stocracy: that is the reason I never let my wife into a secret. Mem. To compare these observations with Mary Wollestoncraft's. Half past nine Play over. Farce too loyal. Agree to adjourna Ten, Arrive at the Devil's Den in Holborn. Find a great number of Citizens there. Have some beef-steaks for supper. Eleven. All very merry. Sing a great many patriotic songs Swallow a bumper to the Repose of his Majesty. Twelve. Quite drunk. Citizen Bugaboo sees me home. Never shall repay him for his kindness: before the Revolution. Daughter Charlotte-that name was my fooolish wife's choice-opened the door. Her eyes are all swelled with crying. Silly devil. Tumble into bed. THE Succeeding pages of this interesting journal are not yet dis covered; therefore it is unknown how long our Citizen remained in bed the next day; what treatment he received from his wife, or what progress he made in his pursuit of a Revolution. There are some other scraps, however, which seem to be of a more recent date, and contain sufficient proofs of his being a staunch patriot. They are as follow. Friday Morning, eight o'clock. Rose in a tremor. Dreamt of a gallows. But there is nothing in dreams. My foolish wife would have been frightened. Resolve to leave off my green cravat.cr Monday afternoon, four o'clock. Devilishly alarmed. Search for seditious papers still continues., Burnt all mine that were suspicious, or not in secret characters. Am half afraid of my wife. All her family were aristocrats, *། ་ Five. Just got the Courier. Citizen Bugaboo and three others sent to Newgate. Terrible news. I wish my wife was in the country. " I Sir. To avoid suspicion, determine to go to the play. Go to the Toyal house. Lover's Vows performed. A very good piece. Think the managers are coming round. The author's a clever fellows no aristocrat. Remember I saw another good thing of his at Drurys Lane. „„mo8q mu2574 bemist so arqa 1754 Nine, Feel a great inclination to hiss some parts of the farce. Think it most prudent to remain quiets in oq sun griestsînt plat Eleven. Think of returning home; take a private glass by the way, to the Army of England, Got home, sobers Wile in a good humour. bil q59.2k 19.9705zib ei dymen intisused A. divo zulona zvalg med nsblog 19H t ON PAINTING F the imitative arts which produce an expansion of the human in tellect none rank so high as the twin sisters-Poetry and Painting. In poetry, painting, or statuary, excellence is unattainable by the contemplation of any individual object. Homer conceived his heroes in the fervour of a pure imagination; Phidias beheld no earthly form from which he could mould his image of Jupiter; Zeuxis drew his Venus from a combination of selected beauty. So, in the moral world, as no being is perfect, no copy can present perfection. By a sense of ideal beauty, fixed in the mind, can we alone produce that which may be truly admirable. The charms of poetry are lost to those whose genius or attention lead them not into her flowery labyrinths. Painting is less coy; she dwells in public, and catches the glance of every wandering passenger. Poetry delivers her precepts in the retreat of obscurity, in the cave of solitude. Painting declaims in the broad glare of day, and commands the attention of the surrounding throng. Men of genius have generally an attachment to poetry, and those who are attached to poetry have, for the most part, a taste for the fine arts. The great Dr. Johnson, however, though a professed admirer, and profound critic of poetry, thought but meanly of painting-its most confined branch was his favourite. This defect of taste in the Doctor may be classed among the amiable weaknesses which, by force of habit and peculiarity of thinking, sometimes affect our better judgment. He should grieve," he said, 'to see Reynolds transfer to heroes and to goddesses; to empty splendour and to airy fiction, that art which is now employed in diffusing friendship, in reviving tenderness, in quickening the affections of the absent and continuing the presence of the dead. Though not an amateur of painting, Dr. Johnson yet thought it might be serviceable. We accordingly find him recommending a subject-Cromwell's dissolution of the parliament, which has since. been successfully adopted. To follow the example of so eminent a man, however praiseworthy, requires some confidence-it may, perhaps, be termed presumption. I shall not venture to dictate from history, but I am induced to mention, as a promising subject for the, pencil, an