Chapter IV: Part 4

Nothing can have a greater tendency to clog and destroy the native activity of the mind, than the profuseness with which the memory of children is loaded, by nurses, by mothers, by masters. What can more corrupt the judgment, than the communicating, without measure, and without end, words entirely devoid of meaning? What can have a more ridiculous influence upon our taste, than for the first verses to which our attention is demanded, to consist of such strange and uncouth jargon? To complete the absurdity, and that we may derive all that elegance and refinement from the study of languages, that it is calculated to afford, our first ideas of Latin are to be collected from such authors, as Corderius, Erasmus, Eutropius, and the Selectae. To begin indeed with the classical writers, is not the way to smooth the path of literature. I am of opinion however, that one of the above-mentioned authors will be abundantly sufficient. Let it be remembered, that the passage from the introductory studies to those authors, that form the very essence of the language, will be much facilitated by the previous acquisition of the French.

Having spoken of the article of memory, let me be permitted to mention the practice, that has of late gained so great a vogue; the instructing children in the art of spouting and acting plays. Of all the qualities incident to human nature, the most universally attractive is simplicity, the most disgusting is affectation. Now what idea has a child of the passions of a hero, and the distresses of royalty? But he is taught the most vehement utterance, and a thousand constrained cadences, without its being possible that he should see in them, either reasonableness or propriety.

I would not have a child required to commit any thing to memory more than is absolutely necessary. If, however, he be a youth of spirit, he will probably learn some things in this manner, and the sooner because it is not expected of him. It will be of use for him to repeat these with a grave and distinct voice, accommodated to those cadences, which the commas, the periods, and the notes of interrogation, marked in his author, may require, but without the smallest instruction to humour the gay, or to sadden the plaintive.

Another article, that makes a conspicuous figure in the education of our youth, is composition. Before they are acquainted with the true difference between verse and prose, before they are prepared to decide upon the poetical merit of Lily and Virgil, they are called upon to write Latin verse themselves. In the same manner some of their first prose compositions are in a dead language. An uniform, petty, ridiculous scheme is laid down, and within that scheme all their thoughts are to be circumscribed.

Composition is certainly a desirable art, and I think can scarcely be entered upon too soon. It should be one end after which I would endeavour, and the mode of effecting it will be farther illustrated in the sequel, to solicit a pupil to familiarity, and to induce him to disclose his thoughts upon such subjects as were competent to his capacity, in an honest and simple manner. After having thus warmed him by degrees, it might be proper to direct him to write down his thoughts, without any prescribed method, in the natural and spontaneous manner, in which they flowed from his mind. Thus the talk of throwing his reflections upon paper would be facilitated to him, and his style gradually formed, without teaching him any kind of restraint and affectation. To the reader who enters at all into my ideas upon the subject, it were needless to subjoin, that I should never think of putting a youth upon the composition of verse.

From all I have said it will be sufficiently evident, that it would be a constant object with me to model my instructions to the capacity of my pupil. They are books, that beyond all things teach us to talk without thinking, and use words without meaning. To this evil there can be no complete remedy. But shall we abolish literature, because it is not unaccompanied with inconveniencies? Shall we return to a state of savage ignorance, because all the advantages of civilization have their attendant disadvantages?

The only remedy that can be applied, is to accustom ourselves to clear and accurate investigation. To prefer, whereever we can have recourse to it, the book of nature to any human composition. To begin with the latter as late as may be consistent with the most important purposes of education. And when we do begin, so to arrange our studies, as that we may commence with the simplest and easiest sciences, and proportion our progress to the understanding of the pupil.

With respect to grammar in particular, the declensions of nouns, and the inflexions of verbs, we may observe, that to learn words to which absolutely no ideas are affixed, is not to learn to think loosely, and to believe without being convinced. These certainly can never corrupt the mind. And I suppose no one will pretend, that to learn grammar, is to be led to entertain inaccurate notions of the subjects, about which it is particularly conversant. On the contrary, the ideas of grammar are exceedingly clear and accurate. It has, in my opinion, all those advantages, by which the study of geometry is usually recommended, without any of its disadvantages. It tends much to purge the understanding, to render it close in its investigations, and sure in its decisions. It introduces more easily and intelligibly than mathematical science, that most difficult of all the mental operations, abstraction. It imperceptibly enlarges our conceptions, and generalises our ideas.

But if to read its authors, be the most valuable purpose of learning a language, the grammar will not be sufficient. Other books will be necessary. And how shall these be chosen, so as not to leave behind us the understanding of our pupil? Shall we introduce him first to the sublime flights of Virgil, the philosophical investigations of a Cicero, or the refined elegance and gay satire of Horace? Alas! if thus introduced unprepared to the noblest heights of science, how can it be expected that his understanding should escape the shipwreck, and every atom of common sense not be dashed and scattered ten thousand ways?

The study then I would here introduce, should be that of history. And that this study is not improper to the age with which I connect it, is the second point I would endeavour to demonstrate.

But is history, I shall be asked, the study so proper for uninstructed minds? History, that may in some measure be considered as concentring in itself the elements of all other sciences? History, by which we are informed of the rise and progress of every art, and by whose testimony the comparative excellence of every art is ascertained? History, the very testimony of which is not to be admitted, without the previous trial of metaphysical scrutiny, and philosophic investigation? Lastly, History, that is to be considered as a continual illustration of the arts of fortification and tactics; but above all of politics, with its various appendages, commerce, manufacture, finances?

