"Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle, Whether, by Merlin's aid, from Scythia's shore To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore, Huge frame of giant hands, the mighty pile, T'entomb his Britons slain by Hengist's guile: Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore, Taught mid thy massy maze their mystic lore: Or Danish chiefs, enrich'd with savage spoil, To victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine, Rear'd the rude heap, or in thy hallow'd ground Repose the kings of Brutus' genuine line; Or here those kings in solemn state were crown'd; Studious to trace thy wondrous origin, We muse on many an ancient tale renown'd." Nothing can be more admirable than the learning here displayed, or the inference from it, that it is of no use but as it leads to interesting thought and reflection. That written after seeing Wilton House is in the same style, but I prefer concluding with that to the river Lodon, which has a personal as well as poetical interest about it. "Ah! what a weary race my feet have run, Since first I trod thy banks with alders crown'd, And thought my way was all through fairy ground, Beneath the azure sky and golden sun: When first my Muse to lisp her notes begun! While pensive memory traces back the round Which fills the varied interval between; Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene.-- Sweet native stream! those skies and suns so pure No more return, to cheer my evening road! Yet still one joy remains, that not obscure Nor useless, all my vacant days have flow'd From youth's gay dawn to manhood's prime mature, Nor with the Muse's laurel unbestow'd." I have thus gone through all the names of this period I could think of, but I find that there are others still waiting behind that I had never thought of. Here is a list of some of them--Pattison, Tickell, Hill, Somerville, Browne, Pitt, Wilkie, Dodsley, Shaw, Smart, Langhorne, Bruce, Greame, Glover, Lovibond, Penrose, Mickle, Jago, Scott, Whitehead, Jenyns, Logan, Cotton, Cunningham, and Blacklock.--I think it will be best to let them pass and say nothing about them. It will be hard to persuade so many respectable persons that they are dull writers, and if we give them any praise, they will send others. But here comes one whose claims cannot be so easily set aside: they have been sanctioned by learning, hailed by genius, and hallowed by misfortune--I mean Chatterton. Yet I must say what I think of him, and that is not what is generally thought. I pass over the disputes between the learned antiquaries, Dr. Mills, Herbert Croft, and Dr. Knox, whether he was to be placed after Shakspeare and Dryden, or to come after Shakspeare alone. A living poet has borne a better testimony to him--