mm • jygpinpr- - THREE VERY INTERESTING LETTERS, (two in curious rhyme) BY THE CELEBRATED POETS ©la* e, ©ntopcr, anti IStrti. «> ' -tyi , V A* : vv/.y i'y.’nV. V , 'v X !' . * * 1 * f/1 ; . . ^ • . sv r .. ■. - - ' WRITTEN BY 3Jofiu Clare, tfte ||oet* Helpstone near Market Deeping August 1824 Dear Inskip YOU will have drawn some unpleasant pictures of my carlesness and seeming neglect in not answering your letter ere now but the fact is easily explained I have been in London 3 months for the benefit of bet- ter advice than the country a fiords and I am sorry to acknowledge that I feel very little better I have been in a terrible state of ill health six months gradually declining and I verily believe that it will upset me at last I was taken in a sort of appoplectic fit and have never had the right use of my faccultys since a numb- ing pain lies constantly about my head and an acking void at the pit of my stomach keeps sinking me away weaker and weaker I returned home last Saturday were I found your letter and I have attempted to answer it as soon and as well as I can I shall only be at home for a few weeks to try the air to be sure if it improves my spirits I shall remain if not the next thing for me • . , . : to try is salt water I woud have calld on you at Shef- ford if I had been able but I can get no were by my- self I am so ill still I think I feel better since I got home and if I get better I will write you word of my remaining here were I shall be heartily happy to see you but visiting a sick man has no sort of temptation in it as I can do nothing with Sir John Barly corn now I have often thought of our London Evening and I have often thought of writing to you poor Bloom- field I deeply regret now its too late I had made up my resolution to see him this summer but if he had been alive I shoud have been dissapointed by this cold blooded lethargy of a disease what it is I cannot tell it even affects my senses very much by [at] times* I heard of Bloomfields death and it shockd my feelings poor fellow you say right when you exclaim “who would be a poet” I sincerely lovd the man and I ad- mire his Genius and readily (nay gladly) acknowledge his superiority as a Poet in my opinion he is the most original poet of the age and the greatest Pastoral Poet England ever gave birth too I am no Critic but I al- * In the Athenaeum of October 14, 1837, thirteen years after this was written, it will be observed, there is the following’ an- nouncement relating to Clare : — “We grieve to hear that poor John Clare, the Northamptonshire poet, is at this moment confined in the lunatic asylum at York, where he was sent about three months since, — and it is much feared that his case is hopeless.’' ' I ways feel and judge for my self I shall never forget the pleasures which I felt in first reading his poems little did I think then that I shoud live to become so near an acquaintance with the Enthusiastic Giles and miss the gratification of seeing him at last 1 am grievd to hear of his family misfortunes were are the icy hearted pretenders that came forward once as his friends- -but its no use talking this is always the case neglect is the only touchstone by which true genius is proved look at the every day scribblers I mean those nonsense ginglings calld poems “ as plen- teous as blackberrys” published every now and then by subscription and you shall find the list belarded as thickly with my Lord this and my Lady tother as if they were the choicest geniuses nature ever gave birth too while the true poet is left to struggle with adver- sity and buffet along the stream of life with the old notorious companions of genius Dissapointment and poverty tho they leave a name behind them that poste- rity falls heir too and Works that shall give delight to miriads on this side eternity well the world is as it is and we cannot help it l wrote 3 Sonnets to his Memory but I did not feel satisfied with them if I ever get better I mean to write a Monody whose only rec- comdation perhaps will be its sincerity as soon as * ■ I ara more able I will write to you again in the mean time if you feel inclined to answer this letter I shall feel glad to hear from you 1 heard that Bloom- fields Remains was just published as I left London but I was so ill that I coud make no enquirys about them I wish them success and I remain sincerely yours &c &c JOHN CLARE. Mr Thomas Inskip Watchmaker Shefford near Biggleswade Bedds August 10. RHYMING LETTER WRITTEN BY S&tUtaro Column, tftr tlnet. My very dear friend, I am going to send, what when you have read, you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose, there’s