To all this, I calmly answer, No: it is not history in any of these forms, that constitutes the science to which I would direct the attention of my pupil. Of the utility of the history of arts and sciences, at least, as a general study, I have no very high opinion. But were my opinion ever so exalted, I should certainly chuse to postpone this study for the present. I should have as little to do with tactics and fortification. I would avoid as much as possible the very subject of war. Politics, commerce, finances, might easily be deferred. I would keep far aloof from the niceties of chronology, and the dispute of facts. I would not enter upon the study of history through the medium of epitome. I would even postpone the general history of nations, to the character and actions of particular men.

Many of the articles I have mentioned, serve to compose the pedantry of history. Than history, no science has been more abused. It has been studied from ostentation; it has been studied with the narrow views of little minds; it has been warped to serve a temporary purpose. Ingenious art has hung it round with a thousand subtleties, and a thousand disputes. The time has at length arrived, when it requires an erect understanding, and a penetrating view, above the common rate, to discover the noble purposes, which this science is most immediately calculated to subserve.

In a word, the fate of history has been like that of travelling. The institution has been preserved, but its original use is lost. One man travels from fashion, and another from pride. One man travels to measure buildings, another to examine pictures, and a third perhaps to learn to dance. Scarcely any remember that its true application is to study men and manners. Perhaps a juster idea cannot be given of the science we are considering, than that which we may deduce from a reflection of Rousseau. "The ancient historians," says he, "are crowded with those views of things, from which we may derive the utmost utility, even though the facts that suggest them, should be mistaken. But we are unskilled to derive any real advantage from history. The critique of erudition absorbs every thing; as if it imported us much whether the relation were true, provided we could extract from it any useful induction. Men of sense ought to regard history as a tissue of fables, whose moral is perfectly adapted to the human heart."

The mere external actions of men are not worth the studying: Who would have ever thought of going through a course of history, if the science were comprised in a set of chronological tables? No: it is the hearts of men we should study. It is to their actions, as expressive of disposition and character, we should attend. But by what is it that we can be advanced thus far, but by specious conjecture, and plausible inference? The philosophy of a Sallust, and the sagacity of a Tacitus, can only advance us to the regions of probability. But whatever be the most perfect mode of historical composition, it is to the simplest writers that our youth should be first introduced, writers equally distant from the dry detail of Du Fresnoy, and the unrivalled eloquence of a Livy. The translation of Plutarch would, in my opinion, form the best introduction. As he is not a writer of particular elegance, he suffers less from a version, than many others. The Roman revolutions of Vertot might very properly fill the second place. Each of these writers has this further recommendation, that, at least, in the former part of their works, they treat of that simplicity and rectitude of manners of the first Greeks and Romans, that furnish the happiest subject that can be devised for the initiating youth in the study of history.

Under the restrictions I have laid down, history is of all sciences the most simple. It has been ever considered by philosophers, as the porch of knowledge. It has ever been treated by men of literature, as the relaxation of their feverer pursuits. It leads directly to the most important of all attainments, the knowledge of the heart. It introduces us, without expence, and without danger, to an acquaintance with manners and society. By the most natural advances it points us forward to all the depths of science. With the most attractive blandishments it forms us by degrees to an inextinguishable thirst of literature.

But there is still an objection remaining, and that the most important of all. Let history be stripped as much as you will of every extraneous circumstance, let it be narrowed to the utmost simplicity, there is still one science previously necessary. It is that of morals. If you see nothing in human conduct, but purely the exterior and physical movements, what is it that history teaches? Absolutely nothing; and the science devoid of interest, becomes incapable of affording either pleasure or instruction. We may add, that the more perfectly it is made a science of character and biography, the more indispensible is ethical examination. But to such an examination it has been doubted whether the understandings of children be competent. Upon this question I will beg leave to say a few words, and I have done.

It is scarcely necessary to observe, that I do not speak here of ethics as an abstract science, but simply as it relates to practice, and the oeconomy of human life. Our enquiry therefore is respecting the time at which that intuitive faculty is generally awakened, by which we decide upon the differences of virtue and vice, and are impelled to applaud the one, and condemn the other.

The moment in which the faculty of memory begins to unfold itself, the man begins to exist as a moral being. Not long posterior to this, is the commencement of prescience and foresight. Rousseau has told us, in his animated language, that if a child could escape a whipping, or obtain a paper of sweetmeats, by promising to throw himself out at window tomorrow, the promise would instantly be made. Nothing is more contrary to experience than this. It is true, death, or any such evils, of which he has no clear conception, do not strongly affect him in prospect. But by the view of that which is palpable and striking, he is as much influenced as any man, however extensive his knowledge, however large his experience. It is only by seizing upon the activity and earnestness incident to youthful pursuits, and totally banishing the idea of what is future, that we can destroy its influence. Their minds, like a sheet of white paper, are susceptible to every impression. Their brain, uncrouded with a thousand confused traces, is a cause, that every impression they receive is strong and durable.

The aera of foresight is the aera of imagination, and imagination is the grand instrument of virtue. The mind is the seat of pleasure and pain. It is not by what we see, but by what we infer and suppose, that we are taught, that any being is the object of commiseration. It is by the constant return of the mind to the unfortunate object, that we are strongly impressed with sympathy. Hence it is that the too frequent recurrence of objects of distress, at the same time that it blunts the imagination, renders the heart callous and obdurate.

