give one of his sonnets, written at that time, which is neither deficient in grace of diction, nor in melody of verse, nor in his wonted strength, and newness of fancy. But we are yet more strongly led to present our readers with a specimen of a different style of composition, in which he borrowed the terza rima of Dante, and, with a wonderful nearness of imitation as to style, though the matter of it is rather lovely than terrible. Michel Angelo laments the death of his father, whom he already contemplates in the serene empyreum, and thus addresses him : "Tu se' del morir morto, e fatto divo Nè temi or più cangiar vita nè voglia Dove il mondo passar ne fa di raro." For the following faithful and elegant translation of which, we have to thank a young friend. Though from a female hand, and one with which the public have, comparatively, small acquaintance, it will suffer, we think, but little, by coming after that which is recommended by the illustrious name of Wordsworth: Thou hast died Nature's death. Now made divine, Not quite unenvied is that lot of thine Fortune and Time no longer dare draw near Uncertain joys, interminable woes- When not a shade the noontide sun o'ershrouds. O happy father! In thy death I trace Which eyes obscur❜d by sense too seldom see. Michel Angelo's whole life was beautiful as his works, innocent and chaste as his poetry. He awaited his last hour without fear, rather, indeed, with continual desire, for he knew that his spirit could only enjoy contentment after death; to meet which, without alarm and without danger, it is necessary to have known how to live during life. This was the sentiment of his great master, and also of Petrarch, when he "Bel says, fin fa, che vien amando more." We shall conclude this essay with the words of Buonarroti himself, in which, commenting upon this very line of Petrarch's, he gives an example of his thoughts and also of his manner of writing in prose. "Siccome la morte è il termine finale di questa brevissima nostra vita, così ancora è buona o rea secondo che è stata la vita a cui ella è termine; e come si vede il più delle volte accadere, che quelle strade, che sono dirittamente tagliate e battute sogliono pervenire ne' luoghi abitati e domestici, e quelle che sono torte e sassose fra gli sterpi e nelle boscaglie, così la vita d'altrui, quando è stata adoperata rettamente, trova il fine suo dilettevole e piano, e quella di chi sconciamente la volle usare strabocchevole ed erto: La morte è fin d'ogni prigione oscura Che hanno posto nel fango ogni lor cura. Chi vive adunque di vita onesta e laudevole come fa quegli che ama di vero e perfetto amore, o contemplando Iddio e le cose superiori, o contemplando le terrene, che a noi sono forse più somiglianti, raffrenando il disordinato appetito che smoderatamente goderle si apparecchia sortisce piacevole e giocondo fine; la qual cosa dal poeta nostro (Petrarca) è stata ottimamente fatta. Laonde se le sue vestigia saranno da noi seguitate, apparando da lui ad amare di magnifico e alto amore, trapasseremo senza pericolo lo angusto e tremante varco della tomba oltra la quale è la sola speranza di felicità." As death is but the final termination of this our most short life, so is it good or evil, according to the life of which it is the close: as it most frequently happens that those roads which are straight and beaten, lead to cultivated and domestic places, and those which are winding and strong, end among rocks and thickets; thus doth the life of a man, when it hath been rightly spent, find a pleasant and gentle ending; and that which hath been used immoderately and unseemly, a troubled and violent one. La morte, &c. He who lives a pure and praiseworthy life, as those 'do who love with a true and perfect love, either in the contemplation of God and heavenly things, or looking on earthly things, which are more like to ourselves, with a continual rein on those inordinate appetites which crave after the immoderate enjoyment of them, obtain a peaceful and happy end; all which hath been excellently accomplished by our poet, (Petrarch.) Wherefore, if we follow in his footsteps, learning of him to love with a high, and great, and noble love, we shall pass without danger through the narrow and fearful passages of the grave, beyond which is the only hope of felicity. ART. V.-The Life of General Monck, Duke of Albemarle, &c. with remarks upon his Actions: By Thomas Gumble, D. D. one of his Chaplains. London; Printed by J. S. for Thomas Basset, at the George, near Clifford's Inn, in Fleet Street, 1671. The following is an abstract of part of a work that is chiefly curious as a specimen of the Tory or Royalist mode of writing history, which prevailed during the period immediately following the Restoration. The well-informed reader will desire no illustrations or evidence of the author's singular veracity, and the reader of ordinary discernment will be at no loss to appreciate the justice of those encomiums which are so liberally heaped upon the hero's undeviating loyalty. It was our intention to place some points of this ingenious piece of high church and royalist fiction in contrast with the details of legitimate history; but, for the reasons above stated, it is thought that this would prove a work of supererogation. The language of the original itself is so careless and unreadable, there being scarcely one finished sentence to be found in it, that in order to give circulation to so choice a piece of composition, we have been at the pains to reduce it to a shape more convenient for the general reader. To all chaplains disposed to write the lives of their patrons, and to recommend themselves to the favourable notice of the persons, who are the fountain from whence flow honours and emoluments, the present performance, with some improvements in point of style and grammar to be expected of our more refined contemporaries, may be safely held out as one of the best models for imitation. It