sion that I have ever inhabited, and surrounded by suffering as we went all that could be suffered the most delightful pleasure grounds that I have from excessive heat and dust, we found ourselves ever seen; but which, dissipated as my powers of late in the evening at the door of our friend Haythought are at present, I will not undertake to de-[ley. In every other respect the journey was exscribe. It shall suffice me to say that they occu-tremely pleasant. At the Mitre in Barnet, where py three sides of a hill, which in Buckinghamshire we lodged the first evening, we found our friend might well pass for a mountain, and from the sum-Mr. Rose, who had walked thither from his house mit of which is beheld a most magnificent landscape in Chancery-lane to meet us; and at Kingston, bounded by the sea, and in one part of it by the where we dined the second day, I found my old Isle of Wight, which may also be seen plainly from and much valued friend General Cowper, whom I the window of the library in which I am writing. had not seen in thirty years, and but for this jourIt pleased God to carry us both through the journey should never have seen again. Mrs. Unwin, ney with far less difficulty and inconvenience than on whose account I had a thousand fears before we I expected. I began it indeed with a thousand set out, suffered as little from fatigue as myself fears, and when we arrived the first evening at and begins I hope already to feel some beneficial Barnet, found myself oppressed in spirit to a de-effects from the air of Eartham, and the exercise gree that could hardly be exceeded. I saw Mrs. that she takes in one of the most delightful pleaUnwin weary, as she might well be, and heard sure-grounds in the world. They occupy three such a variety of noises, both within the house and sides of a hill, lofty enough to command a view of without, that I concluded she would get no rest. the sea, which skirts the horizon to a length of But I was mercifully disappointed. She rested, many miles, with the Isle of Wight at the end of it. though not well, yet sufficiently; and when we The inland scene is equally beautiful, consisting finished our next day's journey at Ripley, we were of a large and deep valley well cultivated, and enboth in better condition, both of body and mind, closed by magnificent hills, all crowned with wood. thas on the day preceding. At Ripley we found I had, for my part, no conception that a poet could a quiet inn, that housed, as it happened, that night, be the owner of such a Paradise; and his house is no company but ourselves. There we slept well, as elegant as his scenes are charming. and rose perfectly refreshed. And except some But think not, my dear Catharina, that amidst terrors that I felt at passing over the Sussex hills all these beauties I shall lose the remembrance of by moonlight, met with little to complain of till we the peaceful, but less splendid Weston. Your arrived about ten o'clock at Eartham. Here we precincts will be as dear to me as ever, when I reare as happy as it is in the power of terrestrial turn; though when that day will arrive I know good to make us. It is almost a Paradise in which not, our host being determined, as I plainly see, to we dwell; and our reception has been the kindest keep us as long as possible. Give my best love to that it was possible for friendship and hospitality your husband. Thank him most kindly for his to contrive. Our host mentions you with great attention to the old bard of Greece, and pardon me respect, and bids me tell you that he esteems you that I do not send you now an epitaph for Fop. I highly. Mrs. Unwin, who is, I think, in some am not sufficiently recollected to compose even a points, already the better for her excursion, unites bagatelle at present; but in due time you shall rewith mine her best compliments both to yourself ceive it. and Mrs. Greatheed. I have much to see and enjoy before I can be perfectly apprised of all the delights of Eartham, and will therefore now subscribe myself,

Yours, my dear sir, with great sincerity, W. C.

Hayley, who will some time or other I hope see you at Weston, is already prepared to love you both, and being passionately fond of music, longs much to hear you. Adieu! W. C.


Eartham, August 12, 1792.



Eartham, Aug. 14, 1792. ROMNEY is here; it would add much to my happiness if you were of the party; I have prepared THOUGH I have traveled far, nothing did I see Hayley to think highly, that is justly of you, and


in my travels that surprised me half so agreeably
as your kind letter; for high as my opinion of your
good-nature is, I had no hopes of hearing from you
till I should have written first. A pleasure which
I intended to allow myself the first opportunity.
After three days' confinement in a coach, and we return she will be herself again.

the time I hope will come, when you will supersede
all need of my recommendation.

