isted no longer, and the sublimity of this exordium would have been

nothing, but a long concatenation of unmeaning expletives. We shall speak largely of the sublimity of this performance, when we come to examine it by the rules of the scholiasts. But our modern poets are just as bad, on the score of amplification and invocation, as the ancients. They cannot describe a battle, but the whole heavens must be in an uproar; nor ean they relate the skirmish of a couple of insignificant scouts, without being at fifty times the trouble in describing, than the scouts were in fighting. In a word, they can not speak of a palisado, counterscarp, or ravelin, which my uncle Toby would have described in twenty minutes, and even corporal Trim in twice that time, without carrying us all through the covered-way,, back again over the glacis, through the trenches, nor even without leaving us, after all, confoundedly mauled with the chevaux-de-frize and, in doing all this, they must have the assistance of three of the Muses at least, with Bellona into the bargain.

:

The cat's in the fiddle!

And if we will judge Addison by a modern criticism, let us refer to Dr. Blair; he observes, exemplifying his remark by the above lines, "This, and all introductions of the same kind, are a forced attempt in a writer to spur up himself and his reader, when he finds his imagination begins to flag." But, in this elegant performance, there is nowhere such a species of weakness. Let us suppose our author had begun like Addison ; and we shall soon see, how far below it's present merit the poem useless amplification : will appear, when tortured with

But, O my Muse! what numbers can

be found

To sing the cat, within the fiddle bound. To paint her form, what colours shall

avail ?

Her lengthen'd talons, and extended tail ?

Methinks, I hear the sounds tumultuous rise,

And cat and cat-gut fill the distant skies.

Our post knew how far superiour the elegance and concinnity of his exordium would appear, when contrasted with loads of epithet and heterogeneous matter. He therefore rejected all superfluous ornament, which must necessarily have presented itself to his mind on this occasion, and confined himself to the bare relation of facts. Had he been inclined, he might have extended his performance to a greater length than any of his followers, Homer and Virgil not excepted. To say nothing of Homer's shield, our poet might have consumed an hundred lines very prettily in describing the fiddle, as did Virgil in describing the shield of Æneas. He might very well have delineated on the bottom, top, and sides of the fiddle, the four provinces of

Greece,... Macedonia, Epirus, Achaia, and Peloponnesus; and, if the fiddle was of a superiour size, he might also have drawn out the cat's genealogy, after the manner of Virgil, and reserved the bridge for the Trojan states and dependencies. How happily might he have described the claws of the cat, like the gauntlets of Entellus !

* Obstupuere_animi, tantorum ingentia septem

Terga boum, plumbo insuto, ferroque rigebant?

All wonder'd when her claws she first expos'd,

So firm, they seem'd of seven bulls'horns compos'd.

In fine; we know of no poem, the exordium of which is so truly beautiful in any language-Homer does not venture a single step in the Iliad, as well as in the Odyssey, without craving the assistance of the Muse. Virgil, more daring than Homer in this particular, has ventured to the distance of seven

lines, and even proposed his subject, previously to his invocation, Silius Italicus has discovered himself as much the ape of Virgil in this particular, as in many others. Lucan has marked out for himself a road entirely new; he first proposes his subject, next begins the narration, and then invokes the Muse. But what shall we say of Apollonius Rhodius? His poem, on the expedition of the Argonauts,

begins with an invocation of ne one; but the poet very familiarly tells Phœbus, by whom, he says, he is already inspired, that he intends to resound the deeds of some famous heroes; and, as the first part of this intelligence is probably somewhat new to Phabus, the god must have a strange opinion of the poet, not very different from the idea we sometimes have of our visiting cousins from the country. But this is not all; after a few lines he invokes the Nine with all possible politeness, begging their assistance in the most obliging terms. Now, whether he intended to insult Phoebus by this impudent treatment, or, whether it proceeded from pure affection for the sex, it is not to our purpose to determine. It is however certain, that Phœbus resented it by withholding from him the assistance of the Muses almost altogether, for which we have the testimonies

of Longinus, Quintilian, Scaliger, and Rapin.

