schools of prophecy must have been favourable to the growth of poetry, as poetical language was the general vehicle of prophecy. But the gifted influence of David evidently created a new era in the productions of the Hebrew Muse. It is impossible to conceive his example and genius as a poet, combined with the splendid circumstances of his reign, having failed to communicate an enthusiastic impulse to the imaginations of his people. He extended their empire, he subdued their enemies, and founded their capital Jerusalem in Zion, which he had won from the Jebusites; and having brought the ark of the covenant to the consecrated city, he invested the national worship with a pomp of attendance and a plenitude of vocal and instrumental music, calculated to give an inspiring effect to its solemnities. He himself relieved the cares attending a diadem with the harp, which had been the solace of his adversities and the companion of his shepherd days; and leading his people in devotion, as he had led them in battle, he employed his genius in the composition of beautiful strains for the accompaniment of their sacred rites. He must have thus diffused a taste for music and poetry much beyond what the nation had hitherto possessed.

There is much in the Psalms, no doubt, which can neither be attributed to David, nor to any of his contemporaries.* But there is still enough to establish his general, and even peculiar character, as a poet. His traits of inspiration are lovely and touching, rather than daring and astonishing. His voice, as a worshipper, has a penetrating accent of human sensibility, varying from plaintive melancholy to luxuriant gladness, and even rising to ecstatic rapture. In grief, "his heart is melted like wax, and deep answers to deep, whilst the waters of affliction pass over him." Or his soul is led to the green pastures by the quiet waters. Or his religious confidence pours forth the metaphors of a warrior in rich and exulting succession. "The Lord is my rock,

Eichorn (in his Einleitung in das Alte Testament) conceives the highest sublimity of poetical character to belong to those psalms which are ascribed to the Children of Korah. Of these Heman, the Esrachite, was the chief singer. His reputation for wisdom was such that it was thought no dishonour to Solomon to be compared with him. Asaph's name is affixed to several of the Psalms. He is mentioned in the Chronicles as a Seer and a musician, and it marks the simplicity of the times that he did not disdain to perform upon the cymbals. Yet there can be no doubt of his having been a poetical composer; for Hezekiah, in reforming the Temple service, ordered that the words of David and of Asaph should be sung. Of Ethan and Jeduthan, the probable composers of several psalms, very little is known. The latter is described in Chron. i. 25, as prophesying with the harp. It would be unprofitable here to enumerate all the arguments and opinions that have been given respecting the different authors of the Psalms. One psalm, 90th., is ascribed to Moses; two or more have been attributed to Solomon;-some relate to events evidently as late as the Captivity. It may be sufficient to remark, however, that those who are most disposed to abridge the number of David's compositions, still leave that number very considerable, and the very circumstance of so many strains being imputed to him argues the high popularity of his memory as a poct.

and my fortress, and my deliverer-my God, my strength, in whom I will trust-my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high power." Some of the sacred writers may excite the imagination more powerfully than David, but none of them appeal more interestingly to the heart. Nor is it in tragic so much as in joyous expression that I conceive the power of his genius to consist. Its most inspired aspect appears to present itself, when he looks abroad on the universe with the eye of a poet, and with the breast of a glad and grateful worshipper. When he looks up to the starry firmament, his soul assimilates to the splendour and serenity which he contemplates. This lofty but bland spirit of devotion peculiarly reigns in the 8th and in the 19th Psalm. But above all, it expands itself in the 104th into a minute and richly diversified picture of the creation. Verse after verse, in that Psalm, leads on the mind through the various objects of nature as through a mighty landscape, and the atmosphere of the scene is coloured not with a dim or mystic, but with a clear and warm light of religious feeling. He spreads his sympathies over the face of the world, and rejoices in the power and goodness of its protecting Deity. The impression of that exquisite ode dilates the heart with a pleasure too instinctive and simple to be described. I only forbear to quote its beauties from their being so accessible and familiar. But, in speaking of the History of Poetry, it would have been an omission not to have named so early and so beautiful a relic of her inspiration.

(To be continued.)

SONNET.

WRITTEN IN A BLANK PAPER BOOK GIVEN TO THE
AUTHOR BY A FRIEND.

My little book, as o'er thy page so white,
With half-closed eyes, in idlest mood I lean,
Whose is the form that rises still between

Thy page and me, a vision of delight?

Look on those eyes, by the bright soul made bright,
Those curls, which who Antinous' bust hath seen

Hath loved; that shape, which might beseem a queen ;

That blush of purity; that smile of light.

'Tis she. My little book, dost thou not own

Thy mistress? She it is, the only she.

Dost thou not listen for the one sweet tone
Of her unrivall'd voice? Dost thou not see
Her look of love, for whose dear sake alone,
My little book, thou art so dear to me?

ORIGINAL LETTERS. NO. 11.

From Rachel Lady Russel to Dr. Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury.

Chatsworth, 3 Sept. 1709.

THE respect and obligations I have soe many years had to you, my Lord, makes me feele myselfe uneasie in the midst of my present contentments, that I have not sooner asked from you the favour to heare how y'r health holds under the oppresion of y'r mind and body too, as I conclude, since even from the method you proposed to take, and seemingly to favour y'rselfe in som degree, yet wou'd be to any other too big a fatigue. I wish you find it not soe to you, who shall ever have my best wishes; but I forget the title you have to them, which is, where I ame now hourly renewed: such a mixture ther is betweene joy and

sorrow.

