evolvens, donum vestrum,
carissime Cary, pro quo gratias agimus, lecturi atque iterum lecturi
idem. Pergratus est liber ambobus, nempe "Sacerdotis Commiserationis,"
sacrum opus a te ipso Humanissimae Religionis Sacerdote dono datum.
Lachrymantes gavisuri sumus; est ubi dolor fiat voluptas; nee semper
dulce mihi est ridere; aliquando commutandum est he! he! he! cum heu!
heu! heu!

A Musis Tragicis me non penitus abhorruisse lestis sit Carmen
Calamitosum, nescio quo autore lingua prius vernaculi scriptum, et
nuperrime a me ipso Latine versum, scilicet, "Tom Tom of Islington."
Tenuistine?

"Thomas Thomas de Islington,
Uxorem duxit Die quadam Solis,
Abduxit domum sequenti die,
Emit baculum subsequenti,
Vapulat ilia postera,
Aegrotat succedenti, Mortua fit crastina."

Et miro gaudio afficitur Thomas luce postera quod subsequenti (nempe,
Dominica) uxor sit efferenda.

"En Iliades Domesticas!
En circulum calamitatum!
Plane hebdomadalem tragoediam."

I nunc et confer Euripiden vestrum his luctibus, hac morte uxoria;
confer Alcesten! Hecuben! quasnon antiquas Heroinas Dolorosas.

Suffundor genas lachrymis, tantas strages revolvens. Quid restat nisi
quod Tecum Tuam Caram salutamus ambosque valere jubeamus, nosmet ipsi
bene valentes. ELIA.

[Mr. Stephen Gwynn gives me the following translation:--

Sitting by me is my good sister, turning over Euripides, your gift,
dear Cary [a pun here, "carissime care"], for which we thank you,
and will read and re-read it. Most acceptable to both of us is this
book of "Pity's Priest," a sacred work of your bestowing, yourself a
priest of the most humane Religion. We shall take our pleasure
weeping; there are times when pain turns pleasure, and I would not
always be laughing: sometimes there should be a change--_heu heu!_
for _he! he!_

That I have not shrunk from the Tragic Muses, witness this
Lamentable Ballad, first written in the vernacular by I know not
what author and lately by myself put into Latin T. T. of Islington.
Have you heard it? (_See translation of preceding letter_.)

And Thomas is possessed with a wondrous joy on the following
morning, because on the next day, that is, Sunday, his wife must be
buried.

Lo, your domestic Iliads!
Lo, the wheel of Calamities
The true tragedy of a week.

Go to now, com