you value accompliſhments much too highly—they may give grace to virtue, but are nothing without ſolid worth. Indeed, I may ſay more, for any thing like perfection in the arts cannot be attained, where a reliſh, nay, a delight in what is true and noble is wanting. A ſuperficial obſerver may be pleaſed with a picture in which fine colours predominate; and quick movements in muſic may tickle the ear, though they never reach the heart: but it is the ſimple ſtrain which affection animates, that we liſten to with intereſt and delight. Mr. Trueman has a taſte for the fine arts; and I wiſh in every thing to be his companion. His converſation has improved my judgment, and the affection an intimate knowledge of his virtues has inſpired, increaſes the love which I feel for the whole human race. He lives retired from the world; to amuſe him after the buſineſs of the day is over, and my babes aſleep, I ſing to him. A deſire to pleaſe, and the pleaſure I read in his eyes, give to my muſic energy and tenderneſs. When he is ruffled by
