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have been denied a degree in the schools of scepticism. There is not one of all their number who understands the language of the New Testament.

Before we conclude, let us shortly notice the feeble and querulous complaints which we understand the friends of this class of writers have, in the soreness of their wounded affection, been piping abroad. They would fain charge us with an unwarrantable interference with their religious opinions, which, it is said, are between themselves and their God. We know that there is, or ought to be, a sanctuary in every man's bosom, in which his own contrite spirit may hold converse with the Divine Being. Into that sanctuary we never sought sacrilegiously to enter. But the religion of the Edinburgh Reviewers is not between themselves and their God. Shame to the hypocrite who dares to utter such a falsehood. It is between themselves and the whole world. They have forced it upon those who wished not to hear it, they have juggled it into our minds under the cover of far different matters,-they have decoyed us unawares into the dark nooks of their infidelity, when we believed that we were walking in an open country and in daylight-they have met us suddenly at the corners of streets, and thrust their manifestoes into our unwilling hands -they have, at times, ventured to cry loudly from the house-top. And can it indeed be, that now they wish to throw themselves on our mercy-on our charity-on our christian forbearance-and to demand for themselves, after a long course of loud and brazen infidelity, a respectful and soothing attention to their feelings forsooththey who have all their lifetime so bitterly, and so savagely, and so unremittingly persecuted, reviled and ridiculed all those who fortunately differed from them in their religious be lief. If they or their friends wish at once to subject themselves to the charge of the grossest and most foolish falsehood, let them declare boldly that the Edinburgh Review never attacked Christianity. The whole world knows that they have been its unceasing foes. And the whole world acknowledges that their wickedness in having so attacked Christianity, is only equalled by their folly in now denying it, and their pusillanimity under

that punishment which is now inflicting upon them, and of which they have as yet sustained but a very insignificant portion.

The querulous eulogists of this infidel Journal have made use of a very delicate but perhaps not very apposite illustration. The religion of a man, they say, is like the virtue of a woman, and may be destroyed by the slightest breath. This is not happy. We cannot, for our lives, perceive any resemblance between a modest young virgin and an impudent old Edinburgh Reviewer. Were a young lady to make immodest gestures to gentlemen on the street, and indulge in loose conversation, no doubt her virtue would be suspected. But the reputation of a well-behaved woman is very safe in this country-and so is that of a sincere christian. When, however, a man tells the whole world that he does not believe Christianity, what can the world do but take him at his word? Nor does it at all alter the matter, that his disbelief may have been told by inuendo and insinuation. It is not incumbent on us to shew an extreme and sensitive delicacy in our language to a man who has wholly dismissed it from his own practice and really, if we were seeking for a simile to apply to any of the infidel Edinburgh Reviewers, it would be just the reverse of that now so current among the agitated friends of their dissolving Confederacy.

LETTER FROM GRAY THE POET TO COUNT ALGAROTTI.

dence of Count Algarotti, in the possession [This Letter is taken from the Corresponof Mr Murray.]

SIR,

Cambridge, Sept. 9, 1763.

I RECEIVED, Some time since, the unexpected honour of a letter from you, and the promise of a pleasure, which, till of late, I had not the opportunity of enjoying. Forgive me if I make my acknowledgments in my native tongue, as I see it is perfectly familiar to you; and I (though not unacquainted with the writings of Italy) should, from disuse, speak its language with an ill grace, and with still more constraint to one, who possesses it in all its strength and purity.

I see, with great satisfaction, your

efforts to reunite the congenial arts of Poetry, Musick, and the Dance, which, with the assistance of Painting and Architecture, regulated by taste, and supported by magnificence and power, might form the noblest scene, and bestow the sublimest pleasure, that the imagination can conceive: but who shall realize these delightful visions? There is, I own, one prince in Europe, that wants neither the will, the spirit, nor the ability; but can he call up Milton from his grave, can he reani mate Marcello, or bid the Barberina or the Sallé move again? Can he (as much a King as he is) govern an Italian Virtuosa, destroy her caprice and impertinence, without hurting her talents, or command those unmeaning graces and tricks of voice to be silent, that have gained her the adoration of her own country?

