THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. The noon was shady, and soft airs My spaniel, prettiest of his race, Now wantoned, lost in flags and reeds, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads It was the time when Ouse displayed With cane extended far I sought Beau marked my unsuccessful pains With fixed considerate face, And, puzzling set his puppy brains To comprehend the case. But, with a chirrup clear and strong, Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and followed long The windings of the stream. My ramble ended, I returned, The floating wreath again discerned, I saw him, with that lily cropped, My quick approach, and soon he dropped 'But chief myself I will enjoinAwake at duty's call, To show a love as prompt as thine To Him who gives me all." TC JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.* July 6, 1788. My dear Friend,-"Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear" have compelled me to Araw on you for the sum of twenty pounds, payable to John Higgins, Esq., or order. The draft bears date July 5th. You will excuse my giving you this trouble, in consideration that I am a poet, and can consequently draw for money much easier than I can earn it. I heard of you a few days since, from *The Miss Gunnings, the daughters of Sir Robert Gunting, Bart. . Private correspondence. Walter Bagot, who called here and told me that you were gone, I think, into Rutland. shire, to settle the accounts of a large estate unliquidated many years. Intricacies that would turn my brains are play to you. But 1 give you joy of a long vacation at hand, wher I suppose that even you will find it pleasant, if not to be idle, at least not to be hemmed around by business. Yours ever, W. C. TO LADY HESKETH. Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried, ject of taste; not to mention the refresh "Shall hear of this thy deed; My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed. The Lodge, July 28, 1788. It is in vain that you tell me that you have no talent at description, while in fact You you describe better than anybody. have given me a most complete idea of your mansion and its situation; and I doubt not that, with your letter in my hand by way of map, could I be set down on the spot in a moment, I should find myself qualified to take my walks and my pastime in whatever quarter of your paradise it should please me the most to visit. We also, as you know, have scenes at Weston worthy of description; but, because you know them well, I will only say, that one of them has, within these few days been much improved; I mean the lime-walk. By the help of the axe and the wood-bill, which have of late been constantly employed in cutting out all strag gling branches that intercepted the arch, Mr. Throckmorton has now defined it with such exactness that no cathedral in the world can show one of more magnificence or beauty. I bless myself that I live so near it; for, were it distant several miles, it would be well worth while to visit it, merely as an ob ment of such a gloom both to the eyes and spirits. And these are the things which our modern improvers of parks and pleasuregrounds have displaced without mercy; beIcause, forsooth, they are rectilinear. It is a wonder that they do not quarrel with the sunbeams for the same reason. Have you seen the account of five hundred celebrated authors now living?* I am one of them; but stand charged with the high crime and misdemeanor of totally neglecting method; an accusation, which, if the gentleman would take the pains to read me, he would find sufficiently refuted. I am conscious at least myself of having labored much in the arrangement of my matter, and of having given to the several parts of every book of "The Task," as well as to each poem in the first volume, that sort of slight connexion which poetry demands; for in poetry (except professedly of the didactic kind) a logical precision would be stiff, pe *A book full of blunders and scandal, and destitute both of information and interest. dantic, and ridiculous. But there is no pleasing some critics; the comfort is, that I am contented whether they be pleased or not. At the same time, to my honor be it spoken the chronicler of us five hundred prodigies bestows on me, for aught I know, more commendations than on any other of my confraternity. May he live to write the histories of as many thousand poets, and find me the very best among them! Amen! I join with you, my dearest coz, in wishing that I owned the fee simple of all the beautiful scenes around you, but such emoluments were never designed for poets. Am I not happier than ever poet was in having thee for my cousin, and in the expectation of thy arrival here whenever Strawberry-hill* shall lose thee. Ever thine, W C. TO LADY HESKETH. The Lodge, Aug. 9, 1788. The Newtons are still here, and continue with us, I believe, until the 15th of the month. Here is also my friend, Mr. Rose, a valuable young man, who, attracted by the effluvia of my genius, found me out in my retirement last January twelvemonth. I have not permitted him to be idle, but