THE PERSECUTED LEARNED.

VIRGILIUS, Biſhop of Saliſbury, hav⯑ing written, that there exiſted Anti⯑podes; Boniface, Archbiſhop of Mayence, the Pope's Legate, declared him a heretic, and conſigned him to the flames.

Galileo, becauſe he believed in the Copernican Syſtem, now univerſally eſtabliſhed, was con⯑demned at Rome publicly to diſavow ſentiments the truth of which muſt have been to him abundantly manifeſt.

[2] The moſt valued of Gabriel Naudé's works is his Apology for thoſe great Men who have been accuſed of Magic. In that book, he has recorded a melancholy number of the moſt eminent ſcholars, who have found, that to have been ſucceſsful in their ſtudies, was a ſucceſs which harraſſed them with a continued perſe⯑cution, that ſometimes led them into the priſon, and ſometimes bound them to the ſtake.

Urbé Grandier, for whoſe life, replete with intereſting anecdote, I refer the reader to Bayle, was burnt alive through the machina⯑tions of a rival, who formed a conſpiracy againſt this amiable and unfortunate ſcholar, by contriving to get the depoſitions of ſome nuns to prove the crime of magic. Theſe wo⯑men muſt have been guilty of the moſt horrid perjuries.

Cornelius Agrippa was neceſſitated to fly his country, and the enjoyments of a rich income, merely for having diſplayed a few philoſophical experiments which now every ſchool-boy can [3] perform. The people beheld him as an object of horror; and not infrequently, when he walked the ſtreets, he found them empty at his approach. He died, of diſeaſe and famine, in an hoſpital.

In the preſent day, when the lights of philo⯑ſophy have become ſo generally expanded, we perceive the little foundation of all theſe accuſa⯑tions of magic. What a dreadful chain muſt there have been of perjuries and conſpiracies! One is willing to imagine, for the honour of human nature, that ſo deep a malignity, and ſo ſedate a cruelty, could not have tainted the heart of men; but the ſimple recital of hiſtory forms, too often, the ſevereſt ſatire on human nature.

Our great Roger Bacon, by a degree of pene⯑tration which perhaps has never been equalled, diſcovered ſome of the moſt occult ſecrets in Nature. She ſeems, indeed—if I may ſo ex⯑preſs myſelf—to have ſtood naked before him. His honours have been ſtolen from him by [4] more modern authors, who have appeared in⯑ventors when they were copying Bacon. Yet, for the reward of all his intenſe ſtudies, the holy brethren, and the infallible Majeſty of Rome, occaſioned him to languiſh in priſon during the greater part of his life.

The catalogue of the Perſecuted Learned is indeed voluminous. We need not waſte our tears on fictitious ſorrows, while the remem⯑brance of theſe men ſhall exiſt!

FRIAR BACON.

MY zeal for the memory of this illuſtrious ſcholar impels me to tranſcribe, which it will be found I ſeldom do, from a book that is in every body's hands. From the faithful and laborious Henry, have I collected what follows concerning Roger Bacon—

' We cannot but lament that Friar Bacon met with ſo many diſcouragements in the pur⯑ſuit of uſeful knowledge. If he had lived in [5] better times, or if he had even been permitted to proſecute that courſe of enquiries and expe⯑riments in which he engaged after his return from Paris, it is highly probable that the world would have many valuable diſcoveries that are ſtill unknown.

' An excellent modern writer, Dr. Friend, having enumerated ſome of Bacon's diſcoveries, adds—"Theſe are wonderful diſcoveries for a man to make in ſo ignorant an age, who had no maſter to teach him, but ſtruck it all out of his own brain: but it is ſtill more wonderful that ſuch diſcoveries ſhould lie ſo long con⯑cealed; till, in the next ſucceeding centuries, other people ſhould ſtart up, and lay claim to thoſe very inventions to which Bacon alone had a right."

' Bacon diſcovered the art of making Read⯑ing-glaſſes, the Camera Obſcura, Microſcopes, Teleſcopes, and various other mathematical and aſtronomical inſtruments. He diſcovered a method of performing all the chymical opera⯑tions [6] that are now in uſe. He combined the mechanical powers in ſo wonderful a manner, that it was for this he was accuſed of magic. His diſcoveries in medicine were by no means unimportant. That the ingredients of gun⯑powder, and the art of making it, were well known to him, is now undeniable: but the humane philoſopher, dreading the conſequences of communicating this diſcovery to the world, tranſpoſed the letters of the Latin words which ſignify Charcoal, which made the whole obſcure. It was done thus—Luru mope can vbre, (car⯑bonum pulvere.) By this means he rendered it difficult to diſcover this dangerous ſecret by the peruſal of his works; and, at the ſame time, ſecured to himſelf the honour of having known it, by ſpecifying the other ingredients, if it ſhould be diſcovered by any other perſon. This accordingly happened after Bacon's death; for, about the beginning of the four⯑teenth century, one Barthold Schwartz, a Ger⯑man monk, and chymiſt, accidentally diſco⯑vered [7] gunpowder, as he was pounding ſalt⯑petre, ſulphur, and charcoal, in a mortar, for ſome other purpoſe.'

To this we may add, that the Chineſe em⯑ployed gunpowder in their wars; and were familiar with the art of printing, probably, ſome centuries before we made uſe of them in Europe.

Though Bacon is mentioned, in this artical, as the inventor of optical glaſſes, Marville gives a curious piece of information. He ſays, that 'it is generally known, that James Metius, a Dutchman, invented, in 1609, ſpectacles and teleſcopes; and that Galileo, being at Venice, imitated as well as he could a teleſcope, and aſtoniſhed the learned Venetians from the tower of St. Mark with this novel invention.' And he adds—'But there are few who know that the principles of optics, on which teleſcopes are formed, are to be found in Euclid, and in the antient geometricians; and that it is through want of reflection that this wonderful inven⯑tion, [8] as well as many others, have remained ſo long concealed in the majeſty of Nature, as Pliny expreſſes it, till chance has drawn them out.'

THE RECOVERY OF MANUSCRIPTS.

IT was a Florentine who found buried in a heap of duſt, and in a rotten coffer belonging to the monaſtery of Saint Gal, the works of Quintilian; and, by this fortunate diſcovery, gave them to the Republic of Letters.

Papirius Maſſon found, in the houſe of a book-binder of Lyons, the works of Agobart. The mechanic was on the point of uſing the manuſcripts to line the covers of his books.

Raimond Soranzo, a celebrated lawyer in the Papal Court at Avignon, about the middle of the fourteenth century, had in his poſſeſſion the two books of Cicero on Glory. He made a preſent of them to Petrarch, who lent them to an aged and poor man of letters, formerly his [9] preceptor. Urged by extreme poverty, the old man pawned them; and, returning home, died ſuddenly, without having revealed where he had left them: ſince which time they have never been recovered.

Leonard Aretin was one of the moſt diſtin⯑guiſhed ſcholars at the dawn of literature; but he has done that which reflects on him great diſhonour. He found a Greek manuſcript of Procopius de Bello Gothico. This he tranſlated into Latin, and publiſhed the work as his own. Since, however, other manuſcripts of the ſame work have been diſcovered; and the fraud of Leonard Aretin is apparent.

Machiavel acted more adroitly in a ſimilar caſe. A manuſcript of the Apophthegms of the Ancients, by Plutarch, having fallen into his hands, he ſelected thoſe which pleaſed him, and put them into the mouth of one of his heroes.

A page of the ſecond Decade of Livy was found by a man of letters on the parchment of [10] his battledore, as he was amuſing himſelf in the country. He ran directly to the maker of the battledore: but arrived too late; the man had finiſhed the laſt page of Livy, in compleat⯑ing a large order for theſe articles about a week before.

Sir Robert Cotton, being one day at his tailor's, diſcovered that the man held in his hand, ready to be cut up for meaſures, the ori⯑ginal Magna Charta, with all it's appendages of ſeals and ſignatures. He bought this ſingular curioſity for a trifle; and recovered, in this man⯑ner, what had long been given over for loſt.—As this anecdote is entirely new to me, it may be proper to point out that it is taken from the Colomeſiana, page 186.

Whether the Poems of Rowley be originals, adulterations, or the compoſitions of Chatter⯑ton, I do not venture to decide: this, how⯑ever, is certain, that the finding them in the worm-eaten cheſt, in the antient church at Briſtol, has a very claſſical appearance, and is [11] undoubtedly in the nature of ſuch diſcoveries. It is not probable—for he was, I believe, igno⯑rant of the French language—that poor Chat⯑terton, like me, had laboured through all the Ana, and caught the idea from their peruſal.

We might be inclined to forgive a ſkilful forgery of the two books of Cicero on Glory: they muſt have been very important and curi⯑ous; for no man was more enthuſiaſtically fond of glory than this orator. Petrarch ſpeaks of them with extaſy; and informs us, that he ſtudied them perpetually.

SKETCHES OF CRITICISM.

THE greateſt authors of antiquity have ſmarted under the laſh of Criticiſm. Chevrau has collected a great number of inſtances. Leſt I ſhould prove tedious, I only ſelect a few.

It was given out, that Homer had ſtolen from Heſiod whatever was moſt remarkable in the [12] Iliad and Odyſſey. The Emperor Caligula ſuppreſſed the works of this great poet; and gave, for reaſon, that he certainly had as much right as Plato, who had ſo ſeverely condemned him.

Sophocles was brought to trial by his chil⯑dren as a lunatic: and ſome, who blamed the inequalities of this poet, have alſo con⯑demned the vanity of Pindar; the hard and rough verſes of Aeſchylus; and the manner in which Euripides conducted his plots.

Socrates, who has even been compared to Jeſus Chriſt, as the wiſeſt and the moſt moral of men, Cicero has treated as an uſurer, and Athenaeus as an illiterate perſon. Mr. Cum⯑berland, in one of his Obſervers, has induſtri⯑ouſly revived a calumny which moſt aſſuredly only took it's riſe from the malignant buffoonery of Ariſtophanes; who, as Jortin ſays, was a great wit, but a great raſcal. Should ſome fu⯑ture author draw his anecdotes from the writ⯑ings of Foote, or of Peter Pindar, we know well that he might delineate a ſpirited cha⯑racter; [13] but nothing, at the ſame time, would be more fictitious.

Plato, who has been called, by Clement of Alexandria, the Moſes of Athens; the Philo⯑ſopher of the Chriſtians, by Arnobius; and the God of Philoſophers, by Cicero; has un⯑dergone a variety of criticiſms. Athenaeus accuſes him of envy; Theopompus, of lying; Suidas, of avarice; Aulus Gellius, of robbery; Porphyry, of incontinence; and Ariſtophanes, of impiety.

Ariſtotle, who according to ſome writers has compoſed more than four hundred vo⯑lumes, and who for his work on animals re⯑ceived from Alexander eight hundred talents, has not been leſs ſpared by the critics. Dio⯑genes Laertius, Cicero, and Plutarch, have forgotten nothing that can tend to ſhew his ignorance, his ambition, and his vanity.

If the reader does not feel himſelf weary, he may read on.

Virgil is deſtitute of invention, if we are to [14] give credit to Pliny, Carbilius, and Seneca. Caligula has abſolutely denied him even medi⯑ocrity; Herennus has marked his faults; and Perilius Fauſtinus has furniſhed a thick vo⯑lume with his plagiariſms. Even the author of his Apology has confeſſed, that he has ſtolen from Homer his greateſt beauties.

Horace cenſures the coarſe humour of Plau⯑tus; and Horace, in his turn, has been blamed for fiction and obſcurity.

The majority of the critics regard Pliny's Hiſtory only as a pleaſing romance; and ſeem to have quite as little reſpect for Quintus Curtius.

Pliny cannot bear Diodorus and Vopiſcus; and, in one comprehenſive criticiſm, treats all the hiſtorians as narrators of fables.

Livy has been reproached for his averſion to the Gauls; Dion, for his hatred of the Re⯑public; Velleius Paterculus, for ſpeaking too kindly of the vices of Tiberius; and Hero⯑dotus and Plutarch, for their exceſſive par⯑tiality [15] to their own country. Others have ſaid of Cicero, that there is no connection, and, to adopt their own figure, no blood and nerves, in what his admirers ſo warmly ex⯑tol. They ſay, he is cold in his extempo⯑raneous effuſions, too artificial in his exor⯑diums, trifling in his ſtrained witticiſms, and tireſome in his digreſſions.

Quintilian does not ſpare Seneca; and De⯑moſthenes, called by Cicero the Prince of Orators, has, according to Hermippus, more of art than of nature. To Demades, his ora⯑tions appear too much laboured; others have thought him too dry; and, if we may truſt Eſchines, his language is by no means pure.

Should we proceed with this liſt to our own country, and our own times, it might be curiouſly augmented; but, perhaps, enough has been ſaid, to ſoothe irritated genius, and to ſhame faſtidious criticiſm. 'I would beg the critics to remember,' the Earl of Roſcommon writes, in his Preface to his Verſion of Horace's Art [16] of Poetry, 'that Horace owed his favour and his fortune to the character given of him by Virgil and Varius; that Fundanius and Pollio are ſtill valued by what Horace ſays of them; and that, in their Golden Age, there was a good underſtanding among the ingenious, and thoſe who were the moſt eſteemed were the beſt⯑natured.' I would hope, in ſpite of the daily cries we hear from diſappointed writers, that thoſe Journaliſts, whoſe ſtyle and ſentiments render them reſpectable in the eyes of every man of letters, maintain with rigid integrity the fountains of criticiſm pure and incor⯑rupt. They cannot be inſenſible that their volumes are not merely read, and then forgot⯑ten; but that they will remain as ſurviving witneſſes, for or againſt them, from century to century.

TARTARIAN LIBRARIES.

CARDINAL Perron, in the Perroniana, has the following curious article of intelligence: 'In that part of Tartary which belongs to the kingdom of Perſia there exiſts a flouriſhing univerſity, where the Arabs cultivate literature. Gioan Baptiſta Remondi, who was the firſt who cauſed books in the Arabic language to be printed in Europe, and who had even ſtudied in this univerſity, has pretended to ſay, that there were a number of Arabic books tranſlated from many Greek authors who re⯑main unknown to the Europeans. It was the Arabians who have preſerved a book of Archi⯑medes: with many authors who have written on mathematics; ſuch as Apollonius Pergeaeus, and even Ariſtotle, Hippocrates, and Galen.'

To this account may be added that which Bell has given us in his Travels to Tartary. It is—'That in Siberia there exiſts an uncom⯑mon [18] library, the rooms of which are filled with ſcrolls of glazed paper, fairly wrote, and many of them in gilt characters. The language in which they are written is that of the Tonguſts, or Calmucs. Perhaps,' he adds, 'they may contain ſome valuable pieces of antiquity, par⯑ticularly ancient hiſtory.'

At Mount Athos, Mr. Andrews, in his Anec⯑dotes, informs us, 'That travellers agree there are ſeveral monaſteries with libraries full of books, which are illegible to thoſe holy bro⯑therhoods, but whoſe contents are probably well worth inſpection.'

Every captain, who can write his own log⯑book, has of late obtruded his diſcoveries of every ten yards of land he has happened to ob⯑ſerve, and worked up into pathos his account of ſtorms and ſhort proviſions. If they would, in their voyages, endeavour to bring ſome in⯑formation, or ſome materials of this kind, to Europe, a new ſource of knowledge would be opened to our contemplation; many books, [19] which are now loſt, might probably be reco⯑vered; Science might be enlarged, and Amuſe⯑ment gratified.

THE BIBLIOMANIA.

SHOULD ever the idea thrown out in the laſt article be put into practice, the learned muſt be careful, in their zeal, of not becoming the dupes of the artful illiterate. The preſent anecdote may ſerve as a beacon.

The Bibliomania, or the collecting an enor⯑mous heap of books, has long been the rage with ſome who would fain paſs themſelves upon us for men of vaſt erudition. Some, in⯑dulging this luxury of literature, deſirous of forming an immenſe and curious library, have ſcoured all Europe, and ſent out travellers to the Indies to diſcover ancient books, or ſcarce manuſcripts. This has occaſioned many cheats and impoſitions. Towards the end of the laſt century, ſome ignorant or knaviſh men ſent to [20] Paris a number of Arabic manuſcripts, in ex⯑cellent condition and clear characters. They were received with all imaginable reſpect by the eager collectors of books; they were ra⯑pidly purchaſed at a high price: but, lo! when they were examined by the connoiſſeurs, theſe manuſcripts, which were held ſo ineſtimable, were diſcovered to be books of accounts and regiſters, cleanly tranſcribed by certain Arabian merchants.—Riſum teneatis, Amici!

A ſimilar impoſition was practiſed on the great Peireſc. It was reported, that the Ethiopians were in poſſeſſion of a book writ⯑ten by Enoch. Many literati in Europe had long ardently deſired to inſpect it, as they imagined it would contain many valuable ſe⯑crets and unknown hiſtories. Upon this, ſome impoſtor having got an Ethiopic book into his hands, he wrote for the title, 'The Prophecies and Hiſtory of Enoch,' upon the front page. M. Peireſc no ſooner heard of it, than he pur⯑chaſed it of the impoſtor for a conſiderable ſum [21] of money. Being afterwards placed in Car⯑dinal Mazarine's library, there Ludolf, famous for his ſkill in Ethiopic literature, had acceſs to it; when, lo! this Hiſtory of Enoch was diſcovered to be nothing more than a Gnoſtic Treatiſe upon the Myſteries of Heaven and Earth, but which did not mention one word concerning Enoch.

THE TURKS.

CHARPENTIER, in the Carpenteriana, ſays that the Turks, whom the vulgar literati re⯑gard as having neglected the ſciences and literature in general, have many particular and general hiſtories, from Oſman, the firſt of their emperors, to the preſent. In the library of the King of France, there are a number of theſe hiſtorians. None have yet been tranſlated, but the Annals of Leunclavius; which, however, are not very conſiderable. The library of the Great Turk forms a part of his treaſures; and [22] there are hiſtorians paid by him, who record, with care and accuracy, the actions and the conqueſts of their Princes.

There are colleges eſtabliſhed at Conſtan⯑tinople, where the Alcoran, the Mathematics, and Rhetoric, are taught: but it is principally at Cairo where there are a multitude of ſcho⯑lars, who live by tranſcribing books; as once was practiſed in the univerſity of Paris, where the ſcribes aſſembled, ſometimes to the number of twenty or thirty thouſand. The invention of the art of printing having deprived them of the means of ſubſiſtence, they have diſap⯑peared. It is to prevent the ſame inconvenience, that printing is prohibited throughout the Ot⯑toman Empire.

When a Jew, who was a famous Dutch printer, brought to Conſtantinople printing-preſſes, &c. to introduce the art of printing in that city, the Vizir cauſed him to be hanged; declaring, that it would be a great cruelty that one man ſhould enrich himſelf by taking the [23] bread of eleven thouſand ſcribes, who gained their living by their pen.

THE PORTRAITS OF AUTHORS.

WITH the ancients, it was undoubtedly a cuſtom to place the portraits of Authors before their works. Martial will ſerve as a teſtimony in this caſe. The hundred and eighty-ſixth Epigram of his fourteenth Book is a mere play on words, concerning a little volume which contained the works of Virgil, and which had his portrait prefixed to it. The volume and the characters muſt have been very diminutive. Antiquity records many ſuch penmen, whoſe glory conſiſted in writing in ſo ſmall a hand, that it was not legible to the naked eye. One wrote a verſe of Homer on a grain of millet; and another, more trifling and indefatigable, tranſcribed the whole Iliad in ſo conſined a ſpace, that it could be incloſed in a nut ſhell. Menage ſays, that theſe things [24] are not ſo improbable as they ſeem. This trifling art is not loſt in modern times. He ſays, he has read whole ſentences which were not perceptible to the eye without the aſſiſtance of the microſcope. He has even ſeen portraits and pictures of the ſame kind; and, which ſeems wonderful, what appeared lines and ſcratches thrown down at random, were letters in capitals: and the lineaments of Madame la Dauphiné's face were preſerved with the moſt pleaſing delicacy, and with correctneſs of reſemblance. He read alſo an Italian poem, in praiſe of this princeſs, which contained ſome thouſands of verſes; [I tranſcribe his words] It was written, by an officer, in a ſpace of a foot and a half.

Martial is not the only writer who takes notice of the ancients prefixing their portraits to their works. Seneca, in his ninth chapter on the Tranquillity of the Soul, complains of many of the luxurious great, who—like ſo many of our own—poſſeſſed libraries as they [25] do their eſtates and equipages. 'It is melan⯑choly to obſerve,' he continues, 'how the portraits of men of genius, and the works of their divine intelligence, but ſerve as the luxury and the ornaments of their walls.'

Pliny has nearly the ſame obſervation. Lib. xxxv. cap. 2. he remarks, that the cuſtom was rather modern in his time; and attributes to Aſinius Pollio the honour of having intro⯑duced it into Rome. 'In conſecrating,' he ſays, 'a library with the portraits of our il⯑luſtrious authors, you have formed, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, a republic of the intellectual powers of men.'

CRITICISM.

EARLY after the re-eſtabliſhment of letters, (Huet writes) Criticiſm formed the chief occu⯑pation of thoſe who applied themſelves to their cultivation. This was very neceſſary, after ſo many ages of ignorance. They were obliged, [24] [...] [25] [...] [26] if we may ſo expreſs ourſelves, to diſperſe the duſt, to efface the mouldy ſpots, and to kill the worms that gnawed and disfigured thoſe ma⯑nuſcripts which had eſcaped the fury of the Barbarians, and the depredations of Time.

It was thus the art of criticiſm flouriſhed in all it's vigour, and was diſtinguiſhed by it's uſeful labours, during two centuries. The ſu⯑preme degree of erudition, conſiſted in bring⯑ing to light the ancient authors in the cor⯑rection of the errors of the ſcribes, through whoſe hands they had paſſed, either by col⯑lating them with the beſt copies, or exerting their own judgment and learning to the re⯑ſtoring of thoſe paſſages which were evidently corrupt. At length, this avocation degenerated into a low and obſcure ſtudy, the chief merit of which conſiſted in the recovery and collation of the beſt manuſcripts. This was the em⯑ployment of Gruter during his whole life. Thoſe to whom theſe aſſiſtances failed, em⯑ployed their critical acumen and literature to [27] give the ancient writers in all their purity; but, not infrequently, they diſmembered that which before was entire, and occaſioned an infinity of labours to the critics, their ſuc⯑ceſſors, who were ſomewhat more judicious than themſelves in reſtoring the paſſages to their original ſtate, and in healing thoſe wounds and unmerciful lacerations which they had undergone.

Amongſt theſe latter critics, Caſaubon, Sal⯑maſius, and Gronovius, hold diſtinguiſhed rank.

Now that the beſt authors are no more ſcarce, but multiplied without end by the in⯑vention of printing, verbal criticiſm, the chief merit of which is to catch ſyllables, deſerves no longer our eſteem. Critics of this kind may, not unaptly, be compared to weeders; they eradicate the worthleſs plants, and leave to more ſkilful cultivators the art of gathering and diſtinguiſhing the more valuable ones.

ON THE PHRASE—'THE LAW AND THE PROPHETS.'

SAINT Jerome, and the other fathers of the church, call the Five Books of Moſes, The Law, becauſe of Deuteronomy; and the Books of the Prophets, or their Prophecics, The Pro⯑phets. All the other Books are called Holy Writings. Hence the phraſe of, 'The Law and the Prophets,' is ſo frequently made uſe of in the New Teſtament, and in the writings of the fathers.

THE SIX FOLLIES OF SCIENCE.

NOTHING is ſo capable of diſordering the intellects as an intenſe application to one of theſe ſix things: the Quadrature of the Circle; the Multiplication of the Cube; the Perpetual Motion; the Philoſophical Stone; Magic; and Judicial Aſtrology. While we are young, we may exerciſe our imagination on theſe curious [29] topics, merely to convince us of their impoſſi⯑bility; but it ſhews a great defect in judgment to be occupied on them in an advanced age. 'It is proper, however,' Fontenelle remarks, 'to apply one's ſelf to theſe enquiries; be⯑cauſe we find, as we proceed, many valuable diſcoveries of which we were before ignorant.' The ſame thought Cowley has applied, in an addreſs to his miſtreſs, thus—

The ſame thought is in Donne. Perhaps Cowley did not ſuſpect that he was an imitator. What is certain, Fontenelle could not have read either; and, perhaps, only ſtruck out the thought by his own reflection.

THE REPUBLIC OF LETTERS.

IN the preſent article, I am little more than the tranſlator of the lively and ingenious Vig⯑neul Marville.

The Republic of Letters is of an ancient date. It appears by the pillars Joſephus has noticed, on which were engraven the principles of the ſciences, that this republic exiſted be⯑fore the Deluge; at leaſt, it cannot be denied that, ſoon after this great cataſtrophe, the ſciences flouriſhed.

Never was a republic greater, better peopled, more free, or more glorious: it is ſpread on the face of the earth, and is compoſed of per⯑ſons of every nation, of every rank, of every age, and of both ſexes. They are intimately acquainted with every language, the dead as well as the living. To the cultivation of let⯑ters they join that of the arts; and the me⯑chanics [31] are alſo permitted to occupy a place. But their religion cannot boaſt of uniformity; and their manners, like thoſe of every other republic, form a mixture of good and of evil: they are ſometimes enthuſiaſtically pious, and ſometimes inſanely impious.

The politics of this ſtate conſiſt rather in words, in vague maxims and ingenious re⯑flections, than in actions, or their effects. This people owe all their ſtrength to the bril⯑liancy of their eloquence, and the ſolidity of their arguments. Their trade is perfectly intel⯑lectual, and their riches very moderate; they live in one continued ſtrife for glory and for immortality. Their dreſs is by no means ſplen⯑did; yet they affect to deſpiſe thoſe who labour through the impulſe of avarice or neceſſity.

They are divided into many ſects, and they ſeem to multiply every day. The ſtate is ſhared between the Philoſophers, the Phyſi⯑cians, the Divines, the Lawyers, the Hiſtorians, the Mathematicians, the Orators, the Gram⯑marians, [32] and the Poets, who have each their reſpective laws.

Juſtice is adminiſtered by the Critics, fre⯑quently, with more ſeverity than juſtice. The people groan under the tyranny of theſe go⯑vernors, particularly when they are capricious and viſionary. They reſcind, they eraſe, or add, at their will and pleaſure, much in the manner of the Grand Monarque—Car tel eſt notre plaiſir; and no author can anſwer for his fate, when once he is fairly in their hands. Some of theſe are ſo unfortunate, that, through the cruelty of the treatment they receive, they loſe not only their temper, but their ſenſe and wits.

Shame is the great caſtigation of the guilty; and to loſe one's reputation, among this people, is to loſe one's life. There exiſt, however, but too many impudent ſwindlers, who prey upon the property of others; and many a vile ſpun⯑ger, who ſnatches the bread from the hands of men of merit.

[33] The Public are the diſtributors of glory; but, too often, the diſtribution is made with blindneſs, or undiſcerning precipitation. It is this which cauſes loud complaints, and excites ſuch murmurs throughout the republic.

The predominating vices of this ſtate are preſumption, vanity, pride, jealouſy, and ca⯑lumny. There is alſo a diſtemper peculiar to the inhabitants, which is denominated hunger, and which occaſions frequent deſolations throughout the country.

This republic, too, has the misfortune to be infected with numerous Plagiariſts; a ſpecies of banditti who rifle the paſſengers. The corruptors of books, and the forgers, are not leſs formidable; nor do there want im⯑poſtors, who form rhapſodies and beſtow pom⯑pous titles on unimportant trifles, who levy heavy contributions on the public.

There are alſo found an infinite number of illuſtrious Idlers and Voluptuaries; who, only ſeeking for thoſe volumes that afford amuſement, draw all their ſubſiſtence from the ſtate, without [34] contributing any thing either to it's advantage or it's glory. There are alſo Miſanthropes, born with an hatred of men: Pedants, who are the terror of ſchoolboys, and the enemies of urbanity and amiable manners.

I will not notice the licentious Geniuſes of the republic, who are in an eternal hoſtility of ſentiments, and a warfare of diſputes; nor thoſe faſtidious minds, who are too delicate not to be offended every moment; nor thoſe Vi⯑ſionaries, who load their imagination with crude and falſe ſyſtems.

All theſe may be ſuppoſed to exiſt in a re⯑public ſo vaſt as that of Letters; where it is permitted to every one to reſide, and to live according to his own inclinations.

ESDRAS.

IT was Eſdras who wrote what is at the con⯑cluſion of the Books of Moſes; which, as the death of the latter is there mentioned, ſhews [35] he could not have been the author. He, alſo, at the return from the Babyloniſh captivity, arranged into one body the Scriptures; and many aſſure us, on the authority of the an⯑cients, that he corrected it in eighteen paſſages which had been greatly altered and falſified. Is there not reaſon to fear that he ſtill has left ſo much to correct, that the body of writings, which paſs under the name of the Holy Scriptures, is little entitled to that ſacred appellation? It's corruptions and errors are at leaſt evident. Hobbes perfectly diſcredits Moſes being the author of the Pentateuch, in his Leviathan. It appears that Moſes delivered to Joſhua ſome materials, which he depoſited in the ark; that Joſhua gave them to the Judges or Elders; and that, in the courſe of time, they took the ar⯑rangement in which they now appear.

To this article we may add, that it is well known to thoſe who are moſt intelligent in Biblical literature, that a great number of books of the Old Teſtament are loſt: ſome have affirmed, that we are deprived of more [36] than we poſſeſs. It is agreed, that there are loſt a book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah; the third Epiſtle to the Corinthians; and the third Epiſtle of Peter. Samuel wrote a book on the Office and Inſtruction of a King; Solomon compiled a work containing three thouſand Parables, and five thouſand and ninety Songs; and ſome Treatiſes on the Nature of Trees, Plants, and Herbs, from the Cedar to the Hyſſop; which are alſo loſt.

ARISTOTLE.

OF all men of letters who have appeared, perhaps there never was one on whom ſo much praiſe and ſo much cenſure have been laviſhed as on Ariſtotle: but he had this ad⯑vantage, of which ſome of the moſt eminent ſcholars have been deprived, that he enjoyed during his life a ſplendid reputation. Philip of Macedon muſt have felt a ſtrong con⯑viction of his merit, when he wrote to him [37] in theſe terms, on the occaſion of the birth of Alexander. 'I receive from the gods, this day, a ſon; but I thank them not ſo much for the favour of his birth, as his having come into the world in a time when you can have the care of his education; and that, through you, he will be rendered worthy of being my ſon.'

GREGORY VII.

IT is a ſtrong trait in the character of the piety of Pope Gregory the Seventh, that he cauſed the greater part of the moſt finiſhed compoſitions of the ancients to be deſtroyed; doubtleſs, becauſe the authors of them were Pagans. It was this Pope who burnt the works of Varro, the learned Roman, that St. Auguſtine ſhould not be accuſed of plagiariſm; for this ſaint owes to the labours of Varro his books of The City of God.

CURIOUS SCHOLASTIC DISQUISITIONS.

AMONGST the ſubjects for the diſquiſitions of the learned, in the eleventh century, were the following ones: Of the Subſtantial Form of Sounds—Of the Eſſence of Univerſals.

The following queſtion was a favourite topic; and, after having been diſcuſſed by thouſands of the acuteſt logicians, through the courſe of a whole century, ‘With all the raſh dexterity of wit,’ remained unreſolved—'When a hog is carried to market with a rope tied about it's neck, which is held at the other end by a man; whether is the hog carried to market by the rope, or by the man?'

TASTE.

IT is in vain to account for the operations of Taſte: it is ſurely an unſubſtantial form; a ſhadow, which may be ſeen, but not graſped. [39] It's mutations, too, are wonderful. I am at a loſs to account on what principles the pre⯑ſent inſtance took place. Vigneul Marville ſupplies me with this anecdote—

Brebeuf, when he was young, felt an en⯑thuſiaſtic inclination for the works of Horace. His friend Gautier, on the contrary, was in⯑fected with a taſte for Lucan. This preference frequently occaſioned diſputes. To terminate them, it was agreed that each of them ſhould read the favourite poet of his friend; that they ſhould examine with critical acumen, and decree with candour. The conſequences are ſingular. Gautier read Horace, became enamoured of his verſes, and never after quitted them: while Brebeuf was ſo charmed with Lucan, that he grew intoxicated with the Pharſalia; and, in tranſlating this epic, out-lucan'd Lucan him⯑ſelf in his bombaſtic and tumid verſes.

That Gautier ſhould reject Lucan, after a ſtudious peruſal of Horace, is not ſurprizing: the wonder is, how Brebeuf could forget ſo ſuddenly the graces and the rules of his ma⯑ſter, [40] Horace, to give into Lucan's corrupted taſte.

Mr. Burke, in his elegant Eſſay on the Sublime and Beautiful, ſays, that 'what is called Taſte, in it's moſt general acceptation, is not a ſimple idea, but is partly made up of a perception of the primary pleaſures of ſenſe; of the ſecondary pleaſures of the imagination; and of the concluſions of the reaſoning faculty concerning the various relations of theſe, and concerning the human paſſions, manners, and actions. All theſe are requiſite to form Taſte; and the ground-work of all theſe is the ſame in the human mind: for, as the ſenſes are the great originals of all our ideas, and con⯑ſequently of all our pleaſures, if they are not uncertain and arbitrary, the whole ground⯑work of Taſte is common to all; and, there⯑fore, there is a ſufficient foundation for a con⯑cluſive reaſoning for theſe matters.'

In another place he obſerves—'Senſibility and Judgment, which are the qualities that [41] compoſe what is commonly called a Taſte, vary exceedingly in various people. From a defect in the former of theſe qualities ariſes a want of Taſte: a weakneſs in the latter con⯑ſtitutes a wrong or a bad one.'

If this account is juſt, the ſenſibility and the judgment of Brebeuf, of which the one was ſo lively, and the other ſo vigorous, when in his youthful days he was attached to Horace, muſt have undergone a total change when he became ſtudiouſly fond of Lucan. Yet this is not to be conceived: for it is poſſible to enlarge and to ſtrengthen our judgment; but, ſurely, not to eradicate a correct one; at leaſt, when a man is in the vigour of life and health.

IMITATORS.

THERE are ſome writers, and in general they will be found to be pedants, who ima⯑gine they can ſupply by the labours of induſ⯑try the deficiencies of nature. It is recorded [42] of Paulus Manutius, that he frequently ſpent a month in writing a ſingle letter. He affected to imitate Cicero. The conſequences are, that he has attained to ſomething of the elegance of his ſtyle; but he is ſtill deſtitute of the native graces of a flowing and unaffected compo⯑ſition.

May not ſuch writers be ſaid to create beau⯑tiful forms, without the power of beſtowing on them animation?

Some are very proud in the imitation of their illuſtrious predeceſſors, but in general their abi⯑lities only reach to the imitation of their de⯑fects; as the courtiers of Alexander, who were incapable of imitating his heroiſm, could mimic his deformity.

CICERO.

'I SHOULD,' ſays Menage, 'have receiv⯑ed a great pleaſure to have converſed with Cicero, had I lived in his time. He muſt have [43] been a man very agreeable in converſation, ſince even Caeſar carefully collected his Bon Mots. Cicero has boaſted of the great actions he has done for his country, becauſe there is no vanity in exulting in the performance of our duties: but he has not boaſted that he was the moſt eloquent orator of his age, though he certainly was; becauſe nothing is more diſ⯑guſtful than to exult in our intellectual powers.'

I muſt confeſs myſelf no admirer of the wit⯑ticiſms of Cicero; for, in general, they are but meagre puns, ſuch as theſe—he ſaid to a Senator who was the ſon of a Taylor, 'Rem acu tetigiſti.' To the ſon of a Cook, 'Ego quoque tibi jure favebo.'

SOCRATES.

THE following character of Socrates is to be found in the Matanaſiana. It deſerves to be ſnatched from that oblivion in which it lies ſunk.

[44] Socrates, whom the Oracle of Delphos had pronounced to be the wiſeſt of men, inculcated this maxim, that Science alone was Wealth, and Ignorance, Evil. Born in the depth of obſcurity, his genius broke out like a ſuperior luminary amongſt his fellow-citizens. He had as many diſciples as he had auditors. Ever bold, yet moderate, chaſte, patient, and amiable, his continual application to ſtudy had rendered every virtue familiar to him. Yet he was ſo modeſt, that he affirmed he knew nothing perfectly but one thing, which was—that he was very ignorant. Such was his conſummate prudence, that he could predict future events. It was this deep foreſight into human affairs which occaſioned the Athenians to attribute a familiar demon to him who was careful to inſtruct him of the future. He en⯑tertained ſo ſublime an idea of friendſhip, that, according to him, no inheritance was ſo pre⯑cious as the poſſeſſion of a friend. In a word, he was ſo enlightened, and ſo reſolute, that he [45] triumphed over his natural evil inclinations, and vanquiſhed every oppoſition to virtue by his ſcience and his fortitude. So deep a tranquilli⯑ty had pervaded his ſoul, that the neceſſity of ſwallowing poiſon, by the edict of the tyrants, never diſturbed his repoſe the evening before it was to take place.

PREFACES.

A PREFACE being the porch, or the en⯑trance, to a book, ſhould be perfectly beauti⯑ful. It is the elegance of a porch which an⯑nounces the ſplendor of an edifice. I have obſerved, that ordinary readers ſkip over theſe little elaborate compoſitions. Our fair ladies conſider them as ſo many pages loſt, which might better be employed in the addition of a pictureſque ſcene, or a tender letter to their novels. For my part, I always gather amuſe⯑ment from a Preface, be it aukwardly or ſkil⯑fully written; for dulneſs, or impertinence, [46] may raiſe a laugh for a page or two, though they become inſufferable throughout a whole volume.

THE ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

FREQUENT and violent diſputes have ariſen on the ſubject of the preference which is to be given to the Ancients, or the Moderns. With the Battle of Books, by Swift, the rea⯑der is well acquainted. The controverſy of Perrault and Boileau makes a conſiderable figure in French Literature; yet, ſurely, it had been better if theſe acrid controverſies had never diſgraced the Republic of Letters. The advice of Sidonius Appollinaris is excellent: he ſays, that we ſhould read the Ancients with reſpect, and the Moderns without envy.

MUTUAL PERSECUTION.

THE Pagans were accuſtomed to accuſe the Chriſtians of being the cauſe of the evils [47] which affected the Roman Empire, as Origen remarks in his C. xxiv. on St. Matthew; St. Cyprian, in the commencement of his book ad Demetrianum; Tertullian, in his 40 C. of his Apology; and Arnobius, in his firſt book. When, in it's turn, Chriſtianity became the prevailing religion, the Chriſtians accuſed the Jews and the Pagans of drawing on the Empire the calamities which then happened.

FINE THOUGHTS.

APULEIUS calls thoſe Neck-kerchiefs ſo glaſſy fine, (may I ſo expreſs myſelf?) which, in veiling, diſcover the beautiful boſom of a woman, ventum textilem; which may be tranſ⯑lated, woven air. It is an expreſſion beauti⯑fully fanciful.

A Greek poet wrote this inſcription for a ſtatue of Niobe—‘The Gods, from living, cauſed me to become ſtone. Praxiteles, from ſtone, has reſtored me to life.’

[48] Voiture has a fine thought in addreſſing Cardinal Richelieu. How much more affect⯑ing is it to hear one's praiſes from the mouth of the People, than from that of the Poets!

Cervantes, with an elevation of ſentiment, obſerves, that one of the greateſt advantages which princes poſſeſs above other men, is that of being attended by ſervants, as great as themſelves.

Buchanan has this charming thought in one of his Elegies, to expreſs the cruelty of his miſtreſs. It has the ſingular merit of be⯑ing a trite ſubject, treated in an uncommon manner. 'She does nothing but practiſe cruelties when I am in her preſence; yet, what tortures does ſhe not feel when I am abſent! But it is not the regret of my abſence, nor the love ſhe bears for me, which occaſions her thus to ſuffer: No! it is becauſe ſhe has not the pleaſure of beholding me ſuffering.'

Seneca, amongſt many tortured ſentiments and trivial points, has frequently a happy [49] thought. This on anger is eminently ſo—'I wiſh,' he ſays, 'that the ferocity of this paſ⯑ſion could be ſpent at it's firſt appearance, ſo that it might injure but once: as, in the caſe of the Bees, whoſe ſting is deſtroyed for ever at the firſt puncture it occaſions.'

Nor do theſe thoughts yield in felicity or fancy.

Ariſtenetus ſays of a Beauty, that ſhe ſeemed moſt beautiful when dreſſed; yet appeared not leſs beautiful when undreſſed. Of two Beauties he ſays, 'they yielded to the Graces only in number.'

Menage has theſe two terſe and pointed lines on the portrait of a lady—

Which a friend has thus imitated—

A French poet has admirably expreſſed the inſtantaneous ſympathy of two lovers. A [50] princeſs is relating to her confidante the birth of her paſſion; and ſays—

Which may be thus imitated in Engliſh; but the Alexandrine ſeems here to have the advan⯑tage over the Heroic verſe—

I recollect a ſimilar paſſage in a Spaniſh play of Calderon; but it partakes, I think, too much of what Boileau calls 'Le clinquant de Taſſe:' for it is well obſerved, by the ſame critic, 'that nothing is beautiful which is falſe.' The paſſage I allude to runs thus—

'I ſaw and I loved her ſo nearly together, that I do not know if I ſaw her before I loved her, or loved her before I ſaw her.'

It was ſaid of Petronius, that he was pura impuritas. Pura, becauſe of his ſtyle; impu⯑ritas, becauſe of his obſcenities.

Quam multa! Quam paucis! is a fine ex⯑preſſion, [51] which was employed to characteriſe a conciſe ſtyle pregnant with meaning.

How exquiſitely tender does Taſſo, in one verſe, deſcribe his Olindo! So much love, and ſo much modeſty, however beautiful they may appear in poetry, the leſs romantic taſte of the modern fine lady may not probably admire—

Perrault has very poetically informed us, that the ancients were ignorant of the circula⯑tion of the blood—

An Italian poet makes a lover, who has ſur⯑vived his miſtreſs, thus ſweetly expreſs him⯑ſelf—

[52] It has been uſual for poets to ſay, that rivers flow to convey their tributary ſtreams to the ſea. This figure, being a mark of ſubjection, proved offenſive to a patriotic Italian; and he has ingeniouſly ſaid of the River Po, becauſe of it's rapidity—

Which may be thus imitated—

I would diſtinguiſh theſe paſtoral verſes for their elegant ſimplicity: they diſplay—at leaſt, in the original—that amiable, light, and artleſs ſtyle, which ſhould characteriſe this enchanting, though neglected, branch of poetry—

The following verſion is but a feeble attempt to expreſs them in our language—[53]

Perhaps this tranſlation, produced extem⯑pore by a literary friend, in which the original thought is almoſt literally preſerved, and the ſtructure of the verſe ſcrupulouſly adhered to, is little leſs ingenious than the French; though alternate rhimes, in our language, will certainly be preferred by a correct Engliſh ear—

EARLY PRINTING.

WHEN firſt the Art of Printing was diſco⯑vered, they only made uſe of one ſide of a page: they had not yet found out the expe⯑dient of impreſſing the other. When their [54] editions were intended to be curious, they omitted to print the firſt letter of a chapter, for which they left a blank ſpace, that it might be painted or illuminated, at the option of the purchaſer. Several ancient volumes of theſe early times have been found, where theſe letters are wanting, as they neglected to have them painted.

When the Art of Printing was firſt eſta⯑bliſhed, it was the glory of the learned to be correctors of the preſs to the eminent printers. Phyſicians, Lawyers, and Biſhops themſelves, occupied this department. The printers then added frequently to their names thoſe of the correctors of the preſs; and editions were then valued according to the abilities of the corrector.

PATRONS.

AUTHORS have too frequently received ill⯑treatment even from thoſe to whom they dedi⯑cated their works.

[55] Theodoſius Gaza had no other recompence for having inſcribed to Sixtus the Fourth his Tranſlation of the book of Ariſtotle on the Na⯑ture of Animals, than the price of the binding, which this charitable father of the church mu⯑nificently beſtowed upon him.

Theocritus fills his Idyllimus with loud complaints of the neglect of his Patrons; and Taſſo was as little ſucceſsful in his Dedications.

Arioſto, in preſenting his Orlando Furioſo to the Cardinal d'Eſte, was gratified with the bitter ſarcaſm of—'Where the devil have you found all this nonſenſe?'

When the French Hiſtorian, Dupleix, whoſe pen was indeed fertile, preſented his book to the Duke d'Epernon, this Mecenas, turning to the Pope's Nuncio, who was preſent, very coarſely exclaimed—'Cadedis! ce Monſieur a un fluxe enragé, il chie un livre tous les lunes!'

It was Thomſon, I believe, the amiable au⯑thor of the Seaſons, who, having extravagantly [56] praiſed a perſon of rank, afterwards appearing to be undeſerving of any eulogiums, very pro⯑perly employed his pen in a ſolemn recantation of his error.

Poor Mickle, to whom we are indebted for ſo beautiful a verſion of Camoen's Luſiad, having dedicated this work, the continued la⯑bour of five years, to a certain Lord, had the mortification to find, by the diſcovery of a friend, that he had kept it in his poſſeſſion three weeks before he could collect ſufficient intel⯑lectual deſire to cut open the firſt pages!

' Every man believes,' writes Dr. Johnſon, in a letter to Baretti, 'that miſtreſſes are un⯑faithful, and patrons are capricious. But he excepts his own miſtreſs, and his own pa⯑tron.'

THE IMPRISONMENT OF THE LEARNED.

IMPRISONMENT ſeems not much to have diſturbed the man of letters in the progreſs of his ſtudies.

[57] It was in priſon that Boethius compoſed his excellent book on the Conſolations of Philo⯑ſophy.

Grotius wrote, in his confinement, his Com⯑mentary on Saint Matthew.

Buchanan, in the dungeon of a monaſtery in Portugal, compoſed his excellent Paraphraſes of the Pſalms of David.

Peliſſon, during five years confinement for ſome ſtate affairs, purſued with ardour his ſtudies in the Greek Language, in Philoſophy, and particularly in Theology; and produced ſeveral good compoſitions.

Michael Cervantes compoſed the beſt and moſt agreeable book in the Spaniſh language during his captivity in Barbary.

Fleta, a well known and very excellent little law production, was written by a perſon con⯑fined in the Fleet priſon for debt, but whoſe name has not been preſerved.

Louis the Twelfth, when he was Duke of Orleans, being taken priſoner at the battle of [58] St. Aubin, was long confined in the Tower of Bourges; and, applying himſelf to his ſtu⯑dies, which he had hitherto neglected, he be⯑came in conſequence an able and enlightened monarch.

Margaret, Queen of Henry the Fourth, King of France, confined in the Louvre, purſued very warmly the ſtudies of elegant literature; and compoſed a very ſkilful Apology for the irregularities of her conduct.

Charles the Firſt, during his cruel confine⯑ment at Holmſby, wrote that excellent book, entitled, The Portrait of a King; which he addreſſed to his ſon, and where the political reflections will be found not unworthy of Tacitus. This work has, however, been attri⯑buted, by his enemies, to a Dr. Gawden, who was incapable of writing a ſingle paragraph of it.

Queen Elizabeth, while confined by her ſiſter Mary, wrote ſome very charming poems, which we do not find ſhe ever could equal after her [59] enlargement: and Mary, Queen of Scots, du⯑ring her long impriſonment by Elizabeth, pro⯑duced many pleaſing poetic compoſitions.

Sir Walter Ralegh—according to his own orthography—produced, in his confinement, his Hiſtory of the World: of whom it is obſerved, to employ the language of Hume, 'they had leiſure to reflect on the hardſhip, not to ſay the injuſtice, of his ſentence. They pitied his active and enterprizing ſpirit, which languiſhed in the rigours of confinement. They were ſtruck with the extenſive genius of the man who, being educated amidſt naval and military en⯑terprizes, had ſurpaſſed, in the purſuits of literature, even thoſe of the moſt recluſe and ſedentary lives; and they admired his un⯑broken magnanimity which, at his age, and under his circumſtances, could engage him to undertake and execute ſo great a work as his Hiſtory of the World.'

THE POVERTY OF THE LEARNED.

FORTUNE has rarely condeſcended to be the companion of Merit. Even in theſe en⯑lightened times, men of letters have lived in obſcurity, while their reputation was widely ſpread; and have periſhed in poverty, while their works were enriching the bookſellers.

Homer, poor and blind, reſorted to the pub⯑lic places to recite his verſes for a morſel of bread.

The facetious poet, Plautus, gained a liveli⯑hood by aſſiſting a miller.

Xylander ſold his Notes on Dion Caſſius for a dinner.

Alde Manutius was ſo wretchedly poor, that the expence of removing his library from Venice to Rome made him inſolvent.

To mention thoſe who left nothing behind them to ſatisfy the undertaker, were an end⯑leſs taſk.

[61] Agrippa died in a workhouſe; Cervantes is ſuppoſed to have died with hunger; Camoens was deprived of the neceſſaries of life, and is believed to have periſhed in the ſtreets.

The great Taſſo was reduced to ſuch a dilemma, that he was obliged to borrow a crown from a friend, to ſubſiſt through the week. He alludes to his diſtreſs in a pretty Sonnet, which he addreſſes to his Cat, entreat⯑ing her to aſſiſt him, during the night, with the luſtre of her eyes—‘Non avendo candele per iſcrivere i ſuoi verſi!’ having no candle by which he could ſee to write his verſes!

The illuſtrious Cardinal Bentivoglio, the ornament of Italy and of literature, languiſhed, in his old age, in the moſt diſtreſsful poverty: and, having ſold his palace to ſatisfy his credi⯑tors, left nothing behind him but his repu⯑tation.

Le Sage reſided in a little cottage on the borders of Paris, and ſupplied the world with [62] their moſt agreeable Romances; while he never knew what it was to poſſeſs any moderate de⯑gree of comfort in pecuniary matters.

De Ryer, a celebrated French Poet, was conſtrained to labour with rapidity, and to live in the cottage of an obſcure village. His bookſeller bought his Heroic Verſes for one hundred ſols the hundred lines, and the ſmaller ones for fifty ſols.

Dryden, for leſs than three hundred pounds, ſold Tonſon ten thouſand verſes, as may be ſeen by the agreement which has been pub⯑liſhed.

Purchas, who, in the reign of our Firſt James, had ſpent his life in travels and ſtudy to form his Relation of the World; when he gave it to the public, for the reward of his la⯑bours, was thrown into priſon, at the ſuit of his printer. Yet this was the book which, he informs us in his Dedication to Charles the Firſt, his father read every night with great profit and ſatisfaction.

[63] Savage, in the preſſing hour of diſtreſs, ſold that eccentric poem, The Wanderer, which had occupied him ſeveral years, for ten pounds.

Even our great Milton, as every one knows, ſold his immortal work for ten pounds to a bookſeller, being too poor to undertake the printing it on his own account: and Otway, a dramatic poet in the firſt claſs, is known to have periſhed with hunger.

Samuel Boyce, whoſe Poem on Creation ranks high in the ſcale of poetic excellence, was abſolutely famiſhed to death; and was found dead, in a garret, with a blanket thrown over his ſhoulders, and faſtened by a ſkewer, with a pen in his hand!

Chatterton, while he ſupplied a variety of monthly magazines with their chief materials, found 'a penny tart a luxury!' and a luxury it was, to him who could not always get bread to his water.

In a book, entitled, De Infortunio Littera⯑torum, [64] may be found many other examples of the miſeries of literary men.

THE DESTRUCTION OF BOOKS.

IT is remarkable that conquerors, in the moment of victory, or in the unſparing de⯑vaſtation of their rage, have not been ſatisfied with deſtroying men, but have even carried their vengeance to books.

The Romans burnt the books of the Jews, of the Chriſtians, and the Philoſophers; the Jews burnt the books of the Chriſtians and the Pagans; and the Chriſtians burnt the books of the Pagans and the Jews.

The greater part of the books of Origen, and the other Heretics, were continually burnt by the Orthodox party.

Cardinal Ximenes, at the taking of Grenada, condemned to the flames five thouſand Al⯑corans.

The Puritans burnt every thing they found [65] which bore the veſtige of Popiſh origin. We have on record many curious accounts of their holy depredations, of their maiming images, and eraſing pictures. Cromwell zealouſly ſet fire to the library at Oxford, which was the moſt curious in Europe.

The moſt violent perſecution which ever the Republic of Letters has undergone, is that of the Caliph Omar. After having it proclaimed throughout the kingdom, that the Alcoran contained every thing which was uſeful to be⯑lieve and to know, he cauſed to be gathered to⯑gether whatever books could be found in his wide realms, and diſtributed them to the owners of the baths, to be uſed in heating their ſtoves; and it is ſaid that they employed no other ma⯑terials for this purpoſe during a period of ſix months!

At the death of the learned Peireſc, a cham⯑ber in his houſe, filled with letters from the moſt eminent ſcholars of the age, was diſco⯑vered. Such was the diſpoſition of his niece, [66] who inherited his eſtates, that, although re⯑peatedly entreated to permit them to be pub⯑liſhed, ſhe preferred employing them to other purpoſes; and it was her ſingular pleaſure to regale herſelf occaſionally with burning theſe learned epiſtles, to ſave the expence of fire⯑ing!

Even the civilization of the eighteenth cen⯑tury could not preſerve from the ſavage and deſtructive fury of a diſorderly mob, in the moſt poliſhed city of Europe, the valuable papers of the Earl of Mansfield, which were madly conſigned to the flames during the diſ⯑graceful riots of June 1780.

DESCARTES AND HARVEY.

VIGNEUL Marville, in his Melanges de Literature, Vol. II. page 348, has ventured to publiſh two anecdotes, which, moſt probably, are derived only from his own inventive talent; a talent which no man carried to greater per⯑fection than this lively and bold writer.

[67] ' One Claudian Mamert, who flouriſhed in the fifth century, has compoſed a Treatiſe on the Soul; in which are found the greater part of thoſe principles which Deſcartes made uſe of to eſtabliſh his new ſyſtem. It is alſo ſaid, that his opinion concerning the Souls of Brutes is to be found in St. Auguſtine.'

' It is ſaid, that the religious of St. Vanne's have diſcovered, in St. Ambroſe, the doctrine of the Circulation of the Blood, which has been thought to be a modern diſcovery by Harvey.'

I am fearful this anecdote was dictated in the uncharitable ſpirit of criticiſm; perhaps, to de⯑prive our great Phyſician of the honour of it's diſcovery.

LEGENDS.

