: Mr. Magix. Stoke, T for my long d'ence; aps it is the lyk thing you Lead about. Nevertheless, as if you took it ill. I Lee you to punctilious as to wers, and never to come :1 i have regularly left my roor, like a mercer's wife, es people who go a-vifiting. gne you this, if you could Sect I were doing any thing d better; for then your formatook like being piqued at my Sugice, which has fomewhat in it sendnets: but you know I am at Coke, hearing, feeing, doing abfotely nothing. Not fuch a nothing as u do at Tunbridge, chequered and direified with a fucceffion of Peeting coSurs; but heavy, lifelefs, without form, ard void; sometimes almost as black as ne moral of Voltaire's Lisbon*, which gers you fo. I have had no more mufndations, and am only troubled with coreffion of mind. You will not ped, therefore, I should give you any count of my Verve, which is at beft you know) of fo delicate a conftitution, d has fuch weak nerves, as not to ftir out of its chamber above three days in a ar. But I shall inquire after your's, and why it is off again? It has certainly e nerves than mine, if your RePowers have frighted it. Sure I (not to mention a fcore of your other critics) am omething a better judge than all the en-midwives and prefbyterian parats that ever were born. Pray give me leave to ask you, do you find yourself led with the commendations of fuch ⚫'s Poem "fur la Destruction de Lisbon," ced about that time. e Reviewers, at the time, were fuppofed to nete profeffions. While ting I receive your's, and rejcice to that the genial a ences of this Ene fecion, which protace nothing in me, have hatched high and imaginable farties in you f. 1 fee, methinks, as I fa ca Snowden, ferme glimple of Mona - her haunted hade, and hope we thall be very good rezibours. Any Druidical anecdotes that! can meet with, I will be fore to ferd va when I return to Cambridge; but I can. not pretend to be learned without books or to know the Druids from modern E fhops at this distance. I can only tel you not to go and take Mona for the le of Man: it is Anglesey, a tract of plan country, very fertile, but picturesque only from the view it has of Caernarvonta, from which it is feparated by the Meta. a narrow arm of the fea. Forgive me for fuppofing in you fuch a want of es dition. From the fame to the Jame. Cambridge, May, 1757 ou are fo forgetful of me that I h you not forgive it, but that I fuppofe Cractacus may be the better for it. Yal hear nothing from him neither, in ipite et his promifes: there is no faith in man, a not in a Welchman; and yet Mr. Parry has been here, and fcratched out fuch vishing blind harmony, fuch tunes of a Mr. Mafon had fent him his firft idea Ca actacus, drawn out in a short argument. SA capital performer on the Welch harp, a who was either born blind, or had been to from his infancy. thoufand thousand years old, with names enough. to choak you, as have fet all this learned body a-dancing, and infpired them with due reverence for my old Bard his countryman, whenever he shall appear. Mr. Parry, you must know, has put my Ode in motion again, and has brought it at last to a conclufion. It is to him, therefore, that you owe the treat which I send you inclofed; namely, the breast and merrythought, and rump too, of the chicken which I have been chewing fo long, that I would give the world for neck-beef or cow-heel. You will observe, in the beginning of this thing, fome alterations of a few words, partly for improvement, and partly to avoid repetitions of like words and rhymes; yet I have not got rid of them all; the fix laft lines of the fifth ftanza are new; tell me whether they will do. I am well aware of many weakly things towards the conclufion, but I hope the end itfelf will do; give me your full and true opinion, and that not upon deliberation, but forthwith. Mr. Hurd himself allows that Lion part is not too bold for Queen Elizabeth. I have got the old Scotch Ballad on which Douglas was founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence to Afton. Have you never feen it? Ariftotle's beft rules are obferved in it, in a manner that fhews the author had never read Aritotle. It begins in the fifth act of the play: you may read it two thirds through without guefling what it is about; and yet, when you come to the end, it is impoffible not to understand the whole ftory. Ifend you the two first flanzas. 