in oratory, poetry, and history, a recital or rehearsal of a fact as it happened, or as it is supposed to have happened. See ORATORY, n° 26. 123:

Concerning **Narration** and **Description**, we have the following rules and observations in the Elements of Criticism.

1. The first rule is, That in history the reflections ought to be chaste and solid; for while the mind is intent upon truth, it is little disposed to the operation of the imagination. Strada's Belgic history is full of poetical images, which, being discordant with the subject, are unpleasant; and they have a still worse effect, by giving an air of fiction to a genuine history. Such flowers ought to be scattered with a sparing hand, even in epic poetry; and at no rate are they proper till the reader be warmed, and by an enlivened imagination be prepared to relish them: in that state of mind, they are agreeable; but while we are sedate and attentive to an historical chain of facts, we reject with disdain every fiction.

2. Vida, following Horace, recommends a modest commencement of an epic poem; giving for a reason, that the writer ought to husband his fire. Besides, bold thoughts and figures are never relished till the mind be heated and thoroughly engaged, which is not the reader's case at the commencement. Homer introduces not a single simile in the first book of the Iliad, nor in the first book of the Odyssey. On the other hand, Shakespeare begins one of his plays with Narration—a sentiment too bold for the most heated imagination:

> Bedford. Hung be the heav'ns with black, yield day to night! > > Comets, importing change of times and states, > Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, > And with them scourge the bad revolving stars, > That have consented unto Henry's death! > Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! > England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

*First part Henry VI.*

The passage with which Strada begins his history, is too poetical for a subject of that kind; and at any rate too high for the beginning of a grave performance.

3. A third rule or observation is, That where the subject is intended for entertainment solely, not for instruction, a thing ought to be described as it appears, not as it is in reality. In running, for example, the impulse upon the ground is proportioned in some degree to the celerity of motion; though in appearance it is otherwise, for a person in swift motion seems to skim the ground, and scarcely to touch it. Virgil, with great taste, describes quick running according to appearance; and raises an image far more lively than by adhering scrupulously to truth:

> Hos super adventit Volscæ de gente Camilla, > Agmen agens equitum et florentes eae catervas, > Bellatrix: non illa colo calathifive Minervæ > Femineas affluet manus; fed praia virgo > Dura pati, curisque peium praveitere ventos. > Illa vel intactæ segetis per funnum volaret > Granina: nec teneras cursu laxefact aristas: > Vel mare per medium, flunctu supensa tumenti, > Ferret iter: celere nec tingeret æquore plantas.

*Enniid. vii. 803.*

4. In narration as well as in description, objects ought to be painted so accurately as to form in the mind of the reader distinct and lively images. Every useless circumstance ought indeed to be suppressed, because every such circumstance loads the narration; but if a circumstance be necessary, however slight, it cannot be described too minutely. The force of language consists in raising complete images, which have the effect to transport the reader as by magic into the very place of the important action, and to convert him as it were into a spectator, beholding every thing that passes. The narrative in an epic poem ought to rival a picture in the liveliness and accuracy of its representations: no circumstance must be omitted that tends to make a complete image; because an imperfect image, as well as any other imperfect conception, is cold and uninteresting. We shall illustrate this rule by several examples, giving the first place to a beautiful passage from Virgil:

> Qualis populus merens Philomela sub umbra > Amphis queritur fontis, quos durus arator > Observans nido implurum detraxit.

*Georg. lib. 4. l. 511.*

The poplar, plowman, and unledged young, though not essential in the description, tend to make a complete image, and upon that account are an embellishment.

Again: The following passage is scarce inferior to either of Narration, those mentioned:

"Far before the rest, the son of Offian comes: bright in the smiles of youth, fair as the full beams of the sun. His long hair waves on his back; his dark brow is half beneath his helmet. The sword hangs loose on the hero's side; and his spear glitters as he moves. I fled from his terrible eye, King of high Tenora."

Fingal.

The Henriade of Voltaire errs greatly against the foregoing rule: every incident is touched in a sum- mary way, without ever descending to circumstances. This manner is good in a general history, the purpose of which is to record important transactions; but in a fable it is cold and uninteresting; because it is imprac- ticable to form distinct images of persons or things re- presented in a manner so superficial.

