them. heart was filled with a deep melancholy to | singing birds, falling waters, human voices, see several dropping unexpectedly in the and musical instruments. Gladness grew midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at in me upon the discovery of so delightful a every thing that stood by them to save scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, themselves. Some were looking up towards that I might fly away to those happy seats; the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in but the genius told me there was no passage the midst of a speculation stumbled and fell to them except through the gates of death out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in that I saw opening every moment upon the the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in their bridge. "The islands," said he, "that lie eyes and danced before them; but often so fresh and green before thee, and with when they thought themselves within the which the whole face of the ocean appears reach of them, their footing failed and down spotted as far as thou canst see, are more they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I in number than the sands on the sea-shore; observed some with scimitars in their hands, there are myriads of islands behind those and others with urinals, who ran to and fro which thou here discoverest, reaching farupon the bridge, thrusting several persons ther than thine eye, or even thine imaon trap-doors which did not seem to lie gination can extend itself. These are the in their way, and which they might have mansions of good men after death, who acescaped had they not been thus forced upon cording to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them; every island is a Paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain who has such an eternity reserved for him." "I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, "Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant." genius making me no answer, I turned me about to address myself to him a second time, but found that he had left me; I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating: but, instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels, grazing upon the sides of it. The end of the First Vision of Mirza. 'The genius seeing me indulge myself on this melancholy prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. "Take thine eyes off the bridge," said he, "and tell me if thou yet seest any thing thou dost not comprehend." Upon looking up, "What mean," said I, "those great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among many other feathered creatures several little winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches." "These," said the genius, “are Envy, Avarice, Superstition, Despair, Love, with the like cares and passions that infest human life. The C. I here fetched a deep sigh. "Alas," said I, "man was made in vain! how is he given away to misery and mortality! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death!" The genius being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. "Look no more, ," said he, "on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it." I directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist No. 160.] Monday, September 3, 1711. that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate,) I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it: but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of -Cui mens divinior, atque os On him confer the Poet's sacred name, THERE is no character more frequently given to a writer, than that of being a ge nius. I have heard many a little sonneteer called a fine genius. There is not an heroic scribbler in the nation, that has not his admirers who think him a great genius; and as for your smatterers in tragedy, there is scarce a man among them who is not cried up by one or other for a prodigious genius. My design in this paper is to consider what is properly a great genius, and to throw some thoughts together on so un- | exactness in our compositions. common a subject. Among great geniuses those few draw the admiration of all the world upon them, and stand up as the prodigies of mankind, who by the mere strength of natural parts, and without any assistance of art or learning, have produced works that were the delight of their own times, and the wonder of posterity. There appears something nobly wild and extravagant in these great natural geniuses that is infinitely more beautiful than all the turn and polishing of what the French call a bel esprit, by which they would express a genius refined by conversation, reflection, and the reading of the most polite authors. The greatest genius which runs through the arts and sciences, takes a kind of tincture from them, and falls unavoidably into imitation. Many of these great natural geniuses that were never disciplined and broken by rules of art, are to be found among the ancients, and in particular among those of the more eastern parts of the world. Homer has innumerable flights that Virgil was not able to reach, and in the Old Testament we find several passages more elevated and sublime than any in Homer. At the same time that we allow a greater and more daring genius to the ancients, we must own that the greatest of them very much failed in, or, if you will, that they were much above the nicety and correctness of the moderns. In their similitudes and allusions, provided there was a likeness, they did not much trouble themselves about the decency of the comparison: thus Solomon resembles the nose of his beloved to the tower of Lebanon which looketh towards Damascus; as the coming of a thief in the night, is a similitude of the same kind in the New Testament. It would be endless to make collections of this nature; Homer illustrates one of his heroes encompassed with the enemy, by an ass in a field of corn that has his sides belaboured by all the boys of the village without stirring a foot for it; and another of them tossing to and fro in his bed and burning with resentment, to a piece of flesh broiled on the coals. This particular failure in the ancients, opens a large field of raillery to the little wits, who can laugh at an indecency, but not relish the sublime in these sorts of writings. The present emperor of Persia, conformable