quently at his hands for literary information and opinions, and their correspondence continued, though often with long intervals, till nearly the close of life. Just at this period he had quitted his charge on a visit to the paternal abode near Chester, whence he thus writes:—
It is time, my good friend, to thank you for your last letter, which I received some weeks before I left Ireland. You will be surprised to hear that I am still in the same kingdom with you. I am sorry to think, however, that I am not likely to receive much pleasure from diminution of the distance between us. We are still too remote to render a meeting very practicable, unless my stay here were longer than I believe it can be. Three months, I fear, will be the utmost that prudence will allow me to enjoy the beauties of the scene before me.
I committed my flock at Rockfort to the care of a temporary curate, and sailed from Cork to Bristol about three weeks ago. I devoted a few days to the Hotwell; a few more to Bath and its purlieus; took a most delightful tour through Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, and Shropshire; and am now arrived at my father's, where I want nothing to brighten my happiness except the addition of my friends Edmond and Southwell to my party.
Were it not inconsistent with your present pursuits, how glad should I be to have your company whilst I remain here. I would venture to pronounce that the situation of this place would inspire you with that exalted enthusiasm that a fine rural scene so naturally suggests. But you have been so long an Englishman, that the hanging grove, the open lawn, the winding river, the distant sea, are objects that, perhaps, from their frequency, have lost their force upon you.
To me, who have come from an uncultivated world, where rude nature reigns without a rival, each minutest beauty is so far from being lost, that I often fancy I view everything