TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. AMICO MIO, The Lodge, June 20, 1789. must always be in every narrative that relates indiscriminately all that passed. But now and then the Doctor speaks like an oracle, and that makes amends for all. Sir John was a coxcomb, and I AM truly sorry that it must be so long before Boswell is not less a coxcomb, though of another we can have an opportunity to meet. My cousin, kind. I fancy Johnson made coxcombs of all his in her last letter but one, inspired me with other friends, and they in return made him a coxcomb; expectations, expressing a purpose, if the matter for with reverence be it spoken, such he certainly could be so contrived, of bringing you with her: was, and, flattered as he was, he was sure to be I was willing to believe that you had consulted together on the subject, and found it feasible. A Thanks for your invitation to London, but un-month was formerly a trifle in my account, but at less London can come to me, I fear we shall never my present age I give it all its importance, and meet. I was sure that you would love my friend, grudge that so many months should yet pass, in when you should once be well acquainted with which I have not even a glimpse of those I love, him; and equally sure that he would take kindly and of whom, the course of nature considered, I to you. must ere long take leave forever-but I shall live till August. So. Now for Homer. W. C. TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. Many thanks for the cuckoo, which arrived perfectly safe, and goes well, to the amusement and amazement of all who hear it. Hannah lies awake to hear it, and I am not sure that we have not others in the house that admire his music as much as she. Having read both Hawkins and Boswell, I now think myself almost as much a master of Johnson's character as if I had known him personally, and can not but regret that our bards of other times found no such biographers as these. They have both been ridiculed, and the wits have had their laugh; but such an history of Milton or Shakspeare, as they have given of Johnson—O, how desirable! MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston, June 16, 1789. You will naturally suppose that the letter in which you announced your marriage occasioned me some concern, though in my answer I had the wisdom to conceal it. The account you gave me of the object of your choice was such as left me at liberty to form conjectures not very comfortable to myself, if my friendship for you were indeed sincere. I have since however been sufficiently consoled. Your brother Chester has informed me, that you have married not only one of the most agreeable, but one of the most accomplished women in the kingdom. It is an old maxim, that it is better to exceed expectation than to disappoint it, and with this maxim in your view it was, no doubt, that you dwelt only on circumstances of disJuly 18, 1789. advantage, and would not treat me with a recital MANY thanks, my dear madam, for your extract of others which abundantly overweigh them. I now from George's letter. I retain but little Italian, congratulate not you only, but myself, and truly yet that little was so forcibly mustered by the conrejoice that my friend has chosen for his fellow-sciousness that I was myself the subject, that I traveller through the remaining stages of his jour-presently became master of it. I have always said ney, a companion who will do honour to his dis- that George is a poet, and I am never in his comcernment, and make his way, so far as it can de-pany but I discover proofs of it; and the delicate pend on a wife to do so, pleasant to the last. My verses on the Queen's visit to London either have been printed, or soon will be, in the World. The finishing to which you objected I have altered, and have substituted two new stanzas instead of it. Two others also I have struck out, another critic having objected to them. I think I am a very tractable sort of a poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the noses of their children because they were said to be too long, as thus dock their compositions in compliance with the opinion of others. I beg that when my life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductability of temper may not be forgotten! I am, my dear friend, ever yours, W. C. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON. address by which he has managed his complimentary mention of me, convinces me of it still more than ever. Here are a thousand poets of us, whe have impudence enough to write for the public, but amongst the modest men who are by diffidence restrained from such an enterprise are those who would eclipse us all. I wish that George would make the experiment; I would bind on his laurels with my own hand. Your gardener has gone after his wife, but hav ing neglected to take his lyre, alias fiddle, with him, has not yet brought home his Eurydice. Your clock in the hall has stopped, and (strange to tell!) it stopped at the sight of the watch maker. For he only looked at it, and it has been motionless ever since. Mr. Gregson is gone, and the Hall is and a great instance of good fortune I account it a desolation. Pray don't think any place pleasant in such a world as this, to have expected such a that you may find in your rambles, that we may pleasure thrice without being once disappointed. see you the sooner. Your aviary is all in good Add to this wonder as soon as you can by making health. I pass it every day, and often inquire at yourself of the party. the lattice; the inhabitants of it send their duty, and wish for your return. I took notice of the inscription on your seal, and had we an artist here capable of furnishing me with another, you should read on mine, " Encore une lettre." Adieu, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. W.C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston, Aug. 8, 1789. COME when you will, or when you can, you can not come at a wrong time, but we shall expect you on the day mentioned. If you have any book, that you think will make pleasant evening reading, bring it with you. I now read Mrs. Piozzi's Travels to the ladies after supper, and shall probably have finished them before we shall have the pleasure of seeing you. It is the fashion, I understand, to condemn them. But we who make books ourselves are more merciful to book-makers. I would that every fastidious judge of authors were himself obliged to write; there goes more to the composition of a volume than many critics imagine. I have often wondered that the same poet who wrote the Dunciad should have written these lines, The mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Alas! for Pope, if the mercy he showed to others was the measure of the mercy he received! he was the less pardonable too, because experienced in all the difficulties of composition. The Lodge, July 23, 1789. You do well, my dear sir, to improve your opportunity; to speak in the rural phrase, this is your sowing time, and the sheaves you look for can never be yours unless you make that use of it. The colour of our whole life is generally such as the three or four first years, in which we are our own masters, make it. Then it is that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up for ourselves a series of future successes or disappointments. Had I employed my time as wisely as you, in a situation very similar to yours, I had never been a poet perhaps, but I might by this time have acquired a character of more importance in society; and a situation in which my friends would have been better pleased to see me. But three years misspent in an attorney's office were almost of course followed by several more I scratch this between dinner and tea; a time equally misspent in the Temple, and the conse- when I can not write much without disordering quence has been, as the Italian epitaph says, "Sto my noddle, and bringing a flush into my face. qui."-The only use I can make of myself now, You will excuse me therefore if, through respect at least the best, is to serve in terrorem to others, for the two important considerations of health and when occasion may happen to offer, that they may beauty, I conclude myself, escape (so far as my admonitions can have any weight with them) my folly and my fate. When you feel yourself tempted to relax a little of the strictness of your present discipline, and to indulge in amusement incompatible with your future interests, think on your friend at Weston. Ever yours, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston, Sept. 24, 1789. Having said this, I shall next with my whole You left us exactly at the wrong time. Had heart invite you hither, and assure you that I look you staid till now, you would have had the pleaforward to approaching August with great pleasure of hearing even my cousin say—“I am cold." sure, because it promises me your company. Af--And the still greater pleasure of being warm ter a little time (which we shall wish longer) spent yourself; for I have had a fire in the study ever with us, you will return invigorated to your studies, and pursue them with the more advantage. In the mean time you have lost little, in point of season, by being confined to London. Incessant Iains, and meadows under water, have given to the summer the air of winter, and the country has been deprived of half its beauties. since you went. It is the fault of our summers, that they are hardly ever warm or cold enough. Were they warmer, we should not want a fire; and were they colder, we should have one. I have twice seen and conversed with Mr. JHe is witty, intelligent, and agreeable beyond the common measure of men who are so. But it is It is time to tell you that we are well, and often the constant effect of a spirit of party to make Inake you our subject. This is the third meeting those hateful to each other, who are truly amiable that my cousin and we have had in this country; 'in themselves. Beau sends his