ping cattle, gathering close, low at the gate. How soft the air, filled with the freshness of the vallies, and the luxuriance of the plains. But how sweeter is its clearing up, at evening; the rainbow glimmering; the broad sun shedding a faint light over the deepened landscape; the birds shaking their lit tle wings, and opening their merry throats; and man and beast peaceful and contented.

MATTER-OF-FACT MEN.

There is no set of animals so tedious, as matter-of-fact men. That is, those, who have bare facts, without the reason of them. An eclipse happened yesterday; it is a fact. But they cannot tell what is an eclipse, nor how it happened. I have been reasoning high logick, and bye logick, and been at the point of the triumph of argument, though perhaps without the conquest of truth; and one of these eaves-droppers in conversation, who hears all, but speaks not a word, will by and by surprise me with a confounded fact, which, do my best, I cannot get over. Ex. gr. I will advance in argument,' man has an abhorrence of violent pain, and therefore would not bathe in molten lead.' My respondent denies not my proposition. But Factotum blows me up at once, in declaring, that he has seen a man in Paris, who, for ten sous, would bathe himself in the very fluid; and this is a fact.

WOMEN.

It is in vain for men to put on important airs and wise looks, in claiming absolute superiority over women. The one, who makes the last triumph, is pretty evidently the conqueror. There is a mysterious influence about them, which will get the better of us; a nimble,

ness of thought, which will outstretch our own. Let us be, but a moment, under the spell of a melting face, and where is the rigour of our stoicism? What avails us to dart the fiery glances of indignant eyes against a blue one, glistening in tears? One sigh from the bosom of a beautiful woman will wreck our pride, and one tear-drop overwhelm it. On the other hand, these pretty favourites of nature must not too curiously peep into the dark and winding recesses of science. The delicacy of their minds may be made still sweeter by apportioning their time to the endearing order and peaceful secu rity of domestick life, and to the acquirement of easy literature ; sometimes to the airiness of poetry, and sometimes to the gravity of plain reading. Montaigne's words are most preceptive:

La poesie est un amusement propre a leur besoign; c'est un art follastre, tout en plaisir, com

me elles. Elles tirenont aussi divers commoditez de l'histoire. En la philosophie, de la part qui dressent, a juger de nos humeurs et conditions, a sert a la vie, elles prendront les discours qui les

se deffendre de nos trahisons; a reigier la temerite de leurs propres desirs; a mesnager leur liberte; allonger les plaisirs de la vie, et a porter humainement l'inconstance d'un serviteur, la rudesse d'un mary.

DANTE ALIGHIERI.

There is much mystery about this dark and solemn Italian bard. It was in his banishment, that he became the most gloomy of recluses, abstracted from objects of this world, and brooding over the memory of his beloved, but dead Beatrice. It was then, amidst the gloomy haunts of exile, and in the deep silence of never-ending solitude, that his dark spirit held strange vision and communion with the horrible shadows of the other world. It was then, that it moved with dreadful pomp through the regions of hell, along ranges of forms, monstrous with every deformity, which heavenly in

dignation could impose, and writhing with every torture, which wrath could inflict. Amid the hollow groans of anguish and despair, and the sinking sobs of sorrow, that is never to end, and of repentance, unaccepted, did he perform his infernal march. His Inferno is the mighty perspective of his tremendous pass.

In his Purgatorio, his mind has shed a pale light through the infinite extent of darkness, which had surrounded it. In his Paradiso, he has struck into vision realms, brighter and more charming, than even hope could desire. The air of his heaven is the purest expanse, through which his perfect spirits are forever moving, with all the felicity and delight of angelick life.

Dante was born at Florence, A. D. 1265, and sprung from one of its first families. He was early enamoured of Beatrice, the influence of whose charms was the inspiration of his muse. His love, like that of his successor Petrarch, was most strange, mysterious, and spiritual. She died at twenty-six,

and the soul of Dante sunk into the most profound gloom. During the convulsions of grief, he commenced the mighty work of the Divina Commedia; encouraged by the prayers of his mistress, now in heaven, who had prevailed on the spirit of Virgil to be his guide through the regions he was to pass. The spirit of the great Latin poet was to Dante, what Eneas was to himself. Having been suspected of joining in a conspiracy, at Florence, he was banished, and for many years the melancholy bard wandered about Italy, hunger-bitten, and forsaken. He finally proGured protection at Ravenna, where he at length closed his miserable Afe. Dante was said to have pos

sessed powerful eloquence, and was sent on fourteen different embassies. His works consist of the Divina Commedia, a Latin translation on Eloquence, and many canzonets and sonnets. He has been thus peculiarly sketched by a great Italian writer: His demeanour was solemn, and his walk slow; his dress suitable to his rank and age; his visage long, his nose aqueline, his eyes full, his cheek bones large, and upper lip a little projecting over the under one; his complexion was olive, his hair and beard thick and curled; this gave him that singularity of aspect, which made his enemies observe, that he looked like one who had visited the infernal regions.'

Though surrounded by the gloom of the dark ages, the genius of Dante moved through the thickened hemisphere, like the sun in a storm, struggling through darkness, and at times breaking forth with excessive light. Though persecuted, and then forsaken, he was inspired by his muse to atchievements, which made his name imperial in fame. His imagination was so filled with sublimity, pathos, and beauty, that it is diffi cult to detach from the whole, particular examples.

