posed me? yet I could have braved all, only that Lord L whom I loved dearer We have often thought, that in the VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, the favourite literary eff spring of our author, he intended to convey, or exemplify his opinions of religion, mo rality and politics. This admirable novel, as well as the heautiful poem of the Deserted Village, (and both are intimately connected with the affections of the heart of Goldsmith,) appear to inculcate notions of equality; and to approve of the Agrarian system, and to enforce the principle, that commerce and luxury, generate public infelicity and ruin. We think the following Couplet shows our hypothesis well founded. than my life, joined my cruel deriders in their ridicule and laughter." "A time there was, ere England's griefs began; When ev'ry rood of ground maintain’d its man.' We, consequently, would be warranted in asserting that the famous Brissot and the philanthropist De Warville, who sought to refine and rectify the gross qualities of human nature, in the alembic of philosophy, borrowed that system of general melioration from the speculations of Goldsmith. Brissot, in his writings, has pronounced a glowing eulogium on our author. He is said to have suggested to the philanthropic John Newberry, the publication of “children's Books," such as Margery Two shoes" the "Fairing." &c. and that he actually composed many of those most valuable elementary works, on his own favourite principle; tr "These little things are great to little man." It has been suggested by some authors, that Goldsmith had a share in the produc tion of a work, which was once very popular, "The tales of the Genii,” published under the name of Charles Morell. This work, which we have not read since our schoolboy days, has no internal evidence of genius or style, that we can recollect, which could afford grounds for attributing it to our Countryman. moirs that we have read of him, in which are contained whatever has or can now be In the many mecollected of this excellent poet, there is no allusion to the "Tales of the Genii." Dr. Johnson, (who was always the steady friend of our author,) Mrs. Piozzi, Mr. Boswell, Dr. Bissett, the Bishop of Dromore, and Mr. Woty, have given many interesting anecdotes and characteristic traits of him; but the most authentic and domestic memoir of this eminent worthy, is that of his friend and Countryman Dr. Glover, a man as equally distinguished in the annals of fame, for his varied talents as for his affable manners, and those social qualities, that shine in society; but a man of liberal principles, who, in consequence, like many of his countrymen, found the career of his genius in the paths of honour and fortune, impeded by the bigotry and intolerance of the government. Ireland was not then [1763] the element of patriotism, or literary ability, so that instead of their being a blessing they were a curse to their possessor. Dr. Glover, exerted professional, literary, and dramatic talent, in his native city, (Dublin,) without reaping a golden harvest of emolument, until, at length, the utmost malice of his star," being past, he went to London, where his works were duly appreciated, and where the laurels of prosperity soon sheltered him from the blast of indigence. He enjoyed his good fortune, in London, but a few years, being attacked by a fever, which terminated his existence just as he had attained the 59th year of his age, exclaiming as he expired, sentiments similar to those of the Roman; "I have been near sixty years on this earth, and have lived but nine." Some able writer has aptly observed "that an author is best known in his writings,” *Shortly after Goldsmith's decease, Mr. Woty published the following lines, addressed to his friend's memory, in the Public Ledger. "Adieu! sweet bard! to each fine feeling true; Thy virtues many, and thy foibles few ; Those form'd to charm ev❜n vicious minds, and these, and in our opinion, the observation is just, and founded on experience, as many instarces might be adduced to verify and illustrate it; because it leads us, as it were, by a short cut, to the very bosom of the writer, and affords us a history of him, by an analytical transcript of his soul and all its faculties. Whoever attentively reads Goldsmith's productions, will discover, in numerous passages, a mirror of the mind of their author. Among the more prominent objects of reflection, will appear a strong affection for bis relatives, an almost enthusiastic attachment to the place of his birth, a deep regret at the untoward fortune, and imperious necessity, that drove him from the green fields of his youth, where he basked in the tranquil bosom of rural retirement. In a future paper we shall speak of his dramas. Home! sweet home! there is soft melody in the sound! the voice that breathes so magical a name, touches the chords of pleasant sensation, like the gentle action of zephyr on the Eolian harp, and awakens the most pathetic and enrapturing notes of the music of nature, which rouses the slumbering sensibility of the soul, with its thrilling strains of gladness! Home is the flowery pathway of life, where the nobler passions of humanity blossom, in unspotted purity; the sacred shrine where all our longing, vagrant, pilgrim fancies love to worship. It is the asylum of