nated with earth and cinders. This extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical curiosity to take a nearer view of it. He ordered a light vessel to be got ready, and gave me the liberty, if I thought proper, to attend him. I rather chose to continue my studies, for, as it happened, he had given me an employment of that kind. As he was coming out of the house he received a note from Rectina, the wife of Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm at the imminent danger which threatened her; for, her villa being situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was no way to escape but by sea; she earnestly entreated him, therefore, to come to her assistance. He accordingly changed his first design, and what he began with a philosophical, he pursued with an heroical, turn of mind. He ordered the galleys to put to sea, and went himself on board with an intention of assisting not only Rectina but several others, for the villas stand extremely thick upon that beautiful coast. When hastening to the place whence others fled with the utmost terror, he steered his direct course to the point of danger, and with so much calmness and presence of mind as to be able to make and dictate his observations upon the motion and figure of that dreadful scene. He was now so nigh the mountain that the cinders, which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into the ships, together with pumice-stones and pieces of burning rock; they were likewise in danger not only of being aground by the sudden retreat of the sea, but also from the vast fragments which rolled down from the mountain and obstructed all the shore. Here he stopped to consider whether he should return back again, to which the pilot advising him, "Fortune," said he, " befriends the brave; carry me to Pomponianus." Pomponianus was then at Stabiæ, separated by a gulf which the sea, after several insensible windings, forms upon that shore. He had already sent his baggage on board; for though he was not at that time in actual danger, yet being within the view of it, and indeed extremely near, if it should in the least increase, he was determined to put to sea as soon as the wind should change. It was favourable, however, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he found in the greatest consternation: he embraced him with tenderness, encouraging and exhorting him to keep up his spirits, and, the more to dissipate his fears, he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths to be got ready; when, after having bathed, he sat down to supper with great cheerfulness, or at least (what is equally heroic) with all the appearance of it. In the meanwhile the eruption from Mount Vesuvius flamed out in several places with much violence, which the darkness of the night contributed to render still more visible and dreadful. But my uncle, in order to soothe the apprehensions of his friend, assured him it was only the burning of the villages which the country people had abandoned to the flames after this he retired to rest, and it is most certain he was so little discomposed as to fall into a deep sleep; for, being pretty fat and breathing hard, those who attended without actually heard him snore. The court which led to his apartment being now almost filled with stones and ashes, if he had continued there any time longer it would have been impossible for him to have made his way out; it was thought proper, therefore, to awaken him. He got up, and went to Pomponianus and the rest of his company, who were not unconcerned enough to think of going to bed. They consulted together whether it would be most prudent to trust to the houses, which now shook from side to side with frequent and violent concussions; or fly to the open fields, where the calcined stones and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell in large showers, and threatened destruction. In this distress they resolved for the fields as the less dangerous situation of the two; a resolution which, while the rest of the company were hurried into it by their fears, my uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate consideration. They went out then, having pillows tied upon their heads with napkins; and this was their whole defence against the storm of stones that fell around them.

Though it was 'now day everywhere else, with them it was darker than the most obscure night, excepting only what light proceeded from the fire and flames. They thought proper to go down farther upon the shore to observe if they might safely put out to sea, but they found the waves still run extremely high and boisterous. There my uncle, having drunk a draught or two of cold water, threw himself down upon a cloth which was spread for him, when immediately the flames and a strong smell of sulphur, which was the forerunner of them, dispersed the rest of the company, and obliged him to rise. He raised himself up with the assistance of two of his servants, and instantly fell down dead; suffocated, as I conjecture, by some gross and noxious vapour, having always had weak lungs, and frequently subjected to a difficulty of breathing. As soon as it was light again, which was not till the third day after this melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and without any marks of violence upon it, exactly in the same posture that he fell, and looking more like a man asleep than dead. During all this time my mother and I, who were at Misenun- But as this has no connection with your history, so your inquiry went no farther than concerning my uncle's death; with that, therefore, I will put an end to my letter: suffer me only to add, that I have faithfully related to you what I was either an eyewitness of myself or received immediately after the accident happened, and before there was time to vary the truth. You will choose out of this narrative such circumstances as shall be most suitable to your purpose; for there is great difference between what is proper for a letter and a history, between writing to a friend and writing to the public.—Farewell.

