whoever he is, though he has no objection to doing the kindest things, he seems to have an aversion to the thanks they merit.

You must know that two odes composed by Horace, have lately been discovered at Rome; I wanted them transcribed into the blank leaves of a little Horace of mine, and Mrs. Throckmorton performed that service for me; in a blank leaf therefore of the same book I wrote the following.

Who have trac'd it in characters here,

So elegant, even, and neat ;

He had laugh'd at the critical sneer,

Which he seems to have trembled to meet.

And sneer, if you please, he had said,
Hereafter a nymph shall arise,

Who shall give me, when you are all dead,

The glory your malice denies ;

Shall dignity give to my lay,

Although but a mere bagatelle;

And even a poet shall say,

Nothing ever was written so well.

LETTER LXXXVIII.

To Lady HESKETH.

The Lodge, Feb. 26, 1790.

You have set my heart

at ease, my Cousin, so far as you were yourself the object of its anxieties. What other troubles it feels can be cured by God alone. But you are never silent a week longer than usual, without giving an opportunity to my imagination (ever fruitful in flowers of a sable hue) to teaze me with them day and night. London is indeed a pestilent place, as you call it, and I would, with all my heart, that thou hadst less to do with it were you under the same roof with

me, I should know you to be safe; and should never distress you with melancholy letters.

I feel myself well enough inclined to the measure you propose, and will shew to your new acquaintance with all my heart, a sample of myTranslation, but it shall not be if you please taken from the Odyssey. It is a poem of a gentler character than the Iliad, and as I propose to carry her by a coup de main, I shall employ Achilles, Agamemnon, and the two armies of Greece and Troy in my service. I will accordingly send you in the box that I received from you last night, the two first books of the Iliad, for that lady's perusal; to those I have given a third revisal; for them therefore I will be answerable, and am not afraid to stake the credit of my work upon them with her, or with any living wight, especially one who understands the original. I do not mean that even they are finished, for I shall examine and cross examine them yet again, and so you may tell her, but I know that they will not disgrace me; whereas it is so long since I have looked at the Odyssey that I know nothing at all about it. They shall set sail from Olney on Monday morning in the Diligence, and will reach you I hope in the evening. As soon as she has done with them I shall be glad to have them again, for the time

draws near when I shall want to give them the last touch.

I am delighted with Mrs. Bodham's kindness in giving me the only picture of my Mother that is to be found I suppose in all the world. I had rather possess it than the richest jewel in the British crown, for I loved her with an affection, that her death, fiftytwo years since, has not in the least abated. I remember her too, young as I was when she died, well enough to know that it is a very exact resemblance of her, and as such it is to me invaluable. Every body loved her, and with an amiable character so impressed upon all her features, every body was sure to do so.

I have a very affectionate, and a very clever Letter from Johnson, who promises me the transcript of the books entrusted to him in a few days. I have a great love for that young man, he has some drops of the same stream in his veins that once animated the original of that dear picture,

W. C.

LETTER LXXXIX.

To Mrs. BODHAM.

MY DEAREST ROSE,

Weston, Feb. 27, 1790,

Whom I thought withered,

and fallen from the stalk, but whom I find still alive : nothing could give me greater pleasure than to know it, and to learn it from yourself. I loved you dearly when you were a child, and love you not a jot the less for having ceased to be so. Every creature that bears any affinity to my Mother is dear to me, and you, the Daughter of her Brother, are but one remove distant from her: I love you therefore, and love you much, both for her sake, and for your own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable to me, as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt, had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object, that I see at night, and of course the first on which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I had com