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AUGUSTUS, who loved Virgil and Horace, used to place himself between the two poets at table. Virgil was asthmatick, and Horace had weak eyes. The emperour used to say, jestingly, "Ego sum inter suspiria et lacrymas;" I am between sighs and tears.

A blind mån's idea of light. M. Rohault wished to communicate the idea of light to a blind pupil; after a long and elaborate discourse, when he hoped he had in some measure succeeded, he was asked this question by the blind man," Is not light made of the same materials as sugar?"

How to be happy.

How much it would conduce to our happiness to be select in our friends and books; to choose them both for their good sense and knowledge; to be contented with a small but certain income; to have no master and few servants; to be without ambition, envy, avarice, or a law-suit; to preserve our health by exercise, instead of medicine; to love and hate only on just grounds; and to enjoy life without effort.

Musicians.

Professed musicians are generally ignorant, imprudent, and fool

SHAKESP.

ish people away from their instruments; a musician, after a concert, should be treated like his in strument, put into a case and carried home.

Pedants.

"I hate," says Montaigne, "those scholars who can do noth ing without their books." In fact, those men have no knowledge, but can tell you where some may be found. They serve as indexes to good authors. They will tell you, that in such a chapter of Cicero or Quintilian there is a good thought. Science is a sceptre in the hands of some men, and a bauble in those of others.

Philosophers and poets sport with the follies of mankind, tradesmen make an advantage of them, and players both sport with them and profit by them.

Folly.

Of all the definitions of folly, that given by M. Bailli has not the least merit. "Folly is the tyranny that visible objects exercise upon our imaginations."

Life.

The progress of it may be compared to a play. Act 1. State of innocence. Act 2. The passions. Act 3. Love of study. Act 4. Ambition. Act 5. Devotion and quiets

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Etymology of Decreptitude.

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Aristippus was very fond of magnificent entertainments, and loved a court life. Dionysius asked him, in a sarcastick manner, the reason, why philosophers were seen often at the gates of princes, but princes never at the doors of "For the same philosophers? reason," replied the philosopher, "that physicians are found at the doors of sick men, but sick men never at the doors of physicians."

The comparison of human life
to the burning and going out of a
lamp was familiar with Latin au-
thors, as we know by the terms
"senes decrepiti." A lamp, just
about to expire, was said decrepare, Capricious-a sonnet needs must have;
to cease to crackle. Hence met-
aphorically, persons on the verge
of the grave were called decrepit

Sonnet on a Sonnet, by Lopez de
Vega.

men.

Solitude.

It is an observation of Seneca, that we should mix company and retirement, in order to make them both pleasant by change. The wish always to be alone shows the temper of a wild, ferocious animal, carries with it the dismal darkness of the tomb. The effect of such a disposition of mind is

I ne'er was put to't before-a sonnet! Why fourteen verses must be spent upon it, "Tis good however t'have conquer'd the first

stave.

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81

EXTRACT FROM SOUTHEY'S

MADOC.

...THERE was not, on that day, a speck to stain The azure heaven; the blessed Sun, alone, In unapproachable divinity,

Carcered, rejoicing in his fields of light. How beautiful, beneath the bright blue sky, The billows heave! one glowing green expanse, Save where along the bending line of shore Such hue is thrown, as when the peacock's neck Assumes its proudest tint of amethyst, Embathed in emerald glory. All the flocks Of Ocean are abroad: like floating foam, The sea-gulls rise and fall upon the waves; With long protruded neck the cormorants Wing their far flight aloft, and round and round The plovers wheel, and give their note of joy. It was a day that sent into the heart A summer feeling: even the insect swarms From their dark nooks and coverts issued forth, For one day of existence more, and joy ; The solitary primrose, on the bank, Seemed now as though it had no cause to mourn Its bleak autumnal birth; the Rocks, and Shores And everlasting Mountains, had put on

The smile of that glad sunshine,.. they partook The universal blessing.

TRUE STORY OF AN APPARITION.

By Gay.

SCEPTICKS (whose strength of argument makes out,

That wisdom's deep inquiries end in doubt) Hold this assertion positive and clear, That sprites are pure delusions, rais'd by fear. Not that fam'd ghost, which in presaging sound Call'd Brutus to Philippi's fatal ground, Nor can Tiberius Gracchus' goary shade These ever-doubting disputants persuade. Straight they with smiles reply, Those tales of old By vizionary priests were made and told. Oh, might some ghost at dead of night appear, And make you own conviction by your fear! I know your sneers my easy faith accuse, Which with such idle legends scares the Muse; But think not that I tell those vulgar sprites, Which frighted boys relate on winter nights, How cleanly milk-maids meet the fairy train, How heedless horses drag the clinking chain, Night-roaming ghosts, by saucer eye-balls known, The common spectres of each country-town. No, I such fables can like you despise, And laugh to hear these nurse-invented lies. Yet, has not oft' the fraudful guardian's fright Compell'd him to restore an orphan's right? Vol. III. No. 2. L

And can we doubt that horrid ghosts ascend,
Which on the conscious murderer's steps attend?
Hear then, and let attested truth prevail;
From faithful lips I learnt the dreadful tale.

