I write this in full hope, that ere long, the teaching to scan, the making of nonsense verses, and the composing of Latin verse, at least upon given subjects, will occupy a few hours twice or thrice a week in every school of America. When this is effected, the next generation will not be anxious to abolish the languages which have conveyed already so much taste, so much learning, and so much science.

Carlisle, April 1, 1813.

T. C.

THE FINE ARTS.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

Their various uses meaner toils commend,
And Commerce finds in every want a friend;
Like plants of bold and vigorous growth, they bear
Spontaneous fruit, and ask but room and air;
But ARTS, a tribe of sensitives, demand
A hot-house culture and a kinder hand;

A TASTE to cherish every opening charm,

A shade to shelter, and a sun to warm.

CONTINUATION OF THE MODERN FRENCH SCHOOL.

MARCUS SEXTUS, BY GUERIN.

MARCUS SEXTUS, escaped from the proscriptions of Sylla, discovers on his way home his daughter in tears, beside the body of his deceased wife.

This picture is the first work of a young artist, and exhibits such traits of excellence, as to render the admirers of the art solicitous that such extraordinary talents may advance, with regular steps towards perfection. It attracted, during its exhibition, uncommon attention and applause. It was praised in all the public journals, and celebrated by poets in complimentary verses to the artist, whose extreme modesty cast considerable lustre on his fame.

This picture cannot be contemplated without emotions of terror and of pity. A wife expiring through affliction and want, at the moment when the presence and the attentions of her husband might possibly have preserved her life; a young girl clasping the knees of her father, her mind divided between

the grief of losing her mother, and the satisfaction she experiences on beholding her persecuted sire; and a proscribed warrior, escaped from the oppression of a sanguinary tyrant, finding, on his return to his dwelling, only a spectacle of horror and despair, present a scene capable of interesting the most obdu

rate heart.

Such is the subject of the picture, in treating which, Guerin has been particularly happy. In a style grand and simple, he has united great sensibility, expressions eminently correct; and to purity of design and vigour of colouring, added a peculiar charm, and all the graces and naïveté of the pencil. But it is impossible, by this feeble outline, to convey a just idea of the beauties of the original; which it is universally acknowledged, says a French critic, are of the first order.

For this picture, which does honour to the French school, M. Guerin was adjudged a prize of the first class; and to prevent its falling into foreign hands, a memorial was presented, by a body of artists, to the president of the academy, that government might make the purchase, which, by some fatality, was neglected. It is now the property of Mr. Decretot de Louviers, and has been engraved by Blot.

CLASSICAL LITERATURE.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

LATIN COMEDY.

THERE is not, properly speaking, any Latin comedy, since the Latins did no more than imitate or translate Greek compositions; they never exhibited a single Roman on the stage; and a Greek village is always the scene of action. How then can they be called Latin comedies where nothing is so but the language? Undoubtedly that cannot be called a national specta cle. The French comedy does not merit such a title until the time of Moliere: before him, every thing was Spanish, because Lope de Vega, Calderon, Roxas and others were the models. This is a tribute which every nation pays when she is the last in

the career of improvement; but when they overtake them they may surpass them, and the French writers have acquired this glory over the Romans.

Ennius, Nævius, Cæcilius, Aquilius, and many others, all imitators of the Greeks, have not reached our time. We have twenty-one pieces by Plautus, who wrote in the time of the second Punic war. From Epicharmus, Diphilus, Denophilus and Philemon, he borrowed most. If we judge from his imitations we shall entertain no very exalted opinion of his originals. The comedy of Plautus is very defective: he is so limited in his means; so uniform in his tone, that he resembles one of those Italian exhibitions, of a dramatic canvas of various fashions, but which shows only one person. We have always a young courtezan, an old man or woman who sells her, a young man who buys her, and who makes use of a knavish valet to steal the money from his father. Add to these a parasite, one of the most contemptible of human beings, whose trade it was, both at Athens and Rome, to do every thing which the patron should desire; and a blustering captain, which has served as a model for all the braggadocios of the old French comedy; these are the characters which uniformly appear in the scenes of Plautus. This uniformity in the personages and intrigues is tedious; that of the style and dialogue is disgusting. All the persons speak the same language in their various situations, it is that of buffoonery, often the most insipid and vulgar. The old, the young, women, slaves, soldiers, parasites-all are jesters. It seems that Plautus and those whom he imitated, entirely mistook the sort of gayety which should sparkle in comedy, and the pleasantry which is suited to a theatre. It should be conformable to the situation and the persons: they are not a mere collection of actors whose business it is to excite laughter, no matter in what manner. The poet should make them act and speak in such a way as to provoke our risibility, without the least appearance of design in them; if he cannot do this, there is no delusion. The humour of the Misanthrope, and the mystical and hypocritical Jargon of Tartuffe make us laugh; because neither of them appear to wish us to be so affected; it is because they are themselves pleasant and risible. But for a lover who is about to lose

