University of California. 
 
 G-IFT OP 
 
 ^ >Ff883. 
 
 3 
 
 ^■m^^ 
 
 .^..... ... Z-ZS/S 
 
 ^ .V. III..:.. \ 
 
 
*^'-. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fourcenturiesofeOOscoorich 
 
FOUR CENTURIES OF 
 ENGLISH LETTERS 
 
PRESS NOTICES OF THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 ' Here is a mass of letters on all sorts of subjects by all sorts of 
 writers. We have the grave, the gay, the lively, the severe. The 
 reader can hardly open a page without finding something curious, 
 or amusing, or edifying ; and though the book is, from the very 
 nature of things, not one to read through at a sitting, it is an 
 excellent book for dipping into every now and then.' — AxHENyEUM. 
 
 'No one who takes the slightest interest in English history, 
 English literature, or in human nature, can fail to receive increase 
 of delight from the perusal of this volume. . . . Mr. Scoones's 
 editorial apparatus is excellently calculated to assist the enjoyment 
 of a singularly enjoyable book— a book that Chesterfield would, we 
 think, have included among his ideal books for spare half-hours.' 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' Mr. Scoones's compilation is a very interesting book, and one 
 which, as affording a bird's-eye view of English epistolary literature, 
 is really without a rival.' Daily News. 
 
 'A rarely happy combination of the interesting and valuable. 
 Whether it be regarded as typical of individual character, or as dis- 
 playing the manners of past times, the collection is admirable. The 
 author has shown an excellent discrimination, whilst the little head- 
 notes, which serve to introduce and explain the letters, are models of 
 perspicuity. All is good, and Mr. Scoones has given us the most 
 attractive literary treasure-house whose riches have been unlocked 
 to us for many a long day.' World. 
 
 ' It was a happy thought which suggested to Mr. Scoones the 
 compilation of the present volume, in which he has brought together 
 with very great judgment and taste a series of most interesting and 
 valuable specimens of letter- writing during these four centuries.' 
 Notes anu Queries. 
 
 . London : Kegan Paul, Trench, & Co., i Paternoster Square. 
 
FOUR CENTURIES OF 
 ENGLISH LETTERS 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY WRITERS FROM THE PERIOD OF 
 
 THE PASTON LETTERS TO THE PRESENT DAY. 
 
 EDITED AND AERANGED BY 
 
 W. BAPTISTE SCOONES 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 1883 
 
'^ /6 /S 
 
 {The rights of translation and of r^roduction are reserved) 
 
 \ ^y 
 
TO TEE LADY 
 
 TO WHOSE EARNEST CO-OPBBATION AND LITERARY TASTK 
 
 THE CHOICE OF MANY OP THE FINEST LETTEES 
 IN THIS COLLECTION IS DUB 
 
 THE PRESENT VOLUME IS INSCRIBED 
 
 WITH GRATEFUL REGARD AND AFFECTION 
 BY 
 
 HER HUSBAND 
 
PEBFAOB. 
 
 The quality of English epistolary correspondence is not 
 surpassed by that of any other European nation. In quantity 
 and variety France is our only successful rival. 
 
 So extensive and various are our own collections that he 
 who has not made a diligent hole-and-corner search for him- 
 self can have no idea of their scope and character. In putting 
 forth this volume I need scarcely say that it is not, and can- 
 not be, a complete treasury of English letters from the Lan- 
 castrian to the Victorian era. I have simply endeavoured, 
 after a careful survey of nearly five hundred volumes, to 
 make my ' scanty plot of ground ' rich with some of the best 
 and brightest flowers of epistolary literature. The preserva- 
 tion of an uniform measure of literary excellence, after the 
 manner of the Golden Treasury of Poetry, was the object 
 which at first was attempted in the process of selection ; 
 but as the field of choice, thus limited, proved to be so very 
 narrow, and the authors so few, the addition of letters com- 
 bining decided literary merit with features of special interest 
 seemed requisite to save the volume from overmuch severity 
 of tone. 
 
 Mr. Carlyle somewhere defines good letters as 'an un- 
 counted handful of needles to be collected from an unmea- 
 
viii PREFA CE, 
 
 sured continent of hay.' Given suflBcient time, opportunity, 
 and inclination, and most men may explore this vast con- 
 tinent ; but it is doubtful whether any single traveller would 
 be fortunate enough to pick up all the needles. I am sensible 
 of comparative failure after a long journey of research, and 
 I know that many a gem must still lurk in dark corners ; but 
 I must be content to depend on ' the magic of patience,' and 
 to the kindly assistance of all who may take an interest in 
 this design, to bring many more fine specimens to light. 
 
 Most of the letters, it will be observed, are introduced by 
 a critical or explanatory head-note, worded in as condeused a 
 form as possible. As many readers may consider these notes 
 somewhat dogmatic, and even entirely superfluous, it is ne- 
 cessary to state that their introduction, as a prominent and 
 essential feature of the plan, is prompted by the hope that 
 the volume as a whole may commend itself to the young and 
 unenlighteoed equally with their more cultured elders ; espe- 
 cially as, I venture to hope, there will nowhere be found a 
 page to otfend the most fastidious reader. 
 
 I am not aware of the existence of any comprehensive 
 and well-considered collection of English letters suitable 
 alike for the purposes of instruction and recreation, in spite 
 of tlie repeated pitiful complaints that the art of letter- 
 writing, so graceful an adornment of our older literature, 
 has dwindled down to the proverbial ' hurried scrawl ' of the 
 present hour. And yet the study of this art has not been 
 abandoned for want of, but in spite of, the urgent advocacy 
 of many English classical writers. John Locke, in his essay 
 on Education, remarks : ' When they understand how to write 
 English with due connexion, propriety, and order, and are 
 pretty well masters of a tolerable narrative style, they may 
 be advanced to writing of letters ; wherein they should not 
 be put upon any strains of wit or compliment, but taught to 
 express their own plain easy sense without any incoherence, 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 confusion, or roughness. . . . The writing of letters has so 
 much to do in all the occurrences of human life, that no 
 gentleman can avoid showing himself in this kind of writing : 
 occasions will daily force him to make use of his pen, which, 
 besides the consequences that, in his affairs, his well- or ill- 
 managing of it often draws after it, always lays him open to 
 a severer examination of his breeding, sense, and abilities 
 than oral discourses, whose transient faults, dying for the 
 most part with the sound that gives them life, and so not 
 subject to a strict review, more easily escape observation and 
 censure.' 
 
 Political letters, except in very few instances, will be 
 conspicuous by their absence. The chief obstacle to their 
 introduction here has been the want of sufficient interest in 
 any one or two such letters taken by themselves. The cor- 
 respondence of politicians is a branch of literature in itself; 
 and though political letters are very often most interesting 
 in their bearing on questions of domestic and foreign policy 
 when read in a collective form, they will be found dull and 
 meaningless in fragments. A reference to such works as Stan- 
 hope's ' Life of Pitt,' ' The Bedford Letters,' ' The Correspon- 
 dence of the Duchess of Marlborough,' Grrimblot's ' Letters of 
 William III. and Louis XIV'.,' ' The Correspondence of George 
 III. with Lord North,' or of William IV. with Earl Grrey, and 
 many other such collections, will help to establish my assertion 
 on this point. 
 
 In regard to the arrangement of the different epistles, it 
 was decided, after careful consideration, not to publish them 
 in groups according to the subject-matter, but chronologically 
 according to the date of each author's birth. With these 
 few observations I will leave it to others to expatiate on 
 letter- writing as an art and on the varied beauties of our 
 own epistolary literature in particular; and will conclude 
 with an expression of thanks to those gentlemen who have 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 kindly granted me perniission to reprint extracts from recently 
 published works. 
 
 To my friend INIr. Edmimd Gosse I am very grateful 
 for the interest he has taken in the progress of this volume, 
 as well as for the benefit I have derived from his scholarly 
 criticism, and for several important contributions. 
 
 W. Baptiste ScOones. 
 
 ElDQWAT PA-DDOCK, ■WlMBLEDONi 
 
 May 1880. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 •** The dates at the heginning of the lines are those of the birth and 
 death of each writer. 
 
 SECTION I. (1450-1600.) 
 
 A.D. PAGB 
 
 Lomner, William, to John Paston . . . , . 3 
 Clere, Edmund, to John Paston .... .5 
 
 Paston, William, junior, to his brother, John Paston . 6 
 Margaret, Countess of Oxford, to John Paston . . 7 
 Margaret of Anjou to Dame Jane Carew . . .7 
 
 1456-1509. Henry VII. to Sir Gilbert Talbot 8 
 
 1471-1530. Wolsey, Cardinal, to Dr. Stephen Gardiner. . . 10 
 
 1480-1535. More, Sir Thomas, to his Wife 11 
 
 1489-1556. Cranmer, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, to 
 
 Henry Vm 13 
 
 1491-1547. Henry Vni. to Anne Boleyn 15-16 
 
 1507-1536. Boleyn, Anne, to Cardinal Wolsey . . . .17 
 
 1515-1568. Ascham, Roger, to Bishop Gardiner 18 
 
 „ „ his wife, Margaret . . .19 
 
 1502-1553. Dudley, John, Duke of Northumberland, to the Earl 
 
 ofArundell 21 
 
 1586. Sidney, Sir Henry, to his son, Philip Sidney . . . 23 
 
 Shrewsbury, Earl of, to Queen Elizabeth . ... 25 
 „ „ Lord Burghley . . .25 
 
 1533-1603. Elizabeth, Queen, to the King of France, Henry IV. . . 27 
 „ „ Lady Norris upon the death of 
 
 her Son 27 
 
 „ „ James VI. of Scotland . . 28-30 
 
 1541-1596. Drake, Sir Francis, to Lord Walsingham . . .31 
 
 Rice, John ap, to Thomas Cromwell, Visitor-General of 
 
 Monasteries . . ' 32 
 
 Beerley, Richard, to Sir Thomas Cromwell, Visitor- 
 General of Monasteries . • • • • .34 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A.D. 
 
 1552-1618. 
 
 1554-1601. 
 1561-1626. 
 
 1566-1625. 
 
 1567-1601. 
 1568-1639. 
 1522-1571. 
 
 1573-1631. 
 
 1574-1637. 
 1590-1632. 
 1591-1674. 
 1593-1683. 
 1594-1643. 
 1596-1666. 
 
 1599-1658. 
 
 FA6B 
 
 Ralegh, Sir Walter, to Secretary Sir Robert Cecil ... 35 
 „ „ King James L . . . .37 
 
 Lyly, John, to Lord Burleigh 39 
 
 Bacon, Sir Francis, to Sir Edward Coke . . .40 
 
 „ „ Sir Thomas Bodley . . , . 41 
 
 „ Lord Chancellor, to King James L , • .42 
 
 James L to his son, Prince Henry 43 
 
 „ „ Prince Charles and the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham 45-46 
 
 Essex, the Earl of, to Queen Elizabeth . . . 47-51 
 Wotton, Sir Henry, to John Milton. ... .52 
 
 Jewel, Dr., Bishop of Salisbury, to Peter Martyr . . 54 
 Cox, Dr., Bishop of Ely, to Rodolph Gualter . . .56 
 
 Donne, Dr., to the Marquess of Buckingham , , . 59 
 
 „ „ Lady G 60 
 
 „ „ Sir Henry Goodere . . • , . 61 
 
 „ „ the worthiest lady, Mrs. B. W . 62 
 
 Sir J. H 63 
 
 Jonson, Ben, to John Donne 63 
 
 Eliot, Sir John, to John Hampden .... 64-65 
 Herrick, Robert, to Sir William Herrick . . 67-68 
 Walton, Isaac, to John Aubrey , . * . . . 68 
 
 Hampden, John, to Sir John Eliot 70 
 
 Howel, James, to Sir J. S 71 
 
 „ „ his Father 73 
 
 „ „ the Right Hon. Lady Scroop, Countess 
 
 of Sunderland 74 
 
 „ „ Sir S. C 76 
 
 the Right Hon. Lady E. D . . 79 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, to the Hon. William Lenthall . . 79 
 
 Cromwell, Protector, to Cardinal Mazarin . . , . 82 
 
 „ ,, Sir William Lockhart , 84-86 
 
 1609-1669. 
 1600-1649. 
 1605-1687. 
 
 1608-1641. 
 1608-1674. 
 
 SECTION n. (1600-1700.) 
 
 J Henrietta Maria, Queen, to Charles I. 
 
 ( Charles I. to Queen Henrietta Maria 
 
 Waller, Edmund, to my Lady 
 
 » „ Lady Lucy Sidney 
 
 Suckling, Sir John, to 
 
 Milton, John, to John Bradshaw . 
 
 . 89 
 91-93 
 . 95 
 . 96 
 . 97 
 . 98 
 
COKTENTS. 
 
 A.D. • PACK 
 
 1608-1674. Hyde, Sir Edward, to Lord Witherington . , . . 99 
 
 „ Edward, Earl of Clarendon, to Mr. Mordaunt . 101 
 
 „ „ Sir Henry Bennet. . 102 
 
 1613-1667. Taylor, Jeremy, to John Evelyn • . . . . 103-105 
 
 1620-1706. Evelyn, John, to Abraham Cowley 107 
 
 „ „ Lady Sunderland 109 
 
 1620-1678. Marvell, Andrew, to William Ramsden . . . . Ill 
 
 „ „ the Mayor and Aldermen of Hull ,113 
 
 Penruddock's, Mrs., last letter to her Husband . . . IH 
 
 „ Mr., last letter to his Wife . . . 115 
 
 1624-1673. Newcastle, Margaret, Duchess of, to her Husband . . 116 
 1621-1683. Sidney, Algernon, to his father, the Earl of Leicester . 118 
 
 1627-1705. Eay, John, to Tankred Robinson 120 
 
 1628-1699. Temple, Sir William, to Lord Lisle 122 
 
 „ „ Mr. Godolphin . • , . 124 
 
 „ „ Lord Halifax . , , .126 
 1636-1723. Russell, Lady Rachel, to King Charles II 128 
 
 „ „ Dr. Tillotson, Dean of St. Paul's. 129 
 
 1630-.1694. Tillotson, Dr., to the Earl of Shrewsbury. . . .131 
 
 „ „ Lady Rachel Russell . , . . 133 
 1631-1700. Dryden, John, to John Dennis 136 
 
 „ „ Elizabeth Thomas 139 
 
 1632-1704. Locke, John, to Lady Calverley 141 
 
 1642-1727. Newton, Sir Isaac, to Richard Bentley 143 
 
 1717. Lloyd, Dr., Bishop of St. Asaph, to Dr. Fell, Bishop of 
 
 Oxford . . .144 
 
 Browne, Tom, to a Lady who smoked tobacco , . .146 
 
 1651-1685. Otway, Thomas, to Madam Barry 147 
 
 1658-1725. Plaxton, the Rev. George, to Ralph Thoresby . . . 148 
 
 1687. Gwynne, Nell, to Lawrence Hyde 149 
 
 1660-1753. Sloane, Sir Hans, to John Ray 150 
 
 1661-1731. De Foe, Daniel, to the Earl of Halifax . , . 151-153 
 1662-1742. Bentley, Dr. Richard, to John Evelyn 155 
 
 „ „ the Archbishop of Canterbury . 156 
 
 1667-1745. Swift, Dr., to the Earl of Halifax 159 
 
 „ Dean, to Archbishop King 161 
 
 „ „ the Earl of Oxford 164 
 
 „ „ Lord- Treasurer Oxford . . . . 166 
 
 „ „ Mrs. Moore 168 
 
 1667-1735. Arbnthnot, Dr., to Dean Swift . . ; . . . 170 
 1671-1729, Steele, Richard, to Mary Scurlock . , • . .171 
 
 „ „ Lady Steele 172 
 
 „ the Earl of Halifax . , . .173 
 1671-1767. Cibber, CoUey, to Mrs. Pilkington 174 
 
A.D. 
 
 1672-1719. 
 
 1G78-1752. 
 
 1684-1752. 
 1688-1744. 
 
 1689-1761. 
 1690-1762. 
 
 1694-1773. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Addison, Joseph, to Charles Montagu . . • .176 
 
 „ „ Bishop Hough 178 
 
 „ „ Chamberlain Dashwocd . . . 180 
 
 „ „ Mr. Secretary Craggs . . . . 181 
 
 Bolingbroke, Lord, to Dean Swift 182 
 
 „ „ Swift, Pope, and Gay . . . 184 
 
 „ „ and Alexander Pope, to Dean Swift 184 
 
 Berkeley, Dr., to Alexander Pope 187 
 
 Pope, Alexander, to Richard Steele 189 
 
 Dean Swift ... . . 191 
 
 „ „ Lady Mary Wortley Montagu . .192 
 
 Richardson, Samuel, to Aaron Hill 196 
 
 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, to E. W. Montagu . . 198 
 
 Mrs. S. C . . 200 
 
 „ „ „ the Countess of Mar . 202 
 
 „ „ „ herdaughter, the Coun- 
 
 tess of Bute . 207-214 
 Chesterfield, the Earl of, to his son, Philip Stanhope. 21 5-222 
 Taylour, Charles, to the Publisher Rich , , . . 224 
 
 SECTION m. (1700-1800.) 
 
 1703-1791. Wesley, John, to a Friend .... 
 „ „ John King .... 
 
 „ „ Charles Wesley 
 
 1707-1754. Fielding, Henry, to the Hon. George Lyttleton , 
 1708-1778. Pitt, William, to his wife, Lady Chatham 
 1709-1784. Johnson, Dr. Samuel, to the Hon. Warren Hastings 
 „ „ „ Earl of Chesterfield 
 
 „ „ „ Laird of Rasay . 
 
 „ „ „ Mrs. Piozzi 
 
 1739-1821. Piozzi, Mrs., to Dr. Samuel Johnson 
 
 1711-1776. Hume, David, to 
 
 „ „ Jean Jacques Rousseau . , 
 
 „ „ Dr. Blair 
 
 1713-1768. Sterne, Lawrence, to Miss Sterne . . , 
 
 „ „ Ignatius Sancho . 
 
 1714-1763. ShenStone, William, to Mr. Graves . 
 
 >» » Richard Jago 
 
 1716-1771. Gray, Thomas, to the Rev. Norton Nicholls . 
 1717-1797. Walpole, the Hon. Horace, to Sir Horace Mann 
 n n n William Pitt. 
 
 . 229 
 . . 231 
 
 . 232 
 . . 233 
 
 . 235 
 . . 236 
 
 . 238 
 
 . 239 
 
 240-241 
 
 . 242 
 . . 243 
 
 . 246 
 . . 248, 
 
 . 249 
 
 . 250 
 . . 251 
 
 . 253 
 255-257 
 259-261 
 . . 264 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XV 
 
 A.D. PAGB 
 
 1717-1797. Walpole, the Hon. Horace, to George Montagu . 265-2fi3 
 
 the Earl of Strafford . . 270 
 „ „ „ Editor of the Miscellanies 
 
 of Chatterton 
 
 1720-1793. White, Gilbert, to Hester Chapone 
 1720-1800. Montagu, Mrs. Elizabeth, to Gilbert West 
 
 „ „ „ Benjamin Stillingfleet 
 
 „ „ „ David Garrick 
 
 Fordyce, Dr., to David Garrick .... 
 1723-1792. Reynolds, Sir Joshua, to Mr. Barry . . . , 
 1726-1769. Wolfe, Major James, to Mrs. Wolfe . 
 
 „ Lieut-Col. James, to Mrs. Wolfe . 
 1727-1797. Wilkes, John, to Lords Egremont and Halifax . 
 
 „ „ Humphrey Cotes . 
 1728-1774. Goldsmith, Oliver, to Griffith the Publisher. 
 „ „ Maurice Goldsmith 
 „ „ Bennet Langton 
 Markham, Dr., to the Duchess of Queensbury 
 3729-1797. Burke, Edmund, to the Right Hon. William Gerard 
 Hamilton 
 
 {Francis, Philip, to the Right Hon. Edmund Burke 
 Burke, the Right Hon. Edmund, to Philip Francis . 
 Junius to Sir William Draper .... 
 „ „ the Duke of Grafton .... 
 
 1731-1800. Cowper, William, to Clotworthey Rowley . 
 
 „ „ Joseph Hill .... 
 
 „ „ Mrs. Newton 
 
 „ „ the Rev. John Newton . 
 
 „ „ Lady Hesketh 
 
 „ „ Mrs. Charlotte Smith 
 
 „ „ the Rev. Walter Bagot 
 
 1737-1794. Gibbon, Edward, to Dr. Priestley .... 
 
 „ „ Lord Sheffield 
 
 1740-1795. Boswell, James, to David Garrick . 
 Erskine, Andrew, to James Boswell 
 
 1819. Moser, Mary, to Henry Fuseli 
 
 1745-1833. More, Mrs. Hannah, to Mrs. Gwatkin 
 
 „ „ „ Mrs. Boscawen 
 
 1748-1825. Parr, Dr. Samuel, to Mr. Cradock 
 1752-1803. Ritson, Joseph, to Sir Harris Nicolas 
 1752-1840. D'Arblay, Madame, to Mrs. Lock 
 1753-1821. Inchbald, Mrs., to the Rev. J. Plumptre 
 1754-1 8'32. Crabbe, George, to Edmund Burke 
 
 272 
 274 
 277-279 
 280 
 282 
 284 
 286 
 288 
 290 
 291 
 292 
 295 
 297 
 299 
 300 
 
 301 
 
 304 
 
 307 
 
 311 
 
 313 
 
 318 
 
 320 
 
 321 
 
 322-324 
 
 325 
 
 327 
 
 328 
 
 330-331 
 
 . 331 
 
 . 33.S 
 
 . 335 
 
 . 337 
 
 . 339 
 
 . 341 
 
 . 342 
 
 . 345 
 
 . 346 
 
 . 348 
 
 . 350 
 
 the Rev. George, to the Right Hon. Edmund Burke 353 
 
XVI 
 
 co^TE^'TS. 
 
 A.D. 
 
 1756-1836. 
 
 1757-1828. 
 1757-1833. 
 1758-1805. 
 
 1769-1792. 
 
 1759-1808. 
 1759-1833. 
 1 759-1797. 
 1763-1855. 
 1766-1848. 
 
 1767-1849. 
 1769-1852. 
 
 1770-1850. 
 1771-1832. 
 
 1771-1845. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Grodwin, William, to Samuel Taylor Coleridge , , . 353 
 „ „ Percy Bysshe Shelley . . . 355 
 
 „ „ Mrs. Shelley 359 
 
 Blake, "William, to John Flaxman 360 
 
 Sotheby, William, to Professor Wilson . , . . 362 
 
 Nelson, Horatio, to Mrs. Nelson 363 
 
 „ Commodore, to Mrs. Nelson 364 
 
 „ „ „ the Hon. Sir Gilbert Elliot . . 366 
 
 „ Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio, K.B., to Admiral 
 
 Sir John Jervis, K.B 367 
 
 „ Rear- Admiral Sir Horatio, K.B., to Lady Nelson . 368 
 „ Vice-Admiral Sir Horatio, K.B., to the Rev. Dr. 
 
 Nelson 368 
 
 „ „ „ to Alexander 
 
 Davison 369 
 
 „ Lord, to Lady Hamilton 370 
 
 Bums, Robert, to !Mjss Ellison Begbie * , , . .371 
 „ „ the Earl of Glencaim , , . , . 372 
 
 „ „ Peter Hill 373 
 
 „ „ Mr. Graham of Fintray . . . . 375 
 
 Porson, Richard, to Dr. Postlelhwaite .... 376 
 Wilberforce, William, to the Earl of Galloway . . . 378 
 WoUstonecraft, Mary, to Captain Imlay . . . 379-381 
 
 Rogers, Samuel, to Thomas Muore 382 
 
 D 'Israeli, Isaac, to William Godwin 385 
 
 Dr. Dibdin . .... 386 
 
 Edgeworth, Miss Maria, to Miss Sydney Smith . . 387 
 Wellington, Lieut-Gen. Viscount, to the Right Hon. Sir 
 
 W. W. Pole . . .389 
 
 „ n « to . . . . 392 
 
 „ Field- Marshal the Marquess of, to Lord 
 
 Burghersh 393 
 
 „ Field- Marshal the Duke of, to Sir J. Sinclair, 
 
 Bart. . . . . 394 
 
 M „ „ to Francis Mudford . . 396 
 
 „ „ „ Lord FitzRoy Somerset . 396 
 
 Wordsworth, WiUiam, to Sir George Beaumont . . 31i7 
 
 „ „ Alexander Dyce , . . . 398 
 
 Scott, Walter, to George Crabbe 399 
 
 „ „ the Rev. T. Frognall Dibdin . 401-404 
 
 rPlymley, Peter, to his brother Abraham . , , .405 
 
 I Smith, the Rev. Sydney, to Lady Holland . . , . 411 
 
 w n *, Roderick Murchison . ,412 
 
 « t, „ the Rev. R. H. Barham . . 413 
 
COM'EA'TS. 
 
 A.D. PAGK 
 
 1771-1845. Smith, the Rev. Sydney, to the Editor of the * Morning 
 
 Chronicle ' 414 
 
 1772-1834. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, to Josiah Wade . * . .417 
 
 „ „ „ Joseph Cottle . . . . 418 
 
 „ „ „ "William Godwin, , .420 
 
 1772-1835. Hogg, James, to Professor John Wilson . , . . 421 
 
 1773-1860. Jeffrey, Francis, to his brother, John Jeffrey . . .422 
 
 4, .„ Thomas Campbell 424 
 
 „ „ William Empson .... 425 
 
 „ „ Charles Dickens 427 
 
 1774-1843. Southey, Robert, to Miss Barker 428 
 
 „ „ Joseph Cottle 430 
 
 „ „ John Rickman ,,.'.. 432 
 
 1775-1834. Lamb, Charles, to Robert Southey 432 
 
 „ „ Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . . 433 
 
 „ „ William Wordsworth . . . . 434 
 
 „ „ Thomas Manning 436 
 
 Mr. Cary 438 
 
 1775-1864. Landor, Walter Savage, to Robert Southey . . .439 
 
 „ „ „ Dr. Samuel Parr , . . 440 
 
 „ „ „ Robert Southey , , .441 
 
 1776-1835. Mathews, Charles, to Mrs. Mathews . . . . 442 
 
 „ „ the Rev. Paschal Strong . .443 
 
 1776-1837. Constable, John, R.A., to Mr. Dunthorne . , . . 445 
 
 „ „ „ the Rev. J. Fisher . . . 446 
 
 1777-1835. Ireland, Samuel W. H., to Dr. Samuel Parr. . . . 448 
 
 1779-1852. Moore, Thomas, to Miss Godfrey 449 
 
 „ „ Samuel Rogers . . , 451-453 
 
 1781-1864. . Aikin, Miss Lucy, to Dr. Channing 455 
 
 1784-1865. Palmerston, Lord, to Viscount Granville . . . . 458 
 „ „ Sir H. L. Bulwer . . . .460 
 
 1784-1859. Hunt, Leigh, to Mr. Ives 462 
 
 „ „ Joseph Severn 464 
 
 1785-1854. Wilson, John, to James Hogg 465 
 
 1786-1806. White, Henry Kirke, to John Charlesworth . . .468 
 „ „ „ Peter Thompson . . . . 470 
 
 1785-1840. Wilkie, Sir David, to Miss Wilkie 472 
 
 1786-1846. Haydon, Benjamin Robert, to John Keats .... 473 
 „ „ „ Miss Mitford . . 475-478 
 
 „ „ „ William Wordsworth . 480 
 
 1786-1859. De Quincey, Thomas, to Jessie Miller 481 
 
 ,, „ his daughter, Margaret Craig . 483 
 
 1788-1824. Byron, Lord, to Henry Drury . . ... 485 
 
 „ „ Sir Walter Scott 486 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A.D. 
 
 1788-1824. 
 
 1788-1841. 
 1788-1845. 
 
 1789-1849. 
 1792-1822. 
 
 1793-1873. 
 1795-1842. 
 
 1796-1821. 
 1799-1845. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Byron, Lord, to John Murray 487 
 
 „ ' „ Thomas Moore 488 
 
 „ „ the Marchesa Guiccioli . . . . 489 
 
 Thomas Moore 490-492 
 
 Sheppard, John, to Lord Byron 493 
 
 Byron, Lord, to John Sheppard 495 
 
 f Ramsbottom, Miss Dorothea, to Mr. Bull , . . . 496 
 
 X Hook, Theodore, to Charles Mathews . * . . 499 
 
 Barham, the Rev. R. H., to Mrs. Hughes . ... 500 
 
 „ „ „ Dr. Wilmot of Ashford . . 503 
 
 Blessington, Lady, to Walter Savage Landor . . , 504 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, to Henry Reveley . . . 506 
 
 Leigh Hunt . . . . 507 
 
 « „ » to 509 
 
 Macready, W. C, to Frederick Pollock . . . . 510 
 
 Mrs. Pollock 513 
 
 Arnold, the Rev. Thomas, D.D., to the Rev. F. C. Black- 
 stone . . . , 515 
 
 Arnold, the Rev. Thomas, D.D., to an old pupil at Oxford. 516 
 „ „ „ Mr. Justice Coleridge . 517 
 
 „ „ „ the Rev. G. Cornish . 519 
 
 Keats, John, to W. Bailey 519 
 
 Mr. Reynolds 520 
 
 Hood, Thomas, to his Daughter 522 
 
 „ „ Charles Dickens 523 
 
 „ „ May Elliot 523 
 
 „ „ Sir Robert Peel 524 
 
 1800-1859. 
 
 1802-1876. 
 1803-1857. 
 1803-1849. 
 1803-1878. 
 
 1805-1873. 
 1811-1863. 
 
 SECTION IV. (1800- .). 
 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, to his Mother * . . 529 
 „ ,, „ his Father . . 530-531 
 
 » ,, „ Thomas Flower Ellis . 532 
 
 » „ „ Macvey Napier . 53.5-539 
 
 . . 542 
 
 . 545 
 
 547 
 
 548 
 
 550 
 
 551 
 
 . . 552 
 
 554-556 
 
 Martinean, Harriet, to a Friend in America 
 Jerrold, Douglas, to Miss Sabilla Novell© 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell, to Bryan Waller Procter 
 Mathews, Charles J., to his Father .... 
 
 » „ his Mother .... 
 
 „ „ Manager of the Gaiety Theatre 
 
 Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, to Lady Blessington 
 Thackeray, William M., to the Hon. W. B. Reed 
 
CONTENTS. xix 
 
 A.D. PAGB 
 
 1812-1870 Dickens, Charles, to Mr. T. J. Thompson . . . . 558 
 f „ Messrs. Forster, Maclise, and Stan- 
 field 559 
 
 „ „ Mary Cowden Clarke . . . . 5t>0 
 
 „ „ his youngest child .... 561 
 
 1816-1853. Robertson, the Eev. F. W., to . . . 662-564 
 
 1819-1875. Kingsley, the Rev. Charles, to Mr. Wood . . . 565 
 „ „ „ J. M. Ludlow . . . 566 
 
 „ „ „ Mrs. Gaskell . . . 568 
 
 „ „ „ a Clergyman . . . 569 
 
 1819-1861. Consort, the Prince, to the Crown Princess of Prussia 572-573 
 
 INDEX . , , 575 
 
SECTION L 
 
 A.D. 1450-1600. 
 
 a 
 
Forty years ago, Mr. Hallam, referring to an edition of tlie 
 ^ Paston Letters/ by Sir John Fenn, remarked that they alone 
 supplied ' a precious link in the chain of the moral history of 
 England.' These letters come to us as a ' track of continuous 
 light,' in a century notoriously barren of literary effort, and help 
 to develop not only the domestic, but the political history of 
 England from a.d. 1422 to 1509. We are indebted to Mr. James 
 Gairdner for as complete and clear an account of the Paston 
 Correspondence as it is at present possible to obtain. This 
 edition, completed in 1875, contains 400 additional letters, 
 besides many interesting documents which were then published 
 for the first time. The following letter describes the capture 
 and murder of the Duke of Suffolk, the most able of Henry the 
 Sixth's counsellors. 
 
 William Lomner to John Paston. 
 
 May 5, 1450. 
 
 Ryght worchipfuU Sir, — I recomaunde me to yow, and am 
 right scry of that I shalle sey, and have soo wesshe this litel bille 
 with sorwfuUe terys, that on ethes ye shalle reede it. 
 
 As on Monday nexte after May day there come tydyngs to 
 London that on Thorsday before the Duke of Suffolk come unto 
 the costes of Kent full nere Dover with his ij shepes and a litel 
 spynner; the qweche spynner he sente with certyn letters to 
 certyn of his trustid men unto Caleys warde, to knowe howe 
 he shuld be resceyvyd; and with him mette a shippe callyd 
 Nicolas of the Towre, with other shippis waytyng on hym, and by 
 hem that were in the spynner, the maister of the Nicolas hadde 
 knowlich of the Dukes comyng. And whanne he espyed the 
 Dukes shepis he sente forthe his bote to wete what they were, and 
 the Duke hymselfe spakke to hem, and seyd he was be the Kyngs 
 comaundement sent to Caleys ward, &c. 
 
 b2 
 
4 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 And they seyd he most speke with here master. And soo he, 
 with ij or iij of his men, wente forth with hem yn here bote to 
 the Nicolas ; and whanne he come, the master badde him ' Welcom, 
 Traitor,' as men sey ; and forther the maister desyryd to wete yf 
 the shepmen wolde holde with the duke, and they sent word they 
 wold not yn noo wyse ; and soo he was yn the Nicolas tyl Satur- 
 day next folwyng. 
 
 Soom sey he wrotte moche thenke to be delyverd to the Kynge, 
 but that is not verily knowe. He hadde his confessor with hym. 
 
 And some sey he was arreyned yn in the sheppe on here maner 
 upon the appechements and fonde gylty. 
 
 Also he asked the name of the sheppe, and whanne he knewe 
 it, he remembred Stacy that seid, if he myght eschape the daunger 
 of the Towr he should be saffe ; and thanne bis herte fay 1yd him, 
 for he thowghte he was desseyvyd, and yn in the syght of all his 
 men he was drawyn ought of the grete shippe yn to the bote ; and 
 ther was an exe, and a stoke, and oon of the lewdeste of the shippe 
 badde him ley down his hedde, and he should be fair ferd wyth, 
 and dye on a swerd ; and toke a rusty swerd, and smotte of his 
 hedde withyn halfe a doseyn strokas, and toke away his gown of 
 russet, and dobelette of velved mayled, and leyde his body on the 
 sends of Dover ; and some sey his hedde was set oon a pole by it, 
 and hes men sette on the londe be grette circumstaunce and preye. 
 And the shreve of Kent doth weche the body, and sent his under 
 shreve to the juges to wete what to doo, and also to the Kynge 
 whatte shalbe doo. Forther I wotte nott, but this fer is that yf the 
 proces be erroneous, lete his concell reverse it. 
 
 Sir Thomas Keriel is taken prisoner and alle the legge 
 hameyse, and aboute iij. m^- (3000) Englishe men slayn.^ 
 
 Mathew Grooth with xv*' (1500) fledde, and sayvd hym selfe 
 and hem; and Peris Brusy was cheffe capteyn, and hadde x™* 
 (10,000) Frenshe men and more. I prey you lete my mastras 
 your moder knowe these tydingis, and God have you all in his 
 kepyn. I prey you this bille may recomaunde me to my mastrases 
 your moder and wyfe. 
 
 Wretyn yn gret hast at London the v. day of May. 
 
 W. L. 
 
 * Reference to a battle fought near Caen during the French war. 
 Our troops sent to the aid of the Duke of Somerset in Normandy were 
 defeated. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, « 
 
 n. 
 
 Henry VI., after a period of mental derangement, recognises 
 his infant son, Edward, Prince of Wales. 
 
 Edmund Glere to John Paston. 
 
 January 9, 1455. 
 
 Right welbeloved cosyn, — I recomaund me to you, latyng you 
 wite such tidings as we have. 
 
 Blessed be God, the King is wel amended, and hath ben syn 
 Oristemesday, and on Seint Jones day comaunded his awmener to 
 ride to Caunterbury with his offryng, and comaunded the secre- 
 tarie to offre at Seint Edwards. 
 
 And on the Moneday after noon the Queen came to him, and 
 brought my Lord Prynce with her. And then he askid what the 
 Princes name was, and the Queen told him Edward ; and then he 
 hild up his hands and thankid God therof. And he seid he never 
 knew til that tyme, nor wist not what was seid to him, nor wist 
 not where he had be, whils he hath be seke til now. And he 
 askid who was godfaders, and the Queen told him, and he was well 
 apaid. 
 
 And she told him that the Cardinal ^ was dede, and he seid he 
 knew never thereof til that tyme ; and he seid oon of the wisist 
 Lords in his land was dede. 
 
 And my Lord of Wynchestr and my Lord of Seint Jones were 
 with him on the morrow after Tweltheday, and he speke to hem 
 as well as ever he did ; and when thei come out thei wept for joye. 
 And he seith he is in charitee with all the world, and so he wold 
 all tho Lords were. And now he seith matyns of Our Lady and 
 evesong, and herith his Masse devoutly; and Richard shall tell 
 yow more tidings by mouth. 
 
 I pray yow recomaund me to my Lady Morley and to Maister 
 Prior, and to my Lady Felbrigge and to my Lady Hevenyngham, 
 and to my cosyn your moder, and to my cosyn your wife. 
 
 Wreten at Grenewich on Thursday after Twelfth eday 
 
 Be your cosyn 
 
 Edmund Clere. 
 
 » John Kemp, Cardinal Archbishop of Canterbury and Chancellor, who 
 died nine months before the date of this letter. 
 
ENGLISU LETTERS. [U50- 
 
 ni. 
 
 If the style of correspondence of tlie Public-Sc!ioon3oy of the 
 fifteenth century was more finished than it is to-day, the suh- 
 ject-matter seems much the same : viz., money, clothes, and 
 exeats. 
 
 William Paston, junior, to his brother, John Paston. 
 
 Eton College : November 7, 1478. 
 
 Eyght reverent and worchepful brodyr, — I recomaunde me on 
 to you, desyiynge to here of yowre welfare and prosperite ; letynge 
 yow wete that I have resevyd of Alwedyr a lettyr, and a nobyll in 
 gowlde therin. Ferthermor my creansyr ^ Mayster Thomas, hertely 
 recomandyd hym to yow, and he praythe yow to sonde hym sum 
 mony for my comons; for he seythe ye be xx*^5. [twenty-two 
 shillings] in hys dette, for a monthe was to pay for when he had 
 mony laste. 
 
 Also I beseche yow to sende me a hose clothe, one for the haly- 
 days of sum colore, and anothyr for the workyng days, how corse 
 so ever it be it makyth no matyr ; and a stomechere, and ij schyrtes, 
 and a peyer of sclyppers. And if it lyke yow that I may come 
 with Alwedjn- be watyr, and sporte me with yow in London a day 
 or ij thys terme tyme, than ye may let all thys be tyl the tyme 
 that I come, and than I wol telle yow when I schall be redy to 
 come from Eton, by the grace of Grod, Whom have yow in Hys 
 kepyng. 
 
 Wretyn the Saturday next aftyr All Halown Day with the 
 hand of your brodyr, 
 
 "William Paston. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Viscount Lovell here referred to was one of the adhe- 
 rents of Richard III., who was attainted on the accession of 
 Henry VII. An unsuccessful conspirator on his own account, 
 he fought on the side of the impostor Lambert Simnel, at the 
 battle of Stoke a.d. 1487, and is said to have been drowned in 
 the river Trent while beating a retreat from the royalist troops. 
 
 » Creditor. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, 
 
 Margaret f Countess of Oxford, to John Paston. 
 
 May 19, 1486. 
 
 To my right trusti and welbiloved John Paston, 
 Shrieve of Norflfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Bight trusti and welbiloved, — I recomaund me iirto you. And 
 for as moche as I am credebly enfourmed that Fraunceis, late Loide 
 Lovell, is now of late resorted into the Yle of Ely, to the entente 
 by alle lykelyhod, to finde the waies and meanes to gete him ship- 
 ping and passage in your costes or ellis to resorte ageyn to sein- 
 tuary, if he can or male ; I therfor hertily desire praie yow, and 
 neverthelesse, in the Kinges name streitly chai-gie you that ye in 
 all goodly haste endevore your self that such wetche or other 
 meanes be used and hadde in the poorts, and creks, and othre 
 places wher ye thinke necessary by your discrecion, to the letting 
 of his seid purpose ; and that ye also use all the waies ye can or 
 male by your wisdom to the taking of the same Lorde Lovell. 
 And what pleasur ye maie do to the Kingis Grace in this matier, 
 I am sure, is not to you unknowen. And God kepe you. 
 
 "VVretyn at Lavenham, the xix day of May. 
 
 Margaret Oxynford.^ 
 
 V. 
 
 This very curious letter is printed in the Oamden Society's 
 publications for the year 1863. The young Queen JSIargaret of 
 Anjou is urging the suit of a member of her household, a 
 staunch Lancastrian of the Red Rose, for the hand of a wealthy 
 widow who had the disposal of seventeen manors. But Dame 
 Carew was not to be inveigled by royal advances. She bestowed 
 her hand and chattels real on the handsome young De Vere, 
 brother of the twelfth Earl of Oxford. 
 
 Margaret J Queen of Henry VI., to Dame Jane Carew, 
 
 Eltham [1450]. 
 By the Queen. 
 
 Bight dere and welbeloved, we grete you well ; and, for as 
 moch as oure trusty and welbeloved Squier, Thomas Burneby, 
 
 ' Daughter of Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury and sister of Eichard, 
 Earl of Warwick. 
 
9 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 sewer of our mouth, aswel for the greet zele, love, and affeccion 
 that he hath unto yo'" personne, as for the womanly and vertuouse 
 governance that ye be renowned of, desireth with all his hert to 
 do you worship by wey of mariage, bifore all creatures lyvyng, as 
 he saith ; We, desiryng th' encres, furtherance, and preferring of 
 oure said squire for his manyfold merits and deserts, as for the good 
 service that he hath done unto my lord and us, and yet therin dayly 
 continueth, praye you right affectuously, that, at reverence of us, 
 ye will have oure said squire towards his said mariage especially 
 recommended, inclynyng you to his honest desire at this tyme ; the 
 rather by contemplacion of this oure praier, wheiin we trust 
 verreily ye shul mowe pourvey right well for yo^ self, to yo^ greet 
 worship and hertsease, and cause us to have yow both in suche 
 tendernesse and faver of our good grace, that by reason ye shul 
 holde you right well content and pleased ; and how ye thinke to 
 be disposed to our pleasir in this partie, ye will acertein us by the 
 bringer of these. As our singler trust is in yow. 
 
 Given, etc. at Eltham, the, etc. 
 To Dame Jane Carew. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Considering the we-akness of Henry VII.'s title to the throne, 
 and considering also the fact that among the small remnant of 
 ' Greater Barons ' who 8m'\ived the Wars of the Roses, the 
 wearers of the -white rose were the more numerous after the 
 battle of Bosworth, it is not surprising that Henry of Richmond, 
 diuing the first years of his reign, was set the troublesome task 
 of beating off pretenders to his throne. The Lady Margaret of 
 Burgundy referred to in this letter was the widow of Charles 
 the Bold, and sister of our Edward IV. Her country was the 
 rendezvous of the disaffected Yorkist nobility. 
 
 Henry VII. to Sir Gilbert Talbot. 
 
 Kenilworth Castle: July, 1493. 
 Trusty and well beloved, — ^We greet you well; and not for- 
 getting the great malice that the Lady Margaret of Burgundy 
 beareth continually against us, as she showed lately in sending 
 hither of a feigned boy, surmising him to have been the son of the 
 Duke of Clarence, and caused him to be accc>mpanied with the 
 Eaii of Lincoln, the Lord Lovel, and with great multitude of 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 9 
 
 Irishmen and of Almains, whose end, blessed be God, was as ye 
 know well. And foreseeing now the perseverance of the same her 
 malice, by the untrue contriving eftsoon of another feigned lad 
 called Perkin Warbeck, born at Tournay, in Picardy, which at 
 first into Ireland called himself the bastard son of King Richard ; 
 after that the son of the said Duke of Clarence; and now the 
 second son of our father, King Edward the lYth, whom God 
 assoil; wherethrough she intend eth, by promising unto the 
 Flemings and other of the archduke's obeissaunce, to whom she 
 laboureth daily to take her way, and by her promise to certain 
 aliens, captains of strange nations, to have duchies, counties, 
 baronies, and other lands, within this our royaume, to induce them 
 thereby to land here, to the destruction and disinheritance of the 
 noblemen and other our subjects the inhabitants of the same, and 
 finally to the subversion of this our royaume, in case she may 
 attaine to her malicious piu-pose, that God defend. We therefore, 
 and to the intent that we may be alway purveied and in readi- 
 ness to resist her malice, write unto you at this time ; and will 
 and desire you that, preparing on horseback, defensibly arrayed, 
 four score persons, whereof we desire you to make as many spears, 
 with their custrells,^ and demi-lances, wellhorsed as ye can furnish, 
 and the remainder to be archers and bills, ye be thoroughly 
 appointed and ready to come upon a day's warning for to do us 
 service of war in this case. And ye shall have for every horse- 
 man well and defensibly arrayed, that is to say, for a spear and 
 his custrel twelvepence ; a demi-lance ninepence ; and an archer or 
 bill, on horseback, eightpence by the day, from the time of your 
 coming out unto the time of your return to your home again. 
 And thus doing, ye shall have such thanks of us for your loving 
 and true acquittal in that behalf as shall be to your weal and 
 honour for time to come. We pray you herein ye will make such 
 diligence as that ye be ready with your said number to come unto 
 us upon any our sudden warning. 
 
 Given under our signet at our Castle of Kenilworth, the 
 twentieth day of July (1493). 
 
 To our trusty and well-beloved Knight and 
 Councillor, Sir Gilbert Talbot. 
 
 * Squires of the body, • . 
 
10 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 vn. 
 
 Cavendish in his * Life of Wolsey,' prints this pitiful letter 
 from the original in the Ashm.-Iean Museum, It is dated from 
 Asher (Esher), whither the Cardinal was ordered to retire after 
 judgment had been pronounced against him for having trans- 
 gressed the Statute of Praemunire. In his day of authority and 
 glory Wolsey was the haughtiest and richest subject in England ; 
 only a very Jew days sufficed to deprive him not only of all his 
 former magnificence, but almost of the commonest domestic 
 comforts. 
 
 Cardinal WoUey to Dr. Stephen Gardiner. 
 
 Esher: 1529. 
 
 My owne goode lilastyr Secretary, — Affcyr my moste herty 
 commendacions I pray you at the reverens of God to helpe, that 
 expedicion be iisyd in my persuts, the delay wherof so reple- 
 nyshyth my herte with hevynes, that I can take no reste ; not 
 for any vayne fere, but onely for the miserable condycion, that I 
 am presently yn, and lyclyhod to contynue yn the same, onles 
 that you, in whom ys myn assuryd truste, do help & releve me 
 therin ; For fyrst, contynnyng here in this mowest & corupt ayer, 
 beyng enteryd into the passyon of the dropsy. Cum prostatione 
 appetitics et continuo insomnia. I cannot lyve. 
 
 Wherfor of necessyte I must be removyd to some other dryer 
 ayer and place, where I may have comodyte of physycyans. 
 Secondly, havyng but Yorke, wych is now decayd by viii. C. li. 
 by the yeere, I cannot tell how to lyve, & kepe the poore nombyr 
 of folks wych I nowe have, my howsys ther be in decay, and of 
 evry thyng mete for hoiissold onprovydyd and furnyshyd. 
 
 I have non apparell for my howsys ther, nor money to bring 
 me thether nor to lyve wyth tyl the propysse tyme of the yeere 
 shall come to remove thether. Thes thyngs consyderyd, M*" 
 Secretary, must nedys make me yn agony and hevynes, myn age 
 therwith and sycknes consyderyd, alas M"^ Secretary, ye with 
 other my lordys shewyd me, that I shuld otherwyse be furnyshyd 
 & seyn unto, ye knowe in your lemyng <fc consyens, whether 
 I shuld forfet my spiritualties of WjTichester or no. Alas ! the 
 qualytes of myn offencys consyderyd, with the gret punishment & 
 losse of goodes that I have sustaynyd, owt to move petyfull hertys; 
 and the moste nobyl Kyng, to whom yf yt wold please yow of 
 your cherytable goodnes to shewe the premyses aftyr your accus- 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 11 
 
 tomable wj^sdome & dexteryte, yt ys not to be dowbtyd, but his 
 higlmes wold have consyderacyon and compassyon, aggmentyng 
 my lyvyng, and appoyntyng such thyngs as shuld be convenient 
 for' my furniture, wych to do shalbe to the Kyng's high honor, 
 meryte, & dyscharge of consyens, & to you gret prayse for the 
 bryngyng of the same to passe for your olde brynger up and 
 levying frende. Thys kyndnes exibite from the Kyng's hyghnes 
 shal prolong my lyff for some lytyl "whyl, thow yt shall nat be 
 long, by the meane whereof hys grace shal take profygtt & by my 
 deth now. What ys yt to hys hyhnes to give some convenyent 
 porcion owt of Wynchester, & Seynt Albons, hys grace takyng 
 with my herty good wyl the resydew. Ilemember, good M"^ 
 Secretary, my poore degre, & what servys I have done, and how 
 nowe approachyng to deth I must begyn the world ageyn. I 
 besech you therfore, movyd with pity and compassyon soker me 
 in thys my calamyte, and to your power wych I knowe ys gret, 
 releve me ; and I with all myn shal not onely ascrybe thys my 
 relef unto you, but also praye to God for the increase of your 
 honor, & as my poore shall increase, so I shal not fayle to requyte 
 your kyndnes. 
 
 Wrytten hastely at Asher, with the rude and shackyng hand of 
 Your dayly bedysman 
 
 And assuryd friend, 
 T. Car"s Ebor. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ^ Lord Campbell, in his * Lives of the Chancellors,' lays par- 
 ticular stress on this beautiful letter written by Sir Thomas 
 More to his wife on receipt of the news that the greater part 
 of his house at Chelsea (with the outhouses and granaries) had 
 been destroyed by fire. The biographer is more attracted by 
 the unusually simple style of the composition, and by the kind- 
 liness of disposition and unafiected piety of this good and gifted 
 martyr, than by all his other elaborate writings and speeches. 
 A few weeks after this grievous domestic mishap, the most up- 
 right of Henry VIII.'s councillors was sworn in Lord Chancel- 
 lor of England. 
 
 Sir Thomas More to his Wife. 
 With the Court at Woodstock : September 3, 1529. 
 Mistress Alyce, — In my most harty will, I recomend me to 
 you. And whereas I am enfourmed by my son Heron of the loss 
 
12 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 of our bames, and our neighbours also, with all the corne that was 
 tlierein, albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is gi-et pitie of so much 
 good come lost, yet sith it hath liked hym to send us such 
 a chance, we must not only be content, but also be glad of his 
 visitation. He sent us all that we have lost : and sith he hath by 
 such a chance taken it away againe, his pleasure be fulfilled. Let 
 us never gi'udge thereat, but take it in good worth, and hartely 
 thank him, as well for adversitie, as for prosperitie. And par 
 adventure we have more cause to thank him for our losse, than 
 for our winning. For his wisedom better seeth what is sood for 
 us than we do ourselves. Therefore I pray you be of good cheere, 
 and take all the howsold with you to church, and there thank 
 God both for that he hath given us, and for that he hath left us, 
 which if it please hym, he can increase when he will. And if it 
 please him to leave us yet lesse, at hys pleasui^e be it. I praye 
 you to make some good ensearche what my poor neighbours have 
 loste, and bidde them take no thought therefore, and if T shold not 
 leave myself a spone, there shall no poore neighbour of mine here 
 no losse by any chance happened in my house. I pray you be 
 with my children and household mery in God. And devise some- 
 what with your friends, what way wer best to take, for provision 
 to be made for come for our household and for sede thys yere 
 coming, if ye thinke it good that we keepe the gi'ound still in our 
 handes. 
 
 And whether ye think it good y* we so shall do or not, yet I 
 think it were not best sodenlye thus to leave it all up, and to put 
 away our folk of our farme, till we have somewhat advised us 
 thereon. Howbeit if we have more nowe than ye shall neede, and 
 which can get the other maister's, ye may then discharge us of 
 them. But I would not that any men wer sodenly sent away he 
 wote nere wether. At my coming hither, I perceived none other, 
 but that I shold tary still with the Kinges grace. But now I 
 shall (I think), because of this chance, get leave this next weke to 
 come home and se you; and then shall we further devise together 
 uppon all things, what order shall be best to take : and thus as 
 hai-tely fare you well with all our children as you can wishe. 
 
 At Woodstok the thirde daye of September, by the hand of 
 Your loving husband 
 
 Thomas More, Knight. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 18 
 
 IX. 
 
 The following letter is Hstorically famous as the subject of 
 controversy between the admirers and detractors of Archbishop . 
 Oranmer. It has been appealed to by the former as an example 
 of his fidelity to Anne Boleyn and his courage in a grave emer- 
 gency ; by the latter it is quoted as a proof of his submissiveness 
 to the will of Henry VIII. 
 
 Thomas Cranmer^ Archbishop of Canterbury, to Henry VIII. 
 
 Lambeth : May 3, 1636. 
 
 Pleaseth your most noble Grace to be advertised, that at your 
 grace's commandment by M"^ secretary's letters, written in your 
 grace's name, I came to Lambeth yesterday, and do there remain 
 to know your grace's farther pleasure. And forasmuch as, without 
 your grace's commandment, I dare not, contrary to the contents^ 
 of the said letters, presume to come unto your grace's presence^ 
 nevertheless, of my most bounden duty, I can do no less than most 
 humbly to desire your grace, by your great wisdom, and by the 
 assistance of God's help, somewhat to suppress the deep sorrow of 
 your grace's heart, and to take all adversities of God's hand both 
 patiently and thankfully. 
 
 I cannot deny but your grace hath great causes, many ways, 
 of lamentable heaviness; and also that, in the wrongful estimation 
 of the world, your grace's honour of every part is highly touched 
 (whether the things that commonly be spoken of be true or not) 
 that I remember not that ever Almighty God sent unto your grace 
 any like occasion to try your grace's constancy throughout, whether 
 your highness can be content to take of God's hand as well things 
 displeasant as pleasant. 
 
 And if he find in your most noble heart such an obedience unto 
 his will, that your grace, without murmuration and overmuch 
 heaviness, do accept all adversities, not less thanking him than 
 when all things succeed after your grace's will and pleasure, nor 
 less procuring his glory and honour ; then, I suppose your grace 
 did never thing more acceptable unto him since your first govern- 
 ance of this your realm. And, moreover, your grace shall give 
 unto him occasion to multiply and increase his graces and benefits 
 unto your highness, as he did unto his most faithful servant Job ; 
 unto whom, after his great calamities and heaviness, for his obe- 
 dient heart, and willing acceptation of God's scourge and rod. 
 
14 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 addidit ei Dominus cuncta duplicia. And if it be true tliat is 
 openly repoi'ted of the queen's grace, if men had a right estima- 
 tion of things, they should not esteem any part of your grace's 
 honour to be touched thereby, but her honour only, to be clearly 
 disparaged. And I am in such a perplexity, that my mind is 
 clean amazed, for I never had better opinion in woman than I 
 had in her ; which maketh me to think that she should not be 
 culpable. And again, I think your highness would not have 
 gone so far, except she had surely been culpable. Now I think 
 that your grace best knoweth, that, next unto your grace, I was 
 most bound unto her of all creatures living. Wherefore, I most 
 humbly beseech your grace, to suffer me in that which both 
 God's law, nature, and also her kindness bindeth me unto; that 
 is, that I may, with your gi-ace's favour, wish and pray for her, 
 that she may declare herself inculpable and innocent. And if she 
 be found capable, considering your grace's goodness towards her, 
 and from what condition your grace of your only mere goodness 
 took her, and set the crown upon her head, I repute him not your 
 grace's faithful servant and subject, nor true unto the realm, that 
 would not desire the offence without mercy to be punished, to 
 the example of all other. And as I loved her not a little, for the 
 love which I judged her to bear towards God and his gospel ; 
 so, if she be proved culpable, there is not one that loveth God and 
 his gospel that ever will favour her, but must hate her above all 
 other ; and the more they favour the gospel, the more they will 
 hate her ; for there never was creature in our time that so much 
 slandered the gospel. And God hath sent her this punishment, 
 for that she feignedly hath professed this gospel in her mouth, and 
 not in heart and deed. And though she have offended so, that she 
 hath deserved never to be reconciled unto your grace's favour, yet 
 Almighty God hath manifestly declared his goodness towards your 
 grace, and never offended you. But your grace, I am sure, ac- 
 knowledgeth that you have offended him. Wherefore I trust that 
 your grace will bear no less entue favour unto the truth of the 
 gospel than you did before : forasmuch as your grace's favour to 
 the gospel was not led by affection unto her, but by zeal unto 
 the truth. And thus I beseech Almighty God, whose gospel 
 hath ordained your grace to be defended of, ever to preserve your 
 grace from all evU, and to give you at the end the promise of his 
 gospel. From Lambeth, the 3*^ day of May. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 15 
 
 [Oranraer had written but not despatched this letter, when he 
 was summoned to a conference by the Lord Chancellor and 
 other peers, who stated to him the facts which, they said, could 
 be proved against the queen. He, therefore, in a postscript, 
 added as follows : — ] 
 
 After I had written this letter unto your grace, my lord chan- 
 cellor, &c. sent for me to come unto the starchamber ; and there 
 declared unto me such things as your grace's pleasure was they 
 should make me privy unto. For the which I am most bounden 
 unto your grace. And what communication we had therein, 
 I doubt not but they will make the true report thereof to your 
 grace. I am exceedingly sorry that such faults can be proved by 
 the queen as I heard of their relation. But I am, and ever shall 
 be, your faithful subject. 
 
 Your grace's 
 
 Humble subject and chaplain, 
 Thomas Cantuariensis. 
 
 Not the least curious of the manusciipts in the Vatican 
 Library at Rome are the original autographs of Henry VIII.'s 
 love letters to Anne Boleyn. It is supposed they were stolen 
 from this lady at the end of the year 1£28. They remained in 
 the Vatican until the French appropriated them, with other 
 treasures of art and literature, after the invasion of Italy at 
 the close of last century. They were restored at the peace of 
 1815. Halliwell, in his ' Letters of the Kings of England,' 
 attaches great importance to this letter as fixing the period of 
 the commencement of the King's affection for Anne Boleyn. 
 Henry VIII. complains of ' having been above a whole year 
 struck with the dart of love.' 
 
 Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn. 
 
 [August, 1528.] 
 On turning over in my mind the contents of your last letters, 
 I have put myself into great agony, not knowing how to interpret 
 them, whether to my disadvantage, as you show in some places, 
 or to my advantage, as I understand them in some others, be- 
 seeching you earnestly to let me know expressly your whole mind 
 
16 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1450- 
 
 as to the love between us two. It is absolutely necessary for me 
 to obtain this answer, having been for above a whole year stricken 
 with the dart of love, and not yet sure whether I shall fail or find 
 a place in your heart and affection, which last point has prevented 
 me for some time past from calling you my mistress ; because, if 
 you only love me with an ordinary love, that name is not suit- 
 able for you, because it denotes a singular love, which is far from 
 common. But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mis- 
 tress and friend, and to give up yourself body and heart to me, 
 who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant (if your 
 rigour does not forbid me) I promise you that not only the name 
 shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my only mis- 
 tress, casting off all othera besides you out of my thoughts and 
 affections, and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire 
 answer to this my rude letter, that I may know on what and how 
 far I may depend. And if it does not please you to answer me 
 in writing, ap2X)int some place where I may have it by word of 
 mouth, and I will go thither with all my heart. 
 
 No more, for fear of tiring you. 
 
 Written by the hand of him who would willingly remain 
 yours, 
 
 H. E. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn. 
 
 [Probably the end of 1528.] 
 
 The approach of the time for which I have so long waited re- 
 joices me so much, that it seems almost to have come ah-eady. 
 However, the entire accomplishment cannot be till the two persons 
 meet, which meeting is more desired by me than any thing in this 
 world ; for what joy can be greater upon earth than to have the 
 company of her who is dearest to me, knowing Hkewise that she 
 does the same on her part, the thought of which gives me the 
 greatest pleasure. 
 
 Judge what an effect the presence of that person must have on 
 me, whose absence has grieved my heart more than either words 
 or writing can express, and which nothing can cure, but that 
 begging you, my mistress, to tell your father from me, that I 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 17 
 
 desire him to hasten the time appointed by two days, that he may 
 be at court before the old term, or, at farthest, on the day prefixed; 
 for otherwise I shall think he will not do the lover's turn, as he 
 said he would, nor answer my expectation. 
 
 No more at present for lack of time, hoping shortly that by 
 word of mouth I shall tell you tbe rest of the. sufferings endured 
 by me from your absence. 
 
 Written by the hand of the secretary, who wishes himself at 
 this moment privately with you, and who is, and always will be, 
 
 Your loyal and most assured servant, 
 
 H. no other (A. B.) seeks K. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Anne Boleyn addressed this naive letter to "Wolsey concern- 
 ing the dispensation for her marriage. It will he remembered that 
 Anne was led to suppose that the delay of her marriage was 
 caused by the Cardinal's wish for another alliance, whereas he 
 was really employing all his influence to induce Pope Clement 
 VII. to issue the decretal bull. The ' recompense for his pains ' 
 turned out to be that Anne, as Queen Consort, changed her 
 servile admiration of him into bitter enmity. Wolsey describes 
 her as his ^night-crow that never slept, but studied and continu- 
 ally imagined his utter destruction.' 
 
 Anne Boleyn to Cardinal Wolsey. 
 
 [1628.] 
 
 My Lord, — In my most humblest wise that my poor heart can 
 think, I do thank your grace for y'^ kind letter, and for your rich 
 and goodly present, the which I shall never be able to deserve 
 without your help ; of the which I have hitherto had so great 
 plenty, that all the days of my life I am most bound of all crea- 
 tures, next the King's grace, to love and serve your grace ; of the 
 which I beseech you never to doubt that ever I shall vary from 
 this thought as long as any breath is in my body. And as touch- 
 ing your grace's trouble with the sweat, I thank the Lord that them 
 that I desired and prayed for are scaped, and that is the King and 
 you ; not doubting but that God has preserved you both for great 
 causes known only of his high wisdom. And as for the coming of 
 the Legate, I desire that much, and if it be God's pleasure, I pray 
 him to send this matter shortly to a good end, and then I trust, 
 
 c 
 
18 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- ' 
 
 my lord, to recompense part of your great pains. In the which I 
 must require you in the meantime to accept my good will, in the 
 stead of the power, the which must proceed partly from you, as 
 our Lord knoweth ; to whom I beseech to send you long life with 
 continuance in honour. Written with the hand of her that is most 
 bound to be 
 
 Your humble and obedient servant, 
 
 Anne Boleyn. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 In the last edition of Roger Ascham's works, prepared by 
 Dr. Giles, it will be found that the letters occupy as much, 
 space as aU his other writings. Of the 295 letters only a very 
 few were originally written in English ; but these few, con- 
 jointly with the Enghsh treatises are valuable as specimens of 
 a language as it ivas spoken at a period which has left us too 
 few examples. That the secretaryship Ascham held under Ed- 
 ward VI. should have been continued him under Queen Maiy, 
 in spite of his open profession of the reformed religion, and 
 that he should have preserved the friendship of Bishop Gar- 
 diner and Cardinal Pole, and have been the favourite tutor of 
 Queen Elizabeth shows that he was, in his way, as astute and 
 useful as the equally fortunate Lord Burleigh. The following 
 letter refers to an ingenious device for securing an increase of 
 pension from Queen Mary. 
 
 Roger Ascham to Bishop Gardiner. 
 
 [April, 1554.] 
 In writing out my patent I have left a vacant place for your 
 -wisdom to value the sum ; wherein I trust to find further favour ; 
 for I have both good cause to ask it, and better hope to obtain it, 
 partly in consideration of my unrewarded pains and undischarged 
 costs in teaching Eling Edward's person, partly for my three years' 
 service in the Emperor's coiirt, but chiefly of all when King Henry 
 first gave it me at Greenwich, your lordship in the gallery there 
 asking me what the king had given me, and knowing the truth, 
 your lordship said it was too little, and most gently ofibred me to 
 speak to the king for me. But then I most happily desired your 
 lordship to reserve that goodness to another time, which time God 
 hath granted even to these days, when your lordship may now per- 
 form by favour as much as then you wished by good will, being as 
 easy to obtain the one as to ask the other. And I beseech your 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTEB8. 19 
 
 lordship see what good is offered me in writing the patent : the 
 space which is left by chance doth seem to crave by good luck 
 some words of length, as viginti or triginta, yea, with the help of 
 a little dash quadraginta would serve best of all. But sure as for 
 decern it is somewhat with the shortest : nevertheless I for my 
 part shall be no less contented with the one than glad with the 
 other, and for either of both more than bound to your lordship. 
 And thus God prosper your lordship. 
 
 Your lordship's most bounden to serve you, 
 
 B. ASKHAM. 
 
 To the Rt Reverend Father in God, 
 My Lord Bishop of Winchester his Grace, these. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 • 
 This beautiful letter of condolence at the death of his son, 
 Sturm, is selected as an excellent example of Roger Ascham's 
 epistolary style ; particularly as all the other English letters are 
 of very great length. It is, in its easy and intelligible flow of 
 words, free from the * spots of rust ' which Hallam discovers 
 in the rough sentences and obsolete words of the prose of the 
 sixteenth century. 
 
 Roger Ascham to his wife Margaret. 
 
 [November, 1568.] 
 
 Mine own good Margaret, — The more I think upon your sweet 
 babe, as I do many times both day and night, the greater cause I 
 always find of giving thanks continually to God for his singular 
 goodness bestowed at this time upon the child, yourself, and me, 
 even because it hath rather pleased him to take the child to him- 
 self into heaven, than to leave it here with us still on earth. 
 When I mused on the matter as nature, flesh, and fatherly 
 fantasy did carry me, I found nothing but sorrows and care, 
 which very much did vex and trouble me, but at last forsaking 
 these worldly thoughts, and referring me wholly to the will and 
 order of God in the matter, I found such a change, such a cause of 
 joy, such a plenty of God's grace towards the child, and of his 
 goodness towards you and me, as neither my heart can compi-e- 
 hend, nor yet my tongue express the twentieth part thereof. 
 
 ^NTevertheless, because God and good will hath so joined you 
 and me together as we must not only be the one a comfort to the 
 
 C 2 
 
20 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 other in sorrow, but also partakers together in any joy, I could not 
 but declaim unto you what just cause I think we both have of com- 
 fort and gladness by that God hath so graciously dealt with us as 
 he hath. My first step from care to comfort was this, I thought 
 God had done his will with our child, and because God by his 
 %visdom knoweth what is best, and by his goodness will do best, 
 I was by and by fully persuaded the be.st that can be is done with 
 our sweet child, but seeing God's wisdom is unsearchable with 
 any man's heart, and his goodness imspeakable with any man's 
 tongue, I will come down from such high thoughts, and talk more 
 sensibly with you, and lay open before you such matter as may be 
 both a full comfort of all our cares past, and also a just cause of 
 rejoicing as long as we live. You well remember our continual 
 desire and wish, our nightly prayer together, that God would 
 vouchsafe to us to increase the number of this world ; we wished 
 that nature should beautifully perform the work by us ; we did 
 talk how to bring up our child in learning and virtue ; we had 
 care to provide for it, so as honest fortime should favour and 
 follow it. And see, sweet wife, how mercifully God hath dealt 
 with us in all points, for what wish could desire, what prayer 
 could crave, what nature could perform, what virtue could de- 
 serve, what fortTine could afibrd, both we have received, and our 
 child doth enjoy already. And because our desire (thanked be 
 God) was always joined with honesty, and our prayers mingled 
 with fear, and applied always to the world too, the will and 
 pleasure of God hath given us more than we wished, and that 
 which is better for us now than we could hope to think upon ; but 
 you desire to hear and know how marry, even thus, we desiied to 
 be made vessels to increase the world, and it hath pleased God to 
 make us vessels to increase heaven, which is the greatest honour 
 to man, the greatest joy to heaven, the greatest spite to the devil, 
 the greatest sorrow to hell, that any man can imagine. Secon- 
 darily, when nature had performed what she would, grace stepped 
 foi-th and took our child from nature, and gave it such gifts over 
 and above the power of nature, as where it could not creep in 
 earth by nature it was straitway well able to go to heaven by 
 grace. It could not then speak by nature, and now it doth praise 
 God by grace; it could not then comfort the sick and careful 
 mother by nature, and now through prayer is able to help father 
 
1600J ENGLISH LETTERS. 21 
 
 and mother by grace ; and yet, thanked be nature, that hath done 
 all she could do, and blessed be grace 'that hath done more and 
 better than we would wish she should have done. Peradventure 
 yet you do wish that natui*e had kept it from death a little longer, 
 yea, but grace hath carried it where now no sickness can follow, 
 nor any death hereafter meddle with it ; and instead of a short 
 life with troubles on earth, it doth now live a life that never shal 
 end with all manner of joy in heaven. 
 
 And now, Margaret, go to, I pray you, and tell me as you 
 think, do you love your sweet babe so little, do you envy his happy 
 state so much, yea, once to wish that nature should have rather 
 followed your pleasure in keeping your child in this miserable 
 world, than grace should have purchased such profit for your child 
 in bringing him to such felicity in heaven % Thirdly, you may say 
 unto me, if the child had lived in this world, it might have come 
 to such goodness by grace and virtue as might have turned to great 
 comfort to us, to good service to our country, and served to have 
 deserved as high a place in heaven as he doth now. To this, in 
 short, I answer, ought we not in all things to submit to God's 
 good will and pleasure, and thereafter to rule our aflfections, which 
 I doubt not but you will endeavour to do ? And therefore I will 
 say no more, but with all comfort to you here, and a blessing here- 
 after, which I doubt not but is prepared for you. 
 
 Your dearly loving husband, 
 
 EOGER ASKAM. 
 
 To my dear wife, Mrs. Margaret Askam, these. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The pages of Tudor history bristle with attainders and judi- 
 cial murders, and it must be admitted that the -victims in nearly 
 every instance died hard. The writer of the following pitiably 
 abject appeal was, however, a subject meet for the executioner's 
 axe : and considering his great position and the importance of 
 his misdeeds, his was the solitary instance of downright cowardice 
 in the face of death. As the contriver of Protector Somerset's 
 overthrow, as the most prominent figure in the worst phases of 
 the Reformation, as the seductive counsellor of Edward VI., 
 and as the opponent of Princess Mary, he was simply an 
 ambitious and cunning intriguer ; but as a trifler all his life 
 "with religion, and in his last moments a recanter in search 
 of pardon, he was a worthless hypocrite. 
 
22 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 John Dudley, Duhe of Northumberland, to the Earl of Arunddl. 
 
 The Tower : August 22, 1553. 
 Hon^^e Lord, and in this my distress my especiall refuge, most 
 wofull was the newes I receyved this evenynge by M'* Lieutenant, 
 that I must prepare myselfe against tomorrowe to receyve my 
 deadly stroke. Alas, my good lord, is my cryme so heynous as 
 noe redemcion but my blood can washe awaye the spottes thereof? 
 An old proverb ther is, and that most true, that a lyving dogge is 
 better than a dead lyon. Oh ! that it would please her good grace 
 to give me life, yea, the life of a dogge, if I might but lyve and 
 kiss her feet, and spend both life and all in her hon^^® services, as 
 I have the best part already under her worthie brother, and most 
 glorious father. Oh ! that her mercy were such as she would con- 
 syder how little proffitt my dead and dismembered body can bring© 
 her ; but how great and glorious an honor it will be in all posteri- 
 tyes when the report shall be that soe gracious and mightie a 
 queene had gi^aunted life to so miserable and penitent an objects 
 Your hon^^^ usage and promise to me since these my troubles have 
 made me bold to challenge this kindnes at your handes. Pardon 
 me if I have done amiss therein, and spare not, I pray, your 
 bended knees for me in this distresse. The God of heaven, it may 
 be, will requite it one day on you or yours ; and if my life b& 
 lengthened by your mediation, and my good lord chauncellor's (to 
 whom I have also sent my blurred letters), I will ever owe it to 
 be spent at your hon^^® feet. Oh ! my good lord, remember how 
 sweet is life, and how bitter the contrary. Spare not your speech 
 and paines ; for God, I hope, hath not shut out all hopes of com- 
 fort from me in that gracious, princely, and womanlike hart ; but 
 that as the doleful newes of death hath wounded to death both 
 my soule and bodye, soe the comfortable newes of life shall be as 
 a new resurrection to my wofull hart. But if no remedy can be 
 founde, eyther by imprisonment, confiscation, banishment, and the 
 like, I can saye noe more, but God grant me pacyence to endure, 
 and a hart to forgive the whole world. 
 
 Once your fellowe and lovinge companion but now worthy of 
 noe name but wretchednes and misery, 
 
 J. D. 
 
1600J ENGLISH LETTERS. 
 
 XYI. 
 
 This is a happy contrast to the parental utterances of Lord 
 Chesterfield given in another part of this volume. 
 
 Sir Henry Sidney to his Son, Philip Sidney. 
 
 [1506.] 
 I have received two letters from you, one written in Latin, 
 the other in French, which I take in good part, and will you to 
 exercise that practice of learning often : for that will stand you in 
 most stead, in that profession of life that you are born to live in. 
 And, since this is my first letter that ever I did write to you, I 
 will not, that it be all empty of some advices, which my natural 
 care of you provoked me to wish you to follow, as documents to 
 you in this your tender age. Let your first action be, the lifting 
 up of your mind to Almighty God, by hearty prayer, and feel- 
 ingly digest the words you speak in prayer, with continual medi- 
 tation, and thinking of him to whom you pray, and of the matter 
 for which you pray. And use this as an ordinary, and at an 
 ordinary hour. Whereby the time itself will put you in remem- 
 brance to do that which you are accustomed to do. In that time 
 apply your study to such hours as your discreet master doth as- 
 sign you, earnestly ; and the time (I know) he will so limit, as 
 shall be both sufficient for your learning, and safe for your health. 
 And mark the sense and the matter of that you read, as well as 
 the words. So shall you both enrich your tongue with words, 
 and your wit with matter; and judgment will grow as years 
 groweth in you. Be humble and obedient to your master, for 
 unless you frame yourself to obey others, yea, and feel in yourself 
 what obedience is, you shall never be able to teach others how to 
 obey you. Be courteous of gesture, and a;ffable to all men, with 
 diversity of reverence, according to the dignity of the person. 
 There is nothing that winneth so much with so little cost. Use 
 moderate diet, so as, after your meat, you may find your wit 
 fresher, and not duller, and your body more lively, and not more 
 heavy. Seldom drink wine, and yet sometime do, lest being 
 enforced to drink upon the sudden, you should find yourself in- 
 flamed. Use exercise of body, but such as is without peril of your 
 joints or bones. It will increase your force, and enlarge your 
 
24 ENGLISH LETTERS, [l-i30- 
 
 breath. Delight to be cleanly, as well in all parts of your body, as 
 in your garments. It shall make you grateful in each company, 
 and otherwise loathsome. Give yourself to be merry, for you 
 degenerate from your father, if you find not yourself most able in 
 "wit and body, to do any thing, when you be most merry ; but let 
 your mirth be ever void of all scurrility, and biting words to any 
 man, for a wound given by a word is oftentimes harder to be 
 cured than that which is given with the sword. Be you rather a 
 hearer and bearer away of other men's talk, than a beginner or 
 procurer of speech, otherwise you shall be counted to delight to 
 hear yourself speak. If you hear a wise sentence, or an apt phrase, 
 commit it to your memory, with respect of the circumstance, when 
 you shall speak it. Let never oath be heard to come out of your 
 mouth, nor words of ribaldry ; detest it in others, so shall custom 
 make to yourself a law against it in yourself. Be modest in each 
 assembly, and rather be rebuked of light fellows, for maiden-like 
 shamefacedness, than of your sad fiiends for pert boldness. Think 
 upon every word that you will speak, before you utter it, and 
 remember how nature hath rampired up (as it were) the tongue 
 with teeth, lips, yea, and hair without the lips, and all betokening 
 reins, or bridles, for the loose use of that member. Above all 
 things tell no untruth, no, not in trifles. The custom of it is 
 naughty, and let it not satisfy you, that, for a time, the hearers 
 take it for a truth ; for after it will be known as it is, to your 
 shame ; for there cannot be a gi'cater reproach to a gentleman than 
 to be accounted a liar. Study and endeavour yourself to be vir- 
 tuously occupied. So shall you make such an habit of well-doing 
 in you, that you shall not know how to do evil, though you would. 
 Remember, my son, the noble blood you are descended of, by your 
 mother's side ; and think that only by virtuous life and good action, 
 you may be an ornament to that illustrious family ; and otherwise, 
 thiough vice and sloth, you shall be counted lobes generis, one of 
 the greatest curses that can happen to man. Well (my little Philip) 
 this is enough for me, and too much, I fear, for you. But if I 
 shall find that this light meal of digestion nourish anything the 
 weak stomach of your young capacity, I will, as I find the same 
 grow sti-onger, feed it with tougher food. Your loving father, so 
 long as you live in the fear of God. 
 
IGOO] ENGLISH LETTEBS. 26 
 
 XVII. 
 
 In Lodge's 'Illustrations of Englisli History' are numerous 
 reprints of the Howard and Talbot papers Leariuf? on the 
 Elizabethan period. Those which relate to the captive Queen 
 of Scotland exhibit Elizabetli's fretful anxiety lest her prisoner's 
 noble custodian shoxild fail in due vigilance. The partisans of 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, may here gather what, in her case, was 
 understood as * honourable captivity.' 
 
 The Earl of Shrewsbury to Queen Elizabeth, 
 
 Sheffield Castle : March 3, 1572. 
 
 ItTay it please your most excellent Majesty, — It appears by 
 my Lord Huntingdon's letters to me, whereof I here send your 
 Majesty a copy, that suspicion is of some new device for this 
 Queen's liberty, which I can very easily believe, for I am (as 
 always before) persuaded her friends everjrwhere occupy their 
 beads thereunto. I look for no less than they can do for her, and 
 provide for her safety accordingly. I have her sure enough, and 
 ehall keep her forthcoming, at your Majesty's commandment, 
 either quick or dead, whatsoever she, or any for her, invent to the 
 contrary ; and, as I have no doubt at all of her stealing away 
 from me, so if any forcible attempt be given for her, the greatest 
 peril is sure to be her's. And if I be your Majesty's true faith- 
 ful servant, as I trust your Majesty is fully persuaded, be your 
 Majesty out of all doubt of any her escape, or delivery from 
 me, by flight, force, or any other ways, without your Majesty's 
 own express and known commandment to me; and thereupon I 
 engage to your Majesty my life, honour, and all. God preserve 
 your Majesty, with many happy years, long and prosperously to 
 reign over us. 
 
 At Sheffield Castle, the S'"* of March, 1572. 
 
 Your Majesty's humble and faithful servant, 
 
 G. Shrewsbury. 
 
 xvni. 
 
 There is something grimly comic in a peer of the realm — 
 head of all the Talbota — having his bill for ' watch and ward,* 
 and proper nourishment of the Queen of Scots and her numerous 
 suite (for he was bound to supply a goodly number of dishes 
 per diem to the different tables), heavily taxed by the Lords of 
 the Council. 
 
36 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 The Earl of Shrewsbury to Lord Burgldey. 
 
 Buxton : August 9, 1580. 
 My very good Lord, — I came hither to Buxton, with my 
 charge, the 28**" of July. She had a hard beginning of her jour- 
 ney ; for when she should have taken her horse, he started aside^ 
 and therewith she fell, and hurt her back, which she still complains 
 of, nothwithstanding she applies the bath once or twice a day. I 
 do strictly observe her Majesty's commandment, written to me by 
 your Ix)rdship, in restraining all resort to this place ; neither does 
 she see, nor is seen to any more than to her own people, and such 
 as I appoint to attend. She has not come forth of the house since 
 her coming, nor shall not before her parting. Most of her folks 
 have been sick, since her coming hither, of the new disease ; her- 
 self has yet escaped. My care to discharge the trust it has pleased 
 her Majesty to repose in me is, and shall be, no less than it has 
 been heretofore ; but, my Lord, I must lament my griefs to your 
 Lordship, whose wisdom I know to be great, and can every way 
 consider. I think myself very hardly dealt withal, that after 
 twelve years' faithful services, it shall lie in any practising enemy's 
 power to persuade her Majesty so much against me, as to think 
 me unworthy of this small portion, the allowance for this Lady's 
 diet, &c. It is double that money hath served me yearly which I 
 am driven to spend by the occasion of this charge ; besides the loss 
 of liberty, dangering of my life, and many other discomforts which 
 no money could have hired me to ; but the desire I have to serve 
 my sovereign makes peril and pain a pleasure to me. I will not 
 trouble your Lordship particularly with my charges, because I 
 have of late written them at more length. Good my Lord, as my 
 special trust is in your Lordship, deal so with her Majesty for me 
 as I am not offered so great a disgmce as to abate any part of the 
 allowance ; it touches me nearer than a much greater matter in 
 value could do. My assured trust has been, and is, that her 
 Majesty, of her gracious goodness, would reward me with more 
 than all I have received for this charge, whereby it might be a 
 testimony to the world of her good acceptance of my true and 
 faithful services. I have presumed to write to her ISIajesty touching 
 this allowance, by your Lordship's good means. I doubt not her 
 
ICOa] ENGLISH LETTERS. 27 
 
 Majesty will think it well bestowed of me, if it were more. So 
 wishing to your Lordship all honour and health, I end, with my 
 wife's most hearty commendations. 
 
 Your Lordship's most faithful friend, 
 
 G. Shrewsbury. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 When Henry the Fourth, of France, abjured Protestantism, 
 his ambassador, Morlant, was ordered to break the matter to 
 Queen Elizabeth and to endeavour to calm her feelings by offer- 
 ing the poor plea of ^ urgent motives of state.' It is said that 
 after writing the following epistle the Queen sought to appease 
 her wrath by reading Boethius's *■ Consolations of Philosophy.' 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to the King of France. 
 
 November 12, 1693. 
 
 Ah, what grief ! ah, what regret ! ah, what pangs have seized 
 my heart, at the news which Morlant has communicated ! My 
 God ! is it possible that any worldly consideration could render 
 you regardless of the divine displeasure ? Can we reasonably ex- 
 pect any good result can follow such an iniquity 1 How could you 
 imagine that He, whose hand has supported and upheld youi* cause 
 so long, would fail you at your need 1 It is a perilous thing to do 
 ill that good may come of it ! Nevertheless, I yet hope your better 
 feelings may return, and, in the meantime, I promise to give you 
 the first place in my prayers, that Esau's hands may not defile the 
 blessing of Jacob. The friendship and fidelity you promise to me, 
 I own I have dearly earned ; but of that I should never have re- 
 pented, if you had not abandoned your father. I cannot now regard 
 myself as your sister, for I always prefer that which is natural to 
 that which is adopted, as God best knows, whom I beseech to 
 guard and keep you in the right way, with better feelings. 
 
 Your sister, if it be after the old fashion : with the new I will 
 have nothing to do. 
 
 E. R. 
 
 XX. 
 
 This note of condolence, disclosing a mood of tender sym- 
 pathy very unusual with Queen Elizabeth, is nevertheless 
 highly characteristic. Her habitual regal reserve is maintained 
 with quiet dignity. 
 
28 ENGLISH LETTERS. O-^oO 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Lady Norris upon the Death of her Son. 
 
 Mine own dear Crow, — Although we have deferred long 
 to i-epresent unto you our gi^ieved thoughts, because we liked 
 full well to yield you the first Reflections of our Misfortunes, 
 whom we have always sought to cherish and comfoit; yet 
 knowing now what necessity must bring it to your eare, and 
 nature consequently must move many passionate affections in 
 your Heart, we have resolved no longer to smother, either 
 our care for your sorrow, or the sympathy of our grief for his 
 Death ; wherein if society in sorrowing work diminution, we do 
 assure you by this true messenger of our Mind, tlmt Nature can 
 have stirred no more dolorous affections in you as a mother for a 
 dear Son, than the gratefulness and memory of his Services past 
 liad wrought in us his Sovereign apprehension of the miss of so 
 worthy a Servant. But now that Nature's common Work is done, 
 and he that was bom to die hath paid his Tribute, let that Christian 
 Discretion stay the flux of your immoderate grieving which hath 
 instructed you both by Example and Knowledge, that nothing of 
 this kind hath happened but by God's Providence, and that these 
 Lines from your loving and gracious Sovereign serve to assure you, 
 that there shall ever appear the lively Characters of you and yours 
 that are left, in our valuing rightly all their faithful and honest 
 Endeavours. More we will not write of this subject, but have dis- 
 patched this Gentleman to visit both your Lord, and condole with 
 you in the true sense of your Love ; and to pray you, that the "World 
 may see, that what Time cureth in weak Minds, that Discretion and 
 Moderation may help in you in this Accident, where there is so 
 opportune occasion t<: demonstrate true Patience and true Modera- 
 tion. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 In warning James VI., of Scotland, against his double- 
 dealing conduct, Queen Elizahetii, in her usual emphatic style, 
 hints at her intention of ignoring the will of Henry VIII., and 
 of respecting the rights of primogeniture by secretly nominating 
 the descendant of her Aunt Margaret to' the reversion of the 
 English .crown. Although naturally fond of secrecy and dis- 
 gimulation the Queen could not publicly avow her determination 
 in this matter without courting troublesome opposition from 
 the partisans of the other claimants. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 21) 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to James VI. of Scotland. 
 
 1585. 
 
 Kight deare Brother, — Your gladsome acceptance of my ofired 
 amitie, togither with the desiar you seem to have ingraven in your 
 mynde to make merites correspondant, makes me in ful opinion 
 that some ennemis to our good wyl shal loose muche travel, with 
 making frustrat thar baiting stratagems, whiche I knowe to ha 
 many, and by sondry meanes to be explored. I cannot halt with 
 you so muche as to denye that I have seen suche evident shewes 
 of your contrarious dealings, that if I mad not my rekening the 
 bettar of the moneths, I might condemne you as unworthy of such 
 as I mynd to shewe myselfe toward you, and therefor I am wel 
 pleased to take any coulor to defend your honor, and hope that 
 you wyl remember that who seaketh two stringes to one bowe, he 
 may shute strong, but never strait ; and if you suppose that princes 
 causes be vailed so couvertly that no intelligence may bewraye 
 them, deceave not yourselfe ; we old foxes can find shiftes to save 
 ourselves by others malice, and come by knowledge of greattest 
 secreat, spetiallye if it touche our freholde. It becometh, therefor, 
 all our rencq to deale sincerely, lest, if we use it not, whan we do 
 it, we be hardly beleaved. I write not this, my deare brother, for 
 dout but for remembrances. 
 
 My ambassador writes so muche of yoiu* honorable traitment 
 of him and of Alexandar, that I belive they be convertid Scotes. 
 You oblige me for them ; for wiche I rendar you a milion of most 
 intire thankes, as she that meaneth to desarve many a good thoght 
 in your brest throwe good desart. And for that your request is so 
 honorable, retaining so muche reason, I wer out of [my] sences if 
 I shuld not suspend of any hiresay til the answer of your owne 
 action, wiche the actor ought best to knowe, and so assure yourselfe 
 I meane and vowe to do ; with this request, that you wyl affourd 
 me the reciproque. And thus, with my many petitions to the 
 Almighty for your long Hfe and preservation, I ende these skribled 
 lines. 
 
 Your verey assured lovinge sistar and cousin, 
 
 Elizabeth R. 
 
30 ENGLISH LETTERS. [150* 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Queen Eliza"betli here ridicules a proposal made to her on the 
 part of the Scotch Commissioners that Mary, Queen of Scots, 
 should be allowed to leave her captivity and be placed in the 
 keeping of some neutral prince, subject to a guarantee from her 
 relations that she should for ever abstain from all interference 
 in the affairs of England. The letter indicates with tolerable 
 clearness Elizabeth's in tentionto sacrifice the life of her dangerous 
 rival. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to James VI. of Scotland. 
 
 [February, 1586-7.] 
 Be not caried away, my deare brother, with the lewd perswa- 
 "tions of suche, as insteade of infowrming you of my to nideful and 
 ielpeless cause of defending the brethe that God hath given me, to 
 1)6 better spent than spilt by the bloudy invention of traitors hands, 
 may perhaps make you belive, that ether the offense was not so 
 great, or if that cannot serve them, for the over-manifest triall 
 wiche in publick and by the greatest and most in this land hathe 
 bine manifestly proved, yet they wyl make that her life may be 
 saved and myne safe wiche wold God wer true ; for whan you 
 make view of my long danger indured thes four — wel ny five — 
 nioneths time to make a tast of, the greatest witz amongs my 
 owne, and than of French, and last of you, wyl graunt with me, 
 that if nide wer not mor than my malice she shuld not have her 
 merite. 
 
 And now for a good conclusion of my long-taried-for answer. 
 Your commissionars telz me, that I may trust her in the hand of 
 some indifferent prince, and have all her cousins and allies promis 
 she wil no more seake my rmne. Deare brother and cousin, way 
 in true and equal balance wither they lak not muche good ground 
 whan suche stuf serves for ther bilding. Suppose you I am so 
 mad to truste my life in anothers hand and send hit out of my 
 owne % If the young master of Gray, for curring faueur with you, 
 might fortune say hit, yet old master Mylvin hath yeres ynough 
 to teache him more wis-dome than tel a prince of anyjugement 
 suche a conti*arious frivolous maimed reason. Let your coun- 
 celors, for your honor, discharge ther duty so muche to you as to 
 declaire the absurditie of such an offer; and, for my part, I do 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 31 
 
 assure myselfe to muche of your wisdome, as, thogh like a most 
 naturall good son you charged tliem to seake all meanes they could 
 devis with wit or jugement to save her life, yet I can not, nor 
 do not, allege any fault to you of thes persuations, for I take hit 
 that you wil remember, that advis or desiars aught ever agree with 
 the surtye of the party sent to and honor of the sendar, wiche 
 whan bothe you weigh, I doute not but your wisdome wil excuse 
 my nide, and waite my necessitie, and not accuse me ether of malice 
 or of hate. 
 
 And now to conclude. Make account, I pray you, of my firme 
 frhideship love and care, of which you may make sure accownt, 
 as one that never mindz to faile from my worde, nor swarve from 
 our league, but wyl increase, by all good meanes, any action that 
 may make true shewe of my stable amitie ; from wiche, my deare 
 brother, let no sinistar whispeiars, nor busy troblars of princis 
 states, persuade to leave your surest, and stike to imstable staies. 
 Suppose them to be but the ecchos to suche whos stipendaries the 
 be, and wyl do more for ther gaine than your good. And so, God 
 hold you ever in his blessed kiping, and make you see your tru 
 friends. Excuse my not writing sonar, for paine in one of my 
 yees was only the cause. 
 
 Your most assured lovinge sistar and cousin, 
 
 Elizabeth R. 
 
 xxin. 
 
 It was thought in Spain, at least by the priests and courtiers 
 who surrounded Philip II., that one battle at sea and one battle 
 on land would bring England to her senses, and compel Queen 
 Elizabeth to acknowledge the supremacy of the Pope ; and not 
 a little of the literature of Spain in the years 1587 and 1688 
 
 S)inted to the importance of capturing our Queen and kilhng 
 rake. The English Admiral was the chief offender. By his 
 successful expedition in 1687, he had retarded the invasion by a 
 whole year, having tamed the Spanish, and, as he said, * singed 
 the King's beard.' He is writing to that most successful diplo- 
 mat, Walsingham, at the time we were hotly pursuing the 
 Hying Armada. 
 
 Sir Frcmds Drake to Lord Walsingham. 
 
 July 31, 1588. 
 Most Honorable, — I am comaunded to send these prisoners 
 ashore by my Lord Admerall, which had, ere this, byne long done. 
 
83 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 but that I tliought ther being here myght have done something 
 which is not thought meet now. 
 
 Lett me beseche your Honor that they may be presented unta 
 her Majestie, either by your honor, or my honorable good Lord, my 
 liord Chancellor, or both of you. The one, Don Pedro, is a man 
 of great estymacyon with the King of Spayne, and thowght next 
 in this armye to the Duke of Sedonya. If they shoulde be geven 
 from me unto any other, it would be som gref to my friends. Yf her 
 Majestie will have them, God defend but I shoulde thinck it happye. 
 
 "We have the armey of Spayne before us, and mynd with the 
 Grace of God, to wressell a pouU with him. 
 
 Ther was never any thing pleased me better than the seeing 
 the enemey flying with a Sotherly wynd to the Northwards. God 
 gi'ant you have a good eye to the Duke of Parma, for with the 
 Grace of God, yf we live, I doubt it not, but ere it be long so to 
 handell the matter with the Duke of Sedonya, as he shall wish 
 hymselff at Saint Marie Port among his orynge trees. God gyve 
 us grace to depend upon him, so shall we not doubt victory ; for 
 our cawse is good. 
 
 Humbly taking my leave, this last of July, 1588. 
 
 Your Honor's faythfully to be commanded ever, 
 
 Fra: Drake. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Some 150 letters relative to the suppression of the monas- 
 teries were edited in 1843 by Mr. Thomas Wi-ight for the 
 Camden Society, from the originals in the British Museum. 
 They illustrate in very plain language the depravity that was 
 rampant in the lesser monasteries, and the corruption that had 
 wormed itself into many of the larger establishments ; and even 
 if it he allowed that Henry VIII/s policy of confiscation was 
 based on selfish motives, and that his plea of religious reform 
 was subordinate to his secular aims, the suppression of four- 
 fifths of the monasteries was justified by the voluminous report 
 of the Visitor-General, Thomas Cromwell, in what is deservedly 
 called the ' Black Book.' Although the Act of 1539 did not 
 actually dissolve the greater houses, their occupants were either 
 persuaded or terrified into a vohmtaiy surrender. The cases of 
 stubborn and recalcitrant abbots were dealt with by indict- 
 ments for high treason. 
 
1606] ENGLISH LETTERS. 3$ 
 
 John ap Rice to Thomas Cromwell^ Visitor-General of 
 Monasteries. 
 
 Bury : November o, 1535, 
 
 Please it your mastership, fforasmoche as I suppose ye shall 
 have sute made unto you touching Burie er we retourne, I thought 
 convenient to advertise you of our procedinges there, and also of 
 the compertes, of the same. 
 
 As for thabbot, we found nothing suspect as touching his 
 ly ving, but it was detected that he laye moche forth in his granges, 
 that he delited moche in playing at dice and cardes, and therin 
 spent moche money, and in buylding for his pleasure. He did not 
 preche openly. Also that he converted divers fermes into copie 
 holdes, wherof poore men doth complayne. Also he semeth to be 
 addict to the mayntenyng of suche supersticious ceremones as hath 
 ben used heretofor. 
 
 As touching the convent, we coulde geate litle or no report es 
 amonge theym, although we did use moche diligence in our exami- 
 nacion, and therby, with some other argumentes gethered of their 
 examinacions, I fermely beleve and suppose that they had con- 
 federed and compacted before our commyng that they shulde dis- 
 close nothing. 
 
 And yet it is confessed and proved, that there was here suche 
 frequence of women commyng and reassorting to this monastery 
 as to no place more. Amongest the reliques we founde moche 
 vanitie and superstition, as the coles that Sainte Laurence was 
 tested withall, the paring of S. Edmundes naylles, S. Thomas of 
 Canterbury penneknyff and his bootes, and divers skulles for th^ 
 hedache; peces of the holie crosse able to make a hole crosse of; 
 other reliques for rayne and certain other superstitiouse usages, for 
 avoyding of wedes growing in corne, with suche other. Here 
 departe of theym that be under age upon an eight, and of theym 
 that be above age upon a five, wolde departe yf they might, and 
 they be ofthe best sorte in the house and of best lernyng and 
 jugement. The hole nomber of the convent before we cam was 
 Ix., saving one, besides iij that were at Oxforde. Of Elie I have 
 
34 ENGLISH LETTERS. \nbO- 
 
 written to your mastership by my felowe Richard a Lee. And 
 
 thus Almightie God have you in his tuicion. From Burie, vtb 
 
 ."N^ovembre. 
 
 Your servant moste bounden 
 
 JOHNE AP UlCE. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 This letter, illustrative of the condition of some religious 
 houses, was written by a monk of the abbey of Pershore. 
 
 Richard Beerley to Sir Thomas Cromwell^ Visitor-General of 
 Monasteries. 
 
 1536. 
 
 Most reverent lord yn Grod, second person yn this rem of 
 Engl on d, ynduyd with all gmce and goodnes, y submytt my 
 selfe unto your grace and goodnes, desyurying you myckely 
 to be good and gracyus lord unto me synful and poor creatui,. 
 my lowly and myck scrybullyng unto your nobull grace at 
 this tyme ys gruggyng yn my conchons that the relygyon 
 wyche we do obser and keype ys no ruU of Sentt Benett, nor yt nc 
 commandyment of God, nor of no Sentt, but lyyth and foulysse 
 serymonys, mayd sum yn old tyme and sume yn our tyme, by 
 lyyth and ondyscrytt faders, wych have done ther dutys and ful- 
 fellyd ther owne serymonys, an lett the preceps an commandy- 
 mentes of God go. And so have y do thys syx yere, Avych doth 
 now greve my conchons sore, that y have byn a dyssymblar so long- 
 tyme, the wych relygyon say sent Jamys, ys yn vayne and bryng- 
 j-ng forth no good fruttes; bettur owtt then yn the relygyon^ 
 except yt were the tru relygyon of Chryst. Also we do nothyng 
 seyrch for the doctryn of Chryst, but all fowlows our owne- 
 sensyaly and pleser. And thys relygyon, as y supposse, ys all yn 
 vayne glory, and nothyng worthy to be except nather before God 
 nor man. Also, most gi-acyus lord, ther ys a secrett thyng yn my 
 conchons wych dothe move me to goo out of the relyg}-on, an yf 
 yt were never so perfett, wych no man may know but my gostly 
 fader, the ^v}^ch I supposs yf a man mothe guge yn other yong 
 persons as yn me selfe, for Chryst say, nolite judicare et nonjudi- 
 cahimini; therfore y wyl guge my nowne conchons fyrst, the 
 wych fault he shall know of me heyrafter more largyorly, and 
 many other fowll \ycys don amonckst relygyiis me[n], not 
 
I 
 
 1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 86 
 
 relygyus men, as y thynk the owtt not to be cald, but dyssym- 
 blars with God. Now, most gracyus lord and most worthyst 
 vycytar that ever cam amonckes us, helpe me owt of thys vayne 
 relygyon, and macke me your servant, hande-mayd, and beydman, 
 and save my sowlle, wych sholdbe lost yf ye helpe yt not, the 
 wych you may save with on word speckyng, and mayck me wych 
 am now nawtt to cum unto grace and goodnes. Now y wyll 
 ynstrux your grace sumwatt of relygyus men, and how the Kynges 
 grace commandyment ys keyp yn puttyng forth of bockes the 
 beyschatt of Rome userpt power. Monckes drynk an bowll after 
 collacyon tell ten or xii. of the clock, and cum to mattens as 
 dronck as myss, and sume at cardes, sume at djryss, and at 
 tabulles, sume cum to mattens begenjnige at the mydes, and sume 
 when yt ys allmost done, and wold not cum ther so only for 
 boddly punnysment, nothyng for Godes sayck, wyth many other 
 vycys the use, wych y have no leser now to express. Also abbettes, 
 monckes, prest, dont lyttyl or nothyng to put owtt of bockes the 
 beyshatt of Romes name, for y my seylfe do know yn dyvers 
 bockes wher ys name and hys userpt power upon us ys. No more 
 unto your nobul grace at thays tyme, but Jesu preserve you to 
 pleser. Amen. 
 
 Your commyssary commandyd me to wrytt my mynd unto 
 your nobul grace, by my oathe I toyk of him yn our chaptur 
 hows. 
 
 Be me, your beydman. Rye. Beerley, now 
 
 monck yn the monastery of Pershor, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The death of Lady Cecil, the wife of Secretary Robert Cecil, 
 was the occasion of a letter of condolence from Ralegh to her 
 husband — for the two statesmen were firm friends in the year 
 1596. 
 
 If the letter does not help to illustrate Mr. Hume's remark 
 that Ralegh's prose was ' the best model of our ancient style,' 
 it, at least, is thoroughly characteristic of the writer. His for- 
 tunes were on the wane, and he was passing into a phase of 
 disappointment and sorrow. His most recent biographer, Mr. 
 Edwards, to whom we are indebted for a fresh store of corre- 
 spondence, remarks of this particular letter : — * Perhaps few 
 men of like mental calibre have taken so long a time to learn 
 D 2 
 
36 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 the lessons of bereavement or the uses of adversity. The task, 
 however, was got by heart at last. We have here Ralegh's 
 crude notions about the theme before he had really learnt a 
 line of it.' 
 
 Sir Walter Ralegh to Secretary Sir Robert Cecil. 
 
 Sherborne : January 24. 1696. 
 
 Sir, — :Because I know not how you dispo.se of yoursealf, I for- 
 beare to vissitt you ; preferringe your plesinge before myne own 
 desire. I had rather be with you now then att any other tyme, if 
 I could therby ether take of frome you the burden of your sorrows, 
 or lay the greater part therof on myne owne hart, in the mean 
 tyme, I would butt minde you of this, — that you should not over- 
 shaddo your wisdome with passion, butt looke aright into things 
 as the are. 
 
 There is no man sorry for death it sealf, butt only for the tyme 
 of death ; every one knowing that it is a bound never forfeted to 
 God. If then wee know the same to be certayne and inevitable, 
 wee ought withall to take the tyme of his arivall in as good part 
 as the knowledge: and not to lament att the instanf of every 
 seeminge adversety, whiche, we ai asured, have bynn on ther way 
 towards us from the beginninge. It apartayneth to every man of 
 a wize and worthy spirritt to draw together into sufferance the 
 unknown future to the known present ; lookinge no less with the 
 eyes of the minde then thos of the boddy — the one beholdinge afar 
 of, and the other att hand — that thos things of this worlde in 
 which we live be not strange unto us, when the approach, as to 
 febleness, which is moved with noveltes. Butt that, like true 
 men, participating immortalletye, and know[ing] our destines to 
 be of God, wee then make our estates and wishes, our fortunes and 
 desires, all one. 
 
 It is trew that you have lost a good and vertuous wife, and my 
 sealf an honorable frinde and kynswoman. Butt ther w^as a tyme 
 when shee was unknowne to you, for whom you then lamented 
 not. Shee is now no more your's, nor of your acquayntance, butt 
 immortall, and not needinge or knowing your love or sorrow. 
 Therefore you shall but greve for that which now is as then it was, 
 when not yoiu-'s ; only bettered by the differance in this, that shee 
 hath past the weresome journey of this darke worlde, and hath 
 
1600 J ENGLISH LETTERS. 37 
 
 possession of her inheritance. Shee hath left behind her the friite 
 of her love, for whos sakes you ought to care for your sealf, that you 
 leve them not without a gwyde, and not by grevinge to repine att 
 His will that gave them you, or by sorrowing to dry up your own 
 tymes that ought to establishe them. 
 
 I beleve it that sorrows are dangerus companions, converting 
 badd into yevill and yevill in worse, and do no other service 
 then multeply harms. They ar the treasures of weak harts and of 
 the foolishe. The minde that entertayneth them is as the yearth 
 and dust wheron sorrows and ad verse tes of the world do, as the 
 beasts of the field, tread, trample, and defile. The minde of man 
 is that part of God which is in us, which, by how mich it is subject 
 to passion, by so mich it is farther from Hyme that gave it us. 
 Sorrows draw not the dead to life, butt the livinge to death. And, 
 if T weare my sealf to advize my sealf in the like^ I would never 
 forgett my patience till I saw all and the worst of yevills, and so 
 greve for all att once ; least, lamenting for sume one, another might 
 not remayne in the poure of Destiney of greater discumfort. 
 
 Your's ever beyound the pour of words to utter 
 
 W. Kalegh. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Sir Walter Ralegh was the chief victim of the half-hearted 
 Spanish pohcy of King James I. He had been condemned to 
 death for secretly allying himself with Spanish interests, but 
 the sentence was not then carried into effect. His execution, 
 some fifteen years afterwards, was brought about by an almost 
 unavoidable collision with Spanish troops during the ill-advised 
 expedition to Guiana in search of his ' El Dorado.' True, when 
 this ambitious explorer, after thirteen years' imprisonment, was 
 released conditionally from the Tower, he was pledged not to 
 molest the Spaniards: but, unfortunately, Spanish blood was 
 shed, and not a single nugget of gold was brought home to 
 compensate for his disobedience. 
 
 Sir Walter Ralegh to KiTig James I. 
 
 The Tower : September 24, 1618. 
 If in my jomy outuard bound I had of my men murthered at 
 the Islands, and spared to tak revenge ; if I did discharge some 
 Spanish barkes taken, without spoile ; if I forbare all partes of the 
 
38 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 
 
 Spanisli Indies, wherin I might have taken twentye of their 
 townes on the sea cost, and did only follow the enterprise which I 
 undertooke for Guiana, — where without any direccion from me, a 
 Spanish village was burnt, which was newly sett up within three 
 miles of the mine, — by your Majesties favor I finde noe reason 
 whie the Spanish Embassadore should complaine of me. If it 
 were lawfull for the Spanish to murther 26 Englishmen, tyenge 
 them back to backe, and then to cutt theire throtes, when they 
 had traded with them a whole moneth, and came to them on the 
 land without so much as one sword amongst them all ; — and that 
 it may not be lawfull for your Majesties subjects, beinge forced by 
 them, to repell force by force, we may justly say, ' miserable 
 English ! ' 
 
 If Parker and Mutton took Campeach and other places in the 
 Honduraes, seated in the hart of the Spanish Indies ; burnt 
 townes, killed the Spaniards, and had nothing sayed to them at 
 their retume, — and that my selfe forbore to looke into the Indies, 
 because I would not offend, I may as justly say, * miserable Sir 
 Walter Ealegh ! ' 
 
 If I had spent my poore estate, lost my sonne, suffred, by sick- 
 nes and otherwise, a world of miseries ; if I had i-esisted with the 
 manifest hazard of my Ufe the rebells [robberies] and spoils which 
 my companyes would have made ; if when I was poore I could 
 have mad my selfe rich ; if when I had gotten my libertye, which 
 all men and Nature it selfe doth so much prise, I voluntarilie lost 
 it; if when I was master of my life I rendred it againe; if, 
 [though] I might elsewhere have sould my shipp and goods, and 
 put five or six thousand pounds in my purse, I have brought her 
 into England ; I beseech your Majestic to beleeve, that all this I 
 have done because it should [not] be sayed to your Majestic that 
 your Majestic had given libertie and trust to a man whose ende 
 was but the recovery of his libertie, and whoe had betrayed your 
 Majesties trust. 
 
 My mutiners tould me, that if I returned for England I should 
 be imdone ; but I beleeved more in your Majesty's goodnes then in 
 their arguments. Sure I am, that I am the first who, being free 
 and able to inrich my selfe, hath embraced povertie. And as sure 
 I am that my example shall make me the last. But your Majes- 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 39 
 
 tics wisdome and goodnes I have made my judges, whoe have 
 ever bine, and 
 
 Shall euer remain, 
 
 Your Majesty's most humble vassall 
 
 "W. Ealegh. 
 
 JCXVIII 
 
 Lyly, though still a young man in 1582, was already famous 
 as the author of ' Euphues,' the manual of stately morality 
 among the courtiers of Queen Ehzabeth. He had flourished 
 imder the protection of Lord Burleigh since he left Oxford in 
 1574, and we do not know under what circumstances he incurred 
 the displeasure of the High Treasurer. He was probably soon 
 taken into favour again, for we find him about the Court until 
 the end of the century. 
 
 John Lyly to Lord Burleigh, 
 
 July, 1582. 
 
 It hath plesed my Lord vpon what colour I cannot tell, cer- 
 taine I am vpon no cause, to be displesed with me, ye grief whereof 
 is more then the losse can be. But seeing I am to liue in ye 
 world, I must also be judged by the world, for that an honest 
 seruaunt must be such as Csesar wold haue his wif, not only free 
 from synne, but from suspicion. And for that I wish nothing 
 more then to commit all my waies to your wisdome and the 
 •deuises of others to your iudgment, I here yeld both my self and 
 my soule, the one to be tried by your honnor, the other by the 
 iustic of god ; and if I doubt not but my dealings being sifted, 
 the world shall find white meale, where others thought to show 
 <Jours branne. 
 
 It may be manie things wilbe objected, but yf any thing can be 
 proued I doubt, I know your L. will soone smell deuises from sim- 
 plicity, trueth from trecherie, factions from just servis. And god 
 is my witnes, before whome I speak, and before whome for my 
 ■speache I shal aunswer, yat all my though tes concerning my L. haue 
 byne ever reuerent, and almost relligious. How I haue dealt god 
 knoweth and my Lady can conjecture, so faithfullie, as I am as 
 vnspotted for dishonestie, as a suckling from theft. This conscins 
 of myne maketh me presume to stand to all trialls, ether of 
 accomptes, or counsell, in the one I neuer vsed falshood nor in the 
 
40 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 other dissembling. My most humble suit therfore vnto your L. is 
 yat my accusations be not smothered and I choaked in ye smoak> 
 but that they maie be tried in ye fire, and I will stand to the heat. 
 And my only comfort is, yat ye yat is wis shall judge trueth^ 
 whos nakednes shall manifest her noblenes. But I will not 
 troble your honorable eares, with so meinie idle words only this 
 upon my knees I ask, yat your L, will vousalf to talk with me, 
 and in all things will I shew my self so honest, yat my disgrae 
 shall bring to your L. as great meruell, as it hath done to me 
 grief, and so thoroughly will I satisfie everie objection, yat your L. 
 shall think me faithfull, though infortunat. That your honnor rest 
 pei*suaded of myne honest mynd, and my Lady of my true ser^is, 
 that all things may be tried to ye vttermost, is my desire, and the 
 only reward I craue for my iust (iust I dare term it) servis. And 
 thus in all humility submitting my caus to your wisdome and my 
 cousins to ye trieall. I commit your L. to the Almightie. 
 Your L. most dutifuUie to commaund 
 
 • John Lyly. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 That ruling tyrant of the English Bar, Sir Edward Coke, 
 was a chronic thorn in the side of Sir Francis Bacon. Jealous of 
 the increasing political and hterary fame of his adversary. 
 Coke, both in word and action, exercised all his ingenuity to 
 lower the credit of his accomplished countryman. His affected 
 depreciation of the writings of the author of ' The Advance- 
 ment of Learning,' betrayed a petty mahgnity of spirit which 
 the philosopher did not deign to notice. Not so his studied 
 insolence of behaviour, which brought out the following neat 
 letter of expostulation. 
 
 Sir Fraricis Bacon to Sir Edward Cohe. 
 
 [Before June 1606.] 
 Mr. Attorney, — I thought best once for all, to let you know in 
 plainness what I find of you, and what you shall find of me. You 
 take to yourself a liberty to disgrace and disable my law, my ex- 
 perience, my discretion. What it pleaseth you, I pray, think of 
 me : I am one that knows both mine own wants and other mens ; 
 and it may be, perchance, that mine mend, when others stand at a 
 stay. And surely I may not endure, in public place, to be 
 wronged without repelling the same to my best advantage to right 
 myself. You are great, and therefore have the more enviers. 
 
1600 J ENGLISH LETTERS, 41 
 
 which would bs glad to have you paid at another's cost. Since 
 the time I missed the solicitor's place, the rather I think by your 
 means, I cannot expect that you and I shall ever serve as attorney 
 and solicitor together : but either to serve with another upon your 
 remove, or to step into some other course ; so as I am more free 
 than ever 1 was from any occasion of unworthy conforming 
 myself to you, more than general good manners, or your particular 
 good usage shall provoke ; and if you had not been short-sighted 
 in your own fortune, as I think you might have had more use of 
 me. But that tide is passed. 
 
 I write not this to shew my friends what a brave letter I have 
 written to Mr. Attorney; I have none of those humours; but 
 that i have written is to a good end, that is, to the more decent 
 carriage of my master's service, and to our particular better under- 
 standing one of another. This letter, if it shall be answered hj 
 you in deed, and not in word, I suppose it will not be worse for us 
 both; else it is but a few lines lost, which for a much smaller 
 matter I would have adventured. So this being to yourself, I for 
 my pai-t rest &c. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 This little gem, composed in honour of the founder of the 
 Bodleian Library, lies half-hidden in a ponderous volume 
 entitled ' Cabala,' consisting of some very important correspond- 
 ence of the Elizabethan and early Stuart period. The letter is 
 also published in some editions of Bacon's works. It was ad- 
 dressed to Sir Thomas Bodley on the occasion of Bacon's pre- 
 senting him with a copy of the * Advancement of Learning.' 
 So gi-aceful a recognition of services to literature from the man 
 of all others most capable of appreciating them, must have 
 been very gratifying to the courtly diplomatist, at a time when 
 public benefactions were sparingly acknowledged. 
 
 Sir Francis Bacon to Sir Thomas Bodley, 
 
 1607. 
 Sir, — I think no man may more truly say with the Psalm, 
 multum incola fuit anima mea. For I do confess, since I was of 
 any understanding, my mind hath in effect, been absent from that 
 I have done, and in absence errours are committed, which I do 
 willingly acknowledge ; and amongst the rest, this great one that 
 led the rest ; that knowing my self by inward calling to be fitter 
 to hold a Book, than to play a Part, 1 have led my Life in civil 
 
12 ENGLISH LETTERS. |]450- 
 
 JUauses ; for which I was not very fit by ligature, and more unfit 
 by the pre-occupation of my Mind. Therefore calling my self 
 home, I have now for a time enjoyed my self; where likewise I 
 desire to make the World partaker ; my labours (if so I may term 
 that which was the comfort of my other labours) I have dedicated 
 to the King, desirous if there be any good in them, it may be as 
 fat of a Sacrifice incensed to his Honour ; and the second Copy 
 have sent unto you, not only in good afiection, but in a kind of 
 •Oongruity, in regard of your Great and rare desert of learning. 
 For Books are the Shrines where the Saint is, or is believed to be. 
 And you having built an Ark to save Learning from Deluge, 
 deserve in Propriety, any new Instrument or Engine, whereby 
 X<eaming should be Improved or Advanced. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Although the nation at large was proud of Bacon as orator, 
 lawyer, statesman, and philosopher, and applauded his rise to 
 the woolsack and to the dignity of Viscount St. Albans as 
 •warmly as they did his unrivalled attainments, yet so heinous 
 ■was the sin of judicial briber}' considered, that his conviction by 
 the Parliament of malpractices in the High Court of Chancery 
 WHS followed by a national cry for his punishment. 
 
 The following letter "was written before the formal impeach- 
 ment was carried to the House of Peers, and while the charges 
 of bribery and corruption were being collected. 
 
 Lord Chancellor Bacon to King James I. 
 
 March 2b, 1621. 
 May it please yoiu* most excellent Majesty, — Time hath been 
 -svhen I have brought unto you gemitum colurtihae from others, now 
 I bring it from myself. I fly unto your Majesty with the wings of 
 ^ dove, which once within these seven days I thought would have 
 carried me a higher flight. When I enter into myself, I find not 
 the materials of such a tempest as is come upon me : I have been, 
 iis your majesty knoweth best, never author of any immoderate 
 counsel, but always desired to have things carried suavihus modis. 
 I have been no avaricious oppressor of the people. I have been 
 no haughty, or intolerable, or hateful man, in my conversation or 
 carriage. I have inherited no hatred from my father, but am a 
 good patriot born. Whence should this be ? For these are the 
 things that use to raise dislikes abroad. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. ^'^ 
 
 For the house of Commons, I began my credit there, and now 
 it must be the place of the sepulture thereof ; and yet this parlia- 
 ment, upon the message touching religion, the old love revived, 
 and they said, I was the same man still, only honesty was turned 
 into honour. For the upper house, even within these days, before 
 these troubles, they seemed as to take me into their arms, finding 
 in me ingenuity, which they took to be the true straight line of 
 nobleness, without any crooks or angles. 
 
 And for the briberies and gifts wherewith I am charged, when 
 the books of hearts shall be opened, I hope T shall not be found 
 to have the troubled fountain of a corrupt heart, in a depraved 
 habit of taking rewards to pervert justice ; howsoever I may be 
 frail, and partake of the abuses of the times. 
 
 And therefore I am resolved, when I come to my answer, not 
 to trick up my innocency, as I writ to the lords, by cavillations 
 or voidances ; but to speak to them the language that my heart 
 speaketh to me, in excusing, extenuating, or ingenuously confessing ; 
 praying to God to give me the grace to see the bottom of my faults, 
 and that no hardness of heart do steal upon me, under shew of more 
 neatness of conscience, than is cause. But not to trouble your 
 majesty any longer, craving pardon for this long mourning letter ; 
 that which I thirst after, as the hart after the streams, is, that I 
 may know, by my matchless friend that presenteth to you this 
 letter, your majesty's heart (which is an ahyssus of goodness, as I 
 am an ahyssus of misery) towards me. I have been ever your 
 man, and counted myself but an usufructuary of myself, the 
 property being yours. And now making myself an oblation to do 
 with me as may best conduce to the honour of your justice, the 
 honour of your mercy, and the use of your service, resting as clay 
 in your majesty's gracious hands. &c., &c. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The excellent counsel vouchsafed in this letter by James I. 
 to his eldest son, supplemented as it was by the Royal instruc- 
 tions contained in ' the printed book ' (Basilicon Doron), was not 
 addressed to a heedless boy, but to a clever princeling whose 
 activity of mind, firm sincerity, and ardent piety contrasted 
 with the vanity and pedantry of his father. In losing Prince 
 Henry at the early age of nineteen, the nation lost, in all 
 appearance, a ruler capable of reviving the best features of 
 Plantagenet government. This letter was written on the occar 
 
 sion of James I. leaving Scotland to take possession of the 
 T7 i:„u 
 
44 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1450- 
 
 James I. to his son Prince Henry. 
 
 1603. 
 
 My Son, — ^That I see you not before my parting, impute it to- 
 this great occasion, wherein time is so precious ; but that shall by 
 God's grace be recompensed by your coming to me shortly, and 
 continual residence with me ever after. Let not this news make 
 you proud, or insolent, for a Kling's son and heir was ye before^ 
 and no more are ye yet. The augmentation that is hereby like to 
 fall unto you, is but in cares and heavy burthens. Be, therefore, 
 merry, but not insolent ; keep a greatness, but sine fastu ; be 
 tesolute, but not wilful. Keep your kindness, but in honouiuble 
 sort ; choose none to be your^ playfellows but them that are well 
 born ; and above all things, never give good countenance to any 
 but according as ye shall be informed that they are in estimation, 
 with me. Look upon all Englishmen that shall come to visit 
 you as your loving subjects, not with that ceremony as towards 
 strangers, and yet with such heartiness as at this time they deserve. 
 This gentleman whom this bearer accompanies is worthy, and of 
 good rank, and now my familiar servitor ; use him, therefore, ia 
 a more homely, loving soi-t nor other. I send you herewith my 
 book lately printed ; study and profit in it as ye would deserve my 
 blessing ; and as there can nothing happen unto you w^hereof ye 
 will not find the general ground therein, if not the very par- 
 ticular point touched, so must ye level every man's opinions or 
 advices unto you as ye find them agi'ee or discord with the rules 
 there set down, allowing and following their advices that agree 
 with the same, mistrusting and frowning upon them that advise 
 you to the contrary. Be diligent and earnest in your studies, that 
 at your meeting with me I may praise you for your progress in 
 learning. Be obedient to your master, for your own weal, and to- 
 procure my thanks; for in reverencing him ye obey me, and 
 honour yourself. Farewell, 
 
 Your loving father, 
 
 James R. 
 
I 
 
 1600 ENGLISH LETTERS. 45 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Accompanied by that accomplished trifler, the Duke of 
 Buckingham, Prince Charles of England, the spoilt child of an 
 indulgent and affectionate father, had reached the end of what 
 is called a romantic journey to Madrid in quest of a wife. The 
 lomancers liad passed in disguise through France under the 
 undignified names of Jack and Tom Smith, and at the time this 
 letter was written they were endeavoiuing to negotiate among 
 the wily Spaniards a marriage-treaty with the Infanta. The 
 only excuse James I. had for seeking a wife for his ' dear baby ' 
 from a house hostile to the Protestant faith was that there was 
 210 Protestant princess of immediate royal extraction to be 
 found ; at least, there was no king's daughter ; and rather than 
 abandon a project that would contribute so much to his desire 
 for a political alliance with Spain — an allianct? openly depre- 
 cated by the English nation — he consented to demands which, 
 rising as they did at every fresh stage of the contract, overtaxed 
 the patience of Charles himself, who neutralised tbe pliant dis- 
 position of his father by adopting the role of an injured suitor, 
 and. returning to London. Unfortunately, he went ' from the 
 smoke to the smother,' and married Henrietta Maria of France. 
 
 James /. to Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham, 
 
 Theobalds : May 9, 1623. 
 
 My Sweet Boys, — If the Dutch post had not been robbed and 
 sore beaten in Kent, three days ago, ye had sooner received the 
 duplicate of the power I put in my sweet babies' hands, which I 
 send you for the more security, seeing the expedition of your 
 return depends upon it; but it rejoiceth my heart that youi 
 opinion anent the three conditions annexed to the dispensation 
 agreeth fully with mine, as ye will find by one of my letters, dated 
 Theobalds, which Gresley will deliver unto you. Carlisle came 
 yesterday morning to Dos Castellanos, and a devoted servant tc 
 the Conde d'Olivares ; but my sweet Steenie Gossip, I heartily 
 thank thee for thy kind, droll letter. I do herewith send thee a 
 kind letter of thanks to that King for the elephant, as thou de- 
 sired, wherein I likewise thank for him, for a letter of his which 
 Carlisle delivered unto me, which is indeed the kindest and cour- 
 tesest letter ever I received from any King. I have likewise 
 received from Carlisle the list of the jewels which ye have already 
 received, and which of them my baby means to present to his 
 mistress ; I pray you, sweet baby, if ye think not fit to present her 
 
46 ENGLISH LETTERS. [UoO- 
 
 the collar of great ballest rubies and knots of pearls, bring it 
 home again, and the like I say of the head-dressing of the gi-eat 
 peai pearls, which ye have, and other three head-dressings which 
 Frank Stewart is to deliver unto you, for they are not presents fit 
 for subjects ; but if ye please, ye may present one of them to the 
 queen of Spain. Carlisle thinks my baby will bestow a rich jewel 
 upon the Conde D'Olivares; but, in my opinion, horses, dogSy 
 hawkS; and such like stuff to be sent him out of England by you 
 both, will be a far more noble, acceptable present to him. And 
 now, my sweet Steenie gossip, that the poor fool, Kate, hath also- 
 sent thee hei pearl chain, which, by accident, I saw in a box in. 
 Frank Stewart's ; I hope I need not conjure thee not to give any 
 of her jewels away there, for thou know est what necessary use she 
 will have of them at your return here, besides that it is not lucky 
 to give away that I have given her. Now, as for mails, the more 
 strong mails for carriage that ye can provide me with, I will be 
 the better secured in my journeys, and the better cheap. If ye 
 can get the deer handsomely here, they shall be welcome. I hope 
 the elephant, camels, and asses, are already by the way. 
 
 And so God bless you both, and after a happy success there. 
 Bend you speedy and comfortable home in the arms of your dear 
 dad. James E. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 James I. to Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 March 26, 1623. 
 
 My Sweet Boys, — God bless you both, and reward you for the 
 comfortable news I received from you yesterday (which was my 
 coronation day), in place of tilting; and God bless thee, my sweet 
 gossip, for thy little letter, all full of comfort. 1 have written a 
 letter to the Conde d' Olivares, as both of you desired me, as full 
 of thanks and kindness as can be devised, and indeed he well 
 deserves ; but in the end of your letter ye put in a cooling card, 
 anent the nuncio's averseness to this business, and that thereby ye 
 collect that the pope will likewise be averse ; but first ye must re- 
 member that in Spain they never put doubt of the granting of the 
 dispensation — that themselves did set down the spiritual conditions. 
 These things may justly be laid before them ; but I know not Vv^hat 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 47 
 
 ye mean by my acknowledging the pope's spiritual supremacy. 1 
 am sure ye would not have me renounce my religion for all the 
 world ; but all that I can guess at your meaning is, that it may 
 [be] ye have an allusion to a passage in my book against Bellar- 
 mine, where I offer, if the pope would quit his godhead, and usurp- 
 ing over Kings, to acknowledge him for the chief bishop, to which 
 all appeals of churchmen ought to lie en dernier resort, the very 
 words I send you here inclosed, and that is the farthest my con- 
 science will permit me to go upon this point ; for I am not »• 
 monsieur that can shift his religion as easily as he can shift hie 
 shirt, when he cometh from tennis. 
 
 I have no more to say in this; but God bless you. my sweet 
 Baby, and send him good fortune in his wooing to the comfort of 
 his old father, who cannot be happy but in him. My ship is ready 
 to make sail, and only stays for a fair wind. God send it her •.. 
 but I have, for the honour of England, curtailed the train that 
 goes by sea of a number of rascals. And, my sweet Steenie 
 gossip, I must tell thee that Kate was a little sick within these 
 four or five days of a headache, and the next morning, after a 
 little casting, was well again. 1 hope it is a good sign that I 
 shall shortly be a gossip over again, for I must be thy perpetual 
 gossip ; but the poor fool Kate hath, by importunity, gotten leave 
 of me to send thee both her rich chains ; and this is now the eighth 
 etter I have written for my two boys, and six to Kate. God send 
 me still more and more comfortable news of you both, till I may 
 have a joyful, comfortable, and happy meeting with you ; and that 
 my Baby may bring home a fair lady with him, as this is writte» 
 upon our Lady-day, 25th of March, 1623. , James E. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex, the impetuous favourite 
 of the Court of Queen Elizabeth, who ' never learned to disguise 
 a feeling or conceal a thought,' reached the zenith of royal par- 
 tiality before he attained his thirtieth year. 
 
 The idol of the people and of the army, the Queen was as- 
 jealous of his popularity as she was fond of him personally. 
 The two following letters are among a series written to the 
 Queen during his outward journey in command of^the expedi- 
 tion against Spain, 1597. ' They' indicate his position as the- 
 successor of the courtly Earl of Leicester. 
 
48 ENGLISH LETTERS, |]450- 
 
 TJie Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth, 
 
 Sandwich : June 23, 1597. 
 
 Your spirit I do invoke, my most dear and admired sovereign, 
 to assist me, that I may express that humblest and most due 
 thankfulness, and that high and true joy which upon the reading 
 of your Majesty's letter my poor heart hath conceived. Upon 
 jour spirit, I say, I call, as only powerful over me, and by his 
 infinite virtue only able to express infinite things. 
 
 Or if I be too weak an instrument to be insj)ired with such a 
 gift, or that words be not able to interpret for me, then to your 
 royal dear heart I appeal, which, without my words, can fully and 
 justly understand me. Heavens and earth shall witness for me. 
 I will strive to be worthy of so high a gi-ace and so blessed a 
 happiness. Be pleased therefore, most dear Queen, to be ever 
 thus gracious, if not for my merit yet for your own constancy. 
 And so you shall bestow all those happinesses which in the end of 
 jour letter you are pleased to wish ; and then, if I may hear your 
 Majesty is well and well-pleased nothing can be ill with your 
 Majesty's humblest and most afiectionate vassal, 
 
 Essex. 
 
 XXXYI. 
 The Earl oj Essex to Queen Elizabeth, 
 
 Portland Roads : July 6, 1597. 
 
 Most dear and most excellent Sovereign, — I received your 
 gracious letter full of princely care, of sweetness, and of power 
 to enable your poor vassal to all duties and services that flesh and 
 blood can perform. I received this dear letter, I say, as I was 
 under sail, coming with your Majesty's fleet into the road of 
 Portland. And because I think it will be welcome news to your 
 Majesty that we are all with safety thus far advanced, I send the 
 gentleman whom your Majesty dispatched to me forthwith back 
 again. 
 
 By whom, if I could expi-ess my soul's humble, infinite and 
 perfect thankfulness for so high favoui-s as your Majesty's five dear 
 tokens, both the watch, the thorn and above all the angel ^ which 
 
 ' Probably a portrait. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, 49 
 
 you sent to guard me, for your Majesty's sweet letters indited by 
 the spirit of spirits ; if, for this I say, I could express fit thank- 
 fulness I would strain my wits to perform it. But till God in 
 time make my poor endeavours and services my witnesses I must 
 hope your Majesty will conceive, in your royal breast that which 
 my weak words cannot signify. So shall you do justly as you 
 ever used to do, and so shall you bless and make happy your 
 Majesty's humble vassal, whose soul is poured out with most ear- 
 nest, faithful and more than most affectionate wishes. 
 
 Essex. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 In spite of the failure of the expedition to Spain, and of many 
 other omissions, Essex retained his place at Court. In the summer 
 of 1598, in the course of a warm discussion on the proposed ap- 
 pointment of Sir William KnoUys to the Governor-Generalship 
 of Ireland, the hot-headed Earl provoked the Queen by his 
 discourteous manner. She promptly boxed his ears before the 
 Lord Treasurer and other councillors. That Essex considered 
 he had received hard measure is clear from his first letter to 
 Elizabeth after his proscription from the Court circle. 
 
 The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 [1598.] 
 
 Madam, — When I think how I have preferred your beauty 
 above all things, and received no pleasure in life but by the in- 
 crease of your favour towards me, I wonder at myself what cause 
 there could be to make me absent myself one day from you. But 
 when I remember that your Majesty hath, by the intolerable 
 wrong you have done both me and yourself not only broken all 
 laws of afiection, but done against the honour of your sex, I think 
 aU places better than that where I am, and all dangers well under- 
 taken, so I might retire myself from the memory of my false, incon- 
 stant and beguiling pleasures. I am sorry to write thus much 
 for I cannot think your mind so dishonourable but that you punish 
 yourself for it, how little soever you care for me. But I desire 
 whatsoever falls out that your Majesty should be without excuse, 
 you knowing yourself to be the cause, and all the world wondering 
 at the efiect. I was never proud till your Majesty sought to make 
 me too base. And now since my destiny is no better, my despair 
 shall be as my love was, without repentance. I will as a, subject 
 
 E 
 
50 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 and an humble servant owe my life, my fortune, and all that is ia 
 me ; but this place is not fit for me, for she which goA-erns this- 
 world is weary of me, and I of the world. I must commend my 
 faith to be judged by Him who judgeth all hearts since on earth I 
 find no right. Wishing your Majesty all comforts and joys in the 
 world, and no greater punishment for your wrongs to me than to 
 know the faith of him you have lost, arid the baseness of those you 
 
 shall keep 
 
 Yoiu" Majesty's most humble servant, 
 
 Essex. 
 
 xxxvm. 
 
 After the Earl's unauthorised return from Ireland, on hia 
 failure to suppress the rebellion of 1698, Elizabeth kept him 
 a prisoner in York House for several months. She had been 
 heard to exclaim : * By God's son, I am no Queen ; that man 
 is above me,' and she resolved to break his proud spirit. The 
 Earl remained in the custody of the Lord Keeper for three 
 months after writing the following appeal. 
 
 The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 May 12, 1600. 
 Before all letters written in this hand be banished or he that^ 
 sends this enjoin himself eternal silence, be pleased, I humbly 
 beseech your Majesty, to read over these humble lines. At sundry 
 times, and by simdry messengers, I i-eceived these words as your 
 Majesty's own, that you meant to coiTect and not to ruin ; sinco 
 which time when I languished in four months' sickness, forfeited 
 almost all that I was enabled to engage, felt the very pangs of 
 death upon me, and saw that poor reputation, whatsoever it was 
 that I enjoyed hitherto, not sufiered to die with me, but buried 
 and I alive, I yet kissed your Majesty's fair correcting hand, and 
 was confident in your royal word ; for I said to myself, between 
 my ruin and my sovereign's favour there is no mean, and if she 
 bestow favour again, she gives it with all things that in this world 
 I either need or desire. But now the length of my troubles, and 
 the continuance, or rather increase, of your Majesty's indignation, 
 have made all men so afraid of me, as my own poor state is not 
 only ruined, but my kind friends and faithfiJ servants are like to 
 die in prison because I cannot help myself with mine own. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. , 61 
 
 Now, I do not only feel the weight of youi* Majesty's indigna- 
 tion, and am subject to their malicious insinuations that first 
 envied me for my happiness in your favour, and now hate me out 
 of custom ; but as if I were thrown into a comer like a dead 
 carcase, I am gnawed on and torn by the vilest and basest crea- 
 tures upon earth. The prating tavern haunter speaks of me what 
 •he lists ; the frantic libeller writes of me what he Hsts ; already 
 they print me and make me speak to the world, and shortly they 
 will play me in what forms they list upon the stage. The least of 
 these is a thousand times worse than death. But this is not the 
 worst of my destiny, for your Majesty that hath mercy for all the 
 world but me, that hath protected from scorn and infamy all to 
 whom you ever avowed favour but Essex, and never repented you 
 of any gracious assurance you had given till now ; your Majesty, 
 I say, hath now, in this eighth month of my close imprisonment, 
 as if you thought mine infirmities, beggary and infamy too little 
 punishment, rejected my letters and refused to hear of me, which 
 to traitors you never did. What therefore rcmaineth for mel 
 only this, to beseech your Majesty, on the knees of my heart, to 
 conclude my punishment, my misery and my life all together, 
 that I may go to my Saviour, who hath paid himself a ransom for 
 me, and whom, methinks, I shall hear calling me out of this un- 
 kind world in which I have lived too long, and ever thought my- 
 self too happy. 
 
 From your Majesty's humblest vassal, 
 
 Essex. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The full extent of the Earl's degradation will be gathered 
 by contrasting the last humble appeal with one of his earliest 
 and extravagantly familiar letters written when he was under 
 twenty-five years and the Queen over sixty years. 
 
 The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 [1590] 
 
 Madam, — The delights of this place cannot make me unmindful 
 of one in whose sweet company I have joyed as much as the hap- 
 piest man doth in his highest contentment ; and if my horse could 
 run as fast as my thoughts do fly, I would as often make mine 
 
 E 2 
 
52 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 
 
 eyes lich in beholding the treasure of my love, as my desires do 
 triumph when I seem to myself in a strong imagination to con- 
 quer your resisting will. Noble and dear lady, tho' I be absent, 
 let me in your favour be second unto none ; and when I am at 
 home, if I have no right to dwell chief in so excellent a place, yet 
 1 will usurp upon all the world. And so making myself as hum-' 
 ble to do you service, as in my love I am ambitious I wish your 
 Majesty all your happy desires. Croydon, this Tuesday, going to 
 be mad and make my horse tame. Of all the men the most de- 
 voted to your service, 
 
 Essex, 
 
 XL. 
 
 In the early part of 1638 Milton came over from Horton, 
 and was presented by John Hales to the famous Provost of 
 Eton, Sir Henry Wotton, then in the last year of his life. The 
 courtly old gentleman was delighted with the young poet's 
 grace and wit, and most of all with his enthusiastic desire to 
 visit Italy. On April 6 Milton had sent him a copy of * Oomus/ 
 with a letter annoimcing his immediate departure for the Con- 
 tinent, to which the Provost replies after the lapse of a week. 
 A few days later Milton started upon his memorable Italian 
 journey, and before he returned Wotton had sunk into the 
 debility of mind that preceded his death in December 1639. In 
 reading the latter part of this letter, it is impossible not to re- 
 call the diplomatist's own witty definition of an ambassador, 
 * an honest gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his 
 country.' 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton to John Milton. 
 
 From the College : this 13 of April, 1638. 
 Sir, — It was a special favour, when you lately bestowed upon 
 me here the first taste of your acquaintance, though no longer than 
 to make me know that I wanted more time to value it, and to en- 
 joy it* rightly; and in truth, if I could then have imagined your 
 further stay in these parts, which I understood afterwards by Mr. 
 H., I would have been bold, in our vulgar phrase, to mend my 
 draught (for you left me with an extreme thirst) and to have begged 
 your conversation again jointly with your said learned friend, at a 
 poor meal or two, that we might have lauded together some good 
 authors of the ancient time, among which I observed you to have 
 been familiar. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 53 
 
 Since your going, you have charged me with new obligafcions, 
 both for a very kind letter from you dated the sixth of this month, 
 and for a dainty piece of entertainmenb which came therewith, 
 wherein I should much commend the tragical part, if the lyrical 
 did not ravish me with a certain Doric delicacy in your songs and 
 odes, wherein I must plainly confess to have seen yet nothing 
 parallel in our language : ipsa mollities. But I must not omit to 
 tell you, that I now only owe you thanks for intimating unto me 
 (how modestly soever) the true artificer. For the work itself I had 
 viewed some good while before, with singular delight, having re- 
 ceived it from our common friend Mr. E-. in the very close of 
 the late R.'s poems, printed at Oxford; whereunto it is added 
 (as I now suppose) that the accessory may help out the principal, 
 according to the art of stationers, and leave the reader con la 
 bocca dolce. * 
 
 Now Sir, concerning your travels, wherein I may challenge a 
 little more privilege of discourse with you ; I suppose you will 
 not blanch Paris in your way; therefore I have been bold to 
 trouble you with a few lines to Mr. M. B., whom you shall easily 
 find atteuLiding the young Lord S. as his governor, and you may 
 sui'ely receive from him good directions for shaping of your 
 farther journey into Italy, where he did reside by my choice some 
 time for the King after mine own recess from Yenice. 
 
 I should think that your best line will be through the whole 
 length of France to Marseilles, and thence by sea to Genoa, whence 
 the passage into Tuscany is as diurnal as a Gravesend barge. I 
 hasten, as you do, to Florence, or Siena, the rather to tell you a 
 short story from the interest you have given me in your safety. 
 
 At Siena I was tabled in the house of one Alberto Scipione, an 
 old Koman courtier in dangerous times, having been steward to 
 the Duca de Pagliano, who with all his family were strangled, 
 save this only man, that escaped by foresight of the tempest. 
 With him I had often much chat of those affaii's, into which he 
 took pleasure to look back from his native harbour, and at my 
 departure toward Rome (which had been the centre of his ex- 
 perience) I had won confidence enough to beg his advice how I 
 might carry myself securely there, without ofience of others, or 
 of mine own conscience. Signor arrigo mio, says he, pensieri 
 afrettif e il viso sciolto, will go safely over the whole world. Of 
 
54 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 
 
 whicli Delphian oracle, for so I have found it, your judgment 
 doth need no commentaiy, and therefore, Sir, I will commit you 
 v^ith it to the best of all securities, God's dear love, remaining 
 your friend, as much at command as any of longer date, 
 
 Henry Wotton. 
 
 P.S. Sir, — I have expressly sent this my footboy to prevent 
 your departure without some acknowledgment from me of the 
 receipt of your obUging letter, having myself through some busi- 
 ness, I know not how, neglected the ordinary conveyance. In any 
 part where I shall understand you fixed, I shall be glad and dili- 
 gent to entertain you with home novelties, even for some fomenta- 
 tion of our friendship, too soon interrupted in the cradle. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The archives at Zurich contain the original correspondence 
 between the chief English and Swiss Reformers. A great 
 many friends of the Eeformation settled in this canton and its 
 capital on the accession of Queen Mary ; and after their return 
 to England, in 1558, they corresponded closely with the 
 friends by whom they had been so hospitably received. Under 
 the title of 'Zurich Letters,* the Parker Society issued two 
 volumes containing most interesting letters ti'eating of matters 
 ecclesiastical during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. This letter 
 refers to the refusal of all the English bishops, except Kitchin, 
 of Llandaff, to subscribe to the Act of Supremacy of 1559, 
 which, with the Act of Uniformity, virtually revived the eccle- 
 siastical supremacy of the Crown. 
 
 Dr. Jewel, Bishop of Salisbury, to Peter Martyr. 
 
 London : August 1, 1559. 
 1 have hitherto, my father, written to you less frequently 
 because many engagements, both of a public and private nature, 
 have prevented my correspondence. I now write, not because I 
 have more leisure than heretofore, but because I shall have much 
 less in future than I have at present. For I have now one foot on 
 the ground, and the other almost on my horse's back. I am on the 
 point of setting out upon a long and troublesome commission for 
 the establishment of religion, through Eeading, Abingdon, Glou- 
 cester, Bristol, Bath, Wells, Exeter, Cornwall, Dorset, and Salis- 
 bury. The extent of my journey will be about seven hundred 
 
1600] JENGLISH LETTERS, 65 
 
 miles, so that I imagine we shall hardly be able to return in less 
 than four months. Wherefore, lest you should in the mean tims 
 suppose me dead, notwithstanding I wrote to you twelve days 
 since upon our common affairs, I think it not unmeet to send you 
 this short gi'eeting at the very moment of my setting out. Our 
 affairs are now in a favourable condition. The queen is exceed- 
 ingly well disposed ; and the people everywhere thirsting after re- 
 ligion. The bishops, rather than abandon the pope, whom they 
 have so often abjured before, are willing to submit to every thing. 
 I^ot, however, that they do so for the sake of religion, of which 
 they have none ; but for the sake of consistency, which the misera- 
 ble knaves now choose to call their conscience. 
 
 Now that religion is everywhere changed, the mass-priests ab- 
 sent themselves altogether from public worship, as if it were the 
 greatest impiety to have any thing in common with the people of 
 Ood. But the fury of these wretches is so great that nothing can 
 exceed it. They are altogether full of hopes and anticipations, (for, 
 as you know, they are a most anticijyative race, and mightily ad- 
 dicted to futuritions,) that these things cannot last long. But, 
 whatever may happen in futui'e, we render thanks to Almighty 
 Ood that oui" affairs are as they are. 
 
 Every thing is in a ferment in Scotland. Knox, surrounded 
 by a thousand followers, is holding assemblies throughout the 
 whole kingdom. The old queen (dowager) has been compelled to 
 «hut herself up in garrison. The nobility with united hearts 
 and hands are restoring religion throughout the country, in spite 
 of all opposition. All the monasteries are every where levelled 
 with the ground : the theatrical dresses, the sacrilegipus chalices, 
 the idols, the altars, are consigned to the flames ; not a vestige of 
 the ancient superstition and idolatry is left. What do. you ask 
 for % You have often heard of drinking like a Scythian j but this 
 is churcliing it like a Scythian. The King of France that now is, 
 styles himself King of Scotland, and in case of anything happening 
 to our queen, (which God forefend !) heir of England. You must 
 not be surprised if our people are indignant at this ; and how the 
 matter will at length turn out, God only can determine. A com- 
 mon enemy perhaps, as is sometimes the case, may be the occasion 
 of reconciling with us our neighbour Scotland ; in which event, 
 although the [queen's] marriage should also take place, — but I will 
 
56 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 not prognosticate. Master Heton salutes you, and tliat not less 
 affectionately than if you were his father. Some of us are ap- 
 pointed o bishopricks ; Cox to Ely, Scory to Hereford, Allen to 
 Rochester, Grindal to London, Barton to Chichester, and I, the^ 
 least of the apostles, to Salisbury. But this burden I have posi- 
 tively determined to shake off. In the mean time there is a dismal 
 solitude in our Universities. The young men are flying about in 
 all directions, rather than come to an agreement in matters of 
 religion. 
 
 But my companions are waiting for me, and calling to me to 
 set off. Farewell, therefore, my father, a,nd my pride. Salute 
 that reverend man, and on so many accounts dearly beloved in 
 Christ, Master BuUinger, to whom also, if I had time, I would 
 send a separate letter. Salute masters Gaulter, Simler, Lavater, 
 Haller, Gesner, Frisius, Herman. I have five golden pistoles 
 from Master Bartholomew Compagni, for the venerable old man 
 Master Bemardine, with a letter to him from the same. I would 
 write to him concerning the whole business, were I not prevented 
 by want of time. I pray you, however, to let him know that, ex- 
 cept [the payment of] this money, nothing else is settled. Court 
 affairs, as far as I can see, are so difficult of management, that I 
 know not whether any thing can be made of it. The queen is -now 
 a long way off in Kent, so that nothing can be done. 
 
 Farewell, my father, farewell. May you be as happy as I cant 
 wish you ! Salute, in my name, your Julius and Anna, and your 
 little son [Martyrillus]. 
 
 Your every way most attached 
 
 John Jewell. 
 
 xm. 
 
 This next extract from the * Zurich Letters ' is dated a year 
 or two after that the Puritans had become a powerfully organised 
 sect under the leadership of Thomas Cartwright. They are no 
 longer merely resisting the laws because the outward forms of 
 public worship savour too much of Roman Catholicism ; they 
 have changed front and are themselves attacking the episcopal 
 form of church government. The unwise persecution of this reli- 
 ^ous body throughout the forty years of Queen Elizabeth's reign 
 only served to strengthen their ranks, and in this respect the 
 Queen's church rule was a failure. Archbishop Parker neorlected 
 to enforce th'^ restraining statutes with sufficient stringency 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 67 
 
 at first \ his successor, Grindal, rather sympathised with the 
 Puritans than otherwise ; and this left Archbishop Whitgift — 
 a firm clerical statesman after Elizabeth's heart — comparatively 
 powerless, even with the High Commission Court in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 Dr, Cox, Bishop of Ely, to Rodolph Gualter. 
 
 Ely : February 8, 1573. 
 
 I return you my best thanks, my dear brother in Christ, for 
 having sent me a most courteous letter, which I received in De- 
 cember, and in which you clearly manifest your anxiety for the 
 church of Christ, though at so great a distance from you. ThiSy 
 indeed, ought to be the chief solicitude of every pastor in the 
 church, but of those more especially who in the endowments of 
 learning and judgment, and piety are superior to the rest. When 
 Dr. Whitgift, the most vehement enemy of the schismatics, and 
 the chief instrument against them in our church, had perceived 
 these unruly men to have burst by their reckless attacks the 
 baiiiers of law and of religion, which had been so well and so 
 peacefully established; and that they had only distributed infamous 
 pamphlets which had been privately committed to the press ; and 
 also that from your letter to our friend Parkhurst, which they had 
 communicated to many persons, they had already obtained a handle 
 for confirming their errors, he thought that the publication of your 
 letter to me would tend very much to the defence of the truth* 
 Your first letter was extorted from you by those who falsely ac- 
 cused us ; but the simple truth brought the second to light. And 
 there is no reason why you should be disturbed about the publica- 
 tion of what has procured credit and reputation to yourself, inas- 
 much as it espouses the cause of truth, of which no one ought to 
 be ashamed. 
 
 I acquainted you with some of the errors of our men in the 
 questions I proposed to you, and you have gratified me most ex- 
 ceedingly by the candid and sincere declaration of your sentiments ; 
 for the opinions of Masters Bullinger and Gualter are of no little 
 weight in our church. But these disputants of ours are so shuf- 
 fling, and so tenacious of their own opinion, that they will give 
 way to no one who opposes their judgment ; and they are striving 
 to draw all your writings ovei- to their side by a perverted inter- 
 pretation of them. To give you an instance of their candour. 
 
58 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 
 
 they are zealously endeavouring to overthrow the entire order of 
 our Anglican church. Night and day do they importune both the 
 people and the nobility, and stir them up to abhorrence of those 
 persons who, on the abolition of popery, are faithfully discharging 
 the duties of the ministry, and they busy themselves in everywhere 
 weakening and diminishing their credit. And that they may effect 
 this with greater ease and plausibility, they bawl out to those har- 
 pies who are greedily hankering after plunder and spoil, that the 
 property and revenues of the cathedral churches ought to be 
 diverted to I know not what other uses. Nor will they allow 
 bishops to take any other precedence than as individual pastors in 
 their respective parishes, whose highest authority they wish to be 
 that of governing, together with their presbytery, the rest of the 
 parishioners. And in this way they set up and establish the 
 equality they speak of. Besides this, they will not acknowledge 
 apy government in the church. They propose, moreover, that the 
 estates and houses of the bishops should be appropriated to pious 
 uses ; but, more blind than moles, they do not perceive that they 
 ■will soon be swallowed up by the devouring wolves. 
 
 There are in this country twenty-three bishopricks, the endow- 
 ments of some of which are little enough ; others have moderate 
 ones, and others more abundant. But all are within the bounds 
 of moderation. None of the bishops interfere in any matters but 
 the ministery of the word and sacraments, except when the law 
 requires them, or at the command of the sovereign. Nor in these 
 things, as far as I am aware, do they deal harshly with the 
 brethren, but temper what is severe with surprising lenity. Our 
 opponents, however, would complain most grievously, were our 
 jurisdiction transferred to the laity, as they call them : they would 
 soon find out that the gold had been exchanged for brass. But 
 how true are the insinuations which they have whispered against 
 us in the ears of the godly, time will shew ; and ' our rejoicing is 
 the testimony of our conscience.' I wish they would acquiesce in 
 your wholesome and prudent counsel, namely, to put up with what 
 cannot be amended without great danger. At first they attacked 
 only things of little consequence ; but now they turn every thing, 
 both great and small, up and down, and throw all things into con- 
 fusion ; and would bring the church into very great danger, were 
 not our most pious queen most faithful to her principles, and did 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 59 
 
 she not dread and restrain the vanity and inconsistency of these 
 frivolous men. But because we do not decline to execute the 
 orders of the government, whenever it commands us to interfere, 
 in bridling in these our tumultuous brethren, on this ground an 
 undue severity, not to say cruelty, is most unjustly laid to our 
 charge. But we have this one comfort, that the religion of Christ 
 is ever accompanied by the cross, which he will, by his Holy Spirit, 
 ■enable us willingly to bear. 
 
 Your son, a youth of excellent promise, has only this fault, that 
 he rarely comes to see me. But I am now obliged to excuse him, 
 because he is residing in our other university — I mean Oxford, 
 which is a great way off. But I hope that he will take leave of me 
 before he goes away. You have acted prudently in so carefully 
 providing for your son, that like Ulysses, he may see the customs 
 and cities of many people, and like the industrious bee, extract 
 piety from all the chui-ches. May God bring him back to be a 
 blessing to his father ! May Christ Jesus very long preserve you 
 to us in safety ! From the Isle of Ely in England, Feb. 3, 1573, 
 according to the English computation. 
 
 Your most loving friend in Christ, Bichard Cox, pastor and 
 servant of the church at Ely. 
 
 BicHARD Ely. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Dr. Donne was one of the most conspicuous of the literary 
 characters of the later Elizabethan and early Stuart periods. 
 He was a many-sided man. His youth was spent as a hard- 
 reading recluse ; his early married life, after he had become 
 private secretary to a nobleman, was full of .vicissitudes, and he 
 finished by being Ohaplain-in-Ordinary to James I. In this 
 last capacity he has been described as preaching * as an angel 
 from a cloud, but not in a cloud.' Not every reader, however, 
 of his poetry will be disposed to accord like praise to the 
 extravagant metaphor and ingenious oddity of his verses. 
 His other function was satire, of which, with Joseph Hall 
 and John Marston, the dramatist, he was the founder. Dr. 
 Donne was highly appreciated in his ovm day, but he is now 
 chiefly known as the subject of one of Isaac Walton's incom- 
 parable biographies, and as the writer of satu-es versified by 
 Alexander Pope. 
 
60 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 Dr. Donne to the Marquess of Buckingham. 
 
 September 13, 1621. 
 
 My most honoured Lord, — I most humbly beseech your Lord- 
 ship, to afford this rag of Paper a room amongst your Evidences. 
 It is your evidence, not for a Manner, but for a man. As I am 
 a Priest, it is my Sacrifice of Prayer to God for your Lordship ; 
 and as I am a Priest made able to subsist, and appear in Giod's 
 Service, by your Lordship, it is a Sacrifice of my self to you. I 
 deliver this Paper as my image ; and I assist the Power of any 
 Conjurer with this imprecation upon my self,' that as he shall tear 
 this Paper, this Picture of mine, so I may be torn in my fortune, 
 and in my Fame, if ever I have any Comer in my Heart dispos- 
 sessed of a Zeal to your Lordship's Service. His Majesty hath 
 given me a Royal Key into your Chamber, leave to stand in your 
 presence, and your Lordship hath already such a Fortune, as that 
 you shall not need to be afraid of a Suitor, when I appear there. 
 
 So that, I protest to your Lordship, I know not what I want, 
 since I cannot suspect, nor fear myself, for ever doing, or leaving 
 undone, anything by which I might forfeit that Title, of being 
 always 
 
 Your Lordships, &c. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The four short specimens which follow are characteristic of 
 Dr. Donne's studied extravagance and quaintnesa of manner. 
 They are taken from a volume of letters, published in the year 
 1651, addressed ' to several persons of honour.' The same pecu- 
 liar turn of phrase and ingenious expression runs through the 
 whole of this unique collection. No one knew better than Dr. 
 Donne how to please his fashionable entoui-age in prose as well 
 as in verse. 
 
 Dr. Dowm to Lady G . 
 
 Madam, — I am not come out of England, if I remain in the 
 noblest part of it, your mind ; yet I confess it is too much dimi- 
 nution to call your mind any part of England, or of this world, 
 since eveiy part even of your body deserves titles of higher dignity. 
 No Prince would be loth to die, that were assured so fair a tomb 
 to preserve his memory ; but I have a greater vantage than so ; 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 61 
 
 for since there is a religion in friendship, and a death in absence, 
 to make up an entire frame there must be a heaven too : and 
 there can be no Heaven so proportional to that religion, and that 
 ■death, as your favour. And I am gladder that it is a heaven, than 
 that it were a Court, or any other high place of this world, because 
 I am likelier to have a room there than here ; and better cheap. 
 Madam, my best treasure is time ; and my best employment of 
 that is to study good wishes for you, in which I am by continual 
 meditation so learned, that your own good Angel, when it would 
 do you most good, might be content to come and take instructions 
 from 
 
 Your humble and aflfectionate Servant, 
 
 . John Donne. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Dr. Donne to Sir Henry Goodere. 
 
 August 15, 1607. 
 
 Sir, — In the history or style of friendship which is best written 
 iDOth in deeds and words, a letter which is of a mixed nature, and 
 hath something of both, is a mixed Parenthesis. It may be left 
 out, yet it contributes, though not to the being yet to the verdui*e 
 and freshness thereof. Letters have truly the same office as Oaths. 
 As these amongst light and empty men are but fillings and pauses 
 and interjections ; but with weightier, they are sad attestations ; 
 so are letters to some compliment, and obligation to others. For 
 mine, as I never authorized my servant to lie in my behalf (for 
 it were officious in him, it might be worse in me) so I allow my 
 letters much less that civil dishonesty, both because they go from 
 me more considerately, and because they are permanent ; for in 
 them I may speak to you in your Chamber a year hence before I 
 know not whom, and not hear myself. 
 
 They shall therefore ever keep the sincerity and intemerate- 
 ness of the fountain whence they are derived. And as where- 
 soever these leaves fall, the root is in my heart, so shall they, as 
 that sucks good affections towards you there, have ever true im- 
 pressions thereof. Thus much information is in very leaves, that 
 they can tell what the tree is, and these can tell you I am a friend 
 And an honest man. Of what general use the fruit should speak, 
 and I have none; and of what particular profit to you, your 
 
62 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 application and experimenting should tell you, and you can make 
 none of such a nothing ; yet even of barren Sycamores, such as I^ 
 there were use, if either any light flashings, or scorching vehe- 
 mencies, or sudden showers made you need so shadowy an example 
 or remembrancer. But, Sir, your fortune and mind do you this 
 happy injrny, that you make all kinds of fruits useless to you. 
 Therefore I have placed my love wisely where I need communicate 
 nothing. All this, tho' perchance you read it not till Michaelmas, 
 told you at IVIicham. 
 
 XLVI. 
 Dr. D(mne to the worthiest lady, Mrs. B. W- 
 
 Madame, — I think the letters which I send you single lose 
 themselves by the way for want of a guide, or faint for want of 
 company. Now, that on your part there be no excuse, after 
 three single letters, I send three together, that every one of them 
 may have two witnesses of their delivery. They come also to- 
 wait upon another letter from Sir Edward Herbert, of whose re- 
 covery from a fever you may apprehend a perfecter contentment 
 than we, because you had none of the former sorrow. I am an 
 heretic if it be sound doctrine that pleasure tastes best after sorrow. 
 For my part I can love health well enough though I be never 
 sick ; and I never needed my Mistress' frowns and disfavours to^ 
 make her favours acceptable to me. In States, it is a weakness 
 to stand upon a defensive war, and safer not to be invaded than to 
 have overcome; so in our soul's health, an innocence is better 
 than the heartiest repentance. And in the pleasures of this life it 
 is better that the variety of the pleasures give us the taste and 
 appetite to it, than a sour and sad interruption quicken our 
 stomach ; for then we live by Physic. I wish therefoi*e all your 
 happinesses such as this entire and without flaw or spot of discon- 
 tentment ; and such is the love and service of 
 
 Your humblest and aJGfectionatest servant, 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 Strand : St. Peter's Day, at 4. 
 
1600] EN6LISB LETTERS. 65 
 
 XLVII. 
 Dr. Donne to Sir J. H- 
 
 Auguste, 1608. 
 
