from feeling hurt, at the tenderness she expresses | Honest Thomas, I have raised to the post of for his memory, it gives me a secret gratifica-bailiff, Sally fills the double department of housetion which I could not easily describe; in short, keeper and lady's-maid; her little boy is nursed it convinces me that a similar respect will be by the wife of my gardener; and it would be paid to my memory, if my wife should survive. difficult to find a happier family than ours. AN ACCOUNT OF THE POET BERONICIUS. SIR, I BEG leave to present for insertion in your Magazine an account of the poet Beronicius, and shall hence forward expect that Hawkesworth's account of the "admirable Creighton," will no more be received with suspicion and doubt. In 1672, a small book was printed at Amsterdam, entitled, "Georgarchontomachiæ, sive Expugnatæ Messopolis, Libri Duo, Carmine Epico extemporaneo conscripti, Auctore, N. Autopte."-" Boeren-en Overheids Strijd, ofte het innemen van Middelburg, in Heldendigt uit de vuist weg beschreven, en begrepen in twee Boeken, Door Een Ooggetnige, Met vryen trant vertaalt; Door P. Rabus." The fourth edition of this book appeared in Amsterdam in 1716, in 12mo. 204 pages, with fine copper-plate engravings, entitled, "P. J. Beronicii, Poetæ incomparabilis, quæ extant, P. Rabus; recensuit et Georgarchontomachiæ notas addidit. Editio quarta emendatius curata. Boeren en Overheids strijd, voor de vuist gedicht door P. J. Beronicius, in't Nederduitsch overgeret door P. Rabus. Nevens eenige andere Gedichten, en een Byvoegsel, Van s' Mans Leven in de Voorreden. De vierde druk, merkelyk verbetert, en met (5) koper platen gesiert." Besides this volume, no other works of Beronicius are to be found; because this most wonderful poet, and the most extraordinary ever heard of, never wrote his verses, but recited them off-hand; and when he was once set a going, with such celerity, that a swift writer could with great difficulty keep up with him, and thus a great number of his verses are lost. In the year 1674, the celebrated Dutch poet, Antonides Vander Goes, (who died in 1684), being in Zealand, happened to be in company with a young gentleman who spoke very highly in praise of the wonderful quickness and incredible memory of his language-master, Beronicius. Antonides and others who were present expressed a desire to see such an extraordinary genius. They had scarcely spoken, when there entered a little, black, round, thick fellow, with hardly a rag to his back, like blackguard. But on closer examination, something uncommon and lofty appeared in his carriage, and the expression in his countenance was serious, and blended with a majestic peculiarity. His eyes glowed like fiery coals, and his arms and legs were in a perpetual nimble motion. Every one greedily eyed him, welcomed him, and asked him if it were all true, that his pupil had been "True"" said that singular createlling them. Battle between peasants and magistrates (in 1672), or the taking of Middelburg; in heroicure, "yes; 'tis all perfectly true." And when verse, written immediately from the extempore they answered that they could not so lighty be recitation in Latin, and contained in two books, lieve such incredible things, the man grew anby an eye-witness, (meaning likewise ear-wit- gry, and reviled the whole company, telling ness); freely translated into Dutch prose, by them they were only a parcel of beasts and asses. P. Rabus. The whole poem consists of 920 lines; and at the end are eight odes, and a satire, together 514 lines, likewise in Latin.-Two congratulatory odes on the arrival of the Prince of Orange in Vlissingen, 1668; on the death of Jacob Michielse, M. D. 1671; one congratulatory on the election of a Burgermaster; on the Polyglot Bible; an Epithalamium on the nuptials of Professor John de Raay; a Complimentary Ode to William III. Prince of Orange and Nassau; and a Satire on a Philosopher. The following account of the author is taken from a small book of Lectures, in Latin, by Ant. Borremans, printed at Amsterdam in 1676; and from a Dutch preface to the Poem, by P. Rabus. He had at that time, as was his daily custom, drank a glass too much, and that was the cause of his bullying them and bragging of his own wonderful powers by which he could make all manner of verses extempore. But those to whom he told this, looked on him as a mad Orlando, out of whose mouth the wine spoke. Upon which he continued to tell them, how he was the man who had added eight hundred words to the great dictionary of Calepin. How he could immediately correctly versify any thing on any subject he had only once heard; and lastly, how he had many times, standing or walking, translated the weekly newspapers into Greek or Latin verses. Nobody appearing willing to believe him, he ran out of the house, cursing and swearing as if he had been possessed. The same company met the next day at the principal tavern in Middelburg; and after dinner, the conversation happened to turn on a sea fight which had lately been fought by the Hollanders and Zealanders