The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 02 (of 12)

by William Hazlitt

LETTERS TO AND FROM THE AUTHOR

LETTER I

To a Friend. 1799

You, and many other of my friends, were informed of my motives for quitting my native country, and residing some few years abroad: till more peaceable times should again render that country to me what it once was; admirable for its general industry, manners, and morality; and undisturbed by the suspicions and persecutions, with which other countries were, and too often still continue to be, afflicted. Nothing but the strange terror which had seized the public mind could have engendered that spirit of individual rancour so foreign to the English character, which suddenly spread through the nation; and nothing but the stupor of mind, under such an impulse, could have made me suspected as one of the heads of the abominable Hydra, to extirpate which every Englishman was summoned. The fear was itself ridiculous: but, in their consequences, such fears have been fatal to many a worthy man.

I cannot recollect these things unmoved: neither can I hear various false reports of my being obliged to quit England, and of my not being suffered to return, without wishing that those who give them credit may be undeceived. My departure from England was voluntary; as is my absence. I cannot live in danger from Laws which I have not violated, or power with which I do not contend. I carefully shun the acrimony of political dispute, and the circles in which it is indulged. To the utmost of the little ability I have, it is my desire to inform, with the hopes of benefiting mankind; and this end cannot be attained by making them angry. In action, heart, and principle, I am, or would become, the friend of man. The only enemy I encounter is error; and that with no weapon but words: my constant theme has been, let it be taught, not whipped.

The letters I mean to address to you are intended for the public; and of these facts I wish the public to be informed and reminded. You must not, therefore, be surprised that I speak of them in this place. Whatever fable may invent, or credulity believe, I pledge my veracity to the world, that what I have above said is literally true: and may the world treat my memory with that ignominy, which a falsehood so solemn and gratuitous would deserve, if I prevaricate.

Avoiding the pursuit of this painful subject, the busy memory recurs to another, equally ungrateful: I did not quit the circle of friends, in whose intercourse I found so much benefit, and took so much delight, but with the bitterness of regret. I could not sit in apathy; and see the few effects I had collected become the scattered prey of brokers and dealers; and chiefly my library, on which so much of my money and time had been bestowed, squandered, twenty and more books in a lot: several of them individually of greater worth than the price paid for the whole. It seemed the dissolution of my social life; and something like the entrance into a wild and savage state. What multitudes of such thoughts did my afflicted heart suffer without giving them utterance! It would but have communicated and increased affliction.

I wish not to dwell on these dark parts of the picture. Who quits the country of his fathers without a sigh? Yet, who journeys forward to lands unexplored without hopes of strange and unexpected pleasures? It is a season full of apprehensive emotions, flutterings of the heart, and hopes and fears too numerous to be defined. At least it is such to those to whom travelling is not become a habit.

Some people have asked, why are books of travel so much read? It is because they are so often entertaining. Customs, when they differ but little from our own, seldom fail to excite our surprise, our laughter, or our contempt. Without crossing the seas, a man who has the faculty of noticing the remarkable, the whimsical, and the absurd, in his daily walks at home, never fails to entertain, if he think proper to narrate and to comment; and the traveller who wants this faculty of observation journeys to little purpose, and is heard with little pleasure. He sometimes even endeavours to falsify the true reports of his predecessors; and to offer the dulness of his discernment as a proof of his impartiality. Thus much by way of introduction.

LETTER II

Let us begin our journey; and whet your imagination to fill up the narrative.

We were sufficient in number to occupy a small cabin; and various reasons determined us to sail down the river, instead of posting by land to Yarmouth. Wind and weather out of the question, he that depends on the word of a captain, for the day that his vessel will be ready to sail, will be deceived ninety-nine times in a hundred: a week of additional latitude is often too little. Not thoroughly aware of this, we left the polite parish of Mary-le-bone, and removed to the purlieus of London-Bridge. How many thanks are due to our worthy and liberal friend, G——, for the many invitations he gave us to his table, and the pleasant urbanity with which we were there treated. But these, you well know, are not the only acts of kindness for which we are indebted to this free-hearted, worthy man.

About two days before we went on board, a sudden difficulty seemed to start. We were told we should be stopped at Gravesend, if we had not a passport. This seemed incredible: we inquired, and some affirmed, and others denied the necessity of such a document. Could an Englishman want a passport, to go wherever his business or his pleasure might invite him, within the British domains, or to a neutral state? By many the idea was scouted, and as it proved, justly. Yet others were so positive in affirming the reverse, that I thought it prudent, for full security, to go to Gravesend, and inquire.

It happened to be at the hour when the tide served, and the common passage-boats were ready to sail; and, as this was a cheap, an expeditious, and to me a novel conveyance, it was in every sense acceptable. Those who have made the experiment, know with what solicitations they have been invited to step on board first one boat and then another. On this occasion, it happened that the Queen Charlotte, and the Prince of Wales, were rivals: but, as I was first harangued by the orator of the Charlotte, and had no other preponderating motive, the right seemed to be in her; and I was escorted, with great eagerness and civility, to my seat.

I had heard so much of Gravesend passengers, and the peculiar rhetoric in which they indulge, that I thought it probable they would detect something ridiculous in the cut of my coat, the colour of my hair, or some other feature or appurtenance about me. I was not deceived. The shortsightedness that obliges me to wear spectacles, has often subjected me to the derision of the working community; who never suspect there can be a rational motive for walking the streets with what they generally regard as a badge of supreme folly. I had not taken my place five seconds, before I saw the leer and the wink go round. The weather being fine, every body was on deck; and the assumed gravity of my look, at first checked risibility. But the pause was short. An impudent fellow opposite to me, looking in my face, said—‘The next time I go to court, I will get a saddle for my nose; because I see it is all the go.’—‘You had better get a handle to your hat,’ said the man at the helm, whose invitation to come on board I had followed; and who therefore, I suppose, thought proper to be my champion. My assailant knew his man; and, without noticing this retort continued.—‘I’ll ask my granny to leave me her barnacles. Pray, Sir, how many candles may you see in the dark, when only one is lighted?’ ‘How many fools did you meet, when you last dipt your pate in a pail of water? Who gave you that coarse net-work, to cover your face? Why did not you ask your wife to wash it before you came out?’ [The man was scarred with pock-marks, and the river tar continued.] ‘You’re a pretty fellow to hoist the slang-flag! Where did you learn gull shooting? you are an apt scholar! You could eat a giblet-pye before you could spell goose *****.’ Enough of these vulgar but merry kind of combats. Would that the well-bred duellist were as harmless!

I believe it was here I first remarked one of the many superstitious habits of seamen; that of whistling for a wind. I find it is common to them all; from the captain to the cabin-boy. The day was more calm than either the passengers, or the boat-men wished; and, to beguile the time, a man sang the beautiful ballad of Black-Eyed Susan. Having ended, another told us a tragical tale, which the song no doubt had brought to memory.

The mate of a ship had a sweetheart; who came on board the evening he was to sail. She was a pretty girl, and deeply affected. Her love was strong, or rather violent. Having drawn him aside, she told him, if they parted, she was certain they should never meet again; and that she had not the power to leave the ship. He remonstrated on the impossibility of her stay; but she could listen to nothing but her passion, fears, and forebodings. She wept, intreated, went on her knees; and, if he would but consent, said she would hide herself in the forecastle, till the ship should be under way. The mate, who could not comply, at length reproved and left her in anger; while she threatened her own destruction. He went below; and, not seeing her when he returned on deck, he concluded she was gone. Alas! the poor agitated, and despairing creature, had thrown herself over-board. She had done it unseen; and the mate, immediately afterward perceiving that the boat in which she came was waiting, began to inquire: but no one knew what was become of her. He recollected her proposition to hide herself, and went in search: certain, as he supposed, she had made the attempt. She was no where to be found: his alarm increased; his cheeks became pale. One man said ‘he had heard something fall into the water; and to be sure it must be she. Who knew but she might have been thrown over-board?’ Suspicions arose: the pallid hue and wild terror of the poor mate, gave them strength: he was taken into custody, tried for the supposed murder, and in great danger of suffering death; so strong did the circumstances against him appear to be, in the opinion of his judges. One witness, however, was very clear in his testimony, that he saw the mate go under hatches, and leave the deceased on the deck; that he likewise saw him return; and that it was during this interval, the accident must have happened: for that he and others had accompanied the mate in his search to find her. Thus the positive and accurate evidence of this witness, saved his shipmate from an ignominious death.

The life of a man, in a court of law, depends upon a breath. Remember it, you who sit in judgment on the lives of your fellow creatures!

Another told us how his cabin-boy (he was himself a sea-captain) jumped over-board in a rough sea, to recover a mop; which he had accidentally let fall. He succeeded; but it was at the risk of his life. ‘I asked him,’ said the captain, ‘how he came to do such a thing? and the little hell-spawn told me, “he was afraid I should give him the cat; if the mop had been lost.”—I’ll give it you to some tune, lubber, said I, if you do such a thing again.’—So much for a captain’s humanity. This is no bad instance of the general despotism exercised on board of ships.

Fine writing will object to the coarseness of phraseology in this letter; and, under other circumstances, I would not give fine writing such cause of complaint: but, were it changed in this place, we should no longer be in company with sea-captains and passengers from Billingsgate in a Gravesend boat.

LETTER III

We parted during a calm, in my last; but remember we are not yet at Gravesend. In wit, vulgar or refined, puns are more frequent agents than wits generally suppose. Hearing a child cry in a woman’s arms, a sailor exclaimed—‘So! We have a squall: we shall soon have a breeze.’—‘Yes,’ replied a second, ‘I hope another hand will be put to the bellows.’

It so happened that the punster was a prophet. The sails swelled; and the steersman told us ‘we could not have a better wind, if we had bought one.’ To which another added—‘he wished he could find the way to the weather-office.’

I doubt if there be a nation existing more skilful and alert, on the water, than the English. The Thames in particular, has vessels so numerous, and of such various kinds, riding and traversing its waves in such endless directions, that the unaccustomed eye is confused in its attempts to distinguish and individualize the moving multitude. Ships, snows, brigs, sloops, cutters, barges, lighters, boats, vessels of every form and size, and from all regions of the Earth! My heart beat, while I watched the dexterity with which they mutually shunned the shocks, that at every returning moment, threatened each other with oversetting. Of this we were once in danger. The steersman of a heavy barge, had his attention called away, perhaps not three-seconds, from his duty; and it was with the utmost exertion, and presence of mind, that the active fellows on board the Charlotte kept her from running foul of the barge. The danger past, they were enraged; and began to rate the barge-man: who, angry with and ashamed of himself, bade them in a surly tone ‘mind their own business.’ ‘You don’t mind yours,’ aptly retorted one of them. ‘I’ll be damned if you are he that set the Thames on fire.’