have made him transcribe for me the twelfth book of the Iliad. He brings me the compliments of several of the literati, with whom he is acquainted in town, and tells me, that from Dr. Maclain, whom he saw lately, he learns that my book is in the hands of sixty different persons at the Hague, you are young, and well made for such exwho are all enchanted with it; not forget-ploits, those very circumstances are more ting the said Dr. Maclain himself, who tells likely than anything to betray you into danhim that he reads it every day, and is always ger. the better for it. O rare we! I am writing on Monday, but whether I shall finish my letter this morning depends on Mrs. Unwin's coming sooner or later down to breakfast. Something tells me that you set off to-day for Birmingham; and though it be a sort of Irishism to say here, I beseech you take care of yourself, for the day threatens great heat, I cannot help it; the weather may be cold enough at the time when that good advice shall reach you, but, be it hot or be it cold, to a man who travels as you travel, take care of yourself can never be an unseasonable caution. I am sometimes distressed on this account, for though Consule quid valeant PLANTE, quid ferre re cusent. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. Weston, Aug. 18, 1788. ble regret, alleviated only by the consider My dear Friend,-I left you with a sensi ation, that I shall see you again in October. I was under some concern also, lest, not being able to give you any certain directions myself, nor knowing where you might find a guide, should you wander and fatigue yourself, good walker as you are, before you heard me whistle just after our separation; could reach Northampton. Perhaps you it was to call back Beau, who was running after you with all speed to entreat you to return with me. For my part, I took my own time to return, and did not reach home till after one, and then so weary that I was glad of my great chair; to the comforts of which I added a crust, and a glass of rum and water, not without great occasion. Such a foot-traveller am I. I have been employed this morning in composing a Latin motto for the king's clock, the embellishments of which are by Mr. Bacon. That gentleman breakfasted with us on Wednesday, having come thirtyseven miles out of his way on purpose to see your cousin. At his request I have done it, and have made two, he will choose that which liketh him best. Mr. Bacon is a most excellent man, and a most agreeable companion; I would that he lived not so remote, or that he had more opportunity of travelling. There is not, so far as I know, a syllable of the rhyming correspondence between me and my poor brother left, save and except the six lines of it quoted in yours. I had the whole of it, but it perished in the wreck of a thousand other things when I left the Temple. Breakfast calls. Adieu! W. C. *The celebrated seat of Lord Orford, near Richmond, where Lady Hesketh was then visiting. †The well-known translator of Mosheim's Ecclesias tical History. The Newtons left us on Friday. We fre quently talked about you after your departure, and everything that was spoken was to your advantage. I know they will be glad to see you in London, and perhaps, when your summer and autunm rambles are over, you mortons are equally well disposed to you, will afford them that pleasure. The Throckand them also I recommend to you as a valuable connexion, the rather because you can only cultivate it at Weston. I have not been idle since you went, having not only labored as usual at the Iliad, but composed a spick and span new piece, called "The Dog, and the Water-Lily," which you shall see when we meet again. I believe I related to you the incident which is the subject of it. I have also read most of Lavater's Aphorisms: they appear to me some of them wise, many of them whimsical, a few of them false, and not a few of them extravagant Nil illi medium. If he finds in a man the feature or quality that he approves, he deifies him; if the contrary, he is a devil. His verdict is in neither casc, I suppose, a just one.* W. C. TO MRS. KING.* August 28, 1788. My dear Madam,-Should you discard me from the number of your correspondents, you would treat me as I seem to deserve, though I do not actually deserve it. I have lately been engaged with company at our house, who resided with us five weeks, and have had much of the rheumatism into the bargain. Not in my fingers, you will say-True. But you know as well as I, that pain, be it where it may, indisposes us to writing. You express some degree of wonder that I found you out to be sedentary, at least much a stayer within doors, without any sufficient data for my direction. Now, if I should guess your figure and stature with equal success, you will deem me not only a poet but a conjurer. Yet in fact I have no pretensions of that sort. I have only formed a picture of you in my own imagination, as we ever do of a person of whom we think much, though we have never seen that person. Your height I conceive to be about five feet five inches, which, though it would make a