are, I am told, to be engraved anew. The difference, indeed, between the proofs and the ordinary prints is inconceivable—a not unusual trick with London engravers; and this may, I doubt not, have depreciated the work.
Respecting the Milton to be chosen, you leave me undecided, and your brother is not in town. Milton does not seem to me a bad subject for prints, though, indeed, a very difficult one. The Paradisaic scenes most certainly give the fullest scope to the genius of the landscape painter, and the figures, though but two, might be beautifully varied. Heaven and hell might also produce incomparable pictures, but the genius of the artist must be in some degree analogous to that of the poet, a coincidence, I confess, not easily to be found. Dramatick poetry is, however, far better fitted for picturesque representation than the epodée, since the peculiar business of the former is to speak to the eye as well as to the ear, and every scene ought in effect to be a picture. . . . . I have procured here the Loves of the Plants; but your having procured it for me in London will be of no consequence, as I can easily get rid of that I had. The East India books will be highly acceptable, and I wish to have them as soon as may be.
Three other letters from him to the same friend touch upon Royal Irish Academy matters, book auctions, prices, Bibliotheca of Fabricius, Asiatic Researches, Institutions of Timour, Boydell's Shakspeare, and the question “What are these Miltons? Which is the best?” The amiable writer, as usual, makes numberless apologies for occupying his correspondent's time; but invariably concludes by adding to the tax. It was the happy spirit of two good-natured men anxious to please and be pleased with each other.
Occasional correspondents also from Dublin amused him with lighter topics of the day. Among these was Mr. K. M. Jephson, nephew of the drama-
