habitation; in all our afflictions he is tax upon that commodity, I hardly afflicted, and chastens us in mercy. know a business in which a gentleSurely he will sanctify this dispensa- man might more successfully employ tion to you, do you great and ever- himself. A Chinese, of ten times my lasting good by it, make the world fortune, would avail himself of such appear like dust and vanity in your an opportunity without scruple; and sight, as it truly is: and open to your why should not I, who want money view the glories of a better country, as much as any mandarin in China! where there shall be no more death, Rousseau would have been charmed neither sorrow, nor pain; but God to have seen me so occupied, and shall wipe away all tears from your would have exclaimed, with rapture, eyes for ever. Oh that comfortable" that he had found the Emilius, who word! "I have chosen thee in the (he supposed) had subsisted only in furnaces of affliction ;" so that our his own idea." I would recommend very sorrows are evidences of our it to you to follow my example. You calling, and he chastens us because will presently qualify yourself for the we are his children. task; and may not only amuse your

My dear cousin,—I commit you to self at home, but may even exercise the word of his grace, and to the com- your skill in mending the church forts of his holy Spirit. Your life is windows; which, as it would save needful for your family; may God, money to the parish, would conduce, in mercy to them, prolong it; and together with your other ministerial may he preserve you from the dan- accomplishments, to make you exgerous effects which a stroke like this tremely popular in the place. might have upon a frame so tender I have eight pair of tame pigeons. as yours. I grieve with you, I pray When I first enter the garden in the for you could I do more, I would; morning, I find them perched upon but God must comfort you. Yours, the wall, waiting for their breakfast, in our dear Lord Jesus.

LETTER VIII.

To the Rev. William Unwin.

Sept. 21, 1779.

for I feed them always upon the gravel walk. If your wish should be accomplished, and you should find yourself furnished with the wings of a dove, I shall undoubtedly find you amongst them; only be so good, if that should be the case, to announce yourself by some means or other, for AMICO mio,* be pleased to buy I imagine your crop will require me a glazier's diamond pencil. I something better than tares to fill it. Your mother and I, last week, have glazed the two frames designed to receive my pine-plants. But I made a trip in a post-chaise to Gaycannot mend the kitchen windows, hurst, the seat of Mr. Wright, about till by the help of that implement I four miles off. He understood that can reduce the glass to its proper di-I did not much affect strange faces, mensions. If I were a plumber, I and sent over his servant on purpose should be a complete glazier; and to inform me, that he was going into possibly the happy time may come, Leicestershire, and that if I chose to when I shall be seen trudging away see the gardens, I might gratify myto the neighbouring towns with a self, without danger of seeing the shelf of glass hanging at my back. proprietor. I accepted the invitation, If government should impose another and was delighted with all I found there. The situation is happy, the gardens elegantly disposed, the hot

* My friend.

house in the most flourishing state, trampled them under his great foot. and the orange trees the most capti- He has passed sentence of condemvating creatures of the kind I ever nation upon Lycidas, and has taken saw. A man, in short, had need occasion, from that charming poem, have the talents of Cox or Langford, to expose to ridicule (what is indeed the auctioneers, to do the whole scene ridiculous enough) the childish pratjustice. Our love attends you all. tlement of pastoral compositions, as Yours.

LETTER IX.

if Lycidas was the prototype and pattern of them all. The liveliness of the description, the sweetness of the numbers, the classical spirit of antiquity, that prevails in it, go for nothing. I am convinced, by the way, that he has no ear for poetical numOct. 31, 1779. bers, or that it was stopped, by prejudice, against the harmony of Mil

To the Rev. William Unwin.

My dear friend, I WROTE my last letter merely to ton's. Was there ever any thing so inform you, that I had nothing to delightful as the music of the Parasay, in answer to which you have dise Lost? It is like that of a fine said nothing. I admire the proprie- organ; has the fullest and the deepty of your conduct, though I am a est tones of majesty, with all the softloser by it. I will endeavour to say ness and elegance of the Dorian flute. something now, and shall hope for Variety without end, and never equalsomething in return. led, unless perhaps by Virgil. Yet

I have been well entertained with the doctor has little, or nothing, to Johnson's biography, for which I say upon this copious theme; but thank you; with one exception, and talks something about the unfitness that a swinging one, I think he has of the English language for blank acquitted himself with his usual good verse, and how apt it is in the mouth sense and sufficiency. His treatment of some readers, to degenerate into of Milton is unmerciful to the last declamation.

