Etymologists derive the word antiquities, and many other kindred words, from an obvious source, the Latin preposition ante, before. The great arbiter of language, custom, has ordained that it should mark out and relate to periods of time, not immediately, but long before the days of those who make use of it.

The early records and older monuments of every nation, of whatever kind they may be, may properly be named antiquities; but this term ordinarily calls up in the mind the one or the other of the two grand divisions into which the practice of the learned has long continued to separate so much of the wide field as has hitherto Antiquities been carefully cultivated. It either awakens the recollections of the Greeks and the Romans, who are commonly known by the designation of the ancients, and of some other nations, who are remembered chiefly on account of their connection with them, and points out the antiquities of the scholar, which are often described by the Greek appellation, archaeology; or it reminds us of the history of our ancestors, and of the other European people in the middle ages, which forms the antiquities of the antiquary. We are anxious to mark strongly the distinction between archaeology, or the study of the Grecian and Roman antiquities, and the study of the antiquary,—the antiquities of the middle ages and of times subsequent. The former pursuit it is scarcely possible to carry to an improper excess, because we may derive advantage and improvement from almost every department of the studies of the archaeologist,—so admirable were the institutions of Greece and Rome, and to such a wonderful pitch did the cultivation of the human intellect attain, especially in Greece. But in the middle ages, on the contrary, there was little peculiar of which human nature ought not to be ashamed; and whatever we would not wish to unlearn as to those barbarous times, we would only consent to remember for the purpose of avoiding it in future. It is not to be denied, however, that even in the darkest and rudest of those days of barbarism, several useful and agreeable institutions existed, the loss of which we have abundant cause to deplore, and to regret that they were swept away by ignorant and bigoted men, who, under the specious pretence of reformation, destroyed much that was valuable; yet it is certain—and to those who are well read in the history of classical antiquity the proofs of the assertion are sufficiently familiar—that the institutions which shed a light (if it were but a dim one, it was still a comfort and a guide in a period of darkness, and the absence of it has left a void in society) were not the offspring of the middle ages, but were precious relics still remaining, vestiges still unobliterated, ruins still standing, of older and better times—the creations of the wisdom and virtue of the ancient world. The antiquities of the middle ages, so far as they are the peculiar productions of those ages, are not wanting in good taste alone—that is a defect comparatively of trifling importance, and it might more easily be pardoned; but they are deficient in a good spirit also. This is undeniably a more serious charge, a more grievous deficiency: they are devoid of a patriotic, a benevolent, a humane intention; they are manifestly without the purpose of benefiting the many, of bringing profit to the people at large, of working the good of mankind in general; they seek to aggrandize some feudal tyrant, it may be sometimes a petty tyrant, but still a tyrant—to fasten the yoke upon the neck of the vassal—to add another link to his chain; not, like the happier institutions of earlier and better times, to instruct and gladden the citizen of a free state. It is chiefly on account of this important and remarkable distinction that we give the preference to the study of archaeology over the more vulgar and more modern study of what are most commonly denominated antiquities. We will not affect, however, to be insensible to the superior allurements of the former pursuit, or to be ignorant of the intrinsic excellence in all other respects of the relics of ages of extraordinary refinement.

The consideration of these precious relics is not to be undertaken without difficulty. Their number and variety would perplex any one who entered upon the delicate office of explaining them, even if their nature and uses were as obvious in all instances as they are obscure and mysterious in many, and if the space that was afforded for explanation were as unlimited as on the present occasion, from the miscellaneous composition of the publication in which it finds a place, it is necessarily confined. Not only are the remains themselves numerous and almost infinite, but the works in which they have been represented in figures, or described in words, are so bulky and numberless, that it is not only impossible to give a detailed account of them, but it would be vain to endeavour to enumerate each individual. We must content ourselves, therefore, with arranging the vast subject under several heads, with treating briefly and in general terms of each, and with allowing ourselves to dwell a short time, as an indulgence, on one or two matters that appear in our eyes to be of paramount importance.

If it were possible to explain fully and in a satisfactory manner all the monuments of antiquity that are at present known, the subject would not be exhausted. Every year brings important additions to the large stock of antiques; and the exposition of them, like the study of nature, in consequence of new discoveries, is infinite and inexhaustible. The learned Montfaucon, after much experience, expresses, in these remarkable words, his sense of the labours of an archaeologist, which appear to terminate only that they may commence again: "Il n'est guère de matière si vaste que celle des monuments de l'antiquité. On voit tous les jours sortir de l'obscurité quelque chose de singulier, et qui n'avait pas encore été remarqué. Lorsqu'on croit finir ses recueils, on est souvent obligé de recommencer sur nouveaux frais: à peine a-t-on achevé un ouvrage, que des matériaux se présentent pour un autre. La terre en cache une infinité que le pur hazard fait découvrir. On en détire dans les champs, on en trouve dans les villes; quand on se flatte d'avoir épuisé tous les cabinets, il en sort encore de nouveaux, inconnus quelquefois même à ceux qui les possèdent. Presque toutes les parties de l'Europe en fourissent: le Levant et l'Egypte nous en envoient trois sourrent et de fort curieux; et ce qui surprend davantage il s'en est rencontré, qui exposés depuis plusieurs siècles à la vue de tout le monde, ont demeuré aussi inconnus que s'ils avaient été cachés en terre, jusqu'à ce que la réflexion nous les ait fait estimer ce qu'ils valent."

The productions of the fine arts occupy a distinguished place among the remains of antiquity; and as these generally are closely connected with the pagan religion, it will be necessary to premise a few observations respecting the worship of Greece and Rome.

Men of learning, after the most laborious investigation and study of the ancient religion, have usually come to the conclusion that it is a profound and impenetrable mystery, and that such it was in the time of Cicero, as far back as the earliest records extend. All the explanations that have hitherto been given are equally unsatisfactory, the astronomical not less so than the rest. Meanwhile the beauty of the mythology is undoubted; it is like nature, for whose wonderful operations the modern theories will not account better than the ancients, while the excellence of her works cannot be denied or questioned. It was a collection of fables from all countries, but it had one characteristic unity, the unity of beauty, and was admirably adapted to the wants of the imagination, and to satisfy the craving of the fancy of human beings of every age and rank. To admit that all of its creations are allegorical, is equally impossible as to deny that some are. This solution indeed ought to be applied sparingly: a good allegory is no doubt satisfactory, but an indifferent one is scarcely tolerable, and nothing is more tiresome and offensive than allegory long sustained or frequently repeated. Theorists have used this key with much confidence, and have sought to open by its assistance the sense of the ancient mysteries. Each department of mythology has been exposed in its turn to their fruitless attempts, and the origin of the twelve signs of the zodiac has been a favourite point of inquiry. Every spectator has found in them a confirmation of his own views, a theory after his own heart, plainly written in the heavens in legible and indelible characters, to unfold to mankind matters of very different natures, and of very unequal importance—a complete development, as some assert, of the foundation of every mode of religious faith, or a plan of diet, as others affirm, so salutrious as to obviate the possibility of disease in the human frame, or of moral evil and consequent misery in the mind of man.

We may enumerate amongst mythic curiosities the French notion, version, or recension, of the ancient mythology, which we see exemplified in their poetry, in their statues and paintings, and in innumerable engravings, but perhaps most perfectly and fully on the French stage, and especially in the ballets which follow the opera. It is a fantastic, affected, insipid, and strange thing, perfectly unlike the original, of which, with a marvellous credulity, an acute and sceptical nation firmly believes that it is a faithful imitation. The French have the merit of affording great encouragements to the study of antiquity, but unhappily they have no feeling for the true antique: they want every quality that is required for comprehending it, and possess all those that can impede the pursuit. They want, in short, nature, ease, grace, and simplicity.

The pagan religion was addressed to the imagination and the feelings, and not to the understanding, from which no submission was required: it sought only to amuse and delight, not to convince. If the forms of the gods were sometimes whimsical,—if strange actions were sometimes attributed to them,—we are told that the object was to attract attention, which ever has been, and ever will be, not less difficult than desirable. The modern practice of endeavouring to obtain hearers by scolding has been found, and ought to be acknowledged, as equally unpleasant and inefficient. Innumerable passages will occur to the scholar, especially in the writings of Cicero, to show that the influence of superstition did not cramp the understanding of the philosopher,—that it was either a plaything or an engine of state, and a part of the powers of government. There is evidence also, that in much earlier times it was not considered necessary to manifest a very lively faith. Valerius Maximus relates, that in the first Punic war, in days of pristine simplicity and primitive piety, when Publius Claudius was consulting the augurs, on being told that the sacred chickens refused to eat, "Then throw them into the sea," he said, "that if they will not eat, they may drink." If the sacred chickens eat the corn that was placed before them, it was a favourable omen; if they devoured it so greedily as to drop a part, success was certain; if, on the contrary, they refused it, there was mischief in the wind; but if they attempted to fly away on quitting the ivory coop, inevitable destruction was impending. The consultation respected the event of a naval engagement; the profane remark of the consul, therefore, was more apposite: "P. Claudius, bello Punico primo, cum praelium navale committere vellet, auspiciique, more majorum, petisset, et pullarius non exire euen pullos nuntiasset, abici coe in mare jussit, dicens, Quia esse nolunt, bibant."

