he soon determined to give himself the education of a finished gentleman, and not only to cultivate all the elegance and refinement implied by that term, but to carry into an honourable profession all the lights and ornaments of philosophy and learning, and, extending his ambition beyond mere literary or professional eminence, to qualify himself for the management of public affairs, and for obtaining the higher rewards of patriotic virtue and political skill.

The exemplary industry with which he laboured to accomplish this magnificent plan, and his wonderful success, afford an instructive lesson to all who may be inclined, by equal diligence, to deserve an equal reward. The more we learn, indeed, of the early history of those who have left a great name to posterity, the more clearly shall we see that no permanent excellence can ever be attained without painful and laborious preparation, and that extraordinary talents are less necessary to this end than perseverance and industry. Great as sir William Jones's attainments were, they may be viewed without despair by any one who is not frightened at his diligence.

Nobody can doubt but that sir William Jones was a consummate scholar, an accomplished philologist, an elegant critic, a candid and perspicuous writer. It is impossible to read either his works or his history without acknowledging his claim, in all these capacities, to the highest distinction; but many will not so readily admit the extent of his philosophical capacity, the original strength of his understanding, or his familiarity with those general principles which lead to great and simple discoveries, and bind together, into one useful whole, the particulars of miscellaneous knowledge. His studies were chiefly directed to particulars; and his aim was rather to follow out admitted principles to larger or more precise conclusions, than to investigate the

principles themselves, or to settle the truth of the conclusion on a solid basis.

The labour which he expended in securing the praise of a great scholar, that is, of an adept in many languages, obstructed his progress in the sciences. His understanding would have been better replenished, and his judgment stronger, had he not imbibed so deeply an affection for Greek and prosody, and classical and mythological allusions.— These things are the proper ornament and boast of a school-boy, but will not go far in procuring lasting glory to a man. The fame of sir William Jones rests, indeed, upon a firmer basis; but it has rather been restrained than extended by the influence of this early passion. Though his language be, in general, pure, polished, and harmonious, it is not entirely free from pedantry; many of his best compositions are rendered languid and insipid by those classical affectations which may still be permitted to adorn an academical declamation. We can excuse him, at fourteen, for talking to his sister of Solon and Crœsus; but we are less indulgent to a barrister, who professes to write a treatise of English law in imitation of the analytic method of Aristotle, or a politician who compares the balance of the British constitution to the harmony produced by the flute of Aristoxenus, or the lyre of Timotheus. The mythological digressions of Pindar have also been too carefully copied in his poetical addresses to the divinities of the east; and, indeed, by far the greater part of his poetry is so learned and elaborate, that the perusal of it is rather a labour than a relaxation.

His chief eminence and singularity was his skill in the Asiatic languages; but this, in the eyes of impartial persons, will add little to his merit. I must entertain very different notions of the intrinsic merit of the poets, orators, and sages of Persia and Arabia from my present ones, before I can applaud him who

takes the trouble of making himself master of their language or their works. This attainment is so difficult to a native of western Europe, that it may lay claim to great praise on account of its difficulty; but, on any other account, we cannot applaud it. We admire the perseverance and dexterity of a man who writes well with his knees, but can hardly fail of regretting such a perverse employment of his genius.

As to the sages and orators of Persia and Arabia, I have never heard their names, even from sir William Jones, who was so ardent a pupil of Schultens and Pococke. As to their historians, that title is never given to annalists, chroniclers, and genealogists. Ardent constitutions and vacant minds have given birth among them to something called poetry; that is, to the inclination and faculty of putting into rhyme and metre the sentiments with which a voluptuary is inspired by the taste of wine and the smell of roses. The oriental bards, indeed, loudly celebrate a feeling, the name of which is commonly translated by the word love; but I do not give that name to the passion which a boar or a bull has to the female of his kind. Some tenderness, some humanity, some devotion, which looks a little beyond, while, at the same time, it comprehends, the animal desire, seems necessary to that love which poets may celebrate, and sages practise without infamy. Sir William Jones's veneration for such poetry, and his occasisnal attempts at the translation of it, seem strangely inconsistent with his relish for Sophocles and Shakespeare, and his attachment to Isæus and Isocrates.

This person's most admirable accomplishments, indeed, were chiefly of the professional and social kind. As a member of a family, as the head of an important judicature, he seems entitled to all our veneration; but, in considering his intellectual attainments, we are more struck by them as proofs of the variety of his inclinations, the ardour of his diligence,

MRS. BARBAULD would have deserved no small gratitude from the admirers of truth and nature, had her late publication upon Richardson contained nothing but the letter from Mrs. Klopstock, in which she relates the incidents of her acquaintance and marriage with the celebrated poet. She writes in English, and her little inaccuracies add new graces to the charming epistle. Such narratives as these, though brief, are worth volumes of laborious compilation, in which dates and places are settled with the utmost precision, but all that constitutes the features of human events is made up of licentious conjecture. I cannot resist the inclination of transcribing this letter. I cannot suspect that any of my readers will regret the insertion of it in these pages.

