can command that solitude and abstraction from business, so indispensible for the author of Junius. This argument in ordinary cases, would of itself be conclusive, but minds of a superiour cast have that elastick bound from business to letters, and from letters to business, that we have no common measure of judgment.

The world has been for the greater part of a century amused with the claims of respective candidates, and every one is encompassed with so many perplexities, that it is far better to relinquish all further investigation, than to endeavour any further to satisfy the cravings of idle curiosity. The

main question is of little importance in itself; but it leads to a developement of character and talents, and conducts us to a nearer acquaintance with men, the ornaments of the country and the age they inhabited. Our time is full

of incident and perilous event, and while the present is a conflagration before our eyes, every moment approximating, it betrays a criminal apathy to turn from the spectacle, and to grope behind for the past, to find some scintillations yet recent in the ashes. When the world is in repose, we may amuse ourselves with the amenities of literature; but it is not a time for a summer walk and to observe the graces of the planets, when the hollow wind betokens a tempest, and the cloud displays its electrick arrows at a distance.We have, notwithstanding, bastily thrown together these facts to confront Mr. Heron; and our readers, without further comment, are left to judge for themselves whether, if lord Ashburton were the real author of Junius, he was not a fitter candidate for a pillory, than a peerage? R.

Rome, February 2, 1805.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

WE are now detained prisoners in this city by a circumstance, which rarely occurs in our country, but which often interrupts the intercourse of Italy at this season of the year, the overflowing of their rivers. Either from the filling up of its mouth, or from some other cause, the Tiber must have altered very much in modern times, or else the masters of the world must have been not only extremely incommoded, but abso

lutely made prisoners in their city. No river in Europe more frequently or more dangerously overflows, than the Tiber. When thus swollen it is a perfect torrent, and, standing on one of the ancient Roman bridges, you can understand and admire the description of our English poet,

The fretful Tiber chafing with his flood,'

and can realize all the dangers of Cassius and Cæsar, when

"The torrent roar'd, and they did buf. fet it.'

Some writers have represented the Tiber as a diminutive, despicable rivulet. Such representations must proceed from a disposition to oppose prevailing and hitherto established opinions. Although all the European rivers appear small to an American, yet I can assure you, the Tiber appeared to me to be among the most respectable of them. It is certainly a noble stream, and when raised by the torrents, which descend from the Appennines, it be comes furious and ungovernable, carrying destruction and devastation in its course.

In consequence of this disposition to overflow its banks, and with a view to perpetuate as well as compare these alarming submersions, about three hundred years since one of the popes erected two pillars on the banks of the Tiber, which may be called Tiberometers. Upon these pillars have been marked the dates and heights of the water during every succeeding flood. By these marks it appears, that these extraordinary rises do not occur oftener than once or twice in a century, though several streets of the city are submerged every year. It is also apparent, that the river has several times risen thirty feet above its ordinary level, and that vessels of three hundred tons might have sailed through the principal streets of the city. At this moment it is unusually high. The water is several feet deep in the Corso, which is the most considerable street in the centre of the city, and the pillars of the Pantheon are half covered with the flood. How the Romans could have submitted to have this Temple of all their Gods so exposed to injury, or why they erected it in so low a part of the city, I cannot conjecture.

For ourselves, we have nothing personally to fear from this extraordinary flood. We have our residence on the side of one of the ancient hills of Rome, and should not be exposed to danger, even if three-fourths of the city should be swept away.

Since our return to this city we have been occupied in revisiting the objects, which, on our first examination, appeared to deserve most attention, or in examining those, which had before escaped our notice.

