Yet in the mouths of these miserable compass-men, and frigid calculators, (not a man of whom is ever destined to taste, much lest produce a work of genius,) we find terms of art, and all the jargon of encyclopædial knowledge, so pat, so much of the gift of the critical gab, that many half-informed people even take their notions of art from them; they "Talk of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff," as Goldsmith has it, so cleverly, that if you should never hear of their names, you might be induced to think them real artists; that is, provided you knew nothing whatever of the art yourself. the talent for composition; for, while Reynolds only produced, by long studying, one forced progeny worthy to be called an historical picture, (I mean his Ugolino) Barry's prolific pencil turned out dozens, the slightest of which might rival that expressive composition. To be sure, Sir Joshua was deprived of the reviewer's advantageous stimulus, want; and thence, perhaps, it came to pass, that, while one was obliged to avail himself of the talents of the best engraver of mezzotinto this country, or any other, has ever seen, in order to give the public the most favourable impression of the work, (not being able himself to execute such a plate any more than a copper-plate printer;) the other not only made the design of his Job and Palemon, pictures that might have made a Poussin jealous, much more a Sir Joshua, but actually engraved them The great object of this calumnious Review, becomes however very clear, to clear-sighted people, about the tenth page, where we find, that next to the reviewer's hatred of Barry, is his anger that Sir Joshua Reynolds should be sup-in so painter-like a manner, and with so posed to have at one time been jealous of his rising fame, whom he calls, in italics, "the great painter of the age, and the great painter of the country." And, as it unravels the malignant web of his sophistry rather more than any other of this hoarded venom, allow me to quote it at length. passage This unfortunate reviewer, so great an enemy to irascibility in Barry, and who, for ten pages of sly strokes of plausible abuse of all the lovers of the grand, chaste, and severe, style, has "Nursed his wrath to keep it warm," is at length tempted to a short quotation from his biographer, (whom he calls also his panegyrist, to lessen the force of his just praise,) wherein it is asserted, that perhaps there was a mutual jealousy between Barry and Sir Joshua ;" and here the cloven foot appears, when he says, with ridiculous gravity, "that the first part of the statement is true, even" to a much greater degree than is stated. We have no doubt but the concluding insinuation is so grossly calumnious, that scorn at its absurdity only restrains our indignation at its malignity:-"Reynolds jealous of Barry! it were as reasonable to suppose him jealous of the weaver of his canvas, or the grinder of his colours." Yet, if it kills this enraged reviewer, he must be told, that, if Sir Joshua had been of a jealous temper, he might have been pardoned for indulging it in this case; as he must have felt Barry's great superiority in the grand feature of his art, much effect, without affectation, nay, coloured effect, that, if he had never done any thing besides, posterity would have been from them forced to confess, that he was a truly great artist; and, if he was not the "first dignitary" in his art, from the pictures now before the public, at the Society's rooms, let those who can shew a better series, from any English artist, cast the first stone. The gentle Reynolds had his virtues, his talents, his taste, duly appreciated; his colouring could not be over-rated; but it cannot be concealed that his drawing was so defective, that no prudent friend would wish But the indignant Barry never found a to bring the subject into discussion. friend capable of being a patron, who was a sufficient judge of art to know the extent of his abilities: and, if Reynolds really possessed that judgment which the world allows him, (and which many doubted from the time he presented the he ought, as president, to have publicly Neptune of Bernini to the Academy,) afforded that testimony, and promoted that excellence, in his cotemporary. voked by this half-bred man of taste, On this tender subject, if I am not proI shall say no more; and the reviewer may console himself in the certainty, that if he does not injure his deceased I shall be the last to withdraw a veil friend's reputation by idle comparisons, from the sacred urn of those departed virtues. I remember Barry, and regret his weaknesses; but I cannot but also remember his almost intuitive talents, his scrupulous probity, his strict sincerity, 2 D his manly, though rough, freedom; his just indignation at meanness and vice; and I hereby call upon the author of the Review I am exposing, in the name of a man, whom, if he were living, he would not dare to look in the face without trembling, after this unjust assault, to come forth from his concealment, and produce that "tale of his early perfidy," which, he says, he has heard from authority that appears to him unquestionable. "But the man, (he adds) is gone to his audit! and we have no desire to load his memory with any other accusations, than those of which his biographer has here supplied the materials." Thus closing his attacks on the virtuous dead with dark insinuations, and that affectation of candour which bespeaks a Tartuffe of the first water, instead of a fit critic for a thinking nation. Let this tale therefore be manfully brought forward, with the names of its authors; and, if they fail in proof, of which I doubt not they will, we shall then have the pleasure to clear these aspersions from the character of an honest man; and instead of one libeller, expose two, contempt of an insulted publ A FRIEND TO MERIT. To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. IN SIR, N the important duty of correcting that which I apprehend to be a dangerous, as well as too common, illiberality, I regret to find myself in the most unpleasant predicament of having a lady for