short man, is yet height enough for a woman. If you insist on an inch or two more, I have no objection. You are not very fat, but * Cowper's strictures on Lavater are rather severe; in a subsequent letter we shall find that he expresses him their estimate of one another by external impressions, self almost in the language of a disciple. We believe all men to be physiognomists, that is, they are guided in until they are furnished with better data to determine their judgment. The countenance is often the faithful manner as the light and shade on the mountain's side exhibit the variations of the atmosphere. In the curious mirror of the inward emotions of the soul, in the same and valuable cabinet of Denon, in Paris, which was sold in 1827, two casts taken from Robespierre and Marat were singularly expressive of the atrocity of their characer. The cast of an idiot, in the same collection, denoted the total absence of intellect. But, whatever may be our sentiments on this subject, there is one noble act of benevolence which has justly endeared the name of Lavater to his country. We allude to the celebrated Orphan Institution at Zurich, of which he was the founder. It is a handsome and commodious establishment, where these interesting objects of humanity receive a suitable education, and are fitted for future usefulness. The church is shown where John Gaspar Lavater officiated, surrounded by his youthful auditory; and an humble stone in the churchyard briefly records his name and virtues. His own Orphan-house is the most honorable monument of his fame. It is in visiting scenes like these that we feel The Editor could not avoid regretting that, in his own the moral dignity of our nature, that the heart becomes expanded with generous emotions, and that we learn to imitate that Divine Master, who went about doing good. country, where charity assumes almost every possible form, the Orphan-house is of rare occurrence, though are the philanthropists of Bristol, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, Norwich, and of our other great towns? Surely, to wipe away the tear from the cheek of the orphan, to rescue want from destitution and unprotected innocence from exposure to vice and ruin, must ever be considered to be one of the noblest efforts of Christiar benevolence. abounding in most of the cities of Switzerland. Where † Privato correspondence. somewhat inclined to be fat, and unless you allow yourself a little more air and exercise, will incur some danger of exceeding in your dimensions before you die. Let me, there fore, once more recommend to you to walk a little more, at least in your garden, and to amuse yourself occasionally with pulling up here and there a weed, for it will be an inconvenience to you to be much fatter than you are, at a time of life when your strength will be naturally on the decline. I have given you a fair complexion, a slight tinge of the rose in your cheeks, dark brown hair, and, if the fashion would give you leave to show it, an open and well-formed forehead. To all this I add a pair of eyes not quite black, but nearly approaching to that hue, and very animated. I have not absolutely determined on the shape of your nose, or the form of your mouth; but should you tell me that I have in other respects drawn a tolerable likeness, have no doubt but I can describe them too. I assure you that though I have a great desire to read him, I have never seen Lavater, nor have availed myself in the least of any of his rules on this occasion. Ah, madam! if with all that sensibility of yours, which exposes you to so much sorrow, and necessarily must expose you to it, in a world like this, I have had the good fortune to make you smile, I have then painted you, whether with a strong resemblance, or with none at all, to very good purpose.* I had intended to have sent you a little poem, which I have lately finished, but have no room to transcribe it. You shall have it by another opportunity. Breakfast is on the table, and my time also fails, as well as my paper. I rejoice that a cousin of yours found my volumes agreeable to him, for, being your cousin, I will be answerable for his good taste and judgment. When I wrote last, I was in mourning for a dear and much-valued uncle, Ashley Cowper. He died at the age of eighty-six. My best respects attend Mr. King: and I am, dear madam, Most truly yours, W. C. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. Weston Lodge, Sept. 2, 1781. My dear Friend.-I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe, especially when I reflect that you performed the journey on a day so fatal, as I understand, to others travelling the same road. I found those com. forts in your visit which have formerly sweetened all our interviews, in part restored. I knew you; knew you for the same shepherd *Cowper's fancy was never more erroneously em ployed. The portrait he here draws of Mrs. King pos sessed no resemblance to the original. The Dog and the Water-Lily, who was sent to lead me out of the wilder- parish in vestry on the subject. Mr. Bean ness into the pasture where the chief Shep-attacked so suddenly, consented, but afterherd feeds his flock, and felt my sentiments wards repented that he had done so, assured of affectionate friendship for you the same as as he was that he should be out-voted. ever.