Widow's tale is too horrible, spite of the lenitives of
Religion, to embody in verse: I hold prose to be the appropriate
expositor of such atrocities! No offence, but it is a cordial that makes
the heart sick. Still thy skill in compounding it I not deny. I turn to
what gave me less mingled pleasure. I find markd with pencil these pages
in thy pretty book, and fear I have been penurious.

page 52, 53 capital.
page 59 6th stanza exquisite simile.
page 61 11th stanza equally good.
page 108 3d stanza, I long to see van Balen.
page 111 a downright good sonnet. _Dixi_.
page 153 Lines at the bottom.

So you see, I read, hear, and _mark_, if I don't learn--In short this
little volume is no discredit to any of your former, and betrays none of
the Senility you fear about. Apropos of Van Balen, an artist who painted
me lately had painted a Blackamoor praying, and not filling his canvas,
stuff'd in his little girl aside of Blacky, gaping at him unmeaningly;
and then didn't know what to call it. Now for a picture to be promoted
to the Exhibition (Suffolk Street) as HISTORICAL, a subject is
requisite. What does me? I but christen it the "Young Catechist" and
furbishd it with Dialogue following, which dubb'd it an Historical
Painting. Nothing to a friend at need.

While this tawny Ethiop prayeth,
Painter, who is She that stayeth
By, with skin of whitest lustre;
Sunny locks, a shining cluster;
Saintlike seeming to direct him
To the Power that must protect him?
Is she of the heav'nborn Three,
Meek Hope, strong Faith, sweet Charity?
Or some Cherub?

They you mention
Far transcend my weak invention.
'Tis a simple Christian child,
Missionary young and mild,
From her store of script'ral knowledge
(Bible-taught without a college)
Which by reading she could gather,
Teaches him to say OUR FATHER
To the common Parent, who
Colour not respects nor hue.
White and Black in him have part,
Who looks not to the skin, but heart.--

When I'd done it, the Artist (who had clapt in Miss merely as a
fill-space) swore I exprest his full meaning, and the damosel bridled up
into a Missionary's vanity. I like verses to explain Pictures: seldom
Pictures to illustrate Poems. Your wood cut is a rueful Lignum Mortis.
By the by,