board that is under the carpenter's plane, (I mean while I am writing to you,) the shavings are my uppermost thoughts; after a few strokes of the tool it acquires a new surface, this again upon a repetition of his task he takes off, and a new surface still succeeds: whether the shavings of the present day will be worth your acceptance, I know not; I am unfortunately made neither of cedar nor mahogany, but Truncus ficulnus, inutile lignum—consequently, though I should be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, it will be but rubbish to the last. It is not strange that you should be the subject of a false report, for the sword of slander, like that of war, devours one as well as another; and a blameless character is particularly delicious to its unsparing appetite. But that you should be the object of such a report, you who meddle less with the designs of government than almost any man that lives under it, this is strange indeed. It is well, however, when they who account it good sport to traduce the reputation of another invent a story that refutes itself. I wonder they do not always endeavour to accommodate their fiction to the real character of the person; their tale would then, at least, have an air of probability, and it might cost a peaceable good man much more trouble to disprove it. But perhaps it would not be easy to discern what part of your conduct lies more open to such an attempt than another, or what it is that you either say or do, at any time, that presents a fair opportunity to the most ingenious slanderer to slip in a falsehood between your words or actions, that shall seem to be of a piece with either. You hate compliment, I know, but by your leave, this is not one-it is a truth-worse and worse-now I have praised you indeed-well you must thank yourself for it, it was absolutely done without the least intention on my part, and proceeded from a pen, that, as far as I can remember, was never guilty of flattery, since I knew how to hold it. He that slanders me, paints me blacker than I am, and he that flatters me, whiter-they both daub me, and when I look in the glass of conscience, I see myself disguised by both I had as lief my tailor should sew gingerbread-nuts on my coat instead of buttons as that any man should call my Bristol stone a diamond. The tailor's trick would not at all embellish my suit, nor the flatterer's make me at all the richer. I never make a present to my friend of what I dislike myself. Ergo, (I have reached the conclusion. at last,) I did not mean to flatter you. We have sent a petition to Lord Dartmouth, by this post, praying him to interfere in parliament in behalf of the poor lace-makers. I say we, because I have signed it.--Mr. G. drew it up. Mr. did not think it grammatical, therefore would not sign it. Yet I think, Priscian himself would have pardoned the manner for the sake of the matter. I dare say if his lordship does not comply with the prayer of it, it will not be because he thinks it of more consequence to write grammatically than that the poor should eat, but for some better reason. My love to all under your roof. VOL. I. Yours, W. C. N TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. Olney, July 2, 1780. Carissime, I am glad of your confidence, and have reason to hope I shall never abuse it. If you trust me with a secret, I am hermetically sealed; and if you call for the exercise of my judgment, such as it is, I am never freakish or wanton in the use of it, much less mischievous and malignant. Critics, I believe, do not often stand so clear of those vices as I do. I like your epitaph, except that I doubt the propriety of the word immaturus; which, I think, is rather applicable to fruits than flowers, and except the last pentameter, the assertion it contains being rather too obvious a thought to finish with; not that I think an epitaph should be pointed like an epigram. But still there is a closeness of thought and expression necessary in the conclusion of all these little things, that they may leave an agreeable flavour upon the palate. Whatever is short should be nervous, masculine, and compact. Little men are so; and little poems should be so; because, where the work is short, the author has no right to the plea of weariness, and laziness is never admitted as an available excuse in any thing. Now you know my opinion, you will very likely improve upon my improvement, and alter my alterations for the better. To touch and retouch is, though some writers boast of negligence, and others would be ashamed to show their foul copies, the secret of almost all good writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it myself, and, if you would take as much pains as I do, you would have no need to ask for my corrections. HIC SEPULTUS EST INTER SUORUM LACRYMAS GULIELMUS NORTHCOT, GULIELMI ET MARIÆ FILIUS UNICUS, UNICE DILECTUS, QUI FLORIS RITU SUCCISUS EST SEMIHIANTIS, APRILIS DIE SEPTIMO, 1780, ÆT. 10. Care, vale! Sed non æternùm, care, valeto! Having an English translation of it by me, I send it, though it may be of no use. Farewell! "But not for ever," Hope replies, The stanzas that I sent you are maiden ones, having never been seen by any eye but your mother's and your own. If you send me franks, I shall write longer letters. -Valete, sicut et nos valemus! Amate, sicut et nos amamus! W. C. These lines of Mr. Unwin, and here retouched by Cowper's pen, bear a strong resemblance to the beautiful Epitaph, composed by Bishop Lowth, on his daughter, beginning, Cara Maria, vale.-Ed. TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.* Olney, July 3, 1780. Mon Ami-By this time, I suppose, you have ventured to take your fingers out of your ears, being delivered from the deafening shouts of the most zealous mob that ever strained their lungs in the cause of religion. I congratulate you upon a gentle relapse into the customary sounds of a great city, which, though we rustics abhor them, as noisy and dissonant, are a musical and sweet murmur, compared with what you have lately heard. The tinkling of a kennel may be distinguished now, where the roaring of a cascade would have been sunk and lost. I never suspected, till the newspapers informed me of it, a few days since, that the barbarous uproar had reached Great Queen Street. I hope Mrs. Hill was in the country, and shall rejoice to hear that, as I am sure you did not take up the protestant cudgels+ upon this hair-brained occasion, so you have not been pulled in pieces as a papist. W. C. The next letter to Mr. Hill affords a striking proof of Cowper's compassionate feelings towards the poor around him. *Private Correspondence. + The alarm taken at the concessions made in favour of the Catholics was such, that many persons formed themselves into an association, for the defence of Protestant principles.-Ed. |