Weston, July 22, 1792. This important affair, my dear brother, is at last decided, and we are coming. Wednesday se'nnight, if nothing occur to make a later day necessary, is the day fixed for our journey. Our rate of travelling must depend on Mary's ability to bear it. Our mode of travelling will occupy three days unavoidably, for we shall come in a coach. Abbot finishes my picture to-morrow; on Wednesday he returns to town, and is commissioned to order one down for us, with four steeds to draw it; "Hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, That cannot go but forty miles a day." Send us our route, for I am as ignorant of it almost as if I were in a strange country. We shall reach St. Alban's, I suppose, the first day; say where we must finish our second day's journey, and at what inn we may best repose? As to the end of the third day, we know where that will find us, viz., in the arms, and under the roof, of our beloved Havlev. General Cowper, having heard a rumor of this intended migration, desires to meet me on the road, that we may once more see each other. He lives at Ham, near Kingston. Shall we go through Kingston or near it? For I would give him as little trouble as possible, though he offers very kindly to come as far as Barnet for that purpose. Nor must I forget Carwardine, who so kindly desired to be informed what way we should go. On what point of the road will it be easiest for him to find us? On all these points you must be my oracle. My friend and brother, we shall overwhelm you with our numbers; this is all the trouble that I have left. My Johnny of Norfolk, happy in the thought of accompanying us, would be broken-hearted to be left behind. In the midst of all these solicitudes, I laugh to think what they are made of, and what an important thing it is for me to travel. Other men steal away from their homes silently, and make no disturbance, but when I move, houses are turned upside down, maids are turned out of their beds, all the counties through which I pass appear to be in an uproar-Surrey greets me by the mouth of the General, and Essex by that of Carwardine. How strange does all this seem to a man who has seen no bustle, and made none for twenty years together! Adieu! W. C. TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL.* You July 25, 1792. My dear Mr. Bull,-Engaged as I have been ever since I saw you, it was not possible that I should write sooner; and, busy as I am at present, it is not without difficulty that I can write even now: but I promised you a letter, and must endeavor, at least, to be as good as my word. How do you imagine In sitting, not on cockatrice' eggs, nor yet to I have been occupied these last ten days? gratify a mere idle humor, nor because I was Johnson has an aunt who has a longing detoo sick to move; but because my cousin sire of my picture, and because he would, draw it. For this purpose I have been sittherefore, bring a painter from London to ting, as I say, these ten days; and am hearthave now, I know, a burning curiosity to ily glad that my sitting time is over. learn two things, which I may choose whether I will tell you or not; First, who was the painter; and secondly, how he has succeeded. The painter's name is Abbot. You never heard of him, you say. It is very likely; but there is, nevertheless, such a painter, and an excellent one he is. Multa sunt que bonus Bernardus nec vidit, nec audivit. To your second inquiry, I answer, that he has succeeded to admiration. The likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the room where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me where they know I am not. Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton instead of being here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, which, therefore, you can never see; for it goes to London next Monday, to be suspended awhile at Abbot's; and then proceeds into Norfolk, where it will be suspended forever. But the picture is not the only prodigy I have to tell you of. A greater belongs to me; and one that you will hardly credit, even on my own testimony. We are on the eve of a journey, and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we set out for Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hayley, on the other side of London, nobody knows where, a hundred and twenty miles off. Pray for us, my friend, that we may have a safe going and return. It is a tremendous exploit, and I feel a thousand anxieties when I think of it. But a promise made to him when he was here, that we would go if we could, and a sort of persuasion that we can if we will, oblige us to it. The journey, and the change of air, together with the novelty to us of the scene to which we are going, may, I hope, be useful to us both; especially to Mrs. Unwin, who has most need of restoratives. She sends her love to you and to Thomas, in which she is sincerely joined by Your affectionate W. C. * Private correspondence. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. Weston, July 29, 1792. Through floods and flames to your retreat I win my desp rate way, And when we meet, if e'er we meet, You will wonder at the word desp'rate in the second line, and at the if in the third; but could you have any conception of the fears I have had to bustle with, of the dejection of spirits that I have suffered concerning this journey, you would wonder much more that I still courageously persevere in my resolution to undertake it. Fortunately for my intentions, it happens, that as the day approaches my terrors abate; for had they continued to be what they were a week since, I must, after all, have disappointed you; and was actually once on the verge of doing it. I have told you something of my nocturnal experiences, and assure you now, that they were hardly ever more terrific than on this occasion. Prayer has however opened my passage at last, and obtained for me a degree of confidence that I trust will prove a comfortable viaticum to me all the