"

shepherd of a flock, was a strict observer, and a beautiful describer of Nature, in all her serenity and elegance. How often has this archiepiscopal patron of those, doomed to blush at the severity of their wants, sat on the grass, with a group of villagers sitting around him. Realizing in his practice the scenes of Elysium, which he had described with all the grace and tranquillity of a pure mind, in his Adventures of Telemachus. In an age like this, how delightful is it to pause upon the memory of so wise and excellent a man ;-to meditate on the purity of his affections, the gentleness of his manners, and the nobility of his sentiments ;-the richness of his imagination, and the refinement of his sensibility. Breathing love and friendship round his palace, and benevolence to the whole circle of the world ;-penetrating and conciliating every heart; we become enamoured of himself, as well as of his genius. He inspires us with a love of peace; he delights our imagination; satisfies our judgment; and, modulating our feelings, he consoles us in the midst of affliction, and we imbibe, for a time, -no small share of his irreproachable purity and exquisite spirituality of character.

BURNS is said to have written most of his poems in the open air; and many were composed upon the banks of the Nith, and near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey. WHITE of Nottingham!-His taste may be estimated by the following lines :

Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild';
Where far from cities I may spend my days
And by the beauties of the scene beguil❜d,
May pity man's pursuits, and shun his ways.

While on the rock I mark the browzing goat,
List to the mountain torrent's distant noise,
Or the hoarse bittern's solitary note:

I shall not want the world's delusive joys.

But with my little scrip, my book, my lyre,
Shall think my lot complete; nor long for more;
And when, with time, shall wane my vital fire,
I'll make my tomb upon the desert shore;
And lay me down to rest, where the sad wave
Shall make sweet music o'er my lowly grave.

Many critics are there in Oxford, in Leyden, and at Gottingen, who would smile with contempt upon this humble sonnet: for my own part, I think it superior not only to any sonnet in Petrarch, but equal to any epigram in the Greek Anthology.

Cranch, who accompanied the expedition to the Congo, commanded by Captain Tuckey,' was such an active admirer of natural productions, that in search of a new object he would climb the most rugged precipices, and be lowered from high cliffs by peasants. He would explore the muddiest rivers; into which he would wade even up to his arms; and not unfrequently would he venture out to sea alone in a fisherman's boat to pick up insects or small shells off weeds, along the coast of Devonshire. At night he drew his boat on shore, and slept in it:

Far remov'd from civic splendour,
Fate had fixed his niggard lot;
Comforts few, finances slender,

Care still hovering near his cot.

Introduct, to the Account of the Congo Expedition, 4to. p. 76.

Cold and bleak his humble dwelling,

Hid behind the heath-clad hill,
Wintry blasts its roofs assailing;
Yet he seemed contented still.

Round him see the rugged mountains,
Rudely rise from Nature's hand;
Roughly form the gushing fountains,
But they waste no golden sand.

Though he saw in fertile valleys,

Pomp and wealth indulge their fill;
He could pass the proud man's palace,
Smile and be contented still.

This humble lover of the beautiful died, at the age of thirty-four, in Captain Tuckey's expedition to discover the source of the Congo and the confluence of the Niger.

BOOK IX.

CHAPTER 1.

To the memory of Milton and Shakespeare our friend, Philotes, has erected monuments in one of the most retired recesses of a glen, as well as to the virtues of Epaminondas and Washington;-the glories of the ancient and the modern world; and a parallel between whom were even worthy the pen of Plutarch, The monument in honour of the two poets is surmounted by two alabaster vases :-that to the memory of the statesmen consists of a small pillar of white marble, standing on a pedestal of black granite. On the east side of this column is simply inscribed the name of the Grecian hero; on the west, that of the American. Round the pedestal is written, "THE BEST OF MEN MAN HAS DECLARED THEM ;-THE BETTER OF THE TWO LET HEAVEN DECIDE.” Some little way farther on, is a tablet, commemorating the friendships of Tacitus and Pliny; Ovid and Propertius; Rucella and Trissino; Plutarch and Colonna; Sannazaro and Pietro Bembo; Boileau and Racine; Dyson and Akenside.

A temple, erected on a small mountain, which overlooks the vale, and which can be seen from the summits of all the larger ones, has been dedicated to

Liberty. In the niches are the busts of Alfred, Edgar, and Howel-Dha; Hampden and Sidney; Somers and Camden; Wallace and Chatham.

Names, grateful to the patriot's ear;
Which British sons delight to hear:

Names, which the brave will lang revere
{Wi' valour's sigh!) `\`

- rimbe “Dear to the Muse¦ but doubly dear

To Liberty!

The names of a few others are inscribed on the ceiling. They are not numerous; for Philotes has long doubted the evidence of historians; and has learnt the necessary art of distinguishing between patriots and demagogues. In the library are suspended portraits of our best historians and philosophers:-Bede, the father of English history; Robertson, the Livy of Scotland; Gibbon, who traced the decline and fall not only of an empire, but of philosophy and taste; and Roscoe, who illumines the annals of mankind by a history of the restoration of literature and the arts. There, also, are the busts of Locke, Bacon, Boyle, and Paley. In the saloon hang, as large as life, whole length portraits of Gainsborough, and Wright of Derby; Sir Joshua Reynolds and Barry; Fuseli and West. In the cloisters, which lead to the chapel, are small marble monuments, commemorating the virtues of Tillotson, Sherlocke and Hoadley; Blair, Lowth, and Porteus; men who, in a peculiar degree, possessed That golden key,

Which opes the palace of Eternity. brou od

Near the fountain, which waters the garden, stands