GOLDSMITH appears to enjoy as large a share of critical veneration as any writer of his age. His laurels, indeed, grow brighter with time, and his power to instruct and amuse will probably increase as years roll on, and one generation follows another.

It is very remarkable, that though his productions are exceedingly voluminous, the greater part of them, and those, to the subject of which vulgar apprehensions annex the greatest dignity and value, are of little importance, and will probably disappear from our libraries in a few years. Natural and civil history are two of the most important departments of human pursuit ; and yet the History of Animated Nature, and the History of England, of Rome, and of Greece, by Goldsmith, have never deserved or obtained any lasting regard. These various themes afford the noblest opportunities for the display of wisdom and eloquence, but Goldsmith's genius was unsuited to them. In his Natural History he has done no more than copy servilely, and paraphrase tamely. In his civil histories he has produced nothing but trite, com

VOL. III. NO. XXI.

mon-place, and school-boy abridgments. The latter works were intended for the use of the young, but they are equally unqualified for affording instruction to age, or entertainment to youth.

Goldsmith's reputation and usefalness are founded on a very small part of his works. First, on tales and essays, which convey the most pleasing morality in the most captivating style, or arrayed in incidents which reflect, with admirable fidelity and truth, the picture of human life and manners; and, secondly, on two poems, which, though they will scarcely bear a comparison with the works of our eminent poets as to quantity, will not shrink from the comparison as to intrinsic value. No themes of poetry are nobler, than those of Goldsmith, and no genius ever poured out, on such themes, richer and more polished strains.

It is worthy of notice, that the fame of Johnson rests upon foundations nearly similar to that of Goldsmith. They have both produced many moral disquisitions; many fictitious narratives; together with didactic and dramatic poetry. In addition, however, to these, Johnson

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was a critic and biographer. Gold smith's taste and judgment was probably superior, but at least was equal, to those qualities in Johnson; but his excellence, in these respects, can only be inferred from the perfection of his own performances, as we have little or no criticism from his pen.

Johnson's attempts at pourtraying life and manners, as they existed around him, were remarkably unfortunate. His eastern tales have all the merit compatible with plans so wild, grotesque, and unnatural; but no man of just taste, in morals or in composition, can hesitate a moment in preferring, not only the moral spirit, but the taste and genius which display themselves in Goldsmith's simple and natural tales, to those which animate the pompous and gloomy fictions of Johnson. Their essays breathe a temper and spirit nearly the reverse of each other, and Goldsmith is, in this particular, as benign, cheerful, and agreeable, as Johnson is morose and melancholy.

If we separate style and language from character, incident, and seniment, no one will hesitate in deciding to which the palm of poetical superiority is due. In prose they differ as widely as modes of excellence can differ. In the manner of expression, in the choice and arrangement of words, Johnson differs not only from Goldsmith, but from every other. Goldsmith occupies a sphere by no means so much his own, so peculiar to himself. When the merit of each, in his own way, is so great, it is presumptuous to decide on their comparative merit. In Goldsinith's compositions, elegance is wedded to simplicity. Wit, play. ful and benign, strews every where her sweetest flowers, and the graces mark every sentence for their own. If this be the style of Goldsmith, it must surely be excellent. Whatever praise the style of Johnson may merit, his greatest admirers would never dream of clothing their applause in these terms; but since this is the highest praise which any hu

THE ruling passion of Cicero was undoubtedly the love of fame. To this he was ready to sacrifice every other consideration. The images of future glory seem to have always occupied his fancy, and he wrote and spoke, doubtless, in some degree, for the sake of present and temporary purposes, but chiefly for the sake of a lasting reputation with posterity.

The order of sublunary things seems frequently adapted to disconcert and baffle human efforts and designs; but the fate of Cicero may, I think, be quoted as an exception to this rule, for no man has ever probably enjoyed, in a higher degree, the good of which he was so ambitious.

In the first place, the monuments of his genius have been preserved in a more entire and perfect state than those of almost any other ancient writer. Few writers have been more voluminous and versatile than he. He tried almost all the forms of composition: speeches, dialogues, essays, letters; and in every one of them numerous and extensive specimens of his powers still remain. He has been eminently fortunate in the nature and relative value of what has escaped the ravages of time. Not only the largest, but likewise the most valuable, portions of his works are preserved. What is lost would, perhaps, have added nothing to the fame of his wisdom or eloquence.

Before the extinction of learning in the Roman empire, and long after the great change in its religion, Cicero continued to be regarded with an admiration next to idolatrous, The most eloquent of the

Latin fathers drew their sentiments and doctrines from a very different source, but, in all matters relative to language and rhetoric, Cicero was the master whom they served with most superstitious fidelity.

After the revival of the Roman language, in modern times, Cicero's good fortune manifested itsc not only in the preservation of so many of his own works, but likewise in the total destruction of the works of those who were his rivals while he lived. All the dialogists, letter writers, and orators of the same age have perished, and have thus enabled Cicero to monopolize all the fame which they might have otherwise shared with him.

It is difficult for us of the present times to conceive the degree of reverence which was paid by mankind, in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, to the ancients in general, but more particularly to Cicero.

The votaries of Cicero were called Ciceronians, and formed a sort of fraternity, in which, strictly speaking, Cicero was a divinity, an object of worship.

They did not put up prayers to Cicero as to a saint or martyr.They did not believe in his powers of protection or intercession. In this sense they were not his worshippers; but they deserved this name, inasmuch as they devoted all their studious and contemplative hours to his works; as they conceived all his opinions, moral, political, and critical, to be infallibly true, and his language to be the only medium through which a reasonable being ought to convey his thoughts.

They were, says an authentic historian, willing to deprive themselves of every pleasure, for his sake. They fled from the society of the living, as if they were themselves already dead; buried themselves in the grave of their study, and refrained from every kind of reading, except the works of Cicero, with as religious a care as Pythagoras abstained from the use of flesh. Their libraries were only

diversified by the different editions of the works of Cicero. Their histories were only those of his life; and their epics only frigid narratives of his consulship; the paintings and drawings in their galleries were only his portraits and actions. They had his head engraven on their seals, as well as on their hearts. By day and by night Cicero was the only object of their enquiries and conversations. They preferred the honour of collecting certain words, and arranging a round and nicely cadenced period, in his manner, to the performance of the most generous action. When, at length, their painful vigils had attenuated their bodies with illness, they died contented, since they had augmented the number of the martyrs of Cicero, and appeared in their last agony to be less pleased with the hope of the presence of God, than of meeting with this demon of eloquence.

To retrieve a single sentence of his writing, whether it was only a vale, or a mi amice, gave birth to the utmost exultation, and was celebrated with festivals and banquets. Many of them took the greatest delight in transcribing all his works with their own hand, and some happy memories thought the noblest achievement of human nature consisted in getting the whole of them by rote. In some instances, a kind of worship was paid to him; that is, a building was erected, in the temple fashion, in which a fraternity of classical devotees assembled, on stated days, when certain portions of his works were read, and voices and instruments joined in echoing his praise, in presence of his statue.

For the Literary Magazine.

SITUATIONS OF COAL.

R.

THE attention of the public seems lately to have been pretty