same volume was a print of the apotheosis of St. Louis, from
an illumination. The holy prince was represented dying in the
fore-ground, but over head were a couple of angels flying away with
his soul, (under the figure of a wretched infant, skinny and naked,
save the glory that covered his head,) in a kind of sheet, or rather
sack.

But to detail all the absurdities and indecencies of these revered
artists, whether limners, or carvers in wood, were endless. Their
anachronisms, however, have been of considerable service to the
antiquary. Sculpture has its monstrosities, architecture its
incongruities, though not so palpable as those of painting, because
the art is less generally understood by the common observer, or rather
pictorial errors are in general easily detected by the eye alone,
and sometimes by the most commonly informed mind; but architectural
defects are only recognisable by those who have studied the principles
of this fine art. Poetry, I am sorry to say, is not exempt from bulls
and blunders, of various kinds and degrees of enormity; many of which
have been, from time to time, exposed in a very amusing manner. I
shall therefore, in conclusion, crave the liberty of producing one
which has lately come under my own cognizance. A modern poet, whose
compositions are fraught with beauty and genius, sings:--

"Then swooped the winds, that hurl the _giant oak_
From _Snowdon's altitude_."

And another, in stanzas of extreme strength and eloquent description,
describes a storm at night "among the mountains of Snowdon," with
these expressions:--