Notwithstanding the slight influence which the pagan religion possessed over their thoughts and actions, the higher classes were attached to it; great men were glad to be deified, and their relations considered it an honour and a happiness. It was esteemed formerly as advantageous to have a god, as in Catholic countries it still is to have a saint, in the family. It was not only an addition to the splendour of an illustrious house, but possibly it also gratified the spirit of monopoly, as nothing Antiquités was required to go out of the family, not even prayers and sacrifices; and, moreover, every kind of favour might be reasonably expected from an uncle a god, or an aunt a goddess. Whatever parts of this religion were mysterious, it is at least clear and indisputable that it was essentially and fundamentally of a popular character, and was totally and entirely designed for the public amusement and gratification: it was a political institution for the education of the people. We cannot be surprised, therefore, that it captivated the multitude, who were well aware that it might have been difficult to bestow so much upon them in any other form; and that it was used as a pretext to cover, not taxes and severe exactions, but large, frequent, and liberal donations from the wealthy to the poor.

Among the cheerful ancients, as well as among graver people, the immortal gods were often compelled to furnish a decent excuse to enable men to do without censure whatever they wished: there was this important difference, however, that the religious hypocrisy of the former sought commonly to shelter under the awful sanction of celestial patronage, objects, not of a narrow and selfish, but of a liberal and patriotic nature. Works of art being for the most part public property, were frequently vested in a god or a goddess, as a trustee for the people; religion supplied the means of enjoying the only species of property that can advantageously be enjoyed in common. The temples were in truth the museums in which works of art were preserved and exhibited, and the ancient usage still lingers in countries that have not been reformed, where the churches, although not avowedly, are substantial galleries for the display of the productions of the fine arts. Wherever well-stored libraries and rich collections of paintings and statues, and similar objects of virtù, are accessible at all hours to the public, the wants of private persons are greatly diminished. It was not only through these exhibitions, which were constantly present to their eyes, that the people were gratified by the ancient religion,—the occasional and periodical festivals were of frequent recurrence, and were a source of joy and happiness for many ages to all ranks. The subject is an agreeable one: it is pleasant to go back to the enjoyments of the ancient world; and we regret that on the present occasion we are only permitted to allude to this interesting topic. M. de Pauw speaks sensibly of the excellent effects of these festive institutions, in the countries where they were most prevalent. "Au reste, si tous ces petits états de l'Attique avaient leurs vices, ils avaient aussi leurs vertus; et Dicéarque lui-même se loue de l'humanité et de la politesse avec laquelle il avait été reçu sur toutes les grandes routes de cette contrée. Ensuite il assure que nulle part au monde on ne pouvait vivre plus agréablement qu'à Athènes; soit qu'on eût de l'argent, soit qu'on n'en eût absolument pas. Les riches, dit-il, peuvent s'y procurer tous les agréments imaginables, et il-y-a, ajoute-t-il, tant de spectacles, tant de fêtes, tant de jeux, tant de divertissements, que les citoyens indigens n'y pensent jamais à leur pauvreté." (Recherches Philosophiques sur les Grecs.) All who have experienced the opposite condition, who have resided in countries where there are no public entertainments, no festivals, no popular amusements, no holydays, are able to bear testimony, that there wealth can procure for the rich few pleasures, and that the many are reminded of; and never see cause to forget, their indigence. Festivals are very useful to the lower classes, especially in country places, as they tend to check the selfishness of individuals, by which their minds are apt to be cramped, and make them feel that they form a part of a great whole: humanity and politeness are wanting wherever they are discouraged, and an absence of Antiquities amusements is sure to generate a brutal and sullen incivility. The cheerfulness and courtesy of the Athenians were the fair fruits of a system of reasonable indulgence; and intellectual culture being generally diffused, caused an extreme toleration of all pursuits and opinions. If the people are enabled to judge of works of art, their critical powers will be engaged and exercised more usefully and agreeably than in scanning the actions of their superiors, which they are unable to estimate correctly. Where no congenial occupation is supplied, every low and ignorant fellow may grow into a sour bigot, and, it may be, into an oracle and a prophet, and in that capacity may imagine that it is his duty to seek to shape the conduct and creed of wiser men according to the misconceptions of his wayward fancy.

It is very desirable that some competent person should undertake to give a plain and faithful account of a religion which has never met with fair treatment from its historians. It indicates a bad taste, to say the least of it, to imitate and repeat the absurd and vehement declamations of the fathers of the Christian church against the gods of the ancients. In their times those deities were dangerous rivals; there is certainly no cause to fear them now. No one can see any reason to apprehend that the world will return again to the old worship. The pope and the archbishop of Canterbury may rest in equal security that they will never receive a short notice either to sacrifice a black heifer to Proserpine, or to vacate their respective palaces and offices; the unpleasant option will never be offered to either. It is a mere waste of words, therefore, to persist in calling the heathen, of whom we have learned so much, blind, and to rail at their gods. A religion which was exempt from sordid rites, and of which the end and object were the gratification and cultivation of the people, at least deserves to have its story told and its fortunes related without scurrility, passion, or prejudice. Persons of good taste will be equally offended, on the other hand, at the attempts that are often made by writers, of more zeal than discretion, to wrest the pagan mythology, and to compel it to seem to consent with the mysteries of the Christian religion. Lord Bacon wisely says, in allusion to such unholy and offensive practices, "But I have interdicted my pen all liberties of this kind, lest I should use strange fire at the altar of the Lord." Nor should that excessive dread of idolatry, which characterizes a barbarous people, find a place in such a work: it is time to discard the absurd notion, that it is impossible to see and admire a beautiful statue without worshipping it—that true piety and a taste for the fine arts are of necessity incompatible.

The admirable Heyne complains of the unnatural and forced hypotheses of mythologists; and of their disposition to torture the meaning of the ancient fables, and to pervert them to signify matters that were diametrically opposed to the spirit and sense of antiquity. He at the same time lays down a golden rule, to guide the future historian of mythology; and happy will he who shall have the good sense and the good fortune to be governed by it. "To compose a plain narrative, representing the primitive form under which each fable has been handed down to us by the first poets and the first artists, and afterwards to show the changes and additions that have been made by later poets and artists." "Il nous manque également pour l'étude dont il est question (the study of antiquity), des traités sur les connaissances accessoires, et surtout, un bon ouvrage sur la fable. Nous avons à la vérité beaucoup d'écrits sur la mythologie; mais je ne sais quel mauvais génie se saisit de tous ceux qui veulent traiter cette matière. Ils commencent par établir quelque hypothèse, d'après laquelle ils cherchent à dénaturer et à force le sens des anciennes fables; et aucune de ces hypothèses ne se trouve établie sur l'esprit même de l'antiquité. Il nous faut une mythologie qui ne consiste qu'en un simple récit, qui nous présente la forme primitive sous laquelle chaque fable nous a été transmise par les premiers poètes et par les premiers artistes. Nous devons connoître aussi les changements et les additions que les artistes et les poètes postérieurs y ont faits. La meilleure explication est celle qu'on peut tirer de cette méthode et de cette manière d'exposer les choses, en partant des temps de la première origine des fables, et en les suivant dans les différents changements qu'elles ont éprouvées."

The inexhaustible quarries of fine marble at Athens, and in other parts of Greece, furnished materials for immortal statues and other sculptures: many of the most celebrated works were executed in ivory. These, of course, have entirely perished; but of those in marble we are so fortunate as to possess some specimens from the hands of the most renowned artists; and it is universally allowed, that even in their present state, all of them having received more or less injury, they are fully worthy of the fame that has attended on the memory of the great men by whom they were fashioned. It has been asserted, that the most lovely of all things are the Greek statues and the Greek tragedy; and ingenious, and perhaps somewhat fanciful persons, have imagined that they perceived a certain resemblance in the peculiar style of the sculptors and tragedians of Athens.

The sentiment of repose is strongly inculcated by the best productions of the Grecian chisel, and critics are sometimes dissatisfied with the small amount of action and the little apparent exertion; and they affirm that the expression is occasionally even that of listlessness. In inferior productions, on the contrary, we observe an excess of action, and a straining, that are painful to the spectator, especially if he regards them for a long time; we find the same sobriety, frugality, and even parsimony, in the other compositions of the ancients, especially in their writings, which must seem cold and languid to the admirers of the exaggerated expressions of modern authors.

