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and his coadjutors and abettors, if the late Bishop of Landaff deserved honour and reward for his defence of Christianity (and he deserved and received it too), what do the infidel writers in the Edinburgh Review deserve for the twenty years warfare they have been waging against that same Christianity? This is a subject on which they ought not to open their mouths, for they open them but to confound themselves, and better to remain dumb for ever, than thus blindly to call down shame and punishment on their own degraded heads. They talk of Gibbon as having been "the most effectual" enemy of the Christian faith, and hypocritically eulogise Watson as his triumphant antagonist. They themselves, without any of Gibbon's eloquence or erudition, possess all his disbelief, and all his insidious malignity; and if Watson is worthy of all good men's reverence for having disarmed Gibbon, and blunted the edge of his weapons, they are deserving of all good men's hate for having picked up those weap ons, tried to restore their edge, and wielded them with a determined, though a feeble hostility.

But this writer, with all his affect ed zeal for Christianity, is, after all, not quite comfortable in the idea of being thought a Christian. And he lets us know, that if Christianity can only be attacked in a calm, quiet, gentlemanly, philosophical manner, it is quite allowable to do so; as if it were a question of good manners, courtesy, and decorum, rather than one affecting the eternal happiness of the human soul.

"To attack," says he, " by ribaldry, or with virulence, or before the multitude, what millions of our fellow creatures believe, and hold sacred as well as dear, is beyond all question a serious offence, and the law punishes it as such. But to investigate religious questions as philosophers, calmly and seriously, with the anxiety of their high Importance, and the diffidence which their intricacy prescribes, is not only allowable but meritorious; and if the conscientious inquirer is led by the light of his under standing TO A CONCLUSION DIFFERENT FROM THAT OF THE COMMUNITY, he may still, we should think, in many cases PROMULGATE IT TO THE PHILOSOPHI CAL WORLD," &c.

The meaning of all this is plain enough the Edinburgh Reviewer wishes to stand well with his infidel

friends, and, if possible, with his own inconsistent infidel self; and has, therefore, not scrupled to give the name of serious, anxious, conscientious, philosophical doubts, to the indecent, sneering, insidious, and malignant attacks of Gibbon, whose mind, whenever he spoke of Christianity, fell into melancholy degradation;-and what is, if possible, still more barefaced, he has applied the same language of commendation to the feeble and feverish scepticism of the Edinburgh Review. The time is gone by when the reputation of being a philosopher could be acquired by disbelieving Christianity. The truth of Christianity is established; and none but weak or wicked persons would in these days seek to revive the long-exploded, and often refuted fooleries, misnamed arguments, by which soi-disant philosophers once strove to effect its overthrow. Had the Edinburgh Reviewers been high-souled and melancholy sceptics; preyed on in the solitude of meditation by fears that rose up from, and darkly overshadowed, the grave; had they shewn themselves to mourn over and deplore the curse of their own incurable infidelity; had they thought and spoken in the spirit of that religion whose divine origin was yet doubted by their reason; had they envied the happiness of the true believer, and expressed their own doubts, not in order to create or increase those of others, but if possible to obtain relief from the direful weight of darkness that loaded their own souls,-then might we have read their thoughts with a profound commiseration, extended to them not only forgiveness but sympathy, and acknowledged them to have had the feelings, if not the faith of Christians. But conscience tells them that such is not the nature of their scepticism. And when one of their number now dares to insinuate that it is so, he is met at once with an indignant denial from the whole Christian population of the land. There is nothing more shocking in their infidelity than its levity, except it be its ignorance. We may as unsuccessfully look throughout their writings for one lofty sentiment in their scepticism; as for one trace of knowledge of the history or evidence of Divine Revelation. They want scholarship sufficient to enable them to pass for decent infidels-they

have been denied a degree in the schools of scepticism. There is not one of all their number who understands the language of the New Testament.

that punishment which is now inflicting upon them, and of which they have as yet sustained but a very insignificant portion.

The querulous eulogists of this infidel Journal have made use of a very delicate but perhaps not very apposite illustration. The religion of a man, they say, is like the virtue of a woman, and may be destroyed by the slightest breath. This is not happy. We cannot, for our lives, perceive any resemblance between a modest young virgin and an impudent old Edinburgh Reviewer. Were a young lady to make immodest gestures to gentlemen on the street, and indulge in loose conversation, no doubt her virtue would be suspected. But the reputation of a well-behaved woman is very safe in this country-and so is that of a sincere christian. When, however, a man tells the whole world that he does not believe Christianity, what can the world do but take him at his word? Nor does it at all alter the matter, that his disbelief may have been told by inuendo and insinuation. It is not incumbent on us to shew an extreme and sensitive delicacy in our language to a man who has wholly dismissed it from his own practice and really, if we were seeking for a simile to apply to any of the infidel Edinburgh Reviewers, it would be just the reverse of that now so current among the agitated friends of their dissolving Confederacy.

