Confession," had already been represented at Drury Lane; and in 1815 a second corrected edition of "The Georgics, with Notes," appeared.

Although Mr. Sotheby had the misfortune of losing several children in their infancy and early youth, yet a far more severe affliction now befell him in the loss of his eldest son, William, a Colonel in the first regiment of Guards, most highly esteemed and beloved by his brother officers, and distinguished among his friends by his poetical taste and elegant acquirements, who died in London on the 1st of August, 1815, after a lingering illness brought on by the fatigues of the Spanish and Walcheren campaigns.

This melancholy event retarded a plan of visiting Italy, which Mr. Sotheby had formed on the first opening of the Continent. But in May, 1816, he was enabled to quit England; and, accompanied by his family, passed eighteen months in travelling through France, Switzerland, and Italy, returning by Germany. The varied interests of this tour were much enhanced by the enlightened philosophy of Professor Playfair, and the extensive learning of Mr. Elmsley, in whose society he was fortunate enough to visit many of the most remarkable places on the Continent.

It may easily be imagined that, to a mind like his, the recollection of such scenes could not fail to call forth corresponding expressions, and this tour gave rise to a series of poems, many of which were composed on the spot, or addressed to some of the celebrated individuals with whom he associated during his travels; but, owing to a variety of circumstances, they were not published till some years after, under the title of "Italy." In these poems may be traced the delight experienced by the translator of the Georgics, in the realisation of those images on which his thoughts had dwelt, and which his pen had endeavoured to embody.

Among several remaining manuscripts, the following lines, addressed to Mr. Elmsley, have been selected. They relate not only to his well-known classical attainments, but to that kindness of heart which prompted him to return to the little

village of Schwabhausen, in Bavaria, having heard that Mr. Sotheby was detained there by the dangerous illness of his wife.

TO THE REV. PETER ELMSLEY.

Elmsley with thy lone hour the Grecian muse
Holds nightly commerce, and to Isis' shore
Brings the fair fruits the groves of Athens bore,
When Plato, nurtured with Castalian dews,
The bloom of fancy gave to moral truth;
And now she leads her Bacchic choir along,
To thee, forth pouring the full tide of song;
All, daring Æschylus in fire of youth
Fear'd not to utter! All of truer tone-
More artful harmony that sweetly floats,
Tempering the swell of Sophoclean notes,—
To thee the strains where nature speaks alone
And language breathes the echo of the heart
When He, whom fancy, love, and pity crown'd,
Drew from his chord each passion's simple sound :
These all are thine! These to the world impart,
But be it mine in this sequester'd bower,
Here as I turn the page of memory o'er,
To dwell on deeds untaught by classic lore,
And back recall thy kindness at that hour
When, as the rumour reach'd thy distant way,
That misery had sore bow'd us, thou wert seen —
As though thy foot had never absent been
Seen at our side, commission'd to allay

That agony whose utterance had no tongue;
And when methought o'er death we hopeless hung,
Thy look, thy word, thy faith, forbade despair,

And grief found language when a friend wept there.

Mr. Sotheby returned from the Continent at the close of 1817, and resumed his usual station in the midst of a varied and increasing society; but the spring of the following year was most deeply saddened by the intelligence of the death of his third son, George. He was assistant resident at Nagpore, in the East Indies, when that fort was attacked by a numerous body of Pindarries the assailants were defeated, but not without the loss of some valuable lives on the part of the garrison; among whom the assistant resident, ever foremost, from the boldness and ardour of his character, fell in the moment of victory: he died on the 27th day of November, 1817, in the 30th year of his age. "In him not only his family but his

country lost one who gave the highest promise of future excellence. He brought to India the most valuable knowledge of the West, to which he added oriental acquirements, fitting him alike for learning or for business: he was loved and respected by those whose friendship is honourable, and was ever deemed worthy of higher offices than as yet he had filled." These are the expressions of Sir James Mackintosh, with whom Mr. George Sotheby passed many months on his first arrival in India, and who was well acquainted with the worth of his character.