The sentiment that the persons about us have life and feeling as well as ourselves, cannot be of very late introduction. It may be forwarded by cultivation, but it can scarcely at any rate be very much retarded. For this sentiment to become perfectly clear and striking, and to be applied in every case that may come before us, must undoubtedly be an affair gradual in its progress. From thence to the feelings of right and wrong, of compassion and generosity, there is but one step.

It has, I think, been fully demonstrated by that very elegant philosopher Mr. Hutcheson, that self-love is not the source of all our passions, but that disinterested benevolence has its seat in the human heart. At present it is necessary for me to take this for granted. The discussion would lead me too far from my subject. What I would infer from it is, that benevolent affections are capable of a very early commencement. They do not wait to be grafted upon the selfish. They have the larger scope in youthful minds, as such have not yet learned those refinements of interest, that are incident to persons of longer experience.

Accordingly no observation is more common, than that mankind are more generous in the earlier periods of their life, and that their affections become gradually contracted the farther they advance in the vale of years. Confidence, kindness, benevolence, constitute the entire temper of youth. And unless these amiable dispositions be blasted in the bud by the baneful infusions of ambition, vanity and pride, there is nothing with which they would not part, to cherish adversity, and remunerate favour.

Hence we may infer, that the general ideas of merit and character are perfectly competent to the understanding of children of ten years. False glory is the farthest in the world from insinuating its witchcraft into the undepraved heart, where the vain and malignant passions have not yet erected their standard. It is true, the peculiar sublimities of heroism cannot be supposed perfectly within his comprehension. But something of this sort, as we have already said, is incident to every step in the scale of literature.

But the more perfectly to familiarise to my pupil the understanding and digesting whatever he read, I would consider it as an indispensible part of my business, to talk over with him familiarly the subjects, that might necessarily demand our attention. I would lead him by degrees to relate with clearness and precision the story of his author. I would induce him to deliver his fair and genuine sentiments upon every action, and character that came before us. I would frequently call upon him for a plain and simple reason for his opinion. This should always be done privately, without ostentation, and without rivalship. Thus, separate from the danger of fomenting those passions of envy and pride, that prepare at a distance for our youth so many mortifications, and at the expence of which too frequently this accomplishment is attained, I would train him to deliver his opinion upon every subject with freedom, perspicuity and fluency. Without at any time dictating to him the sentiments it became him to entertain, I might, with a little honed artifice, mould his judgment into the form it was most desirable it should take, at the same time that I discovered his genius, and ascertained the original propensities of his mind.

It is unnecessary for me to say any thing respecting morals in the other sense of the word, I mean as they are connected with the conduct, the habits of which we should endeavour to cultivate in a pupil; as that subject has been already exhausted. The vices of youth spring not from nature, who is equally the kind and blameless mother of all her children; they derive from the defects of education. We have already endeavoured to shut up all the inlets of vice. We have precluded servility and cowardice. We have taken away the motives to concealment and falshood. By the liberal indulgence we have prescribed, we have laid the foundation of manly spirit, and generous dignity. A continual attention to history, accompanied with the cultivation of moral discernment, and animated with the examples of heroic virtue, could not fail to form the heart of the pupil, to all that is excellent. At the same time, by assiduous care, the shoots of vanity and envy might be crushed in the bud. Emulation is a dangerous and mistaken principle of constancy. Instead of it I would wish to see the connection of pupils, consisting only of pleasure and generosity. They should learn to love, but not to hate each other. Benevolent actions should not directly be preached to them, they should strictly begin in the heart of the performer. But when actually done, they should receive the most distinguished applause.

Let me be permitted in this place to observe, that the association of a small number of pupils seems the most perfect mode of education. There is surely something unsuitable to the present state of mankind, in the wishing to educate our youth in perfect solitude. Society calls forth a thousand powers both of mind and body, that must otherwise rust in inactivity. And nothing is more clear from experience, than that there is a certain tendency to moral depravation in very large bodies of this kind, to which there has not yet been discovered a sufficient remedy.

If, by the pursuit of principles like these, the powers of the understanding and the heart might be developed in concert; if the pupils were trained at once to knowledge and virtue; if they were enabled to look back upon the period of their education, without regretting one instance of anxious terror, or capricious severity; if they recollected their tutor with gratitude, and thought of their companions, as of those generous friends whom they would wish for the associates of their life,--in that case, the pains of the preceptor would not be thrown away.

FINIS.

THE

HERALD OF LITERATURE.

[PRICE TWO SHILLINGS.]

THE

HERALD OF LITERATURE;

OR,

A REVIEW

OF THE

MOST CONSIDERABLE PUBLICATIONS

THAT WILL BE MADE IN THE

COURSE OF THE ENSUING WINTER:

WITH

EXTRACTS.

* * * * *

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. MURRAY, NO. 32, FLEET-STREET.

M DCC LXXXIV.

TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS.

