lence of the translation in general; for its beauties are such as are to be recognised by feeling more than by description, and it must be owned, that they have been powerfully felt by the majority of the nation ever since the first edition. In many a cottage and farm-house, where the Bible and Prayer Book constitute the library, the sweet songs of Judah, and the entertaining histories of Joseph and his brethren, Saul and Jonathan, constitute a never-failing source of heartfelt pleasure.

"It is false refinement, vain philosophy, and an immoderate love of dissipation, which causes so little attention to be paid to this venerable book in the gay world. If we do not disclaim all belief in its contents, it is surely a great omission in many gentlemen and ladies who wish to be completely accomplished, or think themselves so already, to be utterly unacquainted with the sacred volume. It is our duty to inspect it; and it is graciously so ordered, that our duty in this instance may be a pleasure; for the Bible is truly pleasing, considered only as a collection of very ancient and curious history and poetry.

"With respect to the impropriety of appointing a new translation to be read in churches, what I have advanced on the subject is only matter of opinion, and may perhaps be found, in the event, erroneous. I shall, however, very confidently say, that innovations of this kind are of the highest importance, and may probably be attended with the most violent concussions. They ought, therefore, to be attempted only where there is an absolute necessity for them, and after the maturest deliberation."

The essay we are about to quote from the same work, are on subjects of interest, and written with considerable smart

ness.

ON MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTIONS.

"It was the early wish of Pope, that, when he died, not a stone might tell where he lay. It is a wish that will be commonly granted with reluctance. The affection of those we leave behind us, is at a loss for methods to display its wonted

solicitude, and seeks for consolation under sorrow in doing honor to all that remains. It is natural that filial piety, parental tenderness, and conjugal love, should mark, with some fond memorial, the clay-cold spot, where the form, still fostered in the bosom, moulders away. And did affection go no farther, who could censure? But, in recording the virtues of the departed, either zeal or vanity often leads to an excess perfectly ludicrous.

"A marble monument, with an inscription palpably false and ridicuously pompous, is far more offensive to true taste, than the wooden memorial of the rustic, sculptured with painted bones, and decked out with death's head in all the colours of the rainbow. There is an elegance and a classical simplicity in the turf-clad heap of mould which covers the poor man's grave, though it has nothing to defend it from the insults of the proud but a bramble. The primrose that grows upon it is a better ornament, than the gilded lies on the oppressor's tombstone.

"The prostitution of praise is injurious to virtue. That imaginary life after death, which consists in a remembrance of our worth cherished in the breasts of others, though it is despised by the severe reasoner, has commonly been an additional motive for exertion to the noblest spirits that have dignified human nature. But when we see the studied panegyric engraven on the marble that encloses the remains of the worthless, we despise the eulogium that mankind are mean enough to bestow on every one that will pay the price. Thus one powerful motive is lost, which might operate on the generous, in stimulating them to a worthy conduct."

"On the tombstones of the truly great, it is certainly right that an incription should be written consistent with their dignity. In order to be so, it must not be prolix. When their names and age make all the sepulchral history of distinguished personages, it seems to be implied that the rest is sufficiently known; but when the marble ambitiously enlarges on their excellence, it argues that the world wants the information. It is better that the passenger, when he sees an eminent name,

should recollect, while he strikes his pensive bosom, the virtues of its owner, than that his remarks should be anticipated by an obtruding narrative.

"The style of epitaphs usually adopted has been too diffuse. The noble ancients, those patterns of unaffected magnificence, consulted real dignity in the brevity of their epitaphs. As an historical monument, at an age when printing was unknown, they sometimes engraved the exploits of the warrior on the marble; but in general they recorded little more than the name of the departed. The Grecian muse sometimes poured the sweet melody of verse at the shrine of a poet or a hero; but she never condescended to mean flattery, nor displayed the bloated ostentation of a modern panegyric.

"There are many excellent epitaphs in the English language, both in verse and prose. In the diffuse kind, that on the infamous Chartres is a fine model. Westminster Abbey exhibits many inscriptions, written with manly, forcible, and energetic elegance. The great fault has been, a redundance of epithets in the superlative degree.

