with other Italian writers of the present day, reject letters as a tribute to frivolity, or means to fortune; consecrating them to the advancement of the great interests of their fellow-creatures, desiring to make them, as Lord Bacon expresses himself, “a rich storehouse for the glory of the creator, and the relief of man’s estate.”
I have mentioned in another letter how, under Monti’s auspices, a great war of words began in Italy: about the same period another battle raged between what was called the classic and romantic schools. It began in 1818, when Berchet, a poet of merit, descended suddenly into the arena, throwing, by way of challenge, a translation of the Leonora of Burgher, accompanied by an essay, discarding the old models and planting a new banner, beneath the shadow of which the flower of the Italian youth eagerly crowded to contend—displaying the more enthusiasm, because under this literary discussion was hid the hope of regenerating the political opinions of Italy. The classists were not slow in meeting the attack; and when they found their authority, which had been respected for centuries, was in danger of being overthrown, they hurried to the rescue. Monti fought with them. Angry epithets, ridicule, abuse, were bandied about by both parties in the ardour of fight. Book succeeded to
