To the Honourable A*** E***.

I AM juſt now favoured with your obliging letter, incloſing ſome copies of verſes. I return you thanks for the favourable opinion you entertain of my taſte: but permit me to ſay, that C—n E— has no occaſion to call in the aid of any other judg⯑ment, to enable him to determine the merit of works of taſte and genius, eſpecially of the poetic kind. A good author muſt neceſſarily be a ſound critic; and one who diſcovers ſo much fire, and, at the ſame time, correctneſs, in his own produc⯑tions, is well qualified to judge of the beauties and defects of others. But as extreme modeſty is of⯑ten the attendant of conſummate merit, I ſuppoſe you don't care to rely ſolely on your own judgment in a matter of this conſequence. You are anxious that Mr Donaldſon's collection ſhould be uniform, and that the ſecond volume ſhould contain nothing unworthy of the firſt; for which reaſon, perhaps, [6] you with to have your own opinion of theſe two poems confirmed by mine; on which, I am afraid, you rely more than it deſerves. Probably the laws of Parnaſſus, like thoſe of our own country, re⯑quire two witneſſes to aſcertain any fact of import⯑ance.

BUT to proceed: I am aſtoniſhed how, during this long preamble, I have been able to ſuppreſs thoſe exclamations of applauſe, which I utter inſen⯑ſibly every time I read or think of theſe poems. By heavens! I never ſaw any thing that pleaſed me more. Nor do I know to which the preference is due. In the elegy however, I am apt to think, the author's genius appears moſt conſpicuouſly; and, if I am not miſtaken, his turn rather leads him to the plaintive ſtrains of Terence, than to the gay and animated compoſitions of Tibullus. The ſub⯑ject too is happily choſen. The bard ſeems to be young; and what ſubject ſuits the warm imagina⯑tion and delicate ſenſibility of a juvenile poet, bet⯑ter than the early, premature, and unexpected death of a lady, for whom he probably entertained the moſt refined affection! It is upon occaſions of this [7] kind that a poet can give way to thoſe emotions of grief and anguiſh, which never fail to affect every reader of taſte with ſadneſs and melancholy. When the mind is truly agitated, it deſpiſes trivial orna⯑ments; it overlooks ſmall inaccuracies. To this is to be imputed your meeting with nothing very orna⯑mented or figurative in the diction, and now and then with a hard word, ill ſpelled, and worſe choſen. Does not the native ſimplicity of the poet, in a thouſand inſtances, atone for theſe defects?

How pretty is that recurrence of numbers in the ſame line! yet happily is it varied: and, if you will try, as Mr Sheridan directs you, to pronounce theſe words frequently, you will obſerve how trippingly they go off the tongue, numerous number, numerous number; and there is a cadence on the laſt ſyllable, ber, that I defy you not to pronounce. You may obſerve alſo the propriety of the epithet numerous, when applied to the dead.

[8] THE concluſion alſo is moſt tender and affecting, and contains that abruptneſs, and thoſe repetitions which conſtitute the language of grief.

I HAVE only to add, that inſtead of adviſing Mr Donaldſon to reſerve theſe poems for his collection, or even indeed, in compliance with the author's re⯑queſt, to bury them in a Magazine, I ſhould think he would do both himſelf and the author more ju⯑ſtice to publiſh them on a ſmall detached quarto of two or three pages. By this means they would be univerſally known and admired, and would certainly add luſtre and eclat to the collection in which they ſhould afterward appear. It is by this obvious and ingenious method that my good friend Mr Dodſley at London has eſtabliſhed his reputation as a man of taſte, enriched himſelf, and become the only book⯑ſeller in that city, really known to, and eſteemed by people of faſhion and rank. In great haſte, I ſub⯑mit theſe obſervations to you; but I wiſh you would [9] alſo conſult Mr B—, who really has a very ſound judgment in matters of this kind.

