f than once you know you have told me I have too much religion for a foldier. Will you con defcend to be a poor parfon's wife? But I fhall write to-morrow at this rate. LETTER To the SAME.. XLV. 7 July, 77. Since last night I have changed my mind--totally changed it. I charge you not to fee Mrs. Yates this morning. Write her word your mind is changed. Never will I confent to be fupported by your labours. Never, never fhall your face, your perfon, your accomplishments be exposed for fo much an hour. By the living God I will not forgive you if you do not give up all thoughts of any fuch thing. LETTER XLVI. To the SA ME, Croydon, 20 Sept. 1777. That you have taken to drawing gives me particular pleasure. Depend upon it you will find it fuit your genius. But, in truth, your ge nius nius feizes every thing. While your old friend is eating his corn, I fit down to tell you this; which I would not fay to your face, left you fhould call it flattery. Though you well know flattery is a thing in which we never deal. My opinion of the great man's ftile of painting, who condefcends to improve you in drawing, is exactly your's. Pofterity will agree with us. The fubjects you recommended to his pencil are fuch as I fhould have expected from my M.'s fancy While I walked my horfe hither this morning, two or three fubjects of different forts occurred to me. All of them would not fuit his ftyle. But I know one or two of them would not difSome of them I please you, if well executed. will fend you.➖➖➖ you.-- Louis xiv. when a boy, viewing the battle of St. Anthony from the top of Charonne. In 1650, I think. Richard Cromwell, when the Prince de Conti, Condé's brother, told him in converfation, at Montpelier, without knowing him, that Oliver was a great man, but that Oliver's fon was a mifcreant for not knowing how to profit by his father's crimes. Milton, when the idea firft ftruck him of changing his mystery into an epic poem. Demofthenes declaiming in a storm. William the Conqueror, and his rebellious fon Robert, discovering each other in a battle; after they hal encountered hand to hand for fome time. Charles XII. tearing the Vizir's robe with his fpur. And again, after lying in bed ten months. at Demotica. 66 Though my mother could na speak, "She look'd in my face till my heart was like to break." The Abra of Prior's Solomon, "When fhe, with modest scorn, the wreath return'd, "Reclin'd her beauteous neck, and inward mourn'd." Our Elizabeth, when fhe gave her Effex a box on the ear. Chatterton's Sir Charles Bawdin, parting from his wife-- "Then tir'd out with raving loud, "She fell upon the floor; "Sir Charles exerted all his might, "And march'd from out the door." The Conference of Auguftus, Anthony and Lepidus (you are deep in Goldfmith, I know). Do you remember the fcene? Equally fufpicious of treachery, they agreed to meet on a little ifland near Mutina. Lepidus first past over. Finding Finding every thing fafe, he made the fignal.--Behold them, yonder, feated on the ground, on the highest part of a defolate ifland, unattended, fearful of one another, marking out cities and nations, dividing the whole world between them; and mutually refigning to deftruction, agreeably to lifts which each prefented, their dearest friends and nearest relations.---Salvator Rofa would not make me quarrel with him for doing the back ground. Your friend, if any one living, could execute the figures. Let me fuggeft one more fubject.---Monmouth's decapitation, in the time of James ii. Hiftory fpeaks well of his face and perfon. The circumstances of his death are these. ---He defired the executioner to dispatch him with more fkill than he had difpatched Ruffel. This only added to the poor fellow's confufion, who ftruck an ineffectual blow. Monmouth raifed his face. from the block, and with a look (which I cannot defcribe, but the painter must give) reproached his failure.---By the turn of the head, the effect of the blow might be concealed, and left to fancy; who might collect it from the faces of the neareft fpectators.---The remainder of the scene is too fhocking for the eye, almost for the ear.--But, I know not how, whenever I am away from you, nothing is too shocking for me.-----Monmouth again laid down his head. The executioner ftruck again and again, to as little purpose; and, at last, threw down the axe. The fheriff obliged the man, whofe feelings all muft pity and refpect, to renew his attempt. Two strokes more finished the butchery. Were it poffible to tear off this laft fubject without deftroying half my letter, I really would. It will make you fhudder too much. But, you fee, it is not poffible; and you prefer such a letter as this, I know, to none. The paper only affords me room to fay my horfe is ready. Every ftep he carries me from you, will be a ftep from happiness.---My imagination would bufy herself juft now, about the manner in which I fhould behave, if I were to die as ignominiously as Monmouth. But, as I feel no inclination for rebellion, fancy threw away her pains. LETTER To the SAME. XLVII. 5 February, 1778. Oh my dearest M. what I have gone through Lince I wrote to you last night it is impoffible for me |