In classical works, the more exalted the personage, the more calm and dignified are his emotions; but the hero of a modern drama or other work of the imagination often seems, by his violence and unnatural contortions, to be convulsed by the powerful action of a Galvanic battery, rather than impelled and agitated by mere human feelings; unless we may adopt a more obvious and simple solution of the difficulty, and suppose him to be a maniac. We presume to speak on this subject with great diffidence and distrust, but we must confess that the ancients have sometimes carried the sentiment of repose to an excess, especially in bas reliefs, in which the figures, although they are engaged in pursuits demanding the utmost energy, and of intense interest to all concerned, appear frequently to be more than half-asleep. It cannot be denied, however, that an excess of tranquillity is less displeasing than a display of unnecessary and outrageous violence.

The nakedness and full draperies of ancient times form a striking contrast with the close, strict, and scanty clothing of modern days, and show us symbolically the former copiousness and pristine candour, in opposition to the disingenuous concealments and narrow poverty of degenerate souls. Statues and other marbles and sculptures may be so easily, cleanly, and perfectly copied, by means of plaster-casts, that no considerable city ought to be without a public museum, containing a copy of all the best pieces of this kind in existence. If a few curious persons should for a time refuse permission to take a cast, a drawing or some other imitation of the sculpture that was wanting might occupy the place of the cast, and an inscription might inform the visitor where the original was to be found, and give the name of its unworthy possessor, who refused to the lovers of art the facilities which others had cheerfully granted. We possess many excellent antiques in bronze. If the colour be less agreeable than that of marble, the superior toughness of the material admits of greater spirit and freedom of execution; and of this advantage the ancient workmen knew how to avail themselves to the utmost, as any good collection of these remains will fully demonstrate, especially the many admirable specimens that are exhibited in the Studii at Naples.

The most remarkable, and perhaps the most inimitable, excellence of ancient art, is the perfection that was displayed in cutting gems, whether the figure be sunk beneath the plane surface of the stone, as in the intaglio, or projected above it, as in the cameo. If, on the one hand, gems are imperishable, and almost indestructible, on the other they are easily lost by reason of their small size. The prodigious number of engraved stones already known to the curious, and which is continually augmented by the discovery of new and beautiful specimens, proves that a vast amount of labour and of exquisite skill was formerly employed on these minute and delicate works. Rings, which were originally composed of coarse materials, and were used as seals, tokens, and for other purposes of necessity, in progress of time gradually grew into articles of immense luxury and cost. The taste for these ornaments had become universal in the civilized world in the time of Alexander the Great, who was fond of having his portrait cut on gems; and men were equally fond of wearing his image, not through a servile adulation, for the fashion or passion continued for several centuries after his death, but from a notion that it was lucky, which was indeed the chief motive in the choice of subjects for rings. In modern times we waste our gems by engraving upon them the ugliest device of a barbarous age—coat-of-arms; in like manner much valuable material and much precious labour were expended anciently, in the days of waning liberty, to preserve the worthless portrait of some dull sample of a Jove-descended king. The public acts of free states had sometimes been sealed with the likeness of an individual who had been a benefactor to the community, as a lasting and delicate compliment, that might flatter, but could not wound, the generous modesty of a disinterested patriot. The emperors of Rome, with that more than Aristophanic genius for burlesque and caricature for which they were remarkable, and of which the comic effect was the more striking and humorous, became the masters of the world were perfectly unconscious that they were heaping ridicule upon their own sacred heads, adopted the usage with many aggravations and additions for their own glory. The patriotic Tiberius extended the laws of treason—laws by which it was declared to be high treason to treat with disrespect the statues of the emperor—in order to protect from insult, by the last and highest penalties, his own image on a ring. We desire to confine our censure to the abuse of portraits. Many of the antique likenesses of individuals, who are remembered on account of their virtues or their talents, are highly interesting: there are several valuable collections of this kind in other places, but the Capitoline Museum at Rome is the grand repertory of ancient portraits. We read that in ancient times there were large collections of engraved gems, both glyphs and anaglyphs, as in our own days; and we have moreover innumerable books, containing representations of the most celebrated Dactylithothea, of very various degrees of merit, to enumerate which would be tedious. The amulets and astrological characters on rings have given occasion to the display of much antiquities, curious learning. Superstition has long been familiar with the importance of rings: Apollonius of Tyana deemed them so essential to quackery, that he had seven—for each day of the week a different one, marked with the planet of the day. The scenic mask, whether tragic or comic, but especially the latter, was a favourite device: we have seen many gems that exhibit beautiful and surprising examples of that wonderful creation of the fancy. It affords one instance also of the many that might be cited to show that ancient forms are often preserved in a whimsical manner, and applied to purposes very remote from those for which they were originally designed. We have often observed an antique comic mask carved in stone on the end of a spout on our churches, and the exaggerated mouth from which jests not less grotesque than itself, but well seasoned with Attic salt, were used to issue, giving free vent to mere rain-water: so universal and indestructible is the influence of antiquity. As a class, coins are perhaps the least interesting of antiques; for, with few exceptions, they serve to illustrate nothing but the succession of a family or dynasty of kings. They have, however, long been favourite objects with collectors, partly on this account, and partly because persons who cannot attain to the comprehension of any other part of the study of antiquities, can at least understand the formation of an unbroken series, and that it is often difficult to complete it. We may concede also in favour of this branch of the science, that the Numismatists have sometimes rendered assistance to chronology, and have even cleared up certain points of geography, and therefore in subordinate departments have aided the historian.

Certain eminent artists and accomplished critics have given it as their decided opinion, that enough remains of the ancient painting to demonstrate that the ancients were as much superior to the moderns in this art, as they are admitted to have been in sculpture. It seems probable that the first efforts of design were mere shadows or outlines: of this early style the fictile vases afford examples. We have, however, many specimens of finished works in fresco, which are preserved at Rome and in Naples. Of the former, the Roman remains, some idea, although, it must be confessed, a very inadequate one, may be derived from the engravings in Turnbull's Treatise on Ancient Painting. Of the latter, the Pitture di Ercolano are more faithful and satisfactory representations. The style of the ancient painters, so far as our imperfect materials will permit us to judge, rather resembled that of Perugino and Raphael in grace, beauty, and sweetness, than the sublimity and graphic dæmon of the angelic and immortal Michael.

Michel più che mortal, Angiol divino.

Of the celebrated encaustic painting we know nothing, but that the ancients have left us some brief and vague descriptions, and the moderns have made some fruitless attempts to revive or re-discover it.

Of the Mosaic painting we have some very lovely vestiges, and some of them are as fresh and as fair as when they were first laid; with patient industry they may be imitated, either with stones, with morsels of glass, or with small tiles coloured and glazed. This kind of work is of bewitching beauty: the eyes of Homer had been so captivated with it, that he continued after his blindness to describe heaven by its pavement; at least if the critics will permit us to give this sense to the word δακτυλίθεα.

We learn from the remains of ancient painting, that it was usual to adhere scrupulously to particular colours for the draperies of certain gods and heroes; and we may trace the same practice in the works of many of the Italian masters, who assign invariably the appropriated colours to Antiquities, the clothing of saints and personages of note in Christian story.

