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PRIVATE 
 
 (,Tfi>«rrp i«i'nn,'7r^'Ti?¥TiR\'r?P''Pr 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM COWrER, ESQ. 
 
 (( 
 
 WITH 9F.VEHAI. OF 
 
 HIS MOST INTIMATE FRIENDS. 
 
 NOW FIRST PUBLISHED FROM THE ORIGINALS 
 
 IN THE POSSESSION OF HIS KINSMAN, 
 
 JOHN JOHNSON, LL. D. 
 I 
 
 RBCTOn OF YAXUAM WITH WELUOUWE IV NORTOLK 
 
 FIRST AMERICAN EDITION 
 
 PHIUiDELPHM: 
 
 E. LITTEIX, A. SMALL, H. C. CAREY & I. LEA, B. & T. KITE, EDWARD PARKER, 
 A. FINLEY, M'CARTY & DAVIS, URLAH HUNT, RENNET & WALTON, AND 
 JOHN GRIGG. 
 
 AND COLLINS St HANNAY, NEW YORK. 
 
 William Brown, Printer. 
 1824. 
 
? 
 
TO 
 
 JOSEPH FOSTER BARHAM, ESQ. 
 
 Allow me, dear Sir, in presenting to the Public these 
 hitherto unprinted Letters of the poet Cowper, to indulge 
 my privilege as an Editor, and the personal feelings by 
 which I am actuated towards yourself, by inscribing them 
 to you. The interest attached to the name of Cowper 
 will, I trust, render this tribute of respect not unaccepta- 
 ble ; while it gratifies me highly to have thus an oppor- 
 tunity of assuring you of the grateful regard and sincere 
 esteem with which I subscribe myself, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 your obliged and 
 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 J. JOHNSON. 
 
 Yaxham Parsonage, December 10, 1823. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The idea of this publication first occurred to me, on 
 perusing some letters of Cowper to his estimable 
 friend Mr. Hill, which had not appeared in Mr. IFay- 
 ley's Life of him. It struck me. that, with the aid of 
 a few from other sources, I might be able to present 
 the public with an additional collection of those ad- 
 mired productions. Through the kindness of the 
 Rev. Thomas Bull, Mrs. Unwin, Mrs. Smith, and 
 the Rev. Professor Martyn, I was soon supplied with 
 materials for that agreeable undertaking; for which I 
 beg leave to offer them my grateful acknowledgments. 
 To Mrs. Hill I am especially indebted; lier oblig- 
 ing communication of the letters above mentioned 
 having eventually led to my acquisition of the others. 
 
 As the letters in the present volume are addressed 
 to the same persons (with the exception of Mrs. King) 
 as those in the former, it may be n^eedless to observe 
 that they were equally submitted to the selecting 
 
YJ PREFACE. 
 
 hand of Mr. Hayley. But, lest the reader should 
 suspect, that, having cropped the flower of the collec- 
 tion, my lamented friend, the biographer, has left me 
 only refuse to present to him, I am desirous of inter- 
 posing a few remarks in their favour. 
 
 By far the greater part of them are of a lively de- 
 scription, exhibiting frequent niarks of that playful 
 humour which is so peculiar to the letters of Cowper, 
 and of which Mr. Hayley has preserved so many spe- 
 cimens in the former volumes. That, indeed, is the 
 only ground on which I can account for his suppres- 
 sion of several that will be found in the following 
 pages. It was necessary to observe a measure, in the 
 admission of letters into his biographical work, and 
 not to insert all which he might otherwise approve, 
 lest the narrative should be overborne by the episto- 
 lary part of his publication. At the same time I am 
 ready to concede, that there are some letters, espe- 
 cially in the early part of this collection, which were 
 probably rejected as comparatively trifling. But as 
 these have all, more or less, some characteristic turn, 
 either of thought or expression, I have ventured to 
 introduce them to the reader's notice. 
 
 A few, and but a few, are of a pohtical nature. 
 The subjects, however, of these had so long ceased 
 to interest the public, that, having preserved some of 
 a similar description, it was not likely that Mr. Hay- 
 ley should be tempted to multiply them. But as the 
 
PREFACE. yii 
 
 reader may be curious to know more of what Cow- 
 per thought of the men and measures of those times, 
 than his biographer has furnished, I have ventured to 
 insert them; especially, as I wish this collection to 
 have, as much as may be, the air, both as to opinions 
 and events, of a supplen)entary life of the writer. 
 
 And lastly, there are many letters addressed to Mr. 
 Newton, with two or three to Mr. Bull, on tlie sub- 
 ject of religion; which, though not of general applica- 
 tion, but confined to its aspect on the mind of the 
 writer, were decidedly worthy of Mr. Hayley's inser- 
 tion; and the more so, indeed, on that very account; 
 his concern, as biographer, being rather with the in- 
 dividual than the community. But these, out of ten- 
 derness to the feelings of the reader, I am persuaded, 
 and for the gloominess they attach to the writer's 
 mind, he has utterly excluded. In doing this, how- 
 ever, amiable and considerate as his caution must 
 appear, the gloominess which he has taken from the 
 mind of Cowper, has the effect of involving his cha- 
 racter in obscurity. People read " the Letters" with 
 " the Task'^ in there recollection, (and vice vej'sa,) 
 and are perplexed. They look for the Cowper of 
 each, in the other, and find him not. The corres- 
 pondency is destroyed. Hence the character of Cow- 
 per is undetermined; mystery hangs over it; and the 
 opinions formed of him are as various as the minds 
 of the enquirers. That I am not singular in deduc- 
 
VIU 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ing these consequences from the suppression of the 
 gloomy, but, in many instances, strikingly pious pas- 
 sages, restored in the present Volume, I am warrant- 
 ed to assert, on the authority of a highly esteemed 
 friend, a man justly valued for hiA attainments in the- 
 ological knowledge, and extensively acquainted with 
 the state of religious opinions.* In alluding to these 
 suppressed letters, he emphatically says, " Cowper 
 will never be clearly and satisfactorily understood 
 without them, and they should be permitted to exist, 
 for the demonstration of the case. I know the impor- 
 tance of it, from nu\iierous conversations I have had, 
 both in Scotland and England, on this most interesting 
 subject. Persons of truly religious principles, as well 
 as those of little or no religion at all. have greatly 
 erred in their estimate of this great and good man.^' 
 Having thus bespoke the reader's attention to these 
 restored letters of Cowper to Mr. Newton, on the 
 ground of their illustrative tendency, I would engage 
 it still further, from a consideration of their beauty. 
 And here I account n)}self particularly fortunate, 
 in being favoured with the opinion of confessedly one 
 of the best judges of composition that this country 
 has to boast — the Rev. Robert Hall, of Leicester. In 
 a letter addressed to me, on the nineteenth of August 
 of the present year, he writes thus: 
 
 * The Rev. Lcgli Richmond 
 
PREFACE. JX 
 
 " It is quite unnecessary to say that I perused the 
 letters with great admiration and dehglit. I have 
 always considered the Jotters of Mr. Cowper as the 
 finest specimen of the epistolary style in our language; 
 and these appear to me of a supeior description to 
 the former, possessing as much beauty with more 
 piety and pathos. To an air of inimitable ease and 
 carelessness, they unite a high degree of correctness, 
 such as could result only from the clearest intellect, 
 combined with the most finished taste. I have scarce- 
 ly found a single word which is capable of being ex- 
 changed for a better. 
 
 *■ * * * * 
 
 '' Literary errors I can discern none. The selec- 
 tion of words and the structure of the periods are 
 inimitable; they present as striking a contrast as can 
 well be conceived, to the turgid verbosity which 
 passes at present for fine writing, and which bears 
 a great resemblance to the degeneracy which marks 
 the style of Ammianus Marcellinus, as compared to 
 that of Cicero or of Livy. A perpetual effort and 
 struggle is made to supply the place of vigour, 
 garish and dazzling colours are substituted for chaste 
 ornament, and the hideous distortions of weakness for 
 native strength. In my humble ppinion, the study of 
 Cowper's prose may, on this account, be as useful in 
 forming the taste of young people as his poetry." 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 " Tliat the letters will offord great delight to all 
 persons of true taste, and that you will confer a most 
 acceptable present on the reading world by publish- 
 ing them, will not admit of a doubt." 
 
 To this testimony to the merits of the epistolary 
 style of Cowper from so high an authority, it would 
 be the extreme of presumption in me to add a sylla- 
 ble. There is one subject, however, connected, if 
 not with the composition, yet with the matter of tliese 
 letters to Mr. Newton, to which I would beg to call a 
 few minutes' attention; — the aberration of mind which 
 they so painfully develop. To this was indisputably 
 owing all the gloominess of the character of Cowper: 
 a point which I am the more anxious to establish, as 
 it has been erroneously charged on his religious opi- 
 nions. But no — the iTnhappiness of this amiable man 
 is to be referred to the cause already stated; and that 
 again, to an excess of hypochondriacal atfection, induc- 
 ed, in the first instance, as I have repeatedly heard a 
 deceased friend of his and mine observe, by his having, 
 in very early life, improperly checked an erysipelatous 
 complaint of the face; which rendered him ever after 
 liable to depression of spirits. Under the influence 
 of one of these attacks, attended with evident mental 
 obliquity, he was impressed with an idea, originating 
 in a supposed voice from heaven, that the Author of 
 his life had recalled the loan. This was rapidly fol- 
 lowed by another, to this effect; — That as he had fail- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 XI 
 
 etl to restore it, in the intervening moment, the pun- 
 ishment of his disobedience would be everlasting de- 
 struction. 
 
 Now, I would ask those who have inadvertently 
 charged the unhappiness of this pitiable sufferer on 
 his religious opinions, to the operation of what theo- 
 logical tenets they can warrantably ascribe the sup- 
 position, not only of so preposterous a demand, but of 
 a denunciation, under such circumstances, more pre- 
 posterous still, as referred to the Supreme Being? — 
 It will be readily conceded, I trust, that, as no known 
 system of divinity can be justly charged with such 
 absurd principles as the above supposition would im- 
 ply, so that wMiich Cowper adopted, (whatever it might 
 be,) and through the influence of which on his divine 
 poem " The Task" he obtained the high eulogium 
 of being 
 
 " With more than painter's fancy blest, with lays 
 Iloly as saints to heav'n expiring raise," * 
 
 unquestionably cannot. And if this be granted, his 
 unhappiness must undoubtedly be referred solely to 
 his aberration of mind.f 
 
 * Pursuits of Literature. 
 
 t See more on this subject in the sketch of the Life of Cow- 
 per, prefixed to the third volume of his Poems, 8vo edit. p. IT—. 
 12mo. p. 19. 
 
Xil PREFACE, 
 
 Having conscientiously endeavoured, however fee- 
 bly, to exculpate the religious opinions of Cowper 
 from the charge of originating his mental distress, I 
 am anxious to anticipate an important question, in 
 reference to the desponding letters. Am I not afraid, 
 it may be asked, lest, in affording an indiscriminate 
 inspection into the gloomy interior of Cowper's mind, 
 I should minister to the melancholy contemplations 
 of some depressed spirit, and thus eventually assimi- 
 late it to his own? I answer, I should indeed fear it, 
 but for the circumstancealready mentioned; the strik- 
 ing irregularity of the writer's intellect on the subject 
 of his own salvability. This is the frame, if I may so 
 express it, in which all his gloomy pictures are con- 
 spicuously set; and as they cannot be separated, they 
 must be transferred, both or neither, to the mind of 
 another. But as experience teaches me that insanity 
 is not transferable, so I set my heart at rest as to a 
 transfer of the gloom, which in this case resulted 
 from it. 
 
 Should the eye, therefore, of any desponding per- 
 son meet the letters alluded to, whilst he remembers 
 the circumstances under which they were written, let 
 him, in the exercise of the virtues, and genuine 
 though gloomy piety which they exhibit, anticipate 
 a happy issue, sooner or later, out of all his afllictions. 
 through the same Hand which delivered Cowper, 
 
PREFACE. Xiii 
 
 Though sunk *' beneath a rougher sea, 
 And whelm'd in deeper gulphs than he. 
 
 '>* 
 
 On casting my eye over one of the former volumes^ 
 I discovered that I had accidentally sent a letter to 
 the press which was already before the public. I was 
 led into this mistake through the inaccuracy either 
 of Mr. Hayley's amanuensis, or his printer, in regard 
 to dates. Not finding it under his real one of February 
 6, 1781, I naturally concluded that it had not been 
 printed; but it afterwards appeared, though too late 
 to be recalled, under July 6, of the same year. It 
 might have been expected, indeed, that, having my- 
 self edited the volumes alluded to, I should have been 
 aware of its previous insertion; but the truth is, the 
 manuscript letters being as familiar to me as the pub- 
 lished, and undistinguished in my mind, in preparing 
 the former for the press, I depended wholly on the 
 dates of the latter. 
 
 .But for the above detection, I should have been 
 betrayed into similar repetitions afterwards. I trust, 
 however, that through the watchfulness it excited, the 
 duplicate above mentioned will prove a solitary in- 
 stance. 
 
 From this and other causes, the editing these 
 letters has been a work of labour to me ; but it has 
 been a pleasant one. It has recalled to my recol- 
 
 * See the affecting lines, entitled " The Castaway." — Cow- 
 per's Poems, vol. iii. 
 
Xiv PREFACE. 
 
 lection times and places, long past and lost sight 
 of, but never to be forgotten; and by the help of an 
 elegant little volume, in which the scenery about 01- 
 ney and Weston is faithfully delineated, has at inter- 
 vals, almost beguiled me into an imagination that I 
 was still there, and my revered relative with me.* 
 
 Having exercised the mind of the reader with reci- 
 tals not of the most enlivening tone, I may have thereby 
 unfitted it for an entrance on the sprightly letters at 
 the commencement of this volume. As a prelude, 
 therefore, to those playful epistolary specimens, I will 
 present him with one which, for an obvious reason, 
 I could not introduce into the work itself, but which 
 may Imd an appropriate insertion here. It not only 
 shews, as my obliging friend Mr. Hall observed to me, 
 " how gracefully the author could trifle, but displays 
 a pleasing wildness of imagination." It is of an older 
 date than any of the other letters, having been writ- 
 ten when Cowper was a young man in the Temple, 
 as a contribution to the " Nonsense Club," of which 
 he reminds Mr. Hill in the former collection, and of 
 which themselves, Bonnel Thornton, Lloyd, and the 
 elder Colman, were members.f 
 
 • " The Rural Walks of Cowper." By J. and H. S. Storer, 
 Pentonvillc. 
 
 t Yn]. ii. letter '2'2'2. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 XV 
 
 letter from an owl to a bird of paradise. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I have lately been under some uneasiness at 
 your silence, and began to fear that our friends in 
 Paradise were not so well as I could wish; but I was 
 told yesterday that the pigeon you employed as a car- 
 rier, after having been long pursued by a hawk, found 
 it necessary to drop your letter, in order to facilitate 
 her escape. I send you this by the claws of a distant 
 relation of mine, an eagle, who lives on the top of a 
 neighbouring mountain. The nights being short at 
 this time of the year, my epistle will probably be so 
 too; and it strains my eyes not a little to write, when 
 it is not as dark as pitch. I am likewise much dis- 
 tressed for ink: the blackberry juice which I had 
 bottled up having been all exhausted, I am forced to 
 dip my beak in the blood of a mouse, which I have 
 just caught; and it is so very savoury, that I think in 
 my heart I swallow more than I expend in writing. 
 A monkey who lately arrived in these parts, is teach- 
 ing me and my eldest daughter to dance. The mo- 
 tion was a little uneasy to us at first, as he taught us 
 to strech our wings wide, and to turn out our toes; 
 but it is easier now. I, in particular, am a tolerable 
 proficient in a hornpipe, and can foot it very nimbly 
 with a switch tucked under my left wing, considering 
 
XVi PREFACE. 
 
 my years and infirmities. As yoii are constantly 
 gazing at the sun, it is no wonder that you complain 
 of a weakness in your eyes; how should it be other- 
 wise, when mine are none of the strongest, thougrh I 
 always draw the curtains over them as soon as he 
 rises, in order to shut out as much of his light as pos- 
 sible? We have had a miserable dry season, and my 
 ivy-bush is sadly out of repair. I shall be obliged to 
 you if you will favour me with a shower or two, which 
 you can easily do, by driving a few clouds together 
 over the wood, and beating them about with your 
 wings till they fall to pieces. I send you some of the 
 largest berries the bush has produced, for your chil- 
 dren to play withaL A neighbouring physician, who 
 is a goat of great experience, says they will cure the 
 worms; so if they chance to swallow them, you need 
 not be frightened. I have lately had a violent fit of 
 the pip, which festered my rump to a prodigious de- 
 gree. I have shed almost every feather in my tail, 
 and must not hope for a new pair of breches till next 
 spring; so shall think myself happy if I escape the 
 chincough, which is generally very rife in moulting 
 season. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, &c. &c. 
 
 Madge. 
 
 P. S. — I hear my character as first minister is a 
 good deal censured; but "Let them censure; what 
 care I?" 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pagt 
 
 I'o Joseph HJIl, Kaq. July 3, 1765. Account of Huntingdon - - 25 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Ksq. Aug'. 14, 1765. Expectecl Excursion - - 27 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 5, 1765. Agreement with the Hev. W. Un- 
 
 win ....-.--.---28 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 8, 1766. Declining- to read Lectures at 
 
 Lyons' Inn .-.-..--.--29 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 1, 1765. Entertainment proposed to be 
 given to the Students of New Inn ...... 30 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 27, 1766. Directing a sale of stock - - 32 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. May 14, 1767. Frog-iess in Gardening' - - 33 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. June 16, 1767 General f^lection - - - 34 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 10, 1767. Invitation to Olncy - - - 35 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. .Ian. 21, 1769. On Mr. Hill's late Illness - - 36 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Jan. 29, 1769. The same subject - - - 37 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. -\ug. 27, 1771. Congratulations on his Mar- 
 riage ...---------58 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. June 27, 1772. Declining offers of Service - 38 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. July 2, 1772. Acknowledging Obligations - 39 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 5, 1772. Declining an Invitation to London 40 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 12, 1776. On Mr. Ashley Cowper's Reco- 
 very from a nervous Fever ..---..-40 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq April 20, 1777. On Gray's Works - - - 41 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. May 25, 1777 Gray's later Epistles.— West's Let- 
 ters ------------42 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. July 13, 1777. Selection of Books - - 42 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Jan. 1, 1778. Supposed Diminution of Cowper's 
 Income ------,-- ---43 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. April 11, 1778. Death of Sir Thomas Hesketh, 
 
 Bart. - - • - - 44 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. May 7, 1778. Raynal's Works - - - 44 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. June 18, 1778. Congratulations on Preferment 45 
 To the liev. William Unwin. July, 1779. Remarks on the Isle of Tha- 
 
 net - - - - 46 
 
 To the Rev. William Unwin. July 17, 1779. Advice on Sea-Bathing 47 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 2, 1779. With the Fable of the Fine-apple 
 
 and the Bee . - - 48 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 14, 1779. With a Poem on the promotion 
 
 of Edward Thurlow, Esq. ..-..---49 
 To Mrs. Newton. March 4, 1780. Mr. Newton's removal from Olney 49 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 16, 1780. Congratulations on his Profes- 
 sional Success 51 
 
 To -Mrs. Newton. June, 1780. Mishap of Tom F -and his Wife. — 
 
 The Doves --.-...----- 53 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. July 8, 1780. The Riots of 1780 - - - 54 
 To the liev. John Newton. July 12, 1780. With an Enigma - - 55 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Aug. 10, 1720. On hi.-, Recreations - - .^7 
 
 C 
 
xviil CONTENTS*. 
 
 To Joscpli Hill, Esq. Dec. 10, 1780. Argument on a point of Law 58 
 
 To tlie Kcv. John Newton. Dec. 21, 178U. On his Commendations of 
 Cowper's Poems ..........59 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 21, 1781. Progress of Error. Mr. 
 
 Newton's Works -- -61 
 
 To the liev. William Unwin. Feb. 6, 1781. On visiting Prisoners - 63 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Feb. 15, 1781. Catastrophe in the West Indies 64 
 To the Hev. John Newton. Feb. 18, 1781. With Table Talk. On Clas- 
 sical Literature ..--.....-65 
 To Mrs. Hill. Feb. 19, 1781. Acknowledging a Present received - 67 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Feb. 25, 1781. Mr. Scott's Curacies - 69 
 To the Uev. John Newton. March 5, 1781. Care of Myrtles. Sham 
 
 Fight at Olney - - 72 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. March 18, 1781. On the Poems of Expos- 
 tulation, &c. 74- 
 
 'I'o the Rev. John Newton. April 8, 1781. Requesting a Preface to 
 Truth. Enigma on a Cucumber ....... 77 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. April 23, 1781. Solution of the Enigma 78 
 To tlie Uev. John Newton. May 28, 1781. On the Heat. On disem- 
 bodied Spirits 80 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. July 7, 1781. His last Visit to Olney. La- 
 dy Austen's first Visit. Correction in Progress of Error. Intended 
 
 Portrait of Cowper 81 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. July 22, 1781. Progress of the Poem of 
 
 Conversation ......84 
 
 To Mrs. Newton. Aug. 1781. Changes of Fashion - - - - 85 
 To the liev. John Newton. Aug. 16. 1781. Conversion of the Green- 
 house into a Summer Parlour 87 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Aug. 21, 1781. State of Mind. Lady Aus- 
 ten's intended Settlement at Olney. Lines on Cocoa-nuts and Fish 90 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Aug. 25, 1781. Poem of Uetirement. Mr. 
 
 Johnson's Corrections --92 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Sept. 9, 1781. Censure of Occiduus 94 
 
 To Mrs. Nowton. Sept. 16, 1781. Lines on a Rarrel of Oysters - 96 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Sept. 18, 1781. Dr. Johnson's Criticisms 
 OM Watts and Blackmore. Smoking ...... 97 
 
 To the Uev. William Unwin. Sept. 26, 1781. Thoughts on the Sea. 
 
 Character of Lady Austen 100 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct 3, 1781. Directing Sale of Chambers 101 
 
 To tiie Uev. John Newton. Oct. 4, 1781. Religious Poetry - - 102 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Oct. 14, 1781. Disputes between the Rev. 
 
 Mr. Scott and the Rev. Mr. R. 104 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22, 1781. Proposed Preface to Cow- 
 per's Poems 106 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 7, 1781. Anecdote of Mr. Bull 108 
 To the Rev. William Unwin. Nov. 24, 1781. Apparition of Paul White- 
 head, Esq. 110 
 
 To Joscpli Hill, Esq. Nov. 26, 1781. In answer to his account of his 
 
 Landhuly and her Cottage - - - 112 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 27, 1781. Unfavourable prospect of 
 
 the American War - - - - 114 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Same date. With lines on "Mary and John" 115 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 2, 1781. Sale of Chambers - - -117 
 Vo the Rev, John Newton. Dec. 4, 1781. With Lines to Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, on the American War - - 118 
 
CONTENTS. >ix 
 
 Pag.' 
 
 f o the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 17, 1781. Poem of Heroism ; Nine- 
 veh and IJritain -.. 121 
 
 To the Hev. William Unwin. No date. On Providence - - - 124 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Shortest day, 1781. With Lines on the 
 
 Flatting- Ml 11 - - - _ • • - - 125 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Last day of 1781. The American Contest 127 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 13, 1782. The same subject - - 128 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Jan. 31, 1782. Political Reflections - - 130 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 14, 1782 With Copy of a Letter to Lord 
 
 Thurlow .-..--.-.-- 132 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. March 14, 1782. Mr. B.'s Case compared 
 
 with Cowper's .-..---.-- 133 
 To the Rev.' William Bull. Jun- 22, 1782. Lines on Tobacco - - 134 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. September 6, 178J. Mr. Small's Visit - - 136 
 To the Rev. Wiiliani Bull. x\'ov. 5, 1782. On his expected Visit - 137 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 11, 1782. On Phmting - - - - 138 
 To Josepii Hill, Esq. Nov. 1782. Correspondence with Mr. Small - 140 
 To Mrs Newton. Nov. 23, 1782. Suffei-ings of the Poor at Olney. Re- 
 ligious Reflections --.--...- 141 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 7, 1782. His Situation contrasted with Cow- 
 per's ----- 144 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 26, 1783. The Treaty of Peace - 145 
 To the Rev. William Unvvin. t'eb. 2, 1783. 'I'he same subject - 148 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Feb. 8, 1783. The same subject - 149 
 
 To Joseph Hdl, Esq. P'eb. 13, 1783. Cowper's Occupations - - 151 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Feb. .4,1783. Treaty with the United States 152 
 To the Rev. William Bull. March 7, 1783. With Epitaph on a Hare 134 
 To the Rev. John Newton. March 7, 1783. Highlanders at Olney - 155 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton, April 20, 1783. The writings of .His 
 
 probable Conversion - - - - - - - - -157 
 
 To the Rev. VV illi.im Unwin. May 12, 1783. The Knowledge of God a 
 
 Treasure --. ---159 
 
 To the Rev. William Bull. June 3, 1783. With Stanzas on Peace - 160 
 To the liev. John Newton. Sept. 8, If 83. Cowper's Mental Sufferings 161 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 20, 1783. Failure of the Caisse cVEscomptes 162 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22. 1783. Bacon's Monument of Lord 
 Chathauj ----------- 162 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 3, 1783. Fire at Olney described 164 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 17, 1783. Ludicrous Account of the 
 
 Punishment of a thief at Olney. Balloons 166 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 21, 1783. On liis Opinion of Vovages and 
 
 Travels " . - 169 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 30, 1783. Probable Occupations of 
 the Antediluvians --------- 170 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 15, 1783. Speculations on the in- 
 vention of Balloons -- -..-.- 173 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 27, 1783. Ambition and Public 
 Characters, (/hange of Ministers - - , - - - - 176 
 
 To Mrs. Hill. Jan. 5, 1784. Requesting her to send him some Books 179 
 To Joseph Hill. Esq. Jan. 8, 1784 On his Political Letters - 180 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 13, 1784. Cowper's Religious De- 
 spondency --. ISl 
 
 To the Rev. William Bull, Feb. 22, 17H4. Unknown Benefactor to 
 
 the Poor of Olney 183 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. March 19, 1784, Johnson's Lives of the 
 Poets 184 
 
-r* CONTENrS 
 
 I'o the Rev. VVilliaiii Unw in. March 21, 1784. The same subject - l85 
 
 lo the Kev. Willium I'liwin. April 25, 178-4. With lines on a Maly- 
 bull 188 
 
 To the Itcv. John Newton. May 10, 1784. Conversion of Dr. John- 
 son - . . - : - - 189 
 
 I'o the Hev. John Newton. June 21, 1784. Commemoration of 
 llandrl . . - - - 190 
 
 lo tlic lUv. ^Villiam liiwin. July 3, 1784. Latin Grammars. Un- 
 scasoiial)lc Cold .-......-- 192 
 
 i'o the Ucv. Joiin Newton. July 19, 1784. Commemoration of Han- 
 del : 194 
 
 I'o tile Ucv. John Newton. Oct. 30, 1784. Knox's Kssavs - - 194 
 
 i'o Joseph Hill, llsq. Dec. 4, 1784. Aerial Voyapes '- - - 195 
 
 To the Hev. John Newton. Jan. 5, 1781. With Epitaph on Dr. John- 
 son ..-.-......- 196 
 
 I'o Joseph Hill, Esq, Jan, 22, 1785. Severe Frost. Political Specu- 
 lations 198 
 
 To the IJev. Johi\ Newton. Feb. 19, 1785. Ingenuity of Mr. Killing- 
 worth, (.'ontrast. Misery of the Foor at Olney - - - - 199 
 
 To Joseph Hill, F.s(|. Feb. 1'7, 1785. Inquiries respecting his Health 202 
 
 I'o the Ke\. John Newton. March 19, 1785. History of u Card-table. 
 Ailments. I'olition to I'arliainent .--..-- 203 
 
 I'o the l{ev. John Newton. A|)riiy, 1785. Predicted E;irtlHiuake - 206 
 
 To llie Kev. John Newton. April 'J2, 1785. Celebrity of .iohn Uilpin 208 
 
 To llie Uev. John .Newton. M.iy 178'>. Death of Mr. Ashburner. Cow- 
 per's Hopes of Hestoration. lied of Tulips 209 
 
 To the Kev, John Newton, June 4, 1785. Mr. Greatheed's Preach- 
 ing' ...... 213 
 
 To the Hev. Jolm Newton, .lone 25, 1785. llelipous Reflections. 
 Sall\ Johnson. Nathan. Hatl Season. Taxation of Luxuries - 214 
 
 To tlu- Kev. John Newton. July y, 1785. Commemoration of Handel. 
 Destruction of the Sjiinncy ........ 217 
 
 To the Ue\. John Newton. Aujj. 6, 1785. Feelings of an Author on 
 hisiirst iViblication. Cowper's sentiments on his own Works. John 
 Gilpin 220 
 
 i'o tile Kev. John Newton. Aug. 27, 1785. Dr. Johnson's Diary. Mr. 
 Perr\'s Illness, und Admonitions - - 224 
 
 To the Kev. John .Newton. Sept. ,'4, 1785. Marine Excursions. Mr. 
 I'errv's Kecoverv. Heathenish Manners of the Poor of Olney - 227 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 11, 1785. On his Published Epistle to Mr. 
 Hill . - - 230 
 
 To the Itev. John Newton. Oct. 16, 1715. Death of Miss Cunning- 
 ham, i'roposed Kenioval of .Mr. Scott to the Lock, That Minis- 
 ter burnt in Efiigy - ....... 231 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Nov. 5, 1785. Mr. Newton's Authentic 
 Narrative. Heron's Leiters on Literature. Stanzas. Hockey . 234 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Estj. Nov. 7, 1785. Idle Acijuaintances . - 238 
 
 lo liie Kev. Jolm Newton. Dec. 3, 1785. Translalion of Homer. 
 Subscription ---..-.-... 239 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton, Dee. 10, 1785. Inordinate Praises. Pope's 
 
 Homer 242 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 14, 1786. Subscription for the Trans- 
 lation of ILiiner 244 
 
 To the Kev. Joim Newton. Feb. 18, 1786. Homer. Proposed Mot- 
 ''^<s for Mr. Newton's Work on the Commemoration of Handel . 24^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XXI 
 
 Page 
 
 To the Hev. John Newton. April 1, 1786. Expected Visits - - 248 
 
 To the Kev. Jolin Newton. May 20, 1786. Mental SuflTerings. De- 
 fence of Cowper'a Connexions 249 
 
 To the Kev. .John Newton. July 1786. Arrival of Lady Hesketh, 
 Cowper's Occupations --...-... 252 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton, Aug-. 5, 1786 Intended Ketnoval to Wes- 
 ton. Despondency 254 
 
 To the Kev. Joiin Newton. Sept. 30, 1786. Cowper's Connexions de- 
 fended 256 
 
 'I'o the Kev. John Newton. Nov. 17, 1786. Removal to Weston - 259 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Dec. 16, 1786. Death of Mr. Unwin - 261 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 13, 1787. Inscription for Mr. Unwin's 
 Tomb, 'translation of Homer ordained. Sally Perry's Case - 262 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Oct. 2, 1787. Mental Improvement. Ex- 
 pected arrival of Lady Hesketh 265 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Oct. 20, 1787. On Cowper's Recovery. 
 Petition on behalf of Mr. Postlethwaite ..... 267 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 21, 1788. Mr. Bean. Account of Mrs. 
 Uiuvin's dangerous accident --...... 269 
 
 To Mrs. King. J-'eb. 12, 1788. On Cowper's Poems. Commencement 
 of a Correspondence --.-..... 271 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. March 1, 1788. Returning Mr. Bean's 
 Letter 273 
 
 'i'o the Rev. John Newton. March 3, 1788. Arrival of Mr. Bean at 
 Olney 274 
 
 To Mrs. King. March 3, 1788. Sketch of Cowper's History - - 275 
 
 To Mrs. Hill. March 17, 1788. Acknowledging a Present - - 27^ 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. March 17, 1788. With Verses written at 
 his request 279 
 
 I'o Mrs. King, .^pril 11, 1788. On his Melancholy. Impediments to 
 their meeting. Th'-atiical representations 280 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. April 19, 1788. On the Slave-Trade - 281 
 
 To the Kev. William Bull. .May 25, 1788. Translation from Madame 
 Guyon 283 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. June 5, 1788. Declining to write a Poem 
 on the Slave-Trade 284 
 
 To Mrs. King. June 19, 1788. Physical Degeneracy of Man. Opinion 
 of the Poet Thomson 286 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. June 24, 1788. Affray at Olney. The 
 Slave-Trade 289 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Ksq. July 6, 1788. On his. loirrney into Rutlandshire 291 
 
 To Mr. King. August 28, 1788. Imaginary I'ortrait of .Mrs. King - 291 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Sept. 2, 1788. Sufferings and Apprehen- 
 sions. Mr, Bean's proceedings in his Parish 293 
 
 To .Mrs. King. Sept. 2.5, 1788. Acknowledging Presents received from 
 lier ; and with his Poems in return 295 
 
 To Mrs. King. Oct. 11, 1788. On his former Amusements, Carpentry, 
 Drawing, and (hardening 297 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Nov. 29, 1788. Decline of Jenny Raban. 
 Lady Hesketh's Cliaracter 300 
 
 To Mrs. King. Dec. 6, 1788. Changes at Great Berkhampstead, the 
 Birth-place of Cow per 301 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Dec. 9, 1788. Returning a Latin Manu- 
 script 303 
 
 To Mrs. King. .Jan, 29, 1789. Mrs. Unwin's Fall. Distress of the Royal 
 Family. Anecdote of Lord Thurlow - . . . . 305 
 
xxii CONTENTS. 
 
 r»gr. 
 
 To Mrs. Kintf. March 12, 1789. His Poem on the King's Recovery 306 
 To Mrs. Kiiif^'. April 22, 1789. Twining's Aristotle - . - . 308 
 To Mrs. Kinj;-. April .10, 17«9. I'ocnis hy Cowptr's Mrother - - 310 
 To Mrs. Kiiifi;'. May 30, 1789. On liis S(;inz:»s present! il to the Queen 311 
 To Mrs. Km);-. Aug. 1, 1789. Approiicliinjj Termination of tlie Trans- 
 lation of llonior 312 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Ksq. Aug. 13, 1789. Unfavourable Season. Hymn 
 
 for Oliiey School ...-.-..-. 314 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Avig. 16, 1789. Interruption of their Cor- 
 
 resixHulence tlirough Cowper's Transluiions ..... 315 
 To the Ilev. John Newton. Dec. 1, 1789. Renewal of correspondence. 
 
 l*oi)ular heroes -•---..-.- 316 
 To Mrs. King. Jan. 4, 1790. Renewing his suspended correspon- 
 dence .-.-..-...-- 318 
 To Mrs. King. Jan. 18, 1790. Residence at Weston. Criticisms on 
 
 Homer --.-- 319 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 5, 1790. Religious terrors and suf- 
 ferings 321 
 
 To Mrs. King. March 12, 1790. Picture of Cowper's mother . - 323 
 To Jos. Mill, i:s(i. May 2, 1790. Translation of Homer . - - 324 
 To .Mrs. King. June 14, 1790. Mr. Marlyn's illness - - . 325 
 
 To Mrs. King. July 16, 1790. On her late visit to Weston - - 327 
 To the Kcv. John Newton. Aug. 11, 1790. Illness of Mrs. Newton. 
 
 Aiiinuil Magnetism .-.....-- 329 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Ksq. Sept. 17, 1790. Subscription to the Translation 
 
 of Homer 331 
 
 To Mrs. King. Oct. 5, 1790. The same subject .... 33i 
 
 To the Uev.'john Newton. Oct. 15, 1790. ik-ath of Mrs. Scott. Trans- 
 lation of N'an Lier's Letters ....... 333 
 
 To the Itev. John Nowton. Oct. 26, 1790. Preface to Cowper's poems. 
 
 Autumn. Melancholy reflections -.-.-. 334. 
 
 To Mrs. King. Nov. 29, 1790. Mr. Martyn's commendations - - 336 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Dec. 5, 1790. Illness of Mrs. Newton - 337 
 To Mrs. King. Dec. ol, 1790. Convalescence of Cowper. Present of 
 
 a counterpane .- 338 
 
 To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 20, 1791. Death of Mrs. Newton - 339 
 To Mrs. King. March 2, 1791. Subscrijition at Cambridge for the 
 
 translation of Homer ...-.--.. 340 
 To the Uev. John Newton. March 29, 1791. Recollections of former 
 
 times. Occasional poems --...--. 342 
 To the Hev. John Newton. June 'o4, 1791. Ktfects of time. Condo- 
 lence on the loss of Mrs. Newton. Morality of Homer - - 344 
 i"o the Rev. John Newton. July -2, 1791. Cowper's labours compar- 
 ed with those of Mr. Newton, and other Ministers. Riots at llirming- 
 
 ham -• 347 
 
 To Mrs. King.- Aug. 4, 1791. Ill hcilth of Mr. and Mrs. King. State 
 
 of mind .....-..--. 349 
 
 To the Rev. Mr. King. Sept. 23, 1791. Acknowledging a Letter on 
 
 Mrs. King's Illness ..-..-... 350 
 
 To Mrs. King. Oct. 21, 1791. Congratulations on her Ilecovcry. Su- 
 perior Kortiluilc of Women. New Kdilion of Milton - - . 351 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 16, 1791. Misses Haimah and Martha 
 
 More. Sunday Schools .--.-... 353 
 
 To Mrs. King. J;oi.26. 1792, Dangerous nines'* of Mrs. I'nwin ■ vS^ 
 
CONTENTS. XXiii 
 
 Page 
 
 To the Uev. John Newton. Feb. 20, 1792. Lines for Miss Marllia 
 Moore's Colli ction of Autoj^raphs. Cowper's edition of Milton - 356 
 
 To the Uev. .Fohii Newton. March 4, 1792. Departure of Sir John 
 and Lady Throckinorloii for London -.---, 358 
 
 To Mrs. King March 8, 1792. Imprudence of going to Church too 
 soon after a fit of Rheumatism 359 
 
 To tlie Uev, John Newton. March 18, 1792. Cowper's Contentment. 
 Character of W , a Servant 360 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. April 15, 1792. With Lines on an Error in one 
 of his Poems --- - 362 
 
 To the Rev. Willi.am Hull. July 25, 1792. On Cowper's sitting for his 
 Portrait. Proposed Journey to Eurlham - . . . . 363 
 
 To tlie Rev. John Newton. July 30, 1792. His late Visit to Weston. 
 Hesitation respecting the Journey to Eartham .... 365 
 
 To Mrs. Charlotte Smith. Sept. 1792. Her Poems. Sincerity of Hay- 
 ley 367 
 
 To Mrs. Courtenay. Sept. 10, 1792. The French Revolution - - 368 
 
 To Mrs. King. Oct. 14, 1792. Account of his Visit to Eartham - 370 
 
 To the Rev, John Newton. Oct. 18, 1792. The same sul)jcct - - 371 
 
 To John Johnson, Esq. Nov. 5, 1792. On a Critique on the Transla- 
 tion of Homer 373 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 11, 1792. Impediments to his Cor- 
 respondence. Mental Sufferings 374 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 9, 1792. Progress of the Milton. 
 Despondency -....-...- 375 
 
 To John Johnson, Esq. Jan. 31, 1793. Lines on a Present from Mr. 
 Copeman 377 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 29, 1793. Pecuniary circumstances. 
 Translation of Homer .------.. 378 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. April 25, 1793. Correspondence with Dr. 
 Cogshall of New York. English Epitaph on Mr. Unwin - - 379 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. June 12, 1793, Infirmity of Mrs. Unwin. 
 Cowper's Melancholy 381 
 
 To the Rev. John Johnson. Aug. 2, 1793. On his Preaching. Self- 
 abasement 382 
 
 To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22, 1793. On a late Excursion. Mr. 
 Newton's " Letters to a Wife during three voyages to Africa" - 384 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 10, 1793. Alarming Sprain. Second edi- 
 tion of Homer . . . 385 
 
PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OF 
 
 WimM-Mi (O'^WIME^ mi 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, Huntingdon, July 3, 1765. 
 
 Whatever you may think of the matter, it is no such 
 easy thing to keep house for two people. A man cannot al- 
 ways live like the lions in the Tower; and a joint of meat, in 
 so small a family, is an endless incumbrance. In short, I never 
 knew how to pity poor housekeepers before ; but now I cease 
 to wonder at that politic cast which their occupation usually 
 gives to their countenance, for it is really a matter full of per- 
 plexity. 
 
 I have received but one visit since here I came. I don't 
 mean that I have refused any, but that only one has been offer- 
 ed. This was from my woollen-draper; a very healthy, wealthy^ 
 sensible, sponsible man, and extremely civil. He has a cold 
 bath, and has promised me a key of it, which I shall probably 
 make use of in the winter. He has undertaken, too, to get 
 me the St. James's Chronicle three times a-week, and to shew 
 me Hinchinbrook House, and to do every service for^e in his 
 power ; so that I did not exceed the truth, you see, when I spoke 
 of his civility. Here is a card-assembly, and a dancing-assem- 
 
 1) 
 
36 COURESPONDENCE OF 
 
 biy, and a horse-race, and a club, and a bowling-green, so that 
 I am weir off, you perceive, in point of diversions; especially 
 as I shall go to 'em, just as much as I should if I lived a thousand 
 miles off. But no matter for that; the spectator at a play is 
 more entertained than the actor ; and in real life it is much the 
 same. You will say, perhaps, that if I never frequent these 
 places, 1 shall not come within the descri|)tion of a spectator ; 
 and you will say right. 1 have made a blunder, which shall be 
 corrected in the next edition. 
 
 You are old dog at a bad tenant ; witness my uncle's and 
 your mother's geese and gridirons. There is something so ex- 
 tremely impertinent in entering upon a man's premises, and 
 using them without paying for 'em, that I could easily resent it 
 if I would. But I rather choose to entertain myself with think- 
 ing how 30U will scour the man about, and worry him to death, 
 if once you begin with him. Poor toad! I leave him entirely 
 to your mercy. 
 
 My dear Joe, you desire me to write long letters — I have 
 neither matter enough, nor perseverance enough for the pur- 
 pose. However, if you can but contrive to be tired of read- 
 ing as soon as I am tired of writing, we shall find that short 
 ones answer just as well; and, in my opinion, this is a very 
 practicable measure. 
 
 ]My friend Colman has had good fortune; I wish him better 
 fortune still ; which is, that he may make a right use of it. The 
 tragedies of Lloyd and Bensley are both very deep. If they 
 are not of use to the surviving part of the society, it is their 
 own fault. 
 
 I was debtor to Bensley seven pounds, or nine, I forget 
 which, li you can fnid out his l)rother, you will do me a great 
 favour if you will pay him for me ; but tlo it at your leisure. 
 Yours atid • tlieirs, 
 
 W. C 
 
WILLIAM COWPEIl. 27 
 
 ^ The author is supposed to mean Mrs. Hill and her two 
 daughters. The word theirs cannot so well rei'er to the last an- 
 tecedent, the persons who stand in that relation with it being 
 both dead at the tinnie he wrote, as is evident from the context. 
 
 LIPSIUS. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, August 14, 1765. 
 
 Both Lady Hesketh and my brother had apprised me of 
 your intention to give me a call ; and herein I find they were 
 both mistaken. But they both informed me, likewise, that you 
 were already set out for Warwickshire; in consequence of which 
 latter intelligence, I have lived in continual expectation of see- 
 ing you, any time this fortnight. Now, how these two ingeni- 
 ous personages (for such they are both) should mistake an expe- 
 dition to French Flanders for a journey to Warwickshire, is 
 more than I, with all my ingenuity, can imagine. I am glad, 
 however, that I have still a chance of seeing you, and shall 
 treasure it up amongst my agreeable expectations. In the mean 
 time, you are welcome to the British shore, as the song has it, 
 and I thank you for your epitome of your travels. You don't 
 tell me how you escaped the vigilance of the custom-house offi- 
 cers, though I dare sgiy you were knuckle-deep in contrabands, 
 and had your boots stuffed with all and all manner of unlawful 
 wares and merchandizes. 
 
 You know, Joe, I am very deep in debt to my little physi- 
 cian at St. Albans, and that the handsomest thing I can do will 
 be to pa)' him le pluiot qu'il sera possible, (this is vile French, 
 I believe, but you can, now, correct it.) My brother informs 
 me that you have such a quantity of cash in your hands, on my 
 
2S CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 account, that I may venture to send him forty pounds imme- 
 diately. This, therefore, I shall be obliged if you will manage 
 for me ; and when you receive the hundred pounds, which my 
 brother likewise brags you are shortly to receive, 1 shall be 
 glad if you will discharge the remainder of that debt, without 
 waiting for any further advice from your humble servant. 
 
 I am become a professed horseman, and do hereby assume 
 to myself the style and title of the Knight of the Bloody Spur. 
 It has cost me much to bring this point to bear; but I think I 
 have at last accomplished it. 
 
 My love to all your family. 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, Nov. 5, 1765. 
 
 I wrote to you about ten days ago, 
 
 Solicltinfj a quick return of gold, 
 
 To purchase certain horse that like mc well. 
 
 Either my letter or your answ-er to it, I fear, has miscarried. 
 The former, I hope; because a miscarriage of the latter might 
 be attended with bad consequences. 
 
 I find it impossible to proceed an}' fcnger in my present 
 course, without danger of bankruptcy. I have therefore en- 
 tered into an agreement with the Rev. Mr. Unwin, to lodge and 
 board with him. The family arc the most agreeable in the 
 world. They live in a special good house, and in a very gen- 
 teel way. They arc all exactly what I would wish them to be, 
 and T know I shall be as happy with them as I can be on this 
 side of the sun. I did not dream of this matter till about five 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 29 
 
 days ago : but rtow the whole is settled. I shall transfer myself 
 thither as soon as I have satisfied all demands upon me here. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR SEPHUS, Nov. 8, 1765, 
 
 Notwithstanding; it is so agreeable a thing to read Law 
 Lectures to the Students of Lyons' Inn, especially to the reader 
 himself, I must beg leave to waive it. Danby, Pickering must 
 be the happy man ; and I heartily wish him joy of his deputy- 
 ship. As to the treat, I think if it goes before the lecture, it 
 will be apt to blunt the apprehension of the students; and if it 
 comes after, it may erase from their memories impressions so 
 newly made. I could wish, therefore, that for their benefit and 
 behoof, this circumstance were omitted. But if it be abso- 
 lutely necessary, I hope Mr. Salt, or whoever takes the con- 
 duct of it, will see that it be managed with the frugality and 
 temperance becoming so learned a body. I shall be obliged to 
 you if you will present my respects to Mr. Treasurer Salt, and 
 express my concern, at the same time, that he had the trouble 
 of sending me two letters upon this occasion. The first of them 
 never came to hand. 
 
 I think the Welshman must morris ; — what think you ? If 
 he withdraws to his native mountains we shall never catch him : 
 so the best way is to let him run in debt no longer. 
 
 As to E — , if he will listen to any thing, it must be to a re- 
 monstrance from you. A letter has no more effect upon him, 
 than a messenger sent up to a paper kite ; and he will make me 
 pay the postage of all my epistles into the bargain. 
 
.A) COUllESPONDENCK OF 
 
 I shall be obliged to you if you will tell me whether my 
 exchequer is full or empty, and whether the revenue of last 
 year is yet come in, that 1 may proportion my payments to the 
 exigencies of my afl'airs. 
 
 My dear Sephus, give my love to your family, and believe 
 me much obliged to you for your invitation. At present 1 am 
 in such an unsettled condition, that I can think of nothing but 
 laying the foundation of my future abode at Unwin's. My 
 being admitted there, is the effect of the great good-nature and 
 friendly turn of that family, who, I have great reason to be- 
 lieve, are as desirous to do me service as they could be after a 
 much longer acquaintance. Let your next, if it comes a week 
 hence, be directed to me there. 
 
 The greatest part of the law books are those which Lord 
 Cowper gave me. Those, and the very few 1 bought myself, 
 are all at the Major's service. 
 
 Stroke puss's back the wrong way and it will put her in 
 mind of her master. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR SEPHUS, Dec. 3, 1765. 
 
 That I may return as particular an answer to your letter 
 as possible, I will take it ileni by Hem. 
 
 First, then, 1 rejoice with you in the victory you have ob- 
 tained over the Welshman's pocket. The reluctance with which 
 he pays and promises to pay, gives me hut little concern, fur- 
 ther than as it seems to threaten vou with the trouble of manv 
 
WILLIAM COWPElt. 31 
 
 fruitless applications hereafter, in the receipt of rny lordship's 
 rents. 
 
 Secondly, I am glad that you have received some money on 
 my account ; and am still more pleased that you have so much 
 in bank, after the remittances already made. But that which 
 increases my joy to the highest pitch of possible augmentation, 
 is, that you expect to receive more shortly. 
 
 Thirdly, I should be quite in raptures with the fair promises 
 of Mr. E — , if I believed he was in earnest. But the propensity 
 of that gentleman to indulge himself in a jocular humour upon 
 these serious occasions, though it is very entertaining, is not 
 quite so good a joke as the performance of those promises 
 would be. But men of wit are apt to be a little whimsical. 
 
 Fourthly, I do recollect that I myself am a little guilty of 
 what I blame so much in Mr, E — : in the last letter I wrote 
 you, having returned you so facetious an answer to your seri- 
 ous enquiry concerning the entertainment to be given, or not 
 to be given, to the gentlemen of New Inn, that you must needs 
 liave been at a loss to collect from it my real intentions. My 
 sincere desire, however, in this respect is, that they may fast ; 
 and being supported in this resolution, not only by an assur- 
 ance that I can, and therefore ought to make a better use of my 
 money, but also by the examples of my predecessors in the 
 same business, Mr. Barrington and Mr. Schutz, I have no lon- 
 ger any doubt concerning the propriety of condemning them to 
 abstinence upon this occasion ; and cannot but wish that point 
 may be carried, if it can be done without engaging you in the 
 trouble of any disagreeable haggling, and higgling, and twist- 
 ing, and wriggling, to save my money. 
 
 Lastly, if I am not mistaken, I owe Thurlow five guineas. 
 Be so kind as to pay him when he happens to fall in your way- 
 
 Yours, my dear Joe, 
 
 W. C. 
 
33 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 The fire of the general election begins to smoke here al- 
 ready. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR SEPHUS, Oct. 27, 1766. 
 
 If every dealer and chapman was connected with cre- 
 ditors like you, the poor commissioners of bankrupts would be 
 ruined. I can only wonder at you, considering my knack at 
 running in debt, and my slender ability to pay. After all, I 
 am afraid that tlie poor stock must sufl'er. * * * * * * 
 ****** My finances will never be able to satisfy 
 these craving necessities, without leaving my debt to you en- 
 tirely unsatisfied. And though I know you are sincere in what 
 you say, and as willing to wait for your money as heart can 
 wish, yet qusere, whether the next half year, which will bring 
 its expenses with it, will be more propitious to you than the 
 ])resent ? The succeeding half years may bear a close resem- 
 blance to their insolvent predecessors «;ontinually ; and unless 
 we break bank some time or other, your proposal of payment 
 may be always what it is at present. What matters it, there- 
 fore, to reprieve the stock, .which must come to execution at 
 last. 
 
 I am heartily glad my uncle^ has recovered his spirits ; and 
 desire you will remember me to all your associates at Taplow. 
 1 sympathise with you upon the fugitive nature of the longest 
 vacation, and wish, for your sake, that the chancellor would 
 pack up his great seal, and hold his court in your neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 Yours evei', 
 
 W. C. 
 
 • Ashley Cowper. Esq. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 33 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, May 14, 1767. 
 
 I only know that I was once the happy owner of a red- 
 leather trunk, and that my hrother, when I first saw him at 
 Cambridge, upon my enquiring after my papers, &c., told me 
 that in a red-leather trunk they were all safely deposited. The 
 whole contents of it are little worth, and if I never see them 
 more, I shall be but very moderately afflicted by the loss, 
 tliough I fancy the trunk upon the road will prove to be the 
 very trunk in question. 
 
 Together with your letter came a bill from my quondam 
 hosier, in Fleet-street, Mr. Reynolds, for the sum of two 
 pounds ten shillings, desiring present payment, cash being 
 scarce. I sent him an order for the money by this day's post. 
 My future expenses in the hosiery way will be small, for Mrs. 
 Unwin knits all my stockings, and would knit my hats too, if 
 that were possible. 
 
 I imagine my brother will be in town about midsummer, 
 when he will be able to confer with you upon the subject of 
 
 the inexorable Mr. E , more to the purpose than I can by 
 
 letter. 
 
 Having commenced gardener, I study the arts of pruning, 
 sowing, and planting ; and enterprise every thing in that way, 
 from melons down to cabbages. I have a large garden to dis- 
 play my abilities in, and, were we twenty miles nearer Lon- 
 don, I might turn higgler, and serve your honour with cauli- 
 flowers, and brocoli, at the best hand. I shall possibly now 
 and then desire you to call at the seed-shop, in your way to 
 Westminster, though sparingly. Should I do it often, you 
 
34 CORRESPONDENCE OP 
 
 would begin to think you hail a molher-in-law at Berkhamp- 
 Btead.* 
 
 Yours, dear Joe, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, .liine 16, 1767. 
 
 This part of the world is not productive of much news, 
 unless the coldness of the weather be so, which is excessive 
 for the season. VVc expect, or rather experience a warm con- 
 test between the candidates for the county : the preliminary 
 movements of bribery, threatening, and drunkenness, being 
 already taken. The Sandwich interest seems to shake, though 
 both parties are very sanguine. Lord Carysfort is supposed to 
 be in great jeopardy, though as yet, I imagine, a clear judg- 
 ment cannot be formed ; for a man may have all the noise on 
 his side, and yet lose his election. You know me to be an 
 uninterested person, and I am sure I am a very ignorant one 
 in things of this kind. I only wish it was ov^', for it occasions 
 the most detestable scene of profligacy and riot that can bo 
 imagined. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 • The writer's father having been rector of Berkliampstead, this proba- 
 bly alludes to tlie numerous commissions which his friend would recollect 
 he had to execute, when resident in tlie Temple, for his surviving part- 
 ner. 
 
William cowper. 35 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 Dear joe, Olney, Oct. 10, 1767. 
 
 One more law question ; and I believe the last, — A man 
 holds lands in the right of his wife, the rents payable half- 
 yearly, viz. at Lady-day, and Michaelmas ; dies in July. Are 
 not the rising rents the property of the widow ? I mean, the 
 rent of the whole last half year. You are a better counsellor 
 than I was, but I think you have much such a client in me, as 
 I had in Dick Harcourt. Much good may do you with me ! 
 
 I have no map to consult, at present, but by what remem- 
 brance I have of the situation of this place in the last I saw, it 
 lies at the northernmost point of the county. We are just five 
 miles beyond Newport Pagnell. I am willing to suspect that 
 you make this enquiry with a view to an interview, when time 
 shall serve. We may possibly be settled in our own house in 
 about a month, where so good a friend of mine will be ex- 
 tremely welcome to Mrs. Unwin. We shall have a bed, and 
 a warm fire-side, at your service, if you can come before next 
 summer; and if not, a parlour that looks the north wind full 
 in the face, where you may be as cool as in the groves of Va 
 lombrosa. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sephus, 
 
 affectionately ever, 
 
 W.C. 
 
;{(j CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO JOSEPIE HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, Oct. 20, 1768. 
 
 By this time, I pret;unic, you are returnecl to the pre- 
 cincts of the law. The latter end of October, I know, «i;ene- 
 rally puts an end to your relaxations ; such as readinj:; upon 
 sunshiny banks, and contemplating- the clouds, as you lie upon 
 your back. 
 
 Permit it to be one of tiie aliena negotia centum, which 
 are now bee;innin2; to buzz in your ears, to send me a twenty 
 pound note by the first opportunity. I beg my aflectionate 
 respects to my friends in Cook's-court, and am, dear Sephus. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, Jan. 21, 1769. 
 
 I rejoice with you in your recovery, and that you have 
 escaped from the hands of one from whose hands you will not 
 always escape. Deatli is either the most formidable, or the 
 most comfortable thine;, we have in prospect, on this side of 
 eternity. To be brought near to him, and to discern neither 
 of these features in his face, would ars^ue a degree of insensibi- 
 lity, of vvhidi I will not suspect my friend, whom I know to 
 be a thinking man. Vou have been brought down to the sides 
 of the grave, and you have been raised again by Him who has 
 the keys of the invisible world ; who opens and none can shut, 
 who shuts, and none can open. I do not forget to return thanks 
 to him on your behalf, and to pray that your life, which He 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 37 
 
 has spared, inay be devoted to "his service. " Behold ! I stand 
 at the door and knock," is the word of Him, on whom both 
 our mortal and immortal life depend, and blessed be his name; 
 it is the word of one who wounds only that He may heal, and 
 who waits to be pjracious. The language of every such dispen- 
 sation is, " Prepare to meet; thy God." It speaks with the 
 voice of mercy and ji;oodness, for without such notices, what- 
 ever preparation we might make for other events, we should 
 make none for this. My dear friend, I desire and pray, that 
 when this last enemy shall come to execute an unlimited com- 
 mission upon us, we may be found ready, being established and 
 rooted in a well-grounded faith in His name, who conquered 
 and triumphed over him upon his Cross. 
 
 "V ours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR JOE, Jan. 29, 1769. 
 
 I have a moment to spare, to tell you that your letter is 
 just come to hand, and to thank you for it. I do assure you, 
 the gentleness and candour of your manner engages my affec- 
 tion to you very much. You answer with mildness to an ad- 
 monition, which would have provoked many to anger. I have 
 not time to add more, except just to hint, that if I am ever 
 enabled to look forward to Death with comfort, which, I thank 
 God, is sometimes the case with me, I do not take my view of 
 it from the top of my own works and dcservings, though God 
 is witness that the labour of my life is to keep a conscience 
 void of offence towards Him. He is always formidable to me, 
 
38 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 but when I sec him disarmed of his sting, by having sheathed 
 it in the body ot" Christ Jesns. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOE, August 27, 1771. 
 
 I take a friend's share in all your concerns, so far as 
 they come to my knowledge, and consequently did not receive 
 the news of your marriage with indifference. I wish you and 
 your bride all the happiness that belongs to the state ; and the 
 still greater felicity of that state which marriage is only a type 
 of. All tbose connexions shall be dissolved ; but there is an 
 indissoluble bond between Christ and his church, the subject of 
 derision to an unthinking world, but the glory and happiness of 
 all his people. 
 
 I join with your mother and sisters in their joy upon the 
 present occasion, and beg my affectionate respects to them, and 
 to Mrs. Hill unknown. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 27, 1772. 
 
 I only write to return you thanks for your kind otfer — 
 Agnosco veteris vestigia Jlammyp. But I will endeavour to go 
 on without troubling you. Excuse an expression that disho- 
 nours your friendship ; 1 should rather say, it would be a trou- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 39 
 
 ble to myself, and I know you will be generous enough to give 
 me credit ;or the assertion. 1 had rather want many things, 
 any thing, indeed, that this world could aflford me, than abuse 
 the ati'ection of a friend. I suppose you are sometimes trou- 
 bled upon my account. But you need not. I have no doubt it 
 will be seen, when my days are closed, that I served a Master 
 who would not suffer me to want any thing that was good for 
 me. He said to Jacob, I will surely do thee good ; and this 
 he said, not for his sake only, but for ours also, if we trust in 
 Him. This thought relieves me from the greatest part of the 
 distress I should else suffer in my present circumstances, and 
 enables me to sit down peacefully upon the wreck of my for- 
 tune. 
 
 Yours ever, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 2, 1772. 
 
 My obligations to you sit easy upon me, because I am 
 sure you confer them in the spirit of a friend. 'Tis pleasant to 
 some minds to confer obligations, and it is not unpleasant to 
 others to be properly sensible of them. I hope I have this 
 pleasure — and can with a true sense of your kindness subscribe 
 myself, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
40 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 Nov. 5, 1772. 
 Believe me, my dear friend, truly sensible of your in- 
 vitation, though I do not accept it. My peace of mind is of 
 so delicate a constitution, that the air of London will not aspree 
 with it. You have my prayers, the only return I can make 
 you, for your many acts of still-continued friendship. 
 
 If you should smile, or even lauj^h at my conclusion, and I 
 were near enough to see it, I should not be angry, though I 
 should be grieved. It is not long since I should have laughed 
 at such a recompense myself. But glory be lo the name of 
 .Tesws, those days are past, and, I trust, never to return! 
 I am yours, and Mrs. Hill's, 
 with much sincerity, 
 
 w. c. 
 
 TO JOSEPFI HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 12, 1776. 
 
 One to whom fish is so welcome as it is to me, can have 
 no great occasion to distinguish the sorts. In general, there- 
 fore, whatever fish are likely to think a jaunt into the country 
 agreeable, will be sure to find me ready to receive them ; butts, 
 plaice, flounder, or any other. 
 
 Having suflered so much by nervous fevers myself, I know 
 how to congratulate Ashley upon his recovery. Other distem- 
 pers only batter the walls ; but thty creep silently into the cita- 
 del, and put the garrison to the swortl. 
 
 You perceive I have not made a squeamish use of your 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 41 
 
 obliging offer. The remembrance of past years, and of the 
 sentiments formerly exchanged in our evening walks, convinces 
 me still that an unreserved acceptance of what is graciously 
 offered, is the handsomest way of dealing with one of your 
 character. 
 
 Believe me yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 As to the frequency, which you leave to my choice, too, 
 you have no need to exceed the number of your former re- 
 mittances. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April— I fancy the 20th, 1777. 
 
 Thanks for a turbot, a lobster, and Captain Brydone ; a 
 gentleman, who relates his travels so agreeably, that he de- 
 serves always to travel with an agreeable companion. I have 
 been reading Gray's Works, and think him the only poet since 
 Shakspeare entitled to the character of sublime. Perhaps you 
 will remember that I once had a different opinion of him. I 
 was prejudiced. He did not belong to our Thursday society, 
 and was an Eton man, which lowered him prodigiously in our 
 esteem. I once thought Swift's Letters the best that could be 
 written ; but I like Gray's better. His humour, or his wit, or 
 whatever it is to be called, is never ill-natured or offensive, and 
 yet, I think, equally poignant with the Dean's. 
 I am yours affectionately', 
 
 W. C 
 
COKUPiSI'ONUENCE Of 
 
 TO JOSRIMI nil, I., KSQ. 
 
 MV DEAU VRIKM), May 25, 1777. 
 
 \Vc (lirtur iu)t iniioli in our opinion of Mr. Gray. Wheu 
 I wrote last, I was in the middle of the book. His later 
 Pipistles, I think, are worth little, ussuc/i, hut tnij:;ht be turn- 
 ed to excellent account by a youna; student of taste and judg- 
 ment. As to Mr. Wastes Letters, I think I could easily bring 
 your opinion of them to square with mine. They are elegant 
 and sensible, but have nolhina; in them that is characteristic, or 
 that discriminates them from the letters of any other young 
 man of taste and learning;. As to the book yon mention, I am 
 in dind>t whether to road it or not. I should like the philoso- 
 phical part of it, but (he j)olitica!, which, I sup|)ose, is a de- 
 tail of intrigues carried on by the Company aral their servants, 
 a history ol rising and falling nabobs, I should have no appe- 
 tite to at all. I will not, therefore, give you the trouble of 
 sending it at present. 
 
 \ ours ailcctionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FlUENl), July 13, 1777. 
 
 Yon need not give yourself any further trouble to pro- 
 cure me the South Sea Voyag-es. Lord Dartmouth, who was 
 here about a month since, and was so kind as to pay me two 
 visits, has furnished me with both Cook's and Forster's *Tis 
 well fur the poor naii\cs of those distant countries that our na- 
 tional expenses cannot be supplied by cargoes of yams and ba- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 43 
 
 lianas. Curiosiiy, therefore, beiiif^ once satisfied, they may pos- 
 6il)Iy be permitted for the future to enjoy their riciies of that 
 kind in peace. 
 
 If, whim you are most at leisure, you can find out Baker 
 upon the Microsopc, or Vincent Bourne's Latin Poems, the last 
 edition, and send them, 1 siiall be obliged to you. Either, or 
 both, if they can be easily found. 
 
 I am yours alfectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DRAR FlUEND, Jim. 1, 1778. 
 
 Your last packet was douhly welcome, and Mrs. Hill's 
 kindness gives me peculiar pleasure, not as coming from a 
 stranger to me, for 1 do not account her so, though I never saw 
 her. but as coming from one so nearly connected with yourself. 
 I shall take care to acknowledge the receipt of her obliging let- 
 ter, when I return the books. Assure yourself, in the mean 
 time, that I read as if the librarian was at my elbow, continu- 
 all}' jogging it, and growling out, Make haste. But as I read 
 aloud, I shall not have finished before the end of the week, and 
 will return them by the diligence next Monday. 
 
 I shall be glad if you will let me know whether I am to under- 
 stand by the sorrow you express, that any part of my former 
 supplies is actually cut off, or whether they are only more tardy 
 in coming in, than usual. It is useful even to the rich, to know, 
 as nearly as may be, the exact amount of their income ; but 
 how much more so to a man of my small dimensions. If the 
 former should be the case, 1 shall have less reason to be sur|)ris- 
 ed, than I have to wonder at the continuance of them so long. 
 
44 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Favours are favours indeed, when laid out upon so barren a soil, 
 where the expense of sowinp; is never accompanied by the small- 
 est hope of return. What pain tlicre is in 2;ratitude, I have often 
 felt ; but the pleasure of requiting an obligation, has always been 
 out of my reach. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 11, 1778. 
 
 Poor Sir Thomas !* I knew that I had a place in his 
 affections, and from his own information, many years ago, a 
 plaCe in his will ; but little thought that after the lapse of so 
 many years I should still retain it. His remembrance of 
 me, after so long a season of separation, has done me much 
 honour, and leaves me the more reason to regret his decease. 
 
 I am reading the Abbe with great satisfaction, and think him 
 the most intelligent writer upon so extensive a subject I ever 
 met with ; in every respect superior to the Abbe in Scotland. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, May, 7, 1778. 
 
 I have been in continual fear lest every post should 
 bring a summons for the Abbe Raynal ; and am glad that 1 have 
 finished him before my fears were realized. I have kept him 
 
 * Sir Thom.is Hcsketh, Baronet, of Ruffbrd Hall, in Lancashire. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 45 
 
 long, but not throu2;h neglect or idleness. I read the five vo- 
 lumes to Mrs. Unwin ; and my voice will seldom serve me with 
 more than an hour's reading at a time. I am indebted to him 
 for much information upon subjects, which, however interesting, 
 are so remote from those with which country folks in general 
 are conversant, that had not his works reached me at Olney, I 
 should have been for ever ignorant of them. 
 
 I admire him as a philosopher, as a writer, as a man of ex- 
 traordinary intelligence, and no less extraordinary abilities to 
 digest it. He is a true patriot. But then the world is his 
 country. The frauds and tricks of the cabinet, and the counter, 
 seem to be equally objects of his aversion. And if he had not 
 found that religion too had undergone a mixture of artifice, in 
 its tnrn, perhaps he would have been a Christian. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 18, 1778. 
 
 I truly rejoice that the chancellor has made you such a 
 present, that he has given such an additional lustre to it by his 
 manner of conferring it, and that all this happened before you 
 went to Wargrave, because it made your retirement there the 
 more agreeable. This is just according to the character of the 
 man. He will give grudgingly, in answer to solicitation, but 
 delights in surprising those he esteems, with his bounty. May 
 you live to receive still further proofs that 1 am not mistaken in 
 my opinion of him. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
46 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July — 79. 
 
 When 1 was at Maijjate, it was an excursion of pleasure 
 to go to sec Ramsgate. The pier, I retneinber, was accounted 
 a most excellent |)iece of stone-work, and such I found it. By 
 this tinne, I suppose, it is finished, and surely it is to no small 
 advantage, that you have an opportunity of observing; iiow 
 nicel}' those great stones are put together, as olten as you please, 
 without either trouble or expense. *»*****« 
 
 There was not, at that time, much to be seen in the Isle of 
 Thanet, besides the beauty of the country, and the fine pros- 
 pects of the sea, which are no where surpassed except in the 
 Isle of Wight, or upon some parts of the coast of Hampshire. 
 One sight, however, I rememlier, engaged my curiosity, and I 
 went to see it. A tine jiieoe of ruins, built by the late Lord 
 Ildlland, at a great expense, which, the day after 1 saw it, 
 tumbled down for nothing. Perhaps, therefore, it is still a ruin; 
 and if it is, I advise you by all means to visit it, as it must have 
 been much improved by this fortimate incident. It is hardly 
 possible to piU stones together with that air of wild ami mag- 
 nificent disorder which they are sure to acquire by falling of 
 their own accord. 
 
 I remember (the last thing I mean lo remember upon this 
 occasion) that Sam Cox, the counsel, walking- by the sea-side, 
 as if absorbed in deej) contemplation, was questioned about 
 what he was musing on. He replied, •' I was wondering that 
 such an almost infinite and unwieldy element should produce a 
 
 sprat.'' l)ur love attends your whole party. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 w. r. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 47 
 
 TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 17, 1779. 
 
 We envy your sea-breezes. In the garden we feel no- 
 thing but the reflection of the heat from the walls; and in the 
 parlour, from the opposite houses. I fancy Virgil was so situat- 
 ed, when he wrote those two beautiful lines: 
 
 oil qiiis me gelklis in vallibus Hacmi 
 
 Sistat, et ingenti ramoruni protegat umbri! 
 
 The worst of it is, that though the sun-beams strike as forcibly 
 
 upon my harp-strings as they did upon his, they elicit no such 
 
 sounds, but rather produce such groans as they are said to have 
 
 drawn from those of the statue of Memmon. 
 
 As you have ventured to make the experiment, your own 
 
 experience will be your best guide in. the article of bathing. 
 
 An inference will hardly follow, though one should pull at it 
 
 with all one's might, from Smollett's case to yours. He was 
 
 corpulent, muscular, and strong ; whereas, if you were either 
 
 stolen or strayed, such a description of you in an advertisement 
 
 would hardly direct an enquirer with sufficient accuracy and 
 
 exactness. But if bathing does not make your head ache, or 
 
 prevent your sleeping at night, I should imagine it could not 
 
 hurt you. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
4S COURESFONDENCE OF 
 
 rO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 2, 1779. 
 
 You begin (o count the rennaining days of the vacation, 
 not with impatience, but through unwillingness to see the end 
 of it. For the mind of man, at least of most men, is equally 
 busy in anticipating the evil and the good. That word antici- 
 pation puts me in remembrance of the pamphlet of that name, 
 which, if you purchased, I should be glad to borrow. I have 
 seen only an extract from it in the Review, which made me 
 laugh heartily, and wish to peruse the whole. 
 
 The newspaper informs me of the arrival of the Jamaica fleet. 
 I hope it imports some pine-apple plants for me. I have a 
 good frame and a good bed prepared to receive them. I send 
 you annexed a fable, in which the pine-apple makes a figure, 
 and shall be glad if you like the taste of it. Two pair of soles, 
 with shrimps, which arrived last night, demand my acknow- 
 ledgments. You have heard that when Arion performed upon 
 the harp, the fish followed him. I really have no design to fid- 
 dle you out of more fish, but if you should esteem my verses 
 worthy of such a price, though I shall never be so renowned as 
 he was, I shall think myself equally indebted to the muse that 
 helps me. 
 
 The Pitie */9pple and the Bee. 
 
 " The Pine-apples," &c.* 
 
 My affectionate respects attend Mrs. Hill. She has put Mr. 
 Wright to the expense of building a new hot-house : the plants 
 
 • vide Cowper's Poems. 
 
WILLIAM COWPfiR. 49 
 
 produced by the seeds she gave me, having grown so large as to 
 require an apartment by themselves. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 14, 1779. 
 
 Your approbation of my last Heliconian present encou- 
 rages me to send you another. I wrote it, indeqfl, on purpose 
 for you ; for my subjects are not always such as I could hope 
 would prove agreeable to you. My mind has always a melan- 
 choly cast, and is like some pools I have seen, which, though 
 filled with a black .and putrid water, will nevertheless, in a 
 bright day, reflect the sun-beams from their surface. 
 
 On the Promotion of Edward Thurlow, <§'c.* 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO MRS. NEWTON. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, March 4, 1780. 
 
 To communicate surprise is almost, perhaps quitCj as 
 agreeable as to receive it. This is my present motive for writ- 
 ing to you rather than to Mr. Newton. He would be pleased 
 with hearing from me, but he would not be surprised at it ; you 
 see, therefore, I am selfish upon the present occasion, and prin- 
 cipally consult my own gratification. Indeed, if I consulted 
 
 * Cowper's Poerrts, 
 C 
 
,'30 (;OI{UESI'ONl)KNCE OJ 
 
 yours, 1 should be silent, for 1 have no such budget as the Mi- 
 nisters, furnished ;ind stufll'd with ways and means for every 
 enuMj^ency, and shall lind it dillicult, perhaps, to raise supplies 
 even for a short ej)islle. 
 
 ^'ou have observed in common conversatimi, that the man 
 who couiilis the oftencst, (I mean if he has not a cold) docs it 
 because he has nolhing to say. Even so it is in letlcr-wriling : 
 a long preface, such as mine, is an ugly symptom, and always 
 foreboiles great sterility in the following pages. 
 
 T]ie vicarage-house became a melancholy object, as soon as 
 Mr. Newton had left it; when you left it, it became more me- 
 lancholy : now it is actually occupied by another family, even I 
 cannot look at it without being shocked. As 1 walked in the 
 garden this evening, I saw the smoke issue from the study 
 chinniey, anil said to myself, That used to be a sign that Mr. 
 Newton was there ; but it is so no longer. The walls of the 
 house know nothing of the change that has taken place; the 
 bolt of the chamber-door sounds just as it used to do ; and when 
 
 Mr. P goes up stairs, for aught I know, or ever shall know, 
 
 the fall of his foot couKI hardly, perhaps, be distinguished from 
 that of INIr. Newton. But Mr. Newton's foot will never he, 
 heard upon that staircase again. These reflections, and such as 
 these, occurred to me upon the occasion ;*****#. If 
 1 were in a condition to leave Olney too, I certainl}' would not 
 stay in it. It is no attachment to the place that binds me here, 
 hut an unfitness for every other. 1 lived in it once, hut now I 
 am buried in it, and have no business with, the world on the 
 outside of my sepulchre ; my ap|)earance would startle them, 
 and theirs would be shocking to me. 
 
