[1] MR. SHENSTONE's LETTERS.

I. To Mr. JAGO, with a Song, and the Author's Sentiments on Muſical Compoſition.

AS my head is conſiderably more confuſed than uſual, by reaſon of a bad cold, I ſhall aim no higher in this letter than at bare recitative, reſerving all my airs for a ſeaſon when my mind is more in tune. Such, I hope, will be the time which you ſet apart to attend the chief muſician, at Birmingham. I thoroughly deſign to lend an ear to his performance, on con⯑dition he will not refuſe one to a propoſal I in⯑tend to make, of having, one day or other, a merry ſtrain at the Leaſows. But if you have any penchant to ſee the face of your humble ſervant at Birmingham, your moſt effectual way will be to inform him when theſe ſolemn nup⯑tials betwixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee are to be conſummated. I will, certes, not be abſent at the throwing of the ſtocking, any more than [2] Parſon Evans in Shakeſpeare would be ‘"abſence at the grace."’ I have ſent a ſong, not that I am ſure I have not ſent it before; but that, if you can ſee any joke that it containeth, the forementioned gentleman may be aſked to tran⯑ſlate it into muſic. When I uſe this expreſſion, you will, peradventure, look upon it as my opinion, that in muſical compoſitions, ſound ought as much to anſwer ſenſe as one language does another, inſomuch, that ſuch and ſuch thoughts ought to bring into our heads ſuch and ſuch ſounds, and vice verſa. But in caſe there is no ſenſe, and no thought, the more languages a ſentence is tranſlated into, the more 'tis expo⯑ſed. And in caſe it be the misfortune of my little piece to have neither, I beg that Mr. Mar⯑riett may not inform any body what it ſignifies in muſic. As a farther proof of the confuſed ſtate of my intellects, you ſee, almoſt at the end of my letter, my thanks for the packet, &c. which ought to have been placed in the very front of it, in order to expreſs, in ſome degree, the ſenſe I have of your favours. I long to ſee you; and am, dear Sir,

II. To the ſame, in the Manner of PAMELA.

WELL! and ſo I ſate me down in my room, and was reading Pamela—one might furniſh this book with ſeveral pretty decorations, thought I to myſelf; and then I began to deſign cuts for it, in particular places. For inſtance, one, where Pamela is forced to fall upon her knees in the arbor: a ſecond, where ſhe is in bed, and Mrs. Jewkes holds one hand, and Mr. B. the other: a third, where Pamela ſits ſew⯑ing in the ſummer-houſe, &c. So I juſt ſketched them out, and ſent my little hints, ſuch as they were, to Mr. R—n. As ſoon as I had ſealed my letter, in comes Mrs. Arnold^*— ‘"Well, Mrs. Arnold," ſays I, "this Mr. Jago never comes—what can one do? I'm as dull as a beetle for want of company."’ ‘"Sir," ſays ſhe, "the hen"—’ ‘"What makes you out of breath," [4] ſays I, "Mrs. Arnold, what's the matter?"—’ ‘"Why, Sir," ſays ſhe, "the hen I ſet laſt ſab⯑bath-day-was-three-weeks has juſt hatched, and has brought out all her eggs to good."—’ ‘"That's brave indeed," ſays I.’ ‘"Ay, that it is," ſays ſhe, "ſo be and't pleaſe G—d an how that they liven, there'll be a glorious parcel of 'em. Shall I bring 'em up for you to ſee?" ſays ſhe.’ ‘"No, thank ye, Mrs. Arnold," ſays I; "but aren't ye in ſome apprehenſions from the kite, Mrs. Arnold?"—’ ‘"No, Sir," ſays ſhe; "I hope there's no danger; I takes pretty good care of 'em."’ ‘"I don't queſtion your care," ſays I; "for you're ſeldom without a duck or a chicken about you."—’ ‘"Poor pretty creters," ſays ſhe; "look here, Maſter, this has gotten a ſpeck of black upon her tail."—’ ‘"Ay, I thought you wern't without one about you," ſays I: "I don't think," ſays I, "Mrs. Arnold, but your ſoul was deſign'd for a hen originally."’ ‘"Why, and if I had been a hen," ſays ſhe, "I believe I ſhould have done as much for my chickens as yonder great black-and-white hen does, tho' I ſay't that ſhould not ſay't," ſays ſhe.’ ‘"Ay, that you would," thought I. "Well, but now when Jago comes, have you got e'er a chicken that's fit to kill?’ ‘"No." ſays ſhe, "I doubt there is ne'er-a-one."’ ‘"Well," ſays I, "Mrs. Arnold, you and your chicken may go down; I am going to write a letter."’ So I ſat down, and wrote thus far: ſcrattle, ſcrattle, goes the pen—why how now? ſays I—what [...]s the mat⯑ter with the pen? So I thought I would make an end of my letter, becauſe my pen went ſcratle, ſcrattle. Well, I warrant I ſhall have little plea, ſure when Mr. Jago comes; for I never fixed my heart upon any thing in my life, but ſome misfor⯑tune happened to balance my pleaſure.—After all, thought I, it muſt be ſome very ill accident that outweighs the pleaſure I ſhall take in ſeeing him.

III. To a Friend, too ceremoniouſly declining to purchaſe a Horſe for him.

I CANNOT avoid imagining the firſt part of your letter was mere raillery. I am ſure it gave me a good deal of pleaſure (for I can bear very well to hear my foibles expoſed, though not my faults) and on that account muſt needs make grateful mention of it. I acknowledge the oddneſs of the letter which occaſioned it, and could not expect that ſuch an ill-formed appli⯑cation could have produced an anſwer ſo very oratorical. In the firſt place, you lay open the ſubject, or indeed, what you call the offices in which I am pleaſed to employ you. In the next, you alledge your own inability to enter upon matters of ſuch great concernment. That this is rhetorical, nay, pure rhetoric, I gather from the exordiums of all the declamations that I ever heard in my life. 'Tis, moreover, not uncommon with declaimers to give ſome reaſons why they ſhould not abſolutely decline the ſub⯑ject, though they are ſenſible of their inſufficiency (otherwiſe they might be expected to ſit down, and hold their tongues.) And this is what you have done, by ſaying that you are unwilling to diſſent from the world in regard to the ſubjects you are engaged in. That you, therefore, choſe to ſteer a middle courſe, by that means avoiding the imputation of preſumption on the one hand, and indifference on the other. When this is done, you enter gravely upon the ſubject, and, to give it a greater perſpicuity, divide it into two parts. The firſt part happens to be ‘"concerning the purchaſe of an horſe."’ On this occaſion, you inform me, that I am in a good country for horſes; and, ſecondly, that I have a number of [6] acquaintance round about me, who are very well ſkilled in the nature of them. Now each of theſe informations ſeems, at firſt ſight, to mean no more than what I have better opportunities of knowing than the perſon who informs me, and, on this account, to err in point of ſuper⯑fluity. But, upon ſecond thoughts, they have this force (to ſpeak like a grammarian) namely, that I am entirely negligent of my own affairs; and, ſecondly, that I care not whom I give trouble to, if I can but avoid it myſelf; ſo that the ſenten⯑ces have really a beauty, when one ſearches be⯑neath their ſuperficies. After you have ſaid this and more, which includes all that can be ſaid upon the ſubject, you deſcend to the ſecond diviſion, in relation to which I am too grateful to be otherwiſe than ſeri [...]us in my acknowledgments.

I had not expatiated thus far but to ſhew that I am not inſenſible of a ſneer; nor ſhould I expa⯑tiate any farther, but to prove, that I am equally ſenſible of a favour.

I deſire you would believe, that I abſolutely aſſent to your critique. That ſome of your ſen⯑timents were my own before I communicated the verſes; and others, as ſoon as you had favoured me with the diſcovery of them. That I would, per praeſentes, return my thanks for them; which you might juſtly have claimed, whether I had approved them or not. One exception to this approbation my modeſty bids me mention, on account of your too great partiality in my fa⯑vour. My gratitude you are entitled to, without exception or limitation.

It will, perhaps, gratify your curioſity to know, that Mr. G. has a copy of verſes in the laſt magazine, entitled, ‘"The little Cur."’ There are ſeveral ſtrokes that are pictureſque and hu⯑morous; I believe it was done in haſte. The motto is exquiſite, and much more properly ap⯑plied by Mr. G. than the Emperor Adrian, in [7] my opinion, notwithſtanding all that Pope ſays. Tell me your judgment of Mr. L—n's in the ſame paper. The epigram ‘"To one who refuſed to walk in the Park, &c."’ is a good one.

I have waved ſending the verſes to Mr. Somer⯑vile at preſent, becauſe I hope to ſee you ſoon either at the Leaſows or at Birmingham. I can't tell whether I ſhall have time to incloſe in this letter my ballad. If I do, conſider it only as ſome words that I chuſe to make uſe of to ſome notes of which I am more than ordinarily fond^*. It is as much deſigned for my own ſinging (in private I mean) as ever was a bottle of cherry-brandy for an old woman's drinking. Now I think of it, I really believe that I every day approach nearer and nearer to the capacity, the way, the inſignificancy, of an old woman. Mrs. Arnold has certainly, by her charms, her incantations, and her converſations together, contributed a good deal to this transformation. Pray come over if you can, and try to reinſtate me in my right mind, in proportion to the ſoundneſs of which I ſhall be more and more

IV. To the ſame, from Town.

I RETURN you my thanks, moſt heartily, for the poetical reſentment which you have ſhewn againſt my cenſurers, the Riddle-maſters. I have ſent Mr. Somervile's verſes and yours to Cave; though I am aſhamed to own I neglected it ſo long, that, I fear, he will have no room for them this month. If you can extirpate falſe wit in a manner, you will do no ſmall ſervice to the true: you do no ſmall honour to it, whether you extirpate the other or not.

You have heard of the motion; have heard, probably, all that I can tell you of it. That it was ill-concerted; that it has done the oppoſition great diſſervice; that the King is now confirmed in the opinion of Sir Robert's honeſty; that the younger Mr. Pitt's ſpeech was the moſt admired on the oppoſite ſide, and Sir R—t's on the court ſide; that they did not leave the Houſe till five in the morning; that Sir R—t and P—y are ſo violent, that the Sp—r is con⯑tinually calling them to order; finally, that the affair has occaſioned this print, which I addreſs to your curioſity merely, though the lines upon the Biſhop are humourous enough.—Now I men⯑tion curioſity; do you take notice of the many quaint contrivances made uſe of to catch people's n [...]tural inquiſitiveneſs in the pamphlets, viz. ‘"Are theſe things ſo?"—"Yes, they are."—"What then!"—"The devil of a ſtory."—"Hoy, boys."—"Up go we."—’And a thouſand others. What do you think muſt be my expence, who love to pry into every thing of this kind? Why, truly, one ſhilling. My company goes to George's Coffee-houſe, where, for that ſmall ſub⯑ſcription, I read all pamphlets under a three-ſhilling [9] dimenſions; and, indeed, any larger ones would not be fit for coffee-houſe peruſal.—Lord Dudley lent me two ſermons, given him at the Houſe of Lords, which I read laſt night. In the firſt, there are a great many deep animad⯑verſions delivered in a ſtyle that is tolerable; in the other, there is as great a want of common Engliſh as there is plenty of common obſerva⯑tions. Have you ſeen the ſermons on the Mar⯑tyrdom and on the Faſt-day? If you read either, ſend for the firſt. You'll find me degenerate from a gentle bard into a ſnarling critic, if my poem does not pleaſe (you'll ſay I am no very candid one at preſent:) but let its fate be what it will, I ſhall lay no ſmall ſtreſs upon the opi⯑nion of ſome that have approved it. As it is at preſent in keeping, it diſcovers no uncommon impudence, and runs no very great riſque; but who can anſwer for it, when it has the grace⯑leſſneſs to come upon the town?—Ora pro nobis, muſt ſoon be my motto. It virtues and faults will then be incapable of addition or diminu⯑tion, and the pious aſſiſtance of friends muſt—but I am no Roman Catholic.—The intrinſic merit of a book when it is printed, as well as the paſt life and converſation of a man that is departed, muſt damn, or give it immortality—I mean, to a certain degree.—I ſcrible what comes uppermoſt, and deſire you would do the ſame.

V. To a Friend, from London, deſcribing his Temper, and Manner of Living there.

I AM now with regard to the town pretty much in the ſame ſtate in which I expect to be always with regard to the world; ſometimes exclaiming and railing againſt it; ſometimes giv⯑ing it a good word, and even admiring it. A ſun-ſhiny day, a tavern-ſupper after a play well acted, and now and then an invigorating breath of air in the Mall, never fail of producing a chearful effect. I don't know whether I gave you any account of Quin's acting Falſtaff in my former letter: I really imagined that I ſaw you littering on one ſide me, ſhaking your ſides, and ſometimes ſcarce containing yourſelf. You'll pardon the attitude in which I placed you, ſince at was what ſeemed natural at that circumſtance of time. Comus I have once been at, for the ſake of the ſongs, though I deteſt it in any light: but as a dramatic piece the taking of it ſeems a prodigy; yet indeed ſuch-a-one, as was pretty to⯑lerably accounted for by a gentleman who ſate by me in the boxes. This learned ſage, being aſked how he liked the play, made anſwer, ‘"He could not tell—pretty well, he thought—or indeed as well as any other play—he always took it, that people only came there to ſee and to be ſeen—for as for what was ſaid, he owned, he never underſtood any thing of the matter."’ I told him, I thought a great many of its admirers were in his caſe, if they would but own it.

On the other hand, it is amazing to conſider to what an univerſality of learning people make [11] pretenſions here. There's not a drawer, a chair or hackney coach-man, but is politician, poet, and judge of polite literature. Chimney-ſwee⯑pers damn the Convention, and black-ſhoe-boys cry up the genius of Shakeſpeare. ‘"The Dan⯑ger of writing Verſe"’ is a very good thing; if you have not read it, I would recommend it to you as poetical. But now I talk of learning, I muſt not omit an interview which I acciden⯑tally had the other night in company with Lord D— and one Mr. C—. We were taken to ſup at a private houſe, where I found a perſon whom I had never ſeen before. The man behaved exceeding modeſtly and well; till, growing a little merry over a bottle (and being a little countenanced by the ſubject we were upon) he pulls out of his pocket about half a dozen ballads, and diſtributes them amongſt the com⯑pany. I (not finding at firſt they were of his own compoſition) read one over, and, finding it a dull piece of ſtuff, contented myſelf with ob⯑ſerving, that it was exceedingly well printed. But to ſee the man's face on this occaſion would make you pity the circumſtance of an author as long as you live. His jollity ceaſed (as a flame would do, ſhould you pour water upon it;) and, I be⯑lieve, for about five minutes, he ſpoke not a ſyllable. At length, recovering himſelf, he be⯑gan to talk about his country-ſeat, about Hough⯑ton Hall, and ſoon after deſired a health, ima⯑gining (as I found afterwards) that Lord D— would have given Sir Robert's. But he did not, naming Sir T— L—: mine, which followed, was that of Mr. L—. Now, who do you think this ſhould be, but honeſt Ralph Freeman (at leaſt the writer of the paper ſo ſubſcribed) your father's old friend and intimate, Sir Robert's right-hand, a perſon that lives elegantly, drives ſix of the beſt horſes in town, and plays on St. John's organ: (you know Mr. L— is not [12] only Sir Robert's greateſt enemy, but the Gazet⯑teer's proper antagoniſt.) We were invited to ſee him very civilly, and indeed the man behaved with the utmoſt good humour, without arro⯑gance, or any attempts at wit, which, probably, would not have been very ſucceſsful. Aſk your father what he would ſay to me, if I ſhould join in the cauſe with his old friend, and take a good annuity under Sir Robert, which, I be⯑lieve, I might have; and little encouragement, God knows, have I met with on the other ſide of the queſtion. I ſay, I believe I might have, becauſe I know a certain perſon gives penſions of three pound a week to porters and the moſt illi⯑terate, ſtupid fellows you can imagine, to talk in his behalf at ale-houſes; where they fit ſo long a time, and are as regularly relieved as one centry relieves another. At leaſt tell him that I expect in his anſwer to my letter (which I ſhall not allow him to aſſign to you) he write ſome⯑thing to confirm me in my integrity, and to make me prefer him, and you, and honeſty, to lace, brocade, and the ſmiles of the ladies, ‘Et Veneri, & cunis, & plumis Sardanapali.’ But I hope to keep my Hercules in view, whe⯑ther in print or manuſcript; and though I am as fond of pleaſure as moſt people, yet I ſhall obſerve the rule, ‘Poſitam ſic tangere noli.’

I deſire I may hear from you next poſt: I have a line or two, which I intend for the ſons of utter darkneſs (as you call them) next maga⯑zine: I would ſend them to you, for your advice, but cannot readily find them. I like every thing in Mr. Somervile's, but the running of the laſt line. I think to inſert them. Should be glad [13] to have a line or two of yours, that one may make a bold attack. I look on it as fun, with⯑out the leaſt emotion, I aſſure you.

VI. To the ſame at Bath, on his publiſhing his Poem of the Judgment of HERCULES.

I HEARTILY thank you for the ſervice your letter did me. And a conſiderable ſer⯑vice, no doubt, it is, to raiſe the ſpirits of a perſon ſo habitually diſpirited as I have been for ſome time. For this, and all former favours, as the ſullen fellow ſays in Shakeſpeare, ‘"I thank you; I am not of many words, but I thank you."’

I beg you would ceaſe to apologize for your letters: in the firſt place, it will lay me under a neceſſity of doing ſo; and, in the next place, you may be aſſured, that no friendly letter of yours will ever be otherwiſe than infinitely agree⯑able to me.

I ſent a letter to Mr. Marriett at Bath, to be left with you at your former place of reſidence; you will be ſo kind as to give it to him.

If I wiſh for a large fortune, it is rather for the ſake of my friends than myſelf: or, to com⯑promiſe the matter with thoſe moraliſts who [14] argue for the univerſality of ſelf-intereſt, it is to gratify myſelf in the company, and in the gra⯑tifications, of my friends.

Dr. Ratcliff has ſent me a letter, which gives me much ſatisfaction in reſpect of my poem; notwithſtanding, he cannot forbear adding, that he expects to hear, ſince my pen has ſo well adorned the fable, that my conduct will, with equal propriety and elegance, illuſtrate the moral. However, the ſimple approbation of a ſincere man affects one more, than Pliny's panegyric could do, from a more courtly one.

There are ſeveral errors of the preſs, which neither ſagacity nor vigilance itſelf, I now ſee, can prevent, and which I beg you to correct with your pen, in a copy which I muſt get you to preſent to C— L—, together with the incloſed letter. Pleaſe to be at the expence of having it ſtitched in purple paper, and gilt at the edges; and I will repay you.

I was loitering yeſterday in the coffee-room, when two perſons came in, well-dreſſed, and called for my poem; read a page or two, and commended the four lines upon Mr. L— ex⯑tremely; ‘("Lov'd by that prince, &c.")’ repeated them forty times, and, in the end, got them by heart, mentioned them to a third perſon, who ſaid he knew of no virtue that the prince was fired with, and then endeavoured to mimic the prince's way of talking; but, ſays he, I'll ſhew the four beſt lines in the poem, and then proceeded to ‘"'Twas youth's perplexing ſtage, &c."’ which are flat enough, God knows—but to my firſt heroes; one of them reads, ‘"When great Alci⯑des to a grove retir'd."’ Ay, ay, you know Mr. L— did retire, he was in the ſeceſſion; read on; you'll find he mentions Delia anon. Don't you remember Mr. L— wrote a ſong upon Delia? but proceed—you'll find he is going to give a deſcription of two ladies, of different characters, that were in [15] love with Mr. L—. One was (here he named two names, which I have forgot.) Upon my word, it is fine: I believe it is Pope's;—but how comes Pope to praiſe himſelf there? ‘("Lov'd by that bard, &c.")’ No doubt, however, it was written by Mr. Pope, or Mr D—.

My critics proceeded to the reading of the laſt ſimile immediately, without the lines preced⯑ing it, and, agreeing that it was a very good thing, called out for ‘"The Oeconomy of Love."’ So you ſee, ‘"Laudant illa, ſed iſta legunt,"’ is the caſe. A perſon cannot be ſuppoſed vain from the approbation of ſuch critics, or elſe I would not have inſerted ſuch a commendatory paragraph. I never enquire how my poem takes, and am afraid to do ſo.—However, I find ſome do allow it to be Mallet's.—I am impatient till I hear from you: I ſhall be here till this day fortnight; afterwards at the Leaſows—I muſt add this, ‘"Ne, ſtudio noſtri, pecces;"’ but at the ſame time alſo

Theſe oppoſite petitions delineate my ſtate of mind: it is well for me that I have you at Bath.

VII. To Mr. JAGO, on the Death of his Father.

I FIND ſome difficulty in writing to you on this melancholy occaſion. No one can be more unfit to attempt to leſſen your grief than myſelf, becauſe no one has a deeper ſenſe of the cauſe of your affliction. Though I would by no means be numbered by you amongſt the common herd of your acquaintance, that tell you they are ſorry, yet it were impertinent in me to mention a mere friend's concern to a perſon intereſted by ſo many more tender regards. Beſide, I ſhould be glad to alleviate your ſorrow, and ſuch fort of condolence tends but little to promote that end. I do not chuſe to flatter you; neither could I, more eſpecially at this time; but though I could perhaps find enough to ſay to perſons of leſs ſenſe than you, I know of nothing but what your own reaſon muſt have ſuggeſted. Concern indeed may have ſuſpended the power of that faculty; and upon that pretence I have a few things that I would ſuggeſt to you. After all, it is time alone, that can and will cure all afflictions, but ſuch as are the conſequence of vice; and your's, I am ſure, proceeds from a contrary principle.

I heard accidentally of this ſorrowful event, and accompanied you to London with the umoſt concern. I wiſhed it was in my power to miti⯑gate your griefs by ſharing them, as I have often found it in yours to augment my pleaſures by ſo doing.

All that I can recommend to you is, not to confine your eye to any ſingle event in life, but to take in your whole circumſtances before you repine.

When you reflect that you have loſt one of the beſt of men in a father, you ought to com⯑fort [17] yourſelf that you had ſuch a father; to whom I cannot forbear applying theſe lines from Milton:

I would have you, by all means, come over hither as ſoon as you can.—I will endeavour to render the time you ſpend here as ſatisfactory as it is in my power; and I hope you will ever look upon me as your hearty friend, through all the viſſitudes of life.

Pray give my humble ſervice to Mrs. Jago and your brother.

VIII. To Mr. REYNOLDS.

WONDERFUL were the dangers and difficulties through which I went, the night I left you at Barels; which I looked upon as ordained by fate for the temporal puniſhment of obſtinacy. It was very kind, and in charac⯑ter for you to endeavour to deter me from the ways of darkneſs; but having a ſort of penchant for needleſs difficulties, I have an undoubted right to indulge myſelf in them, ſo long as I do [18] not inſiſt upon any one's pity. It is true, theſe ought not to exceed a certain degree; they ſhould be lenia tormenta; and I muſt own the labours I underwent that night, did not come within the bounds which my imagination had preſcribed. I cannot forbear mentioning one imminent danger.—I rode along a conſiderable piece of water covered ſo cloſe with trees, that it was as probable I might have purſued the channel, which was dangerous, as my way out of it. Or, to put my caſe in a more poetical light, having by night intruded upon an amour betwixt a Wood-nymph and a River-god, I owed my eſcape to Fortune, who conveyed me from the vengeance which they might have taken. I put up finally at a little alehouſe about ten o'clock, and lay all night awake, counting the cords which ſupported me, which I could more ſafely ſwear to than to either bed or blanket. For farther particulars, ſee my epiſtle to the Paſtor Fido of Lapworth.—Mr. Graves ſays, he ſhould be glad to ſhew you any civilities in his power, upon his own acquaintance; and will ſerve you as far as his vote goes, upon my re⯑commendation; but is afraid, without the con⯑currence of ſome more conſiderable friends, your chance will be but ſmall this year, &c. If the former part of this news gives you any pleaſure, I aſſure you it gives me no leſs to communicate it; and this pleaſure proceeds from a principle which would induce me to ſerve you myſelf, if it ſhould ever be in my power.—I ſaw Mr. Lyttleton laſt week: he is a candidate for the county of Worceſter, together with Lord Deer⯑hurſt; I hope Mr. Somervile will do him the honour to appear as his friend, which he muſt at leaſt think ſecond to that of ſucceeding.

I hear you are commenced chaplain ſince I ſaw you. I wiſh you joy of it. The chaplain's title is infinitely more agreeable than his office; [19] and I hope the ſcarf, which is expreſſive of it, will be no diminutive thing, no fourpenny-half⯑penny piece of ribboning; but that it will

I hope it will prove ominous, that my firſt letter is a congratulatory one; and if I were to have op⯑portunities of ſending all ſuch, it would entirely quadrate with the ſincere wiſhes of

I beg my compliments to Mr. Somervile, Mrs. Knight, and your family.

Leaſows, Aug. 1740.

IX. To the ſame.

I AM heartily obliged to Mr. Somervile, that he will make uſe of any means to ſerve me; more eſpecially that he will take the trouble of conſulting which may be moſt effectual to that end; and I deſire you would repreſent theſe ſen⯑timents to him in the moſt expreſſive manner.

I have, ſince I arrived here (which was laſt Saturday night) heard Lowe ſing, and ſeen Cib⯑ber act. The laureat ſpoke an epilogue made upon, and, I ſuppoſe, by himſelf, in which he does not only make a bare confeſſion, but an oſtentation of all his follies:

or ſome ſuch lines, I cannot accurately recollect them. I do not wonder he pleaſed extremely; but to a conſidering man there is ſomething ſtrangely diſagreeable, to hear a ſcandalous life recommended by one of his age, and as much ſatisfaction ſhewn in the review of it, as if it had been a perfect galaxy of virtues. An Athe⯑nian audience would have ſhewn their different ſentiments on this occaſion. But I am acting the part of Jeremy Collier, and indeed in ſome de⯑gree of an Hypocrite, for I confeſs I was highly pleaſed with him myſelf. I have nothing to add, but a fine cloſe, if I had it; as I have not, you muſt be content with the vulgar one, that I am

X. To the ſame.

I THANK you for the favour of your laſt letter, particularly your readineſs in tranſ⯑mitting to me any thing of Mr. Somervile's. It ſo fell out, that Mr. Outing delivered to me the verſes, and I had the pleaſure of reading them about a moment before he gave me your epiſtle.

The town expected ſomething of importance, namely, a motion for a committee of enquiry into late meaſures, would be moved for to day. If any thing of this nature has been carried on, I will add an account of it before I cloſe my letter. In the mean time, it is, I believe, very credible, that Lord Orford has a continued in⯑fluence over the King; and that the Duke of [21] Argyle is ſufficiently diſguſted, to have talked of the reſignation of his poſts again.

An odd ſtory enough the following, and I believe true! Somebody that had juſt learnt that Hor W 's gentleman's name was Jackſon, writes a letter to Mr Floyer, keeper of the Tower, intimating his maſter's deſire to ſpeak with him. Floyer dreſſes the next morning, and waits upon H—e, comes into his room,— ‘"Sir, ſays Horace, I really don't know you. —"’ ‘"Sir, my name is Floyer.—"’ ‘"Ay, by G—d, that may be; I don't know you for all that—"’ ‘"Sir, ſays he, I am keeper of the Tower—"’ ‘"G—d damn your blood, ſays H—e, produce your warrant—damn you, produce your war⯑rant; or, by G—d, I'll kick ye down ſtairs—"’

Frighted at theſe threats, the gentleman re⯑tired; and in his way home had leiſure to con⯑ſider the joke that was put upon him, and more particularly turned upon the perſon to whom he was ſent.

If you direct a line to Mr. Shuckburgh's, bookſeller, in Fleet-ſtreet, it will arrive agree⯑able to

MY compliments to your patron.

XI. To the ſame.

YOUR laſt letter gave me a good deal of uneaſineſs, in rgard to Mr. Somervile's indiſpoſition. I hope, if he is better, you will omit no opportunity of gratifying me with the news of it. I ſhall be glad to employ you and Mr. Jago in my little rivulet before winter comes, [22] when one muſt bid adieu to rural beauties. Thoſe charming ſcenes, which the poets, in order to render them more compleat, have furniſhed with ladies, muſt be ſtript of all their ornaments. Thoſe incomparable nymphs, the Dryads and the Nereids, which have been my conſtant com⯑panions this ſhort ſummer, will vaniſh to more pleaſing climes; and I muſt be left to ſeek my aſſiſtance in real beauties, inſtead of imaginary ones. In ſhort, I am thinking to live part of this winter in Worceſter, or ſome other town. I was at a concert there, a very full one, lately. I obſerved Dr. Mackenzie talking to Mr. Lyt⯑tleton; and I hope, on that account, he is in his intereſt; otherwiſe Mr. Somervile would do Mr. Lyttleton great ſervice by engaging him.—Mr. Lyttleton took occaſion to mention to me, the obligation he lay under to Mr. Somervile for his letter, as well as his other deſigns in his fa⯑vour—that he had long received great pleaſure from that gentleman's pen, and wiſhed for the honour of his acquaintance. I told him, I be⯑lieved the ſatisfaction would be mutual, or to that purpoſe. He added, that the Chace was an extremely beautiful poem, the beſt by far ever written on the ſubject. But now the fiddles ſqueaked, the harpſichord jingled, and the per⯑formers began to feel the divine enthuſiaſm. The god of muſic invaded them as he did the Sibyll of old:

I am, Sir, with all due compliments to Mr. Somervile,

XII. To Mr. JAGO, from London, with Obſerva⯑tions on the Stage, &c.

YOU ſee I am extremely expeditious in an⯑ſwering your letter; the reaſon of which is a very powerful one, namely, the information which I received laſt night, that it would be agreeable to you I ſhould do ſo. Pleaſe, there⯑fore, to ſet aſide the ſum of eighteen pence, or thereabouts, for letters which you will receive whilſt I am in London; and, to make it ſeem the leſs profuſely ſquandered, conſider it amongſt any other caſual expences which you careleſsly ſubmit to, merely to gratify your curioſity.

I went the other night, with the greateſt ex⯑pectations, to ſee ‘"The Merry Wives of Wind⯑ſor"’ performed at Covent-Garden. It is im⯑poſſible to expreſs how much every thing fell below my ideas. But I have conſidered ſince; and I find, that my expectations were really more unjuſt than their manner of acting. Perſons, in order to act well, ſhould have ſomething of the author's fire, as well as a polite education. And what makes this the clearer to me is, that you hear ten plays well read by gentlemen in compa⯑ny, to one that you find well performed upon the ſtage.—Nothing can be more ignorant or affected than the ſcornful airs which ſome peo⯑ple give themſelves at a country play; becauſe, forſooth, they have ſeen plays in town. The truth is, the chief advantage of plays in town lies entirely in the ſcenery. You ſeldom obſerve a ſet of ſtrollers without one or two actors who are quite equal to their parts; and I really know of no good one, at either of the two Theatres Royal, except Cibber, who rarely acts, and Mrs. Olive, I will add one more, in compliance with my own taſte merely, and that is Mr. Neal, a [24] fellow who, by playing the fool, has gained my particular eſteem.

After the play, we had an entertainment;—falſely ſo called! It was that of Orpheus and Eurydice, the moſt un-muſical thing I ever heard, and which laſted, I believe, three hours, with ſome intermixtures of Harlequin; both ſo dull, and yet heard with patience, that I was amazed, aſtoniſhed, confounded; but really a man of ſenſe ought not to be ſo; becauſe they were not calculated for him.

I want you here extremely;—pray come up for a week. I ſuppoſe you will not, ſo I will not argue ſuperfluouſly. However, write ſoon; and believe that your letters are the moſt agree⯑able things in the world to, Sir,

XIII. To the ſame.

AS I have no ſort of library in town, I find ſeveral minutes upon my hands, for which, if I employ them in ſcribling to my friends, they are but ſlenderly obliged to me. I hope no friend of mine will ever be induced, by my ex⯑ample, to do any thing but avoid it; I believe no one breathing can ſay, with more truth, ‘"Video meliora, &c."’ It is not from a ſpirit of jealouſy that I would adviſe my acquaintance to ſeek happineſs in the regular path of a fixed life. But, though I very highly approve of it, and envy it, my particular turn of mind would be as little ſatisfied with it, as it is like to be a dif⯑ferent one. Yet, however I complain, I muſt [25] own, I have a good deal reconciled myſelf to this mixture of gratification and diſappointment, which muſt be my lot, till the laſt totally pre⯑vails.

YET, after all, to tell you the truth, I am not pleaſed with being adviſed to retire. I was ſay⯑ing the other day to Mr. Outing, that I had been ambitious more than I was at preſent, and that I grew leſs ſo every day. Upon this he chimed in with me, and approved my deſpon⯑dency; ſaying, ‘"that he alſo had been ambiti⯑ous, but found it would not do."’ Do you think I lik'd him much for this?—no—I wheeled about and ſaid, ‘"I did not think with him; for I ſhould always find myſelf whetted by diſap⯑pointments, and more violent in proportion to the intricacy of the game."’ I ſpent a night with him and Mr. Meredith, and with him and Mr. Dean: in the latter party he had laid his hand upon his ſword ſix times, and threatened to put a dozen men to death, one of which was Broughton the prize-fighter.—Mr. Whiſtler's company ſeldom relieves me on an evening; and I go to plays but ſeldom, becauſe I intend no more to give countenance to the pit.—I have got a belt!!! which diſtinguiſhes me as much as a garter—it captivates the eyes of all beholders, and binds their underſtanding in golden bandage.—I heard a pedant punning upon the word [...]; and a wag whiſpering that I was re⯑lated to Beltiſhazzar. In ſhort, I may ſay, from the Dragon of Wantley,

THE Dunciad is, doubtleſs, Mr. Pope's do⯑tage, [...]; ſlat in the whole, and in⯑cluding, [26] with ſeverable tolerable lines, a number of weak, obſcure, and even punning ones. What is now read by the whole world, and the whole world's wife, is, Mr. Hervey's Letter to Sir T. Hanmer. I own my taſte is gratified in it, as well as that unluckineſs, natural to every one; though people ſay (I think idly) he is mad. For this long letter I ſhall expect two, ſoon after you have received it. Adieu!

DID you ſee a poem, called ‘"Woman in Miniature,"’ written with ſpirit, but incorrect? The people that were carrying Lord Orford in effigy, to behead him on Tower Hill, came into the box where he was, accidentally, at George's, to beg money of him, amongſt others.

XIV. To Mr. —, on his taking Orders in the Church.

I WRITE to you out of the abundant incli⯑nation I have to hear from you, imagining that, as you gave me a direction, you might poſ⯑ſibly expect to receive a previous letter from me. I want to be informed of the impreſſions you receive from your new circumſtances. The chief averſion which ſome people have to orders is, what I fancy you will remove in ſuch as you converſe with. I take it to be owing partly to dreſs, and partly to the avowed profeſſion of reli⯑gion. A young clergyman, that has diſtinguiſh⯑ed his genius by a compoſition or two of a polite nature, and is capable of dreſſing himſelf, and his religion, in a different manner from the ge⯑nerality of his profeſſion, that is, without for⯑mality, is certainly a genteel character. I ſpeak this not with any ſly deſign to adviſe, but to in⯑timate, that I think you very capable of ſhining [27] in a dark-coloured coat.—You muſt conſider me yet as a man of the world, and endeavouring to elicit that pleaſure from gaiety, which my reaſon tells me I ſhall never find.—It is impoſſible to expreſs how ſtupid I have been ever ſince I came home, inſomuch that I cannot write a common letter without ſix repetitions. This is the third time I have begun yours, and you ſee what ſtuff it is made up of. I muſt e'en haſten to matter of fact, which is the comfortable re⯑ſource of dull people,—though, even as to that, I have nothing to communicate. But I would be glad to know, whether you are under a ne⯑ceſſity of reſiding on week-days; and, if not, why I may not expect you a day or two at the Leaſows very ſoon.—Did you make any enquiry concerning the number of my poems ſold at Ox⯑ford? or did you hear any thing concerning it that concerns me to hear?—Will S— (for that is his true name) is the exceſs of ſimplicity and good-nature. He ſeems to have all the induſtry imaginable to divert and amuſe people, without any ambitious ends to ſerve, or almoſt any con⯑cern whether he has ſo much as a laugh allowed to his ſtories, any farther than as a laugh is an indication that people are delighted. This, joined with his turn of thought, renders him quite agreeable. I wiſh it were in my power to conciliate acquaintance with half his caſe.—Pray do not delay writing to me. Adieu!

XV. To Mr. GRAVES, on ſimilar Taſte and Manners.

I WAS very agreeably entertained by your laſt letter, as indeed I am by every one of yours. It were affectation to except a paragraph or two on account of partiality, where, to ſay the truth, the partiality itſelf pleaſes one.—This I am very poſitive of, that to have a friend of your temper and taſte will always give me pleaſure, whether I pleaſe the world or no; but to pleaſe ever ſo much, without ſome ſuch friendſhip, would, in all probability, ſignify but little. I ſhall, therefore, value any means that tend to confirm my opinion of your eſteem for me, pre⯑ferably to any that ſhew me I am merely deſerving of it. After all, though a very limited number of friends may be ſufficient, an idle perſon ſhould have a large acquaintance; and I believe I have the leaſt of any one that ever rambled about ſo much as I have done. I do not know how it is, but I abſolutely deſpair of ever being introduced into the world. It may be objected by ſome (but you will not object it) that I may be acquainted with a ſufficient number of people that are my equals, if I will. They may be my equals and ſupe⯑riors, whom they mean, for aught I care; but their converſation gives me no more pleaſure than the canking of a gooſe, or the quacking of a duck, in affluent circumſtances. Rather leſs indeed of the two, becauſe the idea of the ſat gooſe flatters one's appetite; but the human gooſe is neither fit to be heard nor eaten. I wiſh in⯑deed to be ſhewn into good company; but, if I can at all diſtinguiſh the nature of my inclina⯑tions, it is more in hopes of meeting with a re⯑fined converſation, than any thing elſe. I do not at all inſiſt that my genius is better than that [29] of my vociferous neighbours; if it be different, it is a ſufficient reaſon why I ſhould ſeek ſuch companions as ſuit it; and whether they are found in high or low life, is little to the pur⯑poſe. But you will perhaps diſcern the opera⯑tions of vanity in all my endeavours; I will not diſagree with you, provided you will allow amuſement an equal ſhare in them. It is the va⯑nity to be intimate with men of diſtinguiſhed ſenſe, not of diſtinguiſhed fortune. And this is a vanity which you ſhould not diſapprove, be⯑cauſe it will bind me a laſting friend to you and your family.

I have been over at Shiffnall, and, in order to make myſelf agreeable, rode a hunting with Mr. Pitt. I confeſs I was ſomewhat diverted; and my horſe was ſo much an enthuſiaſt, as to be very near running headlong into a deep wa⯑ter. I believe, if I were to turn ſportſman, I ſhould ſoon break my neck, for fear the huntſ⯑man ſhould deſpiſe me.

I will certainly endeavour to ſee you at Bir⯑mingham; but beg you would write me a long letter in the mean time; and contrive, if you can, to make it look like a packet, as your laſt did, for the ſight thereof is exceedingly com⯑fortable.

Though my wiſhes will not ſuffer me to believe that your eyes are in the danger you repreſent; yet, ſuppoſing them to be only very weak, I would recommend ſome muſical inſtrument, that is moſt agreeable to you. I have often looked upon muſic as my dernier reſort, if I ſhould ever diſ⯑card the world, and turn eremite entirely. Con⯑ſider what other amuſement can make an equal impreſſion in old age.

I have filled my paper not without difficulty, through the barrenneſs of my brain, and ſitua⯑tion: my heart ever ſlows with the moſt warm ſtreams of gratitude and affection for you. Adieu!

XVI. To a Friend, expreſſing his Diſſatisfaction at the Manner of Life in which he is engaged.

I WONDER I have not heard from you lately—of you indeed I have, from Mr. W—. If you could come over, probably, I might go back with you for a day or two; for my horſe I think gets rather better, and may, with indul⯑gence, perform ſuch a journey. I want to adviſe with you about ſeveral matters—to have your opinion about a building that I have built, and about a journey which I deſign to Bath; and about numberleſs things, which, as they are num⯑berleſs, cannot be comprehended in this paper. I am

Now I am come home from a viſit—every little uneaſineſs is ſufficient to introduce my whole train of melancholy conſiderations, and to make me utterly diſſatisfied with the life I now lead, and the life which I foreſee I ſhall lead. I am angry, and envious, and dejected, and fran⯑tic, and diſregard all preſent things, juſt as be⯑comes a madman to do. I am infinitely pleaſed (though it is a gloomy joy) with the application of Dr. Swift's complaint, ‘"that he is forced to die in a rage, like a poiſoned rat in a hole."’ My ſoul is no more ſuited to the figure I make, than a cable rope to a cambrick needle:—I can⯑not bear to ſee the advantages alienated, which I think I could deſerve and reliſh ſo much more than thoſe that have them.—Nothing can give me patience but the ſoothing ſympathy of a friend, and that will only turn my rage into ſim⯑ple [31] melancholy.—I believe ſoon I ſhall bear to ſee no-body. I do hate all hereabouts already, except one or two. I will have my dinner brought upon my table in my abſence, and the plates fetched away in my abſence: and no⯑body ſhall ſee me: for I can never bear to ap⯑pear in the ſame ſtupid mediocrity for years to⯑gether, and gain no ground. As Mr. G— com⯑plained to me (and, I think, you too, both un⯑juſtly,) ‘"I am no character."—’I have in my temper ſome rakiſhneſs, but it is checked by want of ſpirits; ſome ſolidity, but it is ſoftened by vanity: ſome eſteem of learning, but it is broke in upon by lazineſs, imagination, and want of memory, &c.—I could reckon up twenty things throughout my whole circumſtances wherein I am thus tantalized. Your fancy will preſent them.—Not that all I ſay here will ſignify to you; I am only under a fit of diſſatisfaction, and to grumble does me good—only excuſe me, that I cure myſelf at your expence. Adieu!

XVII. To the ſame.

YOU muſt give me leave to complain of your laſt letter, three parts of which is filled with mere apology: I thought we had ſome time agreed, for our mutual emolument, to lay aſide ceremonies of this ſpecies; till I was made Poet-laureat, and you Biſhop of Wincheſ⯑ter.—Why Biſhop of Wincheſter, for God's ſake? Why—becauſe—he is prelate of the Garter—an order, in all kinds of ceremony ſo greatly abounding.—Here am I ſtill, trifling away my time, my money, and, I think, my health, which I fancy greatly inferior to what it it would be in the country. Truth is, I do make ſhift to vary my days a little here; and, [32] calling to mind the many irkſome hours, the ſtupid identity of which I have been ſo often ſick in the country, I conclude that I am leſs un⯑happy than I ſhall find myſelf at home.—Howe⯑ver, next month I hope to ſee the Leaſows with an appetite.—Walks in the park are now de⯑lightfully pleaſant: the company ſtays in the Mall till ten every night.—Mrs. Olive, Mrs. Wof⯑fington, Barbarini, and Mr. Garrick (happy man!) are gone over to Ireland, to act there for two months.—Mr. Outing, the laſt time I ſaw him, told me how Dr. Mackenzie cured him of ever fighting with ſcrubs, ‘"I was juſt going, ſays he, to kick a fellow down ſtairs, when the Doctor cries out, 'Mr. Outing! hear our Scotch pro⯑verb before you proceed any farther;—He that wreſtles with a t—d, whether he get or loſe the victory, is ſure to be b—t.' I had great difficulty (continued he) to contain my⯑ſelf till he had finiſhed his ſtory, but I found it ſo pat that it ſaved the fellow's neck"’ I wiſh I could cure him as eaſily of theſe Quixo⯑tical narrations—I know no ſoul in town that has any taſte, which occaſions me the ſpleen fre⯑quently. I remember W— and I were obſerving, that no creatures, though ever ſo loathſome, (as toads, ſerpents, adders, &c.) would be half ſo hated as ourſelves, if we were to give vent to our ſpleen, and cenſure affections ſo bluntly as ſome people do. I would not venture this hint, if I did not believe you experience the ſame. For my part, people contradict me in things I have ſtudied, and am certain of; and I keep ſilence even from good words (bons mots) though it is pain and grief to me. I muſt give up my knowledge to pretence, or vent it with diffidence to fools, or there is no peace. Theſe, theſe are juſ⯑tifiable motives to wiſh for ſome degree of ſame; that blind people may not bully a man that has his eyeſight into their opinion that green is [33] red, &c. Deference from fools, is no inviduous ambition; I dare own to you that I have this; and I will contend that I have no more haughty one.—This ſubject I could expatiate upon with pleaſure; but I ſtop: a taſteleſs fellow has ſpoil⯑ed my Mall-walk to-night, and occaſioned you ſome trouble in theſe dull obſervations.—I am

XVIII. To Mr. — from the Leaſows.

IF a friend of yours who lived in the fartheſt part of China were to ſend you a pinch of ſnuff wrapt up in a ſheet of writing-paper, I conceive the ſnuff would improve in value as it travelled, and gratify your curioſity extremely by the time it reached your fingers ends—Very true—you will ſay:—why then, that very conſi⯑deration was my inducement to write to you at this time; and that ſort of progreſſional value is what you are to place upon my letter. For, be aſſured, I am not ignorant how much this my letter doth reſemble a pinch of ſnuff in point of ſignificancy, and that both the one and the other are what you may as well do without.—My letter is as follows.

You muſt know, in rainy weather, I always ſoothe my melancholy with the remembrance of diſtant friends only: you cannot eaſily conceive the high value I place upon their good qualities at ſuch a time: ſo that at this very inſtant I am impatient to ſee you. To-morrow, if the ſun ſhines bright, I ſhall only wiſh for your [32] [...] [33] [...] [34] company as for a very great good. If you are unemployed when you leave Bath, I ſhould think, you might ſtay ſome time with me this ſummer. Refined ſenſe is what one is apt to value one's ſelf upon; but really, unleſs one has a refined ſoul or two to converſe with, it is an inconvenience. I have ruined my happineſs by converſing with you, and a few more friends: as Falſtaff ſays to Hal, ‘"Company, witty com⯑pany, has been the ruin of me!"’ Before I knew that pleaſure, I was as contented as could be in my ſolitude; and now, the abſence of enter⯑tainment is a poſitive pain to me. London has amuſed me a while with diverſions; but now they are paſt, and I have neither any one about me that has the leaſt delicateſſe, or that I can in⯑ſpire with the ambition of having any.—W— W— comes in a dirty ſhirt, and an old coat, without a ſtock, to pay me a viſit. He pulled out a pair of ſciſſars, and, giving them an intricate turn over his two thumbs, ſaid, that he could do that, and I could make a poem; ſome for one thing, ſome for another:

It was ſplenetic weather too.—The man is curſt who writes verſes, and lives in the country.—If his celeſtial part inſpires him to converſe with Juno, his tereſtrial one neceſſitates him to to ſtoop to his landlady; ſo that he is in as diſagreeable a ſituation, as if one perſon were to pull him upwards by the head, and another downwards by the tail.—Do you never find any thing of this?—I mean, that your pride and your ſocial qualities torture you with their dif⯑ferent attractions? Indeed one would always give way to the laſt, but that few are famili⯑arity-proof, few but whom it teaches to deſpiſe one. Albeit I am conſcious of the bad influ⯑ence [35] of freedom myſelf; yet, whilſt it tends to diſcover wit, humour, and ſenſe, it only ren⯑ders me more and more

XIX. To the ſame, with an invitation to accompany him to Town.

THE reaſon why I write to you ſo ſud⯑denly is, that I have a propoſal to make to you. If you could contrive to be in London for about a month from the end of December, I imagine you would ſpend it agreeably enough along with me, Mr. Outing, and Mr. Whiſtler. According to my calculations, we ſhould be a vely happy party at a play, coffee-houſe, or tavern.—Do not let your ſupercilious friends come in upon you with then prudential maxims.—Conſider, you are now of the proper age for pleaſure, and have not above four or five whimſical years left. You have not ſtruck one bold ſtroke yet, that I know of. Saddle your mule, and let us be jogging to the great city. I will be anſwerable for amuſement.—Let me have the pleaſure of ſeeing you in the pit, in a laughter as cordial and ſingular as your friendſhip. Come—let us go forth into the opera-houſe; let us hear how the cunuch-folk ſing. Turn your eyes upon the lilies and roſes, diamonds and rubies; the Belindas and the Sylvias of gay life! Think upon Mrs. Olive's [36] inexpreſſible comicalneſs; not to mention Hip⯑peſley's joke-abounding phyſiognomy! Think, I ſay, now: for the time cometh when you ſhall ſay, ‘"I have no pleaſure in them."—’I am conſcious of much merit in bringing about the interview betwixt Mr. L— and Mr. S—; but merit, as Sir John Falſtaff ſays, is not regarded in theſe coſter-monger days.