* But one thing was still wanting, and There seemed no remedy but to apprise them that thing the crown of all. I shall find it beforehand that he would meet them indeed, in God's time, if it be not lost forever. but not with a view to have the question de When I say this, I say it trembling; for at cided by a majority: that he would take that what time soever comfort shall come, it will opportunity to make his allegations against not come without its attendant evil; and, each of the houses in question, which if they whatever good thing may occur in the inter- could refute, well: if not, they could no val, I have sad forebodings of the event, longer reasonably oppose his measures.— having learned by experience that I was born This was what he came to submit to my to be persecuted with peculiar fury, and as opinion. I could do no less than approve it; suredly believing, that, such as my lot has and he left me with a purpose to declare his been, it will be so to the end. This belief is mind to them immediately. connected in my mind with an observation I have often made, and is perhaps founded in great part upon it: that there is a certain style of dispensations maintained by Providence in the dealings of God with every man, which, however the incidents of his life may vary, and though he may be thrown into many different situations, is never exchanged for another. The style of dispensation peculiar to myself has hitherto been that of sudden, violent, unlooked-for change. When I have thought myself falling into the abyss, I have been caught up again; when I have thought myself on the threshold of a happy eternity, I have been thrust down to hell. The rough and the smooth of such a lot, taken together, should perhaps have taught me never to despair; but, through an unhappy propensity in my nature to forebode the worst, they have on the contrary operated as an admonition to me never to hope. A firm persuasion that I can never durably enjoy a comfortable state of mind, but must be depressed in proportion as I have been elevated, withers my joys in the bud, and, in a manner, entombs them before they are born; for I have no expectation but of sad vicissitude, and ever believe that the last shock of all will be fatal. I beg that you will give my affectionate respects to Mr. Bacon, and assure him of my sincere desire that he should think himself perfectly at liberty respecting the mottoes, to choose one or to reject both, as likes him best. I wish also to be remembered with much affection to Mrs. Cowper, and always rejoice to hear of her well-being. Believe me, as I truly am, my dear friend, most affectionately yours, W. C. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. Weston, Sept. 11, 1788. My dear Friend,-Since your departure 1 have twice visited the oak, and with an intention to push my inquiries a mile beyond it, where it seems I should have found another oak, much larger and much more respectable than the former; but once I was hindered by the rain, and once by the sultriness of the day. This latter oak has been known by the name of Judith many ages, and is said to have been an oak at the time of the Conquest.* If I have not an opportunity to reach it before your arrival here, we will attempt that exploit together, and even if I Mr. Bean has still some trouble with his should have been able to visit it ere you come, parishioners. The suppression of five public- I shall yet be glad to do so, for the pleasure houses is the occasion. He called on me of extraordinary sights, like all other pleas yesterday morning for advice; though, dis-ures, is doubled by the participation of a creet as he is himself, he has little need of friend. such council as I can give him. who -9 is subtle as a dozen foxes, met him on Sunday, exactly at his descent from the pulpit, and proposed to him a general meeting of the You wish for a copy of my little dog's eulo *It was a singular delusion under which Cowper labored, and seems to be inexplicable; but it is not less true that, for many years, he doubted the identity of Mr. Newton. When we see the powers of a great mind liable to such instances of delusion, and occasionally suffering an entire eclipse, how irresistibly are we led to exclaim, "Lord, what is man!" The late Rev. H. Colbourne Ridley, the excellent vicar of Hambleden, near Henley-on-Thames, distinguished for his parochial plans and general devotedness to his professional duties, once observed that the fruit of all his labors, during a residence of five-and-twenty years, was destroyed in one single year by the introduction of beer-houses, and their demoralizing effects. *This celebrated oak, which is situated in Yardley Chase, near Lord Northampton's residence at Castle Ashby, has furnished the muse of Cowper with an occa sion for displaying all the graces of his rich poetica. of the work. In the meantime we extract the following