human mind, had in him a zealous and active supporter. In the formation of those literary institutions, which have done so much honour to the town of Liverpool, he, with his intimate and congenial friend, the distinguished author of the Lives of Lorenzo de Medici and Leo X., stood among the foremost; and their names were always conjoined when mention was made of the worth and talents which dignified their place of abode. No cultivated traveller visited Liverpool without soliciting Dr. Currie's acquaintance, and his reception of those introduced to him was eminently polite and hospitable.

In his Life of Burns, remarking upon that partiality for their own country, which appears almost universally in the natives of Scotland, he has observed, that "it differs in its character according to the character of the different minds in which it is found; in some appearing a selfish prejudice, in others a generous affection." He was himself a striking exemplification of this fact; for the sentiment in him was principally shown in the kindness with which he received all his young countrymen who came recommended to his notice, and the zeal with which he exerted himself to procure them situations suited to their qualifications. Indeed, a disposition in general to favour the progress of deserving young persons was a prominent feature in his character. He loved to converse with them, and mingled valuable information with cheering encouragement.

Though externally of a vigorous frame of body, Dr. Currie had a predisposition to those complaints which usually shorten life; and in the year 1784, he had experienced a pulmonary attack of an alarming pature, from which he was extraordinarily recovered by the use of horse exercise, as related by himself, in his case inserted in the 2d volume of Dr. Darwin's Zoonomia. He was, however, seldom long free from threatenings of a return, and his health began visibly to decline in

the early part of 1804. In the sum. mer of that year he took a journey to Scotland, where, among other sources of gratification, he had that of witnessing the happy effects of his kindness on the family of Burns. His letters on this occasion were delightful displays of benevolence rejoicing in its work. He returned with some temporary amendment ; but alarming symptoms soon returned, and in November he found it necessary to quit the climate and business of Liverpool. How severely his departure was felt by those who had been accustomed to commit their health, and that of their families, to his skill and tenderness, can only be estimated by those who have experienced a similar loss. He spent the winter alternately at Clifton and Bath; and, in the month of March, appeared to himself in a state of convalescence, which justified his taking a house in Bath, and commencing the practice of his profession. From the manner in which his career opened, there could be no doubt that it would have proved eminently successful; but the concluding scene was hastily approaching. As a last resource, he went, in August, to Sidmouth, where, after much suffering, which he bore with manly fortitude and pious resignation, he expired on August 31st, 1805, in the 50th year of his age. His disease was ascertained to be a great enlargement and flaccidity of the heart, accompanied with remarkable wasting of the left lung, but without ulceration, tubercle, or abcess.

For the Literary Magazine,

WHAT IS FAME?

THERE are few speculations more amusing, and, at the same time, in some degree, mortifying, than the different notions of the celebrity of individuals, entertained in different ages and countries. Biographical records are full of exam

ples of local and temporary fame, which are lost in utter obscurity as soon as the place or period is changed; and an illustrissimus on one side of a mountain or river is often reduced to nobody on the other side. A paragraph in the "Diary of Linnæus," published by Dr. Maton, lately struck me as affording a remarkable instance of this partial estimate. It is a quotation from a certain Suhm, in Hist. Lit. Actis Nidrosensibus inserta. "Of those who have gained the praise of the learned world, six only are mentioned as immortal, the highest appellation that can be bestowed on philosophers: Galileo, Newton, Leibnitz, Boerhaave, Linne, and Gram." With the first five names no man of reading can be unacquainted; but who is Gram? I take it for granted that he is a German, but in what department he has acquired this extraordinary celebrity I cannot guess.

For the Literary Magazine.

SAPPHO VINDICATED.

THE first after Alcman, whose devotion to love particularly claims notice, is Sappho, the poetess of Mytilene. Her character has been the subject of so much controversy, that it may seem impossible to allege any new argument to rescue it from the abhorrence with which her supposed irregularities have loaded her name. Yet we may be better inclined to listen to what has been said in her vindication, when it is considered that some of the fables recorded of her are full of the most palpable absurdities and anachronisms. At least, when we are told by grave authors that Anacreon, Archilochus, and Hipponax were among her gallants, we may be disposed to hesitate in admitting every other story that has been circulated to her prejudice. The existence of another Sappho, a native

of Eressus, of infamous character, may explain some of these inconsistencies; and we may, I should imagine, without being called discourteous, transfer to a prostitute who has been dead for 2500 years the calumnies which have been injuriously levelled against the fame of an exalted spirit that will live for ever.

