it possible to mistake in appropriating this description. It is a remark which I cannot refuse to make, for it is one, which no man can suppress, who is interested in the success of that religion, which, if true, is of all things most interesting to mankind, that there is no one, whom even a candid sceptick would venture to place among these men, who did not give his belief and support to christianity; no one, whose genius was not ennobled by the humility, and whose learning was not consecrated by the piety of the gospel.

There are men, who seem to partake of some of the qualities of the individuals which compose all the classes I have made; and therefore who cannot, in strict propriety, be ranked exclusively under either of them. Of these, some want sufficient activity, and some sufficient amplitude of mind, to enlarge greatly the boundaries of

human knowledge; others, who want neither industry nor powers, diffuse their minds over too wide a surface, and attempt to embrace too great a multitude of objects; they drink from all the wells of science, without sounding any to their depth. their depth. Among these may be found many minds, elegant and classical, acute and comprehensive. But it would be quite without my design, if it were not beyond my powers, to classify all these varieties of excellence, and distinguish all their shades of difference and defect. If I have succeeded in observing some of the general divisions of the thinking part of mankind, and seized some of their more obvious and strongly marked characteristicks, I have fulfilled my vocation; for who demands a system from an essayist, or who expects philosophy from one, whose ambition is contented with the praise of a Remarker?

MR. Fox united, in a most remarkable degree, the seemingly repugnant characters of the mildest of men and the most vehement of orators. In private life he was gentle, modest, placable, kind, of simple manners, and so averse from parade and dogmatism, as to be not only unostentatious, but even somewhat inactive in conversation. His superiority was never felt but in the instruction which he imparted, or in the attention which his generous presence usually directed to the more obscure members of the company. The sim

plicity of his manners was far from excluding that perfect urbanity and amenity which flowed still more from the mildness of his nature, than from familiar intercourse with the most polished society of Europe. His conversation, when it was not repressed by modesty or indolence, was delightful. The pleasantry, perhaps, of no man of wit had so unlaboured an appearance. It seemed rather to escape from his mind than to be produced by it. He had lived on the most intimate terms with all his contemporaries distinguished

by wit, politeness, or philosophy, or learning, or the talents of publick life. In the course of thirty years he had known almost every man in Europe whose intercourse could strengthen, or enrich, or polish the mind. His own literature was various and elegant. In classical erudition, which, by the custom of England, is more peculiarly called learning, he was inferiour to few professed scholars. Like all men of genius, he delighted to take refuge in poetry, from the vulgarity and irritation of business. His own verses were easy and pleasing, and might have claimed no low place among those which the French call Vers de Societé. The poetical character of his mind was displayed in his extraordinary partiality for the poetry of the two most poetical nations, or at least languages of the West, those of the Greeks and the Italians. He disliked political conversation, and never willingly took any part in it. To speak of him justly, as an orator, would require a long essay. Every where natural, he carried into publick something of that simple and negligent exteriour which belonged to him in private.

When he began to speak, a common observer might have thought him awkward; and even a consummate judge could only have been struck with the exquisite justness of his ideas, and the transparent simplicity of his manners. But no sooner had he spoken for some time, than he was changed into another being. He forgot himself and every thing around him. He thought only of his subject. His genius warmed and kin dled as he went on. He darted fire into his audience. Torrents of impetuous and irresistible irresistible eloquence swept along their feelings and conviction. He certainly pos.

sessed, above all moderns, that union of reason, simplicity, and vehemence, which formed the prince of orators. He was the most Demosthenean speaker since Demosthenes. I knew him,' says Mr. Burke, in a pamphlet written after their unhappy difference, when he was nineteen since which time he has risen, by slow degrees, to be the most brilliant and accomplished debater that the world ever saw?' The quiet dignity of a mind, roused only by great objects, the absence of petty bustle, the contempt of shew, the abhorrence of intrigue, the plainness and downrightness, and the thorough good nature, which distinguished Mr. Fox, seem to ren der him no very unfit representative of that old English national character, which, if it ever changed, we should be sanguine indeed to expect to see succeeded by a better. The simplicity of his character inspired confidence, the ardour of his eloquence roused enthusiasm, and the gentleness of his manners invited friendship. I admired,' says Mr. Gibbon, the powers of a superiour man,as they are blended, in his attractive character, with all the softness and simplicity of a child: no human being was ever more free from any taint of malignity, vanity, or falsehood.'--From these qualities of his publick and private character, it probably arose, that no English statesman ever preserved, during so long a period of adverse fortune, so many affectionate friends, and so many zealous adherents. The union of ardour in publick sentiment, with mildness in social manners, was in Mr. Fox an hereditary quality. The same fascinating power over the attachment of all who came within his sphere, is said to have belonged to his fa

ther; and those who know the survivors of another generation, will feel that this delightful quality is not yet extinct in the race.

