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pounded being, is open, ardent, and melting as even female-tenderness; and we find in it a scrupulous veracity, and an engaging dread of being intrusive. He has no vices, and much active virtue. For these good dispositions, he is greatly respected by the genteel families round Solihull, and (for his comic powers doubtless) his society is much sought after by them. Hither while he staid in Lichfield did he often

Indeed I found myself perpetually se'duced, by his powers of speeding time, to give up more of that fast-fleeting possession to him than I could conveniently spare.

Our first interview proved, by mistake, embarrassing and ridiculous. Mr Dewes being upon a visit to me, he and I were soberly weighing, in our respective balances, the quantity of genius that enriched the reign of Anue, and the liberal portions of it that our own times may boast.

It was evening, the grey hour, that “ Aings half an image on the straining sight.” Comparing the dead and the living, by other light than that of candles, we had not called for them.

In bolts our servant Edward, who had seen as indistinctly as I was about to see. here's young Mr Weston.”—“ Indeed!” exclaimed I, and starting up, rushed towards the person

“ Madam, age who followed him, crying out, “ dear Joe I am vastly glad to see you.”—“ My name is Joseph Weston, Madam."

The devil it is, thought I, for the voice, and the accompanying wriggle with which he bowed very low, were not our Joe's voice or bow.

“ Lord bless me, Sir," said I, drawing back," I have a friend of your name, for whom, in this dusky hour, I took you.” He then told me that he had lately passed an evening with Mr Saville, who had kindly assured him I should pardon an intrusion which had been the wish of years.

From that period, October last, Weston has been much in Lichfield, where genius and merit are, to the generality of its inhabitants, as dust in the balance against inferior station and exterior inelegance. Yet within these walls, and at our theatre, this finical but glowing disciple of the muses, passed many animated hours.

He has the theatric mania upon him, in all its ardour. The inclosed very ingenious prologue he taught Roxwell, who has a fine person and harmonious voice, to speak very delightfully.

I by no means think with you on the general abuse of the higher powers of mind, or respecting their proving injurious to the happiness of their possessor. I have generally, though not always, found, that where there is most genius there is

most goodness; and the inexhaustible sources of delight that, closed to common understandings, are open to elevated ones, must inevitably tend to give them a superior degree of happiness.

Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides has been long too much my admiration, in point of elegance, for me to think with you, that the letters from Scotland, in Mrs Piozzi's publication, however charming, are to be named with it in the strength or in graces of style.

So Miss P- can now say with Eloisa.

“ Rise Alps between us, and wħole oceans roll.”

May the heroic spirit of this enterprize be as much for her happiness as it is to her honour ! Adieu,

LETTER XVII.

WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esg.

Lichfield,' April 17, 1788. THANK you, my dear bard, for a letter whose kindness in some degree recompensed its long delay; while, for your exceedingly kind endeavours

to gratify the almost sole surviving wish of my poor father's heart, mine pays you acknowledgements upon which there are no regretful drawbacks.

My ingenious and very learned correspondent Mr Dewes, is upon the Continent for his health. In his last letter he thus asks after one of our mutual acquaintance, and yourself. I transcribe this inquiring passage, because I think it pays one of those just and delicate compliments to your genius, not less worthy of it than higher-coloured, or more laboured eulogiums.-" I am concerned, as a friend, to hear of the welfare of Mr Dea, and, as an Englishman, of that of Mr Hayley~ mention them both when you write.”

We have here two young poets, one the second son of a gentleman of family, and of the name of Lister, lately settled in this city, the other of an officer, called Cary, living at Sutton Coldfield. Their age equal, just turned fifteen—their attachment and delight in each other generously enthusiastic.

They received their last three years' instruction from an ingenious schoolmaster at Sutton; though Cary is now removed to Birmingham school, previous to his going to the university. Lister, on account of an unfortunate hesitation in his speech; which forbids the pursuit of an oratoric profession, is placed with our eminent banker, Mr Cobb. They have pursued their studies with emulative ardour, and after having, for some time past, amused themselves, in the recesses of the schoolhours, with translating Moschus, Bion, and Horace, into English verse, they now write original odes, and also sonnets, upon the Miltonic model ; and with success that is quite miraculous in years so blossoming.

If you looked into the last Gentleman's Magazine, you saw a sonnet of Cary's addressed to yourself. Lister writes very sweetly for such a youth, but I think Cary's vein the richer. I inclose specimens of each.

In the course of last summer, Cary wrote an irregular ode to Lord Heathfield, after the manner of Horace's panegyrics upon the heroes of his day. Like them, it contains some very poetic passages, and the numbers are uniformly harmonious ; but, like them also, being without plan, and the allusions, as theirs, rather shadowy than distinct, it interests only those few readers who feel delight in observing how early it is possible to be a master of numbers, and to catch a portion of the Horatian spirit.

His sonnets are more perfect of their kindand must, I should imagine, please every reader who can be pleased with any poetry. Their easy

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