But it is unnecessary to adduce any more examples from the ancients in proof of our poet's superiority, on account of his elegant exordium of his performance. And and comprehensive brevity, in the

as we have more than once stated our determination to be as brief as possible, we think proper to close the present number. S.

with which this city abounds, it becomes extremely embarrassing to select those, which would be most interesting to one's friends.

In my very imperfect sketches to my friends I have taken up such detached subjects, as accidentally presented themselves. In my last letter to you I enumerated many of the extraordinary instances of that blind credulity and superstition, for which this country has been distinguished during the later ages, and from the tyranny of which it has not yet been liberated. I could multiply these proofs without limit, but I fear that I have been already too diffuse on this point. I cannot however restrain myself from mentioning two paintings, which made a strong im pression upon me to the no small disorder of my risible muscles. The one is a figure of Saint Charles Borromeo, (for whose merits and character you may consult my letters from Milan) who is represented upon his knees before the Virgin Mary, very piously and liberally presenting to her his own heart, which he holds in his hand. The other is a representation of Saint Dennis, and his extraordinary dying miracle. This saint, who is the protector of France, is described as standing with his head in his hand, in a most firm and dignified posture. The painter has taken no poetick license in this representation. He has conformed himself strictly to Catholick history, which states, that St. Dennis, having suffered martyrdom by decapitation, instantly arose, heroically seized his dissevered head, and walked upwards of a mile in that situation, to the utter confusion (no doub) of his murderers.

But enough of these absurdities, it is more interesting to a man of reflection to learn the effects of such a system on manners and national character. To you it would be needless to remark, that the character of the Italians, and more es

pecially of the Romans, is now in its Nadir. This opinion is too universally admitted to require proof; but general opinions are less interesting, than the facts and details upon which they are founded, especially when these can be obtained from persons, of whose veracity we can form a correct estimate. The country around Rome on every side is in the most deserted, forlorn, and miserable situation, of which the imagination can form any conception. Except where some rich nephew of a pope has erected a princely villa, the country perfectly responds to the description of the ruins of Palmyra or of Babylon, where, as travellers relate, you are compelled to take a guide and wander along the banks of the Euphrates, amidst tygers and other beasts of prey, to discover the spot, where the richest city in the world once reared its proud and lofty turrets.

You will naturally inquire, is the soil miserable? Far from it. Independent of the well known fact, that it was once the most populous and best cultivated country in the world, I assure you, that the soil appears to me to be at present very strong, and capable of producing most abundantly. Naturalists say, and I think the colour and nature of the soil fully support the opinion, that the soil in this part of Italy is the product of ancient volcanoes, or at least that, upon analysis, it is found to be the same with that in the vicinity of Naples, which is known to have been produced by volcanick eruptions. These soils, we know, are remarkable for their fertility, and the gardens and pleasure grounds of the ecclesiasticks and nobility around Rome are incontestible proofs of the excellence of this soil even at the present day. The

climate also is the most favourable for successful culture. It lies in the happy medium between the cold northern and scorching tropical climates.

But this country is said to be unhealthy. This is but too true. No country is more ravaged by autumnal diseases, than the environs of Rome, and even the city itself is not exempt from this calamity. In the vicinity Famine and Misery, Disease and Death surround you; and in the city the pallid countenances of the inhabitants pronounce most eloquently the fatal insalubrity of the air. An official statement, which I have just seen, will give you some idea of this extraordinary city. There are about eighty parish churches; five thousand ecclesiasticks or religious devotees, of both sexes, in celibacy; twenty thousand more males than females; and, for a century past, one thousand more deaths, than births. Still this city was constantly on the increase, till the French revolutionized it and annihilated the ecclesiastical authority, when, losing its only support, it suddenly decreased twenty thousand.

