a singular coincidence, your letter, informing me of the death of your friend, Agrippa, was brought to me. It is impossible to lose so extraordinary a man without devoting some moments of regret to his memory!—But can it be true, that he should experience, such cruel moments, when nature was about to remove him from the cares and anxieties of life, and at an age, too, far beyond that, in which most men have numbered their days, and are in possession of secrets, which never can be known, till the same mysterious bourn is passed?-Fortune, I remember, called him to accept some of her choicest favours.-He listened to her callanswered her offers with grateful acceptancemounted an eminence, which few have been able to climb and having done so, perceiving the unsubstantial nature of all worldly matters, sunk into listless apathy, and at length became melancholy and weary of life!-Alas! alas! well may the humble and obscure take pride in their humility! -and yet this man, to whom the world long looked up, as an instance of prosperous and happy fortune, after being, for a series of years, tired and weary, could not without a pang, which he had not the fortitude to repress, sink to repose!―

CCXXVIII. Why, my friend, do we consider death an evil of such gigantic magnitude?—Is it indeed a feeling implanted in our bosoms by the powerful and unconquerable hand of nature,—or is it the more probable effect of early association and vitiated education?—I am inclined to believe, that were we, when children, taught to consider death only as a cavern, through which the old and the young must necessarily pass, in their road to a happier region: did we, in our manhood, consider death as the sister of sleep and the mother of rest; were the unfortunate to hail it, as a sliding from tumult, and the old, as a translation to another country, where their youth would be renewed and rendered eternal: were we, I say, in the different stages of our existence, thus to consider it, should we not hail this creator of terrors as a friend, rather than as an enemy ?

CCXXIX. This is a species of philosophy, however, of which we know but little-in the present state of opinion,

The weariest and most loath some life,
That ache, age, penury and imprisonment,
Can lay on nature, were a paradise

To what we fear of death.

Measure for Measure, Act III. sc. I.

It would be well, my Lelius, if we were to endeavour to divest ourselves of this popular error, and, by endeavouring to throw off the trammels of association, to accustom ourselves to regard death, as an instrument of emancipation from a frail and anxious being, as the only means of renovating our youth, and as a translation to perpetual joy.

This consolatory doctrine is taught us by a variety of evidences, which speak, with undeceptive organ, of the goodness of Providence, of the divinity of mind, and of the immortality of spirit.

On these imposing subjects I was about to multiply remarks, and to adduce still more decisive evidences, when Harmonica, stepping into the library, warned me to desist.-" You have written sufficiently to-day," said she, "the sun has set, the rain is gone, and the moon, now at the full, is rising over the mountains."

"And whither would you lead me?" enquired I.

"I would lead you to the hermitage," she re

turned: "the waterfall will murmur in the most agreeable manner after the rain; the moon will shine most beautifully through the trees; in the bower, which we call the wood-pigeon's nest,' there are roses, and lilacs, and jessamine in abundance; let us walk thither, and, seating ourselves upon the moss, sometimes we will listen to the nightingale, and sometimes the nightingale shall listen to us."

END.

NOTES.

NOTE 1, PAGE 5.

ALBANI, in his admirable picture of the Loves and the Graces, represents them as enjoying themselves on a beautiful evening, in a valley, reclining on the banks of a rivulet.-One of them is stretched upon the grass; several are beckoning him to quit his rural couch-but he will not!-Vid. Dupaty. Lett.

XXXVI.

NOTE 2, PAGE 10.

Of all the writings of Pope, the following letter confers upon him the most honour.

Dear Mr. Gay.

Welcome to your native soil! welcome to friends! welcome to me! whether returned in glory, blest with court interest, the love and fami

your