d Lord Pomfret nor himself enough;
two worthy people, who, in my opinion, deserve it. But at last, we come
to the poems themselves: and here I might indulge myself in warm and
indiscriminate applause; but let it be my ambition to trace Mr. Derrick
step by step through his wonderful work; let me pry both into the
kitchen and dining-room of his genius, to use the comparison of the
great Mr. Boyle. The first lines, or the exordium of the battle of Lora,
are calmly sublime, and refined with simplicity. In the eighth line, our
author gives the epithet of posting to the wind, which is very
beautiful: however, to make it natural, it ought to be applied, in
poetical justice, to that wind which wafts a packet-boat. I had almost
forgot, the sixth line says, "the voice of songs, a tuneful voice I
hear." Now, I should be glad to know, whether these same songs be a man
or a woman. Lines 23 and 24.

"In secret round they glanc'd their kindled eyes,
Their indignation spoke in bursting sighs."

It seems to me improbable, that a pair of kindled eyes could glance in
secret; and I cannot think that sighs are the language of indignation.
Lines 57, 58, 59.

"So on the settled sea blue mists arise,
In vapory volumes darkening to the skies,
They glitter in the sun."

These mists that glitter and are dark at the same time, are very
extraordinary, and the contrast is lovely and new. Line 67th
begins--"His post is terror."--This is a post, that, I believe, none of
our members of Parliament would accept. Lines 175, 176,

"An hundred steeds he gives that own the rein,
Never a swifter race devour'd the plain."

Devoured the plain! if this is not sublime, then am I no critic;
however, its lucky for the landed interest, that the breed of those
horses is lost; they might do very well, I confess, in the Highlands of
Scotland; but a dozen of them turned loose near Salisbury would be
inconceivably hurtful. I'm tired of this stuff; if you think it worth
the while you may end it and send it to Derrick; but let your part be
better than mine, or it won't do. "Grief for thy loss drank all my
vitals dry"--I laughed heartily at that line.

In this letter I have bestowed my dulness[53] freely upon you; you have
had my wit, and you must take my stupidity into the bargain; as when we
go to the market, we purchase bones as well as beef; and when we marry
an heiress, we are obliged to take the woman as well as the money; a