my antagonist. But mere politeness ought, in reason, to give place to a more serious duty; a sentiment in which I am sure of being joined by the lady herself, whose genius and acquirements are so respectable. I allude to certain objectionable sentiments in Miss Starke's truly poetic ode, On the Goodness of Provi dence. (Monthly Magazine for December, 1810.) The words in which they are conveyed are indicated by italics, in the following quotation: But man, too fond of earth, ne'er looks on high, To read the mystic wonders of the sky; Out of respect however to the lady, I will suppose that she availed herself of one species of the poetica licentie, by clothing ardent images in words of corresponding ardour, and that, in sober and rational prose, she would have hesitated to apply the harsh terms of 'frends accurst' to rational beings, endowed by nature with equal rights of judgment, and even with the equal, although undesirable, privilege, of making the retort courteous of damned phanatiques.' We may go still farther in apologizing for a lady and a poetess, who may have been misled by authority as well as imagination, and who inay have relied with implicit confidence on the unanimous decisions of those doctors who teach, if not openly, that no faith is to be kept with infidels, at least, that no quarter is to be allowed them. Does not that rational and liberal christian, Dr. Rees, assure us in his sermons, that the chief motive of every sceptic is vanity, and his intention evil; and who would venture to controvert the opinion of a learned separatist from the church, whose very vocation implies every thing which is liberal, philosophical, and condescending in short, every christian virtue? February 11, 1811. For the Monthly Magazine. L CRITICAL REMARKS ON SHAKESPEARE "Tand fear make in you, is a virtue of a HE composition that your valour good wing, and I like the wear well." "The true reading," says Dr. Warburton, " is doubtless a good ming, a word common to the writers of this age," but this common word ming, Dr. Johnson tells us, he was never able to find. Mr. Steevens, howe ever, has given us several examples of its being in current use as a verb; but, as a substantive, even his indefatigable indus try could find none. Thus, Thomas Drant, in his translation of one of the Epistles of Horace : "He bears the bell in all respects, who good with sweet doth ming." And Sir A. Gorges, in his translation of Lucan, 1614: "Which never mings with other stream." But the passage in question wants no alteration; the metaphor is taken, like many others in the works of this poet, from falconry; and it seems to denote firmness of contexture. "Certainly," says Lord Bacon, in his Natural History, experiment 886, "many birds of a good wing, as kites and the like, would bear up a good weight as they fly." King James I. in his progress from Edinburgh to Lon don, was splendidly entertained at Hin chinbrook-house, the seat of Sir Oliver Cromwell; Cromwell; and at parting, as we are told, Sir Oliver presented his royal guest, who was much attached to the sports of the field, with "six hawks of an excellent wing." No more of that, I prithee, do not strive against my vows, Act IV. Scone 2. I was compell'd to her. Dr. Johnson endeavours to obviate the difficulty of this passage, by exchanging the word strive, for drive or shrive; neither of which alterations can claim any preference to the present reading. "Do not strive against my vows," &c. apparently means, Do not let my vows be the obstacle against which your virtue strives or contends; for, being compelled to her, they were involuntary and consequently invalid. The scope of Diana's reasonings in this speech have been entirely mistaken; and the alterations proposed by the learned commentators, Warburton and Johnson, however specious, are beyond all ques tion inadmissible. Bertram, to obviate the charge of inconstancy, says, "how have I sworn?" to which Diana replies, "Tis not the many vows that make the truth," &c. that is, 'Tis not the multipli city nor the solemnity of your protestations that can evince your fidelity, for, to make such appeals to Heaven, is easy and common. But would you yourself, whose oaths are offered as demonstrations, give me credit, if I should swear by all that is sacred my love to you was sin cere, when my conduct contradicted my professions? Oaths such as your's are, in their own nature, void of all title to confidence, which swear by him whom you profess to reverence, that you will be true to engagements contracted in opposition to his will. Therefore your oathis, &c. The conclusion is here very justly and forcibly deduced from the premises. Since this note was written, I have the satisfaction to find, that the author of the Revisal has offered a similar interpretation of the passage. Act. V. Scene 3.-Dr. Johnson observes, "that, Parolles has many of the lineaments of Falstaff, a fellow that had more wit than virtue, and though justice required that he should be detected and exposed, yet his tices sit so fit in him, that he is not at last suffered to starve." I confess, however, that I see but little réIt is true, they are equally destitute of virtue; but, as to the wit of Parolles, I am yet to learn where it is to be found. Helena scruples not to say that she "thinks him a great way fool;" and the vices which sit so fit in him, are totally different from those which enter into the composition of Falstaff. He recommends himself to Bertram, who is himself represented as a man of no great penetra tion, by his servile complaisance and parasitical obsequiousness; and imposes upon him, by a superficial parade of knowledge and ostentation of valour. These are vices with which Falstaff is not chargeable; for the braggardism of Falstaff, which is mere flighty,rhodomontade, not calculated or intended for serious belief, is not at all akin to the grave and pompous lies of Parolles. Nor is there a single trait in the character of this poltroon, which bears any analogy to the hu mour, the hilarity, the sagacity, of the fat knight, to his vigour and force of mind, or the irresistible