grave and majestic style, the uniform simplicity and impressive verse of Virgil, have always attached the ear at all susceptible of harmony and cadence: while his style, abounding less in idiomatic turus and familiar expressions, so pleasing, but often so difficult in other classics, has rendered the Poet of Mantua infinitely more easy of comprehension. The lives of the Augustan Poets are also more within the reach of inquiry. The number of contemporary writers, in that fertile age, will enable us to proceed on such certain data, as to leave little room for conjecture or uncertainty. Attempts were made,however, to cast even on the tranquil and sedentary life of Virgil the same marvellous incidents, and the same mysterious veil, which have obscured the life and writings of Homer; and the fables of Donatus may at least vie with those of Herodotus. The zeal and undistinguishing applause of their admirers have induced them to detail circumstances, which never happened to those to whom they are attributed. The slight appearance of truth, which some times breaks through the mist, is so disguised by fabulous tales, as to spread an air of improbability over the whole. It should seem to have been the settled opinion of these ancient encomiasts, that nature could not produce a great genius, without discovering, by some miracle at his birth, what the world was afterwards to expect from him. And, what is still worse, they seldom agree in the numerous fictions which they ascribe to their subjects; but each applies to them incidents, which he either imagines had, or ought to have, happened to them. By such means, they occasion an obscurity and confusion, not easily unravelled by those who endeavour to write with certainty or probability. Publius Virgilius Maro flourished in the time of Augustus Cæsar, and was born at the village of Andes, near Mantua, in the year of Rome, 683. His mother's name was Maja; and as a specimen of the fictions in which his admirers indulged, it may be related, that she dreamt of having been delivered of an olive-branch, which was no sooner set in the ground, than it took root, and sprang up into a tree abounding with fruit and blossoms, Going out the next day to a neighbouring village with her husband, she was compelled to stop by the way, and was delivered in a ditch. A branch of poplar (according to the custom of the country was planted on the spot, and grew so fast, that it soon reached the size of the trees that were Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, avari. curiosity and desire of knowledge, led After sometime spent in his studies, his supposed, he went to Rome. Here, it is him to travel through Italy, when, it is said, he published his sixth Eclogue, which in admiration, called its author, Magne Roscius rehearsing on the stage, Cicero, that he himself, on account of his elospes altera Roma; implying, probably, quence and political talents, was the first. But this account has been justly disputed, and it is more consonant with history, and with what he himself says in the first Eclogue, to presume that he had not seen Rome, till the time of the division of lands, which Augustus distributed to his soldiers; by which the Poet, being involved in the common calamity, lost his patrimony. Bayle has also detected in this account an error in chronology, for he has satisfactorily proved, that Virgil did not write his Bucolics till after the triumvirate of Octavius, Antony and Lepidus; during barbarously murdered. which, it is well known, that Cicero was 3L2 When When Virgil lost his patrimony, in consequence of the division of lands, which we have mentioned, he applied to Varus, with whom he had contracted a close and intimate friendship. By Varus he was recommended to Pollio, then governor of his native province, whose favour, at length, introduced him to the Court of Augustus. From this great protector of learning and the arts, he obtained a grant, by which his lands were exempt from the general division. If commentators have not been too eager to represent passages in the Bucolics, as containing personal allusions to himself, he appears to refer to this circumstance in the 1st Eclogue, Hic illum vidi juvenem,' &c. At the request of Mecanas and Augustus, he undertook the Georgics, on which he was occupied no less than seven years. When we consider that the Poem consists only of four books, this will appear an excess of literary caution; and in the quick and exuberant Poets of the present day, may not a little detract from their estimation of Virgil's powers. It must be admitted, that his genius was not of a rapid growth, and that invention was not one of his peculiar attributes. But this caution enabled him to produce the most finished didactic Poem, that ever was presented to the world. Had he lived to complete the Æneid, that Poem, though less original, would have been equally polished and elegant. He is supposed to have written the Georgics at Naples, though probably the plan was partly laid at Milan; the precepts contained in the Poem better suiting, in the opinion of many, the soil of Lombardy, than that of Naples. Augustus could not but be pleased to see a work of this nature, at a time when he wished to soothe the minds of the people, just relieved from the horrors of civil war, and to encourage the proprietors of lands to cultivate them on their own account. Till then, their possessions had been precarious, and they were unwilling to cultivate them; not knowing whether themselves or others were to reap the fruits of their labours. That he completed the Georgics at Naples, is clear from the last lines of the fourth book, At the mature age of forty-two, he began the Æneid, though, from the following passage in the sixth Eclogue, Cum canerem reges et prælia, Cynthius aurem Vellit et admonuit, pastorem, Tytyre, pingues Pascere oportet oves, deductum dicere carmen. 