as children carry to the school: when his friend took it into his hand, out of curiosity to see what companion a man of letters had chosen, 'I have but one book,' said Collins, 'but that is the best.'"
To this circumstance Hayley beautifully alludes in his epitaph on him:
Sought on one book his troubled mind to rest,
And rightly deem'd the Book of God the best."
A journey to Bath proved as useless as the one to France; and in 1754, he went to Oxford for change of air and amusement, where he stayed a month. It was on this occasion that a friend, whose account of him will be given at length, saw him in a distressing state of restraint under the walls of Merton College. From the paucity of information respecting Collins, the following letters are extremely valuable; and though the statements are those of his friends, they may be received without suspicion of partiality, because they are free from the high colouring by which friendship sometimes perverts truth.
The first of the letters in question was printed in the Gentleman's Magazine:
"Jan. 20, 1781.
"Mr. Urban,
"William Collins, the poet, I was intimately acquainted with, from the time that he came to reside at Oxford. He was the son of a trades-
