obliged by any hint of that sort; as I do already to somebody, who, by running here and there two or three paragraphs into one, has very much improved the arrangement of my matter. I am apt, I know, to fritter it into too many pieces, and by doing so, to disturb that order to which all writings must owe their perspicuity,—at least in a considerable measure 30. After awhile he says, "Johnson uses the discretion my poetship has allowed him, with much discernment. He has suggested several alterations, or rather marked several defective passages, which I have corrected, much to the advantage of the poems. In the last sheet he sent me, he noticed three such, all which I have reduced into better order. In the foregoing sheet I assented to his criticisms in some instances, and chose to abide by the original expression in others. Thus we jog on together comfortably enough; and perhaps it would be as well for authors in general, if their booksellers, when men of some taste, were allowed, though not to tinker the work themselves, yet to point out the flaws, and humbly to recommend an improvement 31" Cowper now pleased himself with a second-sight of unborn volumes. He says to Mr. Newton, " I am in the middle of an affair called 'Conversation,' which as Table Talk' serves in the present volume by way of introductory fiddle to the band that follows, I design shall perform the same office in a second 32" "It is not a dialogue, as the title would lead you to surmise, nor does it bear the least resemblance to Table Talk,' except that it is serio-comic like all the rest. My design in it is to convince the world that they make but an indifferent use of their tongues, considering the intention of Providence when he endued them with the faculty of speech; to point out the abuses, which is the jocular part of the business; and to prescribe the remedy, which is the grave and sober33. Upon Johnson's 's expressing a wish to him that his pen might still be employed, he offered him this then unfinished poem, which he estimated at eight hundred lines, if he chose to swell the volume; he was told in reply, not to be afraid of making the volume too large, which Cowper interpreted to mean, that if he had still another piece there would be room for it. Another was upon the stocks. "I have already," said he, "begun, and proceeded a little way, in a poem called Retirement. My 30 July 7, 1781. 31 Aug. 25. 32 July 22. 33 Aug. view in choosing that subject is to direct to the proper use of the opportunities it affords for the cultivation of a man's best interests; to censure the vices and the follies which people carry with them into their retreats, where they make no other use of their leisure than to gratify themselves with the indulgence of their favourite appetites, and to pay themselves by a life of pleasure, for a life of business. In conclusion, I would enlarge upon the happiness of that state, when discreetly enjoyed, and religiously improved. But all this is at present in embryo. I generally despair of my progress when I begin ; but if, like my travelling 'Squire, I should kindle as I go, this likewise may make a part of the volume, for I have time enough before me." To an impatient author (and those who are young in authorship are generally impatient) the press always seems to proceed slowly. Cowper saw that Johnson having begun to print had given some sort of security for his perseverance, else the tardiness of his operations, he said, would almost tempt him to despair of the end. When he received a sort of apology for the printer's negligence, and a promise of greater diligence for the future, he observed there was need enough of both, and that, though he saw there was time enough before him, he saw likewise that no length of time could be sufficient for the accomplishment of a work that did not go forward". "By Johnson's last note," he says to Mr. Newton, "I am ready to suspect that you have seen him, and endeavoured to quicken his proceedings. His assurance of greater expedition leads me to think so. I know little of booksellers or printers, but have heard from others that they are the most dilatory of all people; otherwise, I am not in a hurry, nor would be so troublesome; but am obliged to you, nevertheless, for your interference, if his promised alacrity be owing to any spur that you have given him." Cowper's impatience, however, did not go beyond the degree of pleasurable excitement. A proof sheet was always something to expect from post to post, which it would be a pleasure to receive. The summer of this year was probably the happiest he had ever past, and it proved in its consequence the most important. The season was unusually hot; to such a degree indeed that 34 In the "Progress of Error." 36 July 22. 37 Aug. 16, 35 Aug. 25. Cowper said to Mr. Newton", "You seldom complain of too much sunshine, and if you are prepared for a heat somewhat like that of Africa, the south walk in our long garden will exactly suit you. Reflected from the gravel and from the walls, and beating upon your head at the same time, it may possibly make you wish you could enjoy for an hour or two that immensity of shade afforded by the gigantic trees still growing in the land of your captivity." This heat seems to have led to the first attempt at improving his comforts at Olney,.. a very humble one, but Cowper knew how to value little enjoyments. He writes to Mr. Newton 40, "I might date my letter from the green-house, which we have converted into a summer parlour. The walls hung with garden mats, and the floor covered with a carpet, the sun too in a great measure excluded by an awning of mats which forbids him to shine any where except upon the carpet, it affords us by far the pleasantest retreat in Olney. We eat, drink, and sleep where we always did; but here we spend all the rest of our time, and find that the sound of the wind in the trees, and the singing of birds, are much more agreeable to our ears than the incessant barking