way. On Wednesday, therefore, we set forth. The terrors that I have spoken of would appear ridiculous to most, but to you they will not, for you are a reasonable creature, and know well that, to whatever cause it be owing, (whether to constitution, or to God's express appointment) I am hunted by spiritual hounds in the night season. I cannot help it. You will pity me, and wish it were otherwise; and, though you may think there is much of the imaginary in it, will not deem it for that reason an evil less to be lamented so much for fears and distresses. Soon I hope they shall all have a joyful termination, and I, my Mary, my Johnny, and my dog, be skipping with delight at Eartham! Well! this picture is at last finished, and well finished, I can assure you. Every creature that has seen it has been astonished at the resemblance. Sam's boy bowed to it, and Beau walked up to it, wagging his tail as he went, and evidently showing that he acknowledged its likeness to his master. It is a half-length, as it is technically but absurdly called; that is to say, it gives all but the foot and ankle. To-morrow it goes to town, and will hang some months at Abbot's, when it will be sent to its due destination in Norfolk.* I hope, or rather wish, that at Eartham I may recover that habit of study which, inveterate as it once seemed, I now seem to have lost-lost to such a degree that it is even painful to me to think of what it will cost me to acquire it again. a happy meeting. Mary sends her love—she TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.* July 30, 1792. My dear Friend,-Like you, I am obliged to snatch short opportunities of corresponding with my friends; and to write what I can, not what I would. Your kindness in giving me the first letter after your return claims my thanks; and my tardiness to answer it would demand an apology, if, having been here, and witnessed how much my time is occupied in attendance on my poor patient, you could possibly want one. She proceeds, I trust, in her recovery; but at so slow a rate, that the difference made in a week is hardly perceptible to me, who am always with her. This last night has been the worst she has known since her illness-entirely sleepless till seven in the morning. Such ill rest seems but an indifferent preparation for a long journey, which we purpose to undertake on Wednesday, when we set out for Eartham, on a visit to Mr. Hayley. The journey itself will, I hope, be useful to her; and the air of the sea, blowing over the South Downs, together with the novelty of the scene to us, will, I hope, be serviceable to us both. You may imagine that we, who have been resident on one spot so many years, do not engage in such an enterprise without some anxiety. Persons accustomed to travel would make themselves merry with mine; it seems so disproportioned to the occasion. Once I have been on the point of determining not to go, and even since we fixed the day; my troubles have been so insupportable. But it has been made a matter of much prayer, and at last it has pleased God to satisfy me, in some measure, that his will corresponds with our purpose, and that He will afford us his protection. You, I know, will not be unmindful of us during our absence from home; but will obtain for us, if your prayers can do it, all that we would ask for ourselves-the presence and favor of God, a salutary effect of our journey, and a safe return. I rejoiced, and had reason to do so, in your coming to Weston, for I think the Lord came with you. Not, indeed, to abide with me; not to restore me to that intercourse with Him which I enjoyed twenty years ago; but to awaken in me, however, more spiritual feeling than I have experienced, except in two instances, during all that time. The comforts that I had received under your minAdieu! my dear, dear Hayley; God give us istry, in better days, all rushed upon my rec *To Mrs. Bodham's. • Private correspondence. islands that spoil all our summers, were actually put into practice. So should we have gentle airs instead of churlish blasts, and those everlasting sources of bad weather being once navigated into the southern hemisphere, my Mary would recover as fast again. We are both of your mind respecting the journey to Eartham, and think that July, if by that time she have strength for the journey, will be better than August. We shall have more long days before us, and them we shall want as much for our return as for our going forth. This however, must be left to the Giver of all good. If our visit to you be according to his will, he will smooth our way before us, and appoint the time of it; and I thus speak, not because I wish to seem a saint in your eyes, but because my poor Mary actually is one, and would not set her foot over the threshold, unless she had, or thought she had, God's free permission. With that she would go through floods and fire, though without it she would be afraid of everything-afraid even to visit you, dearly as she loves, and much as she longs to see you. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. W. C. Weston, June 27, 1792. Well then let us talk about this journey to Eartham. You wish me to settle the time of it, and I wish with all my heart to be able to do so, living in hopes meanwhile that I shall be able to do it soon. But some little time must necessarily intervene. Our Mary must be able to walk alone, to cut her own food, feed herself, and to wear her own shoes, for at present she wears mine. All things considered, my friend and brother, you will see the expediency of waiting a little before we set off to Eartham. We mean indeed before that day arrives to make a trial of the strength of her head, how far it may be able to bear the motion of a carriage-a motion that it has not felt these seven years. I grieve that we are thus circumstanced, and that we cannot gratify ourselves in a delightful and innocent project without all these precautions; but when we have leaf-gold to handle we must do it ten'derly. I thank you, my brother, both for presenting my authorship* to your friend Guy, and for the excellent verses with which you have inscribed your present. There are none Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes and wanes She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams. Their functions. Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds; And shall, till, wide involving either pole And the immensity of yonder heav'n, The final flames of destiny absorb The world, consum'd in one enormous pyre! * Verses on Dr. Darwin. neater or better turned-with what shall I requite you? I have nothing to send you but a gim-crack, which I have prepared for my bride and bridegroom neighbors, who are expected to-morrow! You saw in my book a poem entitled Catharina, which concluded with a wish that we had her for a neighbor:* this therefore is called CATHARINA: (The Second Part.) ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEorge courtENAY, ESQ. Believe it or not, as you choose, The doctrine is certainly true, I did but express a desire To see Catharina at home, And such prophecy some may despise, And therefore attains to its end. Maria would leave us, I knew, To the grief and regret of us all; But less to our grief could we view Catharina the queen of the Hall. And therefore I wish'd as I did, And therefore this union of hands, Not a whisper was heard to forbid, But all cry amen to the bands. Since therefore I seem to incur No danger of wishing in vain, When making good wishes for her, I will e'en to my wishes again. With one I have made her wife, And now I will try with another, Which I cannot suppress for my life, How soon I can make her a mother. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. Weston, July 4, 1792. I know not how you proceed in your life of Milton, but I suppose not very rapidly, for while you were here, and since you left us, you have had no other theme but me. As for myself, except my letters to you, and the nuptial song I inserted in my last, I have literally done nothing since I saw you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing way, though a great deal in another; that is to say, in attending my poor Mary, and endeavoring to nurse her up for a journey to Eartham. In this I have hitherto succeeded tolerably well, * See p. 362. and had rather carry this point completely than be the most famous editor of Milton that the world has ever seen or shall see. Your humorous descant upon my art of wishing made us merry, and consequently did good to us both. I sent my wish to the Hall yesterday. They are excellent neighbors, and so friendly to me that I wished to gratify them. When I went to pay my first visit, George flew into the court to meet me, and when I entered the parlor Catharina sprang into my arms. W. C. least a week longer for an inmate, is a great comfort to me. My Mary sends you her best love. She can walk now, leaning on my arm only, and her speech is certainly much improved. I long to see you. Why cannot you and dear Tom spend the remainder of the summer with us? We might then all set off for Eartham merrily together. But I retract this, conscious that I am unreasonable. It is a wretched world, and what we would is almost always what we cannot. Adieu! Love me, and be sure of a re turn. W. C. am. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. TO THOMAS PARK, ESQ. of the dearest friend I have,* has so entirely ion of the two elegies you sent me long engaged my attention, that, except the revissince, I have done nothing; nor do I at present foresee the day when I shall be able to do anything. Should Mrs. Unwin recover sufficiently to undertake a journey, I have promised Mr. Hayley to close the summer with a visit to him at Eartham. At the best, therefore, I cannot expect to proceed in my main business, till the approach of winter. I am thus thrown so much into arrear respecting Milton, that I already despair of being ready at the time appointed, and so I have told my employer. Weston, July 15, 1792. The progress of the old nurse in Terence is very much like the progress of my poor Weston-Underwood, July 20, 1792. patient in the road of recovery. I cannot, Dear Sir, I have been long silent, and indeed, say that she moves but advances must now be short. My time since I wrote not, for advances are certainly made, but the last has been almost wholly occupied in sufprogress of a week is hardly perceptible. Ifering. Either indisposition of my own, or know not therefore, at present, what to say about this long-postponed journey. The utmost that it is safe for me to say at this moment is this-You know that you are dear to us both: true it is that you are so, and equally true that the very instant we feel ourselves at liberty, we will fly to EarthI have been but once within the Hall door since the Courtenays came home, much as I have been pressed to dine there, and have hardly escaped giving a little offence by declining it: but, though I should offend all the world by my obstinacy in this instance, I would not leave my poor Mary alone. Johnny serves me as a representative, and him I send without scruple. As to the affair of Milton, I know not what will become of it. I wrote to Johnson a week since to tell him that, the interruption of Mrs. Unwin's illness still continuing, and being likely to continue, I knew not when I should be able to proceed. The translations (I said) were finished, except the revisal of a part. God bless your dear little boy and poet! I thank him for exercising his dawning genius upon me, and shall be still happier to thank him in person. Abbot is painting me so true, That (trust me) you would stare I have sat twice; and the few who have seen his copy of me are much struck with the resemblance. He is a sober, quiet man, which, considering that I must have him at This portrait was taken at the instance of Dr. John son, and is thought most to resemble Cowper. It is now in the possession of Dr Johnson's