changed, and jealousy has ceased to be one of their vices, yet I much doubt whether the French have lost any thing of their disposition to gallantry, at least appearances do not indicate any such change.

Among the other corrupting fashions, which have been introduced by the French officers, is a lascivious dance called the waltz, originally learned by them in Germany, but which is exactly adapted to the taste of a young French officer, who is in quarters in a city full of pretty women, whose morals are loose enough to permit them to join in this dance. As you probably have never seen it, and for the sake of your feelings I pray you never may, I will give you a short description of it, in order that you may form some opinion of the degraded state of morals on the continent of Europe.

In the first place, the ladies are dressed a la Grecque; that is to say, with the least possible attire, leaving as little room for the imagination as possible, the breast and arms totally exposed, or covered only with gauze or crape. Thus prepared for this embracing dance, the gentleman clasps with both arms the lady firmly round the waist, while she gently passes one of hers around his body, and softly reclines the other upon his neck. You will probably expect some description of an elegant figure, executed with taste, and affording variety and amusement. No; the attitude constitutes all the pleasure and all the novelty of the dance. The dancers thus embracing and embraced, begin to turn most furiously, precisely like our Shaking Quakers, and as the motion would make them dizzy, if they did not keep - their eyes fixed on some object, which turns as rapidly as them

selves, they have an apology for the most languishing gazes upon each other. In this state of painful revolution they continue, till nature is exhausted, when the lady is exactly prepared to repose her self, which she does in the arms of her companion. The dance is soon renewed, and, as it has no other termination than the fatigue of the parties, nor any other object than a languishing embrace,it generally continues for several hours, exhibiting neither variety, taste, nor graceful motions. I do not think that it is more indecent to act than it is to see it. The lady or the gentleman, who could do either without a blush, may rely upon it that they are half corrupted.

This dance appears so strongly to resemble the abominable dances of the Bacchanals, that I am persuaded it is derived from that source. It is probable that the Roman officers carried it with their arms into the north of Europe, from whence it is now returned with northern arms to scourge and debase, if possible still more, the Italians.

We are so prone to copy all the fashions, and many of the vices of Europe, that I should tremble lest this lascivious and criminal exhibition should make its way into our country. But I console myself with the reflection, that manners must have arrived to an high degree of corruption before such a dance would be publickly permitted; and as I flatter myself, that we are as yet far removed from that state of moral depravity, so I have reason to hope, that it will not be introduced in my day, nor in that of my children.

Should, however, contrary to my hopes and belief, the day arrive, in which a lady of our society will, without blushing, be ready to

embrace a gentleman in publick company, I hope the government will not so far have lost its purity and energy, as to neglect to restrain what private delicacy ought to have prevented. Were I the attorney-general in such a case, I should without hesitation present it to the grand jury, as an offence 'contra bonos mores.' If all this should not avail, and it should become apparent that the floodgates of vice must be thrown open, I would exert my little influence with the legislature to procure an act to render polygamy lawful, or even to repeal the laws for the preservation of chastity. This I would do upon the conviction, that, when morals have descended to a certain degree of debasement, and when vice becomes general and is authorised by law, people will become virtuous by way of distinction.

I beg your pardon for having

drawn a true but disgusting picture of the state of publick morals in some parts of Europe. To a mind pure and virtuous, unsullied and unsuspicious, I know that such representations must be painful; but I thought that your curiosity would be alive on the subject, and that such a picture would tend to make your own situation dear to you. If you should ask, why I am so severe, after my own introductory remarks upon the danger of hasty general conclusions; I answer,that I have noticed only things openly practised, and which every man,who enters one of these cities, must see and know. As to my reflections on these two practices, you will judge whether they are correct or not. I have no personal knowledge of the state of morals here, except what I derive from exteriour manners.

Yours, &c.

DR. JOHNSON'S RASSELAS. THE tenour of Dr. Johnson's writings is solid sense in solid expression. His imagination rarely extends beyond the compass of real objects, and his mind seems too unwieldy from its own hugeness to chase long the fleet subtilties of metaphysical abstractions. The Adventurer, notwithstanding, contains on perusal all, that every class of readers can wish, whether in search of the precepts of morals, the rules of life, or principles of happiness. If none of his thoughts ever make us start with rapture, he produces in us such fulness

of sense, such concentration of brain, and such universal complacency, that we cannot help feeling, that the result of the whole pleasure is equal to the single and separate delight, enjoyed from writers of a brighter light. His London is rather good verse and close reflection, in imitation of his master, than fine poetick thought and his Vanity of Human Wishes, and his Irene, seem to confirm the opinion, that the Doctor could rather trace a line of light from a poet's brain, than force such an emanation from his own.