GENTLEMEN,

In presenting the following sheets to the public, I hope I shall not be considered as encroaching upon that province, which long possession has probably taught you to consider as your exclusive right. The labour it has cost me, and the many perils I have encountered to bring it to perfection, will, I trust, effectually plead my pardon with persons of your notorious candour and humanity. Represent to yourselves, Gentlemen, I entreat you, the many false keys, bribes to the lacqueys of authors that can keep them, and collusions with the booksellers of authors that cannot, which were required in the prosecution of this arduous undertaking. Imagine to yourselves how often I have shuddered upon the verge of petty larceny, and how repeatedly my slumbers have been disturbed with visions of the King's-Bench Prison and Clerkenwell Bridewell. You, gentlemen, sit in your easy chair, and with the majesty of a Minos or an Aeacus, summon the trembling culprits to your bar. But though you never knew what fear was, recollect, other men have snuffed a candle with their fingers.

But I would not be misunderstood. Heroical as I trust my undertaking proves me, I fear no man's censure, and court no man's applause. But I look up to you as a respectable body of men, who have long united your efforts to reduce the disproportioned members of an ancient republic to an happy equality, to give wings to the little emmet of Grub-street, and to hew away the excrescences of lawless genius with a hatchet. In this character I honour you. That you have assumed it uncompelled and self-elected, that you have exercised it undazzled by the _ignis fatuus_ of genius, is your unfading glory.

Having thus cleared myself from the suspicion of any sinister view, I cannot here refrain from presenting you with a peace-offering. Had it been in my power to procure gums more costly, or incense more fragrant, I would have rendered it more worthy your acceptance.

It has been a subject upon which I have often reflected with mortification, that the world is too apt to lay aside your lucubrations with the occasions that gave birth to them, and that if they are ever opened after, it is only with old magazines by staid matrons over their winter fire. Such persons are totally incapable of comparing your sentences with the maturer verdict of the public; a comparison that would redound so much to your honour. What I design at present, is in some measure to remedy an evil, that can never perhaps be entirely removed. As the field which is thus opened to me is almost unbounded, I will confine myself to two of the most striking examples, in Tristram Shandy, and the Rosciad of Churchill.

In the Monthly Review, vol. 24, p, 103, I find these words:

"But your indiscretion, good Mr. Tristram, is not all we complain of in the volumes before us. We must tax you with what you will dread above the most terrible of all insinuations--nothing less than DULLNESS. Yes, indeed, Mr. Tristram, you are dull, _very dull_. Your jaded fancy seems to have been exhausted by two pigmy octavos, which scarce contained the substance of a twelve-penny pamphlet, and we now find nothing new to entertain us."

The following epithets are selected at random. "We are sick--we are quite tired--we can no longer bear corporal Trim's insipidity--thread-bare--stupid and unaffecting--absolutely dull--misapplication of talents--he will unavoidably sink into contempt."

The Critical Review, vol II, p. 212, has the following account of the Rosciad:

"It is _natural_ for young authors to conceive themselves the
cleverest fellows in the world, and withal, that there is not
the least degree of merit subsisting but in their own works: It
is _natural_ likewise for them to imagine, that they may conceal
themselves by appearing in different shapes, and that they are
not to be found out by their stile; but little do these
_Connoisseurs_ in writing conceive, how easily they are
discovered by a veteran in the service. In the title-page to
this performance we are told (by way of quaint conceit), that it
was written by _the author_; what if it should prove that the
Author and the Actor[A] are the same! Certain it is that we meet
with the _same_ vein of peculiar humour, the same turn of
thought, the same _autophilism_ (there's a new word for you to
bring into the next poem) which we meet with in the other;
insomuch that we are ready to make the conclusion in the
author's own words:

[Footnote A: _The Actor, a Poem, by Robert Lloyd, Esq._]

Who is it?------LLOYD.

"We will not pretend however absolutely to assert that Mr. L----
wrote this poem; but we may venture to affirm, that it is the
production, jointly or separately, of the new triumvirate of
wits, who never let an opportunity slip of singing their own
praises. _Caw me, caw thee_, as Sawney says, and so to it they
go, and _scratch_ one another like so many Scotch pedlars."

In page 339, I find a passage referred to in the Index, under the head of "a notable instance of their candour," retracting their insinuations against Lloyd and Colman, and ascribing the poem in a particular vein of pleasantry to Mr. Flexney, the bookseller, and Mr. Griffin, the printer. Candour certainly did not require that they should acknowledge Mr. Churchill, whose name was now inserted in the title-page, as the author, or if author of any, at least not of a considerable part of the poem. That this was their sense of the matter, appears from their account of the apology for the Rosciad, p. 409.

"This is another _Brutum Fulinen_ launched at the Critical Review by one Churchill, who it seems is a clergyman, and it must be owned has a knack at versification; a bard, who upon the strength of having written a few good lines in a thing called _The Rosciad_, swaggers about as if he were game-keeper of Parnassus."

P. 410. "This apologist has very little reason to throw out behind against the Critical Reviewers, who in mentioning _The Rosciad_, of which he calls himself author, commended it in the lump, without specifying the bald lines, the false thoughts, and tinsel frippery from which it is not entirely free." They conclude with contrasting him with Smollet, in comparison of whom he is "a puny antagonist, who must write many more poems as good as the Rosciad, before he will be considered as a respectable enemy."

Upon these extracts I will beg leave to make two observations.

1. Abstracted from all consideration of the profundity of criticism that is displayed, no man can avoid being struck with the humour and pleasantry in which they are conceived, or the elegant and gentlemanlike language in which they are couched. What can be more natural or more ingenuous than to suppose that the persons principally commended in a work, were themselves the writers of it? And for that allusion of the Scotch pedlars, for my part, I hold it to be inimitable.

