COMMENTARY.

‘An Eſſay]’ The Poem is in one book, but divided into three principals parts or members. The firſt [to ℣ 201.] gives rules for the Study of the Art of Criticiſm: the ſecond [from thence to ℣ 560.] expoſes the Cauſes of wrong Judgment; and the third [from thence to the end] preſcribes the Morals of the Critic.

In order to a right underſtanding of this poem, it will be ne⯑ceſſary to obſerve, that tho' it be intitled ſimply an Eſſay on Criticiſm, yet ſeveral of the precepts relate equally to the good writing as well as to the true judging of a poem. This is ſo far from violating the Unity of the Subject, that it rounds and com⯑pleats it: or from diſordering the regularity of the Form, that it produces the higheſt beauty which can ariſe out of method, as will appear by the following conſiderations: 1. It was impoſſi⯑ble to give a full and exact idea of the Art of poetical Criticiſm, without conſidering, at the ſame time, the Art of Poetry; ſo far as Poetry is an Art. Theſe therefore being cloſely connect⯑ed in nature, the Author has with much judgment reciprocally [138] interwoven the precepts of both thro' his whole poem. 2. As all the rules of the ancient Critics were taken from Poets who copied nature, this is another reaſon why every Poet ſhould be a Critic: Therefore, as the ſubject is poetical Criticiſm, it is fre⯑quently addreſſed to the critical Poet. And 3dly, the Art of Criticiſm is as neceſſarily, and much more uſefully exerciſed in writing than in judging.

But Readers have been miſled by the modeſty of the Title: which only promiſes an Art of Criticiſm, in a treatiſe, and that a compleat one, of the Art both of Criticiſm and Poetry. This, and the not attending to the conſiderations offered above, per⯑haps was what miſled a very candid writer, after having given this Piece all the praiſes on the ſide of genius and poetry which his true taſte could not reſuſe it, to ſay, that the obſervations fol⯑low one another like thoſe in Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical regularity which would have been requiſite in a proſe writer. Spec. No 235. I do not ſee how method can hurt any one grace of Poetry; or what prerogative there is in verſe to to diſpenſe with regularity. The remark is falſe in every part of it. Mr. Pope's Eſſay on Criticiſm, the Reader will ſoon ſee, is a regular piece: And a very learned Critic has lately ſhewn, that Horace had the ſame attention to method in his Art of Poetry.

VER. 1. ‘'Tis hard to ſay, etc.]’ The Poem opens [from ℣ 1 to 9.] with ſhewing the uſe and ſeaſonableneſs of the ſubject. Its uſe, from the greater miſchief in wrong Criticiſm than in ill Poetry, this only tiring that miſleading the reader: Its ſeaſon⯑ableneſs, from the growing number of falſe Critics, which now vaſtly exceeds that of bad Poets.

VER. 9. ‘'Tis with our judgments, etc.]’ The author having [139] ſhewn us the expediency of his ſubject, the Art of Criticiſm, next inquires [from ℣ 8 to 15] into the neceſſary Qualities of a true Critic: And obſerves firſt, that JUDGMENT, ſimply and alone, is not ſufficient to conſtitute this character, becauſe Judg⯑ment, like the artificial meaſures of Time, goes different, and yet each relies upon his own. The reaſon is concluſive; and the ſimilitude extremely juſt. For Judgment, when alone, is always regulated, or at leaſt much inflenced by cuſtom, faſhion, and habit; and never certain and conſtant but when ſounded upon TASTE: which is the ſame in the Critic, as GENIUS in the Poet: both are derived from Heaven, and like the Sun (the natural meaſure of Time) always conſtant and equal.

Nor need we wonder that Judgment alone will not make a Critic in poetry, when we ſee that it will not make a Poet. And on examination we ſhall find, that Genius and Taſte are but one and the ſame faculty, differently exerting itſelf under different names, in the two proſeſſions of Poet and Critic. For the Art of Poetry conſiſts in ſelecting, out of all thoſe images which preſent themſelves to the fancy, ſuch of them as are truly poetical: And the Art of Criticiſm in judiciouſly diſcerning, and fully reliſhing what it finds ſo ſelected. 'Tis the ſame opera⯑tion of the mind in both caſes, and conſequently, exerted by the ſame faculty. All the difference is, that in the Poet this fa⯑culty is eminently joined with a bright imagination, and exten⯑ſive comprehenſion, which provide ſtores for the ſelection, and can form that ſelection, by proportioned parts, into a regular whole: In the Critic, with a ſolid judgment and accurate diſcern⯑ment; which penetrate into the cauſes of an excellence, and can ſhew that excellence in all its variety of lights. Longinus had taſte in an eminent degree; ſo this, which is indeed common to all true Critics, our Author makes his diſtinguiſhing character,

[140] VER. 15. ‘Let ſuch teach others, etc.]’ But it is not enough that the Critic hath theſe natural endowments to entitle him to the exerciſe of his Art, he ought, as our Author ſhews us [from ℣ 14 to 19] to give a further teſt of his qualification, by ſome acquired talents: And this on two accounts: 1. Becauſe the of⯑fice of a Critic is an exerciſe of Authority. 2. Becauſe he being naturally as partial to his Judgment as the Poet is to his Wit, his partiality would have nothing to correct it, as that of the per⯑ſon judged hath. Therefore ſome teſt is reaſonable; and the beſt and moſt unexceptionable is his having written well himſelf, an approved remedy againſt Critical partiality; and the ſureſt means of ſo maturing the Judgment, as to reap with glory what Longinus calls the laſt and moſt perfect fruits of much ſtudy and experience. Η ΓΑΡ ΤΩΝ ΛΟΓΩΝ ΚΡΙΣΙΣ ΠΟΛΛΗΣ ΕΣΤΙ ΠΕΙΡΑΣ ΤΕΛΕΥΤΑΙΟΝ ΕΠΙΓΕΝΝΗΜΑ.

