l^u' iy T,Sf:i frfi THE LETTERS OP WILLIAM COWPER. EDITED BY REV. J. S. MEME8, LL.D., F.A.S. LON.; HON. R.S.A.S., &c. HON. MEMBER OF THE ROYAL SCOTTISH ACADEMY OF FINE ARTS, HON. FOREIGN PRESIDENT AFRICAN INSTITUT OF FRANCE. ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF HAMILTON. GLASGOW: W. R. MTHUN, BOOKSELLER AND PUBLISHER TO HIS ROYAL RIGHKESS THE PRINCE ALBERT. 1855. Add to Ub. #^l L'f CONTENTS. A 4-^ SECTION I. CONTAINING THIRTY-FOUR LETTERS FROM JUNE, 1765, TO SEPTEMBER, 1770. LATTER 1765. 1 . June 24 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Cowper's recovery from his first illness — Removal from St Albans — Situation at Huntingdon 2. July 1 — To Lady Hesketh — Cowper describes the religious effects left by illness, and his present state of mind 3. July 4 — To Lady Hesketh — Thanks for a letter — Christian effects of affliction — His treatment and conversation at St Albans ...... 4. July 5 — To Lady Hesketh — Account of Huntingdon — Epitaph — Distance from his brother at Cambridge 5. July 12 — To Lady Hesketh — Conditions of Correspondence — Bishop Newton on the Prophecies — Comfort of religious commimication . . 6. August 1 — To Lady Hesketh — Neglect of God's virord the great cause of irreligion — Beauty and pathos of the language of Scripture ...... 7. August 17 — To Lady Hesketh — Pearsall's " Meditations" — Superiority of faith among the Christian virtues i. September 4 — To Lady Hesketh — Reflections on a particular providence — Comfort in this doctrine as sanctifying our sense of mercies . , . . • 9. September 14— To Lady Hesketh— Cowpert introduction to the Unwins — Account of the family — AflHction not neces- sary in all cases to salvation • • • 920 CON'JENTS. LETTER 10. October 10 — To Ladw Hesketh— Thankfulness of heart for mercies enjoyed ..... 11. October 18 — To Lady Hesketh— The Un\vins— Comforts of prayer . . . . . • 1-2. October 18 — To Major Cowpcr— Excusing silence — Depen- dence upon Providence — Society at Huntingdon 13. October 25— To Joseph Hill, Esq Southampton— The Unw-ins — Rousseau — The error of confining merit to our o\Mi acquaintance .... 1766. 14. March 6 — To Lady Hesketh — Pleasures of solitude to the pious Comforts of divine communion and Christian society 15. March 11 — To Mrs Cowper — His present agreeable situation — The Unwins — His cousin Martin Madan 16. April 4— To Mrs Cowper— Utility of letter writing — of religious conversation . . 17. April 17 — To Mrs Co^vper — Use of reason in religion — Pro- bability of our recognizing each other in a future state — Argument by implication .... 18. April 18 To Mrs Cowper — In continuation, whether departed spirits vnti regard or remember earthly affairs 19. September 3 — To Mrs Cowper — Happiness of heaven, and of meeting again \vith our friends — Religious friendship 20. October 20— To Mrs Cowper— His way of life— Religious exercises — Reasons for not taking orders 1767. 21. March 11— To Mrs Cowper— The nature of sa\dng faith 22. March 14— To Mrs Cowper— Introducing young Unwin — Character of Marshall .... 23. April 3— To Mrs Cowper — Danger of pride — Reasons for intro- ducing Unwin . . . • • 24. July 13— To Mrs Cowper— Tragical death of Mr Unwin, senior . . 25. July 16— To Joseph Hill, Esq Reflections on the preceding subject . . ... 1768. 26. June 16— To Joseph Hill, Esq Removal to Olney— Want of news — Reflections on a visit to St Albans 1769. 27. To Josepli Hill, Esq Difference of dispositions— His own love of retirement — Declines an invitation to leave Olney . . . • • 28. To Mrs Cowper— Happiness in religion— Insufficiency of the world . . . . . • CONTENTS. tiTTXR 29. August 31 — To Mrs Covvper — Consolations of religion on the death of her husband .... 1770. 30. March 5 — To Mrs Cowper — Illness of his brother, John Cowper . . .... 31 . March 31 — To the Rev. John Newton — Demise of his brother — His state, and devotional exercises, on the approach of death . . . 32. May 8 — To Joseph Hill, Esq The same subject — Earnestness of his brother in search of divine truth 33. June 7 — To Mrs Cowper — The same subject continued 34. September 25 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Thanks for former instances of friendship — Declines an invitation to leave Olney ....... SECTION II. CONTAINING THIRTY -EIGHT LETTERS, FROM JUNE, 1778, TO APRIL, 178[ 1778. 35. June 18 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Cowper declines to address Lord Chancellor Thurlow — His reasons 1779. 36. May 26 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Prior's Poems — John- son's " Lives of the Poets" . . . 37. September 21 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Humorous description of his amusements 38. October 31 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Johnson's Lives — The Doctor's criticism of Milton 39. December 2 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Tithe vexations — Hollowness of modern patriotism 1780. 40. February 27 — To the Rev. William Unwin — The writer's modesty — Reynold's remark on genius and mediocrity — Cowper's attempts in fugitive poetry 41. March 18 — To the Rev. John Newton — Danger of change in reform ...... 42. March 28 — To the Rev. William Unwin — On keeping holy the Sabbath ...... 43. April 6— To the Rev. William Unwin— On pluralities— The WTiter's amusements, gardening, landscape drawing, &c. 44. April 16 — To the Rev. John Nevrton — A disagreeable visiter — A travelled man and a travelled gentleman a CONTENTS. ;.ETTER 45. May 3 — To the Rev. John Newton — Use of amusements — Worthlessness of every thing in comparison with the love of God . . 46. May C — To Joseph Hill, Esq — Cowper describes facetiously his practice as a rural lawyer — The Chancellor's illness 47. May 8 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Pleasures of landscape drawing — Invitation to Olney — Modern politics and those of Charles I. ..... 48. May 10 — To Mrs Cowper — Billet on the death of her brother 49. May 10 — To the Rev. John Newton — Facetious character of Bentley and criticism — Landscape drawing — Fable of the Raven ...... 50. June 8 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Reasons for not writing — Character of Pope as a letter writer — Translation verses ...... 51. June 12 — To the Rev. John Newton — The Gordon riots — Protestant association .... 52. June 18 — To the Rev. William Unwin — French Revolution — Poetry the best vehicle for forcible sentiment — Epigram .53. June 22 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Robertson — Hume — Biographia Britannica — Verses on the Riots .54. June 23. To the Rev. John Newton — The Riots— Prophetic spirit in man — Slander • . . . .55. July 2 — To the Rev. William Un\\'in — Upon epitaph writing — Example of one ..... 5'). July 8 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Distress of the lace makers — Their petition ..... .'i7. July 11 — To the Rev. William Un\\'in — On epigrams, with specimens — .Cowper's own manner of \mting poetry, and his motives ...... 5S. July 20 — To Mrs Cowper — Silent advance of age — Want of a subject ...... 59. July 27 — To the Rev. William Un^vin — A dumb duet — Specimen of jury trial ..... 60. July 30— To the Rev. John Newton— Poetical trifles— Riddle on a kiss ...... 61. ,\ugust 6 — To the Rev. William Unmn — Having nothing to say no reason for not writing — Mankind the same in all ages ...... 62. August 21 — To the Rev. John Newton — Escape, adventures, and recapture of a tame hare 63. August 31 — To Mrs Cowper — Lady Cowper's death — Effects of time upon the person and mind CONTENTS. LETTER 64. September 3 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Biograpliia Britannica — Lines on the names of little repute inserted in that work ...... 65. September 7 — To the Rev. William Unvvin — On education — Greek and Latin too early taught — Importance of geography 66. September 17 — To the Rev. William Unwin — The subject continued —Public and private education 67. October 5 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Continuation — Negligence in teaching English — Manners best formed at home — Connections begun in early life at school S8. Octobers — To Mrs Newton — Mr Newton's arrival at Rams- gate, and reference to his early life 69. November 9 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Enclosing verses on a goldfinch — Humorous charge of a halfpenny per copy 70. December 25 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Verses, memorable law- suit between Eyes and Nose — Happiness of exemption from law ...... 71. December — To the Rev. William Unwin — Poetical law reports — Anecdote .... 1781. 72. February 15 — To Joseph Hill, Esq. — Thanks for information regarding relatives — Penalty of longevity 78. April 2 — To the Rev. William Unwin — His occupations — Unfeeling tempers ai'e unskilful in giving advice SECTION in. CONTAINING FIFTY-FIVE LETTERS, FROM MAY, 1781, TO JULY, 1783 1751. 74. May 1 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Cowper gives an account of the composition and printing of his first volume 75. May 9 — To Joseph Hill, Esq — Same subject — Cowper's habits of composition 76. May 10 — To the Rev. William Unwin — His reasons for pre- ferring Mr Newton as corrector of the press 77. May 23 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Publication of the volume delayed — History and poems of Vincent Bourne 78. May — To the Rev. William Unwin — Printing of his volvm:ie proceeds — Correction of proofs — Horsemanship 79. June 5 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Influence of Mi's Un^vin on his literary pursuits — Ways of Providence Inscrutable ..... CONTENTS. I.ETTEa 80. June 24 — To the Rev. William Unwin— Irritability of poets- Gospel scheme of mercy, as displayed in Co\\'per's poetry 81. July 6— To the Rev. William Unwin— Thanks for certain benefactions to the poor at Olney — Humanity — Poriw-igs 82. July 12— To the Rev. John Newton— Facetious letter in rhyme .... K3. July 29— To the Rev. William Unwin— True import of scriptural meekness — Anecdote of an Abbe — Lady Austen 84. August 25^ To the Rev. William Unwin— Congratulation — Progress of his poetical studies — Lady Austen's settling at Olney ...... 85. October 6 — To the Rev. William Un\\'in — Brighton — Objects and sentiments as an author — His careful retouching 86. October 19 — To Mrs Cowper — His first volume — Its great aim — Sorrowful reminiscences 87. Novembers — To the Rev. William Un\\in — Melancholy con- dition of the irreligious and fashionable world — Time of publication — Parental care, a medium between severity and indulgence ..... 88. November 26 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Pleasure in the communication of thought — Origin of society 1782. 89. January 5 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Letter writing, with nothing to say — Johnson's Lives of Prior and Pope 90. .lanuary 17 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Character of John- son as a critic — Criticism not friendly to taste — Poetical reading adapted to the education of a child 91. February 2 — To the Rev. John Newton — Progress of the volume — Insensibility to criticism — Presenting a copy to Johnson . .... 92. February 9 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Juvenile verses of Lowth — Charles I. — Cowper's correspondence with Lady Austen ...... 93. February 16 — To the Rev. John Newton — Pleasures of authorship — Caraccioli 94. February 24 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Preface to his poems — Dignity of authorship 95. February 25 — To Lord Thurlow — Enclosed in the preceding, and accompanying a copy of the first volume of the author's poems ..... 96. February — To the Rev. John Newton — Preface to his volumes — Fast sermon — Thoughts on reproof to kings 97. March 6— To the Rev. John Newton — Political remarks — Character of Cronmell CONTENTS. IKTTER 08. March 7 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Delay in publishing his volume — Decay of national morality 99. March 14 — To the Rev. John Newton — Cowper's opinion of Newton's preface — Praise of his printer, Mr Johnson 100. To the Rev. William Unwin^Lady Austen's opinion of Mr Unwin — Arrangements at Olney — On pretenders to religion .... 101. March 18 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Favourable recep- tion of his volume — Pleasure of pleasing — An artless critic — Lord Thurlow .... 102. March 24— To the Rev. William Bull— Note of thanks 103. April 1 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Details on the pro- gress of his volume .... 104. April 27 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Music — A brief visit proposed — Latin language — Parenthesis 105. May 27 — To the Rev. William Unwn — Franklin's opinion of his poetry — Special interpositions of Providence — Captain Cook ...... 106. June 12 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Fancied indifference to criticism — Growth of ambition — Importance of his imme- diate circle to a man 107. July 16 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Vanity of human talent in rulers, without national godliness — Domestic chagrins . . . ... 108. August 3 — To the Rev. William Un^an — Anxiety respecting Dr Johnson's opinion — A ^^per in a green-house — The Colu- briad — Poetry of Madam Guyon 109. August 12 — To Lady Austen — A billet and verses 110. October 27— To the Rev. William Bull— Translation of Madame Guyon . . . 111. November 4 — To the Rev. William Unwdn — Story of John Gilpin — Reception of the poems at court — Benevolence frustrated . . . . ' 112. November 18 — To the Rev. William Unmn — Benefaction to the poor at Olney — Gilpin's success 113 To the Rev. William Unmn — Character of Dr Beattie — Cowper not yet commenced with a second volume — Madam Guyon ... 1783. 114. January 19 — To the Rev. William Unwin — His occupations — Mr Thornton's charities 115. February 8 — To the Rev. John Newton — Reflections on the peace at the conclusion of the American war — Providence overrules the affairs of nations . CONTENTS, tETTER 116. February 13 and 20— To Joseph Hill, Esq — Favourable recep- tion of his poems — John Gilpin 117. February 20— To Joseph Hill, Esq — Vanity of an author- Franklin's letter transCTibed 118. To Joseph Hill, Esq Reflections on youthful friendships 1 19. April 5 — To the Rev. John Newton — Advantage of making a commencement in letter writing — Christain fortitude the only support in distress 120. May 5 To the Rev. John Newton — Affectation of home- liness in a preacher displeasing — Neatness in the style of a sermon ...... 121. iMay 12 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Difficulty oi creating a letter in Olney — Remarks on a sermon of Paley's 122. May 26 To Joseph Hill, Esq Loss of friends the worst ill of longev-ity ..... 123. May 31 — To the Rev. John Newton — Joy in death to believers . .... 124. June 8 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Describes his retire- ment — Character of the Rev. Mr Bull — Stanzas 123. June 13 — To the Rev, John Newton — Newton's unfinished Ecclesiastical History — Reflections on the day of judgment — Remarkable mists .... 12C. June 17 — To the Rev. John Newton — Gentleness indispen- sable to effective spiritual admonition 127. June 19 — To the Rev. John Newton — Translation of Omicron's letters into Dutch — Art of printing 128. July 27 — To the Rev. .lohn Newton — His love of retirement an appointment of Providence — The styles of Robertson and Gibbo't .... SECTION IV. CONTAINING SIXTY-FIVE LETTERS, FROM AUGUST, 1783, TO OCTOBER, 1 785. LETXEK 1783. 129. August 3 — To the Rev. William Bull — Announcement of the second volume, and commencement of the Task 130. August 4 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Indifference to the sale of his works — Superiority of the English ballad — Adven- tures of a goldfinch 131 . September 7 — To the Rev. William Un\vin — Impropriety of too familiar an approach to God in our devotional exercises 132. September 8 — To the Rev. John Newton — Thoughts in deli- rium discover the habitual state of the mind — Anecdote 133. September 23 — To the Rev. John Newton — Slight indisposi- tion — An absent man .... 134. September 29 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Advantages of philosophy — Facetious improvement upon balloons 135. October 6 — To the Rev. John Newton — Incidental evils of Christianity occasioned by overzeal or indifference in professors .... 136. October — To the Rev. John Newton — Unhappy situation of the American loyalists — British charity too often foreign in application ..... 137. October 20 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Note requesting Cook's Voyages — Comforts of winter evenings' reading 138. November 10 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Neglect of friends — Pleasures of walking — Fire in Olney 1 39. November 24 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Rank no excuse for contemptuous negligence — L'Estjrange's Josephus — simplicity in historical writing 140. To the Rev. William Unwin — Visit to Mr and Mrs Throck- morton — A balloon 1784. 141 . January 3 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Dearth of epistolary matter — East India charter ought to be repealed 142. January 18 — To the Rev. John Newton — Reflections on the end of the old and beginning of a new year 143. January 3 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Translation of Latin verses of Dr Jortin — State of departed spirits — Cliarities ... CONTENTS. LF.TTEa 144. January 25— To the Kev. John Newtnr— East India charter — Jortin's lines 145. February To the Rev. John Newton— Mr Newton's Apolotria Motto and title for the work — Refusal to write for a Review .... 146. February 10— To the Rev. John Newton— Time for study- Nervous men — Vision of Adam 147. February 22— To the Rev. William Bull— Progress of the Task .... 148. February— To the Rev. John Newton— Mr Thornton's libe- rality Parliamentary reports — Fox and North — Theolo- gical Miscellany 149. February 29— To the Rev. William Un win— Lord Petre— Mr Thornton's charities — Cowper's dislike to new corres- pondents . . . • 150. March 8— To the Rev. John Newton— Works of Caraccioli- Declines to translate a portion of them — Danger of attri- buting religious comfort to any source save faith in Christ 151. March II To the Rev. John Newton— Publication of his Apology — Advantage of temper in a controversy 152. March 19— To the Rev. John Newton— Difficulty of French translation— Pious melancholy of religious writers in that language ...••• 53. March 29— To the Rev. John Newton— The poet's retirement Visit from"ix parliamentary candidate 154. April— To the Rev. John Newton— Danger of trifling with our Maker— Earthquake in Italy 155. April 5— To the Rev. William Un win— Characters of Beattie and Blair — Origin of languages 156. April 25— To tlie Rev. William Unwin— The same subject continued Ordinary appearances of Nature in poetical description . . • • 157. April 26— To the Rev. John Newton — Continuation of the same subject — Criticism the offspring of writing, not writing produced by criticism 158. May 3 To the Rev. William Unwin — Immodesty and perni- cious effects of paintmg tln^ face 159. May 8— To the Rev. William I'n win— Declines attempting a sequel to John Gilpin— Scruples about admitting the poem itself into a collected edition of his works 160. May 22— To the Rev. John Newton— Dr Johnson's favour- able opinion of his poeiiis ICl. June 5— To the Rev. John New ton— The same subject CONTENTS. i()2. July 3 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Resumption of his classical studies — Taxation 163. July 5 — To the Rev. John Newton — Pagan mythology not believed by the heathens themselves — taxes 164. July 12 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Vincent Bourne's Latin poems — Hume's Essay on Suicide 165. July 19 — To the Rev. John Newton — A visit to bedlam 166. July 28 — To the Rev. John Newton — On his departure for Lymington — Gilpin's Lives of the Reformers — Friendship in age .... 167. August 14 — To the Rev. William Un\vin — Congratulations on his return from a journey — Recreations at Olney — Reading — Natives of the Pacific Ocean 168. August 16 — To the Rev. John Newton — His amusements — Captain Cook's last voyage — Dancing savages 169. September 11 — To the Rev. William Unwin— With the manuscript of the Task — His motives in writing that poem .... 170. September 11 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Dr Cotton's Poetry and character .... 171. September 18 — To the Rev. John Newton — His garden — Charms of the sounds and sights of Nature — Goodness of God in this respect 172. October 2 — To the Rev. William Unwin — The task — Pauses in blank verse — The Throckmortons 173. October 9 — To the Rev. John Newton — Unconnected thoughts Reflections on the death of Captain Cook 174. October 10— To the Rev. William Unwin— Subject of the Task — Its religious views — Originality of its descriptions —Plan .... 175. October 20 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Tirocinium — Offer of the dedication to Mr Unwin — Independence as to publishing — Corrections 176. October 30 — To the Rev. John Newton — Reflections on savage virtue Gradual progress in the composition of the Task 177- November 1 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Arrangements with the publisher — Reasons for keeping literary secrets — Progress of Tirocinium 178. November 8 — To the Rev. William Bull — Note announcing the printing of the Task, &c. 179. November — To Joseph Hill, Esq. — Condolence on the death of his mother — The Task, Tirocinium, &c. 180. November 27 — To the Rev. John Newton — Deprecating the 2 a CONTENTS. LETTER i('ea of his being neglected, in not receiving information of Cowper's poetical studies — Objects contemplated in the Task, Tirocinium, kc. 181 . November — To the Rev. William Unwin — Tirocinium finished — Uncertainty of progress in poetical composition 182. November 29 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Mr Newton's chagrin from not having been consulted respecting' the Task 183. December 13 — To the Rev. John Newton — Arguments, titles, and contents, of the several books of the Task explained 184. December 18 — To the Rev. William Unwin — On various subjects connected with his second volume — Bishop Bagot 185. Christmas Eve — To the Rev. John Newton — Defending the title, &c. of the Task — Death of an acquaintance lya*). 18C. January 15 — Tothe Rev. William Unwin — Agreeable nothings in letter-writing — Mr Newton — Death of Dr Johnson — Epitaph 187. February 7 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Poems contri- buted to the Gentleman's Magazine — Success of his poetry 188. March 20 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Indifference of the great to virtue — An author's impatience — Invitation to Olney .... 189. April 30 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Success of John Gilpin — Reconciliation with Mr Newton — Effect of fame on the memory of acquaintances 190. June 25 — To Joseph Hill, Esq — Description of his study SECTION V CONTAINING ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHT LETTERS, FROM JUNE, 1 785, TO SEPTEMBER, 1 790, AND EXTENDING FROM THE PUBLICATION OF THE TASK, TO THE COMPLETION OF THE TRANSLATION OF HOMER. 91. July 27 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Thunder storm — First announcement of the translation of Homer 192. August 27 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Comfort in his present connections — Success of the Task — Dr Johnson's journal, and character of his religion 193. October 12 — To Lady Hesketh — Pleasun' in renewing their correspondence — Past course of life ^ CONTENTS. LETTER 194. October 22 — To the Rev. William Unwin — .Progress of his translation — Course of Greek recommended for a boy 195. November 9 — To Lady Hesketh — Account of his circum- stances — Thanks for offers of assistance — his personal appearance 196. To Lady Hesketh — Disinterestedness of his friendship — Secret of his translation . . . 197. November 9 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Excellence of a " Charge "by Bishop Bagot 198. December 24 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Resolution to publish Homer by subscription 199. December 24 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Reasons for under- taking the translation of Homer 200. December 27 — To George Colman, Esq Cowper's former friendship for Colman unabated — Solicits his interest in favour of the translation of Homer 201. December 31 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Progress in translating — Subscriptions — Poor of Olney 1786. 202. January 10 — To Lady Hesketh — Inequalities in the Task — Causes of this — Homer 203. January 14 — To the Rev. William Unwin — A visit to Lady Hesketh — Why the Iliad concludes with the death of Hector 204. January 15 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Progress with Homer .... 205. January 23 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Dr Maty's opinion of the Task — No good English version of Homer 206. January 31 — To Lady Hesketh — Thanks for an anonymous present — Details on Homer — General Cowper 207. February 9 — To Lady Hesketh — Invitation to Olney — Description of the poet's residence . _ 208. February 11 — To Lady Hesketh — Translation — Vexations of criticism — Chancellor Thurlow 209. February 19— To Lady Hesketh— Her visit to Olney— Sim- plicity the main characteristic of Homer 210. February 27 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Condolence on the death of Mrs Bagot 211. March 6 — To Lady Hesketh — Elisions in blank verse — Licence in his translation 212. March 13— To the Rev. William Un\vin— Revision of the translation .... 213. April 5 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Stating reason for not pointing out the errors of Pope's version CONTENTS. I.KTTER •214. April 17 — To Lady Hesketh — On deferring her visit — The vicarage — Anonymous present — Early days 215. April 24 — To Lady Hesketh — The same sulyect — Comfort of her letters .... 216. May 8 — To Lady Hesketh — Injurious criticism!* — Colman's and Maty's opinions of his translations — Vexations of altering — Weston .... 217. May 15 — To Lady Hesketh — Anticipations of meeting — His temperament sensitive, yet ambitious — Proper cultivation of talent a Christian duty 218. May 20— To the Rev. Walter Bagot— Advantages of delay and revision before publishing 219. May 25— To Lady Hesketh — Delay of her visit — Similarity of the Task to the style of Young — State of his spirits 220. May 29 — To Lady Hesketh — Regret on the passing of spring during her prolonged absence — Homer — State of health 221. .Tune 4 and 5 — To Lady Hesketh — Reminiscences of youth — Prayers in Latin — The Throckmortons 222. June 9 — To Joseph Hill, Esq His engagements — Correspon- dence — Nonsense Club — The Chancellor 223. June 19— To Joseph Hill, Esq Lady Hesketh's arrival— Weston .... 224. July 3 — To the Rev. William Unwin — Lady Hesketh at Olney — Description of their intended residence at Weston — Course of Latin reading for youth 225. July 4 — To the Rev.'A'alier Bagot — Corrections of his version Inadvertencies in the original 226. August 24— To the Rev. William Unwin— Dimculties in translating the narrative portions of Homer 227. To the Rev. William Unwin — Pleasures of retrospection 228. To the Rev. William Unwin — His poetry usually the reverse of his state of mind — verses enclosed 229. To the Rev. William Unwin — Declines to write against legal oaths and travelling on Sunday — His reasons 230. To the Rev. William L^nwin — Letter- writing — A simile in rhyme — State of the nation 231. To the Rev. William Unwin — Note enclosing ♦' The Lily and the Rose" .... 232. To the Rev. William Unwin — Character of Churchill as a poet 233. To the Rev. William Unwin — Some accounts of his earliest attempts in verse 234. August 31 — To the Rev. Waltei- Bagot — Miltonic bhnik verse — Homer CONTENTS. LETTER 2^5. October 6 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Adventure of a manuscript of translation ... 236. November 17 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Announcing his removal to Weston Underwood 237. November 26 — To Lady Hesketh — His birthday — Comforts and the scenery of Weston 238. December 4 — To Lady Hesketh — On the death of Mr Unwin — His character — Assurance of his happiness 239. December 9 — To Robert Smith, Esq The same subject 240. December 9 — To Lady Hesketh — Mr Un win's death, as affecting the education of Lord Cowper 241. December 9 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Account of Mr Unwin's last illness .... 242. December 21 — To Lady Hesketh — Advance of praise hke that of money .... 1787. 243. January 3 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Tediousness of Homer's battles — Success of the poet's two former volumes 244. January 8 — To Lady Hesketh — Indisposition — Progress in Homer — A lady claims his poem of " The Rose" 245. January 18 — To Lady Hesketh — Dreams may be divine com- munications in particular instances — Introduction of Mr Rose , . . 246. July 24 — To Samuel Rose, Esq. — Character of Burns as a poet .... 247. August 27 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Invitation to farther intimacy — Barclay's Argenis 248. August 30 — To Lady Hesketh — His reviving health and spirits — The Throckmortons 249. September 4 — To Lady Hesketh — Invitation to Weston — His reading .... 250. September 15 — To Lady Hesketh — His rural amusements — A visiter .... 251. September 29 — To Lady Hesketh — Memoirs of the Turks, by Baron de Tott . . 252. October 19 — To Samuel Rose, Esq. — Resumption of his studies — Leaving the country after his father's death 253. November 10 — To Lady Hesketh — Anecdotes of a kitten and a leech .... 254. November 16 — To Joseph Hill, Esq. — His pleasure in trans- lating Homer .... 255. November 27— To Lady Hesketh—Delay of her visit— The clerk of Northampton — Anecdote CONTENTS. LETTER 256. December 4 — To Lady Hesketh — Family at Weston Hall — Providence shapes all our plans 257. December 6— To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Visit to the Ches- ters — Difficulty of rendering the opening lines of the Iliad 258. December 10 — To Lady Hesketh — Progress of his translation — Life changes like a stream 259. December 13 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Necessity of perse- verance — Hope increases with obstacles — Talents given by Nature ..... 1788. 260. January 1 — To Lady Hesketh — Singular poetical coincidence — Mr Merry — Inoculation 261. January 5 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Revisal of Homer — The Greek poet not knowTi to English readers 262. January 19 — To Lady Hesketh — Reasons for not writing more occasional poetry — Bunbury's prints 263. January 30 — To Lady Hesketh — Anxiety to hear from her — His tendency to new every thing on the darkest side 264. February 1 — To Lady Hesketh — Apology for a melancholy epistle — Trouble the lot of mortality — Homer 265. February 14 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Value of youth — Necessity of regular employment — Speech of Glaucus in the sixth book of the Iliad 266. February 16 — To Lady Hesketh — Cowper one of the first to denounce slavery — Hannah More — Trial of Warren Hastings .... 267. February 22 — To Lady Hesketh — Impeachment of Hastings — Inutility of invective for the purposes of justice 268. March 3 — To Lady Hesketh — Termination of a Fox chase — " In at the death" . . . . 269. March 12— To Lady Hesketh— Hannah More— Mr Wilber- force — Blank verse superior to rhyme 270. To General Cowper — Enclosing poems on the slave trade 271. March 19— To the Rev. Walter Bagot— Revisal of the first fifteen books of the Iliad . ... 272. March 29 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Mrs Unwin's sincerity — Clarke's Homer — Slave trade 273. March 31 — To Lady Hesketh — Note reminding a lady of a promise to WTite — Slave trade 274. May 6— To Lady Hesketh— Smollett's Don Quixote— Col- lectanea curiosa — General Cowper 275. May 8 — To Joseph Hill, Esq. — Homer completed to tlio eighteenth book ... CONTENTS. LETTER 276. May 12^ To Lady Hesketh— Lady Mary W. Montagu— His pedestrian excursions .... 277. May 24 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Prints from his poems — Progress of the Iliad to the nineteenth book 279. May 27 — To I^ady Hesketh — Lady Montagu's essay on Shake- speare — Antique bust of Paris 280. June 3 — To Lady Hesketh — Influence of the weather on his health — Dancing-master's advertisement 281. June 8 — To Joseph Hill, Esq — Death of Lord Cowper 282. June 10 — To Lady Hesketh — On the same subject — Her consolation in having watched over the age of her parent 283. June 15 — To Lady Hesketh — The same subject — Joy of meeting our friends in another world 284. June 17 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — The pettiness of human mischief an improper subject for poetry 285. June 23 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — His avocations — Goodness of God, whose inflictions are intended to call men to repentance — Shortness and vanity of Life 286. June 27 — To Lady Hesketh — Preparations for her reception at Weston — His dog Beau and the water lily 287. July 28 — To Lady Hesketh — Scenery at Weston — Account of five hundred living authors — His own merits and defects 288. August 9 — To Lady Hesketh — His company — Bacon the sculptor — His brother's poetical correspondence 289. August 18 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Regrets his departure — Pedestrian excursion — Dog and the Water Lily 290. September 11 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Yardley oak— Evils of diffidence ..... 291 . September 25 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Riddle — Misconduct of an acquaintance — Iliad finished — Odyssey commenced 292. November 30 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Vincent Bourne — Invitation . .... 293. December 2 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Note introducing Mr Rose • . .... 294. December 20— To Robert Smith, Esq Mrs Un win's health — Progress of Homer . . . - . 1789. 295. January 19 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Memory — Sir John Hawkins's memoirs . . . . 296. January 24 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Accidents occur when least expected . . . . 297. January 29— To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Translation of the eleventh book of the Odyssey CONTENTS. LETTER "298. May 20 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Progress of the Odyssey — Lines on the queen's visit — Hawkins Brown 299. June 5 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Boswell's Tour 300. June 16 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Congratulatory on his marriage ..... 301. June 20 — Samuel Rose, Esq Arrangements for an interview — Lives of Johnson . . . . 302. July 18 — To Mrs Throckmorton — Domestic incidents 303. July 23 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Early improvement of life — Invitation to Weston 304. August 8 — To Samuel Rose, Esq. — Mrs Piozzi's travels — Merciful criticism .... 305. September24 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Note on his departure 306. October 4 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Thanks for a present — Villoison's Homer 307. December 18 — To Joseph Hill, Esq. — The commencement of the French Revolution 308. To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Engagements the cause of his silence — Villoison • . . . 309. To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Homer imperfectly understood by his countrymen — Callimachus — Collection of the Homeric poems by Pisistratus 1790. 310. January 3 — To Samuel Rose, Esq. — Hymns for children — State of his health — Occupations — Homer 311. January 23 — To Lady Hsketh — His kinsman's poem — Cam- bridge critics on Homer 312. February 2 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Heyne's Homer Dr Bentley's opinion that the last book of the Odyssey is spurious ... 313. February 9 — To Lady Hesketh — His kinsman Johnson- Odes of Horace discovered 314. February 11 — To Mr Johnson, [printer] — Note — Fuseli's remarks on Homer 315. February 26— To Lady Hesketh — Translation of Homer to be submitted to her friend — His mother's picture 316. February 27 — To Mrs Bodham— Thanks for her present of his mother's picture — Family anecdotes 317. February 28 — To John Johnson, Esq Mrs Bodham's present — Invitation into Norfolk . , • 318. March 8 — To Lady Hesketh— Mrs Carters opinion of his Homer — Test act CONTENTS. LETTER 319. Marclill — To Samuel Rose, Esq Our real state ol' health not to be concealed from friends 320. March 21 — To Mrs Throckmorton — Regretting her absence — Mrs Carter's opinion of Homer 321. March 22 — To Lady Hesketh — The loss arid recovery of part of his manuscript considered a good omen — The style adopted in his translation of Homer 322. March 23 — To John Johnson, Esq Comparison of the Iliad with the Odyssey — The poet's affection for him 323. April 17 — To John Johnson, Esq Physiognomy — Studies for an aspirant to the ministry 324. April 19 — To Lady Hesketh — Revisal of Homer 325. April 30— To Lady Hesketh— Note— His " Picture Verses" 326. May 10 — To Mrs Throckmorton — Mishaps of a messenger — Village incidents — His own rambles 327. May 28 — To Lady Hesketh — Note — Declining all application for poet-laureat 328. June 3 — To Lady Hesketh — Application from a Welsh poet 329. June 7 — To John Johnson, Esq Ad vice regarding his studies 330. June 8 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Advantages of Early Mar- riage .... 331. June 17 — To Lady Hesketh — Domestic incidents — Inscrip- tions for a grove of oaks 332. June 22 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Poems of Homer written on the skins of serpents — Bishop Bagot 333. June 29 — To Mrs Bodham — Difficulty of renewing a corres- pondence long interrupted — Invitation to Weston 334. July 7— To Lady HesReth— Mrs Unwin's health— Political fanaticism of the French 335. July 8 — To John Johnson, Esq Danger of giving too nuich time to music — Invitation to Weston 336. July 31 — To John Johnson, Esq — Recommending punctuality in letter writing — Expected visit to Weston 337. September 7 — To Mr Johnson, [printer] — Fuseli's remarks 338. September 9 — To Mrs Bodham — Praises of her nephew — Finished manuscripts of Homer sent to the press, under his care .... 339. September 13 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Nuptial congratula- tions — Cowper's feelings on terminating his version of Homer ... 340. October 3 — To Mr Johnson, [printer] — Preface to the Poems — Mr Johnson's correction of the proof sheets 341. November 21 — To Mrs Bodham — Advice to a youthful poet — His own childhood CONTENTS. LETTER 342. November 26 — To John Johnson, Esq — On his studies — Lady Spencer 34.3. November30— To Samuel Rose, Esq — Professional diligence — Cowper's health, and engagements \vith the proofs of Homer 344. December 1 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Excusing silenc* — Delays of printers — The laureatship 345. December 18 — To John Johnson, Esq Cambridge subscrip- tion — Progress of Homer 1791. 346. January 4 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Cowper's fears of the month of January — Quantity of syllables in English verse 347. To Mr Johnson, [printer] — On a line in one of his poems being altered .... 348. January 21 — To John Johnson, Esq Proposed visit — Sin- gularities of manners . . . . 349. February 5 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Subscriptions from the Scottish universities to Homer — Present of Pope's trans- lation ..... 350. February 13 — To Lady Hesketh — Poetic fame 351. February 26 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Blank verse and rhyme .... 352. February 27 — To John Johnson, Esq University subscrip- tions ... 353. March 6 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Progress of printing Homer 354. March 6— To the Rev. Mr Hurdis — Reply to a first letter- Thanks for ofTers of assistance 355. March 10 — To Joseph Hill, Esq French prints of Homeric subjects 356. March 18— To the Rev. Walter Bagot— Dr Johnson's taste in poetry — Domestic incidents 357. March 19 — To John Johnson, Esq — Productions of the Norwich poetess — Natural genius < . 258 March 24 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Subscription for Homer in Scotland .... 359. March 25— To Lady Hesketh — Horace Walpole — Advantage of vigorous composition on religious subjects . . 360. April 1 — To Mrs Throckmorton — Unsuccessful attempt to create an interest for Homer'at Oxford — On a pamphlet by her husband - . . . 361. April 6 — To John Johnson, Esq Cambridge subscriptions 362. April 29— To Samuel Rose, Esq.— Refusal of Oxford to subscribe — His subscribers equal to Pope's CONTENTS. LEITKR 363. May 2 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Progress of Homer — Milton's Latin poems .... 364. May 11 — To the Rev. Mr Buchanan — A projected poem 365. May 18 — To Lady Hesketh — Cowper's opinion of the compa- rative merits of his first and second volumes — Their success in America .... 366. May 23 — To John Johnson, Esq Homer's poem of the Frogs and Mice ..... 367. May 27— To Lady Hesketh— Publication of Homer delayed 368. June 1 — To John Johnson, Esq. — Conclusion of Homer 369. June 13— To the Rev. Mr Hurdis — Homer published at the wrong time — Character of woman where best studied 370. June 13 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Ingratitude — Cranmer 371. June 15 — To Dr James Cogswell, New York — Success of Cowper's poems in America — Thanks for American pub- lications .... 372. August 2— To the Rev. Walter Bagot— Visit from Lady Bagot — His own modesty 373. August 9— To the Rev. Mr Hurdis— Method of study— Popes and Cowper's versions of Homer 374. August 9 — To John Johnson, Esq Uncertainty in his pursuits ..... 375. September 14 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Testimonies in favour of his translation — Milton's poems 376. September 21_To the Rev. Walter Bagot— Bishop Bagot's praises of the translation of Homer — Milton's poems SECTION VL CONTAINING ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE LETTERS, FROM OCTOBER, 1791, 10 OCTOBER, 1798, AND EXTENDING FROM THE PUBLICATION OF COWPEh S TRANSLATION OF HOMER TO THE CLOSE OF HIS LITERARY LABOURS. 377. October 25— To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Lord Bagot's poem ..... 378. October 31 — To John Johnson, Esq Domestic incidents 379. November 14 — To Joseph Hill, Esq Compound epithets — Milton .... 380: December 5 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — On a passage in Horace .... 381. December 10 — To the Rev. James Hurdis — Milton's Latin poems .... CONTENTS. LKTTER 382. December 21— To Samuel Rose, Esq — Mrs Uiiwn's illness 1792. 383. -February 14 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot— Review of his Homer — Translation of Milton's poems 384. To the Lord Thurlow— On rhyme and blank verse 385. To the Lord Thurlow — The same subject 386. To the Lord Thurlow— Homer 387. February 21— To the Rev. Mr Hurdis— Progress of the translations of Milton .... 388. March 2— To the Rev. Mr Hurdis — Thanks for his remarks on Homer — Departure of the Throckmortons 389. March 11— To John Johnson, Esq Sprincr — Domestic incidents .... 390. March 23— To the Rev. Mr Hurdis— Tragedy of Sir Thomas More .... 391. March 25 — To Lady Hesketh — Commencement of the corres- pondence with Hayley .... 392. March 30— To Samuel Rose, Esq — Mr Park's poem 393. April 5 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Mutual acts of friendship — Printers — Dr Robertson's opimon of his version of Homer .... 394. April 6 — To William Hayley, Esq. — Commencement of their friendship — Invitation to Weston — Sketch of the poet's prenous life 395. April 8 — To the Rev. Mr Hurdis— On family concerns 396. April 16 — To Lady Throckmorton — Intended marriage — A lady's theft ..... 397. April 16— To the Rev. J. Jekyll Rye— On the slave trade— Cowper's sentiments misrepresented 398. May 5 — To Lady Hesketh — Miss Johnson's marriage — Dr Madan — Warren Hastings 399. May 20 — To John Johnson, Esq His ordination postponed 400. May 24 — To Lady Hesketh — Mrs Unwin seized with palsy 401. May 26 — To Lady Hesketh — The same subject 402. June 4 — To Mrs Bodham — Mr Johnson's ordination 403. June 4 — To William Hayley, Esq Mrs Unwin's health 404. June 5 — To William Hayley, Esq The samo subject 405. June 7 — To William Hayley, Esq His own melancholy Domestic incidents .... 406. June 10 — To William Hayley, F'sq — The same subject — Arrival of Mr Jolmson 407. June 11 — To ly^idy Hesketh — Hayley — Mrs Unwin's health — Rapid succession of events CONTENTS. LETTER 408. June 19 — To William Hayley, Esq — Mrs Unwin's conva- lescence — Proposed journey to Eartham 409. June 27 — To William Hayley, Esq — Proposed visit to Eartham — Catharina . ... 410. July 4— To William Hayley, Esq Life of Milton, &c. 411. July 15_To William Hayley, Esq Mrs Unwin's health— Cowper's picture by Abbot 412. July 22 — To William Hayley, Esq — Preparations for a visit to Eartham ... 413. July 29 — To William Hayley, Esq — Same subject — Cowper's uneasiness ..... 414. August 6 — To the Rev. Mr Greatheed — Description of Eartham ..... 415. August 12 — To Mrs Courtenay — Account of the journey to Eartham ...... 416. August 14 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Invitation to Eartham 417. August 18 — To Samuel Rose, Esq The same subject 418. August 25 — To Mrs Courtenay — Occupations at Eartham-- Portrait by Romney . . . . 419. August 26— To Lady Hesketh— Death of Miss Hurdis— His own melancholy — Mrs Un win's health . 420. August 26 — To the Rev. Mr Hurdis — Consolatory on the death of his sister . ... 421. September 9 — To Lady Hesketh — Attachment to Weston — Departure from Eartham, and arrangements 422. September 18 — To William Hayley, Esq His journey homewards ... 423. September 21 — To William Hayley, Esq Termination of their journey, and arrival at Weston 424. October 2 — To William Hayley, Esq Cowper's despon- dency 425. October 13 — To William Hayley, Esq Miscellaneous private affairs .... 426. October 19 — To John Johnson, Esq The poet's indispo- sition to study .... 427. October 22 — To John Johnson, Esq. — On sitting for his picture . . . . 428. October 28— To William Hayley, Esq Cowper's Miiton interrupted — Sonnet to Romney 429. November 9 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Mrs Unwin's illness, and his own melancholy — His picture 430. November 20 — To John Johnson, Esq Mortuary verses — Continued melancholy CONTENTS. I-ETTER 431. November 25 — To William Hayley, Esq.— Milton — Mortuarv verses . ... 432. December 16 — To Joseph Hill, Esq — Thoughts on a repre- sentative government 433. December 26 — To William Hayley, Esq — Regretting the impracticability of study 1793. 434. January 6 — To the Rev. Mr Hurdis — Eflfects of affliction — Doubts of finishing Milton 43o. January 20 — To William Hayley, Esq. — Arrival of his picture at Weston .... 436. January 29— To William Hayley, Esq On the death of Dr Austen .... 437. February 5 — To Samuel Rose, Esq — Corrections of Homer 438. February 10 — To Lady Hesketh — His melancholy — Mrs Rose 439. February 17 — To Samuel Rose, Esq On a critique on Homer . . . . . 440. February 23 — To the Rev. Mr Hurdis — Anecdotes in Natu- ral history . .... 441. February 24 — To William Hayley, Esq. — Sore eyes — Dream of Milton ... 442. March 4 — To the Rev. Walter Bagot — Indisposition 443. March 14 — To Master Thomas Hayley — Observations on remarks upon the version of Homer 444. March 19 — To William Hayley, Esq. — Progress of his labours — Invitation to Weston 445. March 27 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Arrangements with his printer — New edition of Homer 446. April 11 — To John Johnson, Esq Pride of ancestry — Value of religion 447. April 23 — To William Hayley, Esq Excuse for not writing notes for Homer 448. May 4— To the Rev. Walter Bagot— On the death of his brother 449. May 5 — To Samuel Rose, Esq Notes on Homer 4,30. May 7— To Lat consider we have not met, even by letter, almost these two years, which will account in some measure for my pestering you in this manner ; besides, my last was no answer to yourjs, and therefore I consider myself as still in your debt. To say truth, I have this long time promised myself a correspondence with you as one of my principal pleasures. I should have written to you from St Albans long since, but was willing to perform quai^antine first, both for my own sake and because I thought my letters would be more satis- factory to you from any other quarter. You will perceive I allowed myself a very sufficient time for the purpose, for I date my recovery from the twenty-fifth of last July, having been ill seven months, and well twelve months. It was on that day my brother came to see me. I was far from, well when he came in ; yet though he only staid one day with me, his company served to put to flight a thousand deliriums and delusions which I still laboured under, and the next morning I found myself a new creature. But to the present purpose. As far as I am acquainted with this place, I like it extremely. Mr Hodgson, the minister of the parish, made me a visit the day before yesterday. He is very sensible, a good preacher, and conscientious in the discharge of his duty. He is very well known to Doctor Newton, bishop of Bristol, the author • Rev. John Cowper, Fellow of Bennet College, Cambridge. G COWPEIl S LETTERS. of the Treatise on tlie Prophecies, one of our best bishops, and who has written the most demonstrative proof of the truth of Christianity, in my mind, that ever was publislied. There is a village called Hertford, about a mile and a half from hence. The church there is very prettily situated upon a rising ground, so close to the river that it washes the wall of the churchyard. I found an epitaph there, the other morning, the two first lines of which, being better than any thing else I saw there, I made shift to remember. It is by a widow on her husband : Thou wast too good to live on earth with me, And I not good enough to die with thee. The distance of this place from Cambridge is the worst circumstance belonging to it. My brother and I are fifteen miles asunder, which, considering that I came hither for the sake of being near him, is rather too much. I wish that young man was better known in the famil}'. He has as many good qualities as his nearest kindred could wish to find in him. As Mr Quin very roundly expressed himself upon some such occasion, " Here is very plentiful accommodation, and great happiness of provision ;" so that, if I starve, it must be through forgetfulness, rather than scarcity. Fare thee well, my good and dear cousin — Ever yours, \V. C. 5. — TO LADY HESKETH. fONnmoNs OF correspondence — bishop newton on thi prophecies — COMFORT OF RELIGIOUS COMMUNICATION. July 12, 17()5. My dear Cousin, — You are very good to me, and if you will only continue to write at such intervals as you find con- venient, I shall receive all that pleasure which I proposed to myself from our correspondence. I desire no more than that you would never drop me for any length of time together, for I shall then think you only write because somtthing happened to put you in mind of me, or for some other reason e(|ualiy mortifying. I am not, however, so imreasonablc as to exj)ect you should perform tliis act of friendship so frequently as myself, for you live in a world swarming with engagements, and my hours are almost all my own. You must every day be employed in doing what is expected from you by a thousand cowper's letters. others, and I have nothing to do but what is most agreeable to myself. Our mentioning Newton's Treatise on the Prophecies brings to my mind an anecdote of Dr Young, who, you know, died lately at Welwyn.* Dr Cotton, who was intimate with him, paid him a visit about a fortnight before he was seized witli his last illness. The old man was then in perfect health ; the antiquity of his person, the gravity of his utterance, and tlie earnestness with which he discoursed about religion, gave him, in the doctor's eye, the appearance of a prophet. They had been delivering their sentiments upon this book of Newton, when Young closed the conference thus : — " My friend, there are two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built as upon a rock : the Fall of man, the Redemption of man, and the Resurrection of man, the three cardinal articles of our religion, are such as human ingenuity could never have in- vented ; therefore they must be divine. The other argument is this, — If the prophecies have been fulfilled, (of which there is abundant demonstration,) the Scripture must be the word of God ; and if the Scripture is the word of God, Christianity must be true." This treatise on the Prophecies serves a double purpose ; it not only proves the truth of religion, in a manner that never has been nor ever can be controverted, but it proves likewise, that the Roman Catholic is the apostate and antichristian church, so frequently foretold both in the Old and New Testaments. Indeed, so fatally connected is the refutation of Popery with the truth of Christianity, when the latter is evinced by the completion of the prophecies, that in proportion as light is thrown upon the one, the deformities and errors of the other are more plainly exhibited. But I leave you to the book itself: there are parts of it which may possibly afford you less entertainment than the rest, because you have never been a schoolboy ; but, in the main, it is so interesting, and you are so fond of that which is so, that I am sure you will like it.j * Dr Edward Young, author of the " Night Thoughts," born 1070, died 1760. t Dr Thomas Newton, bishop of Bristol, was born at Litchfield, 1704, and died at Bristol, 1782. The argument in the excellent work alluded to in the text, may be thus stated, — " The gift of prophecy is of God, and a revelation so supported must be from Him : Christianity is authenticatied by predictions which carf be proved to have been fulfilled ; therefore, th« Christian faith is of divine authority, and comes from God." ^ cowper's letters. My dear cousin, how happy am I in liaving a friend to whom I can open my heart upon these subjects ! I have many intimates in the world, and have had many more than I shall have hereafter, to whom a long letter upon these most important articles would appeal' tiresome, at least, if not im- pertinent. But I am not afraid of meeting with that reception from you, who have never yet made it your interest that there should be no truth in the word of God. May this everlasting truth be your comfort while you live, and attend you with peace and joy in your last moments ! I love jou too well not to make this a part of my prayers, and when I rememljer my friends on these occasions, there is no likelihood that you can be forgotten. — Yours ever, W. C. P. S. — Cambridge — I add this postscript at my brother's rooms. He desires to be affectionately remembered to you. and if you are in town about a fortnight hence, when he proposes to be there himself, will take a breakfast with you. 6. — TO LADY HESKETH. NEGLECT or god's WORD THE GREAT CAUSE OF IRRELIGION — BEAUTY AND VATHOS OF THE LANGUAGE OF SCRll'TURE. Huntingdon, August 1, 1765. My dear Cousin, — If I was to measure jour obligation to write by my own desire to hear from you, I should call you an idle correspondent if a post went by without bringing me a letter ; but I am not so unreasonable : on the contrary, I think myself very happy in hearing from you upon your own terms, as you find most convenient. Your short history of my family is a very acceptable part of your letter ; if they really interest themselves in my welfare, it is a mark of their great charity for one, who has been a disappointment and a vexation to them ever since he has been of consequence enough to be either. My friend the Major's behaviour to me, after all he suffered by my abandoning his interest and my own in so miserable a manner, is a noble instance of generosity anri true greatness of mind : and, indeed, I know no man in whom those qualities lU'e more conspicuous ; one need only furnish him with an opportunity to display them, and they arc always ready to shew themselves in his words and actions, and even in his countenance, at a moment's warning. I have great reason to be tliaiikful, — I have lost none of my acquaintance but those COWPER S LETTERS. 9 whom I determined not to keep. I am sorry this class is so numerous. What would I not give, that every friend I have in the world were not almost, but altogether Christians ! My dear cousin, I am half afraid to talk in this style, lest I should seem to indulge a censorious humour, instead of hoping, as I ought, the best for all men. But what can be said against ocular proof? and what is hope when it is built upon presumption? To use the most holy name in the universe for no purpose, or a bad one, contrary to his own express commandment — to pass the day, and the succeeding clays, weeks, and months, and years, without one act of private devotion, one confession of our sins, or one thanksgiving for the numberless blessings we enjoy — to hear the Word of God in public with a distracted attention, or with none at all — to absent ourselves voluntarily from the blessed communion, and to live in the total neglect of it, though our Saviour has charged it upon us with an express injunction — are the common and ordinary liberties which the generality of professors allow themselves ; and what is this but to live without God in the world ? Many causes may be assigned for this antichristian spirit, so prevalent among Christians ; but one of the principal I take to be their utter forgetfulness that they have the word of God in their possession. My friend Sir William Russel* was distantly related to a very accomplished man, who, though he never believed the Gospel, admired the Scriptures as the sublimest compositions in the world, and read them often. I have been intimate myself with a man of fine taste, who has confessed to me that, though he could not subscribe to the truth of Christianity itself, yet he never could read St Luke's account of our Saviour's appearance to the two disciples going to Eiimiaus, without being wonderfully affected by it ; and he thought that if the stamp of divinity was anywhere to be found in Scrif)- ture, it was strongly marked and visibly impressed upon that passage. If these men, whose hearts were chilled with the darkness of infidelity, could find such charms in the mere style of the Scripture, what must they find there, whose eye penetrates deeper than the letter, and who firmly believe themselves interested in all the invaluable privileges of the Gospel ! " He that believeth on me is passed from death unto life," though it be as plain a sentence as words can fornij has more beauties in it for such a person than all the labours * Sir William Russel, Cowper's classfellow at Westminster, was drowned in' early life. „ A 2 10 cowper's letters. antiquity can boast of. If my poor man of taste, whom 1 have just mentioned, had searched a little farther, he might have found other parts of the sacred history as strongly marked with the characters of divinity as that he mentioned. The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented — our Saviour's speech to his disciples, with which he closes his earthly ministration, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, — surpass every thing that 1 ever read, and, like the Spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart. If the Scripture did not disdain all affectation of ornament, one should call these, and such as these, the ornamental parts of it ; but the matter of it is that upon which it principally stakes its credit Avith us, and the style, however excellent and peculiar to itself, is only one of those many external evidences by which it recommends itself to our belief. I shall be very much obliged to you for the book* you mention ; you could not have sent me any thing that would have been more welcome, unless you had sent me your own meditations instead of them. — Yours, \V. C. 7. — TO LADY HESKETH. FEARSALl's " meditations" — SUPERIORITY OF FAITH AMONG THE CHRISTIAN VIRTUES. Huntingdon, August 17, 1765. You told me, my deai' cousin, that I need not fear writing too often, and you perceive I take you at your word. At present, however, I shall do little more than thank you for your Meditations, which I admire exceedingly. The author (jf them manifestly loved the truth with an undissembled affection, had made great progress in the knowledge of it, and experienced all the happiness that naturally results from that noblest of all attainments. There is one circumstance, which he gives us frequent occasion to observe in him, "which, I believe, will ever be found in the philosophy of every true Christian : I mean the eminent rank which he assigns to faith among the virtues, as the source and j)arent of them all. There is nothing more infalli'nly true than this, and dou])tless it is with a view to the purifying and sanctifying nature of a true faith, that our Saviour says, " He that believeth in me hath everlasting life," with many other expressions to the same jiurpose. Considered in this light, no wonder it has the • Pearsall's Meditations, &» appears from a subsequent letter. cowper's letters. 11 power of salvation ascribed to it. Considered in any other, we must suppose it to operate like an oriental talisman, if it obtains for us the least advantage ; which is an affront to him who insists upon our having it, and will on no other terms admit us to his favour. I mention this distinguishing artich- in his Reflections, the rather because it serves for a solid foundation to the distinction I made, in my last, between the specious professor and the true believer, between him whose liiith is his Sunday suit, and him who never puts it off at ail — a distinction I am a little fearful sometimes of making, because it is a heavy stroke upon the practice of more than half the Christians in the world. My dear cousin, I told you I read the book with great pleasure, which may be accounted for from its own merit, but perhaps it pleased me the more because you had travelled the same road before me. You know there is such a pleasure as this, which would want great explanation to some folks, being perhaps a mystery to those whose hearts are a mere muscle, and serve only for the purposes of an even circulation. W. C. 8. —TO LADY HESKETH. Ktl'LECTIOKS ON A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE COMFORT IN THIS iJOCTKIXr AS SANCTIFYING OUR SENSE OF MERCIES. September 4, 1765. Though I have some very agreeable acquaintance at Huntingdon, my dear cousin, none of their visits are so agreeable as the arrival of your letters. I thank you for that which I have just received from Droxford ; and particularly for that part of it where you give me an unlimited liberty on the subject I have already so often written upon. Whatever interests us deeply, as naturally flows into the pen as it does from the lips, when every restraint is taken away, and we meet with a friend indulgent enough to attend to us. How many, in all that variety of characters with whom I am acquainted, could I find, after the strictest search, to whom I could write as I do to you ? I hope the number will increase. I am sure it cannot easily be diminished. Poor ! I have heard the whole of his history, and can only lament what I am sure I can make no apology for. Two of my friends have been cut off, during my illness, in the midst of such a life as it is frightful to reflect upon ; * and here am I, in better health * Probably Churchill and Llovd 12 cowper's letters. and spirits than I can almost remember to have enjoyed before after having spent months in the apprehension of instant death. How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! Why did I receive grace and mercy? Why was I preserved, afflicted for my good, received, as I trust, into favour, and blessed with the greatest happiness I can ever know or hope for in this life, while these were overtaken by the great arrest, imawakened, unrepenting, and every way unprepared for it His infinite wisdom, to whose infinite mercy I owe it all, can solve these questions, and none beside him. If a free-thinker, as many a man miscalls himself, could be brought to give a serious answer to them, he would certainly say, — " Without doubt, sir, you was in great danger — you had a narrow escape — a most fortunate one indeed." How excessively foolish, as well as shocking ! as if life depended upon luck, and all that we are or can be, all that we have or hope for, could ])ossibly be referred to accident. Yet to this freedom of thought it is owing that He, who, as our Saviour tells us, is thoroughly apprized of the death of the meanest of his crea- tures, is supposed to leave those, whom he has made in his own image, to the mercy of chance ; and to this, therefore, it is likewise owing, that the correction which our heavenly Father bestows upon us, that we may be fitted to receive his blessing, is so often disappointed of its benevolent intention, and that men despise the chastening of the Almighty. Fevers, and all diseases, are accidents ; and long life, recovery at least from sickness, is the gift of the physician. No man can be a greater friend to the use of means u})on these occasions than myself; for it were presumption and enthusiasm to neglect them. Gotl has endued them with salutary properties on ])urpose that we might avail ourselves of them, otherwise that part of his creation were in vain. But to impute our recovery to the medicine, and to carry our views no farther, is to rob God of his honour, and is saying in effect, that he has parted with the keys of life and deatli ; ard, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of his own reach. He that thinks thus, may as well fall upon his knees at once, and return thanks to the medicine that cured him ; for it was certainly more immediately instrumental in his recovery than either the apothecary or the doctor. My dear cousin, a firm j>ersuasion of the superintendence of Providence over all our concerns is absolutely necessary to our happiness. Without it, we cannot be said to believe in the Scripture or oractise any thing like resignation to his will. If I lun cowper's letters, 13 convinced that no affliction can befall me without the permis- sion of God, I am convinced likewise that he sees and knows that I am afflicted ; believing this, I must in the same degree believe, that, if I pray to him for deliverance, he hears me ; I must needs know likewise, with equal assurance, that, if he hears he will also deliver me, if that will upon the whole be most conducive to my happiness ; and if he does not deliver me, I may be well assured that he has none but the most benevolent intention in declining it. He made us, not because we could add to his happiness, which was always perfect, but that we might be happy ourselves ; and will he not, in all his dispensations towards us, even in the minutest, consult that end for which he made us? To suppose the contrary, is (which we are not always aware of) affronting every one of liis attributes ; and at the same time the certain consequence of disbelieving his care for us is, that we renounce utterly our dependence upon him. In this view it will appear plainly that the line of duty is not stretched too tight, when we are told that we ought to accept every thing at his hands as a blessing, and to be thankful even while we smart under the rod of iron with which he sometimes rules us. Without this persuasion, every blessing, however we may think our- selves happy in it, loses its greatest recommendation, and every affliction is intolerable. Death itself must be welcome to him who has this faith, and he who has it not must aim at it, if he is not a madman. You cannot think how glad I am to hear you are going to commence lady and mistress of Freemantle.* I know it well, and could go to it from Southampton blind- fold. You are kind to invite me to it, and I shall be so kind to myself as to accept the invitation, though I should not for a slight consideration be prevailed upon to quit my beloved retirement at Huntingdon. — Yours ever, W. C. 9. — TO LADY HESKETH. COWPERS INTRODUCTION TO THE UNVVINS ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILY — AFFLICTION NOT NECESSARY IN ALL CASES TO SALVATION. Huntingdon, September 14, 1765. My dear Cousin, — The longer I live here, the better I like the place, and the people who belong to it. I am upon very good terms with no less than five families, besides * Freemantle. a villa near Southampton. See Life. 14 cowper's letters. two or three odd scrambling fellows like myself. The last acquaintance I made here is with the race of the Unwins, consistin<^^ of father and mother, son and daughter, the most comfortable, social folks you ever knew. The son is about twenty-one years of age, one of the most unreserved and amiable young men I ever conversed with. He has not yet arrived at that time of life, when suspicion recommends itself to us in the form of wisdom, and sets every thing but our own dear selves at an immeasurable distance from our esteem and confidence. Consequently he is known almost as soon as seen, and having nothing in his heart that makes it necessary for him to keep it barred and bolted, opens it to the perusal even of a stranger. The father is a clergyman, and the son is designed for orders. The design, however, is quite his own, proceeding merely from his being, and having always been, sincere in his belief and love of the Gospel. Another acquaintance I have lately made, is with a Mr Nicholson, a north country divine, very poor, but very good, and very happy. He reads prayers here twice a-day, all the year round ; and travels on foot to serve two churches every Sunday through the year, his journey out and home again being sixteen miles. I supped with him last night. He gave me bread and cheese, and a black jug of ale of his own brewing, and, doubtless, brewed by his own hands. Another of my acquaintance is Mr , a thin, tall, old man, and as good as he is thin. He drinks nothing but water, and eats no flesh ; partly, I believe, from a religious scruple, (for he is very religious,) and partly in the spirit of a valetudinarian. He is to be met with, ever\ morning of his life, at about six o'clock, at a fountain of very fine water, about a mile from the town, which is reckoned extremely like the Bristol spring. Being both early risers, and the only early walkers in the place, we soon became acquainted. His great piety can be equalled by nothing but his great regularity, for he is the most perfect timepiece in tiie world. I have received a visit likewise from Mr . He is very much a gentleman, well read, and sensible. I am persuaded, in short, that if I had had the choice of all England, when^ to fix my abode, I could not hav(; chosen better for myself, and most likely I should not have chosen so well. You saj', you hope it is not necessary for salvation, to undergo the same afflictions that I have undergone. N») ! my dear cousin. God deals with his children as a merciful father ; he does not, as he himself tells us, afflict willingly the sons of men. Doubtless there are many, who, having been COWPER*S LETTERS. 15 placed by his good providence out of the reach of any great eviJi and the influence of bad example, have, from their very infancy, been partakers of the grace of his Holy Spirit, in such a manner as never to have allowed themselves in any grievous oifence against him. May you love him more and more day by day ; as every day, while you think upon him, you will find him more worthy of your love ; and may you be finally accepted by him, for His sake, whose intercession for all his faithful servants cannot but prevail! — Yours ever, W. C. 10. — TO LADY HESKETH. THANKFULNESS OF HEART FOR MERCIES ENJOYED. Huntingdon, October 10, 1765. My dear Cousin, — I should grumble at your long silence, if I did not know that one may love one's friends very well, though one is not always in a humour to write to them. Besides, I have the satisfaction of being perfectly sure that you have, at least, twenty times recollected the debt j'^ou owe me, and as often resolved to pay it ; and perhaps while you remain indebted to me, you think of me twice as often as you would do, if the account was clear. These are the reflections with which I comfort myself, under the affliction of not hearing from you; my temper does not incline me to jealousy, and if it did, I should set all right by having recourse to what I have already received from you. I thank God for your friendship, and for every friend I have ; for all the pleasing circumstances of my situation here ; for my health of body, and perfect serenity of mind. To recollect the past, and compare it with the present, is all I have need of to fill me with gratitude ; and to be grateful is to be happy. Not that I think myself sufficiently thankful, or that I ever shall be so in this life. The warmest heart perhaps only feels by fits, and is often as insensible as the coldest. This, at least, is frequently the case with mine, and oftener than it should be. But the mercy that can forgive iniquity will never be severe to mark our frailties : to that mercy, my dear cousin, I commend you, with earnest wishes for your welfare, and remain your ever afiectionate, W. C. IG cowper's letters. 11.— TO LADY HESKETH. T^E L'NWINS — COMFORTS OF PRAYER. Huntingdon, October 18, 1766. I WISH you joy, my dear cousin, of being safely arrived in port from the storms of Southamj)ton. For my own part, who am but as a Thames wlierry, in a world full of tempest and commotion, I know so well the value of the creek I have })ut into, and the snugness it affords me, that I have a sensible sympathy with you in the pleasure you find in being once more blown to Droxford. I know enough of Miss Morley to send her my compliments ; to which, if I had never s^en her, her affection for you would sufficiently entitle her. If I neglected to do it sooner, it is only because I am naturally apt to neglect what I ought to do ; and if I was as genteel as I am negligent, I should be the most delightful cr^'ature in the universe. I am glad you think so favourably of my Huntingdon acquaintance ; they are, indeed, a nice set of folks, and suit me exactly I should have been more particular in my account of Miss Unwin, if I had had materials for a minute description. She is about eighteen years of age, rather handsome and genteel. In her mother's company she says little ; not because her mother requires it of her, but because she seems glad of that excuse \for not talking, being somewhat inclined to bashfulness. There is the most remarkable cordiality between all the parts of the family ; and the mother and daughter seem to doat upon each other. The first time I went to the house, I was introduced to the daughter alone ; and sat with her near half an hour, before her brother came in, who had appointed me to call upon him. Talking is necessary in a lete a tete, to distinguish the persons of the drama from the chairs they sit on ; accor- dingly, she talked a great deal, and extremely well, and, like the rest of the family, behaved with as much ease and address as if we had been old acquaintance. She resembles her mother in her great piety, who is one of the most remarkable instances of it I have ever seen. They arc altogether the cheerfulest and most engaging family piece it is possible to conceive — Since I wrote the above, I met Mrs Unwin in tlie street, and went home with her. She and I walked together near two hours in the garden, and had a conversation, which did me more good than I should have received from an cowper's letters. 17 audience of the first prince in Europe. That woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her without being the better for her company. I am treated in the family as if I was a near relation, and have been repeatedly invited to call upon them at all times. You know what a shy fellow I am ; I cannot prevail with myself to make so much use of this privilege as I am sure they intend I should ; but perhaps this awkwardness will wear off hereafter. It was ray earnest request, before I left St Albans that wherever it might please Providence to dispose of me, I might meet with such an acquaintance as I find in Mrs Unwin. How happy it is to believe, with a steadfast assurance, that our petitions are heard even while we are making them ! and how delightful to meet with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant of them ! Surely it is a gracious finishing given to those means, which the Almighty has been pleased to make use of for my con- version. After having been deservedly rendered unfit for any society, to be again qualified for it, and admitted at once into the fellowship of those w^hom God regards as the excellent of the earth, and whom, in the emphatical language of Scripture, he preserves as the apple of his eye, is a blessing which carries witli it the stamp and visible superscription of divine bounty — a grace unlimited as undeserved; and, like its glorious author, free in its course, and blessed in its operation ! My dear cousin ! Health and happiness, and above all, the favour of our great and gracious Lord, attend you ! While we seek it in spirit and in truth, we are infinitely more secure of it than of the next breath we expect to draw. Heaven and earth have their destined periods ; ten thousand worlds will vanish at the consummation of all things ; but the word of God standeth fast ; and they who trust in him shall never be con- founded. My love to all who inquire after me. — Yours affectionately, W. C. 12. — TO MAJOR COWPER.* EXCUSING SILENCE DEPENRENCE UPON PROVinENCE SOCIETY AT HUNTINGDON. Huntingdon, October 18, l7Gi. My dear Major, — I have neither lost the use of my fingers nor my memory, though my unaccountable silence might incline you to suspect that I had lost both. The history of those things which have, from time to time, prevented my * The poet's uncle. 18 COWPER S LETTERS. scribbling, would not only be insipid, but extremely volumi- nous ; for which reasons they will not make their appearance at present, nor probably at any time hereafter. If my neglecting to write to you were a proof that I had .never thought of you, and that had been really the case, five shillings a-piece would have been much too little to give for the sight of such a monster: but I am no such monster, nor do I perceive in myself the least tendency to such a transformation. You may recollect that I had but very uncomfortable expecta- tions of the accommodation I should meet with at Huntingdon. How much better is it to take our lot where it shall please Pro- vidence to cast it, without anxiety ! Had I chosen for myself, it is impossible I could have fixed upon a place so agreeable to me in all respects. I so much dreaded the thought of having a new acquaintance to make, with no. other recom- mendation than that of being a perfect stranger, that I heartily wished no creature here might take the least notice of me. Instead of which, in about two months after my arrival, I became known to all the visitable people here, and do verily think it the most agreeable neighbourhood I ever saw. Here are three families who have received me with the utmost civility ; and two in particular have treated me with as much cordiality, as if their pedigrees and mine had grown upon the same sheepskin. Besides these, there are tliree or four single men who suit my temper to a hair. The town is one of the neatest in England ; the country is fine for several miles about it; and the roads, which are all turnpike, and strike out four or five different ways, are perfectly good all the year round. I mention this latter circumstance chiefiy because my distance from Cambridge has made a horseman of me at last, or at least is likely to do so. My brother and I meet every week, by an alternate reciprocation of intercourse, as Sam Johnson would express it ; sometimes I get a lift in a neighbour's chaise, but generally ride. As to my own per- sonal condition, I am much happier than the day is long, and sunshine and candle-light alike see me perfectly contented. I get books in abundance, as much company as I choose, a deal o^ comforlahle leisure, and enjoy better health, I think, than for many years past. What, then, is wi'uting to make me happy ? Nothing, if I can but be as thankful as I ought ; and I trust that He who has bestowed so many blessings upon me, will give me graJtitude to crown them all. I beg you will give my love to my dear cousin Maria, * and to every body at the • Mrs CowpcT, tlie i)oet's correspondent. cowper's letters. 19 Park. If Mrs Maitland is with you, as I suspect by a passage in Lady Hesketh's letter to me, pray remember me to her very ajfFectionately. And believe me, my dear friend, ever yours. . W. C, 13. — TO JOSEPH HILL, Esq. SOUTHAMPTON — THE UNWINS — ROUSSEAU — THE KKROR OF CONFINING MERIT TO OUR OWN ACQUAINTANCE. * October 25, 1765. Dear Joe, — I am afraid the month of October lias proved rather unfavourable to the belle assemblee at Southampton ; high winds and continual rains being bitter enemies to that agreeable lounge, which you and I are equally fond of. I have very cordially betaken myself to my books and my fireside ; and seldom leave them, unless for exercise. I have added another family to the number of those I was acquainted with when you were here. Their name is Unwin, — the most agreeable people imaginable ; quite sociable, and as free from the ceremonious civility of country gentlefolks as any I ever met with. They treat me more like a near relation than a stranger, and their house is always open to me. The old gentleman carries me to Cambridge in his chaise. He is a man of learning and good sense, and as simple as Parson Adams. His wife has a very uncommon understanding, has read much to excellent purpose, and is more polite than a duchess. The son, who belongs to Cambridge, is a most amiable young man ; and the daughter quite of a piece witii the rest of the family. They see but little company, which suits me exactly ; go when I will, I find a house full of peace and cordiality in all its parts, and am sure to hear no scandal, but such discourse instead of it as we are all better for. You remember Rousseau's* description of an English morning ; such are the mornings I spend with these good people ; and the evenings differ from them in nothing, except that they are still more snug and quieter. Now I know them, I wonder that I liked Huntingdon so well before I knew them, and am apt to thirrk I should find every place disagreeable that had not an Unwin belonging to it. This incident convinces me of the truth of an observation I have often made, that when we circumscribe our estimate of * Jean Jacques Rousseau was bom at Geneva in 1712, and died i'» 1778. A \vriter of great eloquence, but of a morbid sensibility and ill regidated mind. The passage here referred to occurs in Emilius, tlie work tor which he was banished from France. t20 COWPER'S LETTERS. all that is clever within the limits of our own acquaintance, (which I at least have been always apt to do,) we are guilty of a very uncharitable censure upon the rest of the world, and of a narrowness of thinking disgraceful to ourselves. Wappini,^ and Redriff may contain some of the most amiable persons living, and such as one would go to Wapping and Redriff* to make acquaintance with. You remember Gray's stanza, — Full many a gem of purest ray serene The deep unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; Full many a rtow?r is born to blush unseen, Aud waste its sweetness on the desert air. Yours, dear Joe, \V. C. 14. — TO LADY HESKETH. PLFASURES OF SOLITLUE TO THE PIOUS — COMFORTS OF DIVINE COMMUMON ANn ClIKlbTIAN SOCIETY. Huntingdon, March 6, 1766. My dear Cousin, — I have for some time past imputed your silence to the cause which you yourself assign for it, namely, to my change of situation ; and was even sagacious enough to account for the frequency of your letters to me, while I lived alone, from your attention to me in a state of such solitude as seemed to make it an act of particular charity to write to me. I bless God for it, I was happy even then ; solitude has nothing gloomy in it, if the soul points upwards. St Paul tells his Hebrew converts, " Ye are come (already come) to Mount Sion, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly of the first-born, which are MTitten in Heaven, and to Jesus, the mediator of the new covenant."* When this is the case, as surely il was with them, or the Spirit of Trutli had never spoken it, there is an end of the melancholy and dulness of a solitary life at once. You will not suspect me, my dear cousin, of a design to understand this passage literally ; but this, however, it certainly means, that a lively faith is able to anticipate in some measure the joys of that heavenly society, whicli tlie soul shall actually possess hereafter. Since I have changed my situation, I have found still greater cause of thanksgiving to the Father of all mercies. The family with whom I live are Christians ; and it has ))leased the Almighty to bring me to the knowletlge of them, that I may want no means of improvement in that temper and conduct which he is pleased to require in all his servants. • Hcb. xii. 22. COWPER^S LETTERS. - 21 My dear cousin ! one half of the Christian world would call this madness, fanaticism, and folly : but are not these things warranted by the word of God, not only in the passages I have cited, but in many others? If we have no communion with God here, surely we can expect none hereafter. A faith that does not place our conversation in heaven — that does not warm the heart, and purify it too — .that does not, in short, govern our thought, word,, and deed, — is no faith, nor will it obtain for us any spiritual blessing here or hereafter. Let us see, therefore, my dear cousin, that we do not deceive ourselves in a matter of such infinite moment. The world will be ever telling us that we are good enough ; and the world will vilify us behind our backs. But it is not the world which tries the heart ; that is the prerogative of God alone. My dear cousin ! I have often prayed for you behind your back, and now I pray for you to your face. There are many who would not forgive me this wrong ; but I have known you so long, and so well, that I am not afraid of telling you how sincerely I wish for your growth in every Christian grace, in every thing that may promote and secure your everlasting welfare. I am obliged to Mrs Cowper for the book, which you perceive arrived safe. I am willing to consider it as an intimation on her part that she would wish me to write to her, and shall do it accordingly. My circumstances are rather particular, such as call upon my friends — those I mean who are truly such — to take some little notice of me; and will naturally make those who are not such in sincerity rather shy of doing it. To this I impute the silence of many with regard to me, who, before the affliction that befell me, were ready enough to converse with me. — Yours ever, W. C. 15. — TO MRS COWPER. * HIS PRESENT AGREEABLE SITUATIOK — THE UNWINS— HIS COUSIN MARTIN MADAN. My dear Cousin, — I am much obliged to you for Pearsall's Meditations, especially as it furnishes me with an occasion of writing to you, which is all I have waited for. My friends must excuse me, if I write to none but those who lay it fairly in my way to do so. The inference I am apt to draw from their silence is, that they wish me to be silent too. I have great reason, my dear cousin, to be thankful to the * His cousin Maria, married to Major Cowper. 22 cowper's letters. jijacioiis Providence that conducted me to this place. The lady in wliose house I live, is so excellent a person, and regards me with a friendship so truly Christian, that I could almost fancy my own mother restored to life again, to compensate to me for all tlie friends I have lost, and all my connections broken. She has a son at Cambridge, in all respects worthy of such a mother, the most amiable young man I ever knew. His natural and acquired endowments are very considerable ; and as to his virtues, I need only say, that he is a Christian. It ought to be a matter of daily thanksgiving to me, that I am admitted into the society of such persons; and I pray God to make me and keep me worthy of them. Your brother Martin* has been very kind to me, having written to me twice in a style which, though it was once irksome to me, to say the least, I now know how to value. I pray God to forgive me the many light things I have both said and thought of him and his labours. Hereafter I shall consider him as a burning and a shining light, and as one of those " who, having turned many to righteousness, shall shine hereafter as the stars for ever and ever." So much for the state of my heart ; as to my spirits, I am cheerful and happy, and, having peace with God, have peace within myself. For the continuance of this blessing, I trust to Him who gives it ; and they who trust in Him shall never be confounded — Yours affectionately, W. C. Huntingdon, at the Rev. Mr Unwinds, March 11, 17G6. 16. _ TO MRS COWPER. UTILITY OK LETTER WRITING — OF RELIGIOUS CONVERSATION. April 4, 1766. My dear Cousin, — I agree with you that letters are not essential to friendship ; but they seem to be a natural fruit of it, when they are the only intercourse that can be • Rev. Martin Madan, who, as the reader will recollect, was much with Co\\T)er in the comaiencemcnt of his first deranp^cment. He was a few years older than the poet. Ihiving left the bar for the church, ho became a very popular preadier ; l)ut jUterwards incurred great sc:uulal by the publication of his Thehiphthora, a work in whicli he nuiintiiined the lawfuhiets of polygamy in certain cases. He died in 1790. Besides sermons, and his treatise on Clmstian faith, he published editions of some Latin classics. COWPER*S LETTERS. 23 had. And a friendship producing no sensible effects is so like indifference, that the appearance may easily deceive even an acute discerner. I retract, however, all that I said in my last upon this subject, having reason to suspect that it pro- ceeded from a principle which I would discourage in myself upon all occasions, even a pride that felt itself hurt upon a mere suspicion of neglect. I have so much cause for humility, and so much need of it too, and every little sneaking resent- ment is such an enemy to it, that I hope I shall never give quarter to any thing that appears in the shape of sullenness, or self-consequence, hereafter. Alas ! if my best Friend, who laid down his life for me, were to remember all the instances in which I have neglected Him, and to plead them against me in judgment, where should I hide my guilty head in the day of recompense ? I will pray, therefore, for blessings upon my friends, even though they cease to be so, and upon my enemies, though they continue such. The deceitful ness of the natural heart is inconceivable. I know well that I passed upon my friends for a person at least religiously inclined, if not actually religious ; and, what is more won- derful, I thought myself a Christian, when I had no faith in Christ, when I saw no beauty in him that I should desire him ; in short, when I had neither faith nor love, nor any Christian grace whatever, but a thousand seeds of rebellion instead, evermore springing up in enmity against him. But blessed be God, even the God who is become my salvation, the hail of affliction, and rebuke for sin, has swept away the refuge of lies. It pleased the Almighty, in great mercy, to set all my misdeeds before me. At length, the storm being past, a quiet and peaceful serenity of soul succeeded, such as ever attends the gift of lively faith in the all-sufficient atone- ment, and the sweet sense of mercy and pardon purchased • by the blood of Christ. Thus did he break me and bind me up ; thus did he wound me, and his hands made me whole. My dear cousin, I make no apology for entertaining you with the history of my conversion, because I know you to be a Christian in the sterling import of the appellation. This is, however, but a very summary account of the matter ; neither would a letter contain the astonishing particulars of it. If we ever meet again in this world, I will relate them to you by word of mouth ; if not, they will serve for the subject of a conference in the next, where, I doubt not, I shall remem- ber and record them with a gratitude better suited to the subject. — Yours, my dear cousin, affectionately, W. C. 24 cowper's letters. 17. — TO MRS COWPER. USE OK REASON IN HELIGIOH— mOBARILITY OF OL'R RECOGNIZING EACH OTHER IN A FUTURE STATE ARGUMENT BV IMPLICATION. April 17, 1766. My dear Cousin, — As in matters unattainable by reason, and unrevealed in the Scripture, it is impossible to argue at all ; so, in matters concorning which reason can only i?ive a probable guess, and the Scripture has made no explicit dis- covery, it is, though not impossible to argue at all, yet impossible to argue to any certain conclusion. This seems to me to bo the very case with the point in quesv'.on : reason is able to form many plausible conjectures concerning the ])0ssibility of our knowing each other in a future state ; and the Scripture has, here and there, favoured us with an expression that looks at least like a slight intimation of it ; but because a conjecture can never amount to a proof, and a slight intimation cannot be construed into a positive assertion, therefore I think we can never come to any absolute conclu- sion upon the subject. We may indeed reason a])out the plausibility of our conjectures, and we may discuss, with great industry and shrewdness of argument, those passages in the Scripture which seem to favour the opinion ; but still, no certain means having been afforded us, no certain end can be attained ; and after all that can be said, it will still be doubt- ful whether we shall know each other or not. As to arguments founded upon human reason only, it would be easy to muster up a much greater number on the affirmative side of the question, than it would be worth my while to write, or yours to read. Let us see, therefore, what the Scripture says, or seems to say, towards the proof of it ; and of this kind of argument also I shall insert but a few of those which seem to me to be the fairest and clearest for the purpose. For, after all, a disputant on either side of this question is in danger of that censure of our blessed Lord's, " Ye do err, not knowing the Scripture, nor the power of God." As to parables, I know it has been said, in the dispute concerning the intermediate state, that they are not argumen- tative ; but this having been controverted by very wise and good men, and the parable of Dives and Lazarus having been used by such to prove an intermediate state, I see not why covvper's letters. 25 it may not be as fairly used for the proof of any other matter which it seems fairly to imply. In this parable we see that Dives is represented as knowing Lazarus, and Abraham as knowing them both, and the discourse between them is entirely concerning their respective characters and circum- stances upon earth. Here, therefore, our Saviour seems to countenance the notion of a mutual knowledge and recollec- tion ; and if a soul that has perished shall know the soul that is saved, surely the heirs of salvation shall know and recollect each other. In the first epistle to the Thessalonians, the second chapter, and nineteenth verse, St Paul says, " What is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing ? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming ? For ye are our glory and our joy.'* As to the hope which the apostle has formed concerning them, he himself refers the accomplishment of it to the coming of Christ, meaning that then he should receive the recom- pense of his labours in their behalf: his joy and glory he refers likewise to the same period, both which would result from the sight of such numbers redeemed by the blessing of God upon his ministration, when he should present them before the great Judge, and say, in the words of a greater than himself, " Lo ! I, and the children whom thou hast given me." This seems to imply, that the apostle should know the converts, and the converts the apostle, at least at the day of judgment : and if then, why not afterv/ards ? See also the fourth chapter of that epistle, verses 13, 14, 16, which I have not room to transcribe. Here the apostle comforts them under their affliction for their deceased brethren, exhorting them " not to sorrow as without hope." And what is the hope by which he teaches them to support their spirits ? Even this, " That them which sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him." In other words, and by a fair paraphrase surely, telling them they are only taken from them for a season, and that they should receive them at their resur- rection. If you can take off the force of these texts, my dear cousin, you will go a great way towards shaking my opinion ; if not, I think they must go a great way towards shaking yours. The reason why I did not send you my opinion of Pearsall was, because I had not thon read him ; I have read him since, and like him much, especially the latter part of him ; but you have whetted my curiosity to see the last letter by tearing it B 26 COWPEU'S LETTERS. out : unless you can give me a good reason why I should not see it, I shall iiKiuirc for the book the first time I go to Cam- bridge. Perliaps I may be partial to Harvey for the sake of his other writings ; but I cannot give Pearsall the preference to him, for I think him one of the most scriptural writers in tiie world. * — Yours, W. C. 18. — TO MRS COWPER. IS rovTIMATION, WHETHER UErAKTF.D SPIRITS WILL REGARD OR RE31EMBER EARTHLY AFFAIRS. ^;>n7 18, 1766. My dear Cousin, — Having gone as far as I thought needful to justify tlie opinion of our meeting and knowing each other hereafter, I find, upon reflection, that I have done ])ut half my business, and tliat one of the questions you pro- ])osed remains entirely unconsidered, viz. " Whether the things of our present state will not be of too low and mean a nature to engage our (lioughts, or make a part of our com- munications in heaven." The common and ordinary occurrences of life, no doubt, and even the ties of kindred, and of all temporal interests, will be entirely discarded from amongst that happy society ; and possibly even the remembrance of them done away. But it does not therefore follow that our spiritual concerns, even in this life, will be forgotten ; neither do I think that they can ever appear trifling to us in any the most distant period of eternity. God, as you say in reference to the Scripture, will be all in all. But does not that expression mean, that, being admitted to so near an approach to our heavenly Father and Redeemer, our whole nature, the soul and all its faculties, will be employed in praising and adoring Him ? Doubtless, however, this will be tlie case ; and if so, will it not furnish out a glorious theme of thanksgiving, to recollect " the rock whence we were hewn, and the hole of the pit whence we were digged?" — to recollect the time when our faith, which, under the tuition and nurture of tJie Holy Spirit, has produced such a plentiful liarvest of immortal bliss, was as a grain of mustard seed, small in itself, promising but little fruit, and * Rev. James Harvey, born 171.'}-14, died \7oH. It is dithcult lo H«y what part of his six octavo volumes Cowper alludos to here. "TIjo Meditations," the most popular of Harvey's works, have the simplicity of Scripture neither in laiiijuage nor sentiment ; but they are pious. cowper's letters. 27 producing less ? — to recollect the various attempts that were made upon it, by the world, the flesh, and the devil, and its various triumphs over all, by the assistance of God, through our Lord Jesus Christ ? At present, whatever our convic- tions may be of the sinfulness and corruption of our nature, we can make but a very imperfect estimate either of our weakness or our guilt. Then, no doubt, we shall understand the full value of the wonderful salvation wrought out for us ; and it seems reasonable to suppose, that, in order to form a just idea of our redemption, we shall be able to form a just one of the danger we have escaped : when we know how weak and frail we were, surely we shall be more able to render due praise and honour to His strength who fought for us ; when we know completely the hatefulness of sin in the sight of God, and how deeply we were tainted by it, we shall know how to value the blood by which we were cleansed as we ought. The twenty-four elders, in the fifth of the Revela- tions, give glory to God for their redemption, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation. This surely implies a retrospect to their respective conditions upon earth, and that each remembered out of what particular kindred and nation he had been redeemed ; and if so, then surely the minutest circumstance of their redemption did not escape their memory. They who triumph over the Beast, in the fifteenth chapter, sing the song of Moses, the servant of God ; and what was that song ? A sublime record of Israel's deliverance, and the destruction of her enemies in the Red Sea, typical, no doubt, of the song which the redeemed in Zion shall sing to celebrate their own salvation, and the defeat of their spiritual enemies. This, again, implies a recollection of the dangers they had before encountered, and the supplies of strength and ardour they had in every emergency received from the great Deliverer out of all. These quotations do not indeed prove that their warfare upon earth includes a part o. their converse with each other ; but they prove that it is a theme not unworthy to be heard even before the throne o( God, and therefore it cannot be unfit for reciprocal communi- cation. But you doubt whether there is any communication between the blessed at all ; neither do I recollect any Scrip- ture that proves it, or that bears any relation to the subject. But reason seems to require it so peremptorily, that a society without social intercourse seems to be a solecism, and a con- tradiction in terms, and the inhabitants of those regions are *!3 cowper's letters. cilled, you know, in Scripture, an innumerable company^ and an assembly, which seems to convey the idea of society as clearly as the word itself. Human testimony weighs but little in matters of this sort, but let it have all the weight it can: I know no greater names in divinity than Watts* and Doddridge ;f they were both of this opinion, and I send you the words of the latter : — " Our companions in glory may probably assist us by their wise and good observations, when we come to make the providence of God here upon earth, under the guidance and direction of our Lord Jesus Christ, the stdrject of our mvhial cojiverse" Thus, my dear cousin, I have spread out my reasons before you for an opinion which, whether admitted or denied, affects not the state or interest of our soul. May our Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier, conduct us into his own Jerusalem ; where there shall be no night, neither any darkness at all ; where we shall be free even from innocent error, and perfect in the light of the knowledge of God in the face of Jesus Christ ! _ Yours faithfully, W. C. 19. — TO MRS COWPER. HAPFIKESS OF HEAVEN, AND OF MEETING AGAIN WITH OUR FRIENDS — RELIGIOUS FKIENDSHIF. Huntingdon, Septembers, 1766. My dear Cousin, — It is reckoned, you know, a great acliievement to silence an opponent in disputation ; and your silence was of so long a continuance, that I miglit well begin to please myself with the apprehension of having accomplished so arduous a matter. To be serious, however, I am not sorry tliat what I have said concerning our knowledge of each other in a future state, has a little inclined you to the affirmative. For though the redeemed of the Lord shall be sure of being as happy in that state as infinite power, employed by infinite goodness, can make them, and therefore it may seem imma- terial whether we shall, or shall not, recollect each other hereafter, yet our present happiness, at least, is a little • It»aac Watts, D.D. born in 1C74, died in 1749. His works are of two distinct dassee, — educational and religious. The text seems to refer to Lis sermons and poems. t Philip Doddrid;,'e, D.D. born in 170*2, died in 17.^>. Wrote Sermons, Bi'>nraphy, Expositor (his diiefwork,) and Correspondence. COWPERS LETTERS. 29 interested in the question. A parent, a friend, a wife, must needs, I think, feel a little heartache at the thought of an eternal separation from the objects of her regard ; a\id not to know them, when she meets them in another life, or never to meet them at all, amounts, though not altogether, yet neai'ly to the same thing. Remember them, I think she needs must. To hear that they are happy, will indeed be no small addition to her own felicity ; but to see them so, will surely be a greater. Thus, at least, it appears to our present human apprehension ; consequently, therefore, to think that when we leave them, we lose them for ever, that we must remain eternally ignorant whether they, that were flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone, partake with us of celestial glory, or are disinherited of their heavenly portion, must shed a dismal gloom over all our present connections. For my own part, this life is such a momentary thing, and all its interests have so shrunk in my estimation, since, b> the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, I became attentive to the things of another, that, like a worm in the bud of all my friendships and affections, this very thought would eat out the heart of them all, had I a thousand ; and were their date to terminate with this life, I think I should have no inclination to cultivate and improve such a fugitive business. Yet friendship is necessary to our happiness here ; and built upon Christian principles, upon which only it can stand, is a thing even of religious sanction ; for what is that love which the Holy Spirit, speaking by St John, so much inculcates, but friendship ? — the only love which deserves the name — a love which can toil, and watch, and deny itself, and go to death for its brother. Worldly friendships are a poor weed com- pared with this ; and even this union of spirit in the bond of peace would suffer, in my mind at least, could I think it were only coeval with our earthly mansions. It may possibK argue great weakness in me, in this instance, to stand so much in need of future hopes to support me in the discharge of present duty. But so it is : I am far, I know, very far, from being perfect in Christian love, or any other divine attainment, and am therefore unwilling to forego whatever may help me in my progress. You are so kind as to inquire after my health, for which reason I must tell you, what otherwise would not be worth mentioning, that I have lately been just enough indisposed to convince me that not only human life in general, but mine in particular, hangs by a ?lpndf-r tVei/i J am stout enough in so COWPETt*S LEITERS. appearance, yet a little illness demolishes me. I have had a severe shake, and the building is not so firm as it was. But I bloss God for it with all my heart. If the inner man be but strengthened day by day, as I hope, under the renewing influences of the Holy Ghost, it will be, no matter how soon the outward is dissolved. He who has in a manner raised me from the dead, in a literal sense, has given me the grace, I trust, to be ready at the shortest notice to surrender up to him that life which I have twice received from him. Whether I live or die, I desire it may be to his glory, and it must be to my happiness. I thank God that I have those amongst my kindred to whom I can write without reserve my senti- ments upon this subject, as I do to you. A letter upon any other subject is more insipid to me than ever my task was when a schoolboy : and I say not this in vainglory — God forbid ! — but to shew you what the Almighty, whose name I am unworthy to mention, has done for me, the chief of sinners. Once he was a terror to me, and his service, oh, what a weari- ness it was ! Now I can say I love him, and his holy name ; and am never so happy as when I speak of his mercies to me. — Yours, dear cousin, W. C. 20. — TO MRS COWPER. HIS WAV OF LIFE — RELIGIOUS EXERCISES-^KEASONS FOR NOT TAKING OKDKKS. Huntingdon, October 20, 1766. My dear Cousin. — I am very sorry for poor Charles's illness, and hope you will soon have cause to thank God for his complete recovery. We have an epidemical fever in this country likewise, which leaves behind it a continual sighing, almost to suffocation ; not that I have seen any instance of it, for, blessed be God ! our family have hitherto escaped it ; but such was the account I heard of it this morning. I am obliged to you for the interest you take in my welfare, and for your inquiring so particularly after the manner in which my time passes here. As to amuse- ments, I mean what the world calls such, we have none ; the place, indeed, swarms with them, and cards and dancing are the professed business of almost all the gentle inhabitants of Huntingdon. W^e refuse to take j)art in them, or to be accessories to this way of nmrdering our time, and by so doing, have acquired the name of Methodists. Having told you how we do not spend our time, I will next say how cowper's letters. 31 we do. We breakfast commonly between eight and nine ; till eleven we read either the Scripture, or the sermons of some faithful preacher of those holy mysteries ; at eleven we attend divine service, which is performed here twice every day ; and from twelve to three we separate, and amuse our- selves as we please. During that interval I either read in my own apartment, or walk, or ride, or work in the garden. We seldom sit an hour after dinner ; but, if the weather permits, adjourn to the garden, where, with Mrs Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of religious conversation till tea-time. If it rains, or is too windy for walking, we either converse within doors, or sing some hymns of Martin's collec- tion; and by the help of Mrs Unwin's harpsichord, make up a tolerable concert, in which our hearts, I hope, are the best and most musical performers. After tea we sally forth if,- walk in good earnest. Mrs Unwin is a good walker, and w have generally travelled about four miles before we see hom again. When the days are short, we make this excursion ir the former part of the day, between church-time and dinnet. At night we read and converse, as before, till supper, and commonly finish the evening either with hymns or a sermon, and last of all the family are called to prayers. I need not tell you, that such a life as this is consistent with the utmost cheerfulness ; accordingly we are all happy, and dwell together in unity as brethren. Mrs Unwin has almost a maternal aifection for me, and I have something very like a filial one for her ; and her son and I are brothers. Blessed be the God of our salvation for such companions, and for such a life ; above all, for a heart to like it ! I have had many anxious thoughts about taking orders, and I believe every new convert is apt to think himself called upon for that purpose ; but it has pleased God, by means which there is no need to particularize, to give me full satis- faction as to the propriety of declining it ; indeed they who have the least idea of what I have suffered from the dread of public exhibitions, will readily excuse my never attempting them hereafter. In the meantime, if it please the Almighty, I may be an instrument of turning many to the truth in a private way, and I hope that my endeavours in this way have not been entirely unsuccessful. Had I the zeal of Moses, I should want an Aaron to be my spokesman. — Yours ever, my dear cousin, W. C. •^ CQWrF.Il's I FTTERJ". 21.— TO MRS COWPER. THE NATURE OF SAVINT. KAITH. March 11, 1767. My dear Cousin, — To find those whom I love clearly and strongly persuaded of evangelical truth, gives me a plea- sure superior to any that this world can afford me. Judge, then, whether your letter, in which the body and substance of a saving faith are so evidently set forth, could meet with a lukewarm reception at my hands, or be entertained with indifference ! Would you know the true reason of my loni^ silence ? Conscious that my religous principles are generally excepted against, and that the conduct they produce, where- ever they are heartily maintained, is still more the object of disapprobation than those principles themselves ; and remem- bering that I had made both the one and the other known to you, without having any clear assurance that our faith in Jesus was of the same stamp and character, I could not help thinking it possible that you might disapprove both my sentiments and practice ; that you might think the one unsupported by Scripture, and the other whimsical, and unnecessarily strict and rigorous, and consequently M'ould be rather pleased with the suspension of a correspondence, whicli a different way of thinking upon so momentous a subject as that we wrote upon, was likely to render tedious and irksome to you. I have told you the truth from my heart ; forgive me these injurious suspicions, and never imagine that I shall hear from you upon this delightful theme without a real joy, or without prayer to God to prosper you in the way of his truth — his sanctifying and saving truth. The book you mention lies now upon my table. Marshall is an old acquaintance of mine ; I have both read him, and heard him read witli pleasure and edification. The doctrines he maintains ai*e, under the influence of the Spirit of Christ, the very life of my soul, and the soul of all my happiness : that Jesus is ?i present Saviour from the guilt of sin by his most precious blood, and from the power of it by his Spirit ; that, corrupt antl wretched in ourselves, in Him, and in Him only^ we are complete ; tliat, being united fo Jesus by a lively faith, we have a solid and eternal interest in his obedience and sufferings, to justify us before the face o^ our heavenly Father ; and that all thia inestimable treasure, • cowper's letters. ' 33 the earnest of which is in grace, and its consummation in glory, is given, freely given to us of God ; in short, that he hath opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers : these are the truths which, by the grace of God, shall ever be dearer to me than life itself; shall ever be placed next my heart, as the throne whereon the Saviour himself shall sit, to sway all its motions, and reduce that world of iniquity and rebellion to a state of filial and affectionate obedience to the will of the Most Holy. These, my dear cousin, are the truths to which, by nature, we are enemies ; they debase the sinner, and exalt the Saviour, to a degree which the pride of our hearts (till Almighty grace subdues them) is determined never to allow. May the Almighty reveal his Son in our hearts continually more and more, and teach us to increase in love towards him continuall}', for having given us the unspeakable riches of Christ ! — Yours faithfully, W. C. 22.— TO MRS COWPER. INTRODUCING YOUNG UNWIN — CHARACTER OF MARSHALL. March 14, 1767. My dear Cousin, — I just add a line by way of postscript to my last, to apprise you of the arrival of a very dear friend of mine at the Park on Friday next, the son of Mr Unwin, whom I have desired to call on you, in his way from London to Huntingdon. If you know him as well as I do, you would love him as much. But I leave the young man to speak for himself, which he is very able to do. He is ready possessed of an answer to every question you can possibly ask concerning me, and knows my tvhole story from first to last. I give you this previous notice, because I know you are not fond of strange faces, and because I thought it Nvould, in some degree, save him the pain of announcing himself. I am become a great florist and shrub doctor. If the Major can make up a small packet of seeds that will make a figure in a garden, where we have little else besides jessamine and honeysuckle — such a packet, I mean, as may be put into one's fob — I will promise to take great care of them, as I ought to value natives of the Park. They must not be such, however, as require great skill in the management, for at present I have no skill to spare. i> 2 • 34. cowpek's letters. I think Marshall one of the best writers, and the most spiritual expositor of Scripture, I ever read. I admire the strength of his argument, and the clearness of his reasonings, upon those parts of our most holy religion which are generally least understood — even by real Christians — as masterpieces of the kind. His section upon the union of the soul with Christ, is an instance of what I mean, in Mhich he has spoken of a most mysterious truth with admirable persf)icuity, and with great good sense, making it all the while subservient to his main purport of proving holiness to be the fruit and effect of faith. I subjoin thus much upon that author, because, though you desired my opinion of him, I remember that in my last I rather left you to find it out by inference, than expressed it as I ought to have done. I never met with a man who imderstood the plan of salvation better, or was more happy in explaining it. W. C. 2.3. — TO MRS COWPER. DANGKIl OF PUinE REASONS FOR INTRODL'CING UNWIN. Huntingdon, Aprils, 1767. My dear Cousin, — You sent my friend Unwin home to lis charmed with your kind reception of him, and with every thing he saw at the Park. Shall I once more give you a peep into my vile and deceitful heart ? What motive tlo you think lay at the bottom of my conduct when I desired him to call upon you ? I did not suspect at first that pride and vain glory had any share in it ; but quickly after I had recommended the visit to him, I discovered in that fruitful soil the very root of the matter. You know I am a stranger here ; all such are suspected characters, unless they bring their credentials with them. To this moment, I believe, it is mattter of speculation in the place, whence I came, and to whom I belong. Though my friend, you may suppose, before I was admitted an inmate here, was satisfied that I was not a mere vagabond, and has since that time received more convincing proofs of my sponsibilityy yet I could not resist the opportunity of fur- nishing him with ocular demonstration of it, by introducing him to one of my most splendid connc^ctions ; that when he hears me called " That fellow Cowper" which has happened heretofore, he may be able, upon unquestionable evidence, to COVVPER*S LETTERS. 35 assert my gentlemanhood, and relieve me from the weight of that opprobrious appellation. Oh pride ! pride ! it deceives with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk erect, though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist and twine itself about, to get from under the Cross, which it is the glory of our Christian calling to be able to bear with patience and good will. They who can guess at the heart of a stranger, and you especially', who are of a compassionate temper, will be more ready, perhaps, to excuse me, in this instance, than I can be to excuse myself. But, in good truth, it was abomi- nable pride of heart, indignation, and vanity, and deserves no better name. How should such a creature be admitted into those pure and sinless mansions, where nothing shall enter that defileth, did not the blood of Christ, applied by the hand of faith, take away the guilt of sin, and leave no spot or stain behind it ? Oh what continual need have I of an Almighty, All-sufficient Saviour ! I am glad you are acquainted so particularly with all the circumstances of my story, for I know that your secrecy and discretion may be trusted with any thing. A thread of mercy ran through all the intricate maze of those afflictive providences, so mysterious to myself at the time, and which must ever remain so to all, who will not see what was the great design of them ; at the judgment seat of Christ the whole shall be laid open. How is the rod of iron changed into a sceptre of love ! I thank you for the seeds ; I have committed some of each sort to the ground, whence they will spring up like so many mementos to remind me of my friends at the Park- W. C. 24. — TO MRS COWPER. TRAGICAL DEATH OF MR UNVVIN, SENIOR. HuyTiNGDON, July 13, 1767. My dear Cousin, — The newspaper has told you the truth. Poor Mr Unwin, being flung from his horse as he was going to his church on Sunday morning, received a dreadful fracture on the back part of the skull, under which he languished till Thursday evening, and then died. This awful dispensation has left an impression upon our spirits, which will not pre- sently be worn off. He died in a poor cottage, to which he was carried immediately after his fall, about a mile from home ; 36 cowper's letters. and his body could not be brought to his house, till the spirit was gone to Him who gave it. May it be a lesson to us to watch, since we know not the day nor the hour when our Lord Cometh ! The effect of it upon my circumstances will only be a change of the place of my abode. For I sliall still, by God's leave, continue M'ith Mrs Unwin, whose behaviour to me has always been that of a mother to a son. We know not yet where we shall settle, but we trust that the Lord, whom we seek, will go before us, and prepare a rest for us. We have employed our friend Haweis, Dr Conyers of Helmsley in Yorkshire, and Mr Newton of Olney, to look out a place for us, but at present are entirely ignorant under which of the three we shall settle, or whether under either. I have written to my aunt Madan, to desire Martin to assist us with his inquiries. It is probable we shall stay here till Michaelmas. W. C. 26. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. REFLECTIONS ON TUF. I'KECEDING SUBJECT. July 16, 1767. Dear Joe, — Your wishes that the newspapers may have misinformed you, are vain. Mr Unwin is dead, and died in the manner there mentioned. At nine o'clock on Sunday morning he was in perfect health, and as likely to live twenty years as either of us, and before ten, was stretched speechless and senseless upon a flock bed, in a poor cottage, where (it being impossible to remove him) he died on Thursday evening. I heard his dying groans, the effect of great agony, for he was a strong man, and much convulsed in his last moments. The few short intervals of sense that were indulged him, he spent in earnest praj'er, and in expressions of a firm trust and con- fidence in the only Saviour. To that stronghold we must aJl resort at last, if we would have hope in our death ; when every other refuge fails, we are glad to fly to the only shelter to which we can repair to any purpose ; and happy is it for us when, the false groimd we have chosen for ourselves being broken under us, we find ourselves obliged to have recouree to the rock which can never be shaken : when this is our lot, we receive great and undeserved mercy. COWPEIl's LETTERS. 37 Our society will not breaK up, but we shall settle in some other place ; where, is at present uncertain.* — Yours, W. C. 26. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. REMOVAL TO OLNEV WANT OF NEWS — RKFLECTIONS ON A VISIT TO ST ALBANS. Olney, June 16, 1768. Dear Joe, — I thank you for so full an answer to so empty an epistle. If Olney furnished any thing for your amusement, you should have it in return ; but occurrences here are as scarce as cucumbers at Christmas. I visited St Albans about a fortnight since in person, and I visit it every day in thought. The recollection of what passed there, and the consequences that followed it, fill my mind continually, and make the circumstances of a poor transient half-spent life so insipid and unaffecting, that I have no heart to think or -WTite much about them. Whether the nation is worshipping Mr Wilkes j" or any other idol, is of little moment to one who hopes and believes that he shall shortly stand in the presence of the great and blessed God. I thank him, that he has given me such a deep impressed persuasion of this awful truth, as a thousand worlds would not purchase from me. It gives a relish to every blessing, and makes every trouble light. — Affectionately yours, W. C. 27. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. UIKKKRT5NCE OF DISPOSITIONS KIS OWN LOVE OF RETIREMENT — DECLINES AN INVITATION TO LEAVE OLNEY. 1769. Dear Joe, — Sir Thomas J crosses the Alps,, and Sir Cowper, for that is his title at Olney, prefers his home to any other spot of earth in the world. Horace, observing this difference of temper in different persons, cried out a good * On the 14th of October foUowng, Cowper and his Irieiias, the Unwins, settled in the town of Olney, in Buckinghamshire, of which the Reverend Mr Ne\vtoH was rector. t John Wilkes, " the parUament man," was born in London, 1/17, and died 179G. He was at this tune in the zenith of bis popularity. t Sir Thomas Hesketh. 33 cowpek's letters. many years ago, in the true spirit of poetry, " How much one man differs from another!" This does not seem a very sublime exclamation in English, but I remember we were taught to admire it in the original. My dear friend, I am obliged to you for your invitation : hut being long accustomed to retirement, which I was always fond of, I am now more than ever unwilling to revisit these noisy and crowded scenes which I never loved, and which I now abhor. I remember you with all the friendship I ever ])rofessed, which is as much as I ever entertained for any man. But the strange and uncommon incidents of my life have given an entire new turn to my whole character and conduct, and rendered me incapable of receiving pleasure from the same employments and amusements of which I could readily j)artake in former days. I love you and yours, I thank you for your continued remembrance of me, and shall not cease to be their and your affectionate friend and servant, W. C. 28. — TO MRS COWPER. HAPPINESS IN RELIUION — INSUFFICIENCY OF THE WORLD. My dear Cousin, — I have not been behind hand in reproaching myself with neglect, but desire to take shame to myself for my unprofitableness in this, as well as in all other respects. I take the next immediate opportunity, however, of thanking you for yours, and of assuring you, tliat instead of being surprised at your silence, I rather wonder that you, or any of my friends, have any room left for so careless and negligent a correspondent in your memories. I am obliged to you for the intelligence you send me of my kindred, and rejoice to hear of their welfare. He who settles the bounds of our habitations has at length cast our lot at a great distance from each other ; but I do not therefore forget their former kindness to me, or cease to be interested in their well being. You live in tiie centre of a world I know you do not delight in. Happy are you, my dear friend, in being able to discern the insufficiency of all it can afford to fill and satisfy the flesires of an immortal soul. That God who created us fud8 Ascending, whiU* the north wind sleeps, o'ersprcad Heaven's cheerful fare, the low'rin}; element ScowIh o'er the darken'd land>fE. Juhjl, 1780. Carissime, — I am glad of your confidence, and have reason to hope I shall never abuse it. If you trust me with a secret, I am hermetically sealed ; and if you call for the exercise of my judgment, such as it is, I am neyer freakish or wanton in the use of it, much less mischievous and malignant. Critics, I believe, do not often stand so clear of these vices^as I do. I like your epitaph, except that I doubt the propriety of the word immaturusy which, I think, is rather applicable to fruits than flowers ; and except the last pentameter, the assertion it contains being rather too obvious a thought to finish with. Not that I think an epitaph should be pointed like an epigram ; but still there is a closeness of thought and expression necessary in the conclusion of all these little things, that they may leave an agreeable flavour upon the palate. Whatever is short, should be nervous, masculine, and compact. Liltle men are so ; and little poems should be so ; because, where the work is short, the author has no right to the plea of weariness ; and laziness is never admitted as an available excuse in any thing. Now you laiow my opinion, you will very likely improve upon my improvement, and alter my alterations for the better. To touch and retouch is — though some writers boast of negligence, and others would be ashamed to shew their foul copies — the secret of almost all good writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it myself; and if you would take as much pains as I do, you would have no need to ask for my corrections. Hie sepultus est Inter suorum lacrvmas GULIELMUS NORTHCOT, GuLiELMi et Marine tilius Unicus, unice dilectus, Qui floris ritu suecisus est sernihiantis, Aprilis die septimo, 1780, ^t. 10. 72 COWPF.Il's LETTERS. Cure, vtde! Sed iion aetcrnum, care, valeto ! Nanique itcrum tecum, siin modo digiius, ero. Turn nihil amplexuft poterit divellere nostros, Nectu inarcesces, nee, lacr} inabor ego. Having aii English translation of it by me, I send it, though it may bn of no use. Farewell ! " But not fur ever," Hope replies, '• Trace but his steps, and meet him in the skies ! " There nothinjj shall renew our parting pain. Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again ! The stanzas that I sent you are maiden ones, having never been seen by any eye but your mother's and your own. If you send nm franks, I shall write longer letters. Valete^ sictU et nos valemus ! Amate., sicut et nos amamiis. 56. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. DISTRESS OK THE LACE-MAKERS — THEIR PETITION. July 8, 1780. MoN Ami, — If you ever take the tip of the Chancellor'^ ear between your finger and thumb, you can hardly improve the opportunity to better purpose, than if you should whisper into it the voice of compassion and lenity to the lace-makers. I am an eye-witness of their poverty, and do know that hundreds in this little town are upon the point of starving, and that the most unremitting industry is but barely sufficient to keep them from it. I know that the bill by which they would have been so fatally alfected is thrown out : but Lord Stormont threatens them with another; and if another like it should pass, they are imdone.* We lately sent a peti- tion to Lord Dartmouth ; I signed it, and am sure the contents are true. The purport of it was to inform him that there are very near one thousand two hundred lace-makers in this beggarly town, the most of whom had reason enough, while the bill was in agitation, to look upon every loaf they bought, as the last they should ever be able to eai'n. I can never think it good policy to incur the certain inconvenience • This was a proposed tiix upon auidles, whifh would have put lights beyond the inciuis of these poor people. The session of Par- liament dosed on the day on which this letter was written. Lord Stormont was Secretary of State, banng succeeded Lord Sulfolk, who died in 177^^. COWPEU'S LETTERS. 73 of ruining thirty thousand, in order to prevent a remote and pos- sible damage, though to a much greater number. The measure is like a scythe, and the poor lace-makers are the sickly crop that trembles before the edge of it. The prospect of a peace with America, is like the streak of dawn in their horizon ; but this bill is like a black cloud behind it, that threatens their hope of a comfortable day with utter extinction. I did not perceive till this moment, that I had tacked two similes together, — a practice which, though warranted by the example of Homer, and allowed in an epic poem, is rather luxuriant and licentious in a letter. Lest I should add another, I conclude. W. C. 57.-^ TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. ON EPIGRAMS, WITH SPECIMENS COWPEr's OWN MANNER OF WRITING POETRY, AND HIS MOTIVES. July 11, 1780. I ACCOUNT myself sufficiently commended for my Latin exercise, by the number of translations it has undergone. That which you distinguished in the margin by the title of " better," was the production of a friend ; and, except that for a modest reason he omitted the third couplet, I think it a good one. To finish the group, I have translated it myself; and though I would not wish you to give it to the world, for more reasons than one, especially lest some French hero should call me to account for it, I add it on the other side. An author ought to be the best judge of his own meaning ; and, whether I have succeeded or not, I cannot but wish, that where a tran- slator is wanted, the writer was always to be his own. False, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart, France quits the warrior's for tlie assassin's part ; To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys, Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze. Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone. She hires the worst and basest of our own. Kneel, France ! a suppliant conquers us with ease. We always spare a coward on his knees.* I have often wondered that Dryden's illustrious epigram on Milton (in my mind the second best that ever was made) has never been translated into Latin, for the admiration of th(» * See Letter 52. I) 74 cowper's letters. learned in other countries. I have at last presumed to venture upon the task myself. The great closeness of the original, M'hich is equal in that respect to the most compact Latin I eveju saw, made it extremely difficult. Tres tria sed longo distantia, sa?cula \'ate8 Ostentaiit tribiis e gentibus exiinios. Gra?cia sublimem, cum majestate disertum Roma tulit, felix Anglia utrique parem, Partubus ex binis Natura exhausta, coacta est, Tertius ut fieret, consociare duos. • I have not one bright thought upon the Chancellor's recovery ; nor can I strike off so much as one sparkling atom from that brilliant subject. It is not when I will, nor upon what I will, but as a thought happens to occur to me ; and then I versify, whether I will or not. I never write but for my amusement ; and what I write is sure to answer that end, if it answers no other. If, besides this purpose, the more desirable one of entertaining you be effected, I then receive double fruit of my labour, and consider this produce of it as a second crop, the more valuable, because less expected. But when I have once remitted a composition to you, I have done with it. It is pretty certain that I shall never read it or think of it again. From that moment I have constituted you sole judge of its accomplishments, if it has any, and of its defects, which it is sure to have. For this reason I decline answering the question with which you concluded your last, and cannot persuade myself to enter into a critical examen of the two pieces upon Lord Mansfield's loss, either with respect to their intrinsic or comparative merit; and indeed after having rather discouraged that use of them which you had designed, there is no occasion for it. W. C. * The well known original was written under the portrait of Milton, in Dryden's o^vn copy of Paradise Lost. Even under the disadvantage of a more diffuse idiom, it is intensely more vigorous thaji Cowper's Latin version : Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and Englind did adorn ; The first in loftiness of thoupht surpassed ; The "vrxt in ma}<.'sty ; in lH\th t^i' last. The force of Nature could no tarthor go, To make a third she join'd the other two. CO\VPER*S LETTERS. 