 I would not omit this, not commodity, but advantage of 
 writing to you. This emptiness in London dignifies any letter 
 from hence, as in the seasons, earliness and lateness make the 
 sourness, and after the sweetness of fruits acceptable and gracious. 
 We often excuse and advance mean authors, by the age in which 
 they lived, so will your love do this Letter ; and you will tell 
 yourself that if he which writ it knew wherein he might express- 
 his affection or anything which might have made his Letter wel- 
 comer, he would have done it. As it is, you may accept it so, as- 
 we do many China manufactures, of which when we know no use,, 
 yet we satisfy our curiosity in considering them, because we know 
 not how, nor of what matter they were made. Near great woods- 
 and quarries it is no wonder to see fair houses, but in HoUandy 
 which wants'^ both, it is. 
 
 So were it for me who am as far removed from Court, and 
 knowledge of foreign passages, as this City is now from the face 
 and furniture of a City, to build up a long letter and to write of 
 myself, were but to enclose a poor handful of straw for a token in 
 a letter ; yet I will tell you that I am at London only to provide 
 for Monday, when I shall use that favour which my Lady Bed- 
 ford hath afforded me of giving her name to my daughter ; which 
 I mention to you, as well to shew that I covet any occasion of a 
 grateful speaking of her favours, as that, because I have thought 
 the day is likely to bring you to London, I might tell you, that 
 my poor house is in your way, and you shall there find such com- 
 pany as (I think) you will not be loth to accompany to London. 
 
 Your very true friend, 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 The Countess of Bedford patronised both Jonson and Daniel^ 
 a circumstance that roused the jealousy of the latter. Donne 
 wrote to Jonson begging him to refrain from openly noticing 
 some false charge made in this connection, and the great drama- 
 tist replied as follows. 
 
64 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 Ben Jonson to John Donne. 
 
 Sir, — Yon cannot but believe how dear and reverend your 
 iriendship is to me, (though all testimony on my part hath been 
 too short to express me) and therefore would I meet it with all 
 obedience. My mind is not yet so deafened by injurias, but it 
 hath an ear for counsel. Yet in this point that you presently dis- 
 suade, I wonder how I am misunderstood ; or that you should 
 call that an imaginary right, which is the proper justice that 
 every clear man owes to his innocency. Exasperations I intend 
 none, for truth cannot be sharp but to ill natures, or such weak 
 ones whom ill spirits, suspicion or credulity, still possess. My 
 lady may believe whisperings, receive tales, suspect and condemn my 
 honesty, and I may not answer on the pain of losing her ! as if 
 she who had this prejudice of me were not already lost ! Oh ! no, 
 she will do me no hurt, she will think and speak well of my facul- 
 ties. She cannot thus judge me; or, if she could, I would ex- 
 change all glory, (if I had all men's abilities) which could come 
 that way, for honest simplicity. But there is a greater penalty 
 threatened, the loss of you, my true friend ; for othei*s I reckon 
 not, who were never had ^ have so subscribed myself. Alas ! how 
 easy is a man accused that is forsaken of defence ! Well, my 
 modesty shall sit down, and (let the world call it guilt or what 
 it will) I will yet thank you that counsel me to a silence in these 
 oppressures, when confidence in my right, and friends, may abandon 
 me. And lest yourself may undergo some hazard, for my ques- 
 tioned reputation, and draw jealousies or hatred upon you, I desire 
 to be left to mine own innocence, which shall acquit me, or heaven 
 shall be guilty. 
 
 Yom* ever true lover 
 Ben Jonson, 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 This and the following outburst of devotional resignation 
 are the last letters written by Eliot before his death in the 
 Tower on Nov. 27, 1632. The King, knowing well that he 
 was suffering from a mortal disease, obstinately refused to 
 allow him the needful care and treatment. 
 
 ' These are the words of Jonson's letter. He seems to mean, *I 
 reckon not (friends) whom I never really possessed.' 
 
k 
 
 1600] ENGLISH LETIERS. 66 
 
 Sir John Eliot to John Hampden. 
 
 The Tower : March 22, 1632. 
 Dear friend, — Quit you as speedily as you can, for without it 
 you are faulty. I thank God lately my business has been much 
 with doctors and physicians, so that but by them I have had 
 little trouble with myself. These three weeks I have had a full 
 leisure to do nothing, and strictly tied unto it either by their 
 direction or my weakness. The cause originally was a cold, but 
 the symptoms that did follow it spake more sickness, and a general 
 indisposition it begot in all the faculties of the body. The learned 
 said a consumption did attend it, but I thank God I did not feel 
 or credit it. What they advise, as the ordinance that's appointed, 
 I was content to use; and in the true show of patient, suffered 
 whatever they imposed. Great is the authority of princes, but 
 greater much is theirs who both command our persons and our 
 wills. What the success of their government will be must be 
 referred to Him that is master of their power. I find myself 
 bettered, but hot well, which makes me the more ready to observe 
 them. The divine blessing must effectuate their wit, which authors 
 all the happiness we receive. It is that mercy that has hitherto 
 protected me, and, if I may seem useful in his wisdom, will con- 
 tinue me, amongst other offices, to remain, 
 
 your faithful Friend and Servant, 
 
 Jo. Eliot. 
 
 Sir John Eliot to John Hampden. 
 
 The Tower: 1632. 
 Besides the acknowledgment of your favour, that have so much 
 compassion on your friend I have little to return you from him 
 that has nothing worthy of your acceptance, but the contestation 
 that I have between an ill body and the air, that quarrel, and are 
 friends, as the summer winds affect them. I have these three 
 days been abroad, and as often brought in new impressions of the 
 colds, yet, body and strength and appetite I find myself bettered 
 by the motion. Cold at first was the occasion of my sickness, 
 heat and tenderness by close keeping in my chamber has since 
 
 F 
 
66 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 increased my weakness. Air and exercise are thought most proper 
 to repair it, which are the prescription of my doctors, though no- 
 physic. I thank God other medicines I now take not, but those 
 catholicons, and do hope I shall not need them. As children learn 
 to go, I shall get acquainted with the air, practice and use will 
 compass it, and now and then a fall is an instruction for the f uture^ 
 These varieties He does try us with, that will have us perfect at 
 all parts, and as he gives the trial he likewise gives the ability 
 that shall be necessary for the work. He has the Philistine at the 
 disposition of his will, and those that trust him, under his protec- 
 tion and defence. ! infinite mercy of our Master, dear friend^ 
 how it aboimds to us, that are unworthy of his service ! How 
 broken ! how imperfect ! how perverse and crooked are our ways in 
 obedience to him ! How exactly straight is the line of his provi- 
 dence to us ! drawn out through all occurrents and particulars to 
 the whole length and measure of our time ! How perfect is his 
 hand that has given his son unto us, and through him has pro- 
 mised likewise to give us all things — relieving our wants, sanctify- 
 ing our necessities, preventing our dangers, freeing us from all 
 extremities, and dying himself for us ! What can we render ? 
 What retribution can we make worthy so great a majesty ? 
 worthy such love and favour ? We have nothing but ourselves 
 who are unworthy above all and yet that, as all other things, is 
 his. For us to oflfer up that, is but to give him of his own, and 
 that in far worse condition than we at first received it, which yet 
 (for infinite is his goodness for the merits of his son) he is con- 
 tented to accept. This, dear friend, must be the comfort of his 
 children ; this is the physic we must use in all our sickness and 
 extremities ; this is the strengthening of the weak, the nourishing 
 of the poor, the liberty of the captive, the health of the diseased, 
 the life of those that die, the death of the wretched life of sin I 
 And this happiness have his saints. The contemplation of this 
 happiness has led me almost beyond the compass of a letter ; but 
 the haste I use unto my friends, and the affection that does move 
 it, will I hope excuse me. Friends should communicate their 
 joys : this as the greatest, therefore, I could not but impart unto 
 my friend, being therein moved by the present expectation of your 
 letters, which always have the grace of much intelligence, and are 
 happiness to him that is truly yours. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 67 
 
 LI. 
 
 * Money makes the mirth 
 When all birds els do of their musick faile 
 Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale.' 
 
 Thus sang, long after his impecunious days at Cambridge, 
 the Royalist Vicar of Dean Prior, Robert Herrick. By a strange 
 irony of fortune the only letters we possess from the genial 
 and glowing pen of the great poet of the Hesperides are a series 
 of plaintive notes to his rich uncle, Sir William Herrick ; and 
 we may gather from them that this amiable relative's money 
 paid for the piping of some of the most graceful lyrics in the 
 English language. 
 
 Rohert Herrick to Sir William Herrick. 
 
 Are the minds of men immutable 1 and will they rest in only 
 one opinion without the least perspicuous shew of change 1 no, 
 they cannot, for Tempera mutantur et nos mutamur in illis : it 
 is an old but yet young saying in our age, as times change, so 
 men's minds are altered. would .... were seen, for then 
 some pitying Planet would with a drop of dew refresh my withered 
 hopes, and give a life to that which is about to die ; the body is 
 preserved by food, and life by hope, which (but wanting either of 
 these conservers) faint, fear, fall, freeze, and die. 'Tis in your 
 power to cure all, to infuse by a profusion a double life into a 
 single body. Homo homini Deus : man should be so, and he is 
 commanded so; but, frail and glass-like, man proves brittle in 
 many things. How kind Arcisilaus the philosopher was unto 
 Apelles the painter Plutarc in his Morals will tell you ; which 
 should I here depaint, the length of my letter would hide the sight 
 of my Labour, which that it may not, I bridle in my Quill and 
 mildly, and yet I fear to rashly and to boldly make known and 
 discover which my modesty would conceal ; and this is all : my 
 study craves but your assistance to furnish her with books, where- 
 in she is most desirous to labour : blame not her modest boldness, 
 but suffer the aspersions of your love to distill upon her, and next 
 to Heaven she will consecrate her labours unto you, and because 
 that Time hath devoured some years, I am the more importunate 
 in the craving; suffer not the distance to hinder that which I 
 know youi' disposition will not deny. And now is the time (that 
 florida setas) which promises fruitfulness for her former barren- 
 
 F 2 
 
68 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 
 
 ness, and wisheth all to hope. As every thing will have in time 
 an end, so this, which though it would extend itself and overflow 
 its bounds I forcibly withstand it. Wishing this world's happi- 
 ness to follow and attend you in this Hfe, and that with a trium- 
 phant crown of glory you may be crowned in the best world to 
 come. 
 
 Robert Hereick. 
 
 LII. 
 Robert Herrick to Sir William Herrick. 
 
 Cambridge : January, 1616. 
 
 Before you unsealed my letter, right Worshipful, it cannot be 
 doubted but you had perfect knowledge of the essence of my writ- 
 ing, before you read it ; for custom hath made you expect in my 
 plain-song, mitte pecuniam, that being the cause sine qud non, or 
 the power that gives life and being to each matter. I delight not 
 to draw your imagination to inextricable perplexities, or knit up 
 my love in indissoluble knots, but make no other exposition but 
 the literal sense, which is to entreat you to pay to Mr. Adrian 
 Morice the sum of ten pounds as customarily, and to take a note 
 of his hand for the receipt, which I desire may be effected briefly, 
 because the circumstance of the time must be expressed. I per- 
 ceive I must cry with the afflicted usquequo, usquequo, Domine. 
 Yet I have confidence that I live in your memory, howsoever 
 Time brings not the thing hoped for to its just matui-ity; but 
 my belief is strong, and I do establish my hopes on rocks, and fear 
 no quicksands ; be you my fii-m assistant, and good effects, pro- 
 duced from virtuous causes will foUow. So shall my wishes pace 
 with yours for the supplement of your owti happiness, and the 
 perfection of your own posterity. 
 
 Ever to be commanded, 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 To pay to Mr. Blunt, bookseller in Paul's Churchyard, the 
 sum above-named. 
 
 Lin. 
 
 At the age of eighty-seven Isaac Walton wrote the follow- 
 ing letter to his fiiend Aubrey, in reply to some inquiries he 
 had made respecting * Rare Ben Jonson'and other less impor- 
 tant personages. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 69 
 
 Isaac Walton to John Aubrey. 
 
 December 2, 1680. 
 For your friends' quae, this : 
 
 I only knew Ben Jonson, but my Lord of WLuton knew 
 him very well, and says he was in the 6 th, that is the upper- 
 most form in Westminster School, at which time his father 
 died, and his mother married a bricklayer, who made him 
 (much against his will) to help him in his trade. But in a short 
 time his schoolmaster, Mr. Camden, got him in better em- 
 ployment, which was to attend or accompany a son of Sir Walter 
 Bunleyes in his travels. Within a short time after their return, 
 they parted (I think not in cold blood) and with a love suitable 
 to what they had lq their travels (not to be commended) ; and 
 then Ben began to set up for himself in the trade by which he got 
 his subsistence and fame, of which I need not give any account. 
 He got in time to have a £100 a year from the King, also a pen- 
 sion from the city, and the like from many of the nobility, and 
 some of the gentry, which was well paid for love or fear of his 
 railing in verse or prose or both. 
 
 My Lord of Winton told me, he told him he was (in his long 
 retirement and sickness, when he saw him, which was often) 
 much afflicted that he had profaned the Scripture in his plays, and 
 lamented it with horror ; yet at that time of his long retirement, 
 his pensions (so much as came in) were given to a woman that 
 governed him, with whom he lived and died near the Abbey at 
 Westminster ; and that neither he nor she took much care for next 
 week, and would be sure not to want wine, of which he usually 
 took too much before he went to bed, if not oftener and sooner. 
 My Lord tells me, he knows not, but thinks he was bom in 
 Westminster. The question may be put to Mr. Wood very easily 
 upon what grounds he is positive as to his being born there ? he 
 is a friendly man and will resolve it. So much for brave Ben. 
 
 For your 2nd and 3rd quae, of Mr. Hill and Billingsley, I do 
 neither know nor can learn anything worth telling you. For your 
 remaining quae, of Mr. Warner and Mr. Hariott, this : — Mr. War- 
 ner did long and constantly lodge near the water stairs or market 
 in Woolstable (Woolstable is a place or lane not far from Charing 
 Cross, and nearer to Northumberland House). My Lord of Win- 
 
70 ENGLISH LETTERS. fl^SO- 
 
 chester tells me he knew him, and that he said he first found out 
 the circulation of the blood, and discovered it to T)r. Harvey (who 
 said that 'twas he himself that found it) for which he is so memo- 
 rably famous. Warner had a pension of ^40 from the Earl of 
 Northumberland that lay so long a prisoner in the Tower, and 
 some allowance from Sir Thomas Alesbury with whom he usually 
 spent his summer in Windsor Park, 
 
 Mr. Hariott my Lord tells me knew also, that he was a more 
 gentle man than Warner. That he had £120 a year pension from 
 the said Earl and his lodging in Sion House where he believes he 
 died. 
 
 This is all I know or can learn for your friend, which I wish 
 may be worth the time and trouble of reading it. 
 
 I. W. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 The tedium of Sir John Eliot's imprisonment in the Tower 
 from 1630 to 1632 was relieved by the gifts and correspondence 
 of his friends ; among these the most assiduous was the great 
 champion of English liberty, John Hampden. The present 
 letter contains Hampden's impression of the ' Monarchy of 
 Man,' a philosophical treatise written by Eliot during his last 
 imprisonment. 
 
 John Hampden to Sir John Eliot. 
 
 Hampden: June 20, 1631. 
 Sir, — ^You shall receive the book I promised by this bearer's 
 immediate hand ; for the other papers I presume to take a little, 
 but a little, respite. I have looked upon your rare piece only with 
 a superficial view, as at first sight to take the aspect and propor- 
 tion in the whole ; after, with a more accurate eye, to take out the 
 lineaments of every part. 'Twere rashness in me, therefore, to dis- 
 cover any judgment, before I have ground to make one. This I 
 discern, that 'tis as complete an image of the pattern as can be 
 drawn by lines, a lively character of a large mind ; the subject, 
 method and expressions, excellent and homogenial, and to say 
 truth, sweet heart, somewhat exceeding my commendations. My 
 words cannot render them to the life, yet, to show my ingenuity 
 rather than my wit, would not a less model have given a full 
 representation of that subject ? not by diminution, but by con- 
 traction, of parts % I desire to learn ; I dare not say. The varia- 
 
1600J ENGLISH LETTERS. 71 
 
 tions upon each particular seem many ; all, T confess, excellent. 
 The fountain was full, the chanell narrow ; that may be the cause. 
 'Or that the author imitated Yirgil, who made more verses by 
 many than he intended to write, to extract a just number. Had 
 I seen all this, I could easily have bid him make fewer ; but if he 
 iiad bid me tell which he should have spared, I had been apposed. 
 So say I of these expressions, and that to satisfy you, not myself; 
 but that by obeying you in a command so contrary to my own 
 disposition, you may measure how large a power you have 
 over 
 
 Jo. Hampden. 
 
 Recommend my service to Mr. Long, and if Sir O. Luke be 
 in town, express my affection to him in these words. The fii'st 
 part of your papers you had by the hands of B. Valentine long 
 since. If you hear of your sons, or can send to them, let me 
 know. 
 
 LV. 
 
 James Howel was the author of upwards of forty miscel- 
 laneous works, but is now chiefly remembered by his ^ Epistolae 
 Ho-Elianse,' or familiar letters, first printed in 1645. He may 
 be called the Father of Epistolary Literature, the first writer, 
 that is to say, of letters which, addressed to individuals, were 
 intended for publication. A style animated, racy, and pictu- 
 resque ; keen powers of observation ; great literary skill ; an 
 ■eager, restless, curious spirit ; some humour and much wit ; 
 and a catholicity of sympathy very unusual with the wricers 
 of his age — are his chief claims to distinction. 
 
 If the following remarks of Howel on the composition of a 
 letter were supplemented by the observations of his friend Ben 
 Jonson on the same subject, we should be furnished with a terse 
 And complete art of letter- writing. Honest Ho wei's complaints 
 about the letters of his own day scarcely lose their significance 
 when applied to the letters of ours. 
 
 James Howel to Sir J. S at Leeds Castle. 
 
 Westminster : July 26, 1625. 
 Sir, — It was a quaint difference the ancients did put betwixi 
 a. letter and an oration ; that the one should be attired like a 
 •woman, the other like a man : the latter of the two is allowed 
 large side robes, as long periods, parentheses, similes, examples, 
 and other parts of rhetorical flourishes; but a letter or epistle 
 
72 ENGLISH LETTERS. ri450- 
 
 should be short-coated and closely couched ; a hungerlin becomes 
 a letter more handsomely than a gown ; indeed we should write 
 as we speak ; and that's a ti-ue familiar letter which expressetb 
 one's mind, as if he were discoursing with the party to whom he 
 writes, in succinct and short terms. The tongue and the pen are 
 both of them interpreters of the mind ; but I hold the pen to be 
 the more faithful of the two. The tongue in udo posita, being 
 seated in a moist slippery place, may fail and faulter in her sudden 
 extemporal expressions ; but the pen having a greater advantage 
 of premeditation, is not so subject to error, and leaves things be- 
 hind it upon firm and authentic record. Now letters, though 
 they be capable of any subject, yet commonly they are either 
 narratory, objurgatory, consolatory, monitory, or congratulatory. 
 The first consists of lelations, the second of reprehensions, the 
 third of comfort, the two last of counsel and joy : there are some 
 who in lieu of letters write homilies; they preach when they 
 should epistolize : there are others that turn them to tedious 
 tractates : this is to make letters degenerate from their true 
 nature. Some modern authors there are who have exposed their 
 letters to the world, but most of them, I mean among your Latin 
 epistolizers, go freighted with mere Bartholomew ware, with trite 
 and trivial phrases only, lifted with pedantic shreds of school-boy 
 verses. Others there are among our next transmarine neighbours 
 eastward, who write in their own language, but tbeir style is so 
 soft and easy, that their letters may be said to be like bodies of 
 loose flesh without sinews, they have neither joints of art nor 
 arteries in them ; they have a kind of simpering and lank hectic 
 expressions made up of a bombast of words and finical afiected 
 compliments only. I cannot well away with such fleazy stuff, 
 with such cobweb-compositions, where there is no strength of 
 matter, nothing for the reader to carry away with him that may 
 enlarge the notions of his soul. One shall hardly find an apoph- 
 thegm, example, simile, or any thing of philosophy, history, or 
 soHd knowledge, or as much as one new created phrase in a hun- 
 dred of them ; and to draw any observations out of them, were as 
 if one went about to distil cream out of froth ; insomuch that it 
 may be said of them, what was said of the Echo, ' that she is a 
 mere sound and nothing else.' 
 
 I return you your Balzac by this bearer : and when I found 
 
]Cn)0] ENGLISH LETTERS. 7» 
 
 those letters wherein he is so familiar with his King, so flat ; and 
 those to Richlieu so puffed with prophane hyperboles, and la.rded 
 up and down with such gross flatteries, I forbore him further. 
 So I am your most affectionate servitor. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 This letter is interesting as being a contemporary account of 
 the death of James. I., and of the accession of Charles I. The 
 suspicion that the King was poisoned by the instrumentality of 
 Buckingham, though very improbable, has been suggested by 
 other writers besides Howel. 
 
 James Howel to his Father. 
 
 London : December 11, 1625. 
 
 Sir, — I received yours of the 3rd February by the hands of my 
 cousin Thomas Guin of Trecastle. 
 
 It was my fortune to be on Sunday was fortnight at Theobalds^ 
 where his late Majesty Kinof James departed this life, and went 
 to his last rest upon the day of rest, presently after Sermon was- 
 done : A little before the break of day, he sent for the Prince, 
 who rose out of his bed, and came in his night-gown ; the King 
 seem'd to have some earnest thing to say unto him, and so en- 
 deavoured to rouse himself upon his Pillow, but his Spirits wer& 
 so spent that he had not strength to make his words audible. He 
 died of a fever which began with an Ague, and some Scotch Doc- 
 tors mutter at a plaster the Countess of Buckingham applied at 
 the outside of his stomach : 'Tis thought the last breach of th& 
 match with Spain, which for many years he had so vehemently 
 desir'd, took too deep an impression in him, and that he was forc'd 
 to rush into a War, now in his declining age, having liv'd in st 
 continual uninterrupted peace his whole life, except some colla- 
 teral aids he had sent his Son-in-law. As soon as he expir'd, the 
 Privy Council sat, and in less than a quarter of an hour, King- 
 Charles was proclaim'd at Theobalds Court-gate, by Sir Edward 
 Zouch Knight Marshal, Master Secretary Conway dictating unto 
 him, that whereas it had pleas'd God to take to his mercy our 
 most gi-acious Sovereign King James of famous memory, we pro- 
 claim Prince Charles his rightful and indubitable Heir to be King 
 of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, &c. The Knight Mar- 
 
74 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 slial mistook, saying, his rightful and duhitahle heir, but he was 
 rectified by the Secretary. This being done, I took my horse in- 
 stantly, and came to London first, except one, who was come a 
 little before me, insomuch, that I found the gates shut. His now 
 Majesty took Coach, and the Duke of Buckingham with him, and 
 <5ame to Saint James ; in the evening he was proclaim'd at White 
 Hall Gate, in Cheapside, and other places in a sad shower of rain ; 
 and the weather was suitable to the condition wherein he finds the 
 Kingdom which is cloudy ; for he is left engag'd in a war with a 
 potent Prince, the people by long desuetude unapt for aims, the 
 JFleet Royal in quarter repair and himself without a queen, his 
 lister without a country, the crown pitifully laden with debts, and 
 the purse of the State lightly ballasted, though it never had better 
 opportunity to be rich than it had these last twenty years : But 
 X3rod Almighty, I hope will make him emerge, and pull this 
 Island out of all the plunges, and preserve us from worser times. 
 The plague is begun in White-Chapel, and as they say, in the same 
 house, at the same day of the month, with the same number that 
 ^ed twenty two years since, when queen Elizabeth departed. 
 There are great preparations for the funeral, and there is a design 
 to buy all the cloth for mourniog white, and then to put it to the 
 dyers in gross, which is like to save the crown a good deal of 
 money, the drapers murmur extremely at the Lord Cranfield for it. 
 
 I am not settled yet in any stable Condition, but I lie wind- 
 bound at the Cape of Good Hope, expectiag some gentle gale to 
 launch out into any employment. 
 
 So with my love to all my brothers and sisters at the Bryn 
 and near Brecknock, I humbly crave a continuance of your prayers 
 and blessings to, 
 
 Your dutiful son, 
 
 J. H. 
 
 Lvn. 
 
 Of the many accounts of the assassination of George Villiers, 
 Duke of Buckingham, by Felton, this is one of the fullest. It 
 diifers in one or two minor details from that given by Secretary 
 Carleton, who was present, and whose account is published in 
 Ellis's ' Collection of Original Letters,' vol. iii. pp. 256-260 ; but 
 Howel is, as usual, fresh and graphic, and may doubtless be 
 trusted, as he was acquainted with many of the officers con- 
 nected with the Court. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, 76 
 
 James Howel to the Right Hon. Lady Scroop, Countess of 
 Sunderland. 
 
 Stamford : August 6, 1628. 
 
 Madam, — I lay yesternight at the post-house at Stilton, and 
 this morning betimes the post-master came to my bed's-head, and 
 told me the Duke of Buckingham was slain ; 
 
 My faith was not then strong enough to believe it, till an hour 
 ■ago I met in the way with my Lord of Rutland (your brother) 
 riding post towards London ; it pleased him to alight, and shew 
 me a letter, wherein there was an exact relation of all the circum- 
 stances of this sad tragedy. 
 
 Upon Saturday last, which was but next before yesterday, 
 being Bartholomew eve, the Duke did rise up in a welldisposed 
 humour out of his bed, and cut a caper or two, and being ready, 
 and having been under the barber's hand (where the murderer had 
 thought to have done the deed, for he was leaning upon the window 
 €l11 the while) he went to breakfast, attended by a great company 
 of commanders, where Monsieur Subize came to him, and whis- 
 pered him in the ear that Rochelle was relieved ; the Duke 
 seemed to slight the news, which made some think that Subize 
 went away discontented. 
 
 After breakfast the Duke going out, Colonel Fryer stept before 
 him, and stopped him upon some business, and Lieutenant Felton, 
 being behind, made a thrust with a common tenpenny knife over 
 Fryer's arm at the Duke, which lighted so fatally that he slit his 
 heart in two, leaving the knife sticking in the body. The Duke 
 took out the knife and threw it away : and laying his hand on his 
 sword, and drawing it half out, said, * The villain hath killed me,' 
 (meaning, as some think. Colonel Fryer) for there had been some 
 difference betwixt them; so reeling against a chimney, he fell 
 down dead. The Dutchess being with child, hearing the noise 
 below, came in her night-geers from her bedchamber, which was 
 an an upper room, to a kind of rail, and thence beheld him welter- 
 ing in his own blood. Felton had lost his hat in the crowd, 
 wherein there was a paper sewed, wherein he declared, that the 
 reason which moved him to this act, was no grudge of his own, 
 though he had been far behind for his pay, and had been put by 
 his Captain's place twice, but in regard he thought the Duke an 
 
76 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 enemy to the state, because he was branded in parliament ; there- 
 fore what he did was for the public good of his country. Yet he 
 got clearly down, and so might have gone to his horse, which wa& 
 tied to a hedge hard by ; but he was so amazed that he missed his 
 way, and so struck into the pastry, where, although the cry went 
 that some Frenchman had done it, he, thinking the word was 
 Felton, boldly confessed it was he that had done the deed, and so 
 he was in their hands. 
 
 Jack Stamford would have run at him, but he was kept off by 
 Mr. Nicholas ; so being carried up to a tower, Captain Mince tore 
 off his spurs, and asking how he durst attempt such an act, making 
 him believe the Duke was not dead, he answered boldly, that he 
 knew he was dispatched, for it was not he, but the hand of 
 heaven that gave the stroke ; and though his whole body had been 
 covered over with armour of proof, he could not have avoided it. 
 Captain Charles Price went post presently to the King four miles 
 off, who beiug at prayers on his knees when it was told him, yet 
 never stirred, nor was he disturbed a-whit till all divine service 
 was done. This was the relation, as far as my memory could bear, 
 in my Lord of Rutland's letter, who willed me to remember him 
 to your Ladyship, and tell you that he was going to comfort your 
 niece (the Dutchess) as far as he could. And so I have sent the 
 truth of this sad story to your Ladyship, as fast as I could by this- 
 post, because I cannot make that speed myself, in regard of some 
 business I have to dispatch for my Lord in the way : so I humbly 
 take my leave, and rest your Ladyship's most dutiful servant. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Though Howel has here chosen a theme on which some of 
 the noblest rhetoric in Uterature has been expended, there are 
 many little touches which redeem it from being commonplace. 
 It may very possibly have furnished Addison with a model for 
 the similar reflections in which he delighted to indulge. 
 
 James Howd to Sir S. C . 
 
 Holbom : March 17, 1639. 
 Sir, — I was upon point of going abroad to steal a solitary 
 walk, when yours of the 12*^ current came to hand. The high 
 researches and choice abstracted notions I found therein, seemed to 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 77 
 
 heighten my spirits, and make my fancy fitter for my intended re- 
 tirement and meditation : add hereunto, that the countenance of 
 the weather invited me ; for it was a still evening, it was also a 
 clear open sky, not a speck, or the least wrinkle appeared in the 
 whole face of heaven, it was such a pure deep azure all the hemi- 
 sphere over, that I wondered what was become of the three regions 
 ■of the air with their meteors. So having got into a close field, I 
 cast my face upwards, and fell to consider what a rare prerogative 
 the optic virtue of the eye hath, much more the intuitive virtue in 
 the thought, that the one in a moment can reach heaven, and the 
 other go beyond it ; therefore sure that a philosopher was but a 
 kind of frantic fool, that would have plucked out both his eyes, 
 because they were a hindrance to his speculations. Moreover, I 
 began to contemplate, as I was in this posture, the vast magnitude 
 of the universe, and what proportion this poor globe of earth might 
 bear with it; for if those numberless bodies which stick in the vast 
 roof of heaven, though they appear to us but as spangles, be some 
 of them thousands of times bigger than the earth, take the sea 
 with it to boot, for they both make but one sphere, surely the 
 astronomers had reason to term- this sphere an indivisible point, 
 and a thing of no dimension at all, being compared to the whole 
 world. I fell then to think, that at the second general destruc- 
 tion, it is no more for God Almighty to fire this earth, than for us 
 to blow up a small squib, or rather one small grain of gunpowder. 
 As I was musing thus, I spied a swarm of gnats waving up and 
 down the aii* about me, which I knew to be part of the universe 
 as well as I : and methought it was a strange opinion of our 
 Aristotle to hold, that the least of those small insected ephemerans 
 should be more noble than the sun, because it had a sensitive 
 fioul in it. I fell to think that in the same proportion which 
 those animalillios bore with me in point of bigness, the same I 
 held with those glorious spirits which are near the throne of the 
 Almighty. What then should we think of the magnitude of the 
 Creator himself? Doubtless, it is beyond the reach of any human 
 imagination to conceive it : in my private devotions I presume to 
 compare him to a great mountain of light, and my soul seems to 
 discern some glorious form therein ; but suddenly as she would fix 
 her eyes upon the object, her sight is presently dazzled and dis- 
 gregated with the refulgency and coruscations thereof. 
 
78 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 Walking a little further I spied a young boisterous bull breaking 
 over hedge and ditch to a herd of kine in the next pasture ; which 
 made me think, that if that fierce, strong animal, with others of 
 that kind, knew their own strength, they would never suffer man 
 to be their master. Then looking upon them quietly grazing up 
 and down, I fell to consider that the flesh which is daily dished 
 upon our tables is but concocted grass, which is recamified in our 
 stomachs, and transmuted to another flesh. I fell also to think, 
 what advantage those innocent animals had of man, who as soon 
 as nature cast them into the world, find their meat dressed, the 
 cloth laid, and the table covered ; they find their drink brewed, 
 and the buttery open, their beds made, and their clothes ready ; 
 and though man hath the faculty of reason to make him a com- 
 pensation for the want of those advantages, yet this reason brings 
 with it a thousand perturbations of mind and perplexities of spirit, 
 griping cares and anguishes of thought, which those harmless sill^ 
 creatures were exempted from. Going on I came to repose myself 
 upon the trunk of a tree, and I fell to consider further what 
 advantage that dull vegetable had of those feeding animals, as not 
 to be so troublesome and beholden to nature, nor to be subject to 
 starving, to diseases, to the inclemency of the weather, and to be 
 far longer- lived. Then I spied a great stone, and sitting a- while 
 upon it, I fell to weigh in my thoughts that that stone was in a 
 happier condition in some respects, than either of those sensitive 
 creatiu-es or vegetables I saw before; in regard that that stone 
 which propagates by assimilation, as the philosophers say, needed 
 neither grass nor hay, or any aliment for restoration of nature, nor 
 water to refresh its roots, or the heat of the sun to attract the 
 moisture upwards, to increase growth, as the other did. As I 
 du-ected my pace homeward, I spied a kite soaring high in the air^ 
 and gently gliding up and down the clear region so far above my 
 head, that I fell to envy the bird extremely, and repine at his hap- 
 piness, that he should have a privilege to make a nearer approach 
 to heaven than I. 
 
 Excuse me that I trouble you thus with these rambling medi- 
 tations, they are to correspond with you in some part for those 
 accm-ate fancies of yours lately sent me. So I rest youi* entire 
 and true servitor. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS 7^ 
 
 LIX. 
 
 There is more elegance and less pedantry in this letter than 
 is usual with the writers of the first half of the seventeenth 
 century. It has all the spirit of Euphuism without its pedantry, 
 and all its ingenuity of compliment without its fulsome exaggera- 
 tion. 
 
 James Howel to the Right Hon. Lady E. B . 
 
 April 8 [1649]. 
 Madam, — There is a French saying that courtesies and 
 favours are like flowers, which are sweet only while they are 
 fresh, but afterwards they quickly fade and wither. I cannot 
 deny but your favours to me might be compar'd to some kind of 
 flowers (and they would make a thick Posie) but they should be to- 
 the flower call'd life everlasting ; or that pretty Vermilion flower 
 which grows at the foot of the Mountain ^tna in Sicily, which 
 never loses anything of its first colour and scent. Those favours- 
 you did me thirty years ago in the life-time of your incomparable 
 brother Mr. R,. Altham, (who left us in the flower of his age) me- 
 thinks are as fresh to me as if they were done yesterday. ]S"or 
 were it any danger to compare courtesies done to me to other 
 flowers, as I use them : for I distil them in the limbeck of my 
 memory, and so turn tjiem to essences. But, Madam, I honour 
 you not so much for favours, as for that precious brood of virtues; 
 which shine in you with that brightness, but specially for those- 
 high motions whereby your soul soars up so often towards heaven ;: 
 insomuch Madam, that if it were safe to call any Mortal a Saint, 
 you should have that title from me, and I would be one of your 
 chiefest Votaries; howsoever, I may without any superstition 
 subscribe myself 
 
 Your truly devoted Servant 
 J. H. 
 
 LX. 
 
 In 1846, when the second edition of Mr. Oarlyle's ' Letters- 
 and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell ' was published, an opportu- 
 nity was given for the first time, of reading and understanding- 
 in their entirety authentic utterances which lor two centuries, 
 had been coarsely handled and were found to be ' an agglome- 
 rate of opaque confusions — darkness on the back of darkness^ 
 thick and threefold.' 
 
80 ENGLISH LETTERS, CUSO- 
 
 Mr. Carlyle recommends everyone who would * force a path 
 for himself through that gloomy chaos called History of Seven- 
 teenth Century,' to read through this collection. With all his 
 enthusiasm he is willing to admit that these letters are devoid 
 of eloquence, elegance, and often of clearness of expression, but 
 he considers them good of their kind. They were not written 
 with any literary aim, hut during the throes of revolutionary 
 struggles. Each misprinted, mispunctuated, and musty docu- 
 ment was *once all luminous as a burning beacon, every word 
 of it a live coal in its time ; it was once a piece of the general 
 iire and light of human life.' 
 
 This announcement of the battle of Worcester 'is fairly 
 characteristic of Cromwell's epistolary style. His extraordinary 
 success on the anniversary of the victory at Dunbar was a 
 turning-point in his career. ' Henceforth his aspirations increased, 
 and it was not long before the wearer of 'Worcester's Laureat 
 Wreath * became the chief magistrate of the English Common- 
 wealth. 
 
 Oliver Cromwell to the Hon. William Lenthall, Speaker of the 
 Parliament of England. 
 
 Worcester; September 4, 1651. 
 Sir, — I am not able yet to give you an exact account of the 
 great tilings the Lord hath wrought for this Commonwealth and 
 for His People : and yet I am unfiling to be silent ; but, accord- 
 ing to my duty, shaU. represent it to you as it comes to hand- 
 This battle ^ was fought with various success for some Jioui*s, but 
 still hopeful on your part ; and in the end became an absolute vio- 
 tory, — and so full an one as proved a total defeat and ruin of the 
 Enemy's Army ; and a possession of the town, our men entering 
 at the Enemy's heels, and fighting with them in the streets with 
 very great courage. We took all their baggage and artillery. 
 What the slain are, I can give you no account, because we have 
 not taken an exact view ; but they are very many, and must needs 
 be so ; because the dispute was long and very near at hand ; and 
 often at push of pike, and from one defence to another. There are 
 about Six or Seven thousand prisoners taken here; and many- 
 officers and noblemen of very great quality : Duke of Hamilton, 
 the Earl of Rothes, and divers other Noblemen, — I hear, the Earl 
 of Lauderdale ; many officers of great quahty, and some that will 
 be fit subjects for your justice. 
 
 * Cromwell had on the previous day written to inform the Speaker 
 that a victory had been gained. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 81 
 
 "We have sent very considerable pai-ties after tlie flying Enemy ; 
 I hear they have taken considerable numbers of prisoners, and are 
 very close in the pursuit. 
 
 Indeed, I hear the Country riseth upon them everywhere ; and 
 I believe the forces that lay, through Providence, at Bewdley, and 
 in Shropshire and Staffordshire, and those with Colonel Lilburn 
 were in a condition, as if this had been foreseen, to intercept what 
 should return. 
 
 A more particular account than this will be prepared for you 
 as we are able. I hear they had not many more than a Thousand 
 horse in their body that fled ; and I believe you have near Four 
 thousand forces following, and interposing between them and 
 home ; — what fish they will catch. Time will declare. 
 
 Their Army was about Sixteen thousand strong ; and fought 
 ours on the Worcester Side of the Severn almost with theii* whole, 
 whilst we had engaged about half our army on the other side but 
 with parties of theirs. Indeed it was a stiff business ; yet I do not 
 think we have lost Two-hundred men. Your new-raised forces 
 did perform singular good service ; for which they deserve a very 
 high estimation 9,nd acknowledgment ; as also for their willingness 
 thereunto, — forasmuch as the same hath added so much to the re- 
 putation of your affairs. They are all despatched home again; 
 which I hope will be much for the ease and satisfaction of the 
 country ; which is a great fruit of these successes. 
 
 The dimensions of this mercy are above my thoughts. It is, 
 for aught I know, a crowning mercy. Surely, if it be not, such a 
 one we shall have, if this provoke those that are concerned in it to 
 thankfulness ; and the Parliament to do the will of Him who hath 
 done His will for it, and for the Nation ; — ^whose good pleasure it 
 is to establish the Nation and the Change of the Government, by 
 making the People so willing to the defence thereof, and so signally 
 blessing the endeavours of your servants in this late great work. I 
 am bold humbly to beg, That all thoughts may tend to the pro- 
 moting of His honour who hath wrought so great salvation ; and 
 that the fatness of these continued mercies may not occasion pride 
 and wantonness, as formerly the like hath done to a chosen 
 Nation ; ^ but that the fear of the Lord, even for His mercies may 
 
 ' ' But Jeshurun waxed fat and kicked : thou art waxen fat, thou art 
 grown thick, thou art covered with fatness ; then he forsook God which. 
 
 a 
 
82 ENGLISH LETTERS. \U^{j- 
 
 keep an authority and a people so prospered, and blessed, and wit- 
 nessed unto, humble and faithful ; and that justice and righteous- 
 ness, mercy and truth may flow from you as a thankful return to 
 our gracious God. This shall be the prayer of, 
 Sir, 
 Your most humble and obedient Servant 
 
 Oliver Cromwell. 
 Your Ofl&cers behaved themselves with much honour in this 
 service ; and the Person who is the bearer hereof was equal, in the 
 performance of his duty, to most that served you that day. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The genuineness of this letter has been doubted ; but Mr. 
 Carlyle is satisfied that the style sufficiently declares it to be 
 perfectly genuine. The letter is unique in two respects. ' It is,' 
 says Mr. Carlyle, ' the only one we have of Oliver Cromwell, 
 the English Puritan King, to Giulio Mazarin, the Sicilian- 
 French Cardinal, who are a very singular pair of correspondents 
 brought together by the Destinies ! It is also the one glimpse 
 we have from Oliver himself of the subterranean spy-world, in 
 which, by a hard necessity, so many of his thoughts had to 
 dweU.' 
 
 There are two other quite unimportant notes from the Pro- 
 tector to the Cardinal in the archives of the Foreign Office 
 at Paris which Mr. Carl vie notices in his edition of * CromweU's 
 Letters,' vol. v. pp. 264, 2Qb. 
 
 Protector Cromwell to Cardinal Mazarin. 
 
 WhitehaU : December -IQ, 165P. 
 
 The obligations, and many instances of affection, which I have 
 received from your Eminency, do engage me to make returns 
 suitable to your merit. But although I have this set home upon 
 my spirit, I may not (shall I tell you, I cannot X) at this juncture 
 of time, and as the face of my affairs now stands, answer to your 
 call for Toleration. 
 
 I say, I cannot, as to a public Declaration of my sense in that 
 point ; although I believe that under my Government yom* Emi- 
 nency, in the behalf of Catholics, has less reason for complaint as 
 
 made him, and lightly esteemed the rock of his salvation.' — Deuteronomy 
 xxxii. 15. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTEES. 83 
 
 to ligour upon men's consciences than under the Parliament. For 
 I have of some, and those very many, had compassion ; making a 
 difference. Truly I have (and I may speak it with cheerful- 
 ness in the presence of God, who is a witness within me to 
 the truth of what I affirm) made a difference ; and as Jude speaks 
 * plucked many out of the fire,' — the raging fire of persecution, 
 which did tyrannize over their consciences, and encroached by an 
 arbitrariness of power upon their estates. And herein it is my 
 purpose, as soon as I can remove impediments, and some weights 
 that press me down, to make a farther progress, and discharge 
 my promise to your Eminency in relation to that. 
 
 And now I shall come to return your Eminency thanks for 
 your judicious choice of that Person to whom you have intrusted 
 our weightiest affair; an affair wherein your Eminency is con- 
 cerned, though not in an equal degree and measui-e with myself. 
 
 I must confess that I had some doubts of its success, till Pro- 
 vidence cleared them to me by the effects. I was, truly, and to 
 speak ingenuously, not without doubtings ; and shall not be 
 ashamed to give your Eminency the grounds I had for much 
 doubting. I did fear that Berkley ^ would not have been able 
 to go through and carry on that work ; and that either the Duke 
 would have cooled in his suit,^ or condescend to his brother. I 
 doubted also that those instructions which I sent over with 290 * 
 were not clear enough as to expressions ; some affairs here deny- 
 ing me leisure at that time to be so particular as, in regard to 
 some circumstances, I would. 
 
 If I am not mistaken in his ' the Duke's ' character, as I 
 received it from your Eminency, that fire which is kindled between 
 them will not ask bellows to blow it and keep it burning. But 
 what I think farther necessary in this matter I will send to your 
 Eminency by Lockhart. 
 
 And now I shall boast to your Eminency my security upon a 
 well-builded confidence in the Lord : for I distrust not but if this 
 breach be widened a little more and this difference fomented, with 
 a little caution in respect of the persons to be added to it, — I dis- 
 trust not but that Party, which is already forsaken of God as to 
 
 ' Sir John Berkeley, the Dnke of York's tutor. 
 ' Allusion to Charles Stuart and his brother, the Duke of York. 
 * Cipher for the name of some emissary. 
 G 2 
 
84 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 
 
 an outward dispensation of mercies, and noisome to their country- 
 men, will grow lower in the opinion of all the world. If I have 
 troubled your Eminency too long in this, you may impute it to 
 the resentment of joy which I have for the issue of this Affair ; * 
 and I will conclude with giving you assurance that I will never 
 be backward in demonstrating, as becomes your brother and con- 
 federate, that I am 
 
 Your Servant 
 
 Oliver P. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 The drift of Cromwell's foreign policy was to bring about a 
 vigorous coahtion of Protestant Europe in alliance with Eng- 
 land. A treaty which he made with France against Spain, in 
 March 1657, co'ntaLned a proviso that the English troops should 
 combine with the French in attacking the three coast towns of 
 GraveHnes, Mardyke, and Dunkirk ; and, in the event of success, 
 the two latter towns were to belong to England. When it 
 was ascertained that the French King and the Cardinal were 
 proposing to utilise our troops for another purpose, Cromwell 
 soon brought Mazarin to a sense of his duty, by writing the two 
 following letters to the English Ambassador. It was said in 
 France that the Cardinal feared Ohver more than the devil ; 
 and Mr. Carlvle remarks, ' he ought indeed to fear the devil 
 much more, but Oliver is the palpabler entity of the two ! ' 
 
 Oliver Cromwell to Sir William Lockkart, our Ambassador in 
 France. 
 
 Whitehall : August 31, 1657. 
 Sir, — I have seen your last letter to ]Mr. Secretary, as also 
 divers others : and although I have no doubt either of your dili- 
 gence or ability to serve us in so great a Business, yet I am deeply 
 sensible that the French are very much short with us in ingenu- 
 ousness and performance. And that which increaseth our sense of 
 this is, The resolution we for our part had, rather to overdo than 
 to be behindhand in anjiihing of our Treaty. And although we 
 never were so foolish as to apprehend that the French and their 
 interests were the same with ours in all things ; yet as to the 
 Spaniards, who hath been known in all ages to be the most impla- 
 
 ^ The * affair ' is presumed to have reference to a dispute between the 
 Duke of York and his brother on a question of Spanish policy. 
 
1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 85 
 
 cable enemy that France hath, — we never could doubt before we 
 made our Treaty, that, going upon such grounds, we should have 
 been failed towards as we are ! 
 
 To talk of ' giving us Garrisons ' which are inland, as Caution 
 for future action ; to talk of ' what will be done next Campaign,' 
 — are but parcels of words for children. If they will give us Gar- 
 risons, let them give us Calais, Dieppe and Boulogne ', — which I 
 think they will do as soon as be honest in their words in giving us 
 any one Spanish Garrison upon the coast into our hands ! I posi- 
 tively think, which I say to you, they are afraid we should have 
 any footing on that side of the water, though Spanish. 
 
 I pray you tell the Cardinal, from me. That I think, if France 
 desires to maintain its ground, much more to get ground upon the 
 Spaniard, the performance of his Treaty with us will better do it 
 than anything appears yet to me of any Design he hath ! — 
 Though we cannot so well pretend to soldiery as those that are 
 with him ; yet we think that, we being able by sea to strengthen 
 and secure his Siege, and to reinforce it as we please by sea, and 
 the Enemy being in capacity to do nothing to relieve it, — the best 
 time to besiege that Place will be now. Especially if we consider 
 that the French horse will be able so to ruin Flanders as that no 
 succour can be brought to relieve the place ; and that the French 
 Army and our own will have constant relief, as far as England 
 and France can give it, without any manner of impediment, — 
 especially considering the Dutch are now engaged so much to 
 Southward as they are. 
 
 I desire you to let him know That Englishmen have had so 
 good experience of Winter expeditions, they are confident, if the 
 Spaniard shall keep the field, as he cannot impede this work, so 
 neither will he be able to attack anything towards France with a 
 possibility of retreat. And what do all delays signify but even 
 this : The giving the Spaniard opport\inity so much the more to 
 reinforce himself; and the keeping our men another summer to 
 serve the French, without any colour of a reciprocal, or any, 
 advantage to ourselves ! 
 
 And therefore if this will not be listened unto, I desire that 
 things may be considered-of to give us satisfaction for the great 
 expense we have been at with our Naval forces and otherwise ; 
 which out of an honourable and honest aim on our part hath been 
 
86 ENGLISH LETTEBS. [UoO-lGOO 
 
 incurred, thereby to answer the Engagements we had made. And, 
 in fine, That consideration may be had how our Men may be put 
 into a position to be returned to us ; — whom we hope we shall 
 employ to a better purpose than to have them continue where- 
 they are. 
 
 I desire we may know what France saith, and will do, upon 
 this point. We shall be ready still, as the Lord shall assist us, to 
 perform what can be reasonably expected on our part. And you 
 may also let the Cardinal know farther, That our intentions, as 
 they have been, will be to do aU the good offices we can to promote 
 the Interest common to us. 
 
 ApprehendLug it is of moment that this Business should come 
 to you with speed and surety, we have sent it by an Express. 
 
 LXUI. 
 
 Oliver Cromwell to Sir William Lochhart, our Ambassador in 
 Frcmce. 
 
 ^TiitehaU : August 31, 1657. 
 
 Sir, — "We desire, having written to you as we have, that 
 the design be Dunkirk rather than Gi-avelines ; and much more 
 that it be : — ^but one of them rather than fail. We shall not be 
 wanting. To send over, at the French charge. Two of our old regi- 
 ments, and Two-thousand foot more, if need be, — if Dunkirk be 
 the design. BeUeving that if the Army be well entrenched, and if 
 La Ferte's Foot be added to it, we shall be able to give liberty to 
 the gi-eatest part of the French Cavalry to have an eye to the 
 Spaniard, — leaving but convenient numbers to stand by the Foot. 
 
 And because this action will probably divert the Spaniard 
 from assisting Charles Stuart in any attempt upon us, you may be 
 assured that, if reality may with any reason be expected from the 
 French, we shall do all reason on our part. But if indeed the 
 French be so false to us as that they would not have us have any 
 footing on that side the Water, — then I desire, as in our other 
 Letter to you, that all things may l3e done in order to the giving 
 us satisfaction for oui* expense incurred, and to the drawing-off of 
 our men. And truly. Sir, I desire you to take boldness and free- 
 dom to yourself in your dealing with the French on these 
 accounts. 
 
\ 
 
 SECTION II 
 
 A.D. 1600-1700. 
 
\ 
 
 LXIY. 
 
 Charles T. in the year 1646 was about to meet proposals 
 from the London Parliament by sanctioning a trial of Presbyte- 
 rian Government for three years, and surrendering the command 
 of the Militia for ten years, Vhen he received this ill-timed check 
 to what would probably have been a partial reconciliation with 
 his vigorous antagonists. 
 
 Queen Henrietta Maria to Charles I. 
 
 Paris: December 14, 10415. 
 This day I received yours of the 21, to which, being streigh- 
 tened in tyme, I shall answer in English that it may be soonest 
 put into cypher. In the first place you conclude right, that 
 nothing but the abundance of my love could make me take upon^ 
 me the harsher p^rt of pressing things which are inacceptable ta 
 you. But where I find your interest so much concerned as it is 
 in your present resolution, I should be faultier than you if I 
 would suffer you to rest in such an error as would prove fatal to 
 you. Therefore you may safely believe, that no duty which I 
 perform to you is accompanied with more kindness than when I 
 oppose those opinions. I acknowledge that mistakes are the 
 grounds of our differences in opinion, otherwise you would not so- 
 confidently think that your answer to the propositions sent mo 
 last week grants nothing about the militia but according to the 
 advice you have had from hence. Therein I shall refer you to the- 
 duplicate herewith sent you, to which I will only add my desii-es 
 that you will carefully compare the draught sent you from hence- 
 with the other ; and then you will find to what purpose the pre- 
 amble serves, and what care there was taken here to make it and 
 the grant to persons of trust to be of a piece. If your message be 
 not gone there is no hurt done ; if it be, get off from this rock as 
 well as you can, according to the advice in those duplicates, and to 
 your resolution expressed in your letter, not to admit any copai't- 
 ners therein. Touching the pulpits and Presbyterian government, 
 
50 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 -&C. I will not any more enter into dispute with you, finding that 
 arguments of that nature have neither done you nor your business 
 any good ; only I may conclude that if your offer shall not satisfy 
 the Presbyterians, whom you desire to make yours, you must begin 
 again, or leave the work undone. Neither can you expect this 
 your subtility in reserving the last determination, after three 
 years, to you and the two houses will do the feat ; no, they with 
 whom you have to do will be cunning enough to put you to ex- 
 plain yourself. I shall rest confidently upon your resolution now 
 -expressed touching youi- friends, because you sufficiently know 
 how much your honour and justice, as well as policy, is in the 
 ■case. All I desire therein is, that you recede not from your de- 
 mand of a general act of oblivion, for nothing less can secui-e you 
 and them. The lyke was done to you in Scotland ; which will be 
 a general precedent here. For the Covenant, you know my 
 ■opinion ; after the entire consideration of it, we both fully agree 
 therein; neither as we are advertised from London, will it be 
 «titiy insisted upon there ; yet possibly if the Scots shall prevail, 
 and that only difference were in the case, they may consent to 
 such alterations in it as may satisfy all of us, and confirm such a 
 xx)njunction as you ought to desire. Therefore I again desire you, 
 upon conference with Will. Mun-ay, or otherwise, to use your ut- 
 most endeavours that some [perjsons may be admitted to come 
 privately to you and the Scots, to see upon a full debate with 
 them if all things may not be reconciled to your and their satis- 
 faction. If they would consent to such a meeting, I woidd have 
 some hopes of good success : for the present there appears to be 
 poison in the pot ; do not trust to your own cooking of it. 
 
 For the proposition to Bellievre, I hate it. If any such thing 
 should be made public, you are undone; your enemies will 
 make a malicious use of it. Be sure you never own it 
 again in any discourse, otherwise than as intended as a foile 
 or an hyperbole, or any otherways except in sober earnest. 
 Consider well what I have written of; away [with] your mes- 
 sage presently without sharing the IMilitia and abandoning 
 Ireland. Strike out the 10 years out of the clause concerning 
 offices, or the clause itself, which you will ; it may be added in 
 the close, and the naming 10 yeare implies that this parliament 
 should sit so long ; obtain the admitting of persons, and then we 
 
IVOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 91 
 
 shall agree in the whole business ; neither shall I then despair of 
 seeing you again with comfort, which is the fullest happiness I 
 wish for in this world. A Dieu, mon cher cceur ! 
 
 LXV. 
 
 This is the reply to the foregoing mandate. The King's 
 weak suhmission to the taunts and imperious counsels of his 
 exiled Queen brought about his ruin. For his obedience to her 
 injunctions against making necessary concessions he was made 
 a prisoner in the hands of the English Parliament. 
 
 Charles I. to Queen Henrietta Maria. 
 
 Newcastle : Dect mber 12 and 19, 1646. 
 
 Dear Heart, — I have not received any letters, or news from 
 thee, this last week, of which I do not complain, for, as I have not 
 missed one week since I wrote first from hence, and I know that 
 thou hast been several times two weeks without receiving any of 
 mine, so I believe thou hast taken the pains, albeit I want the 
 comfort of hearing from thee. 
 
 My return from Scotland is, that my intended answer to Lon- 
 don is absolutely disliked and disapproved there ; the main reasons 
 are, that I am not found altered in my conscience, and that I will 
 not authorize the covenant, without which (I tell the very words) 
 all that can be offered will not satisfy : yet, for their personal 
 duty, I have much assurance from duke Hamilton and earl of 
 Lanerick. 
 
 If they make good what is promised in their name (and I will 
 put them to it), my game will be far from desperate, but, having 
 little belief that these men will do as they say, I will not trouble 
 thee with particulars, until I give thee some more evidence than 
 words of their realities. 
 
 December 19. 
 
 When I had written thus far, I was desirous to stay for thy 
 answer to my letter of the Hth of Nov, thereby the better to 
 make my message to London, the which not receiving before 
 "Wednesday, it made me spare one week's writing to thee, which I 
 hope you will easily excuse, since it is the first. Nor shall I now 
 make a particular answer to thine of the 11th and 14th of Decem- 
 ber, albeit it may be thou wilt think it full enough, for this assures 
 
02 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 thee that my intended answer to the London propositions is not 
 gone, and that I have sent another message (the copy of which the 
 queen will receive by the French ambassadour), the substance 
 whereof is to adhere to my former answer, made the first [tenth X] 
 of August last ; so that all thy fears concerning the militia are 
 saved, wherein, I confess, I thought not I had fundamentally erred^ 
 notwithstanding that the particular possession were (for the pre- 
 fixt time) in the two houses, when I kept the return entire to the 
 crown without associates, and that I still stuck to my right, which 
 I did by the preamble, for I did, and yet do, conceive that the 
 temporary power of managing it is merely circumstantial, and not 
 material. But I have done, and willingly yield the argument^ 
 when the question is of holding fast, and shall only wish that all 
 those whose advice the queen takes in business be but as constant 
 to foundations, and as little apt to be couzened or frighted out of 
 them, as I shall be. For those that make thee believe any altera- 
 tion can make the covenant passable can stick at nothing, and 
 excuse me to tell thee that whatsoever gives thee that advice is 
 either fool or knave; for this damn'd covenant is the child of 
 rebellion,^ and breaths nothing but treason, so that if episcopacy 
 were to be introduced by the covenant, I would not do it, because 
 I am as much bound in conscience to do no act to the destniction 
 of monarchy as to resist heresy, all actions being unlawful (let the 
 end be never so just) where the means is not lawful. 
 
 I conclude this, conjuring thee never to abandon one particular 
 good friend of ours, which is a good cause, be the Scots never so 
 false, even as thou lovest him who is eternally thine, 
 
 Charles R. 
 
 By the next I will give thee a full account why I could not 
 send my particular answer to London, and, I believe also, what 
 may be expected from Scotland. 
 
 No security can be had for any to come to me from thee. 
 
 * The Solemn League and Covenant, 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. ^ 9S 
 
 LXYI. 
 
 The complement of Charles I.'s disaster at Nasehy was 
 the disclosure of the * Glamorgan Treaty.' The Earl of Gla- 
 morgan was instructed to negotiate for the abolition of all 
 penal laws against the Roman Catholics in Ireland, and for 
 the surrender to them of their ecclesiastical supremacy in view 
 of releasing all troops maintained in that country for the defence 
 of Protestantism, that they might combine with a foreign sol- 
 diery in an attempt to crush the Parliamentarians. When 
 Royalist and Roundhead alike censured this treachery Charles 
 indirectly repudiated the transaction. 
 
 Charles I. to Queen Henrietta Maria. 
 
 Oxford: 1646. 
 
 Dear Heart, — ^Whatsoever may make thee mistake my actions, 
 yet nothing can make me doubt of thy love, nor alter my way of 
 kindness and freedom to thee, notwithstanding any vaiiation of 
 the [thy X] style to me, and I am most confident that upon second 
 thoughts thou wilt be very far from blaming me, as concerning 
 tlie Scotch treaty ; my main ground — which is the saving of the 
 church wherein I have been bred — being so infallibly good, that 
 thou must commend me for it. Albeit we differ in matter of 
 religion, yet thou must esteem me for having care of my con- 
 science. 
 
 Concerning which, the preservation of the Church of England 
 being now the only question, I should think myself obliged to seek 
 out all possible lawful means for maintaining it. Wherefore, re- 
 membering what I wrote to thee last year, upon the 5th of March, 
 by Pooly — (thou wilt find it amongst those letters of thine whick 
 the rebels have printed) — I think it at this time fit to renew that 
 motion unto thee. My words were then (which still I will make 
 good) that I give thee power to promise in my name (to whom 
 thou thinkest most fit) that * I will take away all the penal laws 
 against the Roman Catholics in England, as soon as God shall 
 enable me to do it, so as by their means I may have so powerful 
 assistance as may deserve so great a favour, and enable me to do 
 it.' And furthermore, I now add that I desire some particular 
 offers by or in the favour of the English Roman Catholics, which, 
 if I shall like, I will then presently engage myself for the perfor- 
 mance of the above-mentioned conditions. Moreover, if the Pope 
 
94 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 and they will visibly and heartily engage themselves for the re- 
 establishment of the Church of England and my crown (which 
 was understood in my former offer) against all opposers whatso- 
 ever, I will promise them, on the word of a king, to give them 
 here a free toleration of their consciences. I have now (which 
 formerly I did not) named the Pope expressly, to desire thee to 
 deal only Tvdth him or his ministers in the business, because I 
 believe he is likely upon these conditions to be my friend, and 
 wish the flourishing of my crown again, the which I think that 
 France nor Spain will be sorry to see. I would have thee like- 
 wise make as few acquainted with this as may be, secrecy being- 
 most requisite in this business (until it be so ripe that the know- 
 ledge cannot hurt it), for everybody thinking it be deserted, it 
 would much prejudice me if imtimely it should break out again. 
 
 Thou maj^t possibly imagine that this my renewed offer pro- 
 ceeds from my inconstant humour, or out of a desire to please, but 
 I assure thee that neither are the causes, though I shall not be 
 ashamed of the latter whensoever there is occasion, for in this I 
 do only pursue my constant ground, of preserving my conscience 
 and crown, not being ignorant of the great inconveniences (not 
 without some hazard) which the toleration of divers sorts of God's 
 worship bring to a kingdom, which is not to be suffered, but either 
 for the eschewing of a worse thing, or to obtain some great good ; — 
 both reasons at this time concurring to make me admit, nay desire 
 this inconvenience. 
 
 For, by this means, and 1 see no other, I shall hope to suppress 
 the Presbyterian and Independent factions, and also preserve the 
 Church of England and my crown from utter ruin, and yet I be- 
 lieve I did well IN DISAVOWING Glamorgan {so far as I did) ; for 
 though I hold it not simply iU, but even most fit, upon such a con- 
 jecture [conjuncture?] as this is, to give a toleration to other men's- 
 consciences, that cannot make it stand with mine to yield to the 
 ruin of those of mine own profession, to which if I had assented, 
 it then might have been justly feared, that I, who was careless of 
 my own religion, would be less careful of my word. "Whereas 
 now, men have more reason to trust to my promises, find[ing] me 
 constant to my grounds, and thou that I am eternally thiae, 
 
 Charles R. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 95 
 
 El. Upon my word, I neither have nor intend to acquaint any 
 with this business but Ashburnham, wherefore I desire likeways- 
 to know of thee whom thou wilt intrust with it, that if anything 
 come out we may know whom to blame. Besides, I offer to thy 
 consideration, whether it be not fit that all the English Koman 
 Catholics be warned by the pope's ministers to join with the forces 
 that are to come out of Ireland. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Edmund Waller's long life was an active one. Dividing 
 his time between politics and literature during the most stirring 
 period of our history, he managed with singular adroitness to 
 make himself extremely popular both in the House of Com- 
 mons and in society. His fame as a refiner of our language 
 and poetry was, and is, deservedly great. No man better 
 understood the art of flattery and how to administer it with 
 grace. 
 
 Edmund Waller to my Lady . 
 
 Madam, — Your commands for the gathering these sticks into a 
 faggot had sooner been obey'd but intending to present you with 
 my whole vintage, I stay'd till the latest grapes were ripe : for^ 
 here your Ladyship has not only all 1 have done, but all I ever 
 mean to do of this kind. Not but that I may defend the attempts 
 I have made upon Poetry, by the examples (not to trouble you 
 with history) of many wise and worthy persons of our own times ; 
 as Sir Philip Sidney, Sir Francis Bacon, Cardinal Perron (the 
 ablest of his countrymen) and the former Pope ; who they say^ 
 instead of the Triple-Crown, wore sometimes the Poet's ivy, as an 
 ornament, perhaps, of lesser weight and trouble. But, Madam,, 
 these nightingales sung only in the spring ; it was the diversion 
 of their youth ; as Ladies learn to sing, and play, when they 
 are children, what they foi-get when they are women. The re- 
 semblance holds further; for, as you quit the lute the sooner ^ 
 because the posture is suspected to draw the body awry ; so, this 
 is not always practised without some villany to the mind ; wrest- 
 ing it from present occasions ; and accustoming us to a style some- 
 what remov'd from common use. But, that you may not think 
 his case deplorable who had made verses ; we are told that Tidly 
 (the greatest Wit among the Romans) was once sick of this disease ; 
 
S6 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 and yet recover'd so well, that of almost as bad a Poet as your 
 servant, he became the most perfect Orator in the world. So that, 
 not so much to have made verses, as not to give-over in time, leaves 
 a man without excuse : the former presenting us with an oppor- 
 tunity at least of doing wisely, that is, to conceal those we have 
 made : which I shall yet do, if my humble request may be of as 
 much force with your Ladyship, as your commands have been 
 with me. Madam, I only whisper these in your ear; if you 
 publish them, they are your own : and therefore as you appre- 
 hend the reproach of a Wit, and a Poet, cast them into the fii'e : 
 or, if they come where green boughs are in the chimney, with the 
 help of your fair friends, (for, thus bound, it will be too hard a task 
 for your hands alone) tear them in pieces, wherein you will honor 
 me with the fate of Orpheus ; for so his Poems, whereof we only 
 hear the form, (not his limbs, as the story will have it) I suppose 
 were scatter'd by the Thracian dames. 
 
 Here, Madam, I might take an opportunity to celebrate your 
 virtues, and to instruct you how unhappy you are, in that you 
 know not who you are : how much you excel the most excellent 
 of your own, and how much you amaze the least inclin'd to 
 wonder of our, sex. But as they will be apt to take your Lady- 
 ship's for a Roman name, so wou'd they believe that I endeavour'd 
 the character of a perfect Nymph, worship'd an image of my 
 own making, and dedicated this to the Lady of the brain, not of 
 the heart, of 
 
 Your Ladyship's 
 
 most humble Servant, 
 Edm. Waller. 
 
 Lxvni. 
 
 On the occasion of the marriage of Lady Dorothy Sidney, 
 whom Waller had courted for ten years under the name of 
 Sacharissa, to Lord Spenser, afterwards Earl of Sunderland, 
 the disappointed poet addressed this lively epistle to the sister 
 of the bride. This letter is incomparably superior to one 
 written by Pope to Mrs. Arabella Fermor on her. marriage. 
 
 Edmund Waller to Lady Lacy Sidney. 
 
 July, 1639. 
 
 Madam, — In this common joy at Penshurst, I know none to 
 whom complaints may come less unseasonably than to your lady- 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 97 
 
 ship, the loss of a bedfellow being almost equal to the loss of a 
 mistress, and therefore you ought, at least to pardon, if you con- 
 sent not to the imprecations of the deserted, which just heaven no 
 doubt will hear. May my lady Dorothy, if we may yet call her 
 so, suffer as much and have the like passion for this young lord, 
 whom she has preferred to the rest of mankind, as others have had 
 for her ; and may his love, before the year go about, make her taste 
 of the first curse imposed upon womankind, the pain of becoming 
 a mother. May her firstborn be none of her own sex, nor so like 
 her, but that he may resemble her lord as much as herself. May 
 she, that always afiected silence and retirement, have the house 
 filled with the noise and number of her children, and hereafter of 
 her grandchildren, and then may she arrive at that great curse, so 
 much declined by fair ladies, old age ; may she live to be very old, 
 and yet seem young, be told so by her glass, and have no aches to 
 inform her of the truth ; and when she shall appear to be mortal, 
 may her lord not mourn for her, but go hand in hand with her to 
 that place, where we are told there is neither marrying, nor giving 
 in marriage, so that being there divorced, we may all have an 
 equal interest in her again ! My revenge being immortal, I wish 
 all this may befall her posterity to the world's end, and after- 
 wards ! To you, madam, I wish all good thiags, and that this 
 your loss may in good time be happily supplied. Madam, I 
 humbly kiss your hands, and beg pardon for this trouble, from 
 
 Your ladyship's 
 
 most humble Servant 
 
 E. Waller. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Sir John Suckling to 
 
 SuckUng commanded a troop in the English army of 
 Charles I. against the Scotch. This letter was written from 
 Berwick-on-Tweed shortly before the humiliating retreat of 
 Dunse. 
 
 June, 1639. 
 
 Sir, — "We are at length arrived at that river about the uneven 
 
 running of which my friend Master William Shakespeare makes 
 
 Henry Hotspur quarrel so highly with his fellow-rebels, and for 
 
98 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 his sake I have been something curious to consider the scantlet of 
 ground that angry monsieur would have had in, but cannot find it 
 could deserve his choler, nor any of the other side ours, did not the 
 king think it did. The account I shall now give you of the war 
 will be but imperfect, since I conceive it to be in the state that 
 part of the four and twenty hours is, in which we can neither call 
 it night nor day. I should judge it dawning towards earnest, did 
 not the Lords' Covananters' letters to our Lords hero something 
 divide me. So, sir, you may now imagine us walking up and 
 down the banks of the Tweed like the Tower lions in theii- cages, 
 leaving the people to think what we would do if we were let loose. 
 The enemy is not yet much visible. It may be it is the fault of 
 the climate, which brings men as slowly forward as plants ; but it 
 gives us fears that the men of peace will draw all this to a dumb- 
 show, and so destroy a handsome opportunity, which was now 
 offered , of producing glorious matter for future chronicle. 
 
 These are but conjectures, sir. The last part of my letter I re- 
 serve for a great and known truth, which is, that I am, sir, your 
 most humble servant, 
 
 J. S. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Appointed by the Council of State in 1649 as Secretary for 
 Foreign Tongues to the Commonwealth, Milton found himself 
 overpowered with business at the very moment when his eye- 
 sight, long threatened with blindness, became finally extin- 
 guished. In^ 1650 he lost his right eye, and the controversy 
 with Salmasius cost him his left. Unwilling to give up his 
 post of danger at such a troublous time, his growing infirmity 
 forced him to ask for the help of an amanuensis, and in the fol- 
 lowing terms he suggested as his assistant a young poet of 
 rising reputation, a Puritan Hke himself, and favourably recom- 
 mended to him by the friendly fandly of Fairfax. 
 
 John Milton to John Bradshaw. 
 
 February 21, 1652. 
 My Lord, — But that it would be an interruption to the public, 
 wherein your studies are perpetually employed, I should now and 
 then venture to supply thus my enforced absence with a line or 
 two, though it were only of businesse, and that would be noe slight 
 one, to make mv due acknowledgments of your many favours; 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 99 
 
 which I both doe at this time, and ever shall : and have this 
 farder, which I thought my parte to let you know of, that there 
 will be with you to-morrow, upon some occasion of business, a 
 gentleman whose name is Mr. Marvile; a man whom, both by 
 report, and the converse I have had with him, of singular desert 
 for the State to make use of; who alsoe offers himselfe, if there be 
 any employment for him. His father was the Minister of Hull ; 
 and he hath spent four years already in Holland, France, Italy, 
 and Spaine, to very good purpose, as I believe, and the gaineing of 
 those four languages ; besides, he is a schoUer, and well read in the 
 Latin and Greek authors ; and no doubt of an approved conver- 
 sation, for he comes now lately out of the house of the Lord Fair- 
 fax, who was a Generall, where he was intrusted to give some 
 instructions in the languages to the Lady, his daughter. If upon 
 the death of Mr. Weckerlyn, the Councell shall think that I shall 
 need any assistance in the performance of my place (though for my 
 part I find no encumbrances of that which belongs to me, except 
 it be in point of attendance at Conferences with Ambassadors, 
 which I must confess in my condition I am not fit for), it would 
 be hard for them to find a man soe fit every way for that purpose 
 as this gentleman ; one who, I believe, in a short time, would be 
 able to do them as much service as Mr. Ascan. This, my lord, 
 I write sincerely, without any other end than to perform my duty 
 to the publick, and helping them to an humble servant : laying 
 aside those jealousies, and that emulation, which mine own con- 
 dition must suggest to me, by bringing in such a coadjutor ; and 
 remaine, my lord, 
 
 Your most obliged and faithful servant, 
 
 ■p John Milton. 
 
 \ 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 The foUowing examples of the epistolary style of Edward 
 Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, are selected from the State Papers 
 bearing his name. In this first short note there are two points 
 not unworthy of notice. The oft-repeated charge of the critics 
 that he embarrasses his sentences with frequent parentheses is 
 brought home to him ; and the want of accuracy in the details 
 of * The History of the Kebellion ' is indirectly explained by the 
 imavoidable necessity of acquiring information at second-hand 
 and on mere hearsay evidence. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 Sir Edward Hyde to Lord Witherington. 
 
 Jersey : August 5, 1646. 
 My good Lord, — Being now left to leisure eno' to exercise my 
 own thoughts and it being much easier to revolve what is passed 
 than to foresee what is to come, (tho' I fear there is no notable 
 sharpsightedness requisite even to that) I have prevailed with 
 myself, how unequal soever to the task, to endeavour the com- 
 piling a plain, faithful narrative of the proceedings of these last ill 
 years ; that so posterity may see, by what fatal degrees, that 
 wickedness hath grown prosperous which I hope is now at its 
 height. I have not been at too immoderate a distance (if that were 
 qualification enough) from the public agitations, to venture upon 
 this relation; yet the scene of action lying in so many several 
 places, a much wiser and more conversant person than myself 
 must desist from this work, except others assist him by communi- 
 cating what hath been transacted in their several spheres. Your 
 Lordship hath had a noble part in those attempts which have been 
 made to rescue our miserable country from the tyranny she now 
 groans under ; and by the happiness you enjoy in the friendship of 
 that excellent person (whose conduct was never unprosperous) 
 well known by what skill and virtue the north of England was 
 recovered to his Majesty, and with what difficulties defended. And 
 if you find that his Lordship himself may not be prevailed with to 
 adorn those actions with his own incomparable style, (which indeed 
 would render them fit to be bound up with the other commentaries) 
 vouchsafe I beseech your Lordship, that by your means I may be 
 trusted with such counsels and occurrences as you shall judge fit 
 to be submitted to the ill apparel I shall be able to supply them 
 with ; which I will take care (how simple soever) shall not defraud 
 them of their due integrity which will be ornament enough. What 
 your Lordship thinks fit to oblige me with of this kind, Mr. Nicholls 
 will convey to, My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's most affectionate and obedient Servant 
 
 Edwaed Hyde. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 101 
 
 Lxxn. 
 
 The staunchest and most self-denying friend of Charles IT. 
 during- his period of exile and almost ahject poverty, misjudged 
 the state of affairs in June, 1659, as well as the character of his 
 royal debtor ; for the cause of Monarchy could only have suffered 
 by a show of force at the moment the Rump and the army 
 were caballing over the grave of Oliver Cromwell. And in so 
 confidently extolling the gratitude of his chief, Edward Hyde 
 little thought he would be an early victim to the caprice of an 
 indolent king who had no belief in human virtues, and to whom, 
 as Lord Macaulay puts it, ^ honour and shame were as light and 
 darkness to the blind.' 
 
 Edward Hyde^ Earl of Clarendon to Mr. Mordaunt. 
 
 ^. June 13, 1659. 
 
 Sir, — It is indeed great pity that we here, and our friends 
 there, have not been better prepared to appear in arms upon these 
 great mutations which have lately happened. But methinks I do 
 not see anything jet done to make us despair of the like oppor- 
 tunities, nor do I conceive that we have at present one friend less 
 or one enemy more than we had two months ago. It is possible 
 all men's hopes and fears are not the same they were ; but these 
 ebbs and flows will happen upon every wind ; nor do I think that 
 the Army and the Parliament will the sooner agree upon a 
 Government because they are out of apprehension of the Crom- 
 wells, nor that their tameness and desertion of spirit will find the 
 greater remorse. Now is the time for the Parliament to raise 
 monuments of their justice and severity for the future terror of 
 those whose ambition may dispose them to break their trusts (and 
 I hope you are not without good instruments to kindle that fire), 
 and I cannot believe it possible that the Army and Parliament 
 can continue long of a mind. I suppose a Kst of the names of all 
 the Parliament men is in print, which I would be very glad to 
 see, as I would to know whether you continue to have the same 
 good opinion still of Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, and whether he 
 received the King's letter. 
 
 I have seen a letter from M'^ Baron to the Secretary, by which 
 I perceive there remains some jealousies and distances between our 
 friends, which I hope proceed rather from misunderstanding than 
 from any formed waywardness, and that the interposition of dis- 
 creet persons will qualify all, and extinguish those distempers. 
 
102 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 We have yet lieard from none of them, and you may be very con- 
 fident that the King will not gratify any man's passions by the 
 disobliging others who serve him faithfully, and I have so good 
 an opinion of them to believe they cannot propose any extravagant 
 thing. I have no more to add but that I am very faithfully 
 
 Yours &c. 
 
 Lxxin. 
 
 The feverish condition of the public pulse, sickened by the 
 dominion of the soldiery and excited by the trickeries of incom- 
 petent agitators, is here gleefully described by Lord Clarendon 
 on the eve of the restoration of monarchy. 
 
 Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, to Sir Henry Bennet. 
 
 April 10, 1660. 
 
 Sir, — The ParHament was, as you have heard, to be dissolved 
 upon Thursday the 15th of last month, but there had been so 
 many artifices used by the RepubUcan party, to stay the business 
 of the IMiHtia, and afterwards to stop and corrupt it at the Press 
 that the house resolved to sit again the next day, and then about 
 seven o'clock at night they dissolved to the universal joy of all the 
 kingdom, the repubhcan party only excepted, who had no mind 
 to cashier themselves of a power they were like again never to 
 be possessed of ; the people not being like to choose many of them 
 to serve in the next parliament. 
 
 Before they dissolved they declared the engagement, by which 
 men were bound to submit to the government without King or 
 House of Lords, to be void and null, and to be taken of the file 
 of all records wherever it was entered ; and this might be the 
 ground of that report at Calais, that they had voted the Govern- 
 ment to be by King, Lords and Commons ; besides there was a 
 pretty accident that might contribute thereunto, for the day before 
 the Parliament dissolved, at full Exchange, there came a fellow 
 with a ladder upon his shoulders and a pot of paint in his hand, 
 and set the ladder in the place where the last King's statue had 
 stood, and then went up and wiped out that inscription which 
 had been made after the death of the King, Exit Tyr annus &c., 
 and as soon as he had done it threw up his cap and cried * God 
 bless King Charles the Second,' in which the whole Exchange 
 joined with the greatest shout you can imagine, and immediately 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 103 
 
 caused a tuge bonfire to be made which the neighbours of Comhill 
 and Cheapside imitated with three or four more, and so that action 
 passed nor do I find there was any order for it. There was another 
 signal passage likewise before the dissolution : upon the reading 
 -the instructions to the Council of State dui-ing the interval of 
 Parliament (which is not to sit till the 25th of this month) there is 
 one which gives them authority to send agents or ambassadors to 
 foreign Princes, whereupon Scott stood up and desired that there 
 might be an exception, that they should not send to Charles Stuart, 
 which gave occasion to very many membei*s of the House to stand 
 up and declare that they were in no degree guilty and did from 
 their souls abhor the horrid and odious mui-der of the late king, 
 and did detest the author of it. Upon which Scott again stood 
 up, and said that he indeed, and some others, had cut off" the King's 
 head, but that the other gentlemen had brought him to the block, 
 which put the rest into so much passion that they would call him 
 to the bar, but after some heat declined it, saying he should answer 
 it at another bar. The writs issued out the next day for the 
 choosing members to meet the 25th of this month ; and very great 
 care is taken in all places to choose such men as are most like to 
 settle the government as it ought to be. And now after I have 
 told you all this, if I had not a very ill reputation with you for 
 being over sanguine with reference to England, I will tell you that 
 I hope we may save those honest gentlemen a labour, or at least 
 do our own business with very great approbation. 
 
 Yours &c. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 The flames that consumed the Custom House and all the 
 valuable records deposited there (1814), deprived the lovers of 
 literatui-e of Jeremy Taylor's autobiog-raphy, and most of his 
 epistolary correspondence. The letters that have been preserved 
 are not, perhaps, the best examples of those prose writings, 
 which by their purity and beauty of expression gave to tJie 
 improved style of the seventeenth century almost its earliest 
 impetus ; still they are good unstudied specimens of the great 
 divine's manner. An ardent Royalist, he followed the fortunes 
 of Charles I. as Chaplain to the Royal arm}- in 1642, but was 
 obliged to retire as a schoolmaster to Wales when the fortune 
 of war favoured the Parliamentarians. John Evelyn, his 
 greatest benefactor, induced him to leave this retreat and visit 
 Sayes Court. The following letter was written a few days after 
 he had been entertained there. 
 
104 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 Jeremy Taylor to John Evdyn. 
 
 April 16, 1656. 
 
 Honoured and dear Sir, — I hope your servant brought my 
 apology with him, and that I already am pardoned, or excused, in 
 your thoughts, that I did not return an answer yesterday to your 
 friendly letter. S"*, I did beUeve myself so very much bound to you 
 for youi* so kind, so friendly reception of me in your ' Tusculanum,* 
 that I had some little wonder upon me when I saw you making 
 excuses that it was no better. S"", I came to see you and your 
 lady, and am highly pleased that I did so, and found all your cir- 
 cumstances to be an heap and union of blessings. But I have not 
 either so great a fancy and opinion of the prettiness of your abode, 
 or so low an opinion of your prudence and piety, as to think you 
 can be any ways transported with them. I know the pleasure of 
 them is gone off from their height before one month's possession ; 
 and that strangers, and seldom seers, feel the beauty of them more 
 than you who dwell with them. I am pleased, indeed, at the 
 order and the cleanness of all your outward things ; and look upon 
 you not only as a person, by way of thankfulness to God for his 
 mercies and goodness to you, specially obliged to a greater measui-e 
 of piety, but also as one who, being freed in great degrees from 
 secular cares and impediments, can, without excuse and alloy, 
 wholly intend what you so passionately desire, the service of God. 
 But now I am considering yours and enumerating my own. 
 pleasures, I cannot but add that, though I could not choose but 
 be delighted by seeing all about you, yet my delices were really in 
 seeing you severe and unconcerned in these things, and now in 
 finding your affections wholly a stranger to them, and to com- 
 municate with them no portion of your passion but such as is 
 necessary to him that uses them or receives their ministries. 
 
 S'', I long truly to converse with you ; for I do not doubt but 
 in those liberties we shall both go bettered from each other. For 
 your * Lucretius,' I perceive, you have suffered the importunity of 
 two kind friends to prevail vnth. you. I will not say to you that 
 your ' Lucretius ' is as far distant fi*om the severity of a Christian 
 as the fair Ethiopian was from the duty of Bp. Heliodorus ; for 
 indeed it is nothing but what may become the labour of a Christian 
 gentleman, those things only abated which oui* evil age needs not; 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 105 
 
 for which, also I hope you either have by notes, or will, by preface, 
 prepare a sufficient antidote, but since you are ingag'd in it, do not 
 neglect to adorn it, and take what care of it it can require or need ; 
 for that neglect will be a reproof of your own act, and look as if 
 you did it with an unsatisfied mind, and then you may make that 
 to be wholly a sin, from which only by prudence and charity you 
 could before be advised to abstain. But, S'', if you will give me 
 leave, I will impose such a penance upon you for your publication 
 of ' Lucretius,' as shall neither displease God nor you ; and since 
 you ai'e busy in that which may minister directly to learning and 
 indirectly to error or the confidences of men, who of themselves 
 are apt enough to hide their vices in irreHgion, I know you will 
 be willing, and will sufier yourself to be intreated, to employ the 
 same pen in the glorifications of God, and the ministeries of 
 eucharist and prayer. S'^ if you have Ms^ Silhon * de I'lmmor- 
 talite de I'Ame,' I desire you to lend it me for a week ; and be- 
 lieve that I am in great heartiness and dearness of affection, dear 
 S^, your obliged and most affectionate friend and servant, 
 
 Jer. Tayloe. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 A letter of condolence with John Evelyn upon the loss of 
 his children. 
 
 Jeremy Taylor to John Evelyn. 
 
 February 17, 1657. 
 
 Dear Sir, — If dividing and sharing griefs were like the cutting 
 
 of rivers, I dare say to you, you would find your stream much 
 
 abated ; for I account myself to have a great cause of sorrow, not 
 
 only in the diminution of the numbers of your joys and hopes, but 
 
 in the loss of that pretty person, your strangely hopeful boy. I 
 
 cannot tell all my own sorrows without adding to yours ; and the 
 
 causes of my real sadness in your loss are so just and so reasonable, 
 
 that I can no otherwise comfort you but by telling you, that you 
 
 have very great cause to mourn ; so certain it is that grief does 
 
 propagate as fire does. You have enkindled my funeral torch 
 
 and by joining mine to yours, I do but encrease the flame. * Hoc 
 
 me maU urit,' is the best signification of my apprehension of your 
 
 sad story. But sir, I cannot choose, but I must hold another and 
 
106 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 a brighter flame to you, it is already burning in your heart ; and 
 if I can but remove the dark side of the lantern, you have enough 
 within you to warm yourself and to shine to others. Remember, 
 sir, your two boys are two bright stars, and their innocence is se- 
 cured, and you shall never hear evil of them again. Their state is 
 safe, and heaven is given to them upon very easy terms ; nothing 
 but to be bom and die. It will cost you more trouble to get 
 where they are ; and amongst other things one of the [hardness] 
 will be, that you must overcome even this just and reasonable 
 grief; and, indeed though the grief hath but too reasonable a 
 cause, yet it is much more reasonable that you master it. For be- 
 sides that they are no losers but you are the person that complains, 
 do but consider what you would have suffer'd for their interest : 
 you [would] have suffered them to go from you, to be great 
 princes in a strange country : and if you can be content to suffer 
 your own inconvenience foi* their interest, you command your 
 worthiest love, and the question of mourning is at an end. But 
 you have said and done well, when you look upon it as a rod of 
 God ; and he that so smites here will spare hereafter : and if you, 
 by patience, and submission, imprint the discipline upon your own 
 flesh, you kill the cause, and make the effect very tolerable ; be- 
 cause it is, in some sense chosen, and therefore in no sense insuffer- 
 able. 
 
 Sir, if you do not look to it, time will snatch your honour 
 from you, and reproach you for not effecting that by Christian 
 philosophy which time will do alone. And if you consider, that 
 of the bravest men in the world we find the seldomest stories of 
 their children, and the apostles had none, and thousands of the 
 worthiest persons, that sound most in story, died childless; you 
 will find it is a rare act of Providence so to impose upon worthy 
 men a necessity of perpetuating their names by worthy actions 
 and discoui-ses, governments and reasonings. If the breach be 
 never repaii-'d, it is because God does not see it fit to be ; and if 
 you will be of this mind, it will be much the better. But, sir, you 
 will pardon my zeal and passion for your comfort, I will readily 
 confess that you have no need of any discourse from me to comfort 
 you. Sir, now you have an opportunity of serving God by passive 
 graces ; strive to be an example and a comfort to your Lady, and 
 by your wise counsel and comfort, stand in the breaches of your 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 107 
 
 own family, and make it appear that you are more to her than ten 
 sons. Sir, by the assistance of Almighty God, I purpose to wait 
 on you some time next week, that I may be a witness of your 
 Christian courage and bravery, and that I may see that God never 
 displeases you as long as the main stake is preserved — I mean your 
 hopes and confidences of heaven. Sir, I shall pray for all that you 
 can want — ^that is, some degrees of comfort and a present mind ; 
 and shall always do you honour, and fain also would do you ser- 
 vice, if it were in the power, as it is in the afiections and desires 
 of 
 
 Dear sir. 
 Your most affectionate and obliged 
 
 friend and servant 
 
 Jer. Taylor. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 The experimental philosophical club, which began its meet- 
 ings at Oxford in 1649 under the auspices of Dr. Wilkins, was 
 the cradle of the Royal Society. When the founder came to 
 London, the members met at the Bull Head Tavern, in Oheap- 
 side, and afterwards in Gresham College parlour. In 1662 the 
 club wa,s incorporated by the name of the Royal Society, but 
 continued to assemble in the parlour until the year 1710. Such 
 a worthy community could not fail, in the early days of Charles 
 II.'s reign, to be a conspicuous mark for the clownish ribaldry of 
 scribblers whose delight was to ridicule everything virtuous and 
 respectable. John Evelyn, one of the most diligent members of 
 the society, here invokes the aid of the once popular poet to 
 silence certain malicious cavillers. 
 
 John Evelyn to Abraham Cowley, 
 
 Sayes Court: March 12, 1667. 
 Sir, — ^You had reason to be astonished at the presumption, not 
 to name it affront, that I who have so highly celebrated Recess, 
 and envied it in others, should become an advocate for the enemy, 
 which of all others it abhors and flies from. I conjure you to be- 
 lieve that I am still of the same mind and that there is no person 
 alive who does more honour and breathe after the life and repose 
 you so happily cultivate and adorn by y'' example. But as those 
 who praised Dirt, a Flea, and the Gout,^ so have I PuUick Ein- 
 
 ^ A collection of facetias in prose and verse. 
 
108 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 ployment in that trifling essay ; and that in so weak a style com- 
 pared to my antagonists, as by that alone it will appear I neither 
 was nor could be serious ; and I hope you believe I speak my very 
 soul to you ; but I have more to say which will require your kind- 
 ness. Suppose our good friend were publishing some eulogies on 
 the E-oyal Society, and by deducing the original, progress and ad- 
 vantages of their design would bespeak it some veneration in the 
 world ? Has Mr. Cowley no inspirations for it 1 Would it not 
 hang the most heroic wreath about his temples % Or can he desire 
 a nobler or a fuller argument either for the softest airs or the 
 loudest echoes, for the smoothest or briskest strokes of his Pin- 
 daric lyre 1 There be those who ask. What have the Royal Society 
 done? Where their College? I need not instruct you how to 
 answer or confound those persons, who are able to make even 
 these inform Blocks and Stones dance into order, and charm them 
 into better sense. Or, if their insolence press, you are capable to 
 show how they have laid solid foundations to perfect all noble 
 Arts, and reform all imperfect Sciences. It requires a History to 
 recite only the Arts, the Inventions, the Phenomena already ab- 
 solved, improved or opened. In a word our registers have outdone 
 Pliny, Porta and Alexis, and all the experimentists, nay the great 
 Yerulam himself, and have made a nobler and more faithful col- 
 lection of real secrets, useful and instructive than has hitherto 
 been shewn. Sir, we have a Library, a Pepository, and an assem- 
 bly of as worthy and gi'eat persons as the World has any ; and yet 
 we are sometimes the subject of satire and the songs of drunken- 
 ness ; have a King to our founder and yet want a Maecenas ; and 
 above all a spirit like yours to raise us up benefactoi'S, and to 
 compel them to think the designs of the Poyal Society as worthy 
 their regards, and as capable to embalm their names, as the most 
 heroic enterprise, or any thing Antiquity has celebrated ; and I 
 am even amazed at the wretchedness of this age that acknowledges 
 it no more. But the Devil, who was ever an enemy to truth, and 
 to such as discover his prestigious effects, will never suffer the pro- 
 motion of a design so destructive to his dominion, which is to fill 
 the world with imposture and keep it in ignoi-ance, without the 
 utmost of his malice and contradiction. But you have numbers 
 and charms that can bind even these spirits of darkness, and ren- 
 der their instruments obsequious ; and we know you have a divine 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 109 
 
 Hymn for us ; the lustre of the Royal Society calls for an ode from 
 the best of poets upon the noblest argument. To conclude, here 
 you have a field to celebrate the great and the good, who either 
 do, or should favour the most august and worthy design that ever 
 was set on foot in the world ; and those who are our real patrons 
 and friends, you can eternize, those who are not you can conciliate 
 and inspire to do gallant things. But I will add no more, when I 
 have told you with very great truth, that I am, sir, &c. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 The foUowiiig letter should be especially interesting to the 
 possessors of finely-timbered estates. It will refresh their 
 memory of the man to whom England is indebted for the 
 variety and abundance of her forest and other trees. Besides 
 his ' Sylva, or Discourse on the Propagation of Timber,' John 
 Evelyn showed himself a worthy successor of Bacon in his love 
 of horticulture by publishing the first ^ Gardener's Almanac' 
 The references to his works on art remind us that he was not 
 merely a ' riural genius.' 
 
 John Evelyn to Lady Sunderland. 
 
 Sayes Court, Deptford : August 4, 1690. 
 
 Madam, — As for the Calendar your Ladyship mentions, what- 
 ever assistance it may be to some novice gardener sure I am his 
 Lordship will find nothing in it worth his notice but an old incli- 
 nation to an innocent diversion, and the acceptance that it found 
 with my dear (and while he lived) worthy friend Mr. Cowley, 
 upon whose reputation only it has survived seven impressions, 
 and is now entering on the eighth with some considerable improve- 
 ments, more agreeable to the present curiosity. 'Tis now, Madam, 
 almost forty years since I writ it, when Horticulture was not much 
 advanced in England, and near thirty since first 'twas published, 
 which consideration will I hope excuse its many defects. If in the 
 mean time it deserve the name of no unuseful trifle, 'tis all it is 
 capable of. 
 
 When many years ago I came from rambling abroad, observed 
 a little there, and a great deal more since I came home than gave 
 me much satisfaction, and (as events have proved) scarce worth 
 one's pursuit, I cast about how I should employ the time which 
 hangs on most young men's hands, to the best advantage * and 
 
110 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 when books and severer studies grew tedious, and other imper- 
 tinence would be pressing, by what innocent diversions I might 
 sometimes relieve myself without compliance to recreations I took 
 no felicity in, because they did not contribute to any improvements 
 of the mind. This set me upon planting of Trees, and brought 
 forth my 'Sylva,' which booke, infinitely beyond my expecta- 
 tions, is now also calling for a fourth impression, and has been the 
 occasion of propagating many millions of useful Timber Trees 
 throughout this Nation, as I may justify (without immodesty) 
 from the many letters of acknowledgment received from gentlemen 
 of the first quality, and others altogether sti-angers to me. His 
 late Majesty Charles II. was sometimes graciously pleased to take 
 notice of it to me, and that I had by that booke alone incited a 
 world of planters to repair their broken estates and woods, which 
 the greedy Rebels had wasted and made such havoc of. Upon 
 this encouragement I was once speaking to a mighty man, then in 
 despotic power, to mention the great inclination I had to serve his 
 Majesty in a little office then newly vacant (the salary I think 
 hardly £300) whose province was to inspect the Timber Ti^ees in 
 His Majesty's forests, <fcc., and take care of their culture and im- 
 provement; but this was conferred upon another, who, I believe 
 had seldom been out of the smoke of London, where tho' there was 
 a great deal of timber there were not many trees. I confess I had 
 an inclination to the employment upon a public account as well 
 as its being suitable to my rural genius, bom as I was at Wotton 
 among the Woods. 
 
 Soon after this, happened the direful conflagration of this City, 
 when taking notice of our want of books of Architecture in the 
 English tongue, I published those most useful directions of ten of 
 the best authors on that subject, whose works were very rarely to 
 be had, all of them written in French, Latin or Italian and so not 
 intelligible to our mechanics. What the fruit of that labour and 
 cost has been (for the sculptures which are elegant were very 
 chargeable) the great improvement of our workmen, and several 
 impressions of the copy since, will best testify. 
 
 In this method I thought properly to begin with planting trees, 
 because they would require time for growth and be advancing to 
 delight and shade at least, and were therefore by no means to be 
 
 I 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. Ill 
 
 neglected and deferred, while building might be raised and finished 
 in a summer if the owner pleased. 
 
 Thus, Madam, I endeavoured to do my countrymen some little 
 service, in as natural an order as I could for the improving and 
 adorning their estates and dwellings, and if possible, make them 
 in love with those useful and innocent pleasures in exchange of a 
 wasteful and ignoble sloth which I had observed so universally 
 corrupted an ingenious education. 
 
 To these I likewise added my little History of Chalcography, 
 a treatise of the perfection of Painting, and of erecting Libraries 
 .... Medals, and some other intermesses which might divert 
 within doors, as well as altogether without. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 At the Restoration the poet Marvell, hitherto known as the 
 colleague and friend of Milton, was returned to Parliament for 
 the borough of Hull, and at once developed a policy so original 
 and courageous that his name has become almost synonymous 
 with the title of patriot. His private letters to his friends 
 during the early years of Charles II.'s reign are unique in the 
 picture they give of* the dark side of the times. 
 
 Several valuable letters were written by Marvell to one 
 William Skinner, who had not the curiosity to keep any of them, 
 but gave them to the pastry-maid to put under pie-bottoms. — 
 (Thoresby Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 102.) 
 
 Andrew Marvell to William Ramsden. 
 
 November 28, 1670. 
 Dear Will, — I need not tell you I am always thinking of you. 
 All that has happened, which is remarkable, since I wrote, is as 
 follows. The Lieutenancy of London, chiefly Sterlin the Mayor, 
 and Sir J. Pobinson, alarmed the King continually with the Con- 
 venticles there. So the King sent them strict and large powers. 
 The Duke of York every Sunday would come over thence to look 
 to the peace. To say truth, they met in numerous open assemblys, 
 without any dread of government. But the train bands in the 
 city, and soldiery in South wark and suburbs, harassed and abused 
 them continually; they wounded many, and killed some Quakers 
 especially, while they took all patiently. Hence arose two things 
 of great remark. The Lieutenancy, having got orders to their 
 mind, pick out Hays and Jekill, the innocentest of the whole 
 
112 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 party, to show their power on. They offer them illegal bonds of 
 five thousand pounds a man, which if they would not enter into, 
 they must go to prison. So they were conunitted, and at last (but 
 it is a very long story) got free. Some friends engaged for them. 
 The other was the tryal of Pen and Mead, quakers, at the Old 
 Baily. The jury not finding them guilty, as the Recorder and 
 Mayor would have had them, they were kept without meat or 
 drink some three days, till almost starved, but would not alter 
 their verdict; so fined and imprisoned.^ There is a book out 
 which relates all the passages, which were ^cery pertinent, of the 
 prisoners, but prodigiously barbarous by the Mayor and Recorder. 
 The Recorder, among the rest, commended the Spanish Inquisi- 
 tion, saying it would never be well till we had something like it. 
 The King had occasion for sixty thousand pounds. Sent to bor- 
 row it of the city. Sterlin, Robinson, and all the rest of that 
 faction, were at it many a week, and could not get above ten 
 thousand. The fanatics under persecution, served his Majesty. 
 The other part, both in court and city, would have prevented it. 
 But the King protested money would be acceptable. So the King 
 patched up, out of the Chamber, and other ways, twenty thousand 
 pounds. The fanatics, of all sorts, forty thousand. The King, 
 though against many of his council, would have the Parliament 
 sit this twenty-fourth of October. He, and the Keeper spoke of 
 nothing but to have money. Some one million three hundred 
 thousand pounds, to pay off the debts at interest; and eight 
 hundred thousands for a brave navy next Spring. ^ 
 
 Both speeches forbid to be printed, for the King said very 
 little, and the Keeper, it was thought, too much in his politic 
 simple discourse of foreign affairs. The House was thin and 
 obsequious. They Yoted at first they would supply him, according 
 to his occasions, Nemime, as it was remarked, contradicente ; but 
 few affirmatives, rather a silence as of men ashamed and un- 
 willing. 
 
 Sir R. Howard, Se3miour, Temple, Car, and Hollis, openly 
 took leave of their former party, and fell to head the King's 
 
 1 The immunity of jurymen for giving verdicts contrary to the wishes 
 of the bench was established at this trial. 
 
 * lilacaulay exposes the fraudulent conduct of the * Cabal ' Administra- 
 tion in raising these 800,000^. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 113 
 
 busyness. There is like to be a terrible Act of Conventicles. 
 The Prince of Orange here is much made of. The King owes 
 him a great deal of money. The Paper is full. 
 
 I am your's, &c. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Marvell was a model member of Parliament, lie repre- 
 sented Hull from 1660 to his death in 1678, and he kept the 
 Corporation minutely informed as to the progress of affairs, 
 often writing to them, after sitting out a stormy debate, before 
 indulging himself with sleep. His main duty in the House he 
 held to be that of opposing the claims of the Royal household, 
 and this he did with the utmost resolution, dying a few months 
 after the date of this letter, poisoned, as was surmised, at the 
 direction of the Court party, whose bribes he had so scornfully 
 refused. He writes to his constituency as one whose conscience 
 teUs him that he has deserved their confidence. 
 
 Andrew Marvell to the Mayor and Aldermen of Hull. 
 
 January 18 [1676-7]. 
 Gentlemen, my very worthy friends, — Not having in the in- 
 tervals of Parliament any frequent or proper occasion of writing 
 to you, I am the more 'careful!, though always retaining the same 
 constant due respect and service for you, yet not to interrupt you 
 with unnecessary letters. But the time of Parliament's proroga- 
 tion being now within a moneth expired, and his IMajesty having 
 by his late Proclamation signified that he expects the attendance 
 of the members iA order to a Session, I cannot neglect to inibrace 
 this opportunity of saluting you, and of giving you account that I 
 am here in Town in good health, God be praised, and Vigour, ready 
 to take that Station in the House of Commons which I obtain by 
 your favour, and hath so many years continued ; and therefore I 
 desire that you will, now being the time, consider whether there 
 be any thing that particularly relates to the state of your town, or 
 your neighboui'ing country, or of your more publick concernment, 
 whereof you may thinke fit to advertise me, and therein to give 
 me any your instructions, which 1 shall carefully conforme. It is 
 true that by reason of so many prorogations of late years repeated, 
 the publick business in Parliament hath not attain'd the hoped 
 maturity, so that the weight and multiplicity of those affairs at 
 present will probably much exclude, and retard at least, any thing 
 
 I 
 
114 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 of more private and particular consideration ; yet, if any such you 
 have, I shall strive to promote it according to the best of my duty, 
 and in the more generall concerns of the nation, shall, God willing^ 
 maintain the same incorrupt mind, and clear conscience, free from 
 faction, or selfends, which I have, by His grace, hitherto pre- 
 served. So wishing you all health and prosperity, I remain. 
 Gentlemen, &c., your most humble servant. 
 
 The * businesse ' of Trinity House is still to be over-seen, with 
 all Vigilance. 
 
 For my much respected friends Mr. Matthew Smith 
 and Mr. George Dickinson, Wardens of the Worthy 
 Society of y^ Trinity house, Kingston before HulL 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Mr. Penruddock was a gentleman of the Eoyalist party who> 
 was beheaded by Cromwell's orders in 1655 at Exeter, for his 
 share in a rising there. The particulars are given in Clarendon's 
 * History of the Rebellion,' Book 14, ad finem. This letter was 
 written by Mrs. Penruddock to her husband the night before his 
 execution. 
 
 Mrs. Penruddoch's last letter to her Husband. 
 
 May 3, 1655. 
 My Dear Heart, — My sad parting was so far from making 
 me forget you, that I scarce thought upon myself since, but wholly 
 upon you. Those dear embraces which I yet feel, and shall never 
 lose, being the faithful testimonies of an indulgent husband, have 
 charmed my soul to such a reverence of your remembrance, that 
 were it possible, I would, with my own blood, cement your dead 
 limbs to live again, and (with reverence) think it no sin to rob 
 Heaven a little longer of a martyr. Oh ! my dear, you must now 
 pardon my passion, this being my last (oh, fatal word !) that ever 
 you will receive from me ; and know, that until the last minute 
 that I can imagine you shall live, I shall sacrifice the prayers of a 
 Christian, and the groans of an afflicted wife. And when you are 
 not (which sure by sympathy I shall know), I shall wish my own 
 dissolution with you, that so we may go hand in hand to Heaven. 
 *Tis too late to tell you what I have, or rather have not done for 
 you ; how being turned out of doors because I came to beg mercy ; 
 the Lord lay not your blood to their charge. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 115 
 
 I would fain discourse longer with you, but dare not ; passion 
 begins to drown my reason, and will rob me of my devoirs, which 
 is all I have left to serve you. Adieu, therefore, ten thousand 
 times, my dearest dear ; and since I must never see you more, 
 take this prayer, — May your faith be so strengthened that your 
 constancy may continue ; and then I know Heaven will receive 
 you ; whither grief and love will in a short time (I hope) 
 translate, 
 
 My dear. 
 Your sad, but constant wife, even to love your ashes when dead, 
 
 Arundel Penruddock. 
 May the 3^*^, 1655, eleven o'clock at night. Your children beg 
 your blessing, and present their duties to you. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Mr. Penruddoch's last letter to his Wife. 
 
 May, 1655. 
 Dearest Best of Creatures ! I had taken leave of the world 
 when I received yours : it did at once recall my fondness to life, 
 and enable me to resign it. As I am sure I shall leave none be- 
 hind me like you, which weakens my resolution to part from you, 
 so when I reflect I am going to a place where there are none but 
 such as you, I recover my courage. But fondness breaks in upon 
 me ; and as I would not have my tears flow to-morrow, when your 
 husband, and the father of our dear babes, is a public spectacle, do 
 not think meanly of me, that I give way to grief now in private, 
 when I see my sand run so fast, and within a few hours I am to 
 leave you helpless, and exposed to the merciless and insolent that 
 have wrongfully put me to a shameless death, and will object the 
 shame to my poor childi'en. I thank you for all your goodness to 
 me, and will endeavour so to die as to do nothing unwoi-thy that 
 virtue in which we have mutually supported each other, and for 
 which I desire you not to repine that I am first to be rewai'ded, 
 since you ever preferred me to yourself in all other things. Afibrd 
 me, with cheerfulness, the precedence of this. I desire your prayers, 
 in the article of death ; for my own will then be ofiered for you 
 and yours. 
 
 J. Penruddock. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 ENGLISH: LETTERS, [1600- 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 In Ms * Curiosities of Literature,' Mr. D'Israeli publishes a 
 letter from ' the Thrice Noble, Illustrious, and Excellent Princess 
 Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle,' who was certainly the gi-eatest 
 literary curiosity of her age. Her husband, who had borne 
 arms for the Royal cause with some success during the civil wars, 
 was created a duke at the Restoration. 
 
 He and his duchess afterwards retired to the country to 
 devote the remainder of their days to the republic of letters. 
 Horace Walpole, in his ' Royal and Noble Authors,' expended a 
 good deal of caustic wit on the eccentricities of this aristo- 
 cratic pair — ' this picture of foolish nobility.' The work of so 
 industrious a couple, had it been rationally pui'sued, would proba- 
 bly have escaped ridicule ; but since each publicly aifected to 
 regard the other as the beau ideal of literary ingenuity, and 
 as a good deal of their ingenuity was exhibited in a certain con- 
 tempt for the laws of style and the rules of grammar, their 
 labours were not much appreciated. 
 
 Had her Grace's studies been carefully regulated, she might 
 have done good things, as the following sensible letter will show. 
 
 Margaret i Duchess of Newcastle, to her Husband^ the Duke 
 of Newcastle. 
 
 London : 1667. 
 
 Certainly, my Lord, you have had as many enemies and as 
 many friends as ever any one particular person had ; nor do I so 
 much wonder at it, since I, a woman, cannot be exempt from the 
 maKce and aspersions of spiteful tongues which they cast upon my 
 poor writings, some denjing me to be the true authoress of them ; 
 for your grace remembers well, that those books I put out first to 
 the judgment of this censorious age were accounted not to be 
 written by a woman, but that somebody else had writ and pub- 
 lished them in my name ; by which your lordship was moved to 
 prefix an epistle before one of them in my vindication, wherein 
 you assure the world, upon your honour, that what was written 
 and printed in my name was my own; and I have also made 
 known that your lordship was my only tutor, in declaring to me 
 what you had found and observed by your own experience ; for I 
 being young when your lordship married me, could not have much 
 knowledge of the world ; but it pleased God to command his ser- 
 vant Nature to endue me with a poetical and philosophical genius, 
 even from my birth ; for I did write some books in that kind be- 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 117 
 
 fore I was twelve years of age, which for want of good method 
 and order I would never divulge. But though the world would 
 not believe that those conceptions and fancies which I writ were 
 my own, but transcended my capacity, yet they found fault, that 
 they were defective for want of learning, and on the other side, 
 they said I had pluckt feathers out of the universities ; which was 
 a very preposterous judgment. Truly, my lord, I confess that for 
 want of scholarship, I could not express myself so well as other- 
 wise I might have done in those philosophical writings I published 
 first ; but after I was returned with your lordship into my native 
 country, and led a retired country life, I applied myself to the 
 reading of philosophical authors, on purpose to learn those names 
 and words of art that are used in schools ; which at first were so 
 hard to me, that I could not understand them, but was fain to 
 guess at the sense of them by the whole context, and so writ them 
 down, as I found them in those authors ; at which my readers did 
 wonder, and thought it impossible that a woman could have so 
 much learning and understanding in terms of art and scholastical 
 expressions ; so that I and my books ai*e like the old apologue 
 mentioned in ^sop, of a father and his son who rid on an ass. 
 [Here follows a long narrative of this fable, which she applies to 
 herself in these words : — ] The old man seeing he could not please 
 mankind in any manner, and having received so many blemishes 
 and aspersions for the sake of his ass, was at last resolved to drown 
 him when he came to the next bridge. But I am not so passionate 
 to bum my writings for the various humours of mankind, and for 
 their finding fault ; since there is nothing in this world, be it the 
 noblest and most commendable action whatsoever, that shall 
 escape blameless. As for my being the true and only authoress of 
 them, your lordship knows best ; and my attending servants are 
 witness that I have had none but my own thoughts, fancies, and 
 speculations, to assist me ; and as soon as I set them down I send 
 them to those that are to transcribe them, and fit them for the 
 press ; whereof, since there have been several, and amongst them 
 such as only could write a good hand, but neither understood 
 orthography, nor had any learning (I being then in banishment, 
 with your lordship, and not able to maintain learned secretaries,) 
 which hath been a great disadvantage to my poor works, and the 
 cause that they have been printed so false and so full of errors ; 
 
118 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 for besides that I want also skill in scholarship and true writing, 
 I did many time not peruse the copies that were transcribed, lest 
 they should disturb my following conceptions ; by which neglect, 
 as I said, many errors are sKpt into my works, which, yet I hope, 
 learned and impartial men will soon rectify, and look more upon 
 the sense than carp at words. 1 have been a student even from 
 childhood ; and since I have been your lordship's wife, I have 
 lived for the most part a strict and retired life, as is best known 
 to your lordship ; and therefore my censurers cannot know much 
 of me, since they have little or no acquaintance with me. 'Tis 
 true I have been a traveller both before and after I was married 
 to your lordship, and some times shown myself at your lordship's 
 command in public places or assemblies, but yet I converse with 
 few. Indeed, my lord, I matter not the censures of this age, but 
 am rather proud of them ; for it shows that my actions are more 
 than ordinary, and according to the old proverb, it is better to be 
 envied than pitied ; for I know well that it is merely out of spite 
 and malice, whereof this present age is so full that none can escape 
 them, and they'll make no doubt to stain even your lordship's 
 loyal, noble, and heroic actions as well as they do mine ; though 
 yours have been of war and fighting, mine of contemplating and 
 writing : yours were performed publicly in the field, mine pri- 
 vately in my closet : yours had many thousand eye-witnesses ; 
 mine none but my waiting-maids. But the great God, that 
 hitherto bless'd both your grace and me, will, I question not, 
 preserve both our fames to after ages. 
 
 Your gi-ace's honest wife and humble servant, 
 
 M. Newcastle. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 More than any other among the distinguished historical per- 
 sonages of the seventeenth century, Algernon Sidney, in point 
 of character and conduct, will continue to have his detractors 
 and admirers. The published letters in the diiFerent editions of 
 the Sidney papers serve only to confirm his partisans in their 
 admiration of his consistency of principle as an enemy of mon- 
 archical government — even to the extent of deprecating the per- 
 sonal rule of Cromwell — and his enemies in their reprehension of 
 the factious leader who could waste his splendid energies in cabal- 
 ling with France and HoUand for the establishment of a republic 
 in England. The most able and eminent of the knot of revolu- 
 tionary patriots to which he belonged, he was also the most un- 
 compromising and most provokingly obstinate. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. (( ^ -il^ T Tr t^ "^ 'li^>):^^y 
 
 ^XTy, 
 
 _ h i • : 
 Algernon Sidney to his Father , the Earl of Leicester, 
 
 Venice : October 12, 1660. 
 
 My Lord, — I did write to your lordship twice from Augsburgh, I 
 liave little to add to what I then said, unless it be in relation to some- 
 thing from him who was my colleague. I think he intends nothing 
 less than my hurt, but doubt he may do me very much. Not knowing 
 at all the grounds of my proceedings in Denmark, which I think is the 
 principal thing objected against me, he will be subject to aggravate 
 that, which he doth intend to attenuate. I do in that whole business 
 refer myself whoUy to my two last letters to your Lordship, being 
 assured nobody knows my mind upon that point, unless it be those 
 that have seen them, or some few words inserted into others 
 written at the same time. He also mentions another point, but 
 so obscurely, that I understand it not, no other person having 
 spoken one word of it, which is, that there is something in the 
 Olerh of the Courts hooh, that put the King to death which doth 
 much prejudice me. I do not know the particulars, but the truth 
 of what passed I do very 'well remember. I was at Penshurst, 
 when the act for the trial passed, and coming up to town I heard 
 my name was put in, and that those that were nominated for 
 judges were then in the painted chamber. I presently went thither, 
 heard the act read, and found my own name with others. A 
 debate was raised how they should proceed upon it, and after 
 having been sometime silent to hear what those would say, who 
 had had the directing of that business, I did positively oppose 
 Oromwell, Bradshaw, and others, who would have the trial to go 
 on, and drew my reasons from these two points : First the King 
 could he tried by no court ; secondly, that no man could be tried 
 by that court. Tliis being alleged in vain, and Cromwell using 
 these former words (I tell you, we will cut off his head with the 
 crown upon it,) I replied : you may take your own course, I can- 
 not stop you, but I will keep myself clean from having any hand 
 in this business, immediately went out of the room, and never 
 returned. This is all that passed publicly, or that can with truth 
 be recorded, or taken notice of. I had an intention^ which is not 
 
120 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 veryfitfor a letter} Some few months after, it was moved in the 
 House that none should be of the Council of State, but those that 
 had signed the order for the king's death ; that motion soon fell ; 
 the company appearing unfit for such a work. Afterwards it was 
 moved that none should be of the Council but such as would subscribe 
 a paper declaring their approbation of that act j calling that a test 
 whereby those that were close and sure unto the work in hand, 
 might be distinguished from those that were not. I opposed that, 
 and having given such reasons as I could to justify my opinion, I 
 chanced to use this expression, that such a test would prove a 
 snare to many an honest man, but every knave would slip through 
 it ; the Lord Grey of Grooby took great exceptions at this ; and 
 said I had called all those knaves, that had signed the order* 
 upon which there was a hot debate, some defending, others blaming 
 what I had said, but all mistaking the true sense of it ; and I was- 
 not hasty to explain myself. Harry Marten saved me the trouble 
 of doing it all, by saying that indeed such expressions did sound 
 something harsh, when they related to such actions, in which many 
 of my brethren had been engaged ; but that the en*or of him who 
 took exceptions, was much greater than mine, for I had said only, 
 that every knave might slip through, and not that every one wha 
 did slip through was a knave. I mention these two things as 
 public ones, of which I can have many witnesses, and they had so 
 ill effects as to my particular concernments, as to make Cromwell, 
 Bradshaw, Harrison, Lord Grey and others, my enemies, who did 
 from that time continually oppose me. Love to truth, rather than 
 expectation of success, persuades me to give your lordship this 
 information, which you may be pleased to make use of, as you see 
 occasion. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 In the earliest dawn of positive science in England, the name 
 of John Eay took the foremost place. He was the first true 
 systematist of the animal kingdom, and, as such, the principal 
 guide of Linnaeus. As a botanist his fame stands almost higher 
 than as a zoologist, and it is not too much to say that he was 
 
 » As Sidney was against trial, it is likely that he aimed at the deposi- 
 tion and banishment of Charles I., with the concurrence of both Houses of 
 Parliament. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 12i 
 
 \ 
 
 the inventor of geology. The following account of the Burning 
 Fountain of Grenoble gives a good instance of the cool and can- 
 did examination which Ray gave to phenomena which everyone 
 until his day had regarded with superstitious awe. 
 
 John Ray to TanJcred Robinson. 
 
 Black Notley : May 22, 1685. 
 
 Sir, — Last post brought me yours of May 19. In answer 
 whereto, seeing what you assert concerning the transmutation 
 mentioned may be true, and is supported by good authority, and 
 your opinion, I see no reason it should be struck out ; for those 
 principles into which bodies are immediately resoluble by fire, 
 being not primary but compound bodies, it may consist with my 
 opinion of certain and fixed first principles well enough. 
 
 Reading in the ' Philosophical Transactions ' of March last 
 your observations on subterraneous streams, I find you mistaken 
 in one of your conjectures concerning matter of fact, that is con- 
 cerning that they call the burning fountain [La Fontaine que 
 brule] near Grenoble, in Dauphine, which our curiosity led us 
 to make an excursive journey from Grenoble on purpose to see. 
 This place is about three* leagues distant from the city up the 
 river. When we came there, we were much deceived in our ex- 
 pectation ; for, instead of a burning fountain, which we dreamt 
 of, from the name and relations of others, we found nothing of 
 water, but only an actual flame of fire issuing out of a rent, or 
 hole, in the side of a bank, plainly visible to the eye, to which 
 if you applied dry straw, or any other combustible matter, 
 it took fire presently. I took it to be nothing else but a^ 
 little spiraculum of a mine of coals, or some such like substance, 
 fired ; and my reason was, because the bank, out of which the 
 flame issued, looked much like slate and cinder of coals. One thing 
 I cannot but admire, that is the long continuance of this burning. 
 I find mention of it in ' Augustine de Civitate Dei.* Lib. i. cap. 7 
 *De fonte illo ubi faces extiaguunter ardentes et accenduntur 
 extinctse non inveni in Epiro qui vidisse se dicerent, sed qui in 
 Gallia similem nossent, non longe k Gratianopoli civitate ; ' by 
 which relation of the good father, we see how he was abused and 
 imposed upon by relators that were eye-witnesses. I myself also was 
 abused in like manner, and therefore do verilv believe there was 
 
122 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 then no more fountain there than is now — that is a fountain of 
 fire, which, from the constancy and perpetuity of its issuing out, 
 it may be called. Hence we may leam what credit is to be 
 given to the verbal relations of the generality of travellers. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 When the critical admirers of the prose style of Sir Wil- 
 liaai Temple ask us to believe that the distinguished diplomate 
 * advanced our English tongue to as great a perfection as it weU 
 can bear,' they ask too much. In marking the progress and 
 development of Enghsh prose style from the overcharged rhe- 
 toric of the sixteenth century to a more simple and perspicuous 
 arrangement of sentences, Temple was no doubt an important 
 unit; but Cowley, Tillotson, Barrow, Jeremy Taylor, Dryden, 
 and Locke also contributed, in their several degrees of excel- 
 lence, to create a new standard of refinement and verbal pmity 
 in om* language. The elegance and naivete of Sir William 
 Temple's style are illustrated nowhere better than in his letters. 
 He had a happj- knack of suiting his manner and wording to 
 the chamcter of the person addressed. The kindly allusion to 
 Edmund WaUer is an example of his well-known veneration 
 for men of genius. 
 
 Sir William Temple to Lord Lisle. 
 
 Brussels : August, 1667. 
 My Lord, — I received lately the honour of one from your Lord- 
 ship, which after all complaints of slowness and dulness had enough 
 to bear it out, though it had been much better addi^essed, but 
 needed nothing where it was, besides l^eing yours. In my present 
 station I want no letters of business or news, which makes those 
 that briug me marks of my friends remembrance, or touches at 
 their present thoughts and entertaiuments, tiiste much better than 
 any thing can do that is common fare. I agree very much with 
 your Lordship, in being little satisfied by the wits excuse of 
 employing none upon relations as they do in France ; and doubt 
 much it is the same temper and course of thoughts among us, that 
 makas us neither act things woi-th relating, nor relate things woith 
 the reading. Whilst making some of the company laugh, and 
 others ridiculous, is the game in vogue, 1 fear we shall hardly 
 succeed at any other, and am sony our courtiers should content 
 themselves with such victories as those. I would have been glad 
 
1700J ENGLISH LETTERS. 123 
 
 to have seen Mr. Cowley, before he died, celebrate Captain Douglas's 
 death ; who stood and burnt in one of our ships at Chatham, when 
 his soldiers left him, because it should never be said, a Douglas 
 quitted his post without order; whether it be wise in men to do 
 such actions or no, I am sure it is so in States to honour them ; and, 
 if they can, to turn the vein of wits to raise up the esteem of some 
 qualities above the real value, rather than bring every thing to 
 burlesque, which, if it be allowed at all, should be so only to wise 
 men in their closets, and not to wits, in their common mirth and 
 company. But I leave them to be reformed by great men's 
 examples and humours, and know very well it is folly for a 
 private man to touch them, which does but bring them like wasps 
 about one's ears. However, I cannot but bewail the transitoriness 
 of their fame, as well as other men's, when I hear Mr. Waller 
 is turned to burlesque among them, while he is alive, which never 
 happened to old poets till many years after their death \ and though I 
 never knew him enough to adore him as many have done, and 
 easily believe he may be, as your Lordship says, enough out of 
 fashion, yet I am apt to think some of the old cut- work bands were 
 of as fine thread, and as well wrought, as any of our new points ; 
 and, at least, that all the* wit he and his company spent, in 
 heightening love and friendship, was better employed, than what 
 is laid out so prodigally by the modern wits, in the mockery of all 
 sorts of religion and government. 
 
 I know^ not how your Lordship's letter has engaged me in this kind 
 of discourses ; but I know very well you will advise me after it to keep 
 my residency here as long as I can, foretelling me what success I am 
 like to have among our courtiers if I come over. The best on it is, 
 my heart is set so much upon my little corner at Sheen, that while I 
 keep that, no other disappointments will be very sensible to me ; 
 and, because my wife tells me she is so bold as enter into talk of 
 enlarging our dominions there, I am contriving here this summer, 
 how a succession of cherries may be compassed from May till 
 Michaelmas, and how the riches of Sheen vires may be improved 
 by half a dozen sorts which are not yet known there, and which, I 
 think, much beyond any that are. I should be very glad to come 
 and plant them myself this next season, but know not yet how 
 those thoughts will hit. Though I design to stay but a month in 
 England, yet they are here very unwilling I should stir, as all 
 
124 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 people in adversity are jealous of being forsaken ; and his Majesty 
 is not willing to give them any discouragement, whether he gives 
 them any assistance or no. But, if they end the campaign with any 
 good fortune, they will be better humoured in that, as well as all 
 other points : and it seems not a very unlikely thing, the French 
 having done nothing in six months past but harass their army, 
 and being, before Lisle, engaged in a siege, which may very well 
 break the course of their success. They have not yet made the 
 least advance upon any of the out works, but been beaten off with 
 much loss in all their assaults : and, if that King's design be to 
 bring his nobility as low as he has done his people, he is in a good 
 way, and may very well leave most of the brave among them in 
 their trenches there. 
 
 I had not need write often at this length, nor make your Lord- 
 ship any new professions of my being, my Lord, your, &c. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 One of the very few satisfactory political transactions of 
 the reign of Charles II. was the Triple AUiance of 1668 nego- 
 tiated by Sir WilHam Temple, the resident minister of Brussels, 
 for the pui*pose of checking the further encroachments of Louis 
 XIV. in Flanders. Temple, by his exceeding skill and dihgence, 
 prevailed upon our old foes to join us and Sweden in threaten- 
 ing resistance to France, and the conclusion of the treaty was 
 hailed with delight by the English ParHament ; but, unhappily, 
 Charles's subsequent cUsgraceful compact with Louis XIV., known 
 as the Secret Treaty of Dover, nipped Temple's work almost in 
 the bud. 
 
 Sir William Temple to Mr, Godolphin. 
 
 Brussels : January 28 (x.s.), 1668. 
 Sir, — Though the interruption of our commerce hath been long, 
 yet I thought it necessary to renew it at this time, and thereby let 
 you know what has lately broken it on my side, that you may not 
 believe any interruption of yours has had a worse effect upon me 
 of late, than it ever had before, beiiig an accident I have often been 
 subject to. About the end of last month, I passed through this 
 place with private commission from his Majesty, to sound the mind 
 of the States in what concerns the present quarrel between the two 
 Crowns, and how they were disposed to join with him in the share 
 of a war, or project of a peace, to be endeavoured by our joint 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 125 
 
 offices between them. From hence I went to London, with the 
 private account of what I had in charge. After five days stay 
 there, I was dispatched back, as his Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary 
 to the States, with full power to treat and conclude upon those 
 points which his Majesty esteemed necessary for our common safety, 
 and the repose of Christendom, in this conjuncture. Upon the 
 6th I arrived here, had my first audience on the 18th, and on the 
 23rd were signed by me, and the Commissioners given me by the 
 States with full powers, three several instruments of our present 
 treaty : the first containing a league defensive and perpetual be- 
 tween his Majesty and the States, against all persons without 
 -exception, that shall invade either of them, with agreement to 
 furnish each other, upon occasion, with forty ships of war, of which 
 fourteen between sixty and eighty guns, and four hundred men 
 a-piece, one with another ; foui'teen between forty and sixty guns 
 and three hundred men a-piece ; and, of the other twelve, none 
 under thirty-six guns, and a hundred and fifty men ; besides this, 
 with six thousand foot, and foui* hundred horse, or money instead of 
 them, at the choice of the invaded, and to be repaid within three 
 years after the end of the war : the proportions of money to the 
 several parts of the said aid being ascertained in the treaty. 
 
 The second instrument contains our joint obligations to dispose 
 Erance to make peace in Flanders, upon one of the alternatives 
 already proposed ; and likewise to dispose Spain to accept it, before 
 the end of May ; but, in case of difficulty made by them, to dispose 
 France, however, to stop all farther progress of its own arms there 
 and leave it wholly to the allies to procure the ends proposed in 
 this league. 
 
 The third instrument contains certain separate articles between 
 his Majesty and the States, signed at the same time, and of the 
 eame force with the treaty, but not to be committed to letters. 
 
 It is hardly imaginable, the joy and wonder conceived here, 
 upon the conclusion of this treaty, brought to an issue in five days, 
 nor the applause given to his Majesty's resolution, as the wisest 
 and happiest that could, in this conjuncture, be taken by any 
 Prince, both for his own and his neighbours afiairs ; nor are the 
 reflections upon the conduct of it less to the advantage of the 
 present ministry in England ; the thing being almost done here as 
 soon as my journey was known in London, and before my eri-and 
 
126 MNGLISR LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 was suspected by any public Minister there. Three days after 
 our signing, the Swedish Ambassador signed another instrument 
 jointly with me and the States Commissioners, obliging his Master 
 to enter as a principal into the same alliance, so soon as some pre- 
 tensions he has from the Emperor and Spain are satisfied by our good 
 offices between them. After which Count Dona parted as Ambas- 
 sador likewise from that Crown for England, where the rest of that 
 afiair will be negotiated \ and in his company my brother Henry 
 Temple, with the whole account of my business, and the treaties 
 signed in order to their ratification, for which a month is allowed, 
 though the States promise theirs within fifteen days after the date. 
 When those arrive and are exchanged, I return to my residence 
 at Brussels, to see the issue of this business, which now takes up 
 the thoughts and discourse of all Christendom, and from which 
 most Princes will resolve to take their measures. 
 
 I suppose my Lord Sandwich upon his way, and therefore 
 content myself only with giving you this trouble, and the profes- 
 sions of my being, Sir, yours, &c. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 It will be seen that this * model of a negotiator,' as Sir 
 James Mackintosh called Sir William Temple, entertained but 
 a very modest opinion of himself. He was content to work for 
 his coimtry's weal, and had no thought of seeking great official 
 rewards. When his ambassadorial functions came to an end 
 after the Peace of Nimeguen, he preferred the quiet retirement 
 of Sheen, and the companionship of literary men, to a 
 Secretaryship of State under the fickle rule of the 'Merry 
 Monarch.' 
 
 Sir William Temple to Lord Halifax. 
 
 Brussels : March 2 (if.s.), 1668. 
 My Lord, — It would be a difficidt thing to answer a letter 
 received lately from your Lordship, if it could be ever difficult foi 
 me to do a duty where I owe it so much, and pay it so willingly^ 
 The reflections I make upon what you say, and what I hear froi 
 other hands of the same kind, carry me only to consider how mucl 
 by chance, and how unequally, pereons and things are judged at 
 distance ; and make me apprehend, from so much more applause 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 127 
 
 than is my due upon this occasion, that upon the next I may meet 
 with as much more blame than I deserve ; as one seldom has a 
 great run of cards which is not followed by an ill one, at least 
 gamesters that are no luckier than I. It is not my part to unde- 
 ceive people, that will make my successes pass for merit or 
 ability ; but, for my friends, I would not cheat them to my advan- 
 tage itself; and therefore will tell you the secret of all that has 
 seemed so surprising in my negotiation; which is, that things 
 drawn out of their center are not to be moved without much force, 
 or skill, or time ; but, to make their return to their center again,, 
 there is required but little of either, for nature itself does the 
 work. The true center of our two nations, now so near allied, is 
 where they now are seated ; and nothing was in the way of their 
 returning thither, but the extreme jealousies grown between the 
 Ministers on both sides, and from thence diffused among the 
 people ; and this it was my good luck to cure, by falling into a 
 great confidence with Monsieur de Witt, which made all the rest 
 easy : and there is* the whole story, that you may see how much 
 you are either biassed or mistaken in all the rest you say of it. 
 For what you mention of reward, I know not how it came into 
 your head, but I am sure it never entered into mine, nor, I dare 
 say, into any body's else. I will confess to you, that, considering 
 the approbation and good opinion, which his Majesty, and some 
 considerable enough about him, have been abused into, by my good 
 fortune in this business, I think a wiser man might possibly make 
 some benefit of it, and some of my friends have advised me to 
 attempt it, but it is in vain : for I know not how to ask, nor why, 
 and this is not an age where any thing is given without it. And, 
 by that time you see me next, you shall find all this which was so 
 much in talk to my advantage for nine days, as much forgotten as 
 if it had never been, and very justly, I think; for in that time it 
 received a great deal more than its due, from many other hands as 
 well as from yours. This I tell you, that you may not deceive 
 yourself by hoping to see me ever considerable, farther than in the 
 kindness of my friends; and that your Lordship may do your 
 part to make me so in that, seeing me like to fail in all other ways. 
 But, as I remember, this is a time with you for good speeches, and 
 not for ill letters ; I will therefore end this, to make you more 
 room for the others, and hope that none of the eloquence you are 
 
128 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 cntertained with, can be more persuasive than a plain truth, when 
 I assure you that I am, my Lord, your Lordship's most faithful 
 humble servant. 
 
 Lxxxvm. 
 
 Lord "William Russell, a victim of the Rye House Plot, was 
 condemned to death for conspiring to seize the King's Guards ; 
 by a strained construction of the law of treason, this was inter- 
 preted as an attempt to take the life of Charles II. On the 
 scaffold he handed a paper to the sheriffs written in justification 
 of his conduct as a member of the Whig Junto for pressing 
 reforms on the Government. In this he proved himself guilty 
 only of the barest misprision of treason. The paper gave great 
 offence at Court ; Dr. Burnet was questioned about it, hence the 
 following exculpatory letter from Lady Russell. 
 
 Lady Rachel Russdl to King Charles II. 
 
 1683. 
 
 May it please Your Majesty, — 1 find my husband's enemies are 
 not appeased with his blood, but still continue to misrepresent him 
 to your Majesty. 'Tis a great addition to my sorrows, to hear 
 your Majesty is prevailed upon to believe, that the paper he deli- 
 vered to the Sheriff at his death, was not iais own. I can truly 
 say, and am ready in the solemnest manner to attest that I often 
 heard him discourse the chiefest matters contained in that paper, 
 in the same expressions he therein uses, as some of those few rela- 
 tions that were admitted to him, can likewise aver. And sure 'tis 
 an argument of no great force, that there is a phrase or two in it 
 another uses, when nothing is more common than to take up such 
 words we like, or are accustomed to in our conversation. I beg 
 leave further to avow to your Majesty, that all that is set down in 
 the paper read to your Majesty on Sunday night, to be spoken in 
 my presence, is exactly true ; ^ as I doubt not but the rest of the 
 paper is, which was written at my request ; and the author of it, 
 in all his conversation with my husband that I was privy to, 
 showed himself a loyal subject to your Majesty, a faithful friend 
 to him, and a most tender and conscientious minister to his soul. 
 I do therefore humbly beg your Majesty would be so charitable to 
 
 » This paper contained an account of all that passed between Dr. I 
 Burnet and Lord William Russell concerning his last speech and paper. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LEITERS. 129 
 
 believe, that he who in all his life was observed to act with the 
 greatest clearness and sincerity, would not at the point of death do 
 so disingenuous and false a thing as to deliver for his own that 
 what was not properly and expressly so. 
 
 And if, after the loss in such a manner of the best husband in 
 the world, I were capable of any consolation, your Majesty only 
 could afford it by having better thoughts of him, which when I 
 was so importunate to speak with your Majesty, I thought I had 
 some reason to believe I had inclined you to, not from the credit 
 of my word, but upon the evidence of what I had to say. I hope 
 I have writ nothing in this that will displease your Majesty. If 
 I have, I humbly beg of you to consider it as coming from a 
 woman amazed with grief ; and that you will pardon the daughter 
 of a person * who served your Majesty's father in his greatest 
 extremities, (and your Majesty in your greatest posts) and one that 
 is not conscious of having ever done anything to offend you. I 
 shall ever pray for your Majesty's long life and happy reign, 
 Who am, with all humility. 
 
 May it please your Majesty 
 &c. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 William III., who ridiculed many of the superstitious church 
 practices of his day, was regarded by the High Ohm*ch party as 
 either an Infidel or a Puritan. His firmness and independence 
 in filling up the numerous ecclesiastical benefices after the Revo- 
 lution did not tend to diminish the disafiection in the Episco- 
 pate. The vacancy in the Deanery of St. Paul's, caused by the 
 nomination of Dr. Stilliugfleet to the Bishopric of Worcester 
 was filled by Dr. TiUotson in 1689 ; at the time this appoint- 
 ment was made Dr. TiUotson was informed by the King that he 
 was to be Sancroft's successor in the see of Canterbury. Un- 
 willing to accept such high honour he sought the advice of 
 Lady Russell in a letter to which this was the reply. 
 
 Lady Rachel Russell to Dr. TiUotson, Dean of St. PauVs. 
 
 October, 1690. 
 Your letters will never trouble me, Mr. Dean; on the con- 
 trary, they are comfortable refreshments to my, for the most part, 
 overburthened mind, which both by nature and by accident, is 
 
 » The Earl of Southampton. 
 E 
 
130 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 made so weak that I can't bear, with that constancy I should, the 
 losses I have lately felt ; I can say, friends and acquaintances thou 
 hast hid out of my sight, but I hope it shall not disturb my peace. 
 These were young, and as they had began their race of life after 
 me, so I desired they might have ended it also. But happy are 
 those whom God retires in his grace — I trust these were so ; and 
 then no age can be amiss : to the young 'tis not too early, nor to 
 the aged too late. Submission and prayer is all we know that we 
 can do towards our own relief in our distresses, or to disarm God's 
 anger either in our public or private concerns. This scene will 
 soon alter into that peaceful and eternal home in prospect. But 
 in this time of our pilgrimage vicissitudes of all sorts are every- 
 one's lot. And this leads me to your case. Sir. 
 
 The time seems to be come when you must anew in practice 
 that submission ^ you have so powerfully both tried yourself and 
 instructed others to : I see no place to escape at ; you must take 
 up the cross and bear it ; I faithfully believe it has the figure of a 
 very heavy one to you, though not from the cares of it ; since, if 
 the King guesses right, you toil more now ; but this work is of 
 your own choosing, and the dignity of the other is what you have 
 bent your mind against, and the strong resolve of your life has- 
 been to avoid it. Had this even proceeded to a vow, 'tis, I think^ 
 like the virgins of old to be dissolved by the father of your 
 country. 
 
 Again, tho' contemplation, and a few fi-iends well chosen^ 
 would be your grateful choice, yet, if charity, obedience, and neces- 
 sity, call you into the great world, and where enemies encompass 
 roimd about, must not you accept it 1 And each of these, in mj 
 mean apprehension, determines you to do it. In short, 'twill be a 
 noble sacrifice you will make, and I am confident you will find as 
 a reward, kind and tender supports, if you do take the burthen 
 upon you ; there is, as it were, a commanding Providence in the 
 manner of it. Perhaps I do as siacerely wish your thoughts at 
 ease as any friend you have, but I think you may purchase that 
 too dear ; and if you should come to think so too, they would then 
 be as restless as before. 
 
 Sir, I believe you would be as much a common good as you, 
 
 1 Dr. Tillotson had endeavoured to persuade Lord William Russell to 
 submit to the doctrine of passive obedience to kingship. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 181 
 
 can ; consider how few of ability and integrity this age produces. 
 Pray do not turn this matter too much in your head ; when one 
 has once turned it every way, you know that more does but per- 
 plex, and one never sees the clearer for it. Be not stiff if it be still 
 urged to you. Conform to the Divine Will, which has set it so 
 strongly in the other's mind, and be content to endure ; 'tis God 
 calls you to it. I believe 'twas wisely said, that when there is no 
 remedy they will give it over, and make the best of it, and so I 
 hope no ill will terminate on the King ; and they will lay up their 
 arrows, when they perceive they are shot in vain at him or you, 
 upon whom no reflection that I can think of can be made that is 
 ingenious ; and what is pure malice you are above being affected 
 with. 1 wish, for many reasons, my prayers were more worthy, 
 but such as they are, I offer them with a sincere zeal to the throne 
 of Grace for you in this strait, that you may be led out of it, as 
 shall best serve the great ends and designs of God's glory. 
 
 XO. 
 
 Lord Macaulay refers to the following letter as ' a model of 
 serious, friendly, and gentlemanlike reproof.' 
 
 The Earl of Shrewsbury (created a Duke by WiUiam III. 
 for his activity and support at the Revokition), was accounted 
 one of the finest scholars and finest gentlemen of his time. He 
 was known from youth to old age as the King of Hearts, for 
 everybody loved him. His conversion from the Roman Catho- 
 lic to the Protestant faith at the outset of his career was caused 
 by the disgust he felt at that wretched business, the Popish plot, 
 and the timely influence of Dr. TUlotson, the Dean of Canter- 
 bury. So much concern did the Dean feel for his convert, whom 
 he found in danger of being attracted into the dissolute circle of 
 Charles II.'s court, that he addressed him this masterpiece of ele- 
 gant remonstrance. 
 
 Dr. TUlotson to the Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 
 1679. 
 
 My Lord, — It was a great satisfaction to me to be any ways 
 instrumental in the gaining your Lordship to our religion, which I 
 am really persuaded to be the truth. But I am, and always was 
 more concern'd, that your Lordship would continue a vii-tuous 
 and good man, than become a Protestant, being assured, that the 
 ignorance and errors of men's understanding will find a much 
 
132 ENGLISH LETTERS [1600- 
 
 easier forgiveness with God, than the faults of the will. I remem- 
 ber that your Lordship once told me, that you would endeavour to 
 justify the sincerity of your change by a conscientious regard to all 
 other parts and actions of your life. I am sure you cannot more 
 effectually condemn your own act, than by being a worse man 
 after your profession to have embrac'd a better religion. I will 
 certainly be one of the last to believe any thing of your Lordship, 
 that is not good ; but I always feared, I should be one of the fii'st 
 that should hear it. The time I last waited upon your Lordship, 
 I had heard something, that afflicted me very sensibly; but I 
 hoped it was not true, and was therefore loth to trouble your 
 Lordship about it. But having heard the same from those, who, I 
 believe, bear no ill-will to your Lordship, I now think it my duty 
 to acquaint you with it. To speak plainly, I have been told, that 
 your Lordship is of late fallen into a convei^sation dangerous both 
 to your reputation and virtue, two of the tenderest and dearest 
 things in the world. I believe your Lordship to have a great 
 command and conduct of yourself; but I am very sensible of 
 human frailty, and of the dangerous temptations, to which youth 
 is exposed in this dissolute age. Therefore I earnestly beseech 
 your Lordship to consider, besides the high provocation of 
 Almighty Grod, and the hazard of your soul, whenever you engage 
 in a bad course, what a blemish you wiU bring upon a fair and 
 unspotted reputation ; what uneasiness and trouble you will create 
 to yourself from the severe reflections of a guilty conscience, and 
 how great a violence you wiU offer to your good principles, your 
 nature, and your education, and to a mind the best made for 
 virtuous and worthy things. And do not imagine you can stop 
 when you please. Experience shews us the contrary, and that no- 
 thing is more vain, than for men to think they can set bounds to 
 themselves in anything that is bad. I hope in God, no temptation 
 has yet prevailed on your Lordship so far as to be guilty of any 
 loose act. If it has, as you love your soul, let it not proceed to an 
 liabit. The retreat is yet easy and open, but will every day be- 
 •come more difficult and obstructed. God is so merciful, that upon, 
 your repentance and resolution of amendment, he is not only ready 
 to forgive what is past, but to assist us by his grace to do better 
 for the futui*e. But I need not inforce these considerations upon 
 Sk mind so capable of, and easy to receive good counsel. I shalij 
 
1700] I]NGLISH LETTERS. 133 
 
 only desire your Lordship to think again and again, how great a 
 point of wisdom it is, in all our actions, to consult the peace of our 
 minds, and to have no quarrel with the constant and inseparable 
 companion of our lives. If others displease us, we may quit their 
 company ; but he, that is displeased with himself, is unavoidably 
 unhappy because he has no way to get rid of himself. My Lord, 
 for God's sake, and your own, think of being happy, and resolve 
 by all means to save yourself from this untoward genei-ation. 
 Determine rather upon a speedy change of your condition, than to 
 gratify the inclinations of your youth in any thing but what is 
 lawful and honourable; and let me have the satisfaction to be 
 assured from your Lordship, either that there has been no ground 
 for this report, or that there shall be none for the future ; which 
 will be the welcomest news to me in the world. I have only to 
 beg of your Lordship to believe, that I have not done this to 
 satisfy the formality of my profession ; but that it proceeds from 
 the truest affection and good- will, that one man can possibly bear 
 to another. I pray God every day for your Lordship with the 
 same constancy and fervour as for myself, and do most earnestly 
 beg, that this counsel may be acceptable and effectual. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 XOI. 
 
 This is the answer to the foregoing letter of Lady Rachel 
 Kussell. 
 
 Six months after this letter was written Sancroft was 
 deprived of his see, and Tillotsou was appointed ArchhLshop of 
 Canterbury. When it is remembered that many of the states- 
 men of the Middle Ages took holy orders merely to qualify 
 themselves to be recipients of the only lucrative form of patron- 
 age dispensed by the Crown ; and that in the succeeding genera- 
 tions venerable prelates have not scrupled to have the greatness 
 of an archbishopric thrust upon them, this hesitation, on the 
 part of Tillotson, to accept the leadership of the church is very 
 striking. A reason for his falteiing was that he had a wife ; but 
 modem precedents, in the cases of Cranmer and Parker, out- 
 weighed this objection. 
 
 Dr. Tillotson to Lady Rachel Russell. 
 
 October 25, 1690. 
 
 Honoured Madam, — I am obliged to your Ladyship beyond all 
 expression, for taking my case so seriously into your consideratioiij 
 
134 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 and giving me your mature thoughts upon it. Nothing ever came 
 more seasonably to me than your letter, which I received on Wed- 
 nesday se'nnight, the very night before I was to have given my 
 final answer to the King the next morning. I thank you for it : 
 it helped very much to settle and determine my wavering mind. I 
 weighed all you wrote, both your advice and your arguments, 
 having not only an assurance of your true friendship and good-will 
 for me, but a very great regard and deference for your judgment 
 and opinion. I cannot but own the weight of that consideration 
 which you are pleased to iirge me withal ; I mean the visible marks 
 of a more than ordinary providence of God in this thing ; that the 
 King, who likes not either to importune or to be denied, should 
 after so obstinate a declining of the thing on my part, still persist to 
 press it upon me with so much kindness, and with that earnestness of 
 persuasion which it does not become me to mention. I wish I 
 could think the King had a superior direction in this, as I verily 
 believe he hath in some other things of much greater importance. 
 The next morning I went to Kensington full of fear, but yet deter- 
 mined what was fit for me to do. I met the King coming out of 
 his closet, and asking if his coach was ready. He took me aside, 
 and I told him, that, in obedience to his Majesty's command, I 
 had considered of the thing as well as I could, and c^me to give 
 him my answer. I perceived his Majesty was going out, and 
 therefore desired him to appoint me another time, which he did on 
 the Saturday morning after. Then I came again, and he took me 
 into his closet, where I told him, that I could not but have a deep 
 sense of his Majesty's great grace and favour to me, not only to 
 ofier me the best thing he had to give, but to press it so earnestly 
 upon me. I said, I would not presume to argue the matter any 
 farther, but I hoped he would give me leave to be still his humble 
 and earnest petitioner to spare me in that thing. He answered, 
 he would do so if he could, but he knew not what to do if I 
 refused it. Upon that I told him, that I tendered my life to him,] 
 and did humbly devote it to be disposed of as he thought fit. Hej 
 was graciously pleased to say, it was the best news had come to himj 
 this great while. I did not kneel down to kiss his hand, for with- 
 out that I doubt I am too sure of it ; but requested of him, that 
 he would defer the declaration of it, and let it be a secret for somej 
 time. He said he thought it might not be amiss to defer it till tl 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. iSS 
 
 Parliament was up. I begged farther of him, that he would not 
 make me a wedge to drive out the present Archbishop : that some 
 time before I was nominated his Majesty would be pleased to 
 declare in Council, that since his lenity had not had any better 
 effect, he would wait no more, but would dispose of their places. 
 This I told him I humbly desired, that I might not be thought to 
 do any thing hai'sh, or which might reflect upon me : and now that 
 his Majesty had thought fit to advance me to this station, my 
 reputation was become his interest. He said he was sensible of it, 
 and thought it reasonable to do as I desired. I craved leave of 
 him to mention one thing more, which in justice to my family, 
 especially to my wife, I ought to do : that I should be more than 
 undone by the great and necessary charge of coming into this 
 place; and must therefore be an humble petitioner to his Majesty, 
 that if it should please God to take me out of the world, that I 
 may unavoidably leave my wife a beggar, he would not suffer her 
 to be so ; and that he would graciously be pleased to consider, that 
 the widow of an Archbishop of Canterbury (which would now be 
 an odd figure in England ) could not decently be supported by so 
 little as would have contented her very well if I had died a Dean. 
 To this he gave a very gracious answer, * I promise you to take 
 care of her.' 
 
 Just as I had finished the last sentence, another very kind 
 letter from your Tjadyship was brought to me, wherein I find your 
 tender concern for me, which I can never sufficiently acknowledge. 
 But you say the die is not cast, and I must now make the best I 
 can of what I lately thought was the worst that could have hap- 
 pened to me. I thank God I am more cheerful than I expected, 
 and comfort myself as I can with this hope, that the providence of 
 God, to which I have submitted my own will in this matter, will 
 graciously assist me to discharge in some measure, the duty he 
 hath called me to. I did not acquaint my good friend, who wrote 
 to you, with all that had passed, because it was intended to be a 
 secret which I am sure is safe in your hands. I only told him, 
 that his Majesty did not intend, as yet, to dispose of this place ; 
 but when he did it, I was afraid it would be hard for me to escape. 
 The King, I believe, has only acquainted the Queen with it, who, 
 as she came out of the closet on Sunday last, commanded me to 
 wait upon her after dinner, which I did ; and after she had dis- 
 
136 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 coursed about other business (which was to desire my opinion of a 
 treatise sent her in manuscript out of Holland, tending to the 
 reconciliation of our diflferences in England), she told me, that the 
 King had with great joy acquainted her with a secret concerning 
 me, whereof she was no less glad ; using many gracious expres- 
 sions, and confirming his Majesty's promises concerning my wife. 
 But I am sensible this is an intolerable letter, especially concern- 
 ing one's-self. I had almost forgot to mention M^' Yaughan's 
 business : as soon as he brought your Ladyship's letter hither to 
 me, I wrote immediately to Whitehall, and got the business stop't. 
 The Bishop of St. Da\dd's had written up for some minister of a 
 great town but; a small living in that diocese, that it might be 
 bestowed on him for his pains in that great town. The pretence 
 is fair, but if the Minister is no better a man than the bishop, I am 
 sure he is not worthy of it. I have been twice to wait on my 
 Lord Nottingham about it, but missed of him. When I have 
 inquired farther into it, if the thing be fit to be done, I will do my 
 best for M^ Yaughan. And I beg of your Ladyship to make no 
 difficulty of commanding my poor service upon any occasion, for I 
 am always truly glad of the opportunity. I cannot forbear to 
 repeat my humble thanks for your great concernment for me in. 
 this affair. 
 
 That God would multiply his best blessings upon your Lady- 
 ship and your children, and make them great blessings and com- 
 forts to you, is the daily prayer of, Madam, your most obliged 
 humble servant. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 This John Dennis is the man so familiar to the reader of 
 Pope's satires. He was one of the most formidable critics of 
 our Augustan age. The present letter is in answer to one he 
 had addressed to Dryden a few days before, in which he had 
 spoken very enthusiastically of the great poet's genius. 
 
 Dry den's kindly and genial temper is very pleasantly illus- 
 trated in this reply to bis young admirer, though he alludes with 
 some bitterness to the attacks which had been so unjustly made 
 on liis private character. The. letter is interesting also for the 
 critical remarks with which it is interspersed. 
 
 John Dryden to John Dennis. 
 
 [March, 1G93-4,] 
 My Dear Mr. Dennis, — When I read a letter so full of my 
 commendations as your last, I cannot but consider you as the 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 13T 
 
 master of a vast treasure, who ha\Tiig more than enough for your- 
 self, are forc'd to ebb out upon your friends. You have indeed the 
 best right to give them, since you have them in propriety ] but 
 they are no more mine when I receive them, than the light of 
 the moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the 
 reflexion of her brother. Your own poetry is a more powerful 
 example, to prove that the modern writers may enter into com- 
 parison with the ancients, than any which Pen*ault could produce 
 in France ; yet neither he, nor you, who are a better critick, can 
 persuade me, that there is any room left for a solid commendation 
 at this time of day, at least for me. 
 
 If I undertake the translation of Virgil, the little which I can 
 perform will shew at least, that no man is fit to write after him, in 
 a barbarous modern tongue. Neither will his machines be of any 
 service to a Christian poet. We see how ineffectually they have 
 been try'd by Tasso, and by Ariosto. 'Tis using them too dully, 
 if we only make devils of his gods : as, if, for example, I would 
 raise a storm, and make use of ^olus, with this only difference of 
 calling him Prince of the air ; what invention of mine would there 
 be in this 1 or who would not see Yii'gil through me ; only the 
 same trick play 'd over again by a bungling juggler? Boileau has 
 well observed, that it is an easy matter in a Christian poem, for 
 God to bring the Devil to reason. I think I have given a better 
 hint for new machines in my preface to Juvenal ; where I have 
 particularly recommended two subjects, one of King Arthur'» 
 conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince in hia 
 conquest of Spain. But the Guardian Angels of Monarchies and 
 Kingdoms are not to be touch'd by every hand : a man must be 
 deeply conversant in the Platonick philosophy, to deal with them ; 
 and therefore I may reasonably expect that no poet of our age will 
 presume to handle those machines, for fear of discovering his own 
 ignorance ; or if he should, he might perhaps be ingrateful enough 
 not to own me for his benefactour. 
 
 After I have confess'd thus much of our modern heroick poetry^ 
 T cannot but conclude with Mr. Pymer, that our English comedy 
 is far beyond any thing of the Ancients : and notwithstanding our 
 irregularities, so is our tragedy. Shakspeare had a genius for it ; 
 and we know, in spite of Mr. Rymer, that genius alone is a 
 greater virtue (if I may so call it) than all other qualifications put 
 
138 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 together. You see what success this learned critick has found in 
 the world, after his blaspheming Shakspeare. Almost all the 
 faults which he has discover'd are truly there ; yet who wUl read 
 Mr. Rymer, or not read Shakspeare % For my own part I reverence 
 Mr. Rymer's learning, but I detest his ill-nature and his arrogance. 
 I indeed, and such as I, have reason to be afraid of him, but 
 Shakspeare has not. 
 
 There is another part of poetry, in which the English stand 
 almost upon an equal foot with the Ancients ; and it is that which 
 we call Pindarique ; introduced, but not perfected, by our famous 
 Mr. Cowley : and of this. Sir, you are certainly one of the greatest 
 masters. You have the subhmity of sense as well as sound, and 
 know how far the boldness of a poet may lawfully extend. I 
 could wish you would cultivate this kind of Ode ; and reduce it 
 either to the same measures which Pindar used, or give new 
 measures of your own. For, as it is, it looks like a vast track of 
 land newly discover'd : the soil is wonderfully fruitful, but un- 
 manur'dj overstock'd with inhabitants, but almost all savages, 
 without laws, arts, arms, or policy. 
 
 I remember, poor Nat. Lee, who was then upon the verge of 
 madness, yet made a sober and a witty answer to a bad poet, who 
 told him. It was an easie thing to write like a madman : No, said 
 he, it is very difficult to write like a madman, but it is a very easy 
 matter to write like a fool. Otway and he are safe by death from 
 all attacks, but we poor poets militant (to use Mr. Cowley's ex- 
 pression) are at the mercy of wretched scribblers : and when they 
 -cannot fasten upon our verses, they fall upon our morals, our 
 principles of state and religion. For my piinciples of religion, I 
 will not justifie them to you : I know yours are far different. For 
 the same reason I shall say nothing of my principles of state. I 
 believe you in yours follow the dictates of your reason, as I in 
 mine do those of my conscience. 
 
 If I thought my self in an errour, I would retract it. I am 
 sure that I suffer for them ; and ISIilton makes even the Devil say, 
 that no creature is in love with pain. For my morals betwixt man 
 and man, I am not to be my own judge. I appeal to the world, if 
 I have deceiv'd or defrauded any man ; and for my private con- 
 versation, they who see me every day can be the best witnesses, 
 whether or not it be blameless and inoffensive. Hitherto I have 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 139 
 
 no reason to complain that men of either party shun my company. 
 I have never been an impudent beggar at the doors of noblemen : 
 my visits have indeed been too rare to be unacceptable ; and but 
 just enough to testifie my gratitude for their bounty, which I have 
 frequently received, but always unasked, as themselves will witness. 
 I have written more than 1 needed to you on this subject ; for 
 I dare say you justifie me to your self. As for that which I first 
 intended for the principal subject of this letter, which is my friend's 
 passion and his design of marriage, on better consideration I have 
 chang'd my mind : for having had the honour to see my dear friend 
 Wycherly's letter to him on that occasion, I find nothing to be 
 added or amended. But as well as I love Mr. Wycherly, I confess 
 I love my self so well, that I will not shew how much I am in- 
 feriour to him in wit and judgment, by undertaking any thing after 
 him. There is Moses and the Prophets in his council. Jupiter 
 and Juno, as the poets tell us, made Tiresias theii- umpire in a 
 certain merry dispute, which fell out in heaven betwixt them. 
 Tiresias, you know, had been of both sexes, and therefore was a 
 proper judge ; our friend Mr. Wycherly is full as competent an 
 arbitrator : he has been a bachelor, and marry'd man, and is no^v a 
 widower. 
 
 fc Yirgil says of Ceneus, 
 
 P' Nunc vir, nunc foemina, Ceneus, 
 
 Rursus et in veterem fate revoluta figuram. 
 
 Yet I suppose he will not give any large commendations to his 
 middle state : nor as the sailor said, will be fond after a ship- 
 wrack to put to sea again. If my friend will adventure after this, 
 I can but wish him a good wind, as being his, and 
 My dear Mr. Dennis 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 and most faithful Servant 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 XOIII. 
 
 Miss Thomas was the daughter of a barrister, and had he- 
 come acquainted with Dryden by sending him some of her veraes 
 that she might have his opinion on them. Though labouring 
 under a complication of diseases and on the verge of the grave, 
 the old poet poHtely replied in words of high praise. The fol- 
 
140 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 lowing was written within three months of his death. It would 
 have been well had ' Corinna/ as he gallantly called her, always 
 remembered his wise and solemn words. 
 
 John Dryden to Elizabeth Thomas. 
 
 November, 1699. 
 
 Madam, — The great desire which I observe in you to write 
 well, and those good parts which God Almighty and Nature have 
 bestow'd on you, make me not to doubt, that by application to 
 study, and the reading of the best authors, you may be absolute 
 mistress of poetry. 'Tis an unprofitable art, to those who profess 
 it ; but you, who write only for your diversion, may pass your 
 hours with pleasure in it, and without prejudice ; always avoiding 
 (as I know you will,) the licence which Mrs. Behn allow'd herself, 
 of writing loosely, and giving, if I may have leave to say so, some 
 scandall to the modesty of her sex. I confess, I am the last man 
 who ought, in justice, to arraign her, who have been my self too 
 much a libertine in most of my poems ; which I should be well 
 contented I had time either to purge, or to see them fairly burn'd. 
 But this I need not say to you, who are too well born, and toa 
 well principled, to fall into that mire. 
 
 In the mean time, I would advise you not to trust too much to 
 Virgil's Pastorals ; for as excellent as they are, yet Theocritus is 
 far before him, both in softness of thought, and simphcity of ex- 
 pression. Mr. Creech has translated that Greek poet, which I 
 have not read in English. If you have any considerable faults, 
 they consist chiefly in the choice of words, and the placing them so 
 as to make the verse run smoothly ; but I am at present so taken 
 up with my own studies, that I have not leisure to descend to par- 
 ticulars ; being, in the mean time, the fair Corinna's 
 Most humble and most 
 
 faithful Servant 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 P.S. I keep your two copies, till you want them, and are 
 pleas'd to send for them. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 141 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 ^ ^ The unquestioned founder of the analytical philosophy of 
 mind/ for so John Stuart Mill dubhed John Locke, was no mere 
 gi'ave psychologist, but a rather facetious companion who 
 believed implicitly in La Rochefoucauld's maxim that ' gravity 
 is a mystery of the body invented to conceal the defects of the 
 mind.' It was an article of faith with the author of the ' Essay on 
 the Human Understanding,' that in order properly to employ apart 
 of this life in serious occupations it is necessary to devote another 
 part to entertaining pastimes. There is much in Locke's familiar 
 correspondence that betrays a vein of pleasantry and a courtier- 
 like demeanour which explains his popularity among friends. 
 