In countries where fuel was scarce the process of burning bricks was expensive; unburnt bricks were therefore much used. In consequence of the greater heat of the sun they were hardened in southern climates more perfectly than the very limited portion of sunshine that northern regions enjoy could possibly effect; and we read that the desiccation was continued for several years before they were consigned to the builder. If the rain, which in the south at certain seasons falls in torrents, were warded off, wherever the air is generally dry such structures would last for a long period (the perpetual humidity of our atmosphere, even if we were able to prepare them properly, would speedily decompose them); but, even under the most favourable circumstances, a pile of unburnt bricks is a perishable structure, and many celebrated edifices have accordingly perished. More durable and more ornamental materials, however, have been fortunately very plentiful in those countries where invention and a pure taste in architecture were most prevalent; and some of the most celebrated of the productions of antiquity have resisted the gradual attacks of time, and the sudden violence of barbarians. In a few instances they are nearly entire; in many more, enough remains to enable us to restore the building to its original state, or to build another exactly similar to the former. Nor have architects been wanting in diligence in this respect; very accurate surveys, and exact and minute admeasurements and drawings, models and descriptions of every kind, have been executed by competent persons, to the great benefit of their art. We should be enabled to judge very correctly of the effect of the ancient temples and other edifices of celebrity, many of which have been admirably restored in small drawings and engravings by architects, if the restorations were painted in fresco on the walls of our public buildings in various points of view, and of the full size of the originals. Since Greece, and especially Athens, has been so carefully explored, and the results of much valuable labour made public, our taste in architecture has been greatly improved. The various members, at least, and the details of the buildings that have been lately erected in Great Britain, are more elegant than they were formerly. Unfortunately, however, we do not seem to possess an architect capable of combining the beautiful parts into one harmonious whole. It should appear, therefore, that a more profound and enlarged study of antiquity is required to make the artist in this line a master of general effect. A literary work may be faultless in its details, and yet it may be inefficient as a whole; it may be impossible to fix blame upon any single page or paragraph, yet the entire history of Greece, or of Rome, may be unworthy of the events which it undertakes to record. The narration, although the style be chaste and correct, may be lifeless, spiritless, and uninspiring. So is it in architecture; and such is the present state of that art in Great Britain. Our architects seem equally incapable of producing a whole, either in the Grecian or the Gothic style, although the parts may sometimes in themselves have merit. A silhouette, shade, or profile of the object in question, especially if it be taken in various points of view, will afford the most simple, ready, and satisfactory means of determining, and is the most certain and conclusive test whether the effect as a whole be good. If our latest erections be tried in this manner, the contours will invariably prove to be insipid and uninteresting, and often ill proportioned and ugly.

The Romans surpassed the rest of mankind less in the arts of government than in that remarkable art which Seneca aptly compares to the constitution of civil society, the building of arches and vaulted roofs of masonry. The astonishing and colossal relics of their mastery in this useful and difficult department of architecture have received much less attention than many works of very inferior beauty and utility. The most vulnerable part of a building is the wooden frame of the roof, which is always in danger of being destroyed by fire. It seems, however, to be unnecessary in the construction of edifices of some kinds to use wood at all. The tiles or other external covering might be supported, as they were in some of the ancient temples, by light arches of masonry, which, as the weight they would have to bear would be insignificant, might be built so slightly as not to oppress the parts beneath that sustain them. Many of the arches in the circus of Caracalla, near Rome, are composed of large earthen vessels walled together, instead of bricks or stones; and of this contrivance there are other examples at Rome. The superior lightness is manifest; the strength of an earthen vessel, and its power of resisting mere pressure, is considerable. That such structures were sufficiently solid, is demonstrated by their standing to this day. The expedient is worthy of imitation, and of more attention than it has hitherto received. The cupola of the church of San Vitale at Ravenna is the most remarkable specimen of this sort of building, being composed entirely of cylindrical earthen vessels, which are placed in a horizontal position, and are so arranged as to form one spiral coil, the end of the one vessel being always inserted into the mouth of the other, like the pipes that convey water through our streets. This very curious structure is exactly coeval with the body of the civil law, being of the age of the emperor Justinian; and it is said to be in equally good repair, and as likely to last for some ages longer, as the Corpus Juris. M. d'Aigincourt has fully explained this simple but ingenious contrivance, and has expressed in a plate, more than it is possible to convey by verbal description alone, in his great work entitled Histoire de l'Art par les Monuments depuis sa Décadence à 4me Siècle jusqu'à son Renouvellement à 16me. Paris, 1823.

The same disposition of stones, and the same artifice, which would serve to support more securely the roof of a temple of masonry, would be equally effectual in diminishing the tendency of the roof to fall in a cavern or excavated temple; and we see, in fact, that they were actually employed in the latter case, and with results equally satisfactory. The ordinary configuration of the artificial roof of a temple is well adapted to lighten the natural roof of a cavern, especially if the peculiarities of formation be carried to a greater extent than we usually find in edifices. The part that would fall in first, and bring down the rest with it, is the middle, it being most distant from the supports: this is cut away and formed into hollow panels, deepening in gradual succession. The Etruscan catacombs supply remarkable instances of all these contrivances. We even find the hole in the centre of the cupola, which is designed to lighten the living roof, where it is least able to hang in the air, and which also serves to admit the day. Of the two problems to support a natural and an artificial roof, the one is precisely the converse of the other; it being necessary in the former to hew away whatever portion of space would not be occupied by the structure in the latter. Certain architectural critics attribute, we know not how correctly, the undercrofts or crypts which are commonly found beneath cathedral churches, to the catacombs; of which, they assert, they are an imitation and memorial; because the catacombs were, it is said, the first places of worship used by the early Christians. It is certain that the catacombs at Rome serve as a crypt to the church of St Sebastian, and it is also certain that the sepulchral chambers of the Pagans, which are far more ancient than the Christian worship, although they were never built under the floor of temples, closely resemble crypts.

The tombs of the ancients are very interesting to the archaeologist, because, besides a multitude of pots and pans, and some vases of merit, they have furnished a countless host of lamps, that have formed the subject of many amusing volumes, and some excellent paintings in fresco, and other objects of considerable importance. The ancients sought to alleviate as much as possible, by calling up ideas of cheerfulness, grace, and beauty, the heavy burdens of death. The Greeks were eminently distinguished by the warmth and the strength of the domestic affections. Their tragedies present many lovely pictures of the vigorous and luxuriant growth of all the more tender charities, and every part of the history of their rites of sepulture brings fresh proof of the power and prevalence of the most amiable feelings among this ingenious and cultivated people. The creation of families, and the maintenance of them in the closest union and intimacy, is undoubtedly the most desirable object of public and private institutions; for it is from his family in childhood and in youth, in manhood and in old age, that man's happiness is mainly derived. We must be careful, however, not to mistake the means for the end, and we must always remember that laws, institutions, and principles, that were designed to advance an end, are only valuable so far as they serve the purpose for which they were designed. Men who do not steadily look to final causes are apt to gild and hang garlands on a scaffolding pole, and, in their insane worship of their wooden idol, to forget the marble palace, for the sake of which alone the unsightly pole was erected. The great success of the Greeks in the cultivation of these affections may be principally attributed to their extraordinary toleration and liberality; for, in other countries, where there is more prudish precision than mild and temperate forbearance, by drawing the silken bonds too tight, they are often broken. If those rules of decorum which are to be observed only with a certain moderation, and ought often to be considerably relaxed with a wise equity, are enforced by the arbiters of society with a rigid and literal severity, they will infallibly create heartlessness, hypocrisy, and disgust, and there will be but little domestic happiness or affection. Genius is in its nature eccentric; and if no allowances be made for its aberrations, men of talent will be converted into enemies,—and they are most formidable ones. If the treatment that may not be unsuitable to the humble and patient ass be attempted towards the generous steed, it will rouse a spirit of resistance and revenge not unworthy of the lion. Many writers have discoursed at great length of the ancient sepulchral rites. The folio of Mark Anthony Boldetti, entitled Observazioni sopra i Cimiteri de' Santi Martiri, ed antichi Cristiani di Roma, contains a great body of curious information, and many valuable inscriptions; and the compilation is made palatable by a certain simplicity and amusing credulity. It is difficult to believe, if we reason from analogy, that were it possible to restore the ancient system of music, it would not richly repay the labour that might be bestowed on the task.

It is not from the contemplation of the remains of antiquity in the fine arts alone that we may hope to derive benefit; in many of the mechanical arts the ancients were decidedly our superiors; and by assiduous study of the specimens of various articles, and of the descriptions of certain processes, we may hope that ingenious practical men will learn to restore lost arts, and to amend and improve those which we possess. The ancient locks, for example, were of an admirable and very various construction. Bramah's justly celebrated inventions are merely, as is commonly known, an adoption of as many of the devices of the ancient locksmiths as modern artists are at present able to understand. In the manufacture of glass, the ancients were as much our superiors as in several other arts. This is demonstrated by the accuracy, variety, and delicacy of the forms into which they have moulded vessels of this substance. Among the other excellencies of this manufacture, we may mention the gems formed of paste in imitation of stones, to which we owe the preservation of some of the most beautiful antique engravings, the originals having been lost; many of these are of a large size. The manufacturers of porcelain have not hitherto been very successful in impressing their works with the stamp of genius and true taste; the Chinese origin is still manifest in the shapes of even the best pieces of crockery: herein let them pray the aid of the ancients. The construction of the antique chariots is perhaps not altogether unworthy of our attention, for even the smallest and lightest of our carriages appear to be unnecessarily large and heavy. Among the minor difficulties that were mastered by the skill of antiquity, was that of driving and managing many horses abreast. We see on a gem in the work of Count Caylus (Recueil d'Antiquités, tome i. Plate LX. fig. 4) a chariot with 20 horses yoked in this manner. Three horses abreast are often used on the Continent, and with a good effect. We have heard that an equestrian amateur tried the experiment in England successfully, but we do not remember to what extent. The Grecian breed of horses, it is believed, was much smaller than the English carriage-horses. If a London drayman, therefore, would be surprised to meet an Athenian team rapidly advancing in a single line, the Attic charioteer would scarcely be less astonished at the immense bulk of the animals that slowly march in a long file. This branch of the subject, however, would lead us too far from our original design.

