liges Afrasiab to sue for peace. He rejects all terms of accommodation, slays Shydu, the son of Afrasiab, in single combat, and defeats the Turks in a general engagement. Afrasiab flies, and Ky Khoosroo pursues him. Another action is fought, which proves equally fatal to the Turks; and Afrasiab makes another effort to procure peace. He offers to purchase it by the cession of Cheen and Macheen; but Ky Khoosroo persists in the savage pleasure of prosecuting his revenge. The fort of Gung is taken by assault. Afrasaib makes his escape, and continues to make many gallant efforts to harass the enemy's army. He, at length meets with a complete overthrow, and is obliged to conceal himself in a cavern from the pursuit of the enemy. He is discovered, and brought before Ky Khoosroo. Ky Khoosroo insults the captive monarch with a mockery of his own justice, and gives a memorable example of it, by murdering the helpless king with his own hand. The king might affect to reconcile the savage barbarity of his conduct, by the duty which was imposed upon him, of destroying his father's murderer. Afrasiab was his grandfather; and (although led away by Kurshooz), had behaved to Seeavush hi a hospitable and princely

manner.

"Ky Khoosroo confers the government of Tooran upon Jihoom, the son of Afrasiab; and after a reign of sixty years, retires from the government and dies. Zal and Roostum still maintain the honour of the Persian arms; Godoorz, Toos, and Pureeboorz and Geo, unfortunately perish in the snow.

"I might be excused noticing any other part of the Shah Namu, as, if it be considered an epic poem, it must be supposed to end upon the destruction of Afrasiab; but I can

not persuade myself to leave the reader in ignorance of the fate of Roostum. After the death of Ky Khoosroo, he continues in the greatest favour with Kishtasp, and destroys Isfundeear, the son of this prince, who had rebelled against his father. This story is related at great length, and with great spirit: but I have already exceeded the limits of my design, and must pass it over in silence. Roostum is driven to the greatest extremity, and is obliged to rely upon the assistance of the Seemoorgh. She furnishes him with one of her feathers, which he fixes upon one of his arrows, and discharges it against Isfundecar. The arrow pieces through both his eyes. This is the last memorable action of this celebrated warrior. His brother, Shughad, conspires against him; and contrives that he shall fall into a pit which he had purposely filled with spears, and other sharp pointed weapons. He falls by the hand of Roostum; but Roostum also becomes the victim of his treachery.

"It would require an elaborate work to give a just criticism of the Shah Namu; my aim is but a faint sketch. The poetry of the Shah Namu is undoubtedly original; no other Persian poet (as far as I know) has attempted this species of composition. The Shah Namu is more remarkable for its strength than its sweetness; although it is in many parts as harmonious as the versification of Jamee. In a work of such great length, there will doubtless be a number of faulty lines, many of them evidently composed for the sake of the verse. In many instances the poet is tedious and uninteresting, particularly in his account of the discovery of Ky Khoosroo He is often too minute; and, by making description particular, makes

"The poets who have succeeded Ferdousee have borrowed largely of him; but the pure fountain of the Shah Namu has been strangely defiled: nor have his own waters escaped from pollution. Two of three Shah Namus are at least requisite to be able to read his works with any degree of accuracy or satisfaction. The works of Ferdousee, if not snatched from their approaching fate, will be rendered useless by the folly and ignorance of his transcribers. Ferdousee informs us, that the Shah Namu contains 60,000 couplets; but I doubt whether there be a copy which does not contain either more or less than this number of verses. Ferdousee was praised, and patronised by princes; but their protection could only secure him from the vengeance of Mahmood; it remains for the present age to rescue him from the hands of barbarous Katibs, and, by printing an accurate copy of his work, to perpetuate the fame of the sublimest-Persian poet.

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FTER viewing the senate, the bar, and the pulpit, as fields for the display of eloquence, and marking the difficulties pecus liar to each, it may be proper to establish a standard for judging of the preacher's merit, when called to practise his art. There are certain great rules in composition, by which discourses of every kind are regulated, and which those distinguished for rhetorical talents never neglect. There are others which, when duly observed, constitute more immediately the beauty of sermons, and which lead to eminence in that very delicate species of writing. A successful preacher must feel precisely the nature of the duty required of him. This duty, if properly apprehended, will be understood to be both arduous and interesting. It supposes the person undertaking it to combat propensities not easily resisted, and to mortify the pride of man, by holding out to him a just, though an humbling picture. He who flatters the prejudices, or extenuates the vices of his audience, is a traitor to the cause which he espouses. Though the avowed friend of virtue, he is its secret enemy; and he seeks the favour of others, at the expence of every thing valuable to himself.

"But it is the business of the preacher, not only to deter others from the commission of what is evil, but also to persuade them to the practice of what is good. With a view to impress his doctrines upon their hearts, he must appeal to their understandings, Genuine eloquence shews

itself by operating upon each, and renders both subservient to one common end. It gives permanence to the emotion, that would be otherwise transient, and energy to the conviction, that must stimulate an agent by influencing his will.

"In order to produce an effect so difficult and momentous, every part of a sermon must be composed with care. Though a man of genius shews himself even in a production that is hasty, yet he wounds the discerning critic, who catches the least defect, and perceives its cause. His audience is often blamed, when the fault is not theirs. Had the rules of his art been observed, he might have summoned the attention which they would have been willing to yield. He might have done so, indeed, by means of which they were unconscious, and exhibited a species of skill the more meritorious, that it was unperceived.