Yours affectionately.

LETTER X.

To the Rev. John Newton.

Dear sir,

May 3, 1780.

degree. He has belaboured that I could talk a good while longer, great poet's character with the most but I have no room; our love attends industrious cruelty. As a man he you. has hardly left him the shadow of one good quality. Churlishness in his private life, and a rancorous hatred of every thing royal in his public, are the two colours with which he has smeared all the canvass. If he had any virtues, they are not to be found in the Doctor's picture of him: and it is well for Milton, that some sour- You indulge in such a variety of ness in his temper is the only vice subjects, and allow me such a latiwith which his memory has been tude of excursion in this scribbling charged it is evident enough, that employment, that I have no excuse if his biographer could have discover- for silence. I am much obliged to ed more, he would not have spared you for swallowing such boluses as I him. As a poet, he has treated him send you, for the sake of my gilding, with severity enough, and has pluck-and verily believe, I am the only ed one or two of the most beautiful man alive from whom they would be feathers out of his muse's wing, and welcome to a palate like yours. I

LETTER XI.

To Mrs. Cowper.

May 10, 1780.

My dear cousin,

wish I could make them more splen-lever. They think a fine estate, a did than they are, more alluring to large conservatory, a hot-house, rich the eye, at least, if not more pleas- as a West-Indian garden, things of ing to the taste; but my leaf-gold is consequence; visit them with pleatarnished, and has received such a sure, and muse upon them with ten tinge from the vapours that are ever times more. I am pleased with a brooding over my mind, that I think frame of four lights, doubtful whether it no small proof of your partiality the few pines it contains will ever to me, that you will read my letters. be worth a farthing; amuse myself I am not fond of long-winded meta- with a green-house which lord Bute's phors; I have always observed, that gardener could take upon his back, they halt at the latter end of their and walk away with; and when I progress, and so does mine. I deal have paid it the accustomed visit, much in ink indeed, but not such and watered it, and given it air, I ink as is employed by poets, and say to myself "This is not mine; writers of essays. Mine is a harm-'tis a plaything lent me for the preless fluid, and guilty of no deceptions, sent; I must leave it soon." but such as may prevail, without the least injury to the person imposed on. I draw mountains, valleys, woods, and streams, and ducks, and dabchicks. I admire them myself, and Mrs. Unwin admires them; and her praise and my praise, put together, are fame enough for me. Oh! I could spend whole days, and moonI po not write to comfort you; light nights, in feeding upon a lovely that office is not likely to be well prospect: My eyes drink the rivers performed by one who has no comas they flow. If every human being fort for himself; nor to comply with upon earth could think for one quar- an impertinent ceremony, which in ter of an hour, as I have done for general might well be spared upon many years, there might, perhaps, be such occasions: but because I would many miserable men among them, not seem indifferent to the concerns of but not an awakened one would be those I have so much reason to esfound, from the Arctic to the An- teem and love. If I did not sorrow for tarctic circle. At present, the dif- your brother's death, I should expect ference between them and me is that nobody would for mine; when greatly to their advantage. I delight I knew him, he was much beloved, in baubles, and know them to be so; and, I doubt not, continued to be so. for rested in, and viewed without a To live and die together is the lot reference to their Author, what is of a few happy families, who hardly the earth, what are the planets, what know what a separation means, and is the sun itself, but a bauble? Bet- one sepulchre serves them all; but ter for a man never to have seen the ashes of our kindred are disthem, or to see them with the eyes persed indeed. Whether the Ameof a brute, stupid and unconscious rican gulph has swallowed up any of what he beholds, than not to be other of my relations, I know not; able to say, "The maker of all these it has made many mourners. wonders is my friend!" Believe me, my dear cousin, have never been opened, to see that though after a long silence, which they are trifles; mine have been, perhaps nothing less than the preand will be till they are closed for sent concern could have prevailed

Their eyes

with me to interrupt, as much as ever, afore mentioned, as sheep follow a your affectionate kinsman.

LETTER XII.

