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that assistant, plainly appearing to have seen but a single page, treated the whole with contempt. Hostile critics, however, seemed to have conned it thoroughly, and even to have been constrained to praise. One set represented the author just as he would have wished, as a sort of mystagogue extracting recondite wisdom from the lullabies, or childish sing-songs that used to be learned in our nurseries; and another set (the Analytical), called him 'A wag of the first water;' but all agreed that he was sadly illiberal!

"Thus far, though it has led me into too great egotism, I have ventured to explain; and yet, having always been anxious to raise my voice, however feeble, in my country's cause, and being ready, in the same glorious cause, to do so again on any future emergency, I am not indubitably convinced that any apology is necessary.

"All I can do further at present is, to account for his Lordship's alarm respecting my danger from irascible critics. The case is this having always particularly admired, and frequently recited that capital work of Dryden's, his Alexander's Feast, I discovered in it defects, perhaps unnoticed before. The Poet's noble plan clearly was, to represent six different passions as successively awakened in the royal breast by the varied strains of the skilful musician. These passions are ambition, fondness for wine, martial ardour, pity, love, and revenge. Yet from some unhappy cause, such as the res angusta domi, a pressure for time, &c. he was prevented from writing, even upon such a subject, con amore, or finishing it satisfactorily. In fact, the second incitement is left without its corresponding passion or effect, and the third passion or effect is without an incitement. Hence I have long amused myself by an humble attempt to fill up the outline of the Poet's grand idea, as I had successfully done to some inferior authors. To aim at rivalling the spirit of Dryden would indeed have been a vain presumption*; but all I wanted was, to see how the bard's great work would appear, if finished in the best manner it could be now, and in the form intended, had its admirable author been blessed with the otium literarium. Having also by me, as I said, some scribblings of my own, which, to use an expression of Sterne's, have long looked up to me for light,' I had pleased myself with the project of trying to dignify these by introducing, at their conclusion, a piece, decidedly excellent in itself, and not, it is hoped, unpardonably disgraced by the new supplementary matter. But this, I own, is treading on dangerous ground; for, too true it is I fear, that

"Speaking of coining and forging, Dr. Johnson once said to me, Why, Sir, what one man can do, another man can do.' This is true with respect to the arts, but men cannot counterfeit works of genius. It is one thing to have mechanical skill, but quite another thing to have the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,' &c. And this shows the folly of those who say, all men are equal.' ·

"

in these times, as Hayley, I think, somewhere suggests, with regard to the Epic and the Pindaric, The table is full!

"It might indeed be said, that the principal manuscript from which Dr. Percy extracted his Reliques, was so mutilated and defaced, that the world is indebted for that charming work to the Doctor's judicious and tasteful additions. Yet I call not this a case in point, since the splendour of Dryden's sun has always concealed its spots from common eyes. But had not these better be removed, if possible? If so, then alterations are allowable. As a better illustration, let me observe, that, at Bottesford in Leicestershire, there are many beautiful monuments of the Rutland family, the present Head of which displays the principles of the ancient peerage in its genuine lustre, untainted by the sophisms of modern times. Now these monumental figures having been much impaired by time, one perhaps having lost a finger, and another a toe, or some of their appropriate ornaments, my late worthy and learned friend and neighbour, the Rev. William Mounsey, on taking that curacy some years ago, for his own amusement set himself to work, and most ingeniously restored them to their original elegance and beauty *. At first, then, I had no apprehension that I should be more liable to censure for my own undertaking than my ingenious neighbour was for his. Reflection, however, soon pointed out the difference. Alarıned at my own seeming success, what I asked my estimable friend was, whether I should not appear, on such an attempt, like one who had stretched out an adventurous hand to shoot with the bow of Ulysses? His answer assures me that the defects I have mentioned in Dryden's poem do certainly exist;' 'that he really thinks the whole has been better executed than could possibly have been expected; and that, should I persevere in the resolution of bending the bow of Ulysses, he shall stand in the circle of applauding critics. Yet he finally warns me, with great pleasantry, not to think of escaping from the host of bawling adversaries I shall have to encounter, unless I can transfix them in the same part where Ulysses hit Antinous, viz. in the throat.' As, however, I am far from being so dextrous a marksman as to execute such a plan of defence, the only prudent way will be, to lay aside all thoughts of the hazardous attempt, unless some such arguments should appear as might tend to remove, or greatly to diminish, the above scruples and apprehensions. B. N. TURNER."

* For that matchless industry Mr. Mounsey was rewarded in 1792 with the two small vicarages of Saltby and Sproxton, at which latter place he afterwards resided, and in 1811 presented to his noble patron an urn found there, containing 100 silver coins. Mr. Mounsey gave Mr. Nichols great assistance in the description of his two parishes; and also contributed to the History of Leicestershire a scientific account of the petrifactions, strata of stone, and fossil bodies, found in the Vale of Belvoir. As a parish priest he exhibited the character of a conscientious pastor and an Israelite without guile. He died at Sproxton, April 30, 1811, leaving a widow and one daughter.

5. Rev. B. N. TURNER to Mr. J. B. NICHOLS. "DEAR SIR, 13, Dorset-place, April 5, 1826. "It being now your leisure time at the beginning of a month, I take the liberty of saying, that I should be happy to see you could you take your tea with me any afternoon at my oldfashioned and countryfied hour of six; and indeed it is rather too much to expect you to come so far to visit a man so inefficient and useless in point of literature as myself. I am now too a trifle further off than I was, having purchased what I now occupy, a new house, No. 13, in Dorset-place, just beyond the

square.