to this eastern way of thinking, amidst a great many pompous titles, denominates himself the sun of glory,' and 'the nutmeg of delight.' In short, to cut off all cavilling against the ancients, and particularly those of the warmer climates, who had most heat and life in their imagination, we are to consider that the rule of observing what the French call the bienseance in an allusion, has been found out of later years, and in the colder regions of the world; where we would make some amends for our want of force and spirit, by a scrupulous nicety and Our coun tryman Shakspeare was a remarkable instance of this first kind of great geniuses. I cannot quit this head without observing that Pindar was a great genius of the first class, who was hurried on by a natural fire and impetuosity to vast conceptions of things and noble sallies of imagination. At the same time, can any thing be more ridiculous than for men of a sober and moderate fancy to imitate this poet's way of writing in those monstrous compositions which go among us under the name of Pin darics? When I see people copying works, which, as Horace has represented them, are singular in their kind, and inimitable: when I see men following irregularities by rule, and by the little tricks of art straining after the most unbounded flights of nature, I cannot but apply to them that passage in Terence: -Incerta hæc si tu postules Ratione certa facere, nihilo plus agas, Quam si des operam, ut cum ratione insanias. Eun. Act 1. Sc. 1. You may as well pretend to be mad and in your senses at the same time, as to think of reducing these uncertain things to any certainty by reason. In short, a modern Pindaric writer compared with Pindar, is like a sister among the Camisars* compared with Virgil's Sibyl: there is the distortion, grimace, and outward figure, but nothing of that divine impulse which raises the mind above itself, and makes the sounds more than human. There is another kind of great geniuses which I shall place in a second class, not as I think them inferior to the first, but only for distinction's sake, as they are of a different kind. This second class of great geniuses are those that have formed themselves by rules, and submitted the greatness of their natural talents to the corrections and restraints of art. Such among the Greeks were Plato and Aristotle; among the Romans Virgil and Tully; among the English Milton and Sir Francis Bacon. *A particular account of these people and the strange fortune of their leader, is to be found in Voltaire's "SieA few of them made their appearcle de Louis XIV." ance in this country, in the year 1707, of whom Smollet gives the following account: "Three Camisars, or protestants, from the Cevennois, having made their escape, and repaired to London, acquired about this time the appellation of French prophets, from their enthusiastic gesticulations, effusions, and convulsions; and even formed a sect of their countrymen. The French refugees, scandalized at their behaviour, and authorized by the bishop of London, as superior of the French congregations, resolved to inquire into the mission of these pretended prophets, whose names were Elias Marion, John Cavalier, and Durand Eage. They were declared impostors and counterfeits. Notwithstanding this decision, which was confirmed by the bishops, they continued their assem blies in Soho, under the countenance of Sir Richard Bulkeley and John Lacy. They reviled the ministers of the established church: they denounced judgments against the city of London, and the whole British nation; and published their predictions composed of unin expense of the French churches, as disturbers of the telligible jargon. Then they were prosecuted at the public peace and false prophets. They were sentence i to pay a fine of twenty marks each, and stand twice on a scaffold, with papers on their breasts, denoting their offence: a sentence which was executed accordingly a. Charing Cross and the Royal Exchange." you The genius in both these classes of authors | correspondents, one of whom sends me the may be equally great, but shows itself after following letter: a different manner. In the first it is like a rich soil in a happy climate, that produces tire from us so soon into the city, I hope 'SIR,-Though you are pleased to rea whole wilderness of noble plants rising in a thousand beautiful landscapes, without you will not think the affairs of the counany certain order or regularity. In the try altogether unworthy of your inspecother it is the same rich soil under the tion for the future. I had the honour of same happy climate, that has been laid out seeing your short face at Sir Roger de Coin walks and parterres, and cut into shape verley's, and have ever since thought your and beauty by the skill of the gardener. person and writings both extraordinary. Had The great danger in these latter kind of would have seen a country wake, which staid there a few days longer, you geniuses, is lest they cramp their own abilities too much by imitation, and form them- you know in most parts of England is the eve-feast of the dedication of our churches. selves altogether upon models, without giv-I was last week at one of these assemblies, ing the full play to their own natural parts. which was held in a neighbouring parish; An imitation of the best authors is not to where I found their green covered with a compare with a good original; and I believe we may observe that very few writers make promiscuous multitude of all ages and both an extraordinary figure in the world, who sexes, who esteem one another more or less the following part of the year, accordhave not something in their way of thinking as they distinguish themselves at this ing or expressing themselves, that is pecu- time. The whole company were in their liar to them, and entirely their own. It is odd to consider what great geniuses are sometimes thrown away upon trifles. I once saw a shepherd,' says a famous Italian author, who used to divert himself in his solitudes with tossing up eggs and catching them again without breaking were breaking one another's heads in order I found a ring of cudgel-players, who thera: in which he had arrived to so great to make some impression on their misa degree of perfection, that he would keep tresses' hearts. I observed a lusty young up