To G*** D***, Eſq

I HAVE juſt now received your epiſtle, which contains, I think, the moſt candid criticiſm I ever ſaw: I was only ſorry to ſee it ſo ſhort; every line of poetry, I am ſure, deſerves two of obſerva⯑tions; but what I am remarkably pleaſed with, is the ſtrange coincidence between your ſentiments and mine. I may really and with truth ſay, that the firſt time I beheld you, I ſaw in your face a true feeling and juſt reliſh of the fine arts, particularly poetry, (poetry ſent down by the gods, to chear us [10] in this gloomy, forlorn, and dreary waſte of life); I ſaw numbers (both blank verſes and rhymes) im⯑printed upon your countenance; and if you had pre⯑ſented me with an epic poem ſuperior to Homer's, I ſhould not have been ſurpriſed. Euripides, the famous Greek poet, has a line ſo agreeable to what I am ſaying, that I cannot forbear ſending you a tranſlation of it:

IN fact, the only way of judging the merit of a poet is by his eyes. It was in this manner Homer was found out, although he was blind. Your mo⯑deſty has, I know, as yet only ſuffered you to pu⯑bliſh in the Scots Magazine; but, alas! one might as well pretend to exhibit a little cow as a ſhow in the highlands of Scotland, a purſe of gold as ſomewhat remarkable on the coaſt of Guinea, or a t—d as an extraordinary ſpectacle in the ſtreets of Edinburgh, as endeavour to become conſpicuous in that ill-fated collection. Would you believe it, Sir? A fable of mine, full of the naivette or ſimplicity abſolutely neceſſary in that ſpecies of compoſition, after being inſerted there, was never, (with aſtoniſhment I ſpeak it, and [11] with amazement you ſhall hear it), I ſay, never heard of more; loſt like a goodly city ſuddenly ſwallowed up by an earthquake, like a louſe annihilated in a large fire, or a human excrement dropped in a full capacious chamberpot. Oh! my friend, let this deter you; and, for heaven's ſake, chuſe ſome other me⯑thods of making your compoſitions public. In this caſe, what expedient ſo readily offers as making uſe of the humane and benevolent Mr D—, a gentle⯑man, who, like a friendly ſtar, helps every dark and benighted poet into the haven of general appro⯑bation. By his help, the rays of my genius have diverged with uncommon and rapid ſtreams of lumi⯑nary particles, into the remoteſt and moſt unenlight⯑ened corners of theſe kingdoms: by his aſſiſtance Mr B— is to fix the nave of that wheel, whoſe ſpokes will reach ſuch a prodigious diſtance. Would to GOD we three could live to lateſt poſterity, and be witneſſes of our applauſe from ages yet to come, world without end. Praiſe is the food of poets; notwithſtanding Mr D— frequently gives them very good dinners. This of courſe brings me back to the ſubject of this letter, which I did not think ſo ſoon to have entered upon, as I had a few more [12] points to diſcuſs. But to proceed: The bard, of whoſe poems we have been all this time talking, ſeems to poſſeſs the true elegiac humanity of Glu⯑theros, who flouriſhed before or about the time of Homer. It is true, he is not ſo merry as Lucretius, nor ſo ſad as Horace; neither is he altogether ſo ſoft and tender as Juvenal in his ſatires; he is not quite ſo ſimplex in his munditiis as Lucan, neither has his work the modern air of the old poet Ennius; but theſe are ſlight faults. I cannot pretend to ſay whe⯑ther he writes elegies like Terence, as I never ſaw that book in which they are contained, the only copy of which, they ſay, is lodged in the bend of the hanging tower at Piſa^*. Here I cannot help re⯑gretting that I have as yet travelled very little; how happy are you, Sir, in that reſpect? I think it was at Rome you got your copy of the great Glutheros, which is an invaluable curioſity. For my part, I once drank a glaſs of old hock out of Buchanan's head at Copenhagen, which was the only remarkable in⯑cident that happened me in a long voyage up the Mediterranean. I agree with you in thinking that the bard, of whom we have all this time been talk⯑ing, [13] diſcovers here and there a noble negligence of grammar and ſpelling; this is what Mr Pope calls (who by the by was a very bad poet) catching a grace beyond the reach of art; but theſe two arts, as Mr Sheridan ſays, I am afraid we know little about. I dare ſay he goes upon ſure ground, and has good reaſons for what he does; not that I have any particular reaſon for ſaying ſo. The epiſtle after the elegy ſeems to be much in the ſtyle of Pliny; there is nothing like it in our language. Eaſy and pathetic, ſublime and natural, it preſents us with a picture of love and friendſhip not to be parallelled; it is really a capital piece. Theſe two poems ought indeed to be printed ſeparately. I muſt here con⯑clude; but I firſt congratulate Mr D— on this, I may ſay, the ſecond revival of letters. I did not indeed think of being guilty of the fault which I ac⯑cuſed you of in the beginning of my letter; but as I intend to dine with you to-day, I ſhall reſume this ſubject when I take leave of you.

