Then Loyalty, with all her lamps
New trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow.

'Twas hard to tell of streets, of squares,
Which form'd the chief display,
These most resembling cluster'd stars,
Those the long milky-way.

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
And rockets flew, self-driven,
To hang their momentary fires
Amid the vault of Heaven.

So fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves on high,
Up-spouted by a whale in air
To express unwieldy joy.
Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,

And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd.

For no such sight had England's Queen
Forsaken her retreat,

Where George recover'd made a scene,
Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescried,

How much the object of her love

Was loved by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er

In aid of her design——

Darkness, O Queen! ne'er call'd before,
To veil a deed of thine!

On borrow'd wheels away she flies,
Resolved to be unknown,
And gratify no curious eyes
That night, except her own.
Arrived, a night like noon she sees,
And hears the million hum,
As all by instinct, like the bees,
Had known their sovereign come.
Pleased she beheld aloft pourtray'd,
On many a splendid wall,
Emblems of health and heavenly aid,
And George the theme of all.

Unlike the ænigmatic line,

So difficult to spell,

Which shook Belshazzar at his wine,

The night his city fell.

Soon watery grew her eyes and dim,
But with a joyful tear!

None else, except in prayer for him,
George ever drew from her.

It was a scene in every part

Like that in fable feign'd,

And seem'd by some magician's art
Created and sustain'd.

But other magic there, she knew,
Had been exerted none,

To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone!

That cordial thought her spirit cheer'd,
And through the cumbrous throng,
Not else unworthy to be fear'd,
Convey'd her calm along.

So ancient poets say, serene

The sea-maid rides the waves,
And fearless of the billowy scene
Her peaceful bosom laves.
With more than astronomic eyes
She view'd the sparkling show;
One Georgian star adorns the skies,
She myriads found below.

Yet let the glories of a night

Like that once seen, suffice!

Heaven grant us no such future sight,
Such precious woe the price!

CCXCI.-To SAMUEL ROSE, Esq.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

The Lodge, June 5, 1789.

I am going to give you a deal of trouble, but London folks must be content to be troubled by country folks; for in London only can our strange necessities be supplied. You must buy for me, if you please, a cuckoo clock; and now I will tell you where they are sold, which, Londoner as you are, it is possible you may not know, They are sold, I am informed, at more houses than one, in that narrow part of Holborn which leads into broad St. Giles's. It seems they are well-going clocks, and cheap, which are the two best recommendations of any clock. They are made in Germany, and such numbers of them are annually imported that they are become even a considerable article of commerce.

I return you many thanks for Boswell's Tour. I read it to Mrs. Unwin after supper, and we find it amusing. There is much trash in it, as there must always be in every narrative that relates indiscriminately all that passed. But now and then the Doctor speaks like an oracle, and that makes amends for all. Sir John was a coxcomb, and Boswell is not less a coxcomb, though of another kind. I fancy Johnson made coxcombs of all his friends, and they in return made him a coxcomb; for, with reverence be it spoken, such he certainly was, and, flattered as he was, sure to be so.

Thanks for your invitation to London, but unless London can come to me I fear we shall never meet. I was sure that you would love my friend when you should once be well acquainted with him ; and equally sure that he would take kindly to you.

Now for Homer.

W. C.

CCXCII.-TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Weston, June 16, 1789. You will naturally suppose that the letter in which you announced your marriage occasioned me some concern, though in my answer I had the wisdom to conceal it. The account you gave me of the object of your choice was such as left me at liberty to form conjectures not very comfortable to myself, if my friendship for you were indeed sincere. I have since, however, been sufficiently consoled. Your brother Chester has informed me that you have married not only one of the most agreeable, but one of the most accomplished women in the kingdom. It is an old maxim, that it is better to exceed expectation than to disappoint it, and with this maxim in your view it was, no doubt, that you dwelt only on circumstances of disadvantage, and would not treat me with a recital of others which abundantly outweigh them. I now congratulate not you only, but myself, and truly rejoice that my friend has chosen for his fellow-traveller through the remaining stages of his journey a companion who will do honour to his discernment, and make his way, so far as it can depend on a wife to do so, pleasant to the last. My verses on the Queen's visit to London either have been printed, or soon will be, in the World. The finishing to which you objected I have altered, and have substituted two new stanzas instead of it. Two others also I have struck out, another critic having objected to them. I think I am a very tractable sort of poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the noses of their children because they were said to be too long, as thus dock their compositions in compliance with the opinion of others. I beg that when my life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductility of temper may not be forgotten!

I am, my

dear friend! ever yours,

W. C.

AMICO MIO,

CCXCIII.-To SAMUEL ROSE, Esq.