love; he was melancholy the the rebellion of the first pair, and as happy as it is whole day after your departure. W. C. possible they should be in the present life. Most sincerely yours, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND, TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. MY DEAR WALTER, Weston, Oct. 4, 1789. THE hamper is come, and come safe: and the I KNOW that you are too reasonable a man to contents I can affirm on my own knowledge are expect any thing like punctuality of correspondexcellent. It chanced that another hamper and a box came by the same conveyance, all which I un- who is a doer also of many other things at the same ence from a translator of Homer, especially from one packed and, expounded in the hall; my cousin time; for I labour hard not only to acquire a little sitting, mean time, on the stairs, spectatress of the fame for myself, but to win it also for others, men business. We diverted ourselves with imagining of whom I know nothing, not even their names, the manner in which Homer would have described who send me their poetry, that by translating it the scene. Detailed in his circumstantial way, it would have furnished materials for a paragraph of considerable length in an Odyssey. poetry than it was. Having heard all this, you out of prose into verse, I may make it more like will feel yourself not only inclined to pardon my long silence, but to pity me also for the cause of it. You may if you please believe likewise, for it is true, that I have a faculty of remembering my friends even when I do not write to them, and of loving them not one jot the less, though I leave them to starve for want of a letter from me. And now I think you have an apology both as to style, matter, and manner, altogether unexcepAnd so on. tionable. The straw-stuff'd hamper with his ruthless steel Of the fair mother of his friend-the Rose. I should rejoice to be the hero of such a tale in the hands of Homer. You will remember, I trust, that when the state of your health or spirits calls for rural walks and fresh air, you have always a retreat at Weston. We are all well, all love you, down to the very dog; and shall be glad to hear that you have exchanged langour for alacrity, and the debility that you mentioned for indefatigable vigour. Mr. Throckmorton has made me a handsome present; Villoison's edition of the Iliad, elegantly bound by Edwards. If I live long enough, by the contributions of my friends I shall once more be possessed of a library. Adieu, W. C. TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND, Why is the winter like a backbiter? Because Solomon says that a backbiter separates between chief friends, and so does the winter; to this dirty season it is owing, that I see nothing of the valuable Chesters, whom indeed I see less at all times than serves at all to content me. I hear of them indeed occasionally from my neighbours at the Hall, but even of that comfort I have lately enjoyed less than usual, Mr. Throckmorton having been hindered by his first fit of the gout from his usual visits to Chichely. The gout however has not prevented his making me a handsome present of a folio edition of the Iliad, published about a year since at Venice, by a literato, who calls himself Villoison. It is possible that you have seen it, and that if you have it not yourself, it has at least found its way into Lord Bagot's library. If neither should be the case, when I write next (for sooner or later I shall certainly write to you again if I live) I will send you some pretty stories out of his Prolegomena, which will make your hair stand on end, as mine has stood on end already, they so horribly affect, in point of authenticity, the credit of the works of the immortal Homer. Weston, Dec. 18, 1789. THE present appears to me a wonderful period in the history of mankind. That nations so long contentedly slaves should on a sudden become enamoured of liberty, and understand, as suddenly, their own natural right to it, feeling themselves at the same time inspired with resolution to assert it, seems difficult to account for from natural causes. With respect to the final issue of all this, I can only say, that if, having discovered the value of liberty, they should next discover the value of peace, and lastly the value of the word of God, My paper mourns for the death of Lord Cowthey will be happier than they ever were since per, my valuable cousin and much my benefactor. Wishing you and Mrs. Bagot all the happiness that a new year can possibly bring with it, I re main with Mrs. Unwin's best respects, yours, my dear friend, with all sincerity, W. C. TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. MY DEAR FRIEND, can believe; but that a learned Athenian could be so imposed upon, with sufficient means of detection at hand, I can not. Would he not be on I AM a terrible creature for not writing soon- his guard? Would not a difference of style and er, but the old excuse must serve, at least I will manner have