Dear friend, merit to which I think him entitled. I have given my reasons for translating in blank verse, and hold some discourse on the mechanism of it, chiefly with a view to obviate the prejudices of some people against it. I expatiate a little on the manner in which I think Homer ought to be rendered, and in which I have endeavored to render him my-wiser and more your friend than I can possibly be, who appoints all your sufferings, and who, by a power altogether his own, is able to make them good for you. self, and anticipated two or three caviles to which I foresee that I shall be liable from the ignorant or uncandid, in order, if possible, to prevent them. These are the chief heads of my preface, and the whole consists of about twelve pages. * It is possible, when I come to treat with Johnson about the copy, I may want some person to negotiate for me, and knowing no one so intelligent as yourself in books, or so well qualified to estimate their just value, I shall beg leave to resort to and rely on you as my negotiator. But I will not trouble you unless I should see occasion. My cousin was the bearer of my MSS. to London. He went on purpose, and returns to-morrow: Mrs. Unwin's affectionate felicitations added to my own, conclude me, I wish heartily that my verses had been more worthy of the counterpane, their subject. The gratitude I felt when you brought it, and gave it to me, might have inspired better; but a head full of Homer, I find by sad experience, is good for little else. Lady Hesketh, who is here, has seen your gift, and pronounced it the most beautiful and best executed of the kind she ever saw. I have lately received from my bookseller find among them the name of Mr. Professor a copy of my subscribers' names, and do not Martyn. I mention it because you informed me, some time since, of his kind intention to number himself among my encouragers on this occasion, and because I am unwilling to The trees of a colonnade will solve my that his name will do me. It is possible, too, lose, for want of speaking in time, the honor riddle *. W. u. that he may have subscribed, and that his nonappearance may be owing merely to Johnson's having forgot to enter his name. Perhaps matter. The catalogue will be printed soon, you will have an opportunity to ascertain the and published in the "Analytical Review," as the last and most effectual way of advertising my translation, and the name of the gentleman in question will be particularly serviceable to me in the first edition of it. and ought by this time to be in the press. The My whole work is in the bookseller's hands, lication. It is a genial season, when people next spring is the time appointed for the pubwho are ever good-tempered at all are sure to author's attention, especially of mine, who am be so; a circumstance well worthy of an ust going to give a thump on the outside of the critics' hive, that will probably alarm them all. Mrs. Unwin, I think, is ou the whole rather improved in her health since we had the pleasure of your short visit; I should say the pleasure of your visit, and the pain of its shortness. I am, my dearest madam, Most truly yours, W. C. Sincerely yours, TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.† The Lodge, Sept. 17, 1790. My dear Friend,-I received last night a copy of my subscribers' names from Johnson, in which I see how much I have been indebted to yours and to Mrs. Hill's solicitations. Accept my best thanks, so justly due to you both. It is an illustrious catalogue, in respect of rank and title, but methinks I should have liked it as well had it been more numerous. The sum subscribed, however, will defray the expense of printing, which is as much as, in these unsubscribing days, I had any reason to promise myself. devoutly second your droll wish, that the booksellers may contend about me. The more the better: seven times seven, if they please; and let them fight with the fury of Achilles, Till ev'ry rubric-post be crimson'd o'er Most truly yours, W. C. TO MRS. KING.† Weston, Oct. 5, 1790. My dear Madam,-I am truly concerned that you have so good an excuse for your silence. Were it proposed to my choice, whether you should omit to write through What are they which stand at a distance from each other, and meet without ever moving? + Private correspondence. ness or indifference to me, I should be se.fist enough, perhaps, to find decision difficult for a few moments: but have such an opinion at the same time of my affection for you, as te be verily persuaded that I should at last make a right option, and wish you rather to forget me than to be afflicted. But there is One TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.† ill-patch-work, of her own making. In acknowledgment he addressed to her the verses beginning, "The bard, if e'er he feel at all, Must sure be quicken'd by a call," &c. &c. + Private correspondence. grieved at Mrs. Scott's* sudden departure; grieved, you may suppose, not for her, but for him, whose loss, except that in God he has an all-sufficient good, is irreparable. The day of separation between those who have loved long and well is an awful day, inasmuch as it calls the Christian's faith and submission to the severest trial. Yet I account those happy, who, if they are severely tried, shall yet be supported, and carried safely through. What would become of me on a similar occasion! I have one comfort, and only one; bereft of that, I should have nothing left to lean on; for my spiritual props have been long struck from under me. I have no objection at all to being known as the translator of Van Lier's Letters when they shall be published. Rather, I am ambitious of it as an honor. It will serve to prove, that, if I have spent much time to little purpose in the translation of Homer, some small portion of my time has, however, been well disposed of. The honor of your preface prefixed to my poems will be on my side; for surely to be known as the friend of a much-favored minister of God's word is a more illustrious distinction, in reality, than to have the friendship of any poet in the world to boast of. We sympathize truly with you under all your tender concern for Mrs. Newton, and with her in all her sufferings from such various and discordant maladies. Alas! what a difference have twenty-three years made in us and in our condition! for just so long is it since Mrs. Unwin and I came into Buckinghamshire. Yesterday was the anniversary of that memorable era. Farewell. W. Č. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.† The Lodge, Oct. 26, 1790. My dear Friend,-We should have been happy to have received from you a more favorable account of Mrs. Newton's health. Yours is indeed a post of observation, and of observation the most interesting. It is well that you are enabled to bear the stress and intenseness of it without prejudice to your own health, or impediment to your ministry. The last time I wrote to Johnson, I made Known to him your wishes to have your preface printed, and affixed, as soon as an opportunity shall offer; expressing, at the same time, my own desires to have it done. Whether I shall have any answer to my proposal is a matter of much uncertainty; for he is always either too idle or too busy, I know not which, to write to me. Should you happen to pass his way, perhaps it would not be amiss to speak to him on the subject; for it is easier to carry a point by six words spoken, than by writing as many sheets about it. I have asked him hither, when my cousin Johnson shall leave us, which will be in about a fortnight; and should he come will enforce the measure myself. A yellow shower of leaves is falling continually from all the trees in the country. A few moments only seem to have passed since they were buds; and in a few moments more they will have disappeared. It is one advantage of a rural situation, that it affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, that do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for a man conversant with such scenes as surround me, not to advert daily to the shortness of his existence here, admonished of it, as he must be, by ten thousand objects. There was a time when I could contemplate my present state, and consider myself as a thing of a day with pleasure; when I numbered the seasons as they passed in swift rotation, as a schoolboy numbers the days that interpose between the next vacation, when he shall see his parents, and enjoy his home again. But to make so just an estimate of a life like this is no longer in my power. The consideration of my short continuance here, which was once grateful to me, now fills me with regret. I would live and live always, and am become such another wretch as Mæcenas was, wno wished for long life, he cared not at what expense of sufferings. The only consolation left me on this subject is, that the voice of the Almighty can in one moment cure me of this mental infirmity. That he can, I know by experience; and there are reasons for which I ought to believe that he will. But from hope to despair is a transition that I have made so often, that I can only consider the hope that may come, and that sometin.es I believe wi!l, as a short prelude of joy to a miserable conclusion of sorrow that shall never end. Thus are my brightest prospects clouded, and thus, to me, is hope itself become like a withered flower, that has lost both its hue and its fragrace. I ought not to have written in this dismal strain to you, in your present trying situa tion, nor did I intend it. You have more need to be cheered than to be saddened; but a dearth of other themes constrained me to it, I am desirous to gratify him in a particular that so en.phatically bespeaks his friendship for me; and should my books see another edition, shall be obliged to you if you will add it accordingly. W C. The purport of this letter is painful, but it is explained by the peculiarity of Cowper's case. The state of mind which the Christian ought to realize, should be a willingness to remain or to depart, as may seem best to the supreme Disposer of events; though the predominating feeling (where there is an assured and lively hope) will be that of the apostle, viz., that to be with Christ is far better." The question is, how is this lively hope and assurance to be obtained? How is the sense of guilt, and the fear of death and judgment, to be overcome? The Gospel proclaims the appointed remedy. "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world."*"I, even I, am He, which blotteth out all thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins." "If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, and he is the propitiation for our sins." The cordial reception of this great gospel truth into the heart, the humble reliance upon God's pardoning mercy, through the blood of the cross, will,¦ by the grace of God, infallibly lead to inward joy and peace. Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ. By whom also we have access by faith unto this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God." The same divine grace that assures peace to the conscience, will also change and renew the heart, and plant within it those holy principles and affections that will lead to newness of life. The promise of the blood to pardon, and the Spirit to teach and to sanctify, are the two great fundamental doctrines of the Gospel. 