be found, which is both agreeable and engaging by its variety, and which ought not to be confounded with a fictitious publication in his name: however, an intelligent public will easily distinguish the difference.

I will conclude with repeating what was said lately by a nobleman of the court. When a man has had sufficient merit lo rise to the Papal Dignity from being only a simple Friar, we may very well believe him capable of writing excellent Letters.

Besides the admirable lessons of Morality, which is to be met with in this collection, there is a letter on the obedience due to crowned heads, which ought to engage the attention of all nations, but more particularly the hearts of all true French

men.

Some other little pieces of Ganganelli are added to the last Part, which will be found as agreeable as his Letters.

LETTER, &c.

LETTERS, &c.

LETTER CXXXIII,

TO THE ABBÉ FRUGONL

SIR,

I AM very much surprised at your having thought proper to address the Poems, which you last published, to me, who know nothing of the art of Poetry, but enough to make it a subject of superficial conversation; that is to say, like those who never made it their study. However, this. does not prevent me from admiring whatever you give to the public, or my soul from being fired at reading a fine Poem. It is impossible to peruse some Lyric pieces without being inspired, in a degree, with the genius of the composer.

I compare Poetry to those variegated flames that we see blazing in some kinds of fire-works, which we do not discover clearly unless we are deeply impressed with their beauty.

Besides, we must be totally insensible to the beauties of Nature, if we are not affected by the images which are presented to our view, by the great Poets. Such, for example, as may be found in our Metastasio, aud in your works, my dear Abbé, that must affect the most unfeeling souls. It is a new world, enriched with unexpected delights, much superior to our most beautiful flowers, as these, at the end of a few days, fade away, while sublime Poetry descends to the latest posterity.

While I was at College I attempted to compose some short rural pieces, but I was so little satisfied with them, that I had the merit of cominitting them to the flames as soon as they were composed; and all the advantage I derived from them was, to acquire a readiness of expression, and a greater flow of ideas.

Poetry is like an excellent musical instrument, it is not to be touched but by the hands of a master. A piece of wretched poetry is like a musical. composition

composition performed by an execrable fiddler, which grates the soul, torments the mind, and disgusts the man of true taste. There is not a man capable of relishing flights of genius, whom the beauties in the book of Psalms do not render an Enthusiast in spite of himself. I confess that I feel myself a poet every time that I repeat the Psalms.

What energy, what descriptions, what ma jesty! We leave the subject, we forget ourselves, we become the Prophet himself, or rather let me say, we become divine. But alas! how ought we to be grieved; when we see Poetry, which was originally destined to sing the praises of the Eternal (since Moses, who employed it for so glorious a purpose, is the most ancient writer) descending from such sublimity to deify some mortal, more brutal than the brutes themselves.

The Poets, for the honour of their art, which elevates them to so high a rank, ought never to have prostituted it. They would have had much more respect, and more honour paid them, and the whole world would not have commenced Poets with or without genius. Every one must now sing the object of his passion; and we see Poems, which

are