I had for you, (as I never intended you a sacrifice to my vanity,) I thought I owed you the justice to lay before you all the hazards attending matrimony: you may recollect I did so in the strongest manner. Perhaps you may have more success in the instructing your daughter; she has so much company at home, she will not need seeking it abroad, and will more readily take the notions you think fit to give her. As you were alone in my family, it would have been thought a great cruelty to suffer you no companions of your own age, especially having so many near relations, and I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours. I was not sorry to see you not determined on a single life, knowing it was not your father's intention; and contented myself with endeavoring to make your home so easy, that you might not be in haste to leave it.

I am afraid you will think this a very long, insignificant letter. I hope the kindness of the design will excuse it, being willing to give you every proof in my power that I am your most affectionate mother.

JOHN BYROM. 1691-1763.

JOHN BYROм, the son of a linen-draper at Manchester, was born in 1691, and at the age of seventeen entered the University of Cambridge. Here he cultivated with great assiduity a taste for elegant letters, and especially for poetry, to which, even in his earliest years, he had shown a marked propensity. After taking his degree, he obtained a fellowship in the university, through the influence of Dr. Richard Bentley, whose daughter Joanna is the "Phœbe" of his pastoral poem, the best of his poetical efforts. As he declined "taking orders," he vacated his fellowship, and soon after married. Having no profession, he went to London, and supported himself by teaching short-hand writing, till, by the death of his elder brother, he inherited the family estate, and spent the remainder of his life in easy circumstances, devoting his time to literary pursuits. He died on the 28th of September, 1763, in the seventy-second year of his age.

Byrom's best piece is his pastoral poem of "Colin and Phœbe," remarkable for its easy and flowing versification, and its sprightliness of thought. He also wrote a poem on "Enthusiasm," and one on the " Immortality of the Soul." His comic poem, entitled "The Three Black Crows," has a most excellent moral in it, well illustrating the nature of Rumor, the "Fama" of Virgil. The Spectator is indebted to him for four or five numbers, of which Nos. 586 and 593 are upon the nature and use of dreams.

A PASTORAL.

I.

My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent,
When Phoebe went with me wherever I went;
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast:
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest;

But now she is gone, and has left me behind;
"What a marvellous change on a sudden I find
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought 'twas the spring; but, alas! it was she.

II.

With such a companion, to tend a few sheep,
To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep,
I was so good-humor'd, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day.
But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
So strangely uneasy as never was known.

My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd,

And my heart-I am sure it weighs more than a pound.

III.

The fountain that wont to run sweetly along,
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among;
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe were there,
'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear;
But now she is absent, I walk by its side,
And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide.
Must you be so cheerful while I go in pain?
Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

IV.

When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play,
And when Phoebe and I were as joyful as they,
How pleasant their sporting, how happy the time,
When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime!
But now in their frolics when by me they pass,

I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass:

Be still, then I cry; for it makes me quite mad,
To see you so merry while I am so sad.

V.

My dog I was ever well pleased to see
Come wagging his tail at my fair one and me;
And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said,
"Conte hither, poor fellow;" and patted his head.
But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look
Cry, Sirrah! and give him a blow with my crook.
And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray
Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?

VI.

When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen.
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green!
What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade,
The corn-fields and hedges, and every thing made!
But now she has left me, though all are still there
They none of them now so delightful appear:
'Twas naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes,
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

VII.

Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, The lark, linnet, throstle and nightingale too;

Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat,
And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet.
But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone :
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,
Gave every thing else its agreeable sound.

VIII.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?

Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you dress'd
And made yourselves fine for—a place in her breast;
You put on your colors to pleasure her eye,

To be pluck'd by her hand, on her bosom to die.

IX.

How slowly Time creeps, till my Phœbe return!
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn!
Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread,

I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the ead.
Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,

And rest so much longer for't when she is here

Ah, Colin! old Time is full of delay,

Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say.

X.

Will no pitying power that hears me complain,

Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain?

To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove;
But what swain is so silly to live without love?

No, Deity, bid the dear nymph to return,

For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.

Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair!

Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other, briskly, by the hand;
Hark-ye, said he, 'tis an odd story this
About the Crows!-I don't know what it is,
Replied his friend.-No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I came from it is the common chat;
But you shall hear; an odd affair indeed!
And, that it happen'd, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.
Impossible!-Nay, but it's really true;

I have it from good hands, and so may you.----
From whose, I pray ?-So having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

Sir, did you tell-relating the affair

Yes, sir, I did: and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me,

But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three.-
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,
Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went;

Sir—and so forth-Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Though in regard to number, not exact;
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon,
The gentleman himself told me the case-
Where may I find him?-Why, in such a place.
Away goes he, and having found him out,
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.

Then to his last informant he referr'd,

And begg'd to know, if true what he had heard?
Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ?-Not I-
Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;
And here, I find, all comes, at last, to none!
Did you say nothing of a crow at all?--
Crow-crow-perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over-And, pray, sir, what was't?
Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,

I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
Something that was-as black, sir, as a crow.

DR. WILLIAM KING, born at Stepney, in Middlesex, in 1685, "was known and esteemed," says his biographer, "by the first men of his time for wit and learning; and must be allowed to have been a polite scholar, an excellent orator, and an elegant and easy writer, both in Latin and English." He died in 1763, having sketched his own character in an elegant epitaph, in which, while he acknowledges his failings, he claims the praise of benevolence, temperance, and fortitude. The work by which he is now chiefly known is that from which the following extracts are taken-« Political and Literary Anecdotes of his own Times.”

VIRGIL.

Most of the commentators on the Greek and Roman poets think it sufficient to explain their author, and to give us the various readings. Some few indeed have made us remark the excellency of the poet's plan, the elegance of his diction, and the propriety of his thoughts, at the same time pointing out as examples the most striking and beautiful descriptions. Ruæus, in his comment on Virgil, certainly excelled all his fellow-laborers, who were appointed to explain and publish a series of the Roman classics for the use of the Dauphin. His mythological, historical, and geo graphical notes are a great proof of his learning and diligence, But he hath not entered into the spirit of the author, and dis

played the great art and judgment of the poet, particularly his knowledge of men and manners. The learned Jesuit perhaps imagined that remarks of this sort were foreign to the employment of a commentator, or for some political reasons he might think proper to omit them. And yet, in my opinion, nothing could have been more instructive and entertaining, as his comment was chiefly designed for the use of a young prince. The Eneid furnishes us with many examples to the purpose I mention. However, that I may be the better understood, the following remark will explain my meaning. In the beginning of the first book, Juno makes a visit to Æolus, and desires him to raise a storm and destroy the Trojan fleet, because she hated the whole nation on account of the judgment of Paris, or, as she was pleased to express herself, because the Trojans were her enemies. Gens inimica mihi, &c. Juno was conscious that she asked a god to oblige her by an act which was both unjust and cruel, and therefore she accompanied her request with the offer of Deiopeia, the most beautiful nymph in her train: a powerful bribe, and such as she imagined Æolus could not resist. She was not disappointed: Æolus accepted her offer, and executed her commands as far as he was able. What I have to observe here, in the first place, is the necessity of that short speech, in which Juno addresses herself to Eclus. She had no time to lose. The Trojan fleet was in the Tuscan sea, sailing with a fair wind, and in a few hours would probably have been in a safe harbor. Æolus therefore answered in as few words as the goddess had addressed herself to him. But his answer is very curious. He takes no notice of the offer of Deiopeia, for whom upon any other occasion he would have thanked Juno upon his knees. But now, when she was given and accepted by him as a bribe, and as the wages of cruelty and injustice, he endeavored by his answer to avoid that imputation, and pretended he had such a grateful sense of the favors which Juno had formerly conferred on him, when she introduced him to Jupiter's table, that it was his duty to obey her commands on all occasions:

" "Tis your's, great queen, replies the power, to lay

The task, and mine to listen and obey."1

And thus insinuated even to Juno herself, that this was the sole motive of his ready compliance with her request. I am here put in mind of something similar which happened in Sir Robert Walpole's administration. He wanted to carry a question in the House of Commons, to which he knew there would be great opposition, and which was disliked by some of his own dependants. As he was passing through the Court of Requests, he met a mem

1 Tuus, O Regina, &c., Æn. i. 76.