I was not a little amused by an itinerant bookseller, one of the passengers; who opened his pocket, and spread his wares upon deck: and, to astonish and invite customers, among other things, exhibited a small quarto, on botany, with coloured plates; which, he told us, was for a surprising learned gentleman, at West Thurrock. (Apropos of Thurrock. All book-men are addicted to etymology. Pray was this the rock of the gothic god, Thor?) Among his literary treasures was a sixpenny description of the passage, by water, from London to Gravesend; by the erudite Bibliopole Pocock, of the latter place: from which, if you have the patience to read it, you may discover how many reaches, or windings, are in this traject. Pillaging this boatman’s history, and pointing to the shore, our sagacious tradesman told us, ‘all those houses were built in one day’s time.’ The prevaricating knave ought to have given a different emphasis; and have said “in one day’s time.” But wit was always a shuffling fellow, and seldom a friend to truth. The hawker’s jocularity, from the same source, was next exerted on a church, of which we had a prospect: which he said was as light by night as it was by day! Of the truth of which quaint pun the inventor had no doubt. Yet the unvarying force of gravitation is not perhaps absolutely certain. But I am now getting out of my depth; and will therefore hasten on shore to Gravesend. In despite of the noble stream that washes the banks, this said Gravesend is a dirty, disagreeable place; and for pitiful extortion unrivalled. If you have but little money in your purse, or if you feel indignation or sorrow, at beholding man in the daily practice of petty theft, till the confirmed habit, makes him believe thieving to be justice, and necessary to his happiness, arrange your affairs, so as to make but a short stay at Gravesend. It was my good fortune to remain there only one night. My journey was unnecessary: no pass was required. But of this I was ignorant. The expense and trouble were trifling, the characters and scene of action new, and the pain of uncertainty was relieved. And now thank your benignant stars, that you have escaped from a Gravesend-boat, and have only paid so trifling a tax on good sense, and good manners. The potentate of the North, at whose breath all things shake, having honoured a yatcht by his presence, issued an edict, commanding that it should no longer remain a paltry yatcht, but become a glorious frigate. Peter was not so great as Paul; for Peter could only change a brown loaf into Banbury mutton.

LETTER IV

And now comes the day of departure: and now farewel for a time to London, that hive of souls; itself the soul of Britain, the seat of action, the city of great events! Farewel to many pleasures, and to many pains! to friends in whom the heart delighted! to foes that persecuted they knew not why! we go in search of better days.

Before we embark, suffer me to make an observation, and tell a story. Fortune is a capricious jade; she flies from those who pursue; and pursues those who shun her. The remark is old; but not, I believe, the tale to which it leads.

In the town of Halberstadt, not long ago, there lived a tanner, remarkable for having been made enormously rich against his will. During the seven years’ war, the French, being at this place, had collected all the cattle in the environs, the skins of which they had to sell. The tanners of Halberstadt had but little power to buy, one alone excepted. To him the French applied; but, not understanding speculation after a certain quantity, he absolutely refused any more. Conquerors are not to be trifled with; and finding that their persuasions, which indeed were numberless, could not prevail, they resorted to the argumentum baculinum, and the tanner was at last beat into compliance. It was however under the condition that the other tanners would, at a fair price, lend him their tan-pits; and for this the argumentative French very readily undertook. The tanners were summoned, refused, and the rhetoric of the bastinado was again employed. It was resistless; the tanners let out their tan-pits. The tanner, who bought the hides at one-sixth of their value, parted with the dollars he had been so desirous to retain; and, in a few years afterward, became the wealthiest tanner in Germany.

I will give you another example of the caprice of this said Madam Fortune.

In Germany there are lotteries of various construction. Of one of these the law is, that he who draws a first prize, a second, and a third, shall the fourth time be one of the five that are to draw for the capital lot of I know not how many thousand dollars. A cooper, who loved to tap the barrels he hooped, bought a ticket, which came up a prize once, twice, and thrice; but the foolish fellow was thirsty; and being offered drink for the present, and money to buy more for a fortnight to come, he could not resist the temptation, and sold his ticket, which was a fourth time the fortunate number. He comforted himself with his can; and made a second venture, with exactly the same good and ill success. To another man this would have been horribly vexatious; but the jovial cooper let it pass; and when the next lottery came, made another purchase. The third time it had arrived at the third stage of winning, and he was again on the point of parting with his chance. By something of persuasion, and something of force, the reckless fellow was prevented. ‘Fortune,’ said his friends, or perhaps his wife, though this is the kind of husband a wife knows least how to manage, ‘Fortune absolutely persecutes you to accept her favours: why do you so perversely cast them from you?’ For once the sot heard reason; and the doctrine of chances proved how dangerous it is to lay the long odds; for the cooper’s ticket again gained the great prize.

From us Fortune is flying; and we are now in pursuit. The sequel will shew how perverse a jade she is, and how determined not to be overtaken.

On the first of July, 1799, we went on board the Kennet, Captain Thomson. All was confusion, all hurry. Barges, loaded with prodigious bales, lay beside her; a dozen men were straining every nerve to raise them over her side, and stow them between her ribs. It excited attention and surprise to see these cumbrous packs wedged with such contrivance as scarcely to leave a vacancy. Every thing that suppleness of limb, thews, sinews and muscular force could effect, was in continual exertion. The vessel was to fall down the river the next tide; which seemed incompatible with the labour to be performed.

With what additional wonder do I recollect scenes like these in my native country, having compared them with the inattention I since have witnessed. Here every man was active and intelligent; and one even supremely above the rest. Indeed it was prodigious. He was the mate; he directed the whole; his eye was every where; and his arm seemed to work miracles. He was full six feet high; and when the ponderous load seemed to defy their collected strength, he came, applied his giant force, and, at the first pull, it began to move. His agility was no less surprising, and almost irreconcilable to such bulk; for his wrist would doubly measure that of an ordinary man. His understanding was equal to his bodily power; he instantly saw what was wrong, and the way in which it was to be rectified. Give but his faculties another circle of action, and an epic poet might have made this man his hero: yet he was but the mate of a ship, subject to a captain who, though no fool, was far indeed from his equal; and when I asked him if he did not mean to be a captain himself, answered with a sigh—‘I wish, Sir, I may ever have so much good fortune.’

In what a traverse and frequently ludicrous manner does accident arrange the place and office of man, and the affairs of this poor world!

The mate’s name was Baird; and he and his commander were both Scotchmen. In the invoice, he was written captain, and the captain supercargo; a falsehood to which the infamous practice of pressing has given birth; a mate, like a foremast man, being liable to be pressed.

When I came on board, and saw the work that was still to do, I concluded it was impossible it should be accomplished. The mate himself doubted, but hoped, and worked like legion. Yes; we were at Gravesend the next day, where we were examined at the Alien Office; and on the evening of the third, anchored at the Nore.

The ocean was before us; the evening was calm; the expanse vast; the shores of Essex and of Kent were to the right and left; and the fleet with which we were to sail, with our convoy, and the admiral’s ship that guards the Nore, were all in view. The silence that reigned was suddenly interrupted by the eight o’clock bell, that rang from vessel to vessel; and, much more agreeably, by the admiral’s military band. We were at a proper distance; and the music came so softened to our ears that it was delightful.

The captain went on board our convoy; received his sailing instructions; and the next morning the fleet, about thirty in number, was under weigh.

Owing to the closeness with which the ship was stowed, the decks were so belumbered, that it required the catlike activity of a sailor to pass, without a fall, to the forecastle. I supposed they were so to continue. How much was I mistaken! No sooner was the business of setting the sails performed, than the active Baird began a clearance. All hands were at work; the hatches opened; room for stowage still was to be found; cables were coiled; and, in less than half an hour, no signs of disorder or incumbrance were to be seen. In some things, how full of caution is a sailor! How active is he, and how orderly on the approach of storm or battle! What contradictions are there in his habits! The least appearance of defect in his shrouds, braces, or rigging, must be repaired: his decks must be daily washed; to every thing that regards the safety of the ship, the strictest attention must be paid. He must not sleep more than four hours at a time, and never soundly: the least alarm must bring him upon deck. His eye must alternately be upon the watch; his apprehension of danger must never cease. Meanwhile, his own convenience is utterly neglected. Being at sea, he puts on any dirty or ragged jacket, sleeps upon boards or ropes, and feeds on the coarsest fare. Our cook was half covered with grease and tar; his hands were uncommonly large, and chapped; and he washed his dishes with a cable’s end. It often happens that the sailor’s beef is half putrid, his butter and cheese the same; his biscuits swarming with maggots; and his water stinking. To this he is sometimes by necessity reduced; and the landsman is astonished at the habits which such hard necessities have taught. But a voyage to Hamburgh is seldom of so much severity; and the pampered passenger as seldom goes to sea unprovided.

LETTER V

Our convoy was sluggish, and we were off the Norfolk coast on the fifth. We gave it some few parting sighs, remembering the relations and friends that were there; and who, perhaps, had they known the incident, would have brought down their telescopes, to have taken a last view. Was it affection or vanity that gave me this thought? Let it be permitted to hope the best.

He that makes a voyage and meets with no adventures, using the common phrase, must be greatly in or greatly out of luck; unless indeed we suppose him fast asleep, which, with the convenience of a close carriage, is the way that most travellers see the world. A watchman, shut up in his box at midnight, without the aid of his candle and lantern, sees it as well. We were willing to keep awake, and were not in want of stimulants. I had been to sea before more than once, yet had numberless things to remark: especially as I had never before sailed with a convoy. The Kennet was a good sailer; but if we ran before our guardian, we were liable to have a ten-pounder sent, with a possibility of hitting us, as a warning order to keep astern. If we were too close, the peril was that of running foul of the ships under the Commodore’s lee. If the weather fell hazy, this danger increased. If it was a calm, we must no less carefully keep our distance. Should you have supposed that, being on the boundless ocean, you must always have sea room enough, the above hints may help to rectify your mistake.

On the sixth, we were off the Texel; on the seventh saw Lord Duncan’s fleet; and on the eighth were still upon the Dutch coast. I repeat what the mariners and their charts told me; for I could not see land. The sailing under the protection of cannon balls, the look-out that was kept for the approach of an enemy, and the hostile fleets of Britain proudly riding on a threatened shore, inspired thoughts which——I will take another time to tell you what these thoughts were. We caught gurnels, a pretty but cruel warfare. The wretched animal was generally an hour gasping for the medium in which, till then, he had breathed, and dying with difficulty.