Where Arden's forest spreads its limits wide, Whose branching paths the doubtful road divide, A traveller took his solitary way,

When low beneath the hills was sunk the day. And now the skies with gathering darkness lour, The branches rustle with the threatened shower i With sudden blasts the forest murmurs loud, Indented lightnings cleave the sable cloud, Thunder on thunder breaks, the tempest roars, And heaven discharges all its watery stores. The wandering traveller shelter seeks in vain, And shrinks and shivers with the beating rain: On his steed's neck the slackened bridle lay, Who chose with cautious step th' uncertain way; And now he checks the rein, and halts to hear If any noise foretold a village near. At length from far a stream of light he sees Extend its level ray beneath the trees; Thither he speeds, and, as he nearer came, Joyful he knew the lamp's domestick flame That trembled thro' the window; cross the way Darts forth the barking cur, and stands at bay.

It was an ancient lonely house, that stood Upon the borders of the spacious wood; Here towers and antique battlements arise, And there in heaps the mouldered ruin lies. Some lord this mansion held in days of yore, To chace the wolf, and pierce the foaming boar How changed, alas, from what it once had been! 'Tis now degraded to a publick inn.

Straight he dismounts, repeats his loud com

mands:

Swift at the gate the ready landlord stands ;
With frequent cringe he bows, and begs excuse,
His house was full, and every bed in use.
What, not a garret, and no straw to spare?
Why then the kitchen-fire and elbow-chair
Shall serve for once to nod away the night.
The kitchen ever is the servants' right,
Replies the host; there, all the fire around,
The Count's tir'd footmen snore upon the ground.

The maid, who listen'd to this whole debate,
With pity learnt the weary stranger's fate.
Be brave, she cried, you still may be our guest;
Our haunted room was ever held the best :
If then your valour can the fright sustain
Of rattling curtains, and the clinking chain;
If your courageous tongue have power to talk,
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk;
If you dare ask it, why it leaves its tomb;
I'll see your sheets well air'd, and shew the room.
Soon as the frighted maid her tale had told,
The stranger enter'd, for his heart was bold.

The damsel led him through a spacious ha Where ivy hung the half-demolished wall:

She frequent look'd behind, and chang'd her hue,
While fancy tipt the candle's flame with blue.
And now they gain'd the winding stairs' ascent,
And to the lonesome room of terrours went.
When all was ready, swift retir'd the maid,
The watch-lights burn, tuck'd warm in bed was
laid

The hardy stranger, and attends the sprite
Till his accustom'd walk at dead of night.

At first he hears the wind with hollow roar Shake the loose lock, and fwing the creaking door ;

Nearer and nearer draws the dreadful sound
Of rattling chains that dragg'd upon the ground:
When lo, the spectre came with horrid stride,
Approach'd the bed, and drew the curtains wide!
In human form the ghastful phantom stood,
Expos'd his mangled bosom dy'd with blood.
Then, silent pointing to his wounded breast,
'Thrice way'd his hand. Beneath the frighted
guest

The bed-cords trembled, and with shuddering fear,

Sweat chill'd his limbs, high rose his bristled hair; Then muttering hasty prayers, he manu'd his heart,

And cried aloud: Say, whence and who thou art?
The stalking ghost with hollow voice replies,
Three years are counted since with mortal eyes
I saw the sun, and vital air respir'd.
Like thee benighted, and with travel tir'd,
Within these walls I slept. O thirst of gain!
Sec, still the planks the bloody mark retain.
Stretch'd on this very bed, from sleep I start,
And see the steel impending o'er my heart;
The barbarous hostess held the lifted knife,
The floor ran purple with my gushing life.
My treasure now they sieze, the golden spoil
They bury deep beneath the grass-grown soil,
Far in the common field. Be bold, arise,
My steps shall lead thee to the secret prize;
There dig and find; let that thy care reward,
Call loud on justice, bid her not retard
To punish murder; lay my ghost at rest:
So shall with peace secure thy nights be blest ;
And, when beneath these boards my bones are
found,

Decent inter them in some sacred ground.

Here ceas'd the ghost. The stranger springs from bed,

And boldly follows where the phantom led: The half-worn stony stairs they now descend, Where passages obscure their arches bend. Silent they walk; and now through groves they pass,

Now through wet meads their steps imprint the grass.

