THESE were the contemplations which at that time occupied my mind, and I revolved them with so much pleasure that 1 did not miss my guide, who in the mean time had soared aloft, and when I descried him, beckoned to me to follow him. He directed my attention to the anxious occupation of a departed soul, whom he pointed out to me in the town to which we bent our flight. On coming nearer, I observed that that soul appeared half famished. It flitted round a splendid carriage which stood before the house of a merchant, whose name was very familiar to me, but is still more to many of his fellow-citizens, who must assist him in keeping up his splendor by advancing money to him. At first, I was uncertain what could be the object of that restless soul; and the ragged and patched clothes in which it was dressed, made me suspect that it was one of those who, in this world, act in a twofold capacity, either begging alms of travellers, or robbing them on the highway. But I discovered my error as soon as I came nearer, seeing that it was the economical soul of the merchant's father. I recollected to have known him in my life-time. He was the wealthiest citizen in the whole town, and notorious for having with economical hands mended his own shoes, darned his own stockings, and eclipsed all his fellow-citizens in the art of enduring hunger. He could never have imagined that his notorious usury and exemplary parsimony would afford his son an opportunity of lavishing thoughtlessly the wealth which he had gradually amassed by so much care and industry. The disappointment of his parental expectations proved therefore to his soul, since her separation from her body, a source of extreme torture. Every day afforded to his degenerated son a new opportunity for dissipation, and to himself an additional source of the most agonizing sorrow.

The merchant had just received from the coachmaker a carriage, which had cost him exactly the sum that his father once had gained by prudently denying on oath, for the benefit of his progeny, a debt for which he had given his bond under his own signature. Could therefore any thing have mortified his soul more painfully than this act of extravagance? He tried more than an hundred times to push the coachman from the

coach-box; but all his exertions proved fruitless, the driver being too corporeal, and himself too ethereal. He seized the reins of the horses; they became restive; but this was all that he was able to effect.

He quitted, therefore, the fatal carriage, uttering the most dreadful imprecations, and directed his flight towards his son's apartments. Curiosity tempted me to follow him, and I was astonished to observe the unspeakable agony with which he was seized. Could any thing have been more dreadful to him than the sight of the profusion of costly china, tapestry, and mirrors, which alone must have required an expenditure of many thousand dollars. Thrice did he stamp upon the sinful sofa covered with rich brocade. "Eightyfive dollars!" exclaimed he, groaning. Rich hangings trimmed with gold fringe, which he now descried, threw him into a still greater agony. He attempted to scratch off the gold; but to no purpose. He beheld every moment new objects of splendor, which also proved to him new sources of torture. He now descried a ledger upon a writing-desk. This object seemed to afford him some satisfaction. He read, and his fury abated. But this calm was only of a momentary duration ; his son entering the apartment at the same instant, holding in his hand a parchment, whereon I could clearly discern the words Lord of D. He went to the money-chest, in order to substantiate his claims to the new title. What a dreadful sight for the unfortunate father! He even dropped the ledger. He flew to the chest, seated himself upon it, made every effort in his power to prevent its being unlocked, and attempted to seize the parchment, but in vain. The young merchant opened the chest with manifest satisfaction, taking out a money bag, which was, at least as weighty as seventeen degrees of noble ancestors, and cheerfully quitted the apartment. I shall never forget the despair which convulsed the soul of his unfortunate parent, who remained prostrate on the money-chest, embracing it with eagerness, and exclaiming again and again, in moaning accents: "O Levy, O Isaac !" I was deeply affected by his agony, and attempted to comfort him. Being desirous of ascertaining the exact cause of his despair, I went up to him, and

taking him kindly by the hand, said, "Would you be so kind as to give me" "What!" exclaimed he, "give you? I a poor, unfortunate man! A tall, strong fellow, as you are, can work! Go to the parish!" Vexed at this surly reply, I quitted him abruptly.

