poetical vigor 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 domestic necessity; he composed without consideration, and published without correction. 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 chance 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 often 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 inquiry may, perhaps, show him the reasonableness of my de termination. SELECT SENTENCES AND PARAGRAPHS. LESSON VII. Winter. O WINTER! ruler of the inverted year! Spring.-MILTON. Now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense 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; The deserted mansion. Forsaken stood the hall, Worms ate* the floors, the tap'stry fled the wall; pay. The man of a cultivated imagination.-CAMPBELL. His path shall be where streamy mountains swell * Pron. et. Where mouldering piles and forests intervene, Evening sounds.-GOLDSMITH. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close. There as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, Moonlight.-POPE. When the fair moon, refulgent lamp of night, Morning Sounds.-BEATTIE. But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain's side; The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; The beauties of Nature.-BEATTIE. O how canst thou renounce the boundless store O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven? LESSON VIII. 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 himself 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 public, or the individual. Selftaught naturalists are often found to make no little progress * Pron. kwire. in knowledge, and to strike out many new lights, by the mere aid of original genius and patient application. But the well educated youth engages in these pursuits with peculiar advantage. He takes more comprehensive views, is able to consult a greater variety of authors, and, from the early habits of his mind, is more accurate and more methodical in all his investigations. The world at large, therefore, cannot fail to be benefited by his labors; and the value of the enjoyments, which at the same time he secures to himself, is beyond all calculation. No tedious, vacant hour ever makes him wish for he knows not what-complain, he knows not why. Never does a restless impatience at having nothing to do, compel him to seek a momentary stimulus to his dormant powers in the tumultuous pleasures of the intoxicating cup, or the agitating suspense of the game of chance. Whether he be at home or abroad, in every different clime, and in every season of the year, universal nature is before him, and invites him to a banquet richly replenished with whatever can invigorate his understanding, or gratify his mental taste. The earth on which he treads, the air in which he moves, the sea along the margin of which he walks, all teem with objects that keep his attention perpetually awake, excite him to healthful activity, and charm him with an ever varying succession of the beautiful, the wonderful, the useful, and the new. And if, in conformity with the direct tendency of such occupations, he rises from the creature to the Creator, and considers the duties which naturally result from his own situation and rank in this vast system of being, he will derive as much satisfaction from the anticipation of the future, as from the experience of the present, and the recollection of the past. The mind of the pious naturalist is always cheerful, always animated with the noblest and most benign feelings. Every repeated observation, every unexpected discovery, directs his thoughts to the great Source of all order, and all good; and harmonizes all his faculties with the general voice of nature. -The men Whom nature's works can charm, with God himself With his conceptions; act upon his plan, And form to his the relish of their souls." |