seems so, who find the spring, back-might finish my sheet before breakward as it is, too forward, because fast, for I must write this day to the many of its beauties will have faded General. Some before you will have an opportunity The grass under my windows is to see them. We took our customa-all bespangled with dew-drops, and ry walk yesterday in the wilderness the birds are singing in the apple at Weston, and saw, with regret, the trees among the blossoms. Never laburnums, syringas, and guelder-poet had a more commodious oratory roses, some of them blown, and oth- in which to invoke his Muse. ers just upon the point of blowing, I have made your heart ache too ofand could not help observing-All ten, my poor dear cousin, with talkthese will be gone before lady Hes-ing about my fits of dejection. keth comes. Still, however, there thing has happened that has led me will be roses, and jasmine, and ho- to the subject, or I would have menneysuckle, and shady walks, and cool tioned them more sparingly. alcoves, and you will partake them not suppose, or suspect, that I treat with us. But I want you to have a you with reserve; there is nothing, share of every thing that is delight- in which I am concerned, that you ful here, and cannot bear that the shall not be made acquainted with. advance of the season should steal But the tale is too long for a letter. I away a single pleasure before you will only add, for your present satiscan come to enjoy it. faction, that the cause is not exterior, Do Every day I think of you, and that it is not within the reach of hualmost all day long; I will venture man aid, and that yet I have a hope to say, that even you were never so myself, and Mrs. Unwin a strong expected in your life. I called last persuasion, of its removal. I am inweek at the Quaker's to see the fur- deed even now, and have been for a niture of your bed, the fame of which considerable time, sensible of a had reached me. It is, I assure you, change for the better, and expect, superb; of printed cotton, and the with good reason, a comfortable lift subject classical. Every morning from you. Guess then, my beloved you will open your eyes on Phaeton cousin, with what wishes I look forkneeling to Apollo, and imploring ward to the time of your arrival, his father to grant him the conduct from whose coming I promise myof his chariot for a day. May your self not only pleasure, but peace of sleep be as sound as your bed will mind, at least an additional share of be sumptuous, and your nights, at it. At present it is an uncertain least, will be well provided for. and transient guest with me; but I shall send up the sixth and se- the joy with which I shall see and venth books of the Iliad shortly, and converse with you at Olney, may, shall address them to you. You will perhaps, make it an abiding one. forward them to the General. I long to show you my workshop, and to see you sitting on the opposite side of my table. We shall be as close packed as two wax figures in an oldfashioned picture frame. I am writing in it now. It is the place in which I fabricate all my verse in summer time. I rose an hour soon LETTER LIV. To the Rev. William Unwin. My dear William, er than usual this morning that I selves where self is in question! You say I am in your debt, and stands in need of the same indulI accounted you in mine: a mis-gence) for an unwarrantable use of take to which you must attribute my Scripture, it appears to me to be arrears, if indeed I owe you any; a masterly performance. Indepenfor I am not backward to write dence is a most animated piece, full where the uppermost thought is wel- of strength and spirit, and marked with that bold masculine character, come. I am obliged to you for all the which I think is the great peculiaribooks you have occasionally furnish-ty of this writer. And the Times ed me with: I did not indeed read (except that the subject is disgusting many of Johnson's Classics: those to the last degree) stands equally of established reputation are so fresh high in my opinion. He is indeed a in my memory, though many years careless writer for the most part; but have intervened since I made them where shall we find, in any of those my companions, that it was like read-authors, who finish their works with ing what I read yesterday over again; the exactness of a Flemish pencil, and as to the minor Classics, I did those bold and daring strokes of fannot think them worth reading at all. cy, those numbers so hazardously I tasted most of them, and did not ventured upon and so happily finishlike them. It is a great thing to be ed, the matter so compressed and yet indeed a poet, and does not happen so clear, and the colouring so sparto more than one man in a century. ingly laid on and yet with such a Churchill, the great Churchill, de- beautiful effect! In short, it is not served the name of poet. I have his least praise, that he is never guilread him twice, and some of his ty of those faults as a writer, which pieces three times over; and the last he lays to the charge of others: a time with more pleasure than the proof that he did not judge by a borfirst. The pitiful scribbler of his rowed standard, or from rules laid life seems to have undertaken that down by critics, but that he was task, for which he was entirely un-qualified to do it by his own native qualified, merely because it afforded powers, and his great superiority of him an opportunity to traduce him. genius. For he that wrote so much, He has inserted in it but one anec- and so fast, would, through inadverdote of