recovery; a theme that might make a bad poet a good one, and a good one excel himself. This, too, you shall see when we meet, unless it should bounce upon you before, from some periodical register of all such matters. I shall commission my cousin, who lately left us, to procure for me the book you mention. Being, and having long been, so deep in the business of translation, it was natural that I should have many thoughts on that subject. I have accordingly had as many as would of themselves, perhaps, make a volume, and shall be glad to compare them with those of any other writer recommended by Mr. Martyn. When you write next to that gentleman, I beg you, madam, to present my compliments to him, with thanks both for the mention of Mr. Twining's* book, and for the honor of his name among my subscribers. The Lodge, April 22, 1789. My dear Madam,-Having waited hitherto in expectation of the messenger whom, in your last, you mentioned a design to send, I have at length sagaciously surmised that you delay to send him, in expectation of hearing first from me. I would that his errand hither were better worthy the journey. I shall have no very voluminous packet to charge him with when he comes. Such, however, as it is, it is ready; and has received an addition in the interim of one copy, which would not have made a part of it, had your Mercury arrived here sooner. It is on the subject of the Queen's visit to London on the night of the illuminations. Mrs. Unwin, knowing the burden that lies on my back too heavy for any but Atlantean shoulders, has kindly performed the copyist's part, and transcribed all that I had to send you. Observe, madam, I do not write this to hasten your messenger hither, but merely to account for my own silence. It is probable that the later he arrives, the more he will receive when he comes; for I never fail to write when I think I have found a favorable subject.1 We mourn that we must give up the hope of seeing you and Mr. King at Weston. Had our correspondence commenced sooner we had certainly found the means of meet ing; but it seems that we were doomed to Chasing the darkness and the damps, Set London in a glow. "Twas hard to tell, of streets, of squares, Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, So, fire with water to compare, The ocean serves on high, Up-spouted by a whale in air, To express unwieldy joy. Had all the pageants of the world In one procession join'd, And all the banners been unfurl'd That heralds e'er design'd, For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat, Where George recover'd made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet. Yet glad she came that night to prove, Darkness the skies had mantled o'er On borrow'd wheels away she flies, Which shook Belshazzar at his wine, know each other too late for a meeting in this world. May a better world make us amends, as it certainly will, if I ever reach a better! Our interviews here are but imper-hand-writing struck me the moment I saw fect pleasures at the best; and generally it. They gave me some feelings of a mel. from such as promise us most gratification ancholy kind, but not painful. I will return we receive the most disappointment. But them to you by the next opportunity. I wish disappointment is, I suppose, confined to the that mine, which I send you, may prove half planet on which we dwell, the only one in as pleasant to you as your excellent cakes the universe, probably, that is inhabited by and apples have proved to us. You will then sinners. think yourselves sufficiently recompensed for your obliging present. If a crab-stock can transform a pippin into a nonpareil, what may not I effect in a translation of Homer? Alas! I fear nothing half so valuable. I did not know, or even suspect, that when I received your last messenger, I received so eminent a disciple of Hippocrates; a physivian of such absolute control over disease and the human constitution, as to be able to put a pestilence into his pocket, confine it there, and let it loose at his pleasure. We are much indebted to him that he did not give us here a stroke of his ability. I must not forget to mention that I have received (probably not without your privity) Mr. Twining's valuable volume.* For a long time I supposed it to have come from my bookseller, who now and then sends me a new publication; but I find, on inquiry, that it came not from him. I beg, madam, if you are aware that Mr. Twining himself sent it, or your friend Mr. Martyn, that you will negotiate for me on the occasion, and contrive to convey to the obliging donor my very warmest thanks. I am impatient till he receives them. I have not yet had time to do justice to a writer so sensible, elegant, and entertaining, by a complete perusal of his work; but I have with pleasure sought out all those passages to which Mr. Martyn was so good as to refer me, and am delighted to observe the exact agreement in opinion on the subject of translation in general, and on that of Mr. Pope's in particular, that subsists between Mr. Twining and myself. With Mrs. Unwin's best compliments, I remain, my dear madam, Your obliged and affectionate, W.C. TO MRS. KING.