thing of native growth than the Dutch, except the Chinese, who consider improvement as penal innovation, and who confined a native in irons for life, because he ventured to make a boat upon a new construction, by which it sailed faster than any other.

This immoveable adhesion to old customs in the Dutch, is the more singular, as from their commercial character, they have been in constant intercourse with the natives of every quarter of the globe, the various produces of which they have brought into their own canals, but not for adoption, imitation, or, generally speaking, for consumption, but solely for profitable re-sale.

This spirit, or if you like to call it so, this amor patriæ, is strongly evinced in all their collections of paintings: in only one or two private cabinets in Holland are to be found any productions of the Italian and Venetian schools.

The finest private cabinet belongs to M. Vanderpals, à very rich and respectable merchant; it is principally filled by the works of those delightful masters Nicholas Berchem, and Linglebach; of the former I shall give a few striking anecdotes when I reach Haerlem, the place of his nativity; of the latter I shall briefly speak when I describe Frankfort on the Maine, where he was born.

M. Vanderpot, another wealthy merchant, has also a very large and well selected collection of the Dutch and Flemish painters. M. Lockhorst, a gentleman of commercial distinction, has also a fine assortment of pictures of the same school.

The proprietors of these valuable productions are always ready with the greatest politeness to gratify strangers with the sight of them. Amongst other artists, Rotterdam has the honour of giving birth to the Chevalier Vanderwerf, who was born in 1659, and received his first instructions from Picolet, a portrait painter; he afterwards studied under Eglon Vanderneer, under whom he made a rapid improvement: he principally confined himself to historical subjects of a small size. The Elector Palatine conceived a great fondness for him, from accidentally seeing some of his performances in that style; this prince honoured him with every mark of esteem and beneficence. He conferred upon him the honour of

knighthood, ennobled his descendants, gave him a chain of gold and a medal, and his portrait set with diamonds of great value, and allowed him a noble pension, besides paying him munificently for his productions; and upon the wife of Vanderwerf presenting him with a picture drawn by herself, their royal patron bestowed upon her husband six thousand florins, and on the lady a magnificent toilette of silver. What a model of munificence and liberal policy for princes! The pictures of this eminent master are very rare, and bear very high prices. He is principally celebrated for the roundness and relief of his figures; his defect lay in a coldness of colouring. Upon his pictures he laboured with unsparing toil, which injured the spirit of his productions.

His brother, Peter Vanderwerf, was born near Rotterdam in 1665, and was the pupil of his brother Adrian. His principal subjects were portraits and conversations, which entitled him to rank as a very able artist, and as a further proof of it, a small picture of his sold, in 1713, for five hundred and fifty guilders; and another, a copy from one of his brother Adrian's, for eight hundred guilders. I did not hear of any living painter at Rotterdam of very distinguished eminence, a circumstance somewhat singular, when it is considered how many fine artists, though inferior to Vanderwerf, that city has produced.

The perfection to which the Dutch and Flemish schools arrived, proves that great artists may be formed, without the assistance of great galleries. The present low state of the French school demonstrates, that the most magnificent collection ever known, containing the renowned and exalted specimens of art, and opened to the inspection of every one with a becoming spirit of liberality, cannot form good artists. The St. Jerome of Corregio, and the St. Cecilia of Michael Angelo, have created no successful disciple since their arrival at Paris.

At Dort, or Dordreght, a city of great antiquity, about nine miles from Rotterdam, resides a celebrated artist of the name of Varestage, aged about fifty; he is justly celebrated for his candlelight subjects, which are masterly: one of his works, a school by candlelight, and a number of children, is spoken of as truly ex

quisite. On account of his eyes growing weak, he has altered his manner, and at present confines himself to large figures, portraits, and conversations.

As I was informed there was nothing very attractive at Dort, I did not visit that city: it is however famous for having given birth to several able men. John Gerard Vossius studied there in 1577, and wrote a great number of learned works; he was the father of Issac Vossius, also a man of profound erudition. Our King Charles humourously observed of him, alluding to his credulity and infidelity," that he would believe any thing but the Bible."

Adrian Junius was born here in 1511, and was considered to be one of the most profound men of his country, and wrote many learned works. Dr. Johnson observes of Junius, in the preface to his Dictionary, "the votaries of the northern muses will not perhaps easily restrain their indignation, when they find the name of Junius thus degraded by a disadvantageous comparison, (alluding to Skinner); but whatever reverence is due to his diligence, or his attainments, it can be no criminal degree of censoriousness, to charge that etymologist with want of judgment, who can seriously derive dream from drama, because life is a drama, and a drama is a dream."

