"How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sweet,

The evening came, the Sun descended,
And Puss remain'd still unattended.
The night roll'd tardily away,
(With her indeed 'twas never day)
The sprightly morn her course renew'd,
The evening grey again ensued,

And Puss came into mind no more
Than if entomb'd the day before.

With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room,
She now presag'd approaching doom,
Nor slept a single wink, or purr'd,

Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd.

That night, by chance, the Poet watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching,

His noble heart went pit-a-pat,

And to himself he said—" What's that?"
He drew the curtain at his side,
And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied.
Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd,
Something imprison'd in the chest,

And

And doubtful what, with prudent care,
Resolv'd it should continue there.

At length a voice, which well he knew,
A long and melancholy mew,
Saluting his poetic ears,

Consol'd him, and dispell'd his fears;
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
He 'gan in haste the draw'rs explore,
The lowest first, and without stop,
The rest in order to the top.

For 'tis a truth, well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it, ere it come to light,

In ev'ry cranny but the right.
Forth skipp'd the Cat; not now replete
As erst with airy self-conceit,
Nor in her own fond apprehension,
A theme for all the world's attention,
But modest, sober, cur'd of all
Her notions hyperbolical,
And wishing for a place of rest
Any thing rather than a chest,
Then stept the Poet into bed,
With this reflection in his head.

LL

VOL. 1.

MORAL

MORAL

Beware of too sublime a sense
Of your own worth and consequence!
The man who dreams himself so great,
And his importance of such weight,
That all around, in all that's done,
Must move and act for him alone,
Will learn, in school of tribulation,
The folly of his expectation.

LETTER LXXVI.

To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr.

Nov. 16, 1787.

I thank you for the solicitude that

you express on the subject of my present studies. The work is undoubtedly long and labourious, but it has an end, and proceeding leisurely, with a due attention to the use of air and exercise, it is possible that I may live to finish it. live to finish it. Assure yourself of one thing, that though to a bystander it may seem an occupation surpassing the powers of a constitution, never very athletic, and, at present, not a little the worse for wear, I can invent for myself no employment that does not exhaust my spirits more. I will not pretend to account for this, I will only say, that it is not the language of pre

dilection

dilection for a favourite amusement, but that the fact is really so. I have even found that those plaything-avocations which one may execute almost without any attention, fatigue me, and wear me away, while such as engage me much, and attach me closely, are rather serviceable to me than otherwise.

W. C.

LETTER LXXVII.

To Lady HESKeth.

The Lodge, Nov. 27, 1787.

It is the part of wisdom, my dearest

Cousin, to sit down contented under the demands of necessity, because they are such, I am sensible that you cannot, in my Uncle's present infirm state, and of which it is not possible to expect any considerable amendment, indulge either of us, or yourself, with a journey to Weston. Yourself, I say, both because I know it will give you pleasure to see Causidice mi* once more, especially in the comfortable abode where you have placed him, and because after so long an imprisonment in London, you, who love the country, and have a taste for it, would of course be glad to return to it. For my own part, to me it is ever new, and though I have now been an inhabitant of this village a twelvemonth, and have during the half of that time been at liberty to expatiate, and to make discoveries, I am daily finding out fresh scenes and walks, which you would

LL 2

* The Apellation which Sir Thomas Hesketh used to give him in jest, when he was of the Temple.

would never be satisfied with enjoying-some of them are unapproachable by you either on foot or in your carriage. Had you twenty toes (whereas I suppose you have but ten) you could not reach them; and coach-wheels have never been seen there since the flood. Before it indeed, (as Burnet says, that the earth was then perfectly free from all inequalities in its surface) they might be seen there every day. We have other walks both upon hill tops, and in vallies beneath, some of which by the help of your carriage, and many of them without its help, would be always at your command.

On Monday morning last, Sam brought me word that there was a man in the kitchen who desired to speak with me. I ordered him in. A plain, decent, elderly figure made its appearance, and being desired to sit, spoke as follows: "Sir, I am Clerk of the parish of "All-Saints in Northampton; brother of Mr. C. the Upholsterer. It " is customary for the person in my office to annex to a Bill of "Mortality which he publishes at Christmas, a copy of Verses. "You would do me a great favour, Sir, if you would furnish me "with one." To this I replied, "Mr. C. you have several men of genius in your town, why have you not applied to some of "them? There is a namesake of yours in particular, C—, the Statuary, who, every body knows, is a first-rate maker of verses. He surely is the man of all the world for your purpose." "Alas! Sir, "I have heretofore borrowed help from him, but he is a gentle

66

66

66 man