 Such ai-e my thoughts about the matter. Others are more 
 deeply ail'ccted, and by more weighty considerations, having 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 5I 
 
 been many years the objects of a ministry which they had rea- 
 son to account themselves happy in the possession of. * * 
 
 We vvere concerned at your account of Robert, and have lit- 
 tle doubt but he will shuffle himself out of his place. Where 
 he will find another, is a question not to be resolved by those 
 who recommended him to this. I wrote him a long; letter, a 
 day or two after the receipt of yours, but I am afraid it was 
 only clapping a blister upon the crown of a wig-block. 
 
 My respects attend Mr. Newton and yourself, accompanied 
 with much affection for you both. 
 
 Yours, dear Madam, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 16, 1780. 
 
 If I had had the horns of a snail, I should have drawn 
 them in the moment I saw the reason of your epistolary bre- 
 vity, because I felt it too. May your seven reams be multi- 
 plied into fourteen, till your letters become truly Lacedaemo- 
 nian, and are reduced to a single syllable. Though I shall be 
 a sufl'erer by the effect, I shall rejoice in the cause. You are 
 naturally formed for business, and such a head as yours can 
 never have too much of it. Tiiough my predictions have been 
 fulfilled in two instances, I do not plume myself much upon my 
 sagacity ; because it required but little to foresee that Thurlow 
 would be Chancellor, and that you would have a crowded office. 
 As to the rest of my connexions, tlv re, too, I luve given proof 
 of equal foresight, with not a jot more reason for vanity. * * 
 
52 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 To use the phrase of all who ever wrote upon the state of 
 Europe, the political horizon is dark indeed. The cloud has 
 been thickening;, and the thunder advancing many years. The 
 storm now seems to be vertical, and threatens to burst upon the 
 land, as if, with the next clap, it would shake all to pieces. — 
 As for me, I am no Quaker, except where military matters are 
 in question, and there I am much of the same mind with an 
 honest man, who, when he was forced into the service, declai-- 
 ed he would not fight, and gave this reason — because he saw 
 nothing worth fighting for. You will say, perhaps, Is not Li- 
 berty worth a struggle? True: but will success insure it to 
 me ? Might I not, like the Americans, emancipate myself from 
 one master, only to serve a score, and, with laurels upon my 
 brow, sigh for my former chains again ? 
 
 Many thanks for your kind invitation. Ditto to Mrs. Hill, 
 for tlie seeds — unexpected, and therefore the more welcome. 
 
 You gave me great pleasure, by what you say of my uncle.* 
 His motto shall bo 
 
 Hie ver perpetuura atque alienis tnensibus xstas. 
 
 1 remember the time when I have been kept waking, by the 
 fear that he would die before me; but now, I think, I shall 
 grow old first. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 * Ashley Cowp^r, Esq. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 53 
 
 TO MRS. NEWTON. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, June, 1780. 
 
 When I write to Mr. Newton, he answers me by let- 
 ter; when I write to you, you answer me in fish. I return 
 you many thanks for the mackerel and lobster. They assured 
 me in terms as intelligible as pen and ink could have spoken, 
 that you still remember Orchard-side ; and though they never 
 spoke in their lives, and it was still less to be expected from 
 them that they should speak, being dead, they gave us an as- 
 surance of your afi'ection that corresponds exactly with that 
 which Mr. Newton expresses towards us in all his letters. — - 
 For my own part, I never in my life began a letter more at a 
 venture than the present. It is possible that I may finish it, 
 but perhaps more than probable that I shall not. 1 have had 
 several indifferent nights, and the wind is easterly ; two cir- 
 cumstances so unfavourable to me in all my occupations, but 
 especially that of writing, that it was with the greatest difficulty 
 I could even bring myself to attempt it. 
 
 You have never yet perhaps been made acquainted with the 
 unfortunate Tom F — 's misadventure. He and his wife return- 
 ing from Hanslope fair, were coming down Weston-lane ; to 
 wit, themselves, their horse, and their great wooden panniers, 
 at ten o'clock at night The horse having a lively imagination, 
 and very weak nervee, fancied he either saw or heard some- 
 thing, but has never been able to say what. A sudden fright 
 will impart activity, and a momentary vigour, even to lameness 
 itself. Accordingly, he started, and sprang from the middle of 
 the road to the side of it, with such surprising alacrity, that he 
 dismounted the gingerbread baker, and his gingerbread wife, 
 in a moment. Not contented with this effort, nor thinking 
 
54 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 himself yet out of danger, ho proceeded as fast as he could to a 
 full gallop, rushed against the gate at the bottom of the lane, 
 and opened it for himself, without perceiving that there was 
 any gate there. Still he galloped, and with a velocity and mo- 
 mentum continually increasing, till he arrived in Olney. I had 
 been in bed about ten minutes, when I heard the most uncom- 
 mon and unaccountable noise that can be imagined. It was, in 
 fact, occasioned by the clattering of tin pattypans and a Dutch- 
 oven against the sides of the panniers. Much gingerbread was 
 picked up in the street, and Mr. Lucy's windows were broken 
 all to pieces. Had this been all, it would have been a comedy, 
 but we learned the next morning, that the poor woman's col- 
 lar-bone was broken, and she has hardly been able to resume 
 her occupation since. 
 
 What is added on the other side, if I could have persuaded 
 myself to write sooner, would have reached you sooner; 'tis 
 about ten days old. *** *»** **« «* 
 The Doves* 
 
 The male Dove was smoking a pipe, and the female Dove 
 
 was sewing, while she delivered herself as above. This little 
 
 circumstance may lead you perhaps to guess what pair I had in 
 
 my eye. 
 
 Yours, dear Madam, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MON AMI, July 8, 1780. 
 
 By this time, I suppose, you have ventured to take 
 your fingers out of your ears, being delivered from the deafen- 
 
 * Vide Cowper's Poems, vol. i. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 55 
 
 uig shouts of the most zealous mob that ever strained their 
 lun^s in the cause of religion. I congratulate you upon a gen- 
 tle relapse into the customary sounds of a great city, which, 
 though we rustics abhor them, as noisy and dissonant, are a 
 musical and sweet murmur, compared with what you have 
 lately heard. The tinkling of a kennel may be distinguished 
 now, where the roaring of a cascade would have been sunk 
 and lost. I never suspected, till the newspapers informed me 
 of it, a few days since, that the barbarous uproar had reached 
 Great Queen Street. 1 hope Mrs. Hill was in the country, and 
 shall rejoice to hear that, as I am sure you did not take up the 
 protestant cudgels upon this hair- brained occasion, so you have 
 not been pulled in pieces as a papist. 
 
 w. c. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 12, 1780. 
 
 Such nights as I frequently spend, are but a miserable 
 prelude to the succeeding day, and indispose me above all 
 things to the business of writing. Yet with a pen in my hand, 
 if I am able to write at all, I find myself gradually relieved; 
 and as I am glad of any employment that may serve to engage 
 my attention, so especially I am pleased with an opportunity of 
 conversing with you, though it be but upon paper. This occu- 
 pation above all others assists me in that self-deception to which 
 I am indebted for all the little comfort I enjoy; things seem to 
 be as they were, and I almost forget that they never can be so 
 again. 
 
 We are both obliged to you for a sight of Mr. 's letter. 
 
 The friendly and obliging manner of it will much enhance the 
 
SB IMUtllESPONDKNCE Ol 
 
 difficulty of ansu-erini; it. I think I can sec plainly that though 
 he does not hopr for your applause, he would gladly e^c•apc 
 your censuio. lie sct>ms to approach you smoothly anil sotily, 
 and to take you jjeiitly by the hand, as if he bespoke your 
 lenity, ami entreated you at least to spare him. You have 
 sueh skill in the managjcment of your pen, that I doubt not 
 you will be able to send him a balmy reproof that shall give 
 him no reason to complain of a broken heail. — How delusive 
 is the wildest sj)ecuIation when pursued with eagerness, and 
 nourished with such arguments as the perverteil ingenuity of 
 such a mind as his can easily furnish! — Judgment falls asleep 
 upon the bench, while Imagination, like a smug, jx'rt counsel- 
 lor, stands chattering at the bar, and with a deal of fine-spun, 
 enchanting sophistry, carries all before him. 
 
 If I hud sti'ength of miiul, 1 have not strength of body for 
 the task which, you say, some would impose upon me. 1 can- 
 not bear much thinking. The meshes of that fuie network, 
 the brain, are composed of such mere spinners' threads in me, 
 that when a long thought finds its way into them, it buzzes, and 
 twangs, and bustles about at such a rate as seems to threaten 
 the whole contexture. — iNo — 1 must needs ivlVr it again to 
 you. 
 
 IMv enigma will jtrobably fuid yvui out, and you will find 
 out my enigma at some future time. 1 am not in a humour to 
 transcribe it now. Indeed 1 wonder that a sportive thought 
 should ever knock at the door of my intellects, and still moi*e 
 that it should gain admittance. It is as if harlequin should in- 
 trude himself into the gloomy chaml)er where a corpse is depo- 
 sited in state. His antic gesticulations would be unseasonable 
 at any rate, but more especially so if they shouKI distort the 
 features of the mournful attendants into laui:;hter. But the 
 mind long wearied with the sameness of a dull, dreary piw»- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. r^T 
 
 pect, will gladly (ix its eyes on any thins; that may make a little 
 variety in its contemplations, thoiij;-h it were but a kitten playing 
 with her tail. 
 
 You would helieve, though 1 diii not say it at the vud of 
 every letter, that we reniember you and JVlrs. JNewlon with tlie 
 same alFection as ever; but 1 vvoulil not therefore excuse myself 
 from writing what it gives you pleasure to ixixd. I have often 
 wished indeed, when writing to an ordinary correspondent, lor 
 the revival of the Roman custoni — saiulis at top, and lutlc at 
 bottom. But as the French have taught all Europe to enter a 
 room and to leave it with a most ceremonious bow, so they 
 have taught us to begin and conclude our letters in thr saiiic 
 mannei-. However I can say to you, 
 Sails ceremonief 
 
 Adieu, man ami I 
 
 w. r 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, Aug-. 10, IZHQ. 
 
 I greet you at your castle of Buen Retire, and vvisli you 
 could enjoy the unmixt pleasures of the country there. ]iut it 
 seems you are obliged to dash the cup w ilh a |)ortion of those 
 bitters you are always swallowing in town. Well — you are ho- 
 nourably and usefully employed, and ten times more beneficially 
 to society, than if you were pipii»g to a tew sheep under a 
 spreading beech, or listening to a tinkling rill. Besides, by 
 the etVect of long custom and habitual practice, you are not 
 only enal)led to endure your occupation, but even lind it agree- 
 able. 1 remember the time when it would not have suited you 
 so well, to have devoted so large a part of your vacation to th** 
 
 H 
 
5S CORRRSPONDENCE OF 
 
 objects ot your profession; ami yon, I dare say, have not for- 
 got what a seasonable relaxation yon found, when, lying at full 
 stretch upon the ruins of an old wall, by the sea-side, you 
 amused yourself with Tasso's Jerusalem, and the Pastor Fido. 
 I recollect that wc both pitied Mr. De Grey, when we called at 
 his cottage at Taplow, and found, not the master indeed, but 
 his desk, with his white-leaved folio upon it, which bespoke 
 him as much a man of business in his retirement as in West- 
 minster Hall. But by these steps he ascended the Bench. Now 
 he may read what he pleases, and lidc where he will, if the 
 gout will give him leave. And you who have no gout, and pro- 
 bably never will, when your hour of dismission comes, will, 
 for that reason, if for no other, be a happier man than he. 
 I am, my dear friend, 
 
 Afl'ectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 P. S. INIr. has not thought proper to favour me with hi? 
 
 book, and having no interest in the subject, I have not thouglit 
 proper to purchase it. Indeed I have no curiosity to read what 
 I am sure must be erroneous before I read it. Truth is worth 
 every- thing that can be given for it ; but a mere display of in- 
 genuity, calculated only to mislead, is worth nothing. 
 
 TO .lOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MV DEAR VKIENI), Dec. 10, 1780. 
 
 I am Sony that the bookseller shuffles ofl' the trouble of 
 package upon any body that belongs to you. I think I could 
 cast him upon this point, in an action upon the case, grounded 
 upon the terms of his own undertaking. He engages to serve 
 country customei's. Ergo, as it would be unreasonable to ex- 
 
Wri.UAM COWPER. /•,<> 
 
 pect tliat when a country gentleman wants a book, he should 
 order his chaise, and hid the man drive to Kxetcr Change ; and 
 as it is not probable that the book would laid the way to him, 
 of itself, though it were the wisest that ever was written, 1 
 should suppose the law would compel him. For I recollect it 
 is a maxim of good authority in the courts, that there is no 
 right without a remedy. And if another, or third person, 
 should not be suflered to interpose between my right and the 
 remedy the law gives mo, whore the right is invaded, much 
 less, I apprehend, shall the man himself, who of his own mcro 
 motion gives me that right, bo suflbrod to do it. 
 
 I never made so long an argument upon a law case before. 
 I ask your pardon for doing it now. You have but little need 
 •f such entertainment. 
 
 Vours affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 Dec. 21, 1780. 
 I thank you for your anecdote of Judge Carpenter. If 
 it really happened, it is one of the best stories I ever heard ; 
 and if not, it has at least the merit of being hcntrovato. Wc 
 both very sincerely laughed at it, and think the whole Livery 
 of London must have done the same ; though I have known 
 some persons whose faces, as if they had been cast in a mould, 
 could never be provoked to the least alteration of a single fea- 
 ture ; so that you might as well relate a good story to a barber's 
 block. 
 
 Noil ccjuidem invideo, miror magis. 
 
 Your sentiments with respect to me arc exactly Mrs. Unwin's. 
 
60 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 She, like you, is perfectly sure of my deliverance, and often 
 tells mc so. I make but one answer, and sometimes none at 
 all. That answer gives her no pleasure, and would give you 
 as little ; therefore at this time I suppress it. It is better on 
 every acoount that they who interest themselves so deepl}' in 
 that event, should believe the certainty of it, than that they 
 should not. It is a comfort to them, at least, if it is none to me ; 
 and as I could not, if I would, so neither would I, if I could, 
 deprive them of it. 
 
 I annex a long thought in verse for your perusal. It was 
 produced about last midsummer, but I never could prevail with 
 myself, till now, to transcribe it.* You have bestowed some 
 commendations on a certain poem now in the press, and they, 
 I suppose, have at least animated me to the task. If human na- 
 ture may be compared to a piece of tapestry, (and why not ?) 
 then human nature, as it subsists in me, though it is sadly faded 
 on the right side, retains all its colour on the wrong. I arn 
 pleased with commendation, and though not passionately desi- 
 rous of indiscriminate praise, or what is generally called popu- 
 larity, yet when a judicious friend claps me on the back, I own 
 I find it an encouragement. At this season of the year, and in 
 this gloomy uncomfortable climate, it is no easy matter for the 
 owner of a mind like mine, to divert it from sad subjects, and 
 fix it upon such as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, 
 above all things, is useful to me in this respect. While I am 
 held in pursuit of pretty images, or a pretty way of expressing 
 them, I forget every thing that is irksome, arid, like a boy that 
 plays truant, determine to avail myself of the present opportu- 
 nity to be amused, and to put by the disagreeable recollection 
 that I must, after all, go home and be whipt again. 
 
 • The verses alluded to, appear to have been separated from the 
 letter. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 61 
 
 It will not be long, perhaps, before you will receive a poem 
 called the Progress of Error. That will be succeeded by an- 
 other, in due time, called Truth. Don't be alarmed. I ride 
 Pegasus with a curb. He will never run away with me again. 
 I have even convinced Mrs. Unwin that I can manage him, 
 and make him stop when I please. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, Jan. 21, 1781. 
 
 I am glad that the Progress of Error did not Err in its 
 Progress, as I feared it had ; and that it has reached you safe ; 
 and still more pleased that it has met with your approbation ; 
 for if it had not, I should have wished it had miscarried, and 
 have been sorry that the bearer's memory had served him so 
 well upon the occasion. I knew him to be that sort of genius, 
 which, being much busied in making excursions of the imagi- 
 nary kind, is not always present to its own immediate concerns, 
 much less to those of others; and having reposed the truth in 
 him, began to regret that I had done so, when it was too late. 
 But I did it to save a frank, and as the affair has turned out. 
 that end was very well answered. This is committed to the 
 hands of a less volatile person, and therefore more to be de- 
 pended on. 
 
 As to the poem called Truth, which is already longer than 
 its elder brother, and is yet to be lengthened by the addition of 
 perhaps twenty lines, perhaps more ; I shrink from the thought 
 of transcribing it at present. But as there is no need to be in 
 any hurry about it, I hope that in some rainy season, which the 
 next month will probably bring with it, when perhaps I may 
 
62 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 be glad of employment, the undertaking will appear less for- 
 midable. 
 
 You need not withhold from us any intelligence relating to 
 yourselves, upon an apprehension that Mr. R has been be- 
 forehand with you upon those subjects, for we could get nothing 
 out of him. I have known such travellers, in my time, and 
 jNlrs, Newton is no stranger to one of them, who keep all their 
 observations and discoveries to themselves ; till they are ex- 
 torted from them by mere dint of examination, and cross-exa- 
 mination. He told us indeed, that some invisible agent sup- 
 plied )ou every Sunday with a, coach, which we were pleased 
 with hearing ; and this, I think, was the sum total of his in- 
 formation. 
 
 We are much concerned for Mr. Barham's loss ; but it is 
 well for that gentleman, that those amiable features in his cha- 
 racter, which most incline one to sympathise with him, are the 
 very graces and virtues that will strengthen him to bear it with 
 equanimity and patience. People that have neither his light 
 nor experience, will wonder that a disaster which would per- 
 haps have broken their hearts, is not heavy enough to make 
 any abatement in the cheerfulness of his. 
 
 Your books came yesterday. I shall not repeat to you what 
 I said to Mrs. Unwin, after having read two or three of the 
 letters. I admire the preface, in which you have given an air 
 of novelty to a worn-out topic, and have actually engaged the 
 favour of tlie reader by saying those things in a delicate and 
 uncommon way, which in general are disgusting. 
 
 I suppose you know that Mr. Scott will be in town on Tues- 
 day. He is likely to take possession of the Vicarage at last, 
 with the best grace possible ; at least, if he and Mr. Browne 
 can agree upon the terms. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 vv. c. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 63 
 
 TO THE KEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 6, 178L 
 
 Much good may your humanity do you, as it does so 
 much good to others. You can no where find objects more en- 
 tilled to your pity, than where your pity seeks them. A man 
 whose vices and irregularities have brought his liberty and life 
 into danger, will always be viewed with an eye of compassion 
 by those who understand what human nature is made of. And 
 while we acknowledge the severity of the law to be founded 
 upon principles of necessity and justice, and are glad that there is 
 such a barrier provided for the peace of society, if we consider 
 that the difference between ourselves and the culprit is not of 
 our own making, we shall be, as you are, tenderly affected with 
 the view of his misery, and not the less so because he has 
 brought it upon himself. I look upon the worst man in 
 
 Chelmsford gaol with a more favourable eye than upon , 
 
 who claims a servant's wages from one who never was his 
 master. 
 
 I give you joy of your own hair. No doubt you are a con- 
 siderable gainer in your appearance by being disperiwigged. 
 The best wig is that which most resembles the natural hair ; 
 why then should he that has hair enough of his own, have re- 
 course to imitation ? I have little doubt, but that if an arm, or 
 a leg, could have been taken off with as little pain as attends 
 the amputation of a curl, or a lock of hair, the natural limb 
 would have been thought less becoming, or less convenient, by 
 some men, than a wooden one, and been disposed of accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C 
 
ri4 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MV DEAH FRIEND, Eeb. 16, I7til 
 
 It is possible that Mrs. Hill may not be herself a sul- 
 fcrer by the late terrible catastrophe in the Islands ; but I should 
 suppose, by her correspondence with those parts, she may be 
 connected with some that are. In either case, I condole with 
 her; for it is reasonable to imagine that since the first tour that 
 Columbus made into the Western world, it never before expe- 
 rienced such a convulsion ; perhaps never since the foundation 
 of the globe. You say the state grows old, and discovers many 
 symptoms of decline. A writer, possessed of a genius for hypo- 
 thesis, like that of Burnet, might construct a plausible argu- 
 ment to prove that the world itself is in a state of superannua- 
 tion, if there be such a word. If not, there must be such a one 
 as superannuity. When that just equilibrium that has hitherto 
 supported all things, seems to fail, when the elements burst the 
 chain that has bound them, the wind sweeping away the works 
 of man, and man himself together with his works, and the ocean 
 seeming to overleap the command, " Hitherto shalt thou come, 
 and no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed,'* 
 these irregular and prodigious vagaries seem to bespeak a de- 
 cay, and forebode, perhaps, not a very distant dissolution. 
 This thought has so run away with my attention, that I have 
 left myself no room for the little politics that have only Great 
 Britain for their object. Who knows but that while a thousand, 
 and ten thousand tongues are employed in adjusting the scale of 
 our national concerns, in complaining of new taxes, and funds 
 loaded with a debt of accumulating millions, the consummation of 
 all thinate may discharge it in a moment, and the scene of all this 
 hustle disappear, as if it had never been ? Charles Fox would say. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEIl. (i/, 
 
 perhaps, he thought it very unlikely. I question if he couM 
 prove even that. I am sine, however, lie could not prove it 
 to be impossible. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THK UKV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 >fY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 18, 1781. 
 
 I send you Tahh-Talk. It is a medley of many things, 
 some that may be useful, and some that, for aught I know, may 
 be very diverting. I am merry that I may decoy people into 
 my company, and grave that they may be the better for it. 
 Now and then I put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the 
 opportunity that disguise procures me, to drop a word in favour 
 of religion. In short, there is some froth, and here and there 
 a bit of sweet-meat, which .seems to entitle it justly to the name 
 of a certain dish the ladies call a trifle. I did not choose to be 
 more facetious, lest I should consult the taste of my readers at 
 the expense of my own approbation ; nor more serious than I 
 have been, lest I should forfeit theirs. A poet in my circum- 
 stances has a difficult part to act: One minute obliged to bridle 
 his humour, if he has any, and the next, to clap a spur to the 
 sides of it : Now ready to weep from a sense of the importance 
 of his subject, and on a sudden constrained to laugh, lest his 
 gravity should be mistaken for dulness. If this be not violent 
 exercise for the mind, I know not what is, and if any man 
 doubt it, let him try. Whether ail this management and con- 
 trivance be necessary, I do not know, but am inclined to sus- 
 pect that if my Muse was to go forth clad in Quaker colour, 
 without one bit of ribband to enliven her appearance, she might 
 
 I 
 
66 COKRESPONDKNCE OF 
 
 walk from one enti of London to the other, as little noticed as 
 if she were one of the sisterhood indeed. 
 
 As to the word you mention, I a little suspected that you 
 would ohject to it. ********** * 
 # * * * I am no friend to the use of words taken from 
 what an uncle of mine called the diabolical dictionary, but it 
 happens sometimes that a coarse expression is almost neces- 
 sary to do justice to the indignation excited by an abominable 
 subject. I am obliged to you, however, for your opinion, and 
 though poetry is apt to betray one into a warmth that one is 
 not sensible of in writing piose, shall always desire to be set* 
 down by it. 
 
 Mr. Scott told Mr. Wilson yesterday or the day before, that 
 
 he had again asked Mr. R whether or not he intended to 
 
 continue his speaking, and that Mr. R would give him no 
 
 determinate answer. This 1 had from Mr, Wilson himself. It 
 will be well if that business ends peaceably. Nothing could be 
 more tenderly cogent than your letter to his colleague, and he, 
 for aught I know, may be properly influenced by it ; but it 
 seems plain that either the before-mentioned had not seen it, or 
 that if he had, he had not felt it. — Geary Ball has lost his wife. 
 She was buried on Thursday, having left her friends a comfort- 
 able hope of her welfare. 
 
 You had been married thirty-one years last Monday. When 
 you married, I was eighteen years of age, and had just left 
 Westminster school. At that time, I valued a man according 
 to his proficiency and taste in classical literature, and had the 
 meanest opinion of all other accomplishments unaccompanied 
 by that. I lived to see the vanity of what I had made my pride, 
 and ill a few years found that there were other attainments 
 which would carry a man more handsomely through life, than 
 a mere knowledge of what Homer and Virgil had left behind 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 67 
 
 them. In measure as my attachment to these s;entry wore off, 
 I found a more welcome reception among those whose acquaint- 
 ance it was more my interest to cultivate. But all this time 
 was spent in painting a piece of wood, that had no life in it. 
 At last I hegan to think indeed ; I found myself in possession 
 of many baubles, but not one grain of solidity in all my trea- 
 sures. Then I learned the truth, and then 1 lost it; and there 
 ends my history. I would no more than you wish to live such 
 a life over again, but for one reason. He that is carried to ex- 
 ecution, though through the roughest road, when he arrives at 
 the destined spot, would be glad, notwithstanding the many 
 jolts he met with, to repeat his jpurney. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, with our joint love, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. HILL. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, Feb. 19, 1781. 
 
 When a man, especially a man that lives altogether in 
 the country, undertakes to write to a lady he never saw, he is 
 the awkwardest creature in the world. He begins his letter 
 under the same sensations he would have, if he was to accost 
 her in person, only with this difference, — that he may take as 
 much time as he pleases, for consideration, and need not write 
 a single word that he has not well weighed and pondered be- 
 forehand, much less a sentence that he does not think superemi- 
 nently clever. In every other respect, whether he be engaged 
 in an interview or in a letter, his behaviour is, for the most part, 
 equally constrained and unnatural. He resolves, as they say, 
 to set the best leg foremost, which often proves to be what Hu- 
 dibras calls — 
 
GS CORUESl'ONDENCIi Ol 
 
 -IS'ot that of lujiic, 
 
 But mucli its better tl»' wooden one. 
 
 His cxtraoi-dinary eflTort only serves, as in tlio case ol" that hero,i 
 to throw him on the other side of his horse ; and he owes liis 
 want of success, if not lo absolute stupidity, \o his most earnest 
 endeavour to secure it. 
 
 Now I do assure you, Madam, that all these sprij^htly ellusion-s 
 of mine stand entirely clear of the charge of premeditation, and 
 that I never entered upon a business of this kind with more 
 simplicity in my life. I determined, before 1 began, to lay 
 aside all attempts of the kind I have just mentioned ; and be- 
 ing perfectly free from the fetters that self-conceit, commonly 
 called bashfulness, fastens upon the mind, am, as you see, sur- 
 prisingly brilliant. 
 
 INly principal design is to thank you in the plainest terms, 
 which always afford the best proof of a man's sincerity, for 
 your obliging present. The seeds will make a figure hereafter 
 in the stove of a much greater man than myself, who am a lit- 
 tle man, with no stove at all. Some of them, however, I shall 
 raise for my own amusement, and keep them, as long as they 
 can be kept, in a bark heat, which I give them all the year ; 
 and in exchange for those I part with, I shall receive such ex- 
 otics as are not too delicate for a green-house. 
 
 I will not omit to tell you, what, no doubt, you have heard 
 already, though, perhaps, you have never made the experiment, 
 that leaves gathered at the fall are found to hold their heat much 
 longer than bark, and are preferable in every respect. Next 
 year, I intend to use them myself. I mention it, because Mr. 
 Hill told me, some time since, that he was building a stove, in 
 which, I suppose, they will succeed much better than in a frame. 
 
 I beg to thank you again, Madam, for the very fine salmon 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 69 
 
 you was so kind as to favour me with, which has all the sweet- 
 ness of a Hertfordshire trout, and resembles it so much in fla- 
 vour, that, blindfold, I should not have known the difference. 
 I beg, Madam, you will accept all these thanks, and believe 
 them as sincere as they really are. Mr. Hill knows me well 
 enough to be able to vouch for me, that I am not over-much 
 addicted to compliments and fine speeches; nor do I mean 
 either the one or the other, when T assure you that I am, dear Ma- 
 dam, not merely for his sake, but your own, 
 Your most obedient 
 
 and affectionate servant, 
 
 w. r. 
 
 TO THE REV. .JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 25, 1781. 
 
 He that tells a long story should take care that it be not 
 made a long story by his manner of telling it. His expression 
 should be natural, and his method clear ; the incidents should 
 be interrupted by very few reflections, and parentheses should be 
 entirely discarded. I do not know that poor Mr. Teedon guides 
 himself in the affair of story -telling by any one of these rules, or 
 by any rule indeed that I ever heard of. He has just left us, after 
 a long visit, the greatest part of which he spent in the narration 
 of a certain detail of facts that might have been compressed into 
 a much smaller compass, and my attention to which has weaned 
 and worn out all my spirits. You know how scrupulously nice 
 he is in the choice of his expression ; an exactness that soon 
 becomes very inconvenient both to speaker and hearer, where 
 there is not a great variety to choose out of. But Saturday even- 
 ing is come, the time I generally devote to my correspondence 
 
70 CORRESPONDKNCE Ol 
 
 with you ; and Mrs. Unwin will not allow mc to let it pasS 
 vvitho'it writing, though, having done it herself, hoth she and 
 you might well spare me upon the present occasion. 
 
 I hove not yet read your extract from Mr. Scott's letter to 
 
 Mr, R , though I have had an opportunity to do it. I 
 
 thought it might be better to wait a little, in hope that there 
 might be no need to do it at all. If hereafter it should be ne- 
 cessary to inform him of Mr. Scott's feelings and sentiments 
 upon the subject, I will readily perform the office, and accom- 
 pany the performance of it with such advice of my own, and 
 such reasons, as may happen to occur. In the mean time, I 
 am a little apprehensive that opposition may provoke opposi- 
 tion in return, and set a sharper edge upon inclination, already 
 sufficiently whetted to the business. 
 
 We are not the proper persons to give counsel or direction to 
 Mr. Scott; our acquaintance with him is of too short a stand- 
 ing to warrant us in the use of such a liberty. But it is our 
 joint opinion that he will not find himself easily and comfort- 
 ably settled at Olney while he retains the curacy at Weston. 
 The people of that parish are rather inclined to grumble ; and, 
 as we are informed, express some dissatisfaction on finding that 
 they are to have but single service on the Sabbath ; and the 
 people here are not well pleased, though they will have the 
 same number of ordinances as before, that they are not to have 
 them at the same tim.e. Some, perhaps, may find the altera- 
 tion a real inconvenience; and others, who may not find it so, 
 will be glad of an occasion to pretend one. His resignation of 
 Weston would at once annihilate all these complaints, and 
 would, besides, place the Sunday evening service and the 
 whole management of it entirely in his own hands, which, as 
 it would prevent the possibility of any bickering on the ac- 
 count of supernumerary speakers, we should think were a most 
 
WILLIAM COVVPKU. 71 
 
 desirable object. We are well aware that the vicinity of 
 Weston to Ra'nstone is Mr. Scott's reason for still continuing; to 
 hold the former ; but whether, when weighed in the balance 
 against the mischiefs he may incur by doing it, it will be found 
 a sufficient one, may be a niatier deserving consideration. It 
 can be no very difficult thing for his former people to reach 
 him at Olney, though one mile will be added to their journey. 
 If they really prefer him to their new minister, we think such 
 a difficulty as that may be easily surmounted. Whether Mr. 
 Scott's circumstances will affiard the sacrifice, we do not know ; 
 but Mrs. Unwin thinks, and, if you ask me my opinion, I 
 think so too, that if there be no other objection to the measure, 
 he would do well to commit himself to Providence for a sup- 
 ply. Mr. Browne's age, and the probability, nearly related, 
 I suppose, to a certainty, that Mr. Scott will succeed him in 
 the living, seems, of itself, to reduce that difficulty almost to 
 nothing. My paper is so intolerably bad, as you may per- 
 ceive by the running of the ink, that it has quite worn out my 
 patience. 
 
 Notwithstanding my purpose to shake hands with the Muse, 
 and take my leave of her for the present, we have already had 
 a tete-a-tete^ since I sent you the last production. I am as 
 much, or rather more pleased with my new plan, than with 
 any of the foregoing. 1 mean to give a short summary of the 
 Jewish story, the miraculous interpositions in behalf of that 
 people, their great privileges, their abuse of them, and their 
 consequent destruction ; and then, by way of compaiison, such 
 another display of the favours vouchsafed to this country, the 
 similar ingratitude with which they have requited them, and 
 the punishment they have therefore reason to expect, unless re- 
 formation interpose to prevent it. Expostulation is its pre- 
 sent title ; but I have not yet found in the writing it, that faci- 
 
72 COURESPONDENCK OF 
 
 lity aiul readiness without which I shall despair to finish it well,' 
 or indeed to finish it at all. 
 
 Iklicve mc, my dear Sir, with love to Mrs. N. 
 Your ever afTectionate, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 5, 1781. 
 
 Since writing has hecome one of my principal amuse- 
 ments, and I have already produced so many verses on sub- 
 jects that entitle them to a hope that they may possibly be use- 
 ful, I should be sorry to suppress them entirely, or to publish 
 them to no purpose, for want of that cheap ino;redient, the 
 name of the Aiithor. If my name therefore will serve them in 
 any degree, as a passport into the public notice, they are wel- 
 come to it; and Mr. Johnson will, if he pleases, announce me 
 to the world by the style and title of 
 
 WiLLiAjNi CowPER, Esq. 
 Of the Inner Temple. 
 
 If you are of my mind, I think Tab/e Talk will be the best 
 to begin with, as the subjects of it are perhaps more popular; 
 and one would wish, at first setting out, to catch Ihe public by 
 the ear, and hold them by it as fast as possible, that they may 
 be willing to hear one, on a second and a third occasion. 
 
 The passage you object to I inserted merely by way of catch, 
 and thiidv. that it is not unlikely to answer the purpose. My 
 design was to say as many serious things as I could, and yet to 
 be as lively as was compatible with such a j)urpose. Do not 
 imagine that I mean to stickle lor it as a pretty creature of my 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 73 
 
 own that I am loth to part with — but I am apprehensive that 
 without the sprightliness of that passage to introduce it, the 
 following paragraph would not show to advantage. — If the world 
 had been filled with men like yourself, I should never have 
 written it; but thinking myself in a measure obliged to tickle, 
 if I meant to please, I therefore affected a jocularity I did not 
 feel. — As to the rest, wherever there is war, there is misery 
 and outrage ; notwithstanding which it is not only lawful to 
 wish, but even a duty to pray for the success of one's country. 
 And as to the neutralities, I really think the Russian virago an 
 impertinent puss for meddling with us, and engaging half a 
 score kittens of her acquaintance to scratch the poor old lion, 
 who, if he has been insolent in his day, has probably acted no 
 otherwise than they themselves would have acted in his cir- 
 cumstances, and with his power to embolden them. 
 
 I am glad that the myrtles reached you safe, but am per- 
 suaded from past experience that no management will keep them 
 long alive in London, especially in the city. Our own English 
 Trots, the natives of the country, are for the most part too deli- 
 cate to thrive there, much more the nice Italian. To give them, 
 however, the best chance they can have, the lady must keep 
 them \vell watered, giving them a moderate quantity in sum- 
 mer time every other day, and in winter about twice a week ; 
 not spring-water, for that would kill them. At Michaelmas, as 
 much of the mould as can be taken out without disturbing the 
 roots must be evacuated, and its place supplied with fresh, the 
 lighter the better. And once in two years the plants must be 
 drawn out of their pots with the entire ball of earth about them, 
 and the matted roots pared off with a sharp knife, when they 
 must be planted again with an addition of rich light earth as be- 
 fore. Thus dealt with, they will grow luxuriantly in a green- 
 house, where they can have plenty of sweet air, which is abso- 
 
 K 
 
74 COUttESPO^JDE^'CE OF 
 
 lutely necessary to their health. I used to purchase tlieni at 
 Covcnl-garclen ahiiosl every year, when I Hved in the Temple ; 
 hut even in that airy situation they were sure to lose their leaf 
 in winter, and seldom recovered it again in spring. 1 wish them 
 a better fate at Hoxton. 
 
 Olney has seen this day what it never saw before, and what 
 will serve it to talk of, 1 suppose, for years to come. At eleven 
 o'clock this morning, a party of soldiers entered the town, 
 driving before them another party, who, after obstinately de- 
 fending the bridge for some time, were obliged to quit it, and 
 run. They ran in very good order, frequently faced about and 
 fired, but were at last obliged to surrender prisoners of war. 
 There has been much drumming and shouting, much scamper- 
 ing about in the dirt, but not an inch of lace made in the town, 
 at least at the Silver End of it. 
 
 It is our joint request that you will not again leave us un- 
 written to for a fortnight. We are so like yourselves in this 
 particular, that we cannot help ascribing so long a silence to the 
 worst cause. The longer your letters the better, but a short one 
 is better than none. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin is pretty well, and adds the greetings of her love 
 to mine. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FIUEND, March 18, 1781. 
 
 A slight disorder in my eye may possibly prevent my writ- 
 ing you a long letter, and would perhaps have prevented my 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 75 
 
 writing at all, if I had not known that you account a fortnight's 
 silence a week too long. 
 
 I am sorry that I gave you the trouble to write twice upon so 
 trivial a subject as the passage in question. I did not understand 
 by your first objections to it, that you thought it so exception- 
 able as you do ; but being better informed, I immediately re- 
 solved to expunge it, and subjoin a few lines which you will 
 oblige me by substituting in its place. I am not very fond of 
 weaving a political thread into any of my pieces, and that for 
 two reasons : first, because I do not think myself qualified, in 
 point of intelligence, to form a decided opinion on any such to- 
 pics ; and secondly, because I think them, though perhaps, as 
 popular as any, the most useless of all. The following verses 
 are designed to succeed immediately after 
 
 -— — fights with justice on his side. 
 
 Let laurels, drenched in pure Parnassian dews, 
 Reward his mem'ry, dear to every Muse, &c.* 
 
 I am obliged to you for your advice with respect to the man- 
 ner of publication, and feel myself inclined to be determined by 
 it. So far as I have proceeded on the subject of Expostulation, 
 I have written with tolerable ease to myself, and in my own 
 opinion (for an opinion lam obliged to have about what I write, 
 whether I will or no,) with more emphasis and energy than in 
 either of the others. But it seems to open upon me with an 
 abundance of matter, that forebodes a considerable length ; and 
 the time of year is come when, what with walking and garden- 
 ing, I can find but little leisure for the pen. I mean, however, 
 as soon as I have engrafted a new scion into the Progress of 
 Error, instead of * * ^ *, and when I have transcribed Truth, 
 
 * Vide Poems, vol. i. p. 1 ; where, in the next line, the epithet unshaken 
 "'s substituted for the noblest, in the li^er. 
 
7b CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 and sent it to you, to apply myself to the composition last un- 
 dertaken, with as much industry as I can. If therefore the 
 three first are put into press while I am spinning and weaving 
 the last, the whole may perhaps be ready for publication before 
 the proper season will be past. I mean at present that a few 
 select smaller pieces, about seven or eight perhaps, the best I can 
 find in a bookful that I have by me, shall accompany them. 
 All together, they will furnish, I should imagine, a volume of 
 tolerable bulk, that need not be indebted to an unreasonable 
 breadth of margin for the importance of its figure. 
 
 If a Board of Enquiry were to be established, at which poets 
 w^re to undergo an examination respecting the motives that in- 
 duced them to publish, and I were to be summoned to attend, 
 that I might give an account of mine, I think I could truly say, 
 what perhaps few poets could, that though I have no objection 
 to lucrative consequences, if any such should follow, they are 
 not my aim ; much less is it my ambition to exhibit myself to the 
 world as a genius. What then, says Mr. President, can possibly 
 be your motive? I answer, with a bow — Amusement. There 
 is nothing but this — no occupation within the compass of my 
 small sphere, Poetry excepted — that can do much towards di- 
 verting that train of melancholy thoughts, which, when I am 
 not thus employed, are for ever pouring themselves in upon me. 
 And if I did not publish what I write, I could not interest my- 
 self sufficiently in my own success, to make an amusement of it. 
 
 In my account of the battle fought at Olney, I laid a 
 snare for your curiosity, and succeeded. I supposed it would 
 have an enigmatical appearance, and so it had ; but like most 
 other riddles, when it comes to be solved, you will find that it 
 was not worth the trouble of conjecture. — There are soldiers 
 quartered at Newport and Olney- These met, by order of their 
 respective officers, in Emberton Mai-sh, performed all the ma' 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 77 
 
 nofjuvres of a deedy battle, and the result was that this town 
 was taken. Since I wrote, they have again encountered with 
 
 the same intention ; and Mr. R kept a room for me and 
 
 Mrs. Unwin, that we might sit and view them at our ease. We 
 did so, but it did not answer our expectation ; for before the 
 contest could be decided, the powder on both sides being ex- 
 pended, the combatants were obliged to leave it an undecided 
 contest. If it were possible that when two great armies spend 
 the night in expectation of a battle, a third could silently steal 
 away their ammunition and arms of every kind, what a come- 
 dy would it make of that which always has such a tragical con- 
 clusion ! 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 8, 1781. 
 
 Since I commenced author, my letters are even less 
 worth your acceptance than they were before. I shall soon, 
 however, lay down the character, and cease to trouble you with 
 directions to a printer, at least till the summer is over. If I 
 live to see the return of winter, I may perhaps assume it again; 
 but my appetite for fame is not keen enough to combat with my 
 love of fine weather, my love of indolence, and my love of gar- 
 dening employments. 
 
 I send you by Mr. Old my Works complete, bound in brown 
 paper, and numbered according to the series in which I would 
 have them published. With respect to the poem called Truth, 
 it is so true that it can hardly fail of giving offence to an unen- 
 lightened reader, I think, therefore, that in order to obviate 
 
78 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 in some measure those prejudices that will naturally erect their 
 bristles against it, an explanatory preface, such as you (and no- 
 body as well as you) can furnish me with, will have every ^race 
 of propriety to recommend it. Or, if you are not averse to the 
 task, and your avocations will allow you to undertake it, and 
 if you think it would be still more proper, I should be glad to 
 be indebted to you for a preface to the whole, I wish you, 
 however, to consult your own judgment upon the occasion, and 
 to engage in cither of these works, or neither, just as your dis- 
 cretion guides you. 
 
 I have written a great deal to-day, which must be my ex- 
 cuse for an abrupt conclusion. Our love attends you both. We 
 are in pretty good health ; Mrs. Unwin indeed better than 
 usual : and as to me, I ail nothing but the incurable ailment. 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 Thanks for the cocoa-nut. 
 
 I send a cucumber, not of my own raising, and yet raised by 
 me. 
 
 Solve this enigma, dark enough 
 
 To puzzle any brains 
 Tliat are not downright puzzle-proof, 
 
 And eat it for your pains. 
 
 '10 THE RE>i. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY HEAR FRIEND, Monday, April 23, 1781. 
 
 Having not the least doubt of your ability to execute 
 just such a preface as I should wish to see prefixed to my publi- 
 cation, and being convinced that you have no good foundation 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 7y 
 
 for those which you yourself entertain upon the subject, I neither 
 withdraw my requisition, nor abate one jot of the earnestness 
 with which 1 made it. I admit the delicacy of the occasion, 
 but am far from apprehending that you will therefore find it 
 difficult to succeed. You can draw a hair-stroke where another 
 man would make a blot as broad as a sixpence. 
 
 I am much obliged to you for the interest you take in the 
 appearance of my Poems, and much pleased by the alacrity with 
 which you do it. Your favourable opinion of them affords me 
 a comfortable presage with respect to that of the public ; for 
 though I make allowances for your partiality to me and mine, 
 because mine, yet I am sure you would not suffer me unadmo- 
 nished to add myself to the multitude of insipid rhimers, with 
 whose productions the world is already too much pestered. 
 
 It is worth while to send you a riddle, you make such a va- 
 riety of guesses, and turn and tumble it about with such an in- 
 dustrious curiosity. The solution of that in question is — let me 
 see ; it requires some consideration to explain it, even though I 
 made it. I raised the seed that produced the plant that pro- 
 duced the fruit, that produced the seed that produced the fruit 
 I sent you. This latter seed I gave to the gardener of Ter- 
 ningham, who brought me the cucumber you mention. Thus 
 you see I raised it — that is to say, I raised it virtually by hav- 
 ing raised its progenitor; and yet I did not raise it, because the 
 identical seed from which it grew was raised at a distance. You 
 observe I did not speak rashly, when I spoke of it as dark 
 enough to pose an CEdipus ; and have no need to call your own 
 sagacity in question for falling short of the discovery. 
 
 A report has prevailed at Olney that you are coming in a 
 fortnight ; but taking it for granted that you know best when 
 you shall come, and that you will make us happy in the samf 
 
30 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 knowledge as soon as you are possessed of it yourself, I did not 
 venture to build any sane;ninc expectations upon it. 
 
 I have at last read the second volume of Mr. 's work, 
 
 and had some hope that I should prevail with myself to read 
 the first likewise. I bejjjan his book at the latter end, because 
 the first part of it was en2;aged when I received the second ; but 
 I had not so good an appetite as a soldier of the Guards, who, I 
 was informed when I lived in London, would for a small mat- 
 ter eat up a cat alive, beginning at her tail and finishing with 
 her whiskers. 
 
 Youi's ut semper, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 10 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MV DEAR FRIEND, May 28, 1781. 
 
 I am much obliged to you for the pains you have taken 
 with my Table Talk, and wish that my viva voce Table Talk 
 could repay you for the trouble you have had with the written 
 one. 
 
 The season is wonderfully improved within this day or two: 
 and if these cloudless skies are continued to us, or rather if the 
 cold winds do not set in again, promises you a pleasant excur- 
 sion, as far, at least, as the weather can conduce to make it such. 
 You seldom complain of too much sunshine, and if you are pre- 
 pared for an heat somewhat like that of Africa, the south walk in 
 our long garden will exactly suit you. Reflected from the gra- 
 vel, and from the walls, and beating upon your head at the same- 
 time, it may possibly make you wish you could enjoy for an 
 hour or two that immensity of shade afibrded by the gigantic 
 Irccs still growing in the land of your captivity. If you could 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. §1 
 
 -;pend a day now and then in those forests, and return with a 
 wish to England, it would be no small addition to the number of 
 your best pleasures. But pennse non homini datse. The time 
 will come perhaps (but death must come first) when you will 
 be able to visit them without either danger, trouble, or expense ; 
 and when the contemplation of those well-remembered scenes 
 will awaken in you emotions of gratitude and praise surpassing 
 all you could possibly sustain at present. In this sense, I sup- 
 pose, there is a heaven upon earth at all times, and that the dis- 
 embodied spirit may find a peculiar joy arising from the con- 
 templation of those places it was formerly conversant with, and 
 so far, at least, be reconciled to a world it was once so weary 
 of, as to use it in the delightful way of thankful recollection. 
 
 Miss Catlett must not think of any other lodging than we 
 can without any inconvenience, as we shall with all possible 
 pleasure, furnish her with. We can each of us say — that is, I 
 can say it in Latin, and Mrs. Unwin in English — Nihil tui a 
 me alienum puto. 
 
 Having two more letters to write, I find myself obliged to 
 shorten this ; so once more wishing you a good journey, and 
 ourselves the happiness of receiving you in good health and 
 spirits. 
 
 I remain 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 7, 1781. 
 
 Mr. Old brought us the acceptable news of your safe ar- 
 rival. My sensations at your departure were far from pleasant, 
 
82 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 and Mrs. Unwin suflfercil more upon the occasion than when 
 you first took leave of OIney. Wiien we shall meet asjain, and 
 in what circumstances, or whether we shall meet or not, is an 
 article to be found no where but in that volume of Providence 
 which belongs to the current year, and will not he understood 
 till it is accomplished. This I know, that your visit was most 
 agreeable here. It was so even to me, who, though I live in 
 the midst of many agreeables, am but little sensible of their 
 charms. But when you came, I determined, as much as pos- 
 sible, to be deaf to the suggestions of despair ; but if I could 
 contribute but little to the pleasure of the opportunity, 1 might 
 not dash it with unseasonable melancholy, and, like an instru- 
 ment with a broken string, interrupt the harmony of the con- 
 cert. 
 
 Lady Austen, waving all forms, has paid us the first visit; 
 and not content with showing us that proof of her respect, 
 made handsome apologies for her intrusion. We returned the 
 visit yesterday. She is a lively, agreeable woman ; has seen 
 much of the world, and accounts it a great simpleton, as it is. 
 She laughs and makes laugh, and keeps up a conversation with- 
 out seeming to labour at it. 
 
 I had rather submit to chastisement now, than be obliged to 
 undergo it hereafter. If Johnson, therefore, will mark with a 
 marginal Q, those lines that he or his object to as not suffi- 
 ciently finished, I will willingly retouch them, or give a reason 
 for my refusal. I shall moreover think myself obliged by any 
 hints of that sort, as I do already to somebody, who, by running 
 here and there two or three paragraphs into one, has very much 
 improved the arrangement of my matter. I am apt, I know, to 
 fritter it into two many pieces, and, by doing so, to disturb that 
 order to which all writings must owe their pei'spicwity, at least 
 in a considerable measure. With all that carelessness of revisal 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 83 
 
 I have exercised upon the sheets as they have been transmitted 
 to me, I have been guilty of an oversight, and have suffered a 
 great fault to escape me, which I shall be glad to correct, if not 
 too late. 
 
 In the Progress of Error, a part of the Young Squire's ap- 
 paratus, before he yet enters upon his travels, is said to be 
 
 Memorandam-book to minute down 
 
 The several posts, and where the chaise broke down. 
 
 Here, the reviewers would say, is not only " down," but 
 " down derry down" into the bargain, the word being made to 
 rhime to itself. This never occurred to me till last night, just 
 as I was stepping into bed. I should be glad, however, to alter 
 it thus — 
 
 With memorandum-book for every town. 
 
 And ev'ry inn, and where the chaise broke down. 
 
 I have advanced so far in Charity, that I have ventured to give 
 Johnson notice of it, and his option whether he will print it 
 now or hereafter. I rather wish he may choose the present 
 time, because it will be a proper sequel to Hope, and because I 
 am willing to think it will embellish the collection. 
 
 Whoever means to lake my phiz will find himself sorely per- 
 plexed in seeking for a fit occasion. That I shall not give him 
 one, is certain ; and if he steals one, he must be as cunning and 
 quick-sighted a thief as Autolycus himself. His best course, 
 will be to draw a face, and call it mine, at a venture. They 
 who have not seen me these twenty years will say. It may 
 possibly be a striking likeness^ now, though it bears no resem- 
 blance to what he was : time makes great alterations. They 
 who know me better will say perhaps. Though it is not per- 
 fectly the thing, yet there is somewhat of the cast of his coun- 
 tenance. If the nose was a little longer, and the chin a little 
 
y4 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 shorter, the eyes a little smaller, and the forehead a little more 
 protuberant, it would be just the man. And thus, without see- 
 ini^ mc at all, the artist may represent me to the public eye, 
 with as much exactness as yours lias bestowed upon you, though, 
 I suppose, the original was full in his view when he made the 
 attempt. 
 
 We are both as well as when you left us. Our hearty affec- 
 tions wait upon yourself and Mrs. Newton, not forgetting 
 Euphrosyne, the laughing lady. 
 
 Yours, my dear sir, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MV DEAR FRIEND, July .32, 1781. 
 
 I am sensible of your difficulties in finding opportuni- 
 ties to write ; and therefore, though always desirous and some- 
 times impatient to hear from you, am never peevish when I am 
 disappointed. 
 
 Johnson having begun to print, has given me some sort of 
 security for his perseverance ; else, the tardiness of his opera- 
 tions would almost tempt me to despair of the end. He has, 
 indeed, time enough before him ; but that very circumstance is 
 sometimes a snare, and gives occasions to delays that cannot be 
 remedied. Witness the hare in the fal)le, who fell asleep in 
 the midst of the race, ami waked not till the tortoise had won 
 the prize. 
 
 Taking it for granted that the new niarriage-bill would pass, 
 I took occasion, in the Address to Liberty, to celebrate the 
 joyful Kra ; but in doing so afforded another proof that poets are 
 not always prophets, for the House of Lords have thrown it 
 
WILLIAM COVVPER. 85 
 
 out. I am, however, provided with four hues to fdl up the 
 o-ap, which I suppose it will be time enough to insert when 
 the copy is sent down. I am in the middle of an affair called 
 Conversation, which, as Table Talk serves in the present vo- 
 lume by vvay of introductory fiddle to the band that follows, I 
 design shall perform the same office in a second, 
 sic brevi fortes jaculamur sevo. 
 
 You cannot always find time to write, and I cannot always 
 write a great deal ; not for want of time, but for want of some- 
 thing equally requisite ; perhaps materials, perhaps spirits, or 
 perhaps more frequently for want oX ability to overcome an in- 
 dolence that I have sometimes heard even you complain of. 
 Yours, my dear sir, and Mrs. Newton's, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. NEWTON. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, August, 1781. 
 
 Though much obliged to you for the favour of your 
 last, and ready enough to acknowledge the debt, the present, 
 however, is not a day in which I should have chosen to pay it. 
 A dejection of mind, which perhaps may be removed by to- 
 morrow, rather disqualifies me for writing, — a business I would 
 always perform in good spirits, because melancholy is catching, 
 especially where there is much sympathy to assist the contagion. 
 But certain poultry, which I understand are about to pay their 
 respects to you, have advertised for an agreeable companion, 
 and I find myself obliged to embrace the opportunity of going 
 to town with them in that capacity. * * * * * 
 
 While the world lasts, fashion will continue to lead it by the 
 nose. And, after all, what can fashion do for its most obse- 
 
86 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 quious followers ? It can ring the changes upon the same things, 
 and it can do no more. Whether cur hats he white or hlack, 
 our caps hij^h or low, — whether we wear two watches or one, 
 is of little consequence. There is indeed an appearance of va- 
 riety ; but the folly and vanity that dictates and adopts the 
 chan2;e, are invariably the same. When the fashions of a par- 
 ticular period appear more reasonable than those of the preced- 
 ing, it is not because the world is grown more reasonable than 
 it was ; but because in a course of perpetual changes, some of 
 them must sometimes happen to be for the better. Neither do 
 I suppose the preposterous customs that prevail at present, a 
 proof of its greater folly. In a few years, perhaps next year, 
 the fine gentleman will shut up his umbrella, and give it to his 
 sister, filling his hand with a crab-tree cudgel instead of it : 
 and when he has done so, will he be wiser than now ? By no 
 means. The love of change will have betrayed him into a 
 propriety, which, in reality, he has no taste for, all his merit 
 on the occasion amounting to no more than this — that, being 
 weary of one plaything, he has taken up another. 
 
 In a note I received from Johnson last week, he expresses a 
 wish that my pen may be still employed. Supposing it possi- 
 ble that he would yet be glad to swell the volume, I have given 
 him an order to draw upon me for eight hundred lines, if he 
 chooses it ; Conversation, a piece which I think I mentioned 
 in my last to Mr. Newton, being finished. If Johnson sends 
 for it, I shall transcribe it as soon as I can, and transmit it to 
 Charles-square. Mr. Newton will take the trouble to forward 
 it to the press. It is not a dialogue, as the title would lead 
 you to surmise ; nor does it bear the least resemblance to Table 
 Talk, except that it is serio-comic, like all the rest. My de- 
 sign in it is to convince the world that they make but an in- 
 diflerent use of their tongues, considering the intention of Pro- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. §7 
 
 vidence when he endued them with the faculty of speech ; to 
 pouit out the abuses, which is the jocular part of the business, 
 and to prescribe the remedy, which is the grave and sober. 
 
 We felt ourselves not the less obliged to you for the cocoa- 
 nuts, though they were good for nothing. They contained 
 nothing but a putrid liquor with a round white lump, which in 
 taste and substance much resembled tallow, and was the size 
 of a walnut. Nor am I the less indebted to your kindness for 
 the fish, though none is yet come. 
 
 Yours, dear Madam, 
 
 Most affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 16, 1781. 
 
 I might date my letter from the green-house, which we 
 have converted into a summer parlour. The walls hung with 
 garden mats, and the floor covered with a carpet, the sun too 
 in a great measure excluded, by an awning of mats which for- 
 bids him to shine any where except upon the carpet, it affords 
 us by far the pleasantest retreat in Olney. We eat, drink, and 
 sleep, where we always did ; but here we spend all the rest of 
 our time, and find that the sound of* the wind in the trees, and 
 the singing of birds, are much more agreeable to our ears than 
 the incessant barking of dogs and screaming of children. It is 
 an observation that naturally occurs upon the occasion, and 
 which many other occasions furnish an opportunity to make, 
 that people long for what they have not, and overlook the good 
 in their possession. This is so true in the present instance, that 
 for years past I should have thought myself happy to enjoy a 
 
68 COURESPONDKNCE OF 
 
 retircmcnt even less Hatterins; to my natural taste than this in 
 which 1 am now writing ; and have often looked wistfully at a 
 snui;' cottage, which, on account of its situation at a distance 
 from noise and disagreeable objects, seemed to promise me all 
 I could wish or expect, so far as happiness may be said to be 
 local ; never once adverting to this comfortable nook, which 
 alVords me all that coidd be found in the most sequestered her- 
 mitage, witli the advantage of having all those accommodations 
 near at hand which no hermitage could possibly afibrd mc. 
 People imagine they should be happy in circumstances which 
 they would fnul insupportably burthensome in less than a week. 
 A man that has been clothed in tine linen, and fared sumptu- 
 ously every day, envies the peasant under a thatched hovel ; 
 who, in return, envies him as much his palace and hispleasure- 
 gixnmd. Could they change situations, the fine gentleman 
 would find his ceilings were too low, and that his casements ad- 
 mitted too much wind ; that he had no cellar for his wine, and 
 no wine to put in his cellar. These, with a thousand other 
 mortifying deficiencies, would shatter his romantic project into 
 innumerable fragments in a moment. The clown, at the sam.e 
 time, would find the accession of so much unwieldy treasure an 
 incumbrance quite incompatible with an hour's ease. His 
 choice would be puzzled by variety. He would drink to excess, 
 because he would foresee no end of his abundance ; and he 
 would eat himself sick for the same reason. He would have no 
 idea of any other happiness than sensual gratification ; wbuld 
 make himself a beast, and die of his good fortune. The rich 
 gentleman had, perhaps, or might have had, if he pleaseii, at 
 the shortest notice, just such a recess as this ; but if he had it, 
 he overlooketl it, or, if he had it not, forgot that he might 
 command it whenever he would. The rustic too, was actually 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. S9 
 
 in possession of some blessings, which he was a ibol to relin- 
 quish, but which he could neither see nor feel, because he had 
 the daily and constant use of them; such as good health, bodily- 
 strength, a head and a heart that never ached, and temperance. 
 to the practice of which he was bound by necessity, that, hu- 
 manl)' speaking, was a pledge and a security for the continu- 
 ance of them all. 
 
 Thus I have sent you a school-boy's theme. When I write 
 to you, I do not write without thinking, but always without pre- 
 meditation : the consequettce is, that such thoughts as pass through 
 my head when I am not writing, make the subject of my let- 
 ters to you. 
 
 Johnson sent me lately a sort of apology for his printer's 
 negligence, with his promise of greater diligence for the future. 
 There was need enough of both. I have received but one sheet 
 since you left us. Still, indeed, I see that there is time enough 
 before us; but I see likewise that no length of time can be suffi- 
 cient for the accomplishment of a work that does not go forward. 
 I know not yet whether he will add Conversation to those poems 
 already in his hands, nor do I care much. No man ever wrote 
 such quantities of verse, as I have written this last year, with 
 so much indifference about the event, or rather, with so little 
 ambitidn of public praise. My pieces are such as may possibly 
 be made useful. The more they are approved, the more likely 
 they are to spread, and consequently the more likely to attain 
 the end of usefulness ; which, as I said once before, except my 
 present amusement, is the only end I propose. And even in 
 the pursuit of this purpose, commendable as it is in itself, I have 
 not the spur I should once have had ; — my labour must go unre- 
 warded, and as Mr. R once said, I am raising a scaffold be- 
 fore a house that others are to live in, and not I. 
 
 M 
 
ffQ CORRESPONDENCK OF 
 
 I have left myself no room for politics, which 1 thought, 
 when I began, would have been my princij)al theme. 
 
 Yours, my dear sir, 
 
 W. ( 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 21, 1781. 
 
 You wish you could employ your time to better purpose, 
 yet are never idle. In all that you say or do ; whether you arc 
 alone, or pay visits, or receive them ; whether you think or 
 write, or walk or sit still ; the state of your mind is such as dis- 
 covers even to yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, that there 
 is a principle at bottom whose determined tendency is towards 
 the best things. I do not at all doubt the truth of what you 
 say, when you complain of that crowd of trifling thoughts that 
 pesters you without ceasing; but then you always have a serious 
 thought standing at the door of your imagination, like a justice 
 of peace with the riot-act in his hand, ready to read it, and dis- 
 perse the mob. Here lies the difference between you and me. 
 My thoughts are clad in a sober livery, for the most part as 
 grave as that of a bishop's servants. They turn too upon s^ .- 
 ritual subjects, but the tallest fellow and the loudest amongst 
 them all, is he who is continually crying out with a loud voice, 
 Return est de ie, periisti. You wish for more attention, 1 for 
 less. Dissipation itself would be welcome to me, so it were not 
 a vicious one ; but however earnestly invited, it is coy, and keeps 
 at a distance. Yet with all this distressing gloom upon my mind, 
 I experience, as you do, the slipperiness of the present hour, 
 and the rapidity with which time escapes me. Every thing 
 around us, and every thing that befalls us, constitutes a variety, 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. gi 
 
 which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has still a thievish pro- 
 pensity, and steals from us clays, months, and years, with such 
 unparalleled address, that even while we say they are here, 
 they are gone. From infancy to manhood is rather a tedious 
 period, chiefly, I suppose, because at that time we act under the 
 control of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our 
 own. But thence downward into the vale of years, is such a 
 declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect upon the 
 steepness of it, and then find ourselves at the bottom. 
 
 Here is a new scene opening, which, whether it perform what 
 it promises or not, will add fresh plumes to the wings of time; 
 at least while it continues to be a subject of contemplation. If 
 the project take effect, a thousand varieties will attend the change 
 it will make in our situation at Olncy. If not, it will serve, 
 however, to speculate and converse upon, and steal away many 
 hours, by engaging our attention, before it be entirely dropped. 
 Lady Austen, very desirous of retirement, especially of a re- 
 tirement near her sister, an admirer of Mr. Scott as a preacher, 
 and of your too humble servants now in the green-house, as the 
 most agreeable creatures in the world, is at present determined 
 to settle here. That part of our great building which is at pre- 
 sent occupied by Dick Coleman, his wife, child, and a thousand 
 ii'Hs, is the corner of the world she chooses, above all others, as 
 the place of her future residence. Next spring twelvemonth 
 she begins to repair and beautify, and the following winter (by 
 which time the lease of her house in town will determine) she 
 intends to lake possession. I am highly pleased with the plan, 
 upon Mrs. Unwin's account, who, since Mrs. Newton's depar- 
 ture, is destitute of all female connexion, and has not, in any 
 emergency, a woman to speak to. Mrs. Scott is indeed in the 
 neighbourhood, and an excellent person, but always engaged by 
 a close attention to her familv, and no more than ourselves a 
 
93 CORRESPOlsrDENCE 01 
 
 lover of visitipg. But these things are all at present in the 
 clouds. Two years must intervene, and in two years not only 
 this project, but all the projects in Europe may be disconcerted. 
 
 Cocoa-nut naught, 
 Fish too dear, 
 None must be bought 
 For us that are here, 
 
 No lobster on earth, 
 That ever I saw, 
 To me would be worth 
 Sixpence a claw. 
 
 So, dear Madam, wait 
 Till fish can be got 
 At a reas'nable rate, 
 Whether lobster or not ; 
 
 Till the French and the Dutch 
 Have quitted the seas. 
 And then send as much 
 And as oft as you please. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 25, 1781, 
 
 liy Johnson's last note (for I have received a packet 
 from him since I wrote last to you) I am ready to suspect that 
 you have seen him, and endeavoured to quicken his proceed- 
 ings. His assurance of greater expedition leads me to think 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 93 
 
 SO. I know little of booksellers and printers, but have heard 
 from others that they are the most dilatory of all people ; other- 
 wise, I am not in a hurry, nor would be so troublesome : but 
 am obliged to you nevertheless for your interference, if his 
 promised alacrity be owing to any spur that you have given 
 him. He chooses to add Conversation to the rest, and says 
 he will give me notice when he is ready for it ; but I shall 
 send it to you by the first opportune conveyance, and beg you 
 to deliver it over to him. He wishes me not to be afraid of 
 making the volume too large ; by which expression I suppose 
 he means, that if I had still another piece, there would be room 
 for it. At present I have not, but am in the way to produce 
 2X).oihev, faveat tnodo Musa. I have already begun and pro- 
 ceeded a little way in a poem called Retirement. My view in 
 choosing that subject is to direct to the proper use of the oppor- 
 tunities it affords for the cultivation of a man's best interests; 
 to censure the vices and follies which people carry with them 
 into their retreats, where they make no other use of their lei- 
 sure than to gratify themselves with the indulgence of their 
 favourite appetites, and to pay themselves, by a life of pleasure, 
 for a life of business. In conclusion, I would enlarge upon the 
 happiness of that state, when discreetly enjoyed and religiously 
 improved. But all this is, at present, in embryo. I generally 
 despair of my progress when I begin ; but if, like my travelling 
 'squire, I should kindle as I go, this likewise may make a part 
 of the volume, for I have time enough before me. 
 
 I forgot to mention that Johnson uses the discretion my poet- 
 ship has allowed him, with much discernment. He has sug- 
 gested several alterations, or rather marked several defective 
 passages, which I have corrected much to the advantage of the 
 poems. In the last sheet he sent me, he noted three such, all 
 of which I have reduced into better order. In the forearoing: 
 
94 CORIJESPONUKNCK OF 
 
 sheet, I assented to his criticisms in some instances, and chose 
 to abide by the original expression in others. Thus we jog on 
 together comfortably enough ; and perhaps it would be as well 
 for authors in general, if their booksellers, when men of some 
 taste, were allowed, though not to tinker the work themselves, 
 yet to point out the flaws, and humbly to recommend an im- 
 provement. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 9, 1781. 
 
 I am not willing to let the post set off without me, 
 though I have nothing material to put into his bag. I am writ- 
 ing in the green-house, where my myrtles, ranged before the 
 windows, make the most agreeable blind imaginable ; where I 
 am undisturbed by noise, and where I see none but pleasing 
 objects. The situation is as favourable to my purpose as I could 
 wish ; but the state of my mind is not so, and the deficiencies 
 I feel there are not to be remedied by the stillness of my retire- 
 ment, or the beauty of the scene before me. I believe it is in 
 part owing to the excessive heat of the weather, that I find my- 
 self so much at a loss when I attempt either verse or prose : 
 my animal spirits are depressed, and dulness is the consequence. 
 That dulness, however, is all at your service ; and the portion 
 of it that is necessary to fill up the present epistle, I send you 
 without the least reluctance. 
 
 I am sorry to fmd that the censure I have passed upon Occi- 
 duus is even better founded than I supposed. Lady Austen 
 has been at his sabbatical concerts, which, it seems, are com- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 95 
 
 posed of song-tunes and psalm-tunes indiscriminately ; music 
 without words — and I suppose one may say, consequently, 
 without devotion. On a certain occasion, when her niece was 
 sitting at her side, she asked his opinion concerning the lawful- 
 ness of such amusements as are to be found at Vauxhall or 
 Ranelagh ; meaning only to draw from him a sentence of dis- 
 approbation, that Miss Green might be the better reconciled to 
 the restraint under which she was held, when she found it war- 
 ranted by the judgment of so famous a divine. But she was 
 disappointed : he accounted them innocent, and recommended 
 them as useful. Curiosity, he said, was natural to young per- 
 sons; and it was wrong to deny them a gratification which 
 they might be indulged in with the greatest safely; because the 
 denial being unreasonable, the desire of it wonld still subsist. 
 It was but a walk, and a walk was as harmless in one place 
 as another; with other arguments of a similar import, which 
 might have proceeded with more grace, at least with less of- 
 fence, from the lips of a sensual layman. He seems, together 
 with others of our acquaintance, to have suffered considerably 
 in his spiritual character by his attachment to music. The law- 
 fulness of it, when used with moderation, and in its proper 
 place, is unquestionable ; but I believe that wine itself, though 
 a man be guilty of habitual intoxication, does not more de- 
 bauch and befool the natural understanding, than music, al- 
 ways music, music in season and out of season, weakens and 
 destroys the spiritual discernment. If it is not used with an 
 unfeigned reference to the worship of God, and with a design 
 to assist the soul in the performance of it, which cannot be 
 the case when it is the only occupation, it degenerates into a 
 sensual delight, and becomes a most powerful advocate for the 
 admission of other pleasures, grosser perhaps in degree, but in 
 t.heir kind the same. 
 
96 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 ]VIr. M , though a simple, honest, good man — such, at 
 
 least, he appears to us — is not likely to give general satisfac- 
 tion. He preaches the truth, it seems, but not the whole 
 truth ; and a certain member of that church, who signed the 
 letter of invitation, which was conceived in terms sufficiently 
 encouraging, is likely to prove one of his most strenuous op- 
 posers. The little man, however, has an independent fortune, 
 and has nothing to do but to trundle himself away to some other 
 place, where he may find hearers, neither so nice nor so wise 
 as we are at Olney. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 With our united love, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. NEWTON. 
 
 Sept. 16, 1781. 
 A noble theme demands a noble verse, 
 In such I thank you for your fine oyster*. 
 The barrel was magnificently large, 
 But being sent to Olney at free charge, 
 Was not inserted in the driver's list, 
 And therefore ovevlook'd, forgot, or miss'd ; 
 For when the messenger whom we dispatch'd 
 Enquired for oysters, Hob his noddle scratch'd ; 
 Denying that his wagon or his wain 
 Did any such commodity contain. 
 In consequence of which, your welcome boon 
 Did not arrive till yesterday at noon ; 
 In consequence of which some chanced to die, 
 And some, though very sweet, were very dry. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 97 
 
 Notv Madam says, (and what she says must still 
 Deserve attention, say she what she will,) 
 That what we call the Diligence, be-case 
 It goes to London with a swifter pace. 
 Would better suit the carriage of your gift, 
 Returning downward with a pace as swift; 
 And therefore recommends it with this aim — 
 To save at least three days, — the price the same ; 
 For though it will not carry or convey 
 For less than twelve pence, send whate'eryou may- 
 For oysters bred upon the salt sea shore, 
 Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more. 
 
 News have I none that I can deign to write ; 
 Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night ; 
 And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, 
 Caught in the first beginning of the show'r ; 
 But walking, running, and with much ado, 
 Got home — ^just time enough to be wet through. 
 Yet both are well, and, wond'rous to be told, 
 Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold ; 
 And wishing just the same good hap to you. 
 We say, good Madam, and good Sir, Adieu ! 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Tlie Greenhouse, Sept. 18, 1781, 
 
 I return your preface, with many thanks for so affec- 
 tionate an introduction to the public. I have observed nothing 
 that in my judgment required alteration, except a single sen- 
 tence in the first paragraph, which I have not obliterated, that 
 you may restore it, if you please, by obliterating my interli=' 
 aeation. My reason for proposing an amendment of it wa*? 
 
 N 
 
9S CORRESPONDKNCE OF 
 
 that your meaning did not immediately strike me, which there- 
 fore I have endeavoured to make more obvious. The rest is 
 what I would wish it to be. You say, indeed, more in my 
 commendation, than I can modestly say of myself; but some- 
 thing will be allowed to the partiality of friendship, on so in- 
 teresting an occasion. 
 
 I have no objection in the world to your conveying a copy to 
 Dr. Johnson ; though I well know that one of his pointed sar- 
 casms, if he should happen to be displeased, would soon find 
 its way into all companies, and spoil the sale. He writes, in- 
 deed, like a man that thinks a great deal, and that sometimes 
 thinks religiously : but report informs me that he has been se- 
 vere enough in his animadversions upon Dr. Watts, who was 
 nevertheless, if I am in any degree a judge of verse, a man of 
 true poetical ability ; careless, indeed, for the most part, and 
 inattentive too often to those niceties which constitute elegance 
 of expression, but frequently sublime in his conceptions, and 
 masterly in his execution. Pope, I have heard, had placed 
 him once in tiie Dunciad ; but, on being advised to read before 
 he judged him, was convinced that he deserved other treat- 
 ment, and thrust somebody's blockhead into the gap, whose 
 name, consisting of a monosyllable, happened to fit it. What- 
 ever faults, however, I may be chargeable with as a poet, I can- 
 not accuse myself of negligence. I never suffer a line to pass 
 till I have made it as good as I can ; and though my doctrines 
 may offend this king of critics, he will not, I flatter myself, 
 he disgusted by slovenly inaccuracy, either .in the numbers, 
 rhymes, or language. Let the rest take its chance. It is pos- 
 sible he may be pleased ; and if he should, I shall have engaged 
 on my side one of the best trumpeters in the kingdom. Let 
 him only speak as favourably of mo as he has spoken of Sir 
 Richard Blackmore (who, though he shines in his poem called 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 99 
 
 Creation, has written more absurdities in verse than any writer 
 of our country,) and my success will be secured. 
 
 I have often promised myself a laugh with you about your 
 pipe, but have always forgotten it when I have been writing, 
 and at present I am not much in a laughing humour. You 
 will observe, however, for your comfort and the honour of 
 that same pipe, that it hardly falls within the line of my cen- 
 sure. You never fumigate the ladies, or force them out of 
 company ; nor do you use it as an incentive to hard-drinking. 
 Your friends, indeed, have reason to complain that it frequent- 
 ly deprives them of the pleasure of your own conversation 
 while it leads you either into your study or your garden ; but 
 in all other respects it is as innocent a pipe as can be. Smoke 
 away, therefore ; and remember that if one poet has condemn- 
 ed the practice, a better than he (the witty and elegant Haw- 
 kins Browne) has been warm in the praise of it. 
 
 Eeiirement grows, but more slowly than any of its predeces- 
 sors. Time was when I could with ease produce fifty, sixty, 
 or seventy lines in a morning : now, I generally fall short of 
 thirty, and am sometimes forced to be content with a dozen. 
 It consists at present, I suppose, of between six and seven hun- 
 dred ; so that there are hopes of an end, and I dare say John- 
 son will give me time enough to finish it. 
 
 I nothing add but this — that atill I am 
 Your most affectionate and humble 
 
 WILLIAM. 
 
100 COKRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MV DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 26, 1781. 
 
