336 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



" You must not, you caunot leave your work incomplete. How 

 resist the night expedition of Diomede and Ulysses ? — Hector 

 bursting the rampart — Juno and the Cestus — Hector rushing on, 

 like the stalled horse snapping the cord — The death of Sarpedon — 

 The consternation of the Trojans at the mere appearance of the 

 armed Achilles — The Vulcanian armor — Achilles mourning over 

 Patroclus — The conclusion of the twentieth book — The lamenta- 

 tions of Priam, and Hecuba, and, above all, of Andromache — Priam 

 at the feet of Achilles — Andromache's lamentation, and Helen's 

 (oh, that lovely Helen !) over the corse of Hector — can these and 

 innumerable other passages be resisted by the poet of the ' City of 

 the Plague ?' No, no, no. 



" In sooth, I must say, I had hope that at Christmas I might have 

 collected, and printed for private distribution, or, far rather, pub- 

 lished, for public delight and benefit, with your express permission, 

 the several critiques in one body, and then presented to the world 

 a work of criticism unparalleled. 



" I dine this day at Lockhart's, with my old and dear friend, Sir 

 Walter. His health has improved since his arrival. Perhaps your 

 cheeks may burn. I beg the favor of hearing from you. I remain, 

 my dear sir, most sincerely yours, Wm. Sotheby."* 



Miss Watson, the writer of the following letter, was a lady whose 

 name can scarcely be permitted to pass without some notice. She 

 was eldest daughter of the Bishop of Llandaff, and a woman of high 

 mental attainments. When my father resided as a young man in 

 Westmoreland, she was then in the flower of her age, and in con- 

 stant communion with the bright spirits who at that time made the 

 Lake country so celebrated. Mr. De Quincey, in writing of Charles 

 Lloyd, and mentioning Miss Watson as his friend, says she " was an 

 accomplished student in that very department of literature which 

 he most cultivated, namely, all that class of works which deal in the 

 analysis of human passions. That they corresponded in French, 

 that the letters on both sides were full of spirit and originality." 

 Miss Watson's life, with all the advantages which arise from a 

 highly endowed nature, was but a sad one, for her temperament was 

 habitually melancholy, and her health delicate. She has long since 

 found repose. The speech winch she alludes to in her letter, was 



* William Sotheby, born November 9, 1757; died December 30, 1833. 