 John Locke to Lady Calverley. 
 
 1703. 
 
 Madam, — Whatever reason you have to look on me, as one of 
 the slow men of London, you have this time given me an excuse 
 for being so ; for you cannot expect a quick answer to a letter, 
 which took me up a good deal of time to get to the beginning of it. 
 I turned and turned it on every side ; looked at it again and again, 
 at the top of every page ; but could not get into the sense and 
 secret of it, till I applied myself to the middle. 
 
 You, madam, who are acquainted with all the skill and methods 
 of the ancients, have not, I suppose, taken up with this hiero- 
 glyphical way of writing for nothing ; and since you were going to 
 put into your letter things that might be the reward of the highest 
 merit, you would, by this mystical intimation, put me into the way 
 of virtue, to deserve them. 
 
 But whatever your ladyship intended, this is certain, that, in. 
 the best words in the world, you gave me the greatest humiliation 
 imaginable. Had I as much vanity as a pert citizen, that sets up 
 as a wit in his parish, you have said enough in your letter to content 
 me ; and if I could be swoln that way, you have taken a great deal 
 of pains to blow me up, and make me the finest gaudy bubble in 
 the world, as I am painted by your colours. I know the emperors 
 of the East suffer not strangers to appear before them, till they are 
 dressed up out of their own wardrobes ; is it so too in the empire 
 of wit % and must you cover me with your own embroidery, that i 
 may be a fit object for your thoughts and conversation ? This, 
 madam, may suit your greatness, but doth not at all satisfy my 
 
142 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 ambition. He, who has once flattered himself wdth the hopes of 
 your friendship, knows not the true value of things, if he can 
 content himself with these splendid ornaments. 
 
 As soon as I had read your letter, 1 looked in my glass, felt my 
 pulse, and sighed ; for I found, in neither of those, the promises of 
 thirty years to come. For at the rate 1 have hitherto advanced, 
 and at the distance, 1 see, by this complimental way of treatment, 
 I still am, I shall not have time enough in this world to get to 
 you. I do not mean to the place where you now see the pole 
 elevated, as you say, 54 degrees. A post-horse, or a coach, would 
 quickly carry me thither. But when shall we be acquainted at 
 this rate? Is that happiness reserved to be completed by the 
 gossiping bowl, at your granddaughter's lying-in ? 
 
 If I were sure that, when you leave this dirty place, I should 
 meet you in the same star where you are to shine next, and that 
 you would then admit me to your convei-sation, I might perhaps 
 have a little more patience. But, methinks, it is much better to 
 be sure of something, than to be put off to expectations of so much 
 uncertainty. If there be different elevations of the pole here, that 
 keep you at so great a distance from those who languish in your 
 absence ; who knows but, in the other world, there are different 
 elevations of persons % 
 
 And you, perhaps, will be out of sight, among the seraphims, 
 while we are left behind in some dull planet. This the high 
 flights of your elevated genius give us just augury of, whilst you 
 are here. But yet, pray take not your place there before your 
 time ; nor keep not us poor mortals at a greater distance than you. 
 need. 
 
 When you have granted me all the nearness that acquaintance 
 and friendship can give, you have other advantages enough still to 
 make me see how much I am beneath you. This will be only an 
 enlargement of your goodness, without lessening the adoration due 
 to your other excellences. 
 
 You seem to have some thoughts of the town again. If the 
 parliament, or the term, which draw some by the name and 
 appearance of business; or if company, and music meetings, and 
 other such entertainments, which have the attractions of pleasure 
 and delight, were of any consideration with you ; you would not 
 have much to say for Yorkshire, at this time of the year. But 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 14S 
 
 these are no arguments to you, who carry yoiu* own satisfaction, 
 and I know not how many worlds always about you. I would be 
 glad you would think of putting all these up in a coach and 
 bringing them this way. 
 
 For though you should be never the better ; yet there be a great 
 many here that would, and amongst them 
 
 The humblest of your Ladyship's servants 
 
 John Locke. 
 
 XCV. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton found time for a good deal of correspond- 
 ence with members of foreign and English Universities, notably 
 with the learned Dr. Bentley, of Cambridge ; but his letters are 
 for the most part long, and attain the dimensions and form of 
 scientific ti-acts. The following is an interesting specimen of 
 the few shorter epistles. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton to Richard Bentley. 
 
 Cambridge : February 11, 1693. 
 Sir, — The Hypothesis of deriving the frame of the world by 
 mechanical principles from matter evenly spread through the 
 heavens being inconsistent with my system, I had considered it 
 very little before your letters put me upon it, and therefore trouble 
 you with a line or two more, if this come not too late for your use. 
 In my former I represented that the diurnal rotations of the Planets 
 could not be derived from gravity, but required a divine power to 
 impress them. And though gravity might give the Planets a 
 motion of descent towards the sun, either directly or with some 
 little obliquity, yet the transverse motions by which they revolve 
 in their several orbs requii-ed the Divine Arm to impress them 
 according to the tangents of their orbs. I would now add, that 
 the Hypothesis of matters being at fii-st evenly spread through 
 the heavens is, in my opinion, inconsistent with the Hypothesis of 
 innate gravity, without a supernatural powerto reconcile them, and 
 therefore it infers a Deity. For if there be innate gravity, it's 
 impossible now for the matter of the earth and all the planets and 
 stars to fly up from them, and become evenly spread thi-oughout 
 the heavens, without a supernatural power ; and certainly that 
 which can never be hereafter without a supernatural power, could 
 never be heretofore w^ithout the same power. 
 
144 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 You queried whether matter evenly spread throughout a finite 
 space, of some other figure than spherical, would not, in falling 
 down towards a central body, cause that body to be of the same 
 figure with the whole space ; and I answered, Yes. But in my 
 answer it is to be supposed that the matter descends directly down- 
 Awards to that body, and that that body has no diiu-nal rotation. 
 This, Sir, is all that I would add to my former letters. 
 
 I am, Your most humble Servant, 
 
 Is. Newton. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 The following authentic report of the execution of the rebel- 
 lious son of Charles II. and Lucy AV alters, was written by one 
 of the ' Seven Bishops.' An acknowledgment of the Duke of 
 Monmouth's illegitimacy had been previously made in two pub- 
 he oificial declarations by his father, as well as to James II. by 
 the Duke himself It will be seen that Monmouth remained 
 headstrong and obstinate to the last moment of his hfe. 
 
 Dr. Lloyd, Bishop of St. Asaph, to Dr. FeU, Bishop of Oxford, 
 
 July 16, 1685. 
 
 My Lord, — I received your Lordship's letter by the last post, 
 with two enclosed, one to the Duke of Ormond, the other to the 
 Lord Privy- Seal; both which letters I delivered to their own 
 hands, and they promised to answer them. 
 
 For the King's Inauguration, I know my Lord of Canterbury 
 has made ready an office to be used very year, the 6th of 
 Februaiy, so that there will need no question concerning it. I 
 was this day again at Sir H. Foxe's, to sjDeak with him, but he was 
 not at home. I will try again to-morrow. 
 
 I told your Lordship in my last the Bishop of Ely was ap- 
 pointed by his Majesty to attend the Duke of Monmouth, and to 
 prepare him to die the next day. The Duke wrote to his Majesty, 
 representing how useful he might and would be, if his Majesty 
 would be pleased to grant him his life. But if it might not be, 
 he desired a longer time, and to have another divine to assist him, 
 D^ Tennison, or whom else the King should appoint. The King 
 sent him tiie Bishop of Bath and Wells to attend, and to teU him 
 
1700J ENGLISH LETTERS. 145 
 
 lie must die the next morning. The two Bishops sate up in his 
 chamber all night, and watched while he slept. In the mominry 
 by his Majesty's order, the Lords Privy-Seal and Dartmouth 
 brought him also D'^ Tennison and J)"^ Hooper. All these were 
 -with him till he died. They got him to own the King's title to the 
 crown, and to declare in writing that the last King told him he 
 was never married to his mother, and by word of mouth to acknow- 
 ledge his invasion was sin ; but could never get him to confess it 
 was a rebellion. They got him to own that he and Lady Harriot 
 Wentworth had lived in all points like man and wife, but they 
 could not make him confess it was adultery. 
 
 He acknowledged that he and his Duchess were married by the 
 law of the land, and therefore his children might inherit, if the 
 King pleased. But he did not consider what he did when he 
 married her. He confessed that he had lived many years in all sorts 
 of debauchery, but said he had repented of it, asked pardon, and 
 doubted not that God had forgiven him. He said that since that 
 time he had an affection for Lady Harriot, and prayed that if it 
 were pleasing to God, it might continue, otherwise that it might 
 cease ; and God heard his prayer. The affection did continue, and 
 therefore he doubted not it was pleasing to God ; and that thi^ 
 was a marriage, their choice of one another being guided not by 
 lust, but by judgment upon due consideration. 
 
 They endeavoured to. shew him the falsehood and mischievous- 
 ness of this enthusiasticall principle. But he told them it was his 
 opinion, and he was fully satisfied in it. After all, he desired them 
 to give him the communion next morning. They told him they 
 could not do it, while he was in that error and sin. He said he was 
 sorry for it. 
 
 The next morning, he told them he had prayed that if he was 
 in an error in that matter God wouM convince bim of it, but God 
 had not convinced bim, and therefore he believed it was no error. 
 
 When he was upon the scaffold, he professed himself a Protes- 
 tant of the Church of England. They told him he could not be 
 so, if he did not own the doctrine of the church of England in tho 
 point of non-resistance, and if he persisted in that enthusiastic 
 persuasion. He said he could not help it, but yet he approved the 
 doctrine of the church in all other things. He then spoke to the 
 people, in vindication of the lady Harriot, saying she was a woman 
 
 L 
 
U6 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 of gi*eat honour and virtue, a religious godly lady (those were his 
 words). They told him of his living in adultery with her. He said, 
 no. For these two years last past he had not lived in any sin that 
 he knew of; and that he had never wronged any person, and that 
 he was sure when he died to go to God, and therefore he did not 
 fear death, which (he said) they might see in his face. Then they 
 prayed for him, and he knelt down and joined with them After 
 all they had a short prayer for the king, at which he paused, but 
 at last said Amen. 
 
 He spoke to the headsman to see he did his business well, and 
 not use him as he did the Lord Kussell, to give him two or threa 
 strokes ; for if he did, he should not be able to lie still without turn- 
 ing. Then he gave the executioner 6 guineas, and 4 to one Marshall^ 
 a servant of Sir T. Armstrong's that attended him with the King's 
 leave ; desiring Marshall to give them the executioner if he did 
 his work well, and not otherwise. He gave this Marshall over 
 night his ring and watch ; and now he gave him his case of pick- 
 teeth : all for Lady Harriot. Then he laid himself down ; and 
 upon the sign given, the headsman gave a light stroke, at which 
 he looked him in the face ; then he laid him down again, and the 
 headsman gave him two strokes more, and then laid down the axa 
 saying, he could not finish his work ; till being threatened by the 
 Sheiiff and others then present, he took up the axe again, and at 
 two strokes more cut off his head. 
 
 All this is true as to matter of fact, and it needs no comment 
 to your Lordship. I desire your prayers, and remain 
 
 Your Lordship's most affectionate 
 
 W. Asaph. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Tom Browne, once one of the most facetious and verpatile of 
 metropolitan scribblers, is scarcely remembered now. He had 
 been, it is said, a schoolmaster at Kingston-on-Thames, but 
 having been guilty of some indiscretion he had forfeited his 
 ferule and set up in London as ' a merry fellow.' His merriment A 
 ia as a rule too coarse for modem taste, but the following letter ' 1 
 is not unworthy of Elia — at his worst. Mr. Browne died in 1704. I 
 
 Tom JBrovme to a LcvJy vnho Smoked Tohacco. 
 Madam, — Though the ill-natured world censures you for 
 smoking, yet I would advise you, madam, not to part with so 
 
 I 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. Ul 
 
 mnf)cent a diversion. In the first place, it is healthful ; and, as 
 Galen rightly observes, is a sovereign remedy for the toothache, 
 the constant persecutor of old ladies. Secondly, tobacco, though it 
 be a heathenish weed, it is a great help to Christian meditations ; 
 which is the reason, I suppose, that recommends it to your parsons, 
 the generality of whom can no more write a sermon without a pipe 
 in their mouths, than a concordance in their hands ; besides, every 
 pipe you break may serve to put you in mind of mortality, and 
 show you upon what slender accidents man's life depends. I knew 
 a dissenting minister who, on fast-days, used to mortify upon a 
 rump of beef, because it put him, as he said, in mind that all flesh 
 was grass ; but, I am sure, much more is to be learnt from 
 tobacco. It may instruct you that riches, beauty, and all the 
 glories of the world, vanish like a vapour. Thirdly, it is a pretty 
 plaything. Foui-thly, and lastly, it is fashionable, at least 'tis in a 
 fair way of becoming so. Cold tea, you know, has been a long 
 while in reputation at court, and the gill as natui-ally ushers in the 
 pipe, as the sword-bearer walks before the lord mayor. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 The brief life of Otway was embittered by his unrequited 
 passion for Mrs. (Miss) Barry, the famous actress, for whom he 
 wrote all those principal parts in his successive plays which 
 were admitted to become her genius the best of any. She kept 
 him in suspense for seven years, unwilling to marry or to dismiss 
 him, to lose his services as a playvn-ight or to accept him as a 
 lover. The following letter was probably written at the close 
 of this period, in 1682, when the brilliant success of * Venice 
 Preserved ' had made him the first tragic poet and her the first 
 tragic actress of that age. 
 
 Thomas Otway to Madam Barry. 
 
 [1682.] 
 
 Could I see you without passion, or be absent from you without 
 pain, I need not beg your pardon for thus renewing my vows that 
 I love you more than health, or any happiness here or hereafter. 
 Everything you do is a new charm to me, and though I have 
 languished for seven long tedious years of desire, jealously despoir- 
 i^^gj yet every minute I see you, I still discover something new and 
 more betwitching. Consider how I love you ; what would I not 
 renounce, or enterprise for you? I must have you mine, or I am 
 
 L 2 
 
148 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 miserable, and notJtiing but knowing which shall be the happy hour 
 can make the rest of my years that are to come tolerable. Give 
 me a word or two of comfort, or resolve never to look with common 
 goodness on me more, for I cannot bear a kind look and after 
 it a cruel denial. This minute my heart aches for you ; and, if I 
 cannot have a right in yours, I wish it would ache till I could 
 complain to you nc longer. 
 
 Kemember pooi Otway. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Mr. Ralph Thoresby, F.R.S., was a great collector of coins 
 and manuscripts, and his antiquarian museum was considered 
 almost the best private one in England. As an antiquarian 
 litterateur he was able to lend much help to his friends, notaoly 
 Str^-pe, Calamy, and Hearne, in the course of then different 
 publications. Two volumes of correspondence from literary 
 men to Thoresby are published, from which a smgle specimen 
 is extracted. It is an eloquent protest against the unbounded 
 influence of filthy lucre. 
 
 The Rev. George Plaxton to Ralph Thoreshy. 
 
 October 1, 1709. 
 Dear Ealpho, — Your last maintains an odd paradox, and you 
 contradict the common usage of mankind. Do not all old people 
 wipe their eyes with Jacobuses when they meet with them, as an 
 opthalmique charm to mend the sight : but you tell me that gold 
 bUnds the eyes both of the godly and wicked, and casts such films 
 before them that they cannot distinguish the colours of right and 
 wrong, 1 know there are very strange powers in gold, and won- 
 derful are the operations of that almighty metal ; it rules in 
 church and state, court and camp, conventicle and cloister; it 
 makes bishops and mars priests ; it blinds the eyes of justice, cor- 
 rupts juries, and blunts the sword of the greatest generals ; it is 
 SiS arbitrary as the Mogul, as imperious as the Czar, as victorious 
 as Eugene, and is able to conquer both Marloorough and his 
 DucUess ; it represents emperors, kings, and sovereign princes ; it 
 is stamped with a powerful authority, and bears the impresses of 
 Majesty, rule and greatness ; it is supreme in all dominions, domi- 
 neers in all governments, swaggei^ in all corporations ; and whilst 
 jou maintain that it blinds the eyes of too many, I aver that it 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 149 
 
 only opens their optics, and shows fchem the way to slavery and 
 folly. 
 
 The generality of mankind are its slaves and vassals, and it 
 makes more conquests than powder and bullet. Let you and me 
 keep out of its reach, lest we become captives to its power and 
 supremacy, lose our liberties and freedoms, and turn idolaters in 
 our declining years, as too many have done. A.s yet, I hope we 
 are pretty free, and secure from its insults. Let us stand upon 
 our guard, and rather conquer than yield to its force and power ; 
 for it useth all its prisoners like galley-slaves, and keeps them in a 
 perpetual drudgery; it is an idolater in the Indies, a Jew all the 
 world over, a Mahometan at Constantinople, a false Christian at 
 Rome, and every thing in Great Britain ; what it is at Leeds your 
 Aldermen can tell. I am sure it has little footing at Barwick, 
 where we are all poor Palatines and Camisars, i.e. hardly with a 
 shirt. 
 
 Adieu, my friend. I am 
 
 Your's more than gold's. 
 
 O. 
 
 To Lawrence Hyde, created Earl of Eochester in 1682, Nell 
 G Wynne caused to be dictated (for ' the indiscreetest and wildest 
 of creatures ' could not write herself) this sprightly and vulgar 
 
 ^ letter, which is published in the ' Camden Miscellany ' from Mr. 
 Tite's collection of autographs. An editorial note says, ' It is 
 scarcely possible to conceive a composition more characteristic 
 
 y both in style and contents than this most singular effusion.' 
 
 Nsll Gwynne to Lawrence Hyde. 
 
 [Probably 1678.] 
 Pray Deare M" Hide forgive me for not writeing to you before 
 now for the reasone is I have bin sick thre months and sinse I 
 recovered I have had nothing to intertaine you withail nor have 
 nothing now worth writing but that I can holde no longer to let 
 you know I never have ben in any companie wethout drinking 
 your health for I love you with all my soule. The Pel Mel is 
 now to me a dismale plase sinse I have uterly lost S»' Car Scupe 
 never to be recovrd agane. Mrs Knights ' Lady mothers dead & 
 
 * Mrs. Knight, a rival of Nell Gwynne's at the Court of Charles IL 
 
150 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 she has put up a scutchin no beiger then my Lady Grins scuchins. 
 My lord Rochester is gon in the cuntrie. Mr. Savil has got a mis- 
 fortune, but is upon recovery & is to marry an hairres, who I 
 thinke wont have an ill time on't if he holds up his thumb. My 
 lord of Dorscit apiers wonse in thee munths, for he drinkes aile with 
 Shadwell and Mr Haris ^ at the Dukes house all day long. My 
 Lord Burford ^ remimbers his sarvis to you. My Lord Bauclaire^ 
 is goeing into france. we are a goeing to supe with the king at 
 Whithall & my lady Harvie. The king i-emembers his sarvis to 
 you. now lets talke of state affairs, for we never caried things so 
 cunningly as now for we dont know whether we shall have pesce 
 or war, but I am for war and for no other reason but that you 
 may come home. I have a thousand merry conseets, but I cant 
 make her write um & therefore you must take the will for the deed, 
 good bye. your most loveing obedunt faithfull humbel 
 
 Sarvant 
 E. G. 
 
 CL 
 
 From his house at the corner of Southampton Street, the 
 site of the present British Museum, Sir Hans Sloaue suppHed 
 his j?reat friend Ray with books, specimens, and every sort of 
 inteUigence which could be of service to him in his scientific 
 observations. It is strange to find in the last years of the seven- 
 teenth century such a spectacle as this tiger-fight publicly patro- 
 nised by the elite of London. 
 
 Sir Hans Sloane to John Ray, 
 
 London : March 9, 1698-9. 
 Sir, — This day a large tiger was baited by three beardogs, one 
 after another. The first dog he killed ; the second was a match 
 for him, and sometimes he had the better, sometimes the dog ; but 
 the battle was at last drawn, and neither cared for engaging any 
 farther. The third dog had likewise sometimes the better and 
 sometimes the worse of it, and it came also to a drawn battle. 
 But the wisest dog of all was a fourth, that neither by fair means 
 nor foul could be brought to go within reach of the tiger, who was 
 
 * A great Shakespearean actor 
 
 '' Son of Nell Gwynne. 
 
 ' Second son of Nell Gwynne. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 151 
 
 chained in the middle of a large cockpit. The owner got about 
 j^300 for this show, the best seats being a guinea, and the worst five 
 shillings. The tiger used his paws very much to cuff his adversaries 
 with, and sometimes would exert his claws, but not often, using 
 his jaws most, and aiming at under or upper sides of the neck, 
 where wounds are dangerous. He had a fowl given him alive, 
 which, by means of his feet and mouth, he very artfully first 
 plucked and then eat ; the feathers, such as got into his mouth, 
 being troublesome. The remainders of his drink in which he has 
 lapped, is said by his keeper to kill dogs and other animals that 
 "drink after him, being by his foam made poisonous and ropy. I 
 hope you will pardon this tedious narration, because I am apt to 
 think it is very rare that such a battle ha;ppens, or such a fine tiger 
 is seen here. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 CII. 
 
 An essential feature of the reign of Queen Anne was the 
 invasion of literature by politics. Pamphlets and lampoons 
 were the chief weapons of political warfare, and each political 
 
 ?arty had its special champions. This letter refers to Daniel 
 )e Foe's acceptance of an engagement to write for the Earl of 
 Halifax. The most fertile author of his day, De Foe had always 
 been an ardent polemicist, both in prose and doggrel ; and his 
 hatred of the Stuarts and predisposition to Dissent kept his pen 
 -continually employed against Tories and Churchmen, and exposed 
 him to ruinous fines, imprisonment, and the pillory. 
 
 At the late age of fifty-eight he forsook political tiipotage, 
 and began to write ' Robinson Crusoe,' and the novels which have 
 immortahsed him. 
 
 Daniel De Foe to the Earl of Halifax. 
 
 April 5, 1705. 
 
 My Lord, — I most humbly thank your Lordship, for expres- 
 sions of your favour and goodness which I had as little reason to 
 expect from your Lordship as I have capassity to merit. 
 
 My Lord Treasurer has frequently express'd himself with con- 
 cern on my behalf, and M'^ Secretary Harley the like ; but I, my 
 Lord, am like the Cripple at the Pool ; when the moment hap- 
 pen'd, no man was at hand to put the wretch into the water : and 
 my talent of sollicitation is absolutely a Cripple, and unquallifyed 
 to help itself. 
 
152 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 I wish yoiir Lordship could understand by my imperfect ex- 
 pression the sense I have of your unexpected goodness in mention- 
 ing me to my Lord Treasurer. I could be very well pleased to- 
 wait till your merit and the Nation's want of you shall place your 
 Lordship in that part of the Publick affaires, where I might owe 
 any benefitt I shall receive from it, to your goodness, and might be 
 able to act something for your service, as well as that of the 
 Publick. My Lord, the proposall your Lordship was pleas'd ta 
 make by my brother the bearer, is exceeding pleasant to me ta 
 perform, as well as usefull to be done, agi'eeable to every thing the 
 masterly genius of your Lordship has produc'd in this age ; but my 
 missfoi-tune is, the bearer, whose head is not that way, has given 
 me so imperfect an account, that makes me your Lordship's most 
 humble petitioner for some hints to ground my observations upon. 
 
 I was wholly ignorant of the design of that act, not knowing it 
 had such a noble originall. Pardon my importunate application to 
 your Lordship for some hints of the substance and desigD of that 
 act, and if your Lordship please the names again of some books 
 which my dull messenger forgott, and which your Lordship was 
 pleas'd to say had spoke to this head. 
 
 I the rather press your Lordship on this head, because the very 
 next Article which of course I proposed to enter upon in the 
 Review being that of paper credit, I shall at once do myself the 
 honour to obey your Lordship's dictate, and observ^e the stated 
 order of the discoui-se I am upon. I shall not presume to offer it 
 against your Lordship's opinion, and would be farth^t of all from 
 exposing your Lordship to any tongues ; but if ever your Lordship 
 shall think this despicable thing, who scorn'd to come out of 
 Kewgate at the price of betraying a dead Master, or disco veiTng 
 those things which no body would have been the worse for, fitt to 
 be trusted in your presence, tho' never so much incognito, he will 
 certainly, exclusive of what he may communicate to your Lordship 
 for the publick service, receive from you such instructions as are 
 suitable to your known genius, and the benefitt of the Nation. 
 
 I have herewith sent your Lordship another book; I know 
 your Lordship has but a few minutes to spare, but I am your 
 Lordship's humble petitioner, to bestow an houi- on its contents, 
 because it is likely to make some noise in the world, and perhaps- 
 to come before your Lordship in Parliament. 
 
]70()] ENGLISH LETTERS. 16» 
 
 I forbear to divert your more serious thoughts, which particu- 
 lars I humbly thank your Lordship for the freedom of access you 
 were pleas'd to give my messenger, and am extreamly ambitious of 
 listing myself under your Lordship, in that cause, in which your 
 Lordship was allwayes embarkt, viz, of Truth and Liberty. 
 
 I am, 
 
 May it please your Lordship, 
 Your Lordship's 
 Most humble and obed* Serv*, 
 
 D. Foe. 
 
 r 
 
 OIII. 
 
 This letter of thanks is in De Foe's best manner. 
 
 Danid De Foe to the Earl of Halifax. 
 
 [1705.] 
 
 Pardon me my Lord, — If to a man that has seen nothing for 
 some yeares, but the rough face of things, the exceeding goodness 
 of your Lordship's discourse softned me even to a weakness 1 could 
 not conceal. 
 
 'Tis a novelty, my Lord, I have not been us'd to, to receive 
 obligations from persons of your Lordship's character and merit, 
 nor indeed from any part of the world, and the return is a task too 
 hard for me to undertake. 
 
 I am, my Lord, a plain and unpolish'd man, and perfectly un- 
 quallified to make formall acknowledgements ; and a temper sour'd 
 by a series of afflictions, renders me still the more awkward in the 
 received method of common gi-atitude, I mean the ceremony of 
 thanks. 
 
 But, my Lord, if to be encourag'd in giveing myself up to that 
 service your Lordship is pleas'd so much to overvallue, if going on 
 with the more cheerfullness in being iisefuU to, and promoteing the 
 generall peace and interest of this nation, if to the last vigorously 
 opposeing a stupid distracted Party, that are for ruining them- 
 selves rather than not destroy theii- neighbour, if this be to merit 
 so much regard, your Lordship binds me in the most durable and 
 to me the most pleasant engagement in the world, because 'tis a 
 service that, with my gratitude to your Lordship, keeps an exact 
 
154 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 unison with my reason, my principle, my inclination, and the duty 
 «very man owes to his countiy, and his posterity. 
 
 Thus, my Lord, Heavenly bounty engages mankind, while the 
 -commands are so far from being grievous, that at the same time 
 we obey, we promote our own felicity, and joyn the re.ward to 
 the duty. 
 
 As to the exceeding bounty I have now received, and which 
 your Lordship obliges me to reserve my acknowledgements of for a 
 jet unknown benefactor. Pardon me, my Lord, to believe your 
 Lordship's favoiu- to me has at least so much share in the conduct 
 of it, if not in the substance, that I am persuaded I cannot be more 
 •oblidged to the donor, than to your Lordship' singular goodness, 
 which tho' I can not deserve, yet I shall allways sensibly reflect 
 on, and improve. And I should be doubly blest, if providence 
 would put it into my hands, to render your Lordship some service 
 suited to the sence I have of your Lordship's extraordinary favour. 
 
 And yet I am your Lordship's most humble petitioner, that if 
 possible I may know the originalls of this munificence, sure that 
 hand that can suppose me to merit so much regard, must believe 
 me fitt to be trusted with the knowledge of my benefactor, and un- 
 oapable of discovering any part of it, that should be conceal'd ; but 
 I submitt this to your Lordship and the persons concem'd. I 
 frankly acknowledge to your Lordship, and to the unknown 
 reward ers of my mean performances, that I do not see the merit 
 they are thus pleas'd to valine ; the most I wish and which I hope 
 I can answer for is, that T shall allwayes preserve the homely 
 -despicable title of an honest man. If this will recommend me, 
 ycnr Lordship shall never be asham'd of giving me that title, nor 
 my enemys be able by fear or reward to make me otherwise. 
 
 In all things I justly apprehend your Lordship's disappoint- 
 ment, and that your Lordship will find little else in me worth your 
 notice. I am, 
 
 May it please your Lordship, 
 . Your Lordship's highly obliged. 
 Most humble and most 
 obed*^ serv*^ 
 
 Daniel De Foe. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 165 
 
 CIV. 
 
 How perfectly unmoved was the famous Dr. Eicliard Bent- 
 ley — ^liow conscious of success, and how thoroughly he despised 
 his adversaries, when about to send to press his final reply in 
 the ' Boyle and Bentley ' controversy (the fiercest of the lite- 
 rary contests of the seventeenth century), will be seen in this 
 brief and interesting letter. He is not merely intending to settle the 
 question of the disputed authorship of the ' Epistles of Phalaris,' 
 but to prove that the collected strength of Christchurch, Oxford, 
 superadded to that of Dean Swift, and other scholars, was only 
 able to assail him by writing a * shallow book.' 
 
 Dr. Richard Bentley to John Evelyn. 
 
 Trinity College, Cambridge : April 21, 1698. 
 Honoured Friend, — I cannot express to you how kindly I 
 receive your Letter ; and what a trial of true friendship I esteem 
 it, that, at that distance from me, among the cry of such as are 
 concerned as a Party to run me down, you alone would stand up 
 for me, and expect till you heard alteram partem, as your inscrip- 
 tion well expresses it. As for my friends that are here upon the 
 spot, and can ask me questions, they are long ago satisfied that the 
 Book ^ is not so formidable as the authors of it believed it. But I 
 am content, nay desirous, to have it pass for an unanswerable 
 piece ; for it will be the more surprising and glorious to confute it ; 
 which (if you'll take my word and keep my counsel) I shall do 
 with that clearness and fulness in every particular, great and little, 
 both points of Learning and points of Fact, that the authors will 
 be ashamed, if any shame can be expected in them, after this pre- 
 sent Specimen. I have almost finished already, and near the end 
 of the month I shall be a putting it to the press ; for I need not 
 nine months, as they have had, to confute so shallow a Book, that 
 has nothing in it, but a little Wit, Satire and Raillery, that puts it 
 oflf among half-learned readers. 
 
 I am, yours afiectionately 
 
 Richard Bentley. 
 
 ^ Dr. Bentley's Bissertatioyis on the Epistles of Phala/rn and t/ie Fable 
 of ^s(/Of examined by the Hon. Charles Boyle. 
 
156 ENGLISH LETTERS. [IGOO 
 
 ov. 
 
 To students of theology this letter will have a special interest. 
 Dr. Bentley is propounding to Archbishop Wake his plan for 
 preparing a new critical edition of the Greek Testament. During 
 four years (1716-1720), he laboured dihgently in collating the 
 Alexandrine and Beza manuscripts in England and in putting 
 foreign MSS. under contribution, but for reasons, which have 
 not been satisfactorily explained, the work was never published, 
 although a subscription in aid of it was collected. 
 
 Dr, Bentley to the Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Trinity College, Cambridge: April 15, 1716. 
 
 May it please your Grace, — 'Tis not only your Grace's station 
 and general character, but the particular knowledge I have of you^ 
 which encourages me to give you a long letter about those un- 
 fasliionable topics, Religion and learning. Your Grace knows, as 
 well as any, what an alarm has been made of late years with the 
 vast heap of Various Lections found in MSS. of the Greek Testa- 
 ment. The Papists have made a great use of them against the 
 Protestants, and the Atheists against them, both. This was one of 
 Collins's topics in his Discourse on Freethinking, which I took 
 off in my short answer ; and I have heard since from several 
 hands, that that short view I gave of the causes and necessity and 
 use of Various Lections, made several good men more easy in that 
 matter than they were before. But since that time I have fallen 
 into a course of studies that led me to peruse many of the oldest 
 MSS. of the Greek Testament and of the Latin too of St. Jerom^ 
 of which there are several in England, a full thousand years old. 
 The result of which has been, that I find I am able (what some 
 thought impossible) to give an edition of the Greek Testament 
 exactly as it was in the best exemplai-s at the time of the Council 
 of Nice ; so that there shall not be twenty words, nor even par- 
 ticles, difference ; and this shall carry its own demonstration in 
 every verse, which I afiirm cannot be so done of any other ancient 
 book, Greek or Latin ; so that that book, which, by the present 
 management, is thought the most uncertain, shall have a testimony 
 of certainty above all other books whatever, and an end be put at 
 once to all Various Lections now or hei'eafter. 
 
 I'll give your Grace the progress which brought me by degrees 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 157 
 
 into the present view and scheme that I have of a new edition. 
 Upon some points of curiosity I collated one or two of St. Paul's 
 Epistles with the Alexandrian MS., the oldest and best now in the 
 world : I was surprised to find several transpositions of words, 
 that Mills and the other collators took no notice of ; but I soon 
 found their way was to mark nothing but change of words ; the 
 collocation and order they entirely neglected; and yet at sight 
 I discerned what a new force and beauty this new order (I found 
 in the MS.) added to the sentence. Tliis encouraged me to collate 
 the whole book over to a letter, with my own hands. There is 
 another MS. at Pai-is of the same age and character with this ; 
 but, meeting with worse usage, it was so decayed by age, that five 
 hundred years ago it served the Greeks for old vellum, and they 
 writ over the old brown capitals a book of Ephraim Syrus ; but 
 so that even now, by a good eye and a skilful person, the old 
 writing may be read under the new. One page of this for a 
 specimen is printed in copper cut in Lamie's Harmony of the 
 Evangelists. Out of this, by an able hand, I have had above two 
 hundred lections given me from the present printed Greek ; and 
 I was surprised to find that almost all agreed both in word and 
 order with our noble Alexandrian. Some more experiments in 
 other old copies have discovered the same agreement ; so that I 
 dare say, take all the Greek Testaments surviving, that are not 
 occidental with Latin too, like our Beza's at Cambridge, and that 
 are a thousand years old, and they'l so agree together that of the 
 thirty thousand present Various Lections there are not there found 
 two hundred. 
 
 The Western Latin copies by variety of Translators without 
 public appointment, and a jumble and heap of all of them, were 
 grown so uncertain, that scarce two copies were alike ; which 
 obliged Damasus, then Bishop of Rome, to employ St. Jerom to 
 regulate the best-received translation of each part of the New 
 Testament to the original Greek ; and so set out a new edition, so 
 castigated and corrected. This he declares in his preface he did 
 ad Groicam veritatem, ad exemplaria Grmca, sed Vetera ; and his 
 learning, great name, and just authority, extinguished all the other 
 Latin versions, and has been conveyed down to us, under the name 
 of the Yulgate. 'Twas plain to me, that when that copy came 
 first from that great Father's hands, it must agree exactly -with the 
 
158 EXGLISH LETTERS. [160{K 
 
 most authentic Greek exemplars ; and if now it could be retrieved, 
 it would be the best test and voucher for the true reading out of 
 several pretending ones. But when I came to try Pope Clement's 
 Vulgate, I soon found the Greek of the Alexandrian and that 
 would by no means pary. This set me to examine the Pope's Latin 
 by some MSS. of a thousand years old ; and the success is, that 
 the old Greek copies and the old Latin so exactly agree (when an 
 able hand discerns the rasures and the old lections lying under 
 them), that the pleasure and satisfaction it gives me is beyond 
 expression. 
 
 The New Testament has been under a hard fate since the 
 invention of printing. After the Complutenses and Erasmus, who 
 had but very ordinary MSS. it has become the property of book- 
 sellers. Kobert Stephens's edition, set out and regulated by him- 
 self alone, is now become the standard. That text stands, as if an 
 apostle was his compositor. No heathen author has had such ill 
 fortune. 
 
 Terence, Ovid, etc. for the first century after printing, went 
 about with twenty thousand errors in them. But when learned 
 men undei-took them, and from the oldest MSS. set out correct 
 editions, those errors fell and vanished. But if they had kept to 
 the first published text, and set the Yarious Lections only in the 
 margin, those classic authors would be as clogged with variations 
 as Dr. jNIills's Testament is. 
 
 Pope Sixtus and Clemens at a vast expense had an assembly of 
 learned divines, to recense and adjust the Latin Yulgate, and then 
 enacted their new edition authentic ; but I find, though I have 
 not yet discovered anything done dolo malo, they were quite un- 
 equal to the affair. They were mere Theologi, had no experience 
 in MSS., nor made use of good Greek copies, and followed books 
 of five hundred years before those of double [that] age. Nay, I 
 believe they took these new ones for the older of the two; for it 
 is not everybody knows the age of a manuscript. 
 
 I am already tedious, and the post is a going. So that, to 
 conclude, in a word, I find that by taking two thousand errors out 
 of the Pope's Yulgate, and as many out of the Protestant Pop3 
 Stephens's, I can set out an edition of each in columns, without 
 Using any book under nine hundred years old, that shall so exactly 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 15& 
 
 agree word for word, and, what at first amazed me, order for 
 order, that no two tallies nor two indentures can agree better. 
 
 I affirm that these so placed will prove each other to a> 
 demonstration ; for I alter not a letter of my own head without the 
 authority of these old witnesses. And the beauty of the compo- 
 sition (barbarous, God knows, at present), is so improved, as makes- 
 it more worthy of a revelation, and yet not one text of consequence 
 injured or weakened. 
 
 My Lord, if a casual fire should take either his Majesty'^ 
 library, or the King's of France, all the world could not do this. 
 As I have therefore great impulse, and I hope not aiieu to set 
 about this work immediately, and leave it as a KeifxriXiov to posterity, 
 against Atheists and Infidels, I thought it my duty and my honour 
 to first acquaint your Grace with it ; and know if the extrinsic 
 expense necessary to do such a work compleatly (for my labour I 
 reckon nothing) may obtain any encouragement, either from th& 
 Crown or Public. 
 
 I am, with all duty and obedience 
 
 Your Grace's most humble servant 
 
 Ri. Bentley^ 
 
 CVI. 
 
 William III. had promised Sir William Temple that Dr. 
 Swift should have the first vacancy which might happen among 
 the prebends of Westminster or Canterbury, and reference is- 
 made to this promise in the following letter soliciting preferment 
 at the hands of Lord Halifax. 
 
 This Minister died a year before a vacancy occurred, and 
 Swift, who really never enjoyed the full measure of Ministerial 
 confidence, was disappointed. Most of the future Dean of St, 
 Patrick's English admirers preferred to acknowledge his claims 
 at a distance ; for the partial welcome he received in Eng- 
 land was the natural result of his patronising ahs and overbear- 
 ing manners. 
 
 Br. Swift to the Earl of Halifax. 
 
 Leicester : January 13, 1709. 
 My Lord, — Before I leave this place (where ill health has 
 detained me longer than I intended) I thought it my duty to 
 return your Lordship my acknowledgments for all your favors- 
 to me while I was in town ; and, at the same time, to beg soma 
 fchare in youi* Lordship's memory, and the continuance of your 
 
160 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 protection. You were pleased to promise me your good offices 
 upon occasion ; which I humbly challenge in two particulars ; one 
 is that you will sometimes put my Lord President in mind of me ; 
 the other is, that your Lordship will duly once every year wish me 
 removed to England. In the mean time, I must take leave to 
 reproach your Lordship for a most inhuman piece of cruelty ; for 
 I can call youi* extreme good usage of me no better, since it has 
 taught me to hate the place where I am banished, and raised my 
 thoughts to an imagination, that I might live to be some way 
 usefull or entertaining, if I were permitted to live in Town, or 
 {which is the highest punishment on Papists) any where within ten 
 miles round it. You remember very well, my Lord, how another 
 person of quality in Horace's time, used to serve a sort of 
 fellows who had disobliged him ; how he sent them fine cloaths, 
 and money, which raised their thoughts and their hopes, till those 
 were worn out and spent, and then they were ten times more 
 miserable than before. Hac ego si compellar imagine, cuncta resigno. 
 I could cite several other passages from the same author, to my 
 purpose ; and whatever is applyed to Maecenas I will not thank 
 your Lordship for accepting, because it is what you have been 
 condemned to these twenty years by every one of us, qui se melent 
 cVavoir de Vesprit. I have been studying how to be revenged of 
 your Lordship, and have found out the way. They have in Ireland 
 the same idea with us of your Lordship's generosity, magnificence, 
 witt, judgment, and knowledge in the enjoyment of life. But I shall 
 quickly undeceive them, by letting them plainly know that you 
 have neither Interest nor Fortune which you can call your own ; 
 both having been long made over to the Corporation of deserving 
 Men in Want, who have appointed you their advocate and steward, 
 which the world is pleas'd to call Patron and Protector. I shall 
 inform them, that my self and about a dozen others kept the best 
 table in England, to which because we admitted your liOrdship in 
 common with us, made you our manager, and sometimes allowed 
 you to bring a friend, therefore ignorant people would needs take 
 You to be the Owner. And lastly, that you are the most injudicious 
 pei-son alive ; because, though you had fifty times more witt than 
 all of us together, you never discover the least value for it, but are 
 perpetually countenancing and encouraging that of others. I could 
 add a great deal more, but shall reserve the rest of my threatnings 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 161 
 
 till further provocation. In the mean time I demand of your 
 Lordship the justice of believing me to be with the greatest 
 respect, 
 
 My Lord, 
 Your Lordship's most obedient and 
 fc most obliged humble servant 
 
 E Jon. Swift 
 
 i Pray, my Lord, desire D^ South to dy about the fall of the 
 Ijeaf, for he has a Prebend of Westminister, which will make me 
 your neighbor, and a sine-cure in the Country, both in the Queen's 
 gift, which my friends have often told me would fitt me extremely ; 
 and forgive me one word, which I know not what extorts from me ; 
 that if my Lord President would in such a juncture think me worth 
 laying any weight of his Credit, you cannot but think me per- 
 suaded that it would be a very easy matter to compass : and I have 
 some sort of pretence, since the late King promised me a Prebend 
 of Westminster, When T petitioned him in pursuance of a recom- 
 mendation I had from Sir William Temple. 
 
 For the Right Honourable 
 
 the Lord Halifax, at his House 
 in the New Palace-yard in Westminster. 
 London. 
 
 OVII. 
 
 This account of the French Abh(5 Guiscard's attempt to 
 assassinate Harley was written within an hour or two of the 
 event it describes. 
 
 Dean Swift to Archhishop King. 
 
 London : March 8, 1711. 
 My Lord, — I write to your grace under the greatest disturb- 
 ance of mind for the public and myself. A gentleman came in 
 where I dined this afternoon, and told us Mr. Harley was stabbed, 
 and some confused particulars. I immediately ran to secretary 
 St. John's hard by, but nobody was at home ; I met Mrs. St. John 
 in her chair, who could not satisfy me, but was in pain about the 
 secretary, who, as she had heard, had killed the murderer. I went 
 straight to Mr. Harley's where abundance of people wei-e to inquire. 
 J. got young Mr. Harley to me : he said his father was asleep, and 
 
162 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 they hoped in no danger, and then told me the fact, as I shall 
 relate it to your grace. This day the Marquis de Guis-card was 
 taken up for high treason, by a waiTant of Mr. St. John, and 
 examined before a Committee of Council in Mr. St. John's office ; 
 where was present the dukes of Ormond, Buckingham, Shrewsbury, 
 earl Powlett, Mr. Harley, Mr. St. John, and others. During 
 examination, ISIr. Harley observed Guis-card, who stood behind 
 him, but on one side, swearing, and looking disrespectfully. He told 
 him he ought to behave himself better while he was examined for 
 such a Clime. Guis-card immediately drew a penknife out of his 
 pocket, which he had picked out of some of the offices, and, reach- 
 ing round, stabbed him just under the breast a little to the right 
 side ; but it pleased God that the point stopped at one of the ribs, 
 and broke short half an inch. Immediately Mr. St. John rose, 
 drew his sword, and ran it into Guis-card's breast. Five or six 
 more of the Council drew and Stabbed Guis-card in several places : 
 but the earl Powlett called out, for God's sake, to spare Guis- 
 card's life, that he might be made an example ; and Mr. St. John's 
 sword was taken from him and broke ; and the footman without 
 ran in, and bound Guis-card, who begged he might be killed imme- 
 diately ; and, they say called out three or four times, ^ My lord 
 Ormond ! My lord Ormond ! * They say Guis-card resisted them 
 a while, until the footman came in. Immediately Bucier, the 
 surgeon, was sent for, who di-essed Mr. Harley ; and he was sent 
 home. The wound bled fresh, and they do not apprehend him in 
 danger : he said, when he came home, he thought himself in none ; 
 and, when I was there he was asleep, and they did not find him at 
 all feverish. He has been Ul this week, and told me last Saturday 
 he found himself much out of order, and has been abroad ' but 
 twice since ; so that the only danger is, lest his being out of order 
 should, with the wound put him in a fever ; and I shall be in a 
 mighty pain till to-morrow morning. I went back to poor Mrs. 
 St. John, who told me her husband was with my Lord-keeper [sir 
 Simon Harcourt] at Mr. Attorney's, [sir John Trevor] and she 
 said something to me very remarkable : ' That going to-day to pay 
 her duty to the queen, when all the men and ladies were dressed to 
 make their appearance, this being the day of the queen's accession, 
 the lady of the bedchamber in waiting told her the queen had not 
 been at church, and saw no company ; yet, when she inquired her 
 
1700J ENGLISH LETTERS. 163 
 
 health, they said she was veiy well, only had a little cold/ We 
 conceive the queen's reasons for not going out might be something 
 about this seizing of Guis-card for high treason, and that perhaps 
 there was some plot, or something extraordinary. Your grace 
 must have heard of this Guis-card : he fled from France for villaniea 
 there, and was thought on to head an invasion of that kingdom, 
 but was not liked. I know him well, and think him a fellow of 
 little consequence, although of some cunning and much villany. 
 "We passed by one another this day in the Mall, at two o'clock, 
 an hour before he was taken up ; and I wondered he did not speak 
 to me. 
 
 1 write all this to your grace, because I believe you would 
 desire to know a true account of so important an accident ; and 
 besides, I know you will have a thousand false ones ; and I believe 
 every material circumstance here is true, having it from young 
 Mr. Harley. I met sir Thomas Mansel (it was then after six this 
 evening,) and he and Mr. Prior told me they had just seen Guis- 
 card caiTied by in a chair, with a strong guard, to Newgate or the 
 Press-yard. Time perhaps will show who was at the bottom of 
 all this ; but nothing could happen so unluckily to England, at 
 this juncture, as Mr. Harley's death ; when he has all the schemes 
 for the greatest part of the supplies in his head, and the parliament 
 cannot stir a step without him. Neither can I altogether forget 
 myself, who, in him, should lose a person I have more obligations 
 to than any other in this kingdom ; who has always treated me 
 with the tenderness of a parent, and never refused me any favour I 
 asked for a friend ; therefore I hope your grace will excuse the 
 disorder of this letter. I was intending, this night, to write one 
 of another sort. I must needs say, one great reason for writing 
 these particulars to your gi-ace was, that you might be able to give 
 a true account of the fact, which will be some sort of service to 
 M^ Harley. I am with the greatest respect, my lord, your grace's 
 most dutiful, and most humble servant, 
 
 Jonathan Swift 
 
 I have read over what I writ, and find it confused and incorrect^ 
 which your grace must impute to the violent pain of mind I am 
 in, greater than ever I felt in my life. It must have been the 
 utmost height of desperate guilt which could have spirited that 
 
 M 2 
 
164 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 wretch to such an action. I have not heard whether his wounds 
 are dangerous ; but I pray God he may recover to receive his 
 reward, and that we may learn the bottom of his villany. It is 
 not above ten days ago that I was interceding with the secretary 
 in his behalf, because I heard he was just starving ; but the secre- 
 tary assured me he had 400£ a-year pension. 
 
 OVIII. 
 
 This singularly impressive and eloquent letter was addressed 
 to Lord Oxford on the occasion of the death of his daughter, the 
 Marchioness of Carmarthen, after her confinement Nov. 20, 1713, 
 aged twenty-eight. It does far more honour to the great Dean 
 than any of those more pretentious satirical compositions which 
 are in everybody's hands, and which have made his name im- 
 mortal. 
 
 Dean Swift to Lord-Treasurer Oxford. 
 
 November 21, 1713. 
 My Lord, — Your lordship is the person in. the world to whom 
 everybody ought to be silent upon such an occasion as this, which 
 is only to be supported by the greatest wisdom and strength of 
 mind : wherein, God knows, the wisest and best of us, who would 
 presume to offer their thoughts, are far your inferiors. It is true, 
 indeed, that a great misfortune is apt to weaken the mind and dis- 
 turb the understanding. This, indeed, might be of some pretence 
 to us to administer our consolations, if we had been wholly 
 strangers to the person gone. But, my lord, whoever had the 
 honour to know her, wants a comforter as much as your lordship : 
 because, though their loss is not so great, yet they have not the 
 same firmness and prudence to support the want of a friend, a 
 patroness, a benefactor, as you have to support that of a daughter. 
 My lord, both religion and reason forbid me to have the least con- 
 cern for that lady's death upon her own account ; and he must be 
 an ill Christian, or a perfect stranger to her virtues, who would 
 not wish himself, with all submission to God Almighty's will, in 
 her condition. But your lordship, who has lost such a daughter, 
 and we, who have lost such a friend, and the world, which has lost 
 such an example, have, in oiu' several degrees, greater cause to 
 lament than perhaps was ever given by any private person before : 
 for, my lord, I have sat down to think of every amiable quality 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS: 166 
 
 that could enter into the composition of a lady, and could not single 
 out one which she did not possess in as high a perfection as human 
 natui-e is capable of. But as to your lordship's own particular, as 
 it is an inconceivable misfortune to have lost such a daughter, so it 
 is a possession which few can boast of to have had such a daughter. 
 I have often said to your lordship ' That I never knew any one by 
 many degrees so happy in their domestics as you ; * and I affirm you 
 are so still, though not by so many degrees : from whence it is 
 very obAdous that your lordship should reflect upon what you have 
 left, and not upon what you have lost. 
 
 To say the truth, my lord, you began to be too happy for a 
 mortal ; much more happy than is usual with the dispensations of 
 Providence long to continue. You had been the great instrument 
 of preserving your country from foreign and domestic ruin : you 
 have had the felicity of establishing your family in the greatest 
 lustre, without any obligation to the bounty of your prince, or any 
 industry of your own : you have triumphed over the violence and 
 treachery of your enemies by your courage and abilities : and, by 
 the steadiness of your temper, over the inconstancy and caprice of 
 your friends. Perhaps your lordship has felt too much com- 
 placency within yourself upon this univers?d success : and God 
 Almighty, who would not disappoint your endeavours for the 
 public, thought fit to punish you with a domestic loss, where he 
 knew your heart was most exposed ; and, at the same time, has 
 fulfilled his own wise purposes, by rewarding in a better life that 
 excellent creature he has taken from you. 
 
 I know not, my lord, why I write this to you, nor hardly what 
 I am writing. I am sure it is not from any compliance with form ; 
 it is not from thinking that I can give your lordship any ease. I 
 think it was an impulse upon me that I should say something : 
 and whether I shall send you what I have written I am yet in 
 doubt. 
 
 Jonathan Swift. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 This is perhaps the most beautiful to be found among the 
 printed letters of Swift. The unusual tenderness of its tone 
 may he attributed to the great domestic calamity which the 
 writer was almost every hour fearing would befall himself —the 
 death of Stella. 
 
166 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 Dean Swift to Mrs. Moore. 
 
 Deaneiy House : December 27, 1727. 
 Dear Madam, — Though I see you seldomer than is agreeable to 
 my inclinations, yet you have no friend in the world that is more 
 concerned for anything that can affect your mind, your health, or 
 your fortune : I have always had the highest esteem for your 
 virtue, the greatest value for your conversation, and the truest 
 affection for your person ; and therefore cannot but heartily con- 
 dole with you for the loss of so amiable, and (what is more) so 
 favourite a child. These are the necessary consequences of too strong 
 attachments, by which we are grieving ourselves with the death of 
 those we love, as we must one day grieve those who love us with 
 the death of ourselves. For life is a tragedy, wherein we sit as spec- 
 tators awhile, and then act our own part in its self-love, as it is the 
 motive to all our actions, so it is the sole cause of our grief. The 
 dear person you lament is by no means an object of pity, either in 
 a moral or religious sense. Philosophy always taught me to 
 despise life, as a most contemptible thing in itself; and religion 
 regards it only as a preparation for a better, which you are taught 
 to be certaiin that so innocent a person is now in possession of ; so 
 that she is an immense gainer, and you and her friends the only 
 losers. Now, under misfortunes of this kind, I know no consola- 
 tion more effectual to a reasonable person than to reflect rather 
 upon what is left than what is lost. She was neither an only 
 child nor an only daughter. You have three children left, one 
 (Charles DevenLsb, Esq.) of them of an age to be useful to his 
 family, and the two others as promising as can be expected from 
 their age ; so that, according to the general dispensations of God 
 Almighty, you have small reason to repine upon that article of 
 life. And religion will tell you that the true way to preserve 
 them is, not to fix any of them too deep in your heart, which is a 
 weakness that God seldom leaves long unpunished : common 
 observation showing us that such favourite children are either 
 spoiled by their parents' indulgence, or soon taken out of the 
 world ; which last is, generally speaking, the lighter punishment 
 of the two. God, in his wisdom, hath been pleased to load our 
 declining years with many sufferings, with diseases and distress of 
 
1700J ENGLISH LETTERS 167 
 
 nature; with the death of many friends, and the ingratitude of 
 more; sometimes with the loss or diminution of our fortunes, 
 when our infirmities most need them ; often with contempt from 
 the world, and always with neglect from it ; with the death of 
 our most hopeful or useful children ; with a want of relish for all 
 worldly enjoyments ; with a general dislike of persons and things ; 
 and though all these are very natural effects of increasing years, 
 yet they were intended by the author of our being to wean us gra- 
 dually from our fondness of life, the nearer we approach toward 
 the end of it. And this is the use you are to make in prudence, 
 as well as in conscience, of all the afflictions you have hitherto un- 
 dergone, as well as of those which in the course of nature and provi- 
 dence you have reason to expect.' May God, who hath endowed you 
 with so many virtues, add strength of mind and reliance upon his 
 mercy, in proportion to your present sufferings, as well as those he 
 may think fit to try you with through the remainder of your life. 
 I fear my present ill disposition, both of health and mind, has 
 made me but a sorry comforter : however it will show that no cir- 
 cumstance of life can put you out of my mind, and that I am, with 
 the truest respect, esteem, and friendship, dear Madam, your most 
 obedient and humble servant, 
 
 JoNAiHAN Swift. 
 
 ex. 
 
 In this letter which refers to the writer's celebrated party- 
 history entitled ' The Four Last Years of Queen Anne's Reign,' 
 Swift recalls the particulars of the quarrels between Lords 
 Oxford and Boiingbroke in 1713-1714. Interesting historically, 
 it is scarcely less interesting from a literary point of view. 
 * There is,' says Lord Stanhope, ' something very mournful and 
 affecting in the tone of these recollections of his friends.' He 
 might have added, and something very charming in the mellow 
 beauty of the composition. 
 
 Dean Swift to the Earl of Oxford. 
 
 June 14, 1737. 
 My Lord, — I had the honour of a letter from your lordship, 
 dated April the 7th which I was not prepared to answer until this 
 time. Your lordship must needs have known that the history you 
 mention of the ' Four last years of the Queen's Eeign,' was -written 
 at Windsor, just upon finishing the peace ; at which time your 
 
168 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 father and my lord Bolingbroke had a misunderstanding with each 
 other that was attended with very bad consequences. When I 
 came to Ireland to take this deanery (after the peace was made) I 
 could not stay here above a fortnight being recalled by a hundred 
 letters to hasten back, and to use my endeavours in reconciling 
 those ministers. I left them the history you mention, which I 
 finished at "Windsor, to the time of the peace. When I returned to 
 England I found their quarrels and coldness increased. I laboured 
 to reconcile them as much as I was able : I contrived to bring 
 them to my lord Masham's, at St. James's. My lord and lady 
 Masham left us together. I expostulated with them both, but 
 could not find any good consequences. I was to go to Windsor 
 next day with my Lord-treasurer ; I pretended business that pre- 
 vented me : expecting they would come to some. . . . But I 
 followed them to Windsor ; where my lord Bolingbroke told me 
 that my scheme had come to nothing. Things went on at the same 
 rate ; they grew more estranged every day. My lord-treasurer 
 found his credit daily declining. In May before the queen died 
 I had my last meeting with them at my lord Masham's. He left 
 us together ; and therefore I spoke very freely to them both and 
 told them ^ I would retire, for I found all was gone.' Lord Boling- 
 broke whispered me, ' I was in the right.' Your father said ' All 
 would do well.' I told him ' that I would go to Oxford on Monday, 
 since I found it was impossible to be of any use.' I took coach 
 to Oxford on Monday; went to a friend in Berkshire there 
 stayed until the queen's death ; and then to my station here 
 where I stayed twelve years, and never saw my lord your father 
 afterward. They could not agree about printing the ' History of 
 the Four last Yeai-s : ' and therefore I have kept it to this time 
 when I determine to publish it in London, to the confusion of 
 all those rascals who have accused the queen and that ministry of 
 making a bad peace; to which that party entirely owes the pro- 
 testant succession. I was then in the greatest trust and confidence 
 with your father the lord-treasurer, as well as with my lord 
 Bolingbroke, and all others who had part in the administration. 
 I had all the letters from the secretary's office during the treaty of 
 peace : out of those, and what I learned from the ministry, I formed 
 that history, which I am now going to publish for the information, 
 of posterity, and to control the most impudent falsehoods which. 
 
1700] EN-GLISH LETTERS. 169 
 
 have been published since. I wanted no kind of materials. I 
 
 knew yoiu- father better than you could at that time; and I do 
 
 impartially think him the most virtuous minister and the most 
 
 able that I ever remembered to have read of. If your lordship has. 
 
 any particular circumstances that may fortify what I have said in 
 
 the history, such as letters or materials, I am content they should 
 
 be printed at the end by way of appendix. I loved my lord your 
 
 father better than any other man in the world, although I had 
 
 no obligation to him on the score of preferment; having been. 
 
 driven to this wretched kingdom, to which I was almost a stranger, 
 
 by his want of power to keep me in what I ought to call my own 
 
 country, although I happened to be dropped here, and was a year 
 
 old before I left it ; and, to my sorrow, did not die before I came 
 
 back to it again. I am extremely glad of the felicity you have in. 
 
 your alliance ; and desire to present my most humble respects to 
 
 my lady Oxford and your daughter the duchess. As to the history, 
 
 it is only of affairs which I know very well, and had all the 
 
 advantages possible to know, when you were in some sort but a 
 
 lad. One great design of it is, to do justice to the ministry at 
 
 that time, and to refute all the objections against them, as if they 
 
 had a design of bringing in popery and the pretender : and 
 
 further to demonstrate that the present settlement of the crown 
 
 was chiefly owing to my lord your father. I can never expect to 
 
 see England : I am now too old and too sickly, added to almost a. 
 
 perpetual deafness and giddiness. I live a most domestic life : I 
 
 want nothing that is necessary ; but I am in a cursed, factious, 
 
 oppressed, miserable country ; not made so by nature, but by the 
 
 slavish, hellish principles of an execrable prevailing faction in it. 
 
 Farewell, my lord. I have tired you and myself. I desire 
 
 again to present my most humble respects to my lady Oxford and 
 
 the duchess your daughter. Pray God preserve you long and 
 
 happy ! I shall diligently inquire into your conduct from those 
 
 who will tell me. You have hithei-to continued right : let me hear 
 
 that you persevere so. Your task will not be long ; for I am not 
 
 in a condition of health or time to trouble this world, and I am 
 
 heartily weary of it already ; and so should be in England, which 
 
 I hear is full as corrupt as this poor enslaved country. I am, with 
 
 the truest love and respect, my lord, your lordship's most obedient 
 
 and most obliged, &c. 
 
 Jonathan Swift. 
 
170 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Dr. Jolin ArlDutlinot, Physician in ordinary to Queen Anne, 
 and one of tlie most accomplished wits of our Augustan age, was 
 born 1667. He was the intimate friend of Pope, Swift, and 
 Bolingbroke, and was fortunate in attaining the double reputa- 
 tion of eminence in a professioDal career, and a place of distinc- 
 tion among contemporary writers and wits. He contributed his 
 share of those squibs and political tracts which marked the 
 parliamentary party-warfare of the last years of Queen Anne's 
 reign. 
 
 Dr. Arhuthnot to Dean Swift. 
 
 Hampstead : October 4, 1734. 
 
 My Dear and Worthy Friend, — You have no reason to put me 
 among the rest of your forgetful friends; for I wrote two long 
 letters to you, to which I uever received one word of answer. The 
 first was about your health : the last I sent a great while ago by 
 one De la Mar. I can assure you with great truth that none of 
 your friends or acquaintance has a more warm heart toward you 
 than myself. I am going out of this troublesome world ; and you 
 among the rest of my friends shall have my last prayers and good 
 wishes. 
 
 The young man whom you recommended came to this place, 
 and! promised to do him what service my ill state of health would 
 permit. I came out to this place so reduced by a dropsy and 9n 
 asthma that I could neither sleep, breathe, eat, nor move. I most 
 earnestly desired and begged of God that he would take me. Con- 
 trary to my expectation, upon venturing to ride (which I had for- 
 borne for some ye^rs, because of bloody water) I recovered my 
 strength to a pretty considerable degree, slept, and had my stomach 
 again; but I expect the return of my symptoms upon my return 
 to London, and the return of the winter. I am not in circum- 
 stances to live an idle country life ; and no man at my age ever 
 recovered of such a disease further than by an abatement of the 
 symptoms. What 1 did I can assure you was not for life but ease. 
 For I am at present in the case of a man that was almost in har- 
 bour, and then blown back to sea ; who has a reasonable hope of 
 going to a good place, and an absolute certainty of leaving a very 
 bad one. Not that I have any particular disgust at the world ; 
 for I have as great comfort in my own family, and from the kind- 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 171 
 
 ness of my friends, as any man, but the world, in the main, dis- 
 pleases me ; and I have too true a presentiment of calamities that 
 a,re likely to befall my country. However, if I should have the 
 happiness to see you before I die, you will find that I enjoy the 
 comforts of life with my usual cheerfulness. I cannot imagine 
 why you are frighted from a journey to England. The reasons 
 you assign are not sufficient ; the journey I am sure would do you 
 good. In general I recommend riding, of which I have always 
 had a good opinion, and can now confirm it from my own ex- 
 perience. 
 
 My family give you their love and service. The great loss I 
 sustained in one of them gave me my first shock ; and the trouble 
 I have with the rest to bring them to a right temper, to bear the 
 loss of a father who loves them, and whom they love, is really a 
 most sensible affliction to me. I am afraid, my dear friend, we 
 shall never see one another more in this world. I shall to the 
 last moment, preserve my love and esteem for you, being well 
 assured you will never leave the paths of virtue and honour ; for 
 all that is in this world is not worth the least deviation from that 
 way. It will be great pleasure to me to hear from you sometimes ; 
 for none can be with more sincerity than I am, my dear friend, 
 your most faithful friend and humble servant, 
 
 J. Arbuthnot. 
 
 OXII. 
 
 Steele's second wife was a Miss Mary Scurlock, of Llan- 
 gunnor, a lady of considerable wealth and of fascinating presence ; 
 she received his advances at first with coldness, yet only a month 
 elapsed between his proposal and their marriage, which occurred 
 about eight days after the composition of the following pretty 
 letter. 
 
 Richard Steele to Mary Scurlock. 
 
 September 1, 1707. 
 It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love, and yet 
 attend to business. 
 
 As for me, all who speak to me find me out, and I must lock 
 myself up, or other people will do it for me. 
 
 A gentleman asked me this morning, * What news from Lisbon 1 ' 
 and I answered, ' She is exquisitely handsome.' Another desired 
 to know when I had been last at Hampton Court. I replied, * I 
 
172 ENGLISB: letters. [1600- 
 
 will be on Tuesday come se'nnight.' Pr'ytliee, allow me at least 
 to kiss your hand before that day, that my mind may be in som& 
 composure. love ! 
 
 A thousand torments dwell about thee I 
 Yet who would live to live without thee ? 
 
 Methinks I could write a volume to you ; but all the language 
 on earth would fail in saying how much, and with what dis- 
 interested passion, I am ever yours, 
 
 BiCH. Steele. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 It need scarcely be stated that Isaac Biekerstaffe was the nom 
 de plume of Sir Richard Steele while he was writing for the 
 'Tatler.' 
 
 Sir Richard Steele to the Earl of Halifax. 
 
 (Inclosing Mr. Bickerstaffe's proposal for a subscription. ) 
 
 January 26, 1709. 
 My Lord, — I presume to enclose to your lordship Mr. Bicker- 
 staffe's proposall for a subscription, and ask your lordship's favour 
 in promoting it, having that philosopher's interest at heart as much 
 as my own, and am, indeed, confident I am the greatest admirer he 
 has. The best argument I have for this partiality is, that my 
 Lord Halifax has smiled upon his laboui-s. If any whom your 
 Lordship recommends shall think fitt to subscribe more than the 
 sum proposed for a Book, it may be said that it is for so many 
 more books. This will make the favour more gracefull by being^ 
 confer'd in an oblique way, and at the same time save the con- 
 fusion of the Squire, whom I know to be naturally proud. 
 
 I am, my Lord, your Lordship's most obliged 
 
 most obedient humble servant 
 
 Rich. Steele, 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 173 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Coleridge has •warmly commended the letters of Steele to 
 liis second wife as * models of their kind.' They are brief and 
 artless, full of a sensitive ardour in demanding reciprocity of 
 affection, and singularly unaffected in style. Lady Steele died 
 before her husband in 1718 ; she has been blamed for being so 
 much absent from home, yet it is to this circumstance that "we 
 owe the priceless correspondence which she preserved. 
 
 Sir Richard Steele to Lady Steele. 
 
 June 20, 1717. 
 
 Dear Prue, — I have yonrs of the 14th, and am infinitely 
 •obliged to you for the length of it. I do not know another whom 
 T could commend for that circumstance ; but where we entirely 
 love, the continuance of anything they do to please us is a pleasure. 
 As for your relations, once for all, pray take it for granted, that 
 my regard and conduct towards all and singular of them shall be 
 as you direct. 
 
 I hope, by the grace of God to continue what you wish me, 
 every way an honest man. My wife and my children are the 
 objects that have wholly taken up my heart ; and as I am not 
 invited or encouraged in anything which regards the public, I am 
 easy under that neglect or envy of my past actions, and cheeifully 
 contract that diffusive spirit within the interests of my own 
 family. You are the head of us ; and I stooped to a female reign 
 as being naturally made the slave of beauty. But to prepare for 
 our manner of living when we are again together, give me leave to 
 say, while I am here at leisure, and come to lie at Chelsea, what I 
 iihink may contribute to our better way of living. I very much 
 approve Mrs. Evans and her husband and if you take my advice, 
 I would have them have a being in our house, and Mrs. Clark the 
 ■care and inspection of the nursery. I would have you entirely at 
 leisure to pass your time with me in diversions, in books, in enter- 
 tainments, and no manner of business intrude upon us but at 
 stated times. For, though you are made to be the delight of my 
 eyes, and food of all my senses and faculties, yet a turn of care 
 and housewifery, and I know not what i)repossession against con- 
 versation-pleasures, robs me of the witty and the handsome woman 
 
171 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 to a degree not to be expressed. I will work my brains and 
 fingers to procure us plenty of all things, and demand nothing of 
 you but to take delight in agreeable dresses, cheerful discourses 
 and gay sights, attended by me. This may be done by putting the 
 kitchen and the nursery in the hands I propose ; and I shall have 
 nothing to do but to pass as much time at home as I possibly can, 
 in the best company in the world. We cannot tell here what to 
 think of the trial of my Lord Oxford ; if the ministry are in 
 earnest in that and I should see it will be extended to a length of 
 time, I will leave them to themselves, and wait upon you. Miss 
 Moll grows a mighty beauty, and she shall be very prettily dressed, 
 as likewise shall Betty and Eugene ; and if I throw away a little 
 money in adorning my brats, I hope you will forgive me : They 
 are, I thank God, all very well ; and the charming form of their 
 mother has tempered the likeness they bear to their rough sire, 
 who is, with the greatest fondness, your most obliged and most 
 obedient husband, 
 
 KiCH. Steele. 
 
 CXV. 
 
 George II.'s Poet Laureate was seventy-six years of age when 
 he wrote the following- letter of advice to Mrs. Pilkington. 
 From its remarkably familiar tone it will be readily understood 
 that it was addressed to a person the writer did not respect but 
 was anxious to befriend. Laetitia Pilkington, whose career was 
 neither very interesting nor very reputable, was proud of the 
 friendship of this dissipated old dramatist. 
 
 CoUey Cibher to Mrs. Pilkington. 
 
 June 29, 1747. 
 
 Thou frolicsome farce of fortune. 
 
 What! Is there another act to come of you then? I was 
 afraid, some time ago, you had made your last exit. Well ! but 
 without wit or compliment, I am glad to hear you are so tolerably 
 alive. I have your incredible narrative from Dublia before me, 
 and shall, as you desire me, answer every paragraph in its turn, 
 without considering its importance or connection. 
 
 You say I have for many years been the kind preserver of your 
 life. In this, I think, I have no great merit ; because you seem 
 to set so little value upon it yourself : otherwise you would have 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 175 
 
 considered, that poverty was the most helpless handmaid that ever 
 waited upon a high-spirited lady. But as long as the world 
 allowed you wit and parts, how poor (compared to you without a 
 shilling in your pocket) was an illiterate queen of the Indies. Oh, 
 the glory of a great soul ! Why, to be sure, as you say, it must 
 he a fine thing indeed! But — a word in your Majesty's ear — 
 common sense is no contemptible creature, notwithstanding you have 
 thought her too vulgar to be one of your maids of honour. 
 
 Common sense might have prevented as many misfortunes as 
 your high-and-mightiness has run through. It is true, you have 
 stood them all with a Catonian constancy ; but I fancy you might 
 have passed your life as merrily without them. You see I am 
 still friend enough to be free with your failings : but make the 
 best of a bad market. You seem now to have a glimpse of a new 
 world before you ! 
 
 Think a little how you are to squeeze through the crowd, with 
 such a bundle at your back ; and don't suppose it possible you can 
 have a grain of wit, till you have twenty pounds in your pocket. 
 With half that sum, a greater sinner than you may look the devil 
 in the face. Few people of sense will turn their back upon a 
 woman of wit, that does not look as if she came to borrow money 
 of them : but, when want brings her to her wits' end, every fool 
 will have wit enough to avoid her. But as this seems now to be 
 your case, I am more afraid of your being out of your wits at 
 your good, than your bad fortune ; for I question whether you 
 are as able to bear the first as the last. If you don't tell me a, 
 poetical fib, in saying that people of taste so often borrow Cicero 
 of you, I will send you half a score of them, with which you may 
 compliment those whom you suppose to be your friends ; perhaps 
 you may have a chance of having the favour returned with some- 
 thing more than it is worth. Generosity is less shy of shewing 
 itself, when it only appears to be grateful. In a word, if you 
 would have these books, you must order some friend in London 
 to c«all upon me for them ; for you know 1 hate care and trouble. 
 
 I am not sure your spouse's having taken another wife, before 
 you came over, might not have proved the only means of his being 
 a better husband to you ; for, had he picked up a fortune, the hush ! 
 hush ! of your prior claim to him, might have been worth a better 
 separate maintenance, than you are now like to get out of him. 
 
376 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 As for my health and spirits, they are as usual, and full as strong 
 as any body's that has enjoyed his the same number of years. If 
 the value I have for you gives you any credit in your own country 
 pray stretch it as far as you think it can be serviceable to you ; for 
 under all the rubbish of your misfortunes, I can see your merit 
 sparkle like a lost jewel. I have no greater pleasure, than in 
 placing my esteem on those who can feel and value it. Had you 
 been bom to a larger fortune, your shining qualities might have 
 put half the rest of your sex out of countenance. If any of them. 
 a,re uncharitable enough to call this flattery, tell them what a poor 
 devil you are, and let that solace you. If ever you should recover 
 enough of the public favour to dissipate your former sorrows, I 
 should be glad to see you here. In the mean time you will fully 
 repay any ser\^ce I may have done you, by sometimes letting me 
 hear of your well-doing. I hope you have but one volume of your 
 Memoirs in the press ; because, if that meets with any success, I 
 b)elieve I could give you some natural hints, which, in the easy 
 dress of your pen, might a good deal enliven it. 
 
 You make your court very ill to me, by depreciating the 
 natural blessings on your side the water. 
 
 What have you to boast of, that you want, but wealth and 
 insolent dominion % Is not the glory of God's creation, lovely 
 woman ! there in its highest lustre % I have seen several and 
 frequent examples of them here; and have heard of many, not 
 only from yourself, but others, who, for the agreeable entertain- 
 ments of the social mind, have not their equal playfellows in Old 
 England. And pray what, to me, would life be worth without 
 them 1 dear soft souls ! for now too they are lavish of favours, 
 which, in my youth, they would have trembled to trust me with. 
 In a word, if, instead of the sea, I had only the 'dry-ground Alps 
 to get over, I should think it but a trip to Dublin. In the mean 
 time we must e'en compound for such interviews as the post or 
 the packet can send to you, or bring to 
 
 Your real Friend and Servant 
 
 C. Gibber. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 1T7 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Josepli Addison gives his impressions of tliQ Frenoli l)nur- 
 geoisie, represented by the good people of Blois, at a time when 
 the extravagant tastes and costly wars of the Grand Monarque 
 culminated in the imposition, for the first time, of a capitation 
 tax on people already poverty-stricken through burthensome 
 taxation. 
 
 Joseph Addison to Charles Montagu. 
 
 Blois : October, 1G90. 
 Honoured Sir, — You will be surpris'd I dont question to find 
 among your Correspondencies in Foreign parts a Letter Dated from 
 Blois : but as much out of y® world as we are, I have often the 
 pleasure to hear you mention'd among the Strangers of other 
 Nations whose company I am here sometimes Engag'd in ; I have 
 found since my leaving England that 'tis Impossible to talk of her 
 with those that know there is such a Nation, but you make a part 
 of the Discourse. Your name comes in upon the most diflerent 
 subjects, if we speak of the men of Wit or the men of Business, of 
 Poets or Patrons, Politicians or Parliament men. I must confess 
 I am never so sensible of my Imperfection in the French Language 
 as when I would express myself on so agreeable a subject ; tho' if 
 I understood it as well as Mother Tongue I shou'd want words on 
 this occasion. I cant pretend to trouble you with any News from 
 this place, where the only Advantage I have besides getting the 
 Language is to see the manners and temper of the people, which I 
 believe may be better leai-n't here than in Courts and greater 
 Citys where Artifice and Disguise are more in fashion. And truly 
 by what I have yet seen they are the Happiest nation in the 
 "World. Tis not in the pow'r of Want or Slavery to make 'em 
 miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the Country but 
 Mirth and Poverty. Ev'ry one sings, laughs and starves. Their 
 Conversation is generally Agreeable ; for if they have any Wit or 
 Sense, they are sure to show it. They never mend upon a 
 Second meeting, but use all the freedom and familiarity at fii-st 
 Sight that a Long Intimacy or Abundance of wine can scarce 
 draw from an Englishman : Their Women are perfect Mistresses 
 in this Art of showing themselves to the best Advantage. They 
 are always gay and sprightly and set off y® Worst Faces in 
 
 N 
 
178 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 Europe with y® best airs. Ev'ry one knows how to give herself as 
 charming a Look and posture as S"" Godfrey Elneller c*^ draw her in. 
 I cannot end my letter without observing, that from what I have 
 already seen of the world I cannot but set a particular mark upon 
 those who abound most in the Virtues of their Nation and least 
 with its Imperfections. When therefore I see the Good sense of 
 an Englishman in its highest perfection without any mixture of 
 the Spleen, I hope you will excuse me if I admire the Character 
 and am Ambitious of subscribing myself 
 
 Hon'^ Sir, 
 Yo^ &c. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 In 1700 Boileau had almost entirely retreated from the worldt 
 and it was by special favour that he received the elegant young 
 Englishman, as yet known to fame only as a singularly accom- 
 plished Latinist ; but Malebranche, like Saint Evremond in the 
 generation before him, had more friends in London than in Paris, 
 and to pay him a visit was the duty of every lettered English- 
 man who found himself in France. 
 
 Joseph Addison to BisJwp Hough. 
 
 December, 1700. 
 My Lord, — I receiv'd y® honour of your L*^ship's Letter at 
 Paris, and am since got as far as Lyons in my way for Italy. I am 
 at present very well content to quit y« French conversation, which 
 since y® promotion of their young prince begins to grow Insupport- 
 able. That w^ was before y® Vainest nation in y® world is now 
 worse than ever. There is scarce a man in it that does not give him- 
 self greater airs upon it, and look as well pleased as if he had rec'd 
 some considerable advancement in his own fortunes. The best 
 company I have met with since my being in this country has been 
 among y® men of Letters, who are generally easy of access, espe- 
 cially y^ Eeligious who have a great deal of time on their hands, 
 and are glad to pass some of it off in y^ society of strangers. Their 
 Learning for y® most part lies among y® old schoolmen. Their 
 public disputes run upon y® Controversys between the Thomists 
 and Scotists, which they manage with abundance of Heat and 
 False Latin. When I was at Paris I visited y^ Pei-e Mai bran che 
 who has a particular esteem for y"^ English Nation, where I 
 believe he has more admirers than in his own. The French dont 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 179 
 
 ca,r3 for following him through his deep Researches, and generally 
 look upon all y® new Philosophy as Visionary or Irreligious. 
 Malbranche himself told me that he was five and twenty years old 
 before he had so much as heard of y® name of Des Cartes. His 
 book is now reprinted with many Additions, among which he 
 show'd me a very pretty hypothesis of Colours w^ is different from 
 that of Cartesius or Mr. Newton, tho' they may all three be True. 
 He very much prais'd M^' Newton's Mathematics, shook his head 
 at y® name of Hobbes, and told me he thought him a pauvre 
 esprit. He was very solicitous about y® English translation of his 
 work, and was afraid it had been taken from an 111 Edition of it. 
 Among other Learned men I had y® honour to be introduc'd to 
 M"^ Boileau, who is now retouching his works and putting 'em 
 out in a new Impression. He is old and a little Deaf but talks 
 incomparably well in his own calling. He heartily hates an 111 
 poet and throws himself into a passion when he talks of any 
 one that has not a high respect for Homer and Yirgil. I dont 
 know whether there is more of old Age or Truth in his Censures 
 on y6 French writers, but he wonderfully decrys y® present and 
 extols very much his former cotemporarys, especially his two 
 intimate friends Arnaud and Racine. I askt him whether he 
 thought Telemaque was not a good modern piece : he spoke of it 
 with a great deal of esteem, and said that it gave us a better 
 notion of Homer's way of writing than any translation of his 
 works could do, but that it falls however infinitely short of y® 
 Odyssee, for Mentor, says he, is eternally Preaching, but Ulysses 
 shows us every thing in his character and behaviour y* y® other 
 is still pressing on us by his precepts and Instructions. He said 
 y« punishment of bad Kings was very well invented, and might 
 compare with any thing of that nature in y® 6*^ Eneid, and that 
 y® deceit put on T^lemaque's Pilot to make him misguide his 
 master is more artful and poetical than y^ Death of Paliniirus. I 
 mention his discourse of his Author because it is at present y* 
 B()ok y* is everywhere talked of, and has a great many partizans 
 for and against it in this country. I found him as warm in crying 
 up this man and y® good poets in general as he has been in cen- 
 suring y® bad ones of his time, as we commonly observe y® man 
 that makes y® Best friend is y® worst enemy. He talk'd very 
 much of Corneille, allowing him to be an excellent poet, but at y» 
 
 N 2 
 
180 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 
 
 same time none ofye best Tragique writere, for that lie declaimed 
 too frequently and made very fine Descriptions often when there 
 ■was no occasion for 'em. Aristotle, says he, proposes two passions 
 y* are proper to be rais'd by Tragedy, Terrour and Pity, but 
 Corneille endeavours at a new one w^ is Admiration. He in- 
 stanc'd in his Pompey (w^ he told us y« late Duke of Condy thought 
 y« best Tragedy y* was ever written) where in y^ first scene y« 
 King of Egypt runs into a very pompous and long description of 
 y® battle of Pharsalia, tho' he was then in a great hurry of afiairs 
 and had not himself been present at it. I hope your L'^ship will 
 excuse me for this kind of Intelligence, for in so beaten a Road as 
 that of France it is impossible to talk of anything new unless 
 we may be allow'd to speak of particular persons, y* are always 
 cbanging and may therefore furnish different matter for as many 
 travellers as pass thro' y® country. 
 
 I am my L^ 
 
 Your L^ship's &c. 
 
 cxvin. 
 
 This letter, so fall of the gentlemanlike badinage and grace- 
 ful humour in which its author was the first English writer to 
 excel, was composed at a moment when the hopes of Addi- 
 son were at their lowest, and his ambitiom most painfully 
 humiliated. The death of King William had destroyed that 
 Whig Ministry with which the poet's chances of preferment were 
 bound up, and had brought him but one advantage, ' leisure to 
 make the tour of Germany.' 
 
 Joseph Addison to Chamberlain Dashwood. 
 
 Geneva: July, 1702. 
 Dear Sir, — About three days ago Mr. Bocher put a very pretty 
 snuff-box in my hand. I was not a little pleas'd to hear that it 
 belonged to myself, and was much more so when I foimd it was a 
 present from a Gentleman that I have so great an honour for^ 
 You did not probably foresee that it would draw on you y® 
 trouble of a Letter, but you must blame yourself for it. For my 
 part I can no more accept of a Snuff-box without returning my 
 Acknowledgements, than I can take Snuff without sneezing after it. 
 This last I must own to you is so gi-eat an absurdity that I 
 should be ashamed to confess it, were not I in hopes of correcting 
 
1700] EJSGLISH LETTERS. 181 
 
 it very speedily. I am observ'd to have my Box oft'ner in my 
 hand than those that have been used to one these twenty years, for 
 I cant forbear taking it out of my pocket whenever I think of 
 Mr. Dashwood. You know Mr. Bays recommends Snuflf as a 
 great provocative to Wit, but you may produce this Letter as a 
 Standing Evidence against him. I have since y® beginning of it 
 taken above a dozen pinches, and still find myself much more 
 inclin'd to sneeze than to jest. From whence I conclude that 
 Wit and Tobacco are not inseparable, or to make a Pun of it, 
 tho' a Man may be master of a snufi'-box, 
 
 Non cuicunque datum est habere Nasam. 
 
 I should be afraid of being thought a Pedant for my Quotation 
 did not I know that y® Gentleman I am writing to always carrys 
 a Horace in his pocket. But whatever you may think me, pray 
 S'' do me y® Justice to esteem me 
 
 Your most &c. 
 
 OXIX. 
 
 The last letter written by Addison commends in these touch- 
 ing terms to the favour of his successor Mr. Craggs, the fortunes 
 of his young friend and literary executor Tickell. It was long 
 before that poet could so far command his grief as to write the 
 elegy on Addison, which is one of the finest products of English 
 verse in the eighteenth century; and, before it was finished, 
 Craggs had followed Addison to the grave. A few days before 
 the writing of this letter, the great essayist had given Tickell 
 directions for publishing his complete works. 
 
 Joseph Addison to Mr, Secretary Craqgs. 
 
 June, 1719. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I cannot wish that any of my writings should last 
 longer than the memory of our friendship, and therefore I thus 
 publicly bequeath them to you, in return for the many valuable 
 instances of your aflfection. 
 
 That they may come to you with as little disadvantage as 
 possible, I have left the care of them to one, whom, by the expe- 
 rience of some years, I know well-qualified to answer my inten- 
 tions. He has already the honour and happiness of being under 
 your protection ; and as he will very much stand in need of it, I 
 cannot wish him better than that he may continue to deserve the 
 favour and protection of such a patron. 
 
182 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 I have no time to lay out in forming such compliments, as 
 would but ill suit that familiarity between us, which was once my 
 greatest pleasm-e, and will be my greatest honour hereafter. 
 
 Instead of them, accept of my hearty wishes that the great re- 
 putation you have acquired so early, may increase more and more : 
 and that you may long serve your country with those excellent 
 talents, and unblemished integrity, which have so powerfully 
 recommended you to the most gracious and amiable monarch that 
 ever filled a throne. 
 
 May the frankness and generosity of your spirit continue to 
 soften and subdue your enemies, and gain you many friends, if 
 possible, as sincere as yourself. When you have found such, they 
 cannot wish you more true happiness than I, who am with the 
 greatest zeal, &c. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Lord Bolinghroke is writing to announce an event which was 
 full of importance in marking an exceptional career. The Royal 
 assent had just been given to a Bill allowing him to return to 
 England and to the possession of his property ; but Parliament, 
 by refusing to cancel his Attainder, insisted on keeping so dan- 
 gerous and insuiuating a rival at arm's length. Permanently 
 deprived of his seat in the House of Lords he found an outlet 
 for his bitterness in the pages of the ^ Craftsman,' but neither as 
 St. John Viscount Bolinghroke nor as Humphrey Oldcastle was 
 he able to make headwa}^ against that Whig ascendancy which 
 lasted even beyond the remaining twenty-five years of his hfe. 
 
 Lord Bolinghroke to Dean Sicift. 
 
 London: July 24, 1725. 
 Mr. Ford will tell you how I do, and what I do. Tired with 
 suspense, the only insupportable misfortune of life, I desired, after 
 nine years of autumnal promises and vernal excuses, a decision ; 
 and cared very little what that decision was, provided it left me a 
 liberty to settle abroad, or put me on a foot of Hving agi^eeably at 
 home. The wisdom of the nation has thought fit, instead of 
 granting so reasonable a request, to pass an act, which fixing my 
 fortune unalterably to this country, fixes my person there also : 
 and those, who had the least mind to see me in Englmid., have 
 made it impossible for me to live any where else. Here I am 
 then, two-thirds restored, my person safe, (unless I meet hereafter 
 
1700J ENGLISH LETTERS. 183 
 
 with harder treatment than even that of Sir Walter Raleigh) and 
 my estate, with all the other property I have acquired, or may 
 acquire, secured to me. But the attainder is kept carefully and 
 prudently in force, lest so corrupt a member should come again 
 into the house of lords, and his bad leaven should sour that sweet, 
 untainted mass. Thus much I thought I might say about my 
 private affairs to an old friend, without diverting him too long 
 from his labours to promote the advantage of the church and state 
 of Ireland ; or, from his travels into those countries of giants and 
 pigmies, from whence he imports a cargo I value at an highei 
 rate than that of the richest galleon. Ford brought the dean of 
 Berry to see me. Unfortunately for me, I was then out of town j 
 and the journey of the former into Ireland will perhaps defer, 
 for some time, my making acquaiatance with the other, which I 
 am sorry for. I would not by any means lose the opportunity 
 of knowing a man, who can espouse ra good earnest the system of 
 father Malehranche^ and who is fond of going a missionary into 
 the West Indies. My zeal for the propagation of the Gospel will 
 hardly carry me so far ; but my spleen against Europe has, more 
 than once; made me think of buying the dominion of BermudaSy 
 and spending the remainder of my days as far as possible from 
 those people, with whom I have passed the first and greatest part 
 of my life. Health and every other natural comfort of life is to 
 be had there, better than here. As to imaginary and artificial 
 pleasures, we are philosophers enough to despise them. What say 
 you % Will you leave your Hibernian flock to some other shepherd, 
 and transplant yourself with me into the middle of the Atlantic 
 ocean? We will form a society more reasonable, and more useful 
 than that of doctor Berkeley's^ College: and I promise you 
 solemnly, as supreme magistrate, not to suffer the currency of 
 Wood's halfpence : ^ Nay, the coiner of them shall be hanged, if he 
 presumes to set his foot on our island. 
 
 Let me hear how you are, and what you do ; and if you really 
 
 » Dr. Berkeley obtained a charter for establishing a University in the 
 Bermudas for the general improvement and education of our colonies, but 
 the design miscarried for lack of money. 
 
 2 Allusion to the ' Drapier Letters,' written by Swift against the intro- 
 duction into Ireland of a new copper coinage to be supplied by a 
 Birmingham speculator, William Wood. 
 
1S4 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 have any latent kindness still at the bottom of your heart for me ; 
 say something very kind to me, for I don't dislike being cajoled. 
 If your heart tells you nothing, say nothing, that I may take the 
 hint, and wean myself from you by degrees. Whether I shall 
 compass it or not, God knows : but, surely this is the properest 
 place in the world to renounce fiiendship in, or to forget obliga- 
 tions. Mr. Ford says he will be with us again by the beginning 
 of the winter. Your Star will probably hinder you from taking 
 the same journey. Adieu, dear Dean. I had something more to 
 say to you, almost as important as what I have said already, but 
 company comes in upon me, and relieves you. 
 
 OXXI. 
 
 To Swift, Pope, and Gay this little trifle was addressed by 
 their restless correspondent in one of his cheery moments. 
 
 Lord Bolinghrohe to the Three Yahoos of Twickenham^ Jonathan^ 
 Alexander, John. 
 From the banks of the Severn : July 23, 1726. 
 
 Though you are probably very indifferent where I am, or what 
 I am doing ; yet I resolve to believe the contrary. I persuade 
 myself that you have sent at least fifteen times within this fort- 
 night to Dawley farm, and that you are extremely mortified at my 
 long silence. To relieve you therefore from this great anxiety of 
 mind, I can do no less than write a few lines to you ; and I please 
 myself beforehand with the vast pleasure which this epistle must 
 needs give you. That I may add to this pleasure, and give you 
 further proofs of my beneficent temper, I wiU likewise inform you, 
 that I shall be in your neighbourhood again by the end of next 
 week ; by which time I hope that Jonathan's imagination of busi- 
 ness will be succeeded by some imagination more becoming a pro- 
 fessor of that divine science, la bagatelle. 
 
 Adieu, Jonathan, Alexander, John I Mirth be with you. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 This joint epistle was written at the time Lord Bolinghroke's 
 second wife, the niece of Madame de Maiutenon, was in failing 
 health. Pope's allusion to his mother is one of the many touch- 
 ing illustrations of the best trait in his character. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 185 
 
 Lord Bolinghrohe, and Alexander Pope to Dean Swift. 
 
 March 29, 1731. 
 
 I have delayed several posts answering yotir letter of January- 
 last, in hopes of being able to speak to you about a project which, 
 concerns us both, but me the most, since the success of it would 
 bring us together. It has been a good while in my head and at my 
 heart ; if it can be set a-going you shall hear of it. I was ill in 
 the beginning of the winter for near a week, but in no danger 
 either from the nature of my distemper or from the attendance 
 of three physicians. Since that bilious intermitting fever I have 
 had, as I had before, better health than the regard I have paid to 
 health deserves. We are both in the decline of life, my dear dean, 
 and have been some years going down the hill ; let us make the 
 passage as smooth as we can. Let us fence against physical evil 
 by care and the use of those means which experience must have 
 pointed out to us : let us fence against moral evil by philosophy* 
 I renounce the alternative you propose. But we may, nay (if we 
 will follow nature, and do not work up imagination against her 
 plainest dictates), we shall of course, grow every year more indif- 
 ferent to life, and to the affairs and interests of a system out of 
 which we are soon to go. This is much better than stupidity. The 
 decay of passion strengthens philosophy, for passion may decay 
 and stupidity not succeed. Passions (says Pope, our divine, as you 
 will see one time or other), are the gales of life ; let us not com- 
 plain that they do not blow a storm. What hurt does age do us- 
 in subduing what we toil to subdue all our lives 1 It is now six 
 in the morning ; I recal the time (and am glad it is over) when 
 about this hour I used to be going to bed, surfeited with pleasure 
 or jaded with business ; my head often full of schemes, and my 
 heart as often full of anxiety. Is it a misfortune, think you, that 
 I rise at this hour refreshed, serene, and calm ? that the past and 
 even the present affairs of life stand like objects at a distance 
 from me, where I can keep off the disagreeables so as not to be 
 strongly affected by them, and from whence I can draw the 
 others nearer tfi me. Passions in their force would bring all these, 
 nay, even future contingencies, about my ears at once, and reason 
 would but ill defend me in the scuffle. 
 
 I leave Pope to speak for himself, but I must tell you how 
 
186 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 much my wife is obliged to you. She says she would find strength 
 ■enough to nurse you if you were here, and yet, God knows, she is 
 extremely weak; the slow fever works under and mines the con- 
 stitution ; we keep it off sometimes, but still it returns and makes 
 new breaches before nature can repair the old ones. I am not 
 ashamed to say to you that I admire her more every hour of my 
 life : Death is not to her the King of terrors ; she beholds him 
 without the least. When she suffers much she wishes for him 
 as a deliverer from pain; when life is tolerable she looks on 
 iiim with dislike, because he is to separate her from those friends 
 to whom she is more attached than to life itself. You shall not 
 stay for my next as long as you have for this letter, and in every 
 one Pope shall write something much better than the scraps of 
 old philosophers, which were the presents, munuscula, that stoical 
 fop Seneca used to send in every epistle to his friend Lucilius. 
 
 P.S. By Alexander Pope. 
 
 My lord has spoken justly of his lady ; why not I of my mother ? 
 Yesterday was her birthday, now entering on the ninety-first year 
 of her age ; her memory much diminished, but her senses very 
 little hm^t, her sight and heai'ing good ; she sleeps not HI, eats 
 moderately, drinks water, says her prayers; and this is all she 
 ■does. I have reason to thank God for continuing so long to me 
 a very good and tender parent, and for allowing me to exercise 
 for some years those cares which are now as necessary to her as 
 liers have been to me. An object of this sort daily before one's 
 eyes very much softens the mind, but perhaps may hinder it from 
 the willingness of contracting other ties of the like domestic 
 nature when one finds hoAv painful it is even to enjoy the tender 
 pleasures. I have formerly made so strong efforts to get and to 
 desei"v^e a friend ; perhaps it were wiser never to attempt it, but 
 live extempore, and look upon the world only as a place to pass 
 through, just pay your hosts their due, disjjerse a little charity, 
 and hurry on. Yet am I just now writing (or rath^ planning) a 
 book ' to make mankind look upon this life with comfort and 
 pleasure, and put morality in good humour. And just now, too, 
 
 ' The Essay on Man. 
 
17001 ENGLISH LETTERS. 187 
 
 I am going to see one I love tenderly, and tomorrow to entertain 
 several civil people, whom if we call friends it is by the courtesy 
 of England. Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras. While W3 do live 
 we must make the best of life. 
 
 Cantantes licet usque (minus via laedat) eamus — 
 
 as the shepherd said in Virgil when the road was long and heavy, 
 I am yours. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 In the midst of Dr. Berkeley's voluminous and not very 
 lively correspondeDce there is a refreshing descriptive account 
 of the Island of Inarime (the modern Ischia), addressed to 
 Pope from the Doctor's winter quarters at Naples. 
 
 Br. Berkeley to Alexander Pope. 
 
 Naples : October 22, 1717. 
 I have long had it in my thoughts to trouble you with a letter, 
 but was discouraged for want of sometliing that I could think 
 worth sending fifteen hundred miles. Italy is such an exhausted 
 subject, that, I dare say, you'd easily forgive my saying nothing of 
 it ; and the imagination of a poet is a thing so nice and delicate, 
 that it is no easy matter to find out images capable of giving plea- 
 sure to one of the few, who (in any age) have come up to that 
 character. I am nevertheless lately returned from an island where 
 I passed three or four months ; which, were it set out in its true 
 colours, might, methinks, amuse you agreeably enough for a 
 minute or two. The island Inarime is an epitome of the whole 
 earth, containing, within the compass of eighteen miles, a wonderful 
 variety of hills, vales, ragged rocks, fruitful plains, and bai-ren 
 mountains, all thrown together in a riiost romantic confusion. 
 The air is, in the hottest season, constantly refreshed by cool 
 breezes from the sea. The vales produce excellent wheat and 
 Indian corn, but are mostly covered with vineyards intermixed 
 with fruit-trees. Besides the common kinds, as cherries, apricots, 
 peaches, &c. they produce oranges, limes, almonds, pomegranates, 
 figs, water-melons, and many other fruits unknown to our cli- 
 mates, which lie every where open to the passenger. The hills are 
 the greater part covered to the top with vines, some with chesnut 
 groves, and others with thickets of myrtle and lentiscus. The 
 
188 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 fields in the northern side are divided by hedgerows of myrtle. 
 Several fountains and rivulets add to the beauty of this landscape^ 
 which is likewise set off by the variety of some barren spots and 
 naked rocks. But that which crowns the scene, is a large moun- 
 tain rising out of the middle of the island (once a terrible Vol- 
 cano, by the ancients called Mons Epomeus). Its lower parts are 
 adorned with vines and other fruits, the middle affords pasture to 
 flocks of goats and sheep ; and the top is a sandy pointed rock, 
 from which you have the finest prospect in the world, surveying 
 at one view, besides several pleasant islands lying at your feet, a 
 tract of Italy about three hundred miles in length, from the pro- 
 montory of Antium to the Cape of Palinurus ; the greater part of 
 which hath been sung by Homer and Virgil, as making a con- 
 siderable part of the travels and adventures of their two heroes. 
 The islands Caprea, Prochyta, and Parthenope, together with 
 Cajeta, Cumse, Monte Miseno, the habitations of Circe, the Syrens, 
 and the Lastrigones, the bay of Naples, the promontory of Minerva, 
 and the whole Campagnia felice, make but a part of this noble 
 landscape; which would demand an imagination as warm, and 
 numbers as flowing, as your own, to describe it. The inhabitants 
 of this delicious isle, as they are without riches and honours, so 
 are they without the vices and follies that attend them ; and were 
 they but as much strangers to revenge as they are to avarice and 
 ambition, they might in fact answer the poetical notions of the 
 golden age. But they have got, as an alloy to their happiness, an 
 ill habit of murdering one another on slight offences. We had 
 an instance of this the second night after our arrival, a youth of 
 sixteen being shot dead by our door : and yet by the sole secret 
 of minding our own business, we found a means of living securely 
 among those dangerous people. Would you know how we pass the 
 time at Naples 1 Our chief entertainment is the devotion of our 
 neighbours. Besides the gaiety of their churches (where folks 
 go to see what they call una bella Devotione, i.e. a sort of religious 
 opera), they make fireworks almost every week out of devotion ; 
 the streets are often hung with arras out of devotion ; and (what 
 is still more strange) the ladies invite gentlemen to their houses, 
 and treat them with music and sweetmeats, out of devotion : in a 
 word, were it not for this devotion of its inhabitants, Naples 
 would have little else to recommend it beside the air and situation. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 189 
 
 Learning is in no very thriving state here, as indeed nowhere else 
 in Italy ; however, among many pretenders, some men of taste are 
 to be met with. A friend of mine told me not long since, that, 
 being to visit Salvini at Florence, he found him reading your 
 Homer: he liked the notes extremely, and could find no other 
 fault with the version, but that he thought it approached too near 
 41 paraphrase ; which shews him not to be sufficiently acquainted 
 with our language. I wish you health to go on with that noble 
 work; and when you have that, I need not wish you success. You 
 will do me the justice to believe, that whatever relates to your 
 welfare is sincerely wished by your. &c. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 This is doubtless one of those letters which Pope, in pretend- 
 ing to address to a friend, addressed in reality to posterity. It 
 reads very like one of Addison's ' Saturday Spectators.' 
 
 A deep experience of ' that long disease, my life,' gave Pope 
 an unusual right to moralise on the vanity of human ambition, 
 and we have seldom an opportunity of admiring him so sin- 
 cerely as when we find him indulging in this wise and whole- 
 some strain. Yet to Steele, the most spontaneous of letter- 
 writers, the measured cadences of Pope's epistolary style must 
 have seemed, as they seem to us, with all their beauty, a little 
 artificial. 
 
 Alexander Pope to Riohard Steele. 
 
 July 15, 1712. 
 You formerly observed to me that nothing made a more ridi- 
 culous figure in a man's life than the disparity we often find in 
 him sick and well : thus one of an unfortunate constitution is per- 
 petually exhibiting a miserable example of the weakness of his 
 mind and of his body in their turns. I have had frequent oppor- 
 tunities of late to consider myself in these different views, and I 
 hope have received some advantage by it, if what Waller says be 
 true, that 
 
 The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, 
 
 Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. 
 
 Then, surely, sickness, contributing no less than old age to 
 the shaking down this scafiblding of the body, may discover the 
 inward structure more plainly. Sickness is a sort of early old 
 
190 ENGLISH LETTEItS. [1600- 
 
 age ; it teacLes its a diffidence in our earthly state, and inspires us 
 "with the thought of a future, better than a thousand volumes of 
 philosophers and divines. It gives so warning a concussion to 
 those props of our vanity, our strength, and youth, that we think 
 of fortifying ourselves within, when there is so little dependence 
 upon our outworks. Youth, at the very best, is but a betrayer of 
 human life in a gentler and smoothei manner than age : it is like 
 a stream that nourishes a plant upon a bank, and causes it to 
 flourish and blossom to the sight, but at the same time is under- 
 mining it at the root in secret. My youth has dealt more fairly 
 and openly with me : it has aflforded me several prospects of my 
 danger, and has given me an advantage not very common to young 
 men, that the attractions of the world have not dazzled me very 
 much ; and I begin, where most people end, with a full conviction 
 of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and the unsatisfactory 
 nature of all human pleasures. When a smart fit of sickness tell& ' 
 me this scurvy tenement of my body will fall in a Kttle time, I am 
 e'en as unconscious as was that honest Hibernian, who, being in 
 bed in the great storm some years ago, and told the house would 
 tumble over his head, made answer, * What care I for the house, 
 I am only a lodger.' I fancy it is the best time to die when one is 
 in the best humour j and so excessive weak as I now am, I may say 
 with conscience that I am not at all uneasy at the thought that 
 many men whom I never had any esteem for, are likely to enjoy 
 this world after me. When I reflect what an inconsiderable little 
 atom every single man is, with respect to the whole creation, 
 methinks it is a shame to be concerned at the removal of such a 
 trivial animal as I am. The morning after my exit the sun will 
 rise as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring 
 as green, the world will proceed in its old course, people will 
 laugh as heartily and marry as fast as they were used to do. 
 
 * The memory of man,' as it is elegantly expressed in the 
 Book of Wisdom, * passeth away as the remembrance of a guest 
 that tarrieth but one day.' 
 
 There are reasons enough in the fourth chapter of the same 
 book to make any young man contented with the prospect of 
 death. * For honourable age is not that which standeth in length 
 of time, or is measured by number of years. But wisdom is the 
 gray hair to men, and an unspotted life is old age. He was taken 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 191 
 
 away speedily, lest wickedness should alter his understanding, or 
 deceit beguile his soul,' &c. I am, yours, &c. 
 
 A. Pope, 
 
 CXXV. 
 
 This letter is selected, firstly, hecaiise it is an interesting 
 specimen of Pope's power of conveying in prose what no writer 
 in ancient or modern literature has approached him in convej^- 
 ing in verse — compliment; secondly, because it contains the 
 famous description of the lovers killed by hghtning, a descrip- 
 tion which Thackeray has so justly chosen for encomium. 
 
 Alexander Pope to Lady Mary Worthy Montagu. 
 
 1716. 
 Madam, — I have been (what I never was till now) in debt to 
 you for a letter some weeks. I was informed you were at sea, 
 and that 'twas to no purpose to write till some news had been 
 heard of your arriving somewhere or other. Besides, I have had 
 a second dangerous illness, from which I was more diligent to 
 be recovered than from the first, having now some hopes of seeing 
 you again. If you make any tour in Italy^ I shall not easily for- 
 give you for not acquainting me soon enough to have met you 
 there. I am very certain I can never be polite unless I travel 
 with you : and it is never to be repaired, the loss that Homer has 
 sustained, for want of my translating him in Asia. You wilt 
 come hither full of criticisms against a man who wanted nothing to 
 be in the right but to have kept you company ; you have no way 
 of making me amends, but by continuing an Asiatic when you 
 return to me, whatever English airs you may put on to other 
 people. I prodigiously long for your Sonnets, your Remarks, 
 your Oriental Learning ; — but I long for nothing so much as your 
 Oriental self. You must of necessity be advanced so far hack into 
 true nature and simplicity of manners, by these three years' resi- 
 dence in the East, that I shall look upon you as so many years 
 younger than you was, so much nearer innocence, (that is, truth,) 
 and infancy (that is, openness). I expect to see your soul so 
 much thinner dressed as yoiu* body ; and that you have left off, 
 as unwieldy and cumbersome, a great many damned European 
 habits. Without ofience to your modesty be it spoken, I have & 
 burning desire to see your soul stark naked, for I am confident 
 'tis the prettiest kind of white soul in the universe. But I forget 
 
192 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 -whom I am talking to ; you may possibly by this time believe, 
 according to the Prophet, that you have none ; if so, shew me 
 that which comes next to a soul ; you may easily put it upon a 
 poor ignorant Christian for a soul, and please him as well with it; 
 — I mean your heart; — Mahomet, I think, allows you hearts; 
 "which (together with fine eyes and other agreeable equivalents) 
 are worth all the souls on this side the world. But if I must be 
 •content with seeing your body only, God send it to come quickly : 
 I honour it more than the diamond casket that held Homer's 
 Hiads ; for in the very twinkle of one eye of it there is more wit, 
 and in the very dimple of one cheek of it there is more meaning, 
 "than all the souls that ever were casually put into women since 
 men had the making of them. 
 
 I have a mind to fill the rest of this paper with an accident 
 liat happened just under my eyes, and has made a great impres- 
 sion upon me. I have just passed part of this summer at an old 
 romantic seat of my Lord Harcourt's, which he lent me. It over- 
 looks a common-field, where, under the shade of a haycock, sat two 
 lovers, as constant as ever were found in Romance, beneath a 
 spreading beech. The name of the one (let it sound as it will) 
 was John Hewet ; of the other, Sarah Drew. John was a well- 
 «et man about five and twenty, Sarah a brown woman of eighteen. 
 John had for several months borne the laboui- of the day in the 
 same field with Sarah, when she milked, it was his morning and 
 evening charge to bring the cows to her pail. Their love was the 
 talk, but not the scandal, of the whole neighbourhood ; for all they 
 aimed at was the blameless possession of each other in marriage. 
 It was but this very morning that he had obtained her parents' 
 consent, and it w^as but till the next week that they were to wait 
 to be happy. Perhaps this veiy day, in the intervals of their work, 
 they were talking of their wedding clothes ; and John was now 
 matching several kinds of poppies and field-flowere to her com- 
 plexion, to make her a present of knots for the day. "While they 
 were thus employed, (it was on the last of July) a terrible storm 
 of thunder and lightning arose, that di'ove the labourei-s to what 
 shelter the trees or hedges afibrded. Sarah, frighted and out of 
 breath, sunk on a haycock, and John (who never separated from 
 her) sate by her side, having raked two or three heaps together to 
 secure her. Immediately there was heard so loud a crack as if 
 
1700] ENOLISH LETTERS. 193 
 
 Heaven had burst asunder. The labourers, all solicitous for each 
 other's safety, called to one another : those that were nearest our 
 lovers, hearing no answer, stept to the place where they lay : they 
 first saw a little smoke, and after, this faithful pair, — John, with 
 one arm about his Sarah's neck, and the other held over her face, 
 as if to secure her from the lightning. They were struck dead, 
 and already grown stiff and cold in this tender posture. There 
 was no mark or discolouring on their bodies, only that Sarah's 
 eye-brow was a little singed, and a small spot between her breasts. 
 They were buried the next day in one grave, in the parish of 
 Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire ! where my Lord Harcouit, at 
 my request, has erected a monument over them. Of the following 
 epitaphs which I made, the critics have chosen the godly one : I 
 like neither, but wish you had been in England to have done this 
 office better : I think 'twas what you could not have refused me on 
 so moving an occasion. 
 
 When Eastern lovers feed the fun'ral fire, 
 On the same pile their faithful Fair expire ; 
 Here pitying Heav'n that virtue mutual found, 
 And blasted both, that it might neither wound. 
 Hearts so sincere, th' Almighty saw well pleas'd. 
 Sent his own lightning, and the victims seized. 
 
 • Think not, by rig'rous judgment seiz'd, _— — — -^ 
 
 A pair so faithful could expire ; y^^\^*^Ry\ 
 
 Victims so pure Heav'n saw well pleasjl^ ^y> , > . 
 And snatch'd them in celestial fire. // JT ^"^ T Tf ^ 
 
 Live well, and fear no sudden fate : >^C ' . : , 
 
 When God calls Virtue to the grave, N;^ J '7 A -y-. • 
 
 Alike 'tis justice, soon or late, ^^^^^ii^ ;;:^— 'll'^ 
 
 Mercy alike to kill or save. 
 
 Virtue unmov'd can hear the call. 
 
 And face the flash that melts the ball. 
 
 Upon the whole, I can't think these people unhappy. The 
 greatest happiness, next to living as they would have done, w as to 
 die as they did. The greatest honour people of this low degree 
 could have, was to be remembered on a little monument, unless 
 you will give them another, — that of being honoured with a tear 
 
 o 
 
194 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 
 
 from the finest eyes in the world. I know you have tenderness ; 
 you must have it ; it is the very emanation of good sense and 
 virtue ; the finest minds, like the finest metals, dissolve the easiest. 
 But when you are reflecting upon objects of pity, pray do not 
 forget one, who had no sooner found out an object of the highest 
 esteem, than he was separated from it ; and who is so very un- 
 happy as not to be susceptible of consolation, from others, by 
 being so miserably in the right as to think other women what they 
 really are. Such an one can't but be desperately fond of any 
 creature that is quite different from these. If the Circassian be 
 utterly void of such honour as these have, and such virtue as 
 these boast of, I am content. I have detested the sound of honest 
 woman and loving spouse^ ever since I heard the pretty name of 
 Odaliche. Dear Madam, I am for ever 
 
 Your, &c. 
 
 My most humble services to Mr. Wortley. Pray let me hear 
 from you soon, though I shall very soon write again. I am con- 
 fident half our letters are lost. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 This letter, written during a visit to Bolingbroke's viUa at 
 Dawlev, gives us a pleasant ghmpse of that restless politician in 
 the midst of those rural pureuits which he loved to aft'ect. There 
 is, we may suspect, more elegance than sincerity in the poet's 
 language. He probably cared as little as his patron for hay- 
 cocks and rakes ; though Pope, as many of his letters prove, 
 was not so insensible to the beauties of the country as some of 
 his critics would insist. 
 
 Alexander Pope to Dean Swift. 
 
 Dawley : June 28, 1728. 
 I now hold the pen for my Lord Bolingbroke, who is reading 
 your letter between two haycocks, but his attention is somewhat 
 diverted by casting his eyes on the clouds, not in admii-ation of 
 what you say, but for fear of a shower. He is pleased with your 
 placing him in the triumvirate between yourself and me ; though 
 he says that he doubts he shall fare like Lepidus — while one of us 
 runs away with all the power, like Augustus, and another with 
 all the pleasures, like Antony. It is upon a foresight of this 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS 195 
 
 that he has fitted up his farm, and you will agree that his scheme 
 of retreat at least is not founded upon weak appearances. Upon 
 his return from the Bath, all peccant humours he finds are purged 
 out of him ; and his great temperance and economy are so signal, 
 that the first is fit for my constitution, and the latter would enable 
 you to lay up so much money as to buy a bishopric in England. 
 As to the return of his health and vigour, were you here, you 
 might inquii-e of his haymakers ; but as to his temperance, I can 
 answer that (for one whole day) we have had nothing for dinner 
 but mutton-broth, beans and bacon, and a barn-door fowl. 
 
 Now his lordship is run after his cart, I have a moment left 
 to myself to tell you that I overheard him yesterday agree with 
 a painter for ^200 to paint his country-hall with trophies of 
 rakes, spades, prongs, &c., and other ornaments, merely to coun- 
 tenance his calling this place a farm — now turn over a new leaf. — 
 He bids me assure you he should be sorry not to have more 
 schemes of kindness for his friends than of ambition for himself ; 
 there, though his schemes may be weak, the motives at least are 
 strong; and he says further, if you could bear as great a fall and 
 decrease of your revenues as he knows by experience he can, you 
 would not live in Ireland an hour. 
 
 The ' Dunciad ' is going to be printed in all pomp, with the 
 inscription, which makes me proudest. It will be attended with 
 proeme, prolegomena, testimonia scriptorum, index authorum, and 
 notes variorum. As to the latter, I desire you to read over the 
 text, and make a few in any way you like best; whether dry 
 raillery, upon the style and way of commenting of trivial critics ; 
 or humorous, upon the authors in the poem; or historical, of 
 persons, places, times ; or explanatory, or collecting the parallel 
 passages of the ancients. Adieu. I am pretty well, my mother 
 not ill. 
 
 Dr. Arbuthnot vexed with his fever by intervals ; I am afraid 
 he declines, and we shall lose a worthy man : I am troubled about 
 .him very much : I am, &c. 
 
 O 2 
 
196 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 From early youth, when lie would compose billets-doux for 
 young damsels, to those later days when he corresponded with 
 the coterie of ladies who criticised * Pamela,' and ' Clarissa,' 
 Samuel Richardson pursued his hobby of writing and receiving 
 letters. Mrs. Barbauld published this correspondence with her 
 biography of the novelist, but the interest of the letters expired 
 with the century in which they were written. Mr. Aaron Hill 
 was the writer who pretended to despise the public taste in 
 literature of his day, and who prophesied that he would be read 
 and admired when Pope was forgotten. 
 
 Samuel Richardson to Aaron Hill. 
 
 October 27, 1748. 
 
 Dear Sir, — With regard to some parts of your favour of tho- 
 nineteenth, I will only say that I am too much pained on your 
 account to express anything but my pain. A mind so noble ! so- 
 generous ! so underrating intentional good from himself ! so over- 
 rating trifling benefits from others ! But no more on this subject. 
 You are an alien, Six, in this world ; and • no wonder that the- 
 base world treat you as such. 
 
 You are so very earnest about ti'ansferring to me the copyright 
 to all your works, that I will only say, that that point must be^ 
 left to the future issues of things. But I will keep account. I will, 
 though I were to know how to use the value of your favours as to- 
 those issues (never can I the value of your generous intentions). 
 You will allow me to repeat, I will keep account. It is therefore- 
 time enough to think of the blank receipt you have had the good- 
 ness to send me to fill up. 
 
 Would to heaven that all men had the same (I am sure I may 
 call it just) opinion of your works that I have ! But — shall I teJL 
 you, Sir 1 — The world, the taste of the world, is altered since you 
 withdrew from it. Your writings require thought to read, and 
 take in their whole force ; and the world has no thought to bestow. 
 Simplicity is all their cry ; yet hardly do these criers know what 
 they mean by the noble word. They may see a thousand beauties. I 
 obvious to the eye : but if there lie jewels in the mine that requin 
 labour to come at, they will not dig. I do not think, that were*] 
 Milton's Paradise Lost to be now published as a new work, 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 197 
 
 would be well received. Shakespeare, with all his beauties, would, 
 :as a modem writer, be hissed off the stage.. Your sentiments, 
 even they will have it who allow them to be noble, are too munifi- 
 -cently adorned : and they want you to descend to their level. 
 Will you, Sir, excuse me this freedom I Yet I can no longer 
 •excuse myself, to the love and to the veneration mingled that I 
 bear to you, if I do not acquaint you with what the world you 
 wish to mend says of your writings. And yet for my own part, 
 I am convinced that the fault lies in that indolent (that la2y, I 
 ■should rather call it) world. You would not, I am sure, wish to 
 write to a future age only. — A chance too so great, that posterity 
 will be mended by what shall be handed down to them by this. 
 And few, very few are they who make it their study and their 
 labour, to stem the tide of popular disapprobation or prejudice. 
 Besides, I am of opinion that it is necessary for a genius to 
 accommodate itself to the mode and taste of the world it is cast 
 into, since works published in this age must take root in it to 
 flourish in the next. 
 
 As to your title. Sir, which you are pleased to require my 
 ■opinion of, let me premise, that there was a time, and that within 
 my own remembrance, when a pompous title was almost necessary 
 to promote the sale of a book. But the booksellers, whose 
 lousiness is to watch the taste and foibles of the public, soon (as 
 they never fail on such occasions to do) wore out that fashion : and 
 now, verifying the old observation, that good wine needs no bush, a 
 pompous or laboured title is looked upon as a certain sign of want 
 of merit in the performance, and hardly ever becomes an invitation 
 to the purchaser. 
 
 As to your particular title to this great work, I have your 
 pardon to beg, if I refer to your consideration, whether epic, truly 
 •epic, as the piece is, you would choose to call it epic in the title- 
 page ; since hundreds who will see the title, will not, at the time, 
 have seen your admirable definition of the word. Excuse, Sir, 
 this freedom also, and excuse these excuses. — I am exceedingly 
 pressed in time, and shall be for some time to come, or, sloven as 
 I am in my pen, this should not have gone. 
 
 God forbid that I should have given you cause to say, as a 
 recommendation, that there will be more prose than verse in your 
 future works ! I believe, Sir, that Mr. Garrick in particular has 
 
198 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600^ 
 
 not in any manner entered into vindictive reflections. I never 
 saw him on tiie stage ; but of late I am pretty well acquainted 
 with him. I know he honours you. But he thinks you above the 
 present low taste ; (this I speak in confidence) and once I heard 
 him say as much, and wish that you could descend to it. Hence 
 one of the reasons that have impelled me to be so bold as I have 
 been in this letter. 
 
 The occasion of the black wax I use, is the loss of an excellent 
 sister. We loved each other tenderly ! But my frequent, I might 
 say constant, disorders of the nervous kind ought to remind me, 
 as a consolation, of David's self-comfort on the death of his child, 
 perhaps oftener than it does, immersed as I am in my own trifles, 
 and in business, that the common parental care permits me not to 
 quit, though it becomes every day more irksome to me than 
 another. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 With true affection. 
 Your most faithful, 
 
 and obedient servant 
 
 S. Richardson. 
 
 cxxvin. 
 
 This was written by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her 
 future husband shortly before her marriage, and is surely one of 
 the most curious love-letters ever penned by a young lady to 
 her betrothed. 
 
 She seems, however, to have been as fond of her husband as 
 her cold and unwomanly nature would permit her to be of any 
 man. The story of their married life is a singularly unromaniic 
 romance. 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (then Pierrepont) to 
 E. W. Montagu-^ 
 
 March, 1711. 
 
 Though your letter is far from what I expected, having once' 
 promised to answer it, with the sincere account of my inmost 
 thoughts, I am resolved you shall not find me worse than my word,, 
 which is (whatever you may think) inviolable. 
 
 'Tis no aflTectation to say, that I despise the pleasure of pleasing 
 people whom I despise : all the fine equipages that shine in the- 
 ring never gave me another thought, than either pity or contempt 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 199 
 
 for the owners, that could place happiness in attracting the eyes of 
 strangers. Nothing touches me with satisfaction but what touches 
 my heart, and I should find more pleasure in the secret joy I 
 should feel, at a kind expression from a friend I esteemed, than at 
 the admiration of a whole playhouse, or the envy of those of my 
 own sex, who could not attain to the same number of jewels, fine 
 clothes, &c., supposing I was at the very summit of this sort of 
 happiness. 
 
 You may be this friend if you please : did you really esteem me, 
 had you any tender regard for me, I could, I think, pass my life in any 
 station, happier with you, than in all the grandeur of the world with 
 any other. You have some humours, that would be disagreeable to 
 any woman that married with an intention of finding her happiness 
 abroad. That is not my resolution. If I marry, I propose to myself 
 a retirement ; there is few of my acquaintance T should ever wish to 
 see again ; and the pleasing one, and only one, is the way in which I 
 design to please myself. Happiness is the natural design of all the 
 world ; and everything we see done, is meant in order to attain it. 
 My imagination places it in friendship. By friendship, I mean an 
 entire communication of thoughts, wishes, interests, and pleasui'es, 
 being undivided ; a mutual esteem, which naturally carries with 
 it a pleasing sweetness of conversation, and terminates in the 
 desire of making one or another happy, without being forced to 
 run into visits, noise, and hurry, which serve rather to trouble, 
 than compose the thoughts of any reasonable creature. There are 
 few capable of a friendship such as I have described, and 'tis 
 necessary for the generality of the world to be taken up with trifles. 
 Carry a fine Lady or a fine Gentleman out of town, and they know 
 no more what to say. To take from them plays, operas, and 
 fashions, is taking away all their topics of discourse ; and they 
 know not how to form their thoughts on any other subjects. They 
 know very well what it is to be admired, but are perfectly ignorant 
 of what it is to be loved. I take you to have sense enough, not to 
 think this science romantic : I rather choose to use the word friend- 
 ship, than love ; because in the general sense that word is spoke, 
 it signifies a passion rather founded on fancy than reason : and 
 when I say friendship, I mean a mixture of friendship and esteem 
 and which a long acquaintance increases, not decays ; liow far 1 
 deserve such a friendship, I can be no judge of myself: I may 
 
200 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 want the good sense, that is necessary to be agreeable to a man of 
 merit, but I know I want the vanity to believe I have ; and can 
 promise you shall never like me less, upon knowing me better ; 
 and that I shall never forget that you have a better understanding 
 than myself. 
 
 And now let me entreat you to think (if possible) tolerably of 
 my modesty, after so bold a declaration : I am resolved to throw 
 off reserve, and use me ill if you please. I am sensible, to own 
 an inclination for a man is putting one's self wholly in his power : 
 but sure you have generosity enough not to abuse it. After all I 
 have said, I pretend no tie but on youi- heart : if you do not love 
 me, I shall not be happy with you ; if you do I need add no 
 further. I am not mercenary, and would not receive an obligation 
 that comes not from one who loves me. I do not desire my letter 
 back again : you have honour and I dare trust you. I am going 
 to the same place I went last spring. I shall think of you there : 
 it depends upon you in what manner. 
 
 M. P. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 We have here the first announcement of that great disco- 
 very — inoculation for small-pox, which Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu was the first European to adopt. Amid much oppo- 
 sition ou the part of English phj-sicians she had the courage to 
 introduce it into this country, inoculating by way of experiment 
 her own child. 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to Mrs. S. C . 
 
 Adrianople : April 1, 1717. 
 
 In my opinion. Dear S , I ought rather to quan-el with you 
 
 for not answering my Nimeguen letter of August till December, 
 than to excuse my not writing again till now. I am sure there 
 is on my side a very good excuse for silence, having gone such tire- 
 some land joui-neys, though I don't find the conclusion of them so 
 bad as you seem to imagine. I am very easy here, and not in the 
 solitude you fancy me. The great number of Greeks, French, 
 English, and ItaUans, that are under our protection, make their 
 court to me from morning till night; and I'll assure you, are many 
 of them very fine ladies ; for there is no possibility for a Christian 
 
1700) ENGLISH LETTERS. 201 
 
 to live easily under this government but by the protection of 
 ;an ambassador — and the richer they are the greater is their danger. 
 
 Those dreadful stories you have heard of the plague have very 
 little foundation in truth. I own I have much ado to reconcile 
 myself to the sound of a word which has always given me such 
 terrible ideas, though I am convinced there is little more in it than 
 in a fever. As a proof of this, let me tell you that we passed 
 through two or three towns most violently affected. In the very 
 next house where we lay (in. one of those places) two persons died 
 of it. Lucidly for me I was so well deceived that I knew nothing 
 of the matter ; and I was made believe, that our second cook who 
 fell ill here had only a great cold. However, we left our doctor 
 to take care of him, and yesterday they both arrived here in good 
 health, and I am now let into the secret that he has had the plague. 
 There are many that escape it ; neither is the air ever infected. 
 I am persuaded that it would be as easy a matter to root it out 
 here as out of Italy and France ; but it does so little mischief, they 
 are not very solicitous about it, and are content to suffer this dis- 
 temper instead of our variety, which they ai-e utterly unacquainted 
 with. 
 
 Apropos of distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that 
 will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal and so 
 .general amongst us, is here entirely harmless by the invention of 
 ingrafting, which is the term they give it. There is a set of old 
 women who make it their busiaess to perform the operation every 
 autumn, in the month of September, when the great heat is abated. 
 People send to one another to know if any of their family has a 
 mind to have the small-pox : they make parties for this purpose, 
 and when they are met (commonly fifteen or sixteen together), the 
 old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort 
 of small-pox, and asks what vein you please to have opened. She 
 immediately rips open that you offer to her with a large needle 
 {which gives you no more pain than a common scratch), and puts 
 into the vein as much matter as can lye upon the head of her 
 needle, and after that binds up the little wound with a hollow 
 bit of shell ; and iq this manner opens four or five veins. The 
 •Orecians have commonly the superstition of opening one in the 
 middle of the forehead, one in each arm, and one on the breast, to 
 mark the sign of the cross ; but this has a very ill effect, all these 
 
202 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 woands leaving little scars, and is not done by those tliat are not 
 superstitious, who choose to have them in the legs, or that part 
 of the arm that is concealed. The children or young patients play 
 together all the rest of the day, and are in perfect health to the 
 eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and they keep their 
 beds two days, very seldom three. They have very rarely above 
 twenty or thirty in their faces, which never mark ; and in eight 
 days' time they are as well as before their illness. When they 
 are wounded, there remain running sores during the distemper, 
 which I don't doubt is a great reKef to it. Every year thousands 
 undergo this operation; and the French ambassador says plea- 
 santly, that they take the small-pox here by way of diversion, as 
 they take the waters in other countries. There is no example of 
 any one that has died in it ; and you may believe I am well satis- 
 fied of the safety of this experiment, since I intend to try it on my 
 dear little son. 
 
 I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful invention 
 into fashion in England ; and I should not fail to write to some of 
 our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any one of them 
 that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a considerable 
 branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. But that dis- 
 temper LS too beneficial to them, not to expose to all their resent- 
 ment the hardy wight that should undertake to put an end to it. 
 Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however, have courage to war 
 with them. Upon this occasion admire the heroism in the heart of 
 your friend, &c. &c. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Contains a description of the visit of the writer both to the 
 Sultana Hafit^n, and to the wife of the Deputy Grand Vizier. 
 In none of her famous letters from the East are Lady Mary's 
 descriptive powers seen to greater advantage. Word-painting 
 has rarely been carried farther. 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to the Countess of Mar. 
 
 Adrianople : April 18, 1717. 
 I wrote to you, dear Sister, and to all my other English corre- 
 spondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell when I shall 
 have another opportunity of sending to you ; but I cannot forbear 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 203^ 
 
 to write again, though perhaps my letter may lie upon my hands 
 these two months. To confess the truth, my head is so full of my 
 entertainment yesterday, that 'tis absolutely necessary for my own 
 repose to give it some vent. Without further preface, I will then 
 begin my story. 
 
 I was invited to dine with the grandvizier's lady ; and it was 
 with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an entertain- 
 ment which was never before given to any Christian. I thought 
 I should very little satisfy her curiosity (which I did not doubt 
 was a considerable motive to the invitation) by going in a dress 
 she was used to see, and therefore dressed myself in the court 
 habit of Yienna, which is much more magnificent than ours. 
 However, I chose to go incognita, to avoid any disputes about 
 ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only attended by my 
 woman that held up my train, and the Greek lady who was my 
 interpretess. I was met at the court door by her black eunuch, 
 who helped me out of the coach with great respect, and conducted 
 me through several rooms, where her she-slaves, finely dressed, 
 were ranged on each side. In the innermost I found the lady 
 sitting on her sofa, in a sable vest. She advanced to meet me, and 
 presented me half a dozen of her friends with great civility. She 
 seemed a very good-looking woman, near fifty years old. I was 
 surprised to observe so little magnificence in her house, the 
 furniture being all very moderate; and, except the habits and 
 number of her slaves, nothing about her appeared expensive. She 
 guessed at my thoughts, and told me she was no longer of an age 
 to spend either her time or money in superfluities; that her whole* 
 expense was in charity, and her whole employment praying to God. 
 There was no affectation in this speech ; both she and her husband 
 are entirely given up to devotion. He never looks upon any other 
 woman ; and, what is much more extraordinary, touches no bribes, 
 notwithstanding the example of all his predecessors. He is so 
 scrupulous on this point, he would not accept Mr. Wortley's 
 present, till he had been assured over and over that it was a 
 settled perquisite of his place at the entrance of every ambassador. 
 She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner came in, 
 which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast number, all finely 
 dressed after their manner, which I don't think so bad as you have 
 perhaps heard it represented. 
 
i*04 ENGLISH LETTERS. L1600- 
 
 I am a very good judge of their eating, having lived three 
 weeks in the house of an etfendi at Belgrade, who gave us very 
 magnificent dinners, di-essed by his own cooks. The first week 
 they pleased me extremely; but I own I then began to grow 
 •weary of their table, and desired our own cook might add a dish or 
 two after our manner. But 1 attribute this to custom, and am 
 very much inclined to believe that an Indian who had never tasted 
 of either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces are 
 very high, all the roast very much done. They use a great deal of 
 very rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish ; and they 
 have at least as great a variety of ragouts as we have. I was very 
 sorry I could not eat of as many as the good lady would have had 
 me, who was very earnest in serving me of everything. The treat 
 concluded "with coffee and perfumes, which is a high mark of re- 
 spect ; two slaves kneeling censed my hair, clothes, and handker- 
 chief. After this ceremony she commanded her slaves to play and 
 dance, which they did with their guitars in their hands, and she 
 excused to me their want of skill, saying she took no care to 
 accomplish them in that art. 
 
 I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave. I was 
 conducted back in the same manner I entered, and would have 
 gone straight to my own house; but the Greeli lady with me 
 earnestly solicited me to visit the Kiyaya's ^ lady, saying he was 
 the second officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be looked 
 upon as the first, the grand-Vizier having only the name, while he 
 exercised the authority. I had found so little divei-sion in the 
 ■ vizier's harem, that I had no mind to go into another. But her 
 importunity prevailed with me, and I am extremely glad I was so 
 complaisant. 
 
 All things here were with quite another air than at the grand- 
 Vizier's ; and the very house confessed the difference between an 
 old devotee and a young beauty. It was nicely clean and 
 magnificent. I was met at the door by two black eunuchs, who 
 led me thi-ough a long gallery between two ranks of beautiful 
 young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost hanging to their 
 feet, all dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver. I was 
 ^orry that decency did not permit me to stop to consider them nearer. 
 
 Kiy^ya = Lieutenant- Deputy to Grand Vizier. 
 
 k 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 205- 
 
 But that thought was lost upon my entrance into a large room or 
 rather pavilion, built round with gilded sashes, which were most 
 of them thrown up, and the trees planted near them gave an agreeable 
 shade, which hindered the sun from being troublesome. The 
 jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks shed 
 a soft perfume, increased by a white marble fountain playing sweet 
 water in the lower part of the room, which fell into three or four 
 basins with a pleasing sound. The room was painted with all sorts of 
 flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumbling down. 
 On a sofa raised three step^, and covered with fine Persian carpets, 
 sat the Kiy^ya's lady, leaning on cushions of white satin, em- 
 broidered ; and at her feet sat two young girls about twelve years 
 old, lovely as angels, dressed perfectly rich and almost covered 
 with jewels. But they were hardly seen near the fair Fatima 
 (for that is her name), so much her beauty effaced everything I 
 have seen, nay, all that has been called lovely either in England 
 or Germany. I must own that I never saw anything so gloriously 
 beautiful nor can I recollect a face that would have been taken 
 notice of near hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me 
 after their fashion, putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness- 
 full of majesty, that no coui-t breeding could ever give. She ordered 
 cushions to be given me, and took care to place me in the corner,, 
 which is the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady 
 had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck 
 with admiration that I could not for some time speak to her, 
 being wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of 
 features, that charming result of the whole ! that exact proportion 
 of body ! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art ! the 
 unutterable enchantment of her smple — But her eyes ! — large and 
 black, with all the soft languishment of the blue ! every turn of 
 her face discovering some new grace. After my first surprise was 
 over, I endeavoured by nicely examining her face, to find out 
 some imperfection, without any fruit of my search, but my being 
 clearly convinced of the error of that vulgar notion, that a fiice 
 exactly proportioned, and perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable, 
 having done for her with more success, what Apelles is said to 
 have essayed by a collection of the most exact features, to form a- 
 perfect face. 
 
 Add to all this a behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such 
 
-206 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 easy motions, with an air, so majestic, yet free from stiffness or 
 afiectation, that 1 am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported 
 upon the most polite throne of Europe, nobody would think her 
 other than bred and born for a queen, though educated in a countiy 
 we called barbarous. To say all in a word, our most celebrated 
 English beauties would vanish near her. She was dressed in a 
 caftdn of gold brocade, flowered with silver very well fitted to her 
 shape and showing to admiration the beauty of her bosom, only 
 shaded by the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers were pale 
 pink, her waistcoat green and silver, her slippers white satin, finely 
 embroidered ; her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds ; 
 and her broad girdle set round with diamonds ; upon her head 
 a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and silver, her own tine 
 black hair hanging a great lengtii in various tresses, and on one 
 side of her head some bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will 
 accuse me of extravagance in this description. 1 think T have 
 read somewhere that women always speak in raptui-e when they 
 speak of beauty, and I cannot imagine why they should not be 
 allowed to do so. I rather think it a virtue to be able to admire 
 without any mixture of desire or envy. The gravest writei*s have 
 spoken with great warmth of some celebrated pictures and 
 statues. The workmanship of Heaven certainly excels all our 
 weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim to our 
 praise. For my part, I am not ashamed to own I took more 
 pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece 
 of sculpture could have given me. She told me the two girls at 
 her feet were her daughters, though she appeared too young to be 
 their mother. Her fair maids were ranged below the sofa, to the 
 number of twenty, and put me in mind of the pictures of the ancient 
 nymphs. I did not think all nature could have furnished such a 
 scene of beauty. She made them a sign to play and dance. Four 
 of them immediately began to play some soft airs on instmments, 
 between a lute and a guitar, which they accompauied with their 
 voices, while the others danced by turns. This dance was very 
 different from what I had seen before. Nothing could be more 
 artful. The tunes so soft ! — the motions so languishing ! — accom- 
 panied with pauses and dying eyes ! half-falling back, and then 
 recovering themselves in so artful a manner. I suppose you may 
 Jiave read that the Turks have no music but what is shocking to 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 207 
 
 the ears ; but this account is from those who never heard any but 
 what is played in the streets, and is just as reasonable as if a 
 foreigner should take his ideas of English music from the bladder 
 and string, or the marrow-bones and cleavers. I can assure you 
 that the music is extremely pathetic ; 'tis true I am inclined to 
 prefer the Italian, but perhaps I am partial. I am acquainted 
 with a Greek lady who sings better than Mrs. Kobinson, and is 
 very well skilled in both, who gives the preference to the Turkish. 
 'Tis certain they have very fine natural voices ; these were very 
 agreeable. When the dance was over, four fair slaves came into 
 the room with the silver censers in their hands, and perfumed the 
 air with amber, aloes-wood, and other scents. After this they 
 served me coffee upon their knees in the finest Japan china, with 
 soucoups of silver, gilt. Then lovely Fatima entertained me all 
 this while in the most polite agreeable manner, calling me often 
 Guz^l sultanum, or the beautiful sultana, and desiring my friend- 
 ship with the best grace in the world, lamenting that she could not 
 entertain me in my own language. When I took my leave two 
 maids brought in a fine silver basket of embroidered handkerchiefs ; 
 she begged I would wear the richest for her sake, and gave the 
 others to my woman and interpretess. I retii-ed through the same 
 ceremonies as before, and could not help thinking that I had been 
 some time in Mahomet's paradise, so much was I charmed with 
 what I had seen. I know not how the relation of it appears to 
 you. I wish it may give you part of my pleasure ; for I would 
 have my dear sister share in all the diversions of, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 There are few people who will not recognise the wisdom 
 and justice of the following remarks, however paradoxically, and 
 perhaps even cynically, they are stated. The writer's theory at 
 all events may silgge'st some profitable reflections on a subject 
 where reflection is rarer than it should be. 
 
 Lady Mary Worthy Montagu to her Daughter ^ the Countess 
 of Bute. 
 
 Lovere : November 1, 1751. 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of August 26, and my Lord 
 Bute's obliging notice of your safe delivery at the same time. I 
 
208 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 wish yoTi joy of your young son, and of every thing else. You do 
 not mention your father, by which I suppose he is not returned to 
 England, and am in pain for his health, having heard but once 
 from him since he left it, and know not whether he has received 
 my letters. I dare say you need not be in any doubt of his good 
 opinion of you ; for my part, I am so far persuaded of the good- 
 ness of your heart. I liave often had a mind to write you a con- 
 solatory epistle on my own death, which I believe will be some 
 affliction, though my life is wholly useless to you. That part of it 
 which we passed together you have reason to remember with grati- 
 tude, though I think you misplace it ; you are no more obliged to 
 me for bringing you into the world, than I am to you for coming 
 into it, and I never made use of that commonplace (and like most 
 commonplace, false) argument, as exacting any return of affection. 
 There was a mutual necessity on us both to part at that time, and 
 no obligation on either side. In the case of your infancy, there 
 was so great a mixture of instinct, I can scarce even put that in 
 the number of the proofs I have given you of my love ; but I con- 
 fess I think it a great one, if you compare my after conduct 
 towards you with that of other, mothers, who generally look on 
 their children as devoted to their pleasures, and boimd by duty 
 to have no sentiments but what they please to give them ; play- 
 things at first, and afterwards the objects on which they may 
 exercise their spleen, tyranny, or ill humour, I have always 
 thought of you in a different manner. Your happiness was my 
 first wish, and the pursuit of all my actions, divested of all 
 self-interest so far. I think you ought, and believe you do, 
 remember me as your real friend. Absence and distance have not 
 the power to lessen any part of my tenderness for you, which 
 extends to all yours, and I am ever your most affectionate mother 
 
 M. W. M. 
 
 I play at whist an hour or two eveiy afternoon. The fashion 
 here is to play for the collation, so that the losers have at least the 
 consolation of eating part of their money. 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 20» 
 
 cxxxn. 
 
 Tliis letter contains some interesting hints about the educa- 
 tion of children. Lady is Lady Frances Meadows, the 
 
 writer's niece. 
 
 Lady Mary Worthy Montagu to the Countess of Bute. 
 
 February 19 (ir.s.), 1740. 
 
 My dear Child, — I gave you some general thoughts on the 
 education of your children in my last letter; but fearing you 
 should think I neglected your request, by answering it with too 
 much conciseness, I am resolved to add to it what little I know 
 on that subject, and which may perhaps be useful to you in a con- 
 cern, with which you seem so nearly affected. 
 
 People commonly educate their children as they build their 
 houses, according to some plan they think beautiful, without con- 
 sidering whether it is suited to the purposes for which they are 
 designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as if they were 
 to be great ladies, which is often as little to be expected, as an im- 
 moderate heat of the sun in the north of Scotland. You should 
 teach yours to conform their desires to probabilities, to be as 
 useful as is possible to themselves, and to think privacy (as it is) 
 the happiest state of life. I do not doubt your giving them all 
 instructions necessary to form them to a virtuous life ; but 'tis a, 
 fatal mistake to do this, without proper restrictions. Yices are 
 often hid under the name of virtues, and the practice of them 
 followed by the worst of consequences. 
 
 1 Sincerity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, and generosity, 
 are all gi'eat virtues ; but pursued, without discretion, become 
 criminal. I have seen ladies indulge their own ill humour by 
 being very rude and impertinent, and think they deserved approba- 
 tion, by saying I love to speak truth. One of your acquaintances 
 made a ball the next day after her mother died, to shew she was 
 sincere. I believe your own reflection will furnish you with but 
 too many examples of the ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I 
 have mentioned, when too warmly embraced. They are generally 
 recommended to young people without limits or distinction, and 
 this prejudice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are 
 
 p 
 
210 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 applauding themselves on the noble practice (as they fancy) of very 
 eminent vii'tues. 
 
 I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you), that I 
 wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your chil- 
 dren. I do rot mean you should abate any part of your care, or 
 not do your duty to them in its utmost exteut ; but I would have 
 you early prepare yourself for disappointments, which are heavy in 
 proportion to their being sui-prising. It is hardly possible, in such 
 a number, that none should be unhappy ; prepare yourself against 
 a misfortune of that kind. I confess there is hardly any more 
 difficult to suppoi-t; yet, it is certain, imagination has a great 
 share in the pain of it, and it is more in our power (than it is 
 commonly believed) to soften whatever ills are founded or aug- 
 mented by fancy. Strictly speaking, there is but one real evil, I 
 mean acute pain ; all other complaints are so considerably dimi 
 nished by time, that it is plain the grief is owing to our passion, 
 since the sensation of it vanishes when that is over. 
 
 There is another mistake, I forgot to mention, usual in 
 mothers : if any of their daughters are beauties, they take great 
 pains to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least that they 
 think so, which the young woman never fails to believe springs 
 from envy, and is perhaps not much in the wrong. I would, if 
 possible, give them a just notion of their figure, and shew them 
 how far it is valuable. Every advantage has its price, and may be 
 either over or undervalued. It is the common doctrine of (what 
 are called) good books, to inspire a contempt of beauty, riches, 
 greatness, &c. which has done as much mischief among the young 
 of our sex as an over eager desire of them. Why they should not 
 look on those things as blessings where they are bestowed, though 
 not necessaries that it is impossible to be happy without, I cannot 
 conceive. I am pei-suaded the ruin of lady was in great mea- 
 sure owing to the notions given her by the good people that had 
 the care of her. 'Tis true, her circumstances and your daughters 
 are very different : they should be taught to be content with 
 privacy, and yet not neglect good fortune, if it should be offered 
 them. 
 
 I am afraid I have tired you with my instructions. I do not 
 give them as believing my age has furnished me with superior 
 wisdom, but in compliance with your desiie, and being fond of 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 211 
 
 ■every opportunity that gives a proof of the tenderness with which 
 I am ever 
 
 Your affectionate mother 
 
 M. WORTLEY. 
 
 I should be glad if you sent me the third volume of Campbell's 
 A.rchitecture, and with it any other entertaining books. I have 
 seen the Duchess of Marlborough's Memoirs, but should be glad of 
 the * Apology for a late Resignation.'^ As to the ale, 'tis now so 
 late in the year, it is impossible it should come good. You do not 
 mention your father; my last letter from him told me he intended 
 -soon for England. 
 
 cxxxm. 
 
 This letter was evidently written after reading the political 
 and philosophical works of Lord Bolingbroke, which had been 
 published by Mallet the year before. A better criticism of that 
 brilliant and unprincipled statesman could scarcely be found ; the 
 estimate of Madame de Sevigne must be received with some 
 caution. 
 
 Lady Mary Worthy Montagu to the Countess of Bute. 
 
 Lovere: July 20, 1754. 
 My dear Child, — I have now read over the books you were so 
 :good to send, and intend to say something of them all, though 
 some are not worth speaking of. I shall begin, in respect to his 
 ■dignity, with Lord Bolingbroke, who is a glaring proof how far 
 vanity can blind a man, and how easy it is to varnish over to one's 
 self the most criminal conduct. He declares he always loved his 
 country, though he confesses he endeavoured to betray her to 
 popery and slavery ; and loved his friends, though he abandoned 
 them in distress, with all the blackest circumstances of treachery. 
 His account of the peace of Utrecht is almost equally unfaii* or 
 partial. I shall allow that, perhaps, the views of the Whigs, at 
 that time, were too vast, and the nation, dazzled by military glory, 
 had hopes too sanguine; but surely the same terms that the 
 French consented to, at the treaty of Gertruydenberg, might have 
 been obtained ; or if the displacing of the Duke of Marlborough 
 raised the spirits of our enemies to a degree of refusing what they 
 had before offered, how can he excuse the guilt of removing him 
 
 * The title of an anonymous pamphlet written by Lord Chesterfield in 
 February 1747, on the occasion of his resigning oflSce. 
 
 p 2 
 
212 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 
 
 from tlie head of a victorious army, and exposing us to submit 
 to any articles of peace, beinoj unable to continue the war] I 
 agi-ee with him, that the idea of conquering France is a wild extra- 
 vagant notion, and would, if possible, be impohtic; but she might 
 have been reduced to such a state, as would have rendered her 
 incapable of being terrible to her neighbours for some ages : nor 
 should we have been obliged, as we have done almost ever since, to 
 bribe the French ministers to let us live in quiet. So much for his 
 political i-easonings, which I confess, are delivered in a florid, easy 
 style ; but I cannot be of Lord Orrery's opinion, that he is one of 
 the best English writers. Well turned periods, or smooth lines, 
 are not the perfection either of prose or verse ; they may serve to 
 adorn, but can never stand in the place of good sense. Copious- 
 ness of words, however ranged, is always false eloquence, though it 
 will ever impose on some sort of understandings. How many 
 readers and admirere has Madame de Sevigne, who only gives us, 
 in a lively manner, and fashionable phrases, mean sentiments, 
 vulgar prejudices, and endless repetitions ? Sometimes the tittle 
 tatUe of a fine lady, sometimes that of an old nurse, always tittle 
 tattle ; yet so well gilt over by airy expressions, and a flowing 
 style, she will always please the same people to whom Lord 
 Bolingbroke will shine as a first rate author. She is so far to be 
 excused, as her letters were not intended for the press ; while he 
 labours to display to posterity all the wit and learaing he is master 
 of, and sometimes spoils a good argument by a profusion of words, 
 running out into several pages a thought that might have been 
 more clearly expressed in a few lines, and, what is more, often falls 
 into contradiction and repetitions, which are almost unavoidable to 
 all voluminous writers, and can only be forgiven to those retailers, 
 whose necessity compels them to diurnal scribbling, who load theii 
 meaning with epithets, and run into digressions, because (in the 
 jockey phrase) it rids gi'ound, that is, covers a certain quantity of 
 paper, to answer the demand of the day. A great part of Lord 
 Bolingbroke's letters are designed to shew his reading, which, in- 
 deed, appears to have been very extensive ; but I cannot perceive 
 that such a minute account of it can be of any use to the pupil he 
 pretends to instruct, nor can I help thinking he is far below either 
 Tillotson or Addison, even in style, though the latter was some- 
 times more diffuse than his judgment approved, to furnish out 
 the length of a daily * Spectator.' I own I have small regard foi- 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 21? 
 
 XiOrd Bolingbroke as an author, and the highest contempt for him 
 ;^s a man. He came into the world greatly favoured both by 
 nature and fortune, blest with a noble birth, heir to a large estate, 
 endowed with a strong constitution, and, as I have heard, a 
 beautiful figui-e, high spii-its, a good memory, and a lively appre- 
 hension, which was cultivated by a learned education : all these 
 glorious advantages, being left to the direction of a judgment 
 stifled by unbounded vanity, he dishonoured his birth, lost his 
 estate, ruined his reputation, and destroyed his health, by a wild 
 pursuit of eminence even in vice and trifles. 
 
 I am far from making misfortune a matter of reproach. I 
 know there are accidental occurrences not to be foreseen or 
 avoided by human prudence, by which a character may be injured, 
 wealth dissipated, or a constitution impaired : but I think I may 
 reasonably despise the understanding of one who conducts himself 
 in such a manner as naturally produces such lamentable con- 
 sequences, and continues in the same destructive paths to the end 
 of a long life, ostentatiously boasting of morals and philosophy in 
 print, and with equal ostentation bragging of the scenes of low 
 debauchery in public conversation, though deplorably weak both in 
 mind and body, and his virtue and his vigour in a state of non- 
 existence. His confederacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind 
 of that of Bessus and his sword-men, in the King and No King, 
 who endeavour to support themselves by giving certificates of each 
 other's merit. 
 
 Pope has triumphantly declared that they may do and say 
 "whatever silly things they please, they will still be the greatest 
 geniuses nature ever exhibited. I am delighted with the com- 
 parison given of their benevolence, which is indeed most aptly 
 figured by a circle in the water, which widens till it comes to 
 nothing at all ; but I am provoked at Lord Bolingbroke's mis- 
 representation of my favourite Atticus, who seems to have been 
 tbe only Boman that, from good sense, had a true notion of the 
 times in which he lived; in which the republic was inevitably 
 perishing, and the two factions, who pretended to support it, 
 equally endeavouring to gratify their ambition in its ruin. A 
 wise man, in that case, would certainly declare for neither, and try 
 to save himself and family from the general wreck, which could 
 Jiot be done but by a superiority of understanding acknowledged 
 
214 EXGLISR LETTERS [1600- 
 
 on both sides. I see no glory in losing life or fortune by being the 
 dupe of either, and very much applaud the conduct which couid 
 preserve an universal esteem amidst the fury of opposite parties. 
 "We are obHged to act vigorously, where action can do any good ; 
 but in a storm, when it is impossible to work with success, the 
 best hands and ablest pilots may laudably gain the shore if they 
 can. Atticus could be a friend to men, without awaking their 
 resentment, and be satisfied with his own virtue without seeking 
 popular fame : he had the reward of his wisdom in his tranquillity, 
 and will ever stand among the few examples of true philosophy,, 
 either ancient or modem. 
 
 You must forgive this tedious dissertation. I hope you read 
 in the same spirit I write, and take as proofs of affection whatever 
 is sent you by your truly affectionate mother, 
 
 M. WOETLEY. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 From the year 1739 to the year 1761 Lady Wortley Mon- 
 tagu resided in Italy, keeping up a continual correspondence 
 with her daughter and other friends in England. To this period 
 belong some of the most charming of her letters. They are less 
 ambitious and elaborate than her more celebrated letters written 
 during Mr. Wortley's Embassy. 
 
 The graceful cynicism of Horace and Pope has perhaps 
 never been more successfully reproduced ui prose than in the 
 following letter. 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her Daughter, the Countess 
 of Bute. 
 
 Lovere : September 30, 1757. 
 
 My dear Child, — Lord Bute has been so obliging as to let me- 
 know your safe delivery, and the birth of another daughter : may 
 she be as meritorious in your eyes as you are in mine ! I can 
 wish nothing better to you both, though I have some reproaches to 
 make you. 
 
 Daughter ! daughter ! don't caU names ; you are always; 
 abusing my pleasures, which is what no mortal will bear. Trash,, 
 lumber, sad stuff, are the titles you give to my favourite amuse- j 
 ment. If I called a white staff a stick of wood, a gold key gilded 
 brass, and the ensigns of illustrious orders coloured strings, this-] 
 may be philosophically ti-ue, but would be very ill received. W« 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 215 
 
 have all our playthings ; happy are they that can be contented 
 with those they can obtain : those hours are spent in the wisest 
 manner, that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are the least pro- 
 ductive of ill consequences. I think my time better employed in 
 reading the adventures of imaginary people, than the Duchess of 
 Marlborough, who passed the latter years of her life in paddling 
 with her will, and contriving schemes of plaguing some, and ex- 
 tracting praise from others, to no purpose ; eternally disappointed 
 and eternally fretting. The active scenes are over at my age. I 
 indulge, with all the art I can, my taste for reading. If I would 
 confine it to valuable books, they are almost as rare as valuable 
 men. I must be content with what I can find. As I approach a 
 second childhood, I endeavour to enter into the pleasures of it. 
 Your youngest son is, perhaps, at this very moment riding on a 
 poker, with great delight, not at all regretting that it is not a gold 
 one, and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, which he could 
 not know how to manage. I am reading an idle tale, not expect- 
 ing wit or truth in it, and am very glad it is not metaphysics to 
 puzzle my judgment, or history to mislead my opinion : he fortifies 
 his health by exercise ; I calm my cares by oblivion. The me- 
 thods may appear low to busy people; but, if he improves his 
 strength and I forget my infirmities, we both attain very desirable 
 ends. 
 
 I have not heard of your father of a long time. I hope he is 
 well, because you do not mention him. 
 
 T am ever dear child. 
 Your most afiectionate mother, 
 
 M. WORTLEY. 
 
 CXXXV. 
 
 The letters of the Earl of Chesterfield to his son (nearly 
 400 in number) extend over a period of thirty years. The 
 earliest date is 1738; the last epistle was written on Oct. 
 17, 1768. The following month Philip Stanhope died; his 
 father survived him by nearly five years. In 1774, the son's 
 widow — Mrs. Eugenia Stanhope — published the correspondence, 
 but the letters were never intended for publication. Lord 
 Macaulay, writing to Mr. Napier in 1833, remarked : ' When I 
 said that Lord Chesterfield had lost by the publication of his 
 letters, I of course considered that he had much to lose ; that he 
 has left an immense reputation, founded on the testimony of all 
 
216 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 iiis contemporaries of all parties, for wit, taste, and eloquence ; 
 that wkat remains of his Parliamentary omtory is superior to 
 anything of that time that has come down to us, except a little 
 of 'Pitt's. The utmost that can be said of the letters is that 
 they are the letters of a cleverish man ; and there are not many 
 which are entitled even to that praise. I think he would have 
 stood higher if we had been left to judge of his powers — as we 
 judge of those of Chatham, Mansfield, and Lord Townsend, and 
 many others — only by tradition, and by fragments of speeches 
 preserved in Parliamentary reports.' 
 
 The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son, Philip Stanhope. 
 
 London : November 24, 1747. 
 
 Dear Boy, — As often as I write to you (and that you know is 
 pretty often) so often am I in doubt whether it is to any purpose, 
 and whether it is not labour and paper lost. This entirely depends 
 upon the degree of reason and reflection which you are master of, or 
 think proper to exert. If you give yourself time to think, and have 
 sense enough to think right, two reflections must necessarily occur 
 to you ; the one is, that I have a great deal of experience and tbat 
 you have none ; the other is, that I am the only man living who 
 cannot have, directly or indirectly, any interest concerning you, 
 but your own. From which two undeniable principles, the obvious 
 and necessary conclusion is, that you ought, for your own sake, to 
 attend to and follow my advice. 
 
 If, by the application which I recommend to you, you acquire 
 great knowledge, you alone are the gainer ; 1 pay for it. If you 
 should deserve either a good or a bad character, mine will be 
 exactly what it is now, and wiU neither be the better in the first 
 case, nor the worse in the latter. You alone will be the gainer or 
 the loser. 
 
 Whatever your pleasures may be, I neither can nor shall 
 envy you them, as old people are sometimes suspected, by young 
 people, to do ; and I shall only lament, if they should prove such 
 as are unbecoming a man of honour, or below a man of sense. 
 But you will be the real sufierer, if they are such. As therefore 
 it is plain that I have no other motive than that of aflfection in 
 whatever I say to you, you ought to look upon me as your best, 
 and for some years to come, your only friend. 
 
 True friendship requii-es certain proportions of age and 
 manners, and can never subsist where they are extremely different, 
 except in the relations of parent and child ; where affection on one 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 21T 
 
 side, and regard on the other, make up the difference. The friend- 
 ship which you may contract with people of your own age, may be 
 sincere, may be warm ; but must be for some time reciprocally 
 unprofitable, as there can be no experience on either side. 
 
 The young leading the young, is like the blind leading the 
 blind ; * they will both fall into the ditch.' The only sure guide is 
 he who has often gone the road which you want to go. Let me be 
 that guide : who have gone all roads ; and who can consequently 
 point out to you the best. If you ask me why I went any of the 
 bad roads myself, I will answer you very truly, that is for want of 
 a good guide ; ill example invited me one way, and a good guide 
 was wanting to show me a better. But if anybody, capable of 
 advising me, had taken the same pains with me, which I have taken, 
 and will continue to take with you, I should have avoided many 
 follies and inconveniences, which undirected youth ran me into. 
 My father was neither able nor desirous to advise me ; which is 
 what I hope you cannot say of yours. You see that I make use 
 only of the word advise ; because I would much rather have the 
 assent of your reason to my advice, than the submission of your 
 will to my authority. This, I persuade myself, will happen, from 
 that degree of sense which I think you have ; and therefore I will 
 go on advising, and with hopes of success. You are now settled 
 for some time at Leipsic : the principal object of your stay there is 
 the knowledge of books and sciences ; which if you do not, by 
 attention and application, make yourself master of while you are 
 there, you will be ignorant of them all the rest of your life : and 
 take my word for it a life of ignorance is not only a very con- 
 temptible, but a very tiresome one. Kedouble your attention, 
 then, to M'' Harte, in your private studies of the Literse Humaniores, 
 especially Greek. State your difficulties whenever you have any ; 
 do not suppress them either from mistaken shame, lazy indifference 
 or in order to have done the soor^r. Do the same with Professor 
 Mascow, or any other professor. 
 
 When you have thus usefully employed your mornings, you 
 may with a safe conscience divert yourself in the evenings, and 
 make those evenings very useful too, by passing them in good 
 company, and, by observation and attention, learning as much of 
 the world as Leipsic can teach you. You will observe and imitate 
 the manners of the people of the best fashion there ; not that they 
 
218 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 are (it may be) the best manners in the world ; but because they 
 are the best manners of the place where you are, to which a man 
 of sense always conforms. The nature of things is always and 
 everywhere the same : but the modes of them vary, more or less 
 in every country ; and an easy and genteel conformity to them, or 
 rather the assuming of them at proper times and in proper places, 
 is what particularly constitutes a man of the world, and a well- 
 bred man. 
 