 I may, I suppose, congratulate you on your safe arrival 
 at Jirighthclmstonc ; and am the belter pleased with your de- 
 sign to close the summer there, because I am acquainted with 
 the place, and, by the assistance of fancy, can, without much 
 dilficulty, join myself to the party, and partake with you in 
 your amusements and excursions. It happened singularly 
 enough, that just before I received your last, in which you ap- 
 prise me of your intended journey, I had been writing upon 
 the subject, having found occasion towards the close of my last 
 poem, called Retirement, to take some notice of the modern 
 passion for sea-side entertainments, and to direct to the means 
 by which they might be made useful as well as agreeable. I 
 think with you, that the most magnificent object under heaven 
 is the great deep ; and cannot but feel an unpolite species of 
 astonishment, when I consider the multitudes that view it with- 
 out emotion, and even witliout reflection. In all its various 
 forms, It is an object of all others the most suited to affect us 
 with lasting impressions of the awful Power that created and 
 controls it. I am the less inclined to think this negligence ex- 
 cusable, because, at a time of life when I gave as little attention 
 to religious subjects as almost any man, I yet remember that 
 the waves would preach to me, and that in the midst of dissi- 
 pation I had an ear to hear them. One of Shakspeare's charac- 
 ters says, — " I am never merry when 1 hear sweet music." 
 The same effect that harmony seems to have had upon him, I 
 have experienced from the sight and sound of the ocean, which 
 have often composed my thoughts into a melancholy not un- 
 pleasing, nor without its use. So much for Signor Nettuno. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 101 
 
 Lady Austen goes to London this day se'nnight. We have 
 told her that you shall visit her ; which is an enterprise you 
 may engage in with the more alacrity, because as she loves 
 every thing that has any connexion with your motiier, she is 
 sure to feel a sufficient partiality for her son. Add to this, that 
 your own personal recommendations are I)y no means small, or 
 such as a woman of her fine taste and discernment can possibly 
 overlook. She has many features in her character which you 
 will admire ; but one, in particular, on acconnt of the rarity of 
 it, will engage your attention and esteem. She has a degree of 
 gratitude in her composition, so quick a sense of obligation, as 
 is hardly to be found in any rank of life, and, if report say true, 
 is scarce indeed in the superior. Discover but a wish to please 
 her, and she never forgets it ; not only thanks you, but the 
 tears will start into her eyes at the recollection of the smallest 
 service. With these fine feelings, she has the most, and the 
 most harmless vivacity you can imagine. In short, she is — 
 what you will find her to be, upon half an hour's conversation 
 with her ; and when I hear you have a journey to town in con- 
 templation, I will send yoii her address. 
 
 Your mother is well, and joins with me in wishing that you 
 may spend your time agreeably upon the coast of Sussex. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 3, 1781. ' 
 
 Your draft is worded for twenty pounds, and figured for 
 twenty-one. I thought it more likely the mistake should be 
 made in the figures than in the words, and have sent you a re- 
 
103 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 ceipt accordingly. I am obliged to you for it, and no less bound 
 to acknowledge your kindness in thinking for a man so little 
 accustomed to think for himself. The result of my deliberations 
 on the subject proposed is, that it will be better, on many ac- 
 counts, to sell the chambers, and to deposit the money in the 
 funds. Public credit wants a lift, and I would willingly show 
 my readiness to afford it one at so critical a juncture. If you 
 can sell M at the same time, so as to turn him to any ac- 
 count, you have my free leave to do it. It has been a dry 
 summer, and frogs may possibly be scarce, and fetch a good 
 price ; though how his frogship has attained to the honour of 
 that appellation, at this distance from the scene of his activity, 
 I am not able to conjecture. 
 
 I hope you have had a pleasant vacation, and have laid in a 
 fresh stock of health and spirits for the business of the approach- 
 ing winter. As for me, I have just finished my last piece, call- 
 ed Retirement ; which, as soon as it is fit to appear in public, 
 shall, together with all the rest of its fraternity, lay itself at 
 your feet. 
 
 My affectionate respects attend Mrs. Hill and j'ourself. 
 
 . Yours truly, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 4, 1781. 
 
 I generally write the day before the post, but yesterday 
 had no opportunity, being obliged to employ myself in settling 
 my green-house for the winter. I am now writing before 
 breakfast, that I may avail myself of every inch of time for the 
 purpose. N. B., An expression a critic would quarrel with. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 103 
 
 and call it by some hard name, signifying a jumble of ideas, 
 and an unnatural match between time and space. 
 
 I am glad to be undeceived respecting the opinion I had been 
 erroneously led into on the subject of Johnson's criticism on 
 Watts. Nothing can be more judicious, or more characteristic 
 of a distinguishing taste, than his observations upon that wri- 
 ter ; though I think him a little mistaken in his notion, that di- 
 vine subjects have never been poetically treated with success. 
 A little more Christian knowledge and experience would per- 
 haps enable him to discover excellent poetry, upon spiritual 
 themes, in the aforesaid little Doctor. I perfectly acquiesce in 
 the propriety of sending Johnson a copy of my productions ; 
 and I think it would be well to send it in our joint names, ac- 
 companied with a handsome card, such an one as you will 
 know how to fabricate, and such as may predispose him to a 
 favourable perusal of the book, by coaxing him into a good 
 temper ; for he is a great bear, with all his learning and pene- 
 tration. 
 
 I forgot to tell you in my last, that I was well pleased with 
 your proposed appearance in the title-page under the name of 
 the editor. I do not care under how many names you appear 
 in a book that calls me its author. In my last piece, which I 
 finished the day before yesterday, I have told the public that I 
 live upon the banks of the Ouse : that public is a great simple- 
 ton if it does not know that you live in London ; it will conse- 
 quently know that 1 had need of the assistance of some friend 
 in town, and that I could have recourse to nobody with more 
 propriety than yourself I shall transcribe and submit to your 
 approbation as fast as possible. I have now, I think, finished my 
 volume ; indeed I am almost weary of composing, having spent 
 a year in doing nothing else. I reckon my volume will consist 
 of about eight thousand lines. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend. W. C, 
 
104 COBllESPONDENCE OF 
 
 '10 THK REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAU FltlEND, Oct. 14, 1781 
 
 I would not willingly deprive you of any comfort, and 
 therefore would wish you to comfort yourself as much as you 
 can with a notion that you are a more bountiful correspondent 
 than I. You will give me leave in the mean time, however, 
 to assert to myself a share in the same species of consolation, 
 and to enjoy the flatlering recollection that I have sometimes 
 written three letters to your one. I never knew a poet, except 
 myself, who was punctual in any thing, or to be depended on 
 for the due discharge of any duty, except what he thought he 
 owed to the Muses. The moment a man takes it into his foolish 
 head that he has what the world calls Genius, he gives himself 
 a discharge from the servile drudgery of all friendly offices, and 
 becomes good for nothing, except in the pursuit of his favourite 
 employment. But I am not yet vain enough to think myself 
 entitled to such self-conferred honours, and though I have sent 
 much poetry to the press, or, at least, what I hope my readers 
 will account such, am still as desirous as ever of a place in your 
 heart, and to take all opportunities to convince you that you have 
 still the same in mine. My attention to my poetical function 
 has, I confess, a little interfered of late with my other employ- 
 ments, and occasioned my writing less frequently than I should 
 have otherwise done. But it is over, at least for the present, 
 and I think for some time to come. 1 have transcribed Retire- 
 ment , and send it. You will be so good as to forward it to 
 Johnson, who will forward it, I supjiose, to the public, in his 
 own time ; but not very speedily, moving as he does. The post 
 brought me a sheet this afternoon, but we have not yet reached 
 (he end of Hope. 
 
 Mr. Scoll, I perceive by yours to him, has mentioned one of 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 105 
 
 his troubles, but I believe not the principal one. The question, 
 whether lie shall have an assistant at the great house in Mr. 
 
 R. , is still a question, or, at least, a subject of discontent, 
 
 between Mr. Scott and the people. In a tete-a-tete I had with 
 this candidate for the chair, in the course of the last week, 1 
 told him my thoughts upon the subject plainly ; advised him to 
 change places, by the help of fancy, with Mr. Scott, for a mo- 
 ment, and to ask himself how he would like a self-intruded 
 deputy; advised him likewise by no means to address Mr. 
 Scott any more upon the matter, for that he might be sure he 
 would never consent to it; and concluded with telling him, that 
 if he persisted in his purpose of speaking to the people, the pro- 
 bable consequence would be, that, sooner or later, Mr. Scott 
 would be forced out of the parish, and the blame of his expul- 
 sion would all light upon him. He heard, approved, and, I think 
 the very next day, put all my good counsel to shame, at least 
 a considerable j)art of it, by applying to Mr. Scott, in company 
 with Mr. P , for his permission to speak at the Sunday even- 
 ing lecture. Mr. Scott, as I had foretold, was immoveable; 
 but offered, for the satisfaction of his hearers, to preach three 
 times to them on the Sabbxith, which he could have done, Mr. 
 Jones having kindly offered, though without their knowledge, 
 to officiate for him at Weston. Mi\ R. answered, " That will 
 not do, Sir ; it is not v/hat the people wish ; they want variety .'' 
 Mr. Scott replied very wisely, " If they do, they must be con- 
 tent without it ; it is not my duty to indulge that humour." 
 This is the last intelligence I have had upon the subject. I re- 
 ceived it not from Mr. Scott, but from an ear-witness. 
 
 I did not suspect, till the Reviewers told me so, that you are 
 made up of artifice and design, and that your ambition is to de- 
 lude your hearers. Well — I suppose they please themselves 
 with the thought of having mortified you ; but how much are 
 
106 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 they mistaken ! They shot at you, and their arrow struck the 
 Bible, rccoilinj;, of course, upon themselves. My turn will 
 come, for I think I shall hardly escape a threshing. 
 Yours, my dear sir, 
 
 And Mrs. Newton's, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO IIIE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 22, 17Sl- 
 
 Mr. Bates, without intending it, has passed a severer 
 censure upon the modern world of readers, than any that cart 
 be found in my volume. If they are so merrily disposed, ia 
 the midst of a thousand calamities, that they will not deign to 
 read a preface of three or four pages, because the purport of it 
 is serious, they are far gone indeed, and in the last stage of a 
 frenzy, such as I suppose has prevailed in all nations that have 
 been exemplarily punished, just before the infliction of the sen- 
 tence. But though he lives in the world he has so ill an opinion 
 of, and ought therefore to know it better than I, who have no 
 intercourse with it at all, I am willing to hope that he may be 
 mistaken. Curiosity is an universal passion. There are few 
 people who think a book worth their reading, but feel a desire 
 to know something about the writer of it. This desire will 
 naturally lead them to peep into the preface, where they will 
 soon find that a little perseverance will furnish them with some 
 information on the subject. If, therefore, your preface finds no 
 readers, I shall take it for granted that it is because the book 
 itself is accounted not worth their notice. Be that as it may,, 
 it is quite sufficient that I have played the antic myself for their 
 divei-sion ; and that, in a state of dejection such as they are abso-- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 1Q7 
 
 lute stranji;ers to, I have sometimes put on an air of cheerfulness 
 and vivacity, to which I myself am in reality a strano;er, for the 
 sake of win nine; their attention to more useful matter. I cannot 
 endure the thought for a moment, that you should descend to 
 my level on the occasion, and court their favour in a style not 
 more unsuitable to your function, than to the constant and con- 
 sistent strain of your whole character and conduct. No — let 
 the preface stand. I cannot mend it. I could easily make a 
 jest of it, but it is better as it is. 
 
 By the way — will it not be proper, as you have taken some 
 notice of the modish dress I wear in Tablc-Talk, to include 
 Conversation in the same description, which is (the first half of 
 it, at least,) the most airy of the two ? They will otherwise 
 think, perhaps, that the observation might as well have been 
 spared entirely ; though I should have been sorry if it had, for 
 when I am jocular I do violence to myself, and am therefore 
 pleased with your telling them, in a civil way, that I play the 
 fool to amuse them, not because I am one myself, but because I 
 have a foolish world to deal with. 
 
 I am inclined to think that Mr. Scott will no more be trou- 
 bled by Mr. R , with applications of the sort I mentioned 
 
 in my last. Mr. Scott, since I wrote that account, has related 
 to us, himself, what passed in the course of their interview ; 
 and, it seems, the discourse ended with his positive assurance, 
 that he never would consent to the measure, though, at the same 
 time, he declared he would never interrupt or attempt to suppress 
 
 it. To which Mr. R replied, that unless he had his free 
 
 consent, he should never engage in the office. It is to be hoped, 
 therefore, that, in time, that part of the people, who may at pre- 
 sent be displeased with Mr. Scott, for withholding his consent, 
 will grow cool upon the subject, and be satisfied with receiving 
 their instruction from their proper minister. 
 
lOS CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 I beg you will, on no future occasion, leave a blank for Mrs. 
 Ne^vton, unless you have first engaged her promise to fill it; for 
 thus we lose the pleasure of your company, without being; in- 
 demnified for the loss, by the acquisition of liers. Our love to 
 you both. 
 
 Yours, n)y dear friend, 
 
 w. r. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 7, 1781. 
 
 Having discontinued the practice of verse-making for 
 some weeks, I now feel quite incapable of resuming it; and can 
 only wonder at it, as one of the most extraordinary incidents in 
 my life, that I should have composed a volume. Had it been 
 suggested to me as a practicable thing, in better days, though I 
 should have been glad to have found it so, many hindrances 
 would have conspired to withhold me from such an enterprise. 
 I should not have dared, at tliat time of day, to have committed 
 my name to the public, and my reputation to the hazard of their 
 opinion. But it is otherwise with mc now. I am more indif- 
 ferent about what may touch me in that point, than ever I was 
 in my life. The stake that would then have seemed important, 
 now seems trivial ; and it is of little consequence to me, who no 
 longer feel myself possessed of what I accounted infinitely more 
 valuable, whether the world's verdict shall pronounce me a poet, 
 or an empty pretender to the title. This happy coldness towards 
 a matter so generally interesting to all rhymers, left me quite at 
 liberty for the undertaking, unfettered by fear, and under no 
 restraints of that diffidence, which is my natural temper, and 
 which would either have made it impossible for me to commence 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 109 
 
 an author by name, or would have insured my miscarriage if I 
 had. In my last dispatches to Johnson I sent him a new edition 
 of the title-page, having discarded the Latin paradox which stood 
 at the head of the former, and added a French motto to that from 
 Virgil. It is taken from a volume of tlie excellent Caraccioli, 
 called Joussance de soi-meme, and strikes me as peculiarly ap- 
 posite to the purpose. 
 
 Mr. Bull is an honest man. We have seen him twice since 
 he received your orders to marcli hither, and faithfully told us 
 it was in consequence of those orders that he came. He dined 
 with us 3'esterday ; we were all in pretty good spirits, and the 
 day passed very agreeably. It is not long since he called on 
 
 Mr. Scott. Mr. R came in. Mr. Bull began, addressing 
 
 himself to the former, My friend, you are in trouble ; you 
 are unhappy ; I read it in your countenance. Mr. Scott repli- 
 ed, he had been so, but he was better. Come then, says Mr. 
 Bull, I will expound to you the cause of all your anxiety. You 
 are too common ; you make yourself cheap. Visit your peo- 
 ple less, and converse more with your own heart. How often 
 do you speak to them in the week ? — Thrice — Ay, there it is. 
 Your sermons are an old ballad ; your prayers are an old bal- 
 lad ; and you are an old ballad too. — I would wish to tread in 
 the steps of Mr. Newton. — You do well to follow his steps, in 
 all other instances, but in this instance you are wrong, and so 
 was he. Mr. Newton trod a path which no man but himself 
 could have used, so long as he did, and he wore it out long 
 before he went from Olney. Too much familiarity and conde- 
 scension cost him the estimation of his people. He thought he 
 should insure their love, to which he had the best possible title, 
 and by those very means he lost it. Be wise, my friend ; take 
 warning ; make yourself scarce, if you wish that persons of 
 little understanding should know how to prize you. 
 
!!• i;o«RF.sroNDENCE OF 
 
 Wlicn lie related to us this harangue, so nicely adjustcil to the 
 case ol' the third person pivsent. it did us both pjood, and as 
 .lacqui's says. 
 
 "It m;ulo my l»in{^ to crow like cliantaclcer." 
 
 Our love of you both, thou2;h often sent to London, is still 
 with us. If it is not an inexhaustible well (there is hut one love 
 Uiat can, with propriety, be called so.) it is, however, a verr 
 deep one, and not likely to llxil while we are livinc;. 
 Yours., my dear Sir, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE llEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 M\ PKAK FRIKNO, Nov. C4, 1781. 
 
 JNews is always acceptable, especially from another 
 world. I cannot tell you what has been done in the Chesa- 
 peake, but 1 can tell you what has passed in West Wycombe, 
 in this county. Doj'ou feel yourself disposed to j;ive credit to 
 the story of an apjwrition? No, say you. I am of your mind. 
 1 do not believe more than one in a hundrtnl of those t.ales with 
 which old women lVii;hten childixMi, and teach children to 
 frighten each other. Hut you aiv not such a philosopher, I 
 sup|x>se, as to have j>ersuaded yourself that an apparition is an 
 impossible thing. You can attend to a story of that sort, if 
 well authenticated? Yes. Then I can tell you one. 
 
 You have heanl, no doubt, of the ramantic friendship that 
 subsisted once between Paul Whitehead, and Lord le Despen- 
 ser, the late Sir Francis Dashwood. — When Paul dieil, he left 
 his lordship a leg;xcy. It was his heart, which was taken out 
 of his body, and sent as directed. His friend having built a 
 «^hurch. and. at that time just Anished it, uscJ it as a mauso- 
 
WILLIAM COWPKK, Hj 
 
 leum upon this occasion ; and having (as I think the newspa- 
 pers told lis at the time) erected an elegant pillar in the centre 
 of it, on the summit of this pillar, enclosed in a golden in-n, 
 he placed the heart in question. But not as a lady places a 
 china (igure u[)on her mantle-tree, or on the top of her cabinet, 
 but with much respectful ceremony, and all the forms of fune- 
 ral solemnity. He hired the best singers and the best perform- 
 ers. He composed an anthem for the purpose, he invited all 
 the nobility and gentry in the country to assist at the celebra- 
 tion of these obsequies, and having formed them all into an 
 august procession, marched to the place appointed at their head, 
 and consigned the posthumous treasure, with his own hands, 
 to its state of honourable elevation. Having thus, as he thought, 
 and as he miglit well think, (* * * * *) appeased the 
 manes of the deceased, he rested satisfied with what he had 
 done, and supposed his friend would rest. But not so, — about 
 a week since I received a letter from a person, wlio cannot 
 have been misinformed, telling me that Paul has appeared fi-e- 
 quently of late, and that there are few, if any, of his lord- 
 ship's numerous household, who liavc not seen him, sometimes 
 in the park, sometimes in the garden, as well as in the house, by 
 day and by night, indifl'orently. I make no reflection upon this in- 
 cident, having other things to write about, and but little room, 
 
 I am much indebted to Mr. S for more franks, and still 
 
 more obliged by the handsome note with which he accompa- 
 nied them. He has furnished me sufficiently for the present 
 occasion, and by his readiness, and obliging manner of doing 
 it, encouraged me to have recourse to him, in case another exi- 
 gence of the same kind should otTer. A French author I was 
 reading last night, says, He that has written, will write again. 
 If the critics do not set their foot upon this first egg that I have 
 laid, and crush it, I shall probably verify his observation ; anel 
 
1X9 COKRESPOXTIENCE OF 
 
 when I fool my spirits rise, and that I am armed with iiulitstr^' 
 suflioient for the purpose, undertake the production of another 
 vohune. At present, however, I do not leel myself so dis 
 poseil ; and, indeed, he thvit would write, should ix^ad, not 
 thm he mav retail the ohservations of other men, but tliat, be 
 insc thus i-elreshcd nnd i^eplcnished, he may find himself in a 
 eoudition to make and to produce his own. I reckon it amons; 
 my principal advanta2;es, as a composer of versos, that 1 havo 
 not read an Knu;lish poet these liiirtecn yeai"?, and but one these 
 twenty yeai-s. Imitation, even of the best models, is my aver- 
 sion; it is servile and mechanical, a trick that has enabled 
 many to usurp the name of author, who could not have writ- 
 ten at all, if thev had not written upon the pattern of some- 
 bodv indeed original. Rut when the ear and the taste have 
 been much accustomed to the manner of others, it is almost 
 impossible to avoid it ; and we imitate in spite of oui'sclves, 
 just in proportion as weadmiiT. Ikit enough of this. 
 
 Your mother, who is as well as the season of the year will 
 permit, desires me to add her love. — ^l""he salmon you sent u> 
 arriveil safe, and was remarkably fresh. What a comfort it is 
 to have a friend who knows that we love salmon, and who 
 cannot pass by a fishmonijer's shop, without finding his desii"c 
 (o send us some, a teiuptation too strons: to be ivsistedl 
 Yours, my dear friend. 
 
 ro .10SF.PH mil., ESQ. 
 
 MV PEAK FKlENn. Nov. 0^ irSI. 
 
 I thank you much for your lettcj-, which, without oblig- 
 ing me to travel to Wargrave at a time of year when journey- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. HH 
 
 Mie; is nol very ap;rccuhlc, h:is introduccil mc, in the most com- 
 modious manner, to a perfect acquaintance with your neat little 
 garden, your old cottage, and, above all, your most prudent 
 and sagacious landlady. As much as I admire her, I admire 
 much more tliat philosophical temper with which you seem to 
 treat her ; for I know few characters more provoking, to me at 
 least, than the selfish, who are never honest, especially if, 
 while they dctLMinine to pick your pocket, they have not inge- 
 nuity enough to conceal their purpose. But you are perfectly 
 in the right, and act just as I wouUl endeavour to do, on the 
 same occasion. You sacrifice every thing to a retreat you ad- 
 mire, and if the natural indolence of my disposition did not 
 forsake me, so would 1. 
 
 You miglU as well apologize for sending me forty pounds, as 
 for writing about yourself. Of the two ingredients, I hardly 
 know which made your letter the most agreeable (observe, I 
 do not say the most acceptable.) The draft, indeed, was wel- 
 come ; but, though it was so, yet it did not make me laugh. 1 
 laughed heartily at the account you give me of yourself, and 
 your landlady, Dame Saveall, whose picture you have drawn, 
 though not with a (lattering hand, yet, I dare say, with a strong 
 resemblance. As to you, 1 have never seen so much of you 
 since I saw you in London, where you and I have so often 
 made ourselves merry with each other's humour, yet never 
 gave each otiier a moment's pain by doing so. We are both 
 humourists, and it is well for your wife, and my Mrs. Unvvin, 
 that they have alike found out the way to ileal with us. 
 
 More thanks to Mrs. Hill for her intentions. She has the 
 true enthusiasm of a gardener, and I can pity her under her dis- 
 appointment, having so large a share of that commodity myself. 
 Yours, my dear Sir, atlectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
114 CORRESPONUKNCK OF 
 
 lO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 27, 1782. 
 
 First Mr. Wilson, then Mr. Teedon, and lastly Mr 
 Whitford, each with a cloiui of melancholy on his hrow, and 
 with a mouth wide open, have just announced to us this unwel- 
 come intelligence iVom America. We are sorry to hear it, and 
 .should be more cast down than we are, if we did not know that 
 this catastrophe was ordained beforehand, and that therefore 
 neither conduct, nor courage, nor any means that can possibly 
 be mentioned, could have prevented it. If the king and hi? 
 ministry can be contented to close the business here, and, tak- 
 ing poor Dean Tucker's advice, resign the Americans into the 
 hands of their new masters, it may be well for Old England. 
 But if they will still persevere, they will find it, I doubt, an 
 hopeless contest to the last. Domestic murmurs will grow louder, 
 and the hands of faction, being strengthened by this late mis- 
 carriage, will find it easy to set fire to the pile of combustibles 
 they have been so long employed in building. These are my 
 politics, and for aught I can see, you and we by our respective 
 fire-sides, though neither connected with men in power, nor 
 professing to possess any share of that sagacity which thinks 
 itself qualified to wield the aflairs of kingdoms, can make as pro- 
 bable conjectures, and look forward into futurity with as clear 
 a sia;ht, as the 2:reatest man in the cabinet. 
 
 Though when I wrote the passage in question, I was not at 
 all aware of any impropriety in it, and although I have fre- 
 quently since that time, both i-ead and recollected it with the 
 same approbation, I lately became uneasy upon the subject, and 
 had no rest in my mind for three days, till I resolved to submit 
 it to a trial at your tribunal, and to dispose of it ultimately ac- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. II5 
 
 cording to your sentence. I am glad you have condemned it, 
 and though I do not feel as if I could presently supply its place, 
 shall be willing to attempt the task, whatever labour it may cost 
 me, and rejoice that it will not be in the power of the critics, what- 
 ever else they may charge me with, to accuse me of bigotry, 
 or a design to make a certain denomination of Christians odious, 
 at the hazard of the public peace. I had rather my book were 
 burnt, than a single line guilty of such a tendency should escape 
 nie. 
 
 We thank you for two copies of your Address to your Pa- 
 rishioners. The first I lent to Mr. Scott, whom I have not 
 seen since I put it into his hands. You have managed your 
 subject well ; have applied yourself to despisers and absentees 
 of every description, in terms so expressive of the interest you 
 take in their welfare, that the most wrong-headed person can- 
 not be offended. We both wish it may have the effect you in- 
 tend, and that prejudices and groundless apprehensions being 
 removed, the immediate objects of your ministry may make a 
 more considerable part of your congregation. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, as ever, 
 
 W. C 
 
 rO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 [Fragment] 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Same date. 
 
 A visit from Mr. Whitford shortened one of your let- 
 ters to me ; and now the same cause has operated with the 
 same effect upon one of mine to you. He is just gone ; desir- 
 ed me to send his love, and talks of enclosing a letter to you in 
 my next cover. 
 
116 l^ORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Literas tuas irato Sacertloti scriptas, legi, perlegi, ct nt ver- 
 bum quiilem mutaiidum cciiseo. Gratias tibi acturiim si sapiat, 
 existimo; sin alitcr cvcniat, amici tamen otlicium pi-Kstitisti, el 
 te coram te vindicasti. 
 
 I have not written in Latin to show my scholarship, nor to 
 excite Mi*s. Newton's curiosity, nor lor any other wise reason 
 whatever ; but merely because, just at that moment, it came 
 into my head to do so. 
 
 I never wrote a copy of Mary and John* in my life, except 
 that which I sent to you. It was one of those baa:atelles which 
 sometimes spring up like mushrooms in my imagination, either 
 while 1 am writing, or just before 1 begin. I sent it to you, be- 
 cause to you I send any thing that I tliink may raise a smile; 
 but should never have thought of multiplying the impression. 
 Neither did I ever repeat them to any one except Mrs. Unwin. 
 The inference is fair and easy, that you have some friend who 
 has a good memory. 
 
 This afternoon the maid opened the parlour-door, and told us 
 there was a lady in the kitchen. We desired she might be in- 
 troducetl, and prepared for the reception of Mrs. Jones. But it 
 proved to be a lady unknown to us. and not Mrs. Jones. She 
 walked directly up to Mi^. Unwin. and never drew back till 
 their noses were almost in contact. It seemed as if she meant 
 to salute her. An uncommon degree of familiarity, accompa- 
 
 .A\>fe by the Editor. 
 
 •The lines alluded to are the following, which appeared afterwards 
 somewhat varied, in the Eieg-ani Ertractt in Verte .• — 
 
 If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 
 
 *Tis a ven- jr^wil match betw een Mary and John. 
 
 Should John wed a score, oh ! the cl.<»\vs and the scr:»trhe« ' 
 
 It can't be a match: — tis a bundle of matches. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. II7 
 
 nied with an air of most extraordinary gravity, made me think 
 her a Httle crazy. I was alarmed, and so was Mrs. Unwin. She 
 had a bundle in her hand — a silk handkerchief tied up at the 
 four corners. When I found she was not mad, I took her for 
 a smuggler, and made no doubt but she had brought samples of 
 contraband goods. But our surprise, considering the lady's ap- 
 pearance and deportment, was tenfold what it had been, when 
 we found that it was Mary Philips's daughter, who had brought 
 us a few apples by way of a specimen of a quantity she had for 
 sale. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 2, 178L 
 
 I thank you for the note. There is some advantage in 
 having a tenant who is irregular in his payments : the longer the 
 rent is withheld, the more considerable the sum when it arrives ; 
 to which we may add, that its arrival being unexpected, a cir- 
 cumstance that obtains always in a degree exactly in proportion 
 to the badness of the tenant, is always sure to be the occasion 
 of an agreeable surprise ; a sensation that deserves to be ranked 
 among the pleasantest that belong to us. 
 
 I gave two hundred and fifty pounds for the chambers. Mr. 
 Ashurst's receipt, and the receipt of the person of whom he 
 purchased, are both among my papers; and when wanted, as I 
 suppose they will be in case of a sale, shall be forthcoming at 
 your order. 
 
 The conquest of America seems to go on but slowly. Our 
 ill success in that quarter will oblige me to suppress two pieces 
 that I was rather proud of. They were written two or three 
 years ago ; not long after the double repulse sustained by Mr 
 
U3 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 D'Estaing at Lucia and at Savannah, and when our operations 
 in the western world wore a more promising aspect. Presum- 
 ing, upon such promises, that I might venture to prophesy an 
 illustrious consummation of the war, I did so. But my pre- 
 dictions proving false, the verse in which they were expressed 
 must perish with them. 
 
 Since I began to write. I have searched all the papers I have, 
 and cannot find the I'eceipts above-mentioned. I hope, however, 
 they are not essential to the validity of the transaction. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MV DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 4, 1781. 
 
 The present to the queen of France, and the piece ad- 
 dressed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, my only two political efforts, 
 being of the predictive kind, and both falsified, or likely to be 
 so, by the miscarriage of the royal cause in America, were 
 already condemned when 1 received your last.* I have a poeti- 
 
 • As the reader may yet wisli to see the lines to Sir Joshua, the Editor 
 extracts tliem from a letter to the Rev. William Unwin, of an earlier date. 
 Those to the Queen of France are not in his possession. 
 
 TO SIR JOSHUA BKTNOLDS. 
 
 Dear President, whose art sublime 
 Gives perpetuity to time. 
 And bids transactions of a day, 
 That fleeting hours uould waft away 
 To dark futurity, survive, 
 And in unfading beauty live, — 
 Vou cannot with a grace decline 
 A special mandate of the Nine— 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 119 
 
 cal epistle which I wrote last summer, and another poem not 
 yet finished, in stanzas, with which I mean to supply their 
 places. Henceforth I have done with politics. The stage of 
 national affairs is such a fluctuating scene, that an event which 
 appears probable to-day becomes impossible to-morrow ; and 
 unless a man were indeed a prophet, he cannot, but with the 
 greatest hazard of losing his labour, bestow his rhymes upon 
 future contingencies, which perhaps are never to take place but 
 in his own wishes and in the reveries of his own fancy. I 
 learned when I was a boy, being the son of a staunch Whig, 
 
 Yourself, whatever task you choose, 
 So much indebted to the Muse. 
 
 Thus say the Sisterhood : — We come — 
 Fix well your pallet on your thumb, 
 Prepare the pencil and the tints — 
 We come to furnish you with hints. 
 French disappointment, British glory, 
 Must be the subject of the story. 
 
 First strike a curve, a graceful bow. 
 Then slope it to a point below; 
 Your outline easy, airy, light, 
 Fill'd up becomes a paper kite. 
 Let independence, sanguine, horrid. 
 Blaze like a meteor in the forehead : 
 Beneath (but lay aside your graces) 
 Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces, 
 Each with a staring, stedfast eye, 
 Fix'd on his great and good ally. 
 France flies the kite — 'tis on the wing- 
 Britannia's lightning cuts the string. 
 The wind that rais'd it, ere it ceases, 
 Just rends it into thirteen pieces, 
 Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, 
 A.nd lays them all at George's feet. 
 
120 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 and a man that loved his country, to glow with that patriotic 
 enthusiasm which is apt to hreak forth into poetry, or at least 
 to prompt a person, it' he has any incHnation that way, to poeti- 
 cal endeavours. Prior's pieces of that sort were recommended 
 to my particular notice ; and as that part of the present centu- 
 ry was a season when clubs of a political character, and conse- 
 quently political songs, were much in fashion, the best in that 
 style, some written by Rowe, and I think some by Congreve, 
 and many by other wits of the day, were proposed to my ad- 
 miration. Being grown up, 1 became desirous of imitating such 
 bright examples, and while I lived in the Temple produced se- 
 veral halfpenny ballads, two or three of which had the honour 
 to be popular. What we learn in childhood we retain long; 
 and the successes we met with, about three years ago, when 
 D'Estaing was twice repulsed, once in America, and once in the 
 West Indies, having set fire to my patriotic zeal once more, it 
 discovered itself by the same symptoms, and produced effects 
 much like those it had produced before. But, unhappily, the 
 ardour I felt upon the occasion, disdaining to be confined with- 
 in the bounds of fact, pushed me upon uniting the prophetical 
 with the poetical character, and defeated its own purpose. — I 
 am glad it did. The less there is of that sort in my book the 
 better ; it will be more consonant to your character, who patro- 
 
 Iberia, trcmblingf from afar. 
 Renounces t)>e confVd'rale war. 
 Her efl'orts and her arts o'ercome, 
 France calls her shattered navies home : 
 Repenting- Holland learns to mourn 
 The sacred treaties ahe has torn; 
 Astonishment and awe profound 
 Are stamp'd upon the nations round ; 
 Without one friend, above all foes, 
 Britannia gives tlie world repose. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. Igj 
 
 nise the volume, and, indeed, to the constant tenor of my own 
 thoughts upon public matters, that I should exhort my country 
 men to repentance, than that I should flatter their pride — that 
 vice for which, perhaps, they are even now so severely punished 
 
 We are glad, for Mr. Barham's sake, that he has been so hap- 
 pily disappointed. How little does the world suspect what 
 passes in it every day ! — that true religion is working the same 
 wonders now as in the first ages of the church, — that parents 
 surrender up their children into the hands of God, to die at his 
 own appointed moment, and by what death he pleases, without 
 a murmur, and receive them again as if by a resurrection from 
 the dead ! The world, however, would be more justly charge- 
 able with wilful blindness than it is, if all professors of the truth 
 exemplified its power in their conduct as conspicuously as Mr. 
 Barham. 
 
 Easterly winds, and a state of confinement within our own 
 walls, suit neither me nor Mrs. Unwin ; though we are both, to 
 use the Irish term, rather unwell than ill. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 Mrs. Madan is happy. — She will be found ripe, fall when she 
 
 may. 
 
 We are sorry you speak doubtfully about a spring visit to 
 Olney. Those doubts must not outlive the winter. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEIND, Dec. 17, 1781. 
 
 The poem I had in hand when I ^vrote last is on the 
 subject of Friendship. By the following post I received a packet 
 
l-Ji> C01lRKSPONI)ENt;K OF 
 
 iVom ,loI)n^>Mi. Tlie prool'shoot it coiitaineil l)io\ii;,lil our busi 
 ness iluw a lo the lallt-r [.art ol' Ifcioctnaii ; the ucxt will con- 
 SL'ijucnlly introduce the lirst ol'the smaller pieces. 'I'he volume 
 coiisistini:;, al least four-lillhs ol" il, ol" heroic verse as it is called, 
 ami i;!ave matter, I was desirous to displace the Burning ISIouu- 
 tain* from the j)0st it held in the van of the light infantry, and 
 throw it into the rear. Having tinished Friendship, and fear- 
 ing that if I delayed to send il, the press would gel the start of 
 my intention, and knowing perfectly that with res|XJct lo the 
 subject, and the subject matter of it, il contained nothing that 
 you would think exceptionable, 1 look the liberty to transmit it 
 to Johnson, and hope that the next post will return it lo me 
 printed. It consists of between thirty and forty stanzas ; a length 
 that qualifies it to supply the place of the two cancelled pieces, 
 Avithout the aid of the'Kpislle I mentioned. According to the 
 ju'esent arrangement, therefore, Friendship, which is rather of 
 a lively cast, though quite sober, will follow next after lictirc- 
 mcntf and ^(Elna will close tlie volume. Modern naturalists, I 
 think, tell us that the volcano forms the mountain. 1 shall be 
 charged therefore, perluips, with anuni)hilosophical error in sup- 
 posing that ^Ktna was once unconscious of intestine fires, and 
 as lofty as at present before the commencement of the eruptions. 
 It is possible, however, that the rule, though just in some in- 
 stances, may not be of universal ai)|)lication ; and if it be, 1 do 
 not know that a poet is obliged to write with a philosopher at 
 his elbow, prepared always to bend down his imagination to 
 mere matters of fact. \o\\ will oblige me by your opinion ; and 
 tell me, if you please, whether you think an apologetical note 
 may be necessary ; for I would not appear a dunce in mattejs 
 
 * The poem afterwards entitled *' Heroism." 
 
 Vide Poems, vol. 1. 
 
WILTJAM COWPKU. 123 
 
 thai every Review reader iiiust necils be apprized of. 1 say a 
 note, because an alteration of tbe piece is impracticable; at least 
 vvitboiit cnttiiia; ofl' its brad, and scttinc; on a new one; a task I 
 sbonld not readily undertake, because Ibe lines wbicb must, in 
 tbat case, be thrown oul, are some of the most poetical in thft 
 performance. 
 
 Possessing greater advantages, and being equally dissolute 
 xvith the most abandoned of the neighbouring nations, we avc 
 certainly more Criminal than they. They cannot sec, and we 
 ?/'/// not. It is to be expected, therefore, that wiien judgmcnl in 
 walking through the earth, it will come commissioned with the 
 heaviest tidings to the people chargeable with the most perversc- 
 ness. In the latter pait of the Duke of Newcastle's administra- 
 tion, all faces gathered blackness. The people, as they walked 
 the streets, had, every one of them, a countenance like what wc 
 may suppose to have been the prophet Jonah's, when he cried 
 "Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be destroyed." But our 
 Nineveh toorejicnted, that is to say, she was affected in a manner 
 somewhat suitable to her condition. She was dejected ; she 
 learnetl an hundjlcr language, and seemed, if she did not trust 
 in God, at least to have renounced her confidence in herself. A 
 respite ensued ; the expected ruin was averted ; and her pros- 
 perity became greater than ever. Again she became self-con- 
 ceited and proud, as at the first; and how stands it with her 
 Nineveh now ? Even as you say; her distress is infinite, her 
 destruction appears inevitable, and her heart as hard as the 
 nether millstone. Thus, I suppose, it was when ancient Nineveh 
 found herself agreeably disappointed; she turned the grace ol 
 God into lasciviousness, and that flagrant abuse of mercy expos- 
 eil her, at the expiration of forty years, to tiie complete^ execu- 
 tion of a sentence she had only been threatened with before. A 
 similarity of events, accompanied by a strong similarity of con 
 
124 CORRBSPONDEN'CE OF 
 
 duct, seems to justify our cxjiectations that the catastrophe will 
 not be very different. But after all, the designs of Providence 
 are inscrutable, and, as in the case of individuals, so in that of 
 nations, the same causes do not always produce the same effects. 
 The country indeed cannot be saved in its present state of profli- 
 gacy and profaneness, but may, nevertheless, be led to repent- 
 ance by means we are little aware of, and at a time when wc 
 least expect it. 
 
 Our best love attends yourself and Mrs. Newton, and we re- 
 joice that you feel no burthens but those you bear in common 
 witli the liveliest and most favoured Christians. — It is a happi- 
 ness in poor Pef;2;y's case that she can swallow five shillings' 
 worth of physic in a day, but a person must be in her case to 
 be duly sensible of it. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THE UEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MV UEAU WILLIAM, 
 
 I dare say I do not enter exactly into your idea of a present 
 theocracy, because mine amounts to no more than the common 
 one, tliat all mankind, though a few are really aware of it, act 
 under a providential direction, and that a gracious superintend- 
 ence in particular, is the lot of those who trust in God. Thus 
 I think respecting individuals, and with respect to the kingdoms 
 of the earth, that perhaps by his own immediate operation, 
 though more probably by the intervention of angels, (vide 
 Daniel) the great Governor manages and rules them, assigns 
 them their origin, duration, and end, appoints them prospciity 
 (n- adversity, glory or disgrace, as their virtues or their vices. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEIJ. 125 
 
 their regard to the dictates of conscience and his word, or their 
 prevailing neglect of both, may indicate and require. But in 
 this persuasion, as I said, I do not at all deviate from the gene- 
 ral opinion of those who believe a Providence, at least who 
 have a scriptural belief of it. I suppose, therefore, you menn 
 something more, and shall be glad to be more particularly in- 
 formed. 
 
 I see but one feature in the face of our national concerns that 
 pleases ine ; — the war with America, it seems, is to be con- 
 ducted on a different plan. This is something; when a long 
 series of measures, of a certain description, has proved un- 
 successful, the adoption of others is at least pleasing, as it en- 
 courages a hope that they may possibly prove wiser, and more 
 effectual : but, indeed, without discipline, all is lost. Pitt 
 himself could have done nothing with such tools ; but he would 
 not have been so betrayed ; he would have made the traitors 
 answer with their heads, for their cowardice or supineness, and 
 their punishment would have made survivors active. 
 
 w. r. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FUIEND, The shortest day, 1781. 
 
 I might easily make this letter a continuation of my las(, 
 another national miscarriage having furnished me with a fresh 
 illustration of the remarks we have both been making. Mr. 
 
 S , who has most obligingly supplied me with franks 
 
 throughout my whole concern with Johnson, accompanied the 
 last parcel he sent me with a note dated from the House of 
 Commons, in which he seemed happy to give me the earliest 
 intelligence of the capture of the French transports by Admi- 
 
126 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 ral Kempcnfelt, and of a close engagement between the t\v( 
 fleets, so much to be expected. This note was written on Mon 
 day, and reached nic by Wechiesday *s post ; hut, alas ! the same 
 post brought us the newspaper that informed us of his being 
 forced to fly befoie a much superior enemy, and glad to take 
 shelter in the port he had left so lately. This event, I sup|x>so, 
 will have worse consequences than the mere disappointment ; 
 will furnish opposition, as all our ill success has done, with the 
 fuel of dissention, and wiih the uK'nns of thwarting and per- 
 plexing administration. Thus all we purchase with the many 
 millions expended yearly, is distress to ourselves, instead of 
 our enemies, and domestic quarrels, instead of victories abroad. 
 It takes a great many blows to knock down a great nation ; and, 
 in the case of poor England, a great many heavy ones have 
 not been wanti'ng. They make us reel and stagger, indeed, hut 
 the blow is not yet struck that is to make us iall upon our 
 knees. That fall would save us; but if we fall upon our side 
 at last, we are undone. So much for politics. 
 
 I enclose a few lines on a thought which struck me yester- 
 day.* If you approve of them, you know what to do with 
 them. I should think they might occupy the place of an in- 
 troduction, and should call them by that name, if I did not 
 judge the name 1 have given them necessary for the informa- 
 tion of the reader. A flatting-mill is not met witli in every 
 street, antl my book will, perhaps, fall into the hands of many 
 who do not know that such a mill was ever invented. It hap- 
 pened to me, however, to spend much of my time in one. 
 when I was a boy, when 1 frequently amused myself with 
 watching the operation I describe. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 W. ( . 
 
 • The lines atludcil to arc entitled, " Thu Flatting Mill, au IHuUvatinn ' 
 Viilc rocms, vol. HI » 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 107 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAU FUIEND, The last day of 1781. 
 
 Yesterday's post, which brought me yours, brought me 
 a packet from Johnson. We have reached the middle of the 
 Mahometan Hog. By the way, your lines, which, when we 
 had the pleasure of seeing you here, you said you would fur- 
 nish him with, are not inserted in it. I did not recollect, till 
 after I iiad finished the Flatting Mill, that it bore any affinity 
 to the motto taken from Caraccioli. The resemblance, how- 
 ever, did not appear to me to give any impropriety to the 
 verses, as the thought is much enlarged upon, and enlivened 
 by the addition of a new comparison. But if it is not wanted, 
 it is superfluous, and if superfluous, better omitted. — I shall not 
 humble Johnson for finding foult with Friendship, though I 
 have a better opinion of it myself; but a poet is, of all men, 
 the most unfit to be judge in his own cause. Partial to all his 
 productions, he is always most partial to the youngest. But 
 as there is a sufficient quantity without it, let that sleep too. If 
 I should live to write again, I may possibly take up that sub- 
 ject a second time, and clothe it in a different dress. It abounds 
 with excellent matter, and much more than I could find room 
 for, in two or three pages. 
 
 I consider England and America as once one country. They 
 were so, in respect of interest, intercourse, and affinity. A great 
 earthquake has made a partition, and now the Atlantic ocean 
 flows between them. He that can drain that ocean, and shove 
 the two shores together, so as to make them aptly coincide, and 
 meet each other in every part, can unite them again. But this 
 is a work for Omnipotence, and nothing less than Omnipotence 
 can heal the breach between us. This dispensation is evidently 
 
128 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 a scourge to England ; but is it a blessing to America ? Time 
 tnay prove it one, but at present it does not seem to wear an 
 aspect favourable to their privileges, either civil, or religious. I 
 cannot doubt tiie truth of Dr. W.'s assertion ; but the French, 
 who pay but little regard to treaties that clash with their conve- 
 nience, without a treaty, and even in direct contradiction to ver- 
 bal engagements, can easily pretend a claim to a country which 
 they have both bled and paid for; and if the validity of that claim 
 be disputed, behold an army ready landed, and well-appointed, 
 and in possession of some of the most fruitful provinces, pre- 
 pared to prove it. A scourge is a scourge at one end only. A 
 bundle of thunderbolts, such as you have seen in the talons of 
 Jupiters's eagle, is at both ends equally tremendous, and can 
 inflict a judgment upon the West, at the same moment that it 
 seems to intend only the chastisement of the East. 
 
 Yours, my dear sir, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 15, 1782. 
 
 I believe I did not thank you for your anecdotes, either 
 foreign or domestic, in my last, therefore I do it now ; and still 
 feel myself, as I did at the time, truly obliged to you for them. 
 More is to be learned from one matter of fact, than from a thou- 
 sand speculations. But, alas ! what course can government take ? 
 I have heard (for I never made the experiment) that if a man 
 «*^rasp a red-hot iron with his naked hand, it will stick to him, 
 so that he cannot presently disengage himself from it. Such are 
 the colonies in the hands of administration. While they hold 
 them they burn their fingers, and yet they must not quit them. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER, 129 
 
 I know not whether your sentiments and mine upon this part 
 of the subject exactly coincide, but you will know, when you 
 understand what mine are. It appears to me that the King is 
 bound, both by the duty he owes to himself and to his people, 
 to consider himself with respect to every inch of his territories, 
 as a trustee deriving his interest in them from God, and invest- 
 ed with them by divine authority for the benefit of his subjects. 
 As he may not sell them or waste them, so he may not resign 
 them to an enemy, or transfer his right to govern them to any, 
 not even to themselves, so long as it is possible for him to keep 
 it. If he does, he betrays at once his own interest, and that of 
 his other dominions. It may be said, suppose Providence has 
 ordained that they shall be wrested from him, how then ? I 
 answer, that cannot appear to be the case, till God's purpose is 
 actually accomplished ; and in the mean time the most probable 
 prospect of such an event does not release him from his obliga- 
 tion to hold them to the last moment, for as much as adverse 
 appearances are no infallible indication of God's designs, but 
 may give place to more comfortable symptoms, when we least 
 expect it. Viewing the thing in this light, if I sat on his Ma- 
 jesty's throne, I should be as obstinate as he, because if I quitted 
 the contest, while I had any means left of carrying it on, I 
 should never knovv that I had not relinquished vvhat I might 
 have retained, or be able to render a satisfactory answer to the 
 doubts and inquiries of my own conscience. 
 
 Yours, my dear Sir, 
 
 W. C. 
 
130 tJOURESPONDENCE OI' 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FUIENI), Jan. 31, 1782. 
 
 Having thanked you for a barrel of very fine oysters, J 
 should have nothing more to say, if I did not determine to sa\ 
 every thing that may happen to occur. The political world af- 
 fords us no very agreeable subjects at present, nor am I suffi- 
 ciently conversant with it, to do justice to so magnificent a theme, 
 if it did. A man that lives as I do, whose chief occupation, at 
 this season of the year, is to walk ten times in a day from the 
 fire-side to his cucumber frame and back again, cannot shew his 
 wisdom more, if he has an}- wisdom to shew, than by leaving 
 the mysteries of government to the management of persons, in 
 point of situation and information, much better qualified for the 
 business. Suppose not, however, that I am perfectly an uncon- 
 cerned spectator, or that I take no interest at all in the affairs 
 of m)- country ; far from it — I read the news — I see that things 
 go wrong in every quarter. I meet, now and then, with an ac- 
 count of some disaster that seems to be the indisputable progeny 
 of treachery, cowardice, or a spirit of faction ; I recollect that in 
 those happier days, when you and I could spend our evening in 
 enumerating victories and acquisition, that seemed to follow 
 each other in a continued series, there was some pleasure in hear- 
 ing a politician ; and a man might talk away upon so entertain- 
 ing a subject, without danger of becoming tiresome to others, 
 or incurring weariness himself When poor Bob White brought 
 me the news of ]3oscawen's success off the coast of Portugal, 
 how did I leap ibr joy ! When Ilawke demolished Conflans, I 
 was still more transported. 13ut nothing could express my rap- 
 ture, when Wolfe made the conquest of Quebec. I am not, 
 therefore, I suppose, destitute of true patriotism, but the course 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. Hi] 
 
 of public events has, of late, afforded me no op])ortunity to ex- 
 ert it. I cannot rejoice, because I see no reason, and I will not 
 murmur, because for that I can find no j^ood one. And let me 
 add, he that has seen both sides of fifty, has lived to little pur- 
 pose, if he has not other views of the world than he had when 
 he was much younger. He finds, if he reflects at all, that it 
 will be to the end, what it has been from the beginning, a shift- 
 ing, uncertain, fluctuating scene ; that nations, as well as indivi- 
 duals, have their seasons of infancy, youth, and age. If he be 
 an Englishman, he will observe that ours, in particular, is af- 
 fected with every symptom of decay, and is already sunk into a 
 state of decrepitude. I am reading Mrs. M'Aulay's History. 
 I am not quite such a superannuated simpleton, as to suppose that 
 mankind were wiser or much better, when I was young, than 
 they are now. But I may venture to assert, without.exposing 
 myself to the charge of dotage, that the men whose integrity, 
 courage, and wisdom, broke Ihe bands of tyranny, established 
 our constitution upon its true basis, and gave a people, over- 
 whelmed with the scorn of all countries, an opportunity to 
 emerge into a state of the higest respect and estimation, make a 
 better figure in history than any of the present day are likely to 
 do, when their pretty harangues are forgotten, and nothing shall 
 survive but the remembrance of the views and motives with 
 which they made them. 
 
 My dear friend, I have written at random, in every sense, 
 neither knowing what sentiments I should broach, when I be- 
 gan, nor whether they would accord with yours. Excuse a rus- 
 tic, if he errs on such a subject, and believe me sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
132 (JOHRESl'ONDKNCK Ol 
 
 TO JOSKFH HILL, ES«. 
 
 MY DEAU I'RIKNI), Maicl> U, 1782. 
 
 As sci\ aiil-maids, and such sort of folks, account a lettei 
 good for iiothiiii!;, unless it begins with — This conies hoping you 
 arc well, as I am at this present : so I should he chargeable with 
 a great omission, were I not to make frequent use of the follow- 
 ing grateful exordium — Many thanks for a fine cod and oysters. 
 Your hoiuily never arrived more seasonably, I had just been 
 observing that among other (lei)lorable eflects of the war, the 
 scarcity of fish which it occasioned, was severely felt at OIney ; 
 butyour plentiful supply imniediately reconciled me, though not 
 to the war, yv\ to my small share in the calamities it produces. 
 
 I ]\o\t^. my bookseller has paid due attention to liu' order I 
 gave him to finnish you with my books. 'J'iie composition of 
 those pieces aflbnled me an agreeable amusement at intervals, 
 for about a twelvemonth ; ami I should l)e glad to devote the 
 leisure hours of anotiier twelvemonth to llif same occupation ; at 
 least, if my lucubrations should meet with a favourable accept- 
 ance. Hut I cannot wiite when I would ; and whether 1 shall 
 find readers, is a problem not yet decided. So the Muse and I 
 are parted for the present. 
 
 I sent Lord 'i'hurlow a volume, and the following letter with 
 it, which I comnunucate because you will undoubtedly have 
 some curiosity to see it." 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. ( 
 
 • For the letter to Lord Tliiuiow, sec Cowpcr's Letters, vol. T. papc 19:. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 133 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 14, 1782. 
 
 1 was not acquainted with Mr. B — 's extraordinary case, 
 before you favoured me with his iellcr and liis intended dedica- 
 tion to the Queen, fhough 1 am obliged to you for a sight of 
 those two curiosities, wluch I do not recollect to have ever seen 
 till you sent them. I could, however, were it not a subject that 
 would make us all melancholy, point out to you some essential 
 diflerences between his stale of mind and my own, which would 
 prove mine to be by far the most tieplorable of tlie two. I sup- 
 pose no man would despair, if he did not apprehend something 
 singular in the circumstances of his own story, something that 
 discriminates it from that of every other man, and that induces 
 despair as an inevitable consequence. You may encounter his 
 unhappy pcrsuasum with as many instances as you please, of 
 persons, who, like him, having renounced all hope, were yet 
 restored ; and may thence infer that he, like them, shall meet 
 with a season of restoration — but it is in vain. Every such in- 
 dividual accountshimself an exception to all rules, and therefore 
 the blessed reverse, that others have experienced, affords no 
 ground of comfortable expectation to him. But you will say, 
 it is reasonable to conclude that as all your predecessors in this 
 vale of misery and horror have found themselves delightfully 
 disappointed at last, so will you : — I grant the reasonableness of 
 it ', it would be sinful, perhaps, because uncharitable, to reason 
 otherwise; but an argument, hypothetical in its nature, however 
 rationally conducted, may lead to a false conclusion ; and in this 
 instance, so will yours. - But I forbear. For the cause above 
 mentioned, I will say no more, though it is a subject on which 
 I could write more than the mail would carry. I must deal 
 
134 COKKESFONDENCE OF 
 
 with you as I deal witli poor Mrs. Unwin, in all our disputes 
 about it, cutting all controversy short by an appeal to the event. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 rO IHE UEV. WILLIAM BULL. 
 
 MY DEAU FRIEND, June 22, 1782. 
 
 If reading verse be your delight, 
 'Tis mine as much, or more, to write ; 
 But what wc AvouUl, so weak is man, 
 Lies oft remote from what we can. 
 For instance, at this very time, 
 I feel a wish, by cheerful rhyme 
 To soothe my friend, and, had I power, 
 I'o cheat him of an anxious hour ; 
 Not meaning (for 1 must confess, 
 It were but folly to suppress,) 
 His pleasure, or his good alone. 
 But squinting partly at my own. 
 But though the sun is flaming high 
 r th' centre of yon arch, the sky, 
 And he had once (and who but he ?) 
 The name for setting genius free, 
 Yet whether poets of past days 
 Yielded him uniieserved praise. 
 And he by no uncommon lot 
 Was famed for virtues he had not ; 
 Or whether, which is like enough, 
 His Highness may have taken hufl", 
 So seldom sought with invocation, -, 
 
 Since it has hten the reigning fashion s 
 
 To disregard his inspiration, ' 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 135 
 
 I seem no brighter in my vyits, 
 For all the radiance he emits, 
 Than if I saw through midnight vapour, 
 The glimm'ring of a farthing taper. 
 Oh for a succedaneum, then, 
 T' accelerate a creeping pen ! 
 Oh for a ready succedaneum, 
 Quod caput, cerebrum, et cranium 
 Pondcrc liberet cxoso, 
 Et morbo jam caliginoso ! 
 'Tis here; this oval box well fiU'd 
 With best tobacco, finely miU'd, 
 Beats all Anticyra's pretences 
 To disengage the encumber'd senses. 
 Oh Nymph of Transatlantic fame. 
 Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy name, 
 Whether reposing on the side 
 Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide. 
 Or list'ning with delight not small 
 
 To Niagara's distant fall, 
 
 'Tis thine to cherish and to feed 
 
 The pungent nose-refreshing weed, 
 
 Which, whether pulverized it gain 
 
 A speedy passage to the brain, 
 
 Or whether, touch'd with fire it rise 
 
 In circling eddies to the skies. 
 
 Does thought more quicken and refine 
 
 Than all the breath of all the Nine- 
 Forgive the Bard, if Bard he be, 
 
 Who once too wantonly made free, 
 
 To touch with a satiric wipe 
 
 That symbol of thy power, the pipe ; 
 
 So may no blight infest thy plains. 
 
 And no unseasonable rains, 
 
ISff CORRESPONDKNCE OF 
 
 And so may smiling Peace once more 
 
 Visit America's sad shore ; 
 
 And ihou, secure from all alarms, 
 
 Of tluind'ring drums, and gliti'ring arms, 
 
 Rove unconfined beneath the shade 
 
 Thy wide expanded leaves have made ; 
 
 So may thy votaries encrease, 
 
 And fumigation never cease. 
 
 May Newton with renewed delights 
 
 Perform thine odorif *rous rites, 
 
 While clouds of incense half divine 
 
 Involve thy disappearing shrine ; 
 
 And so may smoke-inhaling Bull 
 
 Be always filling, never full. 
 
 w. r. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAK FRIEND, Sept. 6, 1782. 
 
 Yesterday, and not before, I received your letter, dated 
 the 11th of June, from the hands of Mr. Small. I should have 
 been happy to have known him sooner; but whether being 
 afraid of that horned monster, a Methodist, or whether from a 
 prhiciple of delicacy, or deterred by a flood, which has rolled 
 for some weeks between Clifton and Olney, I know not, — he 
 has favoured me only with a taste of his company, and will 
 leave me, on Saturday cveninj;, to regret that our acquaintance, 
 so lately begun, must be so soon suspended. He will dine with 
 us that day, which I reckon a fortunate circumstance, as I shall 
 have an opportunity to introduce him to the liveliest and most 
 entertaining woman in the country. I have seen him but. for 
 hnlf an hour, yet, without boasting much of discernment, I sec 
 
WILLIAM COVVPEH. I37 
 
 that he is polite, easy, cheerful, and sensible. An old man 
 thus qualified, cannot fail to charm the lady in question. As to 
 his religion, I leave it — I am neither his bishop nor his confes- 
 sor. A man of his character, and recommended by you, would 
 be welcome here, were he a Gentoo, or a Mahometan. 
 
 I learn from him that certain friends of mine, whom I have 
 been afraid to enquire about by letter, are alive and well. The 
 current of twenty years has swept away so many, whom I once 
 knew, that I doubted whether it might be advisable to send my 
 love to your mother and your sisters. They may have thought 
 my silence strange, but they have here the reason of it. Assure 
 them of my affectionate remembrance, and that nothing would 
 make me happier than to receive you all in my green-house, 
 your own Mrs. Hill included. It is fronted with myrtles, and 
 lined with mats, and would just hold us, for Mr. Small informs 
 me your dimensions are much the same as usual. 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE KEV^ WILLIAM BULL. 
 
 m Nov. 5, 1782. 
 
 Charissimc Taiirorum 
 
 Quot sunt, vel fuerunt, vel posthac aliis eriint in annis. 
 
 We shall rejoice to see you, and I just write to tell you 
 so. Whatever else I want, 1 have, at least, this quality in com- 
 mon with publicans and sinners, that I love those that love me, 
 and, for that reason, you in particular. Your warm and affec- 
 tionate manner demands it of me. And though I consider your 
 love as growing out of a mistaken expectation that you shall see 
 me a spiritual man hereafter, I do not love you much the less 
 
13f> COUIIESI'ONDENUE OF 
 
 for it. I only regret that I did not know you intimately in 
 those happier days, when the frame of my heart and mini! was 
 such as miji;ht have made a connexion with me not altoj^elher 
 unworthy of you. 
 
 1 only add Mrs. Unwin's rememhrances, and that 1 am glad 
 you believe nic to be, what I truly am, 
 
 Your faithful and affectionate, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEl'H HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MV DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 11, 178J. 
 
 Your shocking scrawl, as you term it, was, however, a 
 very welcome one. The character, indeed, has not quite the 
 neatness and beauty of an engraving ; but if it cost me some 
 pains to decypher it, they were well rewarded by the minute 
 information it conveyed. I am glad your health is such, that 
 you have nothing more to complain of than may be expected 
 on the down-hill side of life. If mine is better than yours, it is to 
 be attributed, I suppose, principally, to the constant enjoyment 
 of country air and retirement ; the most perfect regularity in 
 matters of eating, drinking, and sleeping ; and a hapi)y opan- 
 cipation from every thing that wears the face of business. I 
 lead the life 1 always wished for, and, the single circumstance 
 of dependence excepted, (which, between ourselves, is very 
 contrary to my .predominant humour and disposition,) have no 
 want left broad enough for another wish to stand ui)on. 
 
 You may not, perhaps, live to see your trees attain to the 
 dignity of timber — I, nevertheless, approve of your planting, 
 and the disinterested spirit that prompts you to it. Few pco- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. I39 
 
 pie plant, when they are young; a thousand other less profit- 
 able amusements divert their attention ; and most people, when 
 the date of youth is once expired, think it too late to begin, I 
 can tell you, however, for your comfort and encouragement, 
 that when a grove, which Major Cowper had planted, was of 
 eighteen years' growth, it was no small ornament to his grounds, 
 and afforded as complete a shade as could be desired. Were I 
 as old as your mother, in whose longevity I rejoice, and the 
 more, because I consider it as, in some sort, a pledge and assu- 
 rance of yours, and should come to the possession of land worth 
 planting, I would begin to-morrow, and even without previously 
 insisting upon a bond from Providence that I should live five 
 years longer, 
 
 I saw last week a gentleman who was lately at Hastings. I 
 
 asked him where he lodged. He replied at P 's. 1 next 
 
 enquired after the poor man's wife, whether alive or dead. He 
 answered, dead. So then, said I, she has scolded her last ; 
 and a sensible old man will go down to his grave in peace. Mr. 
 
 P , to be sure, is of no great consequence, either to you, 
 
 or to me; but having so fair an opportunity to inform myself 
 about him, I could not neglect it. It gives me pleasure to learn 
 somewhat of a man I knew a little of, so many years since, 
 and for that reason merely I mention the circumstance to you. 
 
 I find a single expression in your letter which needs correc- 
 tion. You say I carefully avoid paying you a visit at War- 
 grave. Not so ; — but connected as I happily am, and rooted 
 where I am, and not having travelled these twenty years — be- 
 ing, besides, of an indolent temper, and having spirits that 
 cannot bear a bustle — all these are so many insuperables in the 
 way. They are' not, however, in yours ; and if you and Mrs. 
 Hill will make the experiment, you shall find yourselves as 
 
140 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 welcome here, both to mc and to Mrs. Unvvin, as'it is possible 
 you can be any where. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH IHI.L, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 1782. 
 
 I am to thank you for a fine cod, which came most op- 
 portunely to make a figure on our table, on an occasion that 
 made him singularly welcome. I write, and you send me a 
 fish. This is very well, but not altogether what I want. I 
 wish to hear fi'om you, because the fish, though he serves to 
 convince mc that you have mc still in remembrance, says not 
 a word of those that sent him, and with respect to your and 
 Mrs. Hill's health, prosperity, and happiness, leaves me as 
 much in the dark as before. You are aware, likewise, that 
 where there is an exchange of letters, it is much easier to write. 
 But I know the multiplicity of your affairs, and therefore per- 
 form my part of the correspondence as well as I can, convinced 
 that you would not omit yours, if you could help it. 
 
 Three days since 1 received a note from old Mr. Small, which 
 was more than civil — it was warm and friendly. The good ve- 
 teran excuses himself for not calling upon mc, on account of 
 the feeble state in which a fit of the gout had left him. He 
 tells mc, however, that he has seen Mrs. Hill, and your im- 
 provements at Wargravc, which will soon become an ornament 
 to the place. May they ! and may you botii live long to enjoy 
 them! I shall be sensibly mortified if the season and his gout 
 together, should deprive mc of the pleasure of receiving him 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 141 
 
 here ; for he is a man much to my taste, and quite an unique 
 in this country. 
 
 When it suits you to send me some more of EHiott's medi- 
 cines, I shall be obliged to you. My eyes are, in general, bet- 
 ter than I remember them to have been, since I first opened 
 them upon this sublunary stage, which is now a little more than 
 half a century ago; yet I do not think myself* safe, cither with- 
 out those remedies, or when, through long keeping, they have, 
 in part, lost their virtue. I seldom use them without thinking 
 of our trip to Maidenhead, 'where I first experienced their effi- 
 cacy. We arc growing old ; but this is between ourselves : 
 the world knows nothing of the matter. Mr. Small tells me 
 you look much as you did ; and as for me, being grown rather 
 plump, the ladies tell me I am as young as ever. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Nov. 23, 1782. 
 
 Accept my thanks for the trouble you take in vending 
 my poems, and still more for the interest you take in their suc- 
 cess. My authorship is undoubtedly pleased, when I hear that 
 they are approved either by the great or the small ; but to be 
 approved by the great, as Horace observed many years ago, is 
 fame indeed. Having met with encouragement, I consequently 
 wish to write again ; but wishes are a very small part of the 
 qualifications necessary for such a purpose. Many a man who 
 has succeeded tolerably well in his first attempt, has spoiled all 
 by the second. But it just occurs to me that I told you so once 
 before, and if my memory had served me with the intelligence 
 
142 CORRESPONDENCE OI 
 
 a minute sooner, I woultl not have repeated the observation 
 now. 
 
 The winter sets in with great severity. The rifijour of the 
 season, and the advanced price of grain, are very threatening to 
 the poor. It is well with those that can feed upon a promise, 
 and wrap themselves up warm in the robe of salvation. A s:ood 
 fire-side and a wbll-spread table are but very inditferent substi- 
 tutes for these better accommodations ; so very indifferent, that 
 I would gladly exchange them botii, for the rags and the un- 
 satisfied hunger of the poorest creature that looks forward with 
 hope to a better world, and weeps tears of joy in the midst of 
 penury and distress. What a world is this! How mysteriously 
 governed, and, in appearance, left to itself. One man, having 
 squandered thousands at a gaming-table, finds it convenient to 
 travel ; gives his estate to somebody to manage for him ; amuses 
 himself a few years in France and Italy ; returns, perhaps, wiser 
 than he went, having acquired knowledge which, but for his 
 follies, he would never have acquired ; again makes a splendid 
 figure at home, shines in the senate, governs his country as its 
 minister, is admired for his abilities, and, if successful, adored, 
 at least by a party. When he dies he is praised as a demigod, 
 and his monument records every thing but his vices. The e.sact 
 contrast of such a picture is to be found in many cottages at 
 Olney. I have no need to describe them ; you know the cha- 
 racters I mean. They love God, they trust him, tiicy pray to 
 him in secret, and though he means to reward them openly, the 
 day of recompense is delayed. In the mean time they suflor 
 every thing that infirmity and poverty can inflict upon them. 
 Who would suspect, that has not a spiritual eye to discern it, 
 that the fine gentleman was one whom his Maker had in abhor- 
 rence, and the wretch last-mentioned, dear to luni as the ajipK 
 •f his eye? It is no wonder that the world, who are not in the 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 143 
 
 secret, find themselves oblisied, some of them, to doubt a Pro- 
 vidence, and others, absolutely to deny it, when almost all the 
 real virtue there is in it, is to be found living and dying in a state 
 of neglected obscurity, and all the vices of others cannot exclude 
 them from the privilege of worship and honour ! But behind 
 the curtain the matter is explained; very little, however, to the 
 satistaction of the great. 
 
 If you ask me why I have written thus, and to you especially, 
 to whom there was no need to write thus, I can only reply, that 
 having a letter to write, and no news to communicate, I picked 
 up the first subject I found, and pursued it as far as was conve- 
 nient for my purpose. 
 
 Mr. Newton and I are of one mind on the subject of patriot- 
 ism. Our dispute was no sooner begun than it ended. It would 
 be well, perhaps, if, when two disputants begin to engage, their 
 friends would hurry each into a separate chaise, and order them 
 to opposite points of the compass. Let one travel twenty miles 
 east ; the other, as many west ; then let them write their opi- 
 nions by the post. JNIuch altercation and chafuig of the spirit 
 would be prevented ; they would sooner come to a right under- 
 standing, and running away from each other, would carry on 
 the combat more judiciously, in exact proportion to the distance. 
 
 JMy love to that gentleman, if you please ; and tell him, that, 
 like him, though I love my country, I hate its follies and its 
 sins, and had rather see it scourged in mercy, than judicially 
 iuirdened by prosperity. 
 
 Yours, my dear Madam, as ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
144 roifUESl'O.NULNCt, Ui 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FKIENP, Dec. 7, 1782. 
 
 At seven o'clock this evening, beino; the seventh of Dv 
 ccmber, I imagine I see you in your box at the coHee-hoiise. 
 No doubt the waiter, as in2;enious and adroit as his predecessors 
 were before him, raises the tea-pot to the ceiling with his right 
 hand, while in his left the tea-cup descending almost to the floor, 
 receives a limpid stream ; limpid in its descent, but no sooner 
 has it reached its destination, than frothing and foaming to the 
 view, it becomes a roaring syllabub. This is the nineteenlli 
 winter since I saw you in this situation; and if nineteen more 
 pass over me before I die, I shall still remember a circumstance 
 we have often laughed at. 
 
 How diflferent is the complexion of your evenings and mine I 
 — yours, spent amid the ceaseless hum that proceeds from the 
 inside of fifty noisy and busy periwigs ; mine, by a domestic 
 fire-side, in a retreat as silent as retirement can make it ; where 
 no noise is made but what we make for our own amusement. 
 For instance, here are two rustics, and your humble servant in 
 company. One of the ladies has been playing on the liarpsichord, 
 while I, with the other, have been playing at battledore and 
 shuttlecock. A little dog, in the mean time, howling under the 
 chair of the former, performed, in the vocal way, to admiration. 
 This entertainment over. I began my letter, and having nothing 
 more important to communicate, have given you an account of 
 it 1 know you love dearly to be idle, wlien you can find i\\\ 
 opportunity to be so ; but as such opportunities are rare with 
 you, 1 thought it possible that a short description of the idleness 
 I enjoy might give you pleasure. The happiness we cannot call 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 145 
 
 our own, we yet seem to possess, while we sympathise with our 
 trieuds vvho can. 
 
 The papers tell me that peace is at hand, and tliat it is at a 
 great distance ; that the siege of Gibraltar is abandoned, and that 
 it is to be still continued. It is happy for me, that though I 
 love my country, I have but little curiosity. There was a time 
 when these contradictions would have distressed me, but I have 
 learnt by experience that it is best for little people like myself 
 to be patient, and to wait till time affords the intelligence which 
 no speculations of theirs can ever furnish. 
 
 I thank you for a fine cod with oysters, and hope that ere 
 long, I shall have to thank you for procuring me Elliott's me- 
 dicines. Every time I feel the least uneasiness in either eye, 
 I tremble lest, my ^sculapius being departed, my infallible 
 remedy should be lost for ever. Adieu. My respects to Mrs. 
 Hill. 
 
 Yours, faithfully, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON, 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 26, 1783. 
 
 It is reported among persons of the best intelligence at 
 Olney — the barber, the schoolmaster, and the drummer of a 
 corps quartered at this place, that the belligerent powers are at 
 last reconciled, the articles of the treaty adjusted, and that peace 
 is at the door. I saw this morning, at nine o'clock, a group of 
 about twelve figures very closely engaged in a conference, as I 
 suppose, upon the same subject. The scene of consultation was 
 a blacksmith's shed, very comfortably screened from the wind, 
 and directly opposed to the morning sun. Some held their 
 
 T 
 
146 CORRESPONDENCE OP 
 
 hands behind them, some had them folded across their bosom, 
 and others had thrust them into their breeches pockets. Every 
 man's posture bespoke a pacific turn of mind ; but the distance 
 being too great for their words to reach me, nothing transpired. 
 I am willing, however, to hope that the secret will not be a se- 
 cret long, and that you and I, equally interested in the event, 
 though not, perhaps, equally well-informed, shall soon have an 
 opportunity to rejoice in the completion of it. The powers of 
 Europe have clashed with each other to a fine purpose ; that the 
 Americans, at length declared independent, may keep them- 
 selves so, if they can ; and that what the parties, who have 
 thought proper to dispute upon that point, have wrested from 
 each other, in the course of the conflict, may be, in the issue of 
 it, restored to the proper owner. Nations may be guilty of a 
 conduct that would render an individual infamous forever ; dnd 
 yet carry their heads high, talk of their glory, and despise their 
 neighbours. Your opinions and mine, I mean our political 
 ones, are not exactly of a piece, yet I cannot think otherwise 
 upon this subject than I have always done. England, more, 
 perhaps, through the fault of her generals than her councils, has 
 in some instances acted with a spirit of cruel animosity she was 
 never chargeable with till now. But this is the worst that can 
 be said. On the other hand, the Americans, who, if they had 
 contented themselves with a struggle for lawful liberty, would 
 have deserved applause, seem to me to have incurred the guilt 
 of parricide, by renouncing their parent, by making her ruin 
 their favourite object, and by associating themselves with her 
 worst enemy, for the accomplishn)ent of their purpose. France, 
 and of course, Spain, have acted a treacherous, a thievish part. 
 They have stolen America from England, and whether they are 
 able to possess themselves of that jewel or not hereafter, it was 
 doubtless what they intended. Holland appears to me in a 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. I47 
 
 meaner light than any of them. They quarrelled with a friend 
 for an enemy's sake. The French led them by the nose, and 
 the English have thrashed them for suffering it. My views of 
 the contest being, and having been always, such, I have conse- 
 quently brighter hopes for England than her situation sometime 
 since seemed to justify. She is the only injured party. Ame- 
 rica may, perhaps, call her the ag<^re.ssor ; but if she were so, 
 America has not only repelled the injury, but done a greater. 
 As to the rest, if perfidy, treachery, avarice, and ambition, can 
 prove their cause to have been a rotten one, those proofs are 
 found upon them. I think, therefore, that whatever scourge 
 may be prepared for England, on some future day, her ruin i§ 
 not yet to be expected. 
 
 Acknowledge, now, that I am worthy of a place under the 
 shed I described, and that I should make no small figure among 
 the quidnuncs of Olney. 
 
