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but, with honest Sancho, always "wants better bread than is made of wheat." To sum up much criticism in a few words, he is the shabby petit maitre-the dirty dan dy of literature! In his attempts to be original he is coarse and vulgar; and if he mounts the high horse of sentimen tality, it is sure to throw him into the dirt. The following (one of his very many definitions of poetry) is highly curious and entertaining:- "That which lifts the spirit above the earth, which draws the soul out of itself with indescribable longings, is poetry, in kind, and generally fit to become so in name, by being 'married to immortal verse.' Why really the politics of this pompous cockney, are less absurd than his criticisms. He pretends to be an admirer of Hudibras, but had he ever perused that ingenions production he would have known that "rhyme is only the rudder of verse." But as he seems very dull of comprehension, we will present him with a still further illustration of the subject. Verse is to poetry, what a peach-coloured coat, buckskins, and patent top boots are to Mr. Hazlitt "the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace," when there is any, and vice versa. as in the case of the critic. After assimilating poetry to a bird, a carriage that goes on springs-a flame-a river-a parallelogram, and representing it as bright and obscure, vast and infinite, making the odds even, sometimes composed of gauze and silver spangles, and at others of nothing at all; we have a clumsy comparison of its merits with painting, on which we shall beg leave to offer a few observations. "We may assume without much temerity," says Mr. H. " that poetry is more poetical than painting. When artists or connoisseurs talk on stilts about the poetry of painting, they shew that they know little about poetry, and have little love for the art. Painting gives the object itself; poetry what it implies. Painting embodies what a thing contains in itself: poetry suggests what exists out of it in any manner connected with it." "But by the time the picture is painted, all is over. Faces are the best part of a picture; but even faces are not what we chiefly remember in what interests us most." The information we gain from the first part of this estimate is infinitely luminous. We are at a loss to conceive why Mr. Hazlitt will not permit "connoisseurs and artists" to talk upon stilts as well as himself; it would be scarcely possible for them to say any thing furNEW MONTHLY MAG.-No. 57.

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ther removed from the purpose than he has done. For ourselves, we do profess to believe, notwithstanding his denunciations, that poetry bears a very great affinity to painting. They both consist in an imitation of nature, and the nearer they approach to an entire resemblance of it, the more perfect and excellent they are. The painter is to the eye, what the poet is to the ear. From one we derive pleasure by silent eloquence, from the other by vocal imagery. One depicts with a pen, whilst the other, with equal elegance, expresses a poetical spirit by the pencil. Descriptive poems have often been spoken of as pictures; and as painting is divided into many branches, so poetry will be found to bear a proportionate resemblance to them all. The Dutch school for instance, admirable in its way, may be compared to the burlesque style of poetry, the ends of both being to excite laughter. Those who delineate landscapes, pleasant prospects, and rural scenes, may be likened to the pastoral poets; and portrait painters, to those who write on common place occasions; the latter tell of joy, grief, passion, and disappointment, in their strains; the former represent all the emotions of the heart, on the faces of their figures, with the utmost spirit and vivacity. True Poetry the painter's power displays, True Painting emulates the poet's lays, The rival sisters, fond of equal fame, Alternate change their office and their name.

Fresnoy. Mason's Translation.

The pen and the pencil equally conspire to preserve to men the memory of the illustrious of all ages-to record high and exalted deeds, and rescue their names from oblivion in spite of mortality. We do not think with our cockney critic, that "by the time the picture is painted all is over;" on the contrary, we look upon an interesting painting to be to the imagination, what the key note is to the melody, in music, which gives us an impulse, a ground work for the fancy to expand upon. But we are getting into a lengthy dissertation quite foreign to our intentions; the object we had in view was simply to expose Mr. Hazlitt's fallibility as a critic,-an aim which we have doubtless pretty well accomplished. We have shewn him to be ignorant of all he pretends to understand—a mere quacka mountebank; who has wriggled himself into public notice by spouting his creaking prose in tavern halls, and would have poisoned the public with his "brick dast powders," and "tallow pills" had

VOL. X.

2 D.

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Z.

SUPERIORITY OF THE BRITISH TROOPS OVER THE FRENCH.