Hamburg, March 14, 1758. You will know all what concerns me. Love, dear sir, is all what me concerns! And love shall be all what I will tell you in this letter.

I

In one happy night I read my husband's poem, the Messiah. was extremely touched with it. The next day I asked one of his friends, who was the author of this poem? and this was the first time I heard Klopstock's name. I be. lieve, I fell immediately in love with him. At the least, my thoughts were ever with him filled, especially because his friend told me very much of his character. But I had no hopes ever to see him, when quite unexpectedly I heard that he should pass through Hamburg. I wrote immediately to the same friend, for procuring by his means that I might see the author of the

Messiah, when in Hamburg. He told him, that a certain girl at Hamburg wished to see him, and, for all recommendation showed him some letters, in which I made bold to criticize Klopstock's verses. Klopstock came, and came to me. I must confess, that though greatly prepossessed of his qualities, I never thought him the amiable youth whom I found him. This made its effect. After having seen him two hours, I was obliged to pass the evening in a company, which never had been so wearisome to me. I could not speak, I could not play; I thought I saw nothing but Klopstock. I saw him the next day, and the following, and we were very seriously friends. But the fourth day he departed. It was a strong hour the hour of his departure! He wrote soon after, and from that time our correspondence began to be a very diligent one. I sincerely believed my love to be friendship. I spoke with my friends of nothing but Klopstock, and showed his letters. They rallied at me, and said I was in love. I rallied them again, and said that they must have a very friendshipless heart, if they had no idea of friendship to a man as well as to a woman. Thus it continued eight months, in which time my friends found as much love in Klopstock's letters as in me. I perceived it likewise, but I would not believe it. At the last, Klopstock said plainly, that he loved; and I startled as for a wrong thing. I answered, that it was not love, but friendship, as it was what I felt for him; we had not seen one another enough to love (as if love must have more time than friendship!). This was sincerely my meaning, and I had this meaning till Klopstock came again to Hamburg. This he did a year after we had seen one another the first time. We saw, we were friends, we loved; and we believed that we loved; and a short time after I could even tell Klopstock that I loved. But we were obliged to part again, and wait two years for

VOL. III. NO. XX.

our wedding. My mother would not let marry me a stranger. I could marry then without her consentment, as, by the death of my father, my fortune depended not on her; but this was a horrible idea for me; and thank heaven that I have prevailed by prayers! At this time, knowing Klopstock, she loves him as her lifely son, and thanks God that she has not persisted. We married, and I am the happiest wife in the world. In some few months it will be four years that I am so happy, and still I dote upon Klopstock as if he was my bridegroom.

If you knew my husband, you would not wonder. If you knew his poem, I could describe him very briefly in saying he is in all respects what he is as a poet. This I can say with all wifely modesty. But I dare not to speak of my husband; I am all raptures when I do it. And as happy as I am in love, so happy am I in friendship, in my mother, two elder sisters, and five other women. How rich I am!

Sir, you have willed that I should speak of myself, but I fear I have done it too much. Yet you see how it interests me.

I have the best compliments for you of my dear husband. My compliments to all yours. Will they increase my treasure of friendship? I am, sir,

Your most humble servant,

M. KLOPSTOCK.

For the Literary Magazine.

BENNETT LANGTON, ESQ. LL. D.

BENNETT LANGTON is a gentleman whose history no reader can peruse, in the elegant biography of Boswell, without feeling some degree of interest. For myself, I will avow that I have searched for the slightest memorial of him as for a hidden treasure. My heart seems to cling to him as to a kindred soul.

6

We find him in Boswell a man fascinating in his manners, and accomplished in his conversation; a classical scholar without pedantry, and a disciplined soldier without ostentation. What admirer of Johnson does not lament, that one whom he esteemed and respected had not also found some honest chronicler to record his actions, and repeat those judicious remarks and witty repartees, which made his company sought by the first wits of the age. After much industry of research, the following are the only facts I have been able to learn of the domestic history of a man who was distinguished as well by the respect as the affection of the first men of his time.

Bennett Langton, Esq., was born some time in the year 1736, and was educated under his paternal roof. Notwithstanding he belonged to the army, and performed with a rigorous assiduity the duties of his profession, his zeal in the pursuit of knowledge was such, that he attained a degree of eminence in the literary world which has not often been equalled.

His correct taste is well displayed in the circumstance of his having, at the early age of sixteen, conceived a high veneration and esteem for the character of Dr. Johnson, from having read his Rambler. He afterwards went to London, with the express design of seeking his acquaintance. In this he fortunately succeeded, for Johnson, besides his attention to young men generally, was struck with his piety, love for learning, and suavity of manners. He conceived a warm affection for him, which only terminated with his life. Langton was no less charmed with him, for he found him a man of extensive literary acquisitions, generous in imparting his knowledge to all who sought it, and whose notions were congenial with these he had imbibed at home.