against the English. Among others who were killed, was a Captain de Haze, a Zealand naval hero, and on whom Antonides had composed the following epitaph. [The original being six lines in Dutch verse, is not worth inserting ] The point turns on the name, de Haze sign. fying the hare, and the poet says the Zealand hares turned to lions. He had a written copy of this for one of the company, when Beronicius entered accompanied by his pupil. He excused himself for his extravagances of the day before, and begged pardon, hoping they would attribute his misbehaviour to the liquor, and forgive him. He then directly began to talk of his poetical powers, and offered to give them a specimen if they chose it. As they now found that, being sober, he repeated what he had bragged of when drunk, they undertook to try him so as to get at the truth. A fair opportunity offered, as Antonides had just shewn him his verses, and asked his opinion of them. Beronicius read them twice, praised them, and said, "What should hinder me from turning them into Latin instantly?" They viewed him with wonder, and encouraged him by saying, "well, pray let us see what you can do." In the mean time the man appeared to be startled. He trembled from head to foot as if possessed by Apollo. However, before he began his work, he asked the precise meaning of two or three Dutch words, of which he did not clearly understand the force; and requested that he might be allowed to Latinize the Captain's name of Hare, in some manner so as not to lose the pun. They agreed; and he immediately said, "I have already found it, I shall call him Dasypus" which signifies an animal with rough legs, and is likewise taken by the Greeks for a hare. "Now, read a couple of lines at a time to me, and I shall give them in Latin. Upon which a poet, named Buizero, began to read to him, and Beronicius burst out in the following verses: Egregia Dasypus referens virtute leonem When our poet had finished, he began to laugh till his sides shook, jeering and pointing at the persons in company, who appeared surprised at his having, contrary to their expecta|| tions, acquitted himself so well; every body highly praised him, which elated him so much that he began to scratch his head three or four times; and fixing his fiery eyes on the ground, || repeated, without hesitation, the same epigram in Greek verse, calling out, "There ye have it in Greek." Every one was astonished, which set him a laughing and jeering for a quarter of an hour. It is a pity we have not the Greek, which he repeated so rapidly, that no one could write from his recitation. John Frederick Gymnich, professor of the Greek language at Duisburg, was one of the auditors, and said he thought the Greek version surpassed the Latin. Beronicius was afterwards examined in various ways, and always gave such proofs of his wonderful learn. ing as amazed all the audience. Beronicius spoke several languages so perfectly that each might have passed for his mother tongue; especially Italian, French, and English. As to his Latin, the celebrated Gronovius was fearful of conversing with him in that language. But Greek was his hobby-horse; Greek was the delight of his life, and he spoke it as correctly and as fluently as if he sucked it in with his pap. He conversed with the above-named Professor Gymnich, in Greek, and ended with these words: "I am quite weary of talking any longer with you in Greek, for, really, my pupils who have been taught a twelvemonth by me, speak it much better than you do." This was not very polite, but he was not to be restrained; and he often spoke his mind so freely, that he was threatened with a thrashing: on such occasions he was the first to step forward, and to show that he was not at all averse to a battle.-Saying, -Age, si quid habes, in me mora non erit ulla. He gave excellent accounts of all the ancient Greek and Roman authors; his opinions of whose writings were always correct, complete, and delivered with great judgment, and without hesitation. He could immediately distinguish genuine writings, and was a perfect master in the knowledge of the various styles, measures, and idioms. Besides which, his memory was prodigious. He knew by heart the whole of Horace, and lingil, the greatest part of Cicero, and both the Plinys; and would immediately, if a line were mentioned, repeat the whole passage, and tell the exact work, book, chapter, and verse, of all these, and many more, especially poets. As to Juvenal, his works were so interwoven in his brain, that he perfectly retained every word, nay every letter. Of the Greek poets, he had Homer, (that || meanest company, where he would sometimes greatest of all triflers-hold, this does not be- remain a whole week or more, drinking, without come me that father of the poets), [this is said rest or intermission. by P. Rabus], so strongly imprinted in his memory, together with some of the comedies of Aristophanes, that he could directly turn to any line required, and repeat the whole sentence.