rest of her sex by comparison with her;—still it is,—(as we sometimes apply this word to expressive language,) very happy ; it conveys much in a few words. One of Mr. Pope's epitaphs is a very pure and beautiful tribute to a good woman.

66 EPITAPH ON MRS. CORBET.

"Here rests a woman good without pretence,
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense,
No conquest she but o'er herself desired,
No art essayed, but not to be admired.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that virtue only is our own,
So unaffected, so composed a mind,
So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin'd,
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried—
The saint sustained it, but the woman died."

The simplicity of this epitaph is perfectly obvious.

The Epigram is a few verses expressing a perspicuous and pointed meaning, and it usually conveys a brief satire. Mild William Clarke, grandfather to Dr. Clarke the traveller, composed an epigram on seeing the inscription which is engraved over the family tomb of the Dukes of Richmond. The inscription is Domus ultima—in English, the last house, and the epigram, the following:—

"Did he who thus inscribed the wall
Not read or not believe Saint Paul,
Who says there is, where'er it stands,
Another house not made with hands—
Or may we gather from these words,

That house is not a house of Lords?"

The writer here intimates that something which suggests the idea of eternal life ought to be written over the place of the body's interment. St. Paul says, in the New Testament, and alluding to the immortality of the soul, there is "a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Our Saviour says, "in my father's house are many mansions,"—many places suitable to be assigned to my followers in a future state of existence. Mr. Clarke, who was a christian, on seeing the tomb of the Lords of Richmond instantly thought of those other mansions of the dead; and because this noble race thus appeared to regard the grave as their last rest, he meant at once to satirize and reprove their seeming unbelief, by insinuating, that perhaps the heavenly habitation mentioned by Paul would not suit the pride of Lords; or

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