It is observed above, that every useless circumstance ought to be suppressed. The crowding such circum- stances is, on the one hand, not less to be avoided, than the conciseness for which Voltaire is blamed, on the other. In the Æneid, Barce, the nurse of Si- chaus, whom we never hear of before nor after, is in- troduced for a purpose not more important than to call Anna to her litter Dido; and that it might not be thought unjust in Dido, even in this trivial circum- stance, to prefer her husband's nurse before her own, the poet takes care to inform his reader, that Dido's nurse was dead. To this may be opposed a beautiful passage in the same book, where, after Dido's last speech, the poet, without detaining his readers by de- scribing the manner of her death, hastens to the la- mentation of her attendants:

Dixerat: atque illam media inter talia ferro Collapsam afsicium comites, ensenique cruore Spumantem, sparafaque manus. It clamor ad alta Atria, concussam bacchatur fana per urbem; Lamentis gemitique et feminco ululatu Tecta fremunt, resonat magnis plangoribus æther. Lib. 4. l. 663.

As an appendix to the foregoing rule, may be added the following observation, That to make a sudden and strong impression, some single circumstance, happily selected, has more power than the most laboured de- scription. Macbeth, mentioning to his lady some voices he heard while he was murdering the King, says,

There's one did laugh in sleep, and one cry'd Murder! They wak'd each other; and I stood and heard them; But they did say their prayers, and address them Again to sleep.

Lady. There are two lodg'd together. Macbeth. One cry'd, God bless us! and, Amen! the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say, Amen, When they did say, God bless us. Lady. Consider it not so deeply. Macbeth. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? I had most need of blessing, and Amen. Stuck in my throat.

Lady. Lady. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad.

Macbeth. Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more!

Macbeth doth murder sleep, &c.

Describing prince Henry: I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, Ride from the ground like feather'd Mercury; And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropt down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

First part Henry IV. act 4. sc. 2.

King Henry, Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no sign!

Second part Henry VI. act 3. sc. 10.

The same author, speaking ludicrously of an army debilitated with diseases, says, "Half of them dare not shake the snow from off their casocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces."

"I have seen the walls of Balcutha, but they were defoliate. The flames had resounded in the halls: and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head: the moos whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows; and the rank grass of the wall waved round his head. Defoliate is the dwelling of Morna: silence is in the house of her fathers."

Fingal.

To draw a character is the master stroke of description. In this Tacitus excels: his portraits are natural and lively, not a feature wanting or misplaced. Shake- speare, however, exceeds Tacitus in liveliness; some characteristical circumstance being generally invented or laid hold of, which paints more to the life than many words. The following instances will explain our meaning, and at the same time prove our observation to be just.

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandfire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice, By being peevish? I tell thee what, Anthonio, (I love thee, and it is my love that speaks), 'There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be drest'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark! O my Anthonio! I do know of those, That therefore only are reputed wife, For saying nothing.

Merchant of Venice, act 1. sc. 2.

Again:

"Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice: his reasons are two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the search."

Ibid.

N° 236.

In the following passage, a character is completed by Narrator a single stroke:

Shallow. O the mad days that I have spent; and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead.

Silence. We shall all follow, cousin.

Shallow. Certain, 'tis certain, very sure, very sure; Death (as the Psalmist faith) is certain to all; all shall die. How good a yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair?

Slender. Truly, cousin, I was not there.

Shallow. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?

Silence. Dead, Sir.

Shallow. Dead! see, see; he drew a good bow; and dead. He shot a fine shoot. How a score of ewes now?

Silence. Thereafter as they be. A score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds.

Shallow. And is old Double dead?

Second Part Henry IV. act 3. sc. 3.

Describing a jealous husband:

"Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note. There is no hiding you in the house." Merry Wives of Windsor, act 4. sc. 3.

Congreve has an inimitable stroke of this kind in his comedy of Love for Love:

Ben Legend. Well, father, and how do all at home? how does brother Dick, and brother Val?

Sir Sampson. Dick, body o' me, Dick has been dead these two years. I writ you word when you were at Leghorn.

Ben. Mfs, that's true; marry, I had forgot. Dick's dead, as you say.

Act 3. sc. 6.

Falstaff speaking of Ancient Pistol:

"He's no swaggerer, hol'less; a tame cheater i'faith; you may stroak him as gently as a puppy-greyhound; he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of resistance."

Second part Henry IV. act 2. sc. 9.