consequence, for which he tence and hurry, unavoidably have refers you to a novel, and introduces departed from rules, which he might the story with doubts about the truth have found in books; but his own of it. But his barrenness as a bio- truly poetical talent was a guide grapher I could forgive, if the sim- which could not suffer him to err. pleton had not thought himself a A race horse is graceful in his swiftjudge of his writings, and under the est pace, and never makes an awkerroneous influence of that thought, ward motion, though he is pushed to informs his reader that "Gotham," his utmost speed. A cart-horse might "Independence," and the " Times," perhaps be taught to play tricks in were catchpennies. Gotham, un- the riding-school, and might prance less I am a greater blockhead than and curvet like his betters; but at he, which I am far from believing, some unlucky time would be sure is a noble and beautiful poem, and to betray the baseness of his original. a poem with which I make no doubt It is an affair of very little consethe author took as much pains as quence perhaps to the well-being of with any he ever wrote. Making mankind, but I cannot help regretallowance (and Dryden perhaps, in ting that he died so soon. Those his "Absalom and Achitophel," words of Virgil, upon the immature VOL. IV. Nos. 55 & 56. NECIA H death of Marcellus, might serve for it by, take it up again perhaps ten his epitaph: years after, and am as much delightled with it as at the first. Few people have the art of being agreeable when they talk of themselves; if you are not weary, therefore, you pay me a high compliment. I dare say miss Swas much diverted with the conjecture of her friends. The true key to the pleasure she found at Olney was plain My dear friend, I FIND the Register in all respects enough to be seen; but they chose an entertaining medley; but espe- to overlook it. She brought with cially in this, that it has brought to her a disposition to be pleased; which my view some long forgotten pieces whoever does is sure to find a visit my own production. I mean, by agreeable, because they make it so. Yours. the way, two or three. Those I have marked with my own initials; and you may be sure I found them peculiarly agreeable, as they had not only the grace of being mine, but that of novelty likewise to recommend them. It is at least twenty years since I saw LETTER LVI. To Lady Hesketh. Weston Lodge, Nov. 26, 1786. them. You, I think, was never a Ir is my birth-day, my beloved dabbler in rhyme. I have been one cousin, and I determine to employ a ever since I was fourteen years of part of it, that it may not be desage, when I began with translating titute of festivity, in writing to you. an elegy of Tibullus. I have no The dark, thick fog that has obscurmore right to the name of a poet, than ed it, would have been a burthen to a maker of mouse-traps has to that of me at Olney; but here I have hardly an engineer; but my little exploits in attended to it. The neatness and this way have at times amused me snugness of our abode compensates so much, that I have often wished all the dreariness of the season; and myself a good one. Such a talent whether the ways are wet or dry, our in verse as mine is, like a child's house at least is always warm and rattle, very entertaining to the trifler commodious. Oh for you, my couthat uses it, and very disagreeable to sin, to partake these comforts with all beside. But it has served to rid us! I will not begin already to tease me of some melancholy moments, for you upon that subject; but Mrs. UnI only take it up as a gentleman perwin remembers to have heard from former does his fiddle. I have this your own lips, that you hate London peculiarity belonging to me as a in the spring. Perhaps, therefore, rhymist, that though I am charmed by that time you may be glad to esto a great degree with my own work cape from a scene which will be evewhile it is on the anvil, I can seldom ry day growing more disagreeable, bear to look at it when it is once fi- that you may enjoy the comforts of nished. The more I contemplate it, the Lodge. You well know that the more it loses its value, till I the best house has a desolate apat last disgusted with it. I then throw pearance unfurnished. This house accordingly, since it has been occuShall just be shown to earth, then snatched away. pied by us and our meubles, is as DRYDEN. much superior to what it was when This youth, the blissful vision of a day, am you saw it, as you can imagine. The dirty for a drawing-room. I was pacparlour is even elegant. When I say ing yesterday under the elms that surthat the parlour is elegant, I do not round the field in which stands the mean to insinuate that the study is great alcove, when lifting my eyes I not so. It is neat, warm, and silent; saw two black genteel figures bolt and a much better study than I de- through a hedge into the path where serve, if I do not produce in it an I was walking. You guess already incomparable translation of Homer. who they were, and that they could I think every day of those lines of be nobody but our neighbours. They Milton, and congratulate myself on had seen me from a hill at a distance, having obtained, before I am quite and had traversed a great turnip field superannuated, what he seems not to to get at me. You see, therefore, have hoped for sooner : my dear, that I am in some request: alas! in too much request with some people. The verses of Cadwallader have found me at last. "And may at length my weary age For it is not a hermitage, at least it I am charmed with your account is a much better thing; and you must of our little cousin* at Kensington. always understand, my dear, that If the world does not spoil him herewhen poets talk of cottages, hermit- after, he will be a valuable man.