professed to have copied this piece from an antique dug up with
his own hands in the environs of Modena. Of the truth of his
assertions we were not qualified to judge; but the marble was
pure and polished, and we were contented to admire the
performance, without waiting for the sanction of connoisseurs.
We hired the same artist to hew a suitable pedestal from a
neighbouring quarry. This was placed in the temple, and the
bust rested upon it. Opposite to this was a harpsichord,
sheltered by a temporary roof from the weather. This was the
place of resort in the evenings of summer. Here we sung, and
talked, and read, and occasionally banqueted. Every joyous and
tender scene most dear to my memory, is connected with this
edifice. Here the performances of our musical and poetical
ancestor were rehearsed. Here my brother's children received
the rudiments of their education; here a thousand conversations,
pregnant with delight and improvement, took place; and here the
social affections were accustomed to expand, and the tear of
delicious sympathy to be shed.

My brother was an indefatigable student. The authors whom he
read were numerous, but the chief object of his veneration was
Cicero. He was never tired of conning and rehearsing his
productions. To understand them was not sufficient. He was
anxious to discover the gestures and cadences with which they
ought to be delivered. He was very scrupulous in selecting a
true scheme of pronunciation for the Latin tongue, and in
adapting it to the words of his darling writer. His favorite
occupation consisted in embellishing his rhetoric with all the
proprieties of gesticulation and utterance.