mourning grief, the last citadel in which the bereaved mind can take sanctuary from the persecutions of afflictive wo. May the misanthrope who would infuse the poison of discord and jarring passions of domestic strife, into such a delicious cup of bliss, be driven by the fiercest winds of heaven, to the endless agitation of misery. May the heartless, unfeeling wretch, who would convert that Eden of serene comfort, into a hell of contention, be a solitary exile in the desolation of humanity, pining in eternal melancholy, and like Hesiod's Titans, deprived even of the hope of future pleasure. Man can only enjoy supreme happiness in this bright sphere of domestic affection. The smile of connubial love is the fiery pillar that illuminates the dreary. and doleful gloom of affliction; and the tender and feeling bosom of a wife is the ark, that bears us triumphantly over the raging waves of the deluge of adversity. It is the soft pillow of sympathy, on which the aching head of misery may be lulled to the calm repose of consolation; it is the gushing fountain of earthly joys-the rock on which man can safely raise the edifice of lasting delights. Yes! even hallowed HOME, with all its pleasures and comforts, would be a paradise of lonely solitude, unless it were inhabited and adorned by an Eve, for it is the sunshine of her charming society, that casts a brilliant halo of felicity around it; as her presence blows like a refreshing gale, the fragrant flowers of hope, and ripens the sweetest fruits of enjoyment. Satiated with the world's tinsel, and delusive amusements, we return home, with redoubled satisfaction, and prize and love it the more. Misfortunes cannot blast the blooming verdure of its contentment; for there the agonized heart finds a rosy bed, on which to repose its sorrows; sickness cannot lesson its charms, as there soothing sympathy, like a ministering angel, pours the sanative balm of conjugal love into the wounds of wo;-and even death cannot quench the blessings of HOME, for there we breathe out our souls, in halcyon peacefulness, while imagining that we hear, in the sighs and prayers of a weeping wife, the melody of the happy spirits in Elysium. Amidst the adversities, cares, and tumultuous scenes of life; in despair, in poverty, and sickness, 'tis bliss to reflect that still we have a haven to mour the storm-beaten bark of life; a home that will welcome the wanderer to its bosom, and shield him from the ingratitude of friendship and the inconstancy of fortune; a sanctuary, where we can flee from the "rich man's scorn, and proud man's contumely;" from the insult of unlettered ignorance, the averted face of upstart arrogance, the laugh of derision, and the stings of envious malice, to find pity and love opening their zoning arms, and a smile of gladness beaming on every countenance, a welcome glowing in every heart. Oh! 'tis designed by heaven as the resting-place of man, the poetical paradise of mortal felicity, the temple of virtue, where connubial bliss, and calm serenity are enshrined. When the malignity of a disastrous and cruel fortune blights the prospect of hope, which was in the spring of youth so fair, blooming, and budding, and when the sun of prosperity, that illumined the smiling landscape, is overcast with the gloomy clouds of unpropitious destiny, and the ruthless hand of wayward fate dissevers the rosy ties which connected conjugal and paternal affection, obliging the unhappy father to abandon his home-his dear home! with which he associates the remembrance of past delights-of infantile enjoyments and endearing relations, and seek a kindlier fortune in a foreign clime; then the bitterest draught of human misery is forced upon his revolting lips, and the severest torture inflicted on his dismal mind. In his solitary musings amidst the dreary solemnity of the ocean, his thoughts are ever wandering to home, that fixed star of his soul; and all the dear objects consecrated by memory, rise into life, arrayed in the charms of visionary delusion, in his dreams, while the sadly murmuring modulation of the waves seem to sympathise in his anguish and mental suffering." Soothing hope, the last consolation of despair, the last twinkling star in the horizon of despondency! promises future rapture, and the bliss of once more embracing his wife and children, whose beloved idea had in absence lain like a delicious cordial at his desolate bosom, and cheered his spirit amid the pain of toil, and in the dismaying hour of danger. Sweet and rapturous anticipation! beatified herald of the coming transports of conjugal and paternal affection! Ah! the remembrance of home, comes as the fading light of the setting sun over my gloomy heart, and like Ossian's song of sorrow, "it is pleasing and mournful to my soul." Farewell! then, dear home of my fathers, attracting magnet of my dreams! how often do I visit in fancy the memory-consecrated spot, where I have tasted the only real joys that earth has given me, and where I hope, through the mercies of a benevolent providence, to enjoy all the pleasures that life has left to me: receive, revered dwelling of past happiness! my ardent homage-my purest and sincerest devotion of attachment; and when I forget THEE, may I lose the rights of humanity, may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I do not fondly