"We have also many fine poetical epitaphs. Those of Dryden and Pope are the most deservedly celebrated; though those of Pope have been severely criticised. In general the metrical are inferior to the prosaic. Some of the best are crouded with antitheses, a fault which renders them inferior to the Grecian; and some of the worst, many of which are found in the most public cemeteries, stand forth a disgrace to national taste. The love of rhyme descends to the lowest ranks. The parish-clerk is commonly called upon for a stave or two of verses, by every rustic that can raise a post and rail, to the memory of his relation; and there are few church-yards in England where that favourite stanza, "Affliction sore, long time I bore," &c. does not occur more than once.

"But our epitaphs are most commonly written in Latin; probably because it is intelligible to foreigners, and is capable of more elegance and elevation. Our country has produced many writers remarkable for beautiful latinity: accordingly we

find inscriptions in every part of the kingdom abounding with classical expressions. The misfortune has been, that many of them have encroached on the province of biography, and real dignity has been lost in the affectation of it, in a tedious and circumstantial detail of descents, pedigrees, and relationships. The reader is tired before he has obtained a clear idea of the character and family described. His eyes have failed, even if his attention persevered. The epitaph on the great Nelson, for instance, consists of above eighty lines.

"The punning and epigrammatic epitaph was much in fashion a century or two ago. That on fair Rosamond, at Godstone, might surely have been replete with tender sentiment, but it is merely a wretched distich of puns and monkish rhymes. This species is at present quite exploded, and little need be said to prove its great impropriety. False wit is always misplaced, but the true seems to be excluded from the epitaph. Who can bear merriment or buffoonery on a tombstone? The tender and elegiac, or the manly and severe style, seems to be best adapted to the monumental inscription. But neither the pathetic or sublime is compatible with the ludicrous.

"The authors of our epitaphs are seldom known. One of the best that I can recollect, was the classical Bourne. The few he has left us are master-pieces. That in Westminster Abbey, on Dickenson, the architect, is truly sublime.

"In our island there has certainly been no dearth of genius for monumental inscriptions; though there is one circumstance, which might induce a foreigner to think the contrary. The famous Duchess of Marlborough is said to have offered, without success, 500l. for an epitaph adequate to the dignity of her Duke. Her Grace, whose taste was not very just, would probably have expected a history long enough to cover with inscription the unwieldy pile of stones called Blenheim House. I cannot help thinking, that a tedious epitaph, minutely relating his achievements, would rather lessen than exalt him in the eyes of mankind. Would not Alexander the Great have appeared rather beneath the dignity of that name, if it had been

written on his tomb, that the son of Philip was reputed to have been, in his day, the wisest general, the boldest hero, the most accomplished man, with a hundred other attributes. Would he have excited much admiration, if he had been handed down to us, merely in an epitaph abounding with those inflated superlatives, which gothic ideas of grandeur have now introduced? It might have been a complimentary epitaph on an alderman, who died of repletion; and would have borne an analogy to him in the circumstance of an unnatural tumour!"

In 1778 Mr. Knox was elected master of Tunbridge School; an appointment which he held with the highest credit for thirty-three years. About the time of his first settling at Tunbridge in this capacity, he married the daughter of Mr. Miller, a respectable surgeon of that place, who died in 1809, leaving behind her two sons and a daughter. A short time after his marriage, Mr. Knox accepted the degree of doctor of divinity, conferred upon him by a diploma from Philadelphia, without solicitation, in the handsomest manner, as a compliment for the benefit America had derived from his admirable essays; which had been exceedingly popular in that country.

The next work of Dr. Knox was his celebrated treatise on "Liberal Education;" a subject he was especially qualified to discuss. This production, like those which had preceded it by the same author, was very favourably received by the public. On this occasion Dr. Knox evinced an independence of sentiment, which might have proved injurious to his worldly interests. In pointing out the defects in the education of youth in this country, he could not consistently pass over the gross abuses of his own university. It was not á slight exposition that could have availed to produce any réformation at Oxford. Perhaps in his zealous desire to effect the object he had in view, the Doctor was hurried, in one or two instances, a little beyond the strict limits of candour. However this may have been, it is certain that his aim was in part accomplished; for, after the publication of his represent