What follows, I fear neither you nor I have philosophy enough to add with sincerity:--

For worldly meed, Given or withheld, I deem of it alike.

I will read the memoir of yourself which you purpose sending me, and not fail to tell you if I think you have spoken of others with more acrimony than you ought. There is no occasion for sending me with it your new publication. I shall get it as I have those before. I hope the last chapter of your memoir, if brought up to the present time, will record your children's having got safely over the small pox, of which you express apprehensions in your last letter. We have got well through the winter hitherto. For want of better employment I have been teaching my youngest boy d.i.c.ky to write. Perhaps you will think me not over well qualified for so important an office, but I a.s.sure you when I have two parallel lines ruled at proper distances I can produce something like a copy. To teach others is no bad way to learn one's self. In spite of the floggings which I had at school, I could never learn that grammar for which you have so great an aversion, thoroughly, till I began to instruct my own son in it, but then I made a wonderful progress. I should not succeed so well in collecting ferns. A physician once recommended to me the study of botany for the good of my health, but he had published an edition of Linnaeus.

Another prescribed to me port wine, but, poor man, he soon fell a martyr to his own system. In such matters common sense and one's own inclination are the best guides. Mrs. C. and your other acquaintances here remember you kindly. I am dear Clare, with best wishes for yourself and family,

Your affectionate friend,

H. F. CARY."

"British Museum, April 13th, 1830,

Dear Clare,--

I have waited some time to answer your letter, in hopes of being able to give you the information you require; but the information does not come and I will wait no longer. I have not seen either Lamb or Wainwright since last summer, when the former spent one day with me here, and another day we all three met at the house of the latter, who now resides in a place he has inherited from a relative at Turnham Green. Lamb is settled at Endfield, about seven miles from London, with his sister, who I fear is in a very indifferent state of health; so his friends see very little of him. In this grand age of utility, I suppose it will soon be discovered that a piece of canvas is more advantageously employed as the door of a safe, where it will secure a joint of meat from the flies, than if it was covered with the finest hues that t.i.tian or Rubens could lay upon it, and a piece of paper better disposed of in keeping the same meat from being burnt while it is roasting, than in preserving the idle fancies of a poet.

No matter: if it is so we must swim with the stream. You can employ yourself in cultivating your cabbages and in handling the hay fork, and I not quite so pleasantly in making catalogues of books. We will not be out of fashion, but show ourselves as useful as the rest of the world. In the meantime we may smile at what is going forward, entertain ourselves with our own whims in private, and expect that the tide some day may turn. My family, whom you are so kind as to enquire about, are all well, and all following the order of the day, except one, who has set himself to perverting canvas from its proper use by smearing it over with certain colours, fair indeed to look upon, but quite void of utility. I ought indeed to have made another exception, which is, that they are multiplying much faster than Mr.

Malthus would approve. Cowper says somewhere of those who make the world older than the Bible accounts of it, that they have found out that He who made it and revealed its age to Moses was mistaken in the date. May it not be said of the anti-populationers that they virtually accuse him of as great ignorance in the command to multiply and replenish the earth? Well, you and I, Clare, have kept to this text. May we observe all the rest as well! which is so good a conclusion for a parson that I will say no more than that I am ever

Yours truly,

H. F. CARY.

Mrs. C. is at Chiswick, but I can a.s.sure you of her good wishes."

"Dear Clare,--

You ask me for literary news. I have very little of a kind likely to interest you. Have you seen in the 'Edinburgh Review' an account of some poems by Elliott, a Sheffield workman? In his rhymes on the Corn Trade are not 'words that burn,' but words that scald. In his 'Love'

there is a story told in a very affecting manner. In short they are the only new things I have been struck with for some time, and that before I knew who the writer was. I heard lately that our friend Mr.

Lamb was very well, and his sister just recovered from one of those illnesses which she is often afflicted with. I have just sent to the press a translation of an old Greek poet. I do not expect he will please you much, as he treats of little but charioteering, boxing, running, and some old heathenish stories. But I will send you a copy, not requiring you to read it. Mrs. C., if she were at my elbow, would, I am sure, desire to be kindly remembered to you.

