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operations. Those which remain to be spoken of, are so manifestly the offspring of reflection, that their origin, in some measure, explains itself.

From Reflection, or the power of dispofing of our own attention, arises the power of considering our ideas separately; for the same consciousness which intimately informs us of the presence of certain ideas, and this is the very characteristic of attention, informs us also that they are diftinct.

Were we entirely destitute of the use of reflection, we could not distinguis different objects, but only in so far as they fingly made a very strong impression on us; all those which acted but weakly, would pass for nothing.

In distinguishing our ideas, we sometimes consider those qualities which are most essential to the subject, as entirely separated from it. This is what we more particularly call, to abjtract.

Reflection, from whence is derived the power of distinguishing ideas, gives us likewise that of comparing them, in order to know their relations. This is done by transferring the attention alternately from one to another, or by fixing it at the same time on many.

After having distinguished several ideas, we sometimes consider them collectively, as forming only a single notion ; at other times we prescind from a notion some of its component ideas. And this is what we call, to compound or decempound ideas.

When we compare our ideas, our consciousness of them is the cause of our knowing, that they are the same in several respects, or that they are not the same. This twofold operation is what we call judging, and is plainly a consequence of the other.

From the operation of Judging arises that of Reasoning : for reasoning is only a concatenation of judgments, depending one upon the other.

I have confined myself to these analyses, in order to thew the dependance of the mind's operations, and how they are gradually originated. We first have perceptions of which we are conscious. We afterwards form a more lively consciousness of some perceptions; this becomes attention. Thence forward these ideas are connected, and confequently we know them again to be the same we had before, and ourselves the fame who had them; this is Reminiscence. When the mind revives, or retains its perceptions, or only recolle ts the signs of them; this is Imagination, Contemplation, and Memory: but when it disposes of its own attention, this is Reflection.

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In fine, from this last, all the rest arise. It is properly Reflection which diftinguishes, compares, compounds, decompounds, and analyses; for these are only different ways of conducting the attention. Hence too Judgment, Reasoning, and Conception, are formed; and hence relults the understanding.

Thus have we, from Mr. Nugent's translation, presented our Readers with a distinct view, in miniature, of that ftrong, extensive, and beautiful chain of reasoning, whereby the 'Abbé de Condillac, with a happiness of genius peculiar to himself, entered into the human mind, and unravelled all its mazes. Numberless fine passages, like so many lefler chains depending from the great one, have we been obliged to omit. We with, indeed, that the Translator had been less faithful to the words of his original; that there were no French idioms to complain of; no obscurity thrown upon the work, by so many English words introduced in a foreign meaning. Yet the Abbé has been so correct in explaining his terms, that even the mere English reader, tho' he may meet with his own language very unusually applied, will be able, by a small degree of attention, to apprehend the import of the argument, and accompany the Author through all his reasonings. We reserve the second part of this curious Essay for our next Review.

Conclusion of the Essay on the Writings and Genius of Pope.

Šee Review for June last.


N the prosecution of this article, we shall not undertake to

analyse the whole of our Author's observations. Where he has advanced any thing new, that we shall select; where any thing may with propriety be added, that we shall endeavour to supply: and where we conceive our Critic to be in an error, that we shall, with due deference, attempt to correct. We shall now begin with the following exquisite lines,

In the foul while memory prevails
The solid force of understanding fails :
Where beams of warm imagination play

The memory's soft figures melt away.. • There is hardly in any language,' says the Essayist, “a me.

taphor more appoficely applied, or more elegantly expressed, than this of the effects of the warmth of fancy. Although experience evinces that memory, understanding, and fancy are seldom united in one person, yet have there been some

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< few transcendent geniuses who have been blessed with all (three. Those the Critic recollected were, Herodotus, Plato, Tully, Livy, Tacitus, Galilæo, Bacon, Des Cartes, Malbranche, Milton, Burnet of the Charter-house, Berkley, and Montesquieu. Do not Cæsar, Plutarch, and Pliny the younger, among the antients, and Gaflendi, Peireskius, Picus Mirandola, Erasmus, Buchanan, Scaliger, and Barrow among the moderns, equally deserve that character? If the accounts left us of the admirable Crichton*, may be depended on, (and the authorities are strong) was he not a greater prodigy, in all respects, than any of those we have mentioned?

One science only will one genius fit:

So vaft is art, fo narrow human wit. Upon this hypothesis our Critic gives a pleasing detail of authors and painters, who when they attempted any work out of their own walk, have generally failed. But in what follows, we conceive he lies open to some objection. · The modesty and • good sense of the antients,' says he is, in this particular,

as remarkable as in others. The same poet never presumed to understand more than one kind of dramatick poetry, if we

except the Cyclops of Euripides. A poet never presumed « to plead in public, or to write history, or, indeed, any • considerable work in prose. The fame actors never recited

tragedy and comedy. They seem to have held that univer« fality, not to say diversity, at which the moderns aim, to

be a gift unattainable by man. We, therefore, of Great • Britain have, perhaps, the more reason to congratulate our

selves on two very fingular phænomena: I mean Shake'spear's being able to pourtray characters so very different as • Falstaff and Macbeth, and Garrick's being able to personate ( so inimitably a Lear or an Abel-Drugger.