— ages, and such-like things, they mean Good night, and may God bless thee! a house with six sashes in front, two comfortable parlours, a smart staircase, and three bed-chambers of convenient dimensions; in short, exactly such a house as this. LETTER LVII. To Samuel Rose, Esq. Weston, Oct, 19, 1787. The Throckmortons continue the most obliging neighbours in the world. One morning last week, they both Dear sir, went with me to the cliffs-a scene, A SUMMONS from Johnson, which my dear, in which you would delight I received yesterday, calls my attenbeyond measure, but which you can-tion once more to the business of not visit except in the spring or au- translation. Before I begin I am tumn. The heat of summer, and willing to catch though but a short clinging dirt of winter, would destroy opportunity to acknowledge your last you. What is called the cliff is no favour. The necessity of applying cliff, nor at all like one, but a beau-myself with all diligence to a long tiful terrace, sloping gently down to work, that has been but too long inthe Ouse, and from the brow of which, terrupted, will make my opportunithough not lofty, you have a view of ties of writing rare in future. such a valley as makes that which Air and exercise are necessary to you see from the hills near Olney, all men, but particularly so to the and which I have had the honour to man, whose mind labours; and to celebrate, an affair of no considera- him, who has been all his life accustion. tomed to much of both, they are neWintry as the weather is, do not sus-cessary in the extreme. My time, pect that it confines me. I ramble since we parted, has been devoted daily, and every day change my ram- entirely to the recovery of health and ble. Wherever I go, I find short strength for this service, and I am grass under my feet; and when I willing to hope with good effect. Ten have travelled perhaps five miles, come home with shoes not at all tool * Lord Cowper. months have passed since I disconti- poned, is not far distant; and that nued my poetical efforts; I do not once more I shall behold you, and expect to find the same readiness as experience your power to make winbefore till exercise of the neglected ter gay and sprightly. " faculty, such as it is, shall have re- I have a kitten, the drollest of all stored it to me. creatures that ever wore a cat's skin. You find yourself, I hope, by this Her gambols are not to be described, time as comfortably situated in your and would be incredible if they could. new abode, as in a new abode one In point of size she is likely to be a can be. I enter perfectly into all kitten always, being extremely small your feelings on occasion of the of her age; but time, I suppose, that change. A sensible mind cannot do spoils every thing, will make her also violence even to a local attachment a cat. You will see her, I hope, bewithout much pain. When my fa- fore that melancholy period shall arther died I was young, too young to rive; for no wisdom that she may have reflected much. He was rector gain by experience and reflection of Berkhamstead, and there I was hereafter will compensate the loss of born. It had never occurred to me her present hilarity. She is dressed that a parson has no fee-simple in in a tortoise-shell suit, and I know the house and glebe he occupies.—that you will delight in her. There was neither tree, nor gate, Mrs. Throckmorton carries us tonor stile, in all that country, to which morrow in her chaise to Chicheley. I did not feel a relation; and the The event however must be supposhouse itself I preferred to a palace. ed to depend on elements, at least on I was sent for from London to at- the state of the atmosphere, which is tend him in his last illness, and he turbulent beyond measure. Yesterdied just before I arrived. Then, day it thundered, last night it lightand not till then, I felt for the first ened, and at three this morning I saw time that I and my native place the sky as red as a city in flames were disunited for ever. I sighed a could have made it. I have a leech long adieu to fields and woods, from in a bottle that foretels all these prowhich I once thought I should never digies and convulsions of nature. No, be parted; and was at no time so not, as you will naturally conjecsensible of their beauties as just when ture, by articulate utterance of oraI left them all behind me, to return cular notices, but by a variety of ges no more. LETTER LVIII. To Lady Hesketh. ticulations, which here I have not room to give an account of. Suffice it to say, that no change of weather surprises him; and that in point of the earliest and most accurate intelligence, he is worth all the barometers in the world. None of them all inThe Lodge, Nov. 10, 1787. deed can make the least pretence to THE parliament, my dearest cou- foretel thunder-a species of capacisin, prorogued continually, is a me- ty of which he has given the most teor dancing before my eyes, promis- unequivocal evidence. I gave but ing me my wish only to disappoint sixpence for him, which is a groat me; and none but the king and his more than the market price; though ministers can tell when you and I he is in fact, or rather would be, if shall come together. I hope however leeches were not found in every ditch, that the period, though so often post- an invaluable acquisition. |