One cause that so long has hindered and (I fear) will hinder that happy union which you propose, seems to me to be this, that Poetry (which, as you allow, must lead the way, and direct the operations of the subordinate arts) implies at least a liberal education, a degree of literature, and various knowledge; whereas the others (with a few exceptions) are in the hands of slaves and mercenaries, I mean, of people without education, who, though neither destitute of genius, nor insensible to fame, must yet make gain their principal end, and subject them selves to the prevailing taste of those, whose fortune only distinguishes them from the multitude.

I can not help telling you, that eight or ten years ago, I was a witness of the power of your comic musick. There was a little troop of Buffi that exhibited a Burletta in London-not in the Opera House, where the audience is chiefly of the better sort, but on one of the common theatres, full of all kinds of people; and, I believe, the fuller from that natural aversion we bear to foreigners;-their looks and their noise made it evident they did not come thither to hear;-and, on similar occasions, I have known candles lighted-broken bottles and pen knives flung on the stage-the benches torn up the scenes hurried into the streets and set on fire. The curtain drew up, the musick was of Cocchi, with a few airs of Pergolesi interspersed: the singers were, as usual, deplorable, but there was one Girl (she called herself the

Nicollina) with little voice and less beauty, but with the utmost justness of ear-the strongest expression of countenance-the most speaking eyes-the greatest vivacity and variety of gesture. Her first appearance instantly fixed their attention; the tumult sunk at once, or, if any murmur rose, it was soon hushed by a general cry for silence. Her first air ravished every body

they forgot their prejudices-they forgot that they did not understand a word of the language,-they entered into all the humour of the part-made her repeat all her songs-and continued their transports, their laughter, and applause, to the end of the piece. Within these three last years the Paganina and Amici have met with almost the same applause, once a-week, from a politer audience, on the Opera stage.

The truth is, the Opera itself, though supported here at a great expence for so many years, has rather maintained itself by the admiration bestow'd on a few particular voices, or the borrow'd taste of a few Men of condition, that have learned in Italy how to admire, than by any genuine love we bear to the Italian musick: nor have we yet got any style of our own, and this I attribute, in a great measure, to the language which, in spite of its energy, plenty, and the crowd of excellent writers this nation has produced, does yet, I am sorry to say it, retain too much of its barbarous origi nal to adapt itself to musical composi tion. I by no means wish to have been born any thing but an Englishman; yet I should rejoice to exchange tongues with Italy.

Why this Nation has made no advances hitherto, in painting and sculpture, is hard to say. The fact is undeniable, and we have the vanity to apologize for our ourselves, as Virgil did for the Romans,." Excudent alii,' &c. It is sure that Architecture had introduced itself in the reign of the unfortunate Charles the first, and Inigo Jones has left us some few monuments of his skill, that shew him capable of greater things. Charles had not only a love for the beautiful arts, but some taste in them. The confusion that soon follow'd, swept away his magnificent collection-the artists were dispersed or ruin'd-and the arts disregarded till very lately. The young Monarch now on the throne is said to esteem and understand them;

I wish he may have the leisure to cultivate, and the skill to encourage them, with due regard to merit, other wise, it is better to neglect them. You, Sir, have pointed out the true sources, and the best examples, to your Countrymen. They have nothing to do, but to be what they once were; and yet, perhaps, it is more difficult to restore good taste to a nation that has degenerated, than to introduce it in one, where, as yet, it has never flour ished. You are generous enough to wish, and sanguine enough to foresee, that it shall one day flourish in England. I too must wish, but can hardly extend my hopes so far. It is well for us that you do not see our public exhibitions, but our artists are yet in their infancy, and therefore I will not absolutely despair.

I owe to Mr Howe the honour I have of conversing with Count Algarotti, and it seems as if I meant to indulge myself in the opportunity: but I have done, Sir;-I will only add, that I am proud of your approbation, having no relish for any other fame than what is confer'd by the few real Judges, that are so thinly scattered over the face of the earth.—I am, Sir, with great respect,

Your most obliged humble servant,
T. GRAY.