At length amidst a spacious field they came:
"Fhere stops the spectre, and ascends in flame,
Amaz'd he stood, no bush or brier was found,
'To teach his morning search to find the ground.
What could he do? the night was hideous dark,
Fear shook his joints, and nature dropt the mark:
With that he starting wak'd, and rais'd his head,
But found the golden mark was left in bed.

What is the statesman's vast ambitious scheme,
But a short vision and a golden dream?
Power, wealth, and title, elevate his hope;
He wakes: but, for a garter, finds a rope.

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED."

A fable. By Cowper.

I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,
If birds confabulate or no;

"Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable;
And ev'n the child, who knows ne better,
Than to interpret by the letter,

A story of a cock and bull,

Must have a most uncommon skull.

It chanc'd then, on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design

To forestal sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,

And with much twitter, and much chattes,
Began to agitate the matter.

At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publickly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind.

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet;
I fear we shall have winter yet.

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
With golden wing and satin pole,

A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied.

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
Opposite in the apple-tree,

By his good will would keep us single,
Till yonder heav'n and earth shall mingle,
Or (which is likelier to befal)

Till death exterminate us all,
I marry without more ado,

My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?

Dick heard and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting and sideling, Attested, glad, his approbation

Of an immediate conjugation.
Their sentiments so well express'd,
Influenc'd mightily the rest,

All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.
But though the birds were thus in haste.
The leaves came on not quite so fast,
And destiny, that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on men's affairs,
Not altogether smil'd on theirs.
The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted east and east by north;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow,
Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
'Themse.ves were chill'd, their eggs were addled
Soon ev'ry father bird and mother
Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other,
Parted without the least regret,
Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd, in future, to be wiser,
Than to neglect a good adviser.

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THE BOSTON REVIEW,

FOR FEBRUARY, 1806.

Librum tuum legi & quam diligentissime potul annotavi, quæ commutanda, quæ eximenda, ar bitrarer. Nam ego dicere verum assuevi. maxime laudari merentur.-Pliny.

ARTICLE 1.

Memoirs of the American Academy.
Vol. I

of Arts and Sciences.
1785. 4to. pp. 568.

[Continued.]

Y. SOME select astronomical observations made at Chelsea, latitude 42° 25′, and 26′′ in time cast of the university at Cambridge. By the Rev. Phillips Payson, F.A.A.

The astronomical observations, here selected, are those of several emersions of Jupiter's first, second, and third satellites in 1779; three solar eclipses, namely, in June, 1778, October, 1780, and April, 1782; two lunar eclipses, namely, in May, 1779, and November, 1780; and the transit of Mercury in November, 1782.

VI. Observation of the transit of Mercury over the sun, Nov. 12, 1782, at Ipswich. By the Rev. Manasseh Cutler, F.A.A.

The going of the clock was carefully examined, and the times of all the contacts, except the first

external, were determined.

VII. A memoir, containing observations of a solar eclipse, October, 27, 1780, made at Beverly: Also of a lunar eclipse, March 29, 1782; of a solar eclipse, April 12, and of the transit of Mercury over the sun's disc, November 12, the same year, made at the president's house in Cambridge. By the Rev. Joseph Willard, president of the university.

Beside his own observations the author of this memoir furnishes

Neque ulli patientius reprehenduntur, quam qut

us with those of some other gen. tlemen, who accompanied him in attending to these phenomena. And having corresponding observations of the first of the said eclipses at Beverly, Chelsea, Penobscott-Bay,and Providence in the state of Rhode-Island, he subjoins their differences of longitude, which he had deduced, and consequently their longitudes from Cambridge, that of Chelsea relatively to Cambridge being known. Hence it appears, that the longitude of Beverly eastward from Cambridge is l' 11" in time; that of PenobscottBay 9' 15"; and that of Providence 1'7′′ westward.

From the times of the contacts of Mercury at the said transit, president Willard, using Mayer's solar tables, and De La Lande's tables of Mercury, calculates the angle of Mercury's apparent way with the ecliptick, the time of the ecliptick conjunction, the errour of the tables in the latitude of Mercury at that time, which appears to be 5".98 in defect. He also deduces the place of Mercury's ascending node, and calculates it from the tables; whence it appears, that the latter differs from the former 1′ 34′′ in excess.

VIII. Observations of a solar eclipse, October 27, 1780, made at St. John's Island, by Messrs. Clarke and Wright. In a letter from Mr. Joseph Peters to Caleb Gannett, A.M. Rec. Sec. Amer. Acad.

These observations were made at a place called Charlotte-town, which, according to Mr. Wright's

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