A more animating incident occurred. Perhaps you are ignorant that smugglers, if pursued, will sink their cargoes of gin, and leave a buoy; by the aid of which they are sometimes recovered. From one of these, as it was supposed, a keg was seen to come swimming among the fleet. The sight awakened two passions at once—drunkenness and ambition. To what dangers do they expose the thirsty, the daring, and the rash! The fleet was under sail; and the keg swam in a contrary direction. We perceived a consultation was held on board a ship but little distant. In a moment, one of the sailors began to strip. We watched his proceedings with surprise and apprehension; we saw him plunge into the sea, and stem the waves with such eagerness that it seemed impossible for his strength not to be presently exhausted. How impatiently did the eye pursue him, his head now hidden, and now seen dancing among the waves, till we could no longer catch a glimpse. It was a fearful distance. There was something so daring in the attempt, and so vigorous in the execution, that he became a kind of hero; in whose dubious fate every heart was interested.

Meanwhile the sailors, who first discovered the prize in question, lay to; that is, turned the ship so that the sails did not catch the winds: and hoisted out their boat. In this they went in search of the swimmer and the keg. We could not discover their proceedings; but we learned, after their return, that the sailor had overtaken and seized the object of his wishes; and they brought him and his prize once more on board of the ship to which he belonged in triumph.

A rash action, when successful, never fails to be admired. To people who live on shore, the remarks, language, and adventures of mariners are often amusing. The answers, however, which the latter return to passengers, are frequently surly, and expressive of contempt. Sailors, I assure you, are as pragmatic, and full of pedantry, in their way, as any Doctor the Universities can afford. Men are always surprised at, and diverted by each other’s ignorance; forgetting their own.

The seaman, however, has a feature common to us all; he is pleased with those who will listen to his complaints. One of our men told me how long he had served on board a man of war, the sufferings he there endured, and painted the despotism of naval officers, in the anecdotes he related. A Captain, who perhaps had read Culpepper, or some such erudite author, thought proper to physic his crew regularly once a month; and to take care the doses he prescribed were actually swallowed. This was not all; if the men were sick afterwards, they were put in the bilboes, to convince them they were well; and one poor fellow, who was extremely weak, was flogged for not running fast enough up the shrouds.

Another of these commanders having given a man three dozen lashes on the starboard of the vessel, ordered him two dozen more on the larboard; that, as he said, one side might not laugh at the other.

The man cited many more incidents of a like kind; adding, that when on board a king’s ship, he many a time wished himself dead. Observe, I can only be answerable for my own veracity; I faithfully repeat what I was told.

I shall be equally accurate in what I am going to relate; though it is on a subject which some naturalists have treated as absurd. The Captain and Mate of the Kennet, had both navigated the Coast of Norway, the Northern Ocean, and the Atlantic; and I questioned them concerning the Kraken. They neither of them pretended to have seen this supposed stupendous monster of the waters: but they immediately expressed their firm conviction of its existence. I asked their reasons; and they affirmed it had been twice seen within the last four years.

The first instance they cited was that of a Captain coming from Archangel, or Greenland, through the Atlantic; who was surprised at the appearance of rocks unknown to the chart of mariners, and immediately ordered out his boat, to have them examined; meanwhile the Kraken, that is, the imaginary rocks, disappeared, and he sailed over the place; but forgot, during his astonishment, to sound.

Their second instance was more circumstantial. About two years and a half before the time at which they spoke, a Dane, sailing through the Firth of Forth, on the coast of Scotland, was so terrified, at the appearance of rocks in such a place, that he lay to; being for some time persuaded that he had lost his reckoning, and had arrived he knew not where. After consideration, he took courage, and sailed past them; and when he arrived at Dundee, gave a relation of what he had seen. Finding himself at first disbelieved, he and his crew made oath of the fact; either at the Custom-house or before a Magistrate of Dundee. The narrators were both Scotchmen; and affirmed they spoke of the attestation being thus made from their own knowledge. Persons, who shall deem it worth their trouble, may easily make an inquiry whether any such attestation exists at Dundee.

My informants confirmed, unquestioned, the usual accounts, fabulous or not, that fishermen find plenty of fish on the back of the Kraken; as they do on sand banks, at a certain distance below the surface; and that these fishermen hasten away, as soon as they perceive the Kraken beginning to rise; because when it goes down, it occasions a dangerous whirlpool. These, you will recollect, are the old stories of Pontoppidan.

Finding this Leviathan so familiar to their belief, I next inquired if they had heard, or knew any thing of the sea-snake, by some called the sea-worm? To this question I received a still more direct answer. The Mate, Mr Baird, who certainly was not a liar by habit, whatever mistake or credulity might make him, assured me that, about the midway in a voyage to America, in the Atlantic, he had himself seen a fish, comparatively small in the body, of from forty to fifty fathoms in length; and that it had excited great terror in the Captain, who was well acquainted with those latitudes, lest it should sink the ship.

They both related other stories, concerning the appearance of this sea-worm: asserting that it will rise out of the water as high as a common main mast.

Should you ask, do you repeat these things because you think them credible? I answer, no. But who can affirm he can mark out the boundaries of possibility? Some mariners treat these tales as absolutely false and ridiculous: others seriously affirm them to be true; and I think it a duty to collect evidence, and to remain on this question as on many another, in a certain degree of scepticism.

They spoke of another fact; which, supposing them to speak truth, deserves attention. The waves in the Western Ocean are sometimes so oily, from dead whales, as it is imagined, that they are not much disturbed by a brisk gale. The sailor’s brisk gale, observe, by you and me would be called a high wind.

LETTER VI

Remember I left you in a gale at sea, and a high wind on shore: but what would you think of a stiff breeze? I heard one described by a sailor, who swore that it shaved him; that he could not keep his hair safe on his head; and that it made the ship sneeze. His metaphors, and the composure with which he spoke of a tempest, that to a landsman would have been so full of terror, were amusing.

Our voyage was performed by the aid of gentle gales; and we got in view of Heligoland on the morning of the 9th. Being now out of danger from an enemy, the ships were allowed to part company, and each make the best of her way. To people weary of the qualms and inconveniences of a sea-voyage, and impatient to arrive at the place of their destination, with the latent hope of unknown pleasures from unknown sources, this was welcome news. The Captain was teazed with our questions; and we were much disappointed to find there was little hope we should yet see Hamburgh, within four and twenty hours.

It was late in the day before we arrived at the red buoy, where usually the pilot comes on board. We now entered the Elbe, the navigation of which is both difficult and dangerous, if circumstances are unfavourable; and I could not but admire and most sincerely applaud the precautions taken for safety, and augur favourably of the industry and understanding I should find in Hamburgh. These, however, are the labours of sea-faring men; and such are the dangers of the waters, that sailors, who speaking of them as a class, are far from being the most intelligent, exert very sagacious means to guard against these dangers. The apparent width of the Elbe is great; but the bed of the navigable channel is comparatively small: buoys therefore have been placed, and distinguished by colour and numbering, to mark out the course of the stream, which winds exceedingly.

The eye of the traveller is always caught by those objects which differ greatly from such as he has been accustomed to see; and the appearance of our pilot was to us highly original. His figure was diminutive, yet so bundled up in jackets and breeches, that it was swelled out to a very respectable bulk. His breeches, far from being small clothes, were large and loose, and had pockets, or rather paunches, at the sides, in which he put his pipe, his tobacco, his bread and cheese, and other necessaries. I suppose he wore half a dozen pair; for he unbuttoned three, with great unconcern, before us all, to come at a fourth. His face was thin, his forehead contracted, his chin peaked, his nose large, his mouth wide, his teeth black and decayed, and his eyes small and red. Having given his directions, as soon as he had leisure he dressed, or rather undressed himself, that he might look respectably before the ladies; that is, he pulled off two jackets, the first exceedingly thick and weather proof, two pair of trowsers, and his boots, which hung loose about his legs. He then appeared in a grey damask doublet, made probably from his great grandmother’s holiday gown, long quartered shoes, and a pair of pewter single-tongued buckles, extravagantly large, and diamond cut. He had a gigantic kind of sleeve-button to fasten his waistband, and another of the same form but less, at his shirt collar; these, by their embossing, equalled his buckles in splendour: and in his now reduced size, he accurately resembled the wooden men cut in Dutch toys. I found amusement in studying this figure, it being the first of the kind I had seen. His language was low Dutch, but he spoke broken English; and I endeavoured to make him talk: but as he knew nothing, he could say nothing. The office of pilot frequently requires great presence of mind, activity, and courage: this man had certainly no such qualities.

Under his guidance, however, we entered the Elbe; and the shores of Holstein on the left, and Hanover on the right, began to close upon us. I know not when or how it came there, but the picture I had in my mind of Holstein, was that of one of the rude and naked countries of the North; and I felt surprise as we approached its banks to see them frequently adorned with houses built of brick, and the gable ends painted green. This, however, as I afterwards found, is by no means the general style of building in that province; but it appears that men every where take delight in having pleasant habitations on the banks of rivers. At this part of the Elbe the left hand shore had a flat and low appearance; while in Hanover we could see, not mountains, for there are none in these parts of Germany, but high lands. I know not why, but the traveller appears to have a latent expectation that every thing which he is to see, is to be unlike every thing he has seen; and is almost disappointed to find that trees are trees, and that the banks of rivers, in foreign countries, are as verdant as those of his native land. It is true, there are in reality marking differences; but these must be sought for in the minuter parts, and not in the grand features of Nature; some few and singular instances excepted.

The Elbe cannot be navigated in the dark; for the buoys and pilot marks cannot be discerned; and at twilight we cast anchor. At this the sailors did not repine; it was a necessity to which they knew they must submit; but we, impatient passengers, heard with regret that the wind blew peculiarly fresh and fair. In the middle of the night it strengthened, and opposed the tide; in consequence of which the waves rose, and the ship rolled violently. Doors flew open, boxes and bottles tumbled from their places, and there was a great clatter in the cabin. It seemed strange to be so much disturbed, having now passed the sea, and safely arrived in the river. Trifles, to which we are unaccustomed, excite surprise.

LETTER VII

The anchor was weighed as early as possible; for it was still doubtful whether we should arrive at Hamburgh before the close of day.