2. But what is most admirable is the independent spirit, with which they stemmed the torrent of fashion, and forestalled the second thoughts of their countrymen. There was a time when Tristram Shandy was applauded, and Churchill thought another Dryden. But who reads Tristram now? There prevails indeed a certain quaintness, and something "like an affectation of being immoderately witty, throughout the whole work." But for real humour not a grain. So said the Monthly Reviewers, (v. 21. p. 568.) and so says the immortal Knox. Both indeed grant him a slight knack at the pathetic; but, if I may venture a prediction, his pretensions to the latter will one day appear no better founded, than his pretentions to the former.

And then poor Churchill! His satire now appears to be dull and pointless. Through his tedious page no modern student can labour. We look back, and wonder how the rage of party ever swelled this _thing_ into a poet. Even the great constellation, from whose tribunal no prudent man ever appealed, has excluded him from a kingdom, where Watts and Blackmore reign. But Johnson and Knox can by no means compare with the Reviewers. These attacked the mountebanks in the very midst of their short-lived empire. Those have only brought up the rear of public opinion, and damned authors already forgotten. They fought the battles a second time, and "again they slew the slain."

Gentlemen,

It would have been easy to add twenty articles to this list. I might have selected instances from the later volumes of your entertaining works, in which your deviations from the dictates of imaginary taste are still more numerous. But I could not have confronted them with the decisive verdict of time. The rage of fashion has not yet ceased, and the ebullition of blind wonder is not over. I shall therefore leave a plentiful crop for such as come after me, who admire you as much as I do, and will be contented to labour in the same field.

I have the honour to be,

Gentlemen,

With all veneration,

Your indefatigable reader,

And the humblest of your panegyrists.

CONTENTS.

ARTICLE I.

_The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. By Edward Gibbon, Esq. Vols._ iv, v, vi, vii. 4to.

ARTICLE II.

_The History of America. By William Robertson, D.D. &c. Vols._ iii, _and_ iv. 4to.

ARTICLE III.

_Secret History of Theodore Albert Maximilian, Prince of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen_. 12mo.

ARTICLE IV.

_Louisa, or Memoirs of a Lady of Quality. By the Author of Evelina and Cecilia. Three vols._ 12mo.

ARTICLE V.

_The Peasant of Bilidelgerid, a Tale. Two vols. Shandean._

ARTICLE VI.

_An Essay on Novel, in Three Epistles, inscribed to the Right Honourable Lady Craven. By William Hayley, Esq._ 4to.

ARTICLE VII.

_Inkle and Yarico, a Poem. By James Beattie, L.L.D._ 4to.

ARTICLE VIII.

_The Alchymist, a Comedy, altered from Ben Jonson, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Esq._

ARTICLE IX.

_Reflexions upon the present State of the United States of America. By Thomas Paine, M.A. &c._ 8vo.

ARTICLE X.

_Speech of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, on a Motion for an Address of Thanks to his Majesty (on the 28th of November, 1783) for his gracious Communication of a Treaty of Commerce concluded between George the Third, King, &c. and the United States of America._

THE

HERALD

OF

LITERATURE, &C.

* * * * *

ARTICLE I.

THE HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. BY EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. VOLS. IV, V, VI, VII. 4TO.

We are happy to have it in our power thus early to congratulate the public upon the final accomplishment of a work, that must constitute one of the greatest ornaments of the present age. We have now before us, in one view, and described by the uniform pencil of one historian, the stupendous and instructive object of the gradual decline of the greatest empire; circumscribed by degrees within the narrow walls of a single city; and at length, after the various revolutions of thirteen centuries, totally swallowed up in the empire of the Turks. Of this term, the events of more than nine hundred years are described in that part of our author that now lies before us. It cannot therefore be expected, that in the narrow limits we have prescribed to ourselves, we should enter into a regular synopsis of the performance, chapter by chapter, after the laudable example of our more laborious brother reviewers. We will pay our readers the compliment, however unauthorised by the venerable seal of custom, of supposing them already informed, that Anastasius succeeded Zeno, and Justin Anastasius; that Justinian published the celebrated code that is called by his name; and that his generals, Belisarius and Narses, were almost constantly victorious over the Barbarians, and restored, for a moment, the expiring lustre of the empire. We shall confine ourselves to two extracts, relating to subjects of the greatest importance, and which we presume calculated, at once to gratify and excite the curiosity of the public.

The reign of the emperor Heraclius is perhaps more crowded with events of the highest consequence, than that of any other prince in the series. It has therefore a proportionable scope allotted it in the plan of Mr. Gibbon; who seems to understand better than almost any historian, what periods to sketch with a light and active pen, and upon what to dwell with minuteness, and dilate his various powers. While we pursue the various adventures of Cosroes II., beginning his reign in a flight from his capital city; suing for the protection and support of the Greek emperor; soon after declaring war against the empire; successively conquering Mesopotamia, Armenia, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and the greater part of Natolia; then beaten; a fugitive; and at last murdered by his own son; we are unable to conceive of a story more interesting, or more worthy of our attention. But in contemplating the rife of the Saracen khalifate, and the religion of Mahomet, which immediately succeeded these events, we are compelled to acknowledge a more astonishing object.