75 6P, — TO MRS COWPEB. SILENT ADVANCK OF AGE — WANT OF A SUBJECT. July 20, 1780. My dear Cousin, — Mr Newton having desired me to be of the party, I am come to meet him. You see me sixteen years older at the least, than when I saw you last ;* but the effects of time seem to have taken place rather on the outside of my head, than within it. What was brown, is become grey, but what was foolish, remains foolish still. Green fruit must rot before it ripens, if the season is such as to afford it nothing but cold winds and dark clouds, that interrupt every ray of sunshine. My days steal away silently, and march on (as poor mad Lear would have made his soldiers march) as if they were shod with felt ;f not so silently but that I hear them ; yet were it not that I am always listening to their flight, having no infirmity that I had not when I was much younger, I should deceive myself with an imagination that I am still young. I am fond of writing as an amusement, but do not always find it one. Being rather scantily furnished with subjects that are good for anything, and corresponding only with those who have no relish for such as are good for nothing, I often find myself reduced to the necessity, the disagreeable Necessity, of writing about myself. This does not mend the matter much ; for though in a description of my own condition, I discover abundant materials to employ my pen upon, yet as the task is not very agreeable to me, so I am sufficiently aware that it is likely to prove irksome to others. A painter who should confine himself in the exercise of his art to the drawing of his own picture, must be a wonderful coxcomb, if he did not soon grow sick of his occupation ; and be peculiarly fortunate, if he did not make others as sick as himself. Remote as your dwelling is from the late scene of riot and confusion, I hope that, though you could not but hear the report, you heard no more, and that the roarings of the mad multitude did not reach you. That was a day of terror to the innocent, and the present is a day of still greater terror to the • The reader will remark, that the first letter addressed to this lady, is dated in March, 1766 ; and, except his brother, Cowper had seen none of bis relations for nearly two years previously. f It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe A troop of horse with felt. — Act iv. sc. 6. 76 COWPEK S LETTERS. guilty. The law was for a few moments like an arrow in the quiver, seemed to be of no use, and did no execution ; now it is an arrow upon the string, and many who despised it lately, are trembling as they stand before the point of it. I have talked more already than I have formerly done in three visits — you romembfr my taciturnity, never to be forgotten by those who knew me : not to depart entirely from what might be, for aught I know, the most shining part of my character, I here shut my mouth, make my bow, and return to Olney. W. C. 59. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. A DUMB DUET — SPECIMEN OF JURY TRIAL. Juli/Ml, 1780. My dear Friend, — As two men sit silent, after having exhausted all their topics of conversation, one says, " It is very fine weather ;" and the other says, " Yes ;" one blows his nose, and the other rubs his eyebrows — by the way, this is very much in Homer's manner: — such seems to be the case between you and me. After a silence of some days, I wrote you a long something, that, I suppose, was nothing to the purpose, because it has not afforded you materials for an answer. Nevertheless, as it often happens in the case above stated, one of the distressed parties, being deeply sensible of the awkwardness of a dumb duet, breaks silence again, and resolves to speak, though he has nothing to say. So it fares with me: I am with you again in the form of an epistle, though, considering my present emptiness, I have reason to fear that your only joy upon the occasion will be, that it is conveyed to you in a frank. When I began, I expected no interruption. But if I had expected interruptions without end, I should have been loss disappointed. First came the barber; who, after having embellished the outside of my head, has left the inside just as unfurnished as he found it. Then came Olney Bridge, not into the house, but into the conversation. The cause relating to it was tried on Tuesday at Buckingham. The judge directed the jury to find a verdict favourable to Olney. Tiie jury consisted of one knave and eh^ven fools. The last mentioned followed the afore-mentioned, as sheep follow a bell-wether, and decided in direct opposition to the said judge. Then a tlaw was discovered in the indictment. The indictment was cowper's letters, 77 quashed, and an order made for a new trial. The new trial will be in the King's Bench, where said knave and said fools will have nothing to do with it. So the men of Olney fling up their caps, and assure themselves of a complete victory. A victory will save me and your mother many shillings, per- haps some pounds, which, except that it has afforded me a subject to \vi'ite upon, was the only reason why I said so much about it. I know you take an interest in all that concerns us, and will consequently rejoice with us in the prospect of an event in which we are concerned so nearly. — Yours affec- tionately, W. C. 60.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. POETICAL TRIFLES — RIDDLE ON A KISS. July SO, 1780. My dear Sir, — You may think, perhaps, that I deal more liberally with Mr Unwin, in the way of poetical export, than I do with you, and I believe you have reason. The truth is this, — If I walked the streets with a fiddle under my arm, I should never think of performing before the window of a privy counsellor, or a chief justice, but should rather make free with ears more likely to be open to such an amusement. The trifles I produce in this way are indeed such trifles, that I cannot think them seasonable presents for you. Mr Unwin himself would not be offended if I was to tell him that there is this difference between him and Mr Newton, — that the latter is already an apostle, while he himself is only undergoing the business or incubation, with a hope that he may be hatched in time. When my muse comes forth arrayed in sables, at least in a robe of graver cast, I make no scruple to direct her to my friend at Hoxton. This has been one reason why I have so long delayed the riddle. But lest I should seem to set a value upon it, that I do not, by making it an object of still farther inquiry, here it comes : I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold. And the parent of numbers that cannot be told, I am lawful, unlawful — a duty, a fault, I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought, An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, And yielded with pleasure — when taken by force. w. c 78 cowpkk's letteks. 61. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM U.NWIX. BAYING NOTHING TO SAV, NO REASON TOR NOT WRITING — StANKlND THE SAME IN AM. ACf:S. AuOUht 6, 17tiO. My dear Friend, — You like to hear from me : this is a very good reason M'hy I should write — But I have nothing to say : this seems equally a good reason why I should not — Yet if you had alighted from your horse at our door this morning, and at this present writing, being five o'clock in the afternoon, had found occasion to sa}' to me, — " Mr Cowper, you have not spoke since I came in, have you resolved never to speak again ?" it would be but a poor reply, if in answer to the summons I should plead inability as my best and only excuse. And this, by tlie way, suggests to me a seasonable piece of instruction, and reminds me of wliat I am very apt to forget, when I have any cpistolaiy business in hand, that a letter may be \mtten upon anything or nothing, just as that anything or notliing happens to occur. A man that has a journey before him twenty miles in length, which he is to perform on foot, will not hesitate and doubt whether he shall set out or not, because he does not readily conceive how he shall ever reach the end of it ; for he knows, that by the simple operation of moving one foot forward first, and then the other, he shall be sure to accomplish it. So it is in the present case, and so it is in every similar case. A letter is wTitt^n as a conversation is maintained, or a journey performed, not by preconcerted or premeditated means, a new contrivance, or an invention never heard of before, but merely by maintaining a progress, and resolving as a postilion does, having once set out, never to stoj) till we reach the appointed end. If a man may talk without thinking, why may he not write upon the same terms ? A grave gentleman of the last century, a tie wig, square-toe, Steinkirk* iigure, would say, — " My good sir, a man has no right to do either." But it is to be hoped that the present century lias nothing to do with the mouldy opinions of the hist, and so good Sir I^uncelot, or Sir Paul, or whatever be your name, step into your picture frame again, and look as if you thought for another century, and leave us moderns in the meantime * Steinkirk cravats were, to tlie hi'iiux of our great-grandmothers* <]ays, wliiit the tioud- Gordien, or starch, — '•mysterious nuieilage Oi fashion," — is to the exquisite as now e\L»tiiUi. COWPER S LETTERS. 79 to think when we can, and to write whether we can or not, else we might as well be dead as you are. When we look back upon our forefathers, we seem to look back upon the people of another nation, almost upon creatures of another species. Their vast rambling mansions, spacious halls, and painted casements, the gothic porch, smothered with honeysuckles, their little gardens and high walls, their box- edgings, balls of holly, and yew-tree statues, are become so entirely unfashionable now, that we can hardly believe it possible, that a people who resembled us so little in their taste, should resemble us in any thing else. But in every thing else, I suppose they were our counterparts exactly; and time, that has sewed up the slashed sleeve, and reduced the large trunk hose to a neat pair of silk stockings, has left human nature just where it found it. The inside of the man at least has undergone no change. His passions, appetites, and aims are just what they ever were. They wear perhaps a handsomer disguise than they did in days of yore ; for philosophy and literature will have their effect upon the exterior ; but in every other respect a modern is only an ancient in a different di'ess. Yours. W. C. 62. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. ESCAPE, ADVENTURES, AND RECAPTURE OF A TAME HARE. August 2], 1780. The following occiu'rence ought not to be passed over in silence, in a place where so few notable ones are to be met with. Last Wednesday night, while we were at supper, between the hours of eight and nine, I heard an unusual noise in the back parlour, as if one of the hares was entangled, and endeavour- ing to disengage herselL I was just going to rise from table, when it ceased. In about five minutes, a voice on the outside of the parlour door inquired if one of my hares had got awa}'. I immediately rushed into the next room, and found that my poor favourite Puss had made her escape. She had gnawed in sunder the strings of the lattice work, with which I thought 1 had sufficiently secured the window, and which I preferred to any other sort of blind, because it admitted plenty of air. From thence I hastened to the kitchen, where I saw the redoubtable Thomas Freeman, who told me, that having seen her, just after she dropped into the street, he attempted to cover her with his hat, but she screamed out, and leaped 80 COWPEK's LEITERS. directly over his head. I then d(^ired him to pursue as faut as possible, and added Richard Coleman to the chase, as being nimbler, and carying less v/eight than Thomas ; not expecting to see her again, but desirous to learn, if possible, what became of her. In something less than an hour, Richard returned, almost breathless, with the following account : That soon after he began to run, he left Tom behind him, and came in sight of a most numerous hunt, of men, women, children, and dogs ; that he did his best to keep back the dogs, and presently out- stripped tlie cro\\d, so that the race was at last disputed between himself and Puss — she ran right through the town, and down the lane that leads to Dropshort — a little before she came to the house, he got the start and turned her : she pushed for the town again, and soon after she entered it sought shelter in Mr WagstafTs tan-yard, adjoining to old Mr Drake's — Sturge's harvest men were at supper, and saw her from the opposite side of the way. There she encountered the tan-pits full of water ; and while she was struggling out of one pit, and plunging into another, and almost drowned, one of the men drew her out by tho ears and secured her. She was then well washed in a bucket, to get the lime out of her coat, and brought home in a sack at ten o'clock. This frolic cost us four shillings, but you may believe we did not grudge a farthing of it. The poor creature received only a little hurt in one of her claws, and in one of her ears, and is now almost as well as ever. I do not call this an answer to your letter, but such as it is I send it, presuming upon that interest which I know you take in my minutest concerns, which I cannot express better than in the words of Terence a little varied, — Nihilmeia teolie7ium putas. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 6.'3. — TO MRS COWPER. LADY COWFER's DEATH — EFFECTS OF TIME UPON THE PERSON AND MIND. AttffusiS], 1780. My dear Cousin, — I am obliged to you for your long letter, which did not seem so, and for your short one, which was more than I had any reason to expect. Short as it was, it conveyed to me two interesting articles of intelligence, — an account of your recovering from a fever, and of Lady Cd'Aper's death. The latter M'as, I suppose, to be expected, for by what rememl)ranee T have of her ladyship, who was cowper's letters. 81 never much acquainted with her, she had reached those years that are always found upon the borders of another world. As for you, your time of life is comparatively of a youthful date. You may think of death as much as you please — you cannot think of it too much — but I hope you will live to think of it many years. It costs me not much difficulty to suppose that my friends, who were already grown old when I saw them last, are old still, but it costs me a good deal sometimes to think of those who were at that time young, as being older than they were. Not having been an eyewitness of the change that time has made in them, and my former idea of them not being coiTected by observation, it remains the same ; my memory presents me with this image unimpaired, and while it retains the resem- blance of what they were, forgets that by this time the picture may have lost much of its likeness, through the alterations that succeeding years have made in the original. I know not what impressions Time may have made upon your person, for while his claws (as our grannams called them) strike deep furrows in some faces, he seems to sheath them with much tenderness, as if fearful of doing injury to others. But though an enemy to the person, he is a friend to the mind, and you have found him so. Though, even in this respect, his treatment of us depends upon what he meets with at our hands ; if v/e use him well, and listen to his admonitions, he is a friend indeed, but otherwise the worst of enemies, who takes from us daily something that we valued, and gives us nothing better in its stead. It is well with them who, like you, can stand a-tiptoe on the mountain top of human life, look down with pleasure upon the valley they have passed, and sometimes stretch their wings in joyful hope of a happy flight into Eternity. Yet a little while, and your hope will be accom- plished. WTien you can favour me with a little account of your own family, without inconvenience, I shall be glad to receive it ; for though separated from my kindred by little more than half a century of miles, I know as little of their concerns, as if oceans and continents were interposed between us Yours, my dear cousin, W. C. o 2 82 cowper's letters. 64. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. niOGRAPHIA BRtTANNICA— .LINES OS THE NAMES OF LITTLE REPUTK INSERTED IN THAT WORK. Septembers, 1780. My dear Frien'd, — I aru glad you are so provident, and that, wliile you are young, you have furnished yourself with the means of comfort in old ago. Your crutch and your pipe may be of use to you — and may they be so ! — should your years be extended to an antediluvian date ; and for your perfect accommodation, you seem to want nothing but a clerk called Snuffle, and a sexton of the name of Skeleton, to make your ministerial equipage complete. I think I have read as much of the first volume of the Biograpliia as I shall ever read. I find it very amusing ; more so, perhaps, than it would have been had they sifted their characters with more exactness, and admitted none but those ^\'ho had in some way or other entitled themselves to immor- tality, by deserving well of the public. Such a compilation would perhaps have been more judicious, though I confess it would have afforded less variety. The priests and monks of ( arlier, and the doctors of later days, who have signalized themselves by nothing but a controversial pamphlet, long since thrown by, and never to be perused again, might have been forgotten, without injury or loss to the national character for learning or genius. Tliis observation suggested to me the following lines, which may serve to illustrate my meaning, and at the same time to give my criticism a sprightlier air : Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ij,moble, burn to be forgot ! In vain, recorded in historic page, They court the notice of a future age : Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land Drop one l)y one from Fiune's neglecting hand ; Letluen gulls receive them as they fall. And dark obUvion soon absorbs them all. So when a child, as playful cliildren use, Has burnt to cinder a st:Ue last year's news. The flame extuict, lie views the roving fire, There goes my lady, and there goes the squire ; There goes tlie parson, oh, illustrious spark ! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk ! Virgil admits none but worthies into the Elysian Fields ; COWPER's I ETTERS. 8.*3 I cannot rocollect the lines in which he describes them all, but these in particular I well remember, — Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo, hiventas aut qui vitain excoluere per artes. A chaste and scrupulous conduct like his would well become the vvriter of national biography. But enough of this. Our respects attend Miss Shuttleworth, with many thanks for her intended present. Some purses derive all their value from their contents, but these will have an intrinsic value of their own ; and though mine should be often empty, which is not an improbable supposition, I shall still esteem it highly on its own account. If you could meet with a second-hand Virgil, ditto Homer, both Iliad and Odyssey, together with a Clavis, for I have no Lexicon, and all tolerably cheap, I shall be obliged to you if you will make the purchase. — Yours, W. C. 65. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. ON EDUCATION — GREEK AND LATIN TOO EAKLY TAUGHT — IMPORTANCE OF GEOGRAPHY. September 7, 1780. My dear Friend, — As many gentlemen as there are in the world, who have children, and heads capable of reflecting upon the important subject of their education, so many opinions there are about it ; and many of them just and sensible, though almost all differing from each other. With respect to the education of boys, I think they are generally made to draw in Latin and Greek trammels too soon. It is pleasing, no doubt, to a parent, to see his child alreadj'' in some sort a proficient in those languages, at an age when most others are entirely ignorant of them ; but hence it often happens, that a boy, who could construe a fable of iEsop at six or seven years of age, having exhausted his little stock of attention and diligence in making that notable acquisition, grows weary of his task, conceives a dislike for study, and perhaps makes but a very indifferent progress afterwards. The mind and body have, in this respect, a striking resemblance of each other. In child- hood they are both nimble, but not strong ; they can skip and frisk about with wonderful agility, but hard labour spoils them both. In maturer years they become less actrve, but more vigorous, more capable of a fixed application, and can make 84 COWPER*S LETTERS. themselves sport with that which a little earlier would have affected them with intolerable fatigue. I should recommend it to you, therefore, (but after all you must judge for yourself,) to allot the two next years of little John's scholarship to writing and arithmetic, together with which, for variety's sake, and because it is capable of being formed into an amusement, I would mingle geography, a science (which, if not attended to betimes, is seldom made an object of much consideration) essentially necessary to the accomplishment of a gentleman, yet (as I know by sad experience) imperfectly, if at all, incul- cated in the schools. Lord Spencer's son, when he was four years of age, knew the situation of every kingdom, country, city, river, and remarkable mountain, in the world. For this attainment, which I suppose his father had never made, he was indebted to a plaything ; having been accustomed to amuse himself with those maps wliich are cut into several compartments, so as to be thrown into a heap of confusion, that they may be put together again witli an exact coincidence of all their angles and bearings, so as to form a perfect whole. If he begins Latin and Greek at eight, or even at nine years of age, it is surely soon enough. Seven years, the usual allowance for those acquisitions, are more than sufficient for the purpose, especially with his readiness in learning ; for you would hardly wish to have him qualified for the university before fifleen, a period, in my mind, much too eai'ly for it, and when he could hardly be trusted there witliout the utmost danger to his morals. Upon the whole, you will perceive that, in my judgment, the difficulty, as well as the wisdom, consists more in bridling in, and keeping back, a boy of his parts, than in pushing him forward. If, therefore, at the end of the two next years, instead of putting a grammar into his hand, you should allow him to amuse himself with some agreeable writers upon the subject of natural philosophy for another year, I think it would answer well. There is a book called Cosmotheoria Puerilis, there are Derham's Piiysico and Astro-Theology, togetlier with several others in the same mann(;r, very intelligible even to a child, and full of useful instruction.* W. C. * Thid viow of education cannot be praised ; it wants system, which, in traininf^ the youthful miud to the formation of habits, as well as in literary acquirement, is aL in all. COWPER*S LETTERS. 85 60. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. •tHE SUBJECT CONTINUED PUBLIC AND TBIVATE EEUCATION. September 17, 1780. My DEAR Friend, — You desire my farther thoughts on the subject of education. I send you such as had for the most part occurred to me when I wrote last, but could not be comprised in a single letter. They are indeed on a different branch of this interesting theme, but not less important than the former. I think it your happiness, and wish you to think it so yourself, that you are in every respect qualified for the task of instructing your son, and preparing him for the university, without committing him to the care of a stranger. In my judgment, a domestic education deserves the preference to a public one on a hundred accounts, which I have neither time nor room to mention. I shall only touch upon two or three that I cannot but consider as having a right to your most earnest attention. In a public school, or indeed in any school, his morals are sure to be but little attended to, and his religion not at all. If he can catch the love of virtue from the fine things that are spoken of it in the classics, and the love of holiness from the customary attendance upon such preaching as he is likely to hear, it will be well ; but lam sure you have had too many opportunities to observe the inefficacy of such means, to expect any such advantage from them. In the meantime, the more powerful influence of bad example, and perhaps bad company, will continually counterwork these only preservatives he can meet with, and may possibly send him home to you, at the end of five or six years, such as you will be sorry to see him. You escaped indeed the contagion yourself; but a few instances of happy exemption from a general malady are not sufficient warrant to conclude, that it is therefore not infectious, or may be encountered without danger. You have seen too much of the world, and are a man of too much reflection not to have observed, that in proportion as the sons of a family approach to years of maturity, they lose a sense of obligation to their parents, and seem at last almost divested of that tender affection which the nearest of all relations seems to demand from them. I have often observed it myself, and have always thought I could sufii-' 8G cowper's letters. ciently account for it, without laying all the blame upon the children. While tliey continue in their parents* house they are every day obliged, and every day reminded how much it is their interest, as well as duty, to be obliging and affectionate in return. But at eight or nine years of age tlie boy goes to school. From that moment lie becomes a stranger in his father's house. The course of parental kindness is interrupted. The smiles of his mother, those tender admonitions, and the solicitous care of both his pai'ents, are no longer before his eyes — year after year he feels himself more and more detached from them, till at last he is so effectually weaned from the connection, as to find himself happier any where than in their company. I should have been glad of a frank for this letter, for I have said but little of what I could say upon the subject, and perhaps I may not be able to catch it by the end again. If I can, I shall add to it hereafter. — Yours, \V. C. 67. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. CONTINUATION — NEGLIGENCE IN TEACHING ENGLISH — MANNERS BEST FORMED AT HOME — CONNECTIONS BEGUN IN EARLY LIFE AT SCHOOL. October 5, 1780. My dear Friend, — Now for the sequel. You have antici- pated one of my arguments in favour of a private education, therefore I need say but little about it. The folly of supposing that the mother tongue, in some respects the most difficult of all tongues, may be aqquired without a teacher, is predominant in all the public schools that I have ever heard of To })ronounce it well, to speak and to write it with fluency and elegance, are no easy attainments ; not one in fifty of those who pass through Westminster and Eton, arrive at any remark- able proficiency in these accomplishments ; and they that do are more indebted to their own study and application for it, than to any instruction received there. In general, there is nothing so pedantic as the style of a schoolboy, if he aims at any style at all ; and if he does not, he is of course inelegant, and perhaps ungrammatical. A defect, no doubt, in great measure owing to want of cultivation ; for the same hul that is often commended for his Latin, frequently would deserve to be whipped for his English, if the fault were not more his master's than his own. I know not where this evil is so likely to be prevented as at home — supposing always, nevertheless, cowper's letters. 87 (which is the case in your instance,) that the boy's parents, and their acquaintance, are persons of elegance and taste themselves. For to converse with those who converse with propriety, and to be directed to such authors as have refined and improved the language by their productions, are advan- tages which he cannot elsewhere enjoy in an equal degree. And though it requires some time to regulate the taste, and fix the judgment, and these effects must be gradually wrought even upon the best understanding, yet I suppose much less time will be necessary for the purpose than could at first be imagined, because the opportunities of improvement are continual. A public education is often recommended as the most effectual remedy for that bashful and awkward restraint, so epidemical among the youth of our country. But I verily believe that instead of being a cure, it is often the cause of it. For seven or eight years of his life, the boy has hardly seen or conversed with a man, or a woman, except the maids at his boarding house. A gentleman or a lady are conse- quently such novelties to him, that he is perfectly at a loss to know what sort of behaviour he should preserve before them. He plays with his buttons, or the strings of his hat, he blows his nose, and hangs down his head, is conscious of his own deficiency to a degree that makes him quite unhappy, and trembles lest any one should speak to him, because that would quite overwhelm him. Is not all this miserable shyness the effect of his education ? To me it appears to be so. If he saw good company every da}^ he would never be terrified at the sight of it, and a room full of ladies and gentlemen would alarm him no more than the chairs they sit on. Such is the effect of custom. I need add nothing farther on this subject, because I believe little John is as likely to be exempted from this weakness as most young gentlemen we shall meet with. He seems to have his father's spirit in this respect, in whom I could never discern the least trace of bashfulness, though I have often heard him complain of it. Under your manage- ment, and the influence of your example, I think he can hardly fail to escape it. If he does, he escapes that which has made many a man uncomfortable for life ; and ruined not a few, by forcing them into mean and dishonourable company, where only they could be free and cheerful. Connections formed at school are said to be lasting and often beneficial. There are two or three stories of this kind 38 ' CO WPE r'.S 1 OTTERS. upon record, wliich would not be so constantly cited as they are, whenever this subject happens to be mentioned, if the chronicle that preserves their remembrance had many besides to boast of. For my own part, I found such friendships, though warm enough in their commencement, surprisingly liable to extinction ; and of seven or eight, whom I had selected for intimates out of about three hundred, in ten years* time not one was left me. The truth is, that there may be, and often is, an attachment of one boy to another, that looks very like a friendship ; and while they are in circumstances that enable them mutually to oblige and to assist each other, promises well, and bids fair to be lasting. But they are no sooner separated from each other, by entering into the world at large, than other connections, and new employments, in which they no longer share together, efface the remembrance of what passed in earlier days, and they become strangers to each other for ever. Add to this, the man frequently differs so much from the hoy ; his principles, manners, tem- per, and conduct, undergo so great an alteration, that we no longer recognize in him our old playfellow, but find him utterly unworthy and unfit for the place he once held in our affections. To close this article, as I did the last, by applying myself immediately to the present concern, — little John is happily placed above all occasion for dependence on all such precarious hopes, and need not be sent to school in quest of some great men in embryo, who may possibly make his fortune Yours, my dear friend, W. C* 68. — TO MRS NEWTON. MK NEWTON'S ARRIVAL AT RAMSGATE, AND REFERENCE TO HIS EARLY LIFE. October 5, 1780. Dear Madam — When a lady speaks, it is not civil to make her wait a week for an answer — I received your letter within this hour, and, foreseeing that the garden will engross much of my time for some days to come, have seized the present opportunity to acknowledge it. I congratulate you on Mr * In the poem entitled " Tyrocinium," the leading thoughts in these letters are resumed, and nearly the same principles inculcated. lioth the letters and poem display pood sense, but are delicient in practical experience, or warped in their sentiments by the early prejudices of the writer COWPEIl's LETTERS. 89 Newton's safe aiTival at Ramsgate, making no doubt but that he reached that place without difficulty or danger, the road thither from Canterbury being so good as to afford room for neither. He has now a view of the element, with which he was once so familiar, but which I think he has not seen for many years. The sight of his old acquaintance will revive in his mind a pleasing recollection of past deliverances, and when he looks at him from the beach, he may say, — " You have formerly given me trouble enough, but I have cast anchor now where your billov/^s can never reach me." It is happy for him that he can say so. Mrs Unwin returns you many thanks for your anxiety on her account. Her health is considerably mended upon the whole, so as to afford us a hope that it will be established. Our love attends you — Yours, dear Madam, W. C. 69.-, TO THE REV. WILLIMI UNWIN. ENCLOSING VERSES ON A GOLDFINCH — HUMOROUS CHARGE OF A HALFPENNY PER COPY. November 9, 1780. I WROTE the following last summer. The tragical occasion of it really happened at the next house to ours. I am glad when I can find a subject to work upon ; a lapidary I suppose accounts it a laborious part of his business to rub away the roughness of the stone ; but it is my amusement, and if after all the polishing I can give it, it discovers some little lustre, I think myself well rewarded for my pains. Time was when I was free as air, The thistle's do\\Tiy seed my fare, My drink the morning dew ; I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray, My form genteel, my plumage gay. My strains for ever new. But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain. And form genteel, were all in vain, And of a transient date ; For caught, and caged, and starved to death. In dying sighs my little breath Soon pass'd the wiry grate. Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes. And thanks for this effectual close And cure of ev'ry Dl ; More cruelty could none express ; And I, if you had she\\Ti me less. Had been your pris'ner still. 90 cowper's letters. I sliall charge you a lialfpenny a piece for every copy I send you, the short as well as the long. This is a sort of afterclap you little expected, but I cannot possibly afford them at a cheaper rate. If this method of raising money had occurred to me sooner, I should have made the bargain sooner : but am glad I have hit upon it at last. It will be a considerable e^ncouragement to my muse, and act as a powerful stimulus to my industry. If the American war should last much longer, I may be obliged to raise my price, but this I shall not do without a real occasion for it — it depends much upon Lord North's conduct in the article of supplies — if he imposes an additional tax on anything that I deal in, the necessity of this measure, on my part, Avill be so apparent, that I dare say you will not dispute it. W. C. 70.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. VERSES, MEMORABr.E LAW-SUIT BETWEEN EYES AND NOSE — HAPPINESS OT EXEMPTION FROM LAW. December 25, 1780. My dear Friend, — Weary with rather a long walk in the snow, I am not likely to write a very sprightly letter, or to produce any thing that may cheer this gloomy season, unless I have recourse to my pock.et-l)ook, where perhaps I may find something to transcribe, something that was written before the sun had taken leave of our hemisphere, and when I was less fatigued than I am at present. Happy is the man who knows just so much of the law, as to make himself a little merry now and then with the solemnity of juridical proceedings. I have heai'd of common law judg- ments before now, indeed have been present at the delivery of some, that, according to mj- poor apprehension, while they paid the utmost respect to the letter of the statute, have departed widely from the spirit of it ; and, being governed entirely by the point of law, have left equity, reason, and common sense, behind them at an infinite distance. You will judge whether the following report of a case, drawn up by myself, be not a proof and illustration of this satirical assertion. Nose, Plaintiff. — Eves, Defendants. Between Nose and Eyes a sad contest arose. The spiM'taclcs srf tlieni unlmpnily wroii^' ; The point in dispute w.is, as all tne world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong. COWPER*S LETTERS. 91 So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning ; While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So famed for his talents at nicely discerning. *♦ In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship," he said, " will undoubtedly find. That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear. Which amounts to possession, time out of mind." Then holding the spectacles up to the court, — " Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle. As wide as the ridge of the nose is ; in short, Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. " Again, would your lordship a moment suppose, ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again,) That the visage or countenance had not a nose. Pray who woidd, or who could, wear spectacles then ? " On the whole it appears, and my argiunent shews, With a reasoning the court will never condemn. That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them." Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how,') He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : But what were his arguments few people know, For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or but, — " That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By dayhght or candlelight — Eyes should be shut ! " Yours affectionately, W. C. 71. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. POETICAL LA\V REPORTS — ANECDOTE. December, 1780. My dear Friend, — Poetical reports of law cases are not very common, yet it seems to me desirable that they should be so. Many advantages would accrue from such a measure. They would, in the first place, be more commodiously deposited in the memory, just as linen, grocery, or other such matters, when neatly packed, are known to occupy less room, and to lie more conveniently in any trunk, ciiest, or box, to which they may be committed. In the next place, being divested of that infinite circumlocution, and the endless embarrassment 92 COWPER*S LETTERS. in which they are involved by it, they would become sur- prisingly intelligible, in comparison with their present obscurity. And lastly, tliey would by this means be rendered susceptible of musical embellishment, and, instead of being quoted in the country witli that dull monotony, which is so wearisome to by-standers, and frequently lulls even the judgeg themselves to sleep, might be rehearsed in recitation ; which would have an admirable effect in keeping the attention fixed and lively, and could not fail to disperse that heavy atmosphere of sadness and gravity, which hangs over the jurisprudence of our country. I remember many years ago being informed by a relation of mine, wlio in his youth had applied himself to the study of the law, that one of his fellow students, a gentleman of sprightly parts, and very respectable talents of the poetical kind, did actually engage in the prosecution of such a design — for reasons, I suppose, some- what similar to, if not the same with those I have now suggested. He began with Coke's Institutes ; a book so rugged in its style, that an attempt to polisli it seemed an Herculean labour, and not less arduous and difficult than it would be to give the smootlmess of a rabbit's fur to tlie prickly back of a hedgehog. But he succeeded to admiration, as you will perceive by the following specimen, which is all that my said relation could recollect of the performance : Tenant in fee Simple, is he, And need neither quake nor quiver. Who hath his lands, Free from demands. To him and his heirs for ever. You have an ear for music, and a taste for verse, which saves me the trouble of pointing out with a critical nicety the advantages of such a version. I proceed therefore to what I at first intended, and to transcribe the record of an adjudged case thus managed, to which indeed what I premised was intended merely as an introduction.* W. C. • This letter concluded with the poetical law case of " Nose, plaintiflf — Eyes, defendants," before referred to, and wliich appears to have been ft favourite piece of pleasantry with the author. cowper's letters. 93 72.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. THANKS FOR INFORMATION REGARDING RELATIVES PENALTY OF LONGEVITY. February 15, 178L My dear Friend, — I am glad you were pleased with my report of so extraordinary a case. If the thought of versifying the decisions of our courts of justice had struck me, while I had the honour to attend them, it would perhaps have been no difficult matter to have compiled a volume of such amusing and interesting precedents ; which, if they wanted the eloquence of the Greek or Roman oratory, would have amply compensated that deficiency by the harmony of rhyme and metre. Your account of my uncle and your mother gave me great pleasure. I have long been afraid to inquire after some in whose welfare I always feel myself interested, lest the question should produce a painful answer. Longevity is the lot of so few, and is so seldom rendered comfortable by the associations of good health and good spirits, that I could not very reason- ably suppose either your relations or mine so happy in those respects as it seems they are. May they continue to enjoy those blessings so long as the date of life shall last ! I do not think that in these costermonger days, as I have a notion Falstaff calls them, an antediluvian age is at all a desirable thing ; but to live comfortably, while we do live, is a great matter, and comprehends in it every thing that can be wished for on this side the curtain that hangs between time and eternity. Farewell, my better friend than any I have to boast of, either among the Lords — or gentlemen of the House of Commons. W. C. 73. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. IMS OCCUPATIONS — UNFEELING TEMPERS ARE UNSKILFUL IN GIVING AHVICE. April % 1781. My dear Friend, — Fine weather, and a variety of extraforaneous occupations, (search Johnson's Dictionary for that word, and if not found there, insert it — for it saves a deal of circumlocution, and is very lawfully compounded) make it difficult (excuse the length of a parenthesis, which I did not 94 COWPER*S LETTERS. foresee the length of when I began it, and which may perhaps a little perplex the sense of what I am writing, though, as I seldom deal in that figure of speech, I have the less need to make an apology for doing it at present) make it difficult (I say) for me to find opportunities for \\Titing. My morning is engrossed by the gai-den ; and in the afternoon, till I have drunk tea, I am fit for nothing. At five o'clock we walk; and when the walk is over, lassitude recommends rest, and I again become fit for nothing. The current hour, therefore, which (I need not tell you) is comprised in the interval between four and five, is devoted to your service, as the only one in the twenty-four which is not otherwise engaged. I do not wonder that you have felt a great deal upon the occasion j^ou mention in your last, especially on account of the asperity you have met with in the behaviour of your friend. Reflect, however, that as it is natural to you to have very fine feelings, it is equally natural to some other tempers to leave those feelings entirely out of the question, and to speak to you, and to act towards you, just as they do towards the rest of mankind, without the least attention to the irritability of your system. Men of a rough and unsparing address should take great care that they be always in the right ; the justness and propriety of their sentiments and censures being the only tolerabfe apology that can be made for such a conduct, especially in a country where civility of behaviour is inculcated even from the cradle. But in the instance now under our contemplation I think you a sufferer under the weight of an animadversion not founded in truth, and wliich, consequently, you did not deserve. I account him faithful in the pulpit, who dissembles nothing that he believes, for fear of giving offence. To accommodate a discourse to the judgment and opinion of others, for the sake of pleasing them, though by doing so we are obliged to depart widely from our own, is to be unfaithful to ourselves at least, and cannot be accounted fidelity to him whom we profess to serve. But there are few men who do not stand in need of the exercise of cliarity and forbearance ; and the gentleman in question has afforded you an ample opportunity, in this respect, to shew how reatlily, though differing in your views, you can practise all that he could possibly expect from you, if your persuasion correspon- ded exactly with his own. VVith respect to Monsieur le Cur^^ I think you not quite excusable for suffering such a man to give you any uneasiness at all. The grossness and injustice of his demand ought to covVPEr's letter.?. 95 be its own antidote. If a robber should miscal you a pitiful fellow for not carrying a purse full of gold about you, would his brutality give you any concern ? I suppose not. Why then have you been distressed in the present instance ? — Yours, W. C. From the preceding Letters, the reader will have observed the gradually increasing attachment of Cowper to the exercise of poetical composition. During the \\inter of 1780-81, literary occupation had become a regular habit ; and, as has been explained in the Memoir, his first volume was chiefly written. The printing, or rather existence, of that volume, now for the first time announced, has been assumed as a proper era in his Correspondence. His subsequent Letters also gene- rally present a different character from the previous ones, frequently giving valuable information on the poet's hterary habits and tastes. 74. —.TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. COWPKR G1>£S AN ACCOUNT OF THE COMPOSITION AND PRINTING OF Ills FIRST VOLUME. May 1, 1781. Your mother says I must write, and must admits of no apology ; I might otherwise plead, that I have nothing to say, that I am weary, that I am dull, that it would be more convenient therefore for you, as well as for myself; that I, should let it alone ; but all these pleas, and whatever pleas besides either disinclination, indolence, or necessity might suggest, are overruled, as they ought to be, the moment a lady adduces her irrefragable ai'gument, you must. You have still however one comfort left, that what I must write, you may, or may not read, just as it shall please you ; unless Lady Anne at your elbow should say, you must read it, and then, like a true knight, you will obey without looking for a remedy. In the press, and speedily will be published, in one volume octavo, price three shillings. Poems, by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq. You may suppose, by the size of the publication, that the greatest part of them have been long kept secret, because you yourself have never seen them : but the truth is, that they are most of them, except what you have in your possession, the produce of the last winter. Two-thirds of the compilation will be occupied by four pieces, the first of 96 cowper's letters. M'hich sprung up in the month of December, and the last of tliem in the month of March. Tliey contain, I suppose, in all about two tliousancl and five hundred linos : are known, or to be known in due time, by the names of Table Talk — The Progress of Error — Truth — Hxpostithttion. Mr Newton writes a Preface, and Jolinson is the jjublisher. The prin- cipal, I may say the only, reason why I never mentioned to you, till now, an affair which I am just going to make known to all the world, (if that Mr All-the-world should think it worth his knowing) has been this, — that till within these few days, I had not tlie lionour to know it myself. TIjis may seem strange, but it is true ; for not knowing where to find under- writers who would choose to insure them, and not finding it convenient to a purse like mine to run any hazard, even upon tlie credit of my own ingenuity, I was very much in doabt for some weeks, whether any bookseller would be willing to subject himself to an ambiguity, that might prove very expensive in case of a bad market. But Johnson has heroically set all pcradventures at defiance, and takes the whole charge upon himself. So out I come. I shall be glad of my Translations from Vincent Bourne, in your next frank. My muse will lay herself at your feet immediately on her first public appearance. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 75.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. SAME SUBJECT — COWFER's HABITS OF COMPOSITION. Mmjd, 17t>l. My dear Sir, — I am in the press, and it is vain to deny it. But how mysterious is the conveyance of intelligence from one end to the other of your great city! — Not many days since, except one man, and he but little taller than yourself, all London was ignorant of it ; for I do not suppose that the ])ublic prints have yet announced the most agreeable tidings, the title-page, which is the basis of the advertisement, having so lately reached the publisher : and now it is known to you, who live at least two miles distant from my conlidant \\\Mm the occasion. My labours are principally the production of the last winter ; all, indeed, except a few of tjje minor pieces. When I can find no other occupation, I tliink, and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence it comes to pass tluit the season of the year which generally pinches oft' the flowers cowper's letters. 97 of poetry, unfolds mine, such as they are, and crowns me with a winter garland. In this respect, therefore, I and my con- temporary bards are by no means upon a par. They write when the delightful influences of fine weather, fine prospects, and a brisk motion of the animal spirits, make poetry almost the language of Nature ; and I, when icicles depend from all the leaves of the Parnassian laurel, and when a reasonable man would as little expect to succeed in verse, as to hear a blackbird whistle. This must be my apology to you for whatever want ot fire and animation you may observe in what you will shortly have the perusal of. As to the public, if they like me not, there is no remedy. A friend will weigh and consider all disadvan- tages, and make as large allowances as an author can wish, and larger perhaps than he has any right to expect ; but not so the world at large ; whatever they do not like, they will not by any apology be persuaded to forgive, and it would be in vain to tell them, that I wrote my verses in January, for they would immediately reply, " Why did not you write them in May ? '* A question that might puzzle a wiser head than we poets are generally blessed with. W. C, 76.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. HIS REASONS FOR PREFERRING MR NEWTON AS CORRKCTOR OF THE I'KESS. Mat/ 10, 178L My dear Friend, — It is Friday; I have ju«st drunk tea, and just perused your letter : and though this answer to it cannot set off till Sunday, I obey the warm impulse I feel, which will not permit me to postpone the business till the regular time of writing. I expected you would be grieved ; if you had not been so, those sensibilities which attend you upon every other occasion, must have left you upon this. I am sorry that I have given you pain, but not sorry that you have felt it. A concern of that sort would be absurd, because it would be to regret your friendship for me, and to be dissatisfied with the effect of it. Allow yourself, however, three minutes only for reflection, and your penetration must necessarily dive into the motives of my conduct. In the first place, and by way of preface, remember that I do not (whatever your partiality may incline you to do) account it of much consequence to any friend of mine, whether he is, or is not, employed by me upon such ai> occasion. But all affected renunciations of poetical merit apart. 98 cowper's letters. (and all unaffected expressions of the sense I have of my own littleness in the poetical character too) the obvious and only reason why I resorted to Mr Newton, and not to my friend Unwin, was this, — that the former lived in London, the latter at Stock ; the former was upon the spot to correct the press, to give instructions respecting any sudden alterations, and to settle with the publisher every thing that might possibly occur in the course of sucli a business : the latter could not be applied to, for these purposes, without what I thought would be a manifest encroachment on his kindness ; because it miglit happen, that the troublesome office might cost him now and then a journey, which it was absolutely impossible for me to endure the thought of. When I wrote to you for the copies you have sent me, I told you I was making a collection, but not with a design to publish. There is nothing truer than that, at that time, I had not the smallest expectation of sending a volume of Poems to the press. I had several small pieces that might amuse, but I would not, when I publish, make the amusement of the reader my only object. When the winter deprived me of other employments, I began to compose, and seeing six or seven months before me, which would naturally afford me much leisure for such a purpose, I undertook a piece of some length ; that finished, another ; and so on, till I had amassed the number of lines I mentioned in my last. Believe of me what you please, but not that I am indifferent to you, or your friendship for me, on any occasion. — Yours, W. C. 77. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. riTBLICATION Of THE VOLUME DELAYED — HISTORY AND POEMS OF VINCENT BOURNE. May 2^ 1781. My dear Friend, — If a %vriter's friends have need of patience, how much more the writer ! Your desire to see my muse in public, and mine to gratify you, must both suffer the mortification of delay I expected that my trumpeter would have informed the world by tliis time of all that is needful for them to know upon such an occasion ; and that an advertising blast, blown thrctugli every newspaper, would have said — " The poet is coming." — But man, especially man that writes verse, is born to disappointments, as surely a.s printers and cowper's letters. 99 booksellers are born to be the most dilatory and tedious of all creatures. The plain English of this magnificent preamble is, that the season of publication is just elapsed, that the town is going into the country every day, and that my book cannot appear till they return, that is to say, not till next winter. This misfortune, however, comes not without its attendant advantage : I shall now have, what I should not otherwise have had, an opportunity to correct the press myself; no small advantage upon any occasion, but especially important where poetry is concerned ! A single erratum may knock out the brains of a whole passage, and that perhaps which, of all others, the unfortunate poet is the most proud of. Add to this, that now and then there is to be found in a printing house a presumptuous intermeddler, who will fancy himself a poet too, and what is still worse, a better than he that employs him. The consequence is, that with cobbling, and tinkering, and patching on here and there a shred of his own, he makes such a difference between the original and the copy, that an author cannot know his own work again. Now, as I choose to be responsible for nobody's dulness but my own, I am a little comforted, when I reflect that it will be in my power to prevent all such impertinence, and yet not without your assistance. It will be quite necessary, that the corres- pondence between me and Johnson should be carried on without the expense of postage, because proof sheets would make double or treble letters, which expense, as in every instance it must occur twice, first when the packet is sent, and again when it is returned, would be rather inconvenient to me, who, as you perceive, am forced to live by my wits, and to him, who hopes to get a little matter, no doubt, by the same means. Half-a-dozen franks therefore to me, and totidem to him, will be singularly acceptable if you can, without feeling it in any respect a trouble, procure them for me. I am much obliged to you for your offer to support me in a translation of Bourne. It is but seldom, however, and never except for my amusement, that I translate ; because I find it disagreeable to work by another man's pattern ; I should at least be sure to find it so in a business of any length. Again, that is epigrammatic and witty in Latin, which would be perfectly insipid in English ; and a translator of Bourne would frequently find himself obliged to supply what is called the turn, which is in fact the most difficult, and (he most expen- sive part of the whole composition, and could not perhaps, iu too COWPEIl's LETTERS. many instances, be done with any tolerable success. If a Latin poem is neat, elegant, and musical, it is enough — but English readers are not so easily satisfied. To quote myself, you will find, in comparing the Jack-daw with the original, that I was obliged to sharpen a point, which, though smart enough in the Latin, would, in English, have appeared as plain and as blunt as the tag of a lace. I love the memory of Vinny Bourne. I think him a better Latin poet than Tibullus, Proi>ertius, Ausonius, or any of the writers in his way, except Ovid, and not at all inferior to him. I love him too with a love of partiality, because he was usher of the fifth form at Westminster, when I passed through it. He was so good-natured, and so indolent, that I lost more than I got by him ; for he made me as idle as himself. He was such a sloven, as if he had trusted to his genius as a cloak for every thing that could disgust you in his person ; and, indeed, in his writings he has made amends for all. His humour is (Mitirely original — he can speak of a magpie or a cat in terms so exquisitely appropriated to the character he draws, that one would suppose him animated by the spirit of the creature he describes. And with all his drollery there is a mixture of rational, and even religious reflection, at times : and always an air of pleasantry, good-nature, and humanity, that makes liim, in my mind, one of the most amiable writers in the world. It is not common to meet with an author who can make you smile, and yet at nobody's expense ; who is always entertaining, and yet always harmless; and who, though always elegant, and classical to a degree not always found in the classics themselves, charms more by the simplicity and playfulness of his ideas, than by the neatness and purity of his verse; yet such was poor Vinny. I remember seeing the Duke of Richmond set fire to his greasy locks, and box his ears to put it out again. Since I began to write long poems, I seem to turn u]) my nose at the idea of a short one. I have lately entered upon one, which, if ever finished, cannot easily be comprised in nmch less titan a thousand lines ! But this must make part of a second publication, and be accom- panied, in due time, by others not yet thought of; for it seems (what I did not know, till the bookseller haxl occasion to tell me so) that single pieces stand no chance, and that nothing less than a volume will go down. You yourself afford me a proof of the certainty of this intelligence, by s(>nding me franks which nothing less than a vrtlume can fill. I have accordingly sent you one, but am obliged to add, that had the cowpeb's letters. 101 wind been in any other point of the compass, or, blowing as it does from the east, had it been less boisterous, you must have been contented with a much shoiter letter, but the abridgment of every other occupation is very favourable to that of writing. I am glad I did not expect to hear from you by this post, for the boy has lost the bag in which your letter must have been enclosed — another reason for my prolixity! — Yours affectionately, W. C. 78. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. .PRINTING OF HIS VOLUME PROCEEDS — CORRECTION OF PROOFS — HORSEMANSHIP. May, 1781. My dear Friend, — I believe I never give you trouble without feeling more than I give ; so much by way of preface and apology. Thus stands the case — Johnson has begun to print, and Mr Newton has already corrected the first sheet. This unexpected despatch makes it necessary for me to furnish myself with the means of communication, viz. the franks, as soon as may be. There are reasons (I believe I mentioned them in my last) why I choose to revise the proofs myself ; nevertheless, if your delicacy must suffer the puncture of a pin*s point in procuring the franks for me, I release you entirely from the task ; you are as free as if I had never mentioned them. But you will oblige me by a speedy answer upon this subject, because it is expedient that the printer should know to whom he is to send his copy ; and when the press is once set, those humble servants of the poets are rather impatient of any delay, because the types are wanted for other authors, who are equally impatient to be born. This fine weather, I suppose, sets you on horseback, and allures the ladies into the garden. If I was at Stock, I should be of their party; and while they sat knotting or netting in the shade, should comfort myself with the thought, that I hatl not a beast under me, whose walk would seem tedious, whose trot would jumble me, and whose gallop might throw me into a ditch. What Nature expressly designed me for I havt- never been able to conjecture, I seem to myself so universally disqualified for the common and customary occupations and amusements of mankind. "^Vhen I was a boy, I excelled at ICri cowper's letters. cricket and football, but tho fame I acquired by achievements that way is long since forgotten, and I do not know that I have made a figure in any thing since. I am sure, however, that she did not design me for a horseman ; and that, if all men were of my mind, there would be an end of all jockeyship for ever. I am rather straitened for time, and not very rich in materials, therefore, with ourjoint love to you all, conclude myself yours ever, W. C. 79. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. INFLUENCE OF MRS UNWIS ON HIS LITERARY rLRSLITS WATS OT PROVIDENCE INSCRUTABLE. June 5, 1781. My dear Friend, — If the old adage be true, that "he gives twice, who gives speedily," it is equally true, that he who not only uses expedition in giving, but gives more than was asked, gives thrice at least. Such is the style in which Mr confers a favour. He has not only sent franks to Johnson, but, under another cover, has added six to you. These last, for aught that appears by your letter, he threw in of his own mere bounty. I beg that my share of thanks may not be wanting on this occasion, and that when you write to him next, you will asure him of the sense I have of the obligation, which is the more flattering, as it includes a pi-oof of his predilection in favour of the poems his fi*anks are destined to enclose. May they not f(M*feit his good opinion hereafter, nor yours to whom I hold myself indebted in the fii-st place, and who have equally given me credit for their desorvings ! Your mother says, that although there are passages in them containing opinions which will not be universally subscribed to, the worid will at least allow what my great modesty will not permit me to subjoin. I have the highest opinion of her judgment, and know, by having experienced the soundness of them, that her observations are always worthy of attention and regard. Yet, strange as it may seem, I do not feel the vanity of an author, when she commends me ; but I feci something better, a spur to my diligenc<\ and a cordial to my spirits, both together animating me to deserve, at least not to fall short of her expectations. For I verily believe, if my dulness should earn me the character of a dunce, the censure would affect her more than me ; not that I am insensible of the value of a good name, either as a man or an author. Without an ambition to attain it, it is al^solutely unattainable COWPER S LETTERS. 103 iinder either of those descriptions. But my life liaving been in many respects a series of mortifications and disappointments, I am become less apprehensive and impressible perhaps in some points, than I should otherwise have been ; and though I should be exquisitely sorry to disgrace my friends, could endure my own share of the affliction with a reasonable measure of tranquillity. These seasonable showers have poured floods upon all the neighbouring parishes, but have passed us by. My garden languishes, and, what is worse, the fields too languish, and the upland grass is burnt. These discriminations are not fortuitous. But if they are providential, what do they import ? I can only answer, as a friend of mine once answered a mathematical question in the schools, — " Prorsus nescio"* Perhaps it is, that men, who will not believe what they cannot understand, may learn the folly of their conduct, while their very senses are made to witness against them ; and themselves in the course of Providence become the subjects of a thousand dispensations they cannot explain. But the end is never answered. The lesson is inculcated indeed frequently enough, but nobody learns it. Well. Instruction vouchsafed in vain, is (I suppose) a debt to be accounted for hereafter. You must understand this to be a soliloquy. I wrote my thoughts without recollecting that I was writing a letter, and to you. W. C 80. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. IRRITABILITY OF POETS — GOSPEL SCHEME OF MERCV, AS DISPLAYED IN COWPER's POETRY June '24, 1781. My dear Friend, — The letter you withheld so long, lest it should give me pain, gave me pleasure. Horace says, the poets are a waspish race ; and from my own experience of the temper of two or three, with whom I was formerly con- nected, I can readily subscribe to the character he gives them.f But for my own part, I have never yet felt that excessive irritability, which some writers discover, when a friend, in the words of Pope, Just hints a fault, or hesitates disUke. Least of all would I give way to such an unseasonable ebulition, merely because a civil question is proposed to me, with such * I am altogether ignorant. t See Memoir !04 COWP£U*S LETTERS. gentleness, and by a man wliose concern for my credit and character I verily believe to l>e sincere. I reply therefore, not peevishly, but with a sense of the kindness of your intentions, that I hope you may make yourself very easy on a subject that I can perceive has occasioned you some solicitude. When I wrote the poem called Tnithy it was indispensably necessary that I should set forth that doctrine which I know to be true, and that I should pass what I understood to be a just censure upon opinions and persuasions that differ from, or stand in direct opposition to it ; because, though some errors may be innocent, and even religious errors are not always pernicious, yet in a case where the faith and hope of a Christian are concerned, they must necessarily be destructive ; and because, neglecting this, I should have betrayed my subject ; either suppressing what, in my judgment, is of the last importance, or giving countenance, by a timid silence, to the very evils it was my design to combat. That you may understand me better, I will subjoin, — that I wrote that poem on purpose to inculcate the eleemosynary character of the gospel, as a dispensation of mercy, in the most absolute sense of the word, to the exclusion of all claims of merit on the part of the receiver ; consequently to set the brand of invalidity upon the plea of works, and to discover, upon scriptural ground, the absurdity of that notion, which includes a solecism in the very terms of it, that man, by repentance and good works, may deserve the mercy of his Maker : I call it a solecism, because mercy deserved ceases to be mercy, and must take the name of justice. This is the opinion which 1 said in my last the world would not acquiesce in ; l)iit except this, I do not recollect that I have introduced a syllaV)le into any of my pieces, that they can possibly object to ; and even this I have endeavoured to deliver from doctrinal dryness, by as many pretty things, in the way of trinket and j)laything, as I could muster upon the subject. So that if I have rubbed their gums, I have taken care to do it with a coral, and even that coral embellished by the ribbon to which it is tied, and recommended by the tinkling of all the bells I could contrive to annex to it. You need not trouble yourself to call on Johnson ; being j)erfectly acquainted with the progress of the business, I am able to satisfy your curiosity myself. The post before the last I returned to him the second sheet of Table Tallin wliieh he had sent me for correction, and which stands foremost in the volume. The delay has enabled me to add a piece of con- cowper's letters. 105 siderable length, which, but for the delay, would not have made its appeai'ance upon tliis occasion ; it answers to tlie name of Hope. I remember a line in the Odyssey, which, literally translated, imports, that there is nothing in the world more impudent than the belly. But had Homer met with an instance of modesty like yours, he would either have suppressed that observation, or at least have qualified it with an exception. I hope, that, for the future, Mrs Unwin will never suffer you to go to London, without putting some victuals in your pocket ; for what a strange article would it make in a news- paper, that a tall, well dressed gentleman, by his appearance a clergyman, and with a purse of gold in his pocket, was found starved to death in the street. How would it puzzle conjecture, to account for such a phenomenon ! Some would suppose that you had been kidnapped, like Betty Canning, of hungry memory ; others would say, the gentleman was a Methodist, and had practised a rigorous self-denial, which had unhappily proved too hard for his constitution ; but I will venture to say that nobody would divine the real cause, or suspect for a moment, that your modesty had occasioned the tragedy in question. By the way, is it not possible, that the spareness atnd slenderness of your person may be owing to the same cause ? for surely it is reasonable to suspect, that the bashfulness which could prevail against you on so trying an occasion, may be equally prevalent on others. I remember having been told by Colman, that when he once dined witii Garrick, he repeatedly pressed him to eat more of a certain dish that he was known to be particularly fond of; Colman as often refused, and at last declared he could not : " But could not you," says Garrick, " if you was in a dark closet by yourself?" The same question might perhaps be put to you, with as much, or more propriety ; and therefore I recommend it to you, either to furnish yourself with a little more assurance, or always to eat in the dark. We sympathize with Mrs Unwin ; and if it will be any comfort to her to know it, can assure her, that a lady in our neighbourhood is always on such occasions the most miserable of all things, and yet escapes with great facility through all the dangers of her state. — Yours, ut semper. \V. C. E 2 106 COWPERS LET1LR9. 81 — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. THANKS KOR TERTAIN BENEFACTIONS TO THE POOR AT OLNEY — . UUMANITT PERIWIGS. JulyQy 1181 . We are obliged to you for the rugs, a commodity that can never come to such a place as this at an unseasonable time. We have given one to an industrious poor widow, with four children, whose sister overheard her shivering in the night, and with some difficulty brought her to confess the next morning, that she was half perished for want of sufficient covering. Her said sister borrowed a rug for her at a neigh- bour's immediately, which she had used only one night when yours arrived ; and I doubt not but we shall meet with others, equally indigent and deserving of your bounty. Much good may your humanity do you, as it does so much good to others ! You can nowhere find objects more entitled 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 com- passion by those who understand what human nature is made of; and while we acknowledge the severities 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 diffiBrence between ourselves and the culprit is not of our own making, we shall be, as you are, tenderly affijcted by the view of his misery ; and not the less so, because he has brought it upon himself. I give you joy of your own hair ; no doubt you are con- siderably a gainer in your appearance, by being disperiwigged. The best wig is that, which most resembles the natural hair. Why then should he, who has hair enough of his own, have recourse to imitation ? I have little doubt, but that if an arm or leg could have bt^en taken off witii 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 liave been disposed of accordingly. Having begun my letter with a miserable j>en, I was unwilling to change it for a better, lest my writing should not be all of a piece. But it has worn me and my patience quite out. — Yours ever, W. C. cowper's letters. iU7 82. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. FACETIOUS LETTER IN RHYME. Juty 12, 1781. My very dear Friend, — I am going to send, what when you have read, you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose, there's nobody knows, whether what I have got, be verse or not — by the tune and the time, it ought to be rhyme ; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such a ditty before ? I have writ Charity^ not for popularity, but as well as I could, in hopes to do good ; and if the reviewer should say, *' To be sure, the gentleman's muse, wears Methodist shoes ; you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard, for the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoidening play, of the modern day ; and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and then wear a tittering air, 'tis only her plan to catch, if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production, on a new construction ; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may come, with a sugar plum." — His opinion in this will not be amiss ; 'tis what I intend, my principal end ; and if I succeed, and folks should read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I shall think I am paid, for all I have said, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as far as from hence to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year. I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing ; and now I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and as you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned ; which that you may do, ere Madam and you are quite worn out with jigging about, I take my leave, and here you receive a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me, W. C. 108 cowper's letters. 83, — TO THE REV. WILUAJVI UNWIN. TRUE IMPORT OF SCRIFTURAL MEEKNESS — ANECDOTE OF AN ABBE — LADV AUSTEN. July 29, 1781. My deau Friend, — Having given the ease you laid before me in your last all due consideration, I proceed to answer it ; and in order to clear my way, shall, in the first place, set down my sense of those pasvsages of Scripture, which, on a hasty perusal, seem to clash with the opinion I am going to give: " If a man smite one cheek, turn tiie other" — " If he take thy cloak, let him take thy coat also." That is, I suppose, rather than, on a vindictive principle, avail yourself of that remedy the law allows you in the way of retaliation, for that was the subject immediately under the discussion of the speaker. Notliing is so contrary to the genius of the Gospel, as the gratification of resentment and revenge ; but I cannot easily persuade myself to think, that the Autlior of that dis- pensation could possibly advise his followers to consult their own peace at the expense of the peace of society, or inculcate an universal abstinence from the use of lawful remedies, to the encouragement of injury and oppression. St Paul again seems to condemn tlie practice of going to law, " Why do ye not rather suffer wrong ? " &c. But if we look again, we shall find that a litigious temper had obtained, and was prevalent among the professors of the day. This he condemned, and witli good reason : it was unseemly to the last degree, that the disciples of the Prince of Peace should worry and vex each other with injurious treatment and unnecessary disputes, to the scandal of their religion in the eyes of the Heathen. But surely he did not mean any more than his Master in the place above alluded to, that the most harmless members of society should receive no advantage of its laws, or should be the only persons in the world who should derive no benefit from those institutions, without which society cannot subsist. Neither of them could mean to throw down the pale of property, and to lay the Christian part of the world open, throughout all ages, to the incursions of unlimited violence and wron^^. By this time you are sufficiently aware, that I think you liave an indisputable rigiit to recover at law what is so dis- honestly witldu.'ld from you. The fellow, I suppose, has COWPEKS LETTERS. 109 discernment enough to see a difference between you and the generality of the clergy ; and cunning enough to conceive the purpose of turning your meekness and forbearance to good account, and of coining them into hard cash, which he means to put in his pocket. But I would disappoint him, and shew him, that though a Christian is not to be quarrelsome, he is not to be crushed ; and that though he is but a worm before God, he is not such a worm, as every selfish unprincipled wretch may tread upon at his pleasure. I lately heard a story from a lady, who has spent many years of her life in France, somewhat to the present purpose. An Abbe, universally esteemed for his piety, and especially for the meekness of his manners, had yet undesignedly given some offence to a shabby fellow in his parish. The man, concluding he might do as he pleased with so forgiving and gentle a character, struck him on one cheek, and bade him turn the other. The good man did so, and when he had received the two slaps, which he thought himself obliged to submit to, turned again, and beat him soundly. I do not wish to see you follow the French gentleman's example, but I believe nobody that has heard the story, condemns him much for the spirit he shewed upon the occasion. I had the relation from Lady Austen,* sister to Mrs Jones, wife of the minister at Clifton, j She is a most agreeable woman, and has fallen in love with your mother and me ; insomuch, that I do not know but she may settle at Olney. Yesterday se'ennight we all dined together in the Spinnie — a most delightful retirement, belonging to Mrs Throckmorton of Weston. Lady Austen's lackey, and a lad that waits on me in the garden, drove a wheelbarrow full of eatables and drinkables to the scene of our Fete Champetre. A board laid over the top of the wheelbaiTow served us for a table ; our dining-room was a root-house lined with moss and ivy. At six o'clock, the servants, who had dined under a great elm upon the ground at a little distance, boiled the kettle, and the said wheelbarrow served us for a tea-table. We then took a walk into the wilderness about half a mile off, and were at home again a little after eight, having spent the day togethei from noon till evening, without one cross occurrence, or the least weariness of each other, — a happiness few parties of pleasure can boast of. — Yours, with our joint love, W. C. • See Memoir. t Clifton, a village aljout a aiilo from Okiey. no COUPE Il's LETTERS. Si. _T0 THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. CONGRATULATION — PROGRESS OF HIS POETICAL STUDIES— LADy AUSTEN's SETTLING AT OLNEV. August 25, 178L My dear Friend, — We rejoice with yon sincerely in the birtli of another son, and in the prospect you have of Mrs Unwin's recovery; may your three children, and the next three, wlien they shall make their appearance, prove so many blessings to their parents, and make you wisli that you had twice the number. But what made you expect daily that you should hear from me ? Letter for letter is the law of all correspondence whatsoever, and because I wrote last, I have indulged myself for some time in expectation of a sheet from you. Not that I govern myself entirely by the punctilio of reciprocation, but having been pretty much occupied of late, I was not sorry to find myself at liberty to exercise my dis- cretion, and furnished with a good excuse if I chose to be silent. I expected, as you remember, to have been published last spring, and was disappointed. The delay has afforded me an opportunity to increase the quantity of my publication by about a third ; and if my muse has not forsaken me, which I rather suspect to be the case, may possibly yet add to it. I have a subject in hand, which promises me a great abundance of poetical matter, but which, for want of a something I am not able to describe, I cannot at pn sent proceed with. The name of it is Retiremeiit, and my purpose, to recommend the proper improvement of it, to set forth the requisites for that end, and to enlarge upon the happiness of that state of life, when managed as it ought to be. In the course of my journey through this ample theme, I should wish to t^ch upon the characters, th6 deficiencies, and the mistakes of thousands, who enter on a scene of retirement, unqualified for it in every respect, and with such designs as liave no tendency to promote either tiieir own happiness or that of others. But as I have told you before, there are times when I am no more a poet than I am a matliematician ; and when such a time occurs, I always think it bettcT to give up the point than to labour in vain. I shall yet again be obliged to trouble you for franks ; the addition of three thousand lines, or near that number, having occasioned a demand whic.'i I COWPER's LETTERS. Ill did not always foresee : but your obliging friend, and your obliging self, having allowed me the liberty of application, I make it without apology. The solitude, or rather the duality of our condition at Olney, seems drawing to a conclusion. You have not forgot, perhaps, that the building we inhabit consists of two mansions. And because you have only seen the inside of that part of it which is in our occupation, I therefore inform you, that the other end of it is by far the most superb, as well as the most commodious. Lady Austen has seen it, has set her heart upon it, is going to furnish it, and if she can get rid of the remaining two years of the lease of her London house, will probably enter upon it in a twelvemonth. You will be pleased with this intelligence, because I have already told you, that she is a woman perfectly well-bred, sensible, and in every respect agreeable ; and above all, because she loves your mother dearly. It has in my eyes (and I doubt not it will have the same in yours) strong marks of providential inter- position. A female friend, and one who bids fair to prove herself worthy of the appellation, comes, recommended by a variety of considerations, to such a place as Olney. Since Mr Newton went, and till this lady came, there was not in the kingdom a retirement more absolutely such than ours. We did not want company, but when it came, we found it agreeable. A person that has seen much of the world, and understands it well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of conversation, introduces a sprightliness into such a scene as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the worse for being a little enlivened. In case of illness too, to which all are liable, it was rather a gloomy prospect, if we allowed ourselves to advert to it, that there was hardly a woman in the place from whom it would have been reasonable to have expected either comfort or assistance. The present curate's wife is a valuable person, but has a family of her own, and though a neighbour, is not a very near one. But if this plan is effected, we shall be in a manner one family, and I suppose never pass a day without some intercourse with each other. Your mother sends her warm affections, and welcomes into the world the new-born William. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. il'2 CO WPEr's LETTERS. 85. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. BRIOHTOS OBJECTS AM) SKNTIMFNTS AS AK AUTHOR — HIS CAREFt'l RKTOUCHING. October 6, 1781. My dear Friend, — What a world are you daily conver- sant with, M'hich I have not seen these twenty years, and shall never see again ! The arts of dissipation (I s'uppose) are do where practised with more refinement or success, than at the place of your present residence. By your account of it, it seems to be just what it was when I visited it, — a scene of idleness and luxury, music, dancing, cards, walking, riding, bathing, eating, drinking, coffee, tea, scandal, dressing, yawning, sleeping, the rooms perhaps more magnificent, because the proprietors are grown richer, but the manners and occupations of the company just the same. Though my life has long been like tliat of a recluse, I have not the temper of one, nor am I in the least an enemy to cheerfulness and good humour ; but I cannot envy you j'^our situation ; I even feel myself constrained to prefer the silence of this nook, and the snug fireside in our own diminutive parlour, to all the splen- dour and gaiety of Brighton. You ask me, how I feel on the occasion of my approaching publication ? Perfectly at my ease. If I had not been pretty well assured before hand that my tranquillity would be but little endangered by such a measure, I would never have engaged in it ; for I cannot bear disturbance. I have had in view two principal objects ; first, to amuse myself — and secondly, to compass that point in such a njanner, that others might possibly be the better for my amusement. If I have succeeded, it will give me pleasure ; but if I have failed, I shall not be mortified to the degree that might perhaps be expected. I remember an old adage, (though not where it is to be found,) " bene vixity quij bene latuif" and if I had recol- lected it at the right time, it should have been the motto to my book. By tlie way, it will make an excellent one for Retirement, if you can but tell me whom to quote for it. The critics cannot deprive me of the j)leasure I have in reflecting, that so far as my leisure has been employed iii writing for the public, it has been conscientiously employed, and with a view to their advantage. Tiiere is notliing agreeable, to be sure, in being chronicled for a dunce ; but 1 believe there lives not COWPEIl's LETTERS. 113 a man upon earth, who would be less affected by it than myself. With all this indifference to fame, which you know me too well to suppose me capable of afft^cting, I have taken the utmost pains to deserve it. This may appear a mystery or a paradox in practice, but it is true. I considered that the taste of the day is refined, and delicate to excess, and that to disgust that delicacy of taste, by a slovenly inattention to it, would be to forfeit at once all hoj>e of being useful ; and for this reason, though I have written more verse this last year than perhaps any man in England, I have finished, and polished, and touched, and retouched, with the utmost care. If after all I should be converted into waste paper, it may be my misfortune, but it will not be my fault. I shall bear it with the most perfect serenity.* I do not mean to give a copy : he is a good-natured little man, and crows exactly like a cock, but knows no more of verse than the cock he imitates. Whoever supposes that Lady Austen's fortune is precarious, is mistaken. I can assure you, upon the ground of the most circumstantial and authentic information, that it is both genteel and perfectly safe Yours, W. C, 86. — TO MRS COWPER. HIS FIRST VOLUME — ITS GREAT AIM — SORROWFUL REMINISCENCES. October 19, 1781. My dear Cousin, — Your fear lest I should think you unworthy of my correspondence, on account of your delay to answer, may change sides now, and more properly belongs to me. It is long since I received your last, and yet I believe I can say truly that not a post has gone by me since the receipt of it, that has not reminded me of the debt I owe you, for your obliging and unreserved communications both in prose and verse, especially for the latter, because I consider them as marks of your peculiar confidence. The truth is, I have been * *' No man," observes an eminent critic, " is less qualified to judge of the real merits of a work of imagination than its author." Noiunth- standing this *' touching, retouching, and polishing," finish is the great defect of Cowper's poetry, from want of which it is often harsh and inelegant. This is particularly remarkable in lis religious poetry, when, apparently carried away by the native po^ver of the subject, he has scorned the reiinements of extrinsic art. 114 COWPER*S LETTERS. such a verse maker myself, and so busy in preparing a volume for the press, which I imagine will make its appearance in the course of the winter, that I hardly had leisure to listen to the calls of any other engagement. It is, however, finished, and gone to the printer's, and I have nothing now to do with it, but to correct the sheets as they are sent to me, and consign it over to the judgment of the public. It is a bold under- taking at this time of day, when so many writers of the greatest abilities have gone before, who seem to have anticipated every valuable subject, as well as all the graces of poetical embellishment, to step forth into the world in the character of a bard, especially when it is considered, that luxury, idleness, and vice, have debauched the public taste, and that nothing hardly is welcome but childish fiction, or what has at least a tendency to excite a laugh. I thought, however, that I had stumbled upon some subjects that had never before been poetically treated, and upon some others, to which I imagined it would not be difficult to give an air of novelty by the manner of treating them. My sole drift is to be useful, — a point which however I knew I should in vain aim at, unless I could be likewise entertaining. I have there- fore fixed these two strings upon my bow, and by the help of both have done my best to send my arrow to the'mark. My readers will hardly have begun to laugh, before they will be called upon to correct that levity, and peruse me with a more serious air. As to the effect, I leave it alone in His hands, who can alone produce it : neither prose nor verse can reform the manners of a dissolute age, much less can they inspire a sense of religious obligation, unless assisted and made efficacious by the power who superintends the truth he has vouchsafed to impart. You made my heart ache with a sympathetic sorrow, when you described the state of your mind on occasion of your late visit into Hertfordshire. Had I been previously informed of your journey before you made it, I should have been able to have foretold all your feelings with the most unerring certainty of prediction. You will never cease to feel upon that subject ; but with your principles of resignation, and acquiescence in the Divine will, you will always feel as becomes a Ciiristian. We are forbidden to nmrmur, but we are not forbidden to regret ; and whom we loved tenderly while living, we may still pursue with an affectionate remembrance, without having any occasion to charge ourselves with rebellion against the COWPER's LETTERS. 115 sovereignty that appointed a separation. A day is coming, when I am confident you will see and know that mercy to both parties was the principal agent in a scene, the recollec- tion of which is still painful. W. C. 87. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. MELANCHOLY CONDITION OF THE IRRELIGIOUS AND FASHIONABLE WORLD — TIME OF PUBLICATION — • PARENTAL CARE, A MEDIUM BETWEEN SEVERITY AND INDULGENCE. November b, 1781. My dear William, — I give you joy of your safe return from the lips of the great deep. You did not discern many signs of sobriety, or true wisdom, among the people of Brighthelmstone, but it is not possible to observe the manners of a multitude, of whatever rank, without learning something, — I mean, if a man has a mind like yours, capable of reflection. If he sees nothing to imitate, he is sure to see something to avoid ; if nothing to congratulate his fellow creatures upon, at least much to excite his compassion. There is not, I think, so melancholy a sight in the world (an hospital is not to be compared with it) as that of a thousand persons distinguished by the name of gentry, who, gentle perhaps by nature, and made more gentle by education, have the appearance of being innocent and inoffensive, yet being destitute of all religion, or not at all governed by the religion they profess, are none of them at any great distance from an eternal state, where self-deception will be impossible, and where amusements cannot enter. Some of them, we may say, will be reclaimed — it is most probable indeed that some of them will, because mercy, if one may be allowed the expres- sion, is fond of distinguishing itself by seeking its objects among the most desperate class ; but the Scripture gives no encouragement to the warmest charity to hope for deliverance for them all. When I see an afflicted and unhappy man, I say to myself. There is perhaps a man whom the world would envy, if they knew the value of his sorrows, which are possibly intended only to soften his heart, and to turn his afflictions towards their proper centre. But when I see or hear of a crowd of voluptuaries, who have no ears but for music, no eyes but for splendour, and no tongue but for impertinence and folly — I say, or at least I see occasion to say — This is madness — this, persisted in, must have a tragical conclusion 116 COWPER's LETTERS. It will condemn you, not only as Christians unworthy of the name, but as intelligent creatures — You know by the light of Nature, if you have not quenched it, tliat there is a God, and that a life like yours cannot be according to his will. I ask no pardon of you for tlie gravity and gloominess of these reflections, which I stumbled on when I least expected it ; though, to say the truth, these or others of a like com- plexion are sure to occur to me, when I think of a scene of public diversion like that you have lately left. I am inclined to hope that Johnson told you the truth, when he said he should publish me soon after Christmas. His press has been rather more punctual in its remittances than it used to be ; we have now but little more than two of the longest pieces, and the small ones that are to follow, by way of epilogue, to print off, and then the affair is finished. But once more I am obliged to gape for franks ; only these, which I hope will be the last I sliall want, at yours and Mr 's convenient leisure. We rejoice that you have so much reason to be satisfied with John*s proficiency. Ti.e more spirit he nas, me oetter, if his spirit is but manageable, and put under sucn manage- ment as your prudence and Mrs Unwin's will suggest. I need not guard you against severity, of which I conclude there is no need, and which I am sure you are not at all in- clined to practise without it ; but perhaps, if I was to whisper, beware of too much indulgence, I should only give a liint that the fondness of a father for a fine boy might seem to justify. I have no particular reason for the caution — at this distance it is not possible I should — but in a case like yours an admonition of that sort seldom wants propriety. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C 68. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM ONWIN. rLEASUUE IN THE COMMUNICATION OF TUOUOHT — ORIGIN OF SOCIETT. November 2iOy 1781. My dear Friend, — I wrote to you by the last post, sup- posing you at Stock ; but lest that letter should not follow you to Laytonstone, and you should suspect me of unreasonable delay, and lest the frank you have sent me should degenerate into waste paper, and perish upon my hands, I write again. The former letter, however, containing all my present stock COWPER*S LETTERS. 117 of intelligeiKje, it is more than possible that this may prove a blank, or but little worthy your acceptance. You will do me the justice to suppose, that if I could be very entertaining, I would he so, because, by giving me credit for such a willingness to please, you only allow me a share of that universal vanity, which inclines every man, upon all occasions, to exhibit himself to the best advantage. To say the truth, however, when I write, as I do to you, not about business, nor on any subject tliat approaches to that description, I mean much less my correspondent's amusement, which my modesty will not always permit me to hope for, than my own. There is a pleasure annexed to the communication of one's ideas, whether by word of mouth, or by letter, which nothing earthly can supply the place of, and it is the delight we find in this mutual intercourse that not only proves us to be creatures intended for social life, but more than any thing else, perhaps, fits us for it. I have no patience with philosophers — they one and all suppose (at least I understand it to be a prevailing opinion among them) that man's weakness, his necessities, his inability to stand alone, have furnished the prevailing motive, under the influence of which he renounced at first a life of solitude, and became a gregarious creature. It seems to me more reasonable, as well as more honourable to my species, to suppose, that generosity of soul, and a brotherly attachment to our own kind, drew us, as it were, to one common centre, taught us to build cities, and inhabit them, and welcome every stranger that would cast in his lot among us, that we might enjoy fellowship with each other, and the luxury of reciprocal endearments, without which a paradise could afford no comfort. There are, indeed, all sorts of characters in the world : there are some whose understandings are so sluggish, and whose hearts are such mere clods, that they live in society without either contributing to the sweets of it, or having any relish for them A man of this stamp passes by our window continually — I never saw him conver- sing with a neighbour but once in my life, though I have known him by sight these twelve years ; he is of a very sturdy make, and has a round belly, extremely protuberant, which he evidently considers as his best friend, because it is his only companion, and it is the labour of his life to fill it. I can easily conceive, that it is merely the love of good eating and drinking, and now and then the want of a new pair of shoes, that attaches this man so much to the neigh- bourhood of his fellow mortals ; for suppose thes? exigencies. 118 COWPEK'S LETTERS. and others of a like kind, to subsist no longer, and what is there that could give society the preference in his esteem? He might strut about with his two thumbs upon his hips in the wilderness, he could hardly be more silent than he is at Olney, and for any advantage, or comfort, or friend- ship, or brotherly affection, he could not be more destitute of such blessings there, than in his present situation. But other men have something more than guts to satisfy, — there are the yearnings of the heart, which, let philosophers say what they will, are more importunate than all the necessities of the body, that will not suffer a creature, worthy to ])e called human, to be content with an insulated life, or to look for his friends among the beasts of the forest. Yourself, for instance ! It is not because there are no tailors or pastry cooks to be found upon Salisbury Plain, that you do not choose it for your abode ; but because you are a philanthropist — because you are susceptible of social impressions, and have a pleasure in doing a kindness when you can. Now, upon the word of a poor creature, I have said all that I have said without the least intention to say one word of it when I began. But, thus it is with my thoughts, — when you shake a crab tree, the fruit falls ; good for nothing, indeed, when you have got it, but still the best that is to be expected from a crab tree. You are welcome to them, such as they are, and if you approve my sentiments, tell the philosophers of the days that I have outshot them all, and have discovered the true origin of society, when I least looked for it. W. C. 89. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. LETTER WRITING, WITH NOTHING TO SAY — JOUNSON's LIVES OF PKlOll AND POPE. Januarij 5, 17S2. My dear Friend, — Did I allow myself to plead the common excuse of idle correspondents, and esteem it a sufficient reason for not writing, that I have nothing to write about, I certainly should not write now. But I have so often found, on similar occasions, when a great penury of matter has seemed to threaten me with an utter impossibility of hatching a letter, that nothing is necessary but to put pen to paper, and go on, in order to conquer all difRculties ; that, availing myself of past experience, I now begin with a most assured persuasion, that sooner or later, one idea naturally cowper's letters. 119 suggesting another, I shall come to a most prosperous con- clusion. In the last Review, I mean in the last but one, I saw Johnson's critique upon Prior and Pope. I am bound to acquiesce in his opinion of the latter, because it has always been my own. I could never agree with those who preferred him to Dryden ; nor with others (I have known such, and persons of taste and discernment too) who could not allow him to be a poet at all. He was certainly a mechanical maker of verses, and in every line he ever wrote, we see indubitable marks of most indefatigable industry and labour. Writers who find it necessary to make such strenuous and painful exertions, arc generally as phlegmatic as they are correct ; but Pope was, in this respect, exempted from the common lot of authors of that class. With the unweai'ied application of a plodding Flemish painter, who draws a shrimp with the most minute exactness, he had all the genius of one of the first masters.* Never, I believe, were such talents and such drudgery united. But I admire Dryden most, who has succeeded by mere dint of genius, and in spite of a laziness and carelessness almost peculiar to himself. His faults are numberless, and so are his beauties. His faults are those of a great man, and his beauties are such (at least sometimes) as Pope, with all his touching and retouching, could never equal. So far, therefore, I have no quarrel with Johnson. But I cannot subscribe to what he says of Prior. In the first place, though my memory may fail me, I do not recollect that he takes any notice of his Solomon — in my mind the best poem, whether we consider the subject of it, or the execution, that he ever wrote. In the next place, he condemns him for introducing Venus and Cupid into his love verses, and concludes it impossible his passion could be sincere, because when he would express it, he has recourse to fables. But when Prior wrote, those deities were not so obsolete as they are at present. His contem- porary writers, and some that succeeded him, did not think them beneath their notice. Tibullus, in reality, disbelieved their existence as much as we do ; yet Tibullus is allowed to be the prince of all poetical inamoratos, though he mentions them in almost every page. There is a fashion in these things, * So far as Pope is concerned, these remarks embrace the essential points of the controversy in which Byron engaged so warmly on his side. Never was genius more perfectly opposite than as displayed in the " Pilgrimage" and in the '* Rape of the Lock ;" yet is Byron's estimate of Pope a just one. 1*20 COWPER*S LETTERS. which the Doctor seems to have forgotten. But what shall we say of his fusty-rusty remarks upon Henry and Emma ? I agree with him, that, morally considereord Rodney's victory over the Count de Grasse, gained April 12, 1782, in whirji the British took or destroyed eight French line of battle ships, one of them the Admiral, and the largest which, ^t that period, bad ever been built in Europe. 146 cowper's letters. adverse occurrences, has filled thorn with self-conceit and impertinent boasting ; and while Rodney is almost accounted a Methodist for ascribing his success to Providence, men who have renounced all dependence upon such a friend, without whose assistance nothing can be done, threaten to drive the French out of the sea, laugh at the Spaniards, sneer at the Dutch, and are to carry the world before them. Our enemies are apt to brag, and we deride them for it ; but we can sing as loud as they can, in the same key, and no doubt, wherever our papers go, shall be derided in our turn. An Englishman's true glory should be, to do his business well, and say little about it ; but he disgraces himself when he puffs his prowess as if he had finished his task, when he has just begun it. — Yours, W. C. 106. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. FAHCIKD INDIFFERENCE TO CRITICISM — GROWTH OF AMBITION — IMPORTANCE OF HIS IMMEDIATE CIRCLE TO A MAN. June 12, 1782. My dear Friend, — Every extraordinary occurrence in our lives affords us an opportunity to learn, if we will, some- thing more of our own hearts and tempers than we were before aware of. It is easy to promise ourselves beforehand, that our conduct shall be wise, or moderate, or resolute, on any given occasion. But when that occasion occurs, we do not always find it easy to make good the promise : such a differ- ence there is between theory and practice. Perhaps this is no new remai'k ; but it is not a whit the worse for being ok' if it be true. Before I had published, 1 said to myself — you and 1, Mi Cowper, will not concern ourselves much about what Lm critics may say of our book. But having once sent my wits for a venture, I soon became anxious about the issue, and found that I could not be satisfied with a warm place in my own good graces, unless my friends were pleased with me as much as I pleased myself. Meeting with their approbation, I began to feel the workings of ambition. It is well, said I, that my friends are pleased, but friends are sometimes pai'tial, and mine, I have reason to think, are not altogether free from bias. Methinks I should like to hear a stranger or two speak well of we. I was presently gratified by the approbation of the London Magazine, and the Gentlem^in's, ])articularly by that of the former, and by the plaudit of Dr Franklin. Ry the way, magazines are publications we have but little respect COWPEU'S LETTERS. 147 for, till we ourselves are chronicled in them, and then they assume an importance in our esteem which before we could not allow them. But the Monthly Review, the most formidable of all my judges, is still behind. Wliat will that critical Rhadamanthus say, when my shivering genius shall appear before him ? Still he keeps me in hot water, and I must wait another month for his award. Alas ! when I wish for a favourable sentence from that quarter, (to confess a weakness that I should not confess to all,) I feci myself not a little influenced by a tender regard to my reputation here, even among my neighbours at Olney. Here are watchmakers, who themselves are wits, and who at present perhaps think me one. Here is a carpenter, and a baker, and, not to mention others, here is your idol Mr , whose smile is fame. All these read the Monthly Review, and all these will set me down for a duhce, if those terrible critics should shew them the example. But, oh ! wherever else I am accounted dull, dear Mr Griffith, let me pass for a genius at Olney ! We are sorry for little William's illness. It is, however, the privilege of infancy to recover almost immediately what it has lost by sickness. We are sorry, too, for Mr 's dange- rous condition. But he that is well prepared for the great journey cannot enter on it*too soon for himself, though his friends will weep at his departure. — Yours, W. C» 107.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UN WIN. -KITY OF HUMAN TALENT IN RULERS, WITHOUT NATJONAI^ GOULIKESS — DOMESTIC CHAGRINS. July 16, 1782. My rear Friend, — -Though some people pretend to be clover in the way of prophetical forecast, and to have a pecu- liar talent of sagacity, by which they can divine the meaning of a providential dispensation, while its consequences are yet in embryo — I do not. There is at this time to be found, I suppose, in the cabinet, and in both houses, a greater assem- blage of able men, both as speakers and counsellors, than ev(^r were contemporary in the same land. * A man not accustomed to trace the workings of Providence, as recorded in Scripture, and that has given no attention to this particular subject, while employed in the study of profane history, would assert boldly, that it is a token for good, that much may be expected * Of the men at this time in office, only Fox ana Burke have esta- blished reputations : so apt arc we to overrate events and charar-ters, whose proximity lends them an unreal magnitude and importance. MS cowpkk's lktters. from them, and that the country, though heavily afflicted, is not yet to be despaired of, distinguished as she is by so many characters of the highest class. Thus he would say, and I do not deny that the event might justify his skill in prognos- tics. God works by means, and in a case of great nationa perplexity and distress, wisdom and political ability seem to be the only natural means of deliverance. But a mind more religiously inclined, and perhaps a little tinctured with melancholy, might, with equal probability of success, hazard a conjecture directly opposite. Alas ! what is the wisdom of man, especially when he trusts in it as the only God of his confidence ? When I consider the general contempt that is poured upon all things sacred, the profusion, the dissipation, tiie knavish cunning of some, the rapacity of others, and the impenitence of all, I am rather inclined to fear that God, who honours himself by bringing human glory to shame, and by disappointing the expectations of those whose trust is in creatures, has signalized the present day as a day of much liuman suflficiency and strength, has brought together from all quarters of the land the most illustrious men to be found in it, only that Ire may prove the vanity of idols, and that when a great empire is fallen, and He has pronounced a sentence of ruin against it, the inhabitants, be they weak or strong, wise or foolish, must fall with it. I am rather confirmed in this persuasion, by observing that these luminaries of the state had no sooner fixed themselves in the political heaven, than the fall of the brightest of them shook all the rest. The arch of their power was no sooner struck, than the keystone slipped out of its place ; those that were closest in connection with it, followed, and the whole building, new as it is, seems to be already a ruin. If a man should hold thi-s language, who could convict him of absurdity ? The Marquis of Rock- ingham* is minister — all the world rejoices, anticipating success in war, and a glorious peace ; the Marquis of Rock- ingham is dead — all the world is afflicted, and relapses into its former despondence. What does this prove, but tliat the Marquis was their Almighty, and that now he is gone, they know no other? But let us wait a little, they will find another. Perhaps the Duke of PortUind, or perhaps the unpopular whom they now re})resent as a devil, may obtain that honour. Thus God is forgot ; and when he is, his judgments are generally his renuMubrancers. How shall I comfort you upon the subject of your present • The Marquis of Rockiiighain was First Lord of the Treasury, and cu hiii dfJith the Coalition ftdl to pieces. cowper's letters. 149 distress ? Pardon me that I find myself obliged to smile at it, because who but yourself would be distressed upon such an occasion ? You have behaved politely, and -like a gentle- man ; you have hospitably offered your house to a stranger, who could not, in your neighbourhood at least, have been comfortably accommodated anywhere else. He, by neither refusing nor accepting an otfer that did him too much honour, has disgraced himself, but not you. I think for the future you must be more cautious of laying yourself open to a stranger, and never again expose yourself to incivilities from an arch- deacon you are not acquainted with. Though I did not mention it, I felt with you what you suffered by the loss of Miss ; I was only silent because I could minister no consolation to you on such a subject, but what I knew your mind to be already stored with. Indeed, the appHcation of comfort in such cases is a nice business, and perhaps when best managed might as well be let alone. I remember reading many years ago, a long treatise on the subject of consolation, written in French : the author's name I forgot, but I wrote these words in the margin, — " Special consolation ! at least for a Frenchman, who is a creature the most easily comforted of any in the world !" We are as happy in Lady Austen, and she in us, as ever — having a lively imagination, and being passionately desirous of consolidating all into one family, (for she has taken her leave of London,) she has just sprung a project which serves at least to amuse us, and to make us laugh, — it is, to hire Mr Small's house, on the top of Clifton Hill, which is large, commodious, and handsome, will hold us conveniently, and any friends who may occasionally favour us with a visit — the house is furnished, but, if it can be hired without the furniture, will let for a trifle. Your sentiments, if you please, upon this demarcJie ! I send you my last frank* — our best love attend you, individually, and all together. I give you joy of a happy change in the season, and myself also. I have filled four sides in less time than two would have cost me a week ago — such is the effect of sunshine upon such a butterfly as I am. — Yours, W. C. * In those days, Peers, or Members of Parliament, had an unlimited privilege of franking. They had only to write their names on the back of the frank, without address or date, so that a whole quire of franks could be given to any person at once, and used for any address, and at any time the writer of the letter might wish. 150 cowper's letters. IDS.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. ANXIKXy RF.SPECTING OR JOHNSON's OPINION — A VIPER IN A GREEN-HOCSK — THE COLUBHIAD POETRY OF MADAM GCYOX. August 3, 1782. My dear Friend, — Entertaining some hope that Mr Newton's nnrxt letter would furnish me with the means of satis- fying your inquiry on the subject of Dr Johnson's opinion, I have till now delayed my answer to your last ; but the infor- mation is not yet come, Mr Newton having intermitted a week more than usual since his last writing. When I receive it, favourable or not, it shall be communicated to you ; but I am not over sanguine in my expectations from that quarter. Very learned and very critical heads are hard to please. He Ina3^ perhaps, treat me ^v^th lenity for the sake of the sublet and design, but the composition, I think, will hardly escape his censure. Though all doctors may not be of the same mind, there is one doctor at least, whom I have lately discovered, my professed admirer. He, too, like Johnson, was with difficulty persuaded to read, having an aversion to all poetry, except the Night Thoughts, which on a certain occasion, when being confined on board a ship he had no other employment, he got by heart. He was, however, prevailed upon, and read me several times over ; so that if my volume had sailed vkith him, instead of Dr Young's, I perhaps might have occupied that shelf in his memory which he then allotted to the Doctor. It is a sort of paradox, but it is true, — we are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger. IJoth sides of this apparent contradiction were lately verified in my experience : Passing from the green-house to the barn, I saw three kittens (for we have so many in our retinue) looking with fixed attention on something, which lay on the threshold of a door nailed up. I took but little notice of them at first, but a loud hiss engage;inate(l with Mohonos, a Spanish friar of the seventeenth century, who held that the proper worship of the Supreme Being is ati inward contemplation of the * Divine attributes. Madame Ouyon revived this doctrine, and had the good fortime to have her opinions supported by Fenelon, and her {K)ems irunsUitcd by Cowpcr. COWPER^S LETTERS. 153 penny ballads — Excuse the coarseness of my paper — I wasted such a quantity before I could accomplish anything legible, that I could not afford finer. I intend to employ an ingenious mechanic of the town to make me a longer case ; for you may observe that my lines turn up their tails like Dutch mastiffs, so difficult do I find it to make the two halves exactly coin- cide with each other. We wait with impatience for the departure of this unseasonable flood. We think of you, and talk of you, but we can do no more, till the waters shall subside. I do not think our correspondence should drop, because we are within a mile of each other. It is but an imaginary approximation, the flood having in reality as effectually parted us as if the British Channel rolled between us. Yours, my dear sister, with Mrs Unwinds best love, W. C. August 12, 1782. 110. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. TRANSLATION OF MADAM GUYON. October 27, 1782. MON AIMABLE AND TRES CHER AmI, It is not in the power of chaises or chariots to carry you where my affection^ will not follow you ; if I heard that you were gone to finish your days in the Moon, I should not love you the less ; but should contemplate the place of your abode as often as it appeared in the heavens, and say — Farewell, my friend, for ever ! Lost, but not forgotten ! Live happy in thy lantern, and smoke the remainder of thy pipes in peace ! Thou art rid of Earth, at least of all its cares, and so far can I rejoice in thy removal ; and as to the cares that are to be found in the Moon, I am resolved to suppose them lighter than those below — heavier they can hardly be. Madame Guyon is finished, but not quite transcribed. Ill — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. STORY OF JOHN GILPIN RECEPTION OF THE POEMS AT COURT BENE VOL*: NCE *KUSTKAT£y. November 4, 1782. My dear Friend, — You are too modest; though your last consisted of three sides only, I am certainly a letter in your debt. It is possible that this present writing may prov« G 2 154 COWPER*S tETTERS. as sliort. Yet, short as it may be, it will be a letter, and make me creditor, and you my debtor. A letter, indeed, ought not to be estimated by the length of it, but by the contents, and how can the contents of any letter be more agreeable than your last ? You tell me that John Gilpin made you laugh tears, and that the ladies at court are delighted with my Poems. Much good may they do them ! May they become as wise as the writer wishes them, and they will be much happier than he ! I know there is in the book that wisdom which cometh from above, because it was from above that I received it. May they receive it too ! For whether they drink it out of the cistern, or whether it falls upon them immediately from the clouds, as it did on me, it is all one : It is the water of life, which whosoever drinketh shall thirst no more. As to the famous horseman above mentioned, he and his feats are an inexhaustible source of merriment. At least, we find him so, and seldom meet without refreshing ourselves with the recol- lection of them. You are perfectly at liberty to deal with them as you please. Auctore tantum anonymo imprimantur ; and when printed, send me a copy. I congratulate you on the discharge of your duty and your conscience, by the pains you have taken for the relief of the })risoncrs. You proceeded wisely, yet courageously, and deserved better success. Your labours, however, will be remembered elsewhere, when you shall be forgotten here ; and if the poor folks at Chelmsford should never receive the benefit of them, you will yourself receive it in heaven. It is pity that men of fortune should be determined to acts of beneficence, sometimes by popular whim or prejudice, and sometimes by motives still more unworthy. The liberal sub- scription raised in behalf of the widows of the seamen lost in t!ie Royal George, was an instance of the former. At least a j)lain, short, and sensible letter in the newspaper, convinced me at the time, that it was an unnecessary and injudicious collection ; and the difficulty you found in effectuating your benevolent intentions on this occasion, constrains me to think, that had it been an affair of more notoriety than merely to furnish a few poor fellows with a little fuel to preserve their extremities from the frost, you would have succeeded better. Men really pious, delight in doing good by stealth. But nothing less than an ostentatious display of bounty will satisfy mankind in general. I feel myself disposed to furnish you with an opportunity to shine in secret. We do what wo cowper's letters. 155 can. But that can is little. You have rich friends, are eloquent on all occasions, and know how to be pathetic on a proper one. The winter will be severely felt at Olney by many, whose sobriety, industry, and honesty, recommend them to charitable notice ; and we think we could tell such persons as Mr , or Mr , half-a-dozen tales of distress, that would find their way into hearts as feeling as theirs. You will do as you see good; and we in the meantime shall remain convinced, that you will do your best. Lady Austen will no doubt do something ; for she has great sensibility and compassion. — Yours, my dear Unwin, W. C. 112. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. BBNEFACTION TO THE POOR AT OLNEY — GILPIn's SUCCESS. November 18, 1782. My dear William, — On the part of the poor, and on our part, be pleased to make acknowledgments, such as the occasion calls for, to our beneficient friend Mr . I call him ours, because having experienced his kindness to myself in a former instance, and in the present his disinterested readiness to succour the distressed, my ambition will be satis- fied with nothing less. He may depend upon the strictest secrecy ; no creature shall hear him mentioned, either now or hereafter, as the person from whom we have received this bounty. But when I speak of him, or hear him spoken of by others, which sometimes happens, I shall not forget what is due to so rare a character. I wish, and your mother wishes it too, that he could sometimes take us in his way to — — ; he will find us happy to receive a person whom we must needs account it an honour to know. We shall exercise our best discretion in the disposal of the money ; but in this town, where the gospel has been preached so many years, where the people have been favoured so long with laborious and conscientious ministers, it is not an easy thing to find those who make no profession of religion at all, and are yet proper objects of charity. The profane are so profane, so drunken, dissolute, and in every respect worthless, that to make them partakers of his bounty, would be to abuse it. We promise, however, that none shall touch it but such as are miserably poor, yet at the same time industrious and honest, — two characters frequently united here, where the most watchful 156 COWTEU'S LETTERS. and unremitting labour will liardly procure them bread. We make none but the cheapest laces, and the price of them is falling almost to nothing. Thanks arc due to yourself like- wise, and are hereby accordingly rendered, for waving your claim in behalf of your own parishioners. You are always with them, and they are always, at least some of thera, the better for your residence among them. Olney is a populous place, inhabited chiefly by the half-starved and the ragged of. the earth, and it is not possible for our small party and small ability to extend their operations so far as to be much felt among such numbers. Accept, therefore, your share of their gratitude, and be convinced, that when they pray for a blessing upon those who relieved tiieir wants. He that answers that prayer, and when he answers it, will remember his servant at Stock. I little thought when I was writing the history of John Gilpin, that he would appear in print — I intended to laugh, and to make two or three others laugh, of whom you were one. But now all the worid laughs, at least if they have the same relish for a tale ridiculous in itself, and quaintly told, as we have — Well — they do not always laugh so inno- cently, and at so small an expense ; for in a world like this, abounding with subjects for satire, and with satirical wits to mark them, a laugh that hurts nobody has at least the grace of novelty to recommend it. Swift's darling motto was Vive la bogateUe — a good wish for a philosopher of his complexion, the greater part of whose wisdom, whencesoever it came, most certainly came not from above. La bagatelle has no enemy in me, though it has neither so warm a friend, nor so able a one, as it had in him. If I trifle, and merely trifle, it is because I am reduced to it by necessity — a melancholy that nothing else so effectually disperses, engages me sometimes in tlie arduous ta.sk of being merry by force. And, strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood ; and, but for that saddest mood, I>erhnps had never been written at all, I hear from Mrs Newton, that some great persons have spoken with great ap])robation of a certain book — Who they are, and what they have said, I am to be told in a future letter. The Monthly llovicwers, in the meantime, have satisfied me well enough Yours, my dear William, W. C. cowper's letters. 157 113. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. CHARACTER OF UR BEATTIE COWPER NOT YET COMMENCED WITH A SECONTS VOLUME MADAME GUYON. My dear William, — Doctor Beattie is a respectable cliaracter. I account him a man of sense, a philosopher, a scholar, a person of distinguished genius, and a good writer I believe him, too, a Christian ; with a profound reverence for the Scripture, with great zeal and ability to enforce the belief of it, (both which he exerts with the candour and good manners of a gentleman,) he seems well entitled to that allowance ; and to deny it him, would impeach one's right to the appellation. With all these good things to recommend him, there can be no dearth of sufficient reasons to read his writings. You favoured me some years since with one of his volumes, by which I was both pleased and instructed : and I beg you will send me the new one, when you can conveniently spare it, or rather bring it yourself, while the swallows are yet upon the wing ; for the summer is going down apace.* You tell me you have been asked, if I am intent upon another volume? I reply — not at present, not being con- vinced that I have met with sufficient encouragement. I account myself happy in having pleased a few, but am not rich enough to despise the many. I do not know what sort of market my commodity has found, but if a slack one, I must beware how I make a second attempt. My bookseller will not be willing to incur a certain loss ; and I can as little afford it. Notwithstanding what I have said, I write, and am even now writing, for the press. I told you that I had translated several of the poems of Madame Guyon. I told you too, or I am mistaken, that Mr Bull designed to print them. That gentle- man is gone to the sea-side with Mrs Wilberforce, and will be absent six weeks. My intention is to surprise him at his return with the addition of as much more translation as I have already given him. This, however, is still less likely to be a popular \\ ork than my former. Men that have no religion would despise it, and men that have no religious expe- rience would not understand it. But the strain of simple and unaffected piety in the original is sweet beyond expression. * This new volume, by Dr Beattie, must have been the second of his Essays, the first having been published in 1776. The author of the Minstrel was bom 1736, and died in 1803. 153 cowper's letters. Slie sings like an angel, and for that very reason has found but few admirers. Other things I write too, as you will see on tlie other side, but these merely for my amusement.* W. C. 111. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. HIS OCCUPATIONS — MR THORNTOS's CHARITIES. January 19, 178a My dear William, — Not to retaliate, but for want of opportunity, I have delayed writing. From a scene of most uninterrupted retirement, we have passed at once into a state of constant engagement ; not that our society is much mul- tiplied. The addition of an individual has made all this difference. Lady Austen and we pass our days alternately at each othei''s clmteau. In the morning I walk with one or other of the ladies, and in the afternoon wind thread. Tlius did Hercules and Samson, and thus do I ; and were both those heroes living, I should not fear, to challenge them to a trial of skill in that business, or doubt to beat them both. As to killing lions, and other amusements of that kind, with which they were so delighted, I should be their humble servant, and beg to be excused. Having no frank, I cannot send you Mr 's two letters as I intended. We corresponded as long as the occasion required, and then ceased. Charmed with his good sense, politeness, and liberality to the poor, I was indeed ambitious of continuing a correspondence with him, and told him so. Perhaps I had done more prudently had I never proposed it. But warm hearts are not famous for wisdom, and mine was too warm to be very considerate on such an occasion. I have not heard from him since, and have long given up all expecta- tion of it. I know he is too busy a man to iiave leisure for me, and I ought to have recollected it sooner. He found time to do much good, and to employ us as his agents in doing it, and that might have satisfied me. Though laid under the strictest injunctions of secrecy, both by him, and by you on his behalf, I consider myself as under no obligation to conceal from you the remittances he made. Only, in my turn, I beg leave to request secrecy on your part, because, intimate as you are with him, and hiuhly as he values you, I cannot yet • This letter closed with the English and Latin Verses on the loss of the Royal George. See Poems. COWPEFl's LETTERS. 159 be sure that the communication would please him, his deli- cacies on this subject being as singular as his benevolence. He sent forty pounds, twenty at a time. Olney has not had such a friend this many a day ; nor has there been an-instance at any time of a few poor families so effectually relieved, or so completely encouraged to the pursuit of that honest industry by which, their debts being paid, and the parents and children comfortably clothed, they are now enabled to maintain themselves. Their labour was almost in vain before ; but now it answers — it earns them bread, and all their other wants are plentifully supplied. I wish that, by Mr ^'s assistance, your purpose in behalf of the prisoners may be effectuated. A pen so formidable as his might do much good, if properly directed. The dread of a bold censure is ten times more moving than the most eloquent persuasion. They that cannot feel for others, are the persons of all the world who feel most sensibly for themselves. Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 115. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. REFLECTIONS ON THE PEACE AT THE CONCLUSION OF THE AMERICAN WAR — PROVIDENCE OVERRULES THE AFFAIRS OF NATIONS. February Qy 1783. My dear Friend, — When I contemplate the nations of the earth, and their conduct towards each other, through the medium of a scriptural light, my opinions of them are exactly like your own. Whether they do good or do evil, I see them acting under the permission or direction of that Providence who governs the earth, whose operations are as irresistible as they are silent and unsuspected. So far we are perfectly agreed ; and howsoever we may differ upon inferior parts of the subject, it is, as you say, an affair of no great consequence. For instance, you think the peace a better than we deserve, and in a certain sense I agree with you : as a sinful nation we deserve no peace at all, and have reason enough to be thank- ful that the voice of war is at any rate put to silence. * Mr S 's last child is dead ; it lived a little while in a world of which it knew nothing, and is gone to another, in which it is already become wiser than the wisest it has left * This was the treaty of Paris, signed on the 20th of January, and whjdi acknowledged the independence of the American colonies. 160 cowper's letters. behind. The earth is a grain of sand, but the interests of men are commensurate with the heavens. Mrs Unwin thanks Mrs Newton for her kind letter, and for executing her commissions. We truly love you both, and think of you often. W. C. 116. —TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. FAVOURABLE RECEPTION OF HIS POEMS — JOHN GII.PIN. February 13, and 20, 1783. My dear Friend, — In >vriting to you I never want a sulyect. Self is always at hand, and self with its concerns is always interesting to a friend. You may think perhaps that, having commenced poet by profession, I am always writing verses. Not so — I have written nothing, at least finished nothing, since I published — except a certain facetious history of John Gilpin, which Mr Unwin would send to the Public Advertiser. Perhaps you might read it without suspecting the autlior. My book procures me favours, which my modesty will not permit me to specify, except one, which, modest as I am, I cannot suppress, — a very handsome letter from Dr Franklin at Passy. These fruits it has brought me. I have been refreshing myself with a walk in the garden, where I find that January (who, according to Chaucer, was the husband of May) being dead, February has man'ied the widow Yours, &c. W. C. 117. —TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. VANITY OF AN AUTHOK FKANKLIN's LETTER TK \ NSCRIBEJ). Olney, February '20, I7a'3. Suspecting that I should not have hinted at Dr Franklin's encomium under any other influence than that of vanity, I was several times on the point of burning my letter for that very reason. But not having time to write another by the same post, and believing that you would liavc the grace to j)ardon a little self-comphicency in an autlior on so trying an occasion, 1 let it pass. One sin naturally leads to another, and a greater ; and thus it happens now, for I have no way to gratify your curiosity, but by transcribing the letter in question. It is addressed, by the way, not to me, but to an cowper's letters. 161 acquaintance of mine, who had transmitted the volume to liim without my knowledge. pASsr, May 8, 1782. Sir, — I received the letter you did me the honour of writing to me, and am much obliged by j'our kind present of a book. The relish for reading of poetry had long since left me, but tliere is something so new in the manner, so easy, and yet so correct in the language, so clear in the expression, yet concise, and so just in the sentiments, that I have read the whole witlv great pleasure, and some of the pieces more than once. I beg you to accept my thankful acknowledgments, and to present my respects to the author. — Your most obedient humble servant, B. Franklin. 118. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. REFLECTIONS ON YOUTHFUL FKIENDSHIPS. My dear Friend, — Great revolutions happen in this ant's nest of ours. One emmet of illustrious character and great abilities pushes out another ; parties are formed, they range themselves in formidable opposition, they threaten each other's ruin, they cross over and ai-e mingled together, and, like the corruscations of the Northern Aurora, amuse the spectator, at the same time that by some they are supposed to be forerunners of a general dissolution. There are political earthquakes as well as natural ones, the former less shocking to the eye, but not always less fatal in their influence than the latter. The image which Nebuchad- nezzar saw in his dream was made up of heterogeneous and incompatible materials, and accordingly broken. Whatever is so formed must expect a like catastrophe. I have an etching of the late Chancellor hanging over the parlour chimney. I often contemplate it, and call to mind the day when I was intimate with the original. It is very like him, but he is disguised by his hat, which, though fashionable, is awkward ; by his great wig, the tie of which is hardly discernible in profile ; and by his band and gown, which give him an appearance clumsily sacerdotal. Our friendship is dead and buried, yours is the only surviving one of all with which I was once honoured. — Adieu, w. c. i6'2 cowper's letters. 119. