balloon. I suppose Blanchard's, that was to be let off from
Chelsea this morning. I saw it from the common field before the
window of my 'round tower. It appeared about the third of the
size of the moon, or less, when setting, something above the tops
of the trees on the level horizon. It was then descending; and,
after rising and declining a little, it sunk slowly behind the
trees, I should think about or beyond Sunbury, at five minutes
after one. But you know I am a very inexact guesser at measures
and distances, and may be mistaken in many miles; and you know
how little I have attended to those airgonaut;. only t'other
night I diverted myself with a sort of meditation on future
airgonation, supposing that it Will not only be perfected, but
will depose navigation. I did not finish it, because I am not
skilled, like the gentleman that used to write political
ship-news, in that style, which I wanted to perfect my essay -.
but in the prelude I observed how ignorant the ancients Were in
supposing that Icarus melted the wax of his Wings by too near
access to the sun, whereas he would have been frozen to death
before he made the first post on that road. Next, I discovered
an alliance between Bishop Wilkins's art Of flying, and his plan
of an universal language the latter of which he no doubt
calculated to prevent the want of an interpreter when he should
arrive at the moon.
But I chiefly amused myself with ideas of the change that would
be made in the world by the substitution of balloons to ships. I
supposed our seaports to become deserted villages; and
Salisbury-plain, Newmarhet-heath, (another canvass for alteration
of ideas,) and all downs (but the Downs) arising into dock-yards
for aerial vessels. Such a field would be ample in furnishing
new speculations. But to come to my ship-news:--
"The good balloon Dedalus, Captain Wing-ate, will fly in a few
days for China; he will stop at the top of the Monument to take
in passengers.
"Arrived on Brand-sands, the Vulture, Captain Nabob; the Tortoise
snow, from Lapland; the Pet-en-l'air, from Versailles; the
Dreadnought, from Mount Etna, Sir W. Hamilton commander; the
Tympany, Montgolfier; and the Mine-A-in-a-bandbox, from the Cape
of Good Hope. Foundered in a hurricane, the Bird of Paradise,
from Mount Ararat. The Bubble, Sheldon, took fire, and was burnt
to her gallery; and the phoenix is to be cut down to a
second-rate."
In those days Old Sarum will again be a town and have houses in
it. There will be fights in the air with wind-guns and bows and
arrows; and there will be prodigious increase of land for
tillage, especially in France, by breaking up all public roads as
useless. But enough of my fooleries; for which I am sorry you
must pay double, postage.
Letter 285 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(535)
October 28, 1784. (page 358)
I would not answer your letter, Sir, till I could tell you that I
had put Your play into Mr. Colman's hands, which I have done. He
desired my consent to his carrying it into the country to read it
deliberately: you shall know as soon as I receive his
determination. I am Much obliged to you for the many civil and
kind expressions in your letter, and for the friendly information
you give me. Partiality, I fear, dictated the former; but the
last I can only ascribe to the goodness of your heart. I have
published nothing Of any size but the pieces you mention, and one
or two small tracts now out of print and forgotten. The rest
have been prefaces to my Strawberry editions, and to a few other
publications; and some fugitive pieces which I reprinted several
years ago in a small volume, and which shall be at your service,
with the Catalogue of Noble Authors.
With regard to the bookseller who has taken the trouble to
collect my writings, (amongst which I do not doubt but he will
generously bestow on me many that I did not write, according to
the liberal practice of such compilers,) and who also intends to
write my life, to which, (as I never did any thing Worthy of the
notice of the public) he must likewise be a volunteer
contributor, it Would be vain for me to endeavour to prevent such
a design. Whoever has been so ill advised as to throw himself on
the public, must pay such a tax in a pamphlet or magazine when he
dies; but, happily, the insects that prey on carrion are still
more short-lived than the carcases were, from which they draw
their nutriment. Those momentary abortions live but a day, and
are thrust aside by like embryos. Literary characters, when not
illustrious, are known only to a few literary men; and amidst the
world of books, few readers can come to my share. Printing, that
secures existence (in libraries) to indifferent authors of any
bulk, is like those cases of Egyptian mummies which in catacombs
preserve bodies of one knows not Whom, and which are scribbled
over with characters that nobody attempts to read, till nobody
understands the language in which they were written. I believe
therefore it Will be most wise to swim for a moment on the
passing current, secure that it will soon hurry me into the ocean
where all things are forgotten. To appoint a biographer is to
bespeak a panegyric; and I doubt whether they who collect their
books for the Public, and, like me, are conscious of no intrinsic
worth, do but beg mankind to accept of talents (whatever they
were) in lieu of virtues. To anticipate spurious publications by
a comprehensive and authentic one, is almost as great an evil: it
is giving a body to scattered atoms; and such an act in one's old
age is declaring a fondness for the indiscretions of Youth, or
for the trifles of an age which, though more mature, is only the
less excusable. it is most true, Sir, that, so far from being
prejudiced in favour of my own writings I am persuaded that, had
I thought early as I think now, I would never have appeared as an
author. Age, frequent illness and pain, have given me as many
hours of reflection in the intervals of the two latter, as the
two latter have disabled from reflection; and, besides their
showing me the inutility of all our little views, they have
suggested an observation that I love to encourage in myself from
the rationality of it. I have learnt and practised the
humiliating task of comparing myself with great authors; and that
comparison has annihilated all the flattery that self-love could
suggest. I know how trifling my own writings are, and how far
below the standard that constitutes excellence: as for the shades
that distinguish the degrees of mediocrity, they are not worth
discrimination; and he must be very modest, or easily satisfied,
who can be content to glimmer for an instant a little more than
his brethren glow-worms. Mine, therefore, you find, Sir, is not
humility, but pride. When young, I wished for fame; not
examining whether I was capable of attaining it, nor considering
in what lights fame was desirable. There are two sorts of fame;
that attendant on the truly great, and that better sort that is
due to the good. I fear I did not aim at the latter, not-
discovered, till too late, that I could not compass the former.
Having neglected the best road, and having, instead of the other,
strolled into a narrow path that led to no good worth seeking, I
see the idleness of my journey, and hold it more graceful to
abandon my wanderings to chance or oblivion, than to mark
solicitude for trifles, which I think so myself.
I beg your pardon for talking so much of myself; but an answer
was due to the unmerited attention which you have paid to my
writings. I turn with more pleasure to speak on yours. Forgive
me if I shall blame you, whether you either abandon your
intention, or are too impatient to execute it.(536) Your preface
proves that you are capable of treating the subject ably; but
allow me to repeat, that it is a work that ought not to be
performed impetuously. A mere recapitulation of authenticated
facts would be dry; a more enlarged plan would demand much
acquaintance with the characters of the actors, and with the
probable sources of measures. The present time is accustomed to
details and anecdotes; and the age immediately preceding one's
own is less known to any man than the history of any other
period. You are young en - ugh, Sir, to collect information on
many particulars that will occur in your progress, from living
actors, at least from their contemporaries; and, great as your
ardour may be, you will find yourself delayed by the want of
materials, and by further necessary inquiries. As you have a
variety of talents, why should not you exercise them on works
that will admit of more rapidity; and at the same time, in
leisure moments, commence, digest, and enrich your plan by
collecting new matter for it?
In one word, I have too much zeal for your credit, not to
dissuade you from precipitation in a work of the kind you
meditate. That I speak sincerely you are sure; as accident, not
design, made you acquainted with my admiration of your tract on
medals. If I wish to delay your history, it must be from wishing
that it may appear with more advantages; and I must speak
disinterestedly, as my age will not allow me to hope to see it,
if not finished soon. I should not forgive myself if I turned
you from prosecution of your work; but, as I am certain that my
writings can have given you no opinion of my having sound and
deep judgment, pray follow your own, and allow no merit but that
of sincerity and zeal to the sentiments of yours, etc.
(535) Now first collected.
(536) Of writing a history of the reign of George the Second.
Letter 286 To Miss Hannah More.