66 it may be conjectured, either that he had collected materials, and even written part of it in his youth, or that he had already tried his strength in an Epic Poem, on another subject, which, in his maturer years, he destroyed as unworthy of him. It is well known that our Pope had composed a long Epic, entitled, Alcander," which, by the advice of. Atterbury, he committed to the flames. Virgil applied himself to the composition of the Aneid, with his characteristic industry and caution. So extensive was his reputation by this time, and such the idea entertained of his poetical powers, that every one was impressed with the expectation of a nescio quid majus Hliade, of something that should surpass the Iliad itself. Augustus himself, while engaged in an expedition against the Cantabri, frequently solicited him by letter, to send him the first lineaments of his Poem; with which request Virgil afterwards complied, by reciting before him the second, fourth, and sixth books, He was no less than eleven years einployed on the composition of the Poem, and had proposed to devote a retire ment of three years more, in polishing and completing it; after which, it was his intention to apply the remainder of his life in the studies of philosophy. But in this design he was interrupted by death, and he left his Poem in an unfi nished state. Not that there appears to be any foundation for the opinion, commonly entertained, that he meant to extend the Poem to twenty-four books, in imitation of the Iliad. It is not easy to conjecture by what means he could have increased the interest, without destroying the unity of the action, which evidently closes at the death of Turnus, and the conquest of Latium. Whatever. were his intentions, he sat out for Greece,› and in his journey met Augustus, who was then returning from the East. Thus determined him to return to Italy with the Emperor; but his curiosity carrying him to Megara, he was there seized with a languishing distemper, which increasing upon him in his passage, he arrived at Brundusium in such an ill state of health, that he died there on the 22d of Septerober, in the year of Rome 737, in the fifty-fourth year of his age. When he found his distemper increase, he earnestly demanded his manuscripts, in order, it is supposed, to commit his Eneid to the flames; as he justly enasidered it an imperfect work. But the zeal of his fricuds, Tucca and Varios, refused to assist in such a sacrifice. The The dying Poct then bequeathed his writings to them, upon condition that nothing should be added, and that every unfinished verse should remain as it was. He was, it is thought, principally moved by the consideration that Augustus would never suffer so valuable a work to be destroyed. But the Emperor was no otherways concerned in the preservation of the Poem, than the Author's desisting from his resolution on being told that its execution would probably be forbidden. There is an Epigram extant, composed by Apollinaris the Grammarian, upon the order given by Virgil to burn the Æneid; and as it consists only of a single distich, may be inserted here, Infelix alio cecidit prope, Pergamon igne, Et pene est alio Troja cremata rogo. Dryden speaks of Virgil "as a grave, succinct, and majestic writer; one, “who weighed not only every thought, but every word and syllable; who was always aiming to crowd his sense into in tragedy. The character of Dido, indeed, as an exquisite mixture of pathetic tenderness and passionate declamation, is highly dramatic. But love is only one of the passions which tragedy personifies; and although there be in the Eneid many solemn and interesting passages, it has nothing that can induce us to believe, that Virgil would have pourtrayed the more violent passions of the mind with equal energy and truth. The genuine and undisputed works of Virgil, are, ten Eclogues, or Bucolics; four books of Georgics; and the Eneid, consisting of twelve books. From the arrangement which we have adopted, the Eneid alone can at present be considered. The Eclogues will come with more propriety under the head of, Pastoral Poetry; and the Georgics, under that of Didactic Poetry.