whole. We cannot see the forest for the trees. But in the historical description these are left out, and the capital objects only are brought together. The most interesting incidents move us more in a spirited narration, than the being actually present at the spectacle itself, with all its circumstances." Besides, in the real spectacle we only see what is actually passing, and not that always; but the historical charm of preparation, of causes, of consequences, the key to the proportion, the whole magic of thought, is wanting. This his tory teaches us to observe.

THINGS, and FACTS, hinted only, in a mysterious manner, by the choice of some one significant relation or token; this is not only the principle of rhetoric, but of management, by all those who have a genius for BUSINESS. The most consummate eloquence trusts more to this, than to the balancing of periods; and an ordinary word from a man of dignity and worth, or even from a man of extraordinary sense or knowledge of business, has more weight than the most studied harangue of a mere rhetorician.

"The principal figures should be put in the strongest light;-the noblest parts of attitudes should be presented to view ;-the folds of all drapery should be few, large," and flow. ing," the motions not broken, but proceeding as much as possible from the centre of action, and removed from the extremities."

As to the sensible exhibition of Grandeur, it is clearly historic. It is well observed by ADDISON, "that we should be more struck by a statue of ALEXANDER, done, of the human proportion, under the hands of LYSIPPUS, than by the huge Mount Athos, cut into his form." The former, only, would be credible, natural, historic. To every thing grand, as well as sublime, proportion is necessary; if we would not deviate into bombast.

"Greatness of number, without proportions and unity, is not grand. Thus an army makes a grand appearance-but not a mob ten times its number." And limitation of size, from the laws of vision and perspeclive, is necessary for an effect that is to strike all at once. One feels

greater awe when entering the PANTHEON at ROME (and this independent of associations) than at SAINT PETER'S the dome alone of which latter, is equal to the former entire. So the waves of the sea seem loftier and vaster than they are in reality— the fluidity of that element being as of" endless number moving together with order and regularity.'

Among the energies of grandeur, are motion and force, in conjunction with sounds. But a due proportionate distance is necessary for the effect. Thus the planetary system is not for mortal sense: the force and din would be too great for our faculties-would stun and destroy them. This has been allegorized in the fable of SEMELE and JUPITER. But from our present proportionate and due point of distance, they perform the most rapid movements through the immense void, by a silent, and apparently motionless, progression on the celestial planisphere.

-а

For we require a medium to perceive truth-a distance to give it unity, and to bring its parts within the angle of intellectual visioncompositions and selection to produce a meaning. Knowledge means things only in a certain relation and aspect to us. We know not the whole; nor, perfectly, the nature of any one part. It is only a certain concert of things that our minds can be delighted with, or perceive, even. Our minds are only an index to certain finite relations of things, a catalogue raisonné, a chart laid down, with a few scattered topographical (rather than geographical) notices of this undiscovered country-such is the nature of our limited faculties. We see things in parts only, and form these into a kind of whole, through the medium of the historic relation.— Thus remote and imperfect is the analogy of our nature to the SuPREME BEING, who, alone, "has no need to use the steps of reasoning: there are no premises, nor consequences, nor even propositions, in regard to him. His knowledge is merely intuitive. He sees every thing that is, was, and may be. All truths are to him but one idea, as all times are but one moment, and all places but a single point.””

YORICK.

Mr.

Mr. URBAN,

IN

N reply to your Correspondent's inquiry, p. 98, as to what disorders had crept into Trinity College, Cambridge, at the period of Dr. Mansell's appointment to the Headshipof that Institution, threatening ill consequences not only to the College itself, but to the University, permit me to refer to Cowper's Task,' as affording a probable solution. In his 2d book, composed (as it appears from certain notes subjoined *) in the year 1783, appears the following passage:

"In colleges and halls, in antient days, When learning, virtue, piety, and truth, Were precious, and inculcated with care, There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline."

The description of this well-drawn personification, and the effects of his regular and conscientious administration of the duties incumbent on his office, are described at some length with great effect and force, to which it will be sufficient to refer your readers, as the work is in every one's hands.

A contemporary essay of Dr. Vicesimus Knoxt, will tend to confirm that abuses did exist. About this time took place the appointment of the late Bp. of Bristol to the Headship of Trinity College, Cambridge, and that of Dr. C. Jackson, to the Deanery of Christ Church. And to these worthy characters, it is well known, are ascribed, with good reason, many improvements in the management of the two Universities, the restoration of whose discipline is greatly to be attributed to their exertions, the exemplary influence whereof was of wide and beneficial extent. Yours, &c. MASON CHAMBERLIN.