The following extract from a letter addressed by Mr. Sotheby to his long attached friend, Mrs. Joanna Baillie, will, in some measure, express a father's feelings on this most unlooked-for and severe calamity: :

*

*

"Bitter, indeed, has been this blow, and scarcely alleviated by the momentary glory of his noble death. At present the consideration of a life voluntarily sacrificed to the public service does but deepen our affliction by enhancing the value of our loss. Great natural abilities most rare attainments and confirmed reputation, extinct at one blow! We have lost one whose kindness would have soothed the infirmities, and whose reputation would have gratified the pardonable pride, of advancing years."

(Dated) "Fair-mead Lodge, May, 1818."

That this and subsequent afflictions were most deeply felt, no one who knew the warmth of his affection for his family, or who has read the poem entitled "Retrospect," in which many of the domestic events of his life are reverted to, in lines full of pathos and deep feeling, can for an instant doubt; but his entire resignation to the will of Providence, and a natural buoyancy of disposition, enabled him, after a time, to resume his ordinary avocations. He continued to

* See the volume of poems called "Italy," published in 1828.

pass his winters in London, and his summers at Epping Forest, where he still unremittingly devoted his mornings to literary occupations, and was in the habit of composing and translating during his long forest walks, to which he makes frequent allusions in many of his poems: but he now no longer lived in the retirement of his earlier years; for he delighted in seeing himself surrounded by the various remaining branches of his family, and by his most intimate friends. The pleasure he derived from their visits to this favourite residence must ever be remembered by those who partook of his cordial hospitality; and it was delightful to witness the cheerful kindness with which he promoted the amusements of the young. He was now principally employed in revising his translation of the Georgics, and preparing for the press a folio edition, published in 1827, containing the original text, and the translations of De Lille, Soave, Guzman, and Voss, together with his own.

Though neither panegyric nor critical adjudication is the object of these few pages, it cannot be improper to say, that, in the opinion of most critics, Mr. Sotheby has excelled, upon a general comparison, both Dryden` and Warton, his English precursors; and may be deemed no unequal competitor of De Lille. This Hexaglott is also extremely interesting in a philological point of view, as exhibiting the capabilities of the modern languages in adapting themselves to an ancient prototype.

He presented copies of this edition to several European sovereigns, and received from the Emperor of Austria and King of Prussia gold medals, and one of silver from the late Pope Pius VIII.; his Majesty the King of Naples also sent him a splendid volume, entitled "Gli adornati di Pompei."

In 1827 an additional blow was given to his parental feelings by the death of another much-loved son, Hans, who had also been in the civil service of India. He died in London on the 27th of April in that year, after an illness of only three days, leaving a widow and posthumous son to lament their untimely loss.

It was but a few months previous to this heavy affliction that his increased love of literature and unabated energy of character induced him, at so late a period of life (for he was now in his seventieth year), to undertake a labour he had long contemplated—the translation of the Iliad and Odyssey. He continued this work with keener pleasure as he proceeded, completing daily a portion of his delightful task, uninterrupted even by a tour to the North, in the summer and autumn of 1829; in the course of which he made his longpromised and highly-enjoyed visit to Sir Walter Scott, at Abbotsford; and while in Scotland had not only the gratification of meeting many of the celebrated individuals of that learned country, but of being warmly welcomed by the children* and grandchildren + of those with whom he had passed some of his earliest and pleasantest days.

The stanzas composed on board the steam-boat, during an excursion to Staffa and Iona, will show that he had lost little of his former spirit:

STAFFA AND IONA.

Staffa, I scaled thy summit hoar,

I pass'd beneath thy arch gigantic,
Whose pillar'd cavern swells the roar,
When thunders on thy rocky shore
The roll of the Atlantic.

That hour the wind forgot to rave,

The surge forgot its motion,

And every pillar in thy cave

Slept in its shadow on the wave,
Unrippled by the ocean.

Then the past age before me came,

When, mid the lightning's sweep,

Thy isle with its basaltic frame,

And every column wreath'd with flame,
Burst from the boiling deep.

* The Earl of Wemyss, at Gossford, near Edinburgh.
Mr. and the late Lady Ellinor Campbell of Islay.