It is possible this Gentleman may not allow that Cicero, and Pliny the younger, should be stiled poets, but he will not refuse that title to Ovid, and to Silius Italicus ; and yet Seneca tells us, that the former pleaded causes with great success, and we know that the latter was an eminent orator.t It is notorious, that Afinius Pollio brought several tragedies on the Ro

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* See Mackenzie's Lives. + Lycophron wrote many Critical Essays in profe ; and besides his Alexandra, exercised himself,with fair success, in almost all the fields. of poesy, from the loftiness of tragedy, to the humble spirit of Anagram. It is allo certain, that the author of the Thebaid wrote tragedy, (vid. Juv.) and that the poet Sidonius Apollinaris composed several volumes of Letter: in prose, Vid. Vit. E 3


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man stage, with general applause, and yet we have the testimony of Horace for his having well nigh completed the Hiftory of the Civil War. Is it certain that Roscius did not wear the Sock as well as the Buskin?

Although other poetst have excelled equally in tragedy and comedy, yet was Shakespear, perhaps, the greatest prodigy that eier appeared in both: and we readily join issue with our Author, in the great character he gives Mr. Garrick.

Our Efsayist deems Mr. Voltaire the most universal of authors; and thinks, that either the tragedy of Merope, or the History of Lewis XIV. would alone have immortalized him, as he writes almost equally well both in prose and verse.

After all, may not the more easy acquisition of science now a-days, by the means of printing, with the impossibility of a writer's living by any one species of composition, particularly poetry, be the reasons why many of the moderns have excel. led in different walks, and that some have well nigh completed the circle of universal knowleger-Our Author goes on:

Thus Pegasus a nearer way to take
May boldly deviate from the common track,
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,

And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art. Here is evidently, as our Author remarks, a blameable mixture of metaphors, where the attributes of the horse and the writer arc confounded. We come next to the celebrated simile of the Alps,

So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal {nows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last ;
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way,
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,

Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise! This Comparison, the Critic obferves, is often mentioned as an instance of Pope's strength of fancy; but, in his opinion, the images are too general and indistinct; and he thinks the laft line conveys no new idea to the mind. Here we beg leave to difsent from him; for as the poet has traced the most exact resemblance between things which, in appearance, are utterly unrelated to each other, so also does he, in the last line, really add a new idea, by making that particular, which before was general. In fine, we shall not easily be prevailed on, not to look upon this as one of the best fimiles in our language.

+ Beaumont and Fletcher, Ben, Johnson, and Dryden.

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After all, however, we question if Mr. Pope was not indebted for the thought, to the very ingenious Drummond of Hawthornden: our readers will not be displeased with us if we cite the passage.

Ah! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass;
Or Atlas temples crown'd with winter-glass ;
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenes cliffs, where sun doch never shine ;
When he some craggy hills hath over went,
Begins to think of relt, his journey spent :
Till mounting some tall mountain he doth find

More heights before him than he left behind.* We shall next proceed to consider what our Author hath subjoined to the following lines.

False eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
Its gaudy colours spreads on every place ;
The face of nature we no more survey,

All glares alike, without distinction gay. « The nauseous affectation of expressing every thing pompa o ously and poetically, is no where more visible than in a poem " lately published, entitled Amyntor and Theodora.'

We can by no means subscribe to this censure of Mr. Mallet's Hermit. Without attempting to particularize what may be deemed the more poetical parts of this poem, we shall only add, that whoever can read the Discovery in the second canto, and especially the Recovery of Theodora in the third, without tears, has not the feeling of a man: in these, Nature speaks her own language. Does our Critic ascertain the circumstances when poetry or plain language should be used?

• The poem from whence these picturesque lines are extracted, being addressed to the Deity, the simile is thus applied.

So while I wou'd me raise
To the unbounded limits of thy praise,
Some part o'ch' way I thought to have o'er-sun,
But now I see how scarce I have begun;
With wonders new my spirits range poffeft,

And wandering wayless in a maze, them rek. Drummond was not only an excellent versifier, for those times, but has as much poetical thought in him as any of his cotemporaries in England. His poems intitled Forth-Feasting and Mæliades, not to mention his famous Macaronic piece Polemo-Middina, and many others, are proofs of this. Ben Johnson walked from London to Drummond's seat in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, to pay our northern bard a visit, The topics of their discourse are still preserved in the Eding burgh edition of Drummond's works, folio, 1711.

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