MARWNAD LEWIS MORRIS.
WORTHY Sir,[1]—It was but a fortnight go that I heard the melancholy news of your brother's death, which you may be assured was very grievous to me on many accounts, as I have lost a very valuable friend as well as a curious correspondent, and an encourager of my researches into the history of Britain, and everything else that related to the honour of our country and the support of its language. I have, indeed, myself been so far out of order this last winter, by the gravel, and a grievous nervous headache and fever, that I was in doubt whether I should see another summer; but blessed be God, I am now pretty well recovered. I hope you enjoy perfect health, the greatest blessing, next God's grace, under heaven.
Inclosed I send an Elegy upon your brother, as a token of the great regard I had for him. This, as you will see by the motto, is the last piece of poetry I shall in all probability ever compose. My attention is at present fixed upon things of more serious nature, though at the same time, the history of our ancestors, and due regard to its Bards, shall never be out of date with me while I breathe; but I have no encouragers of these studies after your brother, and indeed, but very few competent judges of them. But when I seriously con-
- ↑ Mr. Richard Morris.