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ÆSCHYLUS AND SHAKSPEARE COMPARED.

When I see the names of these two great luminaries of the dramatic sphere, so distant in time but so nearly allied in genius, casually brought in contact by the nature of my subject, I cannot help pausing for a while in this place to indulge so interesting a contemplation, in which I find my mind balanced between two objects that seem to have equal claims upon me for my admiration. Eschylus is justly styled the father of tragedy, but this is not to be interpreted as if he was the inventor of it: Shakspeare with equal justice claims the same title, and his originality is qualified with the same exception. The Greek tragedy was not more rude and undigested when Eschylus brought it into shape, than the English tragedy was when Shakspeare began to write: if, therefore, it be granted that he had no aids from the Greek theatre (and I think this is not likely to be disputed), so far these great masters are upon equal ground. Eschylus was a warrior of high repute, of a lofty, generous spirit, and deep as it should seem in the erudition of his times. In all these particulars he has great advantage over our countryman, who was humbly born, of the most menial occupation, and, as it is generally thought, unlearned. Eschylus had the whole epic of Homer in his hands, the Iliad, Odyssey, and that prolific source of dramatic fable, the Ilias Minor: he had also a great fabulous creation to resort to amongst his own divinities, characters ready defined, and an audience whose superstition was prepared for everything he could offer. He had, therefore, a firmer and broader stage (if I may be allowed the expression) under his feet than Shakspeare had. His fables in general are Homeric, and yet it does not follow that we can pronounce for Shakspeare that he is more original in his plots, for I understand that late researches have traced him in all or nearly all. Both poets added so much machinery and invention of their own in the conduct of their fables, that whatever might have been the source, still their streams had little or no taste of the spring they flowed from. In point of character we have better grounds to decide, and yet it is but justice to observe that it is not fair to bring a mangled poet in comparison with one who is entire: In his divine personages, Eschylus has the field of heaven, and indeed of hell also, to himself; in his heroic and military characters, he has never been excelled: he had too good a model within his own bosom to fail of making those delineations natural. In his imaginary being also he will be found a respectable, though not an equal rival of

our poct; but in the variety of character, in all the nicer touches of nature, in all the extravagancies of caprice and humor, from the boldest feature down to the minutest foible, Shakspeare stands alone. Such persons as he delineates never came into the contemplation of Eschylus as a poet; his tragedy has no dealing with them; the simplicity of the Greek fable, and the great portion of the drama filled up by the chorus, allow of little variety of character; and the most which can be said of schylus in this particular is that he never offends against nature or propriety, whether his cast is in the terrible or pathetic, the elevated or the simple. His versification with the intermixture of lyric composition is more various than that of Shakspeare; both are lofty and sublime in the extreme, abundantly metaphorical, and sometimes extravagant. Both were subject to be hurried on by an uncontrollable impulse, nor could nature alone suffice for either: Eschylus had an apt creation of imaginary beings at command

He could call spirits from the vasty deep,

and they would come; Shakspeare, having no such creation in resource, boldly made one of his own. If schylus therefore was invincible, he owed it to his armor, and that, like the armor of Eneas, was the work of the gods: but the unassisted invention of Shakspeare scized all and more than superstition supplied to Æschylus.

Observer, No. 69.

OBSERVATIONS ON STYLE.

The celebrated author of the Rambler, in his concluding paper, says, "I have labored to refine our language to grammatical purity, and to clear it from colloquial barbarisms, licentious idioms, and irregular combinations: something perhaps I have added to the clegance of its construction, and something to the harmony of its cadence." I hope our language hath gained all the profit which the labors of this meritorious writer were exerted to produce. In style of a certain description he undoubtedly excels; but, though I think there is much in his essays for a reader to admire, I should not recommend them as a model for a disciple to copy.

Simplicity, ease, and perspicuity should be the first objects of a young writer. Addison and other authors of his class will furnish him with examples, and assist him in the attainment of these excellencies; but after all, the style in which a man shall write will not be formed by imitation only; it will be the style of his mind: it will assimilate itself to his mode of thinking, and take its color

from the complexion of his ordinary discourse, and the companyhe consorts with. As for that distinguishing charseteristic which the ingenious essayist terms very properly the harmony of its cadence, that I take to be incommunicable, and immediately dependent upon the ear of him who models it. This harmony of cadence is so strong a mark of discrimination between authors of note in the world of letters, that we can depose to a style whose modulation we are familiar with almost as confidently as to the handwriting of a correspondent. But though I think there will be found in the periods of every established writer a certain peculiar tune (whether harmonious or otherwise), which will depend rather upon the natural ear than upon the imitative powers, yet I would not be understood to say that the study of good models can fail to be of use in the first formation of it. When a subject presents itself to the mind, and thoughts arise, which are to be committed to writing, it is then for a man to choose whether he will express himself in simple or in elaborate diction, whether he will compress his matter or dilate it, ornament it with epithets and robe it in metaphor, or whether he will deliver it plainly and naturally in such language as a well-bred person and scholar would use who affects no parade of speech, nor aims at any flights of fancy. Let him decide as he will, in all these cases he hath models in plenty to choose from, which may be said to court his imitation.