The following is the character of the impostor, as sketched by the accurate and judicious pencil of our historian. We will leave it to the judgment of our readers, only observing, that Mr. Gibbon has very unnecessarily brought Christianity into the comparison; and has perhaps touched the errors of the false prophet with a lighter hand, that the disparity might be the less apparent.

"But Heraclius had a much more formidable enemy to encounter in
the latter part of his reign, than the effeminate and divided
Persian. This was the new empire of the Saracens. Ingenious and
eloquent, temperate and brave, as had been invariably their
national character, they had their exertions concentred, and
their courage animated by a legislator, whose institutions may
vie, in the importance of their consequences, with those of
Solon, Lycurgus, or Numa. Though an impostor, he propagated a
religion, which, like the elevated and divine principles of
Christianity, was confined to no one nation or country; but even
embraced a larger portion of the human race than Christianity
itself.

"Mahomet, the son of Abdallah, was born on the 9th of April,
571, in the city of Mecca. Having been early left an orphan by
both parents, he received an hardy and robust education, not
tempered by the elegancies of literature, nor much allayed by
the indulgencies of natural affection. He was no sooner able to
walk, than he was sent naked, with the infant peasantry, to
attend the cattle of the village; and was obliged to seek the
refreshment of sleep, as well as pursue the occupations of the
day, in the open air[A]. He even pretended to be a stranger to
the art of writing and reading. But though neglected by those
who had the care of his infancy, the youth of this extraordinary
personage did not pass away without some of those incidents,
which might afford a glimpse of the sublimity of his genius; and
some of those prodigies, with which superstition is prompt to
adorn the story of the founders of nations, and the conquerors
of empires. In the mean time, his understanding was enlarged by
travel. It is not to be supposed that he frequented the
neighbouring countries, without making some of those profound
observations upon the decline of the two great empires of the
East and of Persia, which were calculated to expand his views,
and to mature his projects. The energies of his mind led him to
despise the fopperies of idolatry; and he found the Christians,
in the most unfavourable situation, torn into innumerable
parties, by the sectaries of Athanasius, Arius, Eutyches,
Nestorius. In this situation, he extracted that from every
system that bordered most nearly upon the dictates of reason,
and framed to himself a sublime doctrine, of which the unity of
God, the innocence of moderate enjoyment, the obligation of
temperance and munificence, were the leading principles. But it
would have contributed little to his purpose, if he had stopped
here. Enthusiastically devoted to his extensive designs, and
guided by the most consummate art, he pretended to divine
communications, related a thousand ridiculous and incredible
adventures; and though he constantly refused a prodigy to the
importunities of his countrymen, laid claim to several frivolous
miracles, and a few thinly scattered prophecies. One of his most
artful devices was the delivering the system of his religion,
not in one entire code, but in detached essays. This enabled him
more than once to new mould the very genius of his religion,
without glaringly subjecting himself to the charge of
inconsistency. From these fragments, soon after his death, was
compiled the celebrated Alcoran. The style of this volume is
generally turgid, heavy, monotonous. It is disfigured with
childish tales and impossible adventures. But it is frequently
figurative, frequently poetical, sometimes sublime. And amidst
all its defects, it will remain the greatest of all monuments of
uncultivated and illiterate genius.

[Footnote A: "Abuleda, Chron. p. 27. Boulainvilliers, Vie de
Mahomet, b. ii. p. 175. This latter writer exhibits the singular
phenomenon of the native of a Christian country, unreasonably
prejudiced in favour of the Arabian impostor. That he did not
live, however, to finish his curious performance, is the
misfortune of the republic of letters." ]

"The plan was carefully reserved by Mahomet for the mature age
of forty years. Thus digested however, and communicated with the
nicest art and the most fervid eloquence, he had the
mortification to find his converts, at the end of three years,
amount to no more than forty persons. But the ardour of this
hero was invincible, and his success was finally adequate to his
wishes. Previous to the famous aera of his flight from Mecca, he
had taught his followers, that they had no defence against the
persecution of their enemies, but invincible patience. But the
opposition he encountered obliged him to change his maxims. He
now inculcated the duty of extirpating the enemies of God, and
held forth the powerful allurements of conquest and plunder.
With these he united the theological dogma of predestination,
and the infallible promise of paradise to such as met their fate
in the field of war. By these methods he trained an intrepid and
continually increasing army, inflamed with enthusiasm, and
greedy of death. He prepared them for the most arduous
undertakings, by continual attacks upon travelling caravans and
scattered villages: a pursuit, which, though perfectly consonant
with the institutions of his ancestors, painted him to the
civilized nations of Europe in the obnoxious character of a
robber. By degrees however, he proceeded to the greatest
enterprizes; and compelled the whole peninsula of Arabia to
confess his authority as a prince, and his mission as a prophet.
He died, like the Grecian Philip, in the moment, when having
brought his native country to co-operate in one undertaking, he
meditated the invasion of distant climates, and the destruction
of empires.

