ries of every climate, the sports and refinements, the arts and improvements of every nation, was the second, but hardly a less ardent wish. The relicks, which we yet view with astonishment and delight, are strongly marked with both these traits; with the thirst of conquest, and the love of pleasure. Every palace, theatre, circus, publick bath, and many temples, contained trophies, or statues, indicating the extent of their conquests; but the most noble and splendid monuments of their victories, the most just, laudable, and wise, were the arches of triumph, which they raised to the honour of their successful generals, consuls, or dictators. There are several still standing in various parts of the empire, in honour of Caius Marius, who afterwards perished ignominiously. I recollect a splendid one at Orleans, in France, and another at St. Remy, near the river Rhone, erected to that great, but unfortunate man. In Rome, there are still remaining several, erected at various times, in honour of their emperours, of which I will give you some little account. The most perfect, on the whole, considering the style in which it was executed is that of the emperour Septimus Severus; it was erected on the occasion of his return from his victories, and is placed at the foot of the Mons Capitolinus, at the entry of the Forum Romana; it is still standing in a state almost perfect, and as such facilitates exceedingly, an accurate knowledge of the topographical situation of the ancient Forum, to which historians assure you, it was the entrance. I do not think it necessary to describe the architecture accurately, to say that its columns are Corinthian, &c. &c. but I can observe, without offending you with pedantry, that its propor tions are simple, grand and elegant, that its heighth is noble, that it is of most beautiful marble, and that it is clothed with bas reliefs, or sculptured pictures, accurately and nobly describing the victories of this emperour. After passing this arch, you traverse the Forum Romanum, at the fartherend of which you meet with the arch of Titus Vespasian, who is distinguished by having been the prince, who fulfilled the scripture prophecies against the Jews, by the capture and total destruction of Jerusalem. This arch was originally more beautiful than the other, but it has suffered more from the ruffian hand of barbarians. Still, however, you recognize a noble stile of architecture, and two of the bas reliefs, one representing Titus in his triumphal car, and the other the spoils of the temple at Jerusalem, when brought to Rome, are among the most perfect monuments of ancient sculpture in basso relievo. There is a little piece of history, connected with this arch, which, as it has amused me, may be some entertainment to you. There are about 10,000 Jews at Rome, who, as in all other parts of Europe, live, as the prophecies foretold, in an unsettled, wandering state, utterly des pised and hated by their fellow citizens. These Jews never could bear the idea of passing under this arch of Titus, erected in commemoration of the utter defeat of their nation, and the destruction of their city, and whose bas reliefs related in eloquent, though dumb language, the story of their humiliation They, therefore, petitioned the Pope, as this was a necessary thoroughfare, to grant them a small passage by the side, and it is said, that no Jew ever passes under this hated arch. This story is related with every ap pearance of seriousness, and I have no reason to doubt it. Let me remark here, that the ecclesiastical rulers of this city, considering themselves as the great heads of the Christian Church, feel obliged to treat the Jews with unusual rigour. They are therefore compelled to inhabit a particular quarter of the city, which is enclosed, and in which they are locked up every night; and in the holy week, they are also confined from Thursday till the Monday following, to prevent their ridiculing the christian worship. They are constrained moreover to hear a christian sermon once a week. Moore, who owes I think, no good will to the catholicks, if to christianity, adds, that there are few or no conversions from this preaching. I should reason differently from my own experience, for during our short residence here, three Jews have been baptised. Passing through the arch of Titus towards the Coliseum, you soon meet the splendid Arch of Constantine, the last which was raised to any Roman emperour, and yet extant. Although more entire than either of the others, connoisseurs say, (and we are all apt to think so after we know that) that it bears the marks of the decay or decline of the arts, which had taken place at the time of its erection; and there is this strong proof in favour of the connoisseurs, that Constantine demolished the arch of Trajan, to take the basso relievos in order to adorn his own, and that they now