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LETTER XLIX.

To WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq.

WESTON, Oct. 28, 1792.

NOTHING done, my dearest brother, nor

likely to be done at present; yet I purpose in a day or two to make another attempt, to which, however, I shall address myself with fear and trembling, like a man, who having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, injured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The confciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burthen that I am not able to bear. Milton especially, is my grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded with fuch continual reproaches for neglecting him: I will, therefore, begin; I will do my best; and if, after all, that best prove good for nothing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they are, that I have made already; a measure very difagreeable to myself, and to which nothing but neceffity shall compel me. I fhall rejoice to fee those new famples of your biography, which you give me to expect.

Allons! courage ! - Here comes something, however; produced after a gestation as long as that of a pregnant woman. It is the debt long unpaid; the compliment due to Romney; and if it has your approbation, I will fend it, or you may fend it for me. I must premife, however, that I intended nothing less than a fonnet when I began. I know not why, but I faid to myself, it shall not be a fonnet; accordingly I attempted it in one fort of measure, then in a second, then in a third, till I had made the trial in half a dozen different kinds of shorter verse, and behold it is a fonnet at last. The fates would have it fo.

Το GEORGE ROMNEY, Esq.

ROMNEY! expert, infallible to trace,
On chart or canvas, not the form alone,
And 'femblance, but, however, faintly shewn,
The mind's impreffion too on every face,
With strokes that time ought never to erase :
Thou hast so pencil'd mine, that though I own
The subject worthless, I have never known
The artist shining with fuperior grace.

But this I mark, that symptoms none of wo
In thy incomparable work appear :
Well! I am fatisfied it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear;

For in my looks what forrow could'st thou fee,
While I was Hayley's guest, and fat to thee?

W. C.

LETTER L.

To SAMUEL ROSE, Esq.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

WESTON, NOV. 9, 1792.

I WISH that I were as industrious, and as much occupied as you, though in a different way; but it is not fo with me. Mrs. Unwin's great debility (who is not yet able to move without assistance) is of itself a hindrance fuch as would effectually disable me. Till the can work and read, and fill up her time as usual (all which is at present entirely out of her power) I may now and then find time to write a letter, but I shall write nothing more. I cannot fit with my pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is in effect in folitude, filent and looking at the fire. To this hindrance that other has been added, of which you are already aware, a want of spirits, fuch I have never known, when I was not absolutely laid by, fince I commenced an author. How long I fhall be continued in these uncomfortable circumstances is known only to Him, who, as he will, difposes of us all. I may yet be able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of the Paradife Loft for the press, before it will be wanted; and Johnfon himself feems to think there will be no haste for the fecond. But poetry is my favourite employment, and all my poetical operations are in the mean time suspended; for while a work, to which I have bound myself, remains unaccomplished, I can do nothing else.

Johnson's plan of prefixing my phiz. to the new edition of my Poems, is by no means a pleasant one to me; and so I told him in a letter I fent him from Eartham, in which I assured him that my objections to it would not be easily furmounted. But if you judge that it may really have an effect in advancing the fale, I would not be so squeamish as to fuffer the spirit of prudery to prevail in me to his disadvantage. Somebody told an author, I forget whom, that there was more vanity in refusing his picture, than in granting it, on which he inftantly complied. I do not perfectly feel all the force of the argument, but it shall content me that he did.

I do most fincerely rejoice in the success of your publication, and have no doubt that my prophecy concerning your success in greater matters, will be fulfilled. We are naturally pleased when our friends approve what we approve ourselves; how much then must I be pleased, when you speak so kindly of Jolinny! I know him to be all that you think him, and love him entirely.

Adieu! we expect you at Christmas; and small, therefore, rejoice when Chriftmas comes. Let nothing interfere. W. C..

VOL. II.

Ever your's,

H

LETTER LI

TO JOHN JOHNSON, Esq.

:

MY DEAREST JOHNNY,

WESTON, NOV. 20, 1792.

I GIVE you many thanks for your rhymes, and for your verses without rhyme; for your poetical dialogue between wood and stone; between Homer's head and the head of Samuel; kindly intended, I know well, for my amusement, and that amused me much.

The fucceffor of the clerk defunct, for whom I used to write mortuary verses, arrived here this morning with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an humble petition of his own, entreating me to assist him as I had assisted his predecessor. I have undertaken the service, although with no little reluctance, being involved in many arrears on other subjects, and having very little dependence at present on my ability to write at all. I proceed exactly as when you were here-a letter now and then before breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday; if holiday it may be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and "forecasting the fashion of uncertain

evils."

The fever on my spirits has harassed me much, and I have never had so good a night, nor so quiet a rifing, fince you went, as on this very morning. A relief that I account particularly seasonable and propitious; because I had, in my intentions, devoted this morning to you, and could not have fulfilled those intentions, had I been as spiritless as I generally am.

I am glad that Johnson is in no haste for Milton, for I seem myself not likely to address myself presently to that concern, with any prospect of success; yet something now and then, like a secret whisper, encourages and assures me that it will yet be done. W. C.

LETTER LII.

To WILLIAM HAYLEY, Efq.

WESTON, NOV. 2, 1792.

HOW shall I thank you enough for the interest you take in my future Miltonic labours, and the affistance you promise me in the performance of them; I will fome time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknowledge your friendship in fome of my best verse; the most suitable return one poet can make to another : in the mean time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness. You with me warm in my work, and I ardently with the fame; but when I shall be so, God only knows. My melancholy, which seemed a little alleviat. ed for a few days, has gathered about me again, with as black a cloud as ever: the consequence is absolute inca. pacity to begin.

I was for fome years dirge-writer to the town of Northampton, being employed by the clerk of the principal parish there, to furnith him with an annual copy of verses proper to be printed at the foot of his bill of mortality. But the clerk died, and hearing nothing for two years from his fucceffor, I well hoped that I was out of my office. The other morning, however, Sam announced the new clerk; he came to folicit the same service as I had rendered to his predecessor, and I reluctantly complied: doubtful, indeed, whether I was capable. I have, however, achieved that labour, and I have done nothing more. I am just sent for up to Mary, dear Mary ! Adieu! She is as well as when I left you, I would I could say better. Remember us both affectionately to your sweet boy, and trust me for being most truly your's, W. C.

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