wrote at this period abound with apologies for his | apparent neglect. He still, however, found time to advert to passing events, sufficiently to prove that the bent of his mind remained decidedly serious. To Mrs. King he thus writes:-" Mrs. Battison, your late relative at Bedford, being dead, I was afraid you would have no more calls there; but the marriage so near at hand, of the young lady you mention, with a gentleman of that place, gives me hope again, that you may occasionally approach us, as heretofore; and that on some of these occasions you will perhaps find your way to Weston. The deaths of some and the marriages of others, make a new world of it every thirty years. Within that space of time, the majority are displaced, and a new generation has succeeded. Here and there one is permitted to stay a little longer, that there may not be wanting a few grave dons like myself, to make the observation. The thought struck me very forcibly the other day, on reading a paper which came hither in the package of some books from London. It contained news from Hertfordshire, and informed me among other things, that at Great Berkhamstead, the place of my birth, there is hardly a family left of all those with whom, in my early days, I was so familiar. The houses no doubt remain, but the greater part of their former inhabitants are now to be found by their grave-stones. And it is certain that I might pass through a town in which I was once a sort of principal figure, unknowing and unknown. They are happy who have not taken up their rest in a world fluctuating as the sea, and passing away with the rapidity of a river. I wish from my heart that you and Mr. King may long continue as you have already long continued, exceptions from the general truth of this remark."

fore me, and when they are finished, shall have almost the whole eight-and-forty to revise. Judge then, my dear madam, if it is yet time for me to play, or to gratify myself with scribbling to those I love. No, it is necessary that waking I should be all absorbed in Homer, and that sleeping I should dream of nothing else.'

Busily engaged, however, as Cowper was with his translation, he found time to compose several short, but beautiful poems, on various subjects, as they happened to occur to his mind. These were eagerly sought after by his correspondents, and were forwarded to them respectively, as opportunities offered, accompanied generally with the poet's acknowledgments of their comparative insignificance, at least in his own esteem. Several of these productions were written to oblige his friends, for whom Cowper always had the highest regard, and whom he felt pleased on all occasions to accommodate ; others were written at the request of strangers, whom he was not unwilling, when it lay fairly in his way, to oblige. On one occasion, the parish clerk of Northampton applied to him for some verses, to be annexed to some bills of mortality, which he was accustomed to publish at Christmas. This singular incident, so 'illustrative of Cowper's real generosity, he relates in the following most interesting and sprightly manner:-"On Monday morning last, Sam brought me word that there was a man in the kitchen, who desired to speak with me. I ordered him in. A plain, decent, elderly-looking figure made its appearance, and being desired to sit, spoke as follows: Sir, I am clerk of the parish of All Saints, in Northampton; brother of Mr. C. the upholsterer. It is customary for the person in my office to annex to a bill of mortality, which he pubLady Hesketh remained at Weston through the lishes at Christmas, a copy of verses. You would greater part of the winter of 1788-9, and contribut- do me a great favor, Sir, if you would furnish me ed much to revive Cowper's drooping spirits, and to with one.', To this I replied; 'Mr. C. you have cheer and animate him in his important undertak- several men of genius in your town, why have you ing; which seemed to engage more of his time the not applied to some of them? There is a namenearer it approached to a finish. The close atten- sake of yours in particular, Mr. C. the statuary, tion which he found it indispensably necessary to who every body knows is a first rate maker of verbestow upon it, compelled him almost entirely to ses. He surely is the man, of all the world, for your relinquish his correspondence. And, as a letter purpose.' 'Alas! Sir,' replied he, 'I have heretofrom him was esteemed a treasure by all his friends, fore borrowed help from him, but he is a gentleman many of whom began to make complaints of being of so much reading, that the people of the town canneglected, he was often compelled, in those he did not understand him.' I confess I felt all the force write, to advert to these complaints. We find him of the compliment implied in this speech, and was thus excusing himself for his apparent neglect:—almost ready to answer, perhaps, my good friend, "The post brings me no letters that do not grumble at my silence. Had not you, therefore, taken me to task as roundly as others, I should, perhaps, have concluded that you were more indifferent to my epistles than the rest of my correspondents; of whom one says, 'I shall be glad when you have finished Homer; then possibly you will find a little leisure for an old friend.' Another says, 'I don't choose to be neglected, unless you equally neglect every one else. Thus I hear of it with both ears, and shall, till I appear in the shape of two great quarto volumes, the composition of which I confess engrosses me to a degree that gives my friends, to whom I feel myself much obliged for their anxiety to hear from me, but too much reason to complain. Johnson told Mr. Martyn the truth, when he said I had nearly completed Homer, but your inference from that truth is not altogether so just as most of your conclusions are. Instead of finding myself the more at leisure, because my labor draws to a close, I find myself the more occupied. As when a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he be jaded, slacken his pace, but quickens it: even so it fares with me. The end is in view; I seem almost to have reached the mark, and the nearness of it inspires me with fresh alacrity. But be it known to you, that I have still two books of the Odyssey be