occurred? Would not that differnot occupy paper with the addition of others un-ence have excited a suspicion? Would not that less you should insist on it, in which case I can suspicion have led to inquiry, and would not that assure you that I have them ready. Now to bu- inquiry have issued in detection? For how easy was siness. it in the multitude of Homer-conners to find two, Faithfully yours, W. C. From Villoison I learn that it was the avowed ten, twenty, possessed of the questionable pasopinion and persuasion of Callimachus (whose sage, and by confronting them with the impudent hymns we both studied at Westminster) that Ho- impostor, to convict him? Abeas ergo in malam mer was very imperfectly understood even in his rem cum istis tuis hallucinationibus, Villoisone! day: that his admirers, deceived by the perspicuity of his style, fancied themselves masters of his meaning, when in truth they knew little about it. Now we know that Callimachus, as I have hinted, was himself a poet, and a good one; he was also esteemed a good critic; he almost, if not actually, adored Homer, and imitated him as nearly as he could. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MY DEAR SIR, The Lodge, Jan. 3, 1790. I HAVE been long silent, but you have had the charity, I hope and believe, not to ascribe my silence to a wrong cause. The truth is, I have been What shall we say to this? I will tell you what too busy to write to any body, having been obliged I say to it. Callimachus meant, and he could to give my mornings to the revisal and correction mean nothing more by this assertion, than that of a little volume of Hymns for children written the poems of Homer were in fact an allegory; by I know not whom. This task I finished but that under the obvious import of his stories lay yesterday, and while it was in hand wrote only concealed a mystic sense, sometimes philosophical, to my cousin, and to her rarely. From her howsometimes religious, sometimes moral, and that ever I knew that you would hear of my well bethe generality either wanted penetration or indus- ing, which made me less anxious about my debts try, or had not been properly qualified by their to you, than I could have been otherwise. studies, to discover it. This I can readily believe, I am almost the only person at Weston, known for I am myself an ignoramus in these points, and to you, who have enjoyed tolerable health this winexcept here and there, discern nothing more than ter. In your next letter give us some account of the letter. But if Callimachus will tell me that even of that I am ignorant, I hope soon by two great volumes to convince him of the contrary. your own state of health, for I have had many anxieties about you. The winter has been mild; but our winters are in general such that when a friend leaves us in the beginning of that season, I always feel in my heart a perhaps importing that probably we have met for the last time, and that the robins may whistle on the grave of one of us before the return of summer. I learn also from the same Villoison, that Pisistratus, who was a sort of Mecenas in Athens, where he gave great encouragement to literature, and built and furnished a public library, regretting that there was no complete copy of Homer's works in the world, resolved to make one. For this pur- I am still thrumming Homer's lyre; that is to pose he advertised rewards in all the newspapers say, I am still employed in my last revisal; and to those, who, being possessed memoriter of any to give you some idea of the intenseness of my part or parcels of the poems of that bard, would toils, I will inform you that it cost me all the mornresort to his house, and repeat them to his secre- ing yesterday, and all the evening, to translate a taries, that they might write them. Now it hap-single simile to my mind. The transitions from pened that more were desirous of the reward, than one member of the subject to another, though easy qualified to deserve it. The consequence was that and natural in the Greek, turn out often so intolthe nonqualified persons having, many of them, erably awkward in an English version, that almost a pretty knack at versification, imposed on the endless labour, and no little address, are requisite generous Athenian most egregiously, giving him, to give them grace and elegance. I forget if I told instead of Homer's verses, which they had not to you that your German Clavis has been of considgive, verses of their own invention. He, good erable use to me. I am indebted to it for a right creature, suspecting no such fraud, took them all understanding of the manner in which Achilles for gospel, and entered them into his volume ac- prepared pork, mutton, and goat's flesh for the cordingly. entertainment of his friends, in the night when Now let him believe the story who can. That they came deputed by Agamemnon to negotiate a Homer's works were in this manner corrected I reconciliation. A passage of which nobody in the world is perfectly master, myself only and| Schaufelbergerus excepted, nor ever was, except when Greek was a live language. TO LADY HESKETH. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. I do not know whether my cousin has told you MY DEAR FRIEND, The Lodge, Feb. 2, 1790. or not how I brag in my letters to her concerning SHOULD Heyne's Homer appear before mine, my translation; perhaps her modesty feels more which I hope is not probable, and should he adopt for me than mine for myself, and she would blush in it the opinion of Bentley, that the whole last to let even you know the degree of my self-conceit Odyssey is spurious, I will dare to contradict both on that subject. I will tell you, however, express-him and the Doctor. I am only in part of Benting myself as decently as vanity will permit, that ley's mind (if indeed his mind were such) in this it has undergone such a change for the better in matter, and giant as he was in learning, and eaglethis last revisal, that I have much warmer hopes eyed in criticism, am persuaded, convinced, and of success than formerly. Yours, W. C. sure (can I be more positive?) that except from the moment when the Ithacans begin to meditate an attack on the cottage of Laertes, and thence to the end, that book is the work of Homer. From the moment aforesaid, I yield the point, or rather MY DEAR COZ, The Lodge, Jan. 23, 1790. have never, since I had any skill in Homer, felt I HAD a letter yesterday from the wild boy John- myself at all inclined to dispute it. But I believe son, for whom I have conceived a great affection. perfectly at the same time that, Homer himself It was just such a letter as I like, of the true helter- alone excepted, the Greek poet never existed who skelter kind; and though he writes a remarkably could have written the speeches made by the shade good hand, scribbled with such rapidity, that it was of Agamemnon, in which there is more insight barely legible. He gave me a droll account of the into the human heart discovered than I ever saw adventures of Lord Howard's note, and of his own in any other work, unless in Shakspeare's. I am in pursuit of it. The poem he brought me came equally disposed to fight for the whole passage that as from Lord Howard, with his lordship's request describes Laertes, and the interview between him that I would revise it. It is in the form of a pas- and Ulysses. Let Bentley grant these to Homer, toral, and is entitled "The Tale of the Lute; or and I will shake hands with him as to all the rest. the Beauties of Audley End." I read it atten- The battle with which the book concludes is, I tively; was much pleased with part of it, and part think, a paltry battle, and there is a huddle in the of it I equally disliked. I told him so, and in such management of it altogether unworthy of my faterms as one naturally uses when there seems to vourite, and the favourite of all ages. be no occasion to qualify or to alleviate censure. I If you should happen to fall into company with observed him afterwards somewhat more thought- Dr. Warton again, you will not, I dare say, forget ful and silent, but occasionally as pleasant as usual; to make him my respectful compliments, and to and in Kilwick wood, where we walked next day, assure him that I felt myself not a little flattered the truth came out; that he was himself the au- by the favourable mention he was pleased to make thor; and that Lord Howard not approving it al- of me and my labours. The poet who pleases a together, and several friends of his own age, to man like him has nothing to wish for. I am glad whom he had shown it, differing from his lordship that you were pleased with my young cousin Johnin opinion, and being highly pleased with it, he son; he is a boy, and bashful, but has great merit had come at last to a resolution to abide by my in respect both of character and intellect. So far judgment; a measure to which Lord Howard by all means advised him. He accordingly brought it, and will bring it again in the summer, when we shall lay our heads together and try to mend it. at least as in a week's knowledge of him I could possibly learn; he is very amiable, and very sensible, and inspired me with a warm wish to know him better. TO LADY HESKETH. W. C. I have lately had a letter also from Mrs. King, to whom I had written to inquire whether she were living or dead. She tells me the critics expect from my Homer every thing in some parts, and that in others I shall fall short. These are the The Lodge, Feb. 9, 1790. Cambridge critics; and she has her intelligence I HAVE sent you lately scraps instead of letters, from the botanical professor, Martyn. That gen- having had occasion to answer immediately on the tleman in reply answers them, that I shall fall receipt, which always happens while I am deep short in nothing, but shall disappoint them all. It in Homer. shall be my endeavour to do so, and I am not without hope of succeeding. W. C. I knew when I recommended Johnson to you that you would find some way to serve him, and |