rubbish of the schools, and next to the Stagyrite himself, study only the works of Saunderson, Wallis, Watts, and Harris.

If the barren field of metaphysics is ever capable of repaying the toil of cultivation, it can only be when the attention is confined to such authors as Locke, Hucheson, and Beattie.

If ethics are to be considered in the systematical method of a science, the moral philosophy of Hucheson may be recommended as one of the clearest, the most elegant, and the concisest treatises that have appeared upon them. The numerous writers who have fabricated fanciful and destructive systems, may be suffered to sink in the gulf of oblivion never to emerge.

In natural philosophy, the airy fabrics of hypothetical visions ought not to claim the attention of a moment. The sun of Newton has absorbed the radiance of all other luminaries in this department. His works and those of his followers will, of course, supersede the infinite number of folios, which, to use the expressions of Horace, may be sent to wrap up frankincense and perfumes, the only way in which they can now be useful. He to whom the works of the great philosopher are unintelligible, may acquiesce with security in the illustrations of Pemberton and Rowning. The lover of natural history, zoology, and botany, will not be at a loss in the selection of books while fame resounds the names of Buffon, of Pennant, of Linnæus. The Romances of Pliny and his imitators will have no charms with the lover of truth.

To the classical scholar, the proper books are 1sually pointed out by the superintendants of his ducation; and when once he has tasted them, his wn cultivated feelings will direct him in the choice of modern productions. Every one knows who were

the best authors in the Augustan age; and the chief caution necessary is, that the text of a Virgil, a Horace, an Ovid may not be lost in the attention given to the tedious comments of a few Dutchmen. I have known those who have toiled through the classics, cum notis variorum, much less acquainted with them than he who never read them but in Sandby's edition. In attending to Burman and Heinsius, they overlooked the text; which was lost like a jewel in a dunghill. These laborious annotators explain what needs not explanation, and, with a little critical knavery, pass by a real difficulty without notice. I am convinced that a taste for the classics is rather impeded than promoted by the Dauphin edition, in which boys are initiated: but in which the words of the author are choaked, like wholesome plants among weeds, by the notes and interpretation. To be possessed of comments on the classics is however desirable, for difficulties will sometimes occur which at first sight perplex the most ingenious; but I should prefer, for common reading, such editions as that of Jones's Horace.

Directions for the formation of the lady's library have often been wanted by those, who, with an inclination for the elegant amusement of reading, have been unable to indulge it without danger, because they had none to guide them in their choice. In my humble opinion, the following books might have a place in it, not only without hazard of ill consequences, but with great advantage to taste, and to that personal beauty which arises from mental. All the periodical publications of repute that have been written on the model of the Spectator, Rollin's Works, Plutarch's Lives, Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, and the most esteemed historians of their own country, may be strongly recommended. To these,

for the sake of imbibing a classical taste, may be added the best translations of the ancients, Pope's Homer, Dryden's Virgil, and Melmoth's Pliny. If French books are required, those of Boileau, Fontenelle, Le Pluche, and some select pieces of Voltaire and Rousseau may with propriety be admitted. Novels, it is feared, will not be dispensed with. Those then of Richardson and Fielding are allowed, yet not without reluctance. Every thing indelicate will of course be excluded; but perhaps there is not less danger in works called sentimental. They attack the heart more successfully, because more cautiously. Religious books will find a place, but not without restriction; for there is a species of devotional composition, which, by inflaming the passions and imagination, contributes to corruption, while it seems to promote the warmest piety. From their sensibility of heart and warmth of fancy, the softer sex is supposed to be most inclined to admit the errors of mystics and enthusiasts.

No. CLXXV.

Cursory Remarks on the Odyssey, on Pope's Translation, Mr. Spence's Essay, &c.

IT is generally agreed, that the Odyssey is inferior to the Iliad. It is thought by Longinus, as well as by other critics, to have been the production of Homer's old age, when it may reasonably be supposed the ardour of his genius was in some degree abated. "In the Odyssey," says that critic, "he may be justly said to resemble the setting sun, whose grandeur still remains without the original heat of his beams. Like the ocean, whose very shores when deserted by the tide, mark out how wide it sometimes flows; so Homer's genius, when ebbing into all those fabulous and incredible ramblings of Ulysses, shows plainly how sublime it once had been. I am speaking of old age, but it is the old age of Homer."

It is certain, that if the Odyssey is not to be placed in the same rank with the Iliad, so neither ought it to obtain so low a class as to be overlooked and disregarded. It has, however, been neglected by the moderns, and they who have been able to repeat the Iliad, have sacrcely deigned to read the Odyssey. Every school boy is acquainted with the anger of Achilles and its consequences, while he neither knows nor is solicitous to learn the adventures of the wise Ulysses: though wisdom it may be supposed would be commonly a better model for his imitation than valour.

An ingenious writer has endeavoured to vindicate the Odyssey from the neglect in which it has long lain; but a prepossession in favour of established

customs has hitherto prevented our public schools from substituting it in the room of the Iliad. That the Iliad should be neglected is not indeed to be wished, but that it should engross our whole attention, to the utter exclusion of the Odyssey, is certainly unreasonable.

The Iliad presents us with a rough prospect, like that of high mountains, craggy rocks, and foaming cataracts; while the Odyssey exhibits a softer scene, and suggests ideas similar to those which arise from the landscape, where all is mild, serene, and beautiful. The one is like the pictures of Poussin, the other like those of Claude Lorain. A reader admires the Iliad, but he loves the Odyssey.

The works of Homer appeared so early in the world, and since their appearance have been so frequently praised and illustrated, that at this late period it is not necessary to add to the general panegyric. Suffice it to recommend the perusal of a few authors, which may clear the way to the study of the Odyssey. Among these, are the papers in the Adventurer on this subject, Pope's Notes to his Translation, and above all, Mr. Spence's very elegant and ingenious Essay. As to the Translation itself, it abounds with faults and absurdities. Without derogating from the merit of Pope as an original poet, we may venture to pronounce his Odyssey a paraphrase rather than a just translation of Homer. The copy no more resembles the picture than the portrait on a sign post usually resembles the personage intended to be exhibited. The chief beauty of Homer is simplicity, which, in the Translation, is sacrificed to a gaudy glare and artificial embellishments. As a poem considered by itself, it has many beautiful passages; but as a translation, it is perhaps unworthy the reputation it has obtained.