THE origin of ſo many fables and intolerable abſurdities, which have been entitled Legends, ariſes from this circumſtance—

Before any colleges were eſtabliſhed in the monaſteries where the ſchools were held, the [68] profeſſors in rhetoric frequently gave their ſcholars the life of ſome ſaint for a trial of their talent at amplification. The ſtudents, being conſtantly at a loſs to furniſh out their pages, invented theſe wonderful adventures. The good fathers of that age, whoſe ſimplicity was not inferior to their devotion, were ſo delighted with theſe flowers of rhetoric, that they were induced to make a collection of theſe mira⯑culous compoſitions; not imagining that, at ſome diſtant period of time, they would be⯑come matters of faith. Yet, when James de Voraigne, (Vicar-general of the Jacobins) Peter Nadal, and Peter Ribadeneira, wrote the Lives of the Saints, they ſought for their ma⯑terials in the libraries of the monaſteries; and, awakening from the duſt theſe manuſcripts of amplification, imagined they made an inva⯑luable preſent to the world by laying before them theſe bulky abſurdities. The people re⯑ceived them with all imaginable ſimplicity, and, in the laſt century, it was dangerous [69] for a man to dare even to ſuſpect the reality of theſe pious fictions. We are indebted to Tillemont, to Fleury, Baillet, Launoi, and Bollandus, for having cleared much of this rubbiſh; and, rejecting what was falſe, by an enlightened criticiſm, have made that probable, which before was doubtful.

' What has been called The Golden Legend, which is the compilation of the above Vo⯑raigne' obſerves Patin, 'is a book replete with the moſt ridiculous and ſilly hiſtories ima⯑ginable'. Melchior Canus, who was a learned Dominican, greatly diſapproves of this legend; and had ſaid, that 'it is a narrative at once un⯑worthy of the Saints, and every honeſt Chriſ⯑tian. I do not know why it ſhould be called golden, compoſed as it is by a man who had a mouth of iron, and a heart of lead.'

It will, probably, be agreeable to the reader, to inſpect a ſpecimen of theſe legends. To gratify his curioſity, I have ſelected the follow⯑ing; and, that he may not complain of the [70] tedious length of this article, it ſhall not be given to him in the heavy ſtyle of James de Voraigne, or of myſelf, but embelliſhed by the luminous diction of Mr. Gibbon—

' Among the inſipid legends of Eccleſiaſtical Hiſtory, I am tempted to diſtinguiſh the me⯑morable fable of The Seven Sleepers; whoſe imaginary date correſponds with the reign of the younger Theodoſius, and the conqueſt of Africa by the Vandals. When the Emperor Decius perſecuted the Chriſtians, ſeven noble youths of Epheſus concealed themſelves in a ſpacious cavern, on the ſide of an adjacent mountain; where they were doomed to periſh by the tyrant, who gave orders that the en⯑trance ſhould be firmly ſecured with a pile of ſtones. They immediately fell into a deep ſlumber, which was miraculouſly prolonged, without injuring the powers of life, during a period of one hundred and eighty-ſeven years. At the end of that time, the ſlaves of Adolius, to whom the inheritance of the mountain had [71] deſcended, removed the ſtones, to ſupply ma⯑terials for ſome ruſtic edifice. The light of the ſun darted into the cavern, and the Seven Sleepers were permitted to awake. After a ſlumber, as they thought, of a few hours, they were preſſed by the calls of hunger; and re⯑ſolved that Jamblichus, one of their number, ſhould ſecretly return to the city, to purchaſe bread for the uſe of his companions. The youth—if we may ſtill employ that appel⯑lation—could no longer recognize the once familiar aſpect of his native country; and his ſurprize was increaſed by the appearance of a large croſs, triumphantly erected over the prin⯑cipal gate of Epheſus. His ſingular dreſs and obſolete language confounded the baker, to whom he offered an ancient medal of Decius, as the current coin of the empire; and Jam⯑blichus, on the ſuſpicion of a ſecret treaſure, was dragged before the judge. Their mutual enquiries produced the amazing diſcovery, that two centuries were almoſt elapſed ſince Jam⯑blichus [72] and his friends had eſcaped from the rage of a Pagan tyrant. The Biſhop of Ephe⯑ſus, the Clergy, the Magiſtrates, the people, and, it is ſaid, the Emperor Theodoſius himſelf, haſtened to viſit the cavern of the Seven Sleepers; who beſtowed their benediction, re⯑lated their ſtory, and at the ſame inſtant peace⯑ably expired.

' This popular tale,' Mr. Gibbon adds, 'Mahomet learned when he drove his camels to the fairs of Syria; and he has introduced it, as a divine revelation, into the Koran.'—The ſame ſtory has been adopted and adorned by the nations, from Bengal to Africa, who profeſs the Mahometan religion.

ON THE FAIR-SEX HAVING NO SOULS.

A SPANISH author has affirmed, that brutes have no ſouls; a French writer ſupports the ſame opinion; but an Italian, more bold, has ventured to maintain that the fair-ſex have [73] likewiſe no ſouls, and are of another ſpecies of animal to man. This the author ſhews by va⯑rious proofs drawn from the Scriptures, which he explains according to his own fancy. While this book was publiſhed in Latin, the Inquiſi⯑tion remained ſilent but, when it was tranſ⯑lated into the vulgar tongue, they cenſured and prohibited it. The Italian ladies were divided, on this occaſion, into two oppoſite parties: the one was greatly enraged to be made ſo inferior to the other ſex; and the other, conſidering themſelves only as machines, were content to amuſe themſelves in playing off the ſprings in the manner moſt agreeable to themſelves.

The Author of the Commentary on the Epiſtles of St. Paul, falſely aſcribed to St. Am⯑broſe, ſays, on the eleventh chapter of the firſt Epiſtle to the Corinthians, that women are not made according to the image of the Creator.

The Mahometans are known to hold the ſame opinions concerning the ſouls of the female ſex, and likewiſe the Jews. Very un⯑gallantly, [74] each Jew, among his morning bene⯑dictions, includes one, to thank God he has not made him a woman.

I muſt confeſs, it is a difficult taſk to reſolve if—

are deprived of ſouls:

Let us, however, conclude that, if they are not themſelves in poſſeſſion of a ſoul, they not infrequently ſeem to infuſe one into the moſt unanimated of men. It is their white hand that diſtributes with peculiar grace the laurels of the Poet and the Hero. Through all claſſes of mankind their power is alike diſplayed: the ſmiles of his Nancy animate the Sailor and the Soldier, as well as thoſe of Laura and [75] Geraldine the Bard and the Hero: and, to finiſh by another quotation, let us acknowledge, then, that when our Sire

POETS, PHILOSOPHERS, AND ARTISTS, MADE BY ACCIDENT.

ACCIDENT has frequently occaſioned the moſt eminent geniuſes to diſplay their powers. Father Mallebranche will ſerve for an example. Having compleated his ſtudies in Philoſophy and Theology, without any other intention than devoting himſelf to ſome religious order, he little expected to become of ſuch celebrity as his works have made him. Loitering, in an idle hour, in the ſhop of a bookſeller, in turning over a parcel of books, L'Homme de Deſcartes fell into his hands. Having dipt into ſome parts, he was induced to peruſe the whole. It was this circumſtance that produced [76] thoſe profound contemplations which gave birth, to ſo many beautiful compoſitions in Phyſics, Metaphyſics, and Morality, which have made him paſs for the Plato of his age.

Cowley became a Poet by accident. In his mother's apartment he found, when very young, Spenſer's Fairy Queen; and, by a continual ſtudy of Poetry, he became ſo enchanted of the Muſe, that he grew irrecoverably a Poet.

Dr. Johnſon informs, us, that 'the great Painter of the preſent age had the firſt fondneſs for his art excited by the peruſal of Richard⯑ſon's Treatiſe.'

PHYSICIANS WRITE LITTLE ON PROFES⯑SIONAL SUBJECTS.

IT is remarkable that, of all men of letters who attach themſelves to any profeſſion, none ſo willingly quit their occupations to write on other matters as Phyſicians.

Julius Scaliger, who was a Doctor in Phyſic, has written much Criticiſm.

[77] Viguier has compiled ſeveral bulky volumes of Natural Hiſtory.

Averroes, the Arabian Phyſician, has tranſ⯑lated and commented on Ariſtotle.

Ficinnius has given a Latin verſion of Plato, and explained his ſyſtem.

The great Cardan has written on a variety of ſubjects, all very foreign to the ſtudies of Medicine.

Paul Jovius has compoſed numerous Hiſtories.

Sorbiere, a Phyſician well known in France, has tranſlated the Utopia of our Sir Thomas More, and other very curious works.

Spons, a Phyſician at Lyons, has written his Voyages, and ſome Treatiſes, which diſplay a great depth of erudition.

The two Patins have written nothing con⯑cerning Medicine, but much in Polite Li⯑terature.

Perrault, the antagoniſt of Boileau, tranſlated Vitruvius, and gave public Lectures on Geo⯑metry and Architecture.

[78] Dr. Smollet had more frequently his pen, than the pulſe of a patient, in his hand.

Akenſide and Armſtrong are celebrated for their Poetry; and the late Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh, has publiſhed ſeveral pleaſing com⯑poſitions in proſe.

Dr. Moore and Dr. Berkenhout are living authors, whoſe pens have written—if I may ſay it without offence—what is more valuable than their preſcriptions.

Why Phyſicians write ſo little on profeſſional ſubjects, is a queſtion I know not how to reſolve, unleſs we ſuppoſe that, as they are moſt con⯑verſant in the art of Medicine, they more clearly perceive it's futility.

AMUSEMENTS OF MEN OF LETTERS.

MEN of letters, for a relaxation from literary fatigue—a fatigue which is more unſufferable than that which proceeds from the labours of the mechanic—form amuſements, ſometimes, [79] according to their profeſſional character; but, more frequently, according to their whim.

Tycho Brahe diverted himſelf with poliſhing glaſſes for all kinds of ſpectacles, and making mathematical inſtruments.

D'Andilly, the Tranſlator of Joſephus, one of the moſt learned men of his age, cultivated trees; Barclay, in his leiſure hours, was a floriſt; Balzac amuſed himſelf with making paſtils; Peireſc found his amuſement amongſt his medals and antiquarian curioſities; the Abbé de Maroles with his engravings; and Politian in ſinging airs to his lute.

Rohault wandered from ſhop to ſhop, to ob⯑ſerve the mechanics labour.

The great Arnauld read, in his hours of re⯑laxation, any amuſing romance that fell into his hands. This alſo did the critical War⯑burton.

Galileo read Arioſto; and Chriſtina, Queen of Sweden, Martial.

Guy Patin wrote letters to his friends: an [80] uſual relaxation amongſt men of letters, and very agreeable to their correſpondents, when they are worth the poſtage.

Others have found amuſement in compoſing treatiſes on odd ſubjects. Seneca wrote a Bur⯑leſque Narrative on Claudian's Death. Pierrius has written an Eulogium on Beards.

Virgil ſported prettily with a gnat; Homer with frogs and mice.

Holſtein has written an Eulogium on the North Wind; Heinſius, on the Aſs; Menage, the Tranſmigration of the Paraſitical Pedant to a Parrot; and alſo the Petition of the Dic⯑tionaries.

Eraſmus has compoſed—I think it was to amuſe himſelf when travelling in a poſt⯑chaiſe—his Panegyric on Morus, or Folly; which, authorized by the pun, he dedicated to Sir Thomas More.

Montaigne found a very agreeable play-mate in his cat.

Cardinal de Richelieu, amongſt all his great [81] occupations, found a recreation in violent exer⯑ciſes; and he was once diſcovered jumping with his ſervant, to try who could reach the higheſt ſide of a wall. De Crammont, ob⯑ſerving the Cardinal to be jealous of his powers in this reſpect, offered to jump with him; and, in the true ſpirit of a courtier, having made ſome efforts which nearly reached the Car⯑dinal's, confeſſed he was ſurpaſſed by him. This was jumping like a politician; and it was by this means, it is ſaid, he ingratiated himſelf with the miniſter.

Dr. Campbell was alike fond of robuſt exer⯑ciſe; and the ſcholar has been found leaping over tables and chairs.

What ridiculous amuſements paſſed between Dean Swift and his friends in Ireland, his diſ⯑cerning Editors have kindly revealed to the public. We are aſtoniſhed to ſee a great mind ſuffering itſelf to be levelled to trifles which even our very Magazines conſider as diſgraceful to their pages!

[82] The life of Shenſtone was paſſed in an amuſement which was to him an eternal ſource of diſappointment and anguiſh. His favourite ferme ornée, while it diſplayed all the taſte and elegancies of the poet, diſplayed alſo his cha⯑racteriſtic poverty. His feeling mind was often pained by thoſe invidious compariſons which the vulgar were perpetually making with the ſtately ſcenes of Hagley's neighbour⯑ing magnificence.

If Dr. Johnſon ſuffered his great mind to deſcend into trivial amuſement, it was—to borrow the image of a friend—like the ele⯑phant, who ſometimes gives a ſhock to armies, and ſometimes permits himſelf to be led by a naked infant.

THE BELLES LETTRES.

IT ſeems to be the fate of the Belles Lettres, an ingenious French writer obſerves, that they break out in all their ſplendour during ſome [83] ages, and then are again doomed to decline into total neglect.

Athens long preſerved a correct taſte in Elo⯑quence, in Philoſophy, and in Poetry. At the ſame time, the Fine Arts flouriſhed in all their beauty; but a frightful barbariſm ſoon ſuc⯑ceeded the refinement and the ſcience of this ingenious nation.

The Romans, having vanquiſhed the Greeks, awakened the Muſes from their lethargy; and the Auguſtan Age was for Italy what that of Piſiſtratus had been for Greece. The de⯑cline of that empire ſoon occaſioned that of the Belles Lettres; and the invaſions of thoſe people who diſmembered the Roman Empire threw all again into barbariſm and ignorance. Charlemagne attempted to revive the ſciences: he rewarded the learned; and he eſtabliſhed ſchools in the principal cities of the Empire. It was his command, that a number of volumes ſhould be tranſcribed, to be diſperſed through⯑out the kingdom.

[84] Our illuſtrious Alfred began the ſame refor⯑mation in England. Engaged as he was in one continued war with the Danes, nothing could diſturb the deſigns he had formed for the reſtoration of letters. He laments the ignorance of the times with all the indignation of the philoſopher, and the reſentment of a patriot prince.

The attempts of theſe great monarchs availed little: the claſh of arms taught a melancholy ſilence to the Muſes. Since thoſe times, as the monarchical government became more firmly eſtabliſhed, the Belles Lettres inſenſibly re⯑vived.

But it was chiefly under the pontificate of Leo the Tenth, that munificent patron of lite⯑rature, that they ſprung up in all their richeſt luxuriance. Aſſiſted by the art of printing, which had been diſcovered ſome time before, they made thoſe immenſe progreſſes, and formed thoſe heroes of literature, which ſo forcibly claim our warmeſt admiration.

ON TEACHING THE CLASSICS.

THOSE, ſays Marville, who undertake the inſtruction of youth, and who read the an⯑cients with their ſcholars, ſhould point out to their obſervation the characteriſtic trait of each of theſe authors. This manner of teaching might inſpire them to emulate theſe perfect models of compoſition.

Xenophon, for inſtance, and Quintilian, are excellent to form the education of young ſcholars.

Plato will fill the mind with great notions, and elevate them into a contemplation of the ſublimeſt metaphyſics.

Ariſtotle will inſtruct them acutely to analyſe the principle of compoſition, and to decide on the beauties of the works of imagination.

Cicero will ſhew them how to ſpeak and to write with grace: Seneca, to philoſophiſe.

The Elder Pliny opens the mind to a great [86] diverſity of knowledge. Aeſop and Phaedrus, in an amuſive way, will form their manners.

Epictetus, and the Emperor Antoninus, will afford them advice and counſels in every ſtation of human life.

Plutarch offers the nobleſt examples of an⯑tiquity, and furniſhes excellent matter for attic converſations.

Homer diſplays man in every poſſible ſitu⯑ation, and paints him always great.

Virgil inculcates piety towards the gods, and filial tenderneſs towards our parents.

In Salluſt, the portraits of the great may be contemplated; in Plautus and Terence, thoſe of individuals; in Horace, and the Younger Pliny, the delicate eulogiums which may be adminiſtered to kings.

But, before theſe great models are offered to the ſtudy of our youth, as they claim a maturity of judgment, let them firſt be initiated by ſome elementary works.

SAMUEL PURCHAS.

SAMUEL Purchas, of whom mention has been made in a former article, has compoſed what he calls 'A Relation of the World, and the Religions obſerued in all Ages, and Places diſcouered from the Creation vnto this Preſent.' The title-page is very curious, and very long; but, through a mutilation in my copy, I can⯑not gratify the reader with the whole. The work is written according to the taſte of our Royal Pedant: the graces of diction conſiſt in a play upon words—

The author, on the moſt ſerious ſubjects, indulges his facetious humour: he finds ampli⯑fication [89] in metaphyſical quibbles, and irreſiſti⯑ble arguments in puns. It will be neceſſary to give ſome inſtances: and it may not be un⯑pleaſing to extract a few ſentences, which muſt have greatly delighted our Firſt James—

' Being I know not by what naturall inclina⯑tion, addicted to the ſtudie of Hiſtorie, I re⯑ſolved to turn the pleaſures of my ſtudies into ſtudious paines, that others might again, by delightfull ſtudie, turn my paines into their pleaſures.'—'I here bring Religion from Para⯑diſe to the Ark, and thence follow her round the world.'

The following Apology of the Author is curious and ingenious. It ſhould be recollected, that one part of it's merit conſiſts in it's being prefixed to a Treatiſe on Geography—

' If any miſlike the fulneſſe in ſome places, and the barrenneſſe of words in others, let them conſider, we handle a world where are mountains and vallies, fertile habitations, and ſandy deſerts; and others ſteps, whom I follow, [90] hold me ſometimes in a narrower way, which elſewhere take more libertie.'

In addreſſing the Clergy, Purchas thus plays off an argument in a pun, which may raiſe a ſmile—

' I ſubſcribe, with hand and practice, to your Liturgie, but not to your Letargie.'

The fourth edition of this Syſtem of Geo⯑graphy—a ſtupendous labour for thoſe times, and which, with Hackluyt's Voyages, gave birth to the numerous ones we now poſſeſs—is dedicated to King Charles the Firſt. From this dedication the preſent extracts may amuſe—

' Your Majeſties goodneſſe hath inuited this boldnes, in accepting my late voluminous twinnes of pilgrimes,'—he means, his former two volumes. 'Your pietie demands heredi⯑tarie reſpect. Your royall father, the King of Learned, and Learning's King, manifeſted ſo much favour to this work, as to make it ordi⯑narie of his bed-chamber. He profeſſed freely, that he had read it ſeven times; and that he [91] had made the pilgrimes his nightly taſke, till God called him by fatall ſickneſſe to a better pilgrimage, and of a more enduring kingdome. Such a teſtimonie is a king of teſtimonies. Al⯑though theſe times ſeem more to ſavour of armes than to favour arts, (inter arma ſilent Muſae) yet our Muſe is not of the ſofter ſock, but more maſculine, an armed Pallas; not bred in poeticall miſterie, but born a real hiſtorie, containing actions, factions, and fractions, of religions and ſtates.,

He concludes with this curious wiſh—'May King James be ſucceeded, and exceeded, in the greatneſſe and vertues of Great Britein's Great Charles! Amen.'

Such was the incenſe which, adminiſtered to adulated Majeſty, was probably found not unpleaſing.

ON THE NOTES VARIORUM.

THE Notes Variorum were, originally, but a compilation of notes drawn from thoſe nume⯑rous critics who had laboured on the beſt au⯑thors, [92] or had explained them in other works. The firſt collections were very indifferent, their ſelectors poſſeſſing no powers of diſcrimination. Frequently, they have choſen the worſt: they bring no proofs from the authors whom they have abridged; and they are continually maim⯑ing their ideas. To make their collections bulky, they have written as much on the clear as on the obſcure paſſages, and have ſwelled them with very frivolous digreſſions.

The later editions of the Notes Variorum have been made by more able compilers. As they are ſo much the more preferable to the preceding ones, the public has received them with favour; and ſcholars have been glad to have compleat collections of the moſt valued criticiſms, to conſult them at their need.

ON THE EDITIONS OF THE CLASSICS, IN USUM DELPHINI.

THE Scholiaſts, or the Interpreters of the Dauphin, in uſum Sereniſſimi Delphini, were undertaken under the conduct of Meſſieurs [93] De Montauſier, Boſſuet, and Huet. To a cor⯑rect text, they have added a clear and conciſe paraphraſe of the text, with notes. The diſ⯑ſimilarity of the genius, and the peculiar cha⯑racters, of all theſe authors, have been one great cauſe that they have not all been treated with the ſame ability, and with equal felicity: but ſtill, it muſt be allowed, they form the moſt beautiful body in literature that the public has ever been gratified with.

Another critic preſents us with a more ſatis⯑factory account of this celebrated edition of the Claſſics. The greater part of theſe interpre⯑ters have but indifferently executed their em⯑ployment: they have followed, in their text, the inferiour editions, inſtead of making uſe of the beſt; and they have left in the notes thoſe ſame faults which were ſo much cenſured in the Dutch editions, with the Notes Variorum. There is, however, one thing valuable in the Paris editions—a Verbal Index, by which any paſſage may be found on recollecting a few [94] words. However, it muſt be confeſſed, the munificent patronage of a great monarch has not produced the adequate effects. The pro⯑ject was excellent, but the performance was bad.

I cannot conclude this article without ob⯑ſerving what benefits the ſtudent derives from Verbal Indexes. He not only ſaves a great ex⯑pence of time, which is ſquandered in the ex⯑amination for paſſages; but he may more eaſily trace the imitations of others, when they hap⯑pen to catch the words of the original. I have received ſuch ſervices from Newton's edition of Milton, which is enriched with a Verbal Index, that I cannot recollect them without gratitude. If a Verbal Index was formed to Johnſon's edition of the Poets, it would then become invaluable; and I am ſure there are porters enough in literature, unemployed, who deſire nothing better than to bear this burthen on their ſhoulders

THE ORIGIN OF LITERARY JOURNALS.

IF we abound with a multitude of ſcribblers, what an infinite number muſt there be of critics, ſince, according to the computation of one of the firſt—‘Ten cenſure wrong, for one who writes amiſs!’

In the laſt century, it was a conſolation, at leaſt, for the unſucceſsful writer, that he fell inſenſibly into oblivion. If he committed the private folly of printing what no one would purchaſe, he had only to ſettle the matter with his publiſher: he was not arraigned at the public tribunal, as if he had committed a crime of magnitude. But, in thoſe times, the nation was little addicted to the cultivation of letters: the writers were then few, and the readers were not many. When, at length, a taſte for lite⯑rature ſpread itſelf through the body of the people, vanity induced the inexperienced and [96] the ignorant to aſpire to literary honours. To oppoſe theſe inroads into the haunts of the Muſes, Periodical Criticiſm brandiſhed it's formidable weapon; and it was by the fall of others that our greateſt geniuſes have been taught to riſe. Multifarious writings produced multifarious ſtrictures; and if the rays of cri⯑ticiſm were not always of the ſtrongeſt kind, yet ſo many continually iſſuing, formed a focus, which has enlightened thoſe whoſe occupations had otherwiſe never permitted them to judge on literary compoſitions.

The origin of ſo many Literary Journals takes it's birth in France. Denis de Sallo, Eccleſiaſtical Counſellor in the Parliament of Paris, invented the ſcheme of a work of this kind. On the 30th of May 1665, appeared the firſt number of his Journal des Sçavans.' What is remarkable, he publiſhed his Eſſay in the name of the Sieur de Hédouville, who was his footman. One is led to ſuppoſe, by this circumſtance, that he entertained but a faint [97] hope of it's ſucceſs; or, perhaps, he thought that the ſcurrility of criticiſm might be ſanc⯑tioned by it's ſuppoſed author. The work, however, met with ſo favourable a reception, that Sallo had the ſatisfaction of ſeeing it, in the next year, imitated throughout Europe; and his Journal, at the ſame time, tranſlated into various languages. But, as moſt authors lay themſelves too open to the ſevere critic, the animadverſions of Sallo were given with ſuch malignity of wit and aſperity of criticiſm, that the Journal excited loud murmurs, and the moſt heart-moving complaints poſſible. Sallo, after having publiſhed only his third Journal, felt the irritated waſps of literature thronging ſo thick about him, that he very gladly abdi⯑cated the throne of Criticiſm.

The reign of his ſucceſſor, Abbé Galloys—intimidated by the fate of Sallo—was of a milder kind. He contented himſelf with only giving the titles of books, accompanied with extracts. Such a conduct was not offenſive to their au⯑thors, [98] and yet was not unuſeful to the public. I do not, however, mean to favour the idea, that this ſimple manner of noticing books is equal to ſound and candid criticiſm.

On the model of the Journal des Sçavans were formed our Philoſophical Tranſactions; with this difference, however, that they only notice objects of ſcience, ſuch as Phyſics and Mathematics The Journal of Leipſic, entitled Acta Eruditorum, appeared in 1682, under the conduct of the erudite Menkenius, Profeſſor in the Univerſity of that city. The famous Bayle undertook, for Holland, a ſimilar work, in 1684; and his Nouvelles de la Republique de Lettres appeared the firſt of May in that year. This new Journal was every where well re⯑ceived; and deſerved to be ſo, for never were criticiſms given with greater force. He poſ⯑ſeſſed the art of comprizing, in ſhort extracts, the juſteſt notion of a book, without adding any thing irrelevant or impertinent. Bayle diſcontinued this work in 1687, after having [99] given thirty-ſix volumes in 12mo. Others continued it to 1710, when it was finally cloſed.

A Mr. de la Roche formed an Engliſh Journal, entitled Memoirs of Literature, about the commencement of this century, which is well ſpoken of in the Bibliotheque Raiſonnée. It was afterwards continued by Mr. Reid, under the title of The Preſent State of the Re⯑public of Letters. He ſucceeded very well; but, being obliged to make a voyage to China, it interrupted his uſeful labours. He was ſuc⯑ceeded by Meſſieurs Campbell and Webſter; but the laſt, for reaſons of which I am ignorant, being diſmiſſed, it was again reſumed by Mr. Campbell. This Journal does by no means rival our modern Reviews. I do not perceive that the criticiſm is more valuable; and cer⯑tainly the entertainment is inferior. Our elder Journals ſeem only to notice a few of the beſt publications; and this not with great ani⯑mation of ſentiment, or elegance of diction.

[100] Of our modern Journals it becomes me to ſpeak with caution. It is not treading on aſhes ſtill glowing with latent fire, as Horace ex⯑preſſes it, but it is ruſhing through conſuming flames. Let it be ſufficient, that from their pages I acknowledge to have acquired a rich fund of critical obſervation; and, if I have been animated by their eulogiums, I aſcribe this honour, not ſo much to the confined abi⯑lities Nature has beſtowed on me, as to their ſtrictures, which have taught me ſomething of the delicacy of Taſte, and ſomething of the ardour of Genius.

GUY PATIN.

GUY PATIN was an author who made much noiſe in his time: but, like many others of this kind, Poſterity, more temperate, as leſs intereſted in the ſcandal of the day, will not allow pertneſs to be wit, and multifarious anec⯑dote, [101] learning. We, as Engliſhmen, muſt pe⯑culiarly feel our indignation kindle at the ſtrictures which I ſhall notice; and which, garbage as they are, have been haſhed up by D'Argens, Voltaire, and many a French lite⯑rary Cuiſinier.

The work, for which he gained ſo much un⯑merited applauſe, conſiſts of three volumes of letters, which were written to his friends in a familiar ſtyle, replete with the anecdotes of the day—a kind of newſpaper, rather than an epiſtolary correſpondence; and, like a news⯑paper, ſince time has commented on it's text, it will be found that the greater part of theſe anecdotes is falſe and malicious. They were read, however, with great avidity: but this criticiſm of Menage will be found to be juſt—

' The Letters of Guy Patin are replete with falſhoods. Mr. Bigot and I have detected ſome in every page. He was not careful in [102] what he wrote, and he took every thing as it came.'

' Theſe Letters,' ſays Voltaire, 'were read eagerly, becauſe they contained anecdotes of ſuch things as every body likes, and ſatires which are liked ſtill more. They ſhew what uncertain guides in Hiſtory thoſe writers are, who inconſiderately ſet down the news of the day. Such accounts are frequently falſe, or perverted by the malice of mankind.'

Bayle, in criticiſing them, obſerves—'It is proper the Reader ſhould know all the witty ſayings and ſtories he relates are not true. There are ſome places, wherein he ſhews a terrible malice, and a prodigious boldneſs, in giv⯑ing a criminal turn to every thing.'

This language is indeed forcible; it is cer⯑tainly juſt. The Reader may judge by the ex⯑tract I now make out of the Patiniana, Page 17. It was written when Salmaſius finiſhed his Defence of King Charles, which was ſo ner⯑vouſly anſwered by Milton.

[103] ' The book of Mr. Salmaſius, written for the defence of the King of England, is now print⯑ing at Leyden, in French, and in Latin. This apology for a king, who has been beheaded by his people, is a delicate ſubject, and will not pleaſe every body. The Engliſh, who are the worſt, the moſt cruel, and the moſt perfidious of people, pretend that they are countenanced by their Religion, and the political Law; but Religio non fert Parricidas, Eccleſia neſcit San⯑guinem. The moſt refined politics do not go ſo far as to dare to puniſh kings, like other malefactors, by the hand of the common hangman. The grandfather of this Monarch was ſtrangled by the Puritans of Scotland. His grandmother, Mary Stuart, was beheaded in England, in the year 1587, by the command of Queen Elizabeth. I, who naturally hate the Engliſh, cannot but ſhudder with horror when I think of this nation.'

I ſhall ſay nothing on this extraordinary paſſage; but only remark that, though all this [104] paſſed ſo near the times in which Patin lived, he has committed, in this ſhort extract, a groſs hiſtorical blunder.

It has been a cuſtom to echo amongſt the Gallic writers, that the Engliſh nation are of the race

The very executions of our malefactors at Tyburn have been urged as a proof. Hear Voltaire—

' There have been ſanguinary times in all nations; but, amongſt the Engliſh, more illuſ⯑trious men have been brought to the block than in all Europe beſides. It was the cha⯑racter of this nation to commit legal murders. The Gates of London have been infected with human heads fixed to the walls.'

D'Argens, in his Philoſophical Viſions, has given the character of the Engliſh nations, un⯑der the names of the Libertines, in the ſecond Viſion. The paſſage is too long to be quoted; [105] but the power of his pencil ſeems not inferior to that of the lively Voltaire's, in drawing our Portrait with a vermilion hue. 'Monſters!' as Shakeſpeare ſays,

He ſays, that a civil war is our delight, and the beheading a Monarch our amuſement. This hardly deſerves the name of Wit; it is certainly deſtitute of Truth. I have not infre⯑quently thought, that theſe lively and facetious writers (for ſurely they did not mean to be ſerious) are ignorant of their own hiſtory; no improbable circumſtance with thoſe who pro⯑bably have written nearly as many books as they have read. I maintain, that France has known more ſanguinary periods than England; and that more of their Kings than of our own have come to an untimely end. Let us recollect the Aſſaſſinations of Henry the Third and Fourth; the Reigns of Henry the Second and Charles the Fourth; Louis the Thirteenth and [106] Fourteenth; and let all the efforts of all the Patins produce a maſſacre in England ſo dread⯑ful as that of St. Bartholomew in France!

THE TALMUD AND GEMARA.

THE Talmud is a collection of Jewiſh Tra⯑ditions, which had been orally preſerved. It comprizes the Miſhna, which is the text; and the Gemara, it's commentary. It is a compleat ſyſtem of the barbarous learning of the Jews. They have perſuaded themſelves, that theſe tra⯑ditional explications are of a Divine origin: for they tell us, that the Pentateuch was written out by their Legiſlator before his death; that the number of Copies was thirteen, one for each tribe, and the remaining one was depoſited in the Ark. That the Oral Law, 'was what Moſes continually taught, in his Sanhedrim, to the Elders, and the reſt of the people;' the mode of which honeſt David Levi informs us was thus—

[107] ' As ſoon as Moſes was returned to his tent from receiving the words of God, he called Aaron thither unto him, and firſt delivered unto him the Text, which was to be the Writ⯑ten Law; and after that, the interpretation of it, which was the Oral Law, in the ſame order as he received both from God in the Mount. Then Aaron ariſing, and ſeating himſelf at the right-hand of Moſes, Eleazar, and Ithamar, his ſons, went in the next; and being taught both theſe Laws at the feet of the Prophet, in the ſame manner as Aaron had been, they alſo aroſe and ſeated themſelves; and then the Seventy Elders, who conſtituted the Sanhedrim, or Great Senate of the nation; and then enter⯑ed all ſuch of the people as were deſirous of knowing the word of God.'

He then informs us that Moſes, Aaron, his ſons, and the Elders, made the ſame repetition before they withdrew—'So that the people having heard both theſe Laws repeated to them four times, they all had it thereby firmly fixed [108] in their memories; but the interpretation thereof was to be delivered down, only by word of mouth, to the ſucceeding generations,' for which no reaſon is alledged.

It appears afterwards, that at the end of the 40th year of their flight from Egypt, the me⯑mory of the people became treacherous, and Moſes was conſtrained to repeat, every now and then, this ſame Oral Law; which (if it is not profane to ſay) had been much better written as the Pentateuch was.

This hiſtory ſome may be inclined to ſup⯑poſe to be apocryphal. It appears that the Talmud was compiled by certain Jewiſh doc⯑tors, who were ſolicited for this purpoſe by their nation, that they might have ſomething to oppoſe to their Chriſtian adverſaries. Theſe doctors were deſcendants of the Ten Tribes of Iſrael, who were led into captivity by king Sal⯑manazar, father of Sennacherib, in the reign of King Hoſea. This book is a mixture of the Syriac, the Hebrew, and the vulgar Hebrew, [109] which was the language ſpoken in the ſchools of the Rabbins, and which differs as much from the other, as the Latin of Bartolinus from that of Cicero. This work contains nothing that is valuable, but a very heavy load of pious abſur⯑dities, of inſipid ſtories and palpable contradic⯑tions. The only apology that has been made for theſe extravagancies and idle fictions, is, that after the completion of the Talmud, thoſe who ſucceeded in the Schools are diſtinguiſhed by the name of Opinioniſts, and not by that of Doctors; and that no Jew is compelled to receive them as matters of faith, although we are in⯑formed that this work originated (as we have already obſerved) from the Great Dictator of the Written Law.

As the Reader may be curious to know one of theſe Rabbinical Reveries, we have compiled ſome notices which they have given concern⯑ing Adam.

Adam's body was made of the earth of Ba⯑bylon, his head of the land of Iſrael, his other [110] members of other parts of the world. R. Meir thought he was compact of the earth gathered out of the whole earth; as it is written—Thine eyes did ſee my ſubſtance. Now it is elſewhere writ⯑ten—The eyes of the Lord are over all the earth. R. Aha expreſsly marks the twelve hours in which his various parts were formed. His ſtature was from one end of the world to the other; and it was for his tranſgreſſion that the Creator, laying his hand in anger on him, leſſened him; for before, (ſays R. Eleazar) 'with his hand he reached the firmament.' R. Jehuda thinks his ſin was Hereſy; but R. Iſaac thinks (as my author expreſſes it) that 'it was nouriſhing his foreſkin.'

They farther inform us, that he was an Hermaphrodite, having both ſexes, and a double body; the female parts joined at the ſhoulders, and back parts to the male; their countenances turned from each other. And this they prove by Moſes ſaying, 'So God created man in his image; male and female [111] created he them, and he called their name ADAM.' Adam, being ſolitary, cut himſelf in two, (a hint this to the Managers for their Panto⯑mimes) and found himſelf fitted for pro⯑creation. Leo Hebraeus thus reconciles the fable of Plato's Audrogynus with the narra⯑tion of Moſes, from which he thinks it is borrowed. Plato relates, that Jupiter, in the firſt forming of mankind, made them ſuch audrogini, with two bodies, of two ſexes joined in the breaſt, which he divided for their pride, the navel ſtill remaining as a ſcar of the wound then made.

This article may be ſufficient to ſatiate the Reader with a peruſal of the Talmud. For his farther ſatisfaction, I refer him to Baſnage's Hiſtoire des Juifs, tome IV. p. 1323,

CARDINAL RICHELIEU.

THE preſent anecdote concerning Cardinal Richelieu may ſerve to teach the man of let⯑ters, [112] how he deals out Criticiſm to the Great, when they aſk his opinion of Manuſcripts, be they in verſe or proſe.

The Cardinal placed in a gallery of his Palace the portraits of ſeveral illuſtrious men. Among them was Blaiſe de Montluc, Mareſchal of France. He was deſirous of compoſing the inſcriptions which were to be placed round the portraits. That which he intend⯑ed for Montluc, was conceived in theſe terms: Multa fecit, Plura ſcripſit, Vir tamen, Magnus fuit. He ſhewed it to Bourbon, the Royal Profeſſor in Greek, and aſked his opinion concerning it. Having read it, he expreſſed his diſlike in warm terms, and thought it was Latin much in the ſtyle of the Breviary; and, if it had concluded with an Allelujah, it would ſerve for an Anthem to the Magnificat. The Cardinal agreed with the ſeverity of his ſtric⯑tures; and even acknowledged the diſcernment of the Profeſſor; 'for,' he ſaid, 'it is really writ⯑ten by a Prieſt.' But, however he might ap⯑prove [113] of Bourbon's critical power, he puniſh⯑ed without mercy his ingenuity. The penſion his Majeſty had beſtowed on him was withheld the next year.

The Cardinal was one of thoſe ambitious men who fooliſhly aſpire to excel in whatever a true Genius is moſt excellent; and, becauſe he ſaw himſef conſtantly diſappointed, he envied, with all the venom of rancour, thoſe talents which are ſo frequently all that men of genius poſſeſs.

Here are two intereſting anecdotes—He was jealous of Balzac, becauſe his reputa⯑tion became ſo ſplendid: he even offered the elder Heinſius ten thouſand crowns to write a Criticiſm which ſhould ridicule his elaborate compoſitions. This Heinſius refuſed, becauſe Salmaſius threatened to revenge Balzac on his Herodes Infanticida.

He attempted to rival the reputation of Cor⯑neille's Cid, by oppoſing to it one of the moſt ridiculous productions that was ever exhibited [114] in the theatre. It was an allegorical Tragedy, in which the Miniſter had congregated the four quarters of the world: it was diſtinguiſhed by the name of Europe; and a great deal of political matter was thrown together, and di⯑vided into ſcenes and acts. When he firſt ſent it anonymouſly to the French Academy, it was reprobated. He then tore it in rage, and ſcat⯑tered it about his ſtudy. Towards evening, like another Medea lamenting over the members of her own children, he and his ſecretary paſſed the night in uniting the ſcattered limbs. He then ventured to avow himſelf; and, having pretended to correct this incorrigible tragedy, the ſubmiſſive Academy retracted their cenſures—but the Public pronounced it's melancholy fate, on it's firſt repreſentation. This was the tragedy which was intended to thwart Cor⯑neille's Cid. Enraged at it's ſucceſs, Richelieu even commanded the Academy to publiſh an abuſive Critique of it, which is well known in [115] French literature. Boileau; on this occaſion, has theſe two well-turned verſes—

Thus tranſlated by a friend—

We muſt confeſs, however, that Cardinal Richelieu was a great politician. Whether his Nouveau Teſtament be his entire compoſition, is uncertain. He muſt, however, have ſupplied the materials, as it contains much of what none but himſelf could know. Theſe anecdotes will ſerve to ſhew, to what a degree of ſelf-opinion Vanity may level a great man. He who would attempt to diſplay Univerſal Excellence, will probably be diſappointed; it is certain he will be impelled to practiſe meanneſſes, and to act follies, which if he has the leaſt ſenſibility, muſt occaſion him many a pang, and many a bluſh.

CARDAN.

THE famous Cardan was born at Milan, or at Padua, the place of his nativity being un⯑certain, in the year 1501. To great natural powers, he added much acquired knowledge: but, above all, he was ever deſirous of informa⯑tion; and, to uſe the expreſſion of a French writer, he paſſed his life in continual medita⯑tion. On him the Italians have made this acute obſervation—that he has written more than he had read, and taught more than he had learnt. He died at Rome in 1576, where he attended Pope Gregory the Thirteenth, in the character of Phyſician. In his book, de Arcanis Aeter⯑nitatis, will be found a great number of cu⯑rious diſcoveries. Scaliger, who has written againſt him, acknowledges that, in many parts of his works, his intelligence ſeems greater than that which any writer ever poſſeſſed; while, in [117] other parts, he betrays an imbecillity of mind which would not be excuſeable in a boy. In matters of Religion, his opinions were un⯑ſettled: he did not know where to chuſe. All that has been ſaid of God, of Paradiſe, of Pur⯑gatory, of Hell, and of the Immortality of the Soul, &c. were things with him very diſput⯑able: and we may add, that they have appear⯑ed ſo likewiſe to others not leſs eminent than Cardan.

MARTIN LUTHER AND CALVIN.

To oppoſe the Church of Rome in their idea of Prayers addreſſed to the Saints, Luther de⯑nied the immortality of the ſoul. He ſaid it ex⯑pired with the body, but that God revived both. So that, according to his opinion, no one could enter into the viſible preſence of God till this operation had taken place. The Romiſh Church holding a contrary opinion, he treated as impious what it inculcates concerning the [118] immortality of the ſoul. Theſe are dreadful ſhifts for men who pretend to act by an im⯑pulſe of the Divinity!

Calvin was originally named Cauvin. His ſtipend, as Miniſter at Geneva, was as miſe⯑rable as the income of a Welch Curate. He was ſubject to eleven different maladies, which continually afflicting him, irritated his diſpo⯑ſitions. He had, indeed, ſo much acerbity in his temper, that he became unſupportable to thoſe who were near him. It was this that occaſion⯑ed many Germans to ſay, 'that they preferred being in Hell with Beza, to being in Paradiſe with Calvin.' Every day he taught Theology, preached, and held various conferences; yet, in ſpite of all his occupations, he contrived to leave behind him, as an author, nine ponderous folios! He died at Geneva, in 1594, aged fifty-five. He was a learned man; but he has cauſed a world of woe. He ſtrove ambi⯑tiouſly to overturn every thing. He was cruel and vindictive: he occaſioned the perſecution [119] of Michael Servetus, who was ſo cruelly put to death in the name of a Chriſtian Religion, and by the hands of men who profeſs Evan⯑gelical Gentleneſs; and all this for a difference about the Trinity!

It muſt, however, be recollected, that theſe anecdotes, and theſe ſentiments, are collected from Catholic Writers: the firſt are probably exaggerated, and the latter muſt be qualified by the diſcernment of the Reader.

TERTULLIAN.

TERTULLIAN, a father of the Primitive Church, was an African. He is a moſt terri⯑ble Author, and does not yield eaſily to the hand of the Tranſlator. He is all nerves; his pen pierces like a graver: his ſtyle would ap⯑pear ſhocking to the preſent race of readers.

With him, Diſcipline means the Rights of Re⯑ligion; Faith, it's Theory; and God and Diſci⯑pline, mean God and his Worſhip. He calls the Chriſtians Little Fiſh, becauſe they are regene⯑rated in the waters of Baptiſm: thoſe who [120] are baptized, Candidatos Baptiſmi; alluding to the White Robes the baptized wore till the ſuc⯑ceeding Sunday, which was therefore called the White Sunday. This is ſurely burleſquing the rites of Baptiſm. In this ſtyle are all his works compoſed; and there have been many writers on Sacred topics who greatly admire theſe flouriſhes of his pen. We may approve of their religious zeal, but not of their taſte in compoſition. Balzac, who pretends to be his admirer, gives a very ingenious reaſon for it: he ſays—'It muſt be confeſſed that his ſtyle is obſcure; but that, like the richeſt ebony, through it's exceſs of darkneſs, it is bright.' An idle conceit, like this, offers but a weak apology for the defects of a writer.

Lactantius cenſures him for his inelegance and harſhneſs.

Malebranche ſays, that 'his manner of writing dazzles the underſtanding; and that, like certain authors whoſe imaginations are vivid, he perſuades us without the aid of rea⯑ſon. [121] But he was a viſionary, and deſtitute of judgment. His fire, his raptures, and his en⯑thuſiaſm, upon the moſt trivial ſubjects, plain⯑ly indicate a diſordered imagination. What hyperboles! What figures!'

Salmaſius, the acuteſt commentator of the moderns, when he undertook to examine his writings, declared, that certainly no one ever can underſtand him.

Yet this is one of the fathers who eſtabliſhed Chriſtianity; and I am pained to obſerve, that a candid criticiſm on ſo bad a writer will be looked upon as committing an impiety to⯑wards Chriſtianity, by certain zealots of reli⯑gion, who ſeem in their notions to be at leaſt ſome centuries remote from the enlightened ſpirit of this Age. But let it be conſider⯑ed, that I preſume not to decide on matters of religious faith, but only on thoſe which concern the four and twenty letters of the Alphabet.

ABELARD.

ALTHOUGH Abelard, an author ſo famous for his writings, and his amours with Eloiſa, or rather Heloiſe, is ranked not among the Orthodox, but the Heretics, becauſe he ven⯑tured to publiſh opinions concerning the Tri⯑nity, which were in thoſe times thought too ſubtle and too bold; yet it is probably owing to his ſuperior genius that he appeared ſo cul⯑pable in the eyes of his enemies. The cabal formed againſt him diſturbed the earlier part of his life with a thouſand perſecutions; till at length they perſuaded Bernard, his old friend, but who had now turned ſaint, that poor Abelard was what their malice deſcribed him to be. Bernard, enflamed againſt him, con⯑demned, unheard, the unfortunate ſcholar. But it is remarkable, that the book which was burnt as unorthodox, and as the compoſition of Abelard, was in fact written by Peter Lom⯑bard, [123] Biſhop of Paris; a work which has ſince been canonized in the Sorbonne, and on which is founded the ſcholaſtic theology. We may add alſo, that becauſe Abelard, in the warmth of honeſt indignation, had reproved the Monks of St. Denis, in France, and St. Gildas de Ruys, in Bretagne, for the horrid incontinence of their lives, they joined his enemies, and aſſiſted to embitter the life of this ingenious ſcholar; who, perhaps, was guilty of no other crime than that of feeling too ſenſibly an attachment to one who not only poſſeſſed the enchanting attractions of the ſofter ſex, but what indeed is very unuſual, a congeni⯑ality of diſpoſition, and an enthuſiaſm of ima⯑gination.

ADAM NOT THE FIRST MAN.

AMONG the many ſingular opinions which ſome have endeavoured to eſtabliſh, and in [124] which indeed they have themſelves firmly confided, not the leaſt to be diſtinguiſhed is that of one Iſaac de la Pereyre, of Bourdeaux. He is the author of a book entitled, 'The Pre-Adamites,' where he attempts to ſhew that Adam is not the firſt of men. He was always dreaming on this during his life, and died in it's firm belief. He would have been glad to have known, that an ancient Rabbin was ſo much inclined towards his ſyſtem, that he has even ventured to reveal the name of the Precep⯑tor of Adam! But this Rabbin (as Menage ob⯑ſerves) was a Rabbin, and that is ſaying enough.

When this book firſt made it's appearance, it was condemned to be burnt by the hand of the common hangman. Menage has preſerv⯑ed a pretty Bon Mot of the Prince de Gue⯑mene, which paſſed about the time this book made a noiſe. One Father Adam, a Jeſuit, preached at St. Germain, before the Queen. The ſermon was execrable; and being at the ſame time very perſonal, was greately diſliked at [125] Court. The Queen ſpoke concerning it to the Prince, and aſked him his opinion. 'Madam,' he replied, 'I am a Pre-Adamite.'—'What does that mean?' ſaid the Queen.'—'It is, Madam,' the Prince wittily anſwered, 'that I do not think Father Adam to be the firſt of men.'

Voltaire, at Ferney, had alſo a Pere-Adam, on whom he frequently played off this wit⯑ticiſm of the Prince; and thoſe who are ac⯑quainted with his creed, may believe that his obſervations on Father Adam were not a little pungent.

Theſe Pre-Adamites bring to my recollection two humorous lines of Prior, in his Alma—

THE ARABIC CHRONICLE.

THE Arabic Chronicle of Jeruſalem is only valuable from the time of Mahomet. For ſuch is the ſtupid ſuperſtition of the Arabs, that they [126] pride themſelves on being ignorant of whatever has paſſed before the miſſion of their Prophet. The moſt curious information it contains, is concerning the Croiſades. The Abbé de Longerue has tranſlated ſeveral parts. He who would be verſed in the hiſtory of the Croiſades, ſhould attend to this chronicle. It ſeems to have been written with impartiality. It ren⯑ders juſtice to the Chriſtian Heroes, and par⯑ticularly dwells on the gallant actions of the Count de Saint Gilles.

What is worthyof obſervation is, that our Hiſtorians chiefly write concerning Godfrey de Bouillon; only the learned know that the Count de Saint Gilles acted there ſo important a character. The ſtories of the Saracens are juſt the reverſe: they ſpeak little concern⯑ing Godfrey, and eminently diſtinguiſh Saint Gilles.

Taſſo has given into the more vulgar ac⯑counts, by making the former ſo eminent, at the coſt of the other heroes, in his Jeruſalem [127] Delivered. It was thus that Virgil transform⯑ed, by his magical power, the chaſte Dido into a lover; and Homer, the meretricious Penelope into a moaning matron.

PRIOR'S HANS CARVEL.

THE ſtory of the Ring of Hans Carvel, which Fontaine has ſo prettily ſet off, and Prior has with ſuch gaiety and freedom related, is yet of very ancient ſtanding; but it has proved ſo much a favourite, that a number of authors have employed it. Menage ſays, that Poggius Florentine, who died in 1459, has the merit of it's invention▪

Rabelais, who has given it in his peculiar manner, changed it's original name of Philel⯑phus, to that of Hans Carvel.

This tale will alſo be found in the eleventh of the One Hundred New Novels collected in 1461.

[128] Arioſto has borrowed it, at the end of his fifth Satire; but, by his pleaſant manner of re⯑lating it, we muſt confeſs it is fairly appro⯑priated.

An anonymous writer, who publiſhed a Col⯑lection of Novels, at Lyons, in 1555, has alſo employed it in his eleventh Novel.

Cellio Maleſpini has it again in page 288 of the Second Part of his Two Hundred Novels, printed at Venice in 1609.

Fontaine, and an anonymous writer who has compoſed it in Latin Anacreontic verſes, have conſidered it to be a ſubject worthy of their pens; and, at length, our Prior has given it to us in his beſt manner: ſo that I may ven⯑to predict that, after Arioſto, La Fontaine, and Prior, he who again attempts it in the politer languages, will partake the diſhonourable fate of Icarus.

PLINY.

PLINY was by much too bold to advance, in his Natural Hiſtory, lib. 7. cap. 35. that the ſoul is not immortal. This is a dreadful ſenti⯑ment to be diſſeminated throughout a ſtate; for, if this principle is eſtabliſhed, the good will no more hope for a recompence of their miſeries, nor the bad dread a puniſhment for their crimes.

Pliny was certainly a man of irreproachable character: but the truth is, that, like moſt of the Romans, he aſpired to glory, by ſhewing that he could be an honeſt man without the hope of any future reward. The ſentiment is noble, but let it be confined to the narrow circle of ſpeculative philoſophy.

Pliny, to expreſs at the ſame time the in⯑vention and the malice of men, ſays, in writing on Arrows, that they have given wings to iron, and taught it to fly like a bird—had he even [130] added, like a ravenous vulture, perhaps it might have heightened this poetical image. Had he lived when gunpowder, fire-arms, and bombs, were invented, what metaphors could the phi⯑loſopher have found to equal his indignation! Arioſto and Milton have ſatirized this diabolical machinery, when they gave them to be employ⯑ed by the demons.

The Younger Pliny has given (a French wit obſerves) ſo exact a deſcription of his houſe, that it looks as if he wiſhed to diſpoſe of it. Men of taſte are fond of perpetuating thoſe ſcenes which their lives have been paſſed in embelliſhing.

The Elder Pliny, who was ſo intimately ac⯑quainted with the human heart, ſays, on the ſubject of Chryſtal Vaſes, that their fragility enhances their price; and that it is the boaſt of Luxury to make uſe of things that may, at the ſlighteſt blow, entirely periſh.

The Younger Pliny has this admirable ſen⯑timent—That he is a good man, and of ſtrict [131] morals, who pardons every one, as if he him⯑ſelf committed faults every day; and yet, who endeavours to abſtain from them, as if he par⯑doned no one.

MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERY.

IT is Boileau who has written the above couplet on the Scuderies, the brother and ſiſter, both famous in their day for compoſing Ro⯑mances, which they ſometimes extended to ten or twelve volumes. It was the favourite lite⯑rature of that period, as much as the Novels of the preſent times; or, to be more correct, of the preſent hour. Our Nobility not infrequently condeſcended to tranſlate theſe voluminous compoſitions.

The diminutive ſize of our modern Novels is undoubtedly an improvement; but, in re⯑ſembling the ſize of Primers, it were to be wiſhed that their contents had alſo reſembled their in⯑offenſive [132] page. Our great-grandmothers were incommoded with overgrown folios; and, in⯑ſtead of finiſhing the eventful hiſtory of two lovers at one or two ſittings, it was ſometimes ſix months, including Sundays, before they could get quit of their Clelias, their Cyrus's, and Partheniſſas.

Mademoiſelle Scudery, Menage informs us, had compoſed ninety volumes! the materials of which were entirely drawn from her own fer⯑tile invention. She had even finiſhed another Romance; but which ſhe would not give to the Public, whoſe taſte, ſhe ſaw, no more reliſhed theſe kinds of works.

' What a pleaſing deſcription,' he elſewhere obſerves, 'has Mademoiſelle Scudery made in her Cyrus of the Little Court at Rambouillet! There are a thouſand things in the Romances of this learned lady that render them ineſti⯑mable. She has drawn from the Ancients their happieſt paſſages, and has even improved upon them. Like the Prince in the fable, whatever [133] ſhe touches becomes gold. We may read her works with great profit, if we poſſes a correct taſte, and wiſh to gather inſtruction. Thoſe who cenſure their length, only ſhew the little⯑neſs of their judgment; as if Homer and Virgil were to be deſpiſed, becauſe many of their books are filled with epiſodes and incidents that neceſſarily retard the concluſion. It does not require much penetration to obſerve, that Cyrus and Clelia are ſpecies of the Epic poem. The Epic muſt embrace a number of events to ſu⯑ſpend the courſe of the narrative; which only taking in a part of the life of the hero, would terminate too ſoon to diſcover the ſkill of the poet. Without this artifice, the charm of uniting the greater part of the Epiſodes to the principal ſubject of the Romance would be loſt. Mademoiſelle de Scudery has ſo well treated them, and ſo aptly introduced a variety of beau⯑tiful paſſages, that nothing in this kind is com⯑parable to her productions. If we except ſome expreſſions, and certain turns, which have be⯑come [134] ſomewhat obſolete, all the reſt will laſt for ever, and outlive the criticiſms they have undergone.'

Menage has here certainly uttered a falſe prophecy. Her Romances I only know by their names; but this Critique muſt be allowed to be given rather in the ſpirit of friendſhip than of true criticiſm.

