circumstances of the present times.” Milizia died in March, 1798, of an inflammation in the lungs. From this rambling compiler, whose attention was directed sometimes one way, and sometimes another, you will perhaps expect nothing but an echo of the opinions of others in a form somewhat different. I know nothing of his other works, but in architecture he is remarkable for the boldness of his original speculations. He seems to have been a man of a powerful understanding, not very patient of labour; confident in himself; not taking up opinions on the faith of another; and never hesitating to expose, and to defend his own. Architecture exactly wanted such a writer. It was in a languid state in Italy, vibrating like politics and religion, between a slavish adherence to rules not understood, and entire license. He who had liberated himself from these arbitrary shackles, considered himself free from all restraint, and never thought of being reasonable, either in his submission or rebellion. Milizia applies reason to every thing, and his fault is in being too reasonable, that is, in endeavouring to found upon reason, certain practices which are only conventional, and which we follow because experience has shewn that they please, without our being able to assign the cause of this pleasure. He writes with spirit, and frequently with a severe sarcastic wit which will insure his being read; and he possesses a singularly happy and forcible mode of expression, to which the Italian language in his hands, seems wonderfully suited: had he written in one of our northern languages, he would have been frequently forced and harsh, and it would be difficult to translate him, and preserve any portion of his spirit, without falling into this defect. Though strongly vindicating his own freedom, he is much inclined to lay down arbitrary rules for others, and even to applaud a despotic exertion of the authority of government in matters of taste; not considering that the true use of rules is to guide, not to govern us; that they are merely the direction posts which mark the road pursued by some of those who have advanced farthest towards the conception of perfect beauty. Other, and even better roads, may possibly exist, but it does not show good sense to be ignorant of what has been proved good, or to desert the known track without well understanding what it is, and what direction it takes, as well as the nature of the country we have to pass over.