always. Otherwise it is the thing itself, river, tree, or hill, that he gives us in naked simplicity. That simplicity was the central element in his character, and it is the secret both of what he confessed and of what he discovered. The perfectly simple can ask questions and reveal facts which no one else can reveal or ask. So it was with Cowper. He takes up his pen to amuse himself, to describe his walks, and his friends, and his garden, and his pets, and in the result finds himself, as it were by accident, a great poet, and a poet of a new order. He, more than any one else, discovered that a man may be himself, and may tell the plain truth, and yet be a poet. It is a discovery which has since been pushed too far; but in his day it was real and important. Previous poets had used their own experiences and feelings often enough, but as a rule they had dressed them up for appearance on the printed page. That is a perfectly legitimate thing to do. But Cowper did not do it, and that he did not is both his strength and his weakness. It is his weakness, because by confining himself to a plain confession of his own feelings and doings, and those of his little circle of friends, he could not attempt to deal with human life in its variety and complexity, as his contemporary Crabbe did both before and after him with such vigour and truth, and because not only human life as a whole, but also Nature as a whole, was, by these restrictions, out of his reach. The large philosophy of Wordsworth was impossible for him as the universal portrait gallery of Crabbe. But this limitation was also Cowper's strength. For it may have been only on condition of renouncing loftier ambitions that he succeeded in placing himself, his own heart, and his little world, on the page of his verse, with such admirable ease, intimacy, and truth. And to have done that is to be immortal, for, in poetry, immortality lies just there--in the felicitous marriage of what is beautiful and what is true.

as

APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION

UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OF WILLIAM

COWPER

I. TO JOHN AND CATHARINE JOHNSON

II. TO JOSEPH HILL

has been thought desirable to take the present opportunity of printing some unpublished letters of the poet, to a few of which allusion has been made in the foregoing introduction. The letters to Joseph Hill are the property of the Rev. Canon Cowper Johnson, of Yaxham Rectory; and those addressed to John and Catharine Johnson belong to the Rev. Henry Barham Johnson, of Welborne Rectory, Norfolk. There are fourteen letters addressed to John Johnson and his sister, four of which have been already partially published. The part previously published is small. To Joseph Hill there are twenty-one letters, of one of which one paragraph has been printed before. To these five partially published letters, foot-notes, mentioning that fact, are appended. All the rest are entirely new. Their chief interest is to illustrate afresh the swiftness of affection with which Cowper went to meet his new-found Norfolk relations, and the entirely trusting tenacity with which he clung to the tried friendship of Hill.

LIST OF THE LETTERS

LETTERS TO JOHN AND CATHARINE

JOHNSON

MY DEAREST JOHNNY,

1

Weston, December 18th, 1790 *

I address you with a new pen, a great rarity with me, and for which I am indebted to my Lady Cousin. And this I do the very day after the receipt of your letter, having an ardent desire to tell you in legible characters how much I, and how much we all love and are obliged to you. The oysters, like those you sent first, surpass all encomium; and the Cottenham cheeses were especially welcome, being always cheeses that deserve to be numbered among the best in the world, and cheeses beside which we have not tasted many years. We thank you with no common thanks, but with such as your kindness merits.

But what thanks can I render you proportioned to your zeal exerted in favour of my subscription? Be assured that I shall never forget it, speed as it may, and in order to immortalize it will record it immediately in verse which must be of the extemporary kind, because I have no time for anything better.

There was no market town in all

The land of the Iceni,

Where Johnny did not loudly call
For everybody's guinea.

But gold was scarce, and we regret,
That folks were grown so wise

That few thought Homer half so sweet
As sausage and mince pies.

I fear, my Johnny, that this will prove the case, but whether it should or not my obligation to thee is equal. In the mean time I perceive myself so flattered by the instances of illustrious 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. The King's College subscription makes me proud, the effect that my verses have had on your two young friends, the mathematicians, makes me proud; and I am, if possible, prouder

* Part of this letter has already been printed.

still of the contents of the letter that you enclose. You must give my most respectful compliments to Mr. Reeve, the writer of it, and you must tell him how much I feel myself obliged to him for his own subscription, so handsomely given, and for the readiness with which he gives me also his interest with others. I know not what Mr. Cowper that gentleman can have met at Saffron Walden, and whom he supposes me. A cousin of mine he must have been, but which of my cousins I cannot even conjecture. For my own part I was never there, nor ever had the happiness to be in his

company.

You complained of being stupid, and sent to 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 anything above the pitch of everyday scribble when I write to those I love.

Homer proceeds, my boy. We shall get through in time, and I hope by the time appointed. We are now in the 10th Iliad. I expect the ladies every minute to breakfast, and will be responsible to you for a letter in due time from each. You have their best love. Mine attends the whole army of Donnes at Mattishall Green assembled. How happy should 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.

I am, my dearest Johnny,
Yours,

WILLIAM COWPER

You will remember, I hope, your promised call here in January, or at whatever time you leave Norfolk.

Mrs. Hewitt, Mrs. Balls, Mrs. Bodham, and Kate! May God bless you all together, and yours with you. Amen.

I admire your advertising boards; that which you sent hither is gone to Newport Pagnell to catch as many gudgeons there as will bite, and then it will go to catch others at Woburn. I shall insist on defraying the cost.

2

MY DEAREST JOHNNY,

Weston, June 1, 1791 *

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 * The first paragraph of this letter has been printed before.