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Amo»etta, by the Editor 173

Anonymous Authors 163

Bayley, Peter 154

Beloe, William 97

Bloomfield, Robert 156

Brydges, Samuel Egerton 81

Burns, Robert: 86

Coleridge, S. T 118

Courtier, P. L 149

Coxe, Edward 161

Davenport, Richard Alfred 103

Dacre, Charlotte 146

Dermody, Thomas 140

Druminond, George Hay 63

Falconer, William 42

Finlay, J 143

Fox, Hon. Charles James 51

Graeme, James 38

Gifford, WiUiam 113

Hunter, Anne 65

Kendall, William 102

Laurence, French 74

Leftly, Charles 125

Logan, John 45

Lovibond, Edward 31

Mercer, James 159

Montgommery, Thomas 99

Moore, Edward 26

Moore, Sir John 60

Moore, Thomas 13C

N. S. S. L 129

Opie, Amelia 134

Park, Thomas 108

Penrose, Thomas.. 35

Percy, Thomas, Bishop of Dromoie 49.

Polwhele, Richard 76

Porter, Anna Maria 110

Pott, Joseph Holden 61

Preston, William 69

Richardson, William 58

Robinson, Mary 90

Rogers, Samuel 85

Roscoe, William 121

Russell, Thomas 71

Seward, Anna 123

Shenstone, William 14

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley 54

Smyth, William 122

Thompson, William 1

Thomson, James 8

Williams, Sir Charles Hanbury 33

Wolcott, John 79

Wordsworth, William 127


William Thompson, second son of the Reverend Francis Thompson, was probably born at Brough in Westmoreland, of which his rather was vicar, about the year 1712. He was sent early to the University of Oxford, where he became a Fellow of Queen's College. Few anecdotes are recorded of his life; nor is the time of his death ascertained.

Two years oefore his entering into orders (1736), he appears to have been attracted by the charms of a lady named Woodford, but it is not certain that she was the same who is celebrated as Ianthe, in most of his subsequent poems. Ianthe, however, could not be unknown to him about the year 1740, since she is introduced in his description of an illness that terminated in the smallpox, from which he was at that time recovering.

The Day was Valentine's, when lovers' wounds
Afresh begin to bleed, and sighs to warm
The chilly rigour of relenting skies!
Sacred the day to innocence and mirth;
The festival of Youth! In seeming health,
As custom bids, I hail'd the year's fair morn,
And with its earliest purple braid my brows;
The violet or primrose breathing sweets,
New to the sense. Ianthe by my side,
More lovely than the season! rais'd her voice,
Observant of its rites, in festal lays,
And thus address'd the patron of the Spring:

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