s, than when viewed apart.
From the same principle we may account for that remark of historians,
that any party in a civil war always choose to call in a foreign enemy
at any hazard rather than submit to their fellow-citizens. Guicciardin
applies this remark to the wars in Italy, where the relations betwixt
the different states are, properly speaking, nothing but of name,
language, and contiguity. Yet even these relations, when joined with
superiority, by making the comparison more natural, make it likewise
more grievous, and cause men to search for some other superiority, which
may be attended with no relation, and by that means may have a less
sensible influence on the imagination. The mind quickly perceives its
several advantages and disadvantages; and finding its situation to be
most uneasy, where superiority is conjoined with other relations, seeks
its repose as much as possible, by their separation, and by breaking
that association of ideas, which renders the comparison so much more
natural and efficacious. When it cannot break the association, it feels
a stronger desire to remove the superiority; and this is the reason why
travellers are commonly so lavish of their praises to the Chinese and
Persians, at the same time, that they depreciate those neighbouring
nations, which may stand upon a foot of rivalship with their native
country.
These examples from history and common experience are rich and curious;
but we may find parallel ones in the arts, which are no less remarkable.
should an author compose a treatise, of which one part was serious and
profound, another light and humorous, every one would condemn so strange
a mixture, and would accuse him of the neglect of all rules of art and
criticism. These rules of art are founded on the qualities of human
nature; and the quality of human nature, which requires a consistency in
every performance is that which renders the mind incapable of passing
in a moment from one passion and disposition to a quite different
one. Yet this makes us not blame Mr Prior for joining his Alma and his
Solomon in the same volume; though that admirable poet has succeeded
perfectly well in the gaiety of the one, as well as in the melancholy
of the other. Even supposing the reader should peruse these two
compositions without any interval, he would feel little or no difficulty
in the change of passions: Why, but because he considers these
performances as entirely different, and by this br
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