he has succeeded in many others, and certainly deserves the thanks and gratitude of scholars.

From his publication of the Coptic MSS. of cardinal BORGIA, which may shortly be looked for, we have reason to anticipate the completion of his success.

ART. IX. Voyage en Italie, par Frederic Jean Laurent Meyer, LL.D. &c. 8vo. Paris.

Tour to Italy. By Frederic John Lawrence Meyer, LL.D.

MEYER was bred at the feet of Gamaliel: having been instructed in ancient literature, in antiquity, and the fine arts, under the guidance of Heyne, he employed his leisure time in gratifying the desires which these instructions excited, and visited different countries.

After surveying the various parts of Germany, he traveled through Switzerland, France, and Italy. He everywhere examined with accuracy, and preserved that philosophic view of objects which distinguishes the true observer. It is thus, in traversing Italy at a period very near to that in which it began to feel the shock of our revolution, he was able to preserve the particular features which then distinguished that beautiful country, and to draw a likeness which will, perhaps, be soon effaced from the memory of man. We find the same spirit in his Fragments on Paris, hitherto known by the translation given of them by general Dumourier, which are the result of the second tour Dr. Meyer made in France with his friend Sieveking, when the latter was sent to the Directory by the senate of Hamburg. He had before displayed his deep acquisitions by several geographical works of public utility, and in high estimation. The translation of his tour in Italy was executed by Ch. Vanderbourg, under his direction, during his last residence in Paris—a residence always dear to me' (the publisher Henrichs), 'since it is to that I owe the advantage of having formed a most intimate connexion with so distinguished a man.'

The work was originally published in German, under the title of Darstellungen aus Italien'-Delineations of Italy. The author himself informs us that we are not to expect a complete systematic description of Italy.

I wished only' (he adds) to bring together what I recollected of my travels in that beautiful country. I have chiefly painted the magnificent environs of Rome and Naples, as the great part of my residence in Italy was confined to them. I sketched the pictures in my journal on the spot, and completed

them on my return. I have finished each part with more or less nicety, according to my inclinations at the moment. In fact, the chief aim, in this place, is the impression which these objects made on my mind. I do not pretend to say that the point of view in which I examined them is the best chosen, or that my mode of examining and feeling them was the happiest.'

He informs us that the traveller in Italy cannot avoid comparisons of its ancient and present state; and that, of course, he is led to glance at events long since passed. On these his guides are the ancient classics, and the most approved authors who have treated of Italy. He says little of works of art, particularly of painting; for he thought the enthusiasm of an amateur, and some notions of theory,' not sufficient to enable him to decide on such subjects without copying from others. Another reason induced me to yield to this prudent restraintit is no longer at Rome, but at Paris, that we now admire the chief productions of ancient and modern art.'-This reminds us of a German work lately published, designed to prove, that, whatever may be the prejudices of mankind, the greatest robbers are not, in reality, the greatest heroes. The work is singular in another view. The author speaks of the hero of one of Defoe's novels as a real person-vi. colonel Jacque. Hart made a similar mistake respecting Gustavus Adolphus, and supposed the fictitious adventures to be true history.

'Nothing' (adds the editor) is altered in this translation, though circumstances are changed;' and, while we feel for the man, he thinks that we may still blame the administration of the pope. The ill-treatment of Pius is, however, attributed to the Directory. The mode of appeasing the irritated manes' of the insulted old man, by ordering solemn obsequies, was reserved for the hero' of France, its saviour, &c. History will tell another tale, if history will deign to record such infamy.

Our author passed the Alps of the Tyrol, where all was winter. He soon, however, met the sun; and the spring smiled more benignantly as he proceeded. He successively passes Verona, Vicenza, and Padua.

The most eager of my wishes' (he observes in this part of his work) has always been to see Italy. The idea that I formed of it at least equalled my desires. But how much was my expectation exceeded, when the real objects met my eyes! It is in the road which I pursued that the most exalted imagination feels its own insufficiency. Guided by the most exact descriptions, it seeks in vain to form a conception of the amphitheatre of Verona, or the Olympic theatre of Vicenza, or the magnificent palaces of either city. These grand monuments, which it first meets, show him the weakness of his efforts. At the

first view of these chef-d'auvres of San Micheli at Verona, and of Palladio at Vicenza, the mean ideas brought from beyond the mountains are dissipated; and, in a moment, we are elevated by sentiment to conceptions of the beautiful and sublime. All the abstract ideas that we could form in the school of the Esthetie, all those of force, of grandeur, of harmony, and unity, that we could collect with labour, respecting the arts of design in general, and architecture in particular, Palladio and Micheli show alive and sensible in their works. Sight embraces, by a glance, objects of whose sublimity theory alone could never raise a conception."

M. Meyer next proceeds to Venice; and we shall select a specimen of his descriptive talents from this part of his work.

At each stroke of the oar, the prospect extends, and astonishment increases. The merchant-vessels, infinitely multiplying, pass and repass, and cross in every direction. The black gondolas glide between them with the rapidity of a bird. The pilots are clamorous; the gondoliers sing; the tumult of the city becomes every moment more noisy. You at last enter into the great canal, on whose banks are the fronts of superb palaces; and every thing then redoubles curiosity, or keeps alive attention.'