To study the curiosities of Rome so as to understand them fully, to know the history of each relict of antiquity, to learn to discriminate the different styles and degrees of merit in statuary, painting, and architecture, would require several years; but, for what is here called the usual round of the antiquary,' it may be accomplished in about six weeks. AIthough this is as much as most travellers can afford to devote, yet it must be wholly unsatisfactory to a scholar, and man of enthusiastick taste for letters. What, for example, can one know of the Vatican and St. Peter's in two or three visits? You cannot even examine the outside of the cases, in which the books are contained; you cannot wait to hear the names of the fifteen hundred statues in the Museum Picum-Clementinum; and the study of the lodges and chambers of Raphael would require the whole period, which you can devote to all the antiquities and wonders of this most astonishing city.

Among the palaces of the modern nobility, which I had not visited during my former residence here, were those of Spada and Colonna. The former contains a vast number of fine statues and

paintings, of which even a catalogue would fatigue you, and a description would require a volume, which I am sure you would not read. The only very interesting thing, which I shall notice, is the celebrated statue of Pompey, found near the Capitol, and for that reason supposed to be the same at the foot of which Julius Cæsar was murdered. The statue itself, in point of execution, is above mediocrity; and viewed merely as the most perfect statue extant of a distinguished Roman, the leader and head of the party who opposed the projects of an ambitious demagogue, it would excite considerable interest. But when you as sociate with the character of Pompey, the event with which this statue is said to have been connected; when you transport yourself to the ides of March, and fancy the great Cæsar weltering in his blood at the foot of the statue of the man,whom his ambition had sacrificed; when you fancy yourself in some degree connected with that event by the presence of an inanimate object, which was a witness of the scene, you cannot refrain from a high degree of sensibility and interest.

This statue of Pompey was to my feelings the most touching relict of antiquity, which I have seen. Perhaps you will not feel, from the coldness of my description, the sentiment I would convey; but I can assure you, that the presence of an inanimate object, connected with distant events either horrible or great, produces a strong and sometimes a violent effect on the human imagination. You may recollect the use, which has been very ably and artfully made of this principle in one of our modern plays, Speed the Plough; and I venture to say, that no person ever saw those in

struments of death brought out, in the representation of that piece, without an involuntary sensation of horrour.

Another of the palaces of one of the noble Roman families, which we have recently visited, is that of Colonna. The magnificence, grandeur, beauty, and decorations of this palace,its paintings, statuary, and architecture, perfectly respond to the noble character of this illustrious family. Why does it happen, that the Modern as well as the Ancient Romans possess a taste, so much superiour to that of any other nation in the world? If it be said, that the Romans did not originally possess this taste, that they were indebted for it to the Greeks, it becomes still more remarkable, that none of the nations of Modern Europe, whose artists have been perpetually studying in the school of Italy, should have caught a larger portion of this spirit.

The palace of Colonna is superiour in every respect to any royal or other edifice in Great-Britain, and if the palace of Versailles exceeds it in magnificence, it falls far short of it in beauty.

Of its various beauties in the different arts I shall not attempt a description, because I am not adequate to it; though I cannot avoid remarking, that I saw here a painting of Venus by Carlo Maratti, which may vie with the celebrated statue in Paris called the Venus di Medici. Though they are of a very different nature, yet they resemble each other in one point, in responding to those imaginary ideas of beauty, which the poets had taught us to expect in a Venus. Their merit can only be judged of by comparing them with the best attempts made by other artists; you will then perceive,

that the authors of these two chefs d'œuvres drew their ideas of the goddess of beauty from their own sublime imaginations, instead of drawing them from some comely milkmaid or celebrated courtezan. In this palace we were shewn a costly cabinet, covered with lapis lazuli, emeralds, agates, and other precious stones of uncommon brilliancy and prodigious value. The history of this piece of furniture interested me, and perhaps may afford you a moment's amusement. It was the property of the unfortunate Charles I. of England; it was afterwards sold by Cromwell to cardinal Mazarin, and by an intermarriage it has become part of the estate of the family of Colonna. This family, you know, has been distinguished both in letters and arms, and as long as the works of Petrarch shall be read, they will never be forgotten. If the unfor tunate house of Stuart must have been deprived of this beautiful cab

inet, it could not have fallen into more honourable hands, and there is certainly no place in Europe where it could be displayed to more advantage.