† April 30, 1789. My dear Madam,-I thought to have sent you, by the return of your messenger, a letter; at least, something like one: but instead of sleeping here, as I supposed he would, he purposes to pass the night at Lavendon, a village three miles off. This design of his is but just made known to me, and it is now near seven in the evening. Therefore, lest he should be obliged to feel out his way, in an unknown country, in the dark, I am forced to scribble a hasty word or two, instead of devoting, as I intended, the whole evening to your service. *The translation of Aristotle. A thousand thanks for your basket, and all the good things that it contained; par ticularly for my brother's Poems, whose I have learned, at length, that I am indebted for Twining's Aristotle to a relation of mine, General Cowper. Pardon me that I quit you so soon. It is not willingly; but I have compassion on your poor messenger. Adieu, my dear madam, and believe me, TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. The Lodge, May 20, 1789. My dear Sir,-Finding myself, between twelve and one, at the end of the seventeenth book of the Odyssey, I give the interval between the present moment and the time of walking, to you. If I write letters before I sit down to Homer, I feel my spirits too flat for poetry, and too flat for letter-writing if I address myself to Homer first; but the last I choose as the least evil, because my friends will pardon my dullness, but the public will not. I had been some days uneasy on your account when yours arrived. We should have rejoiced to have seen you, would your engage hope, if not before, we shall have the pleasure ments have permitted; but in the autumn, I to receive you. At what time we may expect Lady Hesketh, at present, I know not; but imagine that at any time after the month of June you will be sure to find her with us, which I mention, knowing that to meet you would add a relish to all the pleasures she can find at Weston. When I wrote these lines on the Queen's visit, I thought I had performed well; but it belongs to me, as I have told you before, to dislike whatever I write when it has been written a month. The performance was therefore sinking in my esteem, when your approbation of it, arriving in good time, buoyed it up again. It will now keep possession of the place it holds in my good opinion, because it has been favored with yours; and a copy will certainly be at your service whenever you choose to have one. * We regret that we have not succeeded in procuring any traces of these poems of Cowper's brother Nothing is more certain than that when I content to be troubled by country folks; for wrote the line, in London only can our strange necessities be supplied. You must buy for me, if you please, a cuckoo clock; and now I will tell you where they are sold, which, Londoner as you are, it is possible you may not know. They are sold, I am informed, at more houses than one in that narrow part of Holborn which leads into Broad St. Giles'. It seems they are well-going clocks and cheap, which are the two best recommendations of any clock. They are made in Germany, and such numbers of them are annually imported, that they are become even a considerable article of commerce. God made the country, and man made the town, had not the least recollection of that very similar one, which you quote from Hawkins Brown. It convinces me that critics (and none more than Warton, in his notes on Milton's minor poems) have often charged authors with borrowing what they drew from their own fund. Brown was an entertaining companion when he had drunk his bottle, but not before this proved a snare to him, and he would sometimes drink too much; but I know not that he was chargeable with any other irregularities. He had those among his intimates, who would not have been such had he been otherwise viciously inclined; the Duncombs, in particular, father and son, who were of unblemished morals. W. C. TO MRS. KING.* The Lodge, May 30, 1789. Dearest Madam,-Many thanks for your kind and valuable despatches, none of which, except your letter, I have yet had time to read; for true it is, and a sad truth too, that I was in bed when your messenger arrived. He waits only for my answer, for which reason I answer as speedily as I can. I am glad if my poetical packet pleased you. Those stanzas on the Queen's visit were presented some time since, by Miss Goldsworthy, to the princess Augusta, who has probably given them to the Queen; but of their reception I have heard nothing. I gratified myself by complimenting two sovereigns whom I love and honor; and that gratification will be my reward. It would, indeed, be unreasonable to expect that persons who keep a Laureat in constant pay, should have either praise or emolument to spare for every volunteer who may choose to make them his subject. I will take the greatest care of the papers with which you have entrusted me, and will return them by the next opportunity. It is very unfortunate that the people of Bedford should choose to have the small-pox, just at the season when it would be sure to prevent our meeting. God only knows, madam, when we shall meet, or whether at all in this world; out certain it is, that whether we meet or not, I am most truly yours, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. The Lodge, June 5, 1789. My dear Friend,-I am going to give you a deal of trouble, but London folks must be Private correspondence. The daughter of General Goldsworthy. I return you many thanks for Boswell's Tour.