. The Oppian of 1517,and some other of their works, are proofs that if they had not succeeded Aldus, they would not have been considered as eminent printers. Their editions, however, are not to be contemned; and with the exception of a few, they merit the attention of the learned, whilst their great rarity and splendid execution render them valuable to the admirers of ancient lit erature. Amongst those who consult the Aldine editions, some exclusively prefer those of the elder Aldus; others admit the authority of those published previous to the year 1529, the period of the death of Andrea of Asola; but a greater number, independently of the great value which they attach to almost all the editions published during the thirty three first years, esteem most of those also of Paulus Manutius, and a few only of those by the younger Aldus, and those afterwards printed, previous to the year 1597, (when the younger Aldus died) with the Aldine anchor, and in the same office by Nic. Manassi. The editions of the elder Aldus are undoubtedly scarcer than those of a more recent date; they are frequently better printed, and upon excellent paper; they have also this singular advantage, that being printed from manuscripts, which are since lost, they, in a great measure, supply their place, and are more faithful copies of them, than the editions of the fifteenth century, most of which were published by less learned editors; yet the early Aldine editions seldom contain a text more carefully revised than the subsequent ones. The editions of the latter years of Paulus Manutius, and of his son, the younger Aldus, are far less valuable, both on account of the want of typographical neatness and accuracy; they also too frequently bear evident marks of the parsimony with which they were brought out. Before the time of Aldus, the Greek characters, confined to some few offices, were rudely cut and illformed; Aldus, was the first, who examining with attention the form of the letters of the best ancient manuscripts, furnished his office with a letter more pleasing to the eye; from which, with some few corrections, all the best Greek types have since been formed. As to the Roman type, it is well known that Jenson and Vindelin de Spire, after having used the round letters, which founded their reputation, till the year 1472, were obliged to resume both Gothick and Semi-Gothick characters, to suit the great number of readers, accustomed to the use of ancient manuscripts; most ofthe Germans also prefer even now the rude shape of this Gothick, to the neater and more elegant Roman letter. Al dus would admit no Gothick among his types; he constantly endeavour. ed to imitate manuscripts; that is those in the best running hand. which suggested to him the idea of the Italick character. His Roman letters were cast nearly in the form which was at first adopted by Vindelin de Spire. The two first alphabets were very imperfect, but the third is excellent, and far superiour, of its kind, to many modern ones. Having furnished his office with a numerous assortment of excellent Greek and Latin types, and having put it in full activity, he thought it right to adopt a particular mark for his house, to decorate the first or last page of his books, and frequently both. This mark, well known to be an anchor, surrounded by a dolphin, is justly celebrated in the annals of typography, under the name of the Aldine anchor. It is perhaps the best chosen mark which any printer ever adopted, and it is particularly suitable to him, who first determined that it should decorate his editions. The dolphin intimates swiftness, on account of the rapidity, with which it cuts the water. The anchor, on the contrary, is a mark of stability and firmness; which justly indicates, that in the prosecution of any pursuit, unceasing labour is necessary, united with deliberate reflection; a due degree of consideration in the formation of plans, but great celerity in their execution is well expressed by the Latin adage Festina lente.' To the anchor was attached his name divided. This mark was long employed exactly as Aldus had at first formed it. His sons having, in 1540, separated from those of Andrea, did not immediately change it; and with their new formula, apud Aldi filios,' they were satisfied with a fresh engraving of the ancient anchor. At length, in 1546, its simple form . underwent a considerable change, in which the words, Aldi filii,' were substituted for Aldus.' The greater part of the books, printed from the year 1546 to 1554, bear this new mark, which Paulus Manutius disused in 1555, probably at the period when he became sole master of the office. He afterwards resumed the simple anchor, which in the following years he sometimes surrounded with an oval ornament. The younger Aldus, dissatisfied with his cousin's adopting the same. mark, distinguished his editions by a very complicated one, and on the The anchor of Aldus attracted the attention of many printers, some of whom were desirous of enhancing the value of their editions, by placing in them, either the