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From kindred cocks, when robb'd of life,
How wide the fate we boast!
Their chisel is the carving-knife,
Their bed, a bed of toast;
Whilst Chantrey's hand, by which we fell,
Of magic power possessed,
Bids us—our wondrous tale to tell—
On marble bed to rest.
These are pleasant and humorous.
In sport immortal as in art,
Chantrey is gifted to outgo
All others; 'tis his happy part
To double all that they can do.
I was told that these last verses were pronounced very good by a company of Cantabs at
Sir Francis Chantrey's table.
I am not of that opinion.
I hope these may please you and my friends, particularly
Felton, as much as they have me; though, perhaps, they strike me more as I am on the spot of the achievement, and in view of the marble tablet.
As I have walked down that glorious gallery and suite of apartments, and looked on the lifelike marble and the breathing canvas, I have had you in my mind, and observed for you,—‘spirits twain have passed with me.’
The term is commencing at Westminster Hall, and I must renounce these things to plunge again into the haunts of the law. I go to
London to-morrow, leaving a most brilliant company which is now assembling at this favored seat.
As ever, affectionately yours,
P. S. I hope
Felton did not burn my letter recounting my
Guy Mannering adventures in the Highlands before you read it. I think William Story will be pleased by this woodcock episode.
's Woodcocks,’ p. 37:—
