ingness. I thence returned into my house, and went into the gallery, so lately fitted up for my favorite pictures; but they proved as ineffectual. Instead of wandering from one entertaining subject to another, as I at first intended to have done, my attention was soon entirely attached to that grand piece* of the imaginary† future world, by Polygnotus, which you used to admire so much; and among all the different compartiments in which I ordered it to be copied, I was most taken by that where Phocus is represented in the shades, recognising his friend Jasens, from the ring he sees on his finger, of which he himself had made him a present in their life-time. And after contemplating for some time that most excellent expression of the passions in their faces, I could not help bursting into a sudden sigh, and crying out, "Ah, my Cicero! when I come into the other world, surely I shall know you again, without the help of any token!" After a long train of this kind of reveries, and a very short supper, I went to seek that repose, which the time of night, and the uneasiness of my thoughts, made so desirable to me. But I was hardly got well asleep, when methought I was walking pensively in a gloomy grove; and as I was still indulging my former melancholy in it, on a sudden a pleasing gleam of light shot through the dark recess, and increasing each moment, still more enlightened the place on every side when lo! our dear Cicero stood just by me; but in a form farger than when we used to converse with him, and with an increased air of majesty and happiness on his countenance. Nothing ever gave me so much pleasure, even when he was living, as the sight of him now did. "Where, my dearest friend, cried I, have you been for these three tedious years that we have been seeking for you? I thoughtbut no! I see you are living, and ready to receive the embrace I have been so often wishing for." "I am living, replied he, my Atticus, and in a much truer and nobler life than when we lived on this earth together. Calm your thoughts, and attend well to the things which I have to say; for they are of the highest importance to you. You know already, my dear Atticus, what my : *There is a very particular account of this picture (which seems to have been one of the noblest works of its kind that ever was) in Pausanias, p. 866, Ed. Khunii, 1696. Cicero, and the best philosophers of old, were willing to flatter themselves with the hope of a happy immortality in heaven, after a life well spent here; but they, and almost every body else, laughed at the punishments and particular de scriptions of Ades, (or the invisible world under ground) as given by the poets. #Cicero was murdered in the year 710 of Rome; so that Atticus must have. had this dream in 713, eight years before his death. thoughts were in relation both to the former and the latter life, from the frequent conversations we have formerly held on those subjects; and more particularly still, from the treatise which I addressed and sent to you, the year before my departure, in which they are mentioned as the greatest and noblest consolation for good men in their old age. The strong assertions, you know, of Pythagoras and his followers, and the doctrines of Socrates, the wisest of men, and of his best disciples, Xenophon and Plato, had long since united together to confirm me in those elevated thoughts. I nourished and strengthened them in my own mind, and made them the motives and incitements to my greatest actions: for who, as I used sometimes to say, would take such pains to shine in all the arts of eloquence; to lead philosophy in triumph from other countries into his own; or even to save the state, in any the most perilous crisis; did he not expect to enjoy glory, and the reputation of his good deeds, for a much larger space of time than the narrow and mean boundaries that are set for his life in this lower world? That which I then only imagined, I now find to be most true. I enjoy that great and glorious assembly of deserving heroes; I meet often, and converse happily, with the Brutus's, with the Decii, with the Scipio's, and Lelius's, with that Cato, whom I introduced to speak my own sentiments to you: in a word, with all that have ever saved, or benefitted, or adorned our own country; and with all the greatest legislators, and noblest philosophers, not only of Greece, but of all the nations over the face of the whole earth; and lo! I see a new and greater light approaching, that eclipses all that ever went before him! the great Restorer of all things, and Reviver of the universe!*— -But hold! the immense love which I have for you may, already, perhaps, have made me utter too much. Such, in part, as I was saying, were my expectations in this life; but when I stepped from this into the great and unlimited line of life, it is impossible to tell you how great was my surprise, and how great my happiness!-the moment after I had held out my neck to the assassins. How much am I obliged to thee, O Antonius! In that instant, all that I had divined of happiness before, was lost in the immensity of what I felt. To be freed * The heathens, at this very time, (and long before and after) had expectations of a great Restorer, who was to renew the happiness of mankind; and it was hence that the Restauratio Temporum, and Sæculem Aureum, (by which they meant the same thing) is so frequent a compliment to the Roman emperors, on their medals. at once from such a sea of storms and troubles; to recover the conversation and growing affections of all the worthy friends whom we had lost; to be received into that most august and most ami. able assembly; to enjoy the presence and favor of that best and greatest Being, from whom they all derive all the excellence which they ever had, or can have; and all which taken together, in comparison of his, is not so much as a drop of water to the ocean! -But I will spare you the recital of farther particulars, of which you cannot possibly have any proper ideas in this world; and which, like too great a flood of light upon the eyes, would overwhelm your mind, instead of enlightening it. Let it suffice to assure you, that in the world of blessings we enjoy much more, and much otherwise, than I am capable of expressing, or you of conceiving, The secrets of heaven are not made for the ears of mortal men; it must be left to the great teacher, Death, to instruct them in. these lessons. "But of this