ing companion when I have had no other to fly to, and a delightful solace when consolation has been in some measure needful. I cannot, therefore, discard so old and faithful a friend without deep regret, especially when I reflect that stung, by my ingratitude, he may desert me for ever!

With regard to your intended publication, you do me too much honour by inserting my puerilities along with such good company as I know I shall meet there. I wish I could present you with some sonnets worthy of your work. I have looked back amongst my old papers, and find a few verses under that name, which were written between the time when "Clifton Grove" was sent to the press, and its final appearance. The looking over these papers has recalled a little of my old warmth, and I have scribbled some lines, which, as they owe their rise to your letter, I may fairly (if I have room) present to you. I cannot read the sonnets which I have found amongst my papers with pleasure, and therefore I shall not presume to show them to you. I shall anxiously expect the publication of your work.

I shall be in Cambridge next month, being admitted a Sizar at St. John's. Trinity would have suited my plans better, but the expences of that college are greater.

With thanks for your kind remembrance of me, I

remain,

Dear Sir,

Very respectfully and thankfully yours,

H. K. WHITE.

YES, my stray steps have wander'd, wander'd far

From thee, and long, heart-soothing Poësy!

And many a flower, which in the passing time
My heart hath register'd, nipp'd by the chill
Of undeserv'd neglect, hath shrunk and died.
Heart-soothing Poësy ! - Though thou hast ceased
To hover o'er the many-voiced strings

Of my long silent lyre, yet thou canst still

Call the warm tear from its thrice hallow'd ceil,

And with recalled images of bliss

Warm my reluctant heart. Yes, I would throw,

cheek;

Once more would throw, a quick and hurried hand
O'er the responding chords. It hath not ceas'd—
It cannot, will not cease; the heavenly warmth
Plays round my heart, and mantles o'er my
Still, though unbidden, plays. — Fair Poësy!
The summer and the spring, the wind and rain,
Sunshine and storm, with various interchange,
Have mark'd full many a day, and week, and month,
Since by dark wood, or hamlet far retir❜d,
Spell-struck, with thee I loiter'd. - Sorceress !
I cannot burst thy bonds! It is but lift.
Thy blue eyes to that deep-bespangled vault,
Wreathe thy enchanted tresses round thine arm,
And mutter some obscure and charmed rhyme,
And I could follow thee, on thy night's work,

VOL. I.

M

Up to the regions of thrice-chastened fire,
Or in the caverns of the ocean flood,

Thrid the light mazes of thy volant foot.
Yet other duties call me, and mine ear
Must turn away from the high minstrelsy
Of thy soul-trancing harp, unwillingly
Must turn away; there are severér strains,
(And surely they are sweet as ever smote
The ear of spirit, from this mortal coil
Releas'd and disembodied,) there are strains,
Forbid to all, save those whom solemn thought,
Through the probation of revolving years,
And mighty converse with the spirit of truth,
Have purged and purified. To these my soul
Aspireth; and to this sublimer end

I gird myself, and climb the toilsome steep

With patient expectation.

Yea, sometimes

Foretaste of bliss rewards me; and sometimes Spirits unseen upon my footsteps wait,

And minister strange music, which doth seem
Now near, now distant, now on high, now low,
Then swelling from all sides, with bliss complete,
And full fruition filling all the soul.

Surely such ministry, though rare, may soothe
The steep ascent, and cheat the lassitude

Of toil; and but that my fond heart

Reverts to day-dreams of the summer gone;
When by clear fountain, or embowered brake,
I lay a listless muser, prizing, far
Above all other lore, the poet's theme;
But for such recollections I could brace
My stubborn spirit for the arduous path
Of science unregretting; eye afar
Philosophy upon her steepest height,
And with bold step, and resolute attempt,

Pursue her to the innermost recess,

Where thron'd in light she sits, the Queen of Truth.

These verses form nearly the only poetical effort of this year. Pardon their imperfections.

TO MR.

Winteringham, 7th Sept. 1805.

DEAR SIR,

THE last time I had the pleasure of conversing with you, I intimated that I might probably address a letter to you; be not therefore surprised when you see my hand and signature. I conclude your affairs stand in statu quo; and though I am anxious to be informed as to the certainty of your prospects, and wish you were yourself at ease with regard to them, yet I think the suspense may not be altogether useless, as it will teach you a lesson of patience, will give you a better opportunity of proving your stedfastness, and of manifesting your industry and firmness in your studies, even while you are dubious whether they will be to any purpose.

If you are sincere, and really serious in your wishes to become a minister of Christ, and if you are convinced it is God's will you should enter that sacred office, you

will from this time forward, until you enter orders, live a life of constant, resolute, and confirmed study. You cannot, dare not, offer yourself as a candidate for the priesthood under the consciousness of mental unfitness, arising from indolence and volatility of disposition; and remember, that indolence and shiftness are not constitutional evils, but are such as every man has it in his power to cure. If you ardently long to become a public helper in the vineyard of Jesus Christ, you must think that office worth labouring for; and he who does not think it worth labouring for, is not worthy to have it. Although, in the early ages of the Christian church, God administered more immediately to the wants of his preachers, so that the abundance of heavenly gifts in a measure compensated for the absence of external qualifications; yet, even in those ages, St. Paul exhorts Timothy to "give attention to reading;" and in the Old Testament we read, that there was a school of the prophets; not that we must suppose prophecy a communicable art, but in these academies, young men were instructed in letters and metrical composition, in order that they might be fitted for the duties of prophets whenever it should please God to call them. We may learn, too, that God peculiarly selected his messengers from these schools, for Amos mentions it as a matter of wonder that he had been called, although neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet (that is, professionally). In the present day more extraneous learning is necessary to a clergyman than at any preceding period, on account of the advanced and enlightened state of