they may find me unintelligible for the same reason. But on asking him whether he had walked over to Weston on purpose to implore the assistance of my muse, and on his replying in the affirmative, I felt my mortified vanity a little consoled, and pitying the poor man's distress, which appeared to be considerable, promised to supply him. The wagon has accordingly gone this day to Northampton, loaded in part with my effusions in the mortuary style. A fig for poets who write epitaphs upon individuals; I have written one that serves two hundred persons."

On another occasion, Cowper thus writes to Mr. Hill, adverting to the numerous entreaties he sometimes received for the assistance of his muse. "My muse were a vixen, if she were not always ready to fly in obedience to your commands. But what can be done? I can write nothing in the few hours that remain to me of this day, that will be fit for your purpose: and, unless I could dispatch what I write by to-morrow's post, it would not reach you in time. I must add, too, that my friend the vicar of the next parish, engaged me the day before yesterday, to furnish him by next Sunday with a hymn to be sung on the occasion of his preaching to the children of the Sunday-school; of which hymn I have not yet. produced a syllable. I am somewhat in the case of Lawyer Dowling, in Tom Jones; and could I split

myself into as many poets as there are muses, I could find employment for them all."

But vengeance hung not far remote,
For while he stretched his clamorous throat,
And heaven and earth defied;
Big with a curse too closely pent,
That struggled vainly for a vent,

He totter'd, reel'd, and died.

"Tis not for us, with rash surmise,
To point the judgment of the skies;
But judgments plain as this,
That, sent for men's instruction, bring
A written label on their wing,

"Tis hard to read amiss."

It was Cowper's intention, after finishing his

These numerous engagements, however, did not prevent the poet from recording his sentiments respecting any circumstance that occurred which he thought deserving notice. About this time the following melancholy event happened, which drew from him lines expressive of his entire abhorrence of cruelty, by whomsoever perpetrated, and whether practised upon man or upon the lower order of aniinals. John A-, Esq. a young gentleman of large fortune, who was passionately fond of cock-fighting, came to his death in the following awful manner. He had a favorite cock, upon which he had won many large sums. The last bet he laid upon it he lost, which so enraged him, that he had the bird tied | translation, to publish a third volume of original to a spit, and roasted alive, before a large fire. The screams of the suffering animal were so affecting, that some gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so exasperated Mr. A, that he seized the poker, and with the most furious vehemence declared that he would kill the first man who interfered; but in the midst of his passionate assertions, awful to relate, he fell down dead upon the spot. Cowper was so deeply affected by the circumstance, that he composed a poetic obituary on the occasion, which was inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 1789, from which we tract the following lines:

He seized him fast, and from the pit
Flew to the kitchen, snatched the spit,
And, Bring me cord, he cried;
The cord was brought, and at his word,
To that dire implement, the bird,
Alive and struggling, tied.

The horrid sequel asks a veil,
And all the terrors of the tale

That can be, shall be sunk;
Led by the sufferer's screams aright,
His shocked companions view the sight,
And him with pity, drunk.

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate,
For the old warrior at the grate :
He, deaf to pity's call,

Whirl'd round him, rapid as a wheel,
His culinary club of steel,

Death menacing on all.

poems, which was to contain, in addition to a poem he intended to compose, similar to the Task, entitled "The Four Ages," all the minor unpublished productions of his pen. And it is deeply to be regretted that he was not permitted to carry this design into completion, as the interesting subject of the different stages of man's existence would have been admirably adapted for a complete development of his poetic talents.

The readiness of Cowper to listen to any alterations in his productions, suggested by his corresex-pondents, ought not to go unrecorded. To the Rev. Walter Bagot he thus writes.-"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 in the room of it. Two others also I have struck out, another friend 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 opinions of others. I beg that when my life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductibility of temper may not be forgotten."