Pray now do not write me word that your buſineſs will not allow you ten minutes in a fort⯑night to write to me; an excuſe fit for none but a cobler, who has ten children dependent upon a waxen thread. Adieu!

XX. To the ſame, on occaſion of printing the SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

I TRUST you do not pay double poſtage for my levity in incloſing theſe decorations. If I find you do, I will not ſend you the thatch'd⯑houſe and the birch-tree, with the ſun ſetting and gilding the ſcene.—I expect a cargo of franks; and then for the beautiful picture of Lady Gainſborough, and the deformed portrait of my old ſchool-dame, Sarah Lloyd! whoſe houſe is to be ſeen as thou travelleſt towards the native home of thy faithful ſervant.—But ſhe ſleeps with her fathers; and is buried with her fathers; and—Thomas her ſon reigneth in her ſtead!—I have the firſt ſheet to correct upon the table. I have laid aſide the thoughts of ſame a good deal in this un-promiſing ſcheme; and fix them upon the landſkip which is engrav⯑ing, [37] the red letter which I purpoſe, and the fruit piece which you ſee, being the moſt ſeemly ornaments of the firſt ſixpenny pamphlet that was ever ſo highly honoured. I ſhall incur the ſame reflection with Ogilby, of having nothing good but my decorations.

I have been walking in the Mall to-night.—The Duke was there, and was highly delighted with two dogs, and ſtared at me more enor⯑mouſly than ever Duke did before. I do not know for what reaſon; unleſs for the ſame which made him admire the other puppy-dogs, becauſe they were large ones.

I expect that in your neighbourhood, and in Warwickſhire, there ſhould be about twenty of my poems ſold. I print it myſelf. I am not yet ſatisfied about mottoes. That printed is this, ‘"O, quà ſol habitabiles illuſtrat oras, maxime principum!"’ It muſt be ſhort, on account of the plate. I do not know but I may adhere to a very inſignificant one:

I am pleaſed with Mynde's engravings; and I can ſpeak without affectation, that Fame is not equally in my thoughts.—One caution I gave Mr. W—, and it is what I would give to all my friends with whom I wiſh my intimacy may continue ſo much as I wiſh it may with you. Though I could bear the diſregard of the town; I could not bear to ſee my friends alter their opinion, which they ſay they have, of what I write, though millions contradict them. It is an obſtinacy which I can boaſt of, and they that have more ſenſe may ſurely inſiſt on the liberty of judging for themſelves. If you ſhould faul⯑ter, I ſhould ſay you did not deſerve your capa⯑city [38] to judge for yourſelf. Write ſoon—you never are at a fault— ‘"tantummodo incepto opus eſt, caetera res expediet."’ Adieu!

XXI. To the ſame, from Town, on the Death of Mr. Somervile, &c.

OUR old friend Somervile is dead! I did not imagine I could have been ſo ſorry as I find myſelf on this occaſion. ‘"Sublatum quaerimus."’ I can now excuſe all his foibles; impute them to age, and to diſtreſs of circum⯑ſtances; the laſt of theſe conſiderations wrings my very ſoul to think on. For a man of high ſpirit, conſcious of having (at leaſt in one pro⯑duction) generally pleaſed the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches that are low in every ſenſe; to be forced to drink him⯑ſelf into pains of the body in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a miſery which I can well conceive, becauſe I may, without va⯑nity, eſteem myſelf his equal in point of oeco⯑nomy, and conſequently ought to have an eye on his misfortunes: (As you kindly hinted to me at twelve o'clock at the Feathers) I ſhould retrench;—I will; but you ſhall not ſee me:—I will not let you know that I took your hint in good part. I will do it at ſolitary times, as I may: and yet there will be ſome difficulty in it; for whatever the world might eſteem in poor Somervile, I really find, upon critical en⯑quiry, that I loved him for nothing ſo much as his flocci-nauci-nihili-pili fication of money.

Mr. A— was honourably acquitted: Lord A—, who was preſent, and behaved very in⯑ſolently [39] they ſay, was hiſſed out of court. They proved his application to the carpenter's ſon, to get him to ſwear againſt Mr. A—, though the boy was proved to have ſaid in ſeveral compa⯑nies (before he had been kept at Lord A—'s houſe) that he was ſure the thing was acciden⯑tal. Finally, it is believed he will recover the title of A—ea.

The apprehenſion of the whores, and the ſuffocation of four in the round-houſe, by the ſtupidity of the keeper, engroſſes the talk of the town. The ſaid houſe is rebuilding every day (for the mob on Sunday night demoliſhed it), and re-demoliſhed every night. The Duke of M —gh, J— S— his brother, Lord C— G—, were taken into the round-houſe, and confined from eleven at night till eleven next day: I am not poſitive of the Duke of M—gh, the others are certain: and that a large number of people of the firſt faſhion went from the round-houſe to De Veil's, to give in informations of their uſage. The juſtice himſelf ſeems greatly ſcared; the proſecution will be carried on with violence, ſo as probably to hang the keeper, and there is an end.

Lord Bath's coachman got drunk and tumbled from his box, and he was forced to borrow Lord Orford's. Wits ſay, that it was but gra⯑titude for my Lord Orford's coachman to drive my Lord Bath, as my Lord Bath himſelf had driven my Lord Orford. Thus they.

I have ten million of things to tell you; tho' they all amount to no more than that I wiſh to pleaſe you, and that I am

I am pleaſed that I can ſay I knew Mr. So⯑mervile, which I am to thank you for.

XXII. To Mr. Graves, on Benevolence and Friendſhip.

I CANNOT forbear immediately writing to you: the pleaſure your laſt letter gave me puts it out of my power to reſtrain the over⯑flowings of my benevolence. I can eaſily con⯑ceive that, upon ſome extraordinary inſtances of friendſhip, my heart might be ſi ſort attendri, that I could not bear any reſtraint upon my ability to ſhew my gratitude. It is an obſerva⯑tion I made upon reading to day's paper, which contains an account of C. Khevenhuller's ſuc⯑ceſs in favour of the Queen of Hungary. To think what ſublime affection muſt influence that poor unfortunate Queen, ſhould a faithful and zealous General revenge her upon her enemies, and reſtore her ruined affairs!

Had a perſon ſhewn an eſteem and affection for me, joined with any elegance, or without any elegance, in the expreſſion of it, I ſhould have been in acute pain till I had given ſome ſign of my willingneſs to ſerve him.—From all this, I conclude that I have more humanity than ſome others.

Probably enough I ſhall never meet with a larger ſhare of happineſs than I feel at preſent. If not, I am thoroughly convinced, my pain is greatly ſuperior to my pleaſure. That pleaſure is not abſolutely dependent on the mind, I know from this, that I have enjoyed happier ſcenes in the company of ſome friends, than I can poſſibly at preſent;—but alas; all the time you and I ſhall enjoy together, abſtracted from the reſt of our lives, and lumped, will not perhaps amount to a ſolid year and a half. How ſmall a proportion!

[41]People will ſay to one that talks thus, ‘"Would you die?"’ To ſet the caſe upon a right footing, they muſt take away the hopes of greater happineſs in this life, the feares of great⯑er miſery hereafter, together with the bodily pain of dying, and addreſs me in a diſpoſition betwixt mirth and melancholy; and I could eaſily reſolve them.

I do not know how I am launched out ſo far into this complaint: it is, perhaps, a ſtrain of conſtitutional whining; the effect of the wind—did it come from the winds? to the winds will I deliver it:

I will be as happy as my fortune will permit, and make others ſo:

I will be ſo. The joke is, that the deſcrip⯑tion which you gave of that country was, that you had few trees about you; ſo that I ſhould trick fortune if ſhe ſhould grant my petition im⯑plicitly. But in earneſt, I intend to come and ſtay a day or two with you next ſummer.

Mr. Whiſtler is at Mr. Goſling's, bookſeller, at the Mitre and Crown, in Fleet-ſtreet, and en⯑quired much after you in his laſt letter to me. He writes to me; but I believe his affection for one weighs leſs with him, while the town is in the other ſcale. Though he is very obliging. I do not know whether I do right, when I ſay I believe we three, that is, in ſolitary circum⯑ſtances, have an equal idea of, and affection for, each other. I ſay, ſuppoſing each to be alone, or in the country, which is nearly the ſame; for ſcenes alter minds as much as the air influ⯑ences bodies. For inſtance, when Mr. Whiſtler [42] is in town, I ſuppoſe we love him better than he does us; and when we are in town, I ſup⯑poſe the ſame may be ſaid in regard to him.

The true burleſque of Spenſer (whoſe cha⯑racteriſtic is ſimplicity) ſeems to conſiſt in a ſimple repreſentation of ſuch things as one laughs to ſee or to obſerve one's ſelf, rather than in any monſtrous contraſt between the thoughts and words. I cannot help thinking that my added ſtanzas have more of his manner than what you ſaw before, which you are not a judge of, till you have read him.

XXIII. To the ſame, with ſome Obſervations on SPENCER.

THOUGH your laſt letter ſeemed to put my correſpondence upon an oſtentatious footing, namely, an inclination to be witty, yet I aſſure you it was not any punctilious conſide⯑ration of that kind that has kept me ſo long ſilent. Indeed with ſome people one would ſtand upon the niceſt punctilios; for though ceremony be altogether lighter than vanity itſelf, yet it ſurely weighs as much as the acquaintance of the un⯑deſerving. But this is trifling, becauſe it can have no reference to a perſon for whom I have the greateſt affection.

In regard to my Oxford affairs, you did all I could expect. I have wrote ſince to Mr. M—, who, either for your ſake or mine, will, I dare ſay, ſettle them to my ſatisfaction.

[43]I wiſh your journey and head-ach would have permitted you to have been a little more parti⯑cular concerning the ſeat of the Muſes; but I ſuppoſe nothing material diſtinguiſhed your fortnight.

Mr. Whiſtler has relapſed at Whitchurch; but purpoſed, when I laſt heard from him, to go to London before this time. I do not en⯑tirely underſtand his ſchemes, but ſhould have been ſincerely glad of his company with me this winter; and, he ſays, he is not fond of London.—For my part, I deſigned to go thither the next month, but the fever (which is chiefly violent in towns) diſcourages me.

Some time ago, I read Spenſer's Fairy Queen; and, when I had finiſhed, thought it a proper time to make ſome additions and corrections in my trifling imitation of him, the School-miſtreſs. His ſubject is certainly bad, and his action in⯑expreſſibly confuſed; but there are ſome parti⯑culars in him that charm one. Thoſe which afford the greateſt ſcope for a ludicrous imita⯑tion are, his ſimplicity and obſolete phraſe; and yet theſe are what give one a very ſingular plea⯑ſure in the peruſal. The burleſque which they occaſion is of quite a different kind to that of Philips's Shilling, Cotton's Traveſtie, Hudibras, or Swift's works; but I need not tell you this. I incloſe a copy, for your amuſement and opi⯑nion; which, if franks are plentiful, you may return, and ſave me the tedious trouble of writ⯑ing it over again. The other paper was, bona fide, written to divert my thoughts from pain, for the ſame reaſon that I ſmoaked; actions equally reputable.

Mr. Somervile's poem upon hawking, called, ‘"Field Sports,"’ I ſuppoſe, is out by this time. It was ſent to Mr. Lyttleton, to be read to the Prince, to whom it was inſcribed. It ſeems he is fond of hawking.

[44]I have often thought thoſe to be the moſt enviable people whom one leaſt envies—I be⯑lieve, married men are the happieſt that are; but I cannot ſay I envy them, becauſe they loſe all their merit in the eyes of other ladies.

I beg ſincerely that you would write in a week's time at furtheſt, that I may receive your letter here, if I ſhould go from home this win⯑ter. I will never uſe any thing by way of con⯑cluſion, but your old Roman

XXIV. To the ſame, with a Continuation of the ſame Subject.

I AM glad the ſtay you make in Hereford⯑ſhire amuſes you, even though it puts you upon preferring the place you reſide at to my own place of reſidence. I do not know whe⯑ther it be from the prejudice of being born at the Leaſows, or from any real beauty in the ſitua⯑tion; but I would wiſh no other, would ſome one, by an addition of two hundred pounds a year, put it in my power to exhibit my own deſigns. It is what I can now do in no other method than on paper. I live in ſuch an un⯑oeconomical manner, that I muſt not indulge myſelf in the plantation of a tree for the fu⯑ture. I have glutted myſelf with the extremity of ſolitude, and muſt adapt my expences more to ſociable life. It is on this account that it ſeems more prudent for me to buy a chair while [45] I am in town, than to carry down twelve gui⯑neas for the model of the tomb of Virgil, an urn, and a ſcheme or two more of like nature.—I long to have my picture, diſtantly approach⯑ing to a profile (the beſt manner I can think of to expreſs myſelf), drawn by Daviſon. I have ſeen your ſiſter's, and think the face well done in every reſpect;—but am greatly indignant with other things of a leſs fixed nature The cap, though a good cap enough, has a vile effect; the formality of ſtays, &c. not agreeable.—I do not know if you ſaw the picture of a Scotch girl there at full length! Miſs Graves has the advantage of her's, or any picture there, in her perſon; but certainly this girl's hair is inexpreſ⯑ſibly charming! There is the genteeleſt negli⯑gence in it I ever ſaw in any picture:—what follows, but that I wiſh your ſiſter would give orders to pull off her cap, and have hair after the manner of this picture?—To ſpeak abruptly; as it is, I diſapprove it: were it altered, I ſhould like it beyond any I ever ſaw.—I am glad you are reading Spenſer: though his plan is deteſ⯑table, and his invention leſs wonderful than moſt people imagine, who do not much conſider the obviouſneſs of allegory; yet, I think, a perſon of your diſpoſition muſt take great delight in his ſimplicity, his good-nature, &c. Did you obſerve a ſtanza that begins a canto ſomewhere,

When I bought him firſt, I read a page or two of the Fairy Queen, and cared not to pro⯑ceed. After that, Pope's Alley made me con⯑ſider him ludicrouſly; and in that light, I think, one may read him with pleaſure. I am now (as Ch—mley with —), from trifling and laughing at him, really in love with him. I think even [46] the metre pretty (though I ſhall never uſe it in earneſt); and that the laſt Alexandrine has an extreme majeſty.—Does not this line ſtrike you (I do not juſtly remember what canto it is in);

Perhaps it is my fancy only that is enchanted with the running of it. Adieu!

XXV. To the ſame, on the Publication of the School-miſtreſs.

I DEPENDED a good deal on an immediate anſwer from you, and am greatly fearful you never received a packet of little things, which I ſent you to Oxford, incloſed in a frank; tho' if arrived at all, it muſt have arrived ſeveral days before you left it. I beſeech you to ſend me a line upon the receipt of theſe, which will free me from much perplexity; though it is doubtful whether I can defer my ſchemes ſo as to make your criticiſms of ſervice. I would have you ſend them notwithſtanding.

I cannot help conſidering myſelf as a ſportſ⯑man (though God knows how poor a one in every ſenſe!) and the company as my game. They fly up for a little time; and then ſettle again. My cue is, to diſcharge my piece when I obſerve a number together. This week, they are ſtraggling round about their paſture, the town: the next, they will flock into it with violent appetites; and then diſcharge my little piece amongſt them.—I aſſure you, I ſhall be very eaſy about the acquiſition of any ſame by this [47] thing; all I much wiſh is, to loſe none; and indeed I have ſo little to loſe, that this conſide⯑ration ſcarcely affects me.

I dare ſay it muſt be very incorrect; for I have added eight or ten ſtanzas within this fortnight. But inaccuracy is more excuſable in ludicrous poetry than in any other. If it ſtrikes any, it muſt be merely people of taſte; for peo⯑ple of wit without taſte (which comprehends the larger part of the critical tribe) will una⯑voidably deſpiſe it. I have been at ſome pains to ſecure myſelf from A. Philips's misfortune, of mere childiſhneſs, ‘"little charm of placid mien, &c."’ I have added a ludicrous index, purely to ſhew (fools) that I am in jeſt;—and my motto ‘"O quà ſol habitabiles illuſtrat oras, maxime principum",’ is calculated for the ſame purpoſe. You cannot conceive how large the number is of thoſe that miſtake burleſque for the very fooliſh⯑neſs it expoſes (which obſervation I made once at the Rehearſal, at Tom Thumb, at Chronon⯑hotonthologos; all which are pieces of elegant humour.) I have ſome mind to purſue this caution further; and advertiſe it, ‘"The School-miſtreſs, &c."’ A very childiſh performance every body knows (novorum more). But if a per⯑ſon ſeriouſly calls this, or rather, burleſque, a childiſh or low ſpecies of poetry, he ſays wrong. For the moſt regular and formal poetry may be called trifling, folly, and weakneſs, in compa⯑riſon of what is written with a more manly ſpirit in ridicule of it.—I have been plagued to death about the ill execution of my deſigns.—Nothing is certain in London but expence, which I can ill bear. Believe me, till death,

XXVI. To the ſame; with a humourous Deſcription of his Conduct in regard to Form and Equipage.

PRESUMING you may be at Tiſſington by this time, I write to ſolicit a deſcription of the ſeveral adventures, accidents, and phae⯑nomena, that have amuſed you in your travels; and will equally affect me, as they relate to you. Above all things, be particular in regard to your calculations reſpecting Mickleton. I would have certainly met you there, as you deſired me: there is no company I am fonder of than yours, and your ſiſters; and no place at which I have ſpent more agreeable hours than Mickleton. But your brother has loſt one of his recom⯑mendations in my eye; that is, his irregularity of houſe-keeping. He has ſeveral left, which are ſufficient to preſerve my utmoſt eſteem; but that was a jewel indeed! I love to go where there is nothing much more in form than my⯑ſelf. I have no objection to viſit young, unſettled people, with a mountebank's inconſiſtency in my equipage. But where a conſiderable family keeps up its forms (as marriage requires) I ſhould not care to appear with an hired horſe, and a Sancho for my valet. The caſe is, I could live in a way genteel enough, and uniformly ſo; but then, I muſt forego megrims, whims, toys, and ſo forth. Now, though it gives me pain, ſometimes, not to appear of a piece; yet that infrequent pain is not a balance for the ſubſtan⯑tial happineſs which I find in an urn, a ſeal, a ſnuff-box, an engraving, or a buſt. Ambition, too, as it puts me upon wiſhing to make a figure, makes me very indifferent as to making a com⯑mon, every-day-gentlemanly figure; and ſaves me from appearing ſolicitous about the ‘"res [49] mediocriter ſplendidae,"’ by raiſing my imagina⯑tion higher. I pour out my vanity to you in ca⯑taracts; but I hope you will rather conſider it as a mark of my confidence, and, conſequently, my ſincere eſteem and affection: for, I take it, the former ſeldom ſubſiſts without the latter. And as to what I ſaid about my love of flattery, I hope, you will not conſtrue it as any hint; nei⯑ther, if I am right, would you be ſo ungenerous as not to comply with me. I ſincerely think, that flattery amongſt foes is abſolutely deſirable; amongſt one's common acquaintance, a behaviour rather inclining to it: but amongſt friends, its conſequences are of too dangerous a nature.

I am ſo unhappy in my wintery, unviſited ſtate, that I can almoſt ſay with Dido, ‘"taedet coeli convexa tueri."’ I am miſerable, to think that I have not thought enough to amuſe me. I walk a day together; and have no idea, but what comes in at my eyes. I long for ſome ſub⯑ject about the ſize of Philips's Cyder, to ſettle heartily about; ſomething that I could enrich by epiſodes drawn from the Engliſh hiſtory: Stone⯑henge has ſome of the advantages I like; but ſeems a dead, lifeleſs title. If you chance to think of a ſubject which you do not chuſe to adorn yourſelf, ſend it me to write upon.

I ſhall be vaſtly deſirous to ſee you here in ſpring; and am in hopes Whiſtler will ſtay a month with me. I have ſent an imperious let⯑ter about his dilatory correſpondence. He men⯑tioned you in his laſt letter; was going to Ox⯑ford; thence to London, where, if he ſtays till February, I may ſee him. I hope you will write the very next poſt: you cannot oblige me, or pleaſe me more, than by ſo doing; if you think I deſerve to be pleaſed, or am worth ob⯑liging. Adieu!

XXVII. To the ſame, from Town; with a Speci⯑men of Plays and Politics.

I HAVE juſt been ſpending my evening at a coffee-houſe; and, notwithſtanding the con⯑fuſed effect of liquor, am ſitting down to write to a perſon of the cleareſt head I know. The truth is, I write to pleaſe myſelf, which I can do no other way ſo effectually; upon which ac⯑count, you are not obliged to me for the ad⯑vances I make in correſpondence. Extraordi⯑nary things will be expected from my ſituation; but extraordinary things ought never to be ex⯑pected from me. I keep no political company, nor deſire any, as, I believe, you know. If you enquire after the ſtage—I have not ſeen Garrick; but, more fortunately for you, your brother has. Me nothing has ſo much tranſported as young Cibber's exhibition of Parolles, in Shakeſpeare's ‘"All's well that ends well."’ The character is admirably written by the author; and, I fancy, I can diſcover a great number of hints which it has afforded to Congreve in his Bluff. I am apt to think a perſon, after he is twelve years old, laughs annually leſs and leſs: leſs heartily, however; which is much the ſame. I think Cibber elicited from me as ſincere a laugh as I can ever recollect. Nothing, ſure, can be com⯑parable to his repreſentation of Parolles in his bully-character; except the figure he makes as a ſhabby gentleman. In his firſt dreſs he is taw⯑dry, as you may imagine: in the laſt, he wears a ruſty black coat, a black ſtock, a black wig [51] with a Ramillie, a pair of black gloves; and a face!—which cauſes five minutes laughter.—Inſtead of politics, I have tranſcribed theſe epi⯑grams from the Evening Poſt—though I hate tranſcribing:

I think the laſt a good thought; the firſt not a bad one, and what I have had in my head a thouſand times. I ſaw Mr. Fitzherbert at Nan⯑do's, but choſe not to reconnoitre him there, though to aſk after you. I purpoſe waiting on him at his lodgings, for the ſame end. Pray write ſoon to me. I wiſh I could ſay more to deſerve it from you—I would fain deviate from the common road in every letter I ſend you; but am ſo very uniformly your friend, that I cannot vary my manner of expreſſing how much I am ſo, which is all my letters aim at. Adieu!

XXVIII. To the ſame, with various Schemes of Compoſition.

YOU ſay it is no way unpleaſing to you to receive my letters; if you ſay the thing that is not, the fault, like others, produces its own puniſhment.—You are now my only cor⯑reſpondent. I do not know what reaſon Whiſtler has for not caring to write, unleſs he thinks that we ought not to trouble ourſelves about one another, but bend our whole endeavours to mend our fortunes; though I do not know his imaginations. I was afraid, after what I had ſaid concerning ſameneſs in my laſt, that you would interpret it to your own diſadvantage; but was too lazy to write my letter again, truſt⯑ing that I could deny the extent of my com⯑plaint to any one beſides myſelf in ſome future letter. There is as much variety in your genius, as fortune can introduce into your circumſtances.

Some time next week, do I purpoſe to ſet out for London. The reaſons for my going at all do barely preponderate. I cannot, conſcienti⯑ouſly, print any thing. I have two or three little matters in hand: none that I am greatly fond of, much leſs that are at all mature. One is, what you have ſeen, though in its mortal ſtate, ‘"Flattery, or the fatal Exotic;"—’ſo very quotidian and copious a ſubject, that I diſlike it entirely. Another, ‘"Elegies in Hammond's Metre,"’ but upon real and natural ſubjects: this I have objections to. A third, ‘"An Eſſay on Reſerve;"’ the ſubject genteel, I think, but ſcarce ten lines finiſhed. A fourth, ‘"An Eſſay, in blank Verſe, on Oeconomy, with Advice to Poets on that Head, concluding with a ludi⯑crous Deſcription of a Poet's Apartment."’ I [53] think it were better to annex that poem thus, to prevent its claſhing, like an earthen pot, againſt Philips's ſilver vaſe, though his humour lies chiefly in the language. My favourite ſcheme is a poem, in blank verſe, upon Rural Elegance, including caſcades, temples, grottos, hermitages, green-houſes, which introduces my favorite epi⯑ſode of the Spaniſh lady (you will wonder how, but I think well) to cloſe the firſt book. The next, running upon planting, &c. will end with a viſta terminated by an old abbey, which intro⯑duces an epiſode concerning the effects of Ro⯑miſh power, interdicts, &c. in imitation of Lu⯑cretius's ‘"Plague of Athens,"’ t [...]ken from Thu⯑cydides, Virgil's Murrain, and Ovid's Peſtilence, &c. The two epiſodes in great forwardneſs;—but, alas! I do not like formal didactic poetry, and ſhall never be able to finiſh aught but the epiſodes, I doubt: unleſs I allow myſelf to treat the reſt in my own manner, tranſiently—as Camilla ſkimmed over the wheat-ſtubble.

I have altered this ballad, you ſee; I doubt, not to your mind: but ſend your criticiſms, and I will be all obedience, From London I will ſend you mine on your more important poem; your critique will be important upon my ſilly affair; mine ſilly, I am afraid, upon your mo⯑mentous one—but you do not think it momen⯑tous, as you ought. Direct to Nando's. I am

I queſtion whether I ſhould be more unhappy in any mere mechanical employment; for inſtance, making nails (which ſeems to deal as much in repetition as any trade) than I am in great part of [54] my time when my head is unfit for ſtudy.—My neighbour is gone to London, and has left me a legacy of franks, ſo I ſhall be able to return your poem, &c. at leaſt by parcels. I ſtrenuouſly purpoſe to be there (or to ſet out) next week; but, as I am here at preſent, I think you ought to pay ſome deference to the vis inertiae, at leaſt to the centripetal force of matter, and direct to the Leaſows one more letter, with your opinion concerning the various readings in the trifle I incloſe, writing the firſt poſt that you well can.—Once more, adieu!

Feb. 16, 1743.

XXIX. To the ſame.

DR. Swift would not have ſcrupled to print your parody, with his name to it. Why ſhould you, without your name? I had a violent inclination to print it in a large folio, four leaves, price four-pence: but I dare not do it, for fear you ſhould think it of evil importance with regard to the clergy. You excel me infi⯑nitely in a way in which I take moſt pleaſure; odd pictureſque deſcription. Send me word whether I ſhall print it or no—and that right ſoon.—I have lingered in town till now, and did not receive your letter till this morning.—I do not know whether I ſhall ſend you with this letter a little thing which I wrote in an after⯑noon, and, with proper demands of being con⯑cealed as the author, ſold for two guineas.—Next time I am in town, I will get money like a haberdaſher. I will amuſe myſelf with find⯑ing out the people's weak ſide, and ſo furniſh them with ſuitable nonſenſe.—I would have you [55] do the ſame.—Make your wit bear your charges. Indeed, as to the little parody you ſend, it would fix your reputation with men of ſenſe as much as (greatly more than) the whole tedious character of Parſon Adams. I read it half a year ago; the week after I came to town; but made Mr. Shuckburgh take it again, imagining it alto⯑gether a very mean performance.—I liked a tenth part pretty well; but, as Dryden ſays of Horace (unjuſtly) he ſhews his teeth without laughing: the greater part is unnatural and unhumourous. It has ſome advocates; but, I obſerve, thoſe not ſuch as I ever eſteemed taſters. Finally, what makes you endeavour to like it?

My printer was preparing his bill for the School-miſtreſs, when I ſtopped him ſhort, with a hint to go to Dodſley, who has not yet reckon⯑ed with me for Hercules. Let the dead bury their dead. Dr. Young's Complaint is the beſt thing that has come out this ſeaſon (theſe twenty years, Pope ſays) except mine, for ſo thinks every author, who does think proper to ſay ſo: poor Pope's hiſtory, in Cibber's Letter, and the print of him upon the Mount of Love (the coarſeſt is moſt humorous) muſt ſurely mortify him. Your ſiſter does me great honour to think my hint any thing; but I am quite zealous in my appro⯑bation of that Scotch lady's hair. I will ever aim at oddneſs, for the future; it is cheaper to follow taſte than faſhion, and whoever he be that devotes himſelf to taſte will be odd of courſe.—You ſend me the verſes on Lord Hay: they were hacked about town three months ago, and I ſaw them. The town is certainly the ſcene for a man of curioſity.—I do not purpoſe to be long away; but I muſt think of retrenching—I have ten thouſand things to tell you, but I have not room. Such people as we ſhould meet as regularly to compare notes as tradeſmen do to ſettle accounts, but oftener; there is no good [56] comes of long reckonings;—I ſhall forget half;—I think it ſhould be four days in a fortnight—it would not do;—it would make one mindful of, and conſequently more uneaſy on account of, abſence. Every one gets poſts, preferments, but myſelf.—Nothing but my ambition can ſet me on a footing with them, and make me eaſy. Come then, lordly pride! &c. The devil thought with me in Milton,

I have been in new companies; but I ſee no reaſon to contradict my aſſertion, that I find none I like equally with you. Adieu!

XXX. To Mr. JAGO, from London.

I SHALL ſend you but a very few lines, being ſo much indiſpoſed with a cold, that I can ſcarce tell how to connect a ſentence. I am juſt got into lodgings at a goldſmith's—a dange⯑rous ſituation, you will ſay, for me; ‘"Actum eſt, ilicet, periiſti!"’ Not ſo;—for of late I have not ſo violent a taſte for toys as I have had; and I can look even on ſnuff-boxes ‘"oculo irretorto."’

London is really dangerous at this time; the pick-pockets, formerly content with mere filching, make no ſcruple to knock people down with bludgeons in Fleet-ſtreet and the Strand, and that at no later hour than eight o'clock at night; but in the Piazza's, Covent-garden, they come [57] in large bodies, armed with couteaus, and attack whole parties, ſo that the danger of coming out of the play-houſes is of ſome weight in the oppoſite ſcale, when I am diſpoſed to go to them oftener than I ought.—There is a poem of this ſeaſon, called ‘"The Pleaſures of Imagination,"’ worth your reading; but it is an expenſive quarto; if it comes out in a leſs ſize, I will bring it home with me, Mr. Pope (as Mr. Out⯑ing, who has been with Lord Bolingbroke, in⯑forms me) is at the point of death.—My Lord Carteret ſaid yeſterday in the houſe, ‘"That the French and Spaniards had actually ſaid, they would attempt a ſecond invaſion."—’There is a new play acted at Drury Lane, ‘"Mahomet,"’ tranſlated from the French of Voltaire; but I have no great opinion of the ſubject, or the original author as a poet; and my diffidence is rather improved by the teſtimony of thoſe who have ſeen it.—I lodge between the two coffee-houſes, George's and Nando's, ſo that I partake of the expenſiveneſs of both, as heretofore. I have no acquaintance in town, and but ſlender inducement to ſtay; and yet, probably, I ſhall loiter here for a month.

T— H— was knighted againſt his will, and had a demand made upon him for an hundred pounds before he could get out of St. James's; ſo ſoon are felt the inconveniencics of gran⯑deur!—He came out of the court in a violent rage, ‘"G—d! Jack, what doſt think?—I am knighted—the devil of a knight, e'faith!"—’I believe he was ſincere in his diſguſt; for there had been two barge-maſters knighted in his neighbourhood ſome time before.

I ſaw, coming up, Lady Fane's grotto, which, they ſay, coſt her five thouſand pounds; about three times as much as her houſe is worth. It is a very beautiful diſpoſition of the fineſt collec⯑tion of ſhells I ever ſaw—Mr. Powis's woods, [58] which are finer.—Mean time, if I had three hundred pounds to lay out about the Leaſows, I could bring my ambition to peaceable terms. I am, dear Sir, with all affection, yours and Mrs. Jago's.

Write ſoon. It is this moment reported that Pope is dead.

XXXI. To the ſame.

I LONG heartily to talk over affairs with you téte à téte; but am an utter enemy to the fatigue of tranſcribing what might paſs well enough in converſation.—I ſhall ſay nothing more concerning my departure from L—, than that it was neceſſary, and therefore excuſable.—I have been ſince with a gentleman upon the borders of Wales, Biſhop's Caſtle, from whence I made a digreſſion one day beyond Offa's Dyke: ſaw mountains which converted all that I had ſeen into mole-hills; and houſes which changed the Leaſows into Hampton Court: where they talk of a glazed window as a piece of magnifi⯑cence; and where their higheſt idea of his Majeſty is, that he can ride in ſuch a coach as 'Squire Jones or Squire Pryce's. The woman of the inn, at one pl [...]ce, "ſaid, ‘"Glaſs (in windows) was very genteel, that it was; but ſhe could not afford ſuch finery."’

You agree with the reſt of the married world in a propenſity to m [...]ke proſelytes. This incli⯑nation in ſome people gives one a kind of dread of the matter. They are ill-natured, and can only wiſh one in their own ſtate becauſe they [59] are unhappy; like perſons that have the plague, who, they ſay, are ever deſirous to propagate the infection. I make a contrary concluſion when you commend marriage, as you ſeem to do, when you wiſh Miſs — may reconcile me to more than the name of wife. I know not what you have heard of my amour: probably more than I can thoroughly confirm to you. And what if I ſhould ſay to you, that marriage was not once the ſubject of our converſation?

Do not you think every thing in nature ſtrangely improved ſince you were married, from the tea-table to the warming-pan?

I want to ſee Mrs. Jago's hand-writing, that I may judge of her temper; but ſhe muſt write ſomething in my praiſe. Pray ſee you to it, in your next letter.

I could parodize my Lord Carteret's letter from Dettingen, if I had it by me. ‘"Mrs. Arnold (thanks be praiſed!) has this day gained a very conſiderable victory. The ſcold laſted two hours. Mrs. S—e was poſted in the hall, and Mrs. Arnold upon the ſtair-caſe; which ſuperiority of ground was of no ſmall ſervice to her in the engagement. The fire laſted the whole ſpace, without intermiſſion; at the cloſe of which, the enemy was routed, and Mrs. Arnold kept the field."’

Did you hear the ſong to the tune of ‘"The Cuckow?"’

[60]The notes that fall upon the word ‘"Cannon,"’ expreſs the ſound with its echo admirably.

I ſend you my paſtoral elegy (or ballad, if you think that name more proper), on condi⯑tion that you return it with ample remarks in your next letter: I ſay ‘"return it,"’ becauſe I have no other copy, and am too indolent to take one. Adieu!

XXXII. To Mr. GRAVES, deſcribing his Situation, and State of Health, &c.

TO-MORROW morning I ſet out for Cheltenham, to make trial of the waters there. I ſhall, perhaps, add to this letter at ſeveral ſtages, and conclude it at the place to which I am going; ſo that, like thoſe ſprings, you may, perhaps, find it impregnated with the nature of all thoſe places thro' which it paſſes; perhaps quite the contrary.

—, if I miſtake not the man, is an encou⯑rager of works of taſte, &c. though I am going to inſtance this oddly: he was a hearty ſtickler for my poem upon Hercules at Bath, as D. Jago ſent me word. Perhaps it was complaiſance to Mr. Lyttleton, with whom, Charles, &c. he is intimate, if, as I ſaid before, I do not miſtake the perſon. I flatter myſelf, I do not; and I hope that we two ſhall ever find the ſame per⯑ſons, or the ſame kind of perſons, our friends, and alſo our enemies.

If I get over this ill habit of body, depend upon it, I will have a reverend care of my health, as Sir John Falſtaff adviſes the Chief Juſtice. [61] I ſolve all the tempeſts that diſturb my conſtitu⯑tion into wind: it plagues me, firſt, in the ſhape of a bad appetite, then indigeſtion, then low⯑neſs of ſpirits and a flux of pale water, and at night by watchings, reſtleſſneſs, twitchings of my nerves, or a ſleep more diſtracted than the moſt active ſtate of watchfulneſs. But I think purging leſſens all theſe ſymptoms, and I truſt my ſcheme that I am entering upon is right.

I was, on Monday, at Hagley, to wait on Mr. Lyttleton, who was gone to Sir John Aſt⯑ley's, to ſee his grand edifice.—As to Mrs. Lyt⯑tleton, if her affability is not artificial, I mean if it does not owe its original (as it ought to do its management) to art, I cannot conceive a per⯑ſon more amiable;—but ſenſe and elegance cannot be ſeigned: to exhibit them, is to have them.

How is my ſong ſet? Miſs Carrington pro⯑cured it that favour; but I have never ſeen a copy, nor knew of its being to be printed. Howard has ſet another of mine, which I re⯑ceived laſt poſt; but my harpſichord is out of order, and I have found no one yet to explain the hieroglyphicks which convey it. You may probably find it in ſome future number of the Britiſh Orpheus. ‘"By the ſide of a ſtream, &c."’

I am in as good ſpirits this inſtant as ever I was in my life: only ‘"Mens turbidum laetatur."’ My head is a little confuſed; but I often think ſeriouſly, that I ought to have the moſt ardent and practical gratitude (as the Methodiſts chuſe to expreſs themſelves) for the advantages that I have: which, though not eminently ſhining, are ſuch, to ſpeak the truth, as ſuit my particu⯑lar humour, and, conſequently, deſerve all kind of acknowledgment. If a poet ſhould addreſs himſelf to God Almighty, with the moſt earneſt thanks for his goodneſs in allotting him an eſtate that was over-run with ſhrubs, thickets, and coppices, variegated with barren rocks and [62] precipices, or floated three parts in four with lakes and marches, rather than ſuch an equal and fertile ſpot as the ‘"ſons of men"’ delight in; to my apprehenſion, he would be guilty of no abſurdity.—But of this I have compoſed a kind of prayer, and intend to write a little ſpe⯑culation on the ſubject; this kind of gratitude I aſſuredly ought to have, and have. For my health, if one reflects, a country-fellow's ſtock of it would be unfit for ſolitude; would diſpoſe one rather to bodily feats, and, what Falſtaff calls in Poins, gambol faculties, than mental contemplations, and would give one that kind of pain which ſprings from impatience. My con⯑ſtitution was given me originally good; and with regard to it now (as G. Barnwell ſays) ‘"What am I?—What I have made myſelf."’ Or, to ſpeak with Milton,

Though this is but vulgarly expreſſed in Milton neither.

Jago has been here this laſt week, and I drove him to Dudley Caſtle, which I long to ſhew you: I never ſaw it (ſince I was the ſize of my pen) before: it has great romantic beauty, though perhaps Derbyſhire may render it of ſmall note in your eye.

One is tempted to addreſs the K— as Harry the Eighth does his wife, mutatis mutandis;

I have a mind to write an ode in praiſe of him, and in rivalſhip of Cibber.—Mine ſhould [63] be of the ballad ſtyle and familiarity, as expreſ⯑ſing the ſentiments of a perſon returning from a diſlike to a thorough approbation of him, which ſeems, at preſent the ſenſe of the nation.—But herein I am not in earneſt.—

My pen has run on a whole page at random. It amuſes me to encourage it, and ſo I will try to get a frank.

I am this moment arrived at Cheltenham, af⯑ter an expenſive and fatiguing journey. I called yeſterday at Micklington; ſaw the portico, and ſnapped up a bit of mutton at your brother's; drank a diſh of tea with Miſs S—; and, in op⯑poſition to the ſtrongeſt remonſtrances, perſiſted in an endeavour to reach Cheltenham after five o'clock. The conſequence was, that, about ten, I found myſelf travelling back again to⯑wards Stowe; and had undoubtedly wandered all night in the dark, had I not been fortu⯑nately met by a waggoner's ſervant, who brought me back to the worſt inn but one I ever lay at, being his maſter's.—Here I am: which is all I ſhall ſay in this letter.

XXXIII. To Mr. JAGO, on the ſame.

IT is not a contrived apology, or an excuſe, which I am going to offer for the diſap⯑pointments I have given you. I have actually been ſo much out of order ever ſince I wrote to you, nay, ever ſince I formed a deſign of a Sun⯑day expedition to L—, that it never has been in my power to execute my intentions. My ver⯑tigo has not yet taken away my ſenſes; God knows how ſoon it may do; but my nerves are [64] in ſuch a condition, that I can ſcarce get a wink of even diſordered reſt for whole nights together. May you never know the miſery of ſuch invo⯑luntary vigils! I ride every day almoſt to fa⯑tigue; which only tends to make my want of ſleep more ſenſible, and not in the leaſt to re⯑move it. I have ſpirits all day, good ones; though my head is dizzy, and I never enterprize any ſtudy of greater ſubtlety than a news-paper. I cannot ſay the journey to L— would be at all formidable to me; for I ride about fifteen miles, as I compute it, every day before dinner. But the nights, from home, would be inſuppor⯑table to me. I have fatigued Mrs. Arnold's aſſiduity, to the injury of her health; by occa⯑ſioning her to ſit in my room a'nights, light my candle, put it out again, make me perſpiratory wheys, and ſlops; and am amuſed by the moſt ſilly animadverſions ſhe is capable of making. I never knew her uſefulneſs till now; but I now prefer her to all of her ſtation. If I get over this diſorder, concerning which I have bad ap⯑prehenſions, you may depend upon ſeeing me the firſt Sunday I dare venture forth. I hope you continue mending. The benefit of riding is only not univerſal, and would cure me too, could I but make one previous advance towards health. Have you tried cold bathing? Perhaps it may not ſuit your caſe. I wiſh I had not dropt it. I take my fluctuation of nerves to be cauſed, as that of the ſea is, by wind; which I am continually pumping up, and yet find it ſtill renewed. When I am juſt ſinking to ſleep, a ſudden twitch of my nerves calls me back again—to watchfulneſs, and vexation! I conſider myſelf as in the ſtate of the philoſopher, who held a bullet betwixt his finger and thumb, which, whenever he was about to nod, was ordered ſo as to fall into a large braſs pan, and [65] wake him—that he might purſue his lucubra⯑tions.

I will mention one circumſtance regarding the weakneſs of my nerves;—and not my ſpi⯑rits, for I told you thoſe were tolerable:—the leaſt noiſe that is, even the falling of a fire-ſhovel upon the floor, if it happen unexpected⯑ly, ſhocks my whole frame; and I actually be⯑lieve that a gun fired, behind my back, unawares, amidſt the ſtillneſs of the night, would go near to kill me with its noiſe.

I am juſt going to bed; and dare not be any more attentive, as I hope to cloſe my eyes for a minute. So fare you well!

It is now ſix o'clock in the morning, and I have had about five hours middling ſleep; which encourages me greatly: ſo I will hope to be able to ſee you next Sunday ſevennight.

What think you of the battle? Are not you ſo much in love with our King, that you could find in your heart to ſerve him in any profita⯑ble poſt he might aſſign you?

Capt. L— is wounded in the thigh.

When I ride in my chair round my neigh⯑bourhood, I am as much ſtared and wondered at, as a giant would be that ſhould walk through Pall-mall. My vehicle is at leaſt as uncommon hereabouts as a blazing comet. My chief plea⯑ſure lies in finding out a thouſand roads, and delightful little haunts near home, which I ne⯑ver dreamt of: egregious ſolitudes, and moſt incomparable bye-lanes! where I can as effec⯑tually loſe myſelf within a mile of home, as if I were benighted in the deſarts of Arabia. Adieu!

XXXIV. To Mr. GRAVES, written in Hay-Harveſt.

I DID not part from you without a great deal of melancholy. To think of the ſhort duration of thoſe interviews which are the ob⯑jects of one's continual wiſhes, has been a reflec⯑tion that has plagued me of old! I am ſure I returned home with it then, more aggravated as I foreſaw myſelf returning to the ſame ſeries of melancholy hours from which you had a while relieved me, and which I had particularly ſuf⯑fered under all this laſt ſpring! I wiſh to God, you might happen to be ſettled not far from me: a day's-journey diſtance, however; I mean, an eaſy one. But the odds are infinitely againſt me. I muſt only rely for my happineſs on the hopes of a never-ceaſing correſpondence!

Soon after you were gone, I received my packet. The hiſtory of Worceſterſhire is mere ſtuff. T— I am ſo fond of, that, I believe, I ſhall have his part of the collection bound over again, neatly and ſeparately. But ſure Hammond has no right to the leaſt inventive merit, as the preface-writer would inſinuate. I do not think there is a ſingle thought, of any eninence, that is not literally tranſlated. I am aſtoniſhed he could not content himſelf with be⯑ing ſo little an original.

Mr. Lyttleton and his lady are at Hagley. A malignant caterpillar has demoliſhed the beauty of all our large oaks. Mine are ſecured by their littleneſs. But, I gueſs, the park ſuf⯑fers; a large wood near me being a mere win⯑ter-piece for nakedneſs.

At preſent, I give myſelf up to riding and thoughtleſsneſs; being reſolved to make trial of their efficacy towards a tolerable degree of health [67] and ſpirits. I wiſh I had you for my director. I ſhould proceed with great confidence of ſuc⯑ceſs; though I am brought very low by two or three fits of a fever ſince I ſaw you. Had I written to you in the midſt of my diſpirited condition, as I was going, you would have had a more tender and unaffected letter than I can write at another time: what I think, perhaps, at all times; but what ſickneſs can alone elicit from a temper fearful of whining.

Surely the ‘"nunc formoſiſſimus annus"’ is to be limited to hay-harveſt. I could give my rea⯑ſons: but you will imagine them to be the acti⯑vity of country people in a pleaſing employ⯑ment; the full verdure of the ſummer; the prime of pinks, woodbines, jaſmines, &c. I am old, very old; for few things give me ſo much mechanical pleaſure as lolling on a bank in the very heat of the ſun,

And yet it is as much as I can do to keep Mrs. Arnold from going to neighbouring houſes in her ſmock, in deſpite of decency, and my known diſapprobation.

I find myſelf more of a patriot than I ever thought I was. Upon reading the account of the battle, I found a very ſenſible pleaſure, or, as the Methodiſts term it, perceived my heart enlarged, &c. The map you ſent me is a pretty kind of toy, but does not enough particularize the ſcenes of the war, &c. which was the end I had in view when I ſent for it.

‘"O dura meſſorum ilia!"’ About half the appetite, digeſtion, ſtrength, ſpirits, &c. of a mower, would make me the happieſt of mortals! I would be underſtood literally, and preciſely.

XXXV. To the ſame, after the Diſappointment of a Viſit.

I AM tempted to begin my letter as Mem⯑mius does his harangue: ‘"Multa medehor⯑tantur à vobis, ni ſtudium virtutis veſtrae om⯑nia exſuperet."’ You contrive interviews of about a minute's duration; and you make ap⯑pointments in order to diſappoint one; and yet, at the ſame time that your proceedings are thus vexatious, force one to bear teſtimony to the ineſtimable value of your friendſhip! I do in⯑ſiſt upon it, that you ought to compound for the diſappointment you have cauſed me, by a little letter every poſt you ſtay in town. I ſhall now ſcarce ſee you till next ſummer, or ſpring at ſooneſt; and then I may probably take occa⯑ſion to viſit you, under pretence of ſeeing Der⯑byſhire. Truth is, your prints have given me ſome curioſity to ſee the original places. I am grateful for your intentions with regard to giv⯑ing me part of them, and impertinent in deſiring you to convey them to me as ſoon as you can well ſpare them. Let me know if they are ſold ſeparately at the print ſhops. I think to recom⯑mend them to my new acquaintance, Mr. Lyt⯑tleton Brown. I like the humour of the ballad you mention, but am more obliged for your partial opinion of me. The notes that fall upon the word ‘"Cannon, Cannon,"’ are ad⯑mirably expreſſive of the ſound, I dare ſay: I mean, jointly with its echo; and ſo, I ſuppoſe, you will think, if you ever attended to the Tower-guns. I find I cannot afford to go to Bath pre⯑viouſly to my London-journey; though I look upon it as a proper method to make my reſi⯑dence in town more agreeable. I ſhall, probably, [69] be there about the firſt of December; or before, if I can accelerate my friend Whiſtler's jour⯑ney. The pen I write with is the moſt diſagree⯑able of pens! But I have little elſe to ſay; only this,—that our good friend, Jack Dolman, is dead at Aldridge; his father's benefice.

I beg, if you have leiſure, you would incloſe me in a frank the following ſongs, with the notes: ‘"Stella and Flavia," "Gentle Jeſſy," "Sylvia, wilt thou waſte thy prime?"’ and any other that is new. I ſhould be glad of that number of the Britiſh Orpheus which has my ſong in it, if it does not coſt above ſixpence. Make my compliments to your brother and ſiſter; and believe me, in the common forms, but in no common degree,

Do write out the whole ballad of ‘"The Baron ſtood behind a tree."’

XXXVI. To the ſame, on the Receipt of a Pre⯑ſent of Prints.

YOU may reaſonably have expected a letter before now, either as an acknowledgment for your genteel preſent, or, at leaſt, by way of information that I had received it. The prints have given me a pleaſure, which, however con⯑ſiderable, would ſoon have languiſhed, if I had bought them at a ſhop; but which is now built upon the eſteem I have for the giver, and can⯑not have a more durable foundation.—As for [70] the reſt, I am moſt pleaſed with the view of Matlock, and ſhall have no peace of mind till I have ſeen the original. I have been gilding the frames, and wiſhing all the while for your com⯑pany.