think of thee, JERUSALEM, both in my melancholy mood, and joyous mirth; and may Tipsíhone shake her gory head of living snakes at me, when my bosom becomes so torpid as not to feel a responsive thrill of ecstasy at the announcement of thy musical name. BRIAN BOROIHME'S HARP. This renowned Irish monarch, whose reign exhibits the most splendid career of glory in the annals of his country, was passionately fond of music, in which art he made an eminent proficiency. Though, like Napoleon, he was generally engaged in war, yet under the fostering influence of his tutelary munificence, litera ture and the fine arts sprung up in flowery and luxuriant maturity. But the libe- rality of an English historian, the celebrated translator of Demosthenes, has already drawn a character, in which were eminently united all those qualities most admired, in the noblest names, of Grecian and Roman story. BRIAN was so masterly a performer on the harp, that his melody often fired his troops with the *There are no people in the world more attached to the home of their youth, than the Irish. This we will exemplify by a historical fact.recorded by Barry-" While Dermod, the king of Leinster, with the forces of Strongbow, was obliged to wait at St. David's, in Wales, he used to go to the heights, and cast many languishing looks towards the Irish coast, and as the sea breeze rose he would open his mouth to inhale it, believing that it passed over the green fields of his kingdom and was fraught with the breath of his family and kindred."Vide Geraldus Cambrensis. irresistible spirit of martial ardour, and kindled in the touched souls of his bards and orators, the enthusiasm of poetry and the flame of eloquence. After his death, at the glorious battle of Clontarf, his harp was found in his tent, for the charms of music were wont to sooth the tedium of his private hours, by his son Teige, who preserved it as a sacred relique; but this gallant Prince was soon after his father's death, deposed by his brother, Donagh, who basely deprived him of his life and throne. The usurper, to secure the power which he thus obtained by fratricide, formed an alliance with HAROLD, King of England, whose danghter, the Princess Driella, he married. Donagh, knowing that he could have no hold in the affection of the Irish people, who only longed for an opportunity of shaking off the intolerable yoke of his oppression, garrisoned all the fortresses in the kingdom with English mercenaries, to overawe his subjects. tyranny and aggression soon, however, effected his downfal. A formidable league was formed against him, consisting of the kings of Connaught, Ulster, and Leinster, who marched at the head of a powerful force, to Dublin, where they proclaimed his nephew, Turlogh, the son of Teige, king of Ireland. A general engagement soon followed, in which Donagh, and his English auxiliaries, were signally and decisively defeated. This victory prostrated his dominion. He abdicated the throne in favour of his nephew, and resolved to devote the remainder of his life to religious piety, as an atonement for his flagrant crimes and transgressions. With a heart touched with the "compunctious visitings" of remorse, he set out on a pilgrimage to Rome, where he assumed a religious habit in the monastery of St. Stephen, and in that retreat he terminated his days. On his introduction to the Pope, Alexander II. he presented to him, the crown, harp, and many other rich jewels belonging to the splendid regalia of his illustrious father. Pope Adrian IV. an Englishman, alleged this presentation of the Irish regalia by Donagh, in vindication of his right to invest Henry II. with the sovereignty of Ireland. What a flimsy and hollow pretext for transferring a whole nation to a foreign king! The harp remained in the vatican until Pope Leo X. sent it and other Irish reliques, as presents to Henry VIII. with the title of " King, defender of the faith." Some time after, Henry presented the harp to his favourite, the first Earl of Clanrickarde, in whose family it remained until the beginning of the last century, when it came in the paraphernalia of Lady Eliza Burgh, into the possession of her husband, Colonel M’Mahon, of Clenagh, in the county of Clare; after whose death it passed into the hands of Commissioner M'Namara of Limerick. In 1782, the possession of this fluctuating harp devolved on the Rt. Hon. W. Conyngham, the father of the noble marquis of that name, who is now, either from his own merits or the autumnal charms of his Lady, (who is "fat, fair and forty ;") the reigning favourite of George IV. Mr. Conyngham, with a view of preserving so rare an antique of Irish royalty in an enduring shrine worthy of the memorable glory associated with the harp of "Brian the brave," deposited it in the Library of the University of Dublin." When George IV. visited that city, he touched the strings, which so often breathed the soul of melody, under the masterly fingers of his royal predecessor. The erudite general Vallancey, (to whose profound researches in the literature and antiquities of Erin, the Irish are more indebted, than to any other elucidation of inquiry, ever set on foot, save the sublime lights of investigation, which the patriotic Lady Morgan has kindled in the historical catacombs of the ancient grandeur of the "Isle of Harps,") has