--It will be seen in the following pages, that his Latin is full of words selected from all the most celebrated writers. His bitter and miserable death gave reason to believe that he perished whilst intoxicated, for he was found dead at Middelburg, drowned and smothered in mud; which circumstance was mentioned in the epitaph which the beforenamed poet, Buizero, wrote upon him, as follows (literally translated) : Here lies a wonderful genius," This is all that is known about Beronicius. As to his translating, or rather reading, the Dutch newspapers off-hand in Greek or Latin verse, the poet Antonides often witnessed his exertion of this wonderful talent; and so did Professor John de Raay, who was living at the time of Beronicius's death, which was in 1676, and had been The reader will probably be desirous of knowing what countryman our extraordinary poet, Beronicius, was; but this is a secret which he never would discover. When he was asked which was his country, he always answered, "that the country of every one was that in which he could best live comfortably." Some said he had been a Professor in France, others a Jesuit, a Monk; but this was merely conjecture. It was well known that he had wandered about many years in France, England, and particularly the Netherlands, carrying, like a second Bias, his whole property about with him. He was some-acquainted with him above twenty years. There times told he deserved to be a Professor of a college; he replied, that he did not delight in such a worm-like life. Notwithstanding which, poor man! he gained his living chiefly by sweep-guage. ing chimnies, grinding knives and scissars, and He is slightly mentioned in the seventh edition other mean labours. But his chief delight was of Le Nouveau Dictionaire Historique, printed at in pursuing the occupations of juggler, mounte- Caen in 1789, in a few lines taken from Boriebank, or merry-andrew, among the lowest rabble.man's Latin book, from which most part of the He never gave himself any concern about his foregoing is taken. are at present (1716), still living at Rotterdam, two gentlemen who knew him in Zealand, to one of whom he had taught the French lan food or raiment; for it was equal to him whether He is not mentioned by Bayle. Moreri has he was dressed like a nobleman or a beggar; na-slightly mentioned him; and the new Biograture was always satisfied with very little. His phical Dictionary, in 15 vols. 8vo. 1798 has likehours of relaxation from his book-studies were wise half a dozen lines about him. I am, Sir &c. chiefly spent in paltry wine-houses, with the THOUGHTS ON LOVE, AS J AN AFFECTION NECESSARY TO PROMOTE AND INSURE DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. THERE is no affection of which the human mind is susceptible to be compared with that of love. It is an affection that has, in its purest state, a greater influence on the manners, the dispositions, and the conduct of mankind than any other. And if there be an object which we sincerely love, and really prefer to another, every effort, consistent with propriety and decorum, that nature, reason, education, fortune, and circumstances may place within our reach, will readily and zealously be made use of with a view to make ourselves agreeable and acceptable to that object. Pure love is the reformer of vice; it exalts virtue; it ennobles humanity; it gives to nature the polish of art, and to ignorance the No. IV. Vol. I. refinement of learning. Love is generated by goodness; by goodness it is improved; and by goodness it is perfected and preserved. Immorality and love can never be united; in the dispensations of Providence they are opposed to each other. Man was not created to love that which degrades the dignity of rationality; he was formed for the attainment of excellence; and the highest perfection of excellence is the strongest incitement to love, and the most effectual security of its durability. Every thought, every sentiment, and every action that is contrary to the precepts of sound religion and morality, will, and must, operate eventually to the disadvantage and discouragement of an affection, the very coramence Сс 1 ment and existence of which must invariably || clude the necessity of seriously attending to those depend on propriety of conduct and dignity of character. Sentiments of attachment, and professions of regard, unfounded in real goodness, are but ebullitions of passion conspiring against duty and interest, against harmony and happiness. As the turbulent waves in the height of a tempest demand all the skill and exertion of the most experienced mariner successfully to counteract their destructive effects; so do passions of this description require all the energies of virtue, and all the powers of early and active perseverance to prevent the malignity of their operations from weakening or destroying the influence of reason and religion on the heart. Blinded by passion, virtue becomes unpalatable and religion obnoxious. Dangers surround us on every side; and the efficacy of inclination becomes more and more powerful in proportion as duty and propriety become less