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'The hint your Lordship is so good as to give me for a work like? Montfaucon's Monuments de la Monarchic Francoise, has long been a subject that I have wifhed to see executed, nor in point of materials do I think it would be a very difficult one. The chief impediment was the expence, too great for a private fortune. The extravagant prices extorted by English artists is a discouragement to all public undertakings. Drawings from paintings, tombs, Sec. would be very dear. To have them engraved as they ought to be, would exceed the compass of a much ampler income than mine, which, though equal to my largest wish, cannot measure itself with the rapacity of our performers.

• But, my Lord, if his Majesty was pleased to command such a work, on so laudable an idea as your Lordship's, nobody would be more ready than myself to give his assistance. I own, I think I could bo of use in it, in collecting or pointing out materials, and I would readily take any trouble in aiding, supervising* or directing such a plan. Pardon me, my Lord, if I offer no more; I mean, that I do not undertake the part of composition, i have already trespassed too much upon the indulgence of the public j I wish not to disgust them with hearing of me, and reading me. It is time for me to have done; and when I shall have completed, as I almost have, the history of the Arts, on which I am now engaged, I did not puipose to tempt again the patience of mankind. But the case is Tery different with regard to my trouble. My whole fortune is from the bounty of the crown,, and from the public; it would ill become me to spare any pains for the King's glory, or for the.honour and satisfaction of my country; and give me leave to add, my Lord, it would be an ungrateful return for the distinction with which your Lordship has condescended to honour me, if I withheld such trifling aid as mine, when it might in the least tend to adorn your Lordship's administration. From me, my Lord, permit me to say, these are iiot words of course, or of compliment, this is not the language of flattery; your Lordship knows I have no views, perhaps knows that, insignificant as it is, my praise is never detached from my esteem: and when you have raised, as I trust you will, real monuments of glory, the most contemptible characters in the inscription dedicated by your country, may not be the testimony of, my Lord,

• Your Lordship's most obedient humble servant, * Feb. 15,1762.' 'HOR. WALPOLE.'

After having explained whence his income was derived, and its amount, our author lias given the public the satisfaction of informing them how the savings from his establishment were expended, by " a Defcript'wti cj his Villa at Stramierry Hill tier.? Twickenham;" with a minute inventory of the furniture, pictures, curiosities, &c. 17H4; including a list of the bpoks printed at the Strawberry Hill press, with interior representa* tions, exterior views, and ground-plans of the building, very neatly engraved.

We were tempted to copy the preface to this description: but the article is already extended to a sufficient length j and


besides, the place and its curious contents are too well known to render,an extract necessary.

Mr. Walpole seems through life to have wished for notice as a connoissieur in painting and architecture, as well as in literature; and as the building on Strawberry Hill and its furniture form an unique among villas, he could not have obtained fame on so small a scale at a less expence, by any; similar draft on public notice. Gothic architecture, so appropriate to sacred purposes on account of its gloomy grandeur, Jost its secular favour at the same period as that which abridged the Barons of their feudal rights and military splendour. It is not likely now that more churches will be built in the Gothic style; and if it were possible to embalm specimens of the most beautiful and fantastic members of that order, for the inspection of our descendants who may survive churches, it would be a curious legacy to posterity:—but of whatever utility this Gothic miniature may be to future times, it has certainly contributed not a little to its foundei's celebrity. Imitations are numerous, not only in his neighbourhood, but throughout the kingdom.

The perusal of this catalogue,even without a view of the objects which it describes, is amusing and instructive to those who wish to form an idea of the taste and costume of our ancestors. We certainly deem ourselves more wiseand enlightened than them,in having simplified state and grandeur; the mere sight of which, however, formerly gave infinitely more pleasure, than can be derived from ideal equality at present. Mr. VValpole's collection consisted ndt only of "rags of popery," but of rags of nobility and aristocracy. The minute catalogue of cups and saucers, and saucers without cups, will perhaps seem frivolous, and impress some readers with no magnificent idea of the noble collector's magnitude of mind; and if, in his defence, we should say that the most trifling parts of the collection are links of a chain, we shall, perhaps, be told that it is a hair-chain to fetter fleas. The great number of portraits of our princes, antient nobility, gentry, poets, and eminent artists, composes a very interesting part of our history, while the collection remains entire; and the furniture, in the revolutions of fashion, may save the trouble of invention, by inducing the renewal of antient forma and patterns.

4 On modern Gardening.' This historical tract on the origin, cultivation, and embellishments of garden-ground, is full of •onnd sense and good taste. No whim, daintiness, nor singularity, appears; and all that the author praises, and proposes to practice, flashes conviction, and seems indisputably There are a selection and force in the expression of his idea#, which not only manifest him to be a master of the subject,

Rev. Se*t. 1798. F but but of our language. He is never more agreeable than in his

serious productions.

His Counter Address to the Public, in defence of his friend General Conway, now firft acknowleged, is composed on a subject that has been long since superseded by more novel and consequently more interesting events. Such zeal and warmth of affection, as plainly appear in this tract, never fail to do honour to the author's heart, though , they may not succeed in convincing the public. General Con%vay, an able, an amiable, and honourable man, though constantly in the service of government, was seldom a cordial friend to administration. It would be of no use now to revive old complaints, and party animosities: but how seldom is it. that the blame attaches only to one side in politics! In all discussions of this kind, the public has its prejudices as well as the antagonists; the servants of the crown are as sure of being defended by one party, as those who have offended administration are of being defended by opposition. There is no character, however heroic, able, and seraphic, that can please the whole nation: nor any so defective, blameable, and politically atrocious, that they willnot find advocates to defend their cause. The times were turbulent and factious:— the expediency of general warrants was the question; and ministry were too unwilling to part with them, not to treat as an enemy to government every servant of the crown who joined 'Wilkes's friends in wresting these instruments from their hands: yet the gratitude of the country is due to those, by whose exertions this despotic power was abolished.