 I wish the society you have formed may prosper. Your sub- 
 jects will be of greater importance, and discussed with more 
 sufficiency. The earth is a grain of sand, but the spiritual in- 
 terests of man are commensurate with the heavens.* 
 
 Pray remind Mr. Bull, who has too much genius to have a 
 good memory, that he has an account to settle for Mrs. Unwin 
 with her grocer, and give our love to him. Accept for your- 
 self and Mrs. Newton your just share of the same commodity, 
 with our united thanks for a very fine barrel of oysters. This, 
 indeed, is rather commending the barrel than its contents. I 
 should say, therefore, for a barrel of very fine oysters. 
 Yours, my dear friend, as ever, 
 
 W. C 
 
 • Mr. Hayley has transferred the last sentence of this paragraph to a let- 
 ter to the same correspondent, dated Feb. 8, 1783. There it was, of course, 
 his reflection ; here it is Coivper's ,- which must be the editor's apology for 
 the duplicate. 
 
148 COUKLSl'ONDENCE 01 
 
 TO THE KEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 Feb. 2, 1783. 
 I <i:;ive you joy of the restoration of that sincere and 
 firm friendship between the Kings of f^nsjland and France, that 
 has been so long interrupted. It is a great pity, when hearts so 
 cordially united are divided by trifles. Thirteen pitiful colonies, 
 -which the King of England chose to keep, and the King ol 
 France to obtain, if he could, have disturbed that harmony 
 which would else, no doubt, have subsisted between those illus- 
 trious personages to this moment. If the King of France, whose 
 greatness of mind is only equalled by that of his Queen, had re- 
 garded them, unworthy of his notice as they were, with an eye 
 of suitable indifference; or, had he thought it a matter deserv- 
 ing in any degi'ee his princely attention, that they were, in rea- 
 lity, the property of his good friend the King of England ; or, 
 had the latter been less obstinately determined to hold fast his 
 interest in them, and could he, with that civility and politeness 
 in which monarchs are expected to excel, have entreated his 
 Majesty of France to accept a bagatelle, for which he seemed to 
 have conceived so strong a predilection, all this mischief had 
 been prevented. But monarchs, alas ! crowned, and sceptred, 
 as they are, are yet but men ; they fall out, and are reconciled, 
 just like the meanest of their subjects. I cannot, however, sufl&- 
 ciently admire the moderation and magnanimity of the King of 
 England. His dear friend on the other side of the channel, has 
 not indeed taken actual possession of the colonies in question, 
 but he has effectually wrested them out of the hands of their 
 original owner, who, nevertheless, letting fall the extinguisher 
 of patience upon the flame of his resentment, and glowing with 
 no other flame than that of the sincerest affection, embraces tlie 
 
WILLIAM COVVPEK. 149 
 
 King of France again, gives him Senegal and Goree in Africa, 
 gives him the islands he had taken from him in the West, gives 
 him his conquered territories in the East, gives him a fishery 
 upon the banks of Newfoundland ; and, as if all this were too 
 little, merely because he knows that Louis has a partiality for 
 the King of Spain, gives to the latter an island in the Mediter- 
 ranean, which thousands of English had purchased with their 
 lives; and, in America, all, that he wanted, at least all that he 
 could ask. No doubt there will be great cordiality between 
 this royal trio for the future : and though wars may perhaps be 
 kindled between their posterity, some ages hence, the present 
 generation shall never be witnesses of such a calamity again. I 
 expect soon to hear that the Queen of France, who, just before 
 this rupture happened, made the Queen of England a present of 
 a watch, has, in acknowledgment of all these acts of kindness, 
 sent her also a seal wherewith to ratify the treaty. Surely she 
 can do no less. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 8, 1783. 
 
 When I consider the peace as the work of our ministers, 
 and reflect that with more wisdom, or more spirit, they might, 
 perhaps, have procured a better, 1 confess it does not please me. 
 Such another peace would ruin us, I suppose, as effectually as a 
 war protracted to the extremest inch of our ability to bear it. 
 I do not think it just that the French should plunder us, and be 
 paid for doing it ; nor does it appear to me that there was abso- 
 lute necessity for such tameness on our part, as we discover in 
 the present treaty. We give away all that is demanded, and re- 
 
ISO COURESPONDENCE OF 
 
 ceive nothing but what was our own before. So I'ar as thisstam 
 uj)on our national honour, and this diminution of our national 
 property, are a judgment upon our iniquities, I submit, and have 
 no doubt but that ultimately it will be found to be judg;ment 
 mixed with mercy. — But so far as I see it to be the effect of 
 French knavery and British despondency, I feel it as a digrace, 
 and grumble at it as a wrong. I dislike it the more, because the 
 peacemaker has been so immoderately praised for his perform- 
 ance, which is, in my opinion, a contemptible one enough. Had 
 he made the French smart for their baseness, I would have 
 praised him too ; — a minister should have shown his wisdom by 
 securing some points, at least, for the benefit of his country. A 
 sclioolboy might have made concessions. After all, perhaps, the 
 worst consequence of this awkward business will be dissention 
 in the two Houses, and dissatisfaction throughout the kingdom. 
 They that love their country, will be grieved to see her tram- 
 pled upon ; and they that love mischief will have a fair oppor- 
 tunity of making it. Were I a member of the Commons, even 
 with the same religious sentiments as impress me now, I should 
 think it my duty to condemn it. 
 
 You will suppose me a politician ; but in truth I am nothing 
 les^. These are the thoughts that occur to nie while I read the 
 nevvspaper ; and when I iiave laid it down, I feel myself more 
 interested in the success of my early cucumbers, than in any 
 part of this great and important subject. If 1 see them droop a 
 little, I forget that wc have been many years at war ; that we 
 have made an humiliating peace; that we are' deeply in debt, 
 and unable to pay. All these reflections are absorbed at once 
 in the anxiety I feel for a plant, the fruit of which I cannot eat, 
 when I have procured it. How wise, how consistent, how re- 
 spectable a creature is man ! 
 
 Because we have nobody to preach the gospel at Olney, Mr. 
 
WILLIAM eOWPEK. 151 
 
 waits only for a barn, at present occupied by a strolling 
 
 company ; and the moment they quit it, he begins. He is dis- 
 posed to think the dissatisfied of all denominations may possibly 
 be united under his standard ; and that the great work of form- 
 ing a more extensive and more established interest than any of 
 them, is reserved for him. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin thanks Mrs. Newton for her kind letter, and for 
 executing her commissions. We truly love you- both, think of 
 you often, and one of us prays for you ; — the other will, when 
 he can pray for himself.* 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 13, 1783. 
 
 • I am so perfectly at leisure, that I am less excusable for not 
 writing frequently to you, than you for not writing at all to 
 me. It is not very probable, that in the hurry of so much bu- 
 siness, you should form a wish to know in what manner I spend 
 my time ; and yet if that information should come, though un- 
 invited by a wish, it may not be altogether unacceptable. 
 
 My time passes partly in finding fault with a peace, which, 
 deplorable as our condition is, I suppose nobody approves ; and 
 partly in quarrelling with a rainy season, and a most dirty 
 country. I raise cucumbers which I cannot eat, merely because 
 it is difficult to raise them ; and the conquest of difficulties is 
 one of the most agreeable things in the world, because it is one 
 of the most flattering to our pride. When I can, I walk, but 
 
 * The former part of tliis concluding paragraph was published by Mr. 
 Hayley ; but for the sake of the striking sentence which he omitted, the 
 editor ventures to repeat it here. 
 
152 CORRESPONDENCE Ol' 
 
 always with a lady under my arm, which again is amusing, and 
 for the same reason; for to extricate the ladies out of all the 
 bogs into which I lead them, is no small proof of ingenuity 
 and prowess. Thus I spend my mornings ; and my evenings 
 in winding their silk and cotton, or reading history to the afore- 
 said ladies. Sigh, now, and say — Happy creature ! how I envy 
 you. Envy me you must. 
 
 [Torn off.] 
 
 TO TFiE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb, 24, 1783. 
 
 A weakness in one of my eyes may possibly shorten 
 my letter, but I n^ean to make it as long as my present mate- 
 rials, and my ability to write, can suffice for. 
 
 I am almost sorry to say that I am reconciled to the peace, 
 being reconciled to it not upon principles of approbation, but 
 necessity. The deplorable condition of the country, insisted 
 on by the friends of administration, and not denied by their 
 adversaries, convinces me that our only refuge under Heaven 
 was in the treaty with which 1 quarrelled. The treaty itself I 
 find less objectionable than I did, Lord Shelburne having given 
 a colour to some of the articles that makes them less painful in 
 the contemplation. But my opinion upon the whole affair is, 
 that now is the time (if indeed there is salvation for the coun- 
 try) for Providence to interpose to save it. A peace with the 
 greatest political advantages would not have healed us ; a peace 
 with none may procrastinate our ruin for a season, but cannot 
 ultimately prevent it. The prospect may make all tremble who 
 have no trust in God, and even they that trust may tremble. 
 The peace will probably be of short duration; and, in the or- 
 
WILLIAM COWPElt. I53 
 
 dinary course of things, another war must end us. A great 
 country in ruins will not be beheld with eyes of indifference, 
 even by those who have a better country to look to. But with 
 them all will be well at last. 
 
 As to the Americans, perhaps I do not forgive them as I 
 ought ; perhaps I shall always think of them with some resent- 
 ment as the destroyers, intentionally the destroyers, of this 
 couniry. They have pushed that point farther than the house 
 of Bourbon could have carried it in half a century. I may be 
 prejudiced against them, but I do not think them equal to the 
 task of establishing an empire. Great men are necessary for 
 such a purpose ; and their great men, I believe, are yet unborn. 
 They have had passion and obstinacy enough to do us much mis- 
 chief ; but whether the event will be salutary to themselves or not, 
 must wait for proof. I agree with you, that it is possible, 
 America may become a land of extraordinary evangelical light; 
 but, at the same time, I cannot discover any thing in their new 
 situation peculiarly favourable to such a supposition. They can- 
 not have more liberty of conscience than they had ; at least, if 
 that liberty was under any restraint, it was a restraint of their 
 own making. Perhaps a new settlement in church and state 
 may leave them less. — Well — all will be over soon. The time 
 is at hand when an empire will be established that shall fill the 
 earth. Neither statesmen nor generals will lay the foundation 
 of it, but it shall rise at the sound of the trumpet. 
 
 I am well in body, but with a mind that would wear out a 
 frame of adamant ; yet upon my frame, which is not very ro- 
 bust, its effects are not discernible. Mrs. Unwin i& in health. 
 Accept our unalienable love to you both. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, truly, 
 
 W. G. 
 
154 t'ORIlKSFONUF.NCK Ol 
 
 lo nir tviN . >s 11 I 1 \\» lu II 
 
 MV OF.AH KKIKNIV .March T. 178.:. 
 
 \\ Irmi will you o.onie and tell us what you think of th«- 
 peace ? l> it a s«:ihv1 peace in itself, or a sixwil peace only in 
 refeivnce to the ruinous comliiion of oui' country ? 1 quarrelled 
 most hitterly with it at tn-st, tuiilins; nothinj;: in the lenns of it 
 but disa;ntce and destruction to Ci-eat Britain. Hut havina: 
 learnevi since, that we aiv ahrady destivyed and dis£;raced. as 
 mucii as we can he, I like it better, and think myself deepl\ 
 indebted to the King of France for ti-eatina; us with so much 
 lenity. The olive-hj-anch. indeed, has neither leaf nor iVuit 
 but it is still an olivi^branch. Mr. Newton and 1 have ex 
 ehaniiXHl several letlei"s on the suhject ; sometimes considering, 
 like tiiave politicians as we an\ the state o( Kuivpe at lai-ge ; 
 'somotintes the state of F.nnland in particular; sometimes the 
 conduct of the house of Bourbon ; sometimes that of the Dutch ; 
 but most especially that of the Americans. We have not ditVer- 
 od jH^rhaps very widely, nor even so widely as wo setMTied to do; 
 but still we have ditVertnl. We h«ve» however, manasivd our 
 dispute with tenijier, and hitnight it to a iH\u'eable conclusion. 
 So tar. at least, we have given prot>f of a w isdom uln\li abler 
 ^H>liticians than myself would do well to imitate. 
 
 How ilo you like your mirlhern mountaincei"s.* Tan a m.'in 
 bo a gornl (^hristian that ptes without bi"etvhes? You are bet 
 ter ijualified to solve me this question than any man 1 know, 
 having, as 1 am infornunl, pivached to many of them, and eon 
 veised, no dovdit. with some. Vou must know, 1 love a High- 
 lander, an*l think 1 can stv in them what Knglishmen once 
 w-*jY, but never will l)e again. Such have been the eflects o*" 
 
 lllMlIV ' 
 
Wn>LlAM COWPEK. 155 
 
 You know that I kept \\\o limos, I have written iu)thing 
 since I saw you l)ul an epitaph on one of Iheni, which ihed last 
 week. I send you tlie ///*,v/ in>i)ression ol" it. 
 
 tloro lios, See* 
 
 Believe nic. my dear iViend, 
 
 AlVeelionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THK RKV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAU FRIEND, Mavcli, T, 17S3. 
 
 Weie my letters eomposed of materials worthy of your 
 acoejitanee, they should he Ioniser. There is a suhject u|)on 
 which tliey who know themselves interested in it are never 
 weary of writing. That sul>ject is not within my reach ; and 
 there are few others that do not soon fatij;ue me. Upon these, 
 however, I might possihly he more ditVuse, could I forget that 1 
 am writing to i/oii, to whom 1 think it just as improper and 
 absurd to send a slieet full of tritles, as it would he to allow 
 myself that liberty, were I writing to one of the four evange- 
 lists. But since you measure tfir with so much exactness, give 
 me leave to requite you in your own way. Voiir manuscript, 
 indeed, is close, and 1 do not reckon mine very lax. You make 
 no margin, it is true ; if you did, you would have need of their 
 Tjilllputian art, who can enclose the creed within the circle of a 
 shilling; for, upon the nicest comparison, I fmd your paper an 
 inch smaller every way than mine. Were my writing, there- 
 fore, as compact as yours, my letters «>///* a margin would bo 
 as long as yours without one. Let this consideration, added to 
 
 * Vide Cowpcr's Poems. 
 
lot) COURESPONDENCE l)» 
 
 that of liieir lutility, prevail with you to think thciu, it not 
 Ions;, yet long enough. 
 
 Yesterday, a body of Highlanders passed through Olney. 
 They are part of that regiment which lately mutinied at Ports- 
 mouth. Convinced to a man, that General had sold them 
 
 to the Ea-^t India Company, they breathe nothing but ven- 
 geance, and swear they will pull down his house in Scotland, 
 as soon as they arrive there. The rest of them are quartered 
 at Dunstable, Woburn, and Newport; in all eleven hundred. 
 A party of them, it is said, are to continue some days at Olney. 
 None of their principal officers are with them ; either conscious 
 of guilt, or, at least, knowing themselves to be suspected as 
 privy to, and partners in, the iniquitous bargain, they fear 
 the resentment of the corps. The design of government seems 
 to be to break them into small divisions, that they may find 
 themselves, when they I'each Scotland, too weak to do much 
 mischief. Forty of them attended Mr. Bull, who found him- 
 self singularly happy in an opportunity to addi-ess himself to a 
 flock bred upon the Caledonian mountains. He told them he 
 would walk to John O'Groat's house to hear a soldier pray. 
 They are in general so far religious that they will hear none 
 but evangelical preaching ; and many of them are said to be 
 trul}' so. Nevertheless, General 's skull was in some dan- 
 ger among them ; for he was twice felled to the ground with 
 the butt-end of a muket. The sergeant-major i-escued him, or 
 he would have been lor ever rendered incapable of selling High- 
 landers to the India Company. I am obliged to you for your 
 extract from Mr. Bowman's letter. I feel myself sensibly pleas- 
 ed by the approbation of men of taste and learning ; but that 
 my vanity may not get too much to windward, my spirits art- 
 kept under by a total inability to renew my enterprises in the 
 poetical way. 
 
WIIJ.IAM OOWPER. 157 
 
 We love and respect Mrs. Cunningham, and sympathize with 
 aer under her many trials. May she arrive in safety ! Tiie se- 
 verity of the season will, 1 suppose, retard her journey. We 
 should rejoice more in your joy on the occasion, did not her 
 visit to London look witli an unfavourable aspect upon yours to 
 Olney. 
 
 We are tolerably well, and love you both. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 When your last letter came, my eye was so much inflamed, 
 that I could not look at your seal. It is better now, and I 
 mean to consider it well when I see it next. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIKNU, April 20, 1783, 
 
 My device was intended to represent not my own heart, 
 but the heart of a Christian, mourning and yet rejoicing, pierc- 
 ed with thorns, yet wreathed about with roses, I have the 
 thorn without the rose. My briar is a wintry one, the flowers 
 are withered, but the thorn remains. My days are spent in va- 
 nity, and it is impossible for me to spend them otherwise. No 
 man upon earth is more sensible of the unprofitableness of a life 
 like mine, than I am, or groans more heavily under the bur- 
 then ; but this too is vanity, because it is in vain ; my groans will 
 not bring the remedy, because there is no remedy for me. The 
 time when I seem to be most rationally employetl, is when I 
 am reading. My studies, however, are very much confined, 
 and of little use, because I have no books but what I borrow, 
 and nobody will lend me a memory. My own is almost worn 
 
158 COHRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 out. I read the Biographia and the Review. If all the readersr 
 of the former had memories like mine, the compilers of that 
 work would in vain have laboured to rescue the great names of 
 past ages from oblivion, for what I read to-day, I forget to- 
 morrow. A by-stander might say, This is rather an advantage, 
 the book is always new ; — but I beg the by-stander's pardon ; 
 I can recollect though I cannot remember, and with the book 
 in my hand I recognise those passages which, without the book, 
 I should never have thought of more. The Review pleases me 
 most, bf^cause, if the contents escape me, I regret them less, 
 being a very supercilious reader of most modern writers. Either 
 I dislike the subject, or the manner of treating it ; the style is 
 affected, or the matter is disgusting. * * * * 
 
 * * * * * * I see (though he 
 
 was a learned man, and sometimes wrote like a wise one,) la- 
 bouring under invincible prejudices against the truth and its 
 professors ; heterodox in his opinion upon some religious sub- 
 jects, and reasoning most weakly in support of them. How has 
 he toiled to prove that the perdition of the wicked is not eter- 
 nal, that there may be repentance in hell, and that the devils 
 may be saved at last : thus establishing, as far as in him lies, 
 the belief of a purgatory, and approaching nearer to the church 
 of Rome than ever any Methodist did, though papalizing is the 
 crime with which he charges all of that denomination. When 
 I think of him, I think too of some who shall say hereafter, 
 '' Have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name done 
 many wondrous works? Then shall he say uiito them, Depart 
 from me, for I never knew you." But perhaps he might be 
 enlightened in his last moments, and saved in the very article 
 of dissolution. It is much to be wished, and indeed ho|)ed, 
 that he was. Such a man reprobated in the great day, would 
 be the most melancholy spectacle of all that shall stand at the 
 
WILUAM COWPER. I59 
 
 left hand hereafter. But I do not think that many, or indeed 
 any «ill he fouiul there, \vlio in their lives were sober, virtuous, 
 and sincere, truly pious in the use of their little light, and though 
 iffnorant of God. in comparison with some others, yet sufficiently 
 inibrmed to know that He is to be feared, loved, and trusted. 
 An operation is often performed within the curtains of a dying 
 bed, in behalf of such men, that the nurse and the doctor (I 
 mean the doctor and the nurse) have no suspicion of^ The soul 
 makes but one step out of darkness into light, and makes that 
 step without a witness. INIy brother's case has made me very 
 charitable in my opinion about the future state of such men. 
 
 We wait with anxiety to be informed what news you receive 
 from Scotland. Present our love, if you please, to ISIiss Cun- 
 ningham. I saw in the Gentleman's ^Magazine for last montli, 
 an account of a physician who has discovered a new method of 
 treating consumptive cases, which has succeeded wonderfully in 
 the trial. He finds the seat of the distemper in the stomach, 
 and cures it principally by emetics. The old method of encoun- 
 tering tlie disoi\ler has proved so unequal to the task, that I should 
 be much inclined to any new practice that came well recom- 
 mended. He is spoken of as a sensible and judicious man, but 
 his name I have forgot. 
 
 Yours, my dear fi'iend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. WILUAM UNWIN. 
 
 May 12, 1783. 
 
 They that have found a God, and are permitted to wor- 
 ship him, have found a treasure, of which, highly as they may 
 prize it. they have but very scantj- and limited conceptions. 
 
1(J0 CORUESPONUKNCE t»F 
 
 Take my \\o\\\ for it, — the word of a man sinsjiilarly well qualified 
 to jjive liis evidence in this matter, who liavins; enjoyed the pri- 
 vilege some years, has been deprivetl of it more, and has no hope 
 that he shall live to recover it. These are my Sunday morning 
 speculations, — tlie sound of the bells suggested them, or rather, 
 gave them such an emphasis thai they forced their way into my 
 pen, in spite of me ; lor though 1 do not often commit them to 
 paper, they are never absent fix)m my mind. 
 
 Yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 lO THE KFA . WILLIAM BUU.. 
 
 MY DLAR FRIKM). June 3, 17S3. 
 
 ISly givcn-houso, fronted with myrtles, and where I heai 
 nothing but the pattering of a fme shower and the sound of dis- 
 liuit thunder, wants only the fumes of your pipe to make it per- 
 fectly delightful. Tobacco was not known in the golden age. 
 So much tlie woi"se lor the golden age. This age of irt)n or lead, 
 would be insupportable without it ; and therofoit; we may rea- 
 sonably supjwse that the happiness of those better days would 
 have been much improved by the use of it. We ho|>e that you 
 and your son are perfectly recoverod. The season has been 
 most unfavounxble to animal life; and I. who am UKMcly animal, 
 have sulVered much by it. 
 
 Though I should be glad to write, I write little or nothing. 
 The time for such fruit is not yet come ; but I expect it, and 1 
 wisli for iL I want amusement : and, deprived of that, have 
 none to supply the place of it. 1 send you, however, according 
 to my promise to send you evoy thing, two stanzas composed 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 161 
 
 at the request of Lady Austen. She wanted words to a tune 
 she much admired, and I gave her the tbllowinp;, 
 
 ON PEACE. 
 No longer 1 follow a sound, &c.* 
 
 Vours, 
 
 w. e. 
 
 TO THE UEV. .lOHN NEWTON. 
 
 JklY DEAll FRIEND, Sept. 8, 1783. 
 
 I have been hitely more dejected and more distressed 
 than usual ; more harassed by dreams in the night, and more 
 deeply poisoned by tliem in the followins; day. I know not 
 what is portended by an alteration lor the worse, after eleven 
 years of misery ; but firmly believe that it is not designed as the 
 introduction of a change for the better. Yea know not what I 
 suft'ered while you were here, nor was there any need you should. 
 Your friendship for me would have matle you in some degree a 
 partaker of my woes; and your share in them would have been 
 increased by your inability to help me. Perhaps, indeed, they 
 took a keener edge from the consideration of your presence. 
 The frientl of my heart, the person with whom I had formerly 
 taken sweet counsel, no longer useful to me as a minister, no 
 longer pleasant to me as a Christian, was a spectacle that must 
 necessarily add the bitterness of mortification to the sadness of 
 despair. I now see a long winter before me, and am to get 
 through it as I can. I know the ground, before I tread ujion it. 
 It is hollow ; it is agitated ; it sulfers shocks in every direction : 
 
 * vide Poems, vol. iii. p. 98. 
 X 
 
163 LOHRESl'ONDENrK OF 
 
 it is like the soil of Calabria — all whirlpool ami unilnlalioii. 
 But 1 must reel throua;h it; at least, if 1 hv not swallowed up 
 by the way. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ES«^. 
 
 MY DEAR VUIENI). Oct. -X), UBJ. 
 
 1 have nothing to say on jiolitical subjects, for two rea- 
 sons ; first, because I know none that at present would prove 
 very amusing, especially to you who love your country ; and, 
 secondly, because there are none that I have the vanity to think 
 myself qualilieil to discuss. 1 must be^' leave, however, to re- 
 joice a little at the failure of the Caisse d'Escomptes, because I 
 tliink the French have well deserved it ; and to mourn equally 
 that the Royal Geor2;e cannot be weighed : the rather, because 
 I wrote two poems, one Latin and one English, to encourage 
 the attempt. The former of these only having been publislied, 
 which the sailors would understand but little of, may be the 
 reason, perhaps, why they have not succeeded. IBclieve me, 
 my friend, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 \\ . C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 22, 1763. 
 
 1 have made a point of saying no fine things to ISIr. 
 Bacon, upon an occasion that would well have justified them ; 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. f63 
 
 deterred by a Caveat he entered in his letter. Nothing can bo 
 more handsome than the present, nor more oblii^ins; than the 
 manner in which ho has made it. I take it for granted that the 
 plate is, line lor line, and stroke for stroke, an exact represen- 
 tation of his performance, as nearly at least, as light and shade 
 can exhibit, upon a flat surface, the eficct of a piece of statu- 
 ary. I may be allowed therefore to say that 1 admire it. My 
 situation aflbrds me no opportunity to cultivate the science of 
 connoisseurship ; neither would there be much propriety in my 
 speaking the language of one to you, who disclaim the charac- 
 ter. IJut we botli know when we arc pleased. — It occurs to 
 me, however, that I ought to say what it is that pleases me, for 
 a general commendation, where there are so many particular 
 beauties, would be insipid and unjust. 
 
 I think the figure of Lord Chatham singularly graceful, and 
 his countenance full of the character that belongs to him. It; 
 speaks not only great ability and consummate skill, but a ten- 
 der and heartfelt interest in the welfare of (he charge commit- 
 ted to him. In the figui'c of the City, there is all that em~ 
 preaseinoit (pardon a French term, it expresses my idea better 
 than any Englisii one that occurs,) that the importance of ber 
 errand calls for ; and it is noble in its air, tiiough in a posture 
 of supplication. But the ligure of Commerce is indeed a per- 
 fect l)eauly. It is a literal truth, that I felt the tears flush into 
 my eyes while I looked at her. The idea of so much elegance 
 and grace having found so powerful a protection, was irresisti- 
 ble. There is a complacency and serenity in the air and coun- 
 tenance of Britannia, more suited to her dignity than that ex- 
 ultation and triumph which a less judicious hand might have 
 dressed her in. She seems happy to sit at the feet of her deli- 
 verer. — 1 iiave most of the monuments in the Abbey by heart, 
 hat I recollect none that ever gave me so much pleasure. The 
 
1(}4 rOttRBSPONUKNl-E Ol 
 
 faces arc all expressive, ami «hc t'is;uivs aif all gracelul. — II you 
 tliink tlio opinion ol so unlearned a spectator worth communi- 
 cating, ami that 1 have not said more than Mr. Bacon's mo- 
 ilesty can bear without olience, you are weloome to make him 
 privy to my sentiments. I know not why he should bo hurt 
 by just praise ; Ins line talent is a ijitt. and all the merit of it is 
 His property who ip^ve it. 
 
 Helievo nu\ my dear friend, 
 
 sinceivly iUid alVectionately yours, 
 
 W. r 
 1 am out ol vour debt. 
 
 MV UK.XK l-UlKXt). Nor. 3, irSJ. 
 
 My time is short, and my opportunity not the most fa- 
 >-ourable. My Wtter will consequently be short likewise, and 
 perhaps not very intellia;ible. 1 tind it no very easy matter to 
 bring my mind into that de^^rce of composuiv, which is ne- 
 oess;u'y to the arrangement either of wonls or matter. You will 
 naturally cx|hm:1 to receive some account of this confusion that 
 I describe, some reason given lor it. — On Satuixlay night at 
 eJeven o'clock, when 1 had not been in Uni live minutes, I was 
 alarmed by a cry of fire, announced by two or three shrill 
 screams upon our staiit*ase. Our servants, who were going to 
 betl, saw it from their windows, and in appearance so near, 
 that they thought our house in danger. 1 immeiliately rose. 
 and putting by Oie curtain, saw sheets of tire rising abo>-e the 
 ridge of Mr. Palmer's house, opjwsite to ours. The deception 
 was such, that 1 had no doubt it had begun with M*n^ but soon 
 found that it was rathor farther otV. In laot. it was at thivc 
 
V»n.l.IAM COWl'ER. 165 
 
 places : — in the out-housos bclonginc; to Cieorgc Griggs, Lucv^ 
 and Abigail Tvncl. Having broke out in thrcc dilVorcnt parts, 
 it is supposed to have been maliciously kindled. A tar-barrel 
 and a quantity of tallow maile a most tremendous blaze, and 
 the buildings it had seized upon being all thatched, the appear- 
 ance became every moment more formidable. Providentially, 
 the night was perfectly calm, so calm that candles without lan- 
 terns, of which there were multitudes in the street, burnt as 
 steadily as in a house. By four in the morning it was so far 
 reduced, that all danger seemed to be over; but the confusion 
 it had occasioned was ahr.ost intinjte. Every man who suppo- 
 sed his dwelling-house in jeopardy, emptied it as fast as he 
 could, and conveyed his moveables to the house of some neigh- 
 bour, supposed to be more secure. Ours, in the space of two 
 hours, was so fdled with all sorts of lumber, that we had not 
 even room for a chair by the lire-side. George Griggs is the 
 principal sufierer. He gave eighteen guineas, or nearly that 
 sum, to a woman whom, in his hurry, he mistook for his wife, 
 but the supposed wife walked oflT with the money, and he will 
 probably never recover it. He has likewise lost forty pounds' 
 worth of wool. London never exhibited a scene of greater de- 
 predation, drunkenness, and riot. Every thing was stolen that 
 could be got at, and every drop of liquor drunk that was not 
 guarded. Only one thief has yet been detected ; a woman of 
 
 the name of .1 , who was stopped by young Handscomh 
 
 with an apron full of plunder. He was forced to strike her 
 down, before he could wrest it from her. Could you visit the 
 place, you would sec a most striking proof of a Providence in- 
 terposing to stop the progress of the llames. They had almost 
 reached, that is to say, within six yards of Daniel Raban's 
 wood-pile, in which were fifty pounds' worth of faggots and 
 furze; and exactlv tbicre t.iipv were extinsiuished : otherwise* 
 
16G CORRESPONDENCE 01- 
 
 especially if a breath of air had happened to move, all that side 
 of the town must probably have been consumed. After all this 
 dreadful conflagration, we find nothing burnt but the out- 
 houses ; and the dwellings to which they belonged have sufi'ei'ed 
 only the damage of being unroofed on that side next the fire. 
 No lives wcie lost, nor any limbs broken. Mrs. Unwin, whose 
 spirits served her while the hubbub lasted, and the day after, 
 begins to feel the eflect of it now. But I hope she will be re- 
 lieved from it soon, being better this evening than I expected. 
 As for me, 1 am impregnable to all such assaults. I have no- 
 thing, however, but this subject in my mind, and it is in vain 
 that 1 invite any other into it. Having, therefore, exhausted 
 this, I finish, assuring you of our united love, and hoping to 
 lind myself in a frame of mind more suited to my employment 
 when I write next. 
 
 Youi's, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 10 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 17, 1783. 
 
 The country around us is much alarmed with apprehen- 
 sions of fire. Two have happened, since that of Olney. One 
 at liitchin, where the damage is said to amount to eleven thou- 
 sand pounds, and another, at a place not far from Hitchin, of 
 which I have not learnt the name. Letters have been droppeii 
 at Bedford, threatening to burn the town ; and the inhabitants 
 have been so intimidated, as to have placed a guard in many 
 [Kirts of it, several nights past. Since our conflaairation here, we 
 have sent two women and a boy to the justice, for depredation ; 
 ■^ K , lur stealing a piece of beef, which, in her excuse. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 167 
 
 she said she intended to take care of. This lady, whom you 
 well remember, escaped tor wantofevidcr.ee; not that evidence 
 was indeed wanting, but our men of Gotham judged it unneces- 
 sary to send it. With her went the woman 1 mentioned be- 
 fore, who, it seems, has made some sort of profession, but upon 
 this occasion allowed herself a latitude of conduct rather in- 
 consistent with it, having tilled her apron with wearing apparel, 
 which she likewise intended to take care of. She would have 
 gone to the county gaol, had William Raban, the baker's son, 
 who prosecuted, insisted upon it; but he goodnaturedly, though 
 1 think weakly, interposed in her favour, and begged her oft'. 
 The young gentleman who accompanied these fair ones, is the 
 junior son of Molly Bosvvell. He had stolen some iron-work, 
 the property of Griggs, the butcher. Being convicted, he was 
 ordered to be whipt, which operation he underwent at the cart's 
 tail, from the stone-house to the high arch, and back again. He 
 seemed to shew great fortitude, but it was all an imposition 
 upon the public. The beadle, who performed it, had fdled his 
 left hand with red ochre, through which, after every stroke, he 
 drew the lash of his whip, leaving tlie appearance of a wound 
 upon the skin, but in reality not hurting him at all. This being 
 
 perceived by Mr. Constable H , who followed the beadle, 
 
 he applied his cane, without any such management or precau- 
 tion, to the shoulders of the too merciful executioner. The scene 
 immediately became more interesting. The beadle could by no 
 means be prevailed upon to strike hard, which provoked the 
 constable to strike harder ; and this double flogging continued, 
 till a lass of Silvei'-end, pitying the pitiful beadle thus suffering 
 Ajnder the hands of the pitiless constable, joined the procession, 
 and placing herself immediately behind tlie latter, seized him by 
 his capillary club, and pulling him backwards by the same, 
 slapt his face with a most Amazonian fury. This concatenation 
 
16S COnRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 of events has taken up more of my paper than I intended it 
 should, but I could not forbear to inform you how the beadle 
 threshed the thief, the constable the beadle, and the lady the 
 constable, and how the thief was the only person concerned 
 who suffered nothing. Mr. Teedon has been here, and is f^one 
 again. He came to thank me for some Icft-off clothes. In an- 
 swer to our inquiries after his health, he replied that he had a 
 slow fever, which made him take all possible care not to inflame 
 his blood. I admitted his prudence, but in his particular in- 
 stance, could not very clearly discern the need of it. Pump 
 water will not heat him much ; and, to speak a little in his own 
 style, more inebriating fluids are to him, I fancy, not very at- 
 tainable. He brought us nens, the truth of which, however, I 
 do not vouch for, that the town of Bedford was actually on fire 
 yestcrda}" , and the flames not extinguished when the bearer of 
 the tidings left it. 
 
 Swift observes, when ho is giving his reasons why the 
 preacher is elevated always above his hearers, that let the crowd 
 be as great as it will below, there is always room enough over 
 head. If the French philosophers can carry their art of flying 
 to the perfection they desire, the observation may be reversed, 
 the crowd will be over-head, and they will have most room, 
 who stay below. I can assure you, however, upon my own 
 experience, that this way of travelling is very delightful. I 
 dreamt a night or two since, that I drove myself through the 
 upper regions in a balloon and pair, with the greatest ease and 
 security. Having finished the tour I intended, I made a short 
 turn, and, with one flourish of my whip, descended ; my horses 
 prancing and curvetting with an infinite share of spirit, but 
 without the least danger, either to me or my vehicle. The time, 
 we may suppose, is at hand, and seems to be prognosticated by 
 my dream, when these airy excursions will be universal, when 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. Kjg 
 
 judges will fly the circuit, and bishops their visitations ; and 
 when the tour of Europe will be performed with much greater 
 speed, and with equal advantage, by all who travel merely foi* 
 the sake of having it to say, that they have made it. 
 
 I beg you will accept for yourself and yours our unfeigned 
 love, and remember me affectionately to Mr. Bacon, when you 
 see him. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 w. e. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 23, 1783. 
 
 Your opinion of voyages and travels would spoil an ap- 
 petite less keen than mine ; but being pretty much, perhaps 
 more than any man who can be said to enjoy his liberty, con- 
 fined to a spot, and being very desirous of knowing all that can 
 be known of this same planet of ours, while I have the honour 
 to belong to it, — and having, besides, no other means of infor- 
 mation at my command, I am constrained to be satisfied with 
 narratives, not always, indeed, to be implicitly depended upon, 
 but which, being subjected to the exercise of a little considera- 
 tion, cannot materially deceive us. Swinburn's is a book I had 
 fixed upon, and determined, if possible, to procure, being pleas- 
 ed with some extracts from it, which I found in the Review. I 
 need hardly add that I shall be much obliged to Mrs. Hill for a 
 sight of it. I account myself truly and much indebted to that 
 lady for the trouble she is so kind as to take upon my account, 
 and shall esteem myself her debtor for all the amusement I meet 
 with, in the southern hemisphere, should I be so fortunate as to 
 get there. My reading is pretty much circumscribed, both by 
 
170 I ORKKSIHJNUKXCK Ol 
 
 \v;\nt ol book.< aiul iho inrtuonoo of jwrlicular Jvasons. I'olmo 
 aix' my abhonxnioe, Lvinu; .^lnu)st always hy(>othctie«l. llucluai 
 lose, aiul im Israeli oahlo. Philosopliy — I shouM have saiti natu 
 lal {Uulo^ophy. nuxthemalicaUy sluUictJ, iloes not* suit uic; am! 
 such exhibitions of that suhjool, as ar>e calculati\l for less U\ui. 
 eil ix'atloi-s. I have iva^l iu ("onner ilays, and ixnnember in thi 
 pjYsiM\l. Poelry. Kuglisli jKHMry, I Jiever touch, beinj; prelU 
 much ailiUotetl to the wrilinac of it, and knowing that muci> in- 
 teivoursc with those genllcDtea beli'ays us unavoiilably into a 
 habit of imitation, which 1 hale iuul despise most coi\hally. 
 
 I am glavl iny uncle is so well, and tlwil he found new In^au 
 ties in M> old an acquaintance as the sceue at Hasting;s. M> 
 mivsl atfeetionate respects to him, if you please, \vl»en you se\ 
 him next. — ]f hr lie the happiest n>an. who h»s least money iu 
 the fuiuls, theix; aiv few u|H>n earth whom 1 have any occasion 
 lo envy. I wouKl consent. howexxM-, to have my jKHinds mul- 
 tiplieil into thousands, evt>n at the haxar\l of all I miglu feel 
 irom that lormentinsc )K)ssion. I send nothing; to ilie papers 
 myselt\ but I'nwin sometimes seiuls for me. His receptacle of 
 n\y s<pubs is the Public Advectisor; but lhevan> very tew, and 
 my present oeeuptions are of a kind that will still have a ten 
 ilency to make i1r»to tewer. 
 
 Voui%. n\v dear friend. 
 
 OHX SE\%"1\>N. 
 
 M\ mJkR VKIKNIX Nov. », irS5. 
 
 I have neither long visits to pay dot to itjceive, uoi 
 laiiies to s^tend hoiirs in telling nte that which mi^t be told in 
 ftvv minutet$, \x>t often find mj-sdf obli|^l to be an ec\>noittbt 
 
WILLIAM COWPKK. 171 
 
 oltime, and to make the most of a short opportunity. Let our 
 station be as retired as it may, there is no want of playthings and 
 avocations, nor much need to seek them, in this world of ours. 
 Business, or what presents itself to us, under that imposing cha- 
 racter, will find us out, even in the stillest retreat, and plead its 
 importance, however trivial in reality, as a just demand upon 
 our attention. It is wonderful how by means of such real or 
 seeming necessities, my time is stolen away. I have just time 
 to observe that time is short, and by the time I have made the 
 observation, time is gone. I hav'e wondered in former days at 
 the patience of the Antediluvian world ; that they could endure 
 a life almost millenary, with so little variety as seems to have 
 fallen to their share. It is probable that they had much fewer 
 employments than we. Their affairs lay in a narrower com- 
 pass; their libraries were indifferently furnished; philosophical 
 researches were carried on with much less industry and acutc- 
 ness of penetration, and fiddles, perhaps, were not even invent- 
 ed. How then could seven or eight hundred years of life be 
 supportable ? I have asked this question formerly, and been at 
 a loss to resolve it ; but I think I can answer it now. I will 
 suppose myself born a thousand years before Noah was born or 
 thought of. I rise with the sun; I worship; I prepare my 
 breakfast ; I swallow a bucket of goats-milk, and a dozen good 
 sizeable cakes. I fasten a new string to my bow, and my 
 youngest boy, a lad of about thirty years of age, having played 
 with my arrows till he has stript off all the feathers, I find my- 
 self obliged to repair them. The morning is thus spent in pre- 
 paring for the chace, and it is become necessary that I should 
 dine. I dig up my roots ; I wash them ; I boil them ; I find 
 them not done enough, I boil them again ; my wife is angry ; 
 we dispute ; we settle the point ; but in the mean time the fire 
 goes out, and must be kindled again. All this is very amusing. 
 T hunt ; I bring home the prey ; with the skin of it I mend an 
 
17: OORRKSPONnENCE OF 
 
 old lont. or 1 make a new one. By this time the day is far 
 spent ; 1 feel nnsell" t"atii;ueil. and retiiv to iTst. Thus what 
 with tillins; the ground, and eatins; the tVuit of it, huntinj; and 
 walkiua;, and running:, and n^endins; old elothes, and sleeping 
 and rising again. I can suppose an inhahitant of the primseval 
 world so mueh occupied, as to sigh over the shortness of life, 
 atid to find at the end of many centuries, that they had all slipt 
 thn>ugh his tingtus, and weiT passed away like a shadow. \N1vat 
 woniler then that I. wlio live in a day o( so much greater re- 
 fmement. when there is so much more to be wanted, and wish- 
 ed, and to be enjoyoil, should feel myself now and then pinched 
 in {X)int of opportunity, and at some lois for leisure to till tour 
 sides of a sheet like this? Thus, however, it is, and if the an- 
 cient gentlemen to whotu 1 have j-efentnl, and their complaints 
 of the dispivportion of time to the occasions they had for it, 
 will not stMve me as an excuse, 1 must even plead gviilty, and 
 confess thai 1 am oAen in haste, when I ha\-e no good reasoit 
 tor being so. 
 
 This by way of intmdurtion •, now for my letter. Mr. Soott 
 is desired by Mr. De Coetlegon to contribute to the Theological 
 Review, of which, 1 suppose, that gt^ntleman is a man;\ger. He 
 says he has insured your assistance, and at the same time desires 
 itnine, either in prose or verse. He did well to apply to you, 
 because you can aflonl him substantial help ; but as for me, had 
 he known me better, he wxndd never have sus(H»cted tue for a 
 iheologian. either in rhyme or otherwise. 
 
 Lonl Dartmouth's Mr. Wright spent near two hours with me 
 this morning ; a respectable old man, whom I alwa>->5 see with 
 pleasure, both for his master's sake and for his own. I was 
 glad to learn froni him that his lonlship h.^s better health than 
 he has enjoyetl for some years. 
 
 Believe me. my dear friend, yom* after tionate 
 
WII.MAM <(»M'r,n i7;i 
 
 ro vm: kkn . .xmiv NKwrON. 
 
 MY DKwVU FKIKNl). Hoc. 1.'), 1783. 
 
 1 know not how it Hires with you, at. a liino when plii- 
 losophy has just hroua;ht forth her most extraordinary |)ro(hie 
 tion, not exceptinj:;, perhaps, that prodiaiy, a ship, in all respects 
 complete, ami equal to the la.sk of circuinuaviaiaunc; the ajlohc. 
 My mind, hovvover, i.s frequently j;ettin<!; into these balloons, 
 and is busy in mull i ply inp; speculalions as airy as the rej;ions 
 throuji;h which Ihey pass. 'I'he last account fi'om France, which 
 seems so well authenticated, has chani;cti my jocularily upon 
 this occasion inlo serious expectation. Tiu" iiivruliou of Ihese 
 new vehicles is yet in ils infancy, yet already Iheysi'ein lo have 
 attaineil a dei2;ree of ptM-fection which naviji;ation did not reach, 
 till ac;cs of experience had matured it, and science had exliaustcd 
 both h(M- iuduslry and her skill, in tis improvement. I am aware, 
 indeed, that the Orst boat or canoe that was twcr formed, lh()U2;h 
 rude in its construction — perhaps not constructed at all, beinji; 
 only a hollow tree that had fallen casually into the waiter, and 
 which, thouj»;h lurnished.wilh neillu>r sails nor oars, luii^hl yet 
 be guided by a pole — was a more perfect creature in ils kind 
 than a balloon at present ; the sini;'lc circumstance of its manage- 
 able nature «;ivinj;- it a clear superiority both in respect of safety 
 and convenience. Hut the atmosphere, though a much thinner 
 medium, we well know, resists the im|)ressiou made upon it by 
 the tail of a bird, as eHeclually as the water that of a shij)'s rud- 
 der. Pope, when inculcating one of his few useful le.s.sons, and 
 directing mankind lo the providence of God, as the true .source 
 of all their wisdom, says beautifully — 
 
 l.ciwn of llio liltlo Nuiitihis to s:iil. 
 
 Spread llu; tlun oar, and catcli tlic ilriviny- gale 
 
174 I 1>UUESI'()NUENCK 01 
 
 It is easy to parody these lines, so as tosrive them an accon) 
 niodation and suitableness to the present purpose. 
 
 Lcarn of the circle-making kite to flj', 
 Spread the fan-tail, and wheel about the sky. 
 
 It is certain, at least, that nothing within the reach of hu- 
 man ingenuity will be left unattempted to accomplish, and add 
 all that is wanting to this last eflbrt of philosophical contrivance. 
 The approximating powers of the telescope, and the powers by 
 which the thunder-storm is ilelivcred of its contents peaceably 
 and without mischief, were once, perhaps, in appearance more 
 remote iVom discovery, and seemed less practicable, than we 
 may now suppose it, to give direction to that which is already 
 huoyant ; especially possessed as we are of such consuhimatc 
 mechanical skill, already masters of prii\ciples which we have 
 nothing to do but apply, of which we have already availed our- 
 selves in the similar case of navigation, and having in every 
 fowl of the air a pattern, which now at length it may be suffi- 
 cient to imitate. Wings and a tail, indeed, were of little use, 
 while tlic body, so much licavier than the space of air it occu- 
 pied, was sure to sink by its own weight, and could never be 
 held in equipoise by any implements of the kind which human 
 strcngti) could manage. But now we tloal ; at random, indeed, 
 pretty much, and as the wind drives us ; for want of nothing, 
 however, hut that steerage which invention, the conqueror of 
 Tiiany equal, if not superior diflioulties, may be expected to sup- 
 ply. — Should the point be carried, and man at last become as 
 familiar with the air as he has long been with the ocean, will it 
 in its consequences prove a mercy, or a juvlgment? I think, a 
 judgment. First, because if a power to convey himself from 
 jilace to place, like a bird, would have been good for him. his 
 Maker wiMiKl have formed him with such a capacity. But he 
 
WILLIAM COWl'EK. 175 
 
 has been a groveller upon the eartii for six thousand years, and 
 now at last, wiien the close of this present state of things ap- 
 proaches, begins to exalt himself above it. So much the worse 
 for him. Like a truant school-boy, he breaks his bounds, and 
 will have reason to repent of his presumption. — Secondly, I 
 think it will prove a judgment, because, with the exercise of 
 very little foresight, it is easy to prognosticate a thousand evils 
 which the project must necessarily bring after it ; amounting at 
 last to the confusion of all order, the annihilation of all authority, 
 with dangers both to property and person, and impunity to the 
 oflbnders. Were I an absolute legislator, I would therefore 
 make it death for a man to be convicted of flying, the moment 
 he could be caught ; and to bring him down from his altitudes by 
 a bullet sent through his head or his carriage, should be no mur- 
 der. Philosophers would call me a Vandal; the scholar would 
 say that, had it not been for me, the fable of Daedalus would 
 have been realised ; and historians would load my memory with 
 reproaches of phlegm, and stupidity, and oppression ; but in the 
 mean time the world would go on quietly, and, if it enjoyed 
 less liberty, would at least be more secure, 
 
 I know not what are your sentiments upon the subject of the 
 East India Bill. This, too, lias frequently afforded me matter 
 of speculation. I can easily see that it is not without its ble- 
 mishes; but its beauties, in my eye, are much predominant. 
 Whatever may be its author's views, if he delivers so large a 
 portion of mankind from such horrible tyranny as the East has 
 so long suffered, he deserves a statue much more than Mongol- 
 ficr, who, it seems, is to receive that honour. Perhaps he may 
 bring our own freedom into jeopardy ; but to do this for the sake 
 of emancipating nations so much more numerous than ourselves, 
 is at least generous, and a design that should have my encou- 
 ragement, if I had any encouragement to afford it. 
 
176 CORRESFONUENCE OI- 
 
 We are well, and love you. Remember us, as I doubt uol 
 vou do, with the same aflection, and be content with my senti- 
 menUs upon subjects such as these, till I can send you, if that day 
 should ever como, a letter more worthy of your reception. 
 
 Nous sommes les votres, 
 
 Guillaume et Marie. . 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FKIENl^, Dec. 27, 1785. 
 
 Thanks to the patiiotic junto, whose eflbrts have staved 
 off the expected dissolution, franks have not yet lost their cur- 
 rency. Ignorant as they were that my writing; by this post de- 
 pended upon the existence of the present parliament, they have 
 conducted their deliberations with a slunliness and magnanimity 
 that would almost tempt one to suppose that they had known it 
 So true it is, that the actions of men are connected with conse- 
 quences they are little aware of ; and that events, comparatively 
 trivial in themselves, may give birth to the most important. 
 
 My thoughts of ministers and men in power are nearly akin 
 to yours. It is well for the public, when the rulers of a state 
 aie actuated by principles that may happen to coincide with its 
 interests. The ambition of an individual has often been made 
 subservient to the general good ; and many a man has served 
 his country, merely for the sake of immortiilizing himself by 
 doing it. So far, it seems to me, the natural man is to be trust- 
 ed, ami no larther. Self is at the bottom of all his conduct. If 
 self can be pleased, flattered, enriched, exalted by his exertions, 
 and his talents are such as qualify him for great usefulness, his 
 countrv shall be the better for him. And tliis, perhaps, is all 
 the patriotism we have a right to look for. In the mean time. 
 
W ILUAM COWl'KK. 1 77 
 
 however, 1 cannot but tliink such a man in some ilo2;ree a re- 
 spccial'lo character, and am willins;. a| least, to do him honour, 
 solar as I teel myseU' benefited by him. Ambition and the love 
 of fame are certainly no Christian principles, but they are such 
 as commonly beloni; to men of superior minds, and the iVuits 
 they produce may oi^ten pleail their apology. The great men of 
 the world are of a piece with the world to which they belong; 
 they are raised up to govern it, and in the government of it are 
 prompted by worldly motives : but it prospers, perhaps, under 
 their management ; and when it does, the Christian world, which 
 IS totally a distinct creation, partaking of the advantage, has cause 
 to be thankful. The sun is a glorious creature; he does much 
 good, but without intending it. 1, however, who am conscious 
 of the good he does, though I know not what religion he is of. 
 or whether he has any or none, rejoice in hisetfeots, admire him, 
 an A am sensible that it is every man's duty to be thankful for 
 him. In this sentiment I know you agree with me, for I believe 
 he has not a warmer votary than yoursell". 
 
 We say, tlie king can do no wrong; and it is well tor poor 
 George the Third that he cannot. In my opinion, however, he 
 has lately been within a hairVbreadth of tliat predicament. His 
 advisers, indeed, are guilty, and not he: but he will probably 
 nnd, however hard it may seem, that if he can do no wrong, he 
 may yet sutler the consequences of the wrong he cannot do. 
 He has dismissed his servants, but not tlisgraced them ; they 
 triumph in their degradation, and no man is willing to supply 
 their places. Must their otfices remain unoccupied, or must they 
 be courted to resume them ? Never was such a distracted state 
 of things within my remembrance; and I much fear that this is 
 but the beginning of sorrows. It is not a time of day for a king 
 to take liberties with the people; there is a spirit in the Com- 
 mons that will not endure it ; and his Majesty's advisers must 
 
178 OORRF.SPOKnENCE 01 
 
 be less acquaintcil with the lomjx^r of the times than it is possi- 
 ble to suppose ihcm, if tl>fy imasjine that such strides of pivro- 
 gative will not Ix^ ivsonted. The address will scall him. 1 atfi 
 sorry thai he has exi>osed himself to such a reprehension, but I 
 Uiink it warranted by the ocMsion. I pit>- him : but king a? 
 he is. and nuich as 1 have always honoureti him, had 1 been a 
 mejnbor 1 should ha>'e voted for it- 
 
 I am obliged to Mr. Bacon for thinking of me. That expres- 
 sion, howe\*er. does not do justice to my feelings. Even with 
 the little knowkxige I have of him. I should love him. IW. I no 
 reason to suppose myself at any time an object of his attention ; 
 but knowing that 1 am so happy as to have a sliare in his re- 
 membrance. I certainly love him the more. Truly I am notm 
 liis debt : 1 cannot say wherefore it is so. but certainly tew daj-s 
 }v»ss in which 1 do not remember him. The print, indeeil. with 
 which ho lavoureil me. and which is always in my view, must 
 ot\en suggest tlie recollection of him ; but though I greatly value 
 it, 1 do not believe it is my only prompter. 
 
 T finish with what I wish may make you laugh, as it did me. 
 Mr. Soott. exhorting the people to frequent prayer, closed his 
 address thus : — " You have nothing to do but to ask. and you 
 will ever find Him ready to bestow. Open your wide mouths. 
 and ho will fill them." 
 
 Mrs. I'nwin is well. Accept an old but a true conclusion — 
 our united Ioat to you and yours, and believe me. mv dear 
 friend. 
 
 Your ever afiectionate 
 
WII.LIAM rOWl'ER. 17JJ 
 
 ro MRS. Hll.I. 
 
 DEAR MADAM. Jan, 5, 17S4. 
 
 Vou will readily paRlon the trouble I give you by lliis 
 line, when I plead my attention to j-our husbami's convenience 
 in my excuse. 1 know him to be so busy a man, that 1 cunnot 
 in conscience trouble him witli a commission, which I know it 
 is impossible he should have leisure to execute. After all, the 
 labour would devolve upon you. and therefore I may as well ad- 
 dress you in tlie fii"st instance. 
 
 I have read, and return tiie books you were so kind as to 
 procure for me. ISIr. Hill gave me hopes, in his last, that from 
 the library, to which I hare subscribed, I might still be supplied 
 with more. 1 have not many more to wish for, nor do I mean 
 to make any unreasonable use of your kinkness. In about a 
 fortnight I shall be favoured, by a friend in Essex, witli as many 
 as will serve me during the rest of tlie winter. In summer I 
 read but little. In the mean time, I shall be much obliged to 
 you for Foster's Narrative of the same Voyage, if your libra- 
 rian has it ; and likewise, for Swinburn's Travels, which ^Ir. 
 Hill mentioned. If tliey can be sent at once, which perhaps tlie 
 terms of subscription may not allow, I shall be glad to receive 
 them so. If not, tlien Forster's tirst, and Swinburn afterwards : 
 and Swinburn, at any rate, if Foi'ster is not to be procured. 
 
 Reading over what I have written, I tind it perfectly free and 
 easy ; so much indeed in that style, that, had I not had repeated 
 proofs of your good-nature in other instances. I should have mo- 
 desty enough to suppress it. and attempt something more civil, 
 and becoming a pereon who has never had the happiness of see- 
 ing you. But I have always observed, that sensible people are 
 best pleased with what is natural and unafl'ected. Nor can I tell 
 
l)5t) CdUUKSl'ONDENCE OF 
 
 you a plainer truth, than that I am, without the least dissimula- 
 tion, and with a warm remembrance of past lavours. 
 My dear Madam, 
 Your affectionate humble servant, 
 
 W ( 
 I beg; to be remembered to Mr. Hill. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MV DKAU KRTEM), • Jan. 8, 1784. 
 
 I wish you had more leisure, that you might oftener fa- 
 vour me with a page of politics. The authority of a newspapei 
 is not of sufficient weight to determine my opinions, and I have 
 no other documents to be set down by. I, therefore, on this sub- 
 ject, am suspended in a state of constant scepticism, the most 
 uneasy condition in which the judgment can find itself. But 
 your politics have weight with me, because I know your inde- 
 pendent spirit, the justness of your reasonings, and the oppor- 
 tunities you have of information. But I know likewise the ur- 
 gency and the multiplicity of your concerns ; and, therefore, 
 like a neglected clock, must be contented to go wrong, except 
 when, perhaps twice in the year, you shall come to set mc 
 right. 
 
 Public credit is indeed shaken, and the funds at a low ebb. 
 How can they be otherwise, when our western wing is already 
 clijjt to tlic stumps, and the shears, at this moment, threaten 
 our eastern. Low, however, as our public slock is, it is not 
 lower than my private one ; and this being the article that 
 touches me most nearly, at present, 1 shall be obliged to you, 
 if you will have recourse to such ways and means for the re- 
 plenishment of iTfy exchequer, as your wisdom may suggest, 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 181 
 
 and your best ability suffice to execute. The experience I have 
 had of your readiness upon all similar occasions, has been very 
 agreeable to nie; and I doubt not but upon the present I shall 
 find you equally prompt to serve me. So, 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 13, 1784. 
 
 The new year is already old in my account. I am not. 
 indeed, sufficiently second-sighted to be able to boast by anti- 
 cipation an acquaintance with the events of it yet unborn, but 
 rest convinced that, be they what they may, not one of them 
 comes a messenger of good to me. If even death itself should 
 be of the number, he is no friend of mine. It is an alleviation 
 of the woes even of an unenlightened man, that he can wish 
 for death, and indulge a hope, at least, that in death he shall 
 find deliverance. But, loaded as my life is with despair, I have 
 no such comfort as would result from a supposed probability of 
 better things to come, were it once ended. For, more unhap- 
 py than the traveller with whom I set out,* pass through what 
 difficulties I may, through whatever dangers and afflictions, I 
 am not a whit the nearer home, unless a dungeon may be call- 
 ed so. This is no very agreeable theme, but in so great a 
 dearth of subjects to write upon, and especially impressed as 1 
 am at this moment with a sense of my own condition, I could 
 choose no other. The weather is an exact emblem of my mind 
 in its present state. A thick fog envelopes every thing, and al 
 
 * For the passage here alluded to, see the letter published by Mr. Hay 
 ley, under the date of Jan. 18, 1784. 
 
182 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 the same time it freezes intensely. You will tell me that this 
 cold gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful sprinjj;. and endea- 
 vour to encourage me to hope for a spiritual change resembling; 
 it; — but it will be lost labour. Nature revives again; but a 
 soul once slain lives no more. The hedge that has been appa- 
 rently dead, is not so; it will burst into leaf and blossom at 
 the appointed time ; but no such time is appointed for llie stake 
 that stands in it. It is as dead as it seems, and will prove itself 
 no dissembler. The latter end of next month will complete a 
 period of eleven years in which I have spoken no other lan- 
 guage. It is a long time for a man, whose eyes were once 
 opened, to spend in darkness ; long enough to make despair an 
 inveterate habit, and such it is in me. My friends, I know, 
 expect tbat I shall see yet again. They think it necessary to 
 the existence of divine truth, that he who once had possession 
 of it should never finally lose it. I admit the solidity of this 
 reasoning in every case but my own. And why not in my 
 own? For causes which to them it appears madness to allege,^ 
 but which rest upon my mind with a weight of immoveable 
 conviction. If 1 am recoverable, why am 1 thus? why crip- 
 pled and made useless in the church, just at thai time of life, 
 when, my judgment and experience being matured, I might be 
 most useful. Why cashiered and turned out of service, till, 
 according to the course of nature, there is not lite enough left 
 in me to make amends for the years I have lost ; till there is 
 no reasonable hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expense 
 of the fallow ? I forestal the answer: — God's ways are myste- 
 rious, and he giveth no account of his matters : — an answer that 
 would serve my purj>osc as w ell as theirs that use it. There is 
 a mystery in my destruction, and in time it shall be explained 
 
 Yours, 
 
 w. r. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. \S3 
 
 TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 22, 1784. 
 
 I owe you thanks for your kind remembrance of me in 
 your letter sent me on occasion of your departure, and as many 
 for that which I received last night. ^ I should have answered, 
 had I known where a line or two from me might find you ; but, 
 uncertain whether you were at home or abroad, my diligence, I 
 confess, wanted the necessary spur. 
 
 It makes a capital figure among the comforts we enjoyed 
 during the long severity of the season, that the same incognitu 
 to all except ourselves, made us his almoners this year likewise, 
 as he did the last, and to the same amount. Some we have been 
 enabled, I suppose, to save from perishing, and certainl)' many 
 from the most pinching necessity. 
 
 Are you not afraid, Tory as you are, to avow your principles 
 to me, who am a Whig ? Know that I am in the opposition ; 
 that though I pity the King, I do not wish him success in the 
 present contest. But this is too long a battle to fight up6n paper. 
 Make haste that we may decide it face to face. 
 
 Our respects wait upon Mrs. Bull, and our love upon the 
 young Hebraean. I wish you joy of his proficiency, and am 
 glad that you can say, with the old man in Terence, 
 
 Omnes continu6 laudare fortunas meas, 
 Qui natum habeam tali ingenio praeditum. 
 
 Yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
IS I COKUESFONDKNCE OF 
 
 TO rilK RF.V. JOHN NKW TON. 
 
 MY DEAR VHIKND. March 19, 1784. 
 
 1 converse, you say, upon other subjects than that of de- 
 ^patl•, anil may therefore write upon others. Indeed, iny friend, 
 1 am a man of very Httlc conversation upon any subject. From 
 that of despair 1 abstain as much as possible, for the sake of my 
 company ; but I will venture to say tliat it is never out of my 
 mind one minute in the whole day. 1 do not mean to siiy that I 
 am never cheerful. I am often so : always, indeed, when my 
 jiights have been undisturbed for a season. But the etTect of 
 such continual listening to the language of a heart hopeless and 
 deserted, is, that I can never give much more than half my atten- 
 tion to what is started by others, and very rarely start any thing 
 myselt". My silence, however, and my absence of mind, make 
 me sometimes as entertaining as if I had wit. They furnish an 
 occasion foi- friendly and good-natui-ed raillery ; they raise a 
 laugh, and 1 partake of it. But you will easily perceive that a 
 mind tli*js occupied is but inditierently qualitied for the consi- 
 deration of theological mallei's. The most u:^ful and the most 
 delightful topics of that kind are to me forbidden tVuit ; — 1 tremble 
 if I approach them. It has hap^K'ncd to me sometimes that I 
 have found myself imperceptibly drawn in, and made a parly in 
 such discourse. The consequence has been, dissatisfaction and 
 self-ix'proach. Vou will tell me, perhaps, that 1 have written 
 upon these subjects in verse, and may, therefore, if 1 please, in 
 prose. But there is a dilVerence. The search after poetical ex- 
 pression, the rhyme, and the numbei-s, are all atl-airs of some 
 difliculty ; they amuse, indeed, but are not to be attained with- 
 out study, and engross, pe;haj)s, a larger share of the attention 
 than the subject itself. Pei-sons fond of music will sometimes 
 
WILLIAM (•()>V1'KW. \vt,r', 
 
 fiiul plcasiirr III the tune, when the words atVord them none. 
 There nrc, however, subjci'ts that do not always terriiy me hy 
 their importance ; such, 1 iman, as relate to Christian lite ami 
 manners: and when Siuii an one presents itself, and finds me in 
 a frame of juind that does not absolutely forl)id the employment, 
 1 shall most readily J2;ive it my attention, lor the sake, however, 
 of your i"cquest merely. V^erso is my favourite occupation, and 
 what I compose in that way, I reserve for my own use here- 
 after. 
 
 I have lately finished eii^ht volumes of Johnson's Prefaces, or 
 Lives of the Poets. In all that number I ol)serve but one man — 
 a poet of no i^rjeat fame — of whom I did not know tliat he ex- 
 isted till I found him there, whose mind seems to have had the 
 slightest tincture of reli»;ion ; and he was hardly in his senses. 
 His name was Collins. He sunk into a state of melancholy, and 
 died youn^^. Not lon^ before his death, he was found at his 
 lodgings in Islington by his biographer, with the New Testa- 
 ment in his hand. He said to Johnson, " P have but one book, 
 but it is the best." Of him, therefore, there are some hopes. 
 But from the lives of all the rest there is but one inference to 
 be drawn : that poets are a yoiy worthless, wicked set of people. 
 Yours, my dear friend, truly. 
 
 U. ( . 
 
 ro THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN, 
 
 MV DKAtt WILLIAM, March '21, 1784. 
 
 I thank you for the entertainment you have afl'orded me. 
 I often wish Ibi- a library, often regret my folly in selling a good 
 collection, but I have one in Essex. It is rather remote, indeed, 
 too distant for occasional relerence; but it serves the purpose of 
 
 A ;i 
 
im 
 
 COKRESPONOENCIi OV 
 
 amusement, and a \va2;u;()n being; a very suitable vehicle Tor an 
 author. I find myself commodiously ti;"!!' . Last nig;ht I 
 made an end of reading; Johnson's Prefaces; but the number of 
 poets whouj he has vouchsafed to chronicle, being fifty -six, there 
 must be many with whose history I am not yet acquainted. 
 These, or some of these, if it suits you to give them a part ol 
 your chaise, when you come, will be heartily welcome. I am 
 very much the biographer's humble admirer. His uncommon 
 share of good sense, and liis forcible expression, secure to him 
 that tribute from all his readers. He has a penetrating insight 
 into character, and a happy talent of correcting the popular 
 opinion, upon all occasions where it is erroneous ; and this he 
 does with the boldness of a man who will think for himself, 
 but, at the same time, with a justness of sentiment that con- 
 vinces us he does not difi'er from others through affectation, but 
 because he has a sounder judgment. This remark, however, 
 has his narrative for its object, rather than his critical perform- 
 ance. In the latter, I do not think him always just, when he 
 departs from the general opinion. He finds no beauties in Mil- 
 ton's Lycidas. He pours contempt upon Prior, to such a de- 
 gree, that were he really as undeserving of notice as he repre- 
 sents him, he ought no longer to be numbered among the poets. 
 These, indeed, are the two capital instances in which he has 
 offended me. There are others less important, which I have 
 not room to enumerate, and in which I am less confident that 
 he is wrong. What suggested to him the thought that the Alma 
 was written in imitation of Hudibras, I cannot conceive. In 
 former years, they were both favourites of mine, and I often 
 read them ; but never saw in them the least resemblance to 
 each other; nor do I now, except that they are composed in 
 verse of the same measure. After all, it is a melancholy ob- 
 servation, which it is impossible not to make, after having run 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK, lg7 
 
 chrou2;h this series of poetical lives, thot where there were such 
 shining talents, there should he so little virtue. 
 
 These luminaries of our country seem to have been kindled 
 into a brighter blaze than others, only that their spots might be 
 more noticed ! So much can nature do for our intellectual part, 
 and so little for our moral. What vanity, what petulance in 
 Pope ! How painfully sensible of censure, and yet how restless 
 in provocation ! To what mean artifices could Addison stoop, 
 in hopes of injuring the reputation of his friend ! Savage, how 
 sordidly vicious, and the more condemned for the pains that are 
 taken to palliate his vices. Offensive as they appear through a 
 veil, how would they disgust without one. What a sycophant 
 to the public taste was Dryden ; sinning against his feelings, 
 lewd in his writings, though chaste in his conversation. I 
 know not but one might search these eight volumes with a can- 
 dle, as the prophet says, to find a man, and not find one, un- 
 less, perhaps, Arbuthnot were he. I shall begin Beat tie this 
 evening, and propose to myself much satisfaction in reading 
 him. In him, at least, I shall find a man whose faculties have 
 now and then a glimpse from Heaven upon them ; — a man, not 
 indeed in possession of much evangelical light, but faithful to 
 what he has, and never neglecting an opportunity to use it! 
 How much more respectable such a character, than that of thou- 
 sands who would call him blind, and yet have not the grace to 
 practise half his virtues ! He, too, is a poet, and wrote the Min- 
 strel. The specimens which I have seen of it pleased me much. 
 If you have the whole, I should be glad to read it. I may, 
 perhaps, since you allow me the liberty, indulge myself here 
 and there, with a marginal annotation, but shall not use that 
 allowance wantonly, so as to deface the volumes. 
 Yours, my dear William, 
 
 W. C. 
 
18S COKBESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO THJ: 1{E\ . WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MY DEAK WILLIAM, April 25, 1784 
 
 Thanks for the fish, with its companion, a lobster, which 
 we mean to eat to-morrow. 
 
 7'o t/ir- iiitinniiul Duitiory of the Halijbutty 'm which I 
 (lined this day, 
 Monday, April 26, 1784. 
 
 Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued 
 Thy pastime ? when wast thou an egg new-spawn'd, 
 ' -Lost in th' immensity of ocean's waste ? 
 ^ Roar as they might, the overbearing winds 
 
 That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe — 
 
 And in thy minikin and embryo state, 
 
 Attach'd to the firm leaf of some salt weed, 
 
 Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and rack'd 
 
 The joints of many a stout and gallant bark, 
 
 And whelm'd them in the unfexplored abyss. 
 
 Indebted to no magnet and no chart, 
 
 Nor under guidance of the polar fire. 
 
 Thou wast a voyager on many coasts. 
 
 Grazing at large in meadows submarine, 
 
 Where flat Batavia just emerging peeps 
 
 Above the brine — where Caledonia's rocks 
 
 Beat back the surge— and where Hibcrnia shoots 
 
 Her wondrous causeway far into the main. 
 
 — Wherever thou hast fed, thou little tliought'st. 
 
 And I not more, that I should feed on thee. 
 
 Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish. 
 
 To him who sent thee ! and success, as off 
 
 .^s it descends into the billowy t^ulpli. 
 
To the same drag that caught thee I — Fare ihce well ! 
 Thy lot, thy brethren of the slimy fin 
 Would envy, could they know that thou wast dooitTd 
 To feed a hard, and to be praised in verse, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, May 10, 1784. 
 
 We rejoice in the account you give us of Dr. Johnson. 
 His conversion will indeed be a singular jjroof of the omnipo- 
 tence of Grace; and the more singular the more decided. The 
 world will set his age against his wisdom, and comfort itself 
 with the thought that he must be superannuated. Perhaps, 
 therefore, in order to refute the slander, and do honour to the 
 cause to which he becomes a convert, he could not do better 
 than devote his great abilities, and a considerable part of the re- 
 mainder of his years, to the production of some important work, 
 not immediately connected with the interests of religion. He 
 would thus give proof, that a man of profound learning, and the 
 best sense, may become a child without being a fool ; and that 
 to embrace the gospel, is no evidence either of enthusiasm, in- 
 firmity, or insanity. But He who calls him will direct him. 
 
 On Friday, by particular invitation, we attended an attempt 
 to throw off a balloon at Mr. Throckmorton's, but it did not 
 succeed. We expect, however, to be summoned again in the 
 course of the ensuing week. Mrs. Unwin and I were the party. 
 We were entertained with the utmost politeness. It is not pos- 
 sible to conceive a more engaging and agreeable character than 
 the Gentleman's, or a more consummate assemblage of all that 
 is called good-nature, complaisance, and innocent cheerfulness. 
 
190 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 than is to be seen in the Lady. They hav^e lately received 
 many gross affronts from the people of this place, on account of 
 their religion. We thought it, therefore, the more necessary 
 to treat them with respect. 
 
 Best love, and best wishes, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MV DEAR FRIEND, June 21, 1784. 
 
 We are much pleased with your designed improvement 
 of the late preposterous celebrity, and have no doubt that, in 
 good hands, the foolish occasion will turn to good account. A 
 religious service, instituted in honour of a musician, and per- 
 formed in the house of God, is a subject that calls loudly for 
 the animadversion of an enlightened minister; and would be 
 no mean one for a satirist, could a poet of that description be 
 found spiritual enough to feel and to resent the profanation. It 
 is reasonable to suppose, that in the next year's almanack we 
 shall find the name of Handel among the red-lettered worthies, 
 for it would surely puzzle the Pope to add any thing to its 
 canonization. 
 
 This unpleasant summer makes me wish for winter. The 
 gloominess of that season is the less felt, both because it is ex- 
 pected, and because the days are sliort. But such weather, 
 when the days are longest, makes a double winter, and my spi- 
 rits feel that it docs. We have now frosty mornings, and so cold 
 a wind, that even at high noon we have been obliged to break 
 off our walk in the southern side of the garden, and seek shel- 
 ter, I in the green-house, and iVIrs. Unwin by the fire-side. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 191 
 
 Haymaking beirjins here to-morrow, and would have begun 
 sooner, had the weather permitted it. 
 
 Mr. Wright called upon us last Sunday. The old gentleman 
 seems happy in being exempted from the effects of time, to 
 such a degree, thai, though we meet but once in the year. I 
 cannot perceive that the twelve months that have elapsed have 
 made any change in him. It seems, however, that as much as 
 he loves his master, and as easy as I suppose he has always 
 found his service, he now and. then heaves a sigh for liberty, 
 and wishes to taste it before he dies. But his wife is not so 
 minded. She cannot leave a family, the sons and daughters of 
 which seem to be all her own. Her brother died lately in the 
 Bast Indies, leavmg twenty thousand pounds behind him, and 
 half of it to her ; but the ship that was bringing home this trea- 
 sure, is supposed to be lost. Her husband appears perfectly un- 
 affected by the misfortune, and she, perhaps, may even be glad 
 of it. Such an acquisition wotdd have forced her into a state 
 of independence, and have made her her own mistress, whether 
 she would not. I charged him with a petition to Lord Dart- 
 mouth, to send me Cook's last Voyage, which I have a great 
 curipsity to see, and no other means of procuring. I dare say 
 1 shall obtain the favour, and have great pleasure in taking my 
 last trip with a voyager whose memory I respect so much. 
 Farewell, my dear friend : our affectionate remembrances are 
 faithful to you and yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
192 (JORRESFONUENCE OF 
 
 ru IHE HEA . WILLIAM UNWIN. 
 
 MY DEAR riMENI), July 3, [probably 1784.^ 
 
 I ask pardon for nejijlectini^ a subject on which you con- 
 sulted uie in your last. It is too much my practice to reply to a 
 letter without reading it at the time ; and, on this occasion, my 
 memory failed me. I am no friend to Lilly's Grammar, though 
 I was indebted to him for my first introduction to the Latin 
 lans^iaj2;e. The grammars used at Westminster, both for the 
 Latin and the Greek, are those to which, if I had a young man 
 to educate, I should give the preference. They have the merit 
 of being compendious and perspicuous, in both which properties 
 I judge Lilly to Ixj defective. If I am not mistaken, however, 
 they are in use at the Charter-house, so that I have no need to 
 describe them to you. They are called Busby's Grammars, 
 though Busby did not compose them. The compilation was a 
 task imposed upon his uppermost boys, the plan only being 
 drawn by the master, and the versification, which I have often 
 admired for the ingenuity of it, being theirs. I never knew a 
 boy of any abilities, who had taken his notion of language from 
 these grammars, that was not accurate to a degree that distin- 
 guished him from most others. 
 