his mistress, or who is transported with passion for her, a slave menaced with a rigorous chastisement, a father irritated against his children or his servants, to give himself up to buffoonery, is a mere farce, and cannot be called comedy.

Plautus was ignorant, moreover, of what may be called the business of the stage. His actors are incessantly repeating tedious narratives and long soliloquies, replete with common place remarks. His scenes abound with long side speeches, without any regard to probability; the persons come and go without any reason and frequently leave the stage void. Some who are in a great hurry stop a long time to talk, when there is nothing to hinder them from going to do what appears so urgent.

In short, it appears to have been most the object of the author to imitate Nature in those parts where she should be concealed; for he has not hesitated to represent, with the most revolting fidelity, the manners of abandoned women, and all the indecencies by which they render themselves so disgusting to a delicate mind. But, although there be many, even in our own time, so blind as to believe that there is a merit in such exhibitions, yet we may assure both the writer and the artist, that their duty requires they should avoid depicting any thing which the modest may not view.

Plautus enjoyed much reputation in his own time, which was not diminished in the days of Augustus. He is praised by Quintilian, Varro and Cicero, though they had Terence before them. They admire him chiefly, because he understood so well the genius of his language; a great merit among the Latins, especially in an author who wrote before that tongue had acquired its perfection, but which is by no means inconsistent with a very bad taste for humour and a defective dialogue. This opinion is fortified by that of Horace; "we have admired the verses and the jests of Plautus,” says this excellent critic, " with a degree of complaisance which might almost be called blind." But amid so many defects, what merit does he possess? A great deal of the comic in some situations of gayety in certain scenes-a sort of character peculiar to himself, but which Moliere has immortalized himself by surpassing in his l'Avare. He has also furnished Moliere with l Amphytrion, the original of Scapin, and

some desultory touches; and Regnard with les Menechmes et le Retour imprévu. This is his praise and it is solid; for although in the very pieces in which they have imitated him, these writers have far surpassed him, it is not a little that his ideas were so good as to attract such attention.

We shall now give some extracts from the prologue to his Amphytrion.

I come by Jove's command: my name is Mercury;
My sire has sent me to implore your favour,
Though by his power he knew he could perforce,
Constrain you so to act as he should order;
For he is not to learn how much ye fear
And reverence this high Jove as is your duty.
Yet has he ordered me with mild petition

To use intreaty and in gentle terms;

For that same Jupiter by whose command I come,
Has not less dread of harm than any of you:

Nor is it marvellous that he should fear
Born of an human sire, an human mother:
And I too, even I, who am Jove's son

Have of my father caught the dread of harm.
wonder not

That Jove concerns him now about the actors:
Himself will play a part in this our comedy:
Why should ye be amazed, as though it were
A thing unheard of until now, that Jove
Should turn stage player?

Verily

Ye know my father, how he is inclined,

How freely he indulges in love matters,

With what excess he doats when once he loves.

This is the manner in which they amused themselves at the expense of Jupiter, the great and the good, on the Roman stage. Sosia, the servant of Amphytrion, who has been despatched from camp with a message to his mistress, opens the piece at midnight, but without the lantern, of which Moliere makes such admirable use. He is dying with fear lest he should be met and beaten by some one: and here occurs a great violation of nature, for in proportion to his fears should be his haste to reach his master's house, instead of which he very leisurely stands in