Perhaps nothing can more strongly prove the deep impression made by this part of Mr. Fox's character, than the words of Mr. Burke, who, in January, 1797, six years after all intercourse be tween them had ceased, speaking to a person honoured with some degree of Mr. Fox's friendship, said, To be sure he is a man made to be loved!' and these emphatical words were uttered with a fervour of manner which left no doubt of their heart-felt sincerity.

These few hasty and honest sentences are sketched in a temper too sober and serious for intention al exaggeration, and with too pious an affection for the memory of Mr. Fox to profane it by intermixtures with the factious brawls and wrangles of the day.

His political conduct belongs to history. The measures which he supported or opposed may divide the opinion of posterity, as they have divided those of the present age. But he will most certainly command the unanimous rever ence of future generations, by his pure sentiments towards the commonwealth, by his zeal for the civil and religious rights of all men, by his liberal principles, favourable to mild government, to the unfettered exercise of the human faculties, and the progressive civilization of mankind; by his 'ardent love for a country of which the well-being and greatness were indeed inseparable from his own glory, and by his profound reverence for that free constitution, which he was universally admitted to understand better than any other man of his age, both in an exactly legal, and in a comprehensively philosophical sense.

the water, which issues out, is so great, that it will boil eggs in the period of time usually allowed; and after the water had been brought out in a vessel into the open air, it was too hot to permit you to keep your hand in it for the space of a second. I regret, that I had not a thermometer with me, but I entertain no doubt, that it was at the boiling point. What must be the internal state of the earth, which could produce so powerful a heat? And what must be the dangerous state of a country, undermined by such incessant and violent fires? This spring is however eighteen miles distant from Vesuvius, and the city of Naples intervenes. Either then the awful phenomena of Vesuvius extend under the city of Naples to this spot, or the city has a distinct subterraneous enemy on the side of Baia as well as of Vesuvius. As you return from Baia to Naples, on the bay of Baia, you pass a very considerable mountain, called the Monte Nuovo, and which was wholly the product of a volcano in the 16th century. The spot, on which it stands, was a lake, called the Lucrine lake, and the country around it was level and fertile. On a sudden, after the usual presages of thunders and earthquakes, a most awful volcanick eruption took place, which in a very short space of time threw up sufficient matter to form this mountain. It is a regular, handsome hill. For nearly a century after its formation its dry and arid surface refused sustenance to vegetables; but at present it is cover ed with verdant shrubbery, and forms one of the brightest ornaments of this enchanting bay.

Advancing still nearer to Na ples, you meet with one of the most extraordinary hills in this

land of wonders. It is called Solfaterra from the nature of its production, which is sulphur. The whole hill is one vast mass of sulphur and mineral productions. The very surface and the stones are of a bright sulphureous colour. The ground is hollow, and resounds under your feet. From innumerable crevices a sulphurous vapour, of the most fetid nature, is perpetually ascending. Dig a few inches into the ground, and the heat is too intolerable to per mit you to keep your hand in it. Silver is instantly discoloured, if placed in any such opening. In some spots smoke and fire ascend in sufficient quantities to enable the workmen to prepare the sulphur and the salts, which they collect here.

Without the least human exer. tion, that I could perceive, except the erection of some stone or brick flues, sulphur, alum, and sal ammoniac, were collected in a perfect state.

This spot is not more than five miles west of Naples. It has been in this state for centuries, and only experiences changes with the phenomena of Vesuvius. It is said, at least, that,during the eruptions of that mountain, Solfaterra emits an unusual quantity of smoke. The fact is too material in the natural history of this volca no to be admitted on slight evidence.