I will alter the ballad according to your ad⯑vice; dividing it into three parts, and adding a ſtanza or two to the ſhorteſt, ſome time or other. I have had no opportunity of trying the tunes. ‘"Arno's vale"’ has pretty words, and recommends itſelf to one's imagination by the probability that it was written on a real occa⯑ſion. The ſimilitude of rhimes in the cloſe in⯑excuſable. For all that has been the ſubject of my letter hitherto, as the country people ſay, I can but thank you, and I do very ſincerely; though as to the ſongs I will repay you.

I have your poem by me, which I have read often with the greateſt pleaſure. I have many obſervations to make; and only defer the com⯑munication till I know whether you have a copy at Tiſſington to turn to. I think, the moſt polite and ſuitable title to it would run:— ‘"The Villa, a Poem; containing a Sketch of the preſent Taſte in Rural Embelliſhments, written in 1740."’ Your preface has a pretty thought to⯑wards the cloſe; otherwiſe is on no account to be admitted. Pardon my freedom; but, I think, there is no manner of occaſion for a pre⯑face; and thoſe ſtrokes, which I know to be real modeſty in you, the world will undoubtedly impute to affectation.—If you give me encou⯑ragement, I will be very minute in my criticiſms, allowing you to reject ten to one that you ad⯑mit of.

Whiſtler is gone to Briſtol, and has bilked me.—I ſaid, he is gone; but, I believe, he is only upon going.—I linger at home, in hopes of gleaning up a little health; and through a dread of being ill in a place where I can be leſs [71] attended on.—I can continually find out ſome⯑thing in my preceding diet that, I think, diſor⯑ders me; ſo that I am conſtantly in hopes of growing well:—but, perhaps, I never ſhall;

When I was a ſchool-boy, I never knew there was any ſuch thing as perſpiration; and now, half my time is taken up in conſidering the im⯑mediate connexion betwixt that and health, and endeavouring to promote it.

Mr. Lyttelton has built a kind of alcove in his park, inſcribed, ‘"SEDES CONTEMPLATIO⯑NIS,"’ near his hermitage. Under the afore⯑ſaid inſcription is ‘"OMNIA VANITAS:"—’the ſides ornamented with ſheeps' bones, jaws, ſculls, &c. feſtoon wiſe. In a nitch over it, an owl.

As to ſchemes, I have none with regard to the world, women, or books. And I hate, and have deferred writing to you (for ſome days) for that reaſon. I am ſick of exhibiting ſo much ſameneſs:—I am conſtantly poring over ſome Claſſic, which I conſider as one of Idleneſs's better ſhapes. But I am impatient to be doing ſomething that may tend to better my ſituation in ſome reſpect or other. It is encouragement can alone inſpire one.

expreſſes the whole of me. Thus my epiſtles perſevere in the plaintive ſtyle; and I queſtion whether the ſight of them does not, ere now, give you the vapours. I have an old aunt that viſits me ſometimes, whoſe converſation is the perfect counterpart of them. She ſhall fetch a long-winded ſigh with Dr. Young for a wager; [70] [...] [71] [...] [72] though I ſee his Suſpiria are not yet finiſhed. He has relapſed into ‘"Night the Fifth."’ I take his caſe to be wind in a great meaſure, and would adviſe him to take rhubarb in powder, with a little nutmeg grated amongſt it, as I do.

Dear Mr. G—! write down to me; and believe me to be, invariably,

XXXVII. To the ſame, with Obſervations on Hypocriſy, &c.

YOU muſt know, my laſt letter to you was written before I received yours from Tiſ⯑ſington; and I ſhould take ſhame upon myſelf for not anſwering it, were I not furniſhed with this excuſe—that I waited for a frank for you.—There are but few things I have to ſay to you, and ſuch as are not worth tranſcribing; yet, as our diſtance from one another requires it, I will ſcrawl them over as negligently as I can, to let you ſee I lay no ſtreſs upon them. A good ex⯑cuſe for lazineſs! you will ſay: and lazy enough I am, God knows! I believe, any one who knows me thoroughly will think, that there ne⯑ver was ſo great an inconſiſtence as there is betwixt my words (in my poem) and my actions.—This is what the world calls hypocriſy, and is determined to look upon with peculiar averſion. But, I think, the hypocrite is a half-good cha⯑racter. A man certainly, conſidering the force [73] of precedent, deſerves ſome praiſe who keeps up appearances; and is, no doubt, as much to be commended for talking better than he acts, as he is to be blamed for acting worſe than he talks. So much for caſuiſtry. I would ſeem, you muſt know, to have ſome meritorious views in talking virtuouſly; but who does not know that every one who writes poetry looks directly with his face towards praiſe, and whatever elſe his eye takes in is viewed obliquely? Praiſe, as I ſaid to foible-confeſſing W—, is the de⯑ſired, the noted, and the adequate reward of poetry; in which ſort he that rewards me, Hea⯑ven reward him, as Sir John Falſtaff ſays.—There is ſomething very vain in repeating my own ſayings; but I could not conſcientiouſly uſe a joke to you which I had uſed in another letter, without owning it.—In ſhort, it is ne⯑ceſſary to have ſome earthly aim in view; the next world, whether it be in reality near or far off, is always ſeen at a diſtance. All that the generality of young people can do is, to act conſiſtently with their expectations there.—Now, though fame, &c. be obviouſly enough in the eye of reaſon diſſatisfactory; yet it is pro⯑per enough to ſuffer one's ſelf to be deluded with the hopes of it, that is, it is proper to cheriſh ſome worldly hopes, that one may avoid impatience, ſpleen, and one ſort of deſpair: I mean that of having no hopes here, becauſe one ſees nothing here that deſerves them. If I were in your caſe, I would make all the efforts I was able towards being a Biſhop. That ſhould be my earthly aim: not but I would act with ſo much indifference as to bear all diſappointment unconcernedly—as, I dare ſay, you will.—There is but one paſſion that I put upon an equally ſprightly footing with ambition, and that is love; which, as it regularly tends to ma⯑trimony, requires certain favours from fortune [74] and circumſtance to render it proper to indulge in.—By this time you think me crazed—as it often happens to me to doubt, ſeriouſly, whether I am not: but if it be the ‘"mentis gratiſſimus error,"’ I do not mind. You are very oblig⯑ing to endeavour to continue my madneſs and vanity.—I ſhould be as glad to ſee Mr. Graves, your brother, as any one I know: I live in a manner wherein he would find many things to exerciſe his good nature.

Pamela would have made one good volume: I wonder the author, who has ſome nice natu⯑ral ſtrokes, ſhould not have ſenſe enough to ſee that.—I beg you will collect all the hints, &c. of your own, or others, that you think may tend to the improvement of my poem againſt winter; that you would mention any flat lines, &c.—Write me word ſome time ere you come over; but write to me immediately. I am

Once more adieu!

XXXVIII. To a Friend, with a Parody.

YOU are upon very good terms with me, and have been all along. I gueſſed the cauſes of your ſilence, and have been ſincerely ſorry for them; not however that I did not believe you were more happy than any one in the world who is neither a lover nor a poet, though not able to turn himſelf for money-bags.—I am [75] really going to London; and am about the purchaſe of an elegant pair of piſtols from Bir⯑mingham. I indulge myſelf in this expence, becauſe they ſhall ſerve in two capacities: one while to garniſh my chair, another while my horſe. And ſome time next week you will probably ſee your old friend on horſe-back, armed at all points, and as very a knight, to all appearance, as any body.

But I digreſs. If I juſt call to ſee you, God forbid that I ſhould be burthenſome to you. I will ſend my horſes to H—, and lodge there, or ſomewhere. But I am perfectly impatient to unboſom my ſoul to you, and to ſee Mrs. Jago, whom I ſhould have mentioned firſt.—Wedneſday or Tueſday indeed ſeems he moſt likely day.—Though I am not ſure; nor do you confine yourſelf.

Poor Mariett! I too am emaciated; but I hope, by means of ſome warm weather, to ac⯑quire plus d'embonpoint. I deſign to call upon him, and keep him in countenance.

My ballad, in the midſt of your hurry, muſt appear as ridiculous as Cinna the poet does, when he ſwears nothing but death ſhall reſtrain him from addreſſing Brutus and Caſſius (and that the night before the battle) with two dog⯑grel verſes—and thoſe the worſt I have ever read; and that makes the ſimile the more juſt. It is now a good deal metamorpoſed. Your parody is prodigiouſly droll: the firſt line de⯑lights me! I think I could furniſh Mrs. K— with as good mottoes, and as cheap, though I ſay it, as any body; but, alas!—Did I ſend [76] you the following parody or no, before? I believe not. Le viola!

It is a kind of extempore, ſo excuſe it.—You have ſeen the ſong of Arno's Vale.

I am taking part of my farm upon my hands, to ſee if I can ſucceed as a farmer;—but I am afraid I am under the ſentence, ‘"And, behold, whatſoever he taketh in hand, it ſhall not proſper."’

My good friend, I ſincerely confide, that, however we may be ſeparated, no time ſhall extenuate our mutual friendſhip. I am

XXXIX. To Mr. GRAVES, on Social Happineſs.

THERE is not a ſyllable you tell me con⯑cerning yourſelf in your laſt letter, but what applied to me is moſt literally true. I am ſenſible of the daily progreſs I make towards in ſignificancy, and it will not be many years before you ſee me arrived at the ne plus ultra. I believe it is abſolutely impoſſible for me to ac⯑quire a conſiderable degree of knowledge, tho' I can underſtand things well enough at the time I read them. I remember a preacher at St. Ma⯑ry's (I think it was Mr. E—) made a notable diſtinction betwixt apprehenſion and comprehenſion. If there be a real difference, probably it may find a place in the explication of my genius. I envy you a good general inſight into the writings of the learned. I muſt aim at nothing higher than a well concealed ignorance.—I was think⯑ing, upon reading your letter, when it was that you and Mr. Whiſtler and I went out of the road of happineſs. It certainly was where we firſt deviated from the turnpike road of life.—Wives, children, alliances, viſits, &c. are ne⯑ceſſary objects of our ſocial paſſions; and whe⯑ther or no we can, through particular circum⯑ſtances, be happy with, I think it plain enough that it is not poſſible to be happy without them. All attachments to inanimate beauties, to curio⯑ſities, and ornaments, ſatiate us preſently.—The fanciful tribe has the diſadvantage to be natu⯑rally prone to err in the choice of laſting plea⯑ſures: and when our paſſions have habitually wandered, it is too difficult to reduce them into their proper channels. When this is the caſe, nothing but the change or variety of amuſements ſtands any chance to make us eaſy, and it is not [78] long ere the whole ſpecies is exhauſted.—I agree with you entirely in the neceſſity of a ſociable life in order to be happy. I do not think it much a paradox, that any company is better than none. I think it obvious enough as to the pre⯑ſent hour, and as to any future influence, ſoli⯑tude has exceeding ſavage effects on our diſpo⯑ſitions.—I have wrote out my elegy: I lay no manner of ſtreſs but upon the piety of it.—Would it not be a good kind of motto, applied to a perſon you know, that might be taken from what is ſaid of Ophelia in Hamlet,

I have amuſed myſelf often with this ſpecies of writing ſince you ſaw me; partly to divert my preſent impatience, and partly as it will be a picture of moſt that paſſes in my mind; a por⯑trait which friends may value.—I ſhould be glad of your profile: if you have objections, I drop my requeſt.—I ſhould be heartily glad if you would come and live with me, for any ſpace of time that you could find convenient.—But I will depend on your coming over with Mr. Whiſtler in the ſpring. I may poſſibly take a jaunt towards you ere long: the road would furniſh me out ſome viſits; and, by the time I reached you, perhaps, afford me a kind of cli⯑max of happineſs. If I do not, I ſhall perhaps be a little time at Bath. I do not ſpeak of this laſt as a ſcheme from which I entertain great expectations of pleaſure. It is long ſince I have conſidered myſelf as undone. The world will not perhaps conſider me in that light entirely, till I have married my maid. Adieu!

XL. To the ſame, with Obſervations on the Rebellion, and its probable Conſequences.

MY life, for aught I ſee, will paſs away juſt as it has done, without introducing ſufficient improvement into my circumſtances to give a chearful caſt to my correſpondence. In one reſpect, in regard to my inviolable friend⯑ſhip for you, I hope you will hear with ſome ſatisfaction, that I continue ſtill the ſame. And this kind of idenity, I think, I could promiſe you, though every circumſtance in my fortune, every particle of my body, were changed; and others, ever ſo heterogeneous, ſubſtituted in their place. After this, it would be no com⯑pliment to ſay, that the pretended heir to theſe kingdoms could not alter it, were he to ſubvert the Britiſh conſtitution; which muſt, out of all doubt, be the conſequence of his ſucceſs. The rebellion, you may gueſs, is the ſubject of all converſation. Every individual nailer here takes in a news-paper (a more pregnant one by far than any of the London ones), and talks as familiarly of kings and princes as ever Maſter Shallow did of John Gaunt. Indeed it is no bad thing that they do ſo; for I cannot con⯑ceive that the people want ſo much to be con⯑vinced by ſermons, of the abſurdities of popery, as they do by news-papers, that it may poſſibly prevail. The reaſons and arguments too in fa⯑vour of the preſent Government are ſo ſtrong and obvious, that even I, and every country 'ſquire, and every country clerk, and Sam Shaw the taylor, ſeem to be as much maſters of them as the Biſhops themſelves. I muſt not ſay we could expreſs them ſo politely.—I like [80] Secker's the beſt of any ſermon on this occa⯑ſion. He gives his audience a view of ſuch evil conſequences from a change, as no man of ſenſe can poſſibly doubt of, when fairly ſtated: and, I own, I cannot ſee one ſingle good it could produce, in compenſation for its inevita⯑ble and abundant miſchiefs.—I have read Dr. Sherlock's ſermon on this occaſion: and I have read Mr. Warburton's; and, at your requeſt, I will read his Legation.

I have often thoughts of a jaunt as far as your country this winter. Some kind of pilgrimage I muſt make, to avoid a lethargy.—Public places I want to viſit a little; to peep at and renew my ideas of the world's vanity; but either Bath or London would ſteep me ſo far in po⯑verty, that I ſhould not probably emerge before the middle of next ſummer. I have ſpent this laſt ſummer agreeably enough with ſome of my young relations, Mr. Dolman's children.—They have an excellent taſte for their years.—I have been upon ſeveral jaunts with the ſon to Ditchfield, Worceſter, Mr. Fletcher's, &c. amuſ⯑ing him, what I could, under the loſs of his father. Miſs W— F— aſked very earneſtly after you. Two of the ſiſters have been with me at the Leaſows, and upon ſeveral parties of plea⯑sure in my chair.—Broom is diſpoſed of—I do not underſtand upon what inducement.—After all, I am miſerable;—conſcious to myſelf that I am too little ſelfiſh: that I ought now or ne⯑ver to aim at ſome addition to my fortune; and that I make large advances towards the common cataſtrophe of better poets, poverty—I never can attend enough to ſome twelve-penny matter, on which a great deal depends.—My amour, ſo far as I indulge it, gives me ſome pleaſure, and no pain in the world.—I have read Spenſer once again, and I have added full as much more to my School-miſtreſs, in regard to number of [81] lines; ſomething in point of matter (or manner ra⯑ther) which does not diſpleaſe me. I would be glad if Mr. — were, upon your requeſt, to give his opinion of particulars, for two reaſons; as you ſay he has ſome taſte for this kind of writ⯑ing, and as he is my enemy, and would there⯑fore, find out its deficiencies.

I have a reaſon of a moſt whimſical kind, why I would wiſh you to preſerve this letter. Pray write ſoon, and believe me moſt affectio⯑nately

XLI. To the ſame, with Remarks on the Execution and Behaviour of the Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino.

I BELIEVE it is impoſſible for me to diſ⯑agree with you on any other ſcore, than the ſcanty pittances you allot me of your compa⯑ny; and, if I have diſcloſed any ſymptoms of reſentment on that account, you will, perhaps, overlook them, out of regard to the motive from which they proceeded.—I thank you for your peruſal of that trivial poem. If I were going to print it, I ſhould give way to your remarks implicitly, and would not dare to do other⯑wiſe. But ſo long as I keep it in manuſcript, you will pardon my ſilly prejudices, if I chuſe to read and ſhew it with the addition of moſt of my new ſtanzas. I own, I have a fondneſs for ſeveral, imagining them to be more in Spenſer's way, yet more independent on the antique [82] phraſe, than any part of the poem; and, on that account, I cannot yet prevail on myſelf to baniſh them entirely; but were I to print, I ſhould (with ſome reluctance) give way to your ſentiments (which I know are juſt), namely, that they render the work too diffuſe and flimſy, and ſeem rather excreſcences than eſſential parts of it.

But of theſe things I ſay no more now. I purpoſe ſtaying a month with Mr. Whiſtler in December, if it ſuits him; and then I hope I ſhall have a great deal of your company. Let me hear ſomething in your next of your domeſtic affairs. I beg you would not make any grand deciſion, without giving me ſome previous in⯑formation. I eſteem this as due to the friend⯑ſhip I have ſo long profeſſed for you, and from the friendſhip you have ſo long profeſſed for me.

I look upon the death of the two Lords as equally decent upon their reſpective principles. Lord Kilmarnock, I ſuppoſe, joined the rebels through a view of bettering his circumſtances, conſcious to himſelf that he was guilty of a crime the moment he did ſo. This is agreeable to his ſpeech before the Lords, and to that me⯑lancholy which he diſcovered upon the ſcaffold. Death, aggravated by guilt, would ſit heavier upon him than upon the other, even ſuppoſing him to have had the ſame reſolution. Balme⯑rino's life was quite unie, and his death equal to the character he aimed at. We are to obſerve, that he meant to ſuffer as a Friend to the Stu⯑arts, a Soldier, and a Scotſman. The firſt he manifeſted when he came out of the Tower, by his reply of ‘"God ſave King J—s;"’ the ſecond, by his dreſs, and numberleſs oſtentations of in⯑trepidity; the laſt, by his plaid night-cap. Did you hear the ſtory of his ſending a meſſage to Lord Kilmarnock? ‘"that he had been practiſing [83] how to lye upon the block, and had found out, the eaſieſt way of receiving the blow was, to bite his tongue hard: or even if he bit it off, it was no matter, they ſhould have no farther uſe for it."’ His behaviour ſeems to have wanted coolneſs, or elſe to equal that of Adrian, Cato, Sir T. More, &c. or any of thoſe heroes who had ſpirit enough to make an oſtentation of their unconcern. I had, from the printed accounts of their behaviour, an idea of their perſons, exactly conſormable to the de⯑ſcription I read afterwards in your paper;—but enough—you ſend me ſterling matters of fact, and I return you tinſel obſervations.—I thank you for accenting Crōmêrtie and Balmērīno; I learnt Culloden from you before.

I have had little company ſince I ſaw you.—One day indeed I was ſurprized by a viſit from Mr. Thomſon, Author of the Seaſons.—Mr. Lyttelton introduced him.—I have not room to tell you all that paſſed.—They praiſed my place extravagantly;—propoſed alterations, &c. Thomſon was very facetious, and very complaiſant; invited me to his houſe at Rich⯑mond. There were many things ſaid worth telling, but not writing to you.—This has been a ſummer that I have ſpent more ſocially than any one theſe three years. I expect a good deal more company this week, the next, and the week after.—Lady Luxborough talks of coming, and I believe will,—The viſit would bring my little walks into repute.—When will the time come, that I ſhall enjoy your company here a month uninterrupted? Dear Sir,

XLII. To the ſame, with a new Theory of Political Principles.

I HAVE lately received a letter from Mr. Whiſtler, which conveys your compliments to me, and, by ſo doing, prompts me to ac⯑knowledge the receipt of your last kind letter. I obſerve you adhere ſtrictly to the apoſtolical precept of being ‘"ſwift to hear, ſlow to ſpeak;"’ the latter part of which I would fain conclude you underſtand too literally.

Your neighbour, I ſee, is not a little embar⯑raſſed with his mills at Whitchurch. I have long had an eye upon his advertiſement in the London Evening Poſt, and been not a little ſcan⯑dalized thereat. What has the name of a poet to do with the publication of lands and tene⯑ments? or the idea of harmony with the noiſe of a water-mill? yet has he extracted muſic from the ſubject, and mirth from his miſfor⯑tunes; having ſent me a ballad upon the miller, written with much eaſe and ſome drollery.

As to the light in which you place your pre⯑ſent fortunes, I can only ſay, that you have not that ſituation I could wiſh you for your own ſake: for ſo far as I am concerned in your ele⯑vation, I can aſſure you very faithfully, that no circumſtances in the world could more endear you to my affection, or recommend you to my reſpect, than the preſent. My affection, you will eaſily obſerve, from the very nature of affec⯑tion in general, would ſtand no chance to be increaſed by your promotion; and as for reſpect, if I knew the degree you deſired, I would ac⯑quit myſelf of it to your ſatisfaction now; and were you ſettled at Lambeth, I ſhould expect that you would require no more from me upon that [85] account; at leaſt in private: ſo that, ſo far as either deference or friendſhip is concerned, you are an Archbiſhop to me to all intents and pur⯑poſes.—As to figure in the world, it depends much, I know, upon advancement; and yet even here you will be ever ſure of that kind of weight which ingenuity gives; diſcernable to the ſmaller indeed, but undoubtedly the more valuable part of the world;—but this is impro⯑per, as it is philoſophy, and as it is advice; neither of which is it ſuitable for me to ſuggeſt to you— ‘"Alcinoo Poma, &c."’ As to the long ſeries of my lamentations, I will not now enter upon the reaſonableneſs of them. It is a ſubject, to tell you the truth, on which you cannot reply with⯑out ſome danger of hurting me.—As for poli⯑tics (you will blame this letter for dwelling ſo much upon the ſubject of yours;) but as for politics, I think poets are tories by nature, ſup⯑poſing them to be by nature poets.—The love of an individual perſon or family, that has worn a crown for many ſucceſſions, is an inclination greatly adapted to the fanciful tribe. On the other hand, mathematicians, abſtract-reaſoners, of no manner of attachment to perſons, at leaſt to the viſible part of them, but prodigiouſly de⯑voted to the ideas of virtue, liberty, and ſo forth, are generally whigs. It happens agreea⯑bly enough to this maxim, that the whigs are friends to that wiſe, plodding, unpoetical people the Dutch.—The Tories, on the other hand, are taken mightily with that ſhewy, oſtentatious nation the French. Foxhunters, that reſide amongſt the beauties of nature, and bid defiance to art, in ſhort, that have intellects of a poeti⯑cal turn, are frequently tories; citizens, mer⯑chants, &c. that ſcarce ſee what nature is, and conſequently have no pretenſions to a poetical taſte, are, I think, generally argumentative and whiggiſh;—but perhaps I carry this too far.—[86] Something there is in it however, you will ſee: not that I would apply what I here ſay to par⯑ticular revolutions, &c. I would only advance ſomething general and ſpeculative. Nor would I approve or condemn by this any one ſet of people now exiſting. Nor would I have you pretend to fiſh out my party from any thing I have ſaid; for I am of none.—The letter I ſent you laſt was occaſional, and when I ſee you I will tell you the occaſion. I abſolutely agree with you in every tittle of your political obſervations.—I am glad I do; for I know the poiſonous nature of party: and though we are neither vio⯑lent, yet I ſhould fear it. My ſchemes are doubtful at preſent, but my face is ſet towards Bath.—I am confident of the ſervice thoſe wa⯑ters would do me.—I hope you will exhilarate me with a letter ſoon.—I would fain have fur⯑niſhed out a letter to amuſe you after ſo long a ſilence, but I find myſelf unable: even as un⯑able as I am to expreſs the regard with which I am

XLIII. Continuation of the ſame.

THOUGH I feel an irreſiſtible propen⯑ſity to write to you this very poſt, yet I cannot ſay that I am able to advance any thing tending either to your own or my ſatisfaction.—What is worſt of all is, I cannot fix the time of ſeeing you with ſo much preciſion as I would always endeavour where my pleaſure is ſo much concerned—I will tell you the whole affair.—I [87] have for a long ſeaſon propoſed to drink the Bath waters this ſpring; and did think of ſet⯑ting out in a week's time, when I received your letter, purpoſing to ſtay there a month; and from thence take a circuit which ſhould indulge me in a ſight of you, Mr. Whiſtler, and ſome few others in my way home. The latter part of this ſcheme (tho' far the more agreeable to me) was rather doubtful and precarious; depending (as you expreſs it) on the ſtate of my finances after a month's continuance at Bath; which I conſidered, and do conſider, as a very probable means of bettering my conſtitution.—Now I covet to ſee you ſo much, that I would bring nothing but health in competition.—What I wiſh is, that you could, with convenience, either haſten or delay your journey, that you might find me before mine, or after my return, though I ſhould infinitely, and for many reaſons, prefer the former. I long to talk with you particularly now. I have much to ſay in regard to our friend's amour, to which you alluded in your laſt. I requeſt it as a favour of you, that you would conjure him, by the friendſhip I have ever borne him, and by any eſteem which he has ever profeſſed for me, that he would do nothing very material in the affair till I have talked it over, and given him my faithful ſen⯑timents, ‘"quod cenſet amiculus."’

I am not willing the balance ſhould turn en⯑tirely on the whig ſide: I would give it a grea⯑ter equilibrium, if the following ſuggeſtion might effect it. Tories, I ſaid, have great, and ſometimes partial affections for the perſon of a king.—We will ſuppoſe that kings are alter⯑nately good and bad: their loyalty to the good one is commendable; their partiality to the bad one not to be vindicated. Whigs have no paſ⯑ſion, no gratitude, towards to the good prince: there they are wrong. They are ſevere upon the [88] bad one, in which they are juſtifiable. I wiſh I had not begun theſe wholeſale diſtinctions, this miſerable ſpecimen of my politics. I pro⯑teſt againſt all epiſtolary diſputes. I am now embarraſſed in one, on much ſuch another ſcore, which fills up all my letter; for I love the laſt word, like a ſcold or a child.—I thank you for your little anecdotes from time to time: you may depend upon it, that I have never heard any thing before; for I never do hear any thing.—I am one very thankful letter in debt to your neighbour Whiſtler. I have at preſent nothing but the propenſity of a good correſpondent; but I will write ſoon. In the mean time, if you ſee him, aſk him if he goes to Bath or Briſtol this ſeaſon.—I beg you would write to me di⯑rectly when you can come, and how I may re⯑gulate my motions ſo as to be beſt aſſured of ſeeing you.—Pray do not neglect a poſt. I am

XLIV. To the ſame, on the Mixture of Pleaſure and Pain.

IT is now, I believe, near half a year ſince I had the favour of a letter from you. When I wrote laſt, I diſcovered a more than ordinary ſolicitude for one immediate anſwer. It puzzles me to account for your unuſual ſilence, other⯑wiſe than upon ſuppoſition of ſome offence you have taken: and it puzzles me as much to gueſs by what behaviour of mine I have been ſo un⯑happy as to give you that offence.

[89]I am vain enough to imagine that the little merit I have, deſerves ſomewhat more regard than I have met with from the world. Be that as it will, the diſappointment I muſt undergo, by any appearance of neglect from the friends I value, would more effectually diſpirit me than any other whatſoever.

I have publiſhed my deſign of viſiting you, and Mr. Whiſtler in Oxfordſhire, to all the world. A thouſand incidents have hitherto in⯑terfered with it, which I will not now recount. But when I look back upon the regular ſuc⯑ceſſion of them, it looks as if Deſtiny had ſome hand in detaining me. The moſt vigorous of my hopes dwell upon ſeeing you next win⯑ter, though I am not a little indulgent to thoſe that tell me I may ſee you long before.

I have brought my place here to greater per⯑fection than it has ever yet appeared in; and, with the mob, it is in ſome vogue. Neverthe⯑leſs, I do not know that I ever reliſhed it leſs in my life than I have done this ſummer. Bad health, bad ſpirits, no company to my mind, and no correſpondences, are enough to blaſt the ſweeteſt ſhades, and to poiſon the pureſt fountains. Some of theſe misfortunes I can im⯑pute to my own miſconduct, and it embitters them. The two laſt I can leſs account for, ha⯑ving at all times done all I was able to recom⯑mend myſelf to my friends, behaving at the ſame time with courteſy to the reſt of the world. The fact is not true; otherwiſe I might reſolve it into this, that I alone am idle, and all the world is buſy.

I fancy you will imagine I lay too much ſtreſs upon Mr. Thomſon's viſit, when I mention the following inſcription upon a ſeat in Virgil's grove. ‘[90] CELEB^MO. POETAE
JACOBO THOMSON, S.
PROPE FONTES ILLI NON FASTIDITOS
G. S.
SEDEM HANC ORNAVIT.’

I want your opinion of it, and whether it were not better thus, ‘—THOMSON,
QVI CVM QVICQVID VBIQVE RVRIS EST
AVT AMOENVM AVT VARIVM
MIRE DEPINXERAT,
HOS ETIAM FONTES NON PASTIDIVIT.’ But you will diſcover at firſt glance an impro⯑priety in both.—Now I am upon inſcriptions, I ſend you one from a coin dug up very near me a few weeks ago. Round the head, ‘IMP [...] V AVG GER DAC M’On the reverſe, ‘S P Q R OPTIMO PRINCIPI COS VI’ Within which is an human figure ſitting, with one hand reclined upon a wand; the other, as I take it, holding forth an olive. I have given my opinion, it is one of Trajan's; and my virtuoſo character will reſt upon the truth [91] of it. It is a ſilver coin, but very obſcure.—There appears a large maſs of ruins, rough ſtone, very ſtrongly cemented, where they found it.—If you were here, it might amuſe you.

Heavineſs may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.—I have ſo ſettled a notion of the proportionate mixture of pleaſure and pain in this life, that I expect one to ſuc⯑ceed the other as naturally as day and night. I own, this is owing to the ſoul as much as to outward incidents. Sorrow prepares it for mirth, and vice verſa.—The durations of both differ. Laſt ſummer I ſpent agreeably; this quite otherwiſe, To-day I have been quite me⯑lancholy; I expect happineſs to-morrow from either an aptitude of mind, or ſome incident ſufficient to overcome its inaptitude.—Perhaps that incident may be a letter from you; I wiſh it may, and am moſt truly

I had a coin of Veſpaſian given me to day, and I begin a collection: if you have any du⯑plicates, you will pleaſe to oblige me.—I want to correct my elegies, by your aſſiſtance.—I will begin no more.

XLV. To the ſame, with Thoughts on Advice.

I AM under ſome apprehenſion that you dread the ſight of a letter from me, as it ſeems to lay claim to the compliment of an anſwer. I will therefore write you one that ſhall wave its [92] privilege, at leaſt till ſuch time as your leiſure encourages, or your preſent diſſipation does not forbid you to ſend one.—I dare now no longer expatiate upon the affair you have in hand; it is enough for me, if you will excuſe the free⯑dom I have taken. I have often known delay produce good effects in ſome caſes which even ſagacity itſelf could not ſurmount; and, if I thought I did not go too far, would preſume to recommend it now. You know I have very little of the temper of an alderman. I almoſt hate the idea of wealthineſs as much as the word. It ſeems to me to carry a notion of ful⯑neſs, ſtagnation, and inſignificancy. It is this diſpoſition of mine that can alone give any weight to the advice I ſend you, as it proves me not to give it through any partiality to fortune. As to what remains, you are, I hope, aſſured of the value I muſt ever have for you in any circum⯑ſtances, and the regard I ſhall always ſhew for any that belongs to you. I cannot like you leſs or more.—I now drop into other matters. Ber⯑gen, I ſee, is taken at loſt; pray what are the ſentiments of your political companions? I dined ſome time ago with Mr. Lyttelton and Mr. Pitt, who both agreed it was worth twenty thouſand men to the French; which is a light in which I never uſed to conſider it. Any little intimation that you pleaſe to confer upon me, en⯑ables me to ſeem wiſe in this country for a month; particularly if I take care to adjuſt my face accordingly. As I was returning laſt Sun⯑day from church, whom ſhould I meet in my way, but that ſweet-ſouled bard Mr. James Thom⯑ſon, in a chaiſe drawn by two horſes lengthways.—I welcomed him into the country, and aſked him to accompany Mr. Lyttelton to the Leaſows (who had offered me a viſit) which he promiſed to do. So I am in daily expectations of them and all the world this week. I fancy they will [93] laviſh all their praiſes upon nature, reſerving none for poor art and me. But if I ever live, and am able to perfect my ſchemes, I ſhall not deſpair of pleaſing the ſew I firſt began with; the few friends prejudiced in my favour, and then ‘"Fico por los malignatores."’ Cenſures will not affect me; for I am armed ſo ſtrong in va⯑nity, that they will paſs by me as the idle wind which I regard not. I think it pretty near equal, in a country place, whether you gain the ſmall number of taſters, or the large crowd of the vul⯑gar. The latter are more frequently met with, and gape, ſtupent, and ſtare much more. But one would chuſe to pleaſe a few friends of taſte before mob or gentry, the great vulgar or the ſmall; becauſe therein one gratifies both one's ſocial paſſions and one's pride, that is, one's ſelf-love. Above all things, I would wiſh to pleaſe you; and if I have a wiſh that projects or is pro⯑minent beyond the reſt, it is to ſee you placed to your ſatisfaction near me; but Fortune muſt vary from her uſual treatment before ſhe favours me ſo far.—And yet there was a time, when one might probably have prevailed on her. I knew not what to do—The affair was ſo intricately circumſtanced—your ſurprizing ſilence after the hint I gave.—Mr. D— offering to ſerve any friend of mine; nay, preſſing me to uſe the op⯑portunity.—His other relations, his guardians, teizing him with ſure ſymptoms of a rupture in caſe of a refuſal on their ſide.—Mr P— ſolicit⯑ing me if the place were ſold, which it could not legally be. Friendſhip, propriety, imparti⯑ality, ſelf-intereſt (which I little regarded) endea⯑vouring to diſtract me; I think I never ſpent ſo diſagreeable an half-year ſince I was born. To cloſe the whole, I could not foreſee the event, which is almoſt foretold in your laſt letter, and I knew I could not ſerve you; but I muſt ren⯑der it a neceſſary one. In ſhort, when can tell [94] you the whole affair at leiſure, you will own it to be of ſuch a nature, that I muſt be ever in ſuſ [...]ence concerning my behaviour, and of courſe ſhall never reflect on it with pleaſure. Believe me, with the trueſt affection,

XLVI. To a Friend, from The Leaſows.

IT is not much above two hours ſince I re⯑ceived your obliging letter, and I am al⯑ready ſet down to anſwer it.—To ſpeak the truth, I had almoſt given you over: I imagined you had taken umbrage at ſome expreſſion or circum⯑ſtance in my epiſtle, and were determined to make me ſenſible you did ſo, by your ſilence. I hope, this error of mine will ſerve to eſtabliſh one rule on both ſides.—It is what ought, I am ſure, always to take place, where people wiſh a perpetuity of friendſhip. I mean, never, upon circumſtances of diſreſpect, to admit of circum⯑ſtantial evidence.

I am very grave, ſo you may depend on the ſincerity of all I ſhall ſay, I ſaw ſeveral beau⯑ties in your former elegy; but though it was ‘"formoſa,"’ it did not appear to me ‘"ipſa forma."’ I like this that you have now ſent very much. It has a ſimplicity which your laſt a little wanted, and has thought enough. I begin to be ſeldom pleaſed with the compoſitions of others, or my own; but I could be really fond of this, with a ſew alterations, that I could pro⯑poſe:—but you muſt know, at the ſame time, [95] that theſe are ſuch as no one would approve beſide myſelf.—I know it. However there are ſome ſeeming faults in it.

I have been greatly mortified in my correſpon⯑dents of late. —I even ſaid in my haſte, All friends are faithleſs.—G, after a month's ex⯑pectation, which he had confirmed to me, of ſeeing him here, let me know about a fortnight ſince, that I had more leiſure than him; and ſince it did not ſuit his convenience to come, I ought to take the opportunity of viſiting him, and ſeeing Derbyſhire while he continues in it.—W— has not wrote to me theſe ſix weeks.—Outing has been, moreover, dumb for the ſame ſpace of time; and I purpoſe in my heart to behave with ſome diſtance toward both, for this neglect (ſee my rule of circumſtantial evi⯑dence).

It is a pity you cannot ſpare a day or two to come and ſee me. My wood grows exceſſively pleaſant, and its pleaſantneſs vexes me; becauſe nobody will come that can taſte it.

Your health, according to your deſcription, is much the ſame with mine; but from the gaiety of your ſtyle and deſigns, I collect that it is greatly better.

I have an alcove, ſix elegies, a ſeat, two epi⯑taphs (one upon myſelf), three ballads, four ſongs, and a ſerpentine river, to ſhew you when you come. Will the compoſitions come ſafe to you, if I ſend my book, which contains the only copies of ſeveral things (which I could not re⯑member if they were loſt)?—but I will not ſend them. If my horſe gets well, I may eſſay a viſit for two days, and bring them with me, that I may make comments while you read them, as beſeemeth a genuine author to do.

I am raiſing a green-houſe from the excreſcen⯑ces of Lord Dudley's; but I do not find that [96] ‘"vient l'appetit en mangeant,"’ that I grow fonder of my collection proportionable as it in⯑creaſes.

I ſhould think myſelf fortunate enough at pre⯑ſent, if, like you, I could only find that I had been mentioned for a vacant poſt; but I have withdrawn all my views from court-preferment, and fixed them on finding a pot of money, which I determine to be the far more probable ſcheme.

I have little health and frequent mortification, ſo that no one need envy me; and yet, I be⯑lieve, there are that do Are any enviable but ſuch as are unambitious? I never ſhall be able to reckon myſelf of that tribe, which have en⯑groſſed all happineſs to themſelves, and left the reſt of the world nothing but hopes and poſſeſ⯑ſions. Yet I do not much feel the pains of am⯑bition, while I am converſing with ingenious friends of my own level: but in other company it hurts me. Let me adviſe you, now I think of it, to dread the company of ſilly people, out-of-the-way people, and, in one word, what men of genius call the vulgar. You run ten times the riſque of being mortified, voluntarily or unknow⯑ingly, amongſt the latter of theſe, to what you do amongſt men of ſenſe and politeneſs, be they ever ſo malicious;—but my paper is filled.

Do write ſoon.

XLVII. To the ſame.

I THINK I have lived to out correſpond almoſt all my correſpondents; whether you are the laſt that is to be ſubdued, I will not ſay; [97] the reſt are ſo fatigued, that they are not able to atchieve a line. Apprized of this, and being by nature diſpoſed to have mercy on the vanquiſhed, ‘"parcere ſubjectis,"’ I ſeldom write a ſyllable more than is requiſite to further ſome ſcheme, or aſcertain ſome interview, the latter of theſe be⯑ing the purpoſe of this mine epiſtle. I am in great hopes I ſhall be at liberty to ſee you ere many weeks be paſt; and would beg of you, in the mean time, to inform me, by a letter, when I am likely, or when very unlikely, to meet you at home. I am detained, juſt at preſent, by con⯑tinual expectations of the Hagley family.

As I was returning from church on Sunday laſt, whom ſhould I meet in a chaiſe, with two horſes lengthways, but that right friendly bard, Mr. Thompſon? I complimented him upon his arrival in this country, and aſked him to accom⯑pany Mr. Lyttelton to The Leaſows, which he ſaid he would with abundance of pleaſure; and ſo we parted. You will obſerve, that the more ſtreſs I lay upon this viſit, and the more I diſcover to you, the more ſubſtantial is my apology for deferring mine into Warwickſhire. I own, I am pleaſed with the proſpect of ſhewing them ſomething at The Leaſows beyond what they ex⯑pect. I have begun my terras on the high hill I ſhewed you, made ſome conſiderable improve⯑ments in Virgil's grove, and finiſhed a walk from it to the houſe, after a manner which you will approve. They are going to build a caſtle in the park round the lodge, which, if well exe⯑cuted, muſt have a good effect; and they are going likewiſe to build a rotund to terminate the viſto. The fault is, that they anticipate every thing which I propoſe to do when I become rich; but as that is never likely to be, perhaps it is not of any importance;—but what I term rich, im⯑plies no great deal; I believe, you are a witneſs to the moderation of my deſires; and I flatter [98] myſelf that you will believe your friend in that reſpect ſomething above the vulgar.

If I come to your houſe, poſitively I will not go to ſee Mr. M—. He has been twice as near me as The Grange, with C— L—, and never deemed my place worth ſeeing. I doubt, you are a little too modeſt in praiſing it wherever you go.—Why don't you applaud it with both hands, ‘"utroque pollice?"—"Parcentes ego dexteras odi, ſparge roſas."—’I am ſo very partial to my native place, that it ſeems a miracle to me that it is not more famous. But I complain unjuſt⯑ly of you; for, as you have always contributed to my happineſs, you have taken every opportu⯑nity to contribute to my figure. I wiſh I could ſay the ſame of ſome who have it more in their power.

I have yet about a thouſand things to ſay to you—not now, though.—Lady L—h's viſit I reſerve till I ſee you. A coach with a coronet is a pretty kind of phaenomenon at my door—few prettier, except the face of ſuch a friend as you; for I do not want the grace to prefer a generous and ſpirited friendſhip to all the gew⯑gaws that ambition can contrive. I have wrote out my elegies, and heartily wiſh you had them to look over before I come.—I know not how to ſend them.—I ſhall bring and leave ſome poetry with you.— ‘"Thus & odores!"’ or rather a pro⯑per covering for ‘"Thus & odores, & piper, & quicquid chartis amicitur ineptis."’

XLVIII. To the ſame, with a Song.

BEING juſt returned from a ſmall excurſion, it was with the utmoſt pleaſure that I read over your letter; and though it abounds both in wit and waggery, I ſit down incontinently to anſwer it with none.

The agreeableneſs of your letters is now heightened by the ſurprize they give me. I muſt own, I have thought you in a manner loſt to the amuſements in which you once delighted, cor⯑reſpondences, works of taſte and fancy, &c. If you think the opinion worth removing, you need only favour me with ſuch a letter now and then, and I will place you (in my imagination) where you ſhall ſee all the favourites of fortune cringing at your feet.

I think I could add about half a dozen hints to your obſervations on electricity, which might at leaſt diſguiſe the facts; and then why will you not put it into ſome news-paper, or monthly pamphlet? you might diſcover yourſelf to whom you have a mind. It would give more than ordinary pleaſure at this time.—Some other will take the hint.—Pity your piece ſhould not have the advantage of novelty as well as wit!

I dined and ſtayed a night with Dr. E—; he was extremely obliging, and I am glad of ſuch a friend to viſit at B. He aſked much after you.—He ſhewed me his Ovid—I adviſed him to finiſh ſome one epiſtle highly, that he might ſhew it.—The whole will not take, though it goes againſt me to tell him ſo. I ſhould be glad he could ſucceed at B.; and could I ſerve him, it would be with a ſafe conſcience; for I take him to [100] excel the reſt of B. phyſicians far in point of ſpeculation and diligence, &c.

I ſend you the ſong you aſked for, and requeſt of you to write me out your new edition of the election verſes; and, at your leiſure, a copy of the poem which we altered.

Have you read Watſon, Martyn and Freke, on electricity? I accidently met with the two former, by which my head is rendered almoſt giddy —electrics, non-electrics, electrics per ſe, and bodies that are only conductors of electricity, [101] have a plaguy bad effect on ſo vortical a brain as mine.

I will infallibly ſpend a week with you, per⯑haps about February, if it ſuits you; though I think too it muſt be later.

I have been painting in water colours, during a viſit I made, flowers. I would recommend the amuſement to you, if you can allow it the time that is expedient.

I truſt you will give me one entire week in the ſpring, when my [...]e alterations may exhibit themſelves to advantage.

XLIX. To the ſame, after a Viſit.

I AM tempted once more to apologize for the the unſeaſonable viſit I paid you, though I feel myſelf entirely innocent in that reſpect, even as much as the poſt-boy was guilty; for had my previous letter arrived in due time, you had then been furniſhed with an opportunity of waving my company till a more convenient ſeaſon. I was only, or, at leaſt, chiefly uneaſy upon your ac⯑count. I ſpent my time very agreeably, and only leſs ſo than I might, had I not been con⯑ſcious to myſelf, that I was intruding upon do⯑meſtic tenderneſſes.

I ſpent the Sunday night and the next day at Mr. Wren's; and am now juſt returned from Mr. Dolman's, who has made me a genteel preſent of Spence's Polymetis. I have not yet read many dialogues in it, but I have dipped in ſeveral; and have reaſon to be well enough ſatisfied with the ſimple and uninvidious manner in which he has introduced Mr. Lowth's poem. I have long [102] known of this intended introduction (which I acci⯑dentally found to have to have been ſettled be⯑twixt them before I publiſhed mine on the ſame ſubject), and a little dreaded the form of it. I have long ago made conſiderable improvements in mine, and have a mind one day to publiſh it once more; after which, let it ſleep in peace. I have ſometimes thought of printing my next title-page thus, viz. ‘"Poems; conſiſting of Songs, Odes, and Elegies, with an improved edition of The Judgment of Hercules, and of The Shool-miſtreſs."’ But I have but very few critical acquaintance, and I live at a great diſ⯑tance from thoſe I have; ſtationed amongſt the makers and the wearers of hob-nails;

I know I have thrown a great number of care⯑leſs things into your hands. I know to whom I intruſted my follies; but I know not what they are:—I believe, in general, that they conſiſt of mis-begotten embryos and abortive births, which it had been merely decent to have buried in—ſome part of my garden; but I was morally aſſured, that you would expoſe nothing of mine to my diſadvantage. As to ſome that are leſs im⯑perfect, you promiſed your obſervations, and I deſire you would make them with the utmoſt freedom. I can bear any cenſure which you ſhall paſs by way of letter, and I beg once more that you would not be ſparing. It will be eſteemed as great a favour as you can do me. When they have gone through your hands, and thoſe of one or two more friends, I ſhall, per⯑haps, think of publiſhing them; though as to that, much depends upon the advice I receive, and previouſly on the opportunity I have of re⯑ceiving. [103] I am in hopes that you will be pretty full in diſcovering to me, which you diſlike the leaſt, what faults you find, and what improvements they are capable of. I ſet you a tedious taſk; but I will return the favour as far as I am able, either in the ſame way or any other. This brings me to ſay, that, if there be any compoſitions of yours that you would have me to correct (and there are ſeveral of which I want a copy), I would beg you to ſend them. Your Blackbird excels any ſinging-bird I ever heard, and I beſeech you to convey it to The Leaſows by the next opportu⯑nity, that he may acquire ſ [...]me near other [...]ills, and in other valleys, than thoſe in which he was produced.—I have many compliments to make in your country; to Mr. H—, Mrs. N—, Mrs. J—, Mr. F—, Mr. T—, and your brother. If I go over to Mr. W—'s, I will aſſuredly call and ſpend a night with you.—That is precarious.—But whether I do or not, I would willingly hope to ſee you this ſpring and ſummer more than once; as a critic and as a friend: nor do I forget the promiſe of Mr. H— and Mr. F—;—but of theſe things more when I ſend for the papers, which I purpoſe to do to-morrow fortnight, that is, the twenty-ninth of February.

I have ſuffered greatly by railing at the black button on a parſon's great coat. Had Mr. Hall's been thus diſtinguiſhed, he could not have miſ⯑taken mine for his own; which latter I ſent in order to be commuted at Birmingham, and was almoſt ſtarved to death before I could accompliſh the exchange. There is no trifling with any part of orthodoxy with impunity.—That is the moral.

I have received a very obliging letter from Lady Luxborough, wherein ſhe tells me, that Lady Hartford admires my place in her deſcrip⯑tion. Mr. Thomſon is intimate at Lady Hart⯑ford's; and I ſuppoſe Lady Hartford may have [104] been informed by L. L. that Mr. Thomſon has been here; ſo I conclude, in mere vanity, that my farm is advancing in reputation.

What think you of Mr. Carte's Hiſtory? or what of his narrative concerning the Pretender's touching for the King's evil? I think one is not, however, to give up his book entirely; becauſe, with all his ſuperſtition, he may have ſeveral anec⯑dotes that one would like to read.

I have had great expectations from the beau⯑tiful veins of a piece of oak of which I have had a table made; but, upon a thorough ſurvey of it, it is ſo like nothing in the world as old B—'s callimanco night-gown..

I have nothing to add worth beginning upon another page; but I happened not to make a re⯑gular concluſion in my preceeding one.

You muſt give me ſome time to colour you a collection of flowers (that octavo edition I ſhewed you here); and then I will make Mrs. Jago a preſent of it. I believe I can engage Mr. Dolman to aſſiſt me, who is much my ſuperior in point of accuracy; and the inſcription at the beginning is to run ſomehow thus: ‘ELEGANTISSIMAE PVELLAE
DOROTHEA FANCOVRT,
QVAE PERDILECTI SVI CONDISCIPVLI
RICHARDI IAGO
AMORES MERVIT,
D. D.
GVLIELMVS SHENSTONE;
DEBITAE NYMPHIS OPIFEX CORONAE.’ That is, by trade a garland-maker; but this in⯑ſcription I may alter, if I can think of any thing more expreſſive of the regard which I have ever borne and ſtill bare you.