of dogs and screaming of children. It is an observation that naturally occurs upon the occasion, and which many other occasions furnish an opportunity to make, that people long for what they have not, and overlook the good in their possession. This is so true in the present instance, that for years past I should have thought myself happy to enjoy a retirement even less flattering to my natural taste than this in which I am now writing; and have often looked wistfully at a snug cottage, which, on account of its situation at a distance from noise and disagreeable objects, seemed to promise me all I could wish or expect, so far as happiness may be said to be local; never once adverting to this comfortable nook, which affords me all that could be found in the most sequestered hermitage, with the advantage of having all those accommodations near at hand which no hermitage could possibly afford me. People imagine they should be happy in circumstances which they would find insupportably burthensome in less than a week. A man that has been clothed in fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day, envies the peasant under a thatched hovel; who, in return, envies him as much 39 May 28. 40 Aug. 16. reason. his palace and his pleasure-ground. Could they change situations, the fine gentleman would find his ceilings were too low, and that his casements admitted too much wind; that he had no cellar for his wine, and no wine to put in his cellar. These, with a thousand other mortifying deficiencies, would shatter his romantic project into innumerable fragments in a moment. The clown, at the same time, would find the accession of so much unwieldy treasure an incumbrance quite incompatible with an hour's ease. His choice would be puzzled by variety. He would drink to excess, because he would foresee no end of his abundance; and he would eat himself sick for the same He would have no idea of any other happiness than sensual gratification; would make himself a beast, and die of his good fortune. The rich gentleman had, perhaps, or might have had, if he pleased, at the shortest notice, just such a recess as this; but if he had it, he overlooked it, or, if he had it not, forgot that he might command it whenever he would. The rustic too, was actually in possession of some blessings, which he was a fool to relinquish, but which he could neither see nor feel, because he had the daily and constant use of them; such as good health, bodily strength, a head and a heart that never ached, and temperance, to the practice of which he was bound by necessity, that, humanly speaking, was a pledge and a security for the continuance of them all. "Thus I have sent you a schoolboy's theme. When I write to you, I do not write without thinking, but always without premeditation: the consequence is, that such thoughts as pass through my head when I am not writing make the subject of my letters to you." In this greenhouse, "the myrtles, ranged before his window, made the most agreeable blind imaginable; he was undisturbed by noise, and saw none but pleasing objects." Fortunately he was not in this favourite retreat one day when two ladies happened to call at a shop opposite Mrs. Unwin's house. The one, by name Mrs. Jones, was one of their very few acquaintance, the wife of a clergyman, who resided in the village of Clifton, within a mile of Olney; Lady Austen the other, was her sister, and widow of a baronet. Cowper was so struck by her appearance, that, upon hearing who she was, he requested Mrs. Unwin would invite them to tea. Shy as he was, this was an extraordinary movement on his part: his shyness re turned when the invitation had been accepted; he wondered at himself, and was for a long while unwilling to face the little party which had been invited at his own desire; his better mind at last prevailed; and the shyest persons are perhaps the most unreserved when they meet with those with whom they feel themselves in sympathy. "Having forced himself," says Hayley, "to engage in conversation with Lady Austen, he was so reanimated by her colloquial talents that he attended the ladies on their return to Clifton, and from that time continued to cultivate the regard of his new acquaintance with such assiduous attention, that she soon received from him the familiar and endearing title of Sister Ann." . This was shortly after Mr. Newton's first visit to Olney since his removal from that cure, a visit which Cowper had greatly enjoyed during its continuance, but which like all such visits left an aching in his heart. My sensations at your departure," he says to him", "were far from pleasant, and Mrs. Unwin suffered more upon the occasion than when you first took leave of Olney. When we shall meet again, and in what circumstances, or whether we shall meet or not, is an event to be found no where but in that volume of Providence which belongs to the current year, and will not be understood till it is accomplished. This, I know, that your visit was most agreeable here. It was so even to me, who, though I live in the midst of many agreeables, am but little sensible of their charms. But when you came, I determined, as much as possible, to be deaf to the suggestions of despair; that if I could contribute but little to the pleasure of the opportunity, I might not dash it with unseasonable melancholy, and, like an instrument with a broken string, interrupt the harmony of the con cert. In the same letter which began in this melancholy strain, Cowper mentioned Lady Austen's first visit, and that they had returned it; and he described her to his friend. "She is a lively agreeable woman; has seen much of the world, and accounts it a great simpleton as it is. She laughs and makes laugh; and keeps up a conversation without seeming to labour at it." To Mr. Unwin he says12, "She is a most agreeable woman, and has fallen in love with somuch, that I do not know but 41 July 7. 42 your mother and me; inshe may settle at Olney. 42 July 22. |