Strawberry Hill, Nov. 13, 1784. (page 360)
Thank you a thousand times, dear Madam, for your obliging letter
and the new Bristol stones you have sent me, which would pass on
a more skilful lapidary than I am for having been brillianted by
a professed artist, if you had not told me that they came shining
-out of a native mine, and had no foreign diamond-dust to polish
them. Indeed, can one doubt any longer that Bristol Is as rich
and warm a soil as India? I am convinced it has been so of late
years, though I question its having been so luxuriant in Alderman
Canning's days; and I have MORE reasons for thinking so, than
from the marvels' of Chatterton.--But I will drop metaphors, lest
some nabob should take me au pi`e de la lettre, fit out an
expedition, plunder your city, and massacre you for weighing too
many carats.
Seriously, Madam, I am surprised-and chiefly at the kind of
genius of this unhappy female.(537) Her ear, as you remark, is
perfect but that, being a gift of nature, amazes me less. Her
expressions are more exalted than poetic; and discover taste, as
you say, rather than discover flights of fancy and wild ideas, as
one should expect. I should therefore advise her quitting blank
verse, which wants the highest colouring, to distinguish it from
prose; whereas her taste, and probably good sense, might give
sufficient beauty to her rhymes. Her not being learned is
another reason against her writing in blank verse. Milton
employed all his reading, nay, all his geographic knowledge, to
enrich his language, and succeeded. They who have imitated him
in that particular, have been mere monkeys; and they who
neglected it, flat and poor.
Were I not persuaded by the samples you have sent me, Madam, that
this woman has talents, I should not advise encouraging her
propensity, lest it should divert her from the care of her
family, and, after the novelty is over, leave her worse than she
was. When the late Queen patronized Stephen Duck,(538) who was
only a wonder at first, and had not genius enough to support the
character he had promised, twenty artisans and labourers turned
poets, and starved.(539) Your poetess can scarce be more
miserable than she is, and even the reputation of being an
authoress may procure her customers: but as poetry is one of your
least excellencies, Madam (your virtues will forgive 'me), I am
sure you will not only give her counsels for her works, but for
her conduct; and your gentleness will blend them so judiciously,
that she will mind the friend as well as the mistress. She must
remember that she is a Lactilla, not a Pastora; and is to tend
real cows, not Arcadian sheep.
What! if I should go a step farther, dear Madam, and take the
liberty of reproving you for putting into this poor woman's hands
such a frantic thing as The Castle of Otranto? It was fit for
nothing but the age in which it was written: an age in which much
was known; that -required only to be amused, nor cared whether
its amusements were conformable to truth and the models of good
sense; that could not be spoiled; was in no danger of being too
credulous and rather wanted to be brought back to imagination,
than to be led astray by it:-but you will have made a hurly-burly
in this poor woman's head, which it cannot develop and digest.
I will not reprove, without suggesting something in my turn.
Give her Dryden's Cock and Fox, the standard of good sense,
poetry, nature, and ease. I would recommend others of his tales:
but her imagination is already too gloomy, and should be
enlivened; for which reason I do not name Mr. Gray's Eton Ode and
Churchyard.' Prior's Solomon (for I doubt his Alma, though far
superior, is too learned for her limited reading,) would be very
proper. In truth, I think the cast of the age (I mean in its
compositions) is too sombre. The flimsy giantry of Ossian has
introduced mountainous horrors. The exhibitions at
Somerset-house are crowded with Brobdignag ghosts. Read and
explain to her a charming poetic familiarity called the
Blue-stocking Club. If she has not your other pieces, might I
take the liberty, Madam, of begging you to buy them for her, and
let me be in your debt? And that your lessons may win their way
more easily, even though her heart be good, will you add a guinea
or two, as you see proper? And though I do not love to be named,
yet, if it would encourage a subscription, I should have no
scruple. It will be best to begin moderately! for, if she should
take Hippocrene for Pactolus, we may hasten her ruin, not
contribute to her fortune.
On recollection, you had better call me Mr. Anybody, than name my
name, which I fear is in bad odour at Bristol, on poor
Chatterton's account; and it may be thought that I am atoning his
ghost: though, if his friends would show my letters to him, you
would find that I was as tender to him as to your milkwoman: but
that they have never done, among other instances of their
injustice. However, I beg you to say nothing on that subject, as
I have declared I would not.
I have seen our excellent friend in Clarges-street: she complains
as usual of her deafness; but I assure you it is at least not
worse, nor is her weakness. Indeed I think both her and Mr.
Vesey better than last winter. When will you blue-stocking
yourself and come amongst us? Consider how many of us are
veterans; and, though we do not trudge on foot according to the
institution, we may be out at heels-and the heel, you know,
Madam, has never been privileged.
(537) Mrs. Yearsley, the milkwoman of Bristol, whose talent was
discovered by Miss Hannah More, who solicited for her the
protection of Mrs. Montagu, in a prefatory letter prefixed to her
Poems, published in quarto, in the year 1785.-E.
(538) Some of Stephen Duck the thresher's verses having been
shown to Queen Caroline she settled twelve shillings a-week upon
him, and appointed him keeper of her select library at
Richmond.(539) He afterwards took orders, and obtained the
living of Byfleet, in Surrey; but growing melancholy, in 1750, he
threw himself into the river, near Reading, and was drowned.
Swift wrote upon him the following epigram--
The thresher, Duck, could o'er the Queen prevail;
The proverb says, No fence against a flail;
>From threshing corn, he turns to thresh his brains,
For which her Majesty allow him grains;
Though 'tis confest, that those who ever saw
His poems, think them all not worth a straw.
Thrice happy Duck! employ'd in threshing stubble,
Thy toil is lessen'd, and thy profits double."-E.
(539) "Robert Bloomfield," says Mr. Crabbe, in his journal for
1817, "had better have rested as a shoemaker, or even a farmer's
boy; for he would have been a farmer perhaps in time, and now he
is an unfortunate poet." Poor John Clare, it will be
recollected, died in a workhouse.-E.
Letter 287 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Sunday Night, Nov. 28, 1784. (page 362)
I have received the parcel of papers you sent me, which I
conclude come from Lord Strafford, and will apply them as well as
I possibly can, you may be sure, but with little hope of doing
any good: humanity is no match for cruelty. There are now and
then such angelic beings as Mr. Hanway and Mr. Howard; but our
race in general is pestilently bad and malevolent. I have been
these two years wishing to promote my excellent friend Mr.
Porter's plan for alleviating the woes of chimney-sweepers, but
never could make impression on three people; on the contrary,
have generally caused a smile.
George Conway's intelligence of hostilities commenced between the
Dutch and Imperialists makes me suppose that France will support
the former--or could they resist? Yet I had heard that France
would not. Some have thought, as I have done, that a combination
of partition would happen between Austria, France, and Prussia,
the modern law of nations for avoiding wars. I know nothing: so
my conjectures may all be erroneous; especially as one argues
reason; a very inadequate judge, as it leaves passions, caprices,
and accidents, out of its calculation. It does not seem the
interest of France, that the Emperor's power should increase in
their neighbourhood and extend to the sea. Consequently it is
France's interest to protect Holland in concert with Prussia.
This last is a transient power, and may determine on the death of
the present King; but the Imperial is a permanent force, and must
be the enemy of France, however present connexions may incline
the scale.
In any case, I hope we shall no way be hooked into the quarrel
not only from the impotence of our circumstances, but as I think
it would decide the loss of Ireland, which seems tranquillizing:
but should we have any bickering with France, she would renew the
manoeuvres she practised so fatally in America. These are my
politics; I do not know with whose they coincide or disagree, nor
does it signify a straw. Nothing will depend on my opinion; nor
have I any opinion about them, but when I have nothing at all to
do that amuses me more, or nothing else to fill a letter.
I can give you a sample of my idleness, what may divert Lady
Ailesbury and your academy of arts and sciences for a minute in
the evening. It came into my head yesterday to send a card to
Lady Lyttelton, to ask when she would be in town; here it is in
an heroic epistle:- From a castle as vast as the castles on
signs,--
>From a hill that all Africa's molehills outshines,
This epistle is sent to a cottage so small,
That the door cannot ope if you stand in the hall,
To a lady who would be fifteen, if her knight
And old swain were as young as Methusalem quite;
It comes to inquire, not whether her eyes
Are as radiant as ever, but how many sighs
He must vent to the rocks and the echoes around,
(Though nor echo nor rock in the parish is found,)
Before she, obdurate, his passion will meet--
His passion to see her in Portugal-street?