fancy. The poem will be inserted in a subsequent part lines from "The Task," to show how the descriptive powers of Cowper were awakened by this favorite and inspiring subject. "The oak The Sofe gium, which I will therefore transcribe, but by so doing I shall leave myself but scanty room for prose. I shall be sorry if our neighbors at the Hall should have left it, when we have the pleasure of seeing you. I want you to see them soon again, that a little consuetudo may wear off restraint; and you may be able to improve the advantage you have already gained in that quarter. I pitied you for the fears which deprived you of your uncle's company, and the more having suffered so much by those fears myself. Fight against that vicious fear, for such it is, as strenuously as you can. It is the worst enemy that can attack a man destined to the forum-it ruined me. To associate as much as possible with the most respectable company, for good sense and good breeding is, I believe the only, at least I am sure it is the best remedy. The society of men of pleasure will not cure it, but rather leaves us more exposed to its influence in company of better persons. Now for the "Dog and the Water-Lily."* W. Č. TO MRS. KING.t Weston Lodge, Sept. 25, 1788. My dearest Madam,-How surprised was I this moment to meet a servant at the gate, who told me that he came from you. He could not have been more welcome unless he had announced yourself. I am charmed with your kindness, and with all your elegant presents; so is Mrs. Unwin, who begs me in particular to thank you warmly for the housewife, the very thing she had just begun to want. In the firescreen you have sent me an enigma which at present I have not the ingenuity to expound; but some muse will help me, or I shall meet with somebody able to instruct me. In all that I have seen besides, for that I have not yet seen, I admire both the taste and the execution. A toothpick case I had; but one so large, that no modern waistcoat pocket could possibly contain it. It was some years since the Dean of Durham's, for whose sake I valued it, though to me useless. Yours is come opportunely to supply the deficiency, and shall be my constant companion to its last thread. The cakes and apples ve will eat, remembering who sent them, and when I say this, I will add also, that when we have neither apples nor cakes to eat, we will still remember you. What the MS. poem can be, that you suppose to have been written by me, I am not able to guess; and since you will not allow that I have guessed your person well, am become shy of exercising conjecture on any meaner subject. Perhaps they may be some *This has already been inserted. † Private correspondence. mortuary verses, which I wrote last year, at the request of a certain parish-clerk. If not, and you have never seen them, I will send you them hereafter. You have been at Bedford, Bedford is but twelve miles from Weston. When you are at home, we are but eighteen miles asunder. Is it possible that such a paltry interval can separate us always? I will never believe it. Our house is going to be filled by a cousin of mine and her train, who will, I hope, spend the winter with us. I cannot, therefore, repeat my invitation at present, but expect me to be very troublesome on that theme next summer. I could almost scold you for no making Weston in your way home from Bedford. Though I am neither a relation, nor quite eighty-six years of age,* believe me, I should as much rejoice to see you and Mr. King, as if I were both. I send you, my dear madam, the poem I promised you, and shall be glad to send you anything and everything I write, as fast as it flows. Behold my two volumes! which, though your old acquaintance, I thought might receive an additional recommendation in the shape of a present from myself. What I have written I know not, for all has been scribbled in haste. I will not tempt your servant's honesty, who seems by his countenance to have a great deal, being equally watchful to preserve uncorrupted the honesty of my own. I am, my dearest madam, with a thousand thanks for this stroke of friendship, which I feel at my heart, and with Mrs. Unwin's verv best respects, most sincerely yours, W. C. P. S. My two hares died little more than two years since, one of them aged ten years, the other eleven years and eleven months.† Our compliments attend Mr. King TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. My dear Friend, Say what is the thing, by my riddle design'd. Which you carried to London, and vet left behind. The half hour next before breakfast I devote I expect your answer, and without a fee.to you. The moment Mrs. Unwin arrives in the study, be what I have written much or little, I shall make my bow, and take leave. If you live to be a judge, as, if I augur right, you will, I shall expect to hear of a walking circuit. I was shocked at what you tell me of *Mrs. Battison, a relative of Mrs. King's, and at this advanced age, was in a very declining state of health. †There is a little memoir of Cowper's hares, written by himself, which will be inserted in his works. |