ever. Not even the smallest occasional poem is allowed him. He tells him, that one entertained too high an opinion of his understanding to believe it possible he should ever condescend to make one in the crowd of under-par writers; but, if ever he should resolve on producing any thing, he is advised to be on his guard against faithless and artful friends, who flock about poets of rank and fortune. He is to submit his performance to the severest critics, and to let it lie nine years in his desk, that he may have full time for blotting, for touching, and retouching, or even for burning, should purifying by fire be at last found necessary. When we consider how much in earnest Horace is in warning his young friend against those civil gentlemen, who are ever so ready with their pulchre, bene, recte,—how strenuously he recommends the most inexorable criticism,-how he ever returns, in a new manner, and with new motives, to the grand point of turning the stylus, we shall be at no great loss to see that he thought he had reason to question Piso's poetical talents. So good a judge as he was does not so anxiously warn where any thing is in time to be expected. Nor does our poet, in the whole course of the piece, so much as once, in a single word, give us to understand that he expected any thing from the young Piso. He sees nothing but the danger of disgrace; and, in order still more strongly to impress on the young gentleman's mind the idea of this disgrace, he once more, at the conclusion, treats mere pretenders to poetry so roughly, that the young man must absolutely have belonged to the incurables if, after reading such a manuduction to the poetic art, he had still retained the smallest inclination to pursue so perilous a course.

Might this translation, or paraphrase, or humble imitation, be so fortunate as to produce on all those of cur own country who resemble the young Roman the same effect that Horace wished to produce on him! This is the greatest advantage that can be obtained from the epistle to the Pisos. The author, I repeat it, had obviously nothing else in view.

The reader will recollect that the present article is Wieland's introduction or key to his translation of this Epistle.

This Horatian way of treating a young man who, in spite of Nature, will be a poet, is the very best that could be taken. Is the desired effect produced, and does he throw away the pen? So much the better. But if, notwithstanding all that has been said to him, he still proceeds, it is a sure sign that he was born to be either a poet or a madman. M. R.

THE MODERN DECAMERON.
No. II.

Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.
Hamlet.

WE were sitting with great selfcomplacency in the arm-chair mentioned in a former Number, contemplating the close of our labours for the month, and lazily turning over several papers which lay before us, to make a selection of materials for our remaining pages, when the door again burst open, and our friends Jannes and Jambres broke in upon us with the same want of ceremony which we already complained of. We put our hands upon our papers, and were hastily conveying them out of sight, when these two learned Egyptians secured the spoil by main force, before we could deposit it under lock and key. "What is this?" cried Jannes, with a most facetious grin, "no less than five more letters from Holland !"— "And what have we got here," reechoed Jambres, more old women's stories of the superstitions of Tiviotdale? My dear Mr Editor, this is quite pitiable. If you go on at this rate, do you suppose any body will read one word of your Magazine? Do you not know that it is already currently reported that your readers are reduced to the smallest possible number, and do you think you are fulfilling the duty of an Editor if you do not provide such articles as are interesting and amusing to the public?"

66

"My good friends," replied we, "as to the number of our readers, or the amusement of the public, we, in truth, take very little concern. We have only one rule, which is, to print whatever pleases ourselves. We enjoy the immense gratification of a despotic sovereign, and le Roi le veut is the sole maxim by which we are guided. If we are deserted by the reading public

of the present day, we sit among myriads of delighted readers of generations yet unborn, whom we fancy to ourselves imbibing wisdom and virtue from our immortal pages. The mushroom race at present existing makes but a very small figure in our imagination. Our existence goes back to "their fathers, and to the old time before them;" and we shall continue to exist long after every one of this idle swarm of ephemera has "fluttered through its little day."-"I do not quite understand you," said Jambres. "Do you think," said we, "that the existence of the Scots Magazine depends, like that of other vulgar modern publications, on the materials of which it is composed, or on the goodwill of its readers? Is the first, the greatest, and most important of all the literary compilations of this ancient and learned nation to hang up. on such slight cobwebs as these? Forbid it every thing that is noble and patriotic in the breast of man! Do you think it is our duty to descend to the low paltry employment of watching the "tides in the affairs of men," and catching every breeze of a transient popularity? We exist much more in a grand abstract, than in any real and individual nature. But, is not the existence of every thing magnificent of the same kind? What is the British Constitution itself but a sublime general idea? And what man of sense now-a-days is at all occupied with the insignificant concern, how far the Constitution for the time being may happen to be rightly administer ed or not? If it is true, what we cannot possibly believe, that the number of our readers is at all diminishing, we shall only say, that it is a wretched sign of the times, not certainly any proof that there is a falling-off in our literary status. It must be one of the most fatal symptoms of that revolutionary radical spirit which has arisen to blast the land, and we are sure no one can have given up our Journal except he is wofully under that despicable delusion. Surely none of our good steady customers who have a Stake in their country can be so miserably infatuated. We should as readily suppose, that, in any of the worthy old families of sober citizens or country lairds, Donaldson's Advertiser can have been displaced by the Scotsman."