Lord Dudley is gone, and franks are no more. I have nothing to wiſh you but health and pre⯑ferment; [105] ‘—"det vitam, det opes;—"’ with theſe you will eaſily compound that cordial happineſs, having every other ingredient that is requiſite at hand.

L. To Mr. JAGO,

I HAVE ſent Tom over for the papers which I left under your inſpection; have nothing to to add upon this head, but that the more freely and particularly you give me your opinion, the greater will be the obligation which I ſhall have to acknowledge.

I ſhall be very glad, if I happen to receive a good large bundle of your own compoſitions; in regard to which, I will obſerve any commands which you ſhall pleaſe to lay upon me.

I am favoured with a certain correſpondence, by way of letter, which I told you I ſhould be glad to cultivate; and I find it very entertaining.

Pray did you receive my anſwer to your laſt letter, ſent by way of London? I ſhould be ex⯑tremely ſorry to be debarred the pleaſure of writing to you by the poſt, as often as I feel a violent propenſity to deſcribe the notable inci⯑dents of my life; which amount to about as much as the tinſel of your little boy's hobby⯑horſe.

I am on the point of purchaſing a couple of buſts for the niches in my hall; and believe me, my good friend, I never proceed one ſtep in or⯑namenting [106] my little farm, but I enjoy the hopes of rendering it more agreeable to you, and the ſmall circle of acquaintance, who ſometimes favour me with their company.

I ſhall be extremely glad to ſee you and Mr. Fancourt when the trees are green; that is, in May; but I would not have you content your⯑ſelf with a ſingle viſit this ſummer. If Mr. Hardy (to whom you will make my compli⯑ments) inclines to favour me ſo far, you muſt calculate ſo as to wait on him whenever he finds it convenient; though I have better hopes of mak⯑ing his reception here agreeable to him when my Lord Dudley comes down.—I wonder how he would like the ſcheme I am upon, of exchanging a large tankard for a ſilver ſtandiſh.

I have had a couple of paintings given me ſince you were here. One of them is a Madona, valued, as it is ſaid, at ten guineas in Italy, but which you would hardly purchaſe at the price of five ſhillings. However, I am endeavouring to make it out to be one of Carlo Maratt's, who was a firſt hand, and famous for Madonas; even ſo as to be nick-named ‘"Cartuccio delle Ma⯑donne"’ by Salvator Roſa. Two letters of the cypher (CM) agree; what ſhall I do with regard to the third? It is a ſmall piece, and ſadly black⯑ened. It is about the ſize (though not quite the ſhape) of the Bacchus over the parlour door, and has much ſuch a frame.

A perſon may amuſe himſelf almoſt as cheaply as he pleaſes. I find no ſmall delight in rearing all ſorts of poultry; geeſe, turkeys, pullets, ducks, &c. I am alſo ſomewhat ſmitten with a blackbird which I have purchaſed: a very ſine one; brother by father, but not by mother, to the unfortunate bird you ſo beautifully deſcribe, a copy of which deſcription you muſt not fail to ſend me;—but, as I ſaid before, one may eaſily habituate one's ſelf to cheap amuſements; that [107] is, rural ones (for all town amuſements are hor⯑ridly expenſive);—I would have you cultivate your garden; plant flowers, have a bird or two in the hall (they will at leaſt amuſe your chil⯑dren); write now and then a ſong; buy now and then a book; write now and then a letter to

P. S. I hope you have exauſted all your ſpirit of criticiſm upon my verſes, that you may have none left to cavil as this letter; for I am aſhamed to think, that you, in particular, ſhould receive the dulleſt I ever wrote in my life, Make my compliments to Mrs. Jago.—She can go a little abroad, you ſay.—Tell her, I ſhould be proud to ſhew her The Leaſows. Adieu!

LI. To Mr. —, on his Marriage.

HOW little ſoever I am inclined to write at this time, I cannot bear that you ſhould cenſure me of unkindneſs in ſeeming to overlook, the late change in your ſituation. It will, I hope, be eſteemed ſuperfluous in me to ſend you my moſt cordial wiſhes that you may be happy; but it will, perhaps, be ſomething more ſignificant to ſay, that I believe you will; building my opi⯑nion on the knowledge I have long had of your own temper, and the account you give me of the perſon's whom you have made choice of, [108] to whom I deſire you to pay my ſincere and moſt affectionate compliments.

I ſhall always be glad to find you praeſentibus aequum, though I ſhould always be pleaſed when I ſaw you tentantem majora. I think you ſhould neglect no opportunity at this time of life to puſh your fortune ſo far as an elegant competency, that you be not embarraſſed with thoſe kind of ſoli⯑citudes toward the evening of your day;

I would have you acquire, if poſſible, what the world calls, with ſome propriety, an eaſy fortune; and what I interpret, ſuch a fortune as allows of ſome inaccuracy and inattention, that one may not be continually in ſuſpence about the laying out a ſhilling;—this kind of advice may ſeem ex⯑tremely dogmatical in me; but, if it carries any haughty air, I will obviate it by owning that I never acted as I ſay. I have loſt my road to hap⯑pineſs, I confeſs; and, inſtead of purſuing the way to the fine lawns, and venerable oaks, which diſtinguiſh the region of it, I am got into the pitiful parterre-garden of amuſement, and view the nobler ſcenes at a diſtance. I think I can ſee the road too that leads the better way, and can ſhew it others; but I have many miles to mea⯑sure back before I can get into it myſelf, and no kind of reſolution to take a ſingle ſtep. My chief amuſements at preſent are the ſame they have long been, and lie ſcattered about my farm. The French have what they call a parque ornée; I ſuppoſe, approaching about as near to a garden as the park at Hagley. I give my place the title of a ferme ornée; though, if I had money, I ſhould hardly confine myſelf to ſuch decora⯑tions as that name requires. I have made great improvements; and the conſequence is, that I long to have you ſee them.

[109]I have not heard whether Miſs—'s match proceeded.—I ſuppoſe your objections were grounded on the perſon's age and temper; and that they had the leſs weight, as they ſuppoſed you acted indiſcreetly yourſelf: I can ſay but little on the occaſion. You know—better than I do: Only this I muſt add, that I have ſo great an eſteem for your ſiſter, that it will be ne⯑ceſſary to my eaſe, that whoever marries her ſhe ſhould be happy.

I have little hopes that I ſhall now ſee you often in this country; though it would be you, in all probability, as ſoon as any, that would take a journey of fifty miles, ‘To ſee the pooreſt of the ſons of men.’ The truth is, my affairs are miſerably embroiled, by my own negligence, and the non-payment of tenants. I believe, I ſhall be forced to ſeize on one next week for three years and a half's rent, due laſt Lady-day; an affair to which I am greatly averſe, but through indolence and compaſſion. I hope, however, I ſhall be always able (as I am ſure I ſhall be deſirous) to entertain a friend of a philoſophical regimen, ſuch as you and Mr. Whiſt⯑ler; and that will be all I can do.

Hagley-park is conſiderably improved ſince you were here, and they have built a caſtle by way of ruin on the higheſt part of it, which is juſt ſeen from my wood; but by the removal of a tree or two (growing in a wood that joins to the park, and which, fortunately enough, belongs to Mr. Dolman and me), I believe it may be ren⯑dered a conſiderable object here.

I purpoſe to write to Mr. Whiſtler either this poſt or the next. The fears you ſeemed in upon my account are very kind, but have no grounds. I am, dear Mr. —, habitually and ſincerely,

My humble ſervice to your neighbours.—Smith (whom you knew at Derby) will publiſh a print of my grove in a ſmall collection.

LII. To Mr. JAGO, with an Invitation to The LEASOWS.

I HARDLY know whether it will be pru⯑dent in me to own, that I wrote you a long letter upon the receipt of your laſt, which I now have upon my table. I condemn this habit in myſelf entirely, and ſhould, I am ſure, be very unhappy, if my friends, by my example, ſhould be induced to contract the ſame. The truth is, I had not expreſſed myſelf in it to my mind, and it was full of blots and blunders, and interlin⯑ings; yet, ſuch as it was, it had wearied my at⯑tention, and given me a diſinclination to begin it a freſh. I am now impatient to remove any ſcruple you may have concerning my grateful ſenſe of all your favours, and the invariable continuance of my affection and eſteem—I find by your laſt obliging letter, that my machina⯑tions and devices are not entirely private.—You knew of my draught of Hagley Caſtle about the bigneſs of a barley-corn; you knew of our in⯑tended viſit to Lady Luxborough's; and I muſt add, Mr. Thomas Hall knew of my contrivance for the embelliſhment of Mr. Hardy's houſe. Nothing is there hid that ſhall not be revealed.—Our viſit to Barrels is now over and pad.—Lady Luxborough has ſeen Hagley Caſtle in the origi⯑nal:—and as to my deſire that my draught might be ſhewn to no Chriſtian ſoul, you ſurely did but ill with it, when you ſhewed that drawing to a [111] Clergyman. However, you may have acted up to my real meaning, if you have taken care not to ſhew it to any connoiſſeur. I meant chiefly to guard againſt any one that knows the rules, in whoſe eyes, I am ſure, it would not turn to my credit.—Pray how do you like the feſtoons dang⯑ling over the oval windows?—It is the chief advantage in repairing an old houſe, that one may deviate from the rules without any extra⯑ordinary cenſure.

I will not trouble you now with many particu⯑lars. The intent of Tom's coming is, to deſire your company and Mrs. Jago's this week.—I ſhould be extremely glad if your convenience would allow you to come on Monday or Tues⯑day; but, if it is entirely impracticable, I would beſeech you not to put off the viſit longer than the Monday following, for the leaves of my groves begin to fall a great pace. I beg once more, you would let no ſmall inconvenience prevent your being here on Monday.—As to my viſit at Icheneton, you may depend upon it ſoon after; and I hope you will not ſtand upon punc⯑tilio, when I mention my inclination that you may all take a walk through my coppices before their beauty is much impaired. Were I in a ſprightly vein, I would aim at ſaying ſomething genteel by way of anſwer to Mrs. Jago's compli⯑ment.—As it is, I can only thank her for the ſubſtance, and applaud the politeneſs of it.—I poſt⯑pone all other matters till I ſee you. I am, habi⯑tually and ſincerely,

I beg my compliments to Mr Hardy.

P. S. I am not accuſtomed, my dear friend, to ſend you a blank page; nor can I be content to do ſo now.

[112]I thank you very ſenſibly for the verſes with which you honour me. I think them good lines, and ſo do others that have ſeen them; but you will give me leave, when I ſee you, to propoſe ſome little alteration. As to an epiſtle, it would be executed with difficulty, and I would have it turn to your credit as well as my own. But you have certainly of late acquired an caſe in writing; and I am tempted to think, that what you write henceforth will be univerſally good. Perſons that have ſeen your elegies like ‘"The Blackbirds"’ beſt, as it is moſt aſſuredly the moſt correct: but I, who pretend to great penetration, can foreſee that ‘"The Linnets"’ will be made to excel.—More of this when I ſee you. Poor Miſs G—, J— R— ſays, is married: and poor Mr. Thom⯑ſon, Mr. Pitt tells me, is dead.—He was to have been at Hagley this week, and then I ſhould pro⯑bably have ſeen him here—As it is, I will erect an urn in Virgil's Grove to his memory.—I was really as much ſhocked to hear of his death, as if I had known and loved him for a number of years:—God knows, I lean on a very few friends; and if they drop me, I become a wretched mi⯑ſanthrope.

LIII. To the ſame.

I TAKE this opportunity of acknowledging the juſtice of your excuſes. Mrs. Jago's pre⯑ſent circ [...]ſtances render her viſit quite imprac⯑ticable, and yours I have the ſame kind of reaſon to diſpenſe with; as I gueſs, that ſhe could as ſoon take a journey herſelf at this time, as bear that you ſhould.—But to ſay I was not greatly [113] mortified, would be doing myſelf the greateſt injuſtice. Diſappointed I was, you may be ſure, to hear excuſes; even as much as Sir John Fal⯑ſtaff, when Mr. Dombledon put him in mind of ſecurity, inſtead of ſending him two and thirty yards of ſattin to make him a ſhort cloak. And on the whole, I began to accuſe you and Mrs. Jago of colloguing together, to fix your viſit at a time when you were well aſſured you ſhould have an apology to ſend me inſtead. Now, if I ſhould preſs this accuſation, pray how would you evade the force of it?—The next thing I am to ſpeak to, is your verſes. I have made you my ac⯑knowledgments before; and as you are ſo good as to accept them, I will not trouble you with addi⯑tional profeſſions, or repetitions of the paſt. I will depend upon your good-ſenſe for an excuſe, if I only add what I think proper as to any alter⯑ation; wherein I have a view to your credit, as my own. I confeſs, it requires ſome nicety to inſcribe ſuch an elegy as The Gold-finches with⯑out the danger you foreſaw. But I think it may be done (and is pretty nearly) in ſuch manner as no man of taſte will be tempted to ridicule it; and as for the vulgar, of whatever rank they be, it is abſolutely neceſſary many times to give them up. Taſte and tenderneſs are abſolutely connected; and you may very readily call to mind ſome charming things, that muſt excite the laughter of your men of fire and banter, but are by no means thought the worſe of by men of true genius. I will only mention Andrew Marvel's Fawn in Dryden's Miſcellanies. I incloſe the elegy with ſome few propoſed alterations, ſo I will not riſque the ſilling my letter with criticiſm. I alſo incloſe the other verſes you ſent me, which I think good ones, and to ſtand in need of little alteration, beſide that of the inglorious name at the head of them; to which, notwithſtanding, I will never ſubmit. Pray who is the young gen⯑tleman [114] that tranſlates your elegy into Latin?—The new dreſs will give you ſome amuſement; and, if theſe lines be the product of the genius of a boy of that age, he will in a year's time be able to extend the ſame of your compoſitions. I ſhall then be glad to ſee the Gold finches under his hand; though I have no extraordinary fond⯑neſs for the Latin poetry of a modern; at leaſt, till your eldeſt ſon begins to tranſlate our ma⯑drigals.

I have not yet ſeen Mr. Thomſon's Caſtle of Indolence.—I waited for a ſmaller edition; but am now too impatient not to ſend for it on Thurſday next.—I am fully bent on raiſing a neat urn to him in my lower grove, if Mr. Lyttelton does not inſcribe one at Hagley before me. But I ſhould be extremely glad of your advice where⯑abouts to place it.—You ſpeak of my dwelling in the Caſtle of Indolence, and I verily believe I do. There is ſomething like enchantment in my preſent inactivity; for, without any kind of lett or impediment to the correction of my trifles that I ſee, I am in no wiſe able to make the leaft advances. I think within myſelf I could pro⯑ceed if you were here; and yet I have reaſon to believe, if you were here, we ſhould only ramble round the groves, and chat away the time; and perhaps that, upon the whole, is of full as much importance.—I do not know but I do myſelf ſome little injuſtice here, for I have wrote out my levities, and my ſonnets, good and bad, with many ornaments from the pencil; and the next thing I do will be to tranſcribe my elegies. The fault is, I take no pains to improve what I tran⯑ſcribe, and, conſequently, am only able to ex⯑hibit my nonſenſe in a fairer dreſs.—You muſt give me leave, ere it be long, to inſert two or three lines (I think in verſe) before Mrs. Jago's flower-piece.—I am ſure, I am obliged to her for a fruit I greatly love.—It was not entirely ripe; [115] but it was the only one I have taſted ſince I was laſt in London.—Yeſterday dined here Lady Lux⯑borough, Mr. Outing and Mr. Hall, Lord Dud⯑ley, Miſs Lea, Counſellor Corbet and Mr. San⯑ders, Mr. Perry, Mrs. Perry and Miſs Dolman, and half a dozen footmen beſide my own ſer⯑vants and labourers; ſo you may gueſs we had no ſmall fracas. I now ſit down amid ſolitude and ſilence, and can hear little elſe beſide the pendulum of my clock;—yet my ſpirits are no way ſunk, but afford me juſt ſuch a temperature of mind as inclines me to write to ſome familiar friend: albeit I have a thouſand things to talk of to you, which I do not care to write. I hope to be able to ſpend a few days with Mr. Hardy, be⯑fore his melons are all gone; and yet I would not have him keep one a moment longer upon my account. I deſire he would accept of my compli⯑ments, as I truſt he will.—Franks at preſent run low with me; but I ſend you one, which you cannot uſe ſo ſoon but I ſhall be able to ſend you others immediately. I wiſh I could ſend you any thing more than the means of obliging,

LIV. To the ſame.

I MUST fairly own, that I have not ſate down till now to return my acknowledg⯑ments for your laſt moſt obliging favour; and yet I have been doing ſo in imagination almoſt every day ſince I received it. I have only to deſire [116] that you would not think me ſtupid; and then you muſt of courſe conclude me highly delighted, to find the verſes which had ſo greatly pleaſed me, made ſo particularly intereſting to me. In teſ⯑timony hereof, I have cauſed theſe my letters to be made patent, &c. Furthermore, I am glad to ſee you diſſent from ſome alterations I propoſed, for which, generally ſpeaking, I think I can ſee your reaſons. As to any little matter which I have to mention farther, I chuſe to defer it till I wait on Mr. Hardy; which I purpoſe to do before this month is out. It may poſſibly happen the beginning of the next week; but I dare not lay ſuch ſtreſs upon a future event, as to give you a commiſſion to ſay ſo much to him. Inſtead thereof pleaſe to make him my compliments, and tell him I talk of coming very ſoon.

I borrowed Dodſley's Miſcellany of Lady Lux⯑borough, in which are many good things. I long to be making a mark on the head of every copy (as I would do were the books my own). Here a cypher; there an aſteriſm of five points, and there one of eight.—If you, and Mr. W—, and Mr. G—, and I, were together for a fort⯑night, to correct and reviſe, might not we make a miſcellany of originals that would ſell?—My fingers itch to be at it;—but I fear it cannot be.—Thomſon's poem amuſed me greatly.—I think his plan has faults; particularly, that he ſhould have ſaid nothing of the diſeaſes attending lazi⯑neſs in his firſt canto, but reſerved them to ſtrike us more affectingly in the laſt; but, on the whole, who would have thought that Thomſon could have ſo well imitated a perſon remarkable for ſimplicity both of ſentiment and phraſe?

I ſtudy no connections in a letter; and ſo I pro⯑ceed to tell you, that I have got a machine to exhibit landſcapes, &c. to advantage. It coſts about fourteen ſhillings, and I recommend one to you or Mr. Hardy.—Smith's Views (with a [117] little colouring) appear raviſhingly;—but if you are not content with amuſement, and want fame (which differs about as much as fox-hunting from hare-hunting), you muſt print.—However, if you can acquieſce in a limited reputation, to give you a proper weight at all your viſiting-places (which I think enough for all reaſonable ends and pur⯑poſes), take the following receipt.

LV. To a Friend, diſappointing him of a Viſit.

FIE on Mr. N—! he has diſappointed me of the moſt ſeaſonable viſit that heart could wiſh or deſire.—My flowers in bloſſom, my walks newly cleaned, my neighbours invited, and I languiſhing for lack of your company! Mean time you are going to dance attendance on a courtier.—Would to God! he may diſappoint you, according to the uſual practice of thoſe gentlemen;—I mean, by giving you a far better living than you ever expected.

I have no ſooner made that I am ready to re⯑cal that wiſh, in order to ſubſtitute another in its place; which is, that you may rather ſquat yourſelf down upon a fat gooſe living in War⯑wickſhire, or one in Staffordſhire, or perhaps Worceſterſhire, of the ſame denomination. I do not mention Shropſhire, becauſe I think I am more remote from the main body of that county than I am from either of the others. But, never⯑theleſs, by all means wait on Mr. N—; ſhew him all reſpect, yet ſo as not to lay out any of the profits of your contingent living in a black vel⯑vet waiſtcoat and breeches to appear before him. True merit needeth nought of this. Be⯑ſides, peradventure, you may not receive the firſt quarter's income of it this half year. He will probably do ſomething for you one time or other; but you ſhall never go into Ireland, that is certain, for leſs than a deanry; not for leſs than the deanry of St. Patrick's, if you take my advice. Lower your hopes only to advance your ſurpriſe; ‘"grata ſupervenient quae non ſperabimus."’ Come to me as you may. A week is elapſed ſince you began to be detained; you may ſurely come over in a fortnight now [119] at fartheſt;—I will be at home.—However, write directly; you know our letters are long upon their journey.—I expected you the be⯑ginning of every week, till I received your laſt letter impatiently.

For my part, I began to wean myſelf from all hopes and expectations whatever.—I feed my wild-ducks, and I water my carnations! Happy enough, if I could extinguiſh my ambi⯑tion quite, or indulge (what I hope I feel in an equal degree) the deſire of being ſomething more beneficial in my ſphere.—Perhaps ſome few other circumſtances would want alſo to be adjuſted.

I have juſt read Lord Bolingbroke's three let⯑ters, which I like as much as moſt pieces of po⯑litics I ever read. I admire, eſpecially, the ſpi⯑rit of the ſtyle. I as much admire at the edi⯑tor's unpopular preface.—I know the family hi⯑therto ſeemed to make it a point to conceal Pope's affair; and now, the editor, under Lord B's in⯑ſpection, not only relates, but invites people to think the worſt of it.—What collateral reaſons my Lord may have for thinking ill of Mr. Pope, I cannot ſay; but ſurely it is not political to leſſen a perſon's character that had done one ſo much honour.

I have this moment received a long letter from Lady Luxborough; and you are to look on all I ſaid concerning both Lord Bolingbroke's affair, and her reſentment, as premature. My Lady's daughter and ſon-in-law viſit her next week.

LVI. To Mr. JAGO.

IT would probably be ſo long before you can receive this letter by the poſt, that I cannot think of ſubjecting my thanks for your laſt, or my hopes of ſeeing you ſoon, to ſuch an uncertainty.—I ſhall not now have it in my power to meet you at Mr. Wren's immediately, ſo would loſe no time in requeſting your company here next week, if you pleaſe. I hope Mrs. Jago alſo will ac⯑company you, and that you will ſet out the firſt day of the next week, even Monday; that you may not leave me in leſs than ſix days time, un⯑der a pretence of neceſſity. As to the verſes you were ſo kind to convey, I will take occa⯑ſion when you come.

So I ſay no more at preſent on that head.

I love to read verſes, but I write none. ‘"Petit, nihil me ſicut ante juvat ſcribere!"—’ I will not ſay none; for I wrote the following at break⯑faſt yeſterday, and they are all I have wrote ſince I ſaw you. They are now in one of the root-houſes of Virgil's Grove, for the admoni⯑tion of my good friends the vulgar, of whom I have multitudes every Sunday evening, and who very fortunately believe in fairies, and are no judges of poetry.

I ſuppoſe the rotund at Hagley is compleat⯑ed but I have not ſeen it hitherto; neither do I often journey or viſit any where, except when a ſhrub or flower is upon the point of bloſſom⯑ing near my walks.—I forget one viſit I lately made in my neighbourhood, to a young clergy⯑man of taſte and ingenuity. His name is Pix⯑ell; he plays finely upon the violin, and very well upon the harpſichord: has ſet many things to muſic, ſome in the ſoft way, with which I was much delighted. He is young, and has time to improve himſelf. He gave me an opportunity of being acquainted with him by frequently viſiting, and introducing company, to my walks.—I met him one morning with an Italian in my grove, and our acquaintance has been growing ever ſince.—He has a ſhare in an eſtate that is near me, and lives there at preſent; but I doubt will not do ſo long;—when you come, I will ſend for him.—Have you read my Lord Boling⯑broke's Eſſays on Patriotiſm, &c.? and have you read Merope? and do you take in the Magazin des Londres? and pray how does your garden flouriſh? I warrant, you do not yet know the difference betwixt a ranunculus and an ane⯑mone.—God help ye!—Come to me, and be [122] informed of the nature of all plants, ‘"from the cedar on Mount Lebanon to the hyſſop that ſpringeth out of the wall."—’Pray do not fail to decorate your new garden, whence you may tranſplant all kinds of flowers into your verſes. If by chance you make a viſit at I— fifty years hence, from ſome diſtant part of England, ſhall you forget this little angle where you uſed to muſe and ſing?

I expect by the return of Tom to receive a trifle that will amuſe you. It is a gold ſeal of Vida's head, given by Vertue to a relation of mine, who publiſhed Vida, and introduced Ver⯑tue into buſineſs.—Perhaps you remember Mr. Triftram of Hampton, and the day we ſpent there from ſchool; it was his.

LVII. To the ſame.

IT is now Sunday evening, and I have been exhibiting myſelf in my walks to no leſs than a hundred and fifty people, and that with no leſs ſtate and vanity than a Turk in his ſeraglio.—I have ſome hopes of ſeeing you this week; but if theſe ſhould happen to be fruſtrated, I ſhall find them revive with double ardour and vivacity the next. Did you tell me of a treatiſe that your [123] Mr. Millar had, where the author endeavours to vindicate and eſtabliſh Gothic architecture? and does not the ſame man explain it alſo by draughts on copper plates? That very book, or rather the title, and the author's name, I want.—I ſhall never, I believe, be entirely partial to Goths or Vandals either; but I think, by the aſſiſtance of ſome ſuch treatiſe, I could ſketch out ſome charming Gothic temples and Gothic benches for garden ſeats.—I do alſo eſteem it extremely ridiculous to permit another perſon to deſign for you, when by ſketching out your own plans you appropriate the merit of all you build, and feel a double pleaſure from any praiſes which it receives.—I had here laſt Wedneſday Dean Lyttelton, Mr. William Lyttelton, Com⯑modore Weſt, Miſs Lyttelton and Miſs Weſt. They drank tea, and went round my walks, where they ſeemed aſtoniſhed they had been ſo long ignorant of the beauties of the place; ſaid, in general, every thing that was complaiſant or friendly; and left me highly delighted with their viſit, and with room to hope for many more. Mean time, why do not you come? I do ſay you are not Pylades.—What! you think, be⯑cauſe you have an agreeable wife, and five fine children, that you muſt employ all your time in careſſing them at home, or laying ſchemes for their emolument abroad? Is this public ſpirit? is this virtue? or, if it be virtue, doſt thou think, becauſe thou art vartuous, there muſt be no cakes and ale? is it not your duty to par⯑take of them with a friend ſometimes; eaſing and relieving him under what Boileau calls, ‘Le penible fardeau de n'avoir rien à faire.’ and what Pope (ſtealing from the former) deno⯑minates ‘The pains and penalties of idleneſs.’

[124]Pray come the firſt day of the week, and let Mr. Fancourt accompany you.—I have not much to add by way of news. The Duke of Somerſet is going to lay out thirty thouſand pounds upon Northumberland-houſe; nine houſes to be purchaſed and pulled down on the other ſide the Strand for ſtables; the Strand there to be widened: I cannot tell you half; but one thing more I will, which is, that there will be a chapel on one ſide of the quadrangle, with a Gothick wainſcot and cieling, and paint⯑ed glaſs; and ☞ in it a Dutch ſtove, contriv⯑ed ſo as to look like a tomb with an urn up⯑on it.

What need I write all this? am I not to ſee you in a few days?—Not a word more poſi⯑tively; having what may ſerve to aſſure you that I am, dear Sir,

LVIII. To the ſame.

THOUGH I have not hitherto troubled you with a letter, I have not been void either of inquiry or information, concerning the ſtate of your affairs, and of Mr. Hardy's health. Indeed it is now ſeveral weeks ſince I collected ſome particulars from your brother, and I am now impatient for further intelligence. As to the circumſtances of our friendly reception at Wroxall, Mr. John Jago has probably enough acquainted you with them. He would, however, ſeduce me to give you a diſtinct account; being [125] aſſured, as he ſays, that Mr. Wren's behaviour muſt afford a good ſubject for drollery. I do not know how far this would be proper; but I think, when I write again to my friend Wren, to give him a ſketch of his own character, juſt as it appeared to us during the time of our vi⯑ſit. Perhaps it may avail a little. Amidſt his violent paſſion for gardening, if he would but prune away ſome wild excreſcences from one or two branches of his character, he might bring himſelf to bear good fruit. He ſhould weed his mind a little; where there has ſprung up a moſt luxuriant crop of puns, that threaten to choak all its wholeſome productions. ‘"Spinas animo fortius quam agro evellat."’ He has good ſenſe and good-nature; pity he ſhould diſguiſe them.—Not but that it is better to have the ſubſtance alone than the forms alone, and ſo I con⯑clude. Since I came home, I have done little elſe than plant buſhes, hazel hawthorn, crabtree, elder, &c. together with ſome flowering ſhrubs that I have had given me, and ſome that I have purchaſed to the amount of twenty ſhillings. I think nothing remarkable has occurred; only, one miſerable tempeſtuous day, I had my Lord Stamford, who called to ſee my walks. My Lord promiſed to come again in the ſummer, and invited me more than once to Enville. By the way, he is now building a Gothic green⯑houſe by Mr. Miller's direction, and intends to build caſtles, and God-knows-what. By all ac⯑counts, the place is well worth ſeeing when you come in to the country, which I hope you will not fail to do this ſpring. Pray do not you embroil me with Mr. Miller, in regard to any obſerva⯑tions I made in his walks. Remember there were a great many things with which I was highly delighted; and forget that there were a few alſo which I ſeemed leſs to admire. Indeed, I thought it idle to regulate my expreſſions, amongſt friends only, by the ſame rules which [126] I ought to obſerve in mixed company. I ſay ought, for he has been exceedingly favourable to me in his repreſentation of the Leaſows.—I hope to ſee Mr. Fancourt with you, when you come this ſpring; and why not your brother? he can ſpend half a week every now and then at Wroxal.

I have nothing to inſert or incloſe in this letter that can render it at all agreeable.—I cannot write, I cannot think. I can juſt muſter up atten⯑tion enough to give orders to my workmen; I ſaunter about my grounds, take ſnuff, and read Clariſſa. This laſt part of my employment threatens to grow extremely tedious: not but the author is a man of genius and nice obſervation; but he might be leſs prolix. I will ſend you ‘"The Life of Socrates"’ when I can get it home from Barrels. I wiſh both your circumſtances and mine would allow of an utter inattention to them; and then, I believe, our natural indo⯑lence would be a kind of match for our ambi⯑tion. I ſhall probably enlarge my acquaintance this year; but what doth it? the circle of my friends with whom I can be eaſy, and amuſed much, will continue ſmall as ever. I could dwell a good deal upon this ſubject; but I have only room to deſire you would give me your opinion how I ſhould inſcribe my urn to Mr. Somerville. ‘"Author of the Chace"’ cannot be tolerably expreſſed in Latin without a circumlo⯑cution. I aim at brevity, and would therefore omit it. Pray read over the ſpecimens I have thrown together, and oblige me with a ſpeedy an⯑ſwer, if it extend to nothing elſe beſides your's and Mrs. Jago's health, which I ought at this time more particularly to enquire after. I am,

LIX. To the ſame.

I ACKNOWLEDGE myſelf obliged to you for procuring me the pictures. I received them both very ſafe, as I have a pretty ſtrong aſſurance I ſhall do moſt articles of which my ſervant Tom has the care.—He has punctuality and management to alone for his imperfections. He brought me theſe paper-ſculled buſts from Wroxall entirely unhurt, contrary to the expec⯑tation of all that ſaw them; after which, he might undertake for almoſt any thing.—The por⯑trait is undoubtedly a good one. I ſhewed it to Mr. Smart (who is a painter himſelf, though a clergyman), and he allowed as much; added alſo, that it had ſomething of Sir Godfrey Knel⯑ler, as well as of Sir Peter Lely.—The flower-piece is very good, ſo far as relates to the flow⯑ers; the dog and parrot abominable, and the grapes very exceptionable. I never conſider the two flower-pieces at Icheneton with attention enough to cauſe a preference; having never any thoughts that either would fall to my ſhare. I ſhall add nothing with regard to your choice; but that I ſincerely hope yours is the better piece. I never heard of Caſteels, I own; nor can I find his name in any of my accounts of the painters, though they take in pretty modern ones: but I can ſay this for your comfort, that if he excelled in any thing, it was probably in flowers; for I ſee his name at the bottom of thoſe flower-pieces that I have in water colours, as the deſigner of them; and I think the deſigns are good. Though I could wiſh neither the Cupid nor the fruit-piece had eſcaped us, yet is there no blame to be laid at your door; at leaſt ſuppoſing [128] that you are endowed with nothing more than rational conjecture, and that you are not gifted with prophecy.

And now, having ſpoken, I think, to moſt parts of your letter, I proceed to ſay a word or two in the way of appendix. Firſt then, after five or ſix weeks work of maſons and carpenters, I plainly diſcover that my houſe is an unfiniſhable thing;—and yet, I perſuade myſelf, there will never be wanting a room in it, where you may ſpend an agreeable day with your undoubted friend.—Did I ever tell you how unſeaſonably the three fiddles ſtruck up in my grove about an hour after you left me; and how a ſet of ten bells was heard from my wood the evening after? It might have paſſed for the harmony of ſome aerial ſpirit, who was a well-wiſher to us poor mortals; but that I think, had it been ſo, it would have been addreſſed to the better ſort, and of conſequence have been heard whilſt you were here. This by way of introduction to what I am going to tell you. Mr. Pixell has made an agree⯑ment with his club at Birmingham, to give me a day's muſic in ſome part of my walks. The time is not yet fixed: but, if you were an idle man, and could be brought over at a day or two's notice, I would give it you, and be in hopes I could entertain you very agreeably.

You cannot think how much you gratified my vanity when you were here, by ſaying that if this place were yours, you thought you ſhould be leſs able to keep within the bounds of aeconomy than myſelf.—God knows, it is pain and grief to me to obſerve her rules at all; and rigidly I never can.—How is it poſſible to poſſeſs improveable ſcenes, and not wiſh to improve them? and how is it poſſible, with oeconomy, to be at the ex⯑pence of improving them upon my fortune? To be continually in fear of exceſs in perfecting every trifling deſign, how irkſome! to be reſ⯑trained [126] from attempting any, how vexatious! ſo that I never can enjoy my ſituation—that is certain.—Oeconomy, that invidious old matron! on occaſion of ever frivolous expence, makes ſuch a helliſh ſqualling, that the murmur of a caſcade is utterly loſt to me.—Often do I cry out with Cowley,

Paper fails: abruptly therefore, but ſincerely and affectionately

LX. To C— W—, Eſq

PRAY, is lazineſs an excuſe for not writing? Tell me.—However, if it be ſo, I am afraid I ſhall want an excuſe for lazineſs, like the philoſopher, who, ſuppoſing the world might reſt upon a tortoiſe's back, found himſelf no leſs embarraſſed for a pedeſtal to ſupport his tortoiſe. I have indeed been pretty buſy at home, in raiſing a pool-dam, and have interchanged a few viſits with ſuch of my acquaintance as live within three miles.—What then?—I abominate all excuſes that are grounded upon the buſineſs [130] or amuſements of an idle man.—As if ſuch a perſon's time was ſo wholly filled up, that he could not find half an hour to write a line to his friend. It is beſt to acknowledge lazineſs at firſt, and that there are particular intervals, when one is much leſs diſpoſed to write even a ſew lines, than at others. And then, as to lazineſs, one has nothing to do but to plead human frail⯑ty; which, if a perſon has not too many frailties beſides, may perhaps be indulged him. How⯑ever, ‘"Veniam petimuſque, damuſque,"’ will not fail to weigh with every good-natured man. The chief dealing I have with Harris the Jew is, for the intelligence which he brings me con⯑cerning you and Mrs. W—; but it ſeldom amounts to much more than that you are well, and in your garden.

He is an Ebrew Jew, or he would tell me you had purchaſed a couple of genteel horſes, or a chaiſe and pair, and were coming over to The Leaſows to ſpend a week with me.

Nevertheleſs, I hope to ſee you ſoon; but en paſſant I aſſure you, I ſhall go in about a month to Mr. Jago's, and from thence to Mr. Miller's; who, I believe I told you, was here, with Mr. Lyttelton, Lady Ayleſbury, Colonel Conway, &c. I think I never anſwered your query con⯑cerning Colonel Lyttelton.—He is the ſame per⯑ſon that you remember, and your prophecy con⯑cerning him has been literally accompliſhed. He is a man of courage, genius, generoſity, and po⯑liteneſs; has been fortunate in the world; was made a Colonel at about ſix and twenty; diſ⯑tinguiſhed himſelf in ſeveral campaigns; mar⯑ried the Dutcheſs of Bridgewater; and had the other day about ſixteen thouſand pounds leſt him by Colonel Jefferies, a very diſtant relation. He has a ſeat, and ſpeaks in the Houſe of Commons, has bought a town and country-houſe; the latter of which he is ornamenting in the modern way. [131] His Dutcheſs the moſt unceremonious even-tempered woman that lives.—So enjoy the ſpirit of prophecy, and exert it again.—It needs little more than good ſenſe.—Which of the hiſtori⯑ans is it, that foretold in his hiſtory a very re⯑markable ſeries of events, by dint of this alone, and which were all accompliſhed? Let me know what you are doing now. Have you repaired the farm-houſe you talked of?—and have you remembered to make the man a couple of good large niches in his chimney corner, where he, and his family, may ſpend a more comfortable evening than was ever ſpent by any firſt miniſter in Chriſtendom;—perhaps alſo converſe more to the purpoſe. You tell me nothing of your Mr. Jago, Seignior Benedict, the new married man. Tell him to leave his wife and family for a day or two, ſaddle his mule, and come to The Leaſows.—Tell him, all pleaſures are heighten⯑ed by a little diſcontinuance.—Tell him, did I ſay? how can you for ſhame adviſe him ſo con⯑trarily to your own practice?

LXI. To C— W—, Eſq

IT never can be that I owe you for three let⯑ters; as to two, I will agree with you; one that I received together with my books, and the other ſoon after; but that I am indebted for more than theſe—

[132] Even that ſame ‘"Judaeus Apella,"’ who affords me this very opportunity of ſending my compliments to you and Mrs. W—, and of aſſur⯑ing you, that if I had not propoſed to have ſeen you, I had wrote to you long ago.

Maſter Harris talks very reſpectfully of your garden; and we have no diſpute, ſave only in one point, He ſays, that you labour very hard in your vocation; whereas, I am not willing to allow that all the work you ever did, or will do in it, is worth a ſingle bunch of radiſhes. How⯑ever, I dare not contradict him too much, becauſe he waits for my letter.

How happy are you, that can hold up your ſpade, and cry, ‘"Avaunt Satan!"’ when a toy⯑man offers you his deceitful vanities! Do not you rejoice inwardly, and pride yourſelf great⯑ly in your own philoſophy?

Mean time, do not deſpiſe others that can find any needful amuſement in what, I think, Bun⯑yan very aptly calls Vanity fair. I have been at it many times this ſeaſon, and I have bought many kinds of merchandize there. It is a part of philoſopy, to adapt one's paſſions to one's way of life; and the ſolitary, unſocial ſphere in which I move makes me think it happy that I can retain a reliſh for ſuch trifles as I can draw into it. Mean time, I dare not reaſon too much [133] upon this head. Reaſon, like the famous con⯑cave mirrour at Paris, would in two minutes, vitrify all the Jew's pack: I mean, that it would immediately deſtroy all the form, colour, and beauty, of every thing that is not merely uſeful.—But I ramble too far, and you do not want ſuch ſpeculations. My intent, when I ſat down, was to tell you, that I ſhall probably ſee you very ſoon, and certainly remain in the mean time, and at all times, Sir,

LXII. To a Friend, on various Subjects.

WITH the utmoſt gratitude for the obſer⯑vations which you ſent me, and with the higheſt opinion of their propriety in gene⯑ral, do I ſit down to anſwer your obliging let⯑ter. You will not take it amiſs, I know, if I ſcrible broken hints, and trace out little ſketches of my mind, juſt as I ſhould go near to explain it if I were upon the ſpot, as often as I think of you, which I beg leave to aſſure you happens many times in a day. They ſay, ‘"A word to the wiſe is enough;"’ a word, therefore, to a friend of underſtanding may be ſuppoſed to be ſomething more than enough, becauſe it is pro⯑bable he is acquainted with three parts of one's mind before.—The cenſure you have paſſed upon Milton's Lycidas, ſo far as it regards the metre which he has choſen, is unexceptionably juſt; and one would imagine, if that argument con⯑cerning the diſtance of the rhimes were preſſed home in a public eſſay, it should be ſufficient to extirpate that kind of verſe for ever. As to my opinion concerning the choice of Engliſh metre [134] I dare not touch upon the ſubject, and I will give you my reaſon: I began upon it in a letter which I intended for you about a month ago; and I ſoon found that I had filled a ſheet of paper with my diſſertation, and left no room for other things which I had more mind to com⯑municate. Beſide, I ſound it ſo blotted that I did not chuſe to ſend it; and as the ſubject is ſo extremely copious, I ſhall decline it entirely, till talking may prove as effectual as writing.—As to your advice, with regard to my publications, I believe it to be juſt, and ſhall, in all probabili⯑ty, purſue it.—I am afraid, by your account, that Dodſley has publiſhed my name to the School-miſtreſs. I was a good deal diſpleaſed at his publiſhing that poem without my know⯑ledge, when he had ſo many opportunities of giving me ſome previous information; but, as he would probably diſregard my reſentment, I choſe to ſtifle it, and wrote to him directly upon the receipt of yours, that I would be glad to furniſh him with an improved copy of the School miſtreſs, &c. for his ſecond edition. He accepts it with ſome complaiſance, deſires it ſoon; and I am at a fault to have the opinion of my friends, what alterations or additions it will be proper to inſert. I have ſcribled a copy, which I ſend this day to Mr. Graves and Mr. Whiſtler; but I am greatly fearful I ſhall not receive their criticiſms time enough, and I ſhall have the ſame longing for yours. A journey to Whitchurch, which I have long propoſed, might unite all theſe ad⯑vantages; and I heartily wiſh I may be able to effect it without inconvenience. If I go thither, I call on you.

LXIII. To the ſame.

WHAT a ſtupid fool was I, to ſhew you thoſe letters of my friend Graves, where⯑in he declares himſelf ſo freely againſt a regular correſpondence! ſee the effects of it! You have taken immediate advantage of his example, and I muſt never more expect an anſwer to any let⯑ter that I ſend you, in leſs than half a century. I wrote to you after I came home, to thank you for all your kindneſs at I—, &c. but not a ſyllable have I been able to receive from you, or a word that I could hear concerning you. I could, however, very eaſily convince you, that Mr. Graves (your precedent) is not altogether ſo hardened an offender as you may imagine. His laſt letter is a very affectionate recantation. I incloſe that part of it which regards Mr. F—.

What a number of ſchemes are irreparably broken by the ſudden death of the Prince of Wales! Yours, my good friend, which ſeems to be deſtroyed amongſt the reſt, has, I think, of late given you no ſolicitude. Your intereſt in Mr. N— will remain the ſame, I ſuppoſe; and if he would but ſerve you nearer home, I will have no ſort of quarrel with him that he did not tranſplant you into Cornwall.—It is at leaſt ſome gratification to a perſon's ſelf love, when one finds the more ambitious hopes of more aſpir⯑ing people as liable to be ſuddenly extinguiſhed as one's own. However, the death of the Prince gave me a good deal of concern, though it no way affected my particular intereſt, as he had all the humane, affable, and generous qualities, which could recommend him to one's affection.

Mr. Graves has ſent me two copies of verſes. One on Medals, to Mr. Walker; and the other, [136] on the late Memoirs of the London Heroines, Lady V—, Mrs. Pilkington, and Mrs. Phillips. Both good in their way, which you ſhall ſee when you come over.

Have you ſeen the firſt books of the Scri⯑bleriad, by Mr Cambridge?—The Verſes written in a Country Church-yard?—Mr. W. Whitehead's Ode to the Nymph of Briſtol Spring?—or, what have you ſeen?—You live infinitely more in the world than I do; who hear nothing, ſee nothing, do nothing, and am nothing. Remedy this unhappineſs, by ſending me ſomewhat that may rouſe my attention.—I muſt except what I hear from my Lady Luxbo⯑rough, who indulges me now and then with a letter in French.

If you ſhould think this letter more than uſually dull, you muſt know, that, ſince I ſaw you, I have been generally diſpirited; till about a fortnight ago I found ſome nervous diſorders that I greatly diſliked, and upon examination was told I had a nervous fever. For this I have been taking ſaline draughts and bolus's, and hope I am ſomething better; though I am far from well. I would not indeed have written to you at this time, but I choſe not to defer ſend⯑ing the incloſed poſtſcript.—You, who have ſhared many of my happieſt hours, will excuſe the produce of a more than ordinary dull one.

Mrs. Arnold comes up to enquire after my health, and wiſhes I may get better, that I may ſtir out and ſee the pretty creatures in the barn. It ſeems, ſhe has a cow or two that have calved ſince I kept my room.

Why ſhould I prolong a letter that has no kind of chance to afford you any amuſement? Make my compliments to Mrs. —, and believe me to be ever moſt affectionately

I have juſt taken and ſigned a leaſe for life of the terras beyond my wood, for which I am to pay annually the ſum of one ſhilling.—Am not I man of great worldly importance, to purchaſe ground and take leaſes thus?—What matters it whether the articles that ſecure the premiſes to me, would alſo cover them or not?

My ſervice to Mr. F—t;—why will he not come and ſpend a week with me?—I think you cannot both be abſent at a time.

LXIV. To Mr. GRAVES.

SINCE I received your letter, I have been a week at W—. I believe I may have told you, that I never was fond of that place. There is too much trivial elegance, too much punctilio for me; and perhaps, as you expreſs it, too much ſpeculation. But I was fearful I might entirely loſe Mr. Whiſtler's acquaintance, if I did not make an effort once in five years to return his viſit. Beſides, I ſhould have had no hopes of ſeeing him at The Leaſows hereafter; and I am extremely deſirous of ſeeing both him and you here, having made many alterations which I do not undertake but with an eye to the approbation of my more generous friends; but he ſeems, to my great ſurprize, to renounce the thing called taſte in buildings, gardens, &c. is grown weary of his own little embelliſhments at W—, and longs to ſettle in London for the greater part of his time. This, I believe, he would put in ex⯑ecution immediately; but that he thinks it might give ſome uneaſineſs to his mother, if he ſhould quit the houſe that ſhe with ſo much dif⯑ficulty [138] obtained for him. I too am ſick of the word taſte; but I think the thing itſelf the only proper ambition, and the ſpecific pleaſure of all who have any ſhare in the faculty of imagination. I need not mention my reaſons; you will ſoon conceive them. And, however the caſe be, there is one branch of it which ſo totally en⯑groſſes the perſons with whom I principally con⯑verſe, that I was aſtoniſhed to hear him ſpeak even with indifference concerning the reigning taſte for rural decorations. I could ill forbear telling Mr. Whiſtler, that he was now literally a beau in a band-box; but the freedom might have given more offence than the joke was worth. He has improved the place extremely; but I do not like his colonnades. You know, nothing of that kind is tolerable, unleſs regularly ex⯑ecuted in ſtone: that is one thing. Another is, that colonnades are ornaments which will not bear to be very diminutive. Mr. — (whoſe houſe only I ſaw) has been at the expence of a large cornice round it, in moſt elaborate brick-work; but with regard to his ſtucco-work within doors, he is quite extravagant.—I mention theſe things upon a ſuppoſition that you may like to hear any thing that regards the place; but indeed they are ſo mighty trifling, that I ought to doubt my ſuppoſition. I ſupped with Mr. P—'s family once at Mr. W—'s, and all was mighty well; only I happen to have a violent averſion to card-playing, and at W— I think they do nothing elſe. So that, on account of my ignorance at qua⯑drille, or any creditable game, I was forced to loſe my money, and two evenings out of my ſeven, at Pope Joan with Mr. P—'s children. Mr. W—, to make me amends, invited me to breakfaſt, and ſhewed me your verſes. I aſſure you, you have no occaſion for a better advocate than Mr. W—; whether with regard to his judgement, or his zeal in behalf of the ſubject, [139] the verſes or the poet. I would fain have obtained a copy; but he did not care to give one without your commiſſion. I hope you will oblige me ſo far. I like them very much; the ſubject is genteel, and the verſes eaſy and elegant. We agreed upon one or two dif⯑ferent readings; and one ſtanza that concerns cards ſhould, I think, be corrected. Not that I would have you leſs ſevere upon cards nei⯑ther; I was even glad to find, that you g [...]ve them ſo little quarter. I ſometimes thought that Mr. W—'s ſeeming fondneſs for them was a kind of contre-caeur.—Be that as it will, his ob⯑jection to the ſtanza, as well as mine, was ſolely founded on the verſification, [...] the ſentiment. I liked his Latin verſes; but they do not inter⯑fere with your's. Send me a copy, and confine my uſe of it by what limitations you pleaſe. My reigning toy at preſent is a pocket-book; and I glory as much in furniſhing it with the verſes of my acquaintance, as others would with bank-bills. I did not know when I went to W—, but I might have heard Mrs. G— accuſed of certain queſtions touching their law (I mean of forms and ceremonies); but I did not. On the contrary, I had the ſatisfaction of hearing her perſon, her temper, and her underſtanding, much commended; but this I did not want. The delicacy of your taſte, is equal with me to a thouſand commendations. Mrs. W— is really ſo much altered by her indiſpoſition, that I did not know her. She talks of going to Bath this ſeaſon.—I talked of it too, and wiſh it of all earthly things. You muſt know, I could not have come to Claverton inſtead of going to W—, as I did not determine on the expedition at home; but at a friend's houſe, where I was betwixt twenty and thirty miles on my way thither. Beſides, I would allow myſelf more time when I turn my face towards Bath, than I could this [140] winter. Your invitation, as it is very obliging, ſo it has many concurring circumſtances to re⯑commend it at this time. I want to recover my health, which muſt be recovered by Bath, or nothing I want to have you read ſome trifles of mine, which muſt be ratified by you, or no one; but principally, and above all, do I long to ſee you, my old friend, and Mrs. G—, whom I expect you ſhould render my new one.—I am obliged for your charitable endeavours to ſup⯑port my ſpirits. Your company would do it ef⯑fectually, but ſcarce any thing leſs, in winter. Solitary life, limited circumſtances, a phlegma⯑tic habit, and diſagreeable events, have given me a melancholy turn, that is hardly diſſipated by the moſt ſerene ſky; but in a north-eaſt wind, is quite intolerable. After a long ſtate of this kind, upon every acceſs of amuſement, one is apt to think it is not right to be happy; that it is one of Wollaſton's implicit lies; a treating things contrary to what they deſerve.—Your ſitu⯑ation at Claverton is admired by moſt people; and, if you could connect ſome little matter in the neighbourhood, would be as ſurely en⯑vied.