675 to admire, it would be ungenerous in me not to give them notice, that they are doing a very unfashionable thing; for all people of condition are agreed not to admire, nor even to understand. One very great man, writing to an acquaintance of his and mine, fays that he had read them seven or eight times; and that now, when he next fees him, he fhall not have above thirty questions to afk. Another (a peer) believes that the last stanza of the fecond Ode relates to King Charles the First and Oliver Cromwell. Even my friends tell me they do not fucceed, and write me moving topics of confolation on that head. In fhort, I have heard of nobody but an actor and a doctor of divinity that profefs their esteem for them. Oh yes, a lady of quality (a friend of Mafon's), who is a great reader. She knew there was a compliment to Dryden, but never fufpected there was any thing faid about Shakefpear or Milton, till it was explained to her; and wishes that there had been titles prefixed to tell what they were about. From this mention of Mafon's name you may think, perhaps, we are great correfpondents. No fuch thing; I have not heard from him thefe two months. I will be fure to fcold in my own name, as well as in your's. I rejoice to hear you are fo ripe for the prefs, and fo voluminous; not for my own fake only, whom you flatter with the hopes of fecing your labours both public and private, but for your's too; for to be employed is to be happy. This principle of mine (and I am convinced of its truth) has, as ufual, no influence on my practice. I am alone, and ennuyé to the last degree, yet do nothing. Indeed I have one excufe; my health (which you have fo kindly inquired after) is not extraordinary, ever fince I came hither. It is no great malady, but feveral little ones, that feem brewing no good to me. It will be a particular pleafure to me to hear whether Content dwells in Leicestershire, and how the entertairs herself there. Only do not be too happy, nor forget entirely the quiet uglinefs of Cambridge. fick body, you may make a handsome excufe, and fave yourselves this trouble. You are not, however, to imagine my illne sis in effe; no, it is only in poffe; otherwif: I fhould be fcrupulous of bringing it home to you. I think I fhall be with you in about a fortnight. I and LETTER LXXIII. people? (for you have your mean not on' we's that of. Whil and re Stoke, July 25, 1756. ence' Mr. Gray to Mr. Mafon. in FEEL a contrition for my long filence; pot' yet perhaps it is the last thing you trouble your head about. Nevertheless, I will be as forry as if you took it ill. I am forry too to fee you so punctilious as te ftand upon anfwers, and never to com near me till I have regularly left name at your door, like a mercer's that imitates people who go a-vi I would forgive you this, if yor poffibly fufpect I were doing a that I liked better; for then yo lity might look like being pi negligence, which has fom like kindness: but you Home .C 40 partly , on a hope, better day. un the alf dozen a to be a part will give you tude, and will leave tics to faften on. back the Elegy as you to do. My advices are alOur fervice to take or to refle, e you should not call them fevere know I do not love, much lefs pige elf on criticifm; and think even ad verfe as good a thing or better that the beft obfervation that ever was made upon it. I like greatly the fpirit fentiment of it (much of which you per haps owe to your prefent train of think ing); the difpofition of the whole to natural and elegiac; as to the exprefice, I would venture to fay (did not you fr Stoke, hearing, feeing.ch occafioned bid me) that it is fometimes too ez lutely nothing. Not fo you do at Tunbridge, c verfified with a fuccef 16urs; but heavy, li and void; fometim the moral of Vol angers you fo. cular inflations, this depreffion expect, theref account of feafon, as a relief e to you, but not as pænce the contrary, of lent. Pray, when did I pretend to finift any thing you works, as if it were even infert paffages into other people if fuch a thing holes and to mend them? All I can equally eafy to p the time of your tranfis, that your Elegy must not end wold defer it merely to the wort line in it. It is flat; it profe; whereas that, above all, to fparkle, or at least to fhine. If (you knowrance. and has f out of it year. and wh worfe view mer fon m fo way or are all tending: yet I love fatisfed. leave traces of their Avis, I cannot boast, at preof my Ipirits, my fituation, fentiment muft ftand, twirl it a little i ments, or fertility. The days an apothegm; ftick a flower in it; g