pleasing and agreeable. Can we contemplate a more melancholy picture than that which must present itself to our view on merely supposing an union of persons without any correspondent union of affections? Is there a consideration in social or political life, is there an argument in philosophy, is there a precept in religion or morality, that can justify such an union? Are not the effects to be expected from it of the most alarming, the most degrading, and most mortifying kind? In such an union do we not trace every symptom of rational depravity? When passion has subsided, and subside it must, where shall we look for the genial, the salutary, the amiable and unabated warmth of virtuous affection? Passion is of a degenerating nature; it is fluctuating and unstable; it changes with circumstances and situation; fixed to no object by permanency of affection, it becomes disgusting by its constancy, and tormenting by its indifference. Overtaken by poverty or affliction, it is incapable of gratitude and destitute of tenderness and esteem. If connected with the graces of polite life it partakes not of the pleasures they are calculated to produce; if conversant with the difficulties attendant on poverty and misfortune it finds no resources of consolation from the consciousness of meritorious behaviour; ever restless and turbulent, its enjoy- || ments are embittered by a recollection of the past, an inattention to the present, and an eager anticipation of the future. That the power of love is an instantaneous and an uncontrollable power, is a supposition fit only to be maintained by persons of a superstitious complexion or superficial discernment. It is a fanciful delusion of the mind, calculated to ensnare the heart, corrupt the taste, vitiate the discriminating powers of the understanding, destroy the influence of sound judgment, and pre friendly counsels of wisdom and experience which are calculated to give birth to such spirited exertions as will enable us to conquer ourselves, and triumph in the victories we acquire. Common sense was bestowed upon us for common use. We were not sent into the world to be abject slaves; the passions and the appetites to which we are subject cannot deprive us of the use of our rational faculties, nor justify us in pursuing a conduct which our judgment condemns. The smallest deviation from the path of propriety is a certain departure from the direct road to happiness; and it is more difficult to retake a post that was once in our possession, after having lost by our negligence or imprudence, than it would have been to have kept it when it was in our power to have done so. The violence of the passions can never force conviction on the judgment; when we have been imprudent we may endeavour to justify ourselves to our friends, or to the world, and strive to make a merit of a small failing where others have been guilty of a greater; but time, and cool reflection, will convince us that the attempt is vain and futile; that in such cases there is always something wrong within, some selfish gratification, some interested passion, some latent desire, some unjustifiable pursuit, hath stolen unawares upon us, and corrupted in some degree our moral principles, vitiated our taste, and influenced our judgment. In the most arduous conflict our own exertions will always be useful, to us if we will but make trial of their efficacy. Let us but consider how we ought to conduct ourselves in any given situation, and if we are but willing to act in concert with the decisions of our own judgment, we shall purchase solid and permanent happiness by the sacrifice of (comparatively speaking) a momentary enjoyment only. But if we are determined to take all opinions for granted which proceed from profligacy of character, or depravity of mind, because they are agreeable to our present taste, wishes, and inclinations, rather than consistent with reason, duty, and judgment, without examination, and without reflection, we must indeed acknowledge ourselves to be either foolish, wicked, or insane. Our folly is never more conspicuous than when we discover an obstinate determination to follow our inclinations at all events and at all hazards. Where there is no inclination to be conquered, no desire to be checked, no imprudent connection to be dissolved, nor any improper pursuit to be abandoned, there is, there can be no opportu nity to demonstrate our attachment to the prior claims of duty and virtue; but when the object of our affections is so far above or beneath us in point of rank, of education, and of virtuous prin. ciples, as to make the prospect of our union a cause of uneasiness and regret to our friends and relations, and a probable certainty of unhappiness to ourselves by its direct and unavoidable tendency to disturb the geneneral harmony and tranquillity that subsists between those who are connected with us by the ties of blood, and the bonds of friendship, it becomes our duty to strive zealously and unremittingly for the laudable purpose of obtaining a complete victory over our own hearts; and