It is now high time to releaſe you.—This is not a letter, but an olio. I deſire my compli⯑ments to Mrs. G—, and am affectionately and invariably.

As I muſt now uſe a frank, I will ſend you a few inſcriptions: your imagination will ſupply the ſcenery, on which, what merit they may have, depends. There were different readings in the firſt copy, of which I beg your opinion. [141]Stanza the firſt.

Stanza the ſecond.

My deſign was only to convey ſome pleaſing ideas of things, which, though proper to the place, a perſon might not chance to ſee there once in twenty times. Mr. Lyttelton and Lady Alyeſbury neceſſitated me to give them copies, though they probably did it out of complai⯑ſance only: I gave them in the manner I ſend them you. I hope you have not entirely dropt your love for rural ſcenes, of which you were once ſo fond. I will allow your taſte for me⯑dals to preponderate.—I beg, dear Sir, you would neglect no opportunity of calling on me.—I will come to Claverton when I can.

LXV. To a Friend.

I AM very ſenſibly obliged to you for the diligence and expedition which you have ſhewn in anſwering my late requeſt: I cannot feel the very tenderneſs of friendſhip to be at all abated in me by our long ſeparation; nor will it at any time be poſſible I ſhould, ſo long as I receive ſuch teſtimonies of your uſual kindneſs and ingenu⯑ity. [142]—I have no ſort of exceptions to make againſt the province in which you were engaged at Cheltenham, nor the light in which you ap⯑peared. What you loſt in any ones opinion of your independency, you would gain in their idea of your merit, genius and learning; and then you had all thoſe advantages par deſſu.—As to the compliments that were paid to Mrs. G—, you have ſomething of the ſame ſort of reaſon to be pleaſed with them, that I have to be pleaſed with thoſe that are given to my place; which I conſider as naturally poſſeſſed of many beauties, each of them brought to light, and perfected through my own diſcernment, care and cultiva⯑tion. And then, your pleaſure ought to be ſo much greater than mine, as you have a nobler ſubject to enjoy.—Mrs. G— has too much ſenſe to object againſt the freedom of this ſimilitude.

I cannot help adding a few ſtrokes to your picture of Mrs. —. I think her an extreme⯑ly ſuperficial female-pedant; for after an inter⯑val of many years ſince I firſt converſed with her at Mr. —'s I found her converſation turn ſolely upon the ſame topics, definitions and quota⯑tions. I believe, I could eaſily enough have re⯑commended myſelf to a greater degree of her favour; but her vanity and affectations are be⯑yond what I could bear. Your account of — is very pictureſque, and agreeable to the idea I always had of him; but I believe that idea was perfected by wh [...] obſervations I made when I had ſome of his company at London. There was ſomething accountable enough to me in their burleſquing Mr. L—'s monody. He is, you know, engaged in a party, and his poem (though an extraordinary fine compoſition) was too tender for the public ear. It ſhould have been printed privately, and a number of copies diſperſed only among their friends and acquain⯑tances;—but even ſo, it would have been re⯑publiſhed; [143] and it was too good to ſuppreſs. I wiſh the burleſquers of ſuch ingenuous profu⯑ſions could be puniſhed, conſiſtently with Engliſh liberty. ‘"Where were ye, Muſes, &c."’ is imi⯑tated from Milton, and taken from Milton from Theocritus. I write Greek wretchedly; but you will remember the paſſage,

I heard, once before, it was burleſqued under the title of ‘"An Elegy on the Death of a fa⯑vourite Cat;"’ but the burleſque will die, and the poem will ſurvive.—You tell me, ‘"The Author of Peregrine Pickle ſays, if you will flatter Mr. Lyttelton well, he will at leaſt make you a Middleſex Juſtice;"’ and it happened oddly that, whilſt I was reading your letter, a neighbour told me, I was put in the commiſſion of the peace. I have never receiv⯑ed a ſingle line from Mr. Whiſtler, and I be⯑lieve my journey to W— has given the final blow to our friendſhip. Pray was not Mr. Blandy ſome relation of theirs, or only their at⯑torney? The affair is uncommonly ſhocking; and I fancy the genuine accounts that Mr. W— ſends you, will be curious anecdotes at Bath—I ſuppoſe you have painted your room with oil colours, and made it really handſome.—I drew out a feſtoon and a medal ſome time ago, for a pan⯑nel over Mr. P—'s chimney; but they knew not what to make of the medal, and had only the feſtoon executed in ſtone colour, by a com⯑mon painter;—yours is better, and in character.—I am a degree more frugal than you; for I only uſe quick lime, and either blue or yellow [...]and to take away the objection which I have to whited walls.

[144]I paid a viſit to Mr. Lyttelton, the Dean, &c. ſince he came down; but had little of their company, for they thought Sir Thomas was dy⯑ing: however, by unparalleled ſtrength of con⯑ſtitution, he lingered in violent pain till laſt Sa⯑turday, when he died, very much lamented. He had good natural parts, well improved by reading modern writers, and by the knowledge of the world; extremely, prudent, conſiderate, humane, polite and charitable.—I have jumb⯑led his more obvious qualities together, that you may not think I am uſurping the province of a news-man. Sir George will loſe no time in building a new houſe, or doing what is more than equivalent to the old one.

I want no temptation to come immediately to C—. This is a melancholy ſeaſon with me always; whether it be owing to the ſcenes I ſee, or to the effect of hazy ſkies upon an ill-perſpiring ſkin.—I can ſay no more at preſent, than that I moſt ardently deſire to ſee you, and deſire my humble ſervice to Mrs. G—. I have a chalybeat ſpring in the middle of my grotto: what think you of this inſcription? ‘FONS FERRVGINEVS
DIVARVM OPTVMAE
SALVTI SACER.’Is it antique?

LXVI. To Mr. GRAVES, on the Death of Mr. SHENSTONE's Brother.

YOU will be amazed at my long ſilence; and it might reaſonably excite ſome diſguſt if my days had paſſed of late in the manner they uſed to do: but I am not the man I was; per⯑haps I never ſhall be. Alas! my deareſt friend! I have loſt my only brother! and, ſince the fatal cloſe of November, I have had neither peace nor reſpite from agonizing thoughts!

You, I think, have ſeen my brother; but per⯑haps had no opportunity of diſtinguiſhing him from the groupe of others, whom we call good-natured men. This part of his character was ſo viſible in his countenance, that he was generally beloved at ſight; I, who muſt be allowed to know him, do aſſure you, that his underſtanding was no way inferior to his benevolence. He had not only a ſound judgement, but a lively wit and genuine humour. As theſe were many times eclipſed by his native baſhfulneſs, ſo his benevolence only ſuffered by being ſhewn to an exceſs. I here mean his giving too indiſcrimi⯑nately into thoſe jovial meetings of company, where the warmth of a ſocial temper is diſcover⯑ed with leſs reſerve; but the virtues of his head and heart would ſoon have ſhone without alloy. The foibles of his youth were wearing off; and his affection for me and regard to my advice, with his own good ſenſe, would ſoon have rendered him all that I could have wiſhed in a ſucceſſor. I never in my life knew a perſon more ſincere in the expreſſion of love or diſlike. [146] But it was the former that ſuited the propenſity of his heart; the latter was as tranſient as the ſtarts of paſſion that occaſioned it. In ſhort, with much true genius and real fortitude, he was, ac⯑cording to the Engliſh acceptation, ‘"a true honeſt man;"’ and I think I may alſo add, a truly Engliſh character; but ‘"habeo, dixi? immo habui fratrem & amicum, Chreme!"’ All this have I loſt in him. He is now in re⯑gard to this world no more than a mere idea. And this idea, therefore, though deeply tinged with melancholy, I muſt, and ſurely ought to, cheriſh and preſerve.

I believe I wrote you ſome account of his ill⯑neſs laſt ſpring; from which, to all appearance, he was tolerably well recovered. He took the air, and viſited about with me, during the war⯑mer months of ſummer; but my pleaſure was of ſhort duration. ‘"Haeſit lateri lethalis arundo!"’ The peripneumony under which he laboured in the ſpring had terminated in an adheſion of the lungs to the pleura, ſo that he could never lie but on his right ſide; and this, as the weather grew colder, occaſioned an obſtruction that could never be ſurmounted.

Though my reaſon forewarned me of the event, I was not the more prepared for it.—Let me not dwell upon it—.It is altogether inſuppor⯑table in every reſpect: and my imagination ſeems more aſſiduous in educing pain from this occa⯑ſion, than I ever yet found it in adminiſtering to my pleaſure.—This hurts me to no purpoſe.—I know it; and yet, when I have avocated my thoughts, and fixed them for a while upon com⯑mon amuſements, I ſuffer the ſame ſort of con⯑ſciouſneſs as if I were guilty of a crime. Believe me, this has been the moſt ſenſible affliction I ever felt in my life; and you, who know my anxiety when I had far leſs reaſon to complain, will more eaſily conceive it now, than I am able to deſcribe it.

[147]I cannot pretend to fill up my paper with my uſual ſubjects.—I ſhould thank you for your re⯑marks upon my poetry; but I deſpiſe poetry: and I might tell you of all my little rural im⯑provements; but I hate them.—What can I now expect from my ſolitary rambles through them, but a ſeries of melancholy reflections and irk⯑ſome anticipations?—Even the pleaſure I ſhould take in in ſhewing them to you, the greateſt they can afford me, muſt be now greatly inferior to what it might formerly have been.

How have I proſtituted my ſorrow on occa⯑ſions that little concerned me! I am aſhamed to think of that idle ‘"Elegy upon Autumn."’ when I have ſo much more important cauſe to hate and to condemn it now; but the glare and gaiety of the Spring is what I principally dread; when I ſhall find all things reſtored but my poor bro⯑ther, and ſomething like thoſe lines of Milton will run for ever in my thoughts:

I ſhall then ſeem to wake from amuſements, company; every ſort of inebriation with which I have been endeavouring to lull my grief aſleep, as from a dream; and I ſhall feel as if I were, that inſtant, deſpoiled of all I have chiefly valu⯑ed for thirty years together; of all my preſent happineſs, and all my future proſpects. The melody of birds, which he no more muſt hear; the chearful beams of the ſun, of which he no more muſt partake; every wonted pleaſure will produce that ſort of pain to which my temper is moſt obnoxious. Do not conſider this as poetry.—Poetry on ſuch occaſions is no more than literal truth. In the preſent caſe it is leſs; for half the tenderneſs I feel is altogether ſhapeleſs and inexpreſſible.

[148]After all, the wiſdom of the world may per⯑haps eſteem me a gainer. Ill do they judge of this event, who think that any ſhadow of amends can be made for the death of a brother, and the diſappointment of all my ſchemes, by the acceſſion of ſome fortune, which I never can enjoy!

This is a mournful narrative: I will not, therefore, enlarge it.—Amongſt all changes and chances, I often think of you; and pray there may be no ſuſpicion or jealouſy betwixt us dur⯑ing the reſt of our lives.

LXVII. To C— W—, Eſq

ALAS! dear Mr. W—! the terrible event has happened! I have loſt the beſt of brothers; and you are to pity, not to condemn, your unfortunate correſpondent.

About the middle of November I had pre⯑pared a letter for you, which lies now amongſt my papers. At that time, amidſt all my appre⯑henſions, I had ſome hopes to ſupport me; but before I could ſend it, my ſituation was greatly altered, and the month did not wholly expire, till it had effectually rendered me the moſt wretched of mankind.

Thus much it was neceſſary I ſhould tell you; you will pardon me, if I do not deſcend any farther into an account of merit that is loſt, and of ſorrow which is too apt to revive of itſelf. Be aſſured, it is to me a loſs which the whole [149] world cannot compenſate; and an affliction which the longeſt time I can live will not be able to eraſe.

You ſaid, you would let Maſter W— come and ſpend a few days with me.—I beſeech you do.—It will be ſome relief to me; and, God knows, I have occaſion enough for every aſſiſt⯑ance than can be drawn from correſpondence, company, or amuſement.

You, Sir, I preſume, proceed in the innocent recreations of your garden, and thoſe may at leaſt prove a balance for any ſmall diſquiets that attend you. If greater ills befal you, you have perſons near you to alleviate them. A wife, family, viſitants, male and female friends in abundance, and a table ſufficiently hoſpitable to attract even your enemies. With me the caſe is otherwiſe. What I have undergone this win⯑ter, may you never feel ſo much as in apprehen⯑ſion!

LXVIII. To the ſame.

I DO not know why I made you a promiſe of a pretty long letter. What I now write will be but a moderate one, both in regard to length and ſtile; yet write I muſt, par maniere d'acquit, and you have brought four-pence expence upon yourſelf for a parcel of nonſenſe, and to no manner of purpoſe. This is not tautology, you [150] muſt obſerve; for nonſenſe ſometimes anſwers very conſiderable purpoſes.—In love, it is elo⯑quence itſelf.—In friendſhip, therefore, by all the rules of ſound logic, you muſt allow it to be ſomething; what I cannot ſay, ‘"nequeo monſ⯑trare, & ſentio tantum."’ The principal part of a correſpondence betwixt two idle men con⯑ſiſts in two important enquiries—what we do, and how we do; but as all perſons ought to give ſatisfaction before they expect to receive it, I am to tell you in the firſt place, that my own health is tolerably good, or rather what I muſt call good, being, I think, much better than it has been this laſt half year.—Then as touching my occupation, alas! ‘"Othello's occupation's gone!"’ I neither read nor write aught beſides a few letters; and I give myſelf up entirely to ſcenes of diſſipation; lounge at my Lord Dud⯑ley's for near a week together; make dinners; accept of invitations; ſit up till three o'clock in the morning with young ſprightly married wo⯑men, over white port and vin de payſans; ramble over my fields; iſſue out orders to my hay-ma⯑kers; foretel rain and fair weather; enjoy the fragance of hay, the cocks, and the wind rows; admire that univerſal lawn, which is produced by the ſcythe; ſometimes inſpect, and draw mouldings for my carpenters; ſometimes paper my walls, and at other times my cielings; do every ſocial office that falls in my way, but never ſeek out for any.

‘"Sed vos quid tandem? quae circumvolitas agilis thyma? non tu corpus eras ſine pectore. Non tibi parvum ingenium, non incultum eſt!"’ In ſhort, what do you? and how do you do?—that is all.

Tell my young pupil, your ſon, he muſt by all manner of means ſend me a Latin letter: and if he have any billet in French, for Miſs Lea at The Grange, or even in Hebrew, Coptic, or [151] Syriac, I will engage it ſhall be received very graciouſly. Thither am I going to dinner this day, and there, ‘"implebor veteris Bacchi, pin⯑guiſque ferinae."’

All this looks like extreme jollity; but is this the true ſtate of the caſe, or may I not more properly apply the ‘Spem vultu ſimulat, premit atrum corde dolorem?’

Accept this ſcrawl in place of a letter, and be⯑lieve me

LXIX. To Mr. G—, on the Receipt of his Picture.

I AM very unfeignedly aſhamed to reflect how long it is ſince I received your preſent, and how much longer it is ſince I received your letter. I have been reſolving to write to you almoſt daily ever ſince you left me; yet have fooliſhly enough permitted avocations (of infi⯑nitely leſs importance than your correſpon⯑dence) to interfere with my gratitude, my in⯑tereſt, and my inclination. What apology I have to make, though no way adequate to my negligence, is in ſhort as follows. After the receipt of your letter, I deferred writing till I could ſpeak of the arrival of your picture.—This did not happen till about a month or five weeks ago, when I was embarraſſed with maſons, carvers, carpenters, and company, all at a time. And though it were idle enough to ſay, that I [152] could not find one vacant hour for my purpoſe, yet in truth my head was ſo confuſed by theſe multifarious diſtractions, that I could have writ⯑ten nothing ſatisfactory either to myſelf or you: nothing worth a ſingle penny, ſuppoſing the poſtage were to coſt you no more. The work⯑men had not finiſhed my rooms a minute, when Lady Luxborough, Mrs. Davies, and Mr. Out⯑ing arrived, with five ſervants and a ſet of horſes, to ſtay with me for ſome time. After a nine days' viſit, I returned with them to Barrels, where I continued for a week; and whither (by the way) I go again with Lord Dudley in about a fortnight's time. Other company filled up the interſtices of my ſummer; and I hope my dear friend will accept of this apology for ſo long a chaſm of ſilence, during which I have been uniformly at his ſervice, and true to that inviolable friendſhip I ſhall ever bear him.

I proceed now to thank you for the diſtinction, you ſhew me, in ſending me your picture: I do it very ſincerely, It is aſſuredly a ſtrong like⯑neſs, as my Lady Luxborough with all her ſer⯑vants that have ſeen you pronounce, as well as I; conſequently more valuable to a friend than a face he does not know, though it were one of Raphael's: The ſmile about the mouth is bad, as it agrees but ill with the gravity of the eyes; and as a ſmile, ever ſo little outre has a bad effect in a picture where it is conſtant, though it may be ever ſo graceful in a perſon where it is tranſitory. However, this may be altered, when I can meet with a good painter. I have no other objection, but to the prominence of the belly. The hair, I think, is good; and the coat and band no way exceptionable. I have given it all the advantage I can: it has a good light, and makes part of an elegant chimney-piece in a genteel, though little breakfaſt-room, at the end of my houſe.

[153]Mr. Whiſtler and I are now upon good terms, and two or three friendly letters have been in⯑terchanged betwixt us. He preſſes me to come to Whitchurch; and I him to come over to The Leaſows; but the winter cometh, when no man can viſit.—The diſpute is adjuſted by time, whilſt we are urging it by expoſtulation.—No uncommon event in moſt ſublunary projects!

Lady Luxborough ſaid very extraordinary things in praiſe of Mrs. G—, after you left us at Barrels; yet I ſincerely believe no more than ſhe deſerves. I took the liberty of ſhewing her your letter here, as it included a compliment to her, which I thought particularly genteel.—She will always conſider you as a perſon of genius, and her friend.

During moſt of this ſummer (wherein I have ſeen much company either here or at Lord Dudley's) I have been almoſt conſtantly en⯑gaged in one continued ſcene of jollity. I en⯑deavoured to find relief from ſuch ſort of diſſipa⯑tion; and, when I had once given in to it, I was obliged to proceed; as, they ſay, is the caſe when perſons diſguiſe their face with paint.—Mine was a ſort of painting applied to my tem⯑per. ‘"Spem vultu ſimulare, premere atrum corde dolorem."’ And the moment I left it off, my ſoul appeared again all haggard and for⯑lorn. My company has now deſerted me; the ſpleen-fogs begin to riſe; and the terrible inci⯑dents of laſt winter revive apace in my memory. This is my ſtate of mind, while I write you theſe few lines; yet, I thank God, my health is not much amiſs.

I did not forget my promiſe of a box, &c. to Mr. G—. I had a dozen ſent me, one or two of which I could have liked, had they been better finiſhed. They were of a good oval, white enamel, with flowers, &c. but horribly gilt, and not accurately painted. I beg my beſt ſer⯑vice [154] to her, and will make a freſh eſſay. My deareſt friend, accept this awkward letter for the preſent.—In a few poſts I will write again.—Believe me yours from the bottom of my ſoul.

I will ſend you a label for made-wine, after my own plan. It is enamelled, with grapes, ſhep⯑herd's pipe, &c. The motto VIN BE PAISAN.

LXX. To Mr. JAGO.

COULD I with convenience mount my horſe, and ride to Harbury this inſtant, I ſhould much more willingly do ſo than begin this letter. Such terrible events have happened to us, ſince we ſaw each other laſt, that, how⯑ever irkſome it may be to dwell upon them, it is, in the ſame degree, unnatural to ſubſtitute any ſubject in their place.

I do ſincerely forgive your long ſilence, my good friend, indeed I do; though it gave me uneaſineſs. I hope you do the ſame by mine. I own, I could not readily account for the former period of yours, any otherwiſe than by ſuppoſing that I had ſaid or done ſomething, in the levity of my heart, which had given you diſguſt; but being conſcious to myſelf of the moſt ſincere regard for you, and believing it could never be diſcredited for any trivial inad⯑vertencies, I remember, I continued ſtill in ex⯑pectation of a letter, and did not dream of writing till ſuch time as I had received one. I truſted you would write at laſt; and that, by all my paſt endeavours to demonſtrate my [155] friendſhip, you would believe the tree was rooted in my heart, whatever irregularity you might obſerve in the branches.

This was my ſituation before that dreadful aera which gave me ſuch a ſhock as to baniſh my beſt friends for a time out of my memory.—And when they recurred, as they did the firſt of any thing, I was made acquainted with that deplorable miſfortune of yours! Believe me, I ſympathized in your affliction, notwithſtanding my own; but, alas! what comfort could I ad⯑miniſter, who had need of every poſſible aſſiſt⯑ance to ſupport myſelf? I wrote indeed a few letters with difficulty; amongſt the reſt, one to my friend Graves; but it was to vent my com⯑plaint.—I will ſend you the letter, if you pleaſe, as it is by far my leaſt painful method of con⯑veying you ſome account of my ſituation. Let it convince you, that I could have written nothing at that time, which could have been of any ſer⯑vice to you: let it afford you, at leaſt, a faint ſketch of my deareſt brother's character; but let it not appear an oſtentatious diſplay of ſorrow, of which I am by no means guilty. I know but too well that I diſcovered upon the occaſion, what ſome would call, an unmanly tenderneſs; but I know alſo, that ſorrow upon ſuch ſubjects as theſe is very conſiſtent with virtue, and with the moſt abſolute reſignation to the juſt decrees of Providence. ‘"Hominis eſt enim affici dolore, ſentire; reſiſtere tamen & ſolatia admittere, non ſolatiis non egere."’ Pliny.—I drank, pur⯑chaſed amuſements, never ſuffered myſelf to be a minute without company, no matter what, ſo it was but continual. At length, by an attention to ſuch converſation and ſuch amuſements as I could at other times deſpiſe, I forgot ſo far as to be chearful.—And after this, the ſummer, through an almoſt conſtant ſucceſſion of lively and agree⯑able viſitants, proved even a ſcene of jollity.—It [156] was inebriation all, though of a mingled nature; yet has it maintained a ſort of truce with grief, till time can aſſiſt me more effectually by throwing back the event to a diſtance.—Now, indeed, that my company have all forſaken me, and I am delivered up to winter, ſilence, and reflection, the incidents of the laſt year revive apace in my memory; and I am even aſtoniſhed to think of the gaiety of my ſummer. The fatal anniverſa⯑ry, the ‘"dies quem ſemper acerbum, &c."’ is beginning to approach, and every face of the ſky ſuggeſts the ideas of laſt winter.—Yet I find myſelf chearful in company; nor would I recom⯑mend it to you to be much alone.—You would lay the higheſt obligation upon me by coming over at this time.—I preſſed your brother, whom I ſaw at Birmingham, to uſe his influence with you; but if you can by no means undertake the journey, I will take my ſpeedieſt opportunity of ſeeing you at Harbury.—Mr. Miller invited me ſtrenuouſly to meet Dr. Lyttelton at his houſe; but I believe my moſt convenient ſeaſon will be, when my Lord Dudley goes to Barrels; for I can but ill bear the penſiveneſs of a long and lonely expedition. After all, if you could come hither firſt, it would afford me the moſt entire ſatisfaction.—I have been making alterations in my houſe that would amuſe you, and have many matters to diſcourſe with you, which it would be endleſs to mention upon paper.—Adieu, my dear friend! may your merit be known to ſome one who has greater power to ſerve you than myſelf; but be aſſured, at the ſame time, that no one loves you better, or eſteems you more.

LXXI. To the ſame.

ALTHOUGH I have many reaſons to urge why I did not write to you before, or viſit you from Barrels as I fully intended, I will venture to wave all particulars till I ſee you; and only aſſure you in the general, that I was never able to write any thing ſatisfactory, or to viſit you, at that time, with any ſort of con⯑venience.

Believe me, my good friend, if inclination might have ruled, I had been with you at Har⯑bury many weeks ago. Sure I am, they muſt be the cares of home, and not the pleaſures of it, that ever were ſufficient to detain me during the winter ſeaſon. Nor do I think I have an enemy that wiſhes me more miſerable than I have, almoſt conſtantly, found myſelf ever ſince the beginning of it.

I cannot even now fix a time when I can ſee you; and perhaps it may be deferred till Mr. Miller's place will have received ſome advan⯑tage from the Spring; and, in that caſe, I would infallibly ſee my Lord Guildford's; but I leave this undetermined; and I hope, if you can wan⯑der from home with any kind of ſatisfaction, you will do me the juſtice to believe, that you have no friend alive who will more gladly re⯑ceive you than myſelf.

I have papered ſome rooms this laſt year, and would willingly have you ſee them before their colours are vaniſhed; which, I think, will un⯑avoidably be the caſe of one, before a ſecond ſummer be half concluded.

Thus is beauty as uncertain as either fortune or fame.

[158]I ſuppoſe you have heard there is a citation from Doctors Commons, and a writ of ‘"Ne exeat"’ out againſt Mr. W— for an intrigue with —. If you have not, be not precipitate in ſpreading the ſtory.—They ſay, he has fled into France on the occaſion.—What a ſhocking affair is this! ſo early in life! ſo extenſive, ſo laſting, ſo irremediable in its conſequences! but,

Your misfortunes and mine incline us, almoſt, to love all people that are miſerable; but how will the daughters of the Philiſtines rejoice on the occaſion; nay, almoſt countenance another's loſs of virtue by manifeſting their own apparent want of humanity!

There is a moſt admirable piece of allegory on this head in the Female Fables, by Brooks, if I miſtake not; to whom the author in his pre⯑face acknowledges himſelf greatly indebted.

I am truly ſorry to underſtand how much you are alone; I really imagined you were much happier in point of company than myſelf, as you live in a much politer neighbourhood; amongſt perſons of genius, learning and huma⯑nity. And happier you are; for however I make a ſhift to ſcrape ſome company around me, they are ſuch as can affect me with little elſe beſides the ſpleen.

Do not dwell too much on ſubjects that make you thoughtful; ſuperficial amuſements are out point, till ſome time hence: I am an ill adviſer; but I preſcribe you the methods which I have found moſt effectual with myſelf.

I have not been forgetful of the taſk that you enjoined me, to give you my obſervations on the verſes which you incloſed.—I will write [159] my ſentiments on a ſeparate paper. Do not puniſh me with ſilence and ſuſpence concerning you, but write. I can ardently deſire what I but little deſerve, being

LXXII. To the ſame.

I WROTE you ſome account of myſelf, and incloſed ſome trivial criticiſms, in a letter I ſent you about a fortnight ago, which I hope you have received.—Tom comes now to enquire after your health, and to bring back my ode to Colonel Lyttelton; in regard to which, I deſire, that you will not be ſparing of your animadver⯑ſions. I whiſpered my difficulties to Mr. Miller at Hagley, how delicate I found the ſubject, and how hard it was to ſatisfy either myſelf or others; in all which points he agreed with me. Nevertheleſs, having twice broke my promiſe of ſending a corrected copy to Sir George, I was obliged to make my peace by a freſh one, which, I ſuppoſe, I muſt, of neceſſity, perform.—Give me your whole ſentiments hereupon, I beſeech you; in particular and in general, as a critic and as a friend.—The bad ſtate of ſpirits which I complained of in my laſt, for a long time to⯑gether made me utterly irreſolute: every thing occaſioned me ſuſpence; and I did nothing with appetite.—This was owing in a great meaſure to a ſlow nervous fever, as I have ſince diſcovered by many concurrent ſymptoms. It is now, I think, wearing off by degrees. I ſeem to anti⯑cipate [160] a little of that ‘"vernal delight"’ which Milton mentions, and thinks

At leaſt, I begin to reſume my ſilly clue of hopes and expectations; which, I know, however, will not guide me to any thing more ſatisfactory than before.

I have read ſcarce any new books this ſeaſon. Voltaire's new Tragedy was ſent me from Lon⯑don; but what has given me the moſt amuſe⯑ment, has been the ‘"Lettres de Madame de Maintenon."’ You have probably read them already in Engliſh, and then I need not recom⯑mend them. The Life of Lord Bolingbroke is entirely his public life, and the book three parts filled with political remarks.

As to writing, I have not attempted it this year and more; nor do I know when I ſhall again.—However, I would be glad to correct that Ode ‘"To the Dutcheſs of Somerſet,"’ when once I can find in whoſe hands it is depo⯑ſited. I was ſhewn a very elegant letter of hers, the other day; wherein ſhe aſks for it with great politeneſs. And as it includes nothing but a love of rural life, and ſuch ſort of amuſe⯑ments as ſhe herſelf approves, I ſhall ſtand a good chance of having it received with partia⯑lity. She lives the life of a religieuſe. She has written my Lady Luxborough a very ſerious let⯑ter of condolance upon the misfortune in her family; and need enough has Lady Luxborough of ſo unchangeable a friend! for ſure nothing could have happened to a perſon in her ſituation more ſpecifically unfortunate.—Mr. Reynolds has been at Barrels, I hear, and has brought her a machine that goes into a coat-pocket, yet an⯑ſwers the end of ‘"a jack for boots, a reading-deſk, [161] a cribbage-board, a pair of ſnuffers, a ruler, an eighteen inch-rule, three pair of nut-cracks, a lemon-ſqueezer, two candleſticks, a picquet board, and the Lord knows what be⯑ſide."—’Can you form an idea of it? if you can, do you not think it muſt give me pain to reflect, that I myſelf am uſeful for no ſort of pur⯑poſe, when a paltry bit of wood can anſwer ſo many? but, indeed, whilſt it pretends to theſe exploits, it performs nothing well; and therein I agree with it. So true it is, with regard to me, what I told you long ago,

We have a turnpike bill upon the point of be⯑ing brought into the Houſe of Commons; it will convey you about half the way betwixt Birmingham and Hales, and from thence to Hagley; but, I truſt, there will be a left hand attraction, which will always make you deviate from the ſtrait line.

I ſhould be aſhamed to reflect how much I have dwelt upon myſelf in this letter; but that I ſeriouſly approve of egotiſm in letters; and were I not to do ſo, I ſhould not have any other ſubject. I have not a ſingle neighbour, that is either fraught with politeneſs, literature, or in⯑telligence; much leſs have I a tide of ſpirits to ſet my invention afloat; but the leſs I am able to amuſe you, the more deſirous am I of your let⯑ters; which afford me the trueſt entertainment, even when my ſpirits are ever ſo much de⯑preſſed.

That univerſal chearfulneſs which is the lot of ſome people, perſons that you and I may envy at the ſame time that we deſpiſe, is worth all that either fortune or nature can beſtow.

LXXIII. To Mr. GRAVES.

I AM vexed to find you have no copy of thoſe verſes.—I muſt make a freſh enquiry; and ſhould they happen to accompany this let⯑ter, as I fear they will not, be ſo good as to aſſiſt me all you can in the way of hints and corrections. Corrections of what is, and hints of what may be. I do not reckon much upon theſe verſes, or the patronage which you mention; though the Dutcheſs is a woman of high reputation, and has as much benevolence as any woman upon earth.

I do not include the deſign of viſiting Bath as a public place: I have long ſince given up ſuch ſchemes of gaiety and expence. I viſit you and Mrs. Graves; at the leaſt, I mean to do ſo.

Inoculatioin is a point on which I never ſpeak a ſyllable in the way of pro or con: I mean, not ſo as to influence particulars; for, in the gene⯑ral, I eſteem it both right and ſalutary, and even right becauſe we find it ſalutary.

I do not know whether I could not bear the diſhonour of friends or relations better than their death.—It muſt afford one no ſmall ſatisfaction to give them one's affection and aſſiſtance under every frailty to which human nature is expoſed; at leaſt, ſo long as they are true to friendſhip. It is Mr. Whiſtler's opinion, as well as mine. But Mr. —'s caſe is altogether different; and I make no queſtion that he thinks as you do up⯑on the occaſion.

Poor Danvers's death affects me more than you would perhaps imagine. If you remember, I was at M— when the ſcheme of his going abroad was in agitation.—I think how this event muſt affect Mrs. T—, whoſe concern will not [163] be leſſened by her long ſeparation from him. I dare ſay he reckoned upon his relations here as his beſt eſtate, whatever he might gain elſewhere; and, no doubt, the hope of retiring amongſt them has been a conſtant ſpur to his diligence.—The event was always uncertain, and has proved at laſt unfortunate; yet, as Melmoth ſays very juſtly, ‘"The courſe of human affairs requires that we ſhould act with vigour upon very pre⯑carious contingencies."—’I deſire you would give me a ſight of the Latin inſcription.

I think it was the Gentleman's Magazine in which I was ſhewn your verſes.

I have a particular and lively idea of your place; though I do not remember to have ſeen even ſuch parts of a ſcene as I have united to⯑gether in my imagination. I cannot think other⯑wiſe than that the front-door opens here, the garden-door there, the ſtream runs in this place, &c. &c.

The ſight of the place could not impreſs my imagination more deeply; though the impreſſion I am to acquire will hardly leave one line of my preſent one remaining. Cabbage-garden ornée is very high burleſque, and affects the improve⯑ments of your friend too nearly.

Let me know in what manner Mrs. Graves and you are drawn. Be as particular as you pleaſe.

I could not be clear from your letter whether you had received the box or not. That, toge⯑ther with the tallies, lay on the table before me, while I wrote to you laſt; and went with my letter to Birmingham.—Pray ſatisfy me directly whether you received them.—They are trifles, indeed; but, as they acquit me of my promiſe, they are virtually of conſequence.

[164]Mr. Whiſtler has not anſwered a letter which I ſent him above two months ago: nay, I think, a quarter of a year.

You are rich.—I have only to wiſh the conti⯑nuance of your riches, with ſome diminution of your fatigue. And yet the moſt laborious man in the world is, I am fully aſſured, more happy than the lazieſt.

‘"The Rival Brothers"’ has ſome of Dr. Young's affectations; and I queſtion if the moral be ab⯑ſolutely true—at leaſt, Mr. Addiſon is in ſome meaſure againſt it: but, on the whole, I think it a noble Tragedy; abounding as much with re⯑fined ſentiments and elevated expreſſions, as ‘"The Gameſter"’ and ‘"The Earl of Eſſex"’ are deficient in both.

My verſes are not yet ſent to Sir George Lyt⯑telton; I ſtart new difficulties, and cannot make them to my mind: yet have promiſed him a copy, and diſappointed him thrice; and can hard⯑ly defer it much longer without great offence.

I have ſcarce been twenty yards from home this winter. Laſt night I viſited one of my neigh⯑bours; and what with wine, ſitting up late, a perfect flux of diſcourſe, and a return home through the dark, found myſelf vertiginous before I was aware. Never did Prior's manly deſcrip⯑tion, ‘"I drank, I liked it not, &c."’ ſeem ſo na⯑tural to me as it does to-day. I am abſolutely vile in my own ſight, and I abhor myſelf in duſt and aſhes. I was never ſo intoxicated as not to know what I ſaid, or to talk more non⯑ſenſe; and yet how many things could I wiſh unſaid that I let fall laſt night!

We are going to add two new bells to our preſent ſet of ſix; to have a turnpike-road from Hagley to Birmingham, through Hales; and to emerge a little from our obſcurity. I am, dear Sir, with compliments to Mrs. Graves,

LXXIV. To the ſame, with Obſervations on Arms, Inſcriptions, &c.

I SEND you my Ode, as I ſent it to the Dutcheſs ſome weeks ago. Why I pitched upon one reading ſooner than another, I will not now explain: nor will I trouble you to make any freſh remarks upon it at preſent; only, when you happen to read it over at your leiſure, if any thing occurs to you that would tend to perfect it, I would beg you occaſionally to make ſome memorandums. I have not yet received an anſwer; but, as I accompanied the verſes with a letter, I ſuppoſe I ſhall receive one in re⯑turn. I alſo added, to fill a blank ſpace in my paper-book, a poem which I call ‘"The Viſta;"’ and which you may perhaps recollect: how pro⯑perly I know not, for I had the benefit of no perſon's judgement or advice.

Lord Dudley made Mr. Dolman a preſent of a piece of plate, a large cup, in conſideration of his ſiſter's being at Broom about half a year. There was on it, one ſupporter awkwardly enough holding up the coronet in his paw; and from the coronet proceeded a label, with ‘"amo⯑ris ergo Dudley."’ I do not know who was the manager, or whence he had the inſcription; but I think, from Dr. H—. This is elegant and enough. Nevertheleſs, as there may be ſome con⯑venience in dazzling the eyes of the people where I dwell, and as ſuch eyes as theirs are not to be dazzled, and hardly ſtruck, by elegance alone, I choſe the method that was moſt magni⯑ficent.—I wiſh they are not invidious enough to ſay, that his arms are engraved there for want of ſome of my own: ſo I would not be long be⯑fore their notable ſuggeſtion.—I have truly ſo [166] low an opinion of arms ſince they became pur⯑chaſeable by money, and ſince the preſent un⯑limited uſe of them, that were I to find a coat to my name in the office, which I did not like, I would not uſe it; but ſubſtitute what was more agreeable: yet ſome ſort of right or claim is re⯑quiſite to ſatisfy one's delicacy, with an opinion of property; and indeed, to fix one's choice, where one has the whole furniture of the univerſe for its object.—After all, the vulgar are more ſtruck with arms than any thing; ‘"ſtupet in titulis & imaginibus;"’ and, I believe, there were near two hundred people gathered round Lady Lux⯑borough's landau at Birmingham, and declaring her arms to be very noble, or otherwiſe.—I do not, therefore, chuſe to employ a vulgar mind about this matter.—Were you to go London, I ſhould gladly ſolicit you; or if you have any friend you could write to in town, to ſearch the office; for really I have none that I like for the purpoſe. It will not coſt above a couple of ſhil⯑lings.—I will ſend you a draught of the lid of my ſtandiſh when it arrives:—for I really do not know what Mr. Hylton will put upon it: I find, he conſults with Dr. B—, my Lord's phyſician.— ‘"De Dudley"’ would run moſt abominably, and ‘"Baro Dudley"’ may be authorized by the fre⯑quent practice of Maittaire.—If it be inſcribed ‘"Dudley"’ alone, I can add the reſt if I ſhould hereafter think proper; and I wiſh it may be ſo.

My verſes to the Colonel are not yet tranſcrib⯑ed.

I think the Latin inſcription to your brother very elegant; and I ſhould not care to have any part of it omitted.—I would, by all means, have this little hiſtory of his life perpetuated. ‘"His ſaltem, &c."’ And were you to put it into Engliſh, it would be too long for an inſcription;—unleſs you were, by means of a printed elegy with notes, or any other ſuch method, to pro⯑duce [167] the ſame effect; and then you might make the epitaph as ſhort as you pleaſed.—After all the firſt method is perhaps as eligible. When the affair is nearer a concluſion, I ſhould be glad to be of any ſervice.—I will think, and write again about it,

And now, having ſpoke to ſuch matters as have been the ſubject of our late correſpondence, I am at liberty to diverſify my letter as I may.—I ſhould be glad to know in your next whether you have heard of late from Mr. Whiſtler; and whether he is confined at home as uſual by his mother's ſtate of health. I almoſt deſpair of ever ſeeing him again at The Leaſows, though there is hardly any pleaſure I ſo much covet as that of ſurprizing him with the alterations I have made, and the articles I have purchaſed, during the five years ſince he was in Shropſhire: add to this, the ſeveral acquaintances I have formed which he would like, and the amuſing viſits I could pay hereabouts with freedom.—I do not know whether you ſaw Mr. Davenport and his family at Bath this ſpring. He is laying out his environs, and I am by appointment to go over the week after next. He has alſo a painter at this time taking views round his houſe; which is one of the moſt magnificent in our country; yet I never leave home but with reluctance.—I real⯑ly love no PLACE ſo well; and it is a great favour in me to allot any one a week of my ſummer.—Add to this, that my conſtitution requires nur⯑ſing; and I am moſt happy, where I am moſt free. It is in vain to ſay, they allow you all freedom, where you cannot allow it yourſelf. For this reaſon, I never more enjoy myſelf, than I do at The Grange; and yet this to ſome may appear paradoxical.

I yeſterday embelliſhed my chalybeate ſpring.—The inſcription that is out on the ſtone, is as follows, viz. ‘[168] FONS FERRVGINEVS.
DIVAE QVAE SECRSSV ISTO
FRVI CONCEDIT
SALVTI S.’ Yet I queſtion whether ſome of the following be not preferable; if they are, I beg you will tell me. One ſhilling and ſix-pence produces the alteration: ‘FONS FERRVGINEVS.
DIVAE PER QUAM LICET
HOC SECESSV FRVI, &c.
SAL. &c.’ or, ‘DIVAE PER QVAM LATEBRAE
QUAEVIS OBLECTANT
&c.’ or, ‘DIVAE LOCORVM OMNIVM
COMMENDATR1CI, &c.’ or, ‘DIVAE NIMIRVM RVSTICAE
SALVTI SACER.’ or, ‘DIVAS CVI DEBETVR
LOCORVM OMNIVM AMOENITAS
&c.’ or, ‘DIVAE PER QVAM LICET
INORNATO RVRE LAETARI.’

Believe me ever, with my beſt compliments to Mrs. Graves,

LXXV. To Mr. JAGO.

I AM at a loſs how to begin this letter.—I will not, however, after the uſual way, give you a tedious liſt of apologies in the front of it. Some account of my long ſilence you will find diſperſed throughout the letter; and as for what is deficient, I will depend upon your friendſhip.

There has not been a perſon here ſince you left me, of whom I could obtain the leaſt in⯑telligence concerning you. And as an enquiry by the poſt was my only obvious method, I do acknowledge myſelf to blame, notwithſtanding all the excuſes that I can make.

Amidſt the conflux of viſitants whom I re⯑ceived this ſeaſon, I was hardly once ſo happy as I was in your company. I was the happier in ſeeing you ſo; and, if you remember, I took notice at the time, how little your vivacity was impaired in compariſon of my own. If I was then but a dull companion, gueſs whether ſolitude and winter were likely to make me a better cor⯑reſpondent. That vein of gaiety and humour, which you were once ſo partial as to diſcover in my letters, will ſcarce appear there any more: not even to the eyes of the moſt partial friend I have. Should you deny what I aſſert, and im⯑pute it to a fit of ſpleen, yet you may allow that it will ſcarce enliven any letter that I write in winter. Friendſhip ſtill remains! Friendſhip, like the root of ſome perennial flower, even then perhaps gathers ſtrength in ſecret; that it may afford a better diſplay of its colours in the ſpring.

I do not pretend this to be an adequate apo⯑logy. I know, my deareſt friend, that you both like to ſee and hear from me: it proves, however, [170] that you have no great loſs either of my letters or my company.

I am, as the phraſe is, deeply penetrated by the civilities of your Mr. Miller. He took a ſhort dinner with me once this ſeaſon, dropping Sir George at Mr. P—'s.—He could not have pleaſed me better.—Here he happened to meet Mr. Lyttelton and Captain Whood. He after⯑wards breakfaſted here, and in general ſeemed glad of every occaſion to bring me the genteeleſt company. To him I owe Miſs Banks and Lord Temple. Can you think that Radway now, as well as Harbury, has no attractions for me? You know me too well; but I have not truly ſuch a ſtate of health as to dare to be from home. Friends will ſay ‘"you may be as free at our houſes as your own, &c."’ and they will mean as they ſay; but if you cannot make yourſelf ſo, what is all this to the purpoſe?

I cannot give you a detail of what has paſſed with me ſince I ſaw you. Lord Dudley, with myſelf, made one viſit to Lord Plymouth's. We met Mr. and Mrs. Winnington.—We took a trip to Mr. Vernon's, where we found Mr. Coventry and other company. The impreſſions I received from them would afford ſubject for converſation betwixt you and me; but I muſt not aſſign too much of my paper to that pur⯑poſe.

Lord Plymouth's piece of water ſhould have been a ſerpentine river. I could give you ſtrong reaſons.—I think my Lord ſuch a character as will make a reputable figure in life:—beloved he is, and muſt be at firſt ſight.—Lady Plymouth is the moſt amiable of women; and, of all the world, the propereſt perſon that my Lord could have choſen. The plan for their houſe I think right; ſuppoſing it right to continue it where it is. The park is capable of ſome conſiderable beauties. Lord Plymouth has been once here [171] ſince, and talks of cauſing me to come, and deſign for his environs.—I ſeem to be highly in his favour.—I hope ſome time to meet you there.

My Ode, after an aſtoniſhing delay, was pre⯑ſented to the Dutcheſs of Somerſet.—It produced me two genteel letters from her Grace. I am well ſatisfied with the event, for ſome reaſons, which I will one day give you—none of mo⯑ment.—Soon after this, Dodſley preſſed me to contribute, as amply as I pleaſed, to a fourth volume of his Miſcellanies. I at firſt meant to do ſo pretty largely; I then changed my mind, and ſent only ſome little pieces. Part of theſe were my own; part Mr. Whiſtler's, Mr. Graves's, and ſome accidental pieces of others, which I found in my bureau.—I purpoſed to ſend ſomething of yours too; of myſelf, if I was hurried; elſe, not without your conſent. What I thought of was, your Linnets. Laſt week he writes me word, that the town will now be too much engroſſed by the buſineſs of elections; and that he does not proceed this winter.—So that we ſhall now, you ſee, have time to meet, or write upon the ſubject.

Mr. Graves ſent me the encloſed little, fable, for Dodſley, if I approved it.—I made ſome al⯑terations, and ſent it.—Return it to me, if you pleaſe.—It is pretty; but the inſcription muſt be ‘"To a Friend."’

Some correſpondence I have had this winter with Mr. Hylton, about toys and trinkets which he gets done for me in London. He is by far a better friend and correſpondent than a poet. Should you take a trip to town, he would be quite proud to ſee you.

I am now, like the reſt of the world, peru⯑ſing Sir Charles Grandiſon.—I know not whe⯑ther that world joins me, in preferring Clariſſa. The author wants the art of abridgement in every [172] thing that he has written, yet I am much his admirer.

My dear friend! cheriſh and preſerve your own vivacity, and let not this phlegmatic epiſtle impair it. If occaſion offers, call on me for my own ſake; and believe you have not alive a more affectionate friend.

LXXVI. To Mr. GRAVES, on the Alterna⯑tions of Pleaſure and Pain.

IT is a long, long time, according to the com⯑putation of friendſhip, ſince I had the plea⯑ſure of a line from you, and I write chiefly to remind you of it; not with any hopes of af⯑fording you the amuſement of a ſingle minute. In truth, I have not ſpirits for it. The ſeverity, the duration, the ſolitude, of this winter have well-nigh exhauſted them.—The ſucceſſion, the regular ſucceſſion, of pain and pleaſure becomes every day more clear to me. It begins to ſeem as ordinary as the courſe of day and night. Thus my laſt ſummer was the moſt amuſing I ever ſaw; my winter the moſt diſagreeable. Allow me to accept one only: I mean, that ever-mourn⯑ful winter which robbed me of my deareſt rela⯑tion. Sometimes this pain and pleaſure are contraſted within the compaſs of a day. Some⯑times, in different weeks, &c. &c. However, do not think me ſuperſtitious. There is hardly a perſon that is leſs ſo. Yet I am firmly perſuad⯑ed of the alternation, either in the mind, or in the events themſelves. My ſummer, I ſaid be⯑fore, was highly entertaining; my winter render⯑ed [173] equally diſagreeable, by a long-continued ſquabble amongſt our principal pariſhioners, and by the death of my beſt-beloved and the moſt accompliſhed of my relations, M— D—. She riſqued going to London for the ſake of finding ſomething new; was ſeized with the ſmall-pox, and died in all her bloom.—The natural conſe⯑quence which we ſhould draw from obſervations of this ſort is, equanimity; ‘"aequam memento rebus, &c."’ and again, ‘"ſperat infeſtis me⯑tuit ſecundis, &c."’ Enough of this, which I ſhould not mention, but that the fact itſelf ſtrikes me continually more and more; and were I to mark the pleaſing and unpleaſing parts of my exiſtence in an almanac, as the Romans did their Faſti and Nefaſti, I know not if, at the year's end, the black and white marks would not nearly balance each other.

