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peace-maker, and I am sure, if the whole was laid before him, that he would settle it to your satisfaction, and the sooner the better. You are quite mistaken when you think I don't admire Plutarch, I prefer his writings to those of any other.-Sacra semper excipio, quæ in summa arce locare fas est & equum nunquam non in manibus habenda.

• Mr. Balfe sets outs for Germany in the spring, on a visit to his uncle, who is now in Vienna. The General is very rich, and advancing in years, so that it is probable when he is called to repose on his laurels, that his nephew will be his heir, and I need not tell you that he is worthy of it. I expect, in a day or two, to be introduced to Miss Woffington, our countrywoman. She is rapidly rising into theatric fame; I could wish to publish a few anecdotes of her. She is of low origin, it is true, but talents and nature often avenge themselves on fortune in this respect. The roses of Florida spring out of the finest soil, they are the fairest in the universe, but they emit no fragrance.

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I recollect that she read her recantation in a little country church, somewhere in the county of Cavan. Mr. Fleming of Stahalmuck wrote some verses on that occasion. I wish you could procure a copy of them for me as soon as possible. I also wish that you could procure some anecdotes of Mr. Brooke, author of the justly celebrated tragedy of Gustavus Vasa.'

The remainder of this letter touches on some of Mr. Smith's family affairs, which would not be proper to publish.

That the reader may judge of the epistolary.stile of Mr. Burke's correspondent, it may not be unacceptable to insert the

answer:

· MY GOOD SIR,

I once read of a King of Spain, Alphonsus, I think, who was cured of a dangerous disease by reading a passage in Livy. Your kind letter had much the same effect on me, for my spirits were so low the moment I

received it, that it is not in the power of words to describe my situation; but scarce had I read six lines, when my heart began to emerge, and the sun shone as bright as ever; and if you pity a poor dealer in Syntax, buried alive, I may say, write to me as often as you can. My school is on the increase, it is true, but the people are so poor that they cannot pay. I have thirteen Latin scholars, at a crown a quarter, and six and twenty in writing and figures. I have taken a little farm of about five acres. So that betwixt the cultivation of my fields, and that of the tender mind, I have very little time on my hands, or my feet, I may say, for sometimes I mingle in the dance. As to Greek, there is no attention paid to it in this quarter. Last week I endeavoured to prevail on Mr. Johnson to permit me to give his nephew a few lessons in the language of Heaven. He said he had no objection, if I could assure him that it would enable Jack to buy a cow or a horse to more advantage. Having cast his eye on a Greek book, which I had in my hand, "What," said he, " would

you have my nephew spend his time in learning these pot-hooks and hangers?" Thus you see how learning is prized in this part of the world; and from your own account, I don't find that the Muses are held in such high estimation in England, which I was early taught to consider as the seat of arms and arts. What, then, is to become of their votaries?-negh?

spised!-You'll forgive me, i feel myself so uneasy and depressed as often as I think on this matter, that I cannot help dropping a tear on my books-the only source and companions of my solitary hours, so that you see we have little cause to boast of the triumph of letters over the breathing marble, or the proudest trophies of war. Yet I join with you in blessing the memory of the man that first introduced the swarthy daughter of Cadmus into these islands. I think I can recollect some lines on this subject in the form of an ænigma, which, perhaps, you have not seen :

"Bis veneré novem juvenes ad mænia nostra

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Conspicui forma, pariles florentibus annis, ·
Attamen his minime par decor oris adest.
Nil est egregia quod dicas de esse coborti,
Quam quod non potis est edere lingua

Non illis vox est, sed secum quemque godales sonos.
Ducunt, ex bis, ut verba loquantur, habent;
Submoto nullum dicunt interprete verbum,
Orbe sed est toto gloria magna verum.”

• Whilst I am on this interesting subject, I serp giat effo deini lo old Irish bard, who could conduct those nymphs through all the mystic mazes of poetic dance, resigned his tuneful breath last week. I accompanied his remains to the grave. He has left me all his manuscripts, and I shall select some of the finest passages of them for you, and translate them for you as well as I can.

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My school-house was levelled with the ground last week in a storm:-Boreas, of true Russian descent, pays very little respect to learning. The neighbours, however, assembled the next day, and raised me a new one, on a more pleasing scite; so that my bare-footed pupils are quite happy, as it is

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