I ſhall add to this article the ſentiments of a modern French writer, who has diſplayed great ingenuity in his ſtrictures.

' The misfortune of her having written too abundantly has occaſioned an unjuſt contempt. We confeſs there are many heavy and tedious paſſages in her voluminous Romances; but if we conſider that, in the Clelia and the Artamene, are to be found inimitable delicate touches, and many ſplendid parts which would do honour to ſome of our living writers, we muſt acknowledge that the great defects of all her works ariſe from her not writing in an age when taſte had reached the acmé of cultivation which it now has. Such [135] is her erudition, that the French place her next to the celebrated Madame Dacier. Her works, containing many ſecret intrigues of the court and city, her readers reliſhed, on their early publication, more keenly than we can at pre⯑ſent.'

THE SCALIGERS.

THE Man of Letters muſt confeſs—re⯑luctantly, perhaps—that the literature which ſtores the head with ſo many ingenious re⯑flections, and ſo much admirable intelligence, may at the ſame time have little or no influence over the virtues of the heart. The ſame vices, and the ſame follies, diſgrace the literate and the illiterate. Who poſſeſſed a profounder knowledge of the Grecian learning, or was a more erudite critic, than Burman? Yet this man lived unobſervant of every ordinary de⯑cency and moral duty. Who diſplayed more acuteneſs of mind, and a wider circle of lite⯑rature, [136] than the Scaligers? Yet, from the anecdotes and characters I collect of them, let the reader contemplate the men.

The two Scaligers, father and ſon, were two prodigies of learning and of vanity. Schiop⯑pius has tore the maſk of that principality with which the father had adorned himſelf; for the elder Scaliger maintained that he was deſcended from the Princes of Verona. Schioppius ſays, and he is now credited, that he was originally named Jules Burden; that he was born in the ſhop of a gilder; had paſſed ſome part of his life with a ſurgeon; and then became a cor⯑delier. The elevation of his mind made him aſpire to honours greater than theſe: he threw off his frock, and took the degree of Doctor in Phyſic at Paris. In this character he ap⯑peared at Venice, and in Piedmont. He there attached himſelf to a Prelate of the noble Houſe of Rovezza, and followed him to Agen, of which his patron was made Biſhop. He there married the daughter of an apothecary. [137] Such were the parents of Joſeph Scaliger; who, finding this chimerical principality in his family, paſſed himſelf for a Prince; and, to render the impoſitions of his father more credible, he added many of his own.

Naudé ſpeaks thus concerning them—'They ſay, in Italy, that Scaliger's father married, at Agen, the daughter of an apothecary; though others affirm, the baſtard of a biſhop:' pro⯑bably, of the prelate he followed. 'His ſon Scaliger was viſited in the character of a Prince at Leyden.'

By this, I think, it appears that Naudé gives him credit for the principality; for he ſeems not in the leaſt to ſmile at the ho⯑nour.

' The Duke de Nevers, having paid him a viſit, offered him a conſiderable preſent, which Scaliger civilly refuſed.'

The pride of this ſuppoſititious Prince, who was but a poor ſtudent, muſt have run high!

' Schioppius,' adds Naudé, 'muſt have [138] been under the influence of ſome demon when he wrote ſo bad a book againſt Scaliger:' yet Menage obſerves of this work, that Joſeph Scaliger died of the chagrin he felt on the occaſion of Schioppius's book being publiſhed, entitled, Scaliger Hypobolymaeus.

' Yet we may,' obſerves Huet, 'ſay, with Lipſius, that if the two Scaligers were not actually Princes, they richly merited a princi⯑pality for the beauty of their genius and the extent of their erudition; but we can offer no apology for their ridiculous and ſingular haughtineſs.

' When a friend was delineating his character, the father wrote to him in theſe terms—"En⯑deavour to collect whatever is moſt beautiful in the pages of Maſiniſſa, of Xenophon, and of Plato, and you may then form a portrait which, however, will reſemble me but imperfectly."

Yet this man poſſeſſed little delicacy of taſte, as he evinces by the falſe judgments he paſſes on Homer and Muſaeus; and, above all, by [139] thoſe unformed and rude poems with which he has diſhonoured Parnaſſus. I have read ſomewhere a French ſonnet by this man, which is beneath criticiſm. Menage ſays, that the collection of Scaliger's poems, which forms a thick octavo volume, will hardly find it's equal for bad compoſition, conſidering them as the productions of a man of letters. Of a great number of epigrams, there are but four or five which are in the leaſt tolerable.

Huet thinks that his ſon compoſed thoſe letters which paſs under his name; and, as he is an exquiſite judge of ſtyle, we ſhould credit his opinion. But, though his poetry is ſo deſtitute of ſpirit or grace, his proſe, it muſt be allowed, is excellent: nothing can be more noble, higher poliſhed, or more happily turned.

The ſon poſſeſſed a finer taſte: his ſtyle is more flowing and eaſy, and yet is not the leſs noble. His writings, like thoſe of the father, breathe ſingular haughtineſs and malignity. [140] The Scaligerana will convince us that he was incapable of thinking or ſpeaking favourably of any perſon. Although he has reflected honour on his age by the extenſiveneſs of his learning, we muſt confeſs that he has not ſel⯑dom fallen into groſs errors, even on thoſe ſubjects to which he had moſt applied. As for inſtance, Chronology, which was his fa⯑vourite ſtudy; and although he imagined that he ſtretched the ſceptre over the realms of Criticiſm, no one has treated this topic with leſs felicity. It was the reform of the Calendar then pending at Rome which engaged him in this ſtudy. He wiſhed to ſhew the world that he was more capable than all thoſe who had been employed. If the ſucceſs of this labour had depended on the extent and variety of erudition, he had eminently ſurpaſſed all thoſe who had applied to this taſk; but he was their inferior in the ſolidity of his judgment, in the exactneſs of his arguments, and the profundity of his ſpeculations. When he fondly believed [141] that he had found the Quadrature of the Circle, he was corrected, and turned into ridicule, by an obſcure ſchoolmaſter; who, having clearly pointed out the paralogiſm which deceived him, made his cyclometrics vaniſh at his touch.

' Scaliger, the father, was,' ſays Patin, 'an illuſtrious impoſtor. He had never been at any war, nor at any court of the Emperor Maximilian, as he pretended. He paſſed the firſt thirty years of his life in one continued ſtudy. Afterwards, he threw off his monk's frock, and palmed on all Europe the ſingular impoſition of his being a deſcendant of the Princes of Verona, who bore the name of Scaliger.

Julius Scaliger had this peculiarity in his manner of compoſition: he wrote with ſuch accuracy, that his manuſcript and the printed copy always correſponded page for page, and line for line. This may appear trifling information; but I am perſuaded that [142] a habit of correctneſs in the leſſer parts of com⯑poſition aſſiſts the higher.

George Pſalmanazar, well known in the literary world, exceeded in powers of decep⯑tion any of the great impoſtors of learning. His Iſland of Formoſa was an illuſion emi⯑nently bold, and maintained with as much felicity as erudition; and vaſt muſt have been that erudition which could, on ſcientific prin⯑ciples, form a language and it's grammar.

DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULT.

THE maxims of this noble Author are in the hands of every one. To thoſe who chuſe to derive every motive and every action from the ſolitary principle of ſelf-love, they are in⯑eſtimable. They form one continued ſatire on human nature; but they are not reconcileable to the feelings of him who trembles with the ſenſibilities of genius, or paſſes through life with the firm integrity of virtue.

[143] The character of this Author is thus given by Segrais—'The Duke de la Rochefoucault had not ſtudied; but he was endowed with a wonderful degree of diſcernment, and knew perfectly well the world. It was this that afforded him opportunities of making reflec⯑tions, and reducing into maxims thoſe diſco⯑veries which he had made in the heart of man, of which he diſplayed an admirable know⯑ledge.'

Cheſterfield, our Engliſh Rochefoucault, we are alſo informed, poſſeſſed an admirable know⯑ledge of the heart of man; and he, too, has drawn a ſimilar picture of human nature. Theſe are two noble authors, whoſe chief ſtudies ſeem to have been in courts. May it not be poſſible, allowing theſe authors not to have written a ſentence of apocrypha, that the fault lies not ſo much in human nature as in the nobility themſelves?

THE FATHERS OF THE CHURCH.

THE preſent criticiſm is drawn from the Abbé Longuerue. He, of all the Fathers of the ancient Chriſtians who beſt have compoſed in Latin, is Sulpicius Severus, particularly in his Hiſtory.

Lactantius has many ſplendid paſſages ſcat⯑tered in his works.

St. Auguſtine, who had ſtudied Cicero very attentively, has not, however, taken him for his model in his writings; or rather, could never approach him in any degree.

St. Jerome has ſometimes paſſages which may be read with pleaſure; but he is ſtrangely unequal.

St. Ambroſe has endeavoured to imitate Cicero; but there is a wide difference betwixt them.

SEVERE CRITICISM.

AN unmerciful Critic obſerves, that there are few books to which an Author can prefix his name, without treſpaſſing upon his veracity: for there is not one work which is the labour of a ſingle perſon.

When a Poet was reproached for his Pla⯑giariſms, (which he probably called Claſſical Imitations) he defended himſelf in this man⯑ner—That a painter was not leſs a painter, nor an architect leſs an architect, becauſe the one purchaſed his colours, and the other his building materials. 'It is all pouring out of one bottle into another,' exclaimed Sterne.—Unhappy Authors! Unrelenting Critics!

THE PORT ROYAL SOCIETY.

EVERY lover of Letters muſt have heard of the Port Royal Society, and probably has [146] benefited by the labours of theſe learned Men: but, perhaps, few have attended to their ori⯑gin, and to their diſſolution.

The Society of the Port Royal des Champs— that was the original title—took this name from a valley about ſix leagues from Paris.

In the year 1637, Le Maitre, a celebrated Advocate, renounced the Bar, and reſigned the honour of being Conſeiller d'Etat, which his uncommon merit had obtained him, though then only twenty-eight years of age. His brother, De Sericourt, who had followed the military profeſſion, quitted it at the ſame time. Both conſecrating themſelves to the ſervice of God, they retired into a little houſe near the Port Royal of Paris. Their brothers, De Sacy, De St. Elme, and De Valmont, joined them. For ſome political reaſon, they were conſtrained to remove themſelves from that ſpot, and they then fixed their reſidence at Port Royal des Champs. There again the Court diſturbed them, after a reſidence of [147] little more than two months; but, about a year afterwards, they again returned.

With theſe illuſtrious Recluſes many per⯑ſons of diſtinguiſhed merit now retired: and it was this Community which has been ſince called the Society of Port Royal.

Amongſt the members, was the celebrated Arnauld, and others, whoſe names would re⯑flect a luſtre on any ſociety.

Here were no rules, no vows, no conſtitu⯑tion, and no cells formed. Prayer and ſtudy were their only occupations. They applied themſelves to the education of young men, and initiated the riſing generation into ſcience and into virtue.

Racine here received his education; and, on his death-bed, deſired to be buried in the cemetery of the Port Royal, at the feet of M. Hamon. An amiable inſtance, this, of the Poet's ſenſibility!

Anne de Bourbon, a Princeſs of the blood-royal, erected a houſe near the Port Royal, [148] and was, during her life, the powerful pa⯑troneſs of theſe ſolitary and religious men: but her death happening in 1679, gave the fatal ſtroke which diſperſed them for ever.

The envy and the fears of the Jeſuits, and their rancour againſt Arnauld, who with ſuch ability had expoſed their deſigns, occaſioned the deſtruction of the Port Royal Society.

THE PROGRESS OF OLD AGE IN NEW STUDIES.

SOCRATES learnt to play on Muſical In⯑ſtruments in his old age: Cato, at eighty, thought proper to learn Greek; and Plutarch, almoſt as late in life, Latin.

One John Gelida, a Spaniard, commenced the ſtudies of Polite Literature at forty.

Henry Spelman, having neglected the Sci⯑ences in his youth, cultivated them at fifty years of age, and produced good fruit.

Fairfax, after having been General of the parliamentary forces, retired to Oxford, to take his degrees in Law.

[149] Colbert, the famous French Miniſter, al⯑moſt at ſixty, returned to his Latin and Law ſtudies.

Tellier, the Chancellor of France, learnt Logic, merely for an amuſement, to diſpute with his grand-children.

SPANISH POETRY.

PERE BOUHOURS obſerves, that the Spaniſh Poets diſplay an extravagant imagination, which is by no means deſtitute of wit; but which evinces little taſte or judgment.

Their verſes are much in the ſtyle of our Cowley—trivial Points, monſtrous Me⯑taphors, and forced Conceits.

A true poetical taſte is not pleaſed with ſuch wild chimeras, but requires the fine touches of Nature and Paſſion.

Lopes de Vega, in deſcribing an afflicted Shepherdeſs, in one of his Paſtorals, who is repreſented weeping near the ſea-ſide, ſays—[150] ' That the Sea joyfully advances to gather her tears; and that, having encloſed them in ſhells, it converts them into pearls.'

Gongora, whom the Spaniards ſo greatly admire, and whom they diſtinguiſh, amongſt their Poets, by the epithet of The Wonderful, is full of theſe points and conceits.

He imagines that a Nightingale, who en⯑chantingly varied her notes, and ſung in dif⯑ferent manners, had a hundred thouſand other Nightingales in her breaſt, which al⯑ternately ſung through her throat—

He calls the Giraſole, which laſts longer than the generality of flowers, 'Mathuſalen [151] de las floras;' becauſe Methuſalem lived to a greater age than the other Patriarchs.

In one of his Odes, he gives to the River of Madrid, the title of the Duke of Streams, and the Viſcount of Rivers—

He did not venture to call it a Spaniſh Grandee, for, in fact, it is but a ſhallow and dirty ſtream; and, as Quevedo informs us—'The Mançanares is reduced, during the Sum⯑mer-ſeaſon, to the melancholy condition of the wicked Rich Man, who aſks for water in the depths of Hell.'

Concerning this River a pleaſant witticiſm is recorded. A Spaniard paſſing it, one day, when it was perfectly dry, and obſerving that the ſuperb bridge, which Philip the Second had built over it, ſerved to very little purpoſe, archly remarked—'That it would be proper [152] that the bridge ſhould be ſold, to purchaſe water.' Es meneſter vender la puente por com⯑prar agua.

SAINT EVREMOND.

THE character of St. Evremond, delineated by his own hand, will not be unacceptable to many readers.

A French Critic has obſerved of this writer, that he had great wit, and frequently has written well; but there is a ſtrange inequa⯑lity throughout his works.

The compariſons which he has formed be⯑twixt ſome of the illuſtrious Ancients, are ex⯑cellent; the Criticiſms which he has given on ſeveral Authors, are valuable: but, in the greater part of his works, he ſinks to mediocrity. His Poetry is inſipid, and not the compoſi⯑tion of Genius, but Study. His proſaic ſtyle is too full of points: the Antitheſis was his favourite figure, and he is continually employ⯑ing it.

[153] This laſt cenſure, I am fearful, may reach the preſent character which he has given of himſelf: but ſtill it is ingenious, and offers a lively picture to the imagination—

' I am a Philoſopher, as far removed from ſuperſtition as from impiety; a Voluptuary, who has not leſs abhorrence for debauchery than inclination for pleaſure; a Man, who has never known want nor abundance. I oc⯑cupy that ſtation of life, which is deſpiſed by thoſe who poſſeſs every thing; envied by thoſe who have nothing, and only reliſhed by thoſe who make their felicity to conſiſt in the exerciſe of their reaſon. Young, I hated diſ⯑ſipation; convinced that a man muſt poſſeſs wealth to provide for the comforts of a long life: old, I diſliked oeconomy; as I believed that we need not greatly dread want, when we have but a ſhort time to be miſerable. I am ſatisfied with what Nature has done for me; nor do I repine at Fortune. I do not ſeek in men what they have of evil, that I [154] may cenſure; I only find out what they have ridiculous, that I may be amuſed. I feel a pleaſure in detecting their follies; I ſhould feel a greater in communicating my diſcove⯑ries, did not my prudence reſtrain me. Life is too ſhort, according to my ideas, to read all kinds of books, and to load our memory with an infinite number of things, at the coſt of our judgment. I do not attach myſelf to the ſentiments of ſcientific men, to acquire Science; but to the moſt rational, that I may ſtrengthen my reaſon. Sometimes, I ſeek for the more delicate minds, that my taſte may imbibe their delicacy; ſometimes, for the gayer, that I may enrich my genius with their gaiety: and, although I conſtantly read, I make it leſs may occupation than my pleaſure. In Religion, and in Friendſhip, I have only to paint myſelf ſuch as I am—in friendſhip, more tender than a philoſopher; and, in religion, as conſtant, and as ſincere, as a Youth who has more ſimplicity than experience. My [155] Piety is compoſed more of juſtice and charity, than of penitence. I reſt my confidence on God, and hope every thing from His benevo⯑lence. In the boſom of Providence I find my repoſe and my felicity.'

CORNEILLE AND ADDISON.

THE Student, who may, perhaps, ſhine a luminary of Learning and of Genius, in the pages of his volume, is found, not rarely, to lie obſcured beneath a thick cloud in collo⯑quial diſcourſe.

It is the Superficial Mind that reflects little, but ſpeaks fluently; and that appears to the vulgar, who are better judges of the quantity than of the quality of words, a conſtellation of abilities.

If you love the Man of Letters, ſeek him in the privacies of his ſtudy; or, if he be a Man of Virtue, take him to your boſom. It is in the hour of confidence and tranquil⯑lity, [156] his Genius may elicit a ray of intelli⯑gence, more fervid than the labours of po⯑liſhed compoſition.

The great Peter Corneille, whoſe genius reſembled that of our Shakeſpeare, and who has ſo forcibly expreſſed the ſublime ſenti⯑ments of the Hero, had nothing in his exte⯑rior manners that indicated his genius: on the contrary, his converſation was ſo inſipid, that it never failed of wearying his auditors. Na⯑ture, who had laviſhed on him the extraordi⯑nary gifts of Genius, had forgotten, or rather diſdained, to blend with them her more ordinary ones. He did not even ſpeak, cor⯑rectly, that language, of which he was ſuch a maſter.

When his friends repreſented to him, in the trite cant of the vulgar, how much more he might pleaſe, by not diſdaining to correct theſe trivial errors; he would ſmile, and ſay, 'I am not the leſs Peter Corneille!'

The deficiencies of Addiſon, in converſation, [157] are well known. He preſerved a rigid ſilence amongſt ſtrangers; but, if he was ſilent, it was the ſilence of Meditation. He, probably, at that moment, laboured more in his reflec⯑tions, than had he been in his ſtudy.

The vulgar may talk; but it is for Genius to obſerve.

The 'prating Mandeville,' pert, frothy, and empty, in his Miſanthropic Compoſitions, compared Addiſon, after having paſſed an evening in his company, to 'a ſilent Parſon in a tye-wig.' It is no ſhame for an Addiſon to receive the cenſures of a Mandeville; they have only to bluſh when they call down thoſe of a Pope!

VIDA.

WHAT a conſolation muſt it be for an aged parent to ſee his child, by the efforts of his own merits, attain, from the humbleſt obſcurity, to diſtinguiſhed eminence! What a tranſport muſt it yield to the Man of Senſibi⯑lity [158] to return to the obſcure dwelling of his parent, and to embrace him, adorned with pub⯑lic honours! Poor Vida was deprived of this ſatisfaction; but he is placed higher in our eſteem by the preſent Anecdote, than even by that claſſic compoſition, which rivals the Art of Poetry of his great Maſter.

Jerome Vida, after having long ſerved two Popes, had at length attained to the Epiſ⯑copacy. Arrayed in the robes of his new dig⯑nity, he prepared to viſit his aged parents, and felicitated himſelf with the raptures which the old couple would feel, in embracing their ſon as their Biſhop. When he arrived at their village, he learnt that it was but a few days ſince they were no more! His ſenſibilities were exquiſitely pained. The Muſe, elegantly que⯑rulous, dictated ſome Elegiac Verſe; and, in the ſweeteſt pathos, deplored the death and the diſappointment of his parents.

MATTHEW PARIS.

A FRENCH Critic has given this juſt and lively criticiſm on our Hiſtorian—

' Matthew Paris, an Engliſh Monk, is a good Hiſtorian, if we except his Viſions, and his Apparitions, with which his work is crouded. This is his worſt ſide. But in thoſe times, when they wrote Hiſtory, it was as eſſential to recount a number of miracles, as it is in the preſent day to reject them; un⯑leſs they are introduced to raiſe a laugh.

Matthew Paris is, however, ſincere, and frank; and, without labouring at delineating the portraits of his heroes, he preſents us with all the ideas which are neceſſary to be given. And this is more pleaſing to me, than that vile affectation of continually drawing elabo⯑rate portraits; the great number of which diſ⯑guſt, [160] and render the veracity of the Author frequently ſuſpected.'

Will not this laſt cenſure fall heavy on the characters which Smollet has given us at the concluſion of every reign of our Monarchs? Does not the Author more frequently delineate the image of Imagination, than that of Hiſtoric Truth?

THE NUMERAL FIGURES.

The Numeral Figures, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, which we now employ, began to be made uſe of, in Europe, for the firſt time, in 1240, in the Alphonſean Tables, made by the order of Alphonſo, ſon of Ferdinand, King of Caſ⯑tile; who employed, for this purpoſe, Iſaac Hazan, a Jew ſinger, of the Synagogue of Toledo; and Aben Ragel, an Arabian. The Arabs took them from the Indians, in 900. The other Eaſtern nations received them through the means of the Spaniards, in a [161] ſhort time after their invaſions. The firſt Greek who made uſe of them, was Plenudes, in a work dedicated to Michael Paleologus, in 1270; ſo that the Greeks had them not from the Arabs, but the Latins.

Theſe cyphers were firſt uſed at Paris, in 1256; and became generally uſed in England, as Dr. Wallis thinks, about the year 1130; but this has been a point hitherto very diſ⯑putable; and if the preſent account, which is taken from the accurate Menage, be juſt, it will appear ſtill more ſo.

CONCEPTION AND EXPRESSION.

THERE are Men who have juſt thoughts on every ſubject; but it is not perceived, be⯑cauſe their expreſſions are feeble. They con⯑ceive well, but they produce badly.

Eraſmus acutely obſerved, alluding to what then much occupied his mind, that one might be apt to ſwear that they had been taught, in the [162] Confeſſional Cell, all they had learnt; ſo ſcru⯑pulous are they of diſcloſing what they know. Others, again, conceive ill, and produce well; for they expreſs with elegance, frequently, what they do not know.

It was obſerved of one Pleader, that he knew more than he ſaid; and of another, that he ſaid more than he knew.

BOOKS OF LOVE AND DEVOTION.

THE agreeable Menage has this acute obſer⯑vation on the writings of Love and Religion.—'Books of Devotion, and thoſe of Love, are alike bought. The only difference I find is, that there are more who read books of Love, than buy them; and there are more who buy books of Devotion, than read them.'

GEOGRAPHICAL DICTION.

' THERE are many Sciences,' Menage, 'on which we cannot, indeed, write in a [163] florid or elegant diction—ſuch as Geogra⯑phy, Muſic, Algebra, Geometry, &c. Cicero, who had been intreated by Atticus to write on Geography, excuſed himſelf; and obſerved, that it's ſcenes were moe adapted to pleaſe the eye, than ſuſceptible of the rich orna⯑ments of a poliſhed ſtyle. However, in theſe kinds of ſcience, we muſt ſupply, by ſome little words of erudition, the abſence of the flowers of elegant diction.

Thus if we are to notice ſome inconſidera⯑ble place; for inſtance, Andelis: in adding, that it was the birth-place of Turnebus, as Calepin has done, this erudition pleaſes even more than all the flowery ornaments of rhetoric.

SAINTS CARRYING THEIR HEADS IN THEIR HANDS.

ILLITERATE perſons have imagined, that the repreſentation of a Saint in this manner, was meant to ſhew a miracle of this kind. [164] But we muſt do juſtice to theſe Saints by wiping away the obloquy of endeavouring to impoſe on us this ſupernatural action.

It was the cuſtom of the Painters, when they drew Saints who had ſuffered decapita⯑tion, to place their heads in their hands, to mark the ſpecies of martyrdom they ſuffered; and the headleſs trunk, at the ſame time, would have had a very repulſive effect.

It is ſaid, that when a Lord, in the rebellion of 1745, was committed to priſon, on ſuſpi⯑cion of correſponding with the Pretender, he cauſed himſelf to be painted in the character of St. Denis carrying his head in his hand.

NOBLEMEN TURNED CRITICS.

I OFFER to the contemplation of thoſe un⯑fortunate mortals, who are neceſſitated to undergo the criticiſms of Lords, this pair of Anecdotes—

[165] A Cardinal having cauſed a ſtatue to be made at Rome, by the great Angelo, when it was finiſhed, he came to inſpect it; and having, for ſome time, ſagaciouſly conſidered it, poring now on the face, then on the arms, the knees, the form of the leg, and, at length, on the foot itſelf; the ſtatue being of ſuch per⯑fect beauty, he found himſelf at a loſs to diſplay his powers of criticiſm, but by laviſhing his praiſe. But he recollected, that only to praiſe, might appear as if there had been an obtuſeneſs in the keenneſs of his criticiſm. He trembled to find a fault, but a fault muſt be found. At length, he ventured to mutter ſomething concerning the noſe; it might, he thought, be ſomething more Grecian. Angelo differed from his Grace, but he ſaid he would attempt to gratify his taſte. He took up his chiſſel, and concealed ſome marble-duſt in his hand; and, feigning to retouch the part, he adroitly let fall ſome of the duſt he held concealed. The Cardinal obſerv⯑ing it fall, tranſported at the idea of his critical [166] acumen, exclaimed—'Ah, Angelo! you have now given to it an inimitable grace!'

When Pope was firſt introduced to read his Iliad to Lord Halifax, the noble Critic did not venture to be diſſatisfied with ſo perfect a compoſition: but, like the Cardinal, this paſ⯑ſage, and that word, this turn, and that expreſ⯑ſion, formed the broken cant of his criticiſms. The honeſt Poet was ſtung with vexation; for, in general, the parts at which his lordſhip heſitated, were thoſe of which he was moſt ſa⯑tisfied. As he returned home with Sir Samuel Garth, he revealed to him the anxiety of his mind. 'Oh,' replied Garth, laughing, 'you are not ſo well acquainted with his lordſhip as myſelf; he muſt criticiſe. At your next viſit, read to him thoſe very paſſages as they now ſtand; tell him, that you have recol⯑lected his criticiſms; and I'll warrant you of his approbation of them. This is what I have done a hundred times myſelf.' Pope made uſe of this ſtratagem: it took, like the marble⯑duſt [167] of Angelo,; and my Lord, like the Car⯑dinal, exclaimed—'Dear Pope, they are now inimitable!'

THE ART OF CRITICISM.

AN eminent French Writer has thus very ingeniouſly traced the origin of Criticiſm.

The Art of Criticiſm is by no means a mo⯑dern invention; but it muſt be confeſſed, that in the laſt age alone it hath reached it's pre⯑ſent degree of perfection.

According to Dion Chryſoſtom, Ariſtotle is the inventor of Criticiſm; it is, at leaſt, cer⯑tain that it appeared about his time.

Ariſtarchus, who flouriſhed at Samos, about one hundred and fifty years before the Chriſ⯑tian Aera, wrote nine books of Corrections of the Iliad and Odyſſey, and ſpread a general alarm amongſt the race of Authors; inſomuch that, to the preſent day, a Critic, and an Ari⯑ſtarchus, are ſynonimous words.

[168] As the Sciences were, for a long time, neg⯑lected, Criticiſm ſhared the ſame fate. There were, however, even in the moſt barbarous ages, a few learned men who cultivated it. At the reſtoration of Letters, Criticiſm, by the ef⯑forts of many celebrated Scholars, ſprung up with new vigour. But two important events contributed equally to the revival of Letters and of Criticiſm: the taking of Conſtantinople, by the Turks, which occaſioned ſeveral of the learned to retire into Italy and France; and the invention of Printing, which was diſcovered about that time.

As ſoon as this admirable Art was made public, they applied themſelves to publiſh⯑ing excellent Editions of all the good Au⯑thors, according to the moſt correct Manu⯑ſcripts. They were indefatigable in their re⯑ſearches for the moſt ancient copies, and they collated them with the modern ones, by the ſtricteſt rules of Criticiſm.

Some formed Dictionaries and Grammars of [169] different languages; and ſome Commentaries, for illuſtrating the Text. Others compoſed Treatiſes on Fabulous Hiſtory, on the Religion, Government, and the Military Operations of the Ancients. They dwelt on the minuteſt particularities which concerned their Manners, their Apparel, their Repaſts, their Amuſements, &c. In a word, they neglected nothing which, after ſo wide an interval, might throw new lights on what remained of the Grecian and the Roman Compoſitions.

The Learned of the Sixteenth Century made new efforts, not only to clear the uncultivated lands of the Republic of Letters, which had remained unexplored by their predeceſſors, but alſo to improve thoſe they had inherited. They prided themſelves in the freeſt diſcuſſions; they rummaged every library, to bring to light un⯑noticed Manuſcripts; they compared them to⯑gether: they arranged thoſe hiſtorical facts which were neceſſary to reſtore the texts, and to ſix the dates; and they were careful, above [170] all things, not to decide on the ſenſe of a paſ⯑ſage, without a mature examination, and a laborious collation.

Yet, after the immenſe labours of Juſtus Lipſius, the Scaligers, Turnebus, Budaeus, Eraſ⯑mus, and ſo many other learned men, Criticiſm ſtill remained imperfect; and it is only in the laſt age that it attained to the height which it now has reached.

This perfection of Criticiſm is owing to the eſtabliſhment of ACADEMIES, particularly thoſe of the French and the Belles Lettres Academies. In their labours may be found thoſe numerous and judicious Remarks, which had eſcaped the penetration of the firſt Scho⯑lars in Europe.

I cannot quit this Article, without obſerving, that it is much to the diſhonour of the na⯑tional character, no Academy, dedicated to the BELLES LETTRES, has ever been eſtabliſhed. To raiſe ſuch an ACADEMY, is a glory ſtill reſerved for an Auguſtan Monarch.

[171] Louis XIV. has all his foibles forgiven by Poſterity, when they contemplate the mu⯑nificent patronage he beſtowed on Men of Letters. The ſplendours of Royalty, and the trophies of Ambition, may elevate the voice of Adulation; but they expire with the Hero and the Monarch. The beneficial influence of Li⯑terature is felt through ſucceſſive ages; and they, indeed, are the Benefactors of mankind, who beſtow on poſterity their moſt refined pleaſures, and their moſt uſeful ſpeculations.

THE ABSENT MAN.

WITH the character of Bruyere's Abſent Man, it is probable, the reader is well ac⯑quainted. It is tranſlated in the Spectator, and it has been exhibited on the Theatre. The general opinion runs, that it is a fictitious character, or, at leaſt, one the Author has too highly coloured: it was well known, however, to his contemporaries, to be the Count De [172] Brancas. The preſent Anecdotes concerning the ſame perſon, have been unknown to, or forgotten by, Bruyere; and, as they are un⯑doubtedly genuine, and, at the ſame time, to the full as extraordinary as thoſe which characterize Menalcas, or the Abſent Man; it is but reaſonable to ſuppoſe, that the character, however improbable it may appear, is a faith⯑ful delineation from Nature.

One day, when the Count was walking in the ſtreet, the Duke de la Rochefoucault croſſed the way, to ſpeak to him. 'God bleſs thee, poor man!' exclaimed the Count. Ro⯑chefoucault ſmiled, and was beginning to ad⯑dreſs him—'Is it not enough,' cried the Count, interrupting him, and ſomewhat in a paſſion; 'is it not enough that I have ſaid, at firſt, I have nothing for you? Such lazy beggars as you hinder a gentleman from walk⯑ing the ſtreets.' Rochefoucault burſt into a loud laugh; and awakening the Abſent Man from his lethargy, he was not a little ſurprized, [173] himſelf, that he ſhould take his friend for an importunate mendicant!

The Count was reading by the fire-ſide, but Heaven knows with what degree of attention, when the nurſe brought him his infant-child. He throws down the book; he takes the child in his arms—he was playing with her, when an important viſitor was announced. Having forgot he had quitted his book, and that it was his child he held in his hands, he threw her down violently on the table; and, probably, was ſurprized to hear loud cries iſſue from his book.

METAPHORS.

CARDINAL PERRON has a very judicious criticiſm on Metaphors. Cicero compares them to Virgins, who ſhould not too fami⯑liarly ſhew themſelves, and who muſt appear without affection. We frequently meet with many that are not only vicious, but diſguſtful, [174] and have nothing of that by which Cicero is deſirous they ſhould be diſtinguiſhed.

Is it poſſible that ſome Authors are igno⯑rant that Style is meant to delight! And, if they write vicious and diſguſtful Metaphors, ſhould they even convey to the reader their meaning, they muſt offend?—Such as thoſe which a fanatical Preacher employed, when he called on the Lord to wipe his lips with the napkin of his love; and when he talked of the lamp of love, and the candle of divine grace.

Biſhop Latimer preached, in the year 1527, a ſermon, in which he ſays—'Now, ye have heard what is meant by this firſt card, and how ye ought to play: I purpoſe again to deal unto you another card of the ſame ſuit; for they be of ſo nigh affinity, that one cannot be well played without the other.'

About the middle of the Seventeenth Cen⯑tury, a country miniſter—Fuller informs us—imitated theſe ridiculous alluſions of Latimer; [175] but the congregation, now ſomewhat more re⯑fined than in the good Biſhop's time, could not refrain from immoderate peals of laughter.

Perron obſerves, that in employing Meta⯑phors, we muſt not deſcend from the general to the particular: we may be allowed to ſay—the flames of love, but not the candle, the lamp, and the wick of love. Saint Anſelm exclaims—'Draw me, O Lord! that I may run after thee; faſten me with the cords of thy Love!' The Metaphor is a little ſimilitude, or an abridgment of a ſimilitude—it muſt paſs quick; we muſt not dwell upon it; when it is too far continued, it is vicious, and degene⯑rates into an Enigma.

Pere Bouhours alſo obſerves, that Meta⯑phors muſt not be continued too far, and that when they are thus overſtrained, they be⯑come trifling and frigid. Theſe two inſtances will explain what is here meant—

An Italian, on his return from Poland, ſaid, that the perſons of that country were as white [176] as their ſnows; but, that they were even colder than they were white; and that frequently, from their converſations, he caught a cold.

Coſtar ſays, that the Lectures of Malherbe were ſatiating and cloying to a degre—ſo as to deſtroy the appetite of thoſe who heard them, and to ſave them the expence of a dinner.

Of the firſt it is to be obſerved, that Cold, as a figure, is an eſtabliſhed Metaphor; but that from this cold we are likely to catch one, is what paſſes the juſt limits of the Metaphor, as well as thoſe lectures, which cloyed till they occaſioned a loſs of appetite, and ſaved the ex⯑pence of a dinner.

It was ſaying enough, that they were ſatiating and diſagreeable, without adding the reſt, which goes to ſuch an extreme, and which is not likely. This, however, muſt be underſtood, when the Author ſpeaks in a ſerious ſtyle: for, if he means to employ ſuch Metaphors with levity, and in joking, they would then not ſhock us; becauſe, when we laugh, we [177] may be allowed great latitude; and, according to Ariſtotle and Quintilian, whenever we joke, the falſeſt thoughts have, in ſome mea⯑ſure, a true ſenſe.

To illuſtrate this criticiſm. Let us try theſe two thoughts; which, however carried far, have great merit, when we reflect on the man⯑ner in which they muſt be underſtood.

An ancient Satiriſt ſays, that if we wiſh to temper an overheated bath, we have only to beg a certain Rhetorician to enter; becauſe he was remarkable for frigidity in his diſcourſes. A modern Satiriſt declares, he was lately frozen at reading a certain Elegy of a miſerable Poetaſter; and that the polar froſts do not, by many degrees, approach it.

GIBBON.

THE preſent Article is the communication of a Literary Friend. I repoſe, with firm ſe⯑curity, on it's juſtneſs; but I cannot now turn to the Paſſages it criticiſes.

[178] I had remarked, in reading Gibbon, two matters, in which he has been groſsly miſta⯑ken. One was, the Standard of our Engliſh Coin, when he compares it, in a note, with that of ſome Foreign Coin he had to eſtimate. The other point was, when, in ſpeaking of a Reli⯑gious Sect who uſed to faſt on certain days, he adds—'They probably derived this cuſtom from that of the Jews faſting on their Sab⯑bath.' This is a flagrant error; ſince it has always been their cuſtom, rather to indulge in feſtal enjoyments on that day. It is, with them, a rule to obſerve no Faſt on the Sabbath, though it might be the anniverſary of the moſt remarkable event. The day of Expiation is the only Faſt permitted to be kept on the Seventh day. I have endeavoured to find out theſe paſſages, but have hitherto been unſuc⯑ceſsful: I am certain, however, my memory does not miſlead me.

INNOVATION.

To the ſame ingenious friend I am indebted for the preſent, and two ſubſequent Articles.

The following ſhort extract from a French Writer, about the year 1500, may ſerve to ſhew, that the cry againſt Innovation is not peculiar to the Clergy of the preſent day, even againſt the opinions of the moſt moderate amongſt their own body.

' Such perſons were the brave Biſhops of the Lionnois, who aſſembled a Synod to re⯑form the regulations of Saint Anthony in that Province. The Monks of that place were diſtinguiſhed by the title of the Hogs of Saint Anthony: they afflicted themſelves with the pains of making eight repaſts in one day, to ſhew the weakneſs of Human Nature!

There were ſome Jeſuits, and ſome young Biſhops, who made fine harangues, and long ones too, to demonſtrate that ſuch conſtitutions [180] admit of change, habitâ ratione temporum: that what our anceſtors had done with a good intention, was, at this day, ridiculous. But to all theſe reaſons the Sub-Prior of Saint Anthony only replied, ſnoring, with this grave and remarkable ſentence—Let us keep ourſelves, in our time, from novelties.

The conteſt was renewed with vigour on the other ſide: but the Sub-Prior, with his triple chin, perſiſted in the ſame argument; ſtammer⯑ing out—Let us keep—let us keep—keep our⯑ſelves—&c.

However ſilly this reply of our well-fed Prior may ſeem, it is the ſame which has now the force to reſiſt all the ſalutary reforms which Reaſon and Good-ſenſe ſo loudly call for in Inſtitutions not only rendered obſolete by Time, but defective and unjuſt in their ori⯑ginal principles. It is the ſame grave and un⯑meaning exclamation, which, from the mouth of a Senator, obſtructs an equal Repreſenta⯑tion; and, from that of an Archbiſhop, a re⯑vival [181] of Articles, which few can believe, though ſo many are bound to profeſs.

ON THE CUSTOM OF SALUTING AFTER SNEEZING.

SOME Catholics—ſays Father Feyjoo—have attributed the origin of this cuſtom to the or⯑dinance of a Pope—Saint Gregory—who is ſaid to have inſtituted a ſhort Prayer to be uſed on ſuch occaſions, at a time when a Peſtilence raged; the criſis of which was attended by ſneezing, and, in moſt caſes, followed by death.

The Rabbins have a tale, that, before Jacob, men never ſneezed but once, and then imme⯑diately died: but that that Patriarch obtained the revocation of this law; the memory of which was ordered to be preſerved in all na⯑tions, by a command of every Prince to his ſubjects to employ ſome ſalutary exclamation after the act of ſneezing.

Theſe accounts are, probably, alike fabu⯑lous; the pious fictions of pious men; both [182] becauſe—continues Feyjoo—the enquiries of Ariſtotle concerning this ſtrange circumſtance, and the alluſions to it in Apuleius, Petronius, Pliny, and others, prove it to have exiſted many ages prior to Saint Gregory; and it is related, in a Memoir of the French Academy of Sciences, to have been found practiſed in the New World, on the firſt diſcovery of Ame⯑rica. This is not only ſaid to be a fact, but ſome Writers alſo give us an amuſing account of the ceremonies which attend the ſneezing of a King of Monomotapa—Thoſe who are near his perſon, when this happens, ſalute him in ſo loud a tone, that thoſe who are in the anti⯑chamber hear it, and join in the acclamation. Thoſe who are in the adjoining apartments do the ſame, until the noiſe reaches the ſtreet, and becomes propagated throughout the city: ſo that, at each ſneeze of his Majeſty, reſults a moſt horrid cry from the ſaluations of many thouſands of his vaſſals.

That a cuſtom, ſo univerſally prevalent, [183] ſhould have no plauſible reaſon to ſupport it, is rather curious.

'BON AVENTURES DE PERIERS.'

A HAPPY art in the relation of a ſtory, is, doubtleſs, a very agreeable talent—it has ob⯑tained La Fontaine all the applauſe his charm⯑ing naiveté deſerves.

'Bon Aventures de Periers, Varlet de Cham⯑bre de la Royne de Navarre,' of whom the French have a little volume of Tales, in proſe, is, in my opinion, not inferior to him in the facility and ſportiveneſs of his vein. His ſtyle is now, in many places, obſolete; neither could we, frequently, diſcover his ſenſe, without the aid of his ingenious Commentators; particu⯑larly M. de la Monnoye; from whoſe edi⯑tion, in three volumes, I have extracted the following ſhort Anecdote, not as the beſt ſpe⯑cimen of our ſcarce Author, but as it introduces a novel etymology of a word in great uſe.

[184] ' A Student at Law, who ſtudied at Poitiers, had tolerably improved himſelf in caſes of Equity; not that he was overburthened with Learning, but his chief deficiency was a want of aſſurance and confidence to diſplay his know⯑ledge. His father paſſing by Poitiers, recom⯑mended him to read aloud, and to render his memory more prompt by a continued exerciſe. To obey the injunctions of his father, he deter⯑mined to read at the Miniſtery. In order to obtain a certain aſſurance, he went every day into a garden, which was a very ſecret ſpot, being at a diſtance from any houſe, and where there grew a great number of fine large cabbages. Thus, for a long time, as he purſued his ſtudies, he went to repeat his leſſon to theſe cabbages, addreſſing them by the title of Gentlemen; and dealing out his ſentences, as if they had compoſed an audience of Scholars at a Lec⯑ture. After having prepared himſelf thus for a fortnight or three weeks, he began to think it was high time to take the chair; [185] imagining that he ſhould be able to harangue the Scholars, as well as he had before done his cabbages. He comes forward, he begins his Oration—but, before he had ſaid a dozen words, he remained dumb, and became ſo confuſed, that he knew not where he was: ſo that all he could bring out was—Domini, Ego bene video quod non eſtis caules: that is to ſay—for there are ſome who will have every thing in plain Engliſh—Gentlemen, I now clearly ſee you are not cabbages. In the garden, he could conceive the cabbages to be Scholars; but, in the chair, he could not conceive the Scholars to be cabbages.'

The hall of the School of Equity, at Poi⯑tiers, where the Inſtitutes were read, was called La Miniſterie. On which head, Flori⯑mond de Remond, (Book vii. Ch. 11.) ſpeaking of Albert Babinot, one of the firſt diſciples of Calvin, after having ſaid he was called 'The good Man,' adds, that, becauſe he had been a Student of the Inſtitutes at this Miniſterie of [186] Poitiers, Calvin, and others, ſtiled him Mr. Miniſter; from whence, afterwards, Calvin took occaſion to give the name of MINISTERS to the Paſtors of his Church.

DE THOU.

DE THOU is the Livy of the French nation. I will not dwell on the purity and the elegance of his ſtyle, his deep penetration into the my⯑ſteries of the cabinets of Princes, nor on his accuracy, his impartiality, and, in a word, his hiſtoric excellence. I refer the reader, for a character of this Hiſtorian, to a paper in the Eſſays of the ingenious Mr. Knox. I offer only a trait of his eloquence; which, at once, ſhews the Man was not leſs amiable than the Hiſtorian was admirable.

' How much,' exclaims Bourbon, 'does the peruſal of the Hiſtory of the Preſident De Thou make a reader wiſh, if he is poſſeſſed [187] of a feeling heart, fervidly to wiſh, to meet in his friend a ſoul like his! He preſerved invio⯑lable the ties of friendſhip. Attentive to fill the duties which it exacts, he did not only render all the ſervices he could to his friends, but he ſought every occaſion to diſtin⯑guiſh them by praiſe; and he did this with ſuch an effuſion of tender ſentiment, and inge⯑nuous ardour, that Envy herſelf could not take offence at the eulogiums of a rival. After having filled a page with the praiſes of Pierre Pithou, he cloſes his eulogium by adding, that he would ſay more—if he was not his friend!'

RELIGIOUS ENMITY.

I THINK the preſent Article, which I have drawn from Naudé, while it contains ſome pleaſing Anecdotes, is juſt and philoſophical.

' When I was at Rome, I could not help tell⯑ing many Devotees, that when Religion ſeizes and overpowers the Mind, it makes it conſider [188] actions and characters through the medium of intereſt, and hence it ſhould not be relied on▪ For inſtance: the ancient Fathers have ſaid every thing they could imagine to depreciate the character of Julian the Apoſtate. Though they had not done this, had he not proved an apoſtate and a perſecutor of the Chriſtians; they do not in the ſlighteſt manner notice his many eminent qualities. He was rigorouſly juſt, a man of ſtrict morals, and a great politician. See what Montaigne and La Mothe le Vayer obſerve of him; and particularly his cha⯑racter, elaborately delineated by Mr. Gibbon.

It is thus alſo in Venice. Anthony Braga⯑din paſſes for a Martyr, becauſe he was flayed alive at the command of Muſtapha, after the taking of Famaguſta. But the fact is, that the Turks are only like other men; and they thus puniſhed Bragadin, and his other Chriſtian Captains, becauſe, when they ſaw they muſt be taken by Muſtapha, they barbarouſly cut the throats of all their Turkiſh priſoners.

[189] It is owing alſo to this cauſe, that the De⯑votees ſay every thing favourable of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, becauſe ſhe at⯑tended Maſs very conſtantly; though it muſt be confeſſed, that her conduct was ſeldom re⯑gulated by decency and morality. I ſaw, at Rome—adds Naudé—the Letters ſhe wrote to the Earl of Bothwell, Subactori ſuo. And I cannot but believe whatever has been ſaid of her by Buchanan and De Thou—It is proba⯑ble that Mr. Whitaker, and the few who are poſſeſſed with the ſame Quixotiſm, will not agree with this laſt ſentiment of Naudé.

THE MONK TURNED AUTHOR.

THE Prior of one of the moſt celebrated Convents in Paris had reiteratedly intreated Va⯑rillas, the Hiſtorian, to come to examine a Work compoſed by one of his Monks; and of which—not being himſelf addicted to Letters—he wiſhed to be governed by his opinion. Va⯑rillas [190] at length yielded to the entreaties of the Prior; and, to regale the Critic, they laid on two tables, for his inſpection, Seven enor⯑mous Volumes in Folio!!

This rather diſheartened our Reviewer; but greater was his aſtoniſhment, when, having opened the firſt volume, he found it's title to be, Summa Dei-parae; and, as Saint Thomas had made a Sum, or Syſtem of Theology, ſo our Monk had formed a Sum of the Virgin! He immediately comprehended the deſign of our good Father, who had laboured on this Work full Thirty Years, and who boaſted he had treated Three Thouſand Queſtions concern⯑ing the Virgin; of which, he flattered himſelf, not a ſingle one had ever yet been imagined by any one but himſelf!

Perhaps, a more extraordinary deſign was never known. Varillas, preſſed to give his judgment on this Work, adviſed the Prior, with great prudence and good-nature, to amuſe the honeſt old Monk with the hope of print⯑ing [191] theſe Seven Folios, but always to ſtart ſome new difficulties; for it would be inhu⯑man to give ſo deep a chagrin to a man who had reached his 74th year, as to inform him of the nature of his favourite occupations; and that, after his death, he ſhould throw the Volumes into the fire.

GROTIUS.

PERHAPS the moſt ſincere Eulogium, and the moſt grateful to this illuſtrious Scholar, was that which he received at the hour of his death.

When this great Man was travelling to Holland, he was ſuddenly ſtruck by the hand of Death, at the village of Roſtock. The pa⯑riſh Miniſter, who was called in his laſt mo⯑ments, ignorant who the dying man was, be⯑gan to go over the trite and ordinary things ſaid on thoſe occaſions. Grotius, who ſaw there was no time to loſe in frivolous exhor⯑tations, [192] as he found himſelf almoſt at the laſt gaſp, turned to him, and told him, that he needed not thoſe exhortations; and he con⯑cluded by ſaying, Sum Grotius—I am Gro⯑tius. Tu magnus ille Grotius?—'What! are you the great Grotius?' interrogated the Mi⯑niſter. What an Eulogium!

ON THE ADJECTIVE 'PRETTY.'

' A young man,' ſays Menage, 'told me, the other day, that the Verſes of Mr. Huet were "pretty." They are more than "pretty," I anſwered him: you are like him, who hav⯑ing, for the firſt time in his life, ſeen the Sea, ſhould exclaim—it was a pretty thing! It was thus alſo a puny Officer, in talking of the Maréchal de Turenne, ſaid he was a pretty Man. The father of the young Officer, who was preſent, turned to him, with an auſterity in his countenance he was little accuſtomed to wear—"And you are a pretty fool, thus to [193] characterize the greateſt Man in France.' The ſterling weight of words is not always known to our juvenile Critics.

A POPE's LATIN.

FAVORITI, Secretary to the late Pope, ſays Menage, reading to him the Latin briefs he had compoſed and tranſlated for the benefit of his Holineſs, who knew not a word of Latin, the Pope ſhed tears of joy, and exclaimed—Care Favoriti coſa diranno di noi nella Poſterità quando vederanno coſi bella Latinità noſtra! 'Dear Favoriti, what will not Poſterity ſay of us, when they read our beautiful Latin!'

ASTROLOGY.

A BELIEF in Judicial Aſtrology I conceive now to exiſt only in the lower claſſes of the people, who may be ſaid to have no belief at all; for the ſentiments of thoſe who are in⯑capable [194] of reflection, can hardly be ſaid to amount to a belief. But a faith in this ridi⯑culous Syſtem, in our country, is of very late exiſtence.

When Charles the Firſt was confined, an Aſtrologer was conſulted for what hour would be moſt favourable to effect his eſcape.

A ſtory, which ſtrongly proves how greatly Charles the Second was bigotted to Judicial Aſtrology, and whoſe mind was certainly not unenlightened, is recorded in Burnet's Hiſtory of his own Times.

Dryden caſt the nativities of his ſons; and, what is remarkable, his prediction relating to his ſon Charles took place. This incident is of ſo late a date, one might hope it would have been cleared up: but, if it is a fact, we muſt allow it affords a rational exultation to it's irrational Adepts.

ALCHYMY.

IT was but the other day, I read an Adver⯑tiſement in a Newſpaper, from one who pre⯑tends to have made great diſcoveries in the Hermetic Art. With the aſſiſtance of 'a little money,' he could 'poſitively' aſſure the lover of this Science, that he would repay him 'a thou⯑ſand fold!' This Science, if it merits to be diſ⯑tinguiſhed by the name, is moſt certainly an impoſition; which, ſtriking on the feebleſt part of the human mind, has ſo frequently been ſucceſsful in carrying on it's deluſions.

As late as the days of Mrs. Manley, the authoreſs of the Atalantis, is there on record a moſt ſingular deluſion of Alchymy. The recollection, whether it was herſelf, or ano⯑ther perſon, on whom it was practiſed, has now eſcaped me. From the circumſtances, it is very probable, the Sage was not leſs de⯑ceived than his Patroneſs.

[196] It appears, that an infatuated lover of this deluſive Art met with one who pretended to have the power of tranſmuting Lead to Gold. This Hermetic Philoſopher required only the materials, and time, to perform his golden operations. He was taken to the country reſi⯑dence of his Patroneſs: a long laboratory was built; and, that his labours might not be im⯑peded by any diſturbance, no one was permit⯑ted to enter into it. His door was contrived to turn round on a ſpring; ſo that, unſeen, and unſeeing, his meals were conveyed to him, without diſtracting the ſublime contemplations of the Sage.

During a reſidence of two years, he never condeſcended to ſpeak but two or three times in the year to his infatuated Patroneſs. When ſhe was admitted into the Laboratory, ſhe ſaw, with pleaſing aſtoniſhment, ſtills, immenſe cauldrons, long flues, and three or four Vul⯑canian fires blazing at different corners of this magical mine; nor did ſhe behold with leſs [197] reverence the venerable figure of the duſty Philoſopher. Pale and emaciated, with daily operations and nightly vigils, he revealed to her, in unintelligible jargon, his progreſſes: and, having ſometimes condeſcended to ex⯑plain the myſteries of the Arcana, ſhe beheld, or ſeemed to behold, ſtreams of fluid, and heaps of ſolid Ore, ſcattered around the laboratory. Sometimes he required a new ſtill, and ſome⯑times, vaſt quantities of lead. Already this unfortunate lady had expended the half of her fortune, in ſupplying the demands of the Phi⯑loſopher. She began, now, to lower her ima⯑gination to the ſtandard of Reaſon. Two years had now elapſed, vaſt quantities of lead had gone in, and nothing but lead had come out. She diſcloſed her ſentiments to the Philoſo⯑pher. He candidly confeſſed, he was himſelf ſur⯑prized at his tardy proceſſes; but that now he would exert himſelf to the utmoſt, and that he would venture to perform a laborious opera⯑tion which, hitherto, he had hoped not to [198] have been neceſſitated to employ. His Pa⯑troneſs retired, and the golden viſions of Ex⯑pectation reſumed all their luſtre.

One day, as they ſat at dinner, a terrible ſhriek, and one crack followed by another, loud as the report of cannon, aſſailed their ears. They haſtened to the laboratory: two of the greateſt Stills had burſt; one part of the labo⯑ratory was in flames, and the deluded Philoſo⯑pher ſcorched to death!

An Author, who wrote in the year 1704, preſents us with the following Anecdote, con⯑cerning an Alchymical ſpeculation.

' The late Duke of Buckingham, being over-perſuaded by a pack of knaves, who called themſelves Chemical Operators, that they had the ſecret of producing the Philoſopher's Stone, but wanted money to carry on the proceſs; his Grace engaged to aſſiſt them with money to carry on the work, and performed his promiſe at a vaſt expence. A laboratory was built, utenſils provided, and the family filled with [199] the moſt famous Artiſts in the tranſmutation of Metals—Adepts of a ſuperior claſs, who would concern themſelves only about the grand Elixir, and a pack of ſhabby curs, to attend the fires, and do other ſervile offices; and yet, forſooth, muſt be alſo called Philoſo⯑phers.

' This great charge continued upon the Duke for ſome years; for, whoever was unpaid, or whatever was neglected, money muſt be found to bear the charge of the laboratory, and pay the Operators; till this chimera, with other ex⯑travagancies, had cauſed the mortgaging and ſelling many fine Manors, Lordſhips, Towns, and good Farms.

