Fortunately madame Grimaldi always was open to good impres sions, and rarely to bad. Without perceiving the malice of her wo man, she was struck with the idea of a marriage. She loved the cause, and always promoted it when it was honestly in her power. She seldom made difficulties, and never apprehended them. Without even examining Orondates on the state of his inclinatious, without recollecting that madame Capello and she were of different parties, without taking any precautions to guard against a refusal, she instantly wrote to the abbess to propose a marriage between Orondates and Ázora. The latter was in madame Capello's chamber when the note arrived. All the fury that authority loves to console itself with for being under restraint, all the asperity of a bigot, all the acrimony of party, and all the fictitious rage that prudery adopts when the sensual enjoyments of others are concerned, burst out on the helpless Azora, who was unable to divine how she was concerned in the fatal letter. She was made to endure all the calumnies that the abbess would have been glad to have hurled at the head of madame Grimaldi, if her own character and the rank of that offender would have allowed it. Impotent menaces of revenge were repeated with emphasis; and as nobody in the convent dared to contradict her, she gratified her anger and love of prating with endless tautologies. In fine, Azora was strictly locked up, and bread and water were ordered as sovereign cures for love. Twenty replies to madame Grimaldi were written and torn, as not sufficiently expressive of a resentment that was rather vociferous than eloquent; and her confessor was at last forced to write one, in which he prevailed to have some holy cant inserted, though forced to compound for a heap of irony that related to the antiquity of her family, and for many unintelligible allusions to vulgar stories which the Ghibelline party had treasured up against the Guelfs. The most lucid part of the epistle pronounced a sentence of eternal chastity on Azora, not without some sarcastic expressions against the promiscuous amours of Orondates, which ought in common decorum to have banished him long ago from the mansion of a widowed matron. Just as this fulminatory mandate had been transcribed and signed by the lady abbess in full chapter, and had been consigned to the confessor to deliver, the portress of the convent came running out of breath, and announced to the venerable assembly, that Azora, terrified by the abbess's blows and threats, had fallen in labour and miscarried of four puppies: for be it known to all posterity, that Orondates was an Italian greyhound, and Azora a black spaniel.' After the Tales, we have Miscellaneous Pieces in PROSE. The first of these is a Parody on Lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son the introduction to it is sarcastically given on Lord Chesterfield's Plan of Education. It is followed by The New Whole Duty of Woman, in a Series of Letters from a Mother to a Daughter, being a counter-part to the Earl of Chesterfield's System of Education. Much original humour and pleasantry are displayed in these three letters. • General Criticism on Dr. Johnson's Writings. Dr. Johnson's works have obtained so much reputation, and the execution of them, from partiality to his abilities, has been rated so far above, their merit, that, without detracting from his capacity or his learning, it may be useful to caution young authors against ad miration of his style and manner; both of which are uncommonly vicious, and unworthy of imitation by any man who aims at excellence in writing his own language. A marked manner, when it runs through all the compositions of any master, is a defect in itself, and indicates a deviation from nature. The writer betrays his having been struck by some particular tint, and his having overlooked nature's variety. It is true that the greatest masters of composition are so far imperfect, as that they always leave some marks by which we may discover their hand. He approaches the nearest to universality, whose works make it difficult for our quickness or sagacity to observe certain characteristic touches which ascertain the specific author. Dr. Johnson's works are as easily distinguished as those of the most affected writer; for exuberance is a fault as much as quaintness. There is meaning in almost every thing Johnson says; he is often profound, and a just reasoner.-I mean, when prejudice, bigotry, and arrogance do not cloud or debase his logic. He is benevolent in the application of his morality; dogmatically uncharitable in the dispensation of his censures; and equally so, when he differs with his antagonist on general truths or partial doctrines. The first criterion that stamps Johnson's works for his, is the loaded style. I will not call it verbose, because verbosity generally implies unmeaning verbiage; a censure he does not deserve. I have allowed and do allow, that most of his words have an adequate,' and frequently an illustrating purport, the true use of epithets; but then his words are indiscriminately select, and too forceful for ordinary occasions. They form a hardness of diction and a muscular toughness that resist all ease and graceful movement. Every sentence is as high-coloured as any no paragraph improves ; the position is as robust as the demonstration; and the weakest part of the sentence (I mean, in the effect, not in the solution) is generally the conclusion: he illustrates till he fatigues, and continues to prove, after he has convinced. This fault is so usual with him, he is so apt to charge with three different set of phrases of the same calibre, that, if I did not condemn his laboured coinage of new words, I would call his threefold inundation of synonymous expressions triptology. He prefers learned words to the simple and common. He is never simple, elegant, or light. He destroys more enemies with the weight of his shield than with the point of his spear, and had rather make three mortal wounds in the same part than one. This monotony, the grievous effect of pedantry and