neral, but more particularly of music and of poetry. The mystery of this fable means that a certain noble and vital warmth, animating the subtler organization of the body, but especially the brain, is the true spring of these two arts or sciences. This was that celestial fire which gave such a pleasing motion and agitation to the minds of those men who have been so much admired in the world, and which raises such an infinite variety of images of things, so agreeable and delightful to mankind

By the influence of this sun are produced those golden and inexhaustible mines of invention, which have furnished the world with treasures so highly esteemed, and so universally known and used, in all the regions that have yet been discovered. From this arises that elevation of genius which can never be produced by any art or study, by labour or industry; which cannot be taught by precepts or examples, and therefore is agreed by all to be the pure and free gift of Heaven and nature; and to be as it were a fire kindled from some hidden spark in our original constitution.

But though invention be the mother of poetry, yet this child is, like all others, born naked, and must be nourished with care, clothed with exactness and elegance, educated with industry, instructed with art, improved by application, corrected with severity, and accomplished with labour and with time, before it arrives at perfection. It is certain that no composition requires so many several ingredients, or of more different sorts, than this; or that to excel in any qualities there are necessary so many gifts of nature, and so many improvements of learning and of art. For there must be a universal genius, of great compass, as well as great elevation; there must be lively imagination or fancy, fertile in a thousand productions, ranging over infinite ground piercing ato every corner, and, by the light of that true poetical fre, discovering a thousand images

and similitudes, unseen by common eves, and which could not be discovered without the rays of that sun.

Besides the warmth of invention and activity of wit, there must be the coolness of good sense and soundness of good judgment to distinguish between things and conceptions, which, at first sight, or upon transient glances, seem alike; and to chuse among infinite productions of the imagination such as are worth preserving and cultivating, and to neglect and throw away the others. Without the force of wit, all poetry is flat and languishing; without the aid of judgment it is wild and extravagant. The wonderful quality of poetry is, that such contraries must meet to compose it: a genius both penetrating and solid; in expression both delicacy and strength; and the frame or fabric of a true poem must have something both sublime and just, both astonishing and pleasing. There must be a great agitation of mind to invent, and a great calmness to judge and correct; there must be upon the same tree, and at the same time, both blossoms and fruit. To work. up this metal into exquisite figure, there must be employed the fire, the hammer, the chisel, and the file. There must be a general knowledge both of nature and of arts, and, to succeed in the least, genius, and judgment, and application are requisite. Without the latter all the rest will prove unavailing, for no one was ever a great poet who applied himself much to any thing else.

the manner of addressing individuals, and the proper answers to be made upon common occasions; and there is nothing which more marks the gentleman than the ease and propriety with which he acquits himself in these punctilios. Ches. terfield has given many excellent and useful directions in his admira. ble letter, which, for the purity of their morals, and the importance of the remarks, ought to be among the first treatises which are put into the hands of young persons. But there are many other equally important points, which his lordship has not thought fit to touch upon at all in particular, he has given no directions respecting the manner in which a gentleman ought to take notice of his acquaintance, when he ought to deign the distant nod, and when it may be proper to give a cordial shake-hand reception. The purpose of this essay is to give a few hints upon this subject. It is necessary, however, first to premise, that there is a time to be acquainted, and a time not to be acquainted: in the whole science of salutations, there is not a more important or necessary rule than this. To the rough and unpolished inhabitants of the country, it is a very difficult lesson; and of course, when a young man comes to town, he is frequently guilty of gross mistakes in this particular and even those about town, who are of a very sanguine temperament, are sometimes apt to forget it: this, however, in general, only happens at first, but after it has been practised a little, becomes perfectly easy and natural. At first, therefore, it ought to be acquired, and parents ought to inculcate it upon their children, amongst the earliest instructions they give them. Thus, for instance, if a gentleman's son be at school, and get fond of the son of a grocer for his amiable qualities (a mistake which may happen among children), the gentleman ought to be admonished, that although his companion may do yery well in the school play-grounds,

yet he should never take notice of the like of him when he is out of them. He may not understand the injunction at the time, but when he gets into life he will see its propriety. No gentleman ought ever to take the smallest notice of his inferiors upon the street; inferiors may sometimes be of use, and a gentleman may even be occasionally under the necessity of asking a favour from some of them. When this is the case, he may (if they come plump upon him in turning a corner, or in any other situation in which he cannot possibly avoid them, or pretend not to see them) give a slight inclination of the head, or a wink, or a wave of the hand; but, if observed, he should always take the first opportunity of informing his friends, that he once met the fellow in company, but that he has no other knowledge of him whatev er: this will preserve his dignity. There is a custom (and it was an admirable one, which was some time ago very fashionable among the beaux) of appearing short-sighted: this gave a person an opportunity of passing those he did not wish to notice, and furnished an excellent excuse if afterwards accused of it. There is another observation, which is absolutely necessary to be attended to, and that is, the cut of the coat; if it is shabby, the former rule must be observed, and the wearer must be noticed or not, as circumstances shall direct, but never if possible. There is, however, an excellent method of noticing these folks, and at the same time preserving one's dignity, an im❤ provement of modern times (for we are always improving), and that is the salute en militaire, or the volunteer nod. I shall now give a few directions, to which I request the reader's particular attention; for

"Without all dispute, whate'er may be said, Much meaning is oft in the turn of the head."

