were to count the words, the difference would not be so great. You must also take in account the unsealed communications to periodical works, which I now reckon a part of my letter; and therefore you must excuse my concluding on the first sheet, by assuring you that I still remain Your friend and brother, H. K. WHITE. P.S. A postscript is a natural appendage to a letter. -I only have to say, that positively you shall receive a six or eight-sheet letter, and that written legibly, ere long. DEAR SIR, TO MR. BOOTH. Nottingham, August 12th, 1801. I MUST beg leave to apologize for not having returned my sincere acknowledgments to yourself and Mrs. Booth, for your very acceptable presents, at an earlier period. I now, however, acquit myself of the duty; and assure you, that from both of the works I have received much gratification and edification, but more particularly from the one on the Trinity, a production which displays much erudition, and a very laudable zeal for the true interests of religion. Religious polemics, indeed, have seldom formed a part of my studies; though, whenever I happened accidentally to turn my thoughts to the subject of the Protestant doctrine of the Godhead, and compared it with Arian and Socinian, many doubts interfered, and I even began to think that the more nicely the subject was investigated, the more perplexed it would appear, and was on the point of forming a resolution to go to heaven in my own way, with * Jones on the Trinity. out meddling or involving myself in the inextricable labyrinth of controversial dispute, when I received and perused this excellent treatise, which finally cleared up the mists which my ignorance had conjured around me, and clearly pointed out the real truth. The intention of the author precluded the possibility of his employing the ornaments and graces of composition in his work; for, as it was meant for all ranks, it must be suited to all capacities; but the arguments are drawn up and arranged in so forcible and perspicuous a manner, and are written so plainly, yet pleasingly, that I was absolutely charmed with them. The Evangelical Clergyman' is a very smart piece; the author possesses a considerable portion of sarcastic spirit, and no little acrimony, perhaps not consistent with the Christian meekness which he wishes to inculcate. I consider, however, that London would not have many graces, or attractions, if despoiled of all the amusements to which, in one part of his pamphlet, he objects. In theory, the destruction of these vicious recreations is very fine: but in practice, I am afraid he would find it quite different. The other parts of this piece are very just, and such as every person must subscribe to. Clergymen, in general, are not what they ought to be; and I think Mr. has pointed out their duties very accurately. But I am afraid I shall be deemed impertinent and tiresome, in troubling you with ill-timed and obtrusive opinions, and beg leave, therefore, to conclude, with respects to yourself and Mrs. Booth, by assuring you that I am, according to custom from time immemorial, and in due form, Dear Sir, Your obliged humble Servant, HENRY KIRKE WHITE. TO MR. CHARLESWORTH. Nottingham, 1802. DEAR SIR, I AM sure you will excuse me for not having immedi ately answered your letter, when I relate the cause.— I was preparing, at that moment when I received yours, a volume of poems for the press, which I shall shortly see published. I finished and sent them off for London last night; and I now hasten to acknowledge your letter. I am very happy that any poem of mine should meet with your approbation. I prefer the cool and dispassionate praise of the discriminate few, to the boisterous applause of the crowd. Our professions neither of them leave much leisure for the study of polite literature: I myself have, however, coined time, if you will allow the metaphor; and while I have made such a proficiency in the law, as has ensured me the regard of my governors, I have paid my secret devoirs to the ladies of Helicon. My draughts at the fountain Arethuse,' it is true, have been principally made at the hour of midnight, when even the guardian nymphs of the well may be supposed to have slept; they are consequently stolen and forced. I do not see any thing in the confinement of our situations, in the mean time, which should separate congenial minds. A literary acquaintance is to me always valuable; and a friend, whether lettered or unlettered, is highly worth cultivation. I hope we shall both of us have enough leisure to keep up an intimacy which began very agreeably for me, and has been suffered to decay with regret. I am not able to do justice to your unfortunate friend Gill; I knew him only superficially, and yet I saw enough of his unassuming modesty, and simplicity of manners, to feel a conviction that he had a valuable heart. The verses on the other side are perhaps beneath mediocrity: they are, sincerely, the work of thirty minutes this morning, and I send them to you with all their imperfections on their head. Perhaps they will have sufficient merit for the Nottingham paper; at least their locality will shield them a little in that situation, and give them an interest they do not otherwise possess. Do you think calling the Naiads of the fountains Nymphs of Pæon' is an allowable liberty? The allusion is to their healthy and bracing qualities. The last line of the seventh stanza contains an apparent pleonasm, to say no worse of it, and yet it was not written as such. The idea was from the shriek of Death (personified) and the scream of the dying man. * * ELEGY Occasioned by the Death of Mr. Gill, who was drowned in The gale of evening touch'd the chords of death. And deck with water-flags his early grave. Triumphant, riding o'er its tumid prey, Rolls the red stream in sanguinary pride; While anxious crowds, in vain, expectant stay, And ask the swoln corse from the murdering tide. The stealing tear-drop stagnates in the eye, The sudden sigh by friendship's bosom proved, I mark them rise-I mark the general sigh: Unhappy youth! and wert thou so beloved? On thee, as lone I trace the Trent's green brink, When the dim twilight slumbers on the glade; On thee my thoughts shall dwell, nor Fancy shrink To hold mysterious converse with thy shade. Of thee, as early I, with vagrant feet, Hail the gray-sandall'd morn in Colwick's vale, Of thee my sylvan reed shall warble sweet, And wild-wood echoes shall repeat the tale. And, oh! ye nymphs of Pæon! who preside O'er running rill and salutary stream, Guard ye in future well the halcyon tide From the rude Death-shriek and the dying scream. TO MR. M. HARRIS. DEAR SIR, Nottingham, 28th March, 1802. I was greatly surprised at your letter of the twentyseventh, for I had in reality given you up for lost. I should long since have written to you, in answer to your note about the Lexicon, but was perfectly ignorant of the place of your abode. For any thing I knew to the contrary, you might have been quaffing the juice of the cocoa-nut under the broad bananas of the Indies, breathing the invigorating air of liberty in the broad savannas of America, or sweltering beneath the line. I had |