Believe me, dear Clare,

Sincerely yours,

H. F. CARY.

British Museum, Oct. 30th, 1832."

LETTERS FROM MRS EMMERSON

Clare remained in London for several weeks, at the end of which time he was suddenly recalled to Helpstone by alarming reports of the state of his wife's health. It is to be feared that in more respects than one this second visit to the metropolis had an unhealthy influence upon the poet's mind and habits. At this time he appears to have made very little effort to resist the pressing hospitality of his friends, and to have complied only too readily with the convivial customs of the time. He returned to Helpstone moody and discontented, and in his letters to Mrs. Emmerson he complained fretfully of the hardship of his lot in being compelled to spend his days without any literary companionship whatsoever. About this time that lady wrote to him two letters, which as ill.u.s.trations of the style of her correspondence are here given:--

"20 Stratford Place, 17th June, 1822.

My very dear Clare,--

"Your letter reached me this morning, and from the nature of its contents it leaves me nothing to express in reply but my sincere regrets that any necessity should have occurred to hasten your departure from London without our again seeing each other. I wish, my dear friend, you had expressed more fully the real cause of this sudden measure, for you leave me with many painful fears upon my mind for the safety of your dear wife, who I hope, ere this, has blessed you with a little namesake, and that she is doing well with the dear babe. I have also my own fears about yourself, your own health, your state of mind, your worldly interests, &c., but perhaps I am wrong to indulge in all these anxieties. Mr. Emmerson and myself had looked for days past with great solicitude for your return to us, and we had planned many little schemes for our mutual enjoyment while you were with us, but these, with many other matters with which my mind and heart were full, are now at an end, and G.o.d only knows when, or if ever, we may meet again; but of this be a.s.sured, as long as my friendship and correspondence are of value to you, you may command them. In our, alas, too short interviews we had some interesting conversations. These will not be forgotten by me, and I will hope on your return to your own dear cot you will take the earliest opportunity to write to your friend 'Emma.' Tell her all that affects your happiness, and may you, my dear Clare, when restored to the calm delights of retirement, experience also the restoration of mental peace and every domestic blessing! Mr. E. desires his kindest regards to you, and his sincere regrets you could not spend a few days with him ere you quitted London. Our n.o.ble and dear friend [Lord Radstock]

will also feel much disappointment at not seeing you again. This is not what we had hoped for and expected from your visit to Town. Yet let me not reproach you with unkindness, though I feel much, very much, at this moment. Mr. Rippingille spent last evening with us and took his final leave. He goes off for Bristol this afternoon. I have sent your silk handkerchief, with another for you, my dear Clare, as a trifling remembrance of your very sincere and attached friend,

ELIZA L. EMMERSON.

P.S. Please let me know as soon as you reach home of your safe arrival, and if the little stranger has entered this world of woe, and if she bears the name of E. L. Lord R. has just left me, and sends his kind regards, and regrets at not having the opportunity to see you in Portland-place. Farewell.

'EMMA.'"

"Stratford Place, 26th June, 1822.

My very dear Friend,--

If it is necessary to make an apology for writing to you again so soon, the only one I shall attempt to make is that of offering you my sincere congratulations upon the birth of your sweet girl, Eliza Louisa, if I did not misunderstand you when you were in Town, and the certainty of which I wish to know in your next letter; also, if I may be allowed to stand G.o.dmother to my little namesake, and likewise if you have accepted the kind offer of Lord R. to become her n.o.ble G.o.dfather. You mention your dear wife in language that alarms and distresses me much for her safety. I hope in G.o.d, for your sake, and for the sake of your dear children, that all danger is over, and that she is now in a fair way to be speedily restored to you. Pardon me, my clear Clare, when I entreat you to do all in your power to comfort and compose her mind under her present delicate situation. Recollect if she is now a faded flower she has become so under your influence, and well may you be loth to lose the object who has shed her brightest hues on you, and who in giving birth to your sweet offspring may chance to fade almost to nothingness herself. But this should serve to bind your affections still stronger to her. Forgive me for talking thus to you, my dear Clare. I have no other motive than your domestic happiness, which I anxiously pray may be undisturbed by any event. I lament to learn by your letter that to stifle recollections of the past, &c., you should have fled to such resources on your journey home. Now you become the sufferer by such means. Why not exert your philosophy, instead of seeking that which serves to destroy your health and peace? You know, my dear Clare, that you are injuring yourself in the deepest sense by such habits.