' All this time, nothing was produced by theſe ſons of Art of any value; for, either the glaſs broke, or the man was drunk and let out the fire, or ſome other misfortune, ſtill at⯑tended the grand proceſs, at the time aſſigned for a je ne ſçai quoi to be produced, that muſt turn all things to gold. The Duke encounter⯑ing [200] nothing but diſappointments, and the Operators finding themſelves ſlighted, and money very difficult to be had, the project fell!'

Penotus, who died at ninety-eight years of age, in the Hoſpital of Sierdon in Switzer⯑land, had ſpent nearly his whole life in re⯑ſearches after the Philoſopher's Stone; and be⯑ing, at length, from affluent circumſtances, reduced to beggary and reaſon, was accuſtomed to ſay—'That if he had a mortal enemy, that he durſt not encounter openly, he would ad⯑viſe him, above all things, to give himſelf up to the ſtudy and practice of Alchymy.'

Every philoſophical mind muſt be convinced that Alchymy is not an art, which ſome have fancifully traced to the remoteſt times; it may be rather regarded, when oppoſed to ſuch a diſtance of time, as a modern impoſture. Caeſar commanded the treatiſes of Alchymy to be burnt throughout the Roman dominions; and this ſhews the opinion of one who is not leſs [201] to be admired as a Philoſopher than as a Mo⯑narch.

Mr. Gibbon has this ſuccinct paſſage relative to Alchymy—'The ancient books of Alchymy, ſo liberally aſcribed to Pythagoras, to Solomon, or to Hermes, were the pious frauds of more recent adepts. The Greeks were inattentive either to the uſe or the abuſe of Chymiſtry. In that immenſe Regiſter, where Pliny has de⯑poſited the diſcoveries, the arts, and the errors, of mankind, there is not the leaſt mention of the tranſmutations of metals; and the perſe⯑cution of Diocleſian is the firſt authentic event in the hiſtory of Alchymy. The conqueſt of Egypt, by the Arabs, diffuſed that vain ſcience over the globe. Congenial to the avarice of the human heart, it was ſtudied in China, as in Europe, with equal eagerneſs and equal ſucceſs. The darkneſs of the middle ages en⯑ſured a favourable reception to every tale of wonder; and the revival of learning gave new vigour to hope, and ſuggeſted more ſpecious [202] arts to deception. Philoſophy, with the aid of experience, has at length baniſhed the ſtudy of Alchymy; and the preſent age, however deſirous of riches, is content to ſeek them by the humbler means of commerce and in⯑duſtry.'

After this, will it be credited that, even in this enlightened age, a writer ſhould ſtand forth as it's advocate? Mr. Andrews, in his Anecdotes, has an article concerning Alchymy. His account of Nicholas Flamel is not accurate. He attributes 'his myſterious proſperity to that great ſecret which has been ſought for through ages, and which, to this day, has it's believers.' Of theſe believers, undoubtedly, Mr. Andrews is one!

THE ATHENIAN TRIBUNAL FOR DRAMATIC COMPOSITION.

THE Athenians eſtabliſhed a Tribunal, com⯑poſed of five judges, to give their verdict on [203] the merits of Compoſitions deſtined for the Theatre, and to decide if they deſerved a public repreſentation. The Romans had a ſimilar Tribunal.

To give an inſtance of the critical ſeverity of theſe judges—They even arraigned at their bar Euripides, to make his defence for having permitted one of his dramatic characters impiouſly to ſay, 'That he had made a vow with his tongue to the gods, but not with the intention of performing it.' Euripides de⯑fended himſelf, by ſupplicating the Critics pa⯑tiently to wait till the concluſion of the piece, when they would ſee that character broken on the wheel.

If ſuch a Tribunal of Criticiſm was eſta⯑bliſhed at London, it would render the ſtage more inſtructive than it is at preſent; we might probably have fewer wretched operas: ſuch vapours of wit, and dregs of the imagination, would be purged away from the purity of Dramatic Compoſition.

THE FLORENCE PROFESSOR.

AT Florence, they have eſtabliſhed a Pro⯑feſſor, choſen from amongſt the moſt eminent of the Della Cruſca Academicians, who pro⯑feſſes publicly the Italian language. It was thus, alſo, the Romans eſtabliſhed a ſimilar Student, who dedicated his life to the profeſſion of their language.

I cannot but wiſh that an Academy, or at leaſt a Profeſſorſhip, were founded in England, for the preſervation of our language: they might cenſure any faulty innovations which appeared in the ſtyle of thoſe compoſitions which were likely to become extenſive in their circulation. They might detect the tinſel of Della Cruſca, the Galliciſms of Gibbon, and the Scotticiſms of Blair, on their earlieſt publication. They would compel our Authors to be more vigi⯑lant; and we might thus be enabled to leave our heirs the rich inheritance of a claſſical [205] ſtyle, who, in their gratitude, would recom⯑penſe our labours, by delivering it down to poſterity uncontaminated.

Swift, and other good judges of the purity of the Engliſh language, have teſtified their deſire for ſuch an eſtabliſhment; and, although I have not forgotten the ſentiments of Johnſon on this occaſion, I cannot but oppoſe them. Had there been ſuch an Academy, or Profeſſor⯑ſhip, founded in the days the Rambler was publiſhed, poſterity would have read as many proteſts againſt the pedantic Latinity of his Engliſh as there are papers in that work. He ſeems to have been ſenſible, though ſomewhat late, of his error; for his biographical ſtyle is, indeed, a claſſical ſtandard of the Engliſh lan⯑guage. It was then he moſt cordially praiſed the Addiſonian periods. Akenſide has com⯑mitted the ſame violations in verſe which Johnſon has in proſe.

INEQUALITIES OF GENIUS.

WE obſerve frequently great Inequalities in the labours of Genius; and particularly in thoſe which admit great enthuſiaſm, as in Poetry, in Painting, and in Muſic. But, ſurely, this is not difficult to be accounted for! Faultleſs mediocrity Induſtry can preſerve in one con⯑tinued degree; but excellence is only to be at⯑tained, by human faculties, by ſtarts.

Our Poets who poſſeſs the greateſt Genius, with, perhaps, the leaſt induſtry, have at the ſame time the moſt ſplendid and the worſt paſſages of poetry. Shakeſpeare and Dryden are at once the greateſt and the leaſt of our Poets.

The imitative powers of Pope, who poſſeſſed more Induſtry than Genius—though his Genius was nearly equal to that of the greateſt Poets—has contrived to render every line faultleſs: yet it [207] may be faid of Pope, that his greateſt fault conſiſts in having none.

Carrache ſarcaſtically ſaid of Tintoret—Ho veduto il Tintoretto hora eguale a Titiano, hora minore del Tintoretto—'I have ſeen Tintoret now equal to Titian, and now leſs than Tin⯑toret.'

THE STUDENT IN THE METROPOLIS.

A MAN of Letters, who is more intent on the acquiſitions of literature than on the plots of politics, or the ſpeculations of commerce, will find a deeper ſolitude in a populous Me⯑tropolis than if he had retreated to the ſecluſion of the country. The Student, as he does not flatter the malevolent paſſions of men, will not be much incommoded with their preſence. A letter which Deſcartes wrote to Balzac—who, incapable as he found his great ſoul to bend to the ſervilities of the courtier, was [...] to retire from court—will illuſtrate [...] [...]ti⯑ments [208] with great force and vivacity. Deſcartes then reſided in the commercial city of Amſter⯑dam; and thus writes to Balzac—

' You wiſh to retire; and your intention is to ſeek the ſolitude of the Chartreux, or, poſ⯑ſibly, ſome of the moſt beautiful provinces of France and Italy. I would rather adviſe you, if you wiſh to obſerve mankind, and at the ſame time to be plunged into the deepeſt ſoli⯑tude, to join me in Amſterdam. I prefer this ſituation to that even of your delicious villa, where I ſpent ſo great a part of the laſt year: for, however agreeable a country-houſe may be, a thouſand little conveniences are wanted, which can only be found in a city. One is not alone ſo frequently in the country as one could wiſh: a number of impertinent viſitors are continually beſieging you. Here, as all the world, except myſelf, is occupied in commerce, it depends merely on myſelf to live unknown to the world. I walk, every day, amongſt im⯑menſe ranks of people, with as much tranquil⯑lity [209] as you do in your green alleys. The men I meet with make the ſame impreſſion on my mind as would the trees of your foreſts, or the flocks of ſheep grazing on your common. The buſy hum, too, of theſe merchants, does not diſturb one more than the purling of your brooks. If ſometimes I amuſe myſelf in con⯑templating their anxious motions, I receive the ſame pleaſure which you do in obſerving thoſe men who cultivate your land; for I reflect, that the end of all their labours is to embelliſh the city which I inhabit, and to anticipate all my wants. If you ſee with delight the fruits of your orchards, which promiſe you ſuch rich crops, do you think I feel leſs in obſerving ſo many fleets, that convey to me the productions of either India? What ſpot on earth could you find which, like this, can ſo intereſt your vanity, and gratify your taſte?'

PHYSIOGNOMY AND PALMISTRY.

EVERY one ſeems not a little to have ſtudied Lavater; ſo that—if the expreſſion does not offend—moſt men are aſhamed to ſhew their faces. Perhaps it is not generally known, that an ancient Greek author has written on Phyſiognomy. This work is tranſlated into Latin by the Count Charles de Montecuculli, enriched with very learned annotations.

One Walfon aſſured George Weller, who publiſhed his Travels into Dalmatia, Greece, and the Levant—a very curious work—that he had purchaſed a cheſt-full of very ſcarce Arabic books; amongſt which was a Treatiſe on Chi⯑romancy, more curious than that of John Baptiſte Porta; in which the author ſhews, that the lines in the hand are letters, of which he preſents the reader with an alphabet.

The following curious phyſiological definition [211] of PHYSIOGNOMY is extracted from a Publi⯑cation by Dr. Gwither, of the year 1604—

' Soft wax cannot receive more various and numerous impreſſions than are imprinted on a man's face by objects moving his affections: and not only the objects themſelves have this power, but alſo the very images or ideas; that is to ſay, any thing that puts the animal ſpirits into the ſame motion that the object preſent did, will have the ſame effect with the object. To prove the firſt, let one obſerve a man's face looking on a pitiful object, then a ridiculous, then a ſtrange, then on a terrible or dangerous object, and ſo forth. For the ſecond, that ideas have the ſame effect with the object, dreams confirm too often.

' The manner I conceive to be thus—The animal ſpirits, moved in the ſenſory by an object, continue their motion to the brain; whence the motion is propagated to this or that particular part of the body, as is moſt ſuitable to the deſign of it's creation; having [212] firſt made an alteration in the face by it's nerves, eſpecially by the pathetic and oculorum motorii actuating it's many muſcles, as the dial⯑plate to that ſtupendous piece of clock-work, which ſhews what is to be expected next from the ſtriking part. Not that I think the motion of the ſpirits in the ſenſory continued by the impreſſion of the object all the way, as from a finger to the foot: I know it too weak, though the tenſeneſs of the nerves favours it. But I conceive it done in the medulla of the brain, where is the common ſtock of ſpirits; as in an organ, whoſe pipes being uncovered, the air ruſhes into them; but the keys, let go, are ſtopped again. Now, if by repeated acts, or frequent entertaining of the ideas of a favourite idea of a paſſion or vice which natural tem⯑perament has hurried one to, or cuſtom dragged, the face is ſo often put into that poſture which attends ſuch acts, that the animal ſpirits find ſuch latent paſſages into it's nerves, that it is ſometimes unalterably ſet: as the Indian Re⯑ligious [213] are, by long continuing in ſtrange poſtures in their Pagods. But, moſt commonly, ſuch a habit is contracted, that it falls inſenſibly into that poſture, when ſome preſent object does not obliterate that more natural impreſſion by a new, or diſſimulation hide it.

' Hence it is that we ſee great drinkers with eyes generally ſet towards the noſe, the adducent muſcles being often employed to let them ſee their loved liquor in the glaſs at the time of drinking; which were, therefore, called bibi⯑tory. Laſcivious perſons are remarkable for the Oculorum Mobilis Petulanta, as Petronius calls it. From this alſo we may ſolve the Quaker's expecting face, waiting the pretended Spi⯑rit; and the melancholy face of the Sectaries; the ſtudious face of men of great application of mind; revengeful and bloody men, like execu⯑tioners in the act: and though ſilence, in a ſort, may awhile paſs for wiſdom, yet, ſooner or later, Saint Martin peeps through the diſ⯑guiſe, to undo all. A changeable face I have [214] obſerved to ſhew a changeable mind. But I would by no means have what has been ſaid underſtood as without exception; for I doubt not but ſometimes there are found men with great and virtuous ſouls under very unpro⯑miſing outſides.'

CHARACTERS DESCRIBED BY MUSICAL NOTES.

THE preſent communication is made by an ingenious young friend. It is an Extract from a Volume of 'Philoſophical Tranſactions and Collections,' publiſhed at the end of the year 1700; and the curious conjectures it contains, being perfectly novel to me—my friend ob⯑ſerves—may, perhaps, be ſo to you and many others.

The idea of deſcribing characters under the names of Muſical Inſtruments, has been al⯑ready diſplayed. The two moſt pleaſing Pa⯑pers which embelliſh the Tatler, are written by Addiſon. He there dwells on this idea [215] with uncommon ſucceſs; and it has been ap⯑plauded for it's originality. Let it, however, be recollected, that the following Paper was publiſhed in the year 1700, and the two Numbers of Addiſon in the year 1710. It is probable, that this inimitable Writer borrowed his ideas from this Work. In the general Pre⯑face to the Tatler, his Papers on this ſimilar ſubject are diſtinguiſhed for their felicity of imagination.

' A conjecture at diſpoſitions from the mo⯑dulations of the voice.

' Sitting in ſome company, and having been, but a little before, muſical, I chanced to take notice, that, in ordinary diſcourſe, words were ſpoken in perfect notes; and that ſome of the company uſed eighths, ſome fifths, ſome thirds; and that his diſcourſe which was moſt pleaſing, his words, as to their tone, conſiſted moſt of concords, and were of diſcords of ſuch as made up harmony. The ſame perſon was the moſt affable, pleaſant, and beſt-natured, in the com⯑pany. [216] This ſuggeſts a reaſon, why many diſ⯑courſes, which one hears with much pleaſure, when they come to be read, ſcarce ſeem the ſame things.

' From this difference of MUSIC in SPEECH, we may conjecture that of TEMPERS. We know the Doric mood ſounds gravity and ſo⯑briety; the Lydian, buxomneſs and freedom; the Aeolic, ſweet ſtilneſs and quiet compoſure; the Phrygian, jollity and youthful levity; the Ionic is a ſtiller of ſtorms and diſturbances ariſ⯑ing from paſſion. And why may we not rea⯑ſonably ſuppoſe, that thoſe whoſe ſpeech natu⯑rally runs into the notes peculiar to any of theſe moods, are likewiſe, in nature, hereunto congenerous? C Fa ut, may ſhew me to be of an ordinary capacity, though good diſpoſition. G Sol re ut, to be peeviſh and effeminate. Flats, a manly or melancholic ſadneſs. He who hath a voice which will, in ſome meaſure, agree with all cliffs, to be of good parts, and fit for variety of employments, yet ſomewhat of an inconſtant [217] nature. Likewiſe from the TIMES: ſo ſemi-briefs, may ſpeak a temper dull and phlegma⯑tic; minums, grave and ſerious; crotchets, a prompt wit; quavers, vehemency of paſſion, and ſcolds uſe them. Semi-brief-reſt, may de⯑note one either ſtupid, or fuller of thoughts than he can utter; minum-reſt, one that deli⯑berates; crotchet-reſt, one in a paſſion. So that, from the natural uſe of MOOD, NOTE, and TIME, we may collect DISPOSITIONS.'

SCRIPTURE EXPRESSIONS DERIVED FROM CUSTOMS.

IT was an ancient ceremony of the Jews, which yet is religiouſly obſerved amongſt them, to tear their cloaths in mourning and affliction. Some Orientals ſtill practiſe this cuſtom, when any thing uncommonly diſtreſs⯑ful happens. The Jews make uſe of much ceremony on this occaſion—Sometimes, they tear from the top to the bottom; and ſome⯑times, [218] from the bottom to the top. The rent muſt be of a particular length. When it is done for the loſs of parents, it is never ſewed; for the loſs of other perſons, it is ſewed at the end of thirty days. This piece of religious mummery, if it is of no other value, will at leaſt ſerve to explain a paſſage, in which Solo⯑mon, in his Proverbs, ſays, that 'There is a time to rend, and a time to ſew.' Which means, there is a time for affliction, and a time for conſolation. Many of the Scripture-phraſes, that appear unintelligible, are founded on Jewiſh cuſtoms.

Mr. Bruce, in his Travels, obſerved in a ca⯑valcade, the head-dreſs of the Governors of Provinces. A large broad fillet was bound upon their forehead, and tied behind their head. In the middle of this was a HORN, or a conical piece of ſilver, gilt, much in the ſhape of our candle-extinguiſhers. This is called Kirn, or Horn, and is only worn in reviews, or public rejoicings for victory. This cuſtom, [219] borrowed from the Hebrews, our Traveller conceives, will explain the ſeveral alluſions made to it in Scripture. 'I ſaid unto fools, deal not fooliſhly; and to the wicked, lift not up the HORN—Lift not up your HORN on high; ſpeak not with a ſtiff neck—But my HORN ſhalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn—And the HORN of the righteous ſhall be exalted with honour.' And thus in many other places throughout the Pſalms.

A VISIONARY's BOOK.

I GIVE the ſingular title of a Work, which is looked upon as the moſt extravagant production that has ever been publiſhed. It has given birth to a great number of diſſerta⯑tions concerning it's ſubject, it's meaning, and it's Author. The laſt alone ſeems to have been diſcovered, who confeſſes he neither knew to write or read, but acknowledges himſelf to [220] have been guided by the inſpirations of God and the Angels.

' Les Oeuvres de Bernard de Bluet d'Ar⯑beres, Comte de Permiſſion, Chevalier des Ligues des XIII Cantons Suiſſes; et le dit Comte de Permiſſion vous avertit qu'il ne ſçait ny lire ny écrire, et n'y a jamais apris; mais par l'inſpiration de Dieu et conduite des Anges et pour la bonté et miſericorde de Dieu; et le tout ſera dedié à hault et puiſſant Henry de Bourbon, Roi de France, grand Empereur Théodore premier fils de l'Egliſe, Monarque des Gaules, le premier du Monde, par la grace, bonté, et miſéricorde de Dieu, le premier jour de Mai l'an 1600.'

Among the great number of writers who have attempted to diſcover the ſenſe of the Enigmas, and the fooliſh and extravagant Vi⯑ſions with which this Work is loaded, there have been ſome, who imagined that they per⯑ceived many remarkable events, which were predicted in this Book. Others have led their [221] imagination to behold it in another point of view; and there have been even Chymiſts, who have pretended to ſay, that the great ſe⯑cret of the Philoſophical Stone was there con⯑cealed under myſterious phraſes.

' If it is difficult'—ſays De Bure—'to give a juſt idea of this extravagant Work, it is, however, more eaſy to inform the reader of it's rarity. It has been long known amongſt the Literary Connoiſſeurs; and it is certain, that nothing is more difficult than to find a compleat copy. Some curious Collectors have endeavoured, by ſacrificing a great number of copies, to join it's ſeparate parts; but they have always found their endeavours fruſtrated. This myſterious Work ſeems to have a myſte⯑rious concluſion.

This rare Volume Conſiſts—according to the moſt compleat Copy extant—of one hun⯑dred and three fugitive and ſeparate Pieces, which the Author cauſed, himſelf, to have [222] printed, and which he diſtributed, himſelf, in ſtreets, and houſes, to thoſe perſons who made him ſome pecuniary preſent, as he himſelf in⯑forms us, by the acknowledgments which he makes in ſome of his pieces; where he puts not only the name and the quality of thoſe to whom he preſented them, but alſo the ſums which he received from each individual.'

The Abbé Ladvocat has given the following ſuccinct account of this man—'He knew the art of gaining his livelihood by diſtributing his extravagancies to whoever he found was will⯑ing to purchaſe them. They contain orations, ſentences, but more frequently prophecies. Many have ill-ſpent their time in explaining the myſteries of his work; and, as is uſual in theſe caſes, every one found what he ſought: but the truth is, they are viſions which come from a head leſs ridiculous than thoſe of the perſons who received them with reſpect, and recompenſed them with their money, unleſs [223] they were guided to act thus by the benevolence of Charity.'

After what has been laid before the reader, will it be believed that a compleat collection of the Comte de Permiſſion's abſurdities would fetch a very high price among a certain claſs of Literati? It happens, however, that his leaves, which reſemble in their deſign thoſe of the Roman Sybils, are as difficult to be found. There are men who diſplay a rich fund of Erudition only by ſtudying Catalogues; and feel themſelves as much enchanted by the rarity of an exerable book, as ſome by the rarity of fine writing!

IMPOSITIONS OF AUTHORS.

THERE have been ſome Authors who have practiſed ſingular Impoſitions on the public. Varillas, the French Hiſtorian, enjoyed for ſome time a great reputation in his own coun⯑try for his Hiſtoric Compoſitions. When they [224] became more known, the ſcholars of other countries deſtroyed the reputation he had un⯑juſtly acquired. 'His continual profeſſions of ſincerity prejudiced many in his favour, and made him paſs for a writer who had pene⯑trated into the inmoſt receſſes of the cabinet: but the public were at length undeceived, and were convinced that the Hiſtorical Anecdotes, which Varillas put off for authentic facts, had no foundation, being wholly his own invent⯑ing!—though he endeavoured to make them paſs for realities, by affected citations of titles, inſtructions, letters, memoirs, and relations, all of them imaginary!'

Melchiſedec Thevenot, Librarian to the French king, was never out of Europe; yet he has compoſed ſome folio volumes of his 'Voyages and Travels,' by information and memoirs, which he collected from thoſe who had travelled. 'Travels,' obſerves the Com⯑piler of the Biographical Dictionary, 'related at ſecond hand, can never be of any great au⯑thority [225] or moment.' Aſſuredly not; but they may be pregnant with errors of all kinds.

Gemelli Carreri, a Neapolitan gentleman, who, for many years, never quitted his cham⯑ber, being confined by a tedious indiſpoſition, amuſed himſelf with writing a voyage round the world; giving characters of Men, and de⯑ſcriptions of Countries, as if he had really viſited them. Du Halde, who has written ſo voluminous an account of China, compiled it from the Memoirs of the Miſſionaries, and never travelled ten leagues from Pairs in his life; though he appears, by his writings, to be very familiar with the Chineſe ſcenery.

This is an excellent obſervation of an ano⯑nymous Author. 'Writers who never viſited foreign countries, and Travellers who have run through immenſe regions with fleeting pace, have given us long accounts of various Countries and People; evidently collected from the idle reports and abſurd traditions of the ignorant vulgar, from whom only they could [226] have received thoſe relations which we ſee accumulated with ſuch undiſcerning credu⯑lity.'

TRANSLATION.

THE following obſervations on Tranſlation are offered to our modern doers into Engliſh. To whom I am indebted for this article, has eſcaped my recollection.

To render a Tranſlation perfect, it is neceſ⯑ſary to attend to theſe rules.—The Tranſlator muſt poſſeſs a thorough knowledge of the two Languages. He muſt be exact, not only in giving the thoughts of his Author, but even his own words, when they become eſſential and neceſſary. He muſt preſerve the ſpirit and pe⯑culiar genius of his Author. He muſt diſtin⯑guiſh every character by it's manners and it's nature, by unfolding the ſenfe and the words with ſuitable phraſes and parallel expreſſions. He muſt yield beauties by other beauties, and [227] figures by other figures, whenever the idiom of Language does not admit of a cloſe verſion. He muſt not employ long Sentences, unleſs they ſerve to render the ſenſe more intelligible, and the diction more elegant. He muſt at⯑tempt a neatneſs in his manner; and, to ef⯑fect this, he muſt know ſkilfully to contract or enlarge his Periods. He muſt unite the too conciſe Sentences of his Author, if his ſtyle, like that of Tacitus, be cloſe and abrupt. He muſt not only ſedulouſly attempt preciſion and purity of diction, but he muſt ſtrive alſo to embelliſh his verſion with thoſe graces and images which frequently lie ſo cloſely hidden, that nothing but a familiar converſancy with his Author can diſcover them. And, laſtly, he muſt preſent us with the ſentiments of his Author, without a ſervile attachment to his words or phraſes, but rather, according to his ſpirit and his genius.

A Tranſlator is a Painter who labours after an original. He muſt carefully reveal the traits [228] of his model. He copies, he does not com⯑poſe. Whenever he treſpaſſes on his limits, he ceaſes to be a Tranſlator, and becomes an Author.

THE ORIGIN OF NEWSPAPERS AND PERIO⯑DICAL LITERATURE.

THE Newſpapers of the preſent day, con⯑traſted with their original models, have attain⯑ed a degree of excellence which is flattering to modern induſtry to contemplate. While political events are regiſtered with a celerity unknown to our anceſtors, the ſentiments of liberty are diſſeminated in the warm impreſ⯑ſion of the moment. The frivolous purſuits of the age offer an ample field to thoſe who can point with force the keenneſs of Ridicule. Faſhion, however verſatile, cannot eſcape the eye of the ſatiriſt; and the follies of the night are chronicled for the ſober contemplation of the morning. Literature has been called in to [229] embelliſh theſe diurnal pages; and it has given a ſtability and perfection of which the evaneſ⯑cent nature of ſuch productions was hardly thought ſuſceptible. It is, however, a melan⯑choly truth, that ſuch excellent purpoſes have been fruſtrated by a vile ſpirit of faction; a ſpirit that, according to the ſenſible Rapin, will ſooner overturn the Engliſh Conſtitution than the united efforts of our moſt powerful enemies. But ſuch diſcuſſions we leave to the ſagacious politicians.

Periodical Papers ſeem firſt to have been uſed by the Engliſh during the Civil Wars of the uſurper Cromwell, to diſſeminate amongſt the people the ſentiments of Loyalty or Rebel⯑lion, according as their Authors were diſpoſed. We ſeem to have been obliged to the Italians for the idea; and, perhaps, it was their Ga⯑zettas—from Gazzera, a magpie or chatter⯑er—which have given a name to theſe Pa⯑pers. Honeſt Peter Heylin, in the preface to his Coſmography, mentions that—'the affairs of each Town, or War, were better pre⯑ſented [230] to the reader in the Weekly News-Books.' In their origin they were ſolely devoted to political purpoſes: but they ſoon became a public nuiſance, by ſerving as receptacles of party malice, and echoing to the fartheſt ends of the kingdom the inſolent voice of Fac⯑tion. They ſet the minds of Men more at va⯑riance, enflamed their tempers to a greater fierceneſs, and gave a keener edge to the ſharp⯑neſs of civil diſcord.

It is to be lamented, that ſuch works will always find writers adapted to their ſcurrilous purpoſes; but of a vaſt crowd that iſſued from the preſs, though little more than a century has elapſed, they are now not to be found but in a few private Collections. They form a race of Authors unknown to moſt readers of theſe times: the name of their Chief, however, has juſt reached us, but is on the point of diſappearing.

Sir Roger L'Eſtrange, who appears to have greatly ſurpaſſed his rivals, and to have been [231] eſteemed as the moſt perfect model of political writing, merits little praiſe. The temper of the man was factious and brutal, and the com⯑poſitions of the Author very indifferent. In his multifarious productions, and meagre tranſlations, we diſcover nothing that indicates one amiable ſentiment, to compenſate for a barbarous diction, and a heavy load of poli⯑tical traſh. His attempts at Wit are clumſy exertions; the aukward efforts of a German who labours on a delicate toy. When he aſ⯑ſumes the gravity of the ſage, he ſeems more fortunate in extorting a laugh; burleſquing the moſt ſolemn reflections by quaint and un⯑couth expreſſion.

In the reign of Queen Anne—not unjuſtly characterized by being diſtinguiſhed as the Auguſtan Age of Engliſh Literature—Periodi⯑cal Prints, that till then had only ſerved po⯑litical purpoſes, began to rank higher in the eſtimation of the Public. Some had already attempted to introduce literary ſubjects, and [232] other topics of a more general ſpeculation. But we ſee nothing that has eſcaped the waſte of time, till Sir Richard Steele formed the plan of his Tatler. He deſigned it to embrace the three provinces, of Manners, of Letters, and of Politics. He knew that this was an in⯑valuable improvement; and, doubtleſs, he thought, that if the laſt portion could be omit⯑ted, it would ſtill have made it more perfect. But violent and ſudden reformation is ſel⯑dom to be uſed; and the Public were to be conducted inſenſibly into ſo new and different a track from that to which they had been hitherto accuſtomed. Hence Politics were ad⯑mitted into his Paper. But it remained for the chaſter genius of Addiſon to baniſh this diſa⯑greeable topic from his elegant pages. The writer in Polite Letters felt himſelf degraded by ſinking into the dull narrator of Political Events. It is from this time, that Newſpapers and periodical Literature became diſtinct works.

LITERARY COMPOSITION.

IN a little Tract, printed in 1681, is to be found ſome curious literary information. The ingenious author attempts to mark out the moſt profitable way of reading and writing books. He firſt informs us of various vo⯑luminous writers; of ſome, ſo infected with the cacoethes ſcribendi, that they have compoſed from ſix to ſeven thouſand volumes! He then notices vaſt libraries; ſuch as that of Ptolomy, King of Egypt, which was ſaid to contain four hundred thouſand; or, as others write, ſeven hundred thouſand volumes: and alſo that of the younger Theodoſius at Conſtantinople, containing ten myriads of books.

He reflects that, ſince the invention of print⯑ing, an Author can publiſh as much in one day as he has compoſed in one year. He laments, that theſe multifarious volumes may prove pre⯑judicial [234] to the Student; that ſuch a continued novelty of matter will render his knowledge leſs clear and digeſted than before this inven⯑tion took place: though he is willing to allow that this evil originates rather from the ill uſe made of books, than from their number.

He complains—a complaint, I fear, which muſt ever exiſt—that the preſs is continually pouring forth trivial, crude, and uſeleſs per⯑formances: yet he obſerves—'If men would take care that ill books be not written, and that good books be not ill written, but that in their compoſition a due regard be always had to prudence, ſolidity, perſpicuity, and brevity, there would be no cauſe left for us to complain of the too great number of books.'

By the idea of prudence, he would have us underſtand, that an Author ſhould never raſhly or inconſiderately apply himſelf to compoſi⯑tion: let him learn well what he purpoſes to teach to others. The greateſt Scholars have always taken time to make their compoſitions [235] approach perfection. Iſocrates ſpent ten, or, as ſome will have it, fifteen years, in poliſhing one Panegyric. Dion Caſſius employed twelve years in writing his Hiſtory, and ten years in preparing his Memoirs. Virgil employed ſe⯑ven years to finiſh his Bucolics; and, after a labour of eleven years, pronounced his Aeneid imperfect. Jacobus Sannazarius wrote three books de Partu Virginis, and dedicated twenty years to this labour. Diodorus Siculus was thirty years in compoſing his Hiſtory. Hence he adviſes writers to reflect on the reply of Zeuxis to one who boaſted of a more fluent hand in painting—Diu pingo, quia eternitati pingo—'I paint but a line every day; but I paint for poſterity.'

In works of importance, he would have us be ſtudious of what he calls ſolidity. He means, that our arguments ſhould be forcibly urged, and ſkilfully applied; that every thing we write tend to ſhew that we feel ourſelves the conviction of what we would convince our [236] reader; that nothing be feeble, doubtful, or frivolous; that truth be firm, clear, and as in⯑diſputable as poſſible. 'Not,' as he candidly remarks, 'that this ſolidity can be every where obſerved alike, it being above the infirmity of man ſo to do; but men ſhould be very wary not to flatter themſelves that others will be⯑lieve their bare ſay-ſo's.'

By perſpicuity, he requires that the ſtyle ſerve like a mirror to the mind of the Author; ſo that the ſenſe may be lucidly preſented to the reader. As for thoſe Authors who are pleaſed to throw over their compoſitions an affected obſcurity, he ſhrewdly remarks, that they might gratify their humour and the world much better by remaining ſilent.

Laſtly, he would not have perſpicuity ſo far indulged as to neglect brevity. 'For, as ob⯑ſcurity makes a book uſeleſs; ſo, if drawn out in length, it becomes tedious.' To obſerve this brevity, he adviſes the writer not to give into wild digreſſions, but always 'to keep cloſe [237] to his main ſubject;' to reject, as much as poſſible, trite ſentiments and familiar argu⯑ments; to be ſparing of an idle amplification of words; and, in controverſy, not ſo much to combat his adverſaries by number as by weight of argument.

To cloſe this ſlight Review, which, I hope, will not be found unuſeful, he exhorts the in⯑genuous youth not to delight in a multiplicity of authors; to be ſelect in his choice, and then ſtudiouſly to unite himſelf to thoſe authors whom he finds moſt congenial to his own diſ⯑poſitions. An excellent rule this! And, to conclude with a verſe from the Earl of Roſ⯑common—‘To chuſe an Author as he would a Friend.’

For the benefit of young Authors, I will add the advice of a Veteran on Publication—

Menage obſerves, that the works which are moſt generally liked, give a more extenſive re⯑putation than the moſt excellent ones, which [238] are only reliſhed by a few connoiſſeurs. The diſhes at a feaſt ſhould rather be ſeaſoned to the taſte of the invited than to that of the cooks, however able they may be: for, as Martial ſays—

To give a work which may be crowned with the approbation of the public, it muſt be read three times: the firſt, perfectly to underſtand it; the ſecond, to criticiſe it; and the third, to correct it.

VIRGIL.

VIRGIL has violated the immutable laws of common ſenſe, which exiſt in full force in all ages, and in all countries, by his ridiculous Miracles, which are not leſs inſupportable than thoſe which the ancient Chroniclers relate of their Saints. Among theſe, we may obſerve, [239] is that of transforming into the Leaves of a Tree, of which Polydore is the Root, the Lances with which Polymneſtor had pierced him in the third book of the Aeneid; in making the branch of a tree produce a Golden Bough, in the ſixth; and in metamorphoſing into Sea Nymphs, in the eleventh book, the Ships of Aeneas, which were ſet on fire. The leaſt ju⯑dicious of his admirers would even defend theſe miracles: ſurely, theſe fictions are not miraculous, but ridiculous, and only ſerve to blemiſh ſo beautiful a compoſition!

We muſt alſo condemn, in Virgil, that cruel Piety by which he has diſtinguiſhed Aeneas, in cauſing him to immolate eight perſons on the funeral-pile of Pallas. The example of Homer, which he has here followed, cannot excuſe a barbarity which ſhocks our feelings. This cruel action was characteriſtic of the furious Achilles in the circumſtance of the death of Patroclus, but ſhould not have been performed by the pious Aeneas. Beſides, Virgil, who [240] had more judgment than Homer, and who lived in a more poliſhed age, is leſs excuſeable in having made his Hero commit ſo barbarous an action.

In the fourth book of the Aeneid, we are compelled to animadvert on another ſault, which pains our ſenſibility. In that book, where the Poet expreſſes ſo well the madneſs of a deſpairing Lover, Aeneas appears by much too cold; and his excuſes are, indeed, not very ingenious for his deſertion of Dido—in a word, not a little unfeeling. To all the reproaches of the paſſionate and tender Queen he has only to oppoſe the orders of Jupiter, and the ſeverity of his ſate. He cannot doubt of the extreme violence of her paſſion; and he muſt neceſſarily know to what an exceſs a woman of her fervid ſpirit, who pretended to be united to him as his wife, would carry it: yet he ſleeps, in the moſt perfect tranquillity, in his veſſel, till Mercury awakens him.

Some of his adventures ſeem copies of each [241] other. Sinon and Acheminedes preſent them⯑ſelves to the Trojans on two very different occaſions, but in nearly a ſimilar manner. The one in his ſecond book, and the other in the third, ſay the ſame things. The deſcrip⯑tions of the tempeſts too frequently reſemble each other; and they begin two or three times by the ſame verſes. This beautiful verſe—‘Obſtupui, Steteruntque comae et vox faucibus haeſit,’ is too often repeated. There are alſo contra⯑dictions; which, probably, he would have cor⯑rected, had he lived.

He relates, in the fifth book, the circum⯑ſtances of the death of Palinurus in one man⯑ner; and Palinurus himſelf, in the ſixth, re⯑lates it differently. In one, it is the god of Sleep, under the figure of Phorbas, who hav⯑ing cauſed the pilot to fall aſleep, precipitates him and the rudder into the ſea; in the other, it is a gale of wind that carries them both [242] away. In one place, Palinurus is ſwallowed up in a profound ſleep by the ſea; in the other, he is perfectly awake, and has time to reflect that the ſhip will now wander without a pilot.

Virgil ſhould not have cauſed Aeneas to re⯑turn from Hell by the gate of Ivory, but by that of Horn. By employing here the gate of Ivory, from whence iſſued fables and fictions, formed at pleaſure—Sed falſa ad Coelum mittunt inſomnia manes—is it not deſtroying, at a ſingle ſtroke, the whole that he has been recounting in that incomparable book; and tacitly informing Auguſtus, that all he had imagined moſt flat⯑tering for him and his anceftors is nothing but a mere idle fiction?

In the ſecond book of the Aeneid, Aſcanius appears a little child, led by the hand of his father: he could not have attained to more than ſeven years. In the third, Andromache, calling to mind Aſtyanax her ſon, and addreſ⯑ſing herſelf to Aſcanius, ſays—'Were he [243] living, he would now, like you, have reached the age of puberty—‘Et nunc aequali tecum pubeſceret oevo.’

Aſcanius was not, then, a child, before he went to Africa? Yet Virgil makes him again but ſeven years in his fourth book, when Dido holds Cupid in her lap, who had aſſumed his figure: yet, in the very ſame book, he is repre⯑ſented, not as a child, but as a young and vi⯑gorous man, in a hunting-match, of which he gives a deſcription.

Theſe things are very irregular and diſſimi⯑lar: contradictions which are very material, and which cannot be reconciled. Virgil, on his death-bed, commanded his friends to burn his Aeneid. The great Poet was conſcious of it's unfiniſhed ſtate. Fortunately for poſte⯑rity, they did not in this reſpect obey the injunctions of their dying friend. The loſs had, indeed, been irreparable.

[244] Let it not be conſidered, that I have collected theſe criticiſms to diminiſh the reputation of Vir⯑gil. His laurels are placed for above the reach of envy. I am no Lauder; no Heron; but it is alone by an enlightened criticiſm, and by contemplat⯑ing the errors of our Maſters, that we may hope, if we but faintly attain to their beauties, at leaſt to eſcape from their errors.

We can, however, defend Virgil from a cenſure which attacks at once the Poet and the Man. The Cardinal Sirlet, Turnebus, Muret, Taubman, Julius Scaliger, and others not leſs eminent, are much aſtoniſhed that Virgil, in his ſixth book of the Aeneid, deſcribing the Laurel Grove which he has aſſigned for the reſidence of the Poets, makes no mention of Homer. On this they have taxed Virgil with ingratitude and envy; ſince here an oc⯑caſion preſented itſelf ſo favourably to beſtow a beautiful eulogium on Homer, to whom he ſtood ſo deeply indebted; and they have been aſtoniſhed why he preferred to do this honour [245] to the ancient Muſaeus. But this cenſure is very unjuſt, and could only be occaſioned by not reflecting ſufficiently on the order of time. Let us conſider, that Virgil only follows his Hero: if he ſpeaks of Muſaeus, it is that he had no other deſign but to mention thoſe Poets who died before the taking of Troy. He was too judicious, to cauſe Aeneas to relate that he had ſeen Homer amongſt the Poets, who was not born till at leaſt one hundred and ſixty years after the deſtruction of Troy.

Virgil, in the ſecond book of the Georgics, has beſtowed high eulogiums on the fertile territory of Nole, in Campania: but, the inha⯑bitants of this city not chuſing to allow their waters to run through his lands, he eraſed Nole, and put Ora in it's place. So dreadful is the vengeance of a Poet!

The Banquet which Alcinous gives Ulyſſes, in the Odyſſey, is very beautiful, and perfectly gallant: but it appears there are none but men preſent. That with which Dido entertains [246] Aeneas is not by any means comparable to it in feſtal elegance. In one, they ſing the adven⯑tures of the Gods, and other themes, not leſs agreeable than gallant: in the other, they ſing concerning the ſtars, and other philoſophical matters. Let the feſtive ſplendours of Al⯑cinous be removed to the Court of Carthage, and the feaſt of Dido to the Pheacian Iſland; and every thing will then be in character.

To this article may be added an account of a thirteenth book of the Aeneid. A Poet, named Maphaeus Vegius Laudanenſis—ſo Naudé writes it, but I obſerve his Commentator tells us it ſhould be Laudenſis—was born at Lodi, in the year 1407. At ſixteen years of age, he gave evident marks of an excellent genius. What is moſt remarkable of him, is, that he has with great felicity added a thirteenth book to the Aeneid. Has this book ever been tranſlated into Engliſh verſe?

MILTON.

IT is painful to obſerve the acrimony which the moſt eminent Scholars infuſe frequently in their controverſial writings. The polite⯑neſs of the preſent times has, in ſome degree, ſoftened the malignity of the Man in the dig⯑nity of the Author; though it muſt be con⯑feſſed there are living writers who pride them⯑ſelves on being—as they expreſs it—of the Warburtonian School; but who diſplay the aſperity rather than the erudition of a War⯑burton.

The celebrated controverſy of Salmaſius and Milton—the firſt, the advocate of King Charles; the other, the defender of the People—was of that magnitude, that all Europe took a part in the paper-war of theſe two great men. The anſwer of Milton, who perfectly maſſacred Salmaſius, is now read but by the few. What⯑ever is addreſſed to the times, however great [248] may be it's merit, is doomed to periſh with the times; yet, on theſe Pages, the Philoſo⯑pher will not contemplate in vain.

It will form no unintereſting article to ga⯑ther a few of the rhetorical weeds—for flowers we cannot well call them—with which they mutually preſented each other. Their rancour was at leaſt equal to their condition, though they were the two moſt learned Scholars of a learned Age.

That the deformity of the body is an idea we attach to the deformity of the mind, the vulgar muſt acknowledge; but ſurely it is un⯑pardonable in the enlightened Philoſopher thus to compare corporeal matter with intellectual ſpirit: yet Milbourne and Dennis—the laſt a formidable Critic—have frequently conſidered, that comparing Dryden and Pope to what⯑ever the eye turned from with diſguſt, was very good argument to lower their literary abilities. Salmaſius ſeems alſo to have enter⯑tained this idea, though his ſpies in England [249] gave him wrong information; or, poſſibly, he only drew the figure of his own diſtempered imagination.

Salmaſius ſometimes reproaches Milton, as being but a puny piece of Man; a dwarf de⯑prived of the human figure; a being compoſ⯑ed of nothing but ſkin and bone; a contemp⯑tible pedagogue, fit only to flog his boys: and ſometimes elevating the ardour of his mind into a poetic frenzy, he applies to him theſe words of Virgil—'Monſtrum horrendum, in⯑forme, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.' Our great Poet thought this ſenſeleſs declamation merited a ſerious refutation; perhaps he did not wiſh to appear deſpicable in the eyes of the Ladies. If the great Johnſon could ex⯑preſs his pleaſure at learning that Milton wore latchets to his ſhoes, his admirers muſt be in⯑tereſted in this deſcription of himſelf. He ſays, that he does not think any one ever conſidered him as unbeautiful; that his ſize rather ap⯑proached mediocrity than the diminutive; that he [250] ſtill felt the ſame courage and the ſame ſtrength which he poſſeſſed when young, when, with his ſword, he felt no difficulty to combat with men more robuſt than himſelf; that his face, far from being pale, emaciated, and wrinkled, did him much credit; for though he had paſ⯑ſed his fortieth year, he was in all other re⯑ſpects ten years younger. For all this he cal⯑led for teſtimony on multitudes; who, though they knew him but by ſight, would hold him ridiculous if he did not reveal the truth.

Morus, in his Epiſtle Dedicatory of his Clamor Regii Sanguinis, compares Milton to a Hangman: his diſordered viſion to the blind⯑neſs of his ſoul; and vomits forth ſo much rancour and venom, that to collect his calum⯑nies ceaſes to become an amuſive employ⯑ment.

When Salmaſius found that his ſtrictures on the perſon of Milton were falſe, and that, on the contrary, it was uncommonly beautiful, he then turned his battery againſt thoſe graces [251] with which Nature had ſo liberally adorned his adverſary. And it is now that he ſeems to have ſet no reſtrictions to his pen; but, rag⯑ing with the irritation of Milton's ſucceſs, he throws out the blackeſt calumnies, and the moſt infamous aſperſions.

It muſt be obſerved, when Milton firſt pro⯑poſed to anſwer Salmaſius, he had loſt the uſe of one of his eyes; and his phyſicians declar⯑ed, that if he applied himſelf to the contro⯑verſy, the other would likewiſe cloſe for ever! His patriotiſm was not to be baffled but with life itſelf. Unhappily, the prediction of his phyſicians took place! Thus a learned man, in the occupations of ſtudy, falls blind; a circumſtance which even now agonizes the heart of Senſibility. Salmaſius conſiders it as one from which he may draw cauſtic ridicule, and ſatiric ſeverity.

Salmaſius glories that Milton loſt his health and his eyes in anſwering his apology for King Charles! He does not now reproach him [252] with natural deformities; but he malignantly ſympathizes with him, that he now no more is in poſſeſſion of that beauty which rendered him ſo amiable during his reſidence in Italy. He ſpeaks more plainly in a following page; and, in a word, would blacken the auſtere virtue of Milton with a crime too infamous to name.

Impartiality of Criticiſm obliges us to con⯑feſs, that Milton was not deſtitute of rancour. And, when it was told him that his adverſary boaſted he had occaſioned the loſs of his eyes, he anſwered, with the ferocity of the irritated Puritan—'And I ſhall coſt him his life!' A prediction which was ſoon after verified: for Chriſtina, Queen of Sweden, withdrew her patronage from Salmaſius, and ſided with Milton. The univerſal neglect the proud Scho⯑lar felt, in conſequence, haſtened his death.

The ſtory of his expulſion from Cambridge was not forgotten—nor forgotten to be aggra⯑vated. Milton denies this, and relates it in a [253] manner honourable to himſelf. Salmaſius aſ⯑ſures his reader, that thoſe who well knew Milton affirm, that he was incapable of Latin compoſition; but—in his manner of raillery—he confeſſes Milton to be an extraordinary Poet; and this he maintains by pointing out how fre⯑quently he violates, in his Latin verſes, the laws of quantity. He adds, that the Author might have ſpared himſelf the pains of indi⯑cating his Age; for, without this aid, his reader muſt have been convinced that they were the compoſitions of the raw Scholar. To cloſe the virulence of his invectives, he tells us, that Milton's book is written by a French ſchoolmaſter in London, and that he only lent his name.

What Patin writes in his Letters, in the ſame times, will ſhew what lame reports the enemies of Milton helped about. He writes—'Monſieur de la Mothe le Vaier informs me, that the book of Milton againſt the King of England has been burnt by the common [254] hangman—in Paris: that Milton is in priſon; and, it is to be hoped, will be hung. Some ſay that Milton wrote this Book in Engliſh; and that a Peter de Moulin, who has put it in⯑to ſuch fine Latin, is in danger, for his pains, of being burnt.' This is in the uſual ſtyle of Patin's correſpondence; ſome truth, with much fiction. Moulin was a Confeſſor of the Royal party; and was, on the contrary, a favourite with our ſecond Charles; and who, having written againſt the Rebels, was one of the few whoſe fidelity he rewarded.

It is raking in offals to tranſcribe from the infamous Lauder. His virulence, however, cannot now irritate; it may amuſe. He ſeems to have poached in Salmaſius for Epithets. His Pamphlets, with the common lyes of the day, have met the common fate. The preſent paragraph is an odd mixture of pedantry, of vile compoſition, and viler abuſe.

' Milton, whom the preſent generation of Writers, if they do not on ſome occaſions [255] exeem from ſome human frailties and imper⯑fections, have yet in the main conſpired to daub with the untempered mortar of unbound⯑ed praiſe. By repreſenting him as all perfect, all excellent, without the leaſt mixture of alloy, was rather a devil incarnate: an abandoned Monſter of mankind, of inſatiable avarice, un⯑bounded ambition, implacable malice, unparal⯑leled impudence, and ſhocking impiety." Such is the declamation which Lauder, in the pre⯑ſent day, had the audacity to acknowledge as his own compoſition.

We will cloſe this Article with Bayle's Re⯑view of Milton's Controverſial Latin Writings, for of no others he pretended to judge. 'Milton is very expert in the Latin language. No one can deny that his ſtyle is flowing, animated, and flowery; and that he has de⯑fended the people adroitly and ingeniouſly. But, without entering too deeply into this ſub⯑ject, it muſt be confeſſed, that his manner is exceptionable; it is not ſufficiently ſerious for [256] the importance of his ſubject. We ſee him at every moment—I do not ſay pouring forth ſharp railleries againſt Mr. Salmaſius; that would not injure his Work, but gain the laughers on his ſide—attempting to be far⯑cical, and to play off the buffoon. This cen⯑ſure particularly extends to his two anſwers of Mr. Morus. They are replete with outrage⯑ous jeſts. The character of the Author here appears without a maſk; he is one of thoſe ſa⯑tiric geniuſes, who, indeed, are too fond of collecting all the diſadvantageous reports of others, and of having written, by the enemies of another, all the calumnies they know; but who feel a greater gratification to inſert thoſe calumnies in the firſt libel they publiſh againſt any one.'

I hope this heavy charge laid to our great Poet is not juſt. He felt great provocations from Salmaſius and Morus; and he was deeply concerned in one of the greateſt political re⯑volutions. Surely, the ſublime conceptions of [257] Milton could not deſcend to collect the tattle of Scandal. To do this, one muſt have a mind as little, and a heart as rancorous, as ſome of our modern verſificators.

ARABIC PROVERBS.

There are perſons who ſet out vigorouſly, but ſoon flag, and go back; like a ſtar which pro⯑miſes rain, and immediately leaves the ſky clear. This poetical thought Schultens interprets of ſuch as make large promiſes, and even deſign to execute them, but fall ſhort for want of conſtancy and reſolution.

Every one living is cut down by Death: happy the man who is mowed down green! This beauti⯑ful ſentiment requires no illuſtration.

Why are you diſpleaſed at the words of one who adviſes with ſincerity; ſince ſuch a perſon mends your torn cloaths? Here it is obſerved, that mending what is torn, is applied, in a figurative ſenſe, to the ill condition of the mind.

[258] The cure of a proud man is performed by driv⯑ing out his buzzing fly, and taking Satan out of his noſtrils. Here Schultens remarks, that the noiſy boaſtings of the haughty Man are beau⯑tifully repreſented by the troubleſome and in⯑ſignificant buzzing of a large fly.

The dam of the roaring BEAST is not very prolific; but the dam of the barking BEAST pro⯑duces many whelps. By the roaring Beaſt, is here meant the Lion; by the barking Beaſt, the Dog. The ſenſe of the Proverb is—That per⯑ſons of great and elevated accompliſhments are but few; thoſe of a contrary character, very numerous.

TRIALS AND PROOFS OF GUILT IN SUPER⯑STITIOUS AGES.

IT is a melancholy contemplation, to reflect on the ſtrange trials to which, in the remoter ages, thoſe ſuſpected of guilt were put. The Ordeal conſiſted of various kinds: walking blindfold amidſt heated plough-ſhares; paſſing through two fires; holding in the hand a red⯑hot bar; and plunging the hand into boiling water. Challenging the accuſer to ſingle com⯑bat, when frequently the ſtouteſt champion [260] was allowed to ſupply their place; the ſwal⯑lowing a morſel of conſecrated bread; the ſinking or ſwimming in a river for witchcraft; and various others. Though ſometimes theſe might be eluded by the artifice of the prieſt, what numbers of innocent victims have been ſacrificed to ſuch barbarous ſuperſtitions!

In the twelfth century, they were very com⯑mon. Hildebert, Biſhop of Mans, being ac⯑cuſed of high-treaſon by our William Rufus, was preparing to undergo one of theſe trials; when Ives, Biſhop of Chartres, convinced him that they were againſt the canons of the con⯑ſtitutions of the church.

An Abbot of Saint Aubin of Angers, who lived in 1066, having refuſed to preſent a horſe to the Viſcount of Touars, which the Viſ⯑count claimed in right of his lordſhip, when⯑ever an Abbot firſt took poſſeſſion of the ſaid abbey; the Eccleſiaſtic offered to juſtify himſelf by the trial of the ordeal, or by duel, for which he propoſed to furniſh a man. [261] The Viſcount, at firſt, agreed to the duel; but, reflecting that theſe combats, though ſanction⯑ed by the church, depended wholly on the ſkill or vigour of the adverſary, and could there⯑fore afford no ſubſtantial proof of the equity of his claim, he propoſed to compromiſe the matter in a manner which ſtrongly cha⯑racterizes the times: he waved his claim, on condition that the Abbot ſhould not forget to mention, in his prayers, himſelf, his wife, and his brothers! As the oriſons appeared to the Abbot, in compariſon with the horſe, of little or no value, he accepted the propoſal.

Pope Eugene approved of, and even intro⯑duced, the trial by immerſion in cold water.

It was about that time, alſo, that thoſe who were accuſed of robbery, were put to trial by a piece of barley bread, on which the maſs had been ſaid; and, if they could not ſwallow it, they were declared guilty. This mode of trial was improved, by adding to the bread a ſlice of cheeſe; and ſuch were the credulity and [262] firm dependence on Heaven in theſe ridiculous trials, that they were very particular in the compoſition of this holy bread and cheeſe. The bread was to be of unleavened barley, and the cheeſe made of ewe's milk of the month of May, no other of the twelve months having any power to detect a criminal.

Du Cange has obſerved, that the expreſſion we long have employed—'May this piece of bread choak me!' comes from this cuſtom.

The anecdote of Earl Godwin's death by ſwallowing a piece of bread, in making this aſſeveration, is recorded in our hiſtory. If it be true, it was a ſingular misfortune.

Voltaire ſays, that they were acquainted in thoſe times with ſecrets to paſs, unhurt, theſe ſingular trials. He particularly mentions one for undergoing that of boiling water. Theſe are his words—'The whole ſecret is ſaid to conſiſt in rubbing one's ſelf a long time with the ſpirit of vitriol and allum, together with the juice of an onion. None of the Academies [263] of Science, in our days, have attempted to verify, by experiments, a truth well known to quacks and mountebanks.'

