I ought to tell you that Mr. H. is quite agreeable to our return, and that there is all the appearance in the world of our being fully employed in engraving for his projected works, particularly Cowper’s Milton—­a work now on foot by subscription, and I understand that the subscription goes on briskly.  This work is to be a very elegant one, and to consist of all Milton’s Poems with Cowper’s Notes, and translations by Cowper from Milton’s Latin and Italian poems.  These works will be ornamented with engravings from designs by Romney, Flaxman, and your humble servant, and to be engraved also by the last-mentioned.  The profits of the work are intended to be appropriated to erect a monument to the memory of Cowper in St. Paul’s or Westminster Abbey.  Such is the project; and Mr. Addington and Mr. Pitt are both among the subscribers, which are already numerous and of the first rank.  The price of the work is six guineas.  Thus I hope that all our three years’ trouble ends in good-luck at last, and shall be forgot by my affections, and only remembered by my understanding, to be a memento in time to come, and to speak to future generations by a sublime allegory, which is now perfectly completed into a grand Poem.  I may praise it, since I dare not pretend to be any other than the secretary; the authors are in Eternity.  I consider it as the grandest Poem that this world contains.  Allegory addressed to the intellectual powers, while it is altogether hidden from the corporeal understanding, is my definition of the most sublime Poetry.  It is also somewhat in the same manner defined by Plato.  This Poem shall, by Divine assistance, be progressively printed and ornamented with prints, and given to the public.  But of this work I take care to say little to Mr. H., since he is as much averse to my Poetry as he is to a chapter in the Bible.  He knows that I have writ it, for I have shown it to him, and he has read part by his own desire, and has looked with sufficient contempt to enhance my opinion of it.  But I do not wish to imitate by seeming too obstinate in poetic pursuits.  But if all the world should set their faces against this, I have orders to set my face like a flint (Ezek. iii. 8) against their faces, and my forehead against their foreheads.

As to Mr. H., I feel myself at liberty to say as follows upon this ticklish subject.  I regard fashion in Poetry as little as I do in Painting:  so, if both Poets and Painters should alternately dislike (but I know the majority of them will not), I am not to regard it at all.  But Mr. H. approves of my Designs as little as he does of my Poems, and I have been forced to insist on his leaving me, in both, to my own self-will; for I am determined to be no longer pestered with his genteel ignorance and polite disapprobation.  I know myself both Poet and Painter, and it is not his affected contempt that can move to anything but a more assiduous pursuit of both arts.  Indeed, by my late firmness, I have brought down his affected