"This is all very fine," said Jannes; "but, depend upon it, Mr Editor, you are going down hill. It has been publicly asserted that you have not above one hundred or one hundred and fifty readers, and"

Ed. Indeed! they might surely have left us three hundred, the num ber of patriots that fell with Leonidas at Thermopylæ. We tell you again, we do not care whether we are much read or not; like the old oak in Lucan, we are, at least, certain of being universally respected.

Qualis frugifero quercus sublimis in agro Exuvias veteres populi sacrataque gestans Dona ducum: nec jam validis radicibus Pondere fixa suo est: nudosque per aëra

hærens

At quamvis primo nutet casura sub Euro Tot circum silvæ firmo se robore tollant, Sola tamen colitur!

Jambres. So you admit that you are nodding, and that your roots are not very firmly fixed?

do not apply. We sometimes nod, to Ed. These are the only lines that be sure, like Homer, but it is solely from a little tendency to sleep; and, as to our roots, we believe them to be just as closely interwoven with the existence of Scotland itself as a sheep's head or a haggis. There is than you are aware of. Old friends much more gratitude in human nature are not speedily forgot, and we shall as soon believe that the Parliament House will be levelled to the ground (to be sure, the new-facing its venerand held out to us rather an unfortu able old front looked a little ominous, nate model for imitation) as the Scots Magazine. Do you remember the admirable lines of Swift, that happiest

of all versifiers?

All travellers at first incline
Where'er they see the fairest sign,
And, if they find the chambers neat,
And like the liquor and the meat,
Will call again, and recommend
What though the painting grows decay'd,
The Angel Inn to every friend.
The house will never lose its trade;
Nay, tho' the treacherous tapster Thomas
Hangs a new Angel two doors from us,
As fine as dauber's hands can make it,
In hopes that strangers may mistake it,
We think it both a shame and sin
To quit the true old Angel Inn!

And this, we are persuaded, is the uppermost feeling in the hearts of our generous countrymen. If, for a time, we may seem to be losing ground by the attacks which are made upon us, to recur again to the simile of the oak,-the issue, depend upon it, will be

Duris ut ilex tonsa bipennibas
Nigra feraci frondis* in Algido,
Per damna, per cædes, ab ipso
Ducit opes animumque ferro!

so that, in this way, we feel perfectly secure; and, although we should doze on occasionally through numbers or vo lumes in as hum-drum a state as we please, we have no kind of apprehension about the result. We decidedly stand at the head of the literature of Scotland. We know very well that all its lite rary glory depends, in a manner, upon our existence. In our pages, we have no doubt, will be found the ebauches of every splendid and import ant speculation or discovery of which our inventive country can boast. We do not, indeed, at this moment, recollect any instance but one. No less a person than the eloquent and philosophic Dugald Stewart acknowledges that some of his speculations on the state of the mind in dreaming, though not borrowed by him from the Scots Magazine, yet were very singularly anticipated there; but we, moreover, boldly affirm, that the first rude ideas of Hume's, Smith's, and Kames's speculations-not to mention Dr Black's latent heat and Mr Watt's steam-engine must necessarily be found by a careful search into our mysterious volumes. There are only about ninety of them, so that it will be no great labour for our one hundred and fifty readers to verify our assertion. They need not take so much as a volume a-piece. At this very hour, if we are not greatly mistaken, our correspondent Philotheus is throwing out hints which will give an entire new aspect to the Philosophy of the Human Mind, and, it the world is so stupid as not to see this, it is no fault of ours. †

Frondis pro silva, per synecdochen.

SCRIBL.

+We would not have Philotheus, how ever, plume himself too highly on his metaphysical discoveries. A Mr John Fearn has beat him all to nothing with his grand "Generic Principle of the Varieties of Colours." Mr Fearn is very anxious to

VOL. VII.

