that Lords, though they enjoy high honours on earth, might be excluded from an inheritance in heaven.

Besides, the kinds of poetry, that have been mentioned, there are the mock-heroic, and the pastoral. The mock-heroic gives a fanciful importance to trivial things. The commencement of Cowper's Task is mock-heroic. The poet describes the progressive elegance of seats at different times in Britain. The whole passage is sprightly and amusing.

"Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use,
Save their own painted skins, our sires had none.
As yet black breeches were not; satin smooth,
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile :
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock
Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud,
Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength.
Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next
The birthday of invention; weak at first,
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform.
Joint stools were then created; on three legs
Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm
A massy slab, in fashion square or round.
On such a stool immortal Alfred sat,

And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms:
And such in ancient halls and mansions drear
May still be seen; but perforated sore,
And drilled in holes, the solid oak is found,
By worms voracious eating through and through.
At length a generation more refined

Improved the simple plan; made three legs four,
Gave them a twisted form vermicular,

And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed,
Induced a splendid cover, green and blue,
Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought
And woven close, or needlework sublime.
There might you see the piony spread wide,
The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass,
Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes,
And parrots with twin cherries in their beak.
Now came the cane from India smooth and bright
With Nature's varnish; severed into stripes,
That interlaced each other, these supplied
Of texture firm, a lattice work, that braced
The new machine, and it became a chair.

But restless was the chair; the back erect
Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease;
The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part
That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down,
Anxious in vain to find the distant floor.

:

These for the rich the rest, whom Fate had placed In modest mediocrity content

With base materials, sat on well tanned hides,
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth,

With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn,
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fixed,

If cushion might be call'd, what harder seemed
Than the firm oak of which the frame was formed.
No want of timber then was felt or feared
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood
Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight.
But elbows still were wanting; these, some say,
An alderman of Cripplegate contrived;
And some ascribe the invention to a priest,
Burly and big and studious of his ease.
But rude at first, and not with easy slope
Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs,
And bruised the side; and, elevated high,
Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears.
Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires
Complained, though incommodiously pent in,
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first
'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex;
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased
Than when employed to accommodate the fair,
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised
The soft settee; one elbow at each end,
And in the midst an elbow it received,
United yet divided, twain at once.

So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ;
And so two citizens, who take the air,
Close packed and smiling, in a chaise and one.
But relaxation of the languid frame,
By soft recumbency of outstretched limbs,
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow
The growth of what is excellent; so hard
To attain perfection in this nether world.
Thus first Necessity invented stools,
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs,
And Luxury the accomplished SOFA last.”

Pastoral poetry, as the name indicates, describes the shepherd's life, and indeed many modes of rural occupation and pleasure. In America we have no persons professedly devoted to the care of flocks, but in Asia and Europe, from time immemorial, this mode of life has been followed by considerable numbers. It is necessarily lonely and quiet, and disposes the mind to reflection. When Moses was a shepherd in Midian he saw the vision of God; when the shepherds mentioned by St. Luke were "keeping watch over their flocks by night, the glory of the Lord shone round about them."

There is something peculiarly innocent and interesting in the occupation of shepherds; and the state of their minds, detached. from the common business of life, may be supposed to be highly favourable to poetic thought; but notwithstanding this presumption, Pastoral Poetry is out of date-little read, and, at present, not at all written. Many English poets from Chaucer to Shenstone have written Pastorals. Ambrose Phillips, a contemporary of Pope, wrote pastorals better than he wrote any thing else. As a specimen of this species of poetry, an extract from Phillips' Pastorals is subjoined. Two shepherds meet annually to bewail the loss of one of their young compeers; one of them, Angelot, here rehearses the praises of the dead Albino :

"Thus yearly circling, by-past times return;
And yearly, thus, Albino's death we mourn.
Sent into life, alas! how short thy stay:
How sweet the rose! how speedy to decay!
Can we forget, Albino dear, thy knell,
Sad-sounding wide from every village bell;
Can we forget how sorely Albion moaned,
That hills, and dales, and rocks, in echo groaned,
Pressaging future wo, when for our crimes,
We lost Albino, pledge of peaceful times,
Fair boast of this fair island, darling joy
Of nobles high, and every shepherd boy?

