Mary Moser to Henry Fuseli. Autumn of 1770. If you have not forgotten at Rome those friends whom you remembered at Florence, write to me from that nursery of arts and raree-show of the world which flourishes in ruins; tell me of pictures, palaces, people, lakes, woods, and rivers; say if Old Tiber droops with age, or whether his waters flow as clear, his rushes grow as green, and his swans look as white, as those of Father Thames or write me your own thoughts and reflections which will be more acceptable than any description of any thing Greece and Rome have done these two thousand years. I suppose there has been a million of letters sent to Italy with an account of our Exhibition, so it will be only telling you what you know already, to say that Reynolds was like himself in pictures which you have seen; Gainsborough beyond himself in a portrait of Garrick in the character of Abel Drugger, with two other figures, Subtle and Face. Sir Joshua agreed to give a hundred guineas for the picture; Lord Carlisle half an hour after offered Reynolds twenty to part with it, which the Knight generously refused, resigned his intended purchase to the Lord, and the emolument to his brother artist. (He is a gentleman!) Angelica made a very great addition to the show; and Mr. Hamilton's picture of Brisëis parting from Achilles, was very much admired : the Briseis in taste, à l'antique, elegant and simple. Coates, Dance, Wilson, &c., as usual. Mr. West had no large picture finished. You will doubtless imagine I derived my epistolary genius from my nurse; but when you are tired of my gossiping, you may burn the letter, so I shall go on. Some of the literati of the Royal Academy were very much disappointed, as they could not obtain diplomas; but the Secretary, who is above trifles, has since made a very flattering compliment to the Academy in the Preface to his Travels: the Professor of History is comforted by the success of his 'Deserted Village,' which is a very pretty poem, and has lately put himself under the conduct of Mrs. Hornick and her fair daughters, and is gone to France; and Dr. Johnson sips his tea and cares not for the vanity of the world. Sir Joshua, a few days ago, entertained the Council and Visitors with calipash and calipee, except poor Coates, who last week fell a victim to the corroding power of soap-lees, which he hoped would have cured him of the stone; many a tear will drop on his grave, as he is not more lamented as an artist than a friend to the distressed. (Ma poca polvere sono che nulla sente!) My mamma declares that you are an insufferable creature, and that she speaks as good English as your mother did High-German. Mr. Meyer laughed aloud at your letter, and desired to be remembered. My father and his daughter long to know the progress you will make, particularly MARY MOSER, 6 Who remains sincerely your friend and believes you will exclaim or mutter to yourself, Why did she send this d- -d nonsense to me?' Henry Fuseli Esq. à Roma. CCI. Mrs. Hannah More's long and useful life may be divided into two epochs-her town and her country life. The first period extended to her fortieth year, during which she wrote dramas and associated with the chief male and female wits in London. The second is that through which she is best known. Resigning all ambition to be celebrated as a playwright, and impressed with the seriousness of religion and the need of reform in female education, she retired to Gloucestershire, and there worked and wrote for rich and poor alike. The gay side of her nature shows itself very generally in her correspondence. Mrs. Hannah More to Mrs. Gwatkin. Hampton: August 9, 1778. My dear Madam,-I wrote to you last Friday, not knowing of your migration. I hope they will not send you up the letter, as it is of no consequence now; containing only the particulars relative to my dear little friend, of which you have now so much better information. When your letter was brought, I was upon a visit in the neighbourhood, where it was sent me. There were ten ladies and a clergyman. I was pleased with the assemblage, thinking the vanity of the sex would meet with its equilibrium in the wisdom of the profession;-that the brilliant sallies of female wit and sprightliness would be corrected and moderated by the learned gravity and judicious conversation of the Rev. Theologue. I looked upon the latter as the centripetal, acting against the centrifugal force of the former, who would be kept within their orbit of decorum by his means. For about an hour nothing was uttered but words, which are almost an equivalent to nothing. The gentleman had not yet spoken. The ladies, with loud vociferations, seemed to talk much without thinking at all. The gentleman, with all the male stupidity of silent recollection, without saying a single syllable, seemed to be acting over the pantomime of thought. I cannot say, indeed, that his countenance so much belied his understanding, as to express any thing: no, let me not do him that injustice; he might have sat for the picture of insensibility. I endured his taciturnity thinking that the longer he was in collecting, adjusting, and arranging his ideas, the more would he charm me with the tide of oratorical eloquence, when the materials of his conversation were ready for display: but, alas! it never occurred that I have seen an empty bottle corked as well as a full one. After sitting another hour, I thought I perceived in him signs of pregnant sentiment, which was just on the point of being delivered in speeeh. I was extremely exhilarated at