66 TO MRS. BODHAM. Weston, Nov. 21, 1790. My dear Coz.,-Our kindness to your nephew is no more than he must entitle himself to wherever he goes. His amiable disposition and manners will never fail to secure. him a warm place in the affection of all who know him. The advice I gave respecting his poem on Audley End was dictated by my love of him, and a sincere desire of his success. It is one thing to write what may please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little biassed in our fa vor; and another to write what may please everybody; because they who have no connexion or even knowledge of the author will be sure to find fault if they can. My advice, however, salutary and necessary as it seemed to me, was such as I dare not have given to a poet of less diffidence than he. Poets are ever knew who seems to have no spark of to a proverb irritable, and he is the only one that fire about him. He has left us about a fortnight, and sorry we were to lose him; but had he been my son he must have gone, and I could not have regretted him more. If his sister be still with you, present my love to her, and tell her how much I wish to see them at Weston together. I Mrs. Hewitt probably remembers more of my childhood than I can recollect either of hers or my own; but this I recollect, that the days of that period were happy days compared with most I have seen since. There are few, perhaps, in the world, who have not cause to look back with regret on the days or infancy; yet, to say, the truth, I suspect some deception in this. For infancy itself has its cares, and though we cannot now con ceive how trifles could affect us much, it is certain that they did. Trifles they appear now, but such they were not then. W. C. TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. Weston, Friday, Nov. 26, 1790. My dearest Johnny,-I am happy that you have escaped from the claws of Euclid into the bosom of Justinian. It is useful, I suppose, to every man to be well grounded in the principles of jurisprudence, and I take it to be a branch of science that bids much fairer to enlarge the mind, and give an accuracy of reasoning, than all the mathematics in the world. Mind your studies, and you will soon be wiser than I can hope to be. We had a visit on Monday from one of the first women in the world; in point of char acter, I mean, and accomplishments, the dow ager Lady Spencer!* I may receive, per lation speed according to my wishes, and the haps, some honors hereafter, should my transpains I have taken with it; but shall never receive any that I shall esteem so highly. She is indeed worthy to whom I should dedicate, and, may but my Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall have nothing to fear from the critics. Yours, my dear Johnny, With much affection, W. C. The mother of the late Earl Spencer, and of the Duchess of Devonshire, and the person to whom he dedi cated his version of the Odyssey. TO MRS. KING.* The Lodge, Nov. 29, 1790. : My dear Madam,-I value highly, as I ought and hope that I always shall, the favorable opinion of such men as Mr. Martyn: though, to say the truth, their commendations, instead of making me proud, have rather a tendency to humble me, conscious as I am that I am overrated. There is an old piece of advice, given by an ancient poet and satirist, which it behoves every man who stands well in the opinion of others to lay up in his bosom :Take care to be what you are reported to be. By due attention to this wise counsel, it is possible to turn the praises of our friends to good account, and to convert that which might prove an incentive to vanity into a lesson of wisdom. I will keep your good and respectable friend's letter very safely, and restore it to you the first opportunity. I beg, my dear madam, that you will present my best compliments to Mr. Martyn, when you shall either see him next or write to him. To that gentleman's inquiries I am, doubtless, obliged for the recovery of ao small proportion of my subscription-list: for, in consequence of his application to Johnson, and very soon after it, I received from him no fewer than forty-five names, that had been omitted in the list he sent me, and that would probably never have been thought of more. No author, I believe, has a more inattentive or indolent bookseller: but he has everybody's good word for liberality and honesty; therefore I must be content. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. The Lodge, Nov. 30, 1790. My dear Friend,-I will confess that I thought your letter somewhat tardy, though, at the same time, I made every excuse for you, except, as it seems, the right. That indeed was out of the reach of all possible conjecture. I could not guess that your silence was occasioned by your being occupied with either thieves or thief-takers. Since, however, the cause was such, I rejoice that your labors were not in vain, and that the freebooters who had plundered your friend are safe in limbo. I admire, too, as much as I rejoice in your success, the indefatigable spirit that prompted you to pursue, with such anremitting perseverance, an objet not to * Private correspondence. be reached but at the expense of infinite trouble, and that must have led you into ar acquaintance with scenes and characters the most horrible to a mind like yours. I see it. this conduct the zeal and firmness of your friendship, to whomsoever professed, and though I wanted not a proof of it myself, contemplate so unequivocal an indication of what you really are, and of what I always b lieved you to be, with much pleasure May you rise from the condition of 2 humble prosecutor, or witness, to the bench of judg ment! When your letter arrived, it found me with the worst and most obstinate cold that I ever caught. This was one reason why it had not a speedier answer. Another is, that, except Tuesday morning, there is none in the week in which I am not engaged in the last revisa' of my translation; the revisal I mean of my proof-sheets. To this business I give myself with an assiduity and attention truly admiræble, and set an example, which, if other poets could be apprised of, they would do well to follow. Miscarriages in authorship (I am persuaded) are as ofien to be ascribed to want of pains-taking as to want of ability. Lady Hesketh, Mrs. Unwin, and myself, often mention you, and always in terms that, though you would blush to hear them, you need not be ashamed of; at the same time wishing much that you would change our trio into a quartetto. W. C. TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. Weston, Dec. 1, 1790. My dear Friend,-—It is plain that you ununderstand trap, as we used to say at school: for you begin with