merits of his book, and giving him the encouragement and advice
which none was ever more ready or more able to bestow. Thus, an act
of cruel folly proved in its consequences the most beneficial of
the Poet's life. His spirits were invigorated by this considerate
kindness, and his feelings were expressed in glowing terms:

"I dare not say all I feel respecting your opinion of my little
volume. The extreme acrimony with which the Monthly Review (of all
others the most important) treated me, threw me into a state of
stupefaction. I regarded all that had passed as a dream, and I
thought I had been deluding myself into an idea of possessing
poetic genius, when, in fact, I had only the longing, without the
_afflatus._ I mustered resolution enough, however, to write
spiritedly to them: their answer, in the ensuing number, was a
tacit acknowledgment that they had been somewhat too unsparing in
their correction. It was a poor attempt to salve over a wound
wantonly and most ungenerously inflicted. Still I was damped,
because I knew the work was very respectable; and therefore could
not, I concluded, give a criticism grossly deficient in equity,
the more especially, as I knew of no sort of inducement to
extraordinary severity. Your letter, however, has revived me, and
I do again venture to hope that I may still produce something
which will survive me. With regard to your advice and offers of
assistance, I will not attempt, because I am unable, to thank you
for them. To-morrow morning I depart for Cambridge; and I have
considerable hopes that, as I do not enter into the University
with any sinister or interested views, but sincerely desire to
perform the duties of an affectionate and vigilant pastor, and
become more useful to mankind; I therefore have hopes, I say, that
I shall find means of support in the University. If I do not, I