four at a time for several minutes to- fellow, who had the misfortune of a broken gether playing in the air, and falling into his hands by turns. I think,' says the au-pate; but what considerably added to the thor, I never saw a greater severity than anguish of the wound, was his overhearing in this man's face; for by his wonderfulThat he questioned now if Black Kate an old man, who shook his head and said, perseverance and application, he had contracted the seriousness and gravity of a privy-counsellor; and I could not but reflect with myself, that the same assiduity and attention, had they been rightly applied, might have made him a greater mathema tician than Archimedes.' C. No. 161.] Tuesday, September 4, 1711. Ipse dies agitat festos: Fususque per herbam, Himself, in rustic pomp, on holy-days, Dryden. I AM glad that my late going into the country has increased the number of my holiday clothes, and divided into several parties, all of them endeavouring to show themselves in those exercises wherein they excelled, and to gain the approbation of the lookers-on. would marry him these three years.' I was diverted from a farther observation of these combatants by a foot-ball match, which was on the other side of the green; where Tom Short behaved himself so well, that most people seemed to agree, it was impossible that he should remain a bachelor until the next wake.' Having played many a match myself, I could have looked longer on this sport, had I not observed a country girl who was posted on an eminence at some distance from me, and was making so many odd grimaces, and writhing and distorting her whole body in so strange a manner, as made me very desirous to know the meaning of it. Upon my coming up to her, I found that she was overlooking a ring of wrestlers, and that her sweetheart, a person of small stature, was contending with a huge brawny fellow, who twirled him about, and shook the little man so violently, that by a secret sympathy of hearts it produced all those agitations in the person of his mistress, who I dare say, like Cælia in Shakspeare on the same occasion, could have wished herself 'invisible to catch the strong fellow by the leg.* The 'squire of the parish treats the whole company every year with a hogshead of ale; and proposes a beaver hat as a recompence to him who gives most * As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 6. falls. This has raised such a spirit of emu- | spirit of emulation, which so remarkably lation in the youth of the place, that some shows itself among our common people in of them have rendered themselves very these wakes, might be directed, proposes expert at this exercise; and I was often that for the improvement of all our handisurprised to see a fellow's heels fly up, by craft trades there should be annual prizes a trip which was given him so smartly that set up for such persons as were most exI could scarce discern it. I found that the cellent in their several arts. But laying old wrestlers seldom entered the ring until aside all these political considerations, some one was grown formidable by having which might tempt me to pass the limits thrown two or three of his opponents: but of my paper, I confess the greatest benefit kept themselves as it were in a reserved and convenience that I can observe in these body to defend the hat, which is always country festivals, is the bringing young hung up by the person who gets it in one people together, and giving them an opof the most conspicuous parts of the house, portunity of showing themselves in the and looked upon by the whole family as most advantageous light. A country felsomething redounding much more to their low that throws his rival upon his back, honour than a coat of arms. There was a has generally as good success with their fellow who was so busy in regulating all common mistress; as nothing is more usual the ceremonies, and seemed to carry such than for a nimble-footed wench to get a an air of importance in his look, that I husband at the same time that she wins could not help inquiring who he was, and a smock. Love and marriages are the was immediately answered, "That he did natural effects of these anniversary asnot value himself upon nothing, for that semblies. I must therefore very much he and his ancestors had won so many approve the method by which my correhats, that his parlour looked like a haber- spondent tells me each sex endeavours to dasher's shop." However, this thirst of recommend itself to the other, since noglory in them all was the reason that no thing seems more likely to promise a man stood "lord of the ring," for above healthy offspring, or a happy cohabitathree falls while I was among them. tion. And I believe I may assure my "The young maids who were not lookers-country friend, that there has been many on at these exercises, were themselves engaged in some diversions: and upon my asking a farmer's son of my own parish what he was gazing at with so much attention, he told me, "That he was seeing Betty Welch,' whom I knew to be his sweetheart, "pitch a bar." a court lady who would be contented to exchange her crazy young husband for Tom Short, and several men of quality who would have parted with a tender yokefellow for Black Kate. I am the more pleased with having love made the principal end and design of these In short, I found the men endeavoured meetings, as it seems to be more agreeable to show the women they were no cowards, to the intent for which they were at first inand that the whole company strived to re-stituted, as we are informed by the learned commend themselves to each other by Dr. Kennet,* with whose words I shall conmaking it appear that they were all in a clude my present paper. perfect state of health, and fit to undergo any fatigues of bodily labour. Your judgment upon this method of love and gallantry, as it is at present practised among us in the country, will very much oblige, sir, yours, &c.' If I would here put on the scholar and politician, I might inform my readers how these bodily exercises or games were formerly encouraged in all the commonwealths of Greece; from whence the Romans afterwards borrowed their pentathlum, which was composed of running, wrestling, leaping, throwing, and boxing, though the prizes were generally nothing but a crown of cypress or parsley, hats