CHAPTER XIV.

Mrs. Unwin much injured by a fall. Cowper's anxiety respecting her. Continues incessantly engaged in his Homer. Expresses regret that it should, in some measure, have suspended his correspondence with his friends. Revises a small volume of poems for children. State of his mind. Receives as a present from Mrs. Bodham, a portrait of his mother. Feelings on the occasion. Interesting description of her character. His affectionate attachment to her. Translates a series of Latin letters from a Dutch minister of the gospel. Continuance of his depression. Is attacked with a nervous fever. Completion of his translation. Death of Mrs. Newton. His reflections on the occasion. Again revises his Horner. His unalterable attachment to religion.

IN the commencement of 1789, a circumstance occurred, which occasioned Cowper considerable uneasiness. Mrs. Unwin, his amiable inmate, and faithful companion, received so severe an injury by a fall, which she got when walking on a gravel path, covered with ice, that she was confined to her room for several weeks. Though she neither dislocated any joint, nor broke any bones, yet such was the effect of the fall, that it crippled her completely, and rendered her as incapable of assisting herself as a child. It happened providentially, that Lady Hesketh was at Weston, when this painful event occurred. By her kind attention to Mrs. Unwin, and her no less tender care over her esteemed relative, lest his mind should be too deeply affected by this afflicting occurrence, she contributed greatly to the recovery of the former, and to the support of the latter. It was, however, several weeks before Mrs. Unwin recovered her strength sufficiently to attend to her domestic concerns. Her progress too, when she began to amend, was so slow, as to be almos

imperceptible, and her lengthened affliction, notwith- | ycleped Sir Newton, and the other Sir Cowper, who standing the precautionary measures adopted by loving each other heartily, would nevertheless sufherself, and by Lady Hesketh to prevent it, tended, fer the pains of an interrupted intercourse-his in a great degree, to depress the mind of Cowper. poems the cause. So, however, it has happened; Early in the ensuing spring, Lady Hesketh was and though it would not, I suppose, extort from the compelled to return to town. Mrs. Unwin had not old bard a single sigh, if he knew it, yet to me it then wholly recovered her strength; she was, how- suggests the serious reflection above mentioned. An ever, so far convalescent, as to resume the manage- author by profession had need narrowly to watch ment of her domestic concerns, and to pay the same his pen, lest a line should escape it, which by possi kind attention to the poet's comfort as had distin- bility may do mischief, when he has been long dead guished all her former conduct towards him. The and buried. What we have done when we have greater part of the year 1789, Cowper was inces- written a book, will never be known till the day of santly engaged, principally in translating Homer, judgment: then the account will be liquidated, and but occasionally, and indeed frequently, in compos- all the good that it has occasioned, and all the evil, ing original poems for the gratification of his friends, will witness either for or against us. I am now in or in the more difficult employment of revising the the last book of the Odyssey, yet have still, I supproductions of less gifted poets. The few letters he pose, half a year's work before me. The accurate wrote at this time abound with apologies for his revisal of two such voluminous poems can hardly seeming negligence, and with descriptions of the cost me less. I rejoice, however, that the goal is in manner in which he employed his time. To one prospect; for though it has cost me years to run of his correspondents he thus writes:-" I know that this race, it is only now that I begin to have a you are too reasonable a man to expect any thing glimpse of its termination.-That I shall never relike punctuality of correspondence from a transla- ceive any proportionable pecuniary recompense for tor of Homer, especially from one who is a doer al- my long labors, is pretty certain; and as to any so of many other things at the same time; for I la- fame that I may possibly gain by it, that is a combor hard, not only to acquire a little fame for my-modity that daily sinks in value, in measure as the self, but to win it for others, men of whom I know consummation of all things approaches. In the day nothing, not even their names, who send me their when the lion shall dandle the kid, and a little child poetry, that by translating it out of prose into verse, shall lead them, the world will have lost all relish I may make it more like poetry than it was. I begin to for the fabulous legends of antiquity, and Homer perceive that if a man will be an author, he must and his translator may budge off the stage togelive neither to himself nor to his friends so much ther." as to others whom he never saw nor shall see. I feel myself in no small degree unworthy of the kind solicitude which you express concerning me and my welfare, after a silence so much longer than you had reason to expect. I should, indeed, account myself inexcusable, had I not to allege in my defence, perpetual engagements of such a kind as could by no means be dispensed with. Had Homer alone been in question, Homer should have made room for you; but I have had other work in hand at the same time, equally pressing and more laborious. Let it suffice to say, that I have not wilfully neglected you for a moment, and that you have never been out of my thoughts a day together. Having heard all this, you will feel yourself disposed not only to pardon my long silence, but to pity me for the causes of it. You may, if you please, believe likewise, for it is true, that I have a faculty of remembering my friends even when I do not write to them, and of loving them not one jot the less, though I leave them to starve for want of a letter from me."