VER. 19. ‘Yet if we look, etc.]’ But having been ſo free with this fundamental quality of Criticiſm, Judgment, as to charge it with inconſtancy and partiality, and as often warped by cuſtom and affection; that this may not be miſtaken, he next explains [from ℣ 18 to 36.) the nature of Judgment, and the accidents [141] occaſioning thoſe diſorders before objected to it. He owns, that the ſeeds of Judgment are indeed ſown in the minds of moſt men, but by ill culture, as it ſprings up, it generally runs wild: either on the one hand, by falſe knowledge which pedants call Philo⯑logy; or by falſe reaſoning which Philoſophers call School-learn⯑ing: Or on the other, by falſe wit which is not regulated by ſenſe; or by falſe politeneſs which is ſolely regulated by the fa⯑ſhion. Both theſe ſorts, who have their Judgments thus doubly [142] depraved, the poet obſerves, are naturally turned to cenſure and reprehenſion; only with this difference, that the Dunce always affects to be on the reaſoning, and the Fool on the laughing ſide.—And thus, at the ſame time, our author proves the truth of his introductory obſervation, that the number of bad Critics is vaſtly ſuperior to that of bad Poets.

VER. 36. ‘Some have at firſt for Wits, etc.]’ The poet having enumerated, in this account of the nature of Judgment and its [143] various depravations, the ſeveral ſorts of bad Critics, and ranked them into two general Claſſes; as the firſt ſort, namely the men ſpoiled by falſe learning, are but few in compariſon of the other, and likewiſe come leſs within his main view (which is poetical Criticiſm) but keep groveling at the bottom amongſt words and letters, he thought it here ſufficient juſt to have mentioned them, propoſing to do them right elſewhere. But the men ſpoiled by falſe taſte are innumerable; and Theſe are his proper concern: He therefore, from ℣ 35 to 46. ſub-divides them again into the two claſſes of the volatile and heavy: He deſcribes in few words the quick progreſs of the One thro' Criticiſm, from falſe wit to plain ſolly, where they end; and the fixed ſtation of the Other between the confines of both; who under the name of Wit⯑ [...]ings, have neither end nor meaſure. A kind of half formed creature from the equivocal generation of vivacity and dulneſs, like thoſe on the banks of Nile, from heat and mud.

[144] VER. 46. ‘But you who ſeek, etc.]’ Our author having thus far, by way of INTRODUCTION, explained the nature, uſe, and abuſe of Criticiſm, in a figurative deſcription of the qua⯑lities and characters of Critics, proceeds now to deliver the pre⯑cepts of the Art. The firſt of which, from ℣ 47 to 68. is, that he who ſets up for a Critic ſhould previouſly examine his own ſtrength, and ſee how far he is qualified for the exerciſe of his profeſſion. He puts him in a way to make this diſcovery, in that admirable direction given ℣ 51.‘AND MARK THAT POINT WHERE SENSE AND DULNESS MEET.’ He had ſhewn above, that Judgment, without Taſte or Genius, is equally incapable of making a Critic or a Poet: In whatſoever ſubject then the Critic's Taſte no longer accompanies his Judg⯑ment, there he may be aſſured he is going out of his depth. This our author finely calls,

And immediately adds the REASON of his precept; the Author of Nature having ſo conſtituted the mental faculties, that one of them can never excel but at the expence of another.

[145] From this ſtate and ordination of the mental faculties, and the influence and effects they have one on another, our Poet draws this CONSEQUENCE, that no one genius can excell in more than one Art or Science. The conſequence ſhews the neceſſity of the precept, juſt as the premiſſes, from which it is drawn, ſhew the reaſonableneſs of it.

[146] VER. 68. ‘Firſt follow Nature, etc]’ The Critic obſerving the directions here given, and finding himſelf qualified for his office, is ſhewn next how to exerciſe it. And as he was to attend to Nature for a Call, ſo he is firſt and principally to follow her when called. And here again in this, as in the foregoing pre⯑cept, the poet [from ℣ 67 to 88.] ſhews both the fitneſs and the neceſſity of it. It's fitneſs, 1. Becauſe Nature is the ſource of poetic Art; that Art being only a repreſentation of Nature, who is its great exemplar and original. 2. Becauſe Nature is the end of Art; the deſign of poetry being to convey the knowledge of [147] Nature in the moſt agreeable manner. 3. Becauſe Nature is the teſt of Art, as ſhe is unerring, conſtant, and ſtill the ſame. Hence the poet obſerves, that as Nature is the ſource, ſhe con⯑veys life to Art: As ſhe is the end, ſhe conveys force to it, for the force of any thing ariſes from its being directed to its end: And, as ſhe is the teſt, ſhe conveys beauty to it, for every thing acquires beauty by its being reduced to its true ſtandard. Such is the ſenſe of thoſe two important lines,

We now come to the neceſſity of the Precept. The two great conſtituent qualities of a Compoſition, as ſuch, are Art and Wit: But neither of theſe attains perfection, 'till the firſt be hid, and the other judiciouſly reſtrained; which is only then when Na⯑ture is exactly followed; for then Art never makes a parade, nor can Wit commit an extravagance. Art, while it adheres to Nature, and has ſo large a fund in the reſources which Nature ſupplies, diſpoſes every thing with ſo much eaſe and ſimplicity, that we ſee nothing but thoſe natural images it works with, while itſelf ſtands unobſerv'd behind: But when Art leaves Na⯑ture, deluded either by the bold extravagance of Fancy, or the quaint odneſſes of Faſhion, ſhe is then obliged at every ſtep to come forward, in a painful or pompous oſtentation, in order to cover, to ſoften, or to regulate the ſhocking diſproportion of unnatural images. In the firſt caſe, the poet compares Art to the Soul within, informing a beauteous Body; but we general⯑ly find it, in the laſt, only like the outward Habit, bolſtering up, by the Taylor's ſkill, the defects of a mis-ſhapen one.—As to [148] Wit, it might perhaps be imagined that this needed only Judg⯑ment to govern it: But, as he well obſerves,

They want therefore ſome friendly Mediator or Reconciler, which is Nature: And in attending to her, the Judgment will learn where to comply with the charms of Wit, and the Wit how to obey the ſage directions of Judgment.

VER. 88. ‘Thoſe Rules of old etc.]’ Having thus, in his firſt precept, to follow Nature, ſettled Criticiſm on its true bottom; he proceeds to ſhew what aſſiſtance may be had from Art. But [149] leſt this ſhould be thought to draw the Critic from the founda⯑tion where he had before fixed him, he previouſly obſerves [from ℣ 87 to 92] that thoſe Rules of Art, which he is now about to recommend to his ſtudy, were not invented by the Imagina⯑tion, but diſcovered in the book of Nature: And that, there⯑fore, tho' they may ſeem to reſtrain Nature by Laws, yet, as they are laws of her own making, the Critic is ſtill properly in the very liberty of Nature. Thoſe Rules the ancient Critics borrowed from the Poets, who received them immediately from Nature,

and are both therefore to be well ſtudied.