* I read it to Mrs. Unwin after supper and we find it amusing. There is much trash in it, as there must always be in every narrative that relates indiscriminately all that passed. But now and then the Doctor speaks like an oracle, and that makes amends for all. Sir John was a coxcomb, and Boswell is not less a coxcomb, though of another kind. I fancy Johnson made coxcombs of all his friends, and they in return made him a coxcomb; for, with reverence be it spoken, such he certainly was, and flattered as he was he was sure to be so. Thanks for your invitation to London, but unless London can come to me, I fear we shall never meet. I was sure that you would love my friend when you should once be well acquainted with him, and equally sure that he would take kindly to you. Now for Homer. W.C TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. Weston, June 16, 1789. My dear Friend,-You will naturally sup pose that the letter in which you announced your marriage occasioned me some concer, though in my answer I had the wisdom to conceal it. The account you gave me of the object of your choice was such as left me at liberty to form conjectures not very comfortable to myself, if my friendship for you were indeed sincere. I have since, however, been sufficiently consoled. Your brother Chester has informed me that you have married not only one of the most agreeable, but one of the most accomplished, women in the kingdom. It is an old maxim, that it is better to exceed expectation than to disappoint it; and with this maxim in your view it was, no doubt, that you dwelt only on circumstances of disadvantage, and would not treat me with a recital of others which abundantly overweigh them. I now congratulate not you only but myself, and truly rejoice that my friend has chosen for his fellow-traveller, through the re *Tour to the Hebrides. maining stages of his journey, a companion who will do honor to his discernment, and make his way, so far as it can depend on a wife to do so, pleasant to the last. My verses on the Queen's visit to London either have been printed, or soon will be, in he "World." The finishing to which you objected I have altered, and have substituted two new stanzas instead of it. Two others also I have struck out, another critic having objected to them. I think I am a very tractable sort of a poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the noses of their children because they were said to be too long, as thus dock their compositions in compliance with the opinions of others. I beg that when my life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductibility of temper may not be forgotten. I am, my dear friend, Ever yours, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. Amico Mio,-I am truly sorry that it must be so long before we can have an opportunity to meet. My cousin in her last letter but one inspired me with other expectations, express ing a purpose, if the matter could be so contrived, of bringing you with her: I was willing to believe that you had consulted together on the subject, and found it feasible. A month was formerly a trifle in my account, but at my present age I give it all its importance, and grudge that so many months should yet pass in which I have not even a glimpse of those I love, and of whom, the course of nature considered, I must ere long take leave foreverbut I shall live till August. Many thanks for the cuckoo which arrived perfectly safe and goes well, to the amusement and amazement of all who hear it. Hannah lies awake to hear it, and I am not sure that we have not others in the house that admire his music as much as she. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON. I July 18, 1799. Many thanks, my dear madam, for your extract from George's letter. I retain but little Italian, yet that little was so forcibly mustered by the consciousness that I was myself the subject, that I presently became is a poet, and I am never in his company but master of it. I have always said that George discover proofs of it, and the delicate address by which he has managed his complimentary mention of me convinces me of it still more than ever. Here are a thousand poets of us who have impudence enough to write for the public; but amongst the modest men who are by diffidence restrained from such an enterprise are those who would eclipse us all. I wish that George would make the experi ment, I would bind on his laurels with my own hand.