12. THE ART OF CRITICISM.

'Tis hard to say, if greater' want of skill
Appear in writing', or in judging' ill;
But, of the two, less' dangerous is the offence
To tire' our patience', than mislead' our sense';
Some few' in that', but numbers' err in this';
Ten' censure' wrong, for one' who writes' amiss.
A fool' might once himself' alone expose;
Now one' in verse' makes many more' in prose'.
"Tis with our judgments' as our watches', none
Go just alike', yet each believes his own.
In poets', as true genius' is but rare,
True taste' as seldom is the critic's' share;
Both must alike from Heaven' derive their light;
These born to judge', as well as those' to write'.
Let such teach others' who themselves' excel,
And censure' freely who have written' well.
Authors' are partial to their wit', 'tis true;
But are not critics' to their judgment' too?

Yet, if we look more closely', we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind :
Nature affords at least a glimmering' light;
The lines, though touched' but faintly, are drawn' right
But as the slightest sketch, if jūstly traced,
Is by ill-colouring but the more disgraced',
So by false learning' is good sense' defaced :
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools',
And some made coxcombs' nature meant for fools'.
In search of wit' these lose their common sense',
And then turn critics' in their own defence'.
All fools have still an itching to deride',
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble' in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have, at first, for wits', then poets', passed,
Turn'd critics' next, and proved plain fools' at last.
Some neither can for wits' nor critics' pass,
As heavy mules' are neither horse' nor ass'.

POPE.

13.-AGAINST SUICIDE.

YET die even thus', thus' rather perish still, The sons of pleasure, by the Almighty' stricken, Than ever dare' (though oft', alas! ye dare) To lift against yourselves the murderous steel, To wrest from God's' own hand the sword of justice, And be our own' avengers! Hold', rash man, Though with anticipating speed thou'st ranged Through every' region of delight, nor left One joy to gild the evening' of thy days; Though life seem one uncomfortable void', Guilt at thy heels', before thy face despair'; Yet gay this' scene, and light this' load of wo, Compared with thy hereafter. Think', O think', And, ere thou plunge into the vast abyss', Pause on the verge' a while, look down' and see Thy future' mansion. Why that start of horror'? From thy slack hand' why drops the uplifted steel? Didst thou not think' such vengeance must await The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh' about him Rushes irreverent', unprepared', uncall'd', Into his Maker's presence, throwing back With insolent disdain his choicest' gift?

Live' then, while Heaven in pity' lends thee life, And think it all too short to wash away By penitential tears' and deep contrition' The scarlet of thy crimes. So shalt thou find Rest' to thy soul, so unappall'd' shalt meet Death when he comes', not wantonly invite' His lingering stroke. Be it thy sole concern With innocence' to live, with patience wait' The appointed hour: too soon' that hour will come, Though nature run her course. But nature's God', If need' require, by thousand various ways, Without thy' aid, can shorten that short' span, And quench' the lamp of life.

PORTEUS.

14. ON THE IMPORTANCE OF TIΜΕ ΤΟ ΜΑΝ.

NIGHT, sable goddess! from her ēbon throne, In rayless' majesty, now stretches forth

Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world'.
Silence', how dead'! and darkness', how profound!
Nor eye', nor listening ear', an object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still', and nature made a pause',
An awful' pause! prophetic of her end'.

The bell strikes one. We take no note' of time
But from its loss. To give it then a tongue'
Is wise in man.

As if an angel' spoke
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright',
It is the knell of my departed hours'.
Where are they? with the years beyond the flood'.
It is the signal' that demands despatch':
How much is to be done! my hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd', and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-On what? a fathomless abyss'!
A dread eternity? How surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me`,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour'?
How poor', how rich, how abject', how august',
How complicate', how wonderful', is man !
How passing wonder HE', who made him such?
Who centred in our make' such strange extremes'?
From different natures marvellously' mixt,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing' to the Deity!
A beam ethereal', sullied', and absorpt!
Though sullied', and dishonour'd', still divine'?
Dim miniature' of greatness absolute!!
An heir of glory'! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal'! insect infinite'!
A worm'! a god!-I tremble' at myself,
And in myself am lost! at home a stranger',
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast
And wondering at her own': how reason reels!
O what a miracle to man' is man',
Triumphantly distressed! what joy', what dread!
Alternately transported', and alarmed!
What can preserve' my life, or what destroy?
An angel's' arm can't snatch' me from the grave;
Legions' of angels can't confine' me there.

