the central object. In the foreground is displayed the whole of the modern city of Athens, with its gardens, ruins, mosques, and walls, spreading into the plain beneath the citadel. On the right, or north-west wing, is the temple of Theseus; and on the left, or south-west wing, the temple of Jupiter Olympius. Proceeding from the west to the south and east, the view beyond the citadel displays the Areopagus, the Pnyx, Ilissus, the site of the temple of Ceres in Agræ, the fountain Callirhoe, the Stadium Panthenaiaum, the site of the Lyceum, &c. In a parallel circuit, with a more extended radius, are seen the hills and defile of Daphne, or Via Sacra, the Piraeus, Munychia and Phalerum, Salamis, Ægina, the more distant Isles, and Hymettus. A similar circuit, but still more extended, embraces Parnes, the mountains beyond Elusis and Megara, the Acropolis of Corinth, the Peloponnessian mountains, and the Ægean and distant islands. And lastly, immediately beneath the eye, lies the plain of Athens. In a future number we shall present our readers with views and detailed descriptions of some of the most remarkable monuments of antiquity in this celebrated city. Athens, became, in a very few years, from the capital of a small province, the head of an empire, exhibiting a new and singular phenomenon in politics, a sovcreign people; a people, not, as in many other Grecian democracies, sovereign merely of that state which themselves composed, but supreme over other people in subordinate republics, acknowledging a degree of subjection, and yet claiming to be free. Under this extraordinary political constitution, philosophy and the arts were beginning to make Athens their principal resort. Migrating from Egypt and the east, they had been long fostered on the western coast of Asia. In Greece itself they had received some temporary encouragement, but their efforts were desultory and comparatively feeble, till the communication with the Asian Greeks, checked and interrupted by their subjection to Persia, was restored, and Athens, the head of the glorious confederacy by whose arms the deliverance had been effected, began to draw every thing toward itself as a common centre, the capital of an empire. Already science and fine taste were so far perfected, that Eschylus had exhibited tragedy in its utmost dignity, and Sophocles and Euripides were giving it the highest polish, when Cimon returned in triumph to his country. Together with trophies, such as Greece had never before won in so distant a field, he brought wealth to a large amount, the fruit of his victories; part of which enriched the public treasury, part rewarded the individuals who had fought under him, and a large proportion, which he had had the virtue and the good fortune to acquire without incurring any charge of rapaciousness, became an addition to the large property inherited from his ancestors. It was the peculiar felicity of Athens in this period, that, of the constellation of great men which arose there, each was singularly fitted for the situation in which the circumstances of the time required him to act; and none filled his place more advantageously than Cimon. But the fate of all those great men, and the resources employed, mostly in vain, to avert it, sufficiently mark, in this splendid era of Athens, a defective constitution, and law and justice ill assured. Aristides, we are told, though it is not undisputed, had founded his security upon extreme poverty; Cimon endeavoured to build his upon a splendid and almost unbounded, yet politic liberality. In going about the city he was commonly attended by a large retinue, handsomely cloathed ; and if he met an elderly citizen ill-clad, he directed one of his attendants to change cloaks with him. To the indigent of higher rank he was equally attentive, lending or giving money, as he found their circumstances required, and always managing his bounty with. the utmost care that the object of it should not be put to shame. His conduct, in short, was a continual preparation for an election; not however, as in England, to decide whether the candidate should or should not be a member of the legislature; but whether he should be head of the commonwealth or an exile. In his youth, Cimon had effected a roughness of manners, and a contempt for the elegancies of life. In his riper years, he discovered that virtue and grossness have no natural connection: he became himself a model of politeness, patronized every liberal art, and studied to procure elegant as well as useful indulgencies for the people. By him were raised the first of those edifices, which, for want of a more proper name, we call porticoes, under whose magnificent shelter it became the delight of the Athenians to assemble, and pass their leisure in promiscuous conversation. The widely celebrated groves of Academus acknowledged him as the founder of their fame. In the wood, before rude and without water, he formed commodious and elegant walks, and adorned them with running fountains, for the benefit of the Athenians. (To the Editor of the Mirror.) SIR, I know not how you find it, but it has, before this time, been my case, that what are commonly called "leisure hours," have frequently proved the most tiresome part of my life, just on the same principle that your genuine "light reading" is, decidedly, the heaviest and most indigestible of all others. What those worthy gentlemen, east of Temple Bar, who consume six days out of the seven in vending lamp-oil, tobacco, and huckaback, may think of the matter, while boxed up, from Saturday night to Sunday morning, in their various rural retreats, cannot pretend positively to say; but I may venture to guess, that, in nine cases out of ten, perhaps