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 16th August, 1789, Cowper thus describes the situation in which he was then placed, and the state of his mind at the time:-"Mrs. Newton and you are both kind and just in believing that I do not love you the less when I am long silent: perhaps a friend of mine who wishes to be always in my thoughts, is never so effectually possessed of the accomplishment of that wish, as when I have been long his debtor; for then I think of him, not only every day, but day and night, and indeed all day long. But I confess, at the same time, that my thoughts of you will be more pleasant to myself, when I shall have exonerated my conscience by giving you the letter, so long your due. Therefore, here it comes-little worth your having, but payment such as it is, that you have a right to expect, and that is essential to my own tranquillity. That the Iliad and Odyssey should have proved the occasion of my suspending my correspondence with you, is a proof how little we see the consequences of what we publish. Homer, I dare say, hardly at all suspected, that, at the fag end of time, two personages would appear, one NUMBER 6.

Some months afterwards, to the same correspondent Cowper thus writes:-"On this fine first of December, under an unclouded sky, and in a room full of sunshine, I address myself to the payment of a debt, long in arrear, but never forgotten by me, however I may have seemed to forget it. I will not waste time in apologies; I have but one, and that one will suggest itself unmentioned. I will only add that you are the first to whom I write, of several to whom I have not written many months, who all have claims upon me, and who, I flatter myself, are all grumbling at my silence. In your case, perhaps I have been less anxious than in the case of some others; because, if you have not heard from myself, you have heard from Mrs. Unwin. From her you have learned that I live, that I am as well as usual, and that I translate Homer-three short items, but in which is comprised the whole detail of my present history. Thus I fared when you were here; thus I have fared ever since you were here; and thus, if it please God, I shall continue to fare for some time longer: for, though the work is done, it is not finished-a riddle which you, who are a brother of the press, will solve easily. I have been the less anxious on your behalf, because I have had frequent opportunities to hear from you; and have always heard that you are in good health, and happy. Of Mrs. Newton, too, I have heard more favorable accounts of late, which has given us both the sincerest pleasure. Mrs. Unwia's case is, at present, my only subject of uneasiness, that is not immediately personal, and properly my own. has almost constant head-aches, almost a constant pain in her side, which nobody understands, and her lameness, within the last half year, is very little amended. But her spirits are good, because supported by comforts which depend not on the state of the body: and I do not know that, with all her pain, her appearance is at all altered, since we had the happiness to see you here, unless indeed it be altered a little for the better. I have thus given you as circumstantial an account of ourselves as I could: the most interesting matter, I verily believe, with which I could have filled my paper, unless I could have made spiritual mercies to myself the subject.

She

In my next, perhaps I shall find time to bestow a | few lines on what is doing in France and in the Austrian Netherlands; though, to say the truth, I am much better qualified to write an essay on the siege of Troy, than to discant on any of these modern revolutions. I question if, in either of the countries just mentioned, full of bustle and tumult as they are, there be a single character, whom Homer, were he living, would deign to make his hero. The populace are the heroes now, and the stuff of which gentlemen heroes are made, seems to be all expended."

