friends afflicted? his correspondence evinces the most earnest sympathy in their distresses, while it offers to their view, in most delightful displays of the promises and comforts of the Gospel, the surest consolation. All this, and much more, the Christian reader will find in these volumes, from which, therefore, no quotations are needful.*

But the following letters from his Private Correspondence, not published by Hayley, so pleasingly exhibit the playful and happy dispositions of his own mind under the newly awakened influence by which he was now directed, and at the same time explain so many particulars of his private circumstances, that they cannot but be acceptable.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

HUNTINGDON, July 3, 1765. DEAR JOE, Whatever you may think of the matter, it is no such easy thing to keep house for two people. A man cannot always live like the lions in the Tower; and a joint of meat, in so small a family, is an endless encumbrance. In short, I never knew how to pity poor house-keepers before; but now I cease to wonder at that politic cast which their occupation usually gives to their countenance, for it is really a matter full of perplexity. I have received but one visit since I came here. I don't mean that I have refused any, but that only one has been offered. This was from my woollen-draper, a very healthy, wealthy, sensible, sponsible man, and extremely civil. He has a cold bath, and has promised me the key of it, which I shall probably make use of in the winter. He has undertaken, too, to get me the St James's Chronicle three times a-week, and to shew me Hinchinbrook House,† and to do every service for me in his power; so that I did not exceed the truth, you see, when I spoke of his civility. Here is a card assembly, and a dancing assembly, and a horse race, and a club, and a bowling green; so that I am well off, you perceive, in point of diversions; especially as I shall go to See especially the Letters to Lady Hesketh and to Mrs Cowper, in the first volume.

+ Residence of Cromwell's ancestors,

'em just as much as I should if I lived a thousand miles off. But no matter for that: the spectator at a play is more entertained than the actor; and in real life it is much the same. You will say, perhaps, that if I never frequent these places, I shall not come within the description of a spectator; and you will say right. I have made a blunder, which shall be corrected in the next edition. You are "old dog at a bad tenant;" witness all my uncle's and your mother's geese and gridirons. There is something so extremely impertinent in entering upon a man's premises, and using them without paying for 'em, that I could easily resent it if I would. But I rather choose to entertain myself with thinking how you will scour the man about, and worry him to death, if once you begin with him. I leave him entirely to your mercy.-My dear Joe, you desire me to write long letters. I have neither matter enough, nor perseverance enough, for the purpose. However, if you can but contrive to be tired of reading, as soon as I am tired of writing, we shall find that short ones answer just as well; and in my opinion, this is a very practicable measure. My friend Colman has had good fortune; I wish him better fortune still -which is, that he may make a right use of it. The tragedies of Lloyd and Bensley are both very deep. If they are not of use to the surviving part of the society, it is their own fault. I was debtor to Bensley seven pounds, or nine, I forget which. If you can find out his brother, you will do me a great favour if you will pay him for me; but do it at your leisure. Yours and theirs, W. C.

The author is supposed to mean Mrs Hill and her two daughters. The word theirs cannot so well refer to the last antecedent, the persons who stand in that relation with it being both dead at the time he wrote, as is evident from the context. LIPSIUS.

From the general import of the above, the reader will perceive that Mr Hill was at this time intrusted with the management of Cowper's private affairs. This charge he faithfully administered for many years; we therefore

embrace this occasion to explain, as far as they can now be ascertained, the resources with which our author now proposed to enter upon a life of unproductive retirement.

In the first place, there were the Temple chambers, referred to in this letter, and which Cowper had purchased for £250. These, for several years, were rented by a Welsh barrister, who appears, somewhat unceremoniously, to have taken possession during the illness of the owner, and in consequence, is delivered over, sans façon, to the tender mercies of Mr Hill. Still, however, the Cambrian seems to have stood out, for we find Cowper writing about the November term: "I think the Welshman must morris—what think you? If he withdraws to his native mountains, we shall never catch him; so the best way is to let him run in debt no longer." A few weeks later he writes, "I rejoice with you in the victory you have obtained over the Welshman's pocket. The reluctance with which he pays, and promises to pay, gives me but little concern, farther than as it seems to threaten you with the trouble of many fruitless applications hereafter in the receipt of my lordship's rents." This presage proved but too true; for, years afterwards, Cowper writes acknowledging a sum for rent, solacing himself and friend with this comfort in a bad tenant, that "when he does pay, the moneys are at least more considerable, if the risk of loss be greater." Sixteen years afterwards the chambers were sold, as it would seem, for the sum they had originally cost.