exact copy of this mark, or some one similar. Others less scrupulous forged it, and endeavoured to publish their editions as from the Aldine press. This mark of Aldus, with a few alterations, has frequently been adopted, by different printers, in the list of whom might be mentioned, Thierry Martin, Nicolas le Riche; at Venice, Hieronimo Scoto; at Brescia, Francesco and Pietro-Maria Marchetti; at Geneva, Jean Crespin and Eustache Vignon, &c. &c. &c. Such are the principal events in the life of Aldus the Elder, a man whose classical knowledge and critical skill were surpassed only by his unwearied exertions, and continued labours, in the cause of literature. These ensured him reputation and distinction whilst living, nor is it at all likely, that the deserved veneration which has so long been attached to his name, will be lost or even impaired, while classical literature shall possess one sincere votary, For the Anthology. TO THE AUTHOR OF THE 35th REMARKER, SIR, I CANNOT sufficiently admire your disinterestedness; that when, as you gravely tell us, you have already produced an ode superiour to Gray's 's on Spring, you should yet be willing to reduce the estimation in which he is held, purely out of regard to the interests of literature. Indeed, Sir, I fear that the publick will not be so impartial either toward Gray, or his imitator. The relative merit of this poet is a mere question of taste. I am charged, however, with having misrepresented Dr. Johnson; and this is a question of fact. If it was extravagant to assert, that he found nothing in Collins, but clusters of consonants, let us see what he allows him beside. He acknowledges, forsooth, that "his mind was not deficient in fire;" (admirable parsimony of doubtful praise !) and that "his efforts produced in happier moments, sublimity and splendour." The Doctor, lest he should be betrayed into excessive commendation, has contrived to bestow even this penurious praise on qualities, which Collins hardly possessed. Neither sublimity nor splendour is characterisick of Collins, but a delicacy of imagery, a tenderness, melancholy, and abstract elegance of sentiment, which Johnson was either unable, or unwilling to observe. When I ventured to say, that "if Pindar and Horace were poets, so too is Gray," it was not, as you seem to think, because they all wrote odes; but, as I attempted to show in the course of the essay, because they all have the same beauties, and, if you choose, the same faults. That there are no obscuri ties in either of them, which can long delay a reader of taste or attention, I am willing to believe; but that they have every where shades of meaning, and refinements of expression, the full beauty of which never reaches the sense of careless or vulgar minds, you love poetry I hope too well to deny. Thus in the Greek poet, whom Gray has imitated in the passage quoted, the phrase "the light of love shines on her purple cheeks" is poetical enough; but Gray though not more obscure, is, I will venture to say, far more poetical. For in describing. a goddess what is there unnat. ural or far-fetched in supposing the light, which encircles the features of this celestial being, to be tinged with the purple glow, which love diffuses over her cheeks? You may say, that this is to write like nobody but Gray. His admirers would not murmur if it were so; but they are reminded of Virgil— Namque ipsa decoram Cæsariem nato genitrix, lumenque juventæ Purpureum, & lætos oculis afflarat honores, N. L. 594 To defend the opinion of Burke would lead me into a discussion too long and metaphysical, as well as remote from the criticism expected in an essay. If you have lately read ex the last part of his treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful, and have amined the examples which he has there adduced, I must be allowed to wonder, that you should yet maintain that the strength of the impression, which we receive from poetical language always depends upon the exactness of the images conveyed. In lyrick poetry this is seldom the case; because this kind of poetry is chiefly employed about ideas generated within the mind, if the expression may be allowed, and consequently always in some degree obscure to those, whose intellects have not been exercised in similar contemplations. It is the character of this kind of poetry "to give to airy nothing a local habitation and a name;" and the force of the words used, often depends upon some fine associations and remote sympathies, with which the canvas has nothing to do. What is there absurd or unphilosophical in supposing, that an abstract word may excite a train of delicate and poetical associations in the mind, so as to affect it with sensible emotion, without presenting a definite picture? The reading of every man will furnish him with instances.