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o cite Love and Complacency, the Body, is affected, < so far as I could observe, much in the following

Manner: The Head reclines something on one « Side; the Eye-lids are more closed than usual, and " the Eyes roll gently with an Inclination to the Ob'ject; the Mouth is a little opened, and the Breath ? drawn slowly, with now and then a low Sigh;

the whole Body is composed, and the Hands fall idly to the Sides, All this is accompanied with an inward Sense of Melting and Languor. These

Appearances are always proportioned to the Degree • of Beauty in the Object, and of Sensibility in the 6. Observer. And this Gradation from the highest « Pitch of Beauty and Sensibility, even to the lowest 6 of Mediocrity and Indifference; and their corre

spondent Effects ought to be kept in View, else this Description will seem exaggerated, which it cer

tainly is not. Whatever affects us in the above Manner, he proceeds to call Beautiful, in the same Manner as he has said the Sublime will grow on Pain. We agree with him, that the Beautiful must depend on the softer Affections of Love and Plean sure; for what is painful can never be accounted to belong to Beauty : But the Sublime will exist with Beauty, or partial Ugliness, and may be heightened by all our Paffions as well as Terror.

Having discussed the Beautiful, our Author at. tempts to prove, that the Effects of Poetry are not by raising Ideas of Things. I shall begin,' says he,

with compound abstract Words, such as Virtue, < Honour, Persuasion, Docility; of these I am con« vinced, that whatever Power they may have on < the Passions, they do not derive it from any Re.

presentation raised in the Mind of the Things for

which they stand.' It is very possible, that on hearing any one of these Words, a Man may not instantly have in View all the Ideas that are com bined in the complex onę: As for Instance, when

Virtug

Virtue is named, he may not think of the Relations in which a Man stands to God, his Neighbour, and himself; but he may have the general Idea of acting uprightly, and that is enough for the Poet's Pure pose. If it were true that Words revive the Sensations we originally felt, without recalling the Ideas to our Mind, Dk might be as good a Poet as Akenside; because he might use all the words that are most apt to affect us, and then he would agitate our Passions as forcibly as a Man of Genius. He who is most picturesque and clearest in his Imagery, is ever stiled the best Poet, because from such a one we see Things clearer, and of Course we feel more intensely. It is a Difpofition to feel the Force of Words, and to combine the Ideas annexed to them with Quickness, that shews one Man's Imagination to be better than another's, and distinguishes the fine Taste from Dullness and Stupidity. Our Author would have Poetry to operate like Music, by Sensation : But he should recollect, that Music has its Effects no otherwise than by an Association of Ideas which it assembles in the Fancy, and by that Means it is that it depresses us with Grief, or enAlames with Rage, 36. The Instance of Blacklock the blind Poet, ferves only to prove that Poetry may be wrote mechanically, by combining Words after the Usage of other Writers; though it is not to be doubted but Mr. Blacklock had annexed Ideas of fome Sort in his own Mind to all the visual Objects he mentions. Our Author allows Poetry to be an imitative Art as far as it describes Manners and Paffions of Men; but says, descriptive Poetry operates chiefly by_Substitution, by Means of Sounds that stand for Things. But all Words are substituted for Things, and there is as much smitation in describing a Scene in Nature, as in describing the Actions of human Kind; for the Likeness in both Cases is represented to us,

Nothing, · Nothing,' fays our Author, is an Imitation * further than as it resembles some other Thing; * and Words undoubtedly have no Sort of Refem• blance to the Ideas for which they stand.'

But Words stand for Manners and Passions; and if he allows the Description of them to be Imitation, by Parity of Reason he might have allowed it to descriptive Poetry. In his last Chapter he has made fome just Observations concerning the Power of Words, but recurs again to his Theory of their not exciting Ideas; than which nothing can be more false. No Man perhaps has settled with Precision the determinate Meaning of every Word that signifies a complex Idea ; but if he has some of the leading Ideas, that make up the compounded one, as we before observed, it is sufficient for the Writer's Pur. pose; and Words will ever excite Ideas according to the Understandings and Imaginations of Mankind.

Upon the Whole, though we think the Author of this Piece mistaken in his fundamental Principles, and also in his Deductions from them, yet we must fay, we have read his Book with Pleasure : He has certainly employed much Thinking; there are many ingenious and elegant Remarks, which, though they do not enforce or prove his first Position, yet, confidering them detached from his System, they are new and just : And we cannot dismiss this Article without recommending a Perufal of the Book to all our Readers, as we think they will be recompensed by a great deal of Sentiment, perspicuous, elegant, and barmonious Stile, in many passages both SubLime and Beautiful,

THE

THE

Life of Father PAUL SARPI,

Author of The History of the Council of Trent.

F

ATHER Paul, whose Name, before he en

tered into the monastic Life, was Peter Sarpi, was born at Venice, August 14, 1552. His Father followed Merchandize, but with so little Success, that, at his Death, he left his Family very ill provided for ; but under the Care of a Mother, whose Piety was likely to bring the Blessing of Providence upon them, and whose wise Conduct supplied the Want of Fortune by Advantages of greater Value.

Happily for young Sarpi, she had a Brother, Master of a celebrated School, under whose Direction he was placed by her. Here he loft no Time, but cultivated his Abilities, naturally of the first Rate, with unwearied Application. He was born for Study, having a natural Averfion to Pleasure and Gaiety, and a Memory so tenacious, that he could repeat thirty Verses upon once hearing them.

Proportionable to his Capacity was his Progress in Literature: At Thirteen, having made himself Master of School-Learning, he turned his Studies to Philosophy and the Mathematics, and entered upon Logic under Capella of Cremona, who, though a celebrated Master of that Science, confessed him. felf in a very little Time unable to give his Pupil farther Instructions.

As

As Capella was of the Order of the Servites, his Scholar was induced, by his Acquaintance with him, to engage in the same Profession, though his Uncle and his Mother represented to him the Hardships and Aufterities of that Kind of Life, and advised him with great Zeal against it. But he was steady in his Resolutions, and in 1566 took the Habit of the Order, being then only in his fourteenth Year, a Time of Life in most Persons very improper for such Engagements, but in him attended with such Maturity of Thought, and such a settled Temper, that he never seemed to regret the Choice he then made, and which he confirmed by a folemn public Profession in 1572.

At a general Chapter of the Servites held at Man. fua, Paul (for so we shall now call him) being then only twenty Years old, distinguished himself so much in a public Disputation by his Genius and Learning, that William, Duke of Mantua, a great Patron of Letters, solicited the Consent of his Superiors to retain him at his Court, and not only made him public Professor of Divinity in the Cathedral, but honoured him with many Proofs of his Efteem.

But Father Paul finding a Court Life not agreeable to his Temper, quitted it two Years afterwards, and retired to his beloved Privacies, being then not only acquainted with the Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Chaldee Languages, but with Philosophy, the Mathe. matics, Canon and Civil Law, all Parts of natural Philosophy, and Chemistry itself; for his Application was unintermitted, his Head clear, his Apprehension quick, and his Memory retentive. Being

made a Priest at twenty-two, he was distinguilhed by the illustrious Cardinal Borromeo with his Confidence, and employed by him on many Occafions, not without the Envy of Persons of less Merit, who were so far exasperated as to lay a Charge against him before the Inquisition, for denying that

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