By the sacrifices, in the second place, which Cowper had made upon leaving London, and still more from the nature of the life he had there led for so many years, the bulk of his private fortune was now expended. The remainder, placed in the funds, formed his sole dependence, exclusive of such contingencies as subsequently fell to him through the death of relatives. The fortune inherited on the death of his father and step-mother, and consequently the residue upon which he now proposed to live, it is impossible to ascertain. The former, however, must have been considerable, though the latter could not have been great. For some years previous to

his removal to St Albans, he had held under the Chancellor the office of commissioner of bankrupts, worth about £60 a-year. This preferment, the last hope of increased income which then remained, he resigned, that nothing might tempt him to return to London. By this, as he himself assures us, "his means were so reduced as to be scarcely sufficient for his maintenance. But," adds this truly conscientious man, “I would rather have starved in reality than deliberately offend against my Saviour." That this was no vain boast is evinced by the circumstances of his future life. Even on leaving Dr Cotton's, he found it necessary to remain debtor for part of his expenses, an obligation which no man would willingly have incurred. Writing to Mr Hill in August following, he says, "You know, Joe, I am very deep in debt to my little physician at St Albans, and that the handsomest thing I can do will be to pay him le plutot qu'il sera possible. French, I believe, but you can now correct it.* informs me that you have such a quantity of cash in your hands on my account, that I may venture to send him forty pounds immediately. This, therefore, I shall be obliged if you will manage for me; and when you receive the hundred pounds, which my brother likewise brags you are shortly to receive, I shall be glad if you will discharge the remainder of that debt without waiting for any farther advice from your humble servant. I am become a professed horseman, and do hereby assume to myself the style and title of the Knight of the Bloody Spur. It has cost me much to bring this point to bear; but I think I have at last accomplished it. My love to all your family. Yours ever, W. C."

This is vile My brother

These equestrain excursions, recommended for the re-establishment of his health, as appears from the following note, seem to have come speedily to nought.

* Mr Hill had just returned from spending a vacation in Paris, as we learn from the preceding portion of the letter.

"November 5, 1765.

"DEAR JOE,—I wrote you about ten days ago,

Soliciting a quick return of gold,

To purchase certain horse that like me well.

Either my letter, or your answer to it, I fear, has miscarried. The former I hope; because a miscarriage of the latter might be attended with bad consequences. I find it impossible to proceed any longer in my present course, without danger of bankruptcy." It were well if knights, whether of "the bloody" or any other "spur," had always the same fear before their eyes.

-

But these retrenchments extended not merely to such personal expenses as may be privately reduced without attracting remark, or requiring other effort than a little self-denial; they reached to those apparent liberalities which, even in a mind fortified by religious principle, demand the firmest resolution to deny, from such restriction being viewed by the world as meanness. About this time, Cowper had been appointed to an honorary lectureship in law. This office he, of course, declined, though the offer was not the less a compliment, since its duties might have been performed by deputy, and were, indeed, usually so discharged. The customary acknowledgment, therefore, to the patrons of the Society of the New Inn was expected. On this matter Cowper wrote, first, in a facetious strain of refusal.

"November 8, 1765.

"DEAR SEPHUS,*-Notwithstanding it is so agreeable a thing to read law-lectures to the students of Lyons' Inn, especially to the reader himself, I must beg leave to waive it. *** As to the treat, I think, if it goes before the lecture, it will be apt to blunt the apprehension of the students; and, if it comes after, it may erase from their memories impressions so newly made. I could wish, therefore that, for their benefit and behoof, this circumstance were omitted. But, if it be absolutely necessary, I hope Mr Salt, or whoever takes the conduct of it, will see that it be managed with the frugality and temperance becoming so learned a body."