 Here is advice enough I think, and too much it may be you mUI 
 think, for one letter : if you follow it, you will get knowledge, 
 character and pleasure by it ; if you do not, I only lose operam et 
 oleum, which, in all events, I do not grudge you. 
 
 I send you by a person who sets out this day for Leipsic, a small 
 packet containing some valuable things which you left behind ; tx) 
 which I have added, by way of New Year's gift, a very pretty 
 tooth-pick case : and, by the way, pray take care of your teeth, and 
 keep them extremely clean. I have likewise sent you the Greek 
 roots lately translated into English from the French of the Port 
 Koyal. Inform yourself what the Port E,oyal is. To conclude, 
 with a quibble : I hope you will not only feed upon the Greek 
 roots, but likewise digest them perfectly. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son. 
 
 London : December 18, 1747. 
 Dear Boy, — As two mails are now due from Holland I have- 
 no letters of your's or M^ Harte's to acknowledge, so that this 
 letter is the effect of that scriheiidi cacoethes, which my fears, my 
 hopes, and my doubts concerning you, give me. When I have 
 wrote you a very long letter upon any subject, it is no sooner 
 gone but I think I have omitted something in it which might be or 
 use to you, and then I prepare the supplement for the next post ; or 
 else some new subject occurs to me, upon which I fancy I caa^ 
 give you some information, or point out some iniles, which may 
 advantageous to you. This sets me to writing again, though God] 
 knows whether to any purpose or not : a few years more can onlj 
 ascertain that. But, whatever my success may be my anxietj 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 219- 
 
 and my care can only be the effects of that tender affection which 
 I have for you, and which you cannot represent to yourself greater 
 than it really is. But do not mistake the nature of that affection, 
 and think it of a kind that you may with impunity abuse. It is 
 not natural affection, there being in reality no such thing ; for, if 
 there were, some inward sentiment must necessarily and recipro- 
 cally discover the parent to the child, and the child to the parent 
 without any exterior indications, knowledge, or acquaintance what- 
 soever; which never happened since the creation of the world, 
 whatever Poets, Romance or Novel-writers and such sentiment- 
 mongers, may be pleased to say to the contrary. Neither is my 
 affection for you that of a mother, of which the only, or at least the 
 chief, objects are health and life : I wish you them both most 
 heartily ; but at the same time I confess they are by no means my 
 principal care. 
 
 My object is to have you fit to live ; which if you are not, I do not 
 desire that you should live at all. My affection for you then is, 
 and only will be, proportioned to your merit ; which is the only 
 affection that one rational being ought to have for another. 
 
 Hitherto I have discovered nothing wrong in your heart or 
 head : on the contrary, I think I see sense in the one and senti- 
 ments in the other. This persuasion is the only motive for my 
 present affection ; which will either increase or diminish according 
 to your merit or demerit. If you have the knowledge, the honour, 
 and the probity which you may have, the marks and warmth of 
 my affection shall amply reward them ; but if you have them not, 
 my aversion and indignation will rise in the same proportion ; and 
 in that case, remember that I am under no further obligation 
 than to give you the necessary means of subsisting. If ever we 
 quarrel, do not expect or depend upon any weakness in my nature, 
 for a reconciliation, as children frequently do, and often meet with, 
 from silly parents. I have no such weakness about me ; and as I 
 will never quarrel with you but upon some essential point, if once we 
 quarrel I will never forgive. But I hope and believe that this 
 declaration (for it is no threat) will prove unnecessary. You are 
 no stranger to the principles of virtue ; and surely who ever knows 
 virtue must love it. As for knowledge you have already enough 
 of it to engage you to acquire more. The ignorant only either 
 despise it, or think that they have enough : those who have the^ 
 
•220 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 most are always the most desirous to have more, and know that 
 the most they can have is alas ! but too little. 
 
 Reconsider from time to time, and retain the friendly advice 
 "which I send you. The advantage will be all your own. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 ' Autre s temps autres moeurs ' may certainly now be said of 
 the remarks made in this epistle concerning music. "V\Tien 
 the Earl of Chesterfield was a young man, music was the only 
 fine art encouraged by his sovereign ; indeed George I. was 
 himself a performer on the violin. Perhaps this was a reason 
 why the Larl laboured to make a fashionable and refined man 
 of the rough and homely ' heir apparent ' to the English throne. 
 
 The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son. 
 
 London : April 19, 1749. 
 
 Dear Boy, — This letter will, I believe, still find you at Venice, 
 in all the dissipations of Masquerades, Kidottos, Operas, &c. ; with 
 all my heart ; they are decent evening amusements, and very pro- 
 perly succeed that serious application to which I am sure you de- 
 vote your mornings. 
 
 There ai-e liberal and illiberal pleasures, as well as liberal and 
 illiberal arts. There are some pleasures that degrade a gentleman, 
 as much as some trades could do. Sottish drinking, indiscriminate 
 gluttony, driving coaches, rustic sports such as fox-chases, horse- 
 races, &c., are in my opinion infinitely below the honest and indus- 
 trious professions of a tailor, and a shoemaker, which are said to 
 deroger. 
 
 As you are now in a musical country where singing, fiddling, 
 and piping, are not only the common topics of conversation, but 
 almost the principal objects of attention ; I cannot help cautioning 
 you against giving into those (I will call them illiberal) pleasures 
 (though music is commonly reckoned one of the liberal arts) to the 
 degree that most of your countrymen do when they travel in Italy. 
 If you love music, hear it ; go to operas, concerts, and pay fiddlers 
 to play to you ; but I insist on your neither piping nor fiddling 
 yourself. It puts a gentleman in a very fi-ivolous, contemptible - 
 light ; brings him into a great deal of bad company ; and takes up 
 A great deal of time which might be much better employed. Ye^ 
 
 ;W« 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 221 
 
 things would mortify me more than to see you bearing part in a 
 concert with a fiddle under your chin or a pipe in your mouth. 
 
 I have had a great deal of conversation with Comte du Perron 
 and Comte Lascaris, upon your subject ; and I will tell you, very 
 truly, what Comte de Perron (who is, in my opinion, a very pretty 
 man) said of you. ' II a de I'esprit, un savoir peu common k son 
 dge, une grande vivacite, et quand il aura pris des mani^res il sei-a 
 parfait ; car il faut avouer qu'il sent encore le college ; mais cela 
 viendra.' I was very glad to hear from one whom I think so good a 
 judge, that you wanted nothing but des manieres ; which I am con- 
 vinced you will now soon acquire in the company which hence- 
 forwards you are likely to keep. But I must add too, that if you 
 should not acquire them, all the rest will be of very little use to 
 you. By manieres I do not mean bare common civility ; every- 
 body must have that who would not be kicked out of company ; 
 but I mean engaging, insinuating, shining manners ; a distinguished 
 politeness, an almost irresistible address ; a superior gracefulness 
 in all you say and do. It is this alone that can give all your other 
 talents their full lustre and value ; and consequently it is this 
 which should now be the principal object of your attention. Ob- 
 serve minutely, wherever you go, the allowed and established 
 models of good breeding, and form yourself upon them. Whatever 
 pleases you most in others will infallibly please others in you. I 
 have often repeated this to you ; now is your time of putting it in 
 practice. 
 
 Pray make my compliments to Mr. Harte; and tell him I 
 have received his letter from Vienna, but that I shall not trouble 
 him till I have received the other letter he promises me upon the 
 subject of one of my last. I long to hear from him after your 
 settlement at Turin ; the months that you are to pass there will be 
 very decisive ones for you. The exercises of the Academy, and the 
 manners of Courts must be attended to and acquired, and, at the 
 same time your other studies continued. I am sure you will not 
 pass, nor desire, one single idle hour there ; for I do not foresee 
 that you can, in any part of your life, put out six months to greater 
 interest than those next six at Turin. 
 
 We will talk hereafter about your stay at Rome and in other 
 parts of Italy. This only I will recommend to you ; which is, to 
 extract the spirit of every place you go to. In those places, which 
 
222 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 are only distinguished by classical fame, and valuable remaius of 
 antiquity, have your classics in your hand, and in your head; com- 
 pare the ancient geography and descriptions with the modem ; and 
 never fail to take notes. Rome will furnish you with business 
 enough of that sort ; but then it furnishes you with many other 
 objects well deserving your attention, such as deep ecclesiastical 
 craft and policy. Adieu. 
 
 CXXXYIII. 
 The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son. 
 
 London : August 10, 1749. 
 
 Dear Boy, — Let us resume our reflections upon men, their 
 •characters, their manners; in. a word, our reflections upon the 
 World. 
 
 They may help you to form yourself, and to know others. A 
 knowledge very useful at all ages, very rare at yours : it seems as if 
 it were no body's business to communicate it to young men. Their 
 masters teach them, singly, the languages, or the sciences of their 
 several departments ; and are indeed generally incapable of teach- 
 ing them the World : their Parents are often so too, or at least neg- 
 lect doing it; either from avocations, indifierence, or from an 
 opinion, that throwing them into the world (as they call it) is the 
 best way of teaching it them. This last notion is in a great degree 
 true ; that is, the World can doubtless never be well known by 
 theory ; practice is absolutely necessary ; but, surely, it is of gi'eat 
 use to a young man, before he sets out for that country, full of 
 mazes, windings, and turnings, to have at least a general map of 
 it, made by some experienced traveller. 
 
 There is a certain dignity of manners absolutely necessary, to 
 make even the most valuable character either respected or re- 
 spectable. 
 
 Horse-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of laughter, jokes, 
 waggery, and indiscruninate familiarity, will sink both merit and 
 knowledge into a degree of contempt. They compose at most a 
 merry fellow ; and a merry fellow was never yet a respectable 
 man. Indiscriminate familiarity, either ofiends your superiors, or 
 else dubs you their dependent, and led captain. It gives your in- 
 feriors, just, but troublesome and improper claims of equality. A 
 
 
1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 223 
 
 joker is near akin to a buffoon j and neither of them is the least 
 related to wit. Whoever is admitted or sought for, in company, 
 upon any other account than that of his merit and manners, is 
 never respected there, but only made use of. We will have such- 
 a-one, for he sings prettily ; we will invite such-a-one to a ball, for 
 he dances well ; we will have such-a-one at supper, for he is always 
 joking and laughing ; we will ask another, because he plays deep 
 at all games, or because he can drink a great deal. These are 
 all vilifying distinctions, mortifying preferences, and exclude 
 all ideas of esteem and regard. Whoever is had (as it is called) in 
 company, for the sake of any one thing singly, is singly that thing, 
 and will never be considered in any other light ; frequently never 
 respected, let his merits be what they will. 
 
 This dignity of manners, which I recommend so much to you, 
 is not only as different from pride, as true courage is from bluster- 
 ing, or true wit from joking ; but is absolutely inconsistent with 
 it ; for nothing vilifies and degrades more than pride. The pre- 
 tensions of the proud man, are oftener treated with sneer and con- 
 tempt, than with indignation : as we offer ridiculously too little to 
 a tradesman, who asks ridiculously too much for his goods ; but we 
 do not haggle with one who only asks a just and reasonable price. 
 
 Abject flattery and indiscriminate assentation degrade, as much 
 as indiscriminate contradiction and noisy debate disgust. But a 
 modest assertion of one's own opinion ; and a complaisant acquies- 
 cence in other people's, preserve dignity. 
 
 Yulgar, low expressions, awkward motions and address, vilify, 
 as they imply, either a very low turn of mind, or low education, 
 and low company. 
 
 Frivolous curiosity about trifles, and a laborious attention to 
 little objects, which neither require nor deserve a moment's 
 thought, lower a man ; who from thence is thought (and not un- 
 justly) incapable of greater matters. Cardinal de Retz, very 
 sagaciously marked out Cardinal Chigi for a little mind, from the 
 moment that he told him he had wrote three years with the same 
 pen, and that it was an excellent good one still. 
 
 A certain degree of exterior seriousness in looks and motions, 
 gives dignity, without excluding wit and decent cheerfulness, which 
 are always serious themselves. A constant smirk upon the face, 
 and a whiffling activity of the body, are strong indications of 
 
224 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 
 
 futility. Whoever is in a hurry, shows that the thing he is about 
 is too big for him. Haste and hurry are very different things. I 
 have only mentioned some of those things which may, and do, in 
 the opinion of the world, lower and sink characters, in other re- 
 spects valuable enough ; but I have taken no notice of those that 
 affect and sink the moral character. They are sufficiently obvious. 
 A man who has patiently been kicked, may as well pretend to 
 courage, as a man blasted by vices and crimes may to dignity of any 
 kind. But an exterior decency and dignity of manners, will even 
 keep such a man longer from sinking, than otherwise he would be : 
 of such consequence is the to rrpfTror, even though affected and put 
 CD ! Pray read frequently, and with the utmost attention, nay get 
 by heart if you can, that incomparable chapter in Cicero's Offices, 
 upon the to Trpe-jrov or the Decorum. It contains whatever is neces- 
 sary for the dignity of Manners. In my next, I will send you a 
 general map of Courts ; a region yet unexplored by you ; but 
 which you are one day to inhabit. The ways are generally crooked 
 and full of turnings, sometimes strewed with flowers, sometimes 
 choked up with briars ; rotten ground and deep pits frequently lie 
 concealed under a smooth and pleasing surface : all the paths are 
 slippery, and every slip is dangerous. Sense and discretion must 
 accompany you at your first setting out; but, notwithstanding 
 those, till experience is your guide, you will every now and then 
 step out of your way, or stumble. Lady Chesterfield has just now 
 received your German letter, for which she thanks you ; she says 
 the language is very correct; and I can plainly seethe character is 
 well formed, not to say better than your English character. Con- 
 tinue to write German frequently, that it may become quite 
 familiar to you. Adieu. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 This letter, from a person not otherwise known, contains 
 some important information, brightly recorded, regarding the 
 famous actress Mrs. Oldfield, and the no less famous dramatist, 
 George Farquhar. 
 
 Charles Taylour to the Publisher Rich. 
 
 Novemher 25, 1730. 
 Sir, — ^In your memoirs of Mrs. Oldfield it may not be amiss to 
 insert the following facts, on the truth of which you may depend. 
 
17001 ENGLISH LETTERS. 225 
 
 Her father, Capt. Oldfield, not only ran out all the military, but 
 the paternal bounds of his fortune, having a pretty estate in houses 
 in Pall Mall. It was wholly owing to Capt. Farquhar thau 
 Mrs. Oldfield became an actress, from the following incident ; din- 
 ing one day at her aunt's, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St. James' 
 Market, the poet heard Miss Nanny reading a play behind the bar 
 with so proper an emphasis, and such agreeable turns, suitable to 
 each character, that he swore the girl was cut out for the stage, for 
 which she had before always expressed an inclination, being very de- 
 sirous to try her fortune that way. Her mother, the next time she 
 saw Mr. Yanbrugh, who had a great respect for the family, told 
 him what was Capt. Farquhar's opinion, upon which he desired to 
 know whether, in the plays she read, her fancy was most pleased 
 with tragedy or comedy ; miss, being called in, said ' comedy,' she 
 having at that time gone through all Beaumont and Fletcher's 
 comedies, and the play she was reading, when Capt. Farquhar 
 dined there, being ' The Scornful Lady.' Mr. Yanbrugh, shortly 
 after, recommended her to Mr. Christopher Rich, who took her 
 into the theatre at the allowance of fifteen shillings a week. How- 
 ever, her agreeable figure and sweetness of voice, soon gave her the 
 preference, in the opinion of the whole town, to all our young 
 actresses, and his Grace, the late Duke of Bedford, being pleased 
 to speak to Mr. Kich in her favour, he instantly raised her allow- 
 ance to twenty shillings a week ; her fame and salary soon after- 
 wards rose to her just merit. 
 
 Your humble Servant, 
 
 Charles Taylour, 
 
SECTION III. 
 
 A.D. 1700-1800. 
 
CXL. 
 
 The rise and progress of Methodism is as marked a feature 
 of the reign of George II., as the spread of Puritanism is of the 
 reign of Queen Elizabeth. The Puritans were called into being 
 by the injudicious activity of the Queen and her prelates 
 against a body of men whose religious zeal rejected the supersti- 
 tious ceremonies which were retained in order to win over the 
 English Roman Catholics to the reformed faith ; the Methodists 
 supplied a want ; their purpose was to infuse a little enthusiasm 
 and discipline among the slack and lifeless regular clergy. 
 Bishop Burnet, the Whig, and after him. Bishop Atterbuiy, 
 the Tory, both coincide in their estimate of the sorry state of 
 public worship during the first quarter of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. If field-preaching was common in many popular districts, 
 it was because there were no churches in them. No wonder 
 then, that, as the Puritans grew from being an insignificant sect 
 into a powerful political faction, the followers of John Wesley, 
 in England alone, should have numbered 71,000 the year of his 
 death. 
 
 John Wesley to a Friend, 
 
 London: December 20, 1751. 
 
 My dear Friend, — I think the right method of preaching is 
 this. At our first beginning to preach at any place, after a 
 general declaration of the love of God to sinners, and His willing- 
 ness that they should be saved, to preach the law, in the strongest, 
 the closest, the most searching manner possible. 
 
 After more and more persons are convinced of sin, we may 
 mix more and more of the gospel, in order to beget faith, to raise 
 into spiritual life those whom the law hath slain. I would not 
 advise to preach the law without the gospel, any more than the 
 gospel without the law. Undoubtedly, both should be preached 
 in their turns ; yea, both at once, or both in one. All the con- 
 ditional promises are instances of this. They are law and gospel 
 mixed together. 
 
 In this manner, not only my brother and I, but Mr. Maxfield, 
 Nelson, James Jones, Westall, and Reeves, aU preached at the 
 
230 ENGLISH LETTERS. 1700- 
 
 beginning. By this preaching, it pleased God to work those 
 mighty effects in London, Bristol, Kingswood, Yorkshire, and 
 Newcastle. By means of this, twenty-nine persons received 
 remission of sins, in one day, at Bristol only; most of them, 
 while I was opening and enforcing our Lord's sermon on the 
 mount. Li this manner John Downes, John Bennet, John 
 Haughton, and all the other Methodists, preached, till James 
 Wheatley came among them. The change he has introduced has 
 done great harm to David Tratham, Thomas Webb, Robert Swin- 
 dells, and John Maddem ; all of whom are but shadows of what 
 they were. It has likewise done great harm to hearers as well as 
 preacliers, diffusing among them a prejudice against the scriptural 
 Methodist manner of preaching Christ, so that they can no longer 
 hear the plain old truth, with profit or pleasure, nay hardly with 
 patience. The gospel preachers, so called, corrupt their hearers, 
 and they vitiate their taste. They feed them with sweetmeats, 
 till the genuine wine of the Kingdom seems quite insipid to them. 
 They give them cordial upon cordial, which make them all life 
 and spirit for the present; but, meantime, their appetite is de- 
 stroyed, so that they can neither retain nor digest the pure milk of 
 the word. 
 
 According to the constant observations I have made, in all 
 parts both of England and Ireland, preachers of this kind spread 
 death, not life, among their hearers. This was the case when I 
 went last into the north. For some time before my coming, John 
 Downes had scarce been able to preach at all ; the three others, 
 in the round, were such as style themselves * gospel preachers.' 
 "When I came to review the societies, with great expectation of 
 finding a vast increase, I found most of them lessened by one 
 third. One was entirely broken up. That of Newcastle was less 
 by a hundred members than when I visited it before ; and, of 
 those that remained, the far greater number, in every place, were 
 cold, weary, heartless, and dead. Such were the blessed effects of 
 this ^ospeZ- preaching ! of this new method oi jyreacJiing Christ. 
 
 On the other hand, when, in my return, I took an account of 
 the societies in Yorkshii'e, chiefly under the care of John Nelson, 
 one of the old way, I found them all alive, strong, and vigorous of 
 soul, believing, loving, and praising God their Saviour ; and in- 
 creased in number from eighteen or nineteen hundred to upwarda 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 231 
 
 of three thousand. These had been continually fed with whole- 
 some food. From the beginning they had been taught both the 
 law and the gospel. God loves yoUj therefore love and obey 
 Him. Christ died for you ; therefore die to sin. Christ is risen ; 
 therefore rise in the image of God. Christ liveth evermore; 
 therefore live to God, till you live with Him in glory. 
 
 So we preached ; and so you believed. This is the scriptural 
 way, the Methodist way, the true way. God grant we may 
 never turn therefrom, to the right hand or to the left. 
 
 I am, my dear friend, youi* ever affectionate brother, 
 
 John Wesley. 
 
 CXLL 
 
 Would that a few ' gospel-preachers ' would take this hit of 
 advice to heart. 
 
 John Wesley to John King {one of his Preachers in America). 
 
 Near Leeds : Jidy 28, 1775. 
 
 My dear Brother, — Always take advice or reproof as a favour : 
 it is the surest mark of love. 
 
 I advised you once, and you took it as an affront ; nevertheless 
 I will do it once more. 
 
 Scream no more, at the peril of your soul. God now warns 
 you by me, whom He has set over you. 
 
 Speak as earnestly as you can, but do not scream. Speak 
 with all your heart, but with a moderate voice. It was said of 
 our Lord, ' He shall not cry ' ; the word properly means. He shall 
 not scream. Herein, be a follower of me, as I am of Christ. I 
 often speak loud, often vehemently, but I never scream, I never 
 strain myself I dare not. I know it would be a sin against 
 God and my own soul. Perhaps one reason why that good man, 
 Thomas Walsh, yea, and John Manners too, were in such grievous 
 darkness before they died, was, because they shortened their own 
 lives. 
 
 O John, pray for an advisable and teachable temper ! By 
 nature you are very far from it : you are stubborn and headstrong. 
 Your last letter was written in a very wrong spirit. If you cannot 
 take advice from others, surely you might take it from your affec- 
 tionate brother, 
 
 John Wesley. 
 
232 EXQLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 cxLir. 
 
 But Jolm Wesley was an autocrat. He did not wisli to 
 secede from the Church of England, but to kindle a little ardour 
 in the ranks of a sluggish ministry. To this end he drew his 
 travelling preachers chiefly from the workshop and the plough, 
 and satisfied himself of their fitness to be his lieutenants. These 
 men he shifted about from city to city, and insisted on their im- 
 plicit obedience to his wishes and injunctions. The following 
 letter was written at a time when there were symptoms of 
 insubordination in regard to Wesley's claims to have the sole 
 and exclusive power of making appointments. A conference of 
 preachers had appointed a man to a vacant pulpit and ' pious 
 John ■ immediately expelled him ; but Wesley seems to have 
 forgotten that the thex flourishing condition of Methodism was 
 not the consequence of his own individual energy, and that his 
 160 itinerant preachers counted for something in a vast success. 
 Horace Walpole wrote as early as 1749 : * Methodism in the 
 metropolis is more fashionable than anything but brag ; the 
 women play very deep at both.' 
 
 John Wesley io Charles Wesley. 
 
 January, 1780. 
 
 My dear Brother, — You seem not to have well considered the 
 Rules of a Helj^er, or the rise of Methodism. It pleased God, 
 by me, to awaken, first my brother, and then a few others ; who 
 severally desired of me, as a favour, that I would direct them in all 
 things. After my return from Georgia, many were both awakened 
 and converted to God. One and another, and another of these 
 desired to join with me as sons in the gospel, to be dii-ected by me. 
 I drew up a few plain rules (observe there was no conference in 
 being !) and permitted them to join me on these conditions. Who- 
 ever, therefore, violates these conditions, particularly that of being 
 directed by me in the work, does, ipso facto, disjoin himself from 
 me. This brother M'Nab has done (but he cannot see that he 
 has done amiss) : and he would have it a common cause ; that is, 
 he would have all the preachers do the same. He thinks ' they 
 Vave a right so to do.' So they have. They have a right to dis- 
 join themselves from me whenever they please. But they cannot, 
 on the nature of the thing, join with me any longer than they are 
 directed by me. And what if fifty of the preachei-s disjoin them- 
 selves 1 What should I lose thereby ? Only a great deal of labour 
 
18001 ENGLISH LETTERS. 233 
 
 and care, which T do not seek ; but endure, because no one else 
 either can or will. 
 
 You seem likewise to have quite a wrong idea of a conference. 
 For above six years after my return to England, there was no 
 such thing. I then desired some of my preachers to meet me, in 
 order to advise, not control, me. And you may observe, they had 
 no power at all, but what I exercised through them. I chose to 
 exercise the power which God had given me in this manner, both 
 to avoid ostentation, and gently to habituate the people to obey 
 them when I should be taken from their head. But as long as I 
 remain with them, the fundamental rule of Methodism remains 
 inviolate. As long as any preacher joins with me, he is to be 
 directed by me in his work. Do not you see then, that brother 
 M'Nab, whatever his intentions might be, acted as wrong as 
 wrong could be ? and that the representing of this as the common 
 cause of the preachers was the way to common destruction, the 
 way to turn their heads, and to set them in arms % Tt was a blow 
 at the very root of Methodism. J could not, therefore, do less 
 than I did ; it was the very least that could be done, for fear that 
 evil should spread. I do not willingly speak of these things at all ; 
 but I do it now out of necessity ; because I perceive the mind of 
 you, and some others, is a little hurt by not seeing them in a 
 true light. 
 
 I am, your affectionate brother, 
 
 John Wesley. 
 
 OXLm. 
 
 When Lord Lyttleton followed Henry Fielding's example by 
 marrying a second time, this congratulatory note was written 
 by the once needy novelist to his patron. Fielding was in- 
 debted for his post of Justice of the Peace for Middlesex to Lord 
 Lyttleton, and he was ever sensible of the benefaction. To the 
 same kind patron he appealed successfully for his friend Edward 
 Moore, known to us as the writer of the tragedy entitled * The 
 Gamester ; ' for when Dodsley appointed Moore editor of the 
 * World,' Lyttleton beat up several fashionable contributors for 
 him. With all his faults and eccentricities. Fielding was a 
 generous and aifectionate friend, and was as careless of the 
 malicious prattle of Horace Walpole and the misrepresentations 
 of his rival Richardson, as in early life he had been in choosing 
 his company. 
 
234 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Henry Fielding to the Hon. George LytUeion. 
 
 Bow Street . August 29, 1749. " 
 Sir, — Permit me to bring up the rear of your friends in paying 
 my compliments of congratalation on your late bappy nuptials. 
 There may, perhaps, be seasons when the rear may be as honour- 
 able a post in friendship as in war ; and if so, such certainly must 
 be every time of joy and felicity. Your present situation must be 
 full of bliss ; and so will be, I am confident, your future life from 
 the same fountain. Nothing can equal the excellent character 
 your lady bears amongst those of her own sex, and I never yet 
 knew them speak well of a woman who did not deserve their 
 good words. How admirable is your fortune in the matrimonial 
 lotteiy ! I will venture to say thei*e is no man alive who exults 
 more in this, or in any other happiness that can attend you, than 
 myself, and you ought to believe me from the same reason that 
 fully persuades me of the satisfaction you receive from any hap- 
 piness of mine; this reason is that you must be sensible how 
 much of it I owe to your goodness; and there is a great pleasure 
 in gratitude, though I believe it second to that of benevolence, 
 for of all the delights upon earth, none can equal the raptures 
 which a good mind feels in confeiTing happiness on those whom 
 we think worthy of it. This is the sweetest ingredient in power, 
 and I solemnly protest I never wished for power more than a few 
 days ago, for the sake of a man whom I love, the more, perhaps 
 from the esteem I know he bears you than any other reason. This 
 man is in love with a young creature of the most apparent worth 
 who returns his affections. Nothing is wanting to make two very 
 miserable people extremely blest, but a moderate portion of the 
 greatest of human evils, so philosophers call it, and so it is called by 
 divines, whose word is the rather to be taken as they are many 
 of them more conversant with this evil than even the philosophers 
 were. The name of this man is Moore, to whom you kindly 
 destined the laurel, which, though it hath long been withered, may 
 not probably soon drop from the brow of its present possessor. 
 But there is another place of much the same value now vacant : it 
 is that of deputy-licenser to the stage. Be not offended at this 
 hint ; for though I will own it impudent enough in one who hath 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 23S 
 
 so many obligations of his own to you to venture to recommend 
 another man to your favour, yet impudence itself may possibly b© 
 a virtue when exerted on behalf of a friend : at least I am the 
 less ashamed of it, as I have known men remarkable for the oppo- 
 site modesty, possess it without the mixture of any other quality. 
 In this fault then you must indulge me — for should I ever see you 
 as high in power as I wish, and as it is perhaps more my interest 
 than your own that you should be, I shall be guilty of the like as 
 often as I find a man in whom I can, after much intimacy, dis- 
 cover no want but that of the evil above mentioned. I beg you 
 will do me the honour of making my compliments to your unknown 
 lady, and believe me to be, with the highest esteem, respect, and 
 gratitude, 
 
 Sir, your most obliged 
 
 Most obedient, humble servant, 
 
 Henhy Fielding. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 After a year's absence, William Pitt, gouty and infirm, 
 returned to his seat in the House of Commons to shine in the 
 most memorable debate of the eighteenth century — on the 
 . American Stamp Act. When the result of the division was made 
 known, the great Commoner was overwhelmed with applause, 
 and Lord Stanhope writes : ' Every head was uncovered ; 
 and many persons in token of their respect and gratitude fol- 
 lowed his chair home. On the other hand, hisses and revilings 
 assailed, but did not daunt, the haughty and resolute Gren- 
 ville.' 
 
 William Pitt to his Wife, Lady Chatham. 
 
 February 22, 17G6 (past 4 o'clock). 
 
 Happy, indeed, was the scene of this glorious morning (for at 
 past one we divided), when the sun of liberty shone once more 
 benignly upon a country, too long benighted. My dear love, not 
 all the applauding joy which the hearts of animated gratitude, 
 saved from despair and bankruptcy, uttered in the lobby, could 
 touch me, in any degree, like the tender and lively delight, which 
 breathes in your warm and afiectionate note. 
 
 All together, my dearest life, makes me not ill to-day after the 
 immense fatigue, or not feeling that I am so. Wonder not if I 
 should find myself in a placid and sober fever, for tumultuous 
 
236 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 exultation you know I think not permitted to feeble mortal 
 successes ; but my delight, heartfelt and solid as it is, must want 
 its sweetest ingredient (if not its very essence) till I rejoice with 
 my angel, and with her join in thanksgivings to protecting Heaven, 
 for all our happy deliverances. 
 
 Thank you for the sight of Smith : his honest joy and affection 
 charm me. Loves to the sweet babes, patriotic or not ; though I 
 hope impetuous William is not behind in feelings of that kind. 
 Send the saddle-horses if you please, so as to be in town early to- 
 morrow morning. I propose, and hope, to execute my journey to 
 Hayes by eleven. 
 
 Your ever loving husband. 
 
 W. Pitt. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 *They form a grand group in my biographical picture,' 
 remarks James Boswell of the three letters forwarded to him by 
 Warren Hastings in the month of December, 1790 — the only 
 letters he had received from Dr. Samuel Johnson. The one 
 here selected is the best of the trio ; and in grace and finish it 
 is scarcely inferior to any other of the epistles to be read in Bos- 
 well's volumes on the * Life of Samuel Johnson.' 
 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson to the Hon. Warren Hastings. 
 
 March 30, 1774. 
 Sir, — Though I have had but little personal knowledge of you, I 
 have had enough to make me wish for more ; and though it be now a 
 long time since I was honoured by your visit, I had too much pleasure 
 from it to forget it. By those whom we delight to remember, we 
 are unwilling to be forgotten ; and therefore I cannot omit this 
 opportunity of reviving myself in your memory by a letter which 
 you will receive from the hands of my friend Mr. Chambers; a 
 man, whose purity of manners and vigour of mind are sufficient 
 to make everything welcome that he brings. That this is my onl^ 
 reason for writing, will be too apparent by the uselessness of my 
 letter to any other purpose. I have no questions to ask ; not that 
 I want curiosity after either the ancient or present state of regions, 
 in which have been seen all the power and splendour of wide- 
 extended empire ; and which, as by some grant of natural superiority, 
 supply the rest of the world with almost all that pride desires, and 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 237 
 
 luxury enjoys. But my knowledge of them is too scanty to furnish 
 me with proper topicks of enquiry. I can only wish for informa- 
 tion ; and hope, that a mind comprehensive like yours will find 
 leisure, amidst the cares of your important station, to enquire into 
 many subjects of which the European world either thinks not at 
 all, or thinks with deficient intelligence and uncertain conjecture. 
 I shall hope, that he who once intended to increase the learning 
 of his country by the introduction of the Persian language, will 
 examine nicely the traditions and histories of the East ; that he 
 will survey the wondei's of its ancient edifices, and trace the 
 vestiges of its ruined cities and that, at his return, we shall know 
 the arts and opinions of a race of men, from whom very little has 
 been hitherto derived. 
 
 You, Sir, have no need of being told by me, how much may be 
 added by your attention and patronage to experimental knowledge 
 and natural history. There are arts of manufacture practised in 
 the countries in which you preside, which are yet very imperfectly 
 known here, either to artificers or philosophers. Of the natural 
 productions, animate and inanimate, we yet have so little intelli- 
 gence, that our books are filled, I fear, with conjectures about 
 things which an Indian peasant knows by his senses. 
 
 Many of those things my first wish is to see ; my second to 
 know by such accounts as a man like you will be able to give. 
 
 As I have not skill to ask proper questions, I have likewise no 
 such access to great men as can enable me to send you any political 
 information. Of the agitations of an unsettled government, and 
 the struggles of a feeble ministry, care is doubtless taken to give 
 you more exact accounts than I can obtain. If you are inclined to 
 interest yoiirself much in public transactions, it is no misfortune 
 to you to be so distant from them. That literature is not totally 
 forsaking us, and that your favourite language is not neglected, 
 will appear from the book, which I should have pleased myself 
 more with sending, if I could have presented it bound ; but time 
 was wanting. I beg, however, Sir, that you will accept it from a 
 man very desirous of your regard ; and that if you think me able 
 to gratify you by anything more impoi-tant, you will employ me. 
 
 I am now going to take leave, perhaps a very long leave, of my 
 dear Mr. Chambers. That he is going to live where you govern, 
 may justly alleviate the regret of parting ; and the hoi)e of seeing 
 
238 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 both him and you again, which I am not willing to mingle with 
 ■doubt, must at present, comfort as it can, Sir, 
 
 Your most humble servant 
 Sam Johnson. 
 
 CXLVL 
 
 The proudest man of his generation, the Earl of Chester- 
 field, met with a most crushing rebuff at the hands of Dr. 
 Johnson. The great Lexicographer was not a proud man ; but 
 what he defined as his defensive pride was capable of producing 
 the most galling results. 
 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson to tlie, Earl of Chesterfield 
 
 February, 1776. 
 
 My Lord, — I have been lately informed by the proprietor of 
 the World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended 
 to the publick, were written by your Lordship. To be so distin- 
 guished, is an honour, which, being very little accustomed to 
 favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what 
 terms to ackaowledge. 
 
 When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your 
 Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the 
 ■enchantment of your address ; and could not forbear to wish that 
 I might boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre^ — ^that 
 I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending ; 
 but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride 
 nor modesty would sufier me to continue it. When I had once 
 addressed your Lordship in publick, I bad exhausted all the art of 
 pleasing which a retired and imcourtly scholar can possess. I had 
 done all that I could ; and no man is well pleased to have his all 
 neglected, be it ever so little. 
 
 Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in your 
 outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during which 
 time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which 
 it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last, to the verge 
 of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encourage- 
 ment, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, 
 for I never had a Patron before. The shepherd in Yirgil gi-ew at 
 last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the rocks. 
 
 Is not a Patron, my Lord, one who looks with imconcern on a 
 
1800] ENGLISH LEITERS. 239 
 
 man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached 
 ground, encumbers him with help % The notice which you have 
 been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind ; 
 but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it ; 
 till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I am known, and do 
 not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess 
 obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling 
 that the publick should consider me as owing that to a Patrou, 
 which Providence has enabled me to do for myself. 
 
 Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation 
 to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I 
 should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have been 
 long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted 
 myself with so much exultation, 
 
 My Lord 
 Your Lordship's most humble 
 
 most obedient servant 
 Sam Johnson. 
 
 OXLVII. 
 
 In this instance, however, we find Dr. Johnson gracefully 
 
 apologising for unwittingly wounding the pride of the house of 
 
 Rasay. 
 
 Br. Samuel Johnson to the Laird of Rasay. 
 
 London : May 6, 1775. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Mr. Boswell has this day shewn me a letter, in 
 which you complain of a passage in * the Journey to the Hebrides.' 
 My meaning is mistaken. I did not intend to say that you had 
 personally made any cession of the rights of your house, or any 
 acknowledgement of the superiority of M'Leod of Dun vegan. 1 
 only designed to express what I thought generally admitted, — that 
 the house of Rasay allowed the superiority of the house of Dun- 
 vegan. Even this I now find to be erroneous, and will therefore 
 omit or retract it in the next edition. 
 
 Though what I had said had been true, if it had been dis- 
 agreeable to you, I should have wished it unsaid ; for it is not my 
 business to adjust precedence. As it is mistaken, 1 find myself 
 disposed to correct it, both by my respect for you, and my reverence 
 for truth. As I know not when the book will he reprinted, 1 have 
 
240 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 desired Mr. Boswell to anticipate the correction in the Edinburgh 
 papers. 
 
 This is all that can be don©. 
 
 I hope I may now venture to desire that my compliments ma\^ 
 be made, and my gratitude expressed, to Lady Rasay, Mr. Malcolm 
 M'Leod, Mr. Donald M'Queen, and all the gentlemen and all the 
 ladies whom I saw in the Island of Rasay ; a place which I re- 
 member with too much pleasure and too much kindness, not to be 
 sorry that my ignorance, or hasty persuasion, should, for a single 
 moment, have violated its tranquillity. 
 
 I beg you all to forgive an undesigned and involuntary injur}^, 
 and to consider me as. 
 
 Sir, your most obliged, 
 
 and most humble servant 
 
 Sam Johnson. 
 
 This question of precedence, so common North of the Tweed, 
 reminds one of Sir Walter Scott's favourite letter in which 
 Lord Macdonald makes reply to the head of the Glengarry 
 family. 
 
 My dear Glengarry, 
 
 As soon as you can prove yourself to he my chief I 
 shall he ready to acknowledge you ; in ithe 
 meantime, I am yours, 
 
 Macdonald. 
 
 OXLVIII. 
 
 The three following letters tell of the final rupture of the 
 friendship, extending over twenty years, of Dr. Johnson and Mrs. 
 Thrale. On June 30, 1784, Dr. Johnson, in common with the 
 other executors under Mr. Thrale's will, received an intimation 
 that Mrs. Thrale was actually married, or about to be married, 
 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Piozzi. 
 
 July 2, 1784. 
 Madam, — If I interpret your letter right, you are ignominiously 
 married : if it is yet undone, let us once more talk together. If 
 you have abandoned your children a nd your religion, God forgive 
 your wickedness ; if you have forfeited your fame and your 
 country, may your folly do no further mischief. If the last act 
 is yet to do, I who have loved you, esteemed you, reverenced 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 241 
 
 you, and served you, I who long thought you the first of woman- 
 kind, entreat that, before your fate is irrevocable, I may once more 
 see you. I was, I once was. Madam, most truly yours, 
 
 Sam Johnson. 
 I will come down, if you permit it. 
 
 OXLIX. 
 
 Dr, Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Fiozzi. 
 
 London : July 8, 1784. 
 
 Dear Madam, — What you have done, however I may lament 
 it, I have no pretence to resent, as it has not been injurious to me. 
 I therefore breathe out one sigh more of tenderness, perhaps useless, 
 but at least sincere. 
 
 I wish that God may grant you every blessing, that you may 
 be happy in this world for its short continuance, and eternally 
 happy in a better state ; and whatever I can contribute to your 
 happiness I am very ready to repay, for that kindness which 
 soothed twenty years of a life radically wretched. 
 
 Do not think slightly of the advice which I now presume to 
 offer. Prevail upon Mr. Piozzi to settle in England : you may live 
 here with more dignity than in Italy, and with more security ; 
 your rank will be higher, and your fortune more under your own 
 eye. I desire not to detail all my reasons, but every argument of 
 prudence and interest is for England, and only some phantoms of 
 imagination seduce you to Italy. I am afraid, however, that my 
 counsel is vain, yet I have eased my heart by giving it. 
 
 When Queen Mary took the resolution of sheltering herself 
 in England, the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, attempting to dissuade 
 her, attended on her journey ; and when they came to the irre- 
 meable stream that separated the two Kingdoms, walked by her 
 side into the water, in the middle of which he seized her bridle, 
 and with earnestness proportioned to her danger and his own 
 affection pressed her to return. The Queen went forward.— If the 
 parallel reaches thus far, may it go no farther. — The tears stand 
 in my eyes. 
 
 I am going into Derbyshire, and hope to be followed by your 
 
 good wishes, for I am, with great affection, 
 
 Youi-s, (fee. 
 
242 ENaiASK LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 CL. 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi to Dr. Samuel Johnson. 
 
 July 4. 1784. 
 
 Sir, — I have this morning received from you so rough a letter 
 in reply to one which was both tenderly and respectfully written, 
 that I am forced to desire the conclusion of a correspondence which 
 I can bear to continue no longer. 
 
 The birth of my second husband is not meaner than that of my 
 first ] his sentiments are not meaner ; his profession is not meaner, 
 and his superiority in what he professes acknowledged by all 
 mankind. It is want of fortune, then, that is ignominious ; the 
 character of the man I have chosen has no other claim to such an 
 epithet. The religion to which he has been always a zealous 
 adherent will, I hope, teach him to forgive insults he has not 
 deserved ; mine will, I hope, enable me to bear them at once with 
 dignity and patience. To hear that I have forfeited my fame is 
 indeed the gi-eatest insult I ever yet received. 
 
 My fame is as unsullied as snow, or I should think it unworthy 
 of him who must henceforth protect it. 
 
 I write by the coach the more speedily and effectually to prevent 
 your coming hither. Perhaps by my fame (and I hope it is so) 
 you mean only that celebrity which is a consideration of a much 
 lower kind. I care for that only as it may give pleasure to my 
 husband and his friends. 
 
 Farewell, dear Sir, and accept my best wishes. You have 
 always commanded my esteem, and long enjoyed the fruits of a 
 friendship, n£ver infringed hy one harsh expression on my part 
 during twenty years of familiar talk. Never did I oppose your 
 wUlf nor can your unmerited severity itself lessen my regard; 
 but till you have changed youi' opinion of Mr. Piozzi, let us 
 converse no more. God bless you. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 
 
 OLI. 
 
 243 
 
 The controversy raised by James Macpherson's publication 
 of some poems wbich he attributed to Ossian, a Highlaud poet 
 who flourished in the third century, was a long and bitter one. 
 It lasted during the latter half of Macpherson's life and con- 
 tinued for several years after his death. It was alleged that 
 fragments of ancient poetry, sung in Gaelic by the natives 
 of the North of Scotland, and transmitted orally from singer 
 to singer, and from age to age, had been discovered in manu- 
 script at the homes of the Highland peasantry; and a sub- 
 scription was raised in Edinburgh to enable Macpherson to ex- 
 tend his researches, and produced the two epic poems ' Fingal ' 
 and 'Temora.' Among the earliest admirers of Macpherson 
 were Dr. Blair, and our poets Shenstone and Gray ; but Dr. 
 Johnson at once denied the authenticity of the poems. Subse- 
 quently a committee of the Highland Society of Edinburgh 
 reported that they had failed to discover any one poem the same 
 in title and tenor with the ' poems of Ossian.' 
 
 David Hume to . 
 
 Edinburgh : August 16, 1760. 
 Sir, — I am surprised to find by your letter, that Mr. Gray 
 should have entertained suspicions with regard to the authenticity 
 of these fragments of our Highland poetry. The first time I was 
 shown the copies of some of them in manuscript, by our friend 
 John Home, I was inclined to be a little incredulous on that head ; 
 but Mr. Home removed my scruples, by informing me of the man- 
 ner in which he procured them from Mr. Macpherson, the trans- 
 lator. These two gentlemen were drinking the waters together at 
 Mofiat last autumn, when their conversation feU upon Highland 
 poetry, which Mr. Macpherson extolled very highly. Our friend, 
 who knew him to be a good scholar, and a man of taste, found his 
 curiosity excited, and asked whether he had ever translated any of 
 them. Mr. Macpherson replied, that he never had attempted any 
 such thing, and doubted whether it was possible to transfuse such 
 beauties into our language ; but, for Mr. Home's satisfaction, and 
 in order to give him a general notion of the strain of that wild 
 poetry, he would endeavour tx) turn one of them into English. He 
 accordingly brought him one next day, which our friend was so 
 much pleased with, that he never ceased soliciting Mr. Macpherson, 
 
244 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 till he insensibly produced that smal. volume which has been pub-^ 
 lished. 
 
 After this volume was in everybody's hands, and universally 
 admired, we heard every day new reasons, which put the authen- 
 ticity, not the great antiquity which the translator ascribes to 
 them, beyond all question, for their antiquity is a point, which 
 must be ascertained by reasoning ; th6ugh the arguments he em- 
 ploys seem very probable and convincing. But certain it is, that 
 these poems are in everybody's mouth in the Highlands, have been 
 handed down from father to son, and are of an age beyond all 
 memory and tradition. 
 
 In the family of every Highland chieftain, there was anciently 
 retained a bard, whose office was the same with that of the Greek 
 rhapsodists ; and the general subject of the poems which they re- 
 cited was the wars of Fingal; an epoch no less remarkable among 
 them, than the wars of Troy among the Greek poets. This custom 
 is not even yet altogether abolished : the bard and piper are esteemed 
 the most honourable offices in a chieftain's family, and these two 
 characters are frequently united in the same person. Adam 
 Smith, the celebrated Professor in Glasgow, told me that the piper 
 of the Argyleshii-e Militia repeated to him all those poems which 
 Mr. Macpherson has translated, and many more of equal beauty. 
 Major Mackay, Lord Reay's brother, also told me that he remembers 
 them perfectly; as likewise did the Laird of Macfarlane, the gi-eatest 
 antiquarian whom we have in this country, and who insists so 
 strongly on the historical truth, as well as on the poetical beauty 
 of these productions. I could add the Laird and Lady Macleod 
 to these authorities, with many more, if these were not sufficient, 
 as they live in different parts of the Highlands, very remote from 
 each other, and they could only be acquainted with poems that 
 had become in a manner national works, and had gradually spread 
 themselves into every mouth, and imprinted themselves on every 
 memory. Every body in Edinburgh is so convinced of this truth, 
 that we have endeavoured to put Mr. Macpherson on a way of 
 procuring us more of these wild flowers. He is a modest, sensible, 
 young man, not settled in any living, but employed as a private tutor 
 in Mr. Grahame of Belgowan's family, a way of life which he is not 
 fond of. We have, therefore, set about a subscription of a guinea 
 or two guineas a-piece, in order to enable him to quit that family, 
 
1800J ENGLISH LETTERS. 245 
 
 and undertake a mission into the Highlands, where he hopes to 
 recover more of these fragments. 
 
 There is, in particular, a country surgeon somewhere in Loch- 
 :abar, who, he says, can recite a great number of them, but never 
 committed them to writing ; as indeed the orthography of the 
 Highland language is not fixed, and the natives have always em- 
 ployed more the sword than the pen. This surgeon has by heart 
 the Epic poem mentioned by Mr. Macpherson in his Preface ; and 
 as he is somewhat old, and is the only person living that has it 
 ■entire, we are in the more haste to recover a monument, which 
 will certainly be regarded as a curiosity in the republic of letters. 
 
 I own that my first and chief objection to the authenticity of 
 these fragments was not on account of the noble and even tender 
 strokes which they contain ; for these are the offspring of genius 
 and passion in all countries ; I was only surprised at the I'egular 
 plan which appears in some of these pieces, and which seems to be 
 the work of a more cultivated age. None of the specimens of bar- 
 barous poetry known to us, the Hebrew, Arabian, or any other, 
 contain this species of beauty ; and if a regular epic poem, or even 
 any thing of that kind, nearly regular, should also come from that 
 rough climate or uncivilized people, it would appear to me a phe- 
 nomenon altogether unaccountable. 
 
 I remember Mr. Macpherson told me, that the heroes of this 
 Highland epic were not only, like Homer's heroes, theii' own 
 butchers, bakers, and cooks, but also their own shoemakers, car- 
 penters, and smiths. He mentioned an incident which put this 
 matter in a remarkable light. A warrior had the head of his 
 spear struck off" in battle ; upon which he immediately retires be- 
 hind the army, whei-e a large forge was erected, makes a new one, 
 hurries back to the action, pierces his enemy while the iron, 
 which was yet red-hot, hisses in the wound. This imagery you will 
 allow to be singular, and so well imagined that it would have 
 been adopted by Homer, had the manners of the Greeks allowen 
 him to have employed it. 
 
 I forgot to mention, as another proof of the authenticity of 
 these poems, and even of the reality of the adventm-es contained in 
 -fchem, that the names of the heroes, Fingal, Oscar, Osur, Oscan, 
 Dermid, are still given in the Highlands to large mastiffs, in the 
 ^ame manner as we affix to them the names of Caesar, Pompey, 
 
246 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 
 
 Hector, or the French that of Marlborough. It gives me pleasure- 
 to find that a person of so fine a taste as IVIr. Gray approves 
 of these fragments; as it may convince us that our fondness 
 of them is not altogether founded on national prepossessions, which^ 
 however, you know to be a Httle strong. The translation is ele- 
 gant, but I made an objection to the author, which I wish you 
 would communicate to Mr. Gray, that we may judge of the just- 
 ness of it. There appeared to me many verses in his prose, and 
 all of them in the same measure with Mr. Shenstone's famous 
 ballad, — 
 
 Ye shepherds, so cheerful and gay, 
 Whose flocks never carelessly roam, &c. 
 
 Pray, ask Mr. Gray whether he made the same remark, &c., and 
 whether he thinks it a blemish. 
 
 Yours most sincerely, <fec. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 The feud between Jean Jacques Rousseau and David Hume, 
 the historian, is a curious passage of literary history. 
 
 During his stay in this country Rousseau found a delightful 
 home at-\Votton, the residence of a Mr. Davenport. David 
 Hume had procured this home for the * apostle of affliction,' and 
 was acknowledged to be his ' cher patron ; ' more than this, he 
 had been instrumental in obtaining from Greorge III. a pension 
 for his friend. Out of some correspondence connected with this 
 grant of money, but chiefly owing to a letter reflecting on 
 Rousseau's moral ailments, written by Horace Walpole under the 
 signature of the King of Prussia, arose a dispute which severed 
 this fretful foreigner's connection with Hume and with England,^ 
 Without a shadow of evidence Rousseau charged his benefactor 
 with enticing him to England for the sole purpose of reducing 
 him to derision and captivity, and insisted that the most consider- 
 able personages in the "realm were privy to the plot. Mr. Hume, 
 it will be seen, did not choose to treat his ungrateful assailant 
 as an unfortunate monomaniac, but as an intensely vain and 
 quarrelsome person. 
 
 David Hume to Jean Jacques Rousseau. 
 
 June 26, 1760. 
 As I ain conscious of having ever acted towards you the most 
 friendly part, of having always given you the most tender and the 
 most active proofs of sincere affection, you may judge of my extreme 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 247 
 
 surprise on perusing your epistle. Such violent accusations, con- 
 fined altogether to generalities, it is as impossible to answer as it 
 is impossible to comprehend them. But affairs cannot, must not, 
 remain on that footing. I shall charitably suppose that some 
 infamous calumniator has belied me to you. But, in that case, it 
 is your duty, and, I am persuaded, it will be your inclination, to 
 give me an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself, 
 which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars of 
 which I am accused. You say that I myself know that I have 
 been false to you ; but I say it loudly, and will say it to the whole 
 world, that I know the contrary ; that I know my friendship to- 
 wards you has been unbounded and uninterrupted j and that 
 though I have given you instances of it, which have been uni- 
 versally remarked both in France and England, the pubHc as yet 
 are acquainted only with the smallest part of it. I demand that 
 you name to me the man who dares assert the contrary ; and, 
 above all, I demand that he shall mention any one particular in 
 which I have been wanting to you. You owe this to me, you owe 
 it to yourself, you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and to 
 every thing deemed sacred among men. As an innocent man — 
 for I will not say as your friend, I will not say as your benefactor — 
 but I repeat it, as an innocent man I claim the privilege of prov 
 ing my innocence and of refuting any scandalous falsehood which 
 may have been invented against me. Mr. Davenport, to whom I 
 have sent a copy of your letter, and who will read this before he 
 delivers it, will, I am confident, second my demand and tell you 
 that nothing can be more equitable. Happily I have preserved 
 the letter you wrote me after your arrival at Wotton ; and you 
 there express, in the strongest terms, in terms indeed too strong, 
 your satisfaction in my poor endeavours to serve you. The little 
 epistolary intercourse which afterwards pissed between us has 
 been all employed on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell 
 me, then, what has since given you offence % Tell me of what 
 am accused. Tell me the man who accuses me. Even after you 
 have fulfilled all these conditions to my satisfaction, and to that 
 of Mr. Davenport, you will still have great difficulty to justify 
 your employing such outrageous terms towards a man with whom 
 you have been so intimately connected, and who was entitled, on 
 many accounts, to have been treated by you with more regaid and 
 
248 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 decency. Mr. Davenport knows the whole transaction about your 
 pension, because I thought it necessaiy that the person who had 
 undertaken your settlement should be fully acquainted with your 
 circumstances, lest he should be tempted to perform towards you 
 concealed acts of generosity, which, if they accidentally came to 
 your knowledge, might give you some grounds of offence. 
 
 I am, Sir, &c. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 David Hume to Dr. Blair. 
 
 July 15, 1766. 
 
 Daar Doctor, — rl go in a few hours to Woburn ; so can only 
 give you the outline of my history. Through many difficulties I 
 obtained a pension for Rousseau. The application w as made with 
 his own consent and knowledge. I write him that all is happily 
 completed, and he need only draw for the money. He answers 
 me that I am a rogue and a rascal ; and have brought him into 
 England merely to dishonour him. I demand the reason of this 
 strange language, and Mr. Davenport, the gentleman with whom 
 he lives, tells him that he must necessarily satisfy me. To-day I 
 received a letter from him, which is perfect frenzy. It would 
 make a good eighteen-penny pamphlet ; and I fancy he intends to 
 publish it. He there tells me, that D'Alembert, Horace Walpole, 
 and I, had from the first ent'ired into a combination to ruin him, 
 and had ruined him. That the first suspicion of my treachery 
 arose in him while we lay together in the same room of an inn in 
 France. I there spoke in my sleep, and betrayed my intention of 
 ruining him. That young Tronchin lodged in the same house 
 with me at London j and Annie ElUot looked very coldly at him 
 as he went by her in the passage. That I am also in a close con- 
 federacy with Lord Lyttelton, who, he hears, is his mortal enemy. 
 That the Enghsh nation were very fond of him on his first arrival; 
 but that Horace Walpole and I had totally ahenated them from 
 him. He owns, however, that his behef of my treachery went no 
 higher than suspicion while he was in London ; but it rose to cer- 
 tainty after he arrived in the country ; for that there were sevei-al 
 publications in the papers against him, which could have proceeded 
 fi'om nobody but me or my confederate, Horace Walpole. The 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 249 
 
 rest is all of a like strain, intermixed with many lies and much 
 malice. I own that I was very anxious about this affair, but this 
 letter has totally relieved me. I write in a hurry, merely to 
 satisfy your curiosity. I hope soon to see you, and am, &c. 
 
 OLIV. 
 
 Ignatius Sancho was an emancipated negro, who, having been 
 struck with a passage in one of Sterne's sermons, describing the 
 misery and injustice of slavery, addressed a letter to him. The 
 author of * Tristram Shandy,' touched with the poor Black's 
 enthusiastic comphments and simple eloquence, rephed : — 
 
 Lawrence Sterne to Ignatius Sancho. 
 
 Ooxwold: July 27, 1766. 
 
 There is a strange coincidence, Sancho, in the little events (as 
 well as in the gr-eat ones) of this world ; for I had been writing a 
 tender tale of the sori'ows of a friendless poor negro-giii; and my 
 eyes had scarce done smarting with it, when your letter of recom- 
 mendation, in behalf of so many of her brethren and sisters, came 
 to me ; — but why her brethren ? — or yours, Sancho, — ^any more 
 than mine ? 
 
 It is by the finest tints and most insensible gradations that 
 Nature descends from the fairest face about St. James's to the 
 sootiest complexion in Africa. — At which tint of these is it, that 
 the ties of blood are to cease 1 and how many shades must we 
 descend lower still in the scale, ere mercy is to vanish with them 1 
 But 'tis no uncommon thing, my good Sancho, for one half of the 
 world to use the other half of it like brutes, and then endea- 
 vour to make them so. For my own part, I never look westward 
 (when I am in a pensive mood at least) but I think of the burdens 
 which our brothers and sisters aie there carrying; and, could I 
 ease their shoulders from one ounce of them, I declare I would set 
 out this hour upon a pilgi-image to Mecca for their sakes ; which, 
 by the by, Sancho, exceeds your walk of ten miles in about the 
 same proportion that a visit of humanity should one of mere form. 
 — However, if you meant my Uncle Toby, more he is your debtor. 
 If I can weave the tale I have wrote into the work T am about, 
 'tis at the service of the afl3icted — and a much greater matter ; for, 
 in serious truth, it casts a sad shade upon the worldj that so gi-eat 
 
250 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 
 
 a part of it are, and have been so long, bound in chains of dark- 
 ness, and in chains of misery, and I cannot but both respect and felici- 
 tate you, that, by so much laudable diligence, you have broke the 
 one ; — and that, by falling into the hands of so good and merciful 
 a family, Providence has rescued you from the other. 
 
 And so, good-hearted Sancho, adieu ! and, believe me, I will 
 not forget your letter. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 L. Steene. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 Lawrence Sterne was in London, carrying his ' Sentimental 
 Journey ' through the press, about the time this letter was 
 written. He was dying slowly of consumption, lonely and 
 wretched amid all his social triumphs. His wife and his 
 daughter Lydia, to whom he was much attached, were away 
 from him, alienated, it is to be feared, by his misconduct. The 
 * incomparable woman ' he alludes to was Mrs. Eliza Draper, 
 who plays such an important part in his correspondence. 
 
 Laiorence Sterne to Miss Sterne. 
 
 Bond Street : April 9, 1767. 
 This letter, my dear Lydia, will distress thy good heart ; for^ 
 from the beginning, thou wilt perceive no entertaining strokes of 
 humour in it. I cannot be cheerful when a thousand melancholy 
 ideas surround me. I have met with a loss of near fifty pounds, 
 which I was taken in for in an extraordinary manner — but what 
 is that loss in comparison of one I may experience 1 Friendship 
 is the balm and cordial of life, and without it 'tis a heavy load 
 not worth sustaining. I am unhappy — thy mother and thyself at 
 a distance from me ; and what can compensate for such a destitu- 
 tion ? For God's sake, persuade her to come and fix in England,. 
 for life is too short to waste in separation ; and, whilst she lives 
 in one country and I in another, many people will suppose it pro- 
 ceeds from choice ; besides, I want thee near me, thou child and 
 darling of my heart ! I am in a melancholy mood, and my Lydia's 
 eyes will smart with weeping, when I teU her the cause that now 
 affects me. I am apprehensive the dear friend I mentioned in my 
 last letter is going into a decHne. I was with her two days ago, 
 and I never beheld a being so altered : she has a tender frame, and 
 looks like a drooping lily, for the roses are fled from her cheeks. I. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 251- 
 
 can never see or talk to this incomparable woman without burst- 
 ing into tears. I have a thousand obligations to her, and I owe 
 her more than her whole sex, if not all the world put together^ 
 She has a delicacy in her way of thinking that few possess. Our 
 conversations are of the most interesting nature ; and she talks to 
 me of quitting this world with more composure than others think 
 of living in it. I have wrote an epitaph, of which I send thee a 
 copy ; — 'tis expressive of her modest worth ; — but may Heaven, 
 restore her ;^ — and may she live to write mine ! 
 
 Columns and lahour'd urns but vainly show 
 An idle scene of decorative woe ; 
 The sweet companion, and the friend sincere, 
 Need no mechanic help to force the tear. 
 In heartfelt numbers, never meant to shine, 
 'Twill flow eternal o'er a hearse like thine ; 
 'Twill flow whilst gentle goodness has one friend, 
 Or kindred tempers have a tear to lend. 
 
 Say all that is kind of me to thy mother, and believe me, my 
 Lydia, that I love thee most truly. 
 
 So adieu. I am what I ever was, and hope ever shall be. 
 
 Thy affectionate Father, 
 
 L. Sterne. 
 
 As to Mr. M , by your description he is a fat fool. I beg 
 
 you will not give up your time to such a being. Send me some 
 batons pours les dents ; there are none good here. 
 
 OLVI. 
 
 William Shenstone, one of the most pleasing of our minor 
 poets and the author of the once famous ' Pastoral Ballad,' here 
 mculcates with much elegance and good sense the value of 
 social intercourse as a necessary ingredient to man's happiness. 
 A bachelor and a recluse himself he scarcely practised what he 
 preached, though his inconsistency in this case so far from 
 diminishing adds rather to his authority on the subject with 
 which he deals. 
 
 William Shenstone to Mr. Graves. 
 
 [1746.] 
 
 Dear Mr. Graves,— There is not a syllable you tell me con- 
 cerning yourself in your last letter, but what applied to me is most 
 
252 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700 
 
 literally tme. I am sensible of the daily progress I make towards 
 insignificancy, 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 acquire a considerable degi'ee of knowledge, though I can 
 understand things well enough at the time I read them. I remem- 
 ber a preacher at St. Mary's (I think it was Mr. E ) made a 
 
 notable distinction betwixt apprehension and comprehension. If 
 there be a real difierence, probably it may find a place in the expli- 
 cation 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 thinking, upon reading your 
 letter, where 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, childi*en, alliances, visits, 
 *fcc. are necessary objects of our social passions ; and whether or no 
 we can, through particular circumstances, be happy with, I think 
 it plain enough that it is not possible to be happy without them. 
 All attachments to inanimate beauties, to curiosities, and orna- 
 ments, satiate us presently. — The fanciful tribe has the disadvan- 
 tage to be naturally prone to err in the choice of lasting pleasures : 
 and when our passions have habitually wandered, it is too difficult 
 to reduce them into then* 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 long ere the whole species is 
 exhausted. I agree with you entii-ely 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 present hour; and as to any future influence, solitude has 
 exceeding savage efiects on our dispositions.— 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 teU thee, faithless priest, 
 A ministering angel shall Ophelia he 
 When thou art howling.^ 
 
 I have amused myself often with this species of writing since you 
 
 ' The writer is obviously quoting from memory, and not altogether 
 •correctly. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 253= 
 
 saw me ; partly to divert my present impatience, and partly as it 
 will be a picture of most that passes in my mind ; a portrait 
 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 climax 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 ! 
 
 CLVIT. 
 
 Richard Jago was in his day (1715-1781) a poet of some 
 repute, though his priucipal claim to notice now is his intimacy 
 with Shenstone. The tenderness and grace which characterise 
 many of Shenstone's poems seem to be reflected in the prose of 
 the present letter, which is evidently the work of an amiable 
 and sincere man. 
 
 William Shenstone to Richard Jago, 
 
 November 15, 1762. 
 Dear Mr. Jago, — Could I with convenience mount my hoi*se, 
 and ride to Harbury this instant, I should much more willingly da 
 so than begin this letter. Such tei'rible events have happened to 
 us, since we saw each other last, that, however irksome it may be 
 to dwell upon them, it is in the same degi^ee unnatural to substi- 
 tute any subject in their place. I do sincerely forgive your long 
 silence, my good friend, indeed I do; though it gave me uneasi- 
 ness. 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 inadvertences, I remember, I 
 continued still in expectation of a letter, and did not dream of 
 writing till such time as I had received one. I trusted you would 
 
254 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 ^rite at last ; and that, by all my past endeavours to demonstrate 
 my 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 sera 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, notwith- 
 standing my own ; but alas ! what comfort could I administer, 
 who had need of every possible assistance to support myself] I 
 wiote indeed a few letters with difficulty ; amongst the rest, one 
 to my friend Graves ; but it was to vent my complaint. I will 
 send you the letter, if you please, as it is by far my least painful 
 method of conveying 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 service to you : let it aiford 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 con- 
 sistent with virtue, and with the most absolute resignation to the 
 just decrees of providence — ' Hominis est enim affici doloriB 
 sentire; resistere tamen <fe solatia admittere non solatiis non 
 egere.' — PUny. I drank, purchased amusements, never sufiered 
 myself to be a minute without company, no matter what, so it 
 was but continual. At length, by an attention to such conversa- 
 tion and such amusements as I could at other times despise, I 
 forgot so far as to be cheerful. — And after this, the summer, 
 through an almost constant succession of lively and agreeable 
 visitants, proved even a scene of joUity. — It 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 has 
 all forsaken me, and I am delivered up to winter, silence, and re- 
 flection, 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 anniversary, the * dies quern semper acerbum &c.' is 
 ^beginning to approach, and every face of the sky suggests the ideas 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 255 
 
 of last winter. — Yet I find myself cheerful in company, nor would 
 I recommend 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. Lyttel- 
 ton at his house ; but I beUeve 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 
 -can come hither first, it would afibrd me the most entire satisfac- 
 tion. — 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. 
 
 W. Shenstone. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 The Rev. Norton Nicholls was a young man who recom- 
 mended himself to Gray, when an undergraduate at Cambiidge, 
 by his elegant acquaintance with Italian literature. He became 
 the most intimate friend of the poet, and his ' Recollections of 
 Gray ' are by far the best we possess. He was refined and 
 vivacious in temperament, and suited the shy and melancholy 
 scholar of Pembroke to perfection. The following letter gives 
 us little idea of Gray's habitual life at Cambridge. * Gray y 
 vivait,' says Bonstettin, 'enseveli dans une espece de cloitre, 
 d'ou le quinzieme siecle n'avait pas encore d^m6nag6.' 
 
 Thomas Gray to the Rev. Norton NichoUs. 
 
 Pembroke College, November 8, 1768. 
 Not a single word since we parted at Norwich, and for aught 1 
 know, you may be ignorant how I fell into the jaws of the King of 
 Denmark at Newmarket, and might have staid there till this time, 
 had I not met with Mr. Yice-chancellor and Mr. Orator, with their 
 diplomas and speeches; who, on their return to Cambridge, sent 
 me a chaise from thence, and delivered me out of that den of 
 thieves. However, I passed a night there ; and in the next room, 
 
256 ENGLISH LETTERS. 
 
 divided from me by a thin partition, was a drunken parson and his 
 party of pleasure, singing and swearing, and breaking all the ten 
 commandments All that I saw on my way else was the abbey 
 church at Wyndham, to learned eyes a beautiful remnant of anti- 
 quity, part of it in the style of Henry the First, and part in that 
 of Henry the Sixth ; the wooden fi'etwork of the north aisle you 
 may copy, when you build the best room of your new Gothic par- 
 sonage, it will cost but a trifle. So now 1 am going to town about 
 my business, which (if I dispatch to my mind) will leave me at 
 rest, and with a tolerably easy temper for one while. I return 
 hither as soon as I can, and give you notice what a sweet 
 humour I am in. Mrs. Nicholls and you take advantage of it, 
 come and take possession of the lodge at' Trinity Hall, (by the 
 way, I am commissioned to offer it to you by Dr. Marriott for 
 that purpose, and you have nothing to do but to thank him for his 
 civilities, and say at what time you intend to make use of them ;) 
 and so we live in clover, and partake the benefits of a University 
 education together, as of old. Palgrave is returned from Scotland, 
 and will perhaps be here. Mason too, if he is not maiTied, (for 
 such a report there is) may come, and Dr. Hallifax is always at 
 your ser^dce. Lord Richard Cavendish is come : he is a sensible 
 boy, awkward and bashful beyond all imagination, and eats a 
 buttock of beef at a meal. I have made him my visit, and we did 
 tolerably well considering. Watson is his public tutor, and one 
 Winstanley his private ; do you know him % 
 
 Marriott has begun a subscription for a musical amphitheatre, 
 has appropriated £500 (Mr. Titley's legacy to the University) to 
 that purpose, and gives twenty guineas himself. He has drawn a 
 design for the building, and has printed an argument about the 
 poor's-rates, which he intended to have delivered from the bench, 
 but one of the parties dropped the cause. He has spoke at the 
 Quarter Sessions two hours together, and moved the towns-people 
 to tears, and the University to laughter. At laying down his 
 office too he spoke Latin and said. Invidiam, et opinionum de me 
 commenta delebit dies. He enlarged (which is never done) on the 
 qualifications of Hinchliffe his successor, qui mores hominum mvl- 
 torum vidit et urhes — qui cum Magnis vixit et placuit. Next day 
 Hinchliffe made his speech, and said not one word (though it is 
 usual) of his predecessor. I tell you Cambridge news for want of 
 
^1800] ENGLISS LETTERS. 257 
 
 better. They say Rigby is to move for the expulsion of Wilkes 
 from the house. My respects to mamma. 
 
 I am yours, 
 
 T. G. 
 
 Tell me about my uncle and aunt : direct to Boberts, Jermyn 
 Street, 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 The modern appremtion of light and colour in landscape 
 was a thing quite unknown to our ancestors, and it is in this 
 letter that the greatest lyric poet of his age, accidentally and as 
 if carried out of himself by the instinct of beauty, inaugurates 
 the style of descriptive writing which has reached its apex in 
 Mr. Kuskin. We see that he was a little ashamed of his enthu- 
 siasm ; we see, moreover that he had been reading the last new 
 poem, Mr. Christopher Anstey's ' New Bath Guide,' already, 
 though but three months old, ' the most fashionable of books.* 
 
 Thomas Gray to the Rev. Norton NichoUs, 
 
 Pembroke Hall ; August 2Q, 1766. 
 
 Dear Sir, — It is long since that I heard you were gone in haste 
 into Yorkshire on account of your mother's illness; and the same 
 letter informed me that she was recovered ; otherwise I had then 
 wrote to you, only to beg you would take care of her, and to in- 
 form you that I had discovered a thing very little known, which 
 is, that in one's whole life one never can have any more than a 
 single mother. You may think this is obvious, and (what you 
 call) a trite observation. You are a green gosling ! I was at th9 
 same age (very near) as wise as you, and yet I never discovered 
 this (with full evidence and conviction, I mean) till it was too 
 late. It is thirteen years ago, and seems but yesterday; and 
 every day I live it sinks deeper into my heart. 
 
 Mapy a corollary could I draw from this axiom for your use, 
 (not for my own) but I will leave you the merit of doing it your- 
 self. Pray tell me how your own health is. I conclude it perfect, 
 as I hear you offered yourself for a guide to Mr. Palgrave, into 
 the Sierra-Morena of Yorkshire. For me, I passed the end of 
 May and all J une in Kent not disagreeably ; the country is all a 
 garden, gay, rich, and fruitful, and (from the rainy season) had 
 preserved, till I left, it, all that emerald verdure, which commonly 
 
2:S EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 only one sees for the first fortnight of the spring. In the west 
 j>.iit of it fi-om ever}'" eminence the eye catches some long winding 
 reach of the Thames or Medway, with all theii- navigation ; in the 
 e^.st, the sea breaks in upon you, and mixes its white transient 
 sails and glittering blue expanse with the deeper and brighter 
 greens of the woods and corn. This last sentence is so fine, I am 
 quite ashamed; but, no matter; you must translate it into prose. 
 Palgrave, if he heard it, would cover his face with his. pudding 
 sleeve. 
 
 I went to Margate for a day ; one would think it was Bar- 
 tholomew fair that \i2cdi flown down from Smithfield to Kent in the 
 London machine, like my Lady Stuffdamask : (to be sure you 
 I'Rve read the New Bath Guide, the most fashionable of books) so 
 then I did not go to Kinsgate, because it belonged to my Lord 
 Hclland ; but to Ramsgate I did, and so to Sandwich, and Deal, 
 and Dover, and Folkestone, and Hythe, all along the coast, very 
 delightful. I do not tell you of the great and small beasts, and 
 creeping things innumerable that I met with, because you do not 
 suspect that this world is inhabited by any thing but men and 
 women and clergy, and such two-legged cattle. 
 
 Now I am here again very disconsolate and all alone, even 
 Mr. Brown is gone ; and the cares of this world are coming thick 
 upon me ; I do not mean children. You, I hope, are better off, 
 riding and walking with Mr. Aislaby, singing duets with my 
 cousin Fann}', improving with 'Mr. Weddell, convening with 
 Mr. Harry Duncomb. I must not wish for you here ; besides, I 
 am going to town at Michaelmas, by no means for amusement. 
 Do you remember how we are to go into Wales next year % Well ! 
 Adieu, I am sincerely yours. T. G. 
 
 P.S. Pray how does poor Temple find himself in his new 
 situation? Is Lord Lisburne as good as his letters were? What 
 is come of the father and brother ? Have vou seen Mason % 
 
 CLX. 
 
 The one thing Horace Walpole specially prided himself upon 
 was being an excellent correspondent. He ht-ld that ' letter- 
 writing is one of the first duties that the very best people let 
 perish out of their rubric ; ' but he has certainly made amends 
 
WOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 259 
 
 for the shortcomings, in tins ro8pect,of many equally witty and 
 accomplished persons by bequeathing to his successors the best 
 and most entertaining collection of letters in our language. 
 
 For variety of anecdote and scandal, malicious humour, 
 pleasant cynicism, and lively tittle-tattle, couched in a style at 
 once piquant and graceful, his epistles are quite incomparable. 
 We must bear in mind, however, that Walpole's aim in life was 
 to be amused, and that he gratified this pi-opensity by playing 
 the part of a fashionable critic and thoroughbred viituoso. Bis 
 social position, his wealth, his extensive connection with cour- 
 tiers and aristocrats, litterateurs and blue-stockings, and his 
 great powers of observation, afforded him unequalled opportuni- 
 ties for gratif}ing his whim. But he was too uiisparing a judge 
 of the vanities and foibles of his own age to escape being placed 
 in the stocks himself; and Macaulay has done it. 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to Sir Horcwe Mann. 
 
 Strawberry Hill : Jime 4, 1749. 
 As summerly as June and Strawberry Hill may sound, I 
 assure you I am writing to you by the fire-side : English weather 
 will give vent to its temper, and whenever it is out of humoui* it. 
 will blow east and north and all kinds of cold. Your brothei-a 
 Ned and Gal. dined with me to-day, and I carried the latter back 
 to Richmond : as I passed over the green, I saw Lord Bath, Lord 
 Lonsdale, and half-a-dozen more of the White's club sauntering at 
 the door of a house which they have taken there, and come to 
 every Saturday and Sunday to play at whist. You will natui-ally 
 8sli why they can't play at whist in London on those two days as 
 well as on the other five ; indeed I can't tell you, except that it is 
 so established a fashion to go out of town at the end of the week, 
 that people do go, though it be only into another town. It made 
 me smile to see Lord Bath sitting there, like a citizen that ha.s 
 left off trade ! Your brother Ned had not seen Strawberry Hill 
 since my great improvements j he was astonished : it is pretty : 
 you never saw so tranquil a scene, without the least air of 
 melancholy; I should hate it, if it was dashed with that. I 
 forgot to ask Gal. what is become of the books of Houghton 
 which I gave him six months ago for you and Dr. Cocchi. You 
 perceive I have got your letter of May 23rd, and with it Prince 
 Craon's simple epistle to his daughter : I have no mind to do- 
 liver it : it would be a proper recommendation of a staring boy on 
 his travels, and is consequently very suitable to my colleague, 
 
 s 2 
 
260 i:XGLISH LETTERS, [170C(- 
 
 Master Bt. Leger ; but one hates to be conpled with a rompins: 
 greyhound puppy, 'qui est moins prudent que Monsieur Yalpol !* 
 I did not want to be introduced to Madame de Mirepoix's as- 
 semblies, but to be acqviainted with her, as I like her family : 
 I concluded, simple as he is, that an old Frenchman knew how to 
 make these distinctions. By thrusting St. Leger into the letter 
 with me, and talking of my prudence, I shall not wonder if she 
 takes me for his bear-leader, his travelling governor ! 
 
 Mr. Chute, who went fi'om hence this morning, and is always 
 thinking of blazoning your pedigree in the noblest colours, has 
 tuined over all my library, till he has tapped a new and very great 
 family for you : in shoii;, by your mother it is very clear that you 
 are descended fi'om Hubert de Burgh, Grand Justiciary to Richard 
 the Second : ^ indeed I think he was hanged ; but that is a mis- 
 fortune that will attend very illustrious genealogies; it is as 
 common to them as to the pedigrees about Paddington and Black- 
 heath. I have had at least a dozen great-great-grandfathers that 
 came to untimely ends. All your Viituosos in heraldry are con- 
 tent to know that they had ancestors who lived five hundred 
 years ago, no matter how they died. A match with a low woman 
 corrupts a stream of blood as long as the Danube, — tyranny, 
 villainy, and executions are mere fleabites, and leave no stain. 
 The good Lord of Bath, whom I saw on Bichmond-green this 
 evening, did intend, I believe, to ennoble my genealogy with 
 another execution ; how low is he sunk now from those views, 
 and how entertaining to have lived to see all those vii-tuous patriots 
 proclaiming their mutual iniquities ! Your friend Mr. Doddington, 
 it seems, is so reduced as to be relapsing into virtue. In my last 
 I told you some curious anecdotes of another part of the band, of 
 Pope and Bolingbroke. The friends of the former have published 
 twenty pamphlets against the latter; I say against the latter, for, 
 as there is no defending Pope, they are reduced to satirize Boling- 
 broke. One of them tells him how little he would be known him- 
 self from his own writings, if he were not immortalized in Pope's ; 
 and still more justly, that if he destroys Pope's moral character, 
 what will become of his own, which has been retrieved and sanc- 
 tified by the embalming ai-t of his friend ? However, there are still 
 
 * This is clearly an oversight. Hubert de Burgh was Henry the Third's 
 Justiciar ; and the office was abolished long before the reign of Richard II. 
 
WOO] ENGLISH LETTERS, 261 
 
 new discoveries made every day of Pope's dirty selfishness. Kot 
 oonfcent with the great profits which he proposed to make of the 
 work in question, he could not bear that the interest of hia money 
 should be lost till Bolingbroke's death ; and therefore told him that 
 it would cost very near as much to have the press set for half-a 
 dozen copies as it would for a complete edition, and by this mean, 
 made Lord Bolingbroke pay very near the whole exi)ense of he 
 fifteen hundred. Another story I have been told on this occasion, 
 was of a gentleman who, making a visit to Bishop Atterbury in 
 France, thought to make his court by commending Pope. The 
 Bishop replied not: the gentleman doubled the dose: at last the 
 Bishop shook his head, and said, * Mens curva in corpore curvo ! * 
 The world will now think justly of these men : that Pope was the 
 greatest poet, but not the most disinterested man in the world ; 
 and that Bolingbroke had not all those virtues and not all those 
 talents which the other so proclaimed ; and that he did not even 
 deserve the friendship which lent him so much merit ; and for the 
 mere lean of which he dissembled attachment to Pope, to whom in 
 his heai-t he was as perfidious and as false as he has been to the 
 rest of the world, 
 
 The Duke of Devonshire has at last resigned, for the unaccount- 
 able and unenvied pleasure of shutting himself up at Chatsworth 
 with his ugly mad Duchess ; the more extraordinary sacrifice, as 
 he turned her head, rather than give up a favourite match for hia 
 sou. She has consented to live with him there, and has even been 
 with him in town for a few days, but did not see either her son or 
 Lady Harrington. On his resignation he a^iked and obtained an 
 English barony for Lord Besborough, whose son Lord Duncannon, 
 you know, married the Duke's eldest daughter. I believe this i^ 
 a great disappointment to my uncle, who hoped he would ask the 
 peerage for him or Pigwiggin. The Duke of Marlborough suc- 
 ceeds as lord steward. Adieu ! 
 
 CLXL 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to Sir Horace Mann, 
 
 Arlington Street: June 25, 1749. 
 Don't flatter yourself with your approaching year of Jubilee • 
 its pomps and vaiiities will be nothing to the shows and triumphs 
 
262 rNC?LISn LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 M7Q have had and are having. I talk like an Englishman : hero 
 YOU knoAv we imagine that a jubilee is a season of pageants, not 
 of devotion ; but our Sabbath has really been all tilt ^id tourna- 
 ment. There have b3en, T thinly no less than eight masquerades, 
 the fire- works, and a public act at Oxford : to-morrow is an instal- 
 lation of six Knights of the Bath, and in August of as many 
 Garters : Satui-day, Sunday, and Monday next, ai-e the banquets 
 at Cambridge, for the instalment of the Duke of Newcastle as 
 chancellor. Tlie whole world goes to it : he has invited, sum- 
 moned, pressed the entire body of nobility and gentry from all 
 pai-ts of England. His cooks have been there these ten days, 
 distilling essences of every living creatui-e, and massacring and 
 confounding all the species that Noah and Moses took such pains to 
 preserve and distinguish. It would be pleasant to see pedants and 
 professors searching for etymologies of strange dishes, and ti'acing 
 more wonderful transformations than any in the Metamorphoses. 
 How miserably Horace's unde et quo Catitts will he hacked about 
 in clumsy quotations ! I have seen some that will be very unwil- 
 ling performers at the creation of this ridiculous Mamamouchi.^ 
 I have set my heart on their giving a doctor*s degree to the 
 Duchess of Newcastle's favooi-ite — this favourite is at present 
 neither a lover nor an apothecary, but a common pig, that she 
 brought from Hanover : I am serious; and Harry Vane, the new lord 
 of the treasury, is entii-ely employed, when he is not at the Board, 
 in opening and shutting the door for it. Tell me, don't you very 
 often throw away my letters in a passion, and believe that I invent 
 the absm-dities I relate ! — Were not we as mad when you was in 
 England 1 
 
 The King, who has never dined out of his own palaces, has 
 just determined to dine at Claremont to-morrow — all the cooks 
 are at Cambridge — imagine the distress ! 
 
 Last Thursday, the Monarch of my last paragraph gave away 
 the six vacant ribands: one to a Margrave of Anspaeh, a near 
 lelation of the late Queen; others to the Dukes of Leeds and 
 Bedfoi"d, Lords Albemarle and Granville: the last, you may 
 imagine, gives some uneasiness. Tlie Duke of Bedford has always 
 been unwilling to take one, having tied himself up in the days of 
 his patriotism to forfeit great sums if ever he did. The King told 
 * See Koli^re's Eourjeois GentilMmmo^ 
 
1800] JENGLISU LETTERS. t^^ 
 
 him one day this winter, that he would give none away but to 
 him and to Anspach. This distinction struck him ; he could not 
 refuse the honour; but he has endeavoured to waive it, as one 
 imagines, by a scruple he raised against the oath, which obliges 
 the Knights, whenever they are within two miles of Windsor, to 
 go and offer. The King would not abolish the oath, but has given 
 a general dispensation for all breaches of it, past, pi-esent, and to 
 come. Lord Lincoln and Lord Harrington are very unhappy at 
 not being in the list. The sixth riband is at last given to Piince 
 George : the Ministry could not prevail for it till witlim half an 
 hour of the ceremony ; then the Bishop of Salisbury was sent to 
 notify the gracious intention. The Prince was at Kew, so the 
 message was delivered to Prince George himself. The child, with 
 great good sense, desired the Bishop to give his duty and tlianks, 
 and to assure the King that he should always obey him ; but that, 
 as his father was out of town, he could send no other answer. Was 
 not it clever ? The design of not giving one riband to the Prince's 
 children had made great noise : there was a Remembrancer ^ on 
 that subject ready for the press. This is the Craftsman of the 
 present age, and is generally levelled at the Duke, and tilled with 
 very cii'cumstantial cases of his arbitraiy behaviour. It has 
 absolutely written down Hawley, his favourite general and execu- 
 tioner, who was to have been upon the staff. 
 
 Garrick is married to the famous Violette,- first at a Protestant, 
 and then at a Roman Catholic chapel. The chapter of this history 
 is a little obscure and uncertain as to the consent of the protecting 
 Countess, and whether she gives her a fortune or not. 
 
 'Adieu ! I believe I tell you strange rhapsodies ; but you must 
 consider that our follies are not only very extraordinary, but are 
 our business and employment : they enter into our ])olitics, nay, 
 I think they are our politics — and I don't know which are the 
 simplest. They are Tully's description of poetry, * ha3C studia 
 juventutem alunt, senectutem oblectant ; pernoctant nobiscum, 
 peregrinantur, rusticantur,' so if you will that I write to you, you 
 must be content with a detail of absurdities. I could t4'll you of 
 Lord Mountford's making cricket-matches, and fetching up pai-sona 
 
 ' A weekly newspaper. 
 
 « A German dancer at the Opera House, and a prot6g6e of Dorothy, 
 Countess of Burlington. 
 
204: ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 by express from different parts of England to play matches on 
 Richmond-green ; of his keeping aide-de camps to ride to all parts 
 to lay bets for him at horse-races, and of twenty other pecu- 
 liarities ; but I fancy you are tii-ed : in short, you, who know me, 
 will comprehend all best when I tell you that I live in such a scene 
 of folly as makes me even think myself a creature of common sense. 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 Horace Walpole rarely lost a favourable opportraiity of 
 addressing any celebrated personage. This is one of many con- 
 gratulatory epistles to the elder Pitt received at the end of 
 1759 — the year of Minden, QuiberonBay,and Quebec ; 'a year 
 the most auspicious this country ever knew,' wrote Lord Bute. 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to William Pitt, ^, 
 
 November 19, 1759. 
 
 Sir, — On my coming to town I did myself the honour of waiting 
 on you and Lady Hester Pitt; and though I think myself ex- 
 ti-emely distinguished by your obliging note, I should be sony for 
 having given you the tiouble of writing it, if it did not lend me a 
 very pardonable opportunity of sajdng what I much wished to 
 express, but thought myself too private a person and of too little 
 consequence to take the liberty to say. In short, Sir, I was eager 
 to congratulate you on the lustre you have thrown on this country ; 
 I wished to thank you for the security you have fixed to me of 
 enjoying the happiness I do enjoy. You have placed England in a 
 situation in which it never saw itself, — a task the more difficult, 
 as you had not to impi^ove, but recover. 
 
 In a trifling book, written two or three years ago,^ I said 
 (si>eaking of the name in the world the most venerable to me) 
 ' sixteen unfortunate and inglorious years since his removal have 
 ali-eady Avi-itten his eulogium.* It is but justice to you, Sir, to 
 add, that that period ended when your administration began. Sir, 
 do not take this for flattery : there is nothing in your power to 
 give that I would accept ; nay, there is nothing I could envy, but 
 what I believe you would scarce offer me, your glory. This may 
 »eem very vain and insolent ; but consider, Sir, what a monarch 
 is a man who wants nothing ; consider how he looks down on one 
 
 » The catalogue of rioyal and noble authors. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 265 
 
 who is only the most illustrious man in Britain. But, Sir, freedoms 
 apart ; insignificant as I am, probably it must be some satisfaction, 
 to a gi'eat mind like your's, to receive incense when you are sure 
 there is no flattery blended with it. And what must any English- 
 man be that could give you a moment's satisfaction, and would 
 hesitate ? 
 
 Adieu, Sir. I am unambitious, I am uninterested — but I am 
 vain. You have by your notice, uncanvassed, unexpected, and at 
 the period when you certainly could have the least temptation to 
 stoop down to me, flattered me in the most agi'eeable manner. If 
 there could arrive the moment when you could be nobody, and I 
 any body, you cannot imagine how grateful I would be. In the 
 mean time, permit me to be, as I have been ever since I had the 
 honour of knowing you, Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient, humble servant, 
 
 Horace Walpole. 
 
 OLXm. 
 
 The sublime and the ridiculous at the funeral of George II, 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to George Montagu. 
 
 Arlington Street: November 13, 1760. 
 
 Even the honeymoon of a new reign don't produce events 
 every day. There is nothing but the common saying of addresses 
 and kissing hands. The chief difficulty is settled; Lord Gower 
 yields the mastership of the horse to Lord Huntingdon, and re- 
 moves to the gi-eat wardrobe, from whence Sir Thomas Kobinson 
 was to have gone into Ellis' place, but he is saved. The city, 
 however, have a mind to be out of humour ; a paper has been 
 fixed on the Boyal Exchange, with these words, * No petticoat 
 government, no Scotch minister, no Lord George Sackville * ; 
 two hints totally unfounded, and the other scarce true. No petti- 
 coat ever governed less, it is left at Leicester House : Lord George's 
 breeches are as little concerned ; and, except Lady Susan Stuai-t 
 and Sir Harry Erskine, nothing has yet been done for any Scots. 
 For the King himself, he seems all good nature, and wishing to 
 satisfy everybody ; all his speeches are obliging. 
 
 I saw him again yesterday, and was surprised to find the levee- 
 room had lost so entirely the air of the lion's den. This sovereign 
 
2CG EXGLISn LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 don't stand in one spot, with his eyes fixed royally on the ground, 
 and dropping bits of German news ; he walks about, and speaks 
 to everybody. I saw him afterwards on the throne where he is 
 gi'aceful and genteel, sits with dignity and reads his answers to 
 addresses well ; it was the Cambridge address, carried by the 
 Duke of Newcastle in his doctor's gown, and looking like the 
 Medecin malgre lui. He had been vehemently solicitous for 
 attendance for fear my Lord Westmoreland, who vouchsafes him- 
 self to bring the address from Oxford, should outnumber him. 
 Lord Litchfield and several other Jacobites have kissed hands ; 
 George Selwyn says, * They go to St. James,' because now there are 
 so many Stuarts there.' 
 
 Do you know, I had the cunosity to go to the burying t'other 
 night ; I had never seen a royal funeral ; nay, I walked as a rag 
 of quality, which I found would be, and so it was, the easiest 
 waj of seeing it. It is absolutely a noble sight. The Prince's 
 chamber, hung with purple, and a quantity of silver lamps, the 
 coffin under a canopy of purple velvet, and six vast chandeliers of 
 silver on high stands, had a very good effect. The ambassador 
 from Tiipoli and his son were canied to see that chamber. 
 
 The procession, through a line of foot guards, every seventh 
 man bearing a torch, the horse-guards lining the outside, their 
 cfficei-s with drawn sabres and crape sashes on horseback, the 
 drums muffled, the fifes, bells tolling, and minute guns, — all this 
 was very solemn. But the charm was the entrance of the abbey, 
 where we were received by the dean and chapter in rich robes, the 
 choir and almsmen bearing torches ; the whole abbey so illu- 
 minated, that one saw it to greater advantage than by day ; the 
 tombs, long aisles, and fretted roof, all appearing distinctly, and 
 with the happiest chiaro scuro. There wanted nothing but incense, 
 and little chapels here and there, with priests saying mass for the 
 repose of the defunct ; yet one could not complain of its not being 
 Catholic enough. I had been in dread of being coupled with 
 some boy of ten years old ; but the heralds were not very accurate, 
 and I walked with George Grenville, taller and older, to keep me 
 in countenance. When we came to the Chapel of Henry the 
 Seventh, all solemnity and decorum ceased ; no order was observed, 
 people sat or stood where they could or would ; the Yeomen of 
 the Guard were ciying out for help, oppressed by the immense 
 
ISOO] ■ ENGLISH LETTERS, 267 
 
 •weight of the coffin ; the bishop read sadly and blundered in the 
 prayers ; the fine chapter, Man that is bom of a looman, waa 
 chanted, not read; and the anthem, besides being immeasurably 
 tedious, would have served as well for a nuptial. The real serious 
 part was the figure of the Duke of Cumberland, heightened by 
 a thousand melancholy circumstances. He had a dark brown 
 adonis, p.nd a cloak of black cloth, with a train of five yards. 
 
 Attending the funeral of a father could not be pleasant : his 
 leg extremely bad, yet forced to stand upon it near two hours ; 
 his face bloated and distorted with his late paralytic stroke, 
 which has affected, too, one of his eyes ; and placed over the 
 mouth of the vault into which, in all probability, he must himself 
 so soon descend ; think how unpleasant a situation ! He bore it 
 all with a fir-m and unaffected countenance. This grave scene was 
 fully contrasted by the burlesque Duke of Newcastle. He fell 
 into a fit of crying the moment he came into the chapel, and flung 
 himself back in a stall, the archbishop hovering over him with a 
 smelling-bottle ; but in two minutes his curiosity got the better of 
 his hypocrisy, and he ran about the chapel with his glass to spy 
 who was or was not there, spying with one hand, and mopping his 
 eyes with the other. Then returned the fear of catching cold ; and 
 the Duke of Cumberland, who was sinking with heat, felt himself 
 weighed down, and turning round, found it was the Duke of 
 Newcastle standing upon his train, to avoid the chill of the marble. 
 It was very theatric to look down into the vault, where the coflin 
 was, attended by mourners with lights. Clavering, the gi*oom of 
 the bed-chamber, refused to sit up with the body, and was dismissed 
 by the King's order. 
 
 I have nothing more to tell you, but a trifle, a very trifle. 
 The King of Prussia has totally defeated Marshal Daun.* This 
 which would have been prodigious news a month ago, is nothing 
 to-day ; it only takes its turn among the questions, ' Who is to be 
 groom of the bed-chamber 1 What is Sir T. Eobinson to have?* 
 I have been to Leicester fields to-day ; the crowd was immodei*ate ; 
 I don't believe it will continue so. Good night. 
 
 ^ The Austrian General Daun, the ablest of the antagonists of Frede- 
 rick IL, was defeated at Torgau. This was the bloodiest battle fought 
 during the Seven Years' War. 
 
268 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 The conversation between Horace Walpole and Hogartli, so 
 graphically described in this letter, took place very many years 
 after the great painter had practically abandoned portrait- 
 painting, and indeed some time after he had completed those 
 ■works by which he will ever be famous. But he was aiming at 
 a different and a higher standard of excellence in his art, and it 
 is clear that Walpole coincided in Sir Joshua Reynolds' opinion 
 that ' Hogarth was not blessed with the knowledge of his own 
 deficiency, or of the bounds which were set to the extent of his 
 own powers.* 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to George Montagu, 
 
 Arlington Street: May 5, 1761. 
 
 We have lost a young genius. Sir "William Williams; an 
 express from Belleisle, arrived this morning, brings nothing but 
 his death. He was shot veiy unnecessarily, riding too near a 
 battery ; in sum he is a sacrifice to his own rashness and to 
 ours. For what are we taking Belleisle % I rejoiced at the little 
 loss we had on landing ; for the glory, I leave it to the common 
 council. I am very willing to leave London to them too, and to 
 pass half the week at Strawberry, where my two passions, lilacs 
 and nightingales are in full bloom. I spent Sunday as if it were 
 Apollo's birthday; Gray and Mason were with me, and we listened 
 to the nightingales till one o'clock in the morning. Gray has 
 translated two noble incantations from the Lord knows who, a 
 Danish Gray, who lived the Lord knows when. They are to be 
 enchased in a history of English bards which Mason and he are 
 writing ; but of which the former has not written a word yet, and 
 of which the latter, if he rides Pegasus at his usual footpace will 
 finish the firet two pages two yeai^ hence. 
 
 But the true frantic CEstus resides at present with Mr. 
 Hogarth ; I went t'other morning to see a portrait he is painting 
 of Mr. Fox. Hogarth told me he had promised, if Mr. Fox would 
 sit as he liked, to make as good a picture as Vandyke or Kubens 
 could. I was silent — ' Why now,' said he, ' you think this veiy 
 vain, but why should not one speak truth ? ' This truth w^as 
 uttered in the face of his own Sigismonda. . . She has her father's 
 picture in a bracelet on her arm, and her fingers are bloody with 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 269 
 
 the heart, as if she had just bought a sheep's pluck in St. James'3. 
 market. As I was going, Hogarth put on a very grave face and 
 said, ' Mr. Walpole, I want to speak to you.' I sat down and said 
 I was ready to receive his commands. For shortness I will mark 
 this wonderful dialogue by initial letters. 
 
 H. I am told you are going to entertain the town with some- 
 thing in our way. 
 
 W. Not very soon, Mr. Hogarth. H. I wish you would let me 
 have it to correct it : I should be very sorry to have you expose 
 yourself to censure ; we painters must know more of these things 
 than other people. 
 
 W. Do you think nobody understands painting but painters 1 
 H. Oh ! so far from it, there's Reynolds who certainly has genius ; 
 why, but t'other day he offered a hundred pounds for a picture that 
 I would not hang in my cellar ; and indeed, to say truth, I have 
 generally found that persons who had studied painting least were 
 the best judges of it ; but what I particularly wished to say to 
 you was about Sir James Thornhill (you know he married Sir 
 James' daughter) : I would not have you say anything against him ; 
 there was a book published some time ago, abusing him, and 
 it gave great offence. He was the first that attempted history 
 in England, and, I assure you, some Germans have said that he 
 was a very great painter. W. My work will go no lower than 
 the year 1700, and I really have not considered whether Sir J. 
 Thornhill will come within my plan or not; if he does, I fear 
 you and I shall not agree upon his merits. 
 
 H. I wish you would let me correct it ; besides I am writing 
 something of the same kind myself; I should be sorry we should 
 clash. 
 
 W. I believe it is not much known what my work is, very 
 few persons have seen it. 
 
 H. Why it is a critical history of painting is it not ? W. No, 
 it is an antiquarian history of it in England ; I bought Mr. Vertue'a 
 MSS. and, I believe, the work will not give much offence ; besides, 
 if it does, I cannot help it : when I publish anything I give it to 
 the world to think of it as they please. 
 
 H. Oh ; if it is an antiquarian work, we shall not clash ; mine 
 is a critical work ; I don't know whether I shall ever publish it 
 It is rather an apology for painters. I think it is owing to the 
 
270 EXGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 good sense of the English they have not painted better. "W. My 
 dear ]VJr. Hogarth, I must take my leave of you, you now grow 
 too wild — and I left him. If I had stayed, there remained nothing 
 but for him to bite me. I give you my honour this conversation is 
 literal, and, perhaps as long as you have known Englishmen and 
 painters you have never met with anything so distracted. I had 
 consecrated a Hne to his genius (I mean, for wit) in my preface ; I 
 shall not erase it ; but I hope nobody will ask me if he is not mad. 
 
 Adieu ! 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to the Earl of Strafford. 
 
 Paris ; September 8, 17G9. 
 Tother night at the Duchess of Choiseul's at supper, the in- 
 tendant of Rouen asked me if we had roads of communication all 
 over England and Scotland 1 I suppose he thinks that in general 
 we inhabit trackless forests and wild mountains, and that once a 
 year a few legislators come to Paris to learn the arts of civil life, 
 as to sow corn, plant vines and make operas. If this letter should 
 contrive to scramble thi'ough that desert Yorkshire, where yonr 
 lordship has attempted to improve a dreary hill and uncultivated 
 vale, yon will find I remember your commands of writing from 
 this capital of the world, whither I am come for the benefit of my 
 country, and where I am intensely studying those laws and that 
 beautiful frame of government, which can alone render a nation 
 happy, great and flourishing ; where lettres de cachet soften 
 manners, and a proper distribution of luxury and beggary 
 ensures a common fehcity. As we have a prodigious number of 
 students in legislature of both sexes here at present, I will not 
 anticipate their discoveries ; but, as your particular friend, will 
 communicate a rare improvement on nature which these great 
 philosophers have made and which would add considerable beauties 
 to those parts which your lordship has already recovered from the 
 waste, and taught to look a little like a Christian country. The 
 secret is very simple, and yet demanded the eflTort of a mighty 
 genius to strike it out. It is nothing but this : trees ought to be 
 educated as much as men, and are strange awkward production*, 
 when not taught to hold themselves upright or bow on proper 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 271 
 
 occasions. The academy de belles lettres have even offered a prize 
 for the man that shall recover the long lost art of an ancient Greek, 
 called le sieur Orphee, who instituted a dancing school for plants, 
 and gave a magnificent ball on the birth of the Datiphin of France 
 which was performed entirely by forest-trees. In this whole 
 kingdom there is no such thing as seeing a tree that is not well 
 behaved. They are first stripped up and then cut down ; and you 
 would as soon meet a man with his hair about his ears as an oak 
 or ash. As the weather is very hot now, and the soil chalk, and the 
 dust white, I assure you it is very diflScult, powdered as both are 
 all over, to distinguish a tree from a hair dresser. Lest this should 
 sound like a travelling hyperbole, I must advertise your lordship, 
 that there is little difference in their heights : for, a tree of thirty 
 years' growth being liable to be marked as royal timber, the proprie- 
 tors take care not to let their trees live to the age of being enlisted, 
 but burn them, and plant others as often almost as they change 
 their fashions. This gives an air of perpetual youth to the face of 
 the country, and if adopted by us would realize Mr. Addison'3 
 visions, and ' Make our bleak rocks and barren mountains smile.' 
 
 What other remarks I have made in my indefatigable search after 
 knowledge must be reserved to a future opportunity ; but as your 
 lordship is my friend, I may venture to say without vanity to you, 
 that Solon nor any of the ancient philosophers who travelled to 
 Egypt in quest of religions, mysteries, laws, and fables, never sat up 
 so late with the ladies and priests and presidents du parhment 
 at Memphis, as I do here — and consequently were not half so well 
 qualified as I am to new-model a commonwealth. I have learned 
 how to make remonstrances^^ and how to answer them. The latter, 
 it seems, is a science much wanted in my own country ; and yet 
 it is as easy and obvious as their treatment of trees, and not very 
 unlike it. It was delivered many years ago in an oracular 
 sentence of my namesake — ' Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo.' You 
 must drive away the vulgar, and you must have an hundi-ed 
 and fifty thousand men to drive them away with — that is all. I 
 do not wonder the intendantof Rouen thinks we are still in a state 
 of barbarism, when we are ignorant of the very rudiments of 
 government. 
 
 ' Alluding to the Renwngtrances from the City of London, and other 
 corporate bodies, after a majority of the House of Commons had voted 
 against the claims of John Wilkes to take his seat as member for Middlesex. 
 
272 EXGLISE LETTERS. ' [1700- 
 
 The Duke and Duchess of Richmond have been here a few- 
 days, and have gone to Aubigne. I do not think him at all well, 
 and am exceedingly concerned for it ; as I know no man who has 
 more estimable qualities. They return by the end of the month. 
 I am fluctuating whether I shall not return with them, as they 
 have pressed me to do, through Holland. I never was there, and 
 could never go so agreeably ; but then it would protract my absence 
 three weeks, and 1 am impatient to be in my own cave, notwith- 
 standing the wisdom 1 imbibe every day. But one cannot sacrifice 
 one's self wholly to the public : Titus and Wilkes have now and then 
 lost a day. Adieu, my dear lord I Be assured that I shall not 
 disdain yours and Lady Strafford's conversation, though you have 
 nothing but the goodness of your hearts, and the simplicity of 
 your manners, to recommend you to the more enlightened under- 
 standing of your old friend. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 In refusing to be made the dummy of Thomas Chatterton'3 
 literary forgeries of the Rowley poems, Horace Walpole acted 
 in a sensible and dignified manner. The partisans of Chatterton 
 charged the great conoscente not only with arrogance and un- 
 kindness, but with being the indirect cause of poor Chatterton's 
 death, as though Walpole could have guessed that the very life 
 of this extraordinary boy depended on his being hoaxed by 
 means of certain spurious legends. ' If,' wrote Walpole, ' Row- 
 ley could rise from the dead and acknowledge every line ascribed 
 to him, he could not prove that I used Chatterton ill. I would 
 take the ghost's word, and am sure it would be in my favour.' 
 Among the letters and statements written to vindicate his own 
 conduct, is to be found the following tribute of admiration for 
 *the marvellous boy, 
 The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.' 
 
 The Hon. Horace Walpole to the Editor of the Miscellanies of 
 Chatterton. 
 
 Strawberry Hill : May, 1778. 
 As the warmest devotees to Chatterton cannot be more per- 
 suaded than I am of the marvellous vigour of his genius at so very 
 premature an age, I shall here subjoin the principal oeras ^ of his life, 
 
 ^ In the original correspondence these data are given at the end of this 
 latter, but they are very incomplete. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 273 
 
 whicli, when compared with the powers of his mind, the perfection of 
 hispoetry, his knowledge of the worhi, which, though in some respects 
 erroneous, spoke quick intuition, his humour, his vein of satire, 
 and above all the amazing number of books he must have looked 
 into, though chained down to a laborious and almost incessant 
 service, and confined to Bristol, except at most for the last five 
 months of his life, the rapidity with which he seized all the topics 
 of conversation then in vogue, whether of politics, literature, or 
 fashion; and when, added to all this mass of reflection, it is 
 remembered that his youthful passions were indulged to excess, 
 faith in such a prodigy may well be suspended — and we should look 
 for some secret agent behind the curtain, if it were not as difficult 
 to believe that any man possessed of such a vein of genuine poetry 
 would have submitted to lie concealed, while he actuated a puppet; 
 or would have stopped to prostitute his muse to so many unworthy 
 functions. But nothing in Chatterton can be separated from 
 Chatterton. His noblest flights, his sweetest strains, his grossest 
 ribaldry, and his most common-place imitations of the productions 
 of magazines, were all the effervescences of the same imgovernable 
 impulse, which, cameleon-like, imbibed the coloui-s of all it looked 
 on. It was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or Smollet, or 
 Junius — and if it failed most in what it most affected to be, a 
 poet of the fifteenth century, it was because it could not imitate 
 what had not existed. I firmly believe that the first impression 
 made on so warm and fertile an imagination was the sight of some 
 old parchments at Bristol ; that meeting with Ossian 's poems, his 
 soul, which was all poetry, felt it was a language in which his 
 invention could express itself ; and having lighted on the names of 
 Rowley and Canninge, he bent his researches towards the authors 
 of their age ; and as far as his means could reach, in so confined a 
 sphere, he assembled materials enough to deceive those who have 
 all their lives dealt in such uncouth lore, and not in our classic 
 authors, nor have perceived that taste had not developed itself in the 
 reign of Edward lY. It is the taste in Rowley's supposed poems 
 that will for ever exclude them from belonging to that period. Mr. 
 Tyrrwhit and Mr. Warton have convicted them of being spurious 
 by technical criterions; and Rowley I doubt will remain in 
 possession of nothing that did not deserve to be forgotten, even 
 should some fragments of old parchments and old verses be ascer> 
 tained antique. 
 
 X 
 
274 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CLXVn. 
 
 Miss Hecky Mulso was Gilbert White's first and only love. 
 He did not succeed in persuading her to marry him, and in 
 1760, in her thirty-fourth year, she became Mrs. Ohapone, after- 
 wards famous as the author of ' Letters to a Young Lady.' But 
 the friendship continued, and it was in answer to some verses 
 addressed to Timothy, the famous Selbome tortoise, that White 
 wrote this letter. By some whim of old bachelor coquetry he 
 makes Timothy address the lady by her long-dropped maiden 
 name. 
 
 Gilbert White to Hester Chapone, 
 
 Selbome : August 31, 1784. 
 
 Most respectable Lady, — ^Your letter gave me great satisfaction, 
 being the firet that ever I was honor'd with. It is my wish to 
 answer you lq your own way j but J never could make a verse in 
 my life, so you must be contented with plain prose. Having seen 
 but little of this great world, conversed but little and read less, 
 I feel myself much at a loss how to entertain so intelligent a 
 correspondent. Unless you will let me w^rite about myself, my 
 answer will be very short indeed. 
 
 Know then that I am an American and was born in the year 
 1734 in the Province of Virginia in the midst of a Savanna that 
 )ay between a large tobacco plantation and a creek of the sea. Here 
 I spent my youthful days among my relations with much satisfaction, 
 and saw around me many venerable kinsmen, who had attained 
 to great ages, without any interruption from distempers. Longevity 
 is so general among our species that a funeral is quite a strange 
 occurrence. I can just remember the death of my great- great- 
 grandfather, who dejDarted this life in the 160th year of his age. 
 Happy should I have been in the enjoyment of my native climate 
 and the society of my friends had not a sea-boy, who was wander- 
 ing about to see what he could pick up, surprized me as I was 
 sunning myself under a bush ; and whipping me into his wallet, 
 carryed me aboard his ship. The circumstances of our voyage 
 are not worthy a recital ; I only remembei' that the rippling of the 
 water against the sides of our vessel as we sailed along was a very 
 lulling and composing sound, which served to sooth my slumbers 
 as I lay in the hold. We had a short voyage, and came to anchor, 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 276 
 
 on the coast of England in the harbour of Chichester. In that 
 city my kidnapper sold me for half a-crown to a country gentle- 
 anan, who came up to attend an election. I was immediately 
 packed in a hand- basket, and carryed, slung by the servant's side, 
 to their place of abode. As they rode very hard for forty miles, 
 ^and I had never been on horseback before, I found myself some- 
 what giddy from my airy jaunt. My purchaser, who was a gi-eat 
 humorist, after shewing me to some of his neighbours and giving 
 me the name of Timothy, took littl6 further notice of me ; so I fell 
 under the care of his lady, a benevolent woman, whose humane 
 attention extended to the meanest of her retainers. 
 
 With this gentlewoman I remained almost 40 years, living in a 
 little walled in court in the front of her house, and enjoying much 
 quiet and as much satisfaction as I could expect without society. At 
 last this good old lady dyed in a very advanced age, such as a tortoise 
 would call a good old age ; and I then became the property of her 
 nephew. This man, my present master, dug me out of my winter 
 retreat, and, packing me in a deal box, jumbled me 80 miles in 
 X)ost-chaises to my present place of abode. I was sore shaken by 
 this expedition, which was the worst journey I ever experienced. 
 In my present situation I enjoy many advantages — such as the 
 range of an extensive garden, affording a variety of sun and shade, 
 and abounding in lettuces, poppies, kidney beans, and many other 
 salubrious and delectable herbs and plants, and especially with a 
 great choice of delicate gooseberries ! But still at times I miss my 
 good old mistress, whose grave and regular deportment suited best 
 with my disposition. For you must know that my master is what 
 they call, a naturalist^ and much visited by people of that turn, who 
 often put him on whimsical exp:^riments, such as feeling my pulse, 
 putting me in a tub of water to try if I can swim, &c., and twice 
 in the year I am carried to the grocer's to be weighed, that it may 
 be seen how much I am wasted during the months of my 
 abstinence, and how much I gain by feasting in the summer. 
 Upon these occasions I am placed in the scale on my back, whei*e 
 I sprawl about to the great diversion of the shop-keeper's childion. 
 These matters displease ms ; but there is another that much hurts 
 my pride : I mean that contempt shown for my understanding 
 which these Lords of the Creation are very apt to discover, think- 
 ing that nobody knows anything but themselves. 1 heard my 
 
 T 2 
 
276 ENGLISS LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 master say that "he expected that I should some day tumble down 
 the ha-ha \ whereas I would have him to know that 1 can discern 
 a precipice from plain ground as well as himself. Sometimes my 
 master repeats with much seeming triumph the following lines, 
 which occasion a loud laugh. 
 
 Timotheus placed on high 
 Amidst the tuneful choir, 
 With flying fingers touched the lyre. 
 
 For my part I see no wit in the application ; nor know whence 
 the verses are quoted, perhaps from some prophet of his own, who, 
 if he penned them for the sake of ridiculing tortoises, bestowed his 
 pains, I think, to poor purposes. These are some of my grievances ; 
 but they sit very light on me in comparison of what remains behind. 
 Know then, tender-hearted lady, that my greatest misfortiuie, and 
 wliat I have never divulged to any one before, is — ^the want of 
 society erf" my own kind. This reflection is always uppermost in 
 my own mind, but comes upon me with irresistible force every 
 spring. It was in the month of Jilay last that I resolved to elope 
 from my place of confinement, for my fancy had represented to me 
 that probably many agreeable tortoises of both sexes might inhabit 
 the heights of Baker's Hill or the extensive plains of the neigh- 
 bouring meadow, both of which I could discern from the terrass. 
 One sunny morning, therefore, I watched my opportunity, found 
 the wicket open, eluded the vigilance of Thomas Hoar, and escaped 
 into the saint-foin, which began to be in bloom, and thence into the 
 beans. I was missing eight days, wandering in this wilderness of 
 sweets, and exploring the meadow at times. But my pains were 
 all to no purpose ; I could find no society such as I wished and 
 sought for. I began to grow hungry, and to wish myself at 
 home. I therefore came forth in sight, and surrendered myself up 
 to Thomas, who had been inconsolable in my absence. Thus, 
 Madam, have I given you a faithful account of my satisfactions 
 and sori'ows, the latter of which are mostly uppermost. You are a 
 lady, I understand, of much sensibiUty. Let me therefore, make my 
 case your own in the following manner ; and then you will judge 
 of my feelings. 
 
 Suppose you were to be kidnapped away to-7norrow, in the bloom 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 277 
 
 of your life, to a land of Tortoises, and were never to see again 
 for fifty years a human face ! ! 1 Think on this, dear lady, 
 and pity 
 
 Your sorrowful Reptile 
 '^ \ Timothy. 
 
 OLXviri. 
 
 IVIrs. Elizabeth Montagu, the wi-iter of an Essay on the 
 Genius of Shakespeare, was the leader of the lady-wits of her 
 day. In concert with Mrs. Vesey and Mrs. Ord she instituted 
 those intellectual reunions from which the terra ' blue-stocking ' 
 arose. Female pedants, as this term ' blue-stocking ' has grown 
 to mean, these women certainly were not; they were highly 
 gifted and accomplished lovers of society, whose chief aim 
 was to supersede the prevailing occupation of card-playing by 
 conversation parties. Mrs. Ohapone had already opened up an 
 attack against the fashionable vice of gambling in No. 10 of the 
 ' Rambler.' From small literary breakfast parties Mrs. Montagu 
 advanced to evening assemblies for convermf.ion, and her house 
 in Hill Street was visited by such brilUant talkers as Dr. 
 Johnson, Lord Lyttleton, Garrick, Pulteuey, Mason, Burke, 
 Lord Althorp, Mrs. Thrale, Madame d'Arblay, Horace Walpole, 
 Mrs. Buller (who could hold her own for an hour and more 
 in argument against Dr. Johnson), and Stillingfleet. The last- 
 named was a distinguished converser who always wore blue 
 stockings, and his occasional absence was so much felt that 
 it became a common saying, ' We can do nothing without the 
 blue stockings.' These meetings soon came to be called bas- 
 bleu assemblies. In her own generation Mrs. Montagu was 
 without a superior in the art of letter writing. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu to Gilbert West, 
 
 Sandleford : September 3, 1753. 
 I am much obliged to my dear cousin, for his kind and agree- 
 able letter, which gave me a higher pleasure and more intense 
 delight, than those rural objects which employed my attention in 
 my walks, or filled the magic lantern of my mind, in those noon- 
 day dreams, you suppose to have amused me. You are mistaken, 
 when you imagine I sent invitations to beaux and belles, to fill the 
 vacant apartments of my mind. True indeed, that there may be 
 empty space enough to receive French hoops, and, from the same 
 reason, an echo to repeat French sentiments ; but thert* /ire few of 
 the fine world whom I should invite into my mind, and f« wer still, 
 who are familiar enough there, to come unasked. I make use of 
 
273 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 these seasons of retirement and leisure, to do like tlie good house- 
 wives, to sweep the rooms, range the little homely furniture in 
 order, and deck them with a little sage and other herbs of grace, 
 as they are called, and then hope the faiiies will come and visit 
 them, and not the dull creatures of earth's mould, of whom I have 
 enough when T am in town. But you are a welcome and a frequent 
 guest, because you bring with you those virtues and graces, whose 
 presence I would desire. I am pleased with yoiu* praise of Moli6i*e, 
 but not with your application of his IMisanthrope. When virtue 
 and wisdom live out of the world, they grow delicate, but it is too 
 severe to call that moroseness ; and, perhaps, they lose something 
 of their purity, when they mix with the crowd, and abate in 
 sti-ength, as they improve in flexibility. There is a limit, and a 
 short oDe too, beyond which human virtue cannot go ; a hair's 
 breadth beyond the line, and it is vice. I am now satisfied of 
 what I had before believed, (as you seem so much to admire the 
 Misanthrope), that it is far beyond all comedies that ever were 
 written. The character being so entirely kept up, and the error, 
 though eveiy where visible, no where monstrous. The Misanthrope 
 has the same moi-oseness in his love suit and his law suit ; he is as 
 rigid and severe to a bad verse as a bad action, and as strict in a 
 salutation in the street or address in a drawing-room, as he would 
 be in his testimony in a court of justice ; right in the principle, 
 wrong only in the excess, you cannot hate him when he is un- 
 pleasant, nor despise him when he is absurd. When the ground- 
 work of a character is virtuous, whatever fantastic forms or 
 uncouth figures may be wrought upon it, it cannot appear abso- 
 lutely odious or ridiculous. On the contrary, where the ground 
 is vicious, however prettily adorned or gayly coloured, set it in 
 open day, it will be detestable ; of which we have an instance 
 in this play ; we hate and despise the lively agreeable coquett;e, as 
 soon as we discover her, and esteem the rigid unamiable Mis- 
 anthrope. I think my young cousin can hardly have a better 
 amusement than reading Moliere ; from whose delicate wit and 
 nice satirical touch, he will find that not only the worst passions 
 want correction and restraint, but the best regulation. The first 
 prayer I should make, if I had a son, would be that he might be 
 free from vice ; the second, that he might be free from absurdity, 
 the least grain of it spoils a whole character, and I do not know any 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 279 
 
 comic author more useful than Moli^re, for both these purposes. 
 Our English play-writers give some vice or affectation, to all their 
 principal characters. I am very well, and careful of my health ; 
 all people are fond of novelty and you know health is such to me, but 
 nothing can more recommend it to me, than thinking my welfare of 
 consequence to you. Adieu, Cousin ! I must put on a great hoop, 
 and go three miles to dinner ; how much better was our gipsey-life ! 
 I believe I shall enter myself of the society at Norwood, the rather 
 tempted to it, as I should be your neighbour. I have not heard 
 from Mrs Boscawen, but I am glad she had the pleasure of spending 
 sometime at Wickham. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 Mrs, Elizaheth Montagu to Gilbert West, 
 
 Hill Street [1764]. 
 My most inestimable cousin, — I am much more satisfied now 
 I find that your indisposition was owing to the rencontre of salt 
 fish, milk, and a strange olio of diet, than when I imagined it was 
 the gout in your stomach. But pity, which sometimes subsides 
 into soft passions, on this occasion warms and hardens into anger. 
 Why, when an invalid, would you be so careless of your diet 1 
 However difficult it may be to the strong temper of the budge 
 doctors of the stoic fur, to run mad with discretion, I assure you it 
 is not impossible to the gentle dame in blonde lace and Paris 
 hoop; 1 followed the precepts of the tr^s-pr6cieuse Lady Grace, 
 and visited 'soberly.' I have not been out since Sunday, Mr. 
 Montagu's cold having given me a reason for staying at home, and 
 my indolence would have been glad even of an excuse. I did not 
 see Sir George Lyttelton till yesterday morning, but the account 
 he gave of your health pleased me very much. The good Dean 
 called in the evening, and unfolded to me the horrid tale of the 
 salt fish and asses* milk. Oh, could the milky mother, who is so 
 often insulted, so much despised and oppressed by man, have 
 known his perverseness of appetite would have turned her salutary 
 milk, the effect cf prudent and fit diet, into a kind of poison; 
 how would she have animadverted upon the occasion 1 I dare say 
 she would have made better observations on the different powers 
 of reason and instinct than have been made by any philosopher on 
 
280 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 two legs. I wish I had her critique upon human reason, in black 
 and white, with her modest apology for long ears and walking on 
 four legs. I have just received Mr. Bower's third volume of the 
 Popes, \\'ith so polite an Italian epistle, as shews he can play what 
 note he pleases on Apollo's harp. I had the pleasure of seeing 
 Mr. Berenger on Monday morning, he has been under discipline 
 for his eyes, but his spirits and vivacity are not abated. Pray has 
 Mr. Birch sent you his Queen Elizabeth ? I have not seen it, and 
 I know I shall read it with sorrow. A belle passion at three- 
 score is woi*se than eating salt fish in the gout. I shall hate these 
 collectors of anecdotes, if they cure one of that admiration of a 
 great character that arises from a pleasing deception of sight. I 
 desii'e you not to read aloud this part of Queen Bess's story, when 
 the ass is at your door ; it would make a bad chapter for us in her 
 history of human reason, sixty odd to twenty-one ! instinct never 
 made such a blunder. An old woman and a young man, a sin 
 against natui-e, an old queen and a young couusellor, a sin agaiost 
 politics and prudence. * Ambition should be made of sterner 
 stufil' I shall begin to believe Madame Scudery's romances, in 
 which Lucretia is adroit at intrigue, the stem Brutus a whining 
 lover, and Cato the censor admii-able at writing the billet-doux. 
 I cannot forgive Mr. Birch for bringing this story to light in such 
 a manner ; I supposed with Shakspeare that, in spite of Cupid's 
 idle darts, * she pass'd on in maiden meditation fancy free.* I 
 should have written to you before if I had not been in hopes IMr. 
 Montagu's cold would have given me some room to flatter myself 
 with a visit to Wickham. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 Mrs. Elizaheih Montagu to Benjamin StUlingjieet. 
 
 Beaufort Square, Bath : July 26, 1757. 
 And so. Sir, your pride and your vanity, and your laziness, 
 and your indolence, and your indifference for your friends, have at 
 length persuaded you, that you are not to write to me again, till I 
 have thank'd you for those lettei-s I have already received ! Small 
 trust have you in my gi'atitude, if you require all bills dra^vn upon 
 it Bhould be paid at sight. Mr. StillLngfleet can write to me, and 
 whei-e is there a philosopher less desoeuvre than one who studies 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 281 
 
 the infinite folios of divine wisdom, that reads the stars and can 
 rightly spell of every herb that sips the dew 1 Why ! you do not 
 perceive an eclipse of the sun unless, for want of light, you run 
 your head against a post at noon -day; as for simples, I cannot say 
 you are absolutely ignorant of those that are medicinal, I am sen- 
 sible you make pretty good use of them, but I will be hang'd if 
 you know how many leaves there are in a daisy, or how many 
 fibres in the leaf of a pimpernel ; you are neither looking up at 
 the stars nor down at the plants, and therefore why am I over- 
 looked and forgotten % truly I believe, because you sit vis-a-vis 
 Mrs. Gari'ick ; but pray what business have you with Y enus or the 
 Graces, or anything so like them as the said Mrs. Garrick? I 
 think I am a very pretty kind of a sickly woman, that look as if I 
 had sometime had the jaundice, and as if I might sometime or 
 another have it again ; and altogether a very proper subject for 
 doctorship's admiration and meditation, and so, Sir, I expect some 
 tokens of your attention by the next post. Have I not given you 
 leave to entertain me out of any corner of your brain, and pro- 
 mis'd to read with equal complaisance what your wisdom or your 
 wit shall suggest, nay even what you may say in your foolishness, 
 if your wit should be at low ebb % 
 
 Whether you choose Cervantes' serious air, 
 Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair, 
 
 write like the sage Charron or the fantastical Hudibras, I am still 
 your gentle reader : and I have generally observed people of wit 
 choose companions for their patient hearing, rather than their 
 quick replyj and I imagined with such, the more one attended and 
 the less one replied the better ; but since you will be answered, I 
 must tell you why I have not sooner complied with that humour 
 of yours. I have been wandering from place to place ; I went to 
 Windsor to make a visit to Mrs. Stanley, and there I spent some 
 days very idly and very agreeably ; and I have been at this place 
 ever since last Thursday, taking sweet counsel with my sister and 
 Lady Bab Montagu, and in their company thinking but little of 
 the absent. As to your request that you may send my letter to 
 Mr. Affleck, permit me to say, no ; I am extremely pleased that 
 he is partial enough to me to desire it, and, if he loves a little 
 nonsense now and then for his recreation, why I own it a hai*mless 
 
282 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 thing, and I would not refuse your sending my letters merely 
 because they are nonsensical ; but I have known such disagreeable 
 things arise from a communication of private letters, that I beg to 
 be excused ; there is so much envy, malice, and nonsense, in the 
 world, that the most innocent amusement cannot escape ; some 
 fool might know my letters were shewn Mr. Affleck ; that fool 
 would tell another, who would report to a thii-d fool, that I was 
 vain of my letters, and loved to have them communicated ; and to 
 what three fools assert some wise man would assent, and I should 
 be ridiculous. One walks about in this world in as much danger 
 and dread of ridicule as people do in some parts of America of the 
 thread worm, which in spite of all care will imperceptibly get into 
 the heel, and from thence poison the whole body. I had a letter 
 from Mr. Stillingfleet yesterday, in which he speaks much of the 
 vii'tues of Malvern waters, but does not tell me how they agree 
 with him, which I take ill, for when can they have a subject of 
 more worth to the world and to me ? Mrs. Boscawen and a 
 friend of hers will come to me at my return for a few days, and 
 then my house will be pretty well filled. As soon as they leave 
 me, I hope you will favour me with the performance of your 
 promise. 
 
 Ever your most obliged, 
 
 E. Montagu. 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 In one of the most pleasing letters published in the ' Garrick 
 Correspondence,' Mrs, Elizabeth Montagu pleads for assistance 
 and advice for a young plaj-wright. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu to David Garrick. 
 
 Denton : July 24, 1770. 
 Dear Sir, — The liberty I am going to take seems to require 
 many apologies ; at the same time I am but too sensible that 
 excuses are but poor alleviations of a fault. There is a certain 
 quality called by the Gk)ds simplicity, by men foolishness which 
 sometimes beti*ays the owner into transgressions for which good- 
 nature finds an excuse when the invention of the ofiender cannot 
 frame one. Let my folly therefore find access to your good nature^ 
 and thus gently introduce my story. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 285 
 
 A friend of mine who has not a foot of land anywhere but in 
 Parnassus, and there pretends not to more than a copyhold, showed 
 me a comedy of his writing, which I thought might at least vie 
 with most of the late productions in that way ; but I am a very 
 incompetent judge of this matter. All I would beg is, that you 
 would cast your eye over the piece. If you do not approve it, no 
 angry female muse (such as once assailed you) armed with ten-ors 
 which belong rather to Tisi phone than Melpomene, will rage and 
 foam. My friend is an honest peaceable man : if his play deserves 
 your approbation, it will be a great piece of good fortune to him to 
 have it under your protection, and will at once realize every good 
 wish I can form for him. Whatever you decide upon the subject 
 I shall know is right and just. I am not perhaps a judge what 
 should please in comedy and have not the least guess what will 
 please. The dialogue of this play seemed to me easy and lively, 
 and I thought the poet touched with good humoured raillery the 
 fashionable follies of the times, which in themselves, though per- 
 haps not in their consequences, appear too frivolous for severe 
 satire. 
 
 Great physicians have transmitted to posterity remedies for 
 those disorders to which human nature is addicted in all ages and 
 climates of the world ; but though an Hippocrates and a Galen 
 may have assumed a perpetual authority in cases of consumption, 
 dropsy and malignant fevers, the humble under-gradnate doctor 
 considers some new epidemical cold as his province, and hastens to 
 publish his cure for Influenza, or to ofier an antidote to Hyson 
 tea ; advertises his balsam of honey when the fogs of November 
 affect the lungs ; and as the spring advances, brings out his tinc- 
 ture of sage to purify those humours that warm waather causes to 
 ferment. 
 
 To a Plautus, a Terence, or a Moliere, it belongs to attack the 
 dropsy of pride, the feverish thirst of avarice, or the melancholy 
 madness of misanthropy. The minor poet aims no higher than to 
 remove some incidental malady, some new disorder with which 
 the town is infected. Even if he can take off those freckles which 
 pollute the pure roses and lilies of youthful beauty, or can soften 
 the wrinkles on the brow of old age, he has his merit and desei*ves 
 encouragement. I wish you may have reason to think my friend 
 deserves a place in some of these humble classes. It is improper 
 
284 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 on some accounts tliat his name should be known, and therefore 
 he desired me to send his piece with my petition that you should 
 i-ead it. As I endeavoured to smuggle a certain Essay through 
 the world, you may perhaps suspect me of having a hand in this 
 comedy ; but I do assure you, by all that is most serious, I have 
 not therein either art or part ; I have not either invented or cor- 
 rected, nor knew anything of it till it was almost finished. The 
 author was to finish it after I came out of town, and I promised to 
 send him a letter to you to send with it, which I did the more 
 readily as he will remain to you mute and invisible ; and therefore 
 you will have merely the trouble of casting your eye over the play, 
 and when you have done so, if you please to send the play with 
 your opinion of it to my house in Hill Street I shall be more 
 obliged to you than I can express. Any alterations you should 
 desire will certainly be made. Upon recollection, I will beg of you 
 not tx) send your letter in the packet with the play but indeed to 
 put the letter in the post directed to me at Denton ; for the person 
 may otherwise delay my having your letter if he should not call at 
 my house for his play. I shall be in great anxiety till I hear you 
 forgive me the liberty I have taken. I was under veiy uncommon 
 obligations to exert my endeavours to serve the author of this play; 
 I promise you I will never again presume so far. I should be very 
 unhappy if I thought my taking this liberty would lessen that 
 friendship which I flatter myself Mr. and Mi-s. Gariick have for 
 one who has the highest esteem for them. I live over again in 
 imagination the charming day I passed at Hampton. May the 
 muses, les jeux, and les ris, as usual, keep their court there, and 
 health and pleasure never be absent even for an hour. With most 
 perfect regard I am Dear Sii' &c 
 
 E. Montagu. 
 
 CLXXn. 
 
 Dr. Fordyce, the dramatic critic, in a letter to David Gar- 
 rick, narrates his impressions of that great actor's impersonation 
 of ^ King Lear.' 
 
 Dr. Fordyce to David Garrich. 
 
 Dr. Fordyce presents his best compliments to Mr. Gar rick and 
 begs to be indulged in the pleasure of telling that gentleman some 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 285 
 
 part of what lie felt the other night at Dniry Lane. It is impos- 
 sible to tell him all. 
 
 He has seen Mr. Garrick in his other characters with delight 
 always, and with admiration as often as the author will let him. 
 But in King Lear he saw him with rapture and astonishment. He 
 could wish, he could imagine, nothing higher. It was Nature her- 
 self wrought into a vast variety of the strongest, the tenderest, and 
 the most terrible emotions, that ever agitated the breast of a 
 father and of a monarch. 
 
 In my opinion. Sir, those who have not seen you in that won- 
 derful part, are still strangers to the extent of your powers. They 
 have not yet seen Mr. Garrick. It seems to me the character, of 
 all others, that gives the noblest scope to the career and diversity 
 of his genius. And I am much mistaken if, in the representation, 
 be does not feel his soul expand with a freedom and fulness of 
 satisfaction, beyond what he experiences in any other part. Such 
 violent starts of amazement, of hoiTor, of indignation, of paternal 
 rage excited by filial ingratitude the most prodigious ; such a per- 
 ceptible, yet rapid gradation, from these dreadful feelings to the 
 deepest frenzy ; such a striking correspondence between the tempest 
 in his mind and that of the surrounding elements. In the very 
 whirlwind of passion and of madness, such an exact attention to 
 propriety, that it is still the passion and the madness of a King. 
 Those exquisite touches of self-reproach for a most foolish and ill- 
 requited fondness to two worthless daughters, and for the greatest 
 injustice and cruelty to one transcendently excellent. Those resist- 
 less complaints of aged and royal wretchedness, with all the 
 mingled workings of a warm and hasty, but well-meaning and gen- 
 erous soul, just recovering from the convulsion of its faculties, 
 through the pious care of a worthy, but injured child and follower ; 
 till at length the parent, the sovereign and the friend, shine out in 
 the mildest majesty of fervent virtue, like the sun after a fearful 
 storm, breaking forth delightfully in all the soft splendour of a 
 summer evening. These, Sir, are some of the great circumstances 
 which so eminently distinguished your action two nights ago. 
 They possessed by turns all your frame, and appeared successively 
 in every word, and yet more in every gesture, but most of all in 
 every look and feature ; presenting, I verily think, such a picture 
 as the world never saw anywhere else ; yet such a one as all the 
 
2S6 rXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 world must acknowledge perfectly true, interesting, and un- 
 affected. A very crowded audience gave the plainest proofs that 
 they found it so. Even a French lady, if I mistook not the 
 person, who has been used to all the polite frigidity of the French 
 di-ama, was moved and melted in the most sensible manner. But 
 what struck me most and will ever strike me on reflection, was 
 the sustaining with full power, to the last, a character marked 
 with the most diversified and vehement sensations, without even 
 departing once, so far as I could perceive, even in the quickest 
 transitions and fiercest paroxysms, from the simplicity of nature, 
 the grace of attitude or the beauty of expression. What I alone 
 regietted was the blending of modern tragedy with the inimitable 
 composition of your immortal Shakespeare. It was some comfort, 
 however, that you had no share in the whining scene. 
 
 I hope, Sir, you will forgive this freedom of praise, prompted 
 tis it is by pure esteem for the man whom forming Nature, without 
 the least assistance from example, has been placed so high in his 
 profession. I have said so much, not because I imagine that my 
 single approbation can be of any consequence to Mr. Garrick, 
 amidst the approbation of the public ; but merely to relieve myself 
 in some measure from a load of sensibility with which King Lear 
 has quite overwhelmed me. 
 
 I am Sir, your most obedient servant 
 
 J. FORDYCE. 
 
 CLXxni. 
 
 A young artist who had described himself as engaged in 
 dissensions with certain picture dealers at Rome who were en- 
 deavouring to influence travellers against the English copyists, 
 received this kind and excellent letter of advice from Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds to Mr. Barry. 
 
 1769. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I am very much obliged to you for your remem- 
 brance of me in your letter to Mr. Burke, which, though I have 
 read with great pleasure as a composition, I cannot help saying 
 with some regret, to find that so great a portion of your attention 
 has been engaged upon temporary matters, which might be so 
 much more -profitably employed upon what would stick by you 
 through your whole life. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 287 
 
 Whoever is resolved to excel in painting, or indeed in any- 
 other art, must bring all his mind to bear upon that one object, 
 from the moment he rises till he goes to bed ; the effect of every 
 object that meets the painter's eye may give him a lesson, provided 
 his mind is calm, unembarrassed with other objects, and open to 
 instruction. This general attention, with other studies connected 
 with the art, which must employ the artist in his closet, will be 
 found sufficient to fill up life, if it was much longer than it is. 
 "Were I in your place, I would consider myself as playing a great 
 game, and never suffer the little malice and envy of my rivals to 
 draw off my attention from the main object ; which, if you pursue 
 with a steady eye, it will not be in the power of all the Cicerones 
 in the world to hurt you. Whilst they are endeavouring to pre- 
 vent the gentlemen from employing the young artists, instead of 
 injuring them, they are, in my opinion, doing them the gi-eatest 
 service. 
 
 Whilst I was at Rome I was very little employed by them, 
 and that I always considered as so much time lost. Copying those 
 ornamental pictures, which the travelling gentlemen always bring 
 home with them as furniture for their houses, is far from being the 
 most profitable manner of a student spending his time. 
 
 Whoever has great views I would recommend to him, whilst 
 at Rome, rather to Uve on bread and water, than lose those advan- 
 tages which he can never hope to enjoy a second time, and which 
 he will find only in the Yatican ; where, 1 will engage, no cavalier 
 sends his students to copy for him. I do not mean this as any 
 reproach to the gentlemen ; the works in that place, though they 
 are the proper study of an artist, make but an awkward figure 
 painted in oil, and reduced to the size of easel pictures. The 
 Capella Sistina is the production of the greatest genius that was 
 ever employed in the arts ; it is worth considering by what prin- 
 ciples that stupendous greatness of style is jH'oduced ; and endea- 
 vouring to produce something of your own on those principles, 
 will be a more advantageous method of study, than copying the 
 St. Cecilia in the Borghese, or the Herodias of Guide, which may 
 be copied to eternity, without contributing one jot towards making 
 a man a more able painter. 
 
 If you neglect visiting the Yatican often, and particularly the 
 Capella Sistina, you will neglect receiving that peculiar advantage 
 
288 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 whicli E-ome can give above all other cities in the world. In other 
 places you will find casts from the antique, and capital pictures of 
 the great painters, but it is there only that you can form an idea 
 of the dignity of the art, as it is there only that you can see the 
 works of Michael Angelo and Eaffaelle. If you should not relish 
 them at first, which may probably be the case, as they have none 
 of those qualities which are captivating at first sight, never cease 
 looking till you feel something like inspiration come over you, till 
 you think every other painter insipid, in comparison, and to be 
 admired only for petty excellencies. 
 
 I suppose you have heard of the establishment of a Royal 
 Academy here ; the first opportunity I have I will send you the 
 discourse I delivered at its opening, which was the first of January. 
 As I hope you will be hereafter one of our body, I wish you would, 
 as opportunity ofiers, make memorandums of the regulations of the 
 academies that you may visit in your travels, to be engrafted on 
 our own, if they should be found useful. I am, with the greatest 
 esteem Yours 
 
 J. Reynolds. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 "William Pitt did not over-estimate the military qualities of the 
 young Brigadier-General Wolfe when he selected him much out 
 of the order of seniority to command an expedition having for its 
 object to deprive France of her American settlements. Although 
 untried in any considerable command Wolfe had the character 
 of being a perfect soldier. He was a rigid disciplinarian, and 
 was keenly devoted to mifitary work at a time when sloth and 
 debauchery were distinguishing features of the British officer's 
 life ; for there was little doing between the peace of Aix-la- 
 Chapelle and the outbreak of the Seven Years War. 
 
 When the first of the two following letters to his mother 
 was written, he was Acting-Commander of the 20th Foot in 
 Scotland, a trving position for a young man in his twenty-third 
 year ; the second letter was written after the suppression of the 
 Gloucestershire riots, and at a time when he little expected to be 
 so soon called to that glorious mission which cost him his life. 
 
 Major James Wolfe to Mrs. Wolfe. 
 
 Glasgow: October 2, 1749. 
 Dear Madam, — It will not be possible in my circumstances to 
 get leave of absence for four months ; we can expect no such indul- 
 gence. A less time is not worth asking for, and therefore I'll pass 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 289 
 
 the winter at Perth. I must hunt and shoot for exercise, and 
 read for entertainment. After Christmas, when the company- 
 comes into Edinburgh, and the place is in all its perfection of dirt 
 and gaiety, I'll repair thither, and stay a foitnight or three weeks. 
 It will help to dispel melancholy, and I have been told that a 
 certain smell is a remedy for the vapours; there I can't fail to 
 meet the cure. This day fortnight we leave this town, and till we 
 return to it cannot hope to find so good quarters. According to 
 the rotation of the troops in Scotland, the sixth year brings us 
 back ; but 'tis a dreadful interval, a Kttle life to a military man ; 
 and for my particular, so far from being in love with the country, 
 that I'd go to the Rhine, or Italy, nay, serve a campaign against 
 the Turks, rather than continue in it the time I have mentioned, 
 and that, too, in the very blooming season of our days. It is my 
 misfortune to miss the improving hour, and to degenerate instead 
 of brightening. Few of my companions surpass me in common 
 knowledge but most of them in vice. This is a truth that I should 
 blush to relate to one that had not all my confidence, lest it be 
 thought to proceed either from insolence or vanity ; but I think 
 you don't understand it so. I dread their habits and behaviour, 
 and am forced to an eternal watch upon myself, that I may avoid 
 the very manner which I most condemn in them. Young men 
 should have some object constantly in their aim, some shining 
 character to direct them. 'Tis a disadvantage to be first at an 
 imperfect age ; either we become enamoui-ed with ourselves, seeing 
 nothing superior, or fall into the degree of our associates. 
 
 I'll stop here, that you may not think me very uneasy. As I 
 now am, it is possible that I might be better pleased, but my duty 
 and a natural indolence of temper make it less irksome ; and then 
 a pretty constant employment helps to get me through, and secures 
 me from excess or debauch. That, too, is enough prevented by 
 the office of a Commander. 
 
 My duty to my father. 
 
 I am, dear madam 
 Your obedient and afiectionate Son 
 J, Wolfe. 
 
290 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 Lieut.-Colonel James Wolfe to Mrs. Wolfe. 
 
 Stroud : December 6, 1756. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I attribute it in eome measure to the nature of 
 my employment as well as to tbe condition of my blood, being 
 everlastingly chagrined with the ill actions of the people about me, 
 and in the constant exercise of power to punish and rebuke. I 
 pass so much of my time at quarters, and am so intent upon having 
 everything done in its proper way, that those aids which an 
 equality of society, the conversation of women, and the wholesome 
 advice of friends are known to give to minds of my cast, are 
 totally cut off from me and denied ; and if I was to serve two or 
 three years in. America I make no doubt but that I should be 
 distinguished by a peculiar fierceness of temper suited to the nature 
 of that war. I don't know whether a man had better fall early 
 into the hands of those savages, than be converted by degrees into 
 theii' nature and forget humanity. 
 
 It may happen that a second battalion of those regiments may 
 have colonels appointed to them without including your son in the 
 number. A man who never asks a favour will hardly ever obtain 
 it. I persuade myself they will put no inferior officer (unless a 
 peer) over my head, in which case I can't complain, not being able 
 to say that I have ever done more than my duty, and happy if I 
 came up to that. If any soldier is preferred when my turn comes, 
 I shall acquaint the Secretary at War that I am sensible of the 
 injury that is done me, and will take the earliest opportunity to 
 put it out of his or any man's power to repeat it. Not while the 
 war lasts ; for if 500 young officers one after another were to rise 
 before me I should continue to serve with the utmost diligence, to 
 acquit myself to the country, and to show the Ministers that they 
 had acted unjustly. But I flatter myself that I shall never be 
 forced to these disagreeable measures. 
 
 I don't believe that Mrs. Goldsmith is dead, but dying. They 
 are still at Kinsale, because she is not able to move ; for her desire 
 was to be carried to die amongst her own relations. 
 
 My cousin, whose good nature and gratitude are such that he 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 291 
 
 can. refuse nothing to a wife that he thinks deserves everything 
 at his hands, had agreed to carry her to Limerick ; but she bad 
 not strength for the journey, and I expect to hear everyday that 
 she is at rest. I am afraid poor Goldsmith has been obliged to 
 call in some expensive assistance, and therefore conclude that a 
 present from the Greneral would be acceptable. He has distin- 
 guished himself by a most considerable regard for the poorer 
 branches of his family, for which, I make no doubt but that he 
 himself will be considered. All mankind are indeed our relations, 
 and have nearly an equal claim to pity and assistance ; but those 
 of our own blood call most immediately upon us. One of the 
 principal reasons that induces me to wish myself at the head of a 
 regiment is, that I may execute my father's plan while there 
 remains one iadigent pei-son of his race. 
 
 OLXXVI. 
 
 The present century has produced no John Wilkes but only 
 pinchbeck imitations of him. The witty and dissipated proprie- 
 tor of the * North JBriton ' was a complete master of the science 
 of demagogy ; and the absurdly impolitic and unconstitutional 
 advisers of George HI. provided him with the means of becom- 
 ing a popular idol. His talents and virtues were, however, not 
 sufficiently solid to make him permanently superior to the vacil- 
 lations and whims of the mob. The modern Wilkes, thirsting 
 for notoriety, and having no sound cause to champion, tickles 
 the ears of gaping masses with dishonest flattery. This letter 
 is written after Wilkes had been discharged from the Tower on 
 the ground of his Privilege as a Member of Parliament. The 
 * general warrant ' under which he had been arrested for his 
 libellous attack on the Ministry in No. 45 of the * North Briton,' 
 extended to the seizure of his private papers. He had writ- 
 ten demanding the restoration of the stolen goods, and had 
 received a sharp rebuke from the Secretaries of State to which 
 ihis is the rejoinder. 
 
 John Wilkes to Lords Egremont and Halifax, 
 
 Great George Street: May 29, 1763. 
 
 My Lords, — Little did I expect, when I was requu-ing from 
 
 your lordships what an Englishman has a right to, — his property 
 
 taken from him (and said to be in your lordships' possession,) — 
 
 that I should have received in answer, from persons in your high 
 
 u 2 
 
292 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 station, the expressions of * indecent and scurrilous' applied to 
 my legal demands. 
 
 The respect I bear to his majesty whose servants it seems you 
 still are (though you stand legally convicted of having in me- 
 violated, in the highest and most offensive manner, the liberties of 
 all the commons in England), prevents my returning you an answer 
 in the same Billingsgate language. If I considered you only in 
 your private capacities, I should treat you both according to your 
 deserts : but where is the wonder that men who have attacked 
 the sacred liberty of the subject, and have issued an illegal war- 
 rant to seize his property, should proceed to such libellous expres- 
 sions % You say, ' that such of my papers shall be restored to me, 
 as do not lead to a proof of my guilt.' I owe this to your appre- 
 hension of an action, not to your love of justice ; and in that light, 
 if I can believe your lordships' assurances, the whole will be 
 returned to me. I fear neither your prosecution, nor your perse- 
 cution ; and I will assert the security of my own house, the liberty 
 of my person, and every right of the people, not so much for my 
 own sake, as for the sake of every one of my English fellow- 
 subjects. 
 
 I am, my lords, 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 
 John Wilkes. 
 
 CLXXVn. 
 
 If Wilkes had not set up a printing press in his own house, 
 after his release, it is tolerably certain his enemies would have 
 failed to obtain evidence of his being either author or publisher 
 of the ' North Briton ' : yet he imprudently reprinted No. 45 
 (and some copies of an infamous poem called ' Essay on 
 Woman ')? speculating on immense sales. But Government 
 bribed the very persons he employed in Great George Street to 
 appear as witnesses against him. The following letter from 
 Paris, whither he had gone after his duel with Mr. Martin, 
 shows that he considered his expulsion from Parhament as cer- 
 tain, 
 
 John Wilkes to Humphrey Cotes. 
 
 Hotel de Saxe, Paris : January 20, 1764. 
 My Dearest Cotes, — Philipps writes to me in a warm strain, to 
 return immediately ; and, from the partial view he takes of my 
 
1800] ^NGLISS LET2ERS, 298 
 
 affairs, whicli is so far as law and the two houses are concerned, I 
 really think him right. You and I, my beloved friend, have more 
 extended views ; and therefore, as I have now an opportunity, I 
 will sift it to the bottom, for I am secure of my conveyance. 
 Your letter of the 10th leaves me no doubt of the certainty of my 
 expulsion. Now give me leave to take a peep into futurity. I 
 argue upon the supposition that I was expelled this morning, at 
 one or two o'clock, after a warm debate. I am, then, no longer a 
 member of parliament. Of consequence, a political man not in the 
 house is of no importance, and never can be well enough, nor 
 minutely enough, informed, to be of any great service. 
 
 What then am I to do in England ? If I return soon, it is 
 possible that I may be found guilty of the publication of No. 45 
 of the * North Briton,' and of the * Essay on Woman.' I must then 
 go off to France ; for no man in his senses would stand Mansfield's 
 sentence upon the publisher of a paper declai-ed by both houses of 
 parliament scandalous, seditious, &c. The * Essay on Woman,' too, 
 would be considered as blasphemous ; and Mansfield would, in 
 that case, avenge on me the old Berwick grudge. Am I then to 
 run the risk of this, and afterwards to confess by going away so 
 critically — as evident a flight as Mahomet's was from Mecca! 
 Surely not. 
 
 But I am to await the event of these two trials ; and Philipps 
 can never persuade me that some risk is not run. I have in my 
 own case experienced the fickleness of the people. I was almost 
 adored one week ; the next, neglected, abused, and despised. With 
 all the fine things said and wrote of me, have not the public to this 
 moment left me in the lurch, as to the expense of so great a variety 
 of law-suits t I will serve them to the last moment of my life ; 
 but I will make use of the understanding God has given me, 
 and will owe neither my security nor indemnity to them. Can 
 I trust likewise a rascally court, who bribe my own servants to 
 steal out of my house? Which of the opposition, likewise, can 
 call on me, and expect my services ? I hold no obligation to any 
 of them, but to Lord Temple ; who is really a superior being. It 
 appears, then, that there is no call of honour. I will now go on 
 to the public cause, that of every man, — liberty. Is there then 
 any one point behind to be tried % I think not. The two important 
 decisions in the Court of Common-Pleas and at Guildhall, have 
 
294 ENGLISH LETTERS. [170(H 
 
 secured for ever an Englishinan's liberty and property. They have 
 gi'own out of my firmness, and the affair of the ' North Briton ; ' 
 but neither in this case are we nor our posterity concerned whether 
 John Wilkes, or John a Nokes, wrote or published the ' North 
 Briton ' or ' the Essay on "Woman.* 
 
 The public, then, has no call upon me. I have steadily pur- 
 sued their object, and I may now, after all their huzzas, fall back 
 into the mass of common citizens. Does any one point suffer by 
 my absence ? I have not heard that it does. I know that many 
 of the opposition are, to the full, as much embarrassed about my 
 business as the administration, and detest it as much. I believe, 
 both parties will rejoice at my being here. Too many personalities, 
 likewise, have been mixed with my business, and the King him- 
 self has taken too great, not to say too indecent, a share in it, to 
 recede. Can it be thought, too, that the princess dowager can ever 
 foi'give what she supposes I have donel What then am I to 
 expect if I return to England 1 Persecution from my enemies ; 
 coldness and neglect from friends, except such noble ones as you 
 and a few more. I go on to some other things. 
 
 My piivate finances are much hurt, by three elections ; one at 
 Berwick, and two at Aylesbury. Miss Wilkes's education is 
 expensive. I can live here much cheaper than in London. And 
 what is my duty, and you know is the object I have most at heart, 
 her welfare, will be better, in every point, ascertained here, with 
 me, than at London. Shall I return to Great George-street, and 
 live at so expensive a house 1 Forbid it real economy, and forbid 
 it pride, to go to another, unless for some great national point of 
 liberty ! Perhaps, in the womb of fate, some important public or 
 I)rivate event is to turn up. A lucky death often sets all right. 
 JNIi^. Mead and Mr. Sherbrooke are both old, and have no relation 
 but ]SIiss Wilkes. She is devoted to me, beyond what you can 
 imagine ; and is really all that a fond father can wish. I have 
 taken all possible care of her in every respect. I could live here 
 as well as I wish, for one half of what it will cost me in London ; 
 and, when Miss Wilkes was of an age to return to England, not a 
 farthing in debt — which at present oppresses my spirits. I am 
 grown prudent, and will be economical to a great degree. 
 
 If government means peace or friendship with me, and to save 
 their honour (wounded to the quick by Webb's aflkir), I then 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. S9« 
 
 breathe no longer hostility. And, between ourselves, if they would 
 send me ambassador to Constantinople it is all I should wish. Mr. 
 Grenville, I am told, solicits his recall. I think, however, the 
 King can never be brought to this, (as to me I mean,) though the 
 ministry would wish it. 
 
 If I stay at Paris, I will not be forgot in England ; for I will 
 feed the papers, from time to time, with gall and vinegar against 
 the administration. I cannot express to you how much I am 
 courted here, nor how pleased our inveterate enemies are with the 
 * North Briton.' Gay felt the pulse of the French ministers about 
 my coming here and Churchill's, upon the former report. The 
 answer was sent from the Duke de Praslin, by the King's orders, to 
 monsieur St. Foy, premier commis des affaires etrangereSy in these 
 words ; * Les deux illustres J. W. efc C. C. peuvent venir en France 
 et a Paris aussi souvent et pour autant de tems, qu'ils le jugeront 
 a propos, &c.' 
 
 I am offered the liberty of printing here whatever I choose. 
 I have taken no resolution ; nor will I, till I hear again from you. 
 Favour me with your sentiments fully and freely. 
 
 Your most devoted 
 
 John Wilkes. 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 At the close of 1758, Ohver Goldsmith, then at the very 
 lowest ebb of fortune, failed to pass his examination at Surgeon's 
 Hall, and was thrown on the world at the age of thirty with 
 nothing whatever to do for a living. At this moment his land- 
 lady came to him with a piteous tale of her distress, and the im- 
 petuous poet, having no money, gave her forthwith his new suit 
 of clothes to pawn. Unfortunately these had been lent him by 
 Griffith the publisher, who seems to have found out the circum- 
 stance directly, and who indulged his temper by calling Goldsmith 
 a knave and a sharper, and by threatening to send him to prison, 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith to Mr. Griffith. 
 
 January, 1759. 
 Sir, — I know of no misery but a jail to which my own 
 imprudences and your letter seems to point. I have seen it in- 
 evitable these three or four weeks, and, by heavens ! i-equest it as 
 a favor, — as a favor that may prevent something more fatal. I 
 have been some years struggling with a wretched being — with all 
 
296 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 th at contempt that indigence brings with it — with all those pas- 
 sions which make contempt insupportable. What, then, has a 
 jail that is formidable? I shall at least have the society of 
 wretches, and such is to me true society. I tell you, again and 
 again, that I am neither able nor willing to pay you a farthing, 
 but I will be punctual to any appointment you or the Jailor shall 
 make ; thus far, at least, I do not act the sharper, since, unable to 
 pay my own debts one way, I would generally give some security 
 another. No, sir ; had I been a sharper — had I been possessed of 
 less good-nature and native generosity, I might surely now hav€ 
 been in better circumstances. 
 
 I am guilty, I own, of meannesses which poverty unavoidably 
 brings with it : my reflections are filled with repentance for my 
 imprudence, but not with any remorse for being a villain : that 
 may be a character you unjustly charge me with. Your books, I 
 can assure you, are neither pawned nor sold, but in the custody of 
 a friend, from whom my necessities obliged me to borrow some 
 money. Whatever becomes of my person, you shall have them in 
 a month. It is very possible both the reports you have heard and 
 your own suggestions may have brought you false information 
 with respect to my character; it is very possible that the man 
 whom you now regard with detestation may inwardly bum with 
 grateful resentment. 
 
 It is veiy possible that, upon a second perusal of the letter I 
 sent you, you may see the workings of a mind strongly agitated 
 with gratitude and jealousy. If such circumstances should appear, 
 at least spare invective till my book with Mr. Dodsley shall be 
 published, and then, perhaps, you may see the bright side of a 
 mind, when my professions shall not appear the dictates of neces- 
 sity, but of choice. 
 
 You seem to think Dr. Milner knew me not. Perhaps so; 
 but he was a man I shall ever honor ; but I have friendships only 
 with the dead ! I ask pardon for taking up so much time ; nor 
 shall I add to it by any other professions than that I am, sir your 
 humble servant, 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 P.S. — I shall expect impatiently the result of your resolutions. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETIERS, 297 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 In estimating the character of Goldsmith, we gain much by 
 considering what the stock was from which he sprang. (Com- 
 pared with some of his relations, the eccentric poet was a model 
 of social stability. We see him in this highly characteristic 
 letter freely giving up to his family the small legacy of fifteen 
 pounds left him by his uncle Contarine ; it was but a drop among 
 all those thirsty souls. No wonder Goldsmith was in no haste 
 to return to his native country. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith to Maurice Goldsmith. 
 
 January, 1770. 
 
 Dear Brother, — I should have answered your letter sooner, 
 but, in truth, I am not fond of thinking of the necessities of those 
 I love, when it is so very little in my power to help them. I am 
 sorry to find you are every way unprovided for ; and what adds to 
 my uneasiness is, that I have received a letter fi*om my sister 
 Johnson by which I learn that she is pretty much in the same 
 circumstances. As to myself, I believe I think I could get both 
 you and my poor brother-in-law something like that which you 
 desire, but I am determined never to ask for little things, nor 
 exhaust any little interest I may have, until I can serve you, him 
 and myself more efiectually. As yet, no opportunity has ofiered ; 
 but I believe you are pretty well convinced that I will not bo 
 remiss when it arrives. 
 
 The King has lately been pleased to make me professor of 
 Ancient History in the royal academy of painting which he has 
 just established, but there is no salary annexed ; and I took it 
 rather as a compliment to the institution than any benefit to 
 myself. Honors to one in my situation are something like ruffles 
 to one that wants a shirt. 
 
 You tell me that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds left me in 
 the hands of my cousin Lawder, and you ask me what I would 
 have done with them. My dear brother, I would by no means 
 give any directions to my dear worthy relations at Kilmore how 
 to dispose of money which is, properly speaking, more theirs than 
 mine. AH that I can say is, that I entirely, and this letter will 
 serve to witness, give up any right and title to it ; and I am sure 
 
298 ENGLISH LETTERS. [170(V- 
 
 they will dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely 
 leave it ; whether they or you may think the whole necessary to 
 fit you out, or whether our poor sister Johnson may not want the 
 half, I leave entirely to their and your discretion. The kindness 
 of that good couple to our shattered family demands our sincerest 
 gratitude ; and, though they have almost forgotten me, yet, if good 
 things at last arrive, I hope one day to return and increase their 
 good-humour by adding to my own. 
 
 I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as 
 I believe it is the most acceptable present I can offer. I have 
 ordered it to be left for her at George Faulkner's, folded in a 
 letter. 
 
 The face you well know is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. 
 I wiU shortly also send my friends over the Shannon some mezzo- 
 tint prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such as 
 Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I have written 
 a hundred letters to different friends in your country, and never 
 received an answer to any of them. I do not know how to 
 account for this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me 
 those regards which I must ever retain for them. 
 