It would be dangerous to enter upon the disputed ground of Etruscan art; for even the most experienced and confident critics confess that it is sometimes very difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish Etruscan monuments from those of the early ages of Greece. It is certain, however, that this ancient nation was much addicted to superstition and the fine arts. The lax erudition of Dempster,1 the learning and critical skill of Lanzi,2 and the labours of a myriad of antiquaries, and particularly of the estimable Gori,3 are ready to conspire in instructing and perplexing the student.

Archaeological critics are by no means agreed as to the degree of merit that is to be ascribed to the Egyptian works of art. Artists unanimously admit that the mechanical execution is very admirable; and travellers assert with one voice, that we cannot safely and correctly judge of their peculiar character or general effect from the ordinary engravings. We are required, moreover, in order to arrive at sound and solid conclusions on this difficult question, to distinguish most carefully between the original and pure Egyptian works, and the modern and spurious imitations that were manufactured when the rites of Isis were fashionable in Rome; and generally to be on our guard against whatever was executed whilst Egypt was under the sway of the Romans, and to esteem it as very inferior to the genuine productions of the country. A still further degree of caution may perhaps be necessary: the degradation of the old style probably was gradually pre-

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1 De Etruria Regali, 2 vols. fol. 2 Saggio di Lingua Etrusca, 3 vols. 8vo. 3 Marmi Etruschi, 3 vols. fol. Antiquities pared, and advanced slowly during the period of more than three centuries, when Egypt was under the Grecian dominion of the Ptolemies, before it passed by conquest into the hands of the Romans. Plato indeed informs us, at the commencement of his second book De Legibus, that the Egyptian sculptors and painters were forbidden by law to change in any respect the forms of the statues and paintings, but were required to follow scrupulously the ancient models—and that there were in his days works in the temples of Egypt 10,000 years old; that they had not an old-fashioned antique appearance, but were precisely like the latest productions, and were neither more nor less beautiful. This testimony to the rigid adherence of their artists to patterns of such extraordinary antiquity may possibly add to our confidence in the genuineness of Egyptian antiquities in general.

In the midst of beauty we are often shocked by a certain ugliness; so, in the Egyptian statues, in their very ugliness there is, if we may use an apparent contradiction in terms, a certain beauty—a gravity, a dignity, a seriousness, a certain decorum: there is perhaps in the air and expression a display of moral beauties, while, save health and strength, all physical ones are wanting. Grotesque and whimsical as these figures are, they awaken a feeling of reverence; but the statues of the Hindoos, if we may judge from the representations of them which we see in Europe, are endowed with an unredeemed, unclaimed, and unmixed ugliness, and inspire only disgust and contempt. The Egyptian statues possess one quality, which is esteemed no vulgar merit in works of art—a perfect repose: it is striking at first sight, and the more attentively and the longer we contemplate them, the more profound does it appear. Men of good sense, good taste, and learning, who have been sufficiently fortunate to have had opportunities of judging of the Egyptian architecture, assert that the general effect is very wonderful, and that the feeling of repose is produced in an eminent degree by the prodigious proportions of their colossal edifices—a sense of endless duration and of eternal rest. It is a striking thing to pass at once, by opening a door or raising a curtain, from the filth, noise, glare, and bustle of a hot and busy street, to the calm purity, cool shade, and quiet beauty of a richly adorned church. The transition must have been still more striking when the Egyptian temples stood, as did most of them, in crowded cities, to be suddenly translated from the tumult, and turbulence, and the storms of active life, to the deep, unbroken rest, the waveless harbour, of those who had long been dead. The magnitude, solidity, and ponderous weight of the objects have no doubt some share also in the effect which the contemplation of them produces on the mind. We feel that beauty is always alluring, and we feel also, as we before observed, that a certain kind of ugliness is sometimes respectable and imposing. But the Egyptian works of art are not invariably ugly; there is nothing in which determined admirers will not find beauty; but less suspicious witnesses, ordinary unprejudiced travellers, declare they have found statues that were actually beautiful, particularly the countenance of the famous Sphinx.

We have ventured to make these remarks on Egyptian art at the hazard perhaps of appearing dogmatical, for to express any opinion must have that appearance in the eyes of those who have none; and it may be also somewhat paradoxical, for such is the lot of all who venture to think for themselves, or even to adopt any received opinions, except the most popular.

The judgment of Strabo was not favourable to the Egyptian architecture. He seems to consider it a barbarous style, that has nothing graceful or picturesque, and that it displays only a vain waste of labour. His words are confined to some particular temple, which he criticises: they seem, however, to admit of a general application, and they express the opinion of many. Καὶ τὰς τοιχοποιίας εἰς τὸν καθάρτην ἐν Μυστῇ, Ἐγγείωσαν τοῦτο παρασκευής ἐπὶ τῶν τειχῶν τῶν μυστικῶν, καὶ στολῆς, καὶ στεγῶν, τῶν εὐκαιρῶν, ὡς ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνδρῶν, ἀλλὰ μακρότερα ἢ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις. (Lib. xvii.)

"Immensa res est Aegyptiorum religio, seu cultus vestutatem spectemus, seu varietatem." The immensity of the subject will deter us from entering upon it. We may remark, however, in passing, that the worship of one favourite deity still subsists in that country; we mean of Mithras, the god cat. So great is the fondness of the Mahometans for that animal, and so excessive their indulgence towards him, that they may be said still to worship him in Egypt. The lady cat was not less a favourite than her lord; she was equally adored, and her image was as frequently made. This matter is treated in the 8th chapter of the 6th book of the supplement to Montfaucon.

The Egyptians acquired some celebrity among other nations on account of their adoration of vegetables and pot-herbs. No other people, however pious, have made a pantheon of the kitchen-garden, unless we suppose that the Welsh, who are very prone to religion, have succeeded them in the worship of the onion, in its milder representative the leek; for the respect they show to that sacred plant seems to be greater than the importance of its divine presence in mutton broth, or even its fragrance to a Celtic nose, will warrant; and it seems, therefore, to partake somewhat of the nature of a religious observance.

An attentive consideration of the structure of the Greek and Latin languages is a labour that always insures its own reward; but this department of the study of antiquity must be reserved for another occasion. The assiduous reading of old books forms of course a most important part of the study of which we treat. We would not, however, determine the antiquity of a work merely by the number of ages since it was written. A book may have been published in remote times, and yet it may closely resemble a production of yesterday. If it affords examples of the ancient modes of thinking and acting, it is well worthy of the attention of the archaeologist, who estimates it according to the antiquity of the sentiments, and not the date of the composition.

The early antiquities of Greece are unfolded by several of the best masters of language in the Greek tongue. Homer displays the heroic ages with a purity and fidelity which are not less remarkable than his other transcendent merits. His wonderful poems abound in every kind of archaisms, or may more truly be said to be entirely composed of them. When we read him, we learn to think as Achilles and Ulysses thought; we go back at once to the times when his spurious miracles were wrought; we are contemporaries of Priam and Helen; and we become as well acquainted with the leaders of the Greeks as if we had passed a night with them in the Trojan horse. Herodotus is the beautiful Ionic bridge of nine arches, by which we pass from the heroic ages to the times of wonderful men—of Plato, Pericles, Demosthenes, and the other worthies who flourished at different periods of the Athenian republic, but are seen clustering together when viewed at the distance we now regard them.

Herodotus breathes the genuine spirit of antiquity. He was wisely ordained to affect the difficult and delicate transition from the mythic to the historical: he has performed his office with pre-eminent skill, and has passed the golden chain to his successors as he received it from the hands of him who took it up at its origin, the throne of the Olympian Jove. These two authors, and the other ANTIQUEITIES.

reward. But in order to make himself acquainted with Antiquities, the contents of many important works, he needs translations nearly as much as those who are entirely ignorant of the languages in which they are written.

