The ground contiguous to the oak, together with a circular space which surrounds it, was presented to Körner's father by a German prince, his Serene Highness the reigning Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. The grave is encompassed by a wall, is planted, and distinguished by a monument of cast-iron. There also repose the mortal remains of the sister of the deceased, Emma Sophia Louisa: a silent grief for the loss of her beloved brother consumed her vital powers, and allowed her only life sufficient for finishing a portrait of him, and making a drawing of his grave.

REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF UGO FOSCOLO.

WITH the utmost deference for the high authority of the Schlegels, we adhere to the opinions of Gibbon and Voltaire-that we are indebted to Italy for the preservation of literature and the fine arts through the barbarism and darkness of the middle ages. Tender as we would willingly be thought of the reputation of the Huns and Goths, and of those important and beneficial political consequences which attended their tempestuous career, we cannot persuade ourselves that respect for the monuments of art, and the works of science and of learning, entered into their views of conquest and spoil. If it be to Italy, then, that we owe the preservation, we are doubly indebted to her for the revival of that spirit of literature, which has not only enlightened the nations of Europe, but still continues, with increasing power, to extend its influence over the remote regions of the earth.

When we reflect how much the literary character of our own country has thus been moulded upon that of Italy, it will appear not a little strange, that the knowledge and admiration displayed by our early English poets for the revivers of learning in Italy, should afterwards have sunk into indifference and contempt, and finally become nearly extinct. But Italy has at last resumed her former intellectual ascendancy, and the honours due to her genius in the estimation of surrounding nations; nor do her living offspring forfeit the high character, the pride and rich inheritance of their fathers. The names of Canova, Parini, Monti, and Ugo Foscolo, are worthy to live in the recollections of a future age, like some of their great predecessors in our own.

Parini is represented as the intimate friend of Ugo Foscolo, who describes their interviews in early life, and conversations, expressive of the indignant opinions and feelings of youthful patriotism on the oppressed condition of their country; and then, with the warmth and enthusiasm of a poetic spirit, he proceeds to blend his own existence and adventures with the history of a partly real and imaginary character. Such is the origin of " Le Ultime Let

tere di Jacopo Ortis;" but how far he has in fact identified himself with the feelings and fortunes of his hero, is to be gathered, in part, from his own prefatory avowal, and in part from what is known or rumoured respecting his singular and adventurous life -no less chequered and uncertain, nor less interesting, than that of the wild and eccentric Alfieri. Like him, in the ebullition of youth, he professed strong political opinions, though born under a despotic government, that of Venice,-like him too, he abandoned it in despair, to seek for peace and freedom in a foreign clime. It is surprising how few notices we have received of such characters until within these last few years. As one cause of our limited information, we may almost regret the absence of that egotism and literary vanity in the character of Foscolo, which, in most instances, would have been happy to put us in possession of whatever biographical memoir and private anecdote they could afford. Far from this being one of the enviable qualities of Signor Foscolo, he evinces, what we really think he in part feels, an indifference and contempt for that self-praise and complacency often so lavishly indulged by authors, in the presence, and at the expense, of their best friends. It is the only subject, perhaps, upon which our author appears incapable of being either eloquent or amusing, though one upon which he might not be ashamed to dwell. In conversation, however, he has more disinterested, if not nobler, game in view--enlightened criticism, and high views of nature and of art; all which he pursues and hunts down with the avidity and keenness of a sportsman, and the quarry generally repays his toils. Upon questions of general, and disinterested import, connected with politics or with letters-upon themes of greatness and of worth, and of a national and social character, he is at once lively, impassioned, and profound. His language, his native tongue, abounds in strength of thought, richness of imagery, and the expression of a gifted and cultivated mind. It is rendered more impressive by the tone of earnestness and sincerity in which his opinions are conveyed. Foscolo's conversation has all the electrifying power of originality. When he is deeply engaged in an argument worthy of his powers and feelings, he seems originality personified-the flashes of his eye denote the quickness of his intellect, and the quivering of his lip betrays that of his sensibility.