VER. 92. ‘Hear how learn'd Greece, etc.]’ He ſpeaks of the ancient Critics firſt, and with great judgment, as the previous knowledge of them is neceſſary for reading the Poets, with that fruit which the intent here propoſed requires. But having, in the previous obſervation, ſufficiently explained the nature of ancient Criticiſm, he enters on the ſubject [treated of from ℣ 91 to 118] with a ſublime deſcription of its End; which was to [150] illuſtrate the beauties of the beſt Writers, in order to excite others to an emulation of their excellence. From the admiration which theſe Ideas raiſe in him, the poet is naturally brought back to reflect on the degeneracy of modern Criticiſm: And as the reſtoring the Art to its original integrity and ſplendor is the great purpoſe of his poem, he firſt takes notice of thoſe, who ſeem not to underſtand that Nature is exhauſtleſs, that new mo⯑dels of good writing may be produced in every age, and con⯑ſequently new rules may be formed from theſe models in the ſame manner as the old Critics formed theirs, from the writings of the ancient Poets: but theſe men wanting art and ability to form theſe new rules, are content to receive, and file up for uſe, the old ones of Ariſtotle, Quintilian, Longinus, Horace, etc. with the ſame vanity and boldneſs that Apothecaries practiſe with their Doctors bills: And thus raſhly applying them to new Originals (caſes which they did not hit) it was no more in their power than their inclination to imitate the candid practice of the An⯑cients, when

[151] For, as Ignorance, when joined with Humility produces ſtu⯑pid admiration, on which account it is ſo commonly obſerved to be the mother of Devotion and blind homage; ſo when joined with Vanity (as it always is in bad Critics) it gives birth to every iniquity of impudent abuſe and ſlander. See an example (for want of a better) in a late worthleſs and now forgotten thing, called the Life of Socrates. Where the head of the Author (as a man of wit obſerved, on reading the book) has juſt made a ſhift to do the office of a Camera obſcura, and repreſent things in an inverted order; himſelf above, and Sprat, Rollin, Voltaire, and every other Author of reputation, below.

[152] VER. 118. ‘You then whoſe judgment etc.]’ He comes next to the ancient Poets, the other and more intimate commentators of Nature. And ſhews [from ℣ 117 to 141.] that the ſtudy of Theſe muſt indiſpenſably follow that of the ancient Critics, as they furniſh us with what the Critics, who only give us general rules, cannot ſupply: while the ſtudy of a great original Poet, in

will help us to thoſe particular rules, which only can conduct us [153] ſafely through every conſiderable work we undertake to exa⯑mine; and, without which, we may cavil indeed, as the poet truly obſerves, but can never criticize. We might as well ſup⯑poſe that Vitruvius's book alone would make a perfect Judge of Architecture, without the knowledge of ſome great maſter-piece of ſcience, ſuch as the Rotonda at Rome, or the Temple of Mi⯑nerva at Athens; as that Ariſtotle's ſhould make a perfect Judge of wit, without the ſtudy of Homer and Virgil. Theſe there⯑fore he principally recommends to complete the Critic in his Art. But as the latter of theſe Poets has, by ſuperficial judges, been conſidered rather as a copyer of Homer, than an original, our Author obviates that common error, and ſhews it to have ariſen (as often error does) from a truth, viz. that Homer and Nature were the ſame; and how that the ambitious young Poet, though he ſcorned to ſtoop at any thing ſhort of Nature, when he came to underſtand this great truth, had the prudence to contemplate Nature in the place where ſhe was ſeen to moſt ad⯑vantage, collected in all her charms in the clear mirror of Ho⯑mer. Hence it would follow, that, though Virgil ſtudied Na⯑ture, [154] yet the vulgar reader would believe him to be a copier of Homer; and though he copied Homer, yet the judicious reader would ſee him to be an imitator of Nature: the fineſt praiſe which any one, who came after Homer, could receive.

[155] VER. 141. ‘Some beauties yet no Precepts can declare, etc.]’ Our Author, in theſe two general precepts for ſtudying Nature and her Commentators, having conſidered Poetry as it is, or may be reduced to Rule; leſt this ſhould be miſtaken as ſufficient to attain PERFECTION either in writing or judging, he proceeds [from ℣ 140 to 201.] to point up to thoſe ſublimer beauties which Rules will never reach, that is, enable us either to exe⯑cute or taſte: and which riſe ſo high above all precept as not even to be deſcribed by it; but being entirely the gift of Heaven, Art and Reaſon have no further ſhare in their production than juſt to moderate their operations. Theſe Sublimities of Poetry, like the Myſteries of Religion (ſome of which are above Rea⯑ſon, and ſome contrary to it) may be divided into two ſorts, ſuch as are above Rules, and ſuch as are contrary to them.

VER. 146. ‘If, where the rules etc.]’ The firſt ſort our author [156] deſcribes [from ℣ 145 to 158.] and ſhews, that where a great beauty is in the Poet's view which no ſtated Rules will direct him how to reach, there, as the purpoſe of rules is only to pro⯑mote an end like this, a lucky Licence will ſupply the want of them: nor can the Critic fairly object to it, ſince this Li⯑cence, for the reaſon given above, has the proper ſorce and au⯑thority of a Rule.

[157] VER. 159. ‘Great Wits ſometimes may gloriouſly offend, etc.]’ He deſcribes next the ſecond ſort, the beauties againſt rule. And even here, as he obſerves [from ℣ 158 to 169] the of⯑fenſe is ſo glorious, and the fault ſo ſublime, that the true Critic will not dare either to cenſure or reform them. Yet ſtill the Poet is never to abandon himſelf to his Imagination: the rules our author lays down for his conduct in this reſpect, are theſe: 1. That though he tranſgreſs the letter of ſome one particular precept, yet that he ſtill adhere to the end or ſpirit of them all; which end is the creation of one uniform perfect Whole. And 2. That he have, in each inſtance, the authority of the diſpenſ⯑ing power of the Ancients to plead for him. Theſe rules obſerv⯑ed, this licence will be ſeldom uſed, and only when he is com⯑pelled by need: which will diſarm the Critic, and ſcreen the tranſ⯑greſſor from his laws.