Jambres. Who cares for the Philosophy of the Human Mind? Every body now is convinced that it is mere fudge. Can't you give us something entertaining?

Ed. We don't know what other people may think, but we maintain that there never was any thing written more entertaining than the description of the great organ of Haarlem, in our last letter from Holland; and we are ourselves so thoroughly of all these letters, that we are quite depersuaded of the inimitable excellence termined to print every one of them in due time. There is an infinite deal of Attic wit scattered throughout our at present, but it must have irresistwritings, which we cannot exemplify ibly struck all our readers, and, although it makes no great dash, it tells prodigiously in the long run.-But we have said enough in our own praise for one bout; would you like now to have a peep into any of our private stores? There are one or two little pieces which we can find time to read Ah! here is an original letter of the great Franklin. We cannot tell you any thing at all about the subject of it but there it is. Read it aloud, friend Jannes.

Junnes.

Franklin to Dr Fothergill.
Copy of a letter from Dr

claim a priority in the statement and application of this principle, but we put him one home question. Did he ever read the 21st volume of the Scots Magazine? This unexpected query, we know, will come like a thunderbolt upon him, but we hope will not actually be his death. A foot note of Mr Stewart, in which his principle has been slightly glanced at, has lain upon him for five years like a night-mare, and almost suffocated him. Never while he lives let him read another foot note. 3 к

rioters privately, and refusing the presence of the Assembly, who were equally concerned in the matters contained in their remonstrance, brings him under suspicion; his insulting the Assembly without the least provocation, by charging them with disloyalty, and with making an infringement on the king's prerogatives,-only because they had presumed to name (in a bill offered for his assent) a trifling officer, (something like one of your toll-gatherers at a turnpike,) without consulting him, and his refusing several of their bills, or proposing amendments needlessly disgusting:-These things bring him and his government into sudden contempt; all regard for him in the Assembly is lost; all hopes of happiness under proprietory government are at an end. It has now scarce authority enough left to keep the common peace; and was another mob to come against him, I question whether, though a dozen men were sufficient, one could find so many in Philadelphia willing to rescue him or his Attorney-General, I won't say from hanging, but from any common insult. All this too has happened in a few weeks!

"In fine, every thing seems in this country, once the land of peace and order, to be running fast into anarchy and confusion.

"I have been already too long. Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever your's affectionately,

"B. FRANKLIN."

Ed. There is another curiosity, a copy of a translation of Cicero's treatise De Senectute, printed by Franklin. He is not the translator, but he writes the preface, not to be found, we believe, in any collection of his works, but quite in his pleasant and agreeable vein.

Read it friend Jambres. Jambres." The Printer to the Reader.

"This version of Cicero's Tract de Senectute was made ten years since by the honourable and learned Mr Logan, of this city; undertaken partly for his own amusement, (being then in his 60th year, which is said to be nearly the age of the author when he wrote it,) but principally for the entertainment of a neighbour then in his grand climacteric; and the notes were drawn up solely on that neighbour's account, who was not so

well acquainted as himself with the Roman history and language. Some other friends, however, (among whom I had the honour to be ranked,) obtained copies of it in MS. And, as I believed it to be in itself equal at least, if not far preferable, to any other translation of the same piece extant in our language, besides the advantage it has of so many valuable notes, which, at the same time they clear up the text, are highly instructive and entertaining; I resolved to give it an impression, being confident that the public would not unfavourably receive it.

"A certain freedman of Cicero's is reported to have said of a medicinal well, discovered in his time, wonderful for the virtue of its waters in restoring sight to the aged, That it was a gift of the bountiful Gods to men, to the end that all might now have the pleasure of reading his Master's works. As that well, if still in being, is at too great a distance for our use, I have, gentle reader, printed as thou seest, this. piece of Cicero's in a large and fair character, that those who begin to think on the subject of OLD AGE, (which seldom happens till their sight is somewhat impaired by its approaches,) may not, in reading, by the pain small letters give the eyes, feel the pleasure of the mind in the least allayed.

"I shall add to these few lines my hearty wish, that this first translation of a Classic, in this Western World, may be followed with many others, performed with equal judgment and success; and be a happy omen, that Philadelphia shall become the seat of the American Muses.

Philadelphia, Feb. 29, 1743-4.”