 If, then, you have a mind to oblige me, you will write often, 
 whether I answer you or not. Let me particularly have the news 
 of our family and old acquaintances. For instance, you may 
 begin by telling me about the family where you reside, how they 
 spend their time, and whether they ever make mention of me. 
 Tell me about my mother, my brother Hodson and his son, my 
 brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family 
 of BaUyoughter, what is become of them, where they Kve, and 
 how they do. You talked of being my only brother. I don't 
 understand you. Where is Charles? A sheet of paper occasion- 
 ally filled with the news of this kind would make me very happy, 
 and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear brother, 
 believe me to be 
 
 Yours, most affectionately, 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith, 
 
 I 
 
1800] EN0LI8E LETTERS. 299 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 Goldsmitli had been lodging at a little farm-house in 
 Edgeware when he wrote this letter, and the comedy so 
 modestly referred to was no other than the immortal * She Stoops 
 to Conquer.' In March 1773 it -^as at last brought out at 
 Oovent Garden, and with amazing success. The difficulties that 
 it met with from the timidity of Colman, the jealousy of Cum- 
 berland, and the unworldliness of the author himself, are now 
 matter of history, and the comedy itself universally recognised 
 as the best English play of that century. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith to Bennet Langton. 
 
 The Temple : September 7, 1772 
 My dear Sir, — Since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, I 
 have been almost wholly in the country, at a farmer's house, quite 
 alone, trying to write a comedy. It is now finished ; but when or 
 how it will be acted, or whether it will be acted at all, are 
 questions I cannot resolve. I am therefore so much employed 
 upon that, that I am under the necessity of putting off my ia- 
 tended visit to Lincolnshire for this season. Reynolds is just 
 returned from Paris, and finds himself now in the case of a truant 
 that must make up for his idle time by diligence. "We have 
 therefore agreed to postpone our journey till next summer, when 
 we hope to have the honor of waiting upon Lady Rothes and you, 
 and staying double the time of our late intended visit. We often 
 meet, and never without remembering you. I see Mr. Beauclerc 
 very often both in town and country. He is now going directly 
 forward to become a second Boyle : deep in chemistry and physics. 
 Johnson has been down on a visit to a country parson, Doctor 
 Taylor; and is returned to his old haunts at Mi's. Thrale's. 
 Burke is a farmer, en attendant a better place ; but visiting about 
 too. Every soul is visitiog about and merry but myself. And 
 that is hard too, as I have been trying these three months to do 
 something to make people laugh. There have I been strolling 
 about the hedges, studying jests with a most tragical countenance. 
 The Natural History is about half finished, and I will shortly 
 finish the rest. God knows I am tired of this kind of finishings 
 which is but bungling work ; and that not so much my fault as 
 
300 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 the fault of my scurvy circumstances. They begin to talk in town 
 of the Opposition's gaining ground ; the cry of liberty is still as 
 loud as ever. I have published, or Davies has published for me, 
 an 'Abridgment of the History of England,' for which I have been 
 a good deal abused in the newspapers, for betraying the liberties 
 of the people. God knows I had no thought for or against liberty 
 in my head ; my whole aim being to make up a book of a decent 
 size, that, as Squire Richard says, would do no harm to nohody. 
 However, they set me down as an arrant Tory, and consequently 
 an honest man. When you come to look at any part of it, you'll 
 say that I am a sore Whig. God bless you, and with my most 
 respectful compliments to her Ladyship, I remain, dear Sir, your 
 most affectionate humble servant. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 Dr. Markham was Head Master at Westminster School at 
 the time this letter was written. He was appointed to the See 
 of Chester in 1771, and was translated to the Archbishopric of 
 York five years afterwards. Edmund Burke was in his thir- 
 tieth year, and about to enter the nursery of his political career 
 as private secretary to Mr. Gerard Hamilton, Assistant Secretary 
 for Ireland under the Lieutenancy of Lord Halifax. In this 
 capacity Burke found better ' ground to stand upon 'in his native 
 city than Madrid could have afforded him. 
 
 Dr. Markham to the Duchess of Queenshury. 
 
 Westminster : September 25, 1759. 
 
 Madam, — I must entreat your Grace's pardon for the trouble 
 I am giving you. It is in behalf of a very deserving person, with 
 whom I have long had a close friendship. My acquaintance with 
 your Grace's sentiments and feelings persuades me, that I shall not 
 want advocates when I have told you my story. 
 
 The consulship at Madrid has been vacant these eight months. 
 Lord Bristol is writing pressing letters to have a consul appointed. 
 I am informed that the office lies so much out of the road of 
 common applications, that it has not yet been asked for ; that it 
 has been offered to some, who have declined it ; and that Mr. Pitt 
 is actually at a loss for a proper person to appoint to it. This has 
 encouraged my friend to think of it. It so happens, that those who 
 might serve him are mostly out of town. He expects, indeed, 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 301 
 
 recommendations from some he has writ to. The warm part that 
 I take in all his interests obliges me to avail myself of the honour 
 I have of being known to your Grace, and to beg as much of your 
 assistance with Mr. Pitt, as you think you can give me with pro- 
 priety. It is time I should say who my friend is. His name is 
 Edmund Burke. As a literary man he may possibly be not quite 
 unknown to you. He is the author of a piece wbich imposed on 
 the world as Lord Bolingbroke's, called, * The Advantages of 
 Natural Society,' and of a very ingenious book published last year, 
 called, * A Treatise on the Sublime and the Beautiful.' 
 
 I must farther say of him, that his chief application has been 
 to the knowledge of public business, and our commercial interests ; 
 that he seems to have a most extensive knowledge, with extra- 
 ordinary talents for business, and to want nothing but ground to 
 stand upon to do his country very important services. Mr. "Wood, 
 the under-secretary, has some knowledge of him, and will, I am 
 persuaded, do ample justice to his abilities and character. As for 
 myself, as far as my testimony may serve him, I shall freely 
 venture it on all occasions ; as I value him not only for his learn- 
 ing and talents, but as being, in all points of character, a most 
 amiable and most respectable man. 
 
 I hope your Grace will forgive my taking up so much of your 
 time. I am really so earnest in this gentleman's behalf, that if I 
 can be instrumental in helping him I shall think it one of the 
 most fortunate events of my life. I beg leave to trouble you with 
 my compliments to the Duke; and am, with afresh remembrance 
 of your many kindnesses, 
 
 Your Grace's most obliged and most faithful servant, 
 
 W. Markham. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 Edmund Burke began his public career in 1759 as private 
 secretary to William Gerard Hamilton (known as single-speech 
 Hamilton, the Assistant Secretary for Ireland). In return for 
 no little influence exerted in securing a pension of £300 per 
 annum for Burke, Hamilton had the audacity to expect the pro- 
 teffS would gratefully abandon his life to him. It was not likely 
 that Burke would accept villein service under a feudal superior j 
 he threw up his annuity and broke with his patron for ever. 
 
302 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 Edmund Burhe to the Eight Hon. William Gerard 
 Hamilton. 
 
 February, 1765. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Your letter, -which I received about four o'clock 
 yesterday, seemed not to have been written with an intention of 
 being answered. However, on considering the matter this morn- 
 ing, I thought it respectful to you, and, in a manner, necessary to 
 myself, to say something to those heavy charges which you have 
 made against me in our last conversations ; and which, with a 
 polite acrimony in the expression, you have thought proper to 
 repesat in your letter. 
 
 I should, indeed, be extremely unhappy, if I felt any conscious- 
 ness at all of that unkindness, of which you have so lively a sense. 
 In the six years duiing which I have had the honour of being con- 
 nected with you, I do not know that I have given you one just 
 occasion of complaint ; and if all things have not succeeded evei-y 
 way to your wishes, I may appeal to your own eD[uity and candour 
 whether the failure was owing to any thing wrong in my advice, or 
 inattention in my conduct ; I can honestly afiirm, and your heart 
 will not contradict me, that in all cases I preferred your interest to 
 my own. I made you, and not myself, the first object in every 
 deliberation. I studied your advancement, your fortune, and your 
 reputation in every thing, with zeal and earnestness; and some 
 times with an anxiety, which has made many of my hours miser- 
 able. Nobody could be more ready than I was to acknowledge 
 the obligations I had to you ; and if I thought, as in some in- 
 stances I did, and do still think, I had cause of dissatisfaction, I 
 never expressed it to others, or made yourself uneasy about them. I 
 acted in every respect, with a fidelity which, I trust, cannot be im- 
 peached. If there be any part of my conduct in life, upon which I 
 can look with entire satisfaction, it is my behaviour with regard to 
 you. 
 
 So far as to the past : with regard to the present, what is 
 that unkindness and misbehaviour of which you complain ? My 
 heart is full of friendship to you; and is there a single point 
 which the best and most intelligent men have fixed, as a proof of 
 friendship and gi-atitude, in which I have been deficient, or in 
 which I threaten a failure % What you blame is only this, that I 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 303 
 
 -will not consent to bind myself to you, for no less a term tlian my 
 whole life, in a sort of domestic situation, for a consideration to bo 
 taken out of your private fortune; that is, to circumscribe my 
 hopes, to give up even the possibility of liberty, and absolutely to 
 annihilate myself for ever. I beseech you, is the demand, or the 
 refusal, the act of unkindness % If ever such a test of friendship 
 was proposed, in any instance, to any man living, I admit that my 
 conduct has been unkind ; and, if you please, ungrateful. If I 
 had accepted your kind offers, and afterwards refused to abide by 
 the condition you annex to them, you then would have had a good 
 right to tax me with unkindness. But what have I done, at the 
 end of a very long, however I confess unprofitable, service, but to 
 prefer my own liberty to the offers of advantage you are pleased to 
 make me ; and, at the same time, to tender you the continuance 
 of those services (upon which, partiality alone induces you to set 
 any value) in the most disinterested manner, as far as I can do it, 
 consistent with that freedom to which, for a long time, I have 
 determined to sacrifice every consideration; and which I never 
 gave you the slightest assurance that I had any intention to sur- 
 render ; whatever my private resolves may have been in case an 
 event had happened, which (so far as concerns myself) I rejoice 
 never to have taken place ? You are kind enough to say, that you 
 looked upon my friendship as valuable ; but hint that it has not 
 been lasting. I really do not know when, and by what act, I 
 broke it off. I should be wicked and mad to do it, unless you call 
 that a lasting friendship, which all mankind would call a settled 
 servitude, and which no ingenuity can distinguish from it. Once 
 more put yourself in my situation, and judge for me. If I have 
 spoken too strongly, you will be so good to pardon a man on 
 his defence, in one of the nicest questions to a mind that has any 
 feeling. I meant to speak fully, not to offend. I am not used 
 to defend my conduct; nor do I intend, for the futuie, to fiUl into 
 so bad a habit. I have been warmed to it by the imputation you 
 threw on me ; as if I deserted you on account solely of your want 
 of success. On this, however, I shall say nothing, because perhaps 
 I should grow stiU warmer ; and I would not drop one loose word 
 which might mark the least disrespect, and hurt a friendship 
 which has been, and I flatter myself will be, a satisfaction and an 
 honour to me. I beseech you that you will judge of me with a 
 
304 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 little impartiality and temper. I hope I have said nothing in our 
 last interview which could urge you to the passion you speak of. 
 If anything fell which was strong in the expression, I believe it 
 was from you, and not from me, and it is right that I should hear 
 more than I then heard. I said nothing, but what I took the 
 liberty of mentioning to you a year ago, in Dubhn : I gave you no 
 reason to think I had made any change in my resolution. We, 
 notwithstanding, have ever since, until within these few days pro- 
 ceeded as usual. Permit me to do so again. No man living can 
 have a higher veneration than I have, for your abiUties ; or can 
 set a higher value on your friendship, as a great private satisfac- 
 tion, and a very honoiu'able distinction. I am much obhged to 
 you for the favour you intend me, in sending to me in three or 
 four days (if you do not send sooner) ; when you have had time to 
 consider this matter coolly. I will again call at your door, and 
 hope to be admitted ; I beg it, and entreat it. At the same time 
 do justice to the single motive which I have for desiring this 
 favour, and desiring it in this manner. I have not wrote all this 
 tiresome matter, in hopes of bringing on an altercation in writing, 
 which you are so good to me as to decUne personally ; and which, 
 in either way, I am most soHcitous to shun. What I say is, on 
 reviewing it, little more than I have laid before you in another 
 manner. It certainly requires no answer. I ask pardon for my 
 prolixity, which my anxiety to stand well in your opinion has 
 caused, 
 
 I am, with great truth. 
 Your most afiectionate and most obliged 
 humble servant 
 
 Edm. Burke. 
 
 OLXxxni. 
 
 The following very interesting correspondence, typical alike 
 of the manner of Sir PhiUp Francis and Edmund Burke, refers 
 to the intended publication of the ' Reflections on the French 
 Reyoluticn.' The year 1790 produced nothing more startling ; 
 no less than 30,000 copies of the volume were sold before the 
 first flash of public curiosity was satisfied. That the great 
 Whig statesman should have expressed more than ordinary 
 anxiety at so terrible a crisis as the French Revolution, and that 
 he should have been the first among the political chieftains of 
 his day to quail before its excesses is consistent -with his impres- 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 805 
 
 sionable and impetuous nature ; tut no one anticipated he would 
 have pushed his denunciation to so exaggerated a pitch as fairly 
 to ruin the Whig party by scaring the bulk of its members over 
 to William Pitt's side of the House of Commons. 
 
 Philip Francis to the Right Hon. Edmund JBurke. 
 
 February 19, 1790. 
 
 My dear Mr. Burke, — I am sorry you should have had the 
 trouble of sending for the printed paper you lent me yesterday, 
 though I own I cannot much regret even a fault of my own that 
 helps to delay the publication of that paper. I know with 
 certainty that I am the only friend, and many there are, who 
 ventures to contradict or oppose you face to face on subjects of this 
 nature. They either care too little for you, or too much for t/iem- 
 aelves, to run the risk of giving you immediate offence, for the 
 sake of any subsequent or remote advantage you might derive from 
 it. But what they withhold from you, they communicate very 
 libarally to me ; because they think, or pretend, that I have some 
 influence over you, which I have not, but, which on the present 
 occasion, 1 most devoutly wish I had. I am not afraid of exas- 
 perating you against me, at any given moment ; because I know 
 you will cool again, and place it all to the right account. 
 
 It is the proper province, and ought to be the privilege of an 
 inferior to criticise and advise. The best possible critic of the 
 Iliad would be, ipso facto, and by virtue of that very character, 
 incapable of being the author of it. Standing, as I do, in this 
 relation to you, you would renounce your superiority, if you refused 
 to be advised by me. 
 
 Waiving all discussion concerning the substance and general 
 tendency of this printed letter, I must declare my opinion 
 that what I have seen of it is very loosely put together. In point 
 of writing, at least, the manuscript you showed me first, was much 
 less exceptionable. Remember that this is one of the most singular, 
 tbat it may be the most distinguished, and ought to be one of the 
 most deliberate acts of your Ufe. Your writings have hitherto 
 been the delight and instruction of your own country. You now 
 undertake to correct and instruct another nation, and youi* appeal, 
 in effect, is to all Europe. Allowing you the liberty to do so in an 
 extreme case, you cannot deny that it ought to be done with special 
 deliberation in the choice of the topics, and with no less care and 
 
306 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 circumspection in the use you make of them. Have you thoroughly 
 considered whether it be worthy of Mr. Burke, — of a privy- 
 counsellor, — of a man so high and considerable in the House of 
 Commons as you are, — and holding the station you have obtained 
 in the opinion of the world, to enter into a war of pamphlets with 
 Dr. Price? If he answered you, as assuredly he will, (and so will 
 many others,) can you refuse to reply to a person whom, you have 
 attacked % If you do, you are defeated in a battle of youi* own 
 provoking, and driven to fly from ground of your own choosing. 
 If you do not, where is such a contest to lead you, but into a vile 
 and disgraceful, though it were ever so victorious, an altercation % 
 * JDii Tneliora* But if you will do it, away with all jest, and sneer, 
 and sarcasm ; let everything you say be grave, direct, and serious. 
 In a case so interesting as the errors of a great nation, and the 
 calamities of gi-eat individuals, and feeling them so deeply as you 
 profess to do, all manner of insinuation is improper, all gibe and 
 nick-name prohibited. In my opinion, all that you say of the 
 queen is pure foppery. If she be a perfect female character, you 
 ought to take your ground upon her virtues. If she be the 
 reverse, it is ridiculous in any but a lover, to place her personal 
 charms in opposition to her crimes. Either way, I know the 
 argument must proceed upon a supposition ; for neither have you 
 said anything to establish her moral merits, nor have her accusers 
 formally tried and convicted her of guilt. On this subject, how- 
 ever, you cannot but know that the opinion of the world is not 
 lately, but has been many years, decided. 
 
 But in effect, when you assert her claim to protection and 
 respect, on no other topics than those of gallantry, and beauty, 
 and pereonal accomplishments, you virtually abandon the proof 
 and assertion of her innocence, which you know is the point 
 substantially in question. Pray, sir, how long have you felt your- 
 self so desperately disposed to admire the ladies of Germany ? I 
 despise and abhor, as much as you can do, all personal insult and 
 outi^ge, even to giult itself, if I see it, where it ought to be, 
 dejected and helpless ; but it is in vain to expect that I, or any rea- 
 sonable man, shall regret the sufferings of a Messalina, as I should 
 those of a Mrs. Greive or a Mrs. Burke ; I mean all that is beautiful 
 or vii-tuous amongst women. Is it nothing but outside? Have 
 they no moral minds 1 Or are you such a determined champion of 
 
18001 ElVGLISH LETTERS. SOf 
 
 beauty as to draw yonr sword in defence of any jade npon earth, 
 provided she be handsome? Look back, I beseech you, and 
 deliberate a little, before you determine that this is an oflBce that 
 perfectly becomes you. If I stop here, it is not for want of a 
 multitude of objections. The mischief you are going to do your- 
 self, is to my apprehension, palpable. It is visible. It will be 
 audible. I snuff it in the wind. I taste it abeady. I feel it in 
 every sense; and so will you hereafter; when, I vow to God, (a 
 most elegant phrase,) it will be no sort of consolation for me to 
 reflect that I did every thing in my power to prevent it. I wish 
 you were at the devil for giving me all this trouble : and so fare- 
 well, 
 
 P. Francis. • 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 The Reply. 
 
 The Right Hon. Edmund Burke to Philip Francis. 
 
 Gerard Street: February 20, 1790. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I sat up rather late at Carlton House, and on 
 my i-eturn hither, I found your letter on my table. I have not slept 
 since. You will, therefore, excuse me if you find anything con- 
 fused, or otherwise expressed than I could wish, in speaking upon 
 a matter which interests you from your regard to me. There 
 are some things in your letter for which I must thank you ; there 
 are others which I must answer ; — some things bear the mark 
 of friendly admonition ; others bear some resemblance to the tone 
 of accusation. 
 
 You are the only friend I have who will dare to give me advice ; 
 I must, therefore, have something terrible in me, which intimidates 
 all others who know me from giving me the only unequivocal 
 mark of their regard. Whatever this rough and menaciug 
 manner may be, I must search myself upon it ; and when I 
 discover it, old as I am, I must endeavour to correct it. I 
 flattered myself, however, that you at least would not have thought 
 my other friends justified in withholding from me their services of 
 this kind. You certainly do not always convey to me your 
 opinions with the greatest tenderness and management ; and yet I 
 do not recollect, since I fii-st had the pleasure of your acquaintance, 
 
 X 2 
 
308 EXGLISB LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 that there has been a heat or a coolness of a single day's duration, 
 on my side, during that whole time. I believe your memory 
 cannot present to you an instance of it. I ill deserve friends, if I 
 throw them away on account of the candour and simplicity of 
 their good nature. In particular you know, that you have in 
 some instances, favoured me with your instructions relative to 
 things I was preparing for the public. If I did not in every 
 instance agree with you, I think you had, on the whole sufficient 
 proofs of my docility, to make you believe that I received your 
 corrections, not only without offence, but with no small degree of 
 gratitude. 
 
 Your remarks upon the first two sheets of my Paris letter, relate 
 to the composition and the matter. The composition, you say, is 
 loose, and I am quite sure of it : — I never intended it should be 
 otherwise. For, purporting to be, what iu truth it originally 
 was, — a letter to a friend, I had no idea of digesting it in a 
 systematic order. The style is open to correction, and wants it. 
 ]My natural style of writing is somewhat careless, and I should be 
 happy iQ receiving your advice towards making it as little vicious 
 as such a style is capable of being made. The general character 
 and colour of a style, which grows out of the writer's peculiar 
 turn of mind and habit of expressing his thoughts, must be 
 attended to in all corrections. It is not the insertion of a piece 
 of stuff, though of a bett^er kind, which is at all times an improve- 
 ment. 
 
 Your main objections are, however, of a much deeper nature, 
 and go to the political opinions and moral sentiments of the piece, 
 in which I find, though with no sort of surprise, having often 
 talked with you on the subject, — that we differ only in every thing. 
 You Bay, * the mischief you are going to do yourself, is to my 
 apprehension palpable; I snuff it in the wind, and my taste 
 sickens at it.' This anticipated stench, that turns your stomach at 
 such a distance, must be nauseous indeed. You seem to think I 
 shall incur great (and not wholly undeserved) infamy, by this 
 publication. This makes it a matter of some delicacy to me, to 
 suppress what I have written \ for I must admit in my own 
 feelings, and in that of those who have seen the piece, that my 
 sentiments and opinions deserve the infamy with which they are 
 threatened. If they do not, I know nothing moi^ than that I oppose 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 809 
 
 the prejudices and inclinations of many people. This, I was well 
 aware of from the beginning, and it was in order to oppose those in- 
 clinations and prejudices, that I proposed to publish my letter. I 
 really am perfectly astonished how you could dream, with my 
 paper in your hand, that I found no other cause than the beauty 
 of the queen of France (now, I suppose, pretty much faded) for 
 disapproving the conduct which has been held towards her, and 
 for expressing my own particular feelings. I am not to order the 
 natui-al sympathies of my own heart, and of every honest breast, to 
 wait until all the jokes and all the anecdotes of the coffee-houses of 
 Paris and of th« dissenting meeting-houses of London, are scoured 
 of all the slander of those who calumniate persons, that, afterwards, 
 they may murder them with impunity. I know nothing of your 
 story of Messalina. Am I obliged to prove juridically the virtues of 
 all those I shall see suffering every kind of wrong, and contumely, 
 and risk of life, before I endeavour to interest others in their suf- 
 ferings — and before I endeavour to excite horror against midnight 
 assassins at back-stairs, and their more wicked abettors in pul- 
 pits % What ! — Are not high rank, great splendour of descent, 
 great personal elegance and outward accomplishments, ingredients 
 of moment in forming the interest we take in the misfortunes of 
 men? The minds of those who do not feel thus, are not even 
 systematically right. * What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 that he should weep for her ? * — Why, — because she was Hecuba, 
 the queen of Troy — the wife of Priam, — and suffered, in the close 
 of life, a thousand calamities ! I felt too for Hecuba, when I 
 read the fine ti-agedy of Euripides upon her story ; and I never 
 inquired into the anecdotes of the court or city of Troy, before I 
 gave way to the sentiments which the author wished to inspire ; — 
 nor do I remember that he ever said one word of her virtue. 
 It is for those who applaud or palliate assassination, regicide, and 
 base insult to women of illustrious place, to prove the crimes (in 
 sufferings) which they allege, to justify their own. But if they 
 have proved fornication on any such woman, — taking the manners 
 of the world, and the manners of France, — I shall never put it in 
 a parallel with assassination ! — No ; I have no such inverted scale 
 of faults in my heart or my head. 
 
 You find it perfectly ridiculous, and unfit for me in particular, 
 to take these things as my ingredients of commiseration. Pray 
 
310 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 why is it absurd in me to think, that the chivalrous spirit which 
 dictated a veneration for women of condition and of beauty, with- 
 out any consideration whatever of enjoying them, was the great 
 source of those manners which have been the pride and ornament 
 of Europe for so many ages ] And am I not to lament that I have 
 lived to see those manners extinguished in so shocking a manner, 
 by means of speculations of finance, and the false science of a 
 soi^id and degenerate philosophy? I tell you again, — that the 
 recollection of the manner in which I saw the queen of France, in 
 the year 1774, and the contrast between that brilliancy, splendoui-, 
 and beauty, with the prostrate homage of a nation to her, — and 
 the abominable scene of 1789, which I was describing, — did draw 
 tears from me and wetted my paper. These tears came again into 
 my eyes, almost as often as I looked at the description ; — they 
 may again. You do not believe this fact, nor that these are my 
 real feelings ; but that the whole is affects, or, as you express it, 
 downright foppery. My friend, — I tell you it is truth ; and that it 
 is true, and will be truth, when you and I are no more ; and will 
 exist as long as men with their natural feelings shall exist. I shall 
 say no more on this foppery of mine. Oh ! by the way, jqvl ask 
 me how long I have been an admirer of German ladies? Always 
 the same. Present me the idea of such massacres about any 
 Grerman lady here, and such attempts to assassinate her, and such 
 a triumphant procession from Windsor to the Old Jewry, and I 
 assure you, I shall be quite as full of natural concern and just 
 indignation. 
 
 As to the other points, they deserve serious consideration, and 
 they shall have it. I certainly cannot profit quite so much by 
 your assistance, as if we agreed. In that case, every correction 
 would be forwarding the design. We should work with one 
 common view. 
 
 But it is impossible that any man can correct a work according 
 to its true spirit, who is opposed to its object, or can help the 
 expression of what he thinks should not be expressed at all. 
 
 I should agree with you about the vileness of the controversy 
 with such miscreants as the ' Revolution Society,* and the 
 * National Assembly ; * and I know very well that they, as well 
 as their allies, the Indian delinquents, will darken the air with 
 their arrows. But I do not yet think they have the advowson. of 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 311 
 
 reputation. I sball try that point. My dear Sir, you think of 
 nothing but controversies : ' I challenge into the field a battle, 
 and retire defeated, &c.' If their having the last word be a defeat, 
 they most assuredly will defeat me. But I intend no controversy 
 with Dr. Price, or Lord Shelburne, or any other of their set. I 
 mean to set in full view the danger from their wicked principles 
 and their black hearts. I intend to state the true principles of 
 our constitution in church and state, upon grounds opposite to 
 theirs. If any one be the better for the example made of them, 
 and for this exposition, well and good. I mean to do my best to 
 expose them to the hatred, ridicule, and contempt of the whole 
 world; as I always shall expose such calumniators, hypocrites, 
 sowers of sedition, and approvers of murder and all its triumj^hs. 
 When I have done that, they may have the field to themselves ; 
 and I care very little how they triumph over me, since I hope 
 they will not be able to draw me at their heels, and carry my 
 head in triumph on their poles. 
 
 I have been interrupted, and have said enough. Adieu ! 
 believe me always sensible of your friendship ; though it is im- 
 possible that a greater difference can exist on earth than, imfortu- 
 nately for me, there is on those subjects, betweeen your sentiments 
 and mine. Edm. Burke. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 Some remarks Junius had made in hisfirstletter reflecting on 
 the conduct of the Oommander-in-Ohief, Lord Granby, induced 
 Sir William Draper to come forward in his lordship's defence, 
 and a contest ensued. It soon degenerated into mere personali- 
 ties, Junius charging Draper with selling his commission as 
 Captain in the 16th Regiment for £200 a year, and with being 
 in receipt of a salary as Governor of Yarmouth, though bound 
 to take an oath as a half-pay officer that he was not holding any 
 place of profit under the (>own. The following is an answer to a 
 letter in which Draper denied the charge, angrily contending 
 that the most virtuous man in the kingdom could not always 
 answer to his cx>nscience on every point. 
 
 Junius to Sir WiUia7n Draper. 
 
 March 3, 17G0. 
 
 Sir, — An academical education has given you an unlimited 
 command over the most beautiful figures of speech. Masks, 
 
312 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 hatchets, racks, and vipers dance througli your letters in all the 
 mazes of metaphorical confusion. These are the gloomy com- 
 panions of a disturbed imagination ; the melancholy madness of 
 poetry, without the inspiration. I will not contend with you in 
 point of composition. You are a scholar, Sir William, and, if I 
 am truly informed, you write Latin with almost as much purity as 
 English. Suffer me then, for I am a plain unlettered man, to 
 continue that style of interrogation, which suits my capacity, and 
 t which, considering the readiness of your answers, you ought to 
 have no objection. Even Mr. Bingley promises to answer, if puf 
 to the torture. Do you then really think that, if I were to ask a 
 most virtuous man whether he ever committed theft, or murder, it 
 would disturb his peace of mind ? Such a question might perhaps 
 discompose the gravity of his muscles, but I believe it would little 
 affect the tranquilHty of his conscience. Examine your own 
 breast, Sir "William, and you will discover that reproaches and 
 inquiries have no power to afflict either the man of unblemished 
 integrity, or the abandoned profligate. It is the middle compound 
 character which alone is vulnerable : the man, who, without firm- 
 ness enough to avoid a dishonourable action, has feeling enough to 
 be ashamed of it. I thank you for your hint of the Decalogue, 
 and shall take an opportunity of applying it to some of your most 
 virtuous friends in both houses of Parliament. 
 
 You seem to have dropped the affair of your regiment ; so let 
 it rest. When you are appointed to another, I dare say you will 
 not sell it either for a gross simi, or for an annuity upon Hves. 
 
 I am truly glad (for really, Sir William, I am not your enemy, 
 nor did I begin this contest with you,) that you have been able to 
 clear yourself of a crime, though at the expense of the highest 
 indiscretion. You say that your half-pay was given you by way 
 of pension. I will not dwell upon the singularity of uniting in 
 your own person two sorts of provision, which in then* own 
 nature, and in all military and parliamentary views, are incom- 
 patible ; but I caU upon you to justify that declaration wherein 
 you charge your sovereign with having done an act in your favour, 
 notoriously against law. The half-pay, both in Ireland and Eng- 
 land, is appropriated by Parliament ; and if it be given to persons 
 who, like you, are legally incapable of holding it, it is a breach of 
 law. It would have been more decent in you to have called this 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 818 
 
 dishonourable transaction by its true name — a job to accommodate 
 two persons, by particular interest and management at the Castle. 
 What sense must Government have had of your services, when the 
 rewards they have given you are only a disgrace to you ! 
 
 And now. Sir William, I shall take my leave of you for ever. 
 Motives very different from any apprehension of your resentment, 
 make it impossible you should ever know me. In truth, you have 
 some reason to hold yourself indebted to me. From the lessons I 
 have given you, you may collect a profitable instruction for your 
 futiu-e life. They will either teach you so to regulate your conduct 
 as to be able to set the most malicious inquiries at defiance ; or, if 
 that be a lost hope, they will teach you prudence enough not to 
 attract the public attention to a character which will only pass 
 without censure when it passes without observation. 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 In reading this briUiant Philippic it should be borne in mind 
 that the Duke of Grafton was at this time the mere tool of 
 George III., and that the King was maddening the people by his 
 insane obstinacy with regard to America, and by his setting 
 up Luttrell in Wilkes' place as member for Middlesex. His 
 Grace is here made the scapegoat of his Royal master's folly, 
 and is contemplated as the worthy successor of the universally 
 detested Bute. The Duke's frailties in private Hfe are not for- 
 gotten, and the fact of his being Chancellor of the University of 
 Cambridge — the profligate Sandwich being High Steward — 
 furnishes Junius with the reflections which conclude the 
 letter. 
 
 Junius to the Duke of Grafton. 
 
 July 8, 1769. 
 
 My Lord, — If nature had given you an understanding qualified 
 to keep pace with the wishes and principles of your heart, she 
 would have made you, perhaps, the most formidable minister that 
 ever was employed under a limited monarch to accomplish the 
 ruin of a free people. 
 
 When neither the feelings of shame, the reproaches of con- 
 science, nor the dread of punishment, form any bar to the designs 
 of a minister, the people would have too much reason to lament 
 their condition, if they did not find some resource in the weakne«3 
 of his understanding. We owe it to the bounty of Providence, 
 
8U ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700^ 
 
 that the completest depravity of the heart is sometimes strangely 
 united with a confusion of the mind which counteracts the most 
 favouiite principles, and makes the same man treacherous without 
 ai-t, and a hypocrite without deceiving. The measures, for in- 
 stance, in which yoiu* Grace's activity has been chiefly exerted, as 
 they were adopted without skill, should have been conducted with 
 more than common dexterity. But truly, my Lord^ the execution 
 has been as gross as the design. By one decisive step you have 
 defeated all the arts of writing. You have fairly confounded the 
 intrigues of opposition, and silenced the clamours of faction. A 
 dark, ambiguous system might require and furnish the materials 
 of ingenious illustration ; and, ia doubtful measures, the virulent 
 exaggeration of party must be employed to rouse and engage the 
 j>assions of the people. You have now brought the merits of your 
 administration to an issue on which every Englishman of the 
 narrowest capacity may determine for himself. It is not an alarm 
 to the passions, but a calm appeal to the judgment of the people 
 upon their own most essential interests. A more experienced 
 minister would not have hazarded a direct invasion of the fii-st 
 principles of the constitution before he had made some progress in 
 subduing the spirit of the people. With such a cause as yours, my 
 Lord, it is not sufficient that you have the court at your devotion 
 unless you can And means to corrupt or intimidate the juiy. The 
 collective body of the people form that jury, and from theii* decision 
 there is but one ap}>eal. "VSHiether you have talents to support 
 you at a crisis of such difficulty and danger should long since have 
 been considered. Judging truly of your disposition, you have, 
 perhaps, mistaken the extent of your capacity. Good faith and 
 folly have so long been received for synonymous terms, that the 
 reverse of the proposition has grown into credit, and every villain 
 fancies himself a man of abilities. It is the apprehension of your 
 friends, my Lord, that you have drawn some hasty conclusion of 
 this soi-t, and that a partial reliance upon your moral character 
 has betrayed you beyond the depth of your understanding. You 
 have now carried things too far to retreat. You have plainly 
 declared to the people what they are to expect from the continuance 
 of your admioistration. It is time for your Grace to consider what 
 you also may expect in retui^n from their spirit and their resent- 
 ment. 
 
1800] EX6LISB LETTERS. 315 
 
 Since the accession of our most gracious sovereign to the throne 
 we have seen a system of government which may well be called a 
 reign of experiments. Parties of all denominations have been 
 employed and dismissed. The advice of the ablest men in this 
 country has been repeatedly called for and rejected ; and when the 
 royal displeasure has been signified to a minister, the marks of it 
 have usually been proportioned to his abilities and integrity. The 
 sj^irit of the Favourite had some apparent influence upon every 
 administration ; and every set of ministers preserved an appeai-ance 
 of duration, as long as they submitted to that influence. But there 
 were certain services to be performed for the favourite's security, 
 or to gratify his resentments, which your predecessors in office had 
 the wisdom or the virtue not to undertake. The moment this 
 refractory spirit was discovered their disgrace was determined. 
 Lord Chatham, Mr. Grenville, and Lord Rockingham have suc- 
 cessively had the honour to be dismissed for preferring their duty 
 as servants of the public to those compliances which were ex- 
 pected from their station. A submissive administration was at 
 last gradually collected from the deserters of all parties, interests, 
 and connections ; and nothing remained but to find a leader fcM* 
 these gallant well-disciplined troops. Stand forth, my Lord, for 
 thou art the man. Lord Bute foimd no resource of dependence of 
 security in the proud, imposing superiority of Lord Chatham's 
 abilities, the shrewd, inflexible judgment of Mr. Grenville, nor in 
 the mild but determined integrity of Lord Rockingham. His 
 views and situation required a creature void of all these properties ; 
 and he was forced to go through every division, resolution, com- 
 position, and refinement of political chemistry, before he happily 
 arrived at the caput mortuum of vitriol in your Grace. Flat and 
 insipid in your retired state, but, brought into action, you become 
 vitriol again. Such are the extremes of alternate indolence or 
 fury which have governed your whole administration. Your 
 circumstances with regard to the people soon becoming desperate, 
 like other honest servants you determined to involve the best of 
 masters in the same difficulties with yourself. We owe it to your 
 Grace's well-directed labours, that yom* sovereign has been per- 
 suaded to doubt of the afiections of his subjects, and the people to 
 suspect the virtues of their sovereign, at a time when both were 
 unquestionable. 
 
316 ENGLISR LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 t 
 
 You have degraded the royal dignity into a base, dishonourable 
 competition with Mr. Wilkes, nor had you abihties to carry even 
 this last contemptible triumph over a private man, without the 
 grossest violation of the fundamental laws of the constitution and 
 the rights of the people. But these are rights, my Lord, which 
 you can no more annihilate than you can the soil to which they 
 are annexed. The question no longer turns upon points of 
 national honour and security abroad, or on the degrees of expe- 
 dience and propriety of measures at home. It was not inconsistent 
 that you should abandon the cause of liberty in another country, 
 which you had persecuted in your own ; and in the common arts 
 of domestic corruption, we miss no part of Sir Robert Walpole's 
 system except his abilities. In this humble imitative line you 
 might long have proceeded, safe and contemptible. You might, 
 probably, never have risen to the dignity of being hated, and even 
 have been despised with moderation. But it seems you meant to 
 be distinguished, and, to a mind like yours, there was no other 
 road to fame but by the destruction of a noble fabric, which you 
 thought had been too long the admii-ation of mankind. The use 
 you have made of the military force introduced an alarming change 
 in the mode of executing the laws. The arbitrary appointment of 
 Mr. Luttrell invades the foundation of the laws themselves, as it 
 manifestly transfers the right of legislation from those whom the 
 people have chosen to those whom they have rejected. With a 
 succession of such appointments we may soon see a House of 
 Commons collected, in the choice of which the other towns and 
 counties of England will have as little share as the devoted county 
 of Middlesex. 
 
 Yet, I trust, your Grace will find that the people of this 
 country are neither to be intimidated by violent measures, nor 
 deceived by refinements. When they see Mr. LuttreU seated in 
 the House of Commons by mere dint of power, and in direct 
 opposition to the choice of a whole county, they will not listen to 
 those subtleties by which every arbitrary exertion of authority is 
 explained into the law and privilege of Parliament. It requires 
 no persuasion of argument, but simply the evidence of the senses, 
 to convince them that to transfer the right of election from the 
 collective to the representative body of the people contradicts all 
 those ideas of a House of Commons which they have received from 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. • 317 
 
 their forefathers, and which they have already, though vainly 
 perhaps, delivered to their children. The principles on which this 
 violent measure has been defended, have added scorn to injury, 
 and forced us to feel that we are not only oppressed but insulted. 
 
 "With what force, my Lord, with what protection, are you 
 prepared to meet the united detestation of the people of England ] 
 The city of London has given a generous example to the kingdom 
 in what manner a king of this country ought to be addressed ; and 
 I fancy, my Lord, it is not yet in your courage to stand between 
 your sovereign and the addresses of his subjects. The injuries 
 you have done this country are such as demand not only redress 
 but vengeance. In vain shall you look for protection to that 
 venal vote which you have already paid for — another must be 
 purchased ; and to save a minister, the House of Commons must 
 declare themselves not only independent of their constituents, but 
 the determined enemies of the constitution. Consider, my Lord, 
 whether this be an extremity to which their fears will permit 
 fchem to advance, or, if their protection should fail you, how far 
 70U are authorized to rely upon the sincerity of those smiles which 
 a pious court lavishes without reluctance upon a libertine by pro- 
 fession. It is not, indeed, the least of the thousand contradictions 
 which attend you, that a man, marked to the worid by the 
 grossest violation of all ceremony and decorum, should be the first 
 servant of a court in which prayers are morality and kneeling is 
 religion. Trust not too far to appearances by which your prede- 
 cessors have been deceived, though they have not been injured. 
 Even the best of princes may at last discover that this is a conten- 
 tion in which everything may be lost but nothing can be gained ; 
 and, as you became minister by accident, were adopted without 
 choice, trusted without confidence, and continued without favour, 
 be assured that, whenever an occasion presses, you will be dis- 
 carded without even the forms of regi*et. You will then have 
 reason to be thankful if you are permitted to retire to that seat of 
 learning which, in contemplation of the system of your life, the 
 comparative purity of your manners with those of their high 
 steward, and a thousand other recommending circumstances, has 
 chosen you to encourage the growing virtue of their youth, and to 
 preside over their education. Whenever the spirit of distributing 
 prebends and bishopricks shall have departed from you, you will 
 
318 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 find that learned seminary perfectly recovered from tlie delirium 
 of an installation, and, what in truth it ought to be, once more a 
 peaceful scene of slumber and thoughtless meditation. The vener- 
 able tutors of the university will no longer distress your modesty 
 by proposing you for a pattern to their pupils. The learned 
 dulness of declamation will be silent ; and even the venal muse, 
 though happiest in fiction, will forget your virtues. Yet, for the 
 benefit of the succeeding age, I could wish that your retreat might 
 be deferred until your morals shall happily be ripened to that 
 maturity of corruption at which the worst examples cease to be 
 contagious. 
 
 ^ Junius. 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Those to wbom the name of Oowper has hitherto only sug- 
 gested a sour and msane bigot, will be surprised to read those 
 whimsical and tenderly humorous letters in which he has en- 
 shrined the sweetness of his timid nature. 
 
 From his hermitage among the sedgy brooks of Olney he 
 long continued to remind his friends that the most retired and 
 melancholy of men was a scholar, a bright companion, and, para- 
 doxical as it may seem, on all points but one a very shrewd 
 man of the world. 
 
 William Cowper to Clotworthey Rowley. 
 
 September 2, 1762. 
 Dear Rowley, — ^Your letter has taken me just in the crisis ; to- 
 morrow I set off for Brightbelmston^ and there I stay till the 
 winter brings us all to town again. This world is a shabby fellow, 
 and uses us ill ; but a few years hence there will be no difierence 
 between us and our fathers of the tenth generation upwards. I 
 could be as splenetick as you, and with more reason, if I thought 
 proper to indulge that humour ; but my resolution is, (and I would 
 advise you to adopt it,) never to be melancholy while I have a 
 hundred pounds iu the world to keep up my spirits. God knows 
 how long that will be ; but in the mean time lo Triumphe ! If a 
 great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little 
 man that despises them is no contemptible one ; and this is all the 
 philosophy I have in the world at present. It savours pretty 
 much of the ancient stoic; but till the stoics became coxcombs, 
 they were, in my opinion, a very sensible sect. 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 819 
 
 If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to 
 despise the shame of being a little one, I should not despair of a 
 house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, with all its appurtenances ; for 
 there is nothing more certain, and I could prove it by a thousand 
 instances, than that every man may be rich if he will. What is 
 the industry of half the industrious men in the world but avarice, 
 and call it by which name you will, it almost always succeeds. 
 But this provokes me, that a covetous dog who will work by 
 candlelight in a morning, to get what he does not want, shall be 
 prnised for his thriftiness, while a gentleman shall be abused for 
 submitting to his wants, rather than work like an ass to relieve 
 them. Did you ever in your life know a man who was guided in 
 the general course of his actions by any thing but his natural temper? 
 And yet we blame each other's conduct as freely as if that temper 
 was the most tractable beast in the world, and we had nothing to 
 do but to twitch the rein to the right or the left, and go just as 
 we are directed by others ! All this is nonsense, and nothing better. 
 There are some sensible folks, who having great estates have wisdom 
 enough too to spend them properly ; there are others who are not 
 less wise, perhaps, as knowing how to shift without 'em. Between 
 these two degrees are they who spend their money dirtily, or get 
 it so. If you ask me where they are to be placed who amass much 
 wealth in an honest way, you must be so good as to find them 
 first, and then I'll answer the question. Upon the whole, my dear 
 Rowley, there is a degi-ee of poverty that has no disgrace belonging 
 to it ; that degree of it, I mean, in which a man enjoys clean linen 
 and good company ; and if I never sink below this degree of it, I 
 care not if I never rise above it. This is a strange epistle, nor can 
 I imagine how the devil I came to write it : but here it is, such as 
 it is, and much good may it do you with it. 
 
 I have no estate, as it happens, so if it should fall into bad 
 hands, I shall be in no danger of a commission of lunacy. Adieu I 
 Carr is well, and gives his love to you. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 Wm. Cowpkb, 
 
820 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CLXXXVm. 
 
 The following letter was written in the happy period that 
 succeeded the first serious attack of insanity at Olney. 
 
 William Cowper to Joseph HiU. 
 
 July 8, 1780. 
 Mon Ami, — If you ever take the tip of the Chancellor's ear 
 between your finger and thumb, you can hardly improve the 
 opportunity to better purpose, than if you should whisper into it 
 the voice of compassion and lenity to the lace-makers. I am an 
 eye-witness of their poverty, and do know that hundreds in this 
 little town are upon the point of starving, and that the most unre- 
 mitting industry is but barely sufficient to keep them from it. I 
 know that the Bill by which they would have been so fatally 
 affected is thrown out : but Lord Stormont threatens them with 
 another ; and if another like it should pass, they are undone. "We 
 lately sent a petition from hence to Lord Dartmouth ; I signed it, 
 and am sure the contents are true. The purport of it was to 
 inform him that there are very near one thousand two hundi-ed 
 lace-makers in this beggarly town, the most of whom had reason 
 enough while the Bill was in agitation, to look upon every loaf 
 they bought as the last they should ever be able to earn. I can 
 never think it good policy to incur the certain inconvenience of 
 ruining thirty thousand, in order to prevent a remote and possible 
 damage though to a much greater number. The measure is like a 
 scythe, and the poor lace-makers are the sickly crop that trembles 
 before the edge of it. The prospect of peace with America is like 
 the streak of dawn in their horizon ; but this Bill is like a black 
 cloud behind it, that thi-eatens their hope of a comfortable day with 
 utter extinction. I did not perceive till this moment, that I had 
 tacked two similes together ; a practice which, waiTanted by the 
 example of Homer, and allowable in an epic poem, is rather luxu- 
 riant and licentious in a letter : lest I should add another, I 
 conclude. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 821 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 In the elegant fluency of his humorous verse Cowper ap- 
 proaches the golden style of Goldsmith. The eighteenth cen- 
 tury, however, had taken out a patent for occasional poetry, 
 and even third-rate bards like Lloyd and Anstey gave their 
 social numbers a grace that we must be content to envy. 
 
 William Cowper to Mrs. Newton. 
 
 September 16,1781. 
 A Noble theme demands a noble verse, 
 In such I thank you for your fine oysters, 
 The barrel was magnificently large. 
 But being sent to Olney at free charge, 
 Was not inserted in the driver's list. 
 And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd ; 
 For when the messenger whom we dispatch'd 
 Enquired for oysters. Hob his noddle scratch'd, 
 Denying that his waggon or his wain 
 Did any such commodity contain. 
 In consequence of which, your welcome boon 
 Did not arrive till yesterday at noon ; 
 In consequence of which some chanced to die, 
 And some, though very sweet, were very dry. 
 Now Madam says (and what she says must still 
 Deserve attention, say she what she will,) 
 That what we call the Diligence, be-case 
 It goes to London with a swifter pace. 
 Would better suit the carriage of your gift. 
 Returning downward with a pace as swift ; 
 And therefore recommends it with this aim — 
 To save at least three days, — the price the same ; 
 For though it will not carry or convey 
 For less than twelve pence, send whate'er you may, 
 For oysters bred upon the salt sea shore, 
 Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more. 
 News have I none that I can deign to wi'ite, 
 Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night ; 
 And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, 
 
 Y 
 
322 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 
 
 Canglit in the fii'st beginning of the shower ; 
 But walking, running, and with much ado, 
 Got home — just time enough to be wet through. 
 Yet both are well, and wond'rous to be told, 
 Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold ; 
 And wishing just the same good hap to you, 
 We say, good Madam, and good Sir, Adieu 1 
 
 cxc. 
 
 The iron will of the Rev. John Newton acted in two direc- 
 tions upon the sensitiye character of Oowper ; at one moment 
 it paralysed, and at another exhilarated him. There can be 
 little doubt, however, that at length the tonic became excessive, 
 and the irritant too powerful for so frail and sensitive a brain. 
 
 William Cowper to the Rev. John Newton. 
 
 March 29, 1784. 
 
 My dear Friend, — It being his majesty's pleasure that I should 
 yet have another opportunity to write before he dissolves the par- 
 liament, I avaO myself of it with all possible alacrity. I thank 
 you for your last, which was not the less welcome for coming, like 
 an extraordinary gazette, at a time when it was not expected. As 
 when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water finds its way into 
 creeks and holes of rocks, which in its calmer state it never 
 reaches, in like manner the efiect of these turbulent times is felt 
 even at Orchard side, where in general we live as undisturbed by 
 the political element, as shrimps or cockles that have been acci- 
 dentally deposited in some hollow beyond the water mark, by the 
 usual dashing of the waves. We were sitting yesterday after 
 dinner, the two ladies and myself, very composedly, and without 
 the least apprehension of any such intrusion in our snug parlour, 
 one lady knitting, the other netting, and the gentleman winding 
 Avoi-sted, when to our unspeakable surprise a mob appeared before 
 the window ; a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys halloo'd, 
 and the maid announced ]VIr. Grenville. Puss was unfortunately 
 let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his good friends at 
 his heels, was refused admittance at the gi-and entry, and referred 
 to the back door, as the only possible way of approach. 
 
 Candidates are creatures not very susceptible of afii'onts, and 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 323 
 
 would rather, I suppose, climb in at a window, than be absolutely 
 excluded. In a minute, the yard, the kitchen, and the parlour, 
 were filled. Mr. Grenville advancing toward me shook me by the 
 hand with a degree of cordiality that was extremely seducing. As 
 soon as he and as many more as could find chairs were seated, he 
 began to open the intent of his visit. I told him I had no vote, 
 for which he readily gave me credit. I assured him I had no 
 influence, which he was not equally inclined to believe, and the 
 less, no doubt, because Mr. Ashburner, the draper, addressing 
 himself to me at this moment, informed me that I had a great 
 deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure 
 without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assertion, by 
 saying, that if I had any I was utterly at a loss to imagine where 
 it could be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. 
 Mr. Grenville squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, 
 and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and 
 seemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kindhearted gentle- 
 man. He is very young, genteel, and handsome. He has a pair 
 of very good eyes in his head, which not being suflacient as it 
 should seem for the many nice and difficult purposes of a senator, 
 he has a third also, which he wore suspended by a ribband from 
 his buttonhole. The boys halloo'd, the dogs barked. Puss scam- 
 pered; the hero, with his long train of obsequious followei-s, with- 
 drew. We made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and in 
 a short time settled into our former tranquillity, never probably to 
 be thus interrupted more. I thought myself, however, happy in 
 being able to affirm truly that I had not that influence for which 
 he sued ; and which, had I been possessed of it, with my present 
 views of the dispute between the Crown and the Commons, I must 
 have refused him, for he is on the side of the former. It is codi- 
 fortable to be of no consequence in a world where one cannot exer- 
 cise any without disobliging somebody. The town however seems 
 to be much at his service, and if he be equally successful thiHDughout 
 the country, he will undoubtedly gain his election. Mr. Ashburner 
 perhaps was a little mortified because it was evident that I owed 
 the honour of this visit to his misrepresentation of my impoi-tance. 
 But had he thought proper to assure Mr.. Grenville that I had three 
 heads, I should not I suppose have been bound to produce them. 
 Many thanks for the worsted, which is exceUeut^ 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 We are as well as a spring hardly less severe than the severest 
 winter will give us leave to be. With our united love, we con- 
 clude ourselves yours and ]\Irs. Newton's affectionate and faithful, 
 
 &c. 
 
 CXCI. 
 
 The new Yolume here spoken of was the celehrated poem 
 of 'The Task,' the result of the beneficent companionship of 
 Lady Austen. By its publication in 1785, Cowper, who had 
 reeached his fifty-fourth year in comparative obscurity, suddenly 
 found himself famous. The public was delighted to be led once 
 more into the woods and fields by a poet of such pure and 
 simple diction. 
 
 WiUiam Cowper to the Rev. John Newton. 
 
 December 10, 1785. 
 My Dear Friend, — ^Wbat you say of my last volume gives me 
 the sincerest pleasure. I have heard a Kke favourable report of it 
 from several different quarters, but never any (for obvious reasons) 
 that has gratified me more than yours. I have a relish for mode- 
 rate praise, because it bids fair to be judicious ; but praise excessive, 
 such as our poor friend 's, (I have an uncle also who cele- 
 brates me exactly in the same language ;) — such praise is rather too 
 big for an ordinary swallow. I set down nine-tenths of it to the 
 account of family partiality. I know no more than you what kind 
 of a market my book has found ; but this I believe, that had not 
 Henderson died, and had it been worth my while to have given 
 him a hundred pounds to have read it in public, it would have 
 been more popular than it is. I am at least very unwilling to 
 esteem John Gilpin as better worth than all the rest that I have 
 written, and he has been popular enough. Your sentiments of 
 Pope's Homer agree perfectly with those of every competent judge 
 with whom I have at any time conversed about it. I never saw 
 a copy so unlike the original. There is not, I believe, in all the 
 world to be found an uninspired poem so simple as those of Homer ; 
 nor in all the world a poem more bedizened with ornaments than 
 Pope's translation of them. Accordingly, the sublime of Homer 
 in the hands of Pope becomes bloated and tumid, and his descrip- 
 tion tawdry. Neither had Pope the faintest conception of those 
 exquisite discriminations of character for which Homer is so 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 328 
 
 remarkable. All his persons, and equally upon all occasions, 
 speak in • an inflated and strutting phraseology, as Pope has 
 managed them; although in the original, the dignity of their 
 utterance, even when they are most majestic, consists principally 
 in the simplicity of their sentiments and of their language. 
 Another censure I must needs pass upon our Anglo-Grecian, out 
 of many that obtrude themselves upon me, but for which I have 
 neither time to spare, nor room ; which is, that with all his great 
 abilities he was defective in his feelings to a degree that some 
 passages in his own poems make it difficult to account for. No 
 writer more pathetic than Homer, because none more natural ; and 
 because none less natural than Pope in his version of Homer, 
 therefore than he none less pathetic. But I shall tire you with a 
 theme with which I would not wish to cloy you beforehand. 
 
 If the great change in my experience, of which you express so 
 lively an expectation, should take place, and whenever it shall take 
 place, you may securely depend upon receiving the first notice of 
 it. But whether you come with congratulations, or whether 
 without them, I need not say that you and yours will always be 
 most welcome here. Mrs. XJnwin's love both to yourself and to 
 Mrs. Newton joins itself as usual, and as warmly as usual, to 
 that of Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 affectionately and faithfully, 
 
 Wm. Cowpeb. 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 Cowper's letters are habitually charming, but the most deli- 
 cate and characteristic of all are those written to his cousin, 
 that bright and loveable woman whose sympathy became neces- 
 sary to his peace of mind, and who, having discovered that fact, 
 for the future never withheld it. 
 
 William Cowper to Lady Hesketh. 
 
 May 29, 1780. 
 Thou dear, comfortable cousin, whose letters, among all that I 
 receive, have this property peculiarly their own, that I expect 
 them without trembling, and never find any thing in them that 
 does not give me pleasure; for which thei-efore I would take 
 nothing in exchange that the world could give me, save and except 
 that for which I must exchange them soon, (and happy shall I be 
 
325 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 to do so,) your own company. That, indeed, is delayed a little too 
 long ; to my impatience at least it seems so, who find the spring, 
 backward as it is, too forward, because many of its beauties will 
 have faded before you will have an opportunity to see them. "VVe 
 took our customary walk yesterday in the wilderness at Weston, 
 and saw, with regret, the laburnums, syringas, and guelder-roses, 
 some of them blown, and others just upon the point of blowing, 
 and could not help obserring — all these will be gone before Lady 
 liesketh comes ! Still however there will be i*oses, and jasmine, 
 and honey-suckle, and shady walks, and cool alcoves, and you will 
 pai'take them with us. But I want you to have a share of every 
 thing that is delightful here, and cannot bear that the advance of 
 the season should steal away a single pleasure before you can come 
 to enjoy it. 
 
 Every day I think of you, almost all the day long ; I will ven- 
 ture to say, that even you were never so expected in your life. I 
 called last week at the Quaker's to see the furniture of your bed, 
 the fame of which had reached me. It is, I assure you, superb, of 
 printed cotton, and the subject classical. Every morning you will 
 open your eyes on Phaeton kneeling to Apollo, and imploring his 
 father to grant him the conduct of his chariot for a day. May 
 your sleep be as sound as your bed will be sumptuous, and your 
 nights at least will be well provided for. 
 
 I shall send up the sixth and seventh books of the Iliad shortly, 
 and shall address them to you. You will forward them to the 
 General. I long to show you my workshop, and to see you 
 sitting on the opposite side of the table. We shall be as close 
 packed as two wax figures in an old fashioned picture frame. I 
 am writing in it now. It is the place in which I fabricate all my 
 verse in summer time. I rose an hour sooner than usual this 
 morning, that I might finish my sheet before breakfast, for I must 
 write this day to the General. 
 
 The grass under my windows is all bespangled with dewdrops, 
 and the birds are singing in the apple trees, among the blossoms. 
 Kever poet had a more commodious oratory in which to invoke 
 his Muse. 
 
 I have made your heart ache too often, my poor dear cousin, 
 with talking about my fits of dejection. Something has happened 
 that has led me to the subject, or I would have mentioned them 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 327 
 
 more sparingly. Do not suppose, or suspect that I treat you with 
 reserve ; there is nothing in which I am concerned that you shall 
 not be made acquainted with. But the tale is too long for a letter. 
 I will only add, for your present satisfaction, that the cause is not 
 exterior, that it is not within the reach of human aid, and that yet 
 I have a hope myself, and Mrs. Unwin a strong persuasion of its 
 removal. I am indeed even now, and have been for a consider- 
 able time, sensible of a change for the better, and expect, with 
 good reason, a comfortable lift from you. Guess, then, my beloved 
 cousin, with what wishes I look forward to the time of your 
 arrival, from whose coming I promise myself not only pleasure, but 
 peace of mind, — ^at least an additional share of it. At present it 
 is an uncertain and transient guest with me ; but the joy with 
 which I shall see and converse with you at Olney, may perhaps 
 make it an abiding one. W, C. 
 
 CXCIII, 
 
 After the publication of his Homer in 1791, the health 
 and spirits of Cowper succurabed to an irremediable decay. 
 For a whUe the necessity of attending to Mrs. Unwin, who 
 was become a helpless invaUd, excited and seemed to sustain 
 him, but in reality it destroyed him. We get a vivid picture of 
 his strange timidity in this account of his visit to Lady Bagot. 
 
 WiUiam Cowper to the Rev, Walter Bagot. 
 
 August 2, 1701. 
 My Dear Friend, — I was much obliged, and still feel myself 
 much obliged to Lady Bagot, for the visit with which she favoui*ed 
 me. Had it been possible that I could have seen Lord Bagot too, 
 I should have been completely happy. For, as it happened, I was 
 that morning in better spirits than usual ; and though I arrived 
 late, and after a long walk, and extremely hot, which is a circum- 
 stance very apt to disconcert me, yet I was not disconcerted half 
 so much as I generally am at the sight of a stranger, especially of 
 a stranger lady, and more especially at the sight of a stranger lady 
 of quality.* When the servant told me that Lady Bixgot was in 
 the parlour, I felt my spirits sink ten degrees ; but the moment I 
 saw her, at least when I had been a minute in her company, I felt 
 them rise again, and they soon rose even above their former pitch. 
 
328 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 I know two ladies of fashion now, whose manners have this effect 
 npon me. The Lady in question, and the Lady Spencer. I am a 
 shy animal, and want much kindness to make me easy. Such I 
 shall be to my dying day. Here sit I, calling myself shy, yet have 
 just published by the by, two great volumes of poetry. 
 
 This reminds me of Ranger's observation in the * Suspicious 
 Husband,' who says to somebody, I forget whom — ' There Ls a 
 degree of assurance in you modest men, that the impudent fellows 
 can never arrive at ! ' Assurance indeed ! Have you seen 'em ? 
 What do you think they are % Nothing less I can tell you than a 
 translation of Homer. Of the sublimest poet in the world. 
 
 That's all. Can I ever have the impudence to call myself shy 
 again? 
 
 You live, I think, in the neighbourhood of Birmingham? 
 What must you not have felt on the late alarming occasion ! 
 
 You I suppose could see the fires from your windows. We, 
 who only heard the news of them, have trembled. Never sure 
 was religious zeal more terribly manifested, or more to the preju- 
 dice of its own cause. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend. I am, with Mrs. Unwin's best com- 
 pliments, Ever yours. 
 
 cxcrv. 
 
 The beauty, the misfortunes, and the talent of Charlotte 
 Smith combined to make her figure imiversally fascinating to 
 her contemporaiies. At the time this letter was wiitten, how- 
 ever, she had just thrown in her lot, with her customary ardour, 
 with the French Revolution, and had thereby estranged many 
 of her friends. But Ilayley, through whom she became acquainted 
 with Cowper, remained staunch to her. 
 
 William Cowper to Mrs. Charlotte Smith. 
 
 October 26, 1793. 
 Dear Madam, — Your two counsellor are of one mind. We 
 both are of opinion that you will do well to make your second 
 volume a suitable companion to the first, by embellishing it in the 
 same manner ; and have no doubt, considering the well-deserved 
 popularity of your verse that the expense will be amply i^funded 
 hj the public. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 829 
 
 I would give you, Madam, not my counsel only, but consolation 
 also, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by a great 
 dearth of it in my own experience. I, too, often seek but cannot 
 find it. Of this however I can assure you, if that may at all com- 
 fort you, that both my friend Hayley and myself most truly sym- 
 pathize with you under all your sufierings ; neither have you, I am 
 persuaded, in any degree lost the interest you always had in him, 
 or your claim to any service of whatever kind that it may be in 
 his power to render you. Had you no other title to his esteem, 
 his respect for your talents and his feelings for your misfortunes 
 must insure to you the friendship of such a man for ever. I know, 
 however, that there are seasons when, look which way we will, we 
 see the same dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This is itself an 
 afiliction, and the worse because it makes us think ourselves more 
 unhappy than we are ; and at such a season it is, I doubt not, that 
 you suspect a diminution of our fiiend's zeal to serve you. 
 
 I was much struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley 
 where you say that *you will endeavour to take an interest in 
 green leaves again.* This seems the sound of my own voice 
 reflected to me from a distance ; I have so often had the same 
 thought and desire. 
 
 A day scarcely passes at this season of the year when I do not 
 contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, and, say, perhaps I shall 
 never see you clothed again ; every year as it passes makes this 
 expectation more reasonable, and the yeai*, with me, cannot bo 
 very distant when the event will verify it. Well — may God grant 
 us a good hope of arriving in due time where the leaves never fall, 
 and all will be right. 
 
 Mrs. TJnwiu I think is a little better than when you saw her, 
 but still feeble ; so feeble as to keep me in a state of continual 
 apprehension. I live under the point of a sword suspended by a 
 hair. She begs you to accept her compliments. 
 
 Adieu, my dear madam, believe me 
 
 Youi- sincere and affectionate humble servant, 
 
 Wm. Cowper 
 
ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 CXCV. 
 
 The most appropriate introduction to this letter will be 
 from Gibbon's ' Memoirs of my Life and Writings.' Referring 
 to the opponents who had been proY(tked by his memorable 
 attack on Christianity in the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of 
 his History, he says: — 'In his " History of the Corruptions of 
 Christianity," Dr. Priestley threw down his two gauntlets to 
 Bishop Hurd and Mr. Gibbon. I declined the challenge in a 
 letter exhorting my opponent to enlighten the world by his 
 philosophical discoveries,' &c. Priestley's object evidently was 
 to induce Gibbon to avow plainly his opposition to Christianity. 
 
 Edward Gibbon to Dr. Priestley. 
 
 January 23, 1783. 
 
 Sir, — As a mark of your esteem, I should have accepted with 
 pleasure your ' History of the Corruptions of Christianity.' You 
 have been careful to inform me, that it is intended, not as a gift, 
 but as a challenge, and such a challenge you must permit me to 
 decKne. At the same time you glory in outstripping the zeal of 
 the Mufti and the Lama, it may be proper to declare, that I should 
 equally refuse the defiance of those venerable divines. Once, and 
 once only, the just defence of my own veracity provoked me to 
 descend into the amphitheatre ; but as long as you attack opinions 
 which I have never maintained, or maintain principles which I 
 have never denied, you may safely exult in my silence and your 
 own victory. The difference between us, (on the credibility of 
 miracles,) which you choose to suppose, and wish to argue, is a 
 trite and antient topic of controversy, and, from the opinion which 
 you entertain of yourself and of me, it does not appear probable 
 that our dispute would either edify or enlighten the Public. 
 
 That Public will decide to whom the invidious name of unbe- 
 liever more justly belongs ; to the Historian, who, without inter- 
 posing his own sentiments, has dehvered a simple narrative of 
 authentic facts, or to the disputant who proudly rejects all 
 natural proofs of the immortality of the soul, overthrows (by cir- 
 cumscribing) the inspiration of the evangelists and apostles, and 
 condemns the religion of every Christian nation, as a fable less 
 innocent, but not less absurd, than Mahomet's journey to the thii'd 
 Heaven. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 331 
 
 And now, Sir, since you assume a right to determine the objects 
 of my past and future studies, give me leave to convey to yom* ear 
 the almost unanimous, and not offensive wish, of the philosophic 
 world : — that you would confine your talents and industry to those 
 sciences in which real and useful improvements can be made. 
 Remember the end of your predecessor Servetus, not of his life, 
 (the Calvins of our days are restrained from the use of the same 
 fiery ai-guments,) but, I mean, the end of his reputation. His 
 theological writings are lost in oblivion ; and if his book on the 
 Trinity be still preserved, it is only because it contains the first 
 rudiments of the discovery of the circulation of the blood. 
 
 I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant. 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 In the letter to which the following is the reply, Dr Priest- 
 ley, after some sneering remarks touching Gibbon's covert and 
 insidious method of attacking Christianity, had observed that 
 he admired Servetus more for his courage as a martyr than for 
 his services as a scientilic discoverer. 
 
 Edward Gibbon to Dr. Priestley. 
 
 February 6, 178a 
 Sir, — As I do not pretend to judge of the sentiments or inten- 
 tions of another, I shall not enquii*e how far you are inclined to 
 suffer, or inflict, martyrdom. It only becomes me to say, that the 
 style and temper of your last letter have satisfied me of the pro- 
 priety of declining all farther correspondence, whether public or 
 private, with such an adversary. 
 
 I am. Sir, your humble servant 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 It is difficult to associate with the cold and cynical historian 
 of the Roman Empire so much tenderness and genuine depth of 
 feeling as this letter displays. But Gibbon's attachment to Lord 
 Sheffield and Mr. Deyverdun was singularly unselfish, almost 
 romantic. It should bo remembered that at the time he 
 undertook this visit to England he was suflerinp from a dreadful 
 disease which must have made travelling Lot only iuconveuient 
 but painful. 
 
332 ENGLISH LETTERS [1700- 
 
 Edward Gibbon to Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne : April 27, 1793. 
 
 My dearest Friend, — for such you most truly are, nor does there 
 exist a person who obtains, or shall ever obtain, a superior place in 
 my esteem and affection. After too long a silence I was sitting 
 down to write, when, only yesterday morning (such is now the 
 irregular slowness of the English post), I was suddenly struck, in- 
 deed struck to the heart, by the fatal intelligence from Sir Henry 
 Clinton and M. de Lally. Alas ! what is life, and what are our 
 hopes and projects ! When I embraced her at your departure 
 from Lausanne, could I imagine that it was for the last time? 
 When I postponed to another summer my journey to England, 
 could I apprehend that I never, never should see her again ? I 
 always hoped that she would spin her feeble thread to a long 
 duration, and that her delicate frame would survive (as is often 
 the case) many constitutions of a stouter appearance. In four 
 days ! in your absence, in that of her children ! But she is now at 
 rest ; and if there be a future life, her mild virtues have surely 
 entitled her to the reward of pure and perfect felicity. It is for 
 you that I feel, and I can judge of your sentiments by comparing 
 them with my own. I have lost, it is true, an amiable and affec- 
 tionate friend, whom I had known and loved above thi'ee-and- 
 twenty years, and whom I often styled by the endearing name of 
 sister. But you are deprived of the companion of your life, the 
 wife of your choice, and the mother of your children ; poor chil- 
 di^en ! the liveliness of ]\Iaria, and the softness of Louisa, render 
 them almost equally the objects of my tenderest compassion. I do 
 not wish to aggravate your grief; but, in the sincerity of friend- 
 ship, I cannot hold a different language. I know the impotence of 
 reason, and I much fear that the strength of your character will 
 serve to make a sharper and more lasting impression. 
 
 The only consolation in these melancholy trials to which" 
 human life is exposed, the only one at least in which I have any 
 confidence, is the presence of a real friend ; and of that, as far as it 
 depends on myself, you shall not be destitute. I regret the few 
 days that must be lost in some necessary preparations.; but I 
 trust that to-morrow sennight (May the fifth) I shall be able to 
 set forwards on my journey to England ; and when this letter 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 333 
 
 reaches you, I shall be considerably advanced on my way. As it 
 is yet prudent to keep at a respectful distance from the banks of 
 the French Rhine, I shall incline a little to the right, and proceed by 
 Schaffousen and Stutgard to Frankfort and Cologne : the Austrian 
 Netherlands are now open and safe, and I am sure of being able at 
 least to pass from Ostend to Dover; whence, without passing 
 through London, I shall pursue the direct road to Sheffield Place. 
 
 Unless I should meet with some unforeseen accidents and 
 delays, I hope, before the end of the month to share your solitude, 
 and sympathize with your grief. All the difficulties of the journey, 
 which my indolence had probably magnified, have now disappeared 
 before a stronger passion ; and you will not be sorry to hear, that, 
 as far as Frankfort to Cologne, I shall enjoy the advantage of the 
 society, the conversation, the German language, and the active 
 assistance of Severy. His attachment to me is the sole motive 
 which prompts him to undertake this troublesome journey ; and as 
 soon as he has seen me over the roughest ground he will immedi- 
 ately return to Lausanne. The poor young man loved Lady S. as 
 a mother, and the whole family is deeply affected by an event 
 which reminds them too painfully of their own misfortune. Adieu. 
 I could write volumes, and shall therefore break off abniptly. I 
 shall write on the road, and hope to find a few lines d. pcste 
 restante at Frankfort and Brussels. Adieu ; ever yours. 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 During the tour to the Hebrides with Dr. Johnson, Boswell 
 wrote the following interesting letter to David Garrick, which, 
 to use the great actor's own words, ' made me half mad.' 
 
 James Boswell to David Garrick. 
 
 Inverness: August 29, 1773. 
 My dear Sir, — Here I am, and Mr. Samuel Johnson actually 
 with me. We were a night at Fores, in coming to which, in the 
 dusk of the evening, we passed over the bleak and blasted heath 
 where Macbeth met the witches. Your old preceptor repeated, 
 with much solemnity, the speech, ' How fai* is't called to Fores I 
 What are these, so withered and so wild in their attire.* 
 
 This day we visited the ruins of Macbeth's castle at Inverness. 
 
334 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 I have had great romantic satisfaction in seeing Johnson upon the 
 classical scenes of Shakspeare in Scotland ; which I really looked 
 upon as almost as improbable as that ' Birnam Wood should come to 
 Dunsinane.' Indeed, as I have alwa3''s been accustomed to view 
 him as a permanent London object, it would not be much more 
 wonderful to me to see St. Paul's church moving along where we 
 now are. As yet we have travelled in post-chaises ; but to-morrow 
 we are to mount on horseback, and ascend into the mountains by 
 Fort Augustus, and so on to the feiTy, where we are to cross to 
 Skye. We shall see that island fully, and then visit some more of 
 the Hebrides ; after which we are to land in Argyleshire, proceed 
 by Glasgow to Auchinleck, repose there a competent time, and 
 then return to Edinburgh, from whence the Kambler will depart 
 for old England again, as soon as he finds it convenient. Hitherto 
 we have had a very prosperous expedition. I flatter myself, 
 servetur ad imum, qualis ah incepto processerit. He is in excel- 
 lent spirits, and I have a rich journal of his conversation. Look 
 back, Davy J to Lichfield ; run up through the time that has 
 elapsed since you fii-st knew Mr. Johnson, and enjoy with me his 
 present extraordinary tour. I could not resist the impulse of 
 writing to you from this place. The situation of the old castle 
 corresponds exactly to Shakspeare's description. While we were 
 there to-day, it happened oddly that a raven perched upon one of 
 the chimney-tops, and croaked. Then I in my turn repeated — 
 
 The raven himself is hoarse, 
 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 
 Under my battlements ! 
 
 I wish you had been with us. Think what an enthusiastic happi- 
 ness I shall have to see Mr. Samuel Johnson walking among the 
 romantic rocks and woods of my ancestors at Auchinleck. Write 
 to me at Edinburgh. You owe me his verses on great George and 
 tuneful Gibber, and the bad verses which led him to make his fine 
 ones on Philips the musician. Keep your promise, and let me 
 have them. I ofier my very best compliments to JSIrs. Garrick> 
 and ever am your warm admirer and friend. 
 
 James Boswell. 
 
1800] EyQLISH LETTERS, 
 
 CXOIX. 
 
 BoswelVa passion for notoriety, even at the expense of pub- 
 lishing ridicule of himself, pursued him from youth to (jld age. 
 This is a specimen of the flippant banter he thought fit to 
 chronicle. (See * Boswell's Letters,' p. 366.) 
 
 He had not yet made the acquaintance of his future idol, Dr. 
 Samuel Johnson. 
 
 Andrew Ershine to James BosweU. 
 
 New Tarbat : November 23, 1761. 
 Dear Boswell, — As we never hear that Demosthenes could broil 
 beefsteaks, or Cicero poach eggs, we may safely conclude that these 
 gentlemen understood nothing of cookery. In like manner, it 
 may be concluded that you, James Boswell, and I, Andi'ew 
 Erskine, cannot write serious epistles. This, as Mr. Tristram 
 says, I deny ; for this letter of mine shall contain the quintessence 
 of solidity ; it shall be a piece of boiled beef and cabbage, a roasted 
 goose, and a boiled leg of pork and greens : in one word, it shall 
 contain advice, sage and mature advice. Oh, James Boswell ! 
 take care and don't break your neck, pray don't fi-acture your 
 skull, and be very cautious in your manner of tumbling down pre- 
 cipices ; beware of falling into coalpits, and don't drown yourself 
 in every pool you meet with. Having thus warned you of the 
 most material dangers which your youth and inexperience will be 
 ready to lead you into, I now proceed to others less momentary 
 indeed, but very necessary to be strictly observed. Go not near 
 the soaping Club; never mention Drury Lane playhouse; be 
 attentive to those pinchbeck buckles which fortune has so gra- 
 ciously given you, of which I am afraid you'r hardly fond 
 enough ; ^ never wash your face, but above all forswear poetry ; 
 from experience I can assure you, and this letter may serve as a 
 proof, that a man may be as dull in prose as in verse ; and as dull- 
 ness is what we aim at, prose is the easiest of the two. Oh, my 
 friend, profit by these my instructions, think that you see me 
 studying for your advantage, my reverend locks overshadowing my 
 paper, my hands trembling, and my tongue hanging ont, a figure 
 of esteem, afiection, and veneration. By heavens, Boswell I I love 
 
 » Boswell was a great dandy in his yomth. 
 
336 EXGLISH LETTERS. [17U0- 
 
 you more but tliis I think may be more conveniently expressed 
 
 in rhyme. 
 
 More than a herd of swine a kennel muddy, 
 More than a brilhant belle polemic study, 
 More than fat Falstaff loved a cup of sack, 
 More than a guilty criminal the rack, 
 More than attorneys love by cheats to thrive, 
 And more than witches to be burnt alive. 
 
 I begin to be afraid that we shall not see you here this winter, 
 which will be a great loss to you. If ever you travel into 
 foreign parts, as Machiavel used to say, everybody abroad will 
 require a description of New Tarbat from you. That you may 
 not appear totally ridiculous and absurd, I shall send you some 
 little account of it. Imagine then to yourself what Thomson 
 would call an interminable plain, interspersed in a lovely manner 
 with beautiful green hills. The seasons here are only shifted by 
 summer and spring. Winter with his fur cap and his cat-skin 
 gloves, was never seen in this charming retreat. The castle is of 
 Gothic structure, awful and lofty ; there are fifty bedchambers in 
 
 it, with halls, saloons, and galleries without number. Mr. M 's 
 
 father, who was a man of infinite humour, caused a magnificent 
 lake to be made, just before the entry of the house. His diversion 
 was to peep out of his window, and see the people who came to 
 visit him skipping through it, for there was no other passage; 
 then he used to put on such huge fires to dry their clothes that 
 there was no bearing them. He used to declare that he never 
 thought a man good company till he was half-drowned and half- 
 burnt; but if in any part of his life he had narrowly escaped 
 hanging (a thing not imcommon in the Highlands) he would 
 perfectly doat upon him, and whenever the story was told him 
 he was ready to choke himself. But to return. Everything 
 here is in the grand and sublime style. But, alas ! some envious 
 
 magician with his d d enchantments, has destroyed all these 
 
 beauties. By his potent art the house with so many bedcham- 
 bers in it cannot conveniently lodge above a dozen people. 
 The room which I am writing in just now is in reality a 
 handsome parlour of twenty feet by sixteen, though in my eyes 
 and to all outward appeai-ance it seems a garret of six feet by 
 four. The magnificent lake is a dirty puddle, the lovely plain a 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 337 
 
 rude, wild country covered with the most astonishing high black 
 mountains ; the inhabitants, the most amiable race under the sun, 
 appear now to be the ugliest, and look as if they were overrun 
 with the itch : their delicate limbs, adorned with finest silk stock- 
 ings, are now bare and very dirty ; but to describe all the trans- 
 formations would take up more paper than Lady B , from 
 
 whom I had this, would choose to give me. My own metamor- 
 phosis is indeed so extraordinary that I must make you acquainted 
 with it. You know I am really very thick and short, prodigiously 
 talkative, and wonderfully impudent : now I am thin and tall, 
 strangely silent, and very bashful. If these things continue, who 
 ;is safe? Even you, Boswell, may feel a change. Your fair and 
 transparent complexion may turn black and oily, your person 
 little and squat, and who knows but you may eternally rave 
 about the King of Great Britain's Guards,' a species of mad- 
 ness from which good Lord deliver us ! I have often wondered, 
 Boswell, that a man of your taste in music cannot play upon the 
 Jew's-harp ; there are some of us here that touch it very melo- 
 diously, I can tell you. Corelli's solo of ' Maggie Lauder,' and 
 Pergolesi's sonata of * The Carle he came o'er the Craft,' are excel- 
 lently adapted to that instrument. Let me advise you to learn it. 
 The first cost is but three halfpence, and they last a long time. 
 Having thus, Boswell, written you a most entertaining letter, with 
 which you are highly pleased, to your great grief I give over, in 
 these or the like words, 
 
 Your aifectionate friend 
 
 Andrew Erskine. 
 
 CC. 
 
 The original body of the Royal Academy contained two 
 women, the famous AngeUca Kaufmann, and Mary Moser, 
 whose flower pieces were as much admired in her own day as 
 those of Van Huysum. The latter of these ladies fancied herself 
 in love with Fuseli, the painter ; and it was on the occasion of his 
 visit to Italy that she sent him this lively and coquettish epistle 
 interesting from its casual notice of many eminent persons, and 
 from the idea it gives us of a Royal Academy Exhioition more 
 than a hundred years ago. 
 
 * Boswell relinquished the idea of * going into the Guards ' after the 
 Duke of Argyll had expressed the opinion that the youth ought not to be 
 shot at for three and sixpence a day. 
 
 z 
 
S38 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Mary Moser to Henry Fuseli. 
 
 Autumn of 1770. 
 
 If you have not forgotten at Eome those friends whom you 
 remembered at Florence, write to me from that nursery of arts 
 and raree-show of the world which flourishes in ruins ; tell me of 
 pictures, palaces, people, lakes, woods, and rivers ; say if Old Tiber 
 droops with age, or whether his waters flow as clear, his rushes 
 grow as green, and his swans look as white, as those of Father 
 Thames : or write me your own thoughts and reflections which 
 will be more acceptable than any description of any thing Greece 
 and Rome have done these two thousand years. 
 
 I suppose there has been a million of letters sent to Italy with 
 an account of our Exhibition, so it will be only telling you what 
 you know already, to say that Reynolds was like himself in 
 pictures which you have seen ; Gainsborough beyond himself in a 
 portrait of Garrick in the character of Abel Drugger, with two 
 other figures, Subtle and Face. Sir Joshua agreed to give a 
 hundred guineas for the picture ; Lord Carlisle half an hour after 
 offered Reynolds twenty to part with it, which the Knight gene- 
 rously refused, resigned his intended purchase to the Lord, and the 
 emolument to his brother artist. (He is a gentleman !) Angelica 
 made a very great addition to the show; and Mr. Hamilton's 
 picture of Briseis parting from Achilles, was very much admired : 
 the Briseis in taste, d V antique^ elegant and simjle. Coates, 
 Dance, Wilson, &c., as usual. Mr. West had no large picture 
 finished. You will doubtless imagine I derived my epistolary 
 genius from my nurse; but when you are tired of my gossiping, 
 you may burn the letter, so I shall go on. Some of the literati of 
 the Royal Academy were very much disappointed, as they could 
 not obtain diplomas ; but the Secretary, who is above trifles, has 
 since made a very flattering compliment to the Academy in the 
 Preface to his Travels : the Professor of History is comforted by 
 the success of his * Deserted Village,' which is a very pretty poem, 
 and has lately put himself under the conduct of IMi'S. Homick 
 and her fair daughters, and is gone to France ; and Dr. Johnson 
 eips his tea and cares not for the vanity of the world. Sir Joshua, 
 a few days ago, entertained the Council and Visitors with calipash 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 339 
 
 and calipee, except poor Coates, who last week fell a victim to the 
 corroding power of soap-lees, which he hoped would have cui-ed 
 him of the stone ; many a tear will drop on his grave, as he is not 
 more lamented as an artist than a friend to the distressed. (Ma 
 poca polvere sono die nulla sente /) My mamma declares that you 
 are an insufferable creature, and that she speaks as good English 
 as your mother did High-German. Mr. Meyer laughed aloud at 
 your letter, and desired to be remembered. My father and his 
 daughter long to know the progress you will make, particularly 
 
 Mary Moseb, 
 Who remains sincerely your friend and believes you will exclaim 
 
 or mutter to yourself, * Why did she send this d d nonsense to 
 
 me?' 
 
 Henry Fuseli Esq. k Roma. 
 
 CCI. 
 
 Mrs. Hannah Mere's long and useful life may he divided 
 into two epochs — her town and her country life. The first period 
 extended to her fortieth year, during which she wrote dramas 
 and associated with the chief male and female wits in London. 
 The second is that through which she is best kaown. Resign- 
 ing all ambition to be celebrated as a playwright, and impressed 
 with the seriousness of religion and the need of reform in female 
 education, she retired to Gloucestershire, and there worked and 
 wrote for rich and poor ahke. The gay side of her nature shows 
 itself very generally in her correspondence. 
 
 Mrs. Hannah More to Mrs. GwatTcin. 
 
 Hampton : August 9, 1778. 
 My dear Madam, — I wrote to you last Friday, not knowing of 
 your migration. I hope they will not send you up the letter, as it 
 is of no consequence now ; containing only the particulars relative 
 to my dear little friend, of which you have now so much better 
 information. When your letter was brought, I was upon a visit 
 in the neighbourhood, where it was sent me. There were ten 
 ladies and a clergyman. I was pleased with the assemblage, 
 thinking the vanity of the sex would meet with its equilibrium 
 in the wisdom of the profession; — ^that the brilliant sallies of 
 female wit and sprightliness would be con-ected and moderated by 
 the learned gravity and judicious conversation of the Rev. Theo- 
 logue. I looked upon the latter as tho centripetal, acting against 
 
 z 2 
 
340 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 the centrifugal force of the former, who would be kept within 
 their orbit of decorum by his means. For about an hour nothing 
 was uttered but words, which are almost an equivalent to nothing. 
 The gentleman had not yet spoken. The ladies, with loud vocife- 
 rations, seemed to talk much without thinhing at all. The gentle- 
 man, with all the male stupidity of silent recollection, without 
 saying a single syllable, seemed to be acting over the pantomime 
 of thought. I cannot say, indeed, that his countenance so much 
 belied his understanding, as to express any thing : no, let me not 
 do him that injustice ; he might have sat for the picture of insen- 
 sibility. I endured his taciturnity thinking that the longer he 
 was in collecting, adjusting, and arranging his ideas, the more 
 would he charm me with the tide of oi-atorical eloquence, when 
 the materials of his conversation were ready for display : but, alas ! 
 it never occurred that I have seen an empty bottle corked as well 
 as a full one. After sitting another hour, I thought I perceived 
 in him signs of pregnant sentiment, which was just on the point of 
 being delivered in speeeh. I was extremely exhilarated at this, 
 but it was a false alarm ; he essayed it not. At length the 
 imprisoned powers of rhetoric burst thi'ough the shallow mounds 
 of torpid silence and reserve, and he remarked, with equal acute- 
 ness of wit, novelty of invention^ and depth of penetration, that 
 — * we had had no summer.* Then, shocked at his own loquacity, 
 he double-locked the door of his lips, * and word spoke luver more* 
 Will you not say I am turning devotee when I tell you what my 
 amusements, of the reading kind, are. I have read through all 
 the epistles three times since I have been here ; the ordinary trans- 
 lation, Locke's Paraphrase, and a third put into very elegant 
 English (I know not by whom), in which St. Paul's obscurities 
 are elucidated, and Harwood's pomp of words avoided. I am also 
 reading 'West on the Resurrection ; ' in my poor judgment a most 
 excellent thing, calculated to confound all the cavils of the infidel, 
 and to confirm all the hopes of the believer. Have you heard 
 from the sweet Uttle Cornwallian since you left her 1 My most 
 affectionate regards to my dear Master Lovell, and earnest wishes 
 for his speedy recoveiy. 
 
 I am, my dear Madam 
 
 With the most perfect esteem 
 Your ever obliged and afiectionate humble servant 
 
 H. More. 
 
 i 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 841 
 
 ocn. 
 
 Mrs. Hannah More to Mrs. Boscawen. 
 
 Bath: 1797. 
 
 If I do write, quoth I to myself, in the humour I am in, I 
 shall convince my most honoured friend that I have no wit ; and 
 if I do not write I shall prove to a demonstration that I have no 
 gratitude. Thus the matter stood for a long time in exact equi- 
 poise; but at last recollecting that wit was only a talent, and 
 gratitude a virtue, I was resolved to secure to myself the reputa- 
 tion and comfort of the one, though at the risk, nay the certainty, 
 of forfeiting all pretensions to the other. Now, Madam, I appeal 
 to your discernment, if I have not made the better choice ? Of 
 attaining to the one I despair ; it is a rare but dangerous present — 
 but come. Gratitude ! thou peaceful, amiable virtue, and confess 
 (though thou art less addicted to confession than to feeling) if I 
 did not cherish thee in my heart, this morning, when I received so 
 delightful a letter from Audley Street. Nothing could have 
 diminished the entire pleasure that letter gave me, but the un- 
 pleasant intelligence of the indisposition of the writer. 
 
 I did not get hither to my winter quarters till Christmas. I 
 was so earnestly pressed to halt at Stoke, with the Duchess, in my 
 way, that I complied for three or four days. Very strong indeed 
 were the intreaties of my noble hostess that I should remain 
 during the visit of the whole house of Manners, but I was con- 
 strained to be equally firm in my refusal. 
 
 Since I have been here I have so entirely lost my cough as to 
 be able to drink the waters, which do me much good. Now, my 
 dear Madam, if you do not think here is already a sufficient quan- 
 tity of egotism, I will go on to tell you, that though I go to the 
 pump, I do not make any visits, not having set my foot to the 
 ground these two months. I shall, however, make an exception in 
 favour of your neighbours, Lord and Lady Kenyon, who have 
 done me the honour to desire to be acquainted with me. I am 
 much pleased with the plain unadorned integrity, the simplicity of 
 mannei"s, the respect for piety, of this great Lord Chief Justice : I 
 think he discovers more reverence for virtue and religion in his 
 decisions than any law leader I remember. 
 
 My friends are extremely kind, so that I have full as much 
 
842 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 company as my heart can wish. Lady Herries is here, with the 
 full use of her limbs, which I am glad of; though, if they had been 
 my limbs, I question if I should have thought the use of them 
 worth purchasing at the expense of living abroad — better be dying 
 in England, than well any where else, is my maxim. Grave as 
 the times are, Bath never was so gay ; princes and kings that will 
 be, and princes and kings that have been, pop upon you at every 
 comer ; the Stadtholder and Prince of Wales only on a flying visit ; 
 but their- Highnesses of York are become almost inhabitants, and 
 very sober and proper their behaviour is. The Duchess contri- 
 butes by her residence in it, to make our street alive. I had the 
 honour of spending a morning with her Eoyal Highness. Her 
 conversation was judicious and lively ; the waters have been of 
 service to her ; she has had the goodness to present me with a 
 beautiful little box with her hair, set round with pearls on the lid. 
 
 Lady Waldegrave writes me but a sad account of poor Lord 
 Oxford. Of Mrs. Carter's recovery, though slow, I hear better 
 accounts. I say nothing of war, because I am weary of the word, 
 nor of peace, because I lose all hope of it. I am thankful, how- 
 ever, that the fault does not rest with us; one can bear the 
 affliction far better, when one has not to bear the guilt also. 
 
 Alas ! my dear Madam, your letter has just arrived which 
 annoimces the affecting tidings of Lord Oxford's death — affecting 
 in no small degree; though I have been in daUy expectation of 
 such an event taking place, my feelings are quite overcome when 
 I call to remembrance that kindness which knew no interruption 
 during twenty years. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 H. MOKK 
 
 OOHL 
 
 Dr. Samuel Parr, the eminent scholar and philologist, 
 resigned an assistant-mastership at Harrow in 1772 and kept a 
 private school. In 1786 he retired to Hatton in Warwickshhe, 
 where he resided during the remainder of his life. Here he 
 wrote on all manner of subjects, critical, historical, philological, 
 and metaphysical ; and in the abimdance of his leai-ning his 
 ad^-ice and help were sought by many celebrated writers. That 
 he left no special and great work behind him is not surprising, 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 343 
 
 if we consider the time he must have exhausted in letter-writing. 
 Quite a literary curiosity is the list of over 1,400 of his corre- 
 spondents, given in the 7th vol. of his published works, includ- 
 ing people of almost every rank and profession, from Royalty to 
 the humble pupil. There seems to be no doubt that in conver- 
 sational power he had no rival, with the exception of Dr. John- 
 son, and that like the great Lexicographer he could at times be 
 excessively arrogant. We may read that James Boswell was 
 in danger of losing prestige, if not, indeed, of suffering total 
 eclipse. 
 
 Dr. Samuel Parr to Mr. Cradock. 
 
 Hatton : January 6, 1825. 
 Dear and truly excellent Mr. Cradock, — Again and again I 
 thank you for a letter, most elegant in the style, interesting in the 
 matter, and courteous in the spirit. Long, dear Sir, have I been 
 acquainted with your various and curious knowledge, with your 
 pure taste, with your polished manners, and your benevolent dis- 
 position. Happy I always was in your enlightened conversation, 
 and accustomed I have been to assign you a very distinguished 
 place among those literary men who combine the best social quali- 
 ties with intellectual endowments. 
 
 Nam te cum doctis semper vixisse fatetur 
 Invidia. 
 
 And your diction will not yield the place to the Magni, of whom 
 Horace boasts. 
 
 Well, dear Sir, I sympathise with you in your pleasure and 
 in your pride, when you represent yourself as the oldest remain- 
 ing scholar, who lived upon terms of intimacy with Samuel 
 Johnson. You saw him often, and you met him often, in the 
 presence of Goldsmith, Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and other 
 literary heroes. I acknowledge the great superiority of your 
 claims. Lord Stowell, I should suppose, will stand in the next 
 place, and I challenge for myself the third. For many years I 
 spent a month's holidays in London, and never failed to call upon 
 Johnson. I was not only admitted, but welcomed. I convei"sed 
 with him upon numberless subjects of learning, politics, and com- 
 mon life. I traversed the whole compass of his understanding ; 
 and, by the acknowledgment of Burke and Reynolds, I distinctly 
 understood the peculiar and transcendental properties of his mighty 
 and virtuous mind. I intended to write his life ; I laid by sixty or 
 
344 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 seventy books for the pnrpose of writing it in such a manner as would 
 do no discredit to myself. I intended to spread my thoughts over 
 two volumes quarto, and if I had filled three pages the rest would 
 have followed. Often have I lamented my ill fortune in not build- 
 ing this monument to the fame of Johnson, and let me not be accused 
 of arrogance when I add, my own. 
 
 I read with great attention and great approbation the tragedy 
 which you sent me, and I should like to talk with yon three or 
 four hours upon its very great merits. You gladden my soul by 
 telHng me of your intention to instruct and to interest men of 
 letters, and men of wisdom, by reviewing what you saw and heard 
 in the course of your observations upon events and charactera for 
 many years. 
 
 Thus far, solitude has been of use to you, and your grey hairs 
 will bring to you increase of honour, by the proofs which you 
 will give that your mental strength is not impaired by old age. 
 Pi^y Mr. Cradock, let me now and then hear from you. I fear 
 that it will not be in my power again to visit the capital ; but if I 
 should go thither, be assured that I will find my way to your abode. 
 At all events, permit me to call you my friend ; and do not be 
 angry with me for telling you that, in the will I last made, I left you 
 a ring, as a memorial of my regard and respect. I should defy the 
 rigours of winter if I could find an opportunity of spending hours 
 and hours with you, or our most intelligent and upright friend, 
 John Nichols. My mind was soothed when I read your statement 
 of the concern which you and other valuable men expressed for my 
 health. Danger is over, and my recovery goes on even rapidly. I 
 must beg a favour from you and Mr. Urban. On the 26th of this 
 month I shall complete my 78th year, and, by the kuidness of 
 Providence, mens sana in corpore sano has fallen to my lot. I 
 hope that you and Mr. Urban will find a bumper for many returns 
 of my birthday. You shall be indulged with water, but John 
 Nichols must qualify some of his oldest and most orthodox port. 
 May heaven bless you both ! I have the honour to be, dear Sir, 
 with unfeigned respect, your friend and obedient humble servant, 
 
 S. Parr, 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTEBS. 345 
 
 CCIV. 
 
 So mucli excellent work in Joseph Ritson's way has heen 
 done since the beginning of this century that the name of this 
 writer has long ceased to be popular. As a collector of ancient 
 English and Scottish songs, and a writer on our early metrical 
 romances he excited a great deal of curiosity and interest a 
 hundred yeai*s ago. He also excited no little enmity from the 
 persistent acerbity of his literary criticisms. His intimacy with 
 this early ballad literature may have imbued him with the 
 Tory spirit, but hai-dly qualified him to quit his proper sphere 
 for this sort of havardage against the Whigs. 
 
 Joseph Ritson to Sir Harris Nicolas {the Editor oj his Letters). 
 
 Gray's Inn: April 20, 1796. 
 Ah ! you are a clever fellow ! after half a dozen attempts you 
 have at last (with Mr. Wolley's assistance) given a precise answer 
 to one half of my question, and to that half too, which you might 
 have easily guessed was of no sort of consequence to me. However, 
 * cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend 
 his pace by beating/ I know of no authors who give an authentic 
 account of events from the revolution to the present time, unless 
 it be Sir John Dairy mple (Memoirs of Great Britain, 3 volumes 
 4to. and 8vo.) to the battle of La Hogue ; Macpherson (History 
 of G. B. and original papers, 4 volumes, 4to.), to the accession of 
 the present family ; and Smollett, to the peace of 1748. Always 
 prefer Tory or Jacobite writers ; the Whigs are the greatest liars 
 in the world. You consult history for facts, not principles. The 
 Whigs, I allow, have the advantage in the latter, and this advan- 
 tage they are constantly labouring to support by a misrepresentation 
 of the former. A glaring instance of this habitual perversion is 
 their uniform position, that the King, Lords and Commons, are the 
 three estates of the realm ; than which nothing can be more false. 
 Now, it so happens, that the bad principles of the Tories are cor- 
 roborated by the facts and records of history, which makes it their 
 interest to investigate, and expose the truth ; and I can readily 
 believe that all the alterations which Hume professes to have made 
 in his history in favour of that party were strictly just. The 
 revolution itself was so iniquitous a transaction, and we have had 
 such a succession of scoundrels since it took place, that you must 
 
316 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 not wonder if corruption or pusillanimity have prevented historians 
 from speaking of both as they deserve. You will do IMr. Malone 
 great injustice if you suppose him to be in all respects what I may 
 have endeavoured to represent him in some. In order that he 
 may recover your more favourable opinion, let me recommend to 
 your perusal, the discussion, in his prolegomena, entitled, ' Shak- 
 speare. Ford and Jonson ; ' and his * Dissertation on the three 
 parts of King Henry the Sixth,' (to which I am more indebted for 
 an acquaintance with the manner of our great dramatic poet than 
 to any thing I ever read). His recent enquiry into the Shakspearian 
 forgeries evinces, also, considerable industry and acuteness, and is 
 certainly worth your reading. I do not mean to say that there 
 was any difficulty in the subject ; but it has certainly derived im- 
 portance from the ignorant presumption and cullibility of certain 
 literary aristocrats who have considerable influence upon what is 
 called the public. As to the personalities in my Qvip modest and 
 Cursory criticisms, I can only defend them by those of my antago- 
 nist. In behalf of the Remarks I have nothing to say. Indeed, 
 I should think you much better employed in puttiug them into 
 the fire, than in a vain attempt to diminish the inaccuracies of 
 such a mass of error both typographical and authorial. Farewell. 
 
 J. KiTSON. 
 
 CCV. 
 
 A prominent feature of the ' Diary and Letters of the Author 
 of Evelina,' is the revelation of the unbounded affection that the 
 different members of the Burney family entertained for one 
 another. Frances Bumey's (Madame d'Arblay) sister, Mrs. 
 Susanna Phillips, died soon after reaching Norbury Park after 
 travelling from Dublin. ' The news of her death,' wi-ote 
 Madame d'Arblay, ' closed the last period of my perfect happi- 
 ness on earth.' 
 
 Madame iCArblay to Mrs. Loch. 
 
 January 9, 1800. 
 * As a Guardian Angel ! ' — Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in 
 every interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see 
 her ; but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and 
 I can only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her 
 soft hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes 
 so greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smila 
 
 I 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 847 
 
 of heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful 
 soul that God at length should grant our reunion. From our 
 earliest moments, when no misfortune happened to our dear family, 
 we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others were re- 
 ceived by us — loved by us — all that was necessary to our happiness 
 was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember with my 
 first remembrance ; nor do I recollect a single instance of being 
 afiected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment, if its 
 result was leaving us together. 
 
 She was the soul of my soul ! — and 'tis wonderful to me, my 
 dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join them immediately 
 by the flight of mine — but that over — that dreadful, harrowing, 
 never-to-be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be 
 mad — the ties that after that first endearing period have shared 
 with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long inci'edulous ; 
 and still sometimes I think it is not — and that she will come — and 
 I paint her by my side — by my father's — in eveiy room of these 
 apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life with 
 rays of comfort, joy, and affection. 
 
 0, my Fredy, not selfish is the affliction that repines her earthly 
 coui'se of sorrow was allowed no shade ! — that at the instant soft 
 peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe her last I 
 You would understand all the hardship of resignation for me were 
 you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her landing, to my 
 poor father, and her pra3^er at the end to be restored to him. 0, my 
 Fredy ! could you indeed think of me — be alarmed for me on 
 that dreadful day ! — I can hardly make that enter my compre- 
 hension ; but I thank you from my soul ; for that is beyond any 
 love I had thought possible, even from your tender heart. Tell 
 me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. I write so 
 fast I fear you can hardly read ; but you will see I am con- 
 versiug with you, and that will show you how I turn to you for 
 the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss indeed ! 
 
 Frances d'Arblay. 
 
846 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 CCVI. 
 
 We read in one of Mrs. Inch'bald's letters that on the day 
 Covent Garden Theatre was burnt to the ground (1809), a 
 volume of * Sermons ' which had been sent to her by the author, 
 the Rev. J. Plumptre, was opened for the first time. The pub- 
 lication of this volume was seasonable enough, for the parish 
 pulpits were, at the time, sending forth the bitterest protests 
 against the abuse of dramatic composition ; and the recent 
 catastrophes at both the Patent Theatres provided an appropriate 
 text for all who chose to deprecate stage plays. Mrs. Inch- 
 bald's remarks on Mr. Plumptre's sermons will not altogether 
 displease a broad-minded divine of our own day. 
 
 Mrs. Inchhcdd to the Rev. J. Plumptre. 
 
 Sir, — I should have acknowledged the favour of your letter 
 much sooner, but that I have been ambitious to add a few obser- 
 vations, in compliance with youi* request, to that vast catalogue 
 of facts which you have so charitably produced in defence of the 
 drama. It appears to me, however, that you have left so little to 
 be said in addition to your arguments, that I almost despair of a 
 future volume from you ; and in all my endeavours to aid the 
 cause, I have no more than the following remarks to offer. 
 
 My first is, — that the disgrace imputed to the actor's profession 
 seems to have been a kind of preservative against every other dis- 
 gi-ace^ — at least against that worst of ignominies which attaches to 
 every offence punishable by law. From murder down to forgery 
 or petty larceny — from high treason down to sedition or even dis- 
 affection to the royal cause — all English actors are allowed to have 
 been free. The misdeeds of actors are at least refined ; not of that 
 atrocious nature into which men of all classes, they alone excepted, 
 seem at some time or other to have fallen. 
 
 My second observation is, — the enemies of the Stage make 
 no reference to the age in which certain immoral and licentious 
 plays were written ; but condemn those plays as if they were 
 written in the present day, and performed with aU those vile - 
 scenes which are now omitted in representation, and which J 
 were neither sinful nor shameful at the time of their produc- 
 tion; for they merely spoke the language and gave the man- 
 ners of the times. Delicacy had not, at that period, augments 
 
 bed|i 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 849 
 
 tlie number of our enjojTnents and transgressions, by imposing its 
 present laws of refinement. A quotation from Mr. Warton will 
 best explain the meaning I would convey in this observation. 
 After having noticed some very indecorous scene in an ancient 
 drama, where the patriarch Noah and his wife are the principal 
 personages, the critic observes : * Our ancestors intended no 
 sort of impiety by these monstrous unnatural mixtures. Neither 
 the writers nor the spectators saw their impropriety. They had 
 no just idea of decorum, consequently but little sense of the ridicu- 
 lous : what appears to us to be the highest burlesque upon these 
 characters, made no sort of impression in those days.' 
 
 Having brought my two observations into a smaller space than 
 I apprehended I should do, permit me now to say, in reply to that 
 part of your letter in which you distinguish between the effects of 
 seriousness and levity in the utterance of language dangerous to 
 the hearer, — that I can by no means consider levity as possessing 
 any peculiar allurement to the passion commonly called Love. 
 
 For, as far as every serious description must impress our hearts 
 and our understanding more deeply than a jocular one, so far I 
 conceive there may be danger in those very warnings, however 
 gravely delivered, which the fall of David and other holy persons 
 in the Old Testament are meant to impart. The awful consequences 
 which followed guilt in the unlawful loves of the Jews, will no 
 doubt alarm ; but they will also awaken the mind to the contem- 
 plation of those crimes so dearly purchased ; and the magnitude of 
 the temptation can in no way be so forcibly described, as by the mag- 
 nitude of the punishment, which was sure to overtake the unhappy 
 sinner, and yet was so often braved by the very favourites of 
 Heaven. 
 
 But writings that are familiar to us lose very often (as other 
 familiar things do) their natural effect ; for I sincerely believe that 
 many an actor would blush to read all the adventures of the 
 Jewish people before an actress whom he esteemed, as much as an 
 ecclesiastic would be ashamed to recite one of our most licentious 
 comedies before the woman whom he wished to make his wife. 
 My veneration for the Sacred History is in no shape diminished 
 by this opinion ; but my respect for the cavillers at plays is wholly 
 overcome or destroyed by it. 
 
 There is a quotation in your work wherein Gisborne will not 
 
350 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 admit on the stage even allusions offensive to modesty. This -would 
 seem highly proper, and every one would agi-ee in such taste for 
 purity did not the comparison of the * beam and the mote ' force 
 itself upon recollection, and give rise to the suspicion, that he con- 
 ceives there is a prerogative in indelicacy which only belongs to the 
 Christian Church. 
 
 Dear Sir, your most obliged humble servant, 
 
 E. Inchbald. 
 
 P.S. — If I were asked by an illiterate foreigner to explain to him 
 the exact meaning of oui* word delicacy, I would conclude my defi- 
 nition by saying : — *And this very Delicacy is at present all the 
 fashion ; and the most beautiful and becoming fashion it is that ever 
 was followed. The grave and the good are loudest in its praise ', 
 but no one loves and admires it so much as the Libertine. It is 
 the lure to his pleasures and heightens all their gratifications. It 
 conceals, as with a veil, all the vices of the ai-tful wanton, and sup- 
 plies her with bonds to secure the paramour whom delicacy has 
 ensnared.* 
 
 ccrvn. 
 
 TMien Crabbe was struggling for literary employment in 
 London, and found himself on the verge of starvation, he ad- 
 dressed this letter to Burke relying on the great statesman's 
 reputation for philanthropy. The result was, ' he went into 
 Mr. Burke's room a poor young adventurer, and came out vir- 
 tually secure of almost all the good fortune that afterwards 
 fell to his lot.' Who must not regret that his generous patron 
 did not live to read ' The Borough ' and ' Sir Eustace Grey ? ' 
 
 George Crahbe to Edmund Burke. 
 
 Sir, — I am sensible that I need even your talents to apologise 
 for the freedom I now take ; but I have a plea which, however 
 simply urged, will, with a mind like yours, Sir, procure me par- 
 don : I am one of those outcasts on the world, who are without a 
 friend, without employment, and without bread. Pardon me a 
 short preface. I had a partial father, who gave me a better edu- 
 cation than his broken fortune would have allowed ; and a better 
 than was necessary, as he could give me that only. I was de- 
 signed for the profession of physic; but not having wherewithal to 
 
[vlSOO] 
 
 ENGLISH LETTERS. 
 
 551 
 
 complete the requisite studies, the design but served to convince 
 me of a parent's affection, and the error it had occasioned. In 
 April last, I came to London with three pounds, and flattered my- 
 self this would be sufficient to supply me with the common neces- 
 saries of life, till my abilities should procure me more ; of these I 
 had the highest opinion, and a poetical vanity contributed to my 
 delusion. I knew little of the world, and had read books only : I 
 wrote, and fancied perfection in my compositions, when I wanted 
 bread they promised me affluence, and soothed me with dreams 
 of reputation, whilst my appearance subjected me to contempt. 
 
 Time, reflection, and want, have shown me my mistake. I 
 see my trifles in that which I think the true light ; and, whilst I 
 deem them such, have yet the opinion that holds them superior to 
 the common run of poetical publications. 
 
 I had some knowledge of the late Mr. Nassau, the brother of 
 Lord Rochford ; in consequence of which, I asked his Lordship's 
 permission to inscribe my little work to him. Knowing it to be 
 free from all political allusions and personal abuse, it was no very 
 material point to me to whom it was dedicated. His Lordship 
 thought it none to him, and obligingly consented to my request. 
 I was told that a subscription would be the more profitable 
 method for me, and therefore endeavoured to circulate copies of 
 the enclosed Proposals. 
 
 I am afraid. Sir, I disgust you with this very dull narration, 
 but believe me punished in the misery that occasions it. You will 
 conclade, that, during this time, I must have been at more expense 
 than I could afford ; indeed, the most parsimonious could not have 
 avoided it. The printer deceived me, and my little business has 
 had every delay. The people with whom I live perceive my situa- 
 tion, and find me to be indigent and without friends. About ten 
 days since, I was compelled to give a note for seven pounds, to 
 avoid an arrest for about double that sum which I owe. I wrote 
 to every friend I had, but my friends are poor likewise ; the time 
 of payment approached, and I ventured lo represent my case to 
 Lord Rochford. I begged to be credited for this sum till I received 
 it of my subscribers, which I believe will be within one month : but 
 to this letter I had no reply, and I have probably offended by my 
 importunity. Having used every honest means in vain, I yester- 
 day confessed my inability, and obtained, with much entreaty, and 
 
352 ENGLISH LETTEBS. [1700- 
 
 as the greatest favour, a week's forbearance, when I am positively 
 told, that I must pay the money, or prepare for a prison. 
 
 You will guess the purpose of so long an introduction. I ap- 
 peal to you. Sir, as a good, and, let me add, a great man. I have 
 no other pretensions to your favour than that I am an unhappy 
 one. It is not easy to support the thoughts of confinement ; and I 
 am coward enough to dread such an end to my suspense. 
 
 Can you, Sir, in any degree, aid me with propriety ? Will you 
 ask any demonstration of my veracity % I have imposed upon my- 
 self, but I have been guilty of no other imposition. Let me, if 
 possible, interest your compassion. I know those of rank and 
 fortune are teased with frequent petitions, and are competed to re- 
 fuse the requests even of those whom they know to be in distress : 
 it is therefore, with a distant hope I ventured to solicit such 
 favour J but you will forgive me. Sir, if you do not think proper 
 to relieve. It is impossible that sentiments like yours can proceed 
 from any but a humane and generous heart. 
 
 I will call upon you, Sir, to-moiTow, and if I have not the hap- 
 piness to obtain credit with you, I must submit to my fate. My 
 existence is a pain to myself, and every one near and dear to me 
 are distressed in my distresses. 
 
 My connections, once the source of happiness, now embitter the 
 reverse of my fortune, and I have only to hope a speedy end to a 
 life so unpromisingly begun : in which (though it ought not to be 
 boasted of ) I can reap some consolation fi.'om looking to the end of 
 it. I am, Sir, with the greatest respect, 
 
 Your obedient and most humble servant, 
 
 Geoege Ceabbe 
 
 ccvm. 
 
 In the spring of 1782, when Edmund Burke was made a 
 Privy Councillor and was appointed Paymaster-General of the 
 forces in the second Rockingham Administration, Crahhe 
 joined in the chorus of congratulation, and we may he sure his 
 words were heartfelt. The post was the most lucrative in the 
 Ministry, yielding La perquisites alone more than 25,000^. a year. 
 This, with other wasteful expenditure, the new Minister swept 
 away in an early measure of reform. 
 
 k 
 
18001 ENGLISH LETTERS, $53 
 
 I 
 
 The Rev. George Crdbbe to the Right Hon. Edmund Burke. 
 
 Sir, — I have long delayed, though I much wished to write to 
 ou, not being willing to take up any part of your time with the 
 impertinence of congratulation ; but I now feel that I had rather 
 be thought an intruder on your patience, than not to be a partaker 
 of the general joy. Most heartily, indeed, do I rejoice, being well 
 assured that if the credit and happiness of this kingdom can be 
 restored, the wisdom and virtues of my most honoured friend, and 
 his friends, will bring forward so desirable an event ; and if not, 
 it will be some satisfaction to find such men lost to the confidence 
 of the people, who have so long demonstrated their incapacity to 
 make a proper use of it. 
 
 Having procured a successor to my curacies, I expect to be in 
 town within a few days, — and for a few. I shall then hope once 
 to see you ; not bearing to suppose that any honours, or business, 
 or even the calls of my country, should make me totally forgotten ; 
 for you have directed, assisted, adopted me j and I cannot relin- 
 quish the happiness your favour gives me. I will be still your 
 son, and my portion shall be to rejoice in my father's honour. I 
 am also, with the highest respect, and most earnest good wishes, 
 Dear and excellent sir. 
 
 Your greatly obliged and grateful servant, 
 
 Geoege Crabbe. 
 
 CCIX. 
 
 Godwin — "Wollstonecraft — Shelley. There is no more inte» 
 resting chapter in modern literary history than that embodied in 
 the memorials of the lives and relationship of these strange 
 characters. Letters from the pen of each are necessarily 
 included in this volume. Godwin had risen into fame by his 
 pohtical writings and his novel of ^ Caleb Williams,' before he 
 married Mary Wollstonecraft. She died in childbed Sept. 1797. 
 The daughter of the marriage was wedded to the poet Shelley. 
 In 1798 Godwin edited the posthiunous works of his wife, and 
 soon after visited his friend Ourran in Ireland. The great Irish 
 barrister is thus brought before us. 
 
 William Godwin to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
 
 DubUn : September, 1800. 
 Dear Coleridge, — ^You scarcely expected a letter from me of 
 the above date. But I received last September an invitation from 
 
 A L 
 
354 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Jolin Philpot Curran, the Irish barrister, probably the first advo- 
 cate in Europe, then in London, to spend a few weeks with him in 
 Ireland this summer, which I did not feel in myself philosophy 
 enough to resist. Nor do I repent my compliance. The advantages 
 one derives from placing the sole of one's foot on a foreign soil 
 are extremely great. Few men, on such an occasion, think it 
 worth their while to put on armour for your encounter. I know 
 Fox and Sheridan, but can scarce consider them as my acquaint- 
 ance. Your next door neighbour, before he admits you to his 
 familiarity, considers how far he should like to have you for his 
 familiar for the next seven years. But familiarity with a foreign 
 guest involves no such consequences, and so circumstanced, you 
 are immediately admitted on the footing of an inmate. I am now 
 better acquainted with Grattan and Curran, the Fox and Sheridan 
 of Ireland, after having been four weeks in theii* company, than I 
 can pretend ever to have been with their counterparts on my 
 native soil. 
 
 Curran I admire extremely. There is scarcely the man on 
 earth with whom I ever felt myself so entirely at my ease, or so 
 little driven back, from time to time, to consider of my own miser- 
 able individual. He is perpetually a staflf and a cordial, without 
 ever affecting to be either. The being never lived who was more 
 perfectly free from every species of concealment. With great 
 genius, at least a rich and inexhaustible imagination, he never 
 makes me stand in awe of him, and bow as to my acknowledged 
 superior, a thing by-the-by which, de temps ct d'autre, you compel 
 me to do. He amuses me always, astonishes me often, yet 
 naturally and irresistibly inspires me with confidence. I am apt, 
 particularly when away from home, to feel forlorn and dispirited. 
 The two last days I spent from him, and though they were em- 
 ployed most enviably in tete ct tete with Grattan, I began to feel 
 dejected and home-sick. But Curran has joined me to-day, and 
 poured into my bosom a full portion of his irresistible kindness 
 and gaiety. 
 
 You will acknowledge these are extraordinary traits. Yet 
 Curran is far from a faultless and perfect character. Immersed 
 for many years in a perpetual whii'l of business, he has no pro- 
 foundness or philosophy. He has a great share of the Irish cha- 
 racter — dashing, etourdi, coarse, vulgar, impatient, fierce, kittenish. 
 
180a] ENGLISH LETTERS, 355 
 
 He has no characteristic delicacy, no intuitive and instant com- 
 merce with the sublime featui'es of nature. Ardent in a memor- 
 able degi-ee, and a patriot from the most generous impulse, he 
 has none of that political chemistry which Burke so admirably 
 describes (I forget his words), that resolves and combines, and 
 embraces distant nations and future ages. He is inconsistent in 
 the most whimsical degree. I remember, in an amicable debate 
 with Sheridan, in which Sheridan far outwent him in refinement, 
 penetration, and taste, he three times surrendered his arms, 
 acknowledged his error, yea, even began to declaim (for declama- 
 tion is too frequently his mania) on the contrary side : and as often, 
 after a short interval, resumed his weapons, and renewed the 
 combat. Now and then, in the career of declamation, he becomes 
 tautological and inefiective, and I ask myself : Is this the prophet 
 that he went forth to see ! But presently after he stumbles 
 upon a rich vein of imagination, and recognises my willing suf- 
 frage. He has the reputation of insincerity, for which he is in- 
 debted, not to his heart, but to the mistaken, cherished calculations 
 of his practical prudence. He maintains in argument that you 
 ought never to inform a man, directly or indirectly, of the high 
 esteem in which you hold him. Yet, in his actual intercourse, he 
 is apt to mix the information too copiously and too often. But 
 perhaps his greatest fault is, that though endowed with an energy 
 the most ardent, and an imagination the most varied and pic- 
 turesque, there is nothing to which he is more prone, or to which 
 his inclination more willingly leads him, than to play the bufibon. 
 
 r 
 
 OCX. 
 
 No one more than Percy Bysshe Shelley needed the piece of 
 wholesome advice which his father-in-law vouchsafed him in 
 the following letter. William Godwin proclaimed himself a 
 republican and a philanthropist in 1793, and first came into 
 notoriety by his treatise called ' Political Justice.' Tliat he did 
 not figure with many of his political friends in the State trials 
 which disgraced our courts of justice in 1794 is due to his strict 
 observance of the principles of action which he here enunciates 
 to the young democrat. 
 
 A L 
 
S56 EI^GLISB LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 WiUiam Godwin to Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 March 4, 1812. 
 
 My good friend, — I liave read all your letters (the first per- 
 haps excepted) with peculiar interest, and I wish it to be under- 
 stood by you unequivocally that, as far as I can yet penetrate into 
 your character, I conceive it to exhibit an extraordinary assemblage 
 of lovely qualities not without considerable defects. The defects 
 do, and always have arisen chiefly from this source, that you are 
 still very young, and that in certain essential respects you do not 
 sufficiently perceive that you are so. 
 
 In your last letter you say, ' I publish because I will publish 
 nothing that shall not conduce to virtue, and therefore my publica- 
 tions, as far as they do influence, shall influence for good.' 
 
 Oh, my friend, how short-sighted are the views that dictated 
 this sentence ! Every man, in every deliberate action of his life, 
 imagines he sees a preponderance of good likely to result. This 
 is the law of our nature, from which none of us can escape. 
 You do not in this point generically differ from the human 
 beings about you. Mr. Burke and Tom Paine, when they wrote 
 on the French Kevolution, perhaps equally believed that the 
 sentiments they supported were essentially conducive to the wel- 
 fare of man. When ]SIr. Walsh resolved to purloin to his own 
 use a few thousand pounds, with which to settle himself and his 
 family and children in America, he tells us that he was for some 
 time anxious that the effects of his fraud should fall upon Mr. 
 Oldham rather than upon Sir Thomas Plumer, because, in his 
 opinion. Sir Thomas was the better man. And I have no doubt 
 that he was fully persuaded that a greater sum of happiness would 
 result from these thousand pounds being employed in settling his 
 innocent and lovely family in America, than in securing to his 
 employer the possession of a large landed estate. . . . 
 
 In the pamphlet you have just sent me, your views and mine as 
 to the improvement of mankind are decisively at issue. You pro- 
 fess the immediate objects of your efforts to be * the organisation of 
 a society whose institution shall serve as a bond to its members.' 
 If I may be allowed to understand my book on Political Justice, 
 its pervading principle is, that association is a most ill-chosen and ' 
 jll-qualified mode of endeavouring to promote the political hap- 
 
 k 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 367 
 
 piness of mankind. And I tliink of your pamphlet, however com- 
 mendable and lovely are many of its sentiments, that it will either 
 be ineffective to its immediate object, or that it has no very remote 
 tendency to light again the flames of rebellion and war. . . . 
 
 Discussion, reading, enquiry, perpetual communication : these 
 are my favourite methods for the improvement of mankind, but 
 associations, organized societies, I firmly condemn. You may as 
 well tell the adder not to sting : 
 
 * You may as well use question with the wolf: 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven !* 
 
 as tell organized societies of men, associated to obtain their rights 
 and to extinguish oppression, — prompted by a deep aversion to 
 inequality, luxury, enormous taxes, and the evils of war, — to be 
 innocent, to employ no violence, and calmly to await the progress 
 of truth. I never was at a public political dinner, a scene that I 
 have now not witnessed for many years, that I did not see how 
 the enthusiasm was lighted up, how the flame caught from man 
 to man, how fast the dictates of sober reason were obliterated by the 
 gusts of passion, and how near the assembly was, like Alexander's 
 compotatores at Persepolis, to go forth and fire the city, or, like 
 the auditors of Anthony's oration over the body of Caesar, to apply 
 a flaming brand to the mansion of each several conspirator. 
 
 Discussion and conversation on the best interests of society are 
 excellent as long as they are unfettered, and each man talks to his 
 neighbour in the freedom of congenial intercourse as he happens 
 to meet with him in the customary haunts of men, or in the quiet 
 and beneficent intercourse of each other's fireside. But they 
 become unwholesome and poisonous when men shape themselves 
 into societies, and become distorted with the artifices of organiza- 
 tion. It will not then long be possible to reason calmly and dis- 
 passionately : men will heat each other into impatience and indig- 
 nation against their oppressors ; they will become tired of talking 
 for ever, and will be in a hurry to act. If this view of things is 
 true, applied to any country whatever, it is peculiarly and fearfully 
 fio when applied to the fervent and impetuous character of the 
 Irish. ... 
 
358 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- « 
 
 One principle that I believe is wanting in you, and in all our 
 too fervent and impetuous reformers, is the thought that almost 
 every institution and form of society is good in its place and in j 
 the period of time to which it belongs. How many beautiful and 
 admirable effects grew out of Popery and the monastic institutions 
 in the period when they were in their genuine health and vigour. 
 To them we owe almost all our logic and our literature. What ex- 
 cellent effects do we reap, even at this day, from the feudal system 
 and from chivalry ! In this point of view nothing perhaps can 
 be more worthy of our applause than the English Constitution. 
 Excellent to this pui-pose are the words of Daniel in his Apology 
 for Khyme ; ' Nor can it touch but of arix)gant ignorance, to hold 
 this or that nation barbarous, these or those times gross, con- 
 sideiing how this manifold creature man, wheresoever he stand in 
 the world, hath always some disposition of worth, entertains and 
 effects that order of society which is best for his use, and is 
 eminent for some one thing or other that fits his humour and the 
 times.' This is the truest and most sublime toleration. There is 
 a period, indeed, when each institution is obsolete, and should be 
 laid aside ; but it is of much importance that we should not pro- 
 ceed too rapidly in this, or introduce any change before its due 
 and proper season. . . . 
 
 You say that you count but on a short life. In that too you 
 are erroneous. I shall not live to see you foui*score, but it is 
 not improbable that my son will. I was myself in early Hfe of a 
 remarkably puny constitution. Pope, who was at all times kept 
 alive only by art, reached his fifty-seventh year. The constitution 
 of man is a theatre of change, and I think it not improbable that 
 at thirty or foi-ty you will be a robust man. . . . 
 
 To descend from great things to small, I can perceive that you 
 ai-e ali-eady infected with the air of the country [Ireland]. Your 
 letter with its enclosures cost me by post ^1 I*. 8d., and you 
 say in it that you ' send it in this way to save expense.' The post 
 always charges parcels that exceed a sheet or two by weight, and 
 they should therefore always be forwarded by some other con- 
 veyance. . . • 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 859 
 
 CCXL 
 
 Referring to the following letter in his * Life of Godwin/ Mr. 
 C. Kegan Paul remarks : — ' The stoicism which is so admirable 
 in repressing his own feelings, is less beautiful when used to con- 
 dole with Mrs. Shelley on the death of her child. It is fair to 
 remark, however, that he is dealing with his daughter as he 
 would have desired men should deal with him had he given way 
 to what, had he indulged it, he would have considered a blame- 
 able weakness.' 
 
 William Godwin to Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 Skinner Street : September 9, 1819. 
 
 My dear Mary, — Your letter of August 19 is very grievous to 
 me, inasmuch as you represent me as increasing the degree of 
 your uneasiness and depression. 
 
 You must, however, allow me the privilege of a father, and a 
 philosopher, in expostulating with you on this depression. I can- 
 not but consider it as lowering your character in a memorable 
 degree, and putting you quite among the commonality and mob of 
 your sex, when I had thought I saw in you symptoms entitling 
 you to be ranked among those noble spirits that do honour to our 
 nature. What a falKng oJff is here ! How bitterly is so inglorious 
 a change to be deplored ! 
 
 What is it you want that you have not 1 You have the hus- 
 band of your choice, to whom you seem to be unalterably attached, 
 a man of high intellectual attainments, whatever I, and some other 
 persons, may think of his morality, and the defects under this last 
 head, if they be not (as you seem to think) imaginary, at least do 
 not operate as towards you. You have all the goods of fortune, 
 all the means of being useful to others, and shining in your 
 proper sphere. But you have lost a child : and all the rest of the 
 world, all that is beautiful, and all that has a claim upon your 
 kindness, is nothing, because a child of two years old is dead. 
 
 The human species may be divided into two great classes : 
 those who lean on others for support, and those who are qualified 
 to support. Of these last, some have one, some five, and some ten 
 talents. Some can support a husband, a child, a small but respect- 
 able circle of friends and dependents, and some can support a 
 world, contributing by their energies to advance their whole 
 
360 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 species one or more degrees in the scale of perfectibility. The 
 former class sit with their arms crossed, a prey to apathy and 
 languor, of no use to any earthly creature, and ready to fall from 
 their stools if some kind soul, who might compassionate, but who 
 cannot respect them, did not come from moment to moment, and 
 endeavour to set them up again. You were formed by nature to 
 belong to the best of these classes, but you seem to be shiinking 
 away, and voluntarily enrolling yourself among the worst. 
 
 Above all things, I entreat you, do not put the miserable de- 
 lusion on yourself, to think there is something fine, and beautiful, 
 and delicate, in giving yourself up, and agreeing to be nothing. 
 
 Kemember, too, that though at first your nearest connections 
 may pity you in this state, yet that when they see you fixed in 
 selfishness and ill-humour, and regardless of the happiness of every- 
 one else, they will finally cease to love you, and scarcely learn to 
 endure you. 
 
 The other parts of your letter afford me much satisfaction. 
 Depend upon it, there is no maxim more true or more important 
 than this, Frankness of communication takes off bitterness. . . . 
 True philosophy invites all communication, and withholds none. 
 
 ccxn 
 
 At the age of forty-three the marvellous poet and painter in 
 whom the last revival of English art began, had already 
 wi'apped himself completely in those golden webs of mysticism 
 which at once obscured and illuminated his strange thoughts and 
 words. He had come down to Felpham a few days before the 
 date of this letter, to be near his friend and patron JEayley. 
 
 William Blake to John Flojxman, 
 
 Felpham : September 21, 1800. 
 Dear Sculptor of Eternity, — We are safe arrived at our cot- 
 tage, which is more beautiful than I thought it, and more con- 
 venient. It is a perfect model for cottages, and I think for palaces 
 of magnificence, only enlarging not altering its proportions and 
 adding ornaments and not pruiciples. Nothing can be more grand 
 than its simplicity and usefulness. Simple without intricacy, it 
 seems to be the spontaneous expression of humanity, congenial to 
 the wants of man. No other formed house can ever please me so 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. S6l 
 
 well, nor sliall I ever be persuaded, I believe, that it can be im- 
 proved either in beauty or use. 
 
 Mr. Hayley received us with his usual brotherly affection. I 
 have begun to work. Felpham is a sweet place for study, because 
 it is more spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on all sides 
 her golden gates : her windows are not obstructed by vapours ; 
 voices of celestial inhabitants are more distinctly heard and their 
 forms more distinctly seen; and my cottage is also a shadow 
 of their houses. My wife and sister are both well, courting 
 Neptune for an embrace. 
 
 Our journey was very pleasant, and though we had a great 
 deal of luggage no grumbling. All was cheerfulness and good 
 humour on the road, and yet we could not arrive at our cottage 
 before half past eleven at night, owing to the necessary shifting of 
 our luggage from one chaise to another, for we had seven dif- 
 ferent chaises and as many different drivers. We set out between 
 six and seven in the morning of Thursday, with sixteen heavy 
 boxes and portfolios full of prints. 
 
 And now begins a new life, because another covering of earth 
 is shaken off. I am more famed in heaven for my works than I 
 could well conceive. In my brain are studies and chambers filled 
 with books and pictures of old, which I wrote and painted in ages 
 of eternity before my mortal life ; and those works are the delight 
 and study of archangels. Why then should I be anxious about 
 the riches and fame of mortality ? The Lord our Father will do 
 for us and with us according to his divine will. 
 
 You, dear Flaxman, are a sublime archangel, — my friend 
 and companion from eternity. In the divine bosom is our dwell- 
 ing-place. I look back into the regions of reminiscence, and 
 behold our ancient days before this earth appeared in its vegetative 
 mortality to my mortal vegetated eyes. I see our houses of eter- 
 nity which can never be separated, though our mortal vehicles 
 should stand at the remotest corners of heaven from each other. 
 
 Farewell, my best Friend ; — remember me and my wife in love 
 and friendship to our dear Mrs. Flaxman, whom we ardently 
 desire to entertain beneath our thatched roof of rusted gold. And 
 believe me for ever to remain 
 
 Your grateful and affectionate 
 
 William Blake. 
 
163 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 ccxm. 
 
 It will be remembered that in a series of articles (now col- 
 lected) originally contributed to ^Blackwood's Magazine,' 
 entitled * Homer and his Translators,' Professor Wilson criti- 
 cised in his usual spirited and affable manner, the relative merits 
 of the versions of Chapman, Dryden, Tickel, Pope, Cowper, and 
 Sotheby. Three articles had appeared up to July 1831 , in each 
 of which Sotheby's work received its fair share of approbation. 
 This may accomit for the extreme impatience for further acknow- 
 ledgments of his merits. But why have iaiportuned the critic 
 80 early as October for matter only promised for Christmas, and 
 which actually appeared in the December number ? 
 
 William Sotheby to Professor Wilson. 
 
 13 Lower Grosvenor Place : October 8, 1831. 
 
 My Dear Sir, — One month, two months, three months* grievous 
 disappointment, intolerable disappointment. Homer and his tail, 
 Chapman, Pope, and Sotheby in dim eclipse. What becomes of 
 the promise solemnly given to the public, that the vases of good 
 and evil impartially poured forth by your balancing hand, were 
 ere Christmas to determine our fate 1 I long doubted whether I 
 should trouble you with a letter, but the decided opinion of our 
 friend Lockhart decided me. 
 
 And now hear, I pray, in confidence, why I am peculiarly 
 anxious for the completion of your admirable remarks. 
 
 I propose, ere long, to publish the Odyssey, and shall gratify 
 myself by sending you, as a specimen of it, the eleventh book. It 
 will contain, inter alia, a sop for the critics, deeply soaked in the 
 blood of a fair heifer and a sable ram, and among swarms of spii'its, 
 the images of the heroes of the Iliad, completing the tale of Ti'oy 
 divine. After the publication of the Odyssey, it is my intent, by the 
 utmost diligence and labour, to correct the Iliad, and to endeavour 
 to render it less unworthy of the praise you have been pleased to 
 confer on it. Of your praise I am justly proud ; yet for my future 
 object, I am above measure desii'ous of the benefit of your cen- 
 sure. The remarks (however flattering) with which I have been 
 honoured by others, are less valuable to me than your censures ; 
 of this, the proof will be evident in the subsequent edition. You 
 must not, you cannot leave your work incomplete. How resist 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH LETTEBS. 863 
 
 the niglit expedition of Diomede and Ulysses ? — Hector bursting 
 the rampart — Juno and the Cestus — Hector rushing on, like the 
 stalled horse snapping the cord — The death of Sarpedon — The 
 consternation of the Trojans at the mere appearance of the armed 
 Achilles — The Yulcanian armour — Achilles mourning over Patro- 
 clns — The conclusion of the twentieth book — The lamentations of 
 Priam, and Hecuba, and, above all, of Andromache — Priam at the 
 feet of Achilles — Andromache's lamentation, and Helen's (oh, that 
 lovely Helen !) over the corse of Hector — can these and innume- 
 rable other passages be resisted by the poet of the City of the 
 Plague 1 No, no, no. 
 
 In sooth, I must say, I had hope that at Christmas I might 
 have collected, and printed for private distribution, or, far rather 
 published, for public dehght and benefit, with your express per- 
 mission, the several critiques in one body, and then presented to 
 the world a work of criticism unparalleled. 
 
 I dine this day at Lockhart's, with my old and dear friend. Sir 
 "Walter. His health has improved since his arrival. Perhaps 
 your cheeks may bum. I beg the favour of hearing from you. — 
 I remain, my dear Sir, most sincerely yours, 
 
 "Wm. Sotheby. 
 
 COXIV. 
 
 Writing six weeks after the event, Nelson somewhat 
 casually refers to the wounds he received during the sieg-e of the 
 strong fortress of Calvi. As no mention was made of his loss of 
 an eye in the public list of wounded, he drew Admiral Hood'a 
 attention to the omission on the 2nd Oct. following, remarking, 
 ' I do not think that his Majesty will consider that I suffered the 
 less pain from the determination to do my duty in twenty-four 
 hours after the accident, that those laborious duties entrusted by 
 your lordship to my direction might not slacken.' 
 
 Horatio Nelson to Mrs. Nelson. 
 
 Off Leghorn : August 18, 1794. 
 I left Calvi on the 15th, and hope never to be in it again. I 
 was yesterday in St. Fiorenzo, and to-day shall be safe moored, I 
 expect, in Leghorn : since the Ship has been commissioned, this 
 will be the first I'esting time we have had. As it is all past, I 
 may now tell you, that on the 10th of July, a shot having hit our bat- 
 tery, the splinters and stones from it struck me with gi-eat violence 
 
364 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 in the face and breast. Although the blow was so severe as to occa- 
 sion a great flow of blood from my head, yet I, most fortunately, 
 escaped, having only my right eye nearly deprived of its sight : it 
 was cut down, but is so far recovered, as for me to be able to dis- 
 tinguish light from darkness. As to all the purposes of use, it is 
 gone ; however, the blemish is nothing, not to be perceived, unless 
 told. The pupil is nearly the size of the blue part, I don't know 
 the name. At Bastia, I got a sharp cut in the back. You must 
 not think that my hurts confined me : no, nothing but the loss of 
 a limb would have kept me from my duty, and I believe my 
 exertions conduced to preserve me in this general mortality. I 
 am fearful that Mrs. Moutray's son, who was on shore with us 
 will fall a sacrifice to the climate ; he is a Lieutenant of the 
 Victory, a very fine young man, for whom I have a great regard. 
 Lord Hood is quite distressed about him. Poor little Hoste is 
 also extremely ill, and I have great fears about him ; one hundred 
 and fifty of my people are in their beds ; of two thousand men I 
 am the most healthy. Josiah is very well, and a clever smart 
 young man, for so I must call him, his sense demands it. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 Horatio Nelson. 
 
 COXV. 
 
 On July 15, 1795, Nelson was sent with a squadron to co- 
 operate with the Austrian General De Vins, against the French on 
 the coast of Genoa, and on Auo'ust 11 he was appointed a Com- 
 modore. Duiing the ensuing months he was chiefly employed in 
 watching the Mediterranean coast fine from Leghorn to Toulon. 
 
 Commodore Ndaon to Mrs. Nelson. 
 
 Off Leghorn : August 2, 1796. 
 Had all my actions, my dearest Fanny, been gazetted, not one 
 fortnight would have passed during the whole war without a letter 
 from me : one day or other I will have a long Gazette to myself ; 
 I feel that such an opportunity will be given me. I cannot, if I 
 am in the field for glory, be kept out of sight. Probably my ser- 
 vices may be forgotten by the great, by the time I get home ; but 
 my mind will not forget, nor cease to feel, a degree of consolation 
 and of applause superior to undeserved rewards. Wherever there 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 86S 
 
 is anything to be done, there Providence is sure to direct my steps. 
 Credit must be given me in spite of envy. Even the French respect 
 me : their Minister at Genoa, in answering a note of mine, when 
 returning some wearing apparel that had been taken, said, * Your 
 Nation, Sir, and mine, are made to show examples of generosity as 
 well as of valour, to all the people of the earth.' I will also relate 
 another anecdote, all vanity to myself, but you will partake of it. 
 A person sent me a letter, and directed as follows, ' Horatio Nel- 
 son, Genoa.' On being asked how he could direct in such a man- 
 ner, his answer, in a large party, was, ' Sir, there is but one 
 Horatio Kelson in the World.' The letter certainly came imme- 
 diately. At Genoa, where I have stopped all their trade, I am 
 beloved and respected, both by the Senate and lower order. If 
 any man is fearful of his vessel being stopped, he comes and asks 
 me ; if I give him a Paper, or say, ' All is right,' he is contented. 
 I am known throughout Italy ; not a Kingdom, or State, where 
 my name will be forgotten. This is my Gazette. 
 
 Lord Spencer has expressed his sincere desire to Sir John 
 Jervis, to give me my Flag. You ask me when I shall come 
 home 1 I believe, when either an honourable peace is made, or a 
 Spanish war, which may draw our Fleet out of the Mediterranean. 
 God knows I shall come to you not a sixpence richer than 
 when I set out. I had a letter a few days since from H.P.H. the 
 Duke of Clarence, assuring me of his unalterable friendship. With 
 kindest love to my father, believe me your most affectionate 
 husband, 
 
 Horatio Nelson. 
 
 CCXVI. 
 
 Sir John Jervis* splendid fight off Cape -St. Vincent took 
 place on ' the most glorious Valentine's Day, 1797.' Nelson's 
 ship the ' Captain ' was so much damaged that on the following 
 day he shifted his Broad Pendant to the ' Irresistible ; ' and a 
 week after he was appointed Rear- Admiral of the Blue. Nothing 
 in naval warfare ever surpassed the action of Nelson's ship dur- 
 ing this battle. It is said that a more glorious group was never 
 witnessed than that of the * Captain,' a wreck in hull and masts, 
 with a tight grip on her two magnificent prizes, the ^ St. Nicolas ' 
 and ' St. Josef.' 
 
EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Commodore Kelson to the Hon. Sir Gilbert EUiot. 
 
 Irresistible : February 16, 1797. 
 
 My dear Sir, — Your affectionate and flattering letter is, I assure 
 you, a sufficient reward for doing (what to me was a pleasure) my 
 duty. My Admiral and others in the Fleet think the same as 
 you do of my conduct. To receive the swords of the vanquished, 
 on the quarter-deck of a Spanish First-rate, can seldom fall to the 
 good fortune of any man. Miller is doing for you two sketches of 
 the action, sufficient, I am sure, to please you, from your know- 
 ledge of its correctness. 
 
 You will now, I am sure, think me an odd man, but still I 
 hope you will agree with me in opinion, and if you can be instru- 
 mental in keeping back what I expect will happen, it will be an 
 additional obligation, for very far is it from my disposition to hold 
 light the Honours of the Crown ; but I conceive to take hereditary 
 Honours without a fortune to support the dignity, is to lower that 
 Honour it would be my pride to support in proper splendour. On 
 the 1st of June,^ 12th of April, '-^ and other glorious days. Baronetage 
 has been bestowed on the Junior Flag Officers : this Honour is 
 what I dread, for the reasons before given, and which I wish a 
 friend to urge for me to Lord Spencer, or such other of his Majes- 
 ty's Ministers as are supposed to advise the Crown. There are 
 other Honours, which die with the possessor, and I should be 
 proud to accept, if my efforts are thought worthy of the favour of 
 my King. May health and every blessing attend you, and I pray 
 for your speedy passage and a happy meeting with Lady EUiot and 
 your family. And believe me ever, 
 
 Your most obliged and faithful, 
 
 Horatio Nelson. 
 
 ccxvn. 
 
 During the unsuccessful attack on the town of Santa Cruz, in 
 the Island of Teneriffe, on July 24, 1797, Nelson had his right 
 arm shot off; and we may gather from the three short letters 
 which foUow, the Admiral apprehended that, minus an eye and 
 an arm, he would be ' shelved on his return to England. ' 
 
 ' Jmie 1, 1794, Lord Howe's victory off Ushant. 
 
 * April 12, 1782. Lord Rodney's victory over the Comte de Grasse. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 867 
 
 Eear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B.,^ to Admiral 
 Sir John Jervis, K.B. 
 
 Theseus : July 27, 1797. 
 My dear Sir, — I am become a burthen to my friends, and Tise- 
 less to my Country; but by my letter wrote the 24th you will per- 
 ceive my anxiety for the promotion of my son-in-law, Josiah 
 Nisbet. When I leave your command, I become dead to the 
 World ; I go hence, and am no more seen. If from poor Bowen's 
 loss, you think it proper to oblige me, I rest confident you will do 
 it ; the Boy is under obligations to me, but he repaid me by bring- 
 ing me from the Mole of Santa Cruz. I hope you will be able to 
 give me a frigate, to convey the remains of my carcase to England. 
 God bless you, my dear Sir, and believe me, your most obliged and 
 faithful, 
 
 Horatio Nelson. 
 
 You will excuse my scrawl, considering it is my first attempt. 
 
 CCXVIII. 
 
 Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B., to Admiral 
 
 Sir John Jervis, K.B. 
 
 Theseus : August 16, 1797. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I rejoice once more in sight of your Flag, and 
 
 with your permission will come on board the Yille de Paris, and 
 
 pay you my respects. If the Emerald has joined, you know my 
 
 wishes. A left-handed Admiral will never again be considered as 
 
 useful, therefore the sooner I get to a very humble cottage the 
 
 better, and make room for a better man to serve the State ; but 
 
 whatever be my lot, believe me, with the most sincere afiection, 
 
 ever your most faithful 
 
 Horatio Nelson. 
 
 Nelson appointed a Knight of the Bath, March, 1797. 
 
368 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 CCXIX. 
 
 Eear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B., to Lady Ihlson. 
 
 Theseus : August 1797. 
 My dearest Fanny, — I am so confident of your affection, that I 
 feel the pleasure you will receive will be equal, whether my letter 
 is wrote by my right hand or left. It was the chance of war, and 
 I have great reason to be thankful ; and I know that it will add 
 much to your pleasure in finding that Josiah, under God's Provi- 
 dence, was principally instrumental in saving my life. As to my 
 health, it never was better ; and now I hope soon to return to 
 you ; and my Country, I trust, will not allow me any longer to 
 linger in want of that pecuniary assistance which I have been 
 fighting the whole war to preserve to her. But I shall not be sur- 
 prised to be neglected and forgot, as probably I shall no longer be 
 considered as useful. However, I shall feel rich if I continue to 
 enjoy your affection. The cottage is now more necessary than 
 ever. You will see by the papers, Lieutenant Weathernead is 
 gone. Poor fellow ! he lived four days after he was shot. I shall 
 not close this letter till I join the Fleet, which seems distant; for 
 it's been calm these three days past. I am fortunate in having a 
 good surgeon on board ; in short, I am much moi*e recovered than 
 I could have expected. I beg neither you or my father will think 
 much of this mishap : my mind has long been made up to such an 
 event. God bless you, and believe me 
 
 Your most affectionate husband, 
 Horatio Nelsoi^. 
 
 coxx. 
 
 Some of Nelson's most characteristic letters were written 
 during the year 1804, when, as Vice- Admiral of the "VMiite, 
 Commanding-in-Ohief in the Mediterranean, with his flag in the 
 * Victory,' be was hoping to entice Admiral La Touche Tre villa 
 out of the port of Toulon. The French ships gave a few false 
 alarms, hut never once seriously confronted the English squadron. 
 The postscript of the following letter sufficiently indicates Nel- 
 son's just sense of indignation at Treville's false official report; 
 wherein he states that our ships * bore away. I pursued him 
 to the S.E. untU night. Li the morning at daylight I saw no 
 more of him.' 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 869 
 
 Lord Nelson^ K.B., to the Rev. Dr. Nehon. 
 
 Victory : August 8, 1804. 
 My dear Brother, — Mr. C. B. Yonge had joined the Yictory 
 long before your letter was wrote, and he is a very good, deserving 
 young man, and when he has served his time, I shall take the 
 earliest opportunity of putting him into a good vacancy ; but that 
 will not be until October, the very finish, I expect, of my remain- 
 ing here, for my health has sufiered much since I left England, 
 and if the A dmiralty do not allow me to get at asses' milk and rest, 
 you will be a Lord befoi-e I intend you should. I am glad the 
 wine was good and acceptable. I have been expecting Monsieur 
 La Touche to give me the meeting every day for this year past, 
 and only hope he will come out before I go hence. Remember me 
 kindly to Mrs. Nelson, and believe me ever, your most affectionate 
 brother, 
 
 Nelson and Bkonte. 
 
 You must excuse a short letter. You will have seen Monsieur 
 La Touche's letter of how he chased me and how I ran. I keep i% ; 
 and, by God, if I take him, he shall Eat it 1 
 
 COXXL 
 
 It required the indefatigable energy and the lively sense of 
 puhUc duty of a Nelson to withstand the anxieties and disappoint- 
 ments of his command from June 1803 to July 1806. During 
 these two years (less ten days), he did not set foot out of the 
 * Victory.' The escape of the French fleet from Toulon was a 
 real affliction to him, and his pursuit, with only ten sail of the 
 line, of the combined French and Spanish squadron to the 
 "West Indies is, perhaps, the most creditable part of his match- 
 less career. ' I am in truth half dead, but what man can do to 
 find them out shall be done/ said he ; but misled by incorrect 
 information he steered for Tobago as the enemy were returning 
 to Europe via Martinique, 
 
 Vice- Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson^ X.B., to Alexander 
 Davison. 
 
 Victory: July 24, 1806. 
 
 My dear Davison, — As all my letters have been sent to Eng- 
 land, I know nothing of what is passing ; but I hope very, very 
 
 B B 
 
370 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 soon to take you by the hand. I am as miserable as you can con. 
 ceive. But for G^eneral Brereton's damned information, Kelson 
 would have been, living or dead, the greatest man in his Profession 
 that England ever saw. Now, alas ! I am nothing — perhaps shall 
 incur censure for misfortunes which may happen, and have hap^ 
 pened. \Yhen I follow my own head, I am, in general, much 
 more correct in my judgment, than following the opinion of others. 
 I resisted the opinion of General Brereton's information till it 
 would have been the height of presumption to have carried my 
 disbelief further. I could not, in the face of Generals and Admi- 
 rals, go N.W., when it was apparently clear that the enemy had 
 gone South. But I am miserable. I now long to hear that they 
 are arrived in some Port in the Bay ; for until they are arrived 
 somewhere, I can do nothing but fret. Then I shall pi'oceed to 
 England. I can say nothing, or think of anything, but the loss 
 my Country has sustained by General Brereton's unfortunate, ill- 
 timed, false information. God bless you : and believe me ever, 
 my dear Davison, your most faithful and affectionate friend, 
 
 Kelson and Bkonte. 
 
 CCXXII. 
 
 On the morning of Oct. 19, 1805, the combined fleets of France 
 and Spain left Cadiz Harbour, and the same afteraoon Nelson 
 knew that he would soon have an opportunity of encountering 
 his enemy. This unfinished letter was found opened on his 
 desk after the action, and was conveyed by Captain Hardy to 
 Lady Hamilton, who wrote the following endorsement, *0h 
 miserable and wretched Emma, oh, glorious and happy Nelson.' 
 
 Lord NeUon to Lady Hamilton. 
 
 Victory : October 19, 1805. 
 Noon, Cadiz E.S.E. 16 leagues. 
 My dearest beloved Emma, the dear friend of my bosom, the 
 signal has been made that Enemy's Combined fleet are coming out 
 of Port. We have very little Wind, so that I have no hopes of 
 seeing them before to-mon^ow. May the God of Battles crown my 
 endeavours with success, at all events I will take care that my 
 name shall ever be most dear to you and Horatia, both of whom I 
 love as much as my own life, and as my last writing before the 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS, S71 
 
 battle will be to you, so I hope in God that I shall live to finish 
 my letter after the Battle ; may Heaven bless you prays your Nel- 
 son and Bronte. Oct. 20th in the morning we were close to the 
 mouth of the Streights, but the wind had not come far enough to 
 the westward to allow the Combined fleets to weather the shoals 
 off Trafalgar, but they were counted as far as forty sail of Ships of 
 War which I suppose to be thirty-four of the Line and six frigates, a 
 group of them were seen off the Lighthouse of Cadiz this morning 
 but it blows so very fresh, and thick weather, that I rather believe 
 they will go into the Harbour before night. May God Almighty 
 give us success over these fellows and enable us to get a Peace. 
 
 COXXIH. 
 
 It was a servant in a family on Cessnoch Water who inspired 
 Burns with several of Ms best lyrics, with 'Montgomery's 
 Peggy,' with * Bonny Peggy Alison ' and with * Now western 
 winds,' 
 
 Moreover, it was she to whom the following fine love- 
 letter was addressed. No one was a better student than Burns 
 of what one of our old dramatists has styled * the red-leaved 
 and confused book of the heart,' and, rough as he was, his na- 
 ture melted at once into a most indulgent tenderness at the 
 slightest appeal from womanhood. The young woman in this 
 case would not entertain the poet's suit, but she herself con- 
 fessed that it ' cost her some heartaches to get rid of the affair,* 
 
 Eohert Burns to Miss Ellison Beghie, 
 
 Lochlea: 1783. 
 I verily believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feelings of 
 love are as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles of vir- 
 tue and piety. This I hope will account for the uncommou stylo 
 of all my letters to you. By uncommon, I mean theii* being writ- 
 ten in sucL a hasty manner, which to tell you the truth, has made 
 me often afraid lest you should take me for some zealous bigot, 
 who conversed with his mistress as be would converse with his 
 minister. I don't know how it is, my dear, for though, except 
 your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so much 
 pleasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy rap- 
 tures so much talked of among lovers. I have often thought that 
 if a well-grounded affection be not really a part of virtue 'tis 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 some thing extremely akin to it. Whenever the thought of my E. 
 warms my heart, every feeling of humanity, every principle of 
 generosity kindles in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark 
 of malice and envy which are but too apt to iafest me. I grasp 
 eveiy creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally 
 paj^ticipate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathize with the 
 miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, I often look up 
 to the Divine Disposer of events with an eye of gratitude for the 
 blessing which I hope he intends to bestow on me in bestowing 
 you. I sincerely wish that he may bless my endeavours to make 
 your life as comfortable and happy as possible, both in sweetening 
 the rougher parts of my natural temper, and bettering the un- 
 kindly circumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, 
 at least in my view, worthy of a man, and I will add worthy of a 
 Christian. The sordid earth-worm may profess love to a woman's 
 person, whilst in reality his affection is centered in her pocket ; 
 and the slavish drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the horse- 
 market to choose one who is stout and firm, and as we may say of 
 an old horse, one who will be a good drudge and draw kindly. I 
 disdain their dirty puny ideas. I would be heartily out of humour 
 with myself, if I thought I were capable of having so poor a notion 
 , of the sex, which were designed to crown the pleasures of society. 
 Poor devils ! I don't envy them their happiness who have such 
 notions. For my part I propose quite other pleasures with my 
 dear partner, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 COXXIV. 
 
 There are few documents in the history of literature more 
 pathetic, when we consider the result, than this simple letter of 
 business. 
 
 Robert Bums to the Earl of Glencairn. 
 
 Edinburgh: 1787. 
 My Lord, — I know youi* lordship will disapprove of my ideas 
 in a request I am going to make to you ; but I have weighed, long 
 and seriously weighed, my situation, my hopes and turn of mind, 
 and am fully fixed to my scheme if I can possibly effectuate it. I 
 wish to get into the Excise. I am told that your lordship's inte- 
 rest will easily procui*e me the grant from the Commissioners ; and 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 373 
 
 your lordship's patronage and goodness, which have already rescued 
 me from obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, embolden me to ask 
 that interest. You hav^e likewise put it in my power to save the 
 little tie of home that sheltered an aged mother, two brothers, and 
 three sisters from destruction. There, my lord, you have bound 
 m€ over to the highest gratitude. My brother's farm is but a 
 wretched lease, but I think he will probably weather out the re- 
 maining seven years of it ; and after the assistance which I have 
 given and will give him, to keep the family together, I think, by 
 my guess, I shall have rather better than two hundred pounds, 
 and instead of seeking what is almost impossible at present to find, 
 a farm that I can certainly live by, with so small a stock, I shall 
 lodge this sum in a banking-house, a sacred deposit, excepting only 
 the calls of uncommon distress or necessitous old age. 
 
 These, my lord, are my views : I have resolved from the ma- 
 turest deliberation ; and now I am fixed, I shall leave no stone 
 unturned to carry my resolve into execution. Your lordship's 
 patronage is the strength of my hopes ; nor have I yet applied to 
 any body else. Indeed my heart sinks within me at the idea of 
 applying to any other of the great who have honoui*ed me with 
 theii" countenance. I am ill-qualified to dog the heels of greatness 
 with the impertinence of solicitation, and tremble nearly as much 
 at the thought of the cold promise as the cold denial ; but tx) your 
 lordship I have not only the honour, the comfort, but the pleasure 
 of being 
 
 Your lordship's much obliged 
 And deeply indebted humble servant, 
 
 K. B. 
 
 CCXXV. 
 
 The humanity of Burns is perhaps the most striking of all his 
 great qualities. We have had lyric poets as fine, wits as brilliant, 
 but we have scarcely had another man of imaginative genius so 
 near to us in all the common feelings of the heart. So true a 
 man is he, so unafiected in his laughter or his tears, so plain a 
 creature like ourselves, that when he falls upon the thorns of 
 life, and bleeds, we never think of rej^arding him as a great 
 man, but merely as a friend distressed and lost. What sim- 
 plicity, what kindly enthusiasm, what quiet humour, animated 
 thfi writer of the following letter to a bookseller in Edinburgh 1 
 
574 ENGLISH LETTERS, [ITOO- 
 
 Eohert Burns to Peter Hill. 
 
 Ellisland : Feliruary 2, 1790. 
 
 No ! I win not say one word about apologies or excuses 
 for not writing — I am a i)Oor, rascally gauger, condemned to 
 gallop at least 200 miles every week to inspect dirty ponds 
 and yeasty barrels, and where can I find time to write to, 
 or importance to interest anybody 1 the upbraidings of my con- 
 science, nay the upbraidings of my wife, have persecuted me on 
 your account these two or three months past. I wish to God I 
 was a great man, that my correspondence might throw light upon 
 you, to let the world see what you really are, and then I would 
 make your fortune, without putting my hand in my pocket for you, 
 which, like all other great men, I suppose I would avoid as much 
 as possible. What are you doing, and how are you doing % Have 
 you lately seen any of my few friends % "What has become of the 
 Borough Reform, or how is the fate of my poor namesake Made- 
 moiselle Burns decided % man ! but for thee and thy selfish 
 appetites, and dishonest artifices, that beauteous form, and that 
 once innocent and still ingenuous mind, which shone conspicuous 
 and lovely in the faithful wife, and the afiectionate mother; and 
 shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures have no daim on 
 thy humanity ! 
 
 I saw lately in a Beview, some extracts from a new poem, 
 called the * Village Curate ' ; send it me. I want likewise a cheap 
 copy of ' The World.' Mr. Armstrong, the young poet who does 
 me the honour, to mention me so kindly in his works, please give 
 him my best thanks for the copy of his book — I shall write him, 
 my first leisure hour. I like his poetry much, but I think his 
 style in prose quite astonishing. 
 
 Your book came safe, and I am going to trouble you with fur- 
 ther commissions. I call it troubling you — because I want only. 
 Books ; the cheapest way, the best ; so yon may have to hunt for 
 them in the evening auctions. I wtint Smollett's Wor*ks, for the 
 sake of his incomparable humour. I have already Eoderick 
 Random, and Humphrey Clinker — Peregrine Pickle, Launcelot 
 Gi-eaves, and Ferdinand, Count Fathom, I still want ; but as I 
 said, the veriest ordinary copies will serve me. I am nice only in 
 the appearance of my poets. I forget the price of Cowper's Poems, 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 875 
 
 but, I believe, I must have them. I saw the other day, proposals 
 for a publication, entitled, ' Banks's new and complete Chiistian's 
 Family Bible,' printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster-row, London. 
 He promises at least, to give in the work, I think it is three 
 hundred and odd engravings, to which he has put the names of the 
 first artists in London. You will know the character of the per- 
 formance, as some numbers of it are published ; and if it is really 
 what it pretends to be, set me down as a subscriber, and send me 
 the published numbers. 
 
 Let me hear from you, your first leisure minute, and trust me 
 you shall in future have no reason to complain of my silence. The 
 dazzling perplexity of novelty will dissipate and leave me to pm*sue 
 my course in the quiet path of methodical routine. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 OCXXVI. 
 
 Burns found no advancement in the miserable service that he 
 had chosen to enter. He never rose higher than the ' nicked 
 stick,' the badge and implement of a common ganger. But the • 
 Government was not content with ignoring the claims of the 
 poet to promotion. He was known to hold liberal opinions, and 
 to be that dangerous being, ' a friend of the people.' The Com- 
 missioners of Excise wrote him a letter, couched in the formal- 
 ity of official insolence, informing him that ' such a petty officer 
 as he had no business with politics.' 
 
 It is believed that but for the interposition of the friend to 
 whom this letter is addressed, Burns would have been summarily 
 dismissed, and his family turned adrift upon the world. 
 
 Robert Burns to Mr. Graham of Fintray, 
 
 December, 1792, 
 
 Sir, — I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted by Mr. 
 Mitch el, the collector, telling me that he has received an order 
 from your Board to enquire into my political conduct, and 
 blaming me as a person disaffected to government. 
 
