LETTER XXVII.

To the Rev. Father FABIO MARETTI

at Rome.

Dear Sir,

T is a terrible thing for a traveller to pass over a country which has not had its most remarkable rivers, hills, and fituations, defcribed by poets

who have written in fome language univerfally known. It would be an excellent relief at a dull moment to fill up a letter to a correfpondent with quotations of fine poefy, after having de fcribed the place in profe; but to what purpose would all the elegant defcriptions which have been given of the Thames, its forefts, profpects, and paradifaic fcenes, be transcribed

for

your eye, who understand not this language? VOL. II.

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A thousand years hence, when the writers of this nation become like the Claffics of ours, and Englifh as much studied at Rome as the Latin language has been by this people, a traveller may fill up a volume, like Addison, whom you have heard of, with quotations from the ancients, as they will be then call'd, and be admired for wit which is not his own. The time may come when the Thames and Severn, rivers of England will be known in Italy by thousands, their ftreams renown'd, and the names of Tyber, Po, and Clytumnus, their present rivals, be forgotten in the countries through which they flow. The tomb of Shakespeare will be vifited with as much adoration as that of Virgil, and with as just reason, if genius can give merit to human nature. Clarendon will be remember'd as Livy, and Milton rever'd as the Homer of old Greece. Bacon and Newton adored as the fuperior productions of the creation. Alas! I live a thousand years too foon to travel in this country with eclat, This gives me no other pain, but that of being deprived of enriching this letter with fomething worthy your regard; however at the time of the milennium, when we fhall be all upon earth

again, and understand all languages, I fhall make

another voyage on purpose for that reason.

UNDER the prefent circumstances there can be nothing said of this country, more than that the rivers flow amidft the faireft meadows enriched with lowing herds and flocks, adorned with afpiring elms, and cover'd with the finest verdure. The hills are crowned with perennial oaks, the golden corn waves to the breathing breeze, and tho' no olive-trees or vineyards grace the foil, the trees are loaded with the ruddy pear and yellow apple, prefage of liquour that rivals the old Falernian or Sabine wine. Plenty bursts forth to every view; a cleanliness unknown to the peasants of any nation, is visible in every village; the country seems yet untainted; the smiling face of liberty fhines amongst the inhabitants, and a wealth which no people ever boafted, of their rank, is to be found amongst the farmers of this ifle.

WITH thefe people, integrity is yet to be found; they love the country which gave them birth,

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birth, and breathe a fpirit becoming the Romans in their days of untainted virtue, too steady to be feduced by minifterial influence; and thus, being above all temptation to their country's ruin, áre forbidden to bear or poffefs arms for its defence. Nothing is fo dreadful to a corrupted adminif tration as untainted probity.

BUT why am I painting the fituation of these people, or upbraiding the ministry that, undoes them? I am an alien here; what charm has this land for me? Alas! it is or ought to be the universal affliction of mankind to think that without fome fudden intervention, the rofy cheek of health must fade in pining flavery; the heart, which at prefent prompts the fpirit of mirth in evening fongs beneath the fhady beach, muft be loaded with anxiety, and fighs burst from that bosom, that now breathes the voice of jollitry! Such the dreary moment paints them to my imagination.

AMONGST the rural inhabitants of all the nations I have seen, none equal the natives of this country; the farmer has a liberal air, and

the

the females a beauty not to be found in any other place. The peasants of Italy have a famished mein and poverty of aspect. The French the fame, or even worfe; they feem another race of mortals from the people of condition in their refpective countries; nothing of this kind appears in England, all is of another cast.

METHINKS the very horses and cattle participate of this ftate, and have an air of freedom not to be feen in those of other nations; at least they are handsomer than the animals of our country. Perhaps it is that prevalent love of beauty in us which creates this fentiment of freedom in their favour.

WHEREVER We pass, there are no remains but those of abbies, ruined houses, where once the church triumphed in splendour and magnificence. Alas! the fatted ox comes no more to these habitations, and the fleek monk bleffes the teeming board no more, nor quaffs the fparkling liquor down his rofey throat! Such revolutions have attended the fons of St. Peter in this kingdom.