I have bought Hogarth's Analyſis: it is really entertaining; and has, in ſome meaſure, ad⯑juſted my notions with regard to beauty in ge⯑neral. For inſtance, were I to draw a ſhield, I could give you reaſons from hence why the ſhape was pleaſing or diſagreeable. I would have you borrow and read it.

Grandiſon I cannot think equal to Clariſſa; though, were merit in this age to be preferred, the author of it deſerves a biſhoprick.

Jago has been fortunate for once; but the value of his livings muſt be exaggerated in the news-papers.

If Mr. Whiſtler would give me a viſit in the height of my ſeaſon this year, I would look upon it as one of the moſt pleaſing events that could happen to the remainder of my life; and I would not preſume to hope that fate would ever allow me a repetition of it.

My love of toys is not quite exhausted.—I have purchaſed, or rather renovated, ſome that are both rich and beautiful, though ſhort of [174] what I meant them. I have amuſed myſelf with deſigning little ornaments this winter, ſome of which may turn to account under the manage⯑ment of ſome Birmingham mechanic.—To at⯑chieve eaſe, in that ſeaſon, is the moſt, that I can hope; and it is more than I often obtain.

Excuſe this worthleſs letter; which muſt coſt you money, as they tell me franks are uſeleſs. I could not avoid ſome uneaſineſs upon reflect⯑ing how long you have been ſilent. Preſent my beſt compliments to Mrs. Graves; and pay a tribute of one ſingle half-ſheet to that affection with which I am ever

LXXVII. To the ſame, on the Death of Mr. WHISTLER.

THE melancholy account of our dear friend Whiſtler's death was conveyed to me, at the ſame inſtant, by yours and by his brother's letter. I have written to his brother this poſt: though I am very ill able to write upon the ſubject, and would willingly have waved it longer, but for decency. The trium⯑virate which was the greateſt happineſs, and the greateſt pride, of my life is broken! The fabric of an ingenuous and diſintereſted friendſhip has loſt a noble column! yet it may, and will, I truſt, endure till one of us be laid as low. In truth, one can ſo little ſatisfy one's ſelf with what we ſay upon ſuch ſad occaſions, that I made three or [175] four eſſays before I could endure what I had writ⯑ten to his brother.—Be ſo good as to excuſe me to him as well as you can, and eſtabliſh me in the good opinion of him and Mr. Walker.

Poor Mr. Whiſtler! how do all our little ſtrifes and bickerments appear to us at this time! yet we may with comfort reflect, that they were not of a ſort that touched the vitals of our friendſhip; and I may ſay that we fondly loved and eſteemed each other, of ne⯑ceſſity. ‘"Tales animas oportuit eſſe concordes."’ Poor Mr. Whiſtler! not a ſingle acquaintance have I made, not a ſingle picture or curioſity have I purchaſed, not a ſingle embelliſhment have I given to my place, ſince he was laſt here, but I have had his approbation and his amuſement in my eye. I will aſſuredly inſcribe my larger urn to his memory; nor ſhall I paſs it without a pleaſing melancholy during the remainder of my days. We have each of us received a plea⯑ſure from his converſation, which no other converſation can afford us at our preſent time of life.

Adieu! my dear friend! may our remem⯑brance of the perſon we have loſt be the ſtrong and everlaſting cement of our affection! Aſſure Mr. John Whiſtler of the regard I have for him, upon his own account, as well as his brother's. Write to me; directly if you have opportunity. Whether you have or no, believe me to be ever moſt affectionately yours.

I beg my compliments to Mrs. Graves.

LXXVIII. To the ſame.

THE particulars relating to our poor friend's departure occaſioned me much concern, and indeed ſome tears: yet as thoſe particulars are what one covets to hear, and the melan⯑choly which they produce is never unmixed with pleaſure, I think myſelf much obliged to you for the care you took to convey them. It is poſſible, the letters I wrote to you and Mr. J. Whiſtler might appear too tender from a mere friend of the deceaſed; but there is a ſympathy betwixt friends, which is not always found amongſt relations; nor does kindred imply friend⯑ſhip a whit more than friendſhip does kindred. It is not many weeks ago, that I had a bill filed againſt me in Chancery by young D—, the only near relation I have by the mother's ſide; and the next in lineal ſucceſſion to my ſhare of the Penn's eſtate.—Do not let this ſurprize you. I believe the affair will be accommodated.—He only wanted to procure a diviſion of the Harbo⯑rough eſtate at a large expence, which might be better adjuſted without any; in other words, to run his head againſt a ſtone-wall, that he might have a chance of cauſing it to tumble upon me. Would you conſent that I ſhould ſuffer him to have the manſion-houſe at Harborough thrown into his lot? Were I ſo to do, I could make it advantageous to myſelf, and the diſpute were at an end; but I have a kind of romantic venera⯑tion for that place and family; which, if you re⯑member, I have expreſſed in one of my beſt elegies^*.

[177]Pray what will become of our letters to Mr. Whiſtler? as I am not conſcious of any thing diſhonourable in mine (and I am ſure I may ſay the ſame of yours) methinks I could wiſh that they might not be deſtroyed. It is from a few letters of my own or others alone, acciden⯑tally preſerved, that I am able to recollect what I have been doing ſince I was born.

I met, when I was laſt at Barrels, a ſurgeon of Bath, whoſe name, I think, was Cleland. He knew your name and place; but, I find, was not perſonally acquainted with you.—I am glad enough to hear that your place gets into vogue. It is, I think, what you ſhould chuſe, upon all accounts. Let the beauty of the place guide them to the merits of its owner. I have often thought, myſelf, that were a perſon to live at The Leaſows, of more merit than myſelf, and a few degrees more worldly prudence, he could ſcarce want opportunities to procure his own ad⯑vancement. My rural embelliſhments are per⯑haps more conſiderable than yours; but then the vicinity of Bath might occaſion you a greater conflux.—Your unexpenſive illuminations pleaſe me highly.—I have purpoſed theſe many years to purchaſe a ſet of tin lamps, of about four-pence a-piece, to ſtick againſt trees, and to uſe upon occaſion in my coppice; or rather in my grove, where ſome of the water-falls would not fail to ſhew delightfully.

You aſked me about Jago's preferment. The living laſt given him by the Biſhop of Worceſter is, I believe, near an hundred pounds a year.—With this, he has Harbury of about fifty; and Cheſlerton, a ſort of chapel of eaſe, about forty; in the whole, therefore, about a hundred and ninety: but then he is obliged to keep a curate; and what I think yet worſe is, that he cannot make it convenient to live at his new ſituation, which is a pretty one.

[178]I have had ſome viſitants this ſeaſon; indeed as many, and as conſiderable, as ſuch a ſort of ſeaſon could afford me. A Scotch peer called upon me in his way through Birmingham: his title was —. He ſeemed to have a very clear head, a very polite and eaſy manner, and all the refinement of true taſte, without the warmth or appetite.—I could not help thinking him, on many accounts, characteriſtic of the Scottiſh na⯑tion.

Would to God I could ſee you and Mrs. Graves here this ſummer! I have the ſame wiſh it may be my lot to viſit you, next autumn. Be aſſured, I purpoſe it.

I expect Dodſley every week. He will, I am convinced, be for publiſhing his Miſcellany next winter. Would Mr. W—, think you, agree, that you and I ſhould be allowed to publiſh ſuch of poor Mr. Whiſtler's papers there, as we judged were moſt likely to do credit to his memory?

Adieu! dear Mr. Graves. Let us reconcile our affections to the ordinary events of life; and let us adopt my friend Jago into our ſecond triumvirate. I am, however, always, with pe⯑culiar attachment, yours,

My beſt compliments to Mrs. Graves.

P. S. Since I wrote the foregoing, I have had Mr. Davenport of Davenport-houſe, with all his family.—His brother, the clergyman, remem⯑bered you by your picture.—His wife is the fineſt perſon, &c. I have ſeen here, except Lady Ayleſ⯑bury—ingenious, eaſy-behaved, and of an ex⯑cellent temper.—They come to Bath in a fort⯑night.

Since that time, Sir George Lyttelton, Mr. Lyttelton, and Miſs Lyttelton. Sir George [179] thinks ſome alterations requiſite in my verſes, to which I cannot bring myſelf eaſily to conform—but muſt.

I look upon my ſcheme of embelliſhing my farm as the only lucky one I ever purſued in my life.—My place now brings the world home to me, when I have too much indolence to go forth in queſt of it.

LXIX. To the ſame, on hearing that his Letters to Mr. Whiſtler were deſtroyed.

IT is certainly ſome argument of a peculiarity in the eſteem I bear you, that I feel a readineſs to acquaint you with more of my foibles, than I care to truſt with any other perſon. I believe no⯑thing ſhews us more plainly either the different degrees or kinds of regard that we entertain for our ſeveral friends (I may alſo add the difference of their characters) than the ordinary ſtyle and tenour of the letters we addreſs to them.

I confeſs to you, that I am conſiderably morti⯑fied by Mr. John W—'s conduct in regard to my letters to his brother; and, rather than they ſhould have been ſo unnecceſſarily deſtroyed, would have given more money than is allowable for me to mention with decency. I look upon my letters as ſome of my chef-d'oeuvres; and, could I be ſuppoſed to have the leaſt pretenſions to propriety of ſtyle or ſentiment, I ſhould ima⯑gine it muſt appear, principally, in my letters to his brother, and one or two more friends. I conſidered them as the records of a friendſhip that will be always dear to me; and as the hiſtory of my mind for theſe twenty years laſt paſt. The amuſement I ſhould have found in the peruſal of [180] them would have been altogether innocent; and I would gladly have preſerved them, if it were only to explain thoſe which I ſhall preſerve of his brother's. Why he ſhould allow either me or them ſo very little weight as not to conſult me with regard to them, I can by no means conceive. I ſuppoſe it is not uncuſtomary to return them to the ſurviving friend. I had no anſwer to the letter which I wrote Mr. J. W—. I received a ring from him; but as I thought it an inadequate memorial of the friendſhip which his brother had for me, I gave it to my ſervant the moment I received it; at the ſame time I have a neat ſtandiſh, on which I cauſed the lines Mr. W— left with it to be inſcribed; and which appears to me a much more agreeable remembrancer.

I have read your new production with plea⯑ſure; and as this letter begins with a confeſſion of foibles, I will own, that through mere lazi⯑neſs I have ſent you back your copy, in which I have made ſome eraſements, inſtead of giving you my reaſons on which thoſe eraſements were founded. Truth is, it ſeems to me to want mighty few variations from what is now the preſent text; and that, upon one more peruſal, you will be able to give it as much perfection as you mean it to have. And yet, did I ſuppoſe you would inſert it in Dodſley's Collection, as I ſee no reaſon you have to the contrary, I would take any pains about it that you ſhould deſire me. I muſt beg another copy, at your leiſure.

I ſhould like the inſcription you mention upon a real ſtone-urn, which you purchaſe very rea⯑ſonable at Bath; but you muſt not riſque it up⯑on the vaſe you mention, on any account what⯑ever.

Now I mention Bath, I muſt acquaint you, that I have received intelligence from the younger Dodſley, that his brother is now there, and that [181] none of the papers I ſent him are yet ſent to preſs; that he expects his brother home about the fourth or fifth of November, when he proceeds with his publication. Poſſibly you may go to Bath whilſt he is there, and, if ſo, may chuſe to have an interview.

I ſhall ſend two or three little pieces of my own, in hopes that you will adjuſt the reading, and return them as ſoon as you conveniently can. All I can ſend to-night is this ‘"Ode to Memory."’ I ſhall in the laſt place deſire your opinion as to the manner of placing what is ſent. The firſt pages of his Miſcellany muſt be already fixed. I think to propoſe ours for the laſt; but as to the order, it will depend entirely upon you.

Adieu! in other words, God bleſs you!—I have company at the table all the time I am writing.

LXXX. To Mr. JAGO.

WERE I to pronounce my ſentence upon the long ſuſpenſion of our correſpon⯑dence, I ſhould impute the blame of it, in al⯑moſt equal meaſure, to yourſelf and to me. To you, for an omiſſion of the letter you promiſed me, when laſt in town; to me, for waiting in ex⯑pectation of it, and for neglecting to do juſtice to the ſentiments of my heart on the occaſion of your late preferment. Great were the hopes I had indeed conceived, that your increaſe of re⯑venue had been accompanied with a place of re⯑ſidence which was more to your mind than that [182] where you at preſent abide; but I do not find by any accounts that you purpoſe to leave Har⯑bury; for which, no doubt, you have reaſons which I do not yet penetrate; but which may demand my aſſent the moment you diſcover them. I have but little to ſay of the life I have led ſince you received ſome account of me from Mr. Hyl⯑ton in London. The Winter, or at leaſt its mi⯑niſters, continued to tyrannize during the minority of Spring; and the Spring has alike been ſlow in giving up the reins to Summer. Of conſe⯑quence, I ſeem in a ſort of middle ſtate, betwixt a dull half-animated grub, and an inſignificant loco-motive fly. Neither in the one ſtate or other am I of the leaſt importance; but, from the ad⯑vances which I have already made, you are ſome⯑what the more likely to find me in your garden. About a fortnight ago I received a line or two from our intimate acquaintance and ſchool-fel⯑low Mr. Hall. It was brought me by Sir Ed⯑ward Boughton's gardener; a fellow of good taſte, to whom Mr. Hall deſired I would cauſe The Leaſows to be ſhewn. I find you have de⯑lighted Mrs. Hall by ſome alterations which you propoſe for their environs, and which they tho⯑roughly reſolve to put in execution. When I come over into Warwickſhire, as I hope to do ſoon, I ſhall be very glad to make them a viſit in your company. My ſpirits, though far from good, are better, in the main, than they were in winter; and, on ſome peculiar days, are raiſed as high as to alacrity: very ſeldom higher; ſel⯑dom ſo high.

You muſt (from hence at leaſt) take matters in the order or rather diſorder in which they occur: Mr. Miller I ſaw on Wedneſday laſt in Lady Lyttelton's coach, who ſtopped two minutes at my gate on her return from London. I enquired concerning you; but could gather no intelligence.—Mr. Hylton, who is now in Warwickſhire (if [183] he have not ſtrolled to London) has been with me ſeveral months this ſummer. He is adding a room or two to his place, which lies very near me; and purpoſes to reſide there as ſoon as it is finiſhed. The ſituation is not void of beauties; but, if you will pardon the vanity, muſt veil its bonnet to mine. I have heard of planting hollies, pyracanthas, and other berry-bearing greens, to attract thoſe Black-birds which you have ſo ef⯑fectually celebrated: it ſhall be my ambition to plant good neighbours; and, what with Lord Dudley and his exotics, Mr. Hylton with his foſſils, and myſelf with my ferme ornée, is there not ſome room to expect that we may attract the taſters this way? but firſt we muſt take ſome care to advertiſe them where their treaſures lie.—Another day is paſſed, and Mr. Miller, &c. has again been with me, and waked me out of a ſound ſleep to breakfaſt.—He mentions with what reluctance he left a ſurveyor at Radway, em⯑ployed in taking plans of the field of battle near Edge-hill. This he purpoſes to enrich with a number of anecdotes, gleaned from his neighbourhood; which muſt probably render it extremely entertaining: and ſurely Edge-bill fight was never more unfortunate to the nation, than it was lucky for Mr. Miller. He prints, to⯑gether with this plan, another ſheet of Radway Caſtle. I approve his deſign. He will, by theſe means, turn every bank and hillock of his eſtate there, if not into claſſical, at leaſt into hiſtorical ground.

I have done mighty little about my grounds ſince laſt winter. As indolence has on many oc⯑caſions contributed to impair my finances, it is but juſt that it ſhould ſometimes contribute to reſtore them. Yet I am not quite deſtitute of ſomething new for your amuſement.

Of late I have neither read nor written a ſyl⯑lable. What pleaſed me laſt was Hogarth's Ana⯑lyſis. [184] I expect Dodſley down every week; and as he will ſpend a few days with me, I could wiſh you were to meet him. His genius is truly poetical, and his ſentiments altogether liberal and ingenuous.

I am, at preſent, a ſurveyor of roads: em⯑ployed in repairing my lane to the turnpike—How glad ſhould I be to meet you, and to ſhew you its beauties! to ſhew you Mr. Hylton's new ſeries of coins; —his deſigns as well as his per⯑formances at Lappa!—how glad ſhould I be to ſee you! yea, I would hardly fail to return with you to Harbury; were you to add this one obligation. I left Mr. Miller in doubt whether he would not ſee me at Radway ſome time next week. Evil and capricious health (the particu⯑lars of which would make a detail of no im⯑portance) deſtroys all my punctuality, and bids me promiſe with fear. You, I truſt, are moſtly at home; and were you to be at Snitterfield, I would follow you without reluctance. So, with hopes to ſee you ſhortly, either in Warwick⯑ſhire or Shropſhire, I relinquiſh the ſubject.

I have reſerved a very melancholy ſubject for the laſt. May you, and Mr. Graves, and myſelf, ſtand firm to ſupport the fabric of friendſhip, which has loſt a very beautiful column in poor Mr. Whiſtler! he died of a ſore throat, which in a few days time turned to an inward mortifi⯑cation.—I will ſay no more on the occaſion: very affecting has it been to me.—God preſerve your life, your happineſs, and your friendſhips! and may you ever be aſſured of that with which I am, dear Sir,

Shall I beg a line from you, as ſoon as may be?—I do, moſt earneſtly.

[185]I am given to underſtand that I may expect a viſit this ſummer from the Biſhop of Worceſter; from Lord Ward, Lord Coventry, and Lord Guernſey.—It may be ſo; but honours of this ſort, which would formerly have affected me, perhaps too deeply, have now loſt much of their wonted poignancy. Can ſuch perſons bear to ſee the ſcenes riant, and to find the owner gloo⯑my? Let them, as they are able, make my cir⯑cumſtances more affluent; and they ſhall find the reflection in my face and in their reception; but, as this will never be, it is no compliment to declare, that an hour or two's interview with you or Mr. Graves outweighs the arrival of the whole Britiſh Peerage.

Something elſe I have to ſay. Young Pixell laſt winter told me, that the organiſt of Wor⯑ceſter had ſet your Ode (The Blackbirds) to muſic; that he liked the muſic; and that he would ſing it next evening at the Birmingham concert. I have not heard him mention it ſince, and I forgot to enquire; but, if you happen to have the notes, I ſhould be glad if you would incloſe them for me.

I have been of late much bent upon the encreaſe of horns in this neighbourhood.—Do not interpret me perverſely; I mean French horns only. My Lord Dudley has had a perſon to teach two of his ſervants—nothing—at my in⯑ſtigation; but your old acquaintance Maurice, who lives at the corner of my coppice, will exceed him in a week by means of a good ear. I have borrowed a horn for him. Adieu!

LXXXI. To C— W—, Eſq

YOU do me juſtice in believing that I am truly ſorry you have not been well. A degree or two of regularity more than what you have already will, I fancy, reſtore your health, and my ſatisfaction; and I beg you will afford me the earlieſt account of your recovery.

I conſidered Maſter W—'s viſit as an abſo⯑lute engagement, and remained at home in con⯑ſtant expectation of him for a fortnight together.—I am, however, not ſorry, for his own ſake, that he is gone to Oxford eſpecially as you ſeem to have an aſſurance of its proving advantage⯑ous. Pray aſſure him of my earneſt wiſhes for his happineſs, and that The Leaſowes will be al⯑ways at his ſervice, whenever, through the fickleneſs of human nature, he thinks proper to give up a Muſe for a Water-nymph.

I expect Mr. Hylton daily.—He was laſt week in London, and is now, I believe, at Coventry.—He will probably viſit you before he comes in⯑to this country.—He talked of it when he left me.—I am obliged to be brief.

Poſt-woman waits for me, ‘"multa gemens."’ Dodſley is the man for your purpoſe.—He has, with good genius, a liberal turn of mind.—I ex⯑pect him to ſpend a few days here every week.—I will, if he return through Warwickſhire, occaſion him to call upon you; but you know he is often lame with the gout, and will hardly be able to make any long digreſſion.

Your caſe is exactly mine. You ſay you can⯑not bear wrongs with patience, but you can ſleep and forget them.—So can I—ſo do I.—Did I never tell you (if not, I do ſo now) that indo⯑lence in a thouſand inſtances, give one all [187] the advantages of philoſophy? and pray, if you call me lazy any more, take care that you do not uſe an expreſſion by way of diſparagement, which I conſider as the higheſt honour. I am a fool, however, for diſcovering my ſecret. What a number of compliments might you have made me unwittingly!

Had I time, I could comfort you under your ill-uſage, by diſcovering to you the ſimilitude of my own ſituation.

Excuſe this ſcrawl; accept my compliments; carry them to Mrs. and Miſs W—; and believe me ever your obliged and moſt obedient humble ſervant,

LXXII. To Mr. JAGO, on their contribution to Dodſley's Miſcellanies.

I AM ſure you muſt be puzzled how to ac⯑count for my ſilence, after the honour you have done me by your verſes, and the requeſt you made that I would write.—I am alſo as much at a loſs how to give a proper weight to my apology. To ſay I have been ill, would per⯑haps imply too much: when I would only al⯑lude to that ſtate of heavineſs and dejection which is ſo frequently my lot at this time of the year; and which renders me both averſe to writ⯑ing, and utterly diſſatisfied with every thing that I do write.

[188]IF at any time my head grew a little leſs con⯑fuſed than ordinary, I was obliged to devote my attention to the affair in which I had ſo fooliſhly involved myſelf with Dodſley. You are unable to conceive what vexation it has given me: I could not endure to diſappoint him: of conſe⯑quence, it has been my lot to ſtudy the delica⯑cies of poetry when my brain was not ſufficient to indite a piece of common proſe; but as the Mouſe (by which I mean my own performances) will ſo ſoon make its ridiculous appearance, it were totally impolitic in me to expatiate on the labours of the Mountain.—The firſt letter I re⯑ceived from you left me greatly diſſatisfied. I was then to ſend D— my final inſtructions in a poſt or two.—You took little notice of any query I made; and intimated a diſapprobation which agreed too well with my own internal ſen⯑timents. I knew not but you were angry at the liberties I had taken; though I could have ſup⯑preſſed any ſingle paper which I had then con⯑veyed to London.—Little did I then imagine that it was in my power to have protracted the affair till now. Had that been the caſe, I ſhould have troubled you with repeated embaſſies; for I abhor the tediouſneſs of the poſt, and my ſer⯑vants do little at this time of the year, that is of more importance than their maſter's poetry.

Your next letter convinced me, that you had taken no offence: and ſo far I was happy; but then I wanted to have your Gold-finches as cor⯑rect as your Black-birds; there were ſome things I wiſhed you to alter; and others in regard to which I was deſirous to ſpeak my ſentiments. Add to this my own verſes, with which I was in⯑finitely more diſſatisfied. Why then did I not write?—The true reaſon was, that I was preſſed by D— to ſend concluſions every poſt; and though I have had all this leiſure (as it happens) ſince you wrote, I never could depend upon [189] more than the ſpace of a day or two. Beſides, criticiſms in the way of letter are extremely te⯑dious and diſſatisfactory; inſomuch, that I am thoroughly determined never to print any thing for the future, unleſs I have the company of my friends when I ſend to the preſs Hur⯑ried as I then was, I ſent up your two copies, and what I propoſed for him of my own, with a kind of diſcretionary power to ſelect the beſt readings. How you would approve of this meaſure I knew not; but I had this to plead in my behalf, that D— was a perſon of taſte himſelf; that he had, as I imagined, many learned friends to aſſiſt him; that his intereſt was concerned in the per⯑fection of his Miſcellany; and that I ſubmitted my own pieces to the ſame judgement.

After all, I am but indifferently ſatisfied with the preſent ſtate of theſe contributions. D— writes juſt ſo much as he deems neceſſary in the way of buſineſs, and paſſes by a thouſand points in my letters which deſerve an anſwer. His laſt acquaints me, that he has ſpent a whole day in the arrangement of what I have ſent him; and that he purpoſes to ſend me proof-ſheets before the cloſe of this week, deſiring I would ſend them back by the return of the poſt. Whether they arrive on Saturday or on Monday, I can keep them till the Thurſday following.

And this brings me, in the laſt place, to the main purpoſe of this letter.—It is a requeſt on which I lay great ſtreſs; and which you muſt not refuſe me upon almoſt any conſideration.—I beg, in ſhort, that you would promiſe me the favour of your company on Monday (or even Tueſday next, if poſſible; and let us jointly fix the readings of your pieces, of my own, and thoſe of our common friends.—You will immediately comprehend the expediency of this; now, in par⯑ticular, that our names are to appear. Some alterations I think neceſſary in your Gold-finches, [190] and there are two or three ſtanzas which I think you might improve.—Nevertheleſs, I will not pretend that this journey is ſo requiſite upon your own account as mine; and will recommend it upon no other footing than the pleaſure you will receive by the obligation which you will confer.

I thought to have concluded here; but, as an envelope is now become altogether neceſſary, have a temptation to proceed which I did not ſee before.

It is now become Friday the twenty-fourth of January. The packets I ſend, and the requeſt that I make upon ſo little warning, will, at firſt, aſtoniſh you.—Unforeſeen interruptions would not ſuffer me to diſpatch my courier ſooner.—What then remains, but that I endeavour to ad⯑juſt this affair agreeably to its preſent circum⯑ſtances?

You will readily conceive from what you ob⯑ſerve in my packets, how deſireable your com⯑pany is to me at this juncture. Suppoſing it then in your power to come over on Monday, Tueſday, or even Wedneſday, I am inclined to believe you will. Suppoſing it not ſo, I can foreſee you will not have leiſure to ſatisfy my queries by the return of the bearer; and what I would next propoſe is, that you would either ſuffer me to ſend again to you betwixt this time and Thurſday next; or that you would yourſelf diſpatch a purpoſe-meſſenger, and allow me to pay for his journey.—In either of theſe latter caſes, I am ſure you ſo well know the nature of my preſent irreſolution, that you will endeavour to afford me all the aſſiſtance you are able.

Adieu! my dear friend! and depend upon my beſt ſervices on every poſſible occaſion.

LXXXIII. To the ſame, on the ſame Subject.

I RECEIVED a letter from Dodſley, dated the fifteenth of February; informing me that you were then in town, had been with him, and left your directions whether he might ſend you a ſet of Miſcellanies.

February the twentieth, and not before, arrived young H— with your letter; very obliging⯑ly intended to give me previous notice of your journey; but which, by the iniquity of chance, tended only to acquaint me with an opportunity which I had loſt.

There is nothing could have been ſo fortunate as your journey to London, had Mr. H— thought proper to bring your letter in due time.—What excuſe he made for his neglect, or whether he made any, I have really forgot. This I know, that the whole affair has been unlucky. There has been abundant time for conſultation, and a perfect ſeries of opportunities of which we have not been ſuffered to avail ourſelves.—It is now three weeks or a month ſince I corrected the proof-ſheets; was ſo hurried in the doing of it that I ſcarce knew what I wrote; and yet, in ſpite of all this hurry, the book is hitherto un⯑publiſhed. Now, indeed, it muſt be much too late for alterations, as D— has given me ſome room to expect a book this very day.—I know but little what he has done in conſequence of that diſcretionary power with which I, through haſte, was obliged to intruſt him: but in what I have done, myſelf, you may expect to find all the effects of dulneſs precipitated.

It is now the twenty-third of February, and I have received no freſh account of our friend [192] Dodſley's proceedings; nor am I able to trace them, as I expected, in the news-papers.

As to your ſhare of this Miſcellany, you can have no cauſe to be diſſatisfied.—After what manner he has thought proper to print Lady L—'s verſes, I am a good deal uncertain; but I apprehend he has not followed her own read⯑ings very preciſely, and that the blame thereof is to be thrown upon me.—I am concerned for the memory of my poor friend Whiſtler; and regret that his better pieces did not fall into my hands. I think that Dodſley, however, would have done him greater juſtice, had he inſerted his tranſlation of ‘"Horace and Lydia."’ It is true, the tranſlations of that Ode are out of num⯑ber; but his, if I miſtake not, had many beau⯑ties of its own.—I do not know whether I ever hinted to you, that his genius and that of Ovid were apparently congenial.—Had he cultivated his with equal care, perhaps the ſimilitude had been as obvious as that of your twin-daughters.—Mr. Graves has one ſmall well-poliſhed gem in this collection; his verſes upon medals.—His little conjugal Love-ſong is alſo natural and eaſy.—I told you what I leaſt diſliked of my own puerilities.—If the printing of my Rural Inſcrip⯑tions be invidious, it was altogether owing to the inſtigation of Sir G— L—. There are four or five little matters, which, if he have printed with my name, incorrect as they are, I ſhall be utterly diſconſolate; at leaſt, till I get ſight of a ſucceeding impreſſion.—For though I am not much ſolicitous about a poetical reputation (and indeed it is of little importance to ſo domeſtic an animal as myſelf), yet I could ill endure to paſs for an affected, powerleſs pretender.

And now no more upon the ſubject.—I have nothing to add that can the leaſt amuſe you.—You, who have been converſant with all the buſy and the ſplendid ſcenes of life, can want [193] no materials to make a letter entertaining.—In⯑deed you never did.—I ſhall be glad, however, to receive a long one, upon what ſubjects you pleaſe.

I have paſſed a very dull and unamuſive win⯑ter; my health indeed rather better than I experi⯑enced it laſt year; but my head as confuſed, and my ſpirits as low. I live in hopes of an opportunity of ſeeing you at Harbury; but I begin now to re⯑ceive viſits as an honeſt beggar does an alms, with my humbleſt thanks for the favour, and with a deſpair of making a return.

Perhaps my next letter may diſcover ſome⯑what more reſolution: inclinations I never want; being at all times with ſingular affection yours.

LXXXIV. To the ſame.

I HAVE ſo long expected the favour of a few lines from you, that I begin at laſt to queſtion whether you received the letter I ſent you. It was incloſed in one to Mr. M—, whom I requeſted to further it with all conve⯑nient expedition. I am neither able to recollect the whole contents of it; nor indeed, if I were, could I endure the thoughts of tranſcribing them. The chief intention of it, however, was to ac⯑quaint you of Mr. H—'s unhappy delay in the delivery of that letter with which you favoured me from Radway.

What confirms me in a ſuſpicion that my laſt letter miſcarried, is, that Mr. Wren lately ac⯑quainted me of your being at Wroxall upon bu⯑ſineſs, and of your making ſome ſlight mention [192] [...] [193] [...] [194] of Mr. Dodſley's publication, without intimat⯑ing that you diſcovered any deſign you had of writing to me. This is mere preamble and ſtuff: implying nothing more than the deſire I have to hear from you, when it ought alſo to expreſs how impatiently I long to ſee you. Worldly concerns and my winterly ſtate of health have detained me at home for theſe many months paſt; world⯑ly concerns may have confined you likewiſe; but as your health and ſpirits are univerſally better than mine, and as you have much leſs diſlike to travelling than myſelf, I would hope that my abſence from Harbury will never cauſe you to neglect any opportunity of coming hither. For my own part, I have been meditating upon a viſit to you all this winter; and do, at this time, reſolve moſt ſtrenuouſly to perform it before June. But the many ſuch ſchemes of pleaſure in which I have been diſappointed are a ſort of check upon my expreſſions, and make me pro⯑miſe with fear. As to Dodſley's performance, which you muſt have received before this time, I will make no obſervations till I have the plea⯑ſure of ſeeing you: and yet there are many points I would diſcuſs, and many accounts I want to give you. So many indeed, that they would furniſh out perhaps a ſuperficial drawling letter; but would ſerve infinitely better for converſation, with the book before us. The volume, I am told, is well received in town; though political intelligence muſt engroſs much of its preſent attention.

Mr. Hylton is in my neighbourhood, and upon the point of ſettling at his farm. Could you poſſibly ſpend a week with us, we would try to make it agreeable. At all events, I beg to hear from you; and that, not merely as it will afford me great pleaſure, but as, at the ſame time, it will eaſe me of ſome ſolicitude. I will not make this a long letter, though I wiſh to receive a long [195] one in return; having a head very little quali⯑fied to add any thing that may amuſe you, though a heart very ſincerely and affectionately at your ſervice.

LXXXV. To the ſame.

THOUGH the ſilence that has prevailed for ſo long a time betwixt us be. I fear, to be placed to my account, yet do I by no means imagine, that you will deſire me to fill half this letter with apologies. Suffice it, that I owe all the world, at this time, either letters, viſits, or money: yet that my heart is as well diſpoſed in each of theſe reſpects, as that of any one per⯑ſon who is inſolvent. The regard indeed that I owe to you has been a troubleſome inmate with⯑in my boſom for ſome time paſt; making daily remonſtrances againſt the injuſtice which I have done it; and urging me ſtrenuouſly to take horſe, and make my perſonal apologies at Har⯑bury.—I return you many thanks for Mr. S—'s company, and for the ſight of the ma⯑nuſcript which he ſhewed me. Alas! that I cannot ſpare money to drain and to improve my lands, or to put almoſt any part of his excel⯑lent rules in execution! and yet that Mr. Childe of Kinlett (hearing my place always termed a farm) ſhould come expecting to find all things managed here according to the perfection of huſbandry! As little can I pretend to improve Mr. S—'s treatiſe, as his treatiſe will my farm: no farther at moſt, than in what regards the ſtile, or plan of his performance. Yet could I wiſh [196] to ſee both it and him again before he prints it; wiſhing him all the ſucceſs which his very en⯑deavour deſerves. Aſſuredly the preſent is not the time for his publication: more immediate re⯑medies than can be derived from agriculture are become abſolutely requiſite to relieve the ſufferings of this nation.—I ſhould be extremely well-pleaſed to viſit you at Harbury, but cannot even propoſe to myſelf that happineſs at preſent; and were I even to promiſe, have but too much reaſon to know the uncertainty of my performance. Yet am I ſenſible enough we ought to meet, if we purpoſe that what we print ſhould have the ad⯑vantage of our mutual criticiſms. Let me then conjure you to come over, at your convenience, for a few days, that we may agree at leaſt upon ſome general points, and make no worſe a figure in the future Miſcellany, than we have done in the foregoing^*.—But I have really more things to ſay than I will pretend to ſcrawl upon paper; nor can I endure to retail a few particulars, while I am impatient to communicate the whole.

Let me acquaint you while I remember, that there is at this time a Mr. Duncombe and his ſon, clergymen, that are publiſhing a new tranſ⯑lation of Horace. Whatever you may think of their ſucceſs, after Francis, I believe I may pro⯑nounce them men of real merit, and in no wiſe deſtitute of learning or genius. They have re⯑queſted me to communicate any verſion or imita⯑tion that I can furniſh, either of my own or of any friends; wherefore, it you have any thing of this fort, I ſhould be glad if you would put it in my power to oblige them. The ſon has an ‘"Ode to Health"’ in the fourth volume of Dodſley's Miſcellany.

Under the head of intelligence, I have mighty little to convey.—The houſe at Hagley, is, in a manner, finiſhed, ſo far as concerns the ſhell; [197] and wants nothing, beſides a portico to be as compleat as moſt in England.—pray remember me to Mr. Talbot, Mr. Miller, and Mr. Hol⯑beach; ſhould they call upon me next year, they will find my place better worth their no⯑tice.

I am, and have been ever, cordially and moſt affectionately,

LXXXVI. To Mr. GRAVES, with ſome Account of Politics and Poetry.

YOU will be harraſſed with my letters till you condemn my exceſſive leiſure as loud⯑l [...] as I have lamented that you ſhould ever feel the want of it. Nor is it a point ſo eaſily deci⯑ded which of us may be the greater ſufferer; you through my officiouſneſs, or I by your long ſilence. Yet the partiality which you have ever ſhewn me will, I think, diſpoſe you to receive my let⯑ters more patiently than it is in my power to ſuſ⯑tain the loſs of yours. After all, I ſhould not write at preſent, but that the Miſcellanies, with which Dodſley compliments us, arrived laſt week at the Leaſowes. I deſire therefore you would acquaint me, whether the fe [...]t that he means for you ſhould remain here till your arri⯑val; or if you chuſe that I ſhould ſend it by the Birmingham-ſtage to Bath. Having made this enquiry, I was thinking to conclude; but cannot reconcile myſelf to the novelty of ſending you three empty pages. The Parliament will [198] riſe too ſoon for the publication of my ‘"Rural Elegance;"’ and having performed my promiſe to Dodſley, I think no more about ſuch laurels as the public can beſtow upon me, but am giving all my attention to ſuch as I can purchaſe of my nurſery-man. I wiſh, however, that the vo⯑lume may recompenſe Dodſley for his trouble: I may alſo add, for his ingenuity, and for his politeneſs in giving each of us a compleat ſett. They are elegantly bound, and all as much alike as poſſible.

The preſent criſis of ſtate-affairs does not ſeem to favour his publication, as the attention of the public muſt lean greatly to that quarter. I ſaw a letter from Sir William M— (who correſ⯑ponds with Lady Luxborough) which placed the ſtruggles of the miniſtry in a clearer light than they had yet appeared to me. It ſeems that perſons of all denominations are for carry⯑ing on the war with vigour; and the King's ap⯑plication for a Vote of Credit was received with general approbation. The zeal of the Parlia⯑ment was indeed ſo remarkable on this occaſion, that, inſtead of the 600,000l. at firſt intended, it was thought proper to propoſe a million. But the ſervices were aſcertained, and the Chan⯑cellor of the Exchequer made accountable for the application of it. The augmentation of the fleet with 20,000 ſeamen; the raiſing 5000 ma⯑rines on a plan of dividing them into ſmall com⯑panies, which will render them more uſeful both by ſea and land; the completion and re⯑inforcement of the Iriſh regiments; are the uſes to which this million is to be appropriated. Mr. Fox and his land-war party ſat mute, whilſt Mr. Legge with great openneſs and per⯑ſpicuity explained the preſent ſchemes; as they were calculated, to exert our whole ſtrength at ſea, and, if poſſible, no where elſe. Mr. Dod⯑ington, who, it ſeems, has not ſpoke for many years, charmed every body. His wit did not [199] only entertain, but animate and affect his hear⯑ers. ‘"It were better, he ſaid, than loſe the domini⯑on of the Ocean, that the Ocean ſhould overwhelm us: for what Briton could wiſh to leave a poſterity crawling upon this iſland, only to feel the tyranny, and ſwell the victories, of France?"’ It ſeems, F—, in his oppoſition to the Duke of New⯑caſtle, is ſupported by the Duke of Cumber⯑land, his army, and the Scotch: that the miniſ⯑try (or the D. of N—'s party) ſeem not diſpleaſ⯑ed with a proſpect of uniting with the Tories, who now hold the balance; and it ſeems the Tories, by Sir William's letter, are as little diſ⯑pleaſed to unite with the Miniſtry.

You will gueſs that good part of this political account is tranſcribed; and you will gueſs aright. I had ſome thoughts that it might amuſe you, and had no occaſion to uſe other expreſſions.—Let me now, once more, return to the futile ob⯑jects of my own amuſement. The impreſſion upon this letter will be taken from my new ſeal. The motto that I have pitched upon is, SUPER⯑EST MEMORIA: though I yet retain ſome hank⯑ering after the ſingle word PRAETERITIS. Pro⯑bably this, however, is not the laſt ſeal that I ſhall cauſe this man to cut in ſteel. The altar is not yet finiſhed: ANTE OMNIA MUSAE; but it does not quite ſatisfy me.—I will incloſe the two laſt letters I received from Mr. Dodſley; but you muſt not think I build too much upon any compli⯑ment which he there makes me.—It is true, I think him a very ſincere man; but he cannot have been converſant ſo long with modern-writers, but he muſt conjecture, when their piece is publiſhed, that they a little hunger for applauſe. I am now uncertain whether you will receive a letter from him; as he has, unaccountably I think, ſent your books hither, and not to Bath. I am, however, fully ſatisfied, that your firſt and laſt pieces, more eſpecially, do credit to his collection, and muſt pleaſe all perſons of taſte.

[200]I deſire my beſt reſpects to Mrs. Graves, who will be pleaſed to ſee the affection that ſubſiſts betwixt you perpetuated. She will alſo feel ſome ſatisfacton in the profeſſions of friendſhip that are made you by your moſt affectionate and faithful humble ſervant,

LXXXVII. To the ſame, with a Recommendation of Mr. Dodſley to his Acquaintance.

IT were needleſs for me to recommend to you a perſon whom you ſo truly eſteem as Mr. Dodſley; and from whom you will gladly receive a viſit, not more upon my account, than upon his and your own.—All I beg is, that, conſidering the ſhortneſs of his time at Bath, you will be acquainted with him at firſt ſight; which, I think, ſhould ever be a maxim with perſons of genius and humanity.—He has made a few days extremely agreeable to me at The Leaſowes; has been ſhewing me his new Tragedy, which I wiſhed you alſo might peruſe. If I be not un⯑accountably impoſed upon by my friendſhip for the writer, the extraordinary merit of this per⯑formance is altogether unqueſtionable.—I will not inform you through what hands it has paſſed in town; becauſe I would have you communi⯑cate your ſentiments to him with entire freedom, being aſſured the delicacy of them may yet be of ſervice, and that the openneſs with which you communicate them will be infinitely pleaſing to Mr. Dodſley. He has done me the honour to aſk me for an epilogue:—I wiſh, but fear to un⯑dertake it.—Should any lucky hint occur to [201] you, I well know how much you are able to ma⯑nage it to advantage. In that caſe, I would beg a line from you the firſt opportunity.—What talk I of a line from you, who am, at this very time, many letters and apologies in your debt? but I cannot add many ſyllables to the letter I am wri⯑ting.—I will write again in a few days. Mean time, my compliments to Mrs. Graves; and remember that Mr. Dodſley and you become well acquainted at firſt ſight.

LXXXVIII. To the ſame, on Mr. Dodſley and his Works.

I HAVE paſſed a very dull and unamuſive winter here—the worſe, for being neither diſpoſed nor qualified to keep up a correſpondence with my friends; with you, among the chief; and yet, it is upon you that I muſt depend to make up my deficiencies with Mr. Dodſley.—The poor man has been afflicted with the moſt laſting fit of the gout he ever underwent before.—His patience, on theſe occaſions, is inimita⯑ble. His excurſion to the Regions of Terror and Pity is not the only inſtance of his ability to compoſe verſes in the midſt of pain. When he ſent me a copy of it, he let me know, that he had tranſmitted another to you by the ſame poſt. I ſhould be glad to receive your remarks upon it, ere I communicate my own. I have, for [202] ſome weeks paſt, ſound my head ſo terribly confuſed, that it has been with difficulty I could think or expreſs myſelf on the moſt ſuperficial to⯑pic. I hope, in a little time, to be able to exa⯑mine it more attentively than I can at preſent: yet, in the mean while, muſt acknowledge, that I think his ſubject capable of furniſhing extraor⯑dinary beauties for an Ode: and ſuch, I think, he ſhould call it; dropping the narrative parts, and the connexions as much as poſſible. I can⯑not wiſh him to print it without very material al⯑terations; and what would occaſion almoſt the ſame trouble as it would require to new-write it. I do not mean this as a condemnation of what he has already done; ſo much, as a proof of my opinion how much he will he able to improve it. After all, it will ſcarce affect me half ſo ſo much as his Tragedy. He is ſo honeſt a man, that the work he has to give the world is much better than the ſpecimen: or to borrow an idea from my ſituation, the grain that he has to deliver will prove much better than the ſample. It is with ſhame I acknowledge I have not yet ſent him his epilogue; and I feel the greater com⯑punction of mind upon this ſcore, as it is poſſible he may impute my neglect to Garrick's refuſal of his play. This weighs nothing with you or me; a thouſand motives may affect a manager, that have little or nothing to do with the merit of the performance; yet he may ſo far thank Mr. Garrick, that whatever his refuſal takes from the reputation of his Tragedy, it will, through Dodſley's induſtry, add apparently to its value. I have not yet been able to ſatisfy myſelf with every part of your epilogue, and muſt either omit ſending it at preſent, or muſt ſend him an imperfect copy. If you write to him, let me beg you to give the moſt favourable account you can of me.

[203]Somebody acquainted me (I think it was Mr. Talbot,) that your old friend Ballard had be⯑queathed you his coins for a legacy. I was truly glad to hear it; but have wondered ſince, that you never once informed me of ſo conſiderable an acquiſition.

I remember a poem of yours, called —, upon the preſent taſte in gardening; which you will not wonder if my late, employments make me wiſh once more to ſee. Be ſo kind as to ſend me a copy of this, as well as of any other little pieces that you have in your bureau. Some of yours deſerve a better place than what is aſſigned them in the Magazine. In particular, I remem⯑ber that upon Enigmas, and Mopſy. Be aſſured, I will make no uſe of any without your previous conſent. You know, I ſuppoſe, that Dodſley's other Miſcellanies do not appear before next winter.—I have received from him, together with his Ode, a few Elegies publiſhed by Mr. Whitehead. They are, I think, worth your peruſal; and deſigned by my worthy friend to excite my emulation. Alas! that I am ſo ill able to deſerve the encouragements which I re⯑ceive from him!

My neighbour Baſkerville, at the cloſe of this month publiſhes his fine edition of Virgil. It will, for type and paper, be a perfect curioſity. He follows the Cambridge edition.

What think you of their management in re⯑gard to Mr. Byng? I cannot help thinking the King ſhould pardon him. The Court-martial, by acquitting him of cowardice or diſaffection, have left no motive for his negligence, beſide an error of his judgement; for we cannot impute it to ſupineneſs, indifference, or inattention. And then to ſentence a man for error, is to expect infalli⯑bility. That twelfth article of war is moſt un⯑doubtedly ill-expreſſed.—Pray do not forget my [204] beſt reſpects to Mrs. Graves.—Let me hear from you ſoon, and believe me ever

LXXXIX. On the ſame.

WHAT remarks I had to make upon our friend Dodſley's Ode, I ſent him the laſt poſt. I would gladly have occaſioned them to paſs by Claverton; but, having delayed them ſo long, I was impatient to convince him that I had not wholly diſregarded his requeſt. They are indeed pretty copious; and yet I have reſerved to myſelf the privilege of re-criticiſing when I ſee his altered copy. I recommended to him the addition which you propoſed, and ſome others; and if he will but take the pains that I have chalked out for him, I doubt not that he will render it an excellent Ode, though he may not find it a very popular one. I have alſo ſent him a copy of our epilogue, not much different from what you ſaw; to theſe I added my little Ode on Lady Luxborough's furniſhing her libra⯑ry, and Perry's Verſes upon the Malvern-waters. At the cloſe of theſe laſt, there appears (with Perry's approbation,) a ſhort addreſs to Dr. Wall of Worceſter; a very eminent phyſician, and the patron of this mineral, who has pro⯑moted a ſubſcription in the county towards building, near this well, for the accommodation of ſtrangers.

I purpoſe alſo to give Dodſley the little Ode I incloſe, and would beg the favour of you to [205] adviſe me concerning the additional ſtanzas' fix the readings in the reſt, and to return me the copy.

I come now to analyze your remark on Bal⯑lard's legacy; which is indeed very ingenious, but will ſcarce bear examination: nor do I think that you rather wiſh to have found that ſet of medals, than to have them given you by a de⯑ceaſed friend. Aſſuredly, if we do not allow pleaſure to be predominant in this kind of melan⯑choly, we deſtroy the foundation of all tragic or elegiac writings. Melpomene has no place amongſt the Muſes; and the pains that we have taken with our friend Dodſley's penſive Ode have been employed to no purpoſe. But you want not theſe pedantic flouriſhes, and are wholly of my mind.

Martin's Magazine is, I believe, pretty ob⯑ſcure; and I wonder where you got a ſight of it. It was, however, fortunate enough for me that you gave no copy of ‘"James Dawſon."’ I ne⯑ver yet ſaw your verſes on that Grotto, or from Phaedrus, and I want to ſee your W— once more, concerning which you are ſilent. Your ‘"Pep⯑per-box"’ and ‘"Mopſy"’ might, I think, ap⯑pear in Dodſley's Miſcellany, either with or without your name. I alſo want a copy of your verſes upon Riddles; and whenever you have a leiſure hour, ſhould be glad if you would look them out and ſend them.