But his Rasselas makes up for

all these deficiencies of imagination. The reader is here, amidst splendour and magnificence, in security and delight. The valley of Amhara lies in brightest perspective before him. He is surrounded by mountains, which bear up the white clouds of a summer's sky; and his eye moves on the surface of rivers, gliding gently by banks, varied with every luxuriance, or reposes on the smooth lake, reflecting vines clustering with grapes, and trees blazing with fruit on its margin. The bleatings of flocks on the mountains, and the merry notes of the birds in the valley fill his car with delight. He is now glowing under the warmth of a gentle sun, or loitering to the deep grove, where the solemn elephant reposes in the shade. In the midst of this clear extent of landscape, he approaches the palace of the princes of Abyssinia, and the wild sounds of a thousand harps rise on his ear. Its massy columns and deep entablatures impose on him a solemn gloom. Its halls and saloons extend before him in all the pomp of magnificence, glittering with millions of gems. Its apartments are ranged with furnitures, hung with every embellishment, and suited to every convenience, with sofas and couches, inviting fatigue to ease, and softening ease into voluptuousness. Every fruit that is golden ripe, blushing in baskets of silver, makes the palate quicken with desire; and flowers of every hue, blended together in vases of sapphire, exhaust their sweetness in filling the air with their fragrance. They, who inhabit the palace of Amhara, are blessed beyond the lot of mortals. Pride is here satisfied with magnificence, and the desire of pleasure is exceeded in enjoyment.

He, who can, by the magick of intellect, strike into view a charm like this, if not a poet, is surely not less than one.

THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS.

The commentators seem generally to coincide in the opinion, that this bloody tragedy does not belong to Shakespeare; though there seems to be some variance amongst them with regard to certain passages, by which they undertake to show, that he had some concern in it. It seems incontestibly proved, that this is the same Titus Andronicus, that Ben Jonson alludes to, in his prologue to Bartholomew's Fair,as having then been played twenty-five years previously, and that Shakespeare had not commenced author, when it was produced. Amongst the arguments of the commentators, to prove it spurious, are conclusions which are beyond doubt; but although they have thrown up so much vapour on the subject, they have never been able to cloud the light,that shoots from this collection of darkness in its many bright passages. The character of tragedy is in the power of the plot, and continuity of the fable, so as to produce the strongest evolutions of the soul, pity and terror. This is Aristotle's golden rule, and it must ever remain the sine qua non of tragedy. The great critick makes sentiment and language secondary objects altogether, and merely the conductors of the story. One of the great peculiarities of Shakespeare is in the masterly conducting of his fable, and in the strong and leading effects of his plot. No one, however skilful in dramatick learning, has approached him nearer in these, than they have in thought. His

'I saw a smith stand with his hammer thus,

The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,

With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news!'

Colloquial politicks, by which I mean the slang of citizens about the evolutions of the world, and the manœuvres of their own government and country, have made with us thousands of blockheads, and crammed the heads of men of good sense with more stuff, than ever a quack packed into the stomach of a sick man. This delightful liberty of speech, and liberty of the press, make up a great part of the nonsense and rodomontade of "Hail, Columbia.' We are all politicians, from a senator to a tailor, and all senators, from a tailor to the gentlemanly learned. But what national dignity can be expected from a country, where there are so many hundreds of political methodists, canting about universal liberty, promiscuous equality; and preaching about political milleniums, the new light of reason, republican purity, and the diffusion

of knowledge throughout the country? How happy and peculiar is our state, that Colin Clout can spell out a long-winded newspaper column, stale from the head of a printer's devil, into the ear of Blouzilinda, while she is scouring her milk-pails! What can be more absurd than this diffusion of Dilworth learning, to clowns, who ought to be brightening their plowshares, instead of dog-earing their spelling-book. From this, we see postmen drawing the latchet of a log-house, and leaving the 'print, for its gaunt and poverty-struck tenant to labour through, by the light of a pine-knot flambeau. How improving to the morals, when the landlord of a village-tavern, mounted in his bar, and showing through the casement a hugh ruby face, which looks very like his demijean of brandy, begins to flame at the mouth with a political harangue, and when the point is finally to be settled, at the hazard of some dozen knips of sling, and quarts of black strap.

Our cities are not less infected with this political virus, than our villages. A whining town-meeting orator is in the same ratio of noise and disturbance with the Boniface described. Our caucus, instead of being the Caucasus of old, where the Gods met together to decide on the affairs of this world, is now the aldermens' hall, whose walls are stained with the smoke of roast beef, and smell woundedly' of the breath of fat and greasy citizens. You cannot, in these political days, set at table to your wine a minute, after the cloth is removed, before a heavy pair of lungs roar on your ear a patriotick toast, and then comes a song, or rather an ode for the occasion, from the nose of a twanging psalmsinger; in the midst of which you