[158] VER. 169. ‘I know there are, etc.]’ But as ſome modern Critics have had the preſumption to ſay, that this laſt rule is only juſti⯑fying one fault by another, our author goes on [from ℣ 168 to 181] to vindicate the Ancients; and to ſhew that this cen⯑ſure proceeds from rank Ignorance. As where their partial Judgment cannot ſee that this licence is ſometimes neceſſary for the ſymmetry and proportion of a perfect whole, from the point, and in the light wherein it muſt be viewed: or, where their haſty Judgment will not give them time to diſcover, that a deviation from rule is for the ſake of attaining ſome great and admirable purpoſe.—Theſe obſervations are further uſeful as they tend to give modern Critics an humbler opinion of their own abilities, and an higher of the Authors they undertake to criticize. On which account He concludes with a fine reproof of that common proverb perpetually in the mouths of Critics, quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus; miſunderſtanding the ſenſe of Horace, and taking quandoque for aliquando:

[159] VER. 181. ‘Still green with bays, etc.]’ But now fired with the name of Homer, and tranſported with the contemplation of thoſe beauties which a cold Critic can neither ſee nor conceive, the Poet [from ℣ 180 to 201.] breaks into a rapturous exclama⯑tion on the rare felicity of thoſe few Ancients who have riſen ſuperior over time and accidents: And, as it were diſdaining any longer to reaſon with his Critics, offers this to them as the ſureſt confutation of their cenſures. Then with the humility of a ſupplicant at the ſhrine of Immortals, and the Sublimity of a Poet participating of their fire, he turns again to theſe ancient worthies, and apoſtrophiſes their Manes:

[160] VER. 200. ‘T' admire ſuperior ſenſe, and doubt their own.]’ This line concludes the firſt diviſion of the Poem; in which we [161] ſee the ſubject of the firſt and ſecond part, and likewiſe the con⯑nexion they have with one another. It ſerves likewiſe to in⯑troduce the ſecond. The effect of ſtudying the Ancients, as hi⯑therto recommended, would be the admiration of their ſuperior ſenſe; which, if it will not of itſelf diſpoſe Moderns to a diffi⯑dence of their own (one of the great uſes, as well as natural fruits of that ſtudy) the poet, to help forward their modeſty, in his ſecond part ſhews them (in a regular deduction of the cauſes and effects of wrong Judgment) their own image and amiable turn of mind.

VER. 201. ‘Of all the Cauſes, etc.]’ Having, in the firſt part, delivered Rules for perfecting the Art of Criticiſm, the ſecond is employ'd in explaining the Impediments to it. The order of the two parts is judicious. For the cauſes of wrong Judgment be⯑ing Pride, ſuperficial Learning, a bounded Capacity, and Partia⯑lity; Thoſe to whom this part is principally addreſſed, would not readily be brought either to ſee the malignity of the cauſes, or to own themſelves concerned in the effects, had not the Author previouſly both enlightened and convicted them, by the fore⯑going obſervations, on the vaſtneſs of Art, and narrowneſs of Wit; the extenſive ſtudy of human Nature and Antiquity; and the Characters of ancient Poetry and Criticiſm; the natural reme⯑dies to the four epidemic diſorders he is now endeavouring to redreſs.

Ibid. ‘Of all the cauſes, etc.]’ The firſt cauſe of wrong Judg⯑ment is PRIDE. He judiciouſly begins with it, [from ℣ 200 to 215] as on other accounts, ſo on this, that it is the very thing which gives modern Criticiſm its character; whoſe com⯑plexion is abuſe and cenſure. He calls it the vice of Fools; by whom are not meant thoſe to whom Nature has given no Judg⯑ment (for he is here ſpeaking of what miſleads the Judgment) but thoſe in whom education and ſtudy has made no improve⯑ment; as appears from the happy ſimilitude of an ill-nouriſh'd [162] body; where the ſame words which expreſs the cauſe, expreſ. likewiſe the nature of pride:

'Tis the buſineſs of reaſon, he tells us, to diſpel the cloud which pride throws over the mind: But the miſchief is, that the rays of reaſon, diverted by ſelf-love, ſometimes gild this cloud, inſtead of diſſipating it. So that the Judgment, by falſe lights reflected back upon itſelf, is ſtill apt to be a little dazzled, and to miſ⯑take its object. He therefore adviſes to call in ſtill more helps:

Both the beginning and concluſion of this precept are remarkable. The queſtion is of the means to ſubdue Pride: He directs the Critic to begin with a diſtruſt of himſelf; and this is Modeſty, the firſt mortification of Pride: And then to ſeek the aſſiſtance of others, and make uſe even of an Enemy; and this is Humility, the laſt mortification of Pride: For when a man can once bring himſelf to ſubmit to profit by an enemy, he has either already quite ſubdued his Vanity, or is in a fair way of ſo doing.

[163] VER. 215. ‘A little learning, etc.]’ We muſt here remark the Poet's ſkill in his diſpoſition of the cauſes obſtructing true Judg⯑ment. Each general cauſe which is laid down firſt, has its own particular cauſe in that which follows. Thus, the ſecond cauſe of wrong Judgment, SUPERFICIAL LEARNING, is what gives birth to that critical Pride, which he mentioned firſt.

VER. 216. ‘Drink deep, etc.]’ Nature and Learning are the pole ſtars of all true Criticiſm: But Pride hinders the ſight of Nature; and a ſmattering of letters takes away all ſenſe of the want of Learning. To avoid this ridiculous ſituation, the poet [from ℣ 214 to 233] adviſes, either to drink deep, or not to taſte at all; for the leaſt ſip is enough to make a bad Critic, while even a moderate draught can never make a good one. And yet the labours and difficulties of drinking deep are ſo great that a young author, ‘"Fir'd with ideas of fair Italy,"’ and am⯑bitious to ſnatch a palm from Rome, engages in an undertak⯑ing as arduous almoſt as that of Hannibal: Finely illuſtrated by the ſimilitude of an unexperienced traveller penetrating thro' the Alps.

[164] VER. 233. ‘A perfect Judge, etc.]’ The third cauſe of wrong Judgment is a NARROW CAPACITY; the natural and certain cauſe of the foregoing defect, acquieſcence in ſuperficial learning. This bounded Capacity the poet ſhews [from 232 to 384.] be⯑trays itſelf two ways; in the matter, and in the manner of the [165] work criticiſed. In the matter by judging by parts; or by having one favorite part to a neglect of all the reſt: In the manner, by confining the regard only to conceit, or language, or numbers. This is our Poet's order; and we ſhall follow him as it leads us; only juſt obſerving one great beauty which runs thro' this part of the poem; it is, that under each of theſe heads of wrong Judgment, he has intermixed excellent precepts for right. We ſhall take notice of them as they occur.