And, by the bye, among ladies this is a favourite and elegant manœuvre; a toss of the head, accompanied with a turn up of the nose, is highly expressive and interesting. The sentimental shake, too, has a great deal of beauty.

Before a gentleman, however, performs in public, he ought to practise well at home. He should have a mirror, in which he may see his figure complete, and before it he should practise every shade of salutation, from the distant half wink to the broad friendly grin; and from the respectful bow to the familiar nod. I had intended in this essay to have given different angles of the different bows, and had made several important discoveries; but the mathematician to whom I gave the diagrams to be corrected, was so struck and delighted with the originality of the design, that he carried them along with him to the country, and I much doubt whether they may ever be recover. ed. I like digressions; but now to our subject. If a gentleman sup pose that any person wishes to ask a favour of him, he should take care that his salutation be as distant as posssible: a deliberate calm motion of the head will show that you have understood the other's intention, and may possibly save you the trouble of giving a refusal. Should you intend granting a favour, you may assume a little more familiarity, but still preserving the dignified air, which will show that you have not too low an opinion of the service you intend doing him: when it is done, i. e., when the favour is granted, the same mode of salutation ought to be preserved; which will remind the person of the favour you have done him, in case he should appear to have forgotten it.

Suppose a great man (whom you have accidentally met at the play or an assembly), the mode of salutation should be as familiar as possible this will give your companions a high opinion of your acquain

tance.

It must also be remarked, that salutations must be varied, not only according to the person addressed, but regard must be paid to those you may be walking with. Thus, if you meet a friend rather under your own station in life, if you be alone, you may salute him with great cordiality; but if you be walking with one who is rather above it, the highest notice he can expect is a nod en passant, which will at once inform him of your companion's importance, and of your own.

SOME little time since died, at Knightsbridge, England, BEsq. at the advanced age of 72, at which place he resided for upwards of twenty years previous to his death. Mr. B. was a very singular character, and, from his eccentricities, was generally thought to be a little deranged. In such opinion, however, the writer of this article can by no means concur, unless strong passions, an irritable disposition, a lively imagination, great classical learning, and an exten. sive reading and observation, be considered as the constituent parts of a madman. He was principally re markable for an inordinate love of the canine species; but even this was not without some reason, as it appears he was saved from assassination, in his travels through France and Italy, by a dog. He was never, till lately, without four or five very large ones of the setter kind, all lineally descended from the very dog that saved his life. Lately, the old stock was reduced to one; and the others, in part, supplied by a small terrier, and an enormous dog of the Albany breed. They were fed and

lodged in, I may say, a sumptuous style; beef-steaks, buttered rolls, gingerbread, and pastry, were no uncommon diet for them; and, as to lodging, one or two slept in the room with himself; the others were provided with mattresses in other apartments of his house. He kept two lads to wait on them; and, at stated hours, however bad the weather, and in spite of every other consideration, he, himself, took them out for air and exercise: the last of

those hours was between one and two in the morning, which necessarily kept him up almost all night. In addition to the dogs he kept, he had, as he termed them, a great many pensioners, that regularly came, some from a great distance, to be fed daily at his door; and, frequently, when he met a half-starved dog in his walks, he would take him to a confectioner's, and treat him with a shilling's-worth of tarts, or (if a hawker of dog's meat chanced to be near) to a more sub. stantial meal of horse-flesh. When any one of his dogs died, it was placed in a kind of coffin; laid in state, for a day or two, with wax candles burning around, and Mr. B. sitting in a disconsolate mood beside it; after which, it was interred with great solemnity; on which occasion Mr. B. generally wrote an elegy, descriptive of the beauty and qualities of his departed friend, the dog; one of which, as a specimen, is subjoined. By his last will, it appears, he hath bequeathed 251. a year to each of the dogs that were living at the time of his decease. His whole family consisted of his canine friends, the two boys already mentioned, and an old woman.

He

had an utter aversion to physic; would, consequently, admit of no assistance from the sons of medicine; nor suffer any person to approach him in his last moments. Notwithstanding his whole affection seemed to be settled on his dogs, and there appears an evident spirit of misanthropy in the following elegy, yet he was not devoid of feeling for the human kind, and many an indigent

THE raven is a bird found in almost every region of the world; it is scattered from the polar circle to the Cape of Good Hope, and the island of Madagascar. It sometimes migrates from the coast of Barbary to the island of Teneriffe. It is found in Mexico, St. Domingo, and Canada; and no doubt in the other parts of the continent, and in the adjacent islands. He is strong and hardy, uninfluenced by the changes of the weather, and, when other birds seem benumbed with cold, or pining with hunger, he is active and healthy, busily employed in prowling for prey, or sporting in the coldest atmosphere. He has a considerable degree of docility, and may be trained up to fowling like a hawk.

Pliny mentions one Craterus, who was noted for his skill in teaching ravens to fly at other birds, and who could make even the wild ravens follow him. Scaliger relates, that Louis, king of France (probably Louis XII), used to chase partridges with a raven that had been trained to sport; and Albertus, according to Aldrovandus, saw one at Naples which caught partridges and pheasants, and when urged by the falcons would even fly at other ravens. When domesticated, he will become extremely tame and familiar, may be taught to fetch and carry like a