many others. His old age was the happiest, that I have ever known, and I give you both joy of having had so fair an opportunity, and of having so well used it, to approve yourselves equal to the calls of such a duty in the sight of God and man.

LETTER LIX.

W. C.

To Lady HESKETH.

The Lodge, June 15, 1788.

Although I know, that

you must be very much occupied on the present most affecting occasion, yet, not hearing from you, I began to be very uneasy on your account, and to fear, that your health might have suffered by the fatigue both of body and spirits, that you must have undergone, till a Letter, that reached me yesterday from the General, set my heart at rest, so far as that cause of anxiety was in question. He speaks of my Uncle in the tenderest terms, such as shew how truly sensible he was of the amiableness and excellence of his

We

character, and how deeply he regrets his loss. have indeed lost one, who has not left his like in the present generation of our family, and whose equal, in all respects, no future of it will probably produce. My memory retains so perfect an impression of him, that, had I been painter instead of poet, I could from those faithful traces have perpetuated his face and form with the most minute exactness : and this I the rather wonder at, because some, with whom I was equally conversant five and twenty years ago, have almost faded out of all recollection with me. But he made impression not soon to be effaced, and was in figure, in temper, and manner, and in numerous other respects, such as I shall never behold again. I often think what a joyful interview there has been between him and some of his contemporaries, who went before him. The truth of the matter is, my dear, that they are the happy ones, and that we shall never be such ourselves, till we have joined the party. Can there be any thing so worthy of our warmest wishes as to enter on an eternal, unchangeable state, in blessed fellowship and communion with those, whose society we valued most and for the best reasons, while they continued with us? A few steps more through a vain, foolish world, and this happiness will be yours.

ney!

But be not hasty, my dear, to accomplish thy jourFor of all, that live, thou art one, whom I can spare; for thou also art one, who shalt not leave thy equal behind thee.

least

a tardy correspondent, and such I am, but not willingly. Many hindrances have intervened, and the most difficult to surmount have been those, which the east and north-east winds have occasioned, breathing winter upon the roses of June, and inflaming my eyes, ten times more sensible of the inconvenience than they. The vegetables of England seem, like our animals, of a hardier and bolder nature than those of other countries. In France and Italy flowers blow, because it is warm, but here in spite of the cold. The season however is somewhat mended at present,

and my eyes with it. Finding myself this morning in perfect ease of body, I seize the welcome opportunity to do something at least towards the discharge of my arrears to you.

I am glad that you liked my song, and, if I liked the others myself so well as that I sent you, I would transcribe for you them also. But I sent that, because I accounted it the best. Slavery, and especially negro-slavery, because the cruellest, is an odious and disgusting subject. Twice or thrice I have been assailed with entreaties to write a poem on that theme. But beside that it would be in some sort treason against Homer to abandon him for any other matter, I felt myself so much hurt in my spirits the moment I entered on the contemplation of it, that I have at last determined absolutely to have nothing more to do with it. There are some scenes of horror, on which my imagination can dwell not without some complacence. But then they are such scenes as God, not man, produces. In earthquakes, high winds, tempestuous seas, there is the grand as well as the terrible. when man is active to disturb, there is such meanness in the design, and such cruelty in the execution, that I both hate and despise the whole operation, and feel it a degradation of poetry to employ her in the de

But

scription of it. I hope also, that the generality of my countrymen have more generosity in their nature than to want the fiddle of verse to go before them in the performance of an act to which they are invited by the loudest calls of humanity.

Breakfast calls, and then Homer.

Erratum. Instead of Mr. Wilberforce as author of Manners of the Great, read Hannah More.

My paper mourns, and my seal. It is for the death of a venerable Uncle, Ashley Cowper, at the age of eighty-seven.

LETTER LXI.

To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr.

Weston, June 23, 1788.

When I tell you, that an un

answered Letter troubles my conscience in some