A. S. E.

Il Conte Francesco Algarotti Ciambellan di S. M. II Ré di Prussia &c. &c. &c. Bolognia Italia

LETTER FROM THE HON. HORACE WALPOLE TO

[The following letter of Horatio Walpole,

Lord Orford, in defence of Sir Robert Walpole, against a charge of his having instigated George II. to burn his father's will, contains a curious history, which is but partially told in the 6th chapter of his "Reminiscences."- "At the first council," he says, "

held by the new sovereign (George II.), Dr Wake, archbishop of Canterbury; produced the will of the late king, and delivered it to the successor, expecting it would be opened, and read in council. On the contrary, his majesty put it in his pocket, and stalked out of the room, without uttering a word on the subject. The poor prelate was thunderstruck, and had not the presence of mind, or the courage, to demand the testament's being opened; or, at least, to have it registered." He then goes on to

say, that as the king never mentioned the will more, whispers only by degrees informed the public that the will was burnt tained; but rumour assigned to the Duchess of Kendal forty thousand pounds, and a large legacy to the Queen of Prussia. "Discoursing," says his Lordship, "once with Lady Suffolk, on that suppressed testament, she made the only plausible shadow of an excuse that could be made for George the Second; she told me that George the First had burnt two wills made adds," of the First George could only palin favour of his son."-" The crime," he liate, not justify, the criminality of the Second; for the Second did not punish the guilty, but the innocent. But bad precedents are always dangerous, and too likely to be copied."]

3 the contents of course were never ascer

October 14, 1778. I THINK you take in no newspapers, nor, I believe, condescend to read any more modern than the Paris à la main at the time of the Ligue-consequently, you have not seen a new scandal on my father, which, you will not wonder, offends me. You cannot be interested in his defence, but as it comprehends some very curious anecdotes, you will not grudge me indulging myself to a friend in vindicating a name so dear to me.

In the account of Lady Chesterfield's death and fortune, it is said, that the late king, at the instigation of Sir R. W., burnt his father's will, which contained a large legacy to that his supposed daughter, and I believe his real one, (for she was very like him,) as her brother General Schulembourg is in black to the late king. The fact of suppressing the will is indubitably true; the instigator most false, as I can demonstrate thus.

When the news arrived of the death

of George I., my father carried the

account from Lord Townshend to the then Prince of Wales. One of the first acts of royalty is for the new monarch to make a speech to the privy council. Sir Robert asked the king, who he would please to have draw the speech; which was, in fact, asking who was to be prime minister. His Majesty replied, Sir Spencer Compton. It is a wonderful anecdote, and

"Sir Spencer Compton," says Lord Orford, " was speaker of the House of Commons, and treasurer, I think, at that time to his Royal Highness, who, by that first command, implied his intention of making Sir Spencer his prime minister. He

little known, that the new premier, a very dull man, could not draw the speech, and the person to whom he applied was the deposed premier. The Queen, who favoured my father, observed how unfit a man he was for successor, who was reduced to beg assistance of his predecessor. The council met as soon as possible, the next morning at latest. Then Archbishop Wake, with whom one copy of the will had been deposited, (as another was, I think, with the Duke of Wolfenbuttle, who had a pension for sacrificing it, which, I know, the late Duke of Newcastle transacted,) advanced and delivered the will to the king, who put it into his pocket, and went out of council without opening it; the archbishop not having courage, or presence of mind, to desire it to be read, as he ought to have done.

These circumstances, which I solemnly assure you are strictly true, prove that my father neither advised, nor was consulted; nor is it credible that the king, in one night's time, should have passed from the intention of disgracing him, to make him his bosom confidant in so delicate an affair.

I was once talking to the late Lady Suffolk, the former mistress, on that extraordinary event. She said, "I cannot justify the deed to the legatees, but towards his father, the late king, it was justifiable; for George I. had burnt two wills made in favour of George II."-I suppose they were the testaments of the Duke and Duchess of Zell, parents of George the First's wife, whose treatment of her they always resented.

I said I know the transaction of the

was a worthy man, of exceeding grave formality, but of no parts-as his conduct immediately proved. The poor gentleman was so little qualified to accommodate himself to the grandeur of the moment, and to conceive how a new sovereign should address himself to his ministers, and he had also been so far from meditating to supplant the premier, that in his distress it was to Sir Robert himself he had recourse, and whom he besought to make the draught of the king's speech for him;"-" from that moment," he adds, " there was no more question of Sir Spencer Compton as prime minister. He was created an earl, soon received

the garter, and became president of that council, at the head of which he was much fitter to sit than to direct."-Lord Orford's Reminiscences.

VOL. IV.

