In his letters to Miss Wilkes and to Cotes, until the end of 1765, constant allusions are made to the intended edition, with notes, as appears by the extracts we subjoin; after which period his interest in the work appears to have ceased, and although he always afterwards wrote of Churchill with affection and respect, he seldom if ever adverted to the promised notes.

TO COTES.

Calais, Dec. 10, 1764. I HAVE not slept two hours since I have been here, I mean continued sleep, Churchill is still before my eyes.

I hear that John Churchill is about selling the right of copy of our dear friend's works. Is it to take place before or after my edition, which will take me up several months more; for I will never risk any crudities with the public.

TO COTES.

December, 13.

My eye is ever fixed, not straitly,* but steadily, on my two great works, Churchill's edition, and my history.

TO MISS WILKES.

Naples, March 25, 1705.

THERE is not a man in Europe who writes to a friend under the disadvantages I now do. I have

Alluding to his obliquity of vision, of which he appears to have been more sensible than of that of his conduct.

reason to fear the shadow of a pen, yet I will persevere in justice to myself, in love to my country, in veneration to the memory of poor Churchill. He told me, and the world too,

Resolve not quick, but once resolved be strong.

I am following every part of the plan I had concerted with him. I shall soon be here in a philosophical retirement such as he admired, in the bosom of philosophy and patriotism, for so you'll find it. I came here upon principle, to dedicate myself to my two great works, the edition of his noble poetry, and my history.

I hope to eat my frugal morsel with content and cheerfulness, though many a sigh and tear escape me for the death of dear Churchill.

TO MISS WILKES.

April 16, 1765.

You cannot read Pope too much. He is the most correct of our English poets, though he has not the strength and copiousness of Dryden, nor of my dear Churchill. The edition of Churchill and my history, occupy me entirely.

TO MISS WILKES.

Naples, May 21.

THE loss of Churchill I shall always reckon the most cruel of all afflictions I have suffered. I will soon convince mankind that I knew how to value such superior genius and merit. I have more than half finished the projected edition of Churchill,

and my thoughts now turn towards printing it, which I find cannot be done here.

TO COTES.

May 28, 1765.

I LOOK forward to better times, and feel a resource in my old fortitude, adequate to every affliction but the death of Churchill, and the absence of a very few. I have told you fully about our dear friend's work, and the notes relative to yourself, as likewise of my history. I do not know your sentiments on any of these heads, but I am sure you and the public will approve what I shall soon submit to you both. No man has ever taken more pains, that notes, a dull business of itself, may not disgrace his fair classic page.

TO GEORGE COLMAN.

Nov. 10, 1765.

I HAD your friendly letter by M. de Beaumont, but I have not been able before this to write to you; your idea was so closely joined with that of poor Churchill, that for a long time I sought to avoid it, and though it returned upon me in my late pursuits, I could not cherish it as I used to do. My grief began to abate, when the additional shock of Lloyd's death almost overset me. I have tried ever since by journeys and a variety of company, to recover the tone of my mind, but I am at times more melancholy than it is almost possible for you to conceive a man of so good animal spirits to be.

I had fully opened my mind to Lloyd as to my

idea of the second volume of our friend's works, and he had undertaken to write a short preface, and to correct the press. I begged him likewise to announce the edition I had projected at our dear Churchill's desire. I wish you would take upon yourself the publication of the second volume, and tell the world how you loved the man, as well as honoured the poet.

The following epitaphs are preserved among the manuscripts of the Rev. William Cole at the British Museum. They appear to have been copied from the Cambridge Chronicle, and other prints about the period of the poet's death.

Churchill no more! O cruel death, 'twas hard
So soon to rob us of our favourite bard;
We should not thus bewail the fatal doom
Hadst thou but placed an equal in his room.

He's gone! great Churchill's gone! 'tis true,
Yet cease the fates to blame,
Years they allow'd him but a few,
But gave eternal fame.

Prose-driving dunces, waddling fools in rhyme,
Scoundrels by every kind of vengeance led,
Spit forth your venom, poison all your slime,
Churchill, who scourged you to your holes, is dead.

Wit, satire, humour, poetry, are fled,

For Churchill, who possess'd them all, is dead.

That Churchill's dead, Apocrypha don't lie,
The British Juvenal will never die;
'Tis only now that he begins to live,

And eat that bread which bishops cannot give;
But though he never more should lift his head,
Like Spanish flies he blisters, though he's dead.

Great Churchill gone! ye ministers rejoice,
Who conscious blush'd, or trembled at his voice:

But then once warn'd, repent, ere 'tis too late,
Nor dare the stroke of an avenging fate.

What though he laid aside the priestly gown,
All will allow his muse from Heaven came down.

BY CUNNINGHAM.

Says Tom to Richard, Churchill's dead,
Says Richard, Tom, you lie;

Old rancour the report hath spread,
But genius cannot die.

EXTRACT FROM THE SCOURGE, A SATIRE.

Churchill's no more! corruption rears her head,
And points her foe supine amongst the dead.
True to her call, her numerous votaries come,
And tread insulting on the patriot's tomb;
Avenging meanly on the passive grave

And lifeless corpse, those wounds his spirit gave.
Churchill's no more! cach muse has dropt a tear
Of heartfelt grief on his untimely bier;
E'en virtue's self, to human errors mild,
Pardoning the foibles of a favourite child,
And, some few slips from her severer laws,
Has wept the honest champion of her cause.

BY ROBERT LLOYD.

Authors, as Dryden's maxim runs,
Have what he calls poetic sons;
Thus Milton, more correctly wild,
Was richer Spenser's lawful child;
And Churchill, got on all the nine,
Was Dryden's heir in every line.

ANONYMOUS.

Great Churchill's sword to vanquish'd France gave law,
His mighty deeds astonish'd Europe saw,
Great Churchill's pen unequall'd shines in story,
Fresh laurels gaining, never-fading glory.

Old Rome in vain her satirists may boast,
Whose fame in his superior merit's lost.
Dire scourge of knaves and fools
Whate'er their station,

He reaps a plenteous harvest through the nation:
Such honour to the name belongs, how fit,

The first supreme in arms, the last in wit.