in ninetynine out of a hundred, they would give half their week's profits to be at the moment, behind their respective counters. Indeed I recollect somewhere to have read of a respectable old citizen, who, being over-persuaded by his daughter to retire from business, actually died of ennui before the year was out, owing to the loss of his usual employment. With such individuals vacation becomes vacuity, and leisure inertness. It is upon this ground that the merchant in Horace, however anxious for the leisure of his country villa, while overtaken in a tempest, no sooner reaches home, than he prepares again to abandon his "otium et rura," and to encounter fresh perils. "Mox reficit rates Quassas, indocilis pauperiem pati." But the truth is, that it is not the love of wealth only, as the poet would here insinuate, but the tendency of our nature to some active employment, that makes one's" leisure hours" generally so cumbersome. I can easily imagine, therefore, that to a man of industrious habits there cannot be a greater punishment than solitary imprisonment, which is to deprive him of his customary occupations. There have, indeed, been some noble instances of the profitable account, to which even the loneliness of a dungeon has been converted in the case of a fine and vigorous imagination. Such are the Don Quixotte of Cervantes, the Pilgrim's Progress of Bunyan, and Dr. Dodd's Prison Thoughts. But there are exceptions to the general rule; we are not all ----- of the same mould as Cervantes or Bunyan. Such choice spirits are the "rari nantes in gurgite vasto" of human society, and are no more to be taken as examples of their fellow-men, than a comet is to be regarded as a specimen of the rest of the solar system. There are some, however, who, although they may not have diverted themselves by composing an Iliad in their captivity, have proved, in other ways, the irksomeness of unqualified leisure. Such was that unfortunate inmate of the Bastile, who, to amuse the tædium of his reflections during an imprisonment, I believe, of twenty years, employed himself in arranging pins, in various forms, on the floor of his cell. All this seems to me, to prove incontestibly, that sheer unadulterated leisure (if I may so call it) is one of the greatest bores imaginable, and not to be tolerated by any man of the least spirit. It must have been for this reason, that Publius Scipio was accustomed to say, as we learn from Cicero, that he never had less actual leisure than when he was, as the world calls it, at leisure,-" nunquam minùs se otiosum esse quàm cum otiosus."' Now, Mr. Editor, I have no wish whatever to place myself in comparison with the aforesaid Publius Scipio; but I must be permitted to say, that literally to be "at leisure" would be to me an insupportable torment. I should, infallibly, be haunted by a whole legion of blue devils more annoying than all the plagues of Egypt, even although old Megrim himself, "Black as ten furies, terrible as Hell," were not to take a fancy to my sensorium for his head quarters. On this account, whenever" a consummation so devoutly to be" dreaded, is, of all, likely to take place, I" cast about," as our old writers say, for some specific against the approaching evil. Now, my good Sir, what would you think of doing in such a critical extremity? Observe, in the first place, there is no time to be lost-the enemy is at the gate, and whatever you determine upon doing must, like a rump steak, be "done quickly." Would you hop upon one leg, or jump upon two? Would you take up the poker, and, transforming it in your " mind's eye" into a truncheon, strut around your room, like the ghost in Hamlet, to the manifest terror of all frangibles in your reach? Would you dance, sing, take snuff, or play at "patience," or would you, in imitation of Lucian's orators, harangue your posts and pillars, your chairs, tables, and book-shelves? In a word, what would you do in an emergency so important, so trying? "Dic et eris mihi magnus Apollo.". But, before you answer my question, I will tell you what I do; and this, according to the most approved system of communication, shall first be by negatives. I neither dance a hornpipe, nor poke the fire. I neither write loveletters, nor smoke my pipe. I neither walk a minuet, nor go to sleep. I neither hum a tune (for I know none), nor do I count my money, and that for the best of all possible reasons, inasmuch as I have none to count. In fine, it would take a full calendar month to tell you what I do not do during my "leisure hours;" but, as to what is my actual occupation, you shall know it in a few words. What I have now said, Mr. Editor, brings me, at length, to the sole purpose of this, my introductory epistle, which is to apprise you, that I have, for divers "leisure hours" to the years, devoted my collection of sundry morceaux of literature under the various delectable titles of "Adversaria, Annotationes Collectanea, Loci Memorabiles, Miscellanea, Facetiæ, Excerpta, Spicilegia, Scrapiana, Bonmotiane, and Quiziana," with all the other anas in the vocabulary. And this valuable collection it is my wish, non invitá Minerva, to appropriate occasionally to your use, not doubting that you will accept, with becoming benignity, the offer I make. It has, indeed, long been my anxious desire, that these my erudite labours should, in some way or other, be devoted to the improvement of my fellow-creatures, as well of generations to come, as of the present. Many plans for accomplishing this desideratum have occurred to me. I once thought of publishing on my own account, and had actually begun to calculate the cost of paper, printing, advertisements, and the et cæteras of the cccasion, when