No joyous pipe was heard, no flocks were seen,
Nor shepherds found upon the grassy green,
No cattle grazed the field, nor drank the flood,
No birds were heard to warble through the wood.
In yonder gloomy grove outstretched he lay
His lovely limbs upon the dampy clay;
On his cold cheek the rosy hue decayed
And o'er his lips the deadly blue displayed:
Bleating around him lie his plaintive sheep,
And mourning shepherds come in crowds to weep.

Young Buckhurst comes and is there no redress?
As if the grave regarded our distress?
The tender virgins come, to tears yet new,
And give, aloud, the lamentations due.

The pious mother comes, with grief opprest:
Ye trees and conscious fountains, can attest
With what sad accents and what piercing cries
She filled the grove, and importuned the skies,
And every star upbraided with his death,
When in her widowed arms, devoid of breath,
She clasped her son nor did the nymph, for this,
Place in her darling's welfare all her bliss,
Him teaching, young, the harmless crook to wield
And rule the peaceful empire of the field.

As milk-white swans on streams of silver show,
And silvery streams to grace the meadows flow,
As corn the vales, and trees the hills adorn,
So thou, to thine, an ornament wast born.
Since thou, delicious youth, didst quit the plains,
Th' ungrateful ground we till with fruitless pains,
In laboured furrows sow the choice of wheat,
And over empty sheaves in harvest sweat;
A thin increase our fleecy cattle yield;
And thorns, and thistles, overspread the field.
How all our hope is fled like morning-dew!
And scarce did we thy dawn of manhood view.
Who now shall teach the pointed spear to throw,
To whirl the sling, and bend the stubborn bow,
To toss the quoit with steady aim, and far,
With sinewy force to pitch the massy bar :
Nor dost thou live to bless thy mother's days,
To share her triumphs, and to feel her praise,
In foreign realms to purchase early fame,
And add new glories to the British name.
O, peaceful may thy gentle spirit rest;
The flowery turf lie light upon thy breast;
Nor shrieking owl, nor bat, thy tomb fly round,
Nor midnight goblins revel o'er the ground!"

Poetry is descriptive when it exhibits the appearances of nature,-humorous when it would excite laughter, pathetic when it induces the feelings of sadness and pity. When humorous

poetry excites contempt for any object by assuming dignity of style in representing it, we call it burlesque.

It may be remarked that poetry does not consist merely of measured words, but of poetic ideas. Common business, whatever relates to gaining money, and to supplying the mere wants of the body, is not poetical. What ever employs the imagination without regard to bodily wants-God and his works, the mind and its pleasures, great actions of good men, the appearance of the heavens and the beauty of the earth, and the hopes and probable enjoyments of another life, are poetical subjects. There is a proper manner or style of writing upon these subjects, more dignified and more refined than that which we use in ordinary writing this is the poetic style, and it admits of ornaments which are explained by Rhetoric. Grammar informs us how to speak and write with propriety, Rhetoric instructs us to do both with elegance.

:

Rules do not convey exact ideas of a just and beautiful style of writing; they are useful, but not sufficient. Good examples set before a writer, and good sense and good taste on his part, are necessary to make him write well; and the careful and intelligent reading of the best books in his own language, is the best help which any young person can find to exalt and multiply his own ideas, or to create the power of expressing them with effect upon others.

The genius of a man determines whether he shall be a fine poet, an original artist, or an eloquent orator; but genius does not determine whether whatever he does shall be done well, or ill; his education, his habits, and his own will determine that. Industry and application of mind, are the means of improving all the faculties. Taste consists in the knowledge of what is beautiful and proper, and in the love of it. If a young person be careless how he speaks and writes, if his desire of excellence be no higher than to spell well, and to be amused by books, he has no chance of any high enjoyments derived from literature. A person really accomplished, capable of sustaining any eminence with honour, must know how to converse and to write well, and to form a correct judgment of the abilities of others in these respects.

Perhaps there is no mortification more frequently felt than that of an embarrassed speech, a want of self-satisfying power to give ready utterance of one's thoughts. This may be obviated by careful and early study, and by a habit of committing our ideas to writing. We ought to know what terms are suitable to ordinary discourse. A person who reads much becomes