The year 1790, found Cowper still indefatigably engaged in preparing his translation for the press. In a letter to Mrs. King, 4th January, he thus writes:-"Your long silence has occasioned me a thousand anxious thoughts about you. So long it has been, that whether I now write to a Mrs. King at present on earth, or already in heaven, I know not. I have friends whose silence troubles me less, though I have known them longer; because, if I hear not from themselves, I yet hear from others that they are still living, and likely to live. But if your letters cease to bring me news of your welfare, from whom can I gain the desirable intelligence? The birds of the air will not bring it, and third person there is none between us by whom it might be conveyed. Nothing is plain to me in this subject, but that either you are dead, or very much indisposed, or, which would perhaps affect me with as deep a concern, though of a different kind, very much offended. The latter of those suppositions I think the least probable, conscious as I am of an habitual desire to offend nobody, especially a lady, and a lady, too, who has laid me under so many obligations. But all the three solutions above mentioned are very uncomfortable; and if you live, and can send me one that will cause me less pain than either of them, I conjure you, by the charity and benevolence which I know influence you on all occasions, to communicate it without delay. It is possible, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, that you are not become perfectly indifferent to me, and to what concerns me. I will, therefore, add a word or two on the subject which once interested you, and which is, for that reason, worthy to be mentioned, though truly for no other. I am well, and have been so (uneasiness on your part excepted) both in mind and body ever since I wrote to you last. I have still the same employment-Homer in the morning, and Homer in the evening, as constant as the day goes round. In the spring, I hope to send the Iliad and the Odyssey to the press. So much for me and my occupations."

It would scarcely be supposed that a person performing such an Herculean task as that of translating Homer, would have troubled himself to compose, or even to revise, a volume of hymns for children. The following extract, however, will show that, anxious as Cowper was to finish his Homer, he could nevertheless allow his attention to be, in a great measure, diverted from it, at least for a time, when he thought he could employ his talents usefully:-"I have long been silent, but you have had the charity, I hope and believe, not to ascribe my silence to a wrong cause. The truth is, I have been too busy to write to any body, having been obliged to give my early mornings to the revisal and correction of a little volume of hymns for children, written by I know not whom: this task I finished yesterday, and while it was in hand, wrote only to my cousin, and to her rarely. From her, however, I knew that you would hear of my well-being, which made me less anxious about my debts to you than I could have been otherwise. The winter has been mild; but our winters are in general such, that when a friend leaves us in the beginning of that season, I

always feel in my heart a perhaps, importing that we may possibly have met for the last time, and that the robins may whistle on the grave of one of us before the return of summer. Though I have been employed as described above, I am still thrumming Homer's lyre, that is to say, I am still employed in my last revisal; and to give you some idea of the intenseness of my toils, I will inform you that it cost me all the morning yesterday, and all the evening, to translate a single simile to my mind. The transitions from one member of the subject to another, though easy and natural in the Greek, turn out often so intolerably awkward in an English version, that almost endless labor, and no little address, are requisite to give them grace and elegance. The under parts of the poem, (those, I mean, which are merely narrative,) I find the most difficult. These can only be supported by the diction, and on these, for that reason, I have bestowed the most abundant labor. Fine similes, and fine speeches, are more likely to take care of themselves; but the exact process of slaying a sheep and dressing it, is not so easy in our language, and in our measure, to dignify. But I shall have the comfort, as I before said, to reflect, that whatever may be hereafter laid to my charge, the sin of idleness wil. not-justly, at least, it never will. In the mear. time, I must be allowed to say, that not to fall short of the original in every thing is impossible. I thank you for your German clavis, which has been of considerable use to me; I am indebted to it for a right understanding of the manner in which Achilles prepared pork, mutton, and goats' flesh, for the en tertainment of his friends, on the night when they came deputed by Agamemnon to negotiate a reconciliation. A passage of which nobody in the world is perfectly master, myself only, and Schaulfelbergerus excepted, nor ever was, except when Greek was a living language."

About this time, Mrs. King appears to have been informed that it was Cowper's intention to leave Weston, and that Mrs. Unwin had been making inquiries after a house at Huntingdon. Adverting to this report, in a letter to that lady, he thus writes:

"The report that informed you of inquiries made by Mrs. Unwin, after a house at Huntingdon, was unfounded. We have no thought of quitting Weston, unless the same Providence that led us hither should lead us away. It is a situation the most eligible, perfectly agreeable to us both, and to me in particular, who write much, and walk much, and consequently love silence and retirement. If it has a fault, it is that it seems to threaten us with a certainty of never seeing you. But may we not hope that when a milder season shall have improved your health, we may yet, notwithstanding the distance, be favored with Mr. King's and your company? A better season will likewise improve the roads, and exactly in proportion as it does so, will, in effect, lessen the interval between us. I know not if Mr. Martyn be a mathematician, but most probably he is a good one, and he can tell you that this is a proposition mathematically true, though rather paradoxical in appearance."