For instance; if his ambition is to glitter and surprise with the figurative and metaphorical brilliancy of his period, let him tune his ear to some such passages as the following, where Doctor Johnson, in the character of critic and biographer, is pronouncing upon the poet Congreve: "His scenes exhibit not much of humor, imagery, or passion: his personages are a kind of intellectual gladiators; every sentence is to ward or strike; the contest of smartness is never intermitted; his wit is a meteor playing to and fro, with alternate coruscations." If he can learn to embroider with as much splendor, taste, and address as this and many other samples from the same master exhibit, he cannot study in a better school.

On the contrary, if simplicity be his object, and a certain serenity of style, which seems in unison with the soul, he may open the "Spectator," and take from the first paper of Mr. Addison the first paragraph that meets his eye-the following, for instance: "There is nothing that makes its way more directly to the soul than beauty, which immediately diffuses a secret satisfaction and complacency through the imagination, and gives a finishing to anything that is great or uncommon: the very first discovery of it strikes the mind with an inward joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and delight through all its faculties." Or again in the same essay:

We nowhere meet with a more glorious or pleasing show in nature than what appears in the heavens at the rising and setting of the sun, which is wholly made up of those different stains of light that show themselves in clouds of a different situation." A florid writer would hardly have resisted the opportunities which here court the imagination to indulge its flights; whereas, few writers of any sort would have been tempted, on a topic merely critical, to have employed such figurative and splendid diction as that of Doctor Johnson. These little samples, therefore, though selected with little or no care, but taken as they came to hand, may serve to exemplify my meaning, and in some degree characterize the different styles of the respective writers.

Now, as every student, who is capable of copying either of these styles, or even of comparing them, must discern on which side the greater danger of miscarrying lies, as well as the greater disgrace in case of such miscarriage, prudence will direct him in his outset not to hazard the attempt at a florid diction. If his ear hath not been vitiated by vulgar habitudes, he will only have to guard against mean expressions, while he is studying to be simple and perspicuous: he will put his thoughts into language naturally as they present themselves, giving them for the present little more than mere grammatical correction: afterwards, upon a closer review, he will polish those parts that seem rude, harmonize them where they are unequal, compress what is too diffusive, raise what is low, and attune the whole to that general cadence which seems most grateful to his ear.

Observer, No. 81.

CHARACTER OF GOLDSMITH.

That he was fantastically vain all the world knows; but there was no settled and inherent malice in his heart. He was tenacious to a ridiculous extreme of certain pretensions that did not, and by nature could not, belong to him, and at the same time inexcusably careless of the fame which he had power to command. His tabletalk was, as Garrick aptly compared it, like that of a parrot, whilst he wrote like Apollo; he had gleams of eloquence, and at times. a majesty of thought, but in general his tongue and his pen had two very different styles of talking. What foibles he had, he took no pains to conceal; the good qualities of his heart were too frequently obscured by the carelessness of his conduct, and the frivolity of his manners. Sir Joshua Reynolds was very good to

him;

and would have drilled him into better trim and order for

society, if he would have been amenable; for Reynolds was a perfect gentleman, had good sense, great propriety, with all the social attributes, and all the graces of hospitality, equal to any man. He well knew how to appreciate men of talents, and how near akin the Muse of Poetry was to that art of which he was so eminent a

master.

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There is something in Goldsmith's prose that to my ear is uncommonly sweet and harmonious; it is clear, simple, easy to be understood; we never want to read his period twice over, except for the pleasure it bestows; obscurity never calls us back to a repetition of it. That he was a poet there is no doubt.

JOHNSON AT THE TEA-TABLE.

At the tea-table he had considerable demands upon his favorite beverage, and I remember, when Sir Joshua Reynolds at my house reminded him that he had drunk eleven cups, he replied, "Sir, I did not count your glasses of wine; why should you number up my cups of tea?" And then laughing, in perfect good-humor he added, "Sir, I should have released the lady from any further trouble, if it had not been for your remark; but you have reminded me that I want one of the dozen, and I must request Mrs. Cumberland to round up my number." When he saw the readiness and complacency with which my wife obeyed his call, he turned a kind and cheerful look upon her, and said, "Madam, I must tell you for your comfort, you have escaped much better than a certain lady did awhile ago, upon whose patience I intruded greatly more than I have done on yours; but the lady asked me for no other purpose than to make a zany of me, and set me gabbling to a parcel of people I knew nothing of; so, madam, I had my revenge of her; for I swallowed five-and-twenty cups of her tea, and did not treat her with as many words." I can only say my wife would have made tea for him as long as the New River could have supplied her with water.

It was on such occasions he was to be seen in his happiest moments, when, animated by the cheering attention of friends whom he liked, he would give full scope to those talents for narration in which I verily think he was unrivalled, both in the brilliancy of his wit, the flow of his humor, and the energy of his language. Anecdotes of times past, scenes of his own life, and characters of humorists, enthusiasts, crack-brained projectors, and a variety of strange beings that he had chanced upon, when detailed by him

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