"The ability of the preacher is perhaps never put to a severer test, than when he begins to address his audience. Every ear he finds then open, and every mind unoccupied. He has to court the attention of his hearers, without seeming to obtrude himself upon it. He must appear the friend of those whom he addresses, and less anxious to exhibit skill in his art, than to promote their interest. His subject must be held forth as important, and such, at the same time, as may be easily and shortly discussed. The docility of his hearers must be secured by the removal of every prepossession against the point which he means to establish.

establish. His manner ought to be calm and dispassionate. Far from striking a note at the outset which he cannot afterwards reach, he must conceal and keep in reserve those powers, by which he is to animate his audience. In the introductions of Demosthenes, the orator almost forgets himself, and presses forward to the business with an ardour, which he seems often unable to check.

"In the division of his discourse, the preacher gives a specimen of his talents as a logician. The distribution must be so conducted, that nothing essential is omitted, and nothing superfluous introduced. Each part, of course, stands clear of the rest, however nearly allied to them. The subject must be exhausted by the parts, into which it is divided; and all the points of consequence should appear to have been at once in the speaker's eye. The simplest of these should take place of those that are complex; so that, by the regularity of their arrangement, the whole becomes luminous. A division thus conducted pleases the discerning, and arrests their notice. It is the surest means also of informing the ignorant, who suffer from the confusion of superficial instructors. It rests on those first principles of reasoning which all inherit from na ture, though they are improved by few.

"When the preacher is called to relate, which is seldom the case, his narration should be distinct and concise. Men would withhold their attention from what his dulness émbarrasses, and would grudge also to have it needlessly prolonged. The same rules, which are his guides when he relates, should be so like wise when he explains. His style should be simple and correct, and void of any ornament that might di

vert the hearer's attention. The doctrine of his text should be distinctly stated, and the slightest boundary marked by which it is separated from that of other texts, though nearly allied to it.

"Each of the parts of a sermon thus treated holds a distinct place, and presents itself. in a train that cannot be altered. Rhetoricians talk also of the argumentative and the pathetic parts. These, however, appear rather to be qualities diffusing themselves over the whole, than the separate constituents of a discourse. From no one part of it can argument be banished; and an orator may see reason to rouse the feelings of his audience at very different times.→ Informing and arranging his arguments the preacher gives as clear proofs of the correctness of his conceptions, as in dividing his discourse. Those drawn from topics essentially distinct, should not be blend. ed; and those that are similar, should not be set asunder. By preserving uniformity in this respect, confusion is avoided. Whatever embarrasses the hearer, diminishes the speaker's power: and the general impression is enfeebled, when the means, intended to excite it, are not duly distinguished.

"In the arrangement of arguments, too, much art may be displayed. There are times when the most powerful should take the lead, and the least so should follow.— There are others, when this order should be reversed, and when the speaker should seem to abandon every preliminary argument, and rest upon the last. Above all things, he should beware of multiplying them needlessly. By thus seeming to distrust his cause, he makes others do so; and vain would be the attempt to balance, by the number of

his arguments, any deficiency in their strength.

"In the due management of the pathetic part of a discourse, more talent is requisite than in that of the argumentative. To excel in the former, delicate sensibility must be united with a sound understanding. This sensibility must be under the controul of reason, and must display itself only in its proper place. An injudicious attempt to rouse the feelings of an audience, disgusts the discerning, and produces on the simple no permanent effect. -If the audience anticipates the speaker's intention to move them, they are instantly set upon their guard. Afraid of becoming the dupes, they become the critics, of his eloquence. They will yield to an indirect, when they would resist any studied attempt; and they will behold with coldness that false animation in the speaker, in which they cannot participate.

"As much art is requisite to raise such high emotions, so no less is requisite to preserve them in their native vigour. The style of a pathetic orator will exhibit an artless simplicity. He will feel too strongly the animated conception which he excites in others, to chare those resemblances which present themselves to his fancy when cool. He will sacrifice every thing to the object then before him, which is to touch the heart. A false ornament he will feel to be a studied deformity, and he will keep the emotion, which he has had the art to excite, in the channel in which he wishes it to run. He, who attempts to be pathetic long, can never be so at all. A real orator allows the feelings of his audience to unbend, before they are strained. Heleaves the tone of passion gradually, and cautiously avoids she dangers of too hasty a descent.

"When the preacher comes to his peroration, he must be careful to maintain the ground that he has acquired. He must neither end abruptly, nor try the patience of his hearers, by dwelling upon matter that is trivial, or foreign. Every conviction produced upon their understandings, he must fortify, by rousing the feelings of their hearts. He must retire from the pulpit with a good grace, leaving on the minds of his audience an impression, that in his reasoning there was no sophistry, and that the sole object of his exertion was to persuade them to what is good.

"From the general difficulties, then, that attends the eloquence which belongs to the pulpit, and the art that is necessary for composing a single discourse, it must be no easy matter to earn the reputation of a distinguished preacher. He, who stands high in this department of letters, must have suffered and done much. If we examine a few of Dr. Blair's sermons by the rules which we have attempted to establish, we shall be the more disposed, perhaps, to admire what they present as excellent, and to forgive what may seem to deserve censure.

"In the ninth sermon of the third volume, he discourses upon idleness, and views this habit in a light, in

which it is not commonly considered, as a violation of religious duty. His text is in Matthew, xx. 6. and the words are, Why stand you here all the day idle?'

"The view taken by Dr. Blair of his subject in this sermon is simple and natural. He proposes to prove, and does so incontrovertibly, that the idle man fails in duty to God, to the world, and to himself. Nothing extraneous appears in the discourse; and though the train of ideas is con

ducted