these sponges of charity are in so much use at some certain periods, and at such alone.

I would not dwell upon errors which I thought incorrigible, or endeavour to discover causes without hopes of amending the effects; but I am really of opinion, that the grievances here set forth owe their birth chiefly to a few mistakes, which my acceptation of the word charity inclines me very much to rectify, for the service especially of these pious and liberal benefactors; for such I make no question many of them are, only, as I have said before, they are unfortunate enough to lie under some mistakes. In the first place, therefore, I shall venture to lay it down as a maxim, that there is no such thing as posthumous charity. There may be equity, and there may be propriety, in a last designation of earthly goods, but real or intrinsic generosity or benevolence there can be none.

Quo more pyris vesci Calaber jubet hospes.

It is a modern supposition, nourished by hope and weakness, that leads people to reckon upon an act, that does not take place whilst they are alive. I do not remember that any one of the apostles, the preachers and examples of every social obligation, ever enforced the duty of testamentary acts of goodness; nor did David set apart a charge upon the revenue his son was to enjoy after him, towards building a temple which he found was not to be the glory of his own reign.

Another error which I hope to set right, arises from the general idea of poverty, which seems not to be very well settled, The poor under your eye, and the poor unborn, stand in a very different relation of indigence together. Thus a crippled pennyless sister, or an infirm cousin, are thought by no

means equal objects of bounty with the future offspring of a future beggar. All that I have to say to a persuasion of this sort is, that I will affirm, a relation or dependent left to starve is in every article as true a beggar as any between St. Paul's and St. Peter's. Upon the whole, since money has no currency on the other side of the grave, and no real value but in its application on this, I could wish the last disposition of it were a little better considered. It is but reasonable surely to expect, that those who do no good with it whilst they live, should do less, mischief with it when they die.

THERE is no privilege of which an Englishman is so jealous, nor for which he so highly values the constitution of his country, as the liberty that is allowed him, not only of thinking as he pleases, but of generously communicating his thoughts to the public. This glorious charter, limited as it is, and ought to be, by wholesome laws, has infinite advantages derived from it; particularly as it tends to cultivate the liberal arts, and helps to carry on the great work of science. But whether it is always for the improvement of our taste, any more than our morals, that we should be allowed to realize our sentiments, especially where the object falls immediately under the public eye, is a question that may perhaps admit of a debate.

Thus, for instance, if an ingenious gentleman, for the greater embellishment of his private library, should think proper to erect the head, or even the entire figure, of a shaking Mandarine, between the busts of Tully and Demosthenes, or to exalt the divinities of Pekin to the same degree of honour in his gallery that he has already paid to the Grecian Venus and Apollo, it would be an infringement upon British liberty to check his devotion. But if the same innovating taste should intrude upon the muses' shrine in our public seats of learning, I should wish for some authority to stop so sacrilegious an attempt.

The same care should extend even to our amusements; I do not mean to debar any of them from their right of appearing as often as their patrons please to call for them; I would only assign them the proper limits of time and place, and prevent their bringing any confusion upon themselves and others. It is certainly very just, that Harlequin should flourish with his dagger of lath, and invert the order of nature, whenever he finds it necessary; but though I am delighted with the ingenuity of my party-coloured friend, it would grieve me to see him so far mistake his talents, as to introduce himself very familiarly into the company of Shakspeare and Johnson.

To carry this observation a little higher, I think any one of our public entertainments, that more peculiarly belongs to the refined part of the world, should be preserved from any alloying mixture that may sink and debase its value, or make us look upon its standard below the original worth that it pretends to claim. It is upon this account, that I cannot enough lament the present state of our Italian opera, which seems to be continually declining, without any friendly hand to interpose

which might restore it to its native purity, or preserve it from total decay. But before this kind reformer can be met with, or if any such should appear, before his endeavours could hope for any success, it will be proper to examine our own taste, to find whether it will stand the trial, and whether we should not think his care very impertinent and ill applied.

At present our attention seems to be so entirely fixed upon AIR, that we think nothing enhances the value of an opera so much, as allowing the performers to introduce their own favourite songs at pleasure; and this elegant assortment, selected from dramas of opposite subjects, written by poets of irreconcileable geniuses, and set to music by composers of contrary feelings, is served up, to our inexpressible satisfaction, and eagerly devoured under the modish title of a PASTICCIO.

If I may be permitted to enter into a serious disquisition of this entertainment, after what I have said of it in a former paper, I must beg leave to observe, that the Italian opera carries much more meaning in it than one part of its audience is possibly aware of, and many of the other part are willing to allow; but it is therefore necessary to choose Metastasio for the poet, upon whose single merit this species of drama must stand or fall.

And here, notwithstanding the laudable partiality which directs us to give the palm to our own countrymen, it must be confessed that this foreigner has at least as good a title to it as any English tragedian of this century; and if (like them too) he has not the advantage of striking out much that is new, he has the happiness of throwing an air of novelty upon the sentiments which he adopts, by the agreeable dress he gives them, and

the advantageous point of view in which they are placed.

It would be exceeding the bounds of this paper to dwell upon every peculiar excellency; but it is no more than justice to enter into a fair examination, and, without any invidious comparison, to inquire whether his thoughts are not as pure and as classical, his language as expressive and poetical, his characters as distinctly marked, as strongly supported, and as judicially finished, his conduct of the drama as well carried on, and leading as clearly to the grand catastrophe, as those among the most admired of our modern writers. In the last circumstance he has a difficulty in his way, which the ablest hand would sometimes be at a loss to remove: as the nature of this work requires every thing to be brought to a happy conclusion, it cannot but be observed, with how masterly a step he deviates from the true to the feigned event, without confusion, or swerving from the intention of his original plan.

But it is not sufficient to examine Metastasio's pretensions by the common rules of criticism; there is much more required of him than of the ordinary tragic poet; not only as he is confined to the measure of three acts, but even those must be concisely managed, to avoid the drowsiness of a weary recitative. His dialogue, therefore, and even his narration, is short as it is clear; a significant expression, sometimes a single word, conveys a whole sentiment, and that without leaving room for doubt, or throwing the least obscurity. His soliloquies, where the composer has an opportunity of introducing the accompanied recitative, perhaps the most noble part of an opera, are not only distinguished by the finest touches of poetry, but