Dr. Parr is indignant at such surmises; but the feeling is more honourable than the decision! In an admirable character of Warburton in the “Westminster Magazine” for 1779, it is acknowledged, “at his outset in life he was suspected of being inclined to infidelity; and it was not till many years had elapsed, that the orthodoxy of his opinions was generally assented to.” On this Dr. Parr observes, “Why Dr. Warburton was ever suspected of secret infidelity I know not. What he was inclined to think on subjects of religion, before, perhaps, he had leisure or ability to examine them, depends only upon obscure surmise, or vague report.” The words inclined to think seems a periphrase for secret infidelity. Our critic attributes these reports to “an English dunce, whose blunders and calumnies are now happily forgotten, and repeated by a French buffoon, whose morality is not commensurate with his wit.”—Tracts by Warburton, &c., p. 186.
“The English Dunce” I do not recollect; of this sort there are so many! Voltaire is “the French buffoon;” who, indeed, compares Warburton in his bishopric, to Peachum in the Beggar’s Opera—who, as Keeper of Newgate, was for hanging all his old accomplices!
Warburton was far more extravagant in a later attempt which he made to expound the odd visions of a crack-brained Welshman, a prophesying knave; a knave by his own confession, and a prophet by Warburton’s. This commentary, inserted in Jortin’s “Remarks on Ecclesiastical History,” considerably injured the reputation of Jortin. The story of Warburton and his Welsh Prophet would of itself be sufficient to detect the shiftings and artifices of his genius. Rice or Arise Evans! was one of the many prophets who rose up in Oliver’s fanatical days; and Warburton had the hardihood to insert, in Jortin’s learned work, a strange commentary to prove that Arise Evans, in Cromwell’s time, in his “Echo from Heaven,” had manifestly prophesied the Hanoverian Succession! The Welshman was a knave by his own account in subscribing with his right hand the confession he calls his prophecy, before a justice, and with his left, that which was his recantation, signed before the recorder, adding, “I know the bench and the people thought I recanted; but, alas! they were deceived;” and this Warburton calls “an uncommon fetch of wit,” to save the truth of the prophecy, though not the honour of the prophet. If Evans meant anything, he meant what was then floating in all men’s minds, the probable restoration of the Stuarts. By this prelude of that inventive genius which afterwards commented, in the same spirit, on the Æneid of Virgil, and the “Divine Legation, itself,” and made the same sort of discoveries, he fixed himself in this dilemma: either Warburton was a greater impostor than Arise Evans, or he was more credulous than even any follower of the Welsh prophet, if he really had any. But the truth is, that Warburton was always writing for a present purpose, and believed, and did not believe, as it happened. “Ordinary men believe one side of a contradiction at a time, whereas his lordship” (says his admirable antagonist) “frequently believes, or at least defends both. So that it would have been no great wonder if he should maintain that Evans was both a real prophet and an impostor.” Yet this is not the only awkward attitude into which Warburton has here thrown himself. To strain the vision of the raving Welshman to events of which he could have no notion, Warburton has plunged into the most ludicrous difficulties, all which ended, as all his discoveries have done, in making the fortune of an adversary who, like the Momus of Homer, has raised through the skies “inextinguishable laughter,” in the amusing tract of “Confusion worse Confounded, Rout on Rout, or the Bishop of G——’s Commentary on Arise Evans; by Indignatio,” 1772. The writer was the learned Henry Taylor, the author of Ben Mordecai’s Apology.
The correct taste of Lowth with some humour describes the last sentence of the “Enquiry on Prodigies” as “the Musa Pedestris got on horseback in a high prancing style.” He printed it in measured lines, without, however, changing the place of a single word, and it produced blank verse. Thus it reads—
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“Methinks I see her like the mighty Eagle renewing her immortal youth, and purging her opening sight at the unobstructed beams of our benign meridian Sun,” &c. |
Such a glowing metaphor, in the uncouth prose of Warburton, startled Lowth’s classical ear. It was indeed “the Musa Pedestris who had got on horseback in a high prancing style;” for as it has since been pointed out, it is a well-known passage towards the close of the Areopagitica of Milton, whose prose is so often purely poetical. See Birch’s Edition of Milton’s Prose Works, I. 158. Warburton was familiarly conversant with our great vernacular writers at a time when their names generally were better known than their works, and when it was considered safe to pillage their most glorious passages. Warburton has been convicted of snatching their purple patches, and sewing them into his coarser web, without any acknowledgment; he did this in the present remarkable instance, and at a later day, in the preface to his “Julian,” he laid violent hands on one of Raleigh’s splendid metaphors.
When Warburton was considered as a Colossus of literature, Ralph, the political writer, pointed a severe allusion to the awkward figure he makes in these Dedications. “The Colossus himself creeps between the legs of the late Sir Robert Sutton; in what posture, or for what purpose, need not be explained.”