this, but it was a false alarm; he essayed it not. At length the imprisoned powers of rhetoric burst through the shallow mounds of torpid silence and reserve, and he remarked, with equal acuteness of wit, novelty of invention, and depth of penetration, that -'we had had no summer.' Then, shocked at his own loquacity, he double-locked the door of his lips, and word spoke never more.' Will you not say I am turning devotee when I tell you what my amusements, of the reading kind, are. I have read through all the epistles three times since I have been here; the ordinary translation, Locke's Paraphrase, and a third put into very elegant English (I know not by whom), in which St. Paul's obscurities are elucidated, and Harwood's pomp of words avoided. I am also reading 'West on the Resurrection;' in my poor judgment a most excellent thing, calculated to confound all the cavils of the infidel, and to confirm all the hopes of the believer. Have you heard from the sweet little Cornwallian since you left her? My most affectionate regards to my dear Master Lovell, and earnest wishes for his speedy recovery. I am, my dear Madam With the most perfect esteem H. MORE. Ссп. Mrs. Hannah More to Mrs. Boscawen. Bath: 1797. If I do write, quoth I to myself, in the humour I am in, I shall convince my most honoured friend that I have no wit; and if I do not write I shall prove to a demonstration that I have no gratitude. Thus the matter stood for a long time in exact equipoise; but at last recollecting that wit was only a talent, and gratitude a virtue, I was resolved to secure to myself the reputation and comfort of the one, though at the risk, nay the certainty, of forfeiting all pretensions to the other. Now, Madam, I appeal to your discernment, if I have not made the better choice? Of attaining to the one I despair; it is a rare but dangerous present— but come, Gratitude! thou peaceful, amiable virtue, and confess (though thou art less addicted to confession than to feeling) if I did not cherish thee in my heart, this morning, when I received so delightful a letter from Audley Street. Nothing could have diminished the entire pleasure that letter gave me, but the unpleasant intelligence of the indisposition of the writer. I did not get hither to my winter quarters till Christmas. I was so earnestly pressed to halt at Stoke, with the Duchess, in my way, that I complied for three or four days. Very strong indeed were the intreaties of my noble hostess that I should remain during the visit of the whole house of Manners, but I was constrained to be equally firm in my refusal. Since I have been here I have so entirely lost my cough as to be able to drink the waters, which do me much good. Now, my dear Madam, if you do not think here is already a sufficient quantity of egotism, I will go on to tell you, that though I go to the pump, I do not make any visits, not having set my foot to the ground these two months. I shall, however, make an exception in favour of your neighbours, Lord and Lady Kenyon, who have done me the honour to desire to be acquainted with me. I am much pleased with the plain unadorned integrity, the simplicity of manners, the respect for piety, of this great Lord Chief Justice: I think he discovers more reverence for virtue and religion in his decisions than any law leader I remember. My friends are extremely kind, so that I have full as much company as my heart can wish. Lady Herries is here, with the full use of her limbs, which I am glad of; though, if they had been my limbs, I question if I should have thought the use of them worth purchasing at the expense of living abroad-better be dying in England, than well any where else, is my maxim. Grave as the times are, Bath never was so gay; princes and kings that will be, and princes and kings that have been, pop upon you at every corner; the Stadtholder and Prince of Wales only on a flying visit; but their Highnesses of York are become almost inhabitants, and very sober and proper their behaviour is. The Duchess contributes by her residence in it, to make our street alive. I had the honour of spending a morning with her Royal Highness. Her conversation was judicious and lively; the waters have been of service to her; she has had the goodness to present me with a beautiful little box with her hair, set round with pearls on the lid. Lady Waldegrave writes me but a sad account of poor Lord Oxford. Of Mrs. Carter's recovery, though slow, I hear better accounts. I say nothing of war, because I am weary of the word, nor of peace, because I lose all hope of it. I am thankful, however, that the fault does not rest with us; one can bear the affliction far better, when one has not to bear the guilt also. Alas! my dear Madam, your letter has just arrived which announces the affecting tidings of Lord Oxford's death-affecting in no small degree; though I have been in daily expectation of such an event taking place, my feelings are quite overcome when I call to remembrance that kindness which knew no interruption during twenty years. I am, dear Madam, H. MORE. CCIII. Dr. Samuel Parr, the eminent scholar and philologist, resigned an assistant-mastership at Harrow in 1772 and kept a private school. In 1786 he retired to Hatton in Warwickshire, where he resided during the remainder of his life. Here he wrote on all manner of subjects, critical, historical, philological, and metaphysical; and in the abundance of his learning his advice and help were sought by many celebrated writers. That he left no special and great work behind him is not surprising, |