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A CHAPTER ON SIMILES. 



THERE is a simile in Virgil, so remarkably apposite and beautiful, 

 that 1 wonder it has escaped the notice of the commentators. It 

 occurs in the description of the boat-race, instituted, with other festi- 

 vities, in honour of Anchises. The crew of the victorious barge, 

 within sight of the goal, having distanced their competitors, suspend 

 their oars, and leave the boat propelled by the previous impulse, to 

 glide majestically to the goal. The motion of the boat under these 

 circumstances is compared to that of a bird, which, after a rapid 

 flight, suspends the action of its wings, and sweeps apparently without 

 an effort, through the yielding air : 



" Radit iter liquidum celeres neque demovet alas." 



There is a wonderful exactness and beauty in this illustration. It 

 possesses also an advantage (of which I shall afterwards discourse) 

 in being conversant with an object familiar to every one's experience. 



The language of poetry is essentially made up of similes. If, as it 

 has been pretended, the mind is possessed of two sets of faculties 

 one for finding resemblances, the other for detecting differences 

 poetry is peculiarly the employment of the first. The art of poetry, 

 in so far as it is an art, may be called the art of finding resemblances. 

 Hence the extensive use of the simile. For what are one half the 

 epithets in which poets do so delight, but indirect similes ? To talk 

 of the " rosy morn," what is it but to compare the tints of the 

 morning to the colours of the rose ? To say the f( moonbeam sleeps," 

 what is this but to liken the moonlight to a person taking his repose ? 

 To speak of " melancholy boughs," what is this but to compare a tree 

 to some bilious human subject? To talk of the " cock's shrill clarion," 

 what is this but to assimilate a bird to a trumpet ? Thus might we 

 go on to the end of the chapter, resolving the language of poetry into 

 similes, direct or indirect. Indeed, the three first words from the 

 Latin poet I have quoted contain two similes. The bird is said to 

 cut its way, evidently comparing his progress to that of some keen 

 weapon, that overcomes all resistance ; and that " way" is called 

 " liquid," or like water, because it yields so easily to impressions. 



Having premised thus much on the use and importance of the 

 simile, I proceed to remark that good similes, in these latter days, 

 are of rare occurrence. There is a visible decay in similes. They 

 want that freshness and originality which delight us in the old 

 masters. I speak here however, understand me, exclusively of our 

 more polished and fashionable productions. There are still some 

 good similes in the country, as I shall shortly proceed to prove ; 

 generally speaking, however, they run very indifferent; and. I am dis- 

 posed to attribute this deterioration to a fastidious and over scrupulous 

 refinement, produced by modern criticism, which, if it has given to 

 the productions of the present day a superiority in point of taste, has 



