soul, deprived of those ventilations of passion, which arise from social intercourse, is reduced to a state of stagnation; and if she is not of a very pure consistence indeed, will be apt to breed within herself many "monstrous and miny prodigious things," of which she will find it no easy matter to rid herself, even when she is become sensible of their noxious nature." I have no room here to enter into a disquisition upon the very interesting subject of solitude. The objections to it thus urged by Beattie deserve, no doubt, very serious consideration. But they do not convince me, expressed, as they are, in general terms. Nay, I confess I could have wished they had never appeared under this poet's authority; because they take something from the pleasure we feel in some of the finest passages of his best poems. For my part, it appears to me,that as long as God endows individuals with more energetick capacities, with more tender sensibilities, with higher hopes, and sublimer sentiments than the mass of mankind, so long must solitude be the proper sphere of their human existence. If it do tend to "make us unfit for the business of life," it fits us for something much better: for that intellectual eminence and purity of heart, which exalt our nature, and almost lift us into an higher order of beings; for those mental exertions, by which the heads and hearts of thousands have, century after century, been ameliorated, and drawn away from the low and selfish ambitions of the world; and by which nations have sometimes been electrified from their slumbers into efforts that have saved them from impending destruction! I am now older than Dr. Beattie was, when he expressed these sentiments, and I do not find that my love of solitude diminishes. I discover no "stagnation of the soul;" the day is not long enough for the enjoyment of my books, and those pure and innocent wanderings of the fancy, in which I delight; and in the deep woods and silent vallies, I find "no monsters" of horrour, which, alas! I too frequently meet in society, but on the contrary, "Resentment sinks; Disgust within me dies, And Charity, and meek Forgiveness rise, And melt my soul, and overflow mine eyes." For the Monthly Anthology. Huc vinæ, et unguenta et ninium breves A LADY'S FOOT. HORACE. No. 21. strongest passions. In grief the hand is irresistibly drawn to the bosom, and its pressure gives relief. The finger pointed in scorn is the plainest signal of contempt, and the hands clasped and uplifted to heaven is the most solemn of all expressions. I have seen a sweet woman in grief, and there was more sorrow in the attitude of her hand, and more meekness and plaintiveness in a certain mournful position of her fingers, than in the holiness of her uplifted countenance, or in the tear-drops that hung on her eye-lashes. If the hand is so powerful and efficient an engine of the soul, why should the foot be considered merely the pedestal of the human statue? What gives the march to the hero, the stride to the conqueror, fleetness to the lover, and the bewitch, ing balance of attitude to woman! Who knows The love that slumbers in a lady's foot? justice to England; but we know If the cavalier throws himself at the feet of his mistress, why should not his lips press and breathe on them the spirit of love? Why should not his hand impart to them the thrillings of its touches? Oh, how have I started, and longed for a molliter manus imposuit, when I have beheld Crispin with his mea sure at the foot of a lady! Oh, how have I shuddered, when I have seen Bellinda's dear little foot sink forever out of sight in the pitchy abyss of his palm! Oh, how have I quaked, when I have seen the dear little thing swallowed up forever in the griping jaws of his fist! How, too, has my fancy caught fire, when sitting at an awful distance from Dorinda, I have espied this sweet little integer nestling and cuddling on her cricket! How has my imagination transformed the vile four-legged stool into a little shrine, and her foot into the offering of beauty to love! they are great; yet the field of literature they have not won from the English, and they ought to be ashamed, in such a noble and dignified contest, to take by fraud, what ought to be the reward of honourable warfare. The English extol the tragedies of Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire. Indeed, Adam Smith says, that the Phèdre is the most perfect tragedy that has ever been written. Johnson often praises Boileau, and Hume and Gibbon vitiated their style by devotion to French literature. The French have sometimes done that Mrs. Montague wrote a volume expressly to vindicate Shakespeare from the aspersions of Vol. taire, and every reader of La Harpe regrets to see his mind poisoned by prejudice. From him Shakespeare and Milton receive little mercy, and when the critick is comparing the Lutrin of Boileau with Pope's Rape of the Lock, instead of accurately adjusting their respective merits, and impartially determining his opinion of Boileau's superiority from regular principles of criticism, he gives every merit to his countryman, and leaves poor Pope so naked, that, were his merits to rest on his mock-epick, he