narrations of treasons, insurrections, sieges, and battles; and the praises bestowed upon Livy, and other ancient writers, for having made the events they relate, with their causes, viz. the strong passions of men, so vividly present to the imagination of the reader, instead of being their glory, becomes their reproach. The history of nations ought, upon this principle, to be given in the most calm, concise manner, as a story upon which to fasten maxims, observations, and advice, but by no means to excite or interest; and what would formerly have been called the dullest book must be esteemed the best. What I have ventured to say of history will also apply to novels, and all works of fiction. Even the master-pieces of our painters and sculptors are liable to similar animadversion: in proportion as they excel in the higher departments of art they are dangerous. For what have been the subjects of such works, but the actions of men under the influence of strong passions?
Were the pleasures we derive from works of imagination discouraged and set aside, should we become more intellectual and more virtuous under their didactic matter-of-fact system? I apprehend not; but rather that the increase of gratifications allied to the inferior part of our
