During his second visit to London, Clare became for a few days the
guest of Mr. Cary, at Chiswick. Here, it is said, he wrote several
amorous sonnets in praise of Cary's wife, and presented them to the
lady, who passed them on to her husband. The learned translator of
Dante requested an explanation, which Clare at once gave. The
circumstance that Cary corresponded with Clare for at least ten years
afterwards will enable the reader to form his own estimate of the
importance of the incident. Among Cary's letters were the following:--
"Chiswick, London,
Jany. 3rd, 1822.
Many happy years to you, dear Clare.
Do not think because I have not written to you sooner that I have
forgot you. I often think of you in that walk we took here together,
and which I take almost every day, generally alone, sometimes musing
of absent friends and at others putting into English those old French
verses which I dare say sometimes occasion you to cry 'Pish!'--(I
hope you vent your displeasure in such innocent terms)--when turning
over the pages of the magazine. I was much pleased with a native
strain of yours, signed, I remember, 'Percy Green.' Mr. Taylor can
tell you that I enquired with much earnestness after the author of it
(it was the first with that signature), not knowing it to be yours,
and what pleasure it gave me to find it was so. I am glad to find a
new 'Shepherd's Calendar' advertised with your name. You will no
doubt bring before us many objects in Nature that we have often seen
in her but never before in books, and that in verse of a very musical
construction. There are two things, I mean description of natural
objects taken from the life, and a sweet melodious versification,
that particularly please me in poetry; and these two you can command
if you choose. Of sentiment I do not reck so much. Your admiration of
poets I felt most strongly earlier in life, and have still a good
deal of it left, but time deadens that as well as many of our other
pleasantest feelings. Still, I had rather pass my time in such
company than in any other, and the poetical part of my library is
increasing above all proportion above the rest. This you may think a
strange confession for me in my way of life to make, but whatever one
feels strongly impelled to, provided it be not wrong in itself and
can administer any benefit or pleasure to others, I am inclined to
think is the task allotted to one, and thus I quiet my conscience
about the matter. I did'nt intend to make you my father confessor
when I set out, but now it is done I hope you will grant me
absolution.
Believe me, dear Clare,
Ever sincerely yours,