* Your gardener has gone after his wife, but, having neglected to take his lyre, alias fiddle, with him, has not brought home his Eurydice. Your clock in the hall has stopped, and (strange to tell!) it stopped at sight of the watchmaker: for he only looked at it, and it has been motionless ever since. Mr. Gregson is gone, and the Hall is a desolation. Pray don't think any place pleasant that you may find in your rambles, that we may see you the sooner. Your aviary is all in good health; I pass it every day, and often inquire at the lattice; the inhabitants of it send their duty, and wish for your return. I took notice of the inscription on your seal, and had we an artist here capable of furnishing me with another, you should read on mine, “ En core une lettre." Adieu ! W. C. The importance of improving the early hours of life, which, once lost, are never recovered, is profitably enforced in the succeed. ing letter. ife is generally such as the three or four first years in which we are our own masters make it. Then it is that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up or ourselves a series of future successes or lisappointments. Had I employed my time as wisely as you, in a situation very similar to yours, I had never been a poet perhaps; but I might by this time have acquired a character of more importance in society, and a situation in which my friends would have been better pleased to see me. But three years misspent in an attorney's office, were almost of course followed by several more equally misspent in the Temple, and the consequence has been, as the Italian epitaph says, "Sto qui." The only use I can make of myself now, at least the best, is to serve in terrorem to others, when occasion may happen to offer, that they may escape (so far as my admonitions can have any weight with them) my folly and my fate. When you feel yourself tempted to relax a little of the strictness of your present discipline, and to indulge in amusement incompatible with your future interests, think on your friend at Weston. Having said this, I shall next, with my whole heart, invite you hither, and assure you that I look forward to approaching August with great pleasure, because it promises me your company. After a little time (which we shall wish longer) spent with us, you will return invigorated to your studies, and pursue them with more advantage. In the meantime, you have lost little, in point of season, by being confined to London. Incessant rains and meadows under water have given to the summer the air of winter, and the country has been deprived of half its beauties. It is time to tell you that we are all well, and often make you our subject. This is the third meeting that my cousin and we have had in this country, and a great instance of good fortune I account it in such a world as this to have expected such a pleasure thrice, without being once disappointed. Add to this wonder as soon as you can by making yourself of the party. W. C. TO MRS. KING.* August 1, 1789. My dear Madam,-The post brings me no letters that do not grumble at my silence. Had not you, therefore, taken me to task as roundly as others, I should have concluded you perhaps more indifferent to my epistles han the rest of my correspondents; of whom one say 3,-"I shall be glad when you have finished Homer; then possibly you will find * Private correspondence. a little leisure for an old friend." Another says "I don't choose to be neglected, unless you equally neglect every one e.se." Thus I hear of it with both ears, and shall, till J appear in the shape of two great quarto volumes, the composition of which, I confess engrosses me to a degree that gives my friends, to whom I feel myself much obliged for their anxiety to hear from me, but too much reason to complain. Johnson told Mr. Martyn the truth, but your inference from that truth is not altogether so just as most of your conclusions are. Instead of finding myself the more at leisure because my long labor draws to a close, I find myself the more occupied. As when a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he be jaded, slacken his pace, but quickens it; even so it fares with me. The end is in view; I seem almost to have reached the mark, and the nearness of it inspires me with fresh alacrity. But, be it known to you, that I have still two books of the Odyssey before me, and when they are finished, shall have almost the whole eight-and-forty to revise. Judge then, my dear madam, if it is yet time for me to play, or to gratify myself with scribbling to those I love. No: it is still necessary that waking I should be all absorbed in Homer, and that sleeping I should dream of nothing else. I am a great lover of good paintings, but no connoisseur, having never had an opportunity to become one. In the last forty years of my life, I have hardly seen six pictures that were worth looking at; for I was never a frequenter of auctions, having never had any spare money in my pocket, and the public exhibitions of them in London had hardly taken place when I left it. My cousin, who is with us, saw the gentleman whose pieces you mention, on the top of a scaffold, copying a famous picture in the Vatican. She has seen some of his performances, and much admires them. You have had a great loss, and a loss that admits of no consolation, except such as will naturally suggest itself to you, such, I mean, as the Scripture furnishes. We must all leave, or be left; and it is the circumstance of all others that makes a long life the least desirable, that others go while we stay, till at last we find ourselves alone, like a tree on a hill-top. Accept, my dear madam, mine and Mrs. Unwin's best compliments to yourself and Mr. King, and believe me, however unfre quent in telling you that I am so, Affectionately yours, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. Weston, August 8, 17-9. My dear Friend,-Come when you will, or when you can, you cannot come at a r. ng |