 Sir, you are a husband — and a father. — You know what you 
 Would feel, to see the much loved wife of your bosom, and your 
 helpless, prattling little ones, turned adrift into the world, de- 
 graded and disgi^aced from a situation in which they had been 
 respectable and respected, and left almost without the necessary 
 support of a miserable existence. Alas, Sir! must I think that 
 
376 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 snch, soon will be my lot ! and from tlie d — mned, dark insinua- 
 tions of hellish groundless envy too ! I believe, Sir, I may aver 
 it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not tell a deliberate 
 falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if worse can be, 
 than those I have mentioned, hung over my head ; and I say, that 
 the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie ! To the 
 British Constitution, on revolution principles, next after my God, 
 I am most devoutly attached ; you, Sir, have been much and gene- 
 rously my friend. — Heaven knows how warmly I have felt the 
 obligation, and how gratefully I have thanked you. — Fortune, Sir, 
 has made you powerful, and me impotent ; has given you patron- 
 age, and me dependence. — I would not for my single self, call on 
 your humanity ; were such my insular, unconnected situation, I 
 would despise the tear that now swells in my eye — I could brave 
 misfortune, I could face min ; for at the worst, * Death's thousand 
 doors stand open ; ' but, good God ! the tender concerns that I 
 have mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at this moment, 
 and feel around me, how they unnerve Courage, and wither Reso- 
 lution ! To your patronage, aa a man of some genius, you have 
 allowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as an honest man, I know 
 is my due : to these. Sir, permit me to appeal ; by these may I 
 adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to over- 
 whelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I have 
 not deserved. 
 
 E. B. 
 
 coxxvn. 
 
 V/atson has, in his 'Life of Person,* very graphically 
 described the dilficultiea which heset that * Prince of Grecians' 
 at the lime the following letter was written. 
 
 His refusal to take Orders and subscribe to the Thirty-Nine 
 Articles necessitated the resignation of a fellowship at Cambridge 
 which was his chief means of support, and left him, as he said, 
 * a gentleman in London with sixpence in his pocket.' Soon 
 after the professorship of Greek became vacant, and Dr. Postle- 
 thwaite, the Master of Trinity, wrote to inquire of Person 
 whether he would offer himself as a candidate. The reply of 
 the needy scholar who apprclieuded that subscription to the Test 
 would be enforced as rigorously for the tenure of the professor-' 
 ship, does him infinite honour. 
 
I 
 
 1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. STt 
 
 Richard Porson to Dr. Postlethwaite. 
 
 October 6, 1792. 
 Sir, — When I first received the favour of your letter, I must 
 own that I felt rather vexation and chagrin than hope and satis- 
 faction. I had looked upon myself so completely in the light of an 
 outcast from Alma Mater, that I had made up my mind to have 
 no further connection with the place. The prospect you held out 
 to me gave me more uneasiness than pleasure. When I was 
 younger than I now am, and my disposition more sanguine than it 
 is at present, I was in daily expectation of Mr. Cook's resignation, 
 and I flattered myself with the hope of succeeding to the honour 
 he was going to quit. As hope and ambition are great castle- 
 builders, I had laid a scheme partly, as I was willing to think, for 
 the joint credit, partly for the mutual advantage, of myself and the 
 University. I had projected a plan of reading lectures, and I per- 
 suaded myself that I should easily obtain a grace permitting me to 
 exact a certain sum from every person who attended. But seven 
 years' waiting will tire out the most patient temper ; and all my 
 ambition of this sort was long ago laid asleep. The sudden news 
 of the vacant professorship put me in mind of poor Jacob, who, 
 having served seven years in hopes of being rewarded with Kachel, 
 awoke, and behold it was Leah. Such, Sir, I confess, were the 
 first ideas that took possession of my mind. But after a little 
 reflection, I resolved to refer a matter of this importance to my 
 friends. This circumstance has caused the delay, for which I 
 ought before now to have apologised. My friends unanimously 
 exhorted me to embrace the good fortune which they conceived to 
 be within my grasp. Their advice, therefore, joined to the 
 expectation I had entertained of doing some small good by my 
 exertions in the employment, together with the paidonable vanity 
 which the honour annexed to the office inspired, determined me ; 
 and I was on the point of troubling you. Sir, and the other 
 electors, with notice of my intentions to profess myself a candidate, 
 when an objection, which had escaped me in the hurry of my 
 thoughts, now occurred to my recollection. The same reason 
 which hindered me from keeping my fellowship by the method you 
 obligingly pointed out to me, would, I am greatly afraid, prevent 
 me from being Greek Professor. Whatever concern this may give* 
 
S78 HXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 me for rnvself, it gives me none for the public. I trust there are 
 at least twenty or thirty in the University equally able and willing 
 to undertake the office; possessed, many, of talents superior to 
 mine, and all of a more complpng conscience. This I speak upon 
 the supposition that the next Greek professor will be compelled to 
 read lectures ; but if the place remains a sinecure, the number of 
 qualified persons will be greatly increased. And though it were 
 even granted that my industry and attention might poss^ibly pro- 
 dace some benefit to the interests of learning and the credit of the 
 University, that trifling gain would be as much exceeded by keep- 
 ing the professorship a sinecure, and l:>estowing it on a sound 
 l^liever, as temporal considerations are outweighed by spiritual. 
 Having only a strong pei-suasion, not an absolute certainty, that 
 such a subscription is required of the professor elect, if I am mis- 
 taken 1 hereby offer myself as a candidate ; but if I am right in 
 my opinion, I shall beg of you to order my name to be erased from 
 the boards, and I shall esteem it a favour conferred on, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your obliged humble servant, 
 
 R. PORSON. 
 
 ccxxvm. 
 
 * Country gentlemen are the nerves and ligatures of your 
 political body.' Have we not here traces of the influence of 
 Williaui Pitt on his firm fiiend and constant companion ? 
 
 William Wilherforce to the Earl of Galloway. 
 
 House of Commons : December 3, 1800. 
 My dear Lord, — I assure you from my heart that no man 
 respects more than myself the character of a nobleman or gentle- 
 man who lives on his own property in the country, improving his 
 land, executing the duties of magistracy, exercising hospitality and 
 diffusing comfort, and order and decorum and moi*al improve- 
 ment, and though last not least (where it has any place) religion, 
 too, throughout the circle greater or smaller, which he fills. 
 Greatly I regret that due attention, as I think, has not been paid 
 to this class of persons. Every inducement and facility should 
 have been held out to them for fixing iu the country, rather than 
 in towns. 
 
1800] BNGLISB LETTERS. 379 
 
 Timber, bricks and tiles &c. used in improvements, should 
 have been exempted from taxation. The house-tax and window- 
 tax should have been increased on town houses, and lessened on 
 those of gentlemen residing on their own property. For in fact 
 your country gentlemen are the nerves and ligatures of your poli- 
 tical body, and they enable you to enforce laws which could not 
 be executed by the mere power of Government, and often preserve 
 the public peace better than a regiment of soldiers. 
 
 London is the gangrene of our body politic, and the bad 
 humours it generates corrupt the whole mass. Through the me- 
 dium of the great clubs &c. one set of opinions, manners, modes of 
 living are diffused through a vast mass of the higher orders. 
 
 Domestic restraints, and family economy, and order are voted 
 bores, while, from the nature of our constitution, aided by the 
 increasing wealth and the prevailing sentiments of the age, what- 
 ever ways of thinking, speaking, and acting become popular in the 
 higher classes, soon spread through every order. Hence respect 
 for our nobility, and even for the King himself, instead of being 
 regarded as a Christian duty, is deemed an antiquated prejudice. 
 Your Lordship's obliged and faithful 
 
 W. WlLBERFORCE. 
 
 CCXXIX. 
 
 A volume of letters from Mary Wollstonecraft to Captain 
 Gilbert Imlay, with a prefatory memoir of the writer, by Mr. C 
 Kegan Paul, throws a flood of light on the character of a re- 
 markable woman whose chief claim to public notice seems, 
 imtil recently, to have been that she was the wife of the philo- 
 eopher Godwin, and the mother of Shelley's wife. Although 
 the exceptional views on social questions so boldly asserted by 
 this lady, will be held as extravagant and outr6 now as they were 
 in the last century, Mr. C. Kegan Paul, in hallowing the memory 
 of a pure, impassioned, and refined being through a life of toil 
 and sorrow has nevertheless succeeded in painting so complete a 
 picture of Mary Wollstonecraft that our just sympathy is ex- 
 cited for her as fully as these letters excite our disgust for the 
 scoundrel Imlay who first stole her heart and then deserted her. 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft to Captain. Itrday. 
 
 Paris : September 22, 1794. 
 I have just written two letters, that are going by other con- 
 veyances, and which I reckon on your receiving long before this. 
 
SSO ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700-' 
 
 I therefore merely write, because I know I should be disappointed 
 at seeing anyone who had left you if you did not send a letter, 
 were it ever so short, to tell me why you did not write a longer, 
 and you will want to be told, over and over again, that our little 
 Hercules is quite recovered. Besides looking at me, there are 
 three other things which delight her ; to ride in a coach, to look 
 at a scarlet waistcoat, and hear loud music — yesterday, at the/e^e, 
 she enjoyed the two latter ; but, to honour J. J. Rousseau, I in- 
 tend to give her a sash, the first she has ever had round her — ^and 
 why not ? — for I have always been half in love with him. 
 
 "Well, this you will say is trijQling — shall I talk about alum or soap % 
 There is nothing picturesque in your present pursuits ; my imagi- 
 nation, then, leather chooses to ramble back to the Barrier with you, 
 or to see you coming to meet me, and my basket of grapes. With 
 what pleasure do I recollect your looks and words, when I have 
 been sitting on the window, regarding the waving corn ! Believe 
 me, sage sir, you have not sufficient respect for the imagination. I 
 could prove to you in a trice that it is the mother of sentiment, 
 the great distinction of our nature, the only purifier of the passions 
 — animals have a portion of reason, and equal, if not more exqui- 
 site, senses; but no ti-ace of imagination, or her offspring taste, 
 appears in any of their actions. The impulse of the senses, pas- 
 sions, if you will, and the conclusions of reason, draw men together; 
 but the imagination is the true fire, stolen from heaven, to animate 
 this cold creature of clay, producing all those fine sympathies that 
 lead to rapture, rendering men social by expanding their hearts, in- 
 stead of leaving them leisure to calculate how many comforts 
 society affords. If you call these observations romantic, a phrase 
 in this place which would be tantamount to nonsensical, I 
 shall be apt to retort, that you are embruted by trade and 
 the vulgar enjoyments of life. Bring me then back your barrier 
 face, or you shall have nothing to say to my barrier girl ; and I 
 shall fly from you, to cherish the remembrances that will ever be 
 dear to me ; for I am yours truly, 
 
 Mary. 
 
1800] tlNGLlSB. LETTERS. Sai 
 
 ccxxx. 
 
 In tlie foregoing as well as in the following letter the 
 writer refers to her child. Mary Wollstonecraft had given her 
 heart to Imlay and considered herself Imlay's wife. To quote 
 Mr. 0. Kegan Paul : * Her view was that a common affection 
 was marriage, and that the marriatre tie should nut bind after 
 the death of love, if love should die.' 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft to Captain Imlay. 
 
 January 9, 1795. 
 
 I just now received one of your hasty notes ; for business so en- 
 tirely occupies you, that you have not time, or sufficient command 
 of thought, to write letters. Beware ! you seem to be got into a 
 world of projects and schemes, which are drawing you into a gulf, 
 that, if it do not absorb your happiness, will infallibly destroy 
 mine. 
 
 Fatigued during my youth by the most arduous struggles, not 
 only to obtain independence, but to render myself useful, not 
 merely pleasure, for which I had the most lively taste, — I mean 
 the simple pleasures that flow from passion and affection, — escaped 
 me, but the most melancholy views of life were impressed by a 
 disappointed heart on my mind. Since I knew you I have been 
 endeavouriQg to go back to my former nature, and have allowed 
 some time to glide away, winged with the delight which only spon- 
 taneous enjoyment can give. Why have you so soon dissolved the 
 charm % 
 
 I am really unable to bear the continual inquietude which 
 
 your and 's never-ending plans produce. This you may 
 
 term want of firmness, but you are mistaken ; I have still 
 sufficient firmness to pursue my principle of action. The present 
 misery, I cannot find a softer word to do justice to my feelings, 
 appears to me unnecessary, and therefore I have not firmness to 
 suppoi-t it as you may think I ought. I should have been con- 
 tent, and still wish, to retire with you to a farm. My God! 
 anything but these continual anxieties, anything but commerce, 
 which debases the mind, and roots out affection from the heart. 
 
 I do not mean to complain of subordinate inconveniences ; yet 
 I will simply observe, that, led to expect you every week, I did 
 
3S2 HXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 not make the arrangements required by the present circumstances, 
 to procure the necessaries of life. In order to have them, a ser- 
 vant, for that purpose only, is indispensable. The want of wood 
 has made me catch the most violent cold I ever had ; and my head 
 is fo disturbed by continual coughing, that I am unable to write 
 without stopping frequently to recollect myself. This however, is 
 one of the common evils which must be borne with — bodily pain 
 does not touch the heart, though it fatigues the spirits. 
 
 Still, as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, 
 I have determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my 
 child. It is too soon for her to begin to divide sorrow ! And as 
 one has well said, despair is a freeman, we will go and seek our 
 fortune together. This is not a caprice of the moment, for your 
 absence has given new weight to some conclusions that I was very 
 reluctantly forming before you left me. I do not choose to be a 
 secondary object. If your feelings were in unison with mine, you 
 would not sacrifice so much to visionary prospects of future 
 advantage. 
 
 CCXXXI. 
 
 This is the letter that made Tom Moore ' unhappy for days ; * 
 "but he was not the only person who envied the literary veteran 
 Samuel Rogers, who with an ample fortune was retiring from 
 the field of literature full of honours and full of health, to 
 devote the remainder of a long life to the kixury of travel abroad 
 and to the enjoyment of the most refined and amusing society at 
 home. The first part of his 'Italy' appeared in 1822, and the 
 complete edition, delayed on account of the illustrations, and 
 produced at an expense of 10,000^,, was published a few years 
 afterwards. There was a good margin of time for repose be- 
 tween this, his last work, and his death, which occurred in the 
 year 1855, at the age of ninety-three. 
 
 Samuel Rogers to Thomas Moore. 
 
 Venice: October 17, 1814. 
 My dear Moore, — Last night in my gondola I made a vow I 
 would write you a letter if it was only to beg you would write to 
 me at Rome. Like the great Marco Polo, however, whose tomb I 
 saw to-day, I have a secret wish to astonish you with my travels, 
 and would take you with me, as you would not go willingly, from 
 London to Paris, and from Paris to the Lake of Geneva, and so on 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 883 
 
 to this city of romantic adventure, the place from which he started. 
 I set out in August last, with my sister and Mackintosh. He 
 parted with us in Switzerland, since which time we have travelled 
 on together, and happy should we have been could you and Psyche 
 have made a quartett of it. I hope all her predictions have long 
 ago been fulfilled to your mind, and that she, and you, and the 
 bambini are all as snug and as happy as you can wish to be. By 
 the way, I forgot one of your family, who, I hope, is still under 
 your roof. I mean one of nine sisters — the one I have more than 
 once made love to. With another of them, too, all the world 
 knows your good fortune. Apropos of love, and such things, is 
 Lord Byron to be married to Miss Milbanke, at last ? I have heard 
 it. But to proceed to business ; Chamouny, and the Mer de 
 Glace, Yoltaire's chamber at Ferney, Gibbon's terrace at Lausanne, 
 Rousseau's Isle of St. Pierre, the Lake of LucernO; and the little 
 Cantons, the passage over the Alps, the Lago Maggiore, Milan, 
 Verona, Padua, Yenice — what shall I begin with ? but I believe I 
 must refer you to my three Quartos on the subject, whenever they 
 choose to appear. The most wonderful thing we have seen is 
 Bonaparte's road over the Alps — as smooth as that in Hyde Park, 
 and not steeper than St. James's Street. We left Savoy at seven 
 in the morning, and slept at Domo d'Ossola in Italy that night. 
 For twenty miles we descended through a mountain-pass, as rocky, 
 and often narrower, than the narrowest part of Dovedale; the road 
 being sometimes cut out of the mountain, and three times carried 
 through it, leaving the torrent (and such a torrent !) to work its 
 way by itself. The passages or galleries, as I believe the French 
 engineers call them, were so long as to require large openings here 
 and there for light, and the roof was hung with icicles, which the 
 carriage shattered as it passed along, and which fell to the ground 
 with a shrill sound. We were eight hours in climbing to the top 
 and only three in descending. Our wheel was never locked, and 
 our horses were almost always in a gallop. But I must talk to 
 you a little about Venice. I cannot tell you what I felt, when 
 the postillion turned gaily round, and, pointing with his whip, 
 cried out, * Venezia ! ' For there it was, sure enough, with its long 
 line of domes and turrets glittering in the sun. I walk about here 
 all day long in a dream. Is that the Rialto, I say to myself? la 
 this St. Mark's Place ? Do I see the Adriatic 1 I think if you 
 
3S4 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 and I were together here, my dear Moore, we might manufacture 
 something from the ponte dei sospiri, the scala dei giganti, the 
 piombi, the pozzi, and the thousand ingredients of mystery and 
 terror that are here at every turn. Nothing can be more luxu- 
 rious than a gondola and its little black cabin, in which you 
 can fly about unseen, the gondoliers so silent all the while. 
 They dip their oars as if they were afraid of disturbing you ; 
 yet you fly. As you are rowed through one of the narrow 
 streets, often do you catch the notes of a guitar, accompanied by a 
 female voice, through some open window ; and at night, on the 
 Grand Canal, how amusing is it to observe the moving lights (every 
 gondola has its light), one now and then shooting across at a little 
 distance, and vanishing into a smaller canal. Oh, if you had any 
 pursuit of love or pleasure, how nervous would they make you, 
 not knowing their contents or their destination ! and how infinitely 
 more interesting, as more mysterious, their silence, than the noise 
 of carriage- wheels ! Before the steps of the Opera-house, they are 
 drawn up in array with their shining prows of white metal, wait- 
 ing for the company. One man remains in your boat, while the 
 other stands at the door of your lege. When you come out, he 
 attends you down, and calling ' Pietro,' or ' Giacomo,' is answered 
 from the water, and away you go. The gliding motion is delight- 
 ful, and would calm you after any scene in a casino. The gondolas 
 of the Foreign Ministers carry the national flag. I think you 
 would be pleased with an Italian theatre. It is lighted only from 
 the stage, and the soft shadows that are thrown over it produce a 
 very visionary efiect. Here and there the figures in a box are 
 illuminated from within, and glimmering and partial lights are 
 almost magical. Sometimes the curtains are drawn, and you may 
 conceive what you please. This is indeed a fairy land, and Venice 
 particularly so. If at Naples you see most with the eye, and at 
 Rome with the memoiy, surely at Venice you see most with 
 the imagination. But enough of Venice. To-morrow we bid 
 adieu to it, — most probably I shall never see it again. We shall 
 pass through Fen-ara to Bologna, then cross the Apennines to 
 Florence, and so on to Home, where I shall look for a line from 
 you. Pray, have you sermonized the discordant brothers ? I 
 hope you have, and not forgotten yourself on the occasion. When 
 you write to Tunbridge, pray remember me. Tell Lady D. I 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 385 
 
 passed tlie little Lake of Lowertz, and saw the melancholy effects 
 of the downfall. It is now a scene of desolation, and the little 
 town of Goldau is buried many fathoms deep. 
 
 It is a sad story, and you shall have it when we meet. I re- 
 ceived a very kind letter from her at Tunbridge, and mean to 
 answer it. I hope to meet you in London-town, when you visit 
 it next ; at least I shall endeavour to do so. My sister unites 
 with me in kindest remembrance to Mrs. Moore ; and pray, pray 
 believe me to be, 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 S. R. 
 
 At Verona we were shown Juliet's tomb in a Convent garden ! 
 In the evening we went to the play, but saw neither Mercutio 
 nor " the two Gentlemen " there. 
 
 ccxxxn. 
 
 The last considerable work by William Godwin was a * His- 
 tory of the Commonwealth of England.' In the preparation of 
 this book he had consulted Sir Walter Scott and other authori- 
 ties respecting Cromwell's character and rule; and among the 
 letters he received is one of interest from the late Mr. Isaac 
 D'Israeli. Mazarin quite understood how not to offend the Lord 
 Protector. 
 
 Isaac D^ Israeli to William Godwin^ 
 
 6, Bloomsbury Square : July 12, 1828. 
 
 Dear Sir, — It is with great pleasure I communicate to you 
 the striking anecdote which confirms the notice you find in Vol- 
 taire of Cromwell, who when Protector, would be addressed, much 
 against Louis XIV. 's inclination, as * brother,' by the French 
 monarch. At the same time I beg to repeat that I find in my 
 note on this anecdote, a loose reference to Thurlow's papers, by 
 which I infer that I must have read in Thurlow's collection some- 
 thing relative to the subject of your enquiry. 
 
 The present anecdote is very circumstantial and of undoubted 
 authority. Dr. Sampson derived it from Judge Rookly, who was 
 present at the delivery of the letter. I transcribe it literally from 
 the Diary of Dr. Sampson, Sloane MSS. 
 
 *IIe was in the Banqueting House to receive the Duke of 
 Cr^qui, as ambassador from the French King. Great was the 
 
 c 
 
B86 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 state and crowd. Tlie ambassador made his speech, and after all 
 compliments, he delivered a letter into his hands which was super- 
 scribed : " To his most serene Highness Oliver, Lord Protector of 
 England, Scotland, and Ireland." He looks wistfully at the letter, 
 puts it in his pocket, turns away without speaking a word or read- 
 ing it. The ambassador was highly vexed at this, and as soon as he 
 could meet with Secretary Thurlow, expostulates with him for the 
 gi-eat afiront and indignity offered to his master, so great a prince 
 — asked him what he thought the cause might be. Thurlow an- 
 swered, he thought the Protector might be displeased with the 
 superscription of the letter. The Duke said he thought that it was 
 according to form, and in terms as agreeable as could be. " But," 
 says Thurlow, " the Protector expected he should have written to our 
 dear brother Oliver." It is said the ambassador writing this over 
 to France, the King replied : "Shall I call such a fellow my hr other V^ 
 to which Cardinal Mazarin answered, " Aye, call him your father 
 if need be, if you would get from him what you desire." And so a 
 letter was procured, having the desii^ed superscription.' 
 
 I need not assui-e you of the con-ectness of the transcript. 
 Believe me, very truly yours, 
 
 I. D'ISRAELI, 
 
 ccxxxm. 
 
 Dr. Dibdin wished to include a chapter on the fine arts in 
 his ' Literary Reminiscences,' and requested Mr. Isaac DTsraeli 
 to furnish him with the loan of some of William Blake's works. 
 This was the letter of reply. We may see at p. 44 of his 
 ' Essay on Blake,' that ^r. Swinburne has endorsed Mr. D'Israeli'a 
 ciiticism in strikingly coincident language. 
 
 Isaac Vlsra^li to Br. Dibdin. 
 Bradenham House, WTCombe : July 24, 1835. 
 My dear friend, — It is quite impossible to transmit to you the 
 One Hundred and Sixty designs I possess of Blake's ; and as im- 
 possible, if you had them, to convey every precise idea of such an 
 infinite variety of these wondi'ous deliriums of his fine and wild 
 creative imagination. Heaven, hell, and earth, and the depths 
 below, are some of the scenes he seems alike to have tenanted ; 
 but the invisible world also busies his fancy ; aerial beings which 
 could only float in visions, and unimaginable chimeras, such as you 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 387 
 
 have never viewed, lie by the side of his sunshiny people. You 
 see some innocent souls winding about blossoms — for others the 
 massive sepulchre has opened, and the waters beneath give up their 
 secrets. The finish, the extreme delicacy of his pencil, in his 
 light gracile forms, marvellously contrast with the ideal figures of 
 his mystic allegories ; sometimes playful, as the loveliness of the 
 arabesques of Raffaelle. Blake often breaks into the * terribil via ' 
 of Michael Angelo, and we start amid a world too horrified to 
 dwell in. Not the least extraordinary fact of these designs is, 
 theh' colouring, done by the artist's own hand, worked to his fancy ; 
 and the verses which are often remarkable for their sweetness 
 and their depth of feeling. I feel the imperfection of my generaJ 
 description. Such singular productions require a commentary. 
 Believe me, with regard 
 
 Your sincere well wisher, 
 
 Isaac D'Israeli. 
 
 CCXXXIV. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth points to her intimate friend the Eev. 
 Sydney Smith as the man whose captivating manners and 
 generous heart would have deeply influenced the Irish people 
 had he been able to reside permanently among them. 
 
 Miss Maria Edgeworth to Miss Smithy daughter of the Rev. 
 Sydney Smith. 
 
 I have not the absurd presumption to think your father would 
 leave London or Combe Florey, for Ireland voluntarily, but I wish 
 some Irish bishopric were forced upon him, and that his own sense 
 of national charity and humanity would forbid him to refuse. 
 Then, obliged to reside amongst us, he would see, in the twinkling 
 (f an eye (such an eye as his), all our manifold grievances up and 
 down the country. One word, one hon mot of his, would do more 
 
 for us, I guess, than Mr. 's four hundred pages, and all the 
 
 like, with which we have been bored. One letter from Sydney Smith 
 on the affairs of Ireland, with his name to it. and after having been 
 there, would do more for us than his letters did for America and 
 England ; — a bold assertion, you will say, and so it is ; but I cal- 
 culate that Pat is a far better subject for wit than Jonathan; it 
 only plays round Jonathan's head, but it goes to Pat's heart — to 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 the very bottom of Ms heart, where he loves it ; and he don't care 
 whether it is for or against him, so that it is real wit and fun. 
 Now Pat would doat upon your father, and kiss the rod with all 
 his soul, he would, — the lash just lifted, — when he'd see the lausfh 
 on the face, the kind smile, that would tell him it was all for his 
 good. Your father would lead Pat (for he'd never drive him) to 
 the world's end, and maybe to common sense in the end, — might 
 open his eyes to the true state of things and persons, and cause 
 him to ax himself how it comes that, if he be so distressed by the 
 Sassenach landlords that he can't keep soul and body together, nor 
 one farthing for the wife and children, after paying the rint for the 
 land, still and nevertheless he can pay King Dan's rint aisij, — 
 thousands of pounds, not for lands or potatoes, but just for castles 
 in the air. Methinks I hear Pat saying the words, and see him 
 jump to the conclusion, that * maybe the gintleman, his reverence, 
 that " has the way with h.im" might be the man after all to do them 
 all the good in life, and asking nothing at all fi^om them. Better, 
 sure, than Dan after all ; and we will follow him through thick 
 and thin — why no 1 What though he is his reverence, the Church, 
 that is, our cleargy, won't object to him ; for he was never an 
 inimy any way, but always for paying them off handsome, and 
 fools if they don't take it now. So down with King Dan, for he's 
 no good ! and up with Sydney — ^he's the man, King of glory 1 ' 
 
 But, visions of glory, and of good better than glory, spare my 
 longing sight ; else I shall never come to an end of this note. Note 
 indeed 1 I beg your pardon. 
 
 Tours affectionately, 
 
 Maria Edgewoeth. 
 
 ccxxxv. 
 
 The saying that the Duke of Wellington's enemies never 
 gave him so much trouble as his friends is verified over and 
 over again in the volumes containing his civil and military cor- 
 respondence. At the time the following letter was written Vis- 
 count Wellington of Talavera was probably the only public 
 man who had complete confidence in his own strength, and in 
 the might of Great Britain to * strike the bold stroke for the 
 rescue of the world.' All he required for his campaign in the 
 Peninsula was men, money, and freedom of action. But the 
 Government was half-hearted and economical ; the Opposition 
 openly sneered at his ' very rash ' conduct j the Spanish General 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 389 
 
 Cuesta, was old, ol)stinate, and incapable; the Portuguese 
 Government was obstructive ; and there were 380,000 French- 
 men, already in possession of the chief strongholds, opposed to 
 us. No wonder Wellington thought the authorities at horn© 
 * were aU gone mad ! ' 
 
 LieuU-General Viscount Wellington to the Right Hon. Sir W. W. 
 
 Fole. 
 
 Cartaxo: January 11, 1811. 
 
 My dear William, — I have received your letters of the 8th and 
 the 25th of December. I have never been able to obtain any 
 specific instructions, or even statement of an object. You have 
 seen the only instructions which I have, which are to save the 
 British army; and that is the only object officially stated to me 
 for keying an army in the Peninsula. 
 
 I agree entirely in opinion with you that it is desirable, nay 
 necessary, to reinforce this army at an early period to a large 
 amount, and of this opinion I have repeatedly apprised Lord Liver- 
 pool in some public dispatches, and in many private letters : but 
 after what has been stated to you, you will hardly believe that I 
 have now scarcely the force which was originally promised me, 
 which was to be 35,000 infantry. Then, when the last reinforce- 
 ments were sent out, not only I was told that I was to expect no 
 more, but I was desired to send home some of the troops in case 
 Massena should retire. I even begged to borrow 10,000 men from 
 England or Ireland for a short period, which was refused ; and 
 then they tell you that I don't apply for specific numbers to per- 
 form specific operations. What I have already written will show 
 you how the facts stand respecting my applications, and I will now 
 state how they stand respecting objects. Before the siege of Al- 
 meida I urged in the strongest terms tp be reinforced ; I pointed 
 out from whence I could be reinforced ; and stated the probability 
 that if I were reinforced, I could save everything. Was this an 
 object or not ! 
 
 Then I would observe that, adverting to the nature of the war 
 in the Peninsula, to the disparity of means and resources in the 
 possession or in the power of the two parties, to the instructions 
 which government have given to me, and the limitation of my 
 powers of action in every point of view, and to the uncertainty of 
 the operations of the allies, it is not quite ^ir to call upon me to 
 
SOO EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 state the specific object to be attained by every additional soldier 
 who might be sent to me. Government have embarked in this 
 contest, ^vith all its difficulties and uncertainties ; and it is their 
 duty to state their objects in it, and employ the best officer they 
 can find, and the largest army they can collect, to carry it on in 
 the best manner he can, and to reinforce him to the utmost : for 
 sure I am that if we cannot persevere in carrying it on in 
 the Peninsula, or elsewhere on the Continent, we must prepare to 
 make one of our own islands the seat of the war ; and when one of 
 them will have been so for a week, we shall heartily repent all ths 
 little, dii-ty feelings which have prevented us from continuing the 
 contest elsewhere. If there is confidence in me that I shall use to 
 advantage the reinforcements which can be sent to me, let them be 
 sent without calling upon me for objects ; or at all events before I 
 am called upon for objects, let government themselves state theirs, 
 if they have any excepting to keep the war out of the king's do- 
 minions. 
 
 I think you are mistaken respecting the facility with which an 
 army could get on without money. Your reasoning is appli- 
 cable only to the pay of the troops, which is but a small part of 
 the expense which must be defrayed in money. But the necessity 
 of payin-; in money the officers and soldiers of an army cannot be 
 measured by the necessity of paying in money the officers and sea- 
 men of a fleet. First, the rations of the soldier are not sufficient 
 fjr his subsistence for any great length of time. Secondly, all his 
 necessaries are bought and paid for out of his • daily subsistence, 
 and there is the greatest distress, as well for some descriptions of 
 food not issued by the commis.-ary, as for necessaries when the pay 
 is not issued. In the same manner the officers of the army cannot 
 live upon their rations alone, and they, as well as the soldiers, 
 must be paid, or they must do as the French army do, that is, 
 plunder in order to be able to get on at all. 
 
 I think, however, that measures might be adopted to increase 
 our supplies of specie in this country ; but siuce government have 
 taken this subject into their own hands, and have sent here a gen- 
 tleman to make their own inquiries and arrangements upon the 
 subjects, I have given myself no further trouble about it. 
 
 Not only I think that the supply of specie in Portugal might be 
 increased, but that other measures might be adopted to decrease 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 391 
 
 the demand for specie ; and I must observe that if the "war in Por- 
 tugal is to be carried on on the large scale supposed, troops must be 
 brought from other parts ; the expenses in those parts, and the 
 demand for specie there, must cease ; and the specie which sup- 
 plied them might be brought here. 
 
 I have now, I believe, replied to all the principal points in your 
 letter, I ^gree with you in thinking that we ought to be largely 
 reinforced. If we are, 1 am tolerably certain of the result ; and I 
 am equally certain that if Buonaparte cannot root us out of his 
 country, he must alter his system in Europe, and must give us 
 such a peace as we ought to accept. 
 
 I acknowledge that I doubt whether the government (I mean 
 the existing administration of England) have the power, or the in- 
 clination, or the nerves to do all that ought to be done to carry the 
 contest on as it might be. I am the commander of the Britisl 
 army without any of the patronage or power that an officer in thai 
 situation has always had. I have remonstrated against this sys 
 tem, but in vain. Then I am the mainspring of all the othei 
 operations, but it is because I am Lord Wellington ; for I hav( 
 neither influence nor support, nor means of acquiring influence 
 given to me by the government. I have not authority to give { 
 shilling, or a stand of arms, or a round of musket ammunition t< 
 anybody. I do give all, it is true ; but it is contraiy to my in 
 structions, and at my peril ; and I don't think that governmen 
 ought in fairness to make a man what they call commander of th 
 forces, and place him in the perilous situation in which they hav 
 got me, without giving him in specific terms either power or conf 
 dence, or without being certain of having a majority in Parliamen 
 to support him in case of accidents. 
 
 You can have no idea of the risks I incur every day upon ever 
 subject, which not another officer of the army would even look at ; 
 and for this reason I have pressed the strengthening of government 
 much against their inclination : but if I did not incur these I'isks 
 the service in these times could not go on for a moment. I agree, 
 with you in thinking that the Prince of Wales will make a com- 
 plete change : indeed I don't think that the restrictions on his 
 power will be carried. 
 
 There is nothing new here. If the Spaniards can do anything, 
 they won't allow Mortier to cross the Guadiana unless the siege 
 
392 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 of Cadiz should be raised; and then the war will take a new 
 turn. 
 
 In the mean time I think Massena must withdraw. He is 
 sadly pressed for provisions, certainly. Indeed it is extraordinary 
 that he has existed at all so long. 
 
 Ever yours most affectionately, 
 
 Wellington. 
 
 P.S. — I wrote this letter last night, and have since received 
 yours describing the mares, which will answer perfectly. Just to 
 show you the uncertainty of all operations in which Spaniards are 
 concerned, I mention that I have this morning received accounts 
 that the enemy have crossed the Guadiana at Merida, the Spaniards 
 having neglected to destroy the bridge, as they were ordered 1 We 
 shall thus have a large army in the Alentejo immediately. 
 
 CCXXXVL 
 
 In the following amusing letter we find the Iron Duke cour- 
 teously insisting on ' duty before pleasure ! ' He had already in a 
 despatch (January 1811), to the Military Secretary expressed 
 his annoyance at the continued absence on leave of general 
 and other officers of the army ; and he observed, * At this 
 moment we have seven general officers gone or going home ; and 
 excepting myself there is not one in the country who came out 
 with the arrhy, except General Sir Alexander Campbell, who 
 was all last winter in England.' 
 
 There were two good and sufficient reasons for the Duke's 
 complaint that he was actually discharging the duties of * General- 
 in-Chief, General of Cavalry, General of Division, and some- 
 times Colonel of Regiment.' In the first place he was much 
 fatigued ; and in the second place the time had arrived for 
 crossing the Portuguese frontier and developing his plan on 
 Spanish ground. 
 
 Lieut.-General Viscount Wellington to 
 
 Quinta de S. Joao : June 27, 1811. 
 
 I have had the honour of receiving your 's letter of 
 
 the 3rd inst., and it is impossible not to feel for the unhappiness of 
 the young lady, which you have so well described ; but it is not so 
 easy as you imagine to apply the remedy. 
 
 It appears to me that I should be guilty of a breach of discre- 
 tion if I were to send for the fortunate object of this young lady's 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 893 
 
 affections, and apprise him of the pressing necessity for his early- 
 return to England : the application for permission to go ought to 
 come from himself; and, at all events, the offer ought not to be 
 made by me, and particularly not founded on the secret of this young 
 lady. 
 
 But this fortunate Major now commands his battalion, and I 
 am very apprehensive that he could not with propriety quit it at 
 present, even though the life of this female should depend upon it ; 
 and, therefore, I think that he will not ask for leave. 
 
 We read occasionally of desperate cases of this description, but 
 I cannot say that I have ever yet known of a young lady dying of 
 love. They contrive, in some manner, to Hve, and look tolerably 
 well, notwithstanding their despair and the continued absence of 
 their lover; and some have even been known to recover so far as 
 to be inclined to take another lover, if the absence of the first has 
 lasted too long. I don't suppose that your protegee can ever re- 
 cover so far, but I do hope that she will survive the continued 
 necessary absence of the Major, and enjoy with liim hereafter many 
 happy days. I have, &c., 
 
 "Wellington. 
 
 ccxxxvn. 
 
 Lord Wellington is writing from the once thriving port of St. 
 Jean, the frontier town of France, where he established his head- 
 quarters in November 1813, after the battle of the Nivelle, and 
 the retreat of Marshal Soult to his intrenched camp before 
 Bayonne. On entering French territory Wellington ordered 
 that all food and other supplies should be paid for : on the other 
 hand it would seem that the French, after mercilessly exhaust- 
 ing the rich yields of Spain, systematically pillaged their own 
 countrymen. 
 
 Field-Marshal the Marquess of Wellington to Lord Burghersh, 
 St. Jean de Luz : January 14, 1814. 
 My dear Burghersh, — I have received your several letters to 
 the 17th December, and I am very much obliged to you for the in- 
 teresting details which they contain. 
 
 You will have seen the official accounts of our proceedings ; 
 and the ministers will most probably have made you and Lord 
 Aberdeen axjquainted with the state of affairs here, as detailed to 
 them in my reports. 
 
394 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 I was obliged to put the Spanisli army into cantonments as soon 
 as I passed the Nivelle. It would have been useless to attempt to 
 keep them in the state in which they were, and I should have lost 
 them all. This circumstance, but more particularly the state of 
 the roads from the constant bad weather, has cramped my opera- 
 tions since ; and I hope that I shall soon be able to renew them in 
 style. 
 
 In the meantime Soult has received another large reinforce- 
 ment, being the third since the battle of Yitoria. 
 
 We have found the French people exactly what we might expect 
 (not from the lying accounts in the French newspapers, copied into 
 all the others of the world, and believed by everybody, notwithstand- 
 ing the internal sense of every man of their falsehood, but) from 
 what we knew of the government of Napoleon, and the oppres- 
 sion of all descriptions under which his subjects have laboured. It 
 is not easy to describe the detestation of this man. What do you 
 think of the French people running into our posts for protection 
 from the French troops, with their bundles on their heads, and 
 their heds^ as you recollect to have seen the people of Portugal and 
 Spain? 
 
 I entertain no doubt that, if the war should continue, and it 
 should suit the policy of the allied powers to declare for the House 
 of Bourbon, the whole of France will rise as one man in their 
 favour, with the exception, possibly, of some of the prefets, and of 
 the Senate, and that they will be replaced on the throne with the 
 utmost ease. I think it probable that the Allies will at last be 
 obliged to take this line, as you will see the trick that Bony has 
 endeavoured to play by his treaty with King Ferdinand. 
 
 If Priscilla is with you, give my best love to her. I received 
 her letter from Berlin ; and I have sat to Mr. Heaphey for a pic- 
 ture for her, which I suppose wUl be sent to her unless one of her 
 sisters or her mother should seize it. Believe me, &c. 
 
 Wellington. 
 
 ccxxxvm. 
 
 The exultant English public had enough and to spare of 
 * Accounts of the Battle of Waterloo ' in the years 1815 and 
 1816 ; hut unfortunately they were for the most part lamentably 
 incorrect. Certain people who had chanced to convei*se with an 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 395 
 
 officer or private actually engaged in the combat, or had gossiped 
 with a citizen of Brussels, or had cross-questioned any one of 
 the numerous peasants of the great 'cockpit of Europe,' pub- 
 lished a version of the event with an ah' of authority that im- 
 posed on the unwary and irritated the experts. In the two 
 following letters it will be seen that the Duke of Wellington 
 himself, who at no time entertained the hope of ever read- 
 ing a perfectly accurate account of all the details of his great 
 ' triumph (vide ' Supplementary Despatches,' vol. x. p. 507), 
 was particularly provoked by these crude and garbled publica- 
 tions. 
 
 Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington to Sir J. Sinclair, Bart. 
 
 Bruxelles : April 28, 1816. 
 
 Sir, — I have received your letter of the 20th. The people of 
 England may be entitled to a detailed and accurate account of the 
 battle of Waterloo, and I have no objection to their having it ; but 
 I do object to their being misinformed and misled by those novels 
 called 'Relations,' and 'Impartial Accounts,' &c., &c., of that 
 transaction, containing the stories which curious travellers have 
 picked up from peasants, private soldiers, individual officers, &e., 
 and have published to the world as the truth. Hougoumont was 
 no more fortified than La Haye Sainte ; and the latter was not 
 lost for want of fortifications, but by one of those accidents from 
 which human affairs are never entirely exempt. 
 
 I am really disgusted with and ashamed of all that I have 
 seen of the battle of Waterloo. The number of writings upon it 
 would lead the world to suppose that the British army had never 
 fought a battle before ; and there is not one which contains a true 
 representation, or even an idea, of the transaction ; and this is be- 
 cause the writers have referred as above quoted instead of to the 
 official sources and reports. 
 
 It is not true that the British army was unprepared. The 
 story of the Greek is equally unfounded as that of Vandamme 
 having 46,000 men, upon which last point I refer you to Marshal 
 l^ey's report, who upon that point must be the best authority. I 
 have, &c. 
 
 Wellington. 
 
 f 
 
ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CCXXXIX. 
 
 Fidd-Marshol the Duke of Wellington to Frcmcia Mud/ord, 
 
 Paris : June 8, 1816. 
 
 Sir, — I have received your letter of the 21st May. I have 
 ah'eady explained to you my reasons for declining to give a formal 
 permission that any work with the contents of which I should not 
 be acquainted should be dedicated to me, with which you appear 
 to be satisfied ; and I applied those reasons particularly to a 
 work on the battle of "Waterloo, because that, notwithstanding 
 so much had been published on that event by so many people, 
 there was but little truth. You now desii'e that I should point 
 out to you where you could receive information on tbis event, on 
 the truth of which you could rely. In answer to this desire, I can 
 refer you only to my own despatches published in the ' London 
 Gazette.' General Alava's report is the nearest to the truth of the 
 other official reports published, but even that report contains some 
 statements not exactly correct. The othei-s that I have seen can- 
 not be relied upon. To some of these may be attributed the source 
 of the falsehoods since circulated through the medium of the un- 
 official publications with which the press has abounded. Of these 
 a remarkable instance is to be found in the report of a meeting be- 
 tween Marshal Bliicher and me at La Belle Alliance ; and some 
 have gone so far as to have seen the chair on which I sat down in 
 that farm-house. It happens that the meeting took place after 
 ten at night, at the village of Genappe ; and anybody who attempts 
 to describe with truth the operations of the different ai-mies will 
 see that it could not be otherwise. The other part is not so ma- 
 terial ; but, in tinith, I was not off my horse till I returned to 
 ^ Waterloo between eleven and twelve o'clock at night. I have, (fee. 
 
 "Wellington. 
 
 CCXL. 
 
 A string of searching questions respecting our military esta- 
 blishments and regulations having been addressed by the Russian 
 Ambassador, Prince Lieven, on the part of his Emperor, to 
 General Sir Herbert Taylor, the matter was referred to the 
 Duke of Wellington, who refused, with some indignation, to 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. S97 
 
 recommend the Ministers to gratify tlie curiosity of the Eus- 
 sian, or any foreign Government. The Duke considered there 
 was sufficient publicity of details in the documents usually laid 
 before Parliament, and that it would be inconvenient to encou- 
 rage a comparative discussion of our system with that of other 
 military establishments. And he had not forgotten that during 
 his visit to Russia the War Minister at St. Petersburg refused 
 him information on a simple point of military expenditure. 
 
 Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington to Lord FitzEoy Somerset, 
 
 Sudboume : October 20, 1829. 
 
 My dear Lord FitzRoy, — I wish that you would look at and 
 show to Lord Hill my letter to Sir Herbert Taylor on the queries 
 from the Emperor of Russia respecting the army. 
 
 In truth the organisation and economy of our army are not its 
 brilliant parts. Its conduct in the field is unrivalled. Its officew 
 are gentlemen, and moreover the gentlemen of England. The 
 organisation suits the purposes of our service in peace and war, 
 scattered as the army is from Indus to the Pole, and from the 
 pillars of Hercules to the Eastern extremities of the earth. But it 
 would be ridiculous, when opened in all its details, to one of the 
 military nations of Europe; and that for the purpose of being 
 criticised. Ever yours, &c. 
 
 Wellington. 
 
 CCXLI. 
 
 The still waters of Wordsworth's affection ran very deep, 
 and he never became entirely consoled for the loss of the "brother 
 whom he deplores in this touching letter. As he says in the 
 fine verse that he dedicated to Captain Wordsworth's memory, 
 the sailor * to the sea had carried undying recollections ' of the 
 Cumberland landscape, and was one of the very few who under- 
 stood the poet's peculiar mission from the first. He was wrecked 
 off the Bill of Portland February 6, 1805. 
 
 William Wordsworth to Sir George Beaumont. 
 
 Grasmere : February ] 1, 1805. 
 My dear Friend, — The public papers will already have 
 broken the shock which the sight of this letter will give you. 
 You will have learned by them the loss of the Earl of Aber- 
 gavenny, East Indiaman, and along with her, of a great propor- 
 tion of the crew — that of her captain, our brother, and a most 
 
308 EyGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 beloved brother he was. This calamitous news we received at two 
 o'clock to-day, and I write to you from a house of mourning. 
 My poor sister, and my wife who loved him almost as we did (for 
 he was one of the most amiable of men), are in miserable ajffliction, 
 which I do all in my power to alleviate ; but Heaven knows, I 
 want consolation myself. I can say nothing higher of my ever- 
 dear brother, than that he was worthy of his sister, who is now 
 weeping beside me, and of the friendship of Coleridge ; meek, 
 affectionate, silently enthusiastic, loving all quiet things, and a poet 
 in everything but words. 
 
 Alas ! What is human life % This present moment. 
 
 I thought this morning would have been devoted to the pleasing 
 employment of writing a letter to amuse you in your confinement. 
 I had singled out several little fi*agments (descriptions merely), which 
 I purposed to have transcribed from my poems, thinking that the 
 perusal of them might give you a few minutes' gratification, and 
 now I am called to this melancholy ofi&ce. 
 
 I shall never forget your goodness in writing so long and 
 interesting a letter to me under such circumstances. This letter 
 also arrived by the same post which brought the unhappy tidings 
 of my brother's death, so that they were both put into my hands 
 at the same moment. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 W. Wordsworth. 
 
 ccxLn. 
 
 The assiduity of Mr. Dyce constrained Wordsworth, not 
 much or naturally addicted to the pleasures of antiquarianism, 
 to take an interest in the forgotten poets of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury. But it is curious to note how easily the fate of Shirley 
 biings him back to Cumberland, and to a story that might find 
 its place in the ' Excm-sion.' 
 
 William Wordsworth to Alexander Dyce. 
 
 Rydal Mount : March 20, 1833. 
 My dear Sir, — I have to thank you for the very valuable pre- 
 sent of Shirley's works, just received. The preface is all that I 
 have yet had time to read. It pleased me to find that you sympa- 
 thised with me in admiration of the passage from the Duchess of 
 Newcastle's poetry ; and you will be gratified to be told that I 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 309 
 
 have the opinion you have expressed of that cold and false-hearted 
 Frenchified coxcomb, Horace Walpole. 
 
 Poor Shirley ! What a melancholy end was his ! And then to 
 be so treated by Dryden ! One would almo.st suspect some private 
 cause of dislike, such as is said to have influenced Swift in regard to 
 Dryden himself. Shirley's death reminded me of a sad close of 
 the life of a literary person, Sanderson by name, in the neighbour- 
 ing county of Cumberland. He lived in a cottage by himself, 
 though a man of some landed estate. His cottage, from want of 
 care on his part, took fire in the night. The neighbours were 
 alarmed; they ran to his rescue; he escaped, dreadfully burned, 
 from the flames, and lay down (he was in his seventieth year), 
 much exhausted under a tree, a few yards from the door. His 
 friends in the meanwhile endeavoured to save what they could of 
 his property from the flames. He inquired most anxiously after a 
 box in which his manuscripts and pubhshed pieces had been 
 deposited with a view to a publication of a laboriously-corrected 
 edition ; and, upon being told that the box was consumed, he ex- 
 pired in a few minutes, saying or rather sighing out the words, 
 * Then I do not wish to live.' Poor man ! though the circulation 
 of his works had not extended beyond a circle of fifty miles diame- 
 ter, perhaps, at furthest, he was most anxious to survive in the 
 memory of the few who were likely to hear of him. 
 
 The publishing trade, I understand, continues to be much 
 depressed, and authors are driven to solicit or invite subscriptions, 
 as being in many cases the only means of giving their works to the 
 world. I am always pleased to hear from you, and believe me, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 Faithfully your obliged friend, 
 
 Wm. Wordsworth. 
 
 CCXLIII. 
 
 George Crahbe began to write as a contemporary of Gold- 
 smith and Johnson, but his realistic vigour attracted little notice 
 until the tide set, with Scott and Byron, in the direction of 
 naturalism. The middle-aged poet, who had almost resigned 
 ambition, woke up to find himself famous among the younger 
 men, and to renew his labours in literature. But he received 
 no greeting more genial or more flattering than this from the 
 Minstrel of the Border. 
 
400 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 Walter Scott to George Crahhe. 
 
 Ashestiel: October 2, 1809. 
 Dear Sir, — I am just honoured with your letter, which gives 
 me the more sensible pleasure, since it has gratified a wish of more 
 than twenty yeai-s' standing. It is, I think, fully that time since 
 I was for great part of a very snowy winter, the inhabitant of an 
 old house in the country, in a course of poetical study, so very 
 like that of your admirably-painted * Young Lad,' that I could 
 hardly help saying, * That's me ! ' when I was reading the tale to 
 my family. Among the very few books which fell under my 
 hands was a volume or two of Dodsley's Annual Register, one 
 of which contained copious extracts from ' The Village ' and * The 
 Library,' particularly the conclusion of book first of the former, and 
 an extract from the latter, beginning with the description of the 
 old romancers. I committed them most faithfully to my memory, 
 where your verses must have felt themselves very strangely lodged 
 in company with ghost stories, border riding ballads, scraps of old 
 plays, and all the miscellaneoiLS stufi" which a strong appetite for 
 reading, with neither means nor discrimination for selection, had 
 assembled iu the head of a lad of eighteen. New publications at 
 that time were very rare in Edinburgh, and my means of procur- 
 ing them very limited ; so that, after a long search for the poems 
 which contained these beautiful specimens, and which had afibrded 
 me so much delight, I was fain to rest contented with the extracts 
 from the Register, which I could repeat at this moment. You 
 may, therefore, guess my sincere delight when I saw your poems at 
 a later period assume the rank in the public consideration which 
 they so well deserve. It was a triumph to my own immature 
 taste to find I had anticipated the applause of the learned and 
 of the critical, and I became very desirous to offer my grafulor, 
 among the more important plaudits which you have had from 
 every quarter. I should certainly have availed myself of the free- 
 masonry of authorship (for our trade may claim to be a mystery 
 as well as Abhorson's), to address to you a copy of a new poetical 
 attempt which I have now upon the anvil, and esteem myself pai> 
 ticularly obliged to Mr. Hatchard and to your goodness acting 
 upon his information, for giving me the opportunity of paving th© 
 way for such a freedom. I am too proud of the compliments you 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 401 
 
 honour me with, to affect to decline them ; and with respect to the 
 comparative view I have of my own labours and yours, I can only 
 assure you that none of my little folks, about the formation of 
 whose taste and principles I may be supposed naturally solicitous, 
 have ever read any of my own poems, while yours have been our 
 regular evening's amusement. My eldest girl begins to read well, 
 a,nd enters as well into the humour as into the sentiment of your 
 admirable descriptions of human life. As for rivalry, I think it 
 has seldom existed among those who know by experience, that 
 there are much better things in the world than literary reputa- 
 tion, and that one of the best of these good things is the regard 
 and friendship of those deservedly and generally esteemed for 
 their worth or their talents. I believe many dilettanti authors do 
 cocker themselves up into a great jealousy of anything that inter- 
 feres with what they are pleased to call their fame, but I should 
 as soon think of nursing one of my own fingers into a whitlow for 
 my private amusement, as encouraging such a feeling. I am truly 
 sorry to observe you mention bad health. Those who contribute 
 so much to the improvement as well as the delight of society should 
 escape this evil. I hope, however, that one day your state of 
 health may permit you to view this country. I have very few 
 calls to London, but it will greatly add to the interest of those 
 which may occur, that you will permit me the honour of waiting 
 upon you in my journey, and assuring you, in person, of the early 
 admiration and sincere respect with which I have the honour to 
 be, dear Sir, yours, &c., 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 CCXLIV. 
 
 When Dr. Dibdin published his 'Bibliographical and Anti- 
 quarian Tour in France and Germany,' he desired to send pre- 
 sentation copies of the earliest impressions to Southey, Campbell, 
 Walter Scott, and Dr. Howley, then Bishop of London. 
 
 In Walter Scott's case Dr. Dibdin adopted the rt*se of re- 
 questing the great novelist to convey a copy to the Author of 
 Waverley, on the plea that by no other means would the work 
 be likely to reach its intended destination. This was the adroit 
 reply. 
 
 D D 
 
402 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Sit Walter Scott to the Rev. T, FrognaU Dibdin. 
 
 Edinburgli : June 13, 1821. 
 
 My deal Sir. — Upon my return from a little excursion to the 
 country, I found your splendid book, which I think one of the 
 most handsome that ever came from the British press, and return 
 you my best thanks for placing it in my possession as a mark of your 
 regard. You have contrived to strew flowers over a path which, 
 in other hands, would have proved a very dull one, and all Biblio- 
 manes must remember you long, as he who first united their anti- 
 quarian details with good-humoured raillery and cheerfulness. I 
 am planning a room at Abbotsford to be built next year for my 
 books, and I will take care that your valued gift holds a place 
 upon my future shelves, as much honoured as its worth deserves, 
 and for that purpose an ingenious artist ctf Edinburgh has promised 
 to give your Tour an envelope worthy of the contents. Tou see 
 Jrom all this, that I have no idea of suffering these splendid 
 volumes to travel any farther in quest of the nameless and unknown 
 Author of Waverley. As I have met with some inconveniences in 
 consequence of pubHc opinion having inaccurately identified me 
 with this gentleman, I think I am fairly enabled to indemnify my- 
 self by intercepting this valuable testimony of your regard. 
 
 The public have called for a new edition of old John Dryden's 
 Works, on which I bestowed much labour many years ago. I hope 
 you will let me place a set of these volumes upon your shelves in 
 return — which are just on the point of issuing from the press, 
 and will wait on you in the course of a fortnight. I hope Ames 
 does not slumber % I am always, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 Your obliged and faithful servant, 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 CCXLV. 
 
 Twelve months later a vacancy occurred in the Roxhurghe 
 Club by the death of one of its leading members, and certainly 
 its chief Bibliomaniac, Sir M. Sykes ; and at the suggestion of 
 Dr. Dibdin the committee agreed that he should repeat his riLse 
 by writing Scott a letter requesting to be informed whether he 
 thought the author of Waverley would like to become a member. 
 Hence another equally curious and characteristic rejoinder. 
 
1800] MNGLI8H LETTERS, 403 
 
 Sir Walter Scott to the Rev. T. Frognall Dihdin. 
 
 Edinburgh : February 25, 1823. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I was duly favoured with your letter, which 
 proves one point against the unknown author of Waverley, namely, 
 that he is certainly a Scotsman, since no other nation pretends to 
 the advantage of the Second Sight. Be he who or where he may, 
 he must certainly feel the very high honour which has selected him 
 (Nominis Umbra) to a situation so worthy of envy. 
 
 As his personal appearance in the fraternity is not like to be 
 a speedy event, one may presume he may be desirous of offering 
 some test of his gratitude in the shape of a reprint, or such like 
 kickshaw; and for that purpose you had better send him the 
 statutes of your learned body which I will engage shall reach him 
 in safety. It will follow as a characteristic circumstance, that the 
 table of the Roxburghe, like that of King Arthur, will have a 
 vacant chair like that of Banquo's at Macbeth's banquet. But if 
 this author who * hath fern-seed and walketh invisible,' should not 
 appear to claim it before I come to London (should I ever be there 
 again), with permission of the Club, I, who have something of 
 adventure in me, although ' a knight like Sir Andrew Aguecheek 
 dubb'd with unhack'd rapier and on carpet consideration ' would, 
 rather than lose the chance of a dinner with the Boxburghe Club, 
 take upon me the adventure of the siege perilous, and reap some 
 amends for perils and scandals into which the invisible champion has 
 drawn me by being his Locum tenens on so distinguished an occa- 
 sion. 
 
 It will be not uninteresting to yon to know that a fraternity is 
 about to be established here something on the plan of the Roxburghe 
 Club, but having Scottish antiquities chiefly in view. It is to be 
 called the Bannatyne Club, from the celebrated antiquary George 
 Bannatyne, who compiled by far the greatest manuscript record of 
 old Scottish poetry. Their first meeting is to be held on Thursday, 
 when the health of the Roxburghe Club will not fail to be drank. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, &c. 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 \ 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700^ 
 
 CCXLVI. 
 
 A tliird letter from Sir Walter Scott on receipt of Br. Diln 
 din's formal intimation of Ms election to the Club, closes the story 
 of this literary fiction. In the preface to ' Peveril af the Peak/ 
 Scott recorded with pride the circumstance that he had been 
 elected to the Roxburghe Olub merely as the author of ' Wa- 
 Terley ' and without any other designation. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott to the Rev, T. FrognaU Dihdin. 
 
 Edinburgh : May 1, 1823. 
 My dear Sir, — I am duly honoured with your very interesting 
 and flattering communication. Oui' highlanders have a proverbial 
 saying, founded on the traditional renown of Fingal's dc^, * If it is 
 not Bran,' they say, * it is Bi*an's brother.* Now this is always 
 taken as a compliment of the first class, whether apphed to an 
 actual cur or parabolically to a biped, and upon the same principle 
 it is with no small pride and gratification that the Roxburghe 
 Club have been so very flatteringly disposed to accept me as a 
 locum tenens for the unknown author whom they have made the 
 child of their adoption. As sponsor I will play my part as well 
 as I can ; and should the real Simon Pure make his appearance, 
 to push me from my stool, why I shall have at least the satisfac- 
 tion of having enjoyed it. 
 
 They cannot say but what I had the crown. 
 
 Besides, I hope the Devil does not owe me such a shame. 
 
 Mad Tom tells us that the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman, 
 and this mysterious personage will I hope partake as much of his 
 honoiu'able feelings as of his invisibility, and resuming his incognito 
 permit me to enjoy in his stead an honour which I value more than 
 I do that which has been bestowed on me by the credit of having 
 written any of his novels. 
 
 I regret deeply I cannot soon avail myself of my new privi- 
 leges, but Courts which I am under the necessity of attending 
 officially set down in a few days, and hei mihi do not arise for 
 Vacation until July. But I hope to be in Town next Spring, and 
 certainly I have one strong additional reason for a London Journey 
 furnished by the pleasure of meeting the Koxburghe Club. Make 
 
 I 
 
1800] ENQLISK LETTERS, 405 
 
 my most respectful compliments to the members at their next 
 merry meeting, and express in the warmest manner my sense of 
 obligation. 
 
 I am always, my dear Sir, 
 Very much youi* most obedient servant, 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 COXLVII. 
 
 Under the iwm de plume of Peter Plymley, the Rev. Sydney 
 Smith, in a series of ten letters addressed ' to my brother Abra- 
 ham,' joined in that controversy which, lasting, as it did, from 
 Pitt to Peel, was the most persistent and most wearying political 
 'quarrel of modern times, Ranging himself among the followers 
 of Grenville and Fox in advocating hberal concessions to the 
 Roman Catholics, he fired his lirst shot in 1807, the effect of 
 which has been likened to that of ^a spark on a heap of gun- 
 powder,' Unfortunately the writei*'s vigorous arguments and 
 cheerful humour were marred by overmuch bitterness and scoff- 
 ing. Although the authorship of these letters was never really 
 proved by the Government of the day, their vivid resemblance 
 to the tone of Sydney Smith's conversation virtually betrayed 
 him, 
 
 Peter Plymley to his brother Abraham, 
 
 1807. 
 
 Dear Abraham, — A worthier and better man than yourself 
 does not exist ; but I have always told you, from the time of our 
 boyhood, that you were a bit of a goose. Your parochial affairs 
 are governed with exemplary order and regularity: you are as 
 powerful in the vestry as Mr. Perceval is in the House of Com- 
 mons, and, I must say, with much more reason ; nor do I know 
 any church where the faces and smock-frocks of the congregation 
 are so clean, or their eyes so uniformly directed to the preaclier. 
 There is another point upon which I will do you ample justice ; 
 and that is, that the eyes so directed towards you are wide open ; 
 for the rustic has, in general, good principles, though he cannot 
 control his aninaal habits, and, however loud he may snore, his 
 face is perpetually turned toward the fountain of orthodoxy. 
 
 Having done you this act of justice, I shall proceed, according 
 to our ancient intimacy and familiarity, to explain to you my 
 opinions about the Catholics, and to reply to yours. 
 
 In the fii'st place, my sweet Abraham, the Pope is not landed 
 
406 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 — nor are there any curates sent out after him — nor has he been 
 hid at St. Alban's by the Dowager Lady Spencer — nor dined 
 privately at Holland House — nor been seen near Dropmore. If 
 these fears exist (which I do not believe), they exist only in the 
 mind of the Chancellor of the Exchequer ; they emanate from his 
 zeal for the Protestant interest; and, though they reflect the 
 highest honour upon the delicate irritability of his faith, must 
 certainly be considered as more ambiguous proofs of the sanity and 
 vigour of his understanding. By this time, however, the best in- 
 formed clergy in the neighbourhood of the metropolis are convinced 
 that the rumour is without foundation ; and, though the Pope is 
 probably hovering about our coast in a fishing-smack, it is most 
 likely he will fall a prey to the vigilance of our cruisers ; and it is 
 certain he has not yet polluted the Protestantism of our soil. 
 Exactly in the same manner the story of the wooden gods seized 
 at Charing Cross, by an order from the Foreign Office, turns out 
 to be without the shadow of a foundation : instead of the angels 
 and archangels, mentioned by the informer, nothing was discovered 
 but a wooden image of Lord Mulgrave, going down to Chatham, 
 as a head piece for the Spanker gun- vessel : it was an exact re- 
 semblance of his Lordship in his military uniform, and therefore as 
 little like a god as can well be imagined. 
 
 Having set your fears at rest as to the extent of the conspiracy 
 formed against the Protestant religion, I will now come to th6 
 argument itself. 
 
 You say these men interpret the Scriptures in an unorthodox 
 manner, and that they eat their god. Yery likely. All this may 
 seem very imjx>rtant to you, who Kve fourteen miles from a mar- 
 ket town, and, from long residence upon your living, are become a 
 kind of holy vegetable; and, in a theological sense, it is highly im- 
 jjortant. But I want soldiers and sailors for the state ; I want to 
 make a greater use than I now can do of a poor country full of 
 men; I want to render the military service popular among the 
 Irish ; to check the power of France ; to make every possible 
 exertion for the safety of Europe, which in twenty years time will 
 be nothing but a mass of French slaves : and then you, and ten 
 other such boobies as you, call out — ' For God's sake, do not think 
 of raising cavalry and infantry in Ireland ! . . . They interpret 
 the Epistle to Timothy in a different manner from what we do I 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 407 
 
 , , . , They eat a bit of wafer every Sunday, which fchey call 
 their God !'..., I wish to my soul they would eat you, and 
 such reasoners as you are. What ! when Tui'k, Jew, Heretic, 
 Infidel, Catholic, Protestant, are all combined against this coun- 
 try; when men of every religious persuasion, and no religious 
 persuasion ; when the population of half the globe is up in arms 
 against us, are we to stand examining our generals and armies as 
 a bishop examines a candidate for holy orders, and to suffer no 
 one to bleed for England who does not agree with you about the 
 2nd of Timothy ? You talk about Catholics ! If you and your 
 brotherhood have been able to persuade the country into a con- 
 tinuation of this grossest of all absurdities, you have ten times the 
 power which the Catholic clergy ever had in their best days. 
 Louis XIV., when he revoked the Edict of Nantes, never thought 
 of preventing the Protestants from fighting his battles ; and gained 
 a,ccordingly some of his most splendid victories by the talents of 
 his Protestant generals. No power in Europe, but yourselves, has 
 ever thought for these hundred years past of asking whether a 
 bayonet is Catholic, or Presbyterian, or Lutheran; but whether 
 it is sharp and well-tempered. A bigot delights in public ridicule ; 
 for he begins to think he is a martyr. I can promise you the full 
 enjoyment of this pleasure from one extremity of Europe to the 
 other. I am as disgusted with the nonsense of the Roman Catholic 
 religion as you can be, and no man who talks such nonsense shall 
 ever tithe the product of the earth, nor meddle with the ecclesias- 
 tical establkhment in any shape ; but what have I to do with the 
 speculative nonsense of his theology, when the object is to elect 
 the mayor of a country town, or to appoint a colonel of a marching 
 regiment ? Will a man discharge the solemn impertinences of the 
 one office with less zeal, or shrink from the bloody boldness of the 
 other with greater timidity, because the blockhead believes in all 
 the Catholic nonsense of the real presence? I am sorry there 
 should be such impious folly in the world, but I should be ten 
 times a greater fool than he is, if I refused, in consequence of his 
 folly, to lead him out against the enemies of the state. Your 
 whole argument is wrong : the state has nothing whatever to do 
 with theological errors which do not violate the common rules of 
 morality, and militate against the fair power of the ruler : it leaves 
 all these errors to you, and to such as you. You have every tenth 
 
408 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 porker in your parish for refuting them ; and take care that you 
 are vigilant, and logical in the task. I love the Church as well as 
 you do ; but you totally mistake the nature of an establishment, 
 when you contend that it ought to be connected with the military 
 and civil career of every individual in the state. It is quite right 
 that there should be one clergyman to every parish interpreting 
 the Scriptures after a particular manner, ruled by a regular 
 hierarchy, and paid with a rich proportion of haycocks and wheat- 
 sheafs. When I have laid this foundation for a rational religion 
 in the state — when I have placed ten thousand well educated men 
 in different parts of the kingdom to preach it up, and compelled 
 every body to pay them, whether they hear them or not — I have 
 taken such measures as I know must always procure an immense 
 majority in favour of the Established Church ; but I can go no 
 further. I cannot set up a civil inquisition, and say to one, you 
 shall not be a butcher because you are not orthodox ; and prohibit 
 another from brewing, and a third from administering the law, 
 and a fourth from defenrling the country. If common justice did 
 not prohibit me from such a conduct, common sense would. The 
 advantiHge to be gained from quitting the heresy would make it 
 shameful to abandon it ; and men who had once left the Church 
 would continue in such a state of alienation from a point of honour, 
 and transmit that spirit to the latest posterity. This is just the 
 effect your disqualifying laws have produced. They have fed Dr. 
 Kees, and Dr. Kippis ; crowded the congregation of the Old Jewry 
 to suffocation ; and enabled every sublapsarian, and supralapsarian, 
 and semi-pelagian clergyman, to build himself a neat brick chapel, 
 and live with some distant resemblance to the state of a gentleman. 
 You say the King's coronation oath will not allow him to consent 
 to any relaxation of the Catholic laws. Why not relax the Catholic 
 laws as well as the laws against Protestant dissenters % If one is 
 contrary to his oath, the other must be so too ; for the spirit of the 
 oath is, to defend the Church establishment, which the Quaker and 
 the Presbyterian differ from as much or more than the Catholic; 
 and yet his Majesty has repealed the Corporation and Test Act in 
 Ireland, and done more for the Catholics of both kingdoms than 
 had been done for them since the Peformation. In 1778, the 
 Ministers said nothing about the royal conscience; in 1793 no 
 conscience; in 1804 no conscience; the common fe3lLngs of hu- 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 400 
 
 manitj and justice then seem to have had their fullest influence 
 upon the advisers of the crown : but in 1807 — a year, I suppose, 
 eminently fruitful in moral and religious scruples, (as some years 
 are fruitful in apples, some in hops,) — it is contended by the well- 
 paid John Bowles, and by Mr. Perceval (who tried to be well 
 paid), that that is now perjury which we had hitherto called policy 
 and benevolence ! Keligious liberty has never made such a stride 
 as under the reign of his present Majesty j nor is there any in- 
 stance in the annals of our histoiy, where so many infamous and 
 damnable laws have been repealed as those against the Catholics 
 which have been put an end to by him : and then, at the close of 
 this useful policy, his advisers discover that the very measures of 
 concession and indulgence, or (to use my own language) the 
 measures of justice, which he has been pursuing through the whole 
 of his reign, are contrary to the oath he takes at its commence- 
 ment ! That oath binds his Majesty not to consent to any measure 
 contrary to the interest of the Established Church : but who is to 
 judge of the tendency of each particular measure % Not the King 
 alone ; it can never be the intention of this law that the King, who 
 listens to the advice of his Parliament upon a road bill, should re- 
 ject it upon the most important of all measures. Whatever be his 
 own private judgment of the tendency of any ecclesiastical bill, he 
 complies most strictly with his oath if he is guided in that par- 
 .ticular point by the advice of his Parliament, who may be pre- 
 sumed to understand its tendency better than the King, or any 
 other individual. You say, if Parliament had been unanimous in 
 their opinion of the absolute necessity for Lord Howick's bill, and 
 the King had thought it pernicious, he would have been perjured 
 if he had not rejected it. I say, on the contrary, his Majesty 
 would have acted in the most conscientious manner, and have 
 complied most scrupulously with his oath, if he had sacrificed his 
 own opinion to the opinion of the great council of the nation; 
 because the probability was that such opinion was better than his 
 own ; and upon the same principle, in common life, you give up 
 your opinion to your physician, your lawyer, and your builder. 
 
 You admit this bill did not compel the King to elect Catholic 
 officers, but only gave him the option of doing so if he pleased ; 
 but you add, that the King was right in not trusting such dan- 
 gerous power to himself or his successors. Now you are either to 
 
410 EXGLISH LETTERS. [17C0- 
 
 suppose that tlie King for the time being has a zeal for the Catholic 
 establishment, or that he has not. If he has not, where is the 
 clanger of giving such an option ? If you suppose that he may be 
 influenced by such an admiration of the Catholic religion, why did 
 his present Majesty, in the yea,r 1804, consent to that bill which 
 empowered the Grown to station ten thousand Catholic soldiers in 
 any part of the kingdom, and placed them absolutely at the dis- 
 posal of the Crown ? If the King of England for the time being is 
 a good Protestant, there can be no danger in making the Catholic 
 eligible to anything : if he is not, no power can possibly be so dan- 
 gerous as that conveyed by the bill last quoted : to which, in point 
 of peril. Lord Ho wick's bill is a mere joke. But the real fact is, 
 one bill opened a door to his Majesty's advisers for trick, jobbing, 
 and intrigue ; the other did not. Besides, what folly to talk to 
 me of an oath, which, under all possible circumstances, is to pre- 
 vent the relaxation of the Catholic laws ! for such a solemn appeal 
 to God sets all conditions and contingencies at defiance. Suppose 
 Bonaparte was to retrieve the only very great blunder he has 
 made, and were to succeed, after repeated trials, in making an im- 
 pression upon Ireland, do you think we should hear any thing of 
 the impediment of a coronation oath ? or would the spirit of this 
 country tolerate for an hour such ministers, and such unheard-of 
 nonsense, if the most distant prospect existed of conciliating the 
 Catholics by eveiy species even of the most abject concession ? 
 And yet, if your argument is good for anything, the coronation 
 oath ought to reject, at such a moment, every tendency to concilia- 
 tion, and to bind Ireland for ever to the crown of France. 
 
 I found in your letter the usual remarks about fire, fagot, and 
 bloody Mary. Are you aware, my dear Priest, that there were as 
 many persons put to death for religious opinions under the mild 
 Elizabeth as under the bloody Mary? The reign of the former 
 was, to be sure, ten times as long ; but I only mention the fact, 
 merely to show you that something depends upon the age in which 
 men live, as well as on then* religious opinions. Three hundred 
 years ago, men burnt and hanged each other for these opinions, 
 Time has softened Catholic as well as Protestant : they both 
 required it ; though each perceives only his own improvement, and 
 is blind to that of the other. TVe are all the creatures of circum- 
 stances. I know not a kinder and better man than yourself; bu 
 
 i 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 411 
 
 you (if you had lived in those times) would certainly have roasted 
 your Catholic : and I promise you, if the first exciter of this reli- 
 gious mob had been as powerful then as he is now, you would soon 
 have been elevated to the mitre. I do not go the length of saying 
 that the world has suffered as much from Protestant as from 
 Catholic persecution ; far from it ; but you should remember the 
 Catholics had all the power, when the idea first started up in the 
 world that there could be two modes of faith ; and that it waa 
 much more natural they should attempt to crush this diversity of 
 opinion by great and cruel efibrts, than that the Protestants should 
 rage against those who differed from them, when the very basis of 
 their system was complete freedom in all spiritual matters. 
 
 I cannot extend my letter any further at present, but you shall 
 soon hear from me again. You tell me I am a party man. I 
 hope I shall always be so, when I see my country in the hands of 
 a pert London joker and a second-rate lawyer. Of the first, no 
 other good is known than that he makes pretty Latin verses ; the 
 second seems to me to have the head of a country parson, and the 
 tongue of an Old Bailey lawyer. 
 
 If I could see good measures pursued, I care not a farthing 
 who is in power ; but I have a passionate love for common justice, 
 and for common sense, and I abhor and despise every man who 
 builds up his political fortune upon their ruin. 
 
 God bless you, reverend Abraham, and defend you from the 
 Pope, and all of us from that administration who seek power 
 by opposing a measure which Burke, Pitt, and Fox all considered 
 as absolutely necessary to the existence of the country. 
 
 COXLYIII. 
 
 Would it be uncharitable to surmise that the witty parson 
 would not have written the following letter had he been a good 
 shot. He himself has admitted that the birds on Lord Grey's 
 preserves seemed to consider the muzzle of his gun as their 
 safest position, and that he gave up shooting because * I never 
 could help shutting my eyes when I fired my gun, so was not 
 likely to improve.' 
 
412 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 The Rev. Sydney Smith to Lady Holland. 
 
 June 24, 1809. 
 
 My dear Lady Holland, — This is the third day since I arrived 
 at the village of Heslington, two hundred miles from London. I 
 missed the hackney-coaches for the fii-st three or four days in 
 York, but after that, prepared myself for the change from the 
 aurelia to the grub state, and dare say I shall become fat, torpid, 
 and motionless with a very good grace. 
 
 I have laid down two rules for the country : first, not to smite 
 the partridge ; for, if I fed the poor, and comforted the sick, and 
 instructed the ignorant, yet I should be nothing worth, if I smote 
 the partridge. 
 
 If anything ever endangers the Church, it will be the strong 
 propensity to shooting for which the clergy are remarkable. Ten 
 thousand good shots dispersed over the country do more harm to 
 the cause of religion than the arguments of Yoltaire and Rousseau. 
 The squire never reads, but is it possible he can believe that reli- 
 gion to be genuine whose ministers destroy his game ? I mean to 
 come to town once a year, though of that, I suppose, I shall soon 
 be weary, finding my mind growing weaker and weaker, and my 
 acquaintance gradually falling off. I shall by that time have taken 
 myself again to shy tricks, pull about my watch-chain, and become 
 (as I was before) your abomination. I am very much obliged to 
 Allen for a long and very sensible letter upon the subject of Spain. 
 After all, surely the fate of Spain depends upon the fate of 
 Austria. Pray tell the said Don Juan, if he comes northward to 
 visit the authors of his existence, he must make this his resting- 
 place. Mrs. Sydney is all rural bustle, impatient for the partuii- 
 tion of hens and pigs ; I wait patiently, knowing all will come in 
 due season I 
 
 Sydney Smith. 
 
 ccxux. 
 
 This letter was written during a meeting of the British Asso- 
 ciation at Glasgow, under the presidency of the Marquess of 
 Breadalbane. Sydney Smith was a voracious and rapid reader, 
 and Mr. Hayward, in one of his essays, likens his method of 
 reading to that of Dr. Johnson, who could tear out the heart of 
 a hook. In this wise he acquired a considerable amount of 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 413 
 
 scientific knowledge, especially of geology ; but, says Mr. Hay- 
 ward, ' he was too liberal and enlightened a divine to believe 
 that sound religion could be undermined by the diflfusion of 
 truth, and when the cry of Moses against Murchison was 
 raised at York, he gallantly sided with the geologist.' 
 
 The Rev. Sydney Smith to Roderick Murchison. 
 
 Combe Florey : 1840. 
 Dear Murcliison, — Many thanks for your kind recollections of 
 me in sending me your pamphlet, which I shall read with all 
 attention and care. My observation has been necessarily so much 
 fixed on missions of another description, that I am hardly recon- 
 ciled to zealots going out with voltaic batteries and crucibles, for 
 the conversion of mankind, and baptizing their fellow-creatures 
 with the mineral acids; but I will endeavour to admire, and 
 believe in you. My real alarm for you is, that by some late deci- 
 sions of the magistrates, you come under the legal definition of 
 strollers; and nothing would give me more pain than to see 
 any of the sections upon the mill, calculating the resistance of the 
 air, and showing the additional quantity of flour which might be 
 ground in vacuo, — each man in the mean time imagining himself a 
 Galileo. Mrs. Sydney has eight distinct illnesses, and I have nine. 
 We take something every hour, and pass the mixture from one to 
 the other. About forty years ago, I stopped an infant in Lord 
 Breadalbane's grounds, and patted his face. The nurse said, * Hold 
 up your head. Lord Glenorchy.* This was the President of your 
 society. He seems to be acting an honourable and enlightened 
 part in life. Pray present my respects to him and his beautiful 
 Marchioness. 
 
 Sydney Smith, 
 
 CCL. 
 
 the * Ingoldsby Legends. 
 
 The Rev. Sydney Smith to the Rev. R. E. Barham. 
 
 39, Green Street: November 15, 1841. 
 Many thanks, my dear Sir, for your kind present of gama If 
 there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is the roast 
 
414 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 pheasant and bread sauce — bam door fowls for dissenters, but for 
 the real churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk — the 
 pheasant, the pheasant ! 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Sydney Smith. 
 
 CCLI. 
 
 No man in his day was more earnest than Sydney Smith in 
 endeavours to procure redress of grievances, social, relio:ious, 
 or moral. He was ever ready to wage war against what he con- 
 sidered public wrongs, great or small ; and would take up his 
 pen in good-humoured ridicule of railway directors or sporting 
 parsons as readily as in eager denunciation (though not invari- 
 ably in the best taste), of some religious disabilities or political 
 shortcomings. 
 
 The Rev. Sydney Smith to the Editor of the ' Morning Chronicle.^ 
 
 June 7, 1842. 
 
 Sir, — Since the letter upon railroads, which you were good 
 enough to insert in your paper, I have had some conversation with 
 two gentlemen officially connected with the Great Western. 
 Though nothing could be more courteous than their manner, nor 
 more intelligible than their arguments, I remain unshaken as to 
 the necessity of keeping the doors open. 
 
 There is in the first place, the efiect of imagination, the idea 
 that all escape is impossible, that (let what will happen) you must 
 sit quiet in first class No. 2, whether they are pounding you into 
 a jam, or burning you into a cinder, or crumbling you into a 
 human powder. These excellent directors, versant in wood and 
 metal, seem to require that the imagination should be sent by some 
 other conveyance, and that only loads of unimpassioned, un- 
 intellectual flesh and blood should be darted along on the Western 
 rail ; whereas, the female homo is a screaming, parturient, inter- 
 jectional, hysterical animal, whose delicacy and timidity, mono- 
 polists (even much as it may surprise them) must be taught to 
 consult. The female, in all probability, never would jump out ; 
 but she thinks she may jump out when she pleases, and this is 
 intensely comfortable. 
 
 There are two sorts of dangers which hang over railroads. 
 The one retail dangers, where individuals only are concerned ; the 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 415 
 
 other, wholesale dangers, where the whole train or a considerable 
 part of it, is put in jeopardy. For the first danger there is a 
 remedy in the prudence of individuals ; for the second there is 
 none. No man need be drunk, nor need he jump out when the 
 carriage is in motion ; but in the present state of science it is 
 impossible to guard effectually against the fracture of the axle-tree, 
 or the explosion of the engine ; and if the safety of the one party 
 cannot be consulted but by the danger of the other, if the foolish 
 cannot be restrained but by the unjust incarceration of the wise, 
 the prior consideration is due to those who have not the remedy 
 for the evil in their own hands. 
 
 But the truth is — and so (after a hundred monopolising 
 experiments on public patience) the railroad directors will find it — 
 there can be no other dependence for the safety of the public than 
 the care which every human being is inclined to take of his own 
 life and limbs. Every thing beyond this is the mere lazy tyranny 
 of monopoly, which makes no distinction between human beings 
 and brown paper parcels. If riding were a monopoly, as travelling 
 in carriages is now become, there are many gentlemen whom I see 
 riding in the Park upon such false principles, that I am sure the 
 cantering and galloping directors would strap them, in the ardour 
 of their affection, to the saddle, padlock them to the stirrups, or 
 compel them to ride behind a policeman of the stable; and 
 nothing but a motion from O'Brien, or an order from Gladstone, 
 could release them. 
 
 Let the company stick up all sorts of cautions and notices 
 within their carriages and without; but, after that, no doors 
 locked. If one door is allowed to be locked, the other will soon 
 be so too ; there is no other security to the public than absolute 
 prohibition of the practice. The directors and agents of the 
 Gi-eat Western are individually excellent men ; but the moment 
 men meet in public boards, they cease to be collectively excellent. 
 The fund of morality becomes less, as the individual contributors 
 increase in number. I do not accuse such respectable men of 
 any wilful violation of truth, but the memoirs which they are 
 about to present will be, without the scrupulous cross-examination 
 of a committee of the House of Commons, mere waste paper. 
 
 But the most absurd of all legislative enactments is this 
 hemiplegian law — an act of Parliament to protect one side of the 
 
416 EXGLISE LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 body and not tlie otHer. If the wheel comes off on the right, the 
 open door is uppermost, and every one is saved. If, from any 
 sudden avalanche on the road, the carriage is prostrated to the 
 left, the locked door is uppermost, all escape is impossible, and 
 the raih'oad mai*tyrdom begins. 
 
 Leave me to escape in the best way I can, as the fire offices 
 very kindly permit me to do. I know very well the danger of 
 getting out on the off-side ; but ascape is the affair of a moment ; 
 suppose a train to have passed at that moment, I know I am safe 
 from any other trains for twenty minutes or half an hour ; and if 
 I do get out on the off side, I do not remain in the valley of 
 death between the two trains, but am over to the opposite bank 
 in an instant — only half-roasted, or merely browned, certainly not 
 done enough for the Great Western directors. 
 
 On Saturday morning last, the wheel of the public carriage, in 
 which a friend of mine was travelling, began to smoke, but was 
 pacified by several buckets of water, and proceeded. After five 
 more miles, the whole can-iage was full of smoke, the train way 
 with difficulty stopped, and the flagi'ant vehicle removed. The 
 axle was nearly in two, and in another mile would have been 
 severed. 
 
 Railroad travelling is a delightful improvement of human Ufa. 
 Man is become a bird ; he can fly longer and quicker than a Solan 
 goose. The mamma rushes sixty miles in two hours to the aching 
 finger of her conjugating and declining grammar boy. The 
 early Scotchman scratches himself in the morning mists of the 
 North, and has his porridge in Piccadilly before the setting sun. 
 The Puseyite priest, after a rush of one hundred miles, appears with 
 his volume of nonsense at the breakfast of his bookseller. Every 
 thing is near, every thing is immediate — time, distance, and delay 
 are abolished. But, though charming and fascinating as all this 
 Ls, we must not shut our eyes to the price we shall pay for it. 
 There will be every three or four years some dreadful massacre — 
 whole trains T\dll be hurled down a precipice, and two or three hun- 
 dred persons will be killed on the spot. There wiU be every now 
 and then a great combustion of human bodies, as there has been atJ 
 Paris ; then all the newspapers up in arms — a thousand regulations,] 
 forgotten as soon as the directors dare — loud screams of thej 
 velocity whistle — monopoly locks and bolts, as before. The] 
 
1800] iJNGLISH LETTERS. 417 
 
 locking plea of directors is philanthropy ; and I admit that to 
 guard men from the commission of moral evil is as philanthropical 
 as to prevent physical suflfering. There is, I allow, a strong 
 propensity in mankind to travel on railroads without paying ; and 
 to lock mankind in till they have completed their share of the 
 contract is benevolent, because it guards the species from degrading 
 and immoral conduct, but to burn or crush a whole train merely 
 to prevent a few immoral insides from not paying, is I hope a 
 little moi-e than Kipon or Gladstone will bear. 
 
 We have been, up to this point, very careless of our railway 
 regulations. The first person of rank who is killed will put every 
 thing in order, and produce a code of the most careful rules. I 
 hope it will not be one of the bench of bishops ; but should it be so 
 destined, let the burnt bishop — the unwilling Latimer — remember 
 that, however painful gradual concoction by fire may be, his death 
 will produce unspeakable benefit to the public. Even Sodor and 
 Man will be better than nothing. From that moment the bad 
 effects of the monopoly are destroyed ; no more fatal deference to 
 the directors ; no despotic incarceration, no barbarous inattention 
 to the anatomy and physiology of the human body ; no commit- 
 ment to locomotive prisons with warrant. We shall then fiijd it 
 possible 
 
 * Voyager libre sans mourir,' 
 
 Sydney Smith. 
 
 y 
 
 CCLII. 
 
 Coleridge took a little tour through Somersetshire in 1797 ; 
 he was always particularly troublesome in a coach, insisting 
 upon talking to everybody with that ceaseless volubility for 
 which he was so famous. For once, however, he seems to have 
 met his match, and indeed to have had the tables turned upon 
 him with some violence. Mr. George Burnet was then residing 
 with the Ooleridges at Stowey, and was supposed to be a con- 
 vert to Pantisoeracy. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge to Josiah Wade. 
 
 Stowey: 1797. 
 My dear friend,— I am here after a most tiresome journey ; 
 in the course of which a woman asked me if I knew one 
 Coleridge, of Bristol ; I answered, I had heard of him. Do you 
 
 E E 
 
418 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700, 
 
 know, (quoth she) that that vile jacobin villain drew awav a young 
 man from our parish, one Burnet, &c. and in this strain did the 
 woman continue for near an hour ; heaping on me every name of 
 abuse that the parish of Billingsgate could supply. I listened very 
 particularly ; appeared to approve all she said, exclaiming, * dear 
 me ! ' two or three times, and, in fine, so completely won the 
 woman's heart by my civilities, that I had not the courage to 
 undeceive her. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 P.S. You are a good prophet. Oh, into what a state have 
 the scoimdrels brought this devoted kingdom. 
 
 If the House of Commons would but melt down their faces, 
 it would greatly assist the copper currency — we should have brass 
 enough. 
 
 CCLin. 
 
 Mr. Cottie was proud to remember in hia old age that he, a 
 provincial bookseller, had been the publisher of the first volumes 
 of three such poets as Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Southey. 
 The transaction discussed in the followicg letter is a no less 
 momentous one than the publication of the famous * Lyrical 
 Ballads." The poets were then living at AUfoxden, near Stowey, 
 and the caballing against Wordsworth to which Coleridge refers 
 was the result of the intense terror caused in the village by 
 "Wordsworth's habit of ' roaming over the hills at night, like a 
 partridge.' At last the skeleton of a child, as it was supposed, 
 was discovered close to AUfoxden, and they were about to inarch 
 W^ordsworth oif on suspicion of murder, when the bones were 
 most vexatiously proved to be those of a dog. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge to Joseph Cottle. 
 
 May, 1798. 
 
 My dear Cottle, — Neither Wordsworth nor myself could have 
 been otherwise than uncomfortable, if any but youi-self had 
 received from us the first offer of our Tragedies, and of the 
 volume of Wordsworth's Poems. At the same time, we did not 
 expect that you could with prudence and propriety, advance such 
 a sum as we should want at the time we specified. In short, we 
 both regard the publication of our Tragedies as an evil. It is not 
 impossible but that in happier times, they may be brought on the 
 stage : and to throw away this chance for a mere trifle, would bo 
 
1800] ENaZISH LETTERS, 419 
 
 to make the present moment act fraudulently and usuriously 
 towards the future time. 
 
 My Tragedy employed and strained all my thoughts and 
 faculties for six or seven months ; Wordsworth consumed far 
 more time, and far more thought, and far more genius. We 
 consider the publication of them an evil on any terms ; but our 
 thoughts were bent on a plan for the accomplishment of which a 
 certain sum was necessary, (the whole) at that particular time, and 
 in order to this we resolved, although reluctantly, to part with our 
 Tragedies : that is, if we could obtain thirty guineas for each, and 
 at less than thirty guineas Wordsworth will not part with the 
 copy-right of his volume of Poems. We shall offer the Tragedies 
 to no one, for we have determined to procure the money some 
 other way. If you choose the volume of poems, at the price 
 mentioned, to be paid at the time specified, i.e. thirty guineas, to 
 be paid sometime in the last fortnight of July, you may have them ; 
 but remember, my dear fellow ! I write to you now merely as a 
 bookseller, and entreat you, in your answer, to consider yourself 
 only ; as to us, although money is necessary to our plan, that of 
 visiting Germany, yet the plan is not necessary to our happiness ; 
 and if it were, Wordsworth could sell his Poems for that sum to some 
 one else or we could procure the money without selling the Poems. 
 So I entreat you, again and again, in your answer, which must be 
 immediate, consider yourself only. 
 
 Wordsworth has been caballed against so long and so loudly, 
 that he has found it impossible to prevail on the tenant of the 
 Allfoxden estate, to let him the house, after their first agreement is 
 expired, so h« must quit it at Midsummer : whether we shall be 
 able to procure him a house and furniture near Stowey, we know- 
 not, and yet we must : for the hills, and the woods, and the 
 streams, and the sea, and the shores, would break forth into 
 reproaches against us, if we did not strain every nerve, to keep 
 their poet among them. Without joking, and in serious sadness, 
 Poole and I cannot endure to think of losing him. 
 
 At all events, come down, Cottle, as soon as you can, but 
 before Midsummer, and we will procure a horse easy as thy own 
 soul, and we will go on a roam to Linton and Limouth, which, if 
 thou comest in May, will be in all their pride of woods and 
 waterfalls, not to speak of its august cliffs, and the green ocean, 
 
420 ENGLISH LETTERS. \}100- 
 
 and the vast "Valley of Stones, all which live disdainful of the 
 seasons, or accept new honours only from the winter's snow. 
 
 At all events come down, and cease not to believe me much 
 and aflfectionately your friend 
 
 S. T. Coleridge, l 
 
 CCLIV. 
 
 This humorously naive confession exactly hits off Coleridge's 
 peculiar weakness. It suited the indolent temperament of the 
 day-dreamer to expound, for hours at a time, his views on philoso- 
 phy and culture to spell-hound throngs of fashionable listeners. 
 But the world at large had been the gainer if this profoundly 
 learned man, this most suggestive of poets, this representative 
 of German metaphysics, had talked less and written more. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge to William Godwin. 
 
 At Mr. Lamb's, 36, Chapel Street : 
 March 3, 1800. 
 
 Dear Godwin, — The punch, after the wine, made me tipsy 
 last night. This I mention, not that my head aches, or that I felt, 
 after I quitted you, any unpleasantness or titubancy ; but because 
 tipsiness has, and has always, one unpleasant effect — that of mak- 
 ing me talk very extravagantly ; and as, when sober, I talk ex- , 
 travagantly enough for any common tipsiness, it becomes a matter of 
 nicety in discrimination to know when I am or am not affected. 
 An idea starts up in my head, — away I follow through thick and 
 thin, wood and marsh, brake and briar, with all the apparent 
 interest of a man who was defending one of his old and long-estab- 
 lished principles. Exactly of this kind was the conversation with 
 which I quitted you. I do not believe it possible for a human be- 
 ing to have a greater hoiTor of the feelings that usually accompany 
 such principles as I then supposed, or a deeper conviction of their 
 irrationality, than myself ; but the whole thinking of my life will 
 not bear me up against the accidental crowd and press of my 
 mind, when it is elevated beyond its natural pitch. "We shall talk 
 wiselier with the ladies on Tuesday. God bless you, and give your 
 dear little ones a kiss apiece from me. Yours with affectionate 
 esteem, 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
1800] .. ENGLISH LETTERS, 421 
 
 CCLV. 
 
 Although the 'Ettrick Shepherd' ascertained in due season 
 that poetry and literary work were more profitable to him than 
 sheep-farming in Scotland, he preferred sport on the moors in 
 the middle of August to what he called the 'disadvantage' of 
 indoor enjoyment at that period of the year among learned 
 companions. 
 
 Y 
 
 James Hogg {the Ettrick Shepherd) to Professor John Wilson. 
 
 V Mount Benger : August 1829. 
 
 f My Dear and Honoured John, — I never thought you had been 
 so unconscionable as to desire a sportsman on the 11th or even the 
 13th of August to leave Ettrick Forest for the bai-e scraggy hills 
 of Westmoreland ! — Ettrick Forest, where the black cocks and 
 •white cocks, brown cocks and grey cocks, ducks, plovers and 
 peaseweeps and whilly-whaups are as thick as the flocks that cover 
 her mountains, and come to the hills of Westmoreland that can 
 nourish nothing better than a castril or stonechat ! To leave the 
 great yellow-fin of Yarrow, or the still larger grey-locher for the 
 degenerate fry of Troutbeck, Esthwaite, or even Wastwater ! No, 
 no, the request will not do ; it is an unreasonable one, and theie- 
 fore not unlike yourself, for besides, what would become of Old 
 NoT-th and Blackwood, and all our friends for game, were I to 
 come to Elleray just now ? I know of no home of man where I 
 could be so happy within doors with so many lovely and joyous 
 faces around me ; but this is not the season for in-door enjoyments ; 
 they must be reaped on the wastes among the blooming heath, by 
 the silver spring, or swathed in the delicious breeze of the wilder- 
 ness. Elleray, with all its sweets, could never have been my choice 
 for a habitation, and perhaps you are the only Scottish gentleman 
 who ever made such a choice, and still persists in maintaining it, 
 in spite of every disadvantage. Happy days to you and a safe 
 return ! Youi-s most respectfully, 
 
 James Hogg. 
 
422 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 CCLVI. 
 
 The first ' Edin"burgli Eeview' was published in 1755, and 
 disappeared within twelve months. This letter announces the 
 successful launching of the present review, which'was projected 
 hy Sydney Smith in JeiFrey's lodg^gs. Ikougham, Horner, and 
 Allen joined in the first consultations. 
 
 Jetirrey, riQio in his twenty-ninth year, and hesitating on the 
 cross-roads of law and literature, little thought he would excel 
 in both — that the industrious advocate would attain eminence as 
 a judge; and that the young reviewer of Southey's 'Thalaba* 
 would advance to be the chief and most versatile critic of hid 
 generation. 
 
 Francis Jeffrey, to his brother, John Jeffrey. 
 
 Edinburgh : July 2, 1803. 
 
 My dear John, — It will be a sad thing if your reformation be the 
 cause of my falling off ; yet it is certain that since you have begun 
 to write oftener, my letters have begun to be more irregular. 
 
 I am glad you have got our Review, and that you like it. 
 Your partiality to my articles is a singular proof of your judgment. 
 In No. 3, I do Gentz, Hayley's Cowper, Sir J. Sinclair, and Thel- 
 wall. In ^o. 4, which is now printing, I have Miss Baillie's Pla} s. 
 Comparative View of Geology, Lady Mary Wortley, and some 
 little ones. I do not think you know any of my associates. 
 There is the sage Homer however, whom you have seen, and who 
 has gone to the English bar with the resolution of being Lord 
 Chancellor; Brougham, a great mathematician, who has just pub- 
 lished a book upon the * Colonial Policy of Europe,' which all you 
 Americans should read ; Eevd. Sydney Smilh, and P. Elmsley, two 
 learned Oxonian priests, full of jokes and erudition : my excellent 
 little Sanscrit Hamilton, who is also in the hands of Bonaparte at 
 Fontaiaebleau ; Thomas Thomson and John IMurray, two ingenious 
 advocates ; and some dozen of occasional contributors, among whom, 
 the most illustrious, I think, are young Watt of Birmingham, and 
 Davy of the Royal Institution. We sell 2,500 copies already, 
 and hope to do double that in six months, if we are puffed enough. 
 I wish you could try if you can repandre us upon your continent, 
 and use what interest you can with the literati, or rather ^"ith 
 the booksellers of New York and Philadelphia. I believe I have 
 
ENGLISH LETTERS. 423 
 
 not told you that the concern has now become to be of some emolu- 
 ment. After the fourth number the publishers are to pay the 
 writers no less than ten guineas a-sheet, which is three times what 
 was ever paid before for such work, and to allow 50Z. a number 
 to an editor. I shall have the offer of that first, I believe, and I 
 think I shall take it, with the full power of laying it down when- 
 ever I think proper. The publication is in the highest degree re- 
 spectable as yet, as there are none but gentlemen connected with 
 it. If it ever sink into the state of an ordinary bookseller's 
 journal I have done with it. 
 
 We are all in great horror about the war here, though not half 
 so much afraid as we ought to be. For my part I am often in 
 absolute despair, and wish I were fairly piked, and done with it. 
 It is most clearly and unequivocally a war of our own seeking, and 
 an offensive war upon our part, though we have no means of offend- 
 ing. The consular proceedings are certainly very outrageous and 
 provoking, and, if we had power to humble him I rather think we 
 have had provocation enough to do it. But with our means, and in 
 the present state and temper of Europe, I own it appears to me like 
 insanity. There is but one ground upon which our conduct can be 
 j Listified. If we are perfectly certain that France is to go to war with 
 us, and will infallibly take same opportunity to do it with greater 
 advantage in a year or two, there may be some prudence in being 
 beforehand with her, and open the unequal contest in our own way. 
 While men are mortal, and the fortunes of nations variable, how- 
 ever, it seems ridiculous to talk of absolute certainty for the 
 future; and we ensure a present evil, with the magnitude of which 
 we are only beginning to be acquainted. In the meantime we must 
 all turn out, I fancy, and do our best. There is a corps of riflemen 
 raising, in which I shall probably have a company. I hate the 
 business of war, and despise the parade of it; but we must submit 
 to both for a while. I am happy to observe that there is little of 
 that boyish prating about uniforms, and strutting in helmets, that; 
 distmguished our former arming. We look sulky now, and manful, 
 I think. Always, dear John, very affectionately yours. 
 
i2i 
 
 ENGLI&B LETTERS, 
 
 [1700- 
 
 ccLvn. 
 
 This friendly letter was addressed to the poet Campbell shortly 
 before the poem of * Gertrude of Wyoming ' was published. 
 Jefirey's elaborate public criticism of the same poet soon fol- 
 lowed. Campbell himself was captivated as much by the 
 reviewer's tact in discovering ' beauty and blemish ' as he was 
 by his early and constant friendship. 
 
 FravAiis Jeffrey to Thomas Campbell, 
 
 Edinburgh: March 1, 1809. 
 I have seen yonr Gertrude. The sheets were sent to All- 
 son, and he allowed me, though very hastily, to peruse them. 
 There is great beauty, and gi'eat tendemass, and fancy in the work 
 — and I am sure it will be very popular. The latter part is ex- 
 quisitely pathetic, and the whole touched with those soft and 
 skyish tints of purity and truth, which fall like enchantments on 
 all minds that can make anything of such matters. Many of your 
 descriptions come nearer the tone of * The Castle of Indolence,' than 
 any succeeding poetry, and the pathos is much more graceful and 
 delicate. . . . But there are faults too — for which you must be 
 scolded. In the first place, it is too short — not merely for the de- 
 light of the reader — but, in some degree, for the development of 
 the story, and for giving full efiect to the fine scenes that are de- 
 lineated. It looks almost as if you had cut out large portions of 
 it, and filled up the gaps very imperfectly. There is little or 
 nothing said, I think, of the early love, and of the childish plays 
 of your pair, and nothing certainly of their parting, and the effects , 
 of separation on each — though you had a fine subject in his Euro^j 
 pean tour, seeing everything with the eyes of a lover — a free man, 
 and a man of the woods. It ends rather abruptly — not but;] 
 that there is great spirit in the description — but a spirit not quit* 
 suitable to the soft and soothing tenor of the poem. The most 
 dangerous faults, however, are your faults of diction. There iaj 
 still a good deal of obscurity in many passages — and in others a] 
 strained and unnatural expression — an appearance of labour and; 
 hardness ; you have hammered the metal in some places till it hasj 
 lost all its ductility. These are not great faults, but they are 
 blemishes; and as dunces will find them out, noodles will see them 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS 425 
 
 when they are pointed to. I wish you had had courage to correct, or 
 rather to avoid them, for with you they are faults of over finish- 
 ing, and not of negligence. I have another fault to charge you 
 with in private, for which I am more angry with you than for all 
 the rest. Your timidity, or fastidiousness, or some other knavish 
 quaUty, will not let you give your conceptions glowing, and bold, 
 and powerful, as they present themselves ; but you must chasten, 
 and refine, and soften them, forsooth, till half their nature and 
 grandeur is chiselled away from them. Believe me, my dear C, 
 the world will never know how truly you are a great and original 
 poet, till you venture to cast before it some of the rough pearls of 
 youi* fancy. Write one or two things without thinking of publica- 
 tion, or of what will be thought of them — and let me see them, at 
 least, if you will not venture them any further. I am more mis- 
 taken in my prognostics than I ever was in my life, if they are not 
 twice as tall as any of your full-dressed children. I write all 
 this to you in a terrible hurry — but tell me instantly when your 
 volume is to be out. 
 
 F. Jeffrey. 
 
 CCLVIII. 
 
 Francis Jeffrey to William Empson. 
 
 Killin : August 2, 1834. 
 My dear E., — This is a great disappointment, and, after all, 
 why were you so faint-hearted after coming so far ] Rain ! Oh 
 efieminate cockney, and most credulous brother of a most unwise 
 prognosticator of meteoric changes. Though it rained in the Boeotia 
 of Yorkshire, must it rain also in the Attica of Argyll 1 Why, 
 there has not been a drop of rain in the principality of Macallum- 
 More for these ten days ; but, on the contrary, such azure skies, 
 and calm, coerulean waters, such love and laziness — inspiring heats 
 by day, and such starlight rowings and walkings through fragrant 
 live blossoms, and dewy birch woods by night; and then such 
 glow-worms twinkling from tufts of heath and juniper, such naiads 
 sporting on the white quartz pebbles, and meeting your plunges 
 into every noon-day pool; and such herrings at breakfast, and 
 haggises at dinner, and such pale, pea-green mountains, and a 
 genuine Highland sacrament ! The long sermon in Gaelic, preached 
 
426 EXGLISn LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 out of tents to picturesque multitudes in the open air, grouped 
 on rocks by the glittering sea, in one of the mountain bays of 
 those long withdrawing lochs ! You have no idea what you have 
 missed ; and for weather especially, there is no memory of so long 
 a tract of calm, dry, hot weather at this season ; and the fragrance 
 of the mountain hay, and the continual tinkling of the bright 
 waters ! But you are not worthy even of the ideas of these things, 
 and you shall have no more of them, but go unimproved to your 
 den at Haileybury, or your stye at the Temple, and feed upon 
 the vapour of youi* dungeon. When we found you had really 
 gone back from your vow, we packed up for Loch Lomond yester- 
 day, and came on here, where we shall stay in the good Breadal- 
 bane country till Monday, and then return for a farewell peep at 
 our naiads, on our way to Ayrshire, and thence back to Craigcrook 
 about the 18th. (Write always to Edinburgh.) I sent a letter to 
 Napier for you, which he returned two days ago. After that I 
 could not tell where to address you. I left instructions at the 
 Arrochar post-office for the forwarding of your letters to Eice. 
 Only two newspapers had come for you when we came away, and 
 these I generously bestowed in my last. And now it is so hot that 
 I cannot write any more, but must go and cool myself in the 
 grottos' of the rocky Dochart, or float under the deep shades that 
 overarch the calm course of the translucent Lochy, or sit on the 
 airy summit where the ruins of Finlarig catch the faint fluttering 
 of the summer breeze. All Greek and Hebrew to you, only more 
 melodious. Poor wretch ! We have been at Finlaiig and at Auch- 
 more ; both very beautiful, but the heat spoils all, as I fear it may 
 have our salmon. God bless us, I am dyspeptic and lumb.^ginous, 
 and cannot sleep, and I lay it all on the heat, when I daresay old 
 age and bad regime should have their share. Why should not you 
 and Malthus come down to our solemnity on the 8th September 1 
 After your long services, a fortnight's holiday could not be grudged, 
 esj^ecially for the purpose of making you better teachers, and get 
 ting solutions to all your difficulties. I hope Mrs. SomerviQo 
 will come. 
 
 I had a glimpse of my beautiful Mrs. Grant before leaving 
 Edinburgh, and grudge such a sultana to India. Write to m€ 
 soon. My Charlottes send theii* love in anger to you. Eve 
 yours. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 427 
 
 COLIX. 
 
 In tlie recently published volumes of Charles Dickens' Letters 
 the editorial comment for the year 1843 informs us that the 
 popular novelist ' was at work upon " Martin Chuzzlewit " until 
 the end of the year, when he also wrote and published the first 
 of his Christmas stories — " The Christmas Carol." ' To have 
 received from the pen of the brilliant critic, JeiFrey, so genuine 
 an assurance of ihe increasing repute and influence of his 
 writings must have greatly flattered even this spoilt child of the 
 public. 
 
 Francis Jeffrey to Charles Dickens. 
 
 Edinburgh : December 26, 1843. 
 
 Blessings on your kind heart, my dear Dickens ! and may it 
 always be as light and full as it is kind, and a fountain of kindness 
 to all within reach of its beatings ! We are all charmed with your 
 Carol, chiefly, I think, for the genuine goodness which breathes all 
 through it, and is the true inspiring angel by which its genius has 
 been awakened. The whole scene of the Cratchetts is like the 
 dream of a beneficent angel in spite of its broad reality, and little 
 Tiny Tim, in life and death almost as sweet and as touching as 
 Nelly. And then the school-day scene, with that large-hearted 
 delicate sister, and her true inheritor, with his gall-lacking liver, 
 and milk of human kindness for blood, and yet all so natural, 
 and so humbly and serenely happy ! Well, you should be happy 
 yourself, for you may be sure you have done more good, and not 
 only fastened more kindly feelings, but prompted more positive 
 acts of beneficence, by this little publication, than can be traced to 
 all the pulpits and confessionals in Christendom since Christmas 
 1842. 
 
 And is not this better than caricaturing American knaveries, 
 or lavishing your great gifts of fancy and observation on Pecksniffs, 
 Dodgers, Bailleys, and Moulds. Nor is this a mere crotchet of 
 mine, for nine-tenths of your readers, I am convinced, are of the 
 same opinion ; and accordingly, I prophesy that you will sell three 
 times as many of this moral and pathetic Carol as of your grotesque 
 and fantastical Chuzzlewits. 
 
 I hope you have not fancied that I think less frequently of you, 
 or love you less, because I have not lately written to you. Indeed it 
 
428 UNGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 is not so ; but I have been poorly in health for the last five months, 
 and advancing age makes me lazy and perhaps forgetful. But I 
 do not forget my benefactors, and I owe too much to you not to 
 have you constantly in my thoughts. I scarcely know a single in- 
 dividual to whom I am indebted for so much pleasure, and the 
 means at least of being made better. I wish you had not made such 
 an onslaught on the Americans. Even if it were all merited, it does 
 mischief, and no good. Besides you know that there are many ex- 
 ceptions ; and if ten righteous might have saved a city once, there 
 are surely innocent and amiable men and women, and besides, boys 
 and girls enough, in that vast region, to arrest the proscription of a 
 nation. I cannot but hope, therefore, that you will relent before 
 you have done with them, and contrast your deep shadings with 
 some redeeming touches. Grod bless you. I must not say more 
 to-day. With most kind love to JVlrs. Dickens, always very 
 affectionately, &c. 
 
 Since writing this in the morning, and just as I was going to 
 seal it, in comes another copy of the Carol, with a flattering auto- 
 graph on the blank page, and an address in your own ' fine Boman 
 hand.' I thank you with all my heart, for this proof of your re- 
 membrance, and am pleased to think, that while I was so occupied 
 about you, you had not been forgetful of me. Heaven bless you, 
 and all that are dear to you. Ever yours, &c. 
 
 CCLX. 
 
 Landor said that in Southey's letters alone could his charac- 
 ter he read. If this he true, they reveal him as an essentially 
 prosaic, worthy person, crammed with knowledge of books, 
 estimable in all his social relations, hut singularly dry and un- 
 sympathetic. To one or two correspondents, and notably to 
 Miss Barker, he unbends and shows the most human side of his 
 nature, but his letters generally contain too much information 
 to be good as letters. 
 
 Robert Southey to Miss Barker, 
 
 Keswick : April 3, 1804. 
 Senhora, — Perhaps you may be anxious to hear of our goings 
 on, and therefore, having nothing to say, I take up a very short 
 and ugly pen to tell you so. In a fortnight's time, by God's good 
 will, I may have better occasion to write. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 429 
 
 I have within this last week received a pleasure of the highest 
 possible terrestrial nature, the arrival of some Portuguese and 
 Spanish books. No monk ever contemplated with more devotion 
 a chest of relics piping hot, than I did the happy deal box that 
 contained the long-expected treasures. But let us leave these 
 books alone, and talk of my manufactory. Did you ever see 
 Ellis's *■ Specimens of the Early English Poets ' ? It is a very 
 useful collection, though not to my judgment made with due 
 knowledge or taste, — but still a good book, and which has sold 
 wondrously well, George Ellis being a parliament man, and of 
 fashionable fame. Heber helped him in the business well. He 
 ends with the reign of Charles II. Now am I going to begin 
 where he ends, and give specimens of all the poets and rhymesters 
 from that time to the present, exclusive of the living jockeys ; 
 whereby I expect to get some money ; for, be it known to yon in 
 due confidence, that though this will really be a pleasant and 
 useful book, I have undertaken it purely for the lucre of gain. 
 Eor if this should sell as a sequel and companion to Ellis's book, 
 for which I design it, and shall advertise it, the profits will be 
 considerable. Some little notice of each author is to be prefixed to 
 the pieces, sometimes being only a list of his works, sometimes a 
 brief biography, if he be at all an odd fish, and sometimes such odd 
 things as may flow from the quaintness of my heart. This costs 
 me a journey to London, as at least half these gentlemen are not 
 included in the common collections of the poets, and must be resur- 
 rectionised at Stationers' Hall, where they have long since been 
 confined to the spiders. A journey will stir my stumps, and 
 perhaps do me good ; yet I do not like it — it disturbs me, and 
 puts me out of my way. However, I shall be very glad to see 
 Hickman, whom Coleridge calls a sterling man, and with whom I 
 shall guest. And then there are half a score whom I regard more 
 than acquaintances — Carlisle, Duppa, &c. &c., not to mention all 
 the oddities in my knowledge whom I love to shake hands with 
 now and then, and hug myself at the consciousness of knowing 
 fiuch an unequalled assortment. Oh, if some Boswell would but 
 save me the trouble of recording the unbelievable anecdotes I 
 could tell ! Stories which would be worth their weight in gold, 
 when gold will be of no use to me. 
 
 Coleridge is gone for Malta, and his departure affects me more 
 
430 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 tlian I let be seen. Let what will trouble me, I bear a calm face ; 
 and if the BoiUng Well could be drawn (which, however it heaves 
 and is agitated below, presents a smooth, undisturbed surface), that 
 should be my emblem. It is now almost ten years since he and I 
 fii-st met, in my rooms at Oxford, which meeting decided the destiny 
 of both ; and now when, after so many ups and down, I am, for a 
 time, settled under his roof, he is driven abroad in search of health. 
 Ill he is, certainly and sorely ill ; yet I believe if his mind was as 
 well regulated as mine, the body would be quite as manageable. 
 I am perpetually pained and mortified by thinking what he ought 
 to be, for mine is an eye of microscopic discernment to the faults 
 of my friends ; but the tidings of his death would come upon m» 
 more like a stroke of lightning than any evil I have ever yet 
 endured ; almost it would make me superstitious, for we were two 
 ships that left poii; in company. He has been sitting to Northcote 
 for Sir Greorge Beaumont. There is a finely painted, -but dismal 
 picture of him here, with a companion of Wordsworth. I enjoy 
 the thought of your emotion when you will see that portrait of 
 Wordsworth. It looks as if he had been a month in the con- 
 demned hole, dieted upon bread and water, and debarred the use 
 of soap, water, razor, and combs ; then taken out of prison, placed 
 in a cart, carried to the usual place of execution, and had just 
 suffered Jack Ketch to take off his cravat. The best of this good 
 joke is, that the Wordsworths are proud of the picture, and that 
 his face is the painter's ideal of excellence; and how the devil the 
 painter has contrived to make a likeness of so well-looking a man 
 so ridiculously ugly poozles everybody. 
 
 I am expecting with pleasurable anticipation the beaver's back. 
 Farewell. "^ Yours, 
 
 R. SOUTHEY. 
 
 CCLXI. 
 
 In 1794 Robert LoveU introduced Southey, then a lad of 
 twenty, to Joseph Cottle, a wealthy and enlightened bookseller 
 of Bristol, who was so delighted with him that he immediately 
 printed a volume of his * Poems ' and his epic of * Joan of 
 Arc,' presenting the unknown aspirant with eighty guineas for 
 the two copyrights. This generosity opened the career of 
 Southey, and fourteen years afterwards, at the height of his 
 reputation, he had not forgotten that fact. Cottle, in retiring 
 from business, neglected to return the copyrights to Southey, 
 and wrote to say he was sorry. This was Southey's reply. 
 
1800] .^NOLISU LETTERS. 431 
 
 Robert Southey to Joseph Cottle, 
 
 Wednesday evening. Greta Hall : 
 April 28, 1808. 
 
 My dear Cottle, — What yoii say of my copy-rights affects me 
 very much. Dear Cottle, set your heart at rest on that subject. 
 It ought to be at rest. They were yours ; fairly bought, and 
 fairly sold. You bought them on the chance of their success, what 
 no London bookseller would have done ; and had they not been 
 bought, they could not have been published at all. Nay, if you 
 had not published * Joan of Arc,' the poem never would have 
 existed, nor should I, in all probability, ever have obtained that 
 i-eputation which is the capital on which I subsist, nor that power 
 which enables me to support it. 
 
 But this is not all. Do you suppose, Cottle, that I have for- 
 gotten those true and most essential acts of friendship which you 
 showed me when I stood most in need of them ? Your house was 
 my house when I had no other. The very money with which I 
 bought my wedding ring, and paid my marriage fees, was supplied 
 by you. It was with your sisters that I left my Edith, during my 
 six months' absence ; and for the six months after my retui-n, it 
 was from you that I received, week by week, the little on which 
 we lived, till I was enabled to live by other means. It is not the 
 settling of our cash account that can cancel obligations like these. 
 You are in the habit of preserving your letters, and if you were 
 not, / wovld entreat you to preserve this, that it might be seen here- 
 after. Sure I am, that there never was a more generous, nor a 
 kmder heart than yours, and you will believe me when I add, that 
 ther€ does not live that man upon earth, whom I remember with 
 more gratitude, and more affection. My heart thro>>s, and my 
 eyes bum with these recollections. Good night, my dear old friend 
 and benefactor. 
 
 Egbert Southed. 
 
432 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 ccLxn. 
 
 Robert Southey to John Rickman. 
 
 Keswick : August 17-20, 1809. 
 
 My dear Kickman, — I can wish you nothing better than that 
 your life may be as long, your age as hale, and your death as easy 
 as your father's. The death of a parent is a more awful sorrow 
 than that of a child, but a less painful one : it is in the inevitable 
 order and right course of nature that ripe fruit should fall; it 
 seems like one of its mishaps when the green bud is cut off. In 
 the outward and visible system of things, nothing is wasted : it 
 would therefore be belying the whole system to believe that 
 intellect and love, — which are of all things the best, — could perish. 
 I have a strong and lively faith in a state of continued conscious- 
 ness from this stage of existence, and that we shall recover the 
 consciousness of some lower stages through which we may pre- 
 viously have past, seems to me not improbable. The supposition 
 serves for dreams and systems, — the belief is a possession more 
 precious than any other. I love life, and can thoroughly enjoy it ; 
 but if to exist were but a lifehold property, I am doubtful whether 
 1 should think the lease worth holding. It would be better never 
 to have been than ever to cease to be. 
 
 Still I shall hope for your coming. You would at any rate^ 
 have been inconveniently late for the Highlands, for which as near 
 Midsummer as possible is the best season. September is the best 
 for this country. 
 
 CCLXm. 
 
 In 1797 Coleridge introduced Lamb to Southey, whose 
 mind proved so far more congenial to the great humourist than 
 that of any other early literary friend, that his letters imme- 
 diately began to take those delightful airs of fantastic whim 
 which we identify with the name of Lamb. 
 
 Charles L(Mnh to Robert Southey. 
 
 1798. 
 My tailor has brought me home a new coat lapelled, with 
 velvet collar. He assures me every body wears velvet collars now. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 433 
 
 Some are bom fashionable, some achieve fashion, and others, like 
 your humble servant, have fashion thrust upon them. The rogue 
 has been making inroads hitherto by modest degrees, foisting upon 
 me an additional button, recommending gaiters, but to come upon 
 me thus in a full tide of luxury, neither becomes him as a tailor or 
 as the ninth of a man. My meek gentleman was robbed the other 
 day, coming with his wife and family in a one-horse shay from 
 Hampstead ; the villains rifled him of four guineas, some shillings 
 and half-pence, and a bundle 'of customers* measures, which they 
 swore were bank-notes. They did not shoot him, and when they 
 rode off he addrest them with profound gratitude, making a congee : 
 * Grentlemen, I wish you good night, and we are very much obliged 
 to you that you have not used us ill ! ' And this is the cuckoo 
 that has had the audacity to foist upon me ten buttons on a side, 
 and a black velvet collar. A cursed ninth of a scoundrel ! 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 CCLXIV. 
 
 There was a little coldness between Coleridge and Lamb in 
 1798. Coleridge, with his usual pomposity, had told Lamb 
 that he should be happy to instruct him on all points upon 
 which he needed information, and this seems to have ruffted 
 Lamb. Accordingly he drew up the following absurd table of 
 theological queries and begged to have them expounded to him. 
 Coleridge could see no fun in the joke, and called Lamb ' a 
 young visionary.' 
 
 Charles Lamh to Samuel Taylor Coleridge. . 
 Theses queedam Theologicse. 
 Ist. Whether God loves a lying angel better than a true man % 
 2nd. Whether the archangel Uriel could afl^rm an untruth, and if 
 
 he could, whether he would ? 
 3rd. Whether honesty be an angelic virtue, or not rather to be 
 
 reckoned among those qualities which the schoolmen term 
 
 * Virtutes minus splendidae % ' 
 4th. Whether the higher order of Seraphim illuminati ever sneer % 
 6 th. Whether pure intelligences can love ? 
 6th. Whether the Seraphim ardentes do not manifest their virtues, 
 
 by the way of vision and theory ; and whether practice be 
 
 not a sub-celestial and merely human virtue ) 
 
 F F 
 
434 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 7th. Whether the vision heatific be anything more or less than a 
 perpetual representment, to each individual angel, of his 
 own present attainments, and future capabilities, somehow 
 in the manner of mortal looking-glasses, reflecting a per- 
 petual complacency and self-satisfaction] 
 8th and last. Whether an immortal and amenable soul may not 
 come to be condemned at last, and the man never suspect it 
 beforehand ? 
 Learned Sir, my fi'iend, — Presuming on our long habits of 
 friendship, and emboldened further by your late liberal permis- 
 sion to avail myself of your correspondence, in case I want any 
 knowledge, (which I intend to do, when I have no Encyclopedia, 
 or Ladies Magazine at hand to refer to, in any matter of science,) 
 I now submit to your enquiries the above theological propositions, 
 to be by you defended or oppugned, or both, in the schools of Ger- 
 many, whither, I am told, you are departing, to the utter dissatis- 
 faction of your native Devonshire, and regret of universal 
 England ; but to my own individual consolation, if, through the 
 channel of your wished return, learned sir, my friend, may be 
 transmitted to this our island, from those famous theological wits 
 of Leipsic and Gottingen, any rays of illumination, in vaiu to be 
 derived from the homegrowth of our English halls and colleges. 
 Finally wishing, learned sir, that you may see Schiller, and swing 
 in a wood, (vide poems) and sit upon a tun, and eat fat hams of 
 Westphalia, 
 
 I remain 
 Your friend and docUe pupil, to instruct, 
 
 Charles Lamb. 
 
 CCLXV. 
 
 The Lake Poets, consisting of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and 
 Lloyd, with their families, had settled in Cumberland in 1800, 
 and when in 1801 Lamb published a slender volume of ' Poems' 
 that identified him with them in the puhhc mind, they were aU 
 anxious to attract him also to the North. Lloyd and Coleridge 
 invited him in vain, and finally Wordsworth summoned him to 
 leave London, vdth the following result. 
 
 Charles Lamh to William Wordsworth. 
 
 I ought before this to have replied to your very kind invitation 
 
 into Cumberland. With you and your sister I could gang any 
 
1800] Eu^GLISH LETTEBS. 433 
 
 where ; but am afraid whether I shall ever be able to afford so 
 desperate a journey. Separate from the pleasure of your company, 
 I don't now care if I never see a mountain in my life. I have 
 passed all my days in London, until I have formed as many and 
 intense local attachments, as any of you mountaineers can have 
 done with dead nature. The lighted shops of the Strand and 
 Fleet Street, the innumerable trades, tradesmen, and customers, 
 coaches, waggons, playhouses ; all the bustle and wickedness round 
 Covent Garden ; the watchmen, drunken scenes, rattles ; life 
 awake, if you are awake, at all hours of the night ; the impossi- 
 bility of being dull in Fleet Street ; the crowds, the very dirt and 
 mud, the sun shining upon houses and pavements, the print-shops, 
 the old book-stalls, parsons cheapening books, coffee-houses, steams 
 of soups from kitchens, the pantomimes — London itself a panto- 
 mime and a masquerade — all these things work themselves into 
 my mind, and feed me without a power of satiating me. The 
 wonder of these sights impels me into night- walks about her 
 crowded streets, and I often shed tears in the motley Strand from 
 fulness of joy at so much life. All these emotions must be strange 
 to you; so are your rui'al emotions to me. But consider, what 
 must I have been doing all my life, not to have lent great portions 
 of my heart with usury to such scenes ? 
 
 My attachments are all local, purely local — I have no passion 
 (or have had none since I was in love, and then it was the spurious 
 engendering of poetry and books) to groves and valleys. Tho 
 rooms where I was born, the furniture which has been before my 
 eyes all my life, a book-case which has followed me about like a 
 faithful dog (only exceeding him in knowledge.) wherever I have 
 moved — old chairs, old tables, streets, squares, where I have 
 sunned myself, my old school, — these are my mistresses — have I 
 not enough, without your mountains? I do not envy you. I 
 should pity you, did I not know that the mind will make friends 
 of anything. Yom* sun, and moon, and skies, and hills, and lakes, 
 affect me no more, or scarcely come to me in more venerable cha- 
 racters than as a gilded room with tapestry and tapers, where I 
 might live with handsome visible objects. I consider the clouds 
 above me but as a roof beautifully painted, but unable to satisfy 
 the mind ; and, at last, like the pictures of the apartment of a 
 connoisseur, unable to afford him any longer a pleasure. So fading 
 
 F F 2 
 
436 ENGLISH LETTERS. [ITOO- 
 
 iipon me, from disuse, have been the beauties of Natnre, as they 
 have been confinedly called ; so ever fresh, and green and warm are 
 all the inventions of men, and assemblies of men in this great city. 
 I should certainly have laughed with dear Joanna.* 
 
 Give my kindest love, and my sister's, to D. and yourself. 
 And a kiss from me to little Barbara Lewthwaite. Thank you 
 for liking my play ! 
 
 C. L. 
 
 CCLXVI. 
 
 To a friend who had been absent nine years in China, Lamb 
 addressed this quaint and funereal letter. It is hardly neces- 
 sary to remind the reader that not a word of it is true, and that 
 some of the worthies here slain and buried survived for more 
 than thirty years. 
 
 Charles Lamb to ThomoB Manning. 
 
 December 25, 1816. 
 Dear old friend and absentee, — This is Christmas-day 1815 
 with us ; what it may be with you I don't know, the 1 2th of June 
 next year perhaps ; and if it should be the consecrated season with 
 you, I don't see how you can keep it. You have no turkeys ; you 
 would not desecrate the festival by offering up a withered Chinese 
 bantam, instead of the savoury, grand Norfolcian holocaust, that 
 smokes all around my nostrils at this moment, from a thousand 
 firesides. Then what puddings have you % Where will you get 
 holly to stick in your churches, or churches to stick your dried 
 tea-leaves (that must be the substitute) in % What memorials you 
 can have of the holy time, I see not. A chopped missionary or 
 two may keep up the thin idea of Lent and the wilderness ; but 
 what standing evidence have you of the Nativity % — 'tis our rosy- 
 cheeked, home-stalled divines, whose faces shine to the tune of 
 Christmas \ faces fragrant with the mince-pies of half a century, 
 that alone can authenticate the cheerful mystery — I feel, I feel 
 myself refreshed with the thought — my zeal is great against the 
 unedified heathen. Down with the Pagodas — down with the 
 idols — Ching-chong-fo and his foolish priesthood ! Come out of 
 
 1 
 
 ' The allusions at the close of this letter are to Wordsworth's poems of 
 Joanna's Rock, and the * Pet Lamb,' and to Lamb's unsuccessful tragedy 
 of ' John Woodvil.' 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 437 
 
 Babylon, my Mend ! for her time is come, and the child that is 
 native, and the Proselyte of her gates, shall kindle and smoke 
 together 1 And in sober sense, what makes you so long from 
 ' a,moDg us, Manning % You must not expect to see the same Eng- 
 land again which you left. 
 
 Empires have been overturned, crowns trodden into dust, the 
 face of the western world quite changed : your friends have all got 
 old — those you leffc blooming — myself (who am one of the few that 
 remember you) those golden hairs which you recollect my taking 
 s. pride in, turned to silvery and grey. Mary has been dead and 
 buried many years, — she desired to be buried in the silk gown you 
 sent her. Rickman, that you remember active and strong, now 
 walks out supported by a servant-maid and a stick. Martin 
 Burney is a very old man. The other day an aged woman knocked 
 at my door, and pretended to my acquaintance ; it was long before 
 I had the most distant cognition of her; but at last together we 
 made her out to be Louisa, the daughter of Mrs. Topham, formerly 
 Mrs. Morton, who had been Mrs. Reynolds, formerly Mrs. Kenney, 
 whose first husband was Holeroft, the dramatic writer of the last 
 century. St. Paul's Church is a heap of ruins ; the Monument 
 isn't half as high as you knew it, divers parts being successively 
 taken down which the ravages of time had rendered dangerous ; 
 the horse at Charing Cross is gone, no one knows whither, — and 
 all this has taken place while you have been settling whether 
 Ho-hing-tong should be spelt with a — or a — . For aught I see 
 you had almost as well remain where you are, and not come like a 
 Struldbrug into a world where few were born when you went away. 
 Scarce here and there one will be able to make out your face ; all 
 your opinions will be out of date, your jokes obsolete, your puns 
 rejected with fastidiousness as wit of the last age. Your way of 
 mathematics has already given way to a new method, which after 
 all is I believe the old doctrine of Maelaurin, new vamped up 
 ; with what he borrowed of the negative quantity of fluxions from 
 f Euler. 
 
 \ Poor Godwin t I was passing his tomb the other day in Cripple- 
 I gate church-yard. There are some verses upon it written by Miss 
 
 \ , which if I thought good epough I would send you. He was 
 
 one of those who would have hailed your return, not with bois 
 terous shouts and clamours, but with the complacent gi-atulations 
 
438 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 of a philosopher anxious to promote knowledge as leading to happi- 
 ness — V>ut his systems and his theories are ten feet deep in Cripple- 
 gate mould. Coleridge is just dead, having lived just long enough 
 to close the eyes of Wordsworth, who paid the debt to natui*e but 
 a week or two before — ;poor Col., but two days before he died, he 
 wrote to a bookseller proposing an epic poem on the ' Wanderings 
 of Cain ' in twenty-four books. It is said he has left behind him 
 more than forty thousand treatises in criticism, metaphysics, and- 
 divinity, but few of them in a state of completion. They are now 
 destined, perhaps, to wrap up spices. You see what mutations the 
 busy hand of Time has produced, while you have consumed in 
 foolish voluntary exile that time which might have gladdened 
 your fiiends — benefited your country ; but reproaches are useless. 
 Gather up the wretched reliques, my friend, as fast as you can, 
 and come to your old home. I wUl rub my eyes and try to recog- 
 nise you. We will shake withered hands together, and talk of old 
 things — of St. Mary's Church and the barber's opposite, where the 
 young students in mathematics used to assemble. Poor Crips, 
 that kept it afterwards, set up a fruiterer's shop in Trumpington 
 Street, and for aught I know resides there still, for I saw the 
 name up in the last journey I took there with my sister just before 
 she died. I suppose you heard that I had left the India House, 
 and gone into the Fishmongers' Almshouses over the bridge. I 
 have a little cabin there, small and homely, but you shall be wel- 
 come to it. You like oysters, and to open them yourself; 111 get 
 you some if you come in oyster time. Marshall, Godwin's old 
 fi'iend, is still alive, and talks of the faces you used to make. 
 Come as soon as you can. 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 ccLXvn. 
 
 One of the last letters written by Charles Lamb before his 
 fatal illness in 1834 was in reply to one enclosing a list of candi- 
 dates for a widows' fund society, and requesting his votes. The 
 list chanced to be headed by a Mrs. Southey. 
 
 Charles Lamb to Mr. Gary, 
 
 Dear Sir, — The unbounded range of munificence presented to 
 my choice, staggers me. What can twenty votes do for one hun- 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. . 439 
 
 di-ed and two widows % I cast my eyes hopeless among the viduage. 
 N.B. Southey might be ashamed of himself to let his aged mother 
 stand at the top of the list, with his 100/. a year and butt of sack. 
 Sometimes I sigh over No. 12, Mrs. Oarve-ill, some poor relation 
 of mine, no doubt. No. 15 has my wishes, but then she is a 
 Welsh one. I have Ruth upon No. 21. I'd tug hard for No. 24. 
 No. 25 is an anomaly ; there caa be no Mrs. Hog. No. 34 in- 
 snares me. No. 73 should not have met so foolish a person. No. 
 92 may bob it as she likes, but she catches no cherry of me. So I 
 have even fixed at hap-hazard, as you'll see. 
 
 Yours, every third Wednesday, 
 G. L. 
 
 ccLxvm. 
 
 The loss of his eldest son and the intolerable vexation caused 
 by the republication of his seditious drama of ' Wat Tyler,' had 
 driven Southey in 1816 into a condition of melancholy that pre- 
 vented him from writing to his friends. Landor, ignorant of the 
 causes of his silence, addressed him this eloquent appeal. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor to Robert Southey. 
 
 1817. 
 I have written many letters to you since I received one from 
 you. Can anything occur that ought to interrupt our friendship ? 
 Believe me, Southey — and of all men living I will be the very last 
 to deceive or to flatter you — I have never one moment ceased to 
 love and revere you as the most amiable and best of mortals, and 
 your fame has always been as precious to me as it could ever be to 
 yourself. If you believe me capable, as you must, of doing any- 
 thing to displease you, tell it me frankly and fully. Should my 
 reply be unsatisfactory, it will not be too late nor too soon to shake 
 me off from all pretensions to your friendship. Tell it me rather 
 while your resentment is warm than afterwards ; for in the midst 
 of resentment the heart is open to generous and tender sentiments ; 
 it closes afterwards. I heard with inexpressible grief of your most 
 severe and irreparable loss, long indeed ago ; but even if I had 
 been with you at the time, I should have been silent. If your 
 feelings are like mine, of all cruelties those are the most intolerable 
 that come under the name of condolence and consolation. Surely 
 to be told that we ought not to grieve is among the worst bitter- 
 
440 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^- 
 
 nesses of grief. The best of fathers and of husbands is not always 
 to derive perfect happiness from being so ; and genius and wisdom, 
 instead of exempting a man from all human sufiferings, leave bim 
 exposed to all of them, and add many of their own. Whatever 
 creature told me that his reason had subdued his feelings, to him 
 I should only reply that mine had subdued my regard for him. 
 But occupations and duties fill up the tempestuous vacancy of the 
 soul ; affliction is converted to sorrow, and sorrow to tenderness ; 
 at last the revolution is completed, and love returns in its pristine 
 but incorruptible form. More blessings are still remaining to you 
 than to any man living. In that which is the most delightful of 
 all literary occupations, at how immense a distance are you ft-om. 
 every rival or competitor ! In history, what information are you 
 capable of giving to those even who are esteemed the most learned \ 
 And those who consult your critidsma do not consult them to find, 
 as in others, with what feathers the most barbarous ignoi-ance 
 tricks out its nakedness, or with what gypsy shuffling and arrant 
 slang detected impostures are defended. On this sad occasion I 
 have no reluctance to remind you of your eminent gifts. In return 
 I ask from you a more perfect knowledge of myself than I yet 
 possess. Conscious that I have done nothing very wrong, I 
 almost hope that I have done something not quite right, that 
 I may never think you have been unjust towai-ds me. 
 
 W. L. 
 
 COLXIX, 
 
 Reference is made on another page to Dr. Samuel Parr 'is 
 great conversational powers, second only to those of Dr. John- 
 son. Landor had not made Parr converse in any of the ^ Imagi- 
 nary Conversations,' though he intended to dedicate a volume 
 to him. Parr was on his death-bed when this letter arrived. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor to Dr. Samuel Parr. 
 
 Florence : February 5, 1825. 
 My dear Sir, — It has appeared, and might well do so, an- 
 extraordinary thing, that I should have omitted your name in myi 
 * Conversations.' You will perceive at the close (rf this paper,S 
 that, if I did not venture to deliver your opinions, at least I had-i 
 not forgotten the man by whom mine could have bean bastj 
 corrected. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 441 
 
 Had I completed my undei'taking I should have prefixed to 
 the last volume a dedication to my venerable friend, Dr. Samuel 
 Parr, and it would have been with more propriety inscribed to 
 him than any of the former, as containing less of levity and of 
 passion, and greatly more, if I had done justice to the interlocutors, 
 of argument and of eloquence. My first exercises in these were 
 under his eye and guidance, corrected by his admonition, and ani- 
 mated by his applause. His house, his library, his heart, were 
 always open to me ; and among my few friendships, of which 
 indeed, partly by fortune, partly by choice, I have certainly had 
 fewer than any man, I shall remember his to the last hour of my 
 existence with tender gratitude. 
 
 My admiration of some others I have expressed in the few 
 words preceding each volume ; my esteem and love of him I have 
 expressed in still fewer ; but with such feelings as that man's are 
 who has shaken hands with the friends that followed him to the 
 shore, and who sees from the vessel one separate from the rest, 
 one whom he can never meet again. May you enjoy, my dear Sir, 
 all that can be enjoyed of life ! I am heartily sated of it, and have 
 abandoned all thoughts of completing my design. The third 
 volume will, however, come out in the beginning of March, and I 
 hope there are some things in it which will not displease you. 
 
 I request you to present my most respectful compliments to 
 Mrs. Parr, and to believe me, dear Sir, yours ever most faithfully, 
 W. S. Landor. 
 
 CCLXX. 
 
 We have seen Landor in his best mood of tenderness and 
 Spartan dignity, we are now introduced to hira during one of 
 those paroxysms of vehemence wliich were so habitual to hira. 
 The letter refers to some slight misdemeanour on the part of the 
 publisher of Lander's ' Imaginary Conversations,' 
 
 Walter Savage Landor to Robert Southey. 
 
 Florence : April 11, 1825. 
 Taylor's first villany in making me disappoint the person with 
 whom I had agreed for the pictures instigated me to throw my 
 fourth volume, in its imperfect state, into the fire, and has cost mo 
 nine-tenths of my fame as a writer. His next villany will entail 
 perhaps a chancery-suit on my children, — for at its commencement 
 
442 ENGLISH LlJiTTEItS. [1700- 
 
 I blow my brains out. Mr. Hazlitt, Mr. Leigh Hunt, Lord 
 Dillon, Mr. Brown, and some other authors of various kinds, have 
 been made acquainted, one from another, with this whole affair, 
 and they speak of it as a thing unprecedented. It is well that I 
 rewrote the ' Tiberius and Vipsania ' before Taylor gave me a fi-esh 
 proof of his intolerable roguery. This cares me for ever, if I live, 
 of writing what could be published ; and I will take good care 
 that my son shall not suffer in the same way. Not a line of any 
 kind will I leave behind me. My children shall be carefully 
 warned against literature. To fence, to swim, to speak French, 
 are the most they shall learn. 
 
 W. S. L. 
 
 CCLXXL 
 
 Very few public entertainers have worked harder than Mr. 
 Charles Mathews (the elder) did to sustain a great reputation 
 and keep a purse well filled. He seemed to flit about the pro- 
 \ince8 with extraordinary rapidity, and this, too, in the coach- 
 ing days. Mathews was a most energetic and constant correspon- 
 dent, and seems neyer to haye missed a reasonable opportunity 
 of writing to Mrs. Mathews when absent from home on a series 
 of proyincial engagements. In this letter he writes of his suc- 
 cess at Edinburgh. 
 
 Charles Mathews to Mrs. Mathews. 
 
 Edinburgh : February 9, 1822. 
 I know too many people here to study undisturbed ; therefore 
 am obliged to hide myself in the private walks, when the weather 
 will permit. Yesterday was lovely, and I had a good spell ; to-day 
 boisterous and wet. Terry declared that he was blown off the 
 pavement into the middle of the street, from the violence of a 
 squall, and must have fallen, if he had not made a snatch at a man 
 who returned his hug, like two people on the ice. I have had two 
 nights, the first 80£., for they would not be persuaded that I was 
 myself, in consequence of the disturbance Irish Mathews occa- 
 sioned here. But believing from ocular demonstration that I was 
 I, my second amounted to 132£., which, to appreciate, you must 
 be acquainted with circumstances too tedious, &c. When I tell 
 you that the boxes will only hold 55£., you may suppose what it 
 was. Sii* Walter, the magician of the North, and all his family, 
 were there. They huzzaed when he came in, and I never played 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 443 
 
 with such spirit, I was so proud of his presence. Coming out, I 
 saw him in the lobby, and very quietly shook his hand. ' How d'ye 
 do, Sir Walter]' — 'Oh, hoo are ye? wall, hoo have you been 
 entertained % ' (I perceived he did not know me.) — ' Why, Sir, I 
 don't think quite so well as the rest of the people.' — ' Why not? I 
 have been just delighted. It's quite wonderful hoo the devil he 
 gets through it all.' — (Whispering in his ear) : * I am surprised 
 too; but I did it all myself.' Lockhart, Lady Scott, and the chil- 
 dren quickly perceived the equivoque, and laughed aloud, which 
 drew all eyes upon me : an invitation for to- morrow followed, 
 which I accepted joyfully. I doubt if the players in Shakspeare's 
 time appreciated his invite as I do an attention from the man who 
 in my mind is second only to him. 
 
 Murray has overreached himself — and I continue to oppose. 
 Much I thank him for allowing me to stand alone, and to oppose 
 without compunction. 
 
 Chakles Mathews. 
 
 CCLXXII. 
 
 During Mr. Charles Mathews' (the elder) professional visit 
 to America in the autumn of 1822, a minister of the Dutch 
 Keformed Church took occasion while preachino: a sermon on 
 the subject of the yellow-fever, 'Pestilence — a Punishment for 
 Public Sins,' to utter a violent tirade aorainst theatres generally 
 and the evil influence of the great English comedian in particu- 
 lar, as though Mathews were responsible in the month of 
 November for the dreadful scourge which made its first appear- 
 ance during the previous July. Just before his return to Eng- 
 land Mathews wrote this letter with a view to frighten the parson 
 by inferring that he would be adequately and prominently repre- 
 sented in his next English ' At Home.' 
 
 Charles Ma.thews to the Rev. Paschal Strong. 
 
 New York: 1823. 
 Sir, — Ingratitude being in my estimation a crime most heinous 
 and most hateful, I cannot quit the shores of America without 
 expressing my grateful sense of services which you have gi-a- 
 tuitously rendered. 
 
 Other professors in ' that school of Satan, that nursery of hell t * 
 as you most appropriately style the theatre, have been, ex neces- 
 sitate, content to have their merits promulgated through the 
 
444 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 medium of tlie public papers ; but mine you have graciously 
 vouchsafed to blazon from the p dpit. You have, as appears in your 
 recently published sermon, declared me to be (what humility tells 
 me I only am in your partial and prejudiced estimation) ' an actor 
 whom God Almighty sent here as a man better qualified than any 
 other in the world to dissipate every serious reflection ! ' 
 
 What man ! what woman ! what child ! could resist the effects 
 of such a description, coming from such a quarter ] particularly as 
 you, at the same time, assured the laughter-loving inhabitants of 
 this city that the punishment incident to such a ' thu*st after dissi- 
 pation' had been already inflicted by 'their late calamity,' the 
 pestilence, * voracious in its thirst of prey ! ' and you might have 
 added, thirsty in its hunger for drink. No wonder that the 
 theatre has since been crowded, the manager enriched, and the most 
 sanguine expectations of him whom you have perhaps improperly 
 elevated to the rank of the avenging angel so beautifully described 
 by Addison, completely realized. 
 
 For each and all of these results accept, reverend sir, my cordial 
 and grateful thanks. Nor deem me too avaricious of your favours, 
 if I venture to solicit more. As you have expressly averred, in 
 the sermon before me, that * God burnt the theatre of New York, to 
 rebuke the devotees of pleasure there resident,^ permit me, youi* 
 humble avenging angel, to inquire, by whom and for what purpose 
 the cathedrals at Rouen and Venice were recently destroyed by 
 fire, and in a manner which more especially implicated the hand 
 of Providence] But beware, most reverend sir, I conjure you, lest 
 your doctrines of special dispensations furnish arguments and arms 
 to the scofler and atheist. 
 
 One other request, and I have done. You appear too well 
 acquainted with my peculiarities and propensities not to be aware 
 that, when I travel abroad, I am always anxious to collect some- 
 thing original and funny wherewith to entertain my friends and 
 patrons ' at home.* Now, sir, so little do the American people, in 
 general, differ from their parent stock whom it is my object to 
 amuse, that I have as yet scarcely procured anything in which 
 these qualities are united, except your aforesaid sermon ; you will, 
 therefore, infinitely oblige me, if you will, on Sunday next, preach 
 another on the subject of my angelic attributes ; in which case, 
 you may rely on my being, a most attentive auditor. I hope to 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 445 
 
 have the opportunity of studying the peculiarities of your style 
 and action. The gracefulness and Christian charity, humility and 
 universal benevolence, which doubtless beam in your expressive 
 countenance, will enable me to produce a picture of prodigious 
 effect, of which all who know the original will acknowledge the 
 likeness to be Strong ! 
 
 I have sir, the honour to be, most gratefully your obliged, 
 angelic, yellow- fever-producing friend, 
 
 C. Mathews. 
 
 CCLXXm. 
 
 To lovers of John Constable's simple and unaffected art — 
 and they are legion — these two specimens, gleaned from the 
 volume of correspondence prepared by his fellow-academician, 
 0. R. Leslie, will be interesting. 
 
 John Constable^ E.A., to Mr. Dunthorne. 
 
 London: May 29, 1802. 
 
 My dear Dunthorne, — I hope I have now done with the 
 business that brought me to town with Dr. Fisher. It is sufficient 
 to say that had I accepted the situation offered it would have been 
 a death-blow to all my prospects of perfection in the art I love. 
 For these few weeks past, I believe I have thought more seriously 
 of my profession than at any other time of my life; of that 
 which is the surest way to excellence. I am just returned from a 
 visit to Sir George Beaumont's pictures with a deep conviction of 
 the truth of Sir Joshua Reynolds' observation, that there is no 
 easy way of becoming a good painter. Foi* the last two years I 
 have been running after pictures, and seeking the truth at second 
 hand. I have not endeavoured to represent nature with the 
 same elevation of mind with which I set out, but have rather tried 
 to make my performances look like the work of other men. I am 
 come to a determination to make no idle visits this summer, nor 
 to give up my time to common-place people. 
 
 I shall retui-n to Bergholt, where I shall endeavour to get a 
 pure and unaffected manner of representing the scenes that may 
 employ me. There is little or nothing in the exhibition woi-th 
 looking up to. There is room enough for a natural painter. The 
 great vice of the present day is bravura, an attempt to do something 
 
446 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 beyond tlie truth. Fashion always had, and will have, its day ; 
 but truth in all things only will last, and can only have just claims 
 on posterity. T have reaped considerable benefit from exhibiting ; 
 it shews me where I am, and in fact tells me what nothing else 
 could. 
 
 CCLXXIV. 
 
 Twenty years before this letter was written, Constable, 
 then in his twenty-sixth year, was lectured by West in the fol- 
 lowing words : ' Always remember. Sir, that liglit and shadow 
 nevicr stand still. Whatever object you are painting, keep in 
 mind its prevailing character rather than its accidental appear- 
 ance. In your skies, for instance, always aim at brightness, 
 although there are states of the atmosphere in which the sky 
 itself is not blight. I do not mean that you are not to paint 
 lowering skies, but even in the darkest eflects there should be 
 brightness. Your darks should look like the darks of silver, not 
 of lead or of slate.' 
 
 John Constable y R.A., to the Rev. J. Fisher. 
 
 Hampstead : October 23, 1821. 
 My dear Fisher, — I am most anxious to get into my London 
 painting-room, for I do not consider myself at work unless I am 
 before a six-foot canvas. I have done a good deal of skying, for 
 I am determined to conquer all difficulties, and that among the 
 rest. And now, talking of skies, it is amusing to us to see how 
 admirably you fight my battles; you certainly take the best 
 possible ground for getting your friend out of a sci'ape (the 
 example of the old masters). That landscape painter who does 
 not make his skies a very material part of his composition, neglects 
 to avail himself of one of his greatest aids. Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 speaking of the landscapes of Titian, of Salvator, and of Claude, 
 says : ' Even their skies seem to sympathize with their subjects.' 
 I have often been advised to consider my sky as ' a white sheet 
 thrown behind the objects.^ Certainly, if the sky is obtrusive, as 
 mine are, it is bad ; but if it is loaded, as mine are not, it is 
 worse; it must and always shall with me make an efiectual 
 part of the composition. It will be difficult to name a class 
 of landscape in which the sky is not the key note, the standard 
 of scale, and the chief organ of sentiment. You may conceive 
 then, what a 'white sheet ' would do for me, impressed as I 
 
1800 J ENGLISH LETTERS. 447 
 
 am with these notions, and they cannot be erroneous. The 
 sky is the source of light in nature, and governs every thing ; 
 even our common observations on the weather of every day are 
 altogether suggested by it. The difficulty of skies in painting 
 is very great, both as to composition and execution ; because, with 
 all their brilliancy, they ought not to come forward, or, indeed, be 
 hardly thought of any more than extreme distances are ; but this 
 does not apply to phenomena or accidental effects of sky, because 
 they always attract particularly. I may say all this to you, though 
 you do not want to be told that I know very well what I am about, 
 and that my skies have not been neglected, though they have often 
 failed in execution, no doubt, from an over-anxiety about them, 
 which will alone destroy that easy appearance which nature always 
 has in all her movements. 
 
 How much I wish I had been with you on your fishing 
 excursion in the New Forest ! "What river can it be ? But the 
 sound of water escaping from mill-dams &c., willows, old rotten 
 planks, slimy posts, and brickwork, I love such things. Shake- 
 speare could make everything poetical j he tells us of poor Tom's 
 haunts among sheepcotes and mills. 
 
 As long as I do paint, I shall never cease to paint such places. 
 They have always been my delight, and I should indeed have been 
 delighted in seeing what you describe, and in your company, * in 
 the company of a man to whom nature does not spread her volume 
 in vain.' Still I should paint my own places best ; painting is 
 with me but another word for feeling, and I associate ' my care- 
 less boyhood ' with all that lies on the banks of the St our ; those 
 scenes made me a painter, and I am grateful ; that is, I had often 
 thought of pictures of them before I ever touched a pencil, and 
 your picture is the strongest instance of it I can recollect ; but I 
 will say no more, for I am a great egotist in whatever relates to 
 painting. Does not the Cathedral look beautiful among the 
 golden foliage 1 its solitary grey must sparkle in it. 
 
 Yours ever 
 
 J. 0. 
 
448 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CCLXXV. 
 
 The famous Dr. Samuel Parr was not the only scholar who 
 •was taken in by the impudent Shakespeare fororeries of Samuel 
 William Henry Ireland. That Sheridan should have purchased 
 such vapid nonsense as ' Vortig^eni ' for Drury Lane Theatre, and 
 that John Kemble should have consented to act in it, is scarcely 
 less surprising than that the author of the play should have 
 assurance enough to string together the deliberate lies which 
 make up this letter. Before the year was out Ireland published 
 a confession of his guilt. 
 
 Samuel W. H. Ireland to Dr. Samuel Parr. 
 
 Norfolk Street, Strand : February 6, 1796. 
 Dear Sir, — When I had last the pleasure of seeing you in 
 London, you flattered me with some hope of your friendly inter- 
 ference relative to a defence of the Shakspeare MSS. The daily 
 attacks on them and myself you have no doubt seen ; many of 
 them are of the grossest, and most insidious nature : to these 
 (following your advice) I have said but little, and believe I must 
 continue with perseverance to bear all with meekness and charity. 
 Several pamphlets have appeared pro and con ; those against with 
 more scuiTility than argument. Amongst those in favour, one 
 signed Philalethes is worthy notice, it is written by a gentleman 
 and a scholar. Great indeed is the mass of papers, books, &c. 
 that have come into my hands since I had the pleasure of seeing 
 you. The play of Yortigern, and of Henry the Second, part of 
 Hamlet, and the whole of Lear, all written in the same hand, and 
 signed in many places by himself, between seventy and eighty 
 books out of his library, with poetical and very interesting notes, 
 all in his own hand, and signed with his name, among them is 
 Spenser's Fairy Queen, published in 1590, with his notes and 
 an acrostic on the name of Spenser, signed by Shakspeare, besides 
 those many legal instruments, signed by him either as the principal 
 or as a witness ! ! This treasure the commentators and a host of 
 opponents all declare a forgery, although they have never seen a 
 line of them, and many of them have been invited for that purpose, 
 particularly Dr. Farmer, to whom you very obligingly addressed a 
 long letter in my house. He is one of those I am told who, 
 without deigning to call to view the papers, disbelieves, and says 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 449 
 
 they must be forgeries. Your neighbour Mr. Greatheed has seen 
 and is a firm believer. 
 
 Mr. Erskine, the Lord Chief Baron, and a host of persons in 
 and out of the Law, who have seen, have not a shadow of doubt 
 on the subject. Burke and Malone are preparing their great guns, 
 and I hear to be out in a few days. Steevens is likewise running 
 a race with them, to have the first blow at me. With such an 
 opposition, I need not say even truth may be injured for a time, 
 although it must eventually rise superior as in most cases it has 
 been known to do. In support of our discovery, a recent one has 
 been made by Mr. Albany Wallis of Norfolk, amongst the deeds 
 &c. of the Fetherstonhaugh family (to whom he has been agent 
 near forty years) that corroborate as to the signature of Shakspeare 
 and various other names on my deeds and papers in every respect. 
 This is for us a very strong support indeed, and must weigh 
 greatly with those who choose to be convinced. Situated as we 
 are, I need not say (although I have many literary friends in town) 
 that should you continue, on viewing these treasures, to be as con- 
 vinced of their authenticity as when I had the pleasure of seeing 
 you here, that your pen would prove to me a tower of strength. 
 I shall esteem myself honoured by a line from you as soon as 
 convenient, and remain, dear Sir, your obliged and obedient 
 servant, 
 
 S. Ireland. 
 
 CCLXXVI. 
 
 B , Moore had not made his bargain with the Messrs. Longman 
 
 F" when the following letter was written ; and it so happened that 
 Lord Byron's * Giaour * did not stand in the way of an offer of 
 3,000 guineas for ' Lalla Rookh.' 
 
 Byron derived more popularity from his Turkish tale than 
 Moore did from his Persian narrative simply because it was 
 treated with greater force and truth to nature. In justice to 
 Moore's generous disposition it should be repeated that he lett 
 two-thirds of this money in the hands of his publisher to be 
 invested for the benefit of his parents. The reference to Bessy 
 (Dyke) is a touching recognition of the claims of an excellent 
 wife to the life-long affection of her husband — a state of blessed- 
 ness by no means common among Moore's poetical companions. 
 
 O G 
 
450 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Thomas Moore to Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Mayfield, Ashbourne: May, 1813. 
 I was a good deal relieved from my apprehensions about Lady 
 Donegal by your letter, for though you mention colds, &c., I was 
 afraid, from what Rogers said in his letter, that her old complaint had 
 returned with more violence than usual, as he mentioned that she 
 was obliged to consult Baillie, and I always couple his name with 
 something serious and clinical. But indeed, E<3gers himself, in 
 the next Kne to this intelligence, mentioned having met her at 
 Gloucester House the Saturday preceding; which (unless aqua, 
 regalis or royal wish-wash was among the doses prescribed by 
 BailKe), I did not think looked like very serious indisposition. If 
 wishing you both well and happy, and free from all the ills of this 
 life, could in any way bring it about, I should be as good as a 
 physician for both your bodies and souls as you could find any- 
 where. So you insist upon my taking my poem to Town with 
 me 1 I will, if I can, you may be sure ; but I confess I feel rather 
 down-hearted about it. Never was anything more unlucky for me 
 than Byron's invasion of this region, which when I entered it, was 
 as yet untrodden, and whose charm consisted in the gloss and 
 novelty of its features; but it will now be over-run with clumsy, 
 adventurers, and when I make my appearance, instead of being a 
 leader as I looked to be, I must dwindle into a humble follower— 
 a Byronian. This is disheartening, and I sometimes doubt whether 
 I shall publish it at all ; though at the same time, if I may trust 
 my own judgment, I think I never wrote so well before. But (as 
 King Arthur, in Tom Thumb, says) ' Time wiU tell,' and in the 
 mean time, I am leading a life which but for these anxieties of fame, 
 and a few ghosts of debt that sometimes haunt me, is as rationally 
 happy as any man can ask for. You want to know something of 
 our little girls. Barbara is stout and healthy, not at all pretty, 
 but very sensible-looking, and is, of course, to be everything that's 
 clever. The other little thing was very ill-treated by the nurse 
 we left her with in that abominable Cheshire, but she is getting 
 much better, and promises to be the prettier of the two. Bessy's 
 heart is wrapped up in them, and the only pain they ever give me 
 is the thought of the precaiiousness of such treasures, and the way 
 I see that licr life depends upon theirs. She is the same affectionate, 
 
3800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 451 
 
 sensible, and unaffected creature as a mother that she is as a wife, 
 and devotes every thought and moment to them and me. I pass 
 the day in my study or in the fields ; after dinner I read to Bessy 
 for a couple of hours, and we are in this way, at present, going 
 through Miss Edgeworth's works, and then after tea I go to my 
 study again. We are not without the distractions of society, for 
 this is a very gay plare, and some of the distractions I could dis- 
 pense with ; but being far out of the regular road, I am as little 
 interrupted as I could possibly expect in so very thick a neighboiu-- 
 hood. Thus you have a little panorama of me and mine, and I 
 hope you will like it. 
 
 Good-bye. Ever yours, 
 ^ T. Moore. 
 
 coLxxvn. 
 
 ^ In this charming letter from his cottage retreat in Warwick- 
 shire, the Irish Burns, as Byron called the witty and lively 
 Hibernian, tells his friend Rogers the progress he is makingwith 
 the <■ Peris.' 
 
 Thomas Moore to Samuel Rogers. 
 