Mrs. Unwin gathers strength. I have indeed great hopes from the air and exercise which this fine season affords her opportunity to use, that ere W.C


Eartham, August 18, 1792. WISHES in this world are generally vain, and in the next we shall make none. Every day I wish you were of our party, knowing how happy you would be in a place where we have nothing to do but enjoy beautiful scenery, and converse agreeably. Mrs. Unwin's health continues to improve; and even I, who was well when I came, find myself still Yours, W. C.



[add in the way of news, except that Romney has
drawn me in crayons; by the suffrage of all here,
extremely like.
W. C.


Eartham, August 26, 1792.

I KNOW not how it is, my dearest Coz, but in a new scene, and surrounded by strange objects, I find my powers of thinking dissipated to a degree that makes it difficult to me even to write a letter, and even a letter to you; but such a letter as I can, I will, and have the fairest chance to succeed this morning, Hayley, Romney, Hayley's son, and Beau, being all gone together to the sea for bathing. Eartham, August 25, 1792. The sea, you must know, is nine miles off, so that WITHOUT Waiting for an answer to my last, I unless stupidity prevent, I shall have an opportusend my dear Catharina the epitaph she desired, nity to write not only to you, but to poor Hurdis composed as well as I could compose it in a place also, who is broken-hearted for the loss of his fawhere every object, being still new to me, distracts vourite sister, lately dead: and whose letter, giving my attention, and makes me as awkward at verse an account of it, which I received yesterday, drew as if I had never dealt in it. Here it is.* tears from the eyes of all our party! My only I am here, as I told you in my last, delightfully comfort respecting even yourself is, that you write situated, and in the enjoyment of all that the most in good spirits, and assure me that you are fa friendly hospitality can impart; yet do I neither state of recovery; otherwise I should mourn not forget Weston, nor my friends at Weston; on the only for Hurdis, but for myself, lest a certain event contrary, I have at length, though much and should reduce me, and in a short time too, to a kindly pressed to make a longer stay, determined situation as distressing as his; for though nature on the day of our departure on the seventeenth designed you only for my cousin, you have had a of September we shall leave Eartham; four days sister's place in my affections ever since I knew will be necessary to bring us home again, for I am you. The reason is, I suppose, that having no under a promise to General Cowper to dine with sister, the daughter of my own mother, I thought him on the way, which can not be done comforta- it proper to have one, the daughter of yours. Cerbly, either to him or to ourselves, unless we sleep tain it is, that I can by no means afford to lose that night at Kingston. you; and that unless you will be upon honour with

The air of this place has been, I believe, benefi- me, to give me always a true account of yourself, cial to us both. I indeed was in tolerable health at least when we are not together, I shall always be before I set out, but have acquired since I came unhappy, because always suspicious that you deboth a better appetite, and a knack of sleeping al-ceive me. most as much in a single night as formerly in two. Now for ourselves. I am, without the least disWhether double quantities of that article will be simulation, in good health; my spirits are about as favourable to me as a poet, time must show. About good as you have ever seen them; and if increase myself however I care little, being made of mate- of appetite and a double portion of sleep be advanrials so tough, as not to threaten me even now, at tageous, such are the advantages that I have rethe end of so many lustrums, with any thing like a speedy dissolution. My chief concern has been about Mrs. Unwin, and my chief comfort at this moment is, that she likewise has received I hope considerable benefit by the journey.

ceived from this migration. As to that gloominess of mind, which I have had these twenty years, it cleaves to me even here; and could I be translated to Paradise, unless I left my body behind me, would cleave to me even there also. It is my comTell my dear George that I begin to long to be- panion for life, and nothing will ever divorce us. hold him again; and did it not savour of ingrati- So much for myself. Mrs. Unwin is evidently the tude to the friend, under whose roof I am so happy better for her jaunt, though by no means as she at present, should be impatient to find myself once was before this last attack; still wanting help when more under yours. she would rise from her seat, and a support in Adieu, my dear Catharina. I have nothing to walking; but she is able to use more exercise than she could at home, and moves with rather a less *Epitaph on Fop, a dog belonging to Lady Throckmorton. tottering step. God knows what he designs for me; but when I see those, who are dearer to me

See Poems.

than myself, distempered and enfeebled, and my-pany as I have no doubt would suit you; all cheerself as strong as in the days of my youth, I tremble ful, but not noisy; and all alike disposed to love for the solitude in which a few years may place you: you and I seem to have here a fair opportume. I wish her and you to die before me, indeed, but not till I am more likely to follow immediately. Enough of this!