But, amongſt theſe trials, not the leaſt ridi⯑culous was that of the bleeding of a corpſe. If a perſon was murdered, it was ſaid that, at the touch, or at the approach, of the murderer, the blood guſhed out of the body in various parts. This was once allowed in England; and is ſtill looked on, in ſome of the uncivilized parts of theſe kingdoms, as a detection of the cri⯑minal. It forms a rich picture to the imagina⯑tion of our old writers; and their narrations and ballads are laboured into pathos by dwell⯑ing on this phenomenon. Yet, what is this evidence in the eyes of the enlightened philo⯑ſopher? It does not always happen in the pre⯑ſence of the murderer; it bleeds ſuddenly in that of the innocent: and is it not natural to ſuppoſe, that 'when a body is full of blood, warmed by a ſudden external heat, having been conſiderably ſtirred or moved, and a [264] putrefaction coming on, ſome of the blood-veſſels ſhould burſt, as it is certain they all will in time?'

For this laſt ingenious remark I am indebted to the Encyclopedia Britannica.

SINGULARITIES OBSERVED BY VARIOUS NA⯑TIONS IN THEIR REPASTS.

I HAVE collected from a very curious book, entitled—'L'Eſprit des Uſages et des Coutumes,' the greater part of the preſent article.

The Maldivian Iſlanders eat alone. They retire into the moſt hidden parts of their houſes; and they draw down the cloths that ſerve as blinds to their windows, that they may eat unobſerved. This cuſtom probably ariſes—re⯑marks our philoſophic Author—from the Sa⯑vage, in the early periods of ſociety, conceal⯑ing himſelf to eat: he fears that another, with as ſharp an appetite, but more ſtrong than himſelf, ſhould come and raviſh his meal from [265] him. Beſides, the ideas of Witchcraft are wide⯑ly ſpread among Barbarians; and they are not a little fearful that ſome incantation may be thrown amongſt their victuals.

In noticing the ſolitary meal of the Maldi⯑vian Iſlander, another reaſon may be alledged for this miſanthropical repaſt. They never will eat with any one who is inferior to them in birth, in riches, or dignity; and, as it is a difficult matter to ſettle this equality, they are condemned to lead this unſociable life.

On the contrary, the Iſlanders of the Phi⯑lippines are remarkably ſociable. Whenever one of them finds himſelf without a compa⯑nion to partake of his meal, he runs till he meets with one; and, we are aſſured, that however keen his appetite may be, he ventures not to ſatisfy it without a gueſt.

Savages, (ſays Montaigne) when they eat, 'S'eſſuyent les doigts oux cuiſſes, à la bourſe des génitoires, et à la plante des pieds.' It is impoſ⯑ſible to tranſlate this paſſage without offending [266] feminine delicacy; nor can we forbear exulting in the poliſhed convenience of napkins!

The tables of the rich Chineſe ſhine with a beautiful varniſh, and are covered with ſilk carpets very elegantly worked. They do not make uſe of plates, knives, or forks: every gueſt has two little ivory or ebony ſticks, which he handles very adroitly.

The Otaheiteans, who are lovers of ſociety, and very gentle in their manners, feed ſepa⯑rate from each other. At the hour of repaſt, the members of each family divide; two bro⯑thers, two ſiſters, and even huſband and wife, father and mother, have each their reſpective baſket. They place themſelves at the diſtance of two or three yards from each other; they turn their backs, and take their meal in pro⯑found ſilence.

The cuſtom of drinking, at different hours from thoſe aſſigned for eating, is to be met with amongſt many ſavage nations. It was originally begun from neceſſity. It became an [267] habit, which ſubſiſted even when the fountain was near to them. ''A people tranſplanted,' obſerves our ingenious Philoſopher, 'preſerve, in another climate, modes of living which re⯑late to thoſe from whence they originally came. It is thus the Indians of Brazil ſcru⯑pulouſly abſtain from eating when they drink, and from drinking when they eat.'

When neither decency or politeneſs are known, the man who invites his friends to a repaſt, is greatly embarraſſed to teſtify his eſteem for his gueſts, and to preſent them with ſome amuſement; for the ſavage gueſt impoſes on him this obligation. Amongſt the greater part of the American Indians the hoſt is con⯑tinually on the watch to ſolicit them to eat; but touches nothing himſelf. In New France, he wearies himſelf with ſinging, to divert the company while they eat.

When civilization advances, we wiſh to ſhew our confidence to our friends: we treat them as relations; and it is ſaid that, in China, the [268] maſter of the houſe, to give a mark of his po⯑liteneſs, abſents himſelf while his gueſts regale themſelves at his table in undiſturbed revelry.

The demonſtrations of friendſhip, in a rude ſtate, have a ſavage and groſs character, which it is not a little curious to obſerve. The Tartars pull a man by the ear, to preſs him to drink; and they continue tormenting him till he opens his mouth. It is then they clap their hands, and dance before him.

No cuſtoms ſeem more ridiculous than thoſe practiſed by a Kamtſchadale, when he wiſhes to make another his friend. He firſt invites him to eat. The hoſt and his gueſt ſtrip them⯑ſelves in a cabin, which is heated to an uncom⯑mon degree. While the gueſt devours the food with which they ſerve him, the other con⯑tinually ſtirs the fire. The ſtranger muſt bear the exceſs of the heat as well as of the repaſt. He vomits ten times before he will yield; but, at length, obliged to acknowledge himſelf overcome, he begins to compound matters. [269] He purchaſes a moment's reſpite by a preſent of cloaths or dogs; for his hoſt threatens to heat the cabin, and to oblige him to eat till he dies. The ſtranger has the right of retaliation allowed to him: he treats in the ſame manner, and exacts the ſame preſents. Should his hoſt not accept the invitation of his gueſt, whom he has ſo handſomely regaled, he would come and inhabit his cabin till he had obtained from him the preſents he had in ſo ſingular a manner given to him.

For this extravagant cuſtom a curious reaſon has been alledged. It is meant to put the per⯑ſon to a trial whoſe friendſhip is ſought. The Kamtſchadale, who is at the expence of the fires and the repaſt, is deſirous to know if the ſtranger has the ſtrength to ſupport pain with him, and if he is generous enough to ſhare with him ſome part of his property. While the gueſt is employed on his meal, he continues heating the cabin to an inſupportable degree; and, for a laſt proof of the ſtranger's conſtancy [270] and attachment, he exacts more cloaths and more dogs. The hoſt paſſes through the ſame ceremonies in the cabin of the ſtranger; and he ſhews, in his turn, with what degree of fortitude he can defend his friend. It is thus the moſt ſingular cuſtoms would appear ſimple, if it were poſſible for the Philoſopher to con⯑template them on the ſpot.

As a diſtinguiſhing mark of their eſteem, the Negroes of Ardra drink out of one cup at the ſame time. The King of Loango eats in one houſe, and drinks in another. A Kamtſcha⯑dale kneels before his gueſt; he cuts an enor⯑mous ſlice from a ſea-calf; he crams it entire into the mouth of his friend, furiouſly crying out—'Tana!—There!' and, cutting away what hangs about his lips, ſnatches and ſwal⯑lows it with avidity.

A barbarous magnificence attended the feaſts of the ancient Monarchs of France. We are informed that, after their coronation or conſe⯑cration, [271] when they ſat at table, the nobility ſerved them on horſeback.

DISPENSATIONS FOR MARRIAGE.

GREGORY the Great was the firſt of the Popes who introduced the cuſtom of Diſpen⯑ſations for Marriage. It was occaſioned by William the Conqueror; who, having eſpouſ⯑ed Matilda, daughter of Baldwin the Fifth, Count of Flanders, who was related to him in a prohibited degree, the Pope permitted him to live with her, on condition of him and Ma⯑tilda each founding an abbey. In this buſi⯑neſs it appears, the Pope got two abbeys for nothing; and, he who had conquered all Eu⯑rope, could not vanquiſh the fears of religious prejudice.

ENGLISH LADIES.

IT is neceſſary to premiſe, that the preſent ſtrictures concerning our Country, our Di⯑vines, [272] and our lovely Country-Women, were written in the days when our great grandmo⯑thers were Miſſes.

Menage ſays—'Mr. D. tells me that, in Eng⯑land, the public places are crouded with the daughters and the wives of the Clergy. The reaſon is, that the livings there, being very fat ones, all the Engliſh Ladies who are fond of their eaſe and good living, and who are more par⯑tial to the preſent hour than to the future, are in raptures to marry a Parſon; who, on his ſide, never fails, according to the character of a good Eccleſiaſtic, of ſelecting the moſt beau⯑tiful. After his death, mother and daughters find themſelves probably in the greateſt di⯑ſtreſs; and, as they are in general very hand⯑ſome, they put into practice all their ſmiles and all their graces; and, for this reaſon, chuſe the public reſorts of Faſhion where they may attract notice. We Catholics ſhould be grate⯑ful to the Council of Trent, that prohibited our Eccleſiaſtics from marriage, and thus obviated [273] the inconveniences which ſuch marriages pro⯑duce.'

SPANISH MONKS.

THE Monks in Spain have introduced a cuſtom which is very uſeful to them. It is, that the money to pay the maſſes which a dy⯑ing man orders to be ſaid for him, muſt be paid out of the eſtate he leaves, in preference to all his debts. The Spaniards, who ſeem to have a terrible dread of his Satanic Ma⯑jeſty, order frequently ſo great a number of maſſes, that too often there remains little or nothing for their unfortunate heirs and cre⯑ditors. On theſe occaſions, they ſay, in their humorous way—'Mr. Such-an-one has left his ſoul his heir.' A Spaniſh monarch or⯑dered 100,000 maſſes to be ſaid for him. If maſſes will ſtand in lieu of ſo many virtues, the worſt Kings will certainly have the beſt ſeats in Heaven.

MONARCHS.

SAINT Chryſoſtom has a very acute obſer⯑vation on Kings. There are many Monarchs, he ſays, who are infected with the ſtrange wiſh that their ſucceſſors may turn out bad Princes. Good Kings deſire it, as they imagine—con⯑tinues this pious Politician—that their glory will thus appear the more ſplendid; and the bad deſire it, as they conſider ſuch Kings will ſerve to countenance their own miſdemeanors.

THE VIRGIN MARY.

WHEN Melchior Inchoffer, a Jeſuit, pub⯑liſhed a book to vindicate a miracle of a Letter which the Virgin Mary had addreſſed to the citizens of Meſſina, Naudé brought him ſe⯑rious proofs of it's evident forgery. Inchoffer ingenuouſly confeſſed, that he knew it was an [275] impoſture, but that he did it by the orders of his ſuperiors. The honeſt and indignant Naudé obſerves—'It is thus errors and illuſions are ſpread about the world; and thus it is, that ſimple minds are deceived every day!' There is no danger, in the preſent times, of our being cheated by Letters from the Virgin Mary. That poſt-office which yielded ſuch conſider⯑able revenues to the Eccleſiaſtics, has been cloſed this century paſt. What a revolution has there taken place in the human mind! The moſt enlightened Writers about 1600 to 1650, are either ſeriouſly combating, or ſeriouſly de⯑fending, Miracles! Patin very cautiouſly ven⯑tures to ſay, that he thinks there are no Ma⯑gicians, nor Sorcerers! He believes, however, in Apparitions and Devils!

Since I have got the Virgin Mary in my mind, I recollect a Donation made to her by Louis the Eleventh: nor can I but approve of the manner he employed to preſent her with this pious gift. He made a ſolemn donation of [276] the whole county of Boulogne to the Holy Vir⯑gin—retaining, however, for his own uſe, the Revenues! This act bears the date of the year 1478; and it is thus entitled: the tranſlation is literal—'Conveyance of Louis the Ele⯑venth, to the Virgin of Boulogne, of the right and title of the fief and homage of the coun⯑ty of Boulogne, which is held by the Count of Saint Pol, to render a faithful account before the Image of the ſaid Lady.'

PROTESTANTS.

WE have frequently heard the oppreſſed Pro⯑teſtants bitterly complain of the Catholic ty⯑ranny. What I now tranſcribe from Patin, will ſhew that there is ſomething to be ſaid on the other ſide. The ſtubborn bigot is alarmed; religious diſtinctions have been, how⯑ever, ſince his days, wearing faſt away; and, as Philoſophy enlightens the mind, the heart [277] inſenſibly will become more moral, though not ſo religious.

' All the Huguenots—or Proteſtants—of Europe, will one day agree together, and oc⯑caſion a general revolt, under the name of Religion; particularly, whenever they ſhall have for their chief an enterprizing genius like that of the King of Sweden—Charles the Twelfth. I fear thoſe people—he ſays con⯑temptuouſly—if they get the upper hand of us, will not ſpare us. They will treat us ſavagely, and very differently from what we do them—Witneſs the maſſacre of St. Bartholo⯑mew, and the once long flouriſhing ſtate of the Inquiſition.—They will not even ſuffer us to hold our maſs, as we permit them their ſer⯑vice. The Huguenots are dangerous politi⯑cians; inſolent, and unmerciful, as they have lately ſhewn us in England—the decapitation of Charles the Firſt—and in France, during the troubles of the Prince de Condé, in 1562.'

When Patin wrote this, it muſt be recollect⯑ed that, as he turned his eyes on England, he [278] had before him the auſtere and perſecuting Puritans, with Cromwell at their head.

COFFEE.

IT is curious to obſerve the deſcription Pur⯑chas—of whom an account has been given in the firſt part of this Work—gives us of Cof⯑fee, when yet it had not been introduced into Europe. He writes, that 'the Turks have Coffa-houſes more common than ale-houſes with us; in or near to which, on benches in the ſtreet, they will ſit chatting moſt of the day, drinking their Coffa—ſo called of a berry it is made of—as hot as they can endure it. It is black as ſoot, and taſtes not much unlike it: good, they ſay, for digeſtion and mirth.' The ſecond Edition of this book was publiſhed in 1625. Coffee was introduced into England by Mr. Edwards, a Turkiſh merchant, in the year 1652.

INQUISITION.

INNOCENT the Third, a Pope as enterpriz⯑ing as he was ſucceſsful in his enterprizes, having ſent Dominic, with ſome miſſionaries, into Languedoc, theſe men ſo irritated the Heretics they were ſent to convert, that moſt of them were aſſaſſinated at Toulouſe, in the year 1200. It was then he called in for aid temporal arms, and publiſhed againſt them a cruſade; granting, as is uſual with the Popes on ſimilar occaſions, all kinds of indulgences and pardons to thoſe who ſhould arm againſt theſe Mahometans, as he ſtiled theſe unfor⯑tunate men. Raimond, Count of Toulouſe, was conſtrained to ſubmit. The inhabitants were paſſed on the edge of the ſword, without diſtinction of age or ſex. It was then he eſta⯑bliſhed that ſcourge of Europe, THE INQUI⯑SITION: for having conſidered that, though [280] all might be compelled to ſubmit by arms, there might remain numbers who would profeſs par⯑ticular dogmas, he eſtabliſhed this ſanguinary tribunal ſolely to inſpect into all families, and examine all perſons who they imagined were unfriendly to the intereſts of Rome. Dominic did ſo much by his cares and continued perſe⯑cutions, that he firmly eſtabliſhed it at Tou⯑louſe.

It was as late as the year 1484 that it became known in Spain. It was alſo to a Dominican, John de Torquemada, that the Court of Rome owed this obligation. As he was the Confeſſor of Queen Iſabella, he had extorted from her a promiſe that, if ever ſhe aſcended the throne, ſhe would uſe every means to extirpate Hereſy and Heretics. Ferdinand had conquered Gre⯑nada, and had chaced from the Spaniſh realms multitudes of unfortunate Moors. A few had remained; who, with the Jews, he obliged to become Chriſtians: they at leaſt aſſumed the name; but it was well known that both theſe [281] nations naturally reſpected their own prejudices, rather than thoſe of the Chriſtians.

Torquemada pretended that this diſſimula⯑tion would greatly hurt the intereſts of the Holy Religion. The Queen liſtened with re⯑ſpectful diffidence to her Confeſſor; and, at length, gained over the King to conſent to the eſtabliſhment of this barbarous tribunal. Tor⯑quemada, indefatigable in his zeal for the Holy Seat, in the ſpace of fourteen years that he exerciſed the office of Chief Inquiſitor, perſe⯑cuted one hundred thouſand perſons, of whom ſix thouſand were condemned to the flames!

Let us contemplate a ſlight ſketch of that DESPOTISM which, with the deſtruction of the Baſtile, we hope is extinguiſhed throughout Europe.

During the pontificate of Sixtus the Fifth, the Inquiſition was powerful and rigorous in Rome. Muretus, in writing to De Thou the Hiſtorian, ſays—'We do not know what be⯑comes of the people here. Almoſt every day, [282] when I riſe, I hear, with an alarming ſurprize, how ſuch an one has diſappeared. We dare not whiſper our ſuſpicions: the Inquiſition would be immediately at our doors.'

THE ILLUSTRIOUS.

THE title of Illuſtrious was never given, till the reign of Conſtantine, but to thoſe whoſe reputation was ſplendid in arms or in letters. Flattery had not yet adopted this noble word into her Vocabulary. Suetonius has compoſed a book, to mention thoſe who had poſſeſſed this title; and, as it was then beſtowed, a moderate book was ſufficient to contain their names.

In the time of Conſtantine, the title of Il⯑luſtrious was given more particularly to thoſe Princes who had diſtinguiſhed themſelves in war; but it was not continued to their deſcen⯑dants. At length, it became very common; and every ſon of a Prince was Illuſtrious. It [283] is now a word of little ſignification: it is, how⯑ever, very ſerviceable to the Poet, who employs it frequently as a convenient epithet to com⯑pleat the meaſure of his verſe.

CROMWELL.

IN the Funeral Oration of Henrietta, Queen of England, the character of Cromwell is de⯑lineated by a pencil whoſe ſtrokes are firm, though delicate—

' A man was ſeen with a profundity of mind that exceeds our belief. As finiſhed a Hypo⯑crite as he was a ſkilful Politician; capable of undertaking any thing, and of concealing what he undertook; equally indefatigable and active in peace as in war; who left nothing to Fortune which he could ſeize from her by foreſight and prudence; but, for what remain⯑ed, always ſo vigilant and ſo ready, that he never failed to improve the occaſions ſhe pre⯑ſented [284] him. In a word, he was one of thoſe daring and adventurous minds which ſeem born to change the affairs of the world.'

The Ambaſſador from the French Court in that day was an able Miniſter; and that he was, at the ſame time, a fine Writer, the fol⯑lowing ſketch of Cromwell evinces. It has the advantage of being given by one who was a witneſs to what he obſerves—

' He was gentle and cruel when either was neceſſary for his intereſts. He had no faith in religion, no honour in his profeſſions, no fidelity to his friends, than as the ſemblance of theſe virtues ſerved towards his aggrandize⯑ment. He knew better than any man to put into practice all the pious grimaces and in⯑ſinuating manners of the falſe votariſts of re⯑ligion; and to conceal, under an humble air and popular addreſs, an unmeaſurable ambi⯑tion. In a word, he poſſeſſed, in the ſupreme degree, all the qualities of a great Politician; and there was nothing wanting to compleat [285] his good fortune, but to have acquired his ſuc⯑ceſs by better means, to have lived longer, and to have had children worthy of ſucceeding him.'

JOAN OF ARC.

OF the Maid of Orleans, I have ſomewhere read, that a bundle of faggots was made to ſupply her place, when ſhe was ſuppoſed to have been burnt by the Duke of Bedford. None of our Hiſtorians notice this anecdote; though ſome have mentioned that, after her death, an impoſtor aroſe, and was even mar⯑ried to a French gentleman, by whom ſhe had ſeveral children. Whether ſhe deſerved to have been diſtinguiſhed by the appellation of The Maid of Orleans, we have great reaſon to ſuſpect; and ſome in her days, by her fondneſs for man's apparel, even doubted her ſex. The following Epitaph on her I find in a volume, entitled, 'Hiſtorical Rarities;' and which, [286] poſſeſſing ſome humour, merits to be reſcued from total oblivion—

TRANSUBSTANTIATION.

IN his account of the Mexicans, Abbé Raynal ſays—'They had a piece of ſuperſti⯑tion, of which no traces can be found in any other country. On certain days, the Prieſts [287] made a ſtatue of paſte, which they ſent to the oven to be baked: they then placed it on an altar, where it became a divinity! Innume⯑rable crowds flocked to the temple: the Prieſt cut the ſtatue in pieces, and diſtributed a por⯑tion of it to all the perſons in the aſſembly, who ate it, and thought they were ſanctified by ſwallowing their god!'

Did the Abbé forget the rites of his own re⯑ligion, when he obſerves—'No traces of this ſuperſtition can be found in any other country?' Is not all this but a ſimple deſcription of the nonſenſe of Tranſubſtantiation? The recital of Hiſtory frequently, when applied to our own times, forms the ſevereſt ſatire.

AMERICA.

' IT is computed, by able writers,' ſays my Lord Kaimes, 'that the preſent inhabitants of America amount not to a twentieth part of thoſe who exiſted when that continent was diſ⯑covered [288] by Columbus. This decay is aſcribed to the intemperate uſe of ſpirits, and to the ſmall-pox, both of them introduced by the Eu⯑ropeans.' He ſeems to have forgotten that they are indebted to us alſo for 'the intem⯑perate uſe' of the ſword, and the dreadful bigotry and cruelties practiſed by the religious and avaricious Spaniards, which certainly are not leſs deſtructive than the contagion of the ſmall-pox, or the poiſon of ſpirituous liquors.

We may alſo add another proof of Eu⯑ropean humanity. A plantation in Jamaica, which employs a hundred ſlaves, requires an annual recruit of no fewer than ſeven, who fall the yearly victims to the cruelties of the lower overſeers, who follow them all day with whips!

Bartholomew Caſa affirms, that the Spa⯑niards, in America, deſtroyed, in about forty-five years, ten millions of human ſouls! and this with a view of converting theſe unfor⯑tunate men to Chriſtianity. There is a ſtory [289] recorded of an Indian, who, being tied to the ſtake, a Franciſcan Friar perſuaded him to turn Chriſtian, and then he would go to heaven. The Indian aſked him, 'Whether there were any Spaniards in heaven?'—'Certainly,' the Friar anſwered; 'it is full of them.'—'Then,' the laſt words of the dying Indian were, 'I had rather go to hell, than have any more of their company!'

ENCHANTED TAPESTRY.

ABOUT the year 1526, the Portugueſe at⯑tempted to ſettle at Borneo. Too feeble to make their arms reſpected, they tried to gain the good-will of one of the Sovereigns of the country, by offering him ſome Tapeſtry. This weak Prince took the figures wrought on it for enchanted men, who would ſtrangle him in the night-time, if he ſuffered them to approach his perſon. The explanations they gave to remove his apprehenſions had no effect: he obſtinately [290] refuſed to permit the preſent to be brought into his palace; and, at the ſame time, prohibited the donors from entering his capital. Had his Majeſty been acquainted with the Aeneid of Virgil, he might have exclaimed what, for the benefit of the Ladies, we ſhall give in Dryden's verſion—

FASHIONS.

THE origin of many, probably of moſt Fa⯑ſhions, was in the endeavour to conceal ſome deformity of the inventor. Thus Charles the Seventh, of France, introduced Long Coats, to hide his ill-made legs. Shoes, with very long points, full two feet in length, were invented by Henry Plantaganet, Duke of Anjou, to conceal a very large excreſcence which he had upon one of his feet.

[291] Sometimes, Faſhions are quite reverſed in one age from thoſe of another. Thus Bags, when firſt in faſhion in France, were only wore en diſhabille. In viſits of ceremony, the hair was tied in a ribband, and floated over the ſhoulders—all which is exactly contrary to our preſent faſhion. Queen Iſabella, of Bavaria, as remarkable for her gallantry as the fairneſs of her complexion, introduced a faſhion of leaving the ſhoulders and part of the neck un⯑covered.

In England, about the reign of Henry the Fourth, they wore long-pointed Shoes, to ſuch an immoderate length, that they could not walk till they were faſtened to their knees with chains. Luxury improving on this ridi⯑culous mode, it was the cuſtom of an Engliſh Beau of the fourteenth century to have theſe chains of gold or ſilver. A very accurate ac⯑count of one of this deſcription may be found in Henry's Hiſtory of Great Britain, in his chapter on Manners, &c. Vol. IV. The [292] Ladies of that period were not leſs fantaſtical in their dreſs; and it muſt be confeſſed, that the moſt cynical fatiriſt can have no reaſon, on a compariſon with thoſe times, to cenſure our preſent modes.

To this article, as it may probably arreſt the volatile eye of our fair Reader, we add what may ſerve as a hint for the heightening of her charms. Tacitus remarks of Poppea, the Queen of Nero, that ſhe concealed a part of her face: 'To the end,' he adds, 'that the imagination having fuller play by irri⯑tating curioſity, they might think higher of her beauty than if the whole of her face had been expoſed.'

THE GREAT AND LITTLE TURK.

TITLES frequently remain when the occa⯑ſions of making them are forgotten. Perhaps, few know why the Ottoman Emperor is called [293] The Great Turk: it is not, as ſome have ima⯑gined, to diſtinguiſh him from his own ſub⯑jects. This was the occaſion. Mahomet the Second was the firſt of theſe Emperors on whom the Chriſtians beſtowed the title of the Great Turk. It was not owing to his great ac⯑tions that this ſplendid title was accorded to him, but to the vaſt extent of his dominions, in compariſon with thoſe of the Sultan of Iconia, or Cappadocia, his contemporary, who was diſtinguiſhed by the title of The Little Turk. After the taking of Conſtantinople, Mahomet the Second deprived the latter of his domains; and ſtill preſerved the title of the Great Turk, though the propriety of it, by this accident, was loſt.

THE POULIATS, AND THE POULICHES.

THE preſent article, which I have drawn from Abbé Raynal, preſents two pictures of [294] the debaſement of the human race, which, per⯑haps, Hiſtory has never paralleled.

' There is a tribe amongſt the Indians which is the refuſe of the reſt. The members of it are employed in the meaneſt offices of ſociety. They bury the dead, carry away dirt, and live upon the fleſh of animals that die natural deaths. They are prohibited from entering in⯑to the temples and public markets; neither are they allowed the uſe of the wells, that are com⯑mon to all their inhabitants. Their dwellings are at the extremity of the towns, or conſiſt of ſolitary cottages in the country; and they are even forbidden to appear in the ſtreets where the Bramins reſide. As all other Indians, they may employ themſelves in the labours of agri⯑culture: but only for the benefit of the other tribes; for they are not permitted to have lands of their own, not even upon leaſe. Such is the degree of horror they excite, that if, by chance, they were to touch any one not belong⯑ing to their tribe, they would be deprived, with [295] impunity, of a life reckoned too abject to de⯑ſerve the protection of the laws. Moſt of them are employed in the culture of rice. Near the fields where they carry on this work, there is a kind of hut, into which they retire when they hear a cry, which always comes from a di⯑ſtance, to give them notice of ſome order from the perſon on whom they depend; to which they anſwer, not coming out of their retreat. They take the ſame precautions whenever they are warned, by a confuſed kind of noiſe, of the approach of any man whatever. If they have not time to hide themſelves, they fall proſtrate on the ground, with their faces down⯑wards, with all the marks of humiliation which the ſenſe of their diſgrace can ſuggeſt.

' Whenever the harveſts do not anſwer to the avidity of an oppreſſive maſter, he ſometimes cruelly ſets fire to the huts of theſe unhappy labourers; and if they attempt to eſcape the flames, he fires upon them without mercy! The condition of theſe wretched people is horrible [296] in every reſpect, even in the manner in which they are forced to provide for their moſt urgent wants. In the duſk of the evening, they come out from their retreats in bands; they direct their ſteps towards the market, at a certain di⯑ſtance from which they begin to bellow! The merchants approach; and they aſk for what they want. They are ſupplied, and the provi⯑ſions are laid on the very ſpot where the mo⯑ney deſtined for the payment of them has been previouſly depoſited. When the purchaſers can be aſſured that they ſhall not be ſeen by any one, they come out from behind the hedge where they had concealed themſelves, and carry away, with precipitation, what they have ac⯑quired in ſo ſingular a manner.'

After contemplating this diſhonourable pic⯑ture of Man, (a degeneracy in Human Nature which probably the reader could hardly ſuſpect) he may deepen the philoſophic reverie by what the Abbé gives us in continuation.

' Yet this very tribe of Pouliats have an in⯑ferior [297] one among themſelves, called Pouliches. Theſe laſt are forbidden the uſe of fire; they are not permitted to build huts, but are re⯑duced to the neceſſity of living in a kind of neſt upon the trees, or in the foreſts. When preſ⯑ſed with hunger, they howl like wild beaſts, to excite compaſſion. The moſt charitable then depoſit ſome rice, or other food, at the foot of a tree, and retire with all poſſible haſte to give the famiſhed wretch an opportunity of taking it without meeting with his benefactor, who would think himſelf polluted by coming near him.'

To clear up this curious information, which ſtretches to the utmoſt the belief of the reader, the Abbé preſents us with an excellent philo⯑ſophical argument. 'This extreme diſgrace,' he ſays, 'into which a conſiderable part of a nu⯑merous nation is plunged, has always appear⯑ed an inexplicable circumſtance. Men of the utmoſt ſagacity have never been able to con⯑ceive, how a people, humane and ſenſible, [298] could have brought themſelves to reduce their own brethren to ſo abject a ſtate. To ſolve this difficulty, let us be permitted to hazard a conjecture. In our half barbarous govern⯑ments, dreadful torments, or an ignominious death, are allotted to thoſe criminals who have diſturbed, in a greater or leſs degree, the peace of ſociety. May we not therefore reaſonably ſuppoſe that, in the ſoft climate of India, a more moderate ſyſtem of legiſlature may have been ſatisfied with excluding from their tribes all kinds of malefactors? This puniſhment muſt appear to them ſufficient to put a ſtop to the commiſſions of ſuch crimes; and it was certainly the beſt adapted to a country where the effuſion of blood was always forbidden by religious as well as moral principles. It would certainly have been a very proper cir⯑cumſtance, if the children had not inherited the infamy of their parents: but there were un⯑furmountable prejudices which militated againſt this reinſtatement; a family never being re⯑ceived [299] again into a tribe after it had been once expelled from it.'

The ſolution of the Abbé is ingenious and probable: but the Moſaic threat of vengeance extending to the third and fourth generation, is uncongenial to the mild ſpirit of humane philo⯑ſophy. Yet is this threat on record in thoſe Com⯑mandments which are ſaid to have been written by the finger of God himſelf. Surely this can⯑not accord with the unwearied benevolence of a paternal Deity! Let us rather acknowledge, with a ſigh, that there are multitudes of the human race who really believe themſelves to be the property of a ſmall number of men who oppreſs them. The image of the Creator is ſo debaſed in ſome parts of the globe, that it may be ſaid, the hand of the oppreſſor has effaced every mark of it's original greatneſs.

THE THIRTEEN CANTONS.

WHO can contemplate, without enthuſiaſm, the exertions of men, when they have been prompted to rely on their own force to act up to that ſublime character they hold in the ſcale of creation, and to write with their own blood the charter of their liberty? We have juſt come from meditating on nations who, beneath the enervating ſkies of India, deſtitute of the de⯑lights of liberty, have ſunk to a degree even beneath their aſſociates who graze the field, and lap the waters of the brook! Let us now turn our eyes to the bleak heaven, and the ſnowy mountains, of Switzerland, where the hardy native roams free and unconſtrained, and 'knows himſelf a MAN.'

The pride, the inſolence, and the tyranny, of thoſe governors who were given to the Hel⯑vetians, in the name of the Empire, by the [301] Dukes of Auſtria, awakened at once the minds of this people, who regarded freedom as their birth-right, yet whom the governors attempt⯑ed to oppreſs as ſlaves. Three peaſants reſolved to preſerve their liberties; and each of them collected his friends in his own burgh. In the year 1305, Switz, Uri, and Underwal, de⯑clared themſelves independent; and, as the party of Switz was the earlieſt in promoting this alliance, they had the honour of giving to this confederate nation the name of Swiſs, and to the country that of Switzerland. The other Cantons joined them at different periods. Appenzel, the laſt of the Thirteen Cantons, cloſed this honourable confederacy in 1513.

CHARLES THE FIRST.

A FRENCH writer has recorded an anecdote of this unfortunate Prince, which characterizes the claſſical turn of his mind, and the placa⯑bility of his diſpoſition.

[302] ' A Frenchman, who had formed a tender connection with the wife of one of the princi⯑pal enemies of Charles—who was then put under arreſt, but very careleſsly guarded—having learnt from this lady, that they had re⯑ſolved to make the King periſh on a ſcaffold, communicated the intelligence to Mr. De Belli⯑core, the French Ambaſſador, who immedi⯑ately ran to the King, to give him the impor⯑tant notice. Bellicore was kept in waiting for a long time: at laſt, the King came to him, and ſaid—I have been at a comedy; and I never was more entertained.—Ah, Sire! anſwered Bellicore, it is about a tragedy of which I have to ſpeak to you! And then in⯑formed him of what had been lately commu⯑nicated to him; entreating him, at the ſame time, to ſave himſelf by a veſſel which he could inſtantly prepare. The King calmly anſwered him with this fine line from Ovid—Qui procumbit humi, non habet unde cadat— He who lies proſtrate on the earth, need not [303] fear to fall.'—'Sire,' ſaid Bellicore, 'they may occaſion his head to fall!'

This ſhews, that he did not ſuſpect their cruelties would ever have been carried to the length they were; and it muſt be confeſſed, when he had been brought ſo low, all the reſt was perſecuting inhumanity.

'KING OF ENGLAND, FRANCE, &c.'

NOTHING can be more empty and ridiculous than the title which our Monarchs aſſume of 'The King of France.' It would characterize a great Prince to eraze from his true honours this fictitious one. An Engliſh Monarch ſhould not ſuffer his dignity to be expoſed to the ſmile of the Philoſopher.

Charpentier very temperately ſtates the only two principles by which our Kings can aſſume this title. The firſt, from Edward the Third being ſon of Iſabella of France, who was ſiſter [304] to three Kings of France—Louis Hutin, Philip the Long, and Charles the Fair, who died without children. So that Edward, their ne⯑phew, diſputed the crown of France with Philip de Valois, on the foundation of the Salique Law, which had never yet been agi⯑tated. This law ſays, that the kingdom of France ne tombant point en quenouille: i. e. 'the ſceptre of France ſhall never degenerate into a diſtaff.' The children of the daughters of France can never ſucceed to it. As the pre⯑ſent Monarchs of England are not deſcendants of this Edward, they cannot have any preten⯑ſions to the crown of France, if it had not been a maxim with them, that the rights once devolved on the crown are for ever unalienable and impreſcriptible. The ſecond principle is, the donation which Charles the Sixth made of the Crown of France to our Henry the Fifth, his ſon-in-law, to the excluſion of his ſon Charles the Seventh.

We may add, here, that Cromwell offered [305] to ſell Cardinal Mazarine all the vouchers for France which are preſerved in the Tower, for a hundred thouſand crowns. It was at this price he rated the claims of England to the Crown of France; but the Cardinal wiſely deemed even that ſum too high a price.

If it be a maxim with our crown, of which I am ignorant, that the rights once devolved upon it, are unalienable and impreſcriptible, it may be ſaid that we poſſeſs the United States of America; but, I believe, this ſovereignty would not be ſo eaſily permitted as that of the French monarchy.

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.

THAT it is dangerous to exerciſe our raillery on thoſe men whoſe 'ſwords are ſharper than their pens,' the preſent anecdote may verify.

Philip the Firſt, of France, frequently in⯑dulged his humour at the expence of the Con⯑queror's [306] rather too large embonpoint and pro⯑minent belly. When William remained un⯑commonly long at Rouen, Philip, who did not much approve of his proximity to his court, frequently, in a jeſting manner, enquired of his courtiers if they did not know when Wil⯑liam would lie-in? The Conqueror, informed of this jeſt, gave him to underſtand that, when he ſhould get abroad, he would come to re⯑turn his compliments, for his kind enquiries, to Saint Genevieve, at Paris, with ten thou⯑ſand lances, inſtead of candles! Whatever might be the wit of theſe Monarchs, the arms of William were not contemptible. Such was the vengeance he took for the raillery of Philip, that he deſolated, in a ſhort time, the French Vexin, burnt the city of Mantes, and maſſacred the inhabitants; and, had not his death im⯑peded his progreſs, he very probably would have conquered France, as he had England.

CHARLES THE FIFTH.

CHARLES the Fifth uſed to ſay, the Por⯑tugueſe appeared to be madmen, and were ſo; the Spaniards appeared to be wiſe, and were not; the Italians appeared to be wiſe, and were ſo; the French appeared to be madmen, and were not—That the Germans ſpoke like car⯑men; the Engliſh, like ſimpletons; the French, like maſters; and the Spaniards, like kings.

This Emperor—who, though he thus cenſures our Engliſh modeſty, is indebted to our coun⯑try for his beſt-written Life—was called by the Sicilians, Scipio Africanus; by the Italians, David; by the French, Hercules; by the Turks, Julius Caeſar; by the Africans, Han⯑nibal; by the Germans, Charlemagne; and by the Spaniards, Alexander the Great. Theſe are the titles of Adulation. One is almoſt tempted to call him by a groſſer name, when [308] one reflects on his folly in quitting a crown, which had long been the idol of his ambition, to ſink into a ſolitary retreat, with a penſion that was never paid to him; and, having no more the power of diſturbing the tranquillity of Europe, to tyrannize over a few melancholy monks; and, as Fenelon expreſſes it, 'every day to become ennuyé with having nothing to do but praying to God, winding his watch, and continually ſcolding the poor unhappy no⯑vices,' whoſe great curſe it was, to be aſſociated with him, who had been the moſt potent Mo⯑narch on earth.

THE GOTHS AND HUNS.

THE barbarous honours which theſe fero⯑cious nations paid to their deceaſed Monarchs are recorded in Hiſtory, by the interment of Attila, King of the Huns; and Alaric, King of the Goths.

[309] Attila died in 453; and was buried, in the midſt of a vaſt champaign, in a coffin which was incloſed in one of gold, another of ſilver, and the third of iron. With the body were interred all the ſpoils of the enemy—harneſſes, embroidered with gold, and ſtudded with jewels; rich ſilks; and whatever they had taken moſt precious in the palaces of the Kings they had pillaged: and, that the place of his interment might for ever remain con⯑cealed, the Huns deprived of life all who had aſſiſted at his burial.

The Goths had done nearly the ſame for Ala⯑ric, in 410, at Coſence, a town in Calabria. They turned aſide the River Vaſento; and, having formed a grave in the midſt of it's bed where it's courſe was moſt rapid, they interred this King with prodigious accumulations of riches. After having cauſed the river to re-aſſume it's uſual courſe, they murdered, without excep⯑tion, all thoſe who had been concerned in dig⯑ging this ſingular grave.

PHILIP THE THIRD.

PHILIP the Third, King of Spain, was a weak Prince, who ſuffered himſelf to be go⯑verned by his Miniſters. A Patriot wiſhed to open his eyes, but he could not pierce through the crowds of his Flatterers; beſides, that the voice of Patriotiſm heard in a corrupted court would have become a crime never to have been pardoned. He found, however, an ingenious manner of conveying to him his cenſure. He cauſed to be laid on his table, one day, a letter, ſealed, which bore this addreſs—'To the King of Spain, Philip the Third, at preſent in the ſervice of the Duke of Lerma.'

In a ſimilar manner, Don Carlos, ſon to Philip the Second, made a book, with empty pages, to contain the voyages of his father; which bore this title—'The Great and Ad⯑mirable Voyages of the King, Mr. Philip.' [311] All theſe voyages conſiſted of going to the Eſcurial from Madrid, and returning to Madrid from the Eſcurial. Jeſts of this kind, at length, coſt him his life.

DETHRONED MONARCHS.

FORTUNE never appears in a more extra⯑vagant humour than when ſhe reduces Mo⯑narchs to become Mendicants. This is no un⯑common revolution in her eventful volumes. Modern Hiſtory has recorded many ſuch in⯑ſtances.

In Candide, or the Optimiſt, the reader will find an admirable ſtroke of Voltaire's. Eight travellers meet in an obſcure inn, and ſome of them with not ſufficient money to pay for a ſcurvy dinner. In the courſe of converſation, they are diſcovered to be Eight Monarchs, in Europe, who had been deprived of their crowns.

[312] What adds to this exquiſite ſatire, is, that the Eight Monarchs are not of the fictitious Majeſties of the Poetic Brain; Imperial Sha⯑dows, like thoſe that appeared to Macbeth; but living Monarchs, who were wandering at that moment about the world.

Theodore, King of Corſica, is not yet for⯑gotten by many. Smollet, in his Ferdinand Count Fathom, has given us ſome curious anecdotes, which paint very forcibly the ſingu⯑lar diſtreſſes of that Monarch.

Here is another to be added to this liſt. In the year 1595, died at Paris, Antonio, King of Portugal. His body is interred at the Cor⯑deliers, and his heart depoſited at the Ave Maria. Nothing on earth was capable of obliging this Prince to renounce his crown. He paſſed over to England, and came to France, where he reſided; and died, in great poverty, at the age of ſixty-four years. This dethroned Monarch was happy in one thing, which is indeed rare. In all his miſeries, [313] he had a ſervant, who proved a tender and faithful friend, and who only deſired to parti⯑cipate in his misfortunes, and to ſoften his miſeries; and, for the recompence of his ſer⯑vices, he only wiſhed to be buried at the feet of his dear maſter. This hero in loyalty, to whom the ancient Romans had raiſed altars, was Don Diego Bothei, one of the greateſt Lords of the Court of Portugal, and who drew his origin from the Kings of Bohemia.

ROYAL DIVINITIES.

WE know, that the firſt Roman Emperors did not want flatterers; and, that the adula⯑tions they ſometimes laviſhed were extrava⯑gant. But, perhaps, few know they were leſs offenſive than the flatterers of the third age, under the Pagan, and of the fourth, un⯑der the Chriſtian, Emperors. Thoſe who are acquainted with the character of the age of Auguſtus, have only to throw their eyes on [314] the one and the other code, to find an infinite number of paſſages which had not been bear⯑able in that age. For inſtance, here is a Law of Arcadius and Honorius, publiſhed in 404.

' Let the officers of the palace be warned to abſtain from frequenting tumultuous meet⯑ings; and that thoſe, who, inſtigated by a ſa⯑crilegious temerity, dare to oppoſe the autho⯑rity of our Divinity, ſhall be deprived of their employments, and their eſtates confiſcated.' The letters they write are holy. When the ſons ſpeak of their fathers, it is—'Their father of divine memory;' or—'Their divine father.' They call their own laws oracles, and celeſtial oracles. So alſo their ſubjects addreſs them by the titles of—'Your Perpetuity—your Eternity.' And it appears by a law of Theo⯑dore the Great, that the Emperors, at length, added this to their titles. It begins thus—'If any magiſtrate, after having concluded a public work, puts his name rather than that of our Perpetuity, let him be judged guilty of high-treaſon.'

HISTORIAN.

THE famous Le Clerc, great in his day as a journaliſt, obſerves, that there are four prin⯑cipal things eſſential to conſtitute a good Hiſto⯑rian; and, without which, nothing conſider⯑able from him can be expected. The firſt is, to be well inſtructed in what he undertakes to relate. The ſecond, to be able, without any diſguiſes, to ſay what he thinks to be the truth. The third is, to be capable of realating what he knows. The fourth, to be capable of judging of the events, and of thoſe who occaſion them. If we reflect on the ability of the Hiſtorian in theſe four points, we may be enabled to judge if a Hiſtory is well or ill written.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

VIGNEUL Marville has written, in his live⯑ly [316] and bold manner, what I muſt confeſs I think juſt, concerning our 'Virgin-Queen,' as the voice of Adulation has diſtinguiſhed her.

' Elizabeth, Queen of England, paſſion⯑ately admired handſome and well-made men; and he was already far advanced in her favour who approached her with beauty and with grace. On the contrary, ſhe had ſo uncon⯑querable an averſion for ugly and ill-made men, who had been treated unfortunately by Nature, that ſhe could not endure their preſence.

' When ſhe iſſued from her palace, her guards were careful to diſperſe from before her eyes hideous and deformed people, the lame, the hunch-backed, &c. in a word, all thoſe whoſe appearance might ſhock her delicate ſenſa⯑tions.

' There is this ſingular and admirable in the conduct of Elizabeth, that ſhe made her plea⯑ſures ſubſervient to her politics, and ſhe main⯑tained her affairs by what in general occaſions [317] the ruin of Princes. So ſecret were her amours, that, even to the preſent day, their myſteries cannot be penetrated; but the utility ſhe drew from them is public, and always operated for the good of her people. Her lovers were her Miniſters, and her Miniſters were her lovers. Love commanded, Love was obeyed; and the reign of this Princeſs was happy, becauſe it was a reign of Love, in which it's chains and it's ſlavery are liked!'

The origin of Raleigh's advancement in the Queen's graces, was by an action of gallantry, which perfectly gratified her Majeſty, not in⯑ſenſible to flattery. He found the Queen taking a walk; and a wet place incommoding her royal footſteps, Raleigh immediately ſpread his new pluſh cloak acroſs the miry place. The Queen ſtepped cautiouſly on it, and paſſed over dry; but not without a particular obſervation of him who had given her ſo eloquent, though ſilent, a flattery. Shortly afterwards, from Cap⯑tain Raleigh, he became Sir Walter, and rapid⯑ly advanced in the Queen's favour.

PARR AND JENKINS.

OF theſe men, who are ſingular inſtances of a patriarchal longevity of life, the reader will not be diſpleaſed to attend to the following well authenticated notices concerning them.

Thomas Parr was born in the laſt year of King Edward the Fourth, anno 1483. He married his firſt wife, Jane, at eighty years of age; and, in above thirty years, ſhe brought him but two children, the eldeſt of which did not live above three years. He married his ſecond wife, Catherine, when he was an hun⯑dred and twenty years of age, by whom he had one child. He lived till he had attained to ſomething above one hundred and fifty years of age. Thomas, Earl of Arundel, cauſed him to be brought to Weſtminſter about two months before his death: there he paſſed [319] moſt of his time in ſleep; and an ocular wit⯑neſs has thus deſcribed him—

It is ſuppoſed this removal, by taking him from his native air, and the diſturbance of much company, haſtened his death. He died there, November 15, 1634, in the ninth year of King Charles the Firſt, and was buried in the Abbey.

Henry Jenkins lived till he was an hundred and ſixty-nine years of age. A remarkable circumſtance diſcovered the age of this man. Being ſworn a witneſs in a cauſe of an hundred and twenty years, the judge could not help reproving him, till he ſaid he was then butler to the Lord Conyers; and, at length, his name was found in ſome old regiſter of the Lord Conyers's menial ſervants. Dr. Tancred Ro⯑binſon, who ſent the account of this man to the Royal Society, adds farther, that Henry [320] Jenkins, coming into his ſiſter's kitchen to beg an alms, he aſked him, how old he was? Af⯑ter a little pauſing, he ſaid, he was about one hundred and ſixty-two or three. The Doctor aſked him, what Kings he remembered? He ſaid, 'Henry the Eighth.' What public things he could longeſt remember? He ſaid, 'The fight at Flowden Field.' Whether the King was there? He ſaid, 'No, he was in France, and the Earl of Surrey was General.' How old he was then? He ſaid, 'About twelve years old.' The Doctor inſpected an old Chro⯑nicle that was in the houſe, and found that the Battle of Flowden Field was one hundred and fifty-two years before; that the Earl he named was General; and that Henry the Eighth was then at Tournay.

Jenkins was a poor man, and could neither write nor read. He died December the 8th, 1670.

FEUDAL TYRANNY.

THE Feudal government introduced a ſpecies of ſervitude which till that time was unknown, and which was called the Servitude of the Land. The Bondmen, or Villains, did not reſide in the houſe of the Lord: but they en⯑tirely depended on his caprice; and he ſold them, as he did the animals, with the field where they lived, and which they cultivated.

It is difficult to conceive with what inſolence the petty Lords of thoſe times tyrannized over their Villains: they not only oppreſſed their ſlaves with unremitted labour, inſtigated by a vile cupidity; but their whim and caprice led them to inflict miſeries without even any mo⯑tive of intereſt.

In Scotland, they had a right to enjoy the firſt-fruits of all the Maidens; and Malcolm the Third did not aboliſh this ſhameful right [322] but by ordering that they might be redeemed by a quit-rent.

Others, to preſerve this privilege when they could not enjoy it in all it's extent, thruſt their leg, booted, into the bed of the new-married couple. Others have compelled their ſubjects to paſs the firſt night at the top of a tree, and there to conſummate the marriage; to paſs the bridal hours in a river; to be bound naked to a cart, and to trace ſome furrows as they were dragged; or to leap, with their feet tied, over the horns of ſtags.

Sometimes their caprice commanded the bridegroom to appear in drawers at their caſtle, and plunge into a ditch of mud; and ſome⯑times they were compelled to beat the waters of the ponds, to hinder the frogs from diſ⯑turbing the Lord!

There was a time when the German Lords reckoned, amongſt their privileges, that of robbing on the highways of their territory!

I beg leave to remind the reader of the [323] ſhameful behaviour of Geoffrey, Lord of Co⯑ventry, who compelled his wife to ride naked, on a white pad, through the ſtreets of the town; that, by this mode, he might reſtore to the in⯑habitants thoſe privileges of which his wan⯑tonneſs had deprived them.

When the Abbot of Figeac makes his entry into that town, the Lord of Montbrun, dreſſed in a Harlequin's coat, and one of his legs naked, is compelled, by an ancient cuſtom, to conduct him to the door of his abbey, by lead⯑ing his horſe by the bridle.

The Feudal Barons frequently aſſociated to ſhare amongſt them thoſe children of their Vil⯑lains who appeared to be the moſt healthy and ſerviceable, or who were remarkable for their talents; and, not infrequently, ſold them in their markets as they did their beaſts.

The Feudal ſervitude is not, even in the pre⯑ſent enlightened times, entirely aboliſhed in Po⯑land, in Germany, and in Ruſſia. In thoſe coun⯑tries, the Bondmen are ſtill entirely dependent [324] on the caprice of their maſters. The Peaſants of Hungary, or Bohemia, frequently revolt, and attempt to ſhake off the preſſure of Feudal tyranny; and it is ardently to be wiſhed that their wretched ſervitude ſhould in ſome mea⯑ſure be ſoftened.

It is ſcarce thirty years paſt, when a Lord or Prince of the Northern Countries, paſſing through one of his villages, obſerved a little aſſembly of Peaſants and their families amuſing themſelves with dancing. He commands his domeſtics to part the men from the women, and confine them in the houſes. He or⯑ders that the coats of the women may be drawn up above their heads, and tied with their garters. He then permits the men to be libe⯑rated, and inflicts a ſevere caſtigation on all thoſe who did not recognize their wives in that ſtate!

Abſolute dominion hardens the human heart; and Nobles, accuſtomed to command their Bondmen, will treat their domeſtics as ſlaves. [325] Thoſe of Siberia puniſh theirs by an abundant uſe of the cudgel or rod. The Abbé Chappe ſaw two Ruſſian ſlaves undreſs a chambermaid, who had, by ſome trifling negligence, given offence to her miſtreſs: after having uncovered as far as her waiſt, one placed her head betwixt his knees; the other held her by the feet; while both, armed with two ſharp rods, vio⯑lently laſhed her back, till it pleaſed the tyrant of the houſe to decree it was enough!

After a peruſal of theſe anecdotes of Feudal Tyranny, I ſhall take leave to tranſcribe the following lines from Goldſmith—

GAMING.

GAMING appears to be an univerſal paſſion. Some have attempted to deny it's univerſality; they have imagined that it is chiefly prevalent in cold climates, where ſuch a paſſion becomes moſt capable of agitating and gratifying the torpid minds of their inhabitants.

But, if we lay aſide ſpeculation, and turn to facts, we are ſurely warranted in the ſup⯑poſition that, as the love of Gaming proceeds from a varice—that diſhonourable paſſion which, probably, for ſome wiſe purpoſes, is ſo con⯑genial to the human heart—it is not unjuſt to conclude, that it exiſts with equal force in human nature; and, conſequently, the fatal propenſity of Gaming is to be diſcovered, as well amongſt the inhabitants of the frigid and torrid zones, as amongſt thoſe of the milder cli⯑mates. The ſavage and the civilized, the illi⯑terate and the learned, are alike captivated with [327] the hope of accumulating wealth without the labours of induſtry.

Mr. Moore has lately given to the Public an elaborate Work, which profeſſedly treats of the three moſt important topics which a wri⯑ter of the preſent day can diſcuſs—Suicide, Gaming, and Duelling. He has collected a va⯑riety of inſtances of this deſtructive paſſion being prevalent in all nations; and I ſhall juſt notice thoſe which appear moſt ſingular.

Dice, and that little pugnacious animal the Cock, are the chief inſtruments employed by the numerous nations of the Eaſt, to agitate their minds and ruin their fortunes; to which the Chineſe—who are deſperate gameſters—add the uſe of Cards. When all other property is played away, the Aſiatic gambler ſcruples not to ſtake his wife, or his child, on the caſt of a die, or courage and ſtrength of a martial bird. If ſtill unſucceſsful, the laſt venture he ſtakes is, himſelf!

In the Iſland of Ceylon, cock-fighting is car⯑ried [328] to a great height. The Sumatrans are ad⯑dicted to the uſe of dice. A ſtrong ſpirit of play characterizes a Malayan. After having reſigned every thing to the good fortune of the winner, he is reduced to a horrid ſtate of deſ⯑peration; he then looſens a certain lock of hair, which indicates war and deſtruction to all the raving gameſter meets. He intoxicates himſelf with opium; and, working himſelf up into a fit of phrenzy, he bites and kills every one who comes in his way. But, as ſoon as ever this lock is ſeen flowing, it is lawful to fire at the perſon, and to deſtroy him as faſt as poſſible. I think it is this which our ſailors call, 'To run a muck.' Thus Dryden writes—

Thus alſo Pope—

Johnſon could not diſcover the derivation of [329] the word Muck. I think I have heard that it refers to their employing, on theſe fatal oc⯑caſions, a muck, or lance; but my recollection is, probably, imperfect.

To diſcharge their gambling debts, the Siameſe ſell their poſſeſſions, their families, and, at length, themſelves. The Chineſe play night and day, till they have loſt all they are worth; and then they uſually go and hang themſelves. Such is the propenſity of the Japaneſe for high play, that they were com⯑pelled to make a law, that 'Whoever ventures his money at play, ſhall be put to death.' In the newly-diſcovered iſlands of the Pacific Ocean, they venture even their hatchets, which they hold as invaluable acquiſitions, on running matches. 'We ſaw a man,' as Cooke writes in his laſt voyage, 'beating his breaſt, and tearing his hair, in the violence of rage, for having loſt three hatchets at one of theſe races, and which he had purchaſed with nearly half his property.'

[330] The ancient nations were not leſs addicted to gaming. In the ſame volume are collected numerous inſtances amongſt the ancient Per⯑ſians, Grecians, and Romans; the Goths, the Germans, &c. To notice the modern ones were a melancholy taſk: there is hardly a family in Europe who cannot record, from their own domeſtic annals, the dreadful prevalence of this unfortunate paſſion. Affection has felt the keeneſt lacerations, and Genius been irre⯑coverably loſt, by a wanton ſport, which doom⯑ed to deſtruction the hopes of families, and conſumed the heart of the Gameſter with cor⯑roſive agony.