As the sixth line goes rather too near the core, do not give a
copy of it: however, I should be sorry if it displeased; though I
do not believe it will, but be taken with good-humour as it was
meant.(540)
(540) It was taken in perfect good-humour; and Lady Lyttelton
returned the following answer, which Mr. Walpole owned was better
than his address:--
"Remember'd, though old by a wit and a beau!
I shall fancy, ere long, I'm a Ninon L'Enclos:
I must feel impatient such kindness to meet,
And shall hasten my flight into Portugal-street."
Ripley Cottage, 28th Nov.
Letter 288 To Miss Hannah More.
Berkeley Square, April 5, 1785. (page 363)
Had I not heard part of your conversation with Mrs. Carter the
other night, Madam, I should certainly not have discovered the
authoress of the very ingenious anticipation of our future
jargon.(541) How should I? I am not fortunate Enough to know
all your talents; nay, I question whether you yourself suspect
all you possess. Your Bas Bleu is in a style very, different
from any of your other productions that I have seen; and this
letter, which shows your intuition Into the degeneracy of our
language, has a vein of humour and satire that could not be
calculated from your Bas Bleu, in which good nature and
good-humour had made a great deal of learning wear all the ease
of familiarity. I did wish you to write another Percy, but I beg
now that you will first produce a specimen of all the various
manners in which you can shine; for, since you are as modest as
if your issue were illegitimate, I don't know but, like some
females really in fault, you would stifle some of your pretty
infants, rather than be detected and blush.
In the mean time, I beseech you not only to print your Specimen
of the Language that is to be in fashion, but have it entered at
Stationers' hall; or depend upon it, if ever a copy falls into
the hands of a fine gentleman yet unborn, who shall be able both
to read and write, he will adopt your letter for his own, and the
Galimatias will give the ton to the court, as Euphues did near
two hundred years ago; and then you will have corrupted our
language instead of defending it: and surely it is not your
interest, Madam, to have pure English grow obsolete.
If you do not promise to grant my request, I will show your
letter every where to those that are worthy of seeing it; that
is, indeed, in very few places; for you shall have the honour of
it. It is one of those compositions that prove themselves
standards, by begetting imitations; and if the genuine parent is
unknown, it will be ascribed to every body that is supposed (in
his own set) to have more wit than the rest of the world. I
should be diverted, I own, to hear it faintly disavowed by some
who would wish to pass for its authors; but still there is more
pleasure in doing justice to merit, than in drawing vain
pretensions into a scrape; and, therefore, I think you and I had
better be honest and acknowledge it, though to you (for I am out
of the question, but as evidence) it will be painful; for though
the proverb says, "Tell truth and shame the devil," I believe he
is never half so much confounded as a certain amiable young
gentlewoman, who is discovered to have more taste and abilities
than she ever ventured to ascribe to herself even in the most
private dialogues with her own heart, especially when that native
friend is so pure as to have no occasion to make allowances even
for self-love. For my part, I am most seriously obliged to you,
Madam, for so agreeable and kind a communication.
(541) This is an answer to the following anonymous letter, sent
to Mr. Walpole by Miss Hannah More, ridiculing the prevailing
adoption of French idioms into the English language. There is
not in this satirical epistle one French word nor one English
idiom:--
"A Specimen of the English Language, as it will probably be
written and spoken in the next century. In a letter from a lady
to her friend, in the reign of George the Fifth.
Alamode Castle, June 20, 1840.
Dear Madam,
"I NO sooner found myself here than I visited my new apartment,
which is composed of five pieces: the small room, which gives
upon the garden, is practised through the great one; and there is
no other issue. As I was quite exceeded with fatigue, I had no
sooner made my toilette, than I let myself fall on a bed of
repose, where sleep came to surprise me.
" My lord and I are on the intention to make good cheer, and a
great expense; -and this country is in possession to furnish
wherewithal to amuse oneself. All that England has of
illustrious, all that youth has of amiable, or beauty of
ravishing, sees itself in this quarter. Render yourself here,
then, my friend; and you shall find assembled all that there is
of best, whether for letters, whether for birth.
"Yesterday I did my possible to give to eat; the dinner was of
the last perfection, and the wines left nothing to desire. The
repast was seasoned with a thousand rejoicing sallies, full of
salt and agreement, and one more brilliant than another. Lady
France, charmed me as for the first time; she is made to paint,
has a great air, and has infinitely of expression in her
physiognomy; her manners have as much of natural as her figure
has of interesting.
"I had prayed Lady B, to be of this dinner, as I had heard
nothing but good of her; but I am now disabused on her subject:
she is past her first youth, has very little instruction, is
inconsequent, and subject to caution; but having evaded with one
of her pretenders, her reputation has been committed by the bad
faith of a friend, on whose fidelity she reposed herself; she is,
therefore fallen into devotion, goes no more to spectacles, and
play is detested at her house. Though she affects a mortal
serious, I observed that her eyes were Of intelligence with those
of Sir James, near whom I had taken care to plant myself, though
this is always a sacrifice which costs. Sir James is a great
sayer of nothings; it is a spoilt mind, full of fatuity and
pretension: his conversation is a tissue of impertinences, and
the bad tone which reigns at present has put the last hand to his
defect,. He makes but little care of his word; but, as he lends
himself to whatever is proposed of amusing, the women all throw
themselves at his head. Adieu"
Letter 289 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(542)
June 22, 1785. (page 365)
Since I received your book,(543) Sir, I scarce ceased from
reading till I had finished it; so admirable I found it, and so
full of good sense, brightly delivered. Nay, I am pleased with
myself too for having formed the same opinions with you on
several points, in which we do not agree with the generality of
men. On some topics, I confess frankly, I do not concur with
you: Considering how many you have touched, it would be wonderful
if we agreed on all, or I should not be sincere if I said I did.
There are others on which I have formed no opinion; for I should
give myself an impertinent air, with no truth, if I pretended to
have any knowledge of many subjects, of which, young as you are,
you seem to have made yourself master. Indeed, I have gone
deeply into nothing, and therefore shall not discuss those heads
which we differ most: as probably I should not defend my own
opinions well. There is but one part of your work to which I
will venture any objection, though you have considered it much,
and I little, very little indeed, with regard to your proposal,
which to me is but two days old: I mean your plan for the
improvement of our language, which I allow has some defects, and
which wants correction in several particulars. The specific
amendment which you propose, and to which I object, is the
addition of a's and O's to our terminations. To change s for a
in the plural number for our substantives and adjectives would be
so violent an alteration, that I believe neither the power of
Power nor the power of Genius would be able, to effect it. In
most cases I am convinced that very strong innovations are more
likely to make impression than small and almost imperceptible
differences, as in religion, medicine, politics, etc.; but I do
not think that language can be treated in the same manner,
especially in a refined age. When a nation first emerges from
barbarism, two or three masterly writers may operate wonders; and
the fewer the number of writers, as the number is small at such a
period, the more absolute is their authority. But when a country
has been polishing itself for two or three centuries, and when
consequently authors are innumerable, the most supereminent
genius (or whoever is esteemed so, though without foundation,)
possesses very limited empire, and is far from meeting implicit
obedience. Every petty writer will contest very novel
institutions: every inch of change in language will be disputed;
and the language will remain as it was, longer than the tribunal
which should dictate very heterogeneous alterations. With regard
to adding a or o to final consonants, consider, Sir, should the
usage be adopted, what havoc it would make! All our poetry would
be defective in metre, or would become at once as obsolete as
Chaucer; and could we promise ourselves, that, though we should
have better harmony and more rhymes, we should have a new crop of
poets, to replace Milton, Dryden, Gray, and, I am sorry you will
not allow me to add, Pope! You might enjoin our prose to be
reformed, as you have done by the Spectator in your thirty-fourth
Letter; but try Dryden's Ode by your new institution.
