the opinions of that eminent critic. Dr. Warton, indeed, as may be seen in his notes on Pope, mixed somewhat more asperity with his review of Johnson's sentiments.

Instances of Warton's tenderness of heart, affectionate regard for children, and general humanity, have been accumulated by all who knew him. Nor is this wonderful, for he knew nothing of one quality which ever keeps the heart shut. He had no avarice, no ambition to acquire the superiority which wealth is supposed to confer. For many years he lived on his maintenance from college, and from t're profits of a small living, with the occasional fruits of his labour as a teacher or as a writer. It cannot be doubted that as he had been tutor to the son of the prime minister, (lord North) and to the sons of other persons of rank, he might reasonably have expected higher preferment. But it happens with preferment more generally than the world suspects, that what is not asked is not given. Warton had a mind above servile submission, yet he would have asked where asking is a matter of course, had not his contented indolence, or perhaps the dread of a refusal, induced him to sit down with the emoluments which cost neither trouble or anxiety. What he got by his writings could not be much. However excellent in themselves, they were not calculated for quick and extensive sale, and it is said he sold the copy-right of his History of Poetry for less than four hundred pounds.

In the exercise of his profession as a divine, Mr. Mant has not heard that he was much distinguished. He went through the routine of parochial duty in a respectful manner, but a hurried mode of speaking, partly owing to habit and partly to a natural impediment, prevented his being heard with advantage". It is a more serious objection, that he has, particularly in his notes on Milton, expressed opinions on religious topics, the consequence of which he had not deliberately considered. He hated Puritans and Calvinists, but does not seem to have understood very clearly that his own church, and every pure church, has many doctrines in common with them. His opinions on psalmody, and on the observation of Sunday, are particularly objectionable.

As a contributor to the literature of his country few men stand higher than Warton. He was the first who taught the true method of acquiring a taste for the excellencies of our ancient poets, and of rescuing their writings from obscurity and oblivion. In this respect he is the father of the school of commentators, and if some have, in certain instances, excelled their master, they ought to recollect to whom they are indebted for directing them to the paths of research. Of Warton it may be said as of Addison, "He is now despised by some who perhaps would never have seen his defects, but by the lights which he afforded them." His erudition was extensive, and his industry must have been at one time incessant. The references in his History of Poetry only, indicate a course of various reading, collation and transcription, to which the common life of man seems insufficient. He was one of those scholars who have happily rescued the study of antiquities from the reproaches of the frivolous or indolent. Amidst the most rugged tracks of ancient lore, he produces cultivated spots, flowery paths, and gay prospects. Many of the digressions that have been censured in his history, appear to have been contrived for this purpose, and the relief which his own mind demanded, he thought would not be unacceptable to his fellow-travellers.

Two sermons which he preached repeatedly are in my possession, but neither written by himself. One is a printed sermon for the Martyrdom, curiously abridged: the other is in an old hand, probably

bis father's. C.

3

To the industry which he employed in all his literary undertakings, there can be no doubt he was indebted for much of that placid temper and contentment which distinguished him as a resident member of the university. The miseries of indolence are known only to those who have no regular pursuit, nothing in view, however easy or arduous, nothing by which time may be shortened by occupation, and occupation rendered easy by habit. To all this waste of time and talent, Warton was a stranger. During the long vacation, indeed, he generally resided with his brother at Winchester, but even this was a change of place rather than of occupation. There he found libraries, scholars and critics, and could still indulge his delight in "cloysters pale," "the tapered choir," and "sequestered isles of the deep dome;" and there as well as at home, he continued his researches, and enjoyed solitude or society in such proportions as suited his immediate inclination.