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My motive for addressing you at this particular time is, my seeing in this month's Magazine in the extract from Mr. Polwhele's Traditions and Recollections, a surprise expressed at Mason's finding many faults in Dryden's celebrated Ode *. This has strongly engaged my attention for a long time together some years ago (no sign of disapprobation): in short, I was so charmed with its beauties, and disgusted by the blemishes with which they are disgraced; I was so delighted with the grandeur of the plan, and disappointed at the listlessness with which the great Poet executed it himself at last, that I could not help thinking, however rash it may now appear, that it was possible for a modern to improve it even now, by filling out the grand idea, as manifestly intended by the Bard himself, i. e. to render every passion regularly excited by Timotheus, and the corresponding effects as regularly produced on the Monarch. This, however charming and fascinating, notwithstanding, as the Poem is in reality, is far from being the case; and, could it be effected, the lighter blemishes might perhaps be easily removed at the same time: but you may have some time foreseen that this opening leads only to a confession that I was once so adventurous, or rather perhaps so simple, as to have executed the plan myself. This, however, I once submitted to Bishop Bennet, who returned it with his own unqualified approbation, yet warned me by no means to print it, for, if you do, said he, you can expect nothing but abuses thrown out against you all the

"We conversed much upon poetry; and particularly upon Dryden. Would you conceive it, that he (Mr. Mason) disapproves of many parts of the celebrated Ode on St. Cecilia's-day. He objected, in some respects, against the measure, as partaking too much of the ballad species; and as being too remote from the lyric genius; such as

"War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble," &c.
"With ravish'd ears

The repetition of

The monarch hears," &c.

"Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n," &c.

he said was devoid of all meaning; and that it rather tended to excite something bordering on the ludicrous, than to add to the pathetic impressions already excited." Rev. R. Greville to Rev. R. Polwhele, July 28, 1788.

way from Edinburgh to Charing-cross. This advice is too good I fear, and it is what I have since acted upon; yet, as my friend Bennet was constitutionally timid, I have thought there would be no harm in handing you a copy, to show to your venerable father, or any friend who may condescend to notice it, so it may at least afford a little temporary amusement. If the time of your coming be a matter of indifference, I might point out some time when I was likely to be alone, and we might converse more freely.

"I received a most polite and friendly note, with a respectable dramatic piece, from my old friend Mr. Cradock, whom I should be exceedingly happy to see again, and who am glad to find by his writing appears to have retained his faculties better than myself. He has done himself great honour too by his 'Memoirs.' He says he has imitations of mine, Theophrastus I know; but I doubt he has nothing of mine in manuscript. If he has, I shall be obliged by the sight of them, for I have been bringing together my own scribblings. I am, dear Sir, your sincere friend and obedient servant, B. N. TURNER."

6. After the diffidence expressed in the preceding letters, it is conjectured that the reader can scarcely attribute to presumption Mr. Turner's alteration of Dryden's Ode; nor will its production be otherwise than satisfactory to the curiosity which may probably have been excited.

Prolegomena to the Alexander's Feast.

"This Ode," Johnson tells us, "perhaps the last (he might have added, perhaps the happiest) effort of Dryden's poetry, has always been considered as exhibiting the highest flight of fancy, and the exactest nicety of art. This is allowed to stand without a rival." Yet the same great Critic observes, "It is said to have cost Dryden a fortnight's labour; but it does not want its negligences." How the acknowledgement of negligences is consistent with what was just before said about possessing "the exactest nicety of art," I do not clearly comprehend, unless the nicety of art could be supposed to refer not to correctness of composition, but to a peculiar felicity and excellency of plan. Since, however, these negligences will be found, I fear more considerable than the great Critic was aware of, it is a pity that the Poet did not employ more labour and attention upon it; or at least afterwards give it the finishing touches of his own masterly hand. Some I have met with are so offended at its defects as to depress the piece itself even below mediocrity; I am by no means of this opinion, but think that its general effect is exquisite, and that its faults or negligences might be literally compared to solar spots, since the general effulgence of beauties is

capable of concealing them until they are deliberately and critically examined.

One of these faults, evidently the effect of haste and inattention, is thus pointed out by the Doctor himself. "Some of the lines," says he, "are without corresponding rhyme,-a defect which I never detected till after an acquaintance of many years." The case was the same with myself, and probably with most other readers. This fault occurs in the passage respecting the amour of Jupiter and Olympias. Here the Critic rightly observes that," the enthusiasm of the writer might have prevented his observing the deficiency;" and it appears that he must have imparted his own enthusiasm to his readers, since they also are equally apt to overlook it.

But besides the above, there are, I doubt, several other imperfections in this divine Poem, arising from similar causes, which the author would have done well had he "discreetly blotted." No reader of taste can be much charmed, for instance, with the idea of "ordaining drinking joys,"

Drinking joys did first ordain.

And, whatever defence may be set up for the drums, trumpets, and hautboys in the march of Bacchus, or whatever similarity to them may be discovered among the ancients, I must own it rather too forcibly reminds me of the dramatist who introduced Demetrius, the son of Antigonus, with a brace of pistols. In the line,

Soothed with the sound the king grew vain,

the word soothed, compared with the context, which relates to exciting martial ardour, is surely one of the most unhappy that could have been chosen. The word "vain" seems to be but a creature of the rhyme-music's "winning a cause is not a whit more tolerable than "ordaining drinking joys;" and I must own the following passage:

The Prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

That caused his care, &c.

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is surely too much like turning the world's great conqueror into a whining and desponding lover!

True it is, that I feel myself, as it were, blushing at my own presumption in producing the faults of such a Poem as this before the chancery of public taste; and yet the spirit of the great Bard, could it be conscious of the attempt, would surely pardon it in one, who censures only from the hope of being able to ameliorate, and whose ambition (a daring one it must be owned) is to try whether this divine Ode be not capable of being rendered, by proper management, much more incontestably than it now is, the sublimest composition to be met with, either in its own or in any other language.

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