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. ADVANTAGE OF MAKING A COMMENCEMENT IN LETTER WRITING — CHRIST1a:< FORTITUDE THE ONLY SUPPORT IN DISTRESS. April 5, 1 78a My dear Friend, — WTicn one has a letter to write, there is nothing more useful than to make a beginning. In the first place, because unless it be begun, there is no good reason to hope it will ever be ended ; and secondly, because the beginning is half the business ; it being much more difficult to put the pen in motion at first, than to continue the progress of it when once moved. Mrs C 's illness, likely to prove mortal, and seizing her at such a time, has excited much compassion in my breast, and in Mrs Un win's, both for her and her daughter. To have parted with a child she loves so much, intending soon to follow her — to find herself arrested before she could set out, and at so great a distance from her most valued relations — ner daughter's life, too, threatened by a disorder not oflen curable, — are circumstances truly affecting. She has indeed much natural fortitude, and to make her condition still more tolerable, a good Christian hope for her support. But so it is, that the distresses of those who least need our pity excite it most ; the amiableness of the character engages our sympathy, and we mourn for persons for whom perhaps wo might more reasonably rejoice. There is still, however, a possibility that she may recover ; an event we must wish for, though for her to depart would be fai* better. Thus we would always with- hold from the skies those who alone can reach them ; at least ttL\ we are ready to bear them company. Present our love, if you please, to Miss C . I saw in the Gentleman's Magazine for last month an account of a physician who has discovered a new method of treating con- sumptive 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 encountering the disorder has proved so unequal to tiie task, that I should be much inclined to any new practice that comes well recom- mended. He is spoken of as a sensible and judicious man, but his name I have forgo'i;. Our love to all under your roof, and in particular to Misr. Catlett, if she is with you. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. COWPER*S LETTERS. 163 120. ~ TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. ArriCTATION OF HOMELINESS IN A PREACHER DISPLEASING — NEATNESS IN THE STYLE OF A SERMON. May 5, 1783. You may suppose that I did not hear Mi- — preach, but I heard of him. How different is that plainness of speech, which a spiritual theme requires^ from that vulgar dialect which this gentleman has mistaken for it ! Affectation of every sort is odious, especially in a minister, and more especially an affectation that betrays him into expressions fit only for the mouths of the illiterate. Truth, indeed, needs no ornament, neither does a beautiful person ; but to clothe it, therefore, in rags, when a decent habit was at hand, would be esteemed preposterous and absurd. The best proportioned figure may be made offensive by beggary and filth ; and even truths, which came down from heaven, though they cannot forego their nature, may be disguised and disgraced by unsuitable language. It is strange that a pupil of yours should blunder thus. You may be consoled, however, by reflecting, that he could not have erred so grossly, if he had not totally and wilfully departed both from your instruction and example. Were I to describe your style in two words, I should call it plain and neat, simplicem mwiditiis, and I do not kndw how I could give it juster praise, or pay it a greater compliment. He that speaks to be understood by a congre- gation of rustics, and yet in terms that would not offend academical ears, has found the happy medium. This is certainly practicable to men of taste and judgment, and tljp practice of a few proves it. Hactenus de Concionando. We are truly glad to hear that Miss C is better, and heartily wish you more promising accounts from Scotland. Debemur morti nos nostraque. We all acknowledge the debt, but are seldom pleased when those we love are required to pay it. The demand will find you prepared for it — Yours, my dear friena, W. C. 164 cowper's letters. 121. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. DirncuLTy of creatiaVg a letter in olney — remarks on a sermom OF PALEY's. May 12, 1783. My dear Friend, — A letter written from such a place as this, is a creation ; and creation is a work for which mere mortal man is very indifferently qualified. JEx nihilo nihil fit, is a maxim that applies itself in every case where Deity is not concerned. With this view of the matter, I should charge myself with extreme folly for pretending to work without materials, did I not know, that although notliing could be the result, even that nothing will be welcome. If 1 can tell you no news, I can tell you at least that I esteem you highly ; that my friendship with you and yours is the only balm of my life ; a comfort, sufficient to reconcile me to an existence destitute of every other. This is not the lan- guage of to-day only, the effect of a transient cloud suddenly brought over me, and suddenly to be removed, but punctually expressive of my habitual frame of mind, such as it has been these ten years. In the Review of last month, I met with an account of a sermon preached by Mr Paley * at the consecration of his friend. Bishop Law.f The critic admires and extols the preacher, and devoutly prays the Lord of the Harvest to send forth more such labourers intohis vineyard. I ratlitr differ from him in opinion, not being able to conjecture in what respect the vineyard Mill be benefited by such a measure. He is certainly ingenious, and lias stretched his ingenuity to the uttermost in order to exhibit the church established, consisting of bishops, priests, and deacons, in the most favourable point of view. I lay it down for a rule, that when much ingenuity is necessary to gain an argument credit, that argument is • William Paley, D.D. Archdeacon of Carlisle, was born 1745, ami died in 1805. His chief works are, Elements of Moral and Political Philosophj, Roto: Paulina', Evidences of Cliristianity, luid Natural Theoloct, and be disagreeably aftected by its remcual, and am prrsuadcd cowper's LETTi:rts. 173 that were it possible I could leave this incommodious nook for a twelvemonth, I should return to it again with rapture, and be transported with the sight of objects which to all the world beside would be at least indifferent; some of them per- haps, such as the ragged thatch and the tottering walls of tlie neighbouring cottages, disgusting. But so it is, and it is so, because here is to be my abode, and because such is the appointment of Him that placed me in it, — Iste terranim mihi praeter omnes Angulus ridet. It is the place of all the world I love the most, not for any happiness it affords me, but because here I can be miserable with most convenience to myself, and with the least disturbance to others. You wonder, and, I dare say, unfeignedly, because you do not think yourself entitled to such praise, that I prefer your style, as an historian, to that of the two most renowned writers of history the present day has seen. That you may not sus- pect me of having said more than my real opinion will warrant, I will tell you why. In your style I see no affectation. In every line of theirs I see nothing else. They disgust me always, Robertson with his pomp and his strut, and Gibbon with his finical and French manners. You are as correct as they. You express yourself with as much precision. Your words are ranged with as much propriety, but you do not set your periods to a tune. They discover a perpetual desire to exhibit themselves to advantage, whereas your subject engrosses you. They sing, and you say ; which, as history is a thing to be said, and not sung, is, in my judgment, very much to your advantage. A writer that despises their tricks, and is yet neither inelegant nor inharmonious, proves himself, by that single circumstance, a man of superior judgment and ability to them both. You have my reasons. I honour a manly character, in which good sense, and a desire of doing -good, are the predominant features — but affectation is an emetic. W. C. 129. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. ANNOUNCEMKNT OF THE SECOKD VOLUME, AND COMMENCEMENT OF THE TASr August 3, 1783. Your seaside situation, your beautiful prospects, your fine rides, and the sight of the palaces which you have seen, we have not envied you. ; but are glad that you have enjoyed 174 COWPER*S LETTERS. them. Wliy should we envy any man ? Is not our green- house a cabinet of perfumes ? It is at this moment fronted with carnations and balsams, with raignionette and roses, with jessamine and woodbine, and wants nothing but your pipe to make it truly Arabian — a wilderness of sweets ! The Sofa is ended, but not finished, a paradox, which your natural acumen, sharpened by habits of logical attention, will enable you to reconicle in a moment. Do not imagine, however, that I lounge over it — on the contrary, I find it severe exercise to mould and fashion it to my mind ! I was always an admirer of thunder storms, even before I knew whose voice I heard in them ; but especially an admirer of thunder rolling over the great waters. There is something singularly majestic in the sound of it at sea, where the eye and the ear have uninterrupted opportunity of observation, and the concavity above being made spacious reflects it with more advantage. I have consequently envied you your situa- tion, and the enjoyment of those refreshing breezes that belong to it. We have indeed been regaled with some of these bursts of ethereal music. The peals have been as loud, by the report of a gentleman who lived many years in the West Indies, as were ever heard in those islands, and the flashes as splendid. But when the thunder preaches, an horizon bounded by the ocean is the only sounding-board. I have had but little leisure, strange as it may seem, and that little I devoted for a month after your departure to Madame Guyon. I have made fair copies of all the pieces I have produced on this last occasion, and will put them into your hands when we meet. They are yours, to serve you as you please ; you may take and leave as you like, for my purpose is already served ; they have amused me, and I have no farther demand upon them. Tlie lines upon friendship, however, which were not sufficiently of a piece with the others, will not now be wanted. I have some other little things, which I will communicate when time shall serve ; but I cannot now transcribe them. 130. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. INDIFFERXNCE TO THE SALE OK HIS WORKS — SUI'ERlORITy OF THE ENGLISH BALLAD — ADVENTURES OK A liOLDKlNl'H. Augurt 4, 1783. My dear William, — I feel myself sensibly obliged by the interest you take in the success of my productions. Your COWPER*S LETTERS. 17ij feelings upon the subject are such as I should have myself, had 1 an opportunity of calling Johnson aside to make the inquiry you propose. But I am pretty well prepared for the worst, and so long as I have the opinion of a few capable 'udges in ray favour, and am thereby convinced that I have neither disgraced myself nor my subject, shall not feel myself disposed to any extreme anxiety about the sale. To aim with success at the spiritual good of mankind, and to become popular by writing on scriptural subjects, were an unreason- able ambition, even for a poet to entertain in days like these. Verse may have many charms, but has none powerful enougli to conquer the aversion of a dissipated age to such instruction. Ask the question therefore boldly, and be not mortified even though he should shake his head, and drop his chin ; for it is no more than we have reason to expect. We will lay the fault upon the vice of the times, and we will acquit the poet. I am glad you were pleased with my Latin ode, and indeed with my English dirge, as much as I was myself. The tune laid me under a disadvantage, obliging me to write in Alexandrines ; which I suppose would suit no ear but a French one; neither did I intend any thing more than that the subject and the words should be sufficiently accommodated to the music. The ballad is a species of poetry I believe peculiar to this country, equally adapted to the drollest and the most tragical subjects. Simplicity and ease are its proper charac- teristics. Our forefathers excelled in it; but we moderns have lost the art. It is observed, that we have few good English odes. But to make amends, we have many excellent ballads, not inferior perhaps in true poetical merit to some of the very best odes that the Greek or Latin languages have to boast of. It is a sort of composition I was ever foud of, and if graver matters had not called me another way, should have addicted myself to it more than to any other. I inherit a taste for it from my father, who succeeded well in it himself, and who lived at a time when the best pieces in that way were produced. What can be prettier than Gay's ballad, or rather Swift's, Arbuthnot's, Pope's, and Gay's, in the What-do-ye- call-it — "'Twas when the seas were roaring ?" I have been well informed that they all contributed, and that the most celebrated association of clever fellows this country ever saw did not think it beneath them to unite their strength and abilities in the composition of a song. The success, however, answered their wishes. The ballads that Bourne has translated, beautiful in themselves, are still more beautiful in his version 176 cowper's letters. of them, infinitely surpassing in my judgment all that Ovid or Tibullus have lei't behind them. Tliey are quite as elegant, and far more touching and pathetic, than the tenderest strokes of cither. So much for ballads and ballad writers. " A worthy subject," 3'ou will say, " for a man, whose head might be filled with better things :" — and it is filled with better things, but to so ill a purpose, that I thrust into it all manner of topics that may prove more amusing ; as for instance, I have two gold- finches, whicli in the summer occupy the greenhouse. A few days since, being emplo^'ed in cleaning out their cages, I placed that which I had in hand upon the table, while the other hung against the wall: the windows and the doors stood wide open. I went to fill the fountain at the pump, and on my return was not a little surprised to find a goldfinch sitting on the top of the cage I hafl been cleaning, and singing to and kissing the goldfinch within. I approached him, and he dis- covered no fear ; still nearer, and he discovered none. I advanced my hand towards him, and he took no notice of it. J seized him, and supposed I had caught a new bird, but casting my eye upon the other cage perceived my mistake. Its inhabitant, during my absence, had contrived to find an opening, where the wire had been a little bent, and made no other use of the escape it afforded him, than to salute his friend, and to converse with him more intimately than he had done Ixifore. I returned him to his proper mansion, but in vain. In less than a minute he had thrust his little person through the aperture again, and again perched upon nis neighbour's cage, kissing him, as at the first, and singing, as if transported with the fortunate adventure. I could not but respect such friendsliip, as for the sake of its gratification had twice declined an opj)ortunity to be free, and, consenting to their union, resolved that for the future one cage should hold them both. I am glad of euch iivcident?. Tor at a ])inch, and when I need entertainment, the versification of them serves to ivert rae. I transcribe for you a piece of Madam Guyon, not as the best; but as being shorter than many, and as good as most of them — Yours ever, W C. cowper's letters. 17; 131. -TO THR RliV. WILLIAM UNWTN. iMPkOPiUETY OF TOO FAMILIAR AN AI'PROACH TO GOE IN OUR DEVOTIONAL EXERCISES. ^ September 7, 1783. My dear Friend, — So long a silence needs an apology 1 have been hindered by a three-weeks' visit from our Hoxton friends, and by a cold and feverish complaint, which are but 'ust removed. The French poetess is certainly chargeable with the fault you mention, though I thought it not so glaring in the piece I sent you. I have endeavoured, indeed, in all the translations I have made, to cure her of that evil, either by the suppression of passages exceptionable upon that account, or by a more sober and respectful manner of expression. Still, however, she will be found to have conversed familiarly with God, but I hope not fulsomely, nor so as to give reasonable disgust to a religious reader. That God should deal familiarly with man, or, which is the same thing, that he should permit' man to deal familiarly with him, seems not very difficult to con- ceive, or presumptuous to suppose, when some things are taken into consideration. Wo to the sinner that shall dar^ to take a liberty with him that is not warranted by his word, or to which he himself has not encouraged him ! "When he assumed man's nature, he revealed himself as the friend of man, as the brother of every soul that loves him. He * Madam Guyon is not more chargeable with irreverent familiarity of devotional expression, than were her early predecessors. " The Trench Poetess," as founder of the Quietists in the reign of Louis XIV., was only the reviver of the Mystics of the third and fourth centuries. Visionaries, who, thus difierent in age, yet agreed in asserting the existence of inward religious effects prior to operative spiritual causes, were necessarily led into more serious en'ors than those of language, though irreverence in this respect was the just eoa- sequence of exalting self-ability at the expense of truth. n2 178 COWPER^S LETTERS. conversed freely with man wliile he was on eai'th, and as freely with him after his resurrection. I doubt not, therefore, that it is possible to enjoy an access to him even now unen- cumbered with ceremonious awe, easy, delightful, and without constraint. This, however, can only be the lot of those who make it the business of their lives to please him, and to cultivate communion with him. And then I presume there can be no danger of offence, because such a habit of the soul is of his own creation, and near as we come, we come no nearer to him than he is pleased to draw us. If we address him as children, it is because he tells us he is our father. If we unbosom ourselves to him as to a friend, it is because he calls us friends ; and if we speak to him in the language of love, it is because he first used it, thereby teaching us that it is the language he delights to hear from his people. But 1 confess that through the weakness, the folly, and corruption of human nature, this privilege, like all other Christian privileges, is liable to abuse. There is a mixture of evil in every thing we do, indulgence encourages us to encroach, and while we exercise the rights of children, we become childish. Here I think is the point in which my authoress failed, and here it is that I have particularly guarded my translation, not afraid of representing her as dealing with God familiarly, but foolishly, irreverently, and without due attention to his majesty, of which she is somev/hat guilty, — a wonderful fault for such a woman to fall into, who spent her life in the contemplation of his glory, who seems to have been always impressed with a sense of it, and sometimes quite absorbed by the views she had of it. W. C 132. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. THOUGHTS IN DELIRIUM DISCOVER THE HABITUAL STATE OF THE MIND — ANECDOTE. Septembers, 1783. My dear Friend, — Mrs Unwin would iiave answered your kind note from Bedford, had not a pain in her side prevented her. I, who am her secretary upon such occ isions, should certainly have answered it for her, but was hindered by illness, having been myself seized with a fever immediately after your departure. The account of your recovery gave us great pleasure, and I am persuaded that you will feel your- self repaid by the information that I give you of mine. The cowper's letters. 179 reveries your head was filled with, while your disorder was most prevalent, though they were but reveries, and the offspring of a heated imagination, afforded you yet a com- fortable evidence of the predominant bias of your heart and mind to the best subjects. I had none such — indeed I was in no degree delirious, nor has any thing less than a fever really dangerous ever made me so. In this respect, if in no other, I may be said to have a strong head ; and perhaps for the same reason that wine would never make me drunk, an ordinary degree of fever has no effect upon my understanding. The epidemic begins to be more mortal as the autumn comes on, and in Bedfordshire it is reported, how truly I cannot say, to be nearly as fatal as the plague. I heard lately of a clerk in a public office, whose chief employment it was for many years to administer oaths, who, being light headed in a fever, of which he died, spent the last week of his life in crying day and night, — " So help you God — kiss the book — give me a shilling." What a wretch in comparison with you ! Mr S has been ill almost ever since you left us ; and last Saturday, as on many foregoing Saturdays, was obliged to clap on a blister by way of preparation for his Sunday labours. He cannot draw breath upon any other terms. Ir holy orders were always conferred upon such conditions, I question but even bishopricks themselves would want an occupant. But he is easy and cheerful. I beg you will mention me kindly to Mr Bacon, and make him sensible that if I did not write the paragraph he wished for, it was not owing to any want of respect for the desire he expressed, but to mere inability. If in a state of mind that almost disqualifies me for society, I could possibly wish to form a new connection, I should wish to know him ; but I never shall, and things being as they are, I do not regret it. You are my old friend, therefore I do not spare you ; having known you in better days, I make you pay for any pleasure I might then afford you, by a communication of my present pains. But I have no claims of this sort upon Mr Bacon. Be pleased to remember us both, with much affection, to Mrs Newton, and to her and your Eliza ; to Miss C ■ likewise, if she is with you. Poor Eliza droops and languishes, but in the land to which she is going, she will hold up her head and droop no more. A sickness that leads the way to everlasting life is better than the health of an antediluvian. Accept our united love. — My dear friend, sincerely yours, W. C. 180 COWPEUS LETTERS. 133.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. SLIGHT INDISPOSITION — AN ABSENT MAN. September 23, 1783. My dear Friend, — We are glad that, having boen attacked by a fever, which has often proved fatal, and almost always leaves the sufferer debilitated to the last degree, you find yourself so soon restored to health, and your strength recovered. Yoitr health and strengtii are useful to others, and in that view important in His account who dispenses both, and by your means a more precious gift than either. For my own part, though I liave not been laid up, I have never been perfectly well since you left us. A smart fever, which lasted, indeed, but a few hours, succeeded by lassitude and want of spirits, that seemed still to indicate a feverish habit, has made for some time, and still makes me very unfit for my favourite occupations, writing and reading ; so that even a letter, and even a letter to you, is not without its burden. John has had the epidemic, and has it still, but grows better. Wlien he was first seized with it, he gave notice that he should die, but in this only instance of prophetic exertion, he seems to have been mistaken. He has, however, been very near it. I should have told you, that poor John has been very ready to depart, and much comforted througli his whole illness. Pie, you know, though a silent, has been a very steady professor. He, indeed, fights battles and gains victories, but makes no noise. Europe is not astonished at his feats, foreign academies do not seek him for a member ; he will never discover the art of flying, or send a globe of taffeta up to heaven. But he will go thither himself. Since you went, we dined with Mr . I had sent him notice of our visit a week before, which, like a contemj)lativf, studious man, as he is, he put in his pocket and forgot. \Vhen we arrived, the parlour windows were shut, and the house had the appearance of being uninhabited. Afler waiting some time, however, the maid opened the door, and the master presented himself. It is hardly worth while to observe so repeatedly, that his garden seems a spot contrived only for the growtli of melancholy, but being always affected by it in the same way, I cannot help it. He shewed me a nook, in which he had placed a beuch, and wWjrc he said he found it very cowper's letters. 181 refreshing to smoke his pipe and meditate. Here he sits, with his back against one brick wall, and his nose against another, which must, you know, be \'ery refreshing, and greatly assist meditation. He rejoices the more in this niche, because it is an acquisition made at some expense, and with no small labour ; several loads of earth were removed in order to make it, which loads of earth, had I the management of them, I should carry thither again, and fill up a place more fit in appearance to be a repository for the dead than the living. I would on no account put any man out of conceit with his innocent enjoyments, and therefore never tell him my thoughts upon this subject, but he is not seldom low-spirited, and I cannot but suspect that his situation helps to make him so. I shall be obliged to you for Hawkesworth's Voyages, when it can be sent conveniently. The long evenings are beginning, and nothing shortens them so effectually as reading aloud. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 134. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. ADVANTAGES O^ PHILOSOFIIY — FACFTIOUS IMPROVEMENT UPON BALLOONS. September 29, 1783. My dear William, — We are sorry that you and your household partake so largely of the ill effects of this unhealth}' season. You are happy, however, m having hitherto escaped the epidemic fever, which has prevailed much in this part of the kingdom, and carried many off. Your mother and I are well. After more than a fortnight's indisposition, which slight appellation is quite adequate to the description of all I suffered, I am at length restored by a grain or two of emetic tartar. It is a tax I generally pay in autumn. By this time, I hope, a purer ctlier than we have seen for months, and these brighter suns than the summer had to boast, have cheered your spirits, and made yonr existence more comfortable. We are rational ; but we are animal too, and therefore subject to the influences of the weather. The cattle in the fields shew evident symptoms of lassitude and disgust in an unpleasant season ; and we, their lords and masters, are constrained to sympathize with them : the only difference between us is, that they know not the cause of their dejection, and we do, but, for our humiliation, are equally at a loss to cure it. Upon this account I have sometimes wished myself a philosopher 182 COWPERS LETTERS. How happy, in comparison with myself, does the sagacious investigator of Nature seem, whose fancy is ever employed in the invention of hypotheses, and his reason in the support of them ! While he is accounting for the origin of the winds, he has no leisure to attend to their influence upon himself; and while he considers what the sun is made of, forgets that he has not shone for a month. One project indeed supplants another. The vortices of Descartes gave way to the gravita- tion of Newton, and this again is threatened by the electrical fluid of a modern. One generation blows bubbles, and the next breaks them. But in the meantime your philosopher is a happy man. He escapes a thousand inquietudes to which the indolent are subject, and finds his occupation, whether it be the pursuit of a butterfly, or a demonstration, the whole- somest exercise in the world. As he proceeds, he applauds himself. His discoveries, though eventually perhaps they prove but dreams, are to him realities. The world gaze at him, as he does at new phenomena in the heavens, and per- haps understands him as little. But this does not prevent their praises, nor at all disturb him in the enjoyment of that self-complacence, to which his imaginary success entitles him. He wears his honours while lie lives, and if another strips them off" when he has been dead a century, it is no great matter — he can then make shift without them. I have said a great deal upon this subject, and know not what it all amounts to. I did not intend a syllable of it when I began. But currente calamo, I stumbled upon it. My end is to amuse myself and you. The former of these two points is secured. I shall be happy if I do not miss the latter. By the way, what is your opinion of these air balloons ? 1 am quite charmed with the discovery. Is it not possible (do you suppose) to convey such a quantity of inflammable air into the stomach and abdomen, that the philosopher, no longer gravitating to a centre, shall ascend by his own com- parative levity, and never stop till he has reached the medium exactly in equilihrio with himself? May he not, by the help of a pastelxxird rudder attached to his posteriors, steer himself in that purer element with ease, and again, by a slow and gradual discharge of his aerial contents, recover his former tendency to the earth, and descend without the smallest danger or inconvenience ? These things are worth inquiry ; and (I dare say) they will be inquired after as they deserve : The penncE non homitii datcc are liki^ly to be less regretted than they were ; and i)erhaps a flight of aeadeniiciau'* and cowper's letters. 183 a covey of fine ladies may be no uncommon spectacle in the next generation. A letter which appeared in the public prints last week convinces me, that the learned are not without hopes of some such improvement upon this discovery. The author is a sensible and ingenious man, and under a reasonable apprehension that the ignorant may feel themselves inclined to laugh upon a subject that affects himself with the utmost seriousness, with much good manners and management be- speaks their patience, suggesting many good consequences that may result from a course of experiments upon this machine, and amongst others, that it may be of use in ascer- taining the shape of continents and islands, and the face of wide-extended and far distant countries ; an end not to be hoped for, unless, by these means of extraordinary elevation, the human prospect may be immensely enlarged, and the philosopher, exalted to the skies, attain a view of the whole hemisphere at once. But whether he is to ascend by the mere inflation of his person, as hinted above, or whether in a sort of band-box, supported upon balloons, is not yet apparent, nor, I suppose, even in his own idea perfectly decided — Yours, my dear William, W. C. 136 — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. INCIDENTAL EVILS OF CHRISTIANITY OCCASIONED BY OVERZEAL OR INDIFFERENCE IN FROFESSORS. October 6, 17813. My dear Friend, — It is indeed a melancholy considera- tion, that the Gospel, whose direct tendency is to promote the happiness of mankind in the present life, as well as in the life to come, and which so effectually answers the design of its author, whenever it is well understood and sincerely believed, should, through the ignorance, the bigotry, the superstition of its professors, and the ambition of popes, and princes, the tools of popes, have produced incidentally so much mischief; only furnishing the world with a plausible excuse to worry each other, while they sanctified the worse cause with the specious pretext of zeal for the furtherance of the best. Angels descend from heaven to publish peace between man and his Maker — the Prince of Peace himself comes to confirm and establish it, and war, hatred, and desolation ai'e 184 COWPEf/s LKTTEIIS. tl>e consequence. Thousands quarrel about the interpretation of a book which noneofthem understand. He that is slain dies firmly persuaded that the crown of martyrdom expectii him ; and he that slew him is equally convinced that he has done God service. In reality they are both mistaken, and equally unentitled to the honour they arrogate to themselves. If a multitude of blind men should set out for a certain city, and dispute al)()ut the right road till a battle ensued bi'tween tliem, the probable effect would be that none of them would ever reach it; and such a fray, preposterous and shocking in the extreme, would exhibit a picture in some degree resembling the original of wliich we have been speaking. And why is not the world tims occupied at present ? even because they have exchanged a zeal, that was no better than madness, for an indifference equally pitiable and absurd. The Holy Sepulchre has lost its importance in the eyes of nations called Christian, not because the light of true wisdom has delivered them from a superstitious attachment to the spot, but because He that was buried in it is no longer regarded by them as the Saviour of the world. The exercise of reason, enlightened by philosophy, has cured them indeed of tlie misery of an abused understanding, but together with the delusion they have lost the substance, and for the sake of the lies that were grafted upon it, have quarreled with the truth Uself. Here then we see the ne plus ultra of human wisdom, at least in affairs of religion. It enlightens the mind with respect to nonessentials, but with respect to that in which the essence of Ciiristianity consists, leaves it perfectly in the dark. It can discover many errors that in different ages have dis- graced the faith ; but it is only to make way for the admission of one more fatal than them all, w Inch repres(>nts that faith itself as a delusion. Why those evils have been permitted, shall be known hereafter. One thing in the meantime is certain, tliat the folly and frenzy of the professed disciples of the Gospel have been more dangerous to its interests, than all tlie avowed hostilities of its adversaries ; and perhaps lor this cause these mischiefs might be suffered to prt^vail for a season, that its divine original and nature might be the more illustrated, when it should appear that it was able to stand its ground for ages against that most formidabU' of all attacks, the indiscretion of its friends. The outrages that have fol- lowed this perversion of the truth have proved indeed a stumbling-block to individuals ; the wise of tliis world, with all their wisdom, have not been able to distinguish bi^twcen the COWPEIl's LETTERS. 185 olessing and the abuse of it. Voltaire was offended, and Gibbon has turned his back : but the flock of Christ is still nourished, and still increases, notwithstanding the unbelief of a philosopher is able to convert bread into a stone, and a fish into a serpent. I am much obliged to you for the Voyages, which I received, and began to read last night. My imagination is so captivated upon these occasions, that I seem to partake with the navi- gators in all the dangers they encountered. I lose my anchor ; my mainsail is rent into shreds ; I kill a shark, and by signs converse with a Patagonian, and all this without moving from the fireside. The principal fruits of these circuits that have been made around the globe, seem likely to be the amusement of those that staid at home. Discoveries have been made, but such discoveries as will hardly satisfy the expense of such un- dertakings. We brought away an Indian, and having debauched him, we sent him home again to communicate the infection to his country, — fine sport, to be sure, but such as will not defray the cost. Nations that live upon bread-fruit, and have no mines to make them worthy of our acquaintance, will be but little visited for the future. So much the better for them ! their poverty is indeed their mercy. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 1.36.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. UNHAPI-Y SITUATION OF THE AMERICAN LOYALISTS — BRITISH CHAIliTT TOO OFTEN FOREIGN IN APPLICATION. October, 1783. My dear Friend, — I am much obliged to you for your American anecdotes, and feel the obligation perhaps more sensibly, the labour of transcribing being in particular that to which I myself have the greatest aversion. The Loyalists are much to be pitied: driven from all the comforts that depend upon and are intimately connected with a residence in their native land, and sent to cultivate a distant one, without the means of doing it — abandoned, too, through* a deplorable necessity, by the government to which they have sacrificed all, — they exhibitaspcctacleof distress, which one cannot view, even at this distance, without participating in what they feel. Why could not some of our useless wastes and forests have been alloted to their support ? To have built them houses indeed, furnished them with implements of husbandry. 186 cowper's letters. would have put us to no small expense ; but I suppose the increase of population, and the improvement of the soil, would soon have been felt as a national advantage, and have indemnified the state, if not enriched it. We are bountiful to foreigners, and neglect those of our own household. I remember that compassionating the miseries of the Portuguese, at the time of the Lisbon earthquake, we sent them a ship load of tools to clear away tlie rubbish with, and to assist them in rebuilding the city. I remember, too, it was reported at the time, that the court of Portugal accepted our wheelbarrows and spades with a very ill grace, and treated our bounty with contempt. An act like this in behalf of our brethren, carried only a little farther, might possibly have redeemed them from ruin, have resulted in emolument to ourselves, have been received with joy, and repaid with gratitude. Such are my speculations upon the subject, who not being a politician by profession, and very seldom giving my attention for a moment to such a matter, may not be aware of difficulties and objec- tions, which they of the cabinet can discern with half an eye. Perhaps to have taken under our protection a race of men proscribed by the Congress might be thought dangerous to the interests we hope to have hereafter in their high and mighty regards and affections. It is ever the way of those who rule the earth, to leave out of their reckoning Him who rules the universe. They forget that the poor have a friend more powerful to avenge, than they can be to oppre.^s, and that treachery and perfidy must therefore prove bad policy in the end. The Americans themselves appear to me to be in a situation little less pitiable than that of the deserted Loyalists. Their fears of arbitrary imposition were certainly Mell founded. A struggle therefore might be necessary, in order to prevent it, and this end might surely have been answered without a renunciation of dependence. But the passions of a whole people, once put in motion, are not soon quieted. Contest begets aversion, a little success inspires more ambitious hopes, and thus a slight quarrel terminates at last in a breach never to be healed, and perhaps in the ruin of both parties. It does not seem likely, that a country so distinguished by the Creator with every thing that can make it desirable, should be given up to desolation for ever ; and they possibly may have reason on their side, who suppose that in time it will have the pre- eminence over all others ; but the day of such prosperity seems far distant — Onmipotence indeed can hasten it, and it may dawn when it is least ex])ected. But we govern ourselves in COWPER'S LETTERS. 187 all our reasonings by present appearances Persons at least no better informed than myself are constrained to do so. I intended to have taken another subject when I began, and I wish I had. No man living is less qualified to settle nations than I am ; but when I write to you, I talk, that is, I ^vrite as fast as my pen can run, and on this occasion it ran away with me. I acknowledge myself in your debt for your last favour, but cannot pay you now, unless you will accept as payment, what I know you value more than all I can say beside, the most unfeigned assurances of my affection for yov and yours, — Yours, &c. W. C. 137.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. NOTE REQUESTING COOk's VOYAGES — COMFORTS OF WINTER EVENINGS READING October 20, 1783. I SHOULD not have been thus long silent, had I known with certainty where a letter of mine might find you. Your summer excursions, however, are now at an end, and address- ing a line to you in the centre of the busy scene, in which you spend your winter, I am pretty sure of my mark. I see the winter approaching without much concern, though a passionate lover of fine weather, and the pleasant scenes of summer ; but the long evenings have their comforts too, and there is hardly to be found u})on the earth, I suppose, so snug a creature as an Englishman by his fireside in the winter. I mean, however, an Englishman that lives in the country, for in London it is not very easy to avoid intrusion. I have two ladies* to read to, sometimes more, but never less — at present we are circumnavigating the globe, and I find the old story with which I amused mj'self some years since, through the great felicity of a memory not very retentive, almost new. I am, however, sadly at a loss for Cook^s Voyage — can you send it ? I shall be glad of Foster*s too.f These together will make the winter pass merrily, and you will much oblige me. W. C. • Lady Austen and Mrs Unwin. t There were two Fosters, father and son. Both sailed as naturalists with Captain Cook, and both have written accounts of the voyage. 188 cowper's lettkrs. 138. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. KKCLECT OF FRIENDS — PLEA1UHE.S OK WALKING — riKE IN OLNET. November 10, 1783. My dear William, — I have lost and wasted almost all my ^^Titirlg time, in makinj^ an alteration in the verses I either close or subjoin, for I know not which will be the case at present.* If prose comes readily? I shall transcribe them on another sheet, otherwise, on this. You will understand, before you have read many of them, that they are not for the press. I lay you under no other injunctions. The unkind behaviour of our acquaintance, though it is possible that in some instances it may not much affect our happiness, nor engage many of our thoughts, will sometimes obtrude itself upon us, with a degree of importunity not easily resisted ; and then perhaps, though almost insensible of it before, we feel more than the occasion will justify. In such a moment it was that I conceived this poem, and gave loose to p, degree of resentment which perhaps I ought not to have indulged, but which in a cooler hour I cannot altogether condemn. My former intimacy with the two characters was such, that I could not but feel myself provoked by the neglect with which they both treated me on a late occasion. So much by way of preface. You ought not to have supposed, that if you had visited us last summer, the pleasure of the interview would have been all your own. By such an imagination, you wrong both yourself and us. Do you suppose we do not love you? You cannot suspect your mother of coldness ; and as to me, assure yourself I have no friend in the world with whom I commu- nicate without the least reserve, yourself excepted. Take heart then, and when you find a favourable opportunity to come, assure yourself of such a welcome from us both, as you have a right to look for. But I have observed in your two last letters, somewhat of a dejection and melancholy, that I am afraid you do not sufficiently strive against. I suspect you of being too sedentary. " You cannot walk." Why you cannot is best known to yourself. I am sure your legs an* long enough, and your person does not overload them. But I beseech you ride, and ride often. I think I have heard you say, you • Verses from a i)oein entitled Vnh'Jiction. See Poems. COWPEIl*S LETTERS. 189 cannot even do that without an object. Is not health an object r Is not a new prospect, which in most countries is gained at the end of every mile, an object ? Assure yourself that easy chairs are no friends to cheerfulness ; and that a long winter spent by the fireside, is a prelude to an unhealthy spring. Every thing I see in the fields, is to me an object, and I can look at the same rivulet, or at a handsome tree, every day of my life, with new pleasure. This, indeed, is partly the effect of a natural taste for rural beauty, and partly the effect of habit ; for I never in all my life have let slip the opportunity of breathing fresh air, and of conversing v/ith Nature, when I could fairly catch it. I earnestly recommend a cultivation of the same taste to you, suspecting that you have neglected it, and suffer for doing so. Last Saturday se'ennight, the moment I had composed myself in my bed, your mother, too, having just got into hers, we were alarmed by a cry of fire on the staircase. I imme- diately rose, and saw sheets of flame above the roof of Mr Palmer's house, our opposite neighbour. The mischief, how- ever, was not so near to him as it seemed to be, having begun at abutcher's yard, at a little distance. We made all haste down stairs, and soon threw open the street door, for the reception of as. much lumber, of all sorts, as our house would hold, brought into it by several who thought it necessary to move their furniture. In two hours time we had so much that Me could hold no more, even the uninhabited part of our building being filled. Not that we ourselves were entirely secure — an adjoining thatch, on which fell showers of sparks, being rather a dangerous neighbour. Providentially, however, the night was perfectly calm, and we escaped. By four in the morning it was extinguished, having consumed many out- buildings, but no dwelling house. Your mother suffered a little in her health, from the fatigue and bustle of the night, but soon recovered. As for me, it hurt me not. The slightest wind would have carried the fire to the very extremity of the town, there being multitudes of thatched buildings and faggot piles so near to each other, that they must have proved infallible conductors. The balloons prosper : I congratulate you upon it. Thanks to Montgolfier,* we shall fly at last Yours, my dear friend, W. C. * The two brothers Montgolfier made their first successful experi- ment Mith a rarified air balloon some months previous to the date of tlua letter, at Annonai in Franco. 90 COWPERS LETTERS. 139. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. RANK NO EXCUSE FOR CO>rTEMPTUOUS NEGLIGENCE — l'esTRANGe's JOSEPHUS — SIMPLICITY IN HISTORICAL WRITING. November 24i 1783. My dear William, — An evening unexpectedly retired, and wliich your mother and I spend without company, (an occurrence far from frequent,) affords me a favourable oppor- tunity to write by to-morrow's post, which else I could not have found. You are very good to consider my literary necessities with so much attention, and I feel proportionably grateful. Blair's Lectures (though I suppose they must make a part of my private studies, not being ad captumfce?ni?iarum,) will be perfectly welcome. You say you felt my verses ; I assure you that, in this, you followed my example ; for I felt them first. A man's lordship is nothing to me, any farther than in connection with qualities that entitle him to my respect. If he thinks himself privileged by it to treat me with neglect, I am his humble servant, and shall never be at a loss to render him an equivalent. I will not, however, belie my knowledge of mankind so much, as to seem surprised at a treatment which I had abundant reason to expect. To these men, with whom I was once intimate, and for many years, I am no longer necessary, no longer convenient, or in any respect an object. They think of me as of the man in the moon, and whether I have a lantern, or a dog and faggot, or whether I have neither of those desirable accommodations, is to them a matter of perfect indifference : upon that point we are agreed, our indifference is mutual, and were I to publish again, which is not impossible, I should give them a proof of it. L'Estrange's Josephus has lately furnished us with evening lectures. But the historian is so tediously circumstantial, and the translator so insupportably coarse and vulgar, that we are all three weary of him. How would Tacitus have shone upon such a subject, great master as he was of the art of description, concise without obscurity, and affecting without being poetical. But so it was ordered, and for wise reasons no doubt, that the greatest calamities any people ever suffered, and an accomplishment of one of the most signal prophecies in the Scripture, should be recorded by one of the worst writers. The man was a temporizer too, and cowper's letters. 191 courted the favour of his Roman masters at the expense of his own creed, or else an infidel, and absolutely disbelieved it. You will think me very difficult to please ; I quarrel with Josephus for the want of elegance, and with some of our modern historians for having too much. With him, for running right forward like a Gazette, without stopping to make a single observation by the way ; and with them, for pretending to delineate characters that existed two thousand years ago, and to discover the motives by which they were influenced, with the same precision as if they had been their contemporaries. Simplicity is become a very rare quality in a writer. Id the decline of great kingdoms, and where refinement in all the arts is carried to an excess, I suppose it is always rare. The latter Roman writers are remarkable for false ornament, they were yet no doubt admired by the readers of their own day ; and with respect to authors of the present era, the most popular among them appear to me equally censm*able on the same account. Swift and Addison were simple. Your mother wants room for a postscript, so my lecture must conclude abruptly. — Yours, W. C. 140. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. VISIT TO MR AND MRS THROCKMORTON — A BALLOON. My dear Friend, — It is hard upon us striplings who have uncles still living, (N.B. I myself have an uncle still alive,) that those venerable gentlemen should stand in our way, even when the ladies are in question ; that I, for instance, should find in one page of your letter a hope that Miss Shuttleworth would be of yom* party, and be told in the next that she is engaged to your uncle. Well, we may perhaps never be uncles, but we may reasonably hope that the time is coming, when others, as young as we are now, shall envy us the privileges of old age, and see us engross that share in the attention of the ladies to which their youth must aspire in vain. Make our compliments if you please to your sister Eliza, and tell her that we are both mortified at having missed the pleasure of seeing her. Balloons are so much the mode, that even m this country we have attempted a balloon. You may possibly remember that at a place called Weston, a little more than a mile fi'ora Olney, there lives a family, whose name is Throckmorton 19.^ COWPER's LETTER^. The present possessor of the estate is a young man whom I remember a boy. He has a wife, who is youn*^, genteel, and handsome. They are Papists, but much more amiable than many Protestants. We never liad any intercourse with the family, though ever since we lived here we have enjoyed tlie range of their pleasure grounds, having been favoured with a key, which admits us into all. When this man succeeded to the estate, on the death of his elder brotlicr, and came to settle at Weston, I sent him a complimentary card, requesting the continuance of tliat privilege, having till then enjoyed it by favour of his mother, who on that occasion went to finish her days at Bath. You may conclude that he granted it, and fur about two years nothing more passed between us. A fortnight ago, I received an invitation in the civilest terms, in which he told me that the next day he sliould attempt to fill a balloon, and if it would be any pleasure to me to be present, sliould be happy to see me. Your mother and I went. Tlie whole country were there, but the balloon could not be filled. The endeavour was, I believe, very philosophically made, but such a process depends for its success upon such niceties as make it very precarious. Our reception w^as, however, flattering to a great degree, insomuch that more notice seemed to be taken of us than we could possibly have expected, indeed rather more than of any of his other guests. They even seemed anxious to recommend themselves to our regards. We drank chocolate, and were asked to dine, but were eiiiraged. A dav or two afterwards, Mrs U«win and I walked that way, and were overtaken in a shower. I found a tree tliat I thouglit would shelter us both, a large elm, in a grove that fronts the mansion. Mrs T. observed us, and running towards us in the rain, insisted on our walking in. He was gone out. We sat chatting with her till the weather cleared up, and then at Ik r instance took a walk with her in the garden. The garden is almost their only w^alk, and is certainly their only retreat in which they are not liable to interruption. She off'ered us a key of it in a manner that made it impossible not to accept it, and said she would send us one. A few days afterwai'ds in the cool of the evening we walked that way again. We saw them going toward the house, and exchanged bows and curtsies at a distance, but did not join them. In a few raioutes, when we had passed the house, and had abuost reacfjo-.l the gate that opens out of the park into the adjoining field, \ hcanl tlie iri)n gate belonging to the courtyard ring, and sa.iV Mr T advancing hastily towards us ; we made equal luvstc to mei'( cowper's letters. 193 him, he presented to us the key, which I told him I esteemed a singular favour, and after a few such speeches as are madc' on such occasions, we parted. This happened about a week ago. I concluded nothing less, than that all this civility and attention was designed on their part as a prelude to a nearer acquaintance ; but here at present the matter rests. I should like exceedingly to be on an easy footing there, to give a morning call now and then, and to receive one, but nothing more. For though he is one of the most agreeable men I ever saw, I could not wish to visit him in any other way ; neither our house, furniture, servants, or income, being such as qualify us to make entertainments, neither would I on any account be introduced to the neighbouring gentry. Mr T. is altogether a man of fashion, and respectable on every account. I have told you a long story. Farewell. We number the days as they pass, and are glad that we shall see you and vour sister soon. — Yours, &c W. C. 141 —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UxNWIN. DEARTH OF EPISTOLARY JIATTER EAST INDIA CHARTER OUGHT TO BE REPEALED. January 3. 1784. My dear William, — Your silence began to be distressing to both your mother and me, and had I not received a letter from you last night, I should have -svTitten by this post to inquire after your health. How can it it be, that you, who are not stationary like me, but often change your situation, and mix with a variety of company, should suppose me fur- nished with such abundant materials, and yourself destitute? I assure you faithfully, that I do not find the soil of Olnoy prolific in the growth of such articles as make letter-^^Titing a desirable employment. No place contributes less to the catalogue of incidents, or is more scantily supplied with anecdotes worth notice. We have One parson, one poet, one belman, one crier. And the pow poet is our only squire. Guess, then, if I have not more reason to expect two letters from you, than you one from me. The principal occurrence, and that which affects me most at present, came to pass this moment. The stair-foot door, being swelled by the thaw. 194 cowpek's letteus. would do any thin^ bettor than it would open. An attempt to force it upon that office has been attended with such a horrible dissolution of its parts, that we were immediately obliged to introduce a cliirurgeon, commonly called a car- penter, whose applications we have some hope will cure it of a locked jaw, and heal its numerous fractures. His medicines are powerful chalybeates, and a certain glutinous salve, which he tells me is made of the tails and ears of animals. The consequences, however, are rather unfavourable to my present employment, which does not well brook noise, bustle, and interruption. This being the case, I shall not perhaps be either so l)erspicuous, or so diffuse, on the subject of which you desire my sentiments, as I should be, but I will do my best. Know then that I have learnt long since of Abbe Raynal,* to hate all monopolies, as injurious, howsoever managed, to the interests of commerce at large : consequently the charter in question would not at any rate be a favourite of mine. This, however, is of itself, I confess, no sufficient reason to justify the resump- tion of it. But such reasons I think are not wanting. A grant of that kind, it is well known, is always forfeited by the nonper- formance of tlie conditions. And why not equally forfeited, if those conditions are exceeded, if the design of it be l)erverted, and its operation extended to objects which were never in the contemplation of the donor ? This appears to me to be no misrepresentation of their case, whose charter is supposed to be in danger. It constitutes them a trading com- ))any, and gives them an exclusive right to traffic to the East Indies. But it does no more. It invests them with no sovereignty ; it does not convey to them the royal prerogative of making war and peace, which the king cannot alienate if iie would. But this prerogative they have exercised, and, forgetting the terms of their institution, have possessed themselves of an immense territory, which they have ruled with a rod of iron, to which it is impossible thej-^ should even have a right, unless such a one as it is a disgrace to plead, — the right of conquest. The potentates of this country they dash in pieces like a potter's vessel, as often as they please, making the happiness of thirty millions of mankind a con- sideration subordinate to that of their own emolument, oppressing them as often as it may serve a lucrative jmrpose, and in no instance, that I have ever heard, consulting their • At this time, the Abbe Raynal was an exile from France, whence lio had been banished for his History of the Indies. He was born in 1713. and died \7iHi. cowper's letters. 195 interest or advantage. That government therefore is bound to interfere, and to unking these tyrants, is to me self-evident. And if, having subjugated so much of this miserable world, it is therefore necessary that we must keep possession of it, it appears to me a duty so binding on the legislature to resume it from the hands of those usurpers, that I should think a curse, and a bitter one, must follow the neglect of it. But suppose this were done, can they be legally deprived of their charter ? In truth I think so. If the abuse and perversion of a charter can amount to a defeasance of it, never were they so grossly palpable as in this instance ; never was charter so justly forfeited. Neither am I at all afraid that such a measure should be drawn into a precedent, iniless it could be alleged as a sufficient reason for not hanging a rogue, that perhaps magistracy might grow wanton in the exercise of such a power, and now and then hang up an honest man for its amusement. When the governors of the Bank shall have deserved the same severity, I hope they will meet with it. In the meantime, I do not think them a whit more in jeopardy because a corporation of plunderers have been brought to justice. We are well, and love you all. I never wrote in such a hurry, nor in such disturbance. Pardon the effects, and believe me yours affectionately, W. C. 142.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. REFLECTIONS ON THE END OF THE OLD AND BEGINNING OF A NEW YEAR. January 18, 1784. My dear Friend, — I too have taken leave of the old year, and parted with it just when you did, but with very different sentiments and feelings upon the occasion. I looked back upon all the passages and occurrences of it, as a traveller looks back upon a wilderness, through which he has past with weariness and sorrow of heart, reaping no other fruit of his labour than the poor consolation that, dreary as the desert was, he has left it all behind him. The traveller would even find this comfort considerably lessened, if, as soon as he had passed one wilderness, another of equal length, and equally desolate, should expect liim. In this particular, his experience and mine would exactly tally. I should rejoice indeed that the old year is over and gone, if I had not every reason to prophesy a new one similar to it. 196 COWPEIl's LETTERS. I am glad j'^ou have found so much hidden treasure ; and Mrs Unwin desires me to tell you that you did her no more ihan justice, in believing that she would rejoice in it. It is not easy to surmise the reason, why the reverend doctor, 3'our predecessor, concealed it. Being a subject of a free government, and I suppose full of the divinity most in fashion, lie could not fear lest his great riches should expose him to persecution. Nor can I suppose that he held it any disgrace for a dignitary of the church to be wealthy, at a time when churchmen in general spare no pains to become so. But the wisdom of some men has a droll sort of knavislmess in it, much like that of the magpie, wlio hides what he finds witli a deal of contrivance, merely for the pleasure of doing it. — Yours, W. C. 143. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. TRANSLATION OK LATIN VEKSES OF DR JORTIN — STATE OF DEPARTED SIIKITS CHARITIES. January 3, 1784. My dear William, — When I first resolved to write an answer to your last this evening, I had no thought of any thing more sublime^ than prose. But before I began, it occurred to me that perhaps you would not be displeased with an attempt to give a poetical translation of the lines you sent me. They ai*e so beautiful, that I felt the temptation irresistible. At least, as the French say, it was phis forte que moi ; and I accordingly complied. By this means I have lost an hour ; and whether I shall be able to fill my sheet before supper, is as yet doubtful ; but I will do my best. For your remarks, I think them perfectly just. You have no reason to distrust your taste, or to submit the trial of it to me. You understand the use and the force of lan- guage as well as any man. You have quick feelings, and you are fond of poetry. How is it possible then that you should not be a judge of it ? I venture to haz;ird only one alteration, which, as it appears to me, would amount t(^ a little improve- ment. The seventh and eighth lines I think I should like better thus, — Aspirunte levi zephyro et rcdcunte serona Anni tcmperie, fa-fuiulo ft ccspite surguiit. My reason is, that the word cum is rep(>ated too soon. At least my ear does not like it ; and when it can be done with- out injury to the sense, there seems to me to be an elegance in COWPEP'S LETTERS. ^97 diversifying the expression, as much as possible, upon similar occasions. It discovers a command of phrase, and gives a more masterly air to the piece. If extincta stood uncon- nected with telis, I should prefer your word micant to the doctor's vigent. But the latter seems to stand more in direct opposition to that sort of extinction which is effected by a shaft or arrow. In the day-time the stars may be said to die, and in the night to recover their strength. Perhaps the doctor had in his eye that noble line of Gray, — Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war ! But it is a beautiful composition. It is tender, touching, and elegant. It is not easy to do justice in English, as for example. * Many thanks for the books, which, being most admirably packed, came safe. They will furnish us with many a winter evening's amusement. We are glad that you intend to be the carrier back. We rejoice, too, that your cousin has remembered you in her will. The money she left to those who attended her hearse would have been better bestowed upon you ; and by this time perhaps she thinks so. Alas ! what an inquiry docs that thought suggest, and how impossible to make it to any purpose ! What are the employments of the departed spirit ? and where does it subsist ? Has it any cognizance of earthly things t Is it transported to an immeasurable distance ; or is it still, though imperceptible to us, conversant with the same scene, and interested in what passes here ? How little we k«ow of a state to which we are all destined ; and how does the obscurity, that hangs over that undiscovered country, increase the anxiety we sometimes feel as we are journeying towards it ! It is sufficient, however, for such as you, and a ^ew more of my acquaintance, to know, that in your separate state you will be happy. Provision is made for your reception, and you will have no cause to regret aught that you have left behind. I have ^\Titten to Mr . f My letter went this morning. How I love and honour that man ! For many reasons I dare not tell him how much. But I hate the frigidity of the style in which I am forced to address him. That line of Horace, — Dii tibi divitias dederunt artemque fruendi, was never so applicable to the poet's friend as to Mr * The verses appear at tie condasion of next letter. t nioriitou 198 cowper's letters. My bosom burns to immortalize him. But prudence says, •' Forbear!" and, though a poet, I pay respect to her injunc- tions. I sincerely give you joy of the gooa you have unconsciously done by your example and conversaiion. That you seem to yourself not to deserve the acknowledgment your friend makes of it, is a proof that you do. Grace is blind to its own beauty, whereas such virtues as men may reach without it, are remarkable self-admirers. May you make such in)pres- sions upon many of your order ! I know none that need them more. You do not want my praises of your conduct towards Mr . It is well for him, however, and still better for yourself, that you are capable of such a part. It was said of some good man, (my memory docs not serve me with his name,) " Do him an ill turn, and you make him your friend for ever." But it is Christianity only that forms such friends. I wish his father may be duly affected by this instance and proof of your superiority to those ideas of you which he has so unreasonably harboured. He is not in my favour now, nor will be upon any other terms. I laughed at the comments you make on your own feelings, when the subject of them was a newspaper eulogium. But it was a laugh of pleasure and approbation : such indeed is the heart, and so is it made up. There are few that can do good and keep their own secret, none perhaps without a stniggle. Yourself, and your friend , are no very common instances of the fortitude that is nec(>ssary in such a conflict. In former days, I have felt my heart beat, and every vein throb, upon such an occasion. To publish my own deed w;is \vrong — I knew it to be so — but to conceal it, seemed liko a voluntary injury to myself. Sometimes I could, and some- times I could not succeed. My occasions for such conflicts indeed were not very numerous. — Yours, W. C. 144.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. KAST INDIA CIIARTEK — JORTIn's MNES. January 25, 1784. My dear Fuiend, — This contention about East Indian patronage seems not unlikely to avenge upon us, by its consequences, the mischiefs we have done there. The muttei in dispute is too precious to be relinquished by cither party ; COWPEIl's LETTERS. I9\l and each is jealous of the influence the other would derive from the possession of it. In a country whose politics have so long rolled upon the wheels of corruption, an affair of such value must prove a weight in either scale absolutely destructive of the very idea of a balance. Every man has his sentiments upon this subject, and I have mine. Were 1 constituted umpire of this strife, with full powers to decide it, I would tie a talent of lead about the neck of this patronage, and plunge it into the depths of the sea. To speak less figuratively, I would abandon all territorial interest in a country to which we can have no right, and which we cannot govern with any security to the happiness of the inhabitants, or without the danger of incurring either perpetual broils, or the most insupportable tyranny at home. That sort of tyranny, I mean, which flatters and tantalizes the subject with a show of freedom, and in reality allows him nothing more ; bribing to the right and left, rich enough to afford the purchase of a thousand consciences, and consequently strong enough, if it happen to meet with an incorruptible one, to render all the efforts of that man, or of twenty such men, i they could be found, romantic, and of no effect. I am the king's most loyal subject, and most obedient humble servant But, by his majesty's leave, I must acknowledge I am not altogether convinced of the rectitude even of his own measures, or the simplicity of his views ; and if I were satisfied that he himself is to be trusted, it is nevertheless palpable, that he cannot answer for his successors. At the same time, he is my king, and I reverence him as such. I account his prero- gative sacred, and shall never wish prosperity to a party that invades it, and that, under the pretence of patriotism, would annihilate all the consequence of a character essential to the very being of the constitution. For these reasons, I am sorry that we have any dominion in the East — that we have any such emoluments to contend about. Their immense value will probably prolong the dispute, and such struggles having been already made in the conduct of it, as have shaken our very foundations, it seems not unreasonable to suppose that still greater efforts, and more fatal, are behind ; and after all, the decision in favour of either side may be ruinous to the whole. In the meantime, that the Company themselves are but indifferently qualified for the kingship, is most deplorably evident. What shall I say, therefore ? I distrust the court, I suspect the patriots, I put the Company entirely aside, as having forfeited all claim to confidence in such a business,. 200 cowper's letters. and see no remedy, of course, but in the annihilation, if that couhl be accomplished, of the very existence of our authority in the East Indies* The late Doctor Jortiiv* Had the good fortune To write these verses Upon tombs and hearses ; \Vhich I, being jinghsh, Have done into English. IN UREVITATEBl VITiE SPATII, HOMINIBUS CONCESSJ. Hei mihi ! Lege rata sol occidit atque resurgit^ Lunaque mutatte reparat dispendia formae, Astraque, purpiirei telis extincta diei, Rursus nocte vigent. Huiniles telliuis alumni, Graminis herba virens, et florum picta propago, Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit, Cum zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni Temperies anni, foecundo e cespite surgunt. Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra n)inat). Cum breve ver vita; robustaque transiit xtsm, Deficimus ; nee nos ordo revolubiUs auras Reddit in ajtberias, tumuli neque claustra resolvit. ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE, Suns that set and moons that wane,. Rise and are restored again ; Stars that orient day subdues, Night at her return renews ; Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birt.> Of the genial womb of Earth, Suffer but a transient death From the winter's cruel breath. Zephyr speaks, serener skies Warm the glebe, and they arise We, alas ! Earth's haughty kingSy We that promise mighty things, Losing soon life's happy prime, Droop and fade in little time. Spring returns, but not our bloom. Still 'tis winter in the tomb. Vours, my dear friend, ^^'. C. ' Dr Jortin, the well kno\m author of the Life of Erasmus, wiis l)onx \i\ London, 1698, died 1770. The thoughts in the verses, wliich Cowper has so beautifully rendered, are borrowed frotn Claudiiin. cowper's ietters. 201 146. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. MR Newton's apologia — motto and title for the work — refusal ro WRITE for a review. February, 1784. My dear Friend, — lam glad that you have finished a work, of which I well remember the beginning, and which I was sorry you thought it expedient to discontinue.* Your reason for not proceeding was, however, such as I was obliged to acquiesce in, being suggested by a jealousy you felt, " lest your spirit should be betrayed into acrimony, in writing upon such a subject." I doubt not you have sufficiently guarded that point, and indeed, at the time, I could not discover that you had failed in it. I have busied myself this morning in contriving a Greek title, and in seeking a motto. The motto you mention is certainly apposite. But I think it an objection, that it has been so much in use ; almost every writer that has claimed a liberty to think for himself upon whatever subject, having chosen it. I therefore fend you one, which I never saw in that shape yet, and which appears to me equally apt and proper. The Greek word dsfffjbogy which signifies literally, a shackle, may figuratively serve to express those chains which bigotry and prejudice cast upon the mind. It seems, therefore, to speak like a lawyer, no misnomer of your book, to call it, M/tf&Sgo/xo^.f The following pleases me most of all the mottos I have thought of. But with respect both to that and the title you will use your pleasure. Querelis Haud justis assurgis, et irrita jurgia jactas.J From the little I have seen, and the much I have heard o the manager of the Review you mention, I cannot feel even the smallest push of a desire to serve him in tlie capacity of a poet. Indeed, I dislike him so much, that, had I a drawer * An Ecclesiastical Histon'. t Hating bonds. t Your quarrels aad coiDplaints are now too late. Dryden's J?w. X 14S I 2 202 CO\VPER*S LETTERS. iiiil of piecos fit for liis purpose, I hardly tliink I should con- tribute to his collection. It is possible, too, that I may live to be once more a publisher myself; in which case, I should be glad to find myself in possession of any such original pieces, as migljt decently make their appearance in a volume of my own. At present, however, I have nothing that would be of use to him, nor have I many opportunities of composing, Sunday being the only day in the week which we s{)end alone. I am at this moment pmched for time, but was desirous of proving to you, with what alacrity my Greek and Latin memory are always ready to obey you, and therefore, by the first post have, to the best of my ability, complied with your request, — Believe me, my dear friend, affectiouatelv vours, 'W. C. 146. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. TIME FOR STUDT KERVOUS MEN — VISION OF ADABI. Ftbruary 10, 17(54. Mv DEAR Friend, — The morning is my writing time, and in the morning I have no spirits. So much the worse for my correspondents. Sleep, that refreshes my body, seems to cripple me in every other respect. As the evening approaches, I grow more alert, and when I am retiring to bed, am more fit for mental occupation, than at any other time. So it fares with us whom they call nervous. By a strange inversion of the animal economjs we are ready to sleep when we have most need to be awake, and go to bed just when we might sit up to some purpose. The watch is irregularly wound up, it goes in the night when it is not wanted, and in the day stands still. In many respects we have the advantage of our forefathers the Picts.* We sleep in a whole skin, and are not obliged to submit to the painful operation of punctuating ourselves from liead to foot, in order that we may be decently • It is not easy to discover upon wliat principle tbe Picts are selected througiiout this letter as tlie ancestors of the Knjjlish. Of the eighteen tribes, ornations, inha])itinp Kngland nnder the Romans, all were Celts, or Belgne. The I 'lets, or I'eclits, or IVochts, or however it may please tntiquiiries to spell tlie word, were of Scythian origin, and possessed the northern parts of Britain only. I'rohahly Cowper used the name in a loose way, rather from classical than historical associations. Uaibara de Piclin veni bascauda IJritannis. — Martial. COWPER's LETTERS. 203 dressed, and fit to appear abroad. But, on the other hand, we have reason enough to envy them their tone of nerves, and that flow of spirits which effectually secured them from all uncomfortable impressions of a gloomy atmosphere, and from every shade of melancholy from every other cause. They understood, I suppose, the use of vulnerary herbs, having frequent occasion for some skill in surgery ; but physicians, I presume, they had none, having no need of any. Is it possible, that a creature like myself can be descended from such progenitors, in whom there appears not a single trace of family resemblance? What an alteration have a few ages made! They, without clothing, would defy the severest season ; and I, with all the accommodations that art has since invented, am hardly secure even in the mildest. If the wind blows upon me when my pores are open, I catch cold. A cough is the consequence. I suppose if such a disorder could have seized a Pict, his friends would have concluded that a bone had stuck in his throat, and that he was in some danger of choking. They would perhaps have addressed themselves to the cure of his cough, by thrusting their fingers into his gullet, which would only have exasperated the case. But they would never have thought of administering laudanum, my only remedy. For this difference, however, that has obtained between me and my ancestors, I am indebted to the luxurious practices, and enfeebling self-indulgence, of a long line of grandsires, who from generation to generation have been employed in deteriorating the breed, till at last the collected effects of all their follies have centred in my puny self, — a man indeed, but not in the image of those that went before me — a man, who sigh and groan, who wear out life in dejection and oppression of spirits, and who never think of the aborigines of the country to which I belong, without wishing that I had been born among them. The evil is without a remedy, unless the ages that are passed could be recalled, my whole pedigree be permitted to live again, and being properly admonished to beware of enerva- ting sloth and refinement, would preserve their hardiness of nature unimpaired, and transmit the desirable quality to their posterity. I once saw Adam in a dream. We sometimes say of a picture, that we doubt not its likeness to the original, though we never saw him, — a judgment we have some reason to form, when the face is strongly charactered, and the features full of expression. So I think of my visionary Adam, and for a similar reason. His figure was awkward, ^4 COWPEU*vS LETTtnS, indeed, in the extreme. It was evident that he had never been taught by a Frenchman to hold his head erect, or tc turn out his toes ; to dispose gracefully of his arms, or to simper without a moaning. But if Mr Bacon* was called upon to produce a statue of Hercules, he need not wish for a juster pattern. He stood like a rock ; the size of his limbs, the prominence of his musctles, and the height of his stature, all conspired to bespeak him a creature M'hose strength had suffered no diminution ; and who, being the lirst of his race, did not come into the world under a necessity of sustaining a load of infirmities, derived to him from the intemperance of others. He was as much stouter than a Pict, as I suppose a Pict to have been than I. Upon my hypothesis therefore, there has been a gradual declension, in point of bodily vigour, from Adam down to me : at least if my dream were a just representation of that gentleman, and deserve the credit I cannot help giving it, such must have been the case. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 147. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL- rnOGRESS OF THE TASK. February 12, 1784. I CONGRATULATE you on the thaw — I suppose it is an universal blessing, and probably felt all over Europe. I • John Bacon, the first British artist who, by native talent and with native education only, attJiined to eminence in sculpture. Though descended, it is said, from an ancient and wealthy family of Somerset- sliire, he was born the son of a cloth worker, and under the pressure of poverty and ill health, in the borough of South wark, on the •24th of November, 1740. Bacon commenced his career, as modeller and colourist, in a porcelain manufactory, and, never having travelled, he heard the first regular instructions on his art, in his twenty-eighth year, when the Royal Academy was instituted. He surmounted all difliculties by industry and study of nature, and, though his compositions are deficient in sentiment and ideal beauty, there is often in his monu- mental figures, especially of those eminent men whom he had pcrsoiiiiUy kno\m, a truth and individuality which place, for instances, tlie statues of Johnson, Howard, and Chatham, among the most elFective productions of English art. Bacon was a good in^m and a Christian, qualities which chicHy recommended him to the author of these hitters. He died in London on the 4tli of August, 17^9, and lies interred in the cliapel, Tottenhfim Court Road, under a marble tablet, with the ftdlowing inscription, written by himself: — " What I was, as an artist, seemed of »ome inportance to mo while I WytA ; but whut I re-illy was a.« a believer In Christ JtMin, w the only thing o! impor. tiauce to nie now." cowper's letters. 205 myself am the better for it, who wanted nothing that migh make the frost supportable ; what reason, therefore, have they to rejoice, who, being in want of all things, were exposed to its utmost rigour ? The ice in my ink, however, is not yet dissolved. It was long before the frost seized it, but at last it prevailed. The Sofa has consequently received little or no addition since. It consists at present of four books, and part of a fifth ; when the sixth is finished, the work is accom- plished, but if I may judge by my present inability, that period is at a considerable distance. 148. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. BiH Thornton's liberality — parliamentary reports — fox and north — THEOLOGICAL MISCELLANV. February^ 1784. My dear Friend, — I give you joy of a thaw, that has put an end to a frost of nine weeks* continuance, with very little interruption ; the longest that has happened since the year 1739. May I presume that you feel yourself indebted to me for intelligence, which perhaps no other of your correspon- dents will vouchsafe to communicate, though they are as well apprized of it, and as much convinced of the truth of it as myself? It is, I suppose, everywhere felt as a blessing, but nowhere more sensibly than at Olney ; though even at Olney the severity of it has been alleviated in behalf of many. The same benefactor who befriended them last year, has with equal liberality administered a supply to their necessities in the present. Like the subterraneous flue that warms my myrtles, he doe§ good and is unseen. His injunctions of secrecy are still as rigorous as ever, and must therefore be observed with the same attention. He, however, is a happy man, whose philanthropy is not like mine, an impotent principle, spending itself in fruitless wishes. At the same time, I confess it is a consolation, and I feel it an honour, to be employed as the conductor, and to be trusted as the dispenser of another man's bounty. Some have been saved from perishing, and all that could partake of it, from the most pitiable distress. I will not apologize for my politics, or suspect them of error, merely because they are taken up from the newspajiers. I take it for granted, that those reporters of the wisdom of our representatives are tolerably correct and faithful. Were 206 cowper's letters. they not, and were they guilty of frequent and gross misre- presentation, assuredly they would be chastised by the rod of parliamentary criticism. Could I be present at tlie debates, I should indeed have a better opinion of my documents. But* if the House of Commons be the best school of British politics, which I think an undeniable assertion, tlion he that reads what passes there has opportunities of information, inferior only to theirs wlio hear for themselves, and can be present upon the spot. Thus qualified I take courage ; and wlien a certain reverend neighbour of ours curls his nose at me, and holds my opinions cheap, merely because he has passed through London, I am not altogether convinced that he has reason on his side. I do not know that the air of the metropolis has a power to brighten the intellects, or that to sleep a night in the great city is a necessary cause of wisdom. He tells me that Mr Fox* is a rascal, and that Lord Northf is a villain, that every creature execrates them both, and that I ought to do so too. But I beg to be excused. Villain and rascal are appellations, which we, who do not converse with great men, are rather sparing in the use of. I can conceive them both to be most entirely persuaded of the rectitude of their conduct ; and the rather, because I feel myself much inclined to believe that, being so, they are not mistaken. I cannot think that secret influence is a bugbear, a phantom conjured up to serve a purpose, the mere shibboleth of a party : and being, and having always been, somewliat of an entimsiast on the subject of British liberty, I am not able to withhold my reverence and good wishes from the man, whoever he be, that exerts himself in a constitutional way to oppose it. • Charles James Fox, second son of Lord Holland, was born January 13, 1748, and died on the IGth September, 1806. The events in the life of this splendid orator and fi:reat politician — for great statesman or great minister he cainiot be called — may be classed as follows: — From entering parliament at the age of nineteen, to the rupture with Lord North in 1774 ; — from that period, to the famous coalition and expulsion of the united parties on the India bill, 1783-4. The hist twenty years of Fox's life were [lassed in active opposition to Pitt. In reference to the text, and Cowper's opinions generally on the subject, it is not unworthy of remark, that Fox connnenced his political career as a partisan of tlie ministry, forsook that interest only when it expelhul him, and was a patriot and reformer solely when in oi)position. t Frederic North, Karl of (niildford, born 1732, became Chancellor of the Exchequer, 17(37; I'irst Lord of the Treasury, 1770; retained office throughout the American war ; resigned in 1782, and returned to otlice with the Coalition, for a few months, in 1783. He then retired from public life, and died blind in 1792. cowper's letters. 207 Caraccioli upon the subject of self-acquaintance was never, I believe, translated. I have sometimes thought that the Theological Miscellany might be glad of a chapter of it monthly. It is a work which I much admire. You, who are master of their plan, can tell me whether such a con- tribution would be welcome. If you think it would, I would be punctual in my remittances ; and a labour of that sort would suit me better in my present state of mind than original composition on religious subjects. Remember us as those that love you, and are never unmind- ful of you. — Yours, my dear friend, ' . W. C. 149. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. LOU.U PF.TRE MR THORNTON's CHARITIES — COWPER's DISLIKE TO NEW CORRESPONDENTS. Ftbruary29, 1784. My dear Friend, — We are glad that you have such a Lord Petre in your neighbourhood. He must be a man of a liberal turn, to employ a heretic in such a service. I wish you a farther acquaintance with him, not doubting that the more he knows you he will find you the more agreeable. You despair of becoming a prebendary for want of certain rhythmical talents, which you suppose me possessed of. But what think you of a cardinal's hat ? Perhaps his lordship may have interest at Rome, and that greater honour may await you. Seriously, however, I respect his character, and should not be sorry if there were many such Papists in the land. Mr has given free scope to his generosity, and con- tributed as largely to the relief of Olney as he did last year. Soon after I had given you notice of his first remittance, we received a second to the same amount, accompanied indeed with an intimation that we were to consider it as an antici- pated supply, which, but for the uncommon severity of the present winter, he should have reserved for the next. The inference is, that next winter we are to expect nothing. But the man and his beneficent turn of mind considered, there is some reason to hope that, logical as the inference seems, it may yet be disappointed. Adverting to your letter again, I perceive that you wish for my opinion of your answer to his lordship. Had I forgot to tell you that I approve of it, I know you well enough to be aware of the misinterpretation you would have put upon my 208 COWPF.fl's lETTF.nS. silence. I am glad, therefore, that I happened to cast my eyt upon your appeal to my opinion, before it was too late. A modest man, however able, has always some reason to distrust himself upon extraordinary occasions. Notliing so apt to betray us into absurdity as too great a dread of it; and the application of more strength than enough is sometimes as fatal as too little : but you have escaped very well. For my own part, when I write to a stranger, I feel myself deprived of half my intellects. I suspect that I shall write nonsense, and I do so. I tremble at the thought of an inaccuracy, and become absolutely ungrammatical. I feel myself sweat. I have recourse to the knife and the pounce. I correct half a dozen blunders, which in a comm"^- case I should not have committed, and have no sooner despatched what I have written, than I recollect how much better I could have made it ; how easily and genteely I could have relaxed the stiffness of the phrase, and have cured the insufferable awk\\ardness of the whole, had they struck me a little earlier. Thus we stand in awe of we know not M'hat, and miscarry through mere desire to excel. I read Johnson's Prefaces every night, except when the newspaper calls me off. At a time like the present, what author can stand in competition with a newspaper ? or who, that has a spark of patriotism, does not point all his attention to the present crisis ? W. C. I am so disgusted with for allowing himself to be silent, when so loudly called upon to write to you, that I do not choose to express my feelings. Wo to the man whom kinrlness cannot soflen ! 150. —TO THE REV. JOHN NEV/TON. WORKS OP CARACCIOLI — DECLINES TO TRANSLATE A rORTION OF THEM — . DANGER OF ATTKIUUTING RELIGIOUS COMKOKT TO ANV SOURCE SAVE FAITH IN CHRIST. March a 17S4. My dkar FiUEND, — I thank you for the two first numbers of the Tlieoiogicai Miscellany. I have not read them regularly through, but sufficiently to observe that they are much indebted to Omicron. An essay, signed Parvulus, pleased me likewise; and I shall be glad if a neighbour of ours, to whom I have lent them, should be able to apply to his own use the lesson it cowper's letters. 209 inculcates. On farther consideration, I have seen reason to forego my purpose of translating Caraccioli. Though I think no book more calculated to teach the art of pious meditation, or to enforce a conviction of the vanity of all pursuits that have not the soul's interests for their object, I can yet see a flaw in his manner of instructing, that, in a country so enlightened as ours, would escape nobody's notice. Not enjoying the advantages of evangelical ordinances, and Christian communion, he falls into a mistake natural in his situation ; ascribing always the pleasures he found in a holy life to his own industrious perseverance in a contemplative course, and not to the immediate agency of the great Com- forter of his people ; and directing the eye of his readers to a spiritual principle within, which he supposes to subsist in the soul of every man, as the source of all divine enjoyment, and not to Christ, as he would gladly have done, had he fallen under Christian teachers. Allowing for these defects, he is a charm- ing writer, and by those who know how to make such allow- ances, may be read with great delight and improvement. But with these defects in his manner, though, I believe, no man ever had a heart more devoted to God, he does not seem dressed with sufficient exactness to be fit for the public eye, where man is known to be nothing, and Jesus all in all. He must, therefore, be dismissed as an unsuccessful candidate for a place in this Miscellany, and will be less mortified at being rejected in the first instance, than if he had met with a refusal from the publisher. I can only therefore repeat what I said before, that when I find a proper subject, and myself at liberty to pursue it, I will endeavour to contribute my quota. W. C. 151. — TO THE REV. JOHN NKWTON. rUBLlCATION OF HIS APOLOGY AnVANTAGE OF TEMPER IN A CONTKOVERST. Olney, March 11, 1784. I RETURN you many thanks for your Apology, which I have read with great pleasure.* You know of old that your style always pleases me : and having in a former letter given you the reasons for which I like it, I spare you now the pain of a repetition. The spirit, too, in which you write, pleases me as much. But I perceive that in some cases it is possible to be * The book alluded to, is entitled Apologia ; Four Letters to a Mini- ster of an Independent Church. By a Minister of the Church of England 210 COWPEU'S LL.rit KS. severe, and at tlie same time perfectly good tempered ; in all cases, I suppose, wIktc we suffer by an injurious and unreasonable attack, and can justify our conduct by a plain and simple narrative. On such occasions, truth it^self seems a satire, because, by implication at least, it convicts our adversaries of the want of charity and candour. For this reason, perhaps you will find that you have made many angry, though you are not so ; and it is possible they may be the more angry upon that very account. To assert, and to prove, that an enlightened minister of the Gospel may, without any violation of iiis conscience, and even upon the ground of prudence and propriety, continue in the establishment ; and to do this with the most absolute compo- sure, must be very provoking to the dignity of some dissenting doctors : and to nettle them still the more, you in a manner impose upon them the necessity of being silent, by declaring that you will be so yourself. Upon the whole, however, I have no doubt that your Apology will do good. If it should irritate some, who have more zejil than knowledge, and more of bigotry than of either, it may serve to enlarge the views of others, and to convince them that there may be grace, truth, and efficacy, in the ministry of a church of which they are not members. I wish it success, and all that attention to which, both from the nature of the subject, and the manner m which you have treated it, it is so well entitled. The patronage of the East Indies will be a dangerous weapon in whatever hands. I have no prospect of deliverance for tiiis country, but the same that I have of a possibility that we may one day be disencumbered of our ruinous possessions in the East. Our good neighbours, who have so successfully knocked away our Western crutch from under us, seem to design us the same favour on the opposite side ; in which case we shall be poor, but I think we shall stand a better chance to be free : and I had rather drink water gruel for breakfast, and be no man's slave, than wear a chain, and drink tea as usual. I have just room to add, that we love you as usual, and are your very affectionate William and Mary. cowper's letters. 21 1 152. — TO THK FEV. JOHN NEWTON. DIFFICtLrV OF FKKNCH TRANSLATION — PIOUS MELANCHOLY OF RELIGIOUS WRITERS IN THAT LANGUAGE. March 19, 1784. My dear Friend, — I wish it were in my power to give you any account of the Marquis Caraccioli. Some years since, I saw a short history of him in the Review, of which I recollect no particulars, excepi that he was (and fbr aught I know may be still) an officer in the Prussian service. I have two volumes of his works, lent me by Lady Austen. One is upon the subject of self-acquaintance, and the other treats of the art of conversing with the same gentleman. Had I pursued my purpose of translating him, my design was to have fur- nished mj^self, if possible, with some authentic account of him, which I suppose may be procured at any bookseller's who deals in foreign publications. But for the reasons given in my last, I have laid aside the design. There is something in his style that touches me exceedingly, and which I do not know how to describe. I should call it pathetic, if it were occasionally only, and never occurred but when his subject happened to be particularly affecting. But it is universal ; he has not a sentence that is not marked with it. Perhaps, therefore, I may describe it better by saying, that his whole work has an air of pious and tender melancholy, which, to me at least, is extremely agreeable. This property of it, which depends perhaps altogether upon the arrangement of his words, and the modulation of his sentences, it would be very difficult to preserve in a translation. I do not know that our language is capable of being so managed, and rather suspect that it is not, and that it is peculiar to the French, because it is not unfrequent among their writers, and I never saw any thing similar to it in our own. My evenings are devoted to books. I read aloud for the entertainment of the party, thus making amends by a voci- feration of two hours for my silence at other times. We are in good health, and waiting as patiently as we can for the end of this second winter. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 212 COWPER*S LFTTERS. 15a — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. THE poet's retirement — VISIT FROM A FARtlAMENTABT CANDIDATE. March 29, 1734. My dear Friend, — It being his majesty's pleasure that I should yet liave another opportunity to write before he dissolves the parliament, I avail myself of it with all possible alacrity. I thank you for your last, which was not the less welcome for coming, like an extraordinary gazette, at a time when it was not expected. As, when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water finds its way into creeks and holes of rocks, which in its calmer state It never reaches ; in like manner, the effect of these tur- bulent times is felt even at Orchardside, where in general wo live ^s undisturbed by the political element, as shrimps or cockles that have been accidentally deposited in some hollow beyond the water mark, by the usual dashing of the waves. We were sitting yesterday after dinner, the two ladies and myself, very composedly, and without the least apprehension of any such intrusion, in our snug parlour, one lady knitting, the other netting, and the gentleman winding worsted, when, to our unspeakable surprise, a mob appeared before the window, a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys hallooed, and the maid announced Mr G . Puss * was unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his good friends at his heels, was refused admittance at the grai.d entry, and referred to the back door, as the only possib'e way of approach. Candidates are creatures not very susceptible of affronts, and would rather, I suppose, climb in at a window, than be absolutely excluded. In a minute, the yard, the kitchen, and the parlour, were filled. Mr G , advancing toward me, shook me by the hand with a degree of cordiality that was extremely seducing. As soon as he and as many more as could find chairs Mere seated, he began to oj)cn the intent of his visit. I told him I had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit. I assured him I had no influence, which he was not equally inclined to believe, and the less, no doubt, b<^'cause Mr A , addressing himself to me at that moment, informed me that I had a great deal. Supposing that I could • His tame hare. CtJWPEIl's LETTERS. 213 not be possessed of such a treasure without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assertion, by saying, that if I had any I was utterly at a loss to imagine where it could be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr G squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kind- hearted gentleman. He is very young, genteel, and handsome. He has a pair of very good-eyes in his head, which not being sufficient, as it should seem, for the many nice and diflficult purposes of a senator, he has a third also, which he wore sus- pended by a riband from his button-hole. The boys hallooed, the dogs barked, Puss scampered, the hero, with his long train of obsequious followers, withdrew. We made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and in a short time settled into our former tranquillity, never probably to be thus inter- rupted more. I thought myself, however, happy in being able to affirm trulj'^ that I had not that influence for which he sued ; and for which, had I been possessed of it, with my present views of the dispute between the Crown and the Commons, I must have refused him, for he is on the side of the former. It is comfortable to be of no consequence in a world where one cannot exercise any without disobliging somebody. The town, however, seems to be much at his service, and if he be equally successful throughout the county, he will undoubtedly gain his election. Mr A perhaps was a little mortified, because it was evident that 1 owed the honour of this visit to his misrepresentation of my impor- tance. But had he thought proper to assure Mr G that I had three heads, I should not, I suppose, have been bound to produce them. Mr S , who you say was so much admired in your pulpit, would be equally admired in his own, at least by all capable judges, were he not so apt to be angry with his congregation. This hurts him, and had he the understanding and eloquence of Paul himself, would still hurt him. He seldom, hardly ever indeed, preaches a gentle, well- tempered sermon, but I hear it highly commended : but warmth of temper, indulged to a degree that may be called scolding, defeats the end of preaching. It is a misapplication of his powers, which it also cripples, and teases away his hearers. But he is a good man, and may perhaps outgrow it. — Yours, W. C. 214 cowper's letters. 154. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. DANGER OF TRIFLING WITH OUR MAKER — EARTHQUAKE IN ITAtr. April, 1784. People that are but little acquaintod with the terrors of divine wrath, are not mucli afraid of triHing with their Maker. But for my own part I would sooner take Empedocles's leap, and fling myself into Mount Mtua., than I would do it in the slightest instance, were I in circumstances to make an election. In the Scripture we find a broad and clear exhibition of mercy ; it is displayed in every page. Wrath is in comparison but slightly touclied upon, because it is not so much a discovery of wrath as of forgiveness. And had the displeasure of God been the principal subject of the book, and had it circum- stantially set forth that measure of it only which may be endured even in this life, the Christian world perhaps would have been less comfortable ; but I believe presumptuous meddlers with the Gospel would have been less frequently met with. — The word is a flaming sword ; and he that touches it with unhallowed fingers, thinking to make a tool of it, will find that he has burnt them. What havoc in Calabria I every house is built upon the sand, whose inhabitants have no God, or only a false one. Solid and fluid are such in respect to each other ; but with refercnice to the Divine power they are equally fixed or equally unstable. The inhabitants of a rock shall sink, while a cockboat shall save a man alive in the midst of the fathomless ocean. The Pope grants dispensations for folly and madness during the carnival ; but it seems they are as offensive to Him, whose vicegerent he pretends himself, at that season as at any other. Were I a Calabrian, I would not give my papa at Rome one farthing for his amplest indulgence, for this time forth for ever. There is a word that makes this world tremble, and the Pope cannot countermand it. A fig for such a conjurer I Pharaoh's con- jurers had twice his ability. — Believe me, my dear friend, affectionately yours, W. C. COWPER'S LETl'ERS. 2 15 155. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. CUAKACTEKS OF BEATTIE AND BLAIK ORIGIN OF LANGUAGEfk April 5, 1784. My dear William, — I thanked you in my last for John- son : I now thank you, with more emphasis, for Beattie, the most agreeable and amiable writer I ever met with ; the only author I have seen whose critical and philosophical researches are diversified and embellished by a poetical imagination, that makes even the driest subject, and the leanest, a feast for an epicure in books. He is so much at his ease, too, that his own character appears in every page ; and, which is very rare, we see not only the writer, but the man ; and that man so gentle, so well tempered, so happy in his religion, and so humane in his philosophy, that it is necessary to love him, if one has any sense of what is lovely. If you have not his poem called the Minstrel^ and cannot borrow it, I must beg you to buy it for me ; for though I cannot afford to deal largely in so expensive a commodity as books, I must afford to purchase at least the poetical works of Beattie. * I have read six of Blair's Lectures, and what do I say of Blair ?f That he is a sensible man, master of his subject, and, excepting here and there a Scotticism, a good writer, so far at least as per- spicuity of expression and method contribute to make one. But oh, the sterility of that man's fancy ! if indeed he has any such faculty belonging to him. Perhaps philosophers, or men designed for such, are sometimes born without one ; or * James Beattie, LL. D. born 1735, near Laurencekirk, in Kincardine- shire, was elected Professor of Moral Philosophy in Marischal College, Aberdeen, 1760, where he died in 1803. His works consist of Juvenile Poems, Essay on Truth, Dissertations, Elements of Moral Science, Evidences of Christianity, Letters, 8fc. and the Minstrel, upon which his fame with posterity must mainly rest. The high character given in the text, by one whose genius so closely resembled his o\\ti, while it \vi\l tend to sustain the opinion long entertained of his works, is very grati- fying to the Editor, who has the honour ot claiming a near relationship with Dr Beattie. t Hugh Blair, D,D. was born at Edinburgh, 1718, and died there, Minister of the High Church and Professor of Rhetoric, in 1800. No- thing can be juster than the character given of Blair, in this and the succeeding letters, who, as a divine, is a cold, correct composer of moral essays, and, in Uterature, a systematic normalist, incapable alike of snatching or enjoying A grace beyond the reach ot art. 216 COWPER*S LETTERS. perhaps it withers for want of exercise. However that may be, Doctor Blair has such a brain as Shakespeare somewhere describes, — "dry as the remainder biscuit after a voyage.'* I take it for granted that these good men are philosopliically correct (for they are botli agreed upon the subject) in tlieir account of tlie origin of language ; and if the Scripture had left us in the dark upon that article, I should very readily adopt their hypothesis for want of better information. I should suppose, for instance, that man made his first effort in speech in the way of an interjection, and that tdi, or oil being uttered with wonderful gesticulation, and variety of attitude, must have left his powers of expression quite exhausted : that in a course of time he would invent names for many things, but first for the objects of his daily wants. An apple would consequently be called an apple, and perhaps not many years would elapse before the appellation would receive the sanction of general use. In this case, and upon this supposition, seeing one in the hand of another man, he would exclaim, with a most moving pathos, " O apple ! " Well and good — O apple ! is a very affecting speech, but in the meantime it profit^» him nothing. The man that holds it, eats it, and he goes away with O apple ! in his mouth, and with nothing better. Reflecting on his disappointment, and tliat perhaps it arose from his not being more explicit, he contrives a term to denote his idea of transfer or gratuitous communication, and the next occasion that offers of a similar kind, performs his part accor- dingly. His speech now stands thus, " Oh give apple ! ** The apple-holder perceives himself called upon to part with his fruit, and having satisfied his own hunger, is perhaps not unwilling to do so. But unfortunately there is still room for a mistake, and a third person being present, he gives the apple to him. Again disappointed, and again perceiving that his language has not all the precision that is requisite, the orator retires to his study, and there, after much deep thinking, conceives that the insertion of a pronoun, whose office shall be to signify that he not only wants the apple to be given, but given to himself, will remedy all defects, he uses it the next opportunity, and succeeds to a wonder, ol)tains the apple, and by his success such credit to his invention, that pronouns continue to be in great repute ever after. Now, as my two syllable mongers, Beattie and Blair, both :i ree that language was originally inspired, and that the great variety of languages we find upon earth at present took its rise from the confusion of tongues at Babel, I am COWPER S LETTERS. 217 not perfectly convinced that there is any just occasion to invent this very ingenious solution of a difficulty, which Scripture has solved already. My opinion, however, is, if I may presume to have an opinion of my own so different from theirs who are so much wiser than myself, that if man had been his own teacher, and had acquired his words and his phrases only as necessity or convenience had prompted, his progress must have been considerably slower than it was, and in Homer's days, the production of such a poem as the Iliad impossible. On the contrary, I doubt not Adam, on the very day of his creation, was able to express himself in terms both forcible and elegant, and that he was at no loss for sublime diction, and logical combination, when he wanted to praise his Maker. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 156.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED ORDINARY APPEARANCES OF NATURE IN POETICAL DESCRIPTION. April 25, 1784. My dear William, — I wish I had both burning words and bright thoughts. But I have at present neither. My head is not itself. Having had an unpleasant night, and a melancholy day, and having already written a long letter, 1 do not find myself, in point of spirits, at all qualified either to burn or shine. The post sets out early on Tuesday. The morning is the only time of exercise with me. In order, therefore, to keep it open for that purpose, and to comply with your desire of an immediate answer, I give you as much as I can spare of the present evening. Since I despatched my last, Blair has crept a little farther into my favour. As his subjects improve, he improves with them ; but, upon the whole, I account him a dry writer; useful, no doubt, as an instructor, but as little entertaining as with so much knowledge it is possible to be. His language is (except Swift's) the least figurative I remember to have seen, and the few figures found in it, are not aways happily employed. I take him to be a critic very little animated by what he reads, who rather reasons about the beauties of an author, than really tastes them ; and who finds that a passage is praiseworthy, not because it charms him, but because it is accommodated to the laws of criticism in that case made and provided. I have a little complied with your desire of K 218 cowper's letters. marginal annotation-?, and should have dealt in them more largely, had I read the books to myself; but being reader to the ladies, I have not always time to settle my own opinion of a doubtful expression, mucli less to suggest an emendation. I have not censured a particular observation in the book, though, when I met with it, it displeased me. I this moment recollect it, and may as w ell, therefore, note it here. He is commending, and deservedly, that most noble description of a thunderstorm in the first Georgic, which ends with Ingeminant austri et densissimus imber. * Being in haste, I do not refer to the volume for his very words, but my memory will serve me with the matter. WTien poets describe, he says, they should always select such cir- cumstances of the subject as are least obvious, and therefore most striking. He therefore admires the effects of the timnderbolt splitting mountains, and filling a nation with astonishment, but quarrels with the closing member of the period, as containing particulars of a storm not worthy of Virgirs notice, because obvious to the notice of all. But here I differ from him ; not being able to conceive that wind and rain can be improper in the description of a tempest, or how wind and rain could possibly be more poetically described. Virgil is indeed remarkable for finishing his periods well, and never comes to a stop but w ith the most consummate dignity of numbers and expression ; and in the instance in question I think his skill in this respect is remarkably displayed. The line is perfectly majestic in its marcli. As to the wind, it is such only as the word ingeminant could describe, and the words densissimus imber give one an idea of a shower indeed, but of such a shower as is not very common, and such a one as only Virgil could have done justice to by a single epithet. Far, therefore, from agreeing with the Doctor in his stricture, I do not think the iEneid contains a nobler line, or a descrip- tion more magnificently finished. • We are glad tJiat Dr C has singled you out upon this occasion. Your performance, we doubt not, will justify his • Tlic winds redouble, with the densest riiiu. The rcniarkfi here are exeellent, hotli as respeets the partieular line and the generid chmaeter ol VirgiHan deseription. They are worthy of fhe same elosc ol)Bervcr of Nature, who, in the Task, has, by a single epithet, presented the sjime idea in one of the most faithful and pic- turesque of images, The slanting shower. COWPEIl's LETTERS. 219 choice: fear not — you have a heart that can feel upon charitable occasions, and therefore will not fail you upon this. The burning words will come fast enough, when the sensibi- lity is such as yours. — Yours, mv dear friend, W. C. 157. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT CRITICISM THE OFFSPRING OF WRITING, NOT WRITING PRODUCED BY CRITICISM. April 26, 1784. We are glad that your book runs. It will not, indeed, satisfy those whom nothing could satisfy but your accession to their party ; but the liberal will say you do well, and it is in the opinion of such men only that you can feel yourself interested. I have lately been employed in reading Beattie, and Blair's Lectures. The latter I have not yet finished. I find the former the most* agreeable of the two, indeed the most entertaining writer upon dry subjects that I ever met with. His imagination is highly poetical, his language easy and elegant, and his manner so familiar that we seem to be con- versing with an old friend, upon terms of the most sociable intercourse, while we read him. Blair is, on tlie contrary, rather stiff; not that his style is pedantic, but his air is formal. He is a sensible man, and understands his subjects, but too conscious that he is addressing the public, and too solicitous about his success, to indulge himself for a moment in tnat play of fancy which makes the other so agreeable. In Blair we find a scholar, in Beattie both a scholar and an amiable man ; indeed so amiable that I have wished for his acquain- tance ever since I read his book. Having never in my life perused a page of Aristotle, I am glad to have had an opportunity of learning more than, I suppose, he would have taught me, from the writings of two modern critics. I felt myself, too, a little disposed to compliment my own acumen upon the occasion. For though the art of writing and com- posing was never much my study, I did not find that they had any great news to tell me. They have assisted me in putting my observations into some method, but have not suggested many, of which I was not by some means or other * It ought to be more. It is rare to detect an error in Cowper's language ; and therefore the necessity of mar Icing the inaccuracy is the greater. 220 COWPER*S LETTERS. previously apprised. In fact, critics did not originally beget authors ; but authors made critics. Common sense dictated to WTiters the necessity of method, connection, and thoughts congruous to the nature of their subject ; genius prompted them with embellishments ; and then came the critics. Observing the good effects of an attention to these items, they enacted laws for the observance of them in time to come; and, having drawn their rules for good writing from what was actually well written, boasted themselves the inventors of an art which yet the authors of the day had already exemplified. They are, however, useful in their way, giving us at one view a map of the boundaries which propriety sets to fancy ; and serving as judges to whom the public may at once appeal, when pestered with the vagaries of those who have had the hardiness to transgress them. The candidates for this county have set an example of economy, which other candidates would do well to follow, having come to an agreement on both sides to defray the expenses of their voters, but to open no houses for the enter- tainment of the rabble ; a reform, however, which the rabble did not at all approve of, and testified their dislike of it by a riot. A stage was built, from whicii the orators had designed to harangue the electors. This became the first victim of their fury. Having very little curiosity to hear what gentle- men could say, who would give them nothing better than words, they broke it in pieces, and threw the fragments upon the hustings. The sheriff, the members, the lawyers, the voters, were instantly put to flight. They rallied, but were again routed by a second assault, like the former. They then proceeded to break the windows of the inn to which they had tied ; and a fear prevailing that at night they would fire the town, a proposal was made by the freeholders to face about and endeavour to secure them. At that instiint a rioter, dressed in a Merry Andrew's jacket, stepped forward, and challenged the best man among them. Olney sent the hero to the field, who made him repent of his presumption. Mr A was he. Seizing him by the throat, lie shook him — he threw him to the earth, he made the hollowness of his skull resound by the application of his fists, and dragged him into custody without the least damage to his person. Animated by this example, the other freeholders followed it : and in five minutes twenty-eight out of thirty ragaumffins were safely lodged in jail Adieu, my dear friend. We love you, and we yours, W. & M, COWPER*S LETTERS. 221 158. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. Immodesty and pernicious effects of painting the face. May 3, 1784. My dear Friend, — The subject efface painting may be considered, I think, in two points of view. First, there is room for dispute with respect to the consistency of the practice witli good morals ; and secondly, whether it be on the whole con- venient or not, may be a matter worthy of agitation. I set out with all the formality of logical disquisition, but do not promise to observe the same regularity any farther than it may comport with my purpose of writing as fast as I can. As to the immorality of the custom, were I in France, I should see none. On the contrary, it seems in th^t country to be a symptom of modest consciousness, and a tacit confes- sion of what all know to be true, that French faces have in fact neither red nor white of their own. This humble acknow- ledgment of a defect looks the more like a virtue, being found among a people not remarkable for humility. Again, before we can prove the practice to be immoral, we must prove immorality in the design of those who use it; either that they intend a deception, or to kindle unlawful desires in the beholders. But the French ladies, so far as their purpose comes in question, must be acquitted of both these charges. Nobody supposes their colour to be natural for a moment, any more than if it were blue or green ; and this unambiguous judgment of the matter is owing to two causes : first, to the universal knowledge we have, that French women are natu- rally brown or yellow, with very few exceptions ; and secondly, to the inartificial manner in which they paint : for they do not, as I am most satisfactorily informed, even attempt an imitation of Nature, but besmear themselves hastily, and at a venture, anxious only to lay on enough. Where, therefore, there is no wanton intention, nor a wish to deceive, I can discover no immorality. But in England, I am afraid, our painted ladies are not clearly entitled to the same apology. They even imitate Nature with such exactness, that the whole public is sometimes divided into parties, who litigate witii great warmth the question, whether painted or not ? This was remarkably the case with a Miss B , whom I well remember. Her roses and lilies were never discovered to l)e spurious, till she attained an age, that made the supposition of 222 COWPER*S LETTERS. their being natural impossible. This anxiety to be not merely red and white, wliich is all they aim at in France, but to be thought very beautiful, and much more beautiful than Nature has made them, is a symptom not very favourable to the idea we would wish to entertain of the chastity, purity, and modesty of our countrywomen. That they are guilty of a design to deceive, is certain. Otherwise, why so much art? and if to deceive, wherefore, and with what purpose? Cer- tainly, either to gratify vanity of the silliest kind, or, which is still more criminal, to decoy and inveigle, and carry on more successfully the business of temptation. Here, there- fore, my opinion splits itself into two opposite sides upon the same question. I can suppose a French woman, though j)ainted an inch deep, to be a virtuous, discreet, excel- lent character ; and in no instance should I think the worse of one because she was painted. But an English belle must pai'don me, if I have not the same charity for her. She is at least an impostor, whether she cheats me or not, because slie means to do so ; and it is well if that be all the censure slie deserves. This brings me to my second class of ideas upon this topic ; and here I feel that I should be fearfully puzzled, were I called upon to recommend the practice on the score of con- venience. If a husband choose that his wife should paint, })erhaps it might be her duty, as well as her interest, to com- ply. But I think he would not much consult his own, for reasons that will follow. In the first i)lace, she would admire Iierself the more ; and in the next, if she managed the matter well, she might be more admired by others, — an acquisition that might bring her virtue under trials, to which, otherwise, it might never have been exposed. In no other case, how- ever, can I imagine the practice in this country to be either expedient or convenient. As a general one, it certainly is .ot expedient, because, in general, English women have no occasion for it. A swarthy complexion is a rarity here ; and the sex, especially since inoculation has been so much in use, have very little cause to complain that Nature has not been kind to them in the article of complexion. They may hide and spoil a good one, but they cannot — at least they hardly can — give themselves a better. Bnt even if tiiey could, there is yet a tragedy in the sequel, which sliould make them tremble. I understand that in Franco, though the use of rouge be general, the use of .white paint is far from being so. In England, she that uses one commonly uses both. Now cowper's letters. 223 all white paints or lotions, or whatever they be called, are mercurial, consequently poisonous, consequently ruinous in time to the constitution. The Miss B above mentioned was a miserable witness of this truth, it being certain that her flesh fell from her bones before she died. Lady C was hardly a less melancholy proof of it ; and a London physician perhaps, were he at liberty to blab, could publish a bill of female mortality, of a length that would astonish us. For these reasons, I utterly condemn the practice, as it obtains in England : and for a reason superior to all these, I must disapprove it. I cannot indeed discover that Scripture forbids it in so many words. But that anxious solicitude about the person, which such an artifice evidently betrays, is, I am sure, contrary to the tenor and spirit of it throughout. Shew me a woman with a painted face, and I will shew you a woman whose heart is set on things of the earth, and not on things above. But this observation of mine applies to it only when it is an imitative art. For in the use of French women, I think it as innocent as in the use of the wild Indian, who draws a circle round her face, and makes two spots, perhaps blue, perhaps white, in the middle of it. Such are my thoughts upon the matter. Vive valeque. — Yours, mv dear friend, W. C. 159. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. DECLINES ATTEMPTING A SEQUEL TO JOHN GILPIN SCRUPLES ABOUT ADMIT- TING THE POEM ITSELF INTO A COLLECTED EDITION OF HIS WORKS. Ma7j 8, 1784. My dear Friend, — You do well to make your letters merry ones, though not very merry yourself, and that both for my sake and your own ; for your own sake, because it some- times happens, that by assuming an air of cheerfulness we become cheerful in reality ; and for mine, because I have always more need of a laugh than a cry, being somewhat disposed to melancholy by natural temperament, as well as by other causes. It was long since, and even in the infancy of John Gilpin, recommended to me by a lady now at Bristol, to write a sequel. But having always observed that authors, elated with the success of a first part, have fallen below themselves when they have attempted a second, I had more prudence than to take her counsel. I want you to read the history of that hero, 224 COWPLR^S LETTERS. published by Bladon, and to tell me what it is made of. But b(iy it not. For, puffed as it is in the papers, it can be but a bookseller's job, and must be dear at the price of two shillings. In the last packet but one that I received from Johnson, he asked me if I had any improvements of John Gilpin in hand, or if I designeIYTHOLOGY NOT BELIEVED BV THE HEATHENS THEMSELVES TAXE.S. July 5, 1784. My dear Friend, — A dearth of materials, a consciousness that my subjects are for the most part, and must be uninter- esting and unimportant, but above all, a poverty of animal spirits, that makes writing much a great fatigue to me, have occasioned my choice of smaller paper. Acquiesce in the justness of these reasons for the present, and if ever the times should mend with me, I sincerely promise to amend with them. Homer says on a certain occasion, that Jupiter, when he was wanted at home, was gone to partake of an entertainment provided for him by the iEthiopians. * If, by Jupiter we ' The passage referred to is thus translated by Cowper himself : For, to the banks of the Ocean us, WTiere ^Sithiopia holds a feast to Jove, He journey'd ye>ti.rday, with whom the gods Went also, and the twelfth day brings them home. Iliad, I. 515. Or, much better, by Pope, The sire of gods, and all th' ethenal train, On the warm limits of the farthest main, Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace The feast of Ethiopia's blameless ruce. Twelve days the noweis indulge the genial rite, Rtturning with the twelfth revolving light. Homer here alludes to the extent of those regions stretching both north and south of the Equator, peopled by the Ethiopian races; consequently. Oceanus, in the version, and the note which Cowper has affixed to the pa^^sage, explaining it to be the Nile, are wrong — See Hkaun's Ili&to- ncal Iie$earchc'S, vol. i. cowper's letters. 229 understand the weather, or the season, as the ancients fre- quently did, we may say, that our English Jupiter has been absent on account of some such invitation : during the whole month of June he left us to experience almost the rigours of winter. This fine day, however, affords ns some hope that the feast is ended, and that we shall enjoy his company without the interference of his ^Ethiopian friends again. Is it possible that the wise men of antiquity could entertain a real reverence for the fabulous rubbish, which they dignified with the name of religion ? We, who have been favoured from our infancy with so clear a light, are perhaps hardly competent to decide the question, and may strive in vain to imagine the absurdities that even a good understanding may receive as truths, when totally unaided by revelation. It seems, however, that men, whose conceptions upon other subjects were often sublime, whose reasoning powers were undoubtedly equal to our own, and whose management in matters of jurisprudence that required a very industrious examination of evidence, was as acute and subtle as that of a modern attorney-general, could not be the dupes of such imposture as a child among us would detect and laugh at. Juvenal, I remember, introduces one of his Satires with an observation, that there were some in his day who had the nardiness to laugh at the stories of Tartarus, and Styx, and Charon, and of the frogs that croak upon the banks of Lethe, giving his reader at the same time cause to suspect that he was himself one of that profane number. Horace, on the other hand, declares in sober sadness, that he would not for all the world get into a boat with a man who had divulged the Eleusinian mysteries. Yet we know that those mysteries, whatever they might be, were altogether as unworthy to be esteemed divine as the mythology of the vulgar. How then must we determine ? If Horace were a good and orthodox heathen, how came Juvenal to be such an ungracious liber- tine in principle, as to ridicule the doctrines which the other held as sacred? Their opportunities of information, and their mental advantages, were equal. I feel myself rather inclined to believe, that Juvenal's avowed infidelity was sincere, and that Horace was no better than a canting hypocritical professor. You must grant me a dispensation for saying any thing, whether it be sense or nonsense, upon the subject of politics. It is truly a matter in which I am so little interested, that were if not that it sometimes serves me for a theme when 1 230 COWPER*S LETTERS. can find no otlier, I sliould never mention it. I would forfeit a large sum if, advertising a month in the Gazette, the minister of the day, whoever he may be, could discover a man that cares about him or his measures so little as I do. When I say that I would forfeit a large sum, I mean to have it understood, that I would forfeit such a sum, if I had it. If Mr Pitt be indeed a virtuous man, as such I respect him. But at the best, I fear that he will have to say at last with iEneas, Si Porgania dcxtra Defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent.* Be he what he may, I do ntDt like his taxes. At least, I am much disposed to quarrel with some of them. The additional duty upon candles, by which the poor will be much affected, Imrts me most. He says, indeed, that they will but little feel it, because even now they can hardly afford the use of them. He had certainly put no compassion into his budget, when he produced from it this tax, and such an argument to support it. Justly translated, it seems to amount to this, — " Make the necessaries of life too expensive for the poor to reach them, and you will save their money. If they buy but few candles, they will paj'^ but little tax, and if they buy none, the tax, as to them, will be annihilated." True. But, in the meantime, they will break their shins against their furniture, if they have any, and will be but little the richer, when the hours, in which they might work if they could see, shall be deducted. I have bought a great dictionary, and want nothing but Latin authors to furnish me with the use of it. Had I pur- chased them first, I had begun at the right end ; but I could not afford it. I beseech you admire my prudence. Vivite, valete, et meraentote nostrum. Yours affectionately, W C. * If >y a mo:lai ha in niy fathei's thror.o Could be defended —'twas bv mine alone. Du YDEN. JEneid. II. 3as. COWPER^S LETTERS. 231 164. --TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. . VINCENT bourne's LATIN POEMS — HUME's ESSAY ON SUICIDE. July 12, 1784. My dear WillxAM, — 1 think with you that Vinny's line is not pure. If he knew any authority that would have justified his substitution of a pai'ticiple for a substantive, he would have done well to have noted it in the margin. But I am much inclined to think that he did not. Poets are some- times exposed to difficulties insurmountable by lawful means, whence I imagine was originally derived that indulgence that allows them the use of what is called the poelica licenlia. But that liberty, I believe, contents itself with the abbreviation or protraction of a word, or an alteration in the quantity of a syllable, and never presumes to trespass upon grammatical propriety. I have dared to attempt to correct my master, but am not bold enough to say that I have succeeded. Neither am I sure that my memory serves me correctly with the line that follows ; but when I recollect the English, am persuaded that it cannot differ much from the true one. This, therefore, is my edition of the passage, — Basia amatori tot turn permissa beato. Or, Basia qiue juveiii indulsit Susanna beato Navarcha optaret maximus esse sua. The preceding lines I have utterly forgotten, and am con- sequently at a loss to know whether the distich, thus managed, will connect itself with them easily, and as it ought. We thank you for the drawing of your house. I never knew my idea of what I had never seen resemble the original so much. At some time or other, you have doubtless given me an exact account of it, and I have retained the faithful impres- sion made by your description. It is a comfortable abode, and the time I hope will come when I shall enjoy more than the mere representation of it. I have not yet read the last Review, but dipping into it I accidentally fell upon their account of Hume's Essay on Suicide.* I am glad that they have liberality enough to condemn the licentiousness of an author whom they so much * See Life for an incident connected with this Essay. 232 COWI'EU'S LETTERS. adnuro. I say liberality, for there is as miicli bigotry in fho world to that man's errors as there is in the hearts of some sectaries to their peculiar modes and tenets. He is tlie Pope of thousands, as blind and presumptuous ;is himself. God certainly infatuates those who will not see. It were otherwise impossible, that a man, naturally shrewd and sensible, and whose understanding has had all the advantages of constant exercise and cultivation, could have satisfied himself, or have hoped to satisfy others, with such palpable sophistry as has not even the grace of fallacy to recommend it. His silly assertion that because it would be no sin to divert the course of the Danube, therefore it is none to let out a few ounces of blood from an artery, would justify not suicide only, but homicide also. For the lives of ten thousand men are of less consequence to their country, than the course of that river to the regions through which it flows. Population would soon make society amends for the loss of her ten thousand members, but the loss of the Danube would be felt by all the millions that dwell upon its banks, to all generations. But the life of a man and the water of a river can never come into competi- tion with each other in point of value, unless in the estimation of an unprincipled philosopher. I thank you for your offer of the classics. When I want I will borrow. Horace is my own. Homer, with a clavis, I have had possession of some years. They are the property of Mr Jones. A Virgil, the property of Mr S , I have had as long. I am nobody in the affair of tenses, unless when you are present. — Yours ever, W. C. 165. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. A VISIT TO HKDLAM. July 19, 1784. In those days when Bedlam was open to the cruel curiosity of holyday ramblers, I have been a visitor there. Though a l)oy, I was not altogether insensible of the misery of the poor captives, nor destitute of feeling for them. But the madness of some of them had such a humorous air, and displayed itself in so many whimsical freaks, that it was impossible not to be entertained, at the same; time that I was angry with myself for being so. A line of Bourne's is very expressive of the spectacle which this world exhibits, tragi-coniical ju< cowper's letters. 