 I am writing in the green-house for retirement sake, where I 
 shiver with cold on this present third of July. Summer and 
 winter, therefore, do not depend on the position of the sun with 
 respect to the earth, but on His appointment who is sovereign 
 in all things. Last Saturday night the cold was so severe, that 
 it pinched ofl" many of the yoimg shoots of our peach-trees. 
 The nurseryman we deal with informs me, that the wall-trees 
 are almost every where cut off; and that a friend of his, near 
 London, has lost all the full-grown* fruit-trees of an extensive 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 193 
 
 garden. The very walnuts, which are now no bigger than small 
 hazel-nuts, drop to the ground ; and the flowers, though they 
 blow, seem to have lost all their odours. I walked with your 
 mother yesterday in the garden, wrapped up in a winter surtout, 
 and found myself not at all incumberd by it ; not more, indeed, 
 than 1 was in January. Cucumbers contract that spot which is 
 seldom found upon them except late in the autumn ; and melons 
 hardly grow. It is a comfort, however, to reflect, that if we 
 cannot have these fruits in perfection, neither do we want them. 
 Our crops of wheat are said to be very indifferent ; the stalks of 
 an unequal height, so that some of the ears are in danger of be- 
 ing smothered by the rest ; and the ears, in general, lean and 
 scanty. I never knew a summer in which we had not now and 
 then a cold day to conflict with ; but such a wintry fortnight as 
 the last, at this season of the year, I never remember. I fear 
 you have made a discovery of the webs you mention a day too 
 late. The vermin have probably by this time left them, and 
 may laugh at all human attempts to destroy them. For every 
 web they have hung upon the trees and bushes this year, you 
 will next year probably find fifty, perhaps an hundred. Their 
 increase is almost infinite ; so that, if Providence does not inter- 
 fere, and man see fit to neglect them, the laughers you men- 
 tion may live to be sensible of their mistake, 
 liove to all. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C, 
 
 15 b 
 
ff^ ( ORRESPONULNCE Ol" 
 
 1 O THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY UEAll FRIEND, July 19, 1784. 
 
 Notwithstanding the justness of the comparison by which 
 you illustrate the folly and wickedness of a congregation assem- 
 bled to pay divine honours to the memory of Handel, I could 
 not help laughing at the picture you have drawn of the musical 
 convicts. The subject indeed is awful, and your manner of re- 
 presenting it is perfectly just ; yet I laughed, and must have 
 laughed had I been one of your hearers. But the ridicule lies 
 in the preposterous conduct which you reprove, and not in 
 your reproof of it. A people so musically mad as to make not 
 only their future trial the subject of a concert, but even the mes- 
 sage of mercy from their King, and the only one he will ever 
 send them, must excuse me if I am merry where there is more 
 cause to be sad ; for melancholy as their condition is, their be- 
 haviour under it is too ludicrous not to be felt as such, and 
 would conquer even a more settled gravity than mine.* 
 Yoiu's, my dear friend, 
 
 W. (■. 
 
 TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRLt^ND, Oct. 30, 1784. 
 
 I am now reading a book which you have never read, 
 and will probably never read — Knox's Essays. Perhaps I 
 should premise, that 1 am driven to such reading by the want 
 of books that would please me better, neither having any, nor 
 
 * What Mr. Hayloy l»as introduced under the date of this letter immedi- 
 ately follo\v!», and is strikingly illustrative of the foreg'oing observMions 
 
WILLIAM OOWPER. 193 
 
 die means of procuring any. I am not sorry, however, that I 
 have met with him ; though when I have allowed him the praise 
 of being a sensible man, and in his way a good one, I have 
 allowed him all that I can afford. Neither his style pleases me, 
 which is sometimes insufferably dry and hard, and sometimes 
 ornamented even to an Harveian tawdriness ; nor his manner, 
 which is never lively without being the worse for it : so un- 
 happy is he in his attempts at character and narration. But 
 writing chiefly on the manners, vices, and follies of the modern 
 day, to me he is at least so far useful, as that he gives me in- 
 formation upon points concerning which I neither can nor would 
 be informed except by hearsay. Of such information, however, 
 I have need, being a writer upon those subjects myself, and a 
 satirical writer too. It is fit, therefore, in order that I may find 
 fault in the right* place, that I should know where fault may 
 projjerly be found. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 10 JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAK FRIEND, Dec. 4, 1784. 
 
 You have my hearty thanks for a very good barrel of 
 oysters ; which necessary acknowledgment once made, I might 
 perhaps show mere kindness by cutting short an epistle, than by 
 continuing one, in which you are not likely to find your ac- 
 count, either in the way of information or amusement. The 
 season of the year, indeed, is not very friendly to such com- 
 munications. A damp atmosphere and a sunless sky will have 
 their effect upon the spirits ; and when the spirits are checked, 
 farewell to all hope of being good company, either by letter or 
 otherwise. I envy those happy voyagers, who, with so much 
 
i}j(i COURKSFONDENCE OK 
 
 ease, ascend to regions unsullied with a cloud, and date their 
 epistles from an extra-mundane situation. No wonder if they 
 outshine us who poke about in the dark below, in the vivacity 
 of their sallies, as much as they soar above us in their excur- 
 sions. Not but that I should be very sorry to go to the clouds 
 for wit : on the contrary, I am satisfied that I discover more by 
 continuing where I am. Every man to his business. Their 
 vocation is, to see fine prospects, and to make pithy observa- 
 tions upon the world below ; such as these, for instance: that 
 the earth, beheld from a height that one trembles to think of, 
 has the appearance of a circular plain ; that England is a very 
 rich and cultivated countr}-^, in which every man's property is 
 ascertained by the hedges that intersect the lands; and that 
 London and Westminster, seen from the neighbourhood of the 
 moon, make but an insignificant figure. I a^mit the utility of 
 these remarks ; but, in the mean time, as I say, chacim a 
 son gout ; and mine is rather to creep than fly; and to carry 
 with me, if possible, an unbroken neck to the grave. 
 I remain, as ever, 
 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 Jan. 5, 1785. 
 
 tf A 1 -l^ » it. ■■>!• * * * » 
 
 I have observed, and you must have had occasion to observe 
 it oftener than I, that when a man, who once seemed to be a 
 Christian, has put off that character, and resumed his old one, 
 he loses, together with the grace which he seemed to possess, 
 the most amiable past of the character that he resumes. The 
 
WirJ.IAM COWPEU. 197 
 
 best features of his natural face seem to be struck out, that, 
 after having; worn religion only as a handsome mask, he may 
 make a more disgusting appearance than he did before he as- 
 sumed it. 
 
 According to your request, I subjoin my Epitaph on Dr. 
 Johnson ; at least I mean to do it, if a drum, which at this 
 moment announces the arrival of a giant in the town, will 
 give me leave. I have not yet sent the copy to the Magazine. 
 
 EPITAPH ON BR. JOHNSON. 
 
 Here Johnson lies — a sage, by all allow'd, 
 
 Whom to have bred may well make England proud ; 
 
 Whose prose was eloquence by wisdom taught. 
 
 The graceful vehicle of virtuous tliought ; 
 
 Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine, and strong, 
 
 Superior praise to the mere poet's song ; 
 
 Who many a noble gift from Heaven possess'd, 
 
 And faith at last — alone worth all the rest. 
 
 Oh man immortal by a double prize, 
 
 On earth by fame, by favour in the skies !* 
 
 Mr. has quitted the- country, having neither left ad- 
 mirers behind him, nor taken any with him ; unless perhaps 
 his wife be one, which admits some doubt. He quarrelled 
 with most of his acquaintance, and the rest grew sick of him. 
 He even quarrelled with his auctioneer in the midst of the sale 
 of his goods, and would not permit him to pi'oceed, finishing 
 that matter himself. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 vv. c. 
 
 * By referringto the 8vo edition of Hayley's Life of Cowper, vol. ii. p. 
 275.^ the reader will perceive that the conclusion of the Kpitaph was after- 
 wards varied. 
 
IIU) COIinKSl'ONDKNCK or 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR I'RIKNl), Jan. 22, 178 J. 
 
 The departure of the long frost, by which we were 
 })inchcd and sciueczed togetlier for three weeks, is a most agree- 
 able circumstance. The weather is now (to speak poetically) 
 geiiial and jocund ; and the appearance of the sun, after so tedious 
 an eclipse, peculiarly welcome. For were it not that 1 have a 
 gravel-walk about sixty yards long, where I take my daily ex- 
 ercise, I should be obliged to look at a fine day through the 
 window, without any other enjoyment of it ; — a country render- 
 ed impassable by frost, that has been at last resolved into rot- 
 tenness, keeps me so close a prisoner. Long live the inventors 
 anil improvers of balloons ! It is always clear over-head, and 
 by and by we shall use no other road. 
 
 How will the Parliament employ themselves when Ihcy meet? 
 — to any purpose, or to none, or only to a bad one ? They are 
 utterly out of my favour. I despair of them altogether. Will 
 they pass an act for the cultivation of the royal wildernesses ? 
 Will they make effectual provision for a northern fishery ? Will 
 they establish a new sinking-fund, that shall infallibly j)ay oil 
 the national debt? 1 say nothing about a more equal representa- 
 tion, because, unless they bestow upon private gentlemen of no 
 property a privilege of voting, 1 stand no chance of ever being 
 represented myself. Will they achieve all these wonders, oi 
 none of them ? And shall 1 derive no other advantage from 
 the great Wittena-Gemot of the nation, than merely to reail 
 their debates, for twenty folios of whicli 1 would not give one 
 farthing ? 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. ( . 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. igy 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAIl FRIEND, Olney, Feb, 19, I78j. 
 
 I am obliged to you for apprising me of Ihe various oc- 
 casions of delay to which your letters arc liable. Furnished 
 with such a key, I shall be able to account for any accidental 
 tardiness, without supposing any thing worse than that you your- 
 self have been interrupted, or that your messenger has not been 
 punctual. 
 
 Mr. Teedcn has just left us. lie came to exhibit to us a 
 specimen oi his kinsman's skill in the art of book-binding. 
 The book on which he had exercised his ingenuity was your 
 Life. You did not, indeed, make a wsy splendid appearance ;. 
 but, considering ttiat you were dressetl by an untaught artificer, 
 and that it was his first attempt, you had no cause to be dis- 
 satisfied, 'i'be young man has evidently the possession of 
 talents, by which he might shine both for the benefit of others 
 and for his own, did not his situation smother him. He can 
 make a dulcimer, tune it, play upon it, and with common ad- 
 vantages would undoubtedly have been able to make an har])si- 
 chord. But, unfortunately he lives where neither the one nor 
 the other are at all in vogue. He can convert the shell of a 
 cocoa-nut into a decent drinking-cup ; but when he has done, 
 he must cither fill it at the pump, or use it merely as an orna- 
 ment of his own mantle-tree. In like manner, he can bind a 
 book; but if he would have books to bind, he must either make 
 ihem or buy them, for we have few or no literati at Olney. 
 Some men have talents with which they do mischief; and others 
 have talents with which, if they do no mischief to others, at 
 least they can do but little good to themselves. They are, how- 
 ever, always a blessing, unless by our own folly we make them 
 
SOO (JOHRESl'ONDENCE (JJ 
 
 a curse; for it' we cannot turn lliem to a lucrative account, they 
 may however furnish us, at many a dull season, with the means 
 of innocent amusement. Such is the use that Mr. Killin2;worth 
 makes of his ; anil tliis evening we have, I think, made him 
 happy, having furnished him with two octavo volumes, in which 
 the principles and practice of all ingenious arts are inculcated 
 and explained. I make little doubt that, hy the half of it, he 
 will in time be able to perform many feats, for which lie wiH 
 never be one farthing the richer, but by which, nevertheless, 
 himself and his kin will be much diverted. 
 
 How much better is he employed than a neighbour of ours 
 has been for many years, whose sole occupation, although he too 
 is naturally ingenious, has centred in filling his glass and empty- 
 ing it. He is neither unknown nor much known to you, but 
 
 you remember him by the name of . He is now 
 
 languishing in a drojjsy, and, in the prime of life, labouring 
 xmder all the infirmities of age. He solaces himself, I am told, 
 with the recollection of somewhat that passed in his experience 
 many years ago, which, although it has been followed by no bet- 
 ter fruits than will grow at an alehouse, he dignifies with the 
 name of Conversion. Sows are so converted when they arc 
 washed, and give the same evidence of an unchanged nature by 
 
 returning to the mire. Mr. , whose daughter he married, 
 
 often visits him, but declares, that of all the insensibles he ever 
 
 saw, poor is the most completely stupid. So long as he 
 
 was able to crawl into tlie street, his journey was to the Royal 
 Oak and home again ; and so punctual were we both, I in clean- 
 ing my teeth at my window, and he in drinking his dram at 
 the same time, that I seldom failed to observe him. But both 
 his legs are now blistered, and refuse to assist him in poisoning 
 himself any longer. 
 
 The winter returning upon us at this late season with redou- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 201 
 
 bled severity, is an event unpleasant even to us who are well 
 furnished with fuel, and seldom feel much of it, unless when 
 we step into bed or get out of it ; but how much more formi- 
 dable to the poor ! When ministers talk of resources, that word 
 never fails to send my imagination into the mud-wall cottages 
 of our poor at Olney. There I find assembled, in one indivi- 
 dual, the miseries of age, sickness, and the cxtremest penury. 
 We have many such instances around us. The parish, per- 
 haps, allows such an one a shilling a week; but, being nqmb- 
 ed with cold, and crippled by disease, she cannot possibly earn 
 herself another. Such persons, therefore, suffer all that famine 
 can inflict upon them, only that they are not actually starved ; 
 a catastrophe which, to many of them, I suppose, would prove 
 a happy release. One cause of all this misery is, the exorbitant 
 taxation with which the country is encumbered ; so that, to the 
 poor, the few- pence they are able to procure have almost lost 
 their value. Yet the budget will be opened soon, and soon we 
 shall hear of resources. But 1 could conduct the statesman, 
 who rolls down to the House in a chariot as splendid as that of 
 Phaeton, into scenes that, if he had any sensibility for the woes 
 of others, would make him tremble at the mention of the 
 word. — This, however, is not what I intended when I began 
 this paragraph. I was going to observe, that of all the winters 
 we have passed at Olney, and this is the seventeenth, the pre- 
 sent has confined us most. Thrice, and but thrice, since the 
 middle of October, have we escaped into the fields for a little 
 fresh air, and a little change of motion. The last time, indeed, 
 it vvas at some peril that we did it, Mrs. Unwin having slipped 
 into a ditch, and, though I performed the part of an active 
 "squire upon the occasion, escaped out of it upon her hands, 
 and knees. 
 
 If the town afford any other news than I here send you, it 
 
 c c 
 
o(j2 (JOnRESPONUENCE OF 
 
 has not reached me yet. I am in perfect health, at least ol 
 body, anjcl Mrs. Unwin is tolerably well. Adieu! Weremem 
 ber you always, y ni aiul yours, with as much affection as you 
 can desire ; which being said, and said truly, leaves me quitr 
 at a loss lor any other conclusion than that of 
 
 W. C. 
 
 ru JOSEPH HILL, ESQ, 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 27, 1785. 
 
 I write merely to inquire after your health, and with a 
 sincere desire to hear that you are better. Horace somewhere 
 advises his friend to give his client the slip, and come and 
 spend the evening with him. I am not so inconsiderate as to 
 recommend the same measure to you, because we are not such 
 very near neighbours as a trip of that sort requires that we 
 should be. But I do verily wish that you would favour me 
 with just five minutes of the time that properly belongs t© 
 your clients, and place it to my account. Employ it, I mean, 
 in telling me that you are better at least, if not recovered. 
 
 I have been pretty much indisposed myself since I wrote 
 last; but, except in point of strength, am now as well as be- 
 fore. My disorder was what is commonly called and best un- 
 derstood by the name of a thorough cold ; which, being inter- 
 preted, no doubt you will know, signifies shiverings, aches, 
 burnings, lassitude, together with many other ills that flesh is 
 heir to. James's Powder is my nostrum on all sUch occasions, 
 and never fails. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 w. r 
 
WILLIAM GOWPER. 203 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 19, 1785. 
 
 You will wonder, no doubt, when I tell you that I write 
 upon a card-table ; and will be still more surprised when I add, 
 that we breakfast, dine, sup, upon a card-table. In short, it 
 serves all purposes, except the only one for which it was ori- 
 ginally designed. The solution of this mystery shall follow, 
 lest it should run in your head at a wrong time, and should 
 puzzle you, perhaps, when you are on the point of ascending 
 your pulpit : for I have heard you say, that at such seasons 
 your mind is often troubled with impertinent intrusions. The 
 round table, which we formerly had in use, was unequal to the 
 pressure of my super-incumbent breast and elbows. When I 
 wrote upon it, it creaked and tilted, and, by a variety of in- 
 convenient tricks, disturbed the process. The fly -table was too 
 slight and too small ; the square dining-table, too heavy and too 
 large, occupying, when its leaves were spread, almost the whole 
 parlour ; and the sideboard-table, having its station at too great 
 a distance from the fire, and not being easily shifted out of its 
 place and into it again, by reason of its size, was equally unfit 
 for my purpose. The card-table, therefore, which had for 
 sixteen years been banished as mere lumber ; the card-table, 
 which is covered with green baize, and is, therefore, preferable 
 to any other that has a slippery surface ; the card-table, that 
 stands firm and never totter.s, — is advanced to the honour of as- 
 sisting me upon my scribi)ling occasions; and, because we 
 choose to avoid the trouble of making frequent changes in the 
 position of our household furniture, proves equally serviceable 
 upon all others. It has cost us now and then the downfall of a 
 glass: for, when covered with a table-cloth, the fish-ponds arc 
 
'J04 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 not easily discerned ; and not being seen, are sometimes as lit- 
 tle thought of. But having numerous good qualities which 
 abundantly compensate that single inconvenience, we spill upon 
 it our coIFec, our wine, and our ale, without murmuring, and 
 resolve that it sl)all be our table still, to the exclusion of all 
 others. Not to be tedious, I will add but one more circum- 
 stance upon the subject, and that only because it will impress upon 
 you, as much as any thing that I have said, a sense of the value 
 we set upon its cscritorial capacity. — Parched and penetrated 
 on one side by the heat of the fire, it has opened into a large 
 fissin-e, which pervades not the moulding of it only, but the 
 very substance of the plank. At the mouth of this aperture, a 
 sharp splinter presents itself, which, as sure as it comes in con- 
 tact with a gown or an apron, tears it. It happens, unfortu- 
 nately, to be on that side of this excellent and never-to-be-for- 
 o-otten table which Mrs. Unwin sweeps with her apparel, al- 
 most as often as she rises from her chair. The consequences 
 need not, to use the fashionable phrase, be given in detail : but 
 the needle sets all to rights; and the card-table still holds pos- 
 session of its functions without a rival. 
 
 Clean roads and milder weather ha\e once more released us, 
 opening a way for our escape into our accustomed walks. We 
 have both, I believe, been sufferers by such a long confinement. 
 Mrs. Unwin has had a nervous (cvor all the winter, and I a 
 stomach that has quarrelled with every thing, and not seldom 
 even with its bread and butter. Her complaint, I hope, is at 
 length removed ; but mine seems more obstinate, giving way to 
 nothing that I can oppose to it, except just in the moment when 
 the opposition is made. I ascribe this malady — both our mala- 
 dies, indeed — in a great measure, to our want of exercise. We 
 have each of us practised more, in other days, than lately we- 
 have been able to take; and for my own part, till I was more 
 
 / 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 205 
 
 than thirty years old, it was almost essential to my comfort to 
 be perpetually in motion. My constitution, therefore, misses, 
 I doubt not, its usual aids of this kind ; and unless, for purposes 
 which I cannot foresee, Providence should interpose to prevent 
 it, will probably reach the moment of its dissolution the sooner 
 for being so little disturbed. A vitiated digestion, 1 believe, 
 always terminates, if not cured, in the production of some chro- 
 nical disorder. In several I have known it produce a dropsy. 
 But no matter. Death is inevitable ; and whether we die to-day 
 or to-morrow, a watery death or a dry one, is of no consequence. 
 The state of our spiritual health is all. Could I discover a few 
 more symptoms of convalescence there, this body might moulder 
 into its original dust without one sigh from me. Nothing of all 
 this did I mean to say ; but I have said it, and must now seek 
 another subject. 
 
 One of our most favourite walks is spoiled. The spinney is 
 cut down to the stumps: even the lilacs and the syringas, to 
 the stumps. Little did I think, (though indeed I might have 
 thought it,) that the trees which screened me from the sun last 
 summer would this winter be employed in roasting potatoes and 
 boiling tea-kettles for the poor of Olney. But so it has proved ; 
 and we ourselves have, at this moment, more than two waggon- 
 loads of them in our wood-loft. 
 
 Such various services can trees perform ; 
 
 Whom once they skreen'd from heat, in time they warm. 
 
 The mention of the poor reminds me of saying, in answer to 
 
 your application in behalf of the F 's, that they long since 
 
 received a portion of their nameless benefactor's annual remit- 
 tance. Mrs. Unwin sent them more than twelve pounds of 
 beef, and two gallon loaves. 
 
 A letter from Manchester reached our town last Sunday, ad- 
 
 / 
 
206 eORRESPONDENCK OJt 
 
 dressed to the Mayor or other chief magistrate of Olney. The 
 purport of it was, to excite him and his neighbours to petition 
 Parliament agamst the concessions to Ireland that Government 
 has in contemplation. Mr. Maurice Smith, as constable, took 
 the letter. But whether that most respectable personage amongst 
 us intends to comply with theterms of it, or not, I am ignorant. 
 For myself, however, I can pretty well answer, that I shall sign 
 no petition of the sort ; both because I do not think myself com- 
 petent to a right understanding of the question, and because it 
 appears to me, that, whatever be the event, no place in England 
 can be less concerned in it than Olney. 
 
 We rejoice that you are all well. Our love attends Mrs. New- 
 ton and yourself, and the young ladies. 
 
 I am yours, my dear friend, as usual, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 9, 1785. 
 
 In a letter to the printer of the Northampton Mercury, 
 we have the following history. — An ecclesiastic of the name of 
 Ziehen, German superintendant or Lutheran bishop of Zetter- 
 feldt, in the year 1779 delivered to the courts of Hanover and 
 Brunswick a prediction to the following purport. That an 
 earthquake is at hand, the greatest and most destructive ever 
 known; that it will originate in the Alps and in their neigh- 
 bourhood, especially at Mount St. Gothard ; at the foot of which 
 mountain, it seems, four rivers have their source, of which the " 
 Rhine is one. The names of the rest I have forgotten. They 
 are all to be swallowed up. That the earth will open into an 
 immense fissure, which will divide all Europe, reaching from 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 
 
 207 
 
 the aforesaid mountain to the states of Holland ; that the Zuyder 
 Sea will be absorbed in the gulf; that the Bristol Channel will 
 be no more : in short, that the North of Europe will be separated 
 from the South, and that seven thousand cities, towns, and vil- 
 lages will be destroyed. This prediction he delivered at the 
 aforesaid Courts, in the year seventy-nine, asserting, that in 
 February following the commotion would begin, and that by 
 Easter 1786, the whole would be accomplished. Accordingly, 
 between the fifteenth and twenty-seventh pf February, in the 
 year eighty, the public gazettes and newspapers took notice of 
 several earthquakes in the Alps, and in the regions at their foot ; 
 particularly about Mount St. Gothard. From this partial fulfil- 
 ment, Mr. argues the probability of a complete one, and 
 
 exhorts the world to watch and be prepared. He adds, moreover, 
 that Mr. Ziehen was a pious man, a man of science, and a man 
 of sense ; and that when he gave in his writing, he offered to 
 swear to it — I suppose, as a revelation from above. He is since 
 dead. 
 
 Nothing in the whole affair pleases me so much, as that he 
 has named a short day for the completion of his prophecy. It 
 is tedious work to hold the judgment in suspense for many years ; 
 but any body, methinks, may wait with patience till a twelve- 
 month shall pass away, especially when an earthquake of such 
 magnitude is in question. I do not say that Mr. Ziehen is de- 
 ceived ; but if he be not, I will say that he is the first modern 
 prophet who has not both been a subject of deception himself^, 
 and a deceiver of others. A year will show. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin thanks Mrs. Newton for her letter. We hope 
 that Patty has been falsely accused. But, however that may 
 be, we see great cause to admire either the cogency of her argu- 
 ments, or her husband's openness to conviction, who, by a 
 single box on the ear, was so effectually assured of the innocence 
 
208 COKKESPONDENCE OF 
 
 of his wife, as to become more attached to her than ever. For 
 the sake of good husbands, it is to be hoped that she will keep 
 her nostrum a secret, or communicate it only to ladies in her 
 own piedicament, who have need of the most forcible prool's of 
 their integrity. 
 
 Our love attends all your family. Believe me, my dear friend, 
 affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 22, 1785. 
 
 When I received j^our account of the great celebrity of 
 John Gilpin, I felt myself both flattered and grieved. Being 
 man, and having in my composition all the ingredients of which 
 other men are made, and vanity among the rest, it pleased me 
 to reflect that I was on a sudden become so famous, and thatall 
 the world was busy enquiring after me: but the next moment, 
 recollecting my former self, and that thirteen years ago, as harm- 
 less as Johri's history is, I should not then have written it, my 
 spirits sank, and I was ashamed of my success. Your letter was 
 followed the next post by one from Mr. Unwin. You tell me 
 that I am rivalled by Mrs. Bellamy ; and he, that I have a com- 
 petitor for fame, not less formidable, in the Learned Pig. Alas! 
 what is an author's popularity worth, in a world that can suffer 
 a prostitute on one side, and a pig on the other, to eclipse his 
 brightest glories? I am therefore sufficiently humbled by these 
 considerations; and unless I should hereafter be ordained to 
 engross the public attention by means more magniiicent than a 
 song, am persuaded that I shall suffer no real detriment by their 
 applause. I have produced many things, under the influence of 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 209 
 
 despair, which hope would not have permitted to spring. But 
 if tlie soil of that melancholy, in which I have walked solongj 
 has thrown up here and there an unprofitable fungus, it is well, 
 at least, that it is not chargeable with having brought forth 
 poison. Like you, I see, or think I can see, that Gilpin may 
 have his use. Causes, in appearance trivial, produce often the 
 most beneficial consequences ; and perhaps my volumes may now 
 travel to a distance, which, if they had not been ushered into 
 the world by that notable horseman, they would never have 
 reached. Our temper differs somewhat from that of the ancient 
 Jews. They would neither dance nor weep. We indeed, 
 weep not, if a man mourn unto us ; but I must n6eds say, 
 that, if he pipe, we seem disposed to dance with the greatest 
 alacrity. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 w. e. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, May, 1785. 
 
 I do not know that I shall send you news ; but, whether 
 it be news or not, it is necessary that I should relate the fact,* 
 lest I should omit an article of intelligence important at least at 
 Olney. The event took place much nearer to you than to us, 
 and yet it is possible that no account of it may yet have reached 
 you. — Mr. Ashburner, the elder, went to London on Tuesday 
 se'nnight in perfect health and in high spirits, so as to be re- 
 markably cheerful ; and was brought home in an hearse the 
 Friday following. Soon after his arrival in town, he complained 
 of an acute pain in his elbow, then in his shoulder, then in both 
 shoulders ; was blooded ; took two doses of such medicine as an 
 
 D d 
 
glO rORUESPONDENCE OF 
 
 apothecary tbought might do bun good ; and died on Thursday, 
 in the morning, at ten o'clock. When I first heard the tidings. 
 I could hardly credit them ; and yet have lived long enough my- 
 self to have seen manifold and most convincing proofs, that 
 neither health, great strength, nor even youth itself, afford the 
 least security from the stroke of death. It is not common, how- 
 ever, for men at the age of thirty-six to die so suddenly. I saw 
 him but a few days before, with a bundle of gloves and hatbands 
 under his arm, at the door of Geary Ball, who lay at that time 
 a corpse. The following day, 1 saw him march bclore the 
 coffin, and lead the procession that followed Geary to the grave. 
 He might be truly said to march, for his step was heroic, his 
 figure athletic, and his countenance as firm and confident as if 
 he had been born only to bury others, and was sure nevei- 
 to be buried himself. Such he appeared to me, while I stood 
 at the window and contemplated his deportment ; and then It 
 died. 
 
 I am sensible of the tenderness and affectionate kindness 
 with which you recollect our past intercourse, and express your 
 hopes of my future restoration. I, too, within the last eight 
 months, have had my hopes, though they have been of short 
 duration ; cut off, like the foam upon the waters. Some pre- 
 vious adjustments, indeed, are necessary, before a lasting ex- 
 pectation of comfort can have place in me. There are those 
 persuasions in my mind which either entirely forbid the 
 entrance of hope, or, if it enter, immediately eject it. They 
 are incompatible with any such inmate, and must be turned oul 
 themselves before so desirable a guest can possibly have secure 
 possession. This, you say, will be done. It may be, but it is 
 not done yet ; nor has a single step in the course of God's 
 dealings with me been taken towards it. If I mend, no 
 creature ever mended so slowly that recovered at last, i am 
 
WILLIAM GOWPEK. oil 
 
 like a slug or snail, that has fallen into a deep well : slug as he 
 is, he performs his descent with an alacrity proportioned to his 
 weight : but he does not crawl up again quite so fast. Mine 
 was a rapid plunge; but my return to daylight, if 1 am indeed 
 returning, is leisurely enough. — I wish you a swift progress, and 
 a pleasant one, through the great subject that you have in hand ; 
 and set that value upon your letters to which they are in them- 
 selves entitled, but which is certainly encreased by that pecu- 
 liar attention which the writer of them pays to me. Were I 
 such as I once was, I should say that I have a claim upon your 
 particular notice which nothing ought to supersede. Most of 
 your other connexions 3'ou may fairly be said to have formed 
 by your own act; but your connexion with me was the work 
 of God. The kine that went up with the ark from Bethshc- 
 mesh left what they loved behind them, in obedience to an im- 
 pression which to them was perfectly dark and unintelligible. 
 Your journey to Huntingdon was not less wonderful. He, in- 
 deed, who sent yoti, knew well wherefore, but you knew not. 
 That dispensation, therefore, would furnish me, as long as we 
 can both remember it, with a plea for some distinction at your 
 hands, had I occasion to use and urge it, which I have not. But 
 I am altered since that time ; and if your affection for me had 
 ceased, you might very reasonably justify your change by mine. 
 I can say nothing for myself at present ; but this I can venture 
 to foretell, that should the restoration of which my friends assure 
 me obtain, I shall undoubtedly love those who have continued 
 to love me, even in a state of transformation from my former 
 self, much more than ever. I doubt not that Nebuchadnezzar 
 had friends in his prosperity ; all kings have many. But when 
 his nails become like eagles' claws, and he ate grass like an ox, 
 I suppose he had few to pity him. 
 
 * # * • -)(;*# 
 
212 COURESPONDENCE OF 
 
 I am glad that Johnson is in fact a civiller man than 1 sup- 
 posed him. My quarrel with him was not for any stricture of 
 his upon my poetry, (for he has made several, and many of 
 them have been judicious, and my work will be the better for 
 them,) but for a certain rudeness with which he questioned my 
 judgment of a writer of the- last century, though 1 only mention 
 the efl'ect that his verses had upon me when a boy. There cer- 
 tainly was at the time a bustle in his temper, occasioned, 1 ima- 
 gine, by my being a little importunate with him to proceed. 
 He has, however, recovered himself since ; and, except that the 
 press seems to have stood still this last week, has printed as fast 
 as I could wish. Had he kept the same pace from the begin- 
 ning, the book had been published, as indeed it ought to have 
 been, three months ago. That evil report of his indolence 
 ■reaches me from every body that knows him, and is so general, 
 that had I a work, or thQ publication of one in hand, the ex- 
 penses of which I intended to take the hazard of upon myself, 
 I should be very much afraid to employ hina. He who w^ill 
 neglect himself cannot well be expected to attend to the inte- 
 rests of another. 
 
 We are going to pay Mr. Pomfret a morning visit. Our er- 
 rand is to see a fine bed of tulips, a sight that I never saw. Fine 
 painting, and God the artist. — Mrs. Unwin has something to 
 say in the cover. I leave her therefore to make her own cour- 
 tesy, and only add that I am yours and Mrs. Newton's 
 
 A^ectionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. glS 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON'. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 4, 1735. 
 
 Mr. Greatheed had your letter the day after we receiv- 
 ed it. He is a well-bred, agreeable youno- man, and one whose 
 eyes have been opened, I doubt not, for the benefit of others as 
 well as for his own. He preached at Olney, a day or two ago, 
 and I have reason to think with acceptance and success. One 
 person, at least, who had been in prison some weeks, received 
 his enlargement under him. I should have been glad to have 
 been a hearer ; but that privilege is not allowed me yet. In- 
 deed, since I told you that I had hope, I have never ceased to 
 despair ; and have repented that I made my boast so soon, more 
 than once. A king may forbid a man to appear before him, 
 and it were strange if the King of kings might not do the same. 
 I know it to be his will that 1 should not enter into his presence 
 now ; when the prohibition is taken ofT, I shall enter ; but in 
 the mean time, I should neither please him, nor serve myself, 
 by intruding. 
 
 My book is at length printed, and I returned the last proof 
 to Johnson on Tuesday. I have ordered a copy to Charles 
 Square, and have directed Johnson to enclose one with it, ad- 
 dressed to John Bacon, Esq. I was obliged to give you this 
 trouble, not being sure of the place of his abode. I have taken 
 the liberty to mention him, as an artist, in terms that he well 
 deserves. The passage was written soon after I received the 
 engraving with which he favoured me, and while the impres- 
 sion that it made upon me was yet warm. He will, therefore, 
 excuse the liberty that I have taken, and place it to the acco'unt 
 of those feelings which he himself excited. 
 
 The walking season is returned. We visit the wilderness 
 
214 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 daily. Mr. Throckmorton, last summer, presented me witii a 
 key of his garden. The family are all absent, except the priest 
 and a servant or two; so that the honeysuckles, lilacs, and sy- 
 ringas, are all our own. 
 
 We are well, and our united love attends yourselves and the 
 young ladies. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 With much affection, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 35, ir85. 
 
 A note thai we received fiom Mr. Scott, by your desire, 
 informing us of the amendment of Mrs. Newton's health, de- 
 mands our thanks, having relieved us from no little anxiety 
 upon her account. The welcome purport of it was soon after 
 confirmed by Sally Johnson, so that, at present, we feel our- 
 selves at liberty to hope that by this time Mrs. Newton's reco- 
 covery is complete. Sally's looks do credit to the air of llox- 
 ton. She seems to have lost nothing, either in complexion or 
 dimensions, by her removal hence ; and, which is still more to 
 the credit of your great town, she seems in spiritual things 
 also, to be the very same Sally whom w^e knew once at Olney. 
 Situation therefore is nothing. They who have the means of 
 grace, and an art to use them, will thrive any where ; others 
 no where. More than a few, who were formerly ornaments 
 of this garden which you once watered, here flourished, and 
 here have seemed to wither. Others, transplanted into a soil 
 apparently less favourable to their growth, either find the ex- 
 change an advantage, or at least are not impaired by it. 01 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 215 
 
 myself, who had once both leaves and fruit, but who have now 
 neither, I say nothing; or only this, — That when I am over- 
 whelmed with despair, I repine at my barrenness, and think it 
 hard to be thus blighted ; but when a glimpse of hope breaks 
 in upon me, I am contented to be the sapless thing I a;n, know- 
 ing that He who has commanded me to wither, can command 
 me to flourish again, when He pleases. My experiences, how- 
 ever, of this latter kind, are rare and transient. The light that 
 reaches me cannot be compared either to that of the sun or of 
 the moon. It is a flasli in a dark night, during which the hea- 
 vens seem opened only to shut again. 
 
 We enquired, but could not learn, that any thing memorable 
 passed in the last moments of poor Nathan. I listened in expec- 
 tation that he would at least acknowledge what all who knew 
 him in his more lively days had so long seen and lamented, his 
 neglect of the best things, and his eager pursuit of riches. But 
 he was totally silent upon that subject. Yet it was evident that 
 the cares of this world had choked in him much of the grood 
 seed, and that he was no longer the Nathan whom we have so 
 often heard at the old house, rich in spirit, though poor in ex- 
 pression ; whose desires were unutterable in every sense, both 
 because they were too big for language, and because Nathan 
 had no language for them. I believe with you, however, that 
 Jie is safe at home. He had a weak head and strong passions, 
 which He who made him well knew, and for which He would 
 undoubtedly make great allowance. The forgiveness of God is 
 large and absolute ; so large, that though in general He calls for 
 confession of our sins. He sometimes dispenses with that pre- 
 liminary, and will not suffer even the delinquent himself to 
 mention his transgression. He has so forgiven it, that He seems 
 to have forgotten it too, and will have the sinner to forget it 
 
UK) ("OKKF.FsroNnKNTE Ol 
 
 also. Such instances perhaps, may nol l)o comnion, but I know 
 that thorc h.ivc hron suoh, ami it might be so with Nathan. 
 
 1 know not what .lohnjon is about, neitlier ilo I now enquire. 
 It will he a nuMilh to-niorrow since I rcttnned him the last proof. 
 He mis;ht, 1 suppose, have puhlishcil by t!us time, without hur- 
 rying himscll" into a fever, or hivakinu; his ru^ck through tin 
 violence ot' his dispatch. Hut having never seen the book ad- 
 vertised. I conclude that he has not. Had the parliament risen 
 at the usual timo, he would have been just too late, and though 
 it sits longiM' tJ\an usual, or is likely to tio so, I siiould not won- 
 der it^ he were too late at last. Dr. ,K"»hnson laughs at Savage 
 for charging the still-birth of a poem of his upon the bookseller'-^ 
 delay ; yet when Dr. .Tohnson had a poem of his own to publish 
 no man ever disco\T»x\l more anxiety to meet the market. Ikit 
 1 have taken thought about it, till I am grown weary of the 
 subject, .ind at last have placed myself much at my ease upon 
 the cushion of this one jvsolution : that if ever 1 have dealings 
 hereafter with my pi-csent manager, we will proceed upon other 
 terms. 
 
 ISIr. Wright called here last Sunday, by whom Lonl Dart- 
 mouth made obliging enquiries after the volume, and w;vs pleas- 
 ed to s;»y that he was impatient to see it. I told him that 1 had 
 onleiTd ,1 cojiy to his Lordship, wl.ich 1 hojKHl he would re- 
 ceive, if not six>n, at least befoiv he should retire into the coun- 
 try. I have also ordered one to Mr. Harham. 
 
 Wc sutler in this country very much by drouglit. The corn. 
 I believe, is in most places thin, and the hay harvest amounts in 
 some to not more than the llfih of a crop. Heavy taxe^, cxces- 
 5i\-e levies for the ]K»or, and lean acres, have brought our far- 
 mei-s almost to their wits' eiul : and many, who aiv not tarmers, 
 »re not very ren>ote from the same jwint of despondency. I do 
 nol des|X)nd. because T was never much addictcvi to anxious 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. • ji; 
 
 thoiia;h(s about the future, in respect of temporals. But I feel 
 myself a little angry with a minister, who, when he imposed a 
 tax upon a;lovcs, was not ashamed to call them a luxury. Caps 
 and boots lined with fur, are not accounted a luxury in Russia, 
 neither can gloves be reasonably deemed such in a climate 
 sonietimes hardly less severe than that. Nature, indeed, is con- 
 tent with little, and luxury seems, in some resj)ect, rather rela- 
 tive, than of a fixed construction. Accordingly it may become, 
 in time, a luxury for an Englishman to wear breeches, because 
 it is possible to exist without them, and because persons of a 
 moderate income may find them too expensive. I hope, how- 
 ever, to be hid in the dust before that day shall come ; for hav- 
 ing worn them so many years, if they be indeed a luxury, they 
 are such a one as I could very ill spare ; yet spare them I must, 
 if I cannot afford to wear them. 
 
 We arc tolerably well in health, and as to spirits, much as 
 usual — seldom better, sometimes worse. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 9, 1785. 
 
 You wrong your own judgment when you represent it 
 as not to be trusted ; and mine, if you suppose that I have that 
 opinion of it. Had you disapproved, I should have been hurt 
 and mortified. No man's disapprobation would have hurt me 
 more. Your favourable sentiments of my book must conse- 
 quently give me pleasure in the same proportion. By the post, 
 last Sunday, I had a letter from Lord Dartmouth, in which he 
 thanked me for my volume, of which he had read only a jjart 
 
 E e 
 
318 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Of tlial part, however, he expresses himself in terms with which 
 my autliorship has abundant cause to be satisfied ; and adds, 
 that the specimen has made him impatient for the whole. I 
 have likewise received a letter from a judicious friend of mine 
 in London, and a man of fine taste, unknown to you, who speaks 
 of it in the same language. Fortified by these cordials, I feel 
 myself qualified to face the world without much anxiety, and 
 delivered in a great measure from those fears which, I suppose, 
 all men feel upon the like occasion. 
 
 My first volume I sent, as you may remember, to the Lord 
 Chancellor, accompanied by a friendly but respectful epistle. 
 His Lordship, however, thought it not worth his while to re- 
 turn me any answer, or to take the least notice of my present. 
 I sent it also to Colman, manager of the Haymarket theatre, 
 Avith whom I once was intimate. He likewise proved too great 
 a man to recollect me ; and though he has published since, did 
 not account it necessary to return the compliment. I have al- 
 lowed myself to be a little pleased with an opportunity to show 
 them that I resent their treatment of me, and have sent this 
 book to neither of them. They, indeed, are the former friends 
 to whom I particularly allude in my epistle to Mr. Hill ; and it 
 is possible that they may take to themselves a censure that they 
 so well deserve. If not, it matters not ; for I shall never have 
 any communication with them hereafter. 
 
 If Mr. Bates has found it diflicult to furnish you with a motto 
 to your volumes, I have no reason to imagine that I shall do it 
 easily. I shall not leave my books unransacked ; but there is 
 something so new and peculiar in the occasion that suggested 
 your subject, that I question whether, in all the classics, can be 
 found a sentence suited to it. Our sins and follies, in this coun- 
 try, assume a shape that Heathen writei's had never any oppor- 
 tunity to notice. They deified the dead, indeed, but not in the 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. ojg 
 
 Temple of Jupiter. The new-made god had an altar of his 
 own ; and they conducted the ceremony without sacrilege or 
 confusion. It is possible, however, and I think barely so, that 
 somewhat may occur susceptible of accommodation to your pur- 
 pose; and if it should, I shall be happy to sei've you with it. 
 
 I told you, I believe, that the spinney has been cut down; 
 and, though it may seem sufficient to have mentioned such an 
 occurrence once, 1 cannot help recurring to the melancholy 
 theme. Last night, at near nine o'clock, we entered it for the 
 first time this summer. We had not walked many yards in it, 
 before we perceived that this pleasant retreat is destined never 
 to be a pleasant retreat again. In one more year, the whole 
 will be a thicket. That which was once the serpentine walk is 
 now in a state of transformation, and is already become as woody 
 as the rest. Poplars and elms without number are springing in 
 the turf. They are now as high as the knee. Before the sum- 
 mer is ended, they will be twice as high ; and the growth of 
 another season will make them trees. It will then be impossi- 
 ble for any but a sportsman and his dog to penetrate it. The 
 desolation of the whole scene is such, that it sunk our spirits. 
 The ponds are dry. The circular one, in front of the hermi- 
 tage, is filled with flags and rushes ; so that if it contains any 
 water, not a drop is visible. The weeping willow at the side 
 of it, the only ornamental plant that has escaped the axe, is 
 dead. The ivy and the moss, with which the hermitage was 
 lined, are torn away ; and the very mats that covered the benches 
 have been stripped off, rent in tatters, and trodden under foot. 
 So farewell, spinney ; I have promised myself that I will never 
 enter it again. We have both prayed in it : you for me, and I 
 for you. But it is desecrated from this time forth, and the 
 voice of prayer will be heard in it no more. The fate of it in 
 'his respect, however deplorable, is not peculiar. The spot 
 
320 COKKESPONDENCE OF 
 
 where Jacob anointed his pillar, and, which is more apposite, 
 the spot once honoured with the presence of Him who dwelt 
 in the bush, have lonjj; since suffered similar disgrace, and are 
 become common ground. 
 
 There is great severity in the application of the text you 
 mention — I am their jnusic. But it is not the worse for that. 
 We both approve it highly. The other in Ezekiel does not 
 seem quite so pat. The prophet complains that his word v^'as 
 to the people like a pleasant song;, heard with delight, but soon 
 forgotten. At the commemoration, I suppose that the word is 
 nothing, but the music all in all. The BiJile, however, will 
 abundantly supply you with applicable passages. All passages, 
 indeed, that animadvert upon the profanation of God's house 
 and worship, seem to present themselves upon the occasion. 
 
 Accept our love and best wishes ; and believe me, my dear 
 friend, with warm and ti'ue aflfection. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAU FRIEND, August 6, 1785, 
 
 I found your account of what you experienced in your 
 state of maiden authorship very entertaining, because very na- 
 tural. I suppose that no man ever made his first sally from the 
 press without a conviction that all eyes and ears would be en- 
 gaged to attend him ; at least, without a thousand anxieties lest 
 they should not. But, however arduous and interesting such 
 an enterprise may be in the first instance, it seems to nie that 
 our feelings on the occasion soon become obtuse. I can answer, 
 at least, for one. Mine are by no means what they were when 
 
WILLIAM COVVPEtt. 321 
 
 I published my first volume. 1 am even so indifterent to the 
 matter, that I can truly assert myself guiltless of the very idea 
 of my book sometimes whole days together. God knows that 
 my mind having been occupied more than twelve years in the 
 contemplation of the most distressing subjects, the world and 
 its opinion of what I write, is become as unimportant to me as 
 the whistling of a bird in a bush. Despair made amusement 
 necessary, and I found poetry the most agreeable amusement. 
 Had I not endeavoured to perform my best, it would not have 
 amused me at all. The mere blotting of so much paper would 
 have been but indifferent sport. God gave me grace also to 
 wish that I might not write in vain. Accordingly, I iiave min- 
 gled much truth with much trifle ; and such truths as deserved, 
 at least, to be clad as well and as handsomely as I could clothe 
 them. If the world approve me not, so much the worse for 
 them, but not for me. I have only endeavoured to serve them, 
 and the loss will be their own. And as to their commenda- 
 tions, if I should chance to win them, I feel myself equally 
 invulnerable there. The view that I have had of myself, for 
 many years, has been so truly humiliating, that I think the 
 praises of all mankind could not hurt me. God knows that I 
 speak my present sense of the matter at least most truly, when 
 I say, that the admiration of creatures like myself seems to me 
 a weapon the least dangerous that my worst enemy could em- 
 ploy against me. I am fortified against it by such solidity of 
 real self-abasement, that I deceive myself most egregiously if 
 I do not heartily despise it. Praise belongeth to God ; and I 
 seem to myself to covet it no more than I covet divine ho- 
 nours. Could I assuredly hope that God would at last deliver 
 me, I should have reason to thank him for all that I have suffer- 
 ed, were it only for the sake of this single fruit of my afflic- 
 tion, — that it has taught me how much more contemptible I am 
 
 • 
 
222 CORUESPONOENCE OF 
 
 in myself than I ever before suspected, and has reduced my 
 former share of self-knowledge (of which at that time I had u 
 tolerable good opinion) to a mere nullity, in comparison with 
 what I have acquired since. Self is a subject of inscrutable 
 misery and mischief, and can never be studied to so much ad- 
 vanta2;e as in the dark : for as the bright beams of the sun seem 
 to impart a beaut}' to the foulest objects, and can make even a 
 dunghill smile, so the light of God's countenance, vouchsafed 
 to a fallen creature, so sweetens him and softens him for the 
 lime, that he seems, both to others and to himself, to have no- 
 thing savage or sordid about him. But the heart is a nest of 
 serpents, and will be such while it continues to beat. If God 
 cover the mouth of that nest with his hand, they are hush and 
 snug; but if he withdraw his hand, the whole family lift up 
 their heads and hiss, and are as active and venomous as ever. 
 This I always professed to believe from the time that I had em- 
 braced the truth, but never knew it as I know it now. To 
 what end I have been made to know it as i do, whether for the 
 benefit of others or for my own, or for both, or for neither, 
 will appear hereafter. 
 
 What I have written leads me naturally to the mention of a 
 matter that I had forgot. I should blame nobody, not even my 
 intimate friends, and those who have the most favourable opi- 
 nion of me, were they to charge the publication of John Gil- 
 pin, at the end of so much solemn and serious truth, to the 
 score of the author's vanity ; and to suspect that, however so- 
 ber I may be upon pioper occasions, I have yet that itch of 
 popularity that would not suffer me to sink my title to a jest 
 that had been so successful. But the case is not such. When I 
 sent the copy of the Task to Johnson, I desired, indeed, Mr. 
 Unwin to ask him the question, whether or not he would 
 choose to make it a part of the volume? This I did merely with 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 223 
 
 a view to promote the sale of it. Johnson answered, " By all 
 means." Some months afterward, he enclosed a note to me in 
 one of my packets, in which he expressed a change of mind, 
 alleging;, that to print John Gilpin would only be to print what 
 had been hackneyed in every magazine, in every shop, and at 
 the corner of every street. 1 answered, that I desired to be 
 entirely governed by his opinion ; and that if he chose to wave 
 it, I should be better pleased with the omission. Nothing more 
 passed between us upon the subject, and I concluded that I 
 should never have the immortal honour of being generally known 
 as the author of John Gilpin. In the last packet, however, 
 down came John, very fairly printed, and equipped for public 
 appearance. The business having taken this turn, I concluded 
 that Johnson had adopted my original thought, that it might 
 prove advantageous to the sale ; and as he had had the trouble 
 and expense of printing it, I corrected the copy, and let it 
 pass. Perhaps, however, neither the book nor the writer may 
 be made much more famous by John's good company, than they 
 would have been without it ; for the volume has never yet been 
 advertised, nor can I learn that Johnson intends it. He fears 
 the expense, and the consequence must be prejudicial. Many 
 who would purchase will remain uninformed : but I am per- 
 fectly content. 
 
 I have considered your motto, and like the purport of it ; 
 but the best, because the most laconic manner of it seems to be 
 this — 
 
 Ciim talis sis, sis noster ; 
 
 utinam being, in my account of it, unnecessary. 
 Yours, my dear friend, most truly, 
 
 W. C, 
 
824 CORRESPONDEINCE Ot 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 XrV' DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 27, 1785 
 
 1 did very warmly and very sincerely tliank Mr. Bacon 
 for his most friendly and obliging letter; but havinaj written 
 my acknowledgments in the cover, I suppose that they escaped 
 your notice. I should not have contented myself with trans- 
 mitting; them through your hands, but should have addressed 
 them immediately to himself, but that I foresaw plainly this in- 
 convenience : that, in writing to him on such an occasion. I 
 must almost unavoidably make self and self's book the subject. 
 Therefore it was, as Mrs. Unwin can vouch for me, that 1 de- 
 nied myself that pleasure. I place this matter now in the van 
 of all that I have to say ; first, that you may not overlook it ; 
 secondly, because, it is up|>ermost in my consideration ; and 
 thirdly, because I am impatient to be exculpated from the seem- 
 ing omission. 
 
 You told me, I think, that you seldom read the papers. In 
 our last wc had an extract from Johnson's Diary, or whatever 
 else he called it. It is certain that the publisher of it is neither 
 much a friend to the cause of religion nor to the author's memory; 
 for, by the specimen of it that has reiched us, it seems to con- 
 tain only such stuff as has a direct tendency to expose both to 
 ridicule. His prayers for the dead, and his minute account of 
 the rigour with which he observed church fasts, whether he drank 
 tea or coffee, whether with sugar or without, and whether one 
 or two dishes of either, are the must important items to be found 
 in this childish register of the great Johnson, supreme dictator 
 in tlie chair of literature, and almost a driveller in his closet : a 
 melancholy witness to testify how much of the wisdom of this 
 world mav consist with almost infantine isiuorance of the affairs 
 
NVIl.I.lAM COWrEU. 22b 
 
 ot" a better. I remember a g-ood man at Huntingdon, who, I 
 doubt not, is now with God. and he also kept a Diary. After 
 his death, through the neglect or foolish wantonness of his ex- 
 ecutors, it came abroad for the amusement of his neighbours. 
 All the town saw it, and all the town found it highly diverting. 
 It contained much more valuable matter than the poor Doctor's 
 Journal seems to do ; but it contained also a faithful record of all 
 his deliverances from wind (for he was much troubled with flatu- 
 lence), by whatever vent it escaped him ; together with pious 
 acknowledgments of the mercy. There is certainly a call for 
 gratitude, whatsoever benefit we receive; and it is equally cer- 
 tain, that we ought to be humbled under the recollection of our 
 least offences : but it would have been as well if neither my old 
 friend had recorded his eructations, nor the Doctor his dishes of 
 sugarless tea, or the dinner at which he ate too much. I wonder, 
 indeed, that any man of such learned eminence as Johnson, who 
 knew that every word he uttered was deemed oracular, and tiiat 
 every scratch of his pen was accounted a treasure, should leave 
 behind him what he would have blushed to exhibit while he lived. 
 If Virgil would have burnt his ^'Eneid, how much more reason 
 had these good men to have burnt their Journals. 
 
 Mr. Perry will leave none such behind him. He is dying, 
 as I suppose you have heard. Dr. Kerr, who. I think, has visit- 
 ed him twice or thrice, desired at his last visit to be no more 
 sent for. He pronounced his case iiopeless ; for that his thigh 
 and leg would mortify. He is, however, in a most comfortable 
 frame of mind. So long as he thought it possible that he might 
 recover, he was much occupied with a review of his ministry ; 
 and under a deep impression of his deficiencies in that function, 
 
 assured Mr. R that he intended, when he should enter upon 
 
 it again, to be much more diligent than he had been. He was 
 conscious, he said, that many fine things had lieen said of him : 
 
 V r 
 
ii(, CHRRFSPOMIENCE OK 
 
 but ihni. thous;h he tnistctl he hatl fouiui jpraw "^o to walk as not 
 to dishonotir his oftioo. he was conscious, at the same lime, how 
 little he deserxxxl them. This, with much more to the s;imc 
 
 purport, p;«sscd on Sunday last. On Thursday, ^t^. R 
 
 was with him »«»ain ; and at that lime Mr. Perry kiM?w liui he 
 must die. The ndes ami cautions that he had before prescribed 
 to himself, he then addresseil direetly to his visitor. He ex- 
 hortetl him, by ail means, to l>e earnest and ad'ectionate in his 
 .ipplicalions to the unconverteil, and no^less solicitous to admo- 
 nish the careless, with a head full of lisjht. and a heart alienated 
 from the ways of God : and those, no less, who beini; wise in 
 their own conceit, weiv much oreupieil in matters abo\-e th«r 
 rvach. and v*ery little with subjects of immeiliate and necessary 
 concern. He atlded. that he had rvceiwd l'n>m ln)d,durina: his 
 illness, other views of sin than he had ever been favoured with 
 before : and exhorted him by all means to be watchful. Mr. 
 
 R lx>ins: himself Uie reporter of these conversations, it is 
 
 to be supposed th.nt they impressevl him. Admonitions from 
 such li(>s, and in a dyin^; time too, must ha>*e their weight : and 
 it is well with the he;»ivr. when the instrtiction abides with him. 
 But our own view of these matters is, I believe, that alone which 
 can eflectually serx^e us. The n^presentalioos ol" a dying man 
 mav strike us at the time: and, if they stir up in us a spirit oi 
 sell-cxdmination and enquiry, so that we rest not till we have 
 made his views and experience our own, it is well ; otherwise, 
 the w ind that passes us is hardly sooner gone, than the edect ot 
 the most serious exhortations. 
 
 Farewell, my friend. My views of my spiritual state are, as 
 you say. altereil ; but tbey are yet far from being sudi as they 
 must be, beibre I can be euduringly comforted. 
 
 Vouns un£ugnedly. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 
 
 TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEXn. Sept. T^, i:S3. 
 
 I am sorry tliat aa excursion, which you would otherwise 
 have found so agreeable, was attended with so great a drawback 
 upon its pleasures as Miss Cunningliam's iUness must needs have 
 l>een. Had she been able to bathe in the sea, it might have been 
 of service to her, but I knew her we.;>kness and delicacj' oi" habit 
 to be such as did not encourage any very sanguine hopes that 
 the regimen would suit her. 1 remember Southampton well, 
 having spent much time there; but though I was young, and 
 had no objections on the score of conscience either to dancing 
 or cards. I never was in tlie assembly-room in my hie. I never 
 was fond of company, and especially disliked it in the country. 
 A walk to Neiley Abbey, or to Freemantle. or to Redbridge,or 
 a book by the tii^e-side, had always more charms tor me tlian 
 any other amusement that the place afforded. I was also a sailor, 
 and being of Sir Thomas Hesketh's party, who was himself 
 born one. was otten pressed into the service. But thougli I gave 
 myself an air and wore trowsei's. 1 had no genuine right to that 
 honour, disliking much to be occupied in great watei"s, unless 
 in the linesl weather. How they continue to elude the weari- 
 someness that attends a sea-lite, who take long voyages, you 
 know better than I ; but tor my own part, I seldom have sailed 
 so far as Irom Hampton river to Portsmoutli, without teeling 
 the continemcut irksome, and sometimes to a degi*ee that was 
 almost insupportable. There is a certain perverseness, of which 
 I believe all men have a shai-e, but of which no man has a largei' 
 share than 1 — 1 mean that temper, or humour, or whatever it is 
 to be called, that indisposes us to a situation, though not unplea- 
 sant in itself, merely because we cannot sret out of it. I could 
 
228 COURESPONDENCE OF 
 
 not endure the room in which I now write, were I conscious 
 that tlic door were locked. In less than five minutes I should 
 feel myself a prisoner, though I can spend hours in it, under an 
 assurance that I mnj' leave it when I please, without experienc- 
 ing any tedium at all. It was for this reason, I suppose, that the 
 yacht was always disagreeable to me. Could I have stepped out 
 of it into a corn-field or a garden, I should have liked it well 
 enough ; but being surrounded with water, I was as much con- 
 fined in it as if I had been surrounded by fire, and did not find 
 that it made me any adequate compensation for such an abridge- 
 ment of my liberty. I make little doubt but Noah was glad 
 when he was enlarged from the ark ; and we are sure that Jonah 
 was, when he came out of the fish. ; and so was I to escape from 
 the good sloop the Harriet. 
 
 In my last, I wrote you word that Mr. Perry was given over 
 by his friends, and pronounced a dead man by his physician. 
 . Just when I had reached the end of the foregoing paragraph, 
 he came in. His errand hither was to bring two letters, which 
 I enclose; one is to yourself, in which he will give you, I doubt 
 not, such an account both of his body and mind, as will make 
 all that I might say upon those subjects superfluous. The only 
 eonsequences of his illness seem to be, that he looks a little pale, 
 .ind tiiat though always a most excellent man, he is still more 
 angelic than he was. Illness sanctified is better than health. 
 But I know a man who has been a sufferer by a worse illness 
 than his, almost these fourteen years, and wlio at present is only 
 the worse for it. 
 
 Mr. Scott called upon us yesterday ; he is much inclined to 
 set up a Sunday school, if lie can raise a fund for the purpose. 
 Mr. Jones has had one some time at Clifton, and Mr. Unwin 
 writes me word that he has been thinking of nothing else day 
 and nig;ht, for a fortnight. It is a wholesome measure, that 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 229 
 
 seems to bid fair to be pretty generally adopted, and, for the 
 good effects that it promises, deserves well to be so. I know 
 not, indeed, while the spread of the gospel continues so limited 
 as it is, how a reformation of manners, in the lower class of 
 mankind, can be brought to pass ; or by what other means the 
 litter abolition of all principle among them, moral as well as 
 religious, can possibly be prevented. Heathenish parents can 
 only bring up heathenish children ; an assertion nowhere oftener 
 or more clearly illustrated than at Olney ; where children, seven 
 years of age, infest the streets every evening with curses and 
 with songs, to which it would be unseemly to give their proper 
 epithet. Such urchins as these could not be so diabolically ac- 
 complished, unless by the connivance of their parents. It is 
 well, indeed, if in some instances their parents be not them- 
 selves their instructors. Judging by their proficiency, one can 
 hardly suppose any other. It is, therefore, doubtless an act of 
 the greatest charity, to snatch them out of such hands, before 
 the inveteracy of the evil shall have made it desperate. Mr. 
 Teedon, I should imagine, will be employed as a teacher, should 
 this expedient be carried into effect. I know not, at least, that 
 we have any other person among us so well qualified for the 
 service. He is indisputably a Christian man, and miserably 
 poor, whose revenues need improvement, as much as any chil- 
 dren in the world can possibly need instruction. 
 Believe me, my dear friend, 
 
 With true affection, yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
230 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, Oct. 11, 1785. 
 
 You besjan your letter with an apology for long silence, 
 and it is now incumbent upon me to do the same ; and the rather, 
 as your kind invitation to Wargrave entitled you to a speedier 
 answer. The truth is, that I am become, if not a man of busi- 
 ness, yet a busy man, and have been engaged almost this twelve- 
 month in a work that will allow of no long interruption. On 
 this account it was impossible for me to accept your obliging 
 summons; and having only to tell you that I could not, it ap- 
 peared to me as a matter of no great moment, whether you re- 
 ceived that intelligence soon or late. 
 
 You do me justice, when you ascribe my printed epistle to 
 you, to my friendship for you ; though, in fact, it was equally 
 owing to the opinion that I have of yours for me. Having, in 
 one part or other of my two volumes, distinguished by name 
 the majority of those few for whom I entertain a friendship, it 
 seemed to me that it would be unjustifiable negligence to omit 
 yourself; and if I look that step without communicating to you 
 my intention, it was only to gratify myself the more, with 
 the hope of surprising you agreeably. Poets are dangerous 
 persons to be acquainted with, especially if a man have that in 
 his character that promises to shine in verse. To that very 
 circumstance it is owing, thnt yi»u are now figuring away in 
 mine. For, notwithstanding what you say on the subject of 
 honesty and friendship, that they arc not splendid enough for 
 public celebration, I must still think of them as I did before, 
 — that there arc no qualities of the mind and heart that can de- 
 serve it better. I can, at least for my own part, look round 
 about upon the generality, and, while I see them deficient in 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 231 
 
 those a^rand requisites of a respectable character, am not able to 
 discover that they possess any other, of value enough to atone 
 for the want of them. 
 
 1 bee: that you will present my respects to Mrs. Hill, and 
 believe me 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 16, 1785. 
 
 To have sent a child to heaven is a great honour and a 
 great blessing, and your feelings on such an occasion may well 
 be such as render you rather an object of congratulation than 
 of condolence. And were it otherwise, yet, having yourself 
 free access to all the sources of genuine consolation, I feel that 
 it would belittle better than impertinence in me to suggest any. 
 An escape from a life of suffering to a life of happiness and 
 glory, is such a deliverance as leaves no room for the sorrow of 
 survivors, unless they sorrow for themselves. We cannot, in- 
 deed, lose what we love without regretting it ; but a Christian 
 is in possession of such alleviations of that regret, as the world 
 knows nothing of. Their beloveds, when they die, go they 
 know not whither; and if they suppose them, as they general- 
 ly do, in a state of happiness, they have yet but an indifferent 
 prospect of joining them in that state hereafter. But it is not 
 so with you. You both know whither your beloved is gone, 
 and you know that you shall follow her ; and you know also 
 that in the mean time she is incomparably happier than your- 
 self. So far, therefore, as she is concerned, nothing has come 
 to pass but what was most fervently to be wished. I do not 
 
\IS2 rORHESrONDENCK Ol 
 
 know tliat 1 am sinsjiilarlv soHisli ; but one of the lirst thous^hb 
 that your account ol" Miss Cunninscham's tlyinsj moments and 
 departure sus;geslcil to mc, had self for its object. It struck 
 me that she was not born wlicn 1 sank into darkness, anti tliat 
 she is gone to heaven before I have emeraied ajrain. What a 
 lot, said I to myself, is mine! whose helmet is fallen from my 
 head, and whose sword from my hand, in the midst of the 
 battle ; who was stricken down to the earth when 1 least expect- 
 ed it ; who had just begun to cry victory ! when I was deleat- 
 ed mvself; and who have been trampled upon so long, that 
 others have hail time to conquer and to receive their crown, 
 before I have been able to make one successAd eflbrt to escape 
 from under the feet of mj' enemies. It seemed to me, there- 
 fore, that if you mourned for JMiss Cunningham, you gave 
 those tears to her to which I only had a right, and I was almost 
 ready to exclaim, " I am the dead, and not she; you misplace 
 your sorrows." — I have sent you the history of my mind on 
 this subject without any disguise; if it does not please you. 
 pardon it at least, for it is the truth. The unhappy, I l)elieve, 
 are always selfish. I have. I confess, my comfortable moments; 
 but they are like the morning dew, so suddenly do they |)ass 
 away and are gone. 
 
 It should seem a matter of small iiUMin ni lu uir. who nevti 
 heai" him, whether Mr. Scolt shall be removed Irum Olney to 
 the Lock, or no ; yet, in taoi, 1 believe that lew interest them- 
 selves more in that event than 1. He knows my manner of 
 life, and has ceased long since to wonder at it. A new minister 
 would need information, and 1 am not ambitious of having my 
 tale told to a stranger. He would also, perhaps, think it neces- 
 sary to assail me with ai^uments, which would be more pix)fu- 
 ably disposed of, if he should discharge them against the walls 
 of a tower. 1 wish, therefore, for the continuance of M'- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEH. 233 
 
 Scott. He honoured me so Tar as to consult me twice upon the 
 subject. At our first interview, he seemed to discern but little 
 in the proposal that entitled it to his approbation. But when 
 he came the second time, we observed that his views of it were 
 considerably altered. He was warm — he was animated ; diffi- 
 culties had disappeared, and allurements had started up in their 
 place. I could not say to him, Sir, you are naturally of a san- 
 guine temper ; and he that is so, cannot too much distrust his 
 own judgment ; — but I am glad that he will have the benefit oC 
 yours. It seems to me, however, that the minister who shall 
 re-illumine the faded glories of the Lock, must not only prac- 
 tise great fidelity in his preaching, to which task Mr. Scott isS 
 perfectly equal, but must do it with much address ; and it is; 
 hardly worth while to observe, that his excellence does not lie 
 that way, because he is ever ready to acknowledge it himself. 
 But I have nothing to suggest upon this subject that will be new 
 to you, and therefore drop it; the rather, indeed, because I 
 may reasonably suppose that by this time the point is decided. 
 
 I have reached that part of my paper which I generally fill 
 with intelligence, if I can find any : but there is a great dearth, 
 of it at present ; and Mr. Scott has probably anticipated me ii^ 
 
 all the little that there is. Lord P having dismissed Mr. 
 
 Jones from his service, the people of Turvey have burnt him 
 [Mr. Jones] in effigy, with a bundle of quick-thorn under his 
 arm. What consequences are to follow his dismission, is un- 
 certain. His Lordship threatens him with a lawsuit ; and un- 
 less their disputes can be settled by arbitration, it is not unlike- 
 ly that the profits of poor Jones's stewardship will be melted 
 down at Westminster. He has laboured hard, and no doubt 
 with great integrity, and has been rewarded with hard words 
 and scandalous treatment. 
 
 Mr. Scott (which perhaps he may not have told you, for he 
 
 Gg 
 
234 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 did not mention it here) has met with similar treatment at a 
 place in this country called Hinksey, or by some such name.* 
 But he sufl'ered in effigy for the Gospel's sake ; — a cause in 
 which I presume he would not be unwilling, if need were, to 
 be burnt in propria persona. 
 
 I have nothins: to add, but that we are well, and remember 
 you with much aflection ; and that I am, my dear friend, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 5, 1785. 
 
 ^Vere it with me as in days past, you should have no 
 cause to complain of my tardiness in writing. You supposed 
 that I would have accepted your packet as an answer to ray last ; 
 and so indeed I did, and felt myself overpaid; but though a 
 debtor, and deeply indebted too, had not wherewithal to dis- 
 charge the arrear. You do not know nor suspect what a con- 
 quest I sometimes gain, when I only take up the pen with a 
 design to write. Many a time have I resolved to say to all my 
 few correspondents, — I take my leave of you for the present; 
 if I live to see better days, you shall heai' from me again. — I 
 have been driven to the very verge of this measure ; and, even 
 upon this occasion, was upon the point of desiring Mrs. Unwin 
 to become my substitute. She, indeed, ofl'ered to write in my 
 stead ; but fearing that you would understand me to be even 
 
 • The Rev. John Scott, to whom this passage has been communicated, 
 informs the Editor, that the name of the place in which his late f »^er ex- 
 perienced this treatment was not J/inshtry, but TVwjjcwic*-, ac»r Bucking- 
 ham 
 
WlLUAM CO^\TER. 335 
 
 worse than I am, I nuhov chose to answer for myself. — So 
 much for a siibject with which I could easily fill the sheet, but 
 witli which 1 have occupied too gi'eat a part of it already. It 
 is time that I should thank you, and return you Mrs. Unwinds 
 thanks for your Narrative.* I toKl you. in my last, in what 
 manner I felt myself atTocted by the abridgment of it contained 
 in your letter; and have therefore only to add, upon that point, 
 that the impression made upon me by the relation at large was 
 of a like kind. I envy all that live in the enjoyment of a good 
 hope, and much more alV who die to enjoy the fruit of it : but 
 I recollect myself tn time ; I resolved not to touch that chord 
 again, and j-et was just going to trespass upon my resolution. 
 As to the rest, your history of your happy niece is just what 
 it should be, — clear, afl'ectionate, and plain ; worthy of her, 
 and worthy of yourself How much more beneficial to the world 
 might such a memorial of an unknown, but pious and believ- 
 ing child, eventually prove, would the supercilious learned con- 
 descend to read it, than the history of all the kings and heroes 
 that ever lived ! But the world has its objects of admiration, 
 and God has objects of his love. Those make a noise and pe- 
 rish ; and these weep silently for a short season, and live for 
 ever. I had rather have been your niece, or the writer of her 
 story, than any Caesar that ever thundered. 
 
 The vanity of human attainments was never so conspicuously 
 eKemplified as in the present day. The sagacious moderns 
 make discoveries, which, how useful they may prove to them- 
 selves I know not ; certainly they do no honour to the ancients. 
 Homer and Virgil have enjoyed (if the dead have any such en- 
 joyments) an unrivalled reputation as poets, through a long suc- 
 cession of ages : but it is now shrewdly suspected that Homer 
 
 • Authentic Narrative of some remarkable and interesting' particulars in 
 the life of • • [Mr. Newton.] 
 
236 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 did not compose the poems for which he has been so long ap- 
 plauded ; and it is even asserted by a certain Robert Heron, 
 Esq., tliat Virgil never wrote a line worth reading. He is a 
 pitiful plagiary ; he is a servile imitator, a bungler in his plan, 
 and has not a thought in his whole work that will bear exami- 
 nation. In short, he is any thing but what the literati for two 
 thousand years hav^e taken him to be — a man of genius and a 
 fine writer. I fear that Homer's case is desperate. After the 
 lapse of so many generations, it would be a difficult matter to 
 elucidate a question which time and modern ingenuity together 
 combine to puzzle. And I suppose that it were in vain for an 
 honest plain man to enquire. If Homer did not write the Iliad and 
 the Odyssey, who did ? The answer would undoubtedly be — It 
 is no matter ; he did not : which is all that I undertook to prove. 
 For Virgil, however, there still remains some consolation. The 
 very same Mr. Heron, who finds no beauties in the ^Eneid, 
 discovers not a single instance of the sublime in Scripture. Par- 
 ticularly he says, speaking of the prophets, that Ezekiel, al- 
 though the filthiest of all writers, is the best of them. He, 
 therefore, being the first of the learned who has reprobated even 
 the style of the Scriptures, may possibly make the fewer prose- 
 lytes to his judgment of the Heathen writer. For my own part, 
 at least, had I been accustomed to doubt whether the iEneid 
 were a noble composition or not, this gentleman would at once 
 have decided the question for me ; and 1 should have been im- 
 mediately assured, that a work must necessarily abound in beau- 
 ties that had the happiness to displease a censurer of the Word 
 of God. What enterprises will not an inordinate passion for 
 feme suggest ? It prompted one man to fire the Temple of Ephe- 
 sus ; another, to fling himself into a volcano ; and now has in- 
 duced this wicked and unfortunate 'squire either to deny his 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 257 
 
 own feelings, or to publish to all the world that he has no feel- 
 ings at all.* 
 
 This being the 5th of November, is the worst of all days in 
 the year for letter-writing. Continually called upon to remem- 
 ber the bonfire, one is apt to forget every thing else. The boys 
 at Olney have likewise a very entertaining sport, which com- 
 mences annually upon this day. They call it Hockey ; and it 
 consists in dashing each other with mud, and the windows also, 
 so that I am forced to rise now and then, and to threaten them 
 with a horsewhip to preserve our own. We know that the 
 Roman boys whipped tops, trundled the hoop, and played at 
 tennis ; but I believe we nowhere read that they delighted in 
 these filthy aspersions : I am inclined, therefore, to give to the 
 slovenly but ingenious youths of Olney full credit for the inven- 
 
 • The plaj'ful spirit in which the writer adverts to this subject appears 
 to have yielded afterwards to a feeling of Indignation ; the following lines 
 in his own hand-writing having been found by the Editor amongst his pa- 
 pers : — 
 
 On the Author of Letters on Literature. 
 
 The Genius of th' Augustan age 
 His head among Rome's ruins rear'd. 
 And bursting with heroic rage. 
 When literary Heron appear'd. 
 
 Thou hast, he cried, like him of old 
 Who set th' Ephesian dome on fire. 
 By being scandalously bold, 
 Attain'd the mark of tliy desire. 
 
 And for traducing Virgil's name 
 Shalt share his merited reward ; 
 A perpetuity of fame. 
 That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd. 
 
238 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 tion. It will be well if the Sunday-school may civilize them 
 to a taste for more refined amusements. 
 