He expoſes the folly of judging by parts very artfully, not by a direct deſcription of that ſort of Critic, but of his oppoſite, a perfect Judge, etc. Nor is the elegance of this converſion in⯑ferior to the art of it; for as, in poetic ſtyle, one word or figure is ſtill put for another, in order to catch new lights from dif⯑ferent images, and to reflect them back upon the ſubject in hand; ſo, in poetic matter, one perſon or thing may be advan⯑tageouſly employed for another, with the ſame elegance of re⯑preſentation. It is obſervable that our Author makes it almoſt the neceſſary conſequence of judging by parts, to find fault: And this not without much diſcernment: For the ſeveral parts of a compleat Whole, when ſeen only ſingly, and known only indepen⯑dently, [166] muſt always have the appearance of irregularity; often, of deformity: Becauſe the Poet's deſign being to create a reſult⯑ive beauty from the artful aſſemblage of ſeveral various parts into one natural whole; thoſe parts muſt be faſhioned with re⯑gard to their mutual relations in the ſtations they occupy in that whole, from whence, the beauty required is to ariſe: But that regard will occaſion ſo unreducible a form in each part, when conſidered ſingly, as to preſent a very mis-ſhapen appearance.

[167] VER. 253. ‘Whoever thinks a faultleſs piece to ſee,]’ He ſhews next [from ℣ 252 to 263] that to fix our cenſure on ſingle parts tho' they happen to want an exactneſs conſiſtent enough with their relation to the reſt, is even then very unjuſt: And for theſe reaſons, 1. Becauſe it implies an expectation of a faultleſs piece, which is a vain imagination: 2. Becauſe no more is to be expected of any work than that it fairly attains its end: But the end may be attained, and yet theſe trivial faults committed: Therefore, in ſpight of ſuch faults, the work will merit the praiſe due to that which attains its end. 3. Becauſe ſometimes a great beauty is not to be procured, nor a notorious blemiſh to be avoided, but by ſuffering one of theſe minute and trivial errors. 4. And laftly, becauſe the generous neglect of them is a praiſe; as it is the indication of a Genius, buſied about greater matters.

[168] VER. 263. ‘Moſt Critics, fond of ſome ſubſervient art, etc.]’ II. The ſecond way in which a narrow capacity, as it relates to the matter, ſhews itſelf, is judging by a favorite Part. The au⯑thor has placed this [from ℣ 262 to 285] after the other of judging by parts, with great propriety, it being indeed a natural conſequence of it. For when men have once left the whole to turn their attention to the ſeparate parts, that regard and reverence due only to a whole is fondly transferred to one or other of its parts. And thus we ſee that Heroes themſelves as well as Heromakers, even Kings as well as Poets and Critics, when they chance never to have had, or long to have loſt the idea of that which is the only legitimate object of their office, the care and conſervation of the whole, are wont to devote themſelves to the ſervice of ſome favorite part, whether it be love of money, mi⯑litary glory, deſpotic power, etc. And all, as our Author ſays on this occaſion,

[169] This general miſconduct much recommends that maxim in good Poetry and Politics, to give a principal attention to the whole; a maxim which our author has elſwhere ſhewn to be equally true likewiſe in Morals and Religion; as being founded in the order of things: For, if we examine, we ſhall find it ariſe from this imbecillity of our nature, that the mind muſt always have ſome⯑thing to reſt upon, to which the paſſions and affections may be intereſtingly directed. Nature prompts us to ſeek it in the moſt worthy object; and common ſenſe points out to a Whole or Syſtem: But Ignorance, and the falſe lights of the Paſſions, confound and dazzle us; we ſtop ſhort, and before we get to a Whole, take up with ſome Part; which from thence becomes our Fa⯑vourite.

[170] VER. 285.

2. He concludes his obſervations on thoſe two ſorts of judges by parts, with this general reflexion.—The curious not knowing are the firſt ſort, who judge by parts, and with a microſcopic ſight (as he ſays elſewhere) examine bit by bit: The not exact but nice, are the ſecond, who judge by a favourite part, and talk of a whole to cover their ſondneſs for a part; as Philoſophers do of principles, in order to obtrude their notions or opinions for them. [171] But the fate common to both is, to be governed by caprice and not by Judgment, and conſequently, to form ſhort ideas, or to have ideas ſhort of truth: Tho' the latter ſort, thro' a fondneſs to their favorite part, imagine that they comprehend the whole in epitome: As the famous Hero of La Mancha, mentioned juſt before, uſed to maintain, that Knight Errantry compriſed with⯑in itſelf the quinteſſence of all Science, civil and military.

VER. 289. ‘Some to Conceit alone, etc.]’ We come now to that ſecond ſort of bounded capacity, which betrays itſelf in the man⯑ner of the work criticiſed. And this our Author proſecutes from ℣ 288 to 384. Theſe are again ſubdivided into divers claſſes.

Ibid. ‘Some to Conceit alone, etc.]’ The firſt from ℣ 288 to 305.] are thoſe who confine their attention ſolely to Conceit or Wit. And here again the Critic by parts, offends doubly in the manner, juſt as he did in the matter: For he not only confines his atten⯑tion [172] to a part, when it ſhould be extended to the whole; but he likewiſe judges ſalſely of that part. And this, like the other, is unavoidable, as the parts in the manner, bear the ſame cloſe relation to the whole, that the parts in the matter do; to which whole the ideas of this Critic have never yet extended. Hence it is, that our author, ſpeaking here of thoſe who confine their attention ſolely to Conceit or Wit, deſcribes the two ſpecies of true and falſe Wit; becauſe they not only miſtake a wrong diſ⯑poſition of true Wit for a right, but likewiſe falſe Wit for true: He deſcribes falſe Wit firſt, from ℣ 288 to 297.

Where the reader may obſerve our Author's ſkill in repreſenting, in a deſcription of ſalſe Wit, the falſe diſpoſition of the true, as the Critic by parts is apt to fall into both theſe errors.

He next deſcribes true Wit, from 296 to 305.

And here again the reader may obſerve the ſame beauty, not on⯑ly an explanation of true Wit, but likewiſe of the right diſpoſition of it; which the poet illuſtrates, as he did the wrong, by ideas taken from the art of Painting.