not being in fashion in those days: that there is an old statute, which obliges every man in England, having such an estate, to keep and exercise the long-bow: by which means our ancestors excelled all other nations in the use of that weapon, and we had all the real advantages, without the inconvenience of a standing army: and that I once met with a book of projects, in which the author, considering to what noble ends that "These wakes (says he,) were in imitation of the ancient or. love-feasts; and were first established in England by Pope Gregory the Great, who in an Epistle to Melitus the abbot, gave order that they should be kept in sheds or arbories made up with the branches and boughs of trees round the church. He adds, That this laudable custom of wakes prevailed for many ages, until the nice puritans began to exclaim against it as a remnant of popery; and by degrees the precise humour grew so popular, that at an Exeter assizes the Lord Chief Baron Walter made an order for the suppression of all wakes; but on Bishop Laud's complaining of this innovating humour, the king commanded the order to be reversed.' X. No. 162.] Wednesday, September 5, 1711. a man appear so contemptible and little in the eyes of the world as inconstancy, especially when it regards religion or party. In either of these cases, though a man perhaps does but his duty in changing his side, he not only makes himself hated by those he left, but is seldom heartily esteemed by those he comes over to. we fall into crimes and recover out of them, are amiable or odious in the eyes of our great Judge, and pass our whole life in of fending and asking pardon. On the contrary, the beings underneath us are not capable of sinning, nor those above us of repenting. The one is out of the possibilities of duty, and the other fixed in an eternal course of sin, or an eternal course of virtue. In these great articles of life, therefore, a man's conviction ought to be very strong, and if possible so well-timed, that worldly There is scarce a state of life, or stage in advantages may seem to have no share in it, it, which does not produce changes and or mankind will be ill-natured enough to revolutions in the mind of man. Our think he does not change sides out of prin- schemes of thought in infancy are lost in ciple, but either out of levity of temper, or those of youth; these too take a different prospects of interest. Converts and rene- turn in manhood, until old age often leads gadoes of all kinds should take particular us back into our former infancy. A new care to let the world see they act upon ho- title or an unexpected success throws nourable motives; or whatever approba- us out of ourselves, and in a manner detions they may receive from themselves, and applauses from those they converse with, they may be very well assured that they are the scorn of all good men, and the public marks of infamy and derision. Irresolution on the schemes of life which offer themselves to our choice, and inconstancy in pursuing them, are the greatest and most universal causes of all our disquiet and unhappiness. When ambition pulls one way, interest another, inclination a third, and perhaps reason contrary to all, a man is likely to pass his time but ill who has so many different parties to please. When the mind hovers among such a variety of allurements, one had better settle on a way of life that is not the very best we might have chosen, than grow old withcut determining our choice, and go out of the world, as the greatest part of mankind do, before we had resolved how to live in it. There is but one method of setting ourselves at rest in this particular, and that is by adhering steadfastly to one great end as the chief and ultimate aim of all our pursuits. If we are firmly resolved to live up to the dictates of reason, without any regard to wealth, reputation, or the like considerations, any more than as they fall in with our principal design, we may go through life with steadiness and pleasure; but if we act by several broken views, and will not only be virtuous, but wealthy, popular, and every thing that has a value set upon it by the world, we shall live and die in misery and repentance. One would take more than ordinary care to guard one's self against this particular imperfection, because it is that which our nature very strongly inclines us to; for if we examine ourselves thoroughly, we shall find that we are the most changeable beings in the universe. In respect to our understanding, we often embrace and reject the very same opinions; whereas beings above and beneath us have probably no opinions at all, or at least no wavering and uncertainties in those they have. Our superiors are guided by intuition, and our inferiors by instinct. In respect of our wills, stroys our identity. A cloudy day, or a little sunshine, has as great an influence on many constitutions, as the most real blessing or misfortune. A dream varies our being, and changes our condition while it lasts; and every passion, not to mention health and sickness, and the greater alterations in body and mind, makes us appear almost different creatures. If a man is so distinguished among other beings by this infirmity, what can we think of such as make themselves remarkable for it even among their own species? It is a very trifling character to be one of the most variable beings of the most variable kind, especially if we consider that he who is the great standard of perfection has in him no shadow of change, but is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.' As this mutability of temper and incon sistency with ourselves is the greatest weakness of human nature, so it makes the person who is remarkable for it in a very particular manner more ridiculous than any other infirmity whatsoever, as it sets him in a greater variety of foolish lights, and distinguishes him from himself by an opposition of party-coloured characters. The most humorous character in Horace is founded upon this unevenness of temper and irregularity of conduct: -Sardus habebat Ille Tigellius hoc: Cæsar, qui cogere posset, Concha salis puri, et toga, quæ defendere frigus, Instead of translating this passage in Horace, I shall entertain my English reader with the description of a parallel character, that is wonderfully well finished by Mr. |