152.-MORNING.

THE Poets luxuriate in their descriptions of Morning and Evening. These descriptions belong more especially to the mornings and evenings of Summer, when "the breath of morn" is sweet, and "the coming on of gentle evening" is "mild."

First let us hear a quaint and simple old master sing the charms of MORNING.

The Sun, when he hath spread his rays,
And shewed his face ten thousand ways,
Ten thousand things do then begin
To show the life that they are in,
The heaven shews lively art and hue,
Of sundry shapes and colours new,
And laughs upon the earth; anon,
The earth, as cold as any stone,
Wet in the tears of her own kind,
'Gins then to take a joyful mind.
For well she feels that out and out,
The sun doth warm her round about,
And dries her children tenderly;
And shews them forth full orderly.
The mountains high, and how they stand!
The valleys and the great mainland!
The trees, the herbs, the towers strong,
The castles, and the rivers long.
And even for joy thus of this heat
She sheweth forth her pleasures great,
And sleeps no more; but sendeth forth
Her clergions, her own dear worth,

To mount and fly up to the air;
Where then they sing in order fair,
And tell in song full merrily,
How they have slept full quietly
That night, about their mother's sides.
And when they have sung more besides,
Then fall they to their mother's breast.
Whereas they feed or take their rest.
The hunter then sends out his horn,
And rangeth straight through wood and

corn.

;

On hills then shew the ewe and lamb,
And every young one with his dam.
Then lovers walk, and tell their tale,
Both of their bliss and of their bale
And how they serve, and how they do,
And how their lady loves them too.
Then tune the birds their harmony;
Then flock the fowl in company;
Then everything doth pleasure find
In that, that comforts all their kind.
SURREY.

Cowley's Hymn to Light' is a noble performance, from which we extract a few stanzas:

First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

From the old Negro's darksome womb;

Which when it saw the lovely child,

The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled.

Thou tide of glory which no rest doth know,

But ever ebb and ever flow!

Thou golden show'r of a true Jove!

Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!

Hail! active Nature's watchful life and health!

Her joy, her ornament, and wealth!

Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee!

Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty bridegroom he!

Say, from what golden quivers of the sky

Do all thy winged arrows fly?

Swiftness and Power by birth are thine ;

From thy great Sire they come, thy Sire, the Word Divine.

Thou in the moon's bright chariot, proud and gay,
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey,

And all the year dost with thee bring

Of thousand flow'ry lights thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above

The Sun's gilt tent for ever move,

And still, as thou in pomp dost go,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy show,

COWLEY.

The dramatic Lyrists, Shakspere and Fletcher, have painted some of the characteristics of Morning with rainbow hues:

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,

And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;

Who doth the world so gloriously behold,

The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

See, the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtile fire; the wind blows cold,
While the morning doth unfold;
Now the birds begin to rouse,

SHAKSPERE.

SHAKSPERE.

And the squirrel from the boughs
Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit;
The early lark, that erst was mute,
Carols to the rising day

Many a note and many a lay.

FLETCHER.

Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep!
See, the blushing morn doth peep
Thro' the windows, while the sun
To the mountain tops is run,
Gilding all the vales below

With his rising flames, which grow
Greater by his climbing still.
Up, ye lazy grooms, and fill
Bag and bottle for the field!
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter north-east wind.
Call the maidens up, and find
Who lays longest, that she may
Go without a friend all day;
Then reward your dogs, and pray
Pan to keep you from decay:
So unfold, and then away!

After these, the modern sonnet sounds somewhat tame:

"Tis not alone a bright and streaky sky

Soul-cheering warmth a spicy air serene--
Fair peeping flowers, nor dews that on them lie—
Nor sunny breadths topping the forests green-
That make the charm of Morning:-thoughts as high,
As meek and pure, live in that tranquil scene,
Whether it meet the rapt and wakeful eye

In vapoury clouds, or tints of clearest sheen.
If to behold, or hear, all natural things

In general gladness hail the blessed light-
Herds lowing-birds sporting with devious flight,
And tiny swarms spreading their powdery wings—
And every herb with dewy shoots up-springing—
If these be joys-such joys the Morn is ever bringing.

153. THE ROYAL HOUSEHOLD IN 1780,

FLETCHER

ANON.

