THE FOLLOWING LETTER, ADDRESSED то THE PRINTER OF THE ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE, APPEARED IN THAT PAPER, IN JUNE, MDCCLXVII. SIR, As there is nothing I diflike fo much as news paper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concife as poffible in informing a correfpondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one; and I think fo ftill. I faid, I was told by the bookfeller that it was then firft published; but in that, it feems, I was mif-informed, and my reading was not extenfive enough to fet me right. Another correfpondent of yours accufes me of having taken a ballad, I published some time ago, VOL. I. C from * from one by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in queftion. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, fome years ago; and he (as we both confidered these things as trifles at beft) told me with his ufual good humour, the next time I faw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may fo call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing and, were it not for the bufy difpofition of fome of your correfpondents, the public fhould never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more impor tant nature. I am, Sir, Yours, &c. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. * The Friar of Orders Gray. "Reliq. of Anc. Poetry," vol. 1. p. 243. THE TURN, URN, gentle Hermit of the dale, "And guide my lonely way, "To where yon taper chears the vale "With hofpitable ray. "For here forlorn and loft I tread, "With fainting fteps and flow; “Where wilds, immeasurably spread, "Seem length'ning as I go." "Forbear, my fon," the Hermit cries, "Here to the houseless child of want "My door is open still; "And though my portion is but scant, "Then turn to-night, and freely share "Whate'er my cell beftows; "My rushy couch and frugal fare, "No flocks that range the valley free, "But from the mountain's graffy fide "A guiltless feaft I bring; "A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd, "And water from the fpring. "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; Soft as the dew from heaven defcends, His gentle accents fell: The modeft ftranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far Far in a wilderness obfcure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighb'ring poor, No ftores beneath its humble thatch And now, when bufy crowds retire And spread his vegetable store, The lingering hours beguil'd. Around in fympathetic mirth But nothing could a charm impart C 3 His |