TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ.

Jan. 31, 1793.

Io Paan!

MY DEAREST JOHNNY,

Even as you foretold, so it came to pass. On Tuesday I received your letter, and on Tuesday came the pheasants; for which I am indebted in many thanks, as well as Mrs. Unwin, both to your kindness and to your kind friend Mr. Copeman.

In Copeman's ear this truth let Echo tell,—
"Immortal bards like mortal pheasants well :"
And when his clerkship's out, I wish him herds
Of golden clients for his golden birds.

Our friends the Courtenays have never dined with us since their marriage, because we have never asked them; and we have never asked them, because poor Mrs. Unwin is not so equal to the task of providing for and entertaining company as before this last illness. But this

is no objection to the arrival here of a bustard; rather it is a cause for which we shall It be particularly glad to see the monster. will be a handsome present to them. So let the bustard come, as the Lord Mayor of London said to the hare, when he was hunting, let her come, a' God's name: I am not afraid of her.

My

Adieu, my dear cousin and caterer. eyes terribly bad; else I had much more to

Your tidings concerning the slender

pittance yet to come, are, as you observe, of

the melancholy cast.

Not being gifted by na

ture with the means of acquiring much, it is well, however, that she has given me a disposition to be contented with little. I have now been so many years habituated to small matters, that I should probably find myself incommoded by greater; and may I but be enabled to shift, as I have been hitherto, unsatisfied wishes will never trouble me much. My pen has helped me somewhat; and, after some years' toil, I begin to reap the benefit. Had I begun sooner, perhaps I should have known fewer pecuniary distresses; or, who can say? It is possible that I might not have succeeded so well. Fruit ripens only a short time before it rots; and man, in general, arrives not at maturity of mental powers at a much earlier period. I am now busied in preparing Homer for his second appearance. An author should consider himself as bound not to please himself, but the public; and so far as the good pleasure of the public may be learned from the critics, I design to

accommodate myself to it. The Latinisms, though employed by Milton, and numbered by Addison among the arts and expedients by which he has given dignity to his stile, I shall render into plain English; the rougher lines, though my reason for using them has never been proved a bad one, so far as I know, I shall make perfectly smooth; and shall give body and substance to all that is in any degree feeble and flimsy. And when I have done all this, and more, if the critics still grumble, I shall say the very deuce is in them. Yet, that they will grumble, I make no doubt; for, unreasonable as it is to do so, they all require something better than Homer, and that something they will certainly never get from me.

As to the canal that is to be my neighbour, I hear little about it. The Courtenays of Weston have nothing to do with it, and I have no intercourse with Tyringham. When it is finished, the people of these parts will have

to carry their coals seven miles only, which now they bring from Northampton or Bedford, both at the distance of fifteen. But, as Balaam says, who shall live when these things are done? It is not for me, a sexagenarian already, to expect that I shall. The chief objection to canals in general seems to be, that, multiplying as they do, they are likely to swallow the coasting trade.

I cannot tell you the joy I feel at the disappointment of the French; pitiful mimics of Spartan and Roman virtue, without a grain of

it in their whole character.

Ever yours,

W. C.