[173] VER. 305. ‘Others for Language, etc.]’ He proceeds ſecondly to thoſe narrow-minded Critics, whoſe whole concern turns upon Language, and ſhews [from ℣ 304 to 337.] that this qua⯑lity, where it holds the principal place, deſerves no commenda⯑tion; 1. Becauſe it excludes qualities more eſſential. And when the abounding Verbiage has excluded the ſenſe, the writer has nothing to do but to gild over the defect, by giving his words all the falſe colouring in his power.

2. He ſhews, that the Critic who buſies himſelf with this quality alone, is altogether unable to make a right Judgment of it; becauſe true Expreſſion is only the dreſs of Thought; and ſo muſt be perpetually varied according to the ſubject, and man⯑ner [174] of thinking. But thoſe who never concern themſelves with the Senſe, can form no judgment of the correſpondence between that and the Language:

Now as theſe Critics are ignorant of this correſpondence, their whole judgment in Language is reduced to the examination of ſingle words; of which, ſuch as are to his taſte, are ſo only in proportion as they ſmack of Antiquity: On which our author has therefore beſtowed a little raillery; concluding with a ſhort and proper direction concerning the uſe of words, ſo far as re⯑gards their novelty and ancientry.

[176] VER. 337. ‘But moſt by Numbers judge, etc.]’ The laſt ſort are thoſe [from ℣ 336 to 384.] whoſe ears are attached only to the Harmony of a poem. Of which they judge as ignorantly and as perverſely as the other ſort did of Eloquence; and for the very ſame reaſon. He firſt deſcribes that falſe Harmony with which they are ſo much captivated; and ſhews, that it is wretchedly flat and unvaried: For

He then deſcribes the true. 1. As it is in itſelf, conſtant; with a happy mixture of ſtrength and ſweetneſs, in contradiction to the roughneſs and flatneſs of falſe Harmony: And 2. as it is [177] varied, in compliance to the ſubject, where the ſound becomes an who to the ſenſe, ſo far as is conſiſtent with the preſervation of numbers; in contradiction to the monotony of falſe Harmony: Of this he gives us, in the delivery of his precepts, four fine ex⯑amples of ſmoothneſs, roughneſs, ſlowneſs, and rapidity. The firſt uſe of this correſpondence of the ſound to the ſenſe, is to aid the fancy in acquiring a perfecter and more lively image of the thing repreſented. A ſecond and nobler, is to calm and ſub⯑due the turbulent and ſelfiſh paſſions, and to raiſe and warm the beneficent: Which he illuſtrates in the famous adventure of Timotheus and Alexander: where, in referring to Mr. Dryden's Ode on that ſubject, he turns it to a high compliment on that great poet.

[180] VER. 384. ‘Avoid Extremes, etc.]’ Our Author is now come to the laſt cauſe of wrong judgment, PARTIALITY; the pa⯑rent of the immediately preceding cauſe, a bounded capacity: Nothing ſo much narrowing and contracting the mind as pre⯑judices entertained for or againſt things or perſons. This, therefore, as the main root of all the foregoing, he proſecutes at large from ℣ 383 to 473.

Firſt, to ℣ 394. he previouſly expoſes that capricious turn of mind, which, by running men into Extremes, either of praiſe or diſpraiſe, lays the foundation of an habitual partiality. He cautions therefore both againſt one and the other; and ſhews that exceſs of Praiſe is the mark of a bad taſte; and exceſs of Cen⯑ſure, of a bad digeſtion.

[181] VER. 394. ‘Some foreign writers, etc.]’ Having explained the diſpoſition of mind which produces an habitual partiality, be preceeds to expoſe this partiality in all the ſhapes in which it ap⯑peats both amongſt the unlearned and the learned.

I. In the unlearned, it is ſeen, firſt, In an unreaſonable fond⯑neſs for, or averſion to our own or foreign, to ancient or modern writers. And as it is the mob of unlearned readers he is here ſpeaking of, he expoſes their ſolly in a very appoſite ſimilitude:

But he ſhews [from ℣ 397 to 408] that theſe Critics have as wrong a notion of Reaſon as thoſe Bigots have of God: For that Genius is not confined to times or climates; but, as the common giſt of Nature, is extended throughout all ages and countries: That indeed this intellectual light, like the material light of the Sun itſelf, may not ſhine at all times, in every place, with equal ſplendor; but be ſometimes clouded with popular ig⯑norance; and ſometimes again eclipſed by the diſcountenance of Princes; yet it ſhall ſtill recover itſelf; and, by breaking thro' the ſtrongeſt of theſe impediments, manifeſt the eternity of its nature.

[182] VER. 408. ‘Some ne'er advance a Judgment of their own]’ A ſecond inſtance of unlearned partiality, he ſhews [from ℣ 407 to 424.] is mens going always along with the cry, as having no fixed or well grounded principles whereon to raiſe any judgment of their own. A third is reverence for names; of which ſort, as he well obſerves, the worſt and vileſt are the idolizers of names of quality; whom therefore he ſtigmatizes as they deſerve. Our [183] author's temper as well as judgment is here very obſervable, in throwing this ſpecies of partiality amongſt the unlearned Critics: His affection for letters would not ſuffer him to conceive, that any learned Critic could ever fall to ſo low a proſtitution.

VER. 424.—

II. He comes, in the ſecond place [from ℣ 423 to 452] to conſider the inſtances of partiality in the learned. 1. The firſt is Singula⯑rity. For, as want of principles, in the unlearned, neceſſitates them to reſt on the general judgment as always right; ſo adhe⯑rence to falſe principles (that is, to notions of their own) miſ⯑leads the learned into the other extreme, of ſuppoſing the gene⯑ral [184] judgment always wrong. And as, before, the Poet com⯑pared thoſe to Bigots, who made true faith to conſiſt in believ⯑ing after others; ſo he compares theſe to Schiſmaticks, who make it to conſiſt in believing as no one ever believed before. Which folly he marks with a lively ſtroke of humour in the turn of the thought:

2. The ſecond is Novelty. And as this proceeds ſometimes from fondneſs, ſometimes from vanity; he compares the one to the paſſion for a miſtreſs; and the other, to the pride of being in fa⯑ſhion: But the excuſe common to both is, the daily improvement of their Judgment.

