LETTERS TO AND FROM MR. WYCHERLEY, From the Year 1704 to 1710. LETTER I. Binfield in Windsor Forest, Dec. 26, 1704.* IT was certainly a great satisfaction to me to see and converse with a man, whom in his writings I had so long known with pleasure; but it was a high addition to it, to hear you, at our very first meeting, doing justice to your dead friend Mr. Dryden. I was not so happy as to know him: Virgilium tantum vidi. Had I been born early enough, I must have known and loved him: For I have been assured, not only by yourself, but by Mr. Congreve and Sir William Trumbul, that his personal qualities were as amiable as his poetical, notwithstanding the many libellous misrepresentations of them, against which the former of these gentlemen has told me he will one day vindicate him. I suppose those injuries were begun by the violence of party, but 'tis no doubt they were a The author's age then Sixteen. b He since did so in his dedication to the Duke of Newcastle, prefixed to the duodecimo edition of Dryden's Plays, 1727. continued by envy at his success and fame: And those Scriblers who attacked him in his latter times, were only like gnats in a summer evening, which are never very troublesone but in the finest and most glorious season; for his fire, like the sun's, shined clearest towards its setting. You must not therefore imagine, than when you told me my own performances were above those critics, I was so vain as to believe it; and yet I may not be so humble as to think myself quite below their notice. For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion: and though such poor writers as I are but beggars, no beggar is se poor but he can keep a cur, and no author so beggarly but he can keep a critic. I am far from thinking the attacks of such people either any honour or dishonour even to me, much less to Mr. Dryden. I agree with you that whatever lesser wits have risen since his death, are but like stars appearing when the sun is set, that twinkle only in his absence, and with the rays they have borrowed from him. Our wit (as you call it) is but reflection or imitation, therefore scarce to be called ours. True wit, I believe, may be defined a justness of thought, and a facility of expression; or (in the midwives phrase) a perfect conception, with an easy delivery. However, this is far from a complete definition; pray help me to a better, as I doubt not you can. LETTER II. FROM MR. WYCHERLEY. I am, etc. Jan. 25, 1704-5. I HAVE been so busy of late in correcting and transcribing some of my madrigals for a great man or two who desired to see them, that I have (with your pardon) omitted to return you an answer to your most ingenious letter: so scriblers to the public, like bankers to the public, are profuse in their voluntary loans to it, whilst they forget to pay their more private and particular, as more just debts, to the best and nearest friends. However, I hope you, who have as much good-nature as good sense, (since they generally are companions,) will have patience with a debtor who has an inclination to pay you his obligations, if he had wherewithal ready about him; and in the mean time should consider, when you have obliged me beyond my present power of returning the favour, that a debtor may be an honest man, if he but intends to be just when he is able, though late. But I should be less just to you, the more I thought I could make a return to so much profuseness of wit and humanity together; which, though they seldom accompany each other in other men, are in you so equally met, I know not in which you most abound. But so much for my opinion of you, which is, that your wit and ingenuity is equalled by nothing but your judgment or modesty, which (though it be to please myself) I must no more offend than I can do either right. Therefore I will say no more now of them, than that your good wit never forfeited your good judgment, but in your partiality to me and mine; so that if it were possible for a hardened scribler to be vainer than he is, what you write of me would make me more conceited than what I scrible myself: yet, I must confess, I ought to me more humbled by your praise than exalted, which commends my little sense with so much more of yours, that I am disparaged and disheartened by your commendations; who give me an example of your wit in the first part of your letter, and a definition of it in the last; to make writing well (that is, like you) more difficult to meẹ than ever it was before. Thus the more great and just your example and definition of wit are, the less I am capable to follow them. Then the best way of shewing my judgment after having seen how you write, is to leave off writing; and the best way to shew my friendship to you is to put an end to your trouble, and to conclude. Yours, etc. LETTER III. you March 25, 1705. WHEN I write to you, I foresee a long letter, and ought to beg your patience before-hand; for if it proves the longest, it will be of course the worst I have troubled with. Yet to express my gratitude at large for your obliging letter, is not more my duty than my interest: as some people will abundantly thank you for one piece of kindness, to put you in mind of bestowing another. The more favourable you are to me, the more distinctly I see my faults: Spots and blemishes, you know, are never so plainly discovered as in the brightest sunshine. Thus I am mortified by those commendations which were designed to encourage me for praise to a young wit, is like rain to a tender flower; if it be moderately bestowed, it chears and revives; but if too lavishly, over-charges and depresses him. Most men in years, as they are generally discouragers of youth, are like old trees, that, being past bearing themselves, will suffer no young plants to flourish beneath them: but, as if it were not enough to have outdone all your coëvals in wit, you will excel them in goodnature too. As for my green essays, if you find any pleasure in them, it must be such as a man naturally takes in observing the first shoots and buddings of a tree which he has raised himself; and 'tis im His Pastorals, written at sixteen years of age.. possible they should be esteemed any otherwise, than as we value fruits for being early, which nevertheless are the most insipid, and the worst of the year. In a word, I must blame you for treating me with so much compliment, which is at best but the smoke of friendship. I neither write nor converse with you to gain your praise, but your affection. Be so much my friend as to appear my enemy, and tell me my faults, if not as a young man, at least as an unexperienced writer. LETTER IV. FROM MR. WYCHERLEY. I am, etc. March 29, 1705. YOUR letter of the twenty-fifth of March I have received, which was more welcome to me than any thing could be out of the country, though it were one's rent due that day; and I can find no fault with it, but that it charges me with want of sincerity, or justice, for giving you your due; who should not let your modesty be so unjust to your merit, as to reject what is due to it, and call that compliment which is so short of your desert, that it is rather degrading than exalting you. But if compliment be the smoke only of friendship, (as you say,) however, you must allow there is no smoke but there is some fire; and as the sacrifice of incense offered to the Gods would not have been half so sweet to others, if it had not been for its smoke; so friendship, like love, cannot be without some incense, to perfume the name it would praise and immortalize. But since you say you do not write to me to gain my praise, but my affection, pray how is it possible to have the one without the other? we must admire before we love. You affirm, you would have me so |