Foscolo has an equal and sustained power of mind, and a solidity of thought and feeling. In his orations, his novels, his miscellaneous essays, and his tragedies, the same spirit of life and power is every where manifest-a boldness and strength of hand, a depth and contrast of light and shade, mingled with a truth of outline in all his touches, which perhaps leaves too little room for the ornament and colouring of the imagination. In this he resembles Alfieri, in whom passion and profound thought absorbed the finer qualities of his genius, and, indeed, the whole poetry of

his nature; which accounts for our finding little or none of those poetic passages, similes, and illustrations, which are scattered through the works of the English and French dramatists. Their characters, wrapt in the awe and fearfulness of impending fate, have no leisure, like the French heroines, to comment upon their woes, and make use of set speeches and the flowers of rhetoric to adorn their misfortunes; nor do they, like the English and German, fall into the sentimental tone and the whining or declamatory style which offend us in Kotzebue. They do not think of throwing a poetical charm around their sufferings-a breathless haste absorbs them they tell their unhappy story, and for ever disappear.

This absorbing, and perhaps too exclusive sort of interest peculiarly attaches to the productions of Ugo Foscolo. They are darkly shadowed forth, and leave much to the imagination. Like the sketches of Michel Angelo, they awaken a crowd of ideas; and a single touch, by the power of association, does more than the most elaborate finishing of art-in fact, they bear the impress and character of the author's mind. The same vigour of thought, rapidity of action, and abrupt transitions of feeling, which characterize his conversation, are communicated to his works. After Lord Byron, we are at a loss to mention any living author, who has so far identified himself with the beings of his own imagination, and who justifies, by his manners and appearance, the suspicions of a strange relationship between his intellectual and imaginary, and his real existence.

We have very confused notices of the early life and education of Foscolo; and this apparent mysteriousness naturally enough gave rise to the supposition, that, in "The Last Letters of Ortis," like Lord Byron in his Harold, he had really depicted his own adventures in those of his hero. We observe, in the London edition of the work, by Zotti, the following very luminous and logical elucidation of the subject: "Jacopo Ortis, ossia Ugo Foscolo, nobile Veneziano, &c. &c." which, for the satisfaction of all our readers, we prefer translating, "Jacopo Ortis, alias Ugo Foscolo, a noble Venetian, and a Dalmatian by birth, is the author of the following letters. He is in the service of the Venetian Republic, in the military line; and holds the rank of a Captain in one of the bands of the Italian Republic." We know that there is much truth and falsehood mingled in this account, as well as in many others on this subject, which have gone forth to the literary world without the authority of our author. It is true that Signor Foscolo was a soldier, and what is better-a patriot, who struggled and who mourned for his native land in vain. It is also true that he delineates his own political feelings and opinions in the character of Ortis ; and occasionally indulged sorrows of a more private and poignant nature, upon which it would be indelicate and sacrilegious to touch. Let it suffice to

say, that they were such as, on a more perfect acquaintance with them, would only endear the character of the poet and the man. The story of Ortis is not wholly destitute of reality, though it is much embellished by the rich imagination of Foscolo. It is so far founded upon fact, that we believe it had its origin in the unfortunate attachment of a noble Italian, deservedly regretted by his friends. Some fragments of his letters were said to have been found after his death, in which is given a most affecting picture of a disordered mind, and the pangs of disappointed loveterminating in suicide. Such instances, though rare in the warm and luxurious climate of Italy, when they occur, are fraught with passion of an excessive and tempestuous character, which, in more northern latitudes, is perfectly unexampled. Alfieri ordered himself to be bound to his chair, and even fastened down by his hair, to prevent him from holding assignations with a woman whom he despised, yet had not ceased to love; and, on another occasion, he actually tore away the bandages from his wounds, with an intention of bleeding to death, because the lady for whom he had received them had deserted him.