Before we conclude, let us shortly notice the feeble and querulous complaints which we understand the friends of this class of writers have, in the soreness of their wounded affection, been piping abroad. They would fain charge us with an unwarrantable interference with their religious opinions, which, it is said, are between themselves and their God. We know that there is, or ought to be, a sanctuary in every man's bosom, in which his own contrite spirit may hold converse with the Divine Being. Into that sanctuary we never sought sacrilegiously to enter. But the religion of the Edinburgh Reviewers is not between themselves and their God. Shame to the hypocrite who dares to utter such a falsehood. It is between themselves and the whole world. They have forced it upon those who wished not to hear it, they have juggled it into our minds under the cover of far different matters,-they have decoyed us unawares into the dark nooks of their infidelity, when we believed that we were walking in an open country and in daylight-they have met us suddenly at the corners of streets, and thrust their manifestoes into our unwilling hands -they have, at times, ventured to cry loudly from the house-top. And can it indeed be, that now they wish to throw themselves on our mercy-on our charity-on our christian forbear- LETTER FROM GRAY THE POET TO ance and to demand for themselves, after a long course of loud and brazen infidelity, a respectful and soothing attention to their feelings forsooththey who have all their lifetime so bitterly, and so savagely, and so unremittingly persecuted, reviled and ridiculed all those who fortunately differed from them in their religious belief. If they or their friends wish at once to subject themselves to the charge of the grossest and most foolish falsehood, let them declare boldly that the Edinburgh Review never attacked Christianity. The whole world knows that they have been its unceasing foes. And the whole world acknowledges that their wickedness in having so attacked Christianity, is only equalled by their folly in now denying it, and their pusillanimity under

COUNT ALGAROTTI.

dence of Count Algarotti, in the possession [This Letter is taken from the Corresponof Mr Murray.]

SIR,

Cambridge, Sept. 9, 1763.

I RECEIVED, some time since, the unexpected honour of a letter from you, and the promise of a pleasure, which, till of late, I had not the opportunity of enjoying. Forgive me if I make my acknowledgments in my native tongue, as I see it is perfectly familiar to you; and I (though not unacquainted with the writings of Italy) should, from disuse, speak its language with an ill grace, and with still more constraint to one, who possesses it in all its strength and purity.

I see, with great satisfaction, your

efforts to reunite the congenial arts of Poetry, Musick, and the Dance, which, with the assistance of Painting and Architecture, regulated by taste, and supported by magnificence and power, might form the noblest scene, and bestow the sublimest pleasure, that the imagination can conceive: but who shall realize these delightful visions? There is, I own, one prince in Europe, that wants neither the will, the spirit, nor the ability; but can he call up Milton from his grave, can he reanimate Marcello, or bid the Barberina or the Sallé move again? Can he (as much a King as he is) govern an Italian Virtuosa, destroy her caprice and impertinence, without hurting her talents, or command those unmeaning graces and tricks of voice to be silent, that have gained her the adoration of her own country?

One cause that so long has hindered and (I fear) will hinder that happy union which you propose, seems to me to be this, that Poetry (which, as you allow, must lead the way, and direct the operations of the subordinate arts) implies at least a liberal education, a degree of literature, and various knowledge; whereas the others (with a few exceptions) are in the hands of slaves and mercenaries, I mean, of people without education, who, though neither destitute of genius, nor in sensible to fame, must yet make gain their principal end, and subject themselves to the prevailing taste of those, whose fortune only distinguishes them from the multitude.

I can not help telling you, that eight or ten years ago, I was a witness of the power of your comic musick. There was a little troop of Buffi that exhibited a Burletta in London-not in the Opera House, where the audience is chiefly of the better sort, but on one of the common theatres, full of all kinds of people; and, I believe, the fuller from that natural aversion we bear to foreigners ;-their looks and their noise made it evident they did not come thither to hear;-and, on similar occasions, I have known candles lighted-broken bottles and pen knives flung on the stage-the benches torn up the scenes hurried into the streets and set on fire. The curtain drew up, the musick was of Cocchi, with a few airs of Pergolesi interspersed: the singers were, as usual, deplorable, but there was one Girl (she called herself the

