idea that presents itself, you will soon conquer it; my letters are always the rough first draft, of course there are many alterations; these you will excuse.

I have written most of my letters to you in so negligent a manner that, if you would have the goodness to return all you have preserved sealed, I will peruse them, and all sentences worth preserving I will extract and re

turn.

You observe, in your last, that your letters are read with contempt.-Do you speak as you think?

You had better write again to Mr.

Be

tween friends, the common forms of the world in writing letter for letter, need not be observed; but never write three without receiving one in return, because in that case they must be thought unworthy of answer.

We have been so busy lately, I could not answer yours sooner.-Once a month suppose we write to each other. If you ever find that my correspondence is not worth the trouble of carrying on, inform me of it, and it shall

cease.

*

*

P. S. If any expression in this be too harsh, excuse it. -I am not in an ill humour recollect.

ON opening yours, I was highly pleased to find two and a half sheets of paper, and nothing could exceed my joy at so apparently long a letter; but upon finding it cousisted of sides filled after the rate of five words in a line, and nine lines in a page, I could not conceal my chagrin ; and I am sure I may very modestly say that one of my ordinary pages contains three of yours; if you knew half the pleasure I feel in your correspondence, I am confident you would lengthen your letters. You tantalize me with the hopes of a prolific harvest, and I find, alas! a thin crop, whose goodness only makes me lament its scantiness.

I had almost forgot to tell you that I have obtained the first prize (of a pair of Adams's twelve-inch globes, value three guineas), in the first class of the Monthly Preceptor. The subject was an imaginary tour from London to Edinburgh. It is printed consequently, and shall send it to you the very first opportunity. The proposals stated that the essay was not to exceed three pages when printed-mine takes seven; therefore I am astonished they gave me the first prize. There was an extraordinary number of candidates, and they said they never had a greater number of excellent ones, and they

wished they could have given thirty prizes. You will find it (in a letter) addressed to N- meaning yourself.

*

Warton is a poet from whom I have derived the most exquisite pleasure and gratification. He abounds in subJimity and loftiness of thought, as well as expression. His "Pleasures of Melancholy" is truly a sublime poem, The following passage I particularly admire.

"Nor undelightful in the solemn noon

Of night, where, haply wakeful from my couch
I start, lo, all is motionless around!
Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men,

And every beast, in mute oblivion lie;

All Nature's bush'd in silence, and in sleep.

Oh, then, how fearful is it to reflect
That thro' the still globe's awful solitude,
No being wakes but me."

How affecting are the latter lines; it is impossible to withstand the emotions which rise on its perusal, and f envy not that man his insensibility, who can read them with apathy. Many of the pieces of the Bible are written in this sublime manner: one psalm, I think the 18th, is a perfect master-piece, and has been imitated by many poets. Compare these, or the above quoted from Warton, with the finest piece in Pope, and then judge of the rank which he holds as a poet. Another instance of the sublime in poetry, I will give you from Akenside's ad

mirable "Pleasures of Imagination," where, speaking of

God, he says, he

"Rides on the volley'd light'ning thro' the heav'ns,

And yok'd with whirlwinds, and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day."

Many of these instances of sublimity will occur to you in Thomson.

James begs leave to present you with Bloomfield's Farmer's Boy. Bloomfield has no grandeur or height, he is a pastoral poet, and the simply sweet is what you are to expect from him; nevertheless, his descriptious are sometimes little inferior to Thomson.

How pleased should I be, Neville, to have you with us at Nottingham. Our fire-side would be delightful.—I should profit by your sentiments and experience, and you possibly might gain a little from my small bookish knowledge. But I am afraid that time will never come; your time of apprenticeship is nearly expired, and in all appearance, the small residue that yet remains, will be passed in hated London. When you are emancipated, you will have to mix in the bustle of the world, in all probability also, far from home; so that, when we have just learnt how happy we might mutually make ourselves, we find scarcely a shadow of a probability of ever

having the opportunity. Well, well, it is in vain to resist the immutable decrees of fate.

*

*

TO HIS BROTHER NEVILLE.

DEAR NEVILLE,

Nottingham, April, 1801.

AS I know you will participate with me in the pleasure I receive from literary distinctions, I hasten to inform you, that my poetical essay on Gratitude is printed in this month's Preceptor-that my Remarks on Warton are promised insertion in the next month's Mirror, and that my Essay on Truth is printed in the present (April) Monthly Visitor. The Preceptor I shall not be able to send you until the end of this month. The Visitor you will herewith receive. The next month's Mirror I shall consequently buy. I wish it were not quite so expensive, as I think it a very good work. Benjamin Thompson, Capel Lofft, Esq. Robert Bloomfield, Thomas Dermody, Mr. Gilchrist, under the signature of Octavius, Mrs. Blore, a noted female writer, under the signature of Q. Z. are correspondents; and the Editors are not only men of genius and taste, but of the greatest respectability. As I shall now be a regular contributor to this work, and as I think it contains much good matter, I have half an