The church of St. Mark, the portico of which is [was] de corated with the four famous antique horses, is situated in the great square of the same name. No one ever passes without a glance of admiration at these spirited animals. To see their untamed ardour, the fire with which they are animated, their noble elasticity, which nothing seems able to check, we can ascertain their original destination. They were doubtless harnessed, in representation, to the carriage of a triumphant general, perhaps to the chariot of the Sun. Who could have foretold how low their dignity would sink, and that, after thousands of years, the chef-d'auvres of the Greek artist should be condemned to decorate the portal of a Gothic church, to be displayed in the midst of its numerous arches, its little towers, its contemptible columns, and innumerable mouldings?-singular constrast! The church itself which offers it, and the palace of St. Mark, form another almost as striking, with the superb edifices which front them; the Bank, the library of Sansovino, with the large granite columns of the smaller square which we perceive at its side, and with the island in which the magnificent façade of the church of St. George, built by Palladio, elevates its front.'

On the first day of my arrival (it was Sunday), I was conducted, without the slightest hint of any extraordinary enter

tainment, to the beautiful chapel of the Hospital of Mendicants. On my entrance, I heard a delightful symphony, which seemed to descend from the cieling-for I did not see the orchestra from which the enchantment proceeded. I soon however discovered, behind the narrow lattice of the tribunes, young girls in religious habits, who played on all sorts of instruments under the direction of one of their companions. What force! what precision! how exact the time! how surprising their taste and execution! I never afterwards heard any thing which resembled it, except at Esterhazy, when Haydn conducted, and at the opera at Naples, where was an orchestra of equal vigour, which united as many eminent perfections. The conservatories perform every Sunday spiritual concerts. Happy hours! I never neglected attendance during my stay at Venice; and it is to you, amiable girls! whose talents I still admire, it is to you I owe these pure enjoyments, which I have scarcely ever since found in an equal degree. I still hear, in fancy, that enchanting voice, which, in the motet of David, addressed to the Hebrew monarch the te diligo' with the accent and yielding manner of the most lively tenderness; and which passed from the recitative to an adagio in a style which would have filled the least sensible heart with emotion, and drawn tears from the coldest old age. In another motet, the Sedecias of Anfossi, the prophecies of Jeremiah, and his imprecations, were sung by one of these girls with a truth and energy truly terrible, and which we cannot but once experience.'

Our author enlarges somewhat on Venice, and notices its constitution, customs, &c. He then proceeds to Ferrara, Ravenna, Ancona, Loretto, Tarni, and Narni. The dominions of the church are gloomy, unfrequented, and uncultivated. At Ancona, however, there is some commerce; and many Jews are converted, because the commerce of the Hebrews is greatly restricted. Yet, even in the dominions of the pope, the religious exercises were carried on with little fervour or interest; and, in the language of our author's valet de place, their devotions were only the striking of clocks. The idle, the abject superstition of the pilgrims who visit Loretto is described with proper contempt; but the country around makes amends for this unpleasant subject; and the cataract of Velino is well delineated. M. Meyer thinks that it has not those characteristic traits which would lead us to suppose that it was this which Virgil describes in the seventh book of the neid, or rather that the description wants the appropriate features of the cata

ract.

Rome is the next object; but to give the slightest account of this goddess of the earth and nations, to which there is neither equal nor second,' is impossible. All our author's enthu

siasm is alive, and his descriptions are particularly warm and animated. Perhaps the following is somewhat overcharged. We select it on account of the theory, though we cannot cordially acquiesce in it.

At the slow approach of the torches (for this farewell visit was by night), one might have thought that the Pythian Apollo descended from his pedestal and approached us, by the steady motion, without a visible cause, which we attribute to the gods. He seemed to raise his proud head, on which an eternal youth reigns, to dissipate the ancient night of chaos, and enthrone the day. It was not the irritated conqueror of Python, who, having bent his silver bow to destroy a vile and hideous monster, darts a look of resentment on his prostrate enemy: it was not the terrible and cruel judge of Niobe and her children: in fine, it was not the protector of Troy, who sends poisoned arrows into the camp of the Greeks. No! it was the true Phobus Apollo, it was the God of the Sun himself, entering, with hasty steps, his immense career, to repair with his floods of light the life and the fertility of the universe. It was the image of the first day, which enlightened the creation; of the first morning of the world?

There is, however, a sublimity in the idea that captivates us; but the refinement of the following passage requires no index.

Let us terminate our view in contemplating the celebrated Torso, which artists study, and amateurs contemplate with rapture. It is Hercules deified, enjoying perpetual repose and celestial happiness. It seems, at least, that this was the intention of its author, and that he wished to represent his hero at the moment when, having terminated his painful career, he recalls the brilliant labours by means of which he has obtained immortality, and fully tastes a consciousness of his own greatness.'

The observations on sculpture are excellent; and we may notice the long and somewhat partial account of Angelica Kaufman, whose health was, it is said, broken by the destructive climate of England, and the disappointment of her hopes of domestic happiness in her conjugal union. She repassed the sea with a painter of architecture, the husband of her choice.'

The eighth chapter, while the author is still at Rome, contains the remains of its antique monuments; and, as the vignette in the title represents the remains of a temple dedicated to Jupiter Fulminator, we shall transcribe the author's description of those ruins.

On quitting the buildings of the Capitol, we arrive at the Tarpeian rock. The formidable abyss at its foot, where crimi