-(To be continued.) To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. which reason he is so figurative, as to require a grammar apart to construe him. His verse is every where sounding the very thing in your ears, whose sense it bears; yet the numbers are perpetually varied to increase the delight of the reader, so that the same sounds are never repeated twice together. But though he is smooth, where smoothness is required, yet he is so far from affecting it, that he seems rather to disdain it; for he frequently makes use of synalephas, and concludes his sense in the middle of his verse. He is every where above the conceit of epigrammatic wit, and gross hyperboles. He maintains majesty in the midst of plainness; he shines, but glares not, and is stately, without ambi Lion; which is the vice of Lucan. Mar tial, says of him, that he could have excelled Varrus in tragedy, and Horace in lyric poetry." This last assertion may be justly doubted. The peculiar qualities of Virgil's poetry are sweetness, majesty, and uniformity of style." His character was that of dignified and calm severity. In the serious and measured Ode, he might have equalled, if not surpassed, Horace; for it is observable of the latter, that, though always interesting and pleasing, he is rarely great. Virgil world have failed in that easy unlaboured diction, flowing imagery and variable style, which please us so much in the peet of Venusium. It is even doubtful whether he would have succeeded better happy to be able to answer the question in the Monthly Magazine for November, (viz.) what is the speediest method of killing eels? It may be instantly done by piercing the spinal marrow close to the back part of the skull, with a point. Being in the habit of angling, I uniformly kill the fish as soon as caught, by the above method, and find it succeed with eels, as well as other fish. My penknife is the instrument I use for the purpose. When properly done, all motion immediately ceases. Nailsworth, Dec. 1806. R. N. To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. Dsertation on the Natives of South R. Robertson, in his adınirable Dis America,has observed,that the inhabitants of New Holland are the lowest and most degraded species of men on the face of the earth; and that a philosophical examination of their character is wanted to complete the history of man. Numerous recent accounts from that country, have all tended to confirm the opinion of this profound historian. The last publication, by Mr. Turnbull, on the subject, also confirms this fact; but at the same time mentions a circumstance indicative, as the author imagines, of intellectual quickness, and apparently contradictory to the received notion of their extreme and invincible ignorance; I mean, their astonishing astonishing dexterity in imitating the actions and gestures of the English gentlemen of distinction in the colony. It occurred to me, when reading Mr. Bingley's amusing account of the stratagems of apes and monkeys, in your last, that an easy solution of this seeming difficulty may be found. These animals, it seems, excel rational creatures in their powers of mimickry. From which, it is just to infer, that it is an excellence of the lowest kind, equally if not more allied to the brutal than rational nature; and is indebted for its powers of action, more to flexibility of body, than acuteness of mind. Indeed, it is generally the case, that people of merely mimetick talents are either children or narrow-minded men. From all which, it is evident, that the imitative dexterity of the New Hollanders, forms no plea in their favour; and is a circumstance consistent only with the other parts of their character. This view of the above facts may perhaps be of use to the future philosopher, who may favour the world with a compete pic ture of this debased race of men. Bedford Row, March 13, 1807. Your's, &c. W. N. kers, to make the iron so large, as to admit the instep and heel of the rider, to pass through it, if need be. Can any absurdity be so great as this practice? Has a man any occasion at any time to pass his foot through the ring of the stirrup?-and if not, why is it made so large as to lead unnecessarily to an accident, which it is almost too horrid to contemplate? Let the ring of stirrups then be made of such depth, as only to admit the foot as far as the rise of the instep; and it becomes obviously impossible, that an unhorsed person should be dragged to death by the entanglement of the foot! April 10, 1807. C. S. For the Monthly Magazine. CONTRIBUTIONS to ENGLISH SYNONYMY. Sympathy. Compassion. Pity. Commise S ration. YMPATHY is Greek, and Compas sion is Latin, for undergoing-together. But the Greek verb, being more frequently applied to emotions both of the pleasing and painful kind, than the derived Latin verb, which is confined to unwelcome sensations; sympathy is come To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. to signify participation in the affections SIR, I AM one of those persons among your numerous readers, who amuse themselves with deducing principles, according to the rules of Lord Bacon, from the multitude of curious facts with which your valuable miscellany abounds. I confess, that there is no part of your Magazine, from which, since its commencement, I have derived more solid instruction, than from your well-arranged, provincial intelligence; an original feature of your work, which has, I observe, been attempted to be imitated by the race of plagiarists, who have, for several years past, successively obtruded themselves on the credulity of the public. In the perusal of your records of mortality, I have been particularly struck with the circumstance of the great number of persons, who every month lose their lives, through accidents from riding on horseback; one half of which are occasioned by the dragging of unhorsed persons in the stirrup! Now, Sir, the old story of Columbus breaking the egg, is a labyrinth of perplexity, compared with the simplicity of the means by which fatal accidents, from this cause may be prevented. At present, it is the