form the most beautiful ornaments of this superb arch. How Constantine could consent to demolish the trophy, erected in hon our of one of his most illustrious predecessors, especially when it must of course remind him of the liability of his own to meet the same fate, one can hardly conceive. I have only been able to account for it by the supposition, that, as it was certianly erected after his conversion to christianity, he might feel justified in treating thus the memory of a pagan prince, and one under whose reign the christians were persecuted; though it must be acknowledged that Trajan was an humane and virtuous prince. But admit Constantine's motive to demolish, to be good, how could he reconcile it to his own dignity to ornament his own arch of triumph with the exploits of another prince, and of one, whom, by the very supposed case, he despised? I leave you to settle these points in America, where I doubt not the discussion will be more satisfactory, and it certainly will be as decisive as mine. I have said enough of arches for one letter; but let me remark, that those of Severus and Constantine have been for centuries partially buried to the depth of ten or twelve feet in the earth, and no pope, until the present, has had the spirit to lay open the beauties, of which the upper and exposed parts were such sure pledges. Let our philosophical friends settle, before we return, this knotty question, which, on the spot, with books, observation, and much reflection, I cannot decide, why some parts of Rome are now buried in an earth, apparently natural, from one to thirty feet, while others, streets and pavements, publick and private edifices are on the original level? This is a thing, which I think will be a good "bone to gnaw" for your philosophers. MRS. MONTAGU'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH Letter 3. MRS. MONTAGU TO LORD KAMES. small wares of social life, are very busy, and a little useful. The inherent dignity of the soul makes it Extract of a letter, dated Denton, De- sometimes disdain these petty occu cember 12, 1766. "I see by the date of your Lordship's letter, you are got to Edinburgh, from whence I suppose you will sometimes make a trip to your winter-garden. Perhaps there is not any thing more delightful than escaping from the bustle of society to the quiet of solitude; unless it be returning to society, after having been long confined to solitude. If I was assured your Lordship would not draw an inference from it to my disadvantage, I would own to you, that the transitions from the town to the country, and from the country to the town, are inexpressibly delightful to me. Different powers of the mind are exercised in the different situations; so pray do not entirely impute this taste in me to levity. I imagine a pedlar would be extremely pleased at first if he was made a king, and from measuring tape and counting needles, was exalted to balancing the interests of empires, and considering the arduous affairs of government; till, finding how little his speculations improved the state of the world, and that his most earnest thoughts ended often in ineffectual schemes, he would wish to return to an employment in which he would realize his intentions, and find his capacity on a level with his business. This is just the case of every human creature who is not engaged in some profession or important situation. In the world we carry about the pations, and love to retire into the proud state of meditation. There it enters into the operations of Omnipotence, and the views of infinite wisdom; looks with delight through the infinite gradations of beings, and with amazement round the boundless system of creation : it exults at feeling itself an intelligent spectator of such a majestick scene; and in the arrogance of its reasoning, and the pride of its reveries, wonders how it could ever condescend to the low commerce of ordinary life, and says to itself, it will for the future dream in state. But Alma, by the mother's side, a poor mechanick, satiated with the long idleness of a summer's holiday, again cries out for her shop and her tools, leaves to abstracted beings the life of meditation, and wisely says, her business lies chiefly where she can add to the comfort and happiness of Ler fellow creatures. However, my lord, do not imagine that I think less than you do, that a pleasing retirement may improve the virtue of your posterity, by drawing them sometimes from busy to contemplative life. In sweet retirement, I imagine the mind keeps time to the musick of the spheres; its movements are not affected by prejudices or bad examples, but keep even and true measure with reason, and its appointed duties. In the bustle of the world, we are often impelled to what is wrong, diverted from what is right, and carried about in the whirl of fashion and predominant opinions. "I am interested in