XIV., also the very fine picture of the Tornado; only that "science-pointed steel" does not ininstantly present the image of a gun being fired. Amidst a succession of sweet passages in the epistle, those which charm me most, are the eight lines, which begin, " Yet, yet I mount"--the four that begin, "No, when the infernal spirit of despair"—his name breaking the spells, how charming that is!—nor less charming the beautiful allusion to the dove and the ark. Nothing can be finer than the anathema poured forth, with so much rapid fire, against the boasted rising sun of France. You, even you, never gave us a more gloriously poetic passage. Your portrait of William, at the battle of the Boyne, in this poem, displays another sort of image than that presented by West's pencil, which I never liked. The short abrupt hint, given by filial tenderness, is charming; but forgive me for owning that I could have wished the two lines, which bring the humanity of William into competition with the mercy of God, had been omitted. The spirited tenderness of the last twelve lines delights me. It is curious, that the Jacobite, Sam Wesley, left a spirited eulogium on the courage of William in Holland. "Thus great Nassau oppos'd the Gallic reign, Our friend Nichols has published Cary's sonnets. They might have been corrected to advantage, had he employed the hand of friendship in a task, of which you have finely described the use, even to the best poets, in your epistles on epic poetry. In spite of now and then a little hardness in the expressions, I dare believe you will think them charming, since you will recollect the blossoming age of their author. When he brought them to me last week, he said, with a deep sigh, "I wish Mr Hayley may look at a few of them." Send him a copy, said I: "Ah no! . I cannot be so obtrusive. If he should take no notice of even a tribute so worthless I should be wounded, nor can I wish he should have the trouble of writing one line of acknowledgment for what perhaps he might not endure to read." We have another self-taught genius, of very considerable strength, from the banks of the Avon, his name, Weston, organist of Solihul. In the Gentleman's Magazine for September last, there is a sonnet of his to Cary and Lister. I thought it so exquisite as to believe it yours, for indeed I never saw a more beautiful one of any origin, however splendid. Last summer I met with a subject for a Runic ode, that appeared to me very sublime, and though it had been put into verse a few years since, by a very charming poet, a friend of mine, whose name is Mathias, yet I thought not with all the effect of which, by expansion, the subject appeared to be capable. It struck me as presenting a prodigiously fine instant to the fire-tipt pencil of Wright. He thinks it does, for I sent him a copy of my poem, and he writes to me as intending to go to work with it. Though I sicken at the idea of publishing, and have no thoughts of so great a daring at present, yet I should be glad my Runic poem had the advantage of your correcting eye, since it may possibly one day see the light. I do not, however, mean to obtrude it upon your attention, in your present situation, where a thousand more interesting objects solicit that honour. When you return to the sylvan cell, and have leisure to explore a funeral forest at midnight, with an Amazonian nymph, opening her father's tomb by ma gic spells, and forcing from thence an enchanted sword, which ascends in a pillar of fire from the withered hands of a warrior's corse, my muse may trip to Eartham, under Mr Selwyn's convoy, and lead you thither. I hope the dear Romney is well, to whom I beseech you will say for me every thing that is affectionate and grateful. Mrs Knowles passed a fortnight with me in August. She says Romney's picture of me is one of the finest portraits she ever saw. I sent for the handsomest frame London would produce. It" emblazes, with its breadth of gold," the centre of the dining-room, opposite the fire-place. I keep the one by poor Kettle, for which you know I sat at nineteen, as a foil to Titiano's, and am diverted with people taking it for my mother's picture, after they have looked at Romney's. I hope Mr Long is well; he has my best wishes. Adieu! my dear bard, Adieu! LETTER XLVI. GEORGE HARDINGE, ESQ. Lichfield, Nov. 19, 1788. THE generous wish you express to serve the sweet, the interesting Mrs B., had drawn an immediate letter from me, could I, with gratitude, have set aside some other claims upon my pen. It was with a pensive smile that I looked at your distinction, "his brothers," well knowing that she never knew the sweets or the protection of the parental or fraternal ties; but since these gentlemen are prosperous, and tolerably affluent, it is strangely unfeeling, that they should suffer so amiable a sister-in-law to labour for her daily bread, in a situation scarce above that of a common servant, and much more harrassing. Yet lives there one whose still more bounden duty it is to consider her as his child, so far at least as to shield her from the miseries of apprehended want, and from fatigues to which her tender degree of strength is incompetent. This one gives away two-thirds of a large income in charity—or rather alms; but gloomy stoicism, and sour-headed in |