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Julian
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This letter is part of the correspondence calendar of the complete correspondence of Thomas Gray. The calendar contains detailed bibliographic records for all known original, copied, or published letters written by or to the poet as well as the full-text, where available. Each record is accompanied by digitised images of the manuscript, where available, or digitised images of the first printed edition.
I was hinder'd in my last, & so could not give you all the trouble I would have done; the Description of a road, which your Coach-wheels have so often honour'd, it would be needless to give you; suffice it, that I arrived at Birnam-wood without the loss of any of my fine Jewels, & that no little Cacaturient Gentlewoman made me any reverences by the way; I live with my Uncle, a great hunter in imagination; his Dogs take up every chair in the house, so I'm forced to stand at this present writing, & tho' the Gout forbids him galloping after 'em in the field, yet he continues still to regale his Ears & Nose with their comfortable Noise and Stink; he holds me mighty cheap I perceive for walking, when I should ride, & reading, when I should hunt: my comfort amidst all this is, that I have at the distance of half a mile thro' a green Lane, a Forest (the vulgar call it a Common) all my own; at least as good as so, for I spy no human thing in it but myself; it is a little Chaos of Mountains & Precipices; Mountains it is true, that don't ascend much above the Clouds, nor are the Declivities quite so amazing, as Dover-Cliff; but just such hills as people, who love their Necks as well as I do, may venture to climb, & Crags, that give the eye as much pleasure, as if they were more dangerous: both Vale & Hill is cover'd over with most venerable Beeches, & other very reverend Vegetables, that like most ancient People, are always dreaming out their old Stories to the Winds
And, as they bow their hoary Tops, relate
In murm'ring Sounds the dark Decrees of Fate;
While Visions, as Poetic eyes avow,
Cling to each Leaf, & swarm on ev'ry Bough:
At the foot of one of these squats me I; il Penseroso, and there grow to the Trunk for a whole morning,
– the tim'rous Hare, & sportive Squirrel
Gambol around me –
like Adam in Paradise, but commonly without an Eve, & besides I think he did not use to read Virgil, as I usually do there: in this situation I often converse with my Horace aloud too, that is, talk to you; for I don't remember, that I ever heard you answer me; I beg pardon for taking all the conversation to myself; but it is your own fault indeed. We have old Mr Southern at a Gentlemans house a little way off, who often comes to see us; he is now 77 year old, & has almost wholly lost his Memory, but is as agreeable, as an old Man can be; at least I persuade myself so, when I look upon him, & think of Isabella & Oroonoko. I shall be in Town in about 3 weeks, I believe; if you direct your letters to London, they will take care to send 'em safe; but I must desire, you would fold 'em with a little more art, for your last had been open'd without breaking the Seal, Adieu,
P:S: Regreet Almanzor from me,
Wish Pol: Cutcher joy from
me,
Give Cole an humble service from me.