ter, to be found in Mrs. Dobfon's Life of Petrarch. It was written by Petrarch himself, an Italian, who lived at the dawn of modern literature, and, therefore, was enamoured of polite learning. It fhews the high eftimation in which he held the Mantuan mufe, and may be reckoned a fine flight of the imagination.

Petrarch was at Mantua. He went to fee that little village famous for the birth of Virgil, it is only a finall league from that city. It was formerly called Andes, its prefent name is Pietola. On this fpot his fancy kindled, and he wrote the following lines to VIRGIL:

"Great poet! the honour of Rome, the fruitful hope of the mufe! tell me where you are at prefent? In what part of Avernus are you enclosed? or are you not rather on Parnaffus with Apollo and the Nine, who en.. chant you with their concerts? perhaps you are walking in the woods, or in the Elyfian fields with Homer, whom you fo much refemble, with Orpheus, and the other poets of the first rank. I except Lucan and Lucretius, and all those who, like them, put an end to their own lives. I wanted to know the life you lead; wherein your dreams differed from truth, and where is the ivory door through which you caufed Æneas to pafs on his return from hell. I willingly believe that you inhabit that region of heaven allotted to happy fouls.

"If any mortal fhade is admitted to your celeftial manfions, mine fhall attend you there, and inform you what paffes in the place dear to you and the fate of your works. Mantua, whofe glory you are, has been agitated by the troubles of its neighbours. Defended by princes full of valour, fhe has refufed to come under a ftrange yoke, and will only be governed by her children. It is there I write thefe lines, in a folitary place near your tomb. I feek with ardour the rocks to which you retired, the meadows, where you walked on the banks of the Mincio; the trees, under which you fought a cooling fhade; the woods, which were your afylum against the heat; and the green banks, where you were feated

at

at the foot of your river. All these things retrace your image. The unfortunate city of Naples, honoured with your afhes, groans for the lofs of King Robert. In one day it was deprived of the felicity of years. Enquire not the fate of Rome! alas! it is better to be ignorant of it. Learn rather the fuccefs of your productions old Tityrus charms every one with the foft founds of his pipe nothing can be more beautiful than the culti vated fields of your Georgics: your Eneid is known through the world: it is fung, it is delighted in every where: how much are we obliged to Auguftus, who faved it from thofe flames to which you had condemned it!

"Adieu! you will be always dear to me. Prefent my falutations to Homer and Hefiod!"

PORTRAIT OF MONTESQUIEU.

BY HIMSELF.

[From the Courier.]

A PERSON of my acquaintance faid- I am about

to do a very foolish thing-I am about to fketch my own portrait. I know myfelf fufficiently for the undertaking.

I have fcarce ever experienced chagrin, and scarce ever laffitude.

I am of fo happy a temperament, that I have fenfibility enough to receive all the pleasure which the objects that furround me can afford; but not enough to be fufceptible of all the mortification and forrow they give to others.

I have ambition enough to take an active part in life; but not fo much as to be diffatisfied with the station in which fortune has placed me.

*The Eclogues.

When

When I discover any new fource of pleasure, I am extremely moved; and am inftantly furprised that I fhould have overlooked the object, or regarded it with indifference.

When I was a youth, I was always fo fortunate as to perfuade myself that the woman I loved was partial to me; and when I happened to be undeceived, to be inftantaneously cured of my paffion.

Literature is with me a never failing remedy for all the ills of life; nor did I ever know any chagrin which an hour's reading could not diffipate.

I awaken in the morning with a fecret joy at feeing the dawn; I regard the light with a feeling approaching to extacy; and during the rest of the day I am happy. I pafs the night without awaking, and am afleep the moment I lay down my head.

I am almoft as well fatisfied with the company of fools as of the wife; for I have not often met with men fo dull as not to amufe me, and there are few things fo diverting as fome filly people are.

I make no fcruple to entertain myself with fecretly obferving the characters of men, permitting them meanwhile to do the fame with mine.

When I was a novice, I looked up to the great with veneration; experience foon changed my fentiments, with little exception, to the extreme of contempt.

I am not unwilling to flatter women, it is doing them a kindness at a cheap rate.

I have naturally a great anxiety for the profperity and honour of my country, and very little for what is called its glory.

I always feel a fecret pleasure when any regulation happens to be made for the public benefit.

Whenever I have refided in a foreign country, I have attached myself to it as my native land; my heart has shared in its fortunes, and I have longed to see it flourish.

I have

I have thought I perceived talents where the world have formed a contrary opinion.

I am not forry to pafs for an abfent man ; I can thus with impunity indulge in a neglect of many little forms, to which otherwife I must have been a flave.

I love to vifit where I can efcape cenfure with my ordinary converfation and manners.

On vifits, I am always charmed when I find one of the company take upon himself the trouble of being gay and entertaining. Such a one protects thofe who chufe to be filent.

Nothing diverts me more than to hear a man relating pretty ftories with all their pretty circumftances. It is not the tale I attend to, but the ridiculous paffion of the fpeaker. As to moft talkers, indeed, I would rather gratify them with my praife than my attention.

I love my family fufficiently to provide every thing in my power for its welfare, but am not fo foolifh as to make myself a flave to the minute affairs of a houfe.

My name is neither great nor infignificant, having only two hundred years of proved nobility. I am, however, much attached to it, and am one who would be willing to make an entail *.

When I confide in any one, I have no referves; but there are few in whom I am inclined to confide.

It has given me no high opinion of myfelf to perceive that there are very few offices in the ftate for which I am in reality qualified. As to my station as prefident of the parliament, I have a very upright mind, and I can readily enough discover what reafon demands of me; but I am loft when I come to ask myself, What is the decifion of the law! Yet I have been anxious to make myself mafter of the intricacies of form, and am the more angry with myself, because I see men with mean understandings acquire what I could never

tain.

*It has been made.

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In

In the treating of topics at all profound and difficult, I am obliged to reflect much as I proceed, to prevent my ideas from falling into confufion. If I perceive that I am liftened to, the fubject feems to vanish from me, or my thoughts rife in fuch hurry and disorder, that nothing is diftin&t. But when difficult points are difcuffed in converfation, where there are other speakers, I acquit myfelf infinitely better.

I never could fee tears without fympathy.

I may be faid to have a paffion for friendship.

I am prone to forgive, because hatred is a troublefome companion. When my enemy wishes to be reconciled, he applies to my vanity, and I can no longer regard as an enemy one who does me the favour to give me a good opinion of myfelf.

When I am refiding in the country, among my vaffals, I never encourage unfavourable reports of any of them. If a tale-bearer would repeat fomething said to my difadvantage, I interrupt him with faying-I do not wish to encourage the danger of believing a falfe report, and would not give myself the trouble to hate a knave. At the age of thirty-five I was still in love.

I can no more make vifits with mercenary views, than I can accompany birds through the air.

In the bustle of public life, I felt as if I could not endure retirement. In retirement I forgot the world.

A man of eminent merit I can never bear to analyze; a man, who, with valuable qualities, does not rife above mediocrity, I analyze very carefully.

I believe I am the only writer who has not been fmitten with the paffion of being reputed a wit; and my intimate friends know that in converfation I never affect it, but have fenfe enough to use the language of thofe with whom I affociate.

I have often had the misfortune to be difgufted with perfons whofe good will I had earnestly fought.

I never loft but one friend through any mifundertanding;

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