charm which Horace would have called the simplex munditiis in a high degree. But in particular, his Comparative View, which in respect to natural ease, and unaffected elegant simplicity of style, is not to be exceeded in any language; and, in as far as my reading has extended, has not been equalled by any other composition in English. You have probably read it; and if you have, I will venture to say, you went through the whole book without ever once having had your attention called off from the subject, to admire the style. So properly are the words chosen to convey the idea, that they always lead the mind directly forward to the object in view, without the smallest rub of any kind to call off the attention; and it is only after you have completed your journey, and have time to look back, that you begin to perceive the beauty and the perfection of that road, which conducted you so happily to your journey's end. A writer may be compared, in some respects, to a player. He who by unnatural gestures, and exaggerated contortions of countenance, outrages nature, is sure to set the whole house in an uproar, by the continued plaudits of the undiscerning multitude. But when a Garrick appears, the player is forgot; he seems to be the very simple clown, himself,

he represents; and the uninformed spectator wonders why any one should admire that which he sees every day among his simple neighbours. Or if he represents a scene of dignified distress, the representation is so natural, so irresistibly pathetic, that the mind has no leisure to attend to any thing else but the affecting object before it. Admiration, applause, and every other feeling, are suspended in the agony of silent heart-felt sympathy; and a stranger at that time entering and observing the audience, without attending to the stage, would wonder why they were so silent.' Never is a player treading with proper dignity the tragic stage, when, in an interesting scene, the audience can find leisure to admire the art, and the high attainments of the actor. It was a high eulogium, indeed, that a friend of mine once paid to Mrs. Crawford, then Mrs. Barry, as an actress, when he said, that, in a very full house, the audience were so overcome, as scarcely to venture to breathe; "You might have heard a pin (said he) drop upon the floor." How different this from the noisy applause that overstrained grimace so necessarily excites! Gregory's style may be compared to the acting of Garrick ;its only by a retrospective view, that its superior excellence can be discovered.

I am happy, that I can close this letter with one sincere eulogium at least; for I am afraid the preceding part of my remarks would appear to you so severe, that you might suspect they were dictated by ill-nature or envy of some sort. To those who know me less than you do, this would be so natural, that I should not, perhaps, have ventured on giving my opinion so freely to others as I have done to you. I have not yet exhausted this subject; but I will not run the risk of effacing these pleasing impressions on your mind, by any farther remarks at present; as it is but very seldom indeed, that I can have occasion to bestow applause with as little abatement as in the case just now before us. It is by contemplating the chaste models of antiquity, and the very few modern productions that can vie with them, that you can attain a just notion of what is meant by beauty of composition; but when you do attain it, you will find it is a source of great enjoyment. Adieu.

THE BEE, vol. xiv. p. 99, March 20, 1793.

No. CLVIII.

Nec desinat unquam

Tecum Graia loqui, tecum Romana vetustas.

Nor fail to study, with all due regard,

CLAUDIAN.

Of Greece and Rome each ancient sage and bard.

I AM glad to find, that you have paid so much attention to the slight hints I gave in my last, respecting the classics, and will be happy if that, or any thing else I can say, shall induce you to give a more particular attention to that branch of study than you otherwise might have done. I wish you not, however, to conceive that I am such a blind admirer of the ancients, as to recommend them without discrimination. They deserve high applause when their merits are duly appreciated; but those who bestow exaggerated praise upon them, only hurt the cause they intend to serve.

Classical learning, in the present state of things, I consider not to be of great utility, in as far as regards the acquisition of knowledge only, unless in respect to the study of the law, and the more easy attainment of a few books in physic. To those who, like you, only wish

to acquire a general knowledge of history, physics, and philosophy, there are so many translations of all the good books in these branches, that a man, without any classical knowledge at all, may make nearly as great proficiency in them, as if he were ever so learned in the languages. But when you consider what the French call belles lettres, and objects of taste in composition, the case is quite dif ferent; and the benefits to be derived from classical learning, in this point of view, are very great; for there is to be found in the compo sitions of many of the ancients, a chasteness of style, a justness of arrangement, a happy selection of words, and an elegance in the whole art of composition, that we but very seldom find in modern performances. By reading and attending to these, a taste for similar chastity in literary composition is gradually acquired, and a habit of propriety in expression is attained, which gives the highest polish to the man of letters, and the gentleman. For these reasons, however useless it may be to the mechanic or the artisan, or even to those who are only emulous of acquiring knowledge in philosophy, I conceive classical learning must ever constitute a very essential part of the education of the man of taste and polite acquirements.