accusing me of long silence, conscious yourself, at the same time, that you have been half a year in my debt, or thereabout. But I will answer your accusations with a boast-with a boast of having intended many a day to write to you again, notwithstanding your long insolvency. Your brother and sister of Chicheley can both witness for me, that, weeks since, I testified such an intention, and, if I did not execute it, it was not for want of good-will, but for want of leisure. When will you be able to glory of such designs, so liberal and magnificent. you who have nothing to do, by your owr confession, but to grow fat and saucy? Add to all this, that I have had a violent cold, such as I never have but at the first approach of winter, and such as at that time I seldom escape. A fever accompanied it, and an incessant cough. You measure the speed of printers, of my printer at least, rather by your own wishes than by any just standard. Mine (I believe is as nimble a one as falls to the share of poets in general, though not nimble enough to satisfy either the author or his friends. 1 told you that my work would go to press in autumn, and so it did. But it had been six weeks in London ere the press began to work upon it. About a month since we began to print, and, at the rate of nine sheets in a fortnight, have proceeded to about the middle of the sixth Iliad. "No further?"-you say. principally owing, as one of the most faI answer" No, nor even so far, without vorable symptoms of a nature spiritually remuch scolding on my part, both at the book-newed, and have many a time heard you make seller and the printer." But courage, my the same observation. friend! Fair and softly, as we proceed, we shall find our way through at last; and, in confirmation of this hope, while I write this, another sheet arrives. I expect to publish in the spring. I love and thank you for the ardent desire you express to hear me bruited abroad, et per ora virum volitantem. For your encourage ment, I will tell you that I read, myself at least, with wonderful complacence what I have done; and if the world, when it shall appear, do not like it as well as I, we will both say and swear with Fluellin, that "it is an ass and a fool (like you!) and a prating coxcomb.” Else, I felt no ambition of the laurel. though vainly, perhaps, I had friends who would have made a stir on my behalf on that occasion. I confess that, when I learned the new condition of the office, that odes were no longer required, and that the salary was increased, I felt not the same dislike of it. But I could neither go to court, nor could kiss hands, were it for a much more valuable consideration. Therefore never expect to hear that royal favors find out me! I Adieu, my dear old friend! I will send you a mortuary copy soon, and in the meantime remain, Ever yours, W. C. 70 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.† The Lodge, Dec. 5, 1790. My dear Friend,-Sometimes I am too sad, and sometimes too busy to write. Both these causes have concurred lately to keep me silent. But more than by either of these Ỉ have been hindered, since I received your last, by a violent cold, which oppressed me during almost the whole month of November. Your letter affects us with both joy and sorrow: with sorrow and sympathy respect ing poor Mrs. Newton, whose feeble and dying state suggests a wish for her release rather than for her continuance; and joy on your account, who are enabled to bear, with so much resignation and cheerful acquiesence in the will of God, the prospect of a loss, which even they who know you best apprehended might prove too much for you. The office of Poet Laureat, mentioned in a former tter. + Private correspondence. As to Mrs. Newton's interest in the best things, none, intimatel acquainted with her as we have been, could doubt it. She doubted it indeed herself; but though it is not our duty to doubt, any more than it is our privilege, I have always considered the selfcondemning spirit, to which such doubts are [Torn off:] We believe that the best Christian is occasionally subject to doubts and fears; and that it is our privilege and duty to cultivate an they form a part of the great warfare. That habitual sense of peace in the conscience, and that this peace will be enjoyed in proportion as faith is in exercise, and the soul is But who that is acquainted with the inward in communion with God, we fully agree. experiences of the Christian, does not know triumph and of depression? The Psalms of that there are alternations of joy and fear, of well as the history of the most eminent David furnish many instances of this fact, as saints recorded in Scripture. "Though I am sometimes afraid, yet put I my trust in thee." We conceive these words to be an exemplification of the truth of the case. When, therefore, we hear persons speak of the entire absence of sin and infirmity, and exemption from doubts and fears, we are strongly disposed to believe that they labor under great self-deception, and know little of their own hearts, in thus arguing against the general testimony of the Church of Christ in all ages. A plain and pious Christian once told us of an appropriate remark that he addressed to an individual who professed to be wholly free from any fears on this subject. "If," observed this excellent man, "you have no fears for yourself, you must allow me to entertain some for you." TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. I perceive myself so flattered by the instances of illustrious success mentioned ir. your letter, that I feel all the amiable modesty, for which I was once so famous, sensibly giving way to a spirit of vain-glory. The King's College subscription makes me proud-the effect that my verses have had on makes me proud, and I am, if possible proudyour two young friends, the mathematicians, er still of the contents of the letter that you inclosed. You complained of being stupid, and sent ne one of the cleverest letters. I have not coraplained of being stupid, and sent you one |