The result of the foregoing statement appears to be, that Rome is a vast gulf, which annually brings within its vortex the population of its neighbours, who there fall victims to its climate. But to what causes are we to attribute this ill state of the atmosphere ?It is well known, that the city itself was healthy in the time of the ancient Romans, and the air of the Campania was more salubrious, than that of the city. Horace, Virgil, Pliny, Cicero, all praise the country air. They retired thither in summer to enjoy the cool shades and refreshing breezes. In autumn it would be, at this day, cer

tain death, A Danish writer, who passed through this country last year, has just published an inge nious treatise on that part of Latium, which is the scene of the six last books of the Æneid. This writer attributes the mortality to the miserable state of the poor inhabitants of this part of Italy, who, after working in their enervating climate, are obliged to lie down, exposed to the chilling night air, without proper covering; and also to the destruction of the woods, which formerly covered a very considerable portion of the country. You know, it is the modern fashion to attribute great virtue to woods, particularly evergreens. They are said to imbibe the noxious particles of the atmosphere, and to emit oxygen, or the salubrious part. I should add, (as still more important) to the causes above cited, the superiour industry of the ancient Romans, who drained the meadows and morasses, with which the Campania abounds, but which are now suffered to exhale putrid miasmata to the destruction of every living animal.

But, it may be asked, why are the modern citizens of Rome so indolent? why have they not inherited the spirit and enterprize of their predecessors? The impediments are ecclesiastical and polit ical.

Ecclesiastical, because the numerous festivals, saints' days, perpetual masses, and pompous ceremonics of the Roman Catholick Church distract the attention,. consume the time of the devotees, and prevent that steady and serious attention to their temporal affairs, which the gospel not only permits but enjoins. Ecclesiastical, because the example of two thousand monks, who make mendicity a profession, who perform no manual labour, exercise no useful calling,

but who subsist and build magnificent churches and monasteries by alms, procured in forma pauperis, produces a very ill effect upon the common people, who do not deem it dishonourable to subsist on charity, when some of the orders, whom they venerate, obtain their support by such means. Political, because the lands in Italy are seldom or never owned by the cultivators, but are held in mortmain by the convents and other ecclesiastical establishments. They are therefore never sold, and seldom leased upon long leases or on favourable terms. The tenants in the Ecclesiastical State, where there are tenants, (for in many parts there are none) unable to acquire a title to the property they cultivate, and by their superstition rendered as dependent on the clergy, as the cerfs in Poland on their lords, are idle, indifferent about their residence, and perpetually removing from place to place. The lands by these means are constantly impoverished, and are reduced to the miserable state, in which we now find them.

In addition to these obvious causes, the Papal government, weak and inefficient from its very constitution, always administered by old, and generally feeble superannuated men, aided by constitutional advisers of the same character, has never adopted and probably never will adopt vigorous steps to remedy these radical evils, and to give activity to commerce, without which agriculture must languish.

Having made these remarks on the indolence and wretched culti -vation of the inhabitants of the Ecclesiastical State, let me briefly state a few facts, which elucidate and confirm these opinions. The Campania, instead of supplying Rome with provisions, as it for

merly did, and as it is now abundantly capable of doing, actuallysubsists by bread, drawn from the capital; and it is unquestionable, that the few wretched villagers would perish, if this aid was withdrawn. With this assistance it is nevertheless true, that the inhabitants of the Campania often suffer, and frequently perish of hunger. It is also certain, that Rome itself is crowded with beggars, whose misery need not be represented by complaints, their countenances speak too powerful a language. Paris, London, Amsterdam, and Bordeaux united, cannot exhibit so many objects of real distress, as meet you in every direction at Rome. It is the most distressing picture I ever beheld. You are pursued at every corner by these wretched beings, and if you relieve the necessities of one, you are instantly thronged with twenty others, who will receive no refusal. Importunity would give you but a faint idea of their eagerness and entreaties, it amounts to compulsion. While the heart is thus constantly agitated by the picture of the most complete human misery, it is at the same moment roused to indignation by seeing dapper priests in stockings of bright purple, with hats ornamented with the same rich colour, tripping it lightly along from the shop of the frisseur, unassailed by these poor wretches, who have solicited them too often in vain, or who find by experience that the language of nature pleads more powerfully with strangers, not hardened by familiarity with such scenes of horrour. The rich and luxurious cardinal too, wrapped in his double folds of the richest purple, with princely magnificence, and followed by a long train of liveried domesticks, rolls along, unheeding