fluence, which he was not equally inclined to believe, and the less, no doubt, because, Mr. A———, addressing himself to me at that moment, informed me, that I had a great deal. Supposing that I could 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 difficult purposes of a senator, he has a third, also, which he wore suspended by a riband from his buttonhole. The boys hallooed, the dogs barked, puss scampered, the hero, with his long train of obsequious followers, withdrew.

made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and, in a short time, settled into our former tranquillity, never probably to be thus interrupted more; I thought myself, however, happy in being able to affirm truly, that I had not that influence for which he sued; and 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 equallysuccessful throughout the county, he will undonbtedly gain his election. Mr. A- perhaps, was a little mortified, because it was evident, that I owed the honour of this visit to his misrepresentation of my importance. 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 teazes away his hearers. But he is a good man, and may, perhaps, outgrow it.

W. COWPER.

TO LADY HESKETH.

The Lodge, March 3, 1788:

ONE day last week, Mrs. Unwin and I having taken our morning walk, 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 the 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 her utmost speed, as if in pursuit of something, which we doubted not was the fox. Before we could reach the other end of the wilderness, the hounds entered also;

and when we arrived at the 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 had killed him. A conclusion, which I suppose he drew from their profound silence. He was accordingly admitted, and with a sagacity that would not have dishonoured the best hound in the world, pursuing precisely the same track which the fox and 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 produced dead 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 attention. The huntsman having by the aid of a pitchfork lodged reynard on the arm of an elm, at the height of about nine feet from the ground, there left him for a considerable time. The gentlemen sat on their horses contemplating the fox, for which they 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 huntsman 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 were 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 repeated, 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 it's accustomed course, has, of it's 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 1, who am as well informed as any sportsman in England. Yours,

W. COWPER.

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE.

September, 1737.

I WAS hindered in my last, and so could not give you all the trouble I would have done. The description of a road, which your coach wheels have so often honoured, it would be needless to give you; suffice it that I arrived safe at my uncle's, who is a great hunter in imagination; his dogs take up every chair in the house, so I am forced to stand at this present writing: and, though the gout forbids him galloping after them in the field, yet he continues still to regale his ears and nose with their comfortable noise and stink. He holds me mighty cheap, I perceive, for walking when I should ride, and reading when I should hunt. My comfort amidst all this is, that I have at the distance of half a mile through a green lane, a forest (the vulgar call it a common)all my own, at least as good as so, for I spy no human thing in it but myself. It is a little chaos of mountains and precipices; mountains, it is true, that do not ascend much above the clouds, nor are the declivities quite so amazing as Dover Cliff; sbut just such hills as people, who love their necks as well as I do, may venture to climb, and crags, that give the eye as much pleasure, as if they were more dangerous: both vale and hill are covered with most venerable beeches, and other very reverend vegetables, that, like most other ancient people, are always dreaming out their old stories to the winds.

And, as they bow their hoary tops, relate,

In murm'ring sounds, the dark decrees of fate;
While visions, as poetic eyes avow,

Cling to each leaf, and swarm on ev'ry bough.

At the foot of one of these squats me (il penseroso), and there I grow to the trunk for a whole morning. The timorous hare and sportive squirrel gambol around me like Adam in Paradise, before he had an Eve; but I think he did not use to read Virgil, as I commonly do there. In this situation, I often converse with my Horace, aloud too, that is, to talk to you, but I do not remember, that I ever heard you answer me. I beg pardon for taking all the conversation to myself, but it is entirely your own fault. have old Mr. Southern at a gentleman's house a little way off, who often comes to see us; he is now seventy-seven years old, and has almost wholly lost his memory; but is as agreeable as an old man can be, at least I persuade myself so when I look at him, and think of Isabella and Oroonoko. I shall be in town in about three weeks. Adieu.

We

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON.

Pembroke Hall, Aug. 26, 1766.

WHATEVER my pen may do, I am sure my thoughts expatiate nowhere oftener, or with more pleasure, than to Old Park. I hope you have made my peace with the angry little lady. It is certain, whether her name were in my letter or not, she was as present to my memory as the rest of the whole family; and I desire you would present her with two kisses in my name, and one a piece to all the others; for I shall take the liberty to kiss them all (great and small), as you are to be my proxy.