der they do not always endeavour to accommodate their fiction, to the real character of the person; their tale would then, at least, have an air of probability, and it might cost a peaceable good man much more trouble to disprove it. But, perhaps, it would not be easy to discern, what part of your conduct lies more open to such an attempt, than another, or what it is that you either say or do, at any time, that presents a fair opportunity to the most ingenious slanderer, to slip in a falsehood between your words, or actions, that shall seem to be of a piece with either. You hate compliment, I know, but by your leave, this is not one—it is a truthworse and worse-now I have praised you indeedwell you must thank yourself for it, it was absolutely done without the least intention on my part, and proceeded from a pen, that as far as I can remember, was never guilty of flattery, since I knew how to hold it. He that slanders me, paints me blacker than I am, and he that flatters me, whiter—they both daub me, and when I look in the glass of conscience, I see myself disguised by both-I had as lief my taylor should sew ginger-bread-nuts on my coat instead of buttons, as that any man should call my Bristol stone a diamond. The taylor's trick would not at all em

bellish my suit, nor the flatterer's make me at all the richer. I never make a present to my friend, of what I dislike myself. Ergo, (I have reached the conclusion at last) I did not mean to flatter you.

We have sent a petition to Lord Dartmouth, by this post, praying him to interfere in parliament, in behalf of the poor Lace-makers. I say we, because I have have signed it—Mr. G. drew it up. Mr. did not think it grammatical, therefore would not sign it. Yet I think, Priscian himself would have pardoned the manner, for the sake of the matter. I dare say if his Lordship does not comply with the prayer of it, it will not be because he thinks it of more consequence to write grammatically, than that the poor should eat, but for some better reason.

My love to all under your roof.

Yours,

W. C.

LETTER LV.

To the Revd. WILLIAM UNWIN.

July. 2, 1780.

Carissime, I am glad of your

confidence, and have reason to hope I shall never abuse it. If you trust me with a secret, I am hermetically sealed; and if you call for the exercise of my judgment, such as it is, I am never freakish or wanton in the use of it, much less mischievous and malignant. Critics, I believe, do not often stand so clear of these vices as I do. I like your Epitaph, except that I doubt the propriety of the word immaturus; which, I think, is rather applicable to fruits than flowers, and except the last pentameter, the assertion it contains being rather too obvious a thought to finish with; not that I think an epitaph should be pointed, like an epigram. But still there is a closeness of thought, and expression, necessary in the conclusion of all these little things, that they may leave an agreeable flavour upon the palate, Whatever is short, should be nervous, masculine, and compact, Little men are so; and little poems should be so; because, where the work is short, the author has no

right to the plea of weariness, and laziness is never admitted as an available excuse in any thing. Now you know my opinion, you will very likely improve upon my improvement, and alter my alterations for the better. To touch, and retouch, is, though some writers boast of negligence, and others would be ashamed to show their foul copies, the secret of almost all good writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it myself, and if you would take as much pains as I do, you would have no need to ask for my corrections.

Care, vale! Sed non æternùm, care, valeto!

Namque iterùm tecum, sim modò dignus, ero.

Tum nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros,

Nec tu marcesces, nec lacrymabor ego.

Having an English translation of it by me, I

send it, though it may be of no use.

Farewell!" But not for ever," Hope replies,
Trace but his steps, and meet him in the skies!
There nothing shall renew our parting pain,
Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again.

The Stanzas, that I sent you, are maiden ones, having never been seen by any eye but

and your own.

but your Mother's

If you send me franks, I shall write longer Letters-Valete, sicut et nos valemus! Amate, sicut et nos

amamus !

W. C.

The next Letter to Mr. Hill affords a striking proof of Cowper's compassionate feelings towards