a respectable printer's devil of my acquaintance accidentally called on me, and by many cogent arguments, dissuaded me from an enterprise, which, I soon found from his represetations would be a planum opus aleæ, to "All the say the least of the matter. people in the Row," he assured me, as well as elsewhere, would set their faces against the work, however witty and learned (as he did not doubt) it might be. In a word, he affirmed, like a knowing devil as he is, that I ought to have somebody's luck besides my own to succeed against so many odds. As I was in no humour to "kick against the pricks," I let my scheme drop, and next thought of placing my bantling under the care of one of the fashionable publishers of the day, to whose obstetric offices the modern muses, are so deeply indebted. Fine paper, a new type, and hot-pressing, with Murray's name in the title page, might operate, I thought, like the glass of Lao,* to exhibit the beauty of my work, at once, in body and mind, both without and within. But, upon a little reflection, I disdained to resort to so daring a piece of quackery, and, being wary of discussing the other projects that had presented themselves, I determined, without more ado, Mr. Editor, to make application to you, not doubting that you would oblige me by your kind offices in occasionally introducing my progeny at your Saturday's levy, where, I know, they will always be sure of seeing the best company. In this hope, I am OTIOSUS. yours, *See" the Citizen of the World." ROB ROY. corre THROUGH the kindness of a readers with the following authentic copy SIR," The great humanity with which you have constantly acted in discharge of the trust reposed in you, and your ever having made use of the great power with which you are invested, as the means of doing good and charitable offices to such as ye find proper objects of compassion, will, I hope, excuse my importunity in endeavouring to approve myself not absolutely unworthy of that mercy and favour your Excellency has so generally procured from His Majesty for others, in my unfortunate circumstances. I am very sensible nothing can be also great a leged sufficient to excuse crime as I have been guilty of, that of rebellion; but I humbly beg leave to lay before your Excellency some particulars in the circumstances of my guilt, which, hope will extenuate it in some mea sure. It was my misfortune at the time the rebellion broke out, to be liable to legal diligence and caption at the Duke of Montrose's instance, for debt alleged due to him. To avoid being flung into prison, as I must certainly have been, had I followed my own inclination in joining the King's troops in Stirling, I was forced to take party with the adherents of the Pretender, for the country being all in arms, it was neither safe nor indeed possible, for me to stand neuter. I should not, however, plead my being forced into that unnatural rebellion against his Majesty, King George, if I could not, at the same time, assure your Excellency, that I not only avoided acting offensively against his Majesty's forces upon all occasions, but on the contrary, sent the Duke of Argyle all the intelligence I could, from time to time, of the strength and situation of the rebels, which, I hope his Grace will do me the justice to acknowledge. As to the debt to the Duke of Montrose, I have discharged it to the utmost farthing. I beg your Excellency will be persuaded, that had it been in my power, as it was in my inclination, I should always have acted for the service of his Majesty, King George, and that one reason for my begging the favour of your intercession with his Majesty for the pardon of my life, is the earnest desire I have to employ it in his service, whose justice, goodness, and humanity are so conspicuous to all mankind. Unto I am, with all duty and respect, His Excellency, Most humble servant, Gen. G. WADE. 21 LENT; OR, A VISIT TO MY (To the Editor of the Mirror.) STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF tally cast my eye on a picture shop, and GRAY. (To the Editor of the Mirror.) SIR,-The following simple lines were suggested by occasionally visiting the church, and church-yard, of Stoke, during the summer of 1822, as it was here that Gray wrote his Elegy, and the place where he is buried. Mr. Penn, the gentleman whose name is mentioned, appears to have been a great lover of poetry, as many quotations from Gray, and other poets appear in a small inclosure near the church. He is a descendant of the great founder of Pennsylvania. LINES. T. Z. being no despiser of the Fine Arts, or in other terms, a bit of an admirer of such matters, I amused myself for an hour or so, in admiring beauties, and looking after defects; for a man is thought nothing of now, unless he can do the latter, and as for the former, why any body's opinion is as good as one's own, and second-hand judgment (which is always the safest) may be mistaken for good sense, in the present day, when to think and judge for one's self has degenerated into ennui. To proceed all of a sudden my attention was attracted to a picture by Cox: how inimitable! said I to myself: how rural !—what would I give to be so near to the spot this is a mere representation of, as to see the trees agitated by the gentle breeze of heaven-to inhale the breath of flowers, and brush the morning dew away; when it suddenly struck me, that I had had frequent invitations from the country, and as frequently had promised myself an airing. I posted laure was on the coach (for I always home got ready, muffled on my roqueprefered an outside birth, having a mortal antipathy, in case of vehicles overturning-to being crushed by a stout insider when a toss from the roof might |