to rest assured that the painful struggle will eventually yield to us the full possession of positive and unequivocal happiness. The first emotions of the mind are the most easily conquered; and if we were but to enquire into the origin of them we should find them frequently to proceed from incidental and adventitious causes, and not from any irresistible internal principle of solid affection for the person whom we hastily supposed to have been the occasion and the object of them. If it were otherwise we should never be safe, even in the arms of a wife or a husband; the strictest religious, philosophical, or prudential precautions, would be alike unavailing, and subject to the irresistible decrees of fate; and our most delightfu! enjoy ments might be snatched from us, or made dis agreeable to us, without any fault or act of our own. If, instead of opposing our desires where opposition would be virtuous heroism, we give way to them, and indulge the pleasing hope that all will yet be well, our wishes completed, and our happiness confirmed, our depravity becomes sinful, our character confirmed, and our fate miserable. For sin being either the commission of a fault or the omission of a duty, it will have been confirmed in both respects; and whoever seriously thought of being happy without first being virtuous in principle, and dutiful in practice, did most egregiously deceive himself. If ever any one did seriously entertain a thought so contradictory to the nature of things, and so opposite to the precepts of religious duty, his error certainly produced a punishment in some degree proportional to the magnitude of the offence. When we suffer ourselves to be led by our passions and inclinations into the labyrinth of errors and difficulties, and vainly attempt to obtain success by art, address, and perseverance, where it can be no otherwise effected; or, in the event of disappointment, are really determined to give up ourselves to the gloomy horrors of despair, because our projects have not succeeded according to our wishes, our hopes, and our expectations, we are but acting the part of madmen, whose highest pleasure, and most delightful enjoyment, consists in gratifying and indulging the predominant desire of the moment, regardless of all subsequent consequences. Next to religion, there is not a subject more important in itself, more interesting to society, nor more likely to be effectually conducive to the establishment and promotion of domestic tranquillity, in all the varied scenes of private life, than this of love. It contributes to silence every discordant passion, and to generate an universal harmony in all family circles where it happily exists and presides. The wholesome influence of it is limited to no particular circle in society, nor confined to any select description of mankind. To all who possess virtuous principles, honest hearts, and ingenuous dispositions, it is accessible and equally calculated to promote and secure real and permanent happiness. By the reciprocal interchanges of virtuous affection the best interests of society are widely and successfully diffused' in the world. In many instances the amiable effects of love will descend to generations unborn. The peculiar advantages arising from the reciprocal operation of it are sufficiently important to demand a very general and a very serious and deliberate attention. And it is very sincerely to be regretted that the origin, the nature, and the power of this affection should have been more generally misrepresented than that of any other of which the mind is susceptible. By writers of the greatest repute for wisdom it has been almost uniformly spoken of as an involuntary and irresistible act of the mind, frequently as wonderful and unaccountable in its operation as lamentable and disastrous in its consequences. This representation of the passion of love is as erroneous as it is injudicious and dangerous. It is the parent of disobedience and the nurse of impropriety. Happily for mankind, nature is consistent in all her proceedings. And it is to ignorance, to error, or design, that we must look in order to account for those false conceptions, and mistaken notions which are so frequently inimical to the happiness of rational, of social, and domestic life. Right notions and apprehensions of the passion of love are rarely if ever inculcated in the human mind; and yet there is no instance in which we are more liable to be diverted from the path of duty and virtue, of propriety, and consequently of happiness, than by regarding this feeling as an uncontrollable affection; and attributing, not unfrequently, to the decisive and unmeaning power of fate, the most ordinary operations of fancy and inclination unaccompanied by reflection and judgment. Love, like all the other affections, is capable of being excited, governed, and conquered, by every being who is susceptible of any impression from so natural, so pleasing, so delightful, so elevating a feeling. In its preparatory state, it is nothing more than a species of sincere regard for |