n perplexes the best writers, when they find the relatives
"whom," "which," or "they," at their mercy, whether they may have
admission or not; and will never be decided till we have something like
an academy, that by the best authorities, and rules drawn from the
analogy of languages, shall settle all controversies between grammar and
idiom.

I have only considered our language as it shows the genius and natural
temper of the English, which is modest, thoughtful, and sincere, and
which, perhaps, may recommend the people, though it has spoiled the
tongue. We might, perhaps, carry the same thought into other languages,
and deduce a great part of what is peculiar to them from the genius of
the people who speak them. It is certain the light talkative humour of
the French has not a little infected their tongue, which might be shown
by many instances; as the genius of the Italians, which is so much
addicted to music and ceremony, has moulded all their words and phrases
to those particular uses. The stateliness and gravity of the Spaniards
shows itself to perfection in the solemnity of their language; and the
blunt, honest humour of the Germans sounds better in the roughness of the
High-Dutch than it would in a politer tongue.

THE VISION OF MIRZA.

--_Omnem_, _quae nunc obducta tuenti_
_Mortales hebetat visus tibi_, _et humida circum_
_Caligat_, _nubem eripiam_.

VIRG., _AEn._ ii. 604.

The cloud, which, intercepting the clear light,
Hangs o'er thy eyes, and blunts thy mortal sight,
I will remove.

When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Oriental manuscripts,
which I have still by me. Among others I met with one entitled "The
Visions of Mirza," which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend
to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them; and
shall begin with the first vision, which I have translated word for word
as follows:

"On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my
forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered
up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdad, in order to
pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing
myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation
on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another,
'Surely,' said I, 'man is but a shadow, and life a dream.' Whilst I was
thus musing, I cast m