a holiday time long enough for a man who has much to do. And now farewell!

W. C.

P. S.-Hayley, whose love for me seems to be truly that of a Brother, has given me his picture, drawn by Romney about fifteen years ago: an admirable likeness.

MY DEAREST COZ.

LETTER XLII.

To Lady HESKETH.

Eartham, Sept. 9, 1792.

I determine, if possible, to send you

one more Letter, or at least, if possible, once more to send you something like one, before we leave Eartham. But I am in truth so unaccountably local in the use of my pen, that, like the man in the fable, who could leap well no where but at Rhodes, I seem incapable of writing at all, except at Weston. This is, as I have already told you, a delightful place; more beautiful scenery I have never beheld, nor expect to behold; but the charms of it, uncommon as they are, have not in the least alienated my affections from Weston. The genius of that place suits me better, it has an air of snug concealment, in which a disposition like mine feels itself peculiarly gratified: whereas here I see from every window, woods like

forests, and hills like mountains, a wildness, in short, that rather increases my natural melancholy, and which were it not for the agreeables I find within, would soon convince me that mere change of place can avail me little. Accordingly, I have not looked out for a house in Sussex, nor shall.

The intended day of our departure continues to be the seventeenth. I hope to re-conduct Mrs. Unwin to the Lodge with her health considerably mended; but it is in the article of speech chiefly, and in her powers of walking, that she is sensible of much improvement. Her sight and her hand still fail her, so that she can neither read nor work: mortifying circumstances both, to her, who is never willingly idle.

On the eighteenth I purpose to dine with the General, and to rest that night at Kingston. But the pleasure I shall have in the interview, will hardly be greater than the pain I shall feel at the end of it, for we shall part probably to meet no more.

Johnny, I know, has told you that Mr. Hurdis is here. Distressed by the loss of his Sister, he has renounced the place where she died, for ever, and is about to enter on a new course of life at Oxford; you would admire him much. He is gentle in his manners, and delicate in his person, resembling our poor friend Unwin, both in face and figure, more than any one I have ever seen. But he has not, at least he has not at present, his vivacity.

I have corresponded since I came here with Mrs. Courtenay, and had yesterday a very kind Letter from her.

Adieu, my dear; may God bless you-write to me as soon as you can after the twentieth, I shall then be at Weston; and indulging myself in the hope that I shall ere long see your there also. W. C.

The reader will perceive, from the last Letter, that Cowper, amused as he was with the scenery of Sussex, began to feel the powerful attraction of home. Indeed the infirm state of Mrs. Un

win, and the declining season of the year, rendered it highly desirable for the tender travellers to be restored to their own fire-side by the time they proposed.

Their departure from Eartham was a scene of affectionate anxiety; and a perfect contrast to the gaiety of their arrival. The kindness of Cowper relieved my solicitude concerning their journey, by the following Letter from Kingston. I insert it as a pleasing memorial of that peculiar tenderness of heart, which conspired with his most admirable talents, to render him the most interesting of men. From an ardent, and, I hope, a laudable desire to display this endearing characteristic of my Friend, I shall add a collection of Extracts from his Letters to me, rather more copious than I at first intended.

LETTER

LETTER XLIII.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esqr.

MY DEAR BROTHER,

The Sun at Kingston, Sept. 18, 1792.

With no sinister accident to retard or

terrify us, we find ourselves at a quarter before one, arrived safe at Kingston. I left you with a heavy heart, and with a heavy heart took leave of our dear Tom, at the bottom of the Chalk-hill. But soon after this last separation, my troubles gushed from my eyes, and then I was better.

We must now prepare for our visit to the General. I add no more, therefore, than our dearest remembrances and prayers that God may bless you and yours, and reward you an hundred-fold for all your kindness. Tell Tom I shall always hold him dear for his affecionate attentions to Mrs. Unwin. From her heart the memory of him can never be erased. his share in all these acknowledgments,

Adieu.

Johnny loves you all, and has

W C.

LETTER XLIV.

To WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esqr.

MY DEAR HAYLEY,

Weston, Sept. 21, 1792.

Chaos himself, even the Chaos of Milton,

is not surrounded with more confusion, nor has a mind more

completely

completely in a hubbub than I experience at the present moment. At our first arrival, after long absence, we find a hundred orders to servants necessary, a thousand things to be restored to their proper places, and an endless variety of minutiæ to be adjusted; which though individually of little importance, are most momentous in the aggregate. In these circumstances I find myself so indisposed to writing, that, save to yourself, I would on no account attempt it; but to you I will give such a recital as I can, of all that has passed since I sent you that short note from Kingston, knowing that if it be a perplexed recital, you will consider the cause, and pardon it. I will begin with a remark in which I am inclined to think you will agree with me, that there is sometimes more true heroism passing in a corner, and on occasions that make no noise in the world, than has often been exercised by those whom that world esteems her greatest herocs, and on occasions the most illustrious; I hope so at least; for all the heroism I have to boast, and all the opportunities I have of displaying any, are of a private nature. After writing the note I immediately began to prepare for my appointed visit to Ham; but the struggles that I had with my own spirit, labouring as I did under the most dreadful dejection, are never to be told. I would have given the world to have been excused.—I went, however, and carried my point against myself, with a heart riven asunder--I have reasons for all this anxiety, which I cannot relate now: The visit, however, passed off well, and we returned in the dark

to