I beg your pardon for these trivial observations: I assure you I
could write a letter ten times as long, if I were to specify all
I like in your work. I more than like most of it; and I am
charmed with your glorious love of liberty, and your other humane
and noble sentiments. Your book I shall with great pleasure send
to Mr. Colman: may I tell him, without naming you, that it is
written by the author of the comedy I offered to him? He must be
struck with your very handsome and generous conduct in printing
your encomiums on him, after his rejecting your piece. It is as
great as uncommon, and gives me ,,Is good an opinion of your
heart, Sir, as your book does of your great sense. Both assure
me that you will not take ill the liberty I have used in
expressing my doubts on your plan for amending our language, or
for any I may use in dissenting from a few other sentiments in
your work; as I shall in what I think your too low opinion of
some of the French writers, of your preferring Lady Mary Wortley
to Madame de S`evign`e, and of your esteeming Mr. Hume a man of a
deeper and more solid understanding than Mr. Gray. In the two
last articles it is impossible to think more differently than we
do. In Lady Mary's Letters, which I never could read but once, I
discovered no merit of any sort; yet I have seen others by her
(unpublished)(544) that have a good deal of wit; and for Mr. Hume
give me leave to say that I think your opinion, "that he might
have ruled a state," ought to be qualified a little; as in the
very next page you say, his History is "a mere apology for
prerogative," and a very weak one. If he could have ruled a
state, one must presume, at best, that he would have been an able
tyrant; and yet I should suspect that a man, who, sitting coolly
in his chamber, could forge but a weak apology for the
prerogative, would not have exercised it very wisely. I knew
personally and well both Mr. Hume and Mr. Gray, and thought there
was no degree of comparison between their understandings; and, in
fact, Mr. Hume's writings were so superior to his conversation,
that I frequently said he understood nothing till he had written
upon it. What you say, Sir, of the discord in his history from
his love of prerogative and hatred of churchmen, flatters me
much; as I have taken notice of that very unnatural discord in a
piece I printed some years ago, but did not publish, and which I
will show to you when I have the pleasure of seeing you here; a
satisfaction I shall be glad to taste, whenever you will let me
know you are at leisure after the beginning of next week. I have
the honour to be, Sir, etc.
(542) Now first collected.
(543) His "Letters of Literature," published this year under the
name of Heron. "It had been well for Mr. Pinkerton's
reputation," observes Mr. Dawson Turner ,had these Letters never
been published at all. In a copy now before me, lately the
property of one of our most eminent critics, Mr. Fark, I read the
following very just quotation, in his handwriting: 'Multa
venust`e, multa tenuiter multa cuni bile.' Mr. Pinkerton
himself, in his 'Walpoliana,' admits that Heron's Letters was 'a
book written in early youth, and contained many juvenile crude
ideas long since abandoned by its author.' Would that the
crudeness of many of the ideas were the worst that was to be said
of it! but we shall find, in the course of this correspondence,
far heavier and not less just complaints. The name of Heron,
here assumed by Mr. Pinkerton, was that of his mother."-E.
(544) See vol. iii. p. 217, letter 155.-E.
Letter 290 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(545)
June 26, 1785. (page 367)
I have sent your book to Mr. Colman, Sir, and must desire you in
return to offer my grateful thanks to Mr. Knight, who has done me
an honour, to which I do not know how I am entitled, by the
present of his poetry, which is very classic, and beautiful, and
tender, and of chaste simplicity. To your book, Sir, I am much
obliged on many accounts; particularly for having recalled my
mind to subjects of delight, to which. it was grown dulled by
age and indolence. In consequence of your reclaiming it, I asked
myself whence you feel so much disregard for certain authors
whose fame is established: you have assigned good reasons for
withholding your approbation from some, on the plea of their
being imitators: it was natural, then, to ask myself again,
whence they had obtained so much celebrity. I think I have
discovered a cause, which I do not remember to have seen noted;
and that cause I suspect to have been, that certain of those
authors possessed grace:--do not take me for a disciple of Lord
Chesterfield, nor Imagine that I mean to erect grace into a
capital ingredient of writing; but I do believe that it is a
perfume that will preserve from putrefaction, and is distinct
even from style, which regards expression. Grace, I think,
belongs to manner. It is from the charm of grace that I believe
some authors, not in Your favour, obtained part of their renown;
Virgil in particular: and yet I am far from disagreeing with you
on his subject in general. There is such a dearth of invention
in the -,Eneid, (and when he did invent, it was often so
foolishly,) so little good sense, so little variety, and so
little power over the passions, that I have frequently said, from
contempt for his matter, and from the charm of his harmony, that
I believe I should like his poem better, if I was to hear it
repeated, and did not understand Latin. On the other hand, he
has more than harmony: whatever he utters is said gracefully, and
he ennobles his images, especially in the Georgics; or at least
it is more sensible there from the humility of the subject. A
Roman farmer might not understand his diction in agriculture; but
he made a Roman courtier Understand farming, the farming of that
age, and could captivate a lord of Augustus's bedchamber, and
tempt him to listen to themes of rusticity. On the contrary,
Statius and Claudian, though talking of war, would make a soldier
despise them as bullies. That graceful manner of thinking in
Virgil seems to me to be more than style, if I do not refine too
much; and I admire, I confess, Mr. Addison's phrase, that Virgil
"tossed about his dung with an air of majesty." A style may be
excellent without grace: for instance, Dr. Swift's. Eloquence
may bestow an immortal style, and one of more dignity; yet
eloquence may want that ease, that genteel air that flows from or
constitutes grace. Addison himself was master of that grace, even
in his pieces of humour, and which do not owe their merit to
style; and from that combined secret he excels all men that ever
lived, but Shakspeare, in humour, by never dropping into an
approach towards burlesque and buffoonery', when even his humour
descended to characters that in any other hands would have been
vulgarly low. Is not it clear that Will Wimble(546) was a
gentleman, though he always lived at a distance from good company
. Fielding had as much humour, perhaps, as Addison; but, having
no idea of grace, is perpetually disgusting.
His innkeepers and parsons are the grossest of their profession
and his gentlemen are awkward, when they should be at their ease.
The Grecians had grace in every thing; in poetry, in oratory, in
statuary, in architecture, and, probably, in music and painting.
The Romans, it is true, were their imitators; but, having grace
too, imparted it to their copies, which gave them a merit that
almost raises them to the rank of originals. Horace's Odes
acquired their fame, no doubt, from the graces of his manner and
purity of his style, the chief praise of Tibullus and Propertius,
who certainly cannot boast of more meaning than Horace's Odes.
Waller, whom you proscribe, Sir, owed his reputation to the
graces of his manner, though he frequently stumbled, and even
fell flat; but a few of his smaller pieces are as graceful as
possible: one might say that he excelled in painting ladies in
enamel, but could not succeed in portraits in oil, large as life.
Milton had such superior merit, that I will only say, that if his
angels, his Satan, and his Adam have as much dignity as the
Apollo Belvidere, his Eve has all the delicacy and 'graces of the
Venus of Medicis; as his description of Eden has the colouring of
Albano. Milton's tenderness imprints ideas as graceful as
Guido's Madonnas: and the Allegro, Penseroso, and Comus might be
denominated from the three Graces; as the Italians gave similar
titles to two or three of Petrarch's best sonnets.
Cowley, I think, would have had grace, (for his mind was
graceful,) if he had had any ear, or if his taste had not been
vitiated by the pursuit of wit; which, when it does not offer
itself naturally, degenerates into tinsel or pertness. Pertness
is the mistaken affectation of grace, as pedantry produces
erroneous dignity: the familiarity of the one, and the clumsiness
of the other, distort or prevent grace. Nature, that furnishes
samples of all qualities ', and on the scale of gradation
exhibits all possible shades, affords us types that are more
apposite than words. The eagle is sublime, the lion majestic,
the swan graceful, the monkey pert, the bear ridiculously
awkward. I mention these, as more expressive and comprehensive
than I could make definitions of my meaning; but I will apply the
swan only, under whose wings I will shelter an apology for
Racine, whose pieces give me an idea of that bird. The colouring
of the swan is pure; his attitudes are graceful; he never
displeases you when sailing on his proper element. His feet may
be ugly, his notes hissing, not musical, his walk not natural; he
can soar, but it is with difficulty:--still, the impression the
swan leaves is that of grace. So does Racine.
