Everard Horne Coleman.
"Whene'er I asked."—I shall be very glad to know the author and the exact whereabouts of the following lines, which I find quoted in a MS. letter written from London to America, and dated 22nd October, 1767:
"Whene'er I ask'd for blessings on your head,
Nothing was cold or formal that I said;
My warmest vows to Heaven were made for thee,
And love still mingled with my piety."
W. B. R.
Philadelphia, U. S.
Immoral Works.—What ought to be done with works of this class? It is easy to answer, "destroy them:" but you and I know, and Mr. Macaulay has acknowledged, that it is often necessary to rake into the filthiest channels for historical and biographical evidence. I, personally, doubt whether we are justified in destroying any evidence, however loathsome and offensive it may be. What, then, are we to do with it? It is impossible to keep such works in a private library, even under lock and key, for death opens locks more certainly than Mr. Hobbs himself. I think such ought to be preserved in the British Museum, entered in its catalogue, but only permitted to be seen on good reasons formally assigned in writing, and not then allowed to pass into the reading-room. What is the rule at the Museum?
I ask these questions because I have, by accident, become possessed of a poem (about 1500 lines) which professes to be written by Lord Byron, is addressed to Thomas Moore, and was printed abroad many years since. It begins,—