had been offended with a cardinal, and he revenged himself by placing the head of his Eminence upon the shoulders of one of the damned in purgatory.

A monument has been erected to this artist in the church of Santa Croce; but of what avail are monuments and funeral honours to a man, who will live forever in his works? St. Peter's is the mausoleum of Michal Agnolo, and it is a prouder one, and will endure longer, than those which the vanity of Augustus or Adrian caused to be erected to perpetuate their

memories.

As Florence had the honour to give Michal Agnolo his education, so she can boast a greater number of his distinguished works. The chapel of the Medici is full of them, and every church has some statue at least of one of his pupils, all of whom were much distinguished. One proof often cited of the superiority of this great master is, that he left two statues incomplete, which no succeeding artist has dared to attempt to finish. One of them is the Virgin bewailing the death of our Saviour, and the other the head of Brutus. Under the last, cardinal Bembo, to show his detestation of Brutus' crime, wrote the following couplet, with which Dr. Moore, who pretended to be a great stickler for civil liberty, finds great fault.

Dum Bruti effigiem, Michal de mar

more fingit,

In mentem sceleris venit et abstinuit.

For my part, I fully agree with the cardinal; for no man, who recollects the obligations of Brutus to Cæsar, can fail to detest the assassin of his own patron and friend.

I cannot close this letter without making a remark, that this age of Michal Agnolo, and of the Italian painters, was, in my opinion, as splendid as the Augustan, or the age of Louis XIV. Peter Perugine, the master of Raphael, Michal Agnolo, Raphael, Andrea del Sarto, Giulio Romano, Carravagio, Corregio, the most eminent men who have appeared since the revival of letters, in architecture, sculpture, and painting, and whose chef d'œuvres still constitute the most valuable possessions of the countries which they honoured by their residence, were all cotemporaries. What a brilliant age! what a galaxy of talents!! Where shall we find its equal since the age of Augustus? If to this period, we add the age of Louis XIV. and of Queen Anne, what pretence is there to say, as some of our philosophers do, that we have im proved upon those who have gone before us, especially in the more refined parts of literature? Adieu.

Vol. IV. No. 1.

E

Burke's thunder deafens his ears.

Randolph's "thunder rumbles from the mustard bowl;" his lightning flashes from the warmingpan. There's no harm, said Dr. Johnson, in a fellow's rattling a

rattle-box, only don't let him think he thunders; and unless his bed suffers from it, one might say there's no harm in a fellow's whirling a lintstock, only don't let him think he lightens.-Eloquence, or, in its definition, the power of persuading men against their passions and interests, of convincing them against their prejudices and opinions, is a rare gift; and so rich, because rare, that neither Greece, nor Rome, nor England, boasts more than two orators. Burke and Pitt are scarcely inferiour to Demosthenes and Eschines; Eschines and Demosthenes are hardly superiour to Hortensius and Cicero; the names of these men will never die. Who will say that since ***s, in the senate, softened opposition to indifference, and

*****

*r, at the bar, reasoned prejudice to candour, that in America the human powers dwindle and weaken to dwarfish, infantine insignificance and imbecility? The time will come, it must, it is fast approaching, when the rhetorical reasoning of a liberal, clear-sighted statesman, and the argumentative eloquence of an honest, open-hearted lawyer, will be acknowledged and applauded. The uncloying sweetness of ***s will enchant, the overpowering strength of *****r will astonish posterity.

has nothing of the tarnished, tinsel finery, nothing of the awkward, affected hauteur of a tattered, trade-fallen courtesan ; the clear, pure colours of nature he never sullies by attempting to brighten the rose to a clearer red, to soften the lily to a purer white. Jortin's style is style is a shepherdess, simple and modest, neat without nicety, chaste without prudery. Innocence sparkles from her eyes; sweetness trickles from her lips; her cheek glows with health and love, her bosom heaves with hope and joy.