Offian among his other excellencies is eminently suc- cessful in drawing characters; and he never fails to de- light his reader with the beautiful attitudes of his he- roes. Take the following instances:

"O Oscar! bend the strong in arm; but spare the feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides against the foes of thy people; but like the gale that moves the grass to those who ask thine aid.—So Trenmor lived; such Trathal was; and such has Fingal been. My arm was the support of the injured; and the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel."

"We heard the voice of joy on the coast, and we thought that the mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor the friend of strangers! the brother of red-haired Cairbar! But their souls were not the same; for the light of hea- ven was in the bosom of Cathmor. His towers rose on the banks of Atha; seven paths led to his halls; seven chiefs stood on these paths, and called the stranger to the feast. But Cathmor dwelt in the wood to avoid the voice of praise."

"Dermid and Oscar were one: they reaped the battle together. Their friendship was strong as their steel;" They rush on the foe like two rocks falling from the brow of Ardven. Their words are stained with the blood of the valiant; warriors faint at their name. Who is equal to Oscar but Dermid? who to Dermid but Oscar?"

"Son of Comhal, replied the chief, the strength of Morni's arm has failed: I attempted to draw the sword of my youth, but it remains in its place: I throw the spear, but it falls short of the mark: and I feel the weight of my shield. We decay like the grass of the mountain, and our strength returns no more. I have a son, O Fingal! his soul has delighted in the actions of Morni's youth; but his sword has not been fitted against the foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to battle, to direct his arm. His renown will be a fun to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only say, Behold the father of Gaul."

Some writers, through heat of imagination, fall into contradiction; some are guilty of downright absurdities; and some even rave like madmen. Against such capital errors one cannot be more effectually warned than by collecting instances; and the first shall be of a contradiction, the most venial of all. Virgil speaking of Neptune,

Interea magno misceri murmure pontum, Emissamque hycenum senit Neptunus, et imis Stagna refusa vadis: graviter commotus, et alto Propiciens, summa placidum caput extulit unda.

Aeneid. i. 128.

Again:

When first young Maro, in his boundless mind, A work 'toulaft immortal Rome design'd.

Essay on Criticism, l. 30.

The following examples are of absurdities.

"Alli pulsis e tormento catenis disceripti sectique, Dimidiatore corpore pugnabat fibi superflites, ac peremptae partes ulteres."

Strada, dec. 2. l. 2.

Il pover huomo, che non sen' era accorto, Andava combattendo, ed era morto.

Berni.

He fled, but flying, left his life behind.

Iliad, xi. 443.

Full through his neck the weighty falchion sped: Along the pavement roll'd the mutt'ring head.

Odyssey, xxii. 365.

The last article is of raving like one mad. Cleopatra speaking to the apic,

Welcome, thou kind deceiver, Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and unperceiv'd by us Ev'n fleal us from ourselves; discharging so Death's dreadful office, better than himself; Touching our limbs so gently into slumber, That Death stands by, deceiv'd by his own image, And thinks himself but sleep.

Dryden, All for Love, act 5.

Having discussed what observations occurred upon the thoughts or things expressed, we proceed to what more peculiarly concerns the language or verbal drets.

As words are intimately connected with the ideas they represent, the emotions raised by the sound and by the sense ought to be concordant. An elevated subject requires an elevated style; what is familiar, ought to be familiarly expressed: a subject that is serious and important, ought to be clothed in plain nervous language: a description, on the other hand, addressed to the imagination, is susceptible of the highest ornaments that sounding words and figurative expression can bestow upon it.

We shall give a few examples of the foregoing rules. A poet of any genius is not apt to dress a high subject in low words; and yet blemishes of that kind are found even in classical works. Horace, observing that men are satisfied with themselves, but seldom with their condition, introduces Jupiter indulging to each his own choice:

Jam faciam quod vultis; eris tu, qui modo miles, Mercator: tu, consultus modo, rusticus: hinc vos, Vos hinc mutatis dilucidate paribus: cia, Quid statis? nolint: atqui licet effe beatas. Quid causae est, merito quin illis Jupiter ambas Tratus buccas inflet? neque se fore pothae Tam facilem dicat, votis ut prebeat aurem?

Sat. lib. i. sat. 1. l. 16.

Jupiter in wrath puffing up both cheeks, is a low and even ludicrous expression, far from suitable to the gravity and importance of the subject: every one must feel the discordance. The following couplet, sinking far below the subject, is no less ludicrous:

Not one looks backward, onward still he goes, Yet ne'er looks forward farther than his nose.

