You must know that two Odes composed by Horace, have lately been discovered at Rome; I wanted them transcribed into the blank leaves of a little Horace of mine, and Mrs. Throckmorton performed that service for me; in a blank leaf, therefore, of the same book, I wrote the following.

W. C.

To Mrs. THROCKMORTON,

On her beautiful Transcript of Horace's Ode, Ad librum suum.

Maria, could Horace have guess'd

What honours awaited his Ode,

To his own little volume address'd,

The honour which you have bestow'd;
Who have traced it in characters here,
So elegant, even, and neat;

He had laugh'd at the critical sneer,

Which he seems to have trembled to meet.

And sneer, if you please, he had said,
Hereafter a Nymph shall arise,

Who shall give me, when you are all dead,
The glory your malice denies;

Shall dignity give to my lay,

Although but a mere bagatelle ;

And even a Poet shall say,

Nothing ever was written so well.

LETTER

LETTER CXXIII.

To Lady HESKETḤ.

Feb. 26, 1790.

You have set my heart at ease, my Cousin,

But you are never

so far as you were yourself the object of its anxieties. What other troubles it feels can be cured by God alone. silent a week longer than usual, without giving an opportunity to my imagination (ever fruitful in flowers of a sable hue) to teaze me with them day and night. London is indeed a pestilent place, as you call it, and I would, with all my heart, that thou hadst less to do with it were you under the same roof with me, I should know you to be safe, and should never distress you with melancholy

Letters.

I feel myself well enough inclined to the measure you propose, and will shew to your new acquaintance, with all my heart, a sample of my Translation. But it shall not be if you please, taken from the Odyssey. It is a poem of a gentler character than the Iliad, and as I propose to carry her by a coup de main, I shall employ Achilles, Agamemnon, and the two armies of Greece and Troy, in my service. I will, accordingly, send you in the box that I received from you last night, the two first books of the Iliad, for that lady's perusal; to those I have given a third revisal; for them, there

fore, I will be answerable, and am not afraid to stake the credit of my work upon them with her, or with any living wight, especially one who understands the original. I do not mean that even they are finished; for I shall examine and cross-examine them yet again, and so you may tell her; but I know that they will not disgrace me; whereas it is so long since I have looked at the Odyssey, that I know nothing at all about it. They shall set sail from Olney on Monday morning in the Diligence, and will reach you, I hope, in the evening. As soon as she has done with them I shall be glad to have them again; for the time draws near when I shall want to give them the last touch.

I am delighted with Mrs. Bodham's kindness in giving me the only picture of my own 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-two 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.

I have a very affectionate, and a very clever Letter from Johnson, who promises me the transcript of the books entrusted to him in a few days, I have a great love for that young man, he has

some

some drops of the same stream in his veins that once animated the original of that dear picture.

I

from the stalk, but whom I find still alive: nothing could give me greater pleasure than to know it, and to learn it from yourself. loved you dearly when you were a child, and love you not a jot the less for having ceased to be so. Every creature that bears any affinity to my own Mother is dear to me, and you, the Daughter of her Brother, are but one remove distant from her: I love you, therefore, and love you much, both for her sake, and for your own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable to me, as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt, had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and of course, the first on which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I had completed my sixth year, yet I remember

I

ber

her well, and am an ocular witness of the great fidelity of the copy. I remember too a multitude of the maternal tendernesses which I received from her, and which have endeared her memory to me beyond expression. There is in me, I believe, more of the Donne than of the Cowper, and though I love all of both names, and have a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your side, I was thought in the days of my childhood much to resemble my Mother, and in my natural temper, of which, at the age of fifty-eight, I must be supposed a competent judge, can trace both her, and my late Uncle, your Father. Somewhat of his irratability, and a little, I would hope, both of his, and of her

I know not what to call it, without seeming to praise myself, which is not my intention, but speaking to you, I will even speak out, and say good-nature. Add to all this, I deal much in Poetry, as did our venerable ancestor, the Dean of St. Paul's, and I think I shall have proved myself a Donne at all points. The truth is, that whatever I am, I love you all.

I account it a happy event, that brought the dear boy, your Nephew, to my knowledge, and that breaking through all the restraints which his natural bashfulness imposed on him, he determined to find me out. He is amiable to a degree, that I have seldom seen, and I often long with impatience to see him again.

My