 Mr. Jones and Lord P — have parted at last ; and after many 
 bickerings, have parted upon amicable terms. Jones having de- 
 livered in an honest account, refused to falsify it to the preju- 
 dice of his own reputation, and his master threatened him with 
 a lawsuit. But fmding him inflexible, and not to be intimidated, 
 he gave him his hand, treated him as a friend, and admitted him 
 into his confidence. It is well for little folks that great folks 
 are apt to be somewhat capricious ; they would otherwise, per- 
 haps, be at all times insolent and oppressive alike. 
 
 Mr. Scott is pestered with anonymous letters, but he con- 
 ducts himself wisely ; and the question whether he shall go to 
 the Lock or not, seems hasting to a decision in the affirmative. 
 
 We are tolerably well ; and Mrs. Unwin adds to mine, her 
 affectionate remembrances of yourself and Mrs. Newton. 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 7, 1785. 
 
 Your time being so much occupied as to leave you no 
 opportunity for a word more than the needful, I am the more 
 obliged to you that you have found leisure even for that, and 
 thank you for the note above acknowledged. 
 
 I know not at present what subject I could enter upon, by 
 which I should not put you to an expense of moments that you 
 can ill spare : I have often been displeased when a neighbour of 
 mine, being himself an idle man, has delivered himself from the 
 burthen of a vacant hour or two, by coming to repose his idle- 
 
WILUAM COWPER. 039 
 
 iiess upon me. Not to incur, therefore, and deservedly, the 
 blame that I have charged upon him, by interrupting; you, who 
 are certainly a busy man, whatever may be the case with my- 
 self, I shall only add that I am, with my respects to Mrs. Hill, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 3, 1785. 
 
 I am glad to hear that there is such a demand for your 
 last Narrative. If I may judge of their general utility by the 
 effect that tliey have heretofore had upon me, there are few 
 things more edifying than death-bed memoirs. They interest 
 every reader, because they speak of a period at which all must 
 arrive, and afford a solid ground of encouragement to survivors 
 to expect the same, or similar support and comfort, when it shall 
 be their turn to die. 
 
 I also am employed in writing narrative, but not so useful. 
 Employment, however, and with the pen is, through habit, be- 
 come essential to my well-being ; and to produce always origi- 
 nal poems, especially of considerable length, is not so easy. 
 For some weeks after I had finished the Task, and sent away 
 the last sheet corrected, 1 was through necessity idle, and suffer- 
 ed not a little in my spirits for being so. One day, being in such 
 distress of mind as was hardly supportable, I took up the Iliad ; 
 and merely to divert attention, and with no more preconcep- 
 tion of what I was then entering upon, than I have at this mo- 
 ment of what I shall be doing this day twenty years hence, 
 translated the twelve first lines of it. The same necessity press- 
 ing me again. I had recourse to the same expedient, and trans- 
 
240 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 lated more. Every day brinsiins; its occasion for employment 
 with it, every day consequently added something to tiic work j 
 till at last I began to reflect thus : — The Iliad and the Odyssey 
 together consist of about forty thousand verses. To translate 
 these forty thousand verses will furnish me with occupation for 
 a considerable time. I have already made some progress, and 
 I find it a most agreeable amusement. Homer in point of pu- 
 rity, is a most blameless writer; and, though he was not an en- 
 lightened man, has interspersed many great and valuable trutlis 
 throughout both his poems. In short, he is in all respects a most 
 venerable old gentleman, by an acquaintance with whom no 
 man can disgrace himself. The literati are all agreed to a man. 
 that, although Pope has given us two pretty poems under Ho- 
 mer's titles, there is not to be found in them the least portion 
 of Homer's spirit, nor tlie least resemblance of his manner. I 
 will try, therefore, whether I cannot copy him somewhat more 
 bappily myself. I have at least the advantage of Pope's faults 
 and failings, which, like so many buoys upon a dangerous coast, 
 will serve me to steer by, and will make my chance for success 
 more probable. These, and many other considerations, but es- 
 pecially a mind that abhorred a vacuum as its chief bane, im- 
 pelled me so efi'ectually to the work, that ere long I mean to 
 publish proposals for a subscription to it, having advanced so 
 far as to be warranted in doing so. I have connexions, and no 
 few such, by means of which I have the utmost reason to ex- 
 pect that a brisk circulation may be procured ; and if it should 
 prove a profitable enterprise, the profit will not accrue to a man 
 who may be said not to want it. It is a business such as it will 
 not, indeed, lie much in your way to promote ; but, among 
 your numerous connexions, it is possible that you may know 
 some who would sufficiently interest themselves in such a work 
 to be not unwilling to subscribe to it. I do not mean — far be it 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 24j 
 
 Irom me — to put you upon making hazardous applications, where 
 you might possibly incur a refusal, that would give you though 
 but a moment's pain. You know best your own opportunities 
 and powers in such a cause. If you can do but little, I shall 
 esteem it much ; and if you can do nothing, I am sure that it 
 will not be for want of a will. 
 
 I have lately had three visits from my old schoolfellow Mr, 
 Bagot, a brother of Lord Bagot, and of Mr. Chester of Chiche- 
 ley. At his last visit he brought his wife with him, a most 
 amiable woman, to see Mrs. Unvvin. I told him my purpose, 
 and my progress. He received the news with great pleasure ; 
 immediately subscribed a draft of twenty pounds ; and promised 
 me his whole heart, and his whole interest, which lies principally 
 among people of the first fashion. 
 
 My correspondence has lately also been renewed with my 
 dear cousin Lady Hesketh, whom I ever loved as a sister, (for 
 we were in a manner brought up together,) and who writes to 
 me as affectionately as if she were so. She also enters into my 
 views and interests upon this occasion with a warmth that gives 
 me great encouragement. The circle of her acquaintance is like- 
 wise very extensive ; and I have no doubt that she will exert 
 her influence to its utmost possibilities among them. I have 
 other strings fo my bow, (perhaps, as a translator of Homer, I 
 should say, to my lyre,) which I cannot here enumerate; but, 
 upon the whole, my prospect seems promising enough. I have 
 not yet consulted Johi son upon the occasion, but intend to do 
 it soon. 
 
 My spirits are somewhat better than they were. In the course 
 of the last month, I have perceived a very sensible amendment. 
 The hope of better days seems again to dawn upon me ; and I 
 have now and then an intimation, though slight and transient, 
 that God has not abandoned me for ever. 
 
 H h 
 
342 C UKESPOND 'NCE OF 
 
 Havins: been for some years troubled with an inconvenient 
 stomach; and lately, with a stomach that will digest nothing 
 without help ; and we having reached the bottom of our own 
 medical skill, into which ive have dived to little or no purpose ; 
 I have at length consented to consult Dr. Kerr, and expect to 
 see him in a day or two. Engaged as I am, and am likely to be, 
 so long as I am capable of it, in writing for the press, I cannot 
 well afford to entertain a malady that is such an enemy to all 
 mental operations. 
 
 This morning is beautiful, and tempts me forth into the gar- 
 den. It is all the walk that I can have at this season, but not 
 all the exercise. I ring a peal every day upon the dumb-bells. 
 I am, my dear friend, most truly. 
 
 Yours and Mrs. Newton's, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 10, 1785. 
 
 What you say of my last volume gives me the sincerest 
 pleasure. I have heard a like favourable report of it from seve- 
 ral different quarters, but never any (for obvious reasons) that 
 has gratified me more than yours. I have a relish for moderate 
 praise, because it bids fair to be judicious ; but praise excessive, 
 such as our poor friend 's. (I have an uncle also who cele- 
 brates me exactly in the same language ;) — such praise is rather 
 too big for an ordinary swallow. I set down nine-tenths of it to 
 the account of family partiality. I know no more than you what 
 kind of a market my book has found ; but this I believe, that had 
 not Henderson died, and had it been worth my while to have 
 given him an hundred pounds to have read it in public, it would 
 
WILLIAM COWPElt. 243 
 
 have been more popular than it is. I am at least very unwilling 
 to esteem John Gilpin as better worth than all the rest that I 
 have written, and he has been popular enough. 
 
 Your sentiments of Pope's Homer agree perfectly with those 
 of every competent judge with whom I have at any time con- 
 versed about it. I never saw a copy so unlike the original. 
 There is not, I believe, in all the world to be found an uninspir- 
 ed poem so simple as those of Homer ; nor in all the world a 
 poem more bedizened with ornaments than Pope's translation of 
 them. Accordingly, the sublime of Homer in the hands of Pope 
 becomes bloated and tumid, and his description tawdry. Neither 
 had Pope the faintest conception of those exquisite discrimina- 
 tions of character for which Homer is so remarkable. All his 
 persons, and equally upon all occasions, speak in an inflated and 
 strutting phraseology, as Pope has managed them ; although in 
 the original, the dignity of their utterance, even when they are 
 most majestic, consists principally in the simplicity of their sen- 
 timents and of their language. Another censure I must needs 
 pass upon our Anglo-Grecian, out of many that obtrude them- 
 selves upon me, but for which I have neither time to spare, nor 
 room ; which is, that with all his great abilities he was defective 
 in his feelings to a degree that some passages in his own poems 
 make it difficult to account for. No writer more pathetic than 
 Homer, because none more natural ; and because none less natu- 
 ral than Pope in his version of Homer, therefore than he none 
 less pathetic. But I shall tire you with a theme with which I 
 would not wish to cloy you beforehand. 
 
 If the great change in my experience, of which you express 
 so lively an expectation, should take place, and whenever it shall 
 take place, you may securely depend upon receiving the first 
 notice of it. But whether you come with congratulations, or 
 whether without them, I need not say that you and yours will 
 
444 «. OKUKSrONDKNCK OK 
 
 always iv most woloomo hoix\ Mrs. I'nwin's Io\t both to yonr- 
 seiraiul to Mrs. Newton joins itsolt" :\s usunl. and as warmlv as 
 usual, to thai of 
 
 Youj's. toy tlear tVioiui, 
 
 Affectionately and taithtully. 
 
 W. C 
 
 The follow injj this nK">ment ocoui"s to nie as a jiossible rnott^ 
 tin- t!ie Messiah, if you do not think it too sharp: — 
 
 Nunquam inducunt animum c«nt!ur«, r*gmli : 
 
 /•^/wMf, nunquam dcsistunt. 
 
 10 IHK HF.V. JOHN NKWTON. 
 
 M\ lUAK FKir.M>. Jan. 14, irSd. 
 
 My pix^posals are ahTsdy printeti. I ought rather to 
 s;»y, that they are ifady for printing: having near ten days ago 
 lYturned the cvMivetion of the proof. But a cousin of mine, and 
 one who will. I dare say, be very active in my literary cause, 
 (I mean General Cow{>er.> having earnestly recommended it to 
 me to annex a sjH»cimen. 1 have acconiingly sent him one, ex- 
 traotcil fixun the latter jv-»rt of the last book of the Iliad, and 
 consisting of a hundred and seven lines. I chose to extract it 
 from that |v\rt of the j>oem. because if the reader should happen 
 to find himself content with it, he will naturally be encour«ji;;ed 
 by it to hope well of the jwrt precthiing. E\"vry man who can 
 do any thing in the translating way is pretty sure to set off with 
 spirit; but in works of such a length, tiiere is always danger of 
 flagging ntMrjhe close. 
 
 My sul^scriplion, I hope, will be more |X)werfully prt>moted 
 th»n svibscriplious j(eoer»lly are. 1 have a irutn and adectioo 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 045 
 
 ate friend in Lady Hesketh ; and one equally disposed, and 
 even still more able to serve me, in the General above-mention- 
 ed. The Bagot family all undertake my cause with ardour; 
 and I have several others, of whose abiUty and good-will I 
 could not doubt without doiufj; them injustice. It will, how- 
 ever, be necessary to bestow yet much time on the revisal of this 
 work, for many reasons ; and especially, because he who con- 
 lends with Pope upon Homer's ground, can, of all writers, least 
 afford to be negligent. 
 
 Mr. Scott brought me as much as he could remember of a 
 kind message from Lord Dartmouth ; but it was rather imper- 
 fectly delivered. Enough of it, however, came to hand to con- 
 yince me that his Lordship takes a friendly interest in my suc- 
 cess. When his Lordship and I sat side by side, on the sixth 
 form at Westminster, we little thought that in process of time, 
 one of us was ordained to give a new translation of Homer. 
 Yet, at that very time, it seems, I was laying the foundation of 
 this superstructure. 
 
 Much love upon all accounts, to you and yours. 
 Adieu, my friend. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 18, 1786, 
 
 I feel myself truly obliged to you for the leave that you 
 give me, to be less frequent in writing, and more brief than 
 heretofore. I have a long work upon my hands ; and standing 
 engaged to the public, (for by this time I suppose my subscrip- 
 tion papers to be gone abroad,) not only for the performance of 
 it, but for the performance of it in a reasonable time, it seems 
 
246 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 necessary to me not to intermit it often. My correspondence 
 has also lately been renewed with several of my relations, and 
 unavoidably engrosses now and then, one of the few opportu- 
 nities that I can find for writing. I nevertheless intend, in the 
 exchange of letters with you, to be as regular as I can be, and 
 to use, like a friend, the friendly allowance that you have made 
 me. 
 
 My reason for giving notice of an Odyssey as well as an 
 Iliad, was this : — I feared that the public, being left to doubt 
 whether I should ever translate the former, would be unwilling 
 to treat vvith me for the latter ; which they would be apt to 
 consider as an odd volume, and unworthy to stand upon their 
 shelves alone. It is hardly probable, however, that I should 
 begin the Odyssey for some months to come, being now close- 
 ly engaged in the revisal of my translation of the Iliad, which 
 I compare, as I go, most minutely with the original. One of 
 the great defects of Pope's translation is, that it is licentious. 
 To publish, therefore, a translation, now, that should be at all 
 chargeable with the same fault, that were not indeed as close 
 and as faithful as possible, would be only actum agere, and had 
 therefore better be left undone. Whatever be said of mine when 
 it shall appear, it shall never be said that it is not faithful. 
 
 I thank you heartily, both for your wishes and prayers, that 
 should a disappointment occur, I may not be too much hurt by 
 it. Strange as it may seem to say it, and unwilling as I should 
 be to say it to any person less candid than yourself, I will ne- 
 vertheless say, that I have not entered on this work, unconnect- 
 ed as it must needs appear vvith the interests of the cause of 
 God, without the direction of his providence, nor altogether 
 unassisted by him in the performance of it. Time will show 
 to what it ultimately tends. I am inclined to believe that it has 
 a tendency to which 1 myself am, at present, perfectly a stran- 
 
WILLIAM eOWPEK. 247 
 
 ger. Be that as it may, He knows my frame, and will consi- 
 der that I am but dust; dust, into the bargain, that has been so 
 trampled under foot and beaten, that a storm, less violent than 
 an unsuccessful issue of such a business might occasion, would 
 be sufficient to blow me quite away. But I will tell you ho- 
 nestly, I have no fears upon the subject. My predecessor has 
 given me every advantage. 
 
 As I know not to what end this my present occupation may 
 finally lead, so neither diil I know, when I wrote it, or at all 
 suspect, one valuable end, at least, that was to be answered by 
 the Task. It has pleased God to prosper it ; and being compo- 
 sed in blank verse, it is likely to prove as seasonable an intro- 
 duction to a blank verse Homer, by the same hand, as any that 
 could have been devised ; yet when I wrote the last line of the 
 Task, I as little suspected that I should ever engage in a version 
 of the old Asiatic tale, as you do now. 
 
 I should choose for your general motto — 
 
 Carmina turn melius, cum venerit ipse, canemus. 
 
 For vol. I. 
 Unum pro multis dabitur caput. 
 
 For vol. II. 
 Aspice, venture laetentur ut omnia s%cIo. 
 
 It seems to me that you cannot have better than these. 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
24d CORRESPONDENCE OJ 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 1, 1786. 
 
 I have made you wait lon^ for an answer, and am now 
 obli2;ed to write in a hurry. But lest my lonii;er silence should 
 alarm you, hurried as I am, still I write. I told you, if I mis- 
 take not, that the circle of my correspondence has lately been 
 enlarged ; and it seems still encreasing, which, tog;ether with 
 my poetical business, makes an hour a. momentous affair. Pardon 
 an unintentional pun. You need not fear for my health. It 
 suffers nothinju; by my employment. 
 
 We, who in general see no company, are at present in ex- 
 pectation of a great deal ; at least, if three different visits may 
 be called so. Mr and Mrs. Powley, in the first place, are pre- 
 paring for a journey southward. She is far from well, but thinks 
 herself well enough to travel, and feels an affectionate impa- 
 tience for another sight of Olney. 
 
 In the next place, we expect, as soon as the season shall turn 
 up bright and warm. General Cowper and his son. I have not 
 seen him these twenty years and upwards ; but our intercourse 
 having been lately revived, is likely to become closer, warmer, 
 and more intimate than ever. 
 
 Lady Hesketh also comes down in June ; and if she can be 
 accommodated with any thing in the shape of a dwelling at 
 Olney, talks of making it always, in part, her summer resi- 
 dence. It has pleased God that 1 should, like Joseph, be put 
 into a well; and because there are no Midianites in the way to 
 deliver me, therefore my friends are coming down into the well 
 to see me. 
 
 I wish you, wc both wish you, all happiness in your new 
 habitation : at least, you will be sure to find the situation more 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 349 
 
 commodious. I thank you for all your hints concerning my 
 work, which shall be duly attended to. You may assure all 
 whom it may concern, that all offensive elisions will be done 
 away. With Mrs. Unwin's love to yourself and Mrs. Newton, 
 I remain, my dear friend, affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, May 20, 1786. 
 
 Within this hour arrived three sets of your new publica- 
 tion,* for which we sincerely thank you. We have breakfast- 
 ed since they came, and consequently, as you may suppose, 
 have neither of us had yet an opportunity to make ourselves 
 acquainted with the contents. I shall be happy (and when I 
 say that, I mean to be understood in the fullest and most em- 
 phatical sense of the word) if my frame of mind shall be such 
 as may permit me to study them. But Adam's approach to the 
 tree of life, after he had sinned, was not more effectually pro- 
 hibited by the flaming sword that turned every way, than mine 
 to its great Antetype has been now almost these thirteen years, 
 a short mterval of three or four days, which passed about this 
 time twelvemonth, alone excepted. For what reason it is that 
 I am thus long excluded, if I am ever again to be admitted, is 
 known to God only. I can say but this: that if he is still my 
 Father, this paternal severity has, toward me, been such as 
 that I have reason to account it unexampled. For though others 
 have suffered desertion, yet few, I believe, for so long a time, 
 and perhaps none a desertion accompanied with such experi- 
 
 * Messiah. 
 I i 
 
250 CORRESrONDKNCK OF 
 
 cnces. But they have this belonging to them : that as they are 
 not fit for recital, being made up merely of infernal ingredients, 
 so neither are they susceptible of it; for I know no language 
 in which they could be expressed. They are as truly things 
 which it is not possible for man to utter, as those were which 
 Paul heard and saw in the third heaven. If the ladder of Chris- 
 tian experience reaches, as I suppose it does, to the very pre- 
 sence of God, it has nevertheless its foot in the abyss. And if 
 Paul stood, as no doubt he did, in that experience of his to 
 which I have just alluded, on the topmost round of it, I have 
 been standing, and still stand on the lowest, in this thirteenth 
 year that has passed since I descended. In such a situation of 
 mind, encompassed by the midnight of absolute despair, and a 
 thousand times filled with unspeakable horror, I first commen- 
 ced an author. Distress drove me to it; and the impossibility 
 of subsisting without some employment, still I'ecommends it. 
 I am not, indeed, so perfectly hopeless as I was; but I am 
 equally in need of an occupation, being often as much, and 
 sometimes even more, worried than ever. I cannot amuse 
 myself, as I once could, with carpenters' or with gardeners' 
 tools, or with squirrels and guinea-pigs. At that time I was a 
 child. But since it has pleased God, whatever else he with- 
 holds, to restore to me a man's mind, I have put away cliildish 
 things. Thus far, therefore, it is plain that I have not chosen 
 or prescribed to myself my own way, but have been providen- 
 tially led to it ; perhaps I might say, with equal propriety, 
 compelled and scourged into it: for certainly, could I have 
 made my choice, or were I permitted to make it even now, 
 those hours which I spend in poetry I would spend with God. 
 But it is evidently his will that I should spend them as I do, 
 because every other way of employing them he himself conti- 
 nues to make impossible. If, in the course of such an occupa- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 251 
 
 lion, or by inevitable consequence of it, either my former con- 
 nexions are revived, or new ones occur, these things are as 
 much a part of the dispensation as the leading points of it 
 themselves; the effect, as much as the cause. If his purposes 
 in thus directing me are gracious, he will take care to prove 
 them such in the issue ; and, in the mean time, will preserve 
 me (for he is able to do that in one condition of life as in an- 
 other) from all mistakes in conduct that might prove pernicious 
 to myself, or give reasonable offence to others. I can say it as 
 truly as it was ever spoken,- — Here I am : let him do with me 
 as seemeth him good. 
 
 At present, however, I have no connexions, at which either 
 you, I trust, or any who love me and wish me well, have occa- 
 sion to conceive alarm. Much kindness indeed I have experi- 
 enced at the hands of several, some of them near relations, others 
 not related to me at all ; but I do not know that there is among 
 them a single person from whom I am likely to catch contami- 
 nation. I can say of them all, with more truth than Jacob uttered 
 when he called kid venison, " The Lord thy God brought them 
 unto me." I could shew you among them two men, whose 
 lives, though they have but little of what we call evangelical 
 light, are ornaments to a Christian country; men who fear God 
 more than some who even profess to love him. But I will not 
 particularize farther on such a subject. Be they what they may, 
 our situations are so distant, and we are likely to meet so seldom, 
 that were they, as they are not, persons even of exceptionable 
 manners, their manners would have little to do with me. We 
 correspond, at present, only on the subject of what passed at 
 Troy three thousand years ago; and they are matters that, if 
 they can do no good, will at least hurt nobody. 
 
 Your friendship for me, and the proof that I see of it in your 
 friendly concern for my welfare on this occasion, demanded that 
 
252 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 I should be explicit. Assure yourself that I love and honour 
 you, as upon all accounts, so especially for the interest that you 
 take, and have ever taken in my welfare, most sincerely. I 
 wish you all happiness in your new abode, all possible success 
 in your ministry, and much fruit of your newly-published la- 
 bours ; and am, with Mrs. Unwin's love to yourself and Mrs. 
 Newton, 
 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE KEY. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July, 1786. 
 
 I am not glad that I am obliged to apologise for an in- 
 terval of three weeks that have elapsed since the receipt of yours; 
 but not having it in my power to write oftener than I do, I am 
 glad that my reason is such a one as you admit. In truth, my 
 time is very much occupied ; and the more because I not only 
 have a long and laborious work in hand, for such it would prove 
 at any rate, but because I make it a point to bestow my utmost 
 attention upon it, and to give it all the finishing that the most 
 scrupulous accuracy can command. As soon as breakfast is 
 over, I retire to my nutshell of a summer-house, which is my 
 verse-manufactory, and here I abide seldom less than three hours, 
 and not often more. In the afternoon I return to it again ; and 
 all the day-light that follows, except what is devoted to a walk, 
 is given to Homer. It is well for me, that a course which is 
 now become necessary is so much my choice. The regularity 
 of it, indeed, has been in the course of this last week a little in- 
 terrupted, by the arrival of my dear cousin Lady Hesketh ; but 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 253 
 
 with the new week I shall, as they say, turn over a new leaf, 
 and put myself under the same rigorous discipline as before. 
 Something, and not a little, is due to the feelings that the sight 
 of the kindest relation that ever man was blessed with must 
 needs give birth to after so long a separation. But she, whose 
 anxiety for my success is, I believe, even greater than my own, 
 will take care that I shall not play truant and neglect my proper 
 business. It was an observation of a sensible man, whom I knew 
 well in ancient days, (I mean when I was very young,) that 
 people are never in reality happy when they boast much of being 
 so. I feel myself accordingly well content to say, without any 
 enlargement on the subject, that an enquirer after happiness 
 might travel far, and not find a happier trio, than meet every 
 day, either in our parlour, or in the parlour at the Vicarage. I 
 will not say that mine is not occasionally somewhat dashed with 
 the sable hue of those notions, concerning myself and my situa- 
 tion, that have occupied, or rather possessed me so long : but 
 on the other hand, I can also affirm, that my Cousin's affectionate 
 behaviour to us both, the sweetness of her temper, and the spright- 
 liness of her conversation, relieve me in no small degree from 
 the presence of them. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin is greatly pleased with your Sermons, and has 
 told me so repeatedly ; and the pleasure that they have given her 
 awaits me also in due time, as I am well and confidently assured ; 
 both because the subject of them is the greatest and the most in- 
 teresting that can fall under the pen of any writer, and because 
 no writer can be better qualified to discuss it judiciously and 
 feelingly than yourself. The third set with which you favoured 
 us, we destined to Lady Hesketh ; and in so disposing of them, 
 are inclined to believe that we shall not err far from the mark 
 at which you yourself directed them. 
 
 Our affectionate remembrances attend yourself and Mrs. New- 
 
054 couresfoni)i:nce ok 
 
 ton, to which you acquired an everlasting rio^ht while you dwek 
 under the roof where we dined yesterday. It is impossible that 
 we should set our foot over the threshold of the Vicarage, with- 
 out recollecting all your kindness. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 5, 1786. 
 
 You have heard of our intended removal. The house 
 that is to receive us is in a state of preparation, and, when finish- 
 ed will be both smarter and more commodious than our present 
 abode. But the circumstance that recommends it chiefly is its 
 situation. Long confinement in the winter, and indeed for the 
 most part in the autumn too, has hurt us both. A gravel walk, 
 thirty yards long, affords but indifferent scope to the locomotive 
 faculty : yet it is all that we have had to move in for eight 
 months in the year, during thirteen years that I have been a 
 prisoner. Had I been confined in the Tower, the battlements 
 of it would have furnished me with a larger space. You say 
 well, that there was a time when I was happy at Olney ; and 
 1 am now as haj)py at Olney as I expect to be any where with- 
 out the presence of God. Change of situation is with me no 
 otherwise an object than as both Mrs. Unwin's health and mine 
 may happen to be concerned in it. A fever of the slow and 
 spirit-oppressing kind seems to belong to all, except the natives, 
 who have dwelt in Olney many years; and the natives have 
 putrid fevers. Both they and we, I believe, are immediately 
 indebted for our respective maladies to an atmosphere encum- 
 bered with raw vapours issuing from flooded meadows; and we 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 255 
 
 in particular, perhaps, have fared the worse, for sitting so often, 
 and sometimes for months, over a cellar filled with water. 
 These ills we shall escape in the uplands ; and as we may rea- 
 sonably hope, of course, their consequences. But as for happi- 
 ness, he that has once had communion with his Maker must 
 be more frantic than ever I was yet, if he can dream of finding 
 it at a distance from Him. I no more expect happiness at Wes- 
 ton than here, or than I should expect it, in company with fe- 
 lons and outlaws, in the hold of a ballast-lighter.- Animal spi- 
 rits, however, have their value, and are especially desirable to 
 him who is condemned to carry a burthen, which at any rate 
 will tire him, but which, without their aid, cannot fail to crush 
 him. The dealings of God with me are to myself utterly unin- 
 telligible. I have never met, either in books or in conversa- 
 tion, with an experience at all similar to my own. More than 
 a twelvemonth has passed since I began to hope that, having 
 walked the whole breadth of the bottom of this Red Sea, I was 
 beginning to climb the opposite shore, and I prepared to sing 
 the song of Moses. But I have been disappointed : those hopes 
 have been blasted ; those comforts have been wrested from me. 
 I could not be so duped, even by the arch-enemy himself, as to 
 be made to question the divine nature of them ; but I have been 
 made to believe (which, you will say, is being duped still more) 
 that God gave them to me in derision, and took them away in 
 vengeance. Such, however, is, and has been my persuasion 
 many a long day ; and when I shall think on that subject more 
 comfortably, or, as you will be inclined to tell me, more ration- 
 ally and scripturally, I know not. In the mean time, I embrace 
 with alacrity every alleviation of my case, and with the more 
 alacrity, because, whatsoever proves a relief of my distress, is a 
 cordial to Mrs. Unwin, whose sympathy with me, through the 
 whole of it, has been such, that, despair excepted, her burthen 
 
250 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 has been as heavy as mine. Lady Hesketh, by her affectionate 
 behaviour, the cheerfulness of her conversation, and the con- 
 stant sweetness of her temper, has cheered us both ; and Mrs. 
 Unwin not less than me. By her help we get change of air 
 and of scene, though still resident at Olney ; and by her means, 
 have intercourse with some families in this country, with whom, 
 but for her, we could never have been acquainted. Her pre- 
 sence here would, at any time, even in my happiest days, have 
 been a comfort to me; but, in the present day, I am doubly 
 sensible of its value. She leaves nothing unsaid, nothing un- 
 done, that she thinks will be conducive to our well-being ; and, 
 so far as she is concerned, I have nothing to wish, but that I 
 could believe her sent hither in mercy to myself, — then I should 
 be thankful. 
 
 I am, my dear friend, with Mrs. Un win's love to Mrs. N. 
 and yourself, hers and yours, as ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 30, 1786. 
 
 No length of separation will ever make us indifferent 
 either to your pleasures or your pains. We rejoice that you 
 have had so agreeable a jaunt, and (excepting Mrs. Newton's 
 terrible fall, from which, however, we are happy to find 
 that she received so little injury,) a safe return. We, who live 
 always encompassed by rural scenery, can afford to be stationa- 
 ry ; though we ourselves, were I not too closely engaged with 
 Homer, should perhaps follow your example, and seek a little 
 refreshment from variety and change of place, — a course that 
 we might find not only agreeable, but, after a sameness of 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 057 
 
 thirteen years, perhaps useful. You must, undoubtedly, have 
 found your excursion beneficial, who at all other times endure, 
 if not so close a confinement as we, yet a more unhealthy one, 
 in city air, and in the centre of continual engagements. 
 
 Your letter to Mrs. Unwin, concerning our conduct and the 
 offence taken at it in our neighbourhood, gave us both a great 
 deal of concern ; and she is still deeply affected by it. Of this 
 you may assure yourself, that if our friends in London have been 
 grieved, they have been misinformed ; which is the more pro- 
 bable, because the bearers of intelligence hence to London are 
 not always very scrupulous concerning the truth of their reports ; 
 and that if any of our serious neighbours have been astonished, 
 they have been so without the smallest real occasion. Poor 
 people are never well employed even when they judge one 
 another ; but when they undertake to scan the motives and esti- 
 mate the behaviour of those whom Providence has exalted a 
 little above them, they are utterly out of their province and their 
 depth. They often see us get into Lady Hesketh's carriage, 
 and rather uncharitably suppose that it always carries us into a 
 scene of dissipation, which, in fact, it never does. We visit, 
 indeed, at Mr. Throckmorton's, and at Gayhurst; rarely, how- 
 ever, at Gayhurst, on account of the greater distance : more 
 frequently, though not very frequently, at Weston, both because 
 it is nearer, and because our businessinthehousethat is making 
 ready for us often calls us that way. The rest of our journej's 
 are to Beaujeat turnpike and back again ; or, perhaps, to the cabi- 
 net-maker's at Newport. As Othello says. 
 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. 
 
 What good we can get or can do in these visits, is another 
 
 K k 
 
25& COHRESFONDENCE 01- 
 
 question; which they, I am sure, are not at all qualified to 
 solve. Of this we arc both sure, that under the guidance of 
 Providence we have formed these connexions ; that we should 
 have hurt the Christian cause., rather than have served it, by a 
 prudish abstinence from them ; and that St. Paul himself, con- 
 ducted to them as we have been, would have found it expedient 
 to have done as we have done. It is always impossible to con- 
 jecture, to much purpose, from the beginnings of a providence, in 
 what it will terminate. If we have neither received nor com- 
 municated any spiritual good at present, while conversant with 
 our new acquaintance, at least no harm has befallen on either 
 side ; and it were too hazardous an assertion even for our cen- 
 sorious neighbours to make, that, because the cause of the Gos- 
 pel does not appear to have been served at present, therefore it 
 never can be in any future intercourse that we may have with 
 them. In the mean time I speak a sirict truth, and as in the sight 
 of God, when I say that we are neither of us at all more addicted 
 to gadding than heretofore. We both naturally love seclusion 
 fram company, and never go into it without putting a force up- 
 on our disposition; at the same time I will confess, and you will 
 easily conceive, that the melancholy incident to such close con- 
 finement as we haveso long endured, finds itself a little relieved 
 by such amusements as a society so innocent affords. You may 
 look round the Christian world, and find few, I believe, of our 
 station, who have so little intercourse as we with the world that 
 is not Christian. 
 
 We place all the uneasiness that you have felt for us upon this 
 subject, to the account of that cordial friendship of which you 
 have long given us proof. Jiut you may be assured, that not- 
 withstanding all rumours to the contrary, we are exactly what 
 we were when you saw us last : — I, miserable on account of 
 God's departure from me, which I believe to be final ; and she. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 059 
 
 seeking his return to me in tiie path of duty, and by continual 
 prayer. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAH FRIEND, Weaton Underwood, Nov. 17, 1786. 
 
 My usual time of answering your letters having been 
 unavoidably engrossed by occasions that would not be thrust 
 aside, I have been obliged to postpone the payment of my debt 
 for a whole week. Even now it is not without some difficulty 
 that I discharge it ; which you will easily believe, when I tell 
 you that this is only the second day that has seen us inhabitant^ 
 of our new abode. When God speaks to a chaos, it becomes a 
 scene of order and harmony in a moment ; but when his crea- 
 tures have thrown one house into confusion by leaving it, and 
 another by tumbling themselves and their goods into it, not less 
 than many days' labour and contrivance is necessary to give 
 them their proper places. And it belongs to furniture of all 
 kinds, however convenient it may be in its place, to be a nui- 
 sance out of it. We find ourselves here in a comfortable dwell- 
 ing. Such it is in itself; and my cousin, who has spared no 
 expense in dressing it up for us, has made it a genteel one. 
 Such, at least, it will be when its contents are a little harmoniz- 
 ed. She left us on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, in the even- 
 ing, Mrs. Unwin and I took possession. I could not help giv- 
 ing a last look to my old prison and its precincts ; and though 
 I cannot easily account for it, having been miserable there so 
 many years, felt something like a heart-ache when I took my 
 last leave of a scene, that certainly in itself had nothing to en 
 
260 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 gage affecrion. But 1 recollected that I had once been happy 
 there, and could not, without tears in my eyes, bid adieu to a 
 place in which God had so often found me. The human mind 
 is a great mystery ; mine, at least, appeared to me to be such 
 upon this occasion. I found that I not only had a tenderness 
 for that ruinous abode, because it had once known me happy in 
 the presence of God ; but that even the distress I had suffered 
 for so long a time, on account of his absence, had endeared it 
 to me as much. I was weary of every object, had long wished 
 for a change, yet could not take leave without a pang at parting. 
 What consequences are to attend our removal, God only knows. 
 I know well that it is not in situation to effect a cure of melan- 
 choly like mine. The change, however, has been entirely a 
 providential one ; for, much as I wished it, I never uttered that 
 wish, except to Mrs. Unvvin. When I learned that the house 
 was to be let, and had seen it, I had a strong desire that Lady 
 Hesketh should take it for herself, if she should happen to like 
 the country. That desire, indeed, is not exactly fulfilled ; and 
 yet, upon the whole, is exceeded. We are the tenants ; but she 
 assures us that we shall often have her for a guest ; and here is 
 room enough for us all. You, I hope, my dear friend, and Mrs. 
 Newton, will want no assurances to convince you that you will 
 always be received here with the sincerest welcome. More 
 welcome than you have been, you cannot be ; but better accom- 
 modated you may and will be. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend. Mrs. Unwin's affectionate remem- 
 brances and mine conclude me ever yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. oQi 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 16, 1786. 
 
 The death of one whom I valued as I did Mr. Ilnwin, 
 is a subject on which I could say much, and with much feeling. 
 But habituated as my mind has been these many years to me- 
 lancholy themes, I am glad to excuse my.self the contemplation 
 of them as much as possible. I will only observe, that the 
 death of so young a man, whom I so lately saw in good health, 
 and whose life was so desirable on every account, has something 
 in it peculiarly distressing. I cannot think of tiie widow and 
 the children he has left, without ao heart-ache that I remember 
 not to have felt before. We may well say, that the ways of 
 God are mysterious : in truth they are so, and to a degree that 
 only such events can give us any conception of. Mrs. Unwin 
 begs me to give her love to you, with thanks for your kind let- 
 ter. Her's has been so much a life of affliction, that whatever 
 occurs to her in that shape has not, at least, the terrors of no- 
 velty to embitter it. She is supported under this, as she has 
 been under a thousand others, with a submission of which I 
 never saw her deprived for a moment. 
 
 Once, since we left Olney, I had occasion to call at our old 
 dwelling ; and never did I see so forlorn and woeful a spectacle. 
 Deserted of its inhabitants, it seemed as if it could never be 
 dwelt in for ever. The coldness of it, the dreariness, and the 
 dirt, made me think it no unapt resemblance of a soul that God 
 has forsaken. While he dwelt in it, and manifested himself 
 there, he could create his own accommodations, and give it oc- 
 casionally the appearance of a palace ; but the moment he with- 
 draws, and takes with him all th« furniture and embellishment 
 of his graces, it becomes what it was before he entered it — the 
 
262 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 habitation of vermin, and the image of desolation. Sometimes 
 I envy the living, but not much or not long; for while they 
 live, as we call it, they are too liable to desertion. But the 
 dead who have died in the lord, I envy always; for they, I take 
 it for granted, can be no more forsaken. 
 
 This Babylon, however, that we have left behind us, ruinous 
 as it is, the ceilings cracked and the walls crumbling, still finds 
 some who covet it. A shoemaker and an alemonger, have pro- 
 posed themselves as joint candidates to succeed us. Some small 
 difference between them and the landlord, on the subject of rent, 
 has hitherto kept them out ; but at last they will probably agree. 
 
 In the mean time Mr. R prophesies its fall, and tells them 
 
 that they will occupy it at the hazard of their lives, unless it 
 be well propped before they enter it. We have not, therefore, 
 left it much too soon ; and this we knew before we migrated, 
 though the same prophet would never speak out, so long as only 
 our heads were in danger. 
 
 I wish you well through your laborious task of transcribing. 
 I hope the good lady's meditations are such as amuse you rather 
 more, while you copy them, than meditations in general would ; 
 which, for the most part, have appeared to me the most labour- 
 ed, insipid, and unnatural of all productions. 
 
 Adieu my dear friend. Our love attends you both. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 W. G. 
 
 10 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 13, 1787. 
 
 It gave me pleasure, such as it was, to learn by a letter from 
 Mr. H. Thornton, that the Inscription for the tomb of poor 
 
WILLIAM COWPETl. 2G3 
 
 Unwin has been approved of. The dead have nothing to do 
 with human praises; but if they died in the Lord, they have 
 abundant praises to render to him ; which is far better. The 
 dead, whatever they leave behind them, have nothing to re- 
 gret. Good Christians are the only creatures in the world that 
 are truly good ; and them they will see again, and see them im- 
 proved : therefore them they regret not. Regret is for the liv- 
 ing. What we get. we 'soon lose ; and what we lose, we regret. 
 The most obvious consolation in this case seems to be, that we 
 who regret others, shall quickly become objects of regret our- 
 selves ; for mankind are continually passing off in a rapid suc- 
 cession. 
 
 I have many kind friends, who, like yourself, wish that, 
 instead of turning my endeavours to a translation of Homer, I 
 had proceeded in the way of original poetry. But I can truly 
 say that it was ordered otherwise, not by me, but by the Pro- 
 vidence that governs all my thoughts, and directs my intentions 
 as he pleases. It may seem strange, but it is true, that after 
 having written a volume, in general with great ease to myself, 
 I found it impossible to write another page. The mind of man 
 is not a fountain, but a cistern ; and mine, God knows, a bro- 
 ken one. It is my creed, that the intellect depends as much, 
 both for the energy and the multitude of its exertions, upon 
 the operations of God's agency upon it, as the heart, for the 
 exercise of its graces, upon the influence of the Holy Spirit, 
 According to this persuasion, I may very reasonably affirm, 
 that it was not God's pleasure that I should proceed in the same 
 track, because he did not enable me to do it. A whole j^ear I 
 waited, and waited in circumstances of mind that made a state 
 of non-employment peculiarly irksome to me. I longed for the 
 pen, as the only remedy, but I could find no subject: extreme 
 
264 COURESl^ONDENCE OF 
 
 distress of spirit at last drove me, as, if I mistake not, 1 told 
 you some time since, to lay Homer before me, and translate 
 for amusement. Why it pleased God that I should be hunted 
 into such a business, of such enormous length and labour, by 
 miseries for which He did not see good to afford me any other 
 remedy, I know not. But so it was ; and jejune as the conso- 
 lation may be, and unsuited to the exigencies of a mind that 
 once was spiritual, yet a thousand times have I been glad of it: 
 for a thousand times it has served at least to divert my attention, 
 in some degree, from such terrible tempests as I believe have 
 seldom been permitted to beat upon a human mind. Let my 
 friends, therefore, who wish me some little measure of tran- 
 quillity in the performance of the most turbulent voyage that 
 ever Christian mariner made, be contented, that, having Ho- 
 mer's mountains an(^ forests to windward, I escape, under 
 their shelter, from the force of many a gust that would almost 
 overset me ; especially when they consider that, not by choice, 
 but by necessity, I make them my refuge. As to fame, and 
 honour, and glory, that may be acquired by poetical feats of 
 any sort, God knows, that if I could lay me down in my grave 
 with hope at my side, or sit with hope at my side in a dungeon 
 all the residue of my days, I would cheerfully wave them all. 
 For the little fame that I have already earned has never saved mc 
 from one distressing night, or from one despairing day, since 1 
 first acquired it. For what I am reserved, or to what, is a mys- 
 tery; 1 would fain hope, not merely that I may amuse others, 
 or only to be a translator of Homer. 
 
 Sally Perry's case has given us much concern. I have no 
 doubt that it is distemper. But distresses of mind, that are oc- 
 casioned by distemper, are the most difficult of all to deal with. 
 They refuse all consolation ; they will hear no reason. God 
 only, by his own immediate impressions, can remove them ; 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 265 
 
 as, after an experience of thirteen years' misery, I can abun^ 
 dantly testify. 
 
 YourS) 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston Underwood, Oct. 2, 1787. 
 
 After a long but necessary interruption of our corre- 
 spondence, I return to it again, in one respect, at least, better 
 qualified for it than before ; I mean by a belief of your identity, 
 which for thirteen years I did not believe. The acquisition of 
 this light, if light it may be called which leaves me as much in 
 the dark as ever on the most interesting subjects, releases me 
 however from the disagreeable suspicion that I am addressing 
 myself to you as the friend whom I loved and valued so highly 
 in my better days, while in fact you are not that friend, but a 
 stranger. I can now write to you without seeming to act a 
 part, and without having any need to charge myself with dis- 
 simulation ; — a charge from which, in that state of mind and 
 under such an uncomfortable persuasion, I knew not how to 
 exculpate myself, ami which, as you will easily conceive, not 
 seldom made my correspondence with you a burthen. Still, 
 indeed, it wants, and is likely to want, that best ingredient 
 which can alone make it truly pleasant either to myself or you 
 — that spirituality which once enlivened all our intercourse. 
 You will tell me, no doubt, that the knowledge I have gained 
 is an earnest of more and more valuable information, and that 
 the dispersion of the clouds in part, promises, in due time, 
 their coi.nplete dispersion. I should be happy to believe it; but 
 the power to do so is at present far from me. Never was the 
 
 T I 
 
266 COKKESPONDENCE OF 
 
 mind of man benighted to the degree that mine has been. The 
 storms that have assailed me would have overset the faith of 
 every man that ever had any; and the very remembrance of 
 them, even after they have been long passed by, makes hope 
 impossible. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin, whose poor bark is still held together, though 
 shattered by being tossed and agitated so long at the side of 
 mine, does not forget yours and Mrs. Newton's kindness on this 
 last occasion. Mrs. Newton's offer to come to her assistance, 
 and your readiness to have rendered us the same service, could 
 you have hoped for any salutary effect of your presence, neither 
 Mrs. Unwin nor myself undervalue, nor shall presently forget. 
 But you judged right when you supposed, that even your com- 
 pany would have been no relief to me ; the company of my fa- 
 ther or my brother, could they have returned from the dead to 
 visit me, would have been none to me. 
 
 We are busied in preparing for the reception of Lady Hes- 
 keth, whom we expect here shortly. We have beds to put up, 
 and furniture for bods to make ; workmen, and scouring, and 
 bustle. Mrs. Unwin's time has, of course, been lately occupied 
 to a degree that made writing to her impracticable ; and she 
 excused herself the rather, knowing my intentions to take her 
 office. It does not, however, suit me to write mucii at a time. 
 This last tempest has left my nerves in a worse condition than it 
 found them ; my head, especially, though better informed, is 
 more infirm than ever. I will, therefore, only add our joint 
 love to yourself and Mrs. Newton, and that I am, my dear 
 
 friend. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 W. C* 
 
 • This letter was addressed to Mr. Newton, on the writer's recovery fron» 
 ail attack of bis grievous constitutional malady, which lasted eight months. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. ^67 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 20, 1787. 
 
 My indisposition could not be of a worse kind. Had I 
 been afflicted with a fever, or confined by a broken bone, neither 
 of these cases would have made it impossible that we should 
 meet. I am truly sorry that the impediment was insurmounta- 
 ble while it lasted, for such in fact it was. The sight of any 
 face, except Mrs. Unvvin's, was to me an insupportable grievance; 
 and when it has happened that by forcing himself into my hiding 
 place, some friend has found me out, he has had no great cause 
 to exult in his success, as Mr. Bull can tell you. From this 
 dreadful condition of mind, I emerged suddenly ; so suddenly, 
 that Mrs. Unwin, having no notice of such a change herself, 
 could give none to any body ; and when it obtained, how long 
 it might last, or how far it was to be depended on, was a matter 
 of the greatest uncertainty. It affects me on the recollection with 
 the more concern, because I learn from your last, that I have not 
 only lost an interview with you myself, but have stood in the 
 way of visits that you would have gladly paid to others, and who 
 would have been happy to have seen you. You should have 
 forgotten (but you are not good at forgetting your friends) that 
 such a creature as myself existed. 
 
 I rejoice that Mrs. Cowper has been so comfortably supported. 
 She must have severely felt the loss of her son. She has an 
 affectionate heart toward her children, and could not but be sen- 
 sible of the bitterness of such a cup. But God's presence sweet- 
 ens every bitter. Desertion is the only evil that a Christian 
 cannot bear. 
 
 I have done a deed for which I find some people thank me 
 little. Perhaps I have only burned my fingers, and had better 
 
i»68 COKRESPONUENCE OF 
 
 not have meddled. Last Sunday se'nniaiht, I drew up a petition 
 to Lord Dartmouth, in behalf of Mr. Postlethwaite. We signed 
 it, and all the principal inhabitants of Weston followed our ex- 
 ample. What we had done was soon known in Olney, and an 
 
 evening or two ago, Mr. R called here, to inform me (for 
 
 that seemed to be his errand,) how little the measure that I had 
 taken was relished by some of his neighbours. I vindicated my 
 proceeding on the principles of justice and mercy to a laborious 
 and well-deserving minister, to whom I had the satisfaction to 
 find that none could allege one serious objection, and that all, 
 except one, who objected at all, are persons who in reality ought 
 to have no vote upon such a question. The affair seems still to 
 remain undecided. If his Lordship waits, which I a little sus- 
 pect, till his steward shall have taken the sense of those with 
 whom he is likely to converse upon the subject, and means to 
 be determined by his report, Mr. Postleth waiters case is des- 
 perate. 
 
 I beg that you will remember me affectionately to Mr. Bacon. 
 We rejoice in Mrs. Newton's amended health, and when we can 
 hear that she is restored, shall rejoice still more. The next sum- 
 mer may prove more propitious to us than the past : if it should, 
 we shall be happy to receive you and yours. Mr. Unwin unites 
 with me in love to you all three. She is tolerably well, and her 
 writing was prevented by nothing but her expectation that I 
 should soon do it myself. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 269 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 21, 1788. 
 
 Your last letter informed us that you were likely to be 
 much occupied for some time in writing on a subject that must 
 be interesting to a person of your feelings — the Slave Trade. I 
 was unwilling to interrupt your progress in so good a work, and 
 have therefore enjoined myself a longer silence than I should 
 otherwise have thought excusable; though, to say the truth, did 
 not our once intimate fellowship in the things of God, recur to 
 my remembrance, and present me with something like a warrant 
 for doing it, I should hardly prevail with myself to write at all. 
 Letters, such as mine, to a person of a character such as yours, 
 are like snow in harvest ; and you well say, that if I will send 
 you a letter that you can answer, I shall make your part of the 
 business easier than it is. This I would gladly do ; but though 
 I abhor a vacuum as much as nature herself is said to do, yet 
 a vacuum I am bound to feel of all such matter as may merit 
 your perusal. 
 
 I expected that before this time I should have had the plea- 
 sure of seeing your friend Mr. Bean,* but his stay in this coun- 
 try was so short, that it was hardly possible he should find an 
 opportunity to call. I have not only heard a high character of 
 that gentleman from yourself, whose opinion of men, as well as of 
 other matters, weighs more with me than any body's ; but from 
 two or three different persons likewise, not ill qualified to judge. 
 From all that I have heard, both from )"ou and them, I have 
 every reason to expect that I shall find him both an agreeable 
 and useful neighbour ; and if he can be content with me, (for 
 
 * Fosmerly Vicar of Olney, and now one of tlie Librarians of the British 
 Museum. 
 
270 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 that seems doubtful, poet as I am, and now, alas I nothing 
 inore.) it seems certain that I shall be highly satisfied with him. 
 
 Here is much shifting and changing of ministers. Two are 
 
 passing away, and two are stepping into the places. Mr. B , 
 
 I suppose, whom I know not, is almost upon Ihe wing; and Mr. 
 
 P , with whom I have not been very much acquainted, is 
 
 either, going or gone. A Mr. C is come to occupy, for 
 
 the present at least, the place of the former ; and if he can pos- 
 sess himself of the two curacies of Ravenstone and Weston, will, 
 I imagine, take up his abode here. Having, as 1 understand, 
 no engagements elsewhere, he will doubtless be happy to obtain 
 a lasting one in this country. What acceptance he finds among 
 the people of Ravenstone I have not heard, but atOlney, where 
 he has preached once, he was hailed as the Sun by the Green- 
 landers after half a year of lamp-light. 
 
 Providence interposed to preserve me from the heaviest afflic- 
 tion that I can now suffer, or I had lately lost Mrs. Unwin, and 
 in a way the most shocking imaginable. Having kindled her 
 fire in the room where she dresses, (an office that she always 
 performs for herself,) she placed the candle on the hearth, and 
 kneeling addressed herself to her devotions. A thought struck 
 her, while thus occupied, that the candle being short might pos- 
 sibly catch her clothes. She pinched it out with the tongs, and 
 set it on the table. In a few minutes the chamber was so filled 
 with smoke, that her eyes watered, and it was hardly possible to 
 see across it. Supposing that it proceeded from the chimney, 
 she pushed the billets backward, and while she did so, casting 
 her eye downward, perceived that her dress was on fire. In 
 fact, before she extinguished the candle, the mischief that she ap- 
 prehended was begun ; and when she related the matter to me, 
 she showed me her clothes with a hole burnt in them as large 
 as this sheet of paper. It is not possible, perhaps, that so tragi- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEH. 271 
 
 cal a death should overtake a person actually engaged in prayer, 
 for her escape seems almost a miracle. Her presence of mind, 
 by which she was enabled, without calling for help or waiting 
 for it, to gather up her clothes and plunge them, burning as they 
 were, in water, seems as wonderful a part of the occurrence as 
 any. The very report of fire, though distant, has rendered 
 hundreds torpid and incapable of self-succour; how much more 
 was such a disability to be expected, when the fire had not seized 
 a neighbour's house, or begun its devastations on our own, but 
 was actually consuming the apparel that she wore, and seemed 
 in possession of her person. 
 
 It draws toward supper-time. I therefore heartily wish you 
 a good night; and with our best affections to yourself, Mrs. 
 Newton, and Miss Catlett, I remain, my dear friend, truly and 
 warmly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING, 
 PERTON HALL, NEAR KIMBOLTON, HUNTS. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, Weston Lodge, Feb. 12, 1788. 
 
 A letter from a lady who was once intimate with my 
 brother, could not fail of being the most acceptable to me. I 
 lost him just in the moment when those truths which have re- 
 commended my volumes to your approbation, were become his 
 daily sustenance, as they had long been mine. But the will of 
 God was done. I have sometimes thought that had his life been 
 spared, being made brothers by a stricter tie than ever in the 
 bonds of the same faith,- hope, and love, we should have been 
 happier in each other than it was in the power of mere natural 
 
272 CORRKSPONDENCE OF 
 
 affection to make us. But it was his blessing to be taken from 
 a world ^n which he had no longer any wish to continue, and 
 it will be mine, it' while I dwell in it, my time may not be alto- 
 gether wasted. In order to effect that good end, 1 wrote what 
 I am happy to find it has given you pleasure to read. But for that 
 pleasure, Madam, you are indebted neither to me nor to my 
 Muse ; but (as you are well aware) to Him who alone can make 
 divine truths palatable, in whatever vehicle conveyed. It is 
 an established philosophical axiom, that nothing can communi- 
 cate what it has not in itself; but in the effects of Christian 
 communion, a very strong exception is found to this general 
 rule, however self-evident it may seem. A man himself desti- 
 tute of all spiritual consolation, may, by occasion, impart it to 
 others. Thus I, it seems, who wrote those very poems to amuse 
 a mind oppressed with melancholy^ and who have myself de- 
 rived from them no other benefit, (for mere success in author- 
 ship will do me no good,) have nevertheless, by so doing, com- 
 forted others, at the same time that they administer to me no 
 consolation. But I will proceed no farther in this strain, lest 
 my prose should damp a pleasure that my verse has happily ex- 
 cited. On the contrary, I will endeavour to rejoice in your 
 joy, and especially because I have been myself the instrument 
 of conveying it. 
 
 Since the receipt of your obliging letter, I have naturally had 
 recourse to my recollection to tr\'^ if it would furnish me with 
 the name that I find at the bottom of it. At the same time, I 
 am aware that there is nothing more probable than that my 
 brother might be honoured with your friendship without men- 
 tioning it to me; for except a very short period before his death, 
 we lived necessarily at a considerable distance from eacli other. 
 Ascribe it, Madam, not to an impertinent curiosity, but to a 
 
WILLIAM COWPETl. 273 
 
 desire of better acquaintance with you, if I take the liberty to 
 ask (since ladies' names, at least, are changeable,) whether yours 
 was at that time the same as now. 
 
 Sincerely wishing you all happiness, and especially that which 
 I am sure you covet most, the happiness which is from above, 
 I remain, dear Madam — early as it may seem to say it, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 1, 1788. 
 
 That my letters may not be exactly an echo to those 
 which I receive, I seldom read a letter immediately before I 
 answer it ; trusting to my memory to suggest to me such of its 
 contents as may call for particular notice. Thus I dealt with 
 your last, which lay in my desk, while I was writing to you. 
 But my memory, or rather my recollection, failed me, in that 
 instance. I had not forgotten Mr. Bean's letter, nor my oljliga- 
 tions to you for the communication of it : but they did not hap- 
 pen to present themselves to me, in the proper moment, nor 
 till some hours after my own had been dispatched. I now re- 
 turn it, with many thanks for so favourable a specimen of its 
 author. That he is a good man, and a wise man, its testimony 
 proves sufficiently ; and I doubt not, that when he shall speak 
 for himself, he will be found an agreeable one. For it is posr 
 sible to be very good, and, in many respects, very wise; yet, 
 at the same time, not the most delightful companion. Excuse 
 the shortness of an occasional scratch, which I send in much 
 haste ; and believe me, my dear friend, with our united love to 
 
 M m 
 
JJ74 COIIKESI'ONUENCE OF 
 
 yourself and Mrs. Newton, of whose health we hope to hear u 
 more favourable account, as tlie year rises, 
 
 Your truly afl'ectionate 
 
 w. c. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 3, 1788." 
 
 I had not, as you may imagine, read more than two or 
 three lines of the enclosed, before I perceived that I had acci- 
 dentally come to the possession of another man's property; 
 who, by the same misadventure, has doubtless occupied mine. 
 I accordingly folded it again the moment after having opened it, 
 and now return it. The bells of Olncy both last night and tiiis 
 morning have announced the arrival of JVIr. Bean. I under- 
 stand that he is now come with his family. It will not be long, 
 therefore, before we shall be acquainted. I rather wish than 
 hope that he may find himself comfortably situated ; but the 
 parishioners' admiration of Mr. C — , whatever the bells may 
 say, is no good omen. It is hardly to be expected that the same 
 people should admire both. 
 
 1 have lately been engaged in a correspondence with a lady 
 whom I never saw. She lives at Perten-Hall, near Kimbolton, 
 and is the wife of a Dr. King, who has the living. She is evi- 
 dently a Cluistian, and a very gracious one. I would that she 
 had you for a correspondent rather than me. One letter from 
 you would do her more good than a ream of mine. But so it 
 is ; and since I cannot depute my office to you, and am bound 
 
 • The date having been probably written on the latter half of this letter, 
 ^h\ch is torn oft", the editor has endeavoured to supply it from the follow- 
 '"iJ lo Mrs. King, and the next to Mrs. Newton. 
 
WIM.1AM COWPETt. 275 
 
 by all sorts of considerations to answer her this evening, I must 
 necessarily quit you tiiat T may have time to do it, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 March 3, 1788. 
 I owe you many acknowledgments, dear Madam, for 
 that unreserved communication both of your history and oi 
 your sentiments, with wiiich you fiwoured me in your last. It 
 gives me great pleasure to learn that you are so happily circum- 
 stanced, both in respect of situation and frame of mind. With, 
 your view of religious subjects, you could not indeed, speaking 
 properly, be pronounced unhappy in any circumstances ; but to 
 have received from above not only that faith which reconciles 
 the heart to atUiction, but many outward comforts also, and es- 
 pecially that greatest of all earthly comforts, a comfortable 
 home, is happiness indeed. May you long enjoy it! As to 
 health or sickness, you have learned already their true value, 
 and know well that the former is no blessing, unless it be sanc- 
 tified, and that the latter is one of the greatest we can receive, 
 when we are enabled to make a proper use of it. 
 
 There is nothing in my story that can possibly be worth your 
 knowledge ; yet, lest I should seem to treat you with a reserve 
 which, at your hands, I have not experienced, such as it is, I 
 will relate it. — I was bred to the law ; a profession to which I 
 was never much inclined, and in which I engaged rather be- 
 cause I was desirous to gratify a most indulgent father, than be- 
 cause 1 had any hope of success in it, myself, I spent twelve 
 years in the Temple, where I made no progress in that science, 
 to cultivate which I was sent thither. During this time my fa- 
 
276 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 ther died. Not long after him, died my mother-in-law, and at 
 the expiration of it, a melancholy seized me, which ohhged me 
 to quit London, and consequently to renounce the bar. I lived 
 some time at St. Albans. After having suifered in that place 
 long and extreme affliction, the storm was suddenly dispelled, 
 and the same day-spring from on high which has arisen upon 
 you, arose on me also. I spent eight years in the enjoyment of 
 it, and have ever since the expiration of these eight years, been 
 occasionally the prey of the same melancholy as at first. In the 
 depths of it I wrote the Task, and the volume which preceded 
 it ; and in the same deeps 1 am now translating Homer. But 
 to return to St. Albans. I abode there a year and a half. Thence 
 I went to Cambridge, where I spent a short time with my bro- 
 ther, in whose neighbourhood 1 determined, if possible, to 
 pass the remainder of my days. He soon found a lodging for 
 me at Huntingdon. At that place I had not resided long, when 
 1 was led to an intimate connexion with a family of the name 
 of Unwin. I soon quitted my lodging, and took up my abode 
 with them. I had not lived long under their roof, when Mr. 
 Unwin, as he was riding one Sunday morning to his cure at 
 Gravely, was thrown from his horse; of which fall he died, 
 Mrs. Unwin having the same views of the gospel as myself, 
 and being desirous of attending a purer ministration of it than 
 was to be found at Huntingdon, removed to Olney, where Mr. 
 Newton was at that time the preacher, and I with her. There 
 we continued till Mr. Newton, whose family was the only one 
 in the place with which we could have a connexion, and with 
 whom we lived always on the most intimate terms, left it. "^Af- 
 tcr his departure, finding the situation no longer desirable, and 
 our house threatening to fall upon our heads, we removed hi- 
 ther. Here we have a good house in a most beautiful village, 
 and, for the greatest part of the year, a most agreeable neigh- 
 
' WILLIAM COWPER. 377 
 
 bourhood. Like you, Madam, I stay much at home, and have 
 not travelled twenty miles from this place and it^ environs, more 
 than once these twenty years. 
 
 All this I have written, not for the singularity of the matter, 
 as you will perceive, but partly for the reason which I gave at 
 the outset, and partly that, seeing we are become correspon- 
 dents, we may know as much of each other as we can, and that 
 as soon as possible. 
 
 1 beg. Madam, that you will present my best respects to Mr. 
 King, whom, together with yourself, should you at any time 
 hereafter take wing for a longer flight than usual, we shall be 
 happy to receive at Weston, and believe me, dear Madam, his 
 and your obliged and affectionate, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. HILL. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, March 17, 1788. 
 
 A thousand thanks to you for your obliging and most 
 acceptable present, which I received safe this evening. Had 
 you known my occasions, you could not possibly have timed it 
 more exactly. The Throckmorton family, who live in our 
 neighbourhood, and who sometimes take a dinner with us, were, 
 by engagement made with them two or three days ago, appoint- 
 ed to dine with us just at the time when your turkey will be in 
 perfection. A turkey from Wargrave, the residence of my 
 friend, and a turkey, as I conclude, of your breeding, stands a 
 fair chance, in my account, to excel all otiier turkeys ; and the 
 ham, its companion, will be no less welcome. 
 
 I shall be happy to hear that my friend Joseph has recovered 
 entirely from his late indisposition, which I was informed was 
 
27S CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 gout ; a distemper which, however painful in itself, brings at 
 least some comfort with it, both for the patient and those who 
 love him, the hope of length of days, and an exemption from 
 numerous other evils. I wish him just so much of it as may 
 serve for a confirmation of this hope, and not one twinge more. 
 
 Your husband, my dear Madam, told me, some time since, 
 that a certain library of mine, concerning which I have heard 
 no other tidings these five and twenty years, is still in being. 
 Hue and cry have been made after it in Old Palace Yard, but 
 hitherto in vain. If he can inform a bookless student in what 
 region or in what nook his long-lost volumes may be found, he 
 will render me an important service. 
 
 I am likely to be furnished soon with shelves, which my 
 cousin of New Norfolk-street is about to send me ; but furni- 
 ture foi- these shelves 1 shall not presently procure, unless by 
 recovering my stray authors. I am not young enougli to think 
 of making a new collection, and shall probably possess myself 
 of few books hereafter but such as I may put forth myself, which 
 cost me nothing but what I can better spare than money — time 
 and consideration. 
 
 I beg, my dear Madam, that you will give my love to my 
 friend, and believe me, with the warmest sense of his and your 
 kindness. 
 
 Your most obliged 
 
 and alfcctionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 379 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR PRIEND, March 17, 1788. 
 
 The evening is almost worn away, while I have been 
 writing a letter, to which I was obliged to give immediate at- 
 tention. An application from a lady, and backed by you, could 
 not be less than irresistible. That lady, too, a daughter of Mr. 
 Thornton's. Neither are these words of course : since I re- 
 turned to Homer in good earnest, I turn out of my way for no 
 consideration that I can possibly put aside. 
 
 With modern tunes I am unacquainted, and have therefore 
 accommodated my verse to an old one ; not so old, however, 
 but that there will be songsters found old enough to remember 
 it. The song is an admirable one for which it was made, and, 
 though political, nearly, if not quite, as serious as mine. On 
 such a subject as I had before me, it seems impossible not to be 
 serious. I shall be happy if it meet with your and Lady Bal- 
 gonie's approbation. 
 
 Of Mr. Beat! I could say much 5 but have only time at pre- 
 sent, to say that I esteem and love him. On some future occa- 
 sion I shall speak of him more at large. 
 
 We rejoice that Mrs. Newton is better, and wish nothing 
 more than her complete recovery. Dr. Ford is to be pitied. His 
 wife, I suppose, is going to heaven ; a journey which she can 
 better afford to take, than he to part with her. 
 
 I am, my dear friend, with our united love to you all three, 
 most truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
280 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, April 11, 1788. 
 
 The melancholy that 1 have mentioned, and concerning 
 which you are so kind as to enquire, is of a kind, so far as I 
 know, peculiar to myself. It does not at all affect the opera- 
 tions of my mind on any subject to which I can attach it, whe- 
 ther serious or ludicrous, or whatsoever it may be ; for which 
 reason I am almost always employed either in reading or writ- 
 ing when I am not engaged in conversation, A vacant hour is 
 my abhorrence ; because, when I am not occupied, I suffer un- 
 der the whole influence of my unhappy temperament. I thank 
 you for your recommendation of a medicine from which you 
 have received benefit yourself; but there is hardly any thing 
 that I have not proved, however beneficial it may have been 
 found by others, in my own case utterly useless. I have, there- 
 fore, long since bid adieu to all hope from human means, — the 
 means excepted of perpetual employment. 
 
 I will not "ay that we shall never meet, because it is not for 
 a creature, who knows not what shall be to-morrow, to assert 
 any thing positively concerning the future. Things more un- 
 likely I have yet seen brought to pass, and things which, if I 
 had expressed myself of them at all, I should have said were 
 impossible. But being respectively circumstanced as we are, 
 there seems no present probability of it. You speak of insupe- 
 rable hindrances ; and 1 also have hindrancies that would be 
 equally difficult to surmount. One is, that I never ride, that I 
 am not able to perform a journey on foot, and that chaises do 
 not roll within the sphere of that economy which my circum- 
 stances oblige me to observe. If this were not of itself sufficieot 
 to excuse me, when I decline so obliging an invitation as yours, 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. ogx 
 
 I could mention yet other obstacles. But to what end ? One 
 impracticability makes as effectual a barrier as a thousand. It 
 will be otherwise in other worlds. Either we shall not bear 
 about us a body, or it will be more easily transportable than 
 this. In the mean time, by the help of tlie post, strangers to 
 each other may cease to be such, as you and I have already be- 
 gun to experience. 
 
 It is indeed. Madam, as you say, a foolish world, and likely 
 to continue such till the Great Teacher shall himself vouchsafe 
 to make it wiser. I am persuaded that time alone will never 
 mend it. But there is doubtless a day appointed when there 
 shall be a more general manifestation of the beauty of holiness 
 than mankind have ever yet beheld. When that period shall 
 arrive, there will be an end of profane representations, whether 
 of Heaven or Hell, on the stage : — the great realities will super- 
 sede them. 
 
 I have just discovered that I have written to you on paper 
 so transparent, that it will hardly keep the contents a secret. 
 Excuse the mistake, and believe me, dear Madam, with my 
 respects to Mr. King, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE JIEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 19, 1788. 
 
 I thank you for your last, and for the verses in particu- 
 lar, therein contained ; in which there is not only rhyme but 
 reason. And yet I fear that neither you nor I, with all our 
 reasoning and rhyming, shall effect much good in this matter. 
 So far as I can learn, and I have had intelligence from a quarter 
 
 N n 
 
332 COHUESl'ONDENCE 01 
 
 within tI)o reach of such as is respectable, our Governors are noi 
 aniinatecl aUogether with such heroic ardour as the occasion 
 might inspire. They consult frequently, imiced, in the Cabinet 
 about it ; but the frequency of their consultations in a case so 
 plain as this would be, (did not what Shakspeare calls commo- 
 dity, and what we call political expediency, cast a cloud over 
 it,) rather bespeaks a desire to save appearances, than to inter- 
 pose to purpose. Laws will, I suppose, be enacted for the more 
 humane treatment of the negroes ; but who shall see to the ex- 
 ecution of them? The planters will not, and the ne<;roes cannot. 
 In fact we know, that laws of this tendency have not been want- 
 ing, enacted even amojigst themselves ; but there has been al- 
 ways a want of prosecutors, or righteous judges ; deficiencies, 
 which will not be very easily supplieil. The newspapers have 
 lately told us, that these merciful masters liave, on this occasion, 
 been occupied in passing ordinances, by which the lives and 
 limbs of their slaves are to be secured from wanton cruelty 
 hereafter. But wl)o docs not irnmediately detect the arti^ce, 
 or can give them a moment's credit for any thing more than a 
 design, bv this show of lenity, to avert the slorm which they 
 think hangs over them. On the whole, I fear there is reason to 
 wish, for the honour of England, tliat the nuisance had never 
 been troubled ; lesl we eventually make ourselves justly charge 
 able with the whole oflence by not removing it. The enormity 
 cannot be palliated ; we can no longer plead that we were not 
 aware of it, or that our attention was ^otherwise engaged ; and 
 shall be inexcusable, therefore, ourselves, if we leave the least 
 part of it unrei.lrcssed. Such arguments as Pharaoh might iiave 
 used, to justify his destruction of tiie Israelites, substituting only 
 sugar for bricks, may lie ready for our use also ; but I think we 
 can fmd no belter. 
 
 Wc are tolerabl}' well, and shall rejoice to hear that, as the 
 
WILLIAM COVVPEK. 283 
 
 year rises, Mrs. Newton's health keeps pace with it. Beheve 
 me, my dear friend, 
 
 AfTectionately and truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE KEY'. WILLIAM BULL. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, May 25, 1788. 
 
 Ask possibilities and they shall be performed, but ask 
 not hymns from a man suffering by despair as I do. I could 
 not sing the Lord's song were it to save my life, banished as I 
 am, not to a strange land, but to a remoteness from his pre- 
 sence, in comparison with which the distance from cast to west 
 is no distance, is vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either in 
 prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame of mind which. 
 1 am conscious does not belong to me ; least of all can I venture 
 to use the language of absolute resignation, lest, only counter- 
 feiting, I should for that very reason be taken strictly at my 
 woi'd, and lose all my remaining comfort. Can there not be 
 found among those translations of Madame Guyon, somewhat 
 that might serve the purpose? I should think there might. 
 Submission to the will of Christ, my memory tells me, is a 
 theme that pervades them all. If so, your request is perform- 
 ed already ; and if any alteration in them should be necessary, 
 I will with all my heart make it. I have no objection to giv- 
 ing the graces of the foreigner an PJlnglish dress, but insupera- 
 ble ones to all false pretences and affected exhibitions of what I 
 do not feel. 
 
 Hoping that you will have the grace to be resigned most per- 
 fectly to this disappointment, which you should not have suf- 
 
284 CORTIRSPONDENCE OF 
 
 fercd, had it Ijccm in my power to prevent it, I remain, with 
 our best remembrances to Mr. Thornton, 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 w. r 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR rUIENl), June 5, 1788. 
 
 It is a comfort to me that you are so kind as to make al- 
 lowance for me, in consideration of my being so busy a man. 
 The truth is, that couhl I write with both hands, and with both 
 at tlie same time, verse witi) one anil prose with the other, I 
 shouU) not even so be able to dispatch both my poetry and my 
 arrears of correspondence faster than I have need. The only 
 opportunities that I can (ind for conversini; with distant friends, 
 are in the early hour (and that sometimes reduced to half a one) 
 before breakfast. Neither am 1 exempt from hindrances, which, 
 while thcjr last, arc insurmoimtable ; especially one, by which 
 1 have been occasionally a sufferer all my life. I mean an in- 
 flammation of the eyes ; a malady under wiiich I have lately la- 
 boured, and from which I am at this moment only in a small 
 degree relieved. The last sudden change of the weather, from 
 heat almost insupportable to a cold as severe as is commonly 
 felt in mid-winter, would have disabled me entirely for all sorts 
 of scribbling, had 1 not favoured the weak part a little, and 
 given my eyes a respite. 
 
 It is certain tliat we do not live far from Olney, but, small 
 as the distance is, it has too often the etfect of a separation be- 
 tween the IJeans and us. He is a man with whom, when I can 
 converse at all, I can converse on terms perfectly agreeable to 
 myself; who does not distress me with forms, nor yet disgust 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 385 
 
 mc by the neglect of Ihcm ; whose manners are easy and natu- 
 ral, and his observations always sensible. I often, therefore, 
 wish them nearer neighbours. 
 
 We have iieard notliing of the Powleys since they left us, a 
 fortnight ago ; and should be uneasy at their silence on such an 
 occasion, did we not know that she cannot write, and that he, 
 on his first return to his parish after a long absence, may possi- 
 bly find it diflicult. Her we found much improved in her health 
 and spirits, and him, as always, alfectionate and obliging. It 
 was an agi'eeable visit, and as it was ordered for mc, I hap- 
 pened to have better spirits than I have enjoyed at any time 
 since. 
 
 I shall rejoice if your friend Mr. Philips, influenced by what 
 you told him of my present engagements, shall waive his ap- 
 plication to me for a poem on the slave-trade. I account myself 
 honoui-ed by his intention to solicit me on the subject, and it 
 would give me pain to refuse him, which inevitably I shall be 
 constrained to do. The more I have considered it, the more 
 I have convinced myself that it is not a promising theme for 
 verse. General censure on the iniquity of the practice will avail 
 nothing. The world has been overwhelmed with such remarks 
 already, and to particularize all tlie horrors of it were an em- 
 ployment for the mind both of the poet and his readers, of 
 which they would necessarily soon grow weary. For my own 
 part, 1 cannot contemplate the subject very nearly, without a 
 degree of abhorrence that alFects my spirits, and sinks them 
 below the 'pitch requisite for success in verse. Lady Hesketh 
 recommended it to me some months since, and then I declined 
 it for these reasons, and for others which need not be mention- 
 ed here. 
 
 I return you many thanks forall your intelligence concerning 
 the success of the gospel in far countries, and shall rejoice in a 
 
2Sti CORHESPONDENCE OF 
 
 slight of Mr. Van Lier's letter, which, being so voluminous, 1 
 think you should bring with you, when you can take your 
 flight to Weston, rather than commit to any other convey- 
 ance. 
 