Now as this is a plauſible pretence for their inconſtancy; and our author has himſelf afterwards laid down the like thought, in a precept for a remedy againſt obſtinacy and pride, where he ſays, ℣ 570.

he has been careful, by the turn of the expreſſion in this place, to ſhew the difference. For Time, conſidered only as duration, vitiates as frequently as it improves: Therefore to expect wiſ⯑dom as the neceſſary attendant of length of years, unrelated to long experience, is vain and deluſive. This he illuſtrates by a remarkable example; where we ſee Time, inſtead of becoming wiſer, deſtroying good letters, to ſubſtitute ſchool divinity in their place.—The genius of which kind of learning; the character of its profeſſors; and the ſate, which, ſooner or later, always at⯑tends whatſoever is wrong or falſe, the poet ſums up in thoſe four lines;

[185] And in concluſion, he obſerves, that perhaps this miſchief, from love of novelty, might not be ſo great, did it not, with the Critic, infect Writers likewiſe; who, when they find their rea⯑ders diſpoſed to take ready Wit on the ſtandard of current Folly, never trouble themſelves to make better payment.

[187] VER. 452. ‘Some valuing thoſe of their own ſide or mind, etc.]’ 3. The third and laſt inſtance of partiality in the learned, is Party and Faction. Which is conſider'd from ℣ 451 to 474. where he ſhews how men of this turn deceive themſelves when they load a writer of their own ſide with commendation. They fancy they are paying tribute to merit, when they are only ſa⯑crificing to ſelf-love. But this is not the worſt. He further ſhews, that this party ſpirit has often very ill effects on Science [188] itſelf; while, in ſupport of Faction, it labours to depreſs ſome riſing Genius, that was, perhaps, raiſed by nature, to enlighten his age and country. By which he would inſinuate, that all the baſe and viler paſſions ſeek refuge, and find ſupport in party madneſs.

[189] VER. 474. ‘Be thou the firſt, etc.]’ The poet having now gone thro' the laſt cauſe of wrong Judgment, and root of all the reſt, PARTIALITY; and ended it with the higheſt inſtances of it, in party-rage and envy; this affords him an opportunity [from ℣ 473 to 560.] of cloſing his ſecond diviſion in the moſt graceful manner, by concluding from the premiſſes, and calling upon the TRUE CRITIC to be careful of his charge, which is the protec⯑tion and ſupport of Wit. For, the defence of it from malevo⯑lent cenſure is its true protection; and the illuſtration of its beauties, its true ſupport.

He firſt ſhews, the Critic ought to do this ſervice without delay: And on theſe motives. 1. Out of regard to himſelf: For there is ſome merit in giving the world notice of an excellence; but none at all in pointing, like an Idiot, to that which has been long in the admiration of men. 2. Out of regard to the Poem: For the ſhort duration of modern works requires they ſhould begin [190] to enjoy their exiſtence early. He compares the life of modern Wit, and of the ancient, which ſurvives in an univerſal language, to the difference between the Patriarchal age and our own: And obſerves, that while the ancient writings live for ever, as it were in braſs and marble, the modern are but like Paintings, which, of how maſterly a hand ſoever, have no ſooner gained their requiſite perfection by the incorporating, ſoftening, and ripening of their tints, which they do in a very few years, but they begin to fade and die away. 3. Laſtly, our author ſhews, that the Critic ought to do this ſervice out of regard to the Poet; when he conſiders the ſlender dowry the Muſe brings along with her: In youth 'tis only a ſhort lived vanity; and in maturer years an acceſſion of care and labour, in proportion to the weight of Re⯑putation to be ſuſtained, and of the increaſe of Envy to be oppo⯑ſed: And concludes his reaſoning therefore on this head, with that pathetic and inſinuating addreſs to the Critic, from 508 to 524.

[193] VER 527. ‘But if in noble minds ſome dregs remain, etc.]’ So far as to what ought to be the true Critic's principal ſtudy and employment. But if the four critical humour muſt needs have vent, he points to its right object; and ſhews [from ℣ 526 to 556.] how it may be uſefully and innocently diverted. This is very obſervable; for our author makes ſpleen and diſdain the characteriſtic of the falſe Critic, and yet here ſuppoſes them inherent in the true. But it is done with judgment, and a knowledge of nature. For as bitterneſs and acerbity in un⯑ripe fruits of the beſt kind are the foundation and capacity of that high ſpirit, race, and flavour which we find in them, when perfectly concocted by the heat and influence of the Sun; and which, without thoſe qualities, would often gain no more by that influence than only a mellow inſipidity: ſo ſpleen and diſdain in the true Critic, improved by long ſtudy and experience, ripen into an exactneſs of Judgment and an elegance of Taſte: But, lying in the falſe Critic remote from [194] the influence of good letters, continue in all their firſt offenſive harſhneſs and aſtringency. The Poet therefore ſhews how, af⯑ter the exaltation of theſe qualities into their ſtate of perfection, the very Dregs (which, tho' precipitated, may poſſibly, on ſome occaſions, riſe and ferment even in a noble mind) may be uſe⯑fully employed in branding OBSCENITY and IMPIETY. Of theſe he explains the riſe and progreſs, in a beautiful picture of the different genius's of the reigns of Charles II. and William III. the former of which gave courſe to the moſt profligate luxury; the latter to a licentious impiety. Theſe are the criminals the poet aſſigns over to the cauſtic hand of the Critic, but concludes however, from ℣ 556 to 561. with this neceſſary admonition, to take care not to be miſled into unjuſt cenſure; either on the one hand, by a phariſaical niceneſs, or on the other by a con⯑ſciouſneſs of guilt. And thus the ſecond diviſion of his Eſſay ends: The judicious conduct of which is worthy our obſerva⯑tion. The ſubject of it are the cauſes of wrong Judgment: Theſe he derives upwards from cauſe to cauſe, till he brings them to their ſource, an immoral partiality: For as he had, in the firſt part,

and ſhewn them to be derived from Heaven, and the Offspring of virtue; ſo hath he here purſued this enemy of the Muſes, the bad Critic, to his low original, in the arms of his nurſing mother Immorality. This order naturally introduces, and at the ſame time ſhews the neceſſity of, the ſubject of the third and laſt diviſion, which is, on the Morals of the Critic.

[196] VER. 561. ‘Learn then, etc.]’ We enter now on the third part, the MORALS of the Critic; included in CANDOUR, MO⯑DESTY, and GOOD-BREEDING. This third and laſt part is in two diviſions. In the firſt of which [from ℣ 560 to 632.] he inculcates theſe morals by precept: In the ſecond [from ℣ 631 to the end] by example. His firſt precept [from ℣ 562 to 567.] recommends CANDOUR, for its uſe to the Critic, and to the writer criticiſed.

