MONTHLY ANTHOLOGY,

AND

BOSTON REVIEW,

CONTAINING

SKETCHES AND REPORTS OF PHILOSOPHY, RELIGION, HISTORY, ARTS AND MANNERS.

EDITED BY A SOCIETY OF GENTLEMEN.

Omnes undique flosculos carpam atque delibem.

VOL. VI.

Boston:

PUBLISHED BY HASTINGS, ETHERIDGE AND BLISS,

PROPRIETORS, STATE STREET.

SOLD ALSO AT THEIR STORE IN CHARLESTOWN.

1809.

THE MONTHLY ANTHOLOGY.

FOR

JANUARY, 1809.

ADDRESS OF THE EDITORS.

THE MONTHLY ANTHOLOGY, has at length completed a Lustrum; an age, which few of the magazines in this country have reached. We do not use this word because it is Latin; but because it tempts us to remind our subscribers, that a period of five years was so called by the Romans, because, at the end of it the taxes were all paid in to the Censors. This derivation (a luendo i. e. solvendo) our readers will excuse us for suggesting, since we always wish to preserve, as far as we can, the original and classical meaning of words. In reviewing our last year's labours, we acknowledge the assistance we have received from a few anonymous correspondents. To the author of the "Letters from Europe," we are particularly indebted; and we express the unanimous sentiment of our readers, when we hope, that his contributions will not fail, as long as there remains a memorandum in his portfolio. The man, who writes most at his ease, commonly writes most agreeably; though he may not have satisfied himself so well, as if he had constructed his style with more formality, and reviewed it with more precaution. No one prepares minutely to criticise a piece, except by profession, till he is tired or uninterested; and this is not yet the case with the readers of these letters. More correspondence of this kind, would greatly relieve the sobriety of our numbers; for surely, no kind of composition encour ages so much good humour and unceremonious simplicity, as the writing of letters to an uncritical correspondent, in those precious moments, when the heart is warmed by recollections of friendship, and ready to receive and transmit the liveliest impressions of interesting objects. It is the peculiar felicity of a good letter writer, not only to

feel at home himself, but to be sure that his readers will at once make themselves very much at home with him. In such familiar epistles, the reader, to use a homely phrase, is invited "to take potluck" with his author; and, in our monthly entertainment, this has often been more relished than any thing on the board.

We are also under obligations to a correspondent, who signs himself, R, for having furnished us with many interesting speculations. As often as he will write, the publick, we doubt not, will read, and we shall publish, with equal pleasure.

The faults of our work, of which no one can be more sensible than the editors, result from causes, which we can only hope to counteract, but not entirely to remove. The ANTHOLOGY has hitherto been supported by the unpaid and unregulated contributions of a few literary men, who are pleased when the publick profits by their reading, or shares in their amusements. They have yet had no extraordinary stimulus to write, but the friendly curiosity and occasional encomiums of men like themselves. They are not enlisted in the support of any denomination of prejudices; nor are they inspired with the fanaticism of literary crusaders, associated to plant their standards on territory recovered from heathens or hereticks. They are satisfied, if they in any way contribute to the mild influence of our common christianity, and to the elegant tranquillity of literary life. They are gentle knights, who wish to guard the seats of taste and morals at home, from the incursions of the "paynim host;" happy, if they should now and then rescue a fair captive from the giants of romance, or dissolve the spell, in which many a youthful genius is held, by the enchantments of corrupt literature. If with these objects, they can retain the pleasures of lettered society,

Mundaeque parvo sub lare pauperum

Coenae, sine aulaeis et ostro,

Sollicitam explicuere frontem,

they will try to be as insensible to the neglect or contumely of the great vulgar and the small, as they are to the pelting of the pitiless storm without, when taste and good humour sit round the fire within.

The imperfections of our work, however, will yet arise, as heretofore, from the number of hands employed to fill its pages. Incon

sistencies of opinion, and varieties of taste will occasionally appear in a Magazine like this, which does not pass under the rigorous review of any single editor. Our only invariable wish will be, to avoid every thing, which may raise a blush on the cheek of the pure, or offend the enlightened reason of serious and charitable readers.

In entering on another year, we shall not suffer ourselves to be betrayed into magnificent promises, though we have new inducements to more various and vigorous exertions. The facility, with which the promises of editors are made at the present day, is exceeded only by the indifference, with which they are broken. If we have hitherto been less sanguine in promise, and more equable in performance than others, it is because, writing only to amuse and meliorate ourselves and others, we have never engaged to excite the passions, or gratify the prejudices of any party or sect. We have satisfied ourselves, if not the publick, when we have in any honourable way checked the presumptuousness of literary vanity, corrected the mistakes of reputable authors, exposed the disingenuousness of editors or publishers, encouraged the rare spirit of learned labour, rebuked the intolerance of demagogues in church or state, or in any degree promoted the cause of correct criticism, pure morals, serious and rational faith, under a generous toleration of every thing but folly, malice, fraud, or impiety.

We can venture, however, to tell the publick, that though our work has always had more readers than subscribers, a distinction more honourable than profitable, the effective patronage of the ANTHOLOGY is rapidly extending. It will in future make two volumes a year; and, as we have chosen to enlarge the circle of our labours, we will now give a short previous survey, that the publick may know the character, to which, though our work should never attain, we hope it will never cease to aspire.

American literature is not a tract where we expect any regular annual product, or where we are sure of constant improvements from the hand of well directed industry; but it is rather a kind of half cleared and half cultivated country, where you may travel till you are out of breath, without starting any rare game, and be obliged to sit down day after day to the same coarse, insipid fare. Of this, however, we are confident, that, as long as the price of paper in England continues so high, our presses will teem with republished novelties;