Romney has drawn me in crayons, and in the opinion of all here, with his best hand, and with the most exact resemblance possible.

The seventeenth of September is the day on which I intend to leave Eartham. We shall then have been six weeks resident here; a holiday time long enough for a man who has much to do. And now farewell! W. C.

P. S. Hayley, whose love for me seems to be truly that of a brother, has given me his picture, drawn by Romney about fifteen years ago; an admirable likeness.



nity of meeting. It were a pity we should be in the same county, and not come together. I am here till the seventeenth of September, an interval that will afford you time to make the necessary arrangements, and to gratify me at last with an interview which I have long desired. Let me hear from you soon, that I may have double pleasure, the pleasure of expecting as well as that of seeing you.

Mrs. Unwin, I thank God, though still a sufferer by her last illness, is much better, and has received considerable benefit by the air of Eartham. She adds to mine her affectionate compliments, and joins me and Hayley in this invitation.

Mr. Romney is here, and a young man, a cousin of mine. I tell you who we are, that you may not be afraid of us.

Adieu! May the Comforter of all the afflicted who seek him, be yours. God bless you. W. C.


Eartham, August 26, 1790. YOUR kind but very affecting letter found me not at Weston, to which place it was directed, but in a bower of my friend Hayley's garden át Ear- MY DEAREST COUSIN, Eartham, Sept. 9, 1792. tham, where I was sitting with Mrs. Unwin. We I DETERMINE, if possible, to send you one more both knew the moment we saw it from whom it letter, or at least, if possible, once more to send you came; and observing a red seal, both comforted something like one, before we leave Eartham. But ourselves that all was well at Burwash: but we I am in truth so unaccountably local in the use soon felt that we were called not to rejoice, but to of my pen, that, like the man in the fable, who mourn with you-we do indeed sincerely mourn could leap well no where but at Rhodes, I am inwith you; and if it will afford you any consolation capable of writing at all, except at Weston. This to know it, you may be assured that every eye is, as I have already told you, a delightful place; here has testified what our hearts have suffered more beautiful scenery I have never beheld, nor for you. Your loss is great, and your disposition expect to behold; but the charms of it, uncommon I perceive such as exposes you to feel the whole as they are, have not in the least alienated my weight of it; I will not add to your sorrow by a affections from Weston. The genius of that place vain attempt to assuage it; your own good sense suits me better, it has an air of snug concealment, and the piety of your principles will, of course, in which a disposition like mine feels itself pecusuggest to you the most powerful motives of acqui- liarly gratified; whereas here I see from every winescence in the will of God. You will be sure to dow, woods like forests, and hills like mountains, a recollect that the stroke, severe as it is, is not the wildness, in short, that rather increases my natural stroke of an enemy, but of a father; and will find melancholy, and which, were it not for the agreeI trust hereafter that like a father he has done you ables I find within, would soon convince me that good by it. Thousands have been able to say, and mere change of place can avail me little. Accordmyself as loud as any of them, it has been good for ingly I have not looked out for a house in Sussex, me that I was afflicted; but time is necessary to nor shall. work us to this persuasion, and in due time it shall

The intended day of our departure continues to be yours. Mr. Hayley, who tenderly sympathises be the seventeenth. I hope to reconduct Mrs. Unwith you, has enjoined me to send you as pressing win to the Lodge with her health considerably an invitation as I can frame, to join me at this mended: but it is in the article of speech chiefly, place. I have every motive to wish your consent. and in her powers of walking, that she is sensible Both your benefit and my own, which I believe of much improvement. Her sight and her hand would be abundantly answered by your coming, still fail her, so that she can neither read nor work; ought to make me eloquent in such a cause. Here mortifying circumstances both to her, who is never you will find silence and retirement in perfection, willingly idle.