"The character of Mahomet however was exceeding different from
that of Philip, and far more worthy of the attention of a
philosopher. Philip was a mere politician, who employed the
cunning of a statesman, and the revenues of a prince, in the
corruption of a number of fallen and effeminate republics. But
Mahomet, without riches, without rank, without education, by the
mere ascendancy of his abilities, subjected by persuasion and
force a simple and generous nation that had never been
conquered; and laid the foundation of an empire, that extended
over half the globe; and a religion, capable of surviving the
fate of empires. His schemes were always laid with the truest
wisdom. He lived among a people celebrated for subtlety and
genius: he never laid himself open to detection. His eloquence
was specious, dignified, and persuasive. And he blended with it
a lofty enthusiasm, that awed those, whom familiarity might have
emboldened, and silenced his enemies. He was simple of
demeanour, and ostentatious of munificence. And under these
plausible virtues he screened the indulgence of his
constitutional propensities. The number of his concubines and
his wives has been ambitiously celebrated by Christian writers.
He sometimes acquired them by violence and injustice; and he
frequently dismissed them without ceremony. His temper does not
seem to have been naturally cruel. But we may trace in his
conduct the features of a barbarian; and a part of his severity
may reasonably be ascribed to the plan of religious conquest
that he adopted, and that can never be reconciled with the
rights of humanity."

After the victories of Omar, and the other successors of Mahomet had in a manner stripped the court of Constantinople of all its provinces, the Byzantine history dwindles into an object petty and minute. In order to vary the scene, and enhance the dignity of his subject, the author occasionally takes a prospect of the state of Rome and Italy, under the contending powers of the papacy and the new empire of the West. When the singular and unparalleled object of the Crusades presents itself, the historian embraces the illustrious scene with apparent eagerness, and bestows upon it a greater enlargement than might perhaps have been expected from the nature of his subject; but not greater, we confidently believe, than is calculated to increase the pleasure, that a reader of philosophy and taste may derive from the perusal. As the immortal Saladin is one of the most distinguished personages in this story, we have selected his character, as a specimen of this part of the work.

"No sooner however was the virtuous Noureddin removed by death,
than the Christians of the East had their attention still more
forcibly alarmed by the progress of the invincible Saladin. He
had possessed himself of the government of Egypt; first, under
the modest appellation of vizier, and then, with the more august
title of soldan. He abolished the dynasty of the Fatemite
khalifs. Though Noureddin had been the patron of his family, and
the father of his fortunes, yet was that hero no sooner expired,
than he invaded the territories of his young and unwarlike
successor. He conquered the fertile and populous province of
Syria. He compelled the saheb of Mawsel to do him homage. The
princes of the Franks already trembled for their possessions,
and prepared a new and more solemn embassy, to demand the
necessary succours of their European brethren.

"The qualities of Saladin were gilded with the lustre of
conquest; and it has been the singular fortune of this Moslem
hero, to be painted in fairer colours by the discordant and
astonished Christians, than by those of his own courtiers and
countrymen, who may reasonably be supposed to have known him
best. He has been compared with Alexander; and tho' he be
usually stiled, and with some justice, a barbarian, it does not
appear that his character would suffer in the comparison. His
conquests were equally splendid; nor did he lead the forces of a
brave and generous people, against a nation depressed by
slavery, and relaxed with effeminacy. Under his banner Saracen
encountered Saracen in equal strife; or the forces of the East
were engaged with the firmer and more disciplined armies of the
West. Like Alexander, he was liberal to profusion; and while all
he possessed seemed the property of his friends, the monarch
himself often wanted that, which with unstinted hand he had
heaped upon his favourites and dependents. His sentiments were
elevated, his manners polite and insinuating, and the affability
of his temper was never subdued.

"But the parallel is exceedingly far from entire. He possessed
not the romantic gallantry of the conqueror of Darius; he had
none of those ardent and ungovernable passions, through whose
medium the victories of Arbela and Issus had transformed the
generous hero into the lawless tyrant. It was a maxim to which
he uniformly adhered, to accomplish his lofty designs by policy
and intrigue, and to leave as little as possible to the unknown
caprice of fortune. In his mature age he was temperate, gentle,
patient. The passions of his soul, and the necessities of nature
were subordinate to the equanimity of his character[A]. His
deportment was grave and thoughtful; his religion sincere and
enthusiastic. He was ignorant of letters, and despised all
learning, that was not theological. The cultivation, that had
obtained under the khalifs, had not entirely civilized the
genius of Saladin. His maxims of war were indeed the maxims of
the age, and ought not to be adopted as a particular imputation.
But the action of his striking off with his own hand the head of
a Christian prince, who had attacked the defenceless caravan of
the pilgrims of Mecca, exhibits to our view all the features of
a fierce and untutored barbarian[B] ."

[Footnote A: Bohaoddin, p. 71. He was an eye witness, and had a
considerable share in many of the transactions of Saladin. He is
generally accurate, and tolerably impartial. ]

[Footnote B: Ebn Shohnah, Heg. 589. Abulfarai, Renaudot, p. 243.
D'Herbelot, biblioth. orient. art. Togrul, &c. ]

As the whole of this excellent work is now before us, it may not be impertinent, before we finally take our leave of it, to attempt an idea of its celebrated author. We are happy in this place to declare our opinion, that no author ever better obeyed the precept of Horace and Boileau, in choosing a subject nicely correspondent to the talents he possessed. The character of this writer, patient yet elegant, accurate in enquiry, acute in reflexion, was peculiarly calculated to trace the flow and imperceptible decline of empire, and to throw light upon a period, darkened by the barbarism of its heroes, and the confused and narrow genius of its authors. In a word, we need not fear to class the performance with those that shall do lasting, perhaps immortal, honour, to the country by which they have been produced.