According to regulation, the pilot from the red buoy has a right only to proceed to a certain distance; after which another, if he be in readiness, comes on board and takes charge of the vessel. Our little man was very anxious in his hopes that a successor would not appear; and that he should have the whole profit of proceeding to Hamburgh. But he was disappointed. At the proper station his rival came; and he returned. The second pilot was no less characteristic in manner and appearance than the first; though very different. His dress, indeed, was nearly the same; but instead of the insignificance of the former, he had an assuming deportment; which, agreeing with the costume, made me imagine I was actually in company with ancient Pistol. With his pipe in his mouth, his wide, straddling gait, and his hands in his breeches’ side-pockets, commanding with a kind of bluff authority, and speaking a half unintelligible jargon, the picture was almost complete. His son was with him; a young boy, the likeness and the ape of his father. The decayed state of this man’s teeth, made me conjecture that smoaking might be a principal agent in producing this defect; which I afterwards found to be common among the Germans.

This man, however, had activity in his profession; and it was fortunate that he, instead of the former, was our pilot: for, in going up the river, had not he and all the crew strongly exerted themselves, we might have been run down by the sluggish neglect of a Dane; which danger we escaped with great difficulty.

As we proceeded, the appearance of the opposite shores considerably varied; we lost sight of the distant high lands in Hanover, and saw nothing but a dead and low flat; while the Holstein bank became elevated, the number of the green-ended houses increased, and the town and fortifications of Gluckstadt came in view. It is low, and we could see little of the palace of which our pilot vaunted. We discerned nothing that in the least approached magnificence; but saw many things that had a charming air of rural calm and cleanliness. These pleasing appearances became more frequent as we approached Altona; but we could not sufficiently enjoy them, for it was now once more the close of day. Being at Altona, we were glad, though surprised, to find ourselves within a gun-shot’s distance of Hamburgh: but our joy on this occasion was short; for we heard, with vexation, that the gates of Hamburgh, as well of the port as of the city, were regularly shut at dusk; and that admission, even for a prince, was then impossible.

Altona, like Hamburgh, is a seaport town; and it may safely be prophesied, that at no very distant period, they will form but one place. The number of shipping at Altona, was considerable, though small, when compared to those that crowded the harbours of Hamburgh. But the appearance that catches the eye, and distinguishes these cities from all that I had before seen, was the excessive quantity of windows in the houses; the front surfaces of which are nearly one half of glass. I had remarked the upper stories of certain manufacturing houses in London, that have rows of windows in the same manner; and inquired if the houses I now saw were all manufactories? It was a question the sailors could not answer, but I afterwards found that every house was thus constructed.

About nine o’clock, we came to moorings in the river, without the harbour; exceedingly mortified at being obliged to sleep another night on board; knowing that every thing to give us a pleasant reception had been prepared by our friends on shore. Expectation is whetted by difficulty and delay: yet expectation, without these stimulants, is generally too high. We were soon to be on German ground; and Germany is one of the grand divisions of Europe; renowned for its ancient resistance to the Roman arms, and claiming in modern times, not only the destructive honours of war, but a high rank in every department of science and belles lettres; we should therefore find it peopled with the learned, the polite, and the brave. With these, and a thousand other grateful images, we appeased our impatience, and once more waited the return of day. How eager is man for the future,—how insensible to the present!—Had he the power, how would he lend wings to time, and wish his life away!

LETTER VIII

The morning came, the Captain ordered out his boat, and we had scarcely patience to descend into it with care. The fleet that had arrived had to find berths in the harbour: ships must change their stations; some to depart, others to load, or unload: the boats and barges employed seemed almost as numerous as the ships themselves: multitudes of the peasants that inhabit the banks of the Elbe, who, from necessity, are both watermen and farmers, were arriving, male and female, in their skiffs, to provision the devouring city: all was life, all was motion; and we, rowing in the midst of the scene, had our faculties wholly absorbed by the countless novelties that at once invaded them. The animation of the Elbe cannot indeed be said to equal that of the Thames: but then the objects were so different, and their appearance generally was so uncouth and boorish, that the eye was bewildered, and unable to examine them individually.

We were stopped at the entrance of the harbour by the voice of a sentinel, and questioned concerning who we were, and what our trunks contained; but this is rather a form than a scrutiny; for few ports are so free of access, or give so little trouble with respect to Custom-house duties, as that of Hamburg. The government of Hamburg, comparatively, has laid but few restraints upon trade: that is, it has practised fewer of the vices of finance, common, more or less, to all governments; which absurdly rob, by their endeavours to enrich themselves. We landed on the Vorsetzen, at the principal stairs of the harbour, and were immediately struck by their inconvenience: they were narrow, steep, and dangerous, especially to persons carrying luggage. The krahnziehers, or city porters, perceiving we were English, and unacquainted with the place, pressed their service upon us, which we eagerly enough accepted; and having landed our trunks on the quay, one of them went for a coach, and another for a car, to remove us and our effects. We intreated them to make haste, which they promised; and though they kept us waiting in vexation above half an hour, they might still be said to keep their word: as Germans, they were quick. We had indeed heard much of the inflexible phlegm of this people, but as yet we were novices in its practical effects. While we stood watching our luggage, gazed at and gazing, the appearance of those around us strange to us, and ours to them, among other things that attracted attention were two waggons, if they might so be called, that met; and though the street, speaking of Hamburg, was tolerably wide, could scarcely pass. Each was drawn by four horses, two abreast, the driver riding on the near or left hand shaft-horse; each had four wheels, and not two feet broad at the bottom, though both were uncommonly long, the axle-trees projected above a foot on each side; in short, nothing could be more ill constructed for turning and passing in narrow streets. The convenience which would have resulted from their small width, was wholly destroyed by the projecting axle-trees; the rope harness was so long, and the horses drew at such a distance from each other, as at once to employ the space of drawing abreast, and what was nearly sufficient to have drawn lengthways. This, added to the length of the waggon, the awkwardness of the drivers, and the lazy unconcern with which they sat and looked, when they had embarrassed each other, before they determined how they would act, combining and harmonizing with other appearances around us, immediately gave birth to much surmise and meditation on national character. It was heightened too by the contents of one of the waggons, which was loaded with the filth and ordure of the city, as offensive almost to the sight as to the smell. Let us not, however, be too hasty in our conclusions, the detail of facts as they arise will best explain the real state of things: individually they may mislead, but collected and compared, they must elucidate.

It is true the next I have to relate is of the unfavourable kind. Three of the krahnziehers harnessed themselves to the car that drew our luggage; the distance they had to take it might be six or seven hundred yards, and a porter in London would willingly have done the whole work for three shillings; but their demand was twelve. It is true three of them thought proper to employ themselves, and they rendered that which might have been easy and expeditious, laborious and slow. Neither was their demand complied with; one third was abated: but then they supposed themselves paid no more than their due, and were dissatisfied that strangers were not taxed higher. It is said indeed, and I suppose truly, that throughout Germany labour is no where so extravagantly paid as in Hamburg: but a comparative estimate of the rate of labour is much wanted; for it is a subject on which there are many and gross mistakes. In proportion as the inhabitants of the country are ignorant, labour is supposed to be cheap: the very reverse is generally the truth.

To Mr Freeman,

Bath.

Sir, I had once the pleasure of receiving a very humane and sensible letter from you on the part of my father. After the character he has given of you, I do not wonder at it. Benevolence and wisdom frequently are, and ought always to be united. I am now to address you on his behalf. He informs me he is indebted to you to the amount of ten pounds, which was lent to him in necessity, and which I assure you is remembered by him with gratitude: it is an affair, that if I am not mistaken, does honour both to you and him. He is very anxious to have you satisfied that you shall not suffer for your generosity. I have it not in my power without great inconvenience to discharge the debt just at present, though it is a burthen which I wish to take from my father. I shall be enabled within this year, that is, at the beginning of next November, to pay it. I am secretary to a society which allows me that sum; and which, if you will accept of my note, or a draft payable at that time, shall be appropriated to this use. I shall be glad if you will favor me with a line respecting the affair, and after begging you will accept my most sincere thanks for the obligations I owe you on my father’s account, take the liberty to subscribe myself, &c.

January 9, 1779.

To Mr Richard Hughes.

Barnstaple.

Sir, I shall execute with pleasure any little commands you will please to favour me with, and beg you will not suppose it any obligation. I have enquired concerning a first singer, but hear of none except Mr Cubit. I have not applied to him, because I am told he has been with you before, and that he seldom visits one company twice. If you want a capricious hoyden, who values herself upon her character and virtue, yet walks about the town in men’s clothes, with a long stride, and a fierce cocked hat; who has more spirits, and as many antics as an ape or a tumbler; who is a coquet this minute, and a prude the next; raps out a great oath now, and anon reads you a lecture upon propriety and decorum; talks to herself, at herself, of herself, and never for five minutes together upon any other subject; who affects the girl, and whose wrinkles are as apparent as her vanity; who yet does every manager she is with, considerable service, by the singularity of her character, and the free airs she gives herself among the men; who on the stage, has considerable merit in breeches’ parts, coquets, etc., but who will be Wall and Moonshine, or haunt you both sleeping and waking; in short, if you want a person who is sentimental, dissipated, reserved, obliging, talkative, sullen, laughing, pouting, and all in less time than I could copy this period: who has many indications of strong sense, and more of absolute insanity: whose heart would direct her to do right, but whose vanity will not permit her: I say, if such a person pleases you, then take Mrs. H——. If you suspect me of pique or ill-nature while I have been painting this picture, you wrong me. I have not, nor is it probable I ever should again have, occasion to associate with Mrs. H——. If she should say it were a bad likeness, I will mend the copy when she mends the original. We have a new afterpiece of Mr Sheridan’s coming out this evening, ‘The Critic,’ from which we expect great things. Pray give my best respects to Mrs. Hughes, and believe me to be sincerely yours.

T. H.

Oct. 30th, 1779.

To Mr Holcroft.

My dear Father, I am glad the trifle I sent came safe to hand. Mr Freeman’s receipt is sufficient. You did not mention whether Mr Freeman still continues your friend. I wish you would be kind enough to let me know whether you have all your garden ground, and your bed of asparagus still, and what you chiefly depend on for your livelihood. Let me beg of you not to be unhappy. When you can no longer make up your payments, give up your all and come to me. I have told you frequently, and I cannot repeat it too often, I will never see you want. I am afraid you think the little I have hitherto done for you an obligation: I think I discover it in your letters. Let me intreat you, do not consider it in this light. You cherished me in infancy, and I should be very wicked to see you perish in age: you loved me then, and I love and reverence you now. I will shew you how sincere I am in my professions, the moment I have it in my power. I am exceedingly concerned for my poor mother’s afflictions, I hope she endures them with patience and fortitude, which alone can alleviate and make them lighter. I was not at home when your friends from Bath called, I should have been happy to have seen them, but they never came again. I hope you bear the burthen of old age cheerfully: nothing but indifference to the accidents of life can make them supportable. Life itself is to the wisest, happiest, and longest lived, short, uncertain, and chequered with good and evil; a kind of dream that ends in a profound sleep. You are travelling towards the grave, and I am following you very fast, nay, possibly may finish the journey before you; but let us not be unhappy on that account: we shall rest from our labours, while our sons and daughters in numberless succeeding generations shall toil in the same steps, have the same hopes and disappointments, and sink at last into the same forgetfulness. Life is an April day; if we are impatient and out of humour, it is overcast with tempests, clouds, and rain; but if we bound our desires and are cheerful, sunshine and serenity prevail. Mrs. Holcroft and the three little ones are all well, as are all friends, who frequently inquire after you. You would be delighted with the children, especially the boy, who is a fine little fellow, reads well, and is learning French and Latin.