Go, and think yourſelf an happy man; at leaſt, if your children be recovered, as I am in⯑clined to think they are; and give my ſervice to Mrs. Graves, for the happineſs that ſhe occaſions you; of which I cannot but partake, being, with conſtant and ſincere affection, your moſt obliged humble ſervant.

XC. On the ſame.

DO you know my hand-writing?—It is real⯑ly ſuch a length of time ſince you had de⯑mands upon me for letters, that I am hardly able to enumerate the ſeveral cauſes of my neg⯑lect. This I know, that ſcarce a day has paſſed, during this interval of ſilence, in which I have not remembered you with the moſt affectionate eſteem.—I hope you correſpond with our friend Dodſley; and that it is not altogether diſagreea⯑able to you, to find he is printing ſome of your verſes. He has many, alas! too many, of mine; which I ſuffered him to take away in ſummer, and which the ſtate of my winter health and ſpi⯑rits renders me but ill able to reviſe. I believe, I am, even now, the principal cauſe that his two volumes remain yet unpubliſhed; nor can I ex⯑preſs the pain it gives me, to be thus detrimental to his intereſts; and to delay the publication of ſo much better pieces than my own. I am alſo diſſatisfied upon another ſcore; I mean, that I have been wanting to myſelf, in not aſking the benefit of your advice; which I have heretofore experienced to be at once ſo comfortable and ſo ad⯑vantageous; but although the ſcheme was project⯑ed in ſummer, the buſineſs of correction was (by me at leaſt) deferred till winter, and then I had neither ſpirits to correct or to correſpond.

I am really as much obliged to you for the pains which you took on my behalf in London, as though the ſubject of your enquiry were a thing of more importance to me; but, indeed, you can hardly conceive how indifferent I am now grown, not only as to articles of that ſort, but to aught that regards external ſplendour.

[207]I really have not time to enter upon the me⯑rits of inoculation; but am very ſure that Mrs. G—'s danger was enough to influence your de⯑termination. I am heartily glad to hear of her recovery; and can but look upon the weeks which I purpoſe to paſs ſome time hereafter with you at Claverton, as the moſt agreeable of any that belong to the remainder of my life. I I am ſenſible, that if I coveted to ſhine in poetry, I ſhould loſe no time in viſiting public places; but my wiſhes of that ſort are moſt extremely li⯑mited; and I ſhall viſit you on the account of friendſhip; that is (paſt all doubt,) on a much better principle.

I have long meant to write to you, and have accordingly given ſome anſwer to moſt parts of your laſt letter. Nevertheleſs, the occaſion of this preſent letter is quite of another kind.—A young painter of my acquaintance is adviſed to to go to Bath; has a recommendation to the Biſhop of B—, who will introduce him to the Duke of N—. And though I cannot ſo eaſily bring him acquainted with nobles or prime-mi⯑niſters, I can give him directions to my friend, who, in point of taſte, is their ſuperior. The perſon then, who, I ſuppoſe, will be the bearer of this letter, has, by dint of mere ingenu⯑ity, riſen to a conſiderable eminence in fruit-pieces, &c. He has been employed by Lord Lyttelton, and is much admired at Oxford; for my own part, I believe you will think he is in few reſpects inferior to, and has (if I am not miſtaken) ſome advantages of, Stranover; but you will ſee his pieces. All I have to ſay fur⯑ther on the occaſion is, that he is a native of our pariſh, and a particular friend of mine; and if it were in your power to promote his intereſt at Bath, you would not only highly gratify me; but at the ſame time do a ſervice to one of the leaſt aſſuming, moſt ingenious, and moſt amia⯑ble [208] men I know.—I beg my beſt reſpects to your family, and am, dear Mr. Graves, moſt affec⯑tionately

XCI. On the ſame.

I THANK God, I have recovered a tolera⯑ble degree of health this ſpring; though by no means free from ſo much heavineſs and laſſitude, as renders me averſe to all activity of body and mind. In the courſe of my diſorder, ſo long as I could bear to think of any ſublunary enjoyment, I remembered my friends, and of courſe thought much of you; but its advances were ſo precipi⯑tate, when I ſent for the phyſicians, that I ſoon received a wrench from every object of this world; and it was by ſlow degrees, even after my recovery, that my mind took ſo much root again, as appears neceſſary for its immediate ſup⯑port. I ſuppoſe you have been informed that my fever was in great meaſure hypochondriacal; and left my nerves ſo extremely ſenſible, that, even on no very intereſting ſubject, I could readily think myſelf into a vertigo: I had almoſt ſaid an epilepſy; for ſurely I was oftentimes near it.—It became, therefore, expedient for my recovery, to amuſe myſelf with a ſucceſſion of the moſt trivial objects I could find; and this kind of careleſſneſs I have indulged till it is grown into an habit. Even letters to my friends are hardly conſiſtent with my rule of health; [209] yet I could be no longer ſilent with regard to you, without feeling a ſenſation that would hurt me more. This may fairly enough be termed the firſt letter I have wrote ſince my recovery; wherein if I ſhould tell you one half that I am inclined to do, relating to this dreadful illneſs, what room ſhould I then leave to ſpeak on any other ſubject? I muſt, therefore, tell theſe things by word of mouth, or write them ſome other time. The journies which my friends, and in⯑deed phyſicians, propoſe for me, are what cer⯑tainly bid faireſt for the completion of my cure: yet there are many, many things, which how⯑ever unfit for the taſk, I muſt endeavour to ad⯑juſt before I can leave home, with any poſſibili⯑ty of enjoyment. Need I mention any other than my curſed embarraſſment with D—? who, during my danger, was induced to ſtop proceed⯑ings; but is now beginning law afreſh, and, by the removal of tenants from his ſhare of the Harborough eſtate, has now wriggled himſelf into poſſeſſion of almoſt one half of mine. However, I am not without hopes of ſeeing all terminated in a little time; nor entirely without a proſpect of ſeeing you at Claverton this ſum⯑mer. That you may think this the more pro⯑bable, I am preſſed by two young gentlemen, whom I very much eſteem to accompany them on a viſit to Mr. Bamfylde in Somerſetſhire. Theſe two gentlemen are Mr. Dean and Mr. Knight. Perhaps you may have heard of Mr. Bamfylde, who is very much at Bath; is there now with his lady, or has left the place but lately; and whoſe fortune, perſon, figure, and accompliſhments, can hardly leave him long un⯑noticed in any place where he reſides. Yet my viſit to Eſtercomb muſt be of ſecondary conſe⯑quence to me, whilſt you live by the road-ſide. I am much obliged to you for your compliment on my Poematia in Dodſley's Miſcellanies; [210] which came very ſeaſonably, conſidering how I had been mortified by the firſt ſight of what was done. To ſpeak the truth, there are many things appear there very contrary to my intenti⯑ons; but which I am more deſirous may be at⯑tributed to the unſeaſonableneſs of my fever, than to my friend D—'s precipitation. My purpoſe was to acknowledge as mine, none of the pieces which now follow the longer Ode to La⯑dy Luxborough. Her name was actually eraſed; as alſo my own at the cloſe of your Fable. The verſes by Mrs. Bennet to Mr. Richardſon were abſolutely new to me; were my name occurs again. All this is againſt me; as a thing in itſelf invidious to have one's name recur ſo often, and as my own lines contradict the merit which my friends ſo liberally allow me.—The verſes of mine in the ſixth volume (which was printed be⯑fore the fifth) were printed without my know⯑ledge; and when I ſent up an improved copy, it arrived a good deal too late. As things hap⯑pen, I am made to own ſeveral things of inferior merit to thoſe which I do not own—All this is againſt me; but my thoughts are avocated from this edition, and wholly fixed upon a future; wherein, I hope, Dodſley will be prevailed upon to omit ſome things alſo from other hands which diſcredit his collection: and, to balance all my diſcomforts on this head, the world will know that I am eſteemed by a perſon, whom I eſteem ſo much as you.—I know not how it happens, but the taſte for humorous poetry does not prevail at this time: yet I cannot agree with Mr. J. Warton, that it is no poetry at all, any more than that a good repreſentation of Dutch boors is not a picture.—His brother, the Pro⯑feſſor, is to be here with his pupil Lord Done⯑gal, &c. this ſummer.—Mr. Spence and Mr. Dodſley will ſtay a day or two here this month in their way to Scotland; and Mr. Home, the [211] author of Douglas, &c. called on me and we ſpent an evening together at Admiral Smith's. Thus my ferme ornée procures me interviews with perſons whom it might otherwiſe be my wiſh, rather than my good fortune to ſee. Would to God, it could attract you, whom I more long to ſee than any one! and let me tell you, there were conſiderable additions made to it laſt year: Dodſley's preſent of Faunus; a new Gothic-building, or rather a ſkreen, which coſt ten pounds; and the ruins of a Priory, which, however, make a tenant's houſe, that pays me tolerable poundage.—I am growing a little into your taſte, why ſhould not you ad⯑vance farther into mine? I mean, I have a love for medals, by means of ſome that have been given me: yet do not think that I ſhall ever ri⯑val. you.—My object is only beauty, and I love only thoſe of exquiſite workmanſhip: ſo that this is no more a rivalſhip than that of two per⯑ſons who admire the ſex, but love different individuals; a rivalſhip, which, I truſt, is more likely to cement our friendſhip than diſunite us; which it is my conviction and my comfort no ſort of rivalſhip will ever do. I have hardly room to expreſs my good wiſhes for long health and happineſs to Mrs. Graves and your little family, and to ſubſcribe myſelf, my dear friend,

XCII. On the ſame.

IT gives me great anxiety when I reflect how long I have waited for the ſatisfaction of a line from you. I beg, if you are alive and well, you will let me know ſo by the next poſt.

Mr. Dodſley and Mr. Spence have been here and ſtayed a week with me. The former was in certain hopes of ſeeing you in town; but I do not find that he either ſaw or heard from you, which adds to my anxiety.

I have ſeen few whom I liked ſo much, upon ſo little acquaintance, as Mr. Spence; extreme⯑ly polite, friendly, chearful, and maſter of an infinite fund of ſubjects for agreeable converſa⯑tion. Had my affairs permitted me, they had certainly drawn me with them into Scotland; whither they are gone, for about a month, upon a journey of curioſity.

I believe it will give you pleaſure to hear that my law-ſuit with D— is accommodated, by the generous interpoſition of my Lord Stamford; concerning whoſe benevolence and magnanimity it is impoſſible for me to ſpeak in the terms which they deſerve. It is ended, I hope, not very diſadvantageouſly for me; apparently with one advantage, of being intirely exculpated in the opinion of all mankind. The common me⯑thod (as M. Bruyere obſerves) is to condemn both on theſe occaſions.—This ſuits people's in⯑dolence, and favours their impartiality.—And though the equitableneſs of my whole conduct in this affair was ſelf-evident to all that were near me, yet I found many that were inclined to blame us both, and ſome that I could never convince till now that the fault was not wholly mine.

[213]Your ‘"Pepper-box and Salt-ſeller"’ are in one of the Chronicles.—They pillage Dodſley's two laſt volumes of all that is worth peruſal.—I ſurely have ſome friend amongſt the writers of the Monthly Review; for I have not only eſcaped a flogging, but am treated with great civility.

I never know how to leave off, when I begin writing to you, having always a great deal to ſay. I only purpoſed you a few lines, to deſire you would write directly. Pray make my beſt compliments to Mrs. Graves, and believe me ever yours moſt invariably.

XCIII. To the ſame, containing an Account of his Excurſions and Amuſements.

I HAVE had daily expectations of a line from you theſe two months; conſcious, how⯑ever, that I did not deſerve any; and affording a manifeſt inſtance of of the infatuations of ſelf-love. The laſt letter that I received of yours is dated the cloſe of July, ſince which time I have been chiefly engaged in my cuſtomary amuſe⯑ments; embelliſhing my farm, and receiving the company that came to ſee it. My principal ex⯑curſions have been to Enville, on Lord Grey's birth-day; to Lord Ward's, upon another invi⯑tation; and to the Worceſter Muſic-meeting. I need not mention what an appearance there was of company at Worceſter; dazzling enough, you may ſuppoſe, to a perſon who, like me, has not ſeen a public place theſe ten years. Yet I made a ſhift to enjoy the ſplendour, as well as [214] the muſic that was prepared for us. I preſume, nothing in the way of harmony can paſſibly go further than the Oratoria of The Meſſiah. It ſeems the beſt compoſer's beſt compoſition. Yet I fancied I could obſerve ſome parts in it, where⯑in Handel's judgment failed him; where the muſic was not equal, or was even oppoſite, to what the words required. Very many of the nobleſſe, whom I had ſeen at The Leaſowes, were as complaiſant to me as poſſible; whereas it was my former fate, in public places, to be as little regarded as a journeyman ſhoe-maker.—There I firſt ſaw our preſent Biſhop; alſo our late Biſhop's monument, which is fine.—Laſtly, there I firſt ſaw my Lady Coventry; to whom, I believe, one muſt allow all that the world al⯑lows in point of beauty.—She is certainly the moſt unexceptionable figure of a woman I ever ſaw; and made moſt of the ladies there ſeem of almoſt another ſpecies. On the whole, I was not a little pleaſed that I had made this excur⯑ſion; and returned with double reliſh to the en⯑joyment of my farm. It is now high time to take ſome notice of your obliging letter.—I think I was not told the purport of the journey you made to London; ſo can only ſay, I am very ſorry for the aggravating circumſtances of your diſap⯑pointment; and hope, long before this time, that Mrs. Graves is quite recovered.—Did I for⯑get to make your excuſes to Dodſley or no?—he was here (as I remember) ſoon after, with Mr. Spence, in their way to Scotland.—Mr. Spence, the man you would like, and who would like you of all mankind. He took my Elegies into Scot⯑land, and ſent them back on his return, with a ſheet or two of criticiſms, and an handſome let⯑ter.—How much am I intereſted in the preſer⯑vation of his friendſhip;—and yet ſuch is my deſtiny (for I can give it no other name.) I have never wrote to him ſince. This impartiality of [215] my neglect, you muſt accept yourſelf as ſome apo⯑logy: but to proceed; Mr. Spence choſe him⯑ſelf an oak here for a ſeat, which I have inſcri⯑bed to him, ‘(SPENCE'S OAK.)
EXIMIO. NOSTRO. CRITONI.
CVI. DICARI. ^* VELLET.
MVSARVM. OMNIVM. ET. CRATIAVM. CHORVS.
DICAT. AMICITIA.’

I abſolutely forgot to talk to Dodſley about your —, and I am vexed; becauſe I could, with a ſafe conſcience, have raiſed his idea of your abilities.—However, it is not too late, even if you care to publiſh it this winter—His play comes on (I fancy, this very night) at Co⯑vent-garden. What he ſays in behalf of this ſtep is, that there was no glimpſe of probability, that Garrick would ever admit it at the other houſe^†.—Mrs. Bellamy is his Cleone, and ſpeaks the epilogue, of which more anon. I ſuppoſe he acts by Lord Cheſterfield's opinion: for I know, when he was going to print it (ſince he came home) with a proper dedication to Mr. Garrick, my Lord then prevented him, telling him, it would be acted one day or other.—Did I ever ſend you a copy of the epilogue, with all the additions and alterations? Dodſ⯑ley firſt liked, then diſliked it, and laſtly liked it again; only deſiring me to ſoften the ſatire, ſhorten the whole (for it was upwards of ſixty lines,) and add a complimentary cloſe to the boxes.—All this I have endeavoured, and ſent it him laſt Monday.—You would not care to own it: and he would fain have me; but I think [216] neither of us ſhould run the riſque, where ſo little honour is to be acquired; yet Mr. Mel⯑moth's name to the prologue is an inducement.—I was very near ſurprizing you at Claverton this autumn, with my friend young Knight, in his way to Mr. Bamfylde's; but he goes again in ſpring, and I ſhall certainly accompany him; I have beſpoke, but not yet procured any, horſes for my chaiſe. It is a neat one, you will find; and I have made two or three excurſions in it.—I ſaw Mr. Patchen's Topographical Letters ſoon after they were publiſhed.—It you continue to me the honour of a ſhield in your Gothic al⯑cove, the field ſhould be either ‘"Or, three King-fiſhers proper,"’ or with the addition of a chief gules, three trefoils argent—no bar, cheve⯑ron bend, &c.—More of this when I write again.—Motto FLVMNINA AMEM, SYLVASQUE IN⯑GLORIVS—RVRA MIHI.

I cannot recollect my company of the ſeaſon, to tell it you.—Sir Francis Daſhwood, Lord Litchfield, and Mr. Sheldon, were here together in the beginning of the autumn; and I have ſtrong invitations to viſit them.—I have a very genteel letter from Sir Francis, offering me gold⯑fiſhes; and I have a double inducement to viſit Mr. Sheldon, as he lives near Mickleton, and is the moſt agreeable man alive.—Your acquaint⯑ance Lord W— dined and ſpent good part of a day with me.—Under a ſort of gloomy appear⯑ance, a man of admirable ſenſe and ſome hu⯑mour.—I put him in mind of you, and the re⯑markable monument at Cambden.—Mr. Thomas Warton was alſo here with Lord Donegal, and has ſince ſent me his ‘"Inſcriptions,"’ which are rather too ſimple, even for my taſte.—Biſhop of Worceſter with his family and company—Lord Willoughby—Lord Foley.—I mention Lord Fo⯑ley the rather, becauſe I ſhall call on your friend Dr. Charleton (who was alſo here) to paſs a [217] day or two with me at Whitley.—I ſhall paſs alſo a day or two at our Biſhop's, whom I met ſince at Enville. Theſe two (propoſe what I will beſides) will probably be the principal, or only excur⯑ſions that I ſhall make this winter.—God ſend it may no more affect my health than it has hither⯑to done.—I am at preſent tolerably well, and live more temperately than before.—Would to God you could come over; go with me to Dr. Charleton's, and Lord Foley's, and Lord Stam⯑ford's, and paſs a week here! I would meet you with my chaiſe at Worceſter, or even farther. I have finiſhed a building oppoſite to the new ſta⯑ble, which I think you ſaw.—They together give my houſe a degree of ſplendour. Did you ſee my priory?—a tenant's houſe, one room whereof is to have Gothic ſhields round the cornice.—I am in ſome doubt whether to make it an Houſe of Lords or Houſe of Commons; if the former, my private friends will have ſhields round my Gothic bed-chrmber.—The wretch is curſed that begins a letter with no better a pen than I finiſh one with. My dear friend, write directly a long letter.—Keep me alive in the memory of Mr. Graves, and believe me ever yours moſt affecti⯑onately,

XCIV. To the ſame, in Expectation of a Viſit.

THERE can be nothing more welcome to me than the intelligence which you give of your intended viſit at The Leaſowes. God knows how few of theſe interviews may for the future be allotted to us; and I ſhould be glad at leaſt [218] to teſtify the joy which they afford me, by meet⯑ing you at Birmingham, or elſewhere within one day's journey for my chaiſe—Pray be ſo good as to give me one more letter before you ſet out.—Very glad ſhould I be to pay my reſpects to your brother at Mickleton, for whom I have the trueſt reſpect; but dare not give encouragement, for fear that aught ſhould interfere.—I have ten thouſand things to ſay to you; but will defer them, I think, all. I am poſitive your — may be made advantageous to you by means of Dodſley; and even reputable, if you ſo pleaſe.—Will not Mrs. G— accompany you? pray con⯑vince her of my ſincere regard.

I want to congratulate you on your eſcape from the ſmall-pox, in a manner different from your ordinary acquaintance; yet am not able to ex⯑preſs my ſentiments—gueſs the reſt; knowing, and ſufficiently knowing that I am, with conſtan⯑cy and ardour, your moſt affectionate friend,

XCV. To Mr. JAGO.

IF you knew the maxims on which I conduct myſelf, you might call me perhaps unpolite; but, I think, by no means unfriendly; I mean with reſpect to the ordinary congratulations on your marriage. Were you and I leſs intimate, leſs ex⯑perienced, and leſs aſſured friends, it had been no venial omiſſion to have neglected ſuch a ce⯑remony. Perhaps I ſhould not have neglected it; but as I have the ſatisfaction of believing that you would rejoice in any ſucceſs of mine, [219] ſo I hope you would not diſtruſt my ſentiments upon any change of your condition which you yourſelf eſteemed for the better. I do indeed, my worthy friend, wiſh you much joy, both now, and at all times; and you will ever diſcern it in my face, as often as fortune grants us an inter⯑view.—Mr. S— is a benevolent man, and I am ſure would with-hold no information that tended to illuſtrate our friendſhip on either ſide.

I have thoughts of proceeding on to Harbury, whenever I come to Mr. Wren's: as I have long enough made my friend a promiſe; and intend ere long to do. Many reaſons occur why I cannot ſet forward to-morrow morning: are theſe rea⯑ſons ſubſtantial, or no other than the ſly and ſophiſtical inſinuations of indolence?—ſurely the former.

Dodſley, and indeed Mr. Spence, both expect me in town this February.—I fear it will not be; but if it ſhould, how readily would I give notice, and become obliged to you for your company.

Though I ſhould have expected you would ſelect a partner whoſe ſociety you could enjoy, yet I was not a little ſatisfied with the hint given me in your letter, as well as in one I had before re⯑ceived from Mr. S—. It is not for ſuch ladies as you and I eſteem, that Mrs. ^* Bellamy's ex⯑traordinary lecture was intended; and a lecture it would have been with a vengeance, had not D— omitted ſome thirty lines, and ſubſtituted about twelve or fourteen of his own. However, he is now going to print his fourth edition of it; in which the original epilogue will be reſtored, as well as conſiderable improvements introduc⯑ed into his play. He ſold two thouſand of his firſt edition, the very firſt day he publiſhed it.

I have ſo much to tell you, and of ſo various kinds that I am afraid to expatiate upon any one article. Cannot you make a ſhift to call upon [220] me, before my public life arrives?—I would ſend my chaiſe to meet you at any place you ſhould appoint.

I have paſſed my winter hitherto pretty chear⯑fully amongſt my books, in what I call my libra⯑ry. It now better deſerves that name, by the form I have given it, and the volumes I have ad⯑ded.—Mr. S— would tell you ſomething of my other occupations.

I could wiſh that you would favour me with a copy of your Eſſay on Electricity, and with any new copy of verſes of your own, or of your friends.—Be not apprehenſive: there ſhall no⯑thing more appear in print of your compoſition, without your explicit conſent.—And yet I have thoughts of amuſing myſelf with the publication of a ſmall Miſcellany from neighbour Baſker⯑ville's preſs, if I can ſave myſelf harmleſs as to expence.—I purpoſe it no larger than a ‘"Lanſ⯑down's," a "Philips's," or a "Pomfret's Poems."’

Have you read my friend Dr. Grainger's Tibul⯑lus?—It affords you an elegant edition of a good tranſlation and of the text. He is engaged in a war with S—, and has juſt ſent me his pamphlet; which I could wiſh you to read, in order to form a judgement of S—'s character. Spence, I ſee, has advertiſed his ‘"Parallel be⯑twixt Malliabecqui and his Taylor."’ It is mere⯑ly a charitable deſign: and ſuch are now all Spence's views.

What remains of my paper muſt be employed not in mere ceremony, although in ſomething that bears the form of it: in my beſt compliments to Mrs. Jago, and my offer, not indeed of a part of the friendſhip which I owe you, but rather of an equal quantity: in an aſſurance of the cordiality with which I ſhall rejoice to ſee both her and you; and in confirmation of that affection with [221] which I have ever been, and am, my good friend, your moſ obedient ſervant,

XCVI. To Mr. GRAVES, on their ſeveral Situations and Compoſitions.

YOU will think my ſilence long; and I ſhould be ſorry to have you quite regard⯑leſs of it; although, I fear, it muſt be my fate to treſpaſs frequently upon your kind ſolicitude.—I have no excuſe to make, beſides ſome frivolous avocations, and much of that heavineſs and laſſi⯑tude which diſinclines one to write letters.—I paſſed the former part of winter with more vi⯑vacity than I did the latter, or even the incipient ſpring; owing, poſſibly, to theſe cold winds, which will not permit me to uſe my wonted exerciſe. You will laugh at the word vivacity, when applied to ſo dull an animal; but I ſpeak comparatively of that unmeaning drowſineſs which is my lot at other times, and was, in ſome ſort, while you were here.

Mr. Dodſley tells me, he received a letter from you, acquainting him that Cleone would be played at Bath: I ſhould be glad to receive from you any particulars of its ſucceſs. He is publiſh⯑ing an elegant edition of it, which I expect by this very poſt. The new plate of my grove, which will appear at the end of his Melpomene, is perhaps liable to ſome exceptions; but, by much, the beſt that has yet appeared. Do not forget to ſend me your objections to it. As to [222] the epilogue, I have totally baniſhed, I think, every one of the lines which he ſubſtituted; have left to him the choice of two or three readings for the four laſt lines; and though none of them quite pleaſe me, yet the epilogue, on the whole, diſcovers more of genius, is more ſpirited, and leſs inaccurate. I ſhall be glad to find that you think the ſame with me.

In regard to your place, ſo far as I can form an idea of it, I would have you conſult ſelf-amuſe⯑ment; I mean, without too much regard to what others ſay or think. As to diſtinguiſhing your ingenuity (which I unfeignedly deſire you may) the preſs affords you more adequate materials than either your fortune or, perhaps, your place. Do not imagine, however, that I ſhall not be much delighted with every ſtroke I trace of yours at Claverton. My faculties are very ſtrongly in⯑tuitive in reſpect of every thing belonging to you: and I ſhould be aſhamed if any nook or angle that you had rounded; any wall that you had ruina⯑ted; any ſtream that you had diverted; or any ſingle ſhrub that you had planted; ſhould elude my diſcovery: yet you will ſhine more by means of the preſs; and if I ſaid any thing concerning your —, that did not encourage you to perfect it, I am ſure, I muſt uſe terms very inexpreſſive of my meaning. Without any more words, let me intreat you to proceed with it; give a full ſcope to your imagination; and if there ſhould be aught one would wiſh retrenched, it is mighty eaſily done.

I have indeed thoughts (for I never uſe the word reſolutions) of publiſhing my Elegies next winter;—you will gainſay, when I tell you my intention of publiſhing alſo my very farm; at leaſt, about eight or ten ſcenes taken from it, by way of top⯑and tail-pieces for thoſe elegies.—The world will perhaps tax my vanity; but I do not in the leaſt [223] care.—The pleaſure which that world gives me, I am very conſcious, will not be too high; and I am determined that the pain it may ſeek to give ſhall bear proportion: yet ſhould I be ſorry to obtrude ſtuff upon it, either from the pencil or the pen; and my good friend Mr. Dodſley has ſometimes pained me, not a little.

I tell you, you cannot allow for winter.—That very ſcene near Priory-gate ſhews not a bit of road in ſummer; though the conſciouſneſs of a firm rail there would add to my own tranquilli⯑ty—Mr. Knight has given me Strange's prints, which, I hear, are fine. Dodſley gives me ſwans; but for theſe two months paſt I have been a librarian, or rather a bookbinder; yet nothing more unfeignedly, than yours and Mrs. Graves's moſt affectionate humble ſervant,

XCVII. To the ſame, on Fables, Mottoes, Urns, Inſcriptions, &c.

DEPEND upon it, I ſhall ſee Claverton before winter.—The miſchief is, that, with as violent a propenſity as ever perſon felt, I ſhall not be able to reach your hemiſphere, while Mr. Spence, Mr. Dodſley, and Mr. Whitehead give it ſuch peculiar luſtre, in my eyes. This I did not deſpair of doing at the time Mr. Dodſley left me at Birmingham. It turned upon an event, which I did not indeed explain to him, the accommodation of the affair with D—; which concerns near one half of my little fortune, and which, if I have any luck on my ſide, muſt [224] now be perfected within a fortnight. I was ſhewn the rough ſketch of our conveyances laſt Saturday.—Once for all, my indolence is not in fault; my health and my worldly embarraſſments have often been ſo, and at preſent are. ‘"Pol me miſerum, patrone, vocares, ſi verum, &c."’

Dodſley, to give his book eclat, ſhould allow himſelf time to abridge and poliſh. It is not enough in my opinion, merely to ſurpaſs L'Eſ⯑trange and Croxall. The grand exception to Fables conſiſts in giving ſpeech to animals, &c. a greater violation of truth than appears in any other kind of writing! This objection is inſur⯑mountable. Their peculiar advantage is to re⯑move the offenſiveneſs of advice; in order to which, one ſhould perhaps purſue a medium betwixt the ſuperfluous garniture of La Fontaine, &c. and the naked ſimplicity and laconiſm of Phaedrus. In reſpect of his own new-invented Fables, I wiſh him to deviſe uncommon ſubjects, and to inculcate refined morals. But pray ſend me your two directly, which will anſwer all that I expect in Fables.

Did Mr. Dodſley tell you of the ſeat in my ſhrubbery which I had taken the freedom to in⯑ſcribe to you? I could not ſatisfy myſelf in an inſcription; and, from a kind of ſpleen and averſion to delay, made uſe of the ſhorteſt that I could deviſe. The ſeat and ſcroll are elegant. The inſcription, only, ‘AMICITIAE ET MERITIS
RICHARDI GRAVES.
—IPSAE TE, TITYRE, PINVS, IPSI TE FONTES, &c. VOCABVNT.’

I will not be ſo affected as to pretend that the much greater compliment you deſign me is more offenſive to my modeſty than it is pleaſing to my [225] friendſhip. I wiſh however it could be a little ſhortened. The ‘"inter hortenſis elegantiae ſtu⯑dioſos"’ ſeems a little too verboſe for inſcription. Beſide, I had rather the compliment were not thrown with ſo much emphaſis upon any ſkill I have in gardening; but in ſome ſort divided be⯑twixt that and poetry, if you perceive no great objection; ſuppoſe, ‘AMICITIAE G. S.
QVI
NAIADAS PARITER AC MVSAS
EXCOLENDO
SIMVL ET VILLAM EIVS ELEGANTISSIMAM
NOMENQVE SVVM
ILLVSTRAVIT.’ or, ‘AMICITIAE G. S.
QVI,
NAIDAS PARITER AC MVSAS
FELICITER EXCOLENDO,
SIMVL ET PATERNA RVRA
NOMENQVE EIVS
ILLVSTRAVIT,
ET NOMINI SVO
NON EXIGVVM DECVS
ADDIDIT.’ ‘AMICITIAE G. S.
QVI
BENIGNAS PARITER EXPERTVS EST
NAIADAS ET MVSAS.’ or, ‘CVIVS VOTIS
FAVERVNT PARITER NAIADESQVE, &c.’ [226] A motto,

‘"Illuſtravit"’ ſeems an happy word here, if it do not ſay our too much of nobility: villa, I pre⯑ſume, implies no more than a country manſion-houſe.—But I leave the whole to your diſcretion.

Now you ſpeak of our Arcadias, pray, did you ever ſee a print or drawing of Pouſſin's Ar⯑cadia? The idea of it is ſo very pleaſing to me, that I had no peace till I had uſed the inſcription on one ſide of Miſs Dolman's urn, ‘"Et in Ar⯑cadia Ego."’ Mr. Anſon has the two ſhepherds with the monument and inſcription in alto re⯑lievo at Shugborough.—Mr. Dodſley will bor⯑row me a drawing of it from Mr. Spence. See it deſcribed, vol. 1. page 53. of the Abbé du Bos. ſur la poeſie et la peinture.

Tell Mr. Dodſley, if he be yet at Bath, that Mr. Cambridge called and dined with me; an⯑ſwering preciſely to the idea which I had con⯑ceived of him from Mr. D—'s account.—I wiſh to God he may have brought you acquainted with Mr. Spence; to whom you are, in my eſ⯑timation, the moſt like of any one I know. Is Mr. Spence yet at Bath? Mr. D— is gone, or going. Either he or the former told me that ^* anecdote of Pope and the Prince of Wales long ago. Pray read Madame De Sevigne's Letters;—they have amuſed me much of late. I hope, within a poſt, to ſend you a neat plan of my [227] farm, &c. the ſame to Mr. Spence by your means, if he be at Bath. Do you hear who is to be Biſhop of Worceſter? Give me the earlieſt intelligence you can gather.—The late Biſhop viſited me laſt year; and intended, I hear, to have done ſo this. I wiſh we may have another as obliging and polite as I always found his late Lordſhip.

I want to incloſe ſome little engravings, &c. to you, but muſt wait till I can get a frank. Write directly, for this once, I beg you, though you prove dilatory another time. Of all books whatever, read Burke (ſecond edit.) ‘"Of the Sublime and Beautiful;"’ and of all points whatever, believe that I am, with my beſt good wiſhes to Mrs. Graves, dear Sir, ever your moſt affectionate and invariable friend,

‘"DI MEMORIA NVDRISSI PIV QVE DI SPEME."’ How do you like this motto for an urn?

My beſt compliments to Mr. Spence and Mr. Dodſley, if at Bath. I will write ſoon to each of them—your garden is as pretty as you can make it.

XCVIII. To the ſame.

I WANT no conviction of the pleaſure which you will receive from the termination of my infernal lawſuit. It muſt, if I have any luck, be finally adjuſted in about nine days time; after having robbed me of my peace for [228] ſix of the beſt years of my life. During the for⯑mer part of life, I languiſhed for an acquaintance ſomewhat more extenſive; and when the com⯑pany that flocked to ſee my place removed all grounds of that complaint, this accurſed diſpute aroſe, and mixed with every enjoyment that was offered me.—I have ſometimes found entertain⯑ment in balancing the good and evil that has been allotted me in general; and have in the end imagined the good prevalent, and that I have great reaſon to be thankful for more happineſs than I deſerve.—Yet are there many awkward circumſtances that forbid the ſcale to fall precipi⯑tately; among the chief, I place the diſtance to which I ſee you and one or two others removed. This is indeed an heavy article, and, were it not for letters, would be inſupportable.

As to Mr. Dodſley's collection of Fables, you are miſtaken if you think that I peruſed the quar⯑to book. I dipped into it here and there, and thought there wanted much alteration. There was a little book with a paper-cover, on which I beſtowed no ſmall pains; and when I had ſo done, croſſed the Fables which I thought might well enough paſs muſter. Addiſon would have been the beſt writer of Fables of any author I know—the purity of ſtyle—the conciſeneſs—the dry humour—and the familiar manner.—As to Dodſley's publiſhing this winter, he may poſſibly do ſo, without loſs of credit; but when one con⯑ſiders that they are, or ought to be, the ſtandard for years to come, one can hardly avoid wiſhing him to give them the poliſh of another ſummer. 'Twas fortunate that you pitched upon ‘"The Raven and Magpie"’ to tranſcribe for me; as Mr. Dodſley had ſent me ‘"The Sun-flower and the Tuberoſe"’ before. I think the laſt ſomewhat inferior, but will re-conſider it before I write again. The Fable which I literally tranſlated [229] from Phaedrus was ‘"The Wolf and the Crane,"’ in order to give Dodſley an idea on what Rollin laid the ſtreſs in Fables.

As to the inſcription, I will endeavour to ad⯑juſt it to your mind— ‘"Meritiſque reconditiori⯑bus"’ may do, but is not explicit enough. I want fully to expreſs a character that ſhines remarka⯑bly among ſelect acquaintance, and yet (through extreme refinement) makes leſs figure in the pub⯑lic eye.

I had made the ſame objection to Burke's chapter upon words—and yet there ſeems to be ſomething right in it. Du Bos (which I have only ſeen in French, but which I believe is alſo tranſlated) conſiſts of three volumes, 12mo. His ſubjects are pleaſing, and his knowledge may be entertaining; but his genius ſeems not very pro⯑found, from the little that I have conſulted in him.

Dodſley is preciſely what you ſay of him; an object of eſteem and love, and in ſome degree of admiration. His ear does not wholly pleaſe me in writing, and yet he is intimately affected with muſick.—Lord L—'s ear is perhaps the reverſe. I mean, he does not much regard muſic, yet writes harmoniouſly in verſe and proſe.

Robertſon I think to buy—Butler alſo, though I ſhall not admire him—Lord Clarendon, when I am rich—Raſſelas has a few refined ſentiments thinly ſcattered, but is upon the whole below Mr. J—. Did I tell you I had a letter from Johnſon, incloſing Vernon's Pariſh-clerk? Pray take Dodſley's advice in regard to your —; and heighten the ridiculouſneſs of your heroe, which his kind of lunacy will countenance, yet admit him to ſay good things.—But do not make any alteration in the narrative of your own ſto⯑ry—at leaſt, till I have again peruſed it—Do not ſpurn this fifty pounds. It will procure you [230] numerous conveniences, which you would per⯑haps otherwiſe deny yourſelf.

I have paſſed four or five days, betwixt this week and laſt, at my Lord Ward's at Hinley.—This has furniſhed me with franks, beſide the conſolation I derive from having paid a viſit of this kind. It is ‘"ſpinis è pluribus una ſaltem ex⯑empta."’ The reſtraint renders them ſpinae. I hope I may ſay ſo without umbrage, or giving an appearance of diſreſpect. For Mr. W— is an agreeable man, and my reception was very polite.

I have three or four more of theſe ſuperb vi⯑ſits to make, and which I may not omit without giving real offence. To Lord Plymouth, next week; Lord Stamford's, the week after; then to Lord Lyttelton, at our Admiral's; and then to Lord Foley, if your friend Dr. Charleton will accompany me; then, &c. alas! alas! ‘"Quid me exempta juvat ſpina?"’ I muſt conclude upon a ſeparate paper. That your expectation may not deceive you in regard to the plan I promiſed, I incloſe a ſurvey of my farm reduced to minia⯑ture by a neighbouring artiſt. Let me know if it bring the place to your memory—I think to have a plate (which may be done at Birmingham for ſix or eight ſhillings) that ſhall leave me no trouble but to tinge the impreſſions with colours; in order to give my friends. But do you adviſe me to engrave this, or another that is twice as large?

I have purchaſed ‘"Gerard upon Taſte,"’ the author of which is a Profeſſor at Edinburgh, and the book commended in the Review—you will ſay that the Reviewers are partial to Scotch-peo⯑ple—I know nothing of that, but the book is learned, and on a pleaſing ſubject—I may per⯑haps add a ver important one—for ſurely it is altogether unqueſtionable that taſte naturally leads [231] to virtue. I am however in ſome doubt whe⯑ther it will give you that amuſement which Burke's has done.—I muſt now take my leave, having engagements of a different kind; but not till I have deſired my hearty reſpects to Mrs. Graves, and her acceptance of this ‘"Grove and King-fiſher."’ I am, dear Mr. Graves, ever and moſt entirely, your very affectionate,

XCIX. To the ſame, on his Want of Leiſure.

THOUGH I write to you again ſo ſoon, yet it really grieves me to hear the com⯑plaint which you ſo often make for want of time. I, who have time to waſte by luſtres, cannot have patience with the world, that ſuffers you to want the leiſure which you would employ to ſo much better purpoſes. Perhaps however, you are as happy as more leiſure could make you; the caſe is not ſo clear, as to leave me ſatisfied of the con⯑trary. And yet, as the pleaſures of imagination have an undoubted claim to a real exiſtence, they muſt ſurely afford very lively ſenſations to perſons of your ſenſibility and refinement.—Be this as it may, I will always murmur, that you can ſo ill ſpare time for literary amuſement.—Never⯑theleſs, make one effort, and finiſh the taſk you have now before you. I muſt confeſs, you may naturally reply, that I am now become an inte⯑reſted perſon; but this, I am ſure, will be no check to your activity.

Mr. William Duncombe ſent (with the firſt volume of Horace) one of the ſatires in Mſ. [230] [...] [231] [...] [232] inſcribed to me. Upon purchaſing, however, the ſecond volume, I find my name is changed to Hawkeſworth.—Who knows but I loſt this com⯑pliment by writing to you, my friend, while I ſhould have been writing to him?—if ſo, indeed, you ought to make it up to me; and I am ſure I ſhall prize your compliment beyond that of which I have been deprived.

The view of B—, which you mention, I have indeed ſeen a long time ago; but ſurely the wa⯑ter-fall is quite deteſtable. There is ſomething on each ſide, as I remember, that puts one in mind of a porridge-pot boiling over beneath the pot-lid. The appearance of the houſe and the back-ground is better; this was adjuſted by the painter; the other (as I think Smith told me) by an old houſe-ſteward of Lord T—'s.

I have incloſed another copy of the lines to Venus, for your emendation.—Thank you for the ſtanza you introduced.—I meant, indeed, before, to allude to natural beauty more than mo⯑ral; but did not fully enough expreſs myſelf. There remains no tranſition now but from animal beauty to inanimate; which is eaſier.

You will obſerve, that I take great liberties with the Fables you aſk me to reviſe.—Dodſley muſt think me very fantaſtical or worſe, while I was correcting thoſe he wrote at The Leaſowes.—I find my ear much more apt to take offence than moſt other people's; and, as his is far leſs delicate than mine, he muſt of courſe believe, in many places, that I altered merely for alte⯑ration's ſake. I cannot be eaſy without ſome certain proportion betwixt one ſentence and ano⯑ther; betwixt one member of a ſentence and ano⯑ther; without a melody at the cloſe of a paragraph almoſt as agreeable as your ‘"magnificent ſalon."’

I have not written to Dodſley any decent let⯑ter ſince he arrived at his houſe in London.—[233] I muſt now apply myſelf to write half a ſcore Fables, and, if he chuſes it, a tranſlation of La Motte's Diſcourſe upon the ſubject.—Your reply in regard to the delay of my publication cannot be anſwered; that is certain.

Whitefield's Journal, I fear, is purged of its moſt ridiculous paſſages.—Dodſley brought one down hither for Mr. Deane to ſhew my Lord D—th; but he tells me, there remains nothing of that groſs abſurdity which I ſaw in your bro⯑ther's at Mickleton.

The painter whom I juſt mentioned to have taken ſome portraits through my recommendati⯑on, and to have painted a ruin for my green⯑room, offers to give me my picture if I chuſe to ſit.—Were you here to lend me your aſſiſtance, I ſhould certainly comply.—Mean while, tell me what you think of ſome of the attitudes that I incloſe. What I myſelf prefer at preſent is, to leſſen my dimenſions (which of itſelf gives a kind of beauty) and to appear in a kind of night-gown agreeable to the attitude marked AA. The man evidently hits off likeneſſes, and is eſteemed to ſhine among the painters of Birmingham. I ſhall be forced to have you picture copied by him, which, by means of dampneſs, flies off the canvas; ſo that, on the whole, I ſhall re pay his compliment.—This laſt article puts me in mind that I owe you my picture, whenever you de⯑mand it; but I would chuſe to defer it till the ſpring, for ſome certain reaſons regarding oecono⯑my. Remember me always to good Mrs. —; and believe me yours, with all poſſible affection,

C. To the ſame, with an Account of a Deſign for his own Picture.

WERE I to regulate my compliments by the arrival of times and ſeaſons, I ſhould congratulate you upon a correſpondence which now enters upon its three and twentieth year.—Our frienſhip is of ſomething older date; and is not this an atchievement that deſerves the honour of a triumph both for you and me too?—More, I am ſure, than the regular deſtruction of fifteen or twenty thouſand wretches in the field; conſider⯑ing how uncommon we find friendſhips of ſo long a duration, and how cheap we find ſuch victories, not only on the Pruſſian, but on the Auſtrian ſide.

Mr. Cambridge (Scriblerus) who called here this autumn, was conſidering this maſſacre rather in a philoſophical than political view; and, in⯑deed, it does not appear to me that plague, earthquake, or famine, are more pernicious to the human race, than what the world calls Heroes; but enough of this.

Your want of leiſure gives me pain; ſurely, if I may gueſs by one or two of your laſt letters, you have enlarged the number of your ſcholars, and extended your domeſtic cares, beyond what your circumſtances require.

You muſt not judge of my painter's abilities by the ſmall ſketch I incloſe.—I deſired him to give me a ſlight one; and have, perhaps, ruined even that by endeavouring to bring it nearer to what the picture now is myſelf. It will give you a tolerable idea in the moſt points, except the Pan, which has his face turned towards the [235] front; and is not near ſo conſiderable.—I choſe to have this term introduced, not only as he car⯑ries my favourite reeds, but as he is the princi⯑pal ſylvan deity.—The Water-nymph below has the word ‘"Stour"’ on the mouth of her urn; which in ſome ſort, riſes at The Leaſowes. On the ſcroll is, ‘"Flumina amem ſylvaſque inglorius"’ alluding to them both.—The Pan, you will per⯑haps obſerve, hurts the ſimplicity of the picture—not much, as we have managed him; and the intention here is, I think, a balance.

The dog on the other ſide is my faithful Lucy, which you perhaps remember; and who muſt be nearer the body than ſhe perhaps would, if we had more room. However I believe, I ſhall cauſe her head to cut off that little cluſter of angles, where the baluſtrade joins the baſe of the arch. The baluſtrade is an improvement we made the other day: it is, I think, a great one; not only as it gives a ſymmetry or balance to the curtain of which you complained; but as it ex⯑tends the area on which I ſtand, and ſhortens the length of this half-arch. The painter objected to a tree; I know not why; unleſs that we could introduce no ſtem without encroaching too much upon the landſcape: but the reaſon be gave was, it would be an injury to the face.—The con⯑ſole is an Apollo's head. The impoſt does not go further than the pilaſter, which ends the cor⯑ner; and here the drawing is erroneous.—We are, I think, to have a carpet, though we know not well how to manage it.

And now, I muſt tell you the dimenſions.—The figure itſelf is three feet, three inches and a half; the whole picture four feet, eleven inches, by two feet, three inches and three-quarters.—The colour of the gown, a ſea-green; waiſtcoat and breeches, buff-colour; ſtockings, white, or rather pearl-colour; curtain a terra-ſienna, or [236] very rich reddiſh brown.—I think the whole will have a good effect; but beſeech you to ſend me your opinion directly. There are ſome things we can alter; but there are others we muſt not.

Your ſhall have one of the ſize you deſire in the ſpring; but will you not calculate for ſome one place in your room? The painter takes very ſtrong likeneſſes; is young; rather daring than delicate in his manner, though he paints well in enamel; good-natured; ſlovenly; would im⯑prove much by application. Adieu!

CI. To the ſame, on Fable, and other Articles of Taſte and Literature.

I COULD not underſtand, by Mr. Dodſley's laſt letter to me, that he had any ſort of in⯑tention to publiſh his Fables this winter. Pre⯑ſuming upon this delay, and having neither had the leiſure nor the frame of mind fit to take his preface into conſideration, I have hitherto de⯑ferred to do ſo; and can only ſay in general, that I could wiſh you had happened to be more co⯑pious in your obſervations. La Motte's Diſcourſe on Fables is a moſt excellent performance; con⯑taining, as appears to me, all that need be ſaid upon the ſubject, and this expreſſed with all imaginable elegance and perſpicuity. I believe I ſhall adviſe our friend D— to make more am⯑ple uſe of this diſſertation. There is a tranſlati⯑on of La Motte into proſe, which is altogether below contempt; and yet, for aught I know, the [237] only one. The word naive is very probably that for which he has ſubſtituted the word lively; though by no means of ſimilar import. Natural approaches nearer it; but according to La Mot⯑te is not preciſe: and, as the words Naif and Naiveté ſeem of late to become more in vouge, I will here give you an extract of what he ſays upon the ſubject:

[238]And now, let me know what Engliſh word you would employ to interpret Naif. Sentimen⯑tal has ſome pretenſions; but is not wholly to one's mind.

I bought the quarto edition of La Motte's Fables, to which this eſſay is prefixed; though the vaunted cuts which tempted me to this ex⯑travagance did not anſwer my expectation. The author, with much addreſs, begs the Duke of Orleans to be at the expence of them; which, to the beſt of my remembrance, was ‘"deux mille ecus."’

Mr. Hurd, you ſee, is one of Dr. Warburton's Chaplains. I bought his Dialogues Moral and Political, almoſt as ſoon they were publiſhed. Sir Edward Lyttelton told me, the introductory one would be omitted in the next edition. The three following are very ingenious; but the two former are a little ambiguous in regard to his in⯑tended moral: the two laſt are wholly political, and I have not yet peruſed them, though eſteem⯑ed the beſt.

Have you ſeen Dr. Smith's ‘"Theory of Mo⯑ral Sentiments,"’ which is prodigiouſly commend⯑ed, and which I have bought, but not read?—You will ſee an account of this in the Monthly Review.

I have lately been reading one or two volumes of The Rambler; who, excepting againſt ſome few hardneſſes in his manner, ^* and the want of more examples to enliven, is one of the moſt nervous, moſt perſpicuous, moſt conciſe, and moſt harmonious proſe-writers I know.—A learned diction improves by time.

I am ſorry to find no mention of your — in all the letters which I have received of late. Do not think of dropping or even delaying the publi⯑cation of it; only, if you pleaſe, before it goes to [239] the preſs, let me peruſe it once deliberately.—What think you, if Dodſley approve it, of ad⯑mitting cuts into your ſcheme?

