ON PAINTING, POETRY, AND MUSIC. 45 tions of compassion. Read to another the struggles of Cato in the cause of liberty, his breast will pant strong in the welfare of his country; he will be animated by the example of the illustrious Roman, and display all the workings of exalted patriotism. Nor is this the case with those only whose minds are not greatly improved by education; but with those also who have the greatest advantages of learning. For ask two persons their opinions of Sophocles and Euripides, and each, perhaps, will differ in sentiment. This case so frequently occurs, that it is incontrovertible; and it is particularly evident in the opinions of the critical world concerning Homer and Virgil. The vehicle by which music is conveyed to us, is only sound, differently modified into concords and discords, which, by a just modulation, produce harmony. In all ages music has been distinguished by its surprising influence, and if we should credit the accounts given of it by ancient writers, we should be lost in astonishment; but as many of them are fabulous, and only emblematic of its great power over the human mind, it is not necessary to consider its ancient splendour. The present state of music, though considered by some as inferior to its pristine glory, is however surprising; for to determine how such an infinite variety of sounds can be produced by such scanty materials, is greatly beyond the reach of conception. But, indeed, all the sisters, offsprings of the Graces, partake of the same amiable accomplishments, which command our admiration; for as one captivates by an excellent assemblage of colours, and the other charms by an agreeable arrangement of words, the third enchants us by an harmonious modulation of sounds. The same observations, with respect to the different styles and masters of painting, and the different kinds of poetry and poets, as they affect persons of various tastes, according to their influence upon the percipient faculties, might be extended likewise to the varieties of composition in music, and to the predilection for different composers in preference to others. But what has been already said, is sufficient to illustrate this argument. And from the whole, one striking observation may be deduced, that not only the performers, but the judges of excellence in these sister arts, how much soever they may be capable of improvement from opportunities of imitating the best models, seem at first to require a certain spark of genius, which like a ray from Heaven, must kindle and animate the sluggish soul. This is the propitious eye with which the muse is said to regard a rising genius; and hence comes the maxim, that "a poet must be born a poet. Without this invaluable impress indelibly stamped upon his brow, whatever may be his pretensions, whether obtained by long study and experience, or actuated by a natural taste, he will scarcely ever arrive at that summit of excellence in the particular art he may have cherished, and to which it is invariably the ultimatum of all earthly ambition to aspire. In a word, this kind of thought is prettily expressed in the Heathen Mythology, where the Three Graces are not only called sisters, and described as inseparably joined hand in hand, but are accounted the daughters of Jupiter himself. EDGAR. THE GREAT MAN OF THE PARTY. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness TWELFTH NIGHT. EVERY circle, Mr. Merton, commonly called social (whether so in reality, or not, is of little importance to our present consideration) attracted together by long acquaintance, reciprocity of feelings, or the mere wayward causes of casual circumstance, to "give delight and to receive;"-every such circle has, like the more limited circumference of the domestic sphere, its "great man," peculiar to itself; to whom every individual looks up as the presiding genius of the assembly; but who, like the family Autocrat, has, perhaps, no recommendation to warrant his challenging that title, in any other company than that in which it is his chance to enjoy it. But before I proceed to description, it might be well to shew, in what he differs, and in what he excels, the august representative of the virtue and honour of the family. The latter claims his cold, constrained homage, on the old-fashioned grounds of dignified legitimacy. He is found, by those whose greatest apparent happiness it is to be acknowledged his kindred, by the ties of consanguinity, seated at an envied height, and in the possession of coveted treasures; and in hopes of future benefactions, and death-bed legacies, they become his adulators and slaves; and form around him a Lilliputian court-as full of intrigue, rivalry, and cabal, as that which vies for the golden smiles, or shrinks at the dangerous frowns, of the proudest dominator over the common bounties of mother earth. Not so the idol of the social board. He rises on the swelling wave of popularity, and holds an unhated, if not unenvied ascendency, over the subjects of his rule. His presence is always hailed with pleasure, which no private interests damp. He is flattered for himself, not for his possessions: and as he has nothing to leave them but the recollections of the past, so they enjoy him while present, and look for his loss only as to the close of all their expectations. 