I do not wel remember, if when I saw y'r Lord'p last I had then fixed my resolve to the great undertaking, I have to this time ben prosperous under, and, in lesse than two months' time, seen eighteene granchildren all comely and prosperous; not deprived of father or mother, but planted with them in pleasant habitations, plenty and honour; and, above all, the three I have brought into the world happy in ther marriages, wonderfully soe: these are comforts and blessings I hope I ame truly sensible of and thankful for; and as truly troubled, that my heart stil sinks whenever I reflect on these and past circumstances, least I offend the great dispensator of all good, and to me soe gratious and uncomon providences; but some wounds are soe malignant they can never heal.

I began my progresse by Woburne; stay'd about a month there, til Lord Devon and his wife came to us, stay'd som days, then I went with them to Harboro'; next morning we parted; they went by Hardwick to Chatsworth, and I to Belvoir; stay'd a fortnight, and left Lord Granby's to atend Nottingham races, and his wife and I went to Hardwick, wher, as twas agreed, we met the Duke (of) Devon, and his wife, and my son and his; spent one whole day ther, and came to this fine place the 13 Aug; found their two eldest sons here, and some days after had the addition of the two eldest of Lord Granby's, with himselfe, and have since kept altogether, but now breaking up. Granby's day was yesterday, but defered till Monday, upon hearing Lord Gore (Gower) was dangerously ill, and yesterday we heard that he died on Wednesday. He has ben many years a criple, drawn in a chair, but looked well and cheerful; lay not above six days he made his will on Sunday, and did what he could for younger (children), w'ch wil not be sutable, tis beleeved, to his

estate, but he had no power til his son was of age, who is but 15 yeares old. My son purposes to leave us the begining (of) next week: we turn to Woburn, and from thence, if God blesse us as hitherto, to our homes at London. All my home circumstances I have laid before you, and for forraine ones I have no skil; and altho our enemies are able artists at trifling away our time, yet tis the good pleasure of God we have successe: but the long spun thread of the war is in a way, I fear, to hold longer. God, in his infinit goodnesse, prevent the rageing pestilence at Danszick spreading farther: tis time I should take som heed, my scribbling dos not doe soe; but meeting at tea table is a sure stop, for I have no comand of time, but what I get by rising something earlier then the most of them, if not at the breakfast upon tea, to w'h Lady Granby is come to call me, who wil ever continue very sincerely and faithfuly,

I was surprised to find, in a letter from Mr. Steele, that you are now in London, and am at a loss whether publick or private business hath brought you over. Your coming has spoilt a letter I had half writt to send you to Copenhagen. It was not lazyness, spleen, or neglect, that made me omitt acknowledging two of yours so long; but downright sickness, which, after a year's pursuing, now I hope begins to leave me where I am, in the country, cultivating half an acre of Irish bog.

The taste you sent me of Northern eloquence is very extraordinary. They seem to have heard there is such a thing in the world as witt and sublime; and not knowing better, they supply the want of both with sounding words. That which vexes me, is the difficulty in construing their Latin, and keeping my breath so long between a relative and antecedent, or a noun and a verb. I could match you with Irish poetry, and printed Latin poetry

too, but Mr. Addison shewed it me, and can give you the best account of it.

You are a better Bickerstaff than I; for you foretold all the circumstances, how I should receive your last pacquet with the honorary memoriall of Monsieur I don't know who. My Lord Wharton gave me the letter. I went aside, and opened it, and people thronged about me to ask what it was; and I shewed it his excellency.

My heart is absolutely broke with the misfortunes of the K. of Sweden. Nothing pleased me more in the thoughts of going abroad, than some hopes I had of being sent to that court. And now, to see that poltroon Augustus putting out his manifestoes, and pretending again to Poland, after the tame submissions he made! It puts me in mind of the sick lyon in the fable: among all the insults offered him, nothing vexed him so much as the spurns of an ass.

I hope you are laying in new stocks to revive your poeticall reputation: but I am wholly in the dark about you, whether you have left the North, or are onely sent back on an ambassy from the envoy. You have the best friend in the world, Mr. Addison, who is never at ease while any man of worth is not so: and Mr. Steele is alter ab illo. What says my L'd Dorset? You had not me for a councellor when you chose him for a patron. Is Coll. Hunter gone to his govern't? He is mechant homme, and has never writt to me since he came from France, and I came to Ireland. Your Coll. Worsly and I are mighty good acquaintance; he loves and esteems you much, and I am sorry that expedition did not hold.

When you write any more poetry, do me honor, mention me in it: 'tis the common request of Tully and Pliny to the great authors of their age; and I will contrive it so, that Prince Posterity shall know I was favored by the men of witt in my time. Pray send me word how your affairs are, that I may order my manner of writing to you accordingly; and remember me sometimes in your walks up the park, and wish for me amongst you. I reckon no man is throughly miserable, unless he be condemned to live in Ireland: and yet I have not the spleen, for I was not born to it. And let me know whether the North has cool'd your Geneva flames; but you have one comfort, that the loss of the ladyes fortunes will encrease her love, and assure you her person; and you may now be out of pain of your rival Monsr. le Baron. Pray write to me, and remember me, and drink my health sometimes with our friends, and believe me ever

Your most faithfull and most humble Ser't,

Imathan Swift.