THE ATHENIANS.

MARVILLE has given this pleaſing ac⯑count of the Athenians—

' The Greeks were ſo poliſhed a nation, that they treated others as rude and barbarous; but, of all the Greeks, the Athenians poſſeſſed [331] a more refined delicacy in the politer Arts, and an exquiſite taſte for Eloquence. The excel⯑lent Orators who aroſe amongſt them had fa⯑miliarized them with the moſt perfect beauties of compoſition.

' Pericles, whoſe eloquence they compared to lightnings and thunders, had ſo accuſtomed their minds to ſuffer nothing but what was pure, elegant, and finiſhed, that thoſe who had to ſpeak in public, looked upon the loweſt of the people as ſo many cenſurers of what they were going to ſay. But, if the genius of this people had become ſo delicate by the attic elo⯑quence of their Orators, the native haughtineſs of the Greeks was much increaſed by their ſervile adulation; ſo that it required a wonder⯑ful dexterity to ſtretch the empire of Per⯑ſuaſion over men who always would be treated like maſters.

' The eſtabliſhment of the ſingular law of Oſtraciſm, which was occaſioned by the tyranny of Piſiſtratus, cauſed a double increaſe of pride [332] to this people, who were already ſo preſumptu⯑ous. Thus runs the ſentence of this famous law—"Let no one of us excel the others; and, if there ſhould be one found of this deſcription, let him go and excel elſewhere." By this law, thoſe whoſe great merit and high reputation gave umbrage to their citizens, were baniſhed for ten years.

' It was, in it's commencement, obſerved with ſo much rigour, that Ariſtides, who was ſurnamed The Juſt, and who had performed ſo many great actions for the glory of his country, was condemned to baniſhment: and, although this ſeverity had greatly abated of it's rigour under Alcibiades, and that it was aboliſhed in the courſe of time; there remained, in the manners and minds of the Athenians, a great jealouſy of thoſe who had diſtinguiſhed themſelves by ſome extraordinary merit; and a rigorous ſeverity towards their Orators, which conſtrained them to be very circumſpect. The rules they had impoſed on them went ſo far [333] as to prohibit their diſplaying ornaments too elaborate, which might diſguiſe their real ſentiments—images and motions, capable of affecting and ſoftening their auditors—for they regarded the firſt as falſe lights, that might miſlead their reaſon; and the latter, as at⯑tempts to encroach on their liberty, by ſwaying their paſſions. It is to this we muſt attribute that coldneſs and auſterity which pervade the diſcourſes of theſe Orators, and which rather proceeded from the reſtraint laid on them than from the qualities of their genius.

' Beſides that the Athenians were haughty, jealous of their power, and auſtere towards their Orators, they had an impatience, and a volatility of diſpoſition, which occaſioned them frequently to paſs from one extreme to another, by ſudden and unexpected reſolutions, and often broke all the meaſures and ſchemes of thoſe who attempted to gain them over to their ſentiments.

[334] ' A hand raiſed, or a loud cry from ſome factious perſon, in an aſſembly, was often the ſignal for an advice that was to be diſcloſed, or of a counſel which was to be taken: and as it happens, that thoſe who are the moſt inſolent when they command, are the moſt ſupple when they obey; the Athenians, who had been ſo haughty during the proſperity of their Re⯑public, were the moſt abject ſlaves to the ſuc⯑ceſſors of Alexander; and afterwards to the Romans, when they became their maſters. This feeble people had, in the bottom of their hearts, a fund of meanneſs and of timidity, which made them conſtrain their Orators to conform themſelves to their manners and their genius. To ſucceed with them, it became neceſſary to appear to reſpect them, whilſt they taught them to fear; to flatter and to cenſure them, at the ſame time—a policy which Demoſthenes, who well knew this people, with great ſucceſs ſo ſkilfully ap⯑plied.

[335] ' This people has, however, produced great men, and in great numbers; but they had ſo ſeldom a ſhare in the public reſolutions, that their merit, of which they have left ſo many illuſtrious teſtimonies, cannot, however, make a general rule to judge of the character of this people.'

To this ingenious diſcrimination of the cha⯑racter of the Athenians, I cannot forbear tranſ⯑cribing an animated deſcription of their luxu⯑ries, carried to ſuch an exceſs of refinement, and opulent elegance, that thoſe who are fond of cenſuring our modern diſſipations, may be reminded, that we have never yet approached thoſe of the Grecians or the Romans. It is extracted from Dr. Gillies's Hiſtory of Greece.

' Inſtead of the bread, herbs, and ſimple fare, recommended by the Laws of Solon, the Athenians, ſoon after the 80th Olympiad, availed themſelves of their extenſive com⯑merce, to import the delicacies of diſtant coun⯑tries, which were prepared by all the refine⯑ments [336] of cookery. The wines of Cyprus were cooled with ſnow in ſummer; in winter, the moſt delightful flowers adorned the tables and perſons of the wealthy Athenians. Nor was it ſufficient to be crowned with roſes, unleſs they were likewiſe anointed with the moſt pre⯑cious perfumes. Paraſites, dancers, and buf⯑foons, were an uſual appendage of every en⯑tertainment. Among the weaker ſex, the paſ⯑ſion for delicate birds, diſtinguiſhed by their voice or plumage, was carried to ſuch exceſs, as merited the name of madneſs. The bodies of ſuch youths as were not addicted to hunt⯑ing and horſes, which began to be a prevail⯑ing taſte, were corrupted by a commerce of barlots, who had reduced their profeſſion into ſyſtem, while their minds were ſtill more pol⯑luted by the licentious philoſophy of the So⯑phiſts. It is unneceſſary to croud the picture; vices and extravagance took root in Athens in an adminiſtration the moſt ſplendid and proſpe⯑rous.'

[337] Perhaps, this laſt obſervation is cleared up by the remarks of Marville; for it appears that, although at the helm of adminiſtration ſat ſuch illuſtrious characters, they had little or no ſhare in the adminiſtration, ſince the haughtineſs and volatility of the Athenians were ſuch, that they would not even bear the reprimands of their Orators.

It has been obſerved, that even the Me⯑chanics in Athens poſſeſſed a claſſic taſte, and a niceneſs of ear, which could only be the ef⯑fect of a general diffuſion of national ele⯑gance. For an anecdote of their Atticiſm, take this.

Philip of Macedon, in the preſent age, would have merited the title of a Claſſical Scholar. I have already given the noble let⯑ter he wrote to Ariſtotle on the birth of his ſon. The preſent anecdote will prove, that he muſt have been—like the late Frederick—not leſs partial to the contemplative Minerva, than to the armed Pallas. To give a proof of [338] his generoſity, he made a preſent to the van⯑quiſhed Athenians of five thouſand meaſures of wheat; but this was not to be given by him without accompanying it by an oration. While he was holding his diſcourſe to the people, he committed a ſoleciſm in language, which the attic ear of an Athenian immediately catching, he boldly reproved him. 'For this,' the Claſ⯑ſic Monarch continued, 'I grant you five thou⯑ſand more.'

POPE SIXTUS THE FIFTH.

A SINGULAR revolution of fortune hap⯑pened to Pope Sixtus the Fifth. He was ori⯑ginally a ſwine-herd. When he firſt came to Rome, he was conſtrained to beg alms. Hav⯑ing collected a little ſilver, he one day ſtood deliberating with himſelf, whether he ſhould employ it in the purchaſe of a loaf, which the keenneſs of his appetite reminded him would [339] prove a very agreeable acquiſition; or, in a pair of ſhoes, which his ten toes terribly com⯑plained of wanting. In this conflict of irre⯑ſolution, his face betrayed the anxiety of his mind. A tradeſman, who had for ſome time obſerved his embarraſſment, aſked him the oc⯑caſion of it. He told him frankly the cauſe; but he did it in ſo facetious a manner, that the tradeſman reſolved to finiſh his perplexity by inviting him to a good dinner. When Sixtus became Pope, he did not forget to return the dinner to the benevolent tradeſman.

To give an inſtance of his abilities as a Po⯑litician. When he firſt aſpired in his mind to the Popedom, while he was yet a Cardinal, he counterfeited illneſs and old age for ſeveral years. During the Conclave, which was aſ⯑ſembled to create a Pope, he continually lean⯑ed on his crutch; and very frequently inter⯑rupted the ſage deliberations of the Conclave by a hollow cough, and violent ſpitting. This ſcheme took ſo well, that the Cardinals fell [340] into the trap; and every one thinking that, by electing Sixtus, he might himſelf ſtand a chance of being in a ſhort time elected, he was choſen unanimouſly. Soon after the elec⯑tion was concluded, the new Pope perform⯑ed a Miracle: his legs became vigorous; his body, that had been before curbed, became firm and erect; his cough was diſſipated; and he ſhewed, in a ſhort time, of what he was capable.

THE SENATE OF JESUITS.

THERE is to be found, in a book intitled—'Interêts et Maximes des Princes et des Etats Souverains, Par M. Le Duc de Rohan; Co⯑logne, 1666'—an anecdote concerning the Jeſuits; ſo much the more curious, as neither Puffendorf or Vertot have noticed it in their Hiſtories, though it's authority cannot be higher. It was probably unknown to them.

[341] When Sigiſmond, King of Sweden, was elected King of Poland, he made a treaty with the States of Sweden, by which he obliged himſelf to paſs every fifth year in that king⯑dom. In the courſe of time, being conſtrain⯑ed, by the wars he had with the Ottoman Court, with Muſcovy, and Tartary, to remain in Po⯑land, to animate, by his preſence, the wars he held with ſuch powerful enemies; he failed, during fifteen years, of accompliſhing his pro⯑miſe. To remedy this, in ſome ſhape, by the advice of the Juſuits, who had gained the aſcen⯑dant over him, he created a Senate, which was to reſide at Stockholm, compoſed of forty cho⯑ſen Jeſuits, to decide on every affair of ſtate. He publiſhed a declaration in their favour; and preſented them with letters-patent, by which he clothed them with the Royal authority.

While this ſenate of Jeſuits was at Dant⯑zic, waiting for a fair wind to ſet ſail for Stock⯑holm, he publiſhed an edict, that they ſhould receive them as his own Royal perſon. A [342] public Council was immediately held. Charles, the uncle of Sigiſmond, the Prelates, and the Lords, reſolved to prepare for them a ſplendid and magnificent entry.

But, in a private Council, they came to very contrary reſolutions: for the Prince ſaid, he could not bear that a Senate of Prieſts ſhould command, in preference to all the honours and authority of ſo many Princes and Lords, na⯑tives of the country. All the others agreed with him in rejecting this holy Senate. It was then the Archbiſhop roſe, and ſaid—'Since Sigiſmond has diſdained to be our King, ſo alſo we muſt not acknowledge him as ſuch; and from this moment we ſhould no more conſider ourſelves as his ſubjects. His authority is in ſuſpenſo, becauſe he has beſtowed it on the Jeſuits who form this Senate. The People have not yet acknowledged them. In this in⯑terval of reſignation on the one ſide, and aſ⯑ſumption of the other, I diſpenſe you all of the fidelity the King may claim from you as his [343] Swediſh ſubjects.' When he had ſaid this, the Prince of Bithynia, addreſſing himſelf to Prince Charles, uncle of the King, ſaid—'I own no other King than you; and I believe you are now obliged to receive us as your af⯑fectionate ſubjects, and to aſſiſt us to chaſe theſe vermin from the ſtate.' All the others joined him, and acknowledged Charles as their lawful Monarch.

Having reſolved to keep their declaration for ſome time ſecret, they deliberated in what manner they were to receive and to precede this Senate in their entry into the harbour, who were on board a great galleon, which they had cauſed to caſt anchor two leagues from Stockholm, that they might enter more mag⯑nificently in the night, when the fire-works they had prepared would appear to the greateſt advantage. About the time of their reception, Prince Charles, accompanied by twenty-five or thirty veſſels, appeared before the Senate. Wheeling about, and forming a caracol of [344] ſhips, they diſcharged a volley, and emptied all their cannon on the galleon of this Senate, which had it's ſides pierced through with the balls. The galleon was immediately filled with water, and ſunk, without one of the un⯑fortunate Jeſuits being aſſiſted; on the con⯑trary, they cried to them, that this was the time to perform ſome miracle, ſuch as they were accuſtomed to do in India and Japan; and, if they choſe, they could walk on the waters!

The report of the cannon, and the ſmoke which the powder occaſioned, prevented either the cries or the ſubmerſion of the Holy Fathers from being obſerved: and, as if they were con⯑ducting the Senate to the town, Charles en⯑tered triumphantly; went into the church, where they ſung Te Deum; and, to conclude the night, he partook of the entertainment which had been prepared for the ill-fated Senate.

[345] The Jeſuits of the city of Stockholm hav⯑ing come, about midnight, to pay their reſpects to the Fathers of the Senate, perceived their loſs: they directly poſted up placards of ex⯑communication againſt Charles and his adhe⯑rents, who had cauſed the Senate to periſh. They ſolicited the people to rebel; but they were ſoon chaſed from the city, and Charles made a public profeſſion of Lutheraniſm.

Sigiſmond, King of Poland, began a war with Charles in 1604, which laſted two years. Diſturbed by the invaſions of the Tartars, the Muſcovites, and the Coſſacks, a truce was con⯑cluded.

THE BODY OF CAESAR.

A SKILFUL Orator ſometimes employs per⯑ſuaſions more forcible than the figures or flowers of rhetoric can yield. Here is an in⯑ſtance—

[346] Mark Anthony, haranguing the Roman people after the death of Caeſar, who had juſt been aſſaſſinated by the Senate, held out to the obſervation of the people the robe of this great man, all bloody, and pierced through in two and twenty places. This made ſo great an im⯑preſſion on the minds of thoſe who were pre⯑ſent, that it appeared, not that Caeſar had been aſſaſſinated, but that the conſpirators were then actually aſſaſſinating him.

HISTORICAL MISREPRESENTATION.

THERE is a paſſion exiſting in the heart of man that I am at a loſs whether to conſider as proceeding from an exceſs of malevolence, or an exceſs of patriotiſm. This paſſion cannot bear even that the hero of a rival nation ſhould be found to merit praiſe, though an interval of a thouſand years may have elapſed ſince his days! Whole hiſtories have been written in [347] this ſtyle, where the hiſtorian has ſet out with a reſolution of detracting from, or denying, the merits of a rival nation. To give an in⯑ſtance in modern times—

A French writer has wilfully miſrepreſented the famous anecdote recorded of our Canute, and endeavoured to convey an idea that we have ever been a nation of haughty barbarians. It cannot be ignorance, but wilful miſrepre⯑ſentation. The anecdote was never related but in one manner, and which reflects great honour on our ancient Monarch. The author attempts to prove, that the Engliſh nation have been overbearing from the remoteſt times; and this he inſtances by giving the anecdote of Canute in this ſenſeleſs narration—

' Canute, King of England, imitating his predeceſſors, who called themſelves Lords and Sovereigns of the ſea, reſolved to take poſſeſſion of this title ſolemnly, that, in future times, it ſhould not be conteſted. Perſuaded that he could not render this act more authentic than [348] by obliging the ſea itſelf to come and pay him homage, as to it's Sovereign, about the time of the tide, he raiſed his throne by the ſea-ſide; and there, apparelled in his royal robes, he held this language to the ſea, when it rolled to⯑wards him—"Know, that thou art ſubjected to me: the earth on which I ſit is mine; and that, till now, none has ever dared to revolt from my will. I command thee, then, that thou remain where thou art, without daring to approach thy Lord, and ſoil his robes!" Scarce had he concluded this ſpeech, when a wave overturned his throne; and, having wetted him from his head to his feet, taught him in what manner he was to rely on the obedience of this element.'

Who does not here immediately perceive, that, to throw out a ſatirical ſtroke on the Engliſh nation for their naval power, the au⯑thor has wilfully diſguiſed this famous reproof of Canute to his courtiers, and endeavoured to [349] turn into ridicule the pride and the boaſt of the Britiſh nation?

THE ITALIANS.

THE character of the Italians, even ſo late as in the laſt century, preſents a melancholy contemplation to the Philoſopher. How are we to account for a whole nation being infected with ſome of the darkeſt paſſions that ſtain the human ſoul? Atheiſm and Debauchery per⯑vaded every rank; and the hand of the Italian continually graſped the dagger and the drug. What yet heightens the enormity of theſe crimes, is the 'immortal hatred'—to make uſe of a poetical expreſſion—which characterized this Nation of Aſſaſſins. Naudé, who draws his remarks from perſonal obſervation, with one or two anecdotes, will inform the reader that theſe cenſures are not unjuſt.

' Italy is crouded with thoſe kinds of men [350] who penetrate as far into Nature as their abi⯑lities permit them; and, having done this, will believe nothing more. To trace God, in the diſorder in which the world is now, we muſt poſſeſs modeſty and humility. Italy abounds with Libertines and Atheiſts; yet the number of their writers, who have written on the Immortality of the Soul, is incredible. But I am apt to think that thoſe very writers believe no more than the reſt: for I hold this maxim certain, that the doubt in which they are in is one of the firſt cauſes that obliges them to write; and add, alſo, that all their writings are ſo feeble, that no one can ſtrengthen, by their ſentiments, his faith. Thus, inſtead of inſtructing, they make a reader perfectly ſceptical.

'Italy is a country, at the ſame time, full of Impoſtures and Superſtitions: ſome do not believe enough, and others believe every thing. Every day, without truth, and without reaſon, miracles take place. I remember that a cer⯑tain [351] poor man was nearly drowned, and was drawn out of the water almoſt dead. He re⯑covered; and his recovery was firmly believed to be, becauſe he happened to have in his chaplet a medal of Saint Philip of Neri. I did not ſee any thing miraculous in this, I ſaid; and that it certainly was not always a miracle when a man eſcaped from being drowned: nor did I believe that Saint Philip thought one moment concerning the fate of this man.

' It is but three months ſince, that the church of this new ſaint fell in at Trepani, when more than a dozen of the congregation, who were invoking his favours, got wounded and killed. It was then, rather, that the ſaint ſhould have ſhewn his miraculous powers, and have faved thoſe good Chriſtians who were ſupplicating God and his ſaintſhip. Had this been the caſe, it would have turned out an excellent Miracle, and, what few Miracles are accompanied by, have had a conſiderable number of witneſſes to verify it.

[352] ' The Italians are an agreeable people enough; but, too frequently, they are found vindictive and treacherous. Revenge and trea⯑chery are the great ſins of the Italians and the Eaſterns; and they poiſon to the very mice in their houſes.

' It is a maxim received into the politics of this country, however it may be inimical to the laws of Chriſtianity, that it is beſt to de⯑fend and to avenge ourſelves before worſe hap⯑pens. As they have great ſenſe, they will never offend you; but they will never pardon you, if you offend them; and they will purſue their revenge, after an interval of fifty years has elapſed ſince the offence had been firſt given. They have this Proverb much in eſteem—'Chi offende, non perdona mai.'

Deſcartes, in one of his Letters, writes thus—'Be not ſo deſirous to live under Italian ſkies; there is a contagion that poiſons it's breezes; the heat of the day kindles a fever in the deli⯑cate frame; the evening airs are unwholeſome; [353] and the deep ſhades of the night conceal rob⯑beries and aſſaſſinations!'

The following anecdotes of Italian revenge are of good authority. An Italian feigned to be reconciled with one who had offended him. One evening, when they walked out together in a retired ſpot, the Italian ſeized him by the back; and, drawing a dagger, threatened to ſtab him if he did not abjure, and curſe the Creator. The other, in vain, entreated that he might not be obliged to commit what he felt a horror in doing; but, to ſave his life, at length he complied. The aſſaſſin, having now com⯑pleated his wiſh, plunged the poignard in his boſom; and exultingly exclaimed, that he had revenged himſelf in the moſt dreadful manner poſſible; for he had cauſed the body and the ſoul of his enemy to periſh at a ſingle ſtroke!

One Giuſeppe Bertoldo, after an abſence of ten years, hearo that a perſon who had ſerved him an ill turn, reſided in flouriſhing circumſtances at India. He embarks directly; [354] he arrives; he follows him cloſely for two years; and, at length, having found him one day alone, and unarmed, in a ſolitary ſpot, he aſſaſſinates him.

There is a narration, written in Italian, in a manuſcript in the French King's Library, tacked to the end of a Volume intitled—'Le glorie degl' incogniti di Padoua.' It diſplays a chain of treachery diſhonourable to the human character. I had prepared a tranſlation of this ſingular tranſaction; but, as I now find that Mr. Andrews has juſt given it in the Adden⯑da to his Anecdotes, I refer the reader to that publication. In Addiſon's Travels, there is an account of an aſſaſſination in Italy, not leſs re⯑markable than thoſe we have noticed. I ſhall add an inſtance of poiſoning, which cannot fail to intereſt the reader of ſenſibility.

Francis of Medicis, after the death of his lady, fell deeply in love with a young noble Venetian, named Bianca Capella, whom he married. This lady, who paſſionately loved [355] the Duke her huſband, was the cauſe of his death; attempting to revenge herſelf à l'Itali⯑enne—as my Author expreſſes it—of a Prince who was a relation of Francis. She had, with this deſign, poiſoned ſome olives that were to have been preſented to him. Francis, having met the ſervant, took two, and eat them: very ſhortly after, he began to feel their mortal ef⯑fects. Bianca Capella, who now ſaw the miſtake that had taken place, and the qui pro quo that had cauſed the death of her beloved Duke, took alſo of the ſame olives; and, hav⯑ing ſwallowed them, ſhe threw herſelf on the bed, embracing her dying Lord, and expired in his arms.

CRITICAL HISTORY OF POVERTY.

MR. Morin has formed a little Hiſtory of Poverty, which I ſhall endeavour to abridge.

It is difficult preciſely to fix on the epoch of Poverty, or to mark with accuracy the mo⯑ment [356] of it's birth. Chronologiſts are ſilent; and thoſe who have formed genealogies of the Gods, have not noticed this Deity's, though ſhe has been admitted as ſuch in the Pagan heaven, and has had temples and altars on earth. The Fabuliſts have pleaſingly narrated of her, that at the feaſt which Jupiter gave on the birth of Venus, ſhe modeſtly ſtood at the gate of the palace, to gather the remains of the celeſtial banquet; when ſhe obſerved Plutus, the God of Riches, inebriated, not with wine, but with nectar, roll out of the heavenly reſi⯑dence; and, paſſing into the Olympian gar⯑dens, he threw himſelf on a vernal bank. She ſeized this opportunity to become familiar with the God. The frolickſome Deity ho⯑noured her with his careſſes; and, from this amour ſprung the God of Love, who reſem⯑bles his father in jollity and mirth, and his mother in his nudity. This fabulous narration is taken from the divine Plato. Let us now turn to it's hiſtoric extraction.

[357] Poverty, though of remote antiquity, did not exiſt from the earlieſt times. In the firſt Age, diſtinguiſhed by the epithet of the Golden, it certainly was unknown. In the terreſtrial Paradiſe it never entered. This Age, how⯑ever, had but the duration of a flower: when it finiſhed, Poverty began to appear. The anceſtors of the human race, if they did not meet her face to face, knew her in a partial de⯑gree. She muſt have made a rapid progreſs at the time of Cain; for Joſephus informs us, he ſcoured the country with a banditti. Pro⯑ceeding from this obſcure period, it is certain ſhe was firmly eſtabliſhed in the Patriarchal age. It is then we hear of Merchants, who publicly practiſed the commerce of vending ſlaves, which indicates the utmoſt degree of Poverty. She is diſtinctly marked by Job: this holy man proteſts, that he had nothing to reproach himſelf with reſpecting the Poor, for he had aſſiſted them in their neceſſities.

As we advance in the Scriptures, we ob⯑ſerve [358] the Legiſlators paid great attentions to their relief. Moſes, by his wiſe precautions, endeavoured to ſoften the rigours of this un⯑happy ſtate. The diviſion of lands, by tribes and families; the ſeptennial jubilees; the re⯑gulation to beſtow, at the harveſt-time, a certain portion of all the fruits of the earth for thoſe families who were in want; and the obliga⯑tion of his moral law, to love one's neighbour as one's ſelf; were ſo many mounds erected againſt the inundations of Poverty. It was thus that the Jews, under their Ariſtocratic government, had few or no Mendicants.—Their Kings were unjuſt; and, rapaciouſly ſeiz⯑ing on inheritances which were not their right, increaſed the numbers of the poor. From the reign of David, there were oppreſſive gover⯑nors, who devoured the people as their bread. It was ſtill worſe under the foreign powers of Babylon, of Perſia, and the Roman Em⯑perors. Such were the extortions of their Pub⯑licans, and the avarice of their Governors, that [359] the number of Mendicants was dreadfully augmented; and, it was probably for that reaſon that the opulent families conſecrated a tenth part of their property for their ſuc⯑cours, as appears in the time of the Evange⯑liſts. In the preceding ages, no more was given—as their Caſuiſts aſſure us—than the fortieth, or thirtieth part; a cuſtom which this unfortunate nation to the preſent hour preſerve and look on it as an indiſpenſible duty; ſo much ſo, that if there are no poor of their na⯑tion where they reſide, they ſend it to the moſt diſtant parts. The Jewiſh merchants always make this charity a regular charge in their tranſactions with each other; and, at the cloſe of the year, render an account to the poor of their nation.

By the example of Moſes, the ancient Legi⯑ſlators were taught to pay a ſimilar attention to their poor. Like him, they publiſhed laws reſpecting the diviſion of lands; and many ordinances were made for the benefit of thoſe [360] whom fires, inundations, wars, or bad harveſts, had reduced to want. Convinced that idleneſs more inevitably introduced poverty than any other cauſe, they puniſhed it rigorouſly. The Egyptians made it criminal; and no vaga⯑bonds or medicants were ſuffered, under any pretence whatever. Thoſe who were con⯑victed of ſlothfulneſs, and ſtill refuſed to labour for the public, when labours were offered to them, were puniſhed with death. It was the Egyptian taſk-maſters who obſerved that the Iſraelites were an idle nation, and obliged them to furniſh bricks for the erection of thoſe fa⯑mous pyramids, which are the works of men who otherwiſe had remained vagabonds and mendicants.

The ſame ſpirit inſpired Greece. Lycurgus would not have in his republic either poor or rich: they lived and laboured in common. As, in the preſent times, every family has it's ſtores and cellars; ſo they had public ones, and diſtributed the proviſions according to the ages [361] and conſtitutions of the people. If the ſame regulation was not preciſely obſerved by the Athenians, the Corinthians, and the other people of Greece, the ſame maxim exiſted in full force againſt idleneſs.

According to the laws of Draco, Solon, &c. a conviction of wilful poverty was puniſhed with the loſs of life. Plato, more gentle in his manners, would have them only baniſhed. He calls them enemies of the ſtate; and pro⯑nounces, as a maxim, that where there are great numbers of mendicants, fatal revolutions will happen; for, as theſe people have nothing to loſe, they ſeize and plan opportunities to diſ⯑turb the public repoſe.

The ancient Romans, whoſe univerſal object was the public proſperity, were not indebted to Greece on this head. One of the principal occupations of their Cenſors was to keep a watch on the vagabonds. Thoſe who were condemned as incorrigible ſluggards, were ſent to the mines, or made to labour on the public [362] edifices. The Romans of thoſe times, unlike the preſent race, did not conſider the far niento as a pleaſing occupation: they were convinced, that their liberalities were ill-placed in beſtow⯑ing them on ſuch men. The little republics of the Bees and the Ants were often held out as an example; and the laſt, particularly, where Virgil ſays, that they have elected over⯑ſeers, who correct the ſluggards—

And, if we may truſt the narratives of our tra⯑vellers, the Beavers purſue this regulation more rigorouſly and exact than even theſe in⯑duſtrious ſocieties. But their rigour, although but animals, is not ſo barbarous as that of the ancient Germans; who, Tacitus informs us, plunged the idlers and vagabonds in the thickeſt mire of their marſhes, and left them to periſh by a kind of death that reſembled their inactive diſpoſitions.

[363] Yet, after all, it was not inhumanity that prompted the ancients thus ſeverely to chaſtiſe idleneſs: they were induced to it by a ſtrict equity; and it would be doing them injuſtice to ſuppoſe, that it was thus they treated thoſe unfortunate poor whoſe indigence was occa⯑ſioned by infirmities, by age, or unforeſeen calamities. They, perhaps, exceeded us in genuine humanity. Every family conſtantly aſſiſted it's branches, to ſave them from being reduced to beggary; which, to them, appeared worſe than death. The magiſtrates protected thoſe who were deſtitute of friends, or inca⯑pable of labour. When Ulyſſes was diſguiſed as a mendicant, and preſented himſelf to Eury⯑machus, this Prince, obſerving him to be ro⯑buſt and healthy, offered to give him employ⯑ment, or otherwiſe to leave him to his ill for⯑tune. When the Roman Emperors, even in the reigns of Nero and Tiberius, beſtowed their largeſſes, the diſtributors were ordered to ex⯑cept thoſe from receiving a ſhare whoſe bad [364] conduct kept them in miſery; for that it was better the lazy ſhould die with hunger than be fed in idleneſs.

Whether the police of the ancients was more exact, or whether they were more attentive to practiſe the duties of humanity, or that ſlavery ſerved as an efficacious corrective of idleneſs; it clearly appears how little was the miſery, and how few the numbers, of their poor. This they did, too, without having recourſe to hoſ⯑pitals.

At the eſtabliſhment of Chriſtianity, when the Apoſtles commanded a community of riches among their diſciples, the miſeries of the poor became alleviated in a greater degree. If they did not abſolutely live together, as we have ſeen religious orders, yet the rich continually ſupplied their diſtreſſed brethren: but matters greatly changed under Conſtantine. This Prince, with the beſt intentions, publiſhed edicts in favour of thoſe Chriſtians who had been condemned, in the preceding reigns, to [365] ſlavery, to the mines, the galleys, or priſons. The Church felt an inundation of prodigious crowds of theſe unhappy men, who brought with them urgent wants and corporeal in⯑firmities. The Chriſtian families formed then but a few: they could not ſatisfy theſe men. The magiſtrates protected them: they built ſpacious hoſpitals, under different titles, for the ſick, the aged, the invalids, the widows, and orphans. The Emperors, and the moſt eminent perſonages, were ſeen in theſe hoſ⯑pitals, examining the patients. Sometimes they aſſiſted the helpleſs, and ſometimes dreſſed the wounded. This did ſo much honour to the new religion, that Julian the Apoſtate intro⯑duced this cuſtom among the Pagans. But the beſt things are ſeen continually per⯑verted.

Theſe retreats were found not ſufficient. Many ſlaves, proud of the liberty they had juſt recovered, looked on them as priſons; and, under various pretexts, wandered about [366] the country. They diſplayed, with art, the ſcars of their former wounds, and expoſed the imprinted marks of their chains. They found thus a lucrative profeſſion in begging, which had been interdicted by the laws. The pro⯑feſſion did not finiſh with them: men of an untoward, turbulent, and licentious diſpoſi⯑tion, gladly embraced it. It ſpread ſo wide, that the ſucceeding Emperors were obliged to inſtitute new laws; and it was permitted to individuals to ſeize on theſe mendicants for their ſlaves and perpetual vaſſals: a powerful preſervative againſt this diſorder. It is ob⯑ſerved in almoſt every part of the world but ours; and it is thus that nowhere they ſo abound with beggars. China preſents us with a noble example. No beggars are ſeen loiter⯑ing in their country. All the world are occu⯑pied, even to the blind and the lame. Thoſe who are incapable of labour, live at the public expence. What is done there, may alſo be performed here. Then, inſtead of that hide⯑ous, [367] importunate, idle, licentious poverty—as pernicious to the police as to morality—we ſhould ſee the poverty of the earlier ages hum⯑ble, modeſt, frugal, robuſt, induſtrious, and laborious. Then, indeed, the fable of Plato might be realized: Poverty may be embraced by the god of riches; and, if ſhe did not pro⯑duce the vuluptuous offspring of Love, ſhe would become the fertile mother of Agricul⯑ture, and the ingenious mother of the fine Arts, and of all kinds of Manufactures.

SLAVERY.

I HAVE chiefly collected the preſent Anec⯑dotes from the ingenious Compiler of L'Eſprit des Uſages et des Coutumes.'

It avails little to exclaim againſt Slavery; it is an evil ſo natural to man, that it is impoſ⯑ſible totally to eradicate it. Man will be a ty⯑rant; [368] and, if he poſſeſſed an adequate ſtrength, he would enſlave whatever ſurrounded him. Dominion is ſo flattering to pride, and to idle⯑neſs, that it is impoſſible to ſacrifice it's enjoy⯑ments. Even the Slave himſelf requires to be attended by another Slave: it is thus with the Negro of Labat; who, ſince his ſtate permits of none, aſſumes a deſpotic authority over his wife and children.

There are Slaves even with ſavages; and, if force cannot eſtabliſh ſervitude, they employ other means to ſupply it. The Chief of the Natchès of Louiſiana diſpoſes at his will of the property of his ſubjects: they dare not even refuſe him their head. He is a perfect deſpotic prince. When the preſumptive heir is born, the people devote to him all the chil⯑dren at the breaſt, to ſerve him during his life. This petit Chief is a very Seſoſtris; he is treated in his cabin as the Emperor of China is in his palace. Indeed, the origin of his power is great: the Natchès adore the Sun, and this [369] Sovereign has palmed himſelf on them for the Brother of the Sun!

Servitude is ſometimes as pleaſing to the ſlave as it is gratifying to the maſter; and can any thing more ſtrongly convince us, that the greater part of men are unworthy of taſting the ſweets of liberty? It was thus, when the Monarchs of France were deſirous of deſpoiling the Barons of the authority they had uſurped, the bondmen, accuſtomed to ſlavery, were ſlow in claiming their liberty. To effect this, it be⯑came neceſſary to compel them by laws; and Louis Hutin ordered, that thoſe villains, or bondmen, who would not be enfranchiſed, ſhould pay heavy fines.

The origin of Slavery, in ſome countries, ariſes from ſingular circumſtances. If a Tar⯑tar met in his way a man, or woman, who could not ſhew a paſſport from the King, he would ſeize on the perſon as his right and property.

Formerly, in Circaſſia, when the huſband [370] and wife did not agree, they went to complain to the governor of the town. If the huſband was the firſt who arrived, the governor cauſed the woman to be ſeized on and ſold, and gave another to the huſband; and, on the contrary, he ſeized on and ſold the huſband, if the wife arrived the firſt.

Liberality, and the deſire of obliging—who could credit it?—occaſion the depriving others of their liberty. An Iſlander of Mindanao, who redeems his ſon from Slavery, makes him his own ſlave; and children exerciſe the ſame be⯑nevolence and rigour on their parents.

In Rome, the debtor became the ſlave of his creditor; and, when it happened that they could take nothing from him who had loſt every thing, they took his liberty. It is even believed, that the law of the Twelve Tables permitted them to cut into pieces an inſolvent debtor!

It is ſince the eſtabliſhment of the commerce and ſale of Negroes, that men have committed the moſt enormous crimes. The Mulattoes [371] of Loanda ſeduce the young women wherever they paſs: they return to them, ſome years afterwards; and, under the pretext of giving the children a better education, they carry them off to ſell them.

Thus, alſo, the women of Benguela, in col⯑luſion with their huſbands, allure other men to their arms. The huſband falls ſuddenly on them, impriſons the unfortunate gallants, and ſells them the firſt opportunity; and he is not puniſhed for theſe violences.

Beſides, the Negroes ſell their children, their parents, and their neighbours! They lead to the country-houſe of the merchant their unſu⯑ſpicious victims, and there deliver them into the hands of their purchaſer. While they are loaded with chains, and ſeparated for ever from their moſt endearing connections, it is in vain they raiſe loud and melancholy cries: the infa⯑mous vender ſmiles, and ſays it is only a cunning trick. Le Maire informs us, that an old Ne⯑gro reſolved to ſell his ſon: but the ſon, who [372] ſuſpected his deſign, haſtened to the factor; and, having taken him aſide, ſold him his father!

The Iſlanders of Biſſagos are paſſionately fond of ſpirituous liquors; and, on the arrival of a veſſel, the weakeſt, without diſtinction of age, friendſhip, or relationſhip, become the prey of the ſtrongeſt, that they may ſell them to purchaſe liquors.

It appears that, in the Eaſt, and particularly at Batavia, the life of a ſlave entirely depends on the caprices of his maſter: the ſlighteſt fault brings on him the moſt afflicting treat⯑ment. They bind him to a gallows; they flog him unmercifully with ſplitted canes; his blood flows in a ſtream, and his body is co⯑vered with wounds: but, fearful that he may not die in ſufficient tortures, they ſcatter abun⯑dantly over them ſalt and pepper. So little care is paid to theſe unfortunate men amongſt the Maldivians, that they lie entirely at the mercy of every one. Thoſe who practiſe on [373] them any ill treatment, receive only half the puniſhment that the laws exact from any one who had ill-treated a free perſon. The ſlighteſt chaſtiſement which is inflicted on them, at Java, is to carry about their necks a piece of wood, with a chain, and which they are con⯑demned to drag all their lives.

The ſlaves of the kingdom of Angola, and many other countries of Africa, never addreſs their maſters but on their knees. They do not even allow them the honours of decent burial; they throw their bodies in the woods, where they become the food of wild beaſts.

If thoſe on the Gold Coaſt eſcape, and are retaken, they loſe an ear for the firſt offence of this kind: a ſecond offence is puniſhed with the loſs of the other. At the third, it is al⯑lowed their maſters either to ſell them to the Europeans, or to cut off their heads.

Religious fanaticiſm increaſes the inhumanity of the pirates of Africa. The Moors and the Europeans reciprocally deteſt each other; and, [374] ſince they redeem their captives, the Mahome⯑tans have become unmerciful, that they may the more powerfully excite their friends to re⯑deem them with heavy ranſoms. We muſt not credit every thing Hiſtorians record; but it is certain that the police does not puniſh the maſter who kills his ſlaves; that religious pre⯑judices totally ſtifle the feelings of humanity; and that the zealous Muſſulman inflicts con⯑tinual tortures on theſe unfortunate men, that they may abjure their religion.

The Spaniards, and the Knights of Malta, for their repriſals, chain to the galley all the Mahometans they make priſoners; and, it is thus that the fate of the Chriſtian ſlaves on the Northern Coaſt of Africa, is the natural con⯑ſequence of a war which never can termi⯑nate.

When the NEGROES of the Colonies ſolely depend on a brutal maſter, who can paint the horrors of their ſituation? Without dwelling on the cruelties which they ſuffer in Africa, [375] before they are ſold, and during the voyage; the greater part believe, that, after their em⯑barkment from America, the Europeans intend to maſſacre them in the moſt terrible manner imaginable: to burn, calcine, and pulverize their bones, to be employed as gunpowder; and they alſo imagine, that the Europeans manufacture an oil with their fat and marrow.

If they do not finiſh their taſk, they are laſhed with rods till they are covered with blood. Sometimes they pour over their raw wounds a pound of melted pitch; and ſome⯑times they heighten their unſupportable ſmart by ſcattering over them handfuls of pepper!

The habit of ſuffering endows them with an admirable patience. It is thus Labat ex⯑preſſes himſelf on this head. 'They are ſel⯑dom heard to cry out, or to complain. It is not owing to inſenſibility, for their fleſh is ex⯑tremely delicate, and their feelings irritable. It proceeds from an uncommon magnanimity of ſoul, which ſets at defiance pain, grief, [376] and death itſelf. I have more than once ſeen ſome broken on the wheel, and others torment⯑ed by the moſt dreadful machines inventive cruelty could produce, without their giving vent to one murmur, or ſhedding one tear. I ſaw a Negro burnt, who was ſo far from being affected, that he called for a little lighted to⯑bacco, on his way to the place of execution; and I obſerved him ſmoak with great calmneſs, at the moment his feet were conſuming in the midſt of the flames. There were two Negroes condemned; the one to the gallows, the other to be whipped by the hand of the executioner. The Prieſt, in a miſtake, confeſſed him who was not to have died. They did not perceive it, till the moment the executioner was going to throw him off; they made him deſcend; the other was confeſſed; and, although he expect⯑ed only to be whipped, he mounted the ladder with as much indifference as the firſt deſcend⯑ed from it, and as if the choice of either fate was alike to him.'

[377] How grievous muſt be the unfortunate de⯑ſtiny of thoſe Negroes, when they poſſeſs a ſoul ſo great, and ſentiments ſo ſublime! At⯑kins, examining once ſome ſlaves, obſerved one of a noble ſlature, who appeared to him not leſs vigorous than imperious; he glanced on his companions, whenever they murmured or wept, looks of reproach and diſdain. He never turned his eyes on the overſeer; and, if commanded to riſe, or to ſtretch his leg, he did not by any means immediately obey. His exaſperated maſter wearied him⯑ſelf with laſhing his naked body with his rod. He was going to diſpatch him in his fury, had it not been obſerved to him, that if he ſold him, he might get an uncommon price for a ſlave of his appearance. The Negro ſupported this perſecution with heroic intrepidity; he pre⯑ſerved a rigid ſilence; a tear or two only trick⯑led down his cheek; when, as if he bluſhed for his weakneſs, he turned aſide to hide them. 'I learnt,' Atkins writes, 'that he was a Chief [378] of ſome villages who had juſt come from op⯑poſing the ſlave-traffic of the Engliſh.' Mr. Mackenzie, in one of his Novels, has de⯑ſcribed this ſcene with the pen of a Maſter; and certainly draws the picture after the deſcription of Atkins.

Many European nations abandon the Ne⯑groes to the caprice of their maſters, or to the deſpotic deciſion of the Magiſtrate. The French have drawn up ſome regulations, which have been called the Black Code. This article treſpaſſes ſo much on our uſual limits, that we cannot extract any for the contemplation of the reader; let it be ſufficient, however, to ob⯑ſerve, that they are eternal records of Euro⯑pean cupidity and European inhumanity.

In a word, they have reduced them to the degree of brutes, and they have treated them with infinitely more inhumanity. Whatever the arbitrary decrees of a Planter—continues our ingenious Compiler—may perform, they can⯑not take from them the human figure, nor the [379] human voice; they ſeem, indeed, exaſperated to find, that they bear an affinity to their own ſpecies!

A NEW RELIGION.

ALL the world knows how ſucceſsful ſome impoſtors have been in the eſtabliſhment of Religions. We Europeans are well perſuaded, that the Jewiſh and the Chriſtian are derived from Divine authority. We are perfectly ſatis⯑fied that Mahomet, Manco Capac, Confucius, the Lama of Tartary, are impoſtors. Though a greater number of nations reſpect their va⯑rious holy ſcriptures than the true Bible, as voyagers have made new diſcoveries, new Re⯑ligions have been diſcovered. The liſt of re⯑ligious impoſtors it is not difficult to augment. The Jews have ſeen five or ſix fictitious Meſ⯑ſiahs—Sabbatei Sevi the moſt remarkable of them. I am convinced, that not a few Re⯑ligions [380] have failed in their eſtabliſhment; and I will oppoſe to theſe impoſtors a man, who was more learned and able than any of them. But circumſtances were not favourable to his ſyſtem: he had not, like Mahomet, to join with his Alcoran, a good armoury of ſwords in his poſſeſſion.

About the middle of the fifteenth century, ſome time before the Turks had become ma⯑ſters of Conſtantinople, a great number of Philoſophers flouriſhed. Gemiſtus Plethon was one diſtinguiſhed by the excellence of his genius, by the depth of his erudition, and chiefly by his being a warm Platoniſt. Such were his eminent abilities, that, in his old age, thoſe whom his novel ſyſtem had greatly irri⯑tated, either feared or reſpected him. He had ſcarcely breathed his laſt moments, when they began to abuſe Plato and our Plethon. Here is an account, written by George of Trebi⯑zond—

' There has lately aroſe, amongſt us, a ſecond [381] Mahomet; and this ſecond, if we do not take care, will exceed in greatneſs the firſt, by the dreadful conſequences of his wicked doctrine, as the firſt has exceeded Plato. A diſciple and rival of this Philoſopher, in philoſophy, in eloquence, and in ſcience, he had fixed his re⯑ſidence in the Peloponneſe. His common name was Gemiſtus, but he aſſumed that of Plethon. Perhaps Gemiſtus, to make us believe more eaſily that he was deſcended from heaven, and to engage us to receive more readily his doc⯑trine and his new law, wiſhed to change his name, according to the manner of the ancient patriarchs; of whom it is ſaid, that at the time the name was changed they were called to the greateſt things. He has writen with wonder⯑ful art, and with great elegance. He has given new rules for the conduct of life, and for the regulation of human affairs; and, at the ſame time, has vomited forth a great number of blaſ⯑phemies againſt the Catholic religion. It is cer⯑tain, he was ſo zealous a Platoniſt, that he enter⯑tained [382] no other ſentiments than thoſe of Plato, concerning the nature of the Gods, Souls, Sacrifices, &c. I have heard him, myſelf, when we were together at Florence, ſay that, in a few years, all men on the face of the earth would embrace, with one common con⯑ſent, and with one mind, a ſingle and ſimple religion, at the firſt inſtructions which ſhould be given by a ſingle preaching. And when I aſked him, if it would be the religion of Jeſus Chriſt, or that of Mahomet? he anſwered, "Neither one nor the other; but a third, which will not greatly differ from Paganiſm." Theſe words I heard with ſo much indignation, that ſince that time I have always hated him: I look upon him as a dangerous viper; and I cannot think of him without abhorrence.'

The pious writer of this account is too vio⯑lently agitated: he might, perhaps, have be⯑ſtowed a ſmile of pity, or contempt; but the bigots of religion are not leſs inſane than the impious themſelves.

[383] It was when Plethon died, that the malice of his enemies collected all it's venom. We cannot but acknowledge, from this circum⯑ſtance, that his abilities muſt have been aſtoniſh⯑ingly vaſt, to have kept ſuch crowds ſilent: and, it is not improbable, this ſcheme of impiety was leſs impious than the majority of the people imagined. Not a few Catholic writers lament that his Book was burnt, and greatly regret the loſs of Plethon's work; which, they ſay, was not meant to ſubvert the Chriſtian religion, but only to unfold the ſyſtem of Plato, and to collect what he and other Philoſophers had written on Religion and Poli⯑ticks. At the ſame time, however, we muſt recollect the expreſs words of Plethon, which we come from tranſcribing as given us by George of Trebizond.

Of his religious ſcheme, the reader may now judge, by this ſummary account. The general title of the volume ran thus—'This Book treats of the Laws, of the beſt Form of Go⯑vernment, [384] and what all Men muſt obſerve in their public and private Stations, to live toge⯑ther in the moſt perfect, the moſt innocent, and the moſt happy Manner.' The whole was divided into Three Books. The titles of the chapters, where Paganiſm was openly incul⯑cated, are reported by Gennadius, who con⯑demned it to the flames, but who has not thought proper to enter into the manner of his arguments, &c. The impiety and the extra⯑vagance of this new Legiſlator appeared, above all, in the articles which concerned Religion. He acknowledges a plurality of gods: ſome ſuperior, whom he placed above the heavens; and the others, inferior, on this ſide the hea⯑vens. The firſt, exiſting from the remoteſt antiquity; the others younger, and of different ages. He gave a King to all theſe gods; and he called him ΖΕΥΣ—or Jupiter—as the Pagans named this power formerly. According to him, the Stars had a Soul; the Demons were not malignant Spirits; and the World was [385] eternal. He eſtabliſhed Polygamy; and was even inclined to a community of women. All his work was filled with ſuch follies; and with not a few impieties, which my pious Author will not venture to give.

What the intentions of Plethon were, it would be raſh and ungenerous in us to deter⯑mine. If the work was only an arrangement of the Heathen notions, it was an innocent and curious volume. It is allowed, that he was uncommonly learned and humane, and had not paſſed his life entirely in the ſolitary re⯑ceſſes of his ſtudy.

I cannot quit this article, without recollect⯑ing two ſimilar works even of the preſent day. The ideas of the phrenetic Emanuel Sweden⯑burgh are warmly cheriſhed by a ſect, who have ſo far diſgraced themſelves as to beſtow on their ſociety the name of this man. It is but very lately that a work was publiſhed, by a Mr. T. Taylor, who openly profeſſed Paganiſm! A book publiſhed by the Athenian Stuart, as he [386] is called, is not leſs to be diſtinguiſhed—Yet we have only one hoſpital dedicated to Saint Luke in this metropolis!

EDWARD THE FOURTH.

OUR Edward the Fourth was a gay and voluptuous Prince; and, what is ſingular, he probably owed to his enormous debts, and paſſion for the fair-ſex, his crown. He had not one Jane Shore, but many. Hear honeſt Philip de Comines, his contemporary. He ſays, that what greatly contributed to his en⯑tering London as ſoon as he appeared at it's gates, was the great debts this Prince had con⯑tracted, which made his creditors gladly aſſiſt him; and the high favour in which he was held by the Bourgeoiſes, into whoſe good graces he had frequently glided, and who gained him over their huſbands—who, I ſuppoſe, for the [387] tranquillity of their lives, were glad to depoſe or raiſe Monarchs.

Theſe are De Comine's words—'Many ladies, and rich citizens wives, of whom for⯑merly he had great privacies and familiar ac⯑quaintance, gained over to him their huſbands and relations.'

This is the deſcription of his voluptuous life: we muſt recollect, that the writer had been an eye-witneſs, and was an honeſt man; while modern Hiſtorians only view objects through the coloured medium of their imagination, and do not always merit the latter appellation.

' He had been, during the laſt twelve years, more accuſtomed to his eaſe and pleaſures than any other Prince who lived in his time. He had nothing in his thoughts but les dames, and of them more than was reaſonable; and hunt⯑ing-matches, good eating, and great care of his perſon. When he went, in their ſeaſons, to theſe hunting-matches, he always cauſed to be carried with him great pavilions for les [388] dames; and, at the ſame time, gave ſplendid entertainments: ſo that it is not ſurprizing that his perſon was as jolly as any one I ever ſaw. He was then young, and as handſome as any man of his age; but he has ſince be⯑come enormouſly fat.'

Since I have got old Philip in my hand, the reader will not, perhaps, be diſpleaſed, if he attends to a little more of his naiveté, which will appear in the form of a converſazione of the times. He now relates what paſſed be⯑tween Edward and the King of France—

' When the ceremony of the oath was con⯑cluded, our King, who was deſirous of being friendly, began to ſay to the King of England, in a laughing way, that he muſt come to Paris, and be jovial amongſt our Ladies; and that he would give him the Cardinal de Bourbon for his Confeſſor, who would very willingly ab⯑ſolve him of any ſin which perchance he might commit. The King of England ſeemed well-pleaſed at the invitation, and laughed heartily; [389] for he knew that the ſaid Cardinal was un fort bon compagnon. When the King was return⯑ing, he ſpoke on the road to me; and ſaid, that he did not like to find the King of Eng⯑land ſo much inclined to come to Paris. "He is," ſaid he, "a very handſome King; he likes the women too much. He may probably find one at Paris that may make him like to come too often, or ſtay too long. His predeceſſors have already been too much at Paris and in Normandy." And that his company was not agreeable this ſide of the ſea; but that, beyond the ſea, he wiſhed to be bon frere et amy.'

I feel an inclination to give another conver⯑ſation-piece; but, leſt the reader ſhould not ſo keenly reliſh the honeſt old Narrator as myſelf, it may be neceſſary to reſtrain my pen.

A RELIC.

HENRY the Third was deeply tainted with the vileſt ſuperſtition. He was a Prince of a [390] daſtardly diſpoſition; and, like all bigots, endeavoured, by mean ſubterfuge and low cunning, to circumvent others: incapable of that noble frankneſs which characterizes an honeſt man not bigotted to the ſenſeleſs rites of ſuperſtition. As an inſtance of his bigotry, take this account of a Relic which is too curious to abridge—

' Henry ſummoned all the great men of the kingdom, A. D. 1247, to come to London on the feſtival of Saint Edward, to receive an account of a certain ſacred benefit which Heaven had lately beſtowed on England. The ſingular ſtrain of this ſummons excited the moſt eager curioſity, and brought great multi⯑tudes to London at the time appointed. When they were all aſſembled in Saint Paul's Church, the King acquainted them, that the Great Maſter of the Knights Templars had ſent him, by one of his Knights, a phial of cryſtal, contain⯑ing a ſmall portion of the precious blood of Chriſt, which he had ſhed upon the Croſs for the ſal⯑vation [391] of the world, atteſted to be genuine by the ſeals of the Patriarch of Jeruſalem, of ſeveral Archbiſhops, Biſhops, and Abbots. This, he informed them, he deſigned to carry, the next day, in ſolemn proceſſion, to Weſt⯑minſter, attended by them, and by all the Clergy of London, in their proper habits, with their banners, crucifixes, and wax-candles; and exhorted all who were preſent to prepare themſelves for that ſacred ſolemnity, by ſpend⯑ing the night in watching, faſting, and devout exerciſes. On the morrow, when the pro⯑ceſſion was put in order, the King approached the ſacred phial with reverence, fear, and trembling; took it in both his hands; and, holding it up higher than his face, proceeded under a canopy, two aſſiſtants ſupporting his arms. Such was the devotion of Henry on this occaſion, that, though the road between Saint Paul's and Weſtminſter was very deep and miry, he kept his eyes conſtantly fixed on the phial, or on heaven. When the proceſſion [392] approached Weſtminſter, it was met by two Monks of that Abbey, who conducted it into the church, where the King depoſited the vene⯑rable Relic; which,' ſays the Hiſtorian, 'made all England ſhine with glory, dedicating it to God and Saint Edward.'

VICAR OF BRAY.

THE reader has frequently heard this re⯑vered Son of the Church mentioned; pro⯑bably, his name may have outlived the recol⯑lection of his pious manoeuvres.

The Vicar of Bray, in Berkſhire, was a Papiſt under the reign of Henry the Eighth, and a Proteſtant under Edward the Sixth; he was a Papiſt again under Queen Mary, and at length became a Proteſtant in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. When this ſcandal to the gown was reproached for his verſatility of re⯑ligious creeds, he made anſwer—'I cannot [393] help that: but, if I changed my religion, I am ſure I kept true to my principle; which is, to live and die Vicar of Bray!'

SPANISH ETIQUETTE.

THE Etiquette—or Rules to be obſerved in the royal palaces—is neceſſary, obſerves Baron Bielfield, for keeping order at court. In Spain, it was carried to ſuch lengths as to make mar⯑tyrs of their Kings. Here is an inſtance; at which, in ſpite of the fatal conſequences it produced, one cannot refrain from ſmiling—

Philip the Third being gravely ſeated—as Spaniards generally are—by a chimney where the fire-maker of the court had kindled ſo great a quantity of wood that the Monarch was nearly ſuffocated with heat, his grandeur would not ſuffer him to riſe from the chair; and the domeſtics could not preſume to enter the apart⯑ment, becauſe it was againſt the Etiquette. [394] At length, the Marquis de Potat appeared, and the King ordered him to damp the fires: but he excuſed himſelf; alledging, that he was forbidden by the Etiquette to perform ſuch a function, for which the Duke D'Uſſeda ought to be called upon, as it was his buſineſs. The Duke was gone out; the fire burnt fiercer; and the King endured it, rather than derogate from his dignity. But his blood was heated to ſuch a degree, that an eryſipelas broke out in his head the next day; which, being ſucceeded by a violent fever, carried him off in 1621, and in the twenty-fourth year of his age.