233 the incidents of it are, absurd in themselves, but terrible in their consequences : Sunt res humanae flebile ludibrium. An instance of this deplorable merriment has occurred, in the course of last week, at Olney. A feast gave the occasion to a catastrophe truly shocking. — Yours, my dear friend, W. C. 166. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR LYJUNGTON — GILPIN's LIVES OF THE REFORMERS— friendship in age. Jm/^ 28, 1734. My dear Friend, — I may perhaps be short, but am not willing that you should go to Lyraington without first having had a line from me. I know that place well, having spent six weeks there, above twenty years ago. The town is neat, and the country delightful. You walk well, and will consequently find a part of the coast, called Hall Cliff, within the reach of your ten toes. It was a favourite walk of mine ; to the best of my remembrance, about three miles distant from Lymington. There you may stand upon the beach, and contemplate the Needle Rock. At least, you might have done so twenty years ago. But since that time I think it is fallen from its base, and is drowned, and is no longer a visible object of contemplation. I wish you may pass your time there happily, as in all probability you will, perhaps usefully too to others, undoubtedly so to yourself. The manner in which you have been previously made acquainted with Mr Gilpin, * gives a providential air to your * The Reverend William Gilpin, prebendary of Salisbury, and rector oi Boldre, in New Forest, wrote Lives of Bernard Gilpin, the reformer of the sixteenth century, and of WicklifFe. As the biographer of these Christian reformers, he is tainted with the errors of Episcopalian and CathoUc \\Titers on the same subject ; for both churches agree in similar prejudices against a popular form of ecclesiastical government, which rejects an hierarchy of unequal rank, with unscriptural privileges and worldly distinctions. Hence the strictures in the text. But as a writer on taste and the fine arts, Mr Gilpin is justly entitled to the high esti- mation he now enjoys. Though some inaccuracies may, perhaps, be detected in his theory, there can be but one opinion as to the exceeding beauty of his practical observations on Nature. His best work, Remarks on Forest Scenery, has lately been edited, with extensive and exquisitely descriptive additions, by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder. The two vohimei '234 cowper's letters. journey, and affords reason to hope that you may be charged with a message to him. I admire him as a biographer. But as Mrs Unwin and I were talking of him last night, we could not but wonder that a man should see so much excellence in the lives, and so much glory and beauty in the deaths, of the martyrs whom he has recorded, and at the same time disap- prove the principles that produced the very conduct he admired. It seems, however, a step towards the truth, to applaud the fruits of it ; and one cannot help thinking that one step more would put him in possession of the truth itself. By your means may he be enabled to take it ! We are obliged to you for the preference you would have given to Olney, had not Providence determined your course another way. But as, when we saw you last summer, you gave us no reason to expect you this, we are the less disap- pointed. At your age and mine, biennial visits have such a gap between them, that we cannot promise ourselves upon those terms very numerous future interviews. But whether ours are to be many or few, you will always be welcome to me, for the sake of the comfortable days that ai'e past. In my present state of mind, my friendship for you indeed is as warm as ever. But I feel myself very indifferently qualified to be your companion. Other days than these inglorious and unprofitable ones are promised me, and when I see tliem, I shall rejoice. I saw the advertisement of your adversary's book. He is happy at least in this, that, whether he have brains or none, he strikes without the danger of being stricken again. He could not wish to engage in a controversy upon easier terms. The other, whose publication is postponed till Christmas, is resolved I suppose to do something. But do what he will, he cannot prove that you have not been aspersed, or that you have not refuted the charge ; which unless he can do, I think he will do little to the purpose. Mrs Unwin thinks of you, and always with a grateful recollection of your's and Mrs Newton's kindness. She has had a nervous fever lately. But I hope she is better. The weather forbids walking, a prohibition hurtful to us both. We heartily wish you a good journey, and are affectionately yours, W. C. & M. U. in which this edition ie comprised, are adapted alike to be a manual to the artist and the man of general taste, to the practical arboriculHirist and the landed proprietor. cowper's letters. £35 167.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UxNWIN. CONGRATULATIONS ON HIS RETURN FROM A JOUIINEY RECREA'lIONS AT OLNEr — HEADING NATIVES OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. August 14, 1784. My dear Friend, — I give you joy of a journey per- formed without trouble or danger. You have travelled five hundred miles without having encountered either. Some neighbours of ours, about a fortnight since, made an excursion only to a neighbouring village, and brought home with them fractured skulls and broken limbs, and one of them is dead. For my own part, I seem pretty much exempted from the dangers of the road. Thanks to that tender interest and concern which the legislature takes in my security ! Having no doubt their fears, lest so precious a life should determine too soon, and by some untimely stroke of misadventure, they have made wheels and horses so expensive, that I am not likely to owe my death to either. Your mother and I continue to visit Weston daily, and find in those agreeable bowers such amusement as leaves us but little room to regret that we can go no farther. Having touched that theme, I cannot abstain from the pleasure of telling you that our neighbours in that place, being about to leave it for some time, and meeting us there but a few evenings before their departure, entreated us during their absence to consider the garden, and all its contents, as our own, and to gather whatever we liked, without the least scruple. We accordingly picked strawberries as often as we went, and brought home as many bundles of honeysuckles as served to perfume our dwelling till they returned. Once more, by the aid of Lord Dartmouth, I find myself a voyager in the Pacific Ocean. In our last night's lecture we made our acquaintance with the island of Hapaee, where we had never been before. The French and Italians, it seems, have but little cause to plume themselves on account of their achievements in the dancing way ; and we may hereafter, without much repining at it, acknowledge their superiority in that art. They are equalled, perhaps excelled, by savages. How wonderful, that without any intercourse with a politer world, and having made no proficiency in any other accom- plishment, they should in this however have made themselves such adepts, that for regularity and grace of motion they might 236 cowper's llttehs. even be our masters. How Monderful, too, that with a tub and a stick they should be able to produce such harmony, as persons accustomed to the sweetest music cannot but hear with plea^iure. Is it not very difficult to account for the striking difference of character that obtains among the inlia- bitants of these islands ? Many of them are near neighbours to each other ; their opportunities of improvement much the same ; yet some of them are in a degree polite, discover symptoms of taste, and have a sense of elegance ; while others are as rude as we naturally expect to find a people who have never had any communication with the northern hemisphere. These volumes furnish much matter of philosophical specula- tion, and often entertain me even while I am not employed in reading them. I am sorry you have not been able to ascertain the doubtful intelligence I have received on the subject of cork skirts and bosoms. I am now every day occupied in giving all the grace I can to my new production, and in transcribing it. I shall soon arrive at the passage that censures that folly, which I shall be loth to expunge, but which I must not spare, unless the criminals can be convicted. The world, however, is not so unproductive of subjects of censure, but that it may probably supply me with some other that may serve me as well. If you know any body that is writing, or intends to write, an epic poem on the new regulation o^ franks, you may give him my compliments, and these two lines for a beginning — Heu quot amatores nunc torquet epistola rara! Vectigal certum, perituraque gratia Feanki ! Yours faithfully, W. C. 168. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. HIS AMUSEMKNTS CAPTAIN COOK's LAST VOTACE nANClNi: SAVAGKs. August 1(), 1784. Mv DEAR Friend, — Had you not expressed a desire to hear from me before you take leave of Lymington, I certainly should not have answered you so soon. Knowing the place, and the amusements it affords, I should have had more modesty than to suppose myself capable of adding any thing to your present entertainments worthy to rank with them. I am not, however, totally destitute of such pleasures as an inland country may pretend to. If my windows do not command a COWTER's LETTEllS. 237 view of the ocean, at least they look out upon a profusion of mignonette ; which, if it be not so grand an object, is however quite as fragrant ; and if I have not a hermit in a grotto, I have nevertheless myself in a green-house, a less venerable figure perhaps, but not at all less animated than he ; nor are we in this nook altogether unfurnished with such means of philosophical experiment and speculation as at present the world rings with. On Thursday morning last, we sent up a balloon from Emberton Meadow. Thrice it rose, and as oft descended, and in the evening it performed another flight at Ne\vport, where it went up, and came down no more. Like the arrow discharged at the pigeon in the Trojan games, it kindled in the air, and was consumed in a moment. I have not heard what interpretation the soothsayers have given to the omen, but shall wonder a little if the Newton shepherd prognosticate any thing less from it than the most bloody war that was ever waged in Europe. I am reading Cook's last voyage, and am much pleased and amused with it. It seems that in some of the Friendly Isles, they excel so much in dancing, and perform that operation with such exquisite delicacy and grace, that they are not sur- passed even upon our European stages. Oh ! that Vestris had been in the ship, that he might have seen himself outdone by a savage. The paper indeed tells us that the Queen or France has clapped this king of capers up in prison, for declining to dance before her, on a pretence of sickness, when in fact he was in perfect health. If this be true, perhaps he may by this time be prepared to second such a wish as mine, and to think that the durance he suffers would be well exchanged for a dance at Annamooka. I should, however, as little have expected to hear that these islanders had such consummate skill in an art that requires so much taste in the conduct of the person, as that they were good mathematicians and astrono- mers. Defective as they are in every branch of knowledge, and in every other species of refinement, it seems wonderful that they should arrive at such perfection in the dance, which some of our English gentlemen, with all the assistance of French instruction, find it impossible to learn. We must conclude, therefore, that particular nations have a genius for particular feats, and that our neighboiu-s in France, and our friends in the South Sea, have minds very nearly akin, though they inhabit countries so very remote from each other. Mrs Unwin remembers to have been in company with Mr ^•38 COWPEU'S LETTEUS. Gilpin at her brothci-'s. She thought him very sensible and polite, and consequently very agreeable. We are truly glad that Mrs Newton and yourself are so well, and that there is reason to hope that Eliza is better. You will learn from this letter that we are so, and that for my own part I am not quite so low in spirits as at some times. Learn too, what you knew before, that we love you all, and that I am your affectionate friend, W. C. 1G9. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UN WIN. WITH THE 5IANUSCRIPT OF THE TASK — HIS MOTIVES IN WRITING THAT K»EM. Olney, September 11, 1784. My dear Friend, — You have my thanks for the inquiries you have made. Despairing, however, of meeting with such confirmation of that new mode as would warrant a general stricture, I had, before the receipt of your last, discarded the passage in which I had censured it.* I am proceeding in my transcript with all possible despatch, having nearly finished the fourth book, and hoping, by the end of the month, to hiwo completed the work. When finished, tliat no time may be lost, I purpose taking the first opportunity to transmit it to Leman Street ; but must beg that you will give me in your next an exact direction, that it may proceed to the mark without any hazard of a miscarriage. A second transcript 0£ it would be a labour I should very reluctantly undertake ; for though I have kept copies of all the material alterations, there are many minutiae of which I have made none : it is besides slavish work, and of all occupations that which I dis- like the most. I know that you will lose no time in reading it, but I must beg you likewise to lose none in conveying it to Johnson, that if he chooses to print it, it may go to the press immediately ; if not, that it may be offered directly to yom* friend Longman, or any other. Not that I doubt Johnson's acceptance of it, for he will find it more adcaptum populi than the former. I have not numbered the lines, except of the four first books, which amount to three thousand two hundred and seventy-six. I imagine therefore that the whole contains about five thousand. I mention this circumstance • A [jassage censuring cork bosoms. Sec Letter 167. The remlcr will not regret the omission. COWPEU'S LETTERS. 239 now, because it may save him some trouble in casting the size of the book, and I might possibly forget it in another letter. About a fortnight since, Ave had a visit from Mr , whom I had not seen for many years. He introduced himself to us very politelj'', with many thanks on his own part, and on the part of his family, for the amusement which my book had afforded them. He said he was sure that it nmst make its way, and hoped that I had not laid down the pen. I only told him in general terms, that the use of the pen was neces- sary to my well being, but gave him no hint of this last production. He said that one passage in particular had absolutely electrified him, meaning the description of the Briton in Table Talk. He seemed, indeed, to emit some sparks when he mentioned it. I was glad to have that picture noticed by a man of a cultivated mind, because I had always thought well of it myself, and had never heard it distinguished before. Assure yourself, my William, that though I would not write thus freely on the subject of me or mine to any but yourself, the pleasure I have in doing it is a most inno- cent one, and partakes not in the least degree, so far as my conscience is to be credited, of that vanity with which authors are in general so justly chargeable. Whatever I do, I confess that I most sincerely wish to do it well, and when I have reason to hope that I have succeeded, am pleased indeed, but not proud ; for He, who has placed every thing out of the reach of man, except what he freely gives him, has made it impossible for a reflecting mind, that knows this, to indulge so silly a passion for a moment. — Yours, W. C. 170.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. DR cotton's poetry AND CHARACTER. September 11, 1784. My dear Friend, — I have never seen Dr Cotton's book, concerning which your sisters question me, nor did I know, till you mentioned it, that he had written any thing newer than his Visions. I have no doubt that it is so far worthy of him, as to be pious and sensible, and I believe no man living is better qualified to write on such subjects as his title seems to announce. Some years have passed since I heard from him, and considering his great age, it is probable that I shall hear from him no more ; but I shall always respect him. He 2-10 COWPER's LF.TTEnS. is truly a philosopher, according to my judgment of the cha^ ractcr, every tittle of his knowledge in natural subjects being connected in his mind with the firm belief of an Omnipotent agent. — Yours, &c. W. C. 171. —TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. MIS OARUEN CHARMS OF THE SOUNDS AND SIGHTS OF NATIKE — COOONESS OF GOD IN THIS RESPECT. SepttmbcT 18, 1784. My dear Friend, — Following your good example, I lay ))eforc me a sheet of my largest paper. It was this moment fair and unblemished, but I have begun to blot it, and having begun, am not likely to cease till I have spoiled it. I have sent you many a sheet that, in my judgment of it, ha.s been very imworthy of your acceptance, but my conscience was in some measure satisfied by reflecting, that if it were good for nothing, at the same time it cost you nothing, except tlie trouble of reading it. But the case is altered now. You must pay a solid price for frothy matter, and though I do not absolutely pick your pocket, yet you lose your money, and, its the saying is, are never the wiser. My green-house is never so pleasant as when we are just upon the point of being turned out of it. The gentleness of the autumnal suns, and the calmness of this latter season, make it a much more agreeable retreat than we ever find it in the summer ; when, the winds being generally brisk, we can- not cool it by admitting a suflftcient quantity of air, without being at the same time incommoded by it. But now I sit with all the windows and the door wide open, and am regaled with the scent of every flower, in a garden as full of flowers as I have known how to make it. We keep no bees, but if I lived in a hive, I should hardly hear more of their music. All the bees in the neighbourhood resort to a bed of mignonette opposite to the window, and pay me for the honey they get out of it by a hum, which, though rather inonotonous, is as agreeable to my ear as the whistling of my linnets. All the sounds that Nature utters are deliglitful, at least in this country. I should not perhaps find the roaring of lions in Africa or of bears in Russia very pleasing ; but I know no beast in England, whose voice I do not account nmsical, save and except always the braying of an ass. The notes of all our birds and fowls please me, without one COWPER*S LETTERS. 241 exception. I should not, indeed, think of keeping a goose in a cage, that I might hang him up in the parlour for the sake of his melody, but a goose upon a common, or in a farm yard, is no bad performer. And as to insects, if the black beetle, and beetles, indeed, of all hues, will keep out of my way, I have no objection to any of the rest ; on the contrapy, in whatever key they sing, from the gnat's fine treble to the bass of the humble bee, I admire them all. Seriously, how- ever, it strikes me as a very observable instance of providen- tial kindness to man, that such an exact accord has been contrived between his ear, and the sounds with which, at least in a rural situation, it is almost every moment visited. All the world is sensible of the uncomfortable effect that certain sounds have upon the nerves, and consequently upon the spirits : and if a sinful world had been filled with such as would have curdled the blood, and have made the sense of hearing a perpetual inconvenience, I do not know that we should have had a right to complain. But now the fields, the woods, the gardens, have each their concert, and the ear of man is for ever regaled by creatures who seem only to please themselves. Even the ears that are deaf to the Gospel are continually entertained, though, without knowing it, by sounds for which they are solely indebted to its Author. There is somewhere in infinite space a world that does not roll within the precincts of mercy, and as it is reasonable, and even scriptural, to suppose that there is music in heaven, in those dismal regions perhaps the reverse of it is found ; tones so dismal, as to make wo itself more insupportable, and to acuminate even despair. But my paper admonishes me in good time to draw the reins, and to check the descent of my fancy into deeps, with which she is but too familiar. Our best love attends you both. — YourSt W. C, 172. --,10 THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. THE TASK — PAUSES IN BLANK VERSE — THE THROCKMORTONS, October 2, 1781. My dear William, — A poet can but ill spare time for prose. The truth is, I am in haste to finish my trai^script, that you may receive it time enough to give it a leisurely reading before you go to town ; which, whether I shall be able to accomplish, is at present uncertain. I have the whole punctuation to settle, which in blank verse is of the last 2^2 COTVPEIl's rrTTERS. importance, and of a species peculiar to that composition ; for I know no use of points, unless to direct the voice, the management of which, in the reading of blank verse, bvjing more difficult than in the reading of any other poetry, requires perpetual hints and notices to regulate the inflections, cadences, and pauses. This, however, is an affair, that in spite of gram- marians must be lefl pretty much ad libitum scriptoris. For I suppose every author points according to his own reading. If I can send the parcel to the wagon by one o'clock next Wednesday, you will have it on Saturday the ninth. But this is more than I expect. Perhaps I shall not be able to despatch it till the eleventh, in which case it will not reach you till the thirteenth. I rather think that the latter of these two periods will obtain, because, besides the punctuation, I have the argument of each book to transcribe. Add to this, that in writing for the printer, I am forced to write my best, which makes slow work. The motto of the whole is. Fit surculus arbor* If you can put the author's name under it, do so — if not, it must go without one. For I know not to whom to ascribe it. It was a motto taken by a certain prince of Orange, in the year 1733, but not to a poem of his own writing, or indeed to any poem at all, but, as I think, to a medal. Mr is a Cornish member ; but for what place in Cornwall I know not. All I know of him is, that I saw him once clap his two hands upon a rail, meaning to leap over it; but he did not tliink the attempt a safe one, and therefore took them off again. He was in company with Mr Throck- morton. With that gentleman we drank chocolate, since I wrote last. The occasion of our visit was, as usual, a balloon. Your mother invited her, and I him, and they promised to return the visit, but have not yet performed. Tout le monde se trouvoit Id, f as you may suppose, among the rest, Mrs W She was driven to the door by her son, a boy of seventeen, in a phaeton, drawn by four horses from Lilliput. This is an ambiguous expression ; and sliould what 1 write now be legible a thousand years hence, might j>uzzle com- mentators. Be it known., therefore, to the Aldusses and the Stevenses of ages yet to come, that I do not mean to atiirm that Mrs W herself canie from Lilliput that morning, or indeed that she ever was there, but merely to describe the horses as being so diminutive, that they might be, with propriety, said to be Lilliputian. • A twig is become a tree. t All the world was there cowper's letters. 243 The privilege of franking having been so cropped, I know not in what manner I and my bookseller are to settle tlie conveyance of proof sheets hither, and back again. They must travel, I imagine, by coach, a lai'ge quantity of them at a time ; for, like other authors, I find myself under a poetical necessity of being frugal. We love you all, jointly and separately, as usual. W. C. I have not seen, nor shall see, the Dissenter's answer to Mr Newton, unless you can furnish me with it. 173.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. UNCONNECTED THOUGHTS REKLECTIONS ON THE KEATH OF CAITAIN COOK. October 9, 1784. My dear Friend, — The pains you have taken to disen- gage our correspondence from the expense with which it was threatened, convincing me that my letters, trivial as they are, are yet acceptable to you, encourage me to observe my usual punctuality. You complain of unconnected thoughts. I believe there is not a head in the M-orld but might utter the same complaint, and that all would do so, were they all as attentive to their own vagaries, and as honest as yours. The description of your meditations at least suits mine ; perhaps I can go a step beyond you, upon the same ground, and assert with the strictest truth that I not only do not think with connection, but that I frequently do not think at all. I am much mistaken if I do not often catch myself napping in this way ; for when I ask myself what was the last idea, (as the ushers at Westminster ask an idle boy what \vas the last word,) I am not able to answer, but, like the boy in question, am oljliged to stare and say nothing. This may be a very unphilosophical account of myself, and may clash very much wiiii the general opinion of the learned, that the soul being an active principle, and her activity consisting in thought, she mus<; consequently always think. But pardon me, messieurs les philosophes, there ai'e moments when, if I think at all, I am utterly unconscious of doing so, and the thought, and the consciousness of it, seem to me at least, wlio am no philosopher, to be inseparable from each other. Perhaps, however, we may both be right ; and if you will grant me that I do not always think, I will in return concede to yon 244 cowper's t.f.ttkrs. the activity you contend for, and will qualify tUe difference between us by supposing that though the soul be in herself an active principle, the influence of her present union with a principle that is not such, makes her often dormant, suspends her operations, and affects her with a sort of deliquium, in which she sutlers a temporary loss of all her functions. I have related to you my experience truly, and without disguise ; you must therefore either admit my assertion, that the soul does not necessarily always act, or deny that mine is a human soul : a negative, that 1 am sure you will not easily prove. So much for a dispute which I little thought of being engaged in to-da3^ Last night I had a letter from Lord Dartmouth. It was to apprise me of the safe arrival of Cook's last voyage, which he was so kind as to lend mc, in Saint James's square. The reading of those volumes afforded me much amusement, and I hope some instruction. No observation, however, forced itself upon me with more violence than one that I could not help making on the death of Captain Cook. God is a jealous God, and at Owhyhee the poor man was content to be wor- shipped. From that moment, the remarkable interposition of Providence in his favour was converted into an opposition that thwarted all his purposes. He left the scene of his deification, but was driven back to it by a most violent storm, in which he suffered more than in any that had preceded it. When he departed, he left his worshippers still infatuated with an idea of his godship, consequently well disposed to serve him. At his return, he found them sullen, distrustful, and mysterious. A trifling theft was committed, which, by a blunder of his own in pursuing the thief after the property had been restored, was magnified to an affair of the last importance. One of their favourite chiefs was killed, too, by a blunder. Nothing, in short, but blunder and mistake attended him, till he fell breathless into the water, and then all was smooth again. The world, indeed, will not take notice, or see, that the dispensation bore evident marks of divine displeasure ; but a mind, I think, in any degree spiritual cannot overlook them. We know from truth itself, tliat the death of Herod was for a similar ott'ence. But Herod was in no sense a believer in God, nor had enjoyed half the opportunities with which our poor countryman had been favoured. It may be urg(>d, j)erhaps, that lie was in jest, that he meant nothing l)ut his own anmsement, and that »*f his companions. I dyul)t it. He knows little of the COW)>EFl's LETTERS. 245 heart, who does not know that, even in a sensible man, it is flattered by every species of exaltation. But be it S9, that he was in sport — it was not humane, to say no worse of it, to sport with the ignorance of his friends, to mock their simplicity, to humour and acquiesce in their blind credulity. Besides, though a stock or stone may be worshipped blame- less, a baptised man may not. He knows what he does, and by suffering such honours to be paid him, incurs the guilt ot sacrilege.* . We are glad that your are so happy in your church, in your society, and in all your connections. I have not left myself room to say anything of the love we feel for you — Yours, my dear friend, s W. C. 174. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. SUBJECT OF THE TASK — ITS RELIGIOUS VIEWS — ORIGINALITY OF ITS DESCKIFTIONS PLAN. October 10, 1784. My dear William, — I send you four quires of verse; which, having sent, I shall dismiss from my thoughts, and think no more of, till I see them in print. I have not, after all, found time or industry enough, to give the last hand to points. I believe, however, they ai'e not very erroneous, though in so long a Avork, and in a work that requires nicety in this particular, some inaccuracies will escape. Where you find any, you will oblige me by correcting them; In some passages, especially in the second book, you will observe me very satirical. Writing on such subjects, I could not be otherwise. I can write nothing without aiming, at least, at usefulness. It were beneath my years to do it, and still more dishonourable to my religion. I know that a reformation of such abuses as I have censured is not to be expected from the efforts of a poet ; but to contemplate the * Having enjoyed, in the year 1772, the pleasure of conversing \vith this illustrious seaman, on board his own ship, the Resolution, I cannot pass the present letter without observing, tha^t I am persuaded my friend Cowper utterly misapprehended the be.'.aviour of Captain Cook, in the affair alluded to. From the little personal aquaintance which I had myself wth this humane and truly Christian navigator, and from the whole tenor of his life, I cannot believe it possible for him to liave acted, under any circumstances, with such impious arrogance a- might appear offensive in the eyes of the Almighty Hayley. 246 cowper's letters. world, its follies, its vices, its indifference to duty, and ilM strenuous attachment to what is evil, and not to reprehend, v,cre to approve it. From tiiis cliarge, at least, I shall be clear, for I have neither tacitly nor expressly flattered either its character or its customs. I have paid one, and only one compliment, whidi was so justly due, that I did not know how to withhold it, especially having so fair an occasion, (1 forget myself, there is another in the first book to Mr Throck- morton ;) but the compliment I mean is to Mr .* It is, however, so managed, that nobody but himself can make the application, and you, to whom I disclose the secret ; a delicacy on my part, which so much delicacy on his obliged me to the ol>servance of! What there is of a religious cast in the volume I have thrown towards the end of it, for two reasons — first, that I might not revolt the reader at his entrance — and secondly, that my best impressions might be made last. Were I to ^mte as many volumes as Lopez de Vega or Voltaire, not one of them would be without this tincture. If the world like it not, so much the worse for them. I make all the concessions I can, that I may please them, but I will not please them at the expense of my conscience. My descriptions are all from Nature, — not one of them second handed. My delineations of the heart ai*e from my own experience, — not one of them borrowed from lx)oks, op in the least degree conjectural. In my numbers, which I have varied as much as I could — for blank verse without variety of numbers, is no better than bladder and string — I have imitated nobody, though sometimes, perhaps, there may be an apparent resemblance ; because, at the same time that I would not imitate, I have not affectedly differed. If the work cannot boast a regular plan, (in which respect, however, I do not think it altogether indefensible,) it may yet boast, that the reflections are naturally suggested always by the preceding passage, and that except the fifth book, wliich is rather of a political aspect, the whole has one ten- dency, — to discountenance the modern enthusiasm after a London life, and to recommend rural ea?e and leisure, ns friendly to the cause of piety and virtue. If it pleases you I shall ))c hapijy, and collect from your })leasure in it, an omen of its general accept^incc. — Yours, juy dear friend, W. C. • Mr Thornton, the secret benefactor of the poor of Ohicy. See Lifo cowper's letters. 247 175. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. TIROCINIUM — OFFER OF THE DEDICATION TO MR UNWIN — INDEPENDENCE AS TO PUBLISHING CORRECTIONS. October 20, 1784. My dear William, — Your letter has relieved me from some anxiety, and given me a good deal of positive pleasure. I have faith in your judgment, and an implicit confidence in the sincerity of your approbation. The writing of so long a poem is a serious business ; and the author must know little of his own heart, who does not in some degree suspect himself of partiality to his own production ; and who is he that would not be mortified by the discovery, that he had written five thousand lines in vain ? The poem, however, which you have in hand will not of itself make a volume so large as the last, or as a bookseller would wish. I say this, because when I had sent Johnson five thousand verses, he applied for a thousand more. Two years since, I began a piece which grew to the length of two hundred, and there stopped. I have lately resumed it, and, I believe, shall finish it. But the subject is fruitful, and will not be comprised in a smaller compass than seven or eight hundred verses. It turns on the question, whether an education at sqjiool or at home be preferable, and I shall give the preference to the latter. I mean that it shall pursue the track of the former, — that is to say, that it shall visit Stock in its way to publication. My design also is to inscribe it to you. But you must see it first ; and if, after having seen it, you should have any objection, though it should be no bigger than the tittle of an «, I will deny myself that pleasure, and find no fault with your refusal. I have not been without thoughts of adding John Gilpin at the tail of all. He has made a good deal of noise in the world, and perhaps it may not be amiss to shew, that tliough I write generally with a serious intention, I know how to be occa- sionally merry. The Critical Reviewers charged me with an attempt at humour. John having been more celebrated upon the score of humour than most pieces that have appeared in modern days, may serve to exonerate me from the imputation : but in this article I am entirely under your judgment, and mean to be set down by it. All these together will make an octavo like the last. I should have told you, that the piece which now employs me is in rh^ane. 1 do not intend to 248 cowpeh's letters. write any more blank. It is more difficult tlian rhyme, and not so amusing in the composition, if, when you make the offer of my book to Johnson, he should stroke his chin, and look up to the ceiling and cry — " Humph !" — anticipate him, I beseech you, at once, by saying — "that you know I should be sorry tliat he should undertake for me to his own disadvan- tage, or that my volume should be in any degree pressed upon him. I make him the offer merely because I think he would have reason to complain of me, if I did not." But that punc- tilio once satisfied, it is a matter of indifi'erence to me what publisher sends me forth. If Longman should have difl[icidties, which is the more probable, as I understand from you that he does not in these cases see with his own eyes, but will consult a brother poet, take no pains to conquer them. The idea of being hawked about, and especially of your being the hawker, is insupportable. Nichols, I have heard, is the most learned printer of the present day. He may be a man of taste as well as learning ; and I suppose that you would not want a gentleman usher to introduce j'^ou. He prints the Gentlemaji*s Magazine^ and may serve us, if the others should decline ; if not, give yourself no farther trouble about the matter. I may possibly envy authors, who can afford to publish at their own expense, and in that case should write no more. But the mortification would not break my heart. I proceed to your corrections, for which I most unaffectedly thank you, adverting to them in their order. Page 140. Truth generally, without the article the^ would not be suflficiently defined. There are many sorts of trutli, philosophical, mathematical, moral, &c. ; and a reader, not much accustomed to hear of religious or scriptural truth, might possibly, and indeed easily doubt what truth was particularly intended. I acknowledge that grace^ in my use of the word, does not often occur in poetry. So neither does the subject which I handle. Every subject has its own terms, and religious ones take theirs with most propriety from the Scripture. Thence I take the word grace. The sarcastic use of it in the mouths of infidels I admit, but not their authority to proscribe it, especially as God's favour in the abstract has no other Mord, in all our language, by which it can be expressed. Page 150. Impress the mind faintly, or not at all. 1 prefer this line, because of the interrupted run of it, having always observed that a little uu(?venne,ss of this sort, in a long CO WPE R S I. ETTE RS. 249 workj has a good clToct — vjicl. I menn, sparingly and with diGcretion. I'H^re. 127.™ This should have been noted first, but was overlooked. Be pleased to alter for nie thus, with the dilFe- rence of only one word from the alteration proposed by you, — We loo are friends to royalty. "We love I'be king who loves the law, respects his bounua, And reigns content within them. You observed probably, in your second ieadJ:ig, that I allow the life of an animal to be fairly taken away, when it interferes either with the interest or convenience of m.an. Consequently snails, and all reptiles that spoil our crops, either of fruit or grain, may be destroyed, if we can cakh them, it gives me real pleasure, that Mrs Unwin so readily understood me. Blank verse, by the unusual arrangement of the words, and bj' the frequent infusion of one line into another, not less than by the style, which requires a kind of tragical magnificence, cannot be chargeable with much obscurity, must rather be singularly perspicuous, to be so easily comprehended. It is my labour, and my principal one, to be as clear as possible. You do not Uiistake me, when you suppose that I have great respect for the virtue that flies temptation. It is that sort of prowess v/hich the whole train of Scripture calls upon us to manifest, when assailed by sensual evil. Interior mischiefs must be grappled with. There is no flight from them. But solicitations to sin, that address themselves to our bodily senses, are, I believe, seldom conquered in any other way. I can easily see that you rnay have very reasonable objec- tions to my dedicatory proposal. You are a clergyman, and I have banged your order. You are a child of alma mater, and I have banged her too. Lay yourself, therefore, under no constraints that I do not lay you under, but consider your- self as perfectly free. With our best love to you all, I bid you heartily farcAvell. I am tired of this endless scribblement. Adieu I — Yours, W. C. I. 2 250 COWPEll's LETTERS. I7<>. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. R rr/.ECTlONS ON SWAGE VIRTUE— .ORADITAI- PROGRESS IN THE COMPOSITION OF THE TASK. October dO, 17*4. My dear Friend, — I accede most readily to the justness of your remark on tlie subject of the trul}' Roman heroism of the Sandwich islanders. Proofs of such prowess, I believe, are seldom exhibited by a people who have attained to a high degree of civilization. Refinement and profligacy of principle are too nearly allied, to admit of any thing so noble ; and I question whether any instances of faithful friendship, like that which so much affected you in the behaviour of the poor savage, were produced even by the Romans themselves, in the latter days of the empire. They had been a nation whose virtues it is impossible not to wonder at. But Greece, which was to them what France is to us, a Pandora's box of mischief, reduced them to her own standard, and they naturally soon sunk still lower.* Religion in this case seems pretty much out of the question. . To the production of such heroism, tmdebauched Nature herself is equal. When Italy was a land of heroes, she knew no more of the true God than her cicisbeos and her fiddlers know now ; and indeed it seems a matter of indifference, whether a man be born under a truth which does not influence him, or under the actual influence of a lie ; or if there be any difference between the two cases, it seems to be rather in favour of the latter : for a false per- suasion, such as the Mahometan for instance, may animate the courage, and furnish motives for the contempt of death, while despisers of the true religion are punished for their foHy by being abandoned lo the last degrees of depravity. * This is unjust. There is uo necessary connection between refine- ment and profligacy, but the very reveise: real refinement leads directly to nol)ility of thought and action. The Greeks became profligate only after they had become slaves ; but the v^e of their genuine refinement was also the age of liberty. T!u; Romans, their conquerors, never equalled them in that refinemeiit, though they rivalled them in the luxury, e/Teininacy, and vice of a degraded and fallen people. We greatly .suspect, as to the modem sdlusion, that our own follies, alisurdities, aiul profligacy are hardly le»s tluiu those of our neighbours ; while foreigners display at least the good sense to rest satisfied with foibles of their own growth, whiirh consequently sit easily upon them, without giatuitously incurring tlie ridicule of awkward imitation of «;xotic folly. COWPER*S LETTERS. ^51 Accordingly we see a Sandwich islander sacrificing himself to his dead friend, and our Christian seamen and fnariners, instead of being impressed by a sense of his generosity, butchering him with a persevering cruelty that will disgrace them for ever ; for he was a defen oeleGs, unresisting enemy, who meant nothing more than to gratify hij love tor tLo deceased. To slay him in such circumstances was to murder him, and with every aggravation of the crime that can be imagined. I am again at Johnson's in the shape of a ])oem in blank verse, consisting of six books, and called The Task. I began it about this time twelvemonth, and writing sometimes an hour in a day, sometimes half an one, and sometimes two hours, have lately finished it. I mentioned it not sooner, because almost to the last I was doubtful whether I should ever bring it to a conclusion, working often in such distress of mind, as while it spurred me to the work, at the same time threatened to disqualify me for it. My bookseller I suppose will be as tardy as before. • I do not expect to be born into the world till the month of March, when I and the crocusscs shall peep together. You may assure yourself that I shall take my first opportunity to wait on you. I mean likewise to gratify myself by obtruding my muse upon Mr Bacon. Adieu, my dear friend ! we are well, and love you — Yours and Mrs Newton's, " W. C. 177. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM U^WIN. ARRANGEMENTS WITH THE PUBLISHER REASONS FOR KEEPING LITERARV SECRETS PROGRESS OF TIROCINIUM. November 1, 1784. My dear Friend, — Were I to delay my answer, I must yet write without a irank at last, and may as well therefore write without one now, especially feeling, as I do, a desire to thank you for your friendly oflfices so well performed. I am glad for your sake, as well as for my own, that you succeeded in the first instance, and that the first trouble proved the last. I am willing too to consider Johnson's readiness to accept a second volume of mine, as an argument that at least he was no loser by the former. I collect from it some reasonable hope that the volume in question may not wrong him neither. My imagination tells me (for I know you interest yourself in the success of my productions) that your heart fluttered wher 252 COWPER*S LETTERS. you approached Johnson's door and that it felt itselfdischarged of a burden when you caine out again. You did well to mention it at tlie T s ; they will now know that you do not pretend a share in my confidence, whatever be the value of it, greater than you actually possess. I \vrote to Mr Newton by the last post, to tell him that I was gone to the press again. He will be surprised, ar>d perhaps not pleased. But I think he cannot complain, for he keeps his own authorly secrets without participating them with me. I do not think myself in the least injured by his reserve ; neither should I, if he were to publish a whole library without favouring me with any previous notice of his intentions. In tliese cases it is no violation of the laws of friendship not to communicate, though there must be a friendship where the communication is made. But many reasons may concur in disposing a writer to keep his work secret, and none of them injurious to his friends. The influence of one I have felt myself, for which none of them would blame me, — I mean the desire of surpri- sing agreeably. And if I have denied myself this pleasure in your instance, it was only to give myself a greater, by eradi- cating from your mind any little weeds of suspicion that might still remain in it, that any man living is nearer to me than yourself. Had not this consideration forced up the lid of my strong box like a lever, it would have kept its contents with an invisible closeness to the last ; and the first news that either you or any of my friends would ha\e heard of the Taskf they would have received from the public papers. But you know now, that neither as a poet, nor as a man, do I give to any man a precedence in my estimation at your expense. I am proceeding with my new work (which at present I feel myself much inclined to call by the name of Tirocinium) s fast as the nmse permits. It has reached the length of seven hundred lines, and will probably receive an addition of two or three hundred more. Wlien you see Mr , })er}iaps you will not find it difficult to procure from him half a dozen franks, addressed to yourself, and dated the fifteenth of December, in which case, they will all go to the post filled with my lucubrations, on the evening of that day. I do not name an earlier, because 1 hate to be hurried ; and Johnson cannot want it sooner than, thus managed, it will reach him. I am not sorry that John Gilpin, though hitherto he luus been nobody's child, is likely to be owned at last. Here and cowper's letters. " 253 there I can give him a touch that I think will mend him, the language in some places not being quite so quaint and old- fashioned as it should be ; and in one of the stanzas there is a false rhj'me. When I have thus given the finishing stroke to his figure, I mean to grace him with two mottos, a Greek and a Latin one, which, when the world shall see that I have only a little one of three words to the volume itself, and none to the books of which it consists, they will perhaps understand as a stricture upon that pompous display of literature, with which some authors take occasion to crowd their titles. Knox, in particular, who is a sensible man too, has not, I think, fewer than half a dozen to his Essays. * — Adieu, W. C. 178. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. NOTE ANNOUNCING THE PRINTING OF THE TASK, &C. November 8, 1784. . The Task, as you know, is gone to the press : since it went I have been employed in writing another poem, which I am now transcribing, and which, in a short time, I design shall follow. It is entitled. Tirocinium, or a Review of Schools : the business and purpose of it are, to censure the want of discipline, and the scandalous inattention to morals, that obtain in them, especially in the largest ; and to recom- mend private tuition as a mode of education preferable on all accounts ; to call upon fathers to become tutors of their own sons, where that is practicable ; to take home a domestic tutor, where it is not ; and if neither can be done, to place them under the care of such a man as he to whom I am writing, — some rural parson, whose attention is limited to a few. 179.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. CONKOLENCE ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHEll THE TASK, TIROCIMUM, &C. November^ 1784. My dear Friend, — To condole with you on the death of a mother aged eighty-seven, would be absurd — rather, therefore, as is reasonable, I congratulate you on the almost * Vicesimus Knox, D.D. Master of Tunbridge School, author of numerous works, of which the Moral and Literary Sssaija are ahr.ost the only volumes that have retained their roDularity. He died in Itfiil. 254 ' cowpkr's letters. lingular felicity of having enjoyed the company of so amiable and so near a relation so long. Your lot and mine in this respect have been very different, as indeed in almost every other. Your mother lived to see you rise, at least to see you comfortably established in the world. Mine, dying when I was six years old, did not live to see me sink in it. You may remember with pleasure, while you live, a blessing vouchsafed to you so long ; and I, while I live, must regret a comfort of which I was deprived so early. I can truly say, that not a week passes (perhaps I miglit with equal veracity say a day) in which I do not think of her. Such was the impression her tenderness made upon me, though the oppor- tunity she had for shewing it was so short. But the ways of God are equal ; and when I reflect on the pangs she would have suffered, had she been a witness of all mine, I see more cause to rejoice than to mourn, that she was hidden in the grave so soon. , We have, as you say, lost a lively and sensible neighbour in Lady Austen, but we have been long accustomed to a state of retirement within one degree of solitude, and being naturally lovers of still life, can relapse into our former duality without being unhappy at the change. To me, indeed, a third is not necessary, while I can have the companion I have had these twenty years. I am gone to the press again ; a volume of mine will greet your hands some time either in the course of the winter, or early in the spring. You will find it perhaps, on the whole, more entertaining than the former, as it treats a greater variety of subjects, and those, at least the most, of a sublunary kind. It will consist of a poem in six books, called the Task. To which will be added another, which I finished yesterday, called, I believe, Tirocinium, on the subject of education. You perceive that I have taken your advice, and given the pcii no rest .* W. C. • On the Ititb oftf'.'s montli the writer ^•ommenced his traiislnnoii of Homer. COWPER*S LETTERS. 255 j,-«f.«. _TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTO.W UEFRECATISG THE IDKA OY HIS HKING NEGLECTEJ), IN NOT RFrElVIVa IV»r.s. MATION Oy COWVKR's POETICAL STUDIES — OBJECTS COXTEM PLATED IN JTHS. TASK, TIROCINIUM, &C. November 27, 17&4. My dear Friend, — All the interest thatyou take w my new publication, and all the pleas that you urge in behalf of your right to my confidence, the moment I had read your letter, struck me as so many proofs of your regard — of a friendship in which distance and time make no abatement. But it is difiicult to adjust opposite claims to the satisfaction of all pai'ties. I have done my best, and must leave it to your caiidour to put a just interpretation upon all that has passed, and to give me credit for it, as a certain truth, that whatever seeming defects, in point of attention and attachment to you, my conduct on this occasion may have appeared to have been chargeable with, I am in reality as clear of all real ones, as you v>'ould wish to find me. I send you enclosed, in the first place, a copy of the advertisement to the reader, which accounts for my title, not otherwise easily accounted for — secondly, what is called an argument, or a summary of the contents of each book, more circumstantial and diffuse by far than that which I have sent to the press. It will give you a pretty accurate acquaintance with my matter, tliough the tenons and mortises by which the several passages are connected, and let into each other, cannot be explained in a syllabus — and lastly, an extract as you desired. The subject of it, I am sure, will please you, and as I have admitted into my description no images but what are scriptural, and have aimed as exactly as I could at the plain and simple sublimity of the scripture language, I have hopes the manner of it may please you too. As far as the numbers and diction are concerned, it may serve pretty well for a sample of the whole. But the subjects ^eing so various, no single passage can in all respects be a specimen of the book at large. My principal purpose is to fillure the reader by character, by scenery, by imagery, and such poetical embellishments, to the reading of what may profit Jxim. Subordinately to this, to combat that preai lection m lavour or a metropolis that beggars and exhausts the country, by evacuating it of all its 256 CO WPE us LETTEKS. principal inhabitants ; and collaterally, and as far as is con- sistent with this double intention, to have a stroke at vice, vanity, and folly, wherever I find them. I have not spared the Universities. A letter which appeared in the General Evening Post of Saturday, t-^l i to have been received by a general officer, and by him sent to the press, as Morthy of public notice, and which has r -J the appearance of authenticity, would alone justify tlie severest censure of those bodies, if any such justification were wanted. By way of supplement to wliat I have written on thi . subject, I have added a poem, called Tirocinium, which is in rhyme. It treats of the scandalous relaxation of disc:oline that obtains in almost all schools universally, but especially in the largest, which are so negligent in the article or morals, that boys are debauched, in general, the moment they are capable of being so. It recommends the office of tutor to the father, where there is no real impediment ; the expedient of a domestic tutor, where there is ; and the disposal of boys into the hands of a respec- table country clergyman, who limits his attention to two, in all cases where they cannot be conveniently educated at home. Mr Unwin happily affording me an instance in point, the poem is inscribed to him. You will now, I hope, command your hunger to be patient, and be satisfied with the luncheon that I send, till dinner comes. That piecemeal perusal of the work, sheet by sheet, would be so disadvantageous to the work itself, and therefore so uncomfortable to me, that, I dare say, you will wave your desire of it. A poem, thus disjointed, cannot possibly be fit for any body's inspection but the author's. Tully's rule, — Nulla dies sine linea, • will make a volume in less time than one would suppose. I adhered to it so rigidly, that though more than once I found three lines as many as I had time to compass, still I wrote ; and finding occasionally, and as it might happen, a more fluent vein, the abundance of one day made me amends for the barrenness of another. But I do not mean to write blank verse again. Not having the music of rhyme, it rctjuires so close an attention to the pause, and the cadence, and such a peculiar mode of expression, as render it, to me at least, the • No (lay without a line. Raphael, by an allowable pun, adopti'd this famous apophthegiu as the rule of his own professional life. COWPER*S LETTERS. 257 most difficult species of poetry that I have ever meddled with. I am obliged to you, and to Mr Bacon, for your kind remembrance of me when you meet. No artist can excel as he does, without the finest feehngs ; and every man that has the finest feelings is. and must be amiable. — Adieu, my dear friend. Affectionately yours, W. C. 181.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. TIROCINIUM FINISHED — UNCERTAINTY OF PROGRESS IN POETICAL COMPOSITION. November y 1784. My dear William, — The slice which, you observe, has been taken from the top of the sheet, it lost before I began to write ; but being a part of the paper which is seldom used, I thought it would be pity to discard, or to degrade to meaner purposes, the fair and ample remnant, on account of so imma- terial a defect. I therefore have destined it to be the vehicle of a letter, which you will accept as entire, though a lawyer perhaps would, without much difficulty, prove it to be but a fragment. The best recompense I can make you for writing without a frank is, to propose it to you to take your revenge by returning an answer under the same predicament ; and the best reason I can give for doing it is the occasion following. In my last I recommended it to you to procure franks for the conveyance of Tirocinium, dated on a day therein mentioned, and the earliest, which at that time I could venture to appoint. It has happened, however, that the poem is finished a month sooner than I expected, and two-thirds of it are at this time fairly transcribed, — an accident to which the riders of a Par- nassian steed are liable, who never know, before they mount him, at what rate he will choose to travel. If he be indisposed to despatch, it is impossible to accelerate his pace ; if otherwise, equally impossible to stop him. Therefore my errand to you at this time is to cancel the former assignation, and to inform you that, by whatever means you please, and as soon as you please, the piece in question will be ready to attend you ; for without exerting any extraordinary diligence, I shall have fompleted the transcript in a week. The critics will never know, that four lines of it were fomposed while I had a dose of ipecacuanha on my stomach ; m short, that I was delivered of the emetic and the verses in 258 COWPER*S LETTERS. the same moment. Knew they this, they would at leas! allow me to be a poet of sinfrular industry, and confess that I lost no time. I have heard of poets who have found cathartics of sovereign use, when they had occasion to be particularly brilliant. Dryden always used them, and in commemoration of it, Bayes in the Rehearsal is made to inform the audience, that in a poetical emergency he always had recourse to stewed prunes. But I am the only poet who has dared to reverse the prescription, and M'hose enterprise, having succeeded to admiration, warrants him to recommend an emetic to all future bards, as the most infallible means of producing a fluent and easy versification. My love to all your familv. Adieu ! W. C. 182.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. MR Newton's chagrin from not having been consulted KEsrEcriNc THE TASK. November 29, 1784. My dear Friend, — I am happy that you are pleased, and accept it as an earnest that I shall not at least disgust the public. For though I know your partiality to me, I know at tlie same time with what laudable tenderness you feel for your own reputation, and that for the sake of that most delicate part of your property, though you would not criticise me with an unfriendly and undue severity, you would, however, beware of being satisfied too hastily, and with no warrantable cause of being so. I called you the tutor of your two sons, in con- templation of the certainty of that event : it is a fact in suspense, not in fiction. My principal errand to you now is to give you information on the following subject : the moment Mr Newton knew — and I took care that he should learn it first from me — that I had communicated to you what I had concealed from him, and that you were my authorship's go-between with Johnson on this occasion, he sent me a most friendly letter indeed, but one in every line of which I could hear the soft nuirmurs of Bomething like mortification, that could not be entirely sup- pressed. It contained nothing, however, tliat you yourself V Duld have blamed, or that I had not every reason to consider as evidence of his regard to me. He concluded the subject with desiring to know something of my phm, to be favoured with an extract, by wyy of specimen, or (whicli he .should like COWPER*S lETTEllS. 2o9 better still) with wishing me to order Johnson to send him a proof as fast as they were printed off. Determining not to accede to this last request for many reasons (but especially because I would no more shew my poem piecemeal, than I would my house, if I had one — the merits of the structure, in either case, being equally liable to suffer by such a partial view of it,) I have endeavoured to compromise the difference between us, and to satisfy him without disgracing myself. The proof sheets I have absolutely, though civilly refused. But I have sent him a copy of the arguments of each book, more dilated and circumstantial than those inserted in the work ; and to these I have added an extract as he desired ; selecting, as most suited to his taste, " The view of the resto- ration of all things," which you recollect to have seen near the end of the last book. I hold it necessary to telLyou this, lest, if you should call upon him, he should stai'tle you by discovering a degree of information upon the subject, which you could not otherwise know how to reconcile, or to account for. You have executed your commissions a 7nerveille. We not only approve, but admire. No apology was wanting for ti\e balance struck at the bottom, which we accounted rather a beauty than a deformity. Pardon a poor poet, who cannot speak even of pounds, shillings, and pence, but in his own way. I have read Lunardi * with pleasure. He is a lively, sensible young fellow, and I suppose a very favourable sample of the Italians. When I look at his picture, I can fancy that I see in him that good sense and courage that no doubt were legible in the face of»'a young Roman two thousand years ago Your affectionate W. C. 183. — TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. AKGU31EKTS, TITLES, AND CONTKNTS, OF THE SEVERAL BOOKS OF THE TASK, EXPLAINED. December 13, 1781. My dear Friend, — Having imitated no man, I may reasonably hop6 that I shall not incur the disadvantage of a comparison with my betters. Milton's manner was peculiai' So is Thomson's. He that should write like either of them * A treatise on Balloons. 260 COWPER*S LETTEltS. would in my judgment deserve the name of a copyist, but not a poet. A judicious and sensible reader therefore, like your- self, will not say that my manner is not good, because it does not resemble theirs, but will rather consider what it is in itself. Blank verse is susceptible of a much greater diversi- fication of manner, tlian verse in rhyme: and why the modern writers of it have all thought proper to cast their numbers alike, I know not. Certainly it was not necessity that compelled them to it. I flatter myself, however, tiiat I iiave avoided that sameness with others, which would entitle me to nothing but a share in one common oblivion with them all. It is possible that, as a reviewer of my former volume found cause to say that he khew not to wnat class of writers to refer me, the reviewer of this, whoever he shall be, may see occasion to remark tlie same singularity. At any rate, though as little apt to be sanguine as most men, and more prone to fear and despond than to overrate my own productions, I am persuaded that I shall not forfeit any thing by tliis volume that I gained by the last. As to the title, I take it to be the best that is to be had. It is not possible that a book, inclu- ding such a variety of subjects, and in which no particular one is predominant, should find a title adapted to them all. In such a case, it seemed almost necessary to accommodate the name to the incident that gave birth to the poem ; nor does it appear to me, that because I performed more than my task, therefore the Task is not a suitable title. A house would still be a house, though the builder of it should make it ten times as big as he at first intended. I might, indeed, follow- ing the example of the Sunday newsmonger, call it the Olio. But I should do myself wrong : for though -it have much variety, it has, I trust, no confusion. For the same reason, none of the interior titles apply themselves to the contents at large of that book to which they belong. They are, every one of them, taken either from the leading (I should say the introductory) passage of that particular book, or from that which makes the most con- spicuous figure in it. Had I set off with a design to write upon a gridiron, and had I actually written near two huiulred lines upon that utensil, as I have upon the Sofa, the gridiron should have been my title. But the Sofa being, as I may gay, the starting post from which I addressed myself to the long race that I soon conceived a design to run, it acquired a just pre-eminence in my account, and was very worthily advanced to the titular honour it enjoys, its right being ai COWPER S lETTKKS. 261 east so far a good one, that no word in the language could pretend a better. The Timepiece appears to me (though by some accident the import of that title has escaped you) to have a degree of propriety beyond the most of them. The book to which it belongs is intended to strike the hour that gives notice of approaching judgment, and dealing pretty largely in the signs of the times, seems to be denominated, as it is, with a sufficient degree of accommodation to the subject. As to the word ivorm, it is the very appellation which Milton himself, in a certain passage of the Paradise Lost, givTS to the serpent. Not having the book at hand, I cannot now refer to it, but I am sure of the fact. I am mistaken, too, if Shakespeare's Cleopatra do not call the asp, by which she thought fit to destroy herself, by the same name. But not having read the play these five-and-twenty years, I will not affirm it.* They are, however, without all doubt, con- vertible terms : a worm is a small serpent, and a serpent is a large worm ; and when an epithet significant of the most terrible species of those creatures is adjoined, the idea is surely sufficiently ascertained. No animal of the vermicular or serpentine kind is crested, but the most formidable of all. — Yours affectionately, W. C. 184. —TO THE RE\. WILLIAM UNWIN. ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH HIS SECOND VOLUME BISHOP BAGOT. December 18, 1784. My dear Friend, — I condole with you, that you had the trouble to ascend St Paul's in vain, but at the same time congratulate you, that you escaped an ague. I should be very well pleased to have a fair prospect of a balloon under sail, with a philosopher or two on board, but at the same time should be very sorry to expose myself, for any length of • How poor an instrument May do a noble deed ! Hast thou the pretty worm of Nil us there, That kills and pains not ? Antony and Cleopatra, Act V, Scene 2. Cowper is correct, therefore, in his authority, as he is in the use of the word. Worm, in the Teutonick, originally means serpent — a sig- nification which we yet retain in two instances, — slow-worm and blind- worm ; and the Norwegians call their *'*^ylous sea-serpent sea-worm. 202 COWPEU's LETTERS. tinip, to the rigour of the upper regions, at this season, for the sake of it. The travellers themselves, I suppose, are secured from all injuries of the weather by that fervency of spirit and agitation of mind, which must needs accompany them in their flight ; advantages, which the more composed and phlegmatic spectator is not equally possessed of. The inscription of the poem is more your own affair than any other person's. You have, therefoi'e, an undoubted right to fashion it to your mind, nor have I the least objection to the slight alteration that you have made in it. I inserted what you have erased, for a reason that was perhaps rather chime- rical than solid. I feared, however, that the reviewers, or some of my sagacious readers, not more merciful than they, might suspect that there was a secret design in the wind ; and that author and friend had consulted in what manner author might introduce friend to public notice, as a clergyman every way qualified to entertain a pupil or two, if peradventure any gentleman of fortune were in want of a tutor for his children. I therefore added the words — " and of his two sons only" — by way of insinuating, that you are perfectly satisfied with your present charge, and that you do not wish for more ; thus meaning to obviate an illiberal construction, which we are both of us incapable of deserving. But the same caution not having appeared to you to be necessary, I am very willing and ready to suppose that it is not so. I intended in my last to have given you my reasons for the compliment I have paid Bishop Bagot, lest, knowing that I have no personal connection with him, you should suspect me of having done it rather too much at a venture. In the first place, then, I wished the world to know that I have no objection to a bishop, quid bishop. In the second place, the brothers were all five my schoolfellows, and very amiable and valuable boys they were. Thirdly, Lewis, the bishop, had been rudely and coarsely treated in the Monthly Review, on account of a sermon, which appetu'ed to me, when I read their extract from it, to deserve the highest commendations, as exhibiting explicit proof both of his good sense, and his unfeigned piety. For these causes me thereunto moving, I felt myself happy in an opportunity to do public honoin* to a worthy man, who had been publicly traduced ; and indeed, the reviewers themselves have since repented of their asper- sions, and have travelled not a litth^ out of their way in order to retract them, having taken occasion, by the sermon preached at the bishop's visitation at Norwich, to say every thing COWPER*S LETTERS. 263 handsome of hi.5 lordship, who, whatever iri'sht be the merit of the discourse, in that instance at least, could himself lay claim to no other than that of being a hearer. Since I wrote, I have had a letter from Mr Newton that did not please me, and returned an answer to it that possibly may not have pleased him. We shall come together again soon, I suppose, upon as amicable terms as usual. But at present he is in a state of mortification. He would have been pleased, had the book passed out of his hands into yours, or even out of yours into his, so that he had previously had opportunity to advise a measure which I pursued without his recommendation, and had seen the poems in manuscript. But my design was to pay you a whole compliment, and I have done it. If he says more on the subject, I shall speak freely, and perhaps please him less than I have done already. Yours, with our love to all. W. C. 185.— TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. DEFENDING THF TITLE, &C. OF THE TASK DEATH OF AN ACQUAINTANCE. Christmas Eve, 1784. My dear Friend, — I am neither Mede nor Persian, neither am I the son of any such, but was born at Great Berkhampsted, in Hertfordshire, and yet I can neither find a new title for my book, nor please myself with any addition to the old one. I am, however, willing to hope that, when the volume shall cast itself at your feet, you will be in some measure reconciled to the name it bears, especially when you shall find it justified both by the exordium of the poem, and by the conclusion. But enough, as you say with great truth, of a subject very unworthy of so much consideration. Had I heard any anecdotes of poor dying that would have bid fair to deserve your attention, I should have sent them. The little that he is reported to have uttered of a spiritual import, was not very striking. That little, however, I can give you upon good authority. His brother asking him how he found himself: he replied, " I am very composed, and think that I may safely believe myself entitled to a portion." The .world has had much to say in his praise, and both prose and verse have been employed to celebrate him in the North- ampton Mercury. But Christians, I suppose, have judged it best to be silent. If he ever drank at the fountain of life, he certainly drank also, and often too freely, of certain other 264 cowper's letters. streams, which are not to be bought without money and with- out price. He had virtues that dazzknl the natural eye, and failings that shocked the spiritual one. But iste dies indicabit. " w. c. 186. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. AGREEABLE NOTHINGS IN LETTER-WRITING — MR NEWTON — HEATH OF DR JOHNSON — EPITAPH. Olnky, Jianuory 15, 1785. My dear William, — Your letters are always welcome. You can always eitiier find something to say, or can amuse me and yourself with a sociable and friendly way of saying nothing. I never found that a letter was the more easily written, because the writing of it had been long delayed. On the contrary, experience has taught me to answer soon, that I may do it without difficulty. It is in vain to wait for an accumulation of materials in a situation such as yours and mine, productive of few events. At the end of our expecta- tions we shall find ourselves as poor as at the beginning. I can hardly tell you with any certainty of information, upon what terms Mr Newton and I may be supposed to stand at present. A month, I believe, has passed, since I heard from iiim. But my friseiir, having been in London in the course of this w^ek, whence he returned last night, and having called at Hoxton, brought me his love, and an excuse for his silence, which (he said) had been occasioned by the frequency of his preachings at this season. He was not pleased that my manuscript was not first transmitted to him, and I have cause to suspect that he was 'even mortified at being informed, that a certain inscribed poem was not inscribed to himself. But we shall jumble together again, as people that have an affection for each other at bottom, notwithstanding now and then a slight disagreement, always do. I know not whether Mr has acted in consequence of your hint, or whether, not needing one, he transmitted to us his bounty, before he had received it. He has, however, sent us a note for twenty pounds ; with which we have per- formed wonders, in behalf of the ragged and the starved. He is a most extraordinary young man, and, though I shall probably never see him, will always have a niche in the nniffcum of my reverential remembrance. The death of Dr Johnson has set a thousand scribblers to COWPER*S LETTERS. 265 work, and me among the rest. While I lay m bed, waiting* till 1 could reasonably hope that the parlour might be ready for me, I invoked the muse, and composed the following EPITAPH. 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 thought ; 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 : O man, immortal by a double prize, — By fame on earth, by glory in the skies ! It is destined, I believe, to the Gentleman's Magazine, which I consider as a respectable repository for small matters, which, when intrusted to a newspaper, can expect but the duration of a day. But Nichols, having at present a small piece of mine in his hands, not yet printed, (it is called the Poplar Field, and I suppose you have it,) I wait till his obste- trical aid has brought that to light, before I send him a new one. In his last he published my epitaph upon Tiney, which, I likewise imagine, has been long in your collection. Not a word yet from Johnson. I am easy, however, upon the subject, being assured that so long as his own interest is at stake, he will not want a monitor to remind him of the proper time to publish. You and your family have our sincere love. Forget not to present my respectful compliments to Miss Unw^n, and, if you have not done it already, thank her on my part for the very agreeable narrative of Lunardi. He is a young man, I presume, of great good sense and spirit, (his letters at least, and his enterprising turn, bespeak him such,) a man qualified to shine not only among the stars, but in the more useful, though humbler sphere of terrestrial occupation. I have been crossing the Channel in a balloon, ever since I read of that achievement by Blanchard. I have an insatiable thirst to know the philosophical reason, why his vehicle had like to have fallen into the sea, when for aught that appears the gas was not at all exhausted. Did not the extreme cold con- dense the inflammable air, and cause the globe to collapse ?* Tell me, and be my Apollo for ever ! — i&ectionately yours, W. C. * Cowper's sohition of the phenomenon is the true one. M 266 COWPEU'S LETTERS 187.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. POEMS CONTRIBUTED TO THE GENTI.EMAN's MAGAZINE SUCCESS OF HIS rOETKY. February 7, IT.iJ. My dear Friend, — We live in a state of such uninter- rupted retirement, in which incidents worthy to be recorded occur so seldom, that I always sit down to write witli a dis- couraging conviction that I have nothing to say. The event commonly justifies the presage. For when I have filled my sheet, I find that I have said nothing. Be it known to you, however, that I may now at least communicate a piece of intelligence to which you will not be altogether indifferent, that I have received, and returned to Johnson, the two first proof sheets of my new publication. Tlie business was des- patched indeed a fortnight ago, since when I have heard from him no farther. From such a beginning, however, I venture to prognosticate the progress, and in due time the conclusion of the matter. In the last Gentleman's Magazine ray Poplar Field appears. I have accordingly sent up two pieces more, a Latin translation of it, which you have never seen, and another on a Rosebud, the neck of which I inadvertently broke, which, whether you have seen or not, I know not. As fast as Nichols prints off the poems I send him, I send him new ones. My remittance usually consists of two, and he publishes one of them at a time. I may indeed furnish him at this rate, without putting myself to any great inconvenience ; for my last supply was transmitted to him in August, and is but now exhausted. I communicate the following at your mother's instance, who will suffer no part of my praise to be sunk in oblivion. A certain Lord has hired a house at Clifton, in our neighbour- hood, for a hunting seat. There he lives at present with his wife and daughter. They are an exemplary family in some respects, and, I believe, an amiable one in all. Tiie Reverend Mr Jones,* the curate of that parish, who often dines with them by invitation on a Sunday, recommended my volume to their reading ; and his Lordship, after having perused a part of it, expressed an ardent desire to be acquainted with the author, from motives which my great modesty will not suffer me to })articularize. Mr Jones, however, like a wise man, informed • Ludv Austen's brother-in-law. COWPER^S LETTERS. 267 his Lordship, that for certain special reasons and causes I had declined going into company for many years, and that, there- fore, he must not hope for my acquaintance. His Lordship most civilly subjoined, that he was sorry for it. " And is that all ?" say you. Now, were I to hear you say so, I should look foolish, and say — " Yes." But having you at a distance, I snap my fingers at you, and say-^— " No, that is not all." Mr , who favours us now and then with his company in an evening as usual, was not long since discoursing with that eloquence which is so peculiar to himself, on the many providential interpositions that had taken place in his favour. " He had wished for many things," he said, " which, at the time when he formed those wishes, seemed distant and improbable, some of them indeed impossible. Among other wishes that he had indulged, one was, that he might be connected with men of genius and ability : and in my connection with this worthy gentleman," said he, turning to me, " that wish, I am sure, is amply gratified." You may suppose that I felt the sweat gush out upon my forehead, when I heard this speech ; and if you do, you will not be at all mistaken : so much was I delighted with the delicacy of that incense. Thus far I proceeded easily enough ; and here I laid down my pen, and spent some minutes in recollection, endeavouring to find some subject, with which I might fill the little blank that remains. But none presents itself. Farewell, therefore, and remember those who are mindful of you ! Present our love to all your comfortable fireside, and believe me ever most affectionately yours, W. C. They that read Greek with the accents would pronounce the £ in (piXsu, as an 77. But I do not hold with that practice though educated in it. I should, therefore, utter it just as do the Latin word Jilio, taking the quantity for my guide. 188. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. INUIFFEEENCE OF THE GREAT TO VIRTUE AX AL'THOR's IMFATIEN'CE INVITATION TO OLNEY. March 20, 1786. My dear William, — I thaiik you for your letter. It made me laugh, and there are not many things capable of being contained within the dimensions of a letter, for which I see 268 COWPER'S LETTERS. cause to be more thankful. I Mas pleased, too, to see ray opinion of his Lordship's nonchalance upon a su))ject that you had so much at heart, completely verified. I do not know that the eye of a nobleman was ever dissected. I cannot help supposing, however, that were that organ, as it exists in the head of such a personage, to be accurately examined, it would be found to differ materially in its construction from the eye of a commoner ; so very different is the view that men in an elevated, and in a liumble station, have of the same object. What appears great, sublime, beautiful, and important, to you and to me, when submitted to my lord, or his grace, and submitted, too, with the utmost humilitj-, is either too minute to be visible at all, or if seen, seems trivial and of no account. My supposition, therefore, seems not altogether chimerical. In two months I have corrected proof sheets to the amount of ninety-three pages, and no more. In other words, I have received three packets. Nothing is quick enough for impa- tience, and I suppose that the impatience of an author has the quickest of all possible movements. It appears to me, however, that at this rate we shall not publish till next Autumn. Should you happen, therefore, to pass Johnson's door, pop in your head as you go, and just insinuate to him, that, were his remittances rather more frequent, that frequency would be no inconvenience to me. I much expected one this evening, a fortnight having now elapsed since the arrival of the last ; but none came, and I felt myself a little mortified. I took up the newspaper, however, and read it. There I found that the Emperor and the Dutch are, after all their negotiations, going to war. Such reflections as these struck me. A great part of Europe is going to be involved in the gi'eatest of all calamities, — troops are in motion — artillery is drawn together — cabinets are busied in contriving schemes of blood and devastation — thousands will perish who are incapable of understanding the dispute ; and thousands, who, whatever the event may be, are little more interested in it than myself, will suffer unspeakable hardships in the course of the quarrel — Well! Mr Poet, and how then? You have com- posed certain verses, which you are desirous to see in print, and because the impression seems to be delayed, you are displeased, not to say dispirited. Be ashamed of yourself! you live in a world in which your feelings may find worthier subjects — be concerned for the havoc of nations, and mourn cowper's letters. 269 over your retarded volume when you find a dearth of more i mportant tragedies ! You postpone certain topics of conference to our next meeting. Wh«n shall it take place ? I do not wish for you just now, because the garden is a wilderness, and so is all the country around us. In May we shall have 'sparagus, and weather in which we may stroll to Weston ; at least we may hope for it : therefore come in May ; you will find us happy to receive you, and as much of your fair household as you can bring with you. We are very sorry for your uncle's indisposition. The approach of summer seems, however, to be in his favour, that season being of all remedies for the rheumatism, I believe the most effectual. I thank you for your intelligence concerning the celebrity of John Gilpin. You may be sure that it was agreeable — but your own feelings on occasion of that article pleased me most of all. Well, my friend, be comforted ! You had not an opportunity of saying publicly, " I know the author." But the author himself will say as much for you soon, and perhaps will feel in doing so a gratification equal to your own. In the affair of face painting, I am precisely of your opinion. Adieu, W. C. 189. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. SUCCESS OF JOHN GILPIN RECONCILIATION WITH MR NEWTON EFFECT OP FAME ON THE MEMORY OF ACQUAINTANCES. April 30, 1785. My dear Friend, — I return you thanks for a letter so warm with the intelligence of the celebrity of John Gilpin. I little thought, when I mounted him upon my Pegasus, that he would become so famous. I have learned also, from Mr Newton, that he is equally renowned in Scotland, and that a lady there had undertaken to write a second part, on the subject of Mrs Gilpin's return to London, but not succeeding in it as she wished, she dropped it. He tells me likewise, that the head master of St Paul's school (who he is I know not) has conceived, in consequence of the entertainment that John has afforded him, a vehement desire to write to me. Let us hope he will alter his mind ; for should we even exchange civilities on the occasion. Tirocinium will spoil all. The great estimation, however^ in which this knight of the stone-bottles 270 COWPER*S LETTERS. is held, may turn out a circumstance propitious to the vohmie of viiich his history will make a part. Those events that Drove the prelude to our greatest success, are often apparently trivial in themselves, and such as seemed to promise nothing. The disappointment that Horace mentions is reversed, — we design a mug, and it proves a hogshead. It is a little hard, tliut I alone should be unfurnished with a printed copy of this facetious story. When you visit London next, you must buy the most elegant impression of it, and bring it with you. I tliank you also for writing to Johnson. I likewise ^rrote to him myself. Your letter and mine together have operated to admiration. There needs nothing more but that the effect be lasting, and the whole will soon be printed. We now draw towards the middle of the fifth book of the Task. The man Johnson, is like unto some vicious horses that I have known : they would not budge till they were spurred, and M hen they were spurred, they would kick. So did he : his temper was somewhat disconcerted ; but his pace was quick- ened, and I was contented. I was very much pleased with the following sentence in ^Ir Newton's last, — " I am perfectly satisfied with the pro- priety of your proceeding as to the publication." Now there- fore M'e arc fiiends again. Now he once more inquires after the work, wliich, till he had disburdened himself of this acknowledgment, neither he nor I, in any of our letters to each other, ever mentioned. Some side-wind has wafted to him a report of those reasons by which I justified my conduct. I never made a secret of them ; both your mother and I have studiously deposited them with those who we thought were most likely to transmit them to him. They wanted onlj' a hearing, which once obtained, their solidity and cogency were such that they were sure to prevail. You mention . I formerly knew the man you mention, but Jiis elder brother much better. We were schoolfellows, and he was one of a club of seven Westminster men, to which I belonged, who dined together every Thurs- day. Should it })lcase God to give me ability to perform the poet's part to some purpose, many whom I once called friends, but who have since treated me with a most magni- ticent indifference, will be ready to take me by the hand again, and some, whom I never held in that estimation, will like , (wiio was but a boy when I left London) boast of a connection with me which they never had. Had I the virtues, and graces, and accomplishments of St Paul himself, cowper's letters. 271 I might have them at Olney, and nobody would care a button about me, yourself and one or two more excepted. Fame begets favour, and one talent, if it be rubbed a little bright by use and practice, will procure a man more friends than a thousand virtues. Dr Johnson, I believe, in the life of one of our poets, says, that he retired from the world flattering himself that he should be regretted. But the world never missed him. I think his observation upon it is, that the vacancy made by the retreat of any individual is soon filled up ; that a man may always be obscure, if he chooses to be so ; and that he who neglects the world, will be by the world neglected. Your mother and I walked yesterday in the Wilderness. As we entered the gate, a glimpse of something white, con- tained in a little hole in the gate-post, caught my eye. I looked again, and discovered a bird's nest, with two tiny eggs in it. By and by they will be fledged, and tailed, and get wing-feathers, and fly. My case is somewhat similar to that of the parent bird : my nest is in a little nook, here I brood and hatch, and in due time my progeny takes wing and whistles. We wait for the time of your coming with pleasant expec- tations. — Yours truly, W. C. 190.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. DESCRIPTION OF HIS STUDY. June 25, 1785. My dear Friend, — I write in a nook that I call my Boudoir. It is a summer house not much bigger than a sedan chair, the door of which opens into the garden, that is now crowded with pinks, roses, and honeysuckles, and the window into my neighbour's orchard. It formerly served an apothecary, now dead, as a smoking room ; and under my feet is a trap door, which once covered a hole in the ground, where he kept his bottles. At present, however, it is dedi- cated to sublimer uses. Having lined it with garden mats, and furnished it with a table and two chairs, here I write all that I write in summer time, whether to my friends or to the public. It is secure from all noise, and a refuge from all intrusion j for intruders sometimes trouble me in the winter -72 cowper's letters. evenings at Olney. But, thanks to my Boitdoir^ I can now hide myself from them. A poet's retreat is sacred. They acknowledge the truth of that proposition, and never presume to violate it. The last sentence puts me in mind to tell you that I have ordered my volume to your door. My bookseller is the most dilatory of all his fraternity, or you would have received it long since. It is more than a month since I returned him the last proof, and consequently since the printing was finished. I sent him the manuscript at the beginning of last November, that he might publish while the town was full, and he will hit the exact moment when it is entirely empty. Patience, you will perceive, is in no situation exempted from the severest trials, — a remark that may serve to comfort you under the numberless trials of your own. 191. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. THUNDER STORM — FIRST ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE TRANSLATION OF HOMER. July 21, 17S5. My dear William, — You and your party left me in a frame of mind that indisposed me much to company. I comforted myself with the hope that I should spend a silent day, in which I should find abundant leisure to indulge sensa- tions which, though of the melancholy kind, I yet wished to nourish. But that hope proved vain. In less than an hour after your departure, Mr made his appearance at the greenhouse door. We were obliged to ask him to dinner, and he dined with us. He is an agreeable, sensible, well bred young man, but with all his recommendations, I felt that on that occasion I could have spared him. So much better are the absent, whom we love much, than the present whom we love a little. I have, however, made myself amends since, and nothing else having interfered, have sent many a thought after you. You had been gone two days when a violent thunderstorm came over us. I was passing out of tiie parlour into the hall, with Mungo at my heels, when a flash seeniod to till the room with fire. In the same instant canu; the clap, so that the ixplosion was, I suppose, perpendicular to the roof. Mungo's courage upon the tremendous occasion, constrained me to smile, in spite of the solemn impression that such an event COWPER*S LETTERS. 273 never fails to affect me with, — the moment that he heard tlie thunder, (which was like the burst of a great gun,) with a wrinkled forehead, and with eyes directed to the ceiling, whence the sound seemed to proceed, he barked ; but he barked exactly in concert with the thunder. It thundered once, and he barked once ; and so precisely the very instant when the thunder happened, that both sounds seemed to begin and end together. Some dogs will clap their tails close, and sneak into a corner, at such a time ; but Mungo, it seems, is of a more fearless famil}% A house at no great distance from ours, was the mark to which the lightning was directed : it knocked down the chimney, split the building, and carried away the corner of the next house, in which lay a fellow drunk, and asleep upon his bed : it roused and terrified him, and he promises to get drunk no more ; but I have seen a woful end of many such conversions. I remember but one such storm at Olney since I have known the place ; and I am glad that it did not happen two days sooner, for the sake of the ladies, who would probably, one of them at least, have been alarmed by it. I have received, since you went, two very flattering letters of thanks, one from Mr Bacon, and one from Mr Barham, such as might make a lean poet plump, and a humble poet proud. But being myself neither, lean nor humble, I know of no other effect they had, than that they pleased me ; and I communicate the intelligence to you, not without an assured hope that you will be pleased also. We are now going to walk, and thus far I have written before I have received your letter. Friday — I must now be as com- pact as possible. When I began, I designed four sides, but my packet being transformed into two single epistles, I can consequently afford you but three. I have filled a large sheet with animadversions upon Pope. I am proceeding in my translation — Velis et remisy omnibus nervis, as Hudi- bras has it ; and if God give me health and ability, will put it into your hands when I see you next. Mr has just left us. He has read my book, and, as if fearful that I had overlooked some of them myself, has pointed out to me all its beauties. I do assure you, the man has a very acute discern- ment, and a taste that I have no fault to find with. I hope that you are of the same opinion. Be not sorry that your love of Christ was excited in you by a picture. Could a dog or a cat suggest to me the thought that Christ is precious, I would not despise that thought because a dog or a cat suggested it. The meanness of the M 2 274 cowper's letters. instrument cannot debase the nobleness of the principle. He liiat kneels before a picture of Christ, is an idolater. But he in whose heart the sight of a picture kindles a Marm remem- orance of the Saviour's sufferings, must be a Christian. Sup- pose tiiat I dream as Gardiner * did, that Christ walks before ine, that he turns and smiles upon me, and fills my soul with ineffable love and joy, — will a man tell mo that I am deceived that I ought not to love or rejoice in him for such a reason, because a dream is merely a picture drawn upon the imagina- tion ? I hold not with such divinity. To love Christ is the greatest dignity of man, be that affection ^^TOught in him how it may. Adieu ! May the blessing of God be upon you all. It is vour mother's heart's wish and mine. — Yours ever, W. C. 192. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. COMFORT IN HIS PRESENT CONNECTIONS — SUCCESS OF THE TASK — DR Johnson's journal, and character of his religion. August 27, 1785. My dear Friend, — I was low in spirits yesterday, when your parcel came and raised them. Every proof of attention and regard to a man who lives in a vinegar bottle, is welcome from his friends on the outside of it ; accordingly your books were welcome, (you must not forget, by the way, that I want the original, of which you have sent me the translation only,) and the ruffles from Miss Shuttleworth most welcome. I am covetous, if ever man was, of living in the remembrance of absentees, whom I highly value and esteem, and consequently felt myself much gratified by her very obliging j)resent. I liave had more comfort, far more comfort, in the connections that t have formed within the last twenty years, than in the more numerous ones that I had before. Memorandum — The latter are almost all Unwins or Unwinisms. You are entitled to my thanks also for the facetious engra- vings of John Gilpin. A serious poem is like a swan, — it Hies heavily, and never far; but a jest has the wings of a swallow, that never tire, and that carry it into every nook and corner. I am perfectly a stranger, however, to the reception that my * Colonel Gai'diner, who fell in the skirmish with the rebels, hi Prestoiipans. cowper's letters. 275 volume meets with, and I believe, in respect of my nori' chalance upon that subject, if authors would but copy so fair an example, am a most exemplary character. I must tell you, nevertheless, that although the laurels that I gain at Olnej' will never minister much to my pride, I have acquired some. The Rev. Mr S is my admirer, and thinks my second volume superior to my first. It ought to be so. If we do not improve by practice, then nothing can mend us ; and a man has no more cause to be mortified at being told that he has excelled himself, than the elephant had, whose praise it was, that he was the greatest elephant in the world, himself excepted. If it be fair to judge of a book by an extract, I do not wonder that you were so little edified by Johnson's Journal. It is even more ridiculous than was poor ^'s of flatulent memory. The portion of it given to us in this day's paper, contains not one sentiment worth one farthing ; except the last, in which he resolves to bind himself with no more unbidden obligations. Poor man ! one would think, that to pray for his dead wife, and to pinch himself with church fasts, had been almost the whole of his religion. I am sorry that he, who was so manly an advocate for the cause of virtue in all other places, was so childishly employed, and so supersti- tiously too, in his closet. Had he studied his Bible more, to which, by his own confession, he was in great part a stranger, he had known better what use to make of his retired hours, and had trifled less. His lucubrations of this sort have rather the appearance of religious dotage, than of any vigorous exertions towards God. It will be well if the publication prove not hurtful in its effects, by exposing the best cause, already too much despised, to ridicule still more profane. On the other side of the same paper, I find a long string of aphorisms, and maxims, and rules for the conduct of life, which, though they appear not with his name, are so much in his manner, with the above mentioned, that I suspect them for his. I have not read them all, but several of them I read that were trivial enough : for the sake of one, however, 1 forgive him the rest, — he advises never to banish hope entirely, because it is the cordial of life, although it be the greatest flatterer in the world. Such a measure of hope as may not endanger my peace by disappointment, I would wish to cherish upon every subject in which I am interested. But there lies the difficulty. A cure, however, and the only one, for all the irregularities both of hope and fear, is found in submission to the will of God. Happy they that have it ' i76 cowper's letters. This last sentence puts me in mind of your reference to Blair in a former letter, whom you there permitted to be your arbiter, to adjust the respective claims oi' who or that. I do not rashly differ from so great a grammarian, nor do at any rate differ from him altogether : upon solemn occasions, as in prayer or preaching for instance, I would be strictly correct, and upon stately ones, for instance were I writing an epic poem, I would be so likewise, but not upon familiar occasions. God who heareth prayer, is right. Hector who saw Patroclus, is right. And the man that dresses me every day, is in my mind right also ; because the contrary would give an air of stiffness and pedantry to an expression, that in respect of the matter of it cannot be too negligently made up.* Adieu, my dear William. I have scribbled with all my might, which, breakfast time excepted, has been my employ- ment ever since I rose, and it is now past one. — Yours, W. C. 193. — TO LADY HESKETH. rLKASunr in renewing their correspondence — past course of life. Octoher 12, 1786. My dear Cousin, — It is no new thing with you to give pleasure. But I will venture to say, that you do not often give more than you gave me this morning. When I came down to breakfast, and found upon the table a letter franked b}' my uncle, and' when opening that frank, I found that it contained a letter from you, I said within myself — " This is just as it should bo. We are all grown young again, and the days that I thought I should see no more, are actually returned." You perceive, therefore, that you judged well wlien you conjectured that a line from you would not be disagreeable to me. It could not be otlierwise tlian, as in fact it proved, a most agreeable surprise, for I can truly boast or an affection for you, that neither years, nor interrupted inter- course, have at all abated. I need only recollect how much I valued you once, and with how much cause, immediately to feel a revival of the same value : if that can be said to revive, which at the most has only been dormant for want of • The authority of Addison is against both Blair and Cowper. The Spectator uses that as a relative, u|)on all occasions, and as if through a pecuUar predilection for tlie word. Cowper's, however, is the oest practice. COWPER*S LETTERS. 277 employment. But I slander it when I say that it has slept. A thousand times have I recollected a thousand scenes, in which our two selves have formed the whole of the drama, with the greatest pleasure ; at times, too, when I had no reason to suppose that I should ever hear from you again. I have laughed with you at the Arabian Nights' Entertainment, which afforded us, as you well know, a fund of merriment that deserves never to be forgot. I have walked with you to Netley Abbey, and have scrambled with you over hedges in every direction, and many other feats we have performed together, upon the field of my remembrance, and all M'ithin these few years. Should I say within this twelvemonth, I should not transgress the truth. The hours that I have spent with you were among the pleasantest of my former days, and ai'e therefore chronicled in my mind so deeply as to fear no erasure. Neither do I forget my poor friend Sir Thomas. I should remember him indeed, at any rate, on account of his personal kindness to myself; but the last testimony that he gave of his regard for you, endears him to me still more. With his uncommon understanding, (for with many peculi- arities he had more sense than any of his acquaintance,) and with his generous sensibilities, it was hardly possible that he should not distinguish you as he has done. As it was the last, so it was the best proof that he could give of a judgment that never deceived him, when he would allow himself leisure to consult it. You say that you have often heard of me ; that puzzles me. I cannot imagine from what quarter : but it is no matter. I must tell you, however, my cousin, that your information has been a little defective. That I am happy in my situation is true ; I live, and have lived these twenty years, with Mrs Unwin, to whose affectionate care of me, during the far greater part of that time, it is, under Providence, owing that I live at all. But I do not account myself happy in having been for thirteen of those years in a state of mind that has made all that care and attention necessary ; an attention and a care that have injured her health, and which, had she not been uncommonly supported, must have brought her to the grave. But I will pass to another subject ; it would be cruel to particularize only to give pain, neither would I by any means give a sable hue to the first letter of a correspondence so unexpectedly renewed. I am delighted with what you tell me of my uncle's gooa health. To enjoy any measure of cheerfulness at so late 278 cowper's letters. a day is much. But to liave that late day enlivened with the vivacity of youth, is much more, and in these post-diluvian times a rarity indeed. Happy for the most part are parents who liave daughters. Daughters are not apt to outlive their natural affections, which a son has generally survived even before his boyish years are expired. I rejoice particularly in my uncle's ff'licity, who has three female descendants from his little person, who leave him nothing to wish for upon that head. My dear cousin, dejection of spirits, which, I suppose, may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly employed. Manual occupations do not engage the mind sufficiently, as I know by experience, having tried many. But composition, especially of verse, absorbs it wholly. I write, therefore, generally three hours in a morning, and in an evening I transcribe. I read also, but less than I write, for I must have bodily exercise, and therefore never pass a day without it. You ask me where I have been this summer. I answer, at Olney. Should you ask me where I spent the last seventeen summers, I should still answer, at Olney. Ay, and the win- ters also ; I have seldom left it, and except when I attended my brother in his last illness, never, I believe, a fortnight together. Adieu, my beloved cousin, I shall not always be thus nimble in reply, but shall always have great pleasure in answering you when I can. — Yours, my dear friend and cousin, W. C. 194. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. PROGRESS OK HIS TR.ANSLATIOK — COURSE OF GREEK RJECOMMrNDEO . FOR A BOY. October 2% 17«5. My DEAR William, — You might well suppose that your letter had miscarried, thougli in fact it was duly received. I am not often so long in arrear, and you may assure yourself chat when at any time it hai)prns that I am so, neither neglect nor idleness is tlie cause. I have, as you well know, a daily occupation, forty lines to triuislate, a task which I never excuse myself wlien it is possible to perform it. Equally sedulous I am in the matter o^ transcribing, so that between cowper's letters. 279 both, my morning and evening are for the most part completely engaged. Add to this, that though my spirits are seldom so bad but I can write verse, they are often at so low an ebb, as to make the production of a letter impossible. So much for a trespass which called for some apology, but for which tt) apologize farther, would be a greater trespass stilL I am now in the twentieth book of Homer, and shall assuredly proceed, because the farther I go the more I find myself justified in the undertaking ; and in due time, if I live, shall assuredly publish. In the whole I shall have composed about forty thousand verses, about which forty thousand verses I shall have taken great pains, on no occasion suffering a slovenly line to escape me. I leave you to guess therefore, whether, such a labour once achieved, I shall not determine to turn it to some account, and to gain myself profit if I can, if not, at least some credit, for my reward. I perfectly approve of your course with John. The most entertaining books are best to begin with, and none in the world, so far as entertainment is concerned, deserves the preference to Homer. Neither do I know that there is any where to be found Greek of easier construction: poetical Greek I mean ; and as for prose, I should recommend Xenophon's Cyropaedia. That also is a most amusing narrative, and ten times easier to understand than the crabbed epigrams and scribblements of the minor poets, that are generally put into the hands of boys. I took particular notice of the neatness of John's Greek character, which, let me tell you, deserves its share of commendation ; for to write the language legibly is not the lot of every man who can read it. Witness myself for one. I like the little ode of Huntingford's that you sent me. In such matters we do not expect much novelty, or much depth of thought. The expression is all in all, which to me at least appears to be faultless. Adieu, my dear William. We are well, and you and yours are ever the objects of our affection. W. C. 195.— TO LADY HESKETH. ACCOUNT OF HIS CIRCUMSTANCES — THANKS FOR OFFERS OF ASSISTANCE — HIS PERSONAL APPEARANCE. OhHEY, November 9, 1784. My dearest Cousin, — Whose last most affectionate letter has run in my head ever aiiice I received if, and which I now sit 280 COWPER S LETTERS. down to answer two days sooner than tlie post will serve me. 1 thank you for it, and with a warmth for which 1 am sure you will give me credit, though I do not spend many words in describing it. I do not seek 7ietu friends, not being alto- gether sure that I should find them, but have unspeakable pleasure in being still beloved by an old one. I hope that now our correspondence has suffered its last interruption ; and that we shall go down together to the grave, chatting and chirping as merrily as such a scene of things as this will permit. I am happy that my poems have pleased you. My volume lias afforded me no such pleasure at any time, eitlier while I was writing it, or since its publication, as I have derived from yours and my uncle's opinion of it. I make certain allowances for partiality, and for that peculiar quickness of taste, with which you both relish what you like, and, after all drawbacks upon those accounts duly made, find myself rich in the measure of your approbation that still remains. But above all, I honour John Gilpin, since it was he who first encouraged you to write. I made him on purpose to laugh at, and he served his purpose well ; but I am now in debt to him for a more valuable acquisition than all the laughter in the world amounts to, — the recovery of my intercourse with you, which is to me inestimable. My benevolent and generous cousin, when I was once asked if I wanted any thing, and given delicately to understand that the inquirer was ready to supply all my occasions, I thankfully and civilly, but positively, declined the favour. I neither suffer, nor have suffered any such inconveniences as I had not much rather endure, than come under obligations of that sort to a person comparatively with yourself a stranger to me. But to you I answer other- wise. I know you thoroughly, and the liberality of your disposition ; and have that consummate confidence in the sincerity of your wish to serve me, that delivers me from all awkward constraint, and from all fear of trespassing by acceptance. To you therefore I reply, yes. Whensoever, and whatsoever, and in what manner soever you please ; and add moreover, that my affection for the giver is such, as will increase to me tenfold the satisfaction that I shall have in receiving. It is necessary, however, that I should let you a little Into the state of my finances, that you may not suppose them more narrowly circumscribed than tliey are. Since Mrs Unwin and I have lived at Oluey, we have had but one purse, altliough during the whole of that time, till lately, her income COWPEIt's LETTERS. 281 was nearly double mine. Her revenues indeed are now in some measure reduced, and do not much exceed my own ; the worst consequence of this is, that we are forced to deny our- selves some things which hitherto we have been better able to afford, but they are such things as neither life, nor the well- being of life, depend upon. My own income has been better than it is, but when it was best, it would not have enabled rae to live as my connections demanded that I should, had it not been combined with a better than itself, at least at this end of the kingdom. Of this I had full proof during three months that I spent in lodgings at Huntingdon, in which time, by the help of good management, and a clear notion of economical matters, I contrived to spend the income of a twelvemonth. Now, my beloved cousin, you are in possession of the whole case as it stands. Strain no points to your own inconvenience or hurt, for there is no need of it, but indulge yourself in communicating (no matter what) that you can spare without missing it, since by so doing you will be sure to add to the comforts of my life one of the sweetest that I can enjoy, — a token and proof of your affection. In the affair of my next publication, toward which you also offer me so kindly your assistance, there will be no need that you should help me in the manner that you propose. It will be a large work, consisting, I should imagine, of six volumes at least. The twelfth of this month I shall have spent a year upon it, and it will cost me more than another. I do not love the booksellers well enough to make them a present of such a labour, but intend to publish by sub- scription. Your vote and interest, my dear cousin, upon the occasion, if you please — but nothing more. I will trouble you with some papers of proposals, when the time shall come, and am sure that you will circulate as manj'^ for me as you can. Now, my dear, I am going to tell you a secret. It is a great secret, that you must not whisper even to your cat. No creature is at this moment apprised of it but Mrs Unwin and her son. I am making a new translation of Homer, and am on the point of finishing the twenty-first book of the Iliad. The reasons upon which I undertake this Herculean labour, and by which I justify an enterprise in which I seem so effectually anticipated by Pope, although in fact he has not anticipated me at all, I may possibly give you, if you wish for them, when I can find nothing more interesting to say, — a period which I do not conceive to be very near ! I have not answered many things in your letter, nor can do it at present 282 cowper's letters. for want of room. I cannot believe but that I should know you, notwithstanding all tliat time may have done. There is not a feature of j'our face, could I meet it upon the road by itself, that I should not instantly recollect. I should say, that IS my cousin's nose, or those are her lips and her chin, and no woman upon earth can claim them but herself. As for me, I am a very smart youth of my years. I am not indeed grown gray so much as I am grown bald. No matter. There was more hair in the world than ever had the honour to belong to me. Accordingly having found just enough to curl a little at my ears, and to intermix with a little of my own that still hangs behind, I appear, if you see me in an afternoon, to have a very decent head-dress, not easily distinguished from my natural growth ; wliich being worn with a small bag, and a black ribbon about my neck, continues to me the charms of my youth, even on the verge of age. Away with the fear of writing too often. — Yours, my dearest cousin, W. C. P.S. That the view I give you of myself may be complete, I add the two following items, — that I am in debt to nobody, and that I grow fat. 196.— TO LADY HESKETH. DISINTERESTEDNESS OF HIS FRIENDSHIP — SECRET OF HIS TRANSLATION. My dearest Cousin, — I am glad that I always loved you as I did. It releases me from any occasion to suspect that my present affection for you is indebted for its existence to any selfish considerations. No, I am sure I love you disin- terestedly, and for your own sake, because I never thought of you, with any other sensations than those of the truest affec- tion, even while I was under the persuasion that I should never hear from you again. But with my present feelings, superadded to those that I always had for you, I find it no easy matter to do justice to my sensations. I perceive m3'self in a state of mind similar to that of the traveller, described in Pope's Messiah, who, as he passes through a sandy desert, starts at the sudden and unex])ected sound of waterfall. You have placed me in a situation new to mv, and in which I feel myself somewhat puzzled how to behave. At the same time that I would not grieve you, by putting i check upon your bounty, 1 would be as cai'eful not to abuse COWPEIt's LETTERS. 283 it, as if I were a miser, and the question not about your mone}'^, but my own. Although I do not suspect that a secret to you, my cousin, is any burden, yet having maturely considered that point, since I wrote my last, I feel myself altogether disposed to release you from the injunction, to that effect, under which I laid you. I have now made such a progress in my translation, that I need neither fear that I shall stop short of the end, nor that any other rider of Pegasus should overtake me. Therefore if at any time it should fall fairly in your way, or you should feel yourself invited to say I am so occupied, you have my poetship's free permission. Dr Johnson read, and recom- mended my first volume. W. C. 197. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. EXCELLENCE OF A " CHARGE" BY BISHOP BAGOT. November 9, 1785. My dear Friend, — You desired me to return your good brother the bishop's Charge as soon as I conveniently could, and the weather having forbidden us to hope for the pleasure of seeing you, and Mrs Bagot with you, this morning, I return it now, lest, as you told me that your stay in this country would be short, you should be gone before it could reach you. I wish, as you do, that the Charge in question could find its way into all the parsonages in the nation. It is so generally applicable, and yet so pointedly enforced, that it deserves the most extensive spread. I find in it the happiest mixture of spiritual authority, the meekness of a Christian, and the good manners of a gentleman. It has convinced me, that the poet, who, like myself, shall take the liberty to pay the author of such valuable admonition a compliment, shall do at least as much honour to himself as to his subject. — Yours, W. C. 198. —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. RESOLUTION TO PUBLISH HOMER BV SUBSCRIPTION. December 24, 1785. My dear Friend, — You would have found a letter from me at Mr ^'s, according to your assignation, had not the 284 COWPER*S LETTERS. post, setting out two hours sooner than the usual time, pre- vented mo. The Odyssey that you sent has but one fault — at least, but one that I have discovered, which is, that I cannot read it. The very attempt, if persevered in, would soon make me as blind as Homer was himself. I am now in the last book of the Hiad ; shall be obliged to you therefore for a more legible one by the first opportunity. I wrote to Johnson lately, desiring him to give me advice and information on the subject of proposals for a subscription ; and he desired me in his answer not to use that mode of publication, but to treat with him ; adding, that he could make me such offers, as, he believed, I should approve. I have replied to his letter, but abide by my first purpose. Having occasion to write to Mr [Thornton^ concerning his princely benevolence, extended this year also, to the poor of Olney, I put in a good word for my poor self likewise, and liave received a very obliging and encouragmg answer. He promises me six names in particular, that, he says, will do me no discredit, and expresses a wish to be served with papers as soon as they shall be printed. I meet with encouragement from all quarters, such as I find need of indeed, in an enterprise of such length and moment, but such as at the same time I find effectual. Homer is not a poet to be translated under the disadvantage of doubts and dejection. Let me sing the praises of the desk which has sent me. In general, it is as elegant as possible. In particular, it is of cedar, beautifully lacquered. When put together, it assumes the form of a handsome small chest, and contains all sorts of accommodations ; it is inlaid with ivory, and serves the purpose of a reading desk. — Your affectionate W. C. 199.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. REASONS FOK UNDERTAKING THE TRANSLATION OF HOMER. BeeevrJber 2A, 1785. My dear Friend, — Till I had made such a progress in my present undertaking, as to put it out of all doubt tiiat, if J lived, I sliould proceed in and finish it, I kept the matter to myself. It would have done me little honour to have told ir.y friends that I had an arduous enterprise in hand, if after- wards I must have told them that I had dropped it. Knowing COWPER*S LETTERS. 285 it to have been universally the opinion of the literati, ever since they have allowed themselves to consider the matter coolly, that a translation, properly so called, of Homer, is, notwithstanding what Pope has done, a desideratum in the English language, it struck me, that an attempt to supply the deficiency would be an honourable one ; and having made myself, in former years, somewhat critically a master of t'ne original, I was by this double consideration induced to make the attempt myself. I am now translating into blank verse the last book of the Iliad, and mean to publish by subscrit> tion. W. C. ' 200. — TO GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ. * COWPER's former friendship for COLMAN UNABATED — SOLICITS His INTEREST IN FAVOUR OF THE TRANSLATION OF HOMER. Olney, December 27, 1785. Dear Colman, — For though we have not had any inter- course for more than twenty years, I cannot find in my heart to address you by any other style ; and I am the rathe? encouraged to the use of that in which I formerly addressed you, by a piece of intelligence that I received not long since from my friend Hill, who told me that you had inquired after me of him, and had said something about an intention to write to me. I took pretty good care that you should not be ignorant of my having commenced author, by sending you my volume. The reason why I did not send you my second was, because you omitted to send me your Art of Poetry, which, in a splenetic mood, I suppose, I construed into pro- hibition. But HilFs subsequent information has cured me of that malady so far as you are concerned. Once an author and always an author : this you know, my friend, is always an axiom, and admits of no dispute. In my instance, at least, it is likely to hold good, for I have more leisure than it is possible to dispose of without writing. Accordingly I write every day, and have every day been writing since I last published, till at last I have made such a progress in a new translation of Homer into blank verse, that I am upon the point of publishing again. Hitherto I have given away my copies ; but, having indulged myself in that frolic twice, I now mean to try whether it may not prove equally agreeable to get something by the bargain. I com . • This letter to George Colman the Elder is here inserted for the first time in a collection of Cowper's Letters. It was first published among the " Posthumous Letters from various celebrated men, addi'essed to Francis Colman and Georfie Colman thg Elder." 286 rowPER*s lettfrs. therefore humbly to solicit your vote and interest, and to beg that you will help me in the circulation of my proposals ; for I shall print by subscription. On such occasions, you know, a man sets every wheel in motion, and it would be strangt.' indeed, if, not havin^i,' a great many wheels to move, I should leave unattempted so imjjortant a one as yourself. As soon as I have your permission, I shall order my bookseller to send you some papers. The News informed me of your illness, which gave me true concern, for time alone can etface the traces of such a friend- ship as I have felt for you — no, nor even time, with distance to help it. The News also told me that you were better ; but to find that you are perfectly recovered, and to see it under your own hand, will give the greatest pleasure to one who can honestly subscribe himself to this day, your very affec- tionate William Cowper. I enclose this with a letter to Johnson, ray publisher, to whom I am obliged to have recourse for your address. 201. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. PROGRESS IN TRANSLATING — SUBSCRIPTIONS — POOR OF OLNET. December d], 1785. My dear William, — You have learned from my last that I am now conducting myself upon the plan that you recom- mended to me in the summer. But since I wrote it, I have made still farther advances in my negotiation with Johnson. The proposals are adjusted. The proof-sheet has been printed off, corrected, and returned. They will be sent abroad as soon as I make up a complete list of the personages and per- sons to whom I would have them sent ; whicli in a few days I hope to be able to accomplish. Johnson behaves very well, at least, according to my conception of the matter, and seems sensible that I have dealt liberally with him. He wishes me to be a gainer by my labours, in his own words, " to put something handsome into my pocket," and recommends two large quartos for the whole. He would not, he says, by any means advise an extravagant price, and has fixed it at three guineas ; the half, as usual, to be paid at the time of sub- scribing, the remainder on delivery. Five hundred names, he adds, at this price, will put above a thousand i)()unds into my purse. I am doing my best to obtain them. Mr Newton is warm in my service, and can do not a little. I have oi cowper's letters. 287 course written to Mr Bagot ; who, when he was here, with much earnestness and affection entreated me so to do, as soon as I could have settled the conditions. If I could get Sir Richard Sutton's address, I would write to him also, though I have been but once in his company since I left Westminster, where he and I read the Iliad and Odyssey through together. I enclose Lord Dartmouth's answer to my application, which I will get you to shew to Lady Hesketh, because it will please her. I shall be glad if you can make an opportunity to call on her, during your present stay in town. You observe, therefore, that I am not wanting to myself. He that is so, has no just, claim on the assistance of others, neither shall myself have cause to complain of me in other respects. I thank you for your friendly hints, and precautions, and shall not fail to give them the guidance of my pen. I respect the public, and I respect myself, and had rather want bread than expose myself wantonly to the condemnation of either. I hate the affectation so frequently found in authors, of negli- gence and slovenly slightness ; and in the present case am sensible how necessary it is to shun them, when I undertake the vast and invidious labour of doing better than Pope has done before me. I thank you for all that you have said and done in my cause, and beforehand, for all that you shall say and do hereafter. I am sure that there will be no deficiency on your part. In particular, I thank you for taking such jealous care of my honour and respectability, when the man you mention applied for samples of my translation. When I deal in wine, cloth, or cheese, I will give samples, but of verse never. No consideration would have induced me to comply with the gentleman's demand, unless he could have assured me that his wife had longed. I have frequently thought with pleasure of the summer that you have had in your heart, while you have been employed in softening the severity of winter in behalf of so many who must otherwise have been exposed to it. I wish that you could make a general jail-delivery, leaving only those behind who cannot elsewhere be so properly disposed of. You never said a better thing in your life, than when you assured Mr [Thornton] of the expediency of a gift of bedding to the poor of Olney. There is no one article of this world's comforts, with which, as FalstafF says, they are so heinously unprovided. When a poor woman, and an honest one, whom we know well, carried home two pair of blankets, a pair for herself and husband, and a pair for her six children ; as soon 288 COWPER'S LETTERS. as the children saw them, tliey jumped out of their straw, caught them in their arms, kissed them, blessed them, and danced for joy. An old woman, a very old one, the first night that she found herself so comfortably covered, could not sleep a wink, being kept awake by the contrary emotions, of transport on the one hand, and the fear of not being thank- ful enough on the other. It just occurs to me to say, that this manuscript of mine will be ready for the press, as I hope, by the end of February. I shall have finished the Iliad in about ten days, and shall proceed immediately to the revisal of the whole. You must, if possible, come down to Olney, if it be only that you may take charge of its safe delivery to Johnson. For rf by any accident it should be lost, I am undone — the first copy being but a lean counterpart of the second. Your mother joins with me in love and good wisnes of every kind, to you, and all yours. — Adieu, W. C. 202. —TO LADY HESKETH. INEQUALITIES IN THE TASK CAUSES OF THIS — HOMER. January 10, 1786. It gave me great pleasure that you found my friend Gnwin, what I was sure you would find him, a most agreeable man. I did not usher him in with the marrow-bones and cleavers of high sounding panegyric, both because I was cer- tain that whatsoever merit he had, your discernment would mark it, and because it is possible to do a man material injury by making his praise his harbinger. It is easy to raise expectation to such a pitch, that the reality, be it ever so excellent, must necessarily fall below it. I hold myself much indebted to Mr , of whom I have the first information from yourself, botli for his friendly disposition towards me, and for the manner in which he marks the defects in my volume. An author must be tender indeed, to wince on being touched so gently. It is undoubt- edly as he says, and as you and my uncle say. You cannot be all mistaken, neither is it at all probable that any of you should be so. I take it for granted, therefore, that there are inequalities in the composition, and I do assure you, my dear, most faithfully, that if it should reach a second edition, I will spare no pains to improve it. It may serve me for an agreeable amusement perhaps, when Homer shall be gone cowper's letters. 289 and done with. The first edition of poems has generally been susceptible of improvement. Pope, I believe, never published one in his life that did not undergo variations ; and his longest pieces many. I will only observe, that ine- qualities there must be always, and in every work of length. There are level parts of every subject, parts which we cannot with propriety attempt to elevate. They are by nature humble, and can only be made to assume an awkward and uncouth appearance by being mounted. But again I take it for granted that this remark does not apply to the matter of your objection. You were sufficiently aware of it before, and have no need that I should suggest it as an apology, could it have served that office, but would have made it for me your- self. In truth, my dear, had you known in what anguish of mind I wrote the whole of that poem, and under what per- petual interruptions from a cause that has since been removed, so that sometimes I had not an opportunity of writing more than three lines at a sitting, you would long since have wondered as much as I do myself, that it turned out any thing better than Grub Street. My cousin, give yourself no trouble to find out any of the Magi to scrutinize my Homer. I can do without them ; and if I were not conscious that I have no neea of their help, I would be the first to call for it." Assure yourself that I intend to be careful to the utmost line of all possible caution, both with respect to language and versification. I will not send a verse to the press, that shall not have undergone the strictest examination. A subscription is surely on every account the most eligible mode of publication. When I shall have emptied the purses of my friends, and of their friends, into my own, I am still free to levy contributions upon the world at lai'ge, and I shall then have a fund to defray the expenses of a new edition. I have ordered Johnson to print the proposals immediately, and hope that they will kiss your hands before the week is expired. I have had the kindest letter from Josephus* that I ever had. He mentioned my purpose to one of the Masters of Eton, who replied, that " such a work is much wanted." — Affectionately yours,- W. C • Joseph Hill, Esq. N 290 COWPER*S LETTERS. 203.— TO TFIE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. ▲ VISIT TO LADY HESKETfl — WHY THE IMAD CONCLUDES WITH TH» DEATH OF HKCTOK. January 14, 1786. My dear William, — I am glad that you have seen Lady Hcsketli. I knew tliat you would find iier every thing that is amiable and elegant. Else, being my relation, I would never have shewn her to you. She also was delighted with her visiter, and expects the greatest pleasure in seeing you again ; but is under some apprehensions that a tender regard for the drum of your car may keep you from her. Never mind ! 3'ou have two drums, and if she should crack both, I will buy you a trumpet. General Cowper having much pressed me to accompany ray proposals with a specimen, I have sent him one. It is taken from the twenty-fourth book of the Iliad, and is part of the interview between Priam and Achilles. Tell me, if it be possible for any man to tell me, why did Homer leave off at the burial of Hector ? Is it possible that he could be deter- mined to it by a conceit so little worth}^ of him, as that, having made the number of his books completely the alphabetical number, he would not for the joke's sake proceed any farther? Why did he not give us the death of Achilles, and the destruction of Troy ? Tell me also, if the critics, with Aristotle at their head, have not found that he left off exactly where he should ; and that every epic poem, to all genera- tions, is bound to conclude with tlie burial of Hector ? I do not in the least doubt it. Therefore, if I live to write a dozen epic poems, I will always take care to bury Hector, and to bring all matters at that point to an immediate conclusion. I had a truly kind letter from Mr , * written imme- diately on his recovery from the fever. I am bound to honour James's powder, not only for the services it has often rendered to myself, but still more for having been the meiuis of preserving a life ten times more valuable to society than mine is ever likely to be. You say, " Why should I trouble you with my troubles ?" I answer, " Why not ? What is a friend good for, if we may • Thornton. COWPER*S LETTERS. 291 not lay one end of the sack upon his shoulders, while we ourselves carry the other?" You see your duty to God, and your duty to your neigh- bour, and you practise both with your best ability. Yet a certain person accounts you blind. I would that all the world were so blind even as you are. But there are some in it w^ho, like the Chinese, say, " We have two eyes, and other nations have but one ! " I am glad, however, that in your one eye you have sight enough to discover that such censures are not worth minding. I thank you heartily for every step you take in the advancement of my present purpose. Contrive to pay Lady H. a long visit, for she has a thousand things to say Yours, my dear William, W. C. 204. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. PROGRESS WITH HOMER. Jamiary 15, 1786. My dear Friend, — I have just time to give you a hasty line to explain to you the delay that the publication of my proposals has unexpectedly encountered, and at which I suppose that you have been somewhat surprised. I have a near relation in London, and a warm friend in General Cowper ; he is also a person as able as willing to render me material service. I lately made him acquainted with my iesign of sending into the world a new translation of Homer, and told him that my papers would soon attend him. He soon after desired that I would annex to them a specimen of the work. To this I at first objected, for reasons that need not be enumerated here ; but at last acceded to his advice ; and accordingly the day before yesterday I sent him a specimen. It consists of one hundred and seven lines, and is taken from the interview between Priam and Acliilles in the last book. I chose to extract from the latter end of the poem, and as near to the close of it as possible, that I might encourage a hope in the readers of it, that if they found it in some degree worthy of their approbation, they would find the former parts of the work not less so. For if a writer flags anywhere, it must be when he is near the end. My subscribers will have an option given them in the proposals respecting the price. My predecessor in the same business was not quite so moderate. ***** You may say 292 cowper's letters. ^ perhaps, (at least if your kindness for nie did not prevent it, you would be ready to say) " It is well ; but do you place yourself on a level with Pope ?** I answer, or rather should answer, " By no means — not as a poet, but as a translator of Homer ; if I did not expect ajid believe that I should even surpass him, why have I meddled with this matter at all ? If I confess inferiority, I reprobate my own undertaking." When I can hear of the rest of the bishops, that they preach and live as your brother does, I will think more respectfully of them than I feel inclined to do at present. They may be learned, and I know that some of them are; but your brother, learned as he is, has otlier more powerful recommendations. Persuade him to publish his poetry, and I promise you that he sliall find as warm and sincere an admirer in me as in any man that lives. — Yours, my dear friend, very affectionately, W. C. 165. —TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. DR MATy's opinion of the task NO GOOD ENGLISH VERSION OF HOMER. January 23, 1786. My dear and faithful Friend, — * ♦ * The imragraph that I am now beginning will contain infor- mation of a kind that I am not very fond of communicating, and on a subject that I am not very fond of MTiting about. Only to you I will open my budget without reserve, because I know that in what concerns my authorship you take an interest that demands my confidence, and will be pleased with every occurrence that is at all propitious to my endeavours. Lady Hesketh, who, had she as many mouths as Virgil's Fame, with a tongue in each, would employ them all in my service, writes me word that Dr Maty* of the Museum luis read my Task. I cannot even to you relate what he says of it ; though, when I began this story, I thought I had courage enough to tell it boldly. He designs, however, to give his opinion of it in his next Monthly Keview ; and being informed that I wrjj • Tliere were two Dr Matys, father and son, imtive.'^ of Holland, both authors, and librarians to the Hritish Museiun. Co\v{)er's conunentator must have been Dr Paul Henry Maty, the son, who wa-; for many ywirs tiditor of the New Monthly Iicvicu>, and died ii 1787. cowper's letters. 293 about to finish a translation of Homer, asked her Ladyship's leave to mention the circumstance on that occasion. This incident pleases me the more, because I have authentic intelli- gence of his being a critical character in all its forms, acute, sour, and blunt ; and so incorruptible withal, and so unsuscep- tible of bias from undue motives, that, as my correspondent informs me, he would not praise his own mother, did he not think she deserved it. The said Task is likewise gone to Oxford, conveyed thither by an intimate friend of Dr , with a purpose of putting it into his hands. My friend, what will they do with me at Oxford ? Will they burn me at Carfax, or will they anathe- matize me with bell, book, and candle? I can say with more truth than Ovid did, ParvCy nee invideo. The said Dr has been heard to say, and I give you his own words, (stop both your ears while I utter them,) " that Homer has never been translated, and that Pope was a fool." Very irreverent language to be sure, but in consideration of the subject on which he used them, we will pardon it, even in a dean. One of the masters of Eton told a friend of mine lately, that a translation of Homer is much wanted. So now you have all my news. * * * Yours, my dear friend, cordially, W. C. 206. — TO LADY HESKETH. THANKS FOR AN ANONYMOUS PRESENT DETAILS ON HOMER GENERAL COWPER. Ohtn-EY, January 31, 1786. It is very pleasant, my dearest cousin, to receive a present so delicately conveyed as that which I received so lately from Anonymous ; but it is also very painful to have nobody to thank for it. I find myself therefore driven by stress of necessity to the following resolution, namely, that I will constitute you my thanks-receiver-general for whatsoever gift I shall receive here- after, as well as for those that I have already received from a nameless benefactor. I therefore thank you, my cousin, for a most elegant present, including the most elegant compliment that ever poet was honoured with ; for a snuff-box of tortoise- shell, with a beautiful landscape on the lid of it, glazed with crystal, having the figures of three hares in the foreground, apd inscribed above witu these words, The PecLsajifs Nest — 294 cowper's letters. and below with these — Tiney^ Pv^s, a?ui Scss. For all and every of these I thank you, and also for standing proxy on this occasion. Nor must 1 forget to thank you, that so soon after I had sent you the first letter of Anonymous, I received another in the same hand. There ! Now I am a little easier. I have almost conceived a design to send up half a dozen stout country fellows, to tie by tiie leg to their respective bedposts the company that so abridges your opportunity of writing to me. Your letters are the joy of my heart, and I cannot endure to be robbed, by I know not whom, of half my treasure. But there is no comfort without a drawback, and therefore it is that I, who have unknown friends, have unknown enemies also. Ever since I wrote last I find myself in better health, and my nocturnal spasms and fever considerably abated. I intend to write to Dr Kerr on Thursday, that I may gratify him with an account of my amendment ; for to him I know that it will be a gratification. Were he not a physician, I should regret that he lives so distant, for he is a most agreeable man ; but being what he is, it would be impossible to have his company, even if he were a neighbour, unless in time of sickness ; at which time, whatever charms he might have himself, my own must necessarily lose much of their effect on him. When I write to you, my dear, what I have already related to the General, I am always fearful lest I should tell you that for news with which you arc well acquainted. For once, however, I will venture. On Wednesday last I received from Johnson the MS. copy of a specimen that I had sent to the General ; and, enclosed in the same cover, notes upon it by an unknown critic. Johnson, in a short letter, recom- monded him to me as a man of unquestionable learning and ability. On perusal and consideration of his remarks, I found him such ; and having nothing so much at heart as to give all possible security to yourself and the General, tliat my work shall not come forth unfinished, I answered Johnson, that I would gladly submit my MS. to his friend. He is in truth a very clever feUow, perfectly a stranger to me, and one who I promise you Mill not spare for severity of animadversion, where he sliall find occasion. It is impossible for you, my dearest cousin, to express a wish that I do not equally feel a wish to gratify. You are desirous that Maty should see a ijook of my Homer, and for tiiat reason if Maty will see a book of it, he shall be welcome, although time is likely to be cowper's letters. 295 precious, and consequently any delay, that is not absolutely necessary, as much as possible to be avoided. I am now revising the Iliad. It is a business that will cost me four months, perhaps five ; for I compare the very words as I go, and if much alteration should occur, must transcribe the whole. The first book I have almost transcribed already. To these five months, Johnson says that nine more must be added for printing, and upon my own experience I will ven- ture to assure you, that the tardiness of printers will make those nine months twelve. There is danger, therefore, that my subscribers may think that I make them wait too long, and that they who know me not, may suspect a bubble. How glad shall I be to read it over in an evening, book by book, as fast as I settle the copy, to you, and to Mrs Unwin ! She has been my touchstone always, and without reference to her taste and judgment I have printed nothing. With one of you at each elbow I should think myself the happiest of all poets. The General and I, having broken the ice, are upon the comfortable terms of correspondence. He writes very affec- tionately to me, and I say every thing to him that comes uppermost. I could not write frequently to any creature living, upon any other terms than those. He tells me of infirmities that he has, which make him less active than he was. I am sorry to hear that he has any such. Alas ! alas ! he was young when I saw him, only twenty years ago. I have the most affiectionate letter imaginable from Colman, who writes to me like a brotlier. The Chancellor is yet dumb. May God have you in his keeping, my beloved cousin ! Farewell, W. C. 207 — TO LADY HESKETH. INVITATION TO OLNEY — DESCRIPTION OF THE POET's RESIDENCE. Olney, February 9, 1786. My dearest Cousin, — I have been impatient to tell you that I am impatient to see you again. Mrs Unwin partakes with me in all my feelings upon this subject, and longs also to see you. I should have told you so by the last post, but have been so completely occupied by this tormenting specimen, that it was impossible to do it. I sent the General a letter on Monday, that would distress and alarm him ; I sent him another yesterday, that will I hope quiet him again. Johnson 296 C0WPEIl*3 LETTERS has apologized very civilly for the multitude of his friend's strictures ; and his friend has promised to confine liimself in future to a comparison of me with the original, so that, I doubt not, we shall jog on merrily together. And now, roy dear, let me tell you once more, that your kindness in promising us a visit has charmed us both. I shall see you again. I shall hear your voice. We shall take walks together. I will shew you my prospects, the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse, and its banks, every thing that I have described. I anticipate the pleasure of those days not very far distant, and I feel a part of it at this moment. Talk not of an inn ! Mention it not for your life ! We have never had so many visiters, but we could easily accommodate them all ; though we have received Unwin, and his wife, and his sister, and his son, all at once. My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May, or beginning of June, because before that time my greenhouse will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only pleasant room belonging to us. When the plants go out, we go in. I line it with mats, and spread the floor with mats ; and there you shall sit with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine ; and I will make you a bouquet of myrtle every day. Sooner than the time I mention the country will not be in complete beauty. And I will tell you what you shall find at your first entrance. Imprimis, as soon as you have entered the vestibule, if you cast a look on either side of you, you shall see on the right hand a box of my making. It is the box in which have been lodged all my hares, and in which lodges Puss at present. But he, poor fellow, is worn out with age, and promises to die before you can see him. On the right hand, stands a cupboard, the work of the same author ; it was once a dove-cage, but I transformed it. Opposite to you stands a table, which I also made. But a merciless servant having scrubbed it until it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now but of ornament ; and all my clean shoes stand under it. On the left hand, at the fartiier end of this superb vestibule, you will find the door of the pai'lour, into which I will conduct you, and where I will introduce you to Mrs Unwin, unless we should meet her before, and where we will be as hap})y as the day vs long. Order yourself, my cousin, to the Swiui at Newport, and there you shall fintl me ready to conduct you to Olney. My dear, I have told Homer what you say about casks and m-ns, and have asked him, whether he is sure that it is a cask cowper's letters. 297 in which Jupiter keeps his wine. He swears that it is a cask, and that it will never be any thing better than a cask to eternity. So if the god is content with it, we must even wonder at his taste, and be so too Adieu ! my dearest, dearest cousin, W. C. 208. — TO LADY HESKETH. TRANSLATION — VEXATIONS OF CRITICISM — CHANCELLOR THDRLOW. Olney, February 11, 1786. My dearest Cousin, — It must be, I suppose, a fortnight or thereabout since I wrote last, I feel myself so alert and so ready to write again. Be that as it may, here I come. We talk of nobody but you. What we will do with you when we get you, where you shall walk, where you shall sleep, in short, every thing that bears the remotest relation to your well- being at Olney, occupies all our talking time, which is all that I do not spend at Troy. I have every reason for writing to you as often as I can, but I have a particular reason for doing it now. I want to tell you that by the Diligence on Wednesday next, I mean to send you a quire of my Homer for Maty's perusal. It will contain the first book, and as much of the second as brings us to the catalogue of the ships, and is every morsel of the revised copy that I have transcribed. My dearest cousin, read it your- self, let the General read it, do what you please with it, so that it reach Johnson in due time. But let Maty be the only critic that has any thing to do with it. The vexation, the perplexity, that attends a multiplicity of criticisms by various •hands, many of which are sure to be futile, many of them ill-founded, and some of them contradictory to others, is inconceivable, except by the author, whose ill-fated work happens to be the subject of them. This also appears to me self-evident — that if a work have passed under the review of one man of taste and learning, and have had the good fortune to please him, his approbation gives security for that of all others qualified like himself. I speak thus, my dear, after having just escaped from such a storm of trouble, occasioned by end- less remarks, hints, suggestions, and objections, as drove me almost to despair, and to the very verge of a resolution to drop my undertaking for ever. With infinite difficulty I at last sifted the chaff from the wheat, availed myself of what appeared to me to be just, and rejected the rest, but not til N 2 * 298 cowper's letters. the labour and anxiety had nearly undone all that Kerr had been doing for me. My beloved cousin, trust me for it, as you safely may, that temper, vanity, and self-importance, had nothing to do in all this distress that 1 suffered. It was merely the effect of an alarm, that I could not help taking, when I compared the great trouble I had with a few lines only, thus handled, witli that whicli I foresaw such handling of the whole must necessarily give me. I felt beforeiiand that my constitu- tion would not bear it. I shall send up tliis second specimen in a box that I have had made on purpose ; and when Maty has done with the copy, and you have done with it yourself, then you must return it in said box to my translatorship. Though Johnson's friend has teased me sadly, I verily believe that I shall have no more sucli cause to complain of Jiim. We now understand one another, and I firmly believe that I might have gone the world through, before I had found his equal in an accurate and familiar acquaintance with the original. A letter to Mr Urban in the last Gentleman's Magazine, of which I 's book is the subject, pleases me more than any thing 1 have seen in the way of eulogium yet. I have no guess of ne author. I do not wish to remind the Chancellor of his promise. Ask you why, my cousin ? Because I suppose it would be impossible. He has no doubt forgotten it entirely, and would be obliged to take my word for the truth of it, which I could not bear. We drank tea togetlier with Mrs C e, and her sister, in King Street, Bloomsbury, and there ^vas the promise made. I said — " Thurlow, I am nobody, and shall be always nobody, and you will be Chancellor. You shall provide for me when you are ?" He smiled, and replied, " I surely will.'* " These ladies," said I, " are witnesses." He still smiled, and said — " Let them be so, for I will certainly do it." But, alas ! twenty-four years have passed since the day of the date there- of ; and to mention it now would be to upbraid him with inattention to his plighted troth. Neither do I suppose he could easily serve such a creature as I am, if be would — Adieu whom I love entireiv. W. C. cowper's letters. 299 209.— TO LADY HESKETH. HER VISIT TO OLNET — SIMPLICITY THE MAIN CHARACTERISTIC OF HOMER. Olnet, February 19, 1786. My dearest Cousin, — Since so it must be, so it shall be. If you will not sleep under the roof of a friend, may you never sleep under the roof of an enemy ! An enemy, how- ever, you will not presently find. Mrs Unwin bids me mention her affectionately, and tell you that she willingly gives up a part, for the sake of the rest — willingly, at least, as far as willingly may consist with some reluctance ; I feel my reluctance too. Our design was, that you should have slept in the room that serves me for a study, and its having been occupied by you would have been an additional recommen- dation of it to me. But all reluctances are superseded by the thought of seeing you : and because we have nothing so much at heart as the wish to see you happy and comfortable, we are desirous, therefore, to accommodate you to your own mind, and not to ours. Mrs Unwin has already secured foi you an apartment, or rather two, just such as we could wish. The house in which you will find them is within thirty yards of our own, and opposite to it. The whole affair is thus commodiously adjusted ; and now I have nothing to do but to wish for June ; and June, my cousin, was never so wished for since June was made. I shall have a thousand things to hear, and a thousand to say, and they will all rush into my mind together, till it will be so crowded with things impatient to be said, that for some time I shall say nothing. But no matter — sooner or later they will all come out; and since we shall have you the longer for not having you under our own roof, (a circumstance, that, more than any thing, reconciles us to that measure) they will stand the better chance. After so long a separation — a separation that of late seemed likely to last for life — we shall meet each other as alive from the dead ; and for my own part i can tnilv say, that I have not a friend in the other world whose resurrection would give me greater pleasure. I am, truly happy, my dear, in having pleased you with what you have seen of my Homer. I wish that all English readers had your unsophisticated, or rather unadulterated taste, and could relish simplicity like you. But I am well aware that in this respect I am under a disadvantage, and 300 cowper\s letters. that many, especially many ladies, missihg many turns and prettinesses of expression, that they have admired in Pope, will account my translation in those particulars defective. But I comfort myself with the thought, that in reality it is no defect ; on the contrary, that the want of all such emljol- lishments as do not belong to the original will be one of its principal merits with persons indeed capable of relishing Homer. He is the best poet that ever lived for many reasons, but for none more than for that majestic plainness that distin- guishes him from all others. As an accomplished person moves gracefully without thinking of it, in like manner the dignity of Homer seems to cost him no labour. It was natural to him to say great things, and to say them well, and little ornaments were beneath his notice. If Maty, my dearest cousin, should return to you my copy with any such .strictures as may make it necessary for me to see it ai;ain, before it goes to Johnson, in that case you shall sen; I it to me, otherwise to Johnson immediately ; for he writes me word he wishes his friend to go to work upon it as soon as possible. When you come, my dear, we will hang all these critics together: for they have worried me without remorse of conscience ; at least one of them has. I had actually mur- dered more than a few of the best lines in the specimen, in compliance with his requisitions, but plucked up my courage at last, and in the very last opportunity that I had, recovered them to life again by restoring the original reading. At the same time I readily confess that the specimen is the better for all this discipline its author has undergone ; but then it has been more indebted for its improvement to that pointed accuracy of examination, to which I was myself excited, than to any proposed amendments from Mr Critic : for as sure as you are my cousin, whom I long to see at Olney, so surely would he have done me irreparable mischief, if I Mould have given him leave. My friend Bagot writes to me in a most friendly strain, and calls loudly upon me for original poetry. Wlun I shall have done with Homer, probably lie will not call in vain. Having found th^ prime feather of a swan on the banks of the smug a7id silver Trent, he keeps it for me Adieu, dear cousin, \V. C. I am sorry that the (General has such indifferent health. He must not die. I can by no mcims spiU'e a person so kind to me. COWPKR's LEITFRS, 301 210.— TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. CONDOLENCE ON THE DEATH OF MRS BAGOT. Olney, February 27, 1786. Alas ! alas ! my dear, dear friend, may God himself comfort you ! I will not be so absurd as to attempt it. By the close of your letter it should seem, that in this hour of great trial he withholds not his consolations from you. I know by experience that they are neither few nor small ; and though I feel for you as I never felt for man before, yet do I sincerely rejoice in this, that whereas there is but one true Comforter in the universe, under afflictions such as yours, you both know him, and know where to seek him. I thought you a man the most happily mated that I had ever seen, and had great pleasure in your felicity. Pardon me, if now I feel a wish that, short as mj'^ acquaintance with her was, I had never seen her. I should have mourned with you, but not as I do now. Mrs Unwin smj^athizes with you also most sincerely, and you neither are, nor will be soon forgotten in such prayers as we can make at Olney. I will not detain you longer now, my poor afflicted friend, than to commit you to the tender mercy of God, and to bid you a sorrowful adieu ! — Adieu! ever yours, W. C. 211. — TO LADY HESKETH. ELISIONS IN BLANK VERSE LICENCE IN HIS TRANSLATION. Olney, March 6, 1786. My dearest Cousin, — Your opinion has more weight with me than that of all the critics in the world ; and to give you a proof of it, I make you a concession that I would hardly have made to them all united. I do not, indeed, absolutely covenant, promise, and agree, that I wdll discard all my elisions, but I hereby bind myself to dismiss as many of them as, without sacrificing energy to sound, I can. It is incumbent upon me in the mean time to say something in justification of the few that I shall retain, that I may not seem a poet mounted rather on a mule than on Pegasus. In the first place, The, is a barbarism. We are indebted for it to the Celts, or the Goths, or to the Saxons, or perhaps to them all. In the two best languages that ever were spoken, the Greek and the Latin, there is no similar encumbrance of 302 COWPER*S LETTERS. expression to be tbund.* Secondly, The perpetual use of it in our language is to us misrrable poets attended with two great inconveniences. Our verse consisting only of ten syllables, it not unfrequently happens that a fifth part of the line is to be engrossed, and necessarily too, unless elision prevents it, by this abominable intruder; and, which is worse in my account, open vowels are continually the consequence — The element — The air, &c. Thirdly, The French, who are equally with the English chargeable with barbarism in this particular, dispose of their Le and their La without ceremony, and always take care that they shall be absorbed, both in verse and in prose, in the vowel that immediately follows them. Fourthly, and I believe lastly, (and for your sake I wish it may prove so,) the practice of cutting short The is warranted by Milton, who of all English poets that ever lived, had certainly the finest ear. Dr Warton, indeed, has dared to say that he had a bad one ; for which he deserves, as far as critical demerit can deserve it, to lose his own. I thought I had done, but there is still a fifthly behind, and it is this, that the custom of abbreviating TJie belongs to the style in which, in my advertisement annexed to the specimen, I prof(.'ss to write. The use of that style would have warranted me in the practice of much greater liberty of this sort than I ever intended to take. In perfect consistence with that style I might say, T th' tempest, I' th' door-way, &c. which, how- ever, I would not allow myself to do, because I was aware that it would be objected to, and with reason. But it seems to me for the causes above said, that when I shorten The^ before a vowel, or before wh^ as in the line you mention, Than th' whole broad Hellespont in all its parts, my licence is not equally exceptionable, because W^ though he rank as a consonant in the word wholcy is not allowed to announce himself to the ear ; and // is an aspirate. But as I said at the beginning, so say I still, I am most willing to conform myself to your very sensible observation, that it is necessary, if we would please, to consult the taste of our own day ; neither would I have pelted you, my dearest cousin, with any part of this volley of good reasons, had I not • The want of a (lefinito article is generally aeknowlodgcd to be a defect in the Greek and Latin Luiguages, as detracting from precision u expression. Cowper, in the text, falls into a common mistake with mon classical scholars, of regarding all others as corruptions of their favoiirita tongues. cowper's letters. 303 designed them as an answer to those objections which yon say you have heard from others. But I only mention them Though satisfactory to myself, I wave them, and will allow to The his whole dimensions, whensoever' it can be done. Thou only critic of mv verse that is to be found in all the earth, whom I love, what shall I say in answer to your own objection to that passage, Softly he placed his hand On th' old man's hand, and push'd it gently away. I can say neither more nor less than this, that when our dear friend, the General, sent me his opinion of the specimen, quoting those very words from it, he added, " With this part I was particularly pleased ; there is nothing in poetry more descriptive." Such were his very words. Taste, my dear, is various, there is nothing so various, and even between persons of the best taste there are diversities of opinion on the same subject, for which it is not possible to account. So much for these matters. You advise me to consult the General, and to confide in him. I follow your advice, and have done both. By the last post I asked his permission to send him the books of my Homer, as fast as I should finish them ofi^. I shall be glad of his remarks, and more glad than of any thing to do that which I hope may be agreeable to him. They will of course pass into your hands before they are sent to Johnson. The quire that I sent is now in the hands of Johnson's friend. I intended to have told you in my last, but forgot it, that Johnson behaves very handsomely in the affair of my two volumes. He acts with a liberality not often found in persons of his occupation, and to mention it, when occasion calls me to it, is a justice due to him. I am very much pleased with Mr Stanley's letter — several compliments were paid me, on the subject of that first volume, by my own friends ; but I do not recollect that I ever knew the opinion of a stranger about it before, whether favourable or otherwise ; I only heard by a side wind, that it was very much read in Scotland, and more than here. Farewell, my dearest cousin, whom we expect, of whom we talk continually, and whom we continually long for. w. a Your anxious wishes for my success delight me, and you may rest assured, my dear, that I have all the ambition on the 304 COWPER*S LETTERS. subject that you can wish me to feel. I more than admim my author. I often stand astonished at his beauties. I am for ever amused with the translation of him, and I have received a thousand encouragements. These are all so many happy omens, that I hope shall be verified by the event. •>12. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN REVISION OF THE TRANSLATION. March 13, 1786. My dear Friend, — I seem to be about to write to you, but I foresee that it will not be a letter, but a scrap that I shall send you. I could tell you things that, knowing how much you interest yourself in my success, I am sure would please you, but every moment of my leisure is necessarily spent at Troy. I am revising my translation, and bestowing on it more labour than at first. At the repeated solicitation of General Co^vpe^, who had doubtless irrefragable reason on his side, I have put my book into the hands of the most extraor- dinary critic that I have ever heard of. He is a Swiss ; has an accurate knowledge of English, and for his knowledge of Homer has, I verily believe, no fellow. Johnson recommended him to me. I am to send him the quires as fast as I finish them off, and the first is now in his hands. I have the comfort to be able to' tell you, that he is very much pleased with what he has seen. Johnson wrote to me lately on pur- pose to tell me so. Things having taken this turn, I fear that I must beg a release from my engagement to put the MS. into your hands. I am bound to print as soon as three hundred shall have subscribed, and consequently have not an hour to spare. People generally love to go where they are admired, yet Lady Hesketh complains of not having seen you. — Yours, W. C. 213.— TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. STATING REASONS KOR NOT POINTING OUT THE ERRORS OF TOPe's VERSION. April by 17H6. I DID, as you suppose, bestow all possible consideration on the subject of an apology for my Homerican undertaking. I turned the matter auout in my mind an hundred ditierent COWPEIl's LETTERS. 3U5 ways; and in every way in which it would present itself, found it an impracticable business. It is impossible for me, with what delicacy soever I may manage it, to state the ob- jections that lie against Pope's translation, without incurring odium, and the imputation of arrogance : foreseeing this danger, I choose to say nothing. W. C. P. S. — You may well wonder at my courage who have undertaken a work of such enormous length. You would wonder more if you knew that I translated the whole Iliad with no other help than a Clavis. But I have since equipped myself better for this immense journey, and am revising the work in company with a good commentator. 214. — TO LADY HESKETH. ON DEFERRING HER VISIT — THE VICARAGE — ANONYMOUS PRESENT EARLY BAYS. Olney, April 17, 1786. My dearest Cousin, — If you will not quote Solomon, my dearest cousin, I will. He says, and as beautifully as truly, " Hope deferred maketh the heart sick, but when the desire Cometh, it is a tree of life!" I feel how much reason he had on his side when he made this observation, and am myself sick of your fortnight's delay. The vicarage was built by Lord Dartmouth, and was not finished till some time after we arrived at Olney, consequently it is new. It is a smart stone building well sashed, by much too good for the living, but just what I would wish for you. It has, as you justly concluded from my premises, a garden, but rather calculated for use than ornament. It is square, and well walled, but has neither arbour, nor alcove, nor other shade, except the shadow of the house. But we have two gardens, which are yours. Between your mansion and ours is interposed nothing but an orchard, into which a door opening out of our garden affords us the easiest communica- tion imaginable, will save the roundabout by the town, and make both houses one. Your chamber windows look over the river, and over the meadows, to a village called Emberton, and command the whole length of a long bridge, described by a certain poet, together with a view of the road at a distance: 306 cowper's letters. Should you wish for books at Olney, you must bring them with you, or you will wish in vain ; for I have none but the worivs of a certain poet, Cowper, of whom perhaps you have heard, and they are as yet but two volumes. They may multiply hereafter, but at present they are no more. You are the first person for whom I have heard Mrs Unwin express such feelings as she docs for you. She is not profuse in professions, nor forward to enter into treaties of friendship with new faces, but when her friendship is once engaged, it may be confided in even unto death. She loves you already, and how much more will she love you before this time twelvemonth ! I have indeed endeavoured to describe you to her, but perfectly as I have you by heart, I am sensible that my picture cannot do you justice. I never saw one that did. Be you what you may, you are much beloved, and will be so at Olney ; and JMrs U. expects you Avith the pleasure that one feels at the return of a long absent dear relation — that is to say, with a pleasure such as mine. She sends you her warmest affections. On Friday I received a letter from dear Anonymous, apprising me of a parcel that the coach would bring me on Saturday. Who is tiiere in the world that has, or thinks he has, reason to love me to the degree that he does ? But it is no matter. He chooses to be unknown ; and his choice is, and ever shall be, so sacred to me, that if his name lay on the table before me reversed, I would not turn the paper about that I might read it. Much as it would gratify me to thank him, I would turn my eyes away from the forbidden discovery. I long to assure him that those same eyes, concerning which he expresses such kind apprehensions lest they should suffer by this laborious undertaking, are as well as I could expect them to be, if I were never to touch either book or pen. Subject to weakness, and occasional slight inflammations, it is probable that they will always be ; but I canno* remember the time when tliey enjoyed any thing so like an exemption from those infirmities as at present. One would almost suppose that reading Homer were the best ophthalmic in the world. I should be happy to remove his solicitude on the subject, but it is a pleasure that he will not let me enjoy. Well, tlien, I will be content without it ; and so content, that though I believe you, my dear, to be in full possession of all this mystery, you shall never know me, while you live, either directly, or by hints of any sort, attempt to extort or to steal the secret from you. I should think myself as justly punisli- cowper's letters. 307 able as the Bethshemites, for looking into the ark which they were not allowed to touch. I have not sent for Kerr, for Kerr can do nothing but send me to Bath, and to Bath I cannot go for a thousand reasons. The summer will set me up again ; I grow fat every day, and shall be as big as Gog or Magog, or both put together, before you come. I did actually live three years with Mr Chapman, a solicitor, that is to say, I slept three years in his house, but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days, in Southampton Row, as you very well remember. There was I, and the future Lord Chancellor, constantly employed from morning to night in giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the law. O fie, cousin ! how could you do so ? I am pleased with Lord Thurlow's inquiries about me. If he takes it into that inimi- table head of his, he may make a man of me yet. I could love him heartily, if he would but deserve it at my hands. That I did so once is certain. The Duchess of , who in the world set her a-going ? But if all the duchesses in the world were spinning like so many whirligigs for my benefit, I would not stop them. It is a noble thing to be a poet, it makes all the world so lively. I might have preached more sermons than even Tillotson did, and better, and the world would have been still fast asleep ; but a volume of verse is a fiddle that puts the universe in motion. — Yours, my dear friend and cousin, W. C. 215. —TO LADY HESKETH. THE SAME SUBJECT COMFORT OF HER LETTERS. Olnev, April 2i, 17S6. Your letters are so much my comfort, that I often tremble lest by any accident I should be disappointed ; and the more because you have been, more than once, so engaged in com- pany on the writing day, that I have had a narrow escape. Let me give you a piece of good counsel, my cousin : follow my laudable example, write when you can, take Time's fore- lock in one hand, and a pen in the other, and so make sure of your opportunity. It is well for me that you write faster than any body, and more in an hour than other people in two, else I know not what would become of me. When I read your letters I hear you talk, and I love talking letters dearly 308 COWPER*S LETTERS. especially from you. Well ! the middle of June will not be always a thousand years off, and when it comes I shall hear you, and see you too, and shall not care a farthing then if you do not touch a pen in a month. By the way, you must either send me, or bring me some more paper, for before the moon shall have performed a few more revolutions I shall not have a scrap left, and tedious revolutions they are just now, that is certain. I give you leave to be aj peremptory as you please, especially at a distance ; but when you say that you are a Cowper (and the better it is for the Cowpers that such you are, and I give them joy of you, with all my heart) you must not forget that I boast myself a Cowper too, and have my humours, and fancies, and purposes, and determinations, as well as others of my name, and hold them as fast as they can. You indeed tell me how often I shall see you when you come. A pretty story truly. I am a he Cowper, my dear, and claim the privileges that belong to my noble sex. But these matters shall be settled, as my cousin Agamemnon used to say, at a more convenient time. I shall rejoice to see the letter you promise me, for though I met with a morsel of praise last week, I do not know that the week current is likely to produce me any, and having lately been pretty much pampered with that diet, I expect to find myself rather hungry by the time when your next letter shall arrive. It will therefore be very opportune. The morsel, above alluded to, came from — whom do you think? From , but she desires that her authorship may be a secret. And in my answer I promised not to divulge it except to you. It is a pretty copy of verses, neatly written, and well turned, and when you come you shall see them. I intend to keep all pretty things to mj^self till then, that they may serve me as a bait to lure you hither more eftectually. The last letter that I had from I received so many years since, that it seems as if it had reached me a good wiiile before I was born. I was grieved at the heart that the General could not come, and that illness was in part the cause that hindered him. I have sent him, by his express desire, a new edition of the first book, and half the second. He would not sutler me to send it to you, my dear, lest you should post it away to Maty at once. He did not give that reason, but, being shrewd, I found it. cowper's letters. 309 The grass begins to grow, and the leaves to bud, and every thing is preparing to be beautiful against you come Adieu, W. C. You inquire of our walks, I perceive, as well as our rides. They are beautiful. You inquire also concerning a cellar. You have two cellars. Oh ! what years have passed since we took the same walks, and drank o"* '^^ the same bottle ! but a few more weeks, and then ! 216. — TO LADY HESKETH. INJURIOUS CRITICISMS — COLMAn's AND MATy's OPINIONS OF HIS TRANSLATIONS — VEXATIONS OF ALTERING — WESTON. Olney, May 8, 1786. I DID not at all doubt that your tenderness for my feelings had inclined you to suppress in your letters to me the intelli- gence concerning Maty's critique, that yet reached me from another quarter. When I wrote to you, I had not learned it from the General, but from my friend Bull, who only knew it by hearsay. The next post brought me the news of it from the first-mentioned, and the critique itself enclosed. Together with it came also a squib discharged against me in the Public Advertiser. The General's letter found me in one of my most melancholy moods, and my spirits did not rise on the receipt of it. The letter indeed that he had cut from the newspaper gave me little pain, both because it contained nothing formidable, though written with malevolence enough, and because a nameless author can have no more weight with his readers than the reason which he has on his side can give him. But Maty's animadversions hurt me more. In part they appeared to me unjust, and in part ill-natured ; and yet the man himself being an oracle in every body's account, I apprehended that he had done me much mischief. Why he says that the translation is far from exact, is best known to himself. For I know it to be as exact as is compatible with poetry ; and prose translations of Homer are not wanted — the world has one already. But I will not fill my letter to you with hypercriticisms ; I will only add an extract from a letter of Colman's, that I received last Friday, and will then dismiss the subject. It came accompanied by a copy of the specimen, which he himself had amended, and with so much taste and candour that it charmed me. He says as follows : 310 cowper's letters. " One copy I have returned, with some remarks prompted by my zeal for your success, not, Heaven knows, by arrogance or impertinence. I know no other way at once so plain, and so short, of delivering my thoughts on the specimen of your translation, which, on the whole, I admire exceedingly, thinking it breathes the spirit, and conveys the manner of the original ; though, having here neither Homer nor Pope's Homer, I cannot speak precisely of particular lines or expres- sions, or compare your blank verse with his rhyme, except by declaring, that I think blank verse infinitely more con- genial to tlie magnificent simplicity of Homer's hexameters, than the confined couplets, and the jingle of rhyme." His amendments are chiefly bestowed on the lines encum- bered with elisions, and I will just take this opportunity to tell you, my dear, because I know you to be as much interested in what I write as myself, that some of the most offensive of those elisions were occasioned by mere criticism. I was fairly hunted into them, by vexatious objections made without end by and his friend, and altered, and altered, till at last I did not care how I altered. Many thanks for *8 verses, which deserve just the character you give of them. They are neat and easy ; but I would mumble her well, if I could get at her, for allowing herself to suppose for a moment that I praised the Chancellor with a view to emolument. I wrote those stanzas merely for my own amusement, and they slept in a dark closet years after I composed them, not in the least designed for publication. But when Johnson had printed off the longer pieces, of which the first volume prin- cipally consists, he wrote me word that he wanted yet two thousand lines to swell it to a proper size. On that occasion it was that I collected every scrap of verse that I could find, and that among the rest. None of the smaller poems had been introduced, or had been published at all with my name, but for this necessity. Just as I wrote the last word, I was called down to Dr Kerr, who came to pay me a voluntary visit. Were I sick, his cheerful and friendly manner would almost restore me. Air and exercise are his theme ; them he recommends as the best physic for me, and in all weathers. Come, therefore, my dear, and take a little of tliis good physic with me, for you will find it beneficial as well as I ; come and assist Mrs Unwin in tiie re-establishment of your cousin's health. Air and exercise, and she and you together, will make me a per- fect Samson. You will have a good house over your head, cowper's letters. 31 1 comfortable apartments, obliging neighbours, good roads, a pleasant country, and in us your constant companions, two who will love you, and do already love you dearly, and with all our hearts. If you are in any danger of trouble, it is from myself, if my fits of dejection seize me ; and as often as they do, you will be grieved for me ; but perhaps by your assistance I shall be able to resist them better. If there is a creature under heaven, from whose co-operations with Mrs Unwin I can reasonably expect such a blessing, that creature is your- self. I was not without such attacks when I lived in London, though at that time they were less oppressive, but in your company I was never unhappy a whole day in all my life. Of how much importance is an author to himself! I return to that abominable specimen again, just to notice Maty's impatient censure of the repetition that you mention. I mean of the word hand. In the original there is not a repetition of it : but to repeat a word in that manner, and on such an occasion, is by no means, what he calls it, a modern invention. In Homer I could shew him many such, and in Virgil they abound. Colman, who, in his judgment of classical matters, is inferior to none, says, " / know not why Maty objects to this expression" I could easily change it : but the case standing thus, I know not whether my proud stomach will condescend so low. I rather feel myself disinclined to it. One evening last week, Mrs Unwin and I took our walk to Weston, and as we were returning through the grove opposite the house, the Throckmortons presented them- selves at the door. They are owners of a house at Weston, at present empty. It is a very good one, infinitely superior to ours. When we drank chocolate with them, they both expressed their ardent desire that we would take it, wishing to have us for nearer neighbours. If you, my cousin, were not so well provided for as you are, and at our very elbow, I verily believe I should have mustered up all my rhetoric to recommend it to you. You might have it for ever without danger of ejectment, whereas your possession of the vicarage depends on the life of the vicar, who is eighty-six. The environs are most beautiful, and the village itself one of the prettiest I ever saw. Add to this, you would step imme- diately into Mr Throckmorton's pleasure ground, where you Ivould not soil your slipper even in winter. A most unfortu- nate mistake was made by that gentleman's bailitf in his absence. Just before he left Weston last year for the winter, he gave him orders to cui ahort ihe tops of the flowering 312 COWPER*o LETTERS. shrubs, that lined a serpentine walk in a delightful grove, celebrated by my poetship in a little piece that you remember was called the Shrubbery. The dunce, misapprehending the order, cut down and faggoted up the whole grove, leaving neither tree, bush, nor twig ; nothing but stumps about as liigh as my ankle. Mrs T. told us that she never saw her husband so angry in his life. I judge indeed, by his physi- ognomy, which has great sweetness in it, that he is very little addicted to that infernal passion. But had he cudgelled the man for his cruel blunder, and the havoc made in consequence of it, I could have excused him. I felt myself really concerned for the Chancellor's illness, and from what I learned of it, both from the papers, and from General Cowper, concluded that he must die. I am accord- ingly delighted in the same proportion with the news of his recovery. May he live, and live to be still the support of government ! If it shall be his good pleasure to render me personally any material service, I have no objection to it. But Heaven knows, that it is impossible for any living wight to bestow less thought on that subject than myself. — May God be ever with you, my beloved cousin ! W. C. 217.— TO LADY HESKETH. ANTICIPATIONS OF MEETING HIS TEMPERAMENT SENSITIVE, YET AMBITIOl'S PROPER CULTIVATION OF TALENT A CHRISTIAN DUTY. Olney, May 15, 1786. My dearest Cousin, — From this very morning I begin to date the last month of our long separation, and confidently and most comfortably hope that before tiie fifteenth of June shall present itself, we shall have seen each other. Is it not so ? And will it not be one of the most extraordinary eras of my extraordinary life ? A year ago, we neither corres- ponded, nor expected to meet in this world. But this world is a scene of marvellous events, many of them more marvellous than fiction itself would dare to hazard ; and, blessed be God, they are not all of the distressing kind. Now and then, in the course of an existence whose hue is for the most pai't sable, a day turns up that makes amends for many sighs, and many subjects of complaint. Such a day shall I account the day of your arrival at Olney. Wherefore; is it, canst thou tell me, that togethcT with all those delightful sensations, to which the sight of a long absent COWPER*S LETTEIIS. 313 aear friend gives birth, there is a mixture of something painful ; flutterings, and tumults, and I know not what accom- paniments of our pleasure, that are, in fact, perfectly foreign from the occasion ? Such I feel when I think of our meeting ; and such, I suppose, feel you ; and the nearer the crisis approaches, the more I am sensible of them. I know before- hand that they will increase with every turn of the wheels that shall convey me to Newport, when I shall set out to meet you, and that when we actually meet, the pleasure, and this unaccountable pain together, will be as much as I shall be able to support. I am utterly at a loss for the cause, and can only resolve it into that appointment, by which it has been foreordained that all human delights shall be qualified and mingled with their contraries. For there is nothing for- midable in you. To me, at least, there is nothing such, no, not even in your menaces, unless when you threaten me to write no more. Nay, I verily believe, did I not know you to be what you are, and had less affection for you than I have, I should have fewer of these emotions, of which I would have none if I could help it. But a fig for them all ! Let us resolve to combat with, and to conquer them — they are dreams — thej'' are illusions of the judgment. Some enemy that hates the happiness of human kind, and is ever indus- trious to dash it, works them in us ; and their being so perfectly unreasonable as they are is a proof of it. Nothing that is such can be the work of a good agent. This I know, too, by experience, that, like all other illusions, they exist only by force of imagination, are indebted for their prevalence to the absence of their object, and in a few moments after its appear- ance, cease. So, then, this is a settled point, and the case stands thus, — you will tremble as you draw near to Newport, and so shall I : but we will both recollect that there is no rea.^on why we should, and this recollection will at least have some little effect in our favour. We will likev/ise both take the comfort of what we know to be true, that the tumult will soon cease, and the pleasure long survive the pain, even as long, I trust, as we ourselves shall survive it. What you say of Maty gives me all the consolation that you intended. We both think it highly probable that you suggest the true cause of his displeasure, when you suppose him mortified at not having had a part of the translation laid fiefore him, ere the specimen was published. The General Was very much hurt, and calls his censures harsh and unreason- able. He likewise sent me a consolatory letter on the occ5Titten at one of our meetings, and especially think of it when I am translating Homer, — To whom replied the Devil, yard-long tail'd. There never was any thing more truly Grecian than that triple epithet, and were it possible to introduce it into either Iliad or Odyssey, I should certainly steal it. I am now flushed with expectation of Lady Hesketh, who spends the summer with us. We hope to see her next week. We have found admirable lodgings both for her and her suite, and a Quaker in this town, still more admirable than they, who, as if he loved her as much as I do, furnishes them for her with real elegance. W. C. 223. —TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. LADY HESKETH's ARRIVAL — WESTON'. OLNEr, June 19, 1786. My dear cousin's arrival has, as it could not fail to do, made us happier than we ever were at Olney. Her great kindness in giving us her company is a cordial that I shall feel the effect of, not only while she is here, but while I live. Olney will not be much longer the place of our habitation. At a village two miles distant we have hired a house of Mr Throckmorton, a much better than we occupy at present, and yet not more expensive. It is situated very near to our most agreeable landlord, and his agreeable pleasure grounds. In him, and in his wife, we shall find such companions as will always make the time pass pleasantly while they are in the country, and his grounds will afford us good air, and good walking room in the winter, — two advantages which we have not enjoyed at Olney, where I have no neighbour with whom I can converse, and where, seven months in the year, I have been imprisoned by dirty and impassable ways, till both my health and Mrs Unwin's have suffered materially. Homer is ever importunate, and will not suffer me to spend lialf the time with my distant friends that I would gladly give them. W. C. cowper's letters. 32a •224, —TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. I.ADY HF.SKETH AT OLNEY — DESCRll'TION OF THEIR INTENDED RESIDENCE AT WESTOK COURSE OF LATIN READING FOR YOUTH. * Olney, July 3, 1786. My dear Willl\m, — After a long silence I begin again. A day given to my friends, is a day taken from Homer, but to such an interruption, now and then occurring, I hav(; no objection. Lady Hesketh is, as you observe, arrived, and has been with us near a fortnight. She pleases every body, and is pleased in her turn with every thing she finds at Olney ; is always cheerful and sweet tempered, and knows no pleasure equal to that of communicating pleasure to us, and to all around her. This disposition in her is the more comfortable, because it is not the humour of the day, a sudden flash of benevolence and good spiiits, occasioned merely by a change of scene, but it is her natural turn, and has governed all her conduct ever since I knew her first. We are consequently happy in her society, and shall be happier still to have you to partake with us in our joy. I am fond of the sound of bells, but was never more pleased with those of Olney than when they rang her into her new habitation. It is a compli- - ment that our performers upon those instruments have never paid to any other personage (Lord Dartmouth excepted) since we knew the town. In short, she is, as she ever was, my pride and my joy, and I am delighted with every thing that means to do her honour. Her first appearance was too much for me ; my spirits, instead of being gently raised, as I had inadvertently supposed they would be, broke down with me under the pressure of too much joy, and left me flat, or rather melancholy, throughout the day, to a degree that was mortifying to myself, and alarming to her. But I have made amends for this failure since, and in point of cheerful- ness have far exceeded her expectations, for she knew that sable had been my suit for many years. And now I shall communicate news that will give you pleasure. When you first contemplated the front of our abode, you were shocked. In your eyes it had the appearance of a prison, and you sighed at the thought that your mother lived in it. Your view of it was not only just, but prophetic. It had not only the aspect of a place built for the purposes of incarceration, but has actually served that purpose through a 326 COWPERS LETTERS. long, long period, and we have been the prisoners. But jail-delivery is at hand : the bolts and bars are to be loosed, and we shall escape. A very different mansion, both in point of appearance and accommodation, expects us, and the expense of living in it not greater than we are subjected to in this. It is situated at Weston, one of the prettiest village's in England, and belongs to Mr Throckmorton. We all tliree dine with him to-day by invitation, and shall survey it in the afternoon, point out the necessary repairs, and finally adjust the treaty. I have my cousin's promise that she will never let another year pass without a visit to us ; and the house is large enough to take us, and our suite, and her also, with as many of hers as slie shall choose to bring. Tiie change will, I hope, prove advantageous both to your mother and me, in all respects. Here we have no neighbourhood, there we shall have most agreeable neighbours in the Throckmortons. Here we have a bad air in winter, impregnated with the fishy smelling fumes of the marsh miasma ; there we shall breathe in an atmosphere untainted. Here we are confined from September to March, and sometimes longer ; there we shall be upon the very verge of pleasure grounds, in which we can always ramble, and shall not wade through almost impassable dirt to get at them. Both your mother's constitution und ' mine have suffered materially by such close and long confine- ment, and it is high time, unless we intend to retreat into the grave, that we should seek out a more wholesome residence. So far is well, the rest is left to Heaven. I have hardly left myself room for an answer to your (jueries concerning my friend John, and his studies. I should recommend the civil war of Caesar, because he wrote it who ranks, I believe, as the best writer, as well as soldier, of his day. There are books (I know not what thej'^ are, but you do, and can easily find them) that will inform him clearly of both the civil and military management of the Romans, the several officers, I mean, in both departments, and what was the peculiar province of each. The study of some sucli book would, I should think, prove a good introduction to that of Livy, unless you have a Livy with notes to that effect. A want of intelligence in those points li;is heretofore made tlie Roman history very dark and difiicult to me ; therefore I thus advise. — Yours ever, W. C. COWPER*S LETTERS. 327 225. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. CORRECTIONS OF HIS VERSION — INADVERTENCIES IN THE ORIGINAL. Olnev, July 4, 1786. I REJOICE, my dear friend, that you have at last received my proposals, and most cordially thank you for all your labours in my service. I have friends in the world who, knowing that I am apt to be careless when left to myself, are determined to watch over me with a jealous eye upon this occasion. The consequence will be, that the work will be better executed, but more tardy in the production. To them I owe it, that my translation, as fast as it proceeds, passes under the revisal of a most accurate discerner of all blemishes. I know not whether I told you before, or now tell you for the first time, that I am in the hands of a very extraordinary person. He is intimate with my bookseller, and voluntarily offered his service. I was at first doubtful whether to accept it or not ; but finding that my friends above said were not to be satisfied on any other terms, though myself a perfect stranger to the man and his qualifications, except as he was recommended by Johnson, I at length consented, and have since found great reason to rejoice that I did. I called him an extraordinary person, and such he is. For he is not only versed in Homer, and accurate in his knowledge of the Greek to a degree that entitles him to that appellation, but, though a foreigner, is a perfect master of our language, and has exquisite taste in English poetry. By his assistance I have improved many passages, supplied many oversights, and corrected many mistakes, such as will of course escape the most diligent and attentive labourer in such a work. I ought to add, because it affords the best assurance of his zeal and fidelity, that he does not toil for hire, nor will accept of any premium, but has entered on this business merely for his amusement. In the last instance my sheets will pass through the hands of our old schoolfellow Colman, who has engaged to correct the press, and make any little alterations that he may see expedient. With all this precaution, little as I intended it once, I am now well satisfied. Experience has convinced me that other eyes than my own are necc^ssary, in order that so long and arduous a task may be finished as it ought, and may neither discredit me, nor mortify and' disap- point ray friends. You, who I know interest yourself much 328 cowper's letters. and deeply in my success, will, I dare say, be satisfied with it too. Pope had many aids, and he who follows Pope ought not to walk alone. Though I announce myself by my very undertaking to be one of Homer's most enraptured admirers, I am not a blind one. Perhaps the speech of Achilles given in my specimen, is, as you hint, rather too much in the moralizing strain, to suit so young a man, and of so much fire. But whether it be or not, in the course of the close application that I am forced to give to my author, I discover inadvertencies not a few ; some perhaps that have escaped even the commentators themselves ; or perhaps in the enthusiasm of their idolatry, they resolved that they should pass for beauties. Homer, however, say what they will, was man, and in all the works of man, especially in a work of such length and variety, many things will of necessity occur that might have been hotter. Pope and Addison had a Dennis ;* and Dennis, if I mistake not, held up as he has been to scorn and detestation, was a sensible fellow, and passed some censures upon both those writers, that, had they been less just, would have hurt them less. Homer had his Zoilus ; and perhaps if we knew all that Zoilus said, we should be forced to acknowledge, that sometimes at least he had reason on his side. But it is dangerous to find any fault at all with what the world is determined to esteem faultless. I rejoice, my dear friend, that you enjoy some composure and cheerfulness of spirits : may God preserve and increase to you so great a blessing ! — I am affectionately and truly yours, W. C. 226. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UiNWLN. DIFFICULTIES IN TRANSLATING THF. NAKttATIVK TOllTIONS Of HOMER. August 24, 1786. My dear Friend, — I catch a minute by the tail and hold it fast while I write to you. The moment it is fled, I must go to breakfast. I am still occupied in n^fining and polishing, and shall this morning give the finisiiing hand to the seventh * John Dennis, born in London, 1Gj7, died, poor and blind, two years after Cowper's birth. Jle possessed more taste, talent, and learn- in^', than the wit of Addison and Pope has left him eredit for with posterity. Of Zoilus, the Grecian Dennis — both names ha\in^ passed into H bye word, expressive of a cxxptious fault Under — no authentie memorial exiiiti. cow1>er's letters. 329 book. Fuseli * does me the honour to say, that the most difficult and most interesting parts of the poem are admirably rendered. But because he did not express himself equally pleased with the more pedestrian parts of it, my labour there- fore has been principally given to the dignification of them ; not but that I have retouched considerably, and made better still the best. In short, I hope to make it all of a piece, and shall exert myself to the utmost to secure that desirable point. A story-teller, so very circumstantial as Homer, must of necessity present us often with much matter in itself capable of no other embellishment than purity of diction and harmony of versification can give to it. Hie labor, hoc opus est. For our language, unless it be very severely chastised, has not the terseness, nor our measure the music of the Greek. But I shall not fail through want of industry. We are likely to be very happy in our connection with the Throckmortons. His reserve and mine wear off; and he talks with great pleasure of the comfort that he proposes to himself from our winter evening conversations. His purpose seems to be, that we should spend them alternately with each other. Lady Hesketh transcribes for me at present. When she is gone, Mrs Throckmorton takes up that business, and will be my lady of the ink-bottle for the rest of the winter. She solicited herself that office. — Believe me, my dear William, truly yours, W. C. Mr Throckmorton will (I doubt not) procure Lord Petre's name if he can, without any hint fi'om me. He could not interest himself more in my success than he seems to do. Could he get the Pope to subscribe, I should have him ; and should be glad of him and the whole Conclave. 227. — TO THE REV. WlLLlAM UNWIN. PLEASURES OF RETROSPECTION. My dear Friend, — You are my mahogany box, with a slip in the lid of it, to which I commit my productions of the lyric kind, in perfect confidence that they are safe, and will go no farther. All who are attached to the jingling art have this * Henry Fuseli, celebrated as an artist of daring ima^nation, an able draughtsman, but bad colourist, and withal an eminent classical scholar, was born in 1739 at Zurich, vvhere his father was a clergyman, and died in his apartments at the Royal Academy, 1825 330 COWPER*S LETTERS. j)eculiarii/, that they would find no pleasure in the exercise, had they not one friend at least to whom they might publish what they have composed. If you approve my Latin, and your wife and sister my English, this, together with the appro- bation of your mother, is fame enough for me. He who cannot look forward with comfort, must find what comfort he can in looking backward. Upon this principle, I the other day sent my imagination upon a trip thirty years behind me. She was very obedient, and very swifl of foot, presently performed her journey, and at last set me down in the sixth form at Westminster. I fancied myself once more a schoolboy, a period of life in which, if I had never tasted true happiness, I was at least equally unacquainted with its contrary. No manufacturer of waking dreams ever succeeded better in his employment than I do. I can weave such a piece of tapestry in a fe^Y minutes, as not only has all the charms of reality, but is embellished also with a variety of beauties which, though they never existed, are more captivating than any that ever did — accordingly I was a schoolboy in high favour with the master, received a silver groat for my exercise, and had the pleasure of seeing it sent from form to form, for the admira- tion of all who were able to understand it. Do you wish to see this highly applauded performance ? It follows on the other side. Torn off. 226. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. HIS POETRT USUALLY THE REVERSE OF HIS STATE OF MIND — VERSES ENCLOSED. My dear William, — You are sometimes indebted to bad weather, but more frequently to a dejected state of mind, for my punctuality as a correspondent. This was the case when i composed that tragi-comic ditty for which you thank me ; my spirits were exceeding low, and having no fool or jester at hand, I resolved to be my own. The end was answered, — I laughed myself, and I made you laugh. Some- times I pour out my thoughts in a mournful strain, but those sable efl'usions your mother will not suffer me to send you, being resolved that nobody shall share with me the burden or my melancholy but herself. In general you may suppose that I am remarkably sad when I seem remarkal>ly merry. The effort we make to get rid of a load is usually violent in pro- cowper's letters. 331 portion to the weight of it. I have seen at Sadler's Wells a tight little fellow dancing with a fat man upon his shoulders ; to those who looked at him, he seemed insensible of the en- cumbrance, but if a physician had felt his pulse when the feat was over, I suppose he would have found the effect of it there. Perhaps you remember the undertakers' dance in the Rehearsal, which they perform in crape hat-bands and black cloaks, to the tune of " Hob or Nob," one of the sprightliest airs in the world. Such is my fiddling, and such is my dancing ; but they serve a purpose which at some certain times could not be so effectually promoted by any thing else. I have endeavoured to comply with your request, though I am not good at writing upon a given subject. Your mother, however, comforts me by her approbation, and I steer myself in all that I produce by her judgment. If she does not under- stand me at the first reading, I am sure the lines are obscure, and always alter them ; if she laughs, I know it is not without reason ; and if she says, " That's well, it will do," — I have no fear lest any body else should find fault with it. She is my lord chamberlain, who licenses all I write. TO MISS C ON HER BIRTPI-DAY. How many between east and west Disgrace their parent earth, Whose deeds constrain us to detest The day that gave them birth ! Not so when Stella's natal mom Revolving months restore, We can rejoice that she was born, And wish her born once more ! If you like it, use it. If not, you know the remedy. It is serious, yet epigrammatic — like a bishop at a ball ! W. C. 229. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. DECLINES TO WRITE AGAINST LEGAL OATHS AND TRAVELLING ON SUNDAY HIS llEASONS. My dear Friend, — I am sensibly mortified at findihg myself obliged to disappoint you ; but though I have had many thoughts upon the subjects you propose to my con- sideration, I have had none that have been favourable to the 332 cowper's letters. undertaking. I applaud your purpose, for the sake of the principle from which it springs; but I look upon the evils you mean to animadvert upon, as too obstinate and inveterate ever to be expelled by the means you mention. The very persons to whom you would address your remonstrance, are themselves sufficiently aware of their enormity ; years ago, to my knowledge, they were frequently the topics of conversation at polite tables ; they have been frequently mentioned in both houses of parliament ; and I suppose there is hardly a member of either, who would not immediately assent to the necessity of a reformation, were it proposed to him in a reasonable m ay. But there it stops ; and there it will for ever stop, till the majority are animated with a zeal in which they are at present deplorably defective. A religious man is unfeignedly shocked, when he reflects upon the prevalence of such crimes ; a moral man must needs be so in a degree, and will affect to be much more so than he is. But how many do you suppose there are among our worthy representatives, that come under either of these descriptions ? If all were such, yet to new-model the police of the country, which must be done in order to make even unavoidable perjury less frequent, were a task they would hardly undertake, on account of the great difficulty that would attend it. Government is too much interested in the consumption of malt liquor, to reduce the number of venders. Such plausible pleas may be offered in defence of travelling on Sundays, especially by the trading part of the world, as the whole bench of bishops would find it difficult to overrule. And with respect to the violation of oaths, till a certain name is more generally respected than it is at present, however such persons as yourself may be grieved at it, the legislature are never likely to lay it to heart. I do not mean, nor would by any means attempt, to discourage you in so laudable an enterprise ; but such is the light in which it appears to me, that I do not feel the least spark of courage qualifying or prompting me to embark in it myself. An exhortation there- fore written by me — by hopeless desponding me — would be flat, insipid, and uninteresting; and disgrace the cause, instead of serving it. If after what I have said, however, you still retain the same sentiments. Made esto virtute tudy there is nobody better qualified than yourself, and may your success prove that I despaired of it without a reason. — Adieu, my dear friend, W. C. COWPERS LETTERS. 333 230. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. LETTER-WRITING A SIMILE IN RHYME — STATE OF THE NATION. My dear Friend, — I write under the impression of a difficulty not easily surmounted, — the want of something to say. Letter-spinning is generally more entertaining to the writer than the reader ; for your sake therefore I would avoid it, but a dearth of materials is very apt to betray one into a trifling strain, in spite of all our endeavours to be serious. I left off on Saturday ; this present being Monday morning, T renew the attempt, in hopes that I may possibly catch some subject by the end, and be more successful. So have I seen the maids in vain Tumble and tease a tangled skein ; They bite the lip, and scratch the head, And cry, " The deuce is in the thread ! " They torture it, and jerk it round, Till the right end at last is found, Then wind, and wind, and wind away. And what was work is changed to play. When I wrote the two first lines, I thought I had engaged in a hazardous enterprise ; for, thought I, should my poetical vein be as dry as my prosaic, I shall spoil the sheet, and send nothing at all ; for I could on no account endure the thought of beginning again. Bui I think I have succeeded to admi- ration, and am willing to flatter myself that I have even seen a worse impromptu in the newspapers. Though we live in a nook, and the world is quite unconscious that there are any such beings in it as ourselves, yet we are not unconcerned about what passes in it. The present awful crisis, big with the fate of England, engages much of our attention. The action is probably over by this time, and though we know it not, the grand question is decided, whether the war shall roar in our once peaceful fields, or whether we shall still only hear of it at a distance. 1 can compare the nation to no similitude more apt, than that of an ancient castle that had been for days assaulted by the battering ram. It was long before the stroke of that engine made any sensible impression, but the continual repetition at length communi- cated a slight tremor to the wall ; the next, and the next, and the next blow increased it. Another shock puts the whole mass in motion, from the top to the foundation: it bends 334 cowper's letters. forward, and is every moment driven farther from the per- pendicular ; till at last the decisive blow is given, and down it comes. Every million that has been raised within the last century, has had an effect upon the constitution like that of a blow from the aforesaid ram upon the aforesaid wall. The impulse becomes more and more important, and the impression it makes is continually augmented ; unless therefore something extraordinary intervenes to prevent it you will find the consequence at the end of my simile.* — Yours, W. C. 231. — TO THE REV. WILLIAM UN WIN. NOTE ENCLOSING " THE LILY AND THE ROSE." As I promised you verse, if you would send me a frank, I am not willing to return the cover without some, though I think I have already wearied you by the prolixity of my prose. THE LILY AND THE ROSE. The nymph must lose her female friend If more admired than she ; But where will fierce contention end, If flowers can disagree ? Within the garden's peaceful scene Appear'd two lovely foes, Aspiring to the rank of queen, — The Lily and the Rose. The Rose soon redden'd into rage, And, swelhng \^ith disdain, Appeal'd to many a poet's page, To prove her right to reign. The Lily's height bespoke command — A fair imperial flower, She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand, The sceptre of her power. This civil bick'ring and debate The goddess chanced to hear. And flew to save, ere yet too late. The pride of the parterre. Yours is, she said, the nobler hue. And yours the statelier mien ; And, till a third surpasses you, Let each be deeni'd a queen. * AUvding to the financial measures of the Pitt udiniuistratiMf cowper's letters. 335 Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks The fairest British fair ; The seat of empire is her cheeks. They reign united there. I must refer you to those unaccountable gaddings and caprices of the human mind, for the cause of this production ; for in general, I believe, there is no man who has less to do with the ladies* cheeks than I have. I suppose it would be best to antedate it, and to imagine that it was written twenty years ago, for my mind was neve? more in a trifling butterfly trim than when I composed it, even in the earliest parts of my life. And what is worse than all this, I have translated it into Latin. But that some other time. — Yours, W. C. 232.— TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. CHARACTEli OF CHURCHILL AS A POET. My dear William, — How apt we are to deceive our- selves where self is in question ! You say I am in your debt, and I accounted you in mine, — a mistake to which you must attribute my arrears, if indeed I owe you any, for I am not backward to write where the uppermost thought is welcome. I am obliged to you for all the books you have occasionally furnished me with. I did not, indeed, read many of John- son's Classics — those of established reputation are so fresh in my memory, though many years have intervened since I made them my companions, that it was like reading what I read yesterday over again : and as to the minor Classics, I did not think them worth reading at all — I tasted most of them, and did not like them — it is a great thing to be indeed a poet, and does not happen to more than one man in a century. Churchill, the great Churchill, deserved the name of poet — I have read him twice, and some of his pieces three times over, and the last time with more pleasure than the first. The pitiful scribbler of his life seems to have undertaken that task, for which he was entirely unqualified, merely because it afibrded him an opportunity to traduce him. He has inserted in it but one anecdote of consequence, for which he refers you to a novel, and introduces the story with doubts about the truth of it. But his barrenness as a biographer I could for- give, if the simpleton had not thought himself a judge of his writings, and, under the erroneous influence of that thought, 336 cowper's letters. informed his roador that Gotham, Independence, and the Times, were catchpennies. Gotham, unless I am a greater blockhead than he, which I am far from believing, is a noble and beautiful poem, and a poem with which I make no doubt the author took as much pains as with any he ever wrote. Making allowance (and Dryden in his Absalom and Achitophel stands in need of the same inrlulgence) for an unwarrantable use of Scripture, it appears to me to be a masterly perfor- mance. Independence is a most animated piece, full of strength and spirit, and marked with that bold masculine character which I think is the great peculiarity of this writer. And the Times (except that the subject is disgusting to the last degree) stands equally high in my opinion. He is indeed a careless writer for the most part ; but wliere sliall we find in any of those authors who finish their works with tlie exactness of a Flemish pencil, those bold and daring strokes of fancy, those numbers so hazardously ventured upon, and so happily finished, the matter so compressed, and yet so clear, and the colouring so sparingly laid on, and yet with such a beautiful effect? In short, it is not his least praise that he is never guilty of those faults as a writer, which he lays to the charge of others : a proof that he did not judge by a borrowed standard, or from rules laid down by critics, but tliat he was qualified to do it by his own native powers, and his great superiority of genius. For he that wrote so much, and so fast, would through inadvertence and hurry unavoidably have departed from rules winch he might have found in books, but his own truly poetical talent was a guide which could not suffer him to err. A race-horse is graceful in his swiftest pace, and never makes an awkward motion though he is pushed to his utmost speed. A cart-horse might perhaps be taught to play tricks in the riding school, and might prance and curvet like his betters, but at some unlucky time would be sure to betray the baseness of his original. It is an affair of very little consequence perhaps to the well-being of man- kind, but I cannot help regretting that he died so soon. Those words of Virgil, upon the immature death of Marcellus, might serve for his epitaph : Ostendent terns hunc tnntiiin fata, neque iiltia Esse sinent • Yours, W. C. • The literary justness of these remarks is more than questionable. Churchill is certainly vigorous in satire ; out, stripped of this, his poetry is cowper's letters 337 233.— to the rev. william unwlv. SOME ACCOUNTS OF HIS EARLIEST ATTEMPTS IN VERSE. My dear William, — I find the Register in all respects an entertaining medley, but especially in this, that it has brought to my view some long forgotten pieces of my own production. I mean, by the way, two or three. Those I have marked with my own initials, and you may be sure I found them peculiarly agreeable, as they had not only the grace of being mine, but that of novelty likewise to recommend them. It is at least twenty years since I saw them. You, I think, was never a dabbler in rhyme. I have been one ever since I was four- teen years of age, when I began with translating an elegy of TibuUus. I have no more right to the name of a poet, than a maker of mouse-traps has to that of an engineer, but my little exploits in this way have at times amused me so much, •thai I have often wished myself a good one. Such a talent in verse as mine is like a child's rattle, very entertaining to the trifler that uses it, and very disagreeable to all beside. But it has served to rid me of seme melancholy moments ; for I only take it up as a gentleman performer does his fiddle. I have this peculiarity belonging to me as a rhymist, that though I am charmed to a great degree with my own work, while it is on the anvil, I can seldom bear to look at it when it is once finished. The more I contemplate it, the more it loses its value, till I am at last disgusted Avith it. I then throw it by, take it up again perhaps ten years after, and am as much delighted with it as at the first. Few people have the art of being agreeable when they talk of themselves ; if you are not weary, therefore, you pay me a high compliment. I dare say Miss S was much diverted with the conjec- ture of her friends. The true key to the pleasure she found at Olney was plain enough to be seen, but they chose to riat enough, and the construction of liis verse careless and rugged. It is more than surprising, however, to find Covvper attempting to defend the character of a low debauchee, who first disgraced, and then recklessly threw aside, the sacred profession. Such is the power of early friend- ship even over good minds. J* 338 cowper's letters. overlook it. She brought with her a disposition to be pleased, whic^i wiioever does is sure to find a visit agreeable, because they made it so. — Yours, W. C. * 234.— TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. MILTOKIC BLANK VERSE — HOMER. Olney, August 31, 1786. My dear Friend, — I began to fear for your health, and every day said to myself, — I must write to Bagot soon, if it be onl}'^ to ask him how he does — a measure that I should certainly have pursued long since, had I been less absorbed in Homer than I am. But such are my engagements in that quarter, that they make me, I think, good for little else. Many thanks, my friend, for the iiames that you have sent me. The Bagots will make a most conspicuous figure among my subscribers, and I shall not, I hope, soon forget my obli- gations to them. The unacquaintedness of modern ears with the divine harmony of Milton's numbers, and the principles upon which he constructed them, is the cause of the quarrel that they have with elisions in blank verse. But where is the remedy ? In vain should you or I, and a few hundreds more, perhaps, who have studied his versification, tell them of the superior majesty of it, and that for that majesty it is greatly indebted to those elisions. In their ears, they are discord and dis- sonance ; they lengthen the line beyond its due limits, and are therefore not to be endured. There is a whimsical inconsis- tence in the judgment of modern readers in this particular. Ask them all round, whom do you account the best writer of blank verse? and they will reply to a man, "Milton, to be sure; Milton against the field !" Yet if a writer of the present day should construct his numbers exactly upon Milton's plan, not one in fifty of these professed admirers of Milton M'ould endure him. The case standing thus, what is to be done ? • This dateless letter, wliirli is probably entitled to a very early plaee in this collect ion, was reserved to close the correspondence with Mr Unmn, from the hope, that before the press advanced so far. the editor vnight recover those unknown verses of Cowper, to which the letter alludes, but all researches for this purpose have failed Hayley. I have fruitlessly made the same attempt, by turninj,' over all the Annual Registers in wliich any thing of Cowper's Was likely to be found.— J. S. M. COWPER S LETTERS. 339 An author must either be contented to give disgust to the generality, or he must humour them by sinning against his own judgment. This latter course, so far as elisions are concerned, I have adopted as essential to my success. In every other respect I give as much variety in my measure as I can, I believe I may say as in ten syllables it is possible to give, shifting perpetually the pause and cadence, and account- ing myself happy that modern refinement has not yet enacted laws against this also. If it had, I protest to you I would have dropped my design of translating Homer entirely , and with what an indignant stateliness of reluctance I make them the concession that I have mentioned, Mrs Unwin can witness, who hears all my complaints upon the subject. After having lived twenty years at Olney, we are on the point of leaving it, but shall not migrate far. We have taken a house in the village of Weston. Lady Hesketh is our good angel, by whose aid we are enabled to pass into a better air, and a more walkable country The imprisonment that we have suffered here for so many winters, has hurt us both. That we may suffer it no longer, she stoops to Olney, lifts us from our swamp, and sets us down on the elevated grounds of Weston Underwood. There, my dear friend, I shall be happy to see you, and to thank you in person for all your kindness. I do not wonder at the judgment that you form of , a foreigner ; but you may assure yourself that, foreigner as he is, he has an exquisite taste in English verse. The man is all fire, and an enthusiast in the highest degree on the subject of Homer, and has given me more than once a jog, when I have been inclined to nap with my author. No cold water is to be feared from him that might abate my own fire, rather perhaps too much combustible. — Adieu ! mon ami, yours faithfully, W. C. 235. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. ADVENTURE OF A MANUSCUIPT OF TRANSLATION. Olney, October 6, 1786. You have not heard, I suppose, that the ninth book of my translation is at the bottom of the Thames. But it is even so. A storm overtook it in its way to Kingston, and it sunk, together with the whole cargo of the boat in which it was a 340 COWPEIl's LETTERS. passpiiger. Not figurative!}' foroshewing, I hope, by its sub- mersion, the fate of all the rest. My kind and generouj cousin, who leaves nothing undone that she thinks can con- duce to my comfort, encouragement, or convenience, is my transcriber also. She wrote the copy, and she will have to write it again, — Hcrs^ therefore, is the damage. I have a thousand reasons to lament that the time approaches when we must lose her. She has made a winterly summer a most delightful one, but the winter itself we must spend without her. W. C* 236.— TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. AKNOUNCIXC HIS REMOVAL TO WESTON UKDERWOOP. Weston Underwood, November 17, 1786. My dear Friend, — There are some things that do not actually shorten the life of man, yet seem to do so, and frequent removals from place to place are of that number. For my own part at least, I am apt to think, if I had been more stationary, I should seem to myself to have lived longer. My many changes of habitation have divided my time into many short periods, and when I look back upon them they appear only as the stages in a day's journe}', the first of which is at no very great distance from the last. I lived longer at Olney than any where. There, indeed, I lived till mouldering walls and a tottering house warned me to depart. I have accordingly taken the hint, and two days since arrived, or rather took up my abode, at Weston. You perhaps have never made the experiment, but I can assure you that the confusion which attends a transmigration of this kind is infinite, and has a terrible effect in deranging the intellects. I have been obliged to renounce my Homer on the occasion, and though not for many days, I yet feel as if study and meditation, so long my confirmed habits, were on a sudden become impracticable, and that I shall certainly find them so when I attempt them again. But in a scene so much (|uieter and pleasanter tlian tiiat which I have just escaped from, in a house so much more commodious, and witli furni- ture about me so much more to my taste, I shall hope to • In this interval, namely, on the 15th of tlie following montli, (O. S.) the day on which he completed liis fifty-fifth year, CouTJer removed to Weeton Tnderwood. cowper's letters. 341 recover my literary tendency again, when once the ])i}stle of the occasion shall have subsided. How glad I should be to receive you under a roof, where you would find me so much more comfortably accommodated than at Olney ! I know your warmth of heart toward me, and am sure that you would rejoice in my joy. At present, indeed, I have not had time for much self-gratulation, but have every reason to hope, nevertheless, that in due time I shall derive considerable advantage, both in health and spirits, from the alteration made in my ivhereahout. I have now the twelfth book of the Iliad in hand, having settled the eleven first books finally, as I think, or nearly so. The winter is the time when I make the greatest riddance. Adieu, my friend Walter. Let me hear from you, and believe me ever yours, W. C. 237.— TO LADY HESKETH. HIS BIRIHDAY — COMFORTS AND THE SCENERY OF WESTON. Weston Lodge, November 26, 1786. It is my birthday, my beloved Cousin, and I determine to employ a part of it, that it may not be destitute of festivity, in writing to you. The dark, thick fog that has obscured it, would have been a burden to me at Olney, but here I have hardly attended to it. The neatness and snugness of our abode compensate all the dreariness of the season, and whether the ways are wet or dry, our house at least is always warm and commodious. O ! for you, my cousin, to partake these comforts with us ! I will not begin already to tease you upon that subject, but Mrs Unwin remembers to have heard from your own lips, that you hate London in the spring. Perhaps, therefore, by that time you may be glad to escape from a scene which will be every day growing more disagreeable, that you may enjoy the comforts of the Lodge. You well know that the best house has a desolate appearance unfurnished. This house accordingly, since it has been occupied by us and our meubleSf is as much superior to what it was when you saw it, as you can imagine. The parlour is even elegant. When I say that the parlour is elegant, I do not mean to insinuate that the study is not so. It is neat, warm, and silent, and a much better study than I deserve, if I do not produce in it an incomparable translation of Homer. I think every day 342 COWPER*S LETTERS. of those lines of Milton, and congratulate myself on having obtained, before I am quite superannuated, what he seems not to have hoped for sooner: And may at length my weary ag? Find out the peaceful hermitage. For if it is not a hermitage, at least it is a much better thing ; and you must always understand, my dear, that wlien poets talk of cottages, hermitages, and such like tilings, they mean a house with six sashes in front, two comfortable parlours, a smart staircase, and three bedcliambers of convenient dimen- sions ; in short, exactly such a house as this. The Throckmortons continue the most obliging neighbours in the world. One morning last week, they both went with me to the Cliffs — a scene, my dear, in \\liich you would delight beyond measure, but which you cannot visit except in the spring or autumn. The heat of summer, and the clinging dirt of winter would destroy you. What is called the Cliff, is no cliff, nor at all like one, but a beautiful terrace, sloping gently down to the Ouse, and from the brow of which, though not lofty, you have a view of such a valley as makes that which you see from the hills near Olney, and which I have had the honour to celebrate, an affair of no consideration. Wintry as the weather is, do not suspect that it confines me. I ramble daily, and every day change my ramble. Wherever I go, I find short grass under my feet, and when I have travelled perhaps five miles, come home with shoes not at all too dirty for a drawing room. I was pacing yester- day under the elms that surround the field in which stands the great alcove, when, lifting my eyes, I saw two black genteel figures bolt through a hedge into the path where I was walking. You guess already who they were, and that they could be nobody but our neighbours. They had seen me from a hill at a distance, and had traversed a great turnip-field to get to me. You see, therefore, my dear, that I am in some request. Alas ! in too much request with some people. The verses of Cadwallader have found me at last. I am charmed with your account of our little cousin * at Kensington. If the world does not spoil him hereafter, he will be a valuable man. — Good night, and may (lod bless thee ! W. C. * l>ur(l Cowjipr. cowper's letters. -^ 1-^ 238.— TO LADY HESKJiTH. ON THE DEATH OF MR UNWIN — HIS CHARACTER — ASSURANCE OF HIS HAPPINESS. The Lodge, December 4, 1786. I SENT you, my dear, a melancholy letter, and I do not know that I shall now send you one very unlike it. Not that any thing occurs in consequence of our late loss more afflictive than was to be expected, but the mind does not perfectly recover its tone after a shock like that which has been felt so lately. This I observe, that though my experience has long since taught me, that this world is a world of shadows, and that it is the more prudent, as well as the more Christian course, to possess the comforts that we find in it as if we pos- sessed them not, it is no easy matter to reduce this doctrine into practice. We forget that that God who gave them, may, when he pleases, take them away ; and that perhaps it may please him to take them at a time when we least expect, or are least disposed to part from them. Thus it has happened in the present case. There never was a moment in Unwin's life, when there seemed to be more urgent want of him than the moment in which he died. He had attained to an age when, if they are at any time useful, men become more useful to their families, their friends, and the world. His parish began to feel, and to be sensible of the advantages of his ministry. The clergy around him were many of them awed by his example. His children were thriving under his own tuition and management, and his eldest boy is likely to feel his loss severely, being by his years in some respect qualified to understand the value of such a parent ; by his literary pro- ficiency too clever for a schoolboy, and too young at the same time for the university. The removal of a man in the prime of life, of such a character, and with such connections, seems to make a void in society that can never be filled. God seemed to have made him just what he was, that he might be a blessing to others, and when the influence of his character and abilities began to be felt, removed him. These are mysteries, my dear, that we cannot contemplate without astonishment, but which will nevertheless be explained here- after, and must in the meantime be revered in silence. It is well for his mother, that she has spert her life in the practice of an habitual acquiescence in the dispensations of Providence, 344 cowpek's letters. else I know that this stroke would have been heavier, after all that she has suffered upon another account, tlian she could have borne. She derives, as she well may, great consolation from the thought tliat ho lived the life, and dieil the death of a Christian. The consequence is, if possible, more unavoidable than the most mathematical conclusion, that therefore he is happy. So farewell, my friend Unwin ! The first man for whom I conceived afriendship after my removal from St Albans, and for whom I cannot but still continue to feel a friendship^ though I shall see thee with these eyes no more. W. C. 239. —TO ROBERT SMITH, ESQ.* THE SAME Sr/BJECT. Weston U^fDERwooD, near Olnet, December 9, 1786. My dear Sir, — We have indeed suffered a great loss by the death of our friend Unwin ; and the shock that attended it was the more severe, as till within a few hours of his decease there seemed to be no very alarming symptoms. All the account that we received from Mr Henry Thornton, who acted like a true friend on the occasion, and with a tenderness toward all concerned that does him great honour, encouraged our hopes of his recovery ; and Mrs Unwin herself found him on her arrival at Winchester so cheerful, and in appearance so likely to live, that her letter also seemed to promise us all that we could wish on the subject. But an unexpected turn in his distemper, which suddenly seized his bowels, dashed all our hopes, and deprived us almost immediately of a man whom we must ever regret. His mind having been from his infancy deeply tinctured with religious sentiments, he was ah\ays impressed with a sense of the importance of the great change of all ; and on former occasions, when at any time he found himself indisposed, was consequently subject to distressing alarms and apprehensions. But in this last instance, his mind was from the first composed and easy ; his fears Mere taken away, and succeeded by such a resignation as warrants us in saying, " tlmt God made all his bed in his sickness." I believe it is always thus, where the heart, though upright toward God, as Unwin's assuredly was, is yet troubled with the fear of death. Wlu^n death indeed comes, he is either "Welcome, or at least has lost his sting. * Aftcrwfirds Lord Carringtou cowper's letters. 345 I have known many such instances, and his mother, from the moment that she learned with what tranquillity he was favoured in his illness, for that very reason expected that it would be his last. Yet not with so much certainty, but that the favourable accounts of him at length, in a great measure, superseded that persuasion. She begs me to assure you, my dear sir, how sensible she is, as well as myself, of the kindness of your inquiries. She suffers this stroke, not with more patience and submission than I expected, for I never knew her hurried by any afflic- tion into the loss of either, but, in appearance at least, and at present, with less injury to her health than I apprehended. She observed to me, after reading your kind letter, that, though it was a proof of the greatness of her loss, it yet afforded her pleasure, though a melancholy one, to see how much her son had been loved and valued by such a person as yourself. Mrs Unwin wrote to her daughter-in-law, to invite her and the family hither, hoping that a change of scene, and a situa- tion so pleasant as this, may be of service to her, but we have not yet received her answer. I have good hope, however, that, great as her affliction must be, she will yet be able to support it, for she well knows whither to resort for consola- tion. The virtues and amiable qualities of our friends are the things for which we most wish to keep them, but they are, on the other hand, the very things that in particular ought to reconcile us to their departure. We find ourselves some- times connected with, and engaged in affection too, to a person of whose readiness and fitness for another life we cannot have the highest opinion. The death of such men has a bitterness in it, both to themselves and survivors, which, thank God ! is not to be found in the death of Unwin. I know, my dear sir, how much you valued him, and I know, also, how much he valued you. With respect to him, all is well ; and of you, if I should survive you, which, perhaps, is not very probable, I shall say the same. In the meantime, believe me, with the warmest wishes for your health and happiness, and with Mrs Unwin's affectionate respects, yours, my dear sir, most faithfully, W. C. p 2 3-lG COWPERS LETTEUS. 240 — TO LADY HESKETJI. MK UNWIn's death, AS AFFECTING THE EDUCATION OF LORD COWPKR. Weston, December 9, 1786. I AM perfectly sure that you are mistaken, though I do not wonder at it, considering the singular nature of the event, in the judgment that you form of poor Unwin's death, as it affects the interest of his intended pupil. When a tutor was wanted for him, you sought out the wisest and best man for the office within the circle of your connections It pleased God to take him home to himself. Men eminently wise and good are very apt to die, because they are fit to do so. You found in Unwin a man worthy to succeed him ; and He, in whose hands are the issues of life and death, seeing, no doubt, that Unwin was ripe for a removal into a better state, removed liim also. The matter, viewed in this light, seems not so wonderful as to refuse all explanation, except such as in a melancholy moment you have given to it. And I am so convinced that the little boy's destiny had no influence at all in hastening the death of his tutors elect, that, were it not impossible, on more accounts than one, that I should be able to serve him in that capacity, I would, without the least fear of dying a moment sooner, offer myself to that office ; I would even do it, were I conscious of the same fitness for another and a better state, that I believe them to have been both endowed with. In that case, I, perhaps, might die too, but if I should, it would not be on account of that connection. Neither, my dear, had your interference in the business any thing to do with the catastrophe. Your whole conduct in it must have been acceptable in the sight of God, as it was directed by principles of the purest benevolence. I have not touched Homer to-day. Yesterday was one of my terrible seasons, and when I arose this morning, I found that I had not sufficiently recovered myself to engage in such an occupation. Having letters to write, I the more willingly gave myself a dispen-iution. — Good nitfht. Yours ever, W C. COVrPER's lE'l^l'ERS. 347 24i.— TO JOSEPH HIU, ESQ. ACCOUNT OF MR UNWIn's LAST ILLNESS. Weston, December 9, 1786. My dear Friend, — We had just begun to enjoy the pleasantness of our new situation, to find at least as much comfort in it as the season of the year would permit, wlien affliction found us out in our retreat, and the news reached us of the death of Mr Unwin. He had taken a western tour with Mr Henry Thornton, and, in his return, at Winchester, was seized with a putrid fever, which sent him to his grave. He is gone to it, however, though young, as fit for it a,s age itself could have made him. Regretted, indeed, and always to be regretted by those who knew him, for he had every thing that makes a man valuable both in his principles and in his manners, but leaving still this consolation to his surviving friends, that he was desirable in this world chiefly because he was so well prepared for a better. I find myself here situated exactly to my mind. Weston is one of the prettiest villages in England, and the walks about it at all seasons of the year delightful. I know that you will rejoice with me in the change that we have made, and for which I am altogether indebted to Lady Hesketh. It is a change as great as (to compare metropolitan things with rural) from St Giles's to Grosvenor Square. Our house is, in all respects, commodious, and in some degree elegant ; and I cannot give you a better idea of that which we have left, than by telling you the present candidates for it are a publican and a shoemaker. W. C. 242. —TO LADY HESKETH. ADVANCE OF PRAISE LIKE THAT OF MONEY. Weston, December 21, 1786. Your welcome letter, my beloved cousin, which ought by the date to have arrived on Sunday, being by some untoward accident delayed, came not till yesterday. It came, however, and has relieved me from a thousand distressing apprehensions on your account. The dew of your intelligence has refreshed my poetical laurels. A little praise now and then is very good for your 348 COWPERS LETTERS. hard-working poet, who is apt to grow languid and perhaps careless without it. Praise, I find, affects us as mont y does. The more a man gets of it, with the more vigilance he wat 'hes over and preserves it. Such, at least, is its effect vn me, and you may assure yourself that I will never lose a mite O" it for want of care. I have already invited the good Padre in general terms, and he shall positively dine here next week, wlicther he will or not. I do not at all suspect that his kindness to Protestants has any thing insidious in it, any more than I suspect that he transcribes Homer for me with a view for my conversion. He would find me a tough piece of business I can tell him ; for when I had no religion at all, I had yet a terrible dread of the Pope. How much more now ! I should have sent you a longer letter, but was obliged to devote my last evening to the melancholy employment of composing a Latin inscription for the tombstone of poor William, two copies of which I wrote out and enclosed, one to Henry Thornton, and one to Mr Newton. Homer stands by me biting his thumbs, and swears, that if I do not leave off directly, he will choke me with bristly Gr6ek, that shall stick in my throat for ever. W. C. 243— TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. TEDIOUSNESS OF HOMEtt's BATTLES SUCCESS OF THE POT-T's TWO FORMER VOLUMES. Weston, January 3, 1787. My dear Friend, — You wish to hear from me at any calm interval of epic frenzy. An interval presents itself, but whether calm or not, is perhaps doubtful. Is it possible for a man to be calm, who, for three weeks past, has been perpetually occupied in slaughter : letting out one man's bowels, smiting another through the gullet, transfixing the liver of another, and lodging an arrow in the buttock of a fourth ? Read tlie thirteenth book of the Iliad, and you will find such amusing incidents as these the subject of it, the sole subject. In order to interest myself in it, and to catch the spirit of it, I had need discard all humanity. It is woful work ; and were the l)est poet in the world to give us at this day such a list of killed and wounded, he would not escape univfjrsal censure, — to the praise of a more enlightened age be it spoken. I have waded throiigli nuieh blood, and through cowper's letters. 349 much more I must wade before I shall have finished. I determine, in the meantime, to account it all very sublime, and for two reasons, — First, because all the learned think so, and secondly, because I am to translate it. But were I an indifferent by-stander, perhaps I should venture to wish, that Homer had applied his wonderful powers to a less disgusting subject. He has in the Od^'^ssey, and I long to get at it. I have not the good fortune to meet with any of these fine things, that you say are printed in my praise. But I learn, from certain advertisements in the Morning Herald, that I make a conspicuous figure in the entertainments of Free Mason's Hall. I learn, also, that my volumes are out of print, and that a third edition is soon to be published. But if I am not gratified with the sight of odes composed to my honour and glory, I have at least been tickled with some douceurs of a very flattering nature by the post. A lady unknown addresses the best of men — an unknown gentleman has read my inimitable poems, and invites me to his seat in Hampshire — another incognito gives me hopes of a memorial in his garden — and a Welsh attorney sends me his verses to revise, and obligingly asks. Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ? If you find me a little vain hereafter, my friend, you must excuse it in consideration of these powerful incentives, especially the latter ; for surely the poet who can charm an attorney, especially a Welsh one, must be at least an Orpheus, if not something greater. Mrs Unwin is as much delighted as myself with our present situation. But it is a sort of April weather life that we lead in this world. A little sunshine is generally the prelude to a storm. Hardly had we begun to enjoy the change, when the death of her son cast a gloom upon every thing. He was a most exemplary man ; of your order ; learned, polite, and amiable. The father of lovely children, and the husband of a wife (very much like dear Mrs Bagot) who adored him. Adieu, my fi-iend ! Your affectionate W. C. 350 COWPEUS LETTERS. 244. _ TO LADY HESKETH. INDISPOSITION — PROGRESS IN HOMER A LADY CLAIMS HI? POEM OF THE ROSE. The Lodge, January 8, 1787. I HAVE had a little nervous fever lately, my dear, that has somewhat abridged my sleep ; and, though I find myself better to-day than I have been since it seized me, yet I feel my head lightish, and not in the best order for writing. You will find me, therefore, perhaps not only less alert «in my manner than I usually am when my spirits are good, but rather shorter. I will, however, proceed to scribble till I find that it fatigues me, and then will do as 1 know you would bid me do were you here, — shut up my desk and take a walk. The good General tells me, that in the eight fii'st books which I have sent him, he still finds alterations and amend- ments necessary, of which I myself am equally persuaded ; and he asks my leave to lay them before an intimate friend of his, of whom ho gives a character that bespeaks him highly deserving such a trust. To this I have no objection, desiring only to make the translation as perfect as I can make it. If God grant me life and health, I would spare no labour to secure that point. The General's letter is extremely kind, and, both for matter and manner, like all the rest of his deal- ings with his cousin the poet. I had a letter also yesterday from Mr Smith, member for Nottingham.* Though we never saw each other, he writes to me in the most friendly terms, and interests himself much in my Homer, and in the success of my subscription. Speaking on this latter subject, he says that my poems are read by hundreds, who know nothing of my proposals, and makes no doubt that they would subscribe, if they did. I have myself always thought them imperfectly, or rather insufficiently, announced. I could pity the poor woman, who has been weak enough to claim my song. Such pilferings arc; sure to be detected. I wrote it, I know not how long, but I suppose four years ago. The Kose in question was a Rose given to Lady Austen by Mrs Unwin, and the incident that suggested the subject occurred in the room in which you slept at the * Lord Carrin^ton. cowper's letters. 351 vicarage, which Lady Austen made her dining-room. Some time since, Mr Bull going to London, I gave him a copy of it, which he undertook to convey to Nichols, the printer of the Gentleman's Magazine. Pie shewed it to a Mrs C— — — , who begged to copy it, and promised to send it to the printer's by her servant. Three or four months afterwards, and when I had concluded it was lost, I saw it in the Gentle- man's Magazine, with my signature, W. C. Poor simpleton ! She will find now, perhaps, that the Rose had a thorn, and that she has pricked her fingers with it. Adieu ! my beloved cousin. W. C. 246. — TO LADY HESKETH. DREAMS MAY BE DIVINE COMMUNICATIONS IN PARTICULAR INSTANCES—. INTRODUCTION OF MR ROSE. The Lodge, January 18, 1787. I HAVE been so much indisposed with the fever that I told you had seized me, my nights during the whole week may be said to have been almost sleepless. The consequence has been, that, except the translation of about thirty lines at the conclusion of the thirteenth book, I have been forced to abandon Homer entirely. This was a sensible mortification to me, as you may suppose, and felt the more, because my spirits, of course, failing with my strength, I seemed to have peculiar need of my old amusement. It seera.ed hard, there- fore, to be forced to resign it just when I wanted it most. But Homer's battles cannot be fought by a man who does not sleep well, and who has not some little degree of animation in the day time. Last night, however, quite contrary to m}' ex- pectations, the fever left me entirely, and I slept quietly, soundly, and long. If it please God that it return not, I shall soon find myself in a condition to proceed. I walk constantly, that is to say, Mrs Unwin and I together ; for at these times I keep her continually employed, and never suffer her to be absent from me many minutes. She gives me all her time, and all her attention, and forgets that there is another object in the world. Mrs Carter* thinks on the subject of dreams as every body * Mrs Elizabeth Carter, translator of Epictetus, a poetess, and remarkable linguist, was the daughter of the Rev. Mr Carter of Deal, where she was born in 1717. She died in London, at the age of eighty- nine. In learning she has been seldom equalled, even by the other sex. Her poetry, as Cowper says of her dreams, "shews nothing extraor- dinary ; but it never displeases, and is generally elegant." 352 cowper's letters. else docs, — that is to say, according to her own experience. She has had no extraordinary ones, and tlierefore accounts them only tlie ordinary operations of the fancy. Mine are of a texture that will not suffer me to ascribe them to so inadequate a cause, or to any cause but the operation of an exterior agency. I have a mind, my dear, (and to you I will venture to boast of it,) as free from superstition as any man living, neither do I give heed to dreams in general as predic- tive, though particular dreams I believe to be so. Some very sensible persons, and I suppose Mrs Carter among them, will acknowledge, that in old times God spoke by dreams, but affirm, with much boldness, that he has since ceased to do so. If you ask them, Why ? they answer. Because he has now revealed his will in the Scripture, and there is no longer any need that he should instruct or admonish us by dreams. I grant that with respect to doctrines and precepts he has left us in want of nothing ; but has he thereby precluded himself in any of the operations of his Providence ? Surely not. It is perfectly a different consideration ; and the same need that there ever was of his interference in this way, there is still, and ever must be, while man continues blind and fallible, and a crea- ture beset with dangers Mhich he can neither foresee nor obviate. His operations, however, of this kind are, I allow, very rare ; and as to the generality of dreams, they are made of such stuff, and are in themselves so insignificant, that though I believe them all to be the manufacture of others, not our own, I account it not a farthing matter who manu- factures them. So much for dreams ! My fever is not yet gone, but sometimes seems to leave me. It is altogether of the nervous kind, and attended, now and then, with much dejection. A young gentleman called here yesterday, who came six miles out of his way to see me. He was on a journey to London from Glasgow, having just left the university there, lie came, I suppose, partly to satisfy his own curiosity, but chiefly, as it seemed, to bring me the thanks of some of the Scotch professors for my two volumes. His name is Rose, an Englishman. Your spirits being good, you will derive more pleasure from this iotident than I can at present, thcsi-e- fore I send it. Adieu, very affectionately, W. C* * The illness luentioneil in this letter interrupted the writer's trtui'*- lation of Homer during eight months. COWPER's LEITERS. 353 24(5 TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. CHARACTER OF BURNS AS A POET. Weston, July 24, 1787. Dear Sir, — This is the first time I have written these six months, and nothing but the constraint of obligation could induce me to write now. I cannot be so wanting to myself as not to endeavour, at least, to thank you both for the visits with which you have favoured me, and the poems that you sent me. In my present state of mind I taste nothing ; never- theless I read, partly from habit, and partly because it is the only thing that I am capable of. I have, therefore, read Burns's Poems, and have read them twice ; and, though they be written in a language that is new to me, and many of them on subjects much inferior to the author's ability, I think them, on the whole, a very extraor- dinary production. He is, I believe, the only poet these kingdoms have produced in the lower rank of life, since Shakespeare, (I should rather say since Prior,) who need not be indebted for any part of his praise to a charitable con- sideration of his origin, and the disadvantages under which he has laboured. It will be a pity if he should not hereafter divest himself of barbarism, and content himself with writing pure English, in which he appears perfectly qualified to excel. He who can command admiration, dishonours himself if he aims no higher than to raise a laugh.* • These remarks are ill founded, and shew that Cowper did not fully comprehend the poetical character of Burns. Between Burns and Prior there can be no comparison as to the disadvantages of birth, whatever there might be in this respect between Shakespeare and Bums Prior, though an orphan, and brought up by bis uncle, an innkeeper, never knew those primary difficulties which humble birth and scanty means throw in the way of talent, since, from the first, he received the best education at Westminster School, and afterwards at St John's College, Cambridge. The opportunity of acquirement alone makes the difference between the upper and the lower ranks of life; consequently, " no charitable con- sideration of his origin" is to be claimed in favour of Prior. The obser- vation on the English verses of Burns is neither nationally nor poetically correct. His attempts at mere English versification in no case exceed mediocrity : as an Enghsh poet he never would have attained reputation. On the other hand, so far from seeking " to raise a laugh," he is not surpassed by any poet, in ancient or modern tunes, in the pathetic siui- 354 COWPER*S LETTERS. I am, dear sir, with my best wishes for your prosperity, and with Mrs Unwin's respects, your obliged and affectionate humble servant, W. C. 247. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. INVITATION TO FARTHER INTIMACT — BARCLAY'S ARGENIS. Wkston, August 27, 1787. Dear Sir, — I have not yet taken up the pen again, except to write to you. The little taste that I have had of your company, and your kindness in finding me out, make me wish that we were nearer neighbours, and that there were not so great a disparity in our years, — that is to say, not that you were older, but that I were younger. Could we have met in early life, I flatter myself that we might have been more intimate than now we are likely to be. But you shall not find me slow to cultivate such a measure of your regard, as your friends of your own age can spare me. When your route shall lie through this country, I shall hope that the same kindness which has prompted you twice to call on me, will prompt you again, and I shall be happy if, on a future occa- sion, I may be able to give you a more cheerful reception than can be expected from an invalid. My health and spirits are considerably improved, and I once more associate with my neighbours. My head, however, has been the worst part of me, and still continues so ; is subject to giddiness and pain, maladies very unfavourable to poetical employment; but a preparation of the bark, which I take regularly, has so far been of service to me in those respects, as to encourage in me a hope, that, by perseverance in the use of it, I may possibly find myself qualified to resume the translation of Homer. plicity of his principal pieces in the Scottish dialect. Rigbdy might Burns have exclaimed vdth Milton, — Hail, native language ! that with sinews weak Didst move my tirst endeavouring tongue to speak — Tliou shalt cull those richest robes and best attire Wliich deepest sp'rits and clioicest wits desire ! All for some wand 'ring tlioughts that rovo about. And loudly knock to have their passage out I Prior, born 16C4, died 1721. Burns, born near Ayr, 1759, died 1796 COWPER*S LETTERS. 355 When I cannot walk, I read, and read perhaps more than is good for me. But I cannot be idle. The only mercy that I shew myself in this respect is, that I read nothing thai requires much closeness of application. I lately finislied the perusal of a book, which, in former years, I have more than once attacked, but never till now conquered ; some other book always interfered, before I could finish it. The work I mean is Barclay's Argenis ;* and, if ever you allow yourself to read for mere amusement, I can recommend it to you (provided you have not already perused it) as the most amusing romance that ever was written. It is the only one, indeed, of an old date that I ever had the patience to go through with. It is interesting in a high degree ; richer in incident than can be imagined, full of surprises, which the reader never forestalls, and yet free from all entanglement and confusion. The style, too, appears to me to be such as would not dishonour Tacitus himself. Poor Burns loses much of his deserved praise in this country, through our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting with any Englishman who will take the pains that I have taken to understand him. His candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible neighbour of mine ; but his uncouth dialect spoiled all ; and before he had half read him through, he was quite ram-feezled.'\ W. C. * John Barclay, author of the Argenis, and several other works in Latin, was the son of William Barclay of Aberdeenshire, one of the most eminent civilians of the sixteenth century, counsellor of state to the Duke of Lorraine, and author of different works. His son was born at Pont a Mousson, and died at Rome, in 1621. The Argenis almost merits the praise, which Cowper elsewhere gives it, of being " the best romance that ever was written." Of this work there are no less than four different translations : our poet appears to have read the original. t Thanks to Sir Walter Scott, — who, by his own glories, added to the national tongue, has done much towards rendering a knowledge of it universal and necessary over the British Empire, — the language of Burns now hardly presents a difficulty to any Englishman pretending to be an admirer of genius. Both English and Scotch, however, would be much more ram-feezled hy the " uncouth dialects" of London or the English counties, mere vulgarities, as these are, of affectation or ignorance ; while the "northern speech," such, at least, as the " Cottar's Saturday Night," and the higher passages of the " Wavcrley Novels," exhibit but an older shade of Anglicism, a landmark to shew the progress of refine- ment, or hke the towers of a Gothic cathedral rising among the streets and squares of a modern city. 35 G COWPEU*S LETTERS. 248.— TO LADY HESKETH. HIS REVIVING HEALTH AND SPIRITS — THE THROCKMORTONS. The Lodge, August 30, 1787. My dearest Cousin, — Though it costs me something to write, it would cost me more to be silent. My intercourse with my neighbours being renewed, I can no longer seem to forget how many reasons there are, why you especially should not be neglected ; no neighbour, indeed, but the kindest of my friends, and, ere long, I hope, an inmate. My health and spirits seem to be mending daily. To what end I know not, neither will conjecture, but endeavour, as far as I can, to be content that they do so. I use exercise, and take the air in the Park and Wilderness. I read much, but as yet write not. Our friends at the Hall make themselves more and more amiable in our account, by treating us rather as old friends, than as friends newly acquired. There are few days in which we do not meet, and I am now almost as much at home in their house as in our own. Mr Throck- morton, having long since put me in possession of all his ground, has now given me possession of his library, — an acquisition of great value to me, ^vho never have been able to live without books, since I first knew my letters, and who have no books of my own. By his means I have been so well supplied, that I have not yet even looked at the Lounger, for which, however, I do not forget that I am obliged to you. His turn comes next, and I shall proljably begin him to-morrow. Mr George Throckmorton is at the Hall. I thought I had known these brothers long enough to have found out all their talents and accomplishments. But I was mistaken. The day l)efore yesterday, after having walked with us, they carried us up to the library (a more accurate writer would have said, conducted us) and then they shewed me the contents of an immense portfolio, the work of their oAvn hands. It wiis furnished with drawings of the arcliitectural kind, executed in a most masterly manner, and among others, contained outside and inside views of the Pantheon, I mean the Roman one. They were all, I believe, made at Koine. Some nun may be estimated at a first interview, but the Throckmortons must be seen often, and known long, before one can uiuU*r- t-idud all their value. They often in(juire after you, and ask me whether you visit cowper's letters. 357 Weston this autumn. I answer, yes, and I charge you, my dearest cousin, to authenticate my information. Write to me, and tell us when we may expect to see you. We were disappointed that we had no letter from you this morning. You will find me coated and buttoned according to your recommendation. I write but little, because writing is become^ new to me ; but r shall come on by degrees. Mrs Unwin begs to be affectionately remembered to you. She is in tolerable health, which is the chief comfort here that I have to boast of. Yours, my dearest cousin, as ever, W. C. 249. — TO LADY HESKETH. INVITATION TO WESTON — HIS READING. The Lodge, September 4, 1787. My dearest Coz, — Come when thou canst come, secure of being always welcome ! All that is here is thine, together with the hearts of those who dwell here. I am only sorry, that your journey hither is necessarily postponed beyond the time when I did hope to have seen you ; sorry, too, that my Uncle's infirmities are the occasion of it. But years willha.\e their course, and their effect ; they are happiest, so far as this life is concerned, who, like him, escape those effects the longest, and who do not grow old before their time. Trouble and anguish do that for some, which only longevity does for others. A few months since I was older than your father is now, and though I have lately recovered, as Falstaff says, some smatch of my youth, I have but little confidence, in truth none, in so flattering a change, but expect, ivhen I least expect it, to wither again. The past is a pledge for the future. Mr G. is here, Mrs Throckmorton's uncle. He is lately arrived from Italy, where he has resided several years, and is so much the gentleman, that it is impossible to be more so. Sensible, polite, obliging ; slender in his figure, and in manners most engaging — every way worthy to be related to the Throckmortons. I have read Savary's travels into Egypt ; Memoirs du Baron de Tott ; Fenn's original letters ; the letters of Frederick of Bohemia, and am now reading Memoirs d'Henri de Lorraine, Due de Guise. I have also read Barclay's Argenis, a Latin romance, and the best romance that ever was written. All 358 COWPER*S LETTERS. these, together with Madan a letters to Priestley, and several pamphlets, withiu lliesf^ two months. iso I an a creat reader.* W. C. 250.— TO LADY HESKETH. HIS RURAL AMUSEMENTS — A VISITER. The Lodge, September J 5, 17^7. My dearest Cousin, — On Monday last I was invited to meet your friend Miss J at the Hall, and there we found her. Her good nature, her humorous manner, and her good sense, are charming ; insomuch that even I, who was never much addicted to speech making, and who at present find myself particularly indisposed to it, could not help saying at parting, — "I am glad that I have seen you, and sorry that I have seen so little of you." We were sometimes many in company ; on Thursday we were fifteen, but we had not altogether so much vivacity and cleverness as Miss J , whose talent at mirth-making has this rare property to recommend it, that nobody suffers by it. I am making a gravel walk for winter use, under a warm hedge in the orchard. It shall be furnished with a low seat for your accommodation, and if you do but like it, I shall be satisfied. In wet weather, or rather after wet weather, when the street is dirty, it will suit you well, for lying on an easy declivity through its whole length, it must of course be immediately dry. You are very much wished for by our friends at the Hall — how much by me I will not tell you till t)ie second week in October. Yours, W. C. • Nicholas Savary, a learned traveller, and oriontid schoLir, was born in Brittany, 1750, and died a year after the date of this letter. Francis Baron de Tott, a Frenchman by birth, but Hungarian by descent, wui born in 17J33, and died 1793, Sir John Fenn was born at Norwich, 17-39, and died in 1794. He was a celebrated antiquary, and edited four volumes of historical letters, written chiefly by the Paston fiunily, wth a few, by others, during the reigns of Henry IV, Edwiu-d IV, Kichiu-d III, and Henry VII. Dr Joseph Priestley, born 1733, in Yorksliire, died 1804, in Pennsylvania. His works, amounting to from seventy to eighty volumes, contain some good, and many indifferent trefltises, but his fame chiefly rests upon lii* di8rx)veries in pneumatic chemistry. cowper's letters. 359 251. — TO LADY HESKETir. MEMOIRS OF THE TURKS, BY BARON DE TOTT. The Lodge, September 29, 1787. My dear Coz. — I thank you for your political intelligence ; retired as we are, and seemingly excluded from the world, we are not indifferent to what passes in it ; on the contrary, the arrival of a newspaper, at the present juncture, never fails to furnish us with a theme for discussion, short, indeed, but satisfactory, for we seldom differ in opinion. I have received such an impression of the Turks from the memoirs of Baron de Tott, which I read lately, that I can hardly help presaging the conquest of that empire by the Russians. The disciples of Mahomet are such babies in modern tactics, and so enervated by the use of their favourite drug ; so fatally secure in their predestinarian dream, and so prone to a spirit of mutiny against their leaders, that nothing less can be expected. In fact, they had not been their own masters at this day, had but the Russians known the weakness of their enemies half so well as they undoubtedly know it now. Add to this, that there is a popular prophecy current in both countries, that Turkey is one day to fall under the Russian sceptre, — a prophecy which, from whatever authority it be derived, as it will naturally encourage the Russians, and dispirit the Turks, in exact proportion to the degree of credit it has obtained on both sides, has a direct tendency to effect its own accomplishment. In the meantime, if I wish them conquered, it is only because I think it will be a blessing to them to be governed by any other hand than their own ; for under Heaven has there never been a throne so execrably tyrannical as theirs. The heads of the innocent that have been cut off to gratify the humour or caprice of their tyrants, could they be all collected and discharged against the walls of their cit}'^, would not leave one stone on another. O that you were here this beautiful day ! It is too fine by half to be spent in London. I have a perpetual din in my head, and though I am not deaf, hear nothing aright, neither my own voice, nor that of others. I am under a tub, from which tub accept my best love. Yours, W. C. 360 COWPER'S 1 ETTERS. 252. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. HESU5IPTI0N OF HIS STCDIES LEAVING THE COUNTRY AFTER HIS FATHEk'i DEATH. Weston, October 19, 1787. Dear Sir, — A summons from Johnson, wliich I received yesterday, calls my attention once more to the business of translation. Before I begin I am willing to catch though but a short opportunity to acknowledge your last favour. The necessity of applying myself with all diligence to a long work, that has been but too long interrupted, will make my opportunities of writing rare in future. Air and exercise are necessary to all men, but particularly so to the man whose mind labours ; and to him who has been all his life accustomed to much of both, they are necessary in the extreme. My time, since we parted, has been devoted entirely to the recovery of health and strength for this service, and I am willing to hope with good effect. Ten months have passed since I discontinued my poetical efforts ; I do not expect to find the same readiness as before till exercise of the neglected faculty, such as it is, shall have restored it to me. You find yourself, I hope, . by this time as comfortably situated in your new abode, as in a new abode one can be. I enter perfectly into all your feelings on occasion of the change. A sensible mind cannot do violence even to a local attachment without mu?li pain. When my father died, I was young, too young to have reflected much. He was rector of Berkhamp- stead, and there I was born. It had never occurred to me, that a parson has no f(-e-simple in the house and glebe he occupies. There was neither tree, nor gate, nor stile, in all that country, to which I did not feel a relation, and the house itself I preferred to a palace. I was sent lor from London to attend him in his last illness, and he died just before I arrived. Then, and not till then, I felt for the first time that I and my native place were disunited for ever. I sighed a long adieu to fields and woods, from which I once thought I should never be parted, and was at no time so sensible of tlieir beauties, as just when I left them all behind me, to return no more. \N . C. CUWPElt's LETrtRb'. i^O] 253. — TO LADY HESKETH. AVECDOTES OF A KITTEN AND A LEECH. The Lodge, November 10, 1787- The Parliament, my dearest Cousin, proroSES OF JUSTICE. The Lodge, February 22, 1788. I DO not wonder that your ears and feelings were hurt by Mr Burke's severe invective. But you are to know, my dear, or probably you know it already, that the prosecution of public delinquents has always, and in all countries, been thus conducted. The style of a criminal charge of this kind has been an affair settled among orators from the days of Tully to the present, and like all other practices that have obtained for ages, this, in particular, seems to have been founded origin- ally in reason, and in the necessity of the case. He who accuses another to the state, must not appear him- self unmoved by the view of crimes with which he charges- him, lest he should be suspected of fiction, or of precipitancy, or of a consciousness that after all he shall not be able to prove his allegations. On the contrary, in order to impress the minds of his hearers with the persuasion that he himself at least is convinced of the criminality of the prisoner, he must be vehement, energetic, rapid ; must call him tyrant, and traitor, and every thing else that is odious, and all this to his face, because all this, bad as it is, is no more than he undertakes to prove in the sequel ; and if he cannot prove it, he must him- self appear in a light very little more desirable, and, at the best, to have trifled with the tribunal to which he has sum- moned him. Thus, Tully, in the very first sentence of his oration against Catiline, calls him a monster, — a manner of address in which he persisted till said monster, unable to support the fury oF his accuser's eloquence any longer, rose from his seat, elbowed for himself a passage through the crowd, and at last burst from the senate-house in an agony, as if the Furies themselves had followed him. And now, my dear, though I have thus spoken, and have seemed to plead the cause of thai species of eloquence which you, and every creature who has your sentiments, must neces- sarily dislike, perhaps I am not altogether convinced of its propriety. Perhaps, at the bottom, I am much more of opinion, that if the charge, unaccompanied by any inflamma- tory matter, and simply detailed, being once delivered in to 380 COWPER's LETTERf?. the court, and read aloud, the witnesses were immediately examined, and sentence pronounced according to the evidence i not only the process wouhl be shortened, much time and much expense saved, but justice would have at least as fair play as now she has. Prejudice is of no use in weighing the question. Guilty or not guilty; and the principal aim, end, and effect of such introductory harangues is to create as much prejudice as possible. When you and I therefore shall have the sole management of such a business intrusted to us, we will order it otherwise. I was glad to learn from the papers that our cousin Henry shone as he did in reading the charge. This must have given much pleasure to the General. Thy ever affectionate W. C. 268. — TO LADY HESKETH. TERMINATION OF A FOX CHASE — *' IN AT THE DEATH." The LonGF, March 3, 1788. One day last week, Mrs Unwin and I, having taken our n.orningw^alk, and returning homeward through the Wilderness, met the Throckmortons. A minute after we had met them, we heard the cry of hounds at no great distance, and mounting the broad stump of an elm, which had been felled, and by tlie aid of which we were enabled to look over the wall, we saw them. They were all that time in our orchard ; presently we heard a terrier, belonging to Mrs Throckmorton, which you may remember by the name of Fury, yelping with much vehemence, and saw her running through the thickets, within a few yards of us, at lier utmost speed, as if in pursuit of something which we doubted not Mas the fox. Before we could reach the other end of the Wilderness, the hounds entered also ; and when we arrived at tht^ gate which opens into the grove, there we found the whole weary cavalcade assembled. The huntsman dismounting begged leave to follow his hounds on foot, for he was sure, he said, that they killed him, — a conclusion which, I sujjpose, he drew from their profound silence. He was accordingly admitted, and with a sagacity that would not have dishonoured th(> best hound in the world, pursuing jirecisely the same track wliieh the fox :uid the dogs had taken, though he had never had a glimpse of either after their first entrance through the rails, arrived where he found the slaughtered prey. He soon jjroduccd dead cowper's letters. 381 reynard, and rejoined us in the grove with all his dogs about him. Having an opportunity to see a ceremony, which I was pretty sure would never fall in my way again, I determined to stay, and to notice all that passed with the most minute atten- tion. The huntsman having by the aid of a pitchfork lodged reynard on the arm of an elm, at the height of about nme feet from the ground, there left him for a considerable time. The gentlemen sat on their horses contemplating the fox, for which tliey had toiled so hard ; and the hounds assembled at the foot of the tree, with faces not less expressive of the most rational delight, contemplated the same object. The hunts- man remounted, cut off a foot, and threw it to the hounds — one of them swallowed it whole like a bolus. He then once more alighted, and drawing down the fox by the hinder legs, desired the people, who Avere by this time rather numerous, to open a lane for him to the right and left. He was instantly obeyed, when throwing the fox to the distance of some yards, and screaming like a fiend, "tear him to pieces" — at least six times repeatedly, he consigned him over absolutely to the pack, who in a few minutes devoured him completely. Thus, my dear, as Virgil says, what none of the gods could have ventured to promise me, time itself, pursuing its accustomed course, has of its own accord presented me with. I have been in at the death of a fox, and you now know as much of the matter as I, who am as well informed as any sportsman in England. — Yours, W. C, 269. — TO LADY HESKETH. HAKNAH MOKE MR. WILIJERFORCE — BLANK VEKSE SUPERIOR TO RHYJIE. The Lodge, Marcli 12, 1783. Slavery, and the Manners of the Great, I have read. The former I admired, as I do all that Miss More writes, as well for energy of expression, as for the tendency of the design. I have never yet seen any production of her pen that has not recommended itself by both these qualifications. There is likewise much good sense in her manner of treating every subject, and no mere poetic cant (which is the thing that I abhor) in her manner of treating any. And this I say, not because you now know and visit her, but it has long been my avowed opinion of her works, which I have both spoken and written, as often as I have had occasion to mention them. 382 COWPER*S LETTERS. Mr Wilber force's little book (if he was the author of it) ha« also charmed me. It must, I should imagine, engage the notice of those to whom it is addressed. In that case one may say to them, either answer it, or be set down by it. They will do neither. They will approve, commend, and forget it. Such has been the fate of all exhortations to reform, whether in verse or prose, and however closely pressed upon the conscience, in all ages. Here and there a happy individual, to whom God gives grace and wisdom to profit by the admoni- tion, is the better for it. But the aggregate body (as Gilbert Cooper used to call the multitude) remain, though with a very good understanding of the matter, like horse and mule tliat have none. We shall now soon lose our neighbours at the Hall. We shall truly miss them, and long for their return. Mr Throck- morton said to me last night, with sparkling eyes, and a face expressive of the highest pleasure, — " We compared you this morning with Pope ; we read your fourth Iliad, and his, and I verily think we shall beat him. He has many superfluous lines, and does not interest one. When I read your transla- tion, I am deeply affected. I see plainly your advantage, and am convinced that Pope spoiled all by attempting the work m rhyme." His brother George, who is my most active amanuensis, and who indeed first introduced the subject, seconded all he said. More would have passed, but Mrs Throckmorton having seated herself at the harpsichord, and for my amusement merely, my attention was of course turned to her. The new vicar of Olney is arrived, and wo have exchanged visits. He is a plain, sensible man, and pleases me much. A treasure for Olney, if Olney can understand his value. W. C. 270. — TO GENERAL COWPER. enclosing poems on the slave tkade. Wk'jton, 1788. My dear General, — A letter is not pleasant which excites curiosity, but does not gratify it. Such a letter was my last, the defects of which I therefore take the first opportunity to supply. When the condition of our uegro(^s in the islands was first presented to me as a subject for songs, I felt myself not at all allured to the undertaking : it seemed to offer only images of horror, \\ liich could by no meaiis be acconmiodated cowper's letters. 383 to the style of that sort of composition. But having a desire to comply, if possible, with the request made to me, after turning the matter in my mind as many ways as I could, I, at last, as I told you, produced three ; and that which appears to myself the best of those three I have sent you. Of the other two, one is serious, in a strain of thought perhaps rather too serious, and I could not help it. The other, of which the slave-trader is himself the subject, is somewhat ludicrous. If I could think them worth your seeing, I would, as opportunity should occur, send them also. If this amuses you, I shall be glad. * W. C. 271.— TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. REVISAL OF THE FIRST FIFTEEN BOOKS OF THE ILIAD. March 19, 178S. My dear Friend, — The spring is come, but not I suppose that spring which our poets have celebrated. So I judge at least by the extreme severity of the season — sunless skies and freezing blasts, surpassing all that we experienced in the depth of winter. How do you dispose of yourself in this howling month of March ? As for me, I walk daily, be the weather what it may, take bark, and write verses. By the aid of such means as these I combat the north-east wind with some measure of success, and look forward, with the hope of enjoying it, to the warmth of summer. Have you seen a little volume lately published, entitled The Manners of the Great ? It is said to have been writen by Mr Wilberforce ; but whether actually written by him or not, is undoubtedly the work of some man intimately acquainted with the subject, a gentleman, and a man of letters. If it makes the impression on those to whom it is addressed, that may be in some degree expected from his arguments, and from his manner of pressing them, it will be well. But you and I have lived long enough in the world to know, that the hope of a general reformation in any class of men whatever — or ok women either — may easily be too sanguine. 1 have now given the last revisal to as much of my transla- tion as was ready for it, and do not know that I shall bestow another single stroke of my pen on that part of it before I send it to the press. My business at present is with the sixteenth book, in which I have made some progress, but have not yet * The Morning Dream accompanied this letter. — See*Poems. 384 COWPEU*S LETTERS. actually sent forth Patroclus to the battle. My first translation lies always before me ; line by line I examine it as I proceed, and line by line reject it. I do not, however, hold myseU altogether indebted to my critics for the better judgment that I seem to exercise in this matter now than in the first instance. By long study of him, I am in fact become much more familiar with Homer than at any time heretofore, and have possessed myself of such a taste of his manner, as is not to be attained by mere cursory reading for amusement. But, alas ! 'tis after all a mortifying consideration, that the majority of my judges hereafter will be no judges of this. Grcccuni est^ non potest legi, is a motto that would suit nine in ten of those who will give themselves airs about it, and pretend to like or to dislike. No matter. I know^ I shall please you, because I know ivhat pleases you, and am sure that I. have done it. — Adieu! my good friend. Ever affectionately yours, W. C. 272. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MRS UNWIN's SINCERlTy. — CLARKE's UOMER — SLAVE TRADE. Weston, March 29> 178a My dear Friend, — I rejoice that yon have so successfully performed so long a journey without the aid of hoofs or wheels. I do not know that a journey on foot exposes a man to more disasters than a carriage or a horse ; perhaps it may be the safer way of travelling, but the novelty of it impressed me with some anxiety on your account. It sems almost incredible to myself, that my company should be at all desirable to you, or to any man. I know so little of the world as it goes at present, and labour generally under such a depression of spirits, especially at those times when I could wish to be most cheerful, that my own share in every conversation appears to me to be the most insipid thing imaginal)le. But you say you found it otherwise, and I will not for my own sake doubt your sincerity. Def/Hstibus non est disputmidnm ; and since such is yours, I shall leave you in quiet possession of it, wishing indeed both its continuance and increase. I shall not find a properer place in which to say, accept of Mrs Unwin's acknowledgments, as well as mine, for the kindness of your expressions on this subject, and be assured of an undissembling welcome at all times, when it shall suit you to giv(! us your company at Weston. As to her, she is one of th^sincerest of the human race, and if she receives COWPER S LETTERS. 385 you with the appearance of pleasure, it is because she feels it. Her behaviour on such occasions is with her an affair of conscience, and she dares no more look a falsehood than utter sne. It is almost time to tell you that I hive received the books safe, they have not suffered the least detriment by the way, and I am much obliged to you for them. If my translation should be a little delayed in consequence of this favour of yours, you must take the blame on yourself. It is impossible not to read the notes of a commentator so learned, so judicious, and of so fine a taste as Dr Clarke, * having him at one's elbow. Though he has been but a few hours under my roof, I have already peeped at him, and find that he will be instar oyimium to me. They are such notes exactly as I wanted. ^ A trans- lator of Homer should ever have somebody at hand to say, " That's a beauty," lest he should slumber where his author does not ; not only depreciating, by such inadvertency, the work of his original, but depriving perhaps his own of an embellishment which wanted only to be noticed. If you hear ballads sung in the streets on the hardships of the negroes in the islands, they are probably mine. It must be an honour to any man to have given a stroke to that chain, however feeble. I feai', however, that the attempt will fail. The tidings which have lately reached me from London con- cerning it, are not the most encouraging. While the matter slept, or was but slightly adverted to, the English only had their share of shame in common with other nations on account of it. But since it has been canvassed and searched to the bottom — since the public attention has been rivetted to the horrible scheme — we can no longer plead either that we did not know it, or did not think of it. Wo be to us, if we refuse the poor captives the redress to which they have so clear a right, and prove ourselves in the sight of God and men indifferent to all considerations but those of gain ! — Adieu, W. C. * Samuel Clarke, D.D. born at Nor\\dcli, 1675, died in 1724, -eminent as a theologian, mathematician, and classic. As a com- mentator, Clarke is "learned and judicious," as Cowper says, but his version of Homer is more valuable as a faithful exposition of the text, than as a standard in matters of " taste." R 386 cooper's letters. 273. — TO LADY HESKETH. NOTE REMINDING A LADT OF A PROMISE TO WRITE — SLAVE TRADE. The Lodge, March 31, 1788. My dearest Cousin, — Mrs Throckmorton has promised to write to me. I beg that as often as you shall see her, you will give her a smart pinch and say, " Have you MTitten to my Cousin?" I build all my hopes of her performance on this expedient, and for so doing, these my letters, not patent, shall be your sufficient waiTant. You are thus to give her the question till she shall answer, " Yes." I have written one more song, and sent it. It is called the Morning Dream, and may be sung to the tune of Tweed Side, or any other tune that will suit it, for I am not nice on that subject. I would have copied it for you, had I not almost filled my sheet without it ; but now, my dear, you must stay till the sweet sirens of London shall bring it to you, or if that happy day should never arrive, I hereby acknowledge myself your debtor to that amount. I shall now probably cease to sing of tortured negroes, a theme which never pleased me, but which, in the hope of doing them some little service, I was not unwilling to handle. If any thing could have raised Miss More to a higher place in my opinion than she possessed before, it could only be your information that, after all, she, and not Mr Wilberforce, is author of that volume. How comes it to pass, that she, being a woman, writes with a force and energy, and a correct- ness hitherto arrogated by the men, and not very frequently displayed even by the men themselves ! — Adieu, W. C. 275. — TO LADY HESKETH. Smollett's don quixote — collectanea curiosa — general cowper. The Lodge, May 6, 1788. My dearest Cousin, — You ask me how I like Smollett's Don Quixote ?* I answer, well, perhaps better than any body's. • Tobias Smollett, M.D. a native of DunbartoTisliire, was born in 1721, died at Monte Nuovo, near Leghorn, aged fifty-one. The liritou who has stood beside the tomb in the beautiful cemetery where Smollett is laid in foreign dust, nill never forget the scene or fhe moiuent, or the bitterness of Ijis onnti feelings, as the thought arose, how much his country owes to the author's fame, and how little he i/wed to his country. COWPER^S LETTERS, 387 But having no skill in the original, some diffidence becomes me. That is to say, I do not know whether I ovght to prefer it or not. Yet there is so little deviation from other versions of it which 1 have seen, that I do not much hesitate. It has made me laugh I know immoderately, and in such a case c'a suffit. A thousand thanks, my dear, for the new convenience in the way of stowage which you are so kind as to intend me. There is nothing in which I am so deficient as repositories for letters, papers, and litter of all sorts. Your last present has helped me somewhat ; but not with respect to such things as require lock and key, which are numerous. A box, there- fore, so secured, will be to me an invaluable acquisition. And since you leave me to my option what shall be the size thereof, I of course prefer a folio. On the back of the book- seeming box some artist, expert in those matters, may inscribe these words, — COLLECTANEA CURIOSA, the English of which is, a collection of curiosities, — a title which I prefer to all others, because if I live, I shall take care that the box shall merit it, and because it will operate as an incentive to open that which, being locked, cannot be opened. For in these cases the greater the balk, the more wit is dis- covered by the ingenious contriver of it, — namely, myself. The General, I understand by his last letter, is in town. In my last to him, I told him news ; possibly it will give you pleasure, and ought for that reason to be made known to you as soon as possible. My friend Rowley, who I told you has, after twenty-five years' silence, renewed his correspondence with me, and who now lives in Ireland, where he has many and considerable connections, has sent to me for thirty sub- scription papers. Rowley is one of the most benevolent and friendly creatures in the world, and will, I dare say, do all in his power to serve me. I am just recovered from a violent cold, attended by a cough, which split my head while it lasted. I escaped these tortures all the winter ; but whose constitution, or what skin, can possibly be proof against our vernal breezes in England ? Mine never were, nor will be. • When people are intimate, we say they are as great as two inkle-weavers ; on which expression I have to remark, in the first place, that the word great is here used in a sense which the corresponding term has not, so far as I know, in any other 388 cowper's letters. language ;* and, secondly, that inkle-weavers contract inti macies with each other sooner than other people, on accoun* of their juxtaposition in weaving of inkle. Hence it is that Mr Gregson f and I emulate those hai)py weavers in the closeness of our connection. We live near to each other, and while the Hall is empty, are each other's only extrafora- neous comfort. — Most truly thine, W. C. 275. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. HOMER COMPLETED TO THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK. Weston, May 8, 1788. Alas! my library! — I must now give it up for a lost thing for ever. The only consolation belonging to the circumstance is, or seems to be, that no such loss did ever .befall any other man, or can ever befall me again. As far as books are con- cerned, I am Totus teres atque rotundus, and may set fortune at defiance. The books which had been my father's had most of them his arms on the inside cover, but the rest no mark, neither his name nor mine. I could mourn for them like Sancho for his Dapple, but it would avail me nothing. You will oblige me much by sending me Craz}' Kate. A gentleman last winter promised me both her and the Lace- maker, but he went to London, that place in which, as in the grave, "all things are forgotten," and I have never seen either of them. I begin to find some prospect of a conclusion, of the Iliad at least, now opening upon me, having reached the eighteenth book. Your letter found me j'esterday in the very fact of dispersing the whole host of Troy by the voice only of Achilles. There is nothing extravagant in the idea, for you have witnessed a similar effect attending even such a voice as mine at midnight, from a garret window, on the dogs of a whole parish, whom I have put to flight in a moment. w. c. • The Scottish word (jrit, like the English arcut, sig^nifies both large and familiar, but is now most frequently used in the latter sense. Dr Jamieson is inclined to think that the word in tliis peciJiar signification has a distinct etymon. See his Scottish Dictionary, under the word Grit. t Mr Gregson was a lloman Catholic clergyman, and private cliaplain \o the Throckmortons COWPER^S LETTERS. 38^ 276 TO LADY HESKETH. LADY MARY W. MONTAGU HIS PEDESTRIAN EXCURSIONS. The Lodge, May 12, 1788. It is probable, my dearest Coz, that I shall not be able to write much, but as much as I can I will. The time between rising and breakfast is all that I can at present find, and this morning I lay longer than usual. In the style of the lady's note to you I can easily perceive a smatch of her character. Neither men nor women write with such neatness of expression, who have not given a good deal of attention to language, and qualified themselves by study. At the same time it gave me much more pleasure to observe that my Coz, though not standing on the pinnacle of renown quite so elevated as that which lifts Mrs Montagu * to the clouds, falls in no degree short of her in this particular ; so that should she make you a member of her academy, she will do it honour. Suspect me not of flattering you, for I abhor the thought ; neither luill you suspect it. Recollect that it is an invariable rule with me, never to pay compliments to those I lOve. Two days, en suite, I have walked to Gayhurst ; a longer journey than I have walked on foot these seventeen years. The first day I went alone, designing merely to make the experiment, and choosing to be at liberty to return at what- soever point of my pilgrimage I should find myself fatigued. For I was not without suspicion that years, and some other things no less injurious than years, namely, melancholy and distress of mind, might by this time have unfitted me for such achievements. But I found it otherwise. I reached the church, which stands, as you know, in the garden, in fifty-five minutes, and returned in ditto time to Weston. The next day I took the same walk with Mr Powley, f having a desire to shew him the prettiest place in the country. I not only performed these two excursions without injury to my health, * Lady Mary Pierrepont, eldest daughter of the Duke of Kingston, was born at Thoresby, Nottinghamshire, in 1690 ; married, in her twenty- second year, Mr Wortley Montagu ; and died in 1762. She enjoyed in life the "three desirables " of rank, talent, and beauty ; while she left behind her the two strongest claims to the admiration and gratitude of posterity, — the best literary production of its class — her Letters, aiv^ the most useful of discoveries — Inoculation. t Mrs Unwin's son-in-law, a clergyman in Yorkshire. 390 COWPER*S LETTERS. but have by means of them gained indisputable proof that my ambulatory faculty is not yet impaired ; a discovery which, considering that to my feet alone I am likely, as I have ever been, to be indebted always for my transportation from place to place, I find very delectable. You will find in the last Gentleman's Magazine a Sonnet, addressed to Henry Cowper, signed T. H. I am the writer of it. No creature knows this but yourself; you will make what use of the intelligence you shall see good.* W. C. 277. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. raiNTS FROM HIS POEMS PROGRESS OF THE ILIAD TO THE NINETEENTH UOOK. May 24, 1788. My dear Friend, — For two excellent prints I return you my sincere acknowledgments. I cannot say that poor Kate resembles much the original, who was neither so young nor so handsome as the pencil has represented her ; but she was a figure well suited to the account given of her in the Task, and has a face exceedingly expressive of despairing melancholy. The lace-maker is accidentally a good likeness of a young woman, once our neighbour, who was hardly less handsome than the picture twenty years ago ; but the loss of one husband, and the acquisition of another, have, since that time, impaired her much ; yet she might still be supposed to have sat to the artist. We dined yesterday with your friend and mine, the most companionable and domestic Mr C .f The whole kingdom can hardly furnish a spectacle more pleasing to a man who has a taste for true happiness, than himself, Mrs C , and their multitudinous family. Seven long miles are interposed between us, or perhaps I should oftener have an opportunity of declaiming on this subject. I am now in the nineteenth book of the Iliad, and on the point of displaying such feats of heroism performed by Achilles, as make nil other achievements trivial. I may well exclaim. Oh ! fur a muse of fire ! especially having not only a great host to cope with, but a great river also. Much, however, may be done, when Homer leads the way. I should not have chosen to have been the original author of such a • See Poems. t Mr and Mrs Chester, the latter sister to the Rev. Mr Dagot, Cowper's correspondent. COWPER*S LETTERS. 391 business, even though all the Nine had stood at my elbow. Time has wonderful effects. We admire that in an ancient, for which we should send a modern bard to Bedlam. I saw at Mr [Chester's] a great curiosity, — an antique bust of Paris in Parian marble. You will conclude that it interested me exceedingly. I pleased myself with supposing that it once stood in Helen's chamber. It was in fact brought from the Levant, and though not well mended, (for it had suffered much by time,) is an admirable performance. W. C. 279. — TO LADY HESKETH. LADV Montagu's essay on shakespeare — antique bust of paris. The Lodge, May 27, 1788. My dear Coz, — The General, in a letter which came yesterday, sent me enclosed a copy of my sonnet ; thus introducing it: *' I send a copy of verses somebody has written in the Gentleman's Magazine for April last. Independent of my partiality towards the subject, I think the lines themselves are good." * Thus it appears that my poetical adventure has succeeded to my wish, and I write to him by this post, on purpose to inform him that the somebody in question is n^j'^self. I no longer wonder that Mrs Montagu stands at the head of all that is called learned, and that every critic veils his bonnet to her superior judgment. I am now reading, and have reached the middle of her Essay on the Genius oi Shakespeare, a book of which, strange as it may seem, though I must have read it formerly, I had absolutely forgot the existence. The learning, the good sense, the sound judgment, and the wit displayed in it, fully justify not only my compliment, but all compliments that either have been already paid to her talents, or shall be paid hereafter. Voltaire, I doubt not, rejoiced that his antagonist wrote in English, and that his countrymen could not possibly be judges of the dispute. Could they have known how much she was in the right, and by how many thousand miles the bard of Avon is superior to all their dramatists, the French critic would have lost half his fame among them. * This refers to the " Sonnet on Henry Cowper.*' See Letter 'IIQ. 392 covvper's letters. I saw at Mr [Chester's] ahead of Paris, an antique of Pariaf marble. His unch% who left him the estate, brouglit it, as \ understand, from the Levant : you may suppose I viewed it with all the enthusiasm that bc^longs to a translator of Homer. It is in reality a great curiosity, and highly valuable. Our friend Sephus has sent me two prints, tlie Lace-maker and Crazy Kate. These also I have contemplated with pleasure, having, as you know, a paj-ticular interest in them. The former of tliem is not more beautiful than a lace-makcr, once our neiglibour at Olney ; thougli the artist has assembled as many charms in her countenance, as I ever saw in any coun- tenance, one excepted. Kate is both younger and handsomer than the original from which 1 drew, but she is in a good style, and as mad as need be. How does this hot weather suit thee, my dear, in London ? As for me, with all my colonnades and bowers, I am quite oppressed by it. W. C. 280. — TO LADY IIESKETH. INFLUENCE OF THE WEATHER ON HIS HEALTH — U ANCING-MASTEk's ADVERTISEMENT. The Lodge, JuiieQ, 1168. My dearest Cousin, — The excessive heat of these last few days was indeed oppressive ; but excepting the languor that it occasioned botli in my mind and body, it was far from being prejudicial to me. It opened ten thousand ])ores, by which as many mischiefs, the effects of long obstruction, began to breathe themselves fortli abundantly. Then came an east wind, baneful to me at all times, but following so closely such a sultry season, uncommonly noxious. To speak in the seaman's phrase, not entirely strange to you, I was taJien all aback ; and the humours Mhieh would have escaped, if old Eurus would have given them leave, finding every door shut, have fallen into my eyes. But in a country like this, poor miserable mortals must be content to suffer all that sudden and violent changes can inflict ; and if tliey are quit for about half the plagues that Caliban calls down on Pros])ero, tliey may say, we are well off, and dance for joy, if the rheumatism or cramp will let them. Did you ever see an advertiseuK^nt by one Fowle, a dancing-master of Newport Pagnel ? If not, I will contrive to send it to you for your anuisemc nt. It is the most extravagantly ludicrous affair of the kind I ever saw. The author of it had COVVPERS LETTERS, 393 the good hap to be crazed, or he had never produced any thing half so clever ; for you will ever observe, that they who are said to have lost their wits, have more than other people. It is therefore only a slander, with which envy prompts the malignity of persons in their senses to asperse wittier than themselves. But there are countries in the world, where the mad have justice done them, where they are revered as the subjects of inspiration, and consulted as oracles. Poor Fowle would have made a figure there. W. C. 281. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. DEATH or LORD COWPER. Weston, June 8, 1788. My dear Friend, — Your letter brought me the very first intelligence of the event it mentions. My last letter from Lady Hesketh gave me reason enough to expect it, but the certainty of it was unknown to me till I learned it by your information. If gradual decline, the consequence of great age, be a sufficient preparation of the mind to encounter such a loss, our minds were certainly prepared to meet it : yet to you I need not say that no preparation can supersede the feelings of the heart on such occasions. While our friends yet live inhabitants of the same world with ourselves, they seem still to live to us ; we are sure that they sometimes think of us ; and however improbable it may seem, it is never impossible that we may see each other once again. But the grave, like a great gulf, swallows all such expectation, and in the moment when a beloved friend sinks into it, a thousand tender recollections awaken a regret, that will be felt in spite of all reasonings, and let our warnings have been what they may. Thus it is I take my last leave of poor Ashley, whose heart towards me was ever truly parental, and to whose memory I owe a tenderness and respect that will never leave me. . W. C. 282. — TO LADY HESKETH. ON THE SAME SUBJECT HER CONSOLATION IN HAVING WATCHr.D OVER THE AGE OF HER PARENT. The Lodge, June 10, 1788. My dearest Cousin, — Your kind letter of precaution to Mr Gre^son sent him hither as soon as cHam' A-sprvice was R 2 394 COWPER'S LETTERS. pnled in the evening. But he found me already apprised of the event that occasioned it, by a line from Sephus, received a few hours before. My dear uncle's death awakened in me many reflections, which for a time sunk my spirits. A man like him would have been mourned, had he doubled the age he reached. At any age his death would have been felt as a loss, that no survivor could repair. And though it was not probable that for my own part I should ever see him more, vet the consciousness that he still lived was a comfort to me. -.et it comfort us now, that we have lost him only at a time vhen nature could afford him to us no longer ; that as his life was blameless, so was his death without anguish ; and that he 8 gone to Heaven. I know not, that human life, in its most prosperous state, can present any thing to our wishes half so desirable as such a close of it. Not to mingle this subject with others that would ill suit with it, I will add no more at present, than a warm hope, that you and your sister will be able effectually to avail yourselves of all the consolatory matter with which it abounds. You gave yourselves, while he lived, to a father, whose life was doubt- less prolonged by your attentions, and whose tenderness of disposition made him always deeply sensible of your kindness in this respect, as well as in many others. His old age was the happiest that I have ever known, and I give you both joy of having had so fair an opportunity, and of having so well used it, to approve yourselves equal to the calls of such a duty in the sight of God and man. W. C. 28a — TO LADY HESKETH. THE SAME SUBJECT — JOY OF MEETING OUR FRIENDS IN ANOTHER WORLD. The Lodge, June 15, 1788. Although I know that you must be very much occupied on the present most affecting occasion, yet, not hearing from you, I began to be very uneasy on your account, and to fear that your health might have suffered by the fatigue, both of body and spirits, that you must have undergone, till a letter, that reached me j^esterday from tiie General, set my heart at rest, so far as that cause of anxiety was in question. He speaks of my uncle in the tcnderest terms, such as shew how truly sensible he was of the amiablenoss and excellence of his character, and how deeply he regrets his loss. We have indeed lost one who has not left his like in the present generation of our family, and whose equal, in all cowper's letters. 395 respects, no future of it will probably produce. My memory retains so perfect an impression of him, that, had I been painter instead of poet, I could from those faithful traces have perpetuated his face and form with the most minute exactness ; and this I the rather wonder at, because some, with whom I was equally conversant iive-and-twenty years ago, have almost faded out of all recollection with me. But he made an impression not soon to be effaced, and was in figure in temper, and manner, and in numerous other respects, such as I shall never behold again. I often think what a joyful interview there has been between him and some of his con- temporaries, who went before him. The truth of the matter is, my dear, that they are the happy ones, and that we shall never be such ourselves, till we have joined the party. Can there be any thing so worthy of our warmest wishes as to enter on an eternal, unchangeable state, in blessed fellowship and communion with those whose society we valued most, and for the best reasons, while they continued with us ? A few steps more through a vain, foolish world, and this happiness will be yours. But be not hasty, my dear, to accomplish thy journey ! For of all that live, thou art one whom I can least spare ; for thou also art one who shalt not leave thy equal behind thee. W. G. 284. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. THE PETTINESS OF HUMAN MISCHIEF AN IMPROPER SUBJECT FOR POETI^y. Weston, June 17, 1788. My DEAR Walter, — You think me, no doubt, a tardy correspondent, and such I am, but not willingly. Many hinderances have intervened, and the most difficult to surmount have been those which the east and north-east winds have occasioned, breathing winter upon the roses of June, and inflaming my eyes, ten times more sensible of the incon- venience than they. The vegetables of England seem, like our animals, of a hardier and bolder nature than those of other countries. In France and Italy flowers blow, because it is warm, but here, in spite of the cold. The season, how- ever, is somewhat mended at present, and my eyes with it. Finding myself this morning in perfect ease of body, I seize the welcome opportunity to do something at least towards the discharge of my arrears to you. I am glad that you liked my song, and, if I liked the others myself so well as that I sent you, I would transcribe 396 cowper's letters. for you them also. But I sent that^ l)ecanse I accounted it the best. Slavery, and especially negro slaver}-, because the cruellest, is an odious and disgusting subject. Twice or thrice I have been assailed witli entreaties to write a poem on that theme. But besides that it would be in some sort treason against Homer to abandon him for other matter, I felt myself so much hurt in my spirits the moment I entered on the contemplation of it, that I have at last determined absolutely to have nothing more to do with it. There are some scenes of horror on which my imagination can dwell, not without some complacence. 13ut tiicn they are such scenes as God, not man, produces. In earthquakes, high winds, tempestuous seas, there is the grand as well as the terrible. But when man is active to disturb, there is such meanness in the design, and such cruelty in the execution, that I both hate and despise the whole operation, and feel it a degradation of poetry to employ her in the description of it. I hope also that the generality of my countrymen have more generosity in their nature than to want the fiddle of verse to go before them in the performance of an act to which they are invited by the loudest calls of humanity. Breakfast calls, and then Homer. — Ever yours, W. C. Erratum. — Instead of Mr Wilberforce as author of Manners of the Great, read Hannali IVIore. My paper mourns, and my seal. It is for the death of a veneral3le uncle, Ashley Cowpcr, at the age of eighty-seven. 285. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. HIS AVOCATIONS — GOODNESS OF GOD, WHOSE INFLICTIONS AIIE INTENDED TO CALL MKN TO REPENTANCK SHORTNESS AND VANITY OF LIFE. Weston, June 23, 1788. When I tell you that an unanswered letter troubles my conscience in some degree like a crime, you will think me endued with a most heroic patience, who have so long submitted to that trouble on account of yours not answered yet. But the truth is, that I have been nnich engaged. Homer, you know, affords me constant employment ; besides which, I have rather what may be called, considering tlie privacy in wliicli I have long lived, a numerous corri'sj)()ii(lenee: to one of my friends in particular, a near and much-loved relation, I write weekly, and soinetimes twice in the week ; nor are COWPKll's LETTEUS. 397 these my only excuses ; the sudden changes of tlie weather have much affected me, and especially with a disorder most unfavourable to letter writing, — an inflammation in my eyes. With all these apologies I approach you once more, not altogether despairing of forgiveness. It has pleased God to give us rain, without which this part of our country at least must soon have become a desert. The meadows have been parched to a January brown, and we have foddered our cattle for some time, as in the winter. The goodness and power of God are never, I believe, so universally acknowledged as at the end of a long drought. Man is naturally a self-sufficient animal, and in all concerns that seem to lie within the sphere of- his own ability, thinks little, or not at all, of the need he always has of protection and furtherance from above. But he is sensible that the clouds will not assemble at his bidding, and that, though the clouds assemble, they will not fall in showers because he commands them. When therefore at last the blessing descends, you shall hear even in the streets the most irreligious and thoughtless with one voice exclaim, — " Thank God!" confessing them- selves indebted to His favour, and willing, at least so far as words go, to give Him the glory. I can hardly doubt, there- fore, that the earth is sometimes parched, and the crops endangered, in order that the multitude may not want a memento to whom they owe them, nor absolutely forget the power on which all depend for all things. Our solitary part of the year is over. Mrs Unwinds daughter and son-in-law have lately spent some time with us. We shall shortly receive from London our old friends the Newtons — he Avas once minister of Olney ; — and, when they leave us, we expect that Lady Hesketh will succeed them, perhaps to spend the summer here, and possibly the winter also. The summer indeed is leaving us at a rapid rate, as do all the seasons, and though I have marked their flight so often, I know not which is the swiftest. Man is never so deluded as when he dreams of his own duration. The answer of tlie old patriarch to Pharaoh may be adopted by every man at the close of the longest life, — " Few and evil have been the days of the years of my pilgrimage.'* Wliether we look back from fifty, or from twice fifty, the past appears equally a dream ; and we can only be said truly to have lived, while we have been profitably employed. Alas, then ! making the necessary deductions, how short is life ! Were men in 398 COWPEIl'S LETTERS. general to save themselves all the steps they take to no ])urpose, or to a bad one, what numbers, who are now active, would become sedentary ! Thus I have sermonized through my paper. Living whore you live, you can bear with me the better. I always follow the leading of my unconstrained thoughts when I write to a friend, be they grave or otherwise. Homer reminds me of you every day. I am now in the twenty-first Iliad. — Adieu, W. C. 286. — TO LADY HESKETH. ?aEPAn,ATIONS rOR HZR reception at WESTON — his nOG BEAU AST) THE WATER LILT. The Lodge, June 27, 17S8. For the sake of a longer visit, my dearest Coz, I can be well content to wait. The country — this country at least — is pleasant at all times, and when winter is come, or near at hand, we shall have the better chance for being snug. I know your passion for retirement indeed, or for what we call deedi/ retirement, and the F s intending to return to Bath with their mother, when her visit at the Hall is over, you will then find here exactly the retirement in question. I have made in the orchard the best winter walk in all the parish, sheltered from the east, and from the north-east, and open to the sun, except at his rising, all the day. Then we will have Homer and Don Quixote : and then we will have saunter and chat, and one laugh more before we die. Our orchard is alive with creatures of all kinds ; poultry of every denomination swarms in it, and pigs, the drollest in the world ! I rejoice that we have a cousin Charles also, as well as a cousin Henry, who has had the address to win the good-likings of the Chancellor. May he fare the better for it ! As to my- self, I have long since ceased to have any expectations from that quarter. Yet, if he were indeed mortified as you sa}', (and no doubt you have particular reasons for thinking so,) and repented to that degree of his hasty exertions in flavour of the present occupant, who can tell ? he wants neitlier means nor management, but can easily at some future period redress the evil, if he chooses to do it. But in the meantime life steals away, and shortly neither he will be in circumstances to do me a kindness, nor I to receive one at his hands. Let COWrER's LETTERS. 399 him make haste, therefore, or he will die a promise in my debt, which he will never be able to perform. Your com- munications on this subject are as safe as you can wish them. We divulge nothing but what might appear in the Magazine, nor that witliout great consideration. I must tell you a feat of my dog Beau. Walking by the river side, I observed some water-lilies floating at a little distance from the bank. They are a large white flower, with an orange coloured eye, very beautiful.* I had a desire to gather one, and, having your long cane in my hand, by the help of it endeavoured to bring one of them within my reach. But the attempt proved vain, and I walked forward. Beau had all the while observed me very attentively. Returning soon after toward the same place, I observed him plunge into the river, while I was about forty yards distant from him ; and, when I had nearly reached the spot, he swam to land with a lily in his mouth, which he came and laid at my foot. Mr Rose, whom I have mentioned to you as a visiter of mine for the first time soon after you left us, writes me word that he has seen my ballads against the slave-mongers, but not in print. Where he met with them, I know not. Mr Bull begged hard for leave to print them at Newport-Pagnel, and I refused, thinking that it would be wrong to anticipate the nobility, gentry, and others, at whose pressing instance I composed them, in their design to print. But perhaps I need not have been so squeamish ; for the opportunity to publish them in London seems now not only ripe, but rotten. I am well content. There is but one of them with which I am myself satisfied, though I have heard them all well spoken of. But there are very few things of my own composition, that I can endure to read, when they have been written a month, though at first they seem to me to be all perfection. Mrs Unwin, who has been much the happier since the time of your return hither has been in some sort settled, begs me to make her kindest remembrance. Yours, my dear, most truly, W. C. * NymphcBa Alba, which Sir J. E. Smith terms, " the most raagrd- ficent of our native flowers." — English Flora, 400 COWPER'cst.ETTERS. •287. — TO LADY IIESKETH. il'KSERY AT WESTON — ACmUNTOF KI\-E U^,'^nREn LIVING AUTHORS — Hit OWN MERITS AND DEFECTS. The Lodge, July 28, 1788. It is in vain that you tell me you have no talent at des- cription, while in fact you describe better than any body. You have given mo a most complete idea of your mansion and its situation ; and I doubt not tliat ^vith your letter in my hand by way of map, could I be set doMn on the spot in a moment, I should find myself qualified to take my walks and my pastime in whatever quarter of your paradise it should please me the most to visit. We also, as you know, have scenes at Weston worthy of description ; but because you know them well, I will only say that one of them has, within these few days, been much improved, — I mean the Lime Walk. By the help of the axe and the woodbill, which have of late been con- stantly employed in cutting out all straggling branches that intercepted the arch, Mr Throckmorton has now defined it with such exactness, that no cathedral in the world can shew one of more magnificence or beauty. I bless myself that 1 live so near it ; for were it distant several miles, it Mould be well worth while to visit it, merely as an object of taste ; not to mention the refreshment of such a gloom both to the eyes and spirits. And these are the things which our modem improvers of parks and pleasure grounds have displaced with- out mercy ; because, forsooth, they are rectilinear. It is a wonder they do not quarrel with the sunbeams for the same reason. Have you seen the account of five hundred celebrated authors now living ? I am one of them ; but stand charged with the high crime and misdemeanour of totally neglecting method ; an accusation which, if the gentleman would take the pains to read me, "he would find sufficiently refuted. I am conscious at least myself of having laboured nmch in the arrangement of my matter, and of having given to the several parts of every book of the Task, as well as to eacli poem in the first volume, that sort of slight connection, which poetry demands ; for in poetry (except i)rofessedly of the tlidaetic kind) a logical i)reeision would be stitt', ])edantie, and ritlicu- lous. But there is no ple.ising sonu; critics the comfort is, that I am contented, whether they be pleased or not. At the COWPER^S LETTERS. 40! same time, to my honour be it spoken, the chronicler of us five hundred prodigies bestows on me, for aught I know, more commendations than on any other of my confraternity. May he live to write the histories of as many thousand poets, and find me the very best among them, Amen ! I join with you, my dearest Coz, in wishing that I owned the fee simple of all the beautiful scenes around you, but such emoluments were never designed for poets. Am I not happier than ever poet was, in having thee for my cousin, and in the expectation of thy arrival here whenever Strawberry Hill * shall lose thee ? — Ever thine, W. C. 283. — TO LADY HESKETH. HIS COMPANY BACON THE SCULPTOR HIS BKOTMEr's SOETICAL CORKKsrONDENCE. The Lodge, August 9, 1788. The Newtons are still here, and continue with us, I believe, until the 15th of the month. Here is also my friend, Mr Rose, a valuable young man, who, attracted by the effluvia of my genius, found me out in my retirement last January twelve- month. I have not permitted him to be idle, but have made him transcribe for me the twelfth book of the Iliad. He brings me the compliments of several of the literati, with whom he is acquainted in town, and tells me, that from Dr Maclain, whom he saw lately, he learns that my book is in the hands of sixty different persons at the Hague, who are all enchanted with it, not forgetting the said Dr Maclain himself, who tells him that he reads it every day, and is always the better for it. O rare we ! I have been employed this morning in composing a Latin motto for the king's clock ; the embellishments of which are by Mr Bacon. That gentleman breakfasted with us on Wed- nesday, having come thirty-seven miles out of his way on purpose to see your cousin. At his request I have done it, and have made two : he will choose that which liketh him best. Mr Bacon is a most excellent man, and a most agreeable com- panion : I would that ho lived not so remote, or that he had more opportunity of travelling. * Strawberry Hiil, on the bank of the Thames, about two miles above Richmond, the seat of Horace Walpole, placed amid some of the loveliest scenes in England. It contains also many interesting relics of literaturo and the arts. 402 COWPER*S LETTERS. There is not, so fai* as I know, a syllable of the rhyming correspondence between me and my poor brother left, save and except the six lines of it quoted in yours. I had the whole of it, but it perished in the wreck of a thousand other things, when I left the Temple.* Breakfast calls. Adieu ! W. C. 269. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. REGRETS HIS DEPARTURE — PEDESTRIAN EXCURSION — DOG AND THE WATER LILV. Vft9TOs, August 18, 178«. My dear Friend, — I left you with a sensible regret, alleviated only by the consideration that I shall see you again in October. I was under some concern also, lest, not being able to give you any certain directions myself, nor knowing where you might find a guide, you should wander and fatigue yourself, good walker as you are, before you could reach Northampton. Perhaps you heard me whistle just after our separation ; it was to call back Beau, who was running after you with all speed, to entreat you to return with me. For my part, I took my own time to return, and did not reach home till after one ; and then so weary, that I was glad of my great chair, to the comforts of which I added a crust and a glass of rum and water, not ^v^thout great occasion. Such a foot- traveller am 1. I am writing on Monday, but whether I shall finish my letter this morning depends on Mrs Unwin's coming sooner or later down to breakfast. Something tells me that you set off to-day for Birmingham ; and though it be a sort of Iricism to say here, " I beseech you take care of yourself, for the day threatens great heat," I cannot help it. The weather may be cold enough at the time when that good advice shall reach you ; but be it hot, or be it cold, to a man who travels as you travel, " Take care of yourself," can never be an unseasonable caution. I am sometimes distressed on this account ; for though you are young, and well made for such exploits, those very circumstances are more likely than any thing to betray you into danger. Console quid valeant plant^*:, quid ferre recuseut. Tlie Newtons left us on Friday. We frequently talked • See Life. Among these " thousand other tilings," Uie reader will find that all the early productions of Cowper's genius jjeribhcd also. COWPER*S LETTERS. 403 about you after your departure, and every thing that M'as spoken was to your advantage. I know they will be glad to see you in London, and perhaps when your summer and autumn rambles are over, you will afford tliem that pleasiu"e. The Throckmortons are equally well disposed to you, and them also I recommend to you as a valuable connection, the rather because you can only cultivate it at Weston. I have not been idle since you went, having not only laboured as usual at the Iliad, but composed a spick and span new piece, called " The Dog and the Water Lily,** which you shall see when we meet again. I believe I related to you the incident which is the subject of it. I have also read most of Lavater's Aphorisms ; they appear to me some of them wise, many of them whimsical, a few of them false, and not a few of them extravagant. Nil illi Tnediwn. If he finds in a man the feature or quality that he approves, he deifies him ; if the contrary, he is a devil. His verdict is in neither case, I suppose, a just one.* W. C. 290.— TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. YARDLEY OAK EVILS OF DIFFIDENCE. Weston, September 11, 1788. My dear Friend, — Since your departure I have twice visited the oak, and with an intention to push my inquiries a mile beyond it, where it seems I should have found another oak, much larger, and much more respectable than the former ; but once I was hindered by the rain, and once by the sultri- ness of the day. This latter oak has been known by the name of Judith many ages, and is said to have been an oak at the time of the Conquest. If I have not an opportunity to reach it before your arrival here, we will attempt that exploit together ; and even if I should have been able to visit it ere you come, I shall be yet glad to do so ; for the pleasure of extraordinary sights, like all other pleasures, is doubled by the participation of a friend.| You wish for a copy of my little dog*s eulogium, which I will therefore transcribe ; but by so doing, I shall leave myself but scanty room for prose. * John Gasper Lavater, a native of Zuric, friend and fellow student of Fuseli, born 1741, died 1801. Cowper gives a just character of liis celebrated work. t See the Poem Yardley Oak. 404 COWPER*S LETl'ERS. I shall oe sorry if our neighbours at the Hall should have left it, when we have the pleasure or" seeing you. I want you to see them soon again, that a little cousuctitdo may wear of! restraint ; and you may be able to improve the advantage you have already gained in that quarter. I pitied you for the fears which deprived you of your uncle's company, and the more, having suffered so much by those fears mysetf. Fight against that vicious fear, for such it is, as strenuously as you can. It is the worst enemy that can attack a man destin'^'d to the forum — it ruined me. To associate as much as possible with the most respectable company for good sense and good breeding, is, I believe, the only, at least I am sure it is the best remedy. The society of men of pleasure will not cure it, but rather leaves us more exposed to its influence in com- pany of better persons. — Now for the Dog and the Water Lily.* W. C. 291.— TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. RIDDLE MISCONDUCT OF AN AC(iU AINTANCE ILIAD FINISHED — ODYSSEV COMMENCED. Weston, September 23, 1 783. My dear Friend, Say, what is the tiling-, by my riddle desip^i'd, Which you carried to London, and yet left behind ? I expect your answer, and without a fee. The half hour next before breakfast I devote to you. The moment Mrs Unwin arrives in the study, be wliat I have written much or little, I shall make my bow, and take leave. If you live to be a judge, as if I augur right you will, I shall expect to hear of a walking circuit. I was shocked at what you tell me of . Superior talents, it seems, give no security for propriety of conduct ; on the contrary, having a natural tendency to nourish pride, they often betray the possessor into sucii mistakes, as men more moderately gifted never commit. Ability, tluTcfore, is not wisdom, and an ounce of grace is a better guard against gross absurdity tiian the briglitest talents in the world. I rejoice that 3'ou are prepared for transcript work: here will be plenty for you. The day on which you shall receive this, I beg you will remember to drink one glass, at least, to the success of the Iliad, which I finisiied the day before * See Poems. COWPER*S LETTERS. 40.'> yesterday, and yesterday began the Odyssey. It will be some time before I shall perceive myself travelling in another road ; the objects around me are at present so much the same, Olympus and a council of gods meet me at my first entrance. To tell you the truth, 1 am weary of heroes and deities, and, with reverence be it spoken, shall be glad, for variety's sake, to exchange their company for that of a Cyclops. Weston has not been without its tragedies since you left us: Mrs Throckmorton's piping bullfinch has been eaten by a rat, and the villain left nothing but poor Bully's beak behind him. It will be a wonder if this event does not at some con- venient time employ my versifying passion. Did ever fair lady, from the Lesbia of Catullus to the present day, lose her bird, and find no poet to commemorate the loss ? W. C. 292. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. VINCENT BOURNE — INVITATION. Weston, November 30, 1788. My dear Friend, — Your letter, accompanying the books K^ith which you have favoured me, and for which I return you a thousand thanks, did not arrive till yesterday. I shall have great pleasure in taking now and then a peep at my old friend Vincent Bourne; the neatest of all men in his versifi- cation, though when I was under his ushership, at Westmin- ster, the most slovenly in his person. He was so inattentive to his boys, and so indifferent whether they brought him good or bad exercises, or none at all, that he seemed determined, as he was the best, so to be the last Latin poet of the West- minster line ; a plot which, I believe, he executed very successfully ; for I have not heard of any who has at all deserved to be compared with him. We have had hardly any rain or snow since you left us ; the roads are accordingly as dry as in the middle of summer, and the opportunity of walking nmch more favourable. We have no season in my mind so pleasant as such a winter : and I account it particularly fortunate that such it proves, my cousin being with us. She is in good health, and cheerful ; so are we all ; and this I say, knoMJng you will be glad to hear it, for you have seen the time when this could not be said of all your friends at Weston. \Ve shall rejoice to pee you here 406 COWrF.R'S LETTERS. at Christmas ; but I recollect, when I liinted such an excur- sion by word of mouth, you gave me no great encouragement to expect you. Minds alter, and yours may be of the number of those that do so ; and if it should, you will be entirely welcome to us all. Were there no other reason for your coming than merely the pleasure it will afford to us, that reason alone would be sufficient; but after so many toils, and with so many more in prospect, it seems essential to your well-being that you should allow yourself a respite, which perhaps you can take as comfortably (I am sure as quietly) here as any where. The ladies beg to be remembered to you with all possible esteem and regard ; they are just come down to breakfast, and being at this moment extremely talkative, oblige me to put an end to my letter. Adieu. W. C. 293. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. NOTE INTROBUCING MR ROSE. Weston-Underwood, December 2, 1788. My dear Friend, — I told you lately that I had an ambi- tion to introduce to your acquaintance my valuable friend, Mr Rose. Ho is now before you. You will find him a per- son of genteel manners and agreeable conversation. As to his other virtues and good qualities, which are many, and such as are not often found in men of his years, I consign them over to your own discernment, perfectly sure that none of them will escape you. I give you joy of each other, and remain, my dear old friend, most truly yours, W. C. 294.— TO ROBERT SMITH, ESQ. MRS UNWIN's health PROGRESS OF HOMER. Weston-Undkrwood, Dec. 20, 1788. My dear Sir, — Mrs Unwin is in tolerable health, and adds her warmest thanks to mine for your favour, and for your obliging inquiries. My own health is better than it has been many years. Long time I had a stomach that would digest nothing, and now nothing disagrees with it, an amend- ment for which I am, under God, indebted to the daily use of soluble tartar, which I have never omitted these two years. I cowper's letters. 407 am still, as you may suppose, occupied in my long lab our. The Iliad has nearly received its last polish ; and I have advanced in a rough copy as far as to the ninth book of the Odyssey My friends are some of them in haste to sec the work printed, and my answer to them is — "I do nothing else, and this I do day and night — it must in time be finished." My thoughts, however, are not engaged to Homer only. I cannot be so much a poet as not to feel greatly for the King, the Queen, and the country. My speculations on these subjects are indeed melancholy, for no such tragedy has befallen in my day. We are forbidden to trust in man ; I will not there- fore say, I trust in Mr Pitt ; but, in his counsels, under the blessing of Providence, the remedy is, I believe, to be found, if a remedy there be. His integrity, firmness, and sagacity, are the only human means that seem adequate to the great emergence.* You say nothing of your own health, of which I should have been happy to have heard favourably. May you long enjoy the best. Neither Mrs Unwin nor myself have a sin- cerer or a warmer wish than for your felicity. — I am, my dear sir, your most obliged and affectionate, W. C. 295. —TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MEMORY — SIR JOHN HAWKINs's MEMOIRS. The Lodge, Jan. 19, 1789. My dear Sir, — I have taken, since you went away, many of the walks which we have taken together ; and none of them, I believe, without thoughts of you. I have, though not a good memory in general, yet a good local memory, and can recollect, by the help of a tree or stile, what you said on that particular spot. For this reason I purpose, when the summer is come, to walk with a book in my pocket : what I read at my fireside I forget, but what I read under a hedge, or at the side of a pond, that pond and that hedge will always bring to my remembrance ; and this is a sort of memoria technica which I would recommend to you, if I did not know that you have no occasion for it. * This passage alludes to the celebrated Regency Bill on the mental affliction of George III, — a measure by which Mr Pitt unquestionably outraged the fii-st principles of the constitution and of monarciiy. 408 CO\VPEU*S LETTEnS. I am reading Sir Jolin Hawkins, and still hold the same opinion of his book as wIilmi you were here. There are in it, imdpubtedly, some awkwardnesses of phrase, and, which is worse, here and there some unequivocal indications of a vanity not easily pardonable in a man of his years ; but on the whole, I find it amusing ; and to me at least, to whom every thing that has passed in the literary world within these five-and-twenty years is new, sufficiently replt-te with infor- mation. Mr Throckmorton told me about three days since, that it was lately recommended to him by a sensible man, as a book that would give him great insight into the history ol modern literature, and modern men of letters — a commen- dation which I really think it merits. Fifty years hence, perhaps, the w^orld will feel itself obliged to him. W. C. 296.-^ TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. ACCIDENTS OCCUR WHEN LEAST EXPECTED. Th^ Lodge, Januarr/ 24, 1789. My dear Sir, — We have heard from my cousin in Nor- folk Street j she reached home safely, and in good time. An observation suggests itself, which, though I have but little time for observation-making, I must allow myself time to mention. Accidents, as we call them, generally occur wlun there seems least reason to expect them ; if a friend of ours travels far in different roads, and at an unfavourable season, we are reasonably alarmed for the safety of one in whom we take so much interest ; yet how seldom do we hear a tragical account of such a journey ! It is, on the contrary, at home, in our yard or garden, perhaps in our parlour, that disaster finds us ; in any place, in short, where we seem perfectly out of the reach of danger. The lesson inculcated by such a procedure on the part of Providence towards us seems to be that of perpetual dependence. Having preached this sermon, I must hasten to a close ; you know that I am not idle, nor can I afford to be so ; I would gladly spend more tim<3 with you, but by some means or other this day has hitherto proved a day of hinderance and confusion. W. C. COWPEr's LETTEHf^, 409 Ln)7. — TO THE RKV. WILTER RAGOT. TRANSLATION OF THE Ef.EVENTH POCK OF THE ODySSEV. Weston, January 29, 1789. My dear Friend, — I shall be a better, at least a more frequent correspondent, when I have done with Homer. I am not forgetful of any letters that I owe, and least of all forgetful of my debts in that way to you ; on the contrary, I live in a continual state of self-reproach for not writing more punctually ; but the old Grecian, whom I charge myself never to neglect, lest I should never finish him, has at present a voice that seems to drown all other demands, and many to which I could listen with more pleasure tlian even to his Os rotundum. I am now in the eleventh book of the Odysse}^ conversing with the dead. Invoke the Muse in my behalf, that X may roll the stone of Sisyphus with some success. To do it as Homer has done it is, I suppose, in our verse and language, impossible ; but I will hope not to labour altogether to as little purpose as Sisj^phus himself did. Though I meddle little with politics, and can find but little leisure to do so, the present state of things unavoidably engages a share of my attention. But as they say, Archi- medes, when Syracuse was taken, was found busied in the solution of a problem, go, come what may, I shall be found translating Homer. — Sincerely yours, W, C. 293. —TO SAMUEL ROSE. ESQ. PROGRESS OF THE ODYSSEV LINES ON THE QCTEEN's VISIT — HAWKINS BROWN. The Lodoe, May 20, 1789. My dear Sir, — Finding myself, between twelve and one, at the end of the seventeenth book of the Odyssey, I give the interval between the present moment and the time of walking, to you. If I write letters before I sit down to Homer, I feel my spirits too flat for poetry ; and too flat for letter-writing, if 1 address myself to Homer first ; but the last I choose as the least evil, because my friends will pardon my dulness, but the public will not. s 410 cowper's letters. I had been some days uneasy on your account, when yours Arrived. We should have rejoiced to have seen you, would your engagements have permitted : but in the autumn I hope, if not before, we shall have the pleasure to receive you. At what time we may expect Lady Hesketh, at present I know not ; but imagine tliat at any time after the month of June you will be sure to find her with us, which I mention, know- ing that to meet you will add a relish to all the pleasures she can find at Weston. When I \\Tote those lines on the Queen's visit, I thought I had performed well ; but it belongs to me, as I have told you before, to dislike whatever I write when it has been written a month. The performance was therefore sinking in my esteem, when your approbation of it, arriving in good time, buoyed it up again. It will now keep possession of the place it holds in my good opinion, because it has been favoured with yours ; and a copy will certainly be at your service, whenever you choose to have one. Nothing is more certain than that when I wrote the line, God made the country, and man made the to^\^l, I had not the least recollection of that very similar one which you quote from Hawkins Brown.* It convinces me that critics (and none more than Wharton, in his notes on Milton's minor poems) have often charged authors with borrowing what they drew from their own fund.f Brown was an enter- taining companion when he had drunk his bottle, but not before : this proved a snare to him, and he would sometimes drink too much ; but I know not that he was chargeable with any other irregularities. He had those among his intimates who would not have been such, had he been otherwise * Isaac Hawkins Browne, as the name appears in his title pages, was born at Baden, in 170^ ; author of the exquisite Latin poem, De Animi Jmmortalitate, and other works, the most popular of which is the Pipe of Tobacco. He was called to the English bar, served in Parliament for the borough of Wenlock, and died in 1766. He appears to have been one of Cowper's early acquaintances ; and though extremely witty and eloquent in conversation, he never spoke in Parliament. t The parenthesis appUes to Warton's frequent quotations, in his notes, from the Latin poets, especially Ovid, with the intention of showing that Milton borrowed some of his happiest allusions. We agree with Cowpei in thinking that these supposed plagiarisms arechielly accidental coincidences of thought. COWPER*S LETTERS. 411 viciously inclined ; the Duncombes,* in particular, father an(i son, who were of unblemished morals. W. C. 299. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. boswell's tour. The Lodge, June 5, 1789. My dear Friend, — I am going to give you a deal of trouble ; but London folks must be content to be troubled by country folks ; for in London only can our strange necessities be supplied. You must buy for me, if you please, a cuckoo clock ; and now I will tell you where they are sold, which, Londoner as you are, it is possible you may not know. They are sold, I am informed, at more houses than one, in that narrow part of Holborn which leads into broad St Giles'. It seems they are well going clocks, and cheap, which are the two best recommendations of any clock. They are made in Germany, and such numbers of them are annually imported, that they are become even a considerable article of commerce. I return you many thanks for Boswell 's Tour. I read it to Mrs Unwin after supper, and we find it amusing. There is much trash in it, as there must always be in every narrative that relates indiscriminately all that passed. But now and then the Doctor speaks like an oracle, and that makes amends for all. Sir John was a coxcomb, and Boswell is not less a coxcomb, though of another kind. I fancy Johnson made coxcombs of all his friends, and they in return made him a coxcomb ; for, with reverence be it spoken, such he certainly was, and, flattered as he was, he was sure to be so. Thanks for your invitation to London, but unless London can come to me, I fear we shall never meet. I was sure that you would love my friend, when you should once be well acquainted with him ; and equally sure that he would take kindly to you. Now for Homer. W. C. 300. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT, CONGKATITLATORY ON HIS MARRIAGE. Weston, June 16, 1789. My dear Friend, — You will naturally suppose that the letter in which you announced your marriage occasioned me * For the duiracter and writings of the Duncombes, see Life, 412 COWniu's LtTTEIlS. some concern, thou2:]r in my answer I had the wisdom to conceal it. The account you gave me of the object of your choice, was such as left me at liberty to form conjectures not very comfortable to myselt, if my friendship for you were indeed sincere. I have since, however, been sufficiently consoled. Your brother Chester lias informed me, that you have married not only one of the most agreeable, but one of the most accomplished women in the kingdom. It is an old maxim, that it is better to exceed expectation than to disappoint it, and with this maxim in your view, it was, no doubt, that you dwelt only oh circumstances of disadvantage, and would not treat me with a recital of others which abun- dantly overweigh them. I now congratulate not you only, but myself, and truly rejoice that my friend has chosen for Ills fellow-traveller through the remaining stages of his journey, a companion who will do honour to his discernment, and make his way, so far as it can depend on a wife to do so, pleasant to the last. My verses on the Queen's visit to London either have been printed, or soon will be, in the World. The finishing to which you objected, I have altered, and have substituted two new stanzas instead of it. Two others also I have struck out, another critic having objected to them. I tliink I am a very tractable sort of a poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the noses of their children because they were said to be too long, as thus dock their compositions in com- pliance with the opinion of others. I beg that when my life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductability of temper may not be forgotten ! I am, my dear friiuid, ever yours. W. C. 801 SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. ARRANGEMEKTS FOR AN INTERVIEW — LIVFS OF JOHNSON. The Lodge, June 20, 1789. Amico MIC, — I am truly sorry that it must be so long before we can have an opportunity to meet. My cousin, in lier last letter but one, inspired me M'ith other expectations, expressing a purpose, if the matter could be so contrived, of bringing you with her; I was Milling to believe that you had consulted together on the subject, and found it feasible. A month was formerly a trifle in ray account, but at my present age I give COWPER*S LETTERS. 413 it all its importance, and grudge that so many months should yet pass, in which I have not even a glimpse of those I love, and of whom, the course of nature considered, I must ere long take leave for ever — but I shall live till August. Many thanks for the cuckoo, which arrived perfectly safe, and goes well, to the amusement and amazement of all who hoar it. Hannah lies awake to hear it, and I am not sure that we have not others in the house that admire his music as much as she. Having read both Hawkins* and Boswell,")" I now think myself almost as much a master of Johnson's character, as if I had known him personally, and cannot but regret that our hards of other times found no such biographers as these. They have both been ridiculed, and the wits have had their laugh ; but such a history of Milton or Shakespeare, as they have given of Johnson — oh, how desirable! 302 — TO MRS THROCKIMORTON. DOMESTIC INCIDENTS. July 18, 1789. Many thanks, my dear madam, for your extract from George's letter. I retain but little Italian, yet that little was so forcibly mustered by the consciousness that I was myself the subject, that I presently became master of it. I have always said that George is a poet, and I am never in his company but I discover proofs of it ; and the delicate address by which he has managed his complimentary mention of me, convinces me of it still more than ever. Here are a thousand poets of us, who have impudence enough to write for the public ; but amongst the modest men who are by diffidence restrained from such an enterprise are those who would eclipse us all. I wish that George would make the experiment ; I woulA bind on his laurels with my own hand. * Sir John Hawkins, author of a General History of Music, and a Life of Dr Johnson, of whom he was the intimate friend, and the first editor of his collected works. He died a few months after the date of this letter, having been born in London, 1719. Sir John thinks vigorously, but his style is harsh and slovenly. t Besides his admirable life of the great lexicographer, Boswell wrote a History of Corsica, and Memoirs of General Paoli, a pamphlet on the celebrated Douglas Cause, Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, the Hypo- chondriac, and some fugitive pieces. Born 1740, died 1795. 414 COWPEll*S LETTERS. • Your gardener has gone after his wife, but having neglected to take his lyre, alias fiddle, with him, has not yet brought home his Eurydice. Your clock in the hall has stopped, and (strange to tell !) it stopped at sight of the watchmaker. For he only looked at it, and it has been motionless ever since. Mr Gregson is gone, and the Hall is a desolation. Pray don't think any place pleasant that you may find in your rambles, that we may see you the sooner. Your aviary is all in good health. I pass it every day, and often inquire at the lattice ; the inhabitants of it send their duty, and wish for your return. I took notice of the inscription on your seal, and had we an artist here capable of furnishing me with another, you should read on mine, Encore une lettre. — Adieu, W. C. 303. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. lAKLY IMPROVEMENT OF LIFE — INVITATION TO WESTON. Thi Lodge, July 23, 1789. You do well, my dear sir, to improve your opportunity ; to speak in the rural phrase, this is your sowing time, and the sheaves you look for can never be yours unless you make that use of it. The colour of our whole life is generally such as the three or four first years, in which we are our own masters, make it. Then it is that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up for ourselves a series of future successes or disappointments. Had I employed my time as wisely as you, in a situation very similar to yours, I had never been a poet perhaps, but I might by this time have acquired a character of more importance in society ; and a situation in which my friends would have been better pleased to see me. But three years misspent in an attorney's oflice were almost of course followed by several more equally misspent in the Temple, and the consequence has bt^n, as the Italian epitaph says, " Sto qui."* The only use I can make of myself now, at least the best, is to serve in terrorcm to others, when occasion may happen to offer, that they may escape (so fiir as my admonitions can have any weight with them) my folly and my fate. When you feel yours<'lf tempted to relax a little of the strictness of your present discipline, and to indulge in amusement incompatible with your future interests think on your friend at Weston. Having said this, I shall next with my whole heart invite you hither, and assure you that I look forward to approaching COWPER's LETTERS. 415 August with great pleasure, because it promises me your company. After a little time (which we shall wish longer} spent with us, you will return invigorated to your studies, and pursue them with the more advantage. In the meantime you have lost little, in point of season, by being confined to London. Incessant rains, and meadows under water, have given to the summer the air of winter, and the country has been deprived of half its beauties. It is time to tell you that we are all well, and often make you our subject. This is the third meeting that my cousin and we have had in this country ; and a great instance of good fortune I account it in such a world as this, to have expected such a pleasure thrice without being once disappointed. Add to this wonder as soon as you can by making yourself of the party — W. C. 304. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MRS PlOZZl's TRAVELS — MERCIFUL CRITICISM. Westok, August 8, 1789. My dear Friend, — Come when you will, or when you can, you cannot come at a wrong time, but we shall expect you on the day mentioned. If you have any book, that you think will make pleasant evening reading, bring it with you. I now read Mrs Piozzi's Travels * to the ladies after supper, and shall probably have finished them before we shall have the pleasure of seeing you. It is the fashion, I understand, to condemn them. But we who make books ourselves are more merciful to book-makers. I would that every fastidious judge of authors were himself obliged to wTite ; there goes more to the composition of a volume than many critics imagine. I have often wondered that the same poet who wrote the Dunciad should have written these lines, — The mercy I to others shew, That mercy shew to me. Alas for Pope! if the mercy he shewed to others was the measure of the mercy he received! He was the less • Mrs Piozzi's maiden name was Salisbury. She was born in Carnarvon- shire, in 1739, married Dr Johnson's friend, Thrale, in her twenty-fourth year. On a second marriage with Signor Piozzi, she went to reside in Florence, and died at Clifton in 1821. A miscellaneous writer, lively and not uninformed. 416 cowper's letters. pardonable, too, because experienced in all the difficulties of composition. I scratch this between dinner and tea ; a time when I can- not write much without disordering my noddle, and bringing a flush into my face. You will excuse me therefore if, through respect for the two important considerations of health and beauty, I conclude myself, ever yours, W. C. 303. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. NOT£ ON HIS DEPARTURE. Weston, September 24, 17S9. My dear Friend, — You left us exactly at the wrong time. Had you staid till now, you would have had the pleasure of he£U'ing even my cousin say — " I am cold." And the still greater pleasure of being warm yourself; for I have had a fire in the study ever since you went. It is the fault of ouF summers, that they axe hardl}^ ever warm or cold enough. Were they warmer, we should not want a fire ; and were they colder, we should have one. I have twice seen and conversed with Mr J . He is witty, intelligent, and agreeable beyond the common measure of men who are so. But it is the constant effect of a spirit of party to make those hateful to each other, who arc truly amiable in themselves. Beau sends his love j he was melancholy the whole day after your departure. W. C. 305. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. THANKS FOR A PRESENT — TILLOISON's HO.MEK. "Weston, October 4, 1789. My dear Friend, — The hamper is como, and come safe ; and the contents I can affirm on my own knowledge are excellent. It chanced that anotlicr hamper and a box came by the same conveyance, all which I unpacked and expounded in the hall ; my cousin sitting, meantime, on the stairs, spec- tatress of the business. We diverted ourselves with imagining the manner in which Homer would have described the scene. Detailed in his circumstantial way, it would have furnished materials for a i);u'agraph of considerable length in an Ody.ssey. cowper's letters. 417 The straw-stufTd hamper with his ruthless steel He opcn'd, cutting sheer th' inserted cords, Which bound the lid and lip secure. Forth came The rustling package first, bright straw of wheat, Or oats, or barley ; next a bottle green Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill'd Drop after drop odorous, by the art Of the fair mother of his friend, — the Rose. And so OH. I should rejoice to be the hero of such a tale in the hands of Homer. You will remember, I trust, that when the state of your health or spirits calls for rural w^alks and fresh air, you have always a retreat at Wetson. We arc well, all love you, down to the very dog ; and shall be glad to hear that you have exchanged languor for alacrity, and the debility that you mention, for indefatigable vigour. Mr Throckmorton has made me a handsome present ; Villoison's* edition of the Iliad, elegantly bound by Edwards. If I live long enough, by the contributions of my friends I shall once more be possessed of a library. — Adieu, W. C. 307. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. THE COMMENCEMENT OF TUE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Weston, December 18, 1789. My dear Friend, — The present appears to me a wonderful period in the history of mankind. That nations so long contentedly slaves should on a sudden become enamoured of liberty, and understand, as suddenly, their own natural right to it, feeling themselves at the same time inspired with resolutions to assert it, seems difficult to account for from natural causes. With respect to the final issue of all this, I can only say, that if, having discovered the value of liberty, they should next discover the value of peace, and lastly the value of the word of God, they will be happier than they ever were since the rebellion of the first pair, and as happy as it is possible they should be in the present life. — Most sincerely yours, W. C. * Jean Baptist d'Ausse de Villoison, a celebrated linguist, was born at Corbeil, 1750, and died professor of Greek in the College of France. He travelled in early life in search of ancient MSS. and while residing in Venice, published the splendid, learned, but often fanciful, wrrlj mentioned in the text. s 2 418 CO WPER's LETTERS. 308.— TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. ZNCAGEMENTS THJJ CAUSE OV lUS SILENCE — VILLOISOS My dear Walter, — I know that you are too reasonable a man to expect any tiling like punctuality of correspondence from a translator of Homer, especially from one who is a doer also of many other things at the same time ; for I labour hard not only to acquire a little fame for myself, but to win it also for others — men of whom I know nothing, not even their names, — who send me their poetry, that by translating it out of prose into verse, I may make it more like poetry than it was. Having heard all this, you will feel yourself not only inclined to pardon my long silence, but to pity me also for the cause of it. You may if you please believe likewise, for it is true, that I have a faculty of remembering my friends even when I do not write to them, and of loving them not one jot the less, though I leave them to starve for want of a letter from me. And now I think you have an apology both as to style, matter, and manner, altogether unexceptionable. Why is the winter like a backbiter ? Because Solomon says that a back- biter separates between chief friends, and so does the winter : to this dirty season it is owing, that I see nothing of the valu- able Chesters, whom indeed I see less at all times than serves at all to content me. I hear of them indeed occasionally from my neighbours at the Hall, but even of that comfort I have lately enjoyed less than usual, Mr Throckmorton having been hindered by his first fit of the gout from his usual visits to Chicheley. The gout, however, has not prevented his making me a handsome present of a folio edition of the Iliad, published about a year since at Venice, by a literato, who calls himself Villoison. It is possible that you have seen it, and that if you have it not yourself, it has at least found its way to Lord Bagot's library. If neither should be the case, when I write next (for sooner or later I shall certainly write to you again if I live) I will send you some pretty stories out of his Pro- legomena, which will make your hair stand on end, as mine has stood on end already, they so horribly affect, in point of authenticity, the credit of the works of the innnortal Homer. Wishing you and Mrs Bagot all the happiness that a new year can possibly bring with it, I remain, with Mrs Unwinds best respects, yours, my dear friend, with all sincerity, W. C. My paper mourns for the death of Led Cowper, my valuable cousin, and much my benefactor. co^vper's letters. 419 309. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. HOMER IMPERFECTLY UNDERSTOOD BY HIS COUNTRYMEN — CALLIMACHUS — • COLLECTION OF THE HOMERIC POEMS BY PISISTRATUS. My dear Friend, — I am a terrible creature for not writing sooner, but the old excuse must serve, at least I will not occupy paper with the addition of others unless you should insist on it, in which case I can assure you that I have them ready. Now to business. From Villoison I learn that it was the avowed opinion and persuasion of Callimachus* (whose hymns we both studied at Westminster) that Homer was very imperfectly understood even in his day : that his admirers, deceived by the per- spicuity of his style, fancied themselves masters of his meaning, when in truth they knew little about it. Now we know that Callimachus, as I have hinted, v/as himself a poet, and a good one : he was also esteemed a good critic ; he almost, if not actually, adored Homer, and imitated him as nearly as he could. What shall we say to this ? I will tell you what 1 say to it. Callimachus meant, and he could mean nothing more, by this assertion, than that the poems of Homer were in fact an allegory ; that under the obvious import of his stories lay concealed a mystic sense, sometimes philosophical, sometimes religious, sometimes moral, and that the generality either wanted penetration or industry, or had not been properly qualified by their studies, to discover it. This I can readily believe, for I am myself an ignoramus in these points, and except here and there, discern nothing more than the letter. But if Callimachus will tell me that even of that I am igno- rant, I hope soon by two great volumes to convince him of the contrary. I learn also from the same Villoison, that Pisistratus,f who was a sort of Mecaenas in Athens, where he gave great * Callimachus, a voluminous writer, though a few only of his odes arc extant, born at Cyrene, and flourished at the court of Alexandria, under Ptolemy Philadelphus. t Pisistratus, just, enlightened, liberal, and learned, whom the mob of Athens, according to their usual practice with those of whose supe- riority they were ashamed, expelled as a tyrant, died B.C. 527. The nature and extent of his connection with the poems of Homer, is an infinitely moro difficult (luestion than Cowper here represents. 420 cowper's letters. encouragement to literature, and built and furnislied a public library, regretting that there was no complete copy of Homer's works in the world, resolved to make one. For this purpose he advertised rewards in all the newspapers, to those who, being possessed memoriter oPan3'part or parcel of the poems of that bard, would resort to his house, and repeat them to his secretaries, that they might write them. Now it happened that more were desirous of the reward, than qualified to deserve it. The consequence was, that the nonqualified per- sons, having many of them a pretty knack at versification, imposed on the generous Athenian most egregiously, giving him instead of Homei-'s verses, which they had not to give, verses of their own invention. He, good creature, suspecting no such fraud, took them all for gospel, and entered them into his volume accordingly. Now let him believe the story who can. That Homer's works were in this manner corrected I can believe ; but that a learned Athenian could be so imposed upon, with suflScient means of detection at hand, I cannot. V\'ould he not be on his guard ? Would not a difference of style and manner have occurred ? Would not that difference have excited a suspicion ? Would not that suspicion have led to inquiry ? And would not that inquiry have issued in detection ? For how easy was it in the multitude of Homer-conners to find two, ten, twenty, possessed of the questionable passage, and by confronting them with the impudent impostor, to convict him ? Aheas ergo in malam rem cum. istis tuts haUucinatio- iiibus, Villoisone ! — Faithfully yours, W. C. 310.— TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. HVMNi ?Oft CIIILUKES — STATE OK HIS HEALTH OCCUPATIONS IIOMEU. The Lodge, January 3, 1790. Mt dear Sir, — I have been long silent, but you have had tlie charity, I hope and believe, not to ascribe my silence to a wrong cause. The truth is, I have been too busy to write to any body, having been obliged to give my early moriiings to the revisal and correction of a little volunu; of Hymns for Cliildren, written by I know not whom. This task I finished but yesterday, and while it was in hand, wrote only to my cousin, and to her rarely. From her, however, I knew that you would hear of my well being, which made me less anxious about my debts to you than I could have been otherwise. cowper's letters. 421 I am almost the only person at Weston known to you who have enjoyed tolerable health this winter. In yonr next letter give us some account of your own state of health, for I have had many anxieties about you. The winter has been mild ; but our winters are in general such, that when a friend leaves us in the beginning of that season, I always feel in my heart ^. perJiaps, importing that we have possibly met for the last time, and that the robins may whistle on the grave of one of us before the return of summer. I am still thrumming Homer's lyre : that is to say, I am still employed in my last revisal ; and to give you some idea of the intenseness of my toils, I will inform you that it cost me all the morning j^esterday, and all the evening, to translate a single simile to my mind. The transitions from one member of the subject to another, though easy and natural in the Greek, turn out often so intolerably awkward in an English version, that almost endless labour, and no little address, are requisite to give them grace and elegance. I forget if I told jou that your German Clavis has been of considerable use to me. I am indebted to it for a right understanding of the manner in which Achilles prepared pork, mutton, and goat's flesh, for the entertainment of his friends, in the night when they came deputed by Agamemnon to negociate a reconcilia- tion, — a passage of which nobody in the world is perfectly master, myself only and Schaulfelbergerus excepted, nor ever a; as, except when Greek was a live language. I do not know whether my cousin has told you or not how^ I brag in my letters to her concerning my Translation ; per- haps her modesty feels more for me than mine for myself, and she would blush to let even you know the degree of my self- conceit on that subject. I will tell you, however, expressing myself as decently as vanity will permit, that it has undergone such a change for the better in this last revisal, that I have much warmer hopes of success than formerly. — Yours, W. C. 311. -TO LADY HESKETH. HIS KINSJIA>;'S POEM — CAMBRJ-DGE CRITICS ON HOMER. The Lodge, January 23, 1790. My dear Coz, — i had a letter yesterday from the wild buy Johnson, for whom I have conceived a great affection. It was just such a letter as I like, of the true helter-skelter kind ; and, though he writes a remarkably good hand, scribbled with such rapidity tliat it was barely legible. He gave me a droll 422 cowper's letters. account of the adventures of Lord Howard's note, and of his own in pursuit of it. The poem he brought me came as from Lord Howard, with his lordship's request that I would revise it. It is in the form of a pastoral, and is entitled *' The Tale of the Lute ; or, The Beauties of Audley End.'' I read it attentively ; was much pleased with part of it, and part of it I equally disliked. I told him so, and in such terms as one naturally uses when there seems to be no occasion to qualify or to alleviate censure. I observed him afterwards somewhat more thoughtful and silent, but occasionally as pleasant as usual ; and in Kilwick wood, where we walked the next day, the truth came out that he was himself the author ; and that Lord Howard not approving it altogether, and several friends of his own age, to whom he had shewn it, differing from his lordship in opinion, and being highly pleased with it, he had come at last to a resolution to abide by my judg- ment; a measure to which Lord Howard by all means advised him. He accordingly brought it, and will bring it again in the summer, when we shall lay our heads together and try to mend it. I have lately had a letter also from Mrs King, to whom I had ^vritten to inquire whether she were living or dead. She tells me the critics expect from my Homer every thing in some parts, and that in others I shall fall short. These are the Cambridge critics ; and she has her intelligence from the botanical professor, Martyn.* That gentleman in reply answers them, that I shall fall short in nothing, but shall dis- appoint them all. It shall be my endeavour to do so, and I am not without hope of succeeding. W. C. 312 TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. HETNe's homer — DR BKNTLEY's OPINION THAT THE I AST BOOK OF THE ODYSSEY IS SPURIOUS. The Lodge, February 2, 1790. My dear Friend, — Should Heyne'sf Homer appear before mine, which I hope is not probable, and should he * Thomas MartjTi, Professor of Botany at Cainl)ri(lgo, where he succeeded liis father, John Martyn, tlie translator of Nir^Ml's Georgics. He wrote various works, and died in 1826. t Heyne Christian Gottolb, a most remarkable instance of perse- verance. Born in tlie lowest rank of a Hunpirian peasjuit, in M'l'i), he died Professor of Rhetoric at Oottingen, in 1812, witli the reputation of being the most eminent classic in Europe. Ili^* works, besides notes to Homer, Pindar, Epictetus, Diodorus SicuJus, Virgil, and Ti1>ullus, bave Deen puljlisbed in six volumes, octavo. cowper's letters. 423 adopt in it the opinion of Bentley, that the whole last Odyssey is spurious, I will dare to contradict both him and the Doctor. I am only in part of Bentley's mind (if indeed his mind were such) in this matter, and giant as he was in learning, and eagle-eyed in criticism, am persuaded, con- vinced, and sure (can I be more positive ?) that, except from the moment when the Ithacans begin to meditate an attack on the cottage of Laertes, and thence to the end, that book is the work of Homer. From the moment aforesaid, I yield the point, or rather have never, since I had any skill in Homer, felt myself at all inclined to dispute it. But I believe perfectly at the same time, that. Homer himself alone excepted, the Greek poet never existed who could have written the speeches made by the shade of Agamemnon, in which there is more insight into the human heart discovered than I ever saw in any other work, unless in Shakespeare. I am equally disposed to fight for the whole passage that describes Laertes, and the interview between him and Ulysses. Let Bentley grant these to Homer, and I will shake hands with him as to all the rest. The battle with which the book concludes is, I think, a paltry battle, and there is a huddle in the management of it altogether unworthy of my favourite, and the favourite of all ages. If you should happen to fall into company with Dr Warton again, you will not, I dare say, forget to make him my I'espectful compliments, and to assure him that I felt myself not a little flattered by the favourable mention he was pleased to make of me and my labours. The poet who pleases a man lik^ him has nothing left to wish for. I am glad that you were pleased with my young cousin Johnson ; he is a boy, and bashful, but has great merit in respect both of character and intellect ; so far at least as in a week's knowledge of him I could possibly learn. He is very amiable, and very sensible, and inspired me with a warm wish to know him better. W. C. 313. — TO LADY HESKETH. HIS KINSMAN JOHNSON — ODES OF HORACE DISCOVEEED. The Lodge, February 9, 1790. I HAVE sent you lately scraps instead of letters, having had occasion to answer immediately on the receipt, which always happens while I am deep in Homer. 42 i COMPERES LETTERS. I knew when I recommended Johnson to you that vow \vould find some way to serve him, and so it has happened, for, notwithstandin*^ your own apprehensions to the con- trary, you have already procured him a chaplainship. This is pretty well, considering that it is an early day, and that you have but just begun to know that there is such a man under heaven. I had rather myself be patronized by a person of small interest, with a heart like yours, than by the Chancellor himself, if he did not care a farthing for me. If I did not desire you to make my acknowledgments to Anonymous, as I believe I did not, it was because I am not aware that 1 am warranted to do so. But the omission is of less consequence, because, whoever he is, though he has no objection to doing the kindest things, he seems to have an aversion to the tiianks they merit. You must know that two odes, composed by Horace, have lately been discovered at Rome ; I wanted them transcribed into the blank leaves of a little Horace of mine, and Mrs Throckmorton performed that service for me ; in a blank leaf, therefore, of the same book I wrote the following.* W. C. TO MRS THROCKMORTON, ON ni;R BEAUTIFUL TKANSCIIIPT OF HORACE'S ODt, AD I.IURCM SLIM. Maria, could Horace have gucss'd What honours awaited Lis ode To his own little volimie address'd. The honoiu- which you have hestow'd, Who have traced it in characters here. So elegant, even, and neat ; He had laugh'd at the critical sneer, Which he seems to have trembled to im.Lt. And sneer, if you please, he had said. Hereafter a nyn)ph shsdl arise. Who shall give me, when you are aU dead, Tlie glory your malice dtnies ; Shall dignity give to my lay, Altliough but a mcie bugalcile ; And even a poet *;hall say, Nofhiiig ever was written -lo w«*l\ cowpeh's letters. 425 314.— TO MR JOHNSUN, (Printer.) NOTE — FUSELl's ItEMAilKS ON HOMER. Weston, Fdtruary 11, 1790. Dear Sir, — I am very sensibly obliged by the remarks of Mr Fiiseli, and beg that you will tell him so : they afford me opportunities of improvement which I shall not neglect. When he shall see the press copy he will be convined of this ; and will be convinced likewise that, smart as he sometimes is, he spares me often when I have no mercy on myself. He will see almost a new translation. * * * I assure you faith- fully, that whatever my faults may be, to be easily or hastily satisfied with what I have written, is not one of them. 315. — TO LADY HESKETH. TRANSLATION OF HOMER TO BE SUBMITTED TO HER FRIEND — HIS MOTIIER's riCTCRE. The Lodge, February 26, 1790. You have set my heart at ease, my cousin, so far as you were yourself the object of its anxieties. What other troubles it feels can be cured by God alone. But you are never silent a week longer than usual, vrithout giving an opportunity to my imagination (ever fruitful in flowers of a sable hue) to tease me with them day and night. London is indeed a pestilent place, as you call it, and I would, with all my heart, that thou hadst less to do with it ; were you under the same roof with me, I should know you to be safe, and should never distress you with melancholy letters. I feel myself well enough inclined to the measure you propose, and will shew to your new acquaintance, with all my he£irt, a sample of my translation, but it shall not, if you j)lease, be taken from the Odyssey. It is a poem of a gentler character than the Iliad, and as I propose to caiTy her by a coup de main^ I shall employ Achilles, Agamemnon, and the two armies of Greece and Troy in my service. I will accord- ingly send you, in the box that I received from you last night, the two first books of the Iliad for that lady's perusal ; to those J have given a third revisal ; for them therefore I will be answerable, and am not afraid to stake the credit of my work ux)Oii them with her, or with any living wight, especially one 42G cowper's letters. who understands the original. I do not mean that even they are finished, for I shall examine and cross-examine them yet again, and so you may tell her, but I know that they will not disgrace me ; whereas it is so long since I have looked at the Odyssey that I know nothing at all about it. Tiiey shall set sail from Olney on Monday morning in the Diligence, and will reach you I hope in the evening. As soon as she has done with them, I shall be glad to have them again, for the time draws near when I shall want to give them the last touch. I am delighted with Mrs Bodham's kindness in giving me the only picture of my own mother that is to be found, I suppose, in all the world. I had rather possess it than the richest jewel in the British crown, for I loved her with an affection that her death, fifty-two years since, has not in the least abated. I remember her, too, young as I was when she died, well enough to know that it is a very exact resemblance of her, and as such it is to me invaluable. Every body loved her, and with an amiable character so impressed upon all her features, every body was sure to do so. I have a very affectionate and a very clever Jetter from Johnson, who promises me the transcript of the books intrusted to him in a few days. I ha re a great love for that young man ; he has some drops of the same stream in his veins that once animated the original of that dear picture. W. C. 316. — TO MRS BODHAM.* THANKS FOR HER PRESENT OF HIS MOTHER'S PICTURE — REMINISCENCES. Weston, February 27, 1790. My dearest Rose, — Whom I thought withered and fallen from the stalk, but whom I find still alive : nothing could give me greater pleasure than to know it, and to learn it from yourself. I loved you dearly when you were a child, and love you not a jot the less for having ceased to be so. Every creature that bears any affinity to my own mother is dear to me, and you, the daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from her : I love you, therefore, and love you much, both for her sake and for your own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so accepUible to me as tl»e picture which you have so kindly sent me, I received it the • Formerly Miss Aniic Doniie, to whom the poet, nearly tliirty years before, had given the nmne of Rose, from her beauty when a girl. cowper's letters. 427 night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and of course the first on which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I had completed my sixth year ; yet I remem- ber her well, and am an ocular witness of the great fidelity of the copy. I remember, too, a multitude of the maternal tendernesses which I received from her, and which have endeared her memory to me beyond expression. There is in me, I believe, more of the Donne than of the Cowper ; and though I love all of both names, and have a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your side. I was thought in the days of my childhood much to resemble my mother, and in my natural temper, of which at the age of fifty-eight I must be supposed a competent judge, can trace both her, and my late uncle, your father. Somewhat of his irritability, and a little I would hope both of his and of her , I know not what to call it, without seeming to praise myself, which is not my intention, but speaking to you^ I will even speak out, and say, good nature. Add to all this, I deal much in poetry, as did our venerable ancestor, the Dean of St Paul's, and I think I shall have proved myself a Donne at all points. The truth is, that, whatever I am, I love you all. I account it a happy event that brought the dear boy, your nephew, to my knowledge, and that, breaking through all the restraints which his natural bashfulness imposed on him, he determined to find me out. He is amiable to a degree that I have seldom seen, and I often long with impatience to see him again. My dearest cousin, what shall I say in answer to your affec- tionate invitation ? I must say this, I cannot come now, nor soon, and I wish with all my heart I could. But I will tell you what may be done perhaps, and it will answer to us just as well : you and Mr Bodham can come to Weston, can you not ? The summer is at hand, there are roads and wheels to bring you, and you are neither of you translating Homer. I am crazed that I cannot ask you all together for want of house- toom ; but for Mr Bodham and yourself we have good room, and equally good for any third, in the shape of a Donne, whether named Hewitt, Bodham, Balls, or Johnson, or by whatever name distinguished. Mrs Hewitt has particular claims upon me ; she was my playfellow at Berkhampstead, 428 COWPER*S LETTERS. and has a share in my warmost affections. Pray tell her so. Neither do I at all forget my cousin Harriet. She and I have been many a time mrTiy at Oitfield, and have made the par- sonage ring with laughter. Give my love to her. Assure yourself, my dearest cousin, that I shall receive you as if you were my sister ; and Mrs Unwin is, for my sake, prepared to do the same. Wlien she has seen you, she will love you for your own. I am much obliged to Mr Bodham for his kindness to my Homer, and with my love to you all, and with Mrs Unwin's kind respects, am, my dear, dear Rose, ever yours, W. C. P. S. — I mourn the death of your poor brother Castres, whom I should have seen had he lived, and should have seen with the greatest pleasure. He was an amiable boy, and I was very fond of him. Still another P. S. — I find on consulting Mrs Unwin, that I have underrated our capabilities, and that we have not only room for you and Mr Bodham, but for two of your sex, and even for your nephew into the bargain. We shall be happy to have it all so occupied. Your nephew tells me that his sister, in the qualities of the mind, resembles you ; that is enough to make her dear to me, and I beg vou will assure her that she is so. Let it not be long before I hear from you. 317.— TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. MRS BODIIAM's TRESENT — INVITATION INTO NORFOI-K. Weston, February 28, 1790. My d^ar cousin John, — I have much wished to hear from you ; and though you are welcome to write to Mrs Unwin as often as you please, 1 wish myself to be numbered among your correspondents. I shall find time to answer you, doubt it not. Be as busy as we may, we can always find time to do what is agreeable to us. By the way, had you a letter from Mrs Unwin ? I am witness that she addressed one to you before you went into Norfolk ; but your mathematico-j)oetical head forgot to acknowledge the receipt of it. I was never more ])lease(l in my life than to learn, and to leai-n from herself, that my dearest Rose is still alive. Hatl COWPER's LETTEIIS. 429 she not engaged me to love her by the sweetness of her cha- racter when a child, she would have done it effectually now, by making me the most acceptable present in the world, my own dear mother's picture. I am perhaps the only person living who remembers her, but I remember her well, and can attest, on my own knowledge, the truth of the resemblance. Amiable and elegant as the countenance is, such exactly was her own ; she was one of the tenderest parents, and so just a copy of her is therefore to me invaluable. I wrote yesterday to my Rose to tell her all this, and to thank her for her kindness in sending it. Neither do I forget your kindness, who intimated to her that I should be happy to possess it. She invites me into Norfolk, but, alas ! she might as well invite the house in which I dwell ; for all other considerations and impediments apart, how is it possible that a translator of Homer should lumber to such a distance ! But though I cannot comply with her kind invitation, I have made myself the best amends in my power, by inviting her, and all the family of Donnes, to Weston. Perhaps we could not accommodate them all at once, but in succession we could ; and can at any time find room for five, three of them being females, and one a married one. You are a mathematician ; tell me, then, how five persons can be lodged in three beds, (two males and three females,) and I shall have good hope that you will proceed a senior optime. It would make me happy to see our house so furnished. As to yourself, whom I know to be a tuhscalariariy or a man that sleeps under the stairs, I should have no objec- tion at all, neither could you possibly have any } ourself, to the garret, as a place in which you might be disponed of with great felicity of accommodation. I thank you much for your services in the transcribing way, and would by no means have you despair of an opportunity to serve me in the same way yet again. Write to me soon, and tell me when I shall see you. I have not said the half that I have to say, but breakfast is at hand, which always terminates my epistles. What have you done witii your poem ? The trimming that it procured you here has not, I hope, put you out of conceit with it entirely : you are more than equal to the alteration that it needs. Only remember that, in writing, perspicuity is always more than half the battle. The want of it is the ruin of more than half the poetry that is published. A meaning that does not stai'e you in the face is as bad as no meaning, 430 cowper's letters. because nobody will take the pains to poke for it. So now adieu for the present. Bewaru of killing yourself with pro- blems ; for if you do, you will never live to be another Sir Isaac. Mrs Unwin's affectionate remembrances attend you ; Lady Hcsketh is much disposed to love you ; perhaps most who know you have some little tendency the same way. 318. —TO LADY HESKETH. MRS carter's opinion OF HIS HOMER — TEST ACT. The Lodge, March 8, 1790. My dearest Cousin, — I thank thee much, and oft, for negociating so well this poetical concern with Mrs [Carter,] and for sending me her opinion in her own hand. I should l)e unreasonable indeed not to be highly gratified by it, and I like it the better for being modestly expressed. It is, as you know, and it shall be some months longer, my daily business to polish and improve what is done, that when the whole shall appear she may find her expectations answered. I am glad also that thou didst send her the sixteenth Odyssey, though, as I said before, I know not at all at present whereof it is made ; but I am sure that thou wouldst not have sent it, hadst thou not conceived a good opinion of it thyself, and thought that it would do me credit. It was very kind in thee to sacrifice to this Minerva on my account. For my sentiments on the subject of the Test Act, I cannot do better than refer thee to my poem, entitled and called, " Expostulation." I have there expressed myself not much in its favour, considering it in a religious view ; and in a political one, I like it not a jot the better. I am neither Tory nor High Churchman, but an old Whig, as my father was before me ; and an enemy consequently to all tyrannical impositions. Mrs Unwin bids me return thee many thanks for thy inquiries so kindly made concerning her hoaltli. She is a little better than of late, but has been ill continually ever since last November. Every thing that could try patience and submission she has had, and her submission and patience have answered in the trial, though mine on her account have often failed sadly. I have a letter from Johnson, who tells me that he has sent his transcript to you, beggmg, at tlu^ same time, more cowpee's letters. 431 copy. Let him have it by all means ; he is an industrious youth, and I love him dearly. I told him thai you are disposed to love him a little. A new poem is born on the receipt of my mother's picture. Thou shalt have it.* W. C. 319. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. OUR REAL STATE OF HEALTH NOT TO BE CONCEALED FROM FKIENES. The Lodge, March 11, 1790. My dear Friend, — I was glad to hear from you, for a line from you gives me always much pleasure, but was not much gladdened by the contents of your letter. The state of your health, which I have learned more accurately perhaps from my cousin, except in this last instance, than from yourself, has alarmed me, and even she has collected her information upon that subject more from your looks, than from your own acknowledgments. To complain much and often of our indispositions, does not always ensure the pity of the hearer, perhaps sometimes forfeits it ; but to dissemble them altogether, or at least to suppress the worst, is attended ultimately with an inconvenience greater still ; the secret will out at last, and our friends, unprepared to receive it, are doubly distressed about us. In saying this, I squint a little at Mrs Unwin, who will read it ; it is with her, as with you, the only subject on which she practises any dissimulation at all : the consequence is, that when she is much indisposed, I never believe myself in possession of the whole truth, live in constant expectation of hearing something worse, and at the long run am seldom disappointed. It seems, therefore, as on all other occasions, so even in this, the better course on the whole to appear what we are ; not to lay the fears of our friends asleep by cheerful looks, which do not properly belong to us, or by letters written as if we were well, when in fact we are very much otherwise. On condition, however, that you act differently toward me for the future, I will pardon the past, and she may gather from my clemency shewn to you, some hopes, on the same conditions, of similar clemency to herself. W. C. * See Poems. 432 COWPEIl*S LETTERS, 320. —TO MRS THROCKMORTON. BKGUETTrNG HER AHSENCE — SIRS CARTER'S OPINIOK OK HOMER. The Louge, March 21, 1790. My dearest Madam, — I shall only observe on the subject of your absence, that you have stretched it since you went, and have made it a week, longer. Weston is sadly ujihed without you ; and here are two of us, who will be heartily glad to see you again. I believe you are happier at home than any where, which is a comfortable belief to your neighbours, because it affords assurance that since you are neither likely to ramble for pleasure, nor to meet with any avocations of business, while Weston shall continue to be your home, it will not often want you. The two first books of my Iliad have been submitted to the inspection and scrutiny of a great critic of your sex, at the instance of my cousin, as you may suppose. The lady is mistress of more tongues than a few, (it is hoped she is single,) and particularly she is mistress of the Greek. She returned them with expressions that, if any thing could make a poet prouder than all poets naturally are, w ould have made me so. I tell you thi.^, because 1 know that you all intt rest yourselves in the success of the said Iliad * My periwig is arrived, and is the very perfection of all periwigs, having only one fault ; which is, that my head will only go into the first half of it, the other half, or the upper part of it, continuing still unoccupied. My aitist in this way at Olney has, however, undertaken to make the whole of it tenantable, and then I shall be twenty years younger than you have ever seen me. I heard of your birthday very early in the morning ; the news came from the steeple A\'. C. * Either this letter is wrone; dated, or CoAvper forgof that Lady Hesketh had informed hiin of Her having sent the slxlecnlb book of thv? Odyssey to Mis Carter. Letter 318. CO WPEIi's LETTERS. 433 32]. — TO LADY HESKETH. TJIK LOSS AND RECOVERY OF PART OF HIS MANUSCRIPT CO:,5IDERED A GCOD OMEN THE STYLE ADOPTED IN HIS TRANSLATION OF HOMEK. The Lodge, March 22, 17P0. I REJOICE, my dearest cousin, that my MSS. have roamed the earth so successfully, and liave met with no disaster. The single book excepted that went to the bottom of the Thames and rose again, they have been fortunate without exception. I am not superstitious, but have nevertheless as good a right to believe that adventure an omen, and a favourable one, as Swift had to interpret, as he did, the loss of a fine fish, which he had no sooner laid on the bank, than it flounced into the water again. This he tells us himself he always considered as a type of his future disappointments ; and why may not I as well consider the marvellous recovery of my lost book from the bottom of the Thames, as typical of its future prosperity ? To say the truth, I have no fears now about the success of my Translation, though in time past I have had many. I knew there was a style somewhere, could I hnt find it, in which Homer ought to be rendered, and which alone would suit him. Long time I blund&red about it, ere I could attain to any decided judgment on the matter ; at first I was betrayed, by a desire of accommodating my language to the simplicity of his, into much of the quaintness that belonged to our writers of the fifteenth century. In the course of many revisals I have delivered myself from this evil, I believe, entirely ; but I have done it slowly, and as a man separates himself from his mistress, when he is going to marry. I had so strong a predilection in favour of this style at first, that I was crazed to find that others were not as much enamoured with it as myself. At every passage of that sort which I obliterated, I groaned bitterly, and said to myself, I am spoiling my work to please those who have no taste for the simple graces of antiquity. But in measure as I adopted a more modern phraseology, I became a convert to their opinion, and in the last revisal, which I am now making, am not sensible of having spared a single expression of the obsolete Kind. I see my work so much improved by this alteration, that I am filled with wonder at my own backwardness to assent to the necessity of it, and the more when I consider that Milton, with whose manner I account myself intimately X . 434 cowper's letters. acquainted, is never quaint, never twangs through the nose, hut is every where grand and elegant, without resorting to musty antiquity for his beauties. On the contrary, he took a long stride forward, left the language of his own day far behind him, and anticipated the expressions of a century yet to come. I have now, as I said, no longer any doubt of the event, but I will give thee a shilling if thou wilt tell me what I shall say in my Preface. It is an affair of much delicacy, and I have as many opinions about it as there are whims in a weathercock. Send my MSS. and thine when thou wilt. In a day or two I shall enter on the last Iliad. When I have finished it, I t^hall give the Odyssey one more reading, and shall therefore shortly have occasion for the copy in thy possession ; but you see that there is no need to hurry. I leave the little space for Mrs Unwin's use, who means, I believe, to occupy it, and am evermore Thine most truly, W. C. Postscript, in the hand of Mrs Untvin. You cannot imagine how much your ladyship would oblige your unworthy servant, if you would be so good to let me know in what point I differ from you. All that at present I can say is, that I will readily sacrifice my own opinion, unless I can give you a substantial reason for adhering to it. 822. — TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. COMPARISON OF THE ILIAD WITH THE ODYSSEY — THE POET's AFFECTION FOR HIM. Weston, March 2:3, 1790. Your MSS. arrived safe in New Norfolk Street, and I am much obliged to you for your labours. Were you now at Weston I could furnish you with employment for some weeks, and shall perhaps be equally able to do it in sunmier, for I have lost my best amanuensis in this place, Mr "George Throckmorton, who is gone to Bath. You are a man to be envied, who have never read the Odyssey, which is one of the most amusing story-books in the world, lliere is also much of the finest poetry in the world to be found in it, notwithstanding all that Longinus has cowper's letters. 435 insinuated to the contrary.* His comparison of the Iliad and Odyssey to the meridian, and to the declining sun, is pretty, but, I am persuaded, not just. The prettiness of it seduced him ; he was otherwise too judicious a reader of Homer to have made it. I can find in the latter no symptoms of impaired ability, none of the effects of age ; on the contrary, it seems to me a certainty, that Homer, had he written the Odyssey in his youth, could not have written it better ; and if the Iliad in his old age, that he would have written it just as well. A critic would tell me, that instead of written, I should have said composed. Very likely ; but I am not writing to one of that snai'ling generation. My boy, I long to see thee again. It has happened some way or other, that Mrs Unwin and I have conceived a great affection for thee. That I should, is the less to be wondered at, because thou art a shred of my own mother ; neither is the wonder great that she should fall into the same predica- ment, for she loves every thing that I love. You will observe, that your own personal right to be beloved makes no part of the consideration. There is nothing that I touch with so much tenderness as the vanity of a young man ; because I know how extremely susceptible he is of impressions that might hurt him in that particular part of his composition. If you should ever prove a coxcomb, from which character you stand just now at a greater distance than any young man I know, it shall never be said that I have made j'^ou one ; no, you will gain nothing by me but the honour of being much valued by a poor poet, who can do you no good while he lives, and has nothing to leave you when he dies. If you can be contented to be dear to me on these conditions, so you shall ; but other terms more advantageous than these, or more inviting, none have I to propose. Farewell. Puzzle not yourself about a subject when you write to either of us ; every thing is subject enough from those we love. * W. C. * The remark of Longinus is, that the Iliad resembles the splendour of the meridian sun, the Odyssey shews the mild radiance of the same luminary near its setting. •36 COWPEIl's 1.F.TTERS. 32a— TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. fHTSlOGNOMT STUDIES FOR AN.ASPIRANT TO THE MINISTRT. Westok, Apnl 17, 1790. Your letter that now lies before me is almost three weeks old, and therefore of full a.i^o to receive an answer, which it shall have without delay, if the interval between the present moment and that of breakfast should prove sufficient for the purpose. Yours to Mrs Unwin was received yesterday, for wliich she will thank you in due time. I have also seen, and have now in my desk, your letter to Lady Hesketh ; she sent it thinking that it would divert me ; in which she was not mistaken. I shall tell her when I write to her next, that you long to receive a line from her. Give yourself no trouble on the subject of the politic device you saw good to recur to, when you presented me with your manuscript ; it wa.s an innocent deception, at least it could harm nobody save yourself — an effect which it did not fail to produce ; and since the punish- ment followed it so closely, by me at least it may very well be forgiven. You ask, how I can tell that you are not addicted to practices of the deceptive kind ? And certainly, if the little time that I have had to study you were alone to be considered, the question would not be unreasonable ; but in general, a man who reaches my years, finds — That lonp: experience docs attain To something like prophetic strain I am ver}' much of Lavater's opinion, and persuaded that faces are as legible as books, only with these circumstances to recommend them to our perusal, that they are read in much less time, and are much less likely to deceive us. Yours gave me a favourable impression of you the moment I beheld it, and though I shall not tell you in particuhu* what I saw in it, for reasons mentioned in my last, I will add, that I have observed in you nothing since, that has not confirmed the opinion I then formed in your favour. In fact, I cannot recollect that my skill in physiognomy has ever deceived me, and I should add more on this subject, had I room. When you have shut up your mathematical books, you must give yourself to the study of Greek ; not merely that you may be able to read Homer and the other Groek classics cowper's letters. 437 with ease, but the Greek Testament, and the Greek Fathers also. Thus qualified, and by the aid of your fiddle into the bargain, together with some portion of the grace of God (without which nothing can be done) to enable you to look well to your flock, when you shall get one, you will be well set up for a parson ; in which character, if I live to see you in it, I shall expect and hope that you will make a very different figure from most of your fraternity. — Ever yours, W. C. 324. — TO LADY HESKETtt. REVISAL OF HOMER. The Lodge, April 19, 1790. My dearest Coz, — I thank thee for my cousin Johnson's letter, which diverted me. I had one from him lately, in which he expressed an ardent desire of a line from you, and the delight he would feel in receiving it. I know not whether you will have the charity to satisfy his longings, but mention the matter, thinking it possible that you may. A letter from a lady to a youth immersed in mathematics must be singularly pleasant. I am finishing Homer backward, having begun at the last book, and designing to persevere in that crab-like fashion till I arrive at the first. This may remind you, perhaps, of a certain poet's prisoner in the Bastile (thank Heaven ! in the Bastile now no more) counting the nails in the door, for variety's sake, in all directions. I find so little to do in the last revisal, that I shall soon reach the Odyssey, and s.^on want those books of it which are in thy possession ; but the two first of the Iliad, which are also in thy possession, much sooner ; thou may est therefore send them by the first fair opportunity. I am in high spirits on this subject, and think that I have at last licked the clumsy cub into a shape that will secure to it the favourable notice of the public. Let not retard me, an'd I shall hope to get it out next vv'inter. I am glad that thou hast sent the General those verses on my mother's picture. They will amuse him — only I hope that he will not miss my mother-in-law, and think that she ought to have made a third. On such an occasion, it was not possible to mention her with any propriety. I rejoice at the General's recovery ; may it prove a perfect one. W. C 438 COWPEk's LElltKS. 325. — TO LADY IIESKETH. WOTE — nii '' riCTURE TERSES. Weston, ApHl2ver kn<^\v with certainty, till now, that the marginal stric- tures I found in the Task proofs were yours. The Justness of them, and the benefit I derived from them, are fresh in my memory, and I doubt not that their utility will be the same in the present instance.* Wkston, October CO, 1790. 341. — TO MRS BODHAM. ADVICE TO A YOUTHFUL POET HIS OWK CHILDHOOt). Weston, November 21, 1790. My dear Coz, — Our kindness to your nephew is no more than he must entitle himself to wherever he goes. His amiable disposition and manners will never fail to secure him a warm place in the affection of all who know him. The advice I gave respecting his poem on Audley End was dic- tated by my love of him, and a sincere desire of his success. It is one thing to write what may please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little bia>^sed in our favour ; and another to write what may please every body : because they who have no connection, or even knowledge of the author, will be sure to find fault if they can. My advice, however salutary and necessary as it seemed to me, was such as I dared not have given to a poet of less diffidence than he. Poets are to a proverb irritable, and he is the onl}' one I ever knew, who seems to have no spark of that fire about him. He has lefl us about a fortnight, and sorry wc were to lose him ; but had he been my son, he must have gone, and I could not have regretted him uiore. If his sister be still with you, present my love to her, and tell her how much I wish to see them at Weston again. Mrs Hewitt probably remembers more of my childhood, than I can recollect either of hers or my own ; but this I recollect, that the days of that period were happy days, com- pared with most I have seen since. There are few, pt^rhaps, in the world, who have not cause to look back with regret on the days of infancy ; yet, to say the truth, I suspect some • I ain anxious to preserve this singular anecdote, as it is honourable both to the uiodest poet, and to bis intelligent bookseller. — Hayley. cowper's letters. 453 rieception in this. Forinfancy itselfhas its cares ; and though we cannot now conceive how trifles could affect us niucb, it is certain that they did. Trifles they appear now, but such they were not then. W. C. 242. — TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. OK HIS STUDIES LADT SPENCEK. Mr BiKTH-PAT. Friday, November 2Q, 1790. My dearest Johnny, — I am happy that you have escaped from the claws of Euclid into the bosom of Justinian. It is useful, I suppose, to ei-ert/ man, to be well grounded in the principles of jurisprudence ; and I take it to be a branch of science, that bids much fairer to enlarge the mind, and give an accuracy of reasoning, than all the mathematics in the world. Mind your studies, and you will soon be wiser than I can hope to be. We had a visit on Monday from one of the first women in the world — in point of character I mean, and accomplishments — the Dowager Lady Spencer! I may receive, perhaps, some honours hereafter, should my translation speed according to my wishes, and the pains I have taken with it ; but shall never receive any that I shall esteem so highly. She is indeed worthy to whom I should dedicate, and may but my Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall have nothing to fear from the critics. — Yours, my dear Johnny, with much affection, W. C. 343. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. PKOFE^SIONAL DILIGENCE COWPER's HEALTH, AND ENGAGEMENTS WITH THE PKOOFS OF HOMER. The Lodge, November SO, 1790. My dear Friend, — I will confess that I thought your letter somewhat tatrdy, though at the same time I made every excuse for you, except, as it seems, the right. That, indeed, was out of the reach of all possible conjecture. I could not guess that your silence was occasioned by your being occupied with either thieves or thief-takers. Since, however, the cause was such, I rejoice that your labours were not in vain, and tliat the freebooters, who had plundered your friend, are saf^ in limbo. 