For G.o.d's sake, then, for your own dear children's sake, arm yourself with a determination, a fort.i.tude, which would do honour to your excellent heart and good understanding, to fly from such a mode of consolation as from a poison that will quickly destroy you. Remember poor Burns! Let the solemn and affectionate warnings of your friend 'Emma' dissuade you, my dear Clare, from habits of inebriety.

Independent of the loss of your health and mental powers, your moral character will be seriously injured by such means. You will charge me with preaching a sermon, I fear, and will be inclined to commit my good wishes to the flames, but you must not hate me for my counsel. I can readily suppose how the 'good Quaker' would be shocked at your 'disguise' and I heartily regret the event, altho' I honour your liberality and candour in telling me of it. I have not heard from our friend Rippingille, but expect to do so daily. When I write to him I will make known your wishes to correspond with him. You tell me you 'have many things to say to me in future about your journey, &c. &c.'

Pray do not be long, my dear Clare, ere you make such communications, with all else that concerns you, for I shall be most anxious to hear good accounts of your dear wife and the sweet babe. Mr. E. desires me to say everything that is kind to you for him, as does our n.o.ble and dear friend. Heaven bless you, my dear Clare.

Ever sincerely yours,

'EMMA.'"

FRIENDS AT "THE PALACE"

In 1823, Clare suffered from a long and serious illness; brought on, in all probability, by an insufficiency of food, and by mental anxiety caused by his inability to free himself from the importunity of creditors. During his illness he was visited by Mr. Taylor, who had come down to Stamford to attend the funeral of Mr. Gilchrist, and Mr. Taylor, shocked at the poet's appearance, procured for him at once the services of the princ.i.p.al physician in Peterborough. Clare had also an excellent and warm-hearted friend in Mrs. Marsh, wife of the Bishop of Peterborough, who corresponded with him frequently, in a familiar and almost motherly manner, from 1821 to 1837. When Clare complained of indisposition, a messenger would be dispatched from "The Palace," with medicines or plaisters, camphor lozenges, or "a pound of our own tea," with sensible advice as to personal habits and diet. At another time hot-house grapes are sent, or the messenger bears toys for the children, or a magnifying gla.s.s to a.s.sist Clare in his observations in entomolgy, or books, or "three numbers of Cobbett's penny trash, which Mr. Clare may keep." One day Mrs. Marsh writes--

"To show you how I wish to cheer you I am sending you cakes, as one does to children: they are harmless, so pray enjoy them, and write to tell me how you are."

Engravings of the new chain pier are sent from Brighton, and on one occasion (in 1829) a steel pen was enclosed in a letter, as a great curiosity. Clare was on several occasions a visitor at the Bishop's Palace, and in July, 1831, Mrs. Marsh wrote the following note, which confirms the impression received from the perusal of other letters, that about that time Clare's mind had been much exercised with respect to his soul's health:--

"My dear Mr. Clare,--I must take my leave, and in doing so must add that in thinking of you it is my greatest comfort to know that you fix your trust where our only and never-failing trust rests."

Lady Milton also frequently sent her humble neighbour presents suitable to his invalid condition.

ANOTHER VISIT TO LONDON

Clare had not entirely recovered from this illness, when in May, 1824, he once more accepted the invitation of his publishers to visit London. They were desirous that he should have the benefit of the advice of Dr. Darling, the kind-hearted physician already mentioned.