He had a fine genius, with all its solitary feelings, but he was uneducated, and incompetent even to write a letter; yet on this occasion, relieved from his intense anxiety under so long a work, he wrote one of the most eloquent.

It is a document in the history of genius, and reveals all those feelings which are here too faintly described.[A] I once heard an amiable author, whose literary career has perhaps not answered the fond hopes of his youth, half in anger and in love, declare that he would retire to some solitude, where, if any one would follow him, he would found a new order--the order of THE DISAPPOINTED.
[Footnote A: "My DEAR FRIEND,--Your kindness in rejoicing so heartily at the birth of my picture has given me great satisfaction.
"There has been an anxiety labouring in my mind the greater part of the last twelvemonth.

At times it had nearly overwhelmed me.

I thought I should absolutely have sunk into despair.

O! what a kind friend is in those times! I thank God, whatever my picture may be, I can say thus much, I am a greater philosopher and a better Christian."] Thus the days of a man of genius are passed in labours as unremitting and exhausting as those of the artisan.