TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.
Weston, April 6, 1792.
My dear Friend,—God grant that this friendship of ours may be a comfort to us all the rest of our days, in a world where true friendships are rarities, and, especially where suddenly formed, they are apt soon to terminate! But, as I said before, I feel a disposition of heart toward you that I never felt for one whom I had never seen; and that shall prove itself, I trust, in the event, a propitious omen.
Horace says somewhere, though I may quote it amiss, perhaps, for I have a terrible memory,
"Utrumque nostrum incredibili modo
Consentit astrum."
... Our stars consent, at least have had an influence somewhat similar, in another and more important article....
It gives me the sincerest pleasure that I may hope to see you at Weston; for, as to any migrations of mine, they must, I fear, notwithstanding the joy I should feel in being a guest of yours, be still considered in the light of impossibilities. Come, then, my friend, and be as welcome (as the country people say here) as the flowers in May! I am happy, as I say, in expectation; but the fear, or rather the consciousness, that I shall not answer on a nearer view, makes it a trembling kind of happiness and a doubtful.
After the privacy, which I have mentioned above, I went to Huntingdon; soon after my arrival there, I took up my quarters at the house of the Rev. Mr. Unwin; I lived with him while he lived, and ever since his death have lived with his widow. Her, therefore, you will find mistress of the house; and I judge of you amiss, or you will find her just such as you would wish. To me she has been often a nurse, and invariably the kindest friend, through a thousand adversities that I have had to grapple with in the course of almost thirty years. I thought it better to introduce her to you thus, than to present her to you at your coming, quite a stranger.
Bring with you any books that you think may be useful to my commentatorship, for, with you for an interpreter, I shall be afraid of none of them. And, in truth, if you think that you shall want them, you must bring books for your own use also, for they are an article with which I am heinously unprovided: being much in the condition of the man whose library Pope describes as
"No mighty store!
His own works neatly bound, and little more!"
You shall know how this has come to pass hereafter.
Tell me, my friend, are your letters in your own hand-writing? If so, I am in pain for your eyes, lest by such frequent demands upon them I should hurt them. I had rather write you three letters for one, much as I prize your letters, than that should happen. And now, for the present, adieu—I am going to accompany Milton into the lake of fire and brimstone, having just begun my annotations.
W. C.