With regard to her love for Phaon, it is not surprising that a woman of so ardent an imagination as our poetess should be hurried away, by the violence of passion, to a conduct generally reputed irregular and disgraceful; and, as she soared above her sex in the wonderful endowments of her mind, so perhaps it is hardly fair to judge her by the common standard of female propriety. On these grounds we may admit the probability and palliate the extravagance of this unfortunate attachment; but I think it impossible to allow, without unquestionable proofs, the utter depravity of a soul so noble.

The remonstrances which Sappho made to her brother Charaxus on a disgraceful and ruinous connection he had formed with an Egyptian courtezan, are strongly demonstrative of the strength of her affection for him, and of the purity of her own heart and understanding. It is customary with those who take an unnatural delight in blackening the human character, to dwell on acts of hypocrisy and duplicity, and to represent it as a common thing in men to conceal in themselves, by severely reprehending in others, the very vices to which they are conscious of being most addicted. But whatever we may read or hear of such men, they are, to the honour of our nature, very seldom to be met with in real life, especially among those whose minds have been enlarged by liberal pursuits, or whose hearts are expanded by the powers of their fancy, and the warmth of their imagination.-Sappho is all fire and enthusiasm: her whole soul is breathed out in every strain she sings. She calls

on Venus herself to administer wine to her associates, and thus addresses the heavenly cup-bearer:

Come, smiling Venus! hand around
The golden cup with nectar crown'd;
Present thy goblet from above
To all who have the soul to love:
Come, and the draught thy hands sup-
ply

Inspire with thy divinity.

Is it possible that such a woman was a hypocrite, or that, while she was reproving the vice and folly of a beloved brother, she was conscious herself of being the most dissolute and abandoned of her sex? No author earlier than the Augustan age alludes to those infamous stories which the writings of Ovid have circulated to her prejudice. Must the character of this divine poetess be loaded with every species of obloquy and reproach on so slight a foundation as the weak fancy of a profligate Roman?

On the same single authority has the person of Sappho been injuriously stigmatised. Let us see what a Grecian poet, Democharis, says of her picture, which may at least be sufficient to counterbalance the

other:

With Nature's roses, shines with Nature's snows,

While the bright smiles and lips' nectareous dews

of the original. There is as much difference between them as between the soul of Sappho and that of a tender European lover. I will therefore venture to present a translation which appears to me more literal, retaining the four first lines of Philips, which it seems impossible to render more exactly.

"Blest as th' immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile."
'Tis this has set my heart on fire,
And thrill'd my bosom with desire;
For when I see thy form arise,
All voice and sound that instant dies;
Slow subtle fires my skin devour;
My trembling tongue has lost its pow'r;
My sight is fled; around me swim
Low dizzy murmurs; every limb
Cold creeping dews o'erspread; I feel
A shivering tremor o'er me steal;
Paler than grass I grow; my breath
Pants in short gasps; I seem like death.

I will conclude these observations on the Mytilenian poetess with the following epigram:

Come, Lesbian maids, to Juno's royal With steps that hardly press the pave. dome,

ment, come;

muse.

Of the sublime ode preserved by Longinus, Ambrose Philips's beautiful translation will never be equalled by any future attempts. Yet it has been very justly observed, that that exquisite little poem fails in giving an adequate idea of the fire

of variety. It is among the Pastorals of Bion.

Mild star of Eve, whose tranquil beams

Are grateful to the queen of love; Sweet planet, whose effulgence gleams

More bright than all the pow'rs above, And only to the moon's clear light Yields the first honours of the night.

All hail, thou soft, thou holy star,

Fair glory of the midnight sky! And when my steps are wand'ring far, Leading the shepherd minstrelsy, Then if the moon deny her ray, Oh light me, Hesper, on my way!

No savage robber of the dark,

No foul assassin claims thy aid To point his dagger to its mark, Or guide him in his plund'ring trade. My gentler errand is to prove The transports of requitted love.

For the Literary Magazine.

ERINNE.