pals, and I am never the it with a coftly expreffion; let it frie thing, but that one to fancy, the ear, or the heart, and lar The other particular expreffions which Kerr bind them, and have ftrength I object to, I mark on the manuf you to do fo while you Now, I defire you would neither t me fevere, nor at all regard what t and therefore I fend you the further than as it coincides with your ow u wanted. I do not know whe- judgment; for the child deferves they will furnish you with any new partiality; it is a healthy well-mai with an ingenuous countenance, and po dooga to advife C2.7. pleted, "I expect Books you mitter: to fee Caractacus com but they are well enough writ ten, and easily read. I told you before miles to live long. I would only w mutely on particulars: but, if I did fo, Elegy in the Garden of a Friend. old, with names enough, have fet all this learned infpired them with ld Bard his counappear. Mr. keep it from the ruin of Agis: it is probable you will have curiofity enough to fee it, as it is by the author of Douglas. to to admire, it wee'd be com not to give them notice, dar or are 2 ing a very hi people of condition are agreed not admire, nor even to put my Ode very great man, writing to 22 100 43 at it at laft ance of his and mine, as that he had therefore, read them feven or eight times; and that you now, when he next fees him, be y have above thirty queforms to ak. Arother (a peer) believes that the ki farza of the fecond Ode relates to King Charles he First and Oliver Cromwe. E ea friends tell me they do not alter, and me moving topics of confolation ca In thort, I have heard of noaftor and a doctor of div is their eleem for them. of quality (a friend of great reader. She bliment to Dryden, what m .n the ooreft XXVII. r. Wharton. TTER LXXVIII. m the fame to the fame. Cambridge, March 8, 1758. is indeed for want of fpirits, as you fufpect, that my ftudies lie among the cathedrals, and the tombs, and the ruins. To think, though to little purpose, has been the chief amusement of my days; and when I would not, or cannot think, I dream. At prefent I feel myself able to write a catalogue, or to read the Peerage book, or Miller's Gardening Dictionary, and am thankful that there are fuch employments and fuch authors in the world. Some people, who hold me cheap for this, are doing perhaps what is not half fo well worth while. As to pofterity, I may afk (with fomebody whom I have forgot), what has it ever done to oblige me? his February 21, 1758. <now what I am doing? To make a tranfition from myself to as poor a fubject, the tragedy of Agis; I cry to think that it fhould be by the author of Douglas: why, it is all modern Greek; the story is an antique ftatue painted white and red, frized, and dreffed in a negligée made by a Yorkshire mantua-maker. Then here is the Mifcellany (Mr. Dodley has fent me the whole fet gilt and lettered, I thank him). Why, the two laft volumes are worfe than the four firft; particularly Dr. Akenfide is in a deplorable way. What fignifies learning and the ancients (Mafon will fay triumphantly); why fhould people read Greek to lose their imagination, their ear, and their mother tongue? But then there Ju have been told already, mployments cheap enough; he muft judge of his own caand cut his amufements accords difpofition. The drift of my studies is to know, wherever I am, lies within reach that may be worth ag, whether it be building, ruin, rk, garden, profpect, picture, or moument; to whom it does or has belonged, and what has been the characteristic and tate of different ages. You will fay this is the object of all antiquaries; but pray what antiquary ever faw thefe objects in the fame light, or defired to know them for a like reafon? In short, say what pleafe, I am perfuaded whenever my lift is finished you will approve it, and think it of no fmall ufe. My fpirits are very near the freezing point; and for fome hours of the day this exercife, by its warmth and gentle motion, ferves to raife them a few degrees higher. you is Mr. Shentone, who trufts to nature and fimple fentiment, why does he do no better? He goes hopping along his own gravel-walks, and never deviates from the beaten paths for fear of being loft. I hope the misfortune that has befallen Mrs. Cibber's canary bird will not be I have read Dr. Swift, and am disappointed t. There is nothing of the negotiations that I have not feen better in M. de Torcy before. The manner is from cominon writers. I meet with nocareless, and