Essay on Man, ep. iv. 223.

On the other hand, to raise the expression above the tone of the subject, is a fault than which none is more common. Take the following instances:

Orcan le plus fidèle à servir ses desseins, Ne sous le ciel brûlant des plus noirs Africains.

Bajac, act 3. sc. 8.

Les ombres par trois fois ont obscurci les cieux Depuis que le sommeil n'est entré dans vos yeux; Et le jour a trois fois chassé la nuit obscure Depuis que votre corps languit sans nourriture.

Phedra, act 1. sc. 3.

Affueris. Ce mortel, qui montra tant de zèle pour moi, Vit-il encore?

Asph.—Il voit l'astre qui vous éclaire.

Ephor, act 2. sc. 3.

Oui, c'est Agamemnon, c'est ton roi qui t'éveille; Viens, reconnais la voix qui frappe ton oreille.

Iphigenie.

No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; And the king's rowse the heav'n shall bruit again, Repeaking earthly thunder.

Hamlet, act 1. sc. 2.

In the inner room I spy a winking lamp, that weakly strikes The ambient air, scarce kindling into light.

Southerne, Fate of Capua, act 3.

In the funeral orations of the bishop of Meaux, the following passages are raised far above the tone of the subject:

"L'Ocean etonné de se voir traversé tant de fois, en The passage we have in view begins l. 116. But let me now a while survey, &c. and ends at l. 135.

It is proper to be observed upon this head, that writers of inferior rank are continually upon the stretch to enliven and enforce their subject by exaggeration and superlatives. This unluckily has an effect contrary to what is intended: the reader, disgusted with language that swells above the subject, is led by contrast to think more meanly of the subject than it may possibly deserve. A man of prudence, beside, will be no less careful to husband his strength in writing than in walking: a writer, too liberal of superlatives, exhausts his whole stock upon ordinary incidents, and reserves no share to express, with greater energy, matters of importance.

Many writers of that kind abound so in epithets, as if poetry consisted entirely in high-founding words. Take the following instance:

When black-brow'd night her dusky mantle spread, And wrapt in solemn gloom the sable sky; When soothing sleep her opiate dews had shed, And feal'd in silken slumber every eye: My waking thought admits no balmy rest, Nor the sweet bliss of soft oblivion share: But watchful wo distracts my aching breast, My heart the subject of corroding care: From haunts of men with wandering steps and slow I solitary steal, and soothe my pensive wo. Here every substantive is faithfully attended by some tumid epithet.

We proceed to a second remark, not less important than the former. No person of reflection but must be sensible, that an incident makes a stronger impression on an eye-witness, than when heard at second-hand. Writers of genius, sensible that the eye is the best avenue to the heart, represent every thing as passing in our sight; and, from readers or hearers, transform us as it were into spectators: a skilful writer conceals himself, and presents his personages: in a word, everything becomes dramatic as much as possible. Plutarch, de gloria Atheniensium, observes, that Thucydides makes his reader a spectator, and inspires him with the same passions as if he were an eye-witness.

In the fine arts, it is a rule to put the capital objects in the strongest point of view; and even to present them oftener than once, where it can be done. In history-painting, the principal figure is placed in the front, and in the best light: an equestrian statue is placed in a centre of streets, that it may be seen from many places at once. In no composition is there greater opportunity for this rule than in writing:

——— Sequitur pulcherrimus Astur, Astur equo sidens et versicoloribus armis.

——— Full many a lady I've ey'd with best regard, and many a time Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, And put it to the foil. But you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best. Tempest, act 3., l. 1.

Orlando. Orlando.—Whate'er you are That, in the defart inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days; If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church; If ever sat at any good man's feast; If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, And know what 'tis to pity, and be pity'd; Let gentleness my strong enforcement be, In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

Duke sen. True is it that we have seen better days; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; And fat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes Of drops that sacred pity had engender'd: And therefore sit you down in gentleness, And take upon command what help we have, That to your wanting may be ministr'd.

As you like it. With the conversing I forgot all time; All seasons and their change, all paeans alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams on herbs, tree, fruit, and flow'r Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft show'rs; and sweet the coming on Of grateful ev'n'ning mild, the silent night With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train: But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flow'r, Glistening with dew, nor fragrance after show'rs, Nor grateful ev'n'ning mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.

Paradise Lost, book 4. l. 634.

