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legs, desired the people, who were by this time rather numerous, to open a lane for him to the right and left. He was instantly obeyed, when throwing the Fox to the distance of some yards, and screaming like a Fiend, " tear him to pieces "—at least six times repeatedly, he consigned him over absolutely to the pack, who in a few minutes devoured him completely. Thus, my dear, as Virgil says, what none of the Gods could have ventured to promise me, time itself, pursuing its accustomed course, has of its own accord presented me with, I have been in at the death of a Fox, and you now know as much of the matter as I, who am as well informed as any sportsman in England.

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Great, I have read.

The former I admired, as I do all that Miss More writes, as well for energy of expression, as for the tendency of the design. I have never yet seen any production of her pen that has not recommended itself by both these qualifications. There is likewise much good sense in her manner of treating every subject, and no mere poetic cant (which is the thing that I abhor,) in her manner of treating any. And this I say, not because you now know

and

and visit her, but it has long been my avowed opinion of her works, which I have both spoken and written as often as I have had occasion to mention them.

Mr. Wilberforce's little book (if he was the author of it) has also charmed me. It must, I should imagine, engage the notice of those to whom it is addressed. In that case one may say to them, either answer it, or be set down by it. They will do neither. They will approve, commend, and forget it. Such has been the fate of all exhortations to reform, whether in verse or prose, and however closely pressed upon the conscience in all ages, here and there a happy individual, to whom God gives grace and wisdom to profit by the admonition, is the better for it. But the aggregate body (as Gilbert Cooper used to call the multitude) remain, though with a very good understanding of the matter, like horse and mule that have none.

We shall now soon lose our neighbours at the Hall. We shall truly miss them, and long for their return. Mr. Throckmorton said to me last night, with sparkling eyes, and a face expressive of the highest pleasure, "We compared you this morning with Pope; we read your fourth Iliad, and his, and I verily think we shall beat him, He has many superflous lines, and does not interest one. When I read your Translation, I am deeply affected. I see plainly your advantage, and am convinced that Pope spoiled all by at

tempting

tempting the work in rhyme." His brother George, who is my most active amanuensis, and who indeed first introduced the subject, seconded all he said. More would have passed, but Mrs. Throckmorton having seated herself at the harpsichord, and for my amusement merely, my attention was of course turned to her. The new Vicar of Olney is arrived, and we have exchanged visits. He is a plain, sensible man, and pleases me much. A treasure for Olney, if Olney can understand his value. Adieu,

W. C.

LETTER XC.

To General COWPER.

Weston, Dec. 13, 1787.

MY DEAR GENERAL,

A Letter is not pleasant which ex

cites curiosity, but does not gratify it. Such a Letter was my last, the defects of which I therefore take the first opportunity to supply. When the condition of our Negroes in the Islands was first presented to me as a subject for Songs, I felt myself not at all allured to the undertaking; it seemed to offer only images of horror, which could by no means be accommodated to the style of that sort of composition. But having a desire to comply, if possible, with the request made to me, after turning the matter in my mind as many ways as I could, I at last, as I told you, produced

three,

three, and that which appears to myself the best of those three, I have sent you. Of the other two, one is serious, in a strain of thought perhaps rather too serious, and I could not help it. The other, of which the Slave Trader is himself the subject, is somewhat ludicrous. If I could think them worth your seeing, I would, as opportunity should occur, send them also. If this amuses you I shall be glad.

THE MORNING DREAM.*

A BALLAD.

To the Tune of Tweed-side.

'Twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,

I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.

I dream'd that on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the Westward I sail'd,

While the billows high lifted the boat,

And the fresh blowing breeze never fail'd,

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W, C.

In

The excellence of this Ballad induces me to reprint it here, although it has

appeared in the last edition of Cowper's Poems.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore,
Whose beauty impress'd me with awe,
Never taught me by woman before.
She sat, and a shield at her side

Shed light like a sun on the waves,
And smiling divinely, she cry'd-

"I go to make Freemen of Slaves."

Then raising her voice to a strain,

The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the Slave's broken chain,
Wherever her glory appear'd.
Some clouds which had over us hung
Fled, chas'd by her melody clear,
And methought while she Liberty sung,
'Twas Liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a Slave-cultur'd island we came, Where a Demon, her enemy stood,

Oppression, his terrible name. In his hand, as a sign of his sway,

A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey,

From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But

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