THAT the British troops have always proved victorious over the French, whenever there was any thing like a parity of numbers, is an historical fact, undeniable from the times of Agincourt to those of Waterloo. This ascendancy in prowess, proceeds from moral and political, as well as physical causes. In a free state, where every man feels more or less, identified with the existing order of things, and where the privileges to which the constitution entitles him gives dignity to his sentiments, and elevates him above the mere tool of arbitrary ambition, it is natural that he should become actuated by a more rational and staple motive, than nere professional advancement or individual glory. Those interests and emotions, in short, which render the officer always more steady, determined and effective than the private soldier, are infused in a far greater degree, into the subordinate ranks of such an army, than into mechanical masses of slaves, who care little about the political result; but conceiving every object accomplished when their victories enable them to plunder the dead, retire from the field, covered with glory and gold lace.

At the commencement of a battle physical prowess and constitutional bravery are the principal qualities exerted on both sides, and as these are generally dispensed on both sides, in a pretty equal proportion, the contest generally remains for some time undecided. But it is after their exhaustion, it is after the mere brutal powers have expended themselves, it is after the body has overworked its functions, that the mind developes its strength, and decides the fate of the day. Then the love of freedom contends against the love of plunder, the sober habit of reflecting upon consequences against the chimerical rashness of indefinite aims; and the cool intrepidity of principle, against the shortlived enthusiasm of glory.

The quality of courage has often been divided into two kinds-constitutional and moral; that which despises personal danger, and that which bears up against mental calamity. But the former is itself subdivisible into two species-individual and aggregate. Perhaps the great mass of every nation is

[Oct. 1,

born with an equal average of individual bravery, though habits and education may tend to subdue or diminish it. Whether the French are our inferiors in this species, I know not. I should rather incline to think them personally as valiant as ourselves; but in a collective body, no doubt, they are far beneath us. The reason may be this; where the performance of an exploit depends upon the courage of one man alone, he knows how far he can rely upon himself, and if he be valiant he will not fear abandoning his own attempt. But when he forms only a part of an executive machine, he has the additional fear of being abandoned by others, and the courage necessary to assist him is not entirely his own.

Now, when a man finds himself a part only of an integral body, private feeling naturally becomes subordinate to public, partakes of its tenor, and adopts its spirit. In the case, therefore, of a contest between French and English armies, if it be true, that the public spirit of the latter, (for the reasons before assigned,) be superior to those of the former, it follows, that however brave an individual Frenchman may be, he will accommodate the exertions of that bravery to the general tone of his associates. The Frenchman will argue, that it were useless to attempt enterprizes, which might, not be supported by his comrades; whereas the Englishman places as much reliance on his comrades as on himself. This difference then, in the esprit du corps, of both armies, often tends to make the Frenchman, if he be a brave man, act like a coward; and the Englishman, if he be a coward, act like a brave

man.

Courage is also divisible into two other species-active and passive. In the latter, the French are certainly our equals: for they will stand tamely to be shot at, a whole summer's day. But when the combat ceases to be missile, when steel encounters steel, and the hand which deals death, and the eye that threatens it, approach and become visible, then the Frenchman begins to feel his inferiority, and the Englishman to glory in his prowess. Then, indeed, the Frenchman knows that the desertion of his comrade will prove fatal, and the Englishman is conscious that into whatever peril he rushes he shall not want support. The consequence has been, that throughout the whole of the Peninsular war, the French never but twice attempted to cross bayonets with British troops, but

always fled from the charge, just when they had advanced so far as to render retreat infinitely more difficult and fatal than a contest. Yet this sort of panic applies to them only where they meet British troops; for they feel, and therefore, (so far as confidence goes,) possess a decided superiority at the bayonet over the troops of every other nation.

Our advantage in close combat, independent of moral causes, is attributable to the habits and exercises of our people, which tend, at once, to strengthen their muscular powers, and familiarize them with personal contentions. Cricket, football, tripping, wrestling and boxing are the sports of our English youth. The latter, especially, in which almost all are adepts, accustoms them to view without terror, an antagonist face to face, and glaring fierceness and destruction from his eye. Now the power of the human countenance to create terror, not alone in beasts, but in fellow men, is well authenticated; and more than one Frenchman has been heard to say, that he dreaded our eyes more than our bayonets. It is a fact too, that a Frenchman never thinks of running till he has approached close enough to see the visage of his enemy. There is no doubt, therefore, that this circumstance alone, produces no small effect in a Frenchman, whose sole exercise is fencing; a science, where the first lesson taught, is to present a serene countenance, for the purpose of preserving temper and self possession. Strength and activity of arm are also required, in a far greater degree, by the manly games of Englishmen. Though, therefore, a French army may outnumber an English, and though the sum total of their strength, may thus exceed our own, yet as, generally speaking, each individual Englishman surpasses in prowess each individual Frenchman, though he fall short of any two, yet still, that prowess, being concentrated, and set in motion by one governing power, so as to act instantaneously upon a single point, it becomes, according to mechanic rules, equal in its effect, to two distinct powers, which are superior in actual endowment; but inferior in the means of application. In short, it is mind, and not muscle, which decides the fate of nations; and not so much the mind of the general, who by judgment and ingenuity certainly effects a great deal, as that moral portion of the mind, those passions and those feelings, which, according as good or bad preponderates, first create free

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and virtuous, or servile and vicious empires, and afterwards mainly contribute, either to preserve or to destroy them. B.