"What mean ye, that ye use this proverb, The fathers have eaten four grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge? As I live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion to use this proverb in Israel. If a man keep my judgments to deal truly, he is just, he shall surely live. But if he be a robber, a shedder of blood; if he have eaten upon the mountains, and defiled his neighbour's wife; if he have oppressed the poor and needy, have spoiled by violence, have not restored the pledge, have lift up his eyes to idols, have given forth upon usury, and have taken increase: shall he live? he shall not live: he shall surely die; and his blood shall be upon him. Now, lo, if he beget a son, that feeth all his father's sins, and confedereth, and doth not such like; that hath not eaten upon the mountains, hath not lifted up his eyes to idols, nor defiled his neighbour's wife, hath not oppressed any, nor withheld the pledge, neither hath spoiled by violence, but hath given his bread to the hungry, and covered the naked with a garment; that hath not received usury nor increase, that hath executed my judgments, and walked in my statutes: he shall not die for the iniquity of his father; he shall surely live. The soul that sinneth, it shall die; the son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son; the righteous deeds of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickednesses of the wicked shall be upon him. Have I any pleasure that the wicked should die, saith the Lord God; and not that he should return from his ways, and live?"

Ezekiel xviii.

A concise comprehensive style is a great ornament in narration; and a superfluity of unnecessary words, not less than of circumstances, a great nuisance. A judicious selection of the striking circumstances, clothed in a nervous style, is delightful. In this style, Tacitus excels all writers, ancient and modern. Instances are numberless: take the following specimen:

"Cerebra hinc pralia, et saepius in modum latrocinii: per saltus, per paludes; ut cuique fors aut virtus: temere, proviso, ob iram, ob praedam, iuveni, et aliquando ignarisi ducibus."

Annal. lib. i. § 29.

After Tacitus, Ossian in that respect justly merits the place of distinction. One cannot go wrong for examples in any part of the book.

If a concise or nervous style be a beauty, tautology must be a blemish; and yet writers, fettered by verse, are not sufficiently careful to avoid this slovenly practice: they may be pitied, but they cannot be justified. Take for a specimen the following instances, from the best poet, for verification at least, that England has to boast of:

High on his helm celestial lightnings play, His beamy shield emits a living ray; Th' unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies, Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies.

Iliad v. 5.

Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne.

Ibid. viii. 576.

So silent fountains, from a rock's tall head, In fable streams soft trickling waters shed.

Ibid. ix. 19.

His clanging armour rung.

Ibid. xii. 94.

Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye.

Ibid. xv. 4.

The blaze of armour flash'd against the day.

Ibid. xvii. 736.

As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow.

Ibid. xix. 380.

And like the moon, the broad resplendent shield Blaz'd with long rays, and gleam'd athwart the field.

Ibid. xix. 402.

No—could our swiftness o'er the winds prevail, Or beat the pinions of the western gale, All were in vain—

Ibid. xix. 604.

The humid sweat from ev'ry pore descends.

Ibid. xxiii. 829.

We close this article with a curious inquiry. An object, however ugly to the sight, is far from being so when represented by colours or by words. What is the cause of this difference? With respect to painting, the cause is obvious: a good picture, whatever the subject be, is agreeable by the pleasure we take in imitation; and this pleasure overbalancing the disagreeableness of the subject, makes the picture upon the whole agreeable. With respect to the description of an ugly object, the cause follows. To connect individuals in the social state, no particular contributes more than language, by the power it possesses of an expeditious communication of thought, and a lively representation of transactions. But nature hath not been been satisfied to recommend language by its utility merely: independent of utility, it is made susceptible of many beauties, which are directly felt, without any intervening reflection. And this unfolds the mystery; for the pleasure of language is so great, as in a lively description to overbalance the disagreeableness of the image raised by it. This, however, is no encouragement to choose a disagreeable subject; for the pleasure is incomparably greater where the subject and the description are both of them agreeable.

The following description is upon the whole agreeable, though the subject described is in itself dismal:

Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquish'd, rolling in the fiery gulf, Confounded though immortal! but his doom Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes That witness'd huge affliction and dismay: Mix'd with obdurate pride and steadfast hate: At once as far as angels ken he views The dismal situation waste and wild: A dungeon horrible, on all sides round As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsum'd! Such place eternal justice had prepar'd For those rebellious. *Paradise Lost*, book 1. l. 50.

An unmanly depression of spirits in time of danger is not an agreeable sight; and yet a fine description or representation of it will be relished:

*K. Richard*. What must the king do now? must he submit?