Boileau may be compared to the dog, whose sagacity is remarkable,
as well as its fawning on its master, and its snarling at those
it dislikes. If Boileau was too austere to admit the pliability
of grace, he compensates by good sense and propriety. He is like
(for I will drop animals) an upright magistrate, whom you
respect, but whose justice and severity leaves an awe that
discourages familiarity. His copies of the ancients may be too
servile; but if a good translator deserves praise, Boileau
deserves more. He certainly does not fall below his originals;
and, considering at what period he wrote, has greater merit
still. By his imitations he held out to his countrymen models of
taste, and banished totally the bad taste of his Predecessors.
For his Lutrin, replete with excellent poetry, wit, humour, and
satire, he certainly was not obliged to the ancients. Excepting
Horace, how little idea had either Greeks or Romans of wit and
humour! Aristophanes and Lucian, compared with moderns, were,
the one a blackguard, and the other a buffoon. In my eyes, the
Lutrin, the Dispensary, and the Rape of the Lock, are standards
of grace and elegance, not to be paralleled by antiquity; and
eternal reproaches to Voltaire, whose indelicacy in the Pucelle
degraded him as much, when compared with the three authors I have
named, as his Henriade leaves Virgil, and even Lucan whom he more
resembles, by far his superiors.
The Dunciad is blemished by the offensive images of the games but
the poetry appears to me admirable; and though the fourth book
has obscurities, I prefer it to the three others; it has
descriptions not surpassed by any poet that ever existed, and
which surely a writer merely ingenious(547) will never equal.
The lines on Italy, on Venice, on Convents, have all the grace
for which I contend as distinct from poetry, though united with
the most beautiful; and the Rape of the Lock, besides the
originality of great part of the invention, is a standard of
graceful writing.
In general, I believe that what I call grace, is denominated
elegance; but by grace I mean something higher. I will explain
myself by instances--Apollo is graceful, Mercury elegant.
Petrarch, perhaps, owed his whole merit to the harmony of his
numbers and the graces of his style, They conceal his poverty of
meaning and want of variety. His complaints, too, may have added
an interest, which, had his passion been successful, and had
expressed itself with equal sameness, would have made the number
of his sonnets insupportable. Melancholy in poetry, I am
inclined to think, contributes to grace, when it is not disgraced
by pitiful lamentations, such as Ovid's and Cicero's in their
banishments. We respect melancholy, because it imparts a similar
affection, pity. A gay writer, who should only express
satisfaction without variety, would soon be nauseous.
Madame de S`evign`e shines both in grief and gaiety. There is
too much sorrow for her daughter's absence; yet it is always
expressed by new terms, by new images, and often by wit, whose
tenderness has a melancholy air. When she forgets her concern,
and returns to her natural disposition-gaiety, every paragraph
has novelty; her allusions, her applications are the happiest
possible. She has the art of making you acquainted with all her
acquaintance, and attaches you even to the spots she inhabited.
Her language is correct, though unstudied; and, when her mind is
full of any great event, she interests you with the warmth of a
dramatic writer, not with the chilling impartiality of an
historian. Pray read her accounts of the death of Turenne, and
of the arrival of King James in France, and tell me whether you
do not know their persons as if you had lived at the, time, For
my part, if you will allow me a word of digression, (not that I
have written with any method,) I hate the cold impartiality
recommended to historians: "Si Vis me flere, dolendum est prim`um
ipsi tibi:" but, that I may not wander again, nor tire, nor
contradict you any more, I will finish now, and shall be glad if
you will dine at Strawberry Hill next Sunday and take a bed
there, when I will tell you how many more parts of your book have
pleased me, than have startled my opinions, or perhaps
prejudices. I have the honour to be, Sir, with regard, etc.
(545) Now first collected.
(546) See Spectator, No. 109. Will Wimble was a Yorkshire
gentleman, whose name was Thomas Morecroll-E.
(547) Pinkerton had said Of Pope, that "he could only rank with
ingenious men," and that his works are superabundant with
superfluous and unmeaning verbiage - his translations even
replete with tautology, a fault which is to refinement as
midnight is to noonday; and, what is truly surprising, that the
fourth book of the Dunciad, his last publication, is more full of
redundancy and incorrectness than his Pastorals, which are his
first."-D. T.
Letter 291 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(548)
Strawberry Hill, July 27, 1785. (page 371)
You thank me much more than the gift deserved, Sir: my editions;
of such pieces as I have left, are waste paper to me. I will not
sell them at the ridiculously advanced prices that are given for
them: indeed, only such as were published for sale, have I sold
at all; and therefore the duplicates that remain with me are to
me of no value, but when I can oblige a friend with them. Of a
few of my impressions I have no copy but my own set; and, as I
could give you only an imperfect collection, the present was
really only a parcel of fragments. My memory was in fault about
the Royal and Noble Authors. I thought I had given them to you.
I recollect now that I only lent you my own copy; but I have
others in town, and you shall have them when I go thither. For
Vertue's manuscript I am in no manner of haste. I heard on
Monday, in London, that the Letters were written by a Mr.
Pilhington, probably from a confounded information of Maty's
Review; my chief reason for calling on you twice this week, was
to learn what you had heard, and shall be much obliged to you for
farther information; as I do not care to be too inquisitive,'
lest I should be suspected of knowing more of the matter.
There are many reasons, Sir, why I cannot come into your idea of
printing Greek. In the first place, I have two or three
engagements for my press; and my time of life does not allow me
to look but a little way farther. In the next, I cannot now go
into new expenses of purchase: my fortune is very much reduced,
both by my brother's death, and by the late plan of reformation.
The last reason would weigh with me, had I none of the others.
My admiration of the Greeks was a little like that of the mob on
other points, not from sound knowledge. I never was a good Greek
scholar; have long forgotten what I knew of the language; and, as
I never disguise my ignorance of any thing, it would look like
affectation to print Greek authors. I could not bear to print
them, without owning that I do not Understand them; and such a
confession would perhaps be as much affectation as unfounded
pretensions. I must, therefore, stick to my simplicity, and not
go out of my line. It is difficult to divest one's self of
vanity, because impossible to divest one's self of self-love. If
one runs from one glaring vanity, one is catched by its opposite.
Modesty can be as vain-glorious on the ground, as Pride on a
triumphal car. Modesty,
however, is preferable; for, should she contradict her
professions, still she keeps her own secret, and does not hurt
the pride of others. I have the honour to be, Sir, with great
regard, yours.
(548) Now first collected.
Letter 292 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(549)
Strawberry Hill, August 18, 1785. (page 372)
I am sorry, dear Sir, that I must give you unanswerable reasons
why I cannot print the work you recommend.(550) I have been so
much solicited since I set up my press to employ it for others,
that I was forced to make it a rule to listen to no such
applications. I refused Lord Hardwicke to print a publication of
his; Lady Mary Forbes, to print letters of her ancestor, Lord
Essex; and the Countess of Aldborough, to print her father's
poems, though in a piece as small as what you mention.
These I recollect at once, besides others whose recommendations
do not immediately occur to my memory; though I dare to say they
do remember them, and would resent my breaking my rule. I have
other reasons which I will not detail now, as the post goes out
so early: I will only beg you not to treat me with so much
ceremony, nor ever use the word humbly to me, who am in no ways
entitled to such respect.
One private gentleman is not superior to another in essentials: I
fear the virtues of an untainted young heart are preferable to
those of an old man long conversant with the world; and in the
soundness of understanding you have shown and will show a depth
which has not fallen to the lot of Your sincere humble servant.
(549) Now first collected.
(550) it is impossible to say with certainty what is the work
here alluded to; but most Probably, it was Ailred's Life of St.
