ture to the similar ones of his, the basis appears to me far more sublime than even the descent of Odin; and it presents the finest possible moment to Mr Wright's fire-tipt pencil.

Talking of odes, are you not charmed with the last Birth-day? It appears to me far the noblest and the most interesting ever born to that hackneyed subject. The new one of Collins, so lately emerged from the oblivion into which it had fallen, also delights me. It is on the Highland superstitions, and is, I think, in his best

manner.

I have just read, for the first time, the base, ungentlemanlike, unmanly abuse of Mrs Piozzi, by that Italian assasin, Barretti. The whole literary world should unite in publicly reprobating such venomed and foul-mouthed railing. It appears in a magazine, infamous for the admission of abusive strictures on the writings of eminent people.

Your niece, Louisa, is a sweet child. She begged to see your last letter, and returned it to me with eyes overflowing with tears,-the precious earnest of a feeling and grateful heart. May they be the last she sheds on your account during very many ensuing years!-I am always, &c.

LETTER XXVIII.

GEORGE HARDINGE, Esq.

Lichfield, June 19, 1788.

I THOUGHT you in earnest, and wrote in the first impulse of vexation over the idea of losing my manuscript.

The careless ease of your disappointing replies to my repeated demands for three papers, sent to you on the condition that they should be returned, made me ready enough to imagine you meant to serve me so again. If I injured you, forgive me!

There is not much wonder that you think me irritable. All my correspondents would be of your opinion on that subject, were they to treat my requests with the same gay indifference.

You tell me I am not so meek as I might afford to be, without prejudice to my, as you call them, genius and talents. It has been observed, that where the imagination glows, the temper is seldom placid. Certain it is, my indignations are apt to kindle, at every appearance of people presuming upon the superiority of their situation:

"I have a soul disdaining contumely,

A guiltless spirit, that provokes no wrong,

Nor, from a monarch, would endure it, offer'd."

On a review of my past life, I have oftener found reason to regret the placability than the warmth of my disposition.

Writing in an irritated moment, perhaps every thing I said had a tinge of the prevailing vexation more than I was myself aware of. Certain it is, that I did not mean to reject your criticisms petulantly; two or three of them I design to adopt, and told you so.

Perhaps, however, in my most tranquil mood, I should have expressed my ever-during wonder at your verbal antipathies, and which seem to me utterly unaccountable. If you recollect, you will find that I never objected to a word or mode of expression in your compositions, without assigning the reason of that objection. That ought always to be done, to render criticism of use; and where it is done, few are more open to conviction, more acknowledging, than myself; all my other literary friends will bear that testimony of me. But, having made the grace, harmony, and elegance of the English language my long and particular study, I am not likely to adopt objections blindly.

Adieu! Do not think me quite a fury, and do more than think, be assured, that I must have real and lasting cause of resentment, ere I cease to be your sincere friend and servant—A. S.

LETTER XXIX.

MR NEWTON.

Lichfield, June 19, 1788.

AMIDST the late and present terrible wreck of commercial credit, I shuddered to think of the dangers to which you might have been exposed. Though your last proves, alas! that my fears have not been wholly groundless, and paints the penury and distress of thousands, consequent upon this wide-spreading mischief; yet there is comfort in the hope you give me, that your establishment is not ruinously drawn into the vor

tex.

On the other hand, I am grieved to find that, to the inevitable anxieties of such a fearful crisis, domestic sorrow has been superadded. The month, elapsed since the date of that letter, I trust, brought better health into your family.

All you say upon the former mortality amongst your children, is wise and just. Heaven often proves as kind in the seeming blessings it takes from us, as in the real ones it bestows.

Mr S., and his amiable daughter united with me in anxiety for your fafety, amid this world of insolvency. It is the great objection to commercial undertakings, that neither a man's honesty, industry, or even prudence, can preserve him from the perils to which they are liable.

Thank God, my father remains much as when

you saw him last. During the too glowing weather, he went out, in his little coach, morning and evening. Till yesterday's rain, nothing was ever more arid than our fields. Scanty, I fear, will be the hay-harvest.

Mr Hayley is much pleased with your poem to G. Ayre, and with your presenting it to him. His last letter commissions me with acknowledgments to you. With it travelled a very elegant composition, in verse, of the classical and brilliant Mr G. H's. The Bard of Eartham, in commenting upon them both, speaks decidedly in favour of the poetic genius of your poem.

I have spoken to you of Mr Hayley's noble adoption of a friendless youth of genius, of the name of Howel; that he himself added geogra phy, French, Italian, and fencing, to the consi