The third canto of the Inferno opens with the dreadful inscription on the gates of hell :

Per me si za nella città "dolente:

Per me si va nell' eterno dolore:

Per me si va tra la perduta gente. "Giustizia mosse 'l mio alto fattore:

Fecemi la divina potestate, La somma sapienza, e 'l "primo nmsre. Dinanzi a me non fur cose create, Se "non eterne, ed io "eterno duro : Lasciate ogni speranza, voi che 'ntrate. DELL' INFERNO, Cant. 3.

Through me the newly-damn'd for ever fleet,

In ceaseless shoals, to Pain's eternal seat;

"Long ere the infant world arose to light,

I found a being in the womb of night. Eldest of all-but things that ever last!

And I for ever last!Ye heirs of Hell, Here bid at once your lingering hope farewell,

And mourn the moment of repentance BOYD. past

The repose of the following stanza is peculiarly striking:

Quante il villan, ch' al poggia si riposa, Nei "tempo, che "colui, che 'l mondo schiara,

La fuccia sua a noi tien "meno ascosa, Come "a mosca cede alla zanzara, Vede lucciole giù per la "valiea, Forse colà, dove vendemmia ed ara.

DELL' INFERNO, Cant. 26.

As when the swain, reclin'd beneath

the shade, Beholds the glow-worm train illume the glade,

And spangling myriads gleam along

the vale :

While Evening slumbers o'er her shadowy reign,

And, borne on Summer wing, across the plain,

In twilight bands, the droning beetles

sail.

BOYD.

Panca:

race,

waves.

umes borne.

No two poets ever wrote with such coincidence of thought and expression, as the Italian poet, and the great author of Paradise Lost. Indeed, the same train of images seems to have passed through the inspired vision of these two wild magicians. The darkness of their souls was utter;' the light of them as pure and mild, as the first ray, which reached the bowers of Eden.

·

VIRGIL'S THUNDER.

Virgil's art of making thunder seems very like an empirick's recipe: his Cyclops are like so many drug-men, most gravely making it up. There is so much quackery about the original prescription, that one is surprized Dryden did not reduce the ingredients, at least to scruples.

Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosæ
Addiderant, rutuli tres ignis et alitis Austri,

Fulgores nunc terrificos, sonitumque metumque
Miscebant operi flammisque sequacibus Iras.
NEID. VIII

Three rays of writhen rain, of fire three more,
Of winged southern winds and cloudy store
As many parts; the dreadful mixture frame,
DRYDEN
And fears are added, and avenging flame.

DEAR SIR,

Worcester, Oct. 12, 1755.

ALL that part of creation, which lies within our observation, is liable to change. Even mighty states and kingdoms are not exempt ed. If we look into history, we shall find some nations rising from contemptible beginnings, and spreading their influence, till the whole globe is subjected to their When they have reached sway. the summit of grandeur, some minute and unsuspected cause commonly effects their ruin, and the empire of the world is transferred to some other place. Immortal Rome was, at first, but an insignificant village, inhabited only by a few abandoned ruffians; but, by degrees, it rose to a stupendous height, and excelled, in arts and arms, all the nations that preceded

it.

But the demolition of Carthage, (what one should think would have established it in supreme dominion) by removing all danger, suffered it to sink into debauchery, and made it, at length, an easy prey to barbarians. England, immediately upon this, began to increase (the particular and minute causes of which, I am not historian enough to trace) in power and magnificence, and is now the greatest nation upon the globe.

Soon after the reformation, a few people came over into this new world, for conscience sake. Perhaps this apparently trivial incident may transfer the great seat of emto me; for, if we can remove the pire into America. It looks likely turbulent Gallicks, our people, according to the exactest computations, will, in another century, become more numerous than England itself. Should this be the

case, since we have, I may say, all the naval stores of the nation in our hands, it will be easy to obtain the united force of all Europe, will the mastery of the seas; and then not be able to subdue us. only way to keep us from setting Divide et impera-Keep us in disup for ourselves, is to disunite us. tinct colonies, and then some great

The

men in each colony, desiring the monarchy of the whole, they will destroy each other's influence, and keep the country in equilibrio.

Be not surprised that I am turned politician. This whole town is immersed in politicks. The interests of nations, and all the dira of war, make the subject of every conversation. I sit and hear, and after having been led through a maze of sage observations, I sometimes retire, and, by laying things together, form some reflections

pleasing to myself. The produce of one of these reveries you have read above. Different employ ments, and different objects, may have drawn your thoughts other ways. I shall think myself happy, if, in your turn, you communicate your lucubrations to me. I wrote you sometime since, and have waited with impatience for an answer, but have been disappointed. I hope that the lady, at Barnstable, has not made you forget your friends. Friendship, I take it, is one of the distinguishing glories of man; and the creature, that is insensible of its charms, though he may wear the shape of man, is unworthy of

the character. In this perhaps we bear a nearer resemblance tò unembodied intelligences, than in any thing else. From this I expect to receive the chief happiness of my future life; and am sorry that fortune has thrown me at such a distance from those of my friends, who have the highest place in my affections. But thus it is, and I must submit-But I hope, ere long, to return, and live in that happy familiarity, that has, from earliest infancy, subsisted between yourself and affectionate friend, JOHN ADAMS.

Addressed to Mr. NATHAN
WEBB, at Braintree.