His

my recovery, but with intelligence relating to his own literary engagements, that had a tendency to relieve his spirits from a considerable part of their present embarassment and dejection. next Letter to one of his confidential friends contains a very chearful and just description of his favorite residence.

LETTER LXXXIX.

To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr.

November 5, 1793.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

In a Letter from Lady Hesketh, which

I received not long since, she informed me how very pleasantly she had spent some time at Wargrove. We now begin to expect her here, where our charms of situation are perhaps not equal to yours, yet by no means contemptible. She told me she had spoken to you in very handsome terms of the country round about us, but not so of our house, and the view before it. The house itself, however, is not unworthy some commendation; small as it is, it is neat and neater than she is aware of; for my study, and the room over it, have been repaired and beautified this Summer, and little more was wanting to make it an abode sufficiently commodious for a man of my moderate desires. As to the prospect from it, that she misrepresented strangely, as I hope soon to have an opportunity to convince her by ocular demonstration. She told you, I know, of certain cottages opposite to us, or rather she described them as poor houses and hovels, that effectually blind our windows. But none

such exist. On the contrary, the opposite object and the only one, is an orchard, so well planted, and with trees of such growth, that we seem to look into a wood, or rather to be surrounded by one. Thus, placed as we are in the midst of a village, we have none of the disagreeables that belong to such a position; and the village itself is one of the prettiest I know; terminated at one end by the church-tower, seen through trees, and at the other, by a very handsome gateway, opening into a fine grove of Elms, belonging to our neighbour Courteney. How happy should I be to show it instead of describing it to you!

Though my congratulations have been delayed, you have no friend, numerous as your friends are, who has more sincerely rejoiced in your success than I. It was no small mortification to me, to find that three of the six, whom I had engaged, were not qualified to vote. You have prevailed however, and by a considerable majority; there is, therefore, no room left for regret. When your short note arrived, which gave me the agree

able

able news of your victory, our friend of Eartham was with me, and shared largely in the joy that I felt on the occasion. He left me but a few days since, having spent somewhat more than a fortnight here; during which time we employed all our leisure hours: in the revisal of his Life of Milton. It is now finished, and a very finished work it is; and one that will do great honour I am persuaded, to the Biographer, and the excellent man, of injured memory, who is the subject of it. As to my own concern with the works of this first of Poets, which has long been a matter of burthensome contemplation, I have the happiness to find at last, that. I am at liberty to postpone my labours. While I expected that my Commentary would be called for in the ensuing Spring, I looked forward to the undertaking with dismay, not seeing a shadow of probability that I should be ready to answer the demand. For this ultimate revisal of my Homer, together with the Notes, occupies completely at present (and will for some time longer) all the little leisure that I have for study. Leisure which I gain at this season of the year, by rising long before day-light.

You are now become a nearer neighbour, and as your profes-sorship, I hope, will not engross you wholly, will find an opportunity to give me your company at Weston. Let me hear from you soon, tell me how you like your new office, and whether you perform the duties of it with pleasure to yourself. With much pleasure to others you will, I doubt not, and with equal advantage.

W. C.

LETTER:

LETTER XCI.

To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Weston, Nov. 29, 1793.

I have risen, while the Owls are still

hooting, to pursue my accustomed labours in the mine of Homer; but before I enter upon them, shall give the first moment of daylight to the purpose of thanking you for your last Letter, containing many pleasant articles of intelligence, with nothing to abate the pleasantness of them, except the single circumstance, that we are not likely to see you here so soon as I expected. My hope was that the first frost would bring you, and the amiable Painter with you: if, however, you are prevented by the business of your respective professions, you are well prevented, and I will endeavour to be patient. When the latter was here, he mentioned one day the subject of Diomede's horses driven under the axle of his chariot, by the thunder-bolt which fell at their feet, as a subject he had settled for his pencil. It is certainly a noble one, and therefore worthy of his study and attention. It occurred to me at the moment, but I know not what it was that made me forget it again the next moment, that the horses of Achilles flying over the foss, with Patroclus and Automedon in the chariot, would be a good companion for it. Should you happen to recollect this when you next see him, you may submit it if you please to his consideration. I stumbled yes

terday

terday on another subject which reminded me of said excellent artist as likely to afford a fine opportunity to the expression, that he could give. to it. It is found in the shooting match in the twenty-third book of the Iliad, between Meriones and Teucer. The former cuts the string with which the Dove is tied to the mast-head, and sets her at liberty; the latter, standing at his side, in all the eagerness of emulation, points an arrow at the mark with his right hand, while with his left, he snatches the bow from his Competitor, he is a fine poetical figure: but Mr. Laurence himself must judge whether or not he promises as well for the canvas.

He does great honour to my physiognomy by his intention to get it engraved, and though I think I forsee that this private publication will grow in time into a publication of absolute publicity, I find it impossible to be dissatisfied with any thing that seems eligible both to him and you. To say the truth, when a man has once turned his mind inside out for the inspection of all who chuse to inspect it, to make a secret of his face seems but little better than a self contradiction. At the same time however, I shall be best pleased if it be kept, according to your intentions, as a rarity.

I have lost Hayley, and begin to be uneasy at not hearing from him, tell me about him when you write.

I should be happy to have a work of mine embellished by Lawrence, and made a companion for a work of Hayley's. It is

an