Ninian of which it appears, from a letter from the Rev. Rogers
Ruding, dated August 4, 1785, that Mr. Pinkerton obtained at this
time a transcript through him from the manuscript in the Bodleian
Library. Pinkerton speaks of this manuscript, in the second
volume of his Early Scottish History, p. 266, as "a meagre piece,
containing very little as to Ninian's Pikish Mission." The
letter alluded to from Mr, Ruding, shows Pinkerton to have turned
his mind to the antiquities of Scotland with great
earnestness.-D. T.
Letter 293 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(551)
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 17, 1785. (page 372)
You are too modest, Sir, in asking my advice on a point on which
you could have no better guide than your own judgment. if I
presume to give you my opinion, it is from zeal for your honour.
I think it would be below you to make a regular answer to
anonymous scribblers in a Magazine: you had better wait to see
whether any formal reply is made to your book, and whether by any
avowed writer; to whom, if he writes sensibly and decently, you
may condescend to make an answer. Still, as you say you have
been misquoted, I should not wish you to be quite silent, though
I should like better to have you turn such enemies into ridicule.
A foe who misquotes you, ought to be a welcome antagonist. He is
so humble as to confess, when he censures what you have not said,
that he cannot confute what you have said; and he is so kind as
to furnish you with an opportunity of proving him a liar, as you
may refer to your book to detect him.
This is what I would do; I would specify, in the same Magazine in
which he has attacked you, your real words, and those he has
imputed to you; and then appeal to the equity of the reader. You
may guess that the shaft comes from somebody whom you have
censured; and thence you may draw a fair conclusion, that you had
been in the right to laugh at one who was reduced to put his own
words into your mouth before he could find fault with them; and,
having so done, whatever indignation he has excited in the reader
must recoil on himself, as the offensive passages will come out
to have been his own, not yours. You might even begin with
loudly condemning the words or thoughts imputed to you, as if you
retracted them; and then, as if you turned to your book, and
found that you had said no such thing there as what you was ready
to retract, the ridicule would be doubled on your adversary.
Something of this kind is the most I would stoop to; but I would
take the utmost care not to betray a grain of more anger than is
imp lied in contempt and ridicule. Fools can only revenge
themselves by provoking; for then they bring you to a level with
themselves. The good sense of your work will support it; and
there is scarce reason for defending it, but, by keeping up a
controversy, to make it more noticed; for the age is so idle and
indifferent, that few objects strike, unless parties are formed
for or against them. I remember many years ago advising some
acquaintance of mine, who were engaged in the direction of the
Opera, to raise a competition between
two of their singers, and have papers written pro and con.; for
then numbers would go to clap and hiss the rivals respectively,
who would not go to be pleased with the music.
(551) Now first collected.
Letter 294 George Colman, Esq.(552)
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 19, 1785. (page 374)
Sir,
I beg your acceptance of a little work just printed here; and I
offer it as a token of my gratitude, not as pretending to pay YOU
for your last present. A translation, however excellent, from a
very inferior Horace,(553) would be a most inadequate return; but
there is so much merit in the enclosed version, the language is
so pure, and the imitations of our poets so extraordinary, so
Much more faithful and harmonious than I thought the French
tongue could achieve, that I flatter myself you will excuse my
troubling You with an old performance of my own, when newly
dressed by a master hand. As, too, there are not a great many
copies printed, and those only for presents, I have a particular
pleasure in making you one of the earliest compliments.
(552) Now first printed.
(553) The Due de Nivernois' translation of Walpole's Essay on
Gardening.-E.
Letter 295 To The Earl Of Buchan.(554)
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 23, 1785. (page 373)
Your lordship is too condescending when you incline to keep up a
correspondence with one who can expect to maintain it but a short
time, and whose intervals of health are resigned to idleness, not
dedicated, as they have sometimes been, to literary pursuits: for
what could I pursue with any prospect of accomplishment? or what
avails it to store a memory that must lose faster than it
acquires? Your lordship's zeal for illuminating your country and
countrymen is laudable; and you are young enough to make a
progress; but a man who touches the verge of his sixty-eighth
year, ought to know that he is unfit to contribute to the
amusement of more active minds. This consideration, my lord,
makes me much decline correspondence; having nothing new to
communicate, I perceive that I fill my letters with apologies for
having nothing to say.
If you can tap the secret stores of the Vatican, your lordship
will probably much enrich the treasury of letters. Rome may have
preserved many valuable documents, as for ages intelligence from
all parts of Europe centred there; but I conclude that they have
hoarded little that might at any period lay open the share they
had in the most important transactions. History, indeed, is
fortunate when even incidentally and collaterally it light's on
authentic information.
Perhaps, my lord, there is another repository, and nearer, which
it would be worth while to endeavour to penetrate: I mean the
Scottish College at Paris. I have heard formerly, that numbers
Of papers, of various sorts, were transported at the Reformation
to Spain and Portugal: but, if preserved there, they probably are
not accessible yet. If they were, how puny, how diminutive,
would all such discoveries, and others which we might call of far
greater magnitude, be to those of Herschel, who puts up millions
of covies of worlds at a beat! My conception is not ample enough
to take in even a sketch of his glimpses; and, lest I should lose
myself in attempting to follow his investigations, I recall my
mind home, and apply it to reflect on what we thought we knew,
when we imagined we knew something (which we deemed a vast deal)
pretty correctly. Segrais, I think, it was, who said with much
contempt, to a lady who talked of her star, "Your star! Madam,
there are but two thousand stars in all; and do you imagine that
you have a whole one to yourself?" The foolish dame, it seems,
was not more ignorant than Segrais himself. If our system
includes twenty millions of worlds, the lady had as much right to
pretend to a whole ticket as the philosopher had to treat her
like a servant-maid who buys a chance for a day in a state
lottery.
Stupendous as Mr. Herschel's investigations are, and admirable as
are his talents, his expression of our retired corner of the
universe, seems a little improper. When a little emmet, standing
on its ant-hill, could get a peep into infinity, how could he
think he saw a corner in it?-a retired corner? Is there a bounded
side to infinitude! If there are twenty millions of worlds, why
not as many, and as many, and as many more? Oh! one's imagination
cracks! I ]one, to bait within distance of home, and rest at the
moon. Mr. Herschel will content me if he can discover thirteen
provinces there, well inhabited by men and women, and protected
by the law of nations;(555) that law, which was enacted by Europe
for its own emolument, to the prejudice of the other three parts
of the globe, and which bestows the property of whole realms on
the first person who happens to espy them, who can annex them to
the crown of Great Britain, in lieu of those it has lost beyond
the Atlantic.
I am very ignorant in astronomy, as ignorant as Segrais or the
lady, and could wish to ask many questions; as Whether our
celestial globes must not be infinitely magnified? Our orreries,
too, must not they be given to children, and new ones
constructed, that will at least take in our retired corner and
all its OUtflying constellations? Must not that host of worlds
be christened? Mr. Herschel himself has stood godfather for his
Majesty to the new Sidus. His Majesty, thank God! has a numerous
issue; but they and all the princes and princesses in Europe
cannot supply appellations enough for twenty millions of new-born
stars: no, though the royal progenies of Austria, Naples, and
Spain, who have each two dozen saints for sponsors, should
consent to split their bead-rolls of names among the foundlings.
But I find I talk like an old nurse; and your lordship at last
will, I believe, be convinced that it is not worth your while to
keep up a correspondence with a man in his dotage, merely because
he has the honour of being, my lord, your lordship's most
obedient servant.
(554) Now first printed.
(555) The then thirteen United States of America.