 Remember that it is now summer, and that the summer flies 
 fast, and that we shall, be happy to see you and yours, as spee- 
 dily and for as long a time as you can aflbrd. We are sorry, 
 truly so, that Mrs. Newton is so frequently and so much in- 
 disposed. Accept our best love to you both, and believe me^ 
 my dear friend. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 After wliat I have said on the subject of my writing engngo- 
 ments, I doubt not but you will excuse my transcribing the verses 
 to Mrs. Montague, especially considering that my eyes are weary 
 with what I have written this moraing already. • I feel some- 
 what like an impropriety in referring you to the next Gentle- 
 man's Magazine; but at the present juncture I know not how 
 to do better. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, June 19, 1788. 
 
 You must think me a tardy correspondent, unless you 
 have had charity enough for me to suppose that I have met with 
 other hindrances than those of indolence and inattention. With 
 these I cannot charge myself, for I am never idle by choice; 
 and inattentive to )'ou I certainly have not been ; but, on the con- 
 trary, can safely affirm that every day I have thought on you. 
 My silence has been occasioned by a malady to which I have all 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 2S7 
 
 iny life been subject — an inflammation of the eyes. The last sud- 
 den change of weather, from excessive heat to a wintry degree 
 of cold, occasioned it, and at the same time gave me a pinch of 
 the rheumatic kind ; from both which disorders I have l)ut just 
 recovered. I do not suppose that our climate has been much 
 altered since the days of our forcfiithers, the Picts ; but certainly 
 the human constitution in tliis country has been altered much. 
 Inured as we are from our cradles to every vicissitude in a cli- 
 mate more various than any other, and in ])Osscssion of all that 
 modern refinement has been able to contrive for our security, 
 we are yet as subject to blights as the tenderest blossoms of 
 spring; and are so well admonished of every change in the at- 
 mosphere by our bodily feelings, as hardly to have any need of 
 a weather-glass to mark them. For this we are, no doubt, in- 
 debted to the multitude of our accommodations; for it was not 
 possible to retain the hardiness that originally belonged to our 
 race, under the delicate management to which for many ages 
 we have now been accustomed. I can hardly doubt that a bull- 
 dog or a game-cock might be made just as susceptible of inju- 
 ries from weather as myself, Vv-ere he dieted, and in all respects 
 accommodated as I am. Or if the project did not succeed in the 
 first instance (for we ourselves did not become what we are 
 at once), in process of time, however, and in a course of many 
 generations it would certainly take effect. Let such a dog be 
 fed in his infancy with pap, Naples' biscuit, and boiled chicken; 
 let him be wrapt in flannel at night, sleep on a good feather-bed, 
 and ride out in a coach for an airing; and if .his posterity do 
 not become slight-limbed, puny, and valetudinarian, it will be 
 a wonder. Thus our parents, and their parents, and the parents 
 of both were managed ; and thus ourselves ; and the consequence 
 is, that instead of being weather-proof, even without clothing, 
 furs and flannels are not warm enough to defend us. It is ob- 
 
288 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 servoble, however, that tlioug:h we have by these means lost 
 much of our pristine vio;our, our days are not the fewer. We 
 live as long as those whonn, on account of the sturdiness of their 
 frame, the poets supposed to have been the progeny of oaks. 
 Perhaps too they had little feeling, and for that reason also might 
 be imagined to be so descended. P^or a very robust athletic habit 
 seems inconsistent with much sensibility. But sensibility is the 
 sine qua non of real happiness. If, therefore, our lives have not 
 been shortened, and if our feelings have been rendered more 
 exquisite as our habit of body has become more delicate, on the 
 whole, perhaps, we have no cause to complain, but are rather 
 gainers by our degeneracy. 
 
 Do you consider what you do, when you ask one poet his 
 opinion of another? Yet I think I can give you an honest an- 
 swer to your question, and without the least wish to nibble. 
 Thomson was admirable in description ; but it always seemed to 
 me that there was somewhat of affectation in his style, and that his 
 numbers are sometimes not well harmonized. I could wish too, 
 with Dr. Johnson, that he had confined himself to this country, 
 for when he describes what he never saw, one is forced to read 
 him with some allowance for possible misrepresentation. He 
 was, however, a true poet, and his lasting fame has proved it. 
 Believe me, dear Madam, with my best respects to Mr. King, 
 most truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 P. S. I am extremely sorry that you have been so much in- 
 disposed, and hope that your next will bring me a more favoura- 
 ble account of your health. I know not why, but I rather sus- 
 pect that you do not allow yourself sufficient air and exercise 
 The physicians call them non-naturals, I suppose to deter thei? 
 patients from the use of them. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. ogg 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 24, 1788. 
 
 I rejoice that my letter found you at all points so well 
 prepared to answer it according to our wishes. I have written 
 to Lady Hesketh to apprise her of your intended journey hither, 
 and she, having as yet made no assignation with us herself, will 
 easily adjust her measures to the occasion. 
 
 I have not lately had an opportunity of seeing Mr. Bean. 
 The late rains, which have revived the hopes of the farmers, have 
 intercepted our communication. I hear, however, that he meets 
 with not a little trouble, in his progress towards a reformation of 
 Olney manners ; and that the Sabbath, which he wishes to have 
 hallowed by a stricter and more general observation of it, is, 
 through the brutality of the lowest order, a day of more turbu- 
 lence and riot than any other. At the latter end of last week 
 he found himself obliged to make another trip to the justice, in 
 company with two or three of the principal inhabitants. What 
 passed, I have not learned ; but I understand their errand to have 
 been, partly at least, to efface the evil impressions made on his 
 worship's mind, by a man who had applied to him a day or two 
 before for a warrant against the constable ; which, however, he 
 did not obtain. I rather fear that the constables are not altogether 
 judicious in the exercise either of their justice, or their mercy. 
 Some who have seemed proper objects of punishment, they have 
 released, on a hopeless promise of better behaviour; and others, 
 whose offence has been personal against themselves, though in 
 other respects less guilty, they have set in the stocks. The 
 ladies, however, and of course the ladies of Silver-End in par- 
 ticular, give them the most trouble, being always active on these 
 
 o o 
 
290 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 occasions, as well as clamorous, and both with impunity. For 
 the sex are privileged in the free use of their tongues, and of 
 their nails, the Parliament having never yet laid them under any 
 penal restrictions ; and they employ them accordingly. John- 
 son, the constable, lost much of his skin, and still more of his 
 coat, in one of those Sunday battles ; and had not Ashburner 
 hastened to his aid, had j)robably been completely stripped of 
 both. With such a zeal are these fair ones animated, though, 
 unfortunately for all parties, rather erroneously. 
 
 What you tell me of the effect that the limitation of numbers 
 to tonnage, is likely to have on the Slave Trade, gives me the 
 greatest pleasure. Should it amount, in the issue, to an abolition 
 of the traffic, I shall account it indeed an argument of great wis- 
 dom in our youthful minister. A silent, and indirect way of 
 doing it, is, I suppose, the only safe one. At the same time, in 
 how horrid a light does it place the trade itself; when it comes 
 to be proved by consequences, that the mere article of a little 
 elbow-room for the poor creatures in their passage to the islands, 
 could not be secured by an order of Parliament, without the 
 utter annihilation of it ! If so it prove, no man deserving to be 
 called a man, can say that it ought to subsist a moment longer. — 
 My writing-time is expended, and breakfast is at hand. With 
 our joint love to the trio, and our best wishes for your good 
 journey to Weston, I remain, my dear friend, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 391 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 6, 1788. 
 
 " Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear" have com- 
 pelled me to draw on you for the sum of twenty pounds, paya* 
 ble to John Higgins, Esq. or order. The draft bears date July 
 5th. — You will excuse my giving you this trouble, in considera- 
 tion that I am a poet, and can consequently draw for money 
 much easier than I can earn it, 
 
 I heard of you a few days since, from Walter Bagot, who 
 called here and told me that you were gone, I think, into Rut- 
 landshire, to settle the accounts of a large estate unliquidated 
 many years. Intricacies, that would turn my brains, are play to 
 you. But I give you joy of a long vacation at hand, when I 
 suppose that even you will find it pleasant, if not to be idle, at 
 least not to be hemmed around by business. 
 
 Yours, ever, 
 
 W. C, 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Aug. 28, 1788. 
 
 Should you discard me from the number of your cor- 
 respondents, you will treat me as I seem to deserve, though I 
 do not actually deserve it. I have lately been engaged with 
 company at our house, who resided with us five weeks, and have 
 had much of the rheumatism into the bargain. Not in my fingers, 
 you will say — True. But you know as well as I, that pain, be 
 it where it may, indisposes us to writing. 
 You express some degree of wonder that I found you out to 
 
298 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 be sedentary, at least much a stayer within doors, without any 
 sufficient data for my direction. Now if I should gjuess your 
 figure and stature with equal success, you will deem me not only 
 a poet but a conjurer. Yet in fact I have no pretensions of that 
 sort. I have only formed a picture of you in my own imagina- 
 tion, as we ever do of a person of whom we think much, though 
 we have never seen that person. Your height I conceive to be 
 about five feet five inches, which though it would make a short 
 man, is yet height enough for a woman. If you insist on an inch 
 or two more, 1 have no objection. You are not very fat, but 
 somewhat inclined to be fat, and unless you allow yourself a 
 little more air and exercise, will incur some danger of exceeding 
 in your dimensions before you die. Let me, therefore, once 
 more reQommend to you to walk a little more, at least in your 
 garden, and to amuse yourself occasionally with pulling up here 
 and there a weed, for it will be an inconvenience to you to be 
 much fatter than you are, at a time of life when your strength 
 will be naturally on the decline. I have given you a fair com- 
 plexion, a slight tinge of the rose in your cheeks, dark brown 
 hair, and, if the fashion would give you leave to shew it, an open 
 and well-formed forehead. To all this I add a pair of eyes not 
 quite black, but nearly approaching to that hue, and very ani- 
 mated. I have not absolutely determined on the shape of your 
 nose, or the form of your mouth; but should you tell me that I 
 have in other respects drawn a tolerable likeness, have no doubt 
 but I can describe them too. I assure you that though I have 
 a great desire to read him, I have never seen Lavater, nor have 
 availed myself in the least of any of his rules on this occasion. 
 Ah, Madam ! if with all that sensiliility of yours, which exposes 
 you to so much sorrow, and necessarily must expose you to it, 
 in a world like this, I have had the good fortune to make you 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 239 
 
 smile, I have then painted you, whether with a strong resem- 
 blance, or with none at all, to very good purpose. 
 
 I had intended to have sent you a little poem, which I have 
 lately finished, but have no room to transcribe it. You shall 
 have it by another opportunity. Breakfast is on the table, and 
 my time also fails, as well as my paper. I rejoice that a cousin 
 of yours found my volumes agreeable to him, for, being your 
 cousin, I will be answerable for his good taste and judgment. 
 
 When I wrote last, I was in mourning for a dear and much- 
 valued uncle, Ashley Cowper. He died at the age of eighty-six. 
 My best respects attend Mr. King ; and I am, dear Madam, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 2, 1788. 
 
 I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe, espe- 
 cially when I reflect that you performed the journey on a day 
 so fatal, as I understand, to others travelling the same road. I 
 found those comforts in your visit which have formerly sweet- 
 ened all our interviews, in part restored. I knew you ; knew 
 you for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out of the 
 wilderness into the pasture where the chief Shepherd feeds his 
 flock, and felt my sentiments of affectionate friendship for you 
 the same as ever. But one thing was still wanting, and that 
 thing the crown of all. I shall find it in God's time, if it be 
 not lost for ever. "(Vhen I say this, I say it trembling ; for at 
 what time soever comfort shall come, it will not come without 
 its attendant evil ; and whatever good thing may occur in the 
 
294 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 interval, I have sad forebodings of the event, having learned by 
 experience that I was born to be persecuted with peculiar fury, 
 and assuredly believing, that such as my lot has been, it will be 
 so to the end. This belief is connected in my mind with an ob- 
 servation I have often made, and is perhaps founded, in great part, 
 upon it: that there is a certain style of dispensations maintained 
 by Providence in the dealings of God with every man, which, 
 however the incidents of his life may vary, and though he may 
 be thrown into many different situations, is never exchanged for 
 another. The style of dispensation peculiar to myself has 
 hitherto been that of sudden, violent, unlooked-for change. 
 When I have thought myself falling into the abyss, I have been 
 caught up again ; when I have thought myself on the threshold 
 of a happy eternity, I have been thrust down to hell. The 
 rough and the smooth of such a lot, taken together, should per- 
 haps have taught me never to despair ; but through an unhappy 
 propensity in my nature to forebode the worst, they have, on 
 the contrary, operated as an admonition to me never to hope. 
 A firm persuasion that I can never durably enjoy a comfortable 
 state of mind, but must be depressed in proportion as I have 
 been elevated, withers my joys in the bud, and, in a manner, 
 entombs them before they are born : for I have no expectation 
 but of sad vicissitude, and ever believe that the last shock of 
 all will be fatal. 
 
 Mr. Bean has still some trouble with his parishioners. The 
 suppression of five public-houses is the occasion. He called on 
 me yesterday morning for advice ; though, discreet as he is him- 
 self, he has little need of such counsel as I can give him. • , 
 
 who is subtle as a dozen foxes, met him on Sunday, exactly at 
 his descent fiom the pulpit, and proposed to him a general 
 meeting of the parish, in vestry, on the subject. Mr. Bean, 
 attacked so suddenly, consented ; but afterward repented that 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 295 
 
 he had done so, assured as he was that he should be out-voted. 
 There seemed no remedy but to apprise them beforehand that he 
 would meet them indeed, but not with a view to have the ques- 
 tion decided by a majority : that he would take that opportunity 
 to make his all€ig;ations a2;ainst each of the houses in question, 
 which if they could refute, well ; if not, they could no longer 
 reasonably oppose his measures. This was what he came to 
 submit to my opinion. I could do no less than approve it; and 
 he left me with a purpose to declare his mind to them immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 I beg that you will give my affectionate respects to Mr. Ba- 
 con, and assure him of my sincere desire that he should think 
 himself perfectly at liberty respecting the mottos, to choose one, 
 or to reject both, as likes him best. I wish also to be remem- 
 bered with much affection to Mrs. Cowper, and always rejoice 
 to hear of her well-being. 
 
 Believe me, as I truly am, my dear friend, most affectionately 
 yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING, 
 
 MY DEAREST MADAM, Sept. 25, 1788. 
 
 How surprised was I this moment to meet a servant at 
 the gate, who told me that he came from you ! He could not 
 have been more welcome, unless he had announced yourself. I 
 am charmed with your kindness and with all your elegant pre- 
 sents. So is Mrs. Unvvin, who begs me in particular to thank 
 you warmly for the housewife, the very thing she had just be- 
 gun to want. In the fire-screen you have sent me an enigma 
 which at present I have not the ingenuity to expound ; but some 
 
i 
 
 296 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Muse will help me, or I shall meet with somebody able to in- 
 struct me. In all that I have seen besides, for that I have not 
 yet seen, I admire both the taste and the execution. A tooth- 
 pick case I had : but one so large, that no modern waistcoat 
 pocket could possibly contain it. It was some years since the 
 Dean of Durham's, for whose sake I valued it, though to me 
 useless. Yours is come opportunely to supply the deficiency, 
 and shall be my constant companion to its last thread. The 
 cakes and the apples we will eat, remembering who sent them; 
 and when I say this, I will add also, that when we have neither 
 apples nor cakes to eat, we will still remember you. — What the 
 MS. poem can be, that you suppose to have been written by me, 
 I am not able to guess ; and since you will not allow that I have 
 guessed your person well, am become shy of exercising conjec- 
 ture on any meaner subject. Perhaps they may be some mor- 
 tuary verses, which I wrote last year, at the request of a cer- 
 tain parish-clerk. If not, and you have never seen them, I will 
 send you them hereafter. 
 
 You have been at Bedford. Bedford is but twelve miles from 
 Weston. When you are at home, we are but eigliteen miles 
 asunder. Is it possible that such a paltry interval can separate 
 us always? I will never believe it. Our house is going to be 
 fdled by a cousin of mine and her train, who will, I hope, 
 spend the winter with us. I cannot, therefore, repeat my in- 
 vitation at present, but expect me to be very troublesome on 
 that theme next summer. I could almost scold you for not 
 making Weston in your way home from Bedford. Though I 
 am neither a relation, nor quite eighty-six years of age, believe 
 me I should as much rejoice to see you and Mr. King, as if I 
 were both. 
 
 (Mrs. Unwin has this moment opened the screen, which I 
 admire, and shall find particularly useful.) 
 
WIT.MAM COWPEU. 297 
 
 I send you, my dear madam, the poem I promised you, and 
 shall be glad to send you any thing and every thing I write, as 
 fast as it flows. Behold my two volumes ! which, though your 
 old acquaintance, I thought, might receive an additional recom- 
 mendation in the shape of a present from myself. 
 
 What I have written I know not, for all has been scribbled 
 in haste. I will not tempt your servant's honesty, who seems 
 by his countenance to have a great deal, being equally watchful 
 to preserve uncorrupted the honesty of my own. 
 
 I am, my dearest madam, with a thousand thanks for this 
 stroke of friendship, which I feel at my heart, and with Mrs. 
 Unwinds very best respects, most sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 P. S. My two hares died little more than two years since j 
 one of them aged ten years, the other eleven years and eleven 
 months. 
 
 Our compliments attend Mr. King. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MV DEAK MADAM, Oct. 11, 1788. 
 
 You are perfectly secure from all danger of being over- 
 whelmed with presents from me. It is not much that a poet 
 can possibly have it in his power to give. When he has pre- 
 sented his own works, he may be supposed to have exhausted 
 all means of donation. They are his only superfluity. There 
 was a time, but that time was before I commenced writer for 
 the press, when I amused myself in a way somewhat similar to 
 yours; allowing, I mean, for the diflerence between masculine 
 and female operations. The scissors and the needle are your 
 chief implements ; mine were the chisel and the saw. In those 
 
 p p 
 
298 COHRKSPONnENnP- OF 
 
 days you might have been in some danger of too plentiful u 
 return for youi- favours. Tables, such as they were, and joint- 
 stools such as never were, might have travelled to Perton-hall 
 in most inconvenient abundance. But I have long since discon- 
 tinued this practice, and many others which 1 found it necessary 
 to adopt, that I might escape the worst of all evils, both in it- 
 self and in its consequences — an idle life. Many arts I have 
 exercised with this view, for which nature never designed me; 
 though among them were some in which I arrived at consider- 
 able proficiency, by mere dint of the most heroic perseverance. 
 There is not a "squire in all this country who can boast of hav- 
 ing made better squirrel houses, hutches for rabbits, or bird- 
 cages, than myself, and in the article of cabbage-nets, I had no 
 superior. I even had the hardiness to take in hand the pencil, 
 and studied a whole year the art of drawing. Many figures 
 were the fruit of my labours, which had, at least, the merit of 
 being unparalleled by any production either of art or nature. 
 But before the year was ended, 1 had occasion to wonder at the 
 progress that may be made, in despite of natural deficiency, by 
 dint alone of practice; for I actually produced three landscapes, 
 which a lady thought worthy to be framed and glazed. I then 
 judged it high time to exchange this occupation for another, lest, 
 by any subsequent productions of inferior merit, I should for- 
 feit the honour I had so fortunately acquired. But gardening 
 was, of all cmj)loymcnts, that in which I succeeded bestj 
 though even in this 1 did not suddenly attain perfection. I be- 
 gan with lettuces and cauliflowers : from them I proceeded to 
 cucumbers ; next to melons. I then purchased an orange-tree, 
 to which, in due time, I added two or three myrtles. These 
 served me day and night with employment during a whole se- 
 vere winter. To defend them from the frost, in a situation that 
 exposed them to its severity, cost me much ingenuity and 
 
"WILLIAM COWPEK. 2'9& 
 
 touch attendance. I contrived to give them a fire heat ; and 
 have waded night after night through the snow, with the bel- 
 lows under my arm, just before going to bed, to give the latest 
 possible puflf to the embers, lest the frost should seize them be- 
 fore morning. Very minute beginnings have sometimes im- 
 portant consequences. From nursing two or three little ever- 
 greens, I became ambitious of a green-house, and accordingly 
 built one ; which, verse excepted, afforded me amusement for 
 a longer time than any expedient of all the many to which I 
 have fled for refuge frorri the misery of having nothing to do. 
 When I left Olney for Weston, 1 could no longer have a green- 
 house of my own ; but in a neighbour's garden I find a better, 
 of which the sole management is consigned to me. 
 
 I had need take care, when I begin a letter, that the subject 
 with which I set off be of some importance ; for before I can 
 exhaust it, be it what it may, I have generally filled my paper. 
 But self is a subject inexhaustible, which is the reason that 
 though I have said little, and nothing, I am afraid, worth your 
 hearing, I have only room to add, that I am, my dear Madam, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 P. S. Mrs. Unwin bids rhe present her best compliments, 
 and say how much she shall be obliged to you for the receipt 
 to make that most excellent cake which came hither in its na- 
 tive pan. There is no production of yours that will not be al- 
 ways most welcome at Weston. 
 
300 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 29, 1^88. 
 
 Not to fill my paper with apologies, I will only say, that 
 you know my occupation, and how little time it leaves me for 
 other employments ; in which, had I leisure for them, I could 
 take much pleasure. Letter-writing would be one of the most 
 agreeable, and especially writing to you. 
 
 Poor Jenny Raban is declining fast toward the grave, and as 
 fast aspiring to the skies. I expected to have heard yesterday 
 of her death ; but learned, on enquiry, that she was better. Dr. 
 Kerr has seen her, and by virtue, I suppose, of his prescriptions, 
 her fits, with which she was frequently troubled, are become 
 less frequent. But there is no reason, I believe, to look for her 
 recovery. Her case is a consumption, into which I saw her 
 sliding swiftly in the spring. There is not much to be lament- 
 ed, or that ought to be so, in the death of those that go to glory. 
 She was a beautiful girl, and perhaps may have left a heart-ache 
 for a legacy to some poor swain at Olney ; though I never heard, 
 beautiful as siie was, that she had any lovye7's. INIany an ugly 
 bundle can find an husband in such a place as Olney, while Ve- 
 nus herself would shine there unnoticed. 
 
 If you find many blots, and my writing illegible, you must 
 pardon them, in consideration of the cause. Lady Heskethand 
 Mrs. Unwin are both talking as if they designed to make them- 
 selves amends for the silence they are enjoined while I sit trans- 
 lating Homer. Mrs. Unwin is preparing the breakfast, and not 
 having seen each other since they parted to go to bed, they have 
 consequently a deal to communicate. 
 
 I have seen Mr. Greatheed, both in his own house and herc 
 Prosperity sits well on him, and I cannot find that this advan- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 3Q1 
 
 tageous change in his condition has made any alteration either 
 in his views or his behaviour. The winter is gliding merrily 
 away while my cousin is with us. She annihilates the difference 
 between cold and heat, gloomy skies and cloudless. I have 
 written I know not what, and with the dispatch of legerdemain ; 
 but with the utmost truth and consciousness of what I say, as- 
 sure you, my dear friend, that I am 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Dec. 6, 1788. 
 
 It must, if you please, be a point agreed between us, that 
 we will not make punctuality in writing the test of our regard 
 for each other, lest we should incur the danger of pronouncing 
 and suffering by an unjust sentence, and this mutually. I have 
 told you, I believe, that the half hour before breakfast is my 
 only letter-writing opportunity. In summer I rise rather 
 early, and consequently at that season can find more time for 
 scribbling than at present. If I enter my study now before 
 nine, I find all at sixes and sevens ; for servants will take, in 
 part at least, the liberty claimed by their masters. That you 
 hiay not suppose us all sluggards alike, it is necessary, however, 
 that I should add a word or two on this subject, in justification 
 of Mrs. Unwin, who, because the days are too short for the im- 
 portant concerns of knitting stockings and mending them, rises 
 generally by candle-light ; a practice so much in the style of all 
 the ladies of antiquity who were good for any thing, that it is 
 impossible not to applaud it. 
 
30;8 COliRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Mrs. Battlson beino; dead, I began to fear tbat you would 
 have no more calls to Bedford; but the marriage, so near at 
 hand, of the young lady you mention with a gentleman of that 
 place, gives me hope again that you may occasionally approach 
 us as heretofore, and that on some of those occasions you will 
 perhaps find )'our way to Weston. The deaths of some and the 
 marriages of others make a new world of it every thirty years. 
 Within that space of time, the majority are displaced, and a 
 new generation has succeeded. Here and there one is permit- 
 ted to stay a little longer, that there may not be wanting a few 
 o-rave Dons like myself, to make the observation. This thought 
 struck me very forcibly the other day, on reading a paper called 
 the County Chronicle, which came hither in the package of 
 some books from London. It contained news from Hertford- 
 shire, and informed me, among other things, that at Great Berk- 
 hampstead, the place of my birth, there is hardly a family left 
 of all those with whom, in my early days, I was so familiar- 
 The houses, no doubt, remain, but the inhabitants are only to 
 be found now by their grave-stones ; and it is certain that I 
 might pass through a town in which I was once a sort of princi- 
 pal figure, unknowing and unknown. They are happy who 
 have not taken up their rest in a world fluctuating as the sea, and 
 passing away with the rapidity of a river. I wish to my heart 
 that yourself and Mr. King may long continue, as you have al- 
 ready long continued, exceptions from the general truth of this 
 remark. You doubtless married early, and the thirty-six years 
 elapsed may have yet other years to succeed them. I do not 
 forget that your relation Mrs. Battison lived to the age of eighty- 
 six. I am glad of her longevity, because it seems to aflbrd 
 some assurance of yours; and I hope to know you better yet 
 before you die. 
 
 I have never seen the Observer, but am pleased with being 
 
WILIJAM COWPF.R. 303 
 
 handsomely spoken of by an old school-fellow. Cumberland 
 and I boarded together in the same house at Westminster. He 
 was at that time clever, and I suppose has given proof sufficient 
 to the world that he is still clever : but of all that he has written, 
 it has never fallen in my way to read a syllable, except perhaps in 
 a magazine or review, the sole sources, at present, of all my intelli- 
 gence. Addison speaks of persons who grow dumb in the study 
 of eloquence, and I have actually studied Homer till I am be- 
 come a mere ignoramus in every other province of literature. 
 
 An almost general cessation of egg-laying among the hens 
 has made it impossible for Mrs. Unwin to enterprise a cake. 
 She, however, returns you a thousand thanks for the receipt ; 
 and being now furnished with the necessary ingredients, will 
 begin directly. My letter-writing time is spent, and I must 
 now to Homer. With my best respects to Mr. King, I remain, 
 dear Madam, 
 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 P. S. When I wrote last, I told you, I believe, that Lady 
 Hesketh was with us. She is with us now, making a cheerful 
 winter for us at Weston. The acquisition of a new friend, and, 
 at a late day, the recovery of the friend of our youth, are two 
 of the chief comforts of which this life is susceptible. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 9, 1788. 
 
 That I may return you the Latin manuscript as soon as 
 possible, I take a short opportunity to scratch a few hasty lines, 
 that it may not arrive alone. I have made here and there an 
 
JD4 COHUESPONDENCIi Ol- 
 
 alteration, which appeared to mc for the belter ; but, on the 
 whole, I cannot but wonder at your adroitness in a business to 
 which you have been probably at no time much accustomed, 
 and which, for many years, you have not at all practised. If, 
 when you shall have written the whole, you shall wish for a 
 corrector of the rest, so far as my own skill in the matter goes, 
 it is entirely at your service. 
 
 Lady Hesketh is obliged to you for the part of your letter in 
 which she is mentioned, and returns her compliments. She 
 loves all my friends, and consequently cannot be indifferent to 
 you. The Throckmortons are gone into Norfolk, on a visit to 
 Lord Petre. They will probably return this day fortnight. Mr. 
 
 F is now preacher at Ravenstone. Mr. C still preaches 
 
 here. The latter is warmly attended. The former has heard 
 him, having, I suppose a curiosity to know by what charm he 
 held his popularity ; but whether he has heard him to his own 
 edification, or not, is more than 1 can say. Probably he won- 
 ders, for I have heard that he is a sensible man. His success- 
 ful competitor is wise in nothing but his knowledge of the 
 gospel. 
 
 1 am summoned to breakfast, and am, my dear friend, with 
 our best love to Mrs. Newton, Miss Catlett, and yourself. 
 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 1 have not the assurance to call this an answer to your letter, 
 in which were many things deserving much notice : but it is 
 the best that, in the present moment, I am able to send you. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 29, 1789. 
 
 This morning I said to Mrs. Unvvin, "I must write to 
 Mrs. King : her long silence alarms me — something has hap- 
 pened," These words of mine proved only a prelude to the 
 arrival of your messenger with his most welcome charge, for 
 which I return you my sincerest thanks. You have sent me 
 the very things I wanted, and which I should have continued 
 to want, had not you sent them. As often as the wine is set 
 on the table, I have said to myself, This is all very well ; but 
 I have no bottle-stands : and myself as often replied. No mat- 
 ter; you can make shift without them. Thus I and myself 
 have conferred together many a day ; and you, as if you had 
 been privy to the conference, have kindly supplied the deficiency, 
 and put an end to the debate for ever. 
 
 When your messenger arrived I was beginning to dress for 
 dinner, being engaged to dine with my neighbour Mr. Throck- 
 morton, from whose house I am just returned, a«d snatch a few 
 moments before supper to tell you how much I am obliged to 
 you. You will not, therefore, find me very prolix at present ; 
 but it shall not be long before you shall hear further from 
 me. Your honest old neighbour sleeps under our roof, and will 
 be gone in the morning before I shall have seen him. 
 
 I have more items than one by wliich to remember the late 
 frost : it has cost me the bitterest uneasiness. Mrs. Unwin got 
 a fall on the gravel-walk covered with ice, which has confined 
 her to an upper chamber ever since. She neither broke nor 
 dislocated any bones •, but received such a contusion below the 
 hip, as crippled her completely. She now begins to recover, 
 after having been helpless as a child for a whole fortnight ; but 
 
306 COttRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 SO slowly at present, that lier amendment is even now almost 
 imperceptible. 
 
 Engaged, however, as I am with my own private anxieties, I 
 yet find leisure to interest myself not a little in the distresses of 
 the Royal Family, especially in those of the Queen. The Lord 
 Chancellor called the other morning on Lord Stafford : entering 
 the room, he threw his hat into a sofa at the fire-side, and 
 clasping his hands, said. 1 have heard of distress, and I have 
 read of it ; but I never saw distress equal to that of the Queen. 
 This I know from particular and certain authority. 
 
 My dear Madam, I have not time to enlarge at present on 
 this subject, or to touch any other. Once more, therefore, 
 thanking you for your kindness, of which I am truly sensible ; 
 and thanking, too, Mr. King for the favour he has done me in 
 subscribing to my Homer, and at the same time begging you to 
 make my best compliments to him, I conclude myself, with 
 Mrs. Unwin's acknowledgments of your most acceptable present 
 to her, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, March 12, 1789. 
 
 I feel myself in no small degree unworthy of ihe kind 
 solicitude which you express concerning me and my welfare, 
 after a silence so much longer than 1 gave you reason to ex- 
 pect. I should indeed account myself inexcusable, had I not 
 to allege, in my defence, perpetual engagements of such a kind 
 as would by no means be dispensed with. Had iiomer alone 
 been in question, Homer should have made room for you : but 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 307 
 
 I have had other work in hand at the same time, equally press- 
 ing, and more laborious. Let it suffice to say, that I have not 
 wilfully neglected you for a moment, and that you have never 
 been out of my thoughts a day together. But I begin to per- 
 ceive, that if a man will be an author, he must live neither to 
 himself nor to his friends so much as to others, whom he never 
 saw nor shall see. 
 
 My promise to follow my last letter with another speedily, 
 which promise I kept so ill, is not the only one which 1 am 
 conscious of having made to you, and but very indifferently 
 performed. I promised you all the smaller pieces that I should 
 produce, as fast as occasion called them forth, and leisure oc- 
 curred to write them. Now, the fact is, that I have produced 
 several since I made that fair profession, of which I have sent 
 you hardly any. The reason is, that, transcribed into the body 
 of a letter, they would leave me no room for prose ; and that 
 other conveyance than by the post I cannot find, even after en- 
 quiry made among all my neighbours for a traveller to Kimbol- 
 ton. Well, we shall see you, I hope, in the summer; and then 
 I will show you all. I will transcribe one for you every morn- 
 ing before breakfast, as long as they last ; and when you come 
 down, you shall find it laid on your napkin. I sent one last 
 week to London, which by some kind body or another, I know 
 not whom, is to be presented to the Queen. The subject, as 
 you may guess, is the King's recovery ; a theme that might 
 make a bad poet a good one, and a good one excel himself. 
 This, too, you shall see when we meet, unless it should bounce 
 upon you before, from some periodical register of all such mat- 
 ters. 
 
 I shall commission my cousin, who lately left us, to procure 
 for me the book you mention. Being, and having long been, 
 .^o deep in the business of translation, it was natural that T 
 
308 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 should have many thouy;hts on that subject. I have accordingly 
 had as many as would of themselves, perhaps, make a volume, 
 and shall be glad to compare them with those of any writer re- 
 commended by Mr. Martyn. When you write next to that 
 gentleman, I beg you, Madam, to present my compliments to 
 him, with thanks both for the mention of Mr, Twining's book, 
 and for the honour of his name among my subscribers. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin, though two months ago she fell, is still lame. 
 The severity of the season, which has not suffered her to exer- 
 cise herself in the open air, has, no doubt, retarded her reco- 
 ver}' : but she recovers, though even more slowly than she 
 walks. She joins me in best respects to yourself and Mr. King, 
 and in hearty desires to see you both at Weston. Forgive the 
 past. I make no more promises, except to remain always, my 
 dear Madam, 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
 I'O MRS. KING. 
 
 MV DEAR MADAM, April 22, 1789. 
 
 Having waited hitherto in expectation of the messenger 
 whom, in your last, you mentioned a design to send, I have at 
 length sagaciously surmised that you delay to send him in ex- 
 pectation of hearing first from me. I would that his errand 
 hither were better worthy the journey. I shall have no very 
 voluminous packet to charge him with when he comes. Such, 
 however, as it is, it is ready ; and has received an addition in 
 the interim of one copy, wliich would not have made a pirt of 
 it, had your Mercury arriveil here sooner. It is on the subject 
 of the Queen's visit to London on the night of the illumina- 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 309 
 
 tions. Mrs. Unwin, knowing the burthen that lies on my back 
 too heavy tor any but Atlantean shoulders, has kindly perform- 
 ed the copyist's part, and transcribed all that 1 hail to send you. 
 Observe, Madam, I do not write this to hasten your messenger 
 hither, but merely to account tor my own silence. It is pro- 
 bable thai the later he arrives, the more he will receive when 
 he comes ; for I never fail to write when I think I have found 
 a favourable subject. 
 
 We mourn that we must give up the hope of seeing you and 
 Mr. King at Weston. Had our correspondence commenced 
 sooner, we had certainly fouud the means of meeting; but it 
 seems that we were doomed to know each other too late for a 
 meeting in this world. May a better world make usamends,as 
 it certainly will, if I ever reach a better ! Our interviews here 
 are but imperfect pleasures at the best ; and generally from such 
 as promise us most gralilication, we receive the most disap- 
 pointment. But disappointment is, I suppose, confined to the 
 planet on whicli we dwell ; the only one in the universe, pro- 
 bably, that is inhabited by sinners. 
 
 I did not know, or even suspect, that when I received your 
 last messenger, I received so eminent a disciple of Hippocrates ; 
 a physician of such absolute control over disease and the human 
 constitution, as to be able to put a pestilence into his pocket, 
 confine it there, and to let it loose at his pleasure. We are 
 much indebted to him, that he did not give us here a stroke of 
 his ability. 
 
 I must not forget to mention that I have received (probably 
 not without your privity) Mr. Twining's valuable volume. For 
 a long time 1 supposed it to have come from my bookseller, 
 who now and then sends me a new publication ; but I find, on 
 enquiry, that it came not from him. I beg. Madam, if you 
 are aware that Mr, Twining himself sent it, or your friend Mr. 
 
3^0 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Marty n, that you will negotiate for me on tlie occasion, and 
 contrive to convey to the obllp;ing donor my very warmest 
 thanks. I am impatient till he receives them. I have not yet 
 had time to do justice to a writer so sensible, elegant, and en- 
 tertaining, by a complete perusal of his work ; but I have with 
 pleasure sought out all those passages to which Mr. Martyn 
 was so good as to refer me, and am delighted to observe the 
 exact agreement in opinion on the subject of translation in ge- 
 neral, and on that of Mr. Pope's in particular, that subsists 
 betneen Mr. Twining and myself. With Mrs. Unwin's best 
 compliments, I remain, my dear Madam, your obliged and 
 aflfectionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, April 30, 1?89. 
 
 I thought to have sent you, by the return of your mes- 
 senger, a letter; at least, something like one: but instead of 
 sleeping here, as I supposed he would, he purposes to pass the 
 night at Lavsndon, a village three miles off. This design of 
 his is but just made known to me, and it is now near seven in 
 the evening. Therefore, lest he should be obliged to feel out 
 his way, in an unknown country, in the dark, I am forced to 
 scribble a hasty word or two, instead of devoting, as I intended, 
 the whole evening to your service. 
 
 A thousand thanks for your basket, and all the good things 
 that it contained ; particularly for my brother's Poems, whose 
 hand-writing struck me the moment I saw it. They gave me 
 some feelings of a melancholy kind, but not painful. I will 
 return them to you by the next opportunity. I wish that mine. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 311 
 
 which I send you, may prove half as pleasant to you as your 
 excellent cakes and apples have proved to us. You will then 
 think yourself sufficiently recompensed for your obliging pre- 
 sent. If a crab-stock can transform a pippin into a nonpareil, 
 what may not I effect in a translation of Homer ? Alas ! 1 fear, 
 nothing half so valuable. 
 
 I have learned at length that I am indebted for Twining's 
 Aristotle to a relation of mine, General Cowper. 
 
 Pardon me that I quit you so soon. It is not willingly ; but 
 I have compassion on your poor messenger. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Madam, and believe me 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C, 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 DEAREST MADAM, May 30, 1789. 
 
 Many thanks for your kind and valuable dispatches, none 
 of which, except your letter, I have yet had time to read ; for 
 true it is, and a sad truth too, that I was in bed when your mes- 
 senger arrived. He waits only for my answer, for which reason 
 I answer as speedily as I can. 
 
 I am glad if my poetical packet pleased you. Those stanzas 
 on the Queen's visit were presented some time since, by Miss 
 Goldsworthy, to the Princess Augusta, who has probably given 
 them to the Queen ; but of their reception I have heard nothing. 
 I gratified myself by complimenting two sovereigns whom I love 
 and honour ; and that gratification will be my reward. It would, 
 indeed, be unreasonable to expect that persons who keep a Lau- 
 reat in constant pay, should have either praise or emolument to 
 
312 CORRESPONDENCE OK 
 
 spare for every volunteer who may choose to make them his 
 subject. 
 
 I will take the greatest care of the papers with which you have 
 entrusted me, and will return them by the next opportunity. It is 
 very unfortunate that the people of Bedford should choose to have 
 the small-pox, just at the season when it woulil be sure lo prevent 
 our meeting. God only knows, Madam, when we shall meet, 
 or whether at all in this world ; but certain it is, that whether 
 we meet or not, 
 
 I am most truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Aug. 1, 1789. 
 
 The post brings me no letters that do not grumble at my 
 silence. Had not you, therefore, taken me to task as roundly as 
 others, I should have concluded you, perhaps, more indifferent 
 to my epistles than the rest of my correspondents; of whom one 
 says — " I shall be glad when you have finished Homer ; then 
 possibly you will find a little leisure for an old friend." Ano- 
 ther says — " I don't choose to be neglected, unless you equally 
 neglect every one else." Thus I hear of it with both ears, and 
 shall, till I appear in the shape of two great quarto volumes, the 
 composition of which, 1 confess, engrosses me to a degree that 
 gives my friends, to whom I feel myself much obliged for their 
 anxiety to hear from me, but too much reason to complain. 
 Johnson told Mr. Martyn the truth ; but your inference Ironi 
 that truth is not altogether so just as most of your concfusions 
 are. Instead of finding myself the more at leisure because my 
 long labour draws tci a close, 1 find myself the more occupied. 
 
WILLIAM C0WPE14. 313 
 
 As when a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he be 
 jaded, slacken his pace, but quickens it : even so it fares with 
 me. The end is in view; I seem almost to have reached the 
 mark ; and the nearness of it inspires me with fresh alacrity. 
 But, be it known to you that I have still two books of the 
 Odyssey before me, and, when they are finished, shall have 
 almost the whole eight and forty to revise. Judge, then, my 
 dear Madam, if it is yet time for me to play, or to gratify myself 
 with scribbling to those I love. No. It is still necessary that 
 waking I should be all absorpt in Homer, and that sleeping I 
 should dream of nothing else. 
 
 I am a great lover of good paintings, but no connoisseur, hav- 
 ing never had an opportunity to become one. In the last forty 
 years of my life, I have hardly seen six pictures that were worth 
 looking at; for I was never a frequenter of auctions, having 
 never had any spare money in my pocket ; and the public ex- 
 hibitions of them in London had hardly taken place when I left 
 it. My cousin, who is with us, saw the gentleman whose pieces 
 you mention, on the top of a scaffold, copying a famous picture 
 in the Vatican. She has seen some of his performances, and 
 much admires him. 
 
 You have had a great loss, and a loss that admits of no conso- 
 lation, except such as will naturally suggest itself to you ; such, 
 I mean, as the scripture furnishes. We must all leave, or be 
 left ; and it is the circumstance of all others that makes long life 
 the least desirable, that others go while we stay, till at last we 
 find ourselves alone, like a tree on a hill-top. 
 
 Accept, my dear Madam, mine and Mrs. Unwinds best com- 
 pliments to yourself and Mr. King, and believe me, however 
 unfrequent in telling you that I am so. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 - R r 
 
314 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, August 12, 1789. 
 
 I rejoice that you and Mrs. Hill arc so agreeably occu- 
 pied in your retreat. August, I hope, will make us amends 
 for the gloom of its many wintry predecessors. We are now 
 gathering from our meadows, not hay, but muck ; such stuff 
 as deserves not the carriage, which yet it must have, that the 
 after-crop may have leave to grow. The Ouse has hardly deign- 
 ed to run in his channel since the summer began. 
 
 My muse were a vixen, if she were not always ready to fly 
 in obedience to your commands. But what can be done ? I can 
 write nothing in the few hours that remain to me of this day, 
 that will be fit for your purpose; and, unless I could dispatch 
 what I write by to-morrow's post, it would not reach you in 
 time. I must add, too, that my friend the vicar of the next 
 parish* engaged me, the day before yesterday, to furnish him 
 by next Sunday with a hymn, to be sung on the occasion of 
 his preaching to the children of the Sunday-school :t of which 
 hymn I have not yet produced a syllable. I am somewhat in 
 the case of lawyer Dowlingj in Tom Jones ; and could 1 split 
 myself into as many poets as there are Muses, could find em- 
 ployment for them all. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend, 
 
 I am ever yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 • Olney. 
 
 I " Hear, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r," &c. 
 
 Yide Poems, vol. 3. page 138. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 315 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 16, 1789. 
 
 Mrs. Newton and you are both kind and just in believ- 
 ing that I do not love you less when I am long silent. Perhaps 
 a friend of mine, who wishes me to have him always in my 
 thoughts, is never so effectually possessed of the accomplish- 
 ment of that wish, as when I have been long his debtor; for 
 then-l think of him not only every day, but day and night, and 
 all day long. But I confess at the same time, that my thoughts 
 of you will be more pleasant to myself when I shall have exo- 
 nerated my conscience by giving you the letter so long due. 
 Therefore, here it comes ; — little worth your having ; but pay- 
 ment, such as it is, that you have a right to expect, and that is 
 essential to my own tranquillity. 
 
 That the Iliad and the Odyssey should have proved the occasion 
 of my suspending my correspondence with you, is a proof how 
 little we foresee the consequences of what we publish. Homer, 
 I dare say, hardly at all suspected that at the fag-end of time 
 two personages would appear, the one ycleped Sir Newton, and 
 the other Sir Cowper, who, loving each other heartily, would ne- 
 vertheless suffer the pains of an interrupted intercourse, his poems 
 the cause. So, however, it has happened ; and though it would 
 not, I suppose, extort from the old bard a single sigh, if he 
 knew it, yet to me it suggests the serious reflection above-men- 
 tioned. An author by profession had need narrowly to watch 
 his pen, lest a line should escape it which by possibility may 
 do mischief, when he has been long dead and buried. What 
 we have done, when we have written a book, will never be 
 known till the day of judgment : then the account will beliqui- 
 
316 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 dated, and all the good that it has occasioned, and all the evil, 
 will witness either for or against us. 
 
 I am now in the last book of the Odyssey, yet have still, I 
 suppose, half a year's work before me. The accurate revisal of 
 two such voluminous poems can hardly cost me less. I rejoice, 
 however, that the goal is in prospect ; for though it has cost me 
 years to run this race, it is only now that I begin to have a 
 glimpse of it. That I shall never receive any proportionable 
 pecuniary recompense for my long labours is pretty certain ; and 
 as to any fame that I may possibly gain by it, that is a commo- 
 dity that daily sinks in value, in measure as the consummation 
 of all things approaches. In the day when the lion shall dandle 
 the kid, and a little child shall lead them, the world will have 
 lost all relish for the fabulous legends of antiquity, and Homer 
 and his translator may budge off the stage together. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 1, 1789. 
 
 On this fine first of December, under an unclouded sky, 
 and in a room full of sun-shine, I address myself to the pay- 
 ment of a debt long in arrear, but never forgotten b}^ me, how- 
 ever 1 may have seemed to forget it. I will not waste time in 
 apologies. I have but one, and that one will suggest itself un- 
 mentioned. I will only add, that you are the first to whom I 
 write, of several to whom I have not written many months, 
 who all have claims upon me ; and who, I flatter myself, are 
 all grumbling at my silence. In your case, perhaps, I have 
 been less anxious than in the case of some others; because if 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 317 
 
 you have not heard from myself, you have heard from Mrs. 
 Unwin. From her you have learned that I live, that I am as 
 well as usual, and that I translate Homer : — three short items, 
 but in which is comprised the whole detail of my present his- 
 tory. Thus I fared when you were here ; thus I have fared 
 ever since you were here ; and thus, if it please God, I shall 
 continue to fare for some time longer: for, though the work is 
 done, it is not finished ; a riddle which you, who are a brother 
 of the press, will solve easily. I have also been the less anxious, 
 because I have had frequent opportunities to hear of you ; and 
 have always heard that you are in good health and happy. Of 
 Mrs. Newton, too, I have heard more favourable accounts of 
 late, which have given us both the sincerest pleasure. Mrs. 
 Unwin's case is, at preaent, my only subject of uneasiness, that 
 is not immediately personal, and properly my own. She has 
 almost constant head-aches ; almost a constant pain in her side, 
 which nobody understands ; and her lameness, within the last 
 half year, is very little amended. But her spirits are good, be- 
 cause supported by comforts which depend not on the state of 
 the body ; and I do not know that, with all these pains, her 
 looks are at all altered since we had the happiness to see you 
 here, unless, perhaps, they are altered a little for the better. I 
 have thus given you as circumstantial an account of ourselves 
 as I could ; the most interesting matter, I verily believe, with 
 which I could have filled my paper, unless I could have made 
 spiritual mercies to myself the subject. In my next, perhaps, 
 I shall find leisure to bestow a few lines on what is doing in 
 France, and in the Austrian Netherlands ; though, to say the 
 truth, I am much better qualified to write an essay on the siege 
 of Troy, than to descant on any of these modern revolutions. 
 I question if, in either of the countries just mentioned, full of 
 bustle and tumult as they are, there be a single character whom 
 
318 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Homer, were he living, would deign to make his hero. The 
 populace are the heroes now, and the stuff of which gentlemen 
 heroes are made, seems to be all expended. 
 
 I will endeavour that my next letter shall not follow this so 
 tardily as this has followed the last ; and with our joint affec- 
 tionate remembrances to yourself and Mrs. Newton, remain as 
 ever. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 4, 1790. 
 
 Your long silence has occasioned me to have a thousand 
 anxious thoughts about you. So long it has been, that whether 
 I now write to a Mrs. King at present on earth, or already in 
 Heaven, I know not. I have friends whose silence troubles. me 
 less, though I have known them longer ; because, if I hear not 
 from themselves, I yet hear from others that they are still living, 
 and likely to live. But if your letters cease to bring me news 
 of your welfare, from whom can I gain the desirable intelligence ? 
 The birds of the air will not bring it, and third person there is 
 none between us by whom it might be conveyed. Nothing is 
 plain to me on this subject, but that either you are dead, or very 
 much indisposed ; or, which would affect me with perhaps as 
 dee|) a concern. thou2:h of a different kind, very much offended. 
 The latter of these suppositions 1 think the least probable, con- 
 scious as I am of an habitual desire to offend nobody, especially 
 a lady and especially a lady to whom I havemany obligations. But 
 all the three solutions above-mentioned are very uncomfortable; 
 and if you live, and can send me one that will cause me less pain 
 than either of them, I conjure you, by the charity and beuevo- 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 31 g 
 
 lence which I know influence you upon all occasions, to com- 
 municate it without delay. 
 
 It is possible, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, 
 that you are not become perfectly indifierent to me, and to what 
 concerns me. I will therefore add a word or two on a subject 
 which once interested you, and which is, for that reason, worthy 
 to be mentioned, though truly for no other — meaning myself. 
 I am well, and have been so (uneasiness on your account ex- 
 cepted) both in mind and body, ever since I wrote to you last. 
 I have still the same employment. Homer in the morning, and 
 Homer in the evening, as constant as the day goes round. In 
 the Spring I hope to send the Iliad and Odyssey to the press. 
 So much for me and my occupations. Poor Mrs. Unwin has 
 hitherto had but an unpleasant winter ; unpleasant as constant 
 pain, either in the head or side, could make it. She joins me 
 in affectionate compliments to yourself and Mr. King, and in 
 earnest wishes that you will soon favour me with aline that shall 
 relieve me from all my perplexities. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 18, 1790. 
 
 The sincerest thanks attend you, both from Mrs. Unwin 
 and myself, for many good things, on some of which I have 
 already regaled with an affectionate remembrance of the giver. 
 We have not yet opened the cocoa-nut, but it was particularly 
 welcome. It is medicine to Mrs. Unwin, who finds it alwaj's 
 more beneficial to her health than any thing properly called 
 
320 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 medicinal. We are truly sorry that you are so much a sufferer 
 by the rheumatism. I also occasionally suffer by the same dis- 
 order, and in years past was much tormented by it. I can there- 
 fore pity you. 
 
 The report that informed you of enquiries made by Mrs. Un- 
 win after a house at Huntingdon was unfounded. We have no 
 thought of quitting Weston, unless the same Providence that 
 led us hither, should lead us away. It is a situation perfectly 
 agreeable to us both ; and lo me in particular, who write much 
 and walk much, and consequently love silence and retirement, 
 one of the most eligible. If it has a fault, it is that it seems to 
 threaten us with a certainty of never seeing you. But may we 
 not hope that when a milder season shall have improved your 
 health, we may yet, notwithstanding the distance, be favoured 
 with Mr. King's and your company? A better season will like- 
 wise improve the roads, and exactly in proportion as it does so, 
 will, in effect, lessen the interval between us. I know not if 
 Mr. Martyn be a mathematician, but most probably he is a good 
 one, and he can tell you that this is a proposition mathematically 
 true, though rather paradoxical in appearance. 
 
 I am obliged to that gentleman, and much obliged to him for 
 his favourable opinion of my translation. What parts of Homer are 
 particularly intended by the critics, as those in which I shall pro- 
 bably fall short, I know not ; but let me fail where I may, I shall 
 fail no where through want of endeavours to avoid it. The under 
 parts of the poems (those I mean which are merely narrative,) 
 I find the most difficult. These can only be supported by the 
 diction, and on these, for that reason, I have bestowed the most 
 abundant labour. Fine similes, and fine s[)eeches take care of 
 themselves; but the exact process of slaying a sheep and dress- 
 ing it, it is not so easy to dignify in our language, and in our 
 measure. But I shall have the comfort, as I said, to reflect, that 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 321 
 
 whatever may be hereafter laid to my charge, the sin of idleness 
 will not. Justly, at least, it never will. In the mean time, my 
 dear Madam, I whisper to you a secret ; — not to fall short of the 
 original in every thing, is impossible. 
 
 I send you, I believe, all my pieces that you have never seen. 
 Did I not send you Catharina ? If not, you shall have it hereafter. 
 I am, dear Madam, ever in haste, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 5, 1790. 
 
 Your kind letter deserved a speedier answer, but you 
 know my excuse, which were I to repeat always, my letters 
 would resemble the fag-end of a newspaper, where we always 
 find the price of stocks, detailed with little or no variation. 
 
 When January returns, you have your feelings concerning 
 me, and such as prove the faithfulness of your friendship. I have 
 mine also concerning myself, but they are of a cast different 
 from yours. Yours have a mixture of sympathy and tender so- 
 licitude, which makes them, perhaps, not altogether unpleasant. 
 Mine, on the contrary, are of an unmixed nature, and consist 
 simply, and merely, of the most alarming apprehensions. Twice 
 has that month returned upon me, accompanied by such horrors 
 as I have no reason to suppose ever made part of the experience 
 of any other man. I accordingly look forward to it, and meet 
 it, with a dread not to be imagined. I number the nights as 
 they pass, and in the morning bless myself that another night is 
 gone, and no harm has happened. This may argue, perhaps, 
 some imbecility of mind, and no small degree of it ; but it is 
 
 s s 
 
322 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 natural, I believe, and so natural as to be necessary and una- 
 voidable. I know that God is not governed by secondary 
 causes, in any of his operations, and that, on the contrary, they 
 are all so many agents, in his hand, which strike only when he 
 bids them. I know consequently that one month is as dangerous 
 to me as another, and that in the middle of summer, at noon- 
 day, and in the clear sunshine, I am, in reality, unless guarded 
 by him, as much exposed, as when fast asleep at midnight, and 
 in mid-winter. But we are not always the wiser for our know- 
 ledge, and I can no more avail myself of mine, than if it were 
 in the head of another man, and not in my own. I have heard 
 of bodily aches and ails that have been particularly troublesome 
 when the season returned in which the hurt that occasioned 
 them was received. The mind, I believe, (with my own, bow- 
 ever, I am sure it is so,) is liable to similar periodical afl'ection. 
 But February is come ; January, my terror, is passed ; and 
 some shades of the gloom that attended his presence, have pass- 
 ed with him. I look forward with a little cheerfulness to the 
 buds and the leaves that will soon appear, and say to myself, 
 till they turn yellow I will make myself easy. The year will 
 go round, and January will approach. I shall tremble again, 
 and I know it ; but in the mean time I will be as comfortable 
 as I can. Thus, in respect of peace of mind, such as it is that I 
 enjoy, I subsist, as the poor are vulgarly said to do, from hand 
 to mouth ; and of a Christian, such as you once knew me, am, by 
 a strange transformation, become an Epicurean philosopher, bear- 
 ing this motto on my mind, — Quid sit futurum eras, fugt 
 qiiserere. 
 
 I have run on in a strain that the beginning of your letter 
 suggested to me, with such impetuosity, that 1 have not left 
 myself opportunity to write more by the present post : and be- 
 ing unwilling that you should wait longer for what will be worth 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 323 
 
 sio thing when you get it, will only express the great pleasure 
 we feel on hearing, as we did lately from Mr, Bull, that Mrs. 
 Newton is so much better. 
 
 Truly yours, 
 ' W. C 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, March 12, 1790. 
 
 I live in such a nook, have so few opportunities of hear- 
 ing news, and so little time to read it, that to me, to begin a 
 letter seems always a sort of forlorn hope. Can it be possible, 
 I say to myself, that I should have any thing to communicate? 
 These misgivings have an ill eflfect, so far as my punctuality is 
 concerned, and are apt to deter me from the business of letter- 
 writing, as from an enterprise altogether impracticable. 
 
 I will not say that you are more pleased with my trifles than 
 they deserve, lest I should seem to call your judgment in ques- 
 tion ; but I suspect that a little partiality to the brother of my 
 brother, enters into the opinion you form of them. No matter, 
 however, by what you are influenced, it is for my interest that 
 you should like them at any rate, because, such as they are, they 
 are the only return I can make you for all your kindness. This 
 consideration will have two effects ; it will have a tendency to 
 make me more industrious in the production of such pieces, and 
 more attentive to the manner in which I write them. This re- 
 minds me of a piece in your possession, which I will entreat 
 you to commit to the flames, because I am somevVhat ashamed 
 of it. To make you amends, I hereby promise to send you a 
 new edition of it when time shall serve, delivered from the pas- 
 sages that I dislike in the first, and in other respects amended. 
 
324 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 The piece that I moan, is one entitled — " To Lady Hesketh on 
 her furnishing for mc our house at Weston" — or, as the law- 
 yers say, words to that amount. I have, likewise, since I sent 
 you the last packet, been delivered of two or three other brats, 
 and, as the year proceeds, shall probably add to the number. 
 All that come, shall be basketed in time, and conveyed to your 
 door. 
 
 I have lately received from a female cousin of mine in Nor- 
 folk, whom I have not seen these five and thirty years, a pic- 
 ture of my own mother. She died when I wanted two days of 
 being six years old ; yet I remember her perfectly, find the 
 picture a strong likeness of her, and because her memory has 
 been ever precious to me, have written a poem on the receipt 
 of it : a poem which, one excepted, I had more pleasure in 
 writing than any that I ever wrote. That one was addressed to 
 a lady whom I expect in a few minutes to come down to break- 
 fast, and who has supplied to me the place of my own mother — 
 my own invaluable mother, these six and twenty years. Some 
 sons may be said to have had many fathers, but a plurality of 
 mothers is not common. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Madam, be assured that I always think of 
 you with much esteem and affection, and am, with mine and 
 Mrs. Unwinds best compliments to you and yours, most unfeign- 
 edly your friend and humble servant, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ, 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, May 2, 1790. 
 
 1 am still at the old sport — Homer all the morning, and 
 Homer all the evening. Thus have I been held in constant 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 325 
 
 employment, I know not exactly how many, but I believe these 
 six years, an interval of eight months excepted. It has now be- 
 come so familiar to me to take Homer from my shelf at a cer- 
 tain hour, that I shall, no doubt, continue to take him from my 
 shelf at the same time, even after I have ceased to want him. 
 That period is not far distant. I am now giving the last touclies 
 to a work which, had I foreseen the difficulty of it, I should 
 never have meddled with ; but which, having at length nearly 
 finished it to my mind, I shall discontinue with regret. 
 
 My very best compliments attend Mrs. Hill, whom I love, 
 unsight unseen, as they say ; but yet truly. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, June 14, 1790. 
 
 I have hardly a scrap of paper belonging to me that is 
 not scribbled over with blank verse ; and taking out your letter 
 from a bundle of others, this moment, I find it thus inscribed 
 on the seal side. 
 
 -meantime his steeds 
 
 Snorted, by Myrmidons detain'd, and loosed 
 From their own master's chariot, foam'd to fly. 
 
 You will easily guess to what they belong ; and I mention the 
 circumstance merely in proof of my perpetual engagement to 
 Homer, whether at home or abroad ; for when I committed 
 these lines to the back of your letter, I was rambling at a con- 
 siderable distance from home. I set one foot on a mole-hill, 
 placed my hat with the crown upward on my knee, laid your 
 letter upon it, and with a pencil wrote the fragment that I have 
 
325 COKRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 sent you. In the same posture I have written many and 
 many a passage of a work which I hope soon to have done 
 with. But all this is foreign to what I intended when I 
 first took pen in hand. My purpose then was, to excuse my 
 long silence as well as I could, by telling you that I am at pre- 
 sent not only a labourer in verse, but in prose also, having been 
 requested by a friend, to whom I could not refuse it, to trans- 
 late for him a series of Latin letters received from a Dutch mi- 
 nister of the gospel at the Cape of Good Hope. With this ad- 
 ditional occupation you will be sensible that my hands are full ; 
 and it is a truth that, except to yourself, 1 would, just at this 
 time, have written to nobody. 
 
 I felt a true concern for what you told me in your last re- 
 specting the ill-state of health of your much valued friend Mr. 
 Martyn. You say, if I knew half his worth, I should, with you, 
 wish his longer continuance below. Now you must understand 
 that, ignorant as I am of Mr. Martyn, except by your report of 
 him, I do nevertheless sincerely wish it — and tliat both for your 
 sake and my own ; nor less for the sake of the public. For your 
 sake, because you love and esteem him highly ; for the sake of 
 the public, because, should it please God to take him before he 
 has completed his great botanical work, I suppose no other per- 
 son will be able to finish it so well ; and for my own sake, be- 
 cause I know he has a kind and favourable opinion beforehand 
 of my translation, and consequently, should it justify his preju- 
 dice when it appears, he will stand my friend against an army of 
 Cambridge critics. — It would have been strange indeed if self 
 had not peeped out on this subject. — I beg you will present my 
 best respects to him, and assure him that were it possible he 
 could visit Weston, I should be most happy to receive him. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin would have been employed in transcribing my 
 rhymes for you, would her health have permitted ; but it is very 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 337 
 
 seldom she can write without being much a sufferer by it. She 
 has almost a constant pain in her side, which forbids it. As soon 
 as it leaves her, or inuch abates, she will be glad to work for 
 you. 
 
 I am, like you and Mr. King, an admirer of clouds, but only 
 when there are blue intervals, and pretty wide ones too, between 
 them. One cloud is too much for me, but a hundred are not 
 too many. So with this riddle and with my best respects to 
 Mr. King, to which I add Mrs. Unwin's to you both — I remain, 
 my dear Madam, 
 
 Truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MKS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, July 16, 1790. 
 
 Taking it for granted that this will find you at Perton- 
 hall, I follow you with an early line, and a hasty one, to tell you 
 how much we rejoice to have seen yourself and Mr. King ; and 
 how much regret you have left beliind you. The wish that we 
 expressed when we were together, Mrs. Unwin and I have more 
 than once expressed since your departure, and have always felt 
 it — that it had pleased Providence to appoint our habitations 
 nearer to each other. This is a life of wishes, and they only are 
 happy who have arrived where wishes cannot enter. We shall 
 live now in hope of a second meeting, and a longer interview ; 
 w^hich, if it please God to continue to you, and to Mr. King, 
 your present measure of health, you will be able, I trust, to con- 
 trive hereafter. You did not leave us without encouragement 
 to expect it ; and I know that you do not raise expectations but 
 with a sincere design to fulfil them. 
 
328 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Nothing shall be wanting;, on our part, to accomplish in due 
 time a journey to Perton-hall. But 1 am a strange creature, who 
 am less able than any man living to project any thing out of the 
 common course, with a reasonable prospect of performance. 1 
 have singularities, of which, 1 believe, at present you know 
 nothing; antl which would till you with wonder, if you knew 
 them. 1 will add, however, in justice to myself, that they would 
 not lower me in your good opinion ; though, perhaps, tliey 
 might tempt you to question tlie soundness of my upper story. 
 Almost twenty years have I been thus unhappily circumstanced ; 
 and the remedy is in the hand of God only. That I make you 
 this partial communication on the subject, conscious, at tlie same 
 time, that you are well worthy to be entrusted witli the whole, 
 is merely because the recital would be too long for a letter, and 
 painful both to me and to you. But all this may vanish in a 
 moment ; and, if it please God, it shall. In the mean time, dear 
 ^fadam, remember me in your prayers, and mention me at those 
 times, as one whom it has pleased God to afflict with singular 
 visitations. 
 
 How 1 regret, for poor Mrs. Unwin's sake, your distance ! 
 She has no friend suitable as you to her disposition and charac- 
 ter, in all the neighbourhood. Mr. King, too, is just the friend 
 and companion witli whom 1 could be happy ; but such grow 
 not in this country. Pray tell him that 1 remember him with 
 much esteem and regard ; and, believe me, uiy dear Madam, 
 with the sincerest afl'ection, 
 
 Yours entirely. 
 
Wir.LTAM COWPEU. 320 
 
 TO THE liEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 11, 1790. 
 
 That I may not seem unreasonably tardy in answering 
 your last kind letter, I steal a few minutes from my customary 
 morning business, (at present the translation of Mr. Van Licr's 
 Narrative,) to inform you that I received it safe from the hands 
 of Judith Hughes, whom we met in the middle of Hill-field. 
 Desirous of gaining the earliest intelligence possible concerning 
 Mrs. Newton, we were going to call on her, and she was on her 
 way to us. It grieved us much that her news on that subject 
 corresponded so little with our earnest wishes of Mrs. Newton's 
 amendment. But if Dr. Benamer still gives hope of her recovery, 
 it is not, I trust, without substantial reason for doing so; much 
 less can I suppose that he would dp it contrary to his own per- 
 suasions, because a thousand reasons that must influence, in such 
 a case, the conduct of a humane and sensible physician, concur 
 to forbid it. If it shall please God to restore her, no tidings will 
 give greater jo}^ to us. In the mean time, it is our comfort to 
 know, that in any event you will be sure of supports invaluable, 
 and that cannot (a'\\ you ; though, at the same time, I know well, 
 that, with your feelings, and especially on so affecting a subject, 
 you will have need of the full exercise of all your faith and re- 
 signation. To a greater trial no man can be called, than that 
 of being a helpless eye-witness of the sufferings of one he loves, 
 and loves tenderly. This I know by experience : but it is long 
 since I had any experience of those communications from above, 
 which alone can enable us to acquit ourselves, on such an occa- 
 sion, as we ought. But it is otherwise with you, and I rejoice 
 liat it is so. 
 With respect to my own initiation into the secret of animal 
 
 T t 
 
330 COHKKSPONDKNCE OF 
 
 magnetism, I have a thousand doubts. Twice, as you know, I 
 have been overwhehned with the blackest despair ; and at those 
 times every thing in which I have been at any period of my 
 life concerned, has afforded to the enemy a handle against me. 
 I tremble, therefore, almost at every step 1 take, lest on some 
 future similar occasion it should yield him opportunity, and 
 furnish him with means to torment me. Decide for me, if you 
 can ; and in the mean time, present, if you please, my respectful 
 compliments and very best thanks to Mr. Hollovvay, for his most 
 obliging offer. I am, perhaps, the only man living who would 
 hesitate a moment, whether, on such easy terms, he should or 
 should not accept it. But if he finds another like me, he will 
 make a greater discovery than even that which he has already 
 made of the principles of this wonderful art. For I take it for 
 granted, that he is the gentleman whom you once mentioned to 
 me as indebted only to his own penetration for the knowledge 
 of it. 
 
 I shall proceed, you may depend on it, with all possible dis- 
 patch in your business. Had it fallen into my hands a few 
 months later, I should have made quicker riddance; lor before 
 the autumn shall be ended, I hope to have done with Homer. 
 But my first morning hour or two (now and then a letter which 
 must be written excepted) shall always be at your service till 
 the whole is finished. 
 
 Commending you and Mrs. Newton, with all the little power 
 I have of that sort, to His fatherly and tender care in whom you 
 have both believed, in which friendly office I am fervently 
 joined by Mrs. Unwin, I remain, with our sincere love to you 
 hoth, and to Miss Catlett, my dear friend, most affectionately 
 yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
William cowper. 331 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 My dear FRIEND, Sept. 17, 1790. 
 
 I received last night a copy of my subscribers' names 
 from Johnson, in which I see how much I have been indebted 
 to yours and to Mrs. Hill's solicitations. Accept my best 
 thanks, so justly due to you both. It is an illustrious catalogue, 
 in respect of rank and title; but meihinks I should have liked 
 it as well had it been more numerous. The sum subscribed 
 however, will defray the expense of printing ; which is as much 
 as, in these unsubscribing days, I had any reason to promise 
 myself. I devoutly second your droll wish, that the booksellers 
 may contend about me. The more the better. Seven times 
 seven, if they please ; and let them fight with the fury of 
 Achilles, 
 
 Till ev'iy rubric-post be crimson'd o'er 
 With blood of booksellers, in battle slain, 
 For me, and not a periwig untorn. 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 w. c. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Oct. 5, 1790. 
 
 I am truly concerned that you have so good an excuse 
 for your silence. Were it proposed to my choice, whether you 
 should omit to write through illness or indifference to me, I should 
 be selfish enough, perhaps, to find decision difficult for a few 
 moments; but have such an opinion, ai the same time, of my 
 affection for you, as to be veril^:^ persuaded that I should at last 
 
352 C()HRESPONl>KNCK OF 
 
 make a ri2;lit option, and wish you ratlicr to Ibr^ifct me than tc 
 be afllicted. But there is One, wiser and more your friend than 
 I can possibly be, who appoints all your suflferings, and who, by 
 a poAver altogether his own, is able to make them good for you. 
 I wish heartily that my verses had been more worthy of the 
 Counterpane, their subject. The gratitude I felt, when you 
 brought it and gave it tome, might have inspired better; but 
 a head full of Homer, I find, by sad experience, is good for 
 little else. Lady Heskcth, who is here, has seen your gift, and 
 pronounced it the most beautiful and best executed of the kind 
 she ever saw. 
 
 I have lately received from my bookseller a copy of my sub- 
 scribers' names, and do not find among them the name of Mr. 
 Professor Martyn. I mention it, because you informed me, 
 some time since, of his kind intention to number himself among 
 my encouragers on this occasion ; and because I am unwilling 
 to lose, for want of speaking in time, the honour that his name 
 will do me. It is possible, too, that he may have subscribed, 
 and that his non-appearance may be owing merely to Johnson's 
 having forgot to enter his name. Perhaps you will have an op- 
 poi'tunity to ascertain the ■matter. The catalogue will be print- 
 ed soon, and published in the Analytical Review, as the last 
 and most ell'ectual way of advertising my Translation ; and the 
 name of the gentleman in question will be particularly service- 
 able to me in this first edition of it. 
 
 My whole work is in the booksellers' hands, and ought by 
 this time to be in the press. The next spring is the time ap- 
 pointed for the publication. It is a genial season, when people 
 who are ever good-tempered at ail, are sure to be so ; a circum- 
 stance well worthy of an author's attention, especially of mine, 
 who am just going to give a thump on the outside of the critics* 
 hive, that will probably alarm them all. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER, 333 
 
 Mrs. Unwin, I think, is on the whole rather improved in 
 her health since we had the pleasure of your short visit ; 1 
 should say, the pleasure of your visit, and the pain of its short- 
 ness. 
 
 I am, my dearest Madam, 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 15, 1790. 
 
 We were surprised and grieved at Mrs. Scott's sudden 
 departure ; grieved, you may suppose, not for her, but for him, 
 whose loss, except that in God he has an all-sufficient good, is 
 irreparable. The day of separation between those who have 
 loved long and well, is an awful day, inasmuch as it calls the 
 Christian's faith and submission to the severest trial. Yet I ac- 
 count those happy, who, if they are severely tried, shall yet 
 be supported, and be carried safely through. What would be- 
 come of me on a similar occasion ! I have one comfort, and 
 only one : bereft of that, I should have nothing left to lean on , 
 for my spiritual props have long since been struck from under 
 me. 
 
 I have no objection at all to being known as the translator of 
 Van Lier's Letters, when they shall be published. Rather, I 
 am ambitious of it, as an honour. It will serve to prove, that if 
 I have spent much time to little purpose in the translation of 
 Homer, some small portion of my time has, however, been 
 well disposed of 
 
 The honour of your preface prefixed to my Poems will be 
 en my side ; for surely, to be known as the friend of a much- 
 
334 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 favoured minister of God's word, is a more illustrious distinc- 
 tion, in reality, than to have the friendship of any poet in the 
 world to boast of. 
 
 We s)'mpathize truly with you under all your tender concern 
 for Mrs. Newton, and with her in all her sufferings from such 
 various and discordant maladies. Alas ! what a difference have 
 twenty-three years made in us, and in our condition ! for just 
 so long it is since Mrs. Unwin and I came into Buckingham- 
 shire. Yesterday was the anniversary of that memorable aera. 
 Farewell. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEW^TON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 26, 1790. 
 
 We should have been happy to have received from you 
 a more favourable account of Mrs. Newton's health. Yours is 
 indeed a post of observation, and of observation the most in- 
 terestino-. It is well that you are enabled to bear the stress and 
 intenseness of it without prejudice to your own health, or im- 
 pediment to your ministry. 
 
 The last time I wrote to Johnson, I made known to him your 
 wishes to have your preface printed, and affixed, as soon as an 
 opportunity shall offer ; expressing, at the same time, my own 
 desires to have it done. Whether I shall have any answer to 
 my proposal, is a matter of much uncertainty; for he is al- 
 ways either too idle or too busy, I know not which, to write 
 to me. Should you happen to pass his way, periiaps it would 
 not be amiss to speak to him on the subject ; for it is easier to 
 carry a point by six words spoken, than by writing as many 
 sheets about it. I have asked him hither, when my cousin 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 335 
 
 Johnson shall leave us, which will be in about a fortnight ; and 
 should he come, will enforce the measure myself. 
 
 A yellow shower of leaves is falling continually from all the 
 trees in the country. A few moments only seem to have pass- 
 ed since they were buds ; and in few moments more, they will 
 have disappeared. It is one advantage of a rural situation, that 
 it affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, that 
 do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for a man, 
 conversant with such scenes as surround me, not to advert daily 
 to the shortness of his existence here, admonished of it, as he 
 must be, by ten thousand objects. There was a time when I 
 could contemplate my present state, and consider myself as a 
 thing of a day with pleasure ; when I numbered the seasons as 
 they passed in swift rotation, as a schoolboy numbers the days 
 that interpose between the next vacation, when he shall see his 
 parents and enjoy his home again. But to make so just an es- 
 timate of a life like this, is no longer in my power. The con- 
 sideration of my short continuance here, which was once grate- 
 ful to me, now fills me with regret. I would live and live al- 
 ways, and am become such another wretch as Maecenas was, 
 who wished for long life, he cared not at what expense of suf- 
 ferings. The only consolation left me on this subject is, that 
 the voice of the Almighty can in one moment cure me of this 
 mental infirmity. That He can, I know by experience ; and 
 there are reasons for which I ought to believe that He will. 
 But from hope to despair is a transition that I have made so 
 often, that I can only consider the hope that may come, and 
 that sometimes I believe will, as a short prelude of joy to a 
 miserable conclusion of sorrow that shall never end. Thus are 
 my brightest prospects clouded, and thus to me is hope itself 
 become like a withered flower, that has lost both its hue and its 
 fragrance. 
 