[197] 2. The ſecond [from ℣ 566 to 573.] recommends MODESTY, which manifeſts itſelf by theſe four ſigns: 1. Silence where it doubts,

2. A ſeeming diffidence where it knows,

3. A free confeſſion of error where wrong,

4. And a conſtant review and ſcrutiny even of thoſe opinions which it ſtill thinks right:

3. The third [from ℣ 572 to 585.] recommends GOOD BREEDING, which will not force truth dogmatically upon men, as ignorant of it, but gently inſinuates it into them, as not ſuf⯑ficiently attentive to it. But as men of breeding are apt to fall in⯑to two extremes, he prudently cautions againſt them. The one is a backwardneſs in communicating their knowledge, out of a falſe delicacy, and fear of being thought Pedants: The other, and much more common extreme in men of breeding, is a mean com⯑placence, which ſuch as are worthy of your advice do not want to make it acceptable; for thoſe can beſt bear reproof in par⯑ticular points, who beſt deſerve commendation in general.

[198] VER. 585. ‘'Twere well might Critics, etc.]’ The poet having thus recommended, in theſe general rules of Conduct for the Judgment, the three critical Virtues to the heart; ſhews next [from ℣ 584 to 632.] on what three ſort of Writers theſe Vir⯑tues, together with the advice conveyed under them, would be thrown away; and, which is worſe, be repaid with obloquy and ſlander. Theſe are the falſe Critic, the dull Man of Qua⯑lity, and the bad Poet; each of which incorrigible writers he hath very juſtly and exactly characterized.

But having drawn the laſt of them at large, and being always attentive to his main ſubject, which is, of writing and judging well, he re-aſſumes the character of the bad Critic (whom he had but touched upon before) to contraſt him with the other; and makes the Characteriſtic common to both, to be a never⯑ceaſing Repetition of their own impertinence.‘The Poet,—ſtill runs on in a raging vein, etc. ℣ 607, etc.’ ‘The Critic—with his own tongue ſtill edifies his ears, ℣ 615, etc.’

[201] VER. 631. ‘But where's the man, etc.]’ II. The ſecond diviſion of this laſt part, which we now come to, is of the Morals of Critics by example. For, having there drawn a picture of the falſe Critic, at large, he breaks out into an apoſtrophe, con⯑taining an exact and finiſhed character of the true, which, at the ſame time, ſerves for an eaſy and proper introduction to this ſecond diviſion. For, having aſked [from ℣ 631 to 644.] Where's the [202] man, etc. he anſwers [from ℣ 643 to 682.] That he was to be found in the happier ages of Greece and Rome; in the perſons of Ariſtotle and Horace, Dionyſius and Petronius, Quintilian and Longinus. Whoſe features he has not only exactly delineated, but contraſted with a peculiar elegance; the profound ſcience and logical method of Ariſtotle being oppoſed to the plain common ſenſe of Horace, conveyed in a natural and familiar negligence; the ſtudy and refinement of Dionyſius, to the gay and courtly eaſe of Petronius; and the gravity and minuteneſs of Quintilian, to the vivacity and general topics of Longinus. Nor has the Poet been leſs careful, in theſe examples, to point out their eminence in the ſeveral critical Virtues he ſo carefully inculcated in his precepts. Thus in Horace he particularizes his Candour, in Pe⯑tronius his Good Breeding, in Quintilian his free and copious In⯑ſtruction, and in Longinus his noble Spirit.

[205] VER. 682. ‘Thus long ſucceeding Critics, etc.]’ The next pe⯑riod in which the true Critic (he tells us) appear'd, was at the revival and reſtoration of letters in the Weſt. This occaſions his giving a ſhort hiſtory [from ℣ 683 to 710.] of the decline [206] and re-eſtabliſhment of arts and ſciences in Italy. He ſhews that they both fell under the ſame enemy, deſpotic power; and that when both had made ſome little efforts to reſtore themſelves, they were ſoon quite overwhelmed by a ſecond deluge of another kind, Superſtition; and a calm of Dulneſs finiſh'd upon Rome and Letters what the rage of Barbariſm had begun:

When things had been long in this condition, and all recovery now appear'd deſperate, it was a CRITIC, our author ſhews us for the honour of the Art he here teaches, who at length broke the charm of Dulneſs, diſſipated the inchantment, and, like an⯑other Hercules, drove thoſe cowl'd and hooded ſerpents from the Heſperian tree of knowledge, which they had ſo long guarded from human approach.

[207] VER. 694. ‘At length Eraſmus, etc.]’ Nothing can be more artful than the application of this example; or more happy than the turn of compliment to this admirable man. To throw glory quite round his illuſtrious character, he makes it to be (as in fact it really was) by his aſſiſtance chiefly, that Leo was ena⯑bled to reſtore letters and the fine arts, in his Pontificate.

VER. 698. ‘But ſee each Muſe in Leo's golden days]’ This pre⯑ſents us with the ſecond period in which the true Critic appear'd; of whom he has given us a perfect idea in the ſingle example of Marcus Hieronymus Vida: For his ſubject being poetical Criti⯑ciſm, for the uſe principally of a critical Poet; his example is an eminent poetical Critic, who had had written of that Art in verſe.

[208] VER. 710. ‘But ſoon by impious arms, etc.]’ This brings us to the third period, after learning had ſtill travelled farther Weſt; when the arms of the Emperor, in the ſack of Rome by the duke of Bourbon, had driven it out of Italy, and forced it to paſs the Mountains—The Examples he gives in this period, are of Boileau in France, and of the Lord Roſcommon and the duke of Buckingham in England: And theſe were all Poets, as well as Critics in verſe. It is true, the laſt inſtance is of one who was no eminent poet, the late Mr. Walſh. This ſmall deviation might be well over-looked, was it only for its being a pious office to the memory of his friend: But it may be farther juſtified as it was an homage paid in particular to the MORALS of the Critic, no⯑thing being more amiable than the character here drawn of this excellent perſon. He being our Author's Judge and Cenſor, as [209] well as Friend, it gives him a graceful opportunity to add himſelf to the number of the later Critics; and with a character of him⯑ſelf, ſuſtained by that modeſty and dignity which it is ſo difficult to make conſiſtent, this performance concludes.

I have given a ſhort and plain account of the Eſſay on Criti⯑ciſm, concerning which I have but one thing more to acquaint the reader: That when he conſiders the Regularity of the plan, the maſterly Conduct of each part, the penetration into Nature, and the compaſs of Learning, ſo conſpicuous throughout, he ſhould at the ſame time know, it was the work of an Author who had not attained the twentieth year of his age.