when you would seek them; and here such com

On the eighteenth I purpose to dine with the

General, and to rest that night at Kingston; but aggregate. In these circumstances I find myself the pleasure I shall have in the interview will so indisposed to writing, that save to yourself I hardly be greater than the pain I shall feel at the would on no account attempt it; but to you I will end of it, for we shall part probably to meet no give such a recital as I can of all that has passed since I sent you that short note from Kingston,


Johnny, I know, has told you that Mr. Hurdis | knowing that if it be a perplexed recital, you will is here. Distressed by the loss of his sister, he has renounced the place where she died for ever, and is about to enter on a new course of life at Oxford. You would admire him much He is gentle in his manners, and delicate in his person, resembling our poor friend Unwin, both in face and figure, more than any one I have ever seen. But he has not, at least he has not at present, his vivacity.

I have corresponded since I came here with Mrs. Courtenay, and had yesterday a very kind letter from her.

consider the cause, and pardon it. I will begin with a remark in which I am inclined to think you will agree with me, that there is sometimes more true heroism passing in a corner, and on occasions that make no noise in the world, than has often been exercised by those whom that world esteems her greatest heroes, and on occasions the most illustrious; I hope so at least; for all the heroism I have to boast, and all the opportunities I have of displaying any, are of a private nature. After writing the note I immediately began to prepare for my appointed visit to Ham; but the struggles that

Adieu, my dear: may God bless you. Write to me as soon as you can after the twentieth. II had with my own spirit, labouring as I did under shall then be at Weston, and indulging myself in the hope that I shall ere long see you there also.

W. C.


The Sun, at Kingston, Sept. 18, 1792. MY DEAR BROTHER,

WITH no sinister accident to retard or terrify us, we find ourselves, at a quarter before one, arrived safe at Kingston. I left you with a heavy heart, and with a heavy heart took leave of our dear Tom, at the bottom of the chalk-hill. But soon after this last separation my troubles gushed from my eyes, and then I was better.

We must now prepare for our visit to the General. I add no more therefore than our dearest remembrances and prayers that God may bless you and yours, and reward you an hundred-fold for all your kindness.. Tell Tom I shall always hold him dear for his affectionate attentions to Mrs. Unwin. From her heart the memory of him can never be erased. Johnny loves you all, and has his share in all these acknowledgments. Adieu. W. C.


the most dreadful dejection, are never to be told. I
would have given the world to have been excused.
I went, however, and carried my point against
myself with a heart riven asunder--I have reasons
for all this anxiety which I can not relate now. The
visit however passed off well, and we returned in
the dark to Kingston. I with a lighter heart than
I had known since my departure from Eartham,
and Mary too, for she had suffered hardly less
than myself, and chiefly on my account.
night we rested well in our inn, and at twenty
minutes after eight next morning set off for Lon-
don; exactly at ten we reached Mr. Rose's door;
we drank a dish of chocolate with him, and pro-
ceeded, Mr. Rose riding with us as far as St. Al-
ban's. From this time we met with no impedi-
ment. In the dark, and in a storm, at eight at
night, we found ourselves at our own back door.
Mrs. Unwin was very near slipping out of the
chair in which she was taken from the chaise, but
at last was landed safe. We all have had a good
night, and are all well this morning.
God bless you, my dearest brother.




Weston, Oct. 2, 1792. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. A BAD night, succeeded by an east wind, and a sky all in sables, have such an effect upon my MY DEAR HAYLEY, Weston, Sept. 21, 1792. spirits, that if I did not consult my own comfort CHAOS himself, even the Chaos of Milton, is not more than yours, I should not write to-day, for I surrounded with more confusion, nor has a mind shall not entertain you much: yet your letter, more completely in a hubbub, than I experience at though containing no very pleasant tidings, has the present moment. At our first arrival, after afforded me some relief. It tells me, indeed, that long absence, we find an hundred orders to ser-you have been dispirited yourself, and that poor vants necessary, a thousand things to be restored little Tom, the faithful squire of my Mary, has to their proper places, and an endless variety of been seriously indisposed; all this grieves me, but minutiæ to be adjusted; which, though individually then there is a warmth of heart, and a kindness of little importance, are most momentous in the in it, that do me good. I will endeavour not to