1 In the ages of coffee-house celebrity, no doubt, they exceeded in numbers their fellows of the present day; and no club, from the Kitcat to the Apprentices', but had its "great man." Nevertheless, though numerous as the flowers of the field, it were in vain to attempt the description of even a small proportion of these "gods of the earth;" yet will we just shadow out a few: but they, like the flowers, are only to be found in perfection in the soil which cherishes them, and to which they are in a manner indigenous-transplant them, and they are but common men! There are some, sir, who, without any better qualification than an imposing exterior and manners to match, appear born to the station; and with whom no one ever thinks of contesting it; consequently, they enjoy it wherever they go. While there are others possessed of such natural sprightliness of manners (difficult is the flash to discover from wit), that it is impossible to deny them the flattering distinction. But there is a third sort, good-humoured as gay, and as unassuming as sensible, that become really the " great man," without ever claiming the title, and win the ascendency (as it were) in spite of themselves. In the present essay, as I have but little room to adduce examples, I shall pass on to observe, that there are others who owe this distinction in the company they frequent, less to their abilities than their profession. Among these, he who ranks the chief, and is, indeed, in certain classes, the monopoliser of all attention, is the "son of the cassock and rose." And to convince you, Mr. M. that there are inducements to attain this individual distinction, I would wind up this tedious letter with a scene from real life, illustrative of the last mentioned character, but of a less privileged order. Suppose yourself seated in a comfortable manner in a neatly furnished front parlour of one of those well-meaning, but somewhat sanctimonious members of society, known to the world by the denomination of "the serious," conversing with all brotherly love; on a sudden the master of the mansion, looking at his watch, observes, in a tone which evidently takes an effect upon his guests, "It is near the Rev. Mr. S―'s hour, I suppose he will soon be with us." In an instant every ear is anxiously listening, until the usual trinitarian assault upon the knocker announces the arrival of the " great man. Mr. D. immediately evacuates his chair by the fire-side, and his lady, as she desires Betty to get Mr. S.'s glass (one of a larger size than usual, holding rather better than two tithes of the tankard), remarks, that he is a wonderful man, but like most clever men, he has his eccentricities. In an instant he makes his appearance; and after a preliminary hem, and a congregational gaze, he walks with dignified deliberation to the vacant arm-chair-looks an instant at the fire-another round the room-and then, addressing mine host, inquires kindly after his health-at the same time shaking Mrs. D.'s hand, who has by this time taken courage to come up: then, inquiring for brother Bradley, after a momentary silence, a little edifying discourse ensues, during which his opinion is (of course) listened to with the most respectful deference. The entrance of dinner now produces a fresh sensation, the bustle of which shortly subsiding, Mr. S., careful not to cool the meat, gives a short grace; which is usually all that (in the form of words) passes at the table, saving the perpetual ejaculations respecting the non-attendance to the comforts of their spiritual guest, who, by the way, to the inconvenience of the rest of the company, is the only one attended to. "Give me leave-your favourite cut-do, my dear, fill Mr. S.'s glass," &c. quite sickens the ear with constant repetition. About ten minutes before the dinner scene is concluded, to the secret satisfaction of some, the "great man" rises; and the good-natured master of the ceremonies observes, that they will excuse Mr. S. as it is his custom to retire for an hour to enjoy his pipe and meditation. Occasionally at the same table, you may encounter a young scion of Cheshunt, or of Hoxton, who, in the absence of the "little, round, fat, oily man of God," by assuming the same privilege, and affecting the same gravity, becomes the man of importance for the season. In portraying the characters for the essay before me, I had no intention of trespassing on those fashionable circles, that move in the polite region of bon ton. There the varnish of art is laid so equally upon all, that society has the