of Hesiod, than of the elegance of Virgil: and a modern reader would suspect, that many of its salutary maxims originally decorated the margins, and illustrated the calendars, of an ancient almanack.

It is without invocations, digressions, and descriptions : no pleasing pictures of rural imagery are drawn from meadows covered with flocks, and fields waving with corn, nor are Pan and Ceres once named; yet it is valuable as a genuine picture of the agriculture, the rural arts, and the domestic economy and customs, of our industrious ances

tors.

The following directions for cultivating a Hopgarden, are quoted as a specimen of this unpoetical poem.

Whom fansie perswadeth, among other crops,
To have, for his spending, sufficient of hops,
Must willingly follow, of choises to choose,
Such lessons approved, as skilful do use.

Ground gravellie, sandie, and mixed with claie,
Is naughtie for hops, anie manner of waie,
Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone,
For drinesse and barrennesse let it alone.

Choose soile for the hop of the rottenest mould,
Well doonged and wrought, as a garden-plot

Not far from the water, but not overflowne,

This lesson, well noted, is meete to be knowne.

The sun in the southe, or else southlie and west,
Is joie to the hop, as a welcomed guest.
But wind in the north, or else northerlie east,
To the hop is as ill as a faie in a feast.

Meet plot for a hop-yard, once found as is told
Make thereof account as of jewell of gold;
Now dig it, and leave it, the sunne for to burne,
And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turne.
The hop for his profit I thus doo exalt:
It strengtheneth drinks, and it favoreth malt`;
And being well brewed, long kept it will last,
And drawing abide- if ye drawe not too fast.

Our author's general precepts have often an expressive brevity, and are, sometimes, pointed with an epigrammatic turn and a smartness of allusion. As thus:

Save wing for a thresher, when gander doth die;
Save feathers, of all things, the softer to lie:
Much spice is a theefe, so is candle and fire;

Sweet sause is as craftie as ever was frier.

Again, under the lessons of the Housewife,

Though cat, a good mouser, doth dwell in a house,
Yet ever in dairie have trap for a mouse.

Take heed how thou laiest the bane* for the rats

Fort poisoning thy servant, theself, and thy brats.

And in the following rule of the smaller economies:

Save droppings and skimmings, however ye doo,
For medcine, for cattell, for cart, and for shoo,
In these stanzas on hay making, he rises above
his common manner :

Go muster thy servants, be captain thyself,
Providing them weapons, and other like pelfe :
Get bottells and wallets, keepe fielde in the heat,
The feare is as much, as the danger is great.

With tossing and raking and setting on cox,
Grasse latelie in swathes, is haie for an oxe.
That done, go to cart it, and have it awaie :

The battell is faught, ye have gotten the daie.

Such were the rude beginnings in the English language of that species of Poetry, which has been raised by the efforts of later writers to one of the most distinguished stations in the literature of our country.

* Poison.

+ For fear of.

DRYDEN'S INCOME.

DRYDEN had three or four sons; John, Erasmus, Charles, and perhaps another. One of them was a priest, and another a captain in he guards. He left his family estate, of which was about one hundred and twenty pounds

a year, to Charles. The Historiographer's

and Poet Laureate's places were worth about three hundred pounds a-year to him.

Dryden cleared, every way, about twelve hundred pounds for his Virgil; and had sixpence each line for his Fables. For some time he wrote a play at least every year; but, in those days, ten broad pieces was the usual highest price for a play; and if they got fifty pounds more in the acting it was reckoned very well. His Virgil was one of the first books that had any thing of a subscription; (and this was a good deal on account of the prints, which were from Ogilby's plates, touched up.) SPENCE.

DR. WARTON.

DR. WARTON was invited, while master of Winchester school, to meet a relative of Pope, who, from her connexion with the family, he

was taught to believe could furnish him with much valuable and private information.

Incited by all that eagerness which so strongly characterized him, he, on his introduction, sat immediately close to the lady; and, by inquiring her consanguinity to Pope, entered at once on the subject, when the following dialogue took place: "Pray, Sir, did you not write a book about my cousin Pope?"-" Yes, Madam."

"They tell me it was vastly clever. He wrote a great many plays, did'nt he?”—“ I have heard only of one attempt, Madam." “Oh, no! I beg your pardon, that was Mr. Shakspeare; I always confound them." This was too much even for the Doctor's gallantry; he replied, "Certainly, Madam !" and with a bow, changed his seat to the opposite side of the room, where he sat, to the amusement of a large party, with such a mingled countenance of archness and chagrin; such a struggle between his taste for the ridiculous, and his natural politeness; as could be pourtrayed but by his speaking and expressive face. The Doctor was at length relieved by the breaking up of the company, when he retired home disappointed, yet amused.