me, I learn, that in the long interval of my non-correspondence, he had suffered anxiety and mortification enough; so much that I dare say he made twenty vows never to hazard again either letter or compliment to an unknown author. What, indeed, could he imagine less, than that I meant by such an obstinate silence, to tell him that I valued neither him nor his praises, nor his proffered friendship, in short, that I considered him as a rival, and therefore, like a true author, hated and despised him. He is now, He is now, however, convinced that I love him, as indeed I do, and I account him the chief acquisition that my own Verse has ever procured me. Brute should I be if I did not, for he promises me every assistance in his power. I have likewise a very pleasing Letter from Mr. Park, which I wish you were here to read; and a very pleasing Poem that came inclosed in it for my revisal, written when he was only twenty years of age, yet wonderfully well written, though wanting some correction. To Mr. Hurdis I return Sir Thomas More to-morrow; having revised it a second time. He is now a very respectable figure, and will do my friend, who gives him to the public this spring, consi derable credit. W. C. LETTER LETTER XV. To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr. March 30, 1792. My mornings, ever since you went, have been given to my correspondents; this morning I have already written a long Letter to Mr. Park, giving my opinion of his Poem, which is a favorable one. I forget whether I showed it to you when you were here, and even whether I had then received it. He has genius and delicate taste; and if he were not an Engraver, might be one of our first hands in poetry. ........ W. C. LETTER XVI. To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr. Weston, April 5, 1792. You talk, my dear friend, as John Bunyan says, like one that has the egg-shell still upon his head. You talk of the mighty favors that you have received from me, and forget entirely those for which I am indebted to you; but though you forget them, I shall not, nor ever think that I have requited you, so long as any opportunity presents itself of rendering you the smallest service: small indeed, is all that I can ever hope to render. You You now perceive, and sensibly, that not without reason I complained as I use to do, of those tiresome rogues the Printers. Bless yourself that you have not two thick quartos to bring forth, as I had. My vexation was always much increased by this reflection; they are every day, and all day long, employed in printing for somebody, and why not for me? This was adding mortification to disappointment, so that I often lost all patience. The suffrage of Doctor Robertson makes more than amends for the scurvy jest passed upon me by the wag unknown. unknown. I regard him not; nor, except for about two moments after I first heard of his doings, have I ever regarded him. I have somewhere a secret enemy; I know not for what cause he should be so, but he, I imagine, supposes that he has a cause it is well, however, to have but one; and I will take all the care I can not to increase the number. I have begun my Notes, and am playing the Commentator manfully. The worst of it is that I am anticipated in almost all my opportunities to shine by those who have gone before me. may be a comfort to us all the rest of our days, in a world where true true friendships are rarities, and especially where suddenly formed they are apt soon to terminate! But as I said before, I feel a disposition of heart toward you, that I never felt for one, whom I had never seen; and that shall prove itself, I trust, in the event, a propitious omen. *** * Horace says somewhere, though I may quote it amiss, perhaps, for I have a terriblé memory, ** Utrumque nostrum incredibili modo Consentit astrum. * Our stars consent, at least have had an influence somewhat similar in another and more important article. It gives me the sincerest pleasure that I may hope to see you at Weston; for as to any migrations of mine, they must, I fear, notwithstanding the joy I should feel in being a guest of yours, be still considered in the light of impossibilities. Come then, my friend, and be as welcome, as the country people say here, as the flowers in May! I am happy, as I say, in the expectation; but the fear or rather the consciousness, that I shall not answer on a nearer view, makes it a trembling kind of happiness, and a doubtful. After that privacy, which I have mentioned above, I went to Huntingdon; soon after my arrival there, I took up my quarters at the house of the Revd. Mr. Unwin; I lived with him while he lived, and ever since his death, have lived with his Widow. Her, therefore, you will find mistress of the house; and I judge of you amiss, or you will find her just such as you would wish. To me she has been often a nurse, and invariably the kindest friend, through a thousand adversities that I have had to grapple with in the course of almost thirty years. I thought it better to introduce her to you thus, than to present her to you at your coming, quite a stranger. Bring with you any books that be useful to my you think may Commentatorship, for, with you for an interpreter, I shall be afraid of none of them. And in truth, if you think that you shall want them, you must bring books for your own use also; for they are an article with which I am heinously unprovided: being much in the condition of the man, whose library Pope describes, as No mighty store! His own works neatly bound and little more! You shall know how this has come to pass hereafter. Tell me, my friend, are your Letters in your own hand-writing? If so, I am in pain for your eyes, lest by such frequent demands upon them I should hurt them. I had rather write you three Letters for one, much as I prize your Letters, than that should happen. And now, for the present, adieu-I am going to accompany Milton into the lake of fire and brimstone, having just begun my annotations. VOL. II. F W. C. LETTER |