'To Mr. Hurdis I return Sir Thomas More tomorrow, having revised it a second time. He is now a very respectable figure, and will do my friend, who gives him to the public, considerable credit.'

But here a sudden and melancholy incident occurred, which for a time entirely abstracted the mind of our Author from every literary pursuit. In 1792 he was deprived by death of his favourite sister Catharine, whose elegancies of mind are so frequently, and justly, pourtrayed in his works, under the different appellations of Margaret and Isabel.

And here I think I may, with much propriety, and justness to the affection which the Author always testified for his sister Catharine, transcribe a letter, which was since found in the possession of Mr. Cowper, relative to her death.

'DEAR SIR,

Could I have found a moment free from anxiety, I should certainly have spent it in writing to you. But my mind has been totally absorbed in. attention to my poor little girl, whom I have at last been unable to save. I watched by her nine and thirty nights: I neglected nothing which might have proved a source of relief: but all my

endeavours were ineffectual, and I have been obliged to seek her a grave, where I may rest beside her. How painful an interval has passed since I last wrote to you, you will be able to judge from your own feelings. My eye has been fixed day and night upon a little sufferer, who was better to me than the best of daughters; and I have marked the slow but certain progress of death, prevailing over a life, which was ever dearer to me than my own. If expressions of impatience have escaped me while contemplating a prospect so distressing, I hope God will forgive me. It has been his pleasure to wound me where I was most sensible, and my reason has not always been able to support it. I have seen my amiable and affectionate Catharine gradually put to death by a disease at once painful and lingering. I have lived to behold the hour in which her existence was grievous to me: nay, I have lived to look upon her in the hour of death, without shedding tears at her dissolution. Indeed her departure was a relief to me. She had suffered extremely, and, for nearly a week before her death, had only short intervals of sense, in which she was unable to articulate her wants. In the evening on which she died, her senses returned, and she acknowledged us all, rewarding us with many thanks for our attention to her. She was then seized with a difficulty of breathing and slight

convulsion, which did not appear very alarming to me, because I had seen her recover from the same symptoms before. I was the only person in the room when these began to abate, and she seemed to fall into a sound sleep, breathing without difficulty. I sat beside her, looking in her face; and the ease with which she slept soon inclined me to nod. I almost fell from my chair more than once; and being apprehensive that I might disturb her if I persisted, I went into the next room, to lie down upon a mattress which was on the floor. I met my eldest sister at the door, and desired her to give me notice when I was wanted. I had scarce laid myself down, when she came and informed me that her breath had ceased.. I returned immediately into the room, and was witness to two slight efforts made by nature to recover the action of the lungs; which not being attended with success, she gave up the contest without deranging a single feature. The eyelid was still closed, the hand reclined upon the side of the easy-chair, into which she had been partly raised from the bed, and not one attitude of the composure in which I left her had been disturbed. If I had thought myself forsaken by my Maker in the former stages of my calamity, here I became sensible of his goodness. I saw in the strongest light the peculiar blessing of a peaceful end, and.

I saw that end bestowed upon a little girl, for whom I should more earnestly have petitioned it than for myself.

Thus, Sir, was I deprived of a gem, which has literally hung about my neck all the days of my life, and never lost its lustre. Thus did I bid adieu to a little motherly comforter, who has ever been as a part of myself, and without whom I know not how I shall exist. I pray that my days, if they are not few, may at least be speedy, that I may make haste to meet her in the grave. I have promised her that she shall sleep beside me, and have appointed her a place at my right hand, a situation she always loved, and from which, God knows, I never wished her to depart. Yes, my gentle Isabel, my invaluable Margaret, thou who hast been always in my eye,

· Attentively regarding all I said,

And soothing all my pains with sweet concern,

thou shalt rest beside me in the grave, as well as in the cradle. I will come to thee, though thou art not able to return to me. I will endeavour to deserve, as well as thou hast done, and trust to God's mercy that I shall find thee again. And I pray him most devoutly, that wherever thou art, the sense of my unhappiness may not reach thee.

'When I write again, I will give you some account of my little girl's natural endowments and of her attainments.'

The subject of which fetter being closely connected with the one already transcribed, I shall present it also to the reader.

'I promised to give you some account of my little girl's natural endowments, and of her attainments. As to the former, you will perhaps be surprised to learn, that she was the plainest of all my family. Her figure was good, her action was graceful; but in her countenance there were many defects. She was sensible of it, and would never give me her profile. I was therefore driven to the painful necessity of stealing it after she was dead. But for her carelessness without, Nature had made ample amends by her liberality within. Her disposition was so friendly, humane, and gentle, that it was impossible to know her and not esteem her. She was always attended by goodhumour, compassion, and pleasantry. Her genius was capable of the greatest undertakings, and she never lost an hour in improving it. Reading was her delight from her childhood; and you will scarce believe that at four and twenty she could have obtained the knowledge of which I know she was possessed. Of historical, biographical, and