CCXI.

Referring to the following letter in his 'Life of Godwin,' Mr. C. Kegan Paul remarks:- The stoicism which is so admirable in repressing his own feelings, is less beautiful when used to condole with Mrs. Shelley on the death of her child. It is fair to remark, however, that he is dealing with his daughter as he would have desired men should deal with him had he given way to what, had he indulged it, he would have considered a blameable weakness.'

William Godwin to Mrs. Shelley.

Skinner Street: September 9, 1819.

My dear Mary,-Your letter of August 19 is very grievous to me, inasmuch as you represent me as increasing the degree of your uneasiness and depression.

You must, however, allow me the privilege of a father, and a philosopher, in expostulating with you on this depression. I cannot but consider it as lowering your character in a memorable degree, and putting you quite among the commonality and mob of your sex, when I had thought I saw in you symptoms entitling you to be ranked among those noble spirits that do honour to our nature. What a falling off is here! How bitterly is so inglorious

a change to be deplored!

What is it you want that you have not? You have the husband of your choice, to whom you seem to be unalterably attached, a man of high intellectual attainments, whatever I, and some other persons, may think of his morality, and the defects under this last head, if they be not (as you seem to think) imaginary, at least do not operate as towards you. You have all the goods of fortune, all the means of being useful to others, and shining in your proper sphere. But you have lost a child: and all the rest of the world, all that is beautiful, and all that has a claim upon your kindness, is nothing, because a child of two years old is dead.

The human species may be divided into two great classes: those who lean on others for support, and those who are qualified to support. Of these last, some have one, some five, and some ten talents. Some can support a husband, a child, a small but respectable circle of friends and dependents, and some can support a world, contributing by their energies to advance their whole

species one or more degrees in the scale of perfectibility. The former class sit with their arms crossed, a prey to apathy and languor, of no use to any earthly creature, and ready to fall from their stools if some kind soul, who might compassionate, but who cannot respect them, did not come from moment to moment, and endeavour to set them up again. You were formed by nature to belong to the best of these classes, but you seem to be shrinking away, and voluntarily enrolling yourself among the worst.

Above all things, I entreat you, do not put the miserable delusion on yourself, to think there is something fine, and beautiful, and delicate, in giving yourself up, and agreeing to be nothing.

Remember, too, that though at first your nearest connections may pity you in this state, yet that when they see you fixed in selfishness and ill-humour, and regardless of the happiness of everyone else, they will finally cease to love you, and scarcely learn to endure you.

The other parts of your letter afford me much satisfaction. Depend upon it, there is no maxim more true or more important than this, Frankness of communication takes off bitterness. True philosophy invites all communication, and withholds none.

CCXII

At the age of forty-three the marvellous poet and painter in whom the last revival of English art began, had already wrapped himself completely in those golden webs of mysticism which at once obscured and illuminated his strange thoughts and words. He had come down to Felpham a few days before the date of this letter, to be near his friend and patron Hayley.

William Blake to John Flaxman.

Felpham: September 21, 1800.

Dear Sculptor of Eternity,-We are safe arrived at our cottage, which is more beautiful than I thought it, and more convenient. It is a perfect model for cottages, and I think for palaces of magnificence, only enlarging not altering its proportions and adding ornaments and not principles. Nothing can be more grand than its simplicity and usefulness. Simple without intricacy, it seems to be the spontaneous expression of humanity, congenial to the wants of man. No other formed house can ever please me so

well, nor shall I ever be persuaded, I believe, that it can be improved either in beauty or use.

Mr. Hayley received us with his usual brotherly affection. I have begun to work. Felpham is a sweet place for study, because it is more spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on all sides her golden gates: her windows are not obstructed by vapours; voices of celestial inhabitants are more distinctly heard and their forms more distinctly seen; and my cottage is also a shadow of their houses. My wife and sister are both well, courting Neptune for an embrace.

Our journey was very pleasant, and though we had a great deal of luggage no grumbling. All was cheerfulness and good humour on the road, and yet we could not arrive at our cottage before half past eleven at night, owing to the necessary shifting of our luggage from one chaise to another, for we had seven different chaises and as many different drivers. We set out between six and seven in the morning of Thursday, with sixteen heavy boxes and portfolios full of prints.

And now begins a new life, because another covering of earth is shaken off. I am more famed in heaven for my works than I could well conceive. In my brain are studies and chambers filled with books and pictures of old, which I wrote and painted in ages of eternity before my mortal life; and those works are the delight and study of archangels. Why then should I be anxious about the riches and fame of mortality? The Lord our Father will do for us and with us according to his divine will.