BURKE.

[IT has been justly said by Mr. Craik, in his admirable 'Sketches of Literature and Learning in England,' that "Burke was our first, and is still our greatest, writer on the philosophy of practical politics. * * * * The writings of Burke are, indeed, the only English political writings of a past age that continue to be read in the present. And they are now, perhaps, more studied, and their value, both philosophical and oratorical, better and more highly appreciated than even when they were first produced." Of the justness of these remarks, the extract which we give will furnish an example. It is a part of a celebrated speech on the economical reformation of the Civil and other Establishments--a subject which in itself now possesses only an historical interest, for the abuses of which it complains have been long ago swept away. But see how, in the hands of this great philosophical orator, what was temporary and partial becomes permanent and universal. We may add, in the words of the judicious critic just quoted, “If it was objected to him in his own day, that, 'too deep for his hearers,' he

'still went on refining,

And thought of convincing while they thought of dining;'

that searching philosophy, which pervades his speeches and writings, and is there wedded in such happy union to glowing words and poetic imagery, has rescued them alone from the neglect and oblivion that have overtaken all the other oratory and political pamphleteering of that day, however more loudly lauded at the time, and has secured to them an existence

as extended as that of the language." The public life of Edmund Burke belongs to history. He was born in Dublin in 1730, came to London in 1750, became a member of the House of Commons in 1766, and died in 1797.]

I come next to the great supreme body of the civil government itself. I approach it with that awe and reverence with which a young physician approaches to the case of the disorders of his patient. Disorders, Sir, and infirmities, there are such disorders, that all attempts towards method, prudence, and frugality will be perfectly vain, whilst a system of confusion remains, which is not only alien, but adverse to all economy; a system, which is not only prodigal in its very essence, but causes every thing else which belongs to it to be prodigally conducted.

It is impossible, Sir, for any person to be an economist where no order in payments is established; it is impossible for a man to be an economist who is not able to take a comparative view of his means, and of his expenses, for the year which lies before him; it is impossible for a man to be an economist under whom various officers, in their several departments, may spend,—even just what they please,— and often with an emulation of expense, as contributing to the importance, if not profit, of their several departments. Thus much is certain, that neither the present nor any other first lord of the treasury, has been ever able to take a survey, or to make even a tolerable guess, of the expenses of government for any one year, so as to enable him with the least degree of certainty, or even probability, to bring his affairs within compass. Whatever scheme may be formed upon them must be made on a calculation of chances. As things are circumstanced, the first lord of the treasury cannot make an estimate. I am sure I serve the king, and I am sure I assist administration, by putting economy at least in their power. We must class services; we must (as far as their nature admits) appropriate funds; or every thing, however reformed, will fall again into the old confusion.

Coming upon this ground of the civil list, the first thing in dignity and charge that attracts our notice is the royal household. This establishment, in my opinion, is exceedingly abusive in its constitution. It is formed upon manners and customs that have long since expired. In the first place, it is formed, in many respects, upon feudal principles. In the feudal times it was not uncommon, even among subjects, for the lowest offices to be held by considerable persons-persons as unfit by their incapacity, as improper from their rank, to occupy such employments. They were held by patent, sometimes for life, and sometimes by inheritance. If my memory does not deceive me, a person of no slight consideration held the office of patent hereditary cook to an Earl of Warwick. The Earl of Warwick's soups, I fear, were not the better for the dignity of his kitchen. I think it was an Earl of Gloucester who officiated as steward of the household to the Archbishops of Canterbury. Instances of the same kind may, in some degree, be found in the Northumberland house-book and other family records. There was some reason, in ancient necessities, for these ancient customs. Protection was wanted; and the domestic tie, though not the highest, was the closest.

The king's household has not only several strong traces of this feudality, but it is formed also upon the principles of a body corporate; it has its own magistrates, courts, and by-laws. This might be necessary in the ancient times, in order to have a government within itself, capable of regulating the vast and unruly multitude which composed and attended it. This was the origin of the ancient court called the Green Cloth, composed of the marshal, treasurer, and other great officers of the household, with certain clerks. The rich subjects of the kingdom (only on a reduced scale) have since altered their economy; and turned the course of their expense from the maintenance of vast establishments within their walls to the employment