ies: I knew that they were numerous, and that I had need of
some friendly eye to point them out, and some judicious hand to rectify
or remove them: but for these as well as every thing else, I looked to
Mr. Cookesley, and that worthy man, with his usual alacrity of kindness,
undertook the laborious task of revising the whole translation. My
friend was no great Latinist, perhaps I was the better of the two; but
he had taste and judgment, which I wanted. What advantage might have
been ultimately derived from them, there was unhappily no opportunity of
ascertaining, as it pleased the Almighty to call him to himself by a
sudden death, before he had quite finished the first Satire. He died
with a letter of mine unopened in his hands.

This event, which took place on the 15th of January, 1781, afflicted me
beyond measure.[F] I was not only deprived of a most faithful and
affectionate friend, but of a zealous and ever-active protector, on whom
I confidently relied for support: the sums that were still necessary for
me, he always collected; and it was feared that the assistance which was
not solicited with warmth, would insensibly cease to be afforded.

In many instances this was actually the case; the desertion, however,
was not general; and I was encouraged to hope, by the unexpected
friendship, of Servington Savery, a gentleman who voluntarily stood
forth as my patron, and watched over my interests with kindness and
attention.

Some time before Mr. Cookesley's death, we had agreed that it would be
proper to deliver out with the terms of subscription, a specimen of the
manner in which the translation was executed:[G] to obviate any idea of
selection, a sheet was accordingly taken from the beginning of the first
Satire. My friend died while it was in the press.

After a few melancholy weeks, I resumed the translation; but found
myself utterly incapable of proceeding. I had been accustomed to connect
Mr. Cookesley's name with every part of it, and I laboured with such
delight in the hope of giving him pleasure, that now, when he appeared
to have left me in the midst of my enterprise, and I was abandoned to my
own efforts, I seemed to be engaged in a hopeless struggle, without
motive or end: and his idea, which was perpetually recurring to me,
brought such bitter anguish with it, that I shut up the work with
feelings bordering on distraction.

To relieve my mind, I had recourse to other pursuits. I endeavoured to
become mor