self-conceit, prevents him from being eloquent. He excites no passions but indignation: his writings send the reader away more satiated than pleased. If he attempts humour, he makes your reason smile, without making you gay; because the study that his learned mirth requires, destroys REY. OCT. 1798. cheer. cheerfulness. It is the clumsy gambol of a lettered elephant. We wonder that so grave an animal should have strayed into the province of the ape; yet admire that practice should have given the bulky quadruped so much agility. Upon the whole, Johnson's style appears to me so encumbered, so void of ear and harmony, that I know no modern writer whose works can be read aloud with so little satisfaction. I question whether one should not read a page of equal length in any modern author, in a minute's time less than one of Johnson's, all proper pauses and accents being duly attended to in both. His works are the antipodes of taste, and he a schoolmaster of truth, but never its parent; for his doctrines have no novelty, and are never inculcated with indulgence either to the froward child or to the dull one. He has set nothing in a new light, yet is as diffuse as if we had every thing to learn. Modern writers have improved on the ancients only by conciseness. Dr. Johnson, like the chymists of Laputa, endeavours to carry back what has been digested, to its pristine and crude principles. He is a standing proof that the Muses leave works unfinished, if they are not embellished by the Graces.' We do not insert this criticism because we approve it, but in order to censure the arrogance and injustice of Lord Orford's decisions. Had he attacked Johnson's Jacobitical principles in early life, and his numerous writings against Sir Robert Walpole and the Whigs, we should have joined him: but in not only condemning his style, but his want of genius, we cannot in justice to ourselves, as well as to the memory of the venerable moralist, refrain from taking up arms in his defence. Lord Orford condemns a marked manner :-but have not the greatest writers, like the greatest painters, a style and manner by which critics and connoisseurs discover them? and are not the styles of Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope, as well known and as universally admired as those of Raphael, Titian, Coreggio, and Rubens? and does not Shakspeare call a dull, insipid man, "a fellow without mark or likelihood?" Cicero, in writing on philosophical subjects, was obliged to introduce Greek terms, because the Roman language could supply him with none for new ideas; and Johnson's great and comprehensive conceptions could not be conveyed in common lan guage. He excites no passions but indignation,' says the noble critic-the voice of the public, we believe, speaks otherwise. Whose works are read with more delight and instruction?-Lord Orford even condescends to call names, to which we make no reply:-yet in defence of the great writer's style, it may be asked whether he has injured our language by making it more grammatical? or whether, by avoiding the use of proverbs, cant phrases, and colloquial barbarisms, which can not not be translated, he has not rendered it more intelligible to foreigners, and to posterity? If the same ideas can be conveyed in elegant and grammatical language, without antient idioms. and vulgar phraseology, the admirers of Johnson will probably tell us that they willingly resign the beauties of our antient dialect, to the conjectures of antiquaries and commentators. Strange occurrences' are well selected and pleasantly related. • Detached thoughts. These consist of antitheses and prettinesses, more than depth of thinking, or elegant expression. We select two or three of the best. Many new pieces please on first reading-if they have more novelty than merit. The second time they do not please, for surprise has no second part.' Posterity always degenerates till it becomes our ancestors." Men are often capable of greater things than they perform. They are sent into the world with bills of credit, and seldom draw to their full extent.' Miscellaneous Verses. The first of these, the Funeral of the Lioness, we fear was meant to ridicule a great personage, on a very melancholy occasion; and the vignettes seem to confirm our apprehension. . The Verses on the Looking glass are pleasant, but would surely read much better if, instead of the Galicism one (on) so often repeated, in the last six lines, the pronouns we and our were to be used. Some of these lines are rough, and the measure with which the author commences is forgotten-which is the case in the following portrait de Madame la Marquise du Deffand, a bluestocking friend of our author at Paris. In other respects, the thoughts are ingenious and lively. Where do Wit and Memory dwell? Slave of Truth, and Passion's queen, Who doubts, not dictates, seeks the best, And to Presumption leaves the rest: With Rousseau ?-No; nor with Voltaire; 0 2 Dazzles Dazzles the passions it can heat, And makes them party to the cheat. And, though of life's best joy bereft, Lastly, tell where boundless flows Together all these virtues dwell: The chief merit of these vers de société consists in jocularity and good-humour. They are local and temporary, and not sufficiently polished and important to deserve a place in so pompous an edition of the author's works. The following Song is spritely and playful: • What a rout do you make for a single poor kiss! I seiz'd it, 'tis true, and I ne'er shall repent it: Saints, resist if ye can; but for me, I'm too weak. If you say that I stole it, why take it again.' The letters at the end of this volume, between the author and his friend Mr. West, discover the early time of life at which they were written, in their perpetual effort at wit and display of learning. In those of Mr. Walpole, we remark much original humour and oddity; and those of Mr. West display genius and thinking of a more serious kind. Most readers *The convent at Paris, within whose precincts the marquise du Deffand had apartments.' In the year 1766 she was 65 years old. She died at the age of $3.2 must |