family, and represents the poet in a sitting posture, in an evening dress. I need not say that the drift of this melancholy preface is to apprize you that you must not expect despatch from me. Such expedition as I can use I will, but I believe you must be very patient. It was only one year that I gave to drawing, for I found it an employment hurtful to my eyes, which have always been weak, and subject to inflammation. I finished my attempt in this way with three small landscapes, which I presented to a lady. These may, perhaps, exist, but I have now no correspondence with the fair proprietor. Except these, there is nothing remaining to show that I ever aspired to such an accomplishment. The hymns in the Olney collection marked (C) are all of my composition, except one, which bears that initial by a mistake of the printer. Not having the book at hand, I cannot now say which it is. Wishing you a pleasant time at Margate, and assuring you, that I shall receive, with great pleasure, any drawing of yours with * Mrs. Unwin. Weston, July 22, 1792. This important affair, my dear brother, is at last decided, and we are coming. Wednesday se'nnight, if nothing occur to make a later day necessary, is the day fixed for our journey. Our rate of travelling must depend on Mary's ability to bear it. Our mode of travelling will occupy three days unavoidably, for we shall come in a coach. Abbot finishes my picture to-morrow; on Wednesday he returns to town, and is commissioned to order one down for us, with four steeds to draw it; "Hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, That cannot go but forty miles a day." Send us our route, for I am as ignorant of it almost as if I were in a strange country. We shall reach St. Alban's, I suppose, the first day; say where we must finish our second day's journey, and at what inn we may best repose? As to the end of the third day, we know where that will find us, viz., in the arms, and under the roof, of our beloved Hayley. General Cowper, having heard a rumor of this intended migration, desires to meet me on the road, that we may once more see each other. He lives at Ham, near Kingston. Shall we go through Kingston or near it? For I would give him as little trouble as possible, though he offers very kindly to come as far as Barnet for that purpose. Nor must I forget Carwardine, who so kindly desired to be informed what way we should go. On what point of the road will it be easiest for him to find us? On all these points you must be my oracle. My friend and brother, we shall overwhelm you with our numbers; this is all the trouble that I have left. My Johnny of Norfolk, happy in the thought of accompanying us, would be broken-hearted to be left behind. You TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL.* July 25, 1792 My dear Mr. Bull,-Engaged as I have been ever since I saw you, it was not possible that I should write sooner; and, busy as I am at present, it is not without difficulty that I can write even now: but I promised you a letter, and must endeavor, at least, to be as good as my word. How do you imagine In sitting, not on cockatrice' eggs, nor yet to I have been occupied these last ten days? gratify a mere idle humor, nor because I was Johnson has an aunt who has a longing de too sick to move; but because my cousin sire of my picture, and because he would, therefore, bring a painter from London to draw it. For this purpose I have been sitting, as I say, these ten days; and am heart. ly glad that my sitting time is over. have now, I know, a burning curiosity to learn two things, which I may choose whether I will tell you or not; First, who was the painter; and secondly, how he has succeeded. The painter's name is Abbot. You never heard of him, you say. It is very like ly; but there is, nevertheless, such a painter, and an excellent one he is. Multa sunt que bonus Bernardus nec vidit, nec audivit. To your second inquiry, I answer, that he has succeeded to admiration. The likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the room where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me where they know I am not. Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton instead of being here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, which, therefore, you can never see; for it goes to London next Monday, to be suspended awhile at Abbot's; and then proceeds into Norfolk, where it will be suspended forever. But the picture is not the only prodigy I have to tell you of. A greater belongs to me; and one that you will hardly credit, even on my own testimony. We are on the eve of a journey, and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we set out for Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hayley, on the other side of London, nobody knows where, a hundred and twenty miles off. Pray for us, my friend, that we may have a safe going In the midst of all these solicitudes, I laugh and return. It is a tremendous exploit, and to think what they are made of, and what an I feel a thousand anxieties when I think of it. important thing it is for me to travel. Other But a promise made to him when he was men steal away from their homes silently, here, that we would go if we could, and a and make no disturbance, but when I move, sort of persuasion that we can if we will, houses are turned upside down, maids are oblige us to it. The journey, and the change turned out of their beds, all the counties of air, together with the novelty to us of the through which I pass appear to be in an up-scene to which we are going, may, I hope, be roar-Surrey greets me by the mouth of the useful to us both; especially to Mrs. Unwin, General, and Essex by that of Carwardine. who has most need of restoratives. She How strange does all this seem to a man sends her love to you and to Thomas, in who has seen no bustle, and made none for which she is sincerely joined by twenty years together! Adieu! W. C. Your affectionate W. C Private correspondence. |