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 Michel 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. 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 Italian painters, was, in my opiuage of Michel Agnolo, and of the ion, as splendid as the Augustan, Perugine, the master of Raphael, or the age of Louis XIV. Peter 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 inproved upon those who have gone before us, especially in the more refined parts of literature? Adieu. For the Anthology. In sylvam ferre lignum. AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. AS an orator, Mr. Randolph is far from contemptible. But he mistakes his powers. He ought to feel that Pitt's lightning singes his fingers; he ought to know that Vol. IV. No. 1. E Burke's thunder deafens his ears. -Randolph's "thunder rumbles from the mustard bowl;" his lightning flashes from the warming, pan. 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 Æschines; 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 suilies by attempting to brighten the rose to a clearer red, to soften the lily to a purer white. Jortin's 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. IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. WHAT honours, what unwithering, immortal glories await the man, of whom it may be said, withnihil dixit, nihil sensit nisi laudanout exaggerated praise, nihil fecit, dum! For the death of such a man our eyes are still wet with tears, our hearts still big with sighs. Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. But why tears, why sighs, for one who lived in purity, and died in peace; who, from a world of misery and death, is now translated to a world of life and happinessfrom restless sinfulness and bodily discord, to That holy calm, that harmony of mind, Where purity and peace immingle charms. His hope was full of immortality.' He breathed back to heaven a soul spotless as truth, sincere as love; he died in "sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection.” Such were the moral qualities of my friend. Of his intellectual powers, it is difficult to say which was superiour; his imagination, which seemed to glow with the pure, unmingled fire of genius, or his judg ment, which appeared to shine with the clear, unclouded light of intuition. He lived full of ambition,....he died full of honour. Those, who love and cherish virtue and piety, loved and cherished him; those who respect and reverence learning and genius,respected and reverenced him. Ye vallies low, where the mild whispers rise Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose, that forsaken dies, The tufted crowtoe, and pale jessamine, The white pink and the pansy freakt with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose and the well-attir'd 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 soot erkin of unthinking fatuity, than the hideous monster of unpitying malignity, to weakness of mind, which may be ingrained and is therefore excuseable; than to coldness 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 gur gite 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 doubtful 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, 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 equiyocation 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. feelings and opinions of a man, who though at present in disgrace and poverty, cheerfully expects, Such were once, such are still the rich and glorious reward. and will hereafter gladly receive, a But rich and glorious reward. why in disgrace, why in poverty? Because he loved truth with a warmer affection than he courted popular applause; because he hated 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 ap plause, can heighten affection for If our hearts are pure, if our honit, to doating, drivelling fondness? our is fair and unsuspected, what, I am never weary of reading the in publick contempt, can exasper Faery 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 res pectable 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 ? Who, Publick contempt, what is it? It is a dream, it is nothing. then, will fly from it, as from the lowest misery? At worst, it is easi ly borne,and even under its coldest frowns the warm smiles of hope, and cheerful, brightening anticipa tion, are playing on our cheeks. Popular 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. Eheu, vos charum tam perdere sanguine junctos!. Eheu, vos comites miseros tam perdere fidum! Eheu, vos Musas tristes tam perdere amicum ! |