repay you in notes of sorrow and despondence, | who will tell me in a few days that he has seen though all my sprightly chords seem broken. In you. Your wishes to disperse my melancholy truth, one day excepted, I have not seen the day would, I am sure, prevail, did that event depend when I have been cheerful, since I left you. My on the warmth and sincerity with which you spirits, I think, are almost constantly lower than frame them; but it has baffled both wishes and they were: the approach of winter is perhaps the prayers, and those the most fervent that could be cause; and if it is, I have nothing better to ex-made, so many years, that the case seems hopepect for a long time to come. less. But no more of this at present.

W. C.

Yesterday was a day of assignation with my- Your verses to Austen are as sweet as the self, the day of which I said some days before it honey that they accompany; kind, friendly, witty, came, when that day comes I will begin my dis- and elegant. When shall I be able to do the like? sertations. Accordingly when it came I prepared perhaps when my Mary, like your Tom, shall to do so; filled a letter-case with fresh paper, fur- cease to be an invalid, I may recover a power at nished myself with a pretty good pen, and reple-least to do something. I sincerely rejoice in the nished my ink-bottle; but partly from one cause, dear little man's restoration. My Mary continues, and partly from another, chiefly however from I hope, to mend a little. distress and dejection, after writing and obliterating about six lines, in the composition of which I spent near an hour, I was obliged to relinquish the attempt. An attempt so unsuccessful could have no other effect than to dishearten me, and it MY DEAREST JOHNNY, Weston, Oct. 19, 1792. has had that effect to such a degree that I know You are too useful when you are here not to be not when I shall find courage to make another. missed on a hundred occasions daily: and too At present I shall certainly abstain, since at pre-much domesticated with us not to be regretted alsent I can not well afford to expose myself to the ways. I hope therefore that your month or six danger of a fresh mortification. weeks will not be like many that I have known, capable of being drawn out into any length whatever, and productive of nothing but disappoint

W. C.


Weston, Oct. 13, 1792.

I BEGAN a letter to you yesterday, my dearest brother, and proceeded through two sides of the sheet; but so much of my nervous fever found its way into it, that looking it over this morning I determined not to send it.

I have risen, though not in good spirits, yet in better than I generally do of late, and therefore will not address you in the melancholy tone that belongs to my worst feelings.



I have done nothing since you went, except that I have composed the better half of a sonnet to Romney; yet even this ought to bear an earlier date, for I began to be haunted with a desire to do it long before we came out of Sussex, and have daily attempted it ever since.

It would be well for the reading part of the world, if the writing part were, many of them, as dull as I am. Yet even this small produce, which my steril intellect has hardly yielded at last, may serve to convince you that in point of spirits I am not worse.

In the evenings I read Baker's Chronicle to
Mrs. Unwin, having no other history, and hope
in time to be as well versed in it as his admirer
Sir Roger de Coverley.
W. C.

I began to be restless about your portrait, and to say, how long shall I have to wait for it? I In fact, I am a little better. The powders and wished it here for many reasons: the sight of it the laudanum together have, for the present at will be a comfort to me, for I not only love, but least, abated the fever that consumes them; and am proud of you, as of a conquest made in my in measure as the fever abates, I acquire a less old age. Johnny goes to town on Monday, on discouraging view of things, and with it a little purpose to call on Romney, to whom he shall power to exert myself. give all proper information concerning its conveyance hither. The name of a man, whom I esteem as I do Romney, ought not to be unmusical in my ears; but his name will be so, till I shall have paid him a debt justly due to him, by doing such poetical honours to it as I intend. Heaven knows when that intention will be executed, for TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. the Muse is still as obdurate and as coy as ever. Your kind postscript is just arrived, and gives MY DEAR JOHNNY, Weston, Oct. 22, 1792. me great pleasure. When I can not see you my-| HERE am I with I know not how many letters self, it seems some comfort however that you to answer, and no time to do it in. I exhort you, have been seen by another known to me; and therefore, to set a proper value on this, as proving

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