The palace was once on fire; when a ſoldier, who knew the King's ſiſter was in her apart⯑ment, and muſt inevitably have been conſumed in a few moments by the flames, at the riſk of his life, ruſhed in, and brought her Highneſs ſafe out in his arms: but the Spaniſh Etiquette was here woefully broken into! The loyal ſoldier was brought to trial; and, as it was im⯑poſſible to deny that he had entered her apart⯑ment, [395] the judges condemned him to die! The Spaniſh Princeſs, however, condeſcended, in conſideration of the circumſtance, to pardon the ſoldier, and very benevolently ſaved his life!

After this, we may exclaim, with our Eng⯑liſh Satiriſt—

HELL.

THE Cardinal Bellarmin, in his Treatiſe du Purgatoire, ſeems to be as familiarly acquaint⯑ed with the ſecret tracks and the formidable di⯑viſions of 'the bottomleſs pit,' as Swedenburgh was with the ſtreets and bye-corners of 'the New Jeruſalem.'

He informs us, that there are, beneath the earth, four different places, or a profound [396] place divided into four parts. He ſays, that the deepeſt place is Hell; which contains all the ſouls of the damned, where will be alſo their bodies after the Reſurrection, and where likewiſe will be incloſed all the Demons. The place neareſt Hell is Purgatory, where ſouls are purged; or, rather, where they ap⯑peaſe the anger of God by their ſufferings. He ſays, that the ſame fires, and the ſame torments, alike afflict in both theſe places; and that the only difference between Hell and Purgatory, conſiſts in their duration. Next to Purgatory, is the Limbo of thoſe Infants who die without having received the Sacrament: and the fourth place is the Limbo of the Fa⯑thers; that is to ſay, of thoſe Juſt Men who died before the death of Jeſus Chriſt. But ſince the days of the Redeemer, this laſt divi⯑ſion is empty: ſo that here is an apartment to be let!

Such ideas are the tenets which ſome, from the dawn of their reaſon, entertain with reli⯑gious [397] veneration. It has even been acknow⯑ledged by the bigots, that the more ridiculous, or the more unintelligible, may be the ſubject for belief, the greater merit it is to receive it without heſitation. Men have perſuaded them⯑ſelves, that what bears the ſtrongeſt evidence of falſhood, is the ſacred truth of a pater⯑nal Deity. And it had been well if, on ſpecu⯑lative points, they had only differed with their more rational or innocent fellow-creatures. But theſe bigots have written, in the warm blood of humanity, the articles of their faith. They have reared an altar to Superſtition, on which they have not ſacrificed the Scape-Goat, or the Paſchal Lamb; but they have plunged the ſa⯑cerdotal knife into the boſom of their fellow-creatures. They have agonized the individual with the flaming Auto da fés of the Inquiſition: with a more dreadful ſcope, they have ſent thouſands, with the ſword of the Cruſade, to ſpread deſolation in parts which had never till then heard of their name; and, gratifying [398] at once their avarice and their religion, cities have been razed, and millions of inoffenſive men ſwept from the face of the earth, be⯑cauſe it had pleaſed Providence to place in their countries mines of gold and ſeas of pearl.

DOUGLAS.

IT may be recorded as a ſpecies of Puritanic ſavageneſs and Gothic barbariſm, that, no later than in the year 1757, a Man of Genius was perſecuted becauſe he had written a Tra⯑gedy, which tended by no means to hurt the morals; but, on the contrary, by awakening the ſweeteſt pity, and the nobler paſſions, would rather elevate the ſoul, and purify the mind.

When Mr. Home, the Author of the Tra⯑gedy of Douglas, had it performed at Edin⯑burgh; and, becauſe ſome of the Divines, his acquaintance, attended the repreſentation, the Clergy, with the monaſtic ſpirit of the darkeſt [399] ages, publiſhed the preſent Paper, which I ſhall abridge for the contemplation of the reader, who may wonder to ſee ſuch a compoſition written in the eighteenth century.

' On Wedneſday, February the 2d, 1757, the Preſbytery of Glaſgow came to the follow⯑ing reſolution. They having ſeen a printed Paper, intituled—"An Admonition and Exhor⯑tation of the reverend Preſbytery of Edin⯑burgh;" which, among other evils prevailing, obſerving the following melancholy, but noto⯑rious, facts: that one, who is a Miniſter of the Church of Scotland, did himſelf write and compoſe a Stage-play, intituled—"The Tra⯑gedy of Douglas," and got it to be acted at the theatre of Edinburgh; and that he, with ſeve⯑ral other Miniſters of the Church, were pre⯑ſent; and ſome of them, oftener than once, at the acting of the ſaid Play, before a nume⯑rous audience. The Preſbytery, being deeply affected with this new and ſtrange appearance, [400] do publiſh theſe ſentiments, &c.'—Sentiments with which I will not diſguſt the reader.

THE LOVER'S HEART.

THE following Tale is recorded in the Hiſto⯑rical Memoirs of Champagne, by Bougier. It has been a favourite narrative with the old Romance writers; and the principal incident, however objectionable, has been diſplayed in ſe⯑veral modern poems. It is probable, that the true Hiſtory will be acceptable, for it's tender and amorous incident, to the fair reader.

The Lord De Coucy, vaſſal to the Count De Champagne, was one of the moſt accompliſhed youths of his time. He loved, with an exceſs of paſſion, the lady of the Lord Du Fayel, who felt for him reciprocal ardours. It was with the moſt poignant grief, this lady heard her lover acquaint her, that he had reſolved to ac⯑company the King and the Count De Cham⯑pagne [401] to the wars of the Holy Land; but ſhe could not oppoſe his wiſhes, becauſe ſhe hop⯑ed that his abſence might diſſipate the jealouſy of her huſband. The time of departure hav⯑ing come, theſe two lovers parted with ſorrows of the moſt lively tenderneſs. The lady, in quitting her lover, preſented him with ſome rings, ſome diamonds, and with a ſtring that ſhe had woven herſelf of his own hair, inter⯑mixed with ſilk and buttons of large pearls, to ſerve him, according to the faſhion of thoſe days, to tie a magnificent hood which covered his helmet. This he gratefully accepted, and inſtantly departed.

When he arrived in Paleſtine, he received at the ſiege of Acre, in 1191, in gloriouſly aſ⯑cending the ramparts, a wound, which was declared mortal. He employed the few mo⯑ments he had to live, in writing to the Lady Du Fayel; and he made uſe of thoſe fervid expreſſions which were natural to him in his afflictive ſituation. He ordered his Squire to [402] embalm his heart after his death, and to con⯑vey it to his beloved miſtreſs, with the pre⯑ſents he had received from her hands in quit⯑ting her.

The Squire, faithful to the dying commands of his maſter, returned immediately to France, to preſent the heart and the preſents to the Lady of Du Fayel. But, when he approached the caſtle of this lady, he concealed himſelf in the neighbouring wood, till he could find ſome favourable moment to compleat his promiſe. He had the misfortune to be obſerved by the huſband of this lady, who recognized him, and who immediately ſuſpected he came in ſearch of his wife with ſome meſſage from his maſter. He threatened to deprive him of his life, if he did not divulge what had occaſioned him to come there. The Squire gave him for anſwer, that his maſter was dead; but Du Fayel not believing it, drew his ſword to murder him. This man, frightened at the peril in which he found himſelf, confeſſed every thing; and put [403] into his hands the heart and letter of his ma⯑ſter. Du Fayel, prompted by the felleſt re⯑venge, ordered his cook to mince the heart; and, having mixed it with meat, he cauſed a ragout to be made, which he knew pleaſed the taſte of his wife, and had it ſerved to her. This lady eat greedily of the diſh. After the repaſt, Du Fayel inquired of his wife, if ſhe had found the ragout according to her taſte: ſhe anſwered him, that ſhe had found it excel⯑lent. 'It is for this reaſon,' he replied, 'that I cauſed it to be ſerved to you, for it is a kind of meat which you very much liked. You have, Madam,' the ſavage Du Fayel continued, 'eat the heart of the Lord De Coucy.' But this ſhe would not believe, till he ſhewed her the letter of her lover, with the ſtring of his hair, and the diamonds ſhe had given him. Then, ſhuddering in the anguiſh of her ſenſa⯑tions, and urged by the darkeſt deſpair, ſhe told him—'It is true that I loved that heart, becauſe it merited to be loved: for never could [404] it find it's ſuperior; and, ſince I have eaten of ſo noble a meat, and that my ſtomach is the tomb of ſo precious a heart, I will take care that nothing of inferior worth ſhall be mixed with it.' Grief and paſſion choaked her ut⯑terance. She retired into her chamber: ſhe cloſed the door for ever; and, refuſing to ac⯑cept of conſolation or food, the amiable victim expired on the fourth day.

THE HISTORY OF GLOVES.

THE preſent learned and curious diſſerta⯑tion I have compiled from the papers of an ingenious Antiquarian. The originals are to be found in the Republic of Letters. Vol. X. p. 289.

To proceed regularly, we muſt firſt enquire into the antiquity of this part of dreſs; and ſecondly, ſhew it's various uſes in the ſeveral ages of the world.

[405] Some have given them a very early original, imagining they are noticed in the 108th Pſalm, where the Royal Prophet declares, he will caſt his Shoe over Edom. They go ſtill higher; ſuppoſing them to be uſed in the times of the Judges, Ruth iv. 7. where it is ſaid, it was the cuſtom for a man to take off his Shoe, and give it to his neighbour, as a token of re⯑deeming or exchanging any thing. They tell us, the word which in theſe two texts is uſually tranſlated Shoe, is by the Chaldee pa⯑raphraſt in the latter, rendered Glove. Caſaubon is of opinion, that Gloves were worn by the Chaldeans, becauſe the word here mentioned is in the Talmud Lexicon explained, the cloath⯑ing of the hand. But it muſt be confeſſed, all theſe are mere conjectures; and the Chaldean paraphraſt has taken an unallowable liberty in his verſion.

Let us, then, be content to begin with the authority of Xenophon. He gives a clear and diſtinct account of Gloves. Speaking of the [406] manners of the Perſians, he gives us a proof of their effeminacy; that, not ſatisfied with covering their head and their feet, they alſo guarded their hands againſt the cold with thick Gloves. Homer, ſpeaking of Laertes at work in his garden, repreſents him with Gloves on his hands, to ſecure them from the thorns. Var⯑ro, an ancient Writer, is an evidence in favour of their antiquity among the Romans. In Lib. ii. Cap. 55. de Re Ruſtica, he ſays, that olives gathered by the naked hand, are preferable to thoſe gathered with Gloves. Athenaeus ſpeaks of a celebrated glutton, who always came to table with Gloves on his hands, that he might be able to handle and eat the meat while hot, and devour more than the reſt of the com⯑pany.

Theſe authorities ſhew, that the ancients were not ſtrangers to Gloves; though, perhaps, their uſe might not be ſo common as amongſt us. When the ancient ſeverity of manners declined, the uſe of Gloves prevailed among [407] the Romans; but not without ſome oppoſition from the Philoſophers. Muſonius, a Philoſo⯑pher, who lived at the cloſe of the firſt cen⯑tury of Chriſtianity, among other invectives againſt the corruption of the age, ſays, It is a ſhame, that perſons in perfect health ſhould clothe their hands and feet with ſoft and hairy cover⯑ings. Their convenience, however, ſoon made their uſe general. Pliny the Younger informs us, in his account of his uncle's journey to Veſuvius, that his ſecretary ſat by him, ready to write down whatever occurred remarkable; and that he had Gloves on his hands, that the coldneſs of the weather might not impede his buſineſs.

In the beginning of the ninth century, the uſe of Gloves was become ſo univerſal, that ever the Church thought a regulation in that part of dreſs neceſſary. In the reign of Lewis le Debonnaire, the Council of Aix ordered, that the Monks ſhould only wear Gloves made of ſheep-ſkin.

[408] That Time has made alterations in the form of this, as in all other apparel, appears from the old pictures and monuments.

Let us now proceed to point out the various uſes of Gloves in the ſeveral ages; for, beſide their original deſign for a covering of the hand, they have been employed on ſeveral great and ſolemn occaſions: as in the cere⯑mony of Inveſtitures, in beſtowing lands; or, in conferring dignities. Giving poſſeſſion by the delivery of a Glove, prevailed in ſeveral parts of Chriſtendom in later ages. In the year 1002, the Biſhops of Paderborn and Mon⯑cerco were put into poſſeſſion of their Sees by receiving a Glove. It was thought ſo eſſential a part of the epiſcopal habit, that ſome Ab⯑bots in France, preſuming to wear Gloves, the Council of Poitiers interpoſed in the affair, and forbid them the uſe of them, on the ſame footing with the ring and ſandals, as being pe⯑culiar to Biſhops.

Monſieur Favin obſerves, that the cuſtom of [409] bleſſing Gloves at the Coronation of the Kings of France, which ſtill ſubſiſts, is a remain of the Eaſtern practice of Inveſtiture by a Glove. A remarkable inſtance of this ceremony is re⯑corded in the German Hiſtory. The unfortu⯑nate Conradin was deprived of his crown and his life by the uſurper Mainfroy. When, hav⯑ing aſcended the ſcaffold, the injured Prince lamented his hard fate, he aſſerted his right to the Crown; and, as a token of Inveſtiture, threw his Glove among the crowd; begging it might be conveyed to ſome of his relations, who ſhould revenge his death. It was ta⯑ken up by a Knight, who brought it to Peter, King of Arragon, who was afterwards crown⯑ed at Palermo.

As the delivery of Gloves was once a part of the ceremony uſed in giving poſſeſſion; ſo the depriving a perſon of them, was a mark of diveſting him of his office, and of degrading him. Andrew Herkley, Earl of Carliſle, was, in the reign of Edward the Second, impeach⯑ed [410] of holding a correſpondence with the Scots, and condemned to die as a traitor. Walſing⯑ham, relating other circumſtances of his de⯑gradation, ſays—'His ſpurs were cut off with a hatchet; and his Gloves and ſhoes were taken off, &c.'

Another uſe of Gloves was in a duel: on which occaſion, he who threw one down, was thereby underſtood to give defiance; and he who took it up, to accept the challenge.

The uſe of ſingle combat, at firſt deſigned only for a trial of innocence, like the ordeal fire and water, was, in ſucceeding ages, prac⯑tiſed for deciding right and property. Chal⯑lenging by the Glove was continued down to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, as appears by an account given by Spelman, of a duel ap⯑pointed to be fought in Tothill Fields, in the year 1571. The diſpute was concerning ſome lands in the county of Kent. The Plaintiffs appeared in Court, and demanded a ſingle combat. One of them threw down his Glove. [411] which the other immediately took up, carried off on the point of his ſword, and the day of fighting was appointed; but the matter was adjuſted in an amicable manner by the Queen's judicious interference.

Though ſuch combats are now no longer in uſe, we have one ceremony ſtill remaining among us, in which the challenge is given by a Glove; viz. at the Coronation of the Kings of England: upon which occaſion, his Ma⯑jeſty's champion, compleatly armed, and well mounted, enters Weſtminſter Hall, and pro⯑claims that, if any man ſhall deny the Prince's title to the crown, he is ready to maintain and defend it by ſingle combat. After which de⯑claration, he throws down his Glove, or gaunt⯑let, as a token of defiance.

This cuſtom of challenging by the Glove is ſtill in uſe in ſome parts of the world. It is common in Germany, on receiving an affront, to ſend a Glove to the offending party, as a challenge to a duel.

[412] The laſt uſe of Gloves to be mentioned here was for carrying the Hawk, which is very an⯑cient. In former times, Princes and other great men took ſo much pleaſure in carrying the Hawk on their hand, that ſome of them have choſen to be repreſented in this attitude. There is a monument of Philip the Firſt of France ſtill remaining; on which he is repreſented at length, on his tomb, holding a Glove in his hand.

Mr. Chambers ſays that, formerly, judges were forbid to wear Gloves on the bench. No reaſon is aſſigned for this prohibition. Our judges lie under no ſuch reſtraint; for both they and the reſt of the court make no diffi⯑culty of receiving Gloves from the ſheriffs, whenever the ſeſſion or aſſize concludes with⯑out any one receiving ſentence of death, which is called a Maiden Aſſize. This cuſtom is of great antiquity.

Our curious Antiquarian has alſo preſerved a very ſingular anecdote concerning Gloves. [413] Chambers informs us, that it is not ſafe at pre⯑ſent to enter the ſtables of Princes without pulling off the Gloves. He does not, indeed, tell us in what the danger conſiſts. A friend from Germany explains the matter. He ſays, it is an ancient eſtabliſhed cuſtom in that coun⯑try, that whoever enters the ſtables of a Prince, or great man, with his Gloves on his hands, is obliged to forfeit them, or redeem them by a fee to the ſervants. The ſame cuſtom is ob⯑ſerved in ſome places at the death of the ſtag; in which caſe, the Gloves, if not taken off, are redeemed by money given to the huntſmen and keepers. This is practiſed in France; and the late King never failed of pulling off one of his Gloves on that occaſion. The reaſon of this ceremony is not known.

We meet with the term Glove-money in our old records; by which is meant, money given to ſervants to buy Gloves. This, no doubt, gave riſe to the ſaying of giving a pair of [414] Gloves, to ſignify making a preſent for ſome favour or ſervice.

To the honour of the Glove, it has more than once been admitted as a term of the tenure or holding lands. One Bortran, who came in with William the Conqueror, held the Manor of Farnham Royal by the ſervice of providing a Glove for the King's right-hand on the day of his coronation, and ſupporting the ſame hand that day while the King held the royal ſceptre. In the year 1177, Simon de Mertin gave a grant of his lands in conſideration of fifteen ſhillings, one pair of white Gloves at Eaſter, and one pound of cummin.

ARTIFICIAL MEMORY.

THE preſent is an article that, perhaps, may be thought by many readers apo⯑cryphal.

When Muretus was at Rome, (ſays Scaliger)—by was of Parentheſis, I muſt obſerve, the relator and the auditor were the two firſt ſcho⯑lars in Europe—there came, one day, to the palace of the French ambaſſador, a Florentine of a very ill-favoured countenance, and whoſe eyes were continually declined on the ground. [416] It was ſaid, that he poſſeſſed, in a wonderful degree, an Artificial Memory. To give a proof of his powers, he begged the company, who were numerous, to ſeat themſelves regularly, that he might not be diſturbed; and that they would order to be written down to the number of fifty thouſand words: aſſuring them, that if they pronounced them diſtinctly, and if after⯑wards they were read ſlowly, he would repeat every word without heſitation. This was done. They would only have troubled him with a few: but he inſiſted that they ſhould proceed. The Secretary of the Ambaſſador was employed full two hours in writing the moſt ſingular words the company could ſelect; and, among them, was a Cardinal Peleve, who gave him Polyſyllables in the beſt or longeſt manner of our late Lexicographer. The Florentine, to the aſtoniſhment of the audience, recited them without the ſmalleſt omiſſion; and this he did, beginning ſometimes at the end, and ſometimes in the middle. He ſaid, that this Artificial [417] Memory had cauſed him totally to loſe his na⯑tural one.

Jedediah Buxton's ſingular memory appears to have been of a different caſt: he could only count words, &c. for when he went to the play, he is ſaid to have enumerated the words of Garrick, and the ſteps of the dancers; but he had not, like this man, any one who could be capable of contradicting him.

BEARDS THE DELIGHT OF ANCIENT BEAUTIES.

WHEN the Fair were accuſtomed to behold their Lovers with Beards, the ſight of a ſhaved chin excited ſentiments of horror and aver⯑ſion; as much indeed as, in this effeminate age, would a gallant whoſe 'hairy excrement' ſhould

[418]To obey the injunctions of his Biſhops, Louis the Seventh of France cropped his hair, and ſhaved his beard. Eleanor of Acquitaine, his conſort, found him, with this uncommon appearance, very ridiculous, and very con⯑temptible. She revenged herſelf, by becoming ſomething more than a coquette. The King obtained a divorce. She then married the Count of Anjou, who ſhortly after aſcended the Engliſh throne. She gave him, for her marriage dower, the rich provinces of Poitou and Guienne; and this was the origin of thoſe wars which for three hundred years ravaged France, and which coſt the French nation three millions of men. All which, probably, had never taken place, if Louis the Seventh had not been ſo raſh as to crop his hair and ſhave his beard, by which he became ſo diſguſtful in the eyes of the fair Eleanor.

WAX-WORK.

WAX-WORK has been brought ſometimes to a wonderful perfection. We have heard of many curious deceptions occaſioned by the imitative powers of this plaſtic matter. There have been ſeveral exhibitions in London, which have pretended to an excellence they did not attain. It muſt be confeſſed, that a ſaloon, oc⯑cupied by figures that repreſent eminent per⯑ſonages, forms a grand idea. To approach Voltaire, Franklin, or the great Frederick, yields to their admirers a delightful ſenſation. If we contemplate with pleaſure an inſipid Portrait, how much greater is the pleaſure, when, in an aſſemblage, they appear wanting nothing but that language and thoſe actions which a fine imagination can inſtantaneouſly beſtow!

[420] There was a work of this kind which Menage has noticed, and which muſt have appeared a little miracle. In the year 1675, the Duke of Maine received a gilt cabinet, about the ſize of a moderate table. On the door was in⯑ſcribed—The Chamber of Wit. The inſide diſplayed an alcove and a long gallery. In an arm-chair was ſeated the figure of the Duke himſelf, compoſed of wax, the reſemblance the moſt perfect imaginable. On one ſide ſtood the Duke de la Rochefoucault, to whom he pre⯑ſented a paper of verſes for his examination. Mr. De Marcillac, and Boſſuet, Biſhop of Meaux, were ſtanding near the arm-chair. In the alcove, Madame de Thianges, and Ma⯑dame de la Fayette, ſat retired, reading a book. Boileau, the Satiriſt, ſtood at the door of the gallery, hindering ſeven or eight bad Poets from entering. Near Boileau, ſtood Racine, who ſeemed to beckon to La Fontaine to come forwards. All theſe figures were formed of wax; and this imitation muſt have been at [421] once curious for it's ingenuity, and intereſting for the perſonages it imitated.

ANATOMISTS.

THE ancient Anatomiſts muſt have felt a zeal for the ſcience which makes the imagina⯑tion ſhudder. It was nothing leſs than diſſect⯑ing men alive; for this purpoſe, the bodies of criminals were devoted. This was the exerciſe of Herophilus, an ancient Phyſician, who Ter⯑tullian very juſtly treats as a Butcher; or, as we might ſay in the preſent age, a Cannibal.

MONKS.

' THE Monks of the preſent day,' ſays Charpentier, who died in the year 1702, 'lead ſober lives, when compared with their predeceſſors. Some religious Fathers were called The Hogs of Saint Anthony. They re⯑tired [422] from the world to make eight repaſts per diem! The order of the Chartreux was of a different complexion. It was, in it's orginal inſtitution, more auſtere than that of La Trappe. Amongſt other regulations of their food, it was written, that with barley bread, water, and pulſe, they were fully ſatisfied. And again, they promiſe to preſerve 'perpetual faſting, perpetual ſilence, and perpetual hair-cloth. Every Saturday night was brought to each Father his portion of food for the week, with which they accommodated themſelves in their own cells, widely ſeparated from each other. But this mortification was not long held in eſteem: their ſeverities were mitigated, more and more, till at length they have im⯑proved the order greatly, by admitting many of the luxuries of life. They now eat, inſtead of the dry barley bread which was brought to them on the Saturday nights, the neweſt loaves, made of the whiteſt flour; inſtead of water, they drink the richeſt wines, in greater quan⯑tities [423] than heretofore they drank water. The pulſe was found rather inſipid food; ſo they have joined to it excellent fiſh: and, in fact, there is no luxury in which theſe Fathers, who were enjoined by their Founder 'perpetual faſts,' do not indulge their appetites.

Mr. Merry, the Author of the Della Cruſca Poems, when he can get rid of his load of poetic tinſel, preſents ſometimes a thought of the true gold. He has written an Elegy on a View of the Chartreux, in which are theſe excellent lines—

AETNA AND VESUVIUS.

IT is very probable that Mount Veſuvius near Naples, and Mount Aetna in Sicily, form [424] but different portions of one chain of Moun⯑tains that paſſes under the ſea and the Iſle of Lipari; for, whenever one of theſe Volcano's has a great eruption, it is obſerved, that the other, and the Volcano in the Iſle of Lipari, throw out more flames than ordinary. This remark is made by Huet.

ROADS.

THE magnificence of the Romans in their public edifices, infinitely ſurpaſſed that of the laſt ages. The ſole inſpection of their Roads is a moſt convincing proof. Theſe Roads ſet out from the column erected in the middle of Rome, and extended themſelves to the remoteſt borders of this vaſt Empire, for the conveni⯑ence and the expedition of thoſe Legions which had ſubjugated ſo many nations. Theſe Roads, of which ſome ſtill remain, were high, broad, ſolid, and in ſeveral places branched out into [425] great ſquares, which the ſubverting hand of Time ſeems yet to reſpect. Our Roads, on the contrary, are in a variety of places in ſo pitiful a condition, that three or four days of rain fre⯑quently interrupt the intercourſe of commerce, and delay the journeys of the beſt equipages.

All this is lamentably true; we need bluſh at the Romans poſſeſſing more magnificent Roads than ourſelves: we, who emulate them in all the ruin of the luxury; beſides, they never paid ſo much Turnpike-money as we do.

LIGHT SUMMER SHOWERS FORMING BURN⯑ING MIRRORS.

IN the Summer, after ſome days of fine wea⯑ther, during the heat of the day, if a ſtorm happens, accompanied with a few light Showers of rain; and if the Sun appears immediately after with all it's uſual ardour, it burns the foliage, and the flowers on which the rain had [426] fallen, and deſtroys the hopes of the orchard. The burning heat, which the ardour of the Sun produces at that time on the leaves and flowers, is equal to the intenſe heat of burning Iron. Naturaliſts have ſought for the cauſe of this ſtrange effect, but they have ſaid nothing which ſatisfies a reaſonable mind. This is, however, the fact. In the ſerene days of the Summer, it is viſible that there gathers on the foliage and the flowers as, indeed, on every other part, a little duſt, ſometimes more and ſometimes leſs, ſcattered by the wind. When the rain falls on this duſt, the drops mix to⯑gether, and take an oval or round form, as we may frequently obſerve in our houſes, on the duſty floor or cieling, when they ſcatter water before they ſweep them. It is thus theſe globes of water, mingled on the foliage, form ſo many of thoſe convex glaſſes which we call Burning, Mirrors, and which produce the ſame effect. Should the rain be heavy and laſt long, the Sun would not then produce this burning [427] heat, becauſe the force, and the duration of the rain, will have deſtroyed the duſt which form⯑ed theſe drops of water; and theſe drops, loſing their globular form, in which alone conſiſted their cauſtic power, will be diſperſed without any extraordinary effect. For this obſervation, which, to the Naturaliſt muſt appear curious and novel, he is indebted to the ingenious Huet, Biſhop of Avranches.

BLEEDING AND EVACUATION, TWO REME⯑DIES FOR LOVE.

HUET has a very ſingular obſervation on Love, which he exemplifies by an Anecdote as ſingular.

Love, he ſays, is not merely a paſſion of the ſoul, but it is alſo a diſeaſe of the body, like the Fever. It is frequently in the blood, and in the mind, which are terribly agitated; and, to be cured, it may be treated as metho⯑dically [428] as any other diſorder. Great perſpira⯑tions, and copious Bleedings, that carry away with the humour the inflammable ſpirits, would purge the blood, calm the emotions, and re⯑place every part in it's natural ſtate.

The great Condé, having felt a violent paſſion for Mademoiſelle de Vigean, was conſtrained to join the army. While his abſence laſted, his paſ⯑ſion was continually nouriſhed by the tendereſt recollections of Love, and by an intercourſe of a continued correſpondence, till the concluſion of the campaign, when a dangerous ſickneſs brought him to the moſt imminent danger. To the violence of his illneſs, violent Reme⯑dies were applied; and every thing that was moſt efficacious in phyſic was given to the Prince. He regained his health, but he had loſt his Love: the great Evacuations had car⯑ried away his paſſion; and when he thought himſelf a Lover, he found he had ceaſed to Love.

On this Anecdote it is to be obſerved, that [429] the fact is well authenticated; and, however the reader may feel himſelf inclined to turn Wit on this occaſion, it's veracity cannot in the leaſt be injured. But it muſt be confeſſed, that Evacu⯑ations may not always have on a deſpairing lover the ſame happy effect. 'When we would explain the mechaniſm of the human paſſions,' obſerves an ingenious writer, 'the obſerva⯑tions muſt be multiplied.' This fact, then, does not tend to ſhew that the ſame remedies will cure every lover, but that they did cure the Prince de Condé.

There is, however, another ſpecies of eva⯑cuation, not leſs efficacious, for a deſpairing ſwain, which will probably amuſe the reader.

A German gentleman burned with an amo⯑rous flame for a German Princeſs. She was not inſenſible to a reciprocal paſſion; and to have him about her perſon, without giving ſcandal, ſhe created him her General. They lived ſome time much pleaſed with each other; but the Princeſs became ſickle, and the Gene⯑ral [430] grew jealous. He made very ſharp remon⯑ſtrances; and the Princeſs, who wiſhed to be free, gave him his congé, and he was con⯑ſtrained to quit her. But his paſſion at every hour increaſed: he found he could not live out of her preſence; and he ventured to enter im⯑perceptibly into her cabinet. There he threw himſelf at her feet, and entreated her forgive⯑neſs. The Princeſs frowned, and condeſcended to give no other anſwer than a command to withdraw from her Royal Highneſs's preſence. The deſpairing lover exclaimed, that he was ready to obey her in every thing but that; that he was reſolved, in this, to diſobey her; and that he preferred to die by her hand. In ſay⯑ing this, to give force to his eloquence, he pre⯑ſented his naked ſword to the German Princeſs; who, perhaps, being little acquainted with the flowers of rhetoric, moſt cruelly took him at his word, and run him through the body. Fortunately, the wound did not prove mortal: [431] he was healed of his wound at the end of three months; and likewiſe of his paſſion, which had flowed away with the effuſion of blood.

INFECTIOUS DISEASES.

THE preſent article, from the learned Biſhop of Avranches, if not a valuable, forms at leaſt an ingenious ſpeculation.

Neither Naturaliſts or Phyſicians have in⯑formed us, what is the cauſe which renders contagious ſo many diſeaſes, while others are not in the leaſt infectious. The gout, the gra⯑vel, the epilepſy, the apoplexy, are not caught by frequenting the company of the diſeaſed; but the plague, the dyſentery, the itch, the bloody-flux, occaſion frequently terrible ra⯑vages by their infection. This is very proba⯑bly the fact. It may be ſaid, in general, that all contagious diſeaſes produce worms, which are contained in ulcers, puſtules, or pimples, [432] either internal or external, ſome leſs and ſome more, and of different kinds. We ſhall not here examine the cauſe of the productions of theſe worms; but their effect is common and unvaried, and ſometimes viſible. It is alſo well known that theſe worms, by undergoing a revolution, which in them is natural, change into the fly ſtate, and become gnats; this is done in a ſhort time, and in infinite numbers. As ſoon as theſe flies, imperceptible by their diminutive ſize, can lift themſelves by their wings, they take their flight. They are there ſcattered abroad; and, entering the bodies of men by reſpiration, they infuſe that poiſon by which they are engendered, and communi⯑cate that corruption from whence they have ſprung.

It is thus great fires have been found very ſerviceable in public contagions: kindled in divers places, they have, as many imagine, purified the air. The air is, indeed, purified, but not in the manner generally ſuppoſed, [433] by rarifying and changing it's compoſition, but in burning and conſuming theſe flying gnats with which the air is filled; and which, attracted by the light of the flames, mix with them, and are deſtroyed in the ſame manner as moths are by a candle. An oppoſite cauſe produces alſo the ſame effect; I mean, a ſharp froſt, that kills and deſtroys theſe terrible in⯑ſects, if not entirely, at leaſt, the greater part: for it has been known, that ſo great have been their numbers, that many have eſcaped the rigours of the froſt, and have continued the infection; as it happened ſome centuries back, in the dreadful Plague, which deſolated Den⯑mark, and the neighbouring countries.

GENEALOGY.

WELCH Genealogies have long been a ſtanding jeſt: who does not know their parti⯑ality to Cadwallader? Yet there are others [432] [...] [433] [...] [434] which can diſturb the muſcles of the graveſt Philoſopher; and, perhaps, make the moſt in⯑genious Herald ſmile at his own ingenuity. Charles the Fifth, and Louis the Thirteenth, have cauſed their Genealogies to reach to Adam. De Crouy, who married the heireſs of the De Crouy's in the time of Saint Louis, becauſe he came from Hungary, reſolved, if he brought nothing, at leaſt to bring a Genea⯑logy: and ventured to trace his deſcent from Attila, King of the Huns; who, it muſt be allowed, is a more regal anceſtor than Adam himſelf.

AMBER-GRIS.

AMBER-GRIS is nothing elſe than Honey, which abounds in the extenſive mountains of the ſide of Ajan, melted by the heat of the Sun; and which, falling into the ſea, is con⯑denſed or petrified by the coldneſs of the wa⯑ter. [435] The proof is, that very frequently bees are found incloſed in morſels of Amber-gris. This opinion is ingenious: it is given by the Abbé Longuerue; but the opinions of what Amber-gris is compoſed are ſo various, that the fact is, we are ignorant of it.

PIOUS FRAUDS.

THE Abbey of Signi, in Champagne, was uncommonly rich and extenſive: but at this we muſt not be aſtoniſhed. Saint Bernard had promiſed thoſe who aſſiſted to found it, as much "Spatium," or place in Heaven, as they gave land to his Order of Citeaux. The good people of thoſe days had more faith in Saints than their graceleſs poſterity; and, had the Magiſtrates not reſtrained their pious zeal, this Abbey would have occupied a whole pro⯑vince.

[436] So alſo, when Pope Urban had to combat with Clement the Seventh, he was obliged to have recourſe to the ſcheme of Saint Bernard. This is not wonderful: but it is wonderful, that, as ſoon as he publiſhed a Bull, promiſing a plenary remiſſion of their Sins, and a place in Paradiſe, to all who fought in his cauſe, or contributed money to ſupport it, our own nation flew up in arms; and, as an old Hiſto⯑rian obſerves—'As ſoon as theſe Bulls were publiſhed in England, the whole people were tranſported with joy, and thought that the opportunity of obtaining ſuch ineſtimable graces was not to be neglected.' The repre⯑ſentative of Saint Peter can no more iſſue ſuch roaring Bulls: tempora mutantur!

CHINESE PHYSICIANS.

THE Phyſicians of China, by feeling the arms of a ſick man in three places; to ob⯑ſerve [437] the ſlowneſs, the increaſe, or quickneſs, of the pulſe, can judge of the cauſe, the nature, the danger, and the duration, of his diſorder. Without their patient's ſpeaking, they reveal infallibly what part is affected. They are at once Doctors and Apothecaries, compoſing the remedies they preſcribe. They are paid when they have compleated a cure; but they receive nothing when their remedies do not take effect. Our Phyſicians, it muſt be confeſſed, are by no means ſo ſkilful as the Chineſe: but, in one thing, they have the advantage over them; which is, in taking their fees before they have performed the cure. And it is thus that Phy⯑ſicians, with little or no learning, ride in their chariots in London; while, in Pekin, they are very learned, and walk on foot.

FEMALE BEAUTY, AND ORNAMENTS.

THE Ladies in Japan gild their teeth; and thoſe of the Indies paint them red. The blackeſt [438] teeth are eſteemed the moſt beautiful in Gu⯑zurat, and in ſome parts of America. In Greenland, the women colour their faces with blue and yellow. However freſh the com⯑plexion of a Muſcovite may be, ſhe would think herſelf very ugly if ſhe was not plaiſtered over with paint. The Chineſe muſt have their feet as diminutive as thoſe of the ſhe⯑goats; and, to render them thus, their youth is paſſed in tortures. In Ancient Perſia, and aquiline noſe was often thought worthy of the crown; and, if there was any competition be⯑tween two Princes, the people generally went by this criterion of majeſty. In ſome coun⯑tries, the mothers break the noſes of their children; and, in others, preſs the head be⯑tween two boards, that it may become ſquare. The modern Perſians have a ſtrong averſion to red hair: the Turks, on the contrary, are warm admirers of theſe diſguſting locks. The Indian Beauty is thickly ſmeared with bear's fat; and the female Hottentot receives from [439] the hand of her lover, not ſilks, or wreaths of flowers, but warm guts and reeking tripe, to dreſs herſelf with enviable ornaments.

At China, ſmall eyes are liked; and the girls are continually plucking their eye-brows, that they may be ſmall and long. The Turkiſh women dip a gold bruſh in the tincture of a black drug, which they paſs over their eye-brows. It is too viſible by day, but looks ſhining by night. They tinge their nails with a roſe-colour.

An ornament for the noſe appears to us perfectly unneceſſary. The Peruvians, how⯑ever, think otherwiſe; and they hand on it a weighty ring, the thickneſs of which is pro⯑portioned by the rank of their huſbands. The cuſtom of boring it, as our Ladies do their ears, is very common in ſeveral nations. Through the perforation are hung various materials; ſuch as green cryſtal, gold, ſtones, a ſingle and ſometimes a great number of gold rings. This is rather troubleſome to them in blowing their [440] noſes; and the fact is, ſome have informed us, that the Indian Ladies never perform this very uſeful operation.

The female head-dreſs is carried, in ſome countries, to ſingular extravagance. The Chineſe Fair carries on her head the figure of a certain bird. This bird is compoſed of cop⯑per, or of gold, according to the quality of the perſon: the wings, ſpread out, fall over the front of the head-dreſs, and conceal the temples. The tail, long and open, forms a beautiful tuft of feathers. The beak covers the top of the noſe; the neck is faſtened to the body of the artificial animal by a ſpring, that it may the more freely play, and tremble at the ſlighteſt motion.

The extravagance of the Myantſes is far more ridiculous than the above. They carry on their heads a ſlight board, rather longer than a foot, and about ſix inches broad: with this they cover their hair, and ſeal it with wax. They cannot lie down, nor lean, without keeping the [441] neck very ſtraight; and, the country being very woody, it is not uncommon to find them with their head-dreſs entangled in the trees. When⯑ever they comb their hair, they paſs an hour by the fire in melting the wax; but this comb⯑ing is only performed once or twice a year.

To this curious account, extracted from Du⯑halde, we muſt join that of the inhabitants of the Land of Natal. They wear caps, or bon⯑nets, from ſix to ten inches high, compoſed of the fat of oxen. They then gradually anoint the head with a purer greaſe; which, mixing with the hair, faſtens theſe bonnets for their lives!

THE WOODEN DAUGHTER OF DESCARTES.

WHEN Deſcartes reſided in Holland, with great labour and induſtry he made a female Automation—which occaſioned ſome wicked wits to publiſh that he had an illegitimate [442] daughter, named Franchine—to prove demon⯑ſtratively that beaſts have no ſouls, and that they are but machines nicely compoſed, and move whenever another body ſtrikes them, and communicates to them a portion of their mo⯑tions. Having put this ſingular machine into a caſe on board a veſſel, the Dutch captain, who ſometimes heard it move, had the curioſity to open the box. Aſtoniſhed to ſee a little hu⯑man form extremely animated, yet, when touched, appearing to be nothing but wood; little verſed in ſcience, but greatly addicted to ſuperſtition, he took the ingenious labour of the Philoſopher for a little Devil, and termi⯑nated the experiment of Deſcartes by throw⯑ing his Wooden Daughter into the ſea.

A TRAVELLER's SINGULARITIES.

BALTHAZAR GRATIAN, Author of the Courtier, has frequently very ſingular ſtrokes of imagination. In one of his works, he ſup⯑poſes [443] his Hero to travel in ſearch of a true Friend. Among the moſt ſingular curioſities he meets with in his travels, are to be diſtin⯑guiſhed the following ones—A poor Judge, with his wife, neither of whom had any fingers to their hands; a great Lord, without any debts; a Prince, who was never offended at the truth being told him to his face; a Poet, who be⯑came rich by the produce of his works; a Monarch, who died without any ſuſpicion of having been poiſoned; a humble Spaniard; a ſilent Frenchman; a lively Engliſhman; a Ger⯑man, who diſliked wine; a learned Man recom⯑penſed; a chaſte Widow; a Madman diſcon⯑tented; a ſincere Female; and, what was more ſingular than all theſe ſingularities, a true Friend!

'A HEAVY HEART.'

THIS is a vulgar phraſe; and it will be found, like the generality of vulgar phraſes [444] which have long been current, not deſtitute of ſignification. According to many eminent Phyſicians, timid men have the Heart very thick and heavy. Rioland relates, that he has ſometimes met with the Hearts of perſons of this deſcription, which have weighed from two to three pounds. Amongſt theſe, was that of Mary De Medicis, which was nearly of the latter weight: it is probable, that the afflic⯑tions, and the griefs, of this unfortunate Prin⯑ceſs, did not a little contribute to thicken and render 'her Heart heavy.'

PASQUIN AND MARFORIO.

ALL the world have heard of theſe Statues; they have ſerved as vehicles for the keeneſt Sa⯑tire in a land of the greateſt deſpotiſm. The Statue of Paſquin (from whence the word Paſ⯑quinade) and that of Marforio, are placed in Rome, in two different quarters. Marforio's [445] is a Statue that lies at it's whole length: it repreſents, according to ſome, Panarium Jo⯑vum; and, according to others, the River Rhine, or the Nar. That of Paſquin, is a marble Statue, greatly mutilated, which ſtands at the corner of the Palace of the Urſinos, and it is ſuppoſed to be the figure of a Gladia⯑tor. Whatever they may have been, is now of little conſequence; it is certain that, to one or other of theſe Statues are affixed, during the concealment of the night, thoſe Satires or Lampoons which the Authors wiſh ſhould be diſperſed about Rome without any danger to themſelves. When Marforio is attacked, Paſ⯑quin comes to his ſuccour; and when Paſquin is the ſufferer, he finds in Marforio a conſtant defender. It is thus, with a thruſt, and a parry, the moſt ſerious matters are diſcloſed; and the moſt illuſtrious perſonages are attack⯑ed by their enemies, and defended by their friends.

MUSIC.

NATURALISTS pretend, that animals and birds, as well as 'Knotted oaks,' as Con⯑greve informs us, are exquiſitely ſenſible to the charms of Muſic. This may ſerve as an in⯑ſtance. An officer, having ſpoken ſomewhat too free of the Miniſter Louvois, was—as once was the cuſtom—immediately conſigned to the Baſtile. He begged the Governor to permit him the uſe of his lute, to ſoften, by the har⯑monies of his inſtrument, the rigours of his priſon. At the end of a few days, this mo⯑dern Orpheus, playing on his lute, was great⯑ly aſtoniſhed to ſee friſking out of their holes great numbers of mice; and, deſcending from their woven habitations, crouds of ſpiders, who formed a circle about him, while he continued breathing his ſoul-ſubduing inſtrument. His ſurpize was, at firſt, ſo great, that he was [447] petrified with aſtoniſhment; when, having ceaſed to play, the aſſembly, who did not come to ſee his perſon, but to hear his inſtru⯑ment, immediately broke up. As he had a great diſlike to ſpiders, it was two days be⯑fore he ventured again to touch his inſtru⯑ment. At length, having conquered, for the novelty of his company, his diſlike of them, he recommenced his concert; when the aſſembly was by far more numerous than at firſt; and, in the courſe of farther time, he found himſelf ſurrounded by a hundred muſical ama⯑teurs. Having thus ſucceeded in attracting this company, he treacherouſly contrived to get rid of them at his will. For this purpoſe, he begged the keeper to give him a cat, which he put in a cage, and let looſe at the very inſtant when the little hairy people were moſt entranced by the Orphean ſkill be diſplayed.

LOCUSTS.

THE Locuſts, ſo frequently mentioned in the Scriptures, and in many ancient Authors, are a ſpecies of Graſhoppers that have nothing in them diſguſtful. The Parthians, the Ethio⯑pians, and the Arabs, found them delicious food. After cauſing them to fall from the trees by means of ſmoke, aſcending from fires kindled at their feet, they ſalted, dried them in the ſun, and preſerved them for food through⯑out the year. Saint John the Baptiſt ate them with wild honey, according to the cuſtom of the poor of thoſe times. They appear ſome⯑times in Aſia, and in Africa, in ſuch prodigi⯑ous numbers, that they darken the air, and conſume in an inſtant the fruits and herbage of a whole country; the heaps of thoſe which die infect the air and occaſion a contagion. It is probable, that theſe Phenomena are the Har⯑pies [449] of the ancients, which even came to devour the meats on the table of the King of Bythinia; and if we add, that Calais and Zethus, the Children of Boreas, chaſed them from this country, and purſued them to the Iſles of Stro⯑phades, which are in the Ionian Sea, where they cauſed them to periſh, all this fiction may be underſtood thus—that the Northern winds had blown them into this Sea: and it is true, that nothing ſo certainly delivers a country which is infected with theſe inſects, as a ſtrong wind that carries them off to the Sea, where they infallibly muſt periſh. On this head, the Reader may conſult Goldſmith.

ANTI-MOINE, OR ANTIMONY; COFFEE; AND JESUIT'S BARK.

THE origin of Antimony is a remarkable circumſtance. Baſil Valentin, Superior of a College of Religioniſts, having obſerved that [450] this mineral fattened the Pigs, imagined that it would produce the ſame effect on the Holy Brotherhood. But the caſe was ſeriouſly different: the unfortunate Fathers, who gree⯑dily made uſe of it, died in a very ſhort time. This is the origin of it's name, which I have written according to the pure French word. In ſpite of this unfortunate beginning, Paracelſus reſolved to bring this mineral into practice; he thought he could make it uſeful, by mixing it with other preparations, but he did not ſuc⯑ceed according to his hopes. The Faculty, at Paris, were on this occaſion divided into two parties: the one maintained, that Antimony was a poiſon; the other affirmed, that it was an excellent remedy. The diſpute became more general, and the Parliament and the Sorbonne interfered in the matter: but ſome time after⯑wards, the world began to judge rightly con⯑cerning this excellent mineral; and it's won⯑derful effects have occaſioned the Faculty to place it among their beſt remedies.

[451] The uſe of COFFEE is ſaid to have a ſimilar origin; that, however, was never attended with ſuch dreadful effects. A Prior of a mo⯑naſtery in the part of Arabia where this berry grows, having remarked, that the Goats who eat of it became extremely briſk and alert, re⯑ſolved to try the experiment on his Monks, of whom he ſo continually complained for their lethargic propenſities. The experiment turn⯑ed out ſucceſsful; and, it is ſaid, it was owing to this circumſtance, that the uſe of this Ara⯑bian berry came to be ſo univerſal.

A caſual circumſtance diſcovered that ex⯑cellent febrifuge, the JESUIT'S BARK. An Indian, in a delirious fever, having been left by his companions by the ſide of a river, as in⯑curable, to quench his burning thirſt, he na⯑turally drank copious draughts of the water, which, having long imbibed the virtues of the bark, which abundantly floated on the ſtream, it quickly diſperſed the fever of the Indian. He returned to his friends; and, having ex⯑plained [452] the nature of his remedy, the indiſ⯑poſed crouded about the margin of the holy ſtream, as they imagined it to be, till they per⯑fectly exhauſted all it's virtues. The Sages of the tribe, however, found at length in what conſiſted the efficacy of the ſtream. The Ame⯑ricans diſcovered it, in the year 1640, to the lady of the Vice-roy of Peru, who recovered by it's uſe from a dangerous fever. In 1649, the reputation of this remedy was ſpread about Spain, Italy, and Rome, by the Cardinal de Lugo and other Jeſuits. And thus, like the Antimony, it's name is ſignificant of it's origin.

BABYLON, THEBES, AND NINEVEH.

OF the ſituation of theſe three greateſt Cities in the Univerſe, of which Hiſtory pre⯑ſents us with ſo many wonderful accounts, we are ignorant: there does not remain the ſlight⯑eſt [453] veſtige. The hundred gates of Thebes; the Hanging Gardens, and innumerable ſtreets of Babylon; Nineveh, (to uſe the expreſſions of Scripture) 'that great City, in which were more than ſix ſcore thouſand perſons;' are all melted away 'like the baſeleſs fabric of a viſion.'

SOLOMON AND SHEBA.

I RECOLLECT a pretty Story, which, in the Talmud of Gemara, ſome Rabbin has at⯑tributed to Solomon.

The power of this Monarch had ſpread his wiſdom to the remoteſt parts of the known world. A private Scholar in general, paſſes his life in obſcurity; and Poſterity—a ſolitary conſolation—ſpreads his name to the moſt diſ⯑tant regions. But when a King is a Student, the caſe is reverſed. Queen Sheba, attracted by the ſplendour of his reputation, or, more [454] probably, urged by the inſatiable curioſity of the female, viſited this poetical King at his own court, with the ſole intention of aſking him queſtions. The Rabbin cannot inform me, if her examination of the Monarch was al⯑ways made in the chamber of audience; there is reaſon to ſuſpect that they frequently retired, for the ſolution of many a hard problem, to the philoſophic ſolitude of a private cabinet. But I do not intend by any means to make this work (as my Lord Lyttleton anſwered to a curious female concerning his Hiſtory) 'a vehicle for antiquated ſcandal.'

It is ſufficient, that the incident I now re⯑late paſſed as Solomon ſat ſurrounded by his court. At the foot of the throne ſtood the inquiſitive Sheba; in each hand, ſhe held a wreath of flowers; the one, compoſed of na⯑tural, the other, of artificial flowers. Art, in the labour of the mimic wreath, had exqui⯑ſitely emulated the lively hues, and the varie⯑gated beauties of Nature; ſo that, at the diſ⯑tance [455] it was held by the Queen for the inſpec⯑tion of the King, it was deemed impoſſible for him to decide—as her queſtion imported—which wreath was the natural, and which the artificial. The ſagacious Solomon ſeemed poſed; yet, to be vanquiſhed, though in a trifle by a trifling woman, irritated his pride. The ſon of David—he who had written treatiſes on the vegetable productions 'from the ce⯑dar to the hyſſop,' to acknowledge himſelf outwitted by a woman, with ſhreds of papers and glazed paintings! The honour of the Monarch's reputation for divine ſagacity ſeemed diminiſhed; and the whole Jewiſh court looked ſolemn and melancholy. At length, an expedient preſented itſelf to the King; and, it muſt be confeſſed, worthy of the Natural Philoſopher. Obſerving a cluſter of Bees hovering about a window, he commanded that it ſhould be opened: it was opened; the Bees ruſhed into Court, and alighted im⯑mediately on one of the wreaths, while not a [456] ſingle one fixed on the other. The deciſion was not then difficult; the learned Rabbins ſhook their beards in rapture, and the baffled Sheba had one more reaſon to be aſtoniſhed at the wiſdom of Solomon.

This would make a pretty poetical Tale. It would yield an elegant deſcription, and a pleaſ⯑ing moral; that the Bee only reſts on the na⯑tural beauties, and never fixes on the painted flowers, however inimitable the colours may be laid on. This, applied to the Ladies, would give it pungency.

POETS RECITING THEIR WORKS IN PUBLIC.

IT was anciently the cuſtom in Rome, when a Poet had compoſed a Poem, to rehearſe it before a public audience, that he might gather from them their ſentiments, and receive their ap⯑plauſe or their cenſure. Juvenal opens his Satires with a bitter preliminary concerning [457] this manner of recitation, which indeed muſt have been intolerable; when, like the endleſs Epic of Oreſtes, it foamed over the very mar⯑gins and covers.

Strabo tells us, that a Poet, one day, was reading in a public place to an audience, who liſtened to him with attention. During his re⯑citation, a bell rung; which was uſual when the market was going to be held. In the twinkling of the Poet's eye, he beheld himſelf deſerted by all his auditors, except one perſon; who, being very deaf, had not heard the bell. The Poet, imagining him to be a man who poſſeſſed a correct taſte, and for this reaſon remained there to hear the laſt verſe of his Poem, began to compliment him highly. 'I cannot but be ſenſible,' exclaimed the Poet, 'to your judicious manner of treating me. While the others have flown off at the firſt ringing of the market-bell, you remain—fa⯑vourite of Apollo!—to the concluſion of my Poem.'—'What!' interrupted the other haſtily, [458] 'have they rung the bell for the market? And have I been loſing all this time in liſten⯑ing to verſes? Adieu! adieu!' And went to rejoin the reſt of the Poet's auditors in the market-place.

HOW THE BELLS OF THE CHURCH STEEPLE ADVISE ABOUT MARRIAGE.

THE ſtory which Rabelais ſo pleaſantly has given, in the ſeventh chapter of his third book, and the anſwer of Pantagruel to Panurge con⯑cerning his intention of marrying, Menage obſerves, is copied from a Latin Sermon on Widowhood, by a Monk of Cluny. The ori⯑ginal paſſage has ſufficient humour to induce me to tranſcribe it—

A certain widow, who felt a very ſtrong in⯑clination towards the holy bond of matrimony, thought it moſt decent to take the advice of the Curate of her pariſh, who paſſed for what is called a very good-natured ſoul, becauſe he [459] was diſpoſed to let every one act as they thought proper. 'I am,' ſaid ſhe, 'a poor unhappy woman, who has loſt the beſt huſband in the world. My apprentice knows all the ways of his old maſter. I have often thought I ſhould do well to marry this young man; but I wiſh to take your advice.' The Curate immediately anſwered, that ſhe had then better take him. 'Ah! but I have my fears,' re⯑joined the widow: 'when a ſervant becomes a maſter, it is dangerous.' The Curate ap⯑proved of this ſentiment, and adviſed her not to marry him. 'But what ſhall I do?' ex⯑claimed the widow: 'I cannot proceed in the buſineſs my late huſband left, unleſs I find another.'—'True,' the Curate replied; 'you will then do well to marry him.'—'Very well,' ſhe anſwered: 'but, if he happens to turn out bad, he may ruin me!'—'Very juſt,' replied the Curate; 'you muſt not marry him then.' It was in vain: the good-natured Eccleſiaſtic, to get rid of her importunities, always agreed [460] with her ſentiments. He obſerved her incli⯑nations for the apprentice; and, at length, he found this expedient to terminate her objec⯑tions. 'Go, Madam, and take advice of the Bells of the Steeple: when they ring, they will tell you what you ſhould do.' When the bells rung, the widow attentively liſtened; and, according to her wiſhes, ſhe heard diſtinctly, 'Prens ton valet, prens ton valet!' Upon theſe ſtrong arguments, in favour of the young man, ſhe married him. Scarce had the honey⯑moon cloſed, when ſhe received very cruel treatment from her late apprentice; and ſhe who was miſtreſs, now became a ſervant. She went to complain to the good-natured Curate of the advice he gave her; curſing the apocry⯑phal Bells of the Church, and her fond cre⯑dulity. He told her, that ſhe had miſunder⯑ſtood the Bells—'Obſerve them next time.' The widow again liſtened; and very clearly diſtinguiſhed the ſounds of 'Ne le prens pas, ne le prens pas!' For the blows and the cruel [461] treatment which ſhe had received had diſſi⯑pated her paſſion; and the truth is, that all the advice of the Bells conſiſted in her own inclinations. Agreeably to our old Engliſh couplet—

THE THREE RACANS.