To Mr Holcroft.

King’s Mead Square, Bath.

My dear Father, I take great pleasure in hearing of your welfare, and that you are not likely to become unsettled again, which, if I had not a house to invite you to, would give me great pain to reflect on, more especially at your time of life. I cannot tell you how much I respect Mr Freeman, he certainly must be a very benevolent, worthy man, and I beg you will assure him from me that he shall be certain not to lose the least part of the sum he has lent you: and that I am ready to give him my notes, if he pleases to accept of them, for the payment at such stated periods, as I find myself able to pay them at. Your property in your garden, and your own integrity, dear Sir, are sufficient security; but I would willingly remove every burthen from your shoulders, as well as give Mr Freeman every certainty in my power. I am every day more esteemed, and I believe, if I have life and health, there is little doubt of my success. I hope, Sir, you will not think me rude in cautioning you not to be too eager in increasing your stock; as by having more affairs on your hands than your small capital can supply, you may easily lose the whole; besides that you bring a degree of trouble and anxiety on your mind that your health cannot now support perhaps. I am exceedingly glad to hear that my mother is better. We are all in good health, our relations dine with us on Sunday, and we always speak of you. Mr Marsac is not arrived. My comedy is to be played next season. God bless you both, and make you happy. I am, dear father, etc.

March 31st.

To Fulke Greville, Esq.

Sir, Before I proceed to any other subject, permit me to assure you that I not only think myself greatly honoured by your correspondence, but greatly obliged by your remarks, and more especially by the candour and liberality with which they are made. Indeed, Sir, these sensations have made too powerful an impression to be soon, or easily forgotten. Your ideas of consistency, however I may have failed, agree entirely with mine; for which reason, whenever you find absurdities or inconsistencies, I shall be glad if you will freely point them out. Your objection to the Two Knights is well founded. I will make Sir Harry, a Lord, or Sir Hornet, a Mr ——. Vandervelt is in the same predicament. A large fortune, and the illiterate manners of Turnbull, are sufficiently improbable, unless what Osborne says, when he draws his character in the first act, reconciles it to truth. I think your hint, however, a good one, and worth attending to. If any phrases, words, or other alterations of that nature, occur to you in reading, I beg you will not scruple to write them on the blank leaf, being convinced that you have too much candour to take offence if I should happen to differ with you occasionally. If you understand that Sir Hornet sends the Turnbulls to his nephew’s house as a residence, I have erred in expressing myself, and must correct. The last thing you have noticed I confess affects me a good deal. I thought I had contrived the plot so as to keep the audience in suspense relative to the real character of Osborne; if I have failed in this the error is a capital one indeed. It is true I could not make Osborne a rascal so palpably as to take away all probability of the contrary, because the mind would have been too much shocked at the want of poetical justice in the denouement; the point to be hit was that perplexity which must arise in the mind on seeing a worthy person likely to be betrayed by an unworthy one; but yet to preserve a possibility of his salvation by having a possibility of your suspicions of the supposed unworthy one ill founded. Now to certain minds who are intimately in the mechanical secret of plot and catastrophe, &c. I hardly know how this is to be effected. You, Sir, know that a comedy must end happily, because critics have made it an inevitable rule. You see as you proceed there is no way of doing this, but by making a certain character (Osborne for instance,) not what he appears to be: you foresee, therefore, this will happen, and your concern for the distress of another vanishes. But in what labyrinth shall the poet bewilder you, Sir, who are possessed of this clue. If the whole audience see as far as you, Sir, my play loses half its merit. The work in question was to be a comedy, the auditors were to laugh; wit, humour, variety of character, of manners, of incident, were absolute requisites for a good comedy, and as entirely so as instruction and reformation from the fable and moral. The poet’s attention must, therefore, inevitably be divided; he must bestow a part on each. If the catastrophe of my play is not more moral, more forcible, and more affecting, than that of any late production, it is worse than any of them, because the plot has greater capabilities, but the nature of the work would not permit it to be as much so as if it had had but one whole and undivided intention, that is, as if it had been a Tragedy. Do not imagine, Sir, that I am seized with the irritability of authorship; whenever I am chagrined it will be at myself for committing errors, not at others for telling me of them. I am afraid there is truth in your objection, though I confess I have been told by some readers they were entirely at a loss concerning the catastrophe till it happened: but it is evident they either said false, or were less discerning than you. Continue, Sir, to tell me truth. They will not flatter me at the Theatre. I will retrieve my errors where I can. I am concerned, however, Sir, at giving you the labour of writing, you will be in town soon; or at Petersham, I shall be proud to wait on you; you will give me your opinion with greater ease: I find already it will be of much service to me, and I repeat, I think myself greatly honoured, and indebted to that philanthropy which could prompt you so cheerfully to the present undertaking.

I am, Sir, &c.

September 4th.

To Fulke Greville, Esq.

Sir, I have this moment received and read your last letter: your attention to me is not only an honour to me, but to yourself, Sir; it expresses the anxiety of a generous mind. I continue to think that your suggestion of Osborne’s gratitude is a very happy improvement, and as such have endeavoured to give it all the expression and force I could from the mouth of Osborne. As to Sir Harry, he appears to me to be so overflowing with passion, that is, the turn is so sudden and unexpected, and he is so affected with Osborne’s friendship and virtue in disguise, and at the hideous danger he had just escaped, that, if I feel right, he cannot speak, except in exclamation. The difficulty of making impassioned characters say neither too little nor too much is, as you observe, exceedingly great: and the plot frequently obliges the author to say too much; but it never fails in some degree to offend. I confess, Sir, you almost terrify me about the loss of Melissa’s fortune, but I have no remedy; the reason is what I gave you in our last conversation. Mr Nicholson says, were it not done, he confesses he would not do it; and yet, as it is at present managed, the effect is such that he can scarcely wish it undone; nor does he seem to think there is much risk in it. He approved your before-mentioned hint concerning Osborne’s gratitude, exceedingly, and thought it very happy. I don’t know how enough to thank you for your kind offers concerning the prologue; but Mr Nicholson is at present about one, and had begun it before I received your letter; how far it may succeed in mine or Mr Harris’s opinion, I cannot yet predict; but I am under no disagreeable concern on that subject, because I know Mr Nicholson’s candour and good sense so well as to be certain, should it not chance to be happy, he will not suffer the least chagrin; not to mention, Sir, that I should be exceedingly sorry again to subject your performance to the caprice, or ill taste, of others, to which I myself, in this business, am entirely subjected. I have not yet seen Mr Henderson: he was out of town.

I am, &c.

T. H.

To the same.

Sir, I am very much concerned at not knowing where or which way to remit the copy of the comedy to you, being ignorant of where you are, or where this may find you. I went on Tuesday with it into Somerset Street, but found the house entirely shut up. The trouble you have taken in reading and advising, demands every attention from me. It is to be played on Saturday the 13th. If you come to town, or can instruct me how to send the comedy to you, I shall be happy. I assure you, Sir, you can scarcely conjecture the trouble and chagrin attending things of this nature: there have been three epilogues written before there was one to please the speaker; and at this instant, I am not certain of finding any person to speak the prologue. Mr Henderson said he could not please himself in it, and therefore declined it; and Mr Lee Lewis, to whom it was afterwards given, who fancies himself a wit and a critic, does not find opportunities enough of regaling his acquaintance in the upper gallery; whether he will or will not speak it, is yet to be determined. There have been various alterations made in the play, and a very considerable one relative to the loss of Melissa’s fortune, though your objection is not entirely obviated. I have written a speech for Sir Harry, on the effects of gaming, as consonant to the ideas you hinted as I could; and I believe it will have a charming effect. Your turn too for the denouement is exceedingly happy. I can only add, Sir, that I think myself exceedingly obliged to you for these favours, and shall take the earliest opportunity when you are in town, with your permission, of thanking you in person.

I am, Sir, &c.

To the same.

Sir, I am exceedingly happy that you do not suspect me of ingratitude: indeed, Sir, I should detest myself had I, by my own neglect, treated you with the least disrespect. It would have been a symptom not only of an inflated, silly mind, but of a bad heart also. I repeat this, Sir, because I assure you I was very uneasy till the receipt of your obliging letter removed my doubts. I cannot help again observing to you, Sir, that the approbation of people of known worth and undoubted abilities is very flattering; and I hope there will be nothing wrong or indelicate in saying that I feel myself peculiarly happy and elevated at having gained the esteem of Mr and Mrs. Greville; and I am certain I shall neglect no opportunity of endeavouring to improve a friendship so honourable to me, and, at one period of my life, so seemingly incompatible. I know, Sir, the most effectual mode of accomplishing this will be to do my duty in society, and assiduously to cultivate such talents as accident or nature has bestowed upon me; and this, Sir, is my most serious intention. Respecting the play, I, Sir, was never satisfied with making Sir Harry lose his sister’s fortune; besides that I find it is an incident in the tragedy of the Gamester, where, as the hero does not survive the dishonour, it is very proper and happy. However, as few are sufficiently refined to feel properly on this occasion, it has a good stage effect. You can hardly conceive how great the effect of the denouement was on the first night, the whole house seemed taken by surprise; and Osborne’s generous account of the reason of his conduct greatly heightened, or rather gave a complete finish to their pleasure. There is another speech, which was written in consequence of some hints I received from conversing with you, which I think one of the best conceived in the whole play. It is Sir Harry’s soliloquy in the fourth act, after Melissa has put her fortune in his hands. I very much approve what you are pleased to term the niceties of verbal criticism. An exact and well regulated machine depends as much, if not more, upon small things, as great; but still there must be vast labour and precision indeed, if no particle of dust insinuates itself among the cogs and wheels; however, when such is discovered, it would be folly not to brush it away. The epilogue I wrote, and it has a good effect in speaking. The curtailings have some of them been suggested at rehearsals by the performers, and some were my own, but the greatest part were Mr Harris’s. I dislike Sir Harry’s squeezing Clara’s hand, as much as you can do, I assure you, Sir, it was the insertion of the actors: and I chose rather to submit to that, and many other things I disapproved, than to appear obstinate or opinionated. Mrs. Holcroft desires me to assure you, Sir, she is exceedingly obliged by the kind mention you have made of her, and only wishes it were possible to have an opportunity of expressing her gratitude in actions both to you and Mrs. Greville: but this she despairs of.