nobody knows, whether what I have got, be Verse or n °t> — by the tune and the time, it ought to be rhime, but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such a ditty before ? the thought did occurr, to me and to her, as Madam and I, did walk not fly, over hills and dales, with spreading sails, before it was dark to Wes- ton Park. The news at Oney,* is little or noney, but such as it is, I send it — viz. Poor Mr. Peace, cannot yet cease, addling his head, with what you said, and has left parish church, quite in the lurch, having almost swore, to go there no more. Page and his Wife, that made such a strife, we met them twain, in Dry lane,f we gave them the wall, and that was all. For Mr. Scot, we have seen him not, * Olney ? f There is a deficiency in the measure here. § ' bi < « To # J|l!| ® 1 ... ft: >-■ ■■ at « . ' ‘ ' " except as he pass’d, in a wonderfull haste, to see a friend, in silver end. Mrs. Jones proposes, ere July closes, that she and her Sister, and her Jones Mister, and we that are here, our course shall steer, to dine in the spinney, but for a guinea, if the weather should hold, so hot and so cold, we had better by far, stay where we are, for the grass there grows, while nobody mows, (which is very wrong) so rank and long, that so to speak, ’tis at least a week, if it happen to rain, ere it dries again. I have writ ‘Charity,’ not for popu- larity, but as well as I could, in hopes to do good. And if the Review’ r, should say to be sure, the Gen- tleman’s Muse, wears Methodist shoes, you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard, have little regard, for the tastes and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoyd’ning play, of the modern day, and though she assume, a borrow’d plume, and now and then wear, a tittering air, ’tis only her plan, to catch if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production, on a new construction, and has baited her trap, in hopes to snap, all that may come, with a sugar plumb, his Opinion in this, will not be amiss, ’tis what I intend, my principal end, and if it succeed, and folks should read, ’till a few are brought, to a serious thought, I shall think I am paid, for all I - ;• « 7 have said, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a rhime, as far as from hence, to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year. I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, you was forced to begin, a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swim- ming about, now in now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing, and now I have writ, in a shining fit, what will make you dance, and as you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, ’till you come to an end, of what I have penn’d, which that you may do, ere Madam and you, are quite worn out, with digging about, I take my leave, and here you receive, a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me. W : C. P. S. — When I concluded, doubtless you did : think me right, as well you might, in saying what, l said of Scot, and then it was true, but now it is due, to Him to note, that since I wrote, Himself and He, has visited We. WM. COWPER. July 12 , 1781 . The Rev . John Newton. A RHYMING LETTER WRITTEN BY 3Jamess BttTi, tftr Dear Sir, I must think you are one who can well make a pun ; and I find at this time that you’re given to rhyme ; and I hope, in due season, you’re given to reason, — as that , you will find, is of use to the mind, when you soar up the mountain by Helicon’s fountain, where the Muses are fair, if you e’er find them there ; but some people ramble, and up the mount scramble, but ne’er reach the top, so down again drop in the fountains’s cold flow, deep to Lethe below — where they dare not aspire to awaken the Lyre, nor come out of the water, like Coelus’s daughter — the laughing young goddess without shift or bodice ! — But what has fair Venus to do now between us ? since I sat down to answer, as soon as I can, Sir, your punning Epistle, which tickled my whistle ; I laugh’d till my thorax was sore, — till with Borax and fine Narbonne honey, which cost little money, — with these, and a feather, commingled together, the soft application soon stopt inflammation, and then, without pain, I perused them : * : jfe* .0^ v again ; both the long punning Letter, and, what was yet better, the verses on Toth am — (I’m glad I have got ’em !) they prove Mr. Clark does not rhyme in the dark ; but if led by the light of the Muses aright, he may leave earth’s dull asses and soar up Parnassus, and live on Ambrosia, with