practice of stirrup-ma of others, without regard to their nature; whereas, compassion implies participation in the painful perceptions of another. Sympathy is fellow-feeling; and compassion is fellow-suffering. Whether we rejoice with those who rejoice, or inourn with those who mourn, we indulge sympathy; but our compassion is cxercised only in the house of grief. Pity describes pain occasioned by the pain of another, but not pain of the same kind. We pity a man in disgrace, without feeling involved in his woe; we pity a family in want, without any apprehension of identical calamity. There is a self-complacence, a secret triumph, connected with that tenderness for oneasiness, which is called pity. The gods are supposed to pity the misfortunes of mankind; but compassion belongs to those who are liable to a like fate. Commiseration means fellow-pity: pity felt in common with others. The spectators of a tragedy commiserate the distresses of the hero. Hooker uses this word impurely, where he says: "These poor seduced creatures, whom I can neither speak nor think of, but with much commiseration and pity." Where there is no one to partake the emotion, there can be no commiseration. Locke, Locke, on the contrary, uses the word with precision: "We should commiserate our mutual ignorance." Clock. Dial. These are both time-pieces, with this difference, that the clock strikes; the dial does not. Clock is derived from clocke, a bell; dial from dies, day. The clock tells the hour, the dial shows it. Mr. Roscoe flatters the Medici; his pen, like the gnomon of a sun-dial, notices no hours but the serene. Dials were long in use before the invention of clocks. The plate, on which the hours are numbered, is called sometimes the dial of a clock; but hour-plate is more correct. Those time-pieces, which do not strike, when fitted up in a manner to resemble striking clocks, are often called clocks. Wind. Breeze. Blast. Gale. Gust. Storm. Tempest. Hurricane. Of these words, Wind is the most comprehensive and indefinite: it signifies a stream of air, and is etymologically connected with wehen to blow, of which verb it is probably the contracted participle present, the thing blowing. Breeze is a gentle orderly wind: the word is Spanish, or Italian, and is associated with ideas of soft airs, such as slide under southern skies. Blast is any effort of blowing, the exhalation of a trumpet, the breath of bellows, the eruption of a cannon, the sweep of the storm-wind: it is the past participle of blasen to blow, the thing blown. Gale is a sonorous steady wind: the word is etymologically connected with to call and to yell: the wind that sings in the shrouds, that keeps the sail stiff uninterruptedly, is a gale. Addison, makes a bull, in talking of Umbria's green retreats, Where western gales eternally reside: that is, where motion eternally rests. Gust is a fit of wind; it is derived from the Icelandish, and is therefore associated with phænomena familiar in the northern skies: winter-gusts: fretted with the gusts of heaven: the showery gusts of April: As when fierce northern blasts from alps descend, From his firm roots with struggling gusta to rend, a noisy rapid commotion of the atmo spheric elements; a wind which disturbs clouds, woods, and seas; it exceeds a gust in continuance, in vehemence, in darkness and destruction. Storm, like gust, being of northern origin, is applied to the phænomena of northern climates; a hail-storm, a storm of snow, the storms of December, Here may thy storm-beat vessel safely ride. Stir, commotion, being the radical idea, this word is extended, by a natural metaphor, to the assault of fortifications, and to seditious movements. Tempest, being of southern origin, describes that sort of storm common in warm countries; wind accompanied with rain, lightnings, and thunder. Hurricane, being not merely of southern, but of tropical origin, it is a Caribhee word, describes that sort of storm common between the tropics, the most violent form of summer-storms. To lie. To lay. There are traces in many Gothic dialects of a causative inflection for the infinitive moods of verbs. So from to sit is formed to set, which signifies to cause to sit. So again from to rise to raise, to cause to rise to full to fell, to cause to fall to fly to free, to cause to fly, but a corrupt and confused use of this verb has prevailed. To this same class of modification must be referred to lie, and to lay, to cause to lie. Lege, low, is the etymon of both words. I will lie with my fathers. Lay me with my fathers. These words are used in composition in a manner very idiomatic. To lie by implies to remain still; to lay by, to reserve for future use. To lie down implies to repose oneself; to lay down is to deposit a pledge, a proposition, an employment. To lie in implies to be in child-bed; to lay in, to store. Ta lie with, implies to sleep with; to lay with, to bet, or wager, with. It would be more convenient if the past sense of to lie were spelled ley, and not lay, which is a combination of letters otherwise appropriated. Abdication. Resignation. Dicare is to promise; abdicare, to call off: signare, is to sign, or seal; resignare, to sign again, or against. Abdication, then, is giving up by word of mouth; and resignation is giving up by signature. It deserves notice, because it will assist us to understand the word "resign," about which |