Chapter VI: Letter 399: To Mr. Murray

"Ravenna, 9bre 18°, 1820.

"The death of Waite is a shock to the--teeth, as well as to the
feelings of all who knew him. Good God, he and _Blake_[12] both
gone! I left them both in the most robust health, and little
thought of the national loss in so short a time as five years. They
were both as much superior to Wellington in rational greatness, as
he who preserves the hair and the teeth is preferable to 'the
bloody blustering warrior' who gains a name by breaking heads and
knocking out grinders. Who succeeds him? Where is tooth-powder
_mild_ and yet efficacious--where is _tincture_--where are clearing
_roots_ and _brushes_ now to be obtained? Pray obtain what
information you can upon these '_Tusc_ulan questions.' My jaws ache
to think on't. Poor fellows! I anticipated seeing both again; and
yet they are gone to that place where both teeth and hair last
longer than they do in this life. I have seen a thousand graves
opened, and always perceived, that whatever was gone, the _teeth_
and _hair_ remained with those who had died with them. Is not this
odd? They go the very first things in _youth_, and yet last the
longest in the dust, if people will but _die_ to preserve them! It
is a queer life, and a queer death, that of mortals.

"I knew that Waite had married, but little thought that the other
decease was so soon to overtake him. Then he was such a delight,
such a coxcomb, such a jewel of a man! There is a tailor at Bologna
so like him! and also at the top of his profession. Do not neglect
this commission. _Who_ or _what_ can replace him? What says the
public?

"I remand you the Preface. _Don't forget_ that the Italian extract
from the Chronicle must _be translated_. With regard to what you
say of retouching the Juans and the Hints, it is all very well; but
I can't _furbish_. I am like the tiger (in poesy), if I miss the
first spring, I go growling back to my jungle. There is no second;
I can't correct; I can't, and I won't. Nobody ever succeeds in it,
great or small. Tasso remade the whole of his Jerusalem; but who
ever reads that version? all the world goes to the first. Pope
_added_ to 'The Rape of the Lock,' but did not reduce it. You must
take my things as they happen to be. If they are not likely to
suit, reduce their _estimate_ accordingly. I would rather give them
away than hack and hew them. I don't say that you are not right: I
merely repeat that I cannot better them. I must 'either make a
spoon, or spoil a horn;' and there's an end.

"Yours.

"P.S. Of the praises of that little * * * Keats. I shall observe as
Johnson did when Sheridan the actor got a _pension_: 'What! has
_he_ got a pension? Then it is time that I should give up _mine_!'
Nobody could be prouder of the praise of the Edinburgh than I was,
or more alive to their censure, as I showed in English Bards and
Scotch Reviewers. At present _all the men_ they have ever praised
are degraded by that insane article. Why don't they review and
praise 'Solomon's Guide to Health?' it is better sense and as much
poetry as Johnny Keats.

"Bowles must be _bowled_ down. 'Tis a sad match at cricket if he
can get any notches at Pope's expense. If he once get into
'_Lord's_ ground,' (to continue the pun, because it is foolish,) I
think I could beat him in one innings. You did not know, perhaps,
that I was once (_not metaphorically_, but _really_,) a good
cricketer, particularly in _batting_, and I played in the Harrow
match against the Etonians in 1805, gaining more notches (as one of
our chosen eleven) than any, except Lord Ipswich and Brookman, on
our side."

[Footnote 12: A celebrated hair-dresser.]

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