Cicero on a voluminous writer-that "his body might be burned with his writings;" which has been applied with great propriety to the worthlessness and magnitude of Albert the Great's twentyone folio volumes!

It was the literary humour of a certain Mecenas, who cheared the lustre of his patronage with the steams of a good dinner, to place his guests according to the size and thickness of the books they had printed. At the head of the table sat those who had published in folio, foliissimo; next the authors in quarto; then those in octavo. At that table Blackmore would have had the precedence of Gray. Addison, who found this anecdote in one of the Anas, has seized this idea, and applied it with his felicity of humour in No. 529 of the Spectator.

Montaigne's works have been called by a Cardinal, "The Breviary of Idlers." It is therefore the book for many men. Old Francis Osborne has a ludicrous image in favour of such opuscula. Huge volumes, like the ox roasted whole at Bartholomew fair, may proclaim plenty of labour, but afford less of what is delicate, savory, and well-concocted, than SMALLER PIECES."

In the list of titles of minor works, which Aulus Gellius has preserved, the lightness and beauty of such compositions are charmingly expressed.

Among these we find a Basket of Flowers; an Embroidered Mantle; and a Variegated Meadow.

A CATHOLIC'S REFUTATION.

In a religious book published by a fellow of the society of Jesus, entitled, "The Faith of a Catholic," the author examines what concerns the incredulous Jews and other infidels. He pretends to shew that Jesus Christ, author of the religion which bears his name, did not impose on or deceive the Apostles whom he taught; that the Apostles who preached it did not deceive those who were converted; and that those who were converted did not deceive us. In proving these three difficult propositions (difficult for infidels) he says, he confounds "the Atheist, who does not believe in God; the Pagan, who adores several; the Deist, who believes in one God, but who rejects a particular Providence; the Freethinker, who presumes to serve God according to his fancy, without being attached to any religion; the Philosopher, who takes reason and not revelation for the rule of his belief: the Gentile, who never having regarded the Jewish people as a chosen nation, does not believe God promised them a Messiah; and finally, the Jew, who refuses to adore the Messiah in the person of Christ."

I have given this sketch, as it serves for a singular Catalogue of Heretics.

It is rather singular that so late as in the year 1765, a work should have appeared in Paris, which bears the title I translate "The Christian Religion proved by a single fact; or a dissertation in which is shewn that those Catholics of whom Huneric, King of the Vandals, cut the tongues, spoke miraculously all the remainder of their days; from whence is deduced the consequences of this miracle against the Arians, the Socinians, and the Deists, and particularly against the author of Emilius, by solving their difficulties." It bears this Epigraph; "Ecce, Ego admirationem faciam populo huic, miraculo grandi et stupendi." There needs no further account of this book than the title.

The cause of Religion is more hurt by her stupid friends than her lively adversaries.

THE GOOD ADVICE OF AN OLD LITERARY SINNER.

THERE have been, in all the flourishing ages of literature, authors who, although little able to boast of literary talents, have unceasingly harassed the public; and have at length been remembered only by the number of wretched volumes their unhappy industry has produced. Such an author was the Abbé de Marolles, the subject of this article.

This Abbé was a most egregious scribbler; and so tormented with violent fits of printing, that he even printed lists and catalogues of his friends. I have seen even at the end of one of his works a list of names of those persons who had given him books! he printed his works at his own expence, as the booksellers had unanimously decreed this. Menage used to say of his works, "The reason why I esteem the productions of the Abbé is, for the singular neatness of their bindings; he embellishes them so beautifully, that the eye finds pleasure in them." On a book of his versions of the Epigrams of Martial, this Critic wrote, Epigrams against Martial. Latterly, for want of employment, our Abbé began a translation of the Bible! But having inserted the notes of the visionary Isaac de la Peyrere, the work was burnt by order of the ecclesiastical court. He was also an abundant writer in verse, and exultingly told a poet, that his verses cost him little "They cost you what they are worth," replied the sarcastic critic. De Marolles is one of those authors who shew that it is possible to be an honest man, but at the same time a detestable writer. In his Memoirs he bitterly complains of the injustice done to him by his cotemporarics; and says, that in spite of the little favours shewn to him by the public, he has nevertheless published, by an accurate calculation, one hundred and thirty-three thousand

one hundred and twenty-four verses! He is a proof that a translator may perfectly understand the language of his original, though incapable of retaining its spirit.

In the early part of his life this unlucky author had not been without ambition; it was only when he was disappointed in his political projects that he resolved to devote himself to letters. As he was incapable of attempting original composition, he became known by his unlucky versions. He wrote above eighty volumes, which have never found favour in the eyes of the critics; yet I am told are not so contemptible.

The most remarkable anecdote respecting these translations is, that whenever this honest translator came to a difficult passage, he wrote in the margin " I have not translated this passage, because it is very difficult, and in truth I could never understand it." He persisted to the last in his uninterrupted amusement of printing books, and his readers having long ceased, he was compelled to present them to his friends, who however were not his readers. After a literary existence of forty years he gave the public a work not destitute of entertainment. It is his own Memoirs; which he has dedicated to his relations and all his illustrious friends. The postscript to his Epistle Dedicatory deserves to be brought forward for its singularity, as well as for the excellent coun