ERINNE, the fair contemporary of Sappho, has been usually called a Lesbian; but there are some who make the island of Teos, and others that of Telos, the place of her birth. Though her life was short, it was sufficiently extended to procure her an immortal fame. "The rose," says Achilles Tatius, in the Loves of Clitophon and Leucippe," is therefore called the most beautiful of flowers, because it is most shortlived." He says also, "There are two kinds of beauty, the one pure and celestial, the other gross and earthly." The latter adheres to the body in which it resides, is fixed in the form of a face or of a bosom, in the regular arch of an eye-brow, the just symmetry of a nose, or the unfading coral of a lip. Its very essence consists in the features in which it dwells. There is no at. tempt at escaping, no struggling to aspire. Hence the body which it inhabits undisturbed, and almost unanimated, generally lasts on earth during the longest term that is allotted to man, and, when at last it dies, the beauty which once dwelt there perishes also, and is buried with it in the earth. This is gross, earthly beauty. The other owes its origin to Heaven, always aspires to the place of its birth, and is only shown to us in the world before it is called back again to its home. It can hardly bear to be united to a

mortal form. It seems always anxious to break its prison, and mount into the skies. Hence the fire that enlightens the eyes, that seems trying to escape, and that darts its lustre upwards into heaven. Hence the eloquent blood" that mounts into the face, that animates the countenance with colours perpetually varying and always lovely; hence the quick irregular pantings of the breast; and hence the glistening moisture of the lips and eyes, which look as if the soul were always on the wing to escape, and fluttering between the speech and the sight.

It is certain that some degree of melancholy always accompanies our admiration of premature genius or of extraordinary sensibility in early youth. The thread of life seems too finely drawn to last; and we generally anticipate the speedy loss of so much loveliness and sweetness. Such was the fate of the beautiful Erinne. A poetess from her cradle, in the short space of eighteen years she established a reputation which her admirers have not hesitated to place on a level with that of the great father of epic poetry. Yet during all this time she was apparently occupied only in those domestic concerns which in that age were the universal employments of the high-born as well as of the cottage maiden. She courted neither fame nor honour; but the muses themselves descended to her; they inspired her soul with raptures unknown to her laborious companions.

Scarce nineteen summer suns had shed

Youth's roses o'er the virgin's head,
While by a guardian-mother's side
Bade her rich silks the loom prepare,
Her customary tasks she plied;
Or watch'd the distaff's humble care:
Her modest worth the Muses knew,
Brought her rich talents forth to view;
With their own fires they fill'd her soul,
Bade her young eye in trasport roll,
And (ah! too soon from human eyes!)
Bore her, their handmaid, to the skies.

She died at the age of nineteen, unmarried, and left behind her not more than three hundred verses, on

which the highest praises are bestowed by her admirers. An ode to Fortitude, which bears her name, or, more properly, a fragment of that ode, is preserved; and we have two or three other poems of hers, which recommend themselves by an elegant and affecting simplicity, but yet more by the remarkable resemblance which they bear to the circumstances of her own death. The following is on one of her com

The Anthologia contains many epitaphs on this amiable poetess; that of Antipater Sidonius is worthy of our attention.

Few were thy notes, Erinne, short thy lay,

But thy short lay the muse herself has giv❜n;

Thus never shall thy memory decay, Nor night obscure that fame which lives in heav'n;

I have changed in my translation, as not being suitable to an English

ter-time,

Sink in the solitary grave unseen, Unhonour'd reach Avernus' fabled clime, And leave no record that we once

have been.

Sweet are the graceful swan's melodious lays,

Though but a moment heard, and then they die;

But the long chattering of discordant jays

The winds of April scatter through the sky.

For the Literary Magazine.

MEMORIAL OF THE MERCHANTS OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK.

To the President of the United States, and the Senate and House of Representatives, &c. &c.

YOUR memorialists beg leave respectfully to approach the government of their country, on subjects of great importance, which have affected their minds with the deepest anxiety and alarm.

Confiding in the justice and friendly dispositions of the government of Great Britain, and entertaining a correspondent expectation that no unusual restrictions would be imposed on neutral commerce, without adequate motives and the most ample notice; presuming, especially, that commercial enterprises, commenced under the sanction of established principles, would on no account be affected by a change of