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 5th February, 1790, Cowper again plaintively describes the state of his mind." Your kind letter deserved a speedier answer, but you know my excuse, which were I to repeat always, my letters would resemble the fag end of a newspaper, where we always find the price of stocks, detailed with little or no variation. When January returns, you have your feelings concerning me, and such as prove the faithfulness of your friendship. I have mine also concerning myself, but they are of a cast different from yours. Yours have a mixture of sympathy and tender solicitude, which makes them, perhaps, not altogether unplea

sant. Mine, on the contrary, are of an unmixed | lar witness of the great fidelity of the copy. I renature, and consist, simply and merely, of the most member too, a multitude of the maternal tenderalarming apprehensions. Twice has that month re-nesses which I received from her, and which have turned upon me, accompanied by such horrors, as I have no reason to suppose ever made part of the experience of any other man. Iaccordingly look forward to it, and meet it with a dread not to be imagined. I number the nights as they pass, and in the morning bless myself that another night is gone, and no harın has happened. This may argue, perhaps, some imbecility of mind, and indeed no small degree of it; but it is natural, I believe, and so natural as to be necessary and unavoidable. I know that God is not governed by secondary causes, in any of his operations; and that, on the contrary, they are all so many agents in his hand, which strike only when he bids them. I know, consequently, that one month is as dangerous to me as another; and that in the middle of summer, at noonday, and in the clear sunshine, I am, in reality, unless guarded by Him, as much exposed as when fast asleep at midnight, and mid-winter. But we are not always the wiser for our knowledge, and I can no more avail myself of mine, in this case, than if it were in the head of any other man, and not in my own. I have heard of bodily aches and ails, that have been particularly troublesome when the season returned in which the hurt that occasioned them was received. The mind, I believe, (with my own, however, I am sure it is so,) is liable to similar periodical affection. But February is come; January, my terror, is passed; and some shades of the gloom that attended his presence have passed with him. I look forward with a little cheerfulness to the buds and the leaves that will soon appear, and say to myself, till they turn yellow I will make myself easy. The year will go round, and January will approach. I shall tremble again, and I know it; but in the mean time I will be as comfortable as I can. Thus, with respect to peace of mind, such as it is, that I enjoy. I subsist, as the poor are vulgarly said to do, from hand to mouth; and of a Christian, such as you once knew me, am, by a strange transformation, become an epicurean philosopher, bearing this motto on my mind-Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quærere."

Mrs. Bobham's name is Anne, but Cowper always called her Rose, when a child, and was aware that she would remember his doing so.

To Lady Hesketh he thus adverts to the circumstance:-"I am delighted with Mrs. Bobham'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, fifty 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 on all her features, every body was sure to do so."

To John Johnson, Esq., 28th February, 1790, he thus records his feelings on this occasion. "I was never more pleased in my life than to learn, and to learn from herself, that my dearest Rose is still alive. Had she not engaged me to love her by the sweetness of her character when a child, she would have done it effectually now, by making me the most acceptable present in the world, my own dear mother's picture. I am perhaps the only person living who remembers her, but I remember her well, and can attest on my own knowledge, the truth of the resemblance. Amiable and elegant as the countenance is, such exactly was her own; she was one of the tenderest parents, and so just a copy of her, is therefore to me invaluable. I wrote yesterday to my Rose, to tell her all this, and to thank her for her kindness in sending it! Neither do I forget your kindness who intimated to her that I should be happy to possess it. She invites me into Norfolk, but alas! she might as well invite the house in which I dwell: for, all other considerations and impediments apart, how is it possible that a translator of Homer should lumber to such a distance? But though I cannot comply with her kind invitation, I have made myself the best amends in my power, by inviting her, and all the family of Donnes, to Weston." To Mrs. King, on the same interesting occasion, he writes: "I have lately received from a female cousin of mine in Norfolk, whom I have not seen these five-and-twenty years, a picture of my own mother. She died when I wanted two days of being six years old; yet I remember her perfectly, find the picture a strong resemblance of her, and because her memory has been ever precions to me, I have written a poem on the receipt of it; a poem which, one excepted, I had more pleasure in writing than any that I ever wrote. That one was addressed to a lady whom I expect in a few minutes to come down to breakfast, and who has supplied to me the place of my own mother-my own invaluable mother, these six-and-twenty years.

Some