A mere fiddler, a fhallow coxcomb, a giddy, infolent, worthlefs fellow, to compofe fuch pieces as nothing but genuine fenfibility of mind, and an exquifite feeling of thofe paffions, which animate only the fineft fouls, could dictate; and in a manner too fo extravagantly diftant from that, to which he had all his life been accuftomed !-It is impoffible. -He might indeed have had prefumption enough to add fome flourishes to a few favourite airs, like a cobler of old plays, when he takes it upon him to mend Shakipeare. So far he might go; but farther it is impoffible for any one to believe, that has but juft ear enough to diftinguish between the Italian and Scotch mufic, and is difpofed to confider the fubject with the leaft degree of attention. March 18, 1760.

S. R.

THERE can be perhaps no greater entertainment than to compare the rude Celtic fimplicity with modern refinement. Books however feem incapable of furnishing the parallel; and to be acquainted

David Rizzio was neither a mere fiddler, nor a fhallow coxcomb, nor a worthlefs fellow, nor a stranger in Scotland. He had indeed been brought over from Piedmont, to be put at the head of a band of mufic, by King James V. one of the most elegant princes of his time, an exquifite judge of mufic, as well as of poetry, architecture, and all the fine arts. Rizzio, at the time of his death, had been above twenty years in Scotland: he was fecretary to the queen, and at the fame time an agent from the pope; fo that he could not be so obscure as he has been reprefented.

VOL. IV.

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with

with the antient manners of our own ancestors, we, fhould endeavour to look for their remains in those countries, which, being in fome measure retired from an intercourse with other nations, are still un tinctured with foreign refinement, language, or breeding.

The Irish will fatisfy curiofity in this refpect preferably to all other nations I have feen. They in feveral parts of that country ftill adhere to their antient language, drefs, furniture, and fuperftitions ; feveral customs exift among them, that still speak their original; and in fome refpects Cæfar's defcription of the Antient Britons is applicable to them.

Their bards, in particular, are still held in great veneration among them: thofe traditional heralds are invited to every funeral, in order to fill up the intervals of the howl with their fongs and harps. In these they rehearse the actions of the ancestors of the deceased, bewail the bondage of their country under the English government, and generally conclude with advifing the young men and maidens to make the beft ufe of their time, for they will foon, for all their prefent bloom, be ftretched under the table, like the dead body before them.

Of all the Bards this country ever produced, the laft and the greatest was CAROLAN THE BLIND. He was at once a poet, a mufician, a compofer, and fung his own verfes to his harp. The original natives never mention his name without rapture; both his poetry and mufic they have by heart; and even fome of the English themfelves, who have been transplanted there, find his mufic extremely pleafing. A fong beginning "O Rourke's noble fare will "ne'er be forgot," tranflated by Dean Swift, is of his compofition; which, though perhaps by this means the best known of his pieces, is yet by no means, the moft deferving. His fongs in general

may

may be compared to thofe of Pindar, as they have frequently the fame flights of imagination, and are compofed (I don't fay written, for he could not write) merely to flatter fome man of fortune upon fome excellence of the fame kind. In these one man is praised for the excellence of his ftable, as in Pindar, another for his hofpitality, a third for the beauty of his wife and children, and a fourth for the antiquity of his family. Whenever any of the original natives of diftinction were affembled at feafting or revelling, Carolan was generally there, where he was always ready with his harp to celebrate their praises. He feemed by nature formed for his profeffion; for as he was born blind, fo alfo he was poffeffed of a moft aftonishing memory, and a facetious turn of thinking, which gave his entertainers infinite fatisfaction. Being once at the house of an Irish nobleman, where there was a mufician prefent, who was eminent in the profeffion, Carolan immediately challenged him to a trial of fkill. To carry the jeft forward, his Lordfhip perfuaded the mufician to accept the challenge, and he accordingly played over on his fiddle the fifth concerto of Vivaldi. Carolan, immediately taking his harp, played over the whole piece after him, without miffing a note, though he had never heard it before; which produced fome furprize: but their aftonishment increafed, when he affured them he could make a concerto in the fame tafte himself, which he inftantly compofed, and that with fuch spirit and elegance, that it may compare (for we have it ftill) with the fineft compofitions of Italy.

His death was not more remarkable than his life. Homer was never more fond of a glafs than he; he would drink whole pints of Ufquebaugh, and, as he used to think, without any ill confequence. His intemperance however in this refpect at length

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brought

brought on an incurable diforder, and when juft at the point of death, he called for a cup of his beloved liquor. Thofe, who were standing round him, furprised at the demand, endeavoured to perfuade him to the contrary; but he perfifted, and, when the bowl was brought him, attempted to drink, but could not; wherefore, giving away the bowl, he obferved with a smile, that it would be hard if two fuch friends as he and the cup fhould part at leaft without kiffing; and then expired.

OF all men, who form gay illufions of diftant happinefs, perhaps a Poet is the moft fanguine. Such is the ardour of his hopes, that they often are equal to actual enjoyment; and he feels more in expectance than actual fruition. I have often regarded a character of this kind with fome degree of envy. A man poffeffed of fuch warm imagination commands all nature, and arrogates poffeffions, of which the owner has a blunter relish. While life continues, the alluring profpect lies before him; he travels in the purfuit with confidence, and refigns it only with his laft breath.

It is this happy confidence, which gives life its true relish, and keeps up our fpirits amidst every diftress and disappointment. How much lefs would be done, if a man knew how little he can do! How wretched a creature would he be, if he saw the end as well as the beginning of his projects! He would have nothing left but to fit down in torpid defpair, and exchange employment for actual calamity.

I was led into this train of thinking upon lately vifiting the beautiful Gardens of the late Mr. Shenftone, who was himself a Poet, and poffeffed of that warm imagination, which made him ever foremost in the purfuit of flying happinefs. Could he but have forfeen the end of all his fchemes, for whom he was improving, and what changes his defigns were to undergo, he would have fcarcely amufed his innocent life with what, for feveral years employed him in a moft harmless manner, and abridged his fcanty fortune. As the progrefs of this Improvement is a true picture of fublunary viciffitude, I could not help calling up my imagination, which, while I walked penfively along, fuggefted the following Reverie.·

As I was turning my back upon a beautiful piece of water enlivened with cafcades and rock-work, and entering a dark walk by which ran a prattling brook, the Genius of the place appeared before me, but more refembling the God of Time, than him more peculiarly appointed to the care of Gardens. Inftead of theers he bore a fcythe; and he appeared rather with the implements of husbandry, than those of a modern gardener. Having remembered this place in its priftine beauty, I could not help condoling with him on its prefent ruinous fituation. I spoke to him of the many alterations, which had been made, and all for the worfe; of the many Thades, which had been taken away, of the bowers, that were deftroyed by neglect, and the hedge-rows, that were fpoiled by clipping. The Genius with a figh received my condolement, and affured me, that he was equally a martyr to ignorance and tafte, to refinement and rufticity. Seeing me defirous of knowing farther, he went on: