thought with Shakspeare, though we could almost swear that both were original. As the following:

Then all was well, Sound was the body, and the soul serene, Like two sweet instruments, ne'er out of

tune,

That play their several parts.

ladies

Now to behold that brilliant understand

ing,

overflowing coffers of the former with all their riches; for rich they

tune.

HAMLET.

These coincidencies are casual, but in general, as has been well observed, Blair wrote, not exactly as Shakspeare has written, but as he would have written on the same sub

ject. His poem is short, and therefore did not admit of a very methodical plan. We may observe, however, that, beginning with the description of his immediate subject, the Grave, with all its sombre pomp and circumstance, he is led to lament the separations it occasions, to paint the sorrows of parted love, and to recal with pathetick enthusiasm the delights of former friendship. Then launching forth into a description of the triumphs of Death, he shows how little all our best perfections avail against his power, and describes the various classes, who have been compelled to submit to his order. The natural succession of thought in a christian mind suggests the sweet consolation of a future existence, and gives a joyful conclusion to his sombre poem. This plan affords sufficient regularity to the arrangement, and assigns a sufficiently definite place to every descrip

tion.

in elegant illustration, and often in the best style of nervous conciseness.

There is in some authors a fe licity of expression, that art can never acquire, and which, if not immediately natural, must be the fruit of an exquisite quickness, and delicacy of taste. This felicity has been applauded in Horace: it has been often remarked, and as often denied in Gray. None however ever refused the praise of it to Shakspeare, and impartial posterity will be equal ly unanimous in allowing it to Blair. In criticism assertion is nothing without example, but, unless I am much deceived, the following expressions, among many others, are sufficient proofs.

Dark night, Dark as was Chaos, cre the infant sun Was rolled together, or had tried his

beams

Tenderness is a quality, that distinguishes many passages of this poem, a tenderness very different from childish affectation of sensibility, and

which lies more in circumstance,

than in sentiment. In this particular also he comes in competition with Young, and with Young in his strongest quarter. The third night is full of pathetick sentiments, and they have little affectation about them, for they come from the heart. It would be wrong perhaps to say, that Blair has in any part exceeded them; "non nostrum tantas componere lites."

Perhaps it is fortunate for the reputation of Blair, that his writings were not numerous. One only he added to "the Grave," and that, he added to "the Grave," and that gives no increase to his poetical reputation. This however is enough to establish his glory. His poem has already inserted him among the bards of honoured name, and, if I may be allowed the use of one of Shakspeare's worst puns, if we could take a glance at posterity some fifty years hence, we should find them all Grave" men.

EPITAPHS.

"Mea molliter ossa quiescant, "Sint modo carminibus non onerata malis."

An epitaph is perhaps the most difficult composition, that human ingenuity ever contrived; at least that conclusion seems to follow from the immense number, that have been attempted, and the very few attempts that have been successful. Scarce a human being can quit the stage of action, but either respect for his memory, or gratitude for

tions from his surviving relations, or a want of some better subject plunmist of panegyrick. The prolixity ges some misguided pen into the have at length become so disgusting and dulness of these performances to the publick, that they seem with one accord to have lifted up their

voice in favour of a more than laconick brevity, and we hear "Alas, Johnson" cited as the ultimata of poor Yorick!" and "O rare Ben perfection. Epitaphs have been often made the vehicle of humour and satire, for it is found by experience much more easy to sport on delicate points with the dead, than with the living. An epitaph too is a convenient form for introducing a stroke of satire, as its nature ex

cludes the necessity of inventing an introduction, and awkwardly tacking a quaint witticism to a stale incident. "Hic jacet" brings the writer at once to his subject. Thisconvenience has not passed unob. served the noble army of poets; insomuch that, to save the labor of in-vention, they have often made use of something like what are called law fictions, and though the subject may be very quietly enjoying the comforts of life, by simply supposing his death, burial and a tombstone, they have a fair passage to his character through the medium of an epitaph. It has been a fancy with some to write their own epitaphs, and if that were any security from the "onus carminum malorum," the expedient would be worth consideration. The publick however would be no great gainers by the exchange, for, generally speaking, a man will say as civil, and as dull things of himself, as any body else will say for him. We have all heard of the epitaph on the Provost of Dundee by his three executors, the

In Petrarch's epitaph on his Laura we discern considerable delicacy, but, at the same time, a mind sufficiently at ease to sport with the double meaning of his fair one's name:

Qui reposan quei caste e felici ossa,
De quell' alma gentile, e sola in terra;
Aspro e dur sasso! hor ben teco hai
soltera

El vero honor, la fama, e belta scossa.
Morte ha del verde Lauro svelta e smossa
Fresca radici ; e il premio de mi guerra
De quattro lustri, e piu (s' ancor nonerra
Mio pensier tristo) e' I chiude in poca.

iossa.

Felice pianta in borgo d'Avignone
Nacque e mori; e qui con ella giace
La penna ei stil, l'inchiostro e la
ragione.

O delicati membri, o viva face,
Ch'ancor me cuoggi, e struggi; in
ginocchione

Ciascun preghi il Signor t'acetti in pace.

TRANSLATION

Here rest its chaste and sad remains,
A purer soul than earth could boast;
Rude rock, within thy opening veins
Fair fame and smiling love were lost.

The verdant Laurel wither'd lics,

Its root uptorn, its branches sere ; Thus fades the long expected prize, The cherished hope of inany a year.

Pair plant, in fields of Avignon

O lovely limbs! O beauteous face!

Whose tender thought recals my woes; Full many a prayer for heavenly grace Shall waft the soul to long repose.

CIS-ATLANTICK ANOMALIES.

THE following letter contains a curious specimen of Americanisms, as all the word in Italicks are pecu liar to our country, or employed in a different sense from what they would convey in pure English. Dear Sir,

When you come to town, I shall I am sorry to inform you, that the be happy to wait on you at my house. store, you desired me to engage, is improved by another tenant, the owner having misremembered my application in your favour. You will, however, find no difficulty in suiting yourself, as rents are not likely to atpre ciate during the embargo. Our caucus terminated in a town-meeting, in which a petition to the President to remove it was ably advocated by our best speakers, and a committee of our most approved composuists were appointed to draught the petition, You will be so good as to let me know where your friend keeps, when he comes to town, as I was not at home to wait on him, when he called.

We had a nice time last night at club, though we were rather slim in the article of wine. Some of your good old Madeira would have been a considerable addition to the pleasure of our entertainment. I must

beg you to engage your correspon dent to send me a pipe, though I can illy afford it, if business should thus continue slack. May kind providence succeed our petition, and may the spirit of an opprest people progress, till the governmental sages of our country discover their errour,