society. But what I am going to mention is rather a matter of compassion and pity, than reproach or shame; a distemper which frequently seizes the body poetical with sudden fits and starts, and, what is most extraordinary, the violence of the paroxysm, instead of heating, chills the whole mass of blood, ties the tongue, and sinks the spirits. Some naturalists have ascribed it to the malign influence of a planet, and look upon it as the consequent and concomitant effect of a versifying itch: but I should rather attribute it to mere sublunary causes; and such accidents will happen, while there are such unclassical things upon earth, as paltry debts, insolent writs, and rude bailiffs; for, although poets may take great licenses, yet, alas! Grub-street is no place of privilege."

Who could have thought, to speak sincerely, that such indifferent prose should come from the man who is author of many pretty poetical pieces, among which, this of Lawson's Obsequies The following lines, for instance, are not despi

is not the worst.

cable:

"But should he fall? And shall the mighty muse

The tuneful tribute of her grief refuse?

Refuse to him her memorable tears

With whom she sported in his tender years?
While, yet unconcious of himself he stray'd,
Unsought, unnoticed, through the pensive shade;
With wealth unfavor'd, to no lordly line
Ally'd, but Pallas, and the sacred Nine,
I cull'd him out from all the sable crowd
Of Alma's tribes, indignant of the proud,
The pert, the vain, preferr'd his humble name,
And woo'd his friendship with a pious flame.
We laugh'd at fops, fantastically gay,

The pomp of pride, and impotence of sway;
At scribblers vile, who blurr'd the blacken d page
With fustian phrensy, for poetie rage;

We laugh'd with Johnson, of ungenerous heart,
Who well could act the candid critic's part;
From fruitful fancy start the happy hint,

Surprising, quick as flashes from a flint;
Maturely plan the regular design,

Mix wit with ease, and point the glowing line."

There runs, however, through the poem an affectation which

it is not easy to excuse, as when the poet has manful eloquence' for manly eloquence,' the 'museful powers, for the muses: such errors, though trifling, give an air of vanity to the whole. The man who is bred at a distance from the centre of learning and politeness, must have a great deal of modesty or understanding, who does not give a loose to some vanities which are apt to render him ridiculous every where but at home. Bred among men of talents inferior to himself, he is too apt to assume the lead, as well from the press as in conversation, and to overrate his own abilities. His oddities among his friends are only regarded as the excrescences of a superior genius; among those who live beyond the sphere of his importance, they are considered as instances of folly or ignorance. There is scarcely a trifling city or university in Europe which has not its great men; characters, who are taught by adulation to fancy themselves figuring in the republic of letters, and leaving monuments of their merit to remote posterity. If there should happen to be two of this character in the same city, the compliments they mutually bestow on each other are pleasant. enough they attempt to raise each other's reputation by mutual flattery, and establish their little dominion within the circle of all their acquaintance.

A traveller passing through the city of Burgos in Spain, was desirous of knowing who were their most learned men, and applied to one of the inhabitants for information. What!" replied the Spaniard, who happened to be a scholar, have you never heard

of the admirable Brandellius, or the ingenious Mogusius? one the eye and the other the heart of our university, known all over the world?" "Never," cries the traveller; "but pray inform me what Brandellius is particularly remarkable for ?" "You must be very little acquainted in the republic of letters," says the other, "to ask such a question. Brandellius has written a most sublime panegyric on Mogusius." "And prithee, what has Mogusius done to deserve so great a favor?" "He has written an excellent poem in praise of Brandellius." the public, I mean those who are out of the university, say of those mutual compliments?" "The public are a parcel of blockheads, and all blockheads are critics, and all critics are spiders, and spiders are a set of reptiles that all the world despises."

"Well! and what does

XXIII-GOGUET ON THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LAWS, ARTS, AND SCIENCES.

[From the Critical Review, 1759. "De Origine des Loix, des Arts, et des Sciences; et de leurs Progrès chez les Anciens Peuples. Par M. Le Président Goguet. 3 Vols. in 4to. Paris."]

THERE is a prettiness, a neatness, and symmetry of parts in the plan of most French books, which we admire, even while we hold the abilities of the author in contempt. Their specious manner we often mistake for solid erudition, and the superficial elegance of a gentleman frequently passes for the depth, labor, and judgment of the scholar. Such is the happy genius of this lively nation, that the most profound speculations are treated by

[Antoine-Yves Goguet was born at Paris in 1716, and died there

in 1758]

them with the freedom of a novel; and Descartes and Newton so refined and polished, as to make no ungrateful appearance in the drawing room. This has its good as well as bad effects; it gives lustre to the other accomplishments of the man of fashion, but it banishes true science into cells and cloisters. We should gladly see their writers studied by our beaux, but less closely copied by our authors. It is the privilege of a Frenchman to usher his solemn trifles with the grave visage of philosophy. Their very bagatelles have in them something pleasing, that arrests the judgment, and leaves the reader in suspense whether most to applaud or condemn. This art we may admire, but never imitate. The British writer, who affects formality and method, without profound learning, betrays his ignorance and becomes ridiculous. Nor is he more successful in his attempts to be lively, without a native fund of humor. But the Frenchman, with no great share of either, is sure of being agreeable in both. Energy, accuracy, and industry would seem to characterize the one; beauty, and elegance of drapery, with a certain happiness of design, are the distinguishing marks of the other. By the former, a thought is scrupulously examined in every light; by the latter it is placed with little trouble in the most striking. The one separates, compares, and pursues his subject with pain; the other playfully skims over the surface, but with an eye so piercing, as, without removing the veil, seems at one glance to dive into the deeps of science. Here a writer is strained and tortured into all the distortions on the Pythian goddess, to utter what he knows; there he talks with a decisive dignity and a graceful eloquence, upon subjects of which he is totally ignorant; nay he almost persuades us that his facility arises from his knowledge. The author before us will, in some measure, illustrate the truth of these remarks.

We would here be understood to speak of the general characters of writers; which supposes numberless exceptions on both sides.

M. Goguet appears to us rather a writer of genius than of erudition; yet by dint of the former we would imagine him possessed of the latter. He has spread his learning with so light and masterly a hand, that no part of the performance seems wanting, although in the aggregate it is little more than a shadow or phantom of knowledge. His subject requires depth, and his plan proposes it but alas! in the execution we find only the skeleton, draught, outlines of his design remaining to be filled up by some future artist. In three volumes octavo, Mr. President Goguet has comprised a subject, which, in the hands of some writers, would have swelled to ten times the number in folio. If it should please God to turn the heart of a certain learned gentleman to so useful an undertaking, we may soon expect to see Dr. Ratcliffe's library replenished with much profound learning, and this stupendous monument of pride converted to better purposes than being the object of stupid admiration of every head as empty. as its walls, that now visits alma mater.

Our author has here given a history of the rise and progress of science, which, as he justly observes, may be termed a history of the human mind from its infancy to its maturity, full growth, and perfection. When we first set about reading our historian, when we perused his preface, where he professes to give an accurate view of facts, as first principles; to trace the origin of laws, arts, and sciences, in the manner most agreeable to these principles; and lastly, to connect the variety of different objects in so regular a chain as at one glance to show their mutual influence, we doubted not but the wish of our great Lord Verulam was accomplished. But we reckoned without our host; our author's performance falls infinitely short of the big idea of that noble sage for with vast pomp of method, and an almost disgusting parade of erudition, (having quoted near four hundred authors ancient and modern,) he appears to have taken many facts upon