should not be forgotten, that the work is doubly dedicated; first, to the king, with a letter addressed "great sir;" and, secondly, to his Grace Christopher Duke of Albemarle, &c. The life of General Monk, Duke of Albemarle, &c. has been written by one of his grace's chaplains; who, thinking himself bound by many obligations to see the general in his grave, and to do his last duty to his memory, diverted his sorrows with this attempt to record his brave actions, and to let the world see that this great man had lived to good purpose. The relator trusts, that he is himself a person of some little conscience; he has the honour to bear the character of a churchman; and, having enjoyed some interest and credit with this illustrious person whilst alive, he judges it a kind of crime to let his memory be buried in his grave. The first part of the narrative he had from the Duke's own mouth, in various discourses with such of his friends as had been his associates in the earlier part of his career. Of the latter portion of his life, the author himself had been an eye and an ear-witness, admitted into all his patron's negotiations. He was not, indeed, with him at sea, by reason of a languishing sickness; but he has before him the journal of a principal flag-officer, a stout and experienced seaman, to supply that gap in the story. He is resolved to write truth or nothing; for to publish such fulsome and tedious letters, &c. larded with bold-faced untruths, as have flown abroad in the weekly prints, is enough to afflict the reader with nausea, and to make him value stale beer above history. The author had, moreover, in his thoughts, the scheme of a discourse to be annexed to the work, entituled "Observations of the true causes of the Restoration of the English Monarchy, in the most glorious person of our present Sovereign, Charles the Second." In this, he meant to reduce all the co-operating circumstances under their proper heads of causality, and to enumerate all the persons that contributed to the Restoration, with the reason and motives of their activity. But, unversed in civil affairs, he deems his profession and obscurity disqualify him for executing a work, which would so much conduce to the public benefit; for the knowledge of the true causes that led to the Restoration of Monarchy cannot but prove a great means of its future preservation. He mentions this, however, to stir up some active and knowing spirit to attempt a discourse on the subject, who may, with freedom remote from jealousy, treat of the aims of all parties, that were then in power, and are not yet asleep. His friends, who may be displeased at his not having made due mention of them, according to their service and deserts, he prays to consider that he writes not their lives and actions, but those of the Duke of Albemarle. From the dissenters he expects little equity, and looks for the title of time-server; since the general omitted to make terms for their "concerns of liberty," and pretended property in the estates of others. He would have these persons reflect what an unpardon able crime it had been to make the sovereign a royal slave; that if parliament had been disposed to insist upon conditions, they might have done so without being controlled or influenced by him; that it is an unjust accusation to make it a sin not to have imprisoned majesty in chains, or converted the duty he intended into fresh rebellion; and that all, who loved him, did deprecate his treating with his master as his equal, and, in order to satisfy the "needless scruples" of others, committing an offence, that would never have been either forgiven or for gotten. There are many that exclaim against his memory, because that, having contributed to set in motion the affections of the people, and caused them to chime in majesty, they have been disappointed of their reward. Though the general, he confesses, did entertain a philosophical indifference in matters of this sort, and that he dare not justify him for all he did or did not, yet he must still object to these discontented persons, that he, perhaps, did what he could; that it was not for him to be over busy and engross all the royal favours; and that he had a hard game to play, in which it was his wisdom, and his interest, to be humble and modest. However ill the reception this discourse may meet with at the hands of these and others, he trusts there are no great persons, desirous of plunging the general's services into oblivion, and thus introducing a precedent for ingratitude. "If virtue be not remembered as well as rewarded, and the one is but a part of the other, it may be discouraged in after-ages." Like Manlius, who delivered his father from the persecutions of a plebeian tribune, the general began his public life with chastising a sheriff, that had had the presumption to arrest his father, in the face of his whole county, when convened to wait upon the king. Thus did this great soldier, like the ancient heroes, who took their swords from the altar, begin his campaigns in a pious war for his father, and end them in the service of the father of his country. Being reduced, in consequence of this transaction, precipitately to turn soldier, he was scarcely seventeen, when he bore arms in Spain, and afterwards at the Isle of Rhè and Rochelle, under that valiant and old commander, Sir John Burroughs; who used often to relate with grief the ill conduct of that campaign, in which the English, as has often been their fate both before and since, reaped nothing but loss and dishonour, without any impeachment either of their courage or their gallantry. Afterwards, all being peace in England, he, having espoused himself to his sword, went to the Low Countries, then the general school of war, where he learned to yield and exact obedience under the brave Princes of Orange, the best masters of the art which this age hath produced. In this mart of war, many brave spirits of the English nation have earned |