Mr. URBAN,

SOON

Aug. 11.

OON after my arrival at Port Louis, Isle of France, in February 1813, from the Cape of Good Hope, I accompanied a select party of gentlemen on an excursion into the country beyond the Grand River (five miles from the town), to explore a Cavern or Grotto formed by

the band of Nature. It is situate about three quarters of a league on the other side of the River, to the

* In allusion to the Meteor, Aug. 1783, and to the Fog that extended over Europe during that summer. The Earthquakes in Sicily and Calabria the same year, are likewise noticed in the text of the Poem. + See Knox's Essays, No. 77.

Westward, in the midst of a wood, and, after a difficult search (to a stranger) you perceive the Mouth of the Cavern; however, very fortunately, we obtained a guide, through the politeness of a Mr. Stuensburry, an American gentleman, whom we met on the road.

The rude entrance into this subterraneous work of Nature has the appearance of a dilapidated cell in the cloister of a gothic abbey, being composed of craggy stones, intersected with dwarf trees, forming a rude arch. On our entrance, we found the descent to be gradual, inclining E. N. E. the floor in breadth about 20 feet, and the span of the arched roof about 40. After proceeding forward about 30 fathoms, it takes a direction or elbow to the N. E.; the roof is composed of ponderous masses of rock, which bears a strong resemblance to a work of art, as the interstice between each block of stone seems to be filled with cement or mortar, but on a close investigation, it appears evidently the result of volcanic fire and vitrification, and scarcely a stone remains that is not the nidus of an exhausted volcano, which perhaps "Far in the depth of antient time," vomited out its volcanic fires, and occasioned this profound chasm in the bowels of the earth. Proceeding onward for several paces, the roof hung so low as to impede the passage, and force us to stoop, and occasionally to creep, till it again expands to nearly the same height as at the entrance; when at 60 paces further, the roof again becomes contracted, and again expands, till at length we arrived at au immense heap of angular and weighty rocks, broken, stupendous, and grotesque, lying in every direction, tumbled on each other, when on looking upwards to the roof, we perceived that they had been shivered from it by some convulsive shock, and several fragments of vast magnitude hung impending horribly, suspended over our heads, threatening us each moment with instant destruction, which made us recoil with terror, and exclaim, "Whither wouldst thou lead me? speak, I will go no further.” When at length having resumed courage, we with much trouble and difficulty climbed over the immense and ponderous masses of rock, and

our

our candles being nearly exhausted, began to think of returning. When we advanced fifty paces more forward, the narrow space between the roof and the floor obstructed all further progress, and we found this spot to be the ne plus ultra of our subterraneous excursion, although we were of opinion that if the opening here was enlarged, or an excavation made, it is very probable that the cavern might be found to extend much further, perhaps to an illimitable length, baffle the ken of human observation, and exhibit a still more singular appearance than the part that we had just explored. By a rough computation, we estimated the length from the entrance to the furthest extremity, to be about 360 fathoms. In the course of our survey we found the floor quite dry, except at the extremity, where there was damp, and the sign of water dripping from the rock;-the air of the cavern from the entrance was pure, and our candles burned with a steady light during our progress.On our return, a curious effect of light and shade presented itself; the slaves that attended us from the town appeared at the entrance of the cavern, amidst the solemn gloom of its yawning mouth, like a troop of Banditti, and the scene of the cavern in Gil Blas seemed to be realized; in short, it would have afforded an ample scope for the pen of Mrs. Ratcliffe to pourtray the romantic effect *. A. SINNOT.

THE CENSOR.-No. I.
HE following article is the first

view of Antient Literature. The reasons which have induced us to en

to the Review of Books, but to neglected Biography; and in our researches we hope to elicit much additional information respecting the lives and motives of various Authors; this being a subject, as yet but little handled, and never bibliographically. We have selected for our first article, AN INQUIRY INTO THE PROGRESS OF ANECDOTAL LITERATURE.

NOTHING can be so grateful to the Antiquary or Bibliomaniac, as to trace the progress of any one branch of Literature to its earliest existence; and it is owing to the difficulty of amassing materials, that we have so few competitors in this career. Time alone can bring to light the necessary facts, while fiction and conjecture, as unsound as they are plausible, are always present to the imagination of the Scholar: in the hope, however, that researches more diligent and better qualified than our own may bring forward more conclusive information, we enter upon a design in which (we believe) no former writer has appeared, and which will possibly be deemed insignificant by the reader.