The Lodge, June 20, 1789. I am truly sorry that it must be so long before we can have an opportunity to meet. My cousin, in her last letter but one, inspired me with other expectations, expressing a purpose, if the matter could be so contrived, of bringing you with her; I was willing to believe that you had consulted together on the subject, and found it feasible. A month was formerly a trifle in my account, but at my present age I give it all its importance, and grudge that so many months should yet pass in which I have not even a glimpse of those I love, and of whom, the course of nature considered, I must ere long take leave for ever-but I shall live till August.

Many thanks for the cuckoo, which arrived perfectly safe and goes well, to the amusement and amazement of all who hear it. Hannah

lies awake to hear it, and I am not sure that we have not others in the house that admire his music as much as she.

Having read both Hawkins and Boswell, I now think myself almost as much a master of Johnson's character as if I had known him personally, and cannot but regret that our bards of other times found no such biographers as these. They have both been ridiculed, and the wits have had their laugh; but such an history of Milton or Shakspeare as they have given to Johnson-O how desirable!

CCXCIV.-To MRS. THROCKMORTON.

July 18, 1789.

Many thanks, my dear Madam, for your extract from George's letter. I retain but little Italian, yet that little was so forcibly mustered, by the consciousness that I was myself the subject, that I presently became master of it. I have always said that George is a poet, and I am never in his company but I discover proofs of it; and the delicate address by which he has managed his complimentary mention of me, convinces me of it still more than ever. Here are a thousand poets of us, who have impudence enough to write for the public; but amongst the modest men who are by diffidence restrained from such an enterprise are those who would eclipse us all. I wish that George would make the experiment, I would bind on his laurels with my own hand.

Your gardener has gone after his wife, but having neglected to take his lyre, alias fiddle, with him has not yet brought home his Eurydice. Your clock in the hall has stopped, and (strange to tell!) it stopped at the sight of the watchmaker. For he only looked at it, and it has been motionless ever since. Mr. Gregson is gone, and the hall is a desolation. Pray don't think any place pleasant that you may find in your rambles, that we may see you the sooner. Your aviary is all in good health. I pass it every day, and often inquire at the lattice; the inhabitants of it send their duty, and wish for your return. I took notice of the inscription on your seal, and had we an artist here capable of furnishing me with another, you should read on mine," Encore une lettre."

Adieu!

CCXCV.-To SAMUEL ROSE, Esq.

W. C.

The Lodge, July 23. 1789.

You do well, my dear Sir, to improve your opportunity; to speak in the rural phrase, this is your sowing time, and the sheaves you look for can never be yours, unless you make that use of it. The colour of our whole life is generally such as the three or four first years in which we are our own masters make it. Then it is, that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up for ourselves a series of future successes or disappointments. Had I employed my time as wisely as you, in a situation very similar to

me.

yours, I had never been a poet perhaps, but I might by this time have acquired a character of more importance in society; and a situation in which my friends would have been better pleased to see But three years mis-spent in an attorney's office were almost of course followed by several more equally mis-spent in the Temple, and the consequence has been, as the Italian epitaph says, " Sto qui.' -The only use I can make of myself now, at least the best, is to serve in terrorem to others, when occasion may happen to offer, that they may escape (so far as my admonitions can have any weight with them) my folly and my fate. When you feel yourself tempted to relax a little of the strictness of your present discipline, and to indulge in amusement incompatible with your future interest, think on your friend at Weston.

Having said this, I shall next, with my whole heart, invite you hither, and assure you that I look forward to approaching August with great pleasure; because it promises me your company. After a little time (which we shall wish longer) spent with us, you will return invigorated to your studies, and pursue them with the more advantage. In the mean time you have lost little, in point of season, by being confined to London. Incessant rains, and meadows under water, have given to the summer the air of winter, and the country has been deprived of half its beauties.

It is time to tell you that we are well, and often make you our subject. This is the third meeting that my cousin and we have had in this country; and a great instance of good fortune I account it in such a world as this, to have expected such a pleasure thrice without being once disappointed. Add to this wonder as soon as you can by making yourself of the party.

CCXCIV.-To SAMUEL ROSE, Esq.

W. C.

MY DEAR FRIEND,
Weston, August 8, 1789.
Come when you will, or when you can, you cannot come at a
wrong time, but we shall expect you on the day mentioned.

If you have any book that you think will make pleasant evening reading, bring it with you. I now read Mrs. Piozzi's Travels to the ladies after supper, and shall probably have finished them before we shall have the pleasure of seeing you. It is the fashion, I understand, to condemn them. But we who make books ourselves, are more merciful to book-makers. I would that every fastidious judge of authors were himself obliged to write; there goes more to the composition of a volume than many critics imagine. I have often wondered, that the same poet who wrote the Dunciad should have written these lines,

The mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me.

Alas! for Pope, if the mercy he showed to others was the measure of the mercy he received! he was the less pardonable too, because experienced in all the difficulties of composition.