I could not however help moralizing upon the instability of human affairs, when I saw this cabinet, and especially upon the feelings of the cardinal duke of York, who must often see this relict of his family's former splendour and greatness; while its last representative is now an exile from his country, and dependent on the bounty of the possessor of the throne of his ancestors. I do not know a trait in the history of modern princes more honourable or more affecting, than this pension granted by the king of Great-Britain to the pretender to his throne, The house of Stuart, and the house of Bourbon pensioners to the house of Hanover!! What would Louis XIV. or James I. have said to a prophecy of such an event?

ENGLISH AND FRENCH SERMONS.

THE Comparative merit of the French and English Sermons is still discussed, nor is it probable that the question will ever be unanimously decided, on which side the superiority lies. The English aim at solid instruction; the French, at stage-effect. The fault of the English is want of interest; the fault of the French is want of

The English excel in good sense and sound reason; the French in arresting attention, and in interesting the feelings. The English seem to consider man as a being purely intellectual, and ad

Hor.

dress themselves exclusively to the understanding; the French consider him as a being, chiefly influ enced by his passions, and aim directly at the heart. The English are philosophers; the French, rhetoricians. You will gain more information from the English; you may receive more pleasure from the French.

The French are sometimes uncommonly happy in their exordiums. I shall quote one, from Massillon, their most eloquent orator. In a sermon, preached before Louis 14th, from the following text, Blessed are they that mourn,

for they shall be comforted,' he thus begins:

Sire, if the world spoke here in the place of Jesus Christ, it would doubtless hold to your majesty a very different language. Happy the prince, it would say, who has never fought but to conquer; who has seen so many powers armed against him only to give them a more glorious peace, and who has always been superiour both to danger and victory.

Happy the prince, who, during a long and flourishing reign, enjoys at leisure the fruits of his glory, the love of his people, the esteem of his enemies, the admiration of the world, the advantage of his conquests, the magnificence of his works, the wisdom of his laws, the august hope of a numerous posterity; and who has nothing to desire but to preserve for a long time, what he possesses.

Thus would the world speak, But, sire, Jesus Christ does not speak like the world.

Happy, he tells you, is, not the man, who is the admiration of his age, but he, who directs his thoughts to the life to come, and who lives in contempt of himself, and of all that passes; for his is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'

Happy, not he, whose reign and actions will be immortalized by history in the memory of men ; but he, whose tears shall have effaced the history of his sins from the memory of God himself; for he shall be forever consoled. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.'

Happy, not he, who shall have extended by new conquests the limits of his empire; but he, who shall have restrained his desires and passions within the limits

of the law of God; for he shall possess a territory more durable than the empire of the universe. 'Blessed are the meek, for they shall possess the earth.'

Happy, not he, who, raised by the voice of mankind above all the princes that have preceded him, enjoys at leisure his greatness and glory; but he, who, finding nothing on the throne itself worthy of his heart, searches for happiness here below only in virtue and justice; for he shall be satisfied.

Blessed are they, who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.'.

Happy, not he, to whom mankind have given the glorious titles of great and invincible; but he, to whom the unhappy shall give, before Jesus Christ,the title of father, and of merciful; for he shall be treated with mercy. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.'

Happy, in short, not he, who, always the arbiter of the fate of his enemies, has given more than once peace to the world; but he, who has been able to give it to himself, and to banish from his heart the vices and irregular affections, which disturb its tranquillity; for he shall be called the child of God. • Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.'

Such, sire, are those, whom Jesus Christ calls happy; and the Gospel knows no other happiness on earth, than virtue and innocence.'

COMMENTATORS.

'How many school boys,' says Gibbon, have been whipped for misinterpreting passages, which Bentley could not restore, nor Burman explain! And how prodigal, it may be added, have been such