Anecdotes have long been a favourite topic, we cannot say study, with the public, and are a desideratum upon every table: they possess a wide department in conversation, yet few of them owe their origin to the tongue, but are created in the newspapers of the day, whence in due season they are transferred to the pages of a Magazine, or figure away in some "Selection of good Things." In a Dissertation on Anecdotes, by the author of Curiosities of Literature, 1793, 8vo, we are told, that they are to be placed among litethe refinement of a narary luxuries;

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the same as have been before stated in Miscellanies of this kind. It is our wish to rescue works forgotten on account of their age or scarcity from the shelves where they have been immured. Our plan extends, not only

In the History of the Mauritius, p. 494, there is a short account of this Ca

veru, which is very defective. It is extracted from the notes of a Marquis de Albergati, who visited it some years since ; and St. Pierre, during his residence here, once partially explored it.-Vide C. Grant Vis. de Vaux History of the Mauritius.

rature; we now not only require a solid repast, but a delicious dessert." The author will, without doubt, agree with us, when we aver that the body; cloyed with trash of various mind has its palate as well as the kinds, it requires something piquant to stimulate its appetite, and turns with disgust from plain but wholesome food.

Indiscriminately as Anecdotes are perused (for the mention of a story technically called good will raise emotions in the breast of a superficial reader),

reader), it would be better, were some standard appointed which might determine the true from the base coin: so glutted is the market with works of this kind, that a collection of what is at once useful and rare, would be of inestimable benefit to readers, and particularly to such as are not of sufficient research to choose for themselves. "All the world (says the author whom we have just now quoted) read anecdoles, but not many with reflection, and still fewer with taste. To most, one anecdote resembles another; a little unconnected story that is heard, that pleases, and is forgotten." This is not unfrequently the fault of the reader, but commonly of the work. In Dramatic Literature, we are pleased to observe the changes and improvements which have taken place, from the introduction of Mysteries and Moralities to the performance of Gorbuduc, and from that period through the eighteenth century to the appearance of Douglas, the last good tragedy which may be termed indisputably successful. With Anecdotes the case is different; till within some few years, no improvement is manifest, when we consider the variations which have taken place in taste and style; and were we to characterize nearly the whole collection as vulgar or insipid, we should not be far wide of the truth-"Sed contrà audentior ito," is the canon of Virgil, and it is not in our province to determine whether we have obeyed it to any use or information.

The Anecdotal System (if it be worthy of that name) is of greater importance and antiquity than has hitherto been supposed. In disputation its powers are almost unlimited; it supplies at once argument and il lustration,-in conversation it gives

a man the character of a reader and an observer, and in biography it furnishes traits of character, which we might in vain attempt to deduce from the life and writings of any individual. Its powers may be unseen, but they are not on that account unfelt, they are courted by the Dispu

tant, the Theorist, and the Converser ; perhaps not by the Divine. For how long a period such a sway has been held over the mind, it would be vain to inquire; yet our authorities refer to an early date, and to them we will

proceed, lest some impatient reader exclaim with Horace,

"Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu."Ars Poet.

The Greeks, more particularly the Laconians, were the first people whom we may with safety pronounce to have been fond of Anecdotes; these however consisted, not in any biographical incident, but in brief speeches, or tart replies. There existed in their dispositions a proneness to rebuke, which gave birth to some of their most celebrated Apothegmata, and which was rather calculated to provoke differences, than to allay them by some judicious remark. The meetings of their young men for the sake of exercise were

frequent, and their meals were public, so that whatever restrictions might be imposed as to silence on these assemblies, they tended to promote conversation in which a youth would wish to excel, as in the games or field of battle: ils effects were to be found in their ideal as well as their practical virtues. As the manners of the people became more refined, and as elocution and oratory were more attended to, the brief style of their forefathers was gradually lost, and prolixity of exordium, as well as of narration, became apparent, particularly in the speeches termed deliberative. Yet were the Apothegms of ancient days remembered with respect, and it was not till Greece had lost its existence as a state, that Plutarch of Chæronea began to collect the sayings of his ancestors, in his Moralia; we insert a specimen of his labours, not as containing any thing new or unknown to our readers (for we take it for granted that the major part of them are acquainted with his pages), but to commence the series upon which we wish to enter.