every thing at Blair-Drummond: pray let me know every vista that you open, and every shade that you cherish for meditation. About two months heuce, I shall think with greater rapture of your winter-garden: at present, to own the truth, I am longing for my pedlar's pack. I have been so long in retirement, that I shall go, with great gout, to every fair and market, idleness and vanity shall open. I hope to set out for London in about ten days, or a fortnight at farthest. "Your lordship does me great honour; but my name is not designed for immortality. I beg of you to present my most affectionate and respectful compliments to Mrs. Drummond. I shall, I hope, be honoured with her commands, when I get to London; and trust that she will employ me in all her commissions, because no one will have so much pleasure in executing them. With great esteem, I am, my lord, &c. &c. E. MONTAGU." Lord Kames had introduced Dr. Franklin to Mrs. Montagu's acquaintance. The following letter alludes, among others, to that cir cumstance. MRS. MONTAGU TO LORD KAMES. Hill-Street, Nov. 11, 1767. "FROM the consciousness and confidence of friendship, I delayed answering your last letter till this very moment, for I waited till I could find health and leisure together the one rarely visits, and the other never abides with me. I am convinced, that we have been acquainted in a state of pre-existence; I do not know when, nor indeed Vol. V. No. V. 2 G where: whether we first met on the orb of this earth, had a short coquetry in the planet Venus, or a sober platonick love in Saturn; but I am sure we did not first meet at Edinburgh, in the year 1766; therefore, those doubts, that would be pardonable in a new friendship, cannot become us. Your lordship may remember, our souls did not stand like strangers at a distance, making formal obeisances: the first evening we supped together, at our friend, Dr. Gregory's, we took up our story, where it had, perhaps, ended some thousand years before the creation of this globe: if we gave it a prefatory compliment, it was only the customary form to the new edition of a work before published. I am extremely flattered, that, though invisible, I was one of your Christmas guests, at Blair-Drummond. I often endeavoured to imagine, how your cascades looked, when they were fixed in icicles, your rivers turned to solid crystal, and Ben-Lomond's brown sides were glittering with snow; but I had not the presumption to think, I could imagine what such a society were saying, so that I was deprived of the best part of the pleasure of the party. think your lordship was unlucky, that you did not stay in the country till the thaw: the torrents from the mountains, the deluged plains, the ice crackling, and rushing down the rivers, and the cascades breaking their crystal bands, must have been a fine sight, and what you and I should have been delighted to have seen together, though, perhaps, heretofore we were joint spectators of Deucalion's flood; and, if Mr. Whiston's computations be just, we may be present at the commencement of the Millennium, when the vain and the idle will melt away like the snow, the proud, hard-heart I ed and wicked, will rush, like the ice, "You will, perhaps, expect I I am not a "The muses are the only virgins now, that do not appear in publick every day; but they are prodigiously coy. Mr. Glover's muse is a beautiful Greek, but as she does not speak in the vulgar tongue, she dares not come upon the stage; she only addresses herself to the learned, Voltaire has sent in their closets. a tragedy to Paris, which he said was composed in ten days. The rect. At threescore and ten, one should not expect his wit would outrun his judgment; but he seems to begin a second infancy in wit and philosophy; a dangerous thing to one, who has such an antipathy to leading-strings. "I beg my most respectful compliments to Mrs. Drummond and Mr. Home: assure Mrs. Drummond that I have not forgot her commands; and I hope I shall acquit myself in such a manner, as to I have also the épargne, as to be trusted for other commissions. seen her girandoles, which I like ex. tremely; but I have proposed a little alteration at the top. If she would have any thing en meubles exHe tremely beautiful, she must employ my friend, Mr. Adam, here. has made me a cieling and chimneypiece, and doors, which are pretty enough to make me a thousand enemies envy turns livid at the glimpse of them. I beg of your lordship to make my compliments to my friends at Edinburgh, and assure them I retain a grateful remembrance of their politeness to me there. I am, with great esteem, my lord, &c. &c. For the Anthology. SILVA, No. 39. E. MONTAGU." Nobis placeant ante omnia silvæ. Virg. 2 Ec. 61. ENGLISH CLASSICKS. THOSE English periodical writers, who have obtained a distinction that gives them the rank of classicks, are among the greatest benefactors |
