Here are three families who have received me with the utmost civility, and two in particular have treated me with as much cordiality, as if their pedigree and mine had grown upon the same sheep-skin. Besides these, there are three or four single men, who suit my temper to a hair. The town is one of the neatest in England, the country is fine, roads, which are all turnpike, and strike out four or five different ways, are perfectly good all the year round. I mention this latter circumstance chiefly because my distance from Cambridge has made a horseman of me at last, or at least is likely to do so. My brother and I meet every week, by an alternate reciprocation of intercourse, as Sam Johnson would express it, sometimes I get a lift in a neighbour's chaise, but generally ride. As to my own personal condition, I am much happier than the day is long, and sun-shine and candle-light alike see me perfectly contented. I get books in abundance, as much company as I chuse, a deal of comfortable leisure, and enjoy, better health, I think, than for many years past. What is there wanting to make me happy? Nothing, if I can but be as thankful as I ought, and I trust that He who has bestowed so many blessings upon me, will give me gratitude to crown them all. I beg you will give my love to my dear cousin Maria, and to every body at the Park. If Mrs. Maitland is with you, as I suspect by a passage in Lady Hesketh's letter to me, pray remember me to her very affectionately. And believe me, my dear friend, ever yours, WM. COWPER. for several miles about it, and the LETTER DEAR JOE, LETTER III. To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr. October 25, 1765. I am afraid the month of October has proved rather unfavourable to the belle assemblée at Southhampton, high winds and continual rains being bitter enemies to that agreable lounge, which you and I are equally fond of. I have very cordially betaken myself to my books, and my fireside, and seldom leave them unless merely for exercise. I have added another family to the number of those I was acquainted with, when you were here. Their name is Unwin-the most agreable people imaginable; quite sociable, and as free from the ceremonious civility of country gentlefolks as any I ever met with. They treat me more like a near relation then a stranger, and their house is always open to me. The old gentleman carries me to Cambridge in his chaise, He is a man of learning and good sense, and as simple as Parson Adams. His wife has a very uncommon understanding, has read much to excellent purpose, and is more polite than a dutchess. The son, who belongs to Cambridge, is a most amiable young man, and the daughter quite of a piece with the rest of the family. They see but little company, which suits me exactly; go when I will, I find a house full of peace and cordiality in all its parts, and am sure to hear no scandal, but such discourse instead of it, as we are all the better for. You remember Rousseau's description description of an English morning; such are the mornings I spend with these good people, and the evenings differ from them in nothing, except that they are still more snug and quieter. Now I know them, I wonder that I liked Huntingdon so well before I knew them, and am apt to think, I should find every place disagreable, that had not an Unwin belonging to it. This incident convinces me of the truth of an observation I have often made, that when we circumscribe our estimate of all that is clever within the limits of our own acquaintance (which I at least have been always apt to do) we are guilty of a very uncharitable censure upon the rest of the world, and of a narrowness of thinking disgraceful to ourselves. Wapping and Redriff may contain some of the most amiable persons living, and such as one would go to Wapping and Redriff to make acquaintance with. You remember Mr. Gray's stanza, Full many a gem of purest ray serene, Yours, dear Joe, WM. COWPER. LETTER LETTER IV. . To Mrs. COWPER, at the Park-House, near Hartford. MY DEAR COUSIN, I am much obliged to you for Pearsall's Meditations, especially as it furnishes me with an occasion of writing to you, which is all I have waited for. My friends must. excuse me, if I write to none but those, who lay it fairly in my way to do so. The inference I am apt to draw from their silence is, that they wish me to be silent too. I have great reason my dear Cousin, to be thankful to the gracious Providence, that conducted me to this place. The lady, in whose house I live, is so excellent a person, and regards me with a friendship so truly Christian, that I could almost fancy my own Mother restored to life again, to compensate to me for all the friends I have lost, and all my connexions broken. She has a son at Cambridge in all respects worthy of such a mother, the most amiable young man I ever knew. His natural and acquired endowments are very considerable, and as to his virtues, I need only say, that he is a Christian. It ought to be a matter of daily thanksgiving to me, that I am admitted into the society of such persons, and I pray God to make me, and keep me worthy of them. Your brother Martin has been very kind to me, having wrote to me twice in a stile, which, though it once was irksome to me, to say the the least, I now know how to value. I pray God to forgive me the many light things I have both said and thought of him and his labours. Hereafter I shall consider him as a burning and a shining light, and as one of those who having turned many to righteousness, shall shine hereafter as the stars for ever and ever. So much for the state of my heart, as to my spirits I am cheerful and happy, and having peace with God, have peace within myself. For the continuance of this blessing I trust to Him who gives it, and they who trust in Him shall never be confounded. Yours affectionately, Huntingdon, At the Revd. Mr. Unwin's, March 11, 1766, W. COWPER. LETTER V. To Mrs. COWPER, at the Park-House, . Hartford. MY DEAR COUSIN, April 4, 1766. I agree with you that letters are not essential to friendship, but they seem to be a natural fruit of it, when they are the only intercourse that can be had. And a friendship producing no sensible effects is so like indifference, that the appearance may easily deceive even an acute discerner. I retract |