Duke of N-; the late Lord Waldegrave shewed me a letter from that Duke to the Earl of Waldegrave, then Embassador at Paris, with directions about that transaction, or at least about payment of the pension, I forget which. I have somewhere, but cannot turn to it now, a memorandum of that affair, and who the prince was, whom I may mistake in calling the Duke of Wolfenbuttle. There was a third copy of the will, I likewise forget with whom deposited. The newspapers say, which is true, that Lord Chesterfield filed a bill in Chancery against the late king, to oblige him to produce the will, and was silenced, I think, by payment of £20,000. There was another legacy to his own daughter, the Queen of Prussia, which has at times been, and I believe is still, claimed by the King of Prussia.

Do not mention any part of this story; but it is worth preserving, as I am assured you are satisfied of my scrupulous veracity. It may, perhaps, be authenticated hereafter, by collateral evidence that may come out. If ever true history does come to light, my father's character will have just honour paid to it. Lord Chesterfield, one of his sharpest enemies, has not, with all his prejudices, left a very unfavourable account of him, and it would alone be raised by comparison of their two characters. Think of one, who calls Sir Robert the corrupter of youth, leaving a system of education to poison them from their nursery! Chesterfield, Pulteney, and Bolingbroke, were the saints that reviled my father.

I beg your pardon, but you allow me to open my heart to you when it is full. Yours ever,

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land, and the Mistress of the great Parliament thereof, happiness to every one that followeth the right way, and believes in God, and is so directed.

This premised, we have heard from more than one of the comers and goers from that country, that thou hast seized our Armenian servant, a person of great esteem. We sent him to thee to compose a difference between us and thee, and we wrote to thee concerning him, that thou shouldst use him well. Then after this we heard that thou hadst set him at liberty. But for what reason didst thou take him, and for what reason didst thou set him at liberty? Hath he exceeded any covenant, or hath he made any covenant with thee and broke it? We had not sent him unto thee but upon the account of our knowledge and assurance of his understanding and integrity; and when he resolved upon his journey into that country, we gave directions to dispatch some of our affairs. Wherefore we wrote unto thee concerning him, and said, If thou hast any necessity or business with us, he will convey it to us from thee. And we said unto thee, speak with him, which if it should be, what thou talkest about with him will come to us, without addition or diminu

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As for what our servant Alkaid Ali Abdo'llah did to thy servant the Christian, by God we know nothing of it, nor gave him any permission as to any thing that passed between them. And in the instant that we heard from him that he had taken thy man, we commanded him to set him at liberty, and he set him at liberty forthwith, out of hand; and from that we never shewed any favour to Alkaid Ali, nor was our mind right towards him till he died.

Our Christian servant, the merchant (Balih), told us that thou hadst a mind to an ostrich, and we gave him two, a male and a female, which shall come to thee if God will. And lo, O Secretary! the goods of our servant, much esteemed with us, when he cometh he shall bring what is with him, if it please God. And we are in expectation of thy messenger, the ambassador; and if he comes, he shall see nothing from us but what is fair, and we will deliver to him the Christians, and do what he pleases, if

God will. Wherefore be kind to our servant with respect.

Written the first of the glorious
Ramadan, in the year 1125.

SABINA.

Morning-Scenes in the Dressing-room of a rich Roman Lady.

(From the German of Böttiger.)

SCENE I.

Sabina comes from her Bed-chamber into her Dressing-room-Restaurations-Skaphion brings the Asses' Milk-Phiale the Paint-Stimmi the black Eye-tincture-Mastiche the Teeth.

IN the Royal Museum at Portici, among the immense numbers of ancient paintings brought from Herculaneum and Pompeii, there are four little pieces which have attracted particular attention, for this reason, that they were not, like the others, painted upon the wall, but attached to it separately, a circumstance which implies that, by their possessors, fifteen hundred years ago, they had been regarded as of something more than common value. The third of these pieces represents the dressing-chamber of an Herculanean lady. One of the virtuosi, who have described the curiosities of Portici, speaks of it in these terms: "A young woman is standing among her attendants; one of these dresses her hair, another sits by her, a third stands near; they are all elegantly attired." After having bestowed a more accurate attention upon this beautiful and nearly uninjured painting as engraved in the Pitture D'Erculano,* I am inclined to suppose that the following would be a more correct description of it. It is a family piece, representing a mother with her two beautiful daughters, whose features sufficiently indicate their relation to her. The mother is seated upon a chair somewhat elevated, with a footstool before it, of the kind always mentioned, as constituting a principle article of ornamental furniture in the female apartments of these

• Pitture D'Erculano, t. iv. tab. xliii.

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