It is singular that the same city produced the two great archaeologists of former days: that Halicarnassus gave birth to the father of Grecian history, Herodotus, to whom we owe our knowledge of the antiquities of Greece; and to Dionysius, the author of the Roman Antiquities, to whom we are equally indebted for the principal part of the information that we possess respecting the earliest institutions, and the history of the first ages of Rome. Dionysius came to Rome in the reign of Augustus, at the conclusion of the civil wars. He resided for 22 years in the imperial city, and spent that long period in diligently collecting materials for his work, in studying the Latin language, in reading all the authors who had written concerning Roman affairs, and in constant personal intercourse and intimacy with the great men of the time. His history was comprehended in twenty books, and extended from the foundation of the city to the commencement of the first Punic war, from which epoch Polybius had related the Roman affairs with singular judgment and fidelity, in his inestimable work. Of the twenty books eleven only remain, which comprise little more than the first three centuries of the existence of Rome. The author manifests a profound acquaintance with the matters of which he treats. He fully illustrates the manners and customs of the ancient Romans, their laws, religion, and discipline in peace and war, explaining many antiquated expressions and names, and relating the origin of states and cities; and his knowledge of geography and chronology is remarkable, and gives an additional value to his work. He is not only more full than Livy, since he expands into eleven books a period of more than 300 years, which is condensed into three books by the Roman historian; but he is admitted also to be more exact and correct, and is universally acknowledged to be the most valuable of all the historians of Roman affairs.

The Greek writers are our best and most instructive guides in all that respects the Romans, because they wrote for Greeks, that is to say, for persons who were ignorant of the Roman manners and institutions; and they address themselves, as it were, to us. The Romans wrote in the Latin language, and their compositions were intended to be read by those who were already familiar with the subjects of which they treat. They allude therefore to domestic matters with extreme brevity; and their allusions are always obscure, and would commonly be unintelligible to us, but for the explanations with which we are supplied by the more copious Greeks, who being strangers themselves, write with a fulness which strangers can understand. Without the foreign authors, and especially without Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the knowledge of the moderns, if it were derived from Latin sources alone, would be very scanty and unsatisfactory. The most valuable Roman histories are those which are written in Greek. Except Plutarch's Lives, Greek writers concerning Roman affairs have been little read in England. The histories in Greek are all imperfect; they have discovered more or less, and some portions only remain. An old French translator of Appian expresses his high sense of their value in a quaint manner. In reference to this, he says that the Deity was so much offended at the bloodshed, oppression, and cruelties, through which the Roman empire was founded, that in order to deprive the Romans of a part of the glory which they sought by these misdeeds, and as an adequate punishment, he has not suffered any one of the histories which manifest their glory to reach us entire. It would be easy to bring a host of testimonies to the great value of Dionysius. Among the ancients, Eusebius praises his remarkable accuracy; Cyril bears witness of his great fame; Photius celebrates his diligence, and the simplicity, sweetness, and beauty of his style; and Suidas his universal erudition. Since the restoration of letters, learned men have vied with each other in commending him. It is needless to repeat the encomiums of Paulus Manutius, Joseph Scaliger, Justus Lipsius, Sigonius, Petavius, Salmasius, Isaac Casaubon, Le Clerc, and Vossius, or even to enumerate the names of the great critics by whom he has been extolled, and of whom some, as Henry Stephens, prefer him on many accounts to his great rival Livy. One reason for his preference is philosophical, and worthy to be stated; he says that the history of Livy is military, and that of Dionysius civil. Dionysius is much read on the Continent by the French, Germans, and Dutch. He is the delight of the Italians, and has long been a favourite and popular author in Italy. Angelo Maio, in his courtly yet dignified dedication of a work, of which we will speak presently, to the present emperor of Austria, says that the emperor once told him he had often read the history of Dionysius with great interest: "Tum etiam addidisti magno tibi studio Halicarnasseum Dionysium jam inde ab annis virentibus lecitatum." Although a lively interest, and as it were a certain sympathy, is felt by the English in Roman history, he has not yet become familiar to us. An Englishman, Hudson, published at Oxford an excellent and splendid edition of the original Greek text; but it has found few readers in this country. The Greek poets are chiefly studied at our universities, and some portions of some of the Attic prose writers: the style of Dionysius is certainly difficult to those who are not acquainted with other authors. He is not read therefore in the ordinary course of education; and the studies of scholars who are so happy as to be able to keep up their knowledge of Greek are commonly directed by circumstances into a different channel. The Roman Antiquities have been translated into English some time since, by Edward Spelman. Although this is not by any means one of our worst translations, yet it is not such as ought to satisfy the lover of Roman history. It is not easy to assign a reason why the writer, from whom we derive the best and most detailed account of the institutions of Rome, should not be a general favourite in England; and why we take our information at second hand from those who have compiled histories of Rome by drawing largely upon him. Dionysius has been blamed for inserting fables; but, if it be a crime, he is less guilty in this respect than Livy; and it is not easy to say by what authority he could take upon himself to reject those portions of early history which, however incredible, were generally received in Rome; and, in the account of an extraordinary people, the history of their superstitions is not without its use. He was moreover a person of distinguished piety; and it is not a little curious to compare the religious feelings, notions, and practices, of those times with the superstitious observances of the over-zealous of our own days. He was well skilled also in the philosophy of the ancient world, and is rich in valuable and instructive reflections, which illustrate the state of opinion in the Augustan age; and his morality (and this is no ordinary merit in any writer, but especially in a historian) is generally of the highest order; and he powerfully and authoritatively inculcates, with all the powers of consistent integrity, and the authority of superior learning, the paramount importance of justice, whether public or private, and the great interests of virtue. A notion has prevailed in England, which appears to have originated in France, that he is not an agreeable writer. It is commonly asserted and believed that his style is flat and languid; and he is said to be a rhetorician. A conceited French Jesuit, named René Rapin, set the fashion in France, which has prevailed there, and in England also to a certain extent, to undervalue Dionysius as a writer. His pelulant editor Reiske has adopted it, and Mr Gibbon, a man infinitely superior to Rapin or Reiske, repeats the censure, but with considerable mitigation. Mr Gibbon derived his tastes and his principles chiefly from French writers; and the style which he has adopted in his own immortal work shows that he had no taste for a full and copious narrative, but was of opinion that a history, like the response of an oracle, should be conveyed in brief, obscure, enigmatical allusions. A modern French writer, Schoell, strong in the confidence of ignorance, ventures to say, "son style, formé d'après celui de Polybe, son modele, n'est pas toujours d'une pureté classique." Dionysius, in common with all judicious critics, duly appreciated the civil prudence and military knowledge, the fidelity, accuracy, and good sense, and all the estimable qualities of Polybius; but so far was he from taking his style as a model, that he places him among those writers whose style is the most faulty, and whose works, on that account, it is hardly possible to read to the end. (De Structura Orationis, sect. 4.) As to the complaint that he was a rhetorician, it cannot be denied that we are indebted to him for the best rhetorical treaties in the Greek tongue. It is certain that he was a rhetorician, but that he was not a mere rhetorician is equally certain. The cultivation of language was carried to so great an extent in the time of Dionysius, that the most eminent men produced works on that subject; and Julius Caesar himself, as is well known, was the author of a grammatical or rhetorical treatise, De Analogia, which was esteemed. That Caesar was not a mere rhetorician, was a misfortune to Rome and to the world.

The error of undervaluing a writer of the Augustan age because he was skilled in rhetoric, arises from confounding different times. Subsequently there were no other pursuits than grammar, rhetoric, and the like; learned men were mere rhetoricians, and nothing more, and were not good even in that narrow line, to which a hopeless despotism had confined their energies.

Dionysius has also been censured for having introduced too many orations into his history; but he abounds less in speeches than many other historians who are highly esteemed. He had studied oratory with great attention, and had composed criticisms on the principal orators of Greece, which are still extant, and are highly and deservedly prized. It was natural, therefore, that he should endeavour to put in practice the rules of composition which he had laid down in such a masterly manner; and many of his harangues have been warmly praised by very competent judges, for great magnificence of language, a rich vein of good sense, a remarkable elegance and address in the selection and arrangement of arguments, and indeed for all the resources of eloquence. If the speeches are sometimes long, they are never superfluous; they are, in truth, merely a mode of relating events, and differ from ordinary narrative in manner only. Occurrences, instead of being told in the common course of history, for the sake of variety, and to produce a lively and dramatic effect, are detailed in an edition: they are shown not only as effects, but as causes—as causes in actual operation, and as producing the consequences that flowed from them; and are thus more deeply impressed on the mind of the reader. No one can pretend that the person to whom the speech is attributed delivered it in the precise words used by the historian. That he did make a speech at Rome, where it was usual to do so on be related by contemporary writers as a fact, and as a part of the history of the transaction. In order that he may fully understand the subject, and, of course, the motives of the principal actors, a careful writer, who is about to compose a history, studies the whole matter with the utmost diligence. It is true that he may have failed altogether; for men fail in all undertakings; but if he has been successful in discovering the motives of the speaker, it is likely that the speech is in substance the same as that which was actually delivered—that it was the same in words we cannot suppose—indeed, some of the best histories are in a language different from that which was spoken by the persons whose acts or fortunes are related.

