Each sense was sated. In my elbow chair Within the web of human life, by human art "Thus musing, not asleep, nor well awake, Thus terms them scratches- know — it fill'd my verse. Poetic licence still I claim, although -- The characters are traced by thy pen As clear as are within thy friendly heart Thou say'st I must write verses Since verses are not always poetry; - be it so But surely thou might'st deign to give the theme. My utmost boast. Oh, I am no Mainstone! (Melodious Mainstone! minion of the muse !) Was I but bless'd with half his powers of song, Thou might'st then boast thy friend; then might loud fame On her broad pinions bear my endless name To ages yet unborn. - Stop, fancied bliss, Say, shall I tell yet how can I express "Avaunt, ye sons of riot! ye whose hearts Ne'er knew a father's feelings, hence! nor dare "How shall I paint the unaw'd flash of joy Light'ning each servant face, who never knew The rigid sourness of a master's frown, And gave that welcome, free but yet sincere, The weakest of the followers of the Nine, "How can I paint maternal tenderness, Nor less The father, though by heav'n indued with strength, With fortitude of mind, by heav'n forbid To wear the weakness of a woman's heart, Not less he feels the agonizing joy At th' interesting tender moment, when In silent language, still most eloquent, "But stop, advent'rous bard-release thy friend, To thy friend's eyes his heart. O may that heart And taste those joys reserv'd for souls like thine! " Nor think this wish unkind! The world requires, Thy friends demand examples such as thine. Virtue abash'd, in this degen'rate age, Needs that support which thou so well canst give. Happy in nature's and in fortune's smiles, 'Tis thine to make the guilty blush, to show Virtue in her own form how lovely, thine To set religion in her fairest light, And vindicate the ways of God to man.” 66 Lydd, May 30th, 1770. "I don't know how it was, but I could never bring myself to look upon you as in danger. Your temperance, and the vigour of your constitution, had almost quieted my fears, and then popped in a little vanity of my own; namely, that I could not recollect a crime I had been guilty of worthy so severe a punishment as the loss of you. These were my thoughts while you were ill: but now you send me word you are recovered, I look back shuddering at the precipice I was at the brink of; each calm reflection points out the loss I should have endured, and philosophy does not bring in the necessary aids for the support of it. But religion does. I have returned my whole heart in thanksgiving for your recovery; not for your sake, but for my own. "I am glad you like my picture, though I find that when you are pleased you can flatter: but believe me, I am as sensible of all its faults as you are; nay, perhaps, as knowing more of the working part of a painter, I am more so. Upon the whole, I hope you will accept it as some small acknowledgement (the only one in my power) of the favours I have received of you, and particularly for the greatest, the honour of your acquaintance and friendship. Now for another subject. Mrs. Cobb is delivered of a fine boy, — and they are both very well. I beg the favour of you, jointly with our friend N., to be his male sponsors. To conclude with asking another favour. Mrs. Cobb and I apprehend that, after so severe an illness, the air of London may not be good for you, and we likewise imagine that an atmosphere impregnated with sea salts is the greatest of restoratives. Ergo, we should be much obliged to you, if it in any way suited you, if you would make use of our house for your recovery, where we will nurse you, if possible, as well as we love you. Adieu. "R. C." "Lydd, Sept. 26th, 1770. "I wish, says I, the other morning, as I started from my bed; I wish, says I, rubbing my eyes, I knew where Bowdler was. I would certainly write to him, if it was only for satisfaction in a point which has troubled my repose so long, and eluded all my researches. The point in question is this: that when the said Bowdler wrote to me last, he mentioned staying at Spring Grove only a fortnight; only a fortnight, as a reason why it was impossible for him to come to Lydd. Heavens! cried I, what can be the matter with the poor fellow? Has he got the gout, or the sciatica? how else can he have lost, thus suddenly, all his locomotive faculties? I was so uneasy, so alarmed at the dreadful picture fancy immediately painted on the retina of my imagination, that I should certainly have set out to see you immediately, but for reasons hereinafter to be mentioned. Methought I saw you stretched on the bed of affliction, supported in the arms of nature, while pain and disease were endeavouring to wrest you from her embrace. I heard the sigh of languor issue from your parching lips; I started at the pang which quivered on your cheek, yet (methinks I see you now) in the midst of the group I beheld religion pouring oil and wine into your wounds, and with rapture beheld the smile beaming on your countenance, that smile which you, and such alone as you, can ever experience amidst the horrors of dissolution. "The only thing that prevented my visiting you was, that I did not return from my journey (and consequently did not receive your letter) till the day subsequent to that day whereon you had appointed me to come; and had it been earlier, the fatigue of a journey of four hundred miles, performed in nine days, and the disarrangement of my affairs, I fear would have prevented my attending even you; but, as it was, it was simply and solely impossible. You cannot conceive how I was delighted with my expedition. We visited the glorious dock at Portsmouth, and made an ex |