An air of truth and probability is observed in the character of Ortis, which gives life and energy to the more imaginative portion of the story. It was written in Bologna; and, if we except a tragedy, entitled "Tieste," and written at the age of nineteen, it is the earliest of his publications. Of this drama it is a fact, that Alfieri, after attentively perusing it, observed, "If the author of this play be no more than 19 years of age, he will doubtless surpass me." As the tale of Ortis is occasionally interwoven with political allusions, it will not be amiss to notice the causes which led him to mingle the enthusiasm of liberty with that of poetry and romance. With more learning and opportunities of improving himself than Alfieri in his early youth he evinced the same ungovernable feelings, or rather impulses, in favour of libertyin fact, he almost believed in the optimism of man; and finding himself disappointed, sought refuge in opposite principles, in despair. He first began his studies in Padua; and made a rapid progress in the knowledge of history and eloquence: imitating the orations of Cicero, whose richness of style and language he very happily acquired. We have read a few of his discourses, delivered upon public occasions, in which copiousness and elegance of language are powerfully sustained, by the energy of the thoughts and richness of illustration.

When yet very young, he left Padua for Venice, on hearing it had been taken possession of by the French Republic, and the aristocratic authorities destroyed. He had there scarcely distinguished himself as an eloquent advocate of freedom, and anticipated a free and glorious government, before the Republic was ceded by the French to Austria: and Foscolo hurried away from

Venice in disgust. He set out, on foot, for Bologna, which he reached, worn with fatigue, and disappointed in spirit. He was, at this period, so much reduced in his finances, in consequence of having left Venice thus abruptly, that, had it not been for the charity of some old monks, in supplying his immediate wants, he might have fallen a martyr to his beloved cause of liberty. It was then he first became a soldier, in his own defence; and, in a short time, bore the rank of Captain in the First Italian Legion. In Bologna too he became celebrated at the Lyceums for his commanding eloquence, and the strong tone of his political doctrines. Soon becoming weary of the profession of arms, we next behold him presiding as professor of eloquence in the university of Pavia. Here he lectured on Belles Lettres and the arts, and acquired a considerable addition to his reputation as an orator and a critic. Melzi was then at the head of the government in that place, and justly conferred an annual salary upon hin., for his great exertions and services in the cause of the Republic, as well as in that of letters. But his restless and inquisitive mind could not long submit to the shackles of authority of any kind. In 1802, he was enjoined, by the public voice, to deliver an encomiastic oration to Bonaparte: his principles, however, were too bold, and he fell under the displeasure of the despot. After this, he withdrew from public employments altogether, either of a civil, military, or literary nature.

The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis were written at Bologna, and speedily went through three editions, only the last of which our author now allows to be authentic. This was before read and revised by the late celebrated Cesarotti; and from this, Remualdo Zotti printed a new edition, in London, which has been since translated, in a very faithful and elegant style, and much admired by those who are acquainted with the original. To such of our readers, however, as are not versed in the language of Petrarch and of Dante, and have yet to explore the riches of that favoured country— "Ch' Appenin parte e 'l mar circonda, e l' Alpe"

to such we venture to promise that it will yield as much pleasure, and interesting emotion, as the absence of the beauty and harmony of Italian diction will permit.

The first portion of the Letters is descriptive of the wretched feelings of Ortis.-Deeply attached to a beautiful woman, he is haunted by a prophetic dread that he shall not only be deprived of her love, but that he shall live to behold her possessed by a rival. To the hopelessness of his own passion is added regret for the misfortunes of his country-he first beholds it a prey to the lust and spoil of a French soldiery, and then offered up as a sacrifice to political rapacity and aggrandisement. Venice is ceded to Austria

but he still lingers round the scene of his fallen hopes, stifling his patriotism and his passion "as he best may," and "giving no