of Italy and France, adapted to, and modified for the english soil?

Fearing not to be understood, I repeat here again. In writing against uncharitable men, who use the bible improperly, in order to hinder the progress of our race, I have still, and I hope I shall ever have the greatest veneration, towards the benevolent ministers of Christ, and happy christians, who see the daily loss which the heavenly moral of Jesus does suffer, not from unbelievers; but from fanatics, and hypocrites: and though the whole bible is not a book to be placed into the hands of the innocent, he, or she acquainted with the world, if they do read it without prejudice, it is a book of lofty, heavenly moral inspiration, and the first book of literature. But, the true christian follows the good which he finds in the bible, and leaves all religious discussions to the wicked. The wise Christian, I say, understands as well as Terence the nequid nimis. It is a religion in the unerring nature which cannot fail: it is the religion of truth. Our mind turns black by dint of reading black, and still more so, when a great deal of bad is interspersed with good: and those, able to discriminate bad from good, are, unfortunately, too few. The plurality cannot judge by themselves, as far as they are taught to believe every thing, which comes out from the mouth of a so called theologian. Miss Davison, the victim of the Rev. Fairchild, had she not believed him another David, as he pretended to be, she would have spared her shame.

CHAPTER IV.

OF NEWSPAPERS.

Next to men, unworthy of the church, injuring American Literature, come editors of certain stamp, the shame of those countries, where it is permitted a free circulation. He who permits an unprincipled man to enter his house, and becomes familiar with his wife, and innocent children, he deserves the same blame as well as if he were leaving them to read unprincipled newspapers. Though we are permitted to carry a bowie-knife, or a pair of pistols in our pocket, the laws of this country will always arrest the criminal, who uses the weapons improperly. The scribbler here, who does not know how to use an academical language, goes unpunished, though he did take from his christian fellow being, more than life—his honor! What more? Prisoners, before their trial, have not been spared by them!

The law which condemns the challenger, and not the aggressor, is a bad law: or, at least, since the couragous man is generous, it should be better to have no law against dueling, and then, few cowards would dare to speak, or write against their fellow beings. Dueling is a private war, which minds the uncivilized, not to insult the better part of the republic. If every man can pull a trigger, not every man has either the opportunity, or can wield a pen against a low scribbler, who had the impudence to injure his reputation with strong words. Gentlemen of congress are so badly treated by such newspapers, and to such an excess, for which, even the strongest words of the english language have lost their sharpness. Still, though the cursing sailor cannot offend God, having no other language to express himself, such language, used in public prints, degrades the people’s language, and National Literature.

Besides, not satisfied with their strong words, they have now introduced engravings, and lithographies with the portraits of the very citizens, whom republicans should respect: and the very newspapers, which condemn John Bull for having fought in a ring of american spectators, exhibit Mr. Henry Clay knocking down the ex-president. Fine moral, indeed! The lustful pictures of Diogenes are less immoral, than such caricatures. The first, is nature exposed to lewdness; the second, inculcates in the mind of man the very scornful laugh of the jews, when Jesus Christ was dying on the cross! If we cannot find other subjects for laughing but such pictures, it would be better for us never to laugh during the whole of our life.

CHAPTER V.

OF TOURISTS IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES.

The very kind of laughter, already described in the foregoing chapter, induced many tourists to laugh at every little imperfection they meet in foreign countries. The laughter of a man of letters should be inoffensive: it should be rather the laughter enhancing the merit of the person he laughs at, than a depreciating, or self-conceited laughter.

Once, in giving letters of introduction to a gentleman, who was going to visit Italy, I could not prevent myself from smiling, on hearing him say: “The Italians are an intelligent people.”—“How do you know it?” said I to him. “Because” he answered, “I think so.” Now a days, every thing goes so fast, that even gentlemen judge of nations before they have seen them! And celebrated writers sell their books, describing nations which they never saw. To those who praised my poor, dear country, rather too much, originated perhaps, from their blind love towards my imperfect, lovely country, I will still be thankful to them, though their praises might spoil Italy. However, the Vicar of Wakefield, also, praised his wife upon her epitaph, which he placed on the chimney piece, in order to keep the good woman to her family duties, during her life time!

No nation has yet reached the civilization for which God created us. As the lover of a little discrimination sees better the faults of the lady whom he loves, than the faults of the ladies whom he does not love, a man of letters, who has at heart the improvements of society, sees the faults of all the countries, with which he feels an interest. Of the blind lovers of my country, I will say here nothing more, than I would of those, who had no kind feeling for Italy. Besides, there are so many, who wrote on Italy, that, were I undertaking to comment on them, it would be a work too long for me, and unfit here. However, as such kind of writers form one of the most extensive branches of our present literature, I will take up “Italy and the Italians,” by J. T. Headley, for two good reasons. The first, because I find in it, the least to say against, and the second, because it is the most recent I know of on the subject.

How could Mr. Headley entitle his short reflections of six months, which he spent in that country, “Italy and the Italians,” I cannot understand. It seems to me, such a title is rather a too pompous one, when we reflect, at the same time, that Mr. Headley, by his very confession, we learn, that he did not know, at that time, the italian language.

It was no more than one or two days Mr. Headley had stepped on a shore of Italy, Genoa, when he found himself offended by two individuals. The first, was a mustached officer, who eyed him askance as he passed; and the second, a black-robed priest, not deigning him even a look, as he went. Here, I find the very logic of the wolf, disposed to eat the lamb, at a water spring.—The officer offended the writer, because he looked at him; and the priest, because he did not deign to look at him! Next, comes an elegantly dressed woman, who, I suppose, having seen Mr. Headley offended, because the priest did not look at him, she lifted her quizzing glass, coolly scanning him from head to foot, and with a smile of self-satisfaction on her face, walked on.—For me, I always like to see a lady looking at me: it is a sign of kind feeling, and innocence: and children, not spoiled by too fond parents, look at strangers with like pleasing curiosity.

The gentleman went to see an Asylum, where he found an italian woman, who had lost her