"Essay on St. Paul," &c. &c. is translated and about to be published in the Tamul and Cingalese, partly on paper, partly on palm-leaves, and that he proposes to publish most of my writings in all such of the country languages as are generally understood throughout India. Forgive this egotism. I agree with you, my dear sir, that the Epistle of St. James has left a subject for a fine practical commentary. Why don't you take it up yourself? It is worthy of you, and would be peculiarly in your own way. You would not only treat it morally, but holily. I want to see St. Peter also taken up in a new way. It may sound odd to use that term, but I can not help calling his a character almost dramatic; his warm affections, his undoubting confidence, his repeated falls, his fervid repentance, the forwardness of his feelings, the failure of his resolutions, the inconceivably piercing look cast upon him by his Divine Master, the consolatory message, not sent to the beloved John, but to the swearing, protesting denier, the "Go, tell Peter!" How touching are all these particulars! When I was very young, and learning Spanish, I translated a little poem, called "Las Lagrimas de San Pedro." I have lost the translation, and know not where I found the original. Dear Mr. Jebb kindly sent me his valuable Dublin Sermon; but continual interruptions, and the dry and insipid task of oonverting commas into colons, and turning topsy-turvy letters upright, through (I blush to say it) eighteen volumes, for a new general edition, has made me very deficient in the pleasant duties of friendship. We were delighted with a short visit from him and his very interesting friend Forster, who revived a little my long-forgotten delight in the Tuscan muse. When you see my favourite Robert Daly, assure him of my kind remembrance. I had a message from Judge Daly and his nieces, declaring an intention to visit us, before my illness, but I have not yet seen them. I say the less about because I trust she will go halves in this ill-written scrawl. As long as I shall remember anything, I shall remember her virtues and her kindness; I shall love her general goodness and her particular goodness to me. I can not say all I think of and feel for her. Adieu, my dear sir; with my sister's best regards, believe me ever, Your faithful and obliged P. S. I venture to send you an epitaph, written for the daughter of a dear friend, though it is not worth your reading: but Mrs. L. will tolerate it; it is meant for her. EPITAPH ON MISS G (AGED EIGHTEEN.) So fair, so young, so gentle, so sincere, From Mrs. H. More to Sir W. Pepys. MY DEAR FRIEND, Barley Wood, 1818. YOUR very kind, too kind letter was brought me while at dinner with Mr. Inglis and his family: with him I had the satisfaction to converse on your subject. And now what shall I say to you for the instance you are giving of your Christian philanthropy? I cheerfully and thankfully accept the offer of your munificent bounty, which will very greatly enlarge my sphere of usefulness at the approaching dreary but joyful season, when He "who for our sakes became poor, that we through him might become rich," visited this our world, and left us his divine example, that we should in our low measure and degree (as occasions are put into our power) administer to the bodily and spiritual wants of our fellow-creatures. I have been in the habit of giving a small assist ance to the orphan sons of two deceased friends, youths of great merit, but slender means, who are just now (with a little help from friends) gone to college, and are in want of books. I hope you will not think it a departure from your benevolent intentions, if I expend a very few pounds in proper books for them; I have done it for several years, and can now, through your bounty, make a small addition to this year's gift. One of them was son of an officer, the other of a clergyman, whose library was sold; both of distinguished worth. I only give about five pounds' worth. You will have the goodness to order your generous benefaction to be paid at Messrs. Pole, Thorn. ton & Co.'s bank, with directions to send it to Messrs. Wright & Co., bankers, in Bristol, for me. You will cause many a widow's heart to sing for joy-melody which will reach higher than that of Catalani or Miss Stephens. I thank God, that through his mercy I am nearly restored to my usual moderate state of health, and should be much better if I could contrive to see less company. Since my recovery, however, I have seen several interesting strangers, from whom one gets surer information than from books: yesterday, Sir Nicholas Trant and his daughter, the former just returned from the Brazils, and from much conference with the king, of whose natural understanding he speaks well, but he is very ignorant. I have had more intercourse with Sir Alexander Johnstone, Chief-Justice at Ceylon, and have been writing some verses, (which are worthy of the bellman,) and which are translating into the Cingalese, by two priests he brought over here, to celebrate an annual festival in Ceylon, on the abolition of slavery for all who are born since the year 1816. We had a few days ago a visit from the two interesting and very sensible Persians, who have been studying the literature, arts, and sciences of this country, and are returning home with great acquisitions of knowledge. I never saw any Asia. tics before who had energy, spirit, or curiosity; these are all alive. In my garden is an urn to the memory of Locke, who was born in our village; when they saw it, they exclaimed in rapture, "What! Locke the metaphysician!" They go to our different places of worship, attend Bible and other public meetings, and seem to have fewer prejudices against Christianity than you would suppose. They particularly admire Job and Isaiah, and those parts of the Old Testament which have most orientalism. Their figures and costume are striking, their manners very genteel. I was amused to see the Mahometans drink a little wine. The most literary of the two wished to have something of mine as a memento. I gave him "Practical Piety," which he said he would translate when he got home. Here, you will say, is sufficient ego tism. This has been written some days, but the illness of my sister has hindered my finishing it. Accept my most cordial wishes that you and your beloved family may enjoy all the benefits and consolations of the gracious and hallowed season we are about to commemorate. With my best regards to Lady Pepys, I remain, my dear Sir William, Your ever faithful and obliged friend, H. MORE. Mrs. H. More to Mr. Wilberforce. MY DEAR FRIEND, Barley Wood, 1816, I was glad to receive even your promissory note, though it was not followed by the prompt payment it announced. I do not mean your half bank-note of 50l. which came safe, but your letter. The papers told us of-not your honours-but those of the regent for surely he never did himself so much credit as in seeking your society; and though it does you no good, yet it will do good in too many ways for me to specify. I have been ill since my last attack of fever, my nights being not only wakeful, but harassing and |