I am, Sir, &c.

Oct. 28.

To Mr Freeman.

Bath.

To a heart like mine, addicted, both by principle and constitution, to the glowing emotions of friendship, the philanthropy and warmth of sentiment so conspicuous in your letters, and particularly in your last, are very acceptable. And though I have not leisure to answer you so fully as I wish, nor opportunity to return those many kindnesses you do me, yet to be totally silent would be ungrateful. Let me therefore return you my most sincere thanks for all your favours, particularly for those done to my father: believe me, Sir, they shall never be forgotten. You are pleased to style yourself my friend, and I am proud of the appellation: the friendship of good men is not to be obtained upon slight and trivial terms: they know not only their own worth, but that the merits or demerits of those to whom they apply that serious and respectful word, are in a great measure reflected back upon themselves; and this makes them cautious. For my own part, Sir, small as my consequence is in this world, nothing but a thorough conviction of the goodness of a man’s heart, could make me accept him for my friend. I am convinced you think in this like me, and I esteem your friendship, Sir, and the friendship of men like you too highly ever to wilfully make myself unworthy of it. Men who feel the dignity of virtue are too proud to be vicious. Excuse this, Sir, I only mean to assure you I will endeavour to equal the good opinion you are pleased to entertain of me, and not to write my own eulogy.

To Mr Freeman.

Dear Sir, I received yours of the 25th in due course, and have forborne to answer it till now, because I had not money to pay any part of the account before; as soon as I go out to-day I shall pay ten pounds in part to Mr Ellis, and hope to pay as much more in a few weeks; should you think this too tardy, be kind enough to hint as much, and I will endeavour to quicken my motions. Had I any means of conveyance, I would send you a book just published (by me) in French and English, very curious,—‘Memoires de Voltaire écrits par lui-même.’ If you will be kind enough in your next to inform me who in London sends you parcels oftenest, I can take occasion now and then to send you such trifles as I have any concern in. We complain in London of literary envy among literary men, and often with reason; but our men of letters are far behind those of France in that particular; parties there are as high among the learned, as here among politicians. Their passions are sudden, their wit keen, and their tongues imprudent; all these must have exercise, and as they dare not, like us, talk of beheading prime ministers, tell kings they are fools, and regulate the affairs of nations; they are all judges of wit, taste, poetry, and the belles lettres; and much in the same proportion as we are of politics: that is to say, there are a thousand who affirm and dogmatize, for one who discriminates and judges with temperance and taste. Their authors of the present century, who have been famous, are most of them dead or old, and they themselves say they have little hopes from any of the rising generation: but this is a common-place complaint of all ages, and I have no doubt is without foundation now as heretofore. Notwithstanding their universal pretensions to dispute and decide in works of wit and taste, the common people are very ignorant and ill-educated, insomuch that you will see, in the best streets of Paris, the inscriptions on the signs frequently misspelt; which is matter of astonishment to an Englishman, who seldom sees such a thing even on a village chandler’s shop sign. I have written the above sketch in obedience to a wish expressed in your last; it is hasty and slight, for I am pressed at present for time, as indeed I generally am. My father is at present in Manchester; but he has taken a cottage in Cheshire, whither he and his wife are going in a few days. In his last he desired me to give his kindest love and sincerest thanks to you and your family, for all your kindness and goodness to him; he likewise wishes to know who is Mr F——’s successor, and if it is necessary he should come to Bath at the expiration of his lease. A line when you have leisure, Sir, will be very acceptable to your sincere friend, and obliged humble servant,

T. H.

To Mr Professor Dugald Stewart.

Dear Sir, I am ashamed of myself, I have treated you with seeming disrespect, by neglecting to answer your letter. This is a thing I should be ashamed of with any person, and especially with one who I believe deserves the best esteem of the best men. Hear what I can urge in mitigation, and I hope to obtain your pardon. Your letter arrived just at the moment when my opera of the Noble Peasant was in rehearsal; and I exceedingly hurried and teazed, not only with attending every day at the theatre, but with alterations, writing new songs, new scenes, making retrenchments, &c. &c. to suit the circumstances of introducing this performer, leaving out that, and so on; by which you will readily conjecture I was not idle: add to which the necessity of supplying printers with copy of Les Veillêes du Chateau, which I am translating. I even began this letter yesterday, but was cut short at the word teazed in the last paragraph, par un impertinent, and was obliged to defer the subject till this morning. My defence is ended in which I even plead guilty, but hope you will find lenity not ill-bestowed. Mr de Bonneville has been several months at Evreux. I wrote letter after letter, and received no answer, till at last I grew very seriously uneasy. My letters lay at Paris for him; he is returned, has written, and I am recovered of my fears. I believe, Sir, you know how deeply I am interested in whatever concerns Monsieur de Bonneville. At present, or rather at the moment he wrote, he was severely afflicted with the toothache; but this, though a terrible evil while it lasts, is not I hope a lasting evil. I shall transcribe your kind expressions concerning him in my next, for which give me leave to thank you: I assure you they gave me pleasure, yes, Sir, great pleasure. My delay has had one good effect; had I written sooner I could not have told you where he was, or if any where. I received his letter on Thursday last, shall write in a few days, and would advise you, Sir, to do likewise: your letter will be sure to reach him if you direct to him, ‘Chez Monsieur Barrois le jeune Libraire Rue Hurepaix à Paris.’ You are kind enough to say, Sir, you will call on me when you come to London. I have a house and table, Sir; and such as they are, if you will do me the honor of making them your own, while you stay, be it short or long, I shall remember the favor: this is said in plain and simple sincerity, and not in compliment. If you should see Mr Robertson, junior, pray present my kind respects.

I am, &c.

T. H.

To Madame de Genlis.

I have received your favor, Madam, and am happy to find the books came safe to hand. As to the retrenchments you are pleased to notice, I will not pretend to justify either my own false delicacy, or that of my nation; but I can affirm, that be it false or true, it exists,

and that to an English reader, I have done the book a service, and no injury. A person of your genius, Madam, need not appeal to the approbation of journalists (I speak generally); however, if that were any consolation, I can likewise plead their support on this very subject, as you will see if you will please to read the Critical Review for February last; but I would rather have given you satisfaction, Madam, than fifty Reviewers. You may well imagine, Madam, I acted for the good of the work, according to the best of my judgment, but I will by no means presume that judgment infallible.—Permit me, Madam, to relate a short story.—A certain young nobleman was remarkable for the elegance of his dress, the symmetry of his person, and the refinement of his manners. The old ladies admired him, the young ladies loved him, and even the handsomest among the men envied him. He was the chief inventor of modes, the leader of fashions, and the arbiter of taste and tailors: above all, he was remarkable for a fine head of hair. Proud of his power, and conscious of his abilities, his ambition was insatiable. One day, while waiting for his hair-dresser, he happened by some odd accident to be turning over the leaves of a folio, in which he saw engravings of Eastern habits—he burst into a laugh.—What strange figures, cried he! how little do they understand of grace and elegance! were I among them, I would soon teach them better. Full of this idea, and urged by a thirst of still superior fame, he determined to take a voyage to China, in order to begin by humanizing and converting that vast empire to the principles of good taste. Arrived at Pekin, and being a master of his art, his first endeavour was to gain the suffrages of the fair sex: to effect this, he assailed, and hoped to captivate the daughter of a Mandarine, acknowledged to be the greatest beauty in all Pekin, and, as her admirers daily swore, in all the world. Much depended on a first impression, and this he knew: he therefore pared his nails and powdered his hair, and some add (perhaps maliciously) painted his cheeks. Full of the remembrance of former celebrity, and elate with the consciousness of present perfection, he walked up to the glass, admired the image it reflected, and with the step of ease and self-approbation, called for his palanquin and proceeded on his visit. Thus prepossessed, I need not describe his surprise and chagrin, when instead of meeting the approbation he thought so certain, he heard the beauteous Chinese, though struck with his fine form (for proportion must ever please) find fault with that European art—that taste, which he had held so irresistible: the smart short cut of his clothes suffered a thousand ridiculous comparisons; and his frizzed and powdered hair, so bushy and so full, afforded endless laughter. A circumstantial detail is needless. The European, when he beheld the Chinese in their own country, and in great numbers, did not find their fashions so absurd as he thought them in an engraving. He fell desperately in love with the Mandarine’s daughter, soon consented to cut off his fine hair, except a single lock, to let his nails grow, and wear a long vest; for without such condescension he found it impossible to win the affection of his mistress—that is, he translated himself into Chinese. Truth and nature are the same in all countries, but the mode of decoration varies in each.—This I hope, Madam, will be a sufficient apology for any occasional liberties I may have taken with your very estimable work; and which, notwithstanding, I believe few people think more highly of than I do, because few have studied its numerous excellences with such minute attention. There is a new edition now in the press, and I shed tears daily over the proofs as I read. I shall receive the favor of your ‘Theatre d’Education,’ with the respect and thanks such a present, coming from such a person, deserves.

I am, Madam, &c.

T. H.

To Fulke Greville, Esq.

