one of the ablest scholars," says he, "and finest writers in the kingdom." The bishop had published a proposal for equalising the revenues of the hierarchy and dignitaries of the church established. This proposal Cumberland opposed, and he thought he had the best of the argument." I doubt, however, if any man could have the best of an argument which gainsayed a proposition so equitable and beneficial. He adds also, with somewhat more arrogance than could become him, that he thought "his lordship did a wiser thing in declining the controversy, than in throwing out the proposal." His lordship's wisdom, in declining the controversy, many will admit, perhaps, as well as Cumberland, though probably not exactly with the same sort of conviction.

Another temporary thing of controversy, which Cumberland wrote, was a pamphlet, entitled, Curtius rescued from the Gulph. This was directed against Dr. Parr, who "had hit an unoffending gentleman too hard, by launching a huge fragment of Greek at his defenceless head." The undertaking was suggested at one of Dilly's literary dinners, and was soon executed; I have never heard, however, that the doctor deigned any reply, and I suppose Cumberland thought his wisdom no less conspicuous than the Bishop of Llandaff's.

In commemorating the many pleasing hours which he passed at the table of Mr. Dilly, he ad

verts to the names of those friends who seem to have been the dearest of his latter years. Among these he mentions Mr. Rogers, and praises his elegance of manners, as well as his excellence of heart. How justly this commendation is bestowed, let those who know Mr. Rogers best, decide; but when his departed friend tells him that he possesses "the brightest genius," and that he is the author of "one of the most beautiful and harmonious poems in our language," I would entreat him accurately to weigh the import of these words before he believes in their application. Perhaps, however, this caution is unnecessary; perhaps he knows, as well as I do, that weakness which his friend had, of praising those he loved, with an exuberance of adulation which not even the tenderness of regard could justify; and he receives, perhaps, this tribute to his "genius,” as the benevolent effusion of a man who wrote from his heart rather than from his head.

I have read Mr. Rogers' poem on the “ Pleasures of Memory," but found few things in it that gave me pleasure to remember. It is smoothly versified, and contains, occasionally, some pleasing reflections; but this is all; and I do not think that even the influence of his " elegance of manners,' "excellence of heart," were I within the sphere of their operation, could induce me to consider it as one of the "most beautiful and harmonious poems in our language," while I retained

or

those pleasures of memory which the recollection of Milton, Dryden, Pope, Thomson, Goldsmith, and Akenside's works are so apt to produce.

I should be happy, however, to see the fantastical citation of Cumberland duly answered by Mr. Rogers. Let him "stand forth in the title page of some future work that shall be in substance greater, in dignity of subject more sublime, and in purity of versification," superior to his poem already mentioned, and I would be among the first to confess his "genius," and extend the knowledge of it as far as my praise could have any influence.

Another gentleman, to whom Cumberland pays a tribute of affection, is Mr. Sharpe, of Mark-lane. To him it seems the public are indebted for the suggestion of writing those Memoirs of which so much is already known. The original intention, however, was to have withheld them till after the death of Cumberland: but the embarrassment of his circumstances rendered it necessary to depart from this resolution; and he sold the copy-right of them to his publishers for 500l. The truth of this statement Cumberland attests upon the authority of the following lines, which he addressed to Mr. Sharpe, and which contain so honourable and affectionate a testimony of his worth and virtue, that I should not hold myself blameless if I suppressed them here.

"To Richard Sharpe, Esq. of Mark Lane. "If rime e'er spoke the language of the heart, Or truth employ'd the measur'd phrase of art, Believe me, Sharpe, this verse, which smoothly flows, Hath all the rough sincerity of prose.

False flattering words from eager lips may fly,

But who can pause to harmonise a lie?

Or e'er he made the jingling couplet chime,
Conscience would start and reprobate the rhyme.
If then 'twere merely to entrap your ear

I call'd you friend, and pledg'd myself sincere,
Genius would shudder at the base design,
And my hand tremble as I shap'd the line.
Poets oft times are tickled with a word,

That gaily glitters at the festive board,

And many a man, my judgment can't approve,
Hath trick'd my foolish fancy of its love;
For every foible natural to my race

Finds for a time with me some fleeting place;
But occupants so weak have no controul,
No fix'd and legal tenure in my soul,

Nor will my reason quit the faithful clue,
That points to truth, to virtue, and to you.

In the vicissitudes of life we find

Strange turns and twinings in the human mind,
And he, who seeks consistency of plan,

Is little vers'd in the great map of man;
The wider still the sphere in which we live,

The more our calls to suffer and forgive:
But from the hour (and many years are past)
From the first hour I knew you to the last,
Through every scene, self-center'd, and at rest,
Your steady character hath stood the test,
No rash conceits divert your solid thought,
By patience foster'd and with candour fraught;

Mild in opinion, but of soul sincere,

And only to the foes of truth severe,

So unobtrusive is your wisdom's tone,

Your converts hear, and fancy it their own,

With hand so fine you probe the festering mind,
You heal our wounds, and leave no sore behind.
Now say, my friend-but e'er you touch the task
Weigh well the burden of the boon I ask-
Say, when the pulses of this heart shall cease,
And my soul quits her cares to seek her peace,
Will your zeal prompt you to protect the name
Of one not totally unknown to fame ?

Will you, who only can the place supply
Of a lost son, befriend my progeny ?

For when the wreck goes down there will be found
Some remnants of the freight to float around,
Some that long time hath almost snatch'd from sight,
And more unseen, that struggle for the light;
And sure I am the stage will not refuse,
To lift her curtain for my widow'd Muse,
Nor will her hearers less indulgent be,

When that last curtain shall be dropt on me."

There are some good couplets in this extract, besides its general value as an authentic reference to a transaction intimately connected with the life of Cumberland.

To the melancholy request contained in these lines, Mr. Sharpe acceded, and to him were afterwards added, as co-adjutors in the office, Mr. Rogers and Sir James Bland Burges. The latter gentleman is very warmly commended by Mr. Cumberland, and his talents are eulogised with a degree of fervor amounting to enthusiasm. He was afterwards associated with his deceased friend, in the composition of the Exodiad, an epic poem.

"To these three friends," says Cumberland, "I devote this task, and upon their judgment I rely for the publication or suppression of what