that, could the traces be ever worn out of her brain, and those of Eliza out of mine, she should not only eat of my bread, and drink of my cap, but Maria should lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter.-Adieu, poor luckless maiden! imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds. The being who has twice bruised thee, can only bind them up for ever.-Sterne's Sentimental Journey.

It is to be lamented that this author should ever have employed his talents in recommending a system of refined libertinism. It is also to be lamented that he who could so exquisitely delineate the pleasures of general benevolence, should have been found noto-riously deficient in the common duties of humanity. In the preface to his Sermons, he wishes to persuade his reader that they rather flow from the heart than from the head. If this is the case, they must be sorry productions; for his heart was hard and uneelfing. "What is called sentimental writing," says the Earl of Orford, "though it be understood to appeal solely to the heart, may be the product of a bad one. One would imagine that Sterne had been a man of a very tender heart-yet I know, from indubitable authority, that his mother, who kept a school, having run in debt on account of an extravagant daughter, would have rotted in jail, if the parents of her scholars had not raised a subscription for her. Her son had too much sentiment to have any feeling. A dead ass was more important to him than a living mother."* Yet this is the man who inculcates the principles of universal phiJanthropy; the man who pretends to extend his bene

Walpoliana, vol. i.

volent views to the happiness of the very fly that acci dent may expose to the rude hand of violence.

That Sterne possessed the power of moving the passions, must certainly be admitted; the episodes of Le Fevre and Maria are eminently pathetic. But it may be disputed whether he possessed all that wit and humour for which the courtesy of some readers has given him credit. If obscenity be wit, and quaint obscurity humour, he is infinitely superior to Butler and Cervantes. But if it should appear that obscenity is within the reach of the poorest pretender to genius, and that to plunge into the depth of obscurity, requires nothing more than a confused brain, Sterne will no longer be regarded as a writer of the greatest originality.*

The most illustrious example which has lately been exhibited of a noble simplicity of style, occurs in the historical production of Charles James Fox, of immortal memory. His composition is so deeply impressed with all the distinguishing qualities of an exalted and generous mind, that no ingenuous reader can peruse it without catching some portion of his spirit. If he occasionally employs a word or phrase which may be considered as somewhat homely or familiar, it is undoubtedly to be attributed to his anxiety to avoid every appearance of pomp and affectation; and it is to be hoped that so conspicuous a inodel may have a strong tendency to counteract the seductive examples of Johnson and Gibbon. He uniformly displays a genuine

See Dr. Ferriar's Illustrations of Sterne.

English

English style; and his thoughts support themselves by their intrinsic dignity. It cannot be sufficiently regretted that Mr. Fox did not live to complete the plan which he had so happily formed: but his work, eveni in its present state, will ever remain a noble monument of his genius and patriotism. Hume evinces great acuteness, but Fox evinces great wisdom.

Of an author who has rendered his style much less beautiful by want of simplicity, I cannot point out a more remarkable instance than Lord Shaftesbury. It has already been hinted that he is a writer in whom some beauties are blended with many deformities. His language is rich and musical: but he seems to have considered it as beneath the dignity of one of his rank, to speak like the rest of mankind. Hence he is ever in buskins; and arrayed in pomp and magnificence. In every sentence we discern evident marks of art and labour. We perceive nothing of that ease which accompanies the expression of a sentiment proceeding warm from the heart. In the use of figures and ornament of every description, he shews sufficient skill; but his fondness for them is too visible. Having once found a metaphor which pleases his fancy, he knows not how to lay it aside; but often pursues it until it becomes quite disgusting and ridiculous. What apSpears very surprising, Shaftesbury was a professed admirer of simplicity. He is always extolling it in the ancients; and at the same time censuring the moderns for their affectation, and rawness of fancy. He possessed a false refinement of taste, without any warmth of passion, or vivacity of feeling. The coldness of his character led him to that artificial and stately

K 3

stately manner which appears in all his writings. He seems highly fond of wit and raillery: which he attempts to promote, but with very little success. His wit is always blunt, and his raillery stiff and awkward.

Dr. Berkeley has justly ridiculed this pretended rival of Plato, for his affectation and self-importance. In one of his dialogues, a speaker produces the book entitled Advice to an Author, and reads a brilliant passage from it in a declamatory tone, adjusting all the pauses as if he had been reciting a poem in blank verse. After he has finished his declamation, the dialogue proceeds in the following manner: "Euphranor, having heard thus far, cried out: What! will you never have done with your poetry? another time may serve: but why should we break off our conference to read a play? You are mistaken it is no play nor poetry, replied Alciphon, but a famous modern critic moralizing in prose. You must know this great man hath (to use his own words) revealed a grand arcanum to the world, having instructed mankind in what he calls mirrour-writing, self-discoursing practice, and shew'd' That by virtue of an initmate recess, we may discover a certain duplicity of soul, and divide nurself into two parties, or (as he varies the phrase) practically form the dual number.' In consequeoce whereof he has found that a man may argue with himself: and not only with himself, but also with notions, sentiments, and vices, which by a marvellous prosopopœia he converts into so many ladies; and so converted, he confutes and confounds them in a divine strain. Can any thing be finer, holder, or more sublime? EUPH. It is very wonderful. I thought indeed you had been road

ing a tragedy. Is this he who despiseth our universities, and sets up for reforming the style and taste of the age? ALC. The very same. This is the admired critic of our times. Nothing can stand the test of his correct judgment, which is equally severe to poets and parsons."*

The philosophy of Lord Shaftesbury, as well as his style, has found its admirers. His writings, if we may safely rely on Dr. Hutcheson, will be esteemed while any reflection remains among men.† There is some probability, however, that this prediction will not be verified.

From the account which has been given of Shaftesbury's manner, it may easily be imagined that he would mislead those who blindly admired him. We have one remarkable exemplification in Dr. Blackwell of Aberdeen, an author well known for his Life of Homer,‡ Letters on Mythology, and Memoirs of the court of Augustus. He discovers ingenuity and learning; but is infected with an extravagant love of the artificial style, and of that parade of language which distinguishes the Shaftesburean manner.

Beside those general characters of style which have already been pointed out, several others might perhaps be mentioned. Conceited writers, for instance, discover their spirits so much in their composition, that it imprints on their style a character of pertness; though

* Berkeley's Minute Philosopher, Dia. v. Hutcheson's Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, Preface.

See Dr. Warton's Essay on Pope, vol. i. p. 129.

I confess