given the following comprehensive description of this far-fained harp, that so often sounded the "voice of song" at the royal banquets of Tara. "It is 32 inches high, and of extraordinary good workmanship. The sounding board is of oak, the arms of red sally-the extremity of the uppermost arm, in front, is capped with silver, extremely well wrought, and chiselled; it contains a large crystal, set in silver, and under it was another stone now lost. The buttons or ornamental knobs, at the side of this arm, are of silver. On the arm are the arms of the O'Brien family, chased in silver-the bloody hands supported by lions. On the sides of the front arm, within two circles, are two Irish wolf dogs, cut in wood. The holes of the sounding board, where the strings entered, are neatly ornamented with escutcheons of brass, carved and gilt. This harp has twenty-eight keys, and as many string holes, consequently there were so many strings. The foot-piece, or rest, is broken off, and the parts to which it was joined are very rotten. The whole bears evidence of an accomplished and expert artist."-Vide Collectanea Hibernica.-No. 12. DESULTORY THOUGHTS ON POETRY, MUSIC, AND ELOQUENCE.-NO. I. "Music has charms to soothe the savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.". Of all the arts, music appears to have been the most ancient, and of the various kinds of music, vocal must have undoubtedly been the first. There is certainly no art that can so charm the heart of man, except oratory can claim a rank above it. That music has been in high esteem in all ages, and among all nations, is an indisputable fact; for we have the authority of Grecian historiaus to say, that it was always used at the sacrifices offered to the gods, and at the olympic games. What has not music done, and what cannot its enchantment effect? Its power is either felt or known, by all men, as it not only acts on the passions in a most extraordinary manner, but on the frame and constitution of the body, having the effect of exciting joy and grief, pleasure and pain; of composing disturbed thoughts, assisting to heighten devotion, and curing diseases. We need not have recourse to the fables of Orpheus, or Amphion, or the potent power of their mellifluous symphony, upon beasts and fishes; it is enough that we find the charming of serpents, and the casting out of the evil spirit, as recorded in holy writ. Indeed the delightful art was considered by the ancients, of divine origin, and one of the celestial attributes; for Homer represents the gods as fascinated by its captivating influence. It was part of the doctrine of the Pythagorean sect of philosophers, that the soul of man itself, consisted of harmony. When we read of the effects that have been produced by this delightful science, as described by Homer, and the philosophers of Greece, the enthusiasm it inspired in some, and the ecstasy it gave to all; we must either discredit their authorities, or suppose it capable of more supernal influence, than can be attached to that rapture-moving art, in these modern days of false taste, and fastidious criticism. Music is to be traced back to the creation of man. There is no doubt, but it existed prior to the art of painting, or writing; for through its medium, the memory of important transactions was preserved; it handed down, by oral tradition, a record of events and circumstances, which, without its aid, would be lost in the chaos of oblivion; it was the soul and embellishment of the Grecian games and festivals. Rhythm and song serve to give a more definite form and force of expression to music, and to impress, in legible characters, the memory of occurrences on the mind of succeeding generations. The bards who swept the lyre, and raised their song, were considered as personages inspired by the gods, to resound their praise, to glorify their actions, and to extol the wonders, or mysteries of creation; and as their subjects were sublime, so was their profession esteemed to be sacred. Elevated above rules, they were distinguished objects of homage, and soaring beyond the reach of imitation, these bards displayed their skill in the simple and unaffected modulation of their lyres, and in the plaintive sweetness, or energetic tone and compass of their voices. Their looks, venerable from age, and expression of features -their actions, dignified and graceful-their dress, loose and flowing-in fine, their frame and figures, at once lively and impassioned, represented them to the eye, and the understanding, as beings that approaching nearer to the divinity, than to man, partook of the essence of the former, and inforced as it were, the adoration of the latter. Eloquence, with them was intuitive; for their lofty themes-the power and properties of their gods-the achievements of their heroes, and the loves of their deities, fired them with inspiration, so that elevation of thought, splendour of diction, and harmony of numbers, flowed pure and sparkling, in the bright stream of their melody, with an amended moral from their lips. Their instrumental music was divided into five modes or orders: the Dorian, Ionian, Phrygian, Eolian, and Lydian. The melody of the ancients was first vocal, and entirely regulated by the rhythm of poetry; for the poet and the musician were long united in the same person. The hexameters |