THE preſent anecdote, to it's merit as an hu⯑morous deception, may add that of being a fact.

When Mademoiſelle De Gournay arrived at Paris, ſhe deſired to ſee the Marquis of Racan, an eminent wit and poet. Two of Racan's friends knew the time they had appointed for his waiting on her; and they reſolved to be revenged on Racan for many a ridiculous ſitu⯑ation to which he had expoſed them. One of theſe gentlemen, about two hours before the time appointed, waited on Mademoiſelle De Gournay, and announced himſelf as Racan. He endeavoured to talk with the lady about [462] her own works, which he had purpoſely turned over the night before; and, though he did not perfectly ſatisfy Mademoiſelle De Gournay in point of his abilities, beſides committing ſome groſs blunders, ſhe could not, however, but think the Marquis was a very polite gentle⯑man. He had ſcarce parted from her, when another Marquis De Racan was announced. She naturally ſuppoſed that it was the firſt, who had forgotten to ſay ſomething to her, and returned for this purpoſe; when, to her great ſurprize, another ſtranger entered. She could not help queſtioning him repeatedly if he was the real Marquis De Racan; and in⯑formed him of what had juſt paſſed. The pre⯑tended Racan appeared very much hurt; and declared, that he would be revenged of the inſult the ſtranger had mutually offered them. But, to cut the matter ſhort, Mademoiſelle De Gournay ſoftened the choleric man; and was infinitely pleaſed with the ſecond Marquis De Racan, who exceeded the firſt in every reſpect. [463] Scarce had this ſecond counterfeit Racan iſſued, when the real Racan was announced! This began to exerciſe the patience of Mademoiſelle De Gournay. 'What, more Racans in one morning!' ſhe exclaimed. However, ſhe re⯑ſolved to ſee the third. As ſoon as he entered, ſhe raiſed her voice, and aſked him if he meant to inſult her? Racan, who, at the beſt, was but an indifferent ſpeaker, remained ſilent with aſtoniſhment. He muttered ſomething; and Mademoiſelle de Gournay, who was naturally violent and iraſcible, imagined that he was ſent to impoſe upon her. She pulled off her ſlip⯑per, and fell upon the real and unfortunate Racan with the rage of an irritated virago, and made him gladly retreat from a viſit where he had expected to meet with a very different re⯑ception.

THE EXCELLENT PREACHER.

A YOUNG Preacher, who had a very hand⯑ſome mien, a melodious voice, a graceful ac⯑tion, and all the other agreeable charms which pleaſe in declamation, having mounted the pulpit, ſuddenly loſt his memory, and not a word of the ſermon could he recollect. To quit the pulpit would have been diſhonourable; to ſpeak was more difficult, for he had no⯑thing to ſay. What was to be done in this extremity? He reſolved to remain collected, and to make the beſt uſe of his voice and action, without pronouncing any thing but uncon⯑nected words, imperfect ſentences, and pathetic exclamations: ſuch as fors, buts, ifs, yets, ohs! ahs! you'll pleaſe to obſerve, &c. Never did a Preacher appear with more grace and animation. He expanded his lungs, he made pathetic exclamations, and waved his hand in [465] a thouſand graceful manners. The pulpit ſhook; and the vault of the church, which was vaſt, re-echoed to all the vociferations he ſent forth. The audience preſerved a profound ſilence: every one inclined his ear, and re⯑doubled his attention to catch ſentences which were never ſpoken. Thoſe who ſat near the pulpit, ſaid—'We are too near; we cannot hear a ſentence!' Thoſe who ſat remote, com⯑plained of the diſtance, which cauſed them to loſe the moſt wonderful ſermon they ever heard. In a word, our Preacher kept his audi⯑tors in this manner for three quarters of an hour, all of them complaining of their ſeats. When he withdrew, their acclamations fol⯑lowed him; and they reſolved, the next time he preached, to chuſe their places with more care, and not to deprive themſelves of the fruits of a ſermon which they were ſenſible was never equalled.

This anecdote will ſhew, that a Preacher may ſucceed without reaſon or imagination; [466] and, if we judge by ſome who enjoy a good reputation, it will tend to prove that a muſical voice, balancing the hands, and uttering warm exclamations, are the chief requiſites for a declaimer in the pulpit.

THE VENETIAN HORSEMAN.

A HORSE in Venice, or a tree in Scotland, I think Johnſon obſerved, were ſingularities. A Venetian, who was more accuſtomed to a Gondola than to a Horſe, being for the firſt time mounted; and, as it not infrequently happens to young riders, having the misfor⯑tune to be furniſhed with one that was reſtiff, could not poſſibly make his nag advance a ſingle ſtep. Unable to account for the ani⯑mal's retrograde activity, he at length took out his handkerchief; and, holding it in the air, he exclaimed, in a tone of exultation—'Ah, poor horſe! no wonder thou couldſt not get forward, per che il vento è contrario; for the wind, I ſee, is contrary.'

THE PORRIDGE-POT OF THE CORDELIERS.

THERE are few at Paris who know why they ſpeak ſo much concerning the great Por⯑ridge-Pot of the Cordeliers of the great Con⯑vent. It is, in fact, a ſingular piece: it can contain from five to ſix hundred pounds of meat, and near two tuns of water; ſo that it is no trifling occupation with thoſe good Fathers to make a ſoup. This deep Pot, broad and high in proportion to it's depth, does not admit of any thing being put in or drawn out with⯑out aſcending a ladder. A gluttonous Cor⯑delier always took the opportunity, when the cooks were gone to church, to repair there, and ſteal ſome delicious bit from this enormous Pot. He drew it up with an iron fork, and conveyed it to his cell, to regale himſelf, with two or three others of his comrades who had the ſecret of conveying wine from the cellar.

[468] This Monk having one day mounted the ladder, to draw, as uſual, ſome delicate morſel from the Pot, which then happened to be not more than two-thirds full, he was obliged to ſtretch himſelf to an unuſual degree; and the fork, by the ponderous weight of the piece he had greedily ſtuck it into, ſlipped from his hands. He did his beſt to extricate it; but, overturned by his own weight and eagerneſs, he tumbled into the Pot, and was ſoon ſuffo⯑cated, without any power of aſſiſtance, in the boiling lake of broth. A few hours after⯑wards, the cooks came to ſerve the refectory. All the broth was emptied, the baſons were filled, and brought to their uſual places for the uſe of the religioniſts. They then returned, to bring the meat from the Pot; but how great was their ſurprize, when, on aſcending the ladder, the firſt piece that preſented itſelf was the unfortunate Cordelier, quite entire! With great labour they hauled him out. The Prior, who was privately informed of this ſingular [469] incident, thought proper to have him conveyed to his bed. They then gave out that he died ſuddenly: the world for ſome time believed it; but the cooks could not keep the ſecret:

GREAT PAINTERS.

I IMAGINE, that when our Coſways viſit each other, if it happens that their friend is not at home, they are incapable, by the perfection of their art, to leave any peculiar beauties behind them, of which a Connoiſſeur could ſay—'Certainly Coſway has been here to-day; for who but Coſway could expreſs this line, or in⯑fuſe this grace!'

The ancient Apelles, on a viſit to a brother Artiſt, acted in this manner—He went pur⯑poſely to Rhodes to ſee Protogenes. When he arrived at the Painter's houſe, he found him abſent; but, obſerving on his eaſel an unfiniſh⯑ed picture, he ſnatched a bruſh, and drew a line exquiſitely delicate. When the ſlave [470] aſked him to leave his name, he anſwered—'Your maſter will know who I am when he ſees his picture.' The ſlave, on his maſter's return, informed him of what had paſſed. Protogenes, examining the line, exclaimed—'This muſt be by the hand of Apelles! he is certainly at Rhodes!' He took up the bruſh, and drew another line ſtill more delicate than the former; and inſtructed the ſlave, when the ſtranger ſhould return, only to ſhew him that line. Apelles returned; and, bluſh⯑ing, he beheld himſelf ſurpaſſed! But what did he do? He took the bruſh, and divided the line of Protogenes into two parts by a third, which it was impoſſible a fourth could divide. Protogenes, when he examined it, exclaimed—'Now do I know, for certain, that Apelles is at Rhodes!' He went to the ſhip; and, ac⯑knowledging himſelf vanquiſhed, led his be⯑loved friend and rival to his houſe.

Raphael painted a Man who was in a high fever with ſo much ſkill, and ſo perfect a re⯑ſemblance, [471] that a Phyſician, who never paſſed for a Connoiſſeur, at the firſt ſight of the por⯑trait, declared that the original muſt have been in a dangerous fever.

FRENCH AND SPANIARDS.

A LITTLE work, publiſhed after that fa⯑mous intermarriage which overcame the enmity of the two Courts of France and Spain, though it could not that of the two nations, preſents us with a humorous contraſt of their manners, diſpoſitions, habits, &c.

' A Frenchman,' ſays our Author, 'enter⯑ing his friend's houſe, will immediately aſk for ſome refreſhment: a Spaniard would rather periſh with hunger or thirſt. A Frenchman ſalutes a lady by kiſſing her: a Spaniard, on preſenting a lady his hand, will cover it with his cloak, and retreat back ſeveral paces to bow to her at a hundred ſteps diſtant.

[472] ' I have often been tempted,' ſays the Au⯑thor, who was a Spaniard, 'to aſk the mid⯑wives if it was poſſible that a French child could be brought into the world in the ſame manner as a Spaniſh infant—ſo diſſimilar they prove from their birth!

' The French have a lively apprehenſion, hating idleneſs, and reducing their knowledge into practical uſe; but they do not penetrate deeply into any matter. The Spaniard, on the contrary, is fond of abſtract and abſtruſe ſpe⯑culation, and dwells continually on an object. The French are afraid of believing too much; the other, of believing too little. The former will diſpatch the weightieſt buſineſs in the midſt of noiſe and tumult, amidſt the levity of aſ⯑ſemblies, or gaieties of the table; whilſt the grave Spaniard cannot bear the buzzing of a fly to diſturb his fixed attention. In love, the one are light and talkative; the other, conſtant and ſecret. The Spaniard will diſguiſe his po⯑verty under a thouſand pretences, and invent [473] as many fictions to perſuade you his appearance is owing to the neceſſity of concealing his per⯑ſon; whilſt the Frenchman will preſs his wants upon you with the moſt perſevering impor⯑tunity. In every minutia, this difference is traced; both at the toilette and table: in mixing wine, the Spaniard puts the water firſt in the glaſs; whilſt the Frenchman puts the wine firſt. A troop of Frenchmen will walk abreaſt in the ſtreet with abundance of tattle; whilſt the Spaniards will walk with meaſured gravity, in a defile, like a pro⯑ceſſion. A Frenchman, diſcovering a perſon at a diſtance, beckons with an uplifted hand, drawn towards his face: the Spaniard bends his hands downwards, and moves it towards his feet.'

This contraſt of humours and manners he ſeems inclined to attribute to the difference of climate: in the one country, ſettled and con⯑ſtant; in the other, ever varying, as the ge⯑nius of it's inhabitants.

ANIMALS IMITATE LANGUAGE AND ACTION.

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE, in his Memoirs, relates a ſtory concerning an old Parrot, be⯑longing to the Prince Maurice, that readily anſwered to ſeveral queſtions promiſcuouſly put to it. However ſingular the fact may ap⯑pear, he aſſures us it was told him as ſuch by the Prince himſelf.

Scaliger tells us, that he ſaw a Crow, in the French King's court, that was taught to fly at Partridges, or any other fowl, from the fal⯑coner's hand.

Cardinal Aſſanio had a Parrot that was taught to repeat the Apoſtles Creed, verbatim, in Latin; and in the court of Spain there was one that could ſing the Gamut perfectly.

In the Roman Hiſtory an anecdote is re⯑corded, the truth of which we have no reaſon [475] to doubt. When the ſovereignty of the world was depending between Caeſar and Antony, a poor man at Rome bred up two Crows; and taught them to pronounce, in their prattling language, a ſalutation to the Emperor: and, that he might be provided againſt all events, one of them ſaluted Caeſar, and the other An⯑tony. When Auguſtus was returning as the conqueror, this man, with the Crow on his hand, met him; and it was an ingenious and agreeable flattery, to which Auguſtus was not inſenſible, to be ſaluted by a Crow with the acclamations of victory. He rewarded the novel adulator munificently. The neighbour of the man, however, having in vain eſſayed to teach the ſame language to two Crows he had deſtined for this purpoſe, ſtung with envy at his happier fate, revealed to Auguſtus that this man had another Crow at his houſe, which he had intended to have ſaluted Antony, had Fortune favoured his party. This mali⯑cious [476] intelligence intercepted the bounty of Auguſtus.

Perhaps, nothing appears more wonderful than the ſight of an unwieldy Elephant danc⯑ing. The manner of teaching this grave ani⯑mal ſo ludicrous an action is thus cruelly prac⯑tiſed—They bring a young Elephant upon an iron floor heated underneath; and play on a muſical inſtrument, while he lifts up his legs, and ſhifts his feet about, by reaſon of the torture of the heat. This, frequently repeated, occaſions him to dance at the leaſt ſound of muſic.

But let us not ſuppoſe, that animals that thus imitate the actions and language of Ra⯑tional Creatures, poſſeſs, therefore, in ſome de⯑gree, rationality and mental intelligence: for when an Elephant, for inſtance, dances to muſic, it is not from any principles of reaſon, but from the concatenation of the two ideas of heat and muſic, to which cuſtom has habituated him. So a Parrot may anſwer any queſtion it is accuſtomed to hear; but this action needs [477] not the aid of reaſon, ſince it may be effected by an habitual idea of things. Even the in⯑ferior ranks of animals receive their ideas by the ſenſes. Such and ſuch ſounds often re⯑peated, and ſuch and ſuch actions immediately preceding or immediately following thoſe ſounds, muſt neceſſarily form a complex idea both of the ſound and action; ſo that, when either ſuch action or ſuch ſound is repeated, an idea of the other muſt neceſſarily attend it. Thus Dogs are taught to fetch and carry; and Parrots ſpeak more words than one together. Theſe words, Poor Poll! for inſtance, being often repeated together, if one be mentioned, and the other left, there muſt neceſſarily be an idea of the other ſound, becauſe cuſtom and habit link them together. As two words are taught, ſo may three; and, if three, why not many? It is thus, by a complex idea, the Ele⯑phant dances; for, when he hears muſic, the idea of the heated floor occaſions him to dance.

[478] The arguments here alledged for the power which ſome animals ſhew in imitating our ſpeech and actions, are chiefly drawn from an old Athenian Mercury.

ATTIC PLEASANTRIES.

THE Biſhop of Belley was a great Wit, and very happy in extemporaneous effuſions; but his wit bears too frequently the alloy of puns and clenches. The following are neat—

' Après leur mort, les Papes deviennent des Papillons; les Sires des Cirons, et les Rois des Roitelets.'

For the ſatisfaction of thoſe who are pleaſed with clenches, I tranſcribe the following con⯑nected and ingenious ones—

' Le Maire d'une petite ville ſituée ſur le bord du Rhône fit ce compliment a un General des Armées du Roi en Piémont.

' Monſeigneur, tandis que Louis le Grand fait aller l'Empire de mal en pire, damner le [479] Dannemarc, ſuer le Suede; tandis que ſon digne rejetton fait baver les Bavarois, rend les troupes de Zelle, ſans zèle, et fait des eſſais aux Heſſois; tandis que Luxembourg fait fleurir la France a Fleurus, met en flamme les Flamands, lie les Liegois, et fait danſer la Caſtanaga ſans caſ⯑tagnettes; tandis que le Turc hongre les Hon⯑grois, fait eſclaves les Eſclavons, et reduite en ſervitude la Servie; enfin, tandis que Catinat de⯑monte les Piémontois, que St. Ruth ſe rue ſur les Savoyards; vous, Monſeigneur, non content de faire ſentir la peſanteur de vos doigts aux Vaudois; vous, faites encore la barbe aux Bar⯑bets, ce que nous oblige d'etre avec un profond reſpect, &c.'

Stephen Dolet was a Poet, a Printer, and a Grammarian. He had given very liberal ſtric⯑tures on religious matters, for which he was impriſoned; and, not having kept his promiſe of turning a good Catholic, he was condemned to be burnt, as an Atheiſt, in Paris, on the third of Auguſt 1546. As he proceeded to the [480] place of execution, he obſerved the people commiſerate his fate; on which he made this verſe—

The Doctor who accompanied him anſwered—

Among the many puerile amuſements which Faſhion has frequently ſanctioned, there was one which merits to be diſtinguiſhed. It was the contrivance of arranging letters and words, apparently without ſignification, ſo as to form a perfect ſentence in the pronunciation. Among the moſt tolerable of theſe was the following one, choſen as the device of one who had thrown off the yoke of an unworthy miſtreſs—‘J, A, C, O, B, I, A, L:’ which letters, pronounced in the French lan⯑guage, have this compleat ſignification—

Something ſimilar has been lately given by [481] the ingenious Harry Erſkine, who inſcribed on his Tea-Cheſt the following Latin words—‘TU DOCES.’ Theſe, however inapplicable they may appear, when tranſlated into our vernacular tongue, run thus—‘THOU TEA-CHEST!’ The ſecond perſon ſingular of the verb docere making a very neat pun of the ſubſtantive Tea-Cheſt.

BARBIER's EPITAPH.

LOUIS BARBIER, a man of obſcure birth, roſe by the favour of the Duke of Orleans, whoſe Preceptor he was. He became Biſhop of Langres, and died in 1670, leaving one hundred crowns to him who ſhould compoſe his epitaph. This reward, it muſt be ſuppoſed, occaſioned a number of candidates. The fol⯑lowing lines, written on the occaſion, if they [482] did not prove ſucceſsful, have at leaſt the merit of ſincerity—

BACKER's PORTRAIT.

THE ſilly vanity of many Authors in placing their Portaits at the head of their works has not eſcaped indicule. It was, perhaps, never more ſeverely reproved than by the following Epigram, addreſſed to Becker, Author of 'The Enchanted World;' who, though frightfully ugly, has given the world his Portrait in that work—

NOAH AND SATURN.

THERE can be no doubt that Noah was the Pagan Saturn. Noah was a juſt man in his days: he endeavoured to enlighten the wicked race amongſt whom he lived by his counſels, and to inſtruct them by his example. Thus, according to Aurelius Victor, and Diodorus, Saturn ſoftened the wicked inclinations of men, and endeavoured to bring them back to their ancient purity of manners, by a civilized and regulated life.

Between the Deluge and the birth of Phaleg there was an interval of one hundred years; when, the world not being yet ſhared out, Noah had a natural right to be the Sovereign of his children. This is the Golden Age the Poets ſo much celebrate, where every thing was in common.

[484] Moſes calls Noah, Iſch—hadama— that is, the Man of the Earth—for Labourer.

The Mythologiſts, who accommodated their Fables to Hiſtory, obſerving that the Hebrew word bore two ſignifications, either Man or Huſband, ſay, that Rhea, or the Earth, was the wife of Saturn; and, as the Man of the Earth alſo relates to Agriculture, they at⯑tribute to Saturn the art of cultivating fields, vines, and meadows, repreſenting him with a ſcythe in his hands.

From the paſſage in Geneſis, where it is ſaid Noah was intoxicated with the liquor of the vines he had planted, they have ſaid alſo that Saturn preſided over Ebriety. Hence they called that day in the year in which the ma⯑ſters attended their ſlaves, The Saturnalian Feaſt.

Plato ſays, in his Timaeus, that Saturn, Rhea, and their family, were born of the Ocean and Thetis; which correſponds with Noah and his family coming from the waters of the Deluge.

[485] Saturn had, for ſucceſſors, his three children, Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto; and Noah ſhared out the earth to his three ſons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth. This laſt, who is Neptune, had for his portion all the iſles and peninſulas of the ſea.

Moſes ſays, that God conſecrated to him⯑ſelf a church in the family of Shem and, as he muſt have been the greateſt enemy of the Ido⯑laters, it is very probable that, hating him, they made him Pluto, who is the god of Hell and the Dead.

Cham, or Ham, had for his portion Africa, Arabia, and Egypt; which, after his name, was anciently called Chemie, where he was adored, during many ages, under the name of Jupiter Ham, Hammon, &c. And why the Pagans ſaid of Jupiter, that he cut thoſe parts of his father Saturn which it is not allowed to name, comes from this paſſage of the ninth chapter of Geneſis being miſunderſtood—Quod cum videret Cham pater Canaan, verenda patris ſui eſſe nudata, nunnavit. This laſt word is, in [486] the Hebrew, vajagged; and, perhaps, the vowel points not being marked, occaſioned them to read vejagod, which ſignifies cut.

The whole of this article, which diſplays much ingenious erudition, is drawn from the Chevraeana, Vol. I. p. 91.

METEMPSICHOSIS.

IF we ſeek for the origin of the opinion of the Metempſichoſis, or the Tranſmigration of Souls into other bodies, we muſt plunge into the remoteſt antiquity; and even then we ſhall find it impoſſible to fix the epoch of it's firſt author. We know that the notion was long extant in Greece before the time of Pythagoras. Herodotus aſſures us, that the Egyptian Prieſts taught it; but he does not inform us about the time it began to be ſpread. It is very pro⯑bable it followed the opinion of the Immor⯑tality of the Soul. As ſoon as the firſt Philo⯑ſophers [487] had eſtabliſhed this dogma, they thought they could not maintain this immor⯑tality without a tranſmigration of ſouls. The opinion of the Metempſichoſis ſpread in al⯑moſt every region of the earth; and it con⯑tinues, even to the preſent time, in all it's force amongſt thoſe nations who have not yet embraced Chriſtianity. The people of Ar⯑racan, Pegu, Siam, Camboya, Tonquin, Co⯑chin-china, Japan, Java, and Ceylon, are ſtill in that error, which alſo forms the chief article of the Chineſe religion.

THE MOTHER TONGUES.

SCALIGER obſerves, there are four Mother, or radical Tongues, in Europe. Theos, the Greek; Deus, the Latin, the French, the Ita⯑lian, and the Spaniſh. Got, the Daniſh, the Engliſh, the German, the Dutch, and the [488] Flemiſh. Goii, the Sclavonian. There are ſix leſſer or inferior Languages, independent of the above four. The Baſk, the low Breton, the Hungarian, the Iriſh, the Swediſh, and the Tartarian. The Welch Language muſt alſo be diſtinguiſhed; though it bears ſo great an affinity to the low Breton, that it is ſaid, theſe nations underſtand each other with little difficulty. The Iriſh and the Danes once ſpoke the ſame Language. The Baſk is the ancient Spaniſh, as the Cantabrians ſpoke it in the time of the Romans.

THE LATIN TONGUE.

THE fate of the Latin Tongue may be di⯑vided into ſix Ages. The Barbarous and Un⯑cultivated Age; the Middle Age; the Golden, the Silver, the Braſs, and the Iron Ages.

The Barbarous Age laſted from four to five hundred years; from Romulus, in whoſe reign [489] more Greek than Latin was ſpoken, till Li⯑vius Andronicus, the firſt who cauſed Plays to be acted at Rome.

The Middle Age extends itſelf from An⯑dronicus till the days of Cicero. During this interval of time, many Authors began to write the Latin Language. The moſt diſtinguiſhed are, Ennius, Naevius, Plautus, Terence, and Lucretius. The Poem of the laſt writer does ſo much honour to this Age, that we muſt candidly acknowledge, it would not be unwor⯑thy, even of the Golden Age of pure Latinity, were it ſomewhat leſs obſcure.

The Golden Age of the Latin Language be⯑gan in the reign of Circero, and finiſhed with the reign of Auguſtus; ſo that, without a metaphor, it is but an Age. Then flouriſh⯑ed Varro, Cicero, Julius Caeſar, Cornelius Nepos, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Severus Albi⯑novanus, Salluſt, and others; a part of whoſe works have happily eſcaped the ravages of Time.

[490] The Silver Age, which commences at the death of Auguſtus, and terminates with An⯑tonine the Pious, was very fruitful in excel⯑lent compoſitions; but it's Language began to loſe ſomewhat of it's richneſs and it's purity, in ſpite of the indefatigable Quintilian, who vainly attempted to revive the Golden Age. Seneca, whoſe ſtyle is one continued affecta⯑tion, who is for ever on the ſtretch to catch points, antitheſis, and other trivial ſports of the mind, enervates manly ſentiment, and ſhocks a correct taſte. It was him who cor⯑rupted the Latin Language.

The Age of Braſs commences from the reign of Antonine, and reaches till Honorius, under whoſe reign the invaſions of the Barbarians took place. Beſides profane Authors, who abound in this Age, it produced Tertullian, Arnobius, Lactantius, Cyprian, Saint Hilary, Prudentius, Ambroſe, Jerome, Auguſtin, Da⯑maſes, and Sulpicius Severus.

The irruptions of the Barbarians occaſion⯑ed [491] an Age of Iron to the Latin Language. Who has not heard declamations againſt the Goths and Vandals? This dreadful epoch laſted from ſix to ſeven Ages. During this time, ſome Authors, however, aroſe, who have done honour to the Latin Tongue; but it muſt be recollected, that the ignorance of theſe times was ſo deplorable, that our great Alfred com⯑plains, that in England it was difficult to find a Prieſt who could read; and the Hiſtorian of Univerſal Hiſtory muſt record, that the know⯑ledge of the Eccleſiaſtics conſiſted only in ſome very barbarous Latin.

Aldenſis Manutius compoſed the firſt Latin Grammar. It was printed at Paris in 1500. The Method of the Port Royal is the firſt which freed itſelf from the bondage of preſcribing rules in Latin, to learn the Latin Language.

The Latin Language is ranked amongſt thoſe they call dead, becauſe they are no more the Languages the vulgar of any nation ſpeak; and, being regulated by the ancient Authors, [492] cuſtom can no more tyrannize over them. But it may be ſaid, in a figurative ſenſe, that they are living ones, by the conſtant uſe the Learned make of them; and it may not be im⯑proper to call them the Languages of the Land of Science.

THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

I HAVE extracted from two Authors of a diſtant interval of time—ſince one is honeſt Peter Heylin, who wrote in the days of our firſt Charles; and the other, Mr. Sheridan, whoſe Lectures are well known—the preſent article concerning that Language, which it be⯑comes us not ſo much to enlarge as to pre⯑ſerve.

Peter Heylin thus obſerves in his Coſmo⯑graphy—'The Engliſh Language is a de⯑compound of Dutch, French, and Latin, which I conceive rather to add to it's perfec⯑tion, [493] than to detract any thing from the worth thereof, ſince out of every Language we have culled the moſt ſignificant words, and equally participate in that which is excellent in them: their imperfections being rejected; for it is neither ſo boiſterous as the Dutch, nor ſo ef⯑feminate as the French, yet as ſignificant as the Latin; and, in the happy conjunction of two words into one, little inferior of the Greek.'

Mr. Sheridan thus ingeniouſly has written on the ſame topic—'Upon a fair compariſon, it will appear that the French have emaſculated their Tongue, by rejecting ſuch numbers of their conſonants; and made it reſemble one of their painted Courtezans, adorned with frip⯑peries and fallals. That the German, by a⯑bounding too much in harſh Conſonants and Gutturals, has great ſize and ſtrength, like the ſtatue of Hercules Farneſe, but no grace. That the Roman, like the buſt of Antinous, is beau⯑tiful indeed, but not manly. That the Italian has beauty, grace, and ſymmetry, like the Ve⯑nus [494] of Medicis, but is feminine; and that the Engliſh alone reſembles the ancient Greek, in uniting the three powers, of ſtrength, beauty, and grace, like the Apollo of Belvedere.'

I contemplate with great pleaſure the claſ⯑ſical ſtatue which is here offered to the imagi⯑nation. When I recollect the ſweetneſs of Addiſon, the ſtrength of Johnſon, and the grace of Melmoth, I riſe into enthuſiaſm, and exult in the conviction that the Engliſh is the moſt per⯑fect of the European Languages. The em⯑barraſſed periods of Hooker, Raleigh, and Clarendon, will no more languiſh on the ear. We have poliſhed the ſolid marble of our anceſtors. With ſtrength, to which we have no pretenſions, they have extracted it from the quarry; but we are the artificers who, with the dexterous uſe of the file, can ſmooth their aſperities, can arrange into elegance, and can heighten into luſtre. No more ſhall ſome fu⯑ture Waller ſing, that he who employs the Engliſh Language, writes his verſes on ſand; [495] and that, to endure to poſterity, he muſt carve in the marble of Latin and Greek.

The Golden Age of the Engliſh Language, however, ſeems approaching to it's firſt ſtate. Nothing contributes ſo much to corrupt it's purity as an inundation of Frech tranſlations, rather than tranſlations from the French. The avarice of ſome, and the hunger of others, are continually pouring on us whole volumes, diſ⯑figured with Galliciſms; and, not infrequently, whole ſentences in French are aukwardly in⯑troduced as improvements, doubtleſs, to ſup⯑ply the deficiences of Engliſh Language, or rather thoſe of the Tranſlator.

Yet, it muſt be confeſſed, there are ſome few French words which, with great felicity, ex⯑preſs a ſenſe of which we have no exact or parallel expreſſions. We may, indeed, make uſe of phraſes which may ſerve tolerably well to explain our meaning; but the delicacy of expreſſion ſeems to be loſt.

The ingenious Vigneul Marville has ven⯑tured [496] to cenſure our Language. Perhaps, he was no competent judge of it's demerits; at leaſt, his criticiſm is too often more ſprightly than ſound. But we muſt confeſs, that it is now a century ſince he flouriſhed; and, if we reflect on the ſtate of our Language in his day, it will not be found totally unjuſt.

' The ſtyle of the Engliſh writers is long and embarraſſed, very difficult to tranſlate into Latin, into French, or into Italian. We muſt recollect this when we read the works of the Engliſh Authors in their own language with an intention to tranſlate them. Perhaps, the Engliſh would bear better to be tranſlated into Spaniſh than into French, as the French is more happily rendered into Greek than into Latin. The Italian will find no language which, without injuring it's delicacies and it's dimi⯑nutives, can afford a verſion. The German Language is well enough adapted to the Latin.'

[297] The reader may be pleaſed, probably, to hear an ingenious Frenchman writing on our language, thus expreſs himſelf—

' He who loves the ſciences, ſhould not ne⯑glect the Engliſh Language. If he would be⯑come acquainted with thoſe excellent pro⯑ductions which breathe the warmeſt ſpirit of liberty, let him give his ſtudies to this Lan⯑guage. Sir Richard Steele, ſo celebrated for his other compoſitions, has given us a good Grammar, accompanied with excellent Notes. The Grammar of Dr. Wallis is only proper for thoſe who are converſant with the Latin.'

Perhaps, the above-mentioned Grammar is quite forgotten. I have in my poſſeſſion 'A Grammar of the Engliſh Tongue, with Notes, giving the Grounds and Reaſon of Grammer in general,' printed for John Brightland, 1711.' To which is prefixed, 'The Approbation of Iſaac Bickerſtaff, Eſq' who, I ſuppoſe, is Sir Richard Steele, dreſſed out in maſquerade. He ſays, 'that this Grammer of the Engliſh [498] Tongue has done that juſtice to our Language which, till now, it never obtained. The Text will improve the moſt ignorant, and the Notes employ the moſt learned. I therefore enjoin all my female correſpondents to buy, read, and ſtudy, this Grammar, that their letters may be ſomething leſs enigmatic, &c.' It is dedicated to Queen Anne. The Notes are copious, and by no means trifling; they are not unworthy of accompanying Lowth's Grammar.

THE DUTCH AND GERMAN LANGUAGES.

THE knowledge of theſe two Languages is more uſeful to travellers and merchants than to men of letters. Theſe two Languages are diſagreeable in their words and their pronunci⯑ation; nor is their manner of expreſſion clear. Neither the Dutch or the Germans make uſe of that eaſy phraſeology which ſimply follows the connexion of our ideas, which joins na⯑turally word with word, according to their [499] different ſignification: they imitate rather the figurative turn of the Latin, in thoſe inver⯑ſions of phraſe which hold the mind in ſu⯑ſpence till the cloſe of the ſentence. They bear ſo ſtrong an affinity to each other, that it is eaſy for one, who is converſant with either, to know the other. The Dutch is hardly any thing elſe than the old German. The ſound of the German Language is more full and more agreeable than the Dutch.

THE ETYMONS OF MUMMIES, AND VOLUME.

SCALIGER remarks, that they have called Mummies the bodies of the Egyptians, becauſe they embalmed them with a perfume which they called Amomum.

We call a Book, frequently, a Volume. The derivation of this word is from the Latin, volvere—to roll; becauſe the letters and the works of the Ancients were written on very long leaves, when the matter required it; and [500] when they cloſed them, they were made up into rolls or Volumes.

CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH, THE SPA⯑NISH, AND THE ITALIAN LANGUAGES.

THERE is this difference between theſe three Languages. The Italian owes much of it's merit and it's ſoftneſs to it's peculiar turn of phraſe, and the manner in which it employs it's diminutives: thus it expreſſes, with great felicity, the ſentiments of Love. The Spaniſh draws all it nobleneſs, and it's pomp, from gigantic expreſſions and hyperboles, of which no other Language will admit. The French appears to hold a middle rank between theſe two Languages: it can expreſs with ſtrength and vivacity the Language of Reaſon, by repreſenting things as they are; it is thus well calculated for the compoſitions of Hiſtory, Controverſy, Theology, and Philoſophy. It ſeems, however, to be very unfortunate in [501] it's Poetical productions: the French are hard⯑ly aware of it themſelves; but there is no cor⯑rect ear that has been accuſtomed to Engliſh verſification, that can bear with any degree of patience it's tireſome monotony. A French Poet, who was as great an admirer of Latin verſes as of wine, compares French verſifica⯑tion to the drinking of water. It's ſatiric verſe, however, has the preference.

The Italian, of all the European Langua⯑ges, after the French, is the moſt general in uſe. The facility with which it is acquired, is one great cauſe of it's univerſality. Yet it muſt be remarked, that if it is attained in ſome tolerable degree with ſo much eaſe, it is, in⯑deed, diffcult to grow converſant with all it's delicacies, or to write or ſpeak it to perfec⯑tion. Thoſe who wiſh to be informed of the beſt Authors who have written in this language, ſhould conſult the 'Reggionamento d'ella Eloquenza Italiana,' of the Abbé Fonta⯑nini, corrected and illuſtrated by the Notes of [502] Apoſtolo Zeno, printed in two volumes, quarto, at Venice, 1753. A work, that bears for it's title—'The Italian Library, containing an Ac⯑count of the Lives and Works of the moſt valuable Authors of Italy, by Giuſeppe Baretti,' printed for Millar, 1757—is very uſeful for one who wiſhes to recognize the numerous Atuhors who have written in this polite Language, at leaſt by their names. The criticiſms are amu⯑ſive and bold, in the manner of Baretti; whoſe pages, it muſt be confeſſed, whatever might be his errors as a man, or as an author, ſeldom were found to weary the reader.

LANGUAGE.

' There is not,' obſerves a ſpirited French writer, 'any Language which may be deemed compleat; any that can expreſs all our ideas, and all our ſenſations; their ſhades are imper⯑ceptible, and too numerous. No one can pre⯑ciſely [503] reveal the degree of ſenſation which he feels. We are conſtrained, for inſtance, to de⯑ſcribe, under the general name of Love and Hate, all their variety of paſſion. It is thus, alſo, of our Griefs and Pleaſures; ſo that all Languages but imperfectly expreſs the ſenſa⯑tions of man.'

THE LIVING LANGUAGE.

THERE is no Living Language in Europe which is older than five hundred years. If we hope for immortality, we muſt write in Latin.

Chaucer, Gower, Lydgate, and an infinite number of excellent writers, have fallen mar⯑tyrs to their patriotiſm by writing in their mo⯑ther tongue. Spenſer is not always intelli⯑gible without a gloſſary; and when Shake⯑ſpeare's Rape of Lucrece was republiſhed, a few years after his death, his Editor thought proper [504] to explain certain expreſſions which had then become obſolete.

' The Living Languages,' ſays Menage, 'are more difficult to acquire than the Dead.' It is now fifty years I have laboured on my own; and I muſt confeſs I am far from hav⯑ing attained perfection. To know and to write excellently our mother tongue, one muſt be acquainted with the ancient languages, even more than with the modern. The greater part of languages are cloſely connected by one chain. The Diſſertation of Pere Beſnier, a Jeſuit, on this ſubject, is very curious. He formed a project for the re-union of Lan⯑guages, or the art of learning them all by a ſingle one. This plan may be ſeen in a little Book, printed at Liege, by Nicholas le Bara⯑goin, 1674.

' He ſhould have continued a project ſo pleaſing and ſo uſeful. His abilities were ade⯑quate to the taſk; but, unfortunately, he had not the leiſure to apply himſelf.'

[505] If this plan is valuable, which it appears to be by the account of two critical French wri⯑ters, who muſt be allowed able judges of this ſubject; let ſome Student, who burns with the ambition of rendering an important ſer⯑vice, not alone to his country, but to man⯑kind, eternize his name, by devoting his life to an undertaking which will place his me⯑mory—

AN ACCOUNT OF A CURIOUS PHILOLO⯑GICAL BOOK.

THE Volume I now notice, I have never been fortunate enough to meet with. It muſt be not only a ſingular curioſity, but an invaluable work, however imperfectly it may be compil⯑ed. I draw this account of it from the Ma⯑tanaſiana. It may ſerve for a curious Cata⯑logue of Languages.

[506] ' There is in French a thick Quarto vo⯑lume, containing 1030 pages, printed in 1613, which has for it's title—

' A Treaſury of the Hiſtory of the Languages of this Univerſe; containing the origin, beau⯑ties, perfections, declenſions, mutations, changes, converſions, and ruins of Languages.

• Hebrew,
• Cannanean,
• Samaritan,
• Chaldaic,
• Syriac,
• Egyptian,
• Punic,
• Arabic,
• Saracen,
• Turkiſh,
• Perſian,
• Tartarian,
• African,
• Moreſcan,
• Ethiopian,
• Nubian,
• Abyſſinian,
• Greek,
• Armenian,
• Servian,
• Sclavonian,
• Georgian,
• Jacobite,
• Copthic,
• Etrurian,
• Latin,
• Italian,
• Catalan,
• Spaniſh,
• German,
• Bohemian,
• Hungarian,
• Poloneſe,
• Pruſſian,
• Pomeranian,
• Lithualian,
• Walachian,
• Livonian,
• Ruſſian,
• Moſcovian,
• Gothic,
• Norman,
• Lingua Franca,
• Finconian,
• Lapponian,
• Bothnian,
• Biarmian,
• Engliſh,
• Eaſt Indian,
• Chineſe,
• Japaneſe,
• Javaneſe,
• Weſt Indian,
• New Guinea,
• Terra Nuova,
• and the Lan⯑guages of the Beaſts and Birds.

[507] The Author of this wonderful work was Mr. Claude Duret, Preſident à Moulins.

This work is not much enlightened by Cri⯑ticiſm, yet the peruſal is very amuſing. We are ſurprized at the prodigious number of Authors Duret quotes in every page. There are alſo added Alphabets of every kind of characters, and a variety of remarks, hiſtori⯑cal as well as literary.'

ARABIC.

' IT is aſtoniſhing,' exclaims Longuerue, 'through what an extent of countries the Ara⯑bic Language is ſpoken, from Bagdad to the Cape of Good Hope.

I find, in the Matanaſiana, page 171, the fol⯑lowing criticiſm on this Language. Beſides Poſ⯑tel, and other Maronites of Mount Libanus, who have worked upon the Arabic Grammar, Thomas Erpenius has compoſed it's Rudiments, which [508] appeared in 1620; and ſome time afterwards, a Grammar, by Jean Maire, printed at Leyden in 1636, to which are appended the Fables of Lockman. The Arabic Language is intelligent and energetic. It is full of graceful turns, and figurative expreſſions, which give it great elevation and ſtrength. It is harmonious; and it's good Authors increaſe it's natural har⯑mony by the care they take in their proſaic compoſitions, to vary their periods, and to in⯑troduce a cadence which has all the melody of verſe. The book the beſt written in this Language, is the Alcoran.

Cardinal Perron ſays, that the Arabic Lan⯑guage is not only very ſonorous; but, perhaps, the richeſt and the moſt fertile we know. It is alſo very uſeful for the explanations of many paſſages of Scripture.

THE HEBREW.

ALMOST all thoſe writers who have treated [509] on the Hebrew Language, would fain per⯑ſuade us, that it is the firſt that men have ſpoken: but—what is more impertinent in them—they have the aſſurance to inform us that it is the Language of God himſelf; nor is this opinion by any means novel, ſince Saint Gregory of Nyſſa has, even in his life-time, reprobated the idea, and calls it a folly, and a ridiculous vanity of the Jews; as if God him⯑ſelf, he ſays, had been a maſter of Grammar. La Motte le Vayer writes in his Letters, that the moſt partial partizans which ever the Hebrew has had, muſt confeſs, that excepting the inferior Languages, ſuch as the Baſk and the Breton, &c. there is not among the living or the dead Languages, any which do not preſent us with more valuable compoſitions than the Hebrew does, if we except the Old Teſtament. He adds, that he can well do without making uſe of a barbarous jargon that never repays us for the laceration which it oc⯑caſions [510] to our throats in pronouncing it's gut⯑tural letters.

The Hebrew Grammars which the Chriſ⯑tians have compoſed, are infinitely more perfect than thoſe of the Jews. Their knowledge in the writings of their Rabbins is not inferior; and to this they have added a clear and regu⯑lar method, which is very neceſſary in a Lan⯑guage whoſe idioms and modes of expreſſion the great diſtance of time has ſo obſcured, that it is almoſt impoſſible to attain to any perfect knowledge, or to decide with any de⯑gree of certainty concerning it.

Buxtorf, the father, has ſurpaſſed all thoſe who have devoted their ſtudies to this Lan⯑guage; and later writers have done little more than copying or abridging his book. It is in⯑tituled—'J. Buxtorfii Theſaurus Grammaticus linguae Sanctae Hebreae duobus libris methodice propoſitus, &c.'

We may add, that the Hebrew has no other difference between the Syriac and the Chal⯑dee, [511] if we except the characters, than that which exiſts between the Latin and the Ita⯑lian.

OF THE SAMARITAN, CHALDAIC, SYRIAC, ETHIOPIAN, PERSIAN, ARMENIAN, TAR⯑TARIAN, AND CHINESE, LANGUAGES.

THE greater part of theſe Languages, and the Arabic itſelf, are dialects of the Hebrew; and ſome ſo cloſely reſemble it, that the dif⯑ference is hardly perceivable. Such are, for inſtance, the Samaritan, the Chaldee, and the Syriac. Hottinger ſhews, in his Chaldaic Grammar, the affinity the Hebrew bears to the Chaldee, the Syriac, and the Arabic. The Jews brought the Chaldee from Babylon. The books of Daniel and Eſdras are for the greater part written in this Language. It was the Syriac, Jeſus Chriſt and the Apoſtles ſpoke; and a knowledge of this Language is very neceſſary for a perfect underſtanding of the New Teſtament.

[512] Ludolphus has given us a Grammar of the Ethiopian Language. This Language has a great mixture of Hebrew, Chaldee, and Ara⯑bic words. It has a diſtinct and peculiar cha⯑racter; and in writing it, the vowel points are not marked according to the cuſtom of the Hebrews, the Arabs, the Chaldeans, and the Syrians; but every letter is a ſyllable, being at once compoſed of a vowel and a conſo⯑nant.

One Louis de Dieu has given a Perſian Grammar; but Mr. Richardſon has lately publiſhed a Dictionary, which is ſaid to be a very valuable labour. Our nation has of late made ſuch a progreſs in this ſtudy, that we may expect, when it ſhall become more uni⯑verſal, to receive not only Grammars and Dictionaries, but to partake in it's original compoſitions. Sir William Jones, whoſe learn⯑ing is great, and whoſe genius is equal to his learning, has already laid the literary world under great obligations for ſome curious proſe [513] and ſome enchanting verſe. Scaliger obſerves, that the Perſian Language is very beautiful, and is expreſſed in few words. It bears no analogy with the Hebrew; but, what is ſur⯑prizing, it does with the German: having ma⯑ny words in common, as Father, Brother, Siſ⯑ter, and other ſimilar ones. How are we to account for this?

A Tartarian Grammar has been given by Thevenot; and, by Abbé Bignon, a Chineſe. Have we Grammars of theſe Languages?

Of all the languages of Aſia, there are none which merit our attention more than the Chi⯑neſe and the Perſian; for the arts and ſciences have long and ſucceſsfully been cultivated by theſe people.

ON THE USE OF THE PAGAN MYTHOLOGY IN POETRY.

A REVOLUTION has taken place in modern Poetry, which is of the greateſt importance to [514] the lovers of the art. This is no leſs than a total baniſhment of the Heathen Mythology from our Poetry. The great Johnſon prefer⯑ring, not infrequently, a ſingularity of opinion to an enforcing of truth—or, let us confeſs, who has given ſtrong marks of a deficiency in poetical taſte—has confounded the beauties of the Pagan Mythology with it's abuſe. We are to read the criticiſms of this great man with caution; we muſt recollect that, in his examination of Milton, his prejudices warp his judgment; and, in his animadverſions on Gray, his criticiſms were uncandid and unpo⯑etical. He tells us, in his Life of Prior, 'That his fictions are Mythological, and that they are ſurely deſpicable:' for he adds—'By the help of ſuch eaſy fictions, and vulgar topics, without acquaintance with life, and without knowledge of art or nature, a poem of any length, cold and lifeleſs like this, may be eaſily written on any ſubject.'

This is dictated by the uncharitable ſpirit of [515] criticiſm. It is ſtrange, that a man of ſuch active faculties, and of ſuch critical ſagacity, ſhould not have perceived, that when the Poet wanders in the unbounded regions of Fancy, he hath little to do with the mere ſtate of Nature; that, expatiating in the wide range of Imagination, he does not ſo much borrow from Nature, but rather adorns her by the creation of new beings. Hence the pipe of the ſhepherd is the ſhrill ſhell of Pan; the mur⯑muring of the waters is the ſigh of the Naiad; and the dewy flowers, that ſparkle on the eye, are the glittering tears of Aurora.

I will allow that a Pedant, well-read in his Pantheon, may produce, what ſome may be apt to take for a Poem, by a mere mechanical effort. He may call Apollo and the Muſes, Minerva and Venus; but let him beware of what he is about. Theſe celeſtial beings are no leſs dangerous than what, in our Britiſh Solomon's time, was thought to be the raiſing of the devil; of whom one ſaid, that he doubt⯑ed [516] not, with book in hand, he could raiſe him eaſily enough; but, when he had done that, the danger lay in the manner he was to em⯑ploy his devilſhip. The Pedant may, indeed, lug into his verſe the reluctant Gods and Godeſſes; but they will not have the air of divinities. It requires the moſt ſkilful hand, and ſome of the fineſt touches of genius, to place them in a novel ſituation; to poliſh the finiſhed piece into claſſical beauty, and exhauſt on them the pomp and brilliancy of his ima⯑gination.

Let us not, then, haſtily reſign our faith, in the theology of ancient Poetry. If it appears trite and inſipid in the hands of a mere verſi⯑fier, let us reflect, that every thing in ſuch a writer will have the ſame effect. It is cer⯑tain, that no order of beings have yet been found ſo agreeable to the imagination, when this poetic machinery is diſplayed by the ad⯑dreſs of ſuperior genius. How admirably has Gray, in his Progreſs of Poetry, embelliſhed [517] with theſe beautiful forms the third ſtanza of the firſt Antiſtrophy. Allegorical Perſonages, which Spenſer has unfortunately employed, ſoon weary. The enchantment of mytholo⯑gical fiction is continued, and is ſuſceptible of continual variety.

The omnipotence of the divinities of Poetry is eternal: it is true, they do not always yield their inſpiration. Venus ſtill reſides in Pa⯑phos; Diana ſtill embelliſhes the woods; the Nymphs inhabit their accuſtomed oak; and there is not a pure ſtream but, in it's cryſtaline cave, is ſtill honoured with the preſence of it's Naiad.

I venerate the abilities of this our late Cory⯑phaeus; but, if we are blindly to follow the dictum of our leader, farewel to that free diſ⯑cuſſion by which, through the medium of con⯑trary opinions, we at length attain to truth. The critical powers of Boileau may well be oppoſed to thoſe of Johnſon; and however the Engliſh [518] dreſs, which Sir William Soame has given him, may be inferior to the original Boileau, he may yet be underſtood.

If the little I have ventured to give of my own, ſupported by the critical authority of Boi⯑leau, ſhould fail to relieve the modern Poet from the harſh and ſevere tyranny of our pre⯑ſent Critics; if we muſt quit Greece, the land of invention, to live in our colder climate, I will ſubmit to it with all poſſible reſignation: but let me at leaſt teſtify my veneration to the Divinities of Poetry, in taking as poetical a farewel of them as the time will permit.

ON THE POETRY OF BARON HALLER.

IT was once the intention of the Editor to have preſented a tranſlation of the Poetry of Baron Haller to the public.

The Poet, whom I am now going to intro⯑duce to the reader, is better known in this country for his extenſive learning and recon⯑dite labours in phyſiology, than for thoſe ex⯑quiſite pieces which place him ſo conſpicuouſly amongſt the modern Poets of Germany.

If England hath not beſtowed on him the honours of a Poet, France, however, hath not been backward in this reſpect. His Poetry hath been elegantly tranſlated, and multiplied by repeated editions. There are thoſe who have placed him on an equality with the cele⯑brated Geſner: and, perhaps, he is only not equal to him in not having produced a Poem of the magnitude of his Death of Abel.

[523] If it is allowed me to give the character of Haller as a Poet, I will ſay, that he does not ſwell into that turgid eloquence, which wea⯑ries the mental eye by a cumbrous accumula⯑tion of ſplendour. It is the characteriſtic of the German Poets, that they do not know when to ſtop; the ſtrength of their genius tranſports them into obſcurity: by ſoaring too high, they ſtrain the temperate eye of the Critics; judgment to them is a ſilken ſtring, too feeble to chain the wing of an eagle.

I do not mean, however, to countenance or excuſe certain pieces which, they inform us, are tranſlations from the German; and which, indeed, may well diſguſt the world with all German Poetry. But, I believe that the bom⯑baſt of theſe writers is rather to be attributed to themſelves, than to the unfortunate Ger⯑man; who, certainly, had he originally writ⯑ten in ſo aukward a ſtyle, would not have been thought worthy of a tranſlation.

[524] Haller is beautiful in his deſcriptions, ſub⯑lime in his Odes, and tender in his elegies. He is not leſs to be admired as a Satiriſt; and Berne once trembled at the preſence of it's Ju⯑venal. His numbers are highly poliſhed; and it is hard to render juſtice to the delicate lan⯑guage of his Muſe.

The following Poem is not partially choſen, but for it's convenient length. There is an elegant ſimplicity, added to a cloſeneſs of thought; which, if it does not always wear the fantaſtic air of novelty, impreſſes in the feeling heart that philoſophical conſolation worthy of the genius of Haller.

A DESIRE TO REGAIN HIS NATIVE COUNTRY.
WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS IN HOLLAND.

Ah! woods for ever dear! delightful groves, whoſe verdure ſhades the heights of [525] Haſel ^* when ſhall I return to repoſe on your boſom, where Philomel wantons on the light branches? When ſhall I lay myſelf on the declivity of thoſe little hills which Nature hath ſpread with green carpets of moſs, where nought is heard ſave the trembling leaves, agi⯑tated by the vernal airs, or the murmurs of a little brook that refreſhes thoſe ſolitary meads.

' O Heaven! when wilt thou permit me to viſit, once more, thoſe vales where I paſſed the ſpring of my life; where, often to the mur⯑murs of a falling caſcade, my verſe flowed in honour of my Sylvia: while the careſſes of Zephyr, animating the grove, threw on my penſive ſoul a ſoft melancholy. There, every care was baniſhed, while I ſat in the umbra⯑geous depth of thoſe woods whoſe boughs were impenetrable to the beams of the ſun.

[526] ' Here, continually, have I to combat with my ſorrows: my mind is oppreſſed with grief for ever renewed; and I know not the ſweet⯑neſs of tranquillity and joy. Far from the country where firſt I ſprung into life: with⯑out parents, a ſtranger to all the world, aban⯑doned to the ardours of youth, I find myſelf in poſſeſſion of a dangerous liberty, without having learnt how to conduct myſelf.

' Now diſeaſe ſhoots through my languiſh⯑ing frame, and ſtifles even the wiſh for glory, and for ſcience! Now my diſappointed hopes droop in the deſpondence of diſcouragement and grief: while the ſea throws itſelf on the ruins of broken dykes, and brings it's waves and death to our gates; and Mars threatens us with the flames of war which kindle from the aſhes^*.

[527] ' But let us embrace comfort. All muſt terminate! The ſtorm is weakened at each guſt it blows. Paſſed evils teach us to enjoy the preſent good. Who is a ſtranger to ad⯑verſity, is alike a ſtranger to pleaſure. Time, who, with his rapid wing, hath brought my affliction, conducts alſo my felicity. I may yet inhale the purer air of my native hills!

' Ah! may I ſoon rejoin ye, groves be⯑loved! and landſcapes of ſpring! Ah! if Fate ſhould indulge me once more to partake of the ſilent tranquillity of your ſolitude! Perhaps, the day is not diſtant. The blue ſky ſhines when the ſtorm is departed, and repoſe ſuc⯑ceeds to pain. Flouriſh, ye ſcenes of delight! while I prepare to make my laſt voyage, in re⯑turning to your peaceful ſhades.'

THE POETRY OF HALLER VERSIFIED.

THE Lover of Polite Literature will be much gratified by the following enchanting Verſi⯑fication of the Poem of Haller, which we have feebly attempted to reduce into Proſe. The preſent Verſification, as ſpirited as it is elegant, is the production of a very ſuperior Poet; to whom the Editor ſtands too deeply indebted, to paſs over the recollection of benefits received from his Criticiſms without being alive to the warmeſt ſenſe of gratitude. This little pro⯑duction, to uſe one of his own claſſical allu⯑ſions, will be but interweaving a tranſient bloſſom in the laurels of it's amiable Author.