To the Rev. William Unwin.

bell-wether, and decided in direct opposition to the said judge. Then a flaw was discovered in the indictment. The indictment was quashed, and an order made for a new trial. The new trial will be in the King's Bench, where said knave and said July 27, 1780. fools will have nothing to do with it. My dear friend, So the men of Olney fling up their As two men sit silent, after caps, and assure themselves of a having exhausted all their topics of complete victory. A victory will conversation; one says, "It is very save me and your mother many shilfine weather;" and the other says, lings, perhaps some pounds, which, "Yes;" one blows his nose, and the except that it has afforded me a subother rubs his eye-brows (by the way, ject to write upon, was the only reathis is very much in Homer's man- son why I said so much about it. I ner); such seems to be the case be- know you take an interest in all that tween you and me. After a silence concerns us, and will consequentof some days, I wrote you a long ly rejoice with us, in the prospect something, that (I suppose) was of an event in which we are connothing to the purpose, because it cerned so nearly. Yours affectionhas not afforded you materials for an ately. 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 Aug. 6, 1780. with me. I am with you again in My dear frie id, the form of an epistle, though, conYou like to hear from me. This sidering my present emptiness, I is a very good reason why I should have reason to fear that your only write; but I have nothing to say. joy upon the occasion will be, that it This seems equally a good reason is conveyed to you in a frank. why I should not; yet if you had

LETTER XIII.

To the Rev. William Unwin.

When I began, I expected no in- alighted from your horse at our door terruption. But if I had expected this morning, and at this present interruptions without end, I should writing, being five o'clock in the have been less disappointed. First afternoon, had found occasion to came the barber; who, after having say to me;" Mr. Cowper, you have embellished the outside of my head, not spoke since I came in, have you has left the inside just as un-resolved never to speak again?" it furnished as he found it. Then would be but a poor reply, if, in came Olney bridge, not into the answer to the summons, I should house, but into the conversation. plead inability as my best and only The cause relating to it was tried on excuse. And this, by the way, sugTuesday at Buckingham. The judge gests to me a seasonable piece of directed the jury to find a verdict fa- instruction, and reminds me of what vourable to Olney. The jury con- I am very apt to forget, when I have sisted of one knave, and eleven fools. any epistolary business in hand; that The last mentioned followed the a letter may be written upon any

thing or nothing, just as that any possible, that a people, who resemthing or nothing happens to occur. bled us so little in their taste, should A man that has a journey before him resemble us in any thing else. But twenty miles in length, which he is in every thing else, I suppose, they to perform on foot, will not hesitate, were our counterparts exactly; and and doubt, whether he shall set out time, that has sewed up the slashed or not, because he does not readily sleeve, and reduced the large trunk conceive how he shall ever reach the hose to a neat pair of silk stockings, end of it; for he knows, that by the has left human nature just where it simple operation of moving one foot found it. The inside of the man at forward first, and then the other, he least has undergone no change. shall be sure to accomplish it. So it is His passions, appetites, and aims, in the present case, and so it is in every are just what they ever were. They similar case. A letter is written as a wear perhaps a handsomer disguise conversation is maintained, or a jour- than they did in days of yore; for ney performed, not by preconcerted philosophy and literature will have or premeditated means, a new con- their effect upon the exterior; but, trivance, or an invention never heard in every other respect, a modern is of before; but merely by main- only an ancient in a different dress. taining a progress, and resolving, as Yours.

66

LETTER XIV.

To Mrs. Cowper.

Aug. 31, 1780.

My dear cousin,

a postilion does, having once set out, never to stop, 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 tiewig, square-toe, Steinkirk figure, would say; My good sir, a man has no right to do either." But it is I AM obliged to you for your long to be hoped, that the present century letter, which did not seem so, and for has nothing to do with the mouldy your short one, which was more than opinions of the last; and so good I had any reason to expect. Short Sir Launcelot, or Sir Paul, or what- as it was, it conveyed to me two inever be your name, step into your teresting articles of intelligence; picture-frame again, and look as if an account of your recovering from you thought for another century, and a fever, and of lady Cowper's death. leave us moderns in the mean time The latter was, I suppose, to be exto think when we can, and to write pected; for by what remembrance I whether we can or not, else we might have of her ladyship, who was never as well be dead as you are. much acquainted with her, she had

When we look back upon our fore- reached those years, that are always fathers, we seem to look back upon found upon the borders of another the people of another nation, almost world. As for you, your time of life upon creatures of another species. is comparatively of a youthful date. Their vast rambling mansions, spa- You may think of death as much as cious halls, and painted casements, you please (you cannot think of it the gothic porch smothered with too much), but I hope you will live honeysuckles, their little gardens, to think of it many years. and high walls, their box-edgings, It costs me not much difficulty to balls of holly, and yew-tree statues, suppose, that my friends, who were are become so entirely unfashionable already grown old when I saw them now, that we can hardly believe it last, are old still; but it costs me a