A description of your village society would be very gratifying to me—­how the manners differ from those in larger societies, or in those under different circumstances.  I have observed an extraordinary difference in village manners in England, especially between those places otherwise nearly alike, when there was and when there was not a leading man, or a squire’s family, or a manufactory near, or a populous, vitiated town, all these, and many other circumstances have great influence. Your quiet village, with such influencing minds, I am disposed to think highly of.  No one, perhaps, very rich—­none miserably poor.  No girls, from six years to sixteen, sent to a factory, where men, women, and children of all ages are continually with them breathing contagion.  Not all, however:  we are not so evil—­there is a resisting power, and it is strong; but the thing itself, the congregation of so many minds, and the intercourse it occasions, will have its powerful and visible effect.  But these you have not; yet, as you mention your schools of both kinds, you must be more populous and perhaps not so happy as I was giving myself to believe....

The world has not spoiled you, Mary, I do believe:  now it has me.  I have been absorbed in its mighty vortex, and gone into the midst of its greatness, and joined in its festivities and frivolities, and been intimate with its children.  You may like me very well, my kind friend, while the purifying water, and your more effectual imagination, is between us; but come you to England, or let me be in Ireland, and place us where mind becomes acquainted with mind—­and then!  Ah, Mary Leadbeater! you would have done with your friendship with me!  Child of simplicity and virtue, how can you let yourself be so deceived?  Am I not a great fat rector, living upon a mighty income, while my poor curate starves with six hungry children upon the scraps that fall from the luxurious table?  Do I not visit that horrible London, and enter into its abominable dissipations?  Am not I this day going to dine on venison and drink claret?  Have I not been at election dinners, and joined the Babel-confusion of a town hall?  Child of simplicity! am I fit to be a friend to you, and to the peaceful, mild, pure, and gentle people about you?  One thing is true—­I wish I had the qualification.  But I am of the world, Mary....

I return all your good wishes, think of you, and with much regard, more than, indeed, belongs to a man of the world!  Still, let me be permitted to address thee.—­O my dear Mrs. Leadbeater, this is so humble that I am afraid it is vain.  Well! write soon, then, and believe me to be

Most sincerely and affectionately yours.

WILLIAM BLAKE

1757-1827

TO JOHN FLAXMAN

Friends ’from eternity’

Felpham, 21 Sept. 1800.