Letter 8.

I am now about an Oratorio, which when finished will purchase you a gown. You may be certain of feeing me before the ift of January, 1771.-The clearance is imma terial. My mother may expect more patterns.-Almost all the next Town and Country Magazine is mine. I have an univerfal acquaintance: my company is courted every where; and, could I humble myself, to go into a compter, could have had twenty places before now; but I must be among the great: State matters fuit me better than commercial. The ladies are not out of my acquaintance, I have a deal of business now, and must therefore bid you adieu. You will have a longer letter from me foon-and more to the purpose. *

Your's,

T. C.

20th July, 1770.

* The publick may be assured of the authenticity of these letters, and of every thing which is related of this boy. All the originals of his letters here printed, except the original of this laft, are in the poffeffion of his mother, or fifter, who, I believe, are still living in Bristol, and keep little dayfchools. The original of this (they received no morehe died on the 24th of the next month), his mother suffered to be retained as a curiofity. That, and the original letter from his fifter, dated September 22, 1778, are deposited in the hands of Mr. Kearly. †

17

The publisher of this volume.

The Editor.

During

During the period in which these letters were written, C. produced many of the things printed in the volume of his Miscellanies. One paffage I will be at the trouble of copying, because it shows the acuteness of his mental fight, which could plainly distinguish each varying ray of excellence, and fee blots even in the fun from which his genius fprung, and which it worshipped.

So

"But, alas! happiness is of fhort duration; or, to speak in the language of the high-founding Offian, Behold! thou art happy; but foon, ah! foon, wilt thou be miferable. Thou art as eafy and tranquil as the face of the green-mantled puddle; but foon, ah! foon, wilt thou be tumbled and toffed by misfortunes, like the stream of the water-mill. Thou art beautiful as the Cathedral of Canterbury; but foon wilt thou be deformed like Chinese palace-paling. the fun rifing in the Eaft, gilds the borders of the black mountains, and laces with his golden rays the dark-brown heath. The hind leaps over the flowery lawn, and the reeky bull rolls in the bubbling brook. The wild boar makes ready his armour of defence. The inhabitants of the rock dance, and all nature joins in the fong. But fee! riding on the wings of the wind, the black clouds fly. The noisy thunders roar; the rapid lightnings gleam; the rainy tor rents pour; and the dripping swain flies over the mountains, fwift as Bickerstaff, the son of fong, when the monster Bumbailiano, keeper of the dark and black cave, pursued him over the hills of death, and the green meadows of dark men. -O, Offian! immortal genius! what an invocation could I make now! But I fhall leave it to the abler pen of

Mr.

Mr. Dufft, and spin out the thread of my own adventures." Town and Country Magazine, July 1770, P. 375.

Of course I have been a little curious after the fhort part of his life which he spent in town. By his letters you fee he lodged firft in Shoreditch; afterwards (when his employments made it neceffary for him to frequent public places, I suppose) in Brook-ftreet, Holborn. The man and woman where he first lodged are still living in the fame houfe. He is a plaisterer. They and their nephew, and niece (the latter about as old as C. would be now, the former three years younger); and Mrs. Ballance, who lodged in the house, and desired them to let C. (her relation) lodge there alfo, have been feen. The little collected from them you fhall have in their own words. But the life he led did not afford them many opportunities to observe him, could they have imagined that such a being was under the fame roof with them, or that they would be asked for their observations upon him, after an interval of fo many years. Mrs. Ballance fays he was as proud as Lucifer. He very foon quarrelled with her for calling him "Coufin Tommy," and asked her if fhe ever heard of a poet's being called Tommy: But

+ This alludes, I conclude, to " Critical obfervations" by W. Duff, A. M. 8vo, 5s. Becket-published in June 1770. Mr. D. admits but three original geniufes in poetry, Homer, Offian, and Shakespeare-Would not Chatterton complete the triumvirate better than Offian?

But the affured him fhe knew nothing of poets, and only wished he would not fet up for a gentleman. Upon her recommending it to him to get into fome office, when he had been in town two or three weeks, he ftormed about the room like a madman, and frightened her not a little, by telling her, he hoped, with the bleffing of God, very foon, to be fent prisoner to the Tower, which would make his fortune. He would often look ftedfaftly in a perfon's face, without fpeaking, or feeming to fee the perfon, for a quarter of an hour or more, till it was quite frightful; during all which time (fhe fuppofes, from what fhe has fince heard), his thoughts were gone about fomething else. When Beckford died, he was perfectly frantic, and out of his mind; and faid he was ruined He frequently faid he fhould fettle the nation before he had done; but how could the think her poor coufin Tommy was fo great a man as fhe now finds he was? His mother fhould have written word of his greatnefs, and then, to be fure, fhe would have humoured the gentleman accordingly. Mr. Walmsley faw nothing of him, but that there was fomething manly and pleasing about him, and that he did not diflike the wenches.---Mrs. W.'s account is, that she never faw any harm of him----that he never miflifted her; but was always very civil, when

ever

ever they met in the houfe by accident----that he would never fuffer the room, in which he used to read and write, to be fwept, because, he faid, poets hated brooms---that fhe told him fhe did not know any thing poet folks were good for, but to fit in a dirty cap and gown in a garret, and at last to be starved---that, during the nine weeks he was at her house, he never ftaid out after the family hours, except once, when he did not come home all night, and had been, fhe heard, poeting a song about the streets. ---This night, Mrs. Ballance fays, fhe knows he lodged at a relation's, becaufe Mr. W.'s houfe was fhut up when he came home.

The niece fays, for her part, fhe always took him more for a mad boy than any thing elfe, he would have fuch flights and vagaries---that, but for his face, and her knowledge of his age, fhe fhould never have thought him a boy, he was fo manly, and so much himself---that no women came after him, nor did she know of any connexion; but still, that he was a fad rake, and terribly fond of women, and would fometimes be faucy to her---that he ate what he chofe to have with his relation (Mrs. B.) who lodged in the houfe, but he never touched meat, and drank only water, and feemed to live on the air.---Did not I fend you fome beautiful French