To his Brother Samuel Date: LINCOLN COLLEGE, OXON, April 4, 1726 DEAR BROTHER, I should have written long before now, had not a gentleman of Exeter made me put it off from day to day, in hopes of getting some little poems of his, which he promised to write out for me. Yesterday I saw them, though not much to my satisfaction, as being all on very wrong subjects, and run chiefly on the romantic notions of love and gallantry. I have transcribed one which is much shorter than any of the rest, and am promised by to-morrow night, -if that will do me any service, another of a more serious nature. I believe I have given Mr. Leyborn at different times five or six short copies of verses: the latest were a translation of part of the Second Georgic and an imitation of the 65th. Psalm. If he has lost them, as it is likely he has in so long a time, I can write them over in less than an hour, and send them by the post. My father, very unexpectedly a week ago, sent me in a letter a bill on Dr. Morley John Morley, Rector of Lincoln College 1719-31. He held the living of Scotton, near Gainsborough. See Journal, iii. 511; and letter of Dec. 11, 1730. for twelve pounds, which he had paid to the Rector's use at Gainsborough; so that, now several of my debts are paid and the expenses of my treat defrayed, I have above ten pounds remaining; and if I could have leave to stay in the country till my College allowance commences, this money would abundantly suffice me till then. As far as I have ever observed, I never knew a college besides ours, whereof the members were so perfectly satisfied with one another and so inoffensive to the other part of the University. All I have yet seen of the Fellows are both well-natured and well-bred; men admirably disposed as well to preserve peace and good neighborhood among themselves, as to promote it wherever else they have any acquaintance. By a cool fountain's flow'ry side The fair Celinda lay; Her looks increased the summer's pride, Her eyes the blaze of day. Quick through the air to this retreat A bee industrious flew, Prepared to rifle every sweet

Under the balmy dew. Drawn by the fragrance of her breath, Her rosy lips he found; There in full transport sucked in death, And dropt upon the ground. Enjoy, blest bee, enjoy thy fate, Nor at thy fall repine; Each god would quit his blissful state, To share a death like thine. Priestley's Letters, p. 3.