Letter 296 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(556)
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 30, 1785. (page 376)
I do not possess, nor ever looked into one of the books you
specify; nor Mabillon's "Acta Sanctorum," nor O'Flaherty's
"Ogygia." My reading has been very idle., and trifling, and
desultory; not that perhaps it has not been employed on authors
as respectable as those you want to consult, nor that I had not
rather read the deeds of sinners than Acta Sanctorum. I have no
reverence but for sensible books, and consequently not for a
greater number; and had rather have read fewer than I have than
more. The rest may be useful on certain points, as they happen
now to be to you; who, I am sure, would not read them for general
use and pleasure, and are a very different kind of author. I
shall like, I dare to say, any thing you do write, but I am not
overjoyed at your wading into the history of dark ages' unless
you use it as a canvass to be embroidered with your opinions, and
episodes, and comparisons with more recent times. That is a most
entertaining kind of writing. In general, I have seldom wasted
time on the origin of nations, unless for an opportunity of
smiling at the gravity of the author, or at the absurdity of the
manners of those ages; for absurdity and bravery compose almost
all the anecdotes we have of them, except the accounts of what
they never did, nor thought of doing. I have a real affection
for Bishop Hoadley: he stands with me in lieu of what are called
the Fathers; and I am much obliged to you for offering to lend me
a book of his: but, as my faith in him and his doctrines has long
been settled, I shall not return to such grave studies, when I
have so little time left, and desire only to pass it 'tranquilly,
and without thinking of what I can neither propagate nor correct.
When youth made me sanguine, I hoped mankind might be set right.
Now that I am very, old, I sit down with this lazy maxim; that,
unless one could cure men of being fools, it is to no purpose to
cure them of any folly, as it is only making room for some other.
Self-interest is thought to govern every man yet, is it possible
to be less governed by self-interest than men are in the
aggregate? Do not thousands sacrifice even their lives for
single men? Is not it an established rule in France, that every
person in that kingdom should love every king they have in his
turn? What government is formed for general happiness? Where is
not it thought heresy by the majority, to insinuate that the
felicity of one man ought not to be preferred to that Of
Millions? Had not I better, at sixty-eight, leave men to these
preposterous notions, than return to Bishop Hoadley, and sigh?
Not but I have a heartfelt satisfaction when I hear that a mind
as liberal as his, and who has dared to utter sacred truths,
meets with approbation and purchasers of his work. You must not,
however, flatter yourself, Sir, that all your purchasers are
admirers. Some will buy your book, because they have heard of
opinions in it that offend them, and because they want to find
matter in it for abusing you. Let them: the more it is
discussed, the more strongly Will your fame be established. I
commend you for scorning any artifice to puff your book; but you
must allow me to hope it will be attacked.
I have another satisfaction in the sale of your book-; it will
occasion a second edition. What if, as you do not approve of
confuting misquoters, you simply printed a list of their false
quotations, referring to the identical sentences, at the end of
your second edition? That will be preserving their infamy, which
else would perish where it was born; and perhaps would deter
others from similar forgeries. If any rational opponent staggers
you on any opinion of yours, I would retract it; and that would
be a second triumph. I am, perhaps, too impertinent and forward
with advice: it is at best a proof of zeal; and you are under no
obligation to follow my counsel. it is the weakness of old age
to be apt to give advice; but I will fairly arm you against
myself, by confessing that, when I was young, I was not apt to
take any.
(556) Now first collected.
Letter 297 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Strawberry Hill, Oct. 6, 1785. (page 377)
I wondered I did not hear from you, as I concluded you returned.
You have made me good amends by the entertaining story of your
travels. If I were not too disjointed for long journeys, I
should like to see much of what you have seen; but if I had the
agility of Vestris, I would not purchase all that pleasure for my
eyes at the expense of my unsociability, which could not have
borne the hospitality you experienced. It was always death to
me, when I did travel England, to have lords and ladies receive
me and show me their castles, instead of turning me over to their
housekeeper: it hindered my seeing any thing, and I was the whole
time meditating my escape; but Lady Ailesbury and you are not
such sensitive plants, nor shrink and close up if a stranger
holds out a hand. I don't wonder you was disappointed with
Jarvis's windows at New College; I had foretold their
miscarriage. The old and the new are as"mismatched as an orange
and a lemon, and destroy each other; nor is there room enough to
retire back and see half of the new; and Sir Joshua's washy
Virtues make the Nativity a dark spot from the darkness of the
Shepherds, which happened, as I knew it would, from most of
Jarvis's colours not being transparent.
I have not seen the improvements at Blenheim. I used to think it
one of the ugliest places in England; a giant's castle, who had
laid waste all the country round him. Every body now allows the
merit of Brown's achievements there.(557)
Of all your survey I wish most to see Beau Desert. Warwick
Castle and Stowe I know by heart. The first I had rather possess
than any seat upon earth: not that I think it the most beautiful
of all., though charming, but because I am so intimate with all
its proprietors for the last thousand years.
I have often and often studied the new plan of Stowe: it is
pompous; but though the Wings are altered, they are not
lengthened. Though three parts of the edifices in the garden are
bad, they enrich that insipid country, and the vastness pleases
me more than I can defend.
I rejoice that your jaunt has been serviceable to Lady Ailesbury.
The Charming man(558) is actually with me; but neither he nor I
can keep our promise incontinently. He expects two sons of his
brother Sir William, whom he is to pack up and send to the P`eres
de l'Oratoire at Paris. I expect Lord and Lady Waldegrave
to-morrow, who are to pass a few days with me; but both the
Charming man and I will be with you soon. I have no objection to
a wintry visit: as I can neither ride nor walk, it is more
comfortable when most of my time is passed within doors. If I
continue perfectly well, as I am, i shall not settle in town till
after Christmas: there will not be half a dozen persons there for
whom I care a straw.
I know nothing at all. The peace between the Austrian harpy and
the frogs is made. They were stout, and preferred being gobbled
to parting with their money. At last, France offered to pay the
money for them. The harpy blushed-for the first time-and would
not take it; but signed the peace, and will plunder somebody
else.
Have you got Boswell's most absurd enormous book?(559) The best
thing in it is a bon-mot of Lord Pembroke.(560) "The more one
learns of Johnson, the more preposterous assemblage he appears
of' strong sense, of the lowest bigotry and prejudices, of pride,
brutality, fretfulness, and vanity; and Boswell is the ape of
most of his faults, without a grain of his sense. It is the
story of a mountebank and his zany.
I forgot to say, that I wonder how, with your turn, and
knowledge, and enterprise, in scientific exploits, you came not
to visit the Duke of Bridgewater's operations; or did you omit
them, because I should not have understood a word you told me?
Adieu!
(557) "Capability Brown;"for an account of whom, see vol. ii. p.
112, letter 46. "I took," says Hannah More, "a very agreeable
lecture from my friend Mr. Brown in his art, and he promised to
give me taste by inoculation. I am sure he has a charming one;
and he illustrates every thing he says about gardening by some
literary or grammatical allusion. He told me he compared his art
to literary composition. 'Now, there,' said he, pointing his
finger, 'I make a comma; and there,' pointing to another spot,
'where a more decided turn is proper, I make a colon: at another
part (where an interruption is desirable to break the view), a
parenthesis--now a full stop; and then I begin another subject.'"
Memoirs, vol. i. p. 26.-E.
(558) Edward Jerningham, Esq. See post, September 4, 1789.-E.
(559) The "enormous book," of which Walpole here speaks so
disparagingly, is Boswell's popular "Journal of his Tour to the
Highlands and Islands of Scotland with Dr. Johnson, in the autumn
of 1773." It is now incorporated with the author's general
narrative of the Doctor's life in Mr. Croker's edition of 1831 -
and not the least interesting circumstance connected with it is,
that Johnson himself read, from time to time, Boswell's record of
his sayings and doings; and, so far from being displeased with
its minuteness, expressed great admiration of its accuracy, and
encouraged the chronicler to proceed with his grand ulterior
proceeding. See Life, vol. i. P. viii. ed. 1835.-E.
(560) "Lord Pembroke said Once to me at Wilton that Dr. Johnson's
sayings would not appear so extraordinary, were it not for his
bow-Wow way." Ibid. vol. iv, p. 8.-E.
