From Pollonius Rhodius-of Jason's expedition in the good ship Argo, from Greece to Colchis, in quest of the golden fleece, with his heroes and demi-gods; and Orpheus, inspiring with song "to thirst of glory and heroic deeds.""

From "Tasso's Jerusalem"-the Crusades of the Christian powers for several ages, all combined in arms against the Heathens sacrilegiously inhabiting the Holy Land-spilling and swigging blood, through love of God, (the God of Peace) and throwing into the band of Providence and lap of Charity, widows, orphans, and mendicants, to the elegiac chaunt of Ten Thousand times Ten Thousand.

From Camoens-the divine Camoens' Lusiad-the voyage of Gama, the Portuguese admiral, to, and his discovery of, the Indies, the golden Indies-rich in gems, diamonds, and Oriental pearl-of value and honour immense to his nation; yet less so than the Poem that celebrated their acquisition.

And from Claudian's Theomachy, the battle of the tremendous giants and dreadful gods, armed with lightning and mountains, devastating the order and harmony of beauty, and imputed as the cause of the fallen and depraved state of the universe.

From these Poets the excerptions to be copious, embracing a number of entire episodes, as well as detachable, distinct, and sublime parts from their main plots, well calculated and arranged for those in school or out, who are fond of acquiring elegant, but unhackneyed pieces by heart. But from those more familiar to the generality of readers, as Homer, Virgil, Milton, Pope, and Dryden, no more to be copied than barely to explain.

If any one or two should subscribe what would be the additional expense, the main scenes, as the commencement of the combat, the rising and uprisen, actuating, exterminating, and ineffable rage of the battle; the gradually diminishing, disappearing, and final disappearance; and the apparent nonentity of the physical and cogitative sections of the combatants, to be elucidated

with adumbrations, done by hands the most pre-eminently happy in the graphic art.

But this matter (although the notes in some points fall short of what was proposed) has been determined affirmatively in favour of the pictures, and of every thing else-in the DISINTERESTED advancement, by a single individual, of not only the expense of the plates, but of the WHOLE work. Such as it is, "would it were better," we are now introducing to the tremendous ordeal of the public.

And now as the Tiger-in-little, ycliped Cat, is the subject of the great O'Kain's declamation, and the basis on which our whole fabric rests; as also, the better to avoid or parry the fastidious accusations of singularity--the three following pieces are given, precursory to the main affair. We plead precedency.

Ode on the Death of a favourite Cat, drowned in a tub of Gold Fishes.-GRAY.

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had died
The azure flow'rs that blow ;

Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard.

The velvet of her

paws!

Her coat that with the tortoise vies,

Her ears of jet, and em'raid

eyes,

She saw, and purr'd applause.

Still had she gaz'd; bud 'midst the tide.
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue,
Through richest purple, to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

Nor did some rash adventure do him up,
Like Ammon's son, with glory drunk, and wine;
Nor uninvited would with Pluto sup,

As did bold Cat-o and rash Cat-aline.

Nor was the fatal dart abruptly thrown,
As from a Cat-apult, abrupt and quick;
Gradual he fell-and sure some graven stone
Shall tell how true he died a Cat-holic.

Yet oft at midnight Cat-erwauls I hear,

While to the moon their flames thy mates disclose; Lur'd by my Cat-call to thy hallowed bier, Shall mew their Juliets and their Romeos.

And stalking round thy grave in funeral pall,

While their black torches shed their glimmering flames;
On thee Grimalkin Tabby Tom they call,
Invoking all thy Cat-alogue of names.

Due classic rites shall sooth thy purring ghost,
Nine victim rats, nine nestlings from the tree :
Sop'd in bohea, both votive Cat-es and toast,
With due libations, Cat-er'd cream for thee.

Whatever form thy manes shall assume,
Whether, ennobled now a tiger rise,
Or creep transform'd a mouse about the room.
Or in some antic nun thy soul disguise.

Whate'er thy lot, now eterniz'd thy name,

Shall live embalm'd in monody like mine;
And even from Charon thou shalt homage claim,
Thus by my verse endear'd to Proserpine.

MORAL.

"Twixt life and death, what close con-Cat-enation.
Just like a bond and mortgage of a Jew;

The payment coupled with the obligation.
How Cat-egorical the Cat-chpole too.

The forfeit up-no bail-alas !-alas!
The Cat-aplastic aid awhile to lend ;
Stern Radamanthus serves his capias,
And, Cat-erpillar like, with worms we end,

The Young Cat.

Wanton drole, whose harmless play
Beguiles the rustic's closing day,
When drawn the evening fire about,
Sit aged Crone, and thoughtiess Lout,
And child upon his three-foot stool,
Waiting till his supper cool;

And maid whose cheek outblooms the rose,
As bright the blazing faggot glows,
Who, bending to the friendly light,
Plies her task with busy sleight;

Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces,
Thus circled round with merry faces.

Backward coil'd, and crouching low,
With glaring eye-balls watch thy foe,
The housewife's spindle whirling round,
Or thread, or straw, that on the ground
Its shadow throws, by urchin sly,
Held out to lure thy roving eye;
Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring
Upon the futile, faithless thing.
Now, wheeling round with bootless skill,
Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
As oft beyond thy curving side

Its jetty tip is seen to glide;

Till from thy centre starting far,

Thou sidelong rear'st with rump in air,
Erected stiff, and gait awry,

Like Madam in her tantrums high:
Though ne'er a Madam of them all,
Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall,
More varied trick and whim displays,
To catch the admiring stranger's gaze.

Doth power in measured verses dwell, All thy vagaries wild to tell?

Ah no! the start, the jet, the bound,
The giddy scamper round and round,
With leap, and jerk, and high curvet,
And many a whirling somerset,
(Permitted be the modern Muse
Expression technical to use)

These mock the deftest rhymester's skill,
But poor in art, though rich in will.

The featest tumbler, stage-bedight,
To thee is but a clumsy wight,
Who every limb and sinew strains
To do what costs thee little pains,
For which, I trow, the gaping crowd
Requites him oft with plaudits loud;
But, stopped the while thy wanton play,
Applauses, too, thy feats repay;

For then, beneath some urchin's hand,
With modest pride thou tak'st thy stand,
While many a stroke of fondness glides
Along thy back and tabby sides.
Dilated swells thy glossy fur,
And loudly sings thy busy pur;
As, timing well the equal sound,
Thy busy feet bepat the ground,
And all their harmless claws disclose,
Like prickles of an early rose:
While softly from thy whiskered cheek
Thy half-closed eyes peep mild and meek.

But, not alone by cottage fire

Do rustics rude thy feats admire ;
The learned sage, whose thoughts explore
The widest range of human lore,
Or, with unfettered fancy, fly
Through airy heights of poesy,
Pausing, smiles with altered air
To see thee climb his elbow chair,