But like many other works of this elevated description, the time shall certainly come, when the history before us shall no longer be found, but in the libraries of the learned, and the cabinets of the curious. At present it is equally sought by old and young, the learned and unlearned, the macaroni, the peer, and the fine lady, as well as the student and scholar. But this is to be ascribed to the rage of fashion. The performance is not naturally calculated for general acceptance. It is, by the very tenor of the subject, interspersed with a thousand minute and elaborate investigations, which, in spite of perspicuous method, and classical allusion, will deter the idle, and affright the gay.

Nor can we avoid ascribing the undistinguishing and extravagant applause, that has been bestowed upon the style, to the same source of fashion, the rank, the fortune, the connexions of the writer. It is indeed loaded with epithets, and crowded with allusions. But though the style be often raised, the thoughts are always calm, equal, and rigidly classic. The language is full of art, but perfectly exempt from fire. Learning, penetration, accuracy, polish; any thing is rather the characteristic of the historian, than the flow of eloquence, and the flame of genius. Far therefore from classing him in this respect with such writers as the immortal Hume, who have perhaps carried the English language to the highest perfection it is capable of reaching; we are inclined to rank him below Dr. Johnson, though we are by no means insensible to the splendid faults of that admirable writer.

One word perhaps ought to be said respecting Mr. Gibbon's treatment of Christianity. His wit is indeed by no means uniformly happy; as where for instance, he tells us, that the name of _Le Boeuf_ is remarkably apposite to the character of that antiquarian; or where, speaking of the indefatigable diligence of Tillemont, he informs us, that "the patient and sure-footed mule of the Alps may be trusted in the most slippery paths." But allowing every thing for the happiness of his irony, and setting aside our private sentiments respecting the justice of its application, we cannot help thinking it absolutely incompatible, with the laws of history. For our own part, we honestly confess, that we have met with more than one passage, that has puzzled us whether it ought to be understood in jest or earnest. The irony of a single word he must be a churl who would condemn; but the continuance of this figure in serious composition, throws truth and falsehood, right and wrong into inextricable perplexity.

ARTICLE II.

THE HISTORY OF AMERICA. BY WILLIAM ROBERTSON, D.D.&C. VOLS. III, IV. 4TO.

The expectation of almost all ranks has been as much excited by the present performance, as perhaps by almost any publication in the records of literature. The press has scarcely been able to keep pace with the eagerness of the public, and the third edition is already announced, before we have been able to gratify our readers with an account of this interesting work. For a great historian to adventure an established name upon so recent and arduous a subject, is an instance that has scarcely occurred. Reports were sometime ago industriously propagated that Dr. Robertson had turned his attention to a very different subject, and even when it was generally known that the present work was upon the eve of publication, it was still questioned by many, whether a writer, so celebrated for prudence, had not declined the more recent part of the North American history. The motives of his conduct upon this head as they are stated in the preface, we shall here lay before our readers.

"But neither the history of Portuguese America, nor the early history of our own settlements, have constituted the most arduous part of the present publication. The revolution, which, unfortunately for this country, hath recently taken place in the British colonies, hath excited the most general attention, at the same time that it hath rendered the gratification of public curiosity a matter of as much delicacy as necessity. Could this event have been foreseen by me, I should perhaps have been more cautious of entering into engagements with the public. To embark upon a subject, respecting which the sentiments of my countrymen have been so much divided, and the hand of time hath not yet collected the verdicts of mankind; while the persons, to whose lot it hath fallen to act the principal parts upon the scene, are almost all living; is a task that prudence might perhaps refuse, and modesty decline. But circumstanced as I was, I have chosen rather to consider these peculiarities as pleas for the candour of my readers, than as motives to withdraw myself from so important an undertaking. I should ill deserve the indulgence I have experienced from the public, were I capable of withdrawing from a task by which their curiosity might be gratified, from any private inducements of inconvenience or difficulty."

We have already said, and the reader will have frequent occasion to recollect it, that we by no means generally intend an analysis of the several works that may come before us. In the present instance, we do not apprehend that we shall lay ourselves open to much blame, by passing over in silence the discoveries of Vespusius, and the conquests of Baretto; and laying before our readers some extracts from the history of the late war. It is impossible not to remark that the subject is treated with much caution, and that, though the sentiments of a royalist be every where conspicuous, they are those of a royalist, moderated by misfortune and defeat.

The following is Dr. Robertson's account of the declaration of independence.

"It is by this time sufficiently visible, that the men, who took
upon themselves to be most active in directing the American
counsels, were men of deep design and extensive ambition, who by
no means confined their views to the redress of those grievances
of which they complained, and which served them for instruments
in the pursuit of objects less popular and specious. By degrees
they sought to undermine the allegiance, and dissolve the ties,
which connected the colonies with the parent country of Britain.
Every step that was taken by her ministry to restore tranquility
to the empire, was artfully misrepresented by the zealots of
faction. Every unguarded expression, or unfortunate measure of
irritation was exaggerated by leaders, who considered their own
honour and dignity as inseparable from further advances, and
predicted treachery and insult as the consequences of
retreating. They now imagined they had met with a favourable
opportunity for proceeding to extremities. Their influence was
greatest in the general congress, and by their means a circular
manifesto was issued by that assembly intended to ascertain the
disposition of the several colonies respecting a declaration of
independence.