YOUNG 15.-SPEECH OF RICHARD HENRY LEE IN CONGRESS, 5TH OF JUNE, 1776, IN FAVOUR OF THE DECLARATION OF INDE

PENDENCE.

I KNOW not, whether among all the civil discords which have been recorded by historians, and which have been excited either by the love of liberty in the people, or by the ambition of princes, there has ever been presented a deliberation more interesting or more important than that which now engages our attention; whether we consider the future destiny of this free and virtuous people, or that of our enemies themselves, who, notwithstanding their tyranny and this cruel war, are still our brethren, and descended from a common stock; or finally, that of the other nations of the globe, whose eyes are intent upon this grea spectacle, and who anticipate from our success more free dom for themselves, or from our defeat apprehend heavier chains and a severer bondage. For the question is, nou whether we shall acquire an increase of territorial dominion. or wickedly wrest from others their just possessions; bu whether we shall preserve, or lose for ever, that liberty which we have inherited from our ancestors, which we have pursued across tempestuous seas, and which we have defended in this land against barbarous men, ferocious beasts, and an inclement sky. And if so many and distinguished praises have always been lavished upon the generous defenders of Greek and of Roman liberty, what will be said of us who defend a liberty which is founded, not upon the capricious will of an unstable multitude, but upon immutable statutes and tutelary laws; not that which was the exclusive privilege of a few patricians, but that which is the property of all; not that which was stained by iniquitous ostracisms, or the horrible decimation of armies, but that which is pure, temperate, and gentle, and conformed to the civilization of the present age. Why then do we longer procrastinate, and wherefore are these delays? Let us complete the enterprise already so well commenced; and since our union with England can no longer consist with that liberty and peace which are our chief delight, let us dissolve these fatal ties, and conquer for ever that good which we already enjoy; an entire and absolute independence.

But ought I not to begin by observing, that if we have reached that violent extremity, beyond which nothing can any longer exist between America and England, but either such war or such peace as are made between foreign nations, this can only be imputed to the insatiable cupidity, the tyrannical proceedings, and the outrages, for ten years reiterated, of the British ministers? What have we not done to restore peace, to re-establish harmony? Who has not heard our prayers, and who is ignorant of our supplications? They have wearied the universe. England alone was deaf to our complaints, and wanted that compassion towards us which we have found among all other nations. And as at first our forbearance, and then our resistance, have proved equally insufficient, since our prayers were unavailing, as well as the blood lately shed; we must go further, and proclaim our independence.

Nor let any one believe that we have any other option left. The time will certainly come when the fated separation must take place, whether you will or no; for so it is decreed by the very nature of things, the progressive increase of our population, the fertility of our soil, the extent of our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the immensity of the ocean which separates the two states. And if this be true, as it is most true, who does not see that the sooner it takes place the better; and that it would be not only imprudent, but the height of folly, not to seize the present occasion, when British injustice has filled all hearts with indignation, inspired all minds with courage, united all opinions in one, and put arms in every hand? And how long must we traverse three thousand miles of a stormy sea, to go and solicit of arrogant and insolent men, either counsels or commands to regulate our domestic affairs? Does it not become a great, rich, and powerful nation, as we are, to look at home, and not abroad, for the government of its own concerns ? And how can a ministry of strangers judge, with any discernment, of our interests, when they know not, and when it little imports them to know, what is good for us, and what is not? The past justice of the British ministers should warn us against the Future, if they should ever seize us again in their cruel claws. Since it has pleased our barbarous enemies to place before us the alternative of slavery or of independence, where is