interesting little poem entitled Cupid's Pastime; said, to' be written by Francis Davison, 'son of that unfortunate Secretary of State who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Queen of Scots. A beautiful nymph is discovered asleep in a thicket, by a shepherd. Her golden hair plays careless over her face, and her quiver served her for a pillow. Cupid passes at the moment, robs her of her arrows, and substitutes his own. As soon as he is gone she awakes. The shepherd, like Cymon, stands absorbed in stupid wonder. The of fended nymph wounds him with an arrow, which inflames his passion, and produces astonishment and fury in herself. The instant of time might be while Cupid is stealing her arrowstor, when she awakes and wounds the shepherd, Cupid still remaining in sight in the back ground. The exulting archness of Cupid, the effects of the sound upon the shepherd, and the surprize and terror of the nymph, afford ample scope for a display of talents in the painter. Perhaps two paintings, forming a pair, might be produced from this poem. It is to be found in the first volume of Percy's Relics of Ancient English Poetry." Affection to our friends and relatives is the ostensible, though not the real cause of the immense number of portraits which yearly decorate the walls of the Royal Academy. If affection produce one portrait, pride and affectation produce two; and these are the means of precluding more valuable pieces. Portraits excite only partial, history and imagination excite universal interest. By the cultivation of fancy may the milder, the domestic virtues be fostered to maturity. By the encouragement of historical painting the noblest emulation may be excited, the brightest deeds of valour be imitated, and the proudest acts of heroism be achieved. Behold the noble Chatham, while the amor patria still animates his frame, contending with the last stroke of fate. Let the statesman gaze with admiration! Let Chatham's magnanimity be surpassed! Let the soldier contemplate the death of General Wolfe; let him behold the hero in his expiring moments, and view the calm serenity of virtue, mingled with the glow of patriotism, enthroned upon his countenance. Smiled not the gods upon the death of the virtuous Epaminondas? Shone not the star of Rome with propitious beams when victory adorned the brow of Horatius? These are scenes for sublime meditation. They may be equalled, if not excelled. Let the student ransack the treasures of history and of poetry, and give to airy nothing a local habitation and a name.' If he be a painter from the impulse of genius, let him follow her dictates. She may teach him to rival the bright colouring of Titian, the wild grandeur of Michael Angelo, or the combined excellence of Raffaelli. Let him disregard the cold cant of criticism, the partove rules of narrow-ininds, and snatch at graces beyond the reach of art. By this I would not be understood as inculcating a violation of propriety, er placing correctness beneath notice. OSBORNE DE COURTENAY THY Fane, Aubert, with reverence I view And hail its noble use, and learned store, Such as Egyptian temples never knew, Nor Greece, nor Rome, with all their boasted lore. Mechanic powers give more than giant's arm, The vast machine of Heav'n minutely scan,· God's wisdom, power, and handy work we trace, "") (ken it Each glittering star gives law to circling spheres, and Nor err a moment in a thousand years hail thy taste, sublime and skilful hand, Make lasting beauties decorate the place,*. Make laurels ever sacred to the ground; sin of maL VA (USA And may unfading honours grace thy names A. 1⁄4 kumb And high ambition, learn to emmalate thy famte, inayoenda saan ta aag in doRMIVOASTRONOMICÚD MOTO MELANCHOLY O MELANCHOLY, sweetly musing maid! That lov'st to take thy mournful midnight round, Oft, plaintful pow'r, when evening, glimm'ring pale, Pouring melodious music on the gale! Ah ! Nymph of woel when o'er my mould'ring breast And shed thy tear of pity on my grave! My soul shall bless thee from her kindred sky, And Heaven's applauding seraphs love thy streaming eye! WIDE o'er the world of waves when s Who, on the d Who wails her absent love with many a tear, And deprecates the storm that swells the deep: He sighs, and hopes when past are all'alarins, A A Kiss, said young Charles, is a noun, we allow; salie se But tell me, my dear, is it proper or common? Lovely Myra blush'd deep, and exclaim'd Why, I vow, "I think that a kiss is both-PROPER and COMMON!" .T. H |