Yet as he pursued an untried path, and was the founder of his own studies, it cannot be a matter of great surprise, if he failed in conducting them with due method. To this it was owing that the emendations and additions to his first and second volumes are so numerous as to have been made the ground of a serious charge against his diligence and accuracy. But had he lived to complete the work, he could have no doubt offered such excuses as must have been readily accepted by every reflecting mind. If we admit the magnitude of the undertaking, which evidently exceeded his own idea when he fondly hoped that it might have been finished in two or three volumes; if we consider the vast number of books he had to consult for matters apparently trifling, but really important; that he had the duties of a clergyman and tutor to perform while engaged in this work, and above all, that his friends were assisting him, often too late, with additional illustrations or references, it will not appear highly censurable that he dismissed his volumes capable of improvement. From his own copy of the first volume of his History, and of his edition of Milton, both now before me, it appears that he corrected with fastidious care, and was extremely anxious to render his style what we now find it, perspicuous, vigorous, and occasionally ornamented. His corrections, however, are often written in an indistinct hand, and this perhaps occasioned fresh errours which he had not an opportunity to correct. He had not found out the secret, which appears to be yet a secret to most writers, the danger and inconvenience of sending unfinished works to the press. This was not the practice of our eminent historians. Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon completed every line of their volumes before they began to print. But whoever attempts to feed the press from day to day, will soon find his stores exhausted, and himself obliged to furnish a hasty, crude copy, which, if he is afterwards ashamed of it, he finds it too late to withdraw, and not very easy to mend.--With all its faults, however, this history will ever remain a monument of learning, taste, and judgment, such as few men in any nation have been able to pro

duce.

His poetry, as well as that of his brother, has been the occasion of some difference of opinion among the critics, and the school of Warton, as it is called, has not of late been always mentioned with the respect it deserves. Among the characteristics of our author's poetry, however, his style may be considered as manly and energetic, but seldom varied by the graces of simplicity. His habits of thought led him to commence all his poems in a style pompous and swelling: his ideas often ran on the imaginary

2

days of gothic grandeur, and mighty achievement; and where such subjects were to be treated, as in his Triumph of Isis, and in bis Laureat Odes, no man could have clothed them in language more appropriate.

The Triumph of Isis was written in his twenty-first year, and exhibits the same beauties and faults which are to be found in his mature productions. Among these last, is a redundancy of epithet, which is more frequently a proof of labour than of tastc. The Pleasures of Melancholy appears to me to be a more genuine specimen of early talent. He was only in his seventeenth year, when his mind was so richly stored with striking and elegant imagery.

In general, he seems to have taken Milton for his model, and throughout his poems we find expressions borrowed with as much freedom from Milton, as he has proved that Milton borrowed from others. One piece only, Newmarket, is an imitation of Pope, and is certainly one of the finest satires in our language. In this he has not only adopted the versification of Pope, and emulated his wit and point, but many of bis lines are parodies on what he recollected in Pope's Satires. This freedom of borrowing, however, seems so generally allowed, that it can form no higher objection against Warton, than against Pope, Gray, and others of acknowledged eminence. We cannot be surprised that the memory of such a student as Warton, should be familiar with the choicest language of poetry, and that he should often adopt it unconscious of its being the property of another.

The frequent use of alliteration is a more striking defect. It is wonderful, that he who had an ear for music, could tolerate such lines as

or,

Issues to clothe in gladsome glist'ring green

The genial globe

The due clock swinging slow with sweepy swing,

which, by the way, is a parody on a more expressive line,

Swinging slow with sullen roar.

These however are strictures which ought not to interfere with the general merit of Warton, as a poet of original genius. His descriptive pieces, had he written nothing else, would have proved his claim to that title. Nothing can be more natural, just, or delightful, than his pictures of rural life. The first of April, and the Approach of Summer, have seldom been rivalled, and cannot perhaps be excelled. The only objection which some critics have started is, that his descriptions are not varied by reflection. He gives an exquisite landscape, but does not always express the feelings it creates. His brother, speaking of Thomson, observes, that the unexpected insertion of reflections, "imparts to us the same pleasure that we feel, when, in wandering through a wilderness or grove, we suddenly behold in the turning of the walk a statue of some Virtue or Muse." Yet in Warton's descriptive poetry, it is no small merit to have produced so much effect, so many exquisite pictures without this aid.

The Suicide perhaps deserves a yet higher character, rising to the sublime by gradations which speak to every imagination. It has indeed been objected that it is imperfect, and too allegorical. It appeals, however, so forcibly to the heart, awakens so many important reflections, and contains so happy a mixture of terrour and consolation, that it seems difficult to lay it down without unmixed admiration. The Crusade