interest so lively in those precious recollections, as will be mutually and equally shared by you. When Adam and Eve are exiled paradise, Milton says,

" They, hand in hand, with wandering steps, and slow, Thro' Eden took their solitary way."

The little words, "hand in hand," steal, with balmy power, upon the pains of sensibility, while it contemplates that mournful banishment. Were I near you, I should strive to sooth, instead of using fruitless endeavours, by common-place arguments, to banish your grief. I should ask yon concerning Chatillion's person, his graces and his virtues. By making them habitually our theme, a lost friend seems not lost; he mingles in our conversation; we see him; we hear his voice; we make our friends see and listen to him; and we imagine that his beatified spirit hovers over us; and that it is not among the least of its delights to contemplate the affection, which thus consecrates his idea in the breast of those who were dearest to him upon earth, and to whom he will soon be reunited in that state, the happiness of which will find its perfection in the consciousness of its perpetuity.

The brilliant bard of Sussex lately sent me a beautifully flattering impromptu from his new

Parnassus; its subject a mistake of his sculp

tor.

IMPROMTU BY MR HAYLEY.

YE gods, cried a bard, with a classical oath,

Who had order'd the bustos of Pope and of Prior; That on each side of Seward *, who rivals them both, They might properly honour that queen of the lyre :

O Jove, he exclaim'd, if I wielded thy thunder,

I wou'd frighten the sculptor who ruins my hope,
Sure never did artist commit such a blunder,

He has sent me a NEWTON instead of a POPE.

In the wonders of nature Sir Isaac was vers'd,
But, alas! with the NINE he had little alliance,
And tho' to the bottom of comets he pierc'd,
He ne'er sounded woman, that much deeper science.

But away, old astronomer! 'tis not thy post!
Here, exclaim'd the vex'd poet, take Newton away;
When, O wonderful speech! in the tone of a ghost,
The meek modest sage thus petition'd to stay:

"Dear irascible bard, be a little more just,
Nor thy sculptor accuse of a careless transaction,
In the shape of a cold and insensible bust,

I am drawn to thy house by the laws of attraction.

**Her picture by Romney.

interest so lively in those precious recollections, as will be mutually and equally shared by you. When Adam and Eve are exiled paradise, Milton says,

66

They, hand in hand, with wandering steps, and slow,
Thro' Eden took their solitary way."

The little words, "hand in hand," steal, with balmy power, upon the pains of sensibility, while it contemplates that mournful banishment. Were I near you, I should strive to sooth, instead of using fruitless endeavours, by common-place arguments, to banish your grief. I should ask yon concerning Chatillion's person, his graces and his virtues. By making them habitually our theme, a lost friend seems not lost; he mingles in our conversation; we see him; we hear his voice; we make our friends see and listen to him ; and we imagine that his beatified spirit hovers over us; and that it is not among the least of its delights to contemplate the affection, which thus consecrates his idea in the breast of those who were dearest to him upon earth, and to whom he will soon be reunited in that state, the happiness of which will find its perfection in the consciousness of its perpetuity.

;

The brilliant bard of Sussex lately sent me a beautifully flattering impromptu from his new

Parnassus; its subject a mistake of his sculp

tor.

IMPROMTU BY MR HAYLEY.

YE gods, cried a bard, with a classical oath,

Who had order'd the bustos of Pope and of Prior; That on each side of Seward *, who rivals them both, They might properly honour that queen of the lyre :

O Jove, he exclaim'd, if I wielded thy thunder,

I wou'd frighten the sculptor who ruins my hope,
Sure never did artist commit such a blunder,

He has sent me a NEWTON instead of a POPE.

In the wonders of nature Sir Isaac was vers'd,
But, alas! with the NINE he had little alliance,
And tho' to the bottom of comets he pierc'd,

He ne'er sounded woman, that much deeper science.

But away, old astronomer! 'tis not thy post!

Here, exclaim'd the vex'd poet, take Newton away;
When, O wonderful speech! in the tone of a ghost,
The meek modest sage thus petition'd to stay:

"Dear irascible bard, be a little more just,
Nor thy sculptor accuse of a careless transaction,
In the shape of a cold and insensible bust,

I am drawn to thy house by the laws of attraction.

Her picture by Romney.

Tho' sages and bards judge but ill of a brother,
While matter incumbers the spirit of each,
All the children of science are just to each other,
When they soar out of human infirmity's reach.

E'en on canvas thy Seward has virtue to draw
A philosopher's soul from the regions of bliss,
To contemplate her genius may charm him who saw
All the secret sublime of the starry abyss.

Then on me, I beseech you, this charge to confer;
Of Seward's attendants I justly am one :

The rapt student of light may well wait upon her,
Whose fancy has all the rich hues of the sun."

LETTER VII.

WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESO.

Lichfield, March 15, 1785.

ABSORBED by considerations yet more interesting than even your beautiful writings, I believe my last letter made no comment upon the agreeable hope, extended in the epistle to which it replied, viz. that of seeing a new emanation from our bright fountain of poetic light. Till I feel more assured hope of your restoration to health, I shall look forward to the gratification of