 Mayfield : December 26, 1816. 
 My dear Rogers, — As this is about the time you said you should 
 be on your return to London, from your bright course through 
 that noble zodiac you've been moving* in, I hasten to welcome you 
 thither, not alas ! with my hand, as I could wish, — that joy must 
 not be for a few months longer, — but with my warmest con- 
 gratulations on your safe and sound return from the Continent, 
 and hearty thanks for your kind recollections of me — recollec- 
 tions, which I never want the outward and visible sign of letter- 
 writing to assure me of, however delightful and welcome it 
 may be, in addition to knowing that there's sweet musio in the 
 instrument, to hear a little of its melody now and then. This 
 image will not stand your criticism, but you know its meaning, 
 and that's enough — much more indeed than we Irish image- 
 makers can in general achieve. My desire to see you for yourself 
 alone, is still more whetted by all I hear of the exquisite gleanings 
 you have made on your tour. The Donegals say you have seen so 
 much, seen everything so well, and described it all so picturesquely, 
 that there is nothing like the treat of hearing you talk of youp 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 travels — how I long for that treat ! You are a happy fellow, my 
 dear Rogers, I know no one more nourri des fleurs of life, no one 
 who lives so much ' apis matinas more ' as yourself. The great 
 regret of my future days (and I hope the greatest) will be my loss 
 of the opportunity of seeing that glorious gallery, which like those 
 * domes of Shadukiam and Amberabad,' that Noui-mahal saw in 
 the ' gorgeous clouds of the west,' is now dispersed and gone for 
 ever. It is a loss that never can be remedied ; but still perhaps 
 our sacrifices are among our pleasantest recollections, and I ought 
 not to feel sorry that the time and money, which would have pro- 
 cured for myself this great gratification, have been employed in 
 making other hearts happy, better liearts than mine, and better 
 happiness than that would have been. With respect to my Peris, 
 thus stands the case, and remember that they are still to remain 
 (where Peiis best like to be) under the rose. I have nearly finished 
 three tales, making, in all, about three thousand five hundred lines, 
 but my plan is to have^ve tales, the stories of all which are ar- 
 ranged, and which I am determined to finish before I publish — no 
 urgings nor wonderings nor tauntings shall induce me to lift the 
 curtain till I have grouped these five subjects in the way I think 
 best for variety and efiect. I have already sufiered enough by 
 premature publication. I have formidable favourites to contend 
 with, and must try to make up my deficiencies in dash and vigour 
 by a greater d^ree, if possible, of versatility and polish. Now it 
 will take, at the least, six thousand lines to complete this plan, i.e. 
 between two and three thousand more than I have yet done. By 
 May next I expect to have five thousand finished. This is the 
 number for which the Longmans stipulated, and accordingly in 
 May I mean to appear in London, and nominally deliver the work 
 into their hands. It would be then too late (even if all were 
 finished) to think of going to press ; so that I shall thus enjoy the 
 credit with the Literary Quidnuncs of having completed my task 
 together with the advantage of the whole summer before me to 
 extend it to the length I purpose. Such is the statement of my 
 thousands, &c., which I am afraid you will find as puzzling as a 
 speech of Mr. Vansittart's ; but it is now near twelve o'clock at 
 night, which being an hour later than our cottage rules allow, I 
 feel it impossible to be luminous any longer — in which tendency 
 to eclipse, my candle sympathises most gloomily. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 453 
 
 Your poor friend Psyche is by no means well. I was in hopes 
 that our Irish trip would have benefited her ; but her weakness 
 and want of appetite continue most distressingly, and our cold 
 habitation in the fields has now given her a violent cough, which 
 if it does not soon get better, will alarm me exceedingly. I never 
 love her so well as when she is ill, which is perhaps the best proof 
 how really I love her. How do Byron and my Lady go on % there 
 are strange rumours in the country about them. 
 
 Ever yours, my dear Rogers, 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 CCLXXVIII. 
 
 ActiDg under the advice of his friends Moore remained three 
 years on the other side of the Channel, perrding the settlement 
 of a lawsuit involving a claim for 6,000/. against him for sundry 
 defalcations of a deputy whom he had left in charg:e of his 
 Government post at Bermuda. The claim was satisfied with a 
 cheque for 740/. from Lord Lansdowne, which Moore repaid 
 out of the profits of the ' Loves of the Angels ' and his ' Fables 
 of the Holy Alliance.' Allusion is made in this letter to the pre- 
 cious gift of tlie ' Byron Memoirs.' They were consigned to the 
 flames by Moore on Byron's death in deference to the wishes of 
 the poet's sister and executor; and, indeed, on Moore's judg- 
 ment of what he considered due to the memory of his illustrious 
 friend. The celebrated biography of Byron was immediately 
 undertaken for Messrs. Lougman, and the copyright passed into 
 the hands of Mr. John Murray. 
 
 Thomas Moore to Samuel Rogers. 
 
 Paris: Pecember 23,1819. 
 My dear Pogers, — There is but little use now in mentioniug 
 (though it is very true) that I began a letter to you from Rome ; 
 the first fragment of which is now before my eyes, and is as follows, 
 *■ One line from Rome is worth at least two of even yours from 
 Venice ; and it is lucky it should be so, as I have not at this 
 moment time for much more.' There I stopped ; and if you had 
 ever travelled on the wing as I have done, tiying about from morn- 
 ing till night, and from sight to sight, you would know how hard 
 it is to find time to write, and you would forgive me. Taking for 
 granted that you do forgive me, I hasten to write you some very- 
 valueless lines indeed, as they must be chiefly about myself. I 
 found a letter here on my arrival, from tiie Longmans, telling me 
 
454 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 that I must not ventuie to cross the water (as was my intention, 
 for the purpose of reaching Holp'ood House) till they had con- 
 sulted you and some other of my friends with respect to the expe- 
 diency of such a step. I have heard nothing more from them on the 
 subject, and therefore I suppose I must make up my mind to having 
 Mrs. Moore and the little ones over, and remaining here. This 
 is disappointing to me in many respects, and in few more than its 
 depriving me of all chance of seeing you^ my dear Rogers, and of 
 comparing notes with you on the subject of the many wonders I 
 have witnessed since we parted. Lord John has, I suppose, told 
 you of the precious gift Lord Byron made me at Venice — his own 
 memoirs, written up to the time of his arrival in Italy. I have 
 many things to tell you about him, which at this moment neither 
 time nor inclination will let me tell ; when I say ' inclination,' I 
 mean that spirits are not equal to the effort. I have indeed seldom 
 felt much more low and comfortless than since I arrived in Pai'is ; 
 and though if I had you at this moment ' a quattr ' occhi,' I 
 know I should find wherewith to talk whole hours, it is with 
 difficulty I have brought myself to write even these few lines. 
 Would I were with you ! I have no one here that I care one pin 
 for, and begin to feel, for the first time, like a banished man. 
 Therefore, pray write to me, and tell me that you forgive my lazi- 
 ness, and that you think I may look to our meeting before very 
 long. If it were possible to get to Holyrood House, I should infi- 
 nitely prefer it. 
 
 Lord John, in a letter I have Just received from him, says you 
 have not been m ell ; but I trust, my dear Kogers, you are by this 
 time quite yourself again. 
 
 E.ver yours most truly 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 C5CLXXIX. 
 
 Treated by two able and earnest people who understood 
 what they were writing aboat, the historical, social, religious, 
 and literary topics comprised in the correspondence of Lucy 
 Aikin and Dr. Channing have a special interest of their own. 
 Miss Aikin was very apt to disparage the manners, habits, and 
 intellectual calibre of her countrywomen, hut she could hold a 
 brief for them in the hour of need against their American 
 cousins. 
 
 It is as well this gifted authoress did not live to witness ks 
 costumes dharlequin of the years 1879-80. 
 
 I 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS 
 
 Miss Lucy Aihin to Dr. Channii 
 
 Hampstead: Augi 
 My dear Friend, — It grieves me to learn that illne^sjbas 
 the cause of your long silence ; but it is past, I hope, anc 
 summer be bright and balmy like ours, it will give you strength 
 to support the rigours of the coming winter. But ! that you 
 would come to recruit in our milder climate ! We should then 
 soon exorcise that strange phantom of a petticoated man which 
 your imagination has conjured up during your illness, and some 
 demon has whispered you to call an Englishwoman. I am well per- 
 suaded that you could have formed no such notion of us when you 
 were here, although I believe you then saw but little society, and 
 that of an inferior kind. 
 
 As to the very delicate subject of comparative beauty, our 
 travellers attest that you have many very pretty girls ; so have 
 we : and even Miss Sedgwick pronounces that * the English- 
 woman is magnificent from twenty to five-and-forty.' We are 
 satisfied; so let it rest. With respect to our step or stride, as you 
 say, I have a little history to give you. Down to five-and-forty or 
 fifty years ago, our ladies, tight-laced and ' propped on French • 
 heels,' had a short, mincing step, pinched figures, pale faces, weak 
 nerves, much afiectation, a delicate helplessness and miserable 
 health. Physicians prescribed exercise, but to little purpose. Then 
 came that event which is the beginning or end of everything — the 
 French Revolution. The Parisian women, amongst other re- 
 straints, salutary or the contrary, emancipated themselves from 
 their stays, and kicked off their petits talons. We followed the 
 example, and, by way of improving upon it, learned to march of 
 the drill-sergeant, mounted boots, and bid defiance to dii't and foul 
 weather. We have now well-developed figures, blooming cheeks, 
 active habits, firm nerves, natural and easy manners, a scorn of 
 affectation, and vigorous constitutions. If your fair daughters would 
 also learn to step out, their bloom would be less transient, and 
 fewer would fill untimely gi'aves. I admit, indeed, some unneces- 
 sary inelegance in the step of our pedestrian fair ones ; but this 
 does not extend to ladies of quality, or real gentlewomen, who take 
 the air chiefly in cai-riages or on horseback. They walk with the 
 same quiet grace that pervades all theii' deportment, and to which 
 
456 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 you have seen nothing similar or comparable. When you mention 
 our ' stronger gestures,' I know not what you mean. All Europe 
 declares that we have no gesture. Madame de Stael ridiculed us 
 as mere pieces of still-life ; and of untravelled gentlewomen this is 
 certainly true in general. All governesses proscribe it. Where it 
 exists it arises from personal character. I have seen it engaging 
 when the offspring of a lively imagination and warm feelings, re- 
 pulsive when the result of a keen temper or dictatorial assumption. 
 Again, your charge of want of delicacy I cannot understand. The 
 women of every other European nation charge us with prudery, 
 and I really cannot conceive of a human being more unassailable 
 by just reproach on this head than a well-conducted Englishwoman. 
 We have, indeed, heard some whimsical stories of American dam- 
 sels who would not for the world speak of the leg even of a table, 
 or the hach even of a chair ; and I do confess that Tve are not deli- 
 cate or indelicate to this point. Bat if you mean to allude to the 
 enormities of Frances Wright, or even to some of the discussions 
 
 of , I can only answer, we blush too. Be pleased to 
 
 consider that you have yet seen in your country none of our ladies 
 of high rank, and few of your people, excepting diplomatic charac- 
 'ters, have had more than very transient glimpses of them here, while 
 we have had the heads of your society with us. Now I must 
 frankly tell you, in reference to your very unexpected claim for 
 your countrywomen of superior refinement, that although I have 
 seen several of them whose manners were too quiet and retiring to 
 give the least offence, I have neither seen nor heard of any who, 
 even in the society of our middle classes, were thought entitled to 
 more than this negative commendation — any who have become pro- 
 minent without betraying gross ignorance of more than conventional 
 good-breeding. The very tone of voice, the accent and the choice 
 of phrase, give us the impression of extreme inelegance. Patriot 
 and staunch republican as you are, I think you must admit the 
 a-prioii probability that the metropolis of the British Empire, the 
 first city in the world for size, for opulence, for diffusion of the 
 comforts, accommodations and luxuries of life, as well as for all 
 the appliances of science, literature and taste — the seat of a court 
 unexcelled in splendour, and of an aristocracy absolutely unrivalled 
 in wealth, in substantial power and dignity, and especially in mental 
 cultivation of the most solid and most elegant kind — would afford 
 
1800J ENGLISH LETTERS. A5f 
 
 such a standard of graceful and finislied manners as youi* State 
 capitals can have no chance of coming up to. Further, it has been 
 most truly observed that in every country it is the mothers who 
 give the tone both to morals and manners ; but with you the 
 mothers are by your own account the toilers. Oppressed with 
 the cares of house and children, they either retire from society into 
 the bosom of their family, or leave at least the active and promi- 
 nent parts in it to mere girls : and can you suppose that the art and 
 science of good breeding, for such it is, will be likely to advance 
 towards perfection when all who have attained such proficiency as 
 experience can give resign the sway to giddy novices 1 With us it 
 is quite different. Young ladies do not come out till eighteen, and 
 then their part is a very subordinate one. It is the matron who 
 does the honours of her house and supports conversation ; and her 
 daughters pay their visits beneath her wing. Under wholesome 
 restraint like this, the young best learn self-government. ' Sir,' 
 said Dr. Parr, when provoked by the ill-manners of a rich man 
 who had been a spoiled child, ' it is discipline that makes the 
 scholar, discipline that makes the gentleman, and it is the want of 
 discipline that makes you what you are.' One of your young 
 women showed her taste and breeding by asking an English lady 
 if she had seen ' Victoria ; ' and I must mention that Miss Sedg- 
 wick has thought proper to describe the first and greatest lady in 
 the world as * a plain little body ; ' adding, ' ordinary is the word for 
 her.' It was no woman luckily, but your Mr. D,, who had the 
 superlative conceit and impertinence to express his surprise to a 
 friend of mine at finding so much good society in London. Now 
 I think I have given you enough for one letter. 
 
 Let me thank you very gratefully for your * Duty of the Free 
 States.' We ought all to be grateful to you as one of the most 
 earnest and powerful pleaders for peace between our two countries. 
 I trust there is now good hope of the settlement of all our dis- 
 putes. But your man-owners may as well give up all hope of our 
 lending our hands to the recovery of their chattels : we shall go to 
 war sooner, I can tell them. Your piece gave me much new informa- 
 tion respecting the obligations of the free states in connection with 
 slavery ; they are more onerous than I thought. You must carry 
 your point as to the district of Columbia at all risks, and I appre- 
 hend you will do so as soon as your people can be brought earn- 
 
468 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 estlj to will it — a state of public feeling which seems to be advanc- 
 ing. After our victory over slave-trade and slavery, no good cause 
 is ever to be despaired of, not even although many of its champions 
 may show themselves rash, uncharitable, violent. Reason, justice 
 and humanity, must condescend to own that they need the service 
 of the passions to lead the forlorn hope in their holiest crusades. 
 
 Your lively delineations of the Southerns and the Northerns 
 struck me very forcibly. The contrast is just what we should 
 draw between English and Irish. Difference of climate may 
 in great degree account for this in your case, but it can have no 
 part in ours. We should ascribe it to difference of race, had not 
 the original English settlers in Ireland grown into such a likeness 
 of the old Celtic stock. Nothing more inscrutable than the causes 
 of national character. Climate certainly modifies the original 
 type. Thus the picture which you draw of American women iu 
 your letter bore much resemblance, I thought, to the Creoles of our 
 islands. But surely the same character cannot apply to the women 
 of both North and South any more than to the men ; for, inde- 
 2)endently of all other causes, the presence or absence of domestic 
 slaves must modify every detail of domestic, and of course of 
 feminine, life. 
 
 CCLXXX. 
 
 Political bias apart, and judtjing from quite neutral ground, 
 readers of the memoirs and correspondence of the late Viscount 
 Palmerston will scarcely lail to remark that his Lordship's man- 
 agement of the Foreign Office, especially during the decade 
 immediately Ibllowing the Reform Bill of 1832, partook of the 
 omniscience of Sir Francis Walsingham and the resoluteness of 
 Protector Cromwell. The despatches of Lord Palmerston to 
 Lord Granville and Sir Henry Bidwer are of a piece with Pro- 
 tector Cromwell's drafts to Sir William Lockhart. 
 
 Lord Palmerston to Viscount Granville ^ British Ambassador 
 at Paris. 
 
 Foreign Office : January 7, 1831. 
 My dear Granville, — In a conversation which I had a few days 
 ago with Talleyrand, about the affairs of Belgium, I mentioned to 
 him an idea which had occurred to me, as an arrangement which 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 459 
 
 might probably smooth some of our difBculties. The King of the 
 Netherlands would wish his son to wear the crown of Belgium ; 
 the Belgians want much to have Luxembourg. Could not the 
 King give up Luxembourg to his son, on condition of his being 
 elected by the Belgians'? and might not the Belgians choose the 
 Prince of Orange, on condition that he should biing Luxembourg 
 with him % Talleyrand looked very grave, and said he thought his 
 Government would not like to see Luxembourg united to Belgium. 
 I asked why, inasmuch as it had been so united hitherto, and 
 would not be more inconvenient to France when united to Belgium 
 alone, than when united to Belgium joined with Holland. He 
 said, the fact was that their frontier in that direction is very weak 
 and exposed, and Luxembourg runs into an undefended part of 
 France. He then said, Would there be no means of making an 
 arrangement hy which Luxembourg might he given to France ? I 
 confess I felt considerable surprise at a proposition so much at 
 v^ariance with all the language and professions which he and his 
 Grovemment have been holding. I said that such an arrangement 
 appeared to me to be impossible, and that nobody could consent to 
 it. I added that England had no selfish objects in view in the 
 j,rrangements of Belgium, but that we wished Belgium to be i-eally 
 md substantially independent. That we were desirous of living 
 ipon good terms with France, but that any territorial acquisitions 
 )f France such as this which he contemplated would alter the re- 
 ations of the two countries, and make it impossible for us to con- 
 ;inue on good terms. I found since this conversation that he had 
 )een making similar propositions to Prussia about her Bhenish 
 provinces, in the event of the possibility of moving the King of 
 ^xony to Belgium and giving Saxony to Prussia. To-day he 
 proposed to me that France should get Philippeville and Marien- 
 )urg, in consideration of France using her influence to procure 
 he election of Leopold for Belgium. I do not like all this ; it 
 ooks as if France was unchanged in her system of encroachment, 
 ind it diminishes the confidence in her sincerity and good faith 
 vliich her conduct up to this time had inspired. It may not he 
 t miss for you to hint, upon any fitting occasion, that though we 
 n-e anxious to cultivate the best understanding with France, and 
 he on the terms of the most intimate friendship with her j yet that 
 
460 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 it is oifdy on the supposition that she contents herself with the finest 
 territory in Europe^ and does not mean to open a new chapter of 
 encroachment and conquest. 
 
 My dear Granville, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Palmerston. 
 
 CCLXXXI. 
 
 Lord Palmerston to Sir H. L. Bulwerj Paris. 
 
 Carlton Terrace : September 27, 1840. 
 My dear Bulwer, — Notwithstanding the mysterious threatening 
 with which Thiers has favoured us, I still hold to my belief that 
 the French Government will be too wise and prudent to make 
 war ; and various things which come to me from difierent quarters 
 confirm me in that belief. Besides, bullies seldom execute the 
 threats they deal in; and men of trick and cunning are not 
 always men of desperate resolves. But if Thiers should again 
 hold to you the language of menace, however indistinctly and 
 vaguely shadowed out, pray retort upon him to the full extent of 
 what he may say to you, and with that skill of language which I 
 know you to be the master of, convey to him in the most fiiendly 
 and unoffensive manner possible, that if France throws down the 
 gauntlet we shall not refuse to pick it up ; and that if she begins 
 a war, she will to a certainty lose her ships, colonies, and commerce 
 before she sees the end of it ; that her army of Algiera will cease 
 to give her anxiety, and that Mehemet AH will just be chucked 
 into the Nile. I wish you had hinted at these topics when Thiers 
 spoke to you ; I invariably do so when either Guizot or Bourqueney 
 begin to swagger, and I observe that it always acts as a sedative. 
 I remind them that countries seldom engage in unprovoked war, 
 unless they have something to gain by so doing ; but that we 
 should very soon have nearly three times the number of ships that 
 France could put to sea, and must, therefore, have the command 
 of all their iuterests beyond sea ; and that even if we had not such 
 a decided superiority upon our own bottom, Russia would be with 
 us, and has a fleet equal to the fleet of France. These considera- 
 tions perhaps might weigh more with Louis Philippe than with 
 Thiers, but I am inclined to think that they will weigh with some 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 461 
 
 body or other at Paris. However, I may be mistaken, and the 
 French may either make war, in spite of their assurances, or 
 commit some violent and outrageous act of aggression against the 
 Sultan, which the four Powers will be obliged to resent ; in that 
 case France must take the consequences, and her Government bear 
 the responsibility. 
 
 While Thiers is telling you that this last absurd proposal of 
 Mehemet is the last word of Mehemet and of France, Guizot is 
 getting conveyed to me through all sorts of out-of-the-way channels, 
 that if we would but make the most trifiirvg concession^ if we would 
 give way the very least in the world, the French Grovernment 
 would jump at our proposals, and the whole thing might be settled 
 satisfactorily (to France he means, of course). But as to the offer 
 which has been modestly trumpeted forth as a concession, it 
 happens to be just the reverse ; for France has said for some time 
 past that she would engage that Mehemet should be content with 
 Egypt hereditary and Syria for his life ; but now by a juggle he 
 wants us to give Syria for the life of Ibrahim, which is nothing 
 less than an anticipated inheritance of Syria for Ibrahim ; and, 
 therefore, something more instead of less than what was talked of 
 by France before. Really Thiers must think us most wonderful 
 simpletons to be thus bamboozled. As to concessions, the fact is, 
 that, when four Powers make a treaty, they intend to execute it ; 
 and, as we made our whole extent of possible concession to France 
 before the treaty, by offering to let Mehemet keep St. John of 
 Acre, there is nothing more left that we can concede. If we go 
 further at all, we must let Mehemet have Beyrout and Damascus, 
 neither of which it is by any means possible to allow him to 
 retain. 
 
 I conclude by the great anxiety that some parties have to 
 settle the matter soon, though at our expense, that they look for- 
 ward to a speedy settlement of differences at the Bourse at the 
 expense of other people ; and that, having made a large sum by 
 the fall, they want to double their profits by the rise. Pray let 
 me know when the next settling day happens at the French 
 Bourse. I should like to know what day it will be, as I foresee 
 that it will be a critical period. I hear that Flahault is coming 
 over upon a special mission to the Court of Holland ; but that will 
 not be of any essential use to Thiers. 
 
46J ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 Mettemich is just as stout and firm as we are, and Thiers' 
 intrigues will fail there also. I must say I never in my life was 
 moi-e disgusted with anything than I have been by the conduct of 
 certain parties — useless now to name — in all this affair. 
 
 I hear from persons who have been in Germany that the same 
 feeling of indignation that is felt by us against the conduct of the 
 French Government is felt by the Germans, and that France would 
 £nd no friends beyond the Rhine. One notion of Thiers seems to 
 be that he might attack Austria, and leave the other powers alone. 
 Pray undeceive him in this, and make him comprehend that Eng- 
 land is not in the habit of deserting her allies ; and that if France 
 attacks Austria on account of this trcaty, she will have to do w ith 
 England as well as with Austria, and I have not the slightest 
 doubt on earth that she would find Prussia and Russia upon her 
 olso. It is <]|uite impossible that the severe pressure brought upon 
 all interests in France by Thiers should not soon begin to be felt, 
 and that loud complaints should not force him to take his line one 
 way or the other. You think he may then cross the Rubicon. I 
 still think that he will be unwilling or unable to do so. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Palmerston. 
 
 CCLXXXII. 
 
 On February 3, 1813, Leigh Hunt was sentenced to two 
 years' imprisonment for an article in the * Examiner,' in which 
 the Prince Regent, who had been spoken of by the * Morning 
 Post ' as an Adonis and a Maecenas, was somewhat freely ridi- 
 culed. The result of the following letter to the governor of the 
 gaol was that the poet was not only allowed to see his friends, 
 but to decorate his cell in the most profuse manner ; he was 
 visited in the bower he made for himself by nearly all his distin- 
 guished literary contemporaries. 
 
 Leigh Hunt to Mr. Ives. 
 
 Surrey Jail : February 5, 1813. 
 
 Mr. Leigh Hunt presents his compliments to Mr. Ives, and 
 puts down his wishes upon paper as requested. 
 
 His first and gi*eatest wish, then, is to be allowed to have his 
 wife and children living with him in the prison. It is to be ob- 
 served, that his is a new case within these walls ; and not only so, 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 463 
 
 but that his habits have always been of the most domestic kind, 
 that he has not been accustomed to be from home a day long, and 
 that he is subject, particularly at night-time, to violent attacks of 
 illness, accompanied by palpitations of the heart and other nervous 
 affections, which render a' companion not only much wanted, but 
 sometimes hardly to be dispensed with. His state of health is bad 
 at the present moment, as anybody may see; not so bad indeed as 
 it has been, and he wishes to make no parade of it ; but quite bad 
 enough to make him feel tenfold all the wants of his situation, and 
 to render it absolutely necessary that his greatest comforts should 
 not all be taken away. If it would take time, however, to con- 
 sider this request, his next wish is that his wife and children be 
 allowed to be with him in the day-time. His happiness is wound 
 up in them, and he shall say no more on this subject except that a 
 total separation in respect to abode would be almost as bad to him 
 as tearing his body asunder. 
 
 His third and last request is, that his friends be allowed to 
 come up to his room during the daytime ; and if this permission 
 be given, he will give his word that it shall not be abused. His 
 physician has often declared that society is necessary to his health ; 
 but though he has been used to every comfort that domestic and 
 social happiness can bestow, he is content with as little as possible, 
 and provided his just wish be granted, could make almost any 
 sacrifice. 
 
 This is all he has to say on the subject, and all with which he 
 should ever trouble anybody. The hope of living in Mr. Ives's 
 house he has given up; many privations, of course, he is prepared 
 to endure ; with the other regulations of the prison he has no wish 
 to interfere ; and from what little has already been seen of him in 
 this place, he believes that every credit will be given him for con- 
 "ducting himself in a reasonable and gentlemanly manner ; for as 
 he is a stubborn enemy of what is wrong, so is he one of th^ 
 quietest and most considerate friends of what is right. He has 
 many private friends who would do their utmost for him ; and his 
 character, he believes, has procured him some public ones of the 
 highest description, who would leave no means untaken for better- 
 ing his condition, but he would willingly leave his comforts to 
 those about him. To conclude, he is prepared to suffer all ex- 
 tremities rather than do himself dishonour ; but it is no dishonour 
 
464 EyGLlSH LETTERS. 11700- 
 
 to have the feelings of a husband and a father : and till he is dead 
 to them and to everything else, he shall not cease exerting himseli" 
 in their behal£ 
 
 CCLXXXm. 
 
 The last visit paid "by Keats tefore leaving Eno-land in Sep- 
 tember 1820, was to the house of Leigh Hunt in Kentish Town. 
 He died at Rome February 23, 1821, but Hunt, ignorant of his 
 death, vrrote the following letter to the friend who tended his 
 sick-bed, in the hope that it might solace the d}ing poet. 
 
 Leigh Hunt to Joseph Severn. 
 
 Vale of Health, Hampstead : March 8, 1821. 
 Bear Severn, — You have concluded, of course, that I have sent 
 130 letters to Rome, because I was aware of the effect they would 
 have on Keats's mind ; and this is the principal cause ; for, besides 
 what I have been told of his emotions about letters in Italy, 1 re- 
 member his telling me upon one occasion that, in his sick moments, 
 he never wished to receive another letter, or ever see another face, 
 however friendly. But still I should have written to you, had I not 
 been almost at death's door myself. You will imagine how ill I 
 have been, when you hear that I have just begun writing again 
 for the * Examiner ' and ' Indicator,' after an interval of several 
 months, during which my flesh wasted from me with sickn^s and 
 melancholy. Judge how often I thought of Keats, and with what 
 feelings. Mr. Brown tells me he is comparatively calm now, or 
 leather quite so. If he can bear to hear of us, pray tell him, — but! 
 he knows it already, and can put it into better language than any] 
 man. I hear that he does not like to be told that he may get] 
 better ; nor is it to be wondered at, considering his firm persuasion! 
 that he shall not recover. He can only regard it as a puerile] 
 thing, and an insinuation that he cannot bear to think he shall I 
 die. But if his persuasion should happen to be no longer so strong] 
 upon him, or if he can now put up with such attempts to console] 
 him, tell him of what I have said a thousand times, and what I still] 
 (upon my honour, Severn), think always, that I have seen 
 many instances of recovery from apparently desperate cases of con-] 
 sumption not to be in hope to the very last. If he cannot bear] 
 this, tell him — tell that gi-eat poet and noble-hearted man — thai 
 we shall all bear his memory in the most precious part of our] 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 465 
 
 hearts, and that the world shall bow their heads to it, as our loves 
 do. Or if this, again, will trouble his spirit, tell him that we shall 
 never cease to remember and love him ; and that the jnost scepti- 
 cal of us has faith enough in the high things that nature puts into 
 our heads to think all who are of one accord in mind or heart are 
 journeying to one and the same place, and shall unite somewhere 
 or other again, face to face, mutually conscious, mutually delighted. 
 Tell him he is only before us on the road, as he was in everything 
 else ; or whether you tell him the latter or no, tell him the former, 
 and add that we shall never forget that he was so, and that we are 
 coming after him. The tears are again in my eyes, and I must not 
 afford to shed them. The next letter I write shall be more to 
 yourself and more refreshing to your spirits, which we are very 
 sensible must have been greatly taxed. But whether our friend 
 dies or not, it will not be among the least lofty of your recollections 
 by-and-by that you helped to soothe the sick bed of so fine a being. 
 God bless you, dear Severn. 
 
 Your sincere Friend, 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 CCLXXXrV. 
 
 John Wilson, the intimate friend of the Lake poets, and a 
 Lakist himself, but better known as ' Christopher North,' has 
 returned from a pedestrian tour with his wife in the Western 
 Highlands ; and overflowing with health and spirits writes the 
 narrative of his adventures in the following jaunty letter to the 
 * Ettrick Shepherd.' We see the prolific critic in one of his 
 raciest moods, — a mood foreshadowing the essay on ' Anglimania,* 
 or the * Noctes Ambrosianee.' 
 
 John Wilson to James Hogg. 
 
 Edinburgh : September 1815. 
 My Dear Hogg, — I am in Edinburgh, and wish to be out of 
 it. Mrs. Wilson and I walked 350 miles in the Highlands, be- 
 tween the 5th of July and the 26th of August, sojourning in divers 
 glens from Sabbath unto Sabbath, fishing, eating, and staring. I 
 purpose appearing in Glasgow on Thursday, where I shall stay till 
 the Circuit is over. I then go to EUeray, in the chaiacter of a 
 Benedictine monk, till the beginning of November. Now pause 
 and attend. If you will meet me at Moffat on October 6th, I will 
 walk or mail it with you to Elleray, and treat you there with 
 
 H H 
 
4G6 ENGLISH LETTERS, - [1700- 
 
 fowls and Irish whisky. Immediately on receipt of this, write a 
 letter to me, at Mr. Smith's Bookshop, Hutcheson Street, Glasgow, 
 saying positively if you will, or will not do so. If you don't, I 
 wUl lick you, and fish up Douglas Bum before you, next time I 
 
 come to Ettrick. I saw a letter from you to M the other day, 
 
 by which you seem to be alive and well. You are right in not 
 making verses when you can catch trout. Francis Jeffrey leaves 
 Edinbui*gh this day for Holland and France. I presume, after 
 destro}'ing the King of the Netherlands he intends to annex that 
 kingdom to France, and assume the supreme power of the United 
 Countiies, under the title of Greoffrey the Fii'st. You, he will 
 make Poet Laureate and Fishmonger, and me admiral of the Mus- 
 quito Fleet. 
 
 If you have occasion soon to write to Murray, I pray introduce 
 something about * The City of the Plague,' as I shall probably offer 
 him that poem in about a fortnight or sooner. Of course I do not 
 wish you to say that the poem is utterly worthless. I think that 
 a bold eulogy from you (if administered immediately) would be of 
 service to me ; but if you do write about it, do not tell him that I 
 have any intention of offering it to him, but you may say, you hear 
 I am going to offer it to a London bookseller. We stayed seven 
 days at Mrs. Izett's, at Kinnaird, and were most kindly received. 
 Mrs. Izett is a great ally of yours, and is a fine creature. I killed 
 in the Highlands 170 dozen of trouts. One day 19 dozen and a 
 half, another 7 dozen. I, one morning, killed ten trouts that 
 weighed nine pounds. In Loch Awe, in three days, I killed 76 
 pounds* weight of fish, all with the fly. The Gaels were astonished. 
 I shot two roebucks, and had nearly caught a red-deer by the tail. 
 / was within half a mile of it at farthest. The good folks in the 
 Highlands are not dirty. They are clean, decent, hospitable, ugly 
 ]>eople. "We domiciliated with many, and found no remains of the 
 great plague of fleas, etc , that devastated the country from the 
 time of Ossian to the accession of George the Third. We were at 
 Loch Katiine, Loch Lomond, Inveniry, Dalmally, Loch Etive, Glen 
 Etive, Dalness, Appin, Ballachulish, Fort William, Moy, Dal- 
 whinny. Loch Ericht (you dog). Loch Eannoch, Glen Lyon, Tay- 
 mouth, Blair Athole, Bruar, Perth, Edinbui'gh. Is not Mrs, 
 Wilson immortalised % 
 
 I know of Cona. It is very creditable to our excellent friendj 
 
 I 
 
1800] HXGLISH LETTEHS. 46t 
 
 but will not sell any more than the ' Isle of Palms/ or ' Tho "White 
 Doe.' The * White Doe ' is not in season ; venison is not liked in 
 Edinburgh. It wants flavour ; a good Ettrick wether is prefer- 
 able. Wordsworth has more of the poetical character than any 
 living writer, but he is not a man of first-rate intellect ; his genius 
 oversets him. Southey's * Koderic ' is not a first-rate work ; the 
 remorse of Roderic is that of a Christian devotee, rather than that 
 of a dethroned monarch. His battles are ill fought. There is no 
 processional march of events in the poem, no tendency to one great 
 end, like a river increasing in majesty till it reaches the sea. 
 Neither is there national character, Spanish or Moorish. No 
 sublime imagery; no profound passion. Southey wrote it, and 
 Southey is a man of talent ; but it is his worst poem. 
 
 Scott's * Field of Waterloo ' I have seen. What a poem ! — 
 such bald and nerveless language, mean imagery, commonplace 
 sentiments, and clumsy versification ! It is beneath criticism. 
 Unless the latter part of the battle be very fine indeed, this poem 
 will injure him. 
 
 Wordsworth is dished. Southey is in purgatory ; Scott is 
 dying; and Byron is married. Herbert is frozen to death in 
 Scandinavia. Moore has lost his manliness. Coleridge is always 
 in a fog. Joanna Baillie is writing a system of cookery. Mont- 
 gomery is in a madhouse, or ought to be. Campbell is sick of a con- 
 stipation in the bowels. Hogg is herding sheep in Ettrick forest ; 
 and Wilson has taken the plague. wretched writers ! Unfortunate 
 bards ! What is Bobby Miller's back shop to do this winter % Alas ! 
 alas ! alas ! a wild doe is a noble animal ; write an address to one, 
 and it shall be inferior to one I have written — for half a barrel of 
 red herrings ! The Highlanders are not a poetical people. They 
 are too national ; too proud of their history. They imagine that a 
 colleyshangy between the Macgregors and Campbells is a sublime 
 event ; and they overlook mountains four thousand feet high. If 
 Ossian did write the poems attributed to him, or any poems like 
 them, he was a dull dog, and deserved never to taste whisky as 
 long as he lived. A man who lives for ever among mist and 
 mountains, knows better than to be always prosing about them. 
 Methinks I feel about objects familiar to infancy and manhood, but 
 when we speak of them, it is only upon great occasions, and in situa 
 tions of deep passion. Ossian was probably born in a flat country. 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Scott has written good lines in the ' Lord of the Isles/ but he 
 has not done justice to the Sound of Mull, which is a glorious strait. 
 The Northern Highlanders do not admire Waverley, so I presume 
 the South Highlanders despise Guy Mannering. The Westmor- 
 land peasants think Wordsworth a fool. In Borrowdale, Southey 
 is not known to exist. I met ten men at Hawick who did not 
 think Hogg a poet, and the whole city of Glasgow think me a mad- 
 mian. So much for the voice of the people being the voice of God. 
 I left my snuff-box in your cottage. Take care of it. The Anstru- 
 ther bards have advertised their anniversary ; I forget the day. 
 
 I wish Lieutenant Gray of the Marines had been devoured by 
 tbc lion he once carried on board his ship to the Dey of Algiers, or 
 that he was kept a perpetual prisoner by the Moors in Barbary, 
 Did you hear that Tennant had been taken before the Session for 
 an offence against good morals % If you did not, neither did I \ 
 Indeed it is, on many accounts, exceedingly improbable. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 John Wilson, 
 
 CCLXXXV. 
 
 Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring, 
 And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing. 
 The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair 
 Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. 
 
 Byron wrote the following note to his little poem, whicli 
 opened in the words here quoted. 
 
 * Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October 1806 in 
 consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that 
 would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could 
 not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than sub- 
 dued. His poems abound in such beauties as might impress 
 the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was 
 allotted to talents which would have dignified the sacred func- 
 tions he was destined to assume.' 
 
 Southey, the literary executor of this most amiable and un- 
 assuming lad who was free from those little eccentricities so 
 commonly yoked to genius, was more impressed with the 
 vai-iety and abundance of the MSS. he had to investigate than 
 he had been with a previous inspection of poor Ohatterton's 
 papers. ' Ohatterton,' writes Southey, 'is the only youthful 
 poet whom Kirke White does not leave far behind him,' 
 
1800] mOLISH LETTERS. 469 
 
 Henry Kirhe White to John Charlesworth. 
 
 Nottingham : July 6, 1805. 
 
 Dear Charlesworth, — I beg you will admire the elegance of 
 lexture and shape of the sheet on which I have the honour to 
 write to you, and beware lest, in drawing your conclusions, you 
 conceive that I am turned exciseman ; — for I assure you I write 
 altogether in character ; — a poor Cambridge scholar, with a patri- 
 mony of a few old books, an ink-horn, and some sundry quires of 
 paper, manufactured as the envelopes of pounds of tea, but con- 
 verted into repositories of learning and taste. 
 
 The classics are certainly in disrepute. The ladies have no 
 more reverence for Greek and Latin, than they have for an old 
 peruke, or the ruffles of Queen Anne. I verily believe that they 
 would hear Homer's Greek without evidencing one mark of terror 
 and awe, even though spouted by an University orator, or a "West- 
 minster Stentor. tempora I mores ! the rural elegance of the 
 twanging French horn, and the vile squeak of the Italian fiddle 
 are more preferred than all the energy and all the sublimity of all 
 the Greek and Roman orators, historians, poets, and philosophers 
 put together. Now, Sir, as a classic, I cannot bear to have the 
 honourable fame of the ancients thus despised and contemned, and 
 therefore I have a controversy with all the beaux and belles. 
 Frenchmen and Italians. When they tell me that I walk by rule 
 and compass, that I balance my body with strict regard to the 
 centre of gravity, and that I have more Greek in my pate than 
 grace in my limbs, I can bear it all in sullen silence, for you know 
 it must be a libel, since I am no mathematician, and therefore can- 
 not have learned to walk ill by system. As for grace, I do be- 
 lieve, since I read Xenophon, I am become a very elegant man ; 
 and in due time shall be able to spout Pindar, dancing in due 
 gradation the advancing, retrograde, and medium steps, according 
 to the regular progress of the strophe, antistrophe, and epode. 
 You and I will be very fashionable men, after the manner of the 
 Greeks : we will institute an orchestra for the exercise of the ars 
 ecdtandi, and will recline at oui* meals on the legitimate Triclinium 
 
470 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 of the ancientB, only banish all modern beaux and belles, to whom 
 1 am a profesised and declared enemy. 
 
 So much for flippancy — 
 Yale ! 
 
 H. K. White. 
 
 CCLXXXVL 
 
 In a note to a friend written six weeks before the following 
 interesting letter, Kirke White complained that the least 
 mental eiFort during the day brought on nervous horrors in the 
 evening and a sleepless night. ' The systole and diastole of my 
 heart seem to be playing at ball — the stake, my life. I can 
 only say the game is not yet decided.' In his letters to his 
 mother and brothers he avoided these allusions to the alarming 
 state of his health. The following was written soon after his 
 twenty-iirst birthday and six months before his death. 
 
 Henry Kirke White to P. Thompaor^ 
 
 Nottingham: April 8, 1806. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I sincerely beg your pardon for my nngratefiil dis- 
 regard of your polite letter. The intervening period has been so 
 much taken up, on the one hand by ill health, and on the other 
 by occupations of the most indispensable kind, that I have 
 neglected almost all my friends, and you amongst the rest. I 
 am now at Nottingham, a truant from study, and a rejected 
 votaiy at the shrine of Health ; a few days will bring me back to 
 the margin of the Cam, and bury me once more in the busy 
 routine of college exercises. Before, however, I am again a man 
 of bustle and occupation, I snatch a few moments to tell you how 
 much I shall be gi-atified by your correspondence, and how greatly 
 I think myself flattered by your esteeming mine worth asking 
 for. 
 
 The little sketch of your past occupations and present pursuits 
 interested me. Cultivate, with all assiduity, the taste for letters 
 which you posse<5S. It will be a source of exquisite gratification 
 to you ; and if directed as it ought to be, and I hope as it will be 
 directed, it will be more than gratification, (if we understand 
 pleasure alone by that word,) since it will combine with it utility 
 of the highest kind. If polite letters were merely instrumental 
 in cheering the hours of elegant leisure, in affording refined and 
 
1800] EKGLISH LETTERS, 471 
 
 polished pleasures, uncontaminated with gross and sensual gratifi- 
 cations, they would still be valuable ; but in a degree infinitely 
 less than when they are considered as the hand maids of the 
 virtues, the correctors as well as the adorners of society. But 
 literature has, of late years, been prostituted to all the purposes of 
 the bagnio. Poetry, in particular, arrayed in her most bewitching 
 colours, has been taught to exercise the arts of the Leno, and to 
 charm only that she may destroy. The Muse, who once dipped 
 her hardy wing in the chastest dews of Castalia, and spoke nothing 
 but what had a tendency to confirm and invigorate the manly 
 ardour of a virtuous mind, now breathes only the voluptuous 
 languishings of the harlot, and, like the brood of Circe, touches 
 her charmed cords with a gi-ace, that, while it ravishes the ear, 
 deludes and beguiles the sense. I call to witness Mr. Moore, and 
 the tribe of imitators which his success has called forth, that my 
 statement is true. Lord Strangford has trodden faithfully in the 
 steps of his pattern. 
 
 I hope for the credit of poetry, that the good sense of the age 
 wiU scout this insidious school ; and what may we not expect, if 
 Moore and Lord Strangford apply themselves to a chaster Muse % 
 They are both men of uncommon powers. You may remember the 
 reign of Darwinian poetry, and the fopperies of Delia Crusca. To 
 these succeeded the school of Simplicity, in which "Wordsworth, 
 Southey and Coleridge, are so deservedly eminent. I think that 
 the new tribe of poets endeavour to combine these two opposite 
 sects, and to unite richness of language, and warmth of colouring, 
 with simplicity and pathos. They have certainly succeeded ; but 
 Moore unhappily wished to be a Catullus, and from him has 
 sprung the licentiousness of the new school. Moore's poems and 
 his translations will, I think, have more influence on the female 
 society of this kingdom than the stage has had in its worst period, 
 the reign of Charles II. Ladies are not ashamed of having the 
 delectable Mr. Little on their toilet, which is a pretty good proof 
 that his voluptuousness is considered as quite veiled by the senti- 
 mental garb in which it is clad. But voluptuousness is not the 
 less dangerous for having some slight resemblance of the veil of 
 modesty. On the contrary, her fascinations are infinitely more 
 powerful in this retiring habit than when she boldly protrudes 
 herself on the gazer's eye, and openly solicits his attention. The 
 
472 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 broad indecency of Wycherly and his contemporaries was not half 
 so dangerous as this insimuating and half-covered mock delicacy, 
 which makes use of the blush of modesty in order to heighten the 
 charms of vice. 
 
 I must conclude somewhat abruptly, by begging you will not 
 punish my negligence towards you by retarding the pleasure I 
 shall receive from your answer. 
 
 I am 
 Yery truly yours 
 
 H. K. White. 
 
 CCLXXXVn. 
 
 The great Scotch painter, although an abundant, was scarcely 
 an easy or entei*tairiiDg correspondent. But his straightforward 
 description of his reception at Abbotsford has a charm for us 
 which the passage of time can only intensify. It will be ob- 
 served that up to this year, 1817, Scott had contrived to conceal, 
 even from his own family, the authorship of the Waverley 
 Novels. 
 
 Sir David Wilkie to Miss Wilkie. 
 
 My dear Sister, — Since my arrival here I made a journey up 
 the Yarrow with Mr. Scott's friend, Mr. Laidlaw, and saw the 
 Rev. Dr. Russell, who desired most particularly to be remembered 
 to my mother. He seemed very happy to see me, and delighted 
 to talk over many old stories. On coming down from Yarrow I 
 went to meet Mr. and Mrs. Scott, at the Duke of Buocleuch's at 
 Bowhill. Mr. Scott introduced me to the Duke and his family, 
 and as it was a day on which there was to be a great cattle-show, 
 there was a large assemblage of people at the place and an immense 
 number invited to dinner. The dinner was given quite in the 
 ancient style of Border conviviality. Mr. Scott presided at a 
 by-table in the principal room, at which the Ballantynes, Hogg 
 the poet, and some others, besides myself, were present. This 
 gave occasion to our being toasted as the Table of the Talents, 
 which made some merriment. The company sat till two o'clock. 
 There was a great variety of songs, and before parting the gentle- 
 men were so enthusiastic with music and with claret, that the 
 song of Weel mnay we a' he was sung no less than five times, and 
 God save the King about four times in full cry. I never saw such 
 
1800] 1!NGLISE[ LETTEUS. M 
 
 a flow of conviviality and high spirits, and at the same time the 
 greatest good-humour. I have been making a little group while 
 here of Mr. Scott, Mrs. Scott, and all the family, with Captain 
 Ferguson, and some other characters. They are so pleased with it 
 that it has been taken to the Duke of Buccleuch's, when a request 
 was made that I would paint a picture of the same kind of the 
 Duke ; but as this was going out of my line entirely, I felt it 
 necessary to decline it. I have got a good way on with the 
 picture : the Misses Scott are dressed as country girls, with pails 
 as if they had come from milking : Mr. Scott as if telling a story : 
 and in one corner I have put in a great dog of the Highland breed, 
 a present to Mr. Scott from the Laird of Glengary. In the back- 
 ground the top of the Cowdenknowes, the Tweed, and Melrose (as 
 seen from a hill close by) are to be introduced. I am not to bring 
 the picture to town, as Mr. Scott wishes to show it to his mother, 
 but he is to send it to me. I have never been in any place where 
 there is so much real good-humour and merriment. There is 
 nothing but amusement from morning till night ; and if Mr. Scott 
 is really writing * Kob Roy,' it must be while we are sleeping. He 
 is either out planting trees, superintending the masons, or erecting 
 fences, the whole of the day. He goes frequently out hunting, 
 and this morning there was a whole cavalcade of us out with Mr. 
 and Miss Scott, hunting hares. 
 
 The family here are equally in the dark about whether Mr. 
 Scott is the author of the Novels. They are quite perplexed about 
 it : they hope he is the author, and would be greatly moi-tified if 
 it were to turn out that he was not. He has frequently talked 
 about the different characters himself to us, and the young ladies 
 express themselves greatly provoked with the sort of unconcern he 
 affects towards them. He has denied the Novels, however, to 
 various people that I know ; and though the family used to tease 
 him at first about them, yet they dare not do it now. 
 
 D.W. 
 
 COLXXXVIII. 
 
 "We are indebted to Mr. F. W. Haydon, the son of Benjamin 
 Bohert Haydon, for the Life and Letters of his father, which 
 were so warmly welcomed about three years ago. They offer 
 one of the most striking illustrations in Eno:lish literature of a 
 
474 EKGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 persoTial correspondence reflecting, almost to minuteness, the 
 details of a chequered life. The pj-ofeffe of Opie and Fuseli, 
 the fellow-student of Wilkie, the tutor of Landseer, and the 
 fi'iend of most of the poets aud wits of his generation, Haydon, 
 as artist, lecturer, critic, and controversialist, lets us into the 
 secret of his method and enthusiasm, his friendships and quar- 
 rels, his transitory successes and his many disappointments. . 
 
 Benjamin Robert Haydon to John Keats. 
 
 May 11, 1817. 
 - My dear Keats, — I have been intending to write to you every 
 hour this week, but have been so interrupted that the postman 
 rang his bell every night in vain, and with a sound that made my 
 heart quake. I think you did quite right to leave the Isle of 
 "Wight if you felt no relief ; and being quite alone, after study 
 you can now devote your eight hours a-day with just as much 
 seclusion as ever. Do not give way to any forebodings. They 
 are nothing more than the over- eager anxieties of a great spirit 
 stretched beyond its strength, and then relapsing for a time to 
 languid inefficiency. Every man of great views is, at times, thus 
 tormented, but begin again where you left off without hesitation 
 or fear. Trust in God with all your might, my dear Keats. This 
 dependence, with youi* own energy, will give you strength, and 
 hope, and comfort. 
 
 I am always in trouble, and wants, and distresses; here I 
 found a refuge. From my soul I declare to you I never applied 
 for help or for consolation, or for strength, but I found it. I 
 always rose up from my knees with a refreshed fury, an ii'on- 
 clenched firmness, a crystal piety of feeling that sent me streaming 
 on with a repulsive power against the troubles of life. 
 
 Never despair while thei-e is this path open to you. By 
 habitual exercise you will have habitual intercourse and constant 
 companionship ; and at every want turn to the Great Star of your 
 hopes with a delightful confidence that will never be disappointed. 
 I love you like my own brother. Beware, for God's sake, of the 
 delusions and sophistications that are ripping up the talents 
 and morality of our friend ! ^ He will go out of the world the 
 victim of his own weakness and the dupe of his own self-delusions, 
 with the contempt of his enemies and the sorrow of his friends, 
 
 ' Eeference to Leigh Hunt. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 475 
 
 and the cause lie undertook to support injured by liis own neglect 
 of character. 
 
 I wish you would come up to town for a day or two that I 
 may put your head in my picture. 
 
 I have rubbed in Wordsworth's, and advanced the whole. 
 God bless you, my dear Keats ! do not despair ; collect incident, 
 study character, read Shakespeare, and trust in Providence, and 
 you will do, you must. 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 B. R. Haydon. 
 
 COLXXXIX. 
 
 Benjamin Robert Haydon to Miss Mitford. 
 
 September, 1823. 
 
 Oh, human nature ! and human criticism ! Did mankind know 
 the motives which instigate all criticism on living talent, or within 
 ten years after its existence, how cautious it would be of suffering 
 itself to be led by modern critics ? . . . 
 
 When Keats was living, I could not get Hazlitt to admit 
 Keats had common talents ! Death seems to cut off all appre- 
 hensions that our self-love will be wounded by acknowledging 
 genius. But let us see, and sift the motives of this sudden change. 
 
 * Blackwood's ' people Hazlitt would murder, morally or physically, 
 no matter which, but to murder them he wishes. To suppose 
 Keats's death entirely brought on by ' Blackwood's ' attacks is too 
 valuable and mortal a blow to be given up. With the wary 
 cunning of a thoroughbred modem review writer, he dwells on this 
 touching subject, so likely to be echoed by all who have suffered by 
 
 * Blackwood's ' vindictive animosities. 
 
 Now, Keats is an immortal ; before, he was a pretender ! 
 Now, his sensitive mind withered under their ' murderous criticisms,* 
 when, had Keats been a little more prominent, Hazlitt, as soon as 
 any man, would have given him the first stab ! He thus revenges 
 his own mortification by pushing forward the sheeted ghost of 
 poor fated Keats. 
 
 Hazlitt and his innamorata have now gone to Italy, the land 
 of Art, and he has left ' the land of spinning jennies and Sunday- 
 schools,' as he says — and, as he forgot to say, the land also of 
 
476 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Shakespeare and Milton, Bacon and Newton, Hampden and 
 Locke. 
 
 In the * Morning Chronicle ' of yesterday is his first letter, full 
 of his usual good things, and — bad things ; but still I hope he 
 will continue them. Any man who can leave England, and look 
 back upon her shore and think only of spinning jennies and of 
 nothing else, must be a bastard son. . . . Alas ! what England 
 suffers from her unnatural children ! Disappointed painters, 
 disappointed poets, disappointed statesmen, disappointed place- 
 hunters, all unite to decry her genius, her worth, her grandeur, 
 and her power. 
 
 \ 
 
 ccxo. 
 
 Mr. Haydon's estimate of Wordsworth's poetry portrays 
 with tolerable exactness the tone of public criticism half a 
 century ago, criticism which Professor Shairp has succeeded 
 in modifying in some directions and altogether dissipating 
 in others. With regard to the second half of this letter it may 
 be remembered that Byron never attempted to * skin ' Keats for 
 his ^ drivelling idiotism.' He recanted after reading ' Hyperion,' 
 and deplored the early death of Keats as a loss to our htera- 
 ture. 
 
 Benjamin Robert Haydon to Miss Mit/ord. 
 
 [1824.] 
 You are unjust, depend upon it, in your estimate of Byron's 
 poetry, and wrong in your ranking Wordsworth beyond him. There 
 are things in Byron's poetry so exquisite, that fifty or five hundred 
 years hence they will be read, felt, and adored throughout the 
 world. I grant that Wordsworth is very pure and very holy, and 
 very orthodox, and occasionally very elevated, highly poetical, and 
 oftener insufferably obscure, starched, dowdy, anti-human and 
 anti-sympathetic, but he will never be ranked above Byron nor 
 classed with Milton, he will not, indeed. He wants the construc- 
 tive power, the lucidus ordo of the greatest minds, which is as 
 much a proof of the highest order as any other quality. I dislike 
 his selfish Quakerism ; his affectation of superior vii-tue ; his utter 
 insensibility to the frailties — the beautiful frailties of passion. I 
 was once walking with him in Pall Mall ; we darted into Christie's. 
 A copy of the * Transfiguration ' was at the head of the room, and 
 in the comer a beautiful copy of the ' Cupid and Psyche ' (statues) 
 
( 
 
 1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 477 
 
 kissing. Cupid is taking her lovely chin, and turning her pouting^ 
 mouth to meet his while he archly bends his own down, as if say- 
 ing, ' Pretty dear ! ' You remember this exquisite group ? . . . 
 Catching sight of the Cupid, as he and I were coming out, Words- 
 worth's face reddened, he showed his teeth, and then said in a loud 
 voice, ' The Dev-v-v-vils ! ' There's a mind ! Ought not this ex- 
 quisite group to have roused his * Shapes of Beauty,' and have 
 softened his heart as much as his old grey-mossed rocks, his 
 withered thorn, and his dribbling mountain streams] I am 
 altered about Wordsworth, very much, from finding him a bard too 
 elevated to attend to the music of humanity. No, No ! give me 
 Byron, with all his spite, hatred, depravity, dandyism, vanity, 
 frankness, passion, and idleness, to Wordsworth, with all his heart- 
 less communion with woods and grass. 
 
 When he came back from his tour, I breakfasted with him in 
 Oxford Street. He read ' Laodamia ' to me, and very finely. He 
 had altered, at the suggestion of his wife, Laodamia's fate (but I 
 cannot refer to it at this moment), because she had shown such 
 weakness as to wish her husband's stay. Mrs. Wordsworth held 
 that Laodamia ought to be punished, and punished she was. I 
 will refer to it. Here it is — 
 
 She whom a trance of passion thus removed, 
 As she departed, not without the crime 
 Of lovers, who, in reason's spite have loved, 
 Was doomed to wander in a joyless clime 
 Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers 
 Of blissful quiet in Elysian bowers. 
 
 I have it in his own hand. This is difi*erent from the first 
 edition. And as he repeated it with self-approbation of his own 
 heroic feelings for banishing a wife because she felt a pang at her 
 husband going to hell again, his own wife sat crouched by the fire- 
 place and chanted every line to the echo, apparently congratulating 
 herself at being above the mortal frailty of loving her William. 
 
 You should make allowance for Byron's not liking Keats. 
 He could not. Keats's poetry was an immortal stretch beyond the 
 mortal intensity of his own. An intense egotism, as it were, was 
 the leading exciter of Byron's genius. He could feel nothing for 
 fauns or satyrs, or gods, or characters past, unless the association 
 
rrS EKGLISR LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 of them were excited by some positive natural scene where they 
 Lad actually died, written, or fought. All his poetry was the re- 
 suit of a deep feeling roused by what passed before his eyes. 
 Keats was a stretch beyond this. Byron could not enter into it any 
 more than he could Shakespeare. He was too frank to conceal his 
 thoughts. If he really admired Keats he would have said so (I am 
 afi-aid I am as obscure hei-e as Wordsworth). So, in his contro- 
 versy with Bowles, Byron really thought Pope the greater poet. 
 He pretended that a man who versified the actual vices or follies 
 was a greater, and more moral poet than he who invented a plot, 
 invented characters which by theii* action on each other produced a 
 catastrophe from which a moral was inferred. This at once 
 showed the reach of his genius. 
 
 CCXOI. 
 
 This entertaining narrative is inserted for the especial con- 
 sideration and guidance of dramatic critics. 
 
 Benjamin Robert Haydon to Miss Mitford. 
 
 August 18, 1826. 
 How do you find yourself? I heard you were poorly. What 
 
 are you about ] I was happy to hear of 's safe arrival again, 
 
 and I shall be most happy to see him, though tell him he will find 
 no more * Solomons ' towering up as a background to our conver- 
 sations. Nothing but genteel-sized drawing-room pocket-history — 
 Alexander in a nutshell ; Bucephalus no bigger than a Shetland 
 pony, and my little girl's doll a giantess to my Olympias. The 
 other night I paid my butcher ; one of the miracles of these times, 
 you will say. Let me tell you I have all my life been seeking for 
 a butcher whose respect for genius predominated over his love of 
 gain. I could not make out, before I dealt with this man, his ex- 
 cessive desire that I should be his customer ; his sly hints as I 
 passed his shop that he had ' a bit of South Down, very fine ; a 
 sweetbread, perfection ; and a calf's foot that was all jelly wdthout 
 bone ! ' The other day he called, and I had him sent up into the 
 painting-room. I found him in great admiration of * Alexander.' 
 * Quite alive. Sir ! ' * I am glad you think so,' said I. * Yes, 
 Sir, but, as I have said often to my sister, you could not have 
 painted that pictm-e, Sir, if you had not eat my meat, Sir ! ' 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 479- 
 
 * Yery true,' Mr. Sowerby. ' Ah ! Sir, I have a fancy for genus, 
 Sir ! ' * Have you, Mr. Sowerby 1 ' ' Yes, Sir ; Mrs. Siddons, Sir, 
 has eat my meat, Sir ; never was such a woman for chops, Sir ! ' — 
 and he drew up his beefy, shiny face, clean shaved, with a clean 
 blue cravat under his chin, a clean jacket, a clean apron, and a 
 pair of hands that would pin an ox to the earth if he was obstre- 
 perous — ' Ah ! Sir, she was a wonderful crayture ! ' * She was, 
 Mr. Sowerby.' * Ah, Sir, when she used to act that there char- 
 acter, you see (but Lord, such a head ! as I say to my sister) — that 
 there woman, Sir, that murders a king between 'em ! ' * Oh ! 
 Lady Macbeth.' 'Ah, Sir, that's it— Lady Macbeth — I used to get 
 up with the butler behind her carriage when she acted, and, as I 
 used to see her looking quite wild, and all the people quite fright- 
 ened. Ah, ha ! my lady, says I, if it wasn't for my meat, though, 
 you wouldn't be able to do that ! ' ' Mr. Sowerby, you seem to 
 be a man of feeling. Will you take a glass of wine 1 ' After a bow 
 or two, down he sat, and by degrees his heart opened. * You see, 
 Sir, I have fed Mrs. Siddons, Sii* ; John Kemble, Sir ; Charles 
 Kemble, Sir ; Stephen Kemble, Sir ; and Madame Catalani, Sir ; 
 Morland the painter, and, I beg your pardon, Sir, and you, Sir.' 
 
 * Mr. Sowerby. you do me honour.' ' Madame Catalani, Sii% was 
 a wonderful woman for sweetbreads ; but the Kemble family, Sir, 
 the gentlemen, Sir, rump-steaks and kidneys in general was their 
 taste ; but Mrs. Siddons, Sir, she liked chops, Sir, as much as you 
 do, Sir,' &c. &c. I soon perceived that the man's ambition was 
 to feed genius. I shall recommend you to him ; but is he not a 
 capital fellow ? But a little acting with his remarks would make 
 you roar with laughter. Think of Lady Macbeth eating chops ! 
 Is this not a peep behind the curtain ? I remember Wilkie saying 
 that at a public dinner he was looking out for some celebrated man, 
 when at last he caught a glimpse for the first time of a man whose 
 books he had read with care for years, picking the leg of a roB»st goose, 
 perfectly abstracted ! Never will I bring up my boys to any pro- 
 fession that is not a matter of necessary want to the world. Paint- 
 ing, unless considered as it ought to be, is a mere matter of orna- 
 ment and luxury. It is not yet taken up as it should be in a 
 wealthy country like England, and all those who devote themselves 
 to the higher branches of Art must suffer the penalty, as I have 
 done, and am doing. So I was told, and to no purpose. I opposed 
 
480 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 my father, my mother, and my friends, though I am duly grati- 
 fied by my fame in the obscurest corners. Last week a book-stall 
 keeper showed me one of my own books at his stall, and, by way 
 of recommending it, pointed out a sketch of my owti on the fly- 
 leaf, * Which,' said he, ' I suppose is by Hay don himself. Ah ! 
 Sir, he was badly used — a disgrace to our great men.' * But he was 
 imprudent,' said I. ' Imprudent ! ' said he. * Yes, of course; he de- 
 pended on their taste and generosity too much.' * Have you any 
 more of his books % ' said I. ' Oh ! I had a great many ; but I have 
 sold them all, Sir, but this, and another that I will never part 
 with.' 
 
 coxcn. 
 
 Benjamin Robert Haydon to William Wordsworth. 
 
 London : October 16, 1842. 
 In the words of our dear departed friend, Charles Lamb, ' You 
 good-for-nothing old Lake-poet,' what has become of you? Do 
 you remember his saying that at my table in 1819, with * Jerusa- 
 lem' towering behind us in the painting-room, and Keats and 
 your friend Monkhouse of the party ? Do you remember Lamb 
 voting me absent, and then making a speech descanting on my ex- 
 cellent port, and proposing a vote of thanks ? Do you remember 
 his then voting me present 1 — I had never left my chair — and in- 
 forming me of what had been done during my retirement, and 
 hoping I was duly sensible of the honour ? Do you remember the 
 Commissioner (of Stamps and Taxes) who asked you if you did not 
 think Milton a great genius, and Lamb getting up and asking 
 leave with a candle to examine his phrenological development ? 
 Do you remember poor dear Lamb, whenever the Commissioner 
 was equally profound, saying : ' My son John went to bed with his 
 breeches on,' to the dismay of the learned man? Do you remember 
 you and I and Monkhouse getting Lamb out of the room by force, 
 and putting on his great coat, he reiterating his earnest desire to 
 examine the Commissioner's skull? And don't you remember 
 Keats proposing ' Confusion to the memory of Newton,' and upon 
 your insisting upon an explanation before you drank it, his say- 
 ing : ' Because he destroyed the poetry of the rainbow by reducing 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 481 
 
 it to a prism.* ATi ! my dear old friend, yon and 1 shall never see 
 such days again ! The peaches are not so big now as they were in 
 our days. Many were the immortal dinners which to:.k place in 
 that painting-room, where the food was simple, the wine good, and 
 the poetry ' first rate.' "Wordsworth, Walter Scott, Charles Lamb, 
 Hazlitt, David Wnkie, Leigh Hunt, Talfourd, Keats, &c., (fee, 
 attended my summons, and honoured my table. 
 
 My best regards to Mrs. and Miss Wordsworth, in which my 
 •wife and daughter join. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 B. E. Haydon. 
 
 CCXOIIL 
 
 The letters of De Qnincey display his marvellous style in its 
 most characteristic moods. He doffed his singing robes in 
 addressing those dear to him, and aimed rather at securinar 
 sympathy than admiration. For sympathy, indeed, his tortured 
 spirit is seen visibly pining through all the seventy-five years of 
 his suffering existence, and to this is due, no doubt, that occa- 
 sional excess of emphasis which has brought on his writing the 
 charge of insincerity. 
 
 Thomas De Quincey to Jessie Miller, 
 
 Saturday morning: May 26, 1837. 
 My dear Miss Jessie, — In some beautiful verses where the 
 writer has occasion to speak of festivals, household or national, 
 that revolve annually, I recollect at this moment from his descrip 
 tion one line to this effect — 
 
 Remembered half the year and hoped the rest. 
 Thus Christmas, I suppose, is a subject for memory until Midsummer, 
 after which it becomes a subject for hope, because the mind ceases 
 to haunt the image of the past festival in a dawning anticipation 
 of another that is daily drawing nearer. * Well,' I hear you say, 
 * a very pretty sentimental opening for a note addressed to a lady ; 
 but what is the moral of it ? ' 
 
 The moral, my dear Miss Jessie, is this — that I, soul-sick of 
 endless writing, look back continually with sorrowful remem- 
 brances to the happy interval which I spent under your roof; and 
 next after that, I regret those insulated evenings (scattered here 
 and there) which, with a troubled pleasure — pleasure anxious and 
 
 I I 
 
4S2 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 boding — I have passed beneath the soft splendours of your lamps 
 since I was obliged to quit the quiet haven of your house. Sor- 
 rowful, I say, these remembrances are, and must be by contrast 
 with my present gloomy solitude ; and if they ever cease to be 
 eorrowful, it is when some new evening to be spent underneath 
 the same lamps comes within view. That which is remembered 
 only suddenly puts on the blossoming of hope, and wears the vernal 
 dress of a happiness to come instead of the sad autumnal dress of 
 happiness that has vanished. 
 
 Is this sentimental ? Be it so ; but then also it is intensely 
 true; and sentimentality cannot avail to vitiate truth; on the 
 contrary, truth avails to dignify and exalt the sentimental. But 
 why breathe forth these feelings, sentimental or not, jx-ecisely on 
 this vulgar Saturday % (for Satui'day is a day radically vulgar to 
 my mind, incurably sacred to the genius of marketing, and hostile 
 to the sentimental in any shape). * Why % ' you persist in asking. 
 Simply because, if this is Saturday, it happens that to-morrow is 
 Sunday ; and on a Sunday night only, if even ihen^ I can now 
 approach you without danger. And what I fear is — that you, so 
 strict in youi* religious observances, will be dedicating to some 
 evening lecture, or charity sermon, or missionary meeting, that 
 time which might be spent in Duncan Street, and perhaps — pardon 
 me for saying so — more profitably. ' How so ? ' Why because, 
 by attending the missionary meeting, for example, you will, after 
 all, scarcely contribute the 7th, or even the 70th, share to the 
 conversion of some New Zealander or feather-cinctured prince of 
 Owhyee. Whereas now, on the other hand, by vouchsafing your 
 presence to Duncan Street, you will give — and not to an un- 
 baptised infidel, who can never thank you, but to a son of the 
 Cross, who will thank you from the very centre of his heart — a 
 happiness like that I spoke of as belonging to recurring festivals, 
 furnishing a subject for memory through one half of the succeeding 
 interval, and for hope through the other. 
 
 Florence was with me yesterday morning, and again through- 
 out the evening; and, by the way, dressed in your present. 
 Perhai)s she may see you before I do, and may tell you that I 
 have been for some time occupied at intervals in writing some 
 memorial 'Lines for a Cenotaph to Major Miller of the Horse 
 Guards Blue,' and towards which I want some information from 
 
1800] EXGLISH LETTERS. 483 
 
 you. The lines are about tliirty-six in number ; too many, you 
 will say, for an epitaph. Yes, if they were meant for the real 
 place of burial ; but these, for the very purpose of evading that 
 restriction, are designed for a cenotaph, to which situation a more 
 unlimited privilege in that respect is usually conceded. 
 
 CCXCIV. 
 
 De Quincey declared, in writing to an old schoolfellow in 
 1847, that he had had ' no diimer since parting with him in the 
 eighteenth century.' It is now believed that he suffered all his 
 lite from the terrible disorder known as gastrodvnia, a nervous 
 irritation and constant gnawing at the coats of the stomach. 
 To relieve this, a happy instinct dictated to him the use of 
 opium, without which his constitution must early have given 
 way to that exhaustion and famishing of which he speaks. So, 
 in the case of this illustii ms person, the adage was curiously 
 confirmed, that one man's meat is another man's poison. 
 
 Thomas De Quincey to his daiighter, Margaret Cravj. • 
 
 Thursday, June 10, 1847. 
 My dear M., — I am rather disturbed that neither M. nor F. 
 nor E. has found a moment for writing to me. Yet perhaps it was 
 not easy. For I know very seriously, and have often remarked, 
 how difficult it is to jSnd a spare moment for some things in the 
 very longest day, which lasts you know twenty-four hours; 
 though, by the way, it strikes one as odd that the shortest lasts 
 quite as many. I have been suffering greatly myself for ten days, 
 the cause being, in part, some outrageous heat that the fussy atmo- 
 sphere put itself into about the beginning of this month — but 
 vrhat for, nobody can understand. Heat always untunes the 
 liarp of my nervous system \ and oh heavens ! how electric it is ! 
 But, after all, what makes me so susceptible of such undulations 
 in this capricious air, and compels me to sympathise with all 
 the uproars and miffs, towering passions or gloomy sulks, of tho 
 atmosphere, is the old eternal ground, viz. : that I am famished. 
 Oh, what ages it is since I dined I On what great day of jubilee 
 is it that Fate hides, under the thickest of table-cloths, a dinner 
 for me % Yet ic is a certain, undeniable truth, which this personal 
 famine has revealed to me, that most people on this terraqueous 
 globe eat too much. Which it is, and nothing else, that makes 
 
 I I 2 
 
4S4 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 tliem stupid, as also nnphilosophic. To be a great philosoplier, it 
 is absolutely necessary to be famished. My intellect is far too 
 electric in its speed, and its growth of flying ai-mies of thoughts 
 eternally new. I could spare enough to fit out a nation. This 
 secret lies — not, observe, in my hair ; cutting off that does no 
 harm : it lies in my want of dinner, as also of breakfast and 
 supper. Being famished, I shall show this world of oui-s in the 
 next five years something that it never saw before. But if I had 
 a regular dinner, I should sink into the genei-al stupidity of my 
 beloved human brethren. 
 
 By the way, speaking of gluttony as a foible of our interesting 
 human race, I am reminded of another little foible, which they 
 have rather distressingly, viz., a fancy for being hoiribly dirty. If 
 I had happened tx) forget this fact, it would lately have beea 
 recalled to my remembrance by Mrs. Butler, foi-merly Fanny 
 Kemble (but I dare say you know her in neither form — neither as 
 chrysalis nor butterfly). She, in her book on Italy, <fec. (not too 
 good, I fear), makes this * observe ' in which I heartily agree — 
 namely, that this sublunary world has the misfortune to be very 
 dirty, with the exception of some people in England, but with no 
 exception at all for any other island or continent. Allowing for 
 the * some ' in England, all the rest of the clean people, you per- 
 ceive clearly, must be out at sea. For myself, I did not need 
 Mrs. Butler's authority on this matter. One fact of my daily 
 experience renews it most impertinently, and will not suffer me to 
 forget it. As the slave said every morning to Philip of Macedon, 
 * Philip^ begging your honour^ s 'pardon, yoti are mortal^ so does 
 this infamous fact say to me truly as dawn revolves, ' Tom, take 
 it as you likcj your race is dirty. ^ The fact I speak of is this — • 
 that I cannot accomplish my diurnal ablutions in fewer minutes 
 than sixty, at the least, seventy-five at the most. Now, having an 
 accurate measure of human patience, as that quality exists in most 
 people, well I know that it would never stand this. I allow that, 
 if people are not plagued with washing their hair, or not at the 
 same time, much less time may suffice, yet hardly less than thii-ty 
 minutes I think. 
 
 Professor Wilson tells on this subject a story of a Frenchman 
 "which pleases me by its na'ivste — that is, you know, by its uncon- 
 scious ingenuousness. He was illustrating the inconsistencies of 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 485 
 
 man, and he went on thus — * Our faces, for instance, our hands — 
 why, bless me ! we wash them every day : our feet, on the other 
 hand — never 1 ' And echo answered — ' never* 
 
 CCXCV. 
 
 Worn with fever and wearied at last with that "brilliant 
 series ot" adventures in Greece and Turkey of which the public 
 was soon to hear so much in prose and verse, Byron started 
 homeward from Malta on June 3, 1811. This, the last of his 
 letters on the voyage, closes the first epoch of his romantic 
 career. 
 
 Lord Byron to Henry Drury. 
 
 Volage frigate, offUshant : July 17, 1811. 
 
 My dear Drury, — After two years' absence (on the 2nd) and 
 some odd days, I am approaching your country. The day of our 
 arrival you will see by the outside date of my letter. At present, 
 we are becalmed comfortably, close to Brest Harbour ; — I have 
 never been so near it since I left Duck Puddle. We left Malta 
 thirty-four days ago, and have had a tedious passage of it. You 
 will either see or hear from or of me, soon after the receipt of this, 
 as I pass through town bo repair my irreparable affairs ; and thence 
 I want to go to Notts, and raise rents, and to Lanes, and sell 
 collieries, and back to London and pay debts, — for it seems I shall 
 neither have coals nor comfort till I go down to Ex)chdale in person. 
 
 I have brought home some marbles for Hobhouse ; — for myself, 
 four ancient Athenian skulls, dug out of sarcophagi — a phial of 
 Attic hemlock — four live tortoises — a greyhound (died on the 
 passage) — two live Greek servants, one an Athenian, t'other a 
 Yaniote, who can speak nothing but Romaic and Italian — and 
 myself, as Moses in the Yicar of Wakefield says, slily, and I 
 may say it too, for I have as little cause to boast of my expedition 
 as he had of his to the fair. 
 
 I wrote to you from the Cyanean Hocks to tell you I had swam 
 from Sestos to Abydos — have you received my letter? Hodgson, 
 I suppose, is four deep by this time. What would he have given 
 to have seen, like me, the real Parnassus, where I robbed the 
 Bishop of Chrissse of a book of geography 1 — but this I only call 
 plagiarism, as it was done within an hour's ride of Delphi. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Byron. 
 
48o ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CCXCVI. 
 
 In * Enqrlish Bards and Scotch Reviewers/ which appeared 
 in March, 1809, the gay yoimg satirist spared none of his poeti- 
 cal contemporaries, and consequently the next fire or six years 
 had to witness the spectacle of the proudest of poets asking- 
 pardon in every direction. It is only fair to say that he did it 
 with a very good grace, and this was his apology to the bard 
 who reigned before him. 
 
 Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 St. James's Street: July 6, 1812. 
 Sir, — I have just been honoured with your letter. I feel 
 sorry that you should have thought it worth while to notice the 
 ' evil works of my nonage,' as the thing is suppressed vohintarilt/, 
 and your explanation is too kind not to give me pain. The Satire 
 was written when I was very young and very angry, and fully 
 bent on displaying my wrath and my wit, and now I am haunted 
 by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. I cannot sufficiently 
 thank you for your praise ; and now, waiving myself, let me talk 
 to you of the Prince Regent. He oi-dered me to be presented to 
 him at a ball ; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing fi-om 
 royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and 
 your immortalities : he preferred you to every bard past and pre- 
 sent, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a 
 difficult question. I answered, I thought the ' Lay.' He said his 
 own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the othei s, I told 
 him that I thought you more particularly the poet of Princes, as 
 they never appeared more fascinating than in ' Marmion ' and the 
 * Lady of the Lake.* He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on 
 the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. He 
 spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well 
 acquainted with both ; so that (with the exception of the Turks 
 and your humble servant) you were in very good company. I 
 defy Murray to have exaggerated his Royal Highness's opinion of 
 your powers, nor can I pretend to enumerate all he said on the 
 subject ; but it may give you pleasure to hear that it was conveyed 
 in language which would only suffer by my attempting to tran- 
 scribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high 
 
1800] ENBLISn LETTERS. 487 
 
 idea of Iiis abilities and accomplishments, which I had hitheiio 
 considered as confined to manners, certainly superior to those of 
 any living gentleman. 
 
 The interview was accidental, I never went to the levee ; for 
 having seen the courts of Mussulman and Catholic sovereigns, my 
 curiosity was sufficiently allayed ; and my politics being as perverse 
 as my rhymes, I had, in fact, no business there. To be thus 
 praised by your Sovereign must be gratifying to you ; and if that 
 gratification is not alloyed by the communication being made 
 through me, the bearer of it will consider himself very fortunately 
 and sincerely, 
 
 Your obliged and obedient servant, 
 
 Byron. 
 
 P.S. — Excuse this scrawl, scratched in a, great hurry, and just 
 after a journey. 
 
 CCXCVII. 
 
 Byron, who affected indifference to literature, was in fact 
 one of the typical men of letters of his time. Not even Southey 
 shows more minute consideration of technical matters than the 
 noble writer whose miique con-espondence with his publisher 
 has happily been preserved to us. Byron demanded the most 
 unwearied editorial care from his printers, and some dereliction 
 of duty, some neglect of the anise and cummin of the publisher s 
 art, dictated this amusing outburst of wrath. 
 
 Lord Byron to John Murray. 
 
 2, Albany: April 29, 1814. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I enclose a draft for the money ; when paid, send 
 the copyright. I release you from the thousand pounds agreed on 
 for the Giaour and Bride, and there's an end. 
 
 If any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please ; 
 but, with the exception of two copies of each for yourself only, I 
 expect and request that the advertisements be withdrawn, and the 
 remaining copies of all destroyed ; and any expense so incurred I 
 will be glad to defray. 
 
 For all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. I have 
 none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the 
 circumstances of consequence enough to require explanation. 
 
 In course, I need hardly assure you that they never shall be 
 
4SS ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 published ■witli my consent, directly, or indirectly, by any other 
 person whatsoever, — that I am perfectly satisfied, and have every 
 reason so to be, with your conduct in all transactions between us 
 as publisher and author. 
 
 It will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaintance, 
 and to consider you as my friend. 
 
 Believe me very truly, and for much attention. 
 
 Your obliged and very obedient servant, 
 
 Byeon. 
 
 P.S. — T do not think that I have overdrawn at Hammersley's ; 
 but if that be the case, I can draw for the superflux on Hoare's. 
 The draft is J5 short, but that I will make up. On payment — 
 not before — retm*n the copyright papers. 
 
 ccxcvm. 
 
 Thus commences, auspiciously enough, that singularly 
 deplorable connection over which so much scandalous specula- 
 tion has been wasted, and so much vulgar curiosity exposed. 
 That a union between the sea and a forest pool, between the 
 most fiery and the most chilly of mortals, coa'd continue long 
 or terminate happily, was scarcely to be expected, yet who 
 could foresee the end would be so near, the agony so intense ? 
 
 Lord Byron to Thomas Moore, 
 
 Newstead Abbey : September 20, 1814. 
 Here's to her who long 
 
 Hath waked the poet's sigh 1 
 The girl who gave to song 
 
 What gold could never buy. 
 
 My dear Moore, — I am going to be married — that is, I am 
 accepted, and one usually hopes the rest will follow. My mother 
 of the Gracchi (that are to be) you think too strait-laced for me, 
 although the paragon of only children, and invested with '■ golden 
 opinions of all sorts of men,' and full of ' most blest conditions ' as 
 Desdemona herself. Miss Milbanke is the lady, and I have her 
 father's invitation to proceed there in my elect capacity, — which, 
 however, I cannot do till I have settled some business in London 
 and got a blue coat. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 48^ 
 
 She is said to be an heiress, but of that I really know nothing 
 certainly, and shall not enquire. But I do know, that she has 
 talents and excellent qualities ; and you will not deny her judg- 
 ment, after having refused six suitors and taken me. 
 
 Now, if you have any thing to say against this, pray do ; my 
 mind's made up, positively fixed, determined, and therefore I will 
 listen to reason, because now it can do no harm. Things may 
 occur to break it off, but I will hope not. In the mean time, I 
 tell you (a secret, by the by, — at least, till I know she wishes it to 
 be public,) that I have proposed and am accepted. You need not 
 be in a huiTy to wish me joy, for one mayn't be married for 
 months. I am going to town to-morrow ; but expect to be here, 
 on my way there, within a fortnight. 
 
 If this had not happened, I should have gone to Italy. In my 
 way down, perhaps, you will meet me at Nottingham, and come 
 over with me here. I need not say that nothing will give me 
 greater pleasure. I must, of course, reform thoroughly; and, 
 seriously, if I can contribute to her happiness, I shall secure my 
 own. She is so good a person, that — that — in short, I wish I was 
 a better. Ever, &c. 
 
 CCXOIX. 
 
 This letter was written in a copy of * Corinne ' during Madame 
 Guiccioli's absence from Bologna, it being Byron's whim to sit 
 daily in her garden, among her books, at the usual hour of his 
 visit. Fifty years afterwards the Italian lady essayed to write 
 the memoirs of her lover, hut the hook was a disappointment to 
 his admirers, for her memory had failed and she had no style. 
 
 Lord Byron to the Marchesa Guiccioli. 
 
 Bologna : August 25, 1819. 
 My dearest Teresa, — I have read this book in your garden; — ^ 
 my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is 
 a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. 
 You will not understand these English words, and others will not 
 understand them — which is the reason I have not scrawled them 
 in Italian. But you will recognise the handwriting of him who 
 passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book 
 which was yours, he could only think of love. In that word, 
 beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours — Amor mio — is 
 
490 ENGLISH LETTERS. [IJOO- 
 
 comprised my existence here and hereafter. I feel I exist here, 
 and I fear that I shall exist hereafter, — to what purpose you will 
 decide ; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, eighteen 
 years of age, and two out of a convent. I wish that you had 
 stayed there, with all my heart — or, at least, that I had never 
 met you in your married state. 
 
 But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, — at 
 least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great 
 consolation in all events. But I more than love you, and cannot 
 cease to love you. 
 
 Think of me sometimes, when the Alps and the ocean divide 
 us, — but they never will, unless you wish it. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 CCC. 
 
 Byron was better suited to an Italian than to an English life. 
 His habitual indolent good-nature, with flashes of vehement 
 passion, was easily satisfied with Southern manners, and he had 
 a peculiar felicity in describing them. He tells a tragical story 
 here with great effect. 
 
 Lord Byron to Thomas Moore, 
 
 Ravenna : December 9, 1820. 
 
 I open my letter to tell you a fact, which will show the state 
 of this country better than I can. The commandant of the 
 troops is now lying dead in my house. He was shot at a little 
 past eight o'clock, about two hundred paces from my door. I 
 was putting on my great-coat to visit Madame la Contessa G. 
 when I heard the shot. On coming into the hall, I found all my 
 servants on the balcony, exclaiming that a man was murdered. I 
 immediately ran down, calling on Tita (the bravest of them) to 
 follow me. The rest wanted to hinder us from going, as it is the 
 custom for every body here, it seems, to run away from Hhe 
 stricken deer.' 
 
 However, down we ran, and found him Ij^g on his back, 
 almost, if not quite dead with five wounds, one in the heart, two in 
 the stomach, one in the finger, and the other in the arm. Some 
 Foldiera cocked their guns, and wanted to hinder me from passing. 
 However wc passed, and I found Diego, the adjutant, crying over 
 him like a child — a surgeon who said nothing of Ids profession — 
 
1300] ENGLISH LETTERS, 491 
 
 a priest, sobbing a frightened prayer — and the commandant, 
 all this time, on his back, on the hard, cold pavement, without 
 light or assistance, or anything around him but confusion and 
 dismay. 
 
 As nobody could, or would, do anything but howl and pray, 
 and as no one would stir a finger to move him, for fear of con- 
 sequences, I lost my patience — made my servant and a couple of 
 the mob take up the body — sent off two soldiers to the guard — 
 despatched Diego to the Cardinal with the news, and had the 
 commandant carried up stairs into my own quarter. But it was 
 too late, he was gone — not at all disfigured — bled inwardly — not 
 above an ounce or two came out. 
 
 I had him partly stripped — made the surgeon examine him, and 
 examined him myself. He had been shot by cut balls or slugs. 
 I felt one of the slugs, which had gone through him, all but the 
 skin. Everybody conjectures why he was killed, but no one knows 
 how. The gun was found close by him — an old gun, half filed 
 down. 
 
 He only said, ' Dio ! ' and * Gesu ! ' two or three times, and 
 appeared to have suffered little. Poor fellow ! he was a brave 
 officer, but had made himself much disliked by the people. I 
 knew him personally, and had met him often at conversazioni and 
 elsewhere. My house is full of soldiers, di-agoons, doctors, priests, 
 and all kinds of persons, — though I have now cleared it, and clapt 
 sentinels at the doors. To-morrow the body is to be moved. The 
 town is in the greatest confusion, as you may suppose. 
 
 You are to know that, if I had not had the body moved, they 
 would have left him there till morning in the street, for fear of 
 consequences. I would not choose to let even a dog die in such a 
 manner, without succour : — and, as for consequences, I care for none 
 in a duty. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 P.S. The lieutenant on duty by the body is smoking his pipe 
 with great composure. A queer people this. 
 
492 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 
 
 CCCI. 
 
 In Byron's famous controversy with the Rev. W. L. Bowles 
 upon the merits of Alexander Pope, whom the former gravely 
 preferred to Shakespeare and Milton, there was something of 
 wilful arrogance and something, too, of real critical insight. 
 There was a tendency abroad at that time, in the flush of 
 romantic revival, to depreciate the exquisite and polished art of 
 Pope ; yet it was scarcely the author of the * Corsair ' from whom 
 a defence of Augustan poetry was to be expected. Nor did he 
 altogether succeed ' in making manure of Bowles for the top of 
 Mount Parnassus.' 
 
 Lord Byron to Thomas Moore, 
 
 Eavenna : May 3, 1821. 
 
 Though I wrote to you on the 28th ultimo, I must acknowledge 
 yours of this day, with the lines. They are sublime, as well as 
 beautiful, and in your very best mood and manner. They are also 
 but too true. 
 
 However, do not confound the scoundrels at the heel of the 
 boot with their betters at the top of it. I assure you that there 
 are some loftier spirits. 
 
 Nothing, however, can be better than your poem, or more 
 deserved by the Lazzaroni. They are now abhorred and disclaimed 
 nowhere more than here. 
 
 We will talk over these things (if we meet) some day, and I 
 will recount my own adventures, some of which have been a little 
 hazardous, perhaps. 
 
 So, you have got the Letter on Bowles ? I do not i-ecollect to 
 
 have said anything of you that could oflfend, certainly, nothing 
 
 intentionally. As for . . . , I meant him a compliment. I 
 wrote the whole off-hand, without copy or correction, and expe-cting 
 then eveiy day to be called into the field. What have I said of 
 you % I am sure I forget. It must be something of regret for 
 your approbation of Bowles. And did you not approve, as he 
 says ? Would I had known that before ! I would have given him 
 some more gruel. My intention was to make fun of all these 
 fellows ; but how I succeeded, I don't know. 
 
 As to Pope, I have always regarded him as the greatest name 
 in our poetiy. Depend upon it the rest are barbarians. He is a 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 49^ 
 
 Greek Temple, with a Gothic Cathedral on one hand, and a 
 Turkish Mosque and all sorts of fantastic pagodas and conventicles 
 about him. You may call Shakespeare and Milton, pyramids, if 
 you please, but I prefer the Temple of Theseus or the Parthenon 
 to a mountain of burnt brick- work. 
 
 The Murray has written to me but once, the day of its pTil> 
 lication, when it seemed prosperous. But I have heard of late from 
 England but rarely. Of Murray's other publications (of mine), 
 I know nothing, — nor whether he has published. He was to 
 have done so a month ago. I wish you would do something,—' 
 or that we were together. 
 
 Ever yours and affectionately 
 
 B. 
 
 CCCII. 
 
 These two letters tell their own story. They have been 
 selected partly because they illustrate a singularly touching and 
 ^ romantic episode in the life of the great poet to whom they 
 refer, and because of their own intrinsic merits. Mr. Sheppard's 
 letter is a model of tact and good sense under circumstances of 
 no ordinary delicacy, and Byron's reply proves that with all his 
 cynical egotism his heart was far from being a stranger to gene- 
 rous emotions. His dissertation might perhaps, considering the 
 occasion, have been spared ; but the letter is very creditable to 
 him, 
 
 John Sheppard to Lord Byron. 
 
 Frome, Somerset : November 21, 1821. 
 My Lord, — More than two years since, a lovely and beloved 
 wife was taken from me, by lingering disease after a very short 
 union. She possessed unvarying gentleness and fortitude, and a 
 piety so retiring as rarely to disclose itself in words, but so in- 
 fluential as to produce uniform benevolence of conduct. In the 
 last hour of life, after a farewell look on a lately born and only 
 infant, for whom she had evinced inexpressible affection, her last 
 whispers were * God's happiness ! God's happiness ! ' Since the 
 second anniversary of her decease, I have read some papers which 
 no one had seen during her life, and which contain her most secret 
 thoughts. I am induced to communicate to your Lordship a 
 pasisuge from these papers, which there is no doubt, refers to youiv 
 
494 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 self, as I have more than once heard the writer mention your 
 agility on the rocks at Hastings. 
 
 ' Oh, my God, I take encouragement from the assurance of thy 
 Woixi, to pray to Thee in behalf of one for whom I have lately 
 l)e8n much interested. May the person to whom I allude (and who is 
 now, we fear, as much distinguished for his neglect of Thee as for 
 the tiunscendent talents thou haat bestowed on him) be awakened 
 to a sense of his own danger, and led to seek that peace of mind 
 in a proper sense of i-eligion, which he has found this world's enjoy- 
 ments unable to procure. Do Thou grant that his future example 
 may be productive of far more extensive benefit than his past 
 conduct and writings have been of evil ; and may the Sun of 
 righteousness, which, we trust, will, at some future period, arise on 
 him, be bright in pi-oportion to the darkness of those clouds which 
 guilt has raised around him, and the balm which it bestows, healing 
 and soothing in proportion to the keenness of that agony which 
 the punishment of his vices has inflicted on him ! May the hope 
 that the sinceiity of my own efforts for the attainment of holiness, 
 and the approval of my own love to the great Author of religion, 
 will render this prayer, and every other for the welfare of man- 
 kind, moi-e efficacious ! — cheer me in the path of duty ; — but, let 
 me not forget, that, while we are permitted to animate ourselves to 
 exertion by every innocent motive, these are but the lesser streams 
 which may serve to increase the current, but which, deprived of 
 the grand fountain of good, (a deep conviction of inborn sin, and 
 firm belief in the efficacy of Christ's death for the salvation of 
 those who trust in him, and really wish to serve him,) would soon 
 dry up, and leave us barren of every vii-tue as before. 
 
 ' July 31, 1814.— Hastings.' 
 
 There is nothing, my Lord, in this extract which, in a literary 
 sense, can at all interest you ; but it may, perhaps, appear to you 
 worthy of reflection how deep and expansive a concern for the 
 happiness of others the Christian faith can awaken in the midst 
 of youth and prosperity. Here is nothing poetical and splendid, 
 as in the expostulatory homage of M. De Lamartine ; but here is 
 the sublime, my Lord ; for this intercession was offered, on your 
 account, to the supreme Source of happiness. It sprang from a 
 faith more confirmed than that of the French poet, and from 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 495 
 
 a charity which, in combination with faith, showed its power un- 
 impaired amidst the languors and pains of approaching dissolution. 
 I will hope that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply sincere, 
 may not be always unavailing. It would add nothing, my Lord, 
 to the fame with which your genius has suri'ounded you, for an 
 unknown and obscure individual to express his admiration of it. 
 I had rather be numbered with those who wish and pray, that 
 ' wisdom from above,' and * peace,* and joy,' may enter such a 
 mind. 
 
 John Sheppard.. 
 
 CCOIII. 
 
 Lord Byron to John Sheppard, 
 
 Pisa : December 8, 1821. 
 Sir, — I have received your letter. I need not say that the 
 extract which it contains has affected me, because it would imply 
 a want of all feeling to have read it with indifference. Though 
 I am not quite sure that it was intended by the writer for 
 we, yet the date, the place where it was written, with some other 
 cii'cumstances that you mention, render the allusion probable. 
 But for whomever it was meant, I have read it with all the pleasure 
 which can arise from so melancholy a topic. I say pleasure — 
 because your brief and simple picture of the life and demeanour of 
 the excellent person whom I trust you will again meet, cancot be 
 contemplated without the admiration due to her virtues, and her 
 pure and unpretending piety. Her last moments were particularly 
 striking ; and I do not know that, in the course of reading the 
 story of mankind, and still less in my observations upon the exist- 
 ing portion, I ever met with any thing so unostentatiously beauti- 
 ful. Indisputably, the firm believers in the Gospel have a great 
 advantage over all others, — for this simple reason, that if true, 
 they will have their reward hereafter ; and if there be no hereafter, 
 they can be but -v^dth the infidel in his eternal sleep, having had 
 the assistance of an exalted hope, through life, without subsequent 
 disappointment, since (at the worst for them) out of nothing, 
 nothing can arise, not even sorrow. But a man's creed does not 
 depend upon himself: who can say, I will believe this, that, or the 
 other ] and least of all, that which he least can comprehend. I 
 
496 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 liave, however, observed, that those who have begun life with 
 extreme faith, have in the end greatly narrowed it, as Chilling- 
 worth, Clarke (who ended as an Arian), Bayle, and Gibbon (once a 
 Catholic), and some others ; while on the other hand, nothing is 
 more common than for the early sceptic to end in a firm belief, 
 like Maupertius, and Henry Kirke White. 
 
 But my business is to acknowledge your letter, and not to 
 make a dissertation. I am obliged to you for your good wishes, 
 and more than obliged by the extract from the papers of the 
 beloved object whose qualities you have so well described in a few 
 words. I can assure you that all the fame which ever cheated 
 humanity into higher notions of its own importance would never 
 weigh in my mind against the pure and pious interest which 
 a virtuous being may be pleased to take in my welfare. In this 
 point of view, I would not exchange the prayer of the deceased in 
 my behalf for the united glory of Homer, Csesar, and Napoleon, 
 could such be accumulated upon a living head. Do me at least the 
 justice to suppose, that 
 
 Video meliora proboque, 
 however the * deteriora sequor ' may have been applied to my 
 conduct. 
 
 I have the honour to be 
 
 Your obliged and obedient servant 
 
 Byron, 
 
 CCCIV. 
 
 A single specimen of Theodore Hook's absurdly facetious 
 ' Eamsbottom Letters ' is selected. The style has been imitated 
 a good deal in our own day. 
 
 Miss Dorothea Ramsbottom to Mr. Bull. 
 
 Montague Place : January 6, 1825. 
 Dear Mr. Bull, — ^Why don't you write to us — or call ? We 
 are all of us well, and none of us no more, as perhaps you may 
 suppose, except poor Mr. Ram, — of course you know of his 
 disease, it was quite unexpected, with a spoonful of turtle in his 
 mouth — the real gallipot as they call it. However, I have no 
 doubt he is gone to heaven, and my daughters are gone to Bath, 
 except Lavy, who is my pet, and never quits me. 
 
18001 ENGLISH LETTERS. 497 
 
 The physicians paid great attention to poor Mr. Ham ; and he 
 suffered nothing — at least that I know of. It was a veiy comfort- 
 able thing that I was at home shay new, as the French say, when 
 he went, because it is a great pleasure to see the last of one's rela- 
 tions and friends. 
 
 You know we have been to Room since you heard from us — 
 the infernal City as it is called— the seat of Popery, and where the 
 Pop himself lives. He was one of the Carnals, and was elected 
 just before we was there : he has changed his name, not choosing 
 to disgrace his family. He was formerly Doctor Dallyganger, but 
 he now calls himself Leo, which the Papists reverse, and call 
 him Ole or Oleness. He is a fine cretur, and was never married, 
 but he has published a Bull in Room, which is to let people com- 
 mitt all kind of sin without impunity, which is difierent from your 
 Bull, which shoes up them as does any crime. He is not Pop this 
 year, for he has proclaimed Jew Billy in his place, which is very 
 good, considering the latter gentleman is a general, and not of his 
 way of thinking. 
 
 Oh, Mr. Bull, Boom is raley a beautiful place — We entered it 
 by the Point of Molly, which is just like the Point and Sally a,t 
 Porchmouth, only they call Sally there Port, which is not known 
 in Boom. The Tiber is not a nice river, it looks yellow ; but it 
 does the same there as the Tames does here. We hired a carry- 
 letty and a cocky-oUy, to take us to the Church of Salt Peter, 
 which is prodigious big ; — in the center of the pizarro there is a 
 baselisk very high — on the right and left two handsome found- 
 lings ; and the farcy, as Mr. Fulmer called it, is ornamented with 
 collateral statutes of some of the Apostates. There is a great 
 statute of Salt Peter himself, but Mr. Fulmer thinks it to be 
 Jew Peter, which I think likely too — there were three brothers of 
 the same name, as of course you know — Jew Peter the fortuitous, 
 the capillary, and toe-nails ; and it is euros that it must be him, 
 for his toes are kissed away by the piety of the religious debau- 
 ches who visit his shin or shrine. Besides I think it is Jew Peter, 
 because why should not he be worshipped as well as Jew Billy ? — 
 Mr. Fulmer made a pun, Laivy told me, and said the difference 
 between the two Jew Billies was, that one drew all the people to 
 the sinagog, and the other set all the people agog to sin — I don't 
 conceive his meaning, which I am afraid is a Dublin tender. 
 
 E E 
 
49S ENGLISH LETTERS. ^700- 
 
 There was a large quire of singers, bait they squeaked too much 
 to please me — and played on fiddles, so I suppose they have no 
 organs ; — the priests pass all their time in dissolving sinners by 
 oracular confusion, which, like transmogrification, is part of their 
 doctoring — the mittens in the morning, and whispers at night, is 
 just equally the same as at Paris. 
 
 Next to Salt Peter's Church is the Chiirch of Saint John the 
 Latter end, where the Pop always goes when he is first made — 
 there is another basilisk here covered with highrogreflfins. I 
 assure you the Colocynth is a beautiful ruin — it was built for 
 fights, and Mr. Fulmer said that Hel of a gabbler, an Emperor, 
 filled his theatre with wine — what a yight of marvels Mr. B. oh so 
 superb ! — the carraway, and paring, and the jelly and tea-cup, 
 which are all very fine indeed. 
 
 The Yeteran (which I used foolishly to call the Vacuum till I 
 had been there,) is also filled with statutes — one is the body of the 
 angel Michael, which has been ripped to pieces, and is therefore 
 said to be Tore — so — but I believe this to be a poetical fixture : — 
 the statute of the Racoon is very moving, its tail is prodigious 
 long, and goes round three on 'em — the Antipodes is also a fine 
 piece of execution. As for paintings there is no end to them in 
 Room — Mr. Rafiles's Transmigration is, I think, the finest — much 
 l>etter than his Harpoons : — there are several done by Hannah 
 Bell Sci^tchy, which are beautiful ; I dare say she must be i-elated 
 to Lady Bell, who is a very clever painter, you know, in London. 
 The Delapidation of St John by George Honey is very fine, besides 
 sevei'al categorical paintings, which pleased me very much. The 
 shops abound with Cammyhoes and Tallyhoes — which last always 
 i-eminded me of the sports of the field at home, and the cunning of 
 sly RejTiolds a getting away from the dogs. They also make 
 Scally holies at Rome, and what they call obscure chairs — but, oh, 
 Mr. B. what a cemetry there is in the figure of the Tenus of 
 Medicine, which belongs to the Duke of Tusk and eye — her con- 
 tortions are perfect. 
 
 We walked about in the Yiccissitude, and hired a maccaroni, or 
 8S the French, alluding to the diflScu'ty of satisfying the English, 
 call them a * Lucky to please,' and, of course, exploded the A rch of 
 Tights and the Baths of Diapason. Poor Lavy, whom I told you 
 was fond of silly quizzing, fell down on the Tarpaulin Rock in one 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 499 
 
 of her revelries — Mr. Fuliner said it would make a capital story 
 when she got home, but I never heard another syllabub about it. 
 
 One thing surprised me, the Pop wears three crowns together, 
 which are so heavy that they call his cap, a tirer. His Oleness 
 was ill the last day we went to the Chapel at the Choir and all, 
 having taken something delirious the day before at dinner ; he was 
 afterwards confined with romantic gout; but we saw enough of 
 him after, and it was curious to observe the Carnals prostrating 
 themselves successfully before him — he is like the German com- 
 plaster which Mr. Kam used to use — quite unavailable. 
 
 However, Mr. B. the best part of all, I think, was our coming 
 home — I was so afraid of the pandittis, who were all in trimbush 
 with arquebasedes and Basnets that I had no peace all the time 
 we were on root — but I must say T liked Friskhearty ; and 
 Tiffaly pleased me, and so did Miss Senis's Yilla and the Casket 
 Alley; however, home is home, be it never so homely, and here 
 we are, thank our stars. 
 
 We have a great deal to tell you, if you will but call ujx)n us 
 — Lavy has not been at the halter yet, nor do I know when she 
 will, because of the mourning for poor Mr. Ram —indeed I have 
 suffered a great deal of shag-green on account of his disease, and 
 above all have not been able to have a party on Twelfth Night. — - 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Dorothea Ramsbottom. 
 
 Pray write, dear Mr. B. 
 
 CCOV. 
 
 In the * Fuo'glestone Correspondence ' Theodore Hook made 
 some quizzing remarks on an itinerant company of players 
 whieh Oharlos Mathews, the elder, foolishly accepted as a 
 deliberate insult to the profession to which he belonged. The 
 short interruption which followed in the intimacy of these two 
 ' old friends was removed by the following letter. 
 
 Theodore Hook to Charles Mathews. 
 
 Cleveland Row: March 5, 1829. 
 
 My Dear Mathews, — You are now about one of the oldest 
 
 acquaintances I have (or just now have not) ; some of my happiest 
 
 hours have been passed in your company ; I hate mincing (except 
 
 in a case of veal). There is a difference, not perhaps exiiiting 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 between us, but between you novj and yourself at other times. 
 They [on) say that you have been annoyed with one of my tales, as 
 if any man except a pacha had more than one ; and our good- 
 natured frienrJs, bless them, make out that you are personally 
 affected by some of the jokes about the Fugglestones, and other 
 imaginary personages. Now, I verily believe that, if I had read 
 that story to you before it was published, you would have enjoyed 
 it more than any body who has read it ; since to ridicule the bad 
 pait of a profession can be no satire upon the good ; and, as I 
 have said somewhere before, Lawrence might as well be annoyed 
 at the abuse of sign-painters, or Halford angry at a satire upon 
 quacks, as you personally with any thing reflecting upon the lower 
 part of the theatrical world. From you yourself I verily believe I 
 culled the art of ridiculing the humbugs of the profession. How- 
 ever, why you should suppose that I, after having for years (in 
 ever}' way I could) contributed — needlessly, I admit — to sup- 
 port your talents, merits, and character, professional and private, 
 could mean to offend you, I cannot imagine. I can only say that 
 nothing was further from my intention than to wound yaur feel- 
 ings, or those of any other individual living, by what seemed to me 
 a fair travestie of a fair subject for ridicule, and which I repeat 
 never could apply to you, or any man in your sphere or station. 
 
 Now the upshot of all this is this, — where not the smallest 
 notion of personal affiront was contemplated, I think no personal 
 feeling should remain. If you think so, come and call upon me, or 
 tf>ll me where I may pay you a visit. If you don't think so, why 
 say nothing about it, and burn this letter. But do whichever of 
 these things you may, rest assured I do not forget old associations, 
 and that I am, and shall he, my dear Mathews, as much yours as 
 ever. 
 
 And now, having said my say, I remain. 
 
 Yours most truly 
 
 The. E. Hook. 
 
 CCCVL 
 
 "\i\'Tien Mr. Bentley started his * Miscellany' in the year 
 1837, with Charles Dickens for his principal contributor, he 
 induced the Rev. R. H. Barham to assist the regular staff of 
 collahorateurs with occasional offerings ; and under the pseudo- 
 nym of ' Thomas Ingoldsby ' legend after legend appeared, and 
 
ISOO] ENGLISH. LETTERS. 501 
 
 gave popularity to tlie new venture. To the lady (the grand- 
 mother of the author of ^ Tom Brown's School-days ') to whom 
 the following letter is addressed, Mr. Barham was indebted not 
 only for constant supplies of legendary lore, but for the neces- 
 sary incentive to continue the work he had commenced. He 
 fully acknowledges this on the title-page of a presentation copy 
 of the ' Legends.' 
 
 To Mrs. Hughes, who made me do 'em, 
 Quod placeo est — si placeo — tuum. 
 
 The Rev. JR. H. Barham, to Mrs. Hughes. 
 
 March 1, 1837. 
 
 My dear Madam, — Unluckily, I was too late for your last 
 parcel, but the worthy Mr. Sharpe promises me this shall go. 
 Enclosed you will have the Spectre of Tappington, the pictorial 
 illustration to which I think I told you was Dick's. You will say, 
 perhaps, he might have been better employed. You will also 
 recognise Hampden Pye, transformed, for the nonce, into Hamilton 
 Tighe, which rhymes as well and prevents all unpleasant feelings, 
 or the chance of them. You will see also that other liberties have 
 been taken with his story, which may, after all, perhaps be only 
 supplying omissions ; for if poor Hampden was shot, somebody 
 must have shot him, and why not ' Hairy-faced Dick ' as well as 
 anybody else? The inference is most illogical and, I think, 
 conclusive. 
 
 I have this moment sent Bentley a real Kentish legend, or 
 rather the amalgamation of two into one, for his next number, 
 which Mr. Dick has also undertaken to illustrate as before. I 
 should much like to have your opinion of the Miscellany. At 
 present it does not bear out Hook's prophecy ; he said the title 
 was ominous — * Miss-sell-any ; ' but, so far from this being the 
 case, Bentley assures me he has sold six thousand of the last 
 number, and that he considers the speculation now as safe. He 
 has just given Charles Mathews five hundred pounds for his 
 father's MSS., to form materials for a life of him, which Hook is 
 to execute, and have five hundred more for the job. The book 
 will be in three vols, with portraits, &c., and, as the editor is 
 heart and soul in the affair, will, I have no doubt, be a most 
 amusing one. Jack Brag is not yet out, but I have seen the 
 proofs of all that is printed of it. It is not so good, certainly as 
 
502 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 Gilbert Gurney, but is, nevertheless, full of fun, with some palpable 
 hits in it. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke {cl-devavt), whom you inquire after, is so far from 
 quitting her Quickly occupation that she may be said to be now a 
 double landlady, inasmuch as her new husband drives a roaring 
 trade in another publichouse, between which and her own she 
 vibrates as a sort of Bacchanalian pendulum. I have not yet seen 
 the Kev. Sydney, though, as his month commences today, I pre- 
 sume I soon shall. Perhaps I ought to have called, as he sent me 
 his pamphlet. He did not take in the Bishop [of Llandaff], who 
 hit upon the forgery at first sight. The name of Yoi-stius alone 
 fixed the chronology and detected the imposition, which, after all, 
 is the funniest I have seen.' I am told the pamphlet has had a 
 gre^t effect upon the Commissioners, and that he will carry h's 
 point as to the patronage. To-morrow night's debate will let us 
 into the secret. 
 
 What do you think of my Lord de Boos and Mr. Gumming ? 
 I enclose you the following epigram, which is an impromptu of 
 Hook's :— 
 
 Cease your humming, 
 The matter's done : 
 Defendant's Cumming ; 
 PlaintifTs Gone ! 
 
 By the way, the Duke of Beaufort and Lord Chesterfield are 
 said to have intimated their intention of supporting his Lord- 
 ship, and the following hit at his Grace is going the round of tl:e 
 clubs. Somebody was saying that the Duke had already left his 
 card with De Boos. ' Did he mark it 1 ' was asked. * Of couiS3 
 not,' was the answer. ' 0, then,' said Poole, who often says very 
 sharp things, ' it's clear he did not consider it an honour.' I wish 
 IMi-. Hughes could be prevailed upon to give Bentley a lift ! Has 
 he seen the book % My paper warns me to conclude, but I have 
 just room to tell you that Mr. Tate has taken the living of 
 Hutton, now vacant, and that Hawes has entered a caveat againjst 
 
 ' Allusion to the story of the Synod of Dort, told by Sydney Smith, in 
 his Letter to Archdeacon Singleton on the Church Commission. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 503 
 
 him, claiming the presentation himself in his capacity of almoner. 
 I don't think he has a chance of establishing his claim. 
 Believe me to remain, as ever, &c. 
 
 R H. Barham. 
 
 CCOVIL 
 
 Mr. Barham, like his intimate friend, Theodore Hook, pos- 
 sessed extraordinary facility in writing rhymed letters, birthday 
 odes, and impromptu verses of all descriptions ; but he rarely, 
 if ever, attempted a. pun. Of these funny trifles one of the best 
 is the following note of invitation. 
 
 The Rev. R. H. Barham to Dr. Wilmot, of Ashford, 
 
 Doctor ! wilt thou dine with me 
 And drive on Tuesday morning down % 
 Can ribs of beef have charms for thee — 
 The fat, the lean, the luscious brown ] 
 No longer dressed in silken sheen, 
 Nor deck'd with rings and brooches rare, 
 Say, wilt thou come in velveteen. 
 Or corduroys that never tear ? 
 
 O Doctor ! when thou com'st away. 
 Wilt thou not bid John ride behind. 
 On pony, clad in livery gay. 
 To mark the birds our pointers find 1 
 Let him a flask of darkest green 
 Replete with cherry brandy bear, 
 That we may still, our toils Ijetween, 
 That fascinating fluid share ! 
 
 Doctor ! canst thou aim so true 
 As we through briars and brambles go, 
 To reach the partridge brown of hue. 
 And lay the mounting pheasant low 
 Or should, by chance, it so befall 
 Thy path be cross'd by timid hare, 
 Say, wilt thou for the gamebag call 
 And place the fur-clad victim there 
 
50i ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 And when at last the dark'ning sky 
 Proclaims the hour of dinner near, 
 Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 
 • - And quit thy sport for homely cheer ? 
 
 '^ The cloth withdi-awn, removed the tray — 
 
 Say, wilt thou, snug in elbow-chair. 
 The bottle's progress scorn to stay. 
 But fill, the fairest of the fair % 
 
 I 
 
 COCVIII. 
 
 Of all the literary and social lions who helped to render 
 * Gore House ' famous, Lady Blessington regarded Walter Savage 
 Landor with the greatest respect and honour. 
 
 As the author of the ' Imaginary Conversations ' wrote 
 chiefly to entertain himself, and had few competitors in the 
 first rank of writers of English prose, it was scarcely necessary 
 for the Countess to assure him (then in his sixtieth year), of 
 his successes in literature. Mr. Landor was residing in Italy 
 at this time. 
 
 Lady Blessington to Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 London, Seamore Place : March 16, 1835. 
 
 The introduction to your '■ Examination ' ^ is printed, and the 
 * Conference of Spenser and Lord Essex ' follows the ' Examina- 
 tion,' and reads admirably in print. I have read all the proof 
 sheets, and hope you will be satisfied with their correctness, and 
 jNIessrs. Saunders and Otley have informed me that the book will 
 be out in the course of this week. Of its success I entertain no 
 doubt, though 1 have had many proofs that the excellence of lite- 
 rary productions cannot always command their success. So much 
 depends on the state of tl.e literary horizon when a work presents 
 itself; the sky is at present much overclouded by the unsettled 
 state of politics at home and abroad ; but notwithstanding all this, 
 I am very sanguine in my expectations about the success your 
 book will have, and so are the publishers. 
 
 The * Conference ' is peculiarly interesting, as bearing on the 
 state of Ireland, which, alas ! now, as in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 I'emains unsettled, unsatisfied and unsatisfying ; resisting hitherto 
 
 ' * Examination on William Shakspeare,' by W. S. L. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 505 
 
 the various remedies that have been applied to her disease by severe 
 surgeons or timid practitioners. I think very highly of the ' Exami- 
 nation ; ' it is redolent with the joyous spirit of the immortal bard, 
 with whom you have identified yourself ; his frequent pleasantry 
 wantons in the breast of song, while snatches of pathos break in 
 continually in the prose. The * Conference * is deeply interesting, 
 and so dissimilar from the ' Examination ' that it is difficult to- 
 imagine it the work of the same mind, if one did not know that 
 true genius possesses the power of variety in style and thought. I 
 wish you could be persuaded to write your memoirs ; what a trea- 
 sure they would prove to posterity.^ Tracing the working of such 
 a mind as yours, a mind that has never submitted to the ignoble 
 fettei-s that a corrupt and artificial society would impose, could not 
 fail to be highly interesting, as well as useful, by giving courage to 
 the timid and strength to the weak, and teaching them to rely on 
 their own intellectual resoui-ces instead of leaning on that feeble 
 reed the world, which can wound but not support those who rely 
 on it. Mr. E. Lytton Bui over's new novel, 'The Last Days of 
 Pompeii,' has been oat a fortnight ; it is an admirable work, and 
 does him honour. He refers to you in one of the notes to it as 
 * his learned friend Mr. Landor,' so you see you are in a fair way of 
 being praised (if not understood) by the dandies, as his book is in 
 the hands of the whole tribe. The novel is dedicated to our friend 
 Sir William Gell. There is no year in which yoiir fame does not 
 gain at all sides, and it is now so much the fashion to praise you, 
 that you are quoted by many who are as incapable of appreciating 
 as of equalling you. 
 
 M. Blessington. 
 
 * Writing to his friend John Forster a quarter of a century after this 
 hope had been expressed, Landor said, * You may live to superintend such 
 edition or selection of my writings as may be called for after my death. 
 I place them in your hands with the more pleasure, since you have thought 
 them not unworthy of your notice, and even your study, among the labours 
 of our greatest authors, our Patriots in the best times. The world is 
 indebted to you for a knowledge of their characters and their works : I 
 shall be contented to be as long forgotten, if I arise with the same advan- 
 tages at last.' Hence the well-known edition, completed in 1876. 
 
506 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 COOIX. 
 
 In tbe abundance of characteristic traits contained in the 
 letters which Shelley wrote during his restless life in Italy, we 
 are enabled to see in this ' eternal child ' the union of the finest 
 moral nature -with poetic genius of exquisite sensibility. All the 
 peculiar phases of his character are in these letters developed 
 with sufficient distinctness to mark him as the strangest and 
 most interesting of literary geniuses. In waging war against 
 Christianity or the rights of marriage — against the rich and 
 strong in favour of the poor and weak — against political corrup- 
 tion and social despotism, we see the young delicate enthusiast, 
 with grand self-denial and earnestness, expending precious 
 energy in an insatiable yearning to benefit his fellow-creatures. 
 
 Percy Bysshe SJieUey to Henry Reveley. 
 
 Florence : November 17, 1819. 
 
 My dear Henry, — I was exceedingly interested by your letter, 
 and I cannot but thank you for overcoming the inaptitude of a 
 long disuse at my request, for my pleasure. It is a great thing 
 done, the successful casting of the cylinder. May it be a happy 
 auspice for what is to follow ! I hope, in a few posts, to remit the 
 necessary money for the completion. Meanwhile, are not those 
 portions of the work m' hich can be done without expense, saving 
 time in their progress % Do you think you lose much money or 
 time by this delay ? All that you say of the alteration in the form 
 of the boat strikes me, though one of the multitude in this respect, 
 as improvement. I long to get aboard her, and be an unworthy 
 partaker in the glory of the astonishment of the Livornese, when 
 she returns from her cruise round Melloria. When do you think 
 she wUl be fit for sea 1 
 
 Your volcanic description of the birth of the cylinder is very 
 characteristic of you and of it. One might imagine God, when he 
 made the earth, and saw the granite mountains and flinty promon- 
 tories flow into their craggy forms, and the splendour of their 
 fusion filling millions of miles of the void space, like the tail of a 
 comet, so looking, so delighting in his work. Grod sees his machine 
 spinning round the sun, and delights in its success, and has taken 
 out patents to supply all the suns in space with the same manufac- 
 
1800] EXGLISH LETTERS. 507 
 
 tiire. Yonr boat will be to the ocean of water, what this earth is 
 to the ocean of ether — a proJ^perous and swift voyager. 
 
 When shall v e see you all 1 You not, I suppose, till your boat 
 is ready to sail — and then, if not before, I must, of course, come to 
 Livorno. Oui* plans for the winter are yet scarcely defined ; they 
 tend towards our spending February and Mai-ch at Pisa, where our 
 
 communications will not be so distant, nor so epistolary. C 
 
 left us a week ago, not without many lamentations, as all true 
 lovers pay on such occasions. He is to write me an account of the 
 Trieste steam- boat, which I will transmit to you. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley, and Miss C return you their kindest saluta- 
 tions, with interest. 
 
 Most affectionately yours 
 
 cccx. \A'' - ^p^'p'^\ 
 
 During Shelley's visit to Byron at Ravenna in 1821, the,,, '->J^^ 
 latter suggested that Leigh Hunt t-hould join them at Pisa in ^^ * ^ 
 
 the autumn and share in the speculation explained in this letter,^ J»TT i\ 
 Shelley's modest refusal to participate in the business was doubt-s,' * *' ' 
 
 less sincere, although he at no time intended ever to be fettered 
 in the expression of his opinions, nor would he compromise his 
 friends by publishing such opinions in copartnership. 
 
 FercT/ Bysshe Shelley to Leigh Hunt, 
 
 Pisa: August 26, 1821. 
 My dearest Friend, — Since I last wrote to you, I have been on 
 a visit to Lord Byron at Ravenna. The result of this visit was a 
 determination, on his part, to come and live at Pisa ; and I have 
 taken the finest palace on the Lung' Amo for him. But the 
 material part of my visit consists in a message which he desires me 
 to give you, and which, I think, ought to add to your determina- 
 tion — for such a one I hope you have formed, of restoring your 
 shattered health and spirits by a migration to these ' regions mild 
 of calm and serene air.' He proposes that you should come and 
 go shares with him and me, in a periodical work, to be conducted 
 here ; in which each of the contracting parties should publish all 
 their original compositions, and share the profits. He proposed it 
 to Moore, but for some reason it was never brought to bear. 
 There can be no doubt that the profits of any scheme in which you 
 
608 EXGLISS LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 and Lord Byron engage, must, from various, yet co-cperating rea- 
 sons, be \e,vY great. As for myself, I am, for tlie present, only a 
 soi-t of link between you and him, until you can know each other, 
 and effectuate the arrangement ; since (to entrust you with a secret 
 which, for your sake, I withhold from Lord Byron) nothing would 
 induce me to share in the profits, and still less, in the borrowed 
 splendour of such a partnei-ship. 
 
 You and he, in different manners, would be equal, and would 
 bring, in a different manner, but in the same proportion, equal 
 stocks of reputation and success. Bo not let my frankness with 
 you, nor my belief that you deserve it more than Lord Byron, have 
 the effect of deteiTing you from assuming a station in modern lite- 
 lature, which the universal voice of my contemporaries forbids me 
 either to stoop or to aspire to. • I am, and I desire to be, nothing. 
 I did not ask Lord Byron to assist me in sending a remittance for 
 your journey ; because there are men, however excellent, from 
 whom we would never receive an obligation, in the worldly sense 
 of the word ; and I atn as jealous for my friend as for myself; but 
 I suppose that I shall at last make up an impudent face, and ask 
 Horace Smith to add to the many obligations he has conferred on 
 me. I know I need only ask. I think I have never told you how 
 very much I like your ' Amyntas ; ' it almost reconciles me to trans- 
 lations. In another sense I still demur. You might have written 
 another such poem as the ' Nymphs,' ^vith no gi-eat access of efforts. 
 I am full of thoughts and plans, and should do something, if the 
 feeble and iiTitable frame which incloses it was willing to obey the 
 spirit. I fancy that then I should do gi*eat things. Before this 
 you will have seen 'Adonais.' Lord Byron, I suppose from 
 modesty, on account of his being mentioned in it, did not say a 
 word of ' Adonais,' though he was loud in his praise of ' Prome- 
 theus,' and, what you will not agi-ee with him in, censure of ' the 
 CencL' Certainly, if ' Marino Faliero ' is a drama, ' the Cenci ' is 
 not — but that between oui'selves. Lord Byron is reformed, as far 
 as gallantry goes, and lives with a beautiful and sentimental Italian 
 Lady, who is as much attached to him as may be. I trust greatly 
 to his intercourse with you, for his creed to become as piu'e as he 
 thinks his conduct is. He has many generous and exalted quali- 
 ties, but the canker of aristocracy wants to be cut out. 
 
18C0] ENGLISH LETTERS. 509 
 
 COOXL 
 
 In the poem referred to in the following very characteristic 
 letter, Shelley expressed his intense sympathy with the cause of 
 Greek independence then struggling to assert itself. Shelley 
 had an exaggerated admiration for everything Greek, and a 
 hatred of everything Turkish. It was his opinion that * we are 
 all Greeks ; our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts have 
 their roots in Greece.' In expressing his views of Christianity 
 the poet is, as usual, very outspoken. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley to 
 
 Pisa : April 11, 1822. 
 
 My dear . . . , — I have, as yet, received neither the .... 
 nor his metaphysical companions — Time, my Lord, has a wallet on 
 his hack, and I suppose he has bagged them by the way. As he 
 has had a good deal of alms for oblivion out of me, I think he 
 might as well have favoured me this once ; I have, indeed, just 
 dropped another mite into his treasury, called Helloes, which I 
 know not how to send to you, but I dare say some fury of the 
 Hades of authors will bring one to Paris. It is a poem written on 
 the Gi'eek cause last summer — a sort of lyrical, dramatic, non- 
 descript piece of business. You will have heard of a row we have 
 had here, which, I dare say, will grow to a serious size before it 
 anives at Paris. It was, in fact, a trifling piece of business 
 enough, arising from an insult of a drunken dragoon, offered to 
 one of our party, and only serious, because one of Lord B.'s ser- 
 vants wounded the fellow dangerously with a pitchfork. He is 
 now, however, recovering, and the echo of the affair will be heard 
 long after the original report has ceased. 
 
 Lord Byron has read me one or two letters of Moore to him, in 
 which Moore speaks with great kindness of me ; and of coui'se I can- 
 not but feel flattered by the approbation of a man, my inferiority 
 to whom I am proud to acknowledge. Amongst other things, 
 however, Moore, after giving Lord B. much good advice about 
 public opinion, &c., seems to deprecate my influence on his mind, 
 on the subject of religion, and to attribute the tone assumed in 
 * Cain ' to my suggestions. Moore cautions him against my influ- 
 ence on this particular, with the most friendly zeal ; and it is plain 
 
610 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 tliat his motive springs from a desire of benefiting Lord B., without 
 degrading me. I think you know Moore. Pray assure him that 
 I have not the smallest influence over Lord Byron, in this parti- 
 cular, and if I had, I certainly should employ it to eradicate 
 f.om his great mind the delusions of Christianity, which, in spite 
 of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for 
 the hours of sickness and distress. * Cain ' was conceived many 
 years ago, and begun before I saw him last year at Ravenna. How 
 happy should I not be to attribute to myself, however indirectly, 
 any participation in that immortal work ! I differ with Moore in 
 thinking Christianity useful to the world ; no man of sense can 
 think it true ; and the alliance of the monstrous superstitions of the 
 popular worship with the pure doctrines of the Theism of such a 
 man as Moore, turns to the profit of the former, and makes the 
 latt-er the fountain of its own pollut'on. I agree with him that 
 the doctrines of the French, and Material Philosophy, are as false 
 as they are pernicious ; but still they are better than Christianity, 
 inasmuch as anarchy is better than despotism ; for this reason, that 
 the former is for a season, and that the latter is eternal. My ad- 
 miration of the character, no less than of the genius of Mooie, 
 makes me rather wish that he should not have an ill opinion of me. 
 Where are you *? We settle this summer near Spezzia ; Lord 
 Byron at Leghorn. May not I hope to see you, even for a trip in 
 Italy ? I hope your wife and little ones are well. Mine grows a 
 fine boy, and is quite well. I have contrived to get my musical 
 coals at Newcastle itself. My dear . . . . , believe me, 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 P. B. a 
 
 CCOXIL 
 
 In Sir Frederick Pollock's two volumes of interesting ' Remi- 
 niscences of Macready,' many highly characteristic letters of our 
 great actor are given which point to the purity of his taste in 
 matters dramatic and literary, and at once explain how that the 
 English stage, during his reign, was elevated and refined, not so 
 much by the comprehensiveness of his genius as by the hearty 
 way he honoured his calling. 
 
 The Poet Laureate, in a sonnet composed for Macready on 
 his retirement from the stage, bids him 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 511 
 
 Rank with the best, 
 Garrick and statelier Kemble, and the rest 
 Who made a nation purer through their ait. 
 Thine is it that our drama did not die 
 Nor flicker down to brainless pantomime 
 And those gilt gauds men-children swarm to see. 
 
 W, C, Macready to Frederick Pollock. 
 
 Bournemouth, Hants : August 9, 1853. 
 
 My dear Pollock, — In my desire to be furnished with abundant 
 gifts to my adopted institution, for so the apathy of our Sherbor- 
 nian magnates will justify me in calling it, I took advantage of 
 yesterday's post to enclose a message of inquiry to you in my hasty 
 acknowledgment ofyour's and Mrs. Pollock's kindness ; and to-day 
 I follow it with my apologies for pressing on you so startling an 
 invitation in so abrupt a manner. This, however, I know you will 
 readily excuse. Whether you will as readily feel disposed to come 
 and tell my rustic friends who Dante was, what were his aims and 
 objects of his life, and how they were frustrated, on what pinnacle 
 of fame he stands, and what was the kind of work that placed him 
 there — ' that is the question.' If my lungs had held good, and my 
 head were equal to the employment, I should apply their powers in 
 this way, and endeavour * to scatter plenty ' of knowledge among 
 my less fortunate fellow-men. But 1 am a worn-out instrument, 
 and have to content myself with the manifestation of my will. 
 
 I was very much interested by your remarks on the German 
 Hamlet. With much attention to the various criticisms I have 
 seen on Devrient, I am disposed to regard him as a very second-rate 
 mind. You characterise his performance as ' frigid and tiresome.' 
 There is a volume in those two words. The morbidly acute sensi- 
 bility and sensitiveness of Hamlet to be frozen up and stagnated in 
 a declaiming and attitudinising statue or automaton leaves room 
 for no further remark, but induces me to submit to you, whether 
 you have not conceded more to the actor than he can rightly claim 
 in pronouncing * his understanding of the chai-acter to be correct.' 
 We apply these terms of praise (and they are high praise) erro- 
 neously, I think, to a man who, in his delivery, shows us he under- 
 stands the words he is uttering. But to fathom the depths of 
 character, to trace its latent motives, to feel its finest quiverings of 
 emotion, to comprehend the thoughts that are hidden under words, 
 
512 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 and thus possess oneself of the actual mind of the individual man, 
 is the highest reach of the player's art, and is an achievement that 
 I have discerned but in few. Kean — when under the impulse of 
 his genius he seemed to clutch the whole idea of the man — was an 
 exti-aordinary instance among those possessing the faculty of imper- 
 sonation. But if he missed the character in his first attempt at 
 conception, he never could recover it by study. IVIi-s. Siddons, in 
 a loftier style, and to a greater extent, had this intuitive power. 
 Indeed, she was a marvel — I might almost say a miracle. John 
 Kemble is greatly overrated, I think, by the clever men, who, in 
 their first enthusiasm, caught a glimpse of the skirts of his glory. 
 Neither in Hamlet nor Macbeth, nor even in the passionate parts 
 of Coriolanus did he give me the power of belief in him. He was 
 veiy clever in points and magnificent in person. But what am I 
 doing, and where have I been led ? reading you a dull discourse on 
 matters that you must be very indifierent about. Well, as Fal- 
 staff says of himself I may say of the Prince of Denmark, ' I have 
 much more to say on behalf of that same Hamlet,' but I cannot 
 help smiling as I think of the much already said. 
 
 I grow very angry in turning to politics, and hating war as I 
 do, cannot help wishing that crafty and grasping barbarian Czar 
 may have his battalions pushed into the Pruth, Cronstadt and 
 Odessa beaten about his ears, and some dexterous Orlofi* afterwards 
 found to relieve mankind from his tyrannous machinations ! You 
 see what a sanguinary politician I am ! I must admit a most cor- 
 dial abhorrence of Russian Czars and Czarinas, from Peter the 
 Brute, inclusive, down to this worthy descendant, who regards 
 himself as having a mission to stop the march of human progress ! 
 Quousque tandem % I am looking for Forster in about a month, 
 though he tells me he has fallen lame again since his return from 
 Lillies. 
 
 I am ever always, dear Pollock, 
 
 Most sincerely yours 
 
 W. C. Macready. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 613 
 
 CCCXIII. 
 
 Mr. Macready explains the process by which he checlred a 
 tendency to redundance of action in his early days. He also 
 speaks of the frequent use of looking-glasses to reflect his pos- 
 tures. Madlle. Rachel's salon d!etude. in Paris was fitted with 
 mirrors so ingeniously arranged, both on the walls and the ceiling, 
 that the effect of the merest movement of the body and the 
 smallest fold in the drapery of her garments could be observed 
 by her. 
 
 W. C. Macready to Mrs. Pollock. 
 
 Sherborne : June 20, 1856. 
 My Dear Mrs. Pollock, — In a letter written to me * on Thursday 
 morning,' you make inquiry of me whether it is true that, in my 
 youth, my action was redundant, and that I took extraordinary pains 
 to chasten it 1 It is rather hard to give evidence on occurrences of 
 so remote a date. Indeed, I must make myself quite certain 
 whether I ever knew such a period as that of youth before I can 
 answer your question. Of that, however, I will not at present 
 treat, but inform you that there was a time when my action was 
 redundant — when I was taught to attempt to imitate in gesture 
 the action I might be relating, or to figure out some idea of the 
 images of my speech. How was I made sensible of this offence 
 against good taste ? I very soon had misgivings suggested by my 
 own observation of actual life. These became confiimed by re- 
 marking how sparingly, and therefore how effectively, Mrs. 
 Siddons had recourse to gesticulation. In the beginning of one of 
 the chapters of * Peregi-ine Pickle ' is the description of an actor 
 (who must have been Quin) in Zanga, elaborately accompanying by 
 gestui-e the narration of Alonzo's emotions on discovering and read- 
 ing a letter ; the absurdity is so apparent that I could not be blind 
 to it, and applied the criticism to myself in various situations, 
 which might have tempted me to something like the same extrava- 
 gance. A line in the opening of one of the Cantos of Dante — I do 
 not immediately remember it — made a deep impression on me in 
 suggesting to me the dignity of repose ; and so a theory became 
 gradually formed in my mind, which was practically demonstrated 
 to me to be a correct one, when I saw Talma act, whose every 
 movement was a change of subject for the sculptor's or the painter's 
 
 L L 
 
514 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 study. Well, as my opinions were thus undergoing a transition, 
 my practice moved in the same direction, and I adopted all the 
 modes I could devise to acquire the power of exciting myself into 
 the wildest emotions of passion, coercing my limbs to perfect still- 
 ness. I would lie down on the floor, or stand straight against a 
 wall, or get my arms within a bandage, and, so pinioned or con- 
 fined, repeat the most violent passages of Othello, Lear, Hamlet, 
 Macbeth, or whatever would require most energy and emotion ; I 
 would speak the most passionate bursts of rage under the supposed 
 constraint of whispering them in the ear of him or her to whom 
 they were addressed, thus keeping both voice and gesture in subjec- 
 tion to the real impulse of the feeling. — ' Such was my process.' 
 Perhaps when I have the pleasure of seeing you I may make my- 
 iielf more intelligible, if you desire further acquaintance with my 
 youthful discipline. I was obliged also to have frequent recourse 
 to the looking-glass, and had two or three large ones in my room 
 to reflect to myself each view of the posture I might have fallen 
 into, besides being under the necessity of acting the passion close to 
 a glass to restrain the tendency to exaggerate its expression — which 
 was the most difficult of all — to repress the ready frown, and keep 
 the featui-es, perhaps I should say the muscles of the face, undis- 
 turbed, whilst intense passion would speak from the eye alone. The 
 easier an actor makes his art appear, the greater must have been 
 the pains it cost him. I do not think it difficult to act like Sig- 
 nora Ristori ; it seems to me merely a melodramatic abandonment 
 or lashing up to a certain point of excitement. It. is not so good as 
 Rachel, nor to be compared with such acting as that of Siddons and 
 O'Neill. But you will have ciied, ' Hold, enough ! ' long since. 
 Will you give my love to your husband, and ask him for me the 
 name of his optical instrument maker. I want to send some ar-. 
 tides to be refitted, and, from Willie's enthusiasm about his tele- 
 scope, I hope I may derive some benefit from his acquaintance. I 
 have a great deal to tell you, if I had time to gossip, but I am sure 
 here is more than sufficient for one post. All loves from home. 
 Mine to your little boys. 
 
 Believe me 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 W. C. MACBEADr. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 615 
 
 OCCXIV. 
 
 There is scarcely a page of the two volumes of the ' Life and 
 Oorrespondence of Dr. Arnold,' by Dean Stanley, which does 
 not throw a beam of light on the character of one of the most 
 interesting, zealous, and useful men of this century. Few are 
 the instances, even in modern biographical literature, in which 
 so forcible a representation of character is given by means of 
 epistolary correspondence. From the abundance of his earnest- 
 ness — for this is the most striking of his characteristics — we 
 who had not the advantage of faUing within the sphere of his 
 influence, may snatch from his letters most vivid glimpses of 
 his work as a church reformer, a political thinker, a scholarly 
 author, a friend of the working classes, and greatest of all, as a 
 schoolmaster. It is not merely within the precincts of Rugby 
 School that his name is a household word. 
 
 The Rev. Thomas Arnold^ D.D., to the Rev. F. C. Blackstone, 
 
 Rugby: September 28, 1828. 
 It is, indeed, a long time since I wrote to you, and there has 
 been much of intense interest in the period which has elapsed since 
 I did write. But it has been quite an engrossing occupation ; and 
 Thucydides and everything else has gone to sleep while I have 
 been attending to it. Now it is becoming more familiar to me, but 
 still the actual employment of time is very great, and the matters 
 for thought which it affords are almost endless. Still I get my daily 
 exercise and bathing very happily, so that I have been, and am, 
 perfectly well, and equal in strength and spirits to the work. For 
 myself, I like it hitherto beyond my expectation, but, of course, 
 a month is a very short time to judge from. I am trying to esta- 
 blish something of a friendly intercourse with the Sixth Form, by 
 asking them, in succession, in parties of four, to dinner with us, 
 and I have them each separately up into my room to look over 
 their exercises. I mean to bring in something like * gatherings * 
 before it is long, for they understand that I have not done with 
 my alterations, nor probably ever shall have ; and I am goiug to 
 have an examination for every form in the school, at the end of 
 the short half-year, in all the business of the half-year. Divinity, 
 Greek and Latin, Arithmetic, History, Geography, and Ohi-onology, 
 with first and second classes, and prize books for those who do well. 
 
 L L 2 
 
516 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 I find that my power is perfectly absolute, so that I have no excuse 
 if I do not try to make the school something like my beau ideal 
 — it is sure to fall far enough short in reality. There has been no 
 flogging yet, (and I hope that there will be none,) and surprisingly 
 few irregularities. I chastise, at first, by very gentle impositions, 
 which are raised for a repetition of offences — flogging will be only 
 my ratio ultima — and talking I shall try to the utmost. I believe 
 that boys may be governed a great deal by gentle methods and 
 kindness, and appealing to their better feelings, if you show that 
 you are not afraid of them. I have seen gi'eat boys, six feet high, 
 shed tears when I have sent for them up into my room and spoken 
 to them quietly, in private, for not knowing their lesson, and I 
 have found that this treatment produced its effects afterwards, in 
 making them do better. But, of coui-se, deeds must second words 
 when needful, or words will soon be laughed at. 
 
 cccxv. 
 
 The Eev. Thomas Arnold, D. Z)., to an old pupil at Oxford. 
 
 February 25, 1833. 
 
 It always grieves me to hear that a man does not like Oxford. 
 I was so happy there myself, and above all, so happy in my friends, 
 that its associations to my mind are purely delightful. But, of 
 course, in this respect, everything depends upon the society you 
 fall into. If this be uncongenial, the place can have no other at- 
 tractions than those of a town full of good libraries. 
 
 The more we are destitute of opportunities for indulging our 
 feelings, as is the case when we live in uncongenial society, the 
 more we are apt to crisp and harden our outward manner to save 
 our real feelings from exposure. Thus I believe that some of the 
 most delicate-minded men get to appear actually coarse from thei 
 unsuccessful efforts to mask their real nature. And I have knowj 
 men disagreeably forward from their shyness. But I doubt whethei 
 a man does not suffer from a habit of self-constraint, and whethei 
 his feelings do not become really, as well as apparently, chilled. II 
 is an immense blessing to be perfectly callous to ridicule; orJ 
 which comes to the same thing, to be conscious thoroughly that 
 what we have in us of noble and delicate is not ridiculous to an] 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 517 
 
 but fools, and that, if fools will laugh, wise men will do well to leL 
 them. 
 
 I shall really be very glad to hear from you at any time, and I 
 will write to the best of my power on any subject on which you 
 want to know my opinion. As for anything more, I believe that 
 the one great lesson for us all is, that we should daily pray for an 
 'increase of faith.' There is enough of iniquity abounding to 
 make our love in danger of waxing cold ; it is well said, therefore, 
 * Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe in God, believe also 
 in Me.* By which I understand that it is not so much general 
 notions of Providence which are our best support, but a sense of 
 the personal interest, if I may so speak, taken in our welfare by 
 Him who died for us and rose again. May His Spirit strengthen 
 us to do His will, and to bear it, in power, in love, and in wisdom. 
 God bless you. 
 
 CCOXVI. 
 
 This letter was written while Coleridge was staying at Fox 
 How with the Doctor's family. 
 
 The Rev. Thomas Arnold, D.D., to Mr. Justice Coleridge. 
 
 Rugby : September 23, 1836. 
 
 If you have the same soft air that is now breathing round us, 
 and the same bright sun playing on the trees, which are full 
 charged with the freshness of last night's i-ain, you must, I think, 
 be in a condition to judge well of the beauty of Fox How. It is a 
 real delight to think of you as at last arrived there, and to feel that 
 the place which we so love is enjoyed by such dear friends, who 
 can enjoy it fully. I congratulate you on your deliverance from 
 Lancaster Castle, and by what you said in your last letter, you are 
 satisfied, I imagine, with the propriety of the verdict. Now you 
 can not only see the mountains afar off, but feel them in eyes, 
 lungs, and mind ; and a mighty iafiuence I think it is. I often 
 used to think of the solemn comparison in the Psalm, ' the hills 
 stand about Jerusalem ; even so standeth the Lord round about 
 His people,' The girdling in of the mountains round the valley 
 of our home is as apt an image as any earthly thing can be of the 
 encircling of the everlasting arms, keeping off evil, and showering 
 all good. 
 
 But my great delight in thinking of you at Fox. How is mixed 
 
518 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 with no repining that I cannot be there myself. We have had 
 our holyday, and it was a long and most agreeable one ; and Neme- 
 sis might well be angry, if I was not now ready and glad to be at 
 work again. Besides, I think that the School is again in a very 
 hopeful state ; the set, which rather weighed us down during the last 
 yc--.r, is now broken and dispersed ; and the tide is again, I trust, 
 at flood, and will, I hope, go on so. You would smile to see the 
 zeal with which I am trying to improve the Latin verse, and the 
 difficulty which I find in doing it. But I stand in amaze at the 
 utter want of poetical feeling in the minds of the majority of boys. 
 They cannot in the least understand either Homer or Yirgil ; 
 they cannot follow out the strong graphic touches which, to an ac- 
 tive mind, suggest such infinitely varied pictures, and yet leave it 
 to the reader to draw them for himself on the hint given. But my 
 delight in going over Homer and Yii-gil with the boys makes me 
 think what a treat it must be to teach Shakespeare to a good class 
 of young Greeks in regenerate Athens ; to dwell upon him, line by 
 line, and word by word, in the way that nothing but a translation 
 lesson ever will enable one to do ; and so to get all his pictures 
 and thoughts leisurely into one's mind, till I verily think one 
 would, after a time, almost give out light in the dark, after having 
 been steeped as it were in such an atmosphere of brilliance. And 
 how could this ever be done without having the process of con- 
 struing, as the grosser medium through which alone all the beauty 
 can be transmitted, because else we travel too fast, and more than 
 half of it escapes us 1 Shakespeare, with English boys, would be 
 but a poor substitute for Homer ; but I confess that I should be 
 glad to get Dante and Goethe now and then in the room of some of 
 the Greek tragedians and of Horace ; or rather not in their room, 
 but mixed up along with them. I have been trying something of 
 this in French, as I am now going through, with the Sixth Form, 
 Barante's beautiful Tableau de la Litterature Frangaise pendant le 
 Dix-huitieme Siecle. 
 
 I thought of you the other day, when one of my fellows trans- 
 lated to me that splendid paragraph, comparing Voltaire to the 
 Babouc of one of his own romances, for I think you first showed 
 me the passage many years ago. Now, by going through Barante 
 in this way, one gets it thoroughly ; and with a really good book, 
 I think it is a gi-eat gain. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 619 
 
 CCCXVII. 
 
 The Rev, Thomas Arnold, D.D., to the Rev. G. Cornish, 
 
 Fox How : July 6, 1839. 
 
 As I believe that the English universities are the best place in 
 the world for those who can profit by them, so I think for the 
 idle and self-indulgent they are about the very worst, and I would 
 fai' rather send a boy to Van Diemen's Land, where he must work 
 for his bread, than send him to Oxford to live in luxury, without 
 any desire in his mind to avail himself of his advantages. Childish- 
 ness in boys, even of good abilities, seems to me to be a growing 
 fault, and I do not know to what to ascribe it, except to the great 
 number of exciting books of amusement, like Pickwick and 
 Nickleby, Bentley's Magazine, &c. &c. These completely satisfy 
 all the intellectual appetite of a boy, which is rarely very voracious, 
 and leave him totally palled, not only for his regular work, which 
 I could well excuse in comparison, but for good literature of all 
 sorts, even for History and for Poetry. 
 
 I went up to Oxford to the Commemoration, for the first time 
 for twenty -one years ; to see Wordsworth and Bunsen receive their 
 degi'ees ; and to me, remembering how old Coleridge inoculated a 
 little knot of us with the love of Wordsworth, when his name was 
 in general a by- word, it was striking to witness the thunders of 
 applause, repeated over and over again, with which he was greeted 
 in the Theatre by Undergraduates and Masters of Arts alike. 
 
 OCOXVHI. 
 
 This letter was written from Leatherhead, and during tbe 
 composition of ' Endymion,' to Mr. Bailey, a very sympathetic 
 friend of Keats, who barely survived him. 
 
 John Keats to W. Bailey. 
 
 October 8, 1817. 
 My dear Bailey, — I refused to visit Shelley, that I might have 
 my own unfettered scope. . . . As to what you say about my 
 being a Poet, I can return no answer but by saying that the high 
 idea I have of poetical fame makes me think I see it towering too 
 high above me. At any rate I have no right to talk until 
 
520 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 * Endymion ' is finished. It will be a test, a trial of my powers of 
 imagination, and chiefly of my invention, — which is a rare thing 
 indeed — by which I must make 4000 lines of one bare circum- 
 stance and fill them with poetry. And when I consider that this 
 is a great task, and that when done it will take me but a dozen 
 paces towards the Temple of Fame, — it makes me say — ' God 
 forbid that I should be without such a task ! ' I have heard Hunt 
 say, and I may be asked, * Why eTideavour after a long poem ? ' To 
 which i should answer, * Do not the lovers of poetry like to have 
 a little region to wander in, where they may pick and choose, and 
 in which the images are so numerous that many are forgotten and 
 found new in a second reading, — which may be food for a week's 
 stroll in the summer ? ' not that they like this better than what they 
 can read through before Mrs. Williams comes down stairs 1 — a 
 morning's work at most. 
 
 Besides, a long poem is a test of invention, which I take to be 
 the polar star of poetry, as Fancy is the sails, and Imagination the 
 rudder. Did our great poets ever write short pieces 1 I mean, in 
 the shape of Tales. This same invention seems indeed of late 
 years to have been forgotten in a partial excellence. But enough 
 of this — I put on no laurels till I have finished ' Endymion,' and 
 I hope ApoUo is not enraged at my having made mockery of him 
 at Hunt's. 
 
 The little mercury I have taken has corrected the poison and 
 improved my health — though I feel from my employment that I 
 shall never again be secure in robustness. Would that you were 
 as well as 
 
 Your sincere Friend and Brother 
 John Keats. 
 
 CCCXIX. 
 
 Written at the most fecund moment of Keats' life, when he 
 had just completed ' Isabella' and ' St. Agnes' Eve,' and had laid 
 * Lamia ' aside unfinished that he might give his whole strength 
 to ' Hyperion.' 
 
 John Keats to W. Reynolds. 
 
 Winchester : August 25, 1819. 
 My dear Reynolds, — By this post I write to Rice, who will 
 tell you why we have left Shanklin, and how we like the place. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 621 
 
 I have indeed scarcely anything else to say, leading so monotonous 
 a life, unless I was to give you a history of sensations and day 
 nightmares. You would not find me at all unhappy in it, as all 
 my thoughts and feelings, which are of the selfish nature, home 
 speculations, every day continue to make me more iron. I am 
 convinced more and more, every day, that fine writing is, next to fine 
 doing, the top thing in the world ; the ' Paradise Lost ' becomes a 
 greater wonder. The more I know what my diligence may in 
 time probably effect, the more does my heart distend with pride 
 and obstinacy. I feel it in my power to become a popular writer. 
 I feel it in my power to refuse the poisonous suffrage of a public. 
 My own being, which I know to be, becomes of more consequence 
 to me than the crowds of shadows in the shape of men and 
 women that inhabit a kingdom. The soul is a world of itself, and 
 has enough to do in its own home. Those whom I know already 
 and who have grown as it were a part of myself, I could not do 
 without ; but for the rest of mankind, they are as much a dream 
 to me as Milton's ' Hierarchies.' I think if I had a free and 
 healthy and lasting organisation of heart, and lungs as strong as 
 an ox so as to be able to bear unhurt the shock of extreme thought 
 and sensation without weariness, I could pass my life very nearly 
 alone, though it should last eighty years. But I feel my body too 
 weak to support me to this height ; I am obliged continually to 
 check myself, and be nothing. 
 
 It would be vain for me to endeavour after a more reasonable 
 manner of writing to you. I have nothing to speak of but my- 
 self, and what can I say but what I feel ? If you should have any 
 reason to regret this state of excitement in me, I will turn the 
 tide of your feelings in the right channel, by mentioning that it 
 is the only state for the best sort of poetry — that is all I care for, 
 all I live for. Forgive me for not filling vip the whole sheet; 
 letters become so irksome to me, that the next time I leave London 
 I shall petition them all to be spared me. To give me credit for 
 constancy, and at the same time waive letter-writing, will be the 
 highest indulgence I can think of. 
 
 Ever your affectionate Friend, 
 
 John Keats. 
 
622 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 CCCXX. 
 
 Daring the very last days of his health, Hood was induced 
 to march across Germany with the 19th Polish Infantry, a 
 regiment in which his friend Franck was an officer. He wrote, 
 * I pass for very hardy, if not foolhardy, I slight the cold so,' and 
 it is to be feared that exposure during this voluntary campaign 
 commenced his fatal illness. This letter was sent from Halle to 
 his child, who was then residing with her mother at Ooblenz. 
 
 Thomas Hood to his Daughter. 
 
 Halle : October 23, 1837. 
 
 My dear Fanny, — I hope ycu are as good still as when I went 
 away — a comfort to your good mother and a kind playfellow to 
 your little brother. Mind you tell him my horse eats bread out of 
 my hand, and walks up to the officers who are eating, and pokes 
 his nose into the women's baskets. I wish T could give you both 
 a ride. I hope you liked your paints ; pray keep them out of 
 Tom's way, as they are poisonous. I shall have rare stories to tell 
 you when I come home ; but mind, you must be good till then, or 
 I shall be as mute as a stockfish. Your mama will show you en 
 the map where I was when I wrote this ; and when she writes 
 will let you put in a word. You would have laughed to see your 
 friend "Wildegans running after the sausage boy to buy a ' wilrst.^ 
 There was hardly an officer without one in his hand smoking hot. 
 The men piled their guns on the grass, and sat by the side "of the 
 road, all munching at once like ogi-es. I had a pocket full of bread 
 and butter, which soon went into my * cavities,' as Mrs. Dilke calls 
 them. I only hope I shall not get so hungry as to eat my horse. 
 I know I need not say, keep school and mind your book, as you 
 love to learn. You can have Minna sometimes, her papa says. 
 
 Now God bless you, my dear little gii-l, my pet, and think of 
 your 
 
 Loving Father 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 623 
 
 CCCXXI. 
 
 This is a fair example of the every-day correspondence of 
 that creature of infinite jest whose life had already become one 
 lono^ and brave struggrle against diseases. Under the name of 
 Peter Priggins is disguised Mr. J. T. Hewlett, one of the chief 
 contributors to ' Hood's Magazine.' 
 
 Thomas Hood to Charles Dickens. 
 
 My Dear Dickens, — Only thinking of the pleasure of seeing 
 you again, with Mrs. Dickens, on Tuesday or Wednesday, I never 
 remembered, till I got home to my wife, who is also my flapper 
 (not a young wild duck, but a Hemembrancer of Laputa), that I 
 have been booked to shoot some rabbits — if I can — at Wantage, 
 in Berks, a reverend friend called ' Peter Priggins,' will be waiting 
 for me, by appointment, at his railway-station on Tuesday. But 
 I must and can only be three or four days absent ; after which, the 
 sooner we have the pleasure of seeing you the better for us. Mrs. 
 Hood thinks there ought to be a ladies' dinner to Mrs. Dickens. 
 I think she wants to go to Greenwich, seeing how much good it 
 has done me, for I went really ill, and came home well. So that 
 occasionally the diet of Gargantua seems to suit me better than 
 that of Panta-^rite^. Well, — adieu for the present. Live, fatten, 
 prosper, write, and draw the mopuses wholesale through Chapman 
 and Havl, 
 
 Yours ever ti*uly 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 cccxxn. 
 
 No one ever wrote brighter or prettier letters to children 
 than Hood. He knew how to restrain the quick march of his 
 wit until their small footsteps could keep pace with it, and 
 then would follow a revel of innocent drollery. This note was 
 addressed to the little daughter of his friend Dr. Elliot. 
 
 Thomas Hood to May Elliot. 
 
 Monday, April 1844. 
 My dear May, — I promised you a letter, and here it is. I was 
 sure to remember it ; for you are as hard to forget, as you are soft 
 
524 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 
 
 to roll down a hill with. What fun it was ! only so prickly, I 
 thought I had a porcupine in one pocket, and a hedgehog in the 
 other. The next time, before we kiss the earth we will have its 
 face well shaved. 
 
 Did you ever go to Greenwich Fair 1 I should like to go there 
 with you, for I get no rolling at St. John's Wood. Tom and 
 Fanny only like roll and butter, and as for Mrs. Hood, she is for 
 rolling in money. 
 
 Tell Dunnie that Tom has set his trap in the balcony and has 
 caught a cold, and tell Jeanie that Fanny has set her foot in the 
 garden, but it has not come up yet. Oh, how I wish it was the 
 season when * March winds and April showers bring forth May 
 flowers ! ' for then of course you would give me another pretty 
 little nosegay. Besides it is frosty and foggy weather, which I 
 do not like. The other night when I came from Stratford, the 
 cold shrivelled me up so, that when I got home, I thought I was 
 my own child ! 
 
 However, I hope we shall all have a merry Christmas ; I mean 
 to come in my ticklesome waistcoat, and to laugh till I grow fat, 
 or at least streaky. Fanny is to be allowed a glass of wine, Tom's 
 mouth is to have a hole holiday, and Mrs. Hood is to sit up to 
 supper 1 There will be doings ! And then such good things to 
 eat; but, pray, pray, pray, mind they don't boil the baby by 
 mistake for the plump pudding, instead of a plum one. 
 
 Give my love to everybody, from yourself down to Willy, 
 with which and a kiss, I remain, up hill and down dale. 
 
 Your affectionate lover 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 cccxxm. 
 
 The last letter, written by this great poet and good man, was 
 addressed to Sir Robert Peel in gratitude for the transfer of a 
 pension of 1 00^ a year from his to Mrs. Hood's name, and in 
 order thoroughly to appreciate the sentiment of this letter 
 we should compare it with that last poem of his composed 
 about the same time, in which he took farewell of life. Happy 
 hi being able to ' smell the rose above the mould,' he could 
 smile at being so near death's door, that, as he said, he could 
 almost fancy he heard the creaking of the hinges. 
 
1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, ..«25 
 
 Thomas Hood to Sir Rohert Peel, 
 
 1845. 
 
 Dear Sir, — We are not to meet in the flesh. Given over by my 
 physicians and myself, I am only kept alive by frequent instalments 
 of mulled port wine. In this extremity I feel a comfort, for 
 which I cannot refrain from again thanking you, with all the 
 sincerity of a dying man, — and, at the same time, bidding you a 
 respectful farewell. 
 
 Thank God my mind is composed and my reason undisturbed, 
 but my race as an author is run. My physical debility finds no 
 tonic virtue in a steel pen, otherwise I would have written one more 
 paper — a forewarning one — against an evil, or the danger of it, 
 arising from a literary movement in which I have had some share, 
 a one-sided humanity, opposite to that Catholic Shaksperian sym- 
 pathy, which felt with King as well as Peasant, and duly estimated 
 the mortal temptations of both stations. Certain classes at the 
 poles of society are already too far asunder ; it should be the duty 
 of our writers to draw them nearer by kindly attraction, not to 
 aggravate the existing repulsion, and place a wider moral gulf 
 between Rich and Poor, with Hate on the one side and Fear on the 
 other. But I am too weak for this task, the last I had set myself; 
 it is death that stops my pen, you see, and not the pension. 
 
 God bless you, sir, and prosper all your measures for the benefit 
 of my beloved country. 
 
 I have the honour to be, Sir, 
 Your most grateful and obedient servant, 
 
 Thos, Hood. 
 
SECTION IV. 
 
 A.D. 1800- 
 
CCCXXIV. 
 
 Tlie following seven letters, the first of wliicli was written 
 at the age of fourteen, are considered to be very characteristic 
 of Lord Macaulay. They are published in this collection by 
 the Mnd permission of Mr. G. Otto Trevelyan. 
 
 Thomas Bahington Macaulay to his Mother. 
 
 Shelford: April 11, 1814. 
 
 My dear Mamma, — The news is glorious indeed. Peace ! 
 peace with a Bourbon, with a descendant of Henri Quatre, with 
 a prince who is bound to us by all the ties of gratitude 1 I have 
 some hopes that it will be a lasting peace, for the troubles of the 
 last twenty years will make kings and nations wiser. I cannot con- 
 ceive a greater punishment to Buonaparte than that which the allies 
 have inflicted on him. How can his ambitious mind support it ? 
 All his great projects and schemes, which once made every thi'one 
 in Europe tremble are buried in the solitude of an Italian isle. 
 How mii'aculously everything has been conducted ! We almost 
 seem to hear the Almighty saying to the fallen tyrant, * For this 
 cause have I raised thee up that I might show in thee My power.' 
 
 As I am in very great haste with this letter I shall have but 
 little time to write. I am sorry to hear that some nameless friend 
 of Papa's denounced my voice as remarkably loud. I have 
 accordingly resolved to speak in a moderate key except on the 
 undermentioned special occasions. Imprimis, when I am speaking 
 at the same time with thi-ee others. Secondly, when I am praising 
 the * Christian Observer.' Thirdly, when I am praising Mr. Preston 
 or his sisters, I may be allowed to speak in my loudest voice, tnat 
 they may hear me. 
 
 I saw to-day the greatest of churchmen, that pillar of Ortho- 
 doxy, that true friend to the Liturgy, that mortal enemy to the 
 Bible Society, — Herbert Marsh, D.D., Professor of Divinity on 
 Lady Margaret's foundation. I stood looking at him for about 
 ten minutes, and shall always continue to maintain that he ib a 
 
 MM 
 
530 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1800- 
 
 very ill-favoured gentleman as far as outward appearance is 
 concerned. I am going this week to spend a day or two at Dean 
 Milner's, where I hope, nothing unforeseen preventing, to see you 
 in about two months' time. 
 
 Ever your affectionate Son, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 CCCXXV. 
 
 In this, and in the followiDg letter, Macaulay is recording 
 bis early impressions of the Rev. Sydney Smith. 
 
 Thomas Babington Macaulay to his Father. 
 
 York: July 21, 1826. 
 
 My dear Father, — The other day as I was changing my neck- 
 cloth which my wig had disfigured, my good landlady knocked at 
 the door of my bedroom, and told me that Mr. Smith wished to 
 see me and was in my room below. Of all names by which men 
 are called there is none which conveys a less determinate idea to 
 the mind than that of Smith. Was he on the circuit ? For I do 
 not know half the names of my companions. Was he a special 
 messenger from London 1 Was he a York attorney coming to be 
 preyed upon, or a beggar coming to prey upon me, a barber to 
 solicit the di'essing of my wig, or a collector for the Jews' 
 Society ] 
 
 Down I went, and to my utter amazement beheld the Smith 
 of Smiths, Sydney Smith, alias Peter Plymley. I had forgotten 
 his very existence till I discerned the queer contrast between his 
 black coat and his snow-white head, and the equally curious 
 contrast between the clerical amplitude of hLs person and the most 
 unclerical wit, whim and petulance of his eye. 
 
 I shook hands with him very heartily ; and on the Catholic 
 question we immediately fell, regretted Evans, triumphed over Lord 
 George Beresford, and abused the Bishops.^ He then very kindly 
 urged me to spend the time between the close of the Assizes and 
 the commencement of the Sessions at his house; and was so 
 hospitably pressing that I at last agreed to go thither on Saturday 
 afternoon. He is to diive me over again into York on Monday 
 
 * Keference is here made to a recent general election. 
 