joy and composure, and feel misery never — for ever and ever ! To prevent more confusion, I beg, in conclusion, to thank you for lauding my fair ‘Vale of Slaughden,’ and ‘Machin,’ and others, that rank as his brothers ! Farewell ! though unknown to you, I must can- didly own to you, that I always shall feel a regard for your weal ; and conclude in the end, your poetical friend, in sickness and health, destitution and weulth, both in deed and in word, Y our’s sincerely, JAMES BIRD. Yoxford, Suffolk, May 3, 1833. Mr. Charles Clark , Great Totham Hall. ^ipptnrsir:. The following familiar and sportive Epistle, in verse, addressed to a friend by Clare, in his youthful days, appears such a pleasing contrast to the pre- ceding one of his, written in 1824, that it is here presented entire, from his first volume of ‘ Poems ’ published in 1821. FAMILIAR EPISTLE. TO A FRIEND. “ Friendship, peculiar boon of heav’n, The noblest mind’s delight and pride; To men and angels only giv’n, To all the lower world denied : Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys On fools and villains ne’er descend, In vain for thee the tyrant sighs, And hugs a flatterer for a friend.” Johnson. This morning, just as I awoken, A black cloud hung the south unbroken ; Thinks I, just now we’ll have it soakin': I rightly guess'd. 'Faith ! glad were I to see the token ; I wanted rest. And, ’fex! a pepp'ring day there's been on't, But caution'd right with what I'd seen on't. Keeping at home has kept me clean on't; Ye know my creed: Fool-hardy work, I ne'er was keen on't — But let's proceed. ^7 I write to keep from mischief merely. Fire-side comforts 'joying cheerly ; And, brother chip, T love ye dearly. Poor as ye be ! With honest heart and soul, sincerely ; They're all to me. This scrawl, mark thou the application, Though hardly worth thy observation, Meaneth an humble invitation On some day’s end: Of all ragg’d-muffins in the nation, Thou art the friend. I've long been aggravated shocking, To see our gentry folks so cocking: But sorrow’s often catch'd by mocking. The truth I’ve seen ; Their pride may want a shoe or stocking, For like has been. Pride s power’s not worth a roasted onion I'd’s lief be prison-mouse wi’ Bunyan, As I’d be king of our dominion. Or any other ; When shuffled through — it’s my opinion, One’s good as t’other. Nor would I gi’e, from off my cuff, A single pin for all such stuff: Riches— rubbish ! a pinch of snuff Would dearly buy ye ; Who’s got ye, keeps ye, that’s enough : I don’t envy ye. if „ rW ■ ' ^ # ; f 12 If fate 8 so kind to let’s be doing, That’s — just keep cart on wheels a going ; O’er my half-pint I can be crowing As well’s another: But when there’s this and that stands owing, O curse the bother ! For had I money, like a many, I’d balance, even to a penny. Want! thy confinement makes me scranny: That spirit’s mine, I’d sooner gi’e than take from any ; But Worth can’t shine. O Independence ! oft I bait ye ; How blest I’d be to call ye matey ! Ye fawning, flattering slaves I hate ye: Mad, harum-scarum! If rags and tatters under-rate me, Free still I’ll wear ’em. But hang all sorrows, now I’ll bilk ’em ; What’s past may go so : time that shall come, As bad, or worse, or how it will come, I’ll ne’er despair ; Poor as I am, friends shall be welcome As rich men’s are. So from my heart, old friend, I’ll greet ye: No outside brags shall ever cheat ye ; Wi’ what I have, wi’ such I’ll treat ye ; Ye may believe me ; I’ll shake your rags whene’er I meet ye, If ye deceive me. 13 So mind ye, friend, what’s what, I send it: My letter’s plain, and plain I’ll end it: Bad’s bad enough, but worse won’t mend it ; So I’ll be happy, And while I’ve sixpence left I’ll spend it In cheering nappy. A hearty health shall crown my story:— Dear, native England ! I adore ye ; Britons, may ye with friends before ye Ne’er want a quart, To drink your king and country’s glory Wi’ upright heart ! POSTSCRIPT. I’ve oft meant tramping o’er to see ye ; But, d — d old Fortune, (God forgi’e me!) She’s so cross-grain’d and forked wi’ me, Be e’er so willing, With all my jingling powers ’tint i’ me To scheme a shilling. And Poverty, with cursed rigour, Spite of industry’s utmost vigour, Dizens me out in such a figure I’m ’sham’d being seen ; ’Sides my old shoon, (poor Muse, ye twig her,) Wait roads being clean. Then here wind-bound till Fate’s conferr’d on’t, I wait ye, friend ; and take my word on’t. I’ll, spite of fate, scheme such a hoard on’t, As we won’t lack : So no excuses shall be heard on’t. Yours, RANDOM JACK. GREAT TOTHAM I PRINTED AT CHARLES CLARK’S PRIVATE PRESS.