And now, from cuts I proceed to pictures. Alcock's portrait of me is in a manner finiſhed; and has been hung up for theſe nine days paſt, in its carved frame, oppoſite to the fire place in my library. They ſay it is a likeneſs, allowing for the diminution of ſize. Indeed, if I can conclude any thing from the ſtrong reſemblance which he has produced of others here, I may form ſome conjecture that he has not failed in mine.—Be this as it will, the picture is, upon the whole a tolerably pleaſing one; and this is the moſt I muſt dare to ſay, conſidering my own perſon makes ſo large a part of it.

What think you of a tawney or reddiſh brown for the robe or night-gown, with black for the waiſtcoat and breeches, reſerving green for the curtain? though green is, with me at leaſt, no very gay colour, nor has it that effect which you apprehended in the drapery. Terra-ſienna is a delightful colour; ſo, I think, is Roman ocre burnt. Let me know then, what objections you have to the drapery juſt now propoſed. Let me know alſo any deſign that you think moſt pleaſ⯑ing for a back-ground; or any ſtory of two or three figures, that would be ſuitable for a relievo.

From pictures I proceed to painters. I believe, Alcock would go and ſettle at Bath, if Amos Green could be induced to join him. Amos Green is the name of the painter whom I recommended to you before my fever. He is eſteemed inferior to no one in England for fruit. He alſo paints flowers, inſects, and dead-game, very well. To this he would adjoin the buſineſs of water-painting. Alcock would paint portraits in oil; and to this he would add enamel-painting: both of them [240] the beſt-natured young fellows in the world. Now ſuppoſe them alſo ingenious, and tell me whether they would have a chance to thrieve?

You ought to have a very conſiderable amends, if you are to be plagued with writing and with muſic-maſters.—I believe I rate your time and trouble at a much higher price than you do yourſelf.

Dr. Blackſtone has raiſed himſelf to a very eminent figure, indeed, in the world of letters. I rejoice at it, without one particle of envy, both as he is your friend, and a perſon of merit. I believe no one, beſides yourſelf, would have dreamt of your odd analogy betwixt him and me.—I know not how they came to inſert that in⯑ſipid Song of mine in the Chronicle.—What ſenſation it cauſed in me, was that of diſappro⯑bation; as it looked like laying ſtreſs on what one knows to be of no importance.

The chief points wherein my picture varies from your drawing is in the corner below the baſe of the pedeſtal; where an antique vaſe is introduced with a flower and two or three leaves of the ſcarlet Geranium. The gilt vaſe agrees well enough with the gold fringe on the edge of the curtain; but the whole is ſo ſubdued, as not to catch the eye too ſtrongly. It was chiefly meant to obviate the diſagreebleneſs of the parallel lines and angles occaſioned by the ſtep in that corner; but it crowds that ſide a little, if one look from top to bottom; and, though a pleaſing object, it is hard to ſay whether it does more good or harm.

It is time now to take my leave, with my hearty reſpects to Mrs. Graves, and with the uſual aſſurance, that I remain your moſt affectio⯑nate and faithful friend,

Do write ſoon.

CII. To the ſame, on his neglecting his Correſ⯑pondence.

I MUST confeſs that I do not altogether find your argument concluſive.—An hurry of bu⯑ſineſs may be neceſſary, and ſomewhat incon⯑ſiſtent with frequent correſpondence; but a ſtate of leiſure, which I wiſhed you, does not imply a courſe of diſſipation; which makes your preſent apology for not writing to me before. And ſo, betwixt buſineſs at one time, and diſſipation at another, I am to be defrauded of a correſpondence that is quite eſſential to my well-being. Pardon me, if, on ſuch occaſion, you find me extremely clear-ſighted in the foibles of my friends; and do not ſay with the man in Horace, ‘"Cur in ami⯑corum vitiis, &c."’ The matter is too important for me to connive at any ſort of ſophiſm.—How⯑ever, to make you eaſy on this head, I am con⯑vinced the letter was owing to you; for which I will draw my apology neither from buſineſs nor diſſipation; and yet how juſtly might I palliate my long ſilence upon either footing! Since I wrote to you, I have been buſied in bringing about a concluſion with D—. The letters, journies, &c. previous and poſterior to the execu⯑tion of articles, would afford me noble matter for excuſe.—The conſtant attendance upon workmen (of which I have fourteen or fifteen this very day,) making a piece of water below my Priory, would produce more on the ſcore of diſſipation—you remember the place.—This, at preſent, is my chief employment, although Al⯑cock is drawing on the ſide of my table.—I wonder you do not get ſome little urns turned, [240] [...] [241] [...] [242] in any ſort of wood, about fourteen or fifteen inches high, and painted on the ſide with figures, in the manner of ſome antique baſſo-relievo. He has done ſomething of this ſort for me. You may, if you ſo pleaſe, have the ground a dark bronze, and the figures a light one. I am of late grown fond of bronze (which you yourſelf may eaſily execute) and I think it always was your taſte.—Dodſley comes hither in about a fortnight, and prints one edition of his Fables by means of Baſkerville's preſs and paper. Mean time, he is to give me his picture done by Reynolds; and to ſend me two bronzed plaiſter urns, of about twelve inches, with baſſo-relievo; and two figures (ditto) of Homer and Virgil (of about twenty-one inches) for two niches in my libra⯑ry The parcel is to be pieced out with Ogilby's Virgil, which I want for the ſake of the land⯑ſcapes.—And now to the particulars of your letter.

I can readily conceive how much greater pleaſure you muſt receive from the retinue of your journey, than an Archbiſhop can from all his equipage; and I can truly aſſure you, I find a pleaſure in every pleaſure you enjoy.

Your room, indeed, will be a noble one; but be ſure remember the ‘"Imploravit opes hominis, fraenumque recepit,"’ and guard againſt it.—To ſpeak my ſentiments, I think you will. I think with you in regard to Triſtram Shandy; ſo does the author of The Monthly Review, you will ſee. I bought Webb inſtantly; but have not read it. Lord Lyttelton is allowedly the author of thoſe Dialogues; whoſe, the very laſt, I do not know. There is a noble ſpecimen of Scotch poetry tranſlated from the Erſe language.—I have had two copies ſent me from Scotland; and, had I two franks, would ſend you one. ‘"Chry⯑ſal, or the The Adventures of a Guinea"’ (real [243] characters intended,) will amuſe you. Some⯑thing ever occurs that obſtructs my travelling at all—and though I long ardently to viſit you, the Lord knows when it will be; yet be it certainly will, when I accompany Mr. Knight to Mr. Bamfylde's; where I am preſſingly invited by that gentleman and his neighbours, Lady Egmont, Sir Charles Tynte, &c.—I have about an hundred things more to ſay; which I muſt defer till I have heard from you.—God bleſs you and yours.

CIII. To the ſame, on Dodſley's Fables, and other Literary Articles.

ALTHOUGH this interval in our correſpon⯑dence muſt be placed, I fear, to my account, you will hardly think it mends the matter, to fill my preſent letter even with the beſt-ground⯑ed apologies—I will only mention a bad ſtate of health, which has been my lot this winter, as a general excuſe for two or three months ſilence; and then declare, as with truth I may, that the eſteem and affection which you have ſo well deſerved of me have never undergone the leaſt diminution or abatement. It is with me a me⯑lancholy taſk, to write letters when I am not well; although it be the time, of all others, when it is moſt neceſſary for me to receive them.—Our friend Dodſley, I preſume, has ſent you a book of his Fables before this time. What merit I have there, is in the Eſſay; in the original Fables, al⯑though [244] I can hardly claim a ſingle Fable as my own; and in the Index, which I cauſed to be thrown into the form of Morals, and which are almoſt wholly mine. I wiſh to God it may ſell; for he has been at great expence about it. The two rivals which he has to dread, are, the editi⯑ons of Richardſon and of Croxall. The Fables in Croxall are tolerably writen: his reflections, little to the purpoſe, either for boys or grown people.—Richardſon's Improvement of L'Eſtrange would be a better collection, both for the Fables and the moral Reflections, had he not admitted, through an extravagant and miſtaken love of drollery, that vulgarity of phraſe which in many places is not common Engliſh. This, I think, a true ſtate of the caſe: ſay the beſt you can in behalf of Dodſley.—As to his cuts, though to him expenſive, they will hardly, I fear, meet with much of your approbation.—the ſcale is much too ſmall—and the emblematick prints which are larger will ſcarce, I fear, be underſtood.—I pro⯑cured a copy from Baſkerville before the plates were inſerted, and have cauſed my painter (Alcock) to ſupply the vacancies with ſome devices of my own—ſome account of which I ſend you, as it may amuſe you for a minute. I want one or two to compleat my ſcheme, and ſhould be glad if you would propoſe ſome in your next letter.—I return you my hearty thanks for the hints you gave for the Cambridge verſes; but when I received them it was too late, and I myſelf too much indiſpoſed, either to throw them into proper form, or even to anſwer that gentleman's letter, which I thought a very gen⯑teel one.—I know not what he did on that occa⯑ſion, having ſeen neither Cambridge nor Oxford verſes—Mr. Dodſley gave me ‘"The Environs of London."—’Between friends, I wiſh he may find five thouſand readers, whom the management of that work pleaſes more than me.—I will try to [245] get you ſome of the cuts, if you deſire me to do ſo, though it will reflect a kind of tacit diſlike of the whole performance—His brother publiſhes this winter ‘"The Works of Soame Jenyns,"’ in three pocket-volumes; and a Chineſe novel from a Mſ. tranſlation reviſed, &c. by a friend of mine. You have perhaps heard me ſpeak of Mr. Percy—he was in treaty with Mr. James Dodſley, for the publication of our beſt old bal⯑lads, in three volumes. He has a large folio Mſ. of ballads, which he ſhewed me, and which, with his own natural and acquired talents, would qualify him for the purpoſe, as well as any man in Eng⯑land. I propoſed the ſcheme for him myſelf, wiſhing to ſee an elegant edition and good col⯑lection of this kind.—I was alſo to have aſſiſted him in ſelecting and rejecting; and in fixing upon the beſt readings—But my illneſs broke off our correſpondence, the beginning of winter—and I know not what he has done ſince.—There is a New Peerage going to be publiſhed—with, I believe, the draughts of the Peers houſes—Lightholer called here, and ſaid he had taken Lord Lyttleton's, and Lord Stamford's, for that purpoſe.—the latter of which he ſhewed me.—Thus have I told you what I hear of new publi⯑cations—as to what paſſes in the buſy world, I know no more than the Chronicle informs me,—unleſs when your letters happen to be rounded with little anecdotes from Bath.—Have you ſeen Baſkerville's new Prayer-books?—My Lord Dartmouth has undertaken to preſent two to the King and Princeſs.—Do, for charity ſake, make me ſome amends for this long chaſm in our cor⯑reſpondence, by a very early and long letter—I am ſick to hear from you; being, with ardent and ſincere affection, your ever faithful friend and ſervant,

CIV. To the ſame, with ſome Political Anecdotes.

I WILL, upon your laſt aſſurance, take it ever for granted, that you do not omit writing upon any ſcore of ceremony. This will render your ſilence, at leaſt in ſome degree, leſs irkſome to me; when I do not think it the effect of my own procraſtination.—Mr. Dodſley had ſold two thouſand of his Fables long ago; but complain⯑ed that he ſhould loſe thirty pounds by my neighbour Baſkerville's impreſſion; and that he ſhould not be more than ten pounds gainer upon the whole. I told him it was enough, in books of this ſort, if the firſt edition paved the way for their future eſtabliſhment in ſchools. And ſurely ſo it is: for a book of this kind, once eſtabliſhed, becomes an abſolute eſtate for many years; and brings in at leaſt as certain and as regular returns. I would wiſh him to give the polite world one more edition from Baſkerville's preſs; admitting only a new ſett of emblematical top and tail-pieces; and confining thoſe empty cuts relating to each Fable to the cheap edition which he prints at London. A ſecond edition of this latter ſort will appear in a little time; and if you have any improvements to propoſe, he will very thankfully receive them. Mr. Spence offers him to write the life afreſh; and Spence, Burke, Lowth, and Melmoth, adviſe him to diſ⯑card Italicks. I confeſs he has uſed them to a very great exceſs, but yet I do not think they ſhould be utterly diſcarded.

I did not intend that Mr. Davenport ſhould ever hear of thoſe verſes; and how he came to do ſo, is paſt my comprehenſion. He ſeemed to [247] me to have deſerted Worfield, without any in⯑tention to return again. I therefore meant to inſcribe them under my own Venus, in order to afford ſome novelty, at an eaſy rate, to thoſe who are curious enough to repeat their viſits here. Pray, if you ſee Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, preſent my beſt reſpects to them; and as to the verſes, I will ſend you a copy for them, if you deſire or adviſe me ſo to do.—Mr. S — is agreeable, not void of learning, has ſome ſmartneſs, but little taſte.—Mrs. S — has much of the latter; and perhaps imagination, which makes a part of taſte, may have had no ſmall ſhare in converting her to Popery.—Mr. Powys I have almoſt for⯑gotten.—You are ingenious very inventive in regard to the means of giving yourſelf mortifi⯑cation. I dare to ſay, your new building ſug⯑geſts no ſuch idea as you conceive.—And I think it ſufficient in a parſonage-houſe, if one ſees detached ſpecimens of taſte or elegance, without uniformity, or even without conſi⯑ſtency.

I do not find but that you figure among the gentry near Bath. Dr. Charlton, who was here yeſterday with Sir Francis and Mr. Knight, gave me an account that the B— of G— had been to pay his reſpects to you. I will not enter into particulars, but would wiſh you to cultivate his acquaintance.—I ſhewed Sir Fran⯑cis the dead colouring of the picture which I intend to ſend to you;—but you muſt know that Alcock is the moſt volatile of all creatures that have not wings. By way of improving the picture I meant for Dodſley, he has made it in⯑finitely leſs like, and yet it muſt go to London as it is, for God knows when he can be brought to alter it.

I aſked the Doctor, how Mr. Blackſtone came to obtain a ſeat in Parliament; and his [248] anſwer was, ‘"The King inſiſted on it, as he was a man of learning and ingenuity."—’The enmity betwixt Lord L—n and Mr. P—, I find, conti⯑nues in its full force; inſomuch that my Lord is to have no place while Mr. P— continues in the miniſtry.—My Lord B—'s promotion was, it ſeems, demanded by the D. of N— and Mr. P—, as they would not be expoſed to bear the blame, while he was the chief mover behind the curtain [...] Theſe little particles of intelligence have, I believe, Sir — for their author.—I was told by another politician, the ſame day, that we were not to expect a peace—that the French, who might give up the Colonies, would not reſign the Fiſhery.

Mr. Knight, his mother and ſiſter, go through Bath to Mr. Bamfylde's in about three weeks, if nothing intervene. I am teazed greatly to accompany them,—by my own inclination, I can aſſure you, as well as their importunity. I do not ſay I will not, nor muſt I ever promiſe you before⯑hand that I will. I have good reaſons to the contrary. They have ſome thoughts of bringing Dr. Charlton into the party.

Believe me ever yours and Mrs. Graves's.

CV. To the ſame, on the intended Publication of his Works.

I OUGHT to have thanked you many weeks ago, for a very long and entertaining letter; the length of which, as well as the entertainment, was [249] increaſed by a Poſtſcript a few days after.—But as the Winter is with me a dull and uniform ſeaſon, ſo the Summer is a time of univerſal diſ⯑ſipation; and very happy do I think myſelf, when after a continual ſucceſſion of company, viſits paid, and excurſions taken, I can ſit down in peace and quietneſs, to attend to the buſineſs of correſpondence and friendſhip. Either reaſon, habit, or complexion tells me, that I am never otherwiſe ſo properly employed.

The laſt digreſſion I made was to the concert at Worceſter, to hear The Meſſiah well per⯑formed; to meet a number of faces one knows; but firſt, and principally, to viſit your brother, without which motive I had not gone. In the two former reſpects, the journey anſwered my expectation:—but, alas! your brother was gone into Herefordſhire. I, however, alighted out of the chaiſe; and the houſe-keeper very civilly ſhewed me his delightful parlour, that looks in⯑to the meadows, the Prebend's gardens, and down the Severn to Malvern-hills. A more agreeable town-houſe cannot poſſibly be found any where. But I regretted, when I reached the inn, that I had not aſked to ſee his children; for I either heard them up-ſtairs, had a glimpſe of them at the window, or fancied, to a degree of conviction, that they were moſt of them within the houſe. I now return to remark upon ſome particulars in your letter—I believe it is that indifference you complain of, which is the grand detriment to genius in an advanced part of life. In all poetical affairs, we are too apt to cry out with Pallas, ‘"Non eſt mihi tibia tanti."’ And this renders all our efforts tame, proſaic, and judicious. But this propenſity, as well as many others, we ſhould guard againſt, upon the approach of age: change the object of our a⯑muſements; cheriſh hopes, well or ill-grounded, [250] of finding that pleaſure in the novelty of objects, which we have not found in any individual. Theſe are the means of preſerving our vivacity a ſomewhat longer time than it naturally laſts; but how far it is prudent to attach ourſelves to the world that we muſt leave, is a point which you better can determine. Refined taſte, as it im⯑plies a love of phyſical beauty, has this tendency.

There is nothing can be more rational than what you ſay about the expediency of loſing no time, if I mean to collect and publiſh what I have written. You are indeed very partial to my abilities; but, allowing for that, what you mention coincides with what I have thought my⯑ſelf, and this for ſome years paſt. A more agreeable kind of diſtraction in ſummer, and an indifferent ſtate of health and ſpirits in winter, have hitherto prevented any progreſs in the cor⯑rection of my pieces. To theſe I might add a ſuſpence about the compoſitions, and the manner, proper for publication. I am now moſt inclin⯑ed to make a collection of the whole. I mean, the beſt of what are already printed or in Mſ.; to publiſh them by ſubſcription in a large quar⯑to ſize for the ſake of profit; and to apologize for this method, by mentioning the expence of top and tail-pieces, with which I mean they ſhall be embelliſhed. Some of theſe (by the bye) may be taken from my farm, the reſt emblema⯑tical, in an eaſy and careleſs, but, at the ſame time, elegant manner. I ſhould think the in⯑ſtance of Mr. Pope might render this method not diſreputable; and it might be advertiſed (as was done by Mr. Spence) that, unleſs a certain number were ſubſcribed for, the whole affair ſhould be no farther proſecuted. This would put it in the way of many friends to ſerve me, who (I flatter myſelf) with inclination, eſteem themſelves void of opportunity. Let me beg you [251] to think ſeriouſly of this, as well as of a general title-page, before you write again.

Thank you kindly for all the little diverting anecdotes that are contained in your letter. I am glad to hear your place brings you company; partly, as it tends to amuſe you; and yet more, as it tends to make your merit more conſpicuous. You and I have led a life of total diſintereſſ⯑ment. Let me adviſe you to ſeek ſome advantage from your commerce with great men.—The boy, who was here with you and Mrs. Graves, was here laſt Friday evening with a Mr. Jolliffe and his ſon; the latter of whom obſerved your name upon the bench, and ſeemed proud to de⯑clare that he was once your ſchool-fellow. Mr. Stratford (to whom I had written about ſome gold-fiſhes) ſays in his anſwer, ‘"I had the plea⯑ſure from Bath of waiting upon Mr. G—, and was as much ſatisfied with the miniature beau⯑ties of his place, as with the polite reception I met with from the owner."’ If you have an oppor⯑tunity, you will oblige me by preſenting my com⯑pliments to that gentleman.—I met Dr. Charlton at Worceſter, who ſtands high in my eſteem.—The account of Gothic architecture, &c. is cu⯑rious; but I have found it in Dr. Warburton's edition of Pope.—I incloſe the verſes on the Venus de Medicis.—I told you before my in⯑tentions, &c. concerning them; and ſince, I hear that they have appeared in ſome one of the Magazines—through Dodſley's or Percy's means, for I ſurely gave a copy to nobody beſides—and thoſe copies muſt be much imperfect.—My picture ſhall be ſent to you as ſoon as I can poſ⯑ſibly get Alcock over, who has promiſed to come every week for theſe three months paſt. I believe he will come ſoon.—I did not know of Mr. Warton's compliment; but he is very obliging to me on all occaſions, and ſends me [250] [...] [251] [...] [252] all that he publiſhes—I have not yet read Dr. Robertſon's Hiſtory, to my ſhame be it ſpoken, though I have the honour to know the author.—I hope the King will oblige the Iriſh Peers with a place in the proceſſion, as that people ſeem greatly out of temper; and, I fear, not without ſome reaſon.

I ſee my friend Dodſley has let off his little ſquib upon the marriage, in the Chronicle. ‘"The King ſought a partner," &c.’ and laſt night was brought me, from Baſkerville's preſs, on the ſame occaſion, very pompouſly printed, the moſt deſpi⯑cable Grub-ſtreet I ever ſaw.

I have made ſome little improvements about my place; have taken away the wall in front, and made a handſome ring; have extended my path, in one piece of ground, greatly for the bet⯑ter—but the grand water in the valley will make no figure till next ſpring.

I have alſo aſſiſted my friend Hull the come⯑dian in altering the Tragedy of Roſamond; had it brought upon the ſtage to a full houſe at Bir⯑mingham, where it was very well received; put Hull into a way of making an indirect compli⯑ment to the preſent King in the ten laſt lines of his Epilogue, which was followed by ‘"God ſave great George," &c.’ in a full chorus of the audi⯑ence and actors drawn out abreaſt upon the ſtage.

Since this, there has been depoſited in my hands a large collection of Poetry, by a Miſs Wheatly of Walſall: many of the pieces writ⯑ten in an excellent and truly claſſical ſtyle; ſim⯑ple, ſentimental, harmonious, and more correct than I almoſt ever ſaw written by a lady. They will be publiſhed, I believe, by ſubſcription, un⯑der the patronage of Lord Dartmouth.

But nothing in the poetical way has pleaſed me better than a compliment which I received [253] about nine days ago by the poſt, under the feigned name Cotſwouldia.—She muſt be ſome Glouſterſhire lady that has ſeen the place; as ſhe raiſes up a Fairy in my grove, into whoſe mouth ſhe puts the compliment. It ſeems writ⯑ten by ſomebody of faſhion by the ſtyle.—Can you form any conjecture?

There was a Mr. Freeman of Betſtow (or ſome ſuch name) with two or three ladies in a coach and fix that were here not long before; a very genteel and polite young man.

I really know not how to ſtop, when I begin a letter to you; and it is one reaſon why I look upon the taſk as too conſiderable to be under⯑taken at all times. Pray write ſoon, and believe me wholly yours and Mrs. Graves's.

CVI. To the ſame, ſuggeſting to him a Subject for Poetry.

I FIND you will not write, unleſs I give a re⯑gular anſwer to your letters; and yet, God knows, I have a better excuſe for my delay, than I wiſh my friend to have for his punctilio—I mean, indiſpoſition.—Whence it has happened, I cannot ſay, unleſs I may blame theſe continual eaſt winds; but I have ſuffered more from the ſmiles of ſpring, than I have really done from the frowns of winter.

Having premiſed thus much, I lay your letter before me. The expence of printing a ſheet of thoſe commendatory verſes at a common preſs is eighteen ſhillings; and at Baſkerville's about [254] three pounds, ten ſhillings: nor do I mean any decorations, unleſs perhaps ‘"The King-fiſher,"’ or ‘"View of my Grove,"’ which you know, I have engraven ready to my hands. So you ſee that this offering to vanity is not likely to be the moſt expenſive.

I wiſh you had beſtowed ſomewhat more at⯑tention upon the title; in which caſe, I really be⯑lieve the job had been executed long ago. Pray be ſo kind as to re-conſider it.—Is not ‘"The Garland of Friendſhip"’ a little too quaint? for that, as I remember, was what I propoſed.—The motto which you propoſed was a very good one; and I think alſo, that the addition of the next line would be an improvement to it; ‘"et iſti er⯑rori, nomen virtus poſuiſſet honeſtum."’ But I do not love double mottoes; ſo, if I admit this, I muſt exclude what I propoſed; which, to ſpeak the truth, was of my own invention.

The cuſtom of prefixing commendatory verſes to collections of poetry is now ſeemingly grown obſolete. Beſides, in my caſe, they would only ſhew, that I had taken up more fame than my funds would anſwer. I return you many thanks for your poetical benevolence; but why do you mention it under the name of Epigram? I do not even chuſe that it ſhould have the air of ſimile from the beginning:

I have taken this and ſome other liberties with it, and ſhall inſert it among the reſt; unleſs you chuſe to redeem it, with ſomething more to your ſatisfaction; for, to ſpeak with frank⯑neſs, I think it better calculated to do me honour than yourſelf; though I could eſteem it good, if it [255] came from a perſon whoſe abilities I reſpected leſs than yours. There is a ſubject here, which I would recommend to you, if by ſo doing I ſhould lay you under no reſtraint. It is my principal caſcade. Its appearance well reſem⯑bles the playfulneſs of infancy; ſkipping from ſide to ſide, with a thouſand antic motions, that anſwer no other purpoſe than the mere amuſe⯑ment of the proprietor.—Other ſimilitudes, &c. would here occur; ‘Cui enim naſcenti faciles arriſerunt Muſae, &c.’ It then proceeds a few hundred yards, where it rolls and ſlits iron for manufactures of all kinds; reſembling the graver toils of manhood, either in acquiring money, or furniſhing the conveni⯑encies, comforts, or ornaments of life: and, in this manner, it proceeds under the name of The Stour, ſupplying works for caſting, forging, and and ſhaping iron, for every civil or military pur⯑poſe. Perhaps you may not know that my rills are the principal ſources of this river; or that this river ſupplies more iron-works than almoſt any ſingle river in the kingdom: for ſo my friend Mr. Knight told me.

The Mr. D— you enquire after, and who wrote the beſt addreſs Sir Robert Walpole ever received, is Mr. Dodington.—Did I never ſend you a liſt of all the concealed names in that Miſ⯑cellany?—I began to tranſcribe one from my own ſet; but find one part of my liſt is loſt; I however ſend it, and will piece it out when I find an opportunity; as I purpoſe alſo to give you ſome account of our ſeveral merits of Dod⯑ſley's Fables. By the way, do not the verſes to Dr. Cornwallis (now Biſhop) affect you ſenſibly, vol. VI. p. 158?—they do me, whenever I read them; and I cannot help applying them to my⯑ſelf. [256] I feel ſomewhat of the ſame ſenſation when I read ‘"The Letters of Henry and Fran⯑ces;"’ in which (from ſelf-partiality, no doubt) I find myſelf extremely like Henry.

Pray let me hear, if you pleaſe, of Mr. Daven⯑port.—I wiſh I had learnt to draw well in early life.—It would have given me ſome very great advantages. Let me hear alſo much of Mr. Melmoth, who, I preſume, has left you long be⯑fore this time. I did once deſign to have ſent you down my propoſals for a ſubſcription, and requeſted the favour of you two to ſettle them finally, without any further reference to myſelf; but my head and ſpirits have been too bad to undertake even a common letter.—What think you of Dr. Lowth's Grammar?—Livie met him at Mr. Dodſley's, and ſays, he is well pleaſed with our frontiſpiece, &c. to Horace. Livie could not preſent his book to Lord Bute, himſelf, on account of my Lord's indiſpoſition. Mr. Dalton (Dr. Dalton's brother) who teaches the K. to draw, preſented it. It ſeems, this Dr. Dalton (who gave the drawing of Lord Bute's arms) has lodgings in the palace, and ſees the King every day. While Livie was with him, word came that the King was coming into his room; upon which Livie was ſent out another way.—The King aſked Dalton, whom he had with him?—and was anſwered, an editor of Horace, who had inſcribed it to Lord Bute.—Dalton is to preſent a copy to the King.

I incloſe to you a ſpecimen of the decorated parts of Horace, with the frontiſpiece.—The book will be publiſhed in a month's time, when I mean you a copy from thoſe that are allotted to me.

My Lord Bute's arms are unexceptionably well finiſhed.—The other plates, either through negligence, or the wilfulneſs of the deſigner and [257] engraver, have given me infinite trouble and vexation. However, with about two-thirds of my directions obſerved, they will, I hope, afford you ſome pleaſure; and diſcover ſomewhat more beauty and ſpirit than one commonly finds in ſuch deſigns.—Send me your remarks very particularly, I beſeech you.

CVII. To the ſame.

DO I really owe you an apology? you who are embarraſſed with ſuch a number of momentous concerns, as hardly allow a fair trial to letters of mere amuſement? Alas! I cannot ſhelter my long ſilence under a ſuppoſi⯑tion of this kind. I believe, I even hope, that you have diſapproved my long neglect; as I can very faithfully aſſure you, I have repeatedly done, myſelf. There are certain times and ſea⯑ſons when I have not either the power or the will to write; as Hannibal ſaid about attacking Rome, ‘"quandoque memtem non dari, quan⯑doque poteſtalem."’ This being an intellec⯑tual kind of lethargy, it would have been at leaſt a friendly office, if you had rouzed me, as you might have done, by a ſupernumerary let⯑ter. I never receive a line from you, but I feel an almoſt irreſiſtible propenſity to anſwer it that very inſtant. Impediments ſometimes occur; and, that inſtant being neglected, matter is accumulated for a longer letter than I am always reſolute enough to undertake: at the ſame time, I can never content myſelf with uttering one half of what I have to ſay.—Pray [258] is not that good ſort of man, to whom you allude, a Mr. K—? Let him be ever ſo good a ſort of man in the common eſtimation, I dare aver him to be neither an ingenious perſon nor a candid critic. There may be fifty or more preferable readings to what are received in this new Ho⯑race: yet he will find a better text there upon the whole, than in any one edition before ex⯑tant. As to the beauty of type and preſs-work, it is too obvious to need vindication. The accu⯑racy of the latter almoſt exceeds what was ever found in any other book. Then as to the fron⯑tiſpiece, it is, I think, much ſuperior to ſuch as ordinarily occur; the ſubject animated, and well choſen; and the execution very commendable: at leaſt, if we allow for the nice touches which it required, and the uncommon difficulty of getting any thing of this kind done to one's direction.

Mr. Walpole is a lively and ingenious writer; not always accurate in his determinations, and much leſs ſo in his language: too often led away, by a deſire of routing prejudices and de⯑ſtroying giants. And yet there is no province wherein he appears to more advantage, in gene⯑ral, than in throwing new light upon Characters in Britiſh Hiſtory. I wiſh he would compoſe a regular work, making this his principal point. He has, with great labour, in his Book of Pain⯑ters, recorded matter of little importance, re⯑lative to people that were of leſs. I have a right to be ſevere, for his volumes coſt me above thirty ſhillings; yet, where he drops the anti⯑quarian in them, his remarks are ſtriking, and worth peruſal.—I have ſent for ‘"Geſner's Rural Poems,"’ and intend to ſee ‘"The Death of Abel;"’ though I expect to find ſmall plea⯑ſure in this poetical proſe, unleſs exquiſitely well tuned.—Thank you for the anecdote of Lord Courtney: a thouſand ſuch ſort of things, that [259] engage the public attention, are never capable of penetrating the depth of my retirement.

Mr. Melmoth you will probably ſee often, as he intends to make Bath his place of reſidence.

The Omphale you ſent me is a moſt excellent figure, and I ſhall wiſh much to get a good caſt of it; at leaſt, when I am able to afford it.—When I write again, I will give you the beſt account I can of my ſhare in Dodſley's new Fables; though it will be no eaſy matter to ſpeak ſeparately of it, with any preciſion.

And now, I think, I have ſpoke to moſt of the articles in your laſt letter.—Mr. Dodſley, who ſays he viſited you, would acquaint you how we divided our time whilſt he was here, into two principal parts, ‘"l'un à dormir, l'autre à ne rien faire."’ Yet we paid our devoirs to a good deal of genteel company; of which this ſeaſon has afforded me at leaſt an equal ſhare with any that went before. I will particularize a few; opening the liſt with no leſs perſonages than the Duke and Dutcheſs of Richmond—Mr. Walſh, member for Worceſter—Earl of Bath with Dr. Monſon, Mrs. Montague (who wrote the three laſt Dialogues printed with Lord Lyt⯑telton's) and other company, from Hagley—Sir Richard Aſhley—Mr. Mordaunt—Dr. Charlton with Mr. Knight—Earl and Counteſs of North⯑ampton—Mr. Amyand—Lord Plymouth and Sir Harry Parker—Mr. and Mrs. Morrice of Percefield—Lord Mansfield with Mr. Baron Smythe, Lord Dartmouth and Mr. Talbot—Marquis of Taviſtock and Earl of Oſſory—your nephew Mr. Graves, with Mr. Hopton and one of the ſenior Proctors of Oxford —Lord and Lady Dacre—Baron Pleſſen, gentleman of the bedchamber to the King of Denmark, with Mr. Wendt his tutor—Lord and Lady Vernon of Sedbury, with his children, Sir Charles and [260] Lady Tynte, and Mr. Garrick's brother—Mr. and Mrs. Melmoth—Colonel James—Lady Ward and Lady Uill, with Miſs Wrotteſley, Miſs Pigott, &c.—Lord Lyttelton, Mr. Lyttel⯑ton, and Mr. Ruſt—Lord and Lady Dartmouth with Lord and Lady Willoughby de Broke—Mr. Anſon of Shuckburgh with Mr. Stuart the painter and publiſher of ‘"Athenian Ruins"—’Mr. Pepys and Sir W. Wheeler's ſon. Mr. Pitt's nephew, &c.—Colonel Bamfylde with Mr. Knight's family, &c. &c. I did not imagine my liſt would have engroſſed ſo much of my pa⯑per, and leave ſo little room to ſpeak about the individuals.—Lord M— appeared to me ra⯑ther a man of wit than a man of taſte; Baron Smythe, the reverſe—Mr. and Mrs. Morrice, extremely polite and agreeable people, invited me preſſingly to their habitation; I could not help reflecting on the ſingular happineſs of Mr. Morrice, to be poſſeſſed at once of a large fortune, one of the fineſt ſituations in England, and a wife whoſe taſte for rural improvements appears even ſuperior to his own; at leaſt, if the beauty of her perſon did not impoſe upon my judgement. There are many others whom I would diſtinguiſh, if my time or paper would permit.—I ſuppoſe that you and Mr. Dodſley would be mighty unanimous with regard to the propriety of ſetting my ſubſcription on foot—I do not diſpute any of your arguments—they tally exactly with my own opinion; at leaſt, al⯑lowing for the higher idea you have of my pieces than they deſerve—the truth is, that I have deferred the publication too long already,—till many of the compoſitions will not ap⯑pear to the ſame advantage as before: and till I have not half the power that I had formerly, to improve them. When I am low-ſpirited, I almoſt ſhudder at this tremendous contract [261] with the publick; when my ſpirits are elevated, I ſee the neceſſity that you do, of not loſing a moment's time—were you here a week, you would put the matter upon a footing that was unalterable—Would to God you were here, or any one like you! however, it is probable you will ſoon hear from me again upon this very ſubject—I know this, that if I print at all, the ſubſcription is by no means to be neglected this preſent winter.—I have ſeen our friend Dr. Charlton many times this ſeaſon; at The Leaſowes; at Mr. Knight's; at his own houſe; and at my Lord Foley's. This viſit to my Lord Foley's was performed about three weeks ago. I went with young Knight; and the company of the Doctor and Sir Francis Charlton took off all reſtraint, and made the viſit perfectly agreeable. My Lord's behaviour was entirely free and hoſpitable; and his converſation lively and entertaining—I muſt confeſs, far beyond the idea which I have been taught to conceive of him.—His table, the moſt magnificent, I believe, of any nobleman's for thirty miles round—His park, and Woobery-hill adjacent, afford views that are either extenſive, wild, beautiful, or grand. The portico before his lodge deſerves particular notice—his houſe large and commodious, and well furniſhed; but ſcarce any of the rooms high enough to ſtand the teſt of modern criticiſm. But what ſtrikes more than all the reſt, is the magnifi⯑cence of his Chapel—which, however, I can⯑not ſtay to deſcribe; for I, this very moment, receive your letter.—After having written ſo much before, I can only touch upon ſome few particulars.—I believe, my ſcheme of publica⯑tion will proceed in a little time, and that you will ſoon hear from me again.—If you can poſſibly excuſe me to Mr. Davenport, and [262] keep me well with him for a week or fort⯑night, I will not fail to write him a reſpect⯑ful letter. I am truly aſhamed of my neglect; but have written more letters within this week than I have done for a quarter of a year be⯑fore.—That there is a faction forming againſt Lord B—. I really believe.—The war may ſuit the [...] world: and the City of Lon⯑don has generally the art to repreſent the landed and trading intereſt as preciſely the ſame thing—But I think there is a very material dif⯑ference; which it would be no way difficult to demonſtrate—at leaſt I am one that cry out, ‘Nulla ſalus bello: pacem te poſeimus omnes.’ I am quite unacquainted with the affair relating to Colonel Wilkes and Lord Bute's ſon.—And now (though I mean to write again ſoon) I will releaſe you from this unpleaſing ſcrawl.—I beg however that you would not fail to write to me directly, if you can find leiſure; being quite impatient to converſe with you, after ſuch a chaſm in our correſpondence; and being, with unvariable affection, my dear friend, for ever yours.—Pray my beſt reſpects to Mrs. Graves.

My friend Dr. Grainger has written a Poem, in blank verſe, which he calls ‘"The Sugar-Cane."—’It is divided into four books—and is capable of being rendered a good Poem. My friend Jago has written another Poem, in blank verſe alſo, which he calls ‘"Edge-hill."—’It is deſcriptive chiefly of the proſpect—but admits an account of the ſight there, and many little [...] and [...]; with compliments alſo to the gentry of Warwickſhire.—It lies now upon my table.

CVIII. To Mr. JAGO.

A THOUSAND thanks to you for the very obliging and humorous Poem which you are ſo kind to ſend me. I really think it very ingenious, and, upon the whole, ex⯑tremely correct; although I have taken the li⯑berty of propoſing one or two hints for farther improvement. The relation that it bears to me and my place may tend to prejudice my judgement; but I cannot conceive that it requires aught beſide impartiality, to reliſh the beauties of this Poem. I beg I may receive a fair copy in your own hand, as ſoon as poſſible; and I will conſider, in the mean time, how to ſhew it to the publick in the moſt advantageous manner. It certainly does me honour: as things are at preſent circumſtanced, it may tend to do me good: which I am very ſure you would be glad to ſee. I am a little aſhamed to be ſo much behind-hand with you, in favours of this and other kinds: but I live in hopes there may come a day, when I ſhall find occaſion to expreſs my gratitude. The pictures you ſent arrived ſafe on Thurſday; and have been ſince cleaned, and put up in their places. I can⯑not enter upon this ſubject now; finding it almoſt ſix o'clock at night, and having juſt received a letter from Mr. Dodſley, which he requires me to anſwer by return of poſt. It relates to the ſcheme mentioned in his laſt, which is intended for my emolument; but which I muſt not expect to ſucceed, without conſiderable mortification. This inter nos.—You muſt by no means lay aſide the thoughts of [264] perfecting Edge-hill, at your leiſure. It is poſ⯑ſible that, in order to keep clear of flattery, I have ſaid leſs in its favour than I really ought—but I never conſidered it otherwiſe than as a Poem which it was very adviſeable for you to com⯑pleat, and finiſh. I am now to deſire my beſt reſpects to Mrs. Jago, and to bid you an affec⯑tionate adieu.

I am, my dear friend! ever yours, with the trueſt eſteem,

CIX. To SHERRINGTON DAVENPORT, Eſq

MR. G— tells me, that you have done me the honour to lay ſome ſtreſs upon re⯑ceiving a letter from me. Alas! it muſt be owing purely to your benevolence, which makes you wiſh to hear of an abſent friend, and not to any expectations you can reaſonably form of entertainment from his pen. The long letter with which you favoured me was ſo very lively as well as ingenious, that I deſpaired of draw⯑ing from my fountains the vivacity you do from the Bath-waters. But, be this as it will, the vein of friendſhip that runs through your letter demands my ampleſt acknowledgements; and if you will accept of ſuch returns, I pro⯑miſe they will be as hearty as they are inſipid.

I agree with you, that the firſt ſallies of ima⯑gination will generally prove the moſt ſprightly; [265] and that they will often comprehend the prin⯑cipal features of a ſubject. They are of the nature of dead-colouring in a portrait; which one ſometimes thinks more ſpirited than the ſame performance when finiſhed. And yet a good painter will not hurt a portrait by the ſub⯑ſequent labour he beſtows upon it, nor will a good writer injure his piece by the pains he takes to round and perfect it. It muſt be ſome de⯑fect in the taſte of either that makes his dili⯑gence detrimental, or gives occaſion for a ſtan⯑der-by to cry out, ‘"Manum de tabula."’ I be⯑lieve it will appear upon examination, that works which coſt moſt labour have generally been thought the eaſieſt, and pleaſed the longeſt. One cannot, however, deny that there is a ſort of perſons formed by nature for ſhooting flying, (which, by the way, I could never do) and that their ſallies of imagination are what they can hardly improve by any future pains. Theſe may be called men of wit and fire, but it is the union of taſte with theſe that conſtitutes fine writing. True taſte will never ſtiffen or overcharge any performance: it will rather be employed to ſmooth, ſimplify, and give that eaſe on which grace depends. One can as little deny that there are kinds of writing which have a better chance than others to ſucceed without much labour, which ſtart forth mature at firſt, as Pallas did from the brain of Jupiter. Works of humour are often of this ſort; and there are many inſtances in Butler's Hudibras. Yet I think the humour of Swift was greatly owing to a judicious reviſal. Pardon me, my dear friend, for this tedious diſcuſſion, which you little thought of bringing upon yourſelf by the obliging hint you gave concerning thoſe verſes upon Venus. I do acknowledge that an additional ſtanza there, containing a reflexion on Chineſe architecture, were better laid aſide. [266] It ſeemed to me one of the ‘"ſplendi da pec⯑cata,"’ that might be a little popular at this time; and has, therefore, for this ſeaſon, ap⯑peared on a board by the ſide of the Venus. We, who cannot erect freſh temples, or even add a new garden-ſeat every ſpring, are obliged to make the moſt we can of a new and toler⯑able copy of verſes, that coſts us thought in⯑ſtead of money; and even at a pinch to piece out a dull ſcene with duller poetry: how elſe could I keep my place in countenance, ſo near the pompous piles of Hagley? And yet there are few faſhionable viſitants that do not ſhew an affection for the little Amoret, as much as they admire the ſtately Sachariſſa— ‘"plerumque gratae divitibus vices."’ I have often conſidered why thoſe poſſeſſed of palaces yet eſteem a root-houſe or a cottage as a deſirable object in their gardens.—Is it not from having experi⯑enced the imperfection of happineſs in higher life, that they are led to conceive it more com⯑pleat beneath a roof of ſtraw, where, perhaps, it may really be as defective as in the apart⯑ments of a King or a Miniſter?—A thouſand thanks to you and Mrs. Davenport for the ac⯑commodations you ſo kindly offer me. Expe⯑rience will no more ſuffer me to queſtion the cordiality than the politeneſs of your reception. What an amuſing picture have you given of Bath! pleaſures carried to the utmoſt height, and opiates ready when one is cloyed with pleaſures! And yet, let me confeſs a truth, you have lightly touched upon thoſe very articles, which would prove to me the moſt ſpecifically pleaſing. For can any temptation be ſtronger, than to ſay that you reſide there? and does not my friend G— reſide at Claverton, of whoſe genius and friendſhip I have had proofs theſe twenty years paſt? and have you not Mr. Webb, and now Mr. Melmoth, to make Bath enviable [267] for the reſidence of literature? What a joy would it afford me to go on a party with you to Percefield, whither Mr. and Mrs. Morrice gave me the moſt preſſing invitations!—Theſe ſurely are pleaſures of which—I hope one day to partake.

My health, generally bad in winter and ſpring, has hitherto been tolerable. The in⯑fluenza of laſt ſpring continued to depreſs me half the ſummer. Would you think the verſes I incloſed were written on that occaſion by a young journeyman ſhoemaker; and one that lives at the village of Rowley, near me? He conſidered my diſorder in ſomewhat too grave a light, as I did not think my life endangered by it; but, allowing for this, and the partiality he ſhews me, you will think the lines pretty extra⯑ordinary for one of his occupation. They are not, however, the only, or, perhaps, the chief ſpecimens of his genius; and yet, before he came to me, his principal knowledge was drawn from Magazines. For theſe two or three years paſt, I have lent him Claſſics, and other books in Engliſh. You ſee, to him, I am a great Mae⯑cenas; although you and my friend expect me to become an author by ſubſcription.—On this head I will ſay no more at preſent, than that I am infinitely obliged by your extreme friendly offers. My friend G—, who knows my ſen⯑timents, has ſometimes the honour of waiting on you; I ought not, therefore, after this tedi⯑ous epiſtle, to begin to trouble you with a written explanation of them. Believe me, dear Sir, with my moſt reſpectful compliments to Mrs. Davenport,

I will ſend you ſome other of Woodhouſe's verſes, when I can get him to tranſcribe them.

CX. To Mr. JAGO.

MY laſt letter muſt have been confuſed, and the arrival of it, I fear, uncertain.

The hare and birds in one of the pictures which you ſent me, I think, are well. The other parts of it indifferent. They grey hound worſt of all. The portrait is by no means equal to its companion, either in beauty of the perſon, or ſkill of the painter; yet it matches ſo well with the other, that I find my parlour very much em⯑belliſhed by it. Pardon the freedom with which I criticiſe your preſent; and accept once more my very thankful acknowledgements.

I am truly glad to find ſo worthy a Nobleman, and ſo warm a friend of yours, as my Lord Willoughby is, made a Lord of the Bed-cham⯑ber.

I have heard nothing ſince I wrote laſt in re⯑gard to my affair; though I expect to do ſo every day. I have ſuch a tribe of humours and pecu⯑liarities, that it is eaſier to make me rich than to make me happy; and ten to one that the favour will not be conferred without diſguſting ſome of theſe ſaid humours, &c. However, one muſt make the beſt of it; and reflect, that mortifica⯑tions in one place may preclude mortifications in another.

I go to-morrow, by appointment, to Enville; where I may probably ſtay till Saturday. I have wiſhed moſt heartily for a copy of your Fable to take with me; but Dodſley has not yet returned that I ſent him. Pray conſider my propoſed al⯑terations rather as hints than real improvements, and let me have a copy as ſoon you can. I wrote my criticiſm over twice, and know not whether I ſent the beſt or the worſt copy; ſo I ſend the [269] other, though perhaps much the ſame. I forgot to particularize many ſhining parts in your little Fable, that are either elegant or humourous: of the former ſort, nothing could be happier than what you ſay about H—: as it touches, in the gentleſt manner, on a poſſible truth, which, if expreſſed rather than implied, might not be al⯑together inoffenſive. This beauty is produced by ſubſtituting H— inſtead of L—, the place in⯑ſtead of the proprietor.

I have lately read ‘"The Death of Abel."—’It is not void of merit; but might have been made much more pathetic by a more ſimple and proſaic ſtyle.

I deſire my beſt reſpects to Mrs. Jago and your family.—May not I ſee you here this Chriſtmas? as I wiſh to do, becauſe it is the ſeaſon preſent; and not that I am not at all times and at all ſea⯑ſons moſt unſeignedly glad to wait upon you, and moſt affectionately your ever faithful ſer⯑vant:

Your kind remembrance of me in your Edge⯑hill has brought theſe quotations into my head. Adieu!

CXI. To the ſame.

I AM ſuſpicious that my letters (of which I have ſent two) do not reach you by the way [270] of Warwick. This is meant as an experiment whether they will arrive by way of Southam. It is meant withall to remind you of perfecting your little Fable, and diſpatching it to me as ſoon as may be. I would fain tranſmit a copy to Lord S—'s, before the family ſeparates, or leaves Enville; by whom, I am ſure, it would be admired.

I am juſt returned from a viſit which I made there, and four or five days paſſed very happily. At coming away, I ſhewed my Lord two or three of Mr. D—'s laſt letters, which laid open to him the ſcheme that was carrying on for me. I requeſted alſo, if there ſhould be occaſion (which there poſſibly might not) that he would allow me the honour of being known to him. He ſaid, ‘"he was glad to find what was going forward; and had long wiſhed to ſee ſomething of that ſort begun before: that he ſhould be in town, I think, in February; and would do me any ſervice in his power. He deſired me alſo to acquaint Mr. D— (in alluſion to the latter's uncertainty about my Lord's political connexi⯑ons) that he thought it the duty of every honeſt man to ſupport the preſent Government; and that he ſhould continue his regard for the Mini⯑ſter ſo long as he ſaw nothing in his meaſures that was prejudicial to his Country."’

I know that you will take a friendly part in any good that may befall me. Pray write, be it ever ſo careleſsly; and believe me ever yours, and Mrs. Jago's moſt affectionate and faithful.