It would be an inexpiable offence to pass over the name of Albert Kuyp, or Cuyp, who was born here, son of the well known Jacob Gerritze Kuyp, whose pupil he was, and whom he infinitely surpassed. The former excelled in whatever he attempted to represent; the diffusion of his lights is as exquisite as it is natural, and the very times of the day in which he painted are immediately discoverable; the misty haze of the morning, the brilliant lustre of noon, the last blush of evening, and the lunar beam of night from his hands, presented the closest imitations of nature, and the utmost powers the art is susceptible of. Most of his subjects were furnished by his native city and the adjacent scenery, particularly his celebrated representation of the cattle-market at Dort, and the square where the troops exercised: his works are much sought after, and preserved as great curiosities; and yet, though now so highly prized, they fell into so much disrepute, that not many

years since, a large collection of his best pictures sold for eight guineas apiece, so uncertain is the opinion and taste of the public.

"He that depends

"Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead,

"And hews down oaks, with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?
"With every minute you do change a mind,
"And call him noble that was now your hate;
"Him vile that was your garland."

Coriolanus, Act I.

Even our immortal Cowper experienced the severity of popular caprice. So diffidently did he think of his abilities, that he offered his first poems to his publisher, reserving only as a remuneration, a few copies to present to his friends, from an apprehension that his works might produce rather loss than profit. These productions were, on their first appearance, very rudely handled by most of the reviewers, and nearly the whole of the copies lay like so much waste paper for a long time in the bookseller's shop.

Some time afterwards, not wholly discouraged by this mortify ing neglect, he presented through the hands of a friend, his manuscript copy of that divine poem, " The Task," upon the same terms, the merit of which, dispelled the folly or ignorance of the town, as the rays of the sun pierce through and absorb the mist, and Cowper took a high rank amongst the living great men of his century; the fame of "The Task" brought into light his former discarded productions, and their sale has ever since continued to augment the wealth of his bookseller, the venerable and much respected Johnson.

The following very interesting and extraordinary circumstance occurred at Dort in the year 1785, which is still the frequent narrative of the young and old of that city, who relate it with mingled sensations of awe and delight, as an interposition of Divine Providence in favour of a widow and her family of this city. This woman, who was very industrious, was left by her husband, an eminent carpenter, a comfortable house with some land, and two boats for carrying merchandize and passengers on the canals. She was also

supposed to be worth ten thousand guilders in ready money, which she employed in a hempen and sail-cloth manufactory, for the purpose of increasing her fortune and instructing her children (a son and two daughters) in useful branches of business.

One night about nine o'clock, when the workmen were gone home, a person dressed in uniform, with a musket and broad sword, came to her house, and requested a lodging. "I let no lodgings, friend," said the widow," and besides, I have no spare bed, unless you sleep with my son, which I think very improper, on account of your being a perfect stranger to us all." The soldier then shewed a discharge from Diesbach's regiment (signed by the Major, who gave him an excellent character), and a passport from Compte Maillebois, governor of Breda. The widow, believing the stranger to be an honest man, called her son, and asked him if he would accommodate a veteran, who had served the republic thirty years with reputation, with part of his bed. The young man consented; the soldier was accordingly hospitably entertained; and at a seasonable hour withdrew to rest.

Some hours afterwards, a loud knocking was heard at the street door, which roused the soldier, who moved softly down stairs, and listened at the hall door, when the blows were repeated, and the door almost broken through by a sledge, or some heavy instrument. By this time the widow and her daughters were much alarmed by this violent attack, and ran almost frantic through different parts of the house, exclaiming " Murder! Murder!" The son having joined the soldier with a case of loaded pistols, and the latter screwing on his bayonet and fresh priming his piece, which was charged with slugs, requested the women to keep themselves in a back room out of the way of danger. Soon after the door was bursted in, two ruffians entered, and were instantly shot by the son, who discharged both his pistols at once. Two other associates of the dead men immediately returned the fire, but without effect, when the intrepid and veteran stranger, taking immediate advantage of the discharge of their arms, rushed on them like a lion, ran one through the body with his bayonet, and whilst the other was running away, lodged the contents of his piece be