True eloquence, on the other hand, is confident only where there is real ground for confidence, trusts more to reason and facts than to imposing declamation, and seeks rather to convince than dazzle. The obstreperous rant of a pleader may, for awhile, intimidate a jury; but plain and manly argument, delivered in a candid and ingenious manner, will more effectually work upon their understandings, and will make an impression on which the froth of declamation will be lost. I think a man who would plead in this manner, would gain the confidence of a jury, and would find the avenues of their hearts much more open, than a man of more assurance, who, by too much confidence where there is much doubt, and too much vehemence where there is greater need of coolness, puts his hearers continually in mind that he is pleading for hire. There seems to me so much beauty in truth, that I could wish our barristers would make a distinction between cases, in their opinion well or ill founded, embarking their whole heart and soul in the one, and contenting themselves with a perspicuous and forcible statement of their client's case in the other,

Pardon my rambling. The cacoethes scribendi çan only be used by indulgence, and we have all a propensity to talk about things we do not understand.

I am very sensible of all your affection, in your anxiety that I should not diminish my books; but I am by no means relieved from the anxiety which, on more accounts than one, I am under as to my present situation, so great a burthen to the family, when I ought to be a support. My father made some heavy complaints when I was at home; and though I am induced to believe that he is enough harassed to render it very excusable, yet I cannot but feel strongly the peculiarity of my situation, and, at my age, feel ashamed that I should

add to his burthens. At present I have my hands completely tied behind me. When I get to college, I hope to have more opportunities of advantage, and, if I am fortunate, I shall probably relieve my father and mother from the weight which I now lay upon them. I wish you, if you read this letter to my mother, to omit this part.

DEAR SIR,

TO CAPEL LOFFT, ESQ.

Winteringham, Sept. 10th, 1805.

Your letter has at length reached me at this place, where I have been for the last ten months employed in classica reading, with Mr. Grainger. It gives me pleasure to hear of you, and of poetry; for, since I came here, I have not only been utterly shut out from all intercourse with the lettered world, but have totally laid aside the pen of inspiration. I have been actuated to this by a sense of duty; for I wish to prove that I have not coveted the ministerial office through the desire of learned leisure, but with an ardent wish to do my duty as a teacher of the truth. I should blush to present myself as a candidate for that office in an unqualified and unprepared state; and as I have placed my idea of the necessary qualifications very high, all the time between now and my taking my degree will be little enough for these purposes alone. I often, however, cast a look of fond regret to the darling occupations of my younger hours, and the tears rush into my eyes, as I fancy I see the few wild flowers of poetic genius with which I have been blessed withering with neglect. Poetry has been to me something more than amusement; it has been a cheering companion when I have had no other to fly to, and a delightful solace when consolation has been in some measure needful. I cannot, therefore, discard so old and faithful a friend without deep regret, especially when I reflect that, stung by my ingratitude, he may desert me for ever!

With regard to your intended publication, you do me too

much honour by inserting my puerilities along with such good company as I know I shall meet there. I wish I could present you with some sonnets worthy of your work. I have looked back amongst my old papers, and find a few verses under that name, which were written between the time when Clifton Grove" was sent to the press and its final appearance. The looking over these papers has recalled a little of my old warmth, and I have scribbled some lines, which, as they owe their rise to your letter, I may fairly (if I have room) present to you. I cannot read the sonnets which I have found amongst my papers with pleasure, and therefore I shall not presume to show them to you. I shall anxiously expect the publication of your work.

I shall be in Cambridge next month, being admitted a sizar at St. John's. Trinity would have suited my plans better, but the expenses of that college are greater.

With thanks for your kind remembrance of me, 1 remain, Dear Sir,

Very respectfully and thankfully yours,

H. K. WHITE.

YES, my stray steps have wander'd, wander'd far
From thee, and long, heart-soothing Poësy!
And many a flower, which in the passing time
My heart hath register'd, nipp'd by the chill
Of undeserv'd neglect, hath shrunk and died.
Heart-soothing Poësy!-Tho' thou hast ceas'd
To hover o'er the many voiced strings
Of my long silent lyre, yet thou canst still
Call the warm tear from its thrice hallow'd cell,
And with recalled images of bliss

Warm my reluctant heart.-Yes, I would throw,
Once more would throw, a quick and hurried hand
O'er the responding chords.-It hath not ceas'd-
It cannot, will not cease; the heavenly warmth
Plays round my heart, and mantles o'er my cheek;
Still, tho' unbidden, plays.-Fair Poësy!
The summer and the spring, the wind and rain,

Sunshine and storm, with various interchange,
Have mark'd full many a day, and week, and month,
Since by dark wood, or hamlet far retir'd,
Spell-struck, with thee I loiter'd.--Sorceress!
I cannot burst thy bonds!—It is but lift
Thy blue eyes to that deep bespangled vault,
Wreathe thy enchanted tresses round thine arm,
And mutter some obscure and charmed rhyme,
And I could follow thee, on thy night's work,
Up to the regions of thrice-chastened fire,
Or in the caverns of the ocean flood,
Thrid the light mazes of thy volant foot.
Yet other duties call me, and mine ear
Must turn away from the high minstrelsy
Of thy soul-trancing harp, unwillingly
Must turn away;-there are severer strains
(And surely they are sweet as ever smote
The ear of spirit, from this mortal coil
Releas'd and disembodied), there are strains
Forbid to all, save those whom solemn thought,
Thro' the probation of revolving years,
And mighty converse with the spirit of truth,
Have purged and purified.-To these my soul
Aspireth; and to this sublimer end

I gird myself, and climb the toilsome steep
With patient expectation.-Yea, sometimes
Foretaste of bliss rewards me; and sometimes
Spirits unseen upon my footsteps wait,

And minister strange music, which doth seem
Now near, now distant, now on high, now low,
Then swelling from all sides, with bliss complete,
And full fruition filling all the soul.
Surely such ministry, tho' rare, may soothe
The steep ascent, and cheat the lassitude
Of toil; and but that my fond heart
Reverts to day-dreams of the summer gone,
When by clear fountain, or embowered brake,
I lay a listless muser, prizing far

Above all other lore, the poet's theme;
But for such recollections I could brace
My stubborn spirit for the arduous path
Of science unregretting; eye afar
Philosophy upon her steepest height,
And with bold step, and resolute attempt,
Pursue her to the innermost recess,

Where thron'd in light she sits, the Queen of Truth.

These verses forin nearly the only poetical effort of this year. Fardon their imperfections.

MY DEAR BEN,

TO MR. B. MADDOCK.

St. John's, Oct. 18th, 1805.

I am at length finally settled in my rooms, and, according to my promise, I write to you to tell you so. I did not feel quite comfortable at first here; but I now begin to feel at home, and relish my silent and thoughtful cup of tea morc than ever. Amongst our various occupations, that of attending chapel is to me not the least irksome, for the service is read in general below the span of my auditory nerve; but when they chaunt, I am quite charmed, for our organ is fine, and the voices are good. This is, however, only on high days and festivals, in which number the present day is to be reckoned (St. Luke's).

and you

My mathematical studies do not agree with me, may satisfy yourself I shall never be a senior wrangler. Many men come up with knowledge enough for the highest honours, and how can a man be expected to keep up with them who starts without any previous fund? Our lectures begin on Monday, and then I shall know more of college difficulties.

My rooms are in the top story of the farthest court of St. John's (which you perhaps remember) near the cloisters. They are light, and tolerably pleasant; though, as there was no furniture in them, and I have not yet bought many necessary articles, they look very bare. Your phiz over the