To the Honourable A*** E ***.

ACCEPT the moſt ſincere thanks of a mind full of gratitude, for the favour you have this day loaded me with. The exquiſite entertain⯑ment which I have received from the peruſal of the incloſed poems, is rather to be conceived than ex⯑preſſed. The critical letters upon theſe pieces by Mr D— and yourſelf, I admire beyond meaſure. The greateſt compliment I can pay them, is to tell, without diſguiſe, the ſimple, or, to uſe a better word, naked truth; which is, that I could read them with ſome degree of ſatisfaction, even after an immediate peruſal of the poems themſelves.

I CONGRATULATE with my country, that we now behold, with eyes full of intrepid wonder and pre⯑mature aſtoniſhment, ſuch a poet! and ſuch critics!

IT is doing me too much honour to be claſſed with Mr E— and Mr D—, of both whoſe [15] abilities the world has already had, and is likely to have ſo many glaring proofs; whilſt I can only a⯑ſpire to the appellation of, as it were, a hackney⯑coachman of Helicon. You ſee I am apt to run in⯑to the figurative ſtyle, which, I hope, you will im⯑pute to an imagination heated by a recent peruſal of ſuperlative poeſy.

DEAR SIR, why do you aſk me to give my opi⯑nion?—Or, indeed, what other opinion can I give than what has already been ſo amply given?—But as you inſiſt upon my ſaying ſomething, I ſhall do ſo.

THE elegy is perhaps the completeſt thing of the kind I have ever ſeen. Even you C—n E—, who plume yourſelf ſo much on your tender, ſigh⯑ing, breathing, and ſpeaking lines, muſt not be of⯑fended, though I frankly own that you have not gone ſo great lengths as this gentleman.

THE PRIDE OF PRIME is an expreſſion which you have not as yet attained to. I queſtion much if you ever will.

[16] THE ingenious author of an eſſay on the ſublime and beautiful gives it as his opinion, ‘"That a cer⯑tain inflated and incoheſive rotundity of diction, is one of the leading ſources of what is grand and lofty."’ Our author has certainly reached that dizzy ſummit in this memorable line,

THE epiſtle affords a ſtriking example of the ele⯑vated ſtyle.—At firſt, indeed, I imagined our au⯑thor had been a plagiary, and ſtolen whole ſtanzas from Dryden's Alexander's Feaſt.—But, upon comparing the two poems together, with all the attention and accuracy that I poſſibly could, I diſ⯑covered that I lay under a very palpable miſtake, and had done the author much injuſtice: for, ſo far has he been from ſtooping to filch from Jack Dry⯑den, (as the preſent Biſhop of Bangor uſed to ſay), that, upon my word, there was not the leaſt atom of ſimilarity either in thought or language.

I HAD almoſt forgot to take notice of one pecu⯑liar circumſtance, which has eluded the penetration [17] of you, as well as that of Mr D—, although it is perhaps as material a perfection as any in the whole work: and that is the mention that is made of Wilkie, whoſe poem, called the Epigoniad, we have, with infinite regret, beheld but too too much neglected.

DOES it not kindle a flame in every patriot breaſt, to think that now the modern epic poem of Scot⯑land ſhall ſtand upon a firm baſis, ſhall ſwim in a pellucid whirlpool, when it is at laſt hoiſted upon the ſhoulders of a Brobdignagian genius (according to Swift), or rather, (to uſe the words of Sir Wil⯑liam Temple, in his hiſtory of the Netherlands), when it is held forth to the applauſe and admiration of poſterity, by a giant of Parnaſſus?

I ENTIRELY agree with my two good friends and fellow-rhymſters, that Mr Donaldſon ſhould make a diſtinct publication of them; as they will, by this means, be better known, and conſequently more univerſally applied to uſe by every reader of any diſcernment.

[18] I CANNOT conclude without an eulogium upon the juſtneſs and propriety of that line, when, draw⯑ing to a cloſe, he exclaims, with all the rapture and poetic fury of the Pythian prieſteſs,

I am perſuaded no human mortal can poſſibly read this without a conſcious home-felt ſatisfaction.

I HAVE now treſpaſſed too long on your patience, ſo ſhall break off with aſſuring you that I am