Being informed, on coming into the street, that the soul of Cicero, attended by some Greek and Roman philosophers, had been seen in the garden of a neighbouring country seat, I was tempted to follow the immense crowds who were flocking thither to gratify their curiosity. The sight of the celebrated Roman afforded me uncommon pleasure, and his dignified countenance inspired me with all the awe which such a patriotic soul ought to excite. I discovered, however, in his features, the traces of sorrow and dejection, the cause of which I was incapable of finding out. Being curious to ascertain it, I applied to a shade, who followed Cicero, and appeared to be one of his emancipated slaves. "He has reason for being cast down and abashed," replied his attendant, “since he, in your country, has been committed to the mercy of a tribe, who, under the pretext of honouring his memory, render him ridiculous, and transform him from a Roman consul into a Latin schoolmaster. What is still more afflicting for him is, that on complaining of this ill-treatment to the gods of his country, he received for answer, that was the punishment to which Pluto had condemned bim, because he had been accused of having frequently betrayed marks of vanity and pride, which could not be corrected better than by committing his works to the mercy of commentators. I was terrified at this rigorous judgment of Pluto, the reality of which I should have strongly doubted had I not been convinced of it by the following incident.

We descried, at a distance of about an hundred steps, a great number of souls, covered with dust, and absorbed in profound meditation. Their steps were solemn, and their gait monarchic. They seemed to disagree very much with each other, and the nearer they came, the more plainly could I hear their dispute, which grew so violent that their leader was obliged to turn round, and clenching his fist, to command silence, by exclaiming in an authoritative accent, Me Dius fidins! This cavalcade seemed to surprise the soul of Cicero: he suspected they had an important commission for him, and believed, as I was afterwards told, that they were ambassadors of a foreign nation, or barbarians, as he called them, who had been compelled by famine to apply to the Roman senate and people for a supply of bread from Sicily or Egypt. He received them with marks of compassion; but how was he astonished when the leader made a profound anNo. XXII. 15. III,

tique bow, which, according to Gronovius, was customary among the young men of fashion at Rome at the time of Ennius. Cicero sustained this assault with great fortitude, and seemed to be impatiently waiting for the communication of their commission. His curiosity was at length gratified, when the spokesman, amid many contortions of the face, put himself into the usual rhetorical posture, and after repeated bows, presented to him an enormous book, borne on the shoulders of four of his colleagues, and having on the back the inscription, OPERA OMNIA.

Cicero was somewhat terrified at the sight of this strange machine, and listened with evident tokens of surprise, when the spokesman addressed him as follows: "Omnino, si quid est in me ingenii, quod sentio, quam sit exiguum(exiguum

―quod sentio, quam sit exiguum." This incontestable truth had probably exhausted the strength of our Demosthenes, or the sight of Cicero, of whom he had preconceived an idea entirely different from what he now beheld, had produced such a violent perturbation in his mind, that he could not proceed. He stopp d a long while, and afforded Cicero time to collect himself from his astonishment, and who, not having understood a single word of the address, asked his Atticus, what language this was? Our orator recovered at last from his confusion, after having consulted the copy of his speech, which he carried in the crown of his hat. He assured the venerable Roman, in the most elegant Ciceronian style, that himself and his attendants were enraptured with joy, and that he would mark with a white stone the fortunate day when he had the honour of becoming personally acquainted with a literary luminary, who in his time had spoken the best Latin, and whose learning had afforded to himself and his companions the means of procuring the necessaries of life. He was particularly diffuse in giving himself credit for having taken compassion on the works of Cicero, and for having published them in that conv nient form, asserting, moreover, that he had enhanced their value by the addition of the most valuable and learned annotations, and rendered them useful by a copious index, and by this means had immortalized both the name of the author and the editor. He concluded by lamenting the hardened blindness of his German countrymen, who demanded more of a man of learning, than merely a knowledge of the Latin language, and even began to profane the sacred antiquities of Latium, by propounding them in a language which in Germany even the populace could understand. Here he concluded his speech with a joyous dixi, and Cicero, who probably was tired of listening any longer to his unintelligible jargon, returned no further answer but, Cura, ut valeas! and withdrew abruptly. Z