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 make an heart-ache at Eartham, which I wish to be always cheerful. Adieu. My poor sympathising Mary is of course sad, but always mindful of you

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

W. C.

Weston, Oct. 18, 1793.

My dear Brother-I have not at present much that is 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.

Læti expectamus te puerumque tuum.

W.C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Weston, Oct. 22, 1793.

My dear Friend-You are very kind to apologize for a short letter, instead of reproaching me with having been so long entirely silent. I persuaded myself, however, that while you were on your journey you would miss me less as a correspondent than you do when you are at home, and therefore allowed myself to pursue my literary labours only, but still purposing to write as soon as I should have reason to judge you returned to London. Hindrances, however, to the execution even of that purpose, have interposed; and at this moment I write in the utmost haste, as indeed I always do, partly because I never begin a letter till I am

* Private Correspondence.

already fatigued with study, and partly through fear of interruption before I can possibly finish it. I rejoice that you have travelled so much to your satisfaction. As to me, my travelling days, I believe, are over. Our journey of last year was less beneficial, both to Mrs. Unwin's health and my spirits, than I hoped it might be ; and we are hardly rich enough to migrate in quest of pleasure merely.

I thank you much for your last publication, which I am reading, as fast as I can snatch opportunity, to Mrs. Unwin. We have found it, as far as we have gone, both interesting and amusing; and I never cease to wonder at the fertility of your invention, that, shut up as you were in your vessel, and disunited from the rest of mankind, could yet furnish you with such variety, and with the means, likewise, of saying the same thing in so many dif ferent ways.*

Sincerely yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. J. JEKYLL RYE.

Weston, Nov. 3, 1793.

My dear Sir-Sensible as I am of your kindness in taking such a journey, at no very pleasant season, merely to serve a friend of mine, I cannot allow my thanks to sleep till I may have the pleasure of seeing you. I hope never to show myself unmind

* The publication alluded to is entitled, "Letters to a Wife; written during three voyages to Africa, from 1750 to 1754. By the Author of Cardiphonia."

ful 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. I have great satisfaction in the event, and consequently hold 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,

Sincerely yours,

W. C.

Hayley's second visit to Weston took place very soon after the date of the last letter. He found Cowper enlivened by the society of his young kinsman from Norfolk, and another of his favourite friends, Mr. Rose. The latter came recently from the seat of Lord Spencer, in Northamptonshire, commissioned to invite Cowper, and his guests, to Althorpe, where Gibbon, the historian, was making a visit of some continuance.

*He was appointed Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford.

Cowper was strongly urged to accept this flattering invitation from a nobleman whom he cordially respected, and whose library alone might be regarded as a magnet of very powerful attraction. But the constitutional shyness of the poet, and the infirm state of Mrs. Unwin's health, conspired to prevent the meeting. It would have been curious to have contemplated the Poet of Christianity and the author of the celebrated sixteenth chapter in "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" placed in juxtaposition with each other. The reflection would not have escaped a pious observer how much happier, in the eye of wisdom, was the state of Cowper, clouded as it was by depression and sorrow, than that of the unbelieving philosopher, though in the zenith of his fame. We know it has been asserted that men are not answerable for their creed. Why then are the Jews a scattered people, the living witnesses of the truth of a divine Revelation and of the avenging justice of God? But scepticism can never justly be said to originate in want of evidence. Men doubt because they search after truth with the pride of the intellect, instead of seeking it with the simplicity of a little child, and that humility of spirit, by which only it is to be found.

TO MRS. COURTENAY.

Weston, Nov. 4, 1793.

I seldom rejoice in a day of soaking rain like