a little illuminated concerning classical story and the mythology of the Ancients; and his behaviour to me has been so liberal, that I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek Commentators blinds me. But it is no matter. I am the more like Homer.

Ever yours, my dearest Hayley.

W. C.

LETTER LXVII.

To SAMUEL ROSE, Esqr.

May 5, 1793.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

My delay to answer your last kind

Letter, to which likewise you desired a speedy reply, must have seemed rather difficult to explain on any other supposition than that of illness. But illness has not been the cause, although to say the truth, I cannot boast of having been lately very well. Yet has not this been the cause of my silence, but your own advice, very proper and earnestly given to me, to proceed in the revisal of Homer. To this it is owing, that, instead of giving an hour or two before breakfast to my correspondents, I allot that time entirely to my studies. I have nearly given the last touches to the poetry, and am now busied far more laboriously in writing notes at the request of my honest Bookseller, transmitted to me in the first intance by you, and afterward repeated by himself. I am, therefore, deep in the old Scholia, and have advanced to the latter part of Iliad nine, explaining, as I go, such

R 2

such passages as may be difficult to unlearned Readers, and such only for notes of that kind are the notes that Johnson desired. I find it a more laborious task than the translation was, and shall be heartily glad, when it is over. In the mean time all the Letters I receive remain unanswered, or if they receive an answer, it is always a short one. Such this must be. Johnny is here, having

flown over London.

Homer, I believe, will make a much more respectable appearance than before. Johnson now thinks it will be right to make a separate impression of the amendments.

W. C.

I breakfast every morning on seven or eight pages of the Greek Commentators. For so much I am obliged to read in order to select perhaps three or four short notes for the Readers of my translation.

Homer is indeed a tie upon me, that must not on any account be broken, till all his demands are satisfied; though I have fancied while the revisal of the Odyssey was at a distance, that it would ask less labour in the finishing, it is not unlikely, that, when I take it actually in hand, I may find myself mistaken. Of this at least I am sure, that unevén verse abounds much more in it than it once did in the Iliad. Yet to the latter the critics objected on that account, though to the former never; perhaps because they had not read it. Hereafter

after they shall not quarrel with me on that score. The Iliad is now all smooth turnpike, and I will take equal care, that there shall be no jolts in the Odyssey.

MY DEAREST COZ.

LETTER LXVIII,

To Lady HESKETH.

The Lodge, May 7, 1793.

You have thought me long silent, and

so have many others. In fact I have not for many months written punctually to any, but yourself and Hayley. My time, the little I have, is so engrossed by Homer, that I have at this moment a bundle of unanswered Letters by me, and Letters likely to be so. Thou knowest (I dare say) what it is to have a head, weary with thinking. Mine is so fatigued by breakfast-time three days out of four, I am utterly incapable of sitting down to my desk again for any purpose whatever.

I am glad I have convinced thee at last, that thou art a Tory. Your Friend's definition of Whig and Tory may be just for aught I know, as far as the latter are concerned; but respecting the former, I think him mistaken. There is no true Whig, who wishes all power in the hands of his own party. The division of it, which the lawyers call tripartite, is exactly what he desires; and he would have neither King, Lords, nor Commons unequally trust

ed,

ed, or in the smallest degree predominant. Such a Whig am I, and such Whigs are the true friends of the Constitution.

Adieu! my dear, I am dead with weariness.

W. C.

LETTER LXIX.

To WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esqr.

May 21, 1792:

MY DEAREST BROTHER,

You must either think me extremely

idle, or extremely busy, that I have made your last very kind Letter wait so very long for an answer. The truth however is, that I am neither; but have had time enough to have scribbled to you, had I been able to scribble at all. To explain this Riddle I must give you a short account of my proceedings.

I rise at six every morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast. The consequence is, that I am so exhausted as not to be able to write, when the opportunity offers. You will say, Breakfast before you work, and then your work will not fatigue you.' I answer, Perhaps I might, and your counsel would probably prove beneficial: but I cannot spare a moment for eating in the early part of the morning, having no other time for study.' This uneasiness, of which I complain, is a proof, that I am somewhat stricken in years: and there is no other cause by which I can account for it; since I go early

early to bed, always been ten and eleven, and seldom fail to sleep well. Certain it is, ten years since I could have done as much, and sixteen years ago did actually much more, without suffering fatigue or any inconvenience from my labours. How insensibly old age steals on, and how often is it actually arrived before we suspect it! Accident alone, some occurrence, that suggests a comparison of our former with our present selves, affords the discovery. Well! It is always good to be undeceived, especially on an article of such importance.

There has been a book lately published, entitled, Man as he is. I have heard a high character of it, as admirably written, and am informed, that for that reason, and because it inculcates Whigprinciples, it is by many imputed to you. I contradicted this report, assuring my informant that had it been yours, I must have known it, for that you have bound yourself to make me your Father-confessor on all such wicked occasions, and not to conceal from me even a murder, should you happen to commit one.

I will not trouble you at present to send me any more Books with a view to my Notes on Homer. I am not without hopes, that Sir John Throckmorton, who is expected here from Venice in a short time, may bring me Villoison's edition of the Odyssey. He certainly will, if he found it published, and that alone will be instar

omnium.

Adieu,