would make a prominent figure among the he roes of the Dunciad. Other instances might be mentioned, but it is unnecessary; the two nations have always been, secretly or openly, rivals and enemies, and there is no hope that this opposition will soon be changed. Perhaps this general animosity may have originated excellence in letters, as in war; and if we sigh for the misery, which the mutual hatred has occasioned, (which is commonly mere affectation) we may rejoice (perhaps with the joy of sincerity) THE CLASSICK CLUB. that the same cause has produced for the accidents of time and the poems, discourses, letters, and ravages of barbarians, which, by critical opinions, sparkling with destroying his plays, have lessensense, wit, and imagination. ed the fame of the author, and ob seured the reputation of the Ro man stage. As for Mecænas, be When Horace, Virgil, Varius, was a gentleman, a critick, and a and Mecænas, used to meet to scholar. He was contented with drink wine, after they had crowned quaffing his wine, or, if he thought their foreheads with roses and of being often in the mouths of myrtles, there was a combination men,” his vanity was gratified in of intellect, devoted to revelry, the pleasant recollection that Vir. which must have been very plea- gil and Horace had consecrated to sant and interesting. Horace re- him the greenest wreaths of friend cited his charming odes, and en- ship and poetry. tirely forgot his serious satires and gloomy lectures. Virgil chaunted CLEANLINESS. his melodious poetry, and gave to A gentleman once told me, that his versification a grace, a tender- cleanliness was nearly allied to ness, and harmony, which must godliness. This is rather bold; have entranced the accordant minds but as it might have originated of his poetical friends. What from a nice sense of physical pucould be more delightful ? Here rity, I would not very harshly were friendship, and roses, and condemn it. I believe every one wine, and poetry ; the loveliness who practises cleanliness, will feel of morals, the luxury of the senses, the excellent effects produced by and the enchantments of fancy. a suitable attention to this midor If they wanted pathos and deep virtue. The intellect is gratefully sentiment, Varius could pour out affected; the blood courses through the whole force of tragedy ; critical the system, and gives vigour and taste and ingenuity sparkled from activity. Beauty is also the conMecænas; and good conversation sequence of purity. Cosmeticks and refined feelings directed and only mar the skin. They destroy dignified the intercourse. The the swell of the muscles, and the health of the emperour was a fa- clear blueness of the veins ; they vourite toast. Homer, Anacreon, tear to pieces the nice net work of and Sophocles were the topicks of the skin, and reduce to dull unitalk. Virgil would willingly de- formity of colour the various tints, clare, that if he was not superiour, which should illuminate the counto the father of epick poetry, he tenance. They also insinuate poi. might at least bear a comparison son into the body, and soon the with him, to whom he need not fine elasticity of the system gives be ashamed to be inferiour. Ho- way to morbid clayiness, and slugrace might jovially and honestly gish creeping of the blood succeeds confess, that Anacreon could drink to its former rushing and rapid acmore wine, but that he was not a tivity. But look at a French wobetter poet than himself; and the man, after she has come out of the nuble Varius, while he secretly bath. She is a perfect Venus, congratulated himself on an equal risen from the froth of the sea ; a ity with the Grecian tragedians, celestial light beams from her Gould feel no despondency of mind eyes; ler lips breathe the fragrance For my of health, and her voice is sweeter Janguage, we are silent, like slaves. than the musick of the Graces at We may say, that we have spice the banquets of the Gods. Such ships at the Philippines, and that are truly the divine effects of our cannon has echoed among the physical purity. The French ice islands, at either pole. This is women are almost amphibious, honourable, and tells our enterand this is one great reason why prise ; but here the story ends, nor they are so beautiful. I am afraid will I busily ask, if there are no my country-women are not en- spots and stains on our flag, which titled to high praise for regular at the waters of the oceans we tratention to cleanliness. I indeed verse, could not efface. know some, who use the tepid self, I think we ought to have probath and a clean napkin, instead duced a few scholars; in this opinof discolouring themselves with ion, however, all are not ananivile washes, dews, and creams mous, but if they agree that poetry from the perfumer ; but are there is natural to any country, we must not too many gentlemen and ladies, be ashamed of our own. We who pass many months, without boast of no epick, tragedy, comedy, feeling the luxury of complete pu- elegies, poems, pastoral or amatorification ? Were I to pursue the ry...but this field is all desart, a subject to niceness of detail, I wide African sand garden, showing should have a plenty of subject