336 UORHESPONDENCE OF 
 
 I ought not to have wiillcn in this disnnal strain to you in 
 your present trying situation, nor did I intend it. You have 
 more need to be cheered than to he saddened ; but a dearth of 
 other themes constrained me to choose myself for a subject, and 
 of myself I can write no otherwise. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend. We are well ; and, notwithstanding 
 all that I have said, 1 am myself as cheerful as usual. Lady 
 Hesketh is here, and in her company even I, except now and 
 then for a moment, forget my sorrows. 
 
 I remain sincerely yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAU MADAM, Nov. :9, 1790. 
 
 I value highly, as I ought and hope tliat I always shall, 
 the favourable opinion of such men as Mr. Marlyn : though, to 
 sav the truth, their commendations, instead of making me proud, 
 have rather a tendency to humble me, conscious as I am that I 
 am over-rated. There is an old piece of advice, given by an 
 ancient poet and satirist, which it behoves every man, who 
 stands well in the opinion of others, to lay up in his bosom : — 
 Take care to be ivhaf you are reported to be. By due at- 
 tention to this wise counsel, it is possible to turn the praises of 
 our friends to good account, and to convert that which might 
 prove an incentive to vanity into a lesson of wisdom. I will 
 keep your good and respectable friend's letter very safely, and 
 restore it to you the first opportunity. 1 beg, my dear Madam, 
 that you will present my best compliments to Mr. Martyn, 
 when you shall either see him next or write to him. 
 
 To that gentleman's enquiries I am, doubtless, obliged tor the 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 337 
 
 recovery of no small proportion of my subscription-list : for in 
 consequence of his application to Johnson, and very soon after 
 it, I received from him no fewer than forty -five names, that had 
 been omitted in the last he sent me, and that would probably 
 never have been thought of more. No author, I believe, has a 
 more inattentive or indolent bookseller: but he has every body's 
 good word for liberality and honesty ; therefore I must be con- 
 tent. 
 
 The press proceeds at present as well as I can reasonably 
 wish. A month has passed since we began, and I revised this 
 morning the first sheet of the sixth Iliad. Mrs. Unwin begs to 
 add a line from herself, so that I have only room to subjoin 
 my best respects to Mr. King, and to say that I am truly, 
 My dear Madam, yours, 
 
 W. G. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 5, 1790. 
 
 Sometimes I am too sad, and sometimes too busy, to write. 
 Both these causes have concurred lately to keep me silent. But 
 more than by either of these I have been hindered, since I re- 
 ceived your last, by a violent cold, which oppressed me during 
 almost the whole month of November. 
 
 Your letter affected us with both joy and sorrow : with sor- 
 row and sympathy respecting poor Mrs. Newton, whose feeble 
 and dying state suggests a wish for her release, rather than for 
 her continuance ; and joy on your account, who are enabled to 
 bear, with so much resignation and cheerful acquiescence in the 
 will of God, the prospect of a loss, which even they who know 
 you best apprehended might prove too much for you. As to 
 
 u u 
 
338 CORUESPONDENCE OF 
 
 Mrs. Ncwlon's interest in the best things, none, intimately ac- 
 quainted with her as we have been, could doubt it. She doubt- 
 ed it indeed herself; but though it is not our duty to doubt, 
 any more than it is our privilege, 1 have always considered the 
 self-condemning spirit, to which such doubts are principally 
 owing, as one of the most favourable symptoms of a nature spi- 
 ritually renewed, and have many a time heard you make the 
 same observation. 
 
 [Torn oj.] 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Dec. 31, 1790. 
 
 Returning from my walk at half past three, I found 
 your welcome messenger in the kitchen ; and entering the study, 
 found also the beautiful present with which you had charged 
 him.* We have all admired it (for Lady Hesketh was here to 
 assist us in doing so ;) and for my own particular, I return you 
 my sincerest thanks, a very inadequate compensation. Mrs. 
 Unwin, not satisfied to send you thanks only, begs your accept- 
 ance likewise of a turkey, which, though the figure of it might 
 not much embellish a counterpane, may possibly serve hereafter 
 to swell the dimensions of a feather bed, 
 
 I have lately been visited with an indisposition much more 
 formidable than that which I mentioned to you in my last — a 
 nervous fever ; a disorder to which I am subject, and which I 
 dread above all others, because it comes attended by a melan- 
 choly perfectly insupportable. This is the first day of my com- 
 plete recovery, the first in which I have perceived no symptoms 
 
 * A patch-work counterpane of her own making. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 339 
 
 of my terrible malady ; and the only drawback on this comfort 
 that I feel is the intelligence contained in yours, that neither 
 Mr. King nor yourself are well. I dread always, both for my 
 own health and for that of my friends, the unhappy influences 
 of a year worn out. But, my dear Madam, this is the last day 
 of it ; and I resolve to hope that the new year shall obliterate all 
 the disagreeables of the old one. I can wish nothing more 
 warmly than that it may prove a propitious year to you. 
 
 My poetical operations, I mean of the occasional kind, have 
 lately been pretty much at a stand. I told you I believe, in my 
 last, that Homer, in the present stage of the process, occupied 
 me more intensely than ever. He still continues to do so, and 
 threatens, till he shall be completely finished, to make all other 
 composition impracticable. I have, however, written the mor- 
 tuary verses as usual; but the wicked clerk for whom I write 
 them has not yet sent me the impression. I transmit to you 
 the long-promised Catharina ; and were it possible that 1 could 
 transcribe the others, would send them also. There is a way, 
 however, by which I can procure a frank, and you shall not 
 want them long. 
 
 I remain, dearest Madam, 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 20, 1791. 
 
 Had you been a man of this world, I should have held 
 myself bound, by the law of ceremonies, to have sent you long 
 since my tribute of condolence. I have sincerely mourned with 
 you ; and though you have lost a wife, and I only a friend, yet 
 
340 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 do I understand too well the value of such a friend as Mrs. 
 Newton, not to have sympathised with you very nearly. But 
 you are not a man of this world ; neither can you, who have 
 both the Scripture and the Giver of Scripture to console you, 
 have any need of aid from others, or expect it from such spiri- 
 tual imbecility as mine. I considered, likewise, that receiving 
 a letter from Mrs. Unwin, you, in fact, received one from my- 
 self, with this difference only, — that hers could not fail to be 
 better adapted to the occasion, and to your own frame of mind, 
 than any that I could send you. 
 
 lTornoff.-\ 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 2, ir91. 
 
 I am sick and ashamed of myself that I forgot my pro- 
 mise ; but it is actually true that I did forget it. You, however, 
 I did not forget ; nor did I forget to wonder and to be alarmed 
 at your silence, being myself perfectly unconscious of my arrears. 
 All this, together with various other trespasses of mine, must be 
 set down to the account of Homer ; and wherever he is, he is 
 bound to make his apology to all my correspondents, but to you 
 in particular. True it is, that if Mrs. Unwin did not call me 
 from that pursuit, 1 should forget, in the ardour with which I 
 persevere in it, both to eat and drink and retire to rest. This 
 zeal has increased in rne regularly as I have proceeded, and in 
 an exact ratio, as a mathematician would say, to the progress I 
 have made toward the point at which I have been aiming. You 
 will believe this, when I tell you, that, not contented with my 
 previous labours, I have actually revised the whole work, and 
 have made a thousand alterations in it, since it has been in the 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 341 
 
 press. I have now, however, tolerably well satisfied myself at 
 least, and trust that the printer and I shall trundle along merrily 
 to the conclusion. I expect to correct the proof-sheets of the 
 third book of the Odyssey to-day. 
 
 Thus it is, as 1 believe I have said to you before, that you are 
 doomed to hear of nothing but Homer from me. There is less 
 of gallantry than of nature in this proceeding. When I write 
 to you, I think of nothing but the subject that is uppermost, and 
 that uppermost is always Homer. Then I consider that though, 
 as a lady, you have a right to expect other treatment at my 
 hands, you are a lady who has a husband, and that husband an 
 old schoolfellow of mine, and who, I know, interests himself in 
 my success. 
 
 I am likely, after all, to gather a better harvest of subscribers 
 at Cambridge than I expected. A little cousin of mine, an under- 
 graduate of Caius' College, suggested to me, when he was here 
 in the summer, that it might not be amiss to advertise the work 
 at Merril's the bookseller. I acquiesced in the measure ; and 
 at his return he pasted me on a board, and hung me in the shop, 
 as it has proved in the event, much to my emolument. For 
 many, as I understand, have subscribed in consequence, and 
 among the rest several of the College libraries. 
 
 I am glad that you have seen the last Northampton dirge, for 
 the rogue of a clerk sent me only half the number of printed 
 copies for which I stipulated with him at first, and they were all 
 expended immediately. The poor man himself is dead now; 
 and whether his successor will continue me in my office, or seek 
 another laureat, has not yet transpired. 
 
 I began with being ashamed, and I must end with being so. 
 I am ashamed that, when I wrote by your messenger, I omitted 
 to restore to you Mr. JVIartyn's letter. But it is safe, and shall 
 be yours again. I am truly sorry that you have suflfered so much 
 
34t CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 this winter by your old complaint the rheumatism. We shall 
 both, I hope, be better in a better season, now not very distant; 
 for I have never, myself, been free from my fever since the 
 middle of January ; neither do 1 expect to be released, till sum> 
 mer shall set me free. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 29, 1791. 
 
 It affords me sincere pleasure that you enjoy serenity of 
 mind after your great loss. It is well in all circumstances, even 
 in the most afflictive, with those who have God for their com- 
 forter. You do me justice in giving entire credit to my ex- 
 pressions of friendship for you. No day passes in which I do 
 not look back to the days that are fled ; and consequently, none 
 in which I do not feel myself affectionately reminded of you, and 
 of her whom you have lost for a season. I cannot even see Olney 
 spire from any of the fields in the neighbourhood, much less caa 
 I enter the town, and still less the Vicarage, without experienc- 
 ing the force of those mementos, and recollecting a multitude of 
 pass^es, to which you and yours were parties. 
 
 The past would appear a dream, were the remembrance of it 
 less affecting. It was in the most important respects so unlike 
 my present moment, that I am sometimes almost tempted to 
 suppose it a dream. But the difference between dreams and 
 realities long since elapsed seems to consist chiefly in this, — that 
 a dream, however painful or pleasant at the time, and perhaps 
 for a few ensuing hours, passes like an arrow through the air. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 343 
 
 leaving no trace of its flight behind it ; but our actual experi- 
 ences make a lasting impression. We review those which inte- 
 rested us much, when they occurred, with hardly less interest 
 than in the first instance ; and whether few years or many have 
 intervened, our sensibility makes them still present ; such a 
 mere nullity is time, to a creature to whom God gives a feeling 
 heart and the faculty of recollection. 
 
 That you have not the first sight, and sometimes, perhaps, 
 have a late one, of what I write, is owing merely to your distant 
 situation. Some things I have written not worth your perusal ; 
 and a few, a very few, of such length, that, engaged as I have 
 been to Homer, it has not been possible that I should find oppor- 
 tunity to transcribe them. At the same time, Mrs. Unwinds 
 pain in her side has almost forbidden her the use of the pen. 
 She cannot use it long without increasing that pain ; for which 
 reason I am more unwilling than herself that she should ever 
 meddle with it. But, whether what I write be a trifle, or whe- 
 ther it be serious, you would certainly, were you present, see 
 them all. Others get a sight of them, by being so, who would 
 never otherwise see them ; and I should hardly withhold them 
 from you, whose claim upon me is of so much older a date than 
 theirs. It is not, indeed, with readiness and good-will that I 
 give them to any body ; for, if I live, I shall probably print them ; 
 and my friends, who are previously well acquainted with them, 
 will have the less reason to value the book in which they shall 
 appear. A trifle can have nothing to recommend it but its no- 
 velty. I have spoken of giving copies ; but, in fact, I have given 
 none. They who have them made them ; for, till my whole work 
 shall have fairly passed the press, it will not leave me a moment 
 more than is necessarily due to my correspondents. Their num- 
 ber has of late increased upon me, by the addition of many of 
 my maternal relations, who, having found me out about a year 
 
344 CORRESPONDENCE OK 
 
 since, have behaved to me in the most affectionate manner, and 
 have been singularly serviceable to me in the article of my sub- 
 scription. Several of them are coming from Norfolk to visit me 
 in the course of the summer. 
 
 I enclose a copy of my last mortuary verses. The clerk, for 
 whom they were written, is since dead ; and whether his suc- 
 cessor, the late sexton, will choose to be his own dirge-maker, 
 or will employ me, is a piece of important news which has not 
 yet reached me. 
 
 Our best remembrances attend yourself and Miss Catlett,* 
 and we rejoice in the kind Providence that has given you, in 
 her, so amiable and comfortable a companion. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend — I am sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 24, 1791. 
 
 Considering the multiplicity of your engagements, and 
 the importance, no doubt, of most of them, I am bound to set 
 the higher value on your letters ; and instead of grumbling that 
 they come seldom, to be thankful to you that they come at all. 
 You are now going into the country, where, I presume, you 
 will have less to do ; and I am rid of Homer. Let us try, 
 therefore, if in the interval between the present hour and the next 
 busy season, (for I, too, if I live, shall be probably occupied 
 again,) we can continue to exchange letters more frequently 
 than for some time past. 
 
 You do justice to me and Mrs. Unwin., when you assure 
 
 • Now Mrs. Smith. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 345 
 
 yourself that to hear of your health will give us pleasure : I 
 know not, in truth, whose health and well-being could give us 
 more. The years that we have seen together will never be out 
 of our remembrance; and so long as we remember them, we 
 must remember you with affection. In the pulpit, and out of 
 the pulpit, you have laboured in every possible way to serve 
 us ; and we must have a short memory indeed for the kindness 
 of a friend, could we, by any means, become forgetful of 
 yours. It would grieve me more than it does, to hear you 
 complain of the effects of time, were not I also myself the sub- 
 ject of them. While he is wearing out you, and other dear 
 friends of mine, he spares not me ; for which I ought to ac- 
 count myself obliged to him, since I should otherwise be in 
 danger of surviving all that I have over loved — the most melan- 
 choly lot that can befal a mortal. God knows what will be my 
 doom hereafter ; but precious as life necessarily seems to a 
 mind doubtful of its future happiness, T love not the world, I 
 trust, so much as to wish a place in it when all my beloved shall 
 have left it. 
 
 You speak of your late loss in a manner that affected me 
 much; and when I read that part of your letter, I mourned 
 with you, and for you. But surely, I said to myself, no man 
 had ever less reason to charge his conduct to a wife with any 
 thing blame-worthy. Thoughts of that complexion, however, 
 are no doubt extremely natural on the occasion of such a loss ; 
 and a man seems not to have valued sufficiently, when he pos- 
 sesses it no longer, what, while he possessed it, he valued more 
 than life. I am mistaken, too, or you can recollect a time when 
 you had fears, and such as became a Christian, of loving too 
 much ; and it is likely that you have even prayed to be pre- 
 served from doing so. I suggest this to you as a plea against 
 those self-accusations, which I ana satisfied that you do not de- 
 
 X X 
 
346 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 serve, and as an effectual answer lo them all. You may do 
 well, too, to consider, that had the deceased been the survivor, 
 she would have charsjed herself in the same manner; and I am 
 sure you will acknowledge, without any sufficient reason. The 
 truth is, that you both loved at least as much as you ought, and 
 I dare say had not a friend in the world who did not frequently 
 observe it. To love just enough, and not a bit too much, is not 
 for creatures who can do nothing well. If we fail in duties 
 less arduous, how should we succeed in this, the most arduous 
 of all ? 
 
 I am glad to learn from yourself that you are about to quit a 
 scene that probably keeps your tender recollections too much 
 alive. Another place and other company may have their uses; 
 and while your church is undergoing repair, its minister may 
 be repaired also. 
 
 As to Homer, I am sensible that, except as an amusement, 
 he was never worth my meddling with ; but, as an amusement, 
 he was to me invaluable. As such, he served me more than 
 five years ; and, in that respect, I know not where I shall find 
 his equal. You oblige me by saying, that you will read him 
 for my sake. I verily think that any person of a spiritual turn 
 may read him to some advantage. He may suggest reflections 
 that may not be unserviceable even in a sermon ; for I know 
 not where we can find more striking exemplars of the pride, 
 the arrogance, and the insignificance of man ; at the same time 
 that, by ascribing all events to a divine interposition, he incul- 
 cates constantly the belief of a Providence ; insists much on the 
 duty of charity towards the poor and the stranger ; on the re- 
 spect that is due to superiors, and to our seniors in particular ; 
 and on the expedience and necessity of prayer and piety toward 
 the gods; a piety mistaken, indeed, in its object, but exemplary 
 for the punctuality of its performance. Thousands, who will 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 347 
 
 not learn from Scripture to ask a blessing either on their ac- 
 tions or on their food, may learn it, if they please, from 
 Homer. 
 
 My Norfolk cousins are now with us. We are both as well 
 as usual; and with our affectionate remembrances to Miss 
 Catlett, 
 
 T remain, sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 22, 179L 
 
 I did not foresee, when I challenged you to a brisker 
 correspondence, that a new engagement of all my leisure was at 
 hand ; — a new, and yet an old one. An interleaved copy of my 
 Homer arrived soon after from Johnson, in which he recom- 
 mended it to me to make any alterations that might yet be ex- 
 pedient, with a view to another impression. The alterations 
 that I make are indeed but few, and they are also short ; not 
 more, perhaps, than half a line in two thousand. But the lines 
 are, I suppose, nearly forty thousand in all ; and to revise them 
 critically must consequently be a work of labour. I suspend 
 it, however, for your sake, till the present sheet be filled, and 
 that I may not seem to shrink from my own offer. 
 
 Mr. Bean has told me that he saw you at Bedford, and gave 
 us your reasons for not coming our way. It is well, so far as your 
 own comfortable lodging and our gratification were concerned, 
 that you did not; for our house is brimful, as it has been all the 
 summer, with my relations from Norfolk. We should all have 
 been mortified, both you and we, had you been obliged, as you 
 must have been, to seek a residence elsewhere. 
 
348 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 I am sorry that Mr. Venn's labours below are so near to a 
 conclusion. I have seen few men whom I could have loved 
 more, had opportunity been given me to know him better. So, 
 at least, I have thought as often as I have seen him. But when 
 I saw him last, which is some years since, he appeared then so 
 much broken, that I could not have imagined he would last so 
 long. Were I capable of envying, in the strict sense of the 
 word, a good man, I should envy him, and Mr. Berridge, and 
 yourself; who have spent, and, while they last, will continue to 
 spend your lives, in the service of the only Master worth serv- 
 ing ; labouring always for the souls of men, and not to tickle 
 their ears, as I do. But this I can say — God knows how much 
 rather I would be the obscure tenant of a lath-and-plaster cot- 
 tage, with a lively sense of my interest in a Redeemer, than this 
 most admired object of public notice without it. Alas ! what is 
 a whole poem, even one of Homer's, compared with a single 
 aspiration that finds its way immediately to God, though cloth- 
 ed in ordinary language, or perhaps not articulated at all. These 
 are my sentiments as much as ever they were, though my days 
 are all running to waste among Greeks and Trojans. The night 
 cometh when no man can work ; and if I am ordained to work 
 to better purpose, that desirable period cannot be very distant. 
 My day is beginning to shut in, as every man's must, who is on 
 the verge of sixty. 
 
 All the leisure that I have had of late for thinking has been 
 given to the riots at Birmingham. What a horrid zeal for the 
 church, and what a horrid loyalty to government, have manifest- 
 ed themselves there ! How little do they dream that they could 
 not have dishonoured their idol the Establishment more, and 
 that the! great Bishop of souls himself with abhorrence rejects 
 their service ! But I have not time to enlarge ; breakfast calls 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 349 
 
 me ; and all my post-breakfast time must be given to poetry. 
 Adieu ! 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 W. C, 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Aug. 4, 1791. 
 
 Your last letter, wbich gave us so unfavourable an ac- 
 count of your health, and which did not speak much more com- 
 fortably of Mr. King's, affected us with much concern. Of Dr. 
 Raitt we may say in the words of Milton : 
 
 His long experience did attain 
 
 To something like prophetic strain ; 
 
 for as he foretold to you, so he foretold to Mrs. Unwin, that, 
 though her disorders might not much threaten life, they would 
 yet cleave to her to the last ; and she and perfect health must 
 ever be strangers to each other. Such was his prediction, and 
 it has been hitherto accomplished. Either head-ache or pain in 
 the side has been her constant companion ever since we had the 
 pleasure of seeing you. As for myself, I cannot properly say 
 that I enjoy a good state of health, though in general I have it, 
 because I have it accompanied with frequent fits of dejection, to 
 which less health and better spirits would, perhaps, be infinitely 
 preferable. But it pleased God that I should be born in a coun- 
 try where melancholy is the national characteristic. To say 
 truth, I have often wished myself a Frenqhman. 
 
 N. B. I write this in very good spirits. 
 
 You gave us so little hope in your last that we should have 
 your company this summer at Weston, that to repeat our invi- 
 
350 COKKESi'ONnF.NC'K DF 
 
 tation seems almost like toasini;- you. 1 will only say. their- 
 fore, that my -Norfolk tVieiuls havinir lett us, ot' whose expected 
 anival here 1 believe 1 told you in a former letter, we should 
 be happv coidil you succeed them. Wo now, indeed, expect 
 Lady llesketh, hut not immediately : she seldom sees Weston 
 till oil its sununer beauties aiY tied, and red, broun, and yellow. 
 have supplanted the univei-sal veixluie. 
 
 Mv Homer is gone forth, and 1 can devoutly s;\v — Jov go 
 with it I What place it holils in the estunation ot" the generality, 
 1 cannot tell, having heaiil no more about it. since its publica- 
 tion than it" no such work existeil. 1 must except, however, an 
 anonym(>us eulogium l"i'om some man of letters, which 1 reeeiv- 
 eil about a week agx>. It was kind in a perfect stranger, as he 
 avows himself to be, to relieve me, at so early a day , fi-om much 
 oi' the anxiety that 1 could not but tet^l on such an occ;\sion. I 
 sliould be glad to know who he is, only that 1 might thank him. 
 
 Mi-s. I'nwin. who is this moment como down to breaktast, 
 joins me iu atVectionate compliments to youi"self and Mr. King; 
 ai\d I am, my dear Madam, 
 
 Most sincerely yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 rO THE REV MU. KlNi;. 
 
 UEAK StK. ^^P<- '-«>' 1^1 
 
 We are truly concerned at your account of Mrs. King's 
 severe indis^K>sition ; anil though you hud no Injlter news to 
 tell us, are niuch obligtxl to you for writing to inform us of it, 
 and to Mrs. King for desiring you to <\o it. We lake a Uvdy 
 interest in what concerns her. 1 should never have ascribed 
 her silence to neglect, had she neither written to me hei-self. 
 
WILLIAM COWTKU. 351 
 
 nor coniinissioiuHl vou (o write lor hor. 1 liail. indotnl. lor sump 
 time expootcd a letter tVom iter by every post, hut aoeounteil 
 for my coutimml disappointment by supposiui*; her at l^.ili»;\vare, 
 to whicli phice she inteiuied a visit, as she toKl me hinj;- sineo, 
 anil liopetl that she uouUI write immeduilely on iier return. 
 
 Her sutVerins;-s will be felt here till wo learn that they "'C re- 
 moved ; for which reason we shall bo muoli obliged by the ear- 
 liest notice of her recovery, which we most sincerely wish, it 
 it please God. ;ind which will not tail to be a constant snbject 
 of prayer at \N"eston. 
 
 1 beg* you. Sir, to present Mrs. Ihnvinis ami my atlectionate 
 remembrances to Mrs. Kinu;, in which you are equally a parta- 
 ker, and to believe me, with true esteem ami much sincerity. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MUS, KINC. 
 
 MY DKAli FUll.Nn. Oct. Jl. 1791. 
 
 \ ou could not have sent me more agreeable news than 
 that of your better healtii, and I am gi^eatly obligetl to yon for 
 making me the first of yonr correspondents to wliom you have 
 given that welcome intelligence. This is a favour which 1 should 
 have acknowledged much sooner, bad not a disorder in my eyes, 
 to which I have always been extremely subject, requireil that I 
 shoukl make as little use of my pen as j)ossible. 1 felt mucli 
 for you. when 1 reatl that part of your letter in which you men- 
 tion your visitors, and the fatigue which, indisposed as you have 
 been, they could not tail to occasion you. Agreeable as you 
 woulil have found them aL another time, and ba|)py as you 
 would have been in their company, you could not but feel the 
 
352 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 addition they necessarily made to your domestic attentions as a 
 considerable inconvenience. But I have always said, and shall 
 never say otherwise, that if patience under adversity, and sub- 
 mission to the afflicting hand of God, be true fortitude — which 
 no reasonable person can deny — then your sex have ten times 
 more true fortitude to boast than ours ; and I have not the least 
 doubt that you carried yourself with infinitely more equanimity 
 on that occasion than I should have done, or any he of my ac- 
 quaintance. Why is it, since the first offender on earth was a wo- 
 man, that the women are nevertheless, in all the most important 
 points, superior to t^p men ? That they are so, I will not allow 
 to be disputed, having observed it ever since I was capable of 
 making the observation. I believe, on recollection, that when 
 I had the happiness to see you here, we agitated this question a 
 little ; but I do not remember that we arrived at any decision 
 of it. The Scripture calls you the weaker vessels ; and perhaps 
 the best solution of the difficulty, therefore, may be found in 
 those other words of Scripture — My strength is perfected in 
 weakness. Unless you can furnish me with a better key than 
 this, I shall be much inclined to believe that I have found the 
 true one. 
 
 I am deep in a new literary engagement, being retained by 
 my bookseller as editor of an intended most magnificent publi- 
 cation of Milton's Poetical Works. This will occupy me as 
 much as Homer did for a year or two to come; and when I 
 have finished it, I shall have run through all the degrees of my 
 profession, as author, translator, and editor. I know not that a 
 fourth could be found ; but if a fourth can be found, I dare say 
 I shall find it. 
 
 I remain, ^ny dear Madam, your affectionate friend and hum- 
 hie servant. 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEH. ♦ 353 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 UY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 16, 1791. 
 
 I am weary of making you wait for an answer, and 
 therefore resolve to send you one, though without the lines you 
 ask for. Such as they are, they have been long ready ; and 
 could I have found a conveyance for them, should have been 
 with you weeks ago. Mr. Bean's last journey to town 
 might have afforded me an opportunity to send them ; but he 
 gave me not sufficient notice. They must, therefore, be still 
 delayed, till either he shall go to London again, or somebody 
 else shall offer. I thank you for yours, which are as much bet- 
 ter than mine, as gold is better than feathers. 
 
 It seemed necessary that I should account for my apparent 
 tardiness to comply with the obliging request of a lady, and of 
 a lady who employed you as her intermedium. None was 
 wanted, as yon well assured her. But had there been occasion 
 for one, she could not possibly have found a better. 
 
 I was much pleased with your account of your visit to Cow- 
 slip Green ; both for the sake of what you saw there, and because 
 I am sure you must have been as happy in such company, as any 
 situation in this world can make you. Miss More has been 
 always employed, since I first heard of her doings, as becomes 
 a Christian. So she was, while endeavouring to reform the un- 
 reformable great ; and so she is, while framing means and oppor- 
 tunities to instruct the more tractable little. Horace's Virgini- 
 bus, puerisque, may be her motto ; but in a sense much nobler 
 than he has annexed to it. I cannot, however, be entirely re- 
 conciled to the thought of her being henceforth silent, though 
 even for the sake of her present labours. A pen useful as hers 
 Qught not, perhaps, to be laid aside ; neither, perhaps, will she 
 
 Y y 
 
J54 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 alt02;ether renounce it, but when she has established her 
 schools, and habituated them to the discipline she intends, will 
 find it desirable to resume it. — 1 rejoice that she has a sister like 
 herself, capable of bidding defiance to fatigue and hardship, to 
 dirty roads and wet raiment, in so excellent a cause. 
 
 I beg that when you write next, to either of those ladles, you 
 will present my best compliments to Miss Martha, and tell her that 
 I can never feel myself flattered more than I was by her appli- 
 cation. God knows how unworthy I judge myself, at the same 
 time, to be admitted into a collection* of which you are a 
 member. Were there not a crowned head or two to keep me 
 in countenance, I should even blush to think of it. 
 
 I would that I could see some of the mountains which you 
 have seen ; especially, because Dr. Johnson has pronounced that 
 no man is qualified to be a poet who has never seen a mountain. 
 But mountains I shall never see, unless, perhaps, in a dream, or 
 unless there are such in heaven. Nor those, unless I receive 
 twice as much mercy as ever yet was shown to any man. 
 
 I am now deep in Milton, translating his Latin Poems for a 
 pompous edition, of which you have undoubtedly heard. This 
 amuses me for the present, and will for a year or two. So long. 
 I presume, I shall be occupied in the several functions that be 
 long to my present engagement. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin and I arc about as well as usual; always mindful 
 of you, and always affectionately so. Our united love attends 
 yourself and Miss Catlett. 
 
 Believe me most truly youi-s, 
 
 W. C 
 
 * Of autographs 
 
WILI-IAM COWPER. 355 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 26, 1792 
 
 Silent as I have long been, I have had but too good a 
 reason for being so. About six weeks since, Mrs. Unwin was 
 seized with a sudden and most alarming disorder, a vertigo, 
 which would have thrown her out of her chair to the ground, 
 had I not been quick enough to catch her while she was falling. 
 For some moments her knees and ancles were so entirely disa- 
 bled, that she had no use of them ; and it was with the exertion 
 of all my strength that I replaced her in her seat. Many days 
 she kept her bed, and for some weeks her chamber ; but, at 
 length, has joined me again in the study. Her recovery has 
 been extremely slow, and she is still feeble ; but, I thank God, 
 not so feeble but that I hope for her perfect restoration as the 
 spring advances. I am persuaded that, with your feelings for 
 your friends, you will know how to imagine what I must have 
 suffered on an occasion so distressing, and to pardon a silence 
 owing to such a cause. 
 
 The account you give me of the patience with which a lady 
 of your acquaintance has lately endured a terrible operation, is 
 a strong proof that your sex surpasses ours in heroic fortitude. 
 I call it by that name, because I verily believe that, in God's 
 account, there is more true heroism in suffering His will with 
 meek submission, than in doing our own, or that of our fellow- 
 mortals who may have a right to command us, with the utmost 
 valour that was ever exhibited in a field of battle. Renown 
 and glory are, in general, the incitements to such exertion ; but 
 no laurels are to be won by sitting patiently under the knife of 
 a surgeon. The virtue, is therefore, of a less suspicious charac- 
 
356 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 ter; the principle of it more simple, and the practice more diffi- 
 cult : — considerations that seem sufficiently to warrant my opi- 
 nion, that the infallible Judge of human conduct may possibly 
 behold with more complacency a suffering, than an active 
 courage. 
 
 I forget if I told you that I am engaged for a new edition 
 of Milton's Poems. In fact I have still other engagements ; 
 and so various, that I hardly know to which of them all 
 to give my first attentions. I have only time, therefore, to 
 condole with you on the double loss you have lately sus- 
 tained, and to congratulate you on being a female; because, as 
 such, you will, I trust, acquit yourself well under so severe 
 a trial. 
 
 I remain, 
 
 my dear Madam, 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 20, 1792. 
 
 When I wrote the lines in question, I was, as I almost 
 always am, so pressed for time, that I was obliged to put them 
 down in a great hurry. Perhaps I printed them wrong. If a 
 full stop be made at the end of the second line, the appearance 
 of inconsistency, perhaps, will vanish ; but should you still 
 think them liable to that objection, they may be altered 
 thus : — 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 357 
 
 In vain to Vive from age to age 
 
 We modern bards endeavour ; 
 But write in Patty's book one page,* 
 
 You gain your point for ever. 
 
 Trifling enough, I readily confess they are ; but I have al- 
 ways allowed myself to trifle occasionally ; and on this occasion 
 had not, nor have at present, time to do more. By the way, 
 should you think this amended copy worthy to displace the for- 
 mer, I must wait for some future opportunity to send you them 
 properly transcribed for the purpose. 
 
 Your demand of more original composition from me, will, if 
 I live, and it please God to afford me health, in all probability be 
 sooner or later gratified. In the mean time, you need not, and 
 if you turn the matter in your thoughts a little, you will per- 
 ceive that you need not, think me unworthily employed in 
 preparing a new edition of Milton. His two principal poems 
 are of a kind that call for an editor who believes the gospel, and 
 is well grounded in all evangelical doctrine. Such an editor 
 they have never had yet, though only such a one can be quali- 
 fied for the office. 
 
 We mourn for the mismanagement at Botany Bay, and fore- 
 see the issue. The Romans were, in their origin, banditti ; 
 and if they became in time masters of the world, it was not by 
 drinking grog, and allowing themselves in all sorts of licen- 
 
 * In the third volume of the Poems, the lines stand thus, on a farther 
 suggestion of Lady Hesketh : — 
 
 In vain to live from age to age, 
 
 While modern bards endeavour, 
 / write my name in Patty's page, 
 
 And gain my point for ever. 
 
 V^'. COWPEB. 
 
 »arch 6, 1792. 
 
356 COKRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 tioiisness. The African colonization, and the manner ol con- 
 ducting it, has long been matter to us ol" pleasing speculation. 
 God has highly honoured Mr. Thornton ; and I doubt not that 
 the subsequent history of the two settlements will strikingly 
 evince the superior wisdom of his proceedings. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 P.S. Lady Hesketh made the same objection to my verses 
 as you ; but she being a lady-critic, I did not heed her. As 
 they stand at present, however, they are hers ; and I believe 
 you will think tlieni much improved. 
 
 INly heart bears me witness how glad I shall be to see you at 
 the time you mention ; and Mrs. Unwin says the same. 
 
 10 THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MV UEAU FKIENU, M.<»rcli 4, 179:. 
 
 All our little world is going to London, tlie gulph thai 
 swallows most of our good things, and, like a bad stomach, too 
 often assimilates them to itself. Our neighbours at the Hall go 
 thither to-morrow. Mr. and Mrs. Throckmorton, as we lately 
 called them, but now Sir John and my Lady, are no longer in- 
 habitants here, but henceforth of Bucklands, in Berkshire. I 
 feel the loss of them, and shall feel it, since kinder or more 
 friendly treatment I never can receive at any liands, than I have 
 always found at theirs. But it has long been a foreseen change, 
 and was, indeed, almost daily expected long before it happen- 
 ed. The desertion of the Hall, however, will not bo total. 
 The second brother, George, now Mr. Courtenay,* intends to 
 
 • And since. Sir George Tlirockniorton. 
 
WILIJAM COWPEH. 359 
 
 eside Ihere; and with him, as witli his elder brother, I have 
 always been on terms the most agreeable. 
 
 Such is this variable scene: so variable, that, had tlie reflec- 
 tions I sometimes make upon it a permanent influence, I should 
 tremble at the thought of a new connection ; and, to be out of 
 the reach of its mutability, lead almost the life of a hermit. It 
 is well with those who, like you, have God for their compa- 
 nion. Death cannot deprive them of Him, and he changes not 
 the place of his abode. Other changes, therefore, to them arc 
 all supportable ; and what you say of your own experience is 
 the strongest possible proof of it. Had you lived without God, 
 you could not have endured the loss you mention. May He 
 preserve me from a similar one ; at least, till he shall be pleased 
 to draw me to himself again ! Then, if ever that day come, it 
 will make me equal to any burthen ; but at present T can bear 
 
 nothing well. 
 
 I am sincerely yours, 
 
 W. V 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 klY DEAR MADAM, March 8, 1792. 
 
 Having just finished all my Miltonic translations, and 
 not yet begun my comments, I find an interval that cannot be 
 better employed than in discharging arrears due to my corre- 
 spondents, of whom I begin first a letter to you, though your 
 claim be of less ancient standing than those of all the rest. 
 
 I am extremely sorry that you have been so much indisposed, 
 and especially that your indisposition has been attended with 
 such excessive pain. But may I be permitted to observe, that 
 your going to church on Christmas-day, immediately after such 
 
y(30 CORKESPONDENCE OF 
 
 a sharp fit of rheumatism, was not according to the wisdom with 
 which I believe you to be endued, nor was it acting so charita- 
 bly toward yourself as I am persuaded you would have acted 
 toward another. To another you would, I doubt not, have sug- 
 gested that text — " I will have mercy and not sacrifice," — as 
 implying a gracious dispensation, in circumstances like yours, 
 from the practice of so severe and dangerous a service. 
 
 Mrs. Unwin, I thank God, is better; but still wants much of 
 complete restoration. We have reached a time of life when 
 heavy blows, if not fatal, are at least long felt. 
 
 I have received many testimonies concerning my Homer. 
 which do me much honour, and afford me great satisfaction ; 
 but none from which I derive, or have reason to derive, more 
 than that of Mr. Martyn. It is of great use to me, when I write, 
 to suppose some such person at my elbow, witnessing what I 
 do ; and I ask myself frequently — Would this please him ? If I 
 think it would, it stands : if otherwise, I alter it. My work is 
 thus finished, as it were, under the eye of some of the best 
 judges, and has the better chance to win their approbation when 
 they actually see it. 
 
 I am, my dear Madam, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, March 18, 1793. 
 
 We are now once more reduced to our dual state, hav- 
 ing lost our neighbours at the Hall, and our inmate Lady Hes- 
 keth. Mr. Rose, indeed, has spent two or three days here, and 
 is still with us; but he leaves us in the afternoon. There are 
 
WILLIAM COWPEH. 361 
 
 ihose in the world whom we love, and whom we are happy to 
 see ; but we are happy likwise in each other, and so far inde- 
 pendent of our fellow-mortals, as to be able to pass our time 
 comfortably without them : — as comfortably, at least, as Mrs. 
 Unwin's frequent indispositions, and my no less frequent trou- 
 bles of mind, will permit. When I am much distressed, any 
 company but hers distresses me more, and makes me doubly 
 sensible of my suflferings ; though sometimes, I confess, it falls out 
 otherwise; and by the help of more general conversation, I re- 
 cover that elasticity of mind which is able to resist the pressure. 
 — On the whole, I believe I am situated exactly as I should wish 
 to be, were my situation to be determined by my own election : 
 and am denied no comfort that is compatible with the total ab- 
 sence of the chief of all. 
 
 W called on me, I forget when, but about a year ago. 
 
 His errand was to obtain from me a certificate of his good be- 
 haviour during the time he had lived with us. His conduct 
 in our service had been such, for sobriety and integrity, as en- 
 titled him to it ; and I readily gave him one. At the same time, 
 I confess myself not at all surprised that the family to which 
 you recommended him soon grew weary of him. He had a bad 
 temper, that always sat astride on a runaway tongue, and ceased 
 not to spur and to kick it into all the sin and mischief that such 
 an ungovernable member, so ridden, was sure to fall into. 
 Whether he be a Christian, or not, is no business of mine to 
 determine. There was a time when he seemed to have Chris- 
 tian experience, and there has been a much longer time in which, 
 liis attendance on ordinances excepted, he has manifested, I 
 doubt, no one symptom of the Christian character. Prosperit}' 
 did him harm ; adversity, perhaps, may do him good. 1 wish 
 it may ; and if he be indeed .a pupil of divine grace, it ccrtainlv 
 
 z z 
 
362 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 will, when he has been sufficiently exercised with it; of which 
 he seems, at present, to have a very promising prospect. 
 Adieu, my dear friend. I remain affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 15, 1792. 
 
 I thank you for your remittance; which, to use the lan- 
 guage of a song much in use when we were boys, 
 
 Adds fresh beauties to the spring, 
 And makes all nature look more gay. 
 
 What the author of the song had particularly in view when he 
 thus sang, I know not ; but probably it was not the sum of fifty 
 pounds ; which, as probably, he never had the happiness to 
 possess. It was, most probably, some beautiful nymph, — beau- 
 tiful in his eyes, at least, — who has long since become an old 
 woman. 
 
 I have heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. 
 First, from a sensible little man, curate of a neighbouring village ;* 
 then from Walter Bagot ; then from Henry Cowper ; and now 
 from you. It was a blunder hardly pardonable in a man who 
 has lived amid fields and meadows, grazed by sheep, almost 
 these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized myself in two 
 stanzas which I composed last night, while I lay awake, tor- 
 mented with pain, and well dosed with laudanum. If you find 
 them not very brilliant, therefore, you will know how to account 
 for it. 
 
 * Rev. John liuchanan 
 
WILLIAM COVVPER. 363 
 
 Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse, 
 
 If, bound in rhyming tethers, 
 He had committed this abuse 
 
 Of changing ewes for wethers ; 
 
 But, male for female is a trope, 
 
 Or rather bold misnomer, 
 That would have startled even Pope, 
 
 When he translated Homer. 
 
 Having translated all the Latin and Italian Miltonics, I was 
 proceeding merrily with a Commentary on the Paradise Lost, 
 when I was seized, a week since, with a most tormenting dis- 
 order ; which has qualified me, however, to make some feeling 
 observations on that passage, when I shall come to it : 
 
 HI fare our ancestor impure. 
 
 For this we may thank Adam ; — and you may thank him, too, 
 that I am not able to fill my sheet, nor endure a writing posture 
 any longer. I conclude abruptly, therefore ; but sincerely sub- 
 scribing myself, with my best compliments to Mrs. Hill, 
 Your affectionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. BULL, July 25, 1792. 
 
 Engaged as I have been ever since I saw you, it was not 
 possible that I should v^'rite sooner ; and busy as I am at pre- 
 sent, ii is not without difficulty that I can write even now: but 
 I promised you a letter, and must endeavour, at least, to be as 
 good as my word. How do you imagine I have been occupied 
 
364 COKRESPONDENCE Ol 
 
 these last ten days ? In silting, not on cockatrice eggs, nor yet 
 to gratify a mere idle Iiumour, nor because I was too sick to 
 move ; but because my cousin Johnson has an aunt who has a 
 longing desire of my picture, and because he would, therefore, 
 bring a painter from London to draw it. For this purpose I 
 have been sitting, as I say, these ten days; and am heartily glad 
 that my sitting time is over. You have now, I know, a burning 
 curiosity to learn two things, which I may choose whether I will 
 lell you or not. First, who was the painter ; and secondly, how 
 ])e has succeeded. The painter's name is Abbot. You never 
 heard of him, you say. It is very likely ; but there is, never- 
 theless, such a painter, and an excellent one he is. Multa 
 sunt quse bonus Beriiai'dus ncc vidit, Jiec audivit. To your 
 second enquiry I answer, that he has succeeded to admiration. 
 The likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the room 
 where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me where they 
 know I am not. Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton 
 instead of being here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, v/htch,^ 
 therefore, you can never sec; for it goes to London next Mon- 
 day, to be suspended awhile at Abbot'e; and then proceeds into 
 Norfolk, where it will be suspended for ever. 
 
 But the picture is not tlie only prodigy I have to tell you of. 
 A greater belongs to m6 ; and one that you will hardly credit, 
 even on my own testimony. We are on the eve of a journey, 
 and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we set out for 
 Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hay ley, on the other 
 side of London, nobody knows where, a hundred and twenty 
 miles oil Pray for us, my friend, that we may have a safe going 
 and return. It is a tremendous exploit, and I feel a thousand 
 anxieties when I think of it. But a promise, made to him when 
 he was here, that we would go if we could, and a sort of per- 
 suasion that we can if we will, oblige us to it. The journey and 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 365 
 
 the change of air, together with the novelty to us of the scene 
 to which we are going, may, I hope, be useful to us both ; espe- 
 cially to Mrs. Unwin, who has most need of restoratives. She 
 sends her love to you and to Thomas, in which she is sincerely 
 joined by 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, July 30, 1792. 
 
 Like you, I am obliged to snatch short opportunities of 
 corresponding with my friends ; and to write what I can, not 
 what I would. Your kindness in giving me the first letter after 
 your return, claims my thanks; and my tardiness to answer it 
 would demand an apology, if, having been here, and witnessed 
 how much my time is occupied in attendance on my poor patient, 
 you could possibly want one. She proceeds, I trust, in her re- 
 covery ; but at so slow a rate, that the difference made in a week 
 is hardly perceptible to me, who am aUvays with her. This 
 last night has been the worst she has known since her illness — 
 entirely sleepless till seven in the morning. Such ill rest seems 
 but an indifferent preparation for a long journey, which we pur- 
 pose to undertake on Wednesday, when we set out for Eartham, 
 on a visit to Mr. Hayley. The journey itself will, I hope, be 
 useful to her ; and the air of the sea, blowing over the South 
 Downs, together with the novelty of the scene to us, will, I 
 hope, be serviceable to us both. You may imagine that we, 
 who have been resident on one spot so many years, do not en- 
 gage in such an enterprise without some anxiety. Persons ac- 
 customed to travel, would make themselves merry with mine -, 
 
3(j6 COURBSPONDBNCE Ol- 
 
 it seems so disproportioned to the occasion. Once I have been 
 on the point of determining not to j^o, and even since we fixed 
 the day ; my troubles have been so insupportable. But it has 
 been made a matter of much prayer, and at last it has pleased 
 God to satisfy me, in some measure, that his will corresponds 
 with our purpose, and that He will afford us his protection. You, 
 I know, will not be unmindful of us during our absence from 
 home ; but will obtain for us, if your prayers can do it, all that 
 we would ask for ourselves — the presence and favour of God, a 
 salutary effect of our journey, and a safe return. 
 
 I rejoiced, and had reason to do so, in your coming to Wes- 
 ton, for I think the Lord came with you. Not, indeed, to abide 
 with me ; not to restore me to that intercourse with Him which 
 I enjoyed twenty years ago ; but to awaken in me, however, 
 more spiritual feeling than I have experienced, except in two 
 instances, during all that time. The comforts that I had received 
 under your ministry, in better days, all rushed upon my recol- 
 lection ; and, during two or three transient moments, seemed to 
 be in a degree renewed. You will tell me, that, transient as 
 they were, they were yet evidences of a love that is not so; 
 and I am desirous to believe it. 
 
 With Mrs. Unwin's warm remembrances, and my cousin 
 .Johnson's best compliments, I am 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 p. S. — If I hear from you while I am abroad, your letter will 
 lind me at William Hayley's, Esq., Eartham. near Chichester. 
 We purpose to return in about a month. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. .36: 
 
 TO MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH. 
 
 DEAR MADAM, Eartham, Sept. 1792. 
 
 Your two counsellors are of one mind. We both are of 
 opinion that you will do well to make your second volume a 
 suitable companion to the first, by embellishing it in the same 
 manner; and have no doubt, considering the well-deserved po- 
 pularity of your verse, that the expense will be amply refunded 
 by the public. 
 
 I would give you. Madam, not my counsel only, but conso- 
 lation also, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by 
 a great dearth of it in m}^ own experience. I too often seek, 
 but cannot find it. Of this, however, I can assure you, if that 
 may at all comfort you, that both my friend Hayley and myself 
 most truly sympathise with you under all your sufferings. 
 Neither have you, I am persuaded, in any degree lost the in- 
 terest you always had in him, or your claim to any service 
 that it may be in his power to render you. Had you no other 
 title to his esteem, his respect for your talents, and his feelings 
 for your misfortunes, must insure to you the friendship of such 
 a man for ever. I know, however, there are seasons when, 
 look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom enve- 
 loping all objects. This is itself an afiliction ; and the worse, 
 because it makes us think ourselves more unhappy than we are ; 
 and at such a season it is, I doubt not, that you suspect a dimi- 
 nution of our friend's zeal to serve you. 
 
 I was much struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley, 
 where you say that you " will endeavour to take an interest in 
 green leaves again." This seems the sound of my own voice 
 reflected to me from a distance. I have so often had the same 
 thought and desire ; a day scarcely passes, at this season of the 
 
3G8 CORRESPONDENCE 01' 
 
 year, when I do not contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, 
 and say, " Perhaps I shall never see you clothed again." Every 
 year, as it passes, makes this expectation more reasonable ; and 
 the year with me cannot be very distant, when the event will 
 verify it. Well, may God grant us a good hope of arriving in 
 due time where the leaves never fall, and all will be right ! 
 
 Mrs. Unwin, I think, is a Ijttle better than when you saw her ; 
 but still so feeble as to keep me in a state of continual appre- 
 hension. I live under the point of a sword suspended by a 
 hair. Adieu, my dear Madam ; and believe me to remain your 
 sincere aod affectionate humble servant, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. COURTENAY,* WESTON-UNDERWOOD. 
 
 MY DEAR CATHARINA, Eartham, Sept. 10, 1792. 
 
 I am not so uncourteous a knight as to leave your last 
 kind letter, and the last I hope that I shall receive for a long 
 time to come, without an attempt, at least, to acknowledge and 
 to send you something in the shape of an answer to it ; but hav- 
 ing been obliged to dose myself last night with laudanum, on 
 account of a little nervous fever, to which I am always subject, 
 and for which I find it the best remedy, I feel myself this 
 morning particularly under the influence of Lethean vapours, 
 and, consequently, in danger of being uncommonly stupid ! 
 
 You could hardly have sent me intelligence that would have 
 gratified me more than that of my two dear friends. Sir John 
 and Lady Throckmorton, having departed from Paris two days 
 before the terrible 10th of August. I have had many anxious 
 thoughts on their account ; and am truly happy to learn that 
 
 * Now Lady Throckmorton. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 
 
 869 
 
 "they have sought a more peaceful region, while it was yet per- 
 mitted them to do so. They will not, I trust, revisit those 
 scenes of tumult and horror while they shall continue to merit 
 that description. We are here all of one mind respecting the 
 cause in which the Parisians are engaged ; wish them a free 
 people, and as happy as they can wish themselves. But their 
 conduct has not always pleased us : we are shocked at their 
 sanguinary proceedings, and begin to fear, myself in particular, 
 that they will prove themselves unworthy, because incapable of 
 enjoying it, of the inestimable blessings of liberty. My daily 
 toast isj Sobriety and freedom to the French ; for they seem as 
 destitute of the former, as they are eager to secure the latter. 
 
 We still hold our purpose of leaving Eartham on the 17th ; 
 and again my fears on Mrs. Unwin's account begin to trouble 
 me ; but they are not quite so reasonable as in the first instance. 
 If she could bear the fatigue of travelling then, she is more 
 equal to it at present ; and supposing that nothing happens to 
 alarm her, which is very probable, may be expected to reach 
 Weston in much better condition than when she left it. Her 
 improvement, however, is chiefly in her looks, and in the arti- 
 cles of speaking and walking ; for she can neither rise from her 
 chair without help, nor walk without a support ; nor read, nor 
 use her needles. Give my love to the good Doctor, and make 
 him acquainted with the state of his patient, since he, of all 
 men, seems to have the best right to know it. 
 
 I am proud that you are pleased with the Epitaph I sent you, 
 and shall be still prouder to see it perpetuated by the chisel. It 
 is all that I have done since here I came, and all that I have 
 been able to do. I wished, indeed, to have requited Romney 
 for his well-drawn copy of me, in rhyme ; and have more than 
 once or twice attempted it : but I find, like the man in the fa- 
 ble, who could leap only at Rhodes, that verse is almost im- 
 
 3 A 
 
370 COHRESPONIJENCE OF 
 
 possible to me, except at Weston. — Tell my friend George thai 
 I am every day mindful of him, and always love him ; and bid 
 him by no means to vex himself about the tardiness of An- 
 drews.* Remember me affectionately to William, and to Pit- 
 cairn, whom I shall hope to find with you at my return ; and 
 should you sec Mr. Buchanan, to him also. — I have now charged 
 you with commissions enow, and having added ]Mrs. Unwin's 
 best compliments, and told you that I long to sec you again. 
 will conclude myself, 
 
 My dear Catharina, 
 
 Most truly yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO MRS. KING. 
 
 MY DEAR MADAM, Oct. 14, 1792. 
 
 Your kind enquiries after mine and Mrs. Unwin's health 
 will not permit me to be silent ; though I am and have long 
 been so indisposed to writing, that even a letter has almost 
 overtasked me. 
 
 Your last but one found me on the point of setting out for 
 Sussex, whither I went with Mrs. Unwin, on a visit to my 
 friend, Mr. Hayley. We spent si5c weeks at Eartham, and 
 returned on the twentieth of September. I had hopes that 
 change of air and change of scene might be serviceable both to 
 my poor invalid and me. She, I hope, has received some be- 
 nefit ; and I am not the worse for it myself; but, at the same 
 time, must acknowledge that 1 cannot boast of much amend- 
 ment. The time we spent there could not fail to pass as agree- 
 
 • A stone-mason, who was making a pedestal for an antique bust of 
 Homer. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 371 
 
 ably as her weakness, and my spirits, at a low ebb, would per- 
 mit. Hay ley is one of the most agreeable men, as well as one 
 of the most cordial friends. His house is elegant ; his library 
 large, and well chosen ; and he is surrounded by the most de- 
 lightful scenery. But I have made the experiment only to 
 prove, what indeed I knew before, that creatures are physicians 
 of little value, and that health and cure are from God only. 
 Henceforth, therefore, I shall wait for those blessings from 
 Him, and expect them at no other hand. In the mean time, I 
 have the comfort to be able to tell you that Mrs. Unvvin, on 
 the whole, is restored beyond the most sanguine expectations I 
 had when I wrote last ; and that, as to myself, it is not much 
 otherwise with me than it has been these twenty years; ex- 
 cept that this season of the year is always unfavourable to my 
 spirits. 
 
 I rejoice that you have had the pleasure of another interview 
 with Mr. Martyn ; and am glad that the trifles I have sent you 
 afforded him any amusement. This letter has already given 
 you to understand, that I am at present no artificer of verse ; 
 and that, consequently, I have nothing new to communicate. 
 When I have, I shall do it to none more readily than to your- 
 self. 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 Very affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 18, 1792. 
 
 I thought that the wonder had been all on my side, hav- 
 ing been employed in wondering at your silence, as long as you 
 
372 COKUESPONDENCE OF 
 
 at mine. Soon after our arrival at Earlhani, 1 received a letter 
 from you, which 1 answered, if not by the return of tlie post, 
 at least in a day or two. Not that I should have insisted on the 
 ceremonial of letter lor letter, during; so long; a period, could 1 
 have found leisure to double your debt \ but while there, I had 
 no oppDrtunily for writing, except now and then a short one; 
 for wo breakfasted early, studied Milton as soon as breakfast 
 was over, and continued in that employment till Mrs. Unwin 
 came forth iVom her ciiamber, to whom all the rest of my time 
 was necessarily devoted. Our return to Weston was on the 
 nineteenth of last month, according; to your information. You 
 will naturally think that, in the interval, I must have had suffi- 
 cient leisure to "ive you notice of our safe arrival. But the fact 
 must have been otherwise. 1 have neither been well myself, 
 nor is Mrs. Unwin, thouij;h better, so much improved in her 
 health, as not still to require my continual assistance. My dis- 
 order has been tin- old one, to which 1 have been subject so 
 many years, and especially about this season — a nervous fever ; 
 not, inileed. so oppressive as it has sometimes proved, but suf- 
 ficiently alarminji; both to Mrs. Ihiwin and myself, and such as 
 maile it neither easy nor proper for me to make much use of my 
 pen, while it continued. At present I am tolerably free from 
 it ; a blessini; for which I believe myself partly indebted to the 
 use of James's powder, in small quantities; and partly to a 
 small quantity of laudanum, taken every nii;ht ; but chiefly to 
 a manifestation of God's presence vouchsafed to me a few days 
 since ; transient, indeed, ami dimly seen, throui;h a mist of 
 many fears anil troubles, but sullicient to convince me, at least 
 while the Enemy's power is a little restrained, that lie has not 
 cast me oil" I'oi' ever. 
 
 Our visit was a pleasant one; as pleasant as Mi's. Unwin'k 
 weakness, and the state of my spirits, never very good, would 
 
WIIJ.IAM COWPER. 373 
 
 allow. As to my own health, 1 ncvcM- expected that it would be 
 much inn)roveil hy the journey ; nor iiavo I (bund it so. Some, 
 benefit, indeed, 1 hoped ; and perhaps, a little more than 1 ibimd. 
 But the season wiis, after the first fortnia;ht, extremely unfa- 
 vourable, stormy and wet ; and the prospects, thouii;li grand and 
 mai^nificent. yet rather of a melancholy cast, and consequently 
 not very propitious to me. The cultivated aijpearance of Wes- 
 ton suits my frame of mind far better than wild hills that aspire 
 to be mountains, covered with vast unlVequented woods, and 
 here and there afl'ording a peep between their summits at the 
 distant ocean. Within doors all was hospitality and kindness, 
 but the scenery wou/d have its ellect; and (hough delightful in 
 the extreme to those who had spirits to bear it, w as too gloomy 
 for me. 
 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 Most sincerely, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 rO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAUEST JOHNNY, Nov. 5, 1792. 
 
 I have done nothing since you went, except (hat I have 
 finished the Sonnet which 1 told you I had begun, and vsent it to 
 Hayley, who is well pleased therewith, and hus by this time 
 transmitted it to whom it most concerns.^ 
 
 I would not give the algebraist sixpence for his encomiums 
 oh my Task, if he condemns my Homer, which, I know, iu 
 point of language is equal to it, and in variety of numbers supe- 
 rior. But the character of the foinier having been some years 
 established, he follows the general cry ; and should Homer es- 
 
 • Sonnet to George Roniney, Esq. on liis picture of him in craj ons. 
 
374 COKUKSPONDENCE OF 
 
 tablish himself as well, and I trust he will hereafter, I shall have 
 his warm suffrage for that also. But if not — it is no matter. 
 Swift says somewhere, — There are a few good judges of poetry 
 in the world, who lend their taste to those who have none: and 
 your man of figures is probably one of the borrowers. 
 
 Adieu — in great haste. Our united love attends yourself and 
 yours, whose I am most truly and affectionately, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 lO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 11, 1792. 
 
 I am not so sensible of your kindness in making me an 
 exception from the number of your correspondents, to whom 
 you forbid the hope of hearing from you till your present la- 
 bours are ended, as to make you wait longer for an answer to 
 your last; which, indeed, would have had its answer before this 
 time, had it been possible for me to write. But so many have 
 demands upon me of a similar kind, and while Mrs. Unwin 
 continues an invaliil, my opportunities of writing are so few, 
 that I am constrained to incur a longarrear to some, with whom 
 I would wish to be punctual. She can at present neither work 
 nor read ; and till she can do both, and amuse herself as usual, 
 my. own amusements of the pen must be suspended. 
 
 I, like you, have a work before me, and a work to which I 
 should be glad to address myself in earnest, but cannot do it at 
 present. When the opportunity comes, I shall, like you, be 
 under a necessity of interdicting some of my usual correspon- 
 dents, and of shortening my letters to the excepted few. Many 
 letters and much company are incompatible with authorship, and 
 the one as niuch as the other. It will be long, I hope, before 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 375 
 
 the world is put in possession of a publication, which you design 
 should be posthumous. 
 
 Oh for the day when your expectations of my complete de- 
 liverance shall be verified ! At present it seems very remote : 
 so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest streak of it is visible 
 in my horizon. The glimpse with which I was favoured about 
 a month since, has never been repeated ; and the depression of 
 my spirits has. The future appears gloomy as ever ; and I seem 
 to myself to be scrambling always in the dark, among rocks and 
 precipices, without a guide, but with an enemy ever at my heels, 
 prepared to push me headlong. Thus I have spent twenty years, 
 but thus I shall not spend twenty years more. Long ere that 
 period arrives, the grand question concerning my everlasting 
 weal or woe will be decided. 
 
 Adieu, my dear friend. I have exhausted my time, though 
 not filled my paper. 
 
 Truly yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 9, 1792. 
 
 You need not be uneasy on the subject of Milton. I 
 shall not find that labour too heavy for me, if I have health and 
 leisure. The season of the year is unfavourable to me respect- 
 ing the former ; and Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me 
 less of the latter than the occasion seems to call for. But the 
 business is in no haste. The artists employed to furnish the 
 embellishments are not likely to be very expeditious ; and a 
 small portion only of the work will be wanted from me at once ; 
 for the intention is to deal it out to the public piece-meal. I am, 
 
376 CORRESPONDKNCE OK 
 
 therefore, under no great anxiety on that account. It is not- 
 indeed, an employment that I should have chosen for myself; 
 because poetry pleases and amuses me more, and would cost me 
 less labour properly so called. All this I felt before I engaged 
 with Johnson ; and did, in the first instance, actually decline 
 the service : but he v^^as urgent ; and, at last, I suffered myself 
 to he persuaded. 
 
 The season of the year, as I have already said, is particularly 
 adverse to me : yet not in itself, perhaps, more adverse than 
 any other; but the approach of it always reminds me of the 
 same season in the dreadful seventy-three, and in the more dread- 
 ful eighty-six. I cannot help terrifying myself with doleful 
 misgivings and apprehensions; nor is the Enemy negligent to 
 seize all the advantage that the occasion gives him. Thus, hear- 
 ing much from him, and having little or no sensible support 
 from God, I suffer inexpressible things till January is over. And 
 even then, whether encreasing years have made me more liable 
 to it, or despair, the longer it lasts, grows naturally darker, I 
 find myself more inclined to melancholy than I was a few years 
 since. God only knows where this will end ; but where it is 
 likely to end, unless He interpose powerfully in my favour, all 
 may know. 
 
 I remain, my dear friend. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 377 
 
 TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. 
 
 Jan. 31, 179.3. 
 lo Psean ! 
 My dearest JOHNNY, 
 
 Even as you foretold, so it came to pass. On Tuesday 
 I received your letter, and on Tuesday came the pheasants ; for 
 which I am indebted in many thatiks, as well as Mrs. Unwin, 
 both to your kindness and to your kind friend Mr. Copeman. 
 
 In Copeman's ear this truth let Echo tell, — 
 "Immortal bards like mortal pheasants well :" 
 And when his clerkship's out, I wish him herds 
 Of golden client's for his golden birds. 
 
 Our friends the Courtenays, have never dined with us since their 
 marriage, because we have never asked them ; and we have 
 never asked them, because poor Mrs. Unwin is not so equal to 
 the task of providing for and entertaining company as before 
 this last illness. But this is no objection to the arrival here of 
 a bustard ; rather it is a cause for which we shall be particularly 
 glad to see the monster. It will be a handsome present to 
 them. So let the bustard come, as the Lord Mayor of London 
 said to the hare, when he was hunting, — let her come, a' God's 
 name: I am not afraid of her. 
 
 Adieu, my dear cousin and caterer. My eyes terribly bad ; 
 else I had much more to say to you. 
 
 Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 3 B 
 
i78 CORRESPONDENCE 01 
 
 TO JOSEIMI HILL, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAIl FIUEND, March 29, 179j. 
 
 Your tidings concerning the slender pittance yet to come, 
 .ue, as you observe, of the melancholy cast. Not being gifted 
 by nature with the means of acquiring much, it is well, how- 
 ever, that she has given me a disposition to be contented with 
 little. I have now been so many years habituated to small mat- 
 ters, that I should probably find myself incommoded by greater^ 
 and may 1 but be enabled to shift, as I have been hitherto, un- 
 satisfied wishes will never trouble me mucii. My pen has helped 
 mo somewhat ; and after some years' toil, I begin to reap the 
 benefit. Had I begun sooner, perhaps I should have known 
 fewer pecuniary distresses ; or, who can say ? It is possible that 
 1 might not liave succeeded so well. Fruit ripens only a short 
 lime before it rots ; and man, in general, arrives not at maturity 
 of mental powers at a inuch earlier period. I am now busied 
 in preparing Homer for his second appearance. An author 
 should consider himself as bound not to please himself, but the 
 public ; and so far as the good pleasure of the public may be 
 learned from llic critics, I design to accommodate myself to it. 
 The Latinisms, though employed by Milton, and numbered by 
 Addison among the arts and expedients by which he has given 
 dignity to his style, I shall render into plain English; the 
 roiio-hcr linos, though my reason for using them has never been 
 proved a bad one, so far as 1 know, I shall make perfectly 
 smooth ; and shall give body and substance to all that is in any 
 degree feeble and flimsy. And when I have done all this, and 
 more, if the critics still grumble. I shall say the very deuce is 
 in them. Yet, that they will grumble, I make no doubt ; for, 
 unn^asoiiable as it is to do so, they all require somctb.ing better 
 
WILLIAM COWPEU. 379 
 
 ihan Homer, and that something thej'^ will certainly never o-et 
 from me. 
 
 As to the canal that is to be my neighbour, I hear little about 
 it. The Courtenays of Weston have nothing to do with it, and 
 I have no intercourse with Tyringham. When it is iinished, 
 the people of these parts will have to carry their coals seven 
 miles only, whicli now they bring from Northampton or Bed- 
 ford, both at the distance of fit\een. But, as Balaam says, who 
 shall live when these things are done? It is not forme, a sexa- 
 genarian already, to expect that I shall. The chief objection to 
 canals in general seems to be, that, multiplying as they do, they 
 are likely to swallow the coasting trade. 
 
 I cannot tell you the joy I feel at the disappointment of the 
 French ; pitiful mimics of Spartan and Roman virtue, without 
 a grain of it in their whole character. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTOJS'. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, April 25, 1793. 
 
 Had it not been stipulated between us, that, being both 
 at present pretty much engrossed by business, we should write 
 when opportunity oflers, I should be frighted at the date of 
 your last: but you will not judge me, I know, by the unfre- 
 quency of my letters ; nor suppose that my thoughts about you 
 are equally unfrequent. In truth, they are not. No day passes 
 in which you are excluded from them. I am so busy that I do 
 not expect even now to fill my paper. While I write, my poor 
 invalid, w^ho is still unable to amuse herself either with book 
 or needle, sits silent at my side ; which makes me, in all mv 
 
3S0 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 letters, hasten to a conclusion. My only time for study is now 
 before breakfast; and I lengthen it as much as I can, by rising 
 early. 
 
 I know not that, with respect to our health, we are either 
 better or worse than when you saw us. Mrs. Unwin, perhaps, 
 has ji^ained a little strength ; and the advancing spring, I hope, 
 will add to it. As to m3'Self, I am, in body, soul, and spirit, 
 scmjjcr idem. Prayer, 1 know, is made for me; and some- 
 times with great enlargement of heart, by those who offer it ; 
 and in this circumstance consists the only evidence I can find, 
 that God is still favourably mindful of me, and has not cast me 
 off for ever. 
 
 A long time since, I received a parcel from Dr. Cogshall, of 
 New York ; and, looking on the reverse of the packing-paper, 
 saw there an address to you. I conclude, therefore, that you 
 received it first, and at his desire transmitted it to me ; conse- 
 quently you are acquainted with him, and, probably, apprised 
 of the nature of cur correspondence. About three years ago I 
 had his first letter to me, which came accompanied by half a 
 dozen American publications. He proposed an exchange of 
 books on religious subjects, as likely to be useful on both sides 
 of the water. Most of those he sent, however, I had seen be- 
 fore. I sent him, in return, such as I could get; but felt my- 
 self indifferently qualified for such a negotiation. I am now 
 called upon to contribute my quota again ; and shall be obliged 
 to you if, in your next, you will mention the titles of half a 
 dozen that may be procured at little cost, that are likely to be 
 new in that country, and useful. 
 
 About two months since, I had a letter from Mr. Jeremiah 
 Waring, of Alton in Hampshire. Do you know such a man? 
 I think I have seen his name in advertisements of mathematical 
 works. He j:s. hcvcvcr, or seems to be, a very pious man. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 3S1 
 
 I was a little surprised lately, seeing in the last Gentleman's 
 Magazine a letter from somebody at Winchester, in which is a 
 copy of the epitaph of our poor friend Unwin : an English, not 
 a Latin one. It has been pleasant to me sometimes to think, 
 that his dust lay under an inscription of my writing ; which I 
 had no reason to doubt, because the Latin one, which I compo- 
 sed at the request of the executors, was, as I understood from 
 Mr. H. Thornton, accepted by them and approved. If they 
 thought, after all, that an English one, as more intelligible, 
 would therefore be preferable, I believe they judged wisely ; 
 but having never heard that they had changed their mind about 
 it, 1 was at a loss to account for the alteration. 
 
 So now, my dear friend, adieu ! — When I have thanked you 
 for a barrel of oysters, and added our united kind remembrances 
 to yourself, and Miss Catlett, I shall have exhausted the last 
 moment that I can spare at present. 
 
 I remain sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, June 12, 179o. 
 
 You promise to be contented with a short line, and it 
 short one you must have, hurried over in the little interval \ 
 have happened to find between the conclusion of my mornmg 
 task and breakfast. Study has this good effect, at least : it makes 
 me an early riser, who might otherwise, perhaps, be as much 
 given to dozing as my readers. 
 
 The scanty opportunity I have, I shall employ in telling you 
 what you principally wish to be told — the present state of mine 
 and Mrs. Unwin's health. In her I cannot perceive any altera- 
 
.382 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 tion for the better; and must be satisfied, I believe, as indeed I 
 have great leason to be, if she does not alter for the worse. She 
 uses the orchard-walk daily, but always supported between two. 
 and is still unable to employ herself as formerly. But she is 
 cheerful, seldom in much pain, and has always strong confidence 
 in the mercy and faithfulness of God. 
 
 As to myself, 1 have always the same song to sing — Well in 
 body, but sick in spirit: sick, nigh unto death. 
 
 Seasons return, but not to me returns 
 God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day. 
 Or sight of cheering truth, or pardon seal'd, 
 Or joy, or hope, or Jesus' face divine ; 
 But cloud. Sec. 
 
 I could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and accompany 
 him through the whole passage, on the subject of a blindness 
 more deplorable than his ; but time fails me. 
 
 I feel great desire to see your intended publication ; a desire 
 which the manner in which Mr. Bull speaks of it, who called 
 here lately, has no tendency to aTlay. I believe I forgot to thank 
 you for your last poetical present : not because I was not much 
 pleased with it, but I write always in a hurry, and in a hurry 
 must now conclude myself, with our united love. 
 Yours, my dear friend, 
 
 Most sincerely, 
 
 W. C. 
 
 10 THE KEV. JOHN JOHNSON. 
 
 MY DEARES r JOHNNY, Aug, 2, 1T93. 
 
 The Bishop of Norwich has won my heart by his kind 
 and liberal behaviour to you ; and, if I knew him, I would tell 
 him so. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER. 3S3 
 
 I am glad that your auditors find your voice strong and your 
 utterance distinct ; glad, too, that your doctrine has hitherto made 
 you no enemies. You have a gracious Master, who, it seems, 
 will not suffer you to see war in the beginning. It will be a 
 wonder, however, if you do not, sooner or later, find out that sore 
 place in every heart which can ill endure the touch of apostolic 
 doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, and you will 
 liear of it. I say not this, my dear Johnny, to terrify, but to 
 prepare you for that which is likely to happen, and which, trou- 
 blesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be wished ; for, in 
 general,.<here is little good done by preachers till the world be- 
 gins to abuse them. But understand me aright. I do not mean 
 that you should give them unnecessary provocation, by scolding 
 and railing at them, as some, more zealous than wise, are apt to do. 
 That were to deserve their anger. No ; there is no need of it. 
 The self-abasing doctrines of the gospel, will, of themselves, 
 create you enemies ; but remember this, for your comfort — they 
 will also, in due time, transform them into friends, and make 
 them love you, as if they were your own children. God give 
 you many such ; as, if you are faithful to his cause, I trust he 
 will ! 
 
 Sir John and Lady Throckmorton have lately arrived in Eno-- 
 land, and are now at the Hall. They have brought me from 
 Rome a set of engravings on Odyssey subjects, by Flaxman, 
 whom you have heard Hayley celebrate. They are fine, very 
 much in the antique style, and a present from the Dowager Ladv 
 Spencer. 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 W. C. 
 
334 CORRESPONDENCE OF 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston, Oct. 22, 1793, 
 
 You are very kind to apologize for a siiort letter, instead 
 of reproaching me with having been so long entirely silent I 
 persuaded myself, however, that while you were on your journey, 
 you would miss me less as a correspondent than you do when 
 you are at home, and therefore allowed myself to pursue my 
 literary labours only, but still purposing to write as soon as I 
 should have reason to judge you returned to London. Hin- 
 drances, however, to the execution even of that purpose, have 
 interposed ; and at this moment I write in the utmost haste, as 
 indeed I always do, partly because I never begin a letter till I 
 am already fatigued with study, and partly through fear of inter- 
 ruption before I can possibly finish it. 
 
 I rejoice that you have travelled so much to your satisfaction. 
 As to me, my travelling days, I believe, are over. Our journey 
 of last year was less beneficial, both to Mrs. Unwin's health and 
 my spirits, than I hoped it might be ; and we arc hardly rich 
 enough to migrate in quest of pleasure merely. 
 
 I thank you much for your last publication, which I am read- 
 ing, as fast as I can snatch opportunity, to Mrs. Unwin. We 
 have found it, as far as we have gone, both interesting and 
 amusing ; and 1 never cease to wonder at the fertility of your 
 invention, that, shut up as you were in your vessel, and disu- 
 nited from the rest of mankind, could yet furnish you with such 
 variety, and with the means, likewise, of saying the same thing 
 in so many difl'erent ways.* 
 
 Sincerely yours, W. C. 
 
 ' The publication alluded to is entitled, " Letters to a Wife ; written 
 during tiircc voyages to Africa, from 1750 to 1754. By the Author of Car- 
 diphonia." 
 
WILLIAM COWPEK. 3S5 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 Dec. 10, 1793- 
 You mentioned, my dear friend, in your last letter, an 
 unfavourable sprain that you had received, which you appre- 
 hended might be very inconvenient to you for some time to 
 come ; and having learned also from Lady Hesketh the same 
 unwelcome intelligence, in terms still more alarming than those 
 in which you related the accident yourself, I cannot but be 
 anxious, as well as my cousin, to know the present state of it ; 
 and shall truly rejoice to hear that it is in a state of recovery. 
 Give us a line of information on this subject, as soon as you can 
 conveniently, and you will much oblige us. 
 
 I write by morning candle-light ; my literary business oblig- 
 ing me to be an early riser. Homer demands me : finished, 
 indeed, but the alterations not transcribed ; a work to which I 
 am now hastening as fast as possible. The transcript ended, 
 which is likely to amount to a good sizeable volume, I must 
 write a new preface ; and then farewell to Homer for ever ! 
 And if the remainder of my days be a little gilded with the pro- 
 fits of this long and laborious work, I shall not regret the time 
 that I have bestowed on it. 
 
 I remain, my dear friend, 
 
 Afiectionately yours, 
 
 w. c. 
 
 Can you give us any news of Lord Howe's Armada ; con- 
 cerning which we may enquire, as our forefathers did of the 
 Spanish, — " An in coelum sublata sit, an in Tartarum depressa ?" 
 
 THE END. 
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