Nicollina) with little voice and less beauty, but with the utmost justness of ear-the strongest expression of countenance-the most speaking eyes-the greatest vivacity and variety of gesture. Her first appearance instantly fixed their attention; the tumult sunk at once, or, if any murmur rose, it was soon hushed by a general cry for silence. Her first air ravished every body

they forgot their prejudices-they forgot that they did not understand a word of the language,-they entered into all the humour of the part-made her repeat all her songs and continued their transports, their laughter, and applause, to the end of the piece. Within these three last years the Paganina and Amici have met with almost the same applause, once a-week, from a politer audience, on the Opera stage. The truth is, the Opera itself, though supported here at a great expence for so many years, has rather maintained itself by the admiration bestow'd on a few particular voices, or the borrow'd taste of a few Men of condition, that have learned in Italy how to admire, than by any genuine love we bear to the Italian musick: nor have we yet got any style of our own, and this I attribute, in a great measure, to the language which, in spite of its energy, plenty, and the crowd of excellent writers this nation has produced, does yet, I am sorry to say it, retain too much of its barbarous original to adapt itself to musical composition. I by no means wish to have been born any thing but an Englishman; yet I should rejoice to exchange tongues with Italy.

Why this Nation has made no advances hitherto, in painting and sculpture, is hard to say. The fact is undeniable, and we have the vanity to apologize for our ourselves, as Virgil did for the Romans," Excudent alii,' &c. It is sure that Architecture had introduced itself in the reign of the unfortunate Charles the first, and Inigo Jones has left us some few monuments of his skill, that shew him capable of greater things. Charles had not only a love for the beautiful arts, but some taste in them. The confu sion that soon follow'd, swept away his magnificent collection-the artists were dispersed or ruin'd-and the arts disregarded till very lately. The young Monarch now on the throne is said to esteem and understand them ;

I wish he may have the leisure to cultivate, and the skill to encourage them, with due regard to merit, other wise, it is better to neglect them. You, Sir, have pointed out the true sources, and the best examples, to your Countrymen. They have nothing to do, but to be what they once were; and yet, perhaps, it is more difficult to restore good taste to a nation that has degenerated, than to introduce it in one, where, as yet, it has never flourished. You are generous enough to wish, and sanguine enough to foresee, that it shall one day flourish in England. I too must wish, but can hardly extend my hopes so far. It is well for us that you do not see our public exhibitions, but our artists are yet in their infancy, and therefore I will not absolutely despair.

I owe to Mr Howe the honour I have of conversing with Count Alga rotti, and it seems as if I meant to indulge myself in the opportunity: but I have done, Sir;-I will only add, that I am proud of your approbation, having no relish for any other fame than what is confer'd by the few real Judges, that are so thinly scattered over the face of the earth.-I am, Sir, with great respect,

Your most obliged humble servant,
T. GRAY.

A. S. E.

Il Conte Francesco Algarotti
Ciambellan di S. M. Il
Ré di Prussia &c. &c. &c.
Bolognia
Italia

LETTER FROM THE HON. HORACE
WALPOLE TO

[The following letter of Horatio Walpole,

Lord Orford, in defence of Sir Robert Walpole, against a charge of his having instigated George II. to burn his father's will, contains a curious history, which is but partially told in the 6th chapter of his "Reminiscences."-" At the first council," he says, "held by the new sovereign (George II.), Dr Wake, archbishop of Canterbury; produced the will of the late king, and delivered it to the successor, expecting it would be opened, and read in council. On the contrary, his majesty put it in his pocket, and stalked out of the room, without uttering a word on the subject. The poor prelate was thunderstruck, and had not the presence of mind, or the courage, to demand the testament's being opened; or, at least, to have it registered." He then goes on to

"" once

say, that as the king never mentioned the will more, whispers only by degrees informed the public that the will was burnt; the contents of course were never ascer tained; but rumour assigned to the Duchess large legacy to the Queen of Prussia. of Kendal forty thousand pounds, and a "Discoursing," says his Lordship, with Lady Suffolk, on that suppressed testament, she made the only plausible shadow of an excuse that could be made for George the Second; she told me that George the First had burnt two wills made adds, " of the First George could only palin favour of his son."-" The crime," he liate, not justify, the criminality of the Second; for the Second did not punish the guilty, but the innocent. But bad precedents are always dangerous, and too likely to be copied."]

I THINK you take in no newspapers, October 14, 1778. nor, I believe, condescend to read any more modern than the Paris à la main at the time of the Ligue-consequently, you have not seen a new scandal on my father, which, you will not wonder, offends me. You cannot be interested in his defence, but as it comprehends some very curious anecdotes, you will not grudge me indulging myself to a friend in vindicating a name so dear to me.

field's death and fortune, it is said, In the account of Lady Chesterthat the late king, at the instigation of Sir R. W., burnt his father's will, which contained a large legacy to that his supposed daughter, and I believe his real one, (for she was very like him,) as her brother General Schulembourg is in black to the late king. The fact of suppressing the will is indubitably true; the instigator most false, as I can demonstrate thus.