* A passage from Burke may be op posed to the assertion of your anonymous reviewer of his treatise. "By words we have it in our power to make such combinations as we cannot possibly do otherwise By this power of combining we are able, by the addition of well chosen circumstances, to give a new life and force to the simple object. In painting we may represent any fine figure we please; but we never can give it those enlivening touches which it may receive from words. To represent an angel in a picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man winged: but what painting can furnish any thing so grand as the addition of one word," the angel of the Lord?" It is true, I have here no clear idea; but these words affect the In illustration of these remarks let us read again the lines which I quoted, where Gray pourtrays the queen of the loves. move O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom The bloom of young desire and purple light of love. mind more than the sensible image did; which is all I contend for. A picture of Priam dragged to the altar's foot, and there murdered, if it were well executed, would undoubtedly be very moving; but there are aggravating circumstances, which it could never represent : Sanguine fadantem quos ipse sacraverat ignes. those lines of Milton, where he describes As a further instance, let us consider the travels of the fallen angels through their dismal habitation: -O'er many a dark and dreary vale They pass'd, and many a region delorous; O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp ; Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death, A universe of death. Here is displayed the force of union in Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades: which yet would lose the greatest part of the effect, if they were not the Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades of Death. This idea or this affection caused by a word, which nothing but a word could annex to the others, raises a very great degree of the sublime; and this sublime is raised yet higher by what follows, a "universe of Death." Here are again two ideas not presentable but by language; and an union of them great and amazing beyond conception; if they may properly be called ideas which present no distinct image to the mind; but still it will be difficult to conceive how words can move the passions, which belong to real objects, without representing these objects clearly. This is difficult to us, because we do not sufficiently distinguish, in our observations upon language, between a clear expression,and a strong expressian.". Now the emotion which this picture excites, results not merely from the images of touch and motion, conveyed by the epithets warm cheek, and rising bosom, which are of course inapplicable to the canvas; but from the charming associations enveloped in the phrases of the second line, including ideas of youth, health, fragrance, lightness, ardour, grace, and lustre, with which this celestial being is instantly encircled in the imagination of every reader of taste and feeling. If you seriously inquire for the propriety or meaning of the epithet liquid in the line you have quoted, you will see, by reading the language of the aerial forms in the next stanza, that it means smooth, melodious, worthy of the skies; and this indeed is neither remarkably poetical, nor is it vulgar. But what shall we think of that criticism, which, to depreciate the force of Gray's numbers, resorts to ex. amples taken from the little jeu d'esprit on the drowning of a cat, and searches several odes for false rhymes, when more than half as many may be produced from the single ode of Dryden on Alexander's feast. Once more; either you or I have mistaken the mode of referring to the ode on the progress of poesy; for the passage to which I referred is the third stanza of the first ternary, and not of the third; which you may still think however no better than doggerel. There are some ears, which cannot distinguish be tween a jig and the movements in an oratorio; or, in American phrase, between Old Hundred and Yankee Doodle. The admirers of Gray will not only consent to be laughed at, but will even join in the luugh, when you shall produce your parody of the Bard. But they are not now first to learn that the highest sublimity is most susceptible of being burlesqued. Even the passage in Genesis, which extorted the admiration of Longinus, might be "guccessfully imitated," at least in his own opinion, by the man, who should say, "make a fire in my chamber, and the fire was made." You have closed your letter with a benevolent wish, which I beg leave to reciprocate with a little variation; that instead of employing your acknowledged talents as a poet, in burlesque imitations of Gray, you would have the goodness to give us an ode equal to the Bard. THE AUTHOR OF THE REMARKER, NO.34. For the Anthology. REMARKER, No. 36. Dicenda tacendaque calles? A DESCRIPTION of the several elasses of talkers, as in a former number of the different kinds of thinkers, might afford the readers of the Remarker no small share of entertainment. The man who spends his breath gratis, when he has nothing to say; the polite, who thinks it necessary to fill up, with any refuse from his store-house, every chasm in discourse, from the dread of a chilling pause; |