Letter 298 To The Earl Of Charlement.(561)
Strawberry Hill, Nov. 23, 1785. (page 379)
As your lordship has given me this opportunity, I cannot resist
saying, what I was exceedingly tempted to mention two or three
years ago, but had not the confidence. In short, my lord, when
the order of St. Patrick was instituted, I had a mind to hint to
your lordship that it was exactly the moment for seizing an
occasion that has been irretrievably lost to this country. When
I was at Paris, I found in the convent of Les Grands Augustins
three vast chambers filled with the portraits (and their names
and titles beneath) of all the knights of the St. Esprit, from
the foundation of the order. Every new knight, with few
exceptions, gives his own portrait on his creation. Of the order
of St. Patrick, I think but one founder is dead yet; and his
picture perhaps may be retrieved. I will not make any apology to
so good a patriot as your lordship, for proposing a plan that
tends to the honour of his country, which I will presume to call
mine too, as it is both by union and my affection for it. I
should wish the name of the painter inscribed too, which would
excite emulation in your artists. But it is unnecessary to
dilate on the subject to your lordship; who, as a patron of the
arts, as well as a patriot, will improve on my imperfect
thoughts, and, if you approve of them, can give them stability.
I have the honour to beg my lord, etc.
(561) Now first collected.
Letter 299 To Lady Browne.(562)
Berkeley Square, Dec. 14, 1785. (page 379)
I am extremely obliged to your ladyship for your kind letter;
and, though I cannot write myself, I can dictate a few lines.
This has not been a regular fit of the gout, but a worse case:
one of my fingers opened with a deposit of chalk,(563) and
brought on gout, and both together an inflammation and swelling
almost up to my shoulder. in short, I was forced to have a
surgeon, who has managed me so Judiciously, that both the
inflammation and swelling are gone; and nothing remains but the
wound in my finger, which will heal as soon as all the chalk is
discharged. My surgeon wishes me to take the air; but I am so
afraid of a relapse, that I have not yet consented.
My poor old friend is a great loss;(564) but it did not much
Surprise me, and the manner comforts me. I had played at cards
with her at Mrs. Gostling's three nights before I came to town,
and found her extremely confused, and not knowing what she did:
indeed, I perceived something Of the sort before, and had found
her much broken this autumn. It seems, that the day after I saw
her, she went to General Lister's burial and got cold, and had
been ill for two or three days. On the Wednesday morning she
rose to have her bed made; and while sitting on the bed, with her
maid by her, sunk down at once, and died without a pang or a
groan. Poor Mr. Raftor is struck to the greatest degree, and for
some days would not see any body. I sent for him to town to me;
but he will not come till next week. Mrs. Prado has been so
excessively humane as to insist on his coming to her house till
his sister is buried, which is to be to-night.
The Duchess does not come till the 26th. Poor Miss Bunbury is
dead; and Mrs. Boughton, I hear, is in a very bad way. Lord John
Russell has sent the Duchess of Bedford word, that he is on the
point of marrying Lord Torrington's eldest daughter; and they
suppose the wedding is over.(565) Your ladyship, I am sure, will
be pleased to hear that Lord Euston is gone to his father, who
has written a letter with the highest approbation of Lady
Euston.(566) You will be diverted, too, Madam, to hear that
Hecate has told Mrs. Keppel, that she was sure that such virtue
would be rewarded at last.
(562) Now first printed.
(563) "Neither years nor sufferings," writes Hannah More to her
sister, "can abate the entertaining powers of the pleasant
Horace, which rather improve than decay; though he himself says
he is only fit to be a milk-woman, as the chalk-stones at his
fingers' ends qualify him for nothing but scoring; but he
declares he will not be a Bristol milk.woman. I was obliged to
recount to him all that odious tale." Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 14.-E.
(564) The incomparable Kitty Clive; who died at Twickenham on the
6th of December, in her seventy-second year.-E.
(565) Lord John Russell, who, in 1802, succeeded his brother
Francis as sixth Duke of Bedford, married, at Brussels, in March
1786, Georgiana Elizabeth, second daughter of Lord Torrington.-E.
(566) Lord Euston, who, in 1811, succeeded his father as fourth
Duke of Grafton, married, in November 1784, Charlotte Maria,
daughter of the Earl of Waldegrave.-E.
Letter 300 To Miss Hannah More.
Berkeley Square, Feb. 9, 1786. (page 380)
It is very cruel, my dear Madam, when you send me such charming
lines, and say such kind and flattering things to me and of me,
that I cannot even thank you with my own poor hand; and yet my
hand is as much obliged to you as my eye, and ear, and
understanding. My hand was in great pain when your present
arrived. I opened it directly, and set to reading, till your
music and my own vanity composed a quieting draught that glided
to the ends of my fingers, and lulled the throbs into the
deliquium that attends opium when it does not put one absolutely
to sleep. I don't believe that the deity who formerly practised
both poetry and physic, when gods got their livelihood by more
than one profession, ever gave a recipe in rhyme; and therefore,
since Dr. Johnson has prohibited application to pagan divinities,
and Mr. Burke has not struck medicine and poetry out of the list
of sinecures, I wish you may get a patent for life for exercising
both faculties. It would be a comfortable event for me for,
since I cannot wait on you to thank you, nor dare ask you
----to call your doves yourself,
and visit me in your Parnassian quality, I might send for you as
my physicianess. Yet why should I not ask you to come and see
me? You are not such a prude as to
----blush to show compassion,
though it should
not chance this year to be the fashion,(567)
And I can tell you, that powerful as your poetry is, and old as I
am, I believe a visit from you would do me as much good almost as
your verses.(568) In the meantime, I beg you to accept of an
addition to your Strawberry editions; and believe me to be, with
the greatest gratitude, your too much honoured, and most obliged
humble servant.
See "Florio," a poetical tale, which Miss Hannah More had
recently published with the "Bas Bleu."-E.
(568) on the 11th, Hannah More paid him a visit. "I made poor
Vesey," she says, "go with me on Saturday to see Mr. Walpole, who
has had a long illness. Notwithstanding his sufferings, I never
found him so pleasant, so witty, and so entertaining. He said a
thousand diverting things about 'Florio;' but accused me of
having imposed on the world by a dedication full of falsehood;
meaning the compliment to himself: I never knew a man suffer pain
with such entire patience. This submission is certainly a most
valuable part of religion; and yet, alas! he is not religious. I
must however, do him the justice to say, that, except the delight
he has in teasing me for what he calls over-strictness, I never
heard a sentence from him which savoured of infidelity." Memoirs,
vol. ii, p. 11.-E.
Letter 301 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Sunday night, June 18, 1786. (page 301)
I suppose you have been swearing at the east wind for parching
your verdure, and are now weeping for the rain that drowns your
hay. I have these calamities in common, and my constant and
particular one,-people that come to see my house, which
unfortunately is more in request than ever. Already I have had
twenty-eight sets, have five more tickets given out; and
yesterday, before I had dined, three German barons came. My
house is a torment, not a comfort!
I was sent for again to dine at Gunnersbury on Friday, and was
forced to send to town for a dress-coat and a sword. There were
the Prince of Wales, the Prince of Mecklenburg, the Duke of
Portland, Lord Clanbrassil, Lord and Lady Clermont, Lord and Lady
Southampton, Lord Pelham, and Mrs. Howe. The Prince of
Mecklenburg went back to Windsor after coffee; and the Prince and
Lord and Lady Clermont to town after tea, to hear some new French
players at Lady William Gordon's. The Princess, Lady Barrymore,
and the rest of us, played three pools at commerce till ten. I
am afraid I was tired and gaped. While we were at the dairy, the
Princess insisted on my making some verses on Gunnersbury. I
pleaded being superannuated. She would not excuse me. I
promised she should have an ode on her next birthday, which
diverted the Prince; but all would not do. So, as I came home, I
made the following stanzas, and sent them to her breakfast next
morning:--
In deathless odes for ever green
Augustus' laurels blow;
Nor e'er was grateful duty seen
In warmer strains to flow.
Oh! why is Flaccus not alive,
Your favourite scene to sing?
To Gunnersbury's charms could give
His lyre immortal spring.
As warm as his my zeal for you,
Great princess! could I show it;
But though you have a Horace too--
Ah, Madam! he's no poet.
If they are poor verses, consider I am sixty-nine, was half
asleep, and made them almost extempore-and by command! However,
they succeeded, and I received this gracious answer:--
" I wish I had a name that could answer your pretty verses. Your
yawning yesterday opened your vein for pleasing me; and I return
you my thanks, my good Mr. Walpole, and remain sincerely your
friend, Amelia."