Dear Sir, When I returned from Blackheath, I found your kind note, in which you speak in that mild and true spirit of philosophy, which is worthy of a liberal and philosophic mind. Proof respecting the subject in question (Instinct) is not to be had. To me the difficulties seem less to suppose the actions of all animals the consequence of reflection, than to suppose them blind impulse. I care not a farthing, whether my opinion be right or wrong; but while it is my opinion, however weak or absurd it may be, I will never pretend to a conviction I do not feel: and in this I am sure to meet your approbation, because a contrary conduct would be contemptible. A hen that has chickens, rakes up a barley-corn on a dunghill and stands clucking over it till her brood come round her. I could as soon suppose this an action of instinct, viz. an action without an intention, for that is what I understand by the word instinct; I repeat, I could as soon suppose the hen acted from instinct, and without any idea passing in her mind, as I could at seeing a tomtit carry moss into the hollow of a tree, for the safety of itself and young: the action is much more complicated in the one case, than in the other, but I do not see that it warrants me to conclude the tomtit is acting without any intention. My mind revolts at the idea of a bird selecting a hole just capacious enough to creep into, remarking in what tree that hole happens to be, flying away and looking round for materials to make its nest, placing those materials in a certain form, leaving its mate to watch, and give notice if an enemy approach, and going through a rational and well connected system, without rationality, and without meaning. It seems to me much less difficult to suppose the bird has a greater capacity than I am habituated to attribute to birds, or that it learns to do these things from seeing others of the same species with which it lives in society do the like. Pray Sir, do me the justice to believe, that I mean to give all this as mere opinion, and that I am superior to dogmatizing. The fact you mention of the squirrel, may, as you say, Sir, if I am not mistaken, afford deductions for either side of the question. The first thing I should wish to inquire into would be, whether the squirrel had never been in company with other squirrels that had the like habits; and, if that were proved against me, I should next inquire, whether a young squirrel that had never been in company with any other squirrel did, the very first time it had nuts given it, go and seek for a corner to hide them, and if even this extraordinary thing were to happen, I should still be much more inclined to attribute it to the fears and cunning of the animal, than to suppose it went and came and knew nothing about the matter; for so, I think, acting from instinct or without intention, implies. Your Wilbury horses, Sir, are surely on my side of the question, and my very good friends on this occasion, or I am once more egregiously deceived. They not only choose to leave the heat and retire to the shade, but they moreover select that part of the shade which suits them best, that is, where they are least annoyed by flies. Just so an over-roasted cook-maid retires behind her fire-screen, and if she happens to sit down on an uneasy chair removes to another, and gives the easiest the preference. Men play on the harpsichord and talk, as men walk and talk; i.e. the thing is so familiar, it employs only a part of their attention; but give them music which is too difficult for them, that is, which employs their whole attention, and I from experience will answer for their silence. The respect due to your friendly mode of arguing, has occasioned me to do what I have a great aversion to, write a long letter. But however convinced you may be of the fallacy of my arguments, I hope I shall never give you cause to suspect the sincerity and friendship with which I am, and shall ever remain,

Your very respectful,

Humble servant,

T. H.

P.S.—I have sent you the magazine, and a volume of the Harleian manuscript, a very scarce, curious, and dear book, and hope it may afford something that will entertain. I have not got the other book: Lord Kaimes’s Sketches of Man is the title.

To the Hon. Horace Walpole.

Sir, The politeness with which I was received on my accidental visit to Strawberry-hill, in company with Mr Mercier, and the pleasure I felt not only in viewing so rare a collection of the works of art, but in the very kind manner in which they were shewn, will not easily be forgotten. As a small testimony of the truth of this, I then projected, and having received them from the binders, now take the liberty to send you copies of such dramatic works of mine, as have been already played and published, which I beg you to accept, not as a task imposed upon you to read them, nor yet with an expectation of praise, but as an acknowledgement of as much thankfulness as I dare express. I have also inclosed a copy of a manuscript comedy, for which I can give no better reason, than that though every motive of delicacy would make me avoid laying you under the least restraint, yet it may happen that the perusal of it may afford you an hour’s amusement, which is the best return I am at present able to make for the attention with which you were pleased to treat me, and the invitation you gave me to revisit Strawberry-hill in a more favourable season.

I am, Sir,

Your very respectful,

Humble servant,

T. H.

ANSWER.

To Mr Holcroft.

Berkley Square, Nov. 28th, 1788.

The civilities, Sir, which you are pleased to say you received from me at Strawberry-hill, were no more than were due to any gentleman, and certainly did not deserve such acknowledgement as you have made; and I should be ashamed of your thanking me so much, if the agreeable manner in which you have greatly overpaid them by the present of your works, did not make me easily swallow my shame, though it will not dispense me from assuring you how much I am obliged to you. I shall read them with pleasure as soon as I am settled in town. Just at present, I live between town and country, and should not have leisure but to read them by snatches. It is for this reason, that if you are not in haste for it, I shall beg leave to keep your manuscript comedy, till I can peruse it with proper attention. If you should want it soon, I will return it, and ask for it again, for it would be unjust to the merit of your works to run through them too rapidly.

I am, Sir,

Your obliged, and

Obedient humble servant,

H. Walpole.

To Mr Holcroft, sen.

Aug. 31st, 1791.

My dear Father, I have received both your kind letters, and hope you will excuse my not having answered you sooner, my delay having been occasioned by the intense application which I am obliged to pay to a work I am now writing. I imagine it will be printed about Christmas, and you shall receive an early copy. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to hear of your good health. I am convinced of the efficacy of sea-bathing, and am glad you are near enough to the sea to enjoy the benefit of it. Remember, my dear father, what I repeated to you, when I had last the happiness of your company. Keep your mind alive; exercise every part of your body, fingers, joints, and muscles; endeavour to infuse spirit and vigour into them, and depend upon it you will be surprised at the effects which will be produced. We die piece-meal, by falling into habits of apathy and neglect; and by supposing that debility and inactivity are the inevitable consequences of age. The mind becomes weary of action; it loses its desires, and the body sinks into listlessness, palsy, and universal decay. This I am persuaded is the error of a false supposition, that death is inevitable. Not that I would have you understand I myself think I shall not die: but I very sincerely think, when I do die, it will be of ignorance, and of the disease I have just mentioned; accidents excepted.

You inquire, dear Sir, whether I am married again. I cannot say what miracles may happen in the world; but I really think I have had marriage enough for one man. The woman whom I could truly esteem is not easily to be found; and, if the discovery were made, it would be strange if she were wholly disengaged. Your grandchildren are all in good health, and inquire after you very affectionately. Mrs. Colles and family are well, she dined with us the Sunday before last. With respect to affairs, I am sorry for your sake, my dear father, that I am not so rich as I could wish. The only remedy is strict economy, and hard labour; both of which conditions I am obliged severely to comply with: but, far from being discontented; to be able to comply with them, to be rid of the false notions that fix felicity in the enjoyment of superfluous trifles, which none of us want, and to have a mind industrious, active, and delighting to produce, these things are to me happiness, which may be almost called supreme. I shall for some months be exceedingly short of money; but you shall nevertheless hear from me, at the usual time. Pray remember me kindly to Mrs. Holcroft, and assure yourself that I shall always remain

Your dutiful and

Affectionate Son,

T. H.

From Mr Shield.

Turin, September 22nd, 1791.

Dear Holcroft, * * * * * * My health, since I left England, one day excepted, has been extremely good; but passing the Alps in the manner I did, was too much for me. I thought it degraded the race of men too much to suffer two of them to carry me in a sedan over this immense mountain: in consequence of which we had mules; and after riding about one mile, reflection told me that I was shortening the life of an animal, by obliging it to carry me up and down so many precipices; and as I saw women walk it, I was resolved to do the same, for I was then in possession of the temper of the animal which I led, and would not yield to the intreaties of my fellow travellers to remount. I was so much exhausted when I arrived at Laneburg, that I threw myself upon the bed: soon after which, dinner was served up in the same room; but my appetite had entirely left me through fatigue: my heart was good, but my strength failed me. However, after waiting for two hours for some very indifferent tea, it revived me a little, and I got into the coach, and was entirely recovered by the time we reached Turin. A man needs no common share of that inestimable quality which you so eminently possess (fortitude) to travel through the South of France and Savoy, with only a dozen words of the language. I thought change of scene would prove the best medicine for me, and I seem to have been right in my prognostications, for I find myself in the full possession of my faculties, and am determined to exert myself in my profession. A very accomplished Russian is my chief companion. But the greatest original of our voiture party is a Chinese, of a small stature, but of a capacious memory: he speaks the French, Italian, Spanish, German, Dutch, Russian, and Latin languages, so as to astonish the natives and students of the above. His character is so uncommon that, were you to draw him for the English stage, he must reside in London before the audience would acknowledge your character to be natural: most people like him, for the only indignity he has yet met with is his being taken for my valet, from his attention to me.

Your’s truly,

Wm. Shield.

P.S.—I cannot view the beautiful scenes which at present surround me, without recollecting the strokes of Milton’s pencil in his sublime picture of Paradise Lost.

To Mr Shield.

London, Oct. 11, 1791.

Dear Shield, You cannot easily imagine the pleasure which your letter gave me. The passions, hopes, and alarms of the heart are necessarily excited in behalf of those for whom it has an affection by distance, and by its ignorance of the good or ill health, happiness or misfortune of those it loves. I heard of you at Lyons, and for the moment was satisfied. I knew from the numbers who cross the Alps, that there would be little or no danger in traversing the tremendous Mount Cenis; yet I was anxiously desirous to hear you had passed it in safety. I have accompanied you in imagination, and looked down from its summit on the surrounding nations. Fanny supposes that, being placed there, the eye has a survey, as it were, of all Europe, though in reality its powers are too feeble to see distinctly and accurately at a few yards’ distance; but fancy delights in these deceptions, nor can the scenery be other than sublime and astonishing. You are at present in what, perhaps, more than any other, may properly be called the country of contradictions. The noble works of art, of sculpture, of painting, and the monuments of architecture, which are to be met with in almost every city of Italy, form a surprising contrast to the ignorance, poverty, sloth, and present depravity of its inhabitants. Men who, by the baneful influence of priesthood and bad government, have, from the first of mankind, become almost the lowest. Sunk in ignorance, deprived of energy, destitute of all noble emulation, we ask with amazement, how could a people like this produce works so magnificent; or tower, as they have done, above the rest of mankind? You are sensible, dear Shield, I now speak of them as a nation; there are, no doubt, individuals among them who still possess those powers, and that genius, of which the herd of their fellow citizens is deprived. They only wait a more happy moment, and a return of times more fortunate, to become all that they have been, and I hope much more. I need not tell you the infinite pleasure it would give me, could I, at this moment, transport myself to the palace in which you lodge, for such no doubt it is, and accompany you in all your peregrinations: I have a very earnest desire to see Rome, that queen of cities, and take a view of all her treasures, which as I am told, are so immense and multifarious, as presently to satiate the most inquisitive mind.