1877] EXGLISH LETTERS. 631 
 
 morning. T am very well pleased at having this opportunity of 
 becoming better acquainted with a man who, in spite of innu- 
 merable affectations and oddities, is certainly one of the wittiest 
 and most original writers of oui* time. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. M. 
 
 CCCXXVI. 
 
 Thomas Bahington Macavlay to Ms Father. 
 
 Bradford: July 26, 1820. 
 
 My dear Father, — On Saturday I went to Sydney Smith's. 
 His parish lies three or four miles out of any frequented road. 
 He is, however, most pleasantly situated. 'Fifteen years ago,' 
 said he to me as I alighted at the gate of his shrubbery, ' I was 
 taken up in Piccadilly and set down here. There was no house 
 and no garden ; nothing but a bare field.' 
 
 One service this eccentric divine has certainly rendered to the 
 Church. He has built the very neatest, most commodious, and 
 most appropriate rectory that I ever saw. All its decorations are 
 in a peculiarly clerical style, grave, simple, and gothic. The bed- 
 chambers are excellent, and excellently fitted up; the sitting- 
 rooms handsome ; and the grounds sufficiently pretty. Tindal and 
 Parke (not the judge of course,) two of the best lawyers, best 
 scholars, and best men in England, were there. We passed an 
 extremely pleasant evening, and had a very good dinner, and many 
 amusing anecdotes. After breakfast the next morning I walke'i 
 to church with Sydney Smith. The edifice is not at all in keeping 
 with the rectory. It is a miserable little hovel with a wooden 
 belfry. It was, however, well filled, and with decent people, who 
 seemed to take very much to their pastor. I understand that he 
 is a very respectable apothecary ; and most liberal of his skill, his 
 medicine, his soup and his wine, among the sick. He preached a 
 very queer sermon — the former half too familiar and the latter half 
 too florid, but not without some ingenuity of thought and expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Sydney Smith brought me to York on Monday morning in 
 time for the stage-coach which runs to Skipton. We parted with 
 many assurances of good will. I have really taken a great liking 
 
 M M 2 
 
532 EXGLISR LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 to him. He is full of wit, humour, and shrewdness. He is not 
 one of those show talkers who reserve all their good things for 
 5}3ecial occasions. It seems to be his greatest luxury to keep his 
 wife and daughter laughing two or three hours every day. His 
 notions of law, government, and trade are surprisingly clear and 
 just. His misfortune is to have chosen a profession at once above 
 him and below him. Zeal would have made him a prodigy; 
 formality and bigotry would have made him a bishop; but he 
 could neither rise to the duties of his order, nor stoop to its degra- 
 dations. 
 
 He praised my articles in the Edinburgh Review with a warmth 
 which I am willing to bcdieve sincere, because he qualified his com- 
 pliments with several very sensible cautions. My great danger, 
 he said, was that of taking a tone of too much asperity and con- 
 tempt in controvei-sy. I believe that he is right, and I shall ti-y to 
 mend. 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 T. B. M. 
 
 cccxxvn. 
 
 Macaulay's extraordinary power of work is scarcely more 
 than hinted at in this particular letter. Other letters written 
 about the same time to the same friend contain prodigious lists 
 of classical works that had been read with care ; so carefully 
 that, as Mr. Trevelyan assures us, every volume and sometimes 
 every page is interspersed with critical remarks — literary, 
 historical, and grammatical. This was accomplished in the 
 midst of official duties almost too arduous to admit of that 
 repose and ei-ure indispensable to ordinary men; and at a 
 time when the writer was being scurrilously assailed in the 
 Indian Press for his activity in promoting the Black Act, by 
 which all ci^il appeals of certain British residents were to be 
 tided by the Sudder Court instead of the Supreme Court at 
 Calcutta. 
 
 Tlwmas Babington Macauday to Thomas Flower EUis. 
 
 Calcutta: May 30, 1836. 
 Dear Ellis, — I have just received your letter dated Dec. 28. 
 How time flies ! Another hot season has almost passed away, 
 and we are daily expecting the beginning of the rains. Cold 
 sea.son, hot season, and rainy season are all much the same to me. 
 I shall have been two yeai-s on Indian ground in less than a fort- 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 533 
 
 night, and I have not taken ten grains of solid, or a pint of liquid 
 medicine during the whole of that time. 
 
 If I judged only from my own sensations I should say that this 
 climate is absurdly maligned : but the yellow, spectral figures 
 which surround me seem to correct the conclusions which I should 
 be inclined to draw from the state of my own health. 
 
 One execrable effect the climate produces. It destroys all the 
 works of man with scarcely one exception. Steel rusts ; razors lose 
 their edge ; thread decays ; clothes fall to pieces ; books moidder 
 away and drop out of their bindings ; plaster cracks ; timber rots ; 
 matting is in shreds. The sun, the steam of this vast alluvial 
 tract, and the infinite armies of white ants, make such havoc with 
 buildings that a house requires a complete repair every three years. 
 Ours was in this situation about three months ago ; and if we had 
 determined to brave the rains without any precautions we should 
 in all probability have had the roof down on our heads. Accord- 
 ingly we were forced to migrate for six weeks from our stately 
 apartments, and our flower beds, to a dungeon where we were stifled 
 with the stench of native cookery, and deafened by the noise of 
 native music. At last we have returned to our house. We found 
 it all snow-white and pea-green ; and we rejoice to think that we 
 shall not again be under the necessity of quitting it till we quit it 
 for a ship bound on a voyage to London. 
 
 We have been for some months in the middle of what the 
 people here think a political storm. To a person accustomed to 
 the hurricanes of English faction this sort of tempest in a horse- 
 pond is merely ridiculous. We have put the English settlers up 
 the country under the exclusive jurisdiction of the Company's 
 courts in civil actions in which they are concerned with natives. 
 The English settlers are perfectly contented ; but the lawyers of the 
 Supreme Court have set up a yelp which they think terrible, but 
 which has infinitely diverted me. They have selected me as the 
 object of their invectives, and I am generally the theme of five or 
 six columns of prose and verse daily. I have not patience to read 
 a tenth part of what they put forth. The last ode in my praise 
 which I perused began 
 
 Soon we hope, they will recall ye, 
 Torn Macaulay, Tom Macaulay. 
 
534 ENGLISH LETTERS. [^800- 
 
 The last prose which I read was a pai-allel between me and 
 Lord Strafford. 
 
 My mornings, from five to nine, are quite my own. I still give 
 them to ancient Kterature. I have read Aristophanes twice through 
 since Christmas ; and have also read Herodotus, and Thucydides, 
 again. I got into a way last year of reading a Greek play every 
 Sunday. I began on Sunday the 18th of October with the Prome- 
 theus, and next Sunday I shall finish with the Cyclops of Euripides. 
 Euripides has made a comj^lete conquest of me. It has been un- 
 fortunate for him that we have so many of his pieces. It has, on 
 the other hand, I suspect, been foi-tunate for Sophocles that so 
 few of his have come down to us. Almost every play of 
 Sophocles, which is now extant, was one of his masterpieces. 
 There is hardly one of them which is not mentioned \vith 
 high praise by some ancient writer. Yet one of them, the 
 Trachiniae, is to my thinking, very poor and insipid. Now, if 
 we had nineteen plays of Sophocles, of which twelve or thirteen 
 should be no better than the Trachiniae — and if, on the other 
 hand, only seven pieces of Euripides had come down to us, and if 
 those seven had been the Medea, the Bacchse, Iphigenia in 
 Aulis, the Orestes, the Phoenissse, the Hippoly tus, and the Alcestis, 
 — I am not sure that the relative position which the two poets now 
 hold in our estimation would not be greatly altered. 
 
 I Lave not done much in Latin. I have been employed in 
 turning over several third-rate and fourth-rate writers. After 
 finishing Cicero, I read through the works of both the Senecas, 
 father and son. There is a great deal in the Controversiae both 
 of curious information, and judicious criticism. As to the son, I 
 cannot bear him. His style affects me in something the same way 
 as that of Gibbon. But Lucius Seneca's affectation is even more 
 rank than Gibbon's. His works are made up of mottoes. There 
 is hardly a sentence which might not be quoted; but to read him 
 straightforward is like dining on nothing but anchovy sauce. I 
 have read, as one does read such stuff, Valerius Maximus, Annaeus 
 Florus, Lucius Ampelius, and Aurelius Victor. I have also gone 
 through Phaedrus. I am now better employed. I am deep in the 
 Annals of Tacitus, and I am at the same time reading Suetonius. 
 
 You are so rich in domestic comforts that I am inclined to envy 
 you. I am not, however, without my share. I am as fond of my 
 
1877] ENGLISR LETTERS. . 5B5 
 
 little niece as her father. I pass an hour or more every day in 
 nursing her, and teaching her to talk. She has got as far as Ba, 
 Pa, Ma ; which as she is not eight months old, we consider as proofs 
 of a genius little inferior to that of Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton. 
 The municipal elections have put me in good spirits as to 
 English politics. I was rather inclined to despondency. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 cccxxvin. 
 
 The * Eastern Question ' was almost as complicated in the 
 year 1840 as it is to-day. The rehellion of the Sultan's vassals 
 in Egypt had spread into the heart of the Ottoman Empire, and 
 there was every indication that Syria would soon fall an easy 
 prey to France, and Constantinople to Russia. 
 
 England, however, holdly adhered to her traditional policy 
 of maintaining the independence of Turkey •, and it is interest- 
 ing to read the opinion of our great Whig historian of the 
 diplomatic negotiitions conducted hy Lord Palmerston with 
 his usual vigour and fearlessness. 
 
 Thomas Bahington MacavXay to Macvey Napier. 
 
 London : Decemher 8, 1840. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I shall work at my article on Leigh Hunt 
 whenever I have a leisure hour, and shall try to make it amusing 
 to lovers of literary gossip. I will not plague you with my argu- 
 ments about the Eastern Question. My own opinion has long 
 been made up. Unless England meant to permit a virtual parti- 
 tion of the Ottoman Empire between France and Kussia, she had 
 no choice but to act as she has acted. Had the treaty of July not 
 been signed, Nicholas would have been really master of Constanti- 
 nople, and Thiers of Alexandria. The Treaty once made, 1 never 
 would have consented to flinch from it, whatever had been the 
 danger. I am satisfied that the War party in France is insatiable 
 and unappeasable ; that concessions would only have strengthened 
 and emboldened it ; and that after stooping to the lowest humilia- 
 tions, we should soon have had to fight without allies, and at every 
 disadvantage. The policy which has been followed I believe to be 
 not only a just and honourable, but eminently a pacific policy. 
 
 Whether the peace of the world will long be preserved I do 
 not pretend to say ; but I firmly hold that the best chance of pre- 
 
536 . EXGLISH LETIERS. [1800- 
 
 serving it was to make the Treaty of July, and, having made it, to 
 execute it resolutely. For my own part I will tell you plainly 
 that, if the course of events had driven Palmerston to resign, I 
 would have resigned with him, though I had stood alone. Look 
 at what the late IVIinisters of Louis Philippe have avowed with 
 respect to the Balearic Isles. Were such designs ever proclaimed 
 before, except in a crew of pirates, or a den of rohbei-s % T^ook at 
 Barrot's speeches about England. Is it for the sake of such friend- 
 ships as this that our country is to abdicate her rank, and sink 
 into a dependency % I like war quite as little as Sir William 
 Molesworth or Mr. Fonblanque. It is foolish and wicked to 
 bellow for war, merely for war's sake, like the rump of the Moun- 
 tain at Paris. I would never make offensive war. I would never 
 offer to any other power a provocation which might be a fair 
 ground for war. But I never would abstain from doing what I 
 had clear right to do, because a neighbour chooses to threaten me 
 with an unjust war; first, because I believe that such a policy 
 would, in the end, inevitably produce war ; and secondly because 
 I think war, though a very great evil, by no means so great an 
 evil as subjugation and national humiliation. 
 
 In the present case, I think the course taken by the Govern- 
 ment unexceptionable. If Guizot prevails, — ^that is to say, if 
 reason, justice, and public law prevail, — we shall have no war. 
 
 If the writers of the National, and the singei-s of the Marseil- 
 laise prevail, we can have no peace. At whatever cost, at what- 
 ever risk, these banditti must be put down ; or they will put down 
 all commerce, civilization, order, and the independence of nations. 
 
 Of course what I write to you is confidential; not that I 
 should hesitate to proc-aim the substance of what I have said on 
 the hustings, or in the House of Commons ; but because I do not 
 measure my words in pouring myself out to a friend. But I have 
 run on too long, and should have done better to have given the 
 last half-hour to Wycherley. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 63; 
 
 CCOXXIX. 
 
 Mr. Macvey Napier, in his capacity of Editor of the 'Edin- 
 burgh Review/ had unintentionally wounded Leigh Hunt's 
 feelings by requesting him to contribute a 'gentlemanlike' 
 article. The result of the following mediatory letter was a 
 
 fenerous and amiable communication from Napier to Leigh 
 lunt which more than satisfied him. 
 
 Thomas Bahington Macaulay to Macvey N'apier. 
 
 Albany, London : October 30, 1841. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I have received your letter and am truly glad 
 you are satisfied with the effect of my article. As to the prelimi- 
 nary part of the matter, I am satisfied, and more than satisfied. 
 Indeed, as you well know, money has never been my chief object 
 in writing. It was not so even when I was poor ; and at present 
 I consider myself as one of the richest men of my acquaintance ; 
 for I can well afford to spend a thousand a year, and I can enjoy 
 every comfort on eight hundred. I own, however, that your 
 supply comes agreeably enough to assist me in furnishing my 
 rooms, which I have made, unless I am mistaken, into a warj 
 pleasant student's cell. And now a few words about Leigh Hunt. 
 He wrote to me yesterday in great distress, and enclosed a letter 
 which he had received from you, and which had much agitated 
 him. In truth, he misunderstood you; and you had used an 
 expression which was open to some misconstruction. 
 
 You told him that you should be glad to have a "gentleman- 
 like " article from him, and Hunt took this for a reflection on his 
 birth. He implored me to tell him candidly whether he had 
 given you any offence, and to advise him as to his course. I 
 replied that he had utterly misunderstood you ; that I was sure 
 you meant merely a literary critici-m ; that your taste in compo- 
 sition was more severe than his, more indeed than mine ; that you 
 were less tolerant than myself of little mannerisms springing from 
 peculiarities of temper and training ; that his style seemed to yon 
 too colloquial ; that I myself thought he was in danger of excess 
 in that direction ; and that, when you received a letter from him 
 promising a very " chatty " article, I was not surprised that you 
 should caution him against his besetting sin. I said that I was 
 
538 EXGLISn LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 sure that you wished him well, and would be glad of his assist- 
 once ; but that he could not expect a person in your situation to 
 pick his words very nicely; that you had during many years 
 superintended great literary undertakings; that you had been 
 under the necessitj^ of collecting contributions from great numbers 
 of writers, and that you were responsible to the public for the 
 whole. Your credit was so deeply concerned that you must be 
 allowed to speak plainly. I knew that you had spoken to men of 
 the first consideration quite as plainly as to him. I knew that 
 you had refused to insei-t passages written by so great a man as 
 Lord Brougham. I knew that you had not scrupled to hack and 
 hew articles on foreign politics which had been concocted in the 
 Hotels of ambassadors, and had received the imprimatur of Secre- 
 taries of State. I said that, therefore, he must, as. a man of sense, 
 suffer you to tell him what you might think, whether rightly or 
 wrongly, to be the faults of his style. As to the sense which he 
 had put on one or two of your expressions, I took it on myself, as 
 your friend, to affirm that he had mistaken their meaning, and 
 that you would never have used those words if you had foreseen 
 that they would have been so understood. Between ourselves, the 
 word " gentlemanlike" was used in rather a harsh way. Now I 
 have told you what has passed between him and me ; and I leave 
 you to act as you think fit. I am sure that you will act properly 
 and humanely. But I must add that I think you are too hard on 
 his article. As to the Vicar of Wakefield,^ the correction must 
 be deferred, I think, till the appearance of the next number. I 
 am utterly unable to conceive how I can have committed such a 
 blunder, and failed to notice it in the proofs. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
 * Alluding to an unfortunate mistake in a recent article in the 
 * Edinburgh Ee^dew,' which arose from the substitution of the * Vicar of 
 Wakefield ' for < History of Greece,' thereby pronouncing the former work 
 to be a bad one. 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 
 
 CCCXXX. 
 
 In this tno3t interesting letter JMacaulay is his own apoTogi 
 for the tone and diction of what he humbly dedignates as his 
 little historical essays. 
 
 Thomas Babington Macaulay to Macvey Napier. 
 
 Albany, London : April 18, 1842. 
 
 Dear Napier, — I am much obliged to you for your criticisms 
 on my article on Frederic. My copy of the Review I have lent, 
 and cannot therefore refer to it. I have, however, thought over 
 what you say, and should be disposed to admit part of it to be 
 just. Bat I have several distinctions and limitations to suggest. 
 
 The charge to which I am most sensible is that of interlarding 
 my sentences with French terms. I will not positively affirm 
 that no such expression may have dropped from my pen in writing 
 hurriedly on a subject so very French. It is, however, a practice 
 to which I am extremely averse, and into which I could fall only 
 by inadvertence. I do not really know to what you allude ; for 
 as to the words ' Abbe ' and * Parc-aux-Cerfs,' which I recollect, 
 those surely are not open to objection. I remember that I carried 
 my love of English in one or two places almost to the length of 
 affectation. For example, I called the ' Place des Victoires,' the 
 ' Place of Victories ' ; and the ' Fermier General ' D'Etioles, a pub- 
 lican. I will look over the article again, and try to discover to 
 what you allude. The other charge, I confess, does not appear to 
 me to be equally serious. I certainly should not, in regular 
 history, use some of the phrases which you censui-e. But I do not 
 consider a review of this sort as regular history, and I really think 
 that from the highest and most unquestionable authority, I could 
 vindicate my practice. 
 
 Take Addison, the model of pure and graceful writing. In his 
 Spectators I find ' wench,' ' baggage,' * queer old put,' ' prig,' 
 'fearing that they should smoke the knight.' All these expres- 
 sions I met this morning, in turning over two or three of his 
 papers at breakfast. I would no more use the word * bore ' or 
 * awkward squad ' in a composition meant to be uniformly serious 
 and earnest, than Addison would in a State Paper have called 
 
640 EXGLISn LETTEBS. [1800- 
 
 Louis an ' old put,' or liave described Shrewsbury and Argyle as 
 * smoking the design to bring in the Pretender.' 
 
 But I did not mean my article to be uniformly serious p.nd 
 earnest. If you judge of it as you would judge a regular hiistory, 
 your censure ought to go very much deeper than it does, and to be 
 directed against the substance as well as against the diction. 
 
 The tone of many passages, nay of whole pages, would justly 
 be called flippant in a regular history. But I conceive that this 
 sort of composition has its own character, and its own laws. 
 
 I do not claim the honour of having invented it ; that praise 
 belongs to Southey ; but I must say that in some points I have 
 improved upon his design. The manner of these little historical 
 essays bears, I think, the same analogy to the manner of Tacitus 
 or Gibbon which the manner of Ariosto bears to the manner of 
 Tasso, or the manner of Shakespeare's historical plays to the 
 manner of Sophocles. 
 
 Ariosto when he is grave and pathetic, is as grave and pathetic 
 as Tasso ; but he often takes a light fleeting tone which suits him 
 admirably, but wliich in Tasso would be quite out of place. The 
 despair of Constance in Shakespeare is as lofty as that of CEdipus 
 in Sophocles ; but the levities of the bastard Faulconbridge would 
 be utterly out of place in Sophocles. Yet we feel that they are 
 not out of place in Shakespeare. 
 
 So with these historical articles. Where the subject requires 
 it, they may rise, if the author can manage it, to the highest alti- 
 tudes of Thucydides. Then, again, they may without impropriety, 
 sink to the levity and colloquial ease of Horace Walpole's Letters. 
 This is my theory. Whether I have succeeded in the execution is 
 quite another question. You will, however, perceive that I am in 
 no danger of taking similar liberties in my history. 
 
 I do, indeed, greatly disapprove of those notions which some 
 writers have of the dignity of History. For fear of alluding to 
 the vulgar concei-ns of private life, they take no notice of the cir- 
 cumstances which deeply afiect the happiness of nations. But I 
 never thought of denying that the language of history ought to 
 preserve a cei-tain dignity. I would, however, no more attempt to 
 preserve that dignity in a paper like this on Frederic than I would 
 exclude from such a poem as * Don Juan ' slaug terms, because 
 such terms would be out of place in ' Pai^adise Lost,' or Hudi- 
 
 
1877] DKGLISH LETTERS. 541 
 
 brastic rhymes, because such rhymes would be shocking in Pope's 
 Iliad. 
 
 As to the particular criticisms which you have made, I will- 
 ingly submit my judgment to yours, though I think I could say 
 something on the other side. The first rule of all writing— that 
 rule to which every other is subordinate — is that the words used 
 by the writer shall be such as most fully and precisely convey his 
 meaning to the great body of his readers. All considerations about 
 the dignity and purity of style ought to bend to this consideration. 
 To write what is not understood in its whole force for fear of using 
 some word which was unknown to Swift or Dryden, would be, I 
 think, as absurd as to build an Observatory like that at Oxford, 
 from which it is impossible to observe, only for the purpose of 
 exactly preserving the propoi*tions of the Temple of the Winds at 
 Athens. That a word which is appropriate to a particular idea, 
 which everybody high and low uses to express that idea, and which 
 expresses that idea with a completeness which is not equalled by 
 any other single word, and scarcely by any circumlocution, should 
 be banished from writing, seems to be a mere throwing away of 
 power. Such a word as ' talented ' it is proper to avoid ; first, be- 
 cause it is not wanted ; secondly, because you never have it from 
 those who speak very good English. But the word ' shirk ' as 
 applied to military duty is a word which everybody uses ; which 
 is the word, and the only word for the thing ; which in every 
 regiment, and in every ship, belonging to our country is employed 
 ten times a day; which the Duke of Wellington, or Admiral 
 Stopford, would use in reprimanding an officer. To interdict it, 
 therefore, in what is meant to be famiHar, and almost jocose, nar- 
 rative seems to me rather rigid. But I will not go on. I will 
 only repeat that I am truly grateful for your advice, and that if 
 you will, on future occasions, mark with an asterisk any words in 
 my proof sheets which you think open to objection, I will try to 
 meet your wishes, though it may sometimes be at the expense of 
 my own. 
 
 Ever yours most truly, 
 
 T. B. Macaulay. 
 
542 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 CCCXXXI. 
 
 This remarkable letter, written by the historian of the Great 
 Peace (1815), to an Anti-Slavery friend in America, will be read 
 with as much interest to-daj^ as it was when republished in 
 England a quarter of a century ago, after the outbreak of the 
 Crimean War. 
 
 Harriet Martineau to a Friend in America. 
 
 October 1, 1849. 
 
 My dear . . . , — We can think of little else at present than 
 of that which should draw you and us into closer sympathy than 
 even that which has so long existed between us. We, on our side 
 the water, have watched with keen interest the progress of your 
 W^ar of Opinion, — the spread of the great controversy which can- 
 not but revolutionise your social principles and renovate your social 
 morals. For fifteen years past, we have seen that you are ' in for 
 it,' and that you must stand firm amidst the subvei-sion of Ideas, 
 Customs, and Institutions, till you find yourselves encompassed by 
 * the new heavens and the new earth ' of which you have the suro 
 promise and foresight. 
 
 We, — the whole population of Europe, — are now evidently 
 entering upon a stage of conflict no less important in its issues, and 
 probably more painful in its course. You remember how soon 
 after the conclusion of the Napoleonic wars our great Peace Minis- 
 ter, Canning, intimated the advent, sooner or later, of a War of 
 Opinion in Europe ; a war of deeper significance than Napoleon 
 could conceive of, and of a wider spread than the most mischievous 
 of his quaiTels. The War of Opinion which Canning foresaw was 
 in fact a war between the further and nearer ceMuries, — between 
 Asia and Europe — between despotism and self-government. The 
 preparations were begun long ago. The Barons of Runnymede 
 beat up for recruits when they hailed the signature of Magna 
 Charta, and the princes of York and Lancaster did their best to 
 clear the field for us, and those who are to come after us. The 
 Italian Republics wrought well for us, and so did the French 
 Revolutions, one after the other, as hints and warnings ; and so 
 did the voyage of your Mayflower — and the Swiss League, and 
 German Zollverein, and in short everything that has happened for 
 
1877 J ENGLISH LETTERS. 643 
 
 several hundreds of years. Everything has tended to bring onr 
 continent and its resident nations to the knovi^ledge that the first 
 principles of social liberty have now to be asserted and contended 
 for, and to prepare the assertors for the greatest conflict that the 
 human race has yet witnessed. It is my belief that the war has 
 actually begun, and that, though there may be occasional lulls, no 
 man now living will see the end of it. 
 
 Russia is more Asiatic than European. It is obscure to us 
 who live nearest to her where her power resides. We know only 
 that it is not with the Emperor, nor yet with the people. The 
 Emperor is evidently a mere show, — being nothing except while he 
 fulfils the policy or pleasure of the unnamed power which we can- 
 not discern. But, though the ruling power is obscure, the policy 
 is clear enough. The aim is to maintain and extend despotism ; 
 and the means chosen are the repression of mind, the corruption of 
 conscience, and the reduction of the whole composite population of 
 Kussia to a brute machine. For a gi-eat lapse of time, no quarter 
 of a century has passed without some country and nation having 
 fallen in, and become a compartment of the great machine ; and, 
 the fact being so, the most peace-loving of us can hardly be sorry 
 that the time has come for deciding whether this is to go on, — 
 whether the Asiatic principle and method of social life are to domi- 
 nate or succumb. The struggle will be no contemptible one. The 
 great tarantula has its spiderclaws out and fixed at inconceivable 
 distances. The people of Russia, wretched at home, are better 
 qualified for foreign aggression than for any thing else. 
 
 And if, within her own empire, Russia knows all to be loose 
 and precarious, poor and unsound, and with none but a military 
 organisation, she knows that she has for allies, avowed or concealed, 
 all the despotic tempers that exist among men. Not only such 
 governments as those of Spain, Portugal, Rome and Austria, are in 
 reality the allies of Eastern barbarism ; but all aristoci-acies, all 
 self-seekers, be they who and where they may. It is a significant 
 sign of the times that territorial alliances are giving way before 
 political afiinities, the mechanical before the essential union; and, 
 if Russia has not for allies the nations that live near her frontier, 
 she has those men of every nation who prefer self-will to freedom. 
 
 This corrupted * patriarchal ' system of society (but little su- 
 perior to that which exists in your slave States) occupies one-half 
 
5 14 ENGLISH LETTERS. [ISOO- 
 
 of the great battle field where the hosts are gathering for the fight. 
 On the other, the forces are ill-assorted, ill-organised, too little pre- 
 pared ; but still, as having the better cause, sure, I trust, of final 
 victory. The conflict must be long, because our constitutions are, 
 like yours, compromises, our governments as yet a mere patch- 
 work, our popular liberties scanty and adulterated, and great 
 masses of our brethren hungiy and discontented. We have not a 
 little to sti'uggle for among ourselves, when our whole force is 
 needed against the enemy. In no country of Europe is the repre- 
 sentative system of government more than a mere beginning. In 
 no countiy of Europe is human brotherhood practically asserted. 
 Kowhere are the principles of civilisation of "Western Europe 
 determined and declared, and made the ground- work of organised 
 action, as happily your principles are as against those of your 
 slave-holding opponents. 
 
 But, raw and ill-organised as are our forces, they will be strong 
 sooner or later, against the serried armies of the Asiatic policy. 
 If, on the one side, the soul comes up to battle with an impei-fect 
 and ill defended body, on the other, the body is wholly without a 
 soul, and must, in the end, fall to pieces. The best part of the 
 mind of Western Europe will make itself a body by dint of action, 
 and the pressure which must bring out its forces ; and it may be 
 doubted whether it could become duly embodied in any other way. 
 What forms of society may aiise as features of this new growth, 
 neither you nor I can say. We can only ask each other whether, 
 witnessing as we do the spread of Communist ideas in every free 
 nation of Europe, and the admission by some of the most cautious 
 and old-fashioned observers of social movements that we in Eng- 
 land cannot now stop short of * a modified communism,' the result 
 is not likely to be a wholly new social state, if not as yet un- 
 dreamed-of social idea. However this may be, while your slave 
 question is dominant in Congress, and the Dissolution of your 
 Union is becoming a familiar idea, and an avowed inspiration, our 
 crisis is no less evidently approaching. Russia has Austria under 
 her foot, and she is casting a corner of her wide pall over Turkey. 
 England and France are awake and watchful ; and so many men 
 of every country are astir, that we may rely upon it that not only 
 are territorial allmnces giving way before political affinities, but 
 national ties will give way almost as readily, if the piinciples of 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 515 
 
 social liberty should demand the disintegration of nations. Let us 
 not say, even to ourselves, whether we regard such an issue with 
 hope or fear. It is a possibility too vast to be regarded but with 
 simple faith and patience. In this spirit let us contemplate what 
 is proceeding and what is coming, doing the little we can by the 
 constant assertion of the principles of social liberty, and a perpetual 
 watch for opportunities to stimulate human progress. 
 
 Whether your conflict will be merely a moral one, you can 
 form a better idea than I. Ours will consist in a long and bloody 
 warfare — possibly the last, but inevitable now. 
 
 The empire of brute force can conduct its final struggle only by 
 brute force ; and there are but few yet on the other side who have 
 any other notion or desire. While I sympathise wholly with you 
 as to your means as well as your end, you will not withhold your 
 sympathy from us because our heroes still assert their views and 
 wills by exposing themselves to wounds and death in the field 
 and assenting once more to the old non sequitur about Might and 
 Eight. Let them this time obtain the lower sort of Might by the 
 inspiration of their Right, and in another age, they will aim higher. 
 But I need not thus petition you ; for I well know that whei*e 
 there is most of Eight, there will your sympathies surely rest. 
 
 Believe me your friend, 
 
 Harriet Martineau. 
 
 cccxxxn. 
 
 Miss Novello has knitted a purse for Douglas Jerrold, and 
 the pungent satirist bethinks himself with some shame of all 
 the cutting things he has said about woman. He sits down 
 accordingly to write a palinode, and thinks to conceal his fault 
 by lavishing compliments on the sex, but the cloven foot of the 
 would-be cynic peeps out. 
 
 Douglas Jerrold to Miss Sabilla Novello. 
 
 Putney Green : June 9, 1852. 
 Dear Miss Novello, — I thank you very sincerely for your pre- 
 sent, though I cannot but fear its fatal effects upon my limited 
 fortunes, for it is so very handsome that whenever I produce it I 
 feel that I have thousands a year, and as in duty bound, am inclined 
 to pay accordingly. I shall go about, to the astonishment of all 
 omnibii men, insisting upon paying sovereigns for sixpences. 
 
 N N 
 
546 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1800- 
 
 Happily, however, this amiable insanity will cure itself (or I 
 may always bear my wife with me as a keeper). 
 
 About this comedy. I am writing it under the most signifi- 
 cant warnings. As the Eastern king — name unknown, at least to 
 me — kept a crier to warn him that he was but mortal and must 
 die, and so to behave himself as decently as it is possible for any 
 poor king to do, so do I keep a flock of eloquent geese that continu- 
 ally, within ear-shot, Ciickle of the British public. Hence, 1 trust 
 to defeat the bii\ls of the Haymarket by the birds of Putney. But 
 in this comedy I do contemplate such a heroine, as a set-off to the 
 many sins imputed to me as committed against woman, whom I have 
 always considered to be an admirable idea imperfectly worked out. 
 Poor soul ! she can't help that. Well, this heroine shall be woven 
 of moon-beams — a perfect angel, with one wing cut to keep her 
 among us. She shall be all devotion. She shall hand over her 
 lover (never mind his heart, poor wretch !), to her grandmother, 
 who she suspects is very fond of him, and then, disguising herself 
 as a youth, she shall enter the British navy and return in six 
 years, say, with epaulets on her shoulders, and her name in the 
 Navy List rated post-captain. You will perceive that I have 
 Madame Celeste in my eye — am measuring her for the uniform. 
 And young ladies will sit in the boxes, and with tearful eyes, and 
 noses like rose-buds, say, " What magnanimity ! " And when this- 
 great work is done — this monument of the very best gilt ginger- 
 bread to woman set up on the Haymarket stage, you shall, if you 
 will, go and see it, and make one to cry for the author, rewarding 
 him with a crown of tia-foil, and a shower of sugar-plum a. 
 
 In lively hope of that ecstatic moment, I remain, yours truly, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 cccxxxin. 
 
 Barry Oorrrwall was the first person to discover the quaint 
 genius ot Beddoes, that Elizabetlian dramatist born out of his 
 due time, and stru/g]ingin vain against an unsympathetic gene- 
 ration. Some of the best of Beddoes' letters, all of whiL^h teem 
 with forcible and original literary thought, were addressed to 
 Pi-octer. It should perhaps be noticed that Ajax Flagellifer 
 was George Barley, then fulminating as critic to the ' London 
 Magazine,' and that the ' last author ' is Beddoes himself, who 
 was engaged in composing hia ' Death's Jest-Book.' 
 
1877] EXGLISH LETTERS, 647 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes to Bryan Waller Procter, 
 
 Bristol : March 3, 1824. 
 
 Dear Procter, — I have just been reading your epistle to our 
 Ajax Flagellifer, the bloody John Lacy : on one point, where he ia 
 most vulnerable, you have omitted to place your sting, — I mean 
 his palpable ignorance of the Elizabethans, and many other drama- 
 tic writers of this and preceding times, with whom he ought to 
 have formed at least a nodding acquaintance, before he offered him- 
 self as physician to Melpomene. 
 
 About Shakespeare you don't say enough. He was an incar- 
 nation of nature, and you might just as well attempt to remodel 
 the seasons, and the laws of life and death, as to alter ' one jot or 
 tittle* of his eternal thoughts. * A star' you call him : if he was 
 a star, all the other stage-scribblers can hardly be considered a 
 constellation of brass buttons. I say he was an universe ; and all 
 material existence, with its excellences and defects, was reflected in 
 shadowy thought upon the chrystal waters of his imagination,, 
 ever-glorified as they were by the sleepless sun of his golden intel- 
 lect. And this imaginary universe had its seasons and changes, its 
 harmonies and its discords, as well as the dii-ty reality ; on the snow- 
 maned necks of its winter hurricanes rode madness, despair, and* 
 * empty death, with the winds whistling through the white grating 
 of his sides ; ' its summer of poetry, glistening through the drops of 
 pity ; and its solemn and melancholy autumn, breathing deep 
 melody among the * sere and yellow leaves' of thunder-stricken life, 
 (tc. &c. (See Charles Phillips's speeches and X. Y. Z. for the 
 completing furbelow of this paragraph.) By the 3rd scene of th& 
 4th act of Macbeth, I conclude that you mean the dialogue between 
 Malcolm and Macduff, which is only part of the scene ; for the 
 latter part, from the entrance- of Eosse, is of course necessary to 
 create an interest in the destined avenger of Duncan,, as well as to 
 fcet the last edge to our hatred of the usurper. The Doctor's speech 
 is merely a compliment to the ' right divine' of people in turreted 
 night-caps to cure sores a Httle more expeditiously than Dr. Solo- 
 mon; and is, too, a little bit of smooth chat,, to show, by Macduff's 
 manner, that he has not yet heard of Ids wife's murder. 
 
 I hope Guzman has grown since I saw him, and has improved 
 in vice. 
 
 NN 2 
 
548 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800^ 
 
 I shall be in London in about a week, and hope to find you in 
 your Franciscan eyrie — singing among the red brick boughs, and lay- 
 ing tragedy-eggs for Covent Garden market. So you * think this last 
 author will do something extraordinary : * — so do I too ; I should not 
 at all wonder, if he was to be plucked for his degree, — which would 
 be quite delightful and new. 
 
 This March wind has blown all my sense away, and so fare- 
 welL 
 
 CCCXXXIV. 
 
 The following letters have been selected from the recently 
 published Memoirs of the late Mr, 0. J. Mathews, by one of his 
 personal friends, as being among the most characteristic of the 
 great comedian. It will be remarked that the genial freshness 
 and humour common to tlie first two letters is preserved in 
 the third, in spite of the lapse of more than half a century. But 
 then X\\v», highly accomplished gentleman was always young 
 and genial and kind. 
 
 Charles J. Mathews to his Father. 
 
 Crater of Vesuvius ! ! ! January 23, 1824. 
 My dear Father, — I flatter myself I have chosen a situation 
 suflSciently piquant to write you a letter. Here I am on that 
 mountain, the talk and wonder of the world^ the terror of thou- 
 sands ! Not merely on it, but positively in the crater ! in it ! I 
 surrounded with smoke and fire ! standing on ashes, cinders, brim- 
 stone, and i^ulphur ! ! How little are the people I look down upon 
 at this moment ! They are Kke the Spanish fleet, they cannot be 
 seen ; the King and all the royal family, all the pomp of the world 
 is lost ; all its vices, virtues, pleasures, pains, are forgotten. How 
 truly may life be compared to a broomstick ! Now is the time, if 
 ever it car anive, that Seven Dials, and even Islington, is for- 
 gotten ! Now are the Tottenham, Olympic, and Royalty Theatres 
 despised ! What a scene of horror is around me ! Fields of deso- 
 lation, burning torrents, smoke, liquid fire, and every implement 
 of destruction ! I can no more ; I am overwhelmed with the mag- 
 nificence of my own imagination, I sink under the terrors invented 
 and embodied by my own poetical mind. Immediately below me 
 is an extinguished crater, into which three yeai-s ago a Frenchman 
 precipitated himself. He remained three days at a little hermitage 
 
 I 
 
1877J ENGLISH LETTERS. 549 
 
 on the mountain, and wrote some notes to his friends in Naples, 
 His object, he said, was to collect stones and various specimens of 
 lava, for the E,oyal Museum at Paris. On the third day he went 
 out as usual to collect and examine the volcanic matter on the 
 mountain, and on approaching this crater — then in action — desired 
 the guide to fetch him a particular stone at a little distance off, 
 but on the instant of his turning his back, he threw himself head- 
 long into the burning crater. The guide instantly ran to the spot, 
 but only in time to see him thrown up, and immediately reduced 
 to a cinder. His reason he left among his papers. He said he 
 had long been disgusted with the world and had determined to 
 destroy himself, but that the last blow had been given him by a young 
 lady, to whom he was so much attached, having married in his 
 absence and contrary to her vows of fidelity to himself. 
 
 About half-way up the mountain is a hermitage, where we take 
 some refreshment on our journey, which is necessary enough, for 
 the labour is very great to arrive at the summit, walking on cin- 
 ders, and each step that is taken brings the sufierer a yard lower 
 than he was before. In the hermitage is an album, as usual in all 
 show places, for fools to write nonsense in. I only found two bits 
 worth copying. Les voilk. 
 
 * John Hallett of the Port of Poole, England, went to Mount 
 Vesuvius on the 20 of Oct. 1823, and I wood Kecomend aney 
 person that go ther to take a bottle of wine there, for it his a dry 
 place and verrey bad rode.' 
 
 ' 1823. I have witnessed the famous mountain of Vesuvius in 
 Italy, and likewise the Wicklow mountains in Ireland which I 
 prefer, they talk of the lava in a Palaver I little undei-stand, and 
 as for the crater, give me a drop of the swait cratur of Dublin in 
 preference. — James O'Connor.' 
 
 I write as you may suppose in high spirits, and conclude with 
 saying that thougj you and your spouse ai-e only my distant I'ela- 
 tions, that I shall always be entirely yours, 
 
 Charles James Mathews 
 
650 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1800- 
 
 ccoxxxv 
 
 Charles J. Mathews to his Mother. 
 
 Palazzo Belvedere, Naples : March 11, 1824. 
 
 My dear Mother, — In snubbijig me for my love of writing on 
 exterior subjects, or rather my not mentioning those of our interior, 
 you are not aware of what you desire. All onr occupations nearly 
 are external, our indoor employments are always the same, and 
 therefore uninterestuig in the description. But since you are 
 determined to be made acquainted with our domesticities I shall 
 give you one day. 
 
 In the morning we generally rise from our beds, couches, floors, 
 or whatever we happen to have been reposing upon the night 
 before, and those who have morning-gowns and slippers put them 
 on as soon as they are up. We then commence the ceremony of 
 washing, which is longer or shorter in its duration, according to 
 the taste of the persons who use it. You will be glad to know 
 that from the moment Lady Blessington awakes she takes exactly 
 one hour and a half to the time she makes her appearance, when 
 we usually breakitxst ; this prescience is remarkably agreeable, as 
 we can always calculate thus upon the probable time of our break- 
 fasting ; there is sometimes a difference of five or six minutes, but 
 seldom more. This meal taking place latish in the day, I always 
 have a pi^emature breakfast in my own room the instant I am up, 
 which prevents my feeling that hunger so natural to the human 
 frame from long fasting. After our collation, if it be fine, we set 
 off to see sights, walks, palaces, monasteries, views, galleries of 
 pictures, antiquities, and all that sort of thivjg ; if rainy, we set to 
 dra^ving, wiiting, reading, billiards, fencing, and everything in the 
 vjorld. At dinner we generally contrive to lay in a stock of 
 viands that may last us through the evening and sometimes suc- 
 ceed. After dinner, as well as several times in the course of the 
 day, we go up and pay a visit to poor ' Prim-rose,' ^ who, it is 
 supposed, will be allowed to walk a little in the course of two or 
 three months more. Should we leave before that she must go 
 home by sea, as the motion of a carriage would certainly much 
 injure her. 
 
 * Miss Power, Lady Blessington's aster. 
 
18771 ENGLISH LETTERS. 551 
 
 In the evening each person arranges himself (and herself) at 
 his table and follows his own concerns till about 1 o'clock, when 
 we sometimes play whist, sometimes talk, and are always de- 
 lightful ! About half- past eleven we retire with our flat candle- 
 sticks in our hands, after wishing each other the compliments of 
 the season and health to wear it out. Thursdays usually, and 
 Sundays, the Italian master comes, though for the present we 
 have dropped him. 
 
 More Particulars. 
 
 At dinner Lady B takes the head of the table, Lord B 
 
 left, Count D'Orsay on her right, and I at the bottom. We have 
 generally for the first service a joint and five entrees; for the 
 second, a roti and five entrees, including sweet things. The name 
 of our present cook is Raffelle, and a very good one when he likes. 
 
 This is the nature of our day in the house. Almost all the 
 interest of Naples, and indeed of all Italy, is among the wonderful 
 curiosities with which every city and its environs is overstocked. 
 
 I am more and more anxious to know the result of my 
 father's entertainment. With best love to him, believe me, my 
 dear mother, 
 
 Your affectionate Son, 
 
 C. J. Mathews. 
 
 P.S. Lord B always cuts his own hair with a pair of 
 
 scissors I ! 1 
 
 CCCXXXVI. 
 
 Written the year before his death at the age of 74, on the 
 occasion of a benefit to the late Mr. John Parry, when Mr. 
 Mathews was to play Sir Fretful Plagiary and Puff in the 
 'Critic' 
 
 Charha J, Mathews to the Manager of the Gaiety Theatre, 
 69, Belgrave Road : February 6, 1877, 4 p.m. 
 I cannot tell you how disappointed I am at not being able to 
 assist at the benefit of my dear old friend John Parry to-morrow. 
 I should have been delighted to put my best leg forward. But 
 alas ! at this moment I have no one leg that is better than the 
 other. That agreeable complaint, so airily spoken of by those who 
 never had it, as * a touch of the gout,' has knocked me off" my pins 
 
652 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 altogether. Your gout is a sad enemy to light comedy (we young 
 light comedians are only men after all) and how could I, in the 
 character; of Puff, talk to Sneer and Dangle of my ' hopping and 
 skipping about the stage with my usual activity,' while hobbling 
 on by the aid of a stick ? (I have sometimes been badly supported 
 even by two). 
 
 It is the first time I ever disappointed the public on a similar 
 occasion, and only comfoi-t myself with the reflection that I shall 
 not be missed among so many; and that, after all, so that the 
 illustrious John be in good form, the audience will be amply grati- 
 fied, and pardon my unavoidable absence. 
 
 I need not wish Parry success — one who has never known any- 
 thing else, and can only envy those who are able once more to 
 witness and enjoy it. 
 
 I send no doctor's certificate. I wish I was enabled to do so. 
 But if any one doubts, all the harm I wish him is that he should 
 exchange places with me for four- and- twenty houi's. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 C. J. Mathews. 
 
 cccxxxvn. 
 
 A chatty letter from the pen of the popular noveUst, 
 written when he was at the meridian of his literary fame, will 
 probably be interesting. 
 
 Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton to Lady Blessington. 
 
 January 23, 1835. 
 
 Yerily, my dearest friend, you regale me like Prince Pretty- 
 man, in the Fairy Isle. I owe you all manner of thanks for a 
 most delicate consideration, in the matter of twelve larks, which 
 flew hither on the wings of friendship yesterday ; and scarcely had 
 I recovered from their apparition, when lo, the rushing pinions of 
 a brace of woodcocks. 
 
 Sappho and other learned persons tell us that Yenus drove 
 sparrows ; at present she appears to have remodelled her equipage 
 upon a much more becoming and attractive feather. I own that 
 I have always thought the Dove himself a fool to the Woodcock, 
 whom, for his intrinsic merits, I would willingly crown King of 
 the tribe. As for your eagle, he is a Carlist of the old regime, a 
 
1877] EXGLISH LETTERS. 653 
 
 mere Bourbon, good for nothing, and pompous ; but the Wood- 
 cock, parlez moi de ga, be has the best qualities both of head and 
 heart ; and as for beauty, what opera-dancer ever had such a leg % 
 I have given their two majesties into Rembault's honourable 
 charge, and hope they will be crowned to-morrow as a matter of 
 
 COURSE. 
 
 Many thanks for the volume of Monsr. de B . . . — You are 
 right. I never saw a cooler plagiarism in my life. I shall cer- 
 tainly retaliate upon M. de B . . . the moment I can find anything 
 in him worth stealing ! Yet the wretch has talent, and his French 
 seems to me purer and better (but I am a very poor judge) than 
 that of most of his contemporaries. But then he has no elevation, 
 and therefore no true genius, and has all the corruptions of vice 
 without her brilliancy. Good Heaven ! has the mighty mischief 
 of Yoltaire transmigrated into such authorlings. They imitate his 
 mockery, his satire. They had much better cobble shoes. 
 
 I don't (pardon me) believe a word you say about the * Two 
 Friends.' If it have no passion, it may be an admirable novel 
 nevertheless. Miss Edgeworth has no passion ; — and who in her 
 line excels her ? 
 
 As to your own doubts they foretell your success. I have 
 always found, one is never so successful as when one is least san- 
 guine. I fell in the deepest despondency about * Pompeii' and 
 
 * Eugene Aram ' ; and was certain, nay, most presumptuous about 
 
 * Devereux,' which is the least generally popular of my writings. 
 
 Your feelings of distiust are presentiments to be read back- 
 ward ; they are the happiest omens. But I will tell you all about 
 it — Brougham-like — when I have read the book. As to what I 
 say in the preface to ' Pelham,' the rules that I lay down may not 
 suit all. But it may be worth while to scan over two or three 
 common-place books of general criticism, such as Blair's * Belles 
 Lettres,' Campbell's ' Bhetoric,' and Schlegel's * Essay on the 
 Drama,' and his brother's on * Literature.' 
 
 They are, it is true, very mediocre, and say nothing of novels 
 to signify ; but they will suggest to a thoughtful mind a thousand 
 little maxims of frequent use. Recollect all that is said of poetry 
 and the drama may be applied to novels ; but after all, I doubt 
 not you will succeed equally without this trouble. Reflection in 
 one's chamber, and action in the world, are the best critics. With 
 
654 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 them we can dispense with other teachers; without them all 
 teachers are in vain. ' Fool ! ' (says Sidney in the Arcadia), ' Fool ! 
 look in thy heart and write ! * E. L. B. 
 
 CCCXXXVIIL 
 
 * "ETaud Immemor' is the title of a brochure written and pri- 
 Tately printed in Philadelphia fifteen years ago in memory of 
 the late Mr. Thackeray. It consists of a few personal recollec- 
 tions of the goitleman to whom the following letters were 
 written, and with whom Mr. Thackeray became intimately 
 acquainted on the occasion of his visit to America in 1853 for 
 the purpose of deUvering a course of lectures on the English 
 Humourists, Mr. Reed remarks: 'There are two classes of 
 people in eveiy American microcosm, those who run after cele- 
 brities, and those, resolute not to be pleased, who run, as it were, 
 against them. All were won or conquered by his simple 
 naturalness.' As the brochure, containing the following and 
 other letters from the pen of the great satirist, was published 
 some years ago in ' Blackwood,' the editor is glad to be able to 
 enrich his collection with two such characteristic examples with- 
 out disrespect to their author's objection to the publication of hi" 
 correspondence. 
 
 William M. Thackeray to the Hon. IF. B. Reed. 
 
 Mr. Anderson's Music Store, Penn's Avenue, 
 Friday ,(1853.) 
 
 My dear Reed, — (I withdraw the Mr. as wasteful and ridiculous 
 excess), and thank you for the famous autograph, and the kind 
 letter enclosing it, and the good wishes you form for me. There 
 are half a dozen houses I already know in Philadelphia where I 
 could find very pleasant friends and company ; and that good old 
 library would give me plenty of acquaintance more. But home 
 and my parents there, and some few friends I have made in the 
 25 years, and a tolerably fair prospect of an honest livelihood on 
 the familiar London flag-stones, and the library at the Athenaeum, 
 and the ride in the Park, and the pleasant society afterwards ; and 
 a trip to Paris now and again, and to Switzerland and Italy in 
 the summer — these are little temptations which make me not dis- 
 contented with my lot, about which I grumble only for pastime, 
 and because it is an Englishman's privilege. 
 
 Own now that all these recreations here enumerated have a 
 pleasant sound. I hope I shall live to enjoy them yet a little 
 
18771 ENGLISH LETTERS. 555 
 
 wliile, before I go to * Nox et domus exilis Plutonia,' whither poor, 
 kind, old Peter has vanished. So that Saturday I was to have 
 dined with him, and Mrs. Peter wrote, saying, he was ill with 
 influenza, he was in bed with his last illness, and there were to be 
 no more Whister parties for him. Will Whister himself, hos- 
 pitable, pig- tailed shade, welcome him to Hades ] And will they 
 sit down — no, stand up — to a ghostly supper, devouring the 
 l(f>8ilj.ovg ipvxaQ of oysters and all sorts of birds 1 I never feel pity 
 for a man dying, only for survivors, if there be such, passionately 
 deploring him. 
 
 You see the pleasures the undersigned proposes to himself here 
 in future years — a sight of the Alps, a holiday on the Rhine, a 
 ride in the Park, a colloquy with pleasant friends of an evening. 
 If it is death to part with these delights (and pleasures they are 
 and no mistake), sure the mind can conceive others after wai*ds ; 
 and I know one small philosopher who is quite ready to give up 
 these pleasures ; quite content (after a pang or two of separation 
 from dear friends here), to put his hand into that of the summoning 
 Angel and say, ' Lead on, messenger of God our Father, to the 
 next place whither the Divine Goodness calls us.' We must be 
 blindfolded before we can pass. I know ; but I have no fear about 
 what is to come, any more than my children need fear that the 
 love of their father should fail them. I thought myself a dead 
 man once, and protect the notion gave me no disquiet about myself 
 — at least the philosophy is more comfortable than that which is 
 tinctured with brimstone. 
 
 The Baltimoi-eans flock to the stale old lectures as numerously 
 as you to . . . Philadelphia. Here, the audiences are more polite 
 than numerous ; but the people who do come are very well pleased 
 with their entertainment. I have had many dinners — Mr. Everett, 
 Mr. Fish, our Minister, ever so often the most hospitable of envoys. 
 I have seen no one at all in Baltimore, for it is impossible to do 
 the two towns together ; and from this I go to Eichmond and 
 Charleston — not to New Orleans, which is too far. And I hope 
 you will make out your visit to Washington, and that we shall 
 make out a meeting more satisfactory than that dinner at New 
 York, which did not come off. The combination failed which I 
 wanted to bi-ing about. Have you heard Miss Fumess of Phila- 
 delphia sing 1 She is the very best ballad-singer I ever heard. And 
 
556 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 will yon please remember me to Mrs. Reed, and youi- bvother, and 
 "WTiai-ton, and Lewis, and his pretty young daughter ; and believe 
 me, always faithfully yours, dear Reed, 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 CCCXXXIX. 
 
 William M, Thache^-ay to the Hon. W. B. Reed. 
 
 Neufchatel, Switzerland : July 21, 1853. 
 
 My dear E-eed, — Though I am rather slow in paying the tailor, 
 I always pay him ; and as with tailors, so with men ; I pay my 
 debts to my friends, only at rather a long day. Thank you for 
 writing to me so kindly, you who have so much to do. I have 
 only begun to work ten days since, and now, in consequence, have 
 little leisure. Before, since my return from the West, it was 
 flying from London to Paris, and vice versa — dinners right and 
 left — parties every night. If I had been in Philadelphia, I could 
 scarcely have been more feasted. Oh, you unhappy Reed ! I see 
 you (after that little supper with McMichael) on Sunday, at your 
 own table, when we had that good sherry-madeira, turning aside 
 from the wine cup with your pale face ! That cup has gone down 
 this well so often, that I wonder the cup isn't broken, and the well 
 as well as it is. Three weeks of London were more than enough 
 for me, and I feel as if I had had enough of it and of pleasui-e. 
 Then I remained a month with my parents ; then I brought my 
 girls on a little pleasuring tour. We spent 10 days at Baden, when 
 I set intrepidly to work again ; and have been five days in Swit- 
 zerland now, not bent on going up mountains, but on taking 
 things easily. How beautiful it is ! How pleasant ! How great 
 and affable, too, the landscape is ! It's delightful to be in the 
 midst of such scenes — the ideas get generous reflections from them. 
 I don't mean to say my thoughts grow mountaiuous and enormous 
 like the Alpine chain yonder — but, in fine, it is good to be in the 
 presence of this noble nature. It is keeping good company ; keep- 
 ing away mean thoughts. I see in the papers now and again 
 accounts of fine parties in London. Bon Dieu ! Is it possible 
 any one ever wanted to go to fine London parties, and are there 
 now people sweating in May-fair routs % 
 
 The European Continent swarms with your people. They are 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 657 
 
 not all as polished as Chesterfield. I wish some of them spoke 
 French a little better. I saw five of them at supper, at Basle, the 
 other night with their knives down theii* throats. It was awful. 
 My daughter saw it, and I was obliged to say : ' My dear, your 
 great-gi'eat grandmother, one of the finest ladies of the old school I 
 ever saw, always applied cold steel to her victuals. It's no crime 
 to eat with a knife,' which is all very well, but I wish five of 'em 
 at a time wouldn't. 
 
 Will you please beg McMichael, when Mrs. Glyn, the English 
 tragic actress, comes to read Shakespeare in your city, to call on 
 her — do the act of kindness to her, and help her with his valuable 
 editorial aid ? , I wish we were going to have another night soon, 
 and that I was going this very evening to set you up with a head- 
 ache against to-morrow morning. By Jove, how kind you all 
 were to me ! How I like people, and want to see 'em again ! 
 You are more tender-hearted, romantic, sentimental, than we are. 
 I keep on telling this to our fine people here, and have so bela- 
 boured your — (Here, the paper on being turned revealed a pen 
 and ink caricature. At the top is written, ' Pardon this rubbish- 
 ing picture : but I didn't see, and can't afford to write page 3 over 
 again) — your country with praise in private that I sometimes 
 think I go too far. I keep back some of the truth : but the great 
 point to try and ding into the ears of the great, stupid, virtue- 
 proud English is, that there are folks as good as they in America. 
 That's where Mrs. Stowe's book has done harm, by inflaming us 
 with an idea of our own superior virtue in freeing our blacks, 
 whereas you keep yours. Comparisons are always odorous, as Mrs. 
 Malaprop says. 
 
 I am about a new story, but don't know as yet if it will be 
 any good. It seems to me I am too old for story telling ; but I 
 want money, and shall get 20,000 dollars for this, of which (D.Y.) 
 I'll keep fifteen. I wish this rubbish (the sketch) were away ; I 
 might put written rubbish in its stead. Not that I have anything 
 to say, but that I always remember you and youi'S, and honest 
 Mac, and Wharton, and Lewis, and kind fellows who have been 
 kind to me, and I hope will be kind to me again. 
 
 Good bye, my dear Reed, and believe me, ever sincerely yours, 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. 
 
658 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 CCOXL. 
 
 The greatest proof of Charles Dicltens's high spirits was the 
 inventive skill he devoted (with no little expenditure of time) 
 to such whimsical jokes as that of pretending an attachment to 
 the Queen. The following letter, written immediately after her 
 Majesty's marriage in 1840, was addressed to his friend, Mr. T. 
 J. Thompson, the father of the painter of the ' Roll Call.' Mr. 
 Wakley, to whom reference is made in Mr. Dickens's postscript, 
 was coroner at that date. 
 
 diaries Dickens to Mr. T, J. Thompson. 
 
 Devonshire Terrace : Thursday morning. [1840.] 
 My dear Thompson, — .... Maclise and I ar§ raving wdth 
 love for the Queen, with a hopeless passion whose extent no tongue 
 can tell, nor mind of man conceive. On Tuesday we sallied down 
 to Windsor, prowled about the Castle, saw the corridor and their 
 private rooms, Nay, the very bedchamber (which we know from 
 having been there twice), lighted up with such a ruddy, homely, 
 brilUant glow, bespeaking so much bliss and happiness, that I, your 
 humble servant, lay down in the mud at the top of the Long ^Yalk 
 and refused all comfort — to the immeasurable astonishment of a 
 few straggling passengers who had survived the drunkenness of the 
 previous night. After perpetrating sundry other extravagances, 
 we returned home at midnight in a post-chaise, and now we wear 
 marriage medals next our hearts and go about with pockets full of 
 portraits, which we weep over in secret. Forster was with us at 
 AVindsor, and (for the joke's sake), counterfeits a passion too, but 
 
 HE DOES NOT LOVE HER. 
 
 Don't mention this unhappy attachment. I am very wi-etched, 
 and think of l«a\i.ng my home. My wife makes me miserable, and 
 when I hear the voices of my infant children, I bui-st into tears. 
 I fear it is too late to ask you to take this house, now that you 
 have made such arrangements of comfort in Pall Mall ; but if you 
 will, you shall have it very cheap — furniture at a low valuation — 
 money not being so much an object as escaping from the family. 
 For God's sake turn this matter over in your mind, and please to 
 ask Captain Kincaide what he asks — his lowest terms, in short, 
 for ready money — for that post of Gentleman-at-Arms. I must 
 b3 near her, and I see no better way than that — for the present. 
 
 I have on hand three numbers of ' Master Humphrey's Clock,' 
 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 559 
 
 and the two first chapters of ' Barnaby.' "Would you like to buy 
 them % Writing any more in my present state of mind is out of the 
 question. They are written in a pretty fair hand, and when I am in 
 the Serpentine may be considered curious. Name your own terms. 
 
 I know you don't like trouble, but I have ventured, notwith- 
 standing, to make you an executor of my will. There won't be a 
 great deal to do, as there is no money. There is a little bequest 
 having reference to her which you might like to execute. I have 
 heard on the Lord Chamberlain's authority that she reads my 
 books and is very fond of them. I think she will be sorry when 
 I am gone. I should wish to be embalmed, and to be kept (if 
 practicable), on the top of the Triumphal Arch at Buckingham 
 Palace when she is in town, and on the north-east turrets of the 
 
 Round Tower when she is at Windsor 
 
 .... From your distracted and blighted friend, 
 
 C. D. 
 
 Don't show this to Mr. Wakley if it ever comes to that. 
 
 CCCXLI. 
 
 Two days after the birth of his fifth child Charles Dickens 
 received an invitation from three of his intimate friends to dine 
 at Richmond. This is the amusing reply. 
 
 Charles Dickens to Messrs. Forster, Maclisej and Stanfield. 
 Devonshire Lodge : January 17, 1844. 
 
 Fellow Countrymen, — The appeal with which you have hon- 
 oured me, awakens within my breast emotions that are more 
 easily to be imagined than described. Heaven bless you. I shall 
 indeed be proud, my friends, to respond to such a requisition. I 
 had withdrawn from Public Life— I fondly thought for ever — to 
 pass the evening of my days in hydropathical pursuits, and the 
 contemplation of virtue. For which latter purpose, I had bought 
 a looking-glass. But, my friends, private feeling must ever yield 
 to a stern sense of public duty. The Man is lost in the Invited 
 Guest, and I comply. Nurses, wet and dry; apothecaries; 
 mothers-in-law ; babbies ; with all the sweet (and chaste) delights 
 of private life; these, my countrymen, are hard to leave. But 
 you have called me forth, and I will come. Fellow Countrymen, 
 your friend and faithful servant, Charles Dickens. 
 
560 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1800- 
 
 CCCXLH. 
 
 Mrs. Cowden Clarke joined Dickens' Amateur Dramatic Cora- 
 panv in 1848 and took the part of Dame QuJckly with much 
 success. She has recorded with pleasant enthusiasm the gaiety 
 and joyous excitement of this frolic stroll throujrh the pro- 
 vince< of which Dickens was the heart and soul. The troupe 
 returned to London to find ordinary life very dull and hum- 
 drum, and it was in the midst of this first natural depression 
 that the * Implacable Manager ' wrote this engaging note. The 
 initials Y.G. and G.L.B. refer to the names Dickens had given 
 himself of Young Gas, and Gas-Light Boy. 
 
 Charles Dickens to Mary Goivden Clarke. 
 
 Devonshire Terrace : July 22, 1848. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I have no energy whatever, I am very 
 miserable. I loathe domestic hearths I yearn to be a vagabond. 
 Why can't I marry Mary? Why have I seven children — not 
 engaged at sixpence a night a-piece, and dismissible for ever, if they 
 tumble down, not taken on for an indefinite time at a vast ex- 
 pense, and never, — no never, never, — wearing lighted candles 
 round their heads. I am deeply miserable. A real house like 
 this is insupportable, after that canvas farm wherein I was so 
 happy. What is a humdrum dinner at half-past five, with nobody 
 (but John) to see me eat it, compared with that soup, and the hun- 
 dreds of pairs of eyes that watched its disappearance 1 Forgive 
 this tear. It is weak and foolish, I know. 
 
 Pray let me divide the little excursional excesses of the journey 
 among the gentlemen, as I have always done before, and pray 
 believe that I have had the sincerest pleasure and gratification in 
 your co-operation and society, valuable and interesting on all 
 public accounts, and personally of no mean worth nor held in 
 slight regard. 
 
 You had a sister once when we were young and happy — I 
 think they called her Emma. If she remember a bright being 
 ■who once flitted like a vision before her, entreat her to bestow a 
 thought upon the ' Gas ' of depai*ted joys. I can w^rite no more. 
 
 * Y. G.' The (darkened) * G. L. B.' 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 561 
 
 CCCXLIII. 
 
 Written on tlie occasion of the youngest child of Charles 
 Dickens leaving home to join his brother in Australia. Mr. 
 Forster, in his Life of this most widely popular of modern 
 writers, says of this letter, * Those who most intimately knew 
 Dickens will know best that every word is written from his 
 heart, and is radiant with the truth of his nature.' 
 
 Charles Dickens to his Youngest Child. 
 
 September, 1868. 
 I write this note to-day because your going away is much upon 
 my mind, and because I want you to have a few parting v/ords 
 from me, to think of now and then at quiet times. I need not 
 tell you that I love you dearly, and am very, very sony in my 
 heart to part with you. But this life is half made up of paitings, 
 and these pains must be borne. It is my comfort and ray sincere 
 conviction that you are going to try the life for which you are best 
 fitted. I think its freedom and wildness more suited to you than 
 any experiment in a study or office would have been : and without 
 that training, you could have followed no other suitable occupa- 
 tion. What you have always wanted until now, has been a set, 
 steady, constant purpose. I therefore exhort you to persevere in a 
 thorough determination to do whatever you have to do, as well as 
 you can do it. I was not so old as you are now, when I first had 
 to win my food, and to do it out of this determination ; and I 
 have never slackened in it since. Never take a mean advantage 
 of any one in any transaction, and never be hard upon people who 
 are in your power. Try to do to others as you wo-uld have them 
 do to you, and do not be discouraged if they fail sometimes. It is 
 much better for you that they should fiiil in obeying the gi'eatest 
 rule laid down by Our Saviour than that you should. I put a 
 New Testament among your books for the very same reasons, and 
 with the very same hopes, that made me write an easy account of 
 it for you, when you were a little child. Because it is the best 
 book that ever was, or will be, known in the world ; and because 
 it teaches you the best lessons by which any human creature, who 
 tries to be truthful and faithful to duty, can possibly be guided. 
 As your brothers have gone away, one by one, I have written to 
 
 o o 
 
662 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 eacli such words as I am now writing to you, and have entreated 
 them all to guide themselves by this Book, putting aside the inter- 
 pretations and inventions of man. You will remember that you 
 have never at home been harassed about religious observances, or 
 mere formalities. I have always been anxious not to weary my 
 children with such things, before they are old enough to form 
 opinions respecting them. You will therefore understand the 
 better that I now most solemnly impress upon you the truth and 
 beauty of the Christian EeKgion, as it came from Christ Himself, 
 and the impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but 
 heartily respect it. Only one thing more on this head. The more 
 we are in earnest as to feehng it, the less we are disposed to hold 
 forth about it. Never abandon the wholesome practice of saying 
 your own private prayers, night and morning. I have never 
 abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it. I hope you 
 will always be able to spy in after life, that you had a kind father. 
 You cannot show your affection for him so well, or make him so 
 happy, as by doing your duty. 
 
 CCCXLIV. 
 
 So many of the Rev. F. W. Robertson's letteTS are charac- 
 teristic of their writer, and the writer himself was so. great and 
 good a man that even in this book of specimens one hesitates 
 to intrude such fragmentary recognition of him without apology. 
 No man in our day has exercised greater self-denial in the pursuit 
 of the high function of influencing men for good. The bodily 
 disease which aflhcted and troubled him so poio^nantly might 
 have been cured had he taken needful rest ; but he never seems 
 to have relaxed for a single moment the fascinating grasp which 
 his strong liberalism, his devout earnestness, and particularly 
 his fearlessness of purpose enabled him to retain over his con- 
 gregation and his personal friends. 
 
 As Mr. Stopford Brooke, his biographer, remarks, * He seems 
 to have been rather /e^^ than seen by men.' 
 
 Ths Rev. F. W. Robertson to . 
 
 July, 1851. 
 
 I wish I did not hate preaching so much, but the degradation 
 
 of being a Brighton preacher is almost intolerable. ' I cannot dig, 
 
 to beg I am ashamed ; ' but I think there is not a hard-working 
 
 artiisan whose work does not seem to me a worthier and higher 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 563 
 
 being than myself. I do not depreciate spiritual work — I hold 
 it higher than secular ; all I say and feel is, that by the change 
 of times the pulpit has lost its place. It does only part of that 
 whole which used to be done by it alone. Once it was newspaper, 
 schoolmaster, theological treatise, a stimulant to good works, histo- 
 rical lecture, metaphysics, &c., all in one. Now these are par- 
 titioned but to different officers, and the pulpit is no more the 
 pulpit of thi*ee centuries back, than the authority of a master of a 
 household is that of Abraham, who was soldier, butcher, sacrificer, 
 shepherd, and emir in one person. Nor am I speaking of the 
 ministerial office ; but only the ' stump orator ' portion of it — and 
 that I cannot but hold to be thoroughly despicable. I had an 
 
 hour's baiting from Mrs. yesterday, in reference, no doubt, to 
 
 what the papers have been saying, and to reports of my last 
 sermons. She talked very hotly of the practice of laying all 
 faults at the door of the aristocracy, whereas it was the rich city 
 people, on whom she lavished all her (supposed) aristocratic scorn, 
 who were in fault, because they would live like nobles. Besides, 
 did not the nobles spend their money, and was not that support of 
 the poor 1 I wasted my time in trying to explain to her that 
 expenditure is not production ; that J50,000 a year spent is not 
 ;^50,000 worth of commodities produced, and adds nothing to the 
 real wealth of the country. I tried to show her that twenty 
 servants are not supported by their master, but by the laboui'ers 
 who raise their corn and make their clothes ; and that twenty- 
 beings taken off the productive classes throws so much more labour 
 upon those classes. Of course such things are necessary; only 
 employment does not create anything. Men engaged in carrying 
 dishes or in making useless roads are employed, no doubt. But 
 this labour does the country no good ; and the paying of them for 
 their labour, or the mere giving in charity, may make a fairer dis- 
 tribution of the wealth there is, but does not go one step towards 
 altering the real burden of the country or producing new wealth. 
 Extravagant expenditure impoverishes the countiy. This simple 
 fact I could not make her comprehend. Then she got upon poli- 
 tical preaching — abused it very heartily — acknowledged that 
 religion had to do with man's political life, but said a clergyman's 
 duty is to preach obedience to the powers that be — was rather 
 puzzled when I asked her whether it were legitimate to preach 
 
 o o2 
 
564 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1800- 
 
 from James v. 1 : ' Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl,' &c. 
 — asked whether it was possible for old women and orphans to 
 understand such subjects, to which I replied, * No ; and if a clergy- 
 man refuse to touch on such subjects, which belong to real 
 actual life, the men will leave his church ; and, as is the case in 
 the Church of England, he will only have charity orphans who are 
 compelled to go, and old women to preach to.' 
 
 On Monday I had a long visit from . He wanted me to 
 
 preach in Percy Chapel for some schools. I refused. The system 
 of 'starring' it through the country is a contemptible one. If 
 there is a feeble light in any man, the glowworm is the type which 
 nature has given for his conduct, to shine or glimmer quietly in 
 his own place, and let the winged insects come to the light if they 
 like. Whereas the fireflies which fly in the West Indies, ob- 
 truding themselves about in people's faces, are caught and put 
 under a watch-glass by the inhabitants, to show them what o'clock 
 it is by night. When they have been used up they are thrown 
 aside, and no one stops to see whether they live or die. The quiet 
 little glowworm is seen only by those that love it. Birds of prey 
 are asleep. W^hat a pretty little fable might be made of this ! 
 For men and women it is true. She who will be admired, flashing 
 her fuU-dressed radiance in the foolish or rather wise world's face, 
 will be treated like the firefly, used to light up a party or to flirt 
 with, and then &c. &c. 
 
 CCCXLV. 
 The Rev. F. W. Robertson to 
 
 My dear , — I implore you, do not try morphine ever, no, 
 
 not once. I will trust you not to do so, not to take any opiate 
 whatever. I ask it humbly. Pledge me your word that you will 
 honourably comply with this, in the letter and in the spirit too. 
 It is a wicked and cowardly attempt to rule the spirit by the flesh. 
 It is beneath you. If you do it I can honour you no longer ; the 
 results upon the system are slow, sure, and irreparable, and the 
 habit grows until it is unconquerable. I am deeply, anxiously in 
 earnest. You are not worthy the fidelity of my friendship if 3'ou 
 tiy to drown misery in that way. Except in the grossness of the 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 66S 
 
 effect, wliere is the difference between the opiate and the dram ? 
 Do you not know what keeps the gin palaces opsn ? — Misery ! 
 The miserable go there to forget. You must not, and shall not do 
 it, for it is degradation. I would have you condescend to no 
 miserable materialism to escape your sorrow. Remember what 
 Maria Theresa said when she began to doze in dying, ' I want to 
 meet my God awake.' Remember that He refused the medicated 
 opiate on the cross. Meet misery awake. May I borrow sacred 
 words : * Having begun in the spiiit, do not be made perfect 
 through the flesh.' Summon the force to bear out of your own 
 heart, and the divine that dwells there — not out of a laudanum 
 bottle. I have spoken ruggedly, but not rudely. Forgive me ; I 
 am not myself to-night ; I would gladly sustain the depression I 
 feel, by opiate, or by anything else ; but I resist, because it is 
 despicable. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 COCXLVI. 
 
 Charles Kingsley at the outset of his curate life was vege- 
 tating in a somewhat primitive fashion in a thatched cottage at 
 Eversley. Except at Sandhurst, there was no society in and 
 about his parish, and he makes the following plaintive appeal to 
 an old college friend. 
 
 The Eev. Charles Kingsley to Mr. Wood. 
 
 Eversley: 1842. 
 Peter ! — Whether in the glaring saloons of Almack's, or 
 making love in the equestrian stateliness of the park, or the 
 luxurious recumbency of the ottoman, whether breakfasting at 
 one, or going to bed at three, thou art still Peter, the beloved of 
 my youth, the staff of my academic days, the regret of my paro- 
 chial retirement ! — Peter ! I am alone ! Around me are the 
 everlasting hills, and the everlasting bores of the country ! My 
 parish is peculiar for nothing but want of houses and abundance 
 of peat bogs ; my parishioners remarkable only for aversion to 
 education, and a predilection for fat bacon. I am wasting my 
 sweetness on the desert air — I say my sweetness, for I have given 
 up smoking, and smell no more. Oh, Peter, Peter, come down 
 and see me ! that I could behold your head towering above the 
 'fir-trees that surround my lonely dwelling. Take pity on me ! I 
 
566 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 am like a kitten in the washhouse copper with the lid on ! And, 
 Peter, prevail on some of your friends here to give me a day's 
 trout-fishing, for my hand is getting out of practice. But, Peter, I 
 am, considering the oscillations and perplex circumgurgitations of 
 this piece-meal world, an improved man. I am much more happy, 
 much more comfortable, reading, thinking, and doing my duty — 
 much more than ever I did before in my life. Therefore I am not 
 discontented with my situation or regretful that I buried my first- 
 class in a country curacy, like the girl who shut herself up in a 
 band-box on her wedding night {vide Rogers's * Italy '). And my 
 lamentations are not general (for I do not want an inundation of 
 the froth and tide-wash of Babylon the Great), but particular, 
 being solely excited by want of thee, oh Peter, who are very 
 pleasant to me, and wouldst be more so if thou wouldst come and 
 eat my mutton, and drink my wine, and admire my sermons, some 
 Sunday at Eversley. 
 
 Your faithful friend, 
 
 Boanerges Roak-at-the-Clods 
 
 CCCXLVII. 
 
 Mr. James Brooke, a British subject, was cruising in the 
 Eastern Seas in his yacht, the 'Royalist' (armed with a few six- 
 pounders), at the time the Dyaks were in a state of insur- 
 rection at Sarawak against the Sultan of Borneo. Mr. Brooke 
 visited Sarawak and volunteered his aid in suppressing the 
 rebels. Some time afterwards the Sultan conferred on him the 
 title of Rajah and Governor of Sarawak. 
 
 Rajah Brooke set to work to reform the government, and 
 with the assistance of some English ships of war, he extir- 
 pated piracy. Visiting England in 1848 he was created a 
 Knight Commander of the Bath. But certain influential people 
 who were hostile to his severe treatment of the natives charged 
 him with butchering unoffending people on the pretext of exter- 
 minating a few pirates. 
 
 Mr. Kingsley did not share in this view. ' Westward Ho * 
 was dedicated to Rajah Sir James Brooke and Bishop Selwyn, 
 
 TJie Rev. Charles Kingshy to J. M. Ludlow, 
 
 I have an old * crow to pick with you ' about my hero. Rajah 
 Biooke 3 and my spirit is stirred within me this morning by seeing 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 667 
 
 that the press are keeping up the attack on him for the Borneo 
 business. I say at once that I think he was utterly right and 
 righteous. If I had been in his place I would have done the same. 
 If it is to do again, I trust he will have courage to do it again. 
 But, thank God, just because it is done it will not have to be done 
 again. 
 
 The truest benevolence is occasional severity. It is expedient 
 that one man die for the people. One tribe exterminated, if need 
 be, to save a whole continent. * Sacrifice of human life 1 ' Prove 
 that it is human life. It is beast-life. 
 
 These Dyaks have put on the image of the beast, and they must 
 take the consequence. ' Yalue of life % ' Oh, Ludlow, read history ; 
 look at the world, and see whether God values mere physical 
 existence. Look at the millions who fall in war ; the mere fact 
 that savage races, though they breed like rabbits, never increase in 
 number ; and then, beware lest you reproach your Maker. Christ 
 died for them 1 Yes, and He died for the whole creation as well — 
 the whole world, Ludlow — for the sheep you eat, the million 
 animalcules which the whale swallows at every gape. They shall 
 all be hereafter delivered into the glorious liberty of the children 
 of God ; but, as yet, just consider the mere fact of beasts of prey, 
 the countless destruction which has been going on for ages and 
 ages, long before Adam's fall, and then consider. Physical death is 
 no evil. It may be a blessing to the survivors. Else, why pestilence, 
 famine, Cromwell and Perrot in Ireland, Charlemagne hanging 
 four thousand Saxons over the Weser Bridge ; did not God bless 
 those terrible righteous judgments 1 Do you believe in the Old 
 Testament ] Surely, then, say, what does that destruction of the 
 Canaanites mean 1 If it was right, Rajah Brooke was right. If he 
 be wrong, then Moses, Joshua, David, were wrong. No ! I say. 
 Because Christ's kingdom is a kingdom of peace, because the meek 
 alone shall inherit the earth, therefore you Malays and Dyaks of 
 Sarawak, you also are enemies to peace. * Your feet swift to shed 
 blood, the poison of asps under your lips ; ' you who have been 
 warned, reasoned with ; who have seen, in the case of the surround- 
 ing nations, the strength and happiuess which peace gives, and will 
 not repent, but remain still murderers and beasts of prey — You 
 are the enemies of Christ, the Prince of peace ; you are beasts, all 
 the more dangerous, because you have a semi-human cunning. I 
 
568 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 will, like David, * hate you with a perfect hatred, even as though 
 you were my enemies.' I will blast you out with grape and 
 rockets, * I will beat you as small as the dust before the wind/ 
 You, the strange children that dissemble with me, shall fail, and be 
 exterminated, and be afraid out of your infernal river-forts, as the 
 old Canaanites were out of their hill-castles. I say, honour to a 
 man, who, amid all the floods of sentimental coward cant, which by 
 some sudden revulsion may, and I fear will, become coward cruelty, 
 dares act manfully on the broad sense of right, as Rajah Brooke 
 is doing. Oh, Ludlow, Ludlow, recollect how before the '89 men 
 were maundering about universal peace and philanthropy, too loving 
 to hate God's enemies, too indulgent to punish sin. Recollect how 
 Robespierre began by refusing, on conscientious principles, to assist 
 at the punishment of death ! Just read, read the last three 
 chapters of the Revelations, and then say whether these same 
 organs of destrnctiveness and combativeness, which we now-a-days, 
 in our Manich seism, consider as the devil's creation, may not be 
 part of the image of God, and Christ the Son of God, to be used 
 in His Service and to His glory, just as much as our benevolence 
 or our veneration. Consider — and the Lord give thee grace to 
 judge what I say. I may be wrong. But He will teach us both ; 
 and show this to Maurice, and ask him if I am altogether a fiend 
 therein. . . 
 
 I have been seeing lately an intimate friend of Rajah Brooke, 
 and hearing things which make me love the man more and more. 
 
 I think the preserving that great line of coast from horrible 
 outrage, by destroying the pirate fleet, was loving his neighbour as 
 himself. 
 
 CCCXLVIII. 
 
 Of the three gifted daughters of the Rev. P. Bronte, of 
 Haworth Parsonage, Charlotte (Ourrer Bell) was the last sur- 
 vivor. She died March 31, 1855. Although her writings were 
 frequently the subject of hostile criticism she modestly forbore 
 to assert herself. The privileore of telling an incurious public 
 the story of a pure and unselfish life was accorded to Mrs. Gas- 
 kell. Her estimate of the extent of the gap in the republic of 
 letters which the death of the authoress of ' Jane Eyre ' and 
 * Villette ' had caused, was abundantly confirmed, and in no in- 
 stance more worthily than in the following amende honorable 
 from the pen of the late Charles Kingsley. 
 
1877] JENGLISH LETTERS, 6G9 
 
 The Rev. Charles Kingsley to Mrs. Gaskdl. 
 
 St. Leonards : May 14, 1857. 
 
 Let me renew our long-interrupted acquaintance by compli- 
 menting you on poor Miss Bronte's * Life.' You have had a 
 delicate and a great work to do, and you have done it admirably. 
 Be sure that the book will do good. It will shame literary people 
 into some stronger belief that a simple, virtuous, practical home- 
 life, is consLstent with high imaginative genius ; and it will shame, 
 too, the prudery of a not over cleanly though carefully white- 
 washed age, into believing that purity is now (as in all ages till 
 now) quite compatible with the knowledge of evil. I confess that 
 the book has made me ashamed of myself * Jane Eyre ' I hardly 
 looked into, very seldom reading a work of fiction — yours, indeed, 
 and Thackeray's are the only ones I care to open. * Shirley ' 
 disgusted me at the opening, and I gave up the writer and her 
 books with a notion that she was a person who liked coarseness. 
 How I misjudged her ! and how thankful I am that 1 never put a 
 word of my misconceptions into print, or recorded my misjudgments 
 of one who is a whole heaven above me. 
 
 Well have you done your work, and given us the picture of a 
 valiant woman made perfect by sufferings. I shall now read care- 
 fully and lovingly every word she has written, especially those 
 poems, which ought not to have fallen dead as they did, and which 
 seem to be (from a review in the current Fraser) of remarkable 
 strength and purity. 
 
 OCCXLIX. 
 
 Mr. Charles Kingsley very much objected to be called 
 a 'Muscular Christian.' In taking notice of a review^ by a 
 clergyman in which this term is applied to him he is making an 
 exception to his rule never to reply to the critics. 
 
 The Rev. Charles Kingsley to a Clergyman. 
 
 October 19, 1858. 
 
 Dear Sir, — A common reviewer, however complimentary or 
 
 abusive, would have elicited no answer from me ; but in your notice 
 
 of me, there is — over and above undeserved kind words — an evident 
 
 earnestness to speak the truth and do good, which makes me write 
 
670 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 frankly to you. You have used that, to me painful, if not offen- 
 sive, term * Muscular Christianity.' My dear Sir, I know of no 
 Christianity save one, which is the likeness of Christ, and the same 
 for all men, viz., to be transformed into Christ's likeness, and to 
 consecrate to His service, as far as may be, all the powers of body, 
 soul, and spii'it, regenerate and purified in His Spirit. All I wish to 
 do is, to Gay to the strong and healthy man, even though he be not 
 very learned, or wise, or even delicate-minded — in the aesthetic 
 sense : ' You too, can serve God with the powers which He has 
 given you. He will call you to account for them, just as much as 
 he will call the parson, or the devout lady.' 
 
 You seem to be of the same mind as some good-natured youth, 
 who, in reviewing me the other day, said that I must never have 
 known aught but good health, never had an ache in my life. 
 As if one could know health, without having known sickness, 
 or joy — without having known sorrow ! . . . May God grant 
 that you may never go through what I have done of sickness, 
 weakness, misery, physical, mental, spiritual. You fancy that 
 I cannot sympathise with the struggles of an earnest spirit, 
 fettered, tormented, crushed to the very earth by bodily weak- 
 ness and sickness. If I did not, I w^ere indeed a stupid and 
 a bad man ; for my life for fifteen years was nothing else but that 
 struggle. But what if, when God gave to me suddenly and 
 strangely health of body and peace of mind, I learnt what a price- 
 less blessing that corpus sanum was, and how it helped — humi- 
 liating as the confession may be to spiritual pride — to the producing 
 of mentem sanam % What if I felt bound to tell those who had 
 enjoyed all their life that health which was new to me, what a 
 debt they owed to God, how they must and how they might pay 
 that debt % Whom have I wronged in so doing ? What, too, if it 
 has pleased God that I should have been born and bred and have 
 lived ever since in the tents of Esau ] What if — by no choice of 
 my own — my relations, and friends should have been the hunters 
 and fighters? What if, during a weakly youth, I was forced 
 to watch — for it was always before my eyes — Esau rejoicing 
 in his strength, and casting away his birthright for a mess 
 of pottage ? What if, by long living with him, I have learnt 
 to love him as Iny own soul, to understand him, his capa- 
 bilities, and weaknesses ? Whom have I wronged therein ? What 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 671 
 
 if I said to myself, Jacob has a blessing, but Esau has one also, 
 though his birthright be not his ; and what blessing he has he shall 
 know of, that he may earn it 1 Jacob can do well enough without 
 me. He has some 15,000 clergy, besides dissenting preachers, 
 taking care of him (though he is pretty well able to take care of 
 himself, and understands sharp practice as well as he did in his 
 father Isaac's time), and telling him that he is the only ideal ; and 
 that Esau is a poor, profane blackguard, only fit to have his blood 
 poured out like water on Crimean battle-fields, while Jacob sits 
 comfortably at home, making money, and listening to those who 
 preach smooth things to him 1 And what if, when I tried, I fovmd 
 that Esau would listen to me j that he had a heart as well as 
 Jacob ', that he would come to hear me preach, would ask my 
 advice, would tell me his sorrows, would talk to me about his 
 mother, and what he had learnt at his mother's knee, because he 
 felt that I was at least one of like passions as himself, who had 
 been tempted on all points like as he was, and with many sins % 
 What if he told me at the same time that he could not listen to 
 Jacob's private chaplains, that he did not understand them, nor 
 they him ; that he looked on them with alternate fear and contempt 1 
 If I said to myself more and more clearly as the years rolled on, 
 I will live for Esau and with Esau ; — if I be called a gluttonous 
 man and a wine-bibber, the friend of publicans and sinners, there is 
 One above me who was called the same, and to Him I commit 
 myself and my work ; — it is enough for me that He knows my 
 purpose, and that on Crimean battle-fields and Indian marches, 
 poor Esau has died with a clearer conscience and a lighter heart 
 for the words which I have spoken to him. If I have said this, 
 whom have I wronged 1 I have no grudge against Jacob and his 
 preachers; only when I read the 17th verse of the 3rd chapter of 
 Kevelations, I tremble for him, and for England, knowing well that 
 on Jacob depends the well-being of England, whether physical, 
 intellectual, or spiritual, and that my poor Esau is at best food 
 for powder. God help him ! 
 
 But surely there is room in God's kingdom for him, and for 
 one parson ; though, thank God, there is more than one who will 
 teach him what God requires of him. Therefore my mind is made 
 up. As long as Esau comes to me as to a friend ; and as long as 
 Esau's mother comes to me to save her child from his own passions 
 
572 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 
 
 and appetites — wotild God that I could do it ! — so long shall I 
 labour at that which, if I cannot do it well, seems to me the only 
 thing which I can do. 
 
 CCCL. 
 
 By the kindness and courtesy of Sir Theodore "Martin, the 
 Editor has received permission to publish the following con- 
 tributions from the letters of the late Prince Consort- The first 
 most characteiistic example does not appear in so complete a 
 form in Sir Theodore's 'Life of the Prince Consort. The 
 eecond is the fragment quoted at page 467, vol. iv. of the same 
 work. 
 
 The Prince Consort to the Crown Princess of Prussia. 
 Buckingham Palace : April 1^, 1859. 
 
 That you take delight in modelling does not surprise me. As 
 an art it is even more attractive than painting, because in it the 
 thought is actually incorporated}, it also derives a higher value 
 and interest from the circumstance that in it we have to deal with 
 the three dimensions, instead of having to- do with surface merely, 
 and are not called upon to resort to the illusion of perspective. 
 As the artist combines material and thought without the interven- 
 tion of any other medium, his creation would be perfect, if life, 
 which the divine Creator can alone give, could also be bi-eathed 
 into his work ; and I quite understand and feel with the sculptor 
 in the Fable, who implored the gods to let his work descend from 
 its pedestal. 
 
 We have an art, however, in which even this third element of 
 creation — force and growth — is presented, and which has there- 
 fore had extraordinary attractions for me of late years, indeed, I 
 may say, from earliest childhood, viz. the art of gardening. In 
 this the artist who lays out the work, and devises a garment for a 
 piece of ground, has the delight of seeing his work live and grow, 
 hour* by hour, and while it is growing he is able to polish it, to cut 
 and carve upon it, to fill up here and there, to hope, and to grow 
 fond. 
 
 I will get Alice to read to me the article about Freemasons. It 
 is not likely to contain the whole secret. The circumstance which 
 provokes you only into finding fault with the order, viz. that hus- 
 bands dare not communicate the secret of it to their wives, is just 
 
1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 573 
 
 one of its best features. If to he able to he silent is one of a hus- 
 band's chief virtues, then the test, which puts him in opposition 
 to that being, towards whom he constantly shows the greatest 
 weakness, is the hardest of all tests and therefore virtue in its 
 most condensed and comprehensive form. The wife, therefore, 
 should not only rr joice to sen him capable of withstanding such a 
 test, but should take occasion out of it to vie with him in virtue, 
 by taming the inborn cuiiosity which she inherits from mother 
 Eve. 
 
 If moreover the subject of the secret be nothing more im- 
 portant than an apron, then every chance is given to virtue on 
 both sides, without disturbing the confidence of marriage, which 
 ought to be complete. 
 
 CCCLI. 
 
 The Prince Consort to the Crown Princess of Prussia., 
 Buckingham Palace : June 22, 1859. 
 Royal personages, to whom services are being constantly ren- 
 dered, often forget, that these involve all sorts of sacrifices to the 
 persons who render them, which — if those to. whom they are ren- 
 dered would only keep their eyes open — might be obviated and 
 spared. But it is just the most faithful servants and the worthiest 
 friends who are most silent about their own affairs, and who have 
 therefore to be thoroughly probed before we get at the truth. 
 
INDEX 
 
 ACA 
 ACADEMY, Royal, establishment of 
 
 ■^ the, 288 ; Goldsmith professor of 
 ancient history at the, 297, 338 ; exhi- 
 bition in 1770 at the, 338 
 
 Actors, morals of, 348 
 
 Addison, Joseph, to Charles Montagu, 
 on the people of Blois, 177 ; to Bisho[j 
 Hough, relating interviews with Male- 
 branche and Boileau, 178 ; to Mr. 
 Dashwood, acknowledging the gift of 
 a snutFbox, 180 ; to Mr. Craggs, be- 
 queathing his writings to him, with a 
 recommendation of Tickell, his literary 
 executor, 181 ; his style, 639 
 
 Aikin, Miss Lucy, to Dr. Channing, on 
 English as compared with American 
 women, 455 
 
 A lava. General, 896 
 
 Alps, Bonaparte's road over the, 383 
 
 American women. See Aikin 
 
 Americans at table, 557 
 
 Angelo, Michael, paintings of, 288 
 
 Anne, Queen, remarkable fact concerning, 
 in connection with Guiscard's arrest, 162 
 
 Arbuthnot, Dr., to Dean Swift, on the 
 bad state of his health, 170 
 
 Armada, flight of the, 32 
 
 Armstrong, Mr., 374 
 
 Arnold, Rev. Thomas, to the Rev. F. C. 
 Blackstone, regarding the administra- 
 tion of Rugby School, 515 ; to an old 
 pupil at Oxford, on the effect of un- 
 congenial society upon the character. 
 
 BAT 
 516 ; to Mr. Justice Coleridure, describ- 
 ing his progress with the boys at 
 Rugby, 518 ; to the Rev. G. Cornish, 
 on the influence of light literature, 519 
 
 Ascham, Roger, to Bishop Gardiner, 
 touching his pension, 18 ; to his wife 
 Margaret, on the loss of their son, 19 
 
 Associations, political, 356 
 
 Atterbury, Bishop, witticism on Pope 
 attributed to, 261 
 
 Atticus, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's 
 eulogy of, 213 
 
 Augustine, St., his notice of the burning 
 fountain of Grenoble, 121 
 
 l) ACON to Coke, rebuking his insolent 
 
 ^^ behaviour, 40 ; to Sir Thomas Bodley 
 on presenting him with a copy of the 
 ' Advancement of Learning,' 41 ; to 
 James I. touching his impeachment, 42 
 
 Bairot, Lady, her visit to the poet Cowper, 
 827 
 
 Balearic Isles, the, and France, 636 
 
 Banks's Family Bible, 375 
 
 Bannatyne Club, 403 
 
 Barham, Rev. R. H., to Mrs. Hughes, 
 concerning Bentley's ' Miscellany,' ike, 
 501 ; to Dr. VVilmot, in verse, inviting 
 him to a dinner, 5li3 
 
 Barry, Mrs., the actress, 147 note 
 
 Bath, society at, in 1797, 341 
 
 Bath, Earl of, 269,260 
 
576 
 
 IXDEX. 
 
 BEA. 
 
 Beauclerc, Mr., 299 
 
 Becket, penknife and boots of, 33 
 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell, to Bryan Waller 
 Procter, on the genius of Shakespeare, 
 547 
 
 Bediord, Countess of, 63 
 
 Bedford, fifth Duke of, accepts the Garter, 
 262 
 
 Beerley, Richard, to Sir Thomas Crom- 
 well, on the condition of certain religious 
 houses, 34 
 
 Behn, Mrs. Aphra, 140 
 
 Belleisle, siege of, 268 
 
 Bentler, Dr. Richard, to John Evelyn, 
 announcing how he intends to reply to 
 Boyle's book, 155 ; to Archbishop Wake 
 concerning a proposed new edition of 
 the Greek Testament, 156 
 
 Bentley's ' ISIiscellany,' 501 
 
 Berenger, Mr., 280 
 
 Berkeley, Bishop, 183 ; to Pope, describ- 
 ing the island of Inarime (Ischia), 187 
 
 Birch, Dr. Thomas, his ' Memoirs of the 
 Reign of Elizabeth,' 280 
 
 Blake, William, to Flaxman, announcing 
 his arrival at Felpham, 360 ; his erratic 
 genius, 386 
 
 Blessington, Lady, to Walter Savage 
 Landor, in praise of his ' Examination 
 on William Shakspeare,' 504 ; her ' Two 
 Friends,' 553 
 
 Blucher, meeting of, with Wellington, 
 396 
 
 'Blue-stocking' club, origin of the, 277 
 note 
 
 Bodley, Sir Thomas. See Bacon 
 
 Boileau, conversation of, with Addison, 
 179 
 
 Bo'.eyn, Anne, love-letters of Henry VIII. 
 to, 15, 16 ; her letter to Wolsey con- 
 cerning the marriage dispensation, 17. 
 See also Cranmer 
 
 Bolingbroke, Lord, his quarrel with Lord 
 Oxford, 168; to Dean Swift, (1) an- 
 nouncing the passing of the Act restoring 
 his estates, 182 ; (2) moralising on their 
 declining years, with a postscript by 
 Pope, 185 ; his pursuits at Dawley, 
 194 ; Lady Montagu's criticism of his 
 
 BUT 
 
 writincTS, 211 ; his frien^lship with 
 Pope, 260. See also St. John 
 
 Bonaparte, Napoleon, feeling of the French 
 towards, 394 ; fall of, 529 
 
 Borneo, the Dyaks of, 567 
 
 Boswell, to David Garrick, relating his 
 visit with Dr. Johnson to Macbeth's 
 castle at Inverness, 333 ; passion for 
 notoriety of, 335 ; how he was deterred 
 from ' going into the Guards,' 337 note 
 
 Bowles, Rev. W. L., Byron's controversy 
 with, 478, 492 
 
 Boj'le, his book attacking Bentley, 155 
 
 Breadalbane, Marquess of, 413 
 
 Brereton, General, misinforms Nelson 
 concerning the Toulon fleet, 370 
 
 Bronte, Charlotte, Mrs. Gaskell's life of, 
 569 
 
 Brooke, Sir James, his destruction of the 
 Borneo pirates, 506 
 
 Brougham, Lord, 422 
 
 Browne, Tom, to a lady who smoked 
 tobacco, 146 
 
 Buckingham, Duke of, suspected of poison- 
 ing James I., 73 ; assassinated by 
 Felton, 75 
 
 Bunsen, Baron, 519 
 
 Burke, Edmund, recommended by Dr. 
 Markham for the consulship at Madrid, 
 300 ; to Mr. Gerard Hamilton, concern- 
 ing his refusal of an annuity for future 
 service, 302 ; to Sir Philip Francis, in 
 reply to his strictures on the * Reflec- 
 tions on the French Revolution,' 307 ; 
 his generous behaviour acknowledged 
 by Crabbe, 353 
 
 Burneby, Sir Thomas, love-suit of, 7 
 
 Burnet, George, adiscipleofColeridge.418 
 
 Bumey family, mutual aflfection of the, 
 346 note 
 
 Bums, Robert, to Miss Ellison Begbie, a 
 love-letter, 371 ; to the Earl of Glen- 
 caim, soliciting his interest in pro- 
 curing an appointment in the Excise, 
 372 ; to Peter Hill, on sundry matters, 
 374 ; to Mr. Graham, on his threatened 
 dismissal from the Excise, 375 
 Bury, the monastery at, 33 
 
 Bute, Eari of, 315 
 
INDEX. 
 
 677 
 
 BXJT 
 
 Butler, Mrs., on the uncleanly habits of 
 foreigners, 484 
 
 Byron, Lord, the 'Giaour' of, 449 note', 
 presents his memoirs to Moore, 454 ; 
 his lines on Kirke White, 468 note; 
 Haydon's opinion of his poetry, 476 ; 
 why he could not like Keats, 477 ; to 
 Henry Drury on returning from the 
 East, 485 ; to Sir Walter Scott, apolo- 
 gising for the ' English Bards,' and 
 relating a conversation with the Prince 
 Regent concerning Scott's poems, 486 ; 
 to John Murray, revoking the copy- 
 right of the ' Giaour ' and the * Bride 
 of Abydos,' 487 ; to the Marchesa 
 Guiccioli, a love-letter, 489 ; to Thomas 
 Moore, (1) announcing his intended 
 marriage with Miss Milbanke, 488; (2) 
 relating the assassination of an Italian 
 officer at Ravenna, 490 ; (3) concerning 
 his ' Letter ' against the Rev. Mr. 
 Bowles, 492 ; to John Sheppard, re- 
 specting Mrs. Sheppard's prayer for his 
 conversion, 495 ; proposes to start a 
 periodical at Pisa in conjunction with 
 Shelley and Leigh Hunt, 507 ; his 
 tragedy of ' Cain,' 609, 610 
 
 p AEN, defeat of the English near, 4 
 ^ Cambridge, installation of the Duke 
 
 of Newcastle as Chancellor at, 262 ; 
 
 Person's professorship at, 377 
 Campbell, Thomas, his * Gertrude of 
 
 Wyoming,' 424 
 Canning, his prediction of a war of opinion 
 
 in Europe, 542 
 Carew, Dame Jane, invited by Queen 
 
 Margaret to wed Sir Thomas Burneby, 7 
 Carlye, Thomas, on the value of Crom- 
 well's letters, 80 note, 82 note 
 Catholic Church, benefits which the world 
 
 owes to the, 368 
 Catholics, Oliver Cromwell's treatment of 
 
 the, 82 ; Charles L's intrigues with the, 
 
 93 ; Protestant prejudices against, 406 ; 
 
 the laws against, 408 
 Cavalry, pay of, in the time of Henry 
 
 VIL, 9 
 
 CLE 
 
 Cavendish, Lord Richard, 256 
 
 Cecil, Lady, death of, 36 
 
 Chambers, Mr., a friend of Dr. Johnson, 
 236 
 
 Channing, Dr., his ' Duty of the Free 
 States,' 457 
 
 Chapone, Mrs., Gilbert White's friendship 
 with, 274 note 
 
 Charles I., his journey to Spain in quest 
 of a wife, 45 note ; accession of, 73 ; to 
 Queen Henrietta Maria, (1) denouncing 
 the Solemn League and Covenant, 91 ; 
 (2) touching the support of the Catho- 
 lics and the Glamorgan treaty, 93 ; 
 trial of, 119 
 
 Charles IL, restoration of, 102 ; his opi- 
 nion of Evelyn's ' Sylva,' 110; raising 
 money for, 112 ; in debt to the Prince 
 of Orange, 113 
 
 Chatham, Lord, administration of, 316. 
 See Pitt 
 
 Chatterton, Horace Walpole's judgment 
 of, 272 
 
 Chesterfield, Earl of, to his son, (1) on 
 parental guidance and the acquisition 
 of knowledge, 216 ; (2) on his paternal 
 affection, 218; (3) on pleasures, 220; 
 (4) on manners, 222 
 
 Chigi, Cardinal, 223 
 
 Children, obligations of, to their parents, 
 208 ; education of, 209 
 
 Christianity, Byron's views concerning 
 belief in, 496 ; Shelley's disbelief in, 
 510 ; Dickens's inculcation of, upon his 
 children, 661 ; muscular, 569 
 
 Church, Established, duty of the, 408 
 
 Cibber, Colley, to Mrs. Pilkington, a 
 letter of advice, 174 
 
 Clarence, Duke of, his friendship with 
 Nelson, 366 
 
 Clarendon, Earl of. fiee Hyde 
 
 Clarke, Mrs. Cowden, her connection with 
 Dickens's Amateur Dramatic Company, 
 660 
 Classes, antagonism of, 525 
 Clavering, groom of the bed-chamber to 
 
 George IL, 267 
 Clere, Edm., to John Pastnn, relating 
 Henry the Sixth's return to reason, 5 
 
 V 
 
 p p 
 
578 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 CfLE 
 
 C'ersry, game-shooting propensity of the, 
 412 
 
 Ci)ke, Sir Edward, rebuked by Bacon, 40 
 
 ■Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, to Josiah Wade, 
 relatinsr how a. woman abused him in a 
 coach, 417 ; to Joseph Cottle, offering 
 the copyritrht of the ' Lyrical Ballads,' 
 418 ; to William Goihwin, on the effect 
 of drink upon his talk, 420 ; his friend- 
 ship with Southey, 429 ; with Charles 
 Lamb, 433 note 
 
 CommonweiUth, end of the, 102^ the 
 Council of State of the, 103, 120 
 
 Constable, John, to Mr. Dunthome, on the 
 way to excellence in painting, 445 ; to 
 the Rev. J. Fisher, on skies in landscape, 
 446 
 
 ■Conventicles, proceedings against the, 111, 
 113 
 
 Corneille, Boilcau's judgment of, 179 
 
 Cotes, Francis, portrait- painter, death of, 
 339 
 
 Cottle, Joseph, his generous treatment of 
 Southey, 431 
 
 Covenant, the, 90, 92 
 
 Cowley, poetry of, 138 
 
 Cowper, William, to Clotworthy Rowley, 
 on the enjojinent of life without wealth, 
 318 ; to Joseph Hill, in behalf of the 
 lace-makers, 320 ; to Mrs. Xewton, in 
 verse, concerning her gift of a barrel of 
 oysters, 321 ; to the Rev. John Newton, 
 
 (1) describing Mr. Grenville's canvass- 
 ing visit to him. 322 ; (2) on the prai?e 
 accorded to his 'Task,' and on Pope's 
 Homer, 324 ; to Lady Hesk«th, looking 
 f<irv\-;ird to a visit from her, 325 ; to 
 the Rev. Walter Bagot, confessing his 
 shyness when visited by strangers, 327 ; 
 to Mrs, Charlotte Smith, a letter of 
 M-mpathy, 328 
 
 Cox, Bishop, to Rodolph Gualter, con- 
 cerning the Puritan movement, 57 
 
 Crabbe, George, to Edmund Burke, (1) 
 appealing for his heip in distress, 350 ; 
 
 (2) congratulating him on his appoint- 
 ment as Paymaster-General of the 
 Forces, 352 ; Sir Walter Scott's liking 
 ior his poems, 400 
 
 Cradock, Mr., Dr. Parr's testimony to, 34.3 
 
 Craggs, Mr., his friendship with Addison, 
 181 
 
 Cranfield, Lord, his plan for cheapening 
 Court mourning, 74 
 
 Cranmer, Archbishop, to Henrj' VIII., 
 concerning the scandalous reports 
 against Anne Boleyn, 13 
 
 Crequi, Duke of, his embassy to Oliver 
 Cromwell. 385 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, to the Hon. Wm. Lent- 
 hall, describing the victory at Wor- 
 cester, 80 ; to Cardinal Mazarin, con- 
 cerning the Catholics and the Stuart 
 princes, 82 ; to Sir William Lockhart, 
 insisting on the observance by Fran.e 
 of the treaty against Spain, 82 ; presses 
 the trial of Charles 1., 119 ; his desire 
 to be addressed as brother by Louis 
 XIV.. 385 
 
 Cumberland, Duke of, at his father's 
 funeral, 267 
 
 Cumniing. See De Roos \ also Hook 
 
 Curran, John Philpot, 354 
 
 Custom House, the fire in 1814 at, 103 note 
 
 T\\XIEL, Samuel, on our judgment of 
 
 ^ bygone ages, quoted, 358 
 
 D'Arblay, Madame, to Mrs. Lock, de- 
 ploring her sister's death, 346 
 
 Darley, George, 546, note 
 
 Dashwood, Chamberlain, presents a snuff- 
 box to Addison, 180 
 
 Daun, defeat of, at Torgau, 267 note 
 
 Dawley farm, 195 
 
 De Bu'rgli, Hubert, 260 
 
 De Foe to the Earl of Halifax, concerning 
 an engagement to write for his lord- 
 ship, 151 ; returning thanks for his 
 lordship's bounty, 153 
 
 De Quincey, Thomas, to Miss Jessie 
 Miller, expressing his delight in her 
 society, 481 ; to his daughter, Margaret 
 Craig, deol.Hring his famished condition, 
 with remarks on personal cleanliness, 
 483 
 
 De Roos, Lord, his action for defamation 
 against Mr. Cumming, 502 
 
INDEX, 
 
 679 
 
 DEV 
 
 Devonshire, third Duke of, 261 
 
 Da vr lent, M., his performance of Hamlet, 
 511 
 
 Dibdin, Dr., his stratagems for settling 
 the aui horship of the Waverley >iovels, 
 401, 403 
 
 Dickens, Charles, the 'Christmas Carol' 
 of, 431 ; to Mr. T. J. Thompson, 
 counterfeiting a violent passion for the 
 Queen, 558 ; to Messrs. Forster, Maclise, 
 an i Stanfield, accepting an invitation to 
 dinner, 559 ; to Mrs. Covvden Clarke on 
 the break-up of his Dramatic Company, 
 660; t<- his youngest child, about to 
 depart for Australia, 561 
 
 D' Israeli, Isaac, to William Godwin, for- 
 warding an anecdote about Oliver Crom- 
 well and Louis XIV., 386 ; to Dr. 
 Dibdin, on the erratic genius of William 
 Blake, 386 
 
 Donne, Dr., to the Marquess of Bucking- 
 ham, assuring him of his devotion, 60 ; 
 
 to Lady G , 60 ; to Sir Henry 
 
 Goodere, on letters, 61 ; to Mrs. B. 
 W , 62 ; to Sir J. H , 63 
 
 Douglas, Captain, his heroic devotion to 
 discipline, 123 
 
 Drake, Sir Francis, to Lord Walsingham, 
 concerning the pursuit of the Armada, 
 81 
 
 Drama, defence of the, 348 
 
 Draper, Sir William, the half-pay granted 
 to, 812 
 
 Draper, Mrs. Eliza, Sterne's anticipatory 
 epitaph on, 251 
 
 Drew, Sarah. See Hewet 
 
 Dry den to John Dennis, comparing modern 
 with ancient poetry, and alluding to 
 attacks upon his own character, 136 ; 
 to Miss Elizabeth Thomas, in praise of 
 her poetry, 140 
 
 Dudley, John, Duke of Northumberland, 
 to the Earl of Arundel, on the eve of 
 his execution, 22 
 
 T? ASTERN question, Lord Palmerston's 
 
 JU 
 
 policy on the, 461, 535 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria, to Miss Smith, describ- 
 
 PP 
 
 ETE 
 ing the Rev. Sydney Smith as the man 
 for Ireland, o87 
 
 Edinburgh in 1749, 289 
 
 'Edinburgh Review,' establishment of 
 the, 422 
 
 Edmund, St., nail-parings of, 33 
 
 Egremont and Halifax, Lords, their reply 
 to Wilkes's demand for his papers, 
 291 
 
 Egypt, French intrigue in, 461, 635 
 
 Eliot, Sir John, to John Hampden, (1) 
 describing the state of his health in the 
 Tower, 65 ; (2) on the medicine of the 
 Christian, 65 
 
 Elizabeth, Queen, to Henry IV. of France, 
 concerning his abjuration of Protest- 
 antism, 27 ; to Lady Norris upon the 
 death of her son, 28 ; to James VI. of 
 Scotland, warning him against double- 
 dealing, 29 ; explaining her intentions 
 towards Mary Queen of Scots, 30; 
 letters from the Earl of Essex to, 
 48, 52 ; alleged tender passion of, 
 280 ; her persecution of the Catholics, 
 410 
 
 Ellis, George, his * Specimens of the Early 
 English Poets,' 429 
 
 England, French notions of, 270, 271 
 
 English women compared with American, 
 455 
 
 Ephrem Syrus, the palimpsest of, 157 
 
 Epomeus Mon?, the ancient, 188 
 
 Erskiue, Andrew, to James Boswell, de- 
 scribing New Tarbat, 335 
 
 Essex, Earl of, to Queen Elizabeth, (1) 
 during his outward voyage to Spain, 
 48, 49 ; (2) after his exclusion from 
 Court, 49 ; (3) during his imprisonment 
 in York HoubC, 50 ; (4) in the earliest 
 period of their intimacy, 51 
 
 Eton, schoolboy's letter from, in the fif- 
 teenth centurj'. 6 
 
 Euripides, Macaulay's opinion of, 534 
 
 Evelyn, John, the ' Lucretius ' of, 104 ; to 
 CoAvley, invoking his pen in defence of 
 the Royal Society, 107; to Lady Sun- 
 derland, referring to his various publi- 
 cations, 109 
 
 Eversley, curacy of, 565 
 
 2 
 
580 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 TAR 
 
 "PARQUHAR, George, the dramatist, 
 
 -*- causes Mrs. Oldfield to become an 
 actress, 225 
 
 Fatima, a Turkish lady visited br Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montagu, 205 
 
 Felton, assassination of the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham by, 75 
 
 F^nelon, Boileau's opinion of the * Tele- 
 maque' of, 179 
 
 Fielding, Henry, to the Hon. George 
 Lyttleton, congratulating him on his 
 second marriage, 234 
 
 Flanders, the French army in, 124 
 
 Fordyce, Dr., to David Garrick, in praise 
 of his impersonation of King Lear, 
 284 
 
 Forster, John, his edition of Landor, 505 
 note 
 
 Fox, Hogarth's portrait of, 268 
 
 Fox How, Dr. Arnold's residence, 517 
 
 France, treaty of, with Cromwell against 
 Spain, 84 ; the bourgpoisie of, 177 ; tree 
 culture in, 270 ; the war of 1803 with, 
 423 ; Lord Palmerston's way of deal- 
 ing with, 459, 460 
 
 Francis II. of France styles himself * King 
 of Scotland,' 55 
 
 Francis, Sir Philip, to Edmund Burke, 
 relative to his ' Reflections on the 
 French Revolution,' 305 ; Burke's re- 
 ply, 307 
 
 Freemasonry, the secret of, 572 
 
 Frjer, Colonel, 75 
 
 Fumess, Miss, a Philadelphian singer, 
 555 
 
 Fuseli, 337 note 
 
 n AIXSBOROUGH, his portrait of Gar- 
 
 ^ rick in the character of Abel Drugger, 
 338 
 
 G:'rrick, David, his opinion of Aaron Hill, 
 198 ; marriage of, 263 ; the King Lear 
 Of 284 
 
 Beiiappe, the scene of Wellington's meet- 
 ing with Blucher, 396 
 
 Gentry, country, 378 
 
 Geurge IL, reluctant to bestow the Gar- 
 
 GTTI 
 
 ter on his grandson, 263 ; his funeral, 
 266 
 
 George III., accession of, 265 ; govern- 
 ment of, 315 ; his policy towards the 
 Catholics, 408 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, to Dr. Prie?tley, (1) re- 
 fusing his challenge to controversy, 320; 
 (2) declining correspondence with him, 
 331 ; to Lord Sheffield, on the death of 
 Lady Sheffield, 332 
 
 Glamorgan, Earl of, disavowed by Charles 
 I., 94 
 
 Godwin, William, to Samuel Tayloi 
 Coleridge, describing Curran, the Irish 
 barrister, 353 ; to Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
 condemning political associations and 
 inculcating tolerant views, 356 ; to his 
 daughter, Mrs. Shelley, on her depres- 
 sion at the loss of her child, 359 ; his 
 'History of the Commonwealth,' 385 note 
 
 Gold, the power of. Rev. G. Plaxton's 
 letter on, 148 
 
 Goldsmith, Mr., a cousin of General Wolfe, 
 290 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, to Mr. Griffith, in reply 
 to his threat of imprisonment, 295; 
 to his brother Maurice, relinqaishing 
 his uncle's legacy for the benefit of his 
 poor relatives, 297 ; to Bennet Langton, 
 announcing the completion of ' She 
 Stoops to Conquer,' 299 ; his professor- 
 ship of Ancient History at the Royal 
 Academy, 297, 338 
 
 Gondolas, Venetian, 384 
 
 Grafton, Duke of, Junius's letter to, 
 313 
 
 Grattan, Henry, 354 
 
 Gray, Thomas, to the Rev. Norton 
 Nicholls, (1) retailing Cambridge news, 
 255 ; (2) describing country scenery ; 
 his Odes from the Norse tongue, 268 
 
 Grenoble, the burning fountain of, 121 
 
 Grenville, GeorL'-e, administration of, 315 
 
 Grenville, Mr. G., his electioneering visit 
 to the poet Cowper, 322 
 
 Guadiana, passage of the, 392 
 
 Guiana, Ralegh's expedition to, 38 
 
 Guiccioli, Marchesa, Byron's passion for, 
 489 
 
INDEX. 
 
 581 
 
 GTTI 
 Guiscard, AbM, his attempt to assassinate 
 
 Harley, 161 
 Guizot, M., 460, 461 
 G Wynne, Nell, to Lawrence Hyde, relating 
 
 personal news of contemporaries, 149 
 
 HALIFAX, Lord. See Egremont 
 Hamilton, William, his picture of 
 Briseis and Achilles, 338 
 
 Hamilton, William Gerard, his connection 
 with Burke, 301 note 
 
 Hamilton, Lady, receives Nelson's un- 
 finished letter, 370 note 
 
 Hampden, John, to Sir John Eliot, stating 
 his impression of the ' Monarchy of 
 Man,' 70 
 
 Harems, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's 
 visits to, 203 
 
 Hariott, Mr., a pensioner of the Duke of 
 Northumberland, 70 
 
 Harley, the attempted assassination of, 
 16 L See Oxford 
 
 Harvey, discovery of the circulation of 
 the blood by, 70 
 
 Haydon, Benjamin Robert, to John Keats, 
 letter of encouragement, 474 ; to Miss 
 Mitford, (1) animadverting upon Haz- 
 litt's treatment of Keats, 473 ; (2) com- 
 paiing Byron and Wordsworth, 476 ; 
 (3) on a butcher who had an ambition 
 to feed genius, 479 ; to William Words- 
 worth, recalling a jovial dinner in the 
 company of Lamb and Keats, 480 
 
 Hayley, William, his friendship with 
 Mrs. Charlotte Smith, 829 ; with Wil- 
 liam Blake, 361 
 
 Hayward, Mr., on Sydney Smith's liberal- 
 mindedness, 413 note 
 
 Hazlitt, his treatment of Keats, 475 
 
 Hellespont, Byron's swim across the. 485 
 
 Henrietta Maria, Queen, to Charles L, 
 dissuading him from yielding to Parlia- 
 ment on the questions of Presbyterian 
 government and the militia, 89 
 
 Henry IV. of France, abj uration of Pro- 
 testantism by, 27 
 
 Henry VI., recovery of, from mental de- 
 rangement, 5 
 
 HOW 
 
 Henry VII. to Sir Gilbert Talbot, calling 
 upon him for military service against 
 the York faction, 8 
 
 Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn, 15, 16 
 
 Herbert, Sir Edward, 62 
 
 Herrick, Robert, to Sir William Herrick, 
 appealing to his purse, 67, 68 
 
 Herries, Lady, 342 
 
 Hesketh, Lady, Cowper's aflFection for, 
 325 note 
 
 Hewet, John, killed together with his 
 sweetheart, Sarah Drew, by lightning, 
 192 
 
 Hewlett, Mr. J. T., 523 note 
 
 Highland poetry, 243 
 
 Highlanders, the, 466, 467 
 
 History, language of, 540 
 
 Hogarth, his conversation with Horace 
 Walpole, 268 
 
 Hogg, James, to Professor Wilson, declin- 
 ing an invitation to EUeray, 421 
 
 Holland, league of England and Sweden 
 with, 124 
 
 Home, John, his conversation with Mac- 
 pherson on Highland poetry, 248 
 
 Homer, translation of, by Pope, 189, 324 ; 
 by Cowper, 328 ; by Sotheby, 362 
 
 Hood, Thomas, to his daughter, alluding 
 to his march across Germany with the 
 19th Polish Infantry, 522 ; to Charles 
 Dickens, deferring an appointment, 
 523 ; to May EUiot, a child, 523 ; to 
 Sir Robert Peel, bidding him a dying 
 farewell, 525 
 
 Hook, Theodore, his ' Ramsbottom Let- 
 ters,' see Ramsbottom ; to Charles Mat- 
 thews, relative to some remarks on 
 strolling players in the * Fugglestone 
 Correspondence,' 499 ; engaged to write 
 the life of Charles Mathews, 501 ; his 
 impromptu epigram on the action of De 
 Roos V. Gumming, 502 
 
 Horner, Francis, 422 
 
 Howel, James, to Sir James S— — , on the 
 composition of letters, 71 ; to his 
 father, relating the death of James I. 
 and the accession of Charles I., 73 ; to 
 Lady Scroop, describing the assassina- 
 tion of the Duke of Buckingham, 75 
 
583 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 HtTM 
 
 to Sir S. C , givinjEj his wayside 
 
 meditations, 76 ; to Lady E. D , a 
 
 complimentary letter, 79 
 
 Hume, Dand, to , concerning the 
 
 ' Poems of Ossian,' 243 ; to Eousseaii, 
 asserting the groundlessness of his accu- 
 sations, 246 ; to Dr. Blair, detailing 
 Rousseau's charges, 248 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, to Mr. Ives, stating his 
 wishes in prison, 462 ; to Joseph Severn, 
 sending a cheering message to Keats, 
 464; Haydon's judgment of, 474; in- 
 vited by Byron to become partner in a 
 periodical at Pisa, 507; style of, 5J7 
 
 Hyde, Edward (Earl of Clarendon), to 
 Lord Witherington, soliciting informa- 
 tion to be used in his 'History,' 100 ; to 
 Mr. Mordaunt, on the relations of the 
 Army with the Parliament, 101 ; to Sir 
 Heniy Bennet, nlating the end of the 
 Ck)mmonwealth, 102 
 
 tMLAY, Captain Gilbert, his base treat- 
 
 J- ment of Mary Wollstonecraft, 379 note 
 
 Inarime, the island of, Bishup Berkeley's 
 visit to, 187 
 
 Inchbnli, Mrs., to the Rev. J. Plumptre, 
 iu defence of the sta-re, 348 
 
 India, climate of, 533 ; Black Act of, 533 
 
 ' Ingoldsby Legends,' the, 501 
 
 Inoculation. S< e Small-pox 
 
 Inquisition, Spanish, suggested for Eng- 
 land, 112 
 
 Inverness, Macbeth 's castle at, 334 
 
 Ireland, women of, 176 ; state of, 504 
 
 Ireland, Samuel W. H., to Dr. Parr, pro- 
 testing the genuineness of his Shake- 
 speare forgeries, 448 
 
 Irish, love for wit of the, 387 ; the rent 
 grievance among the, 388 
 
 Ischia, the island of, 187 
 
 Italians, assassination among the, 490 
 
 TAGO, Richard, 253 note 
 
 James I. to his son Prince Henry, on 
 deiiarting from Scotland to take pos- 
 session of the English crown, 44 ; to 
 
 Prinoe Ch irle? and the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham on the proposed Spanish mar- 
 riage, 45. 46 : death of, 73 
 Jeffrey, Francis, to William Empson, de- 
 scri' ling summer delight in the High- 
 lands, 425 ; to Charles Dickens, in praise 
 of his ' Christmas Carol,' 431 ; to his 
 brother John, concerning the ' Edin- 
 burgh Review ' and the war, 422 ; to 
 Thomas Campbell, criticising ' Gertrude 
 of Wyoming,' 424 
 Jerome, St , the Vulgate of, 157 
 Jerrold, Douglas, to Miss Sabilla Novello, 
 acknowledging her present of a purse, 
 545 
 Jervis, Admiral. See St. Vincent 
 Jewel, Bishop, to Peter Martyr, on the re- 
 ligious affairs of the kingdom after the 
 accession of Elizabeth, 54 
 Johnson, Dr., to Warren Hastings, point- 
 ing out to him the field for study 
 offered by India, 236 ; to the Earl of 
 Chesterfield, resenting his patronage, 
 238 ; to the Laird of Easjiy, apologising 
 for a misstatement, 239 ; to Mrs. Piozzi, 
 
 (1) stigmatising her marriage as igno- 
 minious, 240; Mrs. Piozzi's reply, 242 ; 
 
 (2) advising her to remain in England, 
 241 ; intimac-y of Dr. Parr with, .343 
 
 Jonson, Ben, to Dr. Donne, on the defence 
 of his own reputaiicn, 64 ; Isaac W^al- 
 tou's account of. 69 
 
 Junius to Sir William Draper, denouncing 
 his h:ilf-pay as a Government job. 311 ; 
 to the Duke of Grafton, denouncing 
 Colouf-l Luttrell's ' apyiointment ' to the 
 representation of Middlesex, 313 
 
 Juries, independence of, 112 
 
 KAUFMAXX, Angelica, 338 
 Kean, Edmund, his faculty of imper- 
 sonation, 512 
 Keats, John, Leigh Hunt's regard for, 
 464 ; critics of, 475 ; anecdote of. 480 ; 
 to W^. Bailey, concerning the com osi- 
 tion of ' Endymion,' 519 ; to W. Rey- 
 nolds, describing his mental experiences 
 520 
 
iN^nsr. 
 
 5S» 
 
 Kemble, Fanny, afterwards Mrs. Butler. 
 See Butler 
 
 Kemble, John, acting of, 512 
 
 Kemp, Cardinal, death of, 5 
 
 Kent, scenery of, 257 
 
 Kenyon, Lord Chief Justice, 341 
 
 Keriel, Sir Thomas, 4 
 
 Kingsley, Rev. Charles, to Mr. Wood, in- 
 viting him to Eversley, 565 ; to J. M. 
 Ludlow, in defence of Rajah Brooke, 
 666 ; to Mrs. Gaskell, concerning her 
 ♦ Life of Charlotte Bronte,' 569 ; to a 
 clergyman, protesting against the term 
 ' Muscular Christianity/ 56^ 
 
 Knox, John, 55 
 
 T AJ^TB, Charles, to Robert Southey, on 
 
 ^ his tailor's innovations, 432 ; to 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge, propounding 
 some absurd theological queries, 433 ; 
 to William Wordsworth, expressing his 
 apathy for country scenery, 434 ; to 
 Thomas Manning, giving him a ficti- 
 tious record of events, 436; to Mr. 
 Cary, i-especting an election to a 
 widows' fund society, 438; anecdote 
 of, 480 
 
 Landor, Walter Savage, to Robert 
 Southey, (1) concerning his silence and 
 the death of his son, 439 ; (2) complain- 
 ing of his publisher, 441 ; to Dr. Parr, 
 relative to the omission of his name 
 from the * Imaginary Conversations,' 
 440; his 'Examination on William 
 Shakspeare,' 604 ; his letter to Forster, 
 entrusting to him the editorship of his 
 writings, 605 note 
 
 Lawrence, St., the coals with which he 
 was burnt, 33 
 
 Lear, Garrick's acting of, 284 
 
 Lee, Nathaniel, his witty retort to a bad 
 poet, 138 
 
 Letters, composition of, 71 ; private, not 
 to be communicated to others, 282 
 
 Lille, siege of, by the French, 124 
 
 Little, Thomas, poems of. See Moore 
 
 Lloyd, Bishop, to Dr. Fell, describing the 
 execution of the Duke of Monmouth, 144 
 
 MAC 
 Locke, John, to Lady Calverley, 141 
 Lomner, Wm., to John Paston, relating 
 
 the capture and murder of the Duke of 
 
 Suffolk, 3 
 London, tiger-baiting in, 150 ; corrupting 
 
 social inriuence of, 379 ; life in, 435 
 Long Parliament, end of the, 102 
 Louis XIV., anecdote oi. See Cromwell 
 Lovell, Viscount, 7 
 Lowerz, Lake of, 385 
 Luttrell, Colonel, declared Member of 
 
 Par.iainent for Middlesex, 316 
 Luxembourg, Lord Palmerston's ideas 
 
 concerning, 459 
 Lyly, John, to Lord Burleigh^ vindicating 
 
 his own character, 39 
 Lytton, Lord, his 'Last Days of Pompeii,' 
 
 505 ; to Lady Hlessington on novel - 
 
 writing, &c., 552 
 
 MACAULAY, Lord, his opinion of the 
 Chesterfield Letters, quoted, 215 ; to 
 his mother, juvenile refiections on the 
 fall of Napoleon, &c., 529 ; to his father, 
 (1) recording a visit paid to him by the 
 Rev. Sydney Smith, 530 ; (2) relating 
 his visit to the Rev. Sydney Smith's 
 parsonage, 531 ; to Thomas Flower 
 Ellis, concerning the Indian cUmate, 
 the Black Act, and his reading of clas- 
 sical authors, 532; to Macvey Napier, 
 (1) on Lord Palmerston's policy in the 
 Turco-Egyptian difficulty, 535 ; (2) 
 concerning the style of Lei2,h Hunt's 
 contributions to the ' Edinburgh Re- 
 view,' 537 ; (3) concerning the style of 
 his own article on Frederic, 539 
 
 Macbeth, castle of, at Inverness, 334 
 
 McLeod of Dunvegan, Dr. Johnson's mis- 
 statement concerning, 239 
 
 McNab, Mr., a recalcitrant Methodist 
 preacher, 232 
 
 Macpherson, the * Poems of Ossian ' by, 
 243 ; Chatterton's inspiration probably 
 derived therefrom, 273 
 
 Macready, W. C, to Frederick Pollock, 
 concerning theatrical impersonation, 
 511; to Mrs. Pollock, explaining how 
 
584 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 MAL 
 
 he conquered a tendency to redundant 
 action, 513 
 
 Malebranche, conversation of, with Addi- 
 son, 178 
 
 M alone, Mr., Ritson's opinion of, 346 
 
 Mann, Sir Horace, pedigree of, 262 
 
 Margaret of Anjou, her interview with 
 Henry VI, after his return to reason, 
 5 ; letter from, to Dame Carew, urging 
 the love-suit of Sir Thomas Burneby, 7 
 
 Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, her in- 
 trigues against the Lancastrian party, 8 
 
 Maria Theresa, deathbed of, 565 
 
 Marie-Antoinette, Burke's championghip 
 of, 306, 309, 310 
 
 Markham, Dr., to the Duchess of Queens- 
 buiy, soliciting her interest for Edmund 
 Burke, 300 
 
 Marlborough, Duke of, his dLsplacement 
 from command, 211 
 
 Marlborough, Duchess of, occupations of 
 her latter years, 215 
 
 Marriott, Dr., projects a musical amphi- 
 theatre for Cambridge, 256 
 
 Marsh, Dr. Herbert, 529 
 
 Martineau, Miss Harriet, to a friend in 
 America, predicting a struggle of West- 
 ern Europe with Russia, 542 
 
 ^larvell, Andrew, sought by Milton as 
 amanuensis, 99 ; to the Mayor and 
 Aldermen of Hull, touching the affairs 
 of the constituency, 113 ; to William 
 Ramsden, on public events in 1670, 111 
 
 Mary Queen of Scots, captivity of, 25, 26; 
 the Scotch CJommissioners' proposal for 
 her release, 30 ; her passage of the bor- 
 der, 241 
 
 Mary II. congratulates D». Tillotson on 
 his acceptance of the See of Canterbury, 
 135 
 
 Mathews, Charles, to his wife, recording 
 his success at Edinburgh, 442 ; to the 
 Rev. Pascal Str -ng, concerning his ser- 
 mon against the stage, 443 ; his friend- 
 ship with Theodore Hook, 499 ; Hook's 
 Life of, 501 
 
 Mathews, Charles J., to his father, d - 
 scribing a visit to Vesuvius, 548 ; to 
 his mother, relating his occupations at 
 
 MOO 
 Naples, 550 ; to the manager of the 
 Gaiety Theatre, apologising for being 
 prevented by gout from playing for 
 John Parrj^'s benefit, 551 
 
 Mazarin, Cardinal, anecdote of, 386 
 
 Mead, the Quaker, trial of, 112 
 
 Meadows, Lady Francis, 210 
 
 Mehemet Ali, French support of, 461 
 
 Methodism, preaching of, 229 ; adminis- 
 trative rules of, 232 
 
 Milbanke, Miss, Byron's marriage to, 383, 
 488 
 
 Miller, Major, De Quincey's memorial 
 lines on, 482 
 
 Milton, John, presents Sir H. Wotton 
 with a copy of ' Coraus,' 53 ; to John 
 Bradshaw, requesting the appointment 
 of Andrew Marvell as his amanuensis, 
 98 
 
 Modelling, art of, 572 
 
 Moliere, Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu's re- 
 commendation of his plays, 278 
 
 Monasteries, reports on the, 33, 34 
 
 Monmouth, Duke of, execution and dying 
 statements of, 144 
 
 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, to E. W. 
 Montagu, a love letter, 198 ; to Mrs. S. 
 C, announcing her discover}"- of inocu- 
 lation, 200 ; to the Countess of Mar, 
 describing her visits to Turkish harems, 
 202 ; to her daughtw, the Countess of 
 Bute, (1) on the relation of parent and 
 child, 207 ; (2) on the education of 
 children, 209 ; (3) criticising Boling- 
 broke's writings, 211 ; (4) on the amuse- 
 ments of her latter years, 214 
 
 Montagu, Mrs. Elizabeth, to Gilbert West, 
 
 (1) in praise of Molifere's plays, 278 ; 
 
 (2) alluding to his indisposition through 
 eating salt fish and ass's milk, with 
 observations upon Queen Elizabeth's 
 alleged passion, 279 ; to Benjamin Stil- 
 lingfleet, railing him on asking for 
 answers to his letters, 280 ; to David 
 Garrick, in behalf of a young play- 
 wright, 282 
 
 Moore, Edward, recommended by Fielding 
 
 to Lord Lyttleton, 234 
 Moore, Thomas, to Miss Godfrev, on 
 
INDEX, 
 
 585 
 
 HOB 
 
 bis forestalment by Byron in Eastern 
 romance, 450 ; to Samuel Rogers, 
 (1) reporting his progress with the 
 'Peris,' 451; (2) concerning the Ber- 
 muda difficulty, with an allusion to 
 the ' Byron Memoirs,' 463 ; poetry of, 
 471 ; cautions Lord Byron against 
 Shelley's influence on the subject of re- 
 ligion, 510 
 
 More, Mrs. Hannah, to Mrs. Gwatkin, 
 respecting the taciturnity of a certain 
 clergyman in company, 339 ; to Mrs. 
 Boscawen, describing society at Bath, 
 341 
 
 More, Sir Thomas, to his wife, on the 
 destruction by fire of his house at Chel- 
 sea, 11 
 
 Moser, Mary, to Henry Fuseli, describing 
 tlie Royal Academy Exhibition of 
 1770, 338 
 
 Moutray, Lieutenant, 364 
 
 NAPIER, Macvey, a severe critic of 
 style, 537, 541 
 Naples, Bishop Berkeley's account of, 188 
 Negro, Sterne's sympathy for the, 249 
 Nelson, John, the Methodist, 230 
 Nelson, Lor<l, to his wife, (1) describing 
 his injuries at Calvi and Bastia, 363 ; 
 (2) relating anecdotes illustrative of 
 his world-wide reputation, 364 ; (3) on 
 the loss of his arm, 368 ; to Sir Gilbert 
 Elliott, respecting his reward for Cape 
 St. Vincent, 366 ; to Admiral Jervis, 
 (1) recommending for promotion his 
 son-in-law, Josiah Nisbet, 367 ; (2) on 
 theuselessnessof a left-handed Admiral, 
 367 ; to the Rev. Dr. Nelson, respecting 
 the Toulon fleet, 369 ; to Alexander 
 Davison, expressing his mortification 
 at its escape, 369 ; to Lady Hamilton 
 (unfinished) on the eve of Trafalgar, 
 371 
 Newcastle, Duchess of, to her husband, 
 concerning aspersions cast upon her 
 writings, 116 
 Newcastle, Duke of, appointed Chancellor 
 of Cambridge, 262 ; presents the Cam- 
 bridge address to George IIL, 266 ; his 
 
 JAL 
 
 ludicrous behaviour at the funeral of 
 
 George IL, 267 
 Newmarket, Gray's night at, 255 
 Newton, Sir Isaac, to Richard Bentley, 
 
 on the Divine formation of the world, 
 
 143 
 Newton, Rev. John, his influence upon 
 
 Cowper, 322 note ; his opinion of Pope's 
 
 Homer, 324 
 Newton, Mrs., her present of oysters to 
 
 Cowper, 321 
 Nichols, Rev. Norton, his friendship with 
 
 Gray, 255 note 
 Nisbet, Josiah, Lord Nelson's stepson, 364; 
 
 his act of devotion at Santa Cruz, 3C7, 
 
 368 
 Nivelle, passage of the, 394 
 
 ALDFIELD, Mrs., how she became an 
 
 ^ actress, 224 
 
 Olney, the lacemakers of, 320 
 
 Opium, warning against indulgence in, 
 564 
 
 'Ossian,' authenticity of, 243; probable 
 influence of, upon Chatterton, 273 ; the 
 original composer not a Highlander, 467 
 
 Otway, Thomas, to Mrs. Barry, a love 
 letter, 147 
 
 Oxford, academic life at, 517, 519 
 
 Oxford, Countess of, to John Paston, en- 
 joining a search for Viscount Lovell, 7 
 
 Oxford, Lord, his quarrel with Boling- 
 broke, 168 ; Swift's admiration of, 169; 
 death of, 342 
 
 PAGLIANO, Duca de, 53 
 Painting, judges of, 269 ; study of, at 
 Rome, 287 ; truth in, 445 ; treatment 
 of skies in, 446 ; insufficient encourage- 
 ment of, in England, 479 ; the Prince 
 Consort's observations on, 572 
 
 Palimpsest, the Ephrem, 167 
 
 Palmerston, Lord, to Viscount Granville, 
 reporting a conversation with TaMey rand 
 respecting Luxembourg, 459 ; to Sir H. 
 L. Bulwer, instructing him how to treat 
 French bluster, 460 
 
6S6 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 PAB 
 
 Parliament, election versus appointment 
 to, 316 
 
 Parr, Dr. Samuel, to Mr. Cradock, de- 
 scribing his intimacy with Dr. Johnrion, 
 343; his conversational powers, 343 
 note ; his friendship with Landor, 441 ; 
 his rebuke of an ill-mannered man, 457 
 
 Paston letters, 3-7 ; Willi.-im, jnn., to his 
 brother John, from Eton CoUege, 6 
 
 Pedro, Don, capture of, 32 
 
 Peel, Sir Robert, transfers Hood's pension 
 to Mrs. Hood, 525 
 
 Peninsula, Wellington's campaign in the, 
 389 
 
 Penn, trial of, 112 
 
 Penruddock, Mrs., her farewell letter to 
 her husband on the eve of his execution, 
 114 ; his reply, 115 
 
 Perron, Comte de, his observations con- 
 cerning Philip Stanhope, 221 
 
 Phillips, Mrs. Susanna, death of, 346 
 
 Pilkington, Laetitia, 174 note 
 
 Pindaric poetry, 188 
 
 Pi< zzi, Mrs., to Dr. Johnson, in reply to 
 his vituperation, 242 
 
 Pitt, William, to his wife, announcing 
 the repeal of the American Stamp Act, 
 235 ; personally complimented by Ho- 
 race Walpole, 264. See also Chatham 
 
 Plague of 1625, the, 74 
 
 Plaxton, the Rev. George, to Ralph 
 Thoresby, on the power of gold, 148 
 
 Plumptre, Rev. J., his defence of the 
 drama, 348 
 
 Plymley, Peter, to his brother Abraham, 
 on the Catholic question, 405 
 
 Poetry a facetious defence of, 95 ; Pin- 
 daric, 138 
 
 Pope to Dean Swift, on his mother's age, 
 186 ; his translati n of Homer, 189, 324; 
 to Richard Steele, on the philosophy 
 of sickness, 189 ; to Lady M<iry Wortley 
 Montagu, on her Eastern travels, with 
 the description of the lovers killed by 
 lightning, 191 ; to Dean Swift, describ- 
 ing Bolingbroke's life at Dawley, 194 ; 
 accused of selfi>hness towards Boling- 
 broke, 261 ; M-eakly constitution of, 
 358 ; admired by Byron, 478, 492 
 
 KEY 
 
 Porson, Richard, to Dr. Postlethwaite, 
 concerning the Greek Professorship and 
 subscription to the Thirty -nine Articles, 
 377 
 
 Postage in 1812, 358 
 
 Power, Miss, Lady Blessington's sister, 
 550 
 
 Powle t, Earl, 162 
 
 Preaching, Wesley's method of, 229 ; 
 ' screaming' in, 231 
 
 Priestley, Dr., his attempt to draw Gibbon 
 into controversy, 330 
 
 Prince C nsort, the, to the Crown Prin- 
 cess of Prussia, (1) on painting, model- 
 ling, gardening, and freemasonry, 572 ; 
 (2) on the sacrifices involved in services 
 to royal personages, 573 
 
 Protestants, persecution by, 410 
 
 Pulpit, degeneracy of the, 563 
 
 Puritan movement, the, in the reign of 
 Elizabeth, 57 
 
 QUAKERS, persecution of, 111 
 Queen, the. See Victoria 
 
 "nAFFAELLE, paintings of, 288 
 
 -'-*' Railway travelling, perils of, 414 
 
 Ralegh, Sir Walter, to Sir Robert Cecil, 
 on the death of Lady Cecil, 36 ; to 
 James L, justifying his conduct in the 
 expedition to Guiana, 37 
 
 Ramsbottom, Miss Dorothea, to Mr. Bull, 
 describing her visit to ' Room,' 496 
 
 Rasay, house of, Dr. Johnson's misstate- 
 ment concerning the precedence of the, 
 239 
 
 Ray, John, to Tankred Robinson, de- 
 scribing the burning fountain of Gre- 
 noble, 121 
 
 Reed, Hon. W. B., on Thackeray's success 
 in America, 554 note 
 
 Retz, Cardinal de, 223 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, his judgment of 
 paintings questioned by Hogarth, 260 ; 
 to Mr. Barry, on the study of painting 
 at Rome, 286 ; exhibits at the Academy 
 in 177Q, 338 
 
INDEX. 
 
 687 
 
 BIO 
 
 Rice, John ap, to Thomas Cromwell, 
 on the state of the monastery at Bury, 
 33 
 
 Rich, Christopher, engages Mrs. Oldfield, 
 225 
 
 Richardson, Samuel, to Aaron Hill, ex- 
 pressing his views of his writings, 196 
 
 Richmond, Duke of, 272 
 
 Rickman, John, 429 
 
 Ristori, Signora, acting of, 514 
 
 Ritson, Joseph, to Sir Harris Nicolas, 
 stigmatising Whig writers as untruth- 
 ful, 345 
 
 Robertson, Rev. F. W., to , complain- 
 ing of his vexations at Brighton, 562 ; 
 
 to , against indulgence in opiates, 
 
 564 
 
 Robespierre, early objection of, to capital 
 punishment, 568 
 
 Rochford, Lord, dedication by Crabbe of 
 a vol ame of poems to, 351 
 
 Rockingham, Marquis of, 315 
 
 Rogers, Samuel, to Thomas Moore, relat- 
 ing his impressions of Venice, 382 
 
 Rome, study of painting at, 287 ; a ludi- 
 crous description of, 496 
 
 Rousseau, his accusation of Hume, 247, 
 248 
 
 Roxburghe Club, Sir Walter Scott's elec- 
 tion to the, 40t 
 
 Royal Society, the, 108 
 
 Royalty, services to, 573 
 
 Rugby, Dr. Arnold's administration of, 
 515,518 
 
 .Russell, Lady Rachel, to Charles IL, ex- 
 culpating her deceased husband, 128 ; 
 to Dr. Tillotson, counsplling him to 
 accept the see of Canterbury, 129 ; his 
 reply, 133 
 
 Russia and the British army, 396 note ; 
 aggressiveness of, 543 ; antagonism of, 
 to Western Europe, 544 
 
 Rymer, Dryden's opinion of, 138 
 
 ST. JOHN, Mr., stabs Guiscard, 162. See 
 Bnlingbroke 
 St. Vincent, Cape, Admiral Jervis's action 
 at, 365 noU 
 
 8HB 
 
 Salvini, his opinion of Pope's 'Homer,' 
 189 
 
 Sancho, Ignatius, addresses Sterne in be- 
 half of his coloured brethren, 249 
 
 Sanderson, Mr., the story of, 399 
 
 Santa Cruz, Nelson's attack on, 366 note 
 
 Scipione, Alberto, Sir Henry Wotton's 
 host at Siena, 53 
 
 Scotland, the Reformation in, 55 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, to George Crabbe in 
 praise of his poems, 400 ; to the Rev. 
 T. Frognall Dibbin, (1) concerning the 
 presentation copy of his ' Tour ' to be 
 conveyed to the author of Waverley, 
 402 ; (2) replying to a query as to 
 whether the author of Waverley would 
 join the Roxburghe Club, 403; (3) 
 acknowledging his election to the Club, 
 404 ; anecdote related by Charles Ma- 
 thews, 443; his 'Field of Waterloo,' 
 467 ; entertains Sir David Wilkie at 
 Abbotsford, 47 2 ; conceals the author- 
 ship of the novels from his own familj', 
 473 ; Wilkie's picture of his family, 
 473 ; his poetry praised by the Prince 
 Regent, 486 
 
 Scurlock, Miss, S'eele's second wife, 171 
 note 
 
 Sedgwick, Miss, on the beauty of English- 
 women, 455 ; her description of Queen 
 Victoria, 457 
 
 Selborne, White's tortoise at, 274 
 
 Senecas, Macau lay's opinion of the writ- 
 ings of the, 534 
 
 Siirvcius, 331 
 
 Severy, a Swiss, a friend of Gibbon, 333 
 
 Sevigne, Madame de. Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu's opinion of her writings, 
 212 
 
 Shakespeare forgeries, the, 448 
 
 Sheen, Sir William Teuiple'8 seat at, 123 
 
 Sheffield, Lady, 832 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, his views for the 
 improvement of mankind, 356 ; morals 
 of, 359 ; to Henry Reveley, concerning 
 the cylinder cast for his yacht, f,06 ; to 
 Leigh Hunt, announcing Byron's oft'er 
 of partnership in a periodical at Pisa, 
 507 ; to , stating Moore's fears f«r 
 
588 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 SHE 
 Shelley's influence over Byron on the 
 subject of religion, 509 
 
 Shelley, Mrs., her grief at the death of 
 her child, 359 
 
 Shenstone, William, to Mr. Graves, on 
 the impossibility of happiness -without 
 social intercourse, 251 ; to Richard 
 Jago, describing his recovery from 
 mental affliction, 253 
 
 Sheppard, John, to Lord Byron, commu- 
 nicating his deceased wile's prayer for 
 Byron's conversion, 494 ; Byron's reply, 
 495 
 
 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 355 
 
 Shirley, the dramatic poet, 399 
 
 Shrewsbury, Earl of, to Queen Elizabeth, 
 promising close custody of IVIary Queen 
 of Scots, 25 ; to Lord Burghley, touch- 
 ing the allowance for keeping his cap- 
 tive, 26 
 
 Shrewsbury, Earl (afterwards Duke) of, 
 131 note 
 
 Siddons, Mrs., a butcher's opinion of, 479 ; 
 her faculty of impersonation, 512 ; her 
 sjyaring use of gesticulation, 513 
 
 Sidney, Algernon, to his father, relating 
 his real connection with the proceed- 
 ings against Charles I., 119 
 
 Sidney, Sir Henry, to his son Philip, 
 giving him moral counsel, 23 
 
 Simnel, Lambert, conspiracy of, 8 
 
 Sloane, Sir Hans, to John Ray, relating a 
 tiger-baiting in London, 150 
 
 SmaU-nox, Lady Mary Wortley Mon 
 tagu's discovery of inoculation for, 201 
 
 Smith, Mrs. Charlotte, her friendship 
 with Hayley and Cowper, 328 rvote 
 
 Smith, Rev. Sydney, Plymley letters of, 
 see Plymley ; to Lady Holland, alluding 
 to the game shooting propensity of the 
 clergy, 412 ; to Roderick Murchison, on 
 receipt of a pamphlet from him, 413 ; 
 to the Rev. R. H. Barham, on receipt 
 of a present of game, 413 ; to the Editor 
 of the 'Morning Chronicle,' on the 
 perils of railway travelling, 414 ; his 
 Letters to Archdeacon Singleton, 502 
 
 Snuff, Addison's letter on, 180 
 
 Sophocles, Macaulay's opinion of, 534 
 
 8WI 
 
 Sotheby, William, to Professor Wilson, 
 concerning his translation of Homer, 
 362 
 
 Southey, Robert, to Miss Barker, an- 
 nouncing; the preparation of his * Speci- 
 mens of the Late English Poets,' and 
 alluding to Coleridge and Wordsworth 
 428 ; to Joseph Cottle, acknowledging 
 past benefits, 431 ; to John Rickman 
 on death. 432 ; his friendship with 
 Lamb, 432 rvnte ; with Landor, 439 naU ; 
 his ' Roderic,' 467 
 
 Sowerby, Mr., Haydon's butcher, 478 
 
 Spain. Cromwell's treaty with France 
 against, 84. See. also Peninsula 
 
 Spanish marriage scheme of James L, 
 45, 46, 73 
 
 Stagl, Madame de, her impression of 
 English women, 456 
 
 Stage, defence of the, 348, 443 ; gesticu- 
 lation on the, 513 
 
 Stamp Act, American, repeal of the, 235 
 
 Stanhope, Philip, Comte de Perron's 
 judgment of, 221 
 
 Steele, Richard, to Miss Mary Scurlock, a 
 love-letter, 171 ; to the Earl of Halifax, 
 enclosing 'Isaac Bickerstaflfe's ' pro- 
 posal for a subscription, 172; to Lady 
 Steele, 173 
 
 Stillingfleet, Benjamin, blue stockings of, 
 277 7iote ; correspondence of, with Mrs. 
 Elizabeth Montagu, 280 
 
 Sterne, Lawrence, to Ignatius Sancho, 
 sympathising with the negro race, 249 ; 
 to Miss Sterne, bewailing his lonely and 
 afflicted condition, 250 
 
 Stowe, Mrs., her influence in exciting 
 English prejudice against America, 557 
 
 Strawberry Hill, Walpole's residence, 
 259, 268 
 
 Strong, Rev. Paschal, his denunciation of 
 the stage, 443 note 
 
 Suckling, Sir John, to— , announcing the 
 arrival of the English army at Berwick, 
 97 
 
 Suffolk, Duke of, capture and murder of, 3 
 
 Sweden. See Holland 
 
 Swift, Dean, to the Earl of Halifax, 
 soliciting preferment, 159; to Arch- 
 
INDEX. 
 
 589 
 
 SWI 
 
 bishop King, relating the Abb^ Guis- 
 card's attempt to assassinate Harley, 
 161 ; to Lord Oxford, on the de^ith of 
 his daughter, the Marchioness of Car- 
 marthen, 164 ; to Mrs. Moore, on the 
 death of her favourite daughter, 166 ; 
 to the Earl of Oxford, concerning the 
 publication of the ' Four last Years of 
 Queen Anne's Reign,' 167 ; his endea- 
 vours to reconcile Oxford and Buliug- 
 broke, 168 
 Switzerland, scenery of, 556 
 
 rrALLEYRAND. See Palmerston 
 
 -*- Talma, acting of, 513 
 
 Tarbat, New, Erakine's description of, 336 
 
 Taylor, Mr., Landor's publisher, 441 
 
 Taylor, Jeremy, to John Evelyn, after his 
 visit to Sayes Court, 104 
 
 Taylour, Charles, to Mr. Rich, the pub- 
 lisher, stating how Mrs. Oldfield came 
 to be an actress, 224 
 
 Temple, Sir William, to Lord Lisle, on 
 sundry subjects, 122 ; to Mr. Godolphin, 
 relating the negotiation of the Triple 
 Alliance, 124 ; to Lord Halifax, con- 
 cerning his own deserts, 127 
 
 Testament, New, ancient manuscripts of 
 the, 156 
 
 Thackeray, William M., to the Hon. W. 
 B. Reed, (I) on meditated pleasures, 
 with reflections on death, 555 ; (2) 
 expressing his admiration of Swiss 
 scenerj' and his recollections of the 
 American people, 556 
 
 Theocritus, poetry of, 140 
 
 Thiers, M., his attitude towards England 
 on the Egyptian question, 460 
 
 Thoresby, Ralph, the antiquarian, 148 note 
 
 Thomhill, Sir James, 269 
 
 Thrale, Mrs., married to Mr. Piozzi, 240 
 
 Thurlow, John, Cromwell's secretary of 
 state, 386 
 
 Tickell, Addison's friendship with, 181 
 
 Tiger-baiting in London at the end of the 
 seventeenth century, 150 
 
 Tillotson. Dr., to the Earl of Shrewsbury, 
 exhorting him against dissolute con- 
 
 WAL 
 
 duct, 131 ; to Lady Rachel Ru.'sell, 
 
 concerning his appointment to the See 
 
 of Canterbury, 133 
 Tobacco-smoking, defence of, 146 
 Tories, historical veracity of, 345 
 Tortoise, the Selborne, 274 
 Toulon, escape of the French fleet from, 
 
 369 
 Trafalgar, the eve of, 371 
 Treville, Admiral, his false official report 
 
 concerning Nelson, 368 note\ Nelson's 
 
 threat against, 369 
 Triple Alliance, the, 124 
 Turkey, cuisine of, 204 ; music of, 206 
 Turkish ladies, 203 
 Tweed, the, 97 
 
 UNIIED STATES, the slave question 
 in the, 542, 544 
 Unwin, Mrs., Cowper's friendship with, 
 
 327 note, 329 
 Utrecht, treaty of, 168, 211 
 
 VANBRUGH recommends Mrs. Oldfield 
 ' for the stage, 225 
 
 Vatican, the Sixtine Chapel in the, 287 
 
 Venice, Rogers's account of, 383 
 
 Vesuvius, description of, by Charles 
 Mathews the younger, 548 
 
 Victoria, Queen, an American lady's de- 
 scription of, 457 
 
 Virgil, Dryden's views on the translation 
 of, 137 
 
 Volunteers, demeanour of, in 1803, 423 
 
 Vulgate, errors of the, 158 
 
 WALLER, Edmund, to Lady , on 
 
 ' ' sending verses to her, 95 ; to Lady 
 Lucy Sidney, uttering mock impre- 
 cations against her sister Dorothy on 
 her marriage, 96 ; Sir Wm. Temple's 
 estimate of, 123 
 
 Walpole, Horace, to Sir Horace Mann, 
 (1) retaiUng gossip about Pope and 
 Bolingbroke, 259 ; (2) reporting cur- 
 rent events, 261 ; to William Pitt, con- 
 
590 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 WAL 
 gratulatine: him on the glorious results 
 of his administration, 264 ; to George 
 Montagu, (1) describing the funeral of 
 George II., 265 ; (2) relating his con- 
 versation with Hogarth, 268 ; to the 
 Earl of Strafford, concerning tree culti- 
 vation in France, 270 ; to the Editor of 
 Chatterton's * Miscellanies,' expressing 
 his opinion of the youthful poet's genius, 
 272 
 
 Walsh, Mr., embezzlement of, 356 
 
 Walton, Isaac, to John Aubrey, in reply 
 to inquiries concerning Ben Jonson, Mr. 
 Warner, and Mr. Hariott, 69 
 
 War, Lord Macaulay's views of, 536 
 
 Warbeck, Perkin, 9 
 
 Warner, Mr., asserts his disclosure to 
 Harvey of the circulation of the blood, 
 69 
 
 Warton on ancient plays, quoted, 349 
 
 Waterloo, battle of, 395, 396 
 
 Waverley Xovels, Scott's denial of the 
 authorship of, 402, 403, 404, 473 
 
 Weatherhead, Lieutenant, one of Nelson's 
 officers, 368 
 
 WeUmgton, Duke of, to Sir William Pole, 
 on his difficulties in the Peninsula, 389 ; 
 to , concerning a young lady lan- 
 guishing for one of his officers, 392 ; to 
 Lord Burghersh, on the oppres.-ion of 
 the French peasantry by their own 
 troops, 393 ; to Sir J. Sinclair, concern- 
 ing inaccurate accounts of the battle of 
 Waterloo, 395 ; to Francis Mudford, on 
 the same subject, 396 ; to Lord Fitzrov 
 Somerset, with reference to the Czar's 
 request for information concerning the 
 British army, 397 
 
 Wentworth, Lady Harriet, 145 
 
 Wesley, John, to a friend, on the right 
 method of preaching, 229 ; to John 
 King, against ' screaming,' 231 ; to his 
 brother Charles, asserting his supreme 
 control of the Methodist body, 232 
 
 West, Benjamin, his precept to Con- 
 stable concerninar skies, 446 note 
 
 Westmoreland, Lord, 266 
 
 Wheatley, James, a Methodist preacher, 
 230 
 
 WOR 
 
 Whig historians accused of untruthful- 
 ness, 345 
 
 White, Gilbert, to Mrs, Chapone, giving 
 the autobiography of Timothy, the 
 Selborne tortoise, 274 
 
 White, Henry Kirke, to John Charles- 
 worth, declaring his zeal for the classics, 
 469 ; to P. Thompson, on the immoral 
 tendency of Moore's poetry, 470 
 
 Whitechapel, singular outbreaks of plague 
 in, 74 
 
 Whitgift, Archbishop, and the Puritans, 
 57 
 
 Wilberforce, William, to the Earl of Gal- 
 loway, in praise of the country gentry, 
 378 
 
 Wilkes, John, to Lords Egremont and 
 Halifax, concerning the restoration of 
 his private paper*, 291 ; to Humplirey 
 Cotes, after his withdrawal to France, 
 292 ; arbitrarily replaced by Colonel 
 Luttrell, 316 
 
 Wilkie, Sir David, to his sister, describing 
 his entertainment at Abbotsford, 472 ; 
 anecdote of, 479 
 
 William III., ecclesiastical policy of, 129 
 note ; presses the primacy on Dr. Tillot- 
 son, 134 ; promises a prebend to Swift, 
 161 
 
 Williams, Sir William, killed at Belleisle, 
 268 
 
 Wilson, Professor, to James Hogg, record- 
 ing his Highland tour, and alluding to 
 the poets of the day, 465 
 
 Wolfe, General, to his mother, (1) on 
 military service in Scotland, and the 
 character of his associates, 288; (2) 
 with reference to his possible neglect by 
 the authorities, 290 
 
 Wollstonecraft, Mary, to Captain Imlay, 
 (1) reverting to their past intercoui-se, 
 380 ; (2) reproaching him with neglect, 
 381 
 
 Wolsey, Cardinal, to Dr. Stephen Gar- 
 diner, bewailing his distreiji^ed condi- 
 tion, 10 
 
 Woodcock, praise of the, 552 
 
 Woolstable, near Charing Cross, 69 
 
 Worcester, battle of, 80 
 
INDEX. 
 
 601 
 
 WOR 
 
 Wordsworth, William, to Sir George 
 Beaumont, deploring the loss at sea 
 of his brother, Captain Wordsworth, 
 397 ; to Alexander Dyce, on the poet 
 Shirley's end, with a companion story, 
 399 ; the cabal aprainst, at All fox- 
 den, 418 note ; tragedy composed by, 
 419 ; portrait of, 430 ; invites Charles 
 Lamb into Cumberland, 434 ; poetry of, 
 467, 476 ; receives a degree at Oxford, 
 519 
 
 Wotton, Sir Henry, to John Milton, on 
 receiving a copy of ' Com us ' and hear- 
 ing of the poet's intended journey to 
 Italy, 62 
 
 ZTIR 
 Wycherley, Dryden's regard for, 139 
 Wyudham (Wymondham) Abbey church, 
 256 
 
 yOXGE, Mr. C. B., a protege of Nelson, 
 -■- 369 
 
 York, Duchess of, 342 
 York, Duke of (James II.), dispute of, 
 with his brot.:er Chai'les, 83, 86 
 
 7OUCH, Sir Edward, blunder made by 
 
 Ll 
 
 proclaiming Charles I., 74 
 
 ' Zurich Letttrs,' extracts from, 54, 66 
 
 T,oxnojf : rnixTBD bt 
 
 BrOTI ISWOOi)K ASD ' O.. XKW-SIIIV.KT SgCAUlf 
 Aau PAttLIA.VKXT STUIiliT 
 

^ 
 
 V 
 
 I