attraction of his com pany and conversation: and we may cer tainly add also, to his natural fortitude and courage: though the unlucky and lu dicrous circumstances in which he is involved, render this part of his character liable to strong apparent imputations. A most able analysis of this extraordinary dramatic personage, is to be found in the admirable Essay on the Character of Sir John Falstaff, written by the late Mr. Morgan. semblance between these two characters. This is the arbitrary reading of Mr. Pope, in lieu of that which is given in the old copy: "There to meet with Macbeth;" and it seems to imply, that the third witch only designed him this favour; whereas they had all agreed to rendezvous on the heath at the ciose of the battle, which would be ere set of sun. The true reading probably is," There to meet wi' thee, (that is, with thee)acbeth!" Such a mistake might easily arise froin a careless manuscript abbreviation, Fair is foul, and foul is fair;. Ibid. Ib. "I believe," says Dr. Johnson, "the meaning is, that to us, perverse and malignant as we are, fair is foul, and foul is fair." But why should the witches be so forward to confess their own perverseness -and malignity? They are represented as peeting in the midst of a violent tempest, and at the close of their conference, regardless of the war of elements, fair and foul being to them alike, they take their flight according to their several mysterious destinations; or, in their own language, they hover through the fog and filthy air; that is, the dark and turbid atmosphere, as it were, in contempt and defiance of the terrors of the storm. What haste looks thro' his eyes! So should he look This phraseology Dr. Johnson would alter thus: "So should he look that teems to speak things strange," the present text meaning, as he says, "So should he Jook, that looks as if he told things strange." But surely the passage is susceptible of an easier and better interprétation, "So should he look whose countenance is expressive of wondrous things. Come, what come may, Time and the hour run thro' the roughest day. Act I. Scene 3. Macbeth, whose perturbed spirit, "in consequence of the prediction of the weird sisters, is, to use his own language, "smothered in surmise," entertains for a time "horrible imaginings," with a view to the accomplishment of his aspiring hopes. Yet, recovering himself after a violent conflict, he says, "If chance will bave me king, why chance may crown me without my stir." And his ultimate conclusion is, "Come, what come may, time and the hour run thro' the rough st day," The expression is proverbial; Dr. Johnson is again unfortunate in his attempt at emendation. "A ravishing stride," he says, "is an act of violence, impetuosity, and tumult;" and he would therefore have us substitute slides for strides. With this alteration Mr. Steevens does not agree: and as a proof that a stride is not always considered as a tumultuous effort, he, with great happiuess, adduces the following quotation from Harrington's translation of Ariosto He takes a long and leisurable stride, And longest on the hinder foot he staid; So soft he treads, altho' his steps were wide, As tho' to tread on eggs he was afraid; And, as he goes, he gropes on either side, To find the bed, &c. Orlando Furioso, Book 28. Macbeth. Who's there? What ho! Lady M. Alack, I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done, &c. Act II. Scene 2. the owl scream, and the crickets cry." This regulation is necessary to give full effect to the terrible graces of this tremendous scene, This avarice grows with more pernicious root, Than summer-seeming lust. Act IV. Scene 3. Dr. Warburton reads summer-teeming Macd. My wife killed too? Malc. Be comforted, For Banquo's issue have I fil'd my mind, Rather than so, come Fate into the list, It appears, therefore, that Macbeth's Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, quo, was his eager and anxious desire to To cure this deadly grief. Macd. He has no children! Act IV. Scene 4. Dr. Johnson cites with just approbation the observation of an anonymous critic, that this is not said of Macbeth, who had children, but of Malcolm, who, having none, supposes that a father can be so easily comforted. The beauty and propriety of this explanation seem self-evident; and, if farther confirmation were wanting, it might be obtained by referring to the indignant exclamation of Constance, in reply to the consolations offered by the Cardinal Legate: He talks to me that never had a son ! secure the crown to his own posterity. For the Monthly Magazine. THE LETTERS OF A WANDERER. A, Padley-bridge, a small hamlet situated near the lower extremity of the lake of Ullswater, we breakfasted; and, having left our servants and horses to finish their refreshments, we strolled towards the banks of the Éamont, (the river that issues from the lake,) where the scenery is pretty, though not distinguished by any prominent feature of beauty, or any object deserving particular notice, excepting the high conical hill called Dunmallet, which, rising abruptly from its base, towers to a considerable height above the river, thickly covered with wood, and on the summit bearing the remains of a Roman encampment, now scarce worth the fatigue of ascending to examine, though doubtless once a station of considerable importance. There are formal straight walks cut to resembles a sugar loaf, with the top the summit of this hill, which in shape squared off; but we did not make an attempt to ascend the steep, merely conCould it, however, be necessary to retenting ourselves with tracing a part of a mind Mr. Steevens of the declaration of winding path in the wood, by which it King Jobn. But Mr. Steevens tells us, "the meaning of them may be either that Macduff could not by retaliation revenge the murder of his children, because Macbeth had none himself; or that, if he had had any, a father's feelings for a father would have prevented him from the deed. And he knows not, as he adds, from what passage we are to infer that Macbeth had children alive. The Chronicle does not, as I remember, mention any. may |