MODERN PATRIOTISM.
MR. EDITOR,

ALTHOUGH a constant and systematic opposition to the measures of government may appear somewhat unreasonable, it is difficult to conceive that our constitution could otherwise be preseryed in a vigorous and healthy state; or, indeed that it could exist at all. Opposition, while it nourishes manly and independent feelings among the peeple, by its vigilance, often instructs ministers how to act, and at all times im. poses on them the duties of moderation and circumspection. Most of those, however, who engage in this practice rush into such extremes as entirely to defeat their own purpose. Were they to study a greater degree of candor and discrimination, it is evident that their censures would acquire more force as well as dignity. Interest, disappointed hopes, envy, rivalship, revenge, &c. are often too plainly the main-springs of their political invectives. Some few there are, possessed of peculiar malignity, who, in their rage against its governors, extend it also to the country itself, rejoicing in its misfortunes, and would seem ever fervently to wish its total downfall; assured, in this case, that the hated possessors of power would be the first to be involved in the universal ruin. Of this description, undoubtedly, the most conspicuous are Cobbett and Phillips. In the last publications of these ultra-patriots, I observe mutual compliments on the soundness of their principles, and the excellence of their characters.

It has however excited much regret and surprise that the celebrated Jeremy Bentham, in a late book on the "Inadequacy of moderate, and the necessity of radical reform," should have sullied his reputation by adopting the vulgar abuse of the Prestons and Hunts. As this gentleman does not seem, conspicuously, to possess natural malignity of temper, it is reasonable to suppose that he must have been thwarted in some application to government; or been disappointed in his expectations.* Of any such particular

If ministers have really grossly disregarded the claims of a man, who, neglecting the lucrative practice, has devoted his life to the illustration of the theory of law,

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circumstance in the history of his life, I am wholly ignorant; but a passage occurs in this work from which I think it may be safely inferred that his extraordinary zeal for radical reform proceeds from a different kind of feeling than pure patriotism He exultingly argues that kings must ever be against reform, because, as human creatures they would not naturally wish to impart any of the good things of the world to reformers, but retain them all to themselves. It must follow, according to his own data, that as reformers are also human creatures they must likewise be actuated by similar principles, by a desire to catch at the good things of the world. The following are his own expressions, in which your readers will discover none of the graces of elegance or simplicity. Money, power, factitious dignity among the modifications of the matter of good, among the good things of this wicked world-these as it is the interest so it has ever been the study as it has been the study, so has it been the endeavour-of the monarch-as it has been, so will it, and where the monarch is a human being, so must it be every where to draw to himself the greatest quantity possible." p. 18. It is hoped that both rulers and reformers may be human, and yet their interest will sometimes consist in more generous and sublime modifications of the matter of good than money, power, or factitious dignity. It is not surely beyond the reach of human virtue, either in a monarch or a patriot, that his true interest and happiness lie in the real good of his country, and the pleasure of seeing all around him prosperous and happy; or, in the consciousness of present and future fame.

Universal suffrage, or, at least, a more general suffrage of the people in the election of the members of Parliament is the great outcry of all our reformers. This convenient topic on which to display their political sagacity and their sound patriotism, will, it is likely, last them long enough; for it is not to be imagined that the British Government will ever be so enthusiastically speculative, as to gin the tremendous ex

they undoubtedly merit the charge of insensibility. In a former age statesmen were more ambitious of the praise of literature than of late; they were not only the patrons, but the intimate companions of the Popes and the Gays, the Addisons and the Swifts of their time.