1 admire, too, as nmch as I rejoice in your success, the indefatigable spirit that prompted you to pursue, with 454 COWPER*S LETTERS. such unremitting perseverance, an object not to be reached but at the expense of infinite trouble, and that must have led you into an acquaintance with scenes and characters the most horrible to a mind like yours. I see in this conduct the zeal and firmness of your friendship to whomsoever professed ; and though I wanted not a proof of it myself, contemplate so unequivocal an indication of what you really are, and of what I always believed you to be, with much pleasure. May you rise from the condition of an humble prosecutor, or witness, to the bench of judgment ! When your letter arrived, it found me with the worst and most obstinate cold that I ever caught. This was one reason why it had not a speedier answer. Another is, that except Tuesday morning, there is none in the week in which I am not engaged in the last revisal of my translation, — the revisal I mean of my proof sheets. To this business I give myself with an assiduity and attention truly admirable, and set an example, which, if other poets could be apprised of, they would do well to follow. Miscarriages in authorship, I am persuaded, are as often to be ascribed to want of painstaking, as to want of ability. Lady Hesketh, Mrs Unwin, and myself, often mention you, and always in terms, that, though you would blush to hear them, you need not be ashamed of ; at the same time wishing much that you could change our trio into a quartetto. W. C. 344 — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. EXCUSING SILENCE — DELAYS OF PRINTERS — THE LAUREATSHIP. Weston, December 1, 1790. My dear Friend, — It is plain that you understand trap, as we used to say at school : for you begin with accusing me of long silence, conscious yourself at the same time that you have been half a-year in my debt, or thereabout. But I will answer your accusations with a boast, with a boast of having intended many a day to write to you again, notwithstanding your long insolvency. Your brother and sister of Chicheley can both witness^ for me that, weeks since, I testified such an intention ; and if I did not execute it, it was not for want of good-will, but for want of leisure. When will you be able to glory of such designs, so liberal and magnificent — you, who have nothing to do, by your own confession, but to grow fat and saucy ? Add to all this, that I have a violent cold, such COWPEirS LETTERS, 455 as 1 never have but at the first approach of winter, and such as at that time I seldom escape. A fever accompanied it, and an incessant cough. You measure the speed of printers, of my printer at least, rather by your own wishes than by any just standard. Mine, I believe, is as nimble a one as falls to the share of poets in general, though not nimble enough to satisfy either the author or his friends. I told you that my work would go to press in autumn, and so it did. But it had been six weeks in London ere the press began to work upon it. About a month since we began to print, and at the rate of nine sheets in a fort- night have proceeded to about the middle of the sixth Iliad. " No farther?" you say. I answer — No, nor even so far, without much scolding on my part both at the bookseller and the printer. But courage, my friend ! Fair and softly as we proceed, we shall find our way through at last ; and in con- firmation of this hope, while I write this, another sheet arrives. I expect to publish in the spring. I love and thank you for the ardent desire you express to hear me bruited abroad, et per ora virum volitanteni. For your encouragement I will tell you that I read, myself at least, with wonderful complacence what I have done ; and if the world, when it shall appear, do not like it as well as I, we will both say and swear with Fluellin, that it is an ass, and a fool, look you ! and a prating coxcomb. I felt no ambition of the laurel. Else, though vainly perhaps, I had friends who would have made a stir on my behalf on that occasion. I confess that when I learned the new condition of the office, that odes were no longer required, and that the salary was increased, I felt not the same dislike of it. But I could neither go to court, nor could I kiss hands, were it for a much more valuable consideration. Therefore never expect to hear that royal favours find out me ! Adieu, my dear old friend ! I will send you a mortuary copy soon, and in the meantime remain, ever yours, W. C. 345. — TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. CAMBRIDGE SUBSCRIPTION — FROdRESS OF HOMER. Weston, December 18, 1790. I PERCEIVE myself so flattered by the instances of illus- trious success mentioned in your letter, that I feel all the amiable modesty, for , which I was once so famous, sensibly giving way to a spirit of vainglory. 456 COWPER*S LETTERS. Tlie King's College subscription makes mo proud — iha effect that my verses have had on your two young friends the mathematicians, makes me proud ; and I am, if possible, l)rouder still of the contents of tiic letter that you enclosed. You complained of being stupid, and sent me one of the cleverest letters: I have not complained of being stupid, and have sent you one of the dullest. But it is no matter ; I never aim at any thing above the pitch of every day's scribble, when I write to those I love. Homtr proceeds, my boy ! We shall get through it in time, and, I hope, by the time appointed. We are now in the tenth Iliad. I expect the ladies every minute to breakfast. You have their best love. Mine attends the whole army of Donnes at Mattishali Greeu assembled. How happy sliould I find myself, were I but one of the party ! My capering days are over. But do you caper for me, that you may give them some idea of the happiness I should feel, were I in the midst of them ! W. C. 346. —TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. COWPER's fears of the month of JAVUARV QUANTITY OK .SVI-LABLES IK ENGLISH VERSE. Weston, January A, 179L My dear Friend, — You would long since have received an answer to your last, had not the wicked clerk of Northamp- ton delayed to send me the printed copy of my annual dirge, which I waited to enclose. Ilere it is at last, and much good may it do the readers ! * I have regretted that I could not write sooner, especially because it well became me to reply as soon as possibh* to your kind inquiries after my health, which has been both better and worse since I wrote last. The cough was cured, or nearly so, when I received your letter, but I have lately btcn afflicted with a nervous ^c\Qry a malady formidable to me above all others, on account of the terror and dejection of spirits that in my case always accompany it. I even looked forward, for this reason, to the month now current, w ith the most miser- able apprehensions, for in this month the distemper has twice seized me. I wish to be thankful, however, to the sovereign Dispens(;r both of healtii and sickness, that though I have felt cause enough to tremble, he gives me now encouragement to hope that I may dismiss my fears, and expect for this January at least, to escape it. • See Poeras. cowper's letters, 457 * * The mention of quantity rorainds mn of a remark that I have seen somewhere, possibly in Johnson, to this purport, that the syllables in our language being neither long nor short, our verse accordingly is less beautiful than the verse of the Greeks or Romans, because requiring less artifice in its con- struction. But I deny the fact, and am ready to depose on oath, that I find every syllable as distinguishably and clearly either long or short, in our language, as in any other. I know also that without an attention to the quantity of our syllables good verse cannot possibly be written ; and that ignorance of this matter is one reason why we see so much that is good for nothing. The movement of a verse is always eitlier shuffling or graceful, according to our management in this particular, and Milton gives almost as many proofs of it in his Paradise Lost as there are lines in the poem. Away, therefore, with all such unfounded observations ! I would not give a farthing for many bushels of them, nor you, perhaps, for this letter. Yet upon recollection, forasmuch as I know you to be a dear lover of literary gossip, I think it possible you may esteem it highly. Believe me, my dear friend, most truly yours, W. C. 347. — TO MR JOHNSON,* [Printer.] ON A LINE IN ONE OF HIS POEMS BEING ALTERED. Note by the Rev. Mr Johnson. This extract is, in fact, entitled to a much earlier place in the collection ; but having a common subject with the concluding paragraph of the preceding Letter, it seemed to call for insertion immediately after it. I DID not write the line that has been tampered with, hastily, or without due attention to the construction of it ; and what appeared to me its only merit is, in its present state, entirely annihilated. I know that the ears of modern verse writers are delicate to an excess, and their readers are troubled with the same squeamishness as themselves. So that if a line do not run as smooth as quicksilver, they are offended. A critic of the * It happened that some accidental reviser of the manuscript had taken the liberty to alter a line in a poem of Cowper's. This hberty drew from the offended poet the following very just and animated remonstrance, which I am anxious to preserve, because it elucidates, with great felicity of expression, his deliberate ideas on EngUsh versification Hayley. u 458 cowrKR's letters. present day serves a poem as a cook serves a dead turkey, when she fastens the legs of it to a post, and draws out all the sinews. For this we may thank Pope ; but unless we could imitate him in the closeness and compactness of his expression, as well as in the smoothness of his numbers, we had better di'op the imitation, which serves no other purpose than to emasculate and weaken all we write. Give me a manly rough line, with a deal of meaning in it, rather than a whole poem full of musical periods, that have nothing but their oily smoothness to recommend them ! I have said thus much, as I hinted in the beginning, because I have just finished a much longer poem than the last, which our common friend will receive by tlie same messenger that lias the charge of this letter. In that poem there are many lines, which an ear, so nice as the gentleman's who made the above-mentioned alteration, would undoubtedly condemn ; and yet (if I may be permitted to say it) they cannot be made smoother without being the worse for it. There is a rough- ness on a plum, which nobody, that understands fruit, would rub off, though the plum would be much more polished without it. But lest I tire you, I will only add, that I wish you to guard me from all such meddling ; assuring you, that I always write as smoothly as I can ; but that I never did, never will, sacrifice the spirit or sense of a passage to the sound of it. 343.— TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. ruorosED visit — singularities of mannek. Weston, January 21, 1791. I KNOW that you have already been catechized by Lady Hesketh on the subject of your return hither before the winter shall be over, and shall therefore only say, that if you can COME, we shall be happy to receive you. Remember also, that nothing can excuse the nonperformance of a promise, but absolute necessity ! In the meantime, my faith in your veracity is such, that I am persuaded you will suffer nothing less than necessity to prevent it. Were yoxx not extremely pleasant to us, and just the sort of youth that suits us, we should neither of us have said half so nuieh, or perhaps a word on the subject. Yours, my dear Johnny, are vagai'ies that I shall never see practised by any other ; and whether you slap your ankle, or reel as if you were fuddled, or dance in the path before me, all is characteristic of yourself, and therefore to me delightful COVVPEIl's LETTERS, 469 I have hinted to you indeed sometimes, that you should be cautious of indulging antic habits and singularities of all sorts, and young men in general have need enough of such admoni- tion. But yours are a sort of fairy habits, such as might belong to Puck or Robin Goodfellow, and therefore, good as the advice is, I should be half sorry should you take it. This allowance at least I give you. Continue to take your walks, if walks they may be called, exactly in their present fashion, till you have taken orders ! Then indeed, forasmuch as a skipping, curvetting, bounding Divine, might be a spec- tacle not altogether seemly, I shall consent to your adoption of a more grave demeanour. W. C. »49. — TO SAaJUEL ROSE, ESQ. bttbscbiptions fkom the scottish universities to homer present ov pope's translation. The Lodge, February 5, 1791. My dear Friend, — My letters to you are all either petitionary, or in the style of acknowledgments and thanks, and such nearly in an alternate order. In my last, I loaded you with commissions, for the due discharge of which I am now to say, and say truly, how much I feel myself obliged to you; neither can I stop there, but must thank you likewise for new honours from Scotland, which have left me nothing to wish for from that country ; for my list is now, I believe, graced with the subscription of all its learned bodies. 1 regret only that some of them arrived too late to do honour to my present publication of names. But there are those among them, and from Scotland too, that may give an useful hint perhaps to our own universities. Your very handsome present of Pope's Homer has arrived safe, notwithstanding an accident that befell him by the way. The Hall servant brought the parcel from Olney, resting it on the pommel of the saddle, and his horse fell with him. Pope was in consequence rolled in the dirt, but being well coated got no damage. If augurs and sooth- sayers were not out of fashion, I should have consulted one or two of that order, in hope of learning from them that this fall was ominous. I have found a place for him in the parlour, where he makes a splendid appearance, and where he shall not long want a neighbour, one who, if less popular than himself, shall at least look as big as he. How has it happened that, since Pope did certainly dedicate both Iliad and Odyssey, no dedication is found in this first edition of them ? W. C. 460 COWI'FKS LET^'EIIS. 3W. — 10 LADY HESKETH. FOETIC KAME. February 13, 1791. 1 CAN now send you a full and true account of tliis business. Having learned that your inn at Woburn was the George, we sent Samuel thither yesterday, Mr Martin, master of the George, told himf ♦ * * * » W. C. P. S. I cannot help adding a circumstance that \vili divert you. Martin, having learned from Sam whose servant he was, told him that he had never seen Mr Cowper, but he had heard him frequently spoken of by the companies that had called at his house ; and therefore, when Sam would have })aid for his breakfast, \vould take nothing from him. Who says that fame is only empty breath ? On the contrary, it is good ale, and cold beef into the bargain. 351. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. BLANK VERSE AND RHYME. Weston-Underwoop, February 26, 1791. My dear Friend, It is a maxim of much weight, Worth conning o'er and o'er ; He, who has Homer to translate, Had need do nothing more. But notwithstanding the truth and importance of this apophthegm, to which I lay claim as the original author of it, it is not equally true that my application to Homer, close as it is, has been the sole cause of my delay to answer you. No. In observing so long a silence I have been influenced much more by a vindictive purpose, a purpose to punish you t This letter contained the history of a servant's cruelty to a post horse, which a reader of humanity could not Nnsh to see in print. But tin* postscript describes so pleasantly the signal influence of a poet's reputati»)n on the spirit of a liberal iimkeeper, that it surely ought not to be suppressed Havlev. The " influence of a poet's reputation on the spirit of a hberal inn- keeper" is not confined to this single instance. Shortly after the aimouncenient of the authorship of Waverley, Sir Walter Scott and part of his family were travelling to London. On their way they stopped over night at an inn at When Sir Walter on the following morning asked for his bill, the landlord SJiid that he considered himself amply |)aid by having had the hoTiour to entertain the Author of Waver- ley ; and begged that in any future journey Sir Widter would use his iim aii Itis own house. — S. cowper's letters. 461 for your suspicion that I could possibly feel myself hurt or offended by any critical suggestion of yours that seemed to reflect on the purity of my nonsense verses. Understand, if you please, for the future, that whether I disport myself in Greek or Latin, or in whatsoever other language, you are hereby, henceforth, and for ever, entitled and warranted to take any liberties with it, to which you shall feel yourself inclined, not excepting even the lines themselves which stand at the head of this letter ! You delight me when you call blank verse the English heroic ; for I have always thought, and often said, that we have no other verse worthy to be so entitled. When you read my Preface you will be made acquainted with mj^ sentiments on this subject pretty much at large ; for which reason I will curb my zeal, and say the less about it at present. That Johnson, who wrote harmoniously in rhyme, should have had so defective an ear as never to have dis- covered any music at all in blank verse, till he heard a particular friend of his reading it, is a wonder never suffi- ciently to be wondered at. Yet this is true on his own acknowledgment, and amounts to a plain confession (of which perhaps he was not aware when he made it) that he did not know how to read blank verse himself. In short, he either suffered prejudice to lead him in a string whithersoever it would, or his taste in poetry was worth little. I don't believe he ever read any thing of that kind with enthusiasm in his life : and as good poetry cannot be composed without a considerable share of that quality in the mind of the author, so neither can it be read or tasted as it ought to be without it. I have said all this in the morning fasting, but am soon going to my tea. When therefore I shall have told you that we are now, in the course of our printing, in the second book of the Odyssey, I shall only have time to add, that I am, my dear friend, most truly yours, W. C. I think your Latin quotations very applicable to the present state of France. But France is in a situation new and untried before. 352. — TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. UNlVrXSl'fX StBSCRaTlONS. February 27, 1701. Now, my dearest Johnny, I must tell thee in few words how much I love and am obliged to thee for thy affectionate services. 462 COWPER S J.ETTERfi. My Cambridge honours are all to be ascribed to you, and to you only. Yet you are but a little man ; and a little man into the bargain who have kieked the mathematics, their idol, out of \oai study. So important are the endings which Providence frequently connects with small beginnings. Had you been here, I could have furnished you with much employ- ment ; foi I have so dealt with your fair manuscripts in the course of my polishing and improving, that I have almost blotted out the whole. Such, however, as it is, I must now send it to the printer, and he must be content with it, for there is not time to make a fresh copy. We are now printing the second book of the Odyssey. Should the Oxonians bestow none of their notice on me on this occasion, it will happen singularly enough, that as Pope received all his university honours in the subscription way from Oxford, and none at all from Cambridge, so I shall have received all mine from Cambridge, and none from Oxford.* This is the more likely to be the case, because I understand that on whatsoever occasion either of those learned bodies thinks fit to move, the other always makes it a point to sit still, thus proving its superiority. I shall send up your letter to Lady Hesketh in a day or two, knowing that the intelligence contained in it will afford her the greatest pleasure. Know likewise, for your own gratification, that all the Scotch universities have subscribed, none excepted. We are all as well as usual ; that is to say, as well as reasonable folks expect to be on the crazy side of this frail existence. I rejoice that we shall so soon have you again at our fireside. W. C. 353 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. rnocREss of printing homer. Wf.ston, March 6, 1791. After all this ploughing and sowing on the i)lains of Troy, once fruitful, such at least to my translating prede- cessor, some harvest I hope will arise for me also. My long work has received its last last touches, and I am now giving * It happened as here anticipated, — Oxford did not subscribe for a slrifjle copy of Cowper's Homer. Rivals in patroniiye ! COWPER S LETTERS. 463 my preface its final adjustment. We are in the fourtli Odyssey in the course of our printing, and I expect that I and the swallows shall appear together. They have slept all the winter, but I, on the contrary, have been extremely busy. Itet if I can virum volitare per ora as swiftly as they through the air, I shall account myself well requited. — Adieu! W.C. 354.— TO THE REV. MR HURDIS.* REPLY TO A FIRST LETTER — THANKS FOR OFFERS OF ASSISTANCE. Weston, March 6, 1791. Sir, — I have always entertained, and have occasionally avowed, a great degree of respect for the abilities of the unknown author of the Village Curate, unknown at that time, but now well known, and not to me only, but to many. For before I was favoured with your obliging letter, I knew your name, your place of abode, your profession, and that you had four sisters, — all which I learned neither from our bookseller, nor from any of his connections : you will perceive, therefore, that you are no longer an author incognito. The writer, indeed, of many passages that have fallen from your pen could not long continue so. Let genius, true genius, conceal itselr where it may, we may say of it, as the young man in Terence of his beautiful mistress, " Z)m latere non potest." I am obliged to you for your kind offers of service, and vvih not say that I shall not be troublesome to you hereafter ; but at present I have no need to be so. I have within these two days given the very last stroke of my pen to my long translation, and what will be my next career I know not. At any rate we shall not, I hope, hereafter be known to each other as poets only, for your writings have made me ambitious of a nearer approach to you. Your door, however, will never be opened to me. My fate and fortune have combined with m}- natural disposition to draw a circle round me which I cannot pass ; nor have I been more than thirteen miles from home these twent}' years, and so far very seldom. But you are a younger man, and therefore, may not be quite so immoveable ; • The Rev. James Hurdis was at this time Rector of Bisbopstone, in Sussex, where he was born in 1763. He is author of the works men- tioned in the text, " The Favourite Village," ^vith other poems, disser- tations, and minor productions. He died in 1801, professor of poetry at Oxford. 464 cowper's letters. \n which case, should you choose at any time to move Weston-ward, you will always find me happy to receive you ; and in the meantime I remain, witli much respect, your most obedient servant, critic, and friend, W. C. P.S. I wish to know wliat you mean to do with Sir Thomas.* For though I expressed doubts about his theatrical possibilities, I think him a very respectable person, and with some improve- ment well worthy of being introduced to the public. 353. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. FKENCM PRINTS OF HOMERIC SUBJECTS. March 10, 179L Give my affectionate remembrances to your sisters, and tell them I am impatient to entertain them with my old story new dressed. I have two French prints hanging in my study, both on Iliad subjects ; and I have an English one in the parlour, on a subject from the same poem. In one of the former, Agamemnon addresses Achilles exactly in the attitude of a dancing-master turning miss in a minuet: in the latter the figures are plain, and the attitudes plain also. This is, in some considerable measure, I believe, the difference between my translation and Pope's ; and will serve as an exemplifica- tion of what I am going to lay before vou and the public. W. C. 356. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. DR Johnson's taste in poetry — domestic incicents. Weston, March 18, 1701. Mv DEAR Friend, — I give you joy that you are about to receive some more of my elegant prose, and I feel myself in danger of attempting to make it even more elegant than usual, and thereby of spoiling it, uiider the intiuence of your commendations. But my old helter-skelter manner has already succeeded so wo]], that I wi') oof, even for the sake of entitling myi^lf to a still greater portion of your praise, abandon it. • Sir Thomas ftlore, a tragedy. COWPER*S LETTERS. 465 I did not call in question Johnson's true spirit of poetry, because he was not qualified to relish blank verse, (though, to tell you the truth, I think that but an ugly symptom ;) but if I did not express it, I meant, however, to infer it from the perverse judgment that he has formed of our poets in general, — depreciating some of the best, and making honourable men- tion of others, in my opinion, not undeservedly neglected. I will lay you sixpence, that, had he lived in the days of Milton, and by any accident had met with his Paradise Lost, he would neither have directed the attention of others to it, nor have much admired it himself. Good sense, in short, and strength of intellect, seem to me, rather than a fine taste, to have been his distinguishing characteristics. But should you still think otherwise, you have my free permission ; for so long as you have yourself a taste for the beauties of Cowper, I care not a fig whether Johnson had a taste or not. I wonder where you find all your quotations, pat as they are to the present condition of France. Do you make them yourself, or do you actually find them ? I am apt to suspect sometimes, that you impose them only on a poor man who has but twenty books in the world, and two of them are your brother Chester's. They are, however, much to the purpose, be the author of them who he may. I was very sorry to learn lately that my friend at Chicheley has been some time indisposed, either with gout or rheumatism, (for it seems to be uncertain which) and attended by Dr Kerr. I am at a loss to conceive how so temperate a man should acquire the gout, and am resolved, therefore, to con- clude that it must be the rheumatism, which, bad as it is, is in my judgment the best of the two ; and will afford me besides some opportunity to sympathize with him, for I am not per- fectly exempt from it myself. Distant as you are in situation, you are yet, perhaps, nearer to him in point of intelligence than I ; and if you can send me any particular news of him, pray do it in your next. I love and thank you for your benediction. If God forgive me my sins, surely I shall love him much, for I have much to be forgiven. But the quantum need not discourage me, since there is one whose atonement can suffice for all. Tov dl »a/ aJfAK pttv, Kcti aoi, ko.) tftoi, xec) a,^iX(pois Accept our joint remembrances, and believe me aflfection ately yours, W. C. u 2 iG6 cowpr.R*s i.F.TTFnf*. 057.-70 JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. l»ftODUCTIONS OK THE VORWICJI POETESS NATUKAL GIMIUS. Weston, March 19, 1791. My dearest Johnny, — You ask if it may not be improper to solicit Lady Hcskctli's subscription to the poems of the Norwich maiden ? To which I reply, it will be by no means improper. On the contrary, I am persuaded that she will give her name with a very good will, for she is much an admirer of poesy that is worth}' to be admired ; and such, 1 think, judji^ing by the specimen, the poesy of this maiden, Elizabeth Bentley, of Norwich, is likely to prove. Not that I am myself inclined to expect in general great matters, in the poetical way, from persons whose ill fortune it has been to want the common advantages of education ; neither do I account it in general a kindness to such, to encourage them i'"' the indulgence of a propensity more likely to do them harm in the end, than to advance their interest. Many such phenomena have arisen within my remembrance, at which all the world has wondered for a season, and has then forgot them. The fact is, that though strong natural genius is always accompanied with strong natural tendency to its object, yet it often happens that the tendency is found where the genius is wanting. In the present instance, however, (the poems of a certain Mrs Leapor excepted, who published some forty years ago,) I discern, I think, more marks of a true poetical talent than I remember to have observed in the verses of any other, male or female, so disadvantageously circumstanced. I wish her, therefore, good speed, and subscribf^ to her with all my heart. You will rejoice when I tell you, that I have some hopes, after all, of a harvest from Oxford also : Mr Throckmorton has written to a person of considerable influence there, which he has desired him *o oxer^ in my ^iwour ; and /lis request, I ehould imagine, will hardly prove a vain one. — Adieu. W. C. CUWPEK S LETTERS. 467 358 —TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. SUBSCRIPTION FOR HOMER IN SCOTLAND. Weston, March 24, 1791. My dear Friend, — You apologize for your silence in a manner which affords me so much pleasure, that I cannot but be satisfied. Let business be the cause, and I am contented. That is a cause to which I would even be accessary myself, and would increase yours by any means, except by a lawsuit of my own, at the expense of all your opportunities of writing offcener than thrice in a twelvemonth. Your application to Dr Dunbar reminds me of two lines to be found somewhere in Dr Young : And now a poet's gratitude you see ; Grant him two favours, and he '11 ask for three. In this particular, therefore, I perceive that a poet, and a poet's friend, bear a striking resemblance to each other. The Doctor will bless himself that the number of Scotch universities is not larger, assured that if they equalled those in England, in number of colleges, you would give him no rest till he had engaged them all. It is true, as Lady Hesketh told you, that I shall not fear, in the matter of subscriptions, a comparison even with Pope himself; considering, I mean, that we live in days of terrible taxation ; and when verse, not being a necessary of life, is accounted dear, be it what it may, even at the lowest price. I am no very good arithmetician, yet I calculated the other day, in my morning walk, that my two volumes, at the price of three guineas, will cost the purchaser less than the seventh part of a farthing per line. Yet there are lines among them that have cost me the labour of hours, •and none that have not cost me some labour. W. C. 359. — TO LADY HESKKTli. U . iACE WALVOLE — ADVANTAGE OP VIGOROUS COMPOSITION ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS. Friday night, March 25, 1791. My dearest Coz, — Johnson writes me word, that he has repeatedly called on Horace Walpole, and has never found him at home. He has also written to him, and received no 468 cowper's letters. answer. I charge thee, therefore, on thy allegiance, that thoa move not a finger more in this business. My back is up, and I cannot bear the thought of wooing him any farther, nor would do it, though he were as pig a gentleman (look you !) as Lucifer himself. I have Welsh blood in me, if the pedi- gree of the Donnes say true, and every drop of it says, — " Let him alone !" I should have dined at the Hall to-day, having engaged myself to do so ; but an untoward occurrence, that happened last night, or rather this morning, prevented me. It was a thundering rap at the door, just after the clock struck three. Firsts I thought the house was on fire. Then I thought the Hall was on fire. Then I thought it was a house-breaker's trick. Then I thought it was an express. In any case I thought that if it should be repeated, it would awaken and terrify Mrs Unwin, and kill her with spasms. The con- sequence of all these thoughts was the worst nervous fever I ever had in my life, altliough it was the shortest. The rap was given but once, though a multifarious one. Had I heard a second, I should have risen myself at all adventures. It was the only minute since you went, in which I have been glad that you were not here. Soon after I came down, I learned that a drunken party had passed through the village at that time, and they were no doubt the authors of this witty, but troublesome invention. Our thanks are due to you for the book you sent us. Mrs Unwin has read to me several parts of it, which I have much admired. The observations are slirewd and pointed ; and there is much wit in the similes and illustrations. Yet a remark struck me, which 1 could not help making viva voce on the occasion. If the book has any real value, and does in trutli deserve the notice taken of it by those to whom it is addressed, its claim is founded neither on the expression, nor on the style, nor on the wit of it, but altogether on the truth that it contains. Now the same truths are delivered, to my knowledge, perpetually from the pulpit by ministers, whom the admirers of this writer would disdain to hear. Yet the truth is not the less important for not being accompanied and recommended by brilliant thoughts and expressions ; neither is God, from whom comes all truth, any more a respecter oi wit than lie is of persons. It will appear soon whether they applaud the book for the sake of its unanswerable arguments, or only toh^rate the argument for the sake of the splendid manner in which it is enforced. I wish as heartily that it COWPER*S LETTERS. 469 may do them good, as if I were myself the author of it. But, alas ! my wishes and hopes are much at variance. It will be the talk of the day, as another publication of the same kind has been ; and then the noise of Vanity Fair will drown the voice of the preacher. I am glad to learn that the Chancellor does not forget me, though more for his sake than my own ; for I see not how he can ever serve a man like me. Adieu, my dearest Coz. W. C. 360. — TO MRS THROCKMORTON. UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPT TO CREATE AN INTEREST FOR HOMER AT OXFORD ON A PAMPHLET BY HER HUSBAND. April \, 1791. My dear Mrs Frog, — A word or two before breakfast, which is all that I shall have time to send you. You have not, I hope, forgot to tell Mr Frog, how much I am obliged to him for his kind, though unsuccessful, attempt in my favour at Oxford. It seems not a little extraordinary, that persons so nobly patronized themselves, on the score of literature, should resolve to give no encouragement to it in return. Should I find a fair opportunity to thank them hereafter, I will not neglect it. Could Homer come himself, distress'd and poor, And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door, The rich old vixen would exclaim, I fear, " Begone ! no tramper gets a farthing here." I have read your husband's pamphlet through and through. You may think, perhaps, and so may he, that a question so remote from all concern of mine could not interest me ; but if you think so, you are both mistaken. He can write notliing that will not interest me : in the first place, for the writer's sake ; and, in the next place, because he writes better and reasons better than any body, with more candour, and with more sufficiency, and, consequently, with more satisfaction to all his readers, save only his opponents. They, I think, by this time wish that they had let him alone. Tom is delighted past measure with his wooden nag, and gallops at a rate that would kill any horse that had a life to lose. Adieu! W. C. 470 COWPER's LFTTFU8 361. -TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. CAMBRIDGE SUBSCRIPTIONS. My dear Johnny, — A thousand thanks for your splendid assembla2;e of Cambridge himinaries ! Il you are not contented with your collection, it can only be because you are unreason- able ; for I, who may be supposed more covetous on this occasion than any body, am highly satr?Red, and even delighted with it. If indeed you should find it practible to add still to the number, I have not the least objection. But this charge I give you. Stay not an hour beyond the time you have mentioned, even though you should be able to add a thousand names by doing so ! For I cannot afford to purchase them at that cost. I long to see you, and so do we both, and will not suffer you to postpone your visit for any such consideration. No, my dear boy ! In the affair of subscriptions we are already illustrious enough, shall be so at least, when you shall have inlisted a college or two more ; which, perhaps, you may be able to do in the course of the ensuing week. I feel myselr much obliged to your university, and much disposed to admire the liberality of spirit they have shewn on this occasion. Certainly I had not deserved much favour of their hands, all things considered. But the cause of literature seems to have some weight with them, and to have superseded the resentment they might be supposed to entertain on the score of certain censures that you wot of. It is not so at Oxford. W. C, 362. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. RKFUSAI. OF OXFORD TO SUBSCRIBE — HIS SUBSCRIBERS EQUAL TO POFS's. April 29, 1791. My dear Friend, — I forget if I told you that Mr Tlirock- morton had applied through the medium of to the university of Oxford. He did so, but without success. Their answer has, " that they subscribe to notliing." Pope's subscriptions did not amount, I think, to six hundred; and mine will not fall very short of five. Noble doings, at a cowper's letters. 471 time of day whcm Homer has no news to tell us, and when all other comforts of life having arisen in price, poetry has of course fallen. 1 call it a " comfort of lii'e :'* it is so to others, but to myself, it is become even a necessary. These holiday times are very unfavourable to the printer's progress. He and all his demons are making themselves merry, and me sad, for I mourn at every hinderance. W. C. 363. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. FROGRESS OF HOMER — MILTON's LATIN POEMS. Weston, Maij % 179L My dear Friend, — Monday being a day in which Homer has now no demands upon me, I shall give part of the present Monday to you. But it this moment occurs to me, that the proposition with which I begin will be obscure to you, unless followed by an explanation. You are to understand, therefore, that Monday being no post-day, I have consequently no proof- sheets to correct, the correction of which is nearly all that I have to do Avith Homer at present, — I say nearly all, because I am likewise occasionally employed in reading over the whole of what is already printed, that I may make a table of errata to each of the poems. How much is already printed ? say you — I answer — the whole Iliad, and almost seventeen books of the Odyssey. About a fortnight since, perhaps three weeks, I had a visit from your nephew, Mr Bagot, and his tutor, Mr Hurlock, who came hither under conduct of your niece, Miss Barbara. So were the friends of Ulysses conducted to the palace of Anti- phates, the Laestrigonian, by that monarch's daughter. But mine is no palace, neither am I a giant, neither did I devour any one of the party — on the contrary, I gave them chocolate, and permitted them to depart in peace. I was much pleased both with the young man and his tutor. In the countenance of the former I saw much Bagotism, and not less in his manners. I will leave you to guess what I mean by that expression. Physiognomy is a study of which I have almost as high an opinion as Lavater himself, the professor of it, and for this good reason, because it never yet deceived me. But perhaps I shall speak more truly if I say that I am somewhat of an adept in the art, although I have never studied it ; for whether I will or not, I judge of every human creature by the countenance, 472 cowper's letters. and, as I say, have never yet seen reason to repent of my judgment. Sometimes I feel myself powerfully attracted, as I was by your ncpliew, and sometimes with equal vehemence repulsed ; which attraction and repulsion have always been justified in the sequel. I have lately read, and with more attention than I ever gave to tliem before, Milton's Latin poems. But these I must make the subject of some future letter, in which it Mill be ten to one that your friend Samuel Johnson gets another slap or two at the hands of your humble servant. Pray read them yourself, and with as much attention as I did ; then read the Doctor's remarks if you have them ; and then tell me what you think of both. It will be pretty sport for you on such a day as tliis, which is the fourth that we have had of almost incessant rain. The weather, and a cold, the effect of it, have confined me ever since last Thursday. Mrs Unwin, however, is well, and joins me in every good wish to yourself and family. I am, my good friend, most truly yours, W. C. 364.— TO THE REV. MR BUCHANAN. A PROJECTED POEM. Weston, May 11, 1791. My dear Sir, — You have sent me a beautiful poem, wanting nothing but metre. I would to Heaven that you wouhl give it that requisite yourself; for he who could make the sketch, cannot but be well qualified to finish. But if you will not, I will ; provided always, nevertheless, that God gives me ability, for it will require no common share to do justice to your con- ceptions I am much yours, W. C. * Your little messenger vanished before I could catch him. 36x— TO LADY HESKETH. cowper's opinion of the comparative merits of his first and SrCOND VOLUMES — their SUCCESS IN AMKUICA. The Lodoe, May IB, 1791. My dearest Coz Has another of thy letters fallen short of its destination ; or wherefore is it, that thou writest not ? • Thi£ note alludes to the idea of a poem to he called the "Four Ages," the |)liui of which Mr Buchanan had sketched to Cowper in a letter. — See Life. COWPER's I-ETTF»t.S« ^73 One letter in five weeks is a poor allowance for your friends at Weston. One, that I received two or three days since from Mrs Frog, has not at all enlightened me on this head. But I wander in a wilderness of vain conjecture. I have had a letter lately from New York, from a Dr Cogswell of that place, to thank me for my fine verses, and to tell me, which pleased me particularly, that after having read The Task, my first volume fell into his hands, which he read also, and was equally pleased with. This is the only instance I can recollect of a reader who has done justice to my first effusions : for I am sure, that in point of expression they do not fall a jot below my second, and that in point of subject they are for the most part superior. But enough, and too much of this. The Task he tells me has been reprinted in that city. — Adieu ! my dearest coz. We have blooming scenes under wintry skies, and with icy blasts to fan them — Ever thine, W. C. 366.— TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. homer's poem of the fkogs and micz. Weston, May 23, 1791. My dearest Johnny, — Did I not know that you are never more in your element than when you are exerting yourself in my cause, I should congratulate you on the hope there seems to be that your labour will soon have an end. You will wonder perhaps, my Johnny, that Mrs Unwin, by my desire, enjoined you to secrecy concerning the translation of the Frogs and Mice. Wonderful it may well seem to you that I should wish to hide for a short time from a few, what I am just going to publish to all. But I had more reasons than one for this mysterious management ; that is to say, I had two. In the first place, I wished to surprise my readers agreeably ; and secondly, I wished to allow none of my friends an opportunity to object to the measure, who might think it perhaps a measure more bountiful than prudent. But I have had my sufficient reward, though not a pecuniary one. It is a poem of much humour, and accordingly I found the transla- tion of it very amusing. It struck me too, that I must either make it pait of the present publication, or never publish it at all ; it would have been so terribly out of its place in any other volume. 474 COWPER*S LETTERS. I long for the time that shall briiii^ }'oii once more to Weston and all your et ceteras with you. Uh ! what a month of May has this been ! Let never poet, English poet at least, give himself to the praises of May a^aiu. W. G. 367 —TO LADY HESKETIL PUBMCAirON Of HOillER DICI.AYKt). The Lodge, May 27, 1791. My dearest Coz, — I, who am neither dead, nor sick, nor idle, should have no excuse, were I as tardy in answering, as you in writing. I live indeed where leisure abounds ; and you, where leisure is not : a difference that accounts sufficiently both for your silence and my loquacity. When you told Mrs , tliat my Homer would come forth in May, you told her what you believed, and therefore no falsehood. But you told her at the same time what will not happen, and therefore not a truth. There is a medium between truth and falsehood ; and, I believe, the word mistake expresses it exactly. I will therefore say that you were mistaken. If instead of May j'ou had mentioned June, I flatter myself that you would have hit the mark ; for in June there is every probability that we shall publish. You will say, " Hang the printer ! — for it is his fault !" But stay, my dear, hang him not just now ! For to execute him, and find another, will cost us time, and so much, too, that I question if, in that case, we should publish sooner than in August. To say truth, I am not perfectly sure that tliere will be any necessity to hang him at all ! though that is a matter which I desire to icave entirely at your discretion, alleging only in the mean- time, that the man does not appear to me during the last half-year to have been at all in fault. His remittance of sheets in all that time has been punctual, save and except while the Easter holidays lasted, when, I suppose, he found it impossible to keep his devils to their business. I shall, however, receive the last sheet of the Odyssey to-morrow, and have already sent up the Preface, together with all the needful. You see, therefore, that the publication of this famous work cannot be delayed murli longer. As for politics, 1 reck not, having no room in my h( ad for any thing but the Slave bill. Tliat is lost ; and all the rest is a trifle. I have not seen Paine's book, but refused to see it COWPEr's lETTEftS. 475 when it was offered to me. No man shall convince me that I am improperly governed, while I feel the contrary. — Adieu ! W. C. 368 —TO JOHN JOHxNSON, ESQ. CONCLUSION OF HOMER. Weston, June, 1, 1791. My dearest Johnny. — Now you may rest — Now I can give you joy of the period, of which I gave you hope in my last ; the period of all your labours in my service. — But this I can foretell you also, that if you persevere in serving your friends at this rate, your life is likely to be a life of labour. — Yet persevere ! your rest will be the sweeter hereafter ! In the meantime I wish you, if at any time you should find occasion for him, just such a friend as you have proved to me ! W. C. 369.— TO THE REV. MR HURDIS. HOMER PUBLISHED AT THE WRONG TIME — CHARACTER OF WOMAN WHERE BEST STUDIED. Weston, June 13, 1791. My dear Sir, — I ought to have thanked you for your agreeable and entertaining letter much sooner, but 1 have many correspondents, who will not be said nay ; and have been obliged of late to give my last attentions to Homer : the very last indeed ; for yesterday I despatched to town, after revising them carefully, the proof sheets of subscribers' names, among which I took special notice of yours, and am much obliged to you for it. We have contrived, or rather my bookseller and printer have contrived, (for they have never waited a moment for me,) to publish as critically at the wrong time, as if my whole interest and success had depended upon it. March, April, and May, said Johnson to me in a letter that I received from him in February, are the best months for publication. Therefore now it is determined that Homer shall come out on the first of July ; that is to say, exactly at the moment when, except a few lawyers, not a creature will be left in town, who will ever care one farthing about him. To which of these two friends of mine I am indebted for this management I know not. It does not please ; but I would be a philosopher as well as a poet, and 476 coupek's letters, therefore make no complaint, or grumble at QjI about it. You, I presume, have had dealings with them both — • how did they manage for you ? And if as they have for me, how did you behave under it ? Some who love me complain that I am too passive ; and I should be glad of an opportunity to justify myself by your example. The fact is, should I tliunder ever so loud, no efforts of that sort will avail me now; therefore, like a good economist of my bolts, I choose to reserve them for more profitable occasions. I am glad to find that your amusements have been so similar to mine ; for, in this instance too, I seemed to liave need of somebody to keep me in countenance, especially in my attention and attachment to animals. All the notice that we lords of the creation vouchsafe to bestow on the creatures, is generally to abuse them ; it is well, therefore, that here and there a man should be found a little womanish, or, perhaps, a little childish in this matter, who will make some amends, by kissing, and coaxing, and laying them in one's bosom. You remember the little ewe lamb, mentioned by the prophet Nathan ; the prophet perhaps invented the tale for the sake of its application to David's conscience ; but it is more probable that God inspired him with it for that purpose. If He did, it amounts to a proof that He does not overlook, but, on the con- trary, much notices such little partialities and kindness to His dumb creatures, as we, because we articulate, are pleased to call them. Your sisters are fitter to judge than I, whether assembly rooms are the places, of all others, in which the ladies may be studied to most advantage. I am an old fellow, but I had once my dancing days, as you have now ; yet I could never find that I learned hajf so much of a woman's real character by dancing with her, as by conversing with her at home, where I could observe her behaviour at the table, at the fireside, and in all the trying circumstances of domestic life. We are all good when we are pleased ; but she is the good woman, who wants not a fiddle to sweeten her. If I am wrong, the young ladies will set uie right ; in the meantime, I will not teaze you with graver arguments on the subject, especially as I have a hope that yeai's, and the study of the Scripture, and His Spirit, whose word it is, will, in due time, bring you to my way of thinking. I am not one of those sages, who require that young men should be as old as them- selves before they have had time to be so. With my love to your fair sisters, I remain, dear sir, most truly yours, W. C COVVPER'S LETTERS. 477 070 TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. INGRATITUDE — CRANMER. The Lodge, June 15, 1791. My dear Friend, — If it will afford you any comfort that you have a share in my affections, of that comfort you may avail yourself at all times. You have acquired it by means which, unless I should become worthless myself, to an uncommon degree, will always secure you from the loss of it. You are learning what all learn, though few at so early an age, that man is an ungrateful animal ; and that benefits too often, instead of securing a due return, operate rather as pro- vocations to ill treatment. This I take to be the summum malum of the human heart. Towards God we are all guilty of it more or less ; but between man and man, we may thank God for it, there are some exceptions. He leaves this peccant principle to operate in some degree against himself in all, for om* humiliation I suppose ; and because the pernicious effects of it in reality cannot injure Him, He cannot suffer by them ; but He knows that unless He should restrain its influence on the dealings of mankind with each other, the bonds of society would be dissolved, and all charitable intercourse at an end amongst us. It was said of Archbishop Cranmer, " Do him an ill turn, and you make him your friend for ever ;" of others it may be said, " Do them a good one, and they will be for ever your enemies" It is the grace of God only that makes the difference. The absence of Homer (for we have now shaken hands and parted) is well supplied by three relations of mine from Norfolk. My cousin Johnson, an aunt of his, and his sister. I love them all dearly, and am well contented to resign to them the place in my attentions so lately occupied by the chiefs of Greece and Troy. His aunt and I have spent many a merry day together, when we were some forty years younger ; and we make shift to be merry together still. His sister is a sweet young woman, graceful, good natured, and gentle, just what I had imagined her to be before I had seen her. Farewell. W. C. 478 cowPEn s letters. :57I. — TO DR JAMES COGSWELL, NEW YORK. SUCCESS OF COWI'BK's FOEMS IV AMERICA — THANKS FOR AMERICAN rUBLICATIONS. Weston Undkrwood, near'Olney, Bucks. June 15, 1791. Dear Sir, — Your letter and obliging present from so great a distance, deserved a speedier acknowledgment, and should not have wanted one so long, had not circumstances so fallen out since I received them as to make it impossible for me to write sooner. It is indeed but withfn this day or two that I have heard how, by the help of my bookseller, I may transmit an answer to you. My title page, as it well might, misled you. It speaks me of the Inner Temple, and so I am, but a member of that society only, not as an inhabitant. I live here, almost at the distance of sixty miles from London, which I have not visited these cight-and-twenty years, and probably never shall again. Thus it fell out, that Mr Morewood had sailed again for America before your parcel reached me, nor should I (it is likely) have received it at all, had not a cousin of mine, who lives in the Temple, by good fortune received it first, and opened your letter ; finding for whom it was intended, he transmitted to me both that and the parcel. Your testimony of approbation of what I have published, coming from another quarter of the globe, could not be but extremely flattering, as was your obliging notice, that the Task had been reprinted in your city. Both volumes, I hope, have a tendency to discountenance vice, and promote the best interests of mankind. But how far they shall be effectual to these invaluable purposes, depends altogether on His bless- ing, whose truths I have endeavoured to inculcate. In the meantime I have sufficient proof that readers may be pleased, may approve, and yet lay down the book unedified. During the last five years I have been occupied with a work of a very different nature, a translation of the Iliad and Odyssey into blank verse, and the work is now ready for publication. I undertook it, partly because Pope's is too lax a version, which has lately occasioned the learned of this country to call aloud for a new one, and })artly because I could fall on no better expedient to amuse a mind too much addicted to melancholy. I send you in return for the volumes with which you cowper's letters. 479 favoured me three on religious subjects, popular productions that have not. been long published, and that may not there- fore yet have reached your country> The Christian Officer's Panoply, by a Marine Officer, The Importance of the Man- ners of the Great, and An Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable World. The two last are said to be written by a lady, Miss Hannah More, and are universally read by people of that rank to which she addresses them. Your manners I suppose may be more pure than ours, yet it is not unlikely that even among you may be found some to whom her strictures are applicable. I return you my thanks, sir, for the volumes you sent me, two of which I have read with pleasure, Mr Edwards's book,* and the Conquest of Canaan. The rest I have not had time to read, except Dr Dwight's Sermon,"!" which pleased me almost more than any that I have either seen or heard. I shall account a correspondence with you an honour, and remain, dear sir, your obliged and obedient servant, W.C. 372. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. VISIT FROM LADY BAGOT — HIS OWN MODESTY. Weston, August 2, 179L My dear Friend, — I was much obliged, and still feel myself much obliged to Lady Bagot, for the visit with which she favoured me. Had it been possible that I could have seen Lord Bagot too, I should have been completely happy. For, as it happened, I was that morning in better spirits than usual ; and though I arrived late, and after a long walk, and extremely hot, which is a circumstance very apt to disconcert me, yet I was not disconcerted half so much as I generally am at the sight of a stranger, especially of a stranger lady, and more especially at the sight of a stranger lady of quality. Wlien the servant told me that Lady Bagot was in the parlour, I felt my spirits sink ten degrees ; but the moment I * Jonathan Edwards, a native of Connecticut, was bom 1703, and died president of the College of New Jersey, 1757. His principal work, the book referred to in the text, is a most masterly performance on the " Freedom of the Human Will." t The Sermons of Dr Timothy Dwight are now well known in this country. He was born in the State of Massachusetts, in 1752, and died president of Yale College, which owes its celebrity chiefly to him. Besides his System of Theology in the form of Sermons, and a book of Travels, he is author of two poems of merit, ♦' Greenlield Hill," aud the "Conquest of Canaan," here mentioned. 480 cowpr.R''s i.ETTF.ns. saw her, at least when I had been a minute in her company, I felt them rise again, and they soon rose even above their former pitch. I know two ladies of fashion now, whose manners have this effect upon me. The lady in question, and the Lady Spencer. I am a shy animal, and want much kindness to make me easy. Such I shall be to my dying day. Here sit /, calling myself shi/y yet have published by the by. two great volumes of poetry. This reminds me of Ranger's observation in the Suspicious Husband, who says to somebody, I forget whom, — " There is a degree of assurance in you modest men, that we impudent fellows can never arrive at!" — Assurance indeed ! Have you seen *em ? What do you think they are ? Nothing less, I can tell you, than a translation of Homer — of the sublimest poet in the world. That's all. Can I ever have the impu- dence to call myself shy again. You live, I think, in the neighbourhood of Birmingham ? What must you not have felt on the late alarming occasion I You I suppose could see the fires from your windows. We, who only heard the news of them, have trembled. Never sure was religious zeal more terribly manifested, or more to the prejudice of its own cause. Adieu, my dear friend. I am, with Mrs Unwin's best compliments, ever yours, W. C. 373. — TO THE REV. MR HURDIS. METHOD or STUDV — POPE's AND COWPEK's VERSIONS OF HOMER. Wkston, August 9, 1791. My dear Sir, — I never make a correspondent wait for an answer through idleness, or want of proper respect for him; but if I am silent, it is because I am busy, or not well, or because I stay till something occur, that may make my letter at least a little better than mere blank paper. I therefore write speedily in reply to yours, being at present neither much occupied, nor at all indisposed, nor forbidden by a dearth of materials. I wish always when I have a new piece in hand to be a.s secret as j-^ou, and there was a time when I could be so. Then I lived the life of a solitary, was not visited by a single neighbour, because I had none with whom I eouhl associate ; nor ever had an inmate. This was when I dwelt at Olney ; but since I have removed to Weston the case is difterent. cowper's letters. 481 Here I ain visited by all around me, and study in a room exposed to all manner of inroads. It is on the ground floor, the room in which we dine, and in which I am sure to be found by all who seek rae. They find me generally at my desk, and with my work, whatever it be, before me, unless perhaps I have conjured it into its hiding place before they have had time to enter. This, however, is not always the case, and consequently, sooner or later, I cannot fail to be detected. Possibly you, who I suppose have a snug study, would find it impracticable to attend to any thing closely in an apartment exposed as mine ; but use has made it familiar to me, and so familiar, that neither servants going and coming disconcert me ; nor even if a lady, with an oblique glance of her eye, catches two or three lines of my MS. do I feel myself inclined to blush, though naturally the shyest of mankind. You did well, I believe, to cashier the subject of which you gave me a recital. It certainly wants those agremens, which are necessary to the success of any subject in verse. It is a curious story, and so far as the poor young lady was concerned, a very affecting one ; but there is a coarseness in the character of the hero, that would have spoiled all. In fact, I find it myself a much easier matter to write, than to get a convenient theme to write on. I am obliged to you for comparing me as you go both with Pope and with Homer. It is impossible in any other way of management to know whether the Translation be well executed or not, and if well, in what degree. It was in the course of such a process, that I first became dissatisfied with Pope. More than thirty years since, and when I was a young Templar, I accompanied him with his original, line by line, through both poems. A fellow student of mine, a person of fine classic taste, joined himself with me in the labour. We were neither of us, as you may imagine, very diligent in our proper business. I shall be glad if my Reviewers, whosoever they may be, will be at the pains to read me as you do. I want no praise that I am not entitled to ; but of that to which I am entitled, I should be loth to lose a tittle, having worked hard to earn it. I would heartily second the Bishop of Salisbury in recom- mending to you a close pursuit of your Hebrew studies, were it not that I wish you to publish what I may understand. Do both, and I shall be satisfied. Your remarks, if I may but receive them soon enough to serve me in case of a new edition, will be extremely welcome. W. C. 482 COWPER*S LETTERS. 574. —TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. UNCERTAINTY IN HIS PURSUITS. Weston, August 9, 1791. My dearest Johnny. — The little that I have heard about Ilonior myself has been equally, or more flattering than Dr • 's intelligence, so that I have good reason to hope that I have not studied the old Grecian, and how to dress him, so long, and so intensely, to no purpose. At present I am idle, both on account of my eyes, and because I know not to what to attiich myself in particular. Many different plans and projects are recommended to me. Some call aloud for original verse, others for mere translation, and others for other things. Providence, I hope, will direct me in my choice ; for other guide I have none, nor wish for another. God bless you, my dearest Johnny. W. C* 375. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. TESTIMONIES IN FAVOUR OF HIS TRANSLATION — MILTON's POEMS. The Lodge, September 14, 1791. My dear Friend, — Whoever reviews me will in fact have a laborious task of it, in the performance of which he ought to move leisurely, and to exercise much critical dis- cernment. In the meantime my courage is kept up by the arrival of such testimonies in my favour, as give me the greatest pleasure, coming from quarters the most respectable. I have reason, therefore, to hope that our periodical judges will not be very averse to me, and that perhaps they may even favour me. If one man of taste and letters is pleased, another man so qualified can hardly be displeased ; and if critics of a different description grumble, they will not, however, materially hurt me. You, M'ho know how necessary it is to me to be employed, will be glad to hear that I have been called to a new literary engagement, and that I have not refused it. A Milton that is to rival, and if possible to exceed in splendour Boydell's Shakespeare, is in contemplation, and I am in the editor's office. Fuseli is the painter. My business will be to select notes from others, and to write original notes ; to translate the Latin and Italian poems, and to give a correct text. I shall have years allowed me to do it in. W. C. • Tlie translation alhulcd to in this letter was that of the Latin and Italian poetry of Milton, which Cowper Wiis requested by his bookseller to undertake. — See Life, and next Letter. cowper's letters. 483 376. —TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. BISHOP bagot's praises of the translation of homer — milton's poems. Weston, September 21, 179L My dear Friend, — Of all the testimonies in favour of my Homer that I have received, none has given me so sincere a pleasure as that of Lord Bagot. It is an unmixed pleasure and without a drawback ; because I know him to be perfectly, and in all respects, whether erudition or a fine taste be in question, so well qualified to judge me, that I can neither expect nor wish a sentence more valuable than his — ............ iiffox,' oiurf4.il *Ev ffr'/idiffcrt f^ivti, xa) /not (fiiXa. yovva.r opeopit. I hope by this time you have received your volumes, and are prepared to second the applauses of your brother — else, wo be to you ! I wrote to Johnson immediately on the receipt of your last, giving him a strict injunction to despatch them to you without delay. He had sold some time since a hundred of the unsubscribed-for copies. I have not a history in the world except Baker's Chronicle, and that I borrowed three years ago from Mr Throckmorton. Now the case is this : I am translating Milton's third Elegy — his Elegy on the death of the Bishop of Winchester. He begins it with saying, that while he was sitting alone, dejected, and musing on many melancholy themes, first the idea of the Plague presented itself to his mind, and of the havoc made by it among the great. Then he proceeds thus ; Turn memini clarique ducis, fratrisque verendi Litem pesti vis ossa cremata regis : Et memini Heroum, quos vidit ad aethera raptos, Flevit et amissos Belgia tota duces.* I cannot learn from my only oracle, Baker, who this famous * Cowper's translation of these lines runs thus, — I next deplored the famed fraternal pair, Too soon to ashes tiirn'd. and empty air ! The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies, All Belgia saw, and foUow'd with her sighs. According to Warton, the fraternal pair in the first couplet were the Duke of Brunswick and Count Mansfelt, the champions of the Queen of Bohemia, during the war of the Palatinate. The two heroes in the second couplet, according to the same authority, were the Earls of Oxford and Southampton, the patrons of Shakespeare ; both of whom died at the siege of Breda, 1625. The accuracy of this there is reason to doubt. — See Cowper's and Norton's Milton. 434 cowper's letters. leader and his reverend brother were. Neither does he at all ascertain for me the event alluded to in the second of these couplets. I am not yet possessed of Warton, who probably explains it, nor can be for a month to come. Consult him for me if you have him, or if you have him not, consult some other. Or you may find the intelligence perhaps in your own budget ; no matter how you come by it, only send it to me if you can, and as soon as you can, for I hate to leave unsolved difficulties behind me. In the first year of Charles the First, Milton was seventeen years of age, and then wrote thid Elegy. The period, therefore, to which I would refer you, is the two or three last years of James the First. Ever yours, W. C. 377. _ TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. LORD BAGOT's poem. Weston, October 25, 1791. My dear Friend, — Your unexpected and transient visit, like every tiling else that is past, has now the appearance of a dream ; but it was a pleasant one, and I heartily wish that such dreams could occur more frequently. Your brother Chester repeated his visit yesterday and I never saw him in better spirits. At such times he has, now and then, the very look that he had when he was a boy ; and when I see it, I seem to be a boy myself, and entirely forget for a short moment the years that have intervened since I was one. The look that I mean is one that you, I dare say, have observed. Then we are at Westminster again. He lefl with me that poem of your brother Lord Bagot's, which was mentioned when you were here. It was a treat to me, and I read it to my cousin Lady Ilesketh and to Mrs Unwin, to whom it was a treat also. It has great sweetness of numbers, and much elegance of expression, and is just such a poem as I should be happy to have composed myself about a year ago, when I was loudly called upon by a certain nobleman, to celebrate the beauties of his villa. But I had two insurmountable difficulties to contend with. One Mas, that I had inner seen his villa, and the other, tiiat I had no eyes at that time for any thing but Homer. Should I at any time hereafter under- take the task, I shall now at least know how to go about it, which, till I had seen Lord Bagot's jioem, I verily did not. COWPEIt S LETTERS. 485 I was particularly charmed with the parody of those beautifu) lines of Milton : The song was partial, but the harmony (What could it less, when spirits immortal sing ?) Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment The thronging audience. There *s a parenthesis for you ! The parenthesis, it seems, is out of fashion, and perhaps the moderns are in the right to proscribe what they cannot attain to. I will answer for it that, had we the art at this day of insinuating a sentiment in this graceful manner, no reader of taste would quarrel with the practice. Lord Bagot shewed his by selecting the passage for his imitation. I would beat Warton if he were living, for supposing that Milton ever repented of his compliment to the memory of Bishop Andrews.* I neither do, nor can, nor will believe it. Milton's mind could not be narrowed by any thing ; and though he quarrelled with Episcopacy, in the Church of Eng- land idea of it, I am persuaded that a good bishop, as well as any other good man, of whatsoever rank or order, had always a share of his veneration. Yours, my dear fri-end, very affectionately, W. C. 378. — TO JOHN. JOHNSON, ESQ. DOMESTIC INCIDENTS. Weston, OcER*S LETTERS, 382 TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MRS UNWIM's illness. The Lodge, December 2\, 1791 My dear Friend, — It grieves me, after having indulged a little hope that I might see you in the holydays, to be obliged to disappoint myself. The occasion, too, is such as will ensure me your sympatliy. On Saturday last, while I was at my desk near the window, and Mrs Unwin at the fireside opposite to it, I heard her suddenly exclaim, " Oh! Mr Cowper, don't let me fall!** I turned and saw her actually falling, together with her chair, and started to her side just in time to prevent her. She was seized with a violent giddiness, which lasted, though with some abatement, the whole day, and was attended, too, with some other very, very alarming symptoms. At present, however, she is relieved from the vertigo, and seems in all respects better. She has been my faithful and affectionate nurse for many years, and consequently has a claim on all my attentions. She has them, and will have them as long as she wants them ; which will probably be, at the best, a considerable time to come. I feel the shock, as you may suppose, in every nerve. God grant that there may be no repetition of it ! Another such a stroke upon her would, I think, ovorset me completely ; but at present 1 hold up bravely. ' W. C. 383 TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. REVIEW or HIS HOMER TRANSLATION OK MILTON's POEMS. Weston-Underwood, February 14, 1792. My dear Friend, — It is the only advantage, I believe, that they who love each other derive from living at a distance, that the news of such ills as may happen to either seldom reaches the other till the cause of complaint is over. Had I been your next neighbour I should have suffered with you during the whole indisposition of your two children, and your own. As it is, I have nothing to do but to rejoice in your own recovery and theirs, which I do sincerely, and wish only to learn from yourself that it is complete. I thank you for suggesting the omission of the line due to COVVPEIl*S LETTERS. 491 the helmet of Achilles. How the omission happened I know not, whether by my fault or the printer's ; it is certain, how- ever, that I had translated it, and I have now given it its proper place. I purpose to keep back a second edition till I have had an opportunity to avail myself of the remarks both of friends and strangers. The ordeal of criticism still awaits me in the reviews, and probably they will all in their turn mark many things that may be mended. By the Gentleman's Magazine I have already profited in several instances. My reviewer there, though favourable in the main, is a pretty close observer, and though not always right, is often so. In the affair of Milton I will have no horrida bella if I can help it. It is at least my present purpose to avoid them if possible. For which reason, unless I should soon see occasion to alter my plan, I shall confine myself merely to the business of an annotator, which is my proper province, and shall sift out of Warton's notes every tittle that relates to the private character, political or religious principles, of my author. These are properly subjects for a biographer's handling, but by no means, as it seems to me, for a commentator's. * In answer to your question if I have had a correspon- dence with the Chancellor — I reply, Yes. We exchanged three or four letters on the subject of Homer, or rather on the subject of my Preface. He was doubtful whether or not my preference of blank verse, as affording oppor- tunity for a closer version, was well founded. On this subject he wished to be convinced ; defended rhyme with much learning, and much shrewd reasoning, but at last allowed me the honour of the victory, expressing himself in these words : — " I am clearly convinced that Homer may be best rendered in blank verse, and you have succeeded in the passages that I have looked into." Thus it is when a wise man differs in opinion. Such a man will be candid ; and conviction, not triumph, will be his object. Adieu ! The hard name I gave you I take to myself, and am your kx'irctyXorarog W. C. * This is really amiable, and worthy of Cowper's feelings. In the same spirit of reconciliation he writes to Johnson, his publisher and employer, that he had omitted all the poems on the Gunpowder Treason, and all those against the Papists, because they were expressed with an asperity unbecoming in Milton. See Preface to Cowper's Milton. 492 COWI'EIl's LETTERS. 364. — TO THE LORD THURLOW. ON RHYME AND BLANK VERSE. My Lord, — A letter reached me yesterday, from Henry Cowper, enclosing another from your Lordship to himself, of which a passage in my work formed the subject. It gave me the greatest pleasure ; your strictures are perfectly just, and here follows the speech of Achilles accommodated to them * « ****** I did not expect to find your Lordship on the side of rhyme, remembering well with how much energy and interest I have heard you repeat passages from the Paradise Lost, which you could not have recited as you did, unless you had been per- fectly sensible of their music. It comforts me therefore to know that if you have an ear for rhyme, you have an ear for blank verse also. It seems to me that I may justly complain of rhyme as an inconvenience in translation, even though I assert in the sequel that to me it has been easier to rhyme than to write without, because I always suppose a rhyming translator to ramble, and always obliged to do so. Yet I allow your Lordship's version of tiiis speech of Achilles to be very close, and closer much than mine. But I believe that should either your Lordship or I give them burnish or elevation, your lines would be found, in measure as they acquired stateliness, to have lost the merit of fidelity, — in which case nothing more would be done than Pope has done already. I cannot ask your Lordship to proceed in your strictures, though I should be happy to receive more of them. Perhaps it is possible that when you retire into the country, you may now and then amuse yourself with my translation. Should your remarks reach me, I promise faithfully that they shall be all most welcome, not only as yours, but because I am sure my work will be the better for them. With sincere and fervent wishes for your Lordship's health and happiness, I remain, my Lord, &c. W. C\* ♦ lO WILLIAM COWPER, ES?U. raoM ioHOTMV'Bir>w. Dear Cowpkr, — On coming to tcwn this morning, I was surprised, particularly at receiving from you an answer to a scrawl I sent Harry, which I Lave forgot too much to resunie now. IJut I think 1 could not cowper's letters. 403 3«l^. _T0 THE LORD THURLOW. THE SAME SUBJECl'. My Lord, — We are of one mind as to the agreeable effect of rhyme, or Euphony, in the lighter kinds of poetry. The pieces which your Lordship mentions would certainly be mean to patronize rhyme. I have fancied that it was introduced to mark the measure in modern languages, hecause they are less numerous and metrical than the ancient, and the name seems to import as much. Perhaps there was melody in ancient song without straining it to musical notes, as the common Greek pronunciation is said . to have had the compass of five parts of an octave. But surely that word is only figuratively apphed to modern poetry : Euphony seems to be the highest term it will bear. I have fancied also that euphony is an impression derived a good deal from habit, rather than suggested by nature ; there- fore, in some degree accidental, and consequently conventional. Else, why can't we bear a drama \\ith rhyme, or the French, one without it ? Suppose the Rape of the Lock, Windsor Forest, L' Allegro, II Penseroso, and many other little poems which please, stripped of the rhyme, which might easily be done, would they please as well ? It would be unfair to treat rondeaus, ballads., and odes in the same manner, because rhyme makes in some sort a part of the conceit. It was this way of thinking which made me suppose, that habitual prejudice would miss the rhyme ; and that neither Dryden or Pope would have dared to give their great authors in blank verse. I wondered to hear you say you thought rhyme easier in original compositions ; but you explained it, that you could go farther a-field if you were pushed for want of a rhyme. An expression preferred for the sake of the rhyme looks as if it were worth more than you allow. But to be sure, in translation, the necessity of rhyme imposes very heavy fetters upon those who mean translation, not paraphrase. Our common heroick metre is enough ; the pure iambick, bearing oidy a sparing intro- duction of spondees, trochees, &c. to vary the measure. Mere translation I take to be impossible, if no metre were required. But the difference of the iambick and heroick measure destroys that at once. It is also impossible to obtain the same sense from a dead language, and an ancient author, which those of his own time and country conceived ; words and phrases contract, from time and use, such strong shades of difference from their original import. In a living language, with the familiarity of a whole hfe, it is not easy to conceive truly the actual sense of current expressions, much less of older authors. No two languages furnish equipollent words,— their phrases difier, their syntax and their idoms still more widely. But a translation, strictly so called, requires an exact conformity in all those particulars, and also in numbers ; therefore, it is impossible. I really think at present, not- withstanding the opinion expressed in your Preface, that a translator asks himself a good question, How would my author have expressed the sentence I am turning, in English? for every idea conveyed in the original should be expressed in English, as literally and fully as the genius, and use, and character of the language will admit of. 494 COWPKIl's LETTERS. spoiled by the loss of it, and so would all such. The Alma woidd lose all its neatness and smartness, and Hudibras all its humour. But in grave poems of extreme length, I appre- hend that the case is different. Long before I thought of commencing poet myself, I have complained, and heard others complain, of the wearisomeness of such poems. Not In the passage before us arra. was the fondling expression of childhood to its parent ; and, to those who first translated the lines, conveyed feel- ingly that amiable sentiment. Yigan expressed the reverence which natu- rally accrues to age. ^oT^t^r,; implies an history. Hospitality was an article of reUgion, strangers were supposed to be sent by God, and honoured accordingly. Jove's altar was placed in l^ivohox^iov. Pha-nix had been describing that as his situation in the court of Peleus ; and his CuoT^npit refers to it. But you must not translate that literally, — Old daddy Phoenix, a God-send for us to maintain. Precious limbs was at lixst an expression of great feeUng, till vaga- Donds, dra}TTien, &c. brought upon it the character of coarseness and ridicule. It would run to great length, if I were to go through this one speech thus — this is enough for an example of my idea, and to prove the neces- sity of fartJier deviation ; which still is departing from the author, and justifiable only by strong necessity, such as should not be admitted, till the sense of the original had been laboured to the utmost, and been found irreducible. I will end this by giving you the strictest translation I can invent, leaving you the double task of bringing it closer, and of pohshing it into the style of poetry. Ah ! Phoenix, aged Father, guest of Jove ! I relish no such nonours : for my hope Is to be honour'd by Jove's fated will, Whilame : IJut thou hast rarer gifts, — to tiiee belong His harp of highest tone, his sanctity of song cowper's letters. 503 To Mr Hiirdis I return Sir Thomas More to-morrow ; having revised it a second time. He is now a very respectable figure, and will do my fiiend, who gives him to the public this spring, considerable credit. VV. C. 392.— TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MR park's poem. March 30, 1792. My dear Friend, — My mornings, ever since you went, have been given to my correspondents ; this morning I have already written a long letter to Mr Park, giving my opinion of his poem, which is a favourable one. I forget whether I shewed it to you when you were here, and even whether I had then received it. He has genius and delicate taste ; and if he were not an engraver, might be one of our first hands in poetry. • W. C. 393. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MUTUAL ACTS OF FRIENDSHIP PRINTERS DR ROBERTSON's OPINION OF HIS VERSION OF HOMER. Weston, April 5, 1792. You talk, my dear friend, as John Bunyan * says, like one that has the eg^ shell still upon his head. You talk of the mighty favours that you have received from me, and forget eatirely those for which I am indebted to you ; but though you forget them, I shall not, nor ever think that I have requited you, so long as any opportunity presents itself o. rendering you the smallest service : small, indeed, is all that I can ever hope to render. You now perceive, and sensibly, that not without reason I complained as I used to do of those tiresome rogues the printers. Bless yourself that you have not two thick quartos to bring forth as I had. My vexation was always much increased by this reflection, — they are every day, and all day long, employed in printing for somebody, and why not for me ? This was adding mortification to disappointment, so that I often lost all patience. * This extraordinary man was born 1628, the son of a travelling tinker, near Bedford, where, after a wandering dissipated hfe, and serving in the parliamentary army, he became an Anabaptist preacher ; and in the jail of that city, during an imprisonment of thirteen years, he composed the " Pilgrim's Progress," and other works, originally printed in two volumes, folio. He died in 1688. 504 COWPER*S LETTERS. The suffrage of Dr Rol)ertson * makes more than amends for the scurvy jest passed upon me by the wag unknown. I regard him not ; nor, except for about two moments after I first heard of his doings, have I ever regarded him. I have somewhere a secret enemy ; I know not for what cause he should be so ; but he, I imagine, supposes that he has a cause. It is well, however, to liave but one ; and I will take all the care I can not to increase the number. I have begun my notes, and am playing the commentator manfully. The worst of it is that I am anticipated in almost all my opportunities to shine by those who have gone before me. W. C. 394— TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. COMMENCEMENT or THEIR FRIENDSHIP INVITATION TO WESTON SKETCH OF THE poet's PHSVIOUS LIFE. Weston, April 6, 1792. My dear Friend, — God grant that this friendship of ours may be a comfort to us all the rest of our days, in a world where true friendships are rarities, and especially where suddenly formed they are apt soon to terminate ! But as I said before, I feel a disposition of heart toward you that I never felt for one whom I had never seen : and that shall prove itself I trust in the event a propitious omen. Horace says somewhere, though I may quote it amiss per- haps, for I have a terrible memory, Utrumque nostrum incredibili mode Consentit astrum * * * Our stars conse?it, at least have had an influence some- wliat similar, in another and more important article. * * * It gives me the sincerest pleasure that I may hope to sec you at Weston ; for as to any migrations of mine, tluy must, I fear, notwitlistanding the joy I should feel in being a guest of yours, be still considered in the light of impossibilities. Come then, my friend, and be as welcome, as the country people say here, as the flowers in May ! I am happy, as I say, in the expectation, but the fear, or rather the consciousness, * Principal Hobertson, of Edinburgh, the ci'lcl)rntod historian, born 1721, and died about nine months after the date of this letter. cowper's letters. 505 that I shall not answer on a nearer view, makes it a trembling kind of happiness, and a doubtful. After the privacy which I have mentioned above, I went to Huntingdon : soon after my arrival there, I took up my quarters at the house of the Rev. Mr Unwin ; I lived with him while he lived, and ever since his death have lived witii his widow. Her, therefore, you will find mistress of the house; and I judge of you amiss, or you will find her just such as you would wish. To me she has been often a nurse, and invariably the kindest friend, through a thousand adversities that I have had to grapple with in the course of almost thirty years. I thought it better to introduce her to you thus, than to present her to you at j'^our coming, quite a stranger. Bring with you any books that you think may be useful t<» ray commentatorship, for with you for an interpreter I shall be afraid of none of theiH. And in truth, if you think that you shall want them, you must bring books for your own use also, for they are an article with which I am heinously unpro- vided ; being much in the condition of the man M'hose library Pope describes as ■ no mighty store, His owii works neatly bound, and little more ! Vou shall know how this has come to pass hereafter. Tell me, my friend, are your letters in your own hand- writing? If so, I am in pain for your eyes, lest by such frequent demands upon them I should hurt them. I had rather write you three letters for one, much as I prize your letters, than that should happen. And now, for the presenr, adieu. I am going to accompany Milton into the lake of fire and brimstone, having just begun mv annotations. W. C. 395 — TO THE REV. MR HURDIS, ON FAMILY CONCERNS. Weston, April 8, 1792. My dear Sir, — Your entertaining and pleasant letter, resembling in that respect all that I receive from you, deserved a -more expeditious answer; and should have had what it so well deserved, had it not reached me at a time when, deeply in debt to all my correspondents, I had letters to write witli- out number. Like autumnal leaves that strew the brooks in f)06 COWPEIl'S LETTERS. Vallomhrosa^ the unanswered farrago lay before mc. If I quote at all, you must expect me henceforth to quote none but Milton, since for a long time to come I shall be occupied with him only. I was mucli pleased with the extract you gave mo from your sister Eliza's letter ; she writes very elegantly, and (if I might pay it without seeming to flatter you) I should say much in the manner of her brother. It is well for your sister Sally, that gloomy Dis is already a married man ; else perhaps finding her, as he found Prosperine, studying botany in the fields, he might transport her to his own flowerless abode, where all her hopes of improvement in that science would be at an end for ever. What letter of the tenth of December is that which you say 3^ou have not yet answered ? Consider it is April now, and I never remember any thing that I write half so long. But perhaps it relates to Calchas, for I do remember that you have not yet furnished me with the secret history of him and his family, which I demanded from you. — Adieu. Yours, most sincerely, W. C, I rejoice that you are so well with the learned Bishop of Sarum, and well remember how he ferreted the vermin Lauder out of all his hidings, when I was a boy at Westminster.* I have not yet studied with your last remarks before me, but hope soon to find an opportunity. 896 TO LADY THROCOIORTON. INTENDED MARRIAGE — A LADY S THEFT. Weston, April 16, 1792. My dear Lady Frog,— I thank you for your letter, as sweet as it was short, and as sweet as good news could make it. You encourage a hope that has made me happy ever since I have entertained it. And if my wishes can hasten the event, • Dr Douplas, Canon of Windsor, and Bishop of Salisbury, was a nfitive of Scotland, and the author of several excellent works. Cowper here alludes to his pamphlet entitled, Milton no Plmjiary, in which he detected and exposed an impudent imposture of NVillium Lauder, who by interpolating certain passa^ijes from the Adamus Kxul of Grotius, from Masenius, and others, with translations from Paradise Lost, endeavoured to fix on Milton the charge of pla^arisni from the modem l-atin poets. — S, COWPEIl's LETTERS. 507 it will not be long suspended. As to your jealousy, I mind it not, or only to be pleased with it ; I shall say no more on the subject at present than this, that of all ladies living, a certain lady, whom I need not name, would be the lady or my choice for a certain gentleman, were the whole sex sub- mitted to my election.* What a delightful anecdote is that which you tell me of a young lady detected in the very act of stealing our Catharina*s praises; is it possible that she can survive the shame, the mortification of such a discovery ? Can she ever see the same company again, or any company that she can suppose by the remotest possibility may have heard the tidings ? If she can, she must have an assurance equal to her vanity. A lady in London stole my song on the broken Rose, or rather would have stolen, and have passed it for her own. But she, too, was unfortunate in her attempt ; for there happened to be a female cousin of mine in company, who knew that I had written it. It is very flattering to a poet's pride, that the ladies should thus hazard every thing for the sake of appropriating his verses. I may say with Milton, that I am fallen on evil tongues and evil daysy being not only plundered of that which belongs to me, but being charged with that which does not. Thus it seems (and I have learned it from more quarters than one,) that a report is, and has been some time current in this and the neighbouring counties, that though I have given myself the air of declaiming against the Slave Trade in the Task, I am in reality a friend to it ; and last night I received a letter from Joe Rye, to inform me that I have been much traduced and calumniated on this account. Not knowing how I could better or more effectually refute the scandal, I have this mor^ ning sent a copy to the Northampton paper, prefaced by a short letter to the printer, specifying the occasion. The verses are in honour of Mr Wilberforce, and sufficiently expressive of my present sentiments on the subject. You are a wicked fair one for disappointing us of our expected visit, and therefore out of mere spite I will not insert them. I have been very ill these ten days, and for the same spite's sake will not tell you what has ailed me. But lest you should die of a fright, I will have the mercy to tell you that I am recovering. * This passage, so agreeably written, refers to a marriage between Miss Johnson, the poet's Cathariiia, and George Courtenay Throckmorton, Esq. an union which rendered all parties happy, and to Cowper gave especial satisfaction. , 508 cowper's letters. Mrs G and her little ones are gone, but your brother is still here. He told me that he had some expectations of Sir John at Weston ; if he come, I shall most heartily rejoice once more to see him at a table so many years his own.* W. C. 097. —TO THE REV. J. JEKYLL RYE.f OM THE SLAVE TRADE COWPER's SENTIMKNTS MISREPRESENTEn. Westok, April 16, 1792. My dear Sir, — I am truly sorry that you should have suffered any apprehensions, such as your letter indicates, to molest you for a moment. I believe you to be as honest a man as lives, and consequently do not believe it possible that you could in your letter to Mr Pitts, or any otherwise, wilfully misrepresent me. In fact you did not ; my opinions on the subject in question were, when I had the pleasure of seeing you, such as in that letter you stated them to be, and such they still continue. If any man concludes, because I allow myself the use of sugar and rum, that therefore I am a friend to the Slave Trade^ lie concludes rashly, and does me great uTong ; for the man lives not who abhors it more than I do. My reasons for my own practice are satisfactory to myself, and they whose * The following is the poem referred to in this Letter : SONNET TO , WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. Thy country, Wilberforce, ^^^th just disdain, Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' cnthral'd From exile, public side, and slav'ry's chain. Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd, Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain ! Thou hast achieved a part, hast gain'd the ear Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause : Hope smiles, joy springs, and though cold caution pause And weave delay, the better hour is near, That shall remunerate thy toils severe, By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. E?ijoy what thou hast won, — esteem and love From all the just on earth, and all the blest alx)ve! t Tnis gentleman, a clergyman of Northampton, distinguished himself by his zeal against the Slave Trade. COWPER^S LETTERS. 509 practice is contrary, are, I suppose, satisfied with theirs. Sc far is good. Let every man act according to his own judg- ment and conscience ; but if we condemn another for not seeing with our eyes, we are unreasonable ; and if we reproacii him on that account, we are uncharitable, which is a still greater evil. I had heard, before I recived the favour of yours, that such a report of me, as you mention, had spread about the country. But my information told me that it was founded thus : The people of Olney petitioned Parliament for the abolition — my name was sought among the subscribers, but was not found — a question was asked, how that happened ? Answer was made, that I had once indeed been an enemy to the Slave Trade, but had changed my mind ; for that having lately read a history or an account of Africa, I had seen it there asserted, that till the commencement of that traffic, the negroes, multi- plying at a prodigious rate, were necessitated to devour each other ; for which reason I had judged it better that the trade should continue, than that they should be again reduced to so horrid a custom. Now all this is a fable. I have read no such history ; I never in my life read any such assertion ; nor, had such an assertion presented itself to me, should I have drawn any such conclu- sion from it : on the contrary, bad as it were, 1 think it would be better the negroes should even eat one another, than that we should carry them to market. The single reason why I did not sign the petition was, because I was never asked to do it ; and the reason why I was never asked was, because I am not a parishioner of Olney. Thus stands the matter. You will do me the justice, I dare say, to speak of me as of a man who abhors the commerce, which is now I hope in a fair way to be abolished, as often as you shall find occasion. And I beg you henceforth to do yourself the justice to believe it impossible, that I should for a moment suspect you of duplicity or misrepresentation. I have been grossly slandered, but neither by you, nor in con- sequence of any thing that you have either said or written. I remain therefore, still as heretofore, with great respect, much and truly yours, W. C. Mrs Unwin's compliments attend you. 5l§ cowper's letters. 3t»^_TO LADY HESKETH. MISS Johnson's makriace — dr mataw — warhcn hasting*. Weston, May b, 179*2. My dearest Coz, — 1 rejoice, as thou reasonably suppo- sest me to do, in the matrimonial news communicated in your last. Not that it Mas altof^ether news to me, for twice I had received broad hints of it from Lady Frog by letter, and several times viva voce while she was here. But she enjoined fpe secrecy as well as yoii^ and you know that all secrets are safe with me ; safer far than the winds in the bags of iEolus, I know not in fact the lady whom it would give me more pleasure to call INIrs Courtenay, than the lady in question ; partly because I know her, but especially because I know her to be all that I can wish in a neighbour.* I have often observed that there is a regular alternation of good and evil in the lot of men, so that a favourable incident may be considered as the harbinger of an unfavourable one, and vice versa. Dr Madan's experience witnesses to the truth of this observation. One day he gets a broken head, and the next a mitre to heal it. I rejoice that he has met with so effectual a cure, though my joy ie not unmingled with concern ; for till now I had some hope of seeing him, but since I live in the North, and his episcopal call is in the West, that is a gratification, I suppose, which I must no longer look for.f My sonnet, % which I sent you, was printed in the Nor- tham])ton paper last week, and this week it jiroduced me a complimentary one in the same paper, which served to con- vince me at least by the matter of it, that my own was not published without occasion, and that it had answered its purpose. My correspondence with Hayley proceeds briskly, and is very affectionate on both sides. I expect him here in about a fortnight, and wish heartily, with Mi*s Unwin, that you would give him a meeting. I have promised iiim indeed that he shall find us alone ; but you are one of the family. I wish much to print the following linos in one of the daily papers. Lord S 's vindication of the poor culprit in the • See note to Letter SrC. t Bishop of Pcterborou^ch, brother of Martin Madan, and consequently Cowper's cousin. See Life. { To Mr WUbcrforce. See Letter 396. gowper's letteus. 511 affair of Cheit-Sing has confirmed me in the belief that he has been injuriously treated, and I think it an act merely of justice to take a little notice of him. TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. BY AN OLD SCHOOLFELLOW OF HIS AT WESTMINSTER. Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind, While young, humane, conversable, and kind ; Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then. Now grown a villain, and the worst of men. But rather some suspect, who have oppress'd And worried thee, as not themselves the best. If thou wilt take the pains to send them to thy news- monger, I hope thou wilt do well. — Adieu ! W. C. * 399. — TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. HIS ORDINATION POSTPONED. Weston, May 20, 1792. My dearest of all Johnnies, — I am not sorry that your ordination is postponed. A year's learning and wisdom, added to your present stock, will not be more than enough to satisfy the demands of your function. Neither am I sorry that you find it difficult to fix your thoughts to the serious point at all times. It proves at least that you attempt, and wish to do it, and these are good symptoms. Wo to those who enter on the ministry of the Gospel without having previously • Reference has been made in the Life to these lines, as a proof that Cowper never forgot early friendships. Every one now allows the justice of the sentiment which they contain ; but it required a degree of fortitude, and a stern consciousness of principle, to oppose the torrent of popular clamour and the iniqiuty of legal prosecutions then directed against Hastings. He was born at Churchill, in Oxfordshire, 1733, went to India as a civihan at the age of seventeen, whence he returned in 1765 ; but being named second in council at Madras, he went out again in 1769. In 1773, he was appointed Governor- General, and his admini- stration is one of the most splendid, and occupied the most trying period in the history of Britisn India. On his return in 17B6, he was impeached, and, after a trial most unjustly protracted for nine years, finally acquitted in 1795. He died in I8I8, leaving behind him many esteemed historical and Uterary productions- 512 cowper's letters. asked at least from God a mind and spirit suited to their occupation, and whose experience never differs from itself, because they are always alike vain, light, and inconsiderate. It is therefore matter of great joy to me to hear you complain of levity, and such it is to Mrs Unwin. She is, I thank God, tolerably well, and loves you. As to the time of your journey hither, the sooner after June the better ; till then we shall have company. I forget not my debts to your dear sister, and your aunt Balls. Greet them both with a brother's kiss, and place it to my account. I will \\Tite to them when Milton and a thousand other engagements will give me leave. Mr Hayley is here on a visit. We have formed a friendship that I trust will last for life, and render us an example to all future poets. Adieu ! Lose no time in coming after the time mentioned ^ W. C 400. — TO LADY HESKETH. MRS UNWIN SEIZED WITH PALSY. Weston, May 24, 179-J. I WISH with all my heart, my dearest Coz, that I had not ill news for the subject of the present letter. My friend, my Mary, has again been attacked by the same disorder that threatened me last year with the loss of her, and of which you were yourself a witness. Gregson would not allow that first stroke to be paralytic, but this he acknowledges to be so ; and with respect to the former, I never had myself any doubt that it was ; but this has been much the severest. Her speech has been almost unintelligible from the moment that she was struck ; it is with difficulty that she opens her eyes, and she cannot keep them open ; the muscles necessary to tJie purpose being contracted ; and as to self-moving powers, from place to place, and the use of her right hand and arm, she has entirely lost them. It has happenetl well, that of all men living the man most qualified to assist and comfort me is here, though till within these few days I never saw him, and a few weeks since had nn exjiectation that I over should. You have already guessed tliat I mean Hayley — Hayley, who loves \\\v. as if he had known me from my cradle. When he returns to town, as he must^ alas ! too soon, he will pay his respects to you. I will not conclude without adding that our poor patient i^ cowper's letters. 513 beginning, I hope, to recover from this stroke also ; but lier amendment is slow, as must be expected at her time of life, and in such a disorder. I am as well myself as you have ever known me in a time of much trouble, and even better. It was not possible to prevail on Mrs Unwin to let me send for Dr Kerr, but Hayley has written to his friend Dr Austen a representation of her case, and we expect his opinion and advice to-morrow. In the meantime, we have borrowed an electrical machine from our neighbour Socket, the effect of which she tried yesterday, and the day before, and we think it has been of material service. She was seized while Hayley and I were walking, and ]\Ir Greatheed, who called while we were absent, was with her.* I forgot in my last to thank thee for the proposed amend- ments of thy friend. Whoever he is, make my compliments to him, and thank him. The passages to which he objects have been all altered ;| and when he shall see them new dressed, I hope he will like them better, W. C. 401. — TO LADY HESKETH. THE SAME SUBJECT. The Lodge, May2&, 1792. My dearest Cousin, — Knowing that you will be anxious to learn how we go on, I write a ^ew lines to inform you that Mrs Unwin daily recovers a little strength, and a little power of utterance ; but she seems strongest, and her speech is more distinct, in a morning. Hayley has been all in all to us on this very afflictive occasion. Love him, I charge you, dearly for my sake. Where could I have found a man, except himself, who could have made himself so necessary to me in so short a time, that I absolutely know not how to live without him ? Adieu, my dear sweet Coz. Mrs Unwin, as plainly as \\ gathers strength, which is perhaps the natural course of recovery. Siie walked so well this morning, that she told me at my first visit she had cowper's letters. 615 entirely forgot her illness ; and she spoke so distinctly, and had so much of her usual countenance, that, had it been possible, she would have made me forget it too. Returned from my walk, blown to tatters — found two dear things in the study, your letter and my Mary ! She is bravely well, and your beloved epistle does us both good. I found your kind pencil note in my song book, as soon as 1 came down on the morning of your departure ; and Mary was vexed to the heart, that the simpletons who watched her supposed her asleep, when she was not ; for she learned soon after you were gone, that you would have peeped at her, had you known her to have been awake. I perhaps might have had a peep too, and therefore was as vexed as she ; but if it please God, we shall make ourselves large amends for all lost peeps by and by at Eartham. - W. G 404. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ, THE SAMK SUBJECT. Weston, June 5, 1 792. Yesterday was a noble day with us — speech almost perfect — eyes open almost the whole day, without any effort to keep them so — and the step wonderfully improved. But the night has been almost a sleepless one, owing partly, I believe, to her having had as much sleep again as usual the night before ; for even when she is in tolerable health she hardly ever sleeps well two nights together. I found her accordingly a little out of spirits this morning, but still insisting on it that she is better. Indeed, she always tells me so, and will probably die with those very words upon her lips. They will be true then at least, for then she will be best of all. She is now (the clock has just struck eleven) endeavouring, I believe, to get a little sleep ; for which reason I do not yet let her know that I have received your letter. Can I ever honour you enough for your zeal to serve me ? Truly I think not : I am, however, so sensible of the lova I owe you on this account, that I every day regret the acute- ness of your feelings for me, convinced that they expose you to much trouble, mortification, and disappointment. I have, in short, a poor opinion of my destiny, as I told you when you were here ; and though I believe that if any man living can do me good, you will, I cannot yet persuade myself that ^16 COWPEU'S LETTERS. even you will be successful in attempting it. But it is no matter, you are yourself a good wliich I can never value enough, and whether rich or poor in other respects, 1 shall always account myself l>etter provided for than I deserve, with such a friend at my back as you. Let it please (?od to continue to me my William and Mary, and 1 will be more reasonable than to grumble. I rose this morning wrapped round with a cloud of melan- choly, and with a heart full of fears ; bat if I see lVIar\''9 amendment a little advanced, when she rises, I shall be better. I have just been with her again. Except that she is fatigued for want of sleep, she seems as well as yesterday. The post brings me a letter from Hiu*dis, who is broken-hearted for a dying sister. Had we eyes sharp enough, we should see the arrows of Death flying in all directions, and account it a wonder that we and oiu' friends escape them but a single day. W. C. 405.— TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ, HIS OWN MELANCHOLY DOMESTIC ISCIHENTS. Weston, June 7, 1192. Of what materials can you suppose me made, if after all the rapid proofs that you have given me of your friendship, I do not love you M'ith all my heart, and regret your absence continually ? But you must permit me nevertheless to be melancholy now and then ; or if you will not, I must be so without your permission ; for that sable thread is so intermixed with the very thread of my existence, as to be inseparable from it, at least while I exist in the body. Be content there- fore ; let me sigh and groan, but always be sure that I love you ! You will be well assured that I should not have intlulged myself in this rhapsody about myself, and my melancholy, had my present mood been of that complexion, or had not our poor Mary seemed still to advance in her recovery. So in fact she does, and has performed several little ft ats to-day ; siieh as either she could not perform at all, or very feebly, while you were with us. I shall be glad if you have seen Johnny, as I call him, my Norfolk cousin ; he is a sweet lad, but as shy as a bird. It costs him always two or three days to open his mouth before cowper's letters, 517 a stranger ; but when he does, he is sure to please by the innocent cheerfulness of his conversation. His sister, too, is one of my idols, for the resemblance she bears to my mother Mary and you have all my thoughts ; and how should it be otherwise ? She looks well, is better, and loves you dearly. Adieu ! my dear brother, W. C 406. —TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. THE SAME SUBJECT ARRIVAL OF MR JOHNSON. Weston, June 10, 1792. I DO indeed anxiously wish that every thing you do may prosper ; and should I at last prosper by your means, shall taste double sweetness in prosperity for that reason. I rose this morning, as I usually do, with a mind all in sables. In this mood I presented myself to Mary's bedside, whom I found, though after many hours lying awako, yet cheerful, and not to be affected with my desponding humour. It is a great blessing to us both that, poor feeble thing as she is, she has a most invincible courage, and a trust in God's goodness that nothing shakes. She is now in the study, and is certainly in some degree better than she was yesterday, but how to measure that little I know not, except by saying that it is just perceptible. I am glad that you have seen my Johnny of Norfolk, because I know it will be a comfort to you to have seen your successor. He arrived, to my great joy, yesterday ; and not having bound himself to any particular time of going, will, I hope, stay long with us. • You are now once more snug in your retreat, and I give you joy of your return to it, after the bustle in which you have lived since you left Weston. Weston mourns your absence, and will mourn it till she sees you again. Wliat is to become of Milton I kno^v not ; I do nothing but scribble to you, and seem to have no relish for any other employment. I have, however, in pursuit of your idea, to compliment Darwin, put a few stanzas * together, which I shall subjoin ; you will easily give them all that you find they want, and match the song wiiii another. I am now going to walk with Johnny, much cheered since I began writing to you, and by Mary's looks and good spirits. W. C. * Lines addresL.fd to Dr Darwin. Soe Pooins. 518 cowper's letters. 407. —TO LADY HESKETH. HAYLEY — MRS UNWIN's HEALTH RAPID SUCCESSION OF EVENTS. Weston, June 11, 1792. My dearest Coz, — Thou art over in my thoughts, whether I am writing to thee or not ; and my correspondence seems to grow upon me at such a rate, that I am not able to address thee so often as I would. In fact, I live only to write letters. Hayley is, as you see, added to the number, and to him I write almost as duly as I rise in the morning ; nor is he only added, but his friend Carwardine also — Carwardine the gene- rous, the disinterested, the friendly. I seem, in short, to have stumbled suddenly on a race of heroes, men who resolve to nave no interests of their own, till mine are served. But I will proceed to other matters, that concern me more intimately, and more immediately, than all tliat can be done for me either by the great, or the small, or by both united. Since I wrote last, Mrs Unwin has been continually improving in strength, but at so gradual a rate that I can only mark it by saying, that she moves about every day with less support than the former. Her recovery is most of all retarded by want of sleep. On the whole, I believe she goes on as well as could be expected, though not quite well enough to satisfy me. And Dr Austen, speaking from the reports I have made of her, says he has no doubt of her restoration. During the last two months I seem to myself to have been in a dream. It has been a most eventful period, and fruitful to an uncommon degree, both in good and evil. I have been very ill, and suffered excruciating pain. I recovered, and became quite well again. I received within my doors a man, but lately an entire stranger, and who now loves me as his brother, and forgets himself to serve me. Mrs Unwin has been seized with an illness that for many days threatened to deprive me of her, and to cast a gloom, an impenetrable one, on all my future ])rospects. She is now granted to me again. A few days since I should have thought the moon might have descended into my ])urse as likely as any emohuncnt, and now it seems not injpossible. All this has come to pass with such rapidity as events move with in romance indeed, but not often iii real life. Events of all sorts creep or fiy exactly as God pleases. To the foregoing I have to add, in conclusion, the arrival COWPEU S LETTERS. 519 of my Johnny, just when I wanted him most, and when only a few days before I had no expectation of him. He came to dinner on Saturday, and I hope I shall keep him long. What comes next I know not, but shall endeavour, as you exhort me, to look for good, and I know I shall have your prayers that I may not be disappointed. Hayley tells me you begin to be jealous of him, lest I should love him more than I love you, and bids me say, *' that should I do so, you in revenge must love him more than I do." Him I know you will love, and me, because you have such a habit of doing it that you cannot help it. Adieu ! my knuckles ache with letter writing. With my poor patient's affectionate remembrances, and Johnny's, I am ever thine, W. C. 408 TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. MRS UNWIN's convalescence — PROPOSED JOURNEY TO EARTHAil. Weston, June 19, 1792. * * * * Thus have I filled a whole page to my dear William of Eartham, and have not said a syllable yet about my Mary ; a sure sign that she goes on well. Be it known to you that we have these four days discarded our sedan with two elbows. Here is no more carrying, or being carried, but she walks up stairs boldly, with one hand upon the balustrade, and the other under my arm, and in like manner she comes down in a morninar. Still I confess she is feeble, and misses much of her former strength. The weather, too, is sadly against her ; it deprives her of many a good turn in the orchard, and fifty times have I wished this very day, that Dr Darwin's scheme of giving rudders and sails to the Ice Islands, that spoil all our summers, were actually put into practice. So should we have gentle airs instead of churlish blasts ; and those everlasting sources of bad weather being once navigated into the southern hemis- phere, my Mary would recover as fast again. We are both of your mind respecting the journey to Eartham, and think that July, if by that time she have strength for the journey, will be better than August. We shall have more long days before us, and then we shall want as much for our return as for our going forth. This, however, must be left to the Giver of all good. If our visit to you be according to His will, He will smooth the way before us, and appoint the time of it ; 520 COWPER^S LETTERS. and I thus speak, not because I wish to seem a saint in your eyes, but because my poor Mary actually is one, and would not set her foot over the threshold, unless she had, or thought .she had, God's free permission. With that she would go tlirough floods and fire, though without it she would be afraid of every thing, — afraid even to visit you, dearly as she loves, and much as she longs to see you. W. C 409.— TO WILL1A31 HAYLEY, ESQ. PROPOSED VISIT TO EARTHAM CATHARINA. Weston, June 21, 1792. Well, then, let us talk about this journey to Eartham.* You wish me to settle the time of it, and I wish with all my heart to be able to do so, living in hopes meanwhile that I shall be able to do it soon. But some little time must neces- saril}' intervene. Our Mary must be able to walk alone, to cut her own food, to feed herself, and to wear her own shoes, for at present she wears mine. All things considered, my friend and brother, you will see the expediency of waitmg a little before we set off to Eartham. We mean, indeed, before that day arrives, to make a trial of the strength of her head, how far it may be able to bear the motion of a carriage, a motion that it has not felt these seven years. I grieve that we are thus circumstanced, and that wc cannot gratify our- selves in a delightful and innocent project without all these precautions ; but when we have leaf-gold to handle, we must do it tenderly. I tiiank you, my brother, both for presenting my author- ship to your friend Guy, and for the excellent verses with MJiich you have inscribed your present. There are none neater or better turned — with what shall I requite you ? I liave nothing to send you but a gimcrack, which I have prepared for my bride and bridegroom neighbours, who ai*e expected to-morrow. You saw in my book a poem entitled Catharina, which concluded with a wish that we had her for a neighbour ; this, tlierefore, is called Catharina, the second part ; on her marriage to George Courtenay, Esq.f * Mr HayleyV seat near Chichester t Set i'oiMns COWP£R*S LETTERS. 521 410 -TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. LIFE OF MILTON, &C. Weston, July 4, 1792. 1 KNOW not how you proceed in your life of Milton, but I suppose not very rapidly ; for while you were here, and since you left us, you have had no other theme but me. As for myself, except my letters to you, and the nuptial song I inserted in my last, I have literally done nothing since I saw you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing way, though a great deal in another ; that is to say, in attending my poor Mary, and endeavouring to nurse her up for a journey to Eartham. In this I have hitherto succeeded tolerably well, and had rather carry this point completely, than be the most famous editor of Milton that the world has ever seen, or shall see. Your humorous descant upon my art of wishing made us merry, and consequently did good to us both. I sent my wish to the Hall yesterday. They are excellent neighbours, and so friendly to me, that I wished to gratify them. When I went to pay my first visit, George flew into the court to meet me, and when I entered the parlour, Catharina sprang into my arms. W. C. 411. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. MRS unwin's health — cowpf.k's picture by abbot. Weston, Jii/y 15, 1792. The progress of the old nurse in Terence is very much like the progress of my poor patient in the road of recovery. I can- not, indeed, say that she moves, but advances not, for advances are certainly made, but the progress of a week is hardly per- ceptible. I know not, therefore, at present, what to say about this long postponed journey. The utmost that it is safe for me to say at this moment is this : You know that you are dear to us both ; true it is that you are so, and equally true that the very instant we feel ourselves at liberty, we will fly to Eartham. I have been but once within the Hall door since the Courtenays came home, much as I have been pressed to dine there, and have hardly escaped giving a little offence by declining it ; but though I should offend all the 522 co\rpEn*s letters. world by my obstinacy In tliis instance, I would not leave my poor Mary alone. Johnny serves me as a representative, and him I send witliout scruple. As to the affair of Milton, I know not what will boconie of it. I wrote to Johnson a week since to tell him that the interruption of Mrs Unwin's illness still continuing, and being likely to continue, I knew not when I should be able to j)roceed. The translations, I said, were finished, except the revisal of a part. God bless your d«\ir little boy and poet ! I thank him for exercising his dawning genius upon me, and shall be still happier to thank him in person. Abbot is painting me so true. That, trust me, you would stare, And hardly know, at the first view. If I were here, or there. I have sat twice ; and the few who have seen his copy oi me are much struck with the resemblance. He is a sober, quiet man, which, considering that I must have him at least a week longer for an inmate, is a great comfort to me.* My Mary sends you her best love. She can walk now, leaning on my arm only, and her speech is certainly much improved. I long to see you. Why cannot you and dear Tom spend the remainder of the summer with us ? We might all then set off for Eartham merrily together. But I retract this, conscious that I am unreasonable. It is a wretched world, and what we would, is almost always what we cannot. Adieu ! Love me, and be sure of a return. W. C 412. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. FREPA RATIONS FOR A VISIT TO EARTHAM. Weston, July 22, 1792. This important affair, my dear brother, is at last decided, and we are coming. Wednesday se'ennight, if nothing occur • «• How do you iniapne I have been employed these ten days ? Not in sitting on oockatrico eggs, nor yet to gratify a mere idle humour, nor because I am too sick to nurse ; but because my cousin Johnson has an aunt wlio has u longing desire of my picture, and because he would therefore bring a painter from London to draw it." — Cowper's Privatt Correspondence. COWPEF.'S T.ETTKKS. 623 to make a later day necessary, is the day fixcd for our journey. Our rate of travelling must dep'-nd on Mary's ability to bear it. Our mode oi" traveiliug ^vill occupy three days unavoidably, for we shall come in a coach. Abbot finishes my picture to-morrrw ; on Wednesday he returns to town, and is commi^•sioned to order one down for us, with four steeds to draw it ; Hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, That caiiitoL go but forty miJes a-day. Send us our route, for I am as !gnf)r-iiit of it almost as If I were in a strange country. We r^hall reaoii St Al ban's, I suppose, the first day ; say where we must finish our second day's journey, and at what inn we may best: repose ? As to the end of the third day, we know where that will find us, namely, in the arms, and under the roof, of our beloved Hay ley. General Cowper, having heard a rumour of this intended migration, desires to meet me on the road, that we may once more see each other. He lives at Ham, near Kingston. Shall we go through Kingston, or near it ? For I would give him as little trouble as possible, though he oflrers very kindly to come as far as Barnet for that purpose. Nor must I forget Carwardine, who so kindly desired to be informed what way we sliould go. On what point of the road will it be easiest for him to find us? On all these points you must be my oracle. My friend and brother, Ave shall overwheJm you with our numbers ; this is all the trouble that I have left. My Johnny of Norfolk, happy in the thought of accompanying us, would be broken-hearted to be left behind. In the midst of all these solicitudes, I laugh to think what they are made of, and what an important thing it is for me to travel. Other men steal away from their homes silently, and make no disturbance ; but when I move, houses are turned upside down, maids are turned out of their beds, all the counties through which I pass appear to be in an uproar ; Surrey greets me by the mouth of the General, and Essex by that of Carwardine. How strange does all this seem to a man who has seen no bustle, and made none, for twenty years together. Adieu i W. C. 524 COWPER*S LETTERS. 413. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. SAME SUBJECT— COWFEk's UNEASINESS. Weston, Juhj 29, 179-2. Through flooQs and flames, to your retreat, I wn my desp'rate way, And when we meet, if e'er we meet. Will echo your huzza ! You will wonder at the word desprate in the second line, and at the if'\n the third ; but could you have any conception of the fears I have had to battle with, of the dejection of spirits that I have suffered concerning this journey, you would wonder much more that I still courageously persevere in my resolution to undertake it. Fortunately for my intentions, it happens that as the day approaches my terrors abate ; for had they continued to be what they were a week since, I must after all have disappointed you, and was actually once on the verge of doing it. I have told you something of my nocturnal experiences, and assure you now that they were hardly ever more terrific than on this occasion. Prayer has, however, opened my passage at last, and obtained for me a degree of confidence that I trust w^ill prove a comfortable viaticum to me all the way. On Wednesday, therefore, we set forth. The terrors that I have spoken of would appear ridiculous to most ; but to you they will not, for you are a reasonable creature, and know well that to whatever cause it be owing, (whether to constitution, or to God's express appointment,) I am hunted by spiritual hounds in the night season. I cannot help it. You will pity me, and wish it were otherwise ; and though you may think there is much of the imaginary in it, will not deem it for that reason an evil less to be lamented. So much for fears and distresses. Soon I hope they shall all have a joyful termination, and I. my Mary, my Johnny, and my dog, be skipping with delight at Eartham ! Well, this picture is at last finished, and well finished, I can assure you. Every creature that has seen it has been astonished at tlie resemblance. Sani*s boy bowed to it, and Beau walked up to it, wagging his tail as he went, and evi- dently shewing that he acknowledged its likeness to his master. It is a half-length, as it is technic^illy, but absiu*dly called ; that is to say, it gives all but the foot and ankle. To-morrow- it goes to town, and will hang some montlis at Abbot's, when it will be sent to its due destination in Norfolk. cowper's letters. 525 f hope, or rather wish, that at Eartham I may recover that habit of study, which, inveterate as it once seemed, I now seem to have lost — lost to such a degree that it is even painful to me to think of what it will cost me to acquire it again. Adieu! my dear, dear Hayley; God give us a happy meeting. Mary sends her love — She is in pretty good plight this morning, having slept well, and for her part, has no fears at all about the journey. Ever yours, W. C. 414— TO THE REV. MR GREATHEED.* DESCRIFTION OF EAKTHAM. Eartham, August Q, 1792. My dear Sir, — Having first thanked you for your affec- tionate and acceptable letter, I will proceed, as well as I can, to answer your equally affectionate request, that I would send you early news of our arrival at Eartham. Here we are in the most elegant mansion that I have ever inhabited, and surrounded by the most delightful pleasure grounds that I have ever seen ; but which, dissipated as my powers of thought are at present, I will not undertake to describe. It shall suffice me to say, that they occupy three sides of a hill, which in Buckinghamshire might well pass for a mountain, and from the summit of which is beheld a most magnificent landscape bounded by the sea, and in one part by the Isle of Wight, which may also be seen plainly from the window of the library in which I am Avriting. It pleased God to carry us both through the journey with far les3 difficulty and inconvenience than I expected. I began it indeed with a thousand fears, and when we arrived the first evening at Barnet, found myself oppressed in spirit to a degree that could hardly be exceeded. I saw Mrs Unwin weary, as she might well be, and heard such noises, both within the house and without, that I concluded she would get no rest. But I was mercifully disappointed. She rested, though not well, yet sufficiently ; and when we finished oiu* next day's journey at Ripley, we were both in better condition, both of body and mind, than on the day preceding. At Ripley we found a quiet inn, that housed, as it happened, that night no company but ourselves. There we slept well, and rose perfectly refreshed. And except some terrors that I felt at * Dissenting clergyman at Newport- Pagnell. 526 cowrETi*s letters. passing over tho Sussex hills by moonlight, met with little to complain of till we aiTived about ten o'clock at Eartham. Here we are as hapjiy as it is in the j)ower of terrestrial good to make us. It is almost a Paradise in which we dwell ; and our reception has been the kindest that it was possible for friendship and hospitality to contrive. Our host mentions you with great respect, and bids me tell you that he esteems you highly. Mrs Unwin, who is, I think, in some points, already the better for her excursion, unites with mine her best compliments both to yourself and Mrs Greatheed. I have much to see and enjoy before I can be perfectly apprised of all the delights of Eartham, and will therefore now subscribe myself, yours, my dear sir, with great sincerity, W. C. 415.— TO MRS COURTENAY.* ACCOUNT OK THE JOl.RNEY TO EARTHAM. Eartham, August 12, 1792. M\ DEAREST Catharina, — Though I have travelled far, nothing did I see in my travels that surprised me half so agreeably as your kind letter ; for high as my opinion of your good nature is, I had no hopes of hearing from j'ou till I should have written first, — a pleasure which I intended to allow myself the first opportunity. After three days* confinement in a coach, and suffering as we went all that could be suffered from excessive heat and dust, we found ourselves late in the evening at the door of our friend Hayley. In every other respect the journey was extremely pleasant. At the Mitre in Barnet, m here we lodged the first evening, we found our friend Rose, who had walked thither from his house in Chancery I^ane to meet us ; and at Kingston, where we dined the second day, I found my old and much valued friend General Cowper, whom I had not seen in thirty years, and but for this journey sliould never have seen again. Mrs Unwin, on whose account I had a thousand fears before we set out, suffered as little from fatigue a-s myself, and l)egins, I hope, already to feel some beneficial effects from the air of Eartham, and the exercise that she takes in one of the most delightful pleasure-grounds in the world. They occupy three sides of a hill, lofty enough to command a view of the sea, which skirts the horizon to a length of many • Formerly Miss Jolinson. Sec note to Letter 394 COWPER*S LETTEIIS. 527 miles, with the Isle of Wight at the end of it. The inland scene is equally beautiful, consisting of a large and deep valley well cultivated, and enclosed by magnificent hills all crowned with wood. I had, for my part, no conception that a poet could be the owner of such a Paradise ; and his house is as elegant as his scenes are charming. But think not, my dear Catharina, that amidst all these beauties I shall lose the remembrance of the peaceful but less splendid Weston. Your precincts will be as dear to me as ever when I return ; though when that day will arrive I know not, our host being determined, as I plainly see, to keep us as long as possible. Give my best love to your husband. Thank him most kindly for his attention to the old bard of Greece, and pardon me that I do not send you now an epitaph for Fop. I am not sufficiently recollected to compose even a bagatelle at present ; but in due time you shall receive it. Hayley, who will some time or other, I hope, see you at Weston, is already prepared to love you both, and being passionately fond of music, longs much to hear you. — Adieu ! W. C. 416. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. INVITATION TO EARTHAM. Earthajt, August 14, 1792. My dear Friend, — Romney* is here; it would add much to my happiness if you were of the party; I have pre- pared Hayley to think highly, that is justly of you, and the time I hope will come, when you will supersede all need of my recommendation. Mrs Unwin gathers strength. I have indeed great hopes from the air and exercise which this fine season affords her opportunity to use, that ere we return she will be herself again. W. C, 417.— TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. THE SAME SUBJECT. Earth AM, August J 8, 1792. Wishes in this world are generally vain, and in the next we shall make none. Every day I wish you were of otir * George Romney, R.A. born in Lancashire, 1734, died in London, 1802 ; an artist of considerable reputation botli in portrait and histo- rical painting. His life is well written by Hayley, 528 cowper's lftters. party, knowing how happy you would be in a place whore we have nothing to do but enjoy beautiful scenery, and con- verse agreeably. Mrs Unwin's health continues to improve ; and even I, who was well wlien I came, find myself still better. Yours, W. C. 418. — TO MRS COCRTENAY. OCCUPA'^'OVS AT EAUTHAM POKTRAIT BY ROMNEY. 1';a-;tham, August 25, 1792. Without waiting for an answer to my last, I send my dear Catharina the epitaph she desired, composed as well as I could compose it in a place where every object, being still new to me, distracts my attention, and makes me as awkward at verse as if I had never dealt in it. Here it is, — EPITAPH ON FOP, A DOG BELUNGIKG TO LADY THROGMOBTOK. Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name, Here moulders mie, whose bones some honour chiim ; No sycophant, although of spaniel race, And though no hound, a mart\T to the chase. Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice. Your haunts no longer echo to his voice. This record of his fate exulting view. He died worn out uith vain pursuit of you. '* Yes !" the indignant shade of Fop repUes, " And worn with vain pursuit man also dies !" I am here, as I told you in my last, delightfully situated, and in the enjoyment of all that the most friendly hospitality can impart ; yet do I neither forget Weston, nor my friends at Weston ; on the contrary, I have at lengtli, though much and kindly pressed to make a longer stay, determined on the day of our departure — on the seventeenth of September we shall leave Eartham ; four days will be necessary to bring us home again, for I am under a promise to General Cowper to dine with him on the way, which cannot be done comfortably, either to him or to ourselves, unless we sleep that night at Kingston. ' The air of this place has been, I believe, beneficial to us both. I indeed was in tolerable health before I set out, but have acquired since I came both a better appetite, and a knack of sleeping almost as much in a single night as formerly in two. Whether double quantities of that article will be favourable to me as a poet, time must shew. About myself, COWPER*S LETTERS. 529 liovvever, I care little, being made of materials so tough, as not to threaten me even now, at the end of so many lustrums, with any thing like a speedy dissolution. My chief concern has been about Mrs Unwin, and my chief comfort at this moment is, that she likewise has received, I hope, consider- able benefit by the journey. Tell my dear George that I begm to long to behold him again ; and did it not savour of ingratitude to the friend, under whose roof I am so happy at present, should be impatient to find myself once more under yours. Adieu ! my dear Catharina. I have nothing to add in the way of news, except that Romney has drawn me in crayons ; by the suffrage of all here, extremely like. W. C. 419. —TO LADY HESKETH. HEATH OF MISS HURDIS — HIS OWN MELANCHOLY MRS UNWIN's HEALTH. Eartham, August 26, 179iJ. I KNOW not how it is, my dearest Coz, but in a new scene, and surrounded by strange objects, I find my powers of thinking dissipated to a degree that makes it difl^icult to me even to write a letter, and even a letter to you ; but such a letter as I can, I will, and have the fairest chance to succeed this mornmg, Hayley, Romney, Hayley's son, and Beau, being all gone together to the sea for bathing. The sea, you must know, is nine miles ofi^, so that unless stupidity prevent, I shall have opportunity to write not only to you, but to poor Hurdis also, who is broken-hearted for the loss of his favourite sister, lately dead : and whose letter, giving an account of it, whicli I received yesterday, drew tears from the eyes of all our party. My only comfort respecting even yourself is, that you \\Tite in good spirits, and assure me that you are in a state of recovery ; otherwise I should mourn not only for Hurdis, but for myself, lest a certain event should reduce me, and in a short time too, to a situation as distressing as his ; for thougli nature designed you only for my cousin, you have had a sister's place in my affections ever since I knew you. The reason is, I suppose, that having no sister, the daughter of my own mother, 1 thought it proper to have one, the daughter of yours. Certain it is, that I can by no means afford to lose you ; and that unless you will be upon honour with me, to give me always a true account of yourself, at least when we z .530 cowrER*s letters. are not together, I shall always be unhappy, because always suspicious that you deceive rae. Now for ourselves. I am, without the least dissimulation, in good liealth ; my spirits are about as good as you have ever seen them ; and if increase of appetite and a double portion of sleep be advantageous, such are the advantages that I have received from this migration. As to that gloomi- ness of mind, which I have had these twenty years, it cleaves to me even here ; and could I be translated to Paradise, unless I left my body behind rae, would cleave to me even there also. It is my companion for life, and nothing will ever divorce us. So much for myself. Mrs Unwin is evidently the better for her jaunt, though by no means as she was before this last attack ; still wanting help when she would rise from her seat, and a support in walking ; but she is able to use more exercise than she could at home, and moves with rather a less tottering step. God knows what he designs for me ; l)ut when I see those, who are dearer to me than myself, distempered and enfeebled, and myself as strong as in the daj^s of my youth, I tremble for the solitude in which a few years may place me. I wish her and you to die before me, indeed, but not till I am more likely to follow immediately. Enough of this ! Romney has drawn me in crayons, and in the opinion of all here, with his best hand, and with the most exact resemblance possible. The seventeenth of September is the day on which I intend to leave Eartham. We shall then have been six weeks resident here ; a holiday time long enough for a man who has much to do. And now farewell ! W. C. P. S. Hayley, whose love for me seems to be truly that ot a brother, has given me his picture, drawn by Romney about fifteen years ago ; an admirable likeness. 