Since sceptical history has been fashionable, too low a value has been put upon such writers as Dionysius. The French invented sceptical, or, as they term it, philosophical history; and they conducted their inquiries, although somewhat arbitrarily, yet with a certain tact, with ingenuity and good taste. The Germans adopted it, as they are wont, without acknowledgement; and using greater erudition and elaboration, and every variety of uncommon sense, outraged and caricatured it, and rendered investigation so ridiculous, that the only way to avoid being laughed at seems now to be to believe everything we read. It was once asked, What is truth? and the question did not receive an answer; in like manner we may ask, What is probability? If every reader may reject whatever appears improbable to himself, the page of history will soon become as naked and bare as the head of the middle-aged bigamist, who, as the fable tells us, married an old and a young wife.

If Livy and Dionysius, who lived so much nearer to the times of which they write, were unable, by reason of the great antiquity, to discover the truth, how is it possible for a professor on the banks of the Rhine, the Seine, or the Thames, nearly 2000 years after, to find what has been so much longer hidden? Livy honestly and modestly gives up the hopeless attempt in despair, and says, "Cura non desset, si qua ad verum via inquirentem ferret: nunc famae rerum stundum est, ubi certam derogat vetustas fidem." It would be a pious and profitable work, to the studious reader at least, if not to the patriotic translator, to make a new translation of the Roman Antiquities, a book which has been justly called a "grave, learned, accurate, and golden volume," the production of an author who has been said with equal justice to have written better about the Romans than they did about themselves. To translate it as it deserves, and to the entire satisfaction of the translator, would demand great natural and acquired powers, and a very long period of uninterrupted leisure; but to induce some learned man to attempt to render it into English, in some respects at least according to the idea of accurate interpretation which we form in the mind, and to give it in such a shape as would be acceptable and agreeable to the English reader, and might become popular, is all that we can venture to hope in our most sanguine moments.

Angelo Maio, the librarian of the Vatican library at Rome, published, a few years since, from a manuscript in the Ambrosian library at Milan, an abstract or epitome of the last nine books, which are lost. Photius informs us that Dionysius made such an epitome of the entire work himself; and the learned editor is of opinion that the manuscript which he discovered contains a copy of the author's own abridgement. Some critics have doubted whether it be the work of which Photius speaks; but it has not been doubted that the fragments are portions of the lost books of Dionysius, although they question whether the selection was made by himself.

As they contain many very interesting passages, and relate to that period of the republic of which the existing memorials are the most scanty, and have never been published in English, it would be desirable to add a translation of the epitome, and thus to complete, as far as is possible, the history of Rome from its foundation to the beginning of the first Punic war. A benevolent translator, who sought to serve his country by the diffusion of useful knowledge, would give, in a preface of moderate dimensions, an account of the author, and of his other compositions, and of the different editions and translations of this work, so far as they are of importance; of its general design and nature; and such observations respecting the Romans, as would facilitate the understanding of their ancient history. He would add notes to illustrate obscure passages, to point out ambiguities, and wherever the interpretation admits of variety; together with references to authors who confirm, contradict, or differ from Dionysius; comprehending also additional explanations of the laws, rites, customs, and institutions, wherever these are to be obtained, and the author seems to need them; and such information respecting the earlier writers who are cited in the Roman Antiquities, and their works, as can be gleaned from trustworthy sources. In writing notes, to be plain and intelligible ought to be the constant aim of an annotator. He ought especially to keep in view the grand object, utility; he should religiously avoid the discussion of trifles, however tempting they may be on account of their difficulty, or as furnishing opportunities for the display of fruitless ingenuity, a vain ostentation of learning, and the empty parade of citation; he should seek to gather the fruits of erudition, wherever they are within his reach, and should permit the leaves of pedantry to remain untouched, and rustle in the winds.

We have ventured thus to enlarge upon the merits of Dionysius, because we are persuaded, that a careful perusal of the historical works of this neglected author would greatly assist the student in forming correct and clear notions of the more ancient, fundamental, and original institutions, which properly belong to the study of antiquities.

We may consider the civil law as forming a most valuable ingredient in the general education of a scholar and a citizen on three accounts. 1st, It is useful to the legislator, to teach him, by the efficacious discipline of good examples, in what manner to make laws, and how to clothe them in language at once brief, comprehensive, and perspicuous; 2dly, to the magistrate and the lawyer, to instruct them, by a display of the long-continued practice of the most able and accomplished men, in the administration and sound and consistent interpretation of laws; and, 3dly, this science is peculiarly interesting to the archaeologist, as being rich in precious illustrations of many of his favourite pursuits. And we would gladly adduce some instances of its value in the last point of view; but we are afraid to commit ourselves to this vast ocean of erudition, and must be satisfied with having merely indicated it as an inexhaustible mine of antiquarian wealth.

The beauty, variety, and richness of the precious remains of antiquity (that we may resume the general consideration of the subject) are sometimes even oppressive; and they overpower the mind, when it contemplates attentively the great theme of ancient excellence. We endeavour naturally to discover the cause of this excellence, but we are not competent fully to solve the problem—we are perhaps able to make some approaches towards its solution. The inhabitants of Athens, that we may go at once to the centre and fountain-head, were not less distinguished for and characterized by an intense love of and passion for the beautiful, and by the universality of good taste, than by an extreme tolerance. There was nothing extravagant in the productions of the imagination in Antiquities that free city; but how much, and what monstrous extravagance, do we constantly find, combined with great genius and invention, in the compositions of men who lived under despotism? If good taste was universal in Athens, it was very general in Florence in the best days of that state, when its inhabitants enjoyed a great but inferior degree of civilization. Under the ecclesiastical government of modern Rome there has always been, on account of the weakness of the rulers, much licentiousness, and a considerable portion of practical freedom, together with a correct taste in the fine arts. We may remark, by the way, that the papal government, like that of Athens, for many ages contrived to produce the greatest effects with the most scanty means; and the history of the holy see proves that its occupier, like the people of Athens, seldom failed to promote learned and able men, and freely to acknowledge on all occasions the pre-eminence of learning. Clement VIII., on nominating the celebrated Jesuit and archbishop of Capua, Bellarmine, declared publicly, "We choose him cardinal because the church of God does not possess his equal in learning." The history of the successors of St Peter, if such they were, is replete with examples of the same wise policy. To convince ourselves that good taste prevails exactly in proportion as works of art are addressed to the people at large, and designed for public inspection, it is only necessary to look around us. At Rome, where they are freely thrown open to all, the works of the government are in a pure taste; in Paris they are less public, and less correct; if there be any country in the west of Europe where the monarch lives in complete seclusion among his household ministers and women, as in the East, we may safely conclude, that whatever works are executed at the public expense, but are not intended to be submitted to the public view, are conceived in the worst and most vulgar and degraded taste, and that they are worthy of a Byzantine emperor or an oriental prince. The history of the declining empire, and the specimens of art of the first ages of Christianity that still remain, demonstrate that the fine arts were corrupted and lost when they ceased to be employed for public purposes, and ministered only to the private and selfish gratification of emperors and wealthy individuals, who consumed the property of the people in monstrous and guilty luxury.

If the greatness of the ancients be a wonderful and inexplicable thing, it is not less wonderful how this greatness was destroyed and annihilated. The more we consider the ancient world, the more astonishing does this total destruction appear. Many ingenious men have attempted to assign the true causes, but no one has fully succeeded hitherto in explaining the extraordinary catastrophe. If we might venture to hazard a conjecture on the obscure subject, we should be inclined to attribute it principally to intolerance. The steady growth of this baneful disposition gradually destroyed every thing: by continually dividing and subdividing, the great masses were reduced to smaller, these again to fragments, and finally to mere dust, which was blown away by the wind. The greatest men are always the least orthodox, because they think most; and men who think for themselves cannot fall into the common tracks, at least for a long line of road. The ignorant and dull, on the contrary, who do not exercise their understandings, but the memory only, learn easily to repeat the watchwords of some narrow sect, which, as they are few in number, are not easily forgotten; and having no originality to lead them astray, they outbid their superiors, and produce more of the only coin that is current, and have nothing to fear but the more tenacious memories of their inferiors in ability. Wherever orthodoxy of any kind whatever is acknowledged as the test and criterion of success and merit; the mark of contraband is set upon talent, and a premium, a right of pre-emption, and a secure monopoly, are given to the base and vile. It is to this fatal cause we would attribute the utter extinction of the ancient glory.

