Mr. Gray to Dr. Wharton-Amusements in Town. Reflections on Riches.

bridle, and with earnestness proportioned to her danger and his own affection pressed her to return. The Queen went forward. If the parallel reaches thus far, may it go no further. The tears stand in my eyes.

I am going into Derbyshire, and hope to be followed by your good wishes, for I am, with great affection,

Yours, etc.

Any letters that may come for me hither will be sent me.

XX.-AMUSEMENTS IN TOWN-REFLECTIONS ON RICHES.

Mr. Gray to Dr. Wharton.

CAMBRIDGE, Dec. 11th, 1746.

I would make you an excuse (as indeed I ought) if they were a sort of thing I ever gave any credit to myself, in these cases; but I know they are never true. Nothing so silly as indolence, when it hopes to disguise itself; every one knows it by its saunter, as they do his Majesty (God bless him!) at a masquerade, by the firmness of his tread, and the elevation of his chin. However, somewhat I had to say that has a little shadow of reason in it. I have been in town (I suppose you know) flaunting about at all kinds of public places with two friends lately

*The reader, who is no doubt familiar with the harsh strictures of Macaulay on this marriage, should bear in mind a more kindly criticism. In the Recollections of the Table Talk of Samuel Rogers, it is said that he was very intimate with the Piozzis, and thought the world most unjust in blaming Mrs. Thrale for marrying Piozzi. "He was a very handsome, gentlemanly, and amiable person, and made her a very good husband. In the evening he used to play to us most beautifully on the piano. Her daughters never would see her after that marriage; and (poor woman) when she was at a very great age, I have heard her say that she would go down on her knees to them, if they would only be reconciled to her."-H.

Mr. Gray to Dr. Wharton-Reflections on Riches.

returned from abroad.

The world itself has some attractions in it to a solitary of six years' standing; and agreeable, well-meaning people of sense (thank Heaven there are so few of them!) are my peculiar magnet. It is no wonder then if I felt some reluctance at parting with them so soon; or if my spirits, when I returned back to my cell, should sink for a time, not indeed to storm and tempest, but a good deal below changeable. Besides, Seneca says (and my pitch of philosophy does not pretend to be much above Seneca), Nunquam mores, quos extuli, refero. Aliquid ex eo quod composui, turbatur; aliquid ex his, quæ fugavi, redit. And it will happen to such as us, mere imps of science. Well it may, when wisdom herself is forced often

In sweet retired solitude

To plume her feathers, and let grow her wings,

That in the various bustle of resort

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired.

It is a foolish thing that without money one cannot either live as one pleases, or where and with whom one pleases. Swift somewhere says, that Money is Liberty; and I fear money is Friendship too and Society, and almost every external blessing. It is a great, though an ill-natured comfort, to see most of those who have it in plenty, without Pleasure, without Liberty, and without Friends. I am not altogether of your opinion as to your historical consolation in time of trouble; a calm melancholy it may produce a stiller sort of despair (and that only in some circumstances, and in some constitutions); but I doubt no real comfort or content can ever arise in the human mind, but from Hope. I take it very ill you should have been in the twentieth year of the War, and yet say nothing of the retreat before Syracuse; * Thucydides.

William Cowper to John Johnson-On the Present of a Bustard.

is it, or is it not, the finest thing you ever read in your life? And how does Xenophon or Plutarch agree with you? For my part I read Aristotle, his Poetics, Politics, and Morals-though I do not know well which is which. In the first place, he is the hardest author by far I ever meddled with. Then he has a dry conciseness which makes one imagine one is perusing a table of contents rather than a book; it tastes for all the world like chopped hay, or rather like chopped logic, for he has a violent affection to that art, being, in some sort, his own invention; so that he often loses himself in little trifling distinctions and verbal niceties; and what is worse, leaves you to extricate him as well as you can. Thirdly, he has suffered vastly from the transcribblers, as all authors of great brevity necessarily must. Fourthly and lastly, he has abundance of fine uncommon things, which make him well worth the pains he gives one. You see what you are to expect from him.

XXI.-ON THE PRESENT OF A BUSTARD.-10 PÆAN.

William Cowper to John Johnson.

Jan. 31st, 1793.

MY DEAREST JOHNNY: Even as you foretold, so it came to pass. On Tuesday I received your letter, and on Tuesday came the pheasants for which I am indebted in many thanks, as well as Mrs. Unwin, both to your kindness and to kind friend Mr. Copeman.

In Copeman's ear, this truth let echo tell,
"Immortal bards like mortal pheasants well;"
And when his clerkship's out, I wish him herds
Of golden clients for his golden birds.

Ignatius Sancho to Mr. Sterne-Appcal in behalf of his Race.

Our friends the Courtenays have never dined with us since their marriage, because we have never asked them; and we have never asked them because poor Mrs. Unwin is not so equal to the task of providing for and entertaining company as before this last illness. But this is no objection to the arrival here of a bustard; rather it is a cause for which we shall be particularly glad to see the monster. It will be a handsome present to them. So let the bustard come, as the Lord Mayor of London said of the hare, when he was hunting, "Let her come, a' God's name! I am not afraid of her!” Adieu, my dear cousin and caterer. My eyes are terribly bad, else I had much more to say to you. Ever affectionately yours,

W. C.

XXII.-APPEAL IN BEHALF OF HIS RACE.

Ignatius Sancho to Mr. Sterne.

1776.

REVEREND SIR: It would be an insult on your humanity (or perhaps look like it) to apologize for the liberty I am taking. I am one of those people whom the vulgar and illiberal call negroes. The first part of my life was rather unlucky, as I was placed in a family who judged ignorance the best and only security for obedience. A little reading and writing I got by unwearied application. The latter part of my life has been, through God's blessing, truly fortunate, having spent it in the service of one of the best and greatest families in the kingdom.* My chief pleasure has been books; philanthropy I adore. How

* The family of the Duke of Manchester. Such was the esteem in which the duke held the author of this letter, who had been a slave in the West Indies, that he left him an annuity in his will.-H.

Ignatius Sancho to Mr. Sterne-Appeal in behalf of his Race.

very much, good sir, am I (amongst millions) indebted to you for the character of your amiable uncle Toby? I declare I would walk ten miles in the dog-days to shake hands with the honest corporal. Your sermons have touched me to the heart, and I hope have amended it; which brings me to the point. In your tenth discourse is this very affecting passage: "Consider how great a part of our species, in all ages down to this, have been trod under the feet of cruel and capricious tyrants, who would neither hear their cries nor pity their distresses! Consider slavery, what it is; how bitter a draught, and how many millions are made to drink of it!" Of all my favorite authors, not one has drawn a' tear in favor of my miserable black brethren, excepting yourself and the humane author of Sir Geo. Ellison. I think you will forgive me, I am sure you will applaud me, for beseeching you to give one half-hour's attention to slavery, as it is this day practised in our West Indies. That subject, handled in your striking manner, would ease the yoke perhaps of many; but if only of one, gracious God! what a feast to a benevolent heart! and sure I am you are an epicurean in acts of charity. You, who are universally read, and as universally admired, you could not fail. Dear Sir, think in me you behold the uplifted hands of thousands of my brother Moors. Grief (you pathetically observe) is eloquent; figure to yourself their attitudes, hear their supplicating addresses! Alas! you cannot refuse. Humanity must comply; in which hope I beg permission to subscribe myself, Reverend sir,

I. S.