When the news arrived of the death

of George I., my father carried the

account from Lord Townshend to the then Prince of Wales. One of the first acts of royalty is for the new monarch to make a speech to the privy council. Sir Robert asked the king, who he would please to have draw the speech; which was, in fact, asking who was to be prime minister. His Majesty replied, Sir Spencer Compton. It is a wonderful anecdote, and

"Sir Spencer Compton," says Lord Orford," was speaker of the House of Commons, and treasurer, I think, at that time to his Royal Highness, who, by that first command, implied his intention of making Sir Spencer his prime minister. He

little known, that the new premier, a very dull man, could not draw the speech, and the person to whom he applied was-the deposed premier. The Queen, who favoured my father, observed how unfit a man he was for successor, who was reduced to beg assistance of his predecessor. The council met as soon as possible, the next morning at latest. Then Archbishop Wake, with whom one copy of the will had been deposited, (as another was, I think, with the Duke of Wolfenbuttle, who had a pension for sacrificing it, which, I know, the late Duke of Newcastle transacted,) advanced and delivered the will to the king, who put it into his pocket, and went out of council without opening it; the archbishop not having courage, or presence of mind, to desire it to be read, as he ought to have done.

These circumstances, which I solemnly assure you are strictly true, prove that my father neither advised, nor was consulted; nor is it credible that the king, in one night's time, should have passed from the intention of disgracing him, to make him his bosom confidant in so delicate an affair.

I was once talking to the late Lady Suffolk, the former mistress, on that extraordinary event. She said, "I cannot justify the deed to the legatees, but towards his father, the late king, it was justifiable; for George I. had burnt two wills made in favour of George II."-I suppose they were the testaments of the Duke and Duchess of Zell, parents of George the First's wife, whose treatment of her they always resented.

I said I know the transaction of the

was a worthy man, of exceeding grave formality, but of no parts-as his conduct immediately proved. The poor gentleman was so little qualified to accommodate himself to the grandeur of the moment, and to conceive how a new sovereign should address himself to his ministers, and he had also been so far from meditating to supplant the premier, that in his distress it was to Sir Robert himself he had recourse, and whom he besought to make the draught of the king's speech for him ;"-" from that moment," he adds, " there was no more question of Sir Spencer Compton as prime minister. He was created an earl, soon received

the garter, and became president of that council, at the head of which he was much fitter to sit than to direct."-Lord Orford's

Reminiscences.

VOL. IV.

Duke of N- -; the late Lord Waldegrave shewed me a letter from that Duke to the Earl of Waldegrave, then Embassador at Paris, with directions about that transaction, or at least about payment of the pension, I forget which. I have somewhere, but cannot turn to it now, a memorandum of that affair, and who the prince was, whom I may mistake in calling the Duke of Wolfenbuttle. There was a third copy of the will, I likewise forget with whom deposited. The newspapers say, which is true, that Lord Chesterfield filed a bill in Chancery against the late king, to oblige him to produce the will, and was silenced, I think, by payment of £20,000. There was another legacy to his own daughter, the Queen of Prussia, which has at times been, and I believe is still, claimed by the King of Prussia.

Do not mention any part of this story; but it is worth preserving, as I am assured you are satisfied of my scrupulous veracity. It may, perhaps, be authenticated hereafter, by collateral evidence that may come out. If ever true history does come to light, my father's character will have just honour paid to it. Lord Chesterfield, one of his sharpest enemies, has not, with all his prejudices, left a very unfavourable account of him, and it would alone be raised by comparison of their two characters. Think of one, who calls Sir Robert the corrupter of youth, leaving a system of education to poison them from their nursery! Chesterfield, Pulteney, and Bolingbroke, were the saints that reviled my father.

I beg your pardon, but you allow me to open my heart to you when it is full. Yours ever, H. W.

A VERBAL TRANSLATION OF THE EMPEROR OF MOROCCO'S LETTER TO QUEEN ANNE; BY SIMON OCKLEY.

Har. MSS. 7525.

IN the name of the most merciful God; he that depends upon God goeth straight to the right way. From the servant of God, the Emperor of the Believers, who maketh war for the cause of the Lord of both worlds, Ismael Ebn Asshariph Alhossnai, To the Queen of the English, nay of Eng

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