I am allowed and commissioned to inform you, that our happiness is so great, and so general, that there is only one thing which can give an alloy to it; and that arises from the nature of the thing itself. As the eye of our minds is there enlightened to so high a degree, and the extent of our knowledge so immensely enlarged, we can without difficulty see, and without confusion conceive, every thing that passes in any one of the worlds around us, when we point our attention towards it: for there is an innumerable host of worlds around us, O my Atticus, as you yourself will, in a few years, know and see. It is this which at some painful intervals makes my heart even still bleed for thee, O my distressed and enslaved country! It is this which sometimes gives me pain, even in the midst of all my happiness, when I look down and see any of my friends mourning and lamenting for what they, by the greatest mistake imaginable, in a melancholy tone, call "my loss." I conjure you, therefore, my Atticus, and by you all our relations and friends, to spare me these inquietudes, these interruptions of my happiness, from your immoderate and groundless complaints and grief. Suffer me, I beseech you, to enjoy my full portion of bliss, unmixed and uninterrupted. The sorrows which you have too long and too frequently indulged, and particularly that of yesterday, moved me with a feeling so strange, and so improper for those entrancing abodes, that it obliged me to beg a permission even of quitting the place of happiness for a space of time, which though only as a point there, is much too long to VOL. I. Ꭱ No. 3. be absent from it, in order to intreat you, and my other friends, to spare both yourselves and me. I return to it with the breaking morn; and shall soon meet you again, on your journey thither. In the mean time, think not of my absence from you, without thinking at the same time of the immense happiness I enjoy; and cease ever to fling any clouds over it, by your unreasonable con cern for me." As he spoke this, he began ascending, and I awaked; but the sweetness of his voice was still sounding in my ear. Surely this, this surely must have been something more than a dream merely human! I feel a new turn of mind, and a new cast of thoughts, from the divine vision. It has given me much relief; and I hope, my Marcus, that you and our other friends will partake (at least in some measure) of the great use and comfort it has afforded to me. THE FINE ARTS. [In continuation from page 78.] With respect to comedy, it does not appear that the Greek co medy surpassed the tragedy in its progress toward perfection. Horace mentions three stages of Greek comedy. The first well suited to the rough and coarse manners of the Greeks, when Eupolis, Cratinus, and Aristophanes, wrote. These authors were not ashamed to represent on the stage real persons, not even disguis. ing their names: of which we have a striking instance in a come. dy of Aristophanes, called The Clouds, where Socrates is intro duced, and most contemptuously treated. This sort of comedy, sparing neither gods nor men, was restrained by the magistrates of Athens, so far as to prohibit persons to be named on the stage. This led writers to do what is done at present; the characters and manners of known persons were painted so much to the life, that there could be no mistake; and the satire was indeed heightened by this regulation, as it was an additional pleasure to find out the names that were meant in the representation. This was termed the middle comedy. But as there still remained too great scope for obloquy and licentiousness, a law was made prohibiting real events or incidents to be introduced upon the stage. This law happily banished satire against individuals, and confined it to manners and customs in general. Obedient to this law are the co medies of Menander, Philemon, and Diphilus, who flourished about three hundred years before the Christian æra. And this was termed the third stage of Greek comedy. The comedies of Aristophanes which still remain, err not less against taste and against decency. But the Greek comedy is supposed to have been considerably refined by Menander and his cotemporaries. Their works, however, were far from perfection, if we can draw any conjecture from their imitator Plautus, who wrote about a century later. Plautus was a writer of genius; and it may be reasonably supposed that his copies did not fall much short of the originals, at least in, matters that can be faithfully copied, and he shows very little art, either in his compositions or in the conduct of his pieces. With respect to the former, his plots are wondrous simple, very little varied, and very little interesting. The subject of almost every piece is a young man in love with a music girl, desiring to purchase her from the procurer, and employing a favorite slave to cheat his father out of the price; and the different ways of accom. plishing the cheat is all the variety we find. In some few of his comedies the story rises to a higher tone, the music girl being discovered to be the daughter of a freeman, which removes every obstruction to a marriage between her and her lover. In the conduct of his pieces there is a miserable defect of art. Instead of unfolding the subject in the progress of the action, as is done by Terence, and by every modern writer, Plautus introduces a person for no other end but to explain the story to the audience. In one of his comedies, a household God is so obliging as not only to unfold the subject, but to relate beforehand every particular that is to be represented, not excepting the catastrophe. The Roman theatre, from the time of Plautus to that of Terence, made a rapid progress. Aristotle defines comedy to be "an imitation of light and trivial subjects provoking laughter." The comedies of Plautus correspond accurately to that definition; those of Terence to a higher tone. Nothing is more evident than the superiority of Terence above Plautus in the art of writing; and considering that Terence is a later writer, nothing would appear more natural, if they did not copy the same originals. It may be owing to genius that Terence excelled in purity of language and propriety of dialogue; but how account for his superiority over Plautus in the construction and conduct of a play? It will not certainly be thought, that Plautus would imitate the worst constructed plays, leaving the best to those |