for brambles, and rushes, and reeds. many pages ; but I hope that the neglect has rather arisen from for- BLUE STOCKIM CLUB. getfulness and inattention, than I know no lady in this town, and from dislike to purity or sympathy probably there is not one in the with uncleanliness. United States, to be compared with Mrs. Montague, at whose house in OUR COUNTRI. Portman-Square, London, the Blue A general inactivity is our reign- Stocking Club used to meet. Yet ang characteristick. We seem there are ladies here, who might willing to creep along in mechanic- institute and preserve a literary al routine, so that we very much converzazione on agreeable terms. resemble Dutchmen. As for chiv. -All mere fashionable women alrous, generous policy in national should be excluded, and let beauty councils it is so low, that it can find and riches alone have no right of no “ lower deep.” In religion I admission. Also let no fop saunlove quietness, peaceableness, hu- ter in the room, and bar the doors' mility ; and I hate the jarring of against insignificant animals, called sects, and the noisy trampling of puppies, and those brutes who rechristian combatants. But in liter- semble Yahoos. Thus some ap ature are there no hopes ? Surely proaches might be made to refined the descendants of Englishmen in conversation, and a pleasantness of America are not absolutely degen- intercourse be introduced, far beerate. The mother country is yond the present system of false proud of her beach of learned courtesy, shameful anecdote, licenbishops, of her retired scholars, tious inuendo, poisoned hints, and and illustrious professors in both stabbing whispers, which now riot universities. Bui when they ask and rule at many of the vulgar and us, why do you not do something fashionable parties, which now dig, up spread the glory of the English nify or disgrace this metropolis, Women are beings of the highest evening with its hollow blast mur. consequence, and on them depends murs of pleasures never to return." the healthiness or the contagion of But this state I do not like to insocial intercourse, they may be like dulge, for sorrow grows by musangels of light, diffusing the in- ing: I therefore rouse myself from fluence of purity and goodness, or fears that dishearten, to studies the active agents of misery and that strengthen or exhilirate me ; ruin. By a pleasant and refined and when I have lighted a cigar, socialness, between gentlemen and and put on more wood, I track ladies of cultivated minds, the pow- Park to the banks of the Niger, or er of all would be communicated I mount the walls of Rome with to each ; manners would be im- “ Bourbon and revenge," and close proved ; erroneous opinions would the evening with an act from be corrected ; morals might re- Shakespeare, the best of poets and ceive additional strength, and liter- the wisest of writers. ature might be adorned with new fascinations. RUINS OF THEBES, OR LUXORL. In the distant periods of antiWINTER' EVENING. quity were founded the palaces and I like to sit in my study in a win. temples of Luxore. They now ter evening, when the wind blows partly lie on the deserts of Upper clear, and the fire burns bright. If Egypt, scattered into fragments I am alone, I sometimes love to and covered with rubbish, and muse loosely on a thousand flits of partly they stand erect in the tow. the imagination ; to remark the ering heights of solitary columns, gentle agitations of the flame; to the extensive ranges of impos. eye the mouse, that listens at his ing colonnades, or the unequalled knot hole, and then runs quick a. magnitude of their sculptured sides. cross the hearth ; or dwell long They attract, when in the horizon, on the singing of the wood, when the notice of scientifick travellers, the heat drives out the sap. I be- and they serve as land-marks to lieve that such reverie softens the caravans, and as habitations for the heart, while it relaxes the body, poor and the outcast. Thus have for thus the senses are gratisied in the exertions of architectural miniature. In the fire I have the science contended against the slow softest colours, and the sweetest and unceasing efforts of time, and thus most various undulations, and in the are the opulence of monarchs gentle musick of the green stick and the dignity of priesthood, there is melody for fairies. No commemorated in the ruined gran. sense is particularly excited by my deur of churches and of courts. silver grey, silken-footed, and A traveller into Egypt for the pur. crumb-nibbling animal,but perhaps poses of science may honourably he might teach me a lesson of pru- employ himself in measuring the dence, not to set out on a journey, dimensions of pillars, cielings, and till I have inquired the dangers walls, and a painter may commu. and difficulties of the way. While nicate knowledge and pleasure by I am in this state of lonely musing,I accurate representations of these sometimes lapse unknowingly into monuments of decay ; but the dig. I grief ; for my guardians are dead, nity of a philosopher is advanced and my friends are far from me, in applying the memorials of art my years are hastening away, “and to subserve the moral duties of life, |