You, O dear Flaxman, are a sublime archangel,—my friend and companion from eternity. In the divine bosom is our dwelling-place. I look back into the regions of reminiscence, and behold our ancient days before this earth appeared in its vegetative mortality to my mortal vegetated eyes. I see our houses of eternity which can never be separated, though our mortal vehicles should stand at the remotest corners of heaven from each other.

Farewell, my best Friend;-remember me and my wife in love and friendship to our dear Mrs. Flaxman, whom we ardently desire to entertain beneath our thatched roof of rusted gold. And believe me for ever to remain

Your grateful and affectionate

WILLIAM BLAKE.

CCXIII.

It will be remembered that in a series of articles (now collected) originally contributed to 'Blackwood's Magazine,' entitled 'Homer and his Translators,' Professor Wilson criticised in his usual spirited and affable manner, the relative merits of the versions of Chapman, Dryden, Tickel, Pope, Cowper, and Sotheby. Three articles had appeared up to July 1831, in each of which Sotheby's work received its fair share of approbation. This may account for the extreme impatience for further acknowledgments of his merits. But why have importuned the critic so early as October for matter only promised for Christmas, and which actually appeared in the December number?

William Sotheby to Professor Wilson.

13 Lower Grosvenor Place: October 8, 1831.

My Dear Sir,-One month, two months, three months' grievous disappointment, intolerable disappointment, Homer and his tail, Chapman, Pope, and Sotheby in dim eclipse. What becomes of the promise solemnly given to the public, that the vases of good and evil impartially poured forth by your balancing hand, were ere Christmas to determine our fate? I long doubted whether I should trouble you with a letter, but the decided opinion of our friend Lockhart decided me.

And now hear, I pray, in confidence, why I am peculiarly anxious for the completion of your admirable remarks.

I propose, ere long, to publish the Odyssey, and shall gratify myself by sending you, as a specimen of it, the eleventh book. It will contain, inter alia, a sop for the critics, deeply soaked in the blood of a fair heifer and a sable ram, and among swarms of spirits, the images of the heroes of the Iliad, completing the tale of Troy divine. After the publication of the Odyssey, it is my intent, by the utmost diligence and labour, to correct the Iliad, and to endeavour to render it less unworthy of the praise you have been pleased to confer on it. Of your praise I am justly proud; yet for my future object, I am above measure desirous of the benefit of your censures. The remarks (however flattering) with which I have been honoured by others, are less valuable to me than your censures; of this, the proof will be evident in the subsequent edition. You must not, you cannot leave your work incomplete. How resist

the night expedition of Diomede and Ulysses?—Hector bursting the rampart-Juno and the Cestus-Hector rushing on, like the stalled horse snapping the cord-The death of Sarpedon-The consternation of the Trojans at the mere appearance of the armed Achilles-The Vulcanian armour-Achilles mourning over Patroclus-The conclusion of the twentieth book-The lamentations of Priam, and Hecuba, and, above all, of Andromache-Priam at the feet of Achilles-Andromache's lamentation, and Helen's (oh, that lovely Helen!) over the corse of Hector-can these and innumerable other passages be resisted by the poet of the City of the Plague? No, no, no.

In sooth, I must say, I had hope that at Christmas I might have collected, and printed for private distribution, or, far rather published, for public delight and benefit, with your express permission, the several critiques in one body, and then presented to the world a work of criticism unparalleled.

I dine this day at Lockhart's, with my old and dear friend, Sir Walter. His health has improved since his arrival. Perhaps cheeks may your burn. I beg the favour of hearing from you.— I remain, my dear Sir, most sincerely yours,

WM. SOTHEBY.

CCXIV.

Writing six weeks after the event, Nelson somewhat casually refers to the wounds he received during the siege of the strong fortress of Calvi. As no mention was made of his loss of an eye in the public list of wounded, he drew Admiral Hood's attention to the omission on the 2nd Oct. following, remarking, 'I do not think that his Majesty will consider that I suffered the less pain from the determination to do my duty in twenty-four hours after the accident, that those laborious duties entrusted by your lordship to my direction might not slacken.'

Horatio Nelson to Mrs. Nelson.

Off Leghorn: August 18, 1794.

I left Calvi on the 15th, and hope never to be in it again. I was yesterday in St. Fiorenzo, and to-day shall be safe moored, I expect, in Leghorn: since the Ship has been commissioned, this will be the first resting time we have had. As it is all past, I may now tell you, that on the 10th of July, a shot having hit our battery, the splinters and stones from it struck me with great violence