
their courage animated by a legislator, whose institutions may
vie, in the importance of their consequences, with those of
Solon, Lycurgus, or Numa. Though an impostor, he propagated a
religion, which, like the elevated and divine principles of
Christianity, was confined to no one nation or country; but even
embraced a larger portion of the human race than Christianity
itself.
"Mahomet, the son of Abdallah, was born on the 9th of April,
571, in the city of Mecca. Having been early left an orphan by
both parents, he received an hardy and robust education, not
tempered by the elegancies of literature, nor much allayed by
the indulgencies of natural affection. He was no sooner able to
walk, than he was sent naked, with the infant peasantry, to
attend the cattle of the village; and was obliged to seek the
refreshment of sleep, as well as pursue the occupations of the
day, in the open air[A]. He even pretended to be a stranger to
the art of writing and reading. But though neglected by those
who had the care of his infancy, the youth of this extraordinary
personage did not pass away without some of those incidents,
which might afford a glimpse of the sublimity of his genius; and
some of those prodigies, with which superstition is prompt to
adorn the story of the founders of nations, and the conquerors
of empires. In the mean time, his understanding was enlarged by
travel. It is not to be supposed that he frequented the
neighbouring countries, without making some of those profound
observations upon the decline of the two great empires of the
East and of Persia, which were calculated to expand his views,
and to mature his projects. The energies of his mind led him to
despise the fopperies of idolatry; and he found the Christians,
in the most unfavourable situation, torn into innumerable
parties, by the sectaries of Athanasius, Arius, Eutyches,
Nestorius. In this situation, he extracted that from every
system that bordered most nearly upon the dictates of reason,
and framed to himself a sublime doctrine, of which the unity of
God, the innocence of moderate enjoyment, the obligation of
temperance and munificence, were the leading principles. But it
would have contributed little to his purpose, if he had stopped
here. Enthusiastically devoted to his extensive designs, and
guided by the most consummate art, he pretended to divine
communications, related a thousand ridiculous and incredible
adventures; and though he constantly refused a prodigy to the
importunities of his countrymen, laid claim to several frivolous
miracles, and a few thinly scattered prophecies. One of his most
artful devices was the delivering the system of his religion,
not in one entire code, but in detached essays. This enabled him
more than once to new mould the very genius of his religion,
without glaringly subjecting himself to the charge of
inconsistency. From these fragments, soon after his death, was
compiled the celebrated Alcoran. The style of this volume is
generally turgid, heavy, monotonous. It is disfigured with
childish tales and impossible adventures. But it is frequently
figurative, frequently poetical, sometimes sublime. And amidst
all its defects, it will remain the greatest of all monuments of
uncultivated and illiterate genius.
[Footnote A: "Abuleda, Chron. p. 27. Boulainvilliers, Vie de
Mahomet, b. ii. p. 175. This latter writer exhibits the singular
phenomenon of the native of a Christian country, unreasonably
prejudiced in favour of the Arabian impostor. That he did not
live, however, to finish his curious performance, is the
misfortune of the republic of letters." ]