The king shall do it: must he be depos'd? The king shall be contented: must he lose The name of king? o' God's name let it go; I'll give my jewels for a set of beads; My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; My gay apparel, for an almsman's gown; My hir'd goblets, for a dish of wood; My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staff; My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; And my large kingdom, for a little grave; A little, little grave,—an obscure grave. Or I'll be bury'd in the king's highway; Some way of common tread, where subjects feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; For on my heart they tread now, whilst I live; And, bury'd once, why not upon my head?

*Ricbard II.*, act 3., sc. 6.

Objects that strike terror in a spectacle, have in poetry and painting a fine effect. The picture, by raising a slight emotion of terror, agitates the mind; and in that condition every beauty makes a deep im- pression. May not contrast heighten the pleasure, by opposing our present security to the danger of en- countering the object represented?

The other shape, If shape it might be call'd that shape had none— Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, For each seem'd either; black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, And shook a dreadful dart. *Par. Lost*, b. 2. l. 665.

Now storming fury rose, And clamour such as heard in heaven till now Was never: arms on clamour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rage; dire was the noise Of conflict; overhead the dismal hills Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, And flying vaulted either hoist with fire, So under fiery cope together rush'd Both battles main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage: all heaven Resounded, and had earth been then, all earth Had to her centre shook. *Ibid.* book 6. l. 207.

Ghost. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotty and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. *Hamlet*, act 1. sc. 8.

*Gratiano*. Poor Desdemona! I'm glad thy father's dead: Thy match was mortal to him; and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now, This flight would make him do a deifyrate turn: Yea, curse his better angel from his side, And fall to reprobation. *Othello*, act 5. sc. 8.

Objects of horror must be excepted from the fore- going theory; for no description, however lively, is sufficient to overbalance the disgust raised even by the idea of such objects. Every thing horrible ought therefore to be avoided in a description.

*NARSES*, the eunuch who rivalled Delilah in heroism under the reign of the emperor Julian, em- erged from obscurity A.D. 538. From the dome- stic service of the palace, and the administration of the private revenue, he was suddenly exalted to the head of an army. He is ranked among the few eu- nuchs who have rescued that unhappy name from the contempt and hatred of mankind. A feeble diminu- tive body concealed the soul of a statesman and a war- rior. His youth had been employed in the manage- ment of the loom and distaff, in the cares of the house- hold, and the service of female luxury; but, while his hands were busy, he secretly exercised the faculties of a vigorous and discerning mind. A stranger to the schools and the camp, he studied in the palace to dif- ferentiate, to flatter, and to persuade; and as soon as he approached the person of the emperor, Julian listened with surprise and pleasure to the manly coun- cils of his chamberlain and private treasurer. The talents of Narves were tried and improved in frequent embassies; he led an army into Italy, acquired a prac- tical tical knowledge of the war and the country, and pre- sumed to strive with the genius of Belisarius. Twelve years after his return, the eunuch was chosen to at- chieve the conquest which had been left imperfect by the first of the Roman generals. Instead of being dazzled by vanity or emulation, he seriously declared, that unless he were armed with an adequate force, he would never consent to risk his own glory and that of his sovereign. Justinian granted to the favourite what he might have denied to the hero; the Gothic war was rekindled from its ashes, and the preparations were not unworthy of the ancient majesty of the em- pire.

Narves defeated the Goths, the Franks, and the Alemanni; the Italian cities opened their gates to the conqueror; he entered the capital in triumph; and having established the seat of his government at Ra- venna, continued 15 years to govern Italy under the title of Exarch.

His virtues, we are told, were stained with avarice; and in this provincial reign he accumulated a treasure of gold and silver which surpassed the modesty of a private fortune. His government was oppressive or unpopular; and the general discontent was expressed with freedom by the deputies of Rome. Before the throne of Justinian they boldly declared, that their Gothic servitude had been more tolerable than the des- potism of a Greek eunuch; and that unless their ty- rant were instantly removed, they would confute their own happiness in the choice of a master. Thus was his disgrace the effect of the people's disaffection; and his death, though in the extreme period of old age, was unseasonable and premature, since his genius alone could have repaired the last and fatal error of his life. He died about the year 567, and, as some say, at the advanced age of 95; but this does not appear very probable. See Gibbon's Rom. Hist. vol. iv. 4to edit. p. 194, 298 &c.