[Ta be tontinued.~\

•art. VII. A Strtcs of Plays: in which it is attempted to delineate . the stronger P.-.ssions of the Mind. Each Passion bciug the Subject of a Tragedy and a Comedy. 8vo. pp. 4M. 6s. Boards. Cadell jun. and Davies. J 79.8.

1 N the present fallen state of the drama, when rant is pathos, -* and a pun is wit, and when pasteboard pageantries and German spectres have almost driven Shakspeare and Congreve from the stage,,we cannot but applaud any attempt to "hold the mirror up to Nature," and to exhibit a faithful picture of manners'and life.

1 The author of this volume has more than the merit of good intention. Though his versification is sometimes rugged and inharmonious, and his style has an antientry of phrase which jffften savours of affectation, yet his characters are in general strongly discriminated, and his scenes abound in beautiful passages.

In the first play, where love is the passion under review, he has thus described it in its birth:

* Basil. O! it is admirable!

Rosinberg. How runs thy fancy? what is admirable?
Bas. Her form, her face, her motion, ev'ry thing !'—

* She came again upon my wond'ring sight—

0! didst thou mark her when she first appealed i
Still distant, slowly moving with her tram;
Her robe, and tresses floating on the wind,
Like some light figure in a morning cloud !'—

'I felt my roused soul within me start,
Like something wak'd from sleep.'

The first tumults soon subside into tenderness and melancholy:

• Oft in the watchful post, or weary march,
Oft in the nightly silence of my tent,

My fixed mind shall gaze upon it still;
But it will pass before my fancy's eye,
Like some delightful vision of the soul,
To soothe, not trouble it.'

His hero has all the extravagancies of the passion; and all its gloomy imaginations:

4 For ever lost! what art thou now to me?
Shall the departed gaze on thee again?
Shall I glide past thee in the midnight hour,
Whilst thou perceiv'st it not, and thinkst perhaps
'Tis but the mournful breeze that passes by?

(Pauses again, andgazes at the window, till the light disappears.)
'Tis gone, 'tis gone! these eyes have seen their last!
The last impression of her heavenly form!
The last sight of those walls wherein she lives,
The last blest ray of Kght from human dwelling!

1 am no more a being of this world,
Farewell! farewell! all now is dark for me!'

In the fourth act, the dazzling brightness of a summer cloud is strikingly illustrated:

« As tho' an angel, in his upward flight, Had left his mantle floating in mid-air.'

The following brief description of a beautiful boy, ia the arms of his nurse, deserves notice:

« How steadfastly he fix'd his looks upon me, His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears!'

Every reader will on this occasion remember that line of Gray,

The tear forgot as soon as shed—

but the sentiment is here wrought into a picture,

F z Tile The playfulness of childhood is not less happily pourtrayed s

Basil. Thou art her fav'rite then?

Miranda. They say I am;

And now, between ourselves, I'll tell thee, soldier,
I think in very truth she loves me well.
Such merry little songs she teaches me—
Sly riddles too, and when I'm laid to rest
Oft times on tip-toe near my crouch she steak,
And lifts the cov'ring so, to look upon me.
And often times I feign as tho' I slept;
For then her warm lips to my cheek she lays,
And pats me softly with her fair white hands;
And then I laugh, and thro' mine eye-lids peep,
And then she tickles me, and'calls me cheat;
And then we do so laugh, ha, ha, ha!'

The subject of the hst play is hatred; though hatred cannot surely be classed among the passions. It is forcibly written; and the following scene, in which a reconciliation is attempted, may serve as a fair specimen of the whole.

'Enter Rezenvelt. (De Monfort goes up to receive Rezenvelt, <euho meets him •with a cheerful countenance.)

De Mon. to Re%. I am, my lord, beholden to you greatly. This ready visit makes me much your debtor.

Rez. Then may such debts between us, noble marquis, Be oft incurr'd, and often paid again.

To Jane. Madam, I am devoted to your service, And cv'ry wish of yours commands my will.

To Countess. Lady, good morning. {To Freberg.)

Well, my gentle friend,
You see I have not linger'd long behind.

Freb. No, thou art sooner than I look'd for thee.

Rex. A willing heart adds feather to the heel,
And makes the clown a winged mercury.

De Mon. Then let me say, that with a grateful mind
I do receive these tokens of good will;
And must regret that, in my wayward moods,
I have too oft forgot the due regard
Your rank and talents claim.

Rez. No, no, De Monfort,

You have but rightly curb'd a wanton spirit,
Which makes me too neglectful of respect.
Let us be friends, and think of this no more.

Freb. Ay, let it rest with the departed shades
Of things which are no more; whilst lovely concord,
Follow'd by friendship sweet, and firm esteem,
Your future days enrich. O heavenly friendship!
Thou dost exalt the sluggish souls of men,
. By thee conjoin'd, to great and glorious deeds

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