maining stages of his journey, a companion who will do honour to his discernment, and make his way, so far as it can depend on a wife to do so, pleasant to the last.

"

My verses on the Queen's visit to London either have been printed, or soon will be, in the World. The finishing to which you objected I have altered, and have substituted two new stanzas instead of it. Two others also I have struck out, another critic having objected to them. I think I am a very tractable sort of a poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the noses of their children because they were said to be too long, as thus dock their compositions in compliance with the opinion of others. I beg that when my Life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductability of temper may not be forgotten!

I am, my dear friend,"

Ever yours,

W. C.

LETTER LXXV.

To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr.

AMICO MIO,

The Lodge, June 20, 1789.

I am truly sorry that it

must be so long before we can have an opportunity to meet. My Cousin in her last Letter but one, inspired me with other expectations, expressing a purpose, if the matter could be so contrived, of bringing you with her; I was willing to believe that you had consulted together on the subject, and found it feasi: ble. A month was formerly a trifle in my account, but at my present age I give it all its importance, and grudge that so many months should yet pass, in which I have not even a glimpse of those I love, and of whom, the course of nature considered, I must ere long take leave for ever-but I shall live till August.

Many thanks for the cuckow, which arrived perfectly safe, and goes well, to the amusement and amazement of all who hear it. Hannah lies awake to hear it, and I am not sure that we have not others in the house that admire his music as much as she.

Having read both Hawkins and Boswell, I now

think myself almost as much a master of Johnson's character as if I had known him personally, and cannot but regret, that our bards of other times found no such biographers as these. They have both been ridiculed, and the wits have had their laugh; but such an history of Milton or Shakespeare, as they have given of Johnson-Oh how desirable!

LETTER LXXVI.

W. C.

To Mrs. THROCKMORTON.

July 18, 1789.

Many thanks, my dear Madam, for your extract from George's Letter. I retain but little Italian, yet that little was so forcibly mustered by the consciousness that I was myself the subject, that I presently became master of it. I have always said that George is a poet, and I am never in his company but I discover proofs of it, and the delicate address by which he has managed his complimentary mention of me, convinces me of it still more than

ever. Here are a thousand poets of us, who have impudence enough to write for the public; but amongst the modest men who are by diffidence restrained from such an enterprize are those who would eclipse us all. I wish that George would make the experiment, I would bind on his laurels with my own hand.

Your gardener has gone after his wife, but having neglected to take his lyre, alias fiddle with him, has not yet brought home his Eurydice. Your clock in the hall has stopped, and (strange to tell!) it stopped at sight of the watch-maker. For he only looked at it, and it has been motionless ever since. Mr. Gregson is gone, and the Hall is a desolation. Pray don't think any place pleasant that you may find in your rambles, that we may see you the sooner. Your aviary is all in good health. I pass it every day, and often enquire at the lattice; the inhabitants of it send their duty, and wish for your return. I took notice of the inscription on your seal, and had we an artist here capable of furnishing me with another, you should read on mine. "Encore une lettre."

Adieu!

W. C.

LETTER LXXVII.

To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr.

The Lodge, July 23, 1789.

You do well, my dear Sir,

to improve your opportunity; to speak in the rural phrase, this is your sowing time, and the sheaves you look for can never be yours unless you make that use of it. The colour of our whole life is generally such as the three or four first years, in which we are our own masters, make it. Then it is that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up for our ourselves a series of future successes or disappointments. Had I employed my time as wisely as you, in a situation very similar to yours, I had never been a poet perhaps, but I might by this time have acquired a character of more importance in society; and a situation in which my friends would have been better pleased to see me. But three years mis-spent in an attorney's office, were almost of course followed by several more equally mis-spent in the Temple, and the consequence has been, as the Italian epitaph says,

66

Sto qui."-The only use I can make of myself now,