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periment of investing the people with new political power. Some late large minorities, and the last elections, ought, I think, to convince every candid and reasonable person that our constitution is already sufficiently democratical; circumstances, however, which I do not mention as matter of regret, or alarm, but rather the contrary. But, surely, Mr. Bentham must have abandoned all sense of truth and shame when he roundly asserts that the liberties of the people are now wholly extinguished by the incroachments of arbitrary power. It is a glaring truth that popular privileges have been continually gaining ground since the extinction of the Tudor Family; and, if I mistake not, they have attained additional consideration, even in our own times, since the confident administration of Pitt. Yet, says this writer, "Without any outward or visible change in the forms of our constitution, the monarchical and the aristocratical have obtained over the democratical not only an ascendancy, but an ascendancy so complete, that under the outward shew of a mixed and limited monarchy, a monarchy virtually and substantially absolute is the result."

Such kind of random, desperate observations would have deserved no attention had they come from a common opposition writer, who, for the sake of his character or the sale of his works, must, without ceremony, persevere in the opinions he has publicly avowed; but when a man whose name of all his living contemporaries perhaps best deserves to be mentioned by posterity, voluntarily plunges into the mire with the lowest herd of croaking politicians, pouring out those mere " railing accusations" which have already passed a thousand mouths, and whose appetite is capable of being satiated with miserable, antiquated satire, of which the meanest pamphleteer has been twenty years ago ashamed; such as allusions to Burke's swinish multitude and to the house of correction by the name of the Bastille; which he calls one of Lord Sidmouth's Bastilles, where the "seditionist lies rotting, unseen and unseenable:" such an extraordinary phenomenon well deserves to be particularly remarked, as one of the most striking, as well as lamentable proofs of the degree to which partyspirit is capable of perverting the temper, and degrading the understanding. E. LEMPRIERE.

Holborn, Aug. 4, 1818.

1818.]

NUGE LITERARIÆ.

No. 2.

The resources of Genius. In his musing mood the poet exists in another world, peopled by the beings of his own prolific imagination. He is there compensated for the neglects he meets with in life. There every thing is adjusted to his taste; his rivals are always disgraced and his nymphs are always kind." Les malheureux qui ont de l'esprit trouvent des ressources en eux-memes," says Bouhours: "Then grieve not thou to whom the indulgent Muse

Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire;

Nor blame the partial Fates if they refuse The imperial banquet and the rich attire; Know thine own worth, and reverence the Lyre!*

Remarks on a passage in the Dunciad. "Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel decked these

ribbalds

From slashing Bentley," &c.

The introduction of a name so deservedly revered as that of the critic Bentley into the Dunciad will ever reflect the highest discredit upon its author. The cause of Pope's enmity to this worthy man and excellent scholar, is accounted for in the following anecdote.

Atterbury being in company with Bentley and Pope, insisted upon knowing the Doctor's opinion of the (then) recently translated Homer. He warded off the question for some time, but being earnestly pressed by both, freely said, "The verses are good verses, but the work is not Homer, it is Spontanus;" an observation which may be considered exceedingly apposite. Pope has been too attentive to the melody of his versification, and has failed in a great measure to infuse into his translation the simple mujesty of Homer. His descriptions run into florid amplifications not to be found in the original, and he is not unfrequently artificial and affected, when he wishes to be pathetic. In short his splendid and too highly ornamented paraphrase is better adapted to the style of the silvery tongued author mentioned by Bentley than to Homer.

LEE and ADDISON. The thought with which Addison's noble tragedy Cato opens, appears to have been borrowed from Lee's Alexander, The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day. Cato.

Beattie's Minstrel.

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The morning rises black; the low'ring sun, As if the dreadful business he foreknew, Drives heavily his sable chariot on.

Alexander. By which comparison it is seen that Lee's images are most striking; Addison's most correct.

Song writing

Is a talent entirely "per se," and given, like every other branch of genius, by nature. Shenstone was labouring through his whole life to write a perfect song, and succeeded no better than Pope did in his attempts at a Cecilian Ode. Mr. Moore is one of the very few poets who have entered into the spirit of this style of composition. His songs abound in the most exquisite similies, and generally conclude with one, which may be said to be to the piece, like the dew drop at the end of an unfolding rosebud, which, tinged with the colour of the flower, adds brightness to its hues, delicacy to its shades, beauty to its shape, and fragrance to its perfume!

Seat of Modesty.

Aristotle observes that lovers gaze on no part but the eyes of those they love, which is the abode of modesty. Pliny, however, places it in the cheeks; but Erasmus in some measure illustrates the meaning of the Stagyrite, by affirming that modesty is said to be in the eyes, because children when they blush cover their eyes. He adds that the Poets feign Cupid blind because he is so impudent; were his eyes open nobody would trust him.

"Which is the villain? let mesee his eyes That I may avoid him."

Much Ado, &c.