appearance of the multiplied copies of the same highly-finished engraving. I would dismiss these from my present notice, as neither "fish, flesh, nor good red herring." But the reputation of being the "great man" of your acquaintance, without such adventitious aid as professional recommendation, is not always so readily yielded in the more secular ranks of society. I have seen many a hard contested battle-even to the worn-out end of a bad pun-to gain this proud pre-eminence: and once-take this for one of my confessions, Mr. Merton-I had the temerity to attempt at competition with a young man that could write bad verses, and read them worse. It is the right of the successful candidate to affect as much absence as would be set down in another for sheer stupidity-to be (in fact) the butt of the company, subject to the mutual understanding, that such mistakes are but the aberrations of a mind lost "in its high and vast imaginings." By the way, this absence is strangely dignified of late; and why? A tradesman in his calculating mood, may be at this rate as great a man, when puzzled with net and gross, and tare and tret, as Sir Isaac Newton in explaining the revolutions of worlds, or fixing the dates of comets. I have seen a country bumpkin unable to keep out of a millpond, for thinking of his Blowselinda: what could the veriest love-sick poet do more! Well, sir, after committing various fooleries, which but for the motive that impelled me, ought to have been expiated by horse-whipping; such as jumping up in affected abstraction to answer a plain question wrong; depositing the dregs of my tea-cup in that of a young lady opposite me, instead of into the slop-basin, &c. just as I had reached (in idea) the highest pinnacle of expectation, and was preparing to exclaim 'Tis all I sighed for---all I now can hope-- My fancy's fondest dream---ambition's widest scope Mr. Poet, in reversing his crossed legs, as he sat musing on the colour of the hearth-rug, kicked the plate of toast from its brazen supporter, and sent one-half of the toast under the grate, and the other under the table, to my especial mortification, as the action was pronounced a palpable hit," and he has been looked upon as the “ great man" of our coterie ever since. Consequently, his jokes are always followed by a laugh-the ring is never considered complete without him—and should any symptoms of ennui appear in his absence, it is universally exclaimed, "What a pity T is not here !" J. A. G. ROSALIE, THE GIRL OF VENICE. She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, She sings the wild notes of her dear native plains, Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, They shine through her sleep, like a dream from the west, THE sun had smiled a bright farewell, and as he sank beneath the western hills, lingered awhile, as if unwilling to leave a world he had made happy by his presence. Clouds of deep crimson centered around him, and one would think, by the glory of his parting, he was loath to deprive the earth of her light and beauty until he had promised a quick return. The children of a village school, no great distance from the metropolis, were joyously playing, as if influenced by the brightness of the moment, when they saw a young female slowly approaching from the public road, to the green on which they were playing. She soon came up to the spot, and seated herself on a bench between two elms. There was something in her appearance, that, although it was not strange, told she did not belong to this country. Her dress seemed that of the better order of village girls, it was more tasty than shewy, and beautifully fitted to her person. Her face was one of those pictures, on which you may gaze for hours, without feeling tired. It was a shade of a happy medium between light and darkness, though rather inclining to the latter. Her eyes were large and black, and seemed filled with some tender thought, which well agreed with the beautiful languor that overspread her countenance. Her neck was open, and of a surpassing whiteness and on it large glossy locks of black hair, seemed, like their mistress, wandering to find a home, where they might repose in quietness. She rested her cheek upon her hand, faint and wearily; the thickness of the dust that covered her little foot, afforded presumptive evidence that she had walked a considerable distance. In her lap lay a guitar, and a coloured bandkerchief tied round her head, made the children believe she was some wandering minstrel, seeking for a subsistence in a foreign land. One of the boys called out," a French girl, a French girl," and soon she had the whole tribe about her. "How beautiful she looks," cried one: " but how very ill," said another, who appeared rather older than the rest, and who beseeched her to sing, and gathered their mites as an inducement; but she refused, smiling meekly on her infantine benefactors. PART VIII-32. E VOL. II. ; |