His ardent desire of knowledge did not long permit him to remain in the dissipation of London, for he

shortly after entered as a commoner at Trinity College, Oxford. It was in this university that Mr. Langton cultivated and brought to maturity his natural talents. He made a considerable progress in the Greek language, which was always his favourite, and in which he arrived at the greatest perfection: he also became acquainted with that sacred and most ancient language, the He brew.

After the space of several years, he entered the North Lincoln militia; and, though extremely partial to the study of the languages, yet he gave them up for a time, and resolved to make himself thoroughly acquainted with military tactics. To this effect he exerted himself with the utmost vigour, and he became, in a short time, a most excellent soldier.

He acquired the esteem and admiration of his fellow-officers, not only by his worth and learning, but by his elegant manners, and his inexhaustible fund of entertaining conversation; while at the same time he procured the love of his soldiers by his mildness and humanity. The former was so great, that he was never in a single instance betrayed into a passion, nor heard to utter an oath.

In 1764, Mr. Langton was chosen a member of the LITERARÝ CLUB, and, at the time of his decease, was the only original member remaining. This club, in those days, consisted of the most brilliant men of the age; and among these Langton had the good fortune to reckon as his most intimate friends, Johnson, Boswell, sir Joshua Reynolds, Burke, Garrick, Beauclerk, Goldsmith, Warton, and Chaumier; all of whom paid the debt of nature before him.

In 1769, or 1770, Mr. Langton married the countess dowager of Rothes, by whom he had ten children. The happiness which he derived from this union received a severe interruption in the death of his friend Dr. Johnson, whom he lost in the year 1784.

He attended him constantly, and soothed some of the last hours of that great man, by the most pleasing and affectionate assuidity. Johnson is said to have seized his hand, whilst he sat by his bed-side, and to have exclaimed with warmth, "Te teneam moriens deficiente mance." In numerous instances he showed his great partiality for Langton: to Boswell he once said, "I know not who will go to heaven, if Bennett Langton does not; I could say, 'Sit anima mea cum Langtono." How beautiful a compliment! on which, surely, there is no need to expatiate. Dr. Johnson bequeathed his valuable polyglot Bible to him.

In January, 1785, his majesty, with that attention to the interests of science and the talents of his subjects which has so uniformly distinguished his reign, appointed Mr. Langton professor of ancient literature in the academy of arts; think ing him the fittest person to succeed Dr. Johnson.

In the spring of 1801, Mr. Langton, extremely solicitous about the health of one his youngest daughters, and thinking the mild air of Southampton might be beneficial to her, repaired thither with his family. He died at this place on the 18th of December, 1801, aged 65.

I have not been able to learn that Mr. Langton wrote any thing except a number in the Idler, in which the interruptions that are incident to the life of a student are well described. It has been supposed that he alludes to his friend Johnson; of this, however, the reader may judge by turning to the 67th number of that work.

It has been announced, in one of the European journals, that he had left for publication a life of Dr. John

son.

From the intimacy that subsisted between them, we may suppose that Mr. Langton had derived ample materials for such a work, and we cannot think slightly of the talents of him, whom Johnson elected to be his friend and correspondent.

SEDLEY.

For the Literary Magazine.

DESCRIPTION OF THE COHOES FALLS.

From a Manuscript Journal.

July, 1803.

WE left Troy at eight o'clock in the morning, and arrived at the bridge over the Mohock at ten o'clock. This bridge is erected on thirteen piers, with intervals of sixty feet, so that the breadth of the river is about one thousand feet. We could not discover any material difference in the breadth of the river at the cataract and at the bridge. The bridge conducts us directly in front of the cataract, at a mile's distance. The object that presents itself to a spectator, on the bridge, is the dry bed of the river; a kind of plain, the substance of of which is a slatey rock, with no considerable asperities or inequalities. This plain is bounded on either side by banks, pretty uniform in their height, which is about eighty feet, and in their declivity, which is usually precipitous, and consist of the same sort of stone with the plain between them. In this plain are various crevices and narrow channels, through which the poor remains of the river at present flows. The principal and middle channel which receives the whole waters of the river at the foot of the cataract, is between twelve and twenty feet wide. We could not measure the depth of it, but judging by appearances at the bridge, where the stream is pretty equally diffused over the whole plain, the depth of this middle channel must be very great.

This plain is terminated to the view from the bridge by a ledge of slatey rock like the rest, whose height is nearly uniform, and does not exceed two-thirds of the height of the bank, that is, about fifty feet. This ledge occupies the whole space between the banks. At present, when the season and the reigning drought have left very little water