has little to diftinguish it thing to pleafe me but the spiteful cha • Of being Poet Laureat on the death of CibBer, which place the late Duke of Devonshire (then Lord Chamberlain) defired his brother to offer to Mr. Gray; and his Lordship had commiffioned Mr. Mafon (then in town) to write to him concerning it. A LETTER LXXVI. Mr. Gray to Mr. Mason. Cambridge, Dec. 19, 1757. LIFE fpent out of the world has its hours of defpondence, its inconveniencies, its fufferings, as numerous and as real, though not quite of the fame fort, as a life fpent in the midst of it. The power we have, when we will exert it over our own minds, joined to a little ftrength and confolation, nay, a little pride we catch from thofe that feem to love us, is our only fupport in either of thefe conditions. I am fenfible I cannot return you more of this affittance than I have received from you; and can only tell you, that one who has far more rea. fon than you, I hope, ever will have to look on life with fomething worfe than indifference, is yet no enemy to it; but can look backward on many bitter moments, partly with fatisfaction, and partly with patience; and forward too, on a fcene not very promifing, with fome hope, and fome expectations of a better day. The caufe, however, which occafioned your reflection (though I can judge but very imperfectly of it), does not feem, at prefent, to be weighty enough to make you take any fuch refolution as you meditate. Ufe it in its feafon, as a relief from what is tire fome to you, but not as if it was in confequence of any thing you take ill; on the contrary, if fuch a thing had happened at the time of your tranf migration, I would defer it merely to avoid that appearance. I would make each image fo clear, that it might be fully understood by itself; for in this obfcure mythology we muft net hint at things, as we do with the Greek fables, that every body is fuppofed to know at school. However, on fecond thoughts, I think it would be ftill better to graft any wild picturefque fable, abiclutely of one's own invention, on the Druid-ftock; I mean on thofe half dozen of old fancies that are known to be a part of their fyftem. This will give you more freedom and latitude, and will leave no hold for the critics to faften on. As to my felf, I cannot boat, at prefent, either of my fpirits, my fituation, my employments, or fertility. The days and the nights pafs, and I am never the nearer to any thing, but that one to which we are all tending; yet I love people that leave fome traces of their journey behind them, and have ftrength enough to advife you to do fo while you can. I expect to fee Caractacus completed, and therefore I fend you the books you wanted. I do not know whether they will furnish you with any new matter: but they are well enough written, and easily read. I told you before that (in a time of dearth) I would borrow from the Edda, without entering too minutely on particulars: but, if I did fo, I fend you back the Elegy as you defired me to do. My advices are al ways at your service to take or to refie therefore you should not call them fevert, You know I do not love, much lefspi myself on criticism; and think even a bad verfe as good a thing or better that the beit obfervation that ever was made upon it. I like greatly the fpirit and fentiment of it (much of which you per haps owe to your prefent train of thirs ing); the difpofition of the whole too natural and elegiac; as to the expre I would venture to fay (did not you bid me) that it is fometimes too ea The laft line I proteft against (this, you will fay, is worse than blotting rhymes); the defcriptive part is exce lent. for Pray, when did I pretend to finish. even infert paffages into other peep? works, as if it were equally eafy to p holes and to mend them? "All I can s is, that your Elegy must not end the wor line in it. It is flat; a profe; whereas that, above all, o to fparkle, or at least to fhine. If fentiment muft ftand, twirl it a little an apothegm; ftick a flower in it; g it with a coftly expreffion; let it strike fancy, the ear, or the heart, and lim fatisfied. The other particular expreffions whit I object to, I mark on the manufa Now, I defire you would neither me fevere, nor at all regard what I further than as it coincides with your judgment; for the child deferves partiality; it is a healthy well-made b with an ingenuous countenance, and pr mifes to live long. I would only w its face, drefs it a little, make it was |