man,

ly senseless will peremptorily deny a solemn, deliberate assertion,coming from a man of wide reading and deep thinking) if things practical are the hinges of immortality,' one may, without forfeiting his character for charity, ask, why at the present day so many sounding-boards serve only to return, in a drowsy, humming echo, an old opinion of some early hereticks, who, because faith is the centre, mother doctrine, and virtue of christianity, thought none of the sister, radiant virtues and doctrines worthy of notice or practice. If reduced to one of two answers (and more than two answers the question hardly admits) I should sooner ascribe this opinion, which indeed seems rather the odious sooterkin of unthinking fatuity, than the hideous monster of unpitying malignity, to weakness of mind, therefore excuseable; than to coldwhich may be ingrained and is ness of heart, which must be acquired, and is therefore unpardonable. Those who worship God from filial love, which is a warm, generous feeling, and softens by opening the heart, are anxious in some degree to merit reward by learning to do well; yet those who adore God from servile fear, which is a cold, narrow prejudice, and hardens by contracting the mind, are content at any rate to escape punishment by ceasing to do evil. The former class of christians combine sound faith and good works, and bring them to amicable co-operation; the latter (I hope I am not sacrilegious in applying the sacred name of christians to men, who seem ashamed to imitate the only imitable traits of their Saviour's character) separate them, and set at implacable opposition ardent benevolence and fervent piety.

SPENSER.

He whom Milton followed, and Gladly beheld tho' but his utmost skirts Of glory, and far off his steps adored(for Spenser astonishes as well as delights) such a poet ought not to lie idle in a scholar's library. Spenser combines the discriminative features of Homer and Virgil. Homer is hardly more sublime than Spenser; Spenser is almost as beautiful as Virgil. "Vivo gurgite exundat" is a faint shadowy image of a mind rich in learning and full of genius. Spenser cannot indeed frenzy unrepining patience to madness, he cannot soften unrelenting obduracy to tenderness; but what is possible, he can and does effect. He can and does cheer the disconsolate and doubt ful mind to comfort and hope; he can and does charm the sullen

and indifferent heart to love and rapture. Such is the melting, honied sweetness of Spenser, that,

-bounds

Excess,

we tore ourselves from the warm bosom and tender embraces of our mother country, ******'s conduct was open and direct; no reservation lurked in his mind,no equivocation fell from his tongue. We have broken, said he, a sacred tie, but my duty to my native soil is more sacred than my obligations arising from this violated union. I will fight and bleed and die, to seal the independence of my country: Such were once, such are still the

feelings and opinions of a man, who though at present in disgrace and poverty, cheerfully expects, and will hereafter gladly receive, a rich and glorious reward. why in disgrace, why in poverty?

But

Because he loved truth with a warmer affection than he courted popular applause; because he hat ed guilt with a deeper aversion,than he shunned publick contempt.--And indeed, if our hands are clean, if our integrity is clear and unquestioned, what, in popular applause, can heighten affection for it, to doating, drivelling fondness? If our hearts are pure, if our honour is fair and unsuspected, what,

Faëry Queen.

PATRIOTISM.

"To serve bravely is to come halting off." These words of honest Jack Falstaff, I once heard quoted by a man, who, instead of acquiring in the "morn and liquid dew of youth," what he deserved, honour and competence, is now in "the twilight of sere age," wearing out in neglect and penury the miserable remnant of a life once respectable and affluent. In that unnatural, though perhaps necessary, struggle, when, as yet hardly weaned, and so feeble that we could not even totter about in leading strings,

ate aversion from it, to trembling, shuddering horrour?

Publick contempt, what is it? It is a dream, it is nothing. Who, then, will fly from it, as from the lowest misery? At worst, it is easily borne,and even under its coldest frowns the warm smiles of hope, and cheerful, brightening anticipation, are playing on our cheeks.

Fopular applause, what is it? It is the shadow of a dream, it is less than nothing. Who, then, will pant for it, as for the highest happiness? At best, it is quickly gone, and even under its warmest caresses the cold tears of fear, and dismal, darkening apprehension, are stealing from our eyes.