Do not forget, dear Shield, to fix your attention on the various works of Michael Angelo: in painting, sculpture, and architecture, I am persuaded he was the first of modern artists. Nor must Raphael escape your notice. Rome, I am told, is the only place on earth to view his pictures, for all the best of them are there. I shall ask you a thousand questions concerning them on your return, and of the effect they produced upon you. The remains of ancient architecture: the Pantheon, Trajan’s Pillar, the Tower of St. Angelo, &c. &c. you will certainly not forget. I should indeed prefer fixing my attention on a select few of the grandest objects, to that of dividing it into too many parts, and thus rendering it without efficacy. No passage in your letter gave me so much pleasure as that in which you tell me you are in full possession of your faculties, which you are determined to exert.—The determination is well worthy of a mind like your’s, Shield, which to possess, and not to employ, is, in my opinion, the true sin against the Holy Ghost; it is unpardonable. Familiarized as your mind at present is to harmony, and stored with musical ideas, what can be so desirable for the world, or so delightful to yourself, as to arrange those stores, to pour them forth, and to dig the gold from the mountain where, while it lies buried, it is worthless. Not that any accusation of the kind can be brought against you, yet, Shield, distance will authorise friendship in speaking a truth which false modesty unjustly forbids us to repeat vivâ voce. Your works are already an honour to your nation and your art; and had you not been under the malignant influence of absurd prejudices, they would have been infinitely more honourable. We are at present all, more or less, under similar influences, and obliged to obey the dictates of necessity. I hope, however, that you will be less so in future than heretofore; and the end of my present very severe labours is to free myself from them if possible. There needed not any caution relative to the newspapers; I believe you are too generally beloved to be in danger of attack; but should illiberality or envy shew their fangs, be certain, you will not want a defender. Forgive me, dear Shield, for not transcribing this letter myself; my brain is exceedingly busy, and not a little fatigued; you will see on what, when you return to England. I am obliged to employ every moment in that severe labour which is requisite to form a consistent, efficacious, and excellent whole; whether the work I am writing will be such must be left to the proof, but such at least I must endeavour to make it, and I hope my efforts will not be unsuccessful. All good, all happiness, all pleasure, be with you wherever you go.

T. H.

To Mr Godwin.

July 20th, 1797.

It was my intention to write, for I feel a kind of vacuity of heart, when I am deprived of the intercourse of my accustomed friends; but as I cannot write to them all, and as we have many friends in common, I think there are few whom you may not safely assure on my part, that they have their turn in my thoughts. I deferred this pleasant duty, however, till I had seen your mother, whom I thought it right and respectful to visit. My coming occasioned some little alarm; the Major, Mrs. Harwood, and Fanny, accompanied me; we were seen from the windows as we came up to the gate. I had my spectacles on, and your sister-in-law ran to inform your mother that yourself and Mrs. Godwin were arrived. The old lady stood in the portico; the young ones advanced; there was an anxious curiosity in their countenances, and your sister said, addressing herself to me, ‘I think I know you, Sir.’ I scarcely knew what to reply: imagination had winged her and myself up to London, where I supposed, some years ago, I might have seen her at your lodgings; taking it for granted she was a relation: but as I did not answer, Major Harwood relieved our embarrassment by announcing my name. The change of countenance, perhaps, could not have fully persuaded her that my face was actually yours, yet she seemed rather to trust to her hopes, than to her recollection; and these being disappointed, an immediate blank took possession of her features, and the rising joy was damped. Your mother, however, very kindly invited us in, and gave us all the good things she had, that could administer to our immediate pleasures. The expectations which Major Harwood had raised by his description of your mother were not entirely answered. She was neither so alert, so commanding, nor so animated, as he and Ann had described. I think her very rapidly on the decline: having quitted her farming business I have no doubt myself but that her faculties will be impaired much faster than they would have been had she continued to exert them. Her memory is good, her conceptions, speaking comparatively, are clear, and her strength considerable. I have seen more of the county of Norfolk, than of its inhabitants; of which county I remark, that, to the best of my recollection, it contains more churches, more flints, more turkeys, more turnips, more wheat, more cultivation, more commons, more cross-roads, and from that token probably more inhabitants, than any county I ever visited. It has another distinguishing and paradoxical feature, if what I hear be true: it is said to be more illiterate than any other parts of England, and yet I doubt if any county of like extent have produced an equal number of famous men. This is, however, merely a conjecture made, not from examination, but from memory. As it is necessary for me to bathe, I shall immediately depart for Yarmouth, and pass through Norwich, which I have not yet seen. If you, or Mrs. Godwin, or both, can but prevail on yourself or selves to endure the fatigue of writing to me, I hope I need not use many words to convince you of the pleasure it will give me: and be it understood that this letter is addressed to you both, whatever the direction on the back may affirm to the contrary. Professions are almost impertinent, and yet I am almost tempted to profess to you how sincerely and seriously I am interested in your happiness, but as I am sure my words would ill describe my thoughts, I shall forbear. Pray inform me, sweet lady, in what state is your novel? And on what, courteous Sir, are you employed? Though I am idle myself, I cannot endure that anybody else should be so. Direct to me at the Post-Office, Yarmouth.

To Mr Holcroft.

December 11th, 1794.

Sir, Were I not writing to Mr Holcroft, I should think it needful to apologize for my abrupt self-introduction to you in London, and the liberty I now take in addressing you: but I trust you will not deem me impertinent, nor expect any professions to convince you of the esteem and admiration I have for your character. These sentiments induced me to visit you in your late unjust confinement, to be anxious for your safety, and sincerely to rejoice that you are now restored to your friends, and your extensive circle of usefulness. You may perhaps recollect the scheme[^[17]] of which I gave you an imperfect outline; I much desired your opinion and advice on the subject; but your mind being then much engaged on its peculiar situation, I forbore to intrude the subject. Hoping you may now be happily settled at your rightful home, and believing you would be happy to assist me by advice, as well as enforce by precept any virtuous intention, I would engage your thoughts to our projected plan of establishing a genuine system of property. America presents many advantages to the accomplishment of this scheme—the easy rate at which land may be purchased, is not the least important: yet we are not determined on emigration. Principle, not plan, is our object. A friend has suggested that the plan is practicable in some of the uncultivated parts of Wales. I recollect your expressing a desire that we might form such a society without leaving the kingdom. As we wish to consult all who may render our efforts more serviceable to the cause of truth and virtue, we should be happy if in some unemployed hour, you would consider the subject, and impart to us any objection which may occur peculiar to the scheme of emigration. From the writings of William Godwin and yourself, our minds have been illuminated, we wish our actions to be guided by the same superior abilities; perhaps when together, you may bestow some thoughts to our advantage. To him, and your friend Nicholson, I would request the remembrance of an admirer. Long may they continue to instruct and amend mankind! If we could practise our scheme in this kingdom, it would save much expense, perhaps danger, and at the same time be more agreeable to our private inclinations; but the probability of being obnoxious to Government, and subject to tythes, are in our opinions serious objections. I forbear to make any remark on the late trials, or formally to congratulate you on your acquittal. I hope the spirit of enquiry will be excited to advantage; perhaps you would rather have had your trial proceeded in; though the Court authority prevented your speaking, they cannot prevent you from printing your injured case. I am anxious to see your appeal on the subject.

When you address your charming daughter, (Mrs. C——, of Exeter), whom I saw with you, be good enough to make my remembrance. I wonder not at your drawing the charming character of Anna St. Ives, having so fair an original.

Robert Lovell.

No. 14, Old Market, Bristol, 1794.

From Mr Dermody.

London, June 15th, 1796.

Sir, From the universal celebrity of your talents, and the liberal spirit which breathes through all your productions, I am, though a stranger, emboldened to request your superior guidance in the paths of literature. Very little used to authorship as a trade, inexperienced in the polity of booksellers, and even unacquainted with the city itself, it would, I presume, be no dishonourable employment to direct a wandering muse, and you alone, Sir, are the person I conceive (from general benevolence) best adapted to that task both by affability and experience. Without these two qualifications, you could not have written Alwyn, which, next to Fielding’s work, contains the most affecting and sportive scenes that ever adorned that (of which you have given so fine a definition) a novel. I have lately borne a commission in the army, and am, at present, under the patronage of a most learned and amiable nobleman: however, being formerly taught to believe that I had some talents, it is disagreeable to be unemployed with every faculty on the stretch for exertion. By that nobleman’s desire, I left a large poem, ‘The Retrospect,’ with a printer of eminence in Pall Mall; but was much surprised to be informed yesterday that he had embarked for Italy, and the manuscript was locked up. I have but a very rough draught of it now till he returns. Your very great dramatic eminence might be of the most material benefit by pointing out the steps proper to be taken in a line of which I have been ever enamoured. If you deign to direct a short reply to this strange intrusion, I shall have the honour to lay a few pieces of poetry (which fortunately are correctly copied) before your judgment—meanwhile

I am, Sir, with great respect,

Your obedient Servant,

Thomas Dermody.

No. 30, Oxendon-Street, Haymarket.

From the Marquis Dampierre.

Liege, 6 Xbre l’an 1^r de la Républic.

Dear Holcroft, I charge my dear friend, the young Mergées, my countermen, to tell you, that I never forgot our old friendship, he’ll tell you my profession of faith, upon the Revolution. He’ll bring you a relation of the victories of the French, and you’ll see my part in it. I have the honour to conduct the liberty lads in the way of the victory.

Adieu, dearer among the dear,

H. Dampierre.[^[18]]

Maj. G. of the French Republic.

From Madame de Genlis.[^[19]]

Sir, With pleasure, as well as gratitude, I acknowledge the receipt of the translation you were pleased to send me, which came to hand prior to your letter, and consequently before I could well go to make my claim. I have not yet had time to peruse it, but by the preface I am surprised to find you have omitted some incidents in the tales of Eglantine and of Pamela, which in this country have created universal interest. Even the journalists, from whom I had little reason to expect mercy, owing to the severity with which they are treated in my works, have with one accord praised the expunged passages. I mention this to you with the less reserve, because those very passages are not of my own invention, which may be seen by referring to the notes relative to them. I have besides given the place of Mad^me Busca’s residence; a number of persons have been to see her, and have satisfied themselves of the truth of my statement. Woe be to the false delicacy which is unable to endure a recital honourable to humanity, when made with an appeal to the feelings powerful enough to command tears! However, Sir, be persuaded that I entertain a lively sense of the very great attention you have otherwise shewn me, as well as of the handsome, and by far too flattering encomiums you have passed on my feeble productions. My motives are pure, and I have courage enough to tell truths likely to prove beneficial:—my writings will corrupt no one;—this is the only merit I am anxious to claim for myself; and indeed in our days it is sufficiently rare to satisfy its possessor.

There is now in the press a new edition of the Théatre d’Education, to which I have added another volume, consisting of pieces taken from the Scriptures. This new edition will appear in the course of May next, and I beg your permission, Sir, to forward you a copy, as a small token of my gratitude, and of the sentiments with which I have the honour to be, Sir, your very humble and very obedient servant,

Ducrest Genlis.

Belle Chassee, 22nd Feb. 1785.

FINIS

LIBER AMORIS
OR
THE NEW PYGMALION