41>0.— TO THE REV. MR HURDIS. CONSOLATORY ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTXK. Eartham, August 26, 179'J. Mv DEAR Sir, — Your kind but very affecting letter found me not at Weston, to which place it was directed, but in a bower of my friend Hayley*s garden, at Eartliam, where I was Bitting with Mrs Unwin. We both knew tlie moment we saw COWPER'S LETTERS. 531 it, from whom it came ; and observing a red seal, both comforted ourselves that all was well at Burwash : but we soon felt that we were called not to rejoice, but to raoui'n with you. We do indeed sincerely mourn with you ; and if it will afford you any consolation to know it, you may be •assured, that every eye here has testified what our hearts have suffered for you. Your loss is great, and j'^our disposition I perceive such as exposes you to feel the whole weight of it. I will not add to your sorrow by a vain attempt to assuage it ; your own good sense and the piety of your principles will, of course, suggest to you the most powerful motives of acquies- cence in the will of God. You will be sure to recollect that the stroke, severe as it is, is not the stroke of an enemy, but of a Father ; and will find I trust hereafter that like a father He has done you good by it. Thousands have been able to say, and myself as loud as any of them, it has been good for me that I was afflicted ; but time is necessary to work us to this persuasion, and in due time it shall be yours. Mr Hayley, who tenderly sympathizes with you, has enjoined me to send you as pressing an invitation as I can frame, to join me at this place. I have every motive to wish your consent, — both your benefit and my own, which I believe would be abun- dantly answered by your coming, ought to make me eloquent in such a cause. Here you will find silence and retirement in perfection, when you would seek them ; and here such company as I have no doubt would suit you, — all cheerful, but not noisy ; and all alike disposed to love you : you and I seem to have here a fair opportunity of meeting. It were a pity we should be in the same county, and not come together. I am here till the seventeenth of September, an interval that will afford you time to make the necessary arrangements, and to gratify me at last with an interview which I have long desired. Let me hear from you soon, that I may have double pleasure, — the pleasure of expecting, as M'ell as that of seeing you. Mrs Unwin, I thank God, though still a sufferer by her last illness, is much better, and has received considerable benefit by the air of Eartham. She adds to mine her affectionate compliments, and joins me and Hayley in this invitation. Mr Romney is here, and a young man, a cousin of mine. I tell you who we are, that you may not be afraid of us. Adieu ! May the Comforter of aU <^he afflicted who seek Him, be yours ! God bless you. . W. C. 532 cowper's letters. 421. — TO LADY HESKETH. AXIACHMEITT TO WESTON DEPARTURE FROM EAKTHAM, AND ARRANGEMENTS. Earth AM, September 9, 1192. My dearest Cousin, — I determine, if possible, to send you one more letter, or at least, if possible, once more to send you something like one, before we leave Eartham. But I am in truth so unaccountably local in the use of my pen, that, like the man in the fable, who could leap well nowhere but at Rhodes, I seem incapable of writing at all except at Weston. This is, as I have already told you, a delightful place ; more beautiful scenery I have never beheld ncTr expect to behold ; but the charms of it, uncommon as they are, have not in the least alienated my affections from Weston. The genius of that place suits me better; it has an air of snug concealment, in which a disposition like mine feels peculiarly gratified ; whereas here I see from every window woods like forests, and hills like mountains — a wildness, in short, that rather increases my natural melancholy, and which, were it not for the agree- ables I find within, would soon convince me that mere change of place can avail me little. Accordingly, I have not looked out for a house in Sussex, nor shall. The intended day of our departure continues to be the seventeenth. I hope to reconduct Mrs Unwin to the Lodge with her health considerably mended : but it is in the article of speech chiefly, and in her powers of walking, that she is sensible of much improvement. Her sight r^nd her hand still fail her, so that she can neither read nor work; mortifying circumstances both to her, who is never willingly idle. On the eighteenth I purpose to dine with the General, and to rest that night at Kingston ; but the pleasure I shall have in the interview will hardly be greater than the pain I shall feel at the end of it, for we shall part probably to meet no more. Johnny, I know, has told you that Mr Hurdis is here. Distressed by the loss of his sister, he has renounced the place where she died for ever, and is about to enter on a new course of life at Oxford. You would admire him much. He is gentle in his manners, and delicate in his person, resembling our poor friend Unwin, both in face and figure, more than any one I have ever seen. But he has not, at least he has fiot at present, his vivacity. COWPER*S LETTERS. 533 I have corresponded since I came here with Mrs Courtenay, and had yesterday a very kind letter from her. Adieu, my dear ! may God bless you ! Write to me as soon as you can after the twentieth. I shall ,then be at Weston, and indulging myself in the hope that I shall ere long see you there also. W. C. 422. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. HIS JOURNEY HOMEWARDS. ^ The Sun, at Kingston, September, 18, 1792. My dear Brother, — With no sinister accident to retard or terrifj' us, we find ourselves, at a quarter before one, arrived safe at Kingston. I left you with a heavy heart, and with a heavy heart took leave of our dear Tom,* at the bottom of the Chalk Hill. But soon after this last separation, my troubles gushed from my eyes, and then I was better. We must now prepare for our visit to the General. I add no more, therefore, than our dearest remembrances and prayers that God may bless you and yours, and reward you an hundred-fold for all your kindness. Tell Tom I shall always hold him dear for his affectionate attentions to Mrs Unwin. From her heart the memory of him can never be erased. Johnny loves you all, and has his share in all these acknow- ledgments. — Adieu ! W. C. . 423. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. TERMINATION OF THEIR JOURNET, AND ARRIVAL AT WESTON. Weston, September 2\, 1792. My dear Hayley, — Chaos himself, even the chaos of Milton, is not surrounded with more confusion, nor has a mind more completely in a hubbub, than I experience at the present moment. At our first arrival, after long absence, we find an hundred orders to servants necessary, a thousand things to be restored to their proper places, and an endless variety of minutiae to be adjusted, which, though individually of little importance, are most momentous in the aggregate. In these circumstances, I find myself so indisposed to writing, that, save to yourself, I would on no account attempt it ; but • Mr Hayley's son. 5 34 cowper's letters. fo yon I will give such a recital as I can of all that has passed since I sent you that short note from Kingston, knowing that if it be a perplexed recital, you will consider the cause, and pardon it. I will begin with a remark in which I am inclined to think you will agree with me, that there is sometimes more true heroism passing in a corner, and on occasions that make no noise in the world, than has often been exercised by those whom that world esteems her greatest heroes, and on occasions the most illustrious : I hope so at least ; for all the heroism I have to boast, and all the opportunities I have of displaying any, are of a private nature. After writing the note, I imme- diately began to prepare for my appointed visit to Ham ; but the struggles that I had with my own spirit, labouring as I did under the most dreadful dejection, are never to be told. I would have given the world to have been excused. I went, however, and carried my point against myself with a heart riven asunder : I have reasons for all this anxiety, which I cannot relate now. The visit, however, passed off well, and we returned in the dark to Kingston. I, with a lighter heart than I had known since my departure from Eartham, and Mary, too, for she had suffered hai'dly less than myself, and chiefly on my account. That night we rested well in our inn, and at twenty minutes after eight next morning, set off for London ; exactly at ten we reached Mr Rose's door ; W'e drank a dish of chocolate with him, and proceeded, Mr Rose riding with us as far as St Alban's. From this time we met with no impediment. In the dark, and in a storm, at eight at night, we found ourselves at our own back door. Mrs Unwin was very near slipping out of the chair in which she was taken from the chaise, but at last was landed safe. We all have had a good night, and are all well this morning. God bless J'ou, my dearest brother. W. C. 424. —TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. COWrEK's DESPONDENCY. Weston, October 2, 1792. Mv DEAR Hayley, — A bad night, succeeded by an east M ind, and a sky all in sables, have such an effect on my spirits, that if I did not consult my own comfort more than yours, I should not write to-day, for I shall not entertain you much ; yet your letter, though containing no very pleasant tidings, has afforded me some relief. 'It tells me, indeed, that vou COWPER*S LETTERS. 535 have 'been dispirited yourself, and that poor little Tom, the faithful squire of my Mary, has been seriously indisposed : all this grieves me ; but then there is a warmth of heart, and a kindness in it, that do me good. I will endeavour not to repay you in notes of sorrow and despondence, though all my sprightly chords seem broken. In truth, one day excepted, I have not seen the day when I have been cheerful, since I left '^ou. My spirits, I think, are almost constantly lower than they were ; the approach of winter is perhaps the cause ; and if it is, I have nothing better to expect for a long time to come. Yesterday was a day of assignation with myself, the day of which I said some days before it came. When that day comes I will begin my dissertations. Accordingly, when it came I prepared to do so ; filled a letter-case with fresh paper, furnished myself with a pretty good pen, and replenished my ink-bottle ; but partly from one cause, and partly from another, chiefly, however, from distress and dejection, after writing and obliterating about six lines, in the composition of which I spent near an hour, I was obliged to relinquish the attempt. An attempt so unsuccessful could have no other effect than to dishearten me, and it has had that effect to such a degree, that I know not when I shall find courage to make another. At present I shall certainly abstain, since at present I cannot well afford to expose myself to the danger of a fresh mortification. W. C. 426. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. MISCELLANEOUS PRIVATE AFFAIRS. Weston, October 13, 1792. 1 BEGAN a letter to you yesterday, my dearest brother, and proceeded through two sides of the sheet ; but so much of my nervous fever found its way into it, that, looking it over this morning, I determined not to send it. I have risen, though not in good spirits, yet in better than I generally do of late, and therefore will not address you in the melancholy tone that belongs to my worst feelings. I began to be restless about your portrait, and to say, how long shall I have to wait for it ? I wished it here for manj' reasons ; the sight of it will be a comfort to me, for I not only love, but am proud of you, as of a conquest made in my old age. Johnny goes to town on Monday, on purpose to call on Romney, to whom he shall give all proper information 536 CO'WPERS LETTERS. concerning its conveyance liither. The name of a man. whom I esteem as I do Romney, ought not to be unmusical in my ears ; but this name will be so till I shall have paid him a debt justly due to him, by doing such poetical honours to it as I intend. Heaven knows when that intention will be executed, for the Muse is still as obdurate and as coy as e^■er. Your kind postscript is just arrived, and gives me great* pleasure. When I cannot see you myself, it seems some comfort, however, that you have been seen by another known to me ; and who will tell me in a few days that he has seen you. Your wishes to disperse my melanchdy would, I am sure, prevail, did that event depend on the warmth and sincerity with which j^ou frame them ; but it has baffled both wisiies and prayers, and those the most fervent that could be made, so many years, that the case seems hopeless. But no more of this at present. Your verses to Austen are as sweet as the honey that they accompan\', — kind, friendly, witty, and elegant. When shall T be able to do the like ? perhaps when my Mary, like your Tom, shall cease to be an invalid, I may recover a power at least to do something. I sincerely rejoice in the dear little man's restoration. My Mary continues, I hope, to mend a little. W. C. 426. — TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. THE poet's indisposition TO STUUV. Weston, October 19, 1792. My dearest Johnny, — You are too useful when you are liere not to be missed on a hundred occasions daily ; and too much domesticated with us not to be regrett(^d always. I Iiope, therefore, that your month or six weeks will not be, like many I have known, capable of being drawn out into any length whatever, and productive of nothing but disappoint- ment. I have done nothing since you went, except that I have composed the better half of a sonnet to Romney ; yet even this ought to bear an earli(T date, for I began to be haunted with a desire to do it long before we came out of Sussex, and have daily attempted it ever since. It would be well for the reading part of the world, if the writing part were, many of them, as dull as I am. Yet even COWPER^S LETTERS 637 this small produce, which my steril intellect has hardly yielded at last, may serve to convince you that, in point of spirits, I am not worse. In fact, I am a little better. The powders and the laudanum together have, for the present at least, abated the fever that consumes them ; and in measure as the fever abates, I acquire a less discouraging view of things, and with it a little power to exert myself. In the evenings I read Baker's Chronicle to Mrs Unwin, having no other history, and hope in time to be as well versed in it as his admirer, Sir Roger de Coverley. * W. C. 427. —TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. ON SITTING FOR HIS PICTURE. Weston, October 22, 1792. My dear Johnny, — Here am I with I know not how many letters to answer, and no time to do it in. I exhort you, therefore, to set a proper value on this, as proving your priority in my attentions, though, in other respects, likely to be of little value. You do well to sit for your picture, and give very sufficient reasons for doing it ; you will also, I doubt not, take care, that when future generations shall look at it, some spectator or other shall say. This is the picture of a good man, and a useful one. And now, God bless you, my dear Johnny. I proceed nmch after the old rate ; rising cheerless and distressed in the morning, and brightening a little as the day goes on. Adieu ! W. C. 428. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. -COWPEr's MILTON INTERRUPTED SONNET TO ROMKKT. Weston, October 28, 1792. Nothing done, my dearest brother, nor likely to be done at present ; yet I purpose in a day or two to make another attempt, to which, however, I shall address myself with fear * Sir Richard Baker, knighted by James I, wrote his Chronicle of the Kings of England while in the Fleet prison, where he died 1645. z 2 538 cowper's letters. and trembling, like a man who, having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, injured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The consciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burden I am not able to bear. Milton especially is my grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded with continual reproaches for neglecting him. I will therefore begin ; I will do my best ; and if, after all, that best prove good for notiiing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they are, that I have made already, — a measure very disagree- able to myself, and to which nothing but necessity shall compel mc. I shall rejoice to see those new samples of your biography, which you give me to expect. AUons ! courage! — Here comes something, however; produced after a gestation as long as that of a pregnant woman. It is the debt long unpaid, — the compliment due to Romney ; and if it has your approbation, I will send it, or you may send it for me. I must premise, however, that I intended nothing less than a sonnet when I began. I know not why, but I said to myself. It shall not be a sonnet ; accordingly, I attempted it in one sort of measure, then in a second, then in a third, till I had made the. trial in half a dozen different kinds of shorter verse, and behold it is a 8onnet at last. The fates would have it so : TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. Romney ! expert infallibly to trace, On chart or canvass, not the form alone, And semblance, but, however faintly she\ATi, The mind's impression, too, on every face, With strokes that time ought never to erase : Thou hast so pencill'd mine, that, though I own The subject worthless, I have never knowii The artist shirting with superior grace. But this I mark, that symptoms none of woe hi thy incomparable work appear : Well ! I am satisfied it should be so. Since on maturer thought the cause is clear : For in my looks what sorrow could'st thou see. While I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee I cowper's letters. 539 429. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. MRS UNWIN's illness, AND HIS OWN MELANCHOLY — MIS PICTURE. Weston, November 9, 1792. My dear Friend, — I wish that I were as industrious and ay much occupied as you, though in a different way ; but it is not so with me. Mrs Unwin's great debility (who is not yet able to move without assistance) is of itself a hinderance such as would effectually disable me. Till she can work and read, and fill up her time as usual, (all which is at present entirely out of her power,) I may now and then find time to write a letter, but I shall write nothing more. I cannot sit with my pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is in effect in solitude, silent, and looking at the fire. To this hinderance that other has been added, of which you are already aware, a want of spirits, such as I have never known, when I was not absolutely laid by, since I commenced an author. How long I shall be continued in these uncomfortable circumstances is known only to Him who, as he will, disposes of us all. I may lie yet able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of the Paradise Lost for the press, before it will be wanted ; and Johnson himself seems to think there will be no haste for the second. But poetry is my favourite employment, and all my poetical operations are, in the meantime, suspended, for while a work to which I have bound myself remains unaccomplished I can do nothing else. Johnson's plan of prefixing my phiz to the new edition of my Poems is by no means a pleasant one to me, and so I told him in a letter I sent him from Eartham, in which I assured him that my objections to it would not be easily surmounted. But if you judge that it may really have an effect in advancing the sale, I would not be so squeamish as to suffer the spirit of prudery to prevail in me to his disadvantage. Somebody told an author, I forget whom, that there was more vanity in refusing his picture, than in granting it, on which he instantly complied. I do not perfectly feel all the force of the argu- ment, but it shall content me that he did. I do most sincerely rejoice in the success of your publica- tion, and have no doubt that my prophecy concerning your success in greater matters will be fulfilled.* We are naturally * This alludes to Mr Rose's edition of Decisions oi the English Courts . 540 ■ COWPER S LETTERS. pleased when our friends approve what we approve ourselves ; how mucli, th(^n, must I be pleased, whan you speak so kindly of Johnny ! I know him to be all thafc you think him, and love him entirely. Adieu ! We expect you at Christmas, and shall, therefore, rejoice when Christmas comes. Let nothing interfere. Ever vours, W. C. 430 —TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. JIOKTL'AKY VKKSE8 — CONTINUED MELANCHOLY. Westos, November 20, 1192. My dearest Johnny, — I give 3'ou many thanks for your rhymes, and your verses without rliyme ; for your poetical dialogue between wood and stone ; between Homer's head and the head of Samuel ; kindly intended, I know well, for my amusement, and that amused me much. The successor of the clerk defunct, for whom I used to write mortuary verses, arrived here this moniing, with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an humble petition of his own, entreating me to assist him as I had assisted his })redecessor. I have undertaken the service, although with no little reluctance, being involved in many arrears on other subjects, and having very little dependence at present on my ability to write at all. I proceed exactly as when you were here, — a letter now and then before breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday ; if holiday it ma}' be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and ^^forecasting the fashion of tmcertain evi/s." The fever on my spirits has hara-ssed me much, and I have never had so good a night, nor so quiet a rising, since you went, as on this very morning, — a relief that I account particularly seasonable and propitious, because I had, in my intentions, devoted this morning to you, and could not have fulfilled those intentions, had I been as spiritless as I generally am. I am glad that Johnson is in no haste for Milton, tor I seem myself not likely to address myself presently to that concern, v/ith any prospect of success ; yet som(>thing, now and then, like a secret whisper, assures and encourages me that it will yet be done. \V. C. COWPETl's LETTERS 511 -401. — TO WILLIAM HA YLEY, ESQ. MILTON MORTUARY VERSES. Weston, November 25, 1792. How shall I thank you enough for the interest you take in my future Miitonic labours, and the assistance you promise Hie in the performance of them '-^ I will some time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknowledge your friendship in some of my best verse, the most suitable return one poet can make to another ; in the mean time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness. You wish me warm in my work, and I ardently wish the same ; but when I shall be so, God ohly knows. My melancholy, which seemed a little alleviated for a few days, has gathered about me again, with as black a cloud as ever ; the consequence is absolute incapacity to begin. I was for some years dirge writer to the town of Northamp- ton, being employed by the clerk of the principal parish there, to furnish him with an annual copy of verses, proper to be printed at the foot of his bill of mortality ; but the clerk died, and hearing nothing for two years from his successor, I well hoped that 1 was out of my office. The other morning, how- ever, Sam announced the new clerk ; he came to solicit the same service as I had rendered his predecessor, and I reluc- tantly complied ; doubtful, indeed, whether I was capable. I have, however, achieved that labour, and I have done nothing more. I am just sent for up to Mary, dear Mary ! Adieu ! she is as well as when I left you, I would I could say better. Hemember us both affectionately to your sweet boy, and trust me for being most truly yours, W. C. 432. — TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. THOUGHTS ON A REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT. Weston, Decemhor 16, 1792. My dear Sir, — We differ so little, that it is pity we should not agree. The possibility of restoring our diseased govern- ment is, I think, the only point on which we are not of one mind. If you are right, and it cannot be touched in the medical way, without danger of absolute ruin to the constitution, keep the doctors at a distance, say I — and let us live as long as we can. But perhaps physicians might be found of skill sufficient for the purpose, were they but as willing as able. 542 cowper's letters. Who are they ? Not those honest blunderers the mob, but our governors themselves. As it is in the power of any individual to be honest if he will, any body of men are, as it seems to me, equally possessed of the same option. For I can never )>ersuade myself to think the world so constituted by the Author of it, and human society, which is His ordinance, so shabby a business, that the buying and selling of votes and consciences should be essential to its existence. As to multi- plied representation, I know not that I foresee any great advantage likely to arise from that. Provided there be but a reasonable number of reasonable heads laid together for the good of the nation, the end may as well be answered by five hundred, as it would be by a thousand, and perhaps better. But then they should be honest as well as wise ; and in order that they may be so, they should put it out of their own power to be otherwise. This they might certainly do, if they would ; and would they do it, I am not convinced that any great mischief would ensue. You say, " Somebody must have influence," but I see no necessity for it. Let integrity o. intention and a due share of ability be supposed, and the influence will be in the right place, it will all centre in the zeal and good of the nation. That will influence their debates and decisions, and nothing else ought to do it. You will say, perhaps, that — wise men and honest men as they are supposed — they are yet liable to be split into almost as many differences of opinion as there are individuals : but I rather think not. It is observed of Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborougii,* that each always approved and seconded the plans and views of the other ; and the reason given for it is, that they were men of equal ability. The same cause that could make two unanimous, would make twenty so ; and would at least secure a majority among as many hundreds. As to the reformation of the church, I want none, unless by a better provision for the inferior clergy : and if that could be brought about by emaciating a little some of our too corpulent dignitaries, I should be well contented. The dissenters, I think, catholics and others, have all a right to the privileges of all other Englishmen, because to deprive them is persecution ; and persecution on any account, but especially on a religious one, is an abomination. But after all, vulcat respitbUca, I love my country, 1 love my king, and I wish peace and prosperity to Old England — Adieu. W. C. • Prince Kugene, born in 1603, died IT-^^). John ( hurrhill, Uuke of Marlborough, born at St Ashe in Devonshire, 1050, died \T11. ^ cowper's letters. 54.1 4a3.— TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. REGRETTING THE IMPRACTICABILITY OF STUDY. Weston, December 26, 1792. That I may not be silent till my silence alarms you, I snatch a moment to tell you that although toujour s triste I am not worse than usual, but my opportunities of writing are paucijied^ as perhaps Dr Johnson would have dared to say, and the few that I have are shortened by company. Give my love to dear Tom, and thank him for his very apposite extract, which I should be happy indeed to turn to any account. How often do I wish, in the course of every day, that I could be employed once more in poetry, and how often of course that this Miltonic trap had never caught me ! The year ninety-two shall stand chronicled in my remembrance as the most melancholy that I have ever known, except the few weeks that I spent at Eartham, and such it has been principally, because being engaged to Milton, I felt myself no longer free for any other engagement. That ill-fated work, impracticable in itself, has made every thing else impracti- cable. * * * I am very Pindaric, * and obliged to be so by the hurry of the hour. My friends are come down to break- fast Adieu. W. C. 434.— TO THE REV. MR HURDIS. EFFECTS OF AFFLICTION — DOUBTS OF FINISHING MILTON. Weston, Jamiary 6, 1793. My dear Sir, — I seize a passing moment merely to say that I feel for your distresses, and sincerely pity you ; and I shall be happy to learn from your next, that your sister's amendment has superseded the necessity you feared of a journey to London. Your candid account of the effect that your afflictions have both on your spirits and temper I can perfectly understand, having laboured much in that fire myself, and* perhaps more than any man. It is in such a school, however, that we must learn, if we ever truly learn it, the natural depravity of the human heart, and of our own in * That is, changing abruptly from subject to subject. 5 '14 CO WPF. R*S 1 ETTE RS. ])articul:ir, together with the consequence that necessarily follows such wretched premises — our indispensable need of the atonement, and our inexpressible obligations to Him who made it. This reflection cannot escape a thinking mind, looking back on tliose ebullitions of fretfulness and impatience to which it has yielded in a season of great affliction. Having lately had company who left us only on the fourth, I have done nothing indeed, since my return from Sussex, except a trifle or two, which it was incumbent upon me to write. Milton hangs in dou])t ; neither spirits nor opportunity suflficc me for that labour. I regret continually that I ever suffered myself to be persuaded to undertake it. The most that I hope to effect is a complete revisal of my own Homer. Johnson told my friend, who has just left me, that it wiU begin to be reviewed in the next Analytical, and that he hoped the review of it would not offend me. By this I understand that if I am not offended, it will be owing more to my own equanimity, than to the mildness of the critic. So be it ! He will put an opportunity of victory over myself into my hands, and I will endeavour not to lose it ! Adieu ! vv. c. 435. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. ARHjIVAL OF HIS PICTURE AT WESTON. Weston, January 20, 1793. My dear Brother, — Now that I know that you are safe, I treat you, as you see, with a philosophical indifference, not acknowledging your kind and immediate answer to anxious inquiries, till it suits my own convenience. 1 have learned, however, from my late solicitude, that not only you, but yours, interest me to a degree that, should any thing happen to either of you, would be very inconsistent with my peace. Some- times I thought tliat you were extremely ill, and, once or twice, that you were dead. As often some tragedy reached my ear concerning little Tom. " O, van^ mentes hominum /" How liable are we to a thousand impositions, and how intl('l)ted to honest old Time, who never fails to undeceive us ! What- ever you had in prospect you acted kindly by me not to make me partaker of your expectations ; for I have a sj)irit, if not so sanguine as yours, yet that would have waited fur your coming with anxious impatience, and have been. dismally mortified by the disappointment. Had you come, and come without notice cowper's letters. 545 too, you would not have surprised us more, than (as the matter was managed) we were surprised at the arrival of youf picture. It reached us in the evening, after the shutters were closed, at a time when a chaise might actually have brought you without giving us the least previous intimation. Then it was that Samuel, with his cheerful countenance, appeared at the study door, and, with a voice as cheerful as his looks, exclaimed, " Mr Hayley is come. Madam !" We both started, and in the same moment cried, " Mr Hayley come ! and where is he ?" The next moment corrected our mistake, and finding Mary's voice grow suddenly tremulous, I turned and saw her weeping. I do nothing, notwithstanding all your exhortations : my idleness is proof against them all, or, to speak more truly, my difficulties are so. Something indeed I do. I play at pushpin with Homer every morning before breakfast, fingering and polishing, as Paris did his armour. I have lately had a letter from Dublin on that subject which has pleased me. W. C. 4S6.— TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. ON THE DEATH OF DK AUSTEN. Weston, January 29, 1793. My dearest Hayley, — I truly sympathize with you under your weight of sorrow for the loss of our good Sama- ritan. But be not broken heai'ted, my friend ! Remember, the loss of those we love is the condition on which we live ourselves ; and that he who chooses his friends wisely from among the excellent of the earth, has a sure ground to hope concerning them when they die, that a merciful God has made them far happier than they could be here, and that we shall join them soon again. This is solid comfort, could we but avail ourselves of it ; but I confess the difficulty of doing so. Sorrow is like the deaf adder, " that hear:? not the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely ;" and I feel so much myself for the death of Austen, that my own chief consolation is, that I had never seen him. Live yourself, I beseech you, for I have seen so much of you, that I can by no means spare you, and I will live as long as it shall please God to permit. I know you set some ^alue on me, therefore let that promise comfort you, and give us not reason to say, like David's 546 cowper's letters. servants, " We know that it would have pleased thee more if all we had died, than this one, for whom thou art inconsol- able." You have still Romney, and Carwardine, and Guy, and me, my poor Mary, and I know not how many beside ; as many, I suppose, as ever had an opportunity of spending a day with you. He who has the most friends, must necessarily lose the most, and he whose friends are numerous as yours, may the better spare a part of them. It is a changing transient scene ; yet a little while, and this poor dream of life will be over with all of us. The living, and they who live unhappy, they are indeed subjects of sorrow. Adieu ! my beloved friend, ever yours, W. C. 437. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. CORRECTIONS OF HOMIR. Weston, February 6, 1793- In this last revisal of my work (the Homer) I have made a number of small improvements, and am now more convinced tlian ever, having exercised a cooler judgment upon it than before I could, that the translation will make its way. There must be time for the conquest of vehement and long-rooted prejudice ; but without much self-partiality, I believe that the conquest will be made ; and am certain that I should be of the same opinion, were the work another man's. I shall soon have finished the Odyssey, and when I have, will send the corrected copy of both to Johnson. Adieu ! W. C. 438. —TO LADY HESKETH. HIS MELANCHOLT — MRS ROSE. February 10, 1 793. My pens are all split, and my ink glass is dry ; Neither wit, common sense, nor ideas have f. In vain has it been that I have made several attempts to write, since I came from Sussex ; unless more comfortable days arrive, than 1 have confidence to look for, there is an end of all writing with me. I have no spirits : when Kose came, I was obliged to prepare for his coming by a nightly dose of laudanum — twelve drops suffice; but without them, I am devoured by melancholy. coVvter's letters. 547 Apropos of the Rose ! His wife in her political notions, is the exact counterpart of yourself — loyal in the extreme. Therefore, if you find her thus inclined, when you become acquainted with her, you must not place her resemblance of yourself to the account of her admiration of you, for she is your likeness ready made. In fact, we are all of one mind about government matters ; and, notwithstanding your opinion, the Rose is himself a Whig, and I am a Whig, and you, my dear, are a Tory, and all the Tories now-a-day call all the Whigs Republicans. How the deuce you came to be a Tory, is best known to yourself; you have to answer for this novelty to the shades of your ancestors, who were always Whigs ever since we had any. Adieu ! W. C. 439. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. ON A CRITIQUE ON HOMER. February 17, 1793. My dear Friend, — I have read the critique of my work in the Analytical Review, and am happy to have fallen into the hands of a critic, rigorous enough indeed, but a scholar, and a man of sense, and who does not deliberately intend me mischief. I am better pleased indeed that he censures some things, than I should have been with unmixed commendation, for his censure (to use the new diplomatic term) will accredit his praises. In his particular remarks he is for the most part right, and I shall be the better for them ; but in his general ones I think he asserts too largely, and more than he could prove. With respect to inversions in particular, I know that they do not abound. Once they did, and I had Milton's example for it, not disapproved by Addison. But on 's remonstrance against them, I expunged the most, and in my new edition shall have fewer still. I know that they give dignity, and am sorry to part with them, but, to parody an old proverb, he who lives in the year ninety-three, must do as in the year ninety-three is done by others. The same remark I have to make on his censure of inharmonious lines. I know them to be much fewer than he asserts, and not more in number than I accounted indispensably necessary to a due vai'iation of cadence. I have, however, now, in conformity with modern taste, (overmuch delicate in my mind,) given to a far greater number of them a flow as smooth as oil. A few I retain, and will, in compliment to my own judgment. He 548 cowpek's LETinus. tliinks me too faithful to compound epithets in the introduc- tory lines, and I know his reason. He fears lest the Enjjlish reader should blame Homer, wliom he idolizes, though hardly more than I, for such constant repetition. But them I ^hall not alter. They are necessary to a just representation of th? original. In the affair of Outis,* I shall throw him flat on liis back by an unanswerable argument. Mhich I shall give in a note, and with which I am furnished by Mrs Unwin. St) much for h^^pt rcriticism, which has run away with all ray paper. This critic by the way is ,f I know him In infallible indications. W. C. 440 _T0 THE REV. MR HURDIS. ANECDOTES IN NATURAL HISTORY. Weston, Ftbruary 23, 1793. My dear Sir, — My eyes, which have long been inflamed, will hardly serve me for Homer, and oblige me to make all my letters sliort. You have obliged me much by sending me so speedily the remainder of your notes. I have begun with them again, and find them, as before, very much to the pur- pose. More to the purpose they could not have been, had you been poetry professor already. I rejoice sincerely in the prospect you have of that office, which, whatever may be your own thoughts of the matter, I am sure you will fill with great sufficiency. Would that my interest and power to serve you were greater ! One string to my bow I have, and one only, which shall not be idle for want of my exertions. I thank you likewise for your very entertaining notices and remarks in the natural way. The hurry in which I write would not suffer me to send you many in return, had I many to send, but only two or three present themselves. Frogs will feed on worms. I saw a fiog gathering into his • Outis- Noman, the name assumed by Ulysses in the adventure ^nth tlie Cyclops, Odys. ix, hi a long note, Cowper defends his retaining the original appellation without transUition, referring to the practice of the translators of the liible, who retiun the original Hebrew of proper names, even when these are general in their signification, and em|)loyed as significant of some quality. Tliis we suppose to be the argument furnished by Mrs Unwin. Nahal, folly ; Naomi, pleasant ; Mara, bitter; are the examples quoted. We agree with the critic, however, that Otitis ought to have been rendered, because it eoidd iiave heen given \\'\\\\ equal idiomatic force. t Dr .Matys. cowper's letters. 549 gullet an eartli-worm as long as himself; it cost him time anri labour, but at last he succeeded. Mrs Unwin and I, crossing a brook, saw from the foot- bridge somewhat at the bottom of the water which harl the appearance of a flower. Observing it attentively, we found that it consisted of a circular assemblage of minnows ; their heads all met in a centre, and their tails diverging at equal distances, and being elevated above their heads, gave them the appearance of a flower half blown. One was longer than the rest ; and as often as a straggler came in sight, he quitted his place to pursue him, and having driven him away, he returned to it again, no other minnow offering to take it in his absence. This we saw him do several times. The object that had attached them all was a dead minnow, which they seemed to be devouring. After a very rainy day, I saw on one of the flower borders what- seemed a long hair, but it had a waving, twining motion. Considering more nearly, I found it alive, and endued with spontaneity, but could not discover at the ends of it either head or tail, or any distinction of parts. I carried it into the house, when the air of a warm room dried and killed it pre- sently. W. C. 441.— TO W1I.I.(AM HaYLEV, K.iQ. SORE EYES- — DREAM OF MILTON. Weston, February '24, 1793. Your letter (so full of kindness, and so exactly in unison with my own feelings for you) should have had, as it deserved to have, an earlier answer, had I not been perpetually tor- mented with inflamed eyes, which are a sad hinderance to me in every thing. But to make amends, if I do not send you an early answer, I send you at least a speedy one, being obliged to write as fast as my pen can trot, that I may shorten the time of poring upon paper as much as possible. Homer, too, has been anotlier hinderance, for always when I can see, which is only about two hours every morning, and not at all by candle-light, I devote myself to him, being in haste to send him a second time to the press, .that nothing may stand in the way of Milton. By the way, where are my dear Tom's remarks, which I long to have, and must have soon, or they will come too late ? Oh ! you rogue ! what would you give to have such a OoO COWPER*S LETTERS. dream about Milton, as I had about a week since ? I dreamed that, being in a house in the city, and with much company, looking towards the lower end of the room from the upper end of it, I descried a figure which I immediately knew to l)e Milton's. He was very gravely, but very neatly, attired in the fashion of his day, and had a countenance which filled me with those feelings tliat an affectionate child has for a beloved father, such, for instance, as Tom has for you. My first thought was wonder, where he could have been concealed so many years ; my second, a transport of joy to find him still alive ; my third, another transport to find myself in his company ; and my fourth, a resolution to accost him. I did so, and he received mo with a complacence, in which I saw equal sweetness and dignity. I spoke of his Paradise Lost, as every man must, who is worthy to speak of it at all, and told him a long story of the manner in which it affected me, when I first discovered it, being at that time a schoolboy. He answered me by a smile, and a gentle inclination of his head. He then grasped my hand affectionately, and with a smile that charmed me, said, " Well, you, for your part, will do well also ;" at last, recollecting his great age, (for I under- stood him to be two hundred years old,) I feared that I might fatigue him by much talking, I took my leave, and he took his, with an air of the most perfect good breeding. His person, his features, his manner, were all so perfectly charac- teristic, that I am persuaded an apparition of him could not represent him more completely. This may be said to have been one of the dreams of Pindus, may it not? How truly I rejoice that you have recovered Guy ; that man won my heart the moment I saw him ; give my love to him, and tell him I am truly glad he is alive again. There is much sweetness in those lines from the sonneteer of Avon, and not a little in dear Tom*s, — an earnest, I trust, of good things to come. With Mary's kind love, I must now conclude myself, my dear brother, ever yours, LIPPUS.* • Blear-eyed ; a name sometime?, assumed by Horace. cowper's letters. 551 442. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. INDISPOSITION. Weston, March 4, 1793. My dear Friend. — Since I received your last I have been much indisposed, very blind, and very busy. But I have not suffered all these evils at one and the same time. While the winter lasted, I was miserable with a fever on my spirits ; when the spring began to approach, I was seized with an inflammation in my eyes; and ever since I have been able to use them, have been employed in giving more last touches to Homer, who is on the point of going to the press again. Though you are Tory, I believe, and I am Whig, our senti- ments concerning the madcaps of France are much the same. They are a terrible race, and I have a horror both of them and their principles. Tacitus is certainly living now, and the quotations you sent me can be nothing but extracts from some letters of his to yourself. Yours most sincerely, W. C 443 TO MASTER THOMAS HAYLEY. OBSERVATIONS ON REMARKS UPON THE VERSION OF HOMER. Weston, March 14, 1793. My dear little Critic, — I thank you heartily for your observations, on which I set a higher value, because they have instructed me as much, and have entertained me more, than all the other strictures of our public judges in these matters. Perhaps I am not much more pleased with shameless wolf, &c. than you. But what is to be done, my little man ? Coarse as the expressions are, they are no more than equi- valent to those of Homer. The invective of the ancients was never tempered with good manners, as your papa can tell you ; and my business, you know, is, not to be more polite than my author, but to represent him as closely as I can. Dishonoured foul I have wiped away, for the reason you give, which is a very just one, and the present reading is this : Who had dared dishonour thus The lifp itself &c. o52 COWPEK*S LETTERS. Your objection to kindler of ihe fires of Heaven^ I liad the good fortune to anticipate, and expunged the dirty ambiguity some time since, wondering not a b'ttle that I had ever admitted it. The fault you find with the two first verses of Nestor's speech discovers such a degree of just discernment, that but for your papa's assurance to tlie contrary, I nmst have suspected him as the autlior of that remark : mueli as I shouhl have respected it, if it had been so, I value it, I assure yon, my little friend, still more as yours. In the new edition the passage will be found thus altered : Alas ! great sorrow falls on Greece to-day, Priam, and Priam's sons, with all in Troy — Oh ! how will they exult, and in their hearts Triumph, once hearing of this broil between The prime of Greece, in council, and in arms. Where the word rec/ suggests to you the idea of a drunken mountain, it performs tiie service to which 1 destined it. It is a bold metaphor ; but justified by one of the sublimest passages in Scripture, compared with the sublimity of which even tliat of Homer suffers humilirition. It is God himself, who, speaking, 1 tliink, by the ])ropnet Isaiah, says, — The earth shall reel to and fro like a drunkard. With equal boldness in the same Scripture, the poetry of which was never equalled, mountains are said to skip, to break out into singing, and tiie fields to clap their hands. I intend, therefore, that my Olympus shall be still tipsy. The accuracy of your last remark, in which you convicted me of a bull, delights me. A fig for all critics but you I The blockheads could not find it. It shall stand thus : First spake Pol} damsis Homer was more upon his guard than to commit such ;i blunder; for he says, — And now, my dear little censor, once more accept my thanks. I only regret that your strictures are so few, being just and sensible as ihey are. cowper's letters. 553 Tell your papa that he shall hear from me soon ; accept mine, and my dear invalid's affectionate remembrances. Ever yours,* W. C .144 —TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. raoGRESS OF his labours INVITATION TO WESTON. Weston, March 19, 1793. My dear Hayley, — I am so busy every morning before breakfast, (my only opportunity,) strutting and stalking in Homeric stilts, that you ought to account it an instance of marvellous grace and favour, that I condescend to write even to you. Sometimes I am seriously almost crazed with the multiplicity of the matters before me, and the little or no time that I have for them ; and sometimes I repose myself after * The above letter, which exhibits so pleasing an instance of Cowper's benevolent attention to the improvement of a boy whom he loved to encourage in classical study, will be better understood by here subjoining Masier Hayley's epistle, to which it was an answer. Young Hayley was only twelve years old at the date of his letter. TO WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. Eartham, March 4, 1793. Honoured king of Bards ! — Since you deign to demand the obser- vations of an humble and inexperienced servant of yours, on a work of one who is so much his superior, (as he is ever ready to serve you with all his might,) behold what you demand ! But let me desire you not to censure me for my unskilful, and perhaps (as they \vill undoubtedly appear to you) ridiculous observations ; but be so kind as to receive them as a mark of respectfid attention from your obedient servant, Thomas Hayley. Here follow the remarks : Book I, line 184 I cannot reconcile myself to these expressions: " Ah, clothed with impudence," and " shameless wolf," and " face of flint." Book I, line 508 " Dishonour'd foul" is, in my opinion, an un- cleanly expression. Book I, line 651 *' Reel'd, " I think, makes it appear as if Olympu.^ was drunk. Book I, line 749 " Kindler of the fires of Heaven," I think, makes Jupiter appear too much Uke a lamp-lighter. Book II, hne 317 to 319 These lines are, in my opinion, below the elevated genius of Mr Cowper. Book XVIII, line 300 to 304 This appears rather Irish, since, in line 300, you say, " No one sat," and, in 304, " Polydamas rose." 2 A 554 gowper's letters. ill e fatigue of that distraction on the pillow of despair; a pillow which has often served me in time of need, and is become by frequent use, if not very comfortable, at least con- venient ! So reposed, I laugh at the world, and say, " Yes, you may gape and expect both Homer and Milton from me, but I'll be hanged if ever you get them.*' In Homer you must know I am advanced as far as the fifteenth book of the Iliad, leaving nothing behind me that can reasonably offend the most fastidious ; and I design him for public appearance in his new dress as soon as possible, for a reason which any poet may guess, if he will but thrust his hand into his pocket. You forbid me to tantalize you with an invitation to Weston, and yet invite me to Eartham ! — No, no! there is no such happiness in store for me at present. Had I rambled at all, I was under promise to all my dear mother's kindred to go to Norfolk, and they are dying to see me; but I have told them, that die they must, for I cannot go ; and ergo, as you will perceive, can go nowhere else. Thanks for Mazarine's epitaph ! * it is full of witty paradox, and is written with a force and severity which sufficiently bespeak the author. I account it an inestimable curiosity, and shall be happy when time shall serve, with your aid, to make a good translation of it. But that will be a stubborn business. Adieu ! The clock strikes eight ; and now for Homer. W. C. 445. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. ARRANGEMENTS WITH HIS PRINTER NEW EDITION OF HOMER. Weston, March 27, 1793. My dear Friend, — I must send you a line of congratula- tion on the event of your transaction with Johnson, since you I know partake with me in the pleasure I receive from it. Few of my concerns have been so happily concluded. I am now satisfied with my bookseller, as I have substantial cause to be, and account myself in good hands ; a circumstance as pleasant to me as any other part of my business ; for I love dearly to be able to confide with all my heart in those with * Cardinal Julius Mazarine, born at Piscina in the kingtlom of Naples, IGOi, succeeded Riclielieii as Prime Minister of Fnince, and died in 1661. The epitaph is referred to, but not tnuislatod in tlie notes to Cowper's Milton. COWPER S LETTERS. 555 whom I am connected, of what kind soever the connection may be.* The question of printing or not printing the alterations, seems difficult to decide. If they are not printed, I shall, perhaps, disoblige some purchasers of the first edition ; and if they are, many others of them, perhaps a great majority, will never care about them. As far as I have gone I have made a fair copy, and when I have finished the whole, will send them to Johnson, together with the interleaved volumes. He will see in a few minutes what it will be best to do, and by his judgment I shall be determined. The opinion to which I most incline is, that they ought to be printed sepa- rately, for they are many of them rather long, here and there a whole speech, or a whole simile, and the verbal and lineal variations are so numerous, that altogether, I apprehend, they will give a new air to the work, and I hope a much improved one. I forgot to say in the proper place, that some notes, although but very few, I have added already, and may, perhaps, see here and there opportunity for a few more. But notes being little wanted, especially by people at all conversant with classical literature, as most readers of Homer are, I am persuaded that, were they numerous, they would be deemed an encumbrance. I shall write to Johnson soon, perhaps to-morrow, and then shall say the same thing to him. In point of health we continue much the same. Our united love, and many thanks for your prosperous negotiations, attend yourself and whole family, and especially my little namesake. Adieu, W. C. 446. —TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. PRIDE OF ANCESTRY — VALUE OF RELIGION. The Lodge, April 11, 1793. My dearest Johnny, — The long muster-roll of my great and small ancestors I signed, and dated, and sent up to Mr Bluemantle, on Monday, according to your desire. Such a pompous affair, drawn out for my sake, reminds me of the old fable of the mountain in parturition, and a mouse the produce. Rest undisturbed, say I, their lordly, ducal, and royal dust ! * The resources thus obtained must have been especially welcome at this time ; as we learn, from a private letter to Mr Hill, dated two days later, that Cowper's private fortune was now almost expended. 656 cowpek's letters. Had they loft me something handsome, I should have respec- ted them more. But perhaps they did not know that such a one a-s I should have the honour to be numbered among their descendants. Well ! I have a little bookseller that makes me some amends for their deficiency. He has made me a present ; an act of liberality which I take every opportunity to blazon, as it well deserves. But you I suppose have learned it already from Mr Rose. Fear not, my man. You will acquit yourself very well, I dare say, both in standing for your degree, and when you have gained it. A little tremour, and a little shamefacedness in a stripling, like you, are recommendations rather than otherwise ; and so they ought to be, being symptoms of an ingenuous mind rather unfrequent in this age of brass. What you say of your determined purpose, with God's hel|i, to take up the Cross, and despise the shame, gives us both real pleasure. In our pedigree is found one at least who did it before you. Do you the like ; and you will meet him in Heaven, as sure as the Scripture is the Word of God. The quarrel that the world has with evangelic men and doctrines, they would have with a host of angels in the human form. For it is the quarrel of owls with sunshine ; of igno- rance with divine illumination. Adieu, my dear Johnny ! We shall expect you with earnest desire of your coming, and receive you with much delight. W. C. 447. —TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. EXCUSE FOR NOT WRITING NOTES FOR HOMER. Weston, April 23, 1793. My dear Friend and Brother, — Better late than never, and better a little than none at all ! Had I been at liberty to consult my inclinations, I would have answered your truly kind and affectionate letter immediately. But I am the busiest man alive ; and when this epistle is despatched, you will be the only one of my correspondents to whom I shall not be indebted. While I write this, my poor Mary sits mute; which I cannot well bear, and which, together with want of time to write much, will have a curtailing effect on my epistle. My only studying time is still given to Homer, not to correction and amendment of him, (for that is all over,) but to writing notes. Johnson has expressed a wish for some, cowper's letters. 557 that the unlearned may be a little illuminated concerning classical story and the mythology of the ancients ; and his behaviour to me has been so liberal, that I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek commentators blinds me. But it is no matter. I am the more like Homer Ever yours, my dearest Hayley, W. C. 448. — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. ON THE DEATH OF HIS BROTHER. Weston, May 4, 1 790. My dear Friend, — While your sorrow for our common loss was fresh in your mind, I would not write, lest a letter on so distressing a subject should be too painful both to you and me ; and now that I seem to have reached a proper time for doing it, the multiplicity of my literary business will hardly afford me leisure. Both you and I have this comfort when deprived of those we love : at our time of life we have every reason to believe that the deprivation cannot be long. Our sun is setting too ; and when the hour of rest arrives we shall rejoin your brother, and many whom we have tenderly loved, our forerunners into a better country. I will say no more on a theme which it will be better perhaps to treat with brevity ; and because the introduction of any other might seem a transition too violent, I will only add, that Mrs Unwin and I are about as well as we at any time have been within the last year. — Truly yours, W. C. 449. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. NOTES ON HOMER. Mayb, 1793. My dear Friend, — My delay to answer your last kind letter, to which likewise you desired a speedy reply, must have seemed rather difficult to explain on any other suppo- sition than that of illness, but illness has not been the cause, although, to say the truth, I cannot boast of having been lately very well. Yet has not this been the cause of my silence, but your own advice, very proper, and earnestly given to me, to proceed in the revisal of Homer. To this it is owing that instead of giving an hour or two before breakfast to ray correspondence, I allot that time entirely to my 558 cowpf.r's letters. studies. I have nearly given the last touches to the poetrj-, and am now busied far more laboriously in writing notes at the request of my honest bookseller, transmitted to me in the first instance by you, and afterwards repeated by himself. I am therefore deep in the old Scholia, and have advanced to the latter part of Iliad nine, explaining, as I go, such pas- sages as may be difficult to unlearned readers, and such only ; for notes of that kind are the notes that Johnson desired. I find it a more laborious task than the translation was, and shall be heartily glad when it is over. In the meantime all the letters I receive remain unanswered, or if they receive an answer, it is always a short one. Such this must be. Johnny is here, having flown over London. Homer, I believe, will make a much more respectable appearance than before. Johnson now thinks it will be right to make a separate impression of the amendments. W. C. I breakfast every morning on seven or eight pages of the Greek commentators. For so much I am obliged to read in order to select perhaps three or four short notes for the readers of my translation. Homer is indeed a tie upon me that must not on any account be broken, till all his demands are satisfied ; though I have fancied, while the revisal of the Odyssey was at a dis- tance, that it would ask less labour in the finishing, it is not unlikely that, when I take it actually in hand, I may find myself mistaken. Of this at least I am sure, that uneven verse abounds much more in it than it once did in the Iliad, yet to the latter the critics objected on that account, though to the former never ; perhaps because they had not read it. Hereafter they shall not quarrel with me on that score. The Iliad is now all smooth turnpike, and I will take equal cart- that there shall be no jolts in the Odyssey. 490. — TO LADY HESKETH. DEFINITION OF WHIG AND TOKY. The Lodgk, May 7, 1798. My dearest Coz, — You have thought mo long silent, and so have many otheis. In fact I have not for many months written punctually to any but yourself and Hayley. My time, the little I have, is so engrossed by Homer, that I have at this moment a bundle of unanswered letters by me, JUid COWPER*S LETTERS. 559 letters likely to be so. Thou knowest, I dare say, what it is to have a head weary with thinking. Mine is so fatigued by breakfast time, three days out of four, I am utterly incapable of sitting down to my desk again for any purpose whatever, I am glad I have convinced tliee at last, that thou art a Tory. Your friend's definition of Whig and Tory may be just, for aught I know, as far as the latter are concerned ; but respecting the former, I think him mistaken. There is no TRUE Whig who wishes all power in the hands of his own party. The division of it, which the lawyers call tripartite, is exactly what he desires ; and he would have neither king, lords, nor commons unequally trusted, or in the smallest degree predominant. Such a Whig am I, and such Whigs are the true friends of the constitution. — Adieu! my dear — I am dead with weariness. W C 461 TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. COWPER's time of study NOTES TO HOMER. May 21, 1798. My dear Brother, — You must either think me extremely idle, or extremely busy, that I have made your last very kind letter wait so very long for an answer. The truth, however, is that I am neither ; but have had time enough to have scribbled to you, had I been able to scribble at aU. To explain this riddle I must give you a short account of my proceedings. I rise at six every morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast. The consequence is, that I am so exhausted as not to be able to write, when the opportunity offers. You will say — " Breakfast before you work, and then your work will not fatigue you." I answer — " Perhaps I might, and your counsel would probably prove beneficial ; but I cannot spare a moment for eating in the early part of the morning, having no other time for study." This uneasiness of which I complain is a proof that I am somewhat stricken in years ; and there is no other cause by which I can account for it, since I go early to bed, always between ten and eleven, and seldom fail to sleep well. Certain it is, ten years ago I could have done as much, and sixteea years ago did actually much more, without suffering fatigue, or any inconvenience from my labours. How insensibly old age steals on, and how often is it actually arrived before we suspect it ! Accident 560 cowper's letters. alone, some occurrence that suggests a comparison of oil former with our present selves, affords the discovery. Well ! it is always good to be undeceived, especially on an article of such importance. There has been a book lately published, entitled, Man as he is.* I have heard a high character of it, as admirably written, and am informed that for that reason, and because it inculcates Whig principles, it is by many imputed to you. I contradicted this report, assuring my informant that had it been yours, I juust have known it, for that you have bound yourself to make me your father-confessor on all such wicked occasions, and not to conceal from me even a murder, should you happen to commit one. I will not trouble you, at present, to send me any more books with a view to my notes on Homer. I am not without hopes that Sir John Throckmorton, who is expected here from Venice in a short time, may bring me Villoisson's edition of the Odyssey. He certainly will, if he found it published, and that alone will be instar omniutn. Adieu, my dearest brother ! Give my love to Tom, and thank him for his book, of which I believe I need not have deprived him, intending that my readers shall detect the occult instmction contained in Homer's stories for themselves. W. C. 452. — TO LADY HESKETH. rNVITATION TO WESTON OLD COMMONPLACE BOOKS. Weston, June 1, 1793. My dearest Cousin, — You will not, you say, come to us now; and you tell us not when you will. These assigna- tions si7ie die are such shadowy things, that I can neither grasp nor get any comfort from them. Know you not, that hope is the next best thing to enjoyment ? Give us then a hope, and a determinate time for that hope to fix on, and we will endeavour to be satisfied. • One of the novels of Robert Bji^e, born at Derby in 17-28, and died at Tamworth in 1801. He was author of several works of lietion, in which he not only "inculcates Whip principles," but too frequently give* expression to sentiments that strike at the root of morality and relitrion. His literary merits, liovvever, have procured him a place an)onp the novelists whose lives liave l)een so admirably written by Sir Walter Scott. To his memoir of Haf,a* the reader is referred for farther information regarding lum, imd for an estimate of liis merits us a writer of lietion S. cowper's letters. 561 Johnny is gone to Cambridge, called thither to take his degree, and is much missed by me. He is such an active little fellow in my service, that he cannot be otherwise. In three weeks, however, I shall hope to have him again for a fortnight. I have had a letter from him, containing an inci- dent which has given birth to the following: TO A VOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS ARRIVAL AT CAMBRinGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE. If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd \vith dew he found. While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around. Might fitly represent the Church, endow'd With heav'nly gifts, to heathens not allow'd ; In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, Thy locks were wet when other locks were dry. Heaven grant us half the omen — may we see Not drought on others, but much dew on thee ' These are spick and span. Johnny himself has not yet seen them. By the way, he has filled your book completely ; and I will give thee a guinea if thou wilt search thy old book for a couple of songs, and two or three other pieces of which I know thou madest copies at the Vicarage, and which I have lost. The songs I know are pretty good, and I would fain recover them. W. C. 453. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. VERSES AND LETTER, CONTAINIJIG REASONS FOR NOT ENGAGING IN A JOINT LITERARY LABOUR. Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, Worthier to stand for ever, if they could, Than any built of stone, or yet of wood For back of royal elephant to bear. Oh ! for permission from the skies to share Much to my own, though little to thy good. With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!) A partnership of literary ware ; But I am bankrupt now, and doom'd henceforth To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays — Bards I acknowledge of unequall'd worth ! But what is commentator's happiest praise ? That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, Which they who need them use, and then despise. Weston, June 29, 1793. What remains for me to 'Say on this subject, my dear brother bard, I will say in prose. There are other impediments which I could not comprise within the bounds of a sonnet. 2 A 2 562 cowper's letters. My poor Mary's infirm condition makes it impossible fo me, at present, to engage in a work sucli as you propose. My thoughts are not sufficiently free, nor have I, nor can I, by any means, find opportunity ; added to which, comes a difficulty, which, though you are not at all aware of it, presents itself to me under a most forbidding appearance : Can you guess it ? No, not you ; neither perhaps will you be able to magine that such a difficulty can possibly subsist. If your hair begins to bristle, stroke it down again, for there is no need why it should erect itself. It concerns me, not you. I know myself too well not to know that I am nobody in verse, unless in a corner, and alone, and unconnected in my operations. This is not owing to want of love for you, my brother, or the most consummate confidence in you ; for I have both in a degree that has not been exceeded in the experience of any friend you have, or ever had. But I am so made up : I will not enter into a metaphysical analysis of my strange composi- tion, in order to detect the true cause of this evil ; but on a general view of the matter, I suspect that it proceeds from that shyness, which has been my effectual and almost fatal hinderance on many other important occasions ; and wliich I should feel, I well know, on this, to a degree that would per- fectly cripple me. No ! I shall neither do, nor attempt any thing of consequence more, unless my poor Mary get better ; nor even then, unless it should please God to give^e another nature, in concert with any man — I could not even with my own father or brother, were they now alive. vSmall game must serve me at present, and till I liave done with Homer and Milton, a sonnet or some such matter must content me. The utmost that I aspire to, and Heaven knows with how feeble a hope, is to write at some better opportunity, and when my hands are free, The Four Ages. Thus I have opened my heart unto thee. W. C. 464 TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. COWPER CONSKNTS TO A LITEKAHY PARTNERSHIf. Weston, July 7, 1790. My dearest Hayley, — If the excessive heat of this day, whicn forbids me to do any thing else, will permit me to scribble to you, I shall rejoice. To do this is a pleasure to me at all times, but to do it now, a double one ; because I ni in haste to tell you liow much 1 am diliglited with your cowper's letters. 5Q^ projected quadruple alliance, and to assure you, that if it please God to afford me health, spirits, ability, and leisure, I will not fail to devote them all to the production of my quota, The Four Ages. You are very kind to humour me as you do, and had need be a little touched yourself with all my oddities, that you may know how to administer to mine. All whom I love do so, and I believe it to be impossible to love heartily those who do not. People must not do me good in their way, but in my ovm^ and then they do me good indeed. My pride, my ambition, and my friendship for you, and the interest I take in my own dear self, will all be consulted and gratified by an arm-in-arm appearance with you in public ; and I shall work with more zeal and assiduity at Homer, and, when Homer is finished, at Milton, with the prospect of such a coali- tion before me. But what shall I do with a multitude of small pieces, from which I intended to select the best, and adding them to The Four Ages, to have made a volum© ? Will there be room for them upon your plan ? I have retouched them, and will retouch them again. Some of them will suggest pretty devices to a designer, and in short, I have a desire not to lose them. * I am at this moment, with all the imprudence natural to poets, expending nobody knows what, in embellishing my premises, or rather the premises of my neighbour Courtenay, which is more poetical still. I have built one summer-house already, with the boards of my old study, and am building another spick and span as they say. I have also a stone- cutter now at work, setting a bust of my dear old Grecian on a pedestal ; and besides all this, I meditate still more that is to be done in the autumn. Your project, therefore, is most opportune, as any project must needs be that has so direct a tendency to put money into the pocket of one so likely to want it. Ah, brother poet ! send me of your shade, And bid the Zephyrs hasten to my aid ! Or, like a worm imearth'd at noon, I go, Despatch'd by sunshine, to the shades below. My poor Mary is as well as the heat will allow her to be, and whether it be cold or sultry, is always affectionately mindful of you and yours. W. C. * For some account of this proposed literary alliance, see Life. >64 cowper\s letters. 455 — TO THE REV. MR GREATHEED. REASONS FOR NOT QUITTING WESTON. July 27> 1798. I WAS not without some expectation of a line from you, my dear sir, though you did not promise me one at your depar- ture ; and am happy not to have been disappointed ; still iiappier to learn that you and Mrs Greatheed are well, and so delightfully situated. Your kind offer to us of sharing with you the house which you at present inhabit, added to the short but lively description of the scenery that surrounds it, wants nothing to win our acceptance, should it please God to give Mrs Unwin a little more strength, and should I ever be master of my time so as to be able to gratify myself with what would please me most. But many have claims upon us, and some who cannot absolutely be said to have any, would yet complain, and think themselves slighted, should we prefer rocks and caves to them. In short, we are called so many ways, that these numerous demands are likely to operate as a remora^ and to keep us fixt at home. Here we can occasionally have the pleasure of yours and Mrs Great- heed's company, and to have it here must I believe content us. Hayley in his last letter gives me reason to expect the pleasure of seeing him and his dear boy Tom in the autumn. He will use all his eloquence to draw us to Eartham again. My cousin Johnny of Norfolk holds me under a promise to make my first trip thither, and the very same promise I have hastily made to visit Sir John and Lady Throckmorton, at Bucklands. How to reconcile such clashing promises, and give satisfaction to all, Mould puzzle me had I nothing else to do ; and therefore, as I say, the result will probably be, that we shall find ourselves obliged to go no where, since we cannot every where. Wishing you both safe at home again, and to see you, as soon as may be, here, — I remain, aflectionately yours, W. C. cowper's letters. 665 46G. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. homer's blindness — motto for a bust of him. Juli/ 24, 1703. I HAVE been vexed with myself, my dearest brother, and with every thing about me, not excepting even Homer him- self, that I have been obliged so long to delay an answer to your last kind letter. If I listen any longer to calls another way, I shall hardly be able to tell you how happy we are in the hope of seeing you in the autumn, before the autumn will have arrived. Thrice welcome will you and your dear boy be to us, and the longer you will afford us your company, the more welcome. I have set up, the head of Homer on a famous fine pedestal, and a very majestic appearance he makes. I am now puzzled about a motto, and wish you to decide for me between two, one of which I have composed myself, a Greek one, as follows : EiKova. Ti; rxvryiv ; tiXvrov uvz^os ouvof/,' oXuXtv. Oh\iO[/.a §' oiiros ocvi\o u,(pSirov oc'tiv 'ip^t'- The other is my own translation of a passage in the Odys- sey, the original of which I have seen used as a motto to an engraved head of Homer many a time. The present edition of the lines stands thus : Him partially the muse, And dearly loved, yet gave him good and ill : She quench'd his sight, but gave him strains divine. Tell me, by the way, (if you ever had any speculations on the subject) what is it you suppose Homer to have meant in particular, when he ascribed his blindness to the muse ; for that he speaks of himself under the name Demodocus in the eighth book, I believe is by all admitted. How could the old bard study himself blind, when books were either hw, or none at all ? And did he write his poems ? If neither were the cause, as seems reasonable to imagine, how could he incur his blindness by such means as could be justly impu- table to the muse ? Would mere thinking blind him ? I want to know ; Call up some spirit from the vasty deep ! I said to my Sam, " Sam, build me a shed in the garden, with any thing that you can find, and make it rude and 566 COWPER*S LETTKRS. rough like one of those at Eartham." « Yes, sir," says Sam, and straightway laying his own noddle, and the carpenter's noddle together, has built me a thing fit for Stow Gardens. Is not this vexatious ? — I threaten to inscribe it thus : Beware of building ! I intended Rough logs and thatch, and thus it ended. But my Mary says I shall break Sam's heart, and the carpen- ter's too, and will not consent to it. Poor Mary sleeps but ill. How have you lived who cannot bear a sunbeam ? — Adieu ! my dearest Hayley. W. C. 457. — TO MRS CHARLOTTE SMITH.* THANKS FOR A VOLUME OF HER POETRY DEDICATION TO COWPER. Weston, Juli/ 26, 1793. My dear Madam, — Many reasons concurred to make me impatient for the arrival of your most acceptable present, and among them was the fear lest you should, perhaps, suspect me of tardiness in acknowledging so great a favour, — a fear that, as often as it prevailed, distressed me exceedingly. At length I have received it, and my little bookseller assures me tliat he sent it the very day he got it ; by some mistake, however, the wagon brought it instead of the coach, Avhich occasioned a delay that I could ill afford. It came this morning about an hour ago ; consequently I have not had time to peruse the poem, though you may be sure I have found enough for the perusal of the Dedication. I have in fact given it three readings, and in each have found increasing pleasure. I am a whimsical creature ; when I write for the public, I Avrite, of course, with a desire to please, in other words, to acquire fame, and I labour accordingly ; but when I find that I have succeeded, feel myself alarmed, and ready to sluink from the acquisition. This I have felt more than once, and when I saw my name at the head of your Dedication, 1 felt it again ; but the con- summate delicacy of your praise soon convinced me that I might spare my blushes, and that the demand was less upon my modesty than ray gratitude. Of that be assured, dear * Miss Turner, afterwaids Mrs Smith, by her marriage to a West Indian merchant, wjuj born 1741), in Sussex, and died in 1806. Her reputation as a writer of fiction stood high in her day. The work here alluded to is the tale of tlie " KnugrDiite," dedicated to Cowper. cowper's letters. 567 madam, and of the truest esteem and respect of your most obliged and affectionate humble servant, W. C. P. S. 1 should have been much grieved to have let slip this opportunity of thanking you for your charming sonnets, and my two most agreeable old friends Monimia and Orlando. 468. — TO LADY HESKETH. DOMESTIC INCIDENTS. Weston, August 11, 1793. My dearest Cousin. — I am glad that my poor and hasty attempts to express some little civility to Miss Fanshaw, and the amiable Count, have your and her approbation.* The * The little incident to which reference is made in the beginning of this letter arose out of the following circumstance. Lady Hesketh had lent to Miss Fanshaw an unpublished poem by Cowper, on condition that "she should neither shew it nor take a copy." Miss Fanshaw returned the manuscript with these lines : — What wonder if my wavering hand Had dared to disobey, When Hesketh gave a harsh command, And Cowper led astray ? Then take this tempting gift of thine, By pen uncopied yet ; But, can'st thou memory confine. Or teach me to forget ? More lasting than the touch of art The characters remain, When written by a feeling heart On tablets of the brain. To these verses Cowper's " poor and hasty" reply ran as follows : — To be remember'd thus is fame. And in the first degree ; And did the few, like her, the same, The press might rest for me. So Homer, in the memory stored Of many a Grecian belle. Was once preserved — a richer board, But never lodged so well. The ' ' amiable Count" was Gravina, the Spanish admiral, who having translated the poem of the Rose into Italian, received this graceful com- pliment from its author, — My Rose, Gravina, blooms anew. And, steep'd not now in rain, But in Castalian streams by you. Will never fade again. 568 cowper's letters. lines addressed to her were not what I would have made them ; but lack of time — a lack which always presses me — would not suffer me to improve them. Many thanks for her letter, which, were my merits less the subject of it, I should without scruple say is an excellent one. She writes with the force and accuracy of a person skilled in more languages than are spoken in the present day, as I doubt not that she is. I perfectly approve tlie theme she' recommends to me, but am at present so totally absorbed in Homer, that all I do beside is ill done, being hurried over ; and I would not execute ill a subject of her recommending. I shall watch the walnuts with more attention than they who eat them, which I do in some hope, though you do not expressly say so, that when their threshing time arrives, we shall see you here. I am now going to paper my new study, and in a short time it will be fit to inhabit. Lady Spencer has sent me a present from Rome, by the hands of Sir John Throckmorton, — engravings of Odyssey subjects, after figures by Flaxman, a statuary, at present resident there, of high repute, and much a friend of Hayley's. Thou livest, my dear, I acknowledge, in a very fine country, but they have spoiled it by building London in it Adieu, W. C. 459. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY. FLAXMAN's ILLUSTRATION'S OF HOMER. Weston, August 15, 1793. Instead of a pound or two, spending a mint Must serve me at least, I believe, with a hint, That huilding, and building, a man may be driven At last out of doors, and have no house to Uve in. Besides, my dearest brother, they have not only built ibr me what I did not want, but have ruined a notable tetrastic by doing so.* I had written one which I designed for a her- mitage, and it will by no means suit the fine and pompons affair which they have made instead of one. So that as a • The " tetrastic" was the following INSCBIPTION FOR AN HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S UAKDBN. This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears. Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet. Preliminary to the h>st retreat. COWPER*S LETTERS* 569 poet I am every way afflicted, — made poorer than I need have been, and robbed of my verses ; what case can be more deplorable ? You must not suppose me ignorant of what Flaxman has done, or that I have not seen it, or that I am not actually in possession of it, at least of the engravings which you mention. In fact, I have had them more than a fortnight. Lady Dowager Spencer, to whom I inscribed my Odyssey, and who was at Rome when Sir John Throckmorton was there, charged him with them as a present to me, and arriving here lately, he executed his commission. Romney, I doubt not, is right in his judgment of them ; he is an artist himself, and cannot easily be mistaken ; and I take his opinion as an oracle, the rather because it coincides exactly with my own. The figures are highly classical, antique, and elegant ; espe- cially that of Penelope, who, whether she wakes or sleeps must necessarily charm all beholders.* Your scheme of embellishing my Odyssey with these plates is a kind one, and the fruit of your benevolence to me ; but Johnson, I fear, will hardly stake so much money as the cost would amount to, on a work the fate of which is at present uncertain. Nor could we adorn the Odyssey in this splendid manner, unless we had similar ornaments to bestow on the Iliad. Such, I presume, are not ready, and much time must elapse, even if Flaxman should accede to the plan, before he could possibly prepare them. Happy indeed should I be, to see a work of mine so nobly accompanied ; but should that good fortune ever attend mc, it cannot take place till the third or fourth edition shall afford the occasion. This I regret, and I regret, too, that you will have seen them before I can have an opportunity to shew them to you. Here is sixpence for you if you will abstain from the sight of them while you are in London. The sculptor ? — Nameless, though once dear to fame ; But this man bears an everlasting name.t So I purpose it shall stand ; and on the pedestal, when you * John Flaxmaii, R.A. born at York, 1755, died at London, 182G : a most amiable man, and one of the ablest sculptors in the history of modern art. The Illustrations of Homer mentioned in the text, are in outline, and, together \vith similar compositions from Dante, ^scliylus, and Hesiod, spread the artist's reputation over Europe, identifying ins fame with the regejieration of art. Were the question asked. Where is most expression and most beauty to he fomid with the least intrusion of labour and the greatest ease ? we should answer, in Flaxman's outhnes. t A translation of Covvper's Greek verses on his bust of Homer 570 cowper's letters. come, in that term you will find it. The added line from the Odyssey is charming, but the assumption of sonship to Homer seems too daring ; suppose it stood thus, 'n; dl Tu7g a! a'arpt, xa] cvTon Xytffefiat avroZ. I am not sure that this would be clear of the same objection, and it departs from the text still more. With my poor Mary's best love, and our united wishes to see you here, I remain, my dearest brother, ever yours, W. C. 460.— TO MRS COURTENAY. A RUGTIC ENTIRTAINMENT — TREATMENT OF BOH ARCHER BY A ROGUISH FIDDLER. "Weston, August 20, 1793. My dearest Catharina is too reasonable, I know, to expect news from me, who live on the outside of the world, and know nothing that passes within it. The best news is, that though you are gone, you are not gone for ever, as once I supposed you were, and said that we should probably meet no more. Some news, however, we have ; but then I conclude that you have already received it from the Doctor, and that thought almost deprives me of all courage to relate it. On the evening of the feast, Bob Archer's house affording, I suppose, the best room for the purpose, all the lads and lasses, Avho felt themselves disposed to dance, assembled there. Long time they danced, at least long time they did something a little like it ; when at last, the company having retired, the fiddler asked Bob for a lodging. Bob replied, " that his beds were all full of his own family ; but, if he chose it, he would shew him a haycock, where he might sleep as sound as in any bed whatever." So forth they went together, and when they reached the place, the fiddler knocked down Bob, and demanded his money. But, happily for Bob, though he might be knocked down, and actually was so, yet he could not possibly be robbed, having nothing. The fiddler, there- fore, having amused himself with kicking him and beating him as he lay, as long as he saw good, left him, and has never been heard of since, nor inquired aflter indeed, being, no doubt, the last man in the world whom Bob wishes to set- again. By a letter from Hayley to-day I learn, that Flaxman, to whom we are indebted for those Odyssey figures which L.ai\y Frog brought over, has almost finished a set for the Iliad also I should be glad to embellish my Homer with them, bu cowper's letters. 571 neither my bookseller nor I shall probably choose to risk so expensive an ornament on a work, whose reception with the public is at present doubtful. Adieu, my dearest Catharina. Give my best love to your husband. Come home as soon as you can, and accept our united very best wishes. V^ C. 461. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. HIS TIME OF STUDY — COMMENTARY ON HOMER. Weston, August 22, 1793. My dear Friend, — I rejoice that you have had so pleasant an excursion, and have beheld so many beautiful scenes. Except the delightful Upway I have seen them all. I have lived much at Southampton, have slept and caught a sore throat at Lyndhurst, and have swum in the bay of Weymouth.* It will give us great pleasure to see you here, should your business give you an opportunity to finish your excursions of this season with one to Weston. As for my going on, it is much as usual. I rise at six, — an industrious and wholesome practice, from which I have never swerved since March. I breakfast generally about eleven — have given the intermediate time to my old delightful bard. Villoisson no longer keeps me company. I therefore now ^og along with Clarke and Barnes -j- at my elbow, and from the excellent annotations of the former select such as I think likely to be useful, or that recommend themselves by the amusement they may afford, of which sorts there are not a few. Barnes also affords me some of both kinds, but not so many, his notes being chiefly paraphrastical or grammatical. My only fear is lest between them both I should make my work too voluminous. W. C. * For the best account of the splendid scenery about Southampton and the New Forest, see Gilpin's Forest Scenery, edited by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder. t Joshua Barnes, born in London 1654, died, professor of Greek at Cambridge, in 1712 ; a learned man, a conamenfafor and original author, but as his opponents said '*felicis memoiiae, judicium expectans," of retentive memory, but lacking judgment. < I CO WPE US LETTE RS. 462. —TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. homer's blindness — LORU MANSFI£LD's monuMf.nt BT FLAXMAN. Weston, August 27, 1793. I THANK you, my dear brotlier, for consulting the Gibbonian oracle on the question concerning Homer's muse, and his blindness. I proposed it likewise to my little neighbour Buchanan, who gave me precisely the same answer. I felt au insatiable thirst to learn something new concerning him, and despairing of information from others, was willing to hope that 1 had stumbled on matter unnoticed by the commentators, and might perhaps acquire a little intelligence from himself; but the great and the little oracle together have extinguished that hope, and I despair now of making any curious discoveries about him.* Since Flaxman (which I did not know till your letter told me so) has been at work for the Iliad, as well as the Odyssey, it seems a great pity, that the engravings should not be bound up with some Homer or other ; and, as I said before, I should have been too proud to have bound them up in mine. But there is an objection, , at least such it seems to me, that threatens to disqualify them for such a use, — namely, the shape and size of them, which are such, that no book of the usual form could possil)ly receive them, save in a folded state, which I apprehend would be to murder them. The monument of Lord Mansfield, for which you say he is engaged, will, I dare say, prove a noble effort of genius.f Statuaries, as I have heard an eminent one say, do not much trouble themselves about a likeness : else I would give much to be able to communicate to Flaxman the perfect idea that I have of the subject, such as he was forty years ago. He was at that time wonderfully handsome, and would expound the most mysterious intricacies of the law, or recapitulate both * Referring to the celebrated question in classical literature, whether Homer was bUnd ; a subject whidi, after much discussion, as a hterary problem, remains where it did in the time of Aristotle, tliough, from the material evidence of his poems, it is ccrtaiii that these couhl have been vvTitten only by one who had ocularly luid long conversed with nature. ♦ This was Flaxman's lu"ct work on returning from Italy, and esta- blished his fiune as second, if second, only to Canova. hi the figure of Lord Mansfield, calm, simple, dignified, and severe, he has reaUzed all that Cowper here expresses. The allegorical ligures of Wisdom and Justice are much as other idlegoriciJ figures ; but there is grandeur and fX|»re9sion in the condemned youth. cowper's letters. 573 matter and evidence of a cause, as long as from hence to Eartham, with an intelligent smile on his features, that bespoke plainly the perfect ease with which he did it. The most abstruse studies, I believe, never cost him any labour. You say nothing lately of your intended journey our way : yet the year is waning, and the shorter days give you a hint to lose no time unnecessarily. Lately we had the whole family at the Hall, and now we have nobody. The Throckmorton s are gone into Berkshire, and the Courtenays into Yorkshire. They are so pleasant a family, that I heartily wish you to see them ; and at the same time wish to see you before they return, which will not be sooner than October. Plow shall I reconcile these wishes seemingly opposite ? Why, by wishing that you may come soon and stay long: I know no other way of doing it. My poor Mary is much as usual. 1 have set up Homer's head, and inscribed the pedestal ; my own Greek at the top, with your translation under it, and '(Is at 'jfa.li u Tarpi, &C. It makes altogether a very smart and learned appearance. W. C. 463. — TO LADY HESKETH. INVITATION TO WESTON. August 29, 1793. Your question, at what time your coming to us will be most agreeable, is a knotty one, and such as, had I the wisdom of Solomon, I should be puzzled to answer. I will, therefore, leave it still a question, and refer the time of your journey Westonward entirely to your own election ; adding this one limitation, however, that I do not wish to see you exactly at present, on account of the unfinished state of my study, the wainscot of which still smells of paint, and which is not j^et papered. But to return : as I have insinuated, thy plea- sant company is the thing which I always wish, and as much at one time as at another. I believe, if I examine myself minutely, since I despair of ever having it in the height of summer, which for your sake I should desire most, the depth of the winter is the season which would be most eligible to me. For then it is that, in general, I have most need of a cordial, and particularly in the month of January. J am sorry, however, that I have departed so far from my first purpose, and am answering a question which I declaretl myself unable to answer. Choose thy own time, secure of 574 cowper's letters. this, that whatever time that be, it will always to us be a welcome one. I thank you for your pleasant extract of Miss Fanshaw's letter : Her pen drops eloquence aa eweet As any muse's tongue can speak ;; Nor need a scribe, like her, regret Her want of Latin or of Greek. And now, my dear, adieu ! I have done more than I expected, and begin to feel myself exhausted with so much scribbling at the end of four hours close application to study. W. C. 464. — TO THE REV. JOHN JOHNSON.* THANKS FOR A SUN DIAL, AND NOTE ON HIS TAKING ORDERS. Weston, Apnl II, 1793. My dearest Johnny, — To do a kind thing, and in a kind manner, is a double kindness, and no man is more addicted to both than you, or more skilful in contriving them. Your plan to surprise me agreeably succeeded to admiration. It was only the day before yesterday that, while we walked after dinner in the orchard, Mrs Unwin between Sam and me, hearing the hall-clock, I observed a great difference * Mr Johnson had taken orders in August. The following characteris- tic letter from Cowper's Private Correspondence refers to that event : — " TO THE llEV. JOHN JOHNSON. " My dearest Johnny, — The Bishop of Norwich has won my heart by bis kind and Uberal behaviour to you, and if I knew him', I would tell him so. 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, liowever, if you do not, sooner or later, find out that sore place in every heart, which can ill endure the touch of apostohc doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, and you will hear of it. I say not this, my dear Johnny, to terrify, but to prepare you for that which is hkely to happen, and which, troublesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be \nshed ; for in general, there is little good done by preachers till the world begins to abuse them. But understand me aright, — I do not mean that you should give them unnecessjiry 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, trans- form 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 ! " COWPER*S LETTERS. 575 between that and ours, and began immediately to lament, as I had often done, that there was not a sun-dial in all Weston to ascertain the true time for us. My complaint was long, and lasted till, having turned into the grass walk, we reached the new building at the end of it, where we sat awhile and reposed ourselves. In a few minutes we returned by the way we came, when what think you was my astonishment to see what I had not seen before, though I had passed close by it, a smart sun-dial mounted on a smart stone pedestal ! I assure you it seemed the effect of conjuration, I stopped short, and exclaimed, — " Why, here is a sun-dial, and upon our ground ! How is this ? Tell me, Sam, how it came here ? Do you know any thing about it ?" At first I really thought (that is to say, as soon as I could think at all) that this fac- totum of mine, Sam Roberts, having often heard me deplore the want of one, had given orders for the supply of that want himself, without my knowledge, and was half pleased and half offended. But he soon exculpated himself by imputing the fact to you. It was brought up to Weston, it seems, about noon ; but Andrews stopped the cart at the lilacksmith's, whence he sent to inquire if I was gone for my walk. As it happened, I walked not till two o'clock. So there it stood waiting till I should go forth, and was introduced before my return. Fortunately, too, I went out at the church end of the village, and consequently saw nothing of it. How I could possibly pass it without seeing it, when it stood in the walk, I know not, but certain it is that I did. And where I shall fix it now, I know as little. It cannot stand between the two gates, the place of your choice, as I understand from Samuel, because the hay-cart must pass that way in the season. But we are now busy in winding the walk all round the orchard, and in doing so shall doubtless stumble at last upon some open spot that will suit it. There it shall stand, while I live, a constant monument Oi your kindness. I have this moment finished the twelfth book of the Odyssej' ; and I read the Hiad to Mrs Unwin every evening. The effect of this reading is, that I still spy blemishes, something at least that I can mend ; so that, after all, the transcript of alterations, which you and George have made, will not be a perfect one. It would be foolish to forego an opportunity of improvement for such a reason : neither will I. It is ten o'clock, and I must breakfast. Adieu, therefore, my dear Johnny! Remember your appointment to see us in October — Ever yours, W. C. 576 cowpeh's letters. 465. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. rOWPFR's MELANCHOLY — t'LAXMAU's PKMELOPE — EPIGRAM. Weston, September 8, 1793 Non Slim quod simulo, my dearest brother ! I seem cheerf iil upon paper sometimes, when I am absolutely the most dejected of all creatures. Desirous, however, to gain something myself by my own letters, unprofitable as they may and must be to my friends, I keep melanchol}'^ out of them as much as I can, that I may if possible, by assuming a less gloomy air, deceive myself, and, by feigning with a continuance, improve the fiction into reality. So you have seen Flaxman's figures, which I intended you should not have seen till I had spread them before you. How did you dare to look at them ? You should have covered your eyes with both hands. I am charmed with Flaxman's Penelope, and though you don't deserve that I should, will send you a few lines, such as they are, with which she inspired me the other day while I was taking my noonday walk. flaxman's PENELOPE. The suitors sinn'd, but \nth a fair excuse, Whom all this elegance inight well seduce ; Nor can our censure on the husband fall, Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. 1 know not that you will meet any body here, when we see you in October, unless perhaps my Johnny should iiappen to be with us. If Tom is charmed with the thoughts of coming to Weston, we are equally so with the thoughts of seeing him here. At his years I should hardly hope to make his visit agreeable to him, did I not know that he is of a temper and disposition that must make him happy every where. Give our love to him. If Romney can come with you, we have both room to receive him, and hearts to make him most welcome. W. C. cowper's letters. 677 466. — TO MRS COURTEXAY. INVITATION TO RETURN TO WESTON — FAJMir.V MATTERS. September 15, 1793- A THOUSAND thanks, my dearest Catharina, for your pleasant letter ; one of the pleasantest that I have received since your departure. You are very good to apologize for your delay, but I had not flattered myself with the hopes of a speedier answer. Knowing full well your talents for enter- taining your friends who are present, I was sure you would with difficulty find half an hour that you could devote to an absent one. I am glad that you think of your return. Poor Weston is a desolation without you. In the meantime, I amuse myself as well as I can, thrumming old Homer's lyre, and turning the premises upside down. Upside down, indeed, for so it is literally that I have been dealing with the orchard, almost ever since you went, digging and delving it around to make a new walk, which now begins to assume the shape of one, and to look as if some time or other it may serve in that capacity. Taking my usual exercise there the other day witli Mrs Unwin, a wide disagreement between your clock and ours occasioned me to complain much, as I have often done, of the want of a dial. Guess my surprise, when at the close of my complaint I saw one — saw one close at my side; a smart one, glittering in the sun, and mounted on a pedestal of stone. I was astonished. " This," I exclaimed, " is abso- lute conjuration !" It was a most mysterious affair ; but the mystery was at last explained. This scribble, I presume, will find you just arrived at Buck- lands. I would, with all my heart, that since dials can be thus suddenly conjured from one place to another, I could he so too, and could start up before your eyes in the middle of some walk or lawn, where you and Lady Frog are wandering. While Pitcairne whistles for his family estate in Fifeshire, he will do well if he will sound a few notes for me. I am originally of the same shire, and a family of my name is still there, to whom, perhaps, he may whistle on my behalf not altogether in vain. So shall his fife excel all my poetical efforts, which have not yet, and I dare say never will, effec- tually charm one acre of ground into my possession. Remember me to Sir John, Lady Frog, and your husband — tell them I love them all. She told me once she was 2 B 578 cowper's letters. jealous ; now, indeed, she seems to have some reason, since to her I have not written, and have written twice to you. But bid her be of good courage, in due time I will give her proof of my constancy. W. C. 467. —TO THE REV. JOHN JOHNSON. IDLE VISITS. Weston, September 29, 1 793. My dearest Johnny, — You have done well to leave eff visiting, and being visited. Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing. The worst consequence of such departures from common practice is to be termed a singular sort of a fellow, or an odd fish ; a sort of reproach that a man might be wise enough to condemn, who had not half your understanding. I look forward with pleasure to October the eleventh, the day which I expect will be Albo notandus lapillo, on account of your arrival here. Here you will meet Mr Rose, who comes on the eighth, £md brings with him Mr Lawrence,* the painter, you may guess for what purpose. Lawrence returns when he has made his copy of me, but Mr Rose will remain perhaps as long as you will. Hayley, on the contrary, will come, I suppose, just in time not to see you. Him we expect on the twentieth. I trust, however, that thou wilt so order thy pastoral matters, as to make thy stay here as long as possible. Lady Hesketh, in her last letter, inquires very kindly after you, asks me for your address, and purposes soon to write to you. We hope to see her in November ; so that, after a summer without company, we are likely to have an autumn and a winter sociable enough. W. C. • Sir Thomas LawTence, P.R. A. born at Bristol, 1769, died in London, 1830 ; the moBt graceful of British artista. COWP£R*S LETTERS. 679 468. — TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ, IMPERTINENT CORaESPONUENTS — • LIFE OF MILTON. Weston, October 5, 1793. My good intentions towards you, my dearest brother, are continually frustrated ; and which is most provoking, not by such engagements and avocations as have a right to my atten- tion, such as those to my Mary, and to the old bard of Greece, but by mere impertinencies, such as calls of civility from per- sons not very interesting to me, and letters from a distance still less interesting, because the writers of them are strangers. A man sent me a long copy of verses, which I could do no less than acknowledge. They were silly enough, and cost me eighteonpence, which was seventeen pence halfpenny farthing more than they were worth. Another sent me at the same time a plan, requesting m^' opinion of it, and that I would lend him my name as editor ; a request with which I shall not comply, but I am obliged to tell him so, and one letter is all that I have time to despatch in a day, sometimes half a one, and sometimes I am not able to write at all. Thus it is that my time perishes, and I can neither give so much of it as I would to you or to any other valuable purpose. On Tuesday we expect company. Mr Rose and La\ATence the painter. Yet once more is my patience to be exercised, and once more I am made to wish that my face had been moveable, to put on and take off at pleasure, so as to be portable in a bandbox, and sent to the artist. These, how- ever, will be gone, as I believe I told you, before you arrive, at which time I know not that any body will be here, except my Johnny, whose presence will not at all interfere with our readings. You will not, I believe, find me a very slashing critic : I hardly indeed expect to find any thing in your Life of Milton that I shall sentence to amputation. How should it be too long ? A well written work, sensible and spirited, such as yours was, when I saw it, is never so. But, however, we shall see. I promise to spare nothing that I think may be lopped off with advantage. I began this letter yesterday, but could not finish it till now. I have risen this morning, like an infernal frog out of Acheron, covered with the ooze and mud of melancholy. For this reason I am not sorry to find myself at the bottom of my paper, for had I more room, perhaps I might fill it all with croaking, and 580 cowpi:u's letters. make an heartache at Eartham, which 1 wish to be always cheerful. Adieu. My poor sympathizing Mary is of course sad, but always mindful of you. W. C 469.— TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. INVITATION TO WESTON. October 18, 1193, My dear Brother, — I have not at present much thatia necessary to say here, because I shall have the happiness of seeing you so soon ; my time, according to custom, is a mere scrap, for which reason such must be my letter also. You will find here more than I have hitherto given you reason to expect, but none who will not be happy to see you. These however stay with us but a short time, and will leave us in full possession of Weston on Wednesday next. I look forward with joy to your coming, heartily wishing you a pleasant journey, in which my poor Mary joins me. Give our best love to Tom ; without whom, after having been taught to look for him, we should feel our pleasure in the interview much diminished. Lseti expectamus te puerumque tuum. w. c. * 470.— TO THE REV. J. JEKYLL RYE. MR HURDIS MORTUAHY VERSES. Weston, Novembers, 1793. My dear Sir, — Sensible as I am of your kindness in taking such a journey, at no very pleasant season, merely to .'Jirve a friend of mine, I cannot allow my thanks to sleep till I may have the pleasure of seeing you. I hope never to shew myself unmindful of so great a favour. Two lines which I received yesterday from Mr Hurdis, written hastily on the day of decision, informed me that it was made in his favour, and by a majority of twenty, f I have great satisfaction in * " My visit," says Huyley, " took place early in November. 1 found Cowpcr apparently well and enlivened by tbe society of his young kinsman from Norfolk, and another of his favourite friends, Mr Rote." f Professorship of poetry at Oxford. COWPER*.S LETTERS. 531 the event, and consequently liold myself indebted to all who at my instance have contributed to it. You may depend on me for due attention to the honest clerk's request. When he called, it was not possible that I should answer your obliging letter ; for he arrived here very early, and if I suffered any thing to interfere with my morning studies, I should never accomplish my labours Your hint concerning the subject for this year's copy is a very good one, and shall not be neglected I remain sin- cerely yours, W. C. 471.— TO MRS COURTENAY. HIS OCCUPATIONS WITH MK HAYLEV AT WESTON. Weston, November 4, 1793. t SELDOM rejoice in a day of soaking rain like this ; but in this, my dearest Catharina, I do rejoice sincerely, because it affords me an opportunity of writing to you, which if fair weather had invited us into the orchard walk at the usual hour, I should not easily have found. I am a most busy man, busy to a degree that sometimes half distracts me ; but if complete distraction be occasioned by having the thoughts too much and too long attached to a single point, I am in no danger of it, with such a perpetual whirl are mine whisked about from one subject to another. When two poets meet, there are fine doings I can assure you. My Homer finds work for Hayley, and his Life of Milton work for me, so that we are neither of us one moment idle. Poor Mrs Unwin in the meantime sits quiet in her corner, occasionally laughing at us both, and not seldom interrupting us with some question or remark, for which she is constantly rewarded by me with a " Hush — hold your peace !" Bless yourself, my dear Catharina, that you are not connected with a poet, especially that you have not two to deal with ; ladies who have, may be bidden indeed to hold their peace, but very little peace have they. How should they in fact have any, continually enjoined as they are to be silent ? * *"* « * « # ^ The same fever that has been so epidemic there, has been severely felt here likewise ; some have died, and a multitude have been in aanger. Two under our own roof have b^n infected with it, and I am not sure that I have perfectly escaped myself, but I am now. well again. I have persuaded Hayley to stay a week longer, and again 68^ cowper's letters. my hopes revive, tliat he may yet have an opportunity to kno\r my friends before he returns into Sussex.* I write amidst a chaos of interruptions : Hayley, on the one hand, spouts Greek, and, on the other hand, Mrs Unwin continues talking, sometimes to us, and sometimes, because we are both too busy to attend to her, she holds a dialogue with herself. Query, is not this a bull ; and ought I not instead of dialogue to have said soliloquy ? Adieu ! With our united love to all your party, and with ardent wishes soon to see you all at Weston, I remain, my dearest Catharina, ever yours, W. C. 472 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. SCEyERV AT WESTON. Westok, November 5, 1793. My dear Friend, — In a letter from Lady Hesketh, which 1 received not long since, she informed me how very pleasantly she had spent some time at Wargrove. f We now begin to expect her here, where our charms of situation are, perhaps, not equal to yours, yet by no means contemptible. She told me she had spoken to you in very handsome terms of the country round about us, but not so of our house, and the view before it. The house istelf, however, is not unworthy some commendation ; small as it is, it is neat, and neater than she is aware of; for my study and the room over it have been repaired and beautified this summer, and little more was wanting to make it an abode sufficiently commodious for a man of my moderate desires. As to the prospect from it, that she misrepresented strangely, as I hope soon to have an opportunity to convince her by ocular demonstration. She told you, I know, of certain cottages opposite to us, or rather she described them as poor houses and hovels that effectually blind our windows. But none such exist. On the contrary, the opposite object, and the only one, is an orchard, so well planted, and with trees of such growth, that we seem to look into a wood, or rather to be surrounded by one. Thus, placed as we are in the midst of a village, we have none of those * *' Cowper entreated me, with great kiiuhiess, to remain the whole winter at Weston, and engage with him in a regular and complete revisal of Homer. Private considerations prevented tlus ; and I left Weston in November." — Mayley's Xt/c-. t Mr Hill's country residence. cowper's letteks. 583 disagreeables that belong to such a position, and the village itself is one of the prettiest I know, — terminated at one end by the church tower, seen through trees, and at the other, by a very handsome gateway, opening into a fine grove of elms, belonging to our neighbour Courtenay. How happy should I be to shew it instead of describing it to you ! Adieu, my dear friend, W. C. 479 — TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. LETTERS FROM FRIENDS NO INTERRUPTION — POLITICAL ASPECT OF EUROPE. Weston, November 10, 1793. My dear Friend, — You are very kind to consider ray literary engagements, and to make them a reason for not interrupting me more frequently with a letter ; but though I am indeed as busy as an author or an editor can well be, and am not apt to be overjoyed at the arrival of letters from uninteresting quarters, I shall always, I hope, have leisure both to peruse and to answer those of my real friends, and to do both with pleasure. I have to thank you much for your benevolent aid in the affair of my friend Hurdis. You have doubtless learned eie jnovv, that he has succeeded, and carried the prize by a majority of twenty. He is well qualified for the post he has gained. So much the better for the honour of the Oxonian laurel, and so much the more for the credit of those who have favoured him with their suffrages. I am entirely of your mind respecting this conflagration by which all Europe suffers at present, and is likely to suffer for a long time to come. The same mistake seems to have prevailed as in the American business. We then flattered ourselves that the colonies would prove an easy conquest ; and when all the neighbouring nations armed themselves against France, we imagined, I believe, that she too would be presently vanquished. But we begin already to be undeceived, and God only knows to what a degree we may find we have erred at the conclusion. Such, however, is the state of things all around us as reminds me continually of the Psalmist's expression, " He shall break them in pieces like a potter's vessel :" And I rather wish than hope, in some of my melancholy moods, that England herself may escape a fracture. I remain truly yours, W. C, jSi rowPFR^ COWPER'S LETTERS, 474.— TO THE REV. MR HURDIS. CONCKATULATIONS ON HIS ELKCTION COWPER's EMPLOYMENTS. Weston, November 24, 1793. My dear Sir, — Though my congratulations have been delayed, you have no friend, numerous as your friends are, who has more sincerely rejoiced in your success than I. It M'as no small mortification to me to find that three out of the six, whom I had engaged, were not qualified to vote. You have prevailed, however, and by a considerable majority -, there is, therefore, no room left for regret. When your short note arrived which gave me the agreeable news of your victory, our friend of Eartham was with me, and shared largely in the joy that I felt on the occasion. He left me but a few days since, having spent somewhat more than a fortnight here, during which time we employed all our leisure hours in the revisal of his Life of Milton. It is now finished, and a very finished work it is, and one that will do great honour, I am persuaded, to the biographer, and the excellent man, of injured memory, who is the subject of it. As to my own concern with the works of this first of poets, which has been long a matter of burdensome contemplation, I have the happiness to find at last that I am at liberty to postpone my labours. While I expected that my commentary would be called for in the ensuing spring, I looked forward to the undertaking with dismay, not seeing a shadow of probability that I should be ready to answer the demand ; for this ultimate revisal of my Homer, together with the notes, occupies completely at present, and will for some time longer, all the little leisure that I have for study — leisure which I gain at this season of the year by rising long before daylight. You are now become a nearer neighbour, and, as your I)rofessorship, I hope, will not engross you wholly, will finil an opportunity to give me your company at Weston. Let me hear from you soon ; tell me how you like your new office, and whetiuT you jx'rform the dutir-s of it with i)leasure to yourself: with much pleasure to others you will, I doubt not, and with equiil aa vantage. W. C. cowper's letters. 585 475. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. SUBJECTS FOR PAINTING FROM HOMER HIS OWN PORTRAIT BY LAWRENCE. Weston, November 29, 1793. My dear Friend, — 1 have risen while the owls are still hooting to pursue my accustomed labours in the mine of Homer ; but before I enter upon them, shall give the first moment of daylight to the purpose of thanking you for your last letter, containing many pleasant articles of intelligence, with nothing to abate the pleasantness of them, except the single circumstance that we are not likely to see you here so soon as I expected. My hope was that the first frost would bring you, and the amiable painter with you. If, however, you are prevented by the business of your respective professions, you are well prevented, and I will endeavour to be patient. When the latter was here, he mentioned one day the subject of Diomede's horses, driven under the axle of his chariot by the thunderbolt which fell at their feet, as a subject for his pencil.* It is certainly a noble one, and therefore worthy of his study and attention. It occurred to me at the moment, but I know not what it was that made me forget it again the next moment, that the horses of Achilles flying over the foss, with Patroclus and Automedon in the chariot, would be a good companion for it. Should you happen to recollect this when you next see him, you may submit it, if you please, to his consideration. I stumbled yesterday on another subject, which reminded me of said excellent artist, as likely to afford a fine opportunity to the expression that he could give it. It is found in the shooting match in the twenty- third book of the Iliad, between Meriones and Teucer. The former cuts the string with which the dove is tied to the mast-head, and sets her at liberty ; the latter, standing at his side, in all the eagerness of emulation, points an arrow at the mark with his right hand, while with his left he snatches the bow from his competitor. He is a fine poetical figure, but Mr Lawrence himself must judge whether or not he promises as well for the canvass. He does great honour to my physiognomy by his intention to get it engraved ; and though I think I foresee that this * We believe Sir Thomas Lawrence afterwards executed a picture from this description. 58C COWPER*S LETTERS. private publication will grow in time into a publication of absolute publicity, I find it impossible to be dissatisfied with any thing that seems eligible both to him and you. To say the truth, when a man has once turned his mind inside out for the inspection of all who choose to inspect it, to make a secret of his face seems but little better than a self-contradic- tion. At the same time, however, I shall be best pleased if it be kept, according to your intentions, as a rarity. I have lost Hayley, and begin to be uneasy at not hearing from him ; tell me about him when you write. I should be happy to have a work of mine embellished by Lawrence, and made a companion for a work of Hayley's. It is an event to which I look forward with the utmost complacence. I cannot tell you what a relief I feel it not to be pressed for Milton. W. C. 476. — TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. CRITIQUE ON THB NOVEL OF JONATJIAN WILD. Weston, December 8, 1793. My dear Friend, — In my last I forgot to ihank you for the box of books, containing also the pamphlets. We have read, that is to say, my cousin has, who reads to us in an evening, the history of Jonathan Wild, and found it highly entertaining. The satire on great men is witty, and I believe perfectly just ; we have no censure to pass on it, unless that we think the character of Mrs Heartfree not well sustained — not quite delicate in the latter part of it — and that the constant effect of her charms upon eveiy man who sees her has a sameness in it that is tiresome, and betrays either much carelessness, or idleness, or lack of invention. It is possible, indeed, that the author might intend by this circumstance a satirical glance at novelists, whose heroines are generally all bewitching; but it is a fault that he had better have noticed in another manner, and not have exemplified in his own. The first volume of Man as he is has lain unread in my study window this twelvemonth, and would have been returned unread to its owner, had not my cousin come in good time to save it from tliat disgrace. We are now reading it, and find it excellent, abounding with wit and just sentiment, and knowledge both of books and men. Adieu ! W. C. COWPEr's LETTEtlS. 587 477. —TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. ZXfRKSSINO ANXIETY TO HEAR OF HIS LITERARY ENGAGEMENTS. Weston, December 8, 1793. I HAVE waited, and waited impatiently, for a line from you, and am at last determined to send you one, to inquire what is become of you, and why you are silent so much longer than usual.* I want to know many things which only you can tell me, but especially I want to know what has been the issue of your conference with Nichol. Has he seen your work ? I am impatient for the appearance of it, because impatient to have the spotless credit of the great poet's character, as a man and a citizen, vindicated as it ought to be, and as it never will be again. It is a great relief to me that my Miltonic labours are suspended. I am now busy in transcribing the alterations of Homer, having finished the whole revisal. I must then write a new Preface, which done, I shall endeavour immediately to descant on the Four Ages. Adieu, my dear brother, W. C. 478 TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. TRANSLATION OF HECTOK's PRAYER — DEFENCE OF HIS OWN VERSION. Weston, December 17, 1793. O Jove ! and all ye gods ! grant tliis my son To prove, like me, pre-eminent in Troy ! In valour such, and firmness of command ! Be he extoll'd, when he returns from fight, As fax his sire's superior ! may he slay His enemy, bring home his gory spoils, And may his mother's heart o'erflow with joy ! I ROSE this morning at six o'clock, on purpose to translate this prayer again, and to write to my dear brother. Here you have it, such as it is, not perfectly according to my own liking, but as well as I could make it, and, I think, better than either yours or Lord ThurloH-'s. You, with your six lines, have made yourself stiff and ungraceful, and he, with • Mr Hayley had been confined by illness while in London, aii'/ prevented from executing commissions for, or writing to Cowper. 588 COWPEIl's LETTERS. his seven, has produced as good prose as heart can wish, but no poetry at all. A scrupulous attention to the letter has spoiled you both ; you have neither the spirit nor the manner of Homer. A portion of both may be found, I believe, in my version, but not so much as I wish ; it is better, however, than the printed one. His Lordship's two first lines I cannot very well understand ; he seems to me to give a sense to the original chat does not belong to it. Hector, I apprehend, does not say, " Grant that he may prove himself my son, and be eminent," &c. ; but " grant that this my son may prove eminent ;" which' is a material difference. In the latter sense I find the simplicity of an ancient ; in the former, that is to say, in the notion of a man proving himself his father's son liy similar merit, the finesse and dexterity of a modern. His Lordship, too, makes the man, who gives the young hero his commendation, the person who returns from battle ; whereas Homer makes the young hero himself that person, at least it Clarke is a just interpreter, which, I suppose, is hardly to be disputed. If my old friend would look into my Preface, he would find a principle laid down there, which, perhaps, it would not be easy to invalidate, and which, properly attended to, would equally secure a translation from stiff'ness and from wildness. The principle I mean is this : " Close, but not so close as to be servile ; free, but not so free as to be licen- tious." A superstitious fidelity loses the spirit, and a loose deviation the sense of the translated author ; a happy mode- ration in either case is the only possible way of preserving botli. Thus have I disciplined you both ; and now, if you please, you may both discipline me. I shall not enter my version in my book till it has undergone your strictures at least ; and should you write to the noble critic again, you are welcome to submit it to his. We are three awkward fellows, indeed, if we cannot, amongst us, make a tolerably good translation of six lines of Homer. Adieu ! W. C. * • This and the follo\\'ing, the last cheerful letters ever written by Cowper, who was now fast sinking under the weight of mental depres- sion, were occasioned ])y Mr Hayley Iiaving cidled upon Lord Thurlow in passing through London, on his return from Weston. Whilo describing to the Chancellor the situation of his old school-fellow, the conversation naturally tiu-ned upon Cowper's version, luul Thurlow objected to the lines in question Jis they originally stood, iu»d each tried a new translation. These attempts Hoyley transmitted to Cowper. See Life. COWPER S LETTERS. 589 479.— TO WlLLiAM hAYLEY, ESQ. THE SAME SUBJECT. Weston, January 5, 1794. My dear Hayley, — I have waited, but waited in vain, for a propitious moment, when I might give my old friend's objections the consideration they deserve ; I shall at last he forced to send a vague answer, unworthy to be sent to a person accustomed, like him, to close reasoning and abstruse discussion ; for I rise after ill rest, and with a frame of mind perfectly unsuited to the occasion. I sit, too, at the window, for light's sake, where I am so cold, that my pen slips out of my fingers. First, I will give you a translation de novo of this untranslatable prayer. It is shaped, as nearly as I could contrive, to his Lordship's ideas, but I have little hope that it will satisfy him. Grant, Jove, and all ye gods, that this my son Be, as myself have been, illustrious here ! A valiant man ! and let him reign in Troy : M-ay all who witness his return from fight Hereafter say. He far excels his sire ! And let him bring back gory trophies, stripp'd From foes slain by him, to his mother's joy ! Imlac, in Rasselas, says — I forget to whom — " You have convinced me that it is impossible to be a poet.** In like manner, I might say to his Lordship, yow have convinced me that it is impossible to be a translator ; to be a translator, on his terms at least, is, I am sure, impossible. On his terms, I would defy Homer himself, were he alive, to translate the Paradise Lost into Greek. Yet Milton had Homer much in his eye when he composed that poem. Whereas Homer never thought of me or my translation. There are minutiae in every language, which, transfused into another, will spoil the version. Such extreme fidelity is, in fact, unfaithful. Such close resemblance takes away all likeness. The original is elegant, easy, natural ; the copy is clumsy, constrained, unnatural. To what is this owing ? To the adoption of terms not congenial to your purpose, and of a context, such as no man writing an original work would make use of. Homer is every thing that a poet should be. A translation of Homer so made, will be every thing a translation of Homer should not be ; because it will be written in no language 590 cowper's letters. under heaven. It will be En^^lish, and it will be Greek, and therefore it will be neither. He is the man, whoever he be, (I do not pretend to be that man myself,) he is the man best qualified as a translator of Homer, who has drenched, and steeped, and soaked himself in the effusions of his genius, till he has imbibed their colour to the bone ; and who, when he is thus d^'ed through and through, distinguishing between what is essentially Greek, and what may be habited in English, rejects the former, and is faithful to the latter, as far as the purposes of fine poetry will permit, and no farther : this, I think, may be easily proved. Homer is every where remarkable cither for ease, dignity, or energy of expression ; for grandeur of conception, and a majestic flow of numbers. If we copy him so closely as to make eVery one of these excellent properties of his absolutely unattainable, which will certainly be the effect of too close a copy, instead of trans- lating, we murder him. Therefore, after all that his Lordship has said, I still hold freedom to be an indispensable. Freedom, I mean, with respect to the expression ; freedom so limited, as never to leave behind the matter ; but, at the same time, indulged with a sufficient scope to secure the spirit, and as much as possible of the manner. I say as mucii as possible, because an English manner must differ from a Greek one, in order to be graceful, and for this there is no remedy. Can an ungraceful, awkward translation of Homer be a good one ? No. But a graceful, easy, natural, faithful version of him, will not that be a good one? Yes. Allow me but this — and I insist upon it — that such a one may be produced on my principles, and can be produced on no other. I have not had time to criticise his Lordship's other version. You know how little time I have for any thing, and can tell him so. Adieu ! my dear brother. I have now tired both you and myself; and with the love of the whole trio, remain yours ever, W. C. Reading his Lordship's sentiments over again, I am inelin(>d to think that in all I have said, I have only given him back the same in other terms. He disallows both the absolute yrce, and the absolute close: so do I ; and, if I understand myself, have said so in my preface. He wishes to recommend a medium, though he will not call it so ; so do I ; only we express it differently. What is it then that we dispute about »* My head is not good enough to-day to discover. CO WPER*S LETTERS, 591 430. — TO THE REV. MR BUCHANAN. — i To interpose a little ease, Let my frail thoughts dally with false surmise ! I WILL forget for a moment, that to whomsoever I may address myself, a letter from me can no otherwise be welcome, than as a curiosity. To you, sir, I address this ; urged to it by extreme penury of employment, and the desire I feel to learn something of what is doing, and has been done, at Weston, (my beloved Weston !) since I left it. The coldness of these blasts, even in the hottest days, has been such, that, added to the irritation of the salt spray with which they are always charged, they have occasioned me an inflammation in the eyelids, which threatened a few days since to confine me entirel}', but by absenting myself as much as possible from the beach, and guarding my face with an umbrella, that inconvenience is in some degree abated. My chamber commands a very near view of the ocean, and the ships at high water approach' the coast so closely, that a man furnished with better eyes than mine might, I doubt not, discern the sailors from the window. No situation — at least when the weather is clear and bright — can be pleasanter ; which you will easily credit, when I add, that it imparts something a little resembling pleasure even to me. Gratify me with news of Weston ! If Mr Gregson, and your neighbours the Courtenays, are there, mention me to them in such terms as you see good. Tell me if my poor birds are living ! I never see the herbs I used to give thom without a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, forgetting that I am not at home. Pardon this intrusion. Mrs Unwin continues much as usual. MuNDSLEY, September- 5, n9o. 481 TO LADY HESKETH. COWrER's DEPRESSION Dear Cousin, — You describe delightful scenes, but you describe them to one, who, if he even saw tlieni, could receive no delight from them : who has a faint recollection, and so 592 cowper's letters. faint, as to be like an almost forgotten dream, that once he was susceptible of pleasure from such causes. The country that you have had in prospect has been always famed for its beauties ; but the wretch who can derive no gratirication from a view of Nature, even under the disadvantage of her most ordinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any. In one day — in one minute, I should rather have said — she became an universal blank to me ; and, though from a different cause, yet with an effect as difficult to remove as blindness Itself. MuMDSLE7, October IH, Wd^. 11 §05459 RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT T0»^ 202 Main Library 613 LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 2 3 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. DUE AS STAMPED BELOW AP R ? . o 1 9 8B OL'f li'm FORM NO. DD6, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY BERKELEY, CA 94720 GENERAL LIBRARY - U.C. BERKELEY BQ003M=i=^lM