In studying the remains of antiquity, we ought to entertain with modest confidence the encouraging hope, that the day will arrive when the ancient excellence will be equalled, or even surpassed; and we ought especially to cherish and foster the generous desire of imitating the objects which we reverently admire. It has even been said that we ought to be prejudiced in favour of these works, to be predisposed to admire them, to view them with the eye of faith; that it is very easy to persuade ourselves we see nothing remarkable in them, but very difficult to appreciate them fully, and to understand thoroughly their value. We conceive, however, that it is not easy to show that any advantage would be gained by substituting faith as a guide for the understanding in the place of reason, or that our judgment ought not to be directed by certain rules, which will admit of being stated, examined, and compared among themselves, and with the principles of things. To place the standard of excellence high, and to set a high value upon excellence, is favourable to a generous emulation, and conduces to ultimate success. It is unnecessary to caution the reader against a blind admiration of antiquity. The general indifference of an age, in which he who knows any thing is apt to imagine that he knows it a priori, through the uninstructed force of his own mind, and which is sufficiently disposed to consider itself wiser than any that preceded it, to the knowledge of past times, will insure him against an excess in this respect. It is not without much hesitation that the maxim, peritiories estutatis facit, will now be admitted.

We will readily concede, however, that the respect for the wisdom of our ancestors may easily be carried too far, especially if that wisdom was manifested in barbarous ages; and a reverence for authority that leads us entirely to distrust our own powers would disable us, and render us incapable of exertion or improvement. It would be difficult to decide whether we should err more grossly in believing nothing that we read, or in yielding implicit faith to the assertions of every author.

The taste of the present age is somewhat inclined to favour historical scepticism. A specimen of easy credulity will not be the less amusing on account of its old-fashioned air. We transcribe the following passage from L'Antiquité Explicée de Montfaucon, tome i. p. 44—“Jupiter le Pluvieux, Pluvius, appelé par les Grecs Ζεύς πλημνεός, et par Lucien νερος, était honoré par les Athéniens, qui lui avaient dressé un autel sur le Mont Hymette. Nous le donnons d'une manière bien extraordinaire, tel qu'il est représenté dans la colonne Antonine. C'est un vieillard à longue barbe, qui a des ailes, et qui tient les deux bras étendus, et la main droite un peu élevée: l'eau sort à grands flots de ses bras et de sa barbe. Les soldats Romains de l'armée de Marc Aurèle, que la sécheresse et la soif avoit réduits à une extrême nécessité, reçoivent cette eau dans le creux de leurs boucliers. Les Romains, plongés encore dans le paganisme, attribuèrent ce prodige à leur Jupiter Pluvieux. Mais ce furent, dit avec plus de raison Baronius dans ses Annales, les soldats Chrétiens qui obtinrent cette pluie qui sauva l'armée.” This passage is conceived in the true spirit in which marvellous relations ought to be read, if we desire to have history stuffed full of wonders. The miracle itself ought to be accepted as an undoubted fact, without scruple or hesitation; and the only difference of opinion among historians ought to be as to the authority or influence to which it is justly to be attributed. There would have been many more specimens of ancient art in existence at present, if this amicable and pacific credulity had prevailed in all ages, and to the full extent to which it might, with advantage to society, be carried; if the tolerant rule of conduct had been to repair the temple, to spare and hospitably to entertain the statue, to preserve the sculpture or painting, but to apply different names to them, and to use them for various purposes, according to the fancy and fashion of the age. The figure of Jupiter Pluvius of Montfaucon is really very curious: he is flowing with water, which is descending in torrents from every part, his left wing only excepted. We find the same figure of this deity in the work of the learned Roman John Baptist Cassalins, De Urbis ac Romani olim Imperii Splendore (p. 49), represented in a rude but spirited sketch, with the attendant circumstances: for the particulars of the story we are referred to Baronius, sub anno 176. The crosses fleuris on the shields of the soldiers in the latter engraving are, we presume, an addition of the engraver, or perhaps of Pope Sixtus V., who repaired the column of Antoninus.

The captivating fables of the ancient mythology are useful as a part of liberal education; and it is good for children to read them in order to form the imagination. It is a vulgar and a pernicious error to believe that this faculty may be neglected with impunity. Persons in whom, through a narrow and vicious institution, the cultivation of the invention has been neglected, have rarely reached great eminence; and if by diligently exercising the reasoning powers they have for a short time attained to some small reputation, they have scarcely ever been able to sustain, much less to increase it. Whenever they have attempted to exert their unformed fancy, and to extend thereby their fame, they have commonly made themselves ridiculous, by failing in inventing something probable, and falling into the monstrous: their fictions moreover want the attractiveness which a practised taste can alone give to the creations of the imagination. The most acute logical powers, and the most profound knowledge of the rules of rhetoric and criticism, are unavailing without the higher faculty of invention, which discovers arguments and apposite illustrations, and finds the proper media of conviction and persuasion. Truth is undoubtedly the end of knowledge, but it commonly happens that the end can only be attained through the means of fiction. Whatever departments of knowledge are suited to the wants and capacities of children, are also adapted for the lower orders, who in many respects are always children of a taller stature. The common people can understand and feel the advantage of amusements, of cultivating the feelings and the taste for the beautiful, but they are unable to learn the abstract sciences, and it would be of no service to endeavour to teach them. As men begin to take an interest in general matters, they cease to be curious concerning particulars. To get rid, therefore, of the minute and troublesome curiosity which is the infallible characteristic of the ignorant and vulgar, and is strong exactly in proportion to the want of mental cultivation, every encouragement ought to be afforded to honourable recreations and liberal studies. The equality of the political rights of every citizen has been perhaps more distinctly acknowledged in modern times; and if it be clearly ascertained and firmly secured, much, no doubt, is done to assure the wellbeing of civil society. Many other institutions besides those which are required for this purpose are nevertheless essential, or at least highly conducive, to the happiness of mankind. Men have other wants besides security, liberty, and equality; and for some of them better provision was made in certain states of antiquity than in the present days the people have thought proper to demand, or their rulers to grant. For the amusement of the lower classes, although diversions may be more requisite in some climates than in others, they are of more importance in all than is commonly supposed: for the cultivation of their tastes, and for many parts of their education, much labour and money, much thought and talent, were employed in Greece and in Rome. Refinement and civility were accordingly universally diffused; and the general happiness of society was greatly augmented; for the people were rendered capable of new and exquisite pleasures, and these pleasures were liberally supplied to them. In countries where no wish to gratify and indulge the lower ranks is manifested by their superiors, but rather a desire to thwart their diversions, and a sullen pride in interfering with the few pleasures they are capable of creating for themselves, the unhappy result is, that a general rudeness and disgusting brutality become the common characteristics of the labouring classes.

To be fully impressed with the great truth, that amusement is as necessary to man as bread, it is requisite to consult the golden pages of antiquity: it is unfortunately not very easy to state in a few words where the student can find the best expositors of those pages. A good work is needed to guide us in the vast labyrinth of past ages; a work that would avoid on the one hand a vague and desultory manner of treating the subject, and on the other those minute details which are interesting only to professed artists and archaeologists; a work that would reject the husks and retain the nutritive parts of erudition. Writers have hitherto in general reversed this rule, and given abundant cause for the complaint, "L'antique n'a servi à la plupart des savans qu'à étaler une immense érudition, et il a été regardé comme peu fait pour nourrir l'esprit." No profane literature is more tiresome than the commentaries on ancient works of art by ordinary antiquaries; they are dull and heavy with heaped up citations. There is much scope for felicitous innovation in such a work as we desire. Of many of the remains of ancient art only conjectural explanations have been given, which in some cases are tolerably satisfactory; in many others it is impossible to acquiesce in them: so is it also in truth with many passages of the classics,—the ignorant reader can alone rest content with the interpretation they ordinarily receive.

It is sometimes a difficult matter to detect restorations; and the art of the critic, who would decide as to the genuineness of antiques, is not unfrequently perplexed. By not distinguishing the modern restorations from the original composition, many ludicrous mistakes have been committed: it would be the duty, therefore, of the accomplished guide to render us assistance in this delicate department, and to lay down for our direction sound canons of criticism. Impediments have been thrown in the way of the study of antiquity. This legitimate pursuit has been superseded and brought into discredit by the spurious imitation of the antiquary, by an insane fondness for our own barbarous antiquities, for heraldic trumpery, and similar trifling. We recall the remembrance of days when every thing was worse than at present, that we may learn to shun, not to imitate. They are happy who have had free access in their youth to good copies and representations of the antiques, and thrice happy who have been able at any period of life to study many of the originals.

The sedulous vulgar, seeking to degrade what they are unable to understand, speak slightingly of looking at pictures, as if it were one of the many forms of idleness; but the studious read not in books alone, and it must be a good modern book which contains as much instruction as a tolerable engraving of an antique. The ancient works of art have been engraved with a suitable spirit