such regard to the times as might hasten their publication, were the two satires of Thirty-eight: of which Dodsley told me, that they were brought to him by the author, that they might be fairly copied." Every line," said he, "was then written twice over; I gave him a clean transcript, which he sent some time afterwards to me for the press, with every line written twice over a second time.”

His declaration, that his care for his works ceased at their publication, was not strictly true. His parental attention never abandoned them what he found amiss in the first edition, he silently corrected in those that followed. He appears to have revised the Iliad, and freed it from some of its imperfections; and the Essay on Criticism received many improvements after its first appearance. It will seldom be found that he altered without adding clearness, elegance, or vigour. Pope had perhaps the judgement of Dryden; but Dryden certainly wanted the diligence of Pope.

In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed to Dryden, whose education was more scholastick, and who, hefore he became an author, had been allowed more time for study, with better means of information. His mind has

a larger range, and he collects his images and illustrations from a more extensive circumference of science. Dryden knew more of man in his general nature, and Pope in his local manners. The notions of Dryden were formed by comprehensive speculation, and those of Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in the knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in that of Pope.

Poetry was not the sole praise of either; for both excelled likewise in prose; but Pope did not borrow his prose from his predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied; that of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind; Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a natural field, rising into inemalities, and diversified by the varied exuberance of abun dant vegetation; Pope's is a velvet lawn, shaven by the sithe and levelled by the roller.

Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet; that quality without which judgement is cold, and knowledge is inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates: the periority must, with some hesitation, be allowed to Dryden. It is not to be inferred, that of this

poetical vigour Pope had only a little, because Dryden had more; for every other writer since Milton must give place to Pope; and even of Dryden it must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not better poems. Dryden's performances were always hasty, either excited by some external occasion, or extorted by domestick necessity; he composed without consideration, and published without cor rection. What his mind could supply at call, or gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he gave. The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might produce, or chence might supply. If the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and constant. Dryden of ten surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight.

This parallel will, I hope, when it is well considered, be found just: and if the reader should suspect me, as I suspect myself, of some partial fondness for the memory of Dryden, let him not too hastily condemn me; for meditation and in quiry may, perhaps, show him the reasonableness of my determination.

SELECT SENTENCES AND PARAGRAPHS.

LESSON VII.
Winter.

O WINTER! ruler of the inverted year!
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet,like ashes,fill'd,
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds,
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne

A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urged by storms along its slipp'ry way,
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem❜st,
And dreaded as thou art!

Spring.-MILTON.

Now gentle gales,

Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
Those balmy spoils. As when, to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambic, off at sea northeast winds blow
Sabean odours from the spicy shore

Of Araby the blest; with such delay

Well-pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles.

Mercy. SHAKSpeare.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth as the gentle dew from Heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes;
"Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice.-We do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

The deserted mansion.

Forsaken stood the hall,

Worms ate the floors, the tap'stry fled the wall ;
No fire the kitchen's cheerless grate display'd;
No cheerful light the long-clos'd sash convey'd !
The crawling worm that turns a summer fly,
Here spun his shroud, and laid him up to die
His winter death :-upon the bed of state,
The bat shrill shrieking, woo'd his flickering mate :
To empty rooms the curious came no more,
From empty cellar, turn'd the angry poor.
To one small room the steward found his way,
Where tenants followed to complain and pay.

The man of a cultivated imagination.—CAMPBELL. His path shall be where streamy mountains swell Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell,

* Pronounced et.

Where mouldering piles and forests intervene,
Mingling with darker tints the living green;
No circling hills his ravish'd eye to bound,
Heaven, Earth, and Ocean, blazing all around!
The moon is up-the watch-tower dimly burns-
And down the vale his seber step returns ;
But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey
The still sweet fall of Musick far away;
And oft he lingers from his home awhile

To watch the dying notes !-and star i, and smile!

Evening sounds.-GOLDSMITH.

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.

There as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below:
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young,
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school,
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
These all in soft confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.

Moonlight.-POPE.

When the fair moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light;
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole,
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies;
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.

Morning Sounds.—BEATTIE.

But who the melodies of morn can tell? 'T'he wild brook babbling down the mountain's side

The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;
The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings;
Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs.
Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower,
And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tower.

The beauties of Nature.-BEATTIE.

O how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms that nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, the garniture of fields ;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven,

O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?

LESSON Vill.

The advantages of a taste for natural history.—WOOD. WHEN a young person who has enjoyed the benefit of a liberal education, instead of leading a life of indolence, dissipation, or vice, employs hinrself in studying the marks of infinite wisdom and goodness which are manifested in every part of the visible creation, we know not which we ought most to congratulate, the publick, or the individual. Selftaught naturalists are often found to make no little progress