spare servant's-room that the house affords. It might possibly be easy to find lodging for two servants at no great distance,—perhaps, at the next door, but your own woman should certainly be within call. Thus stands the case, my beloved cousin. But you will come, and you will see it all with your own eyes, and then we shall be able to remedy any defects better than we can without you. Do like it if you can. I should tell you that the situation is such that you will never be troubled with an afternoon or evening sun. It is within five minutes walk of our door. There is not in Olney, nor in all the neighbourhood of Olney, a ready-furnished house or lodging to be found besides. As to the rooms once occupied by Lady Austen, they are, alas! out of the question. She furnished them herself, and at present the walls are bare. They are in the vicarage, which at that time was occupied by curate, wife, and family. But that curate has removed to London, and now preaches at the Lock; and the present one is a single man, and has not, I suppose, much more furniture than the Shunamite bestowed upon Elisha when she lodged him on the wall of her house. We have learned, however, on enquiry, that two rooms excepted, the whole is vacant. The house that I have described, as far as parlour, chamber, and kitchen are concerned, is so exactly the thing that I think would suit you, that neither I nor Mrs. Unwin can help cherishing a hope that some way or other matters may be made to fadge.

I knew, my dear, that I should alarm you with my panegyric upon rough verses, and when I had ended all that I had to say upon this subject, I laughed, and

said to myself, now will my poor cousin expect nothing but rumble, rumble, rumble. I have said so much in praise of hobbling lines, that if she meets with a line that does not halt like a lame post-horse, she will think herself happy, and will say, Well done, cousin, that's something like! I wish it were always such! Well then, my cousin, as much of it shall be smooth and graceful, as I can possibly make so, and Mrs. Unwin can witness for me that I spare no labour. You are perfectly right in all that you have said on the matter; there can be no dignity in simplicity unless it have elegance also, and that is the point at which I drive continually. Fear not that you will take me from my business. For two hours every morning, and for the same time every evening, I determine to forget that you exist, and that to converse with you is to me worth more than all that Homer ever composed. You say I flatter you. I never did in my life. You have an admirable memory,—recollect if you can a single compliment that I ever paid you. No, my cousin, I did not flatter you, neither do I now, when I tell you that I never could find an opportunity.

Your kindness in visiting Johnson for my sake I feel sensibly, as I do, indeed, the whole long series of your unwearied and most friendly services. Though I hear from you but once a week, I have the comfort of knowing to a certainty that I am every day of the week in your thoughts, and if I wish at any time with more than common ardour for fame and honour, it is as much with a view to your gratification as my own. In truth, I believe I may say more, for I not unfrequently feel a most unaccountable stupidity on that subject,

and such a one as makes me wonder that I should ever acquire the smallest portion of either. But it is not always so. I rejoice that the General is pleased; if it pleases him to know that I have a warm and sincere affection for him, he may safely indulge himself in that persuasion.

Adieu, my ever beloved.

WM. COWPER.

See what habit has done, it has made me skip over the middle of the page without occasion. But I have two or three things in reserve that will fill it sufficiently. First for my health. Mrs. Unwin and I are both agreed that I have pumped as long as pumping is good. The last emetic sensibly did me harm. It is a week this day since I took it, and I have not yet recovered the effect of it. I have more fever and a more uneasy stomach than I had before. I mean therefore to discontinue the use of them for the present. I boasted that I was growing fat, but I may now boast that I am grown lean, which at my time of life is perhaps the prouder boast of the two. There is no better air in the world than the air of Olney in summer-time. The whole country is either rock or gravel at the depth of a few feet. But in the winter I suspect that it is rather agueish, for such distempers are very frequent here at that season; not that we rich rogues are ever so affected, the evil is confined merely to the poor. But we are built on the river's brink, and in the winter the adjoining meadows are often laid under water, which is, I suppose, the cause of it. I send you all that I have to send in the compli

mentary style. A note of Lord Hamilton's that was rather flattering, I have burnt. Certain sayings of my poor friend Bagot when he was here, I do not send, because I have not the courage to write them. I have heard nothing more from him since the death of his amiable wife, but I have thought sometimes of writing to him again.—I have read Hannah More's Sacred Dramas with great pleasure; I honour her both for her subjects, and for the manner in which she has set them forth.-I could add, but want room.

Good bye, neighbour.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

L

MY DEAR FRIEND,

April 1, 1786. and am

I HAVE made you wait long for an answer,
now obliged to write in a hurry. But lest my longer
silence should alarm you, hurried as I am, still I
write. I told you, if I mistake not, that the circle of
my correspondence has lately been enlarged; and it
seems still increasing, which, together with my poeti-
cal business, makes an hour a momentous affair.
Pardon an unintentional pun. You need not fear for
my health. It suffers nothing by my employment.
I hope also that you have no need to fear lest I should
hereafter suffer by disappointment. No care shall be
wanting on my part to guard against it. I return you
many thanks for all your friendly services in the mat-
ter of subscription. When you saw Johnson that busi-
ness was so much in its infancy, that it was not likely
that many names should have been entered in his

book.

Neither General Cowper, nor his son, nor Lady Hesketh have yet given in their lists. The latter has only communicated a few names at Johnson's, and probably a few at Walker's also, and at Debrett's, for the present honour of the catalogue, and that they may breed more. But the bulk of their collection is still in reserve. In the meantime they give me the warmest encouragement, and have no doubt themselves of a numerous subscription.-That the price should be thought too high, I must rather wonder. The immense labour of the work considered, and the price of Pope's first edition also considered, which was seven guineas, it does not appear to me extravagant. I question if there is a poet in the three kingdoms, or in any kingdom, who would sell such a commodity for less. Two or three guineas may now perhaps be as important as seven were fifty years ago, and I suppose that they are ; but if every thing else is grown dearer, why should the produce of the brain in particular grow cheap? We may comfort ourselves, too, with reflecting that twenty subscribers at two guineas are just as good as forty at one.

We, who in general see no company, are at present in expectation of a great deal; at least, if three different visits may be called so. Mr. and Mrs. Powley, in the first place, are preparing for a journey southward. She is far from well, but thinks herself well enough to travel, and feels an affectionate impatience for another sight of Olney. A long time since I desired Johnson to send a volume of the Task to your house, intended for Mr. Powley. Mr. Emsal was to have taken it with him into the north, but Mr. Powley has