TO LADY HESKETH. MY DEAR COUSIN, he himself tells us, afflict willingly the sons of men. Doubtless there are many, who, having been placed by his good providence out of the reach of any great evil and the influence of bad example, have TO LADY HESKETH. MY DEAR COUSIN, you would do, if the account was clear. These are the reflections with which I comfort myself, under the affliction of not hearing from you; my temper does not incline me to jealousy, and if it did, I should set all right by having recourse to what I have already received from you. THE longer I live here, the better I like the from their very infancy been partakers of the grace place, and the people who belong to it. I am of his holy spirit, in such a manner as never to upon very good terms with no less than five fami- have allowed themselves in any grievous offence lies, besides two or three odd scrambling fellows against him. May you love him more and more like myself. The last acquaintance I made here day by day; as every day, while you think upon is with the race of the Unwins, consisting of father him, you will find him more worthy of your love: and mother, son and daughter, the most comforta- and may you be finally accepted with him for his ble, social folks you ever knew. The son is about sake, whose intercession for all his faithful servants twenty-one years of age, one of the most unre- can not but prevail ! Yours ever, W. C. served and amiable young men I ever conversed with. He is not yet arrived at that time of life, when suspicion recommends itself to us in the form of wisdom, and sets every thing but our own dear selves at an immeasurable distance from our esteem and confidence. Consequently he is known I SHOULD grumble at your long silence, if I did almost as soon as seen, and having nothing in his heart that makes it necessary for him to keep it not know that one may love one's friends very well, barred and bolted, opens it to the perusal even of a though one is not always in the humour to write to them. Besides, I have the satisfaction of being stranger. The father is a clergyman, and the son is designed for orders. The design, however, is perfectly sure that you have at least twenty times quite his own, proceeding merely from his being recollected the debt you owe me, and as often reand having always been sincere in his belief and solved to pay it: and perhaps while you remain love of the gospel. Another acquaintance I have indebted to me, you think of me twice as often as lately made is with a Mr. Nicholson, a Northcountry divine, very poor, but very good, and very happy. He reads prayers here twice a day, all the year round; and travels on foot to serve two churches every Sunday through the year, his journey out and home again being sixteen miles. I supped with him last night. He gave me bread and cheese, and a black jug of ale of his own brewing, and doubtless brewed by his own hands. Another of my acquaintance is Mr. a thin, tall, old man, and as good as he is thin. He drinks nothing but water, and eats no flesh; partly (I believe) from a religious scruple (for he is very religious), and partly in the spirit of a valetu- thankful, or that I shall ever be so in this life. dinarian. He is to be met with every morning of his life, at about six o'clock, at a fountain of very fine water, about a mile from the town, which is reckoned extremely like the Bristol spring. Being both early risers, and the only early walkers in the place, we soon became acquainted. His great piety can be equalled by nothing but his great regularity, for he is the most perfect time-piece in the world. I have received a visit likewise from Mr. He is very much a gentleman, wellread, and sensible. I am persuaded, in short, that if I had the choice of all England, where to fix my abode, I could not have chosen better for myself, I WISH you joy, my dear cousin, of being safely and most likely I should not have chosen so well. arrived in port from the storms of Southampton. You say, you hope it is not necessary for salva- For my own part, who am but as a Thames tion, to undergo the same afflictions that I have wherry, in a world full of tempest and commotion, undergone. No! my dear cousin. God deals with I know so well the value of the creek I have put his children as a merciful father; he does not, as into, and the snugness it affords me, that I have I thank God for your friendship, and for every friend I have; for all the pleasing circumstances of my situation here, for my health of body, and perfect serenity of mind. To recollect the past, and compare it with the present, is all I have need of to fill me with gratitude: and to be grateful is to be happy. Not that I think myself sufficiently The warmest heart perhaps only feels by fits, and is often as insensible as the coldest. This at least is frequently the case with mine, and oftener than TO LADY HESKETH. Yours affectionately, W. C. TO MAJOR COWPER. Huntingdon, Oct. 18, 1765. a sensible sympathy with you in the pleasure you to make use of for my conversion. After having find in being once more blown to Droxford. I been deservedly rendered unfit for any society, to know enough of Miss Morley to send her my be again qualified for it, and admitted at once into compliments; to which, if I had never seen her, the fellowship of those whom God regards as the her affection for you would sufficiently entitle her. excellent of the earth, and whom, in the emphatiIf I neglected to do it sooner, it is only because I cal language of Scripture, he preserves as the am naturally apt to neglect what I ought to do; apple of his eye, is a blessing which carries with and if I was as genteel as I am negligent, I should it the stamp and visible superscription of divine be the most delightful creature in the universe. bounty-a grace unlimited as undeserved; and, I am glad you think so favourably of my Hun- like its glorious Author, free in its course, and tingdon acquaintance; they are indeed a nice set blessed in its operation! of folks, and suit me exactly. I should have been My dear cousin! Health and happiness, and more particular in my account of Miss Unwin, above all, the favour of our great and gracious if I had had materials for a minute description. Lord, attend you! While we seek it in spirit and She is about eighteen years of age, rather hand- in truth, we are infinitely more secure of it than some and genteel. In her mother's company she of the next breath we expect to draw. Heaven says little; not because her mother requires it of and earth have their destined periods; ten thouher, but because she seems glad of that excuse for sand worlds will vanish at the consummation of all not talking, being somewhat inclined to bashful- things; but the word of God standeth fast; and ness. There is the most remarkable cordiality they who trust in him shall never be confounded. between all the parts of the family; and the mother My love to all who enquire after me. and daughter seem to doat upon each other. The first time I went to the house I was introduced to the daughter alone; and sat with her near half| an hour, before her brother came in, who had ap pointed me to call upon him. Talking is necessary in a tête-à-tête, to distinguish the persons of the drama from the chairs they sit on: accordingly MY DEAR MAJOR, she talked a great deal, and extremely well; and, like the rest of the family, behaved with as much ease of address as if we had been old acquaintance. She resembles her mother in her great piety, who is one of the most remarkable instances of it I have ever seen. They are altogether the cheerfullest and most engaging family-piece it is possible to conceive. Since I wrote the above, I met Mrs. Unwin in the street, and went home with her. She and I walked together near two hours in the garden, and had a conversation which did me more good than I should have received from an audience of the first prince in Europe. That but I am no such monster, nor do I perceive in woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her myself the least tendency to such a transformation. without being the better for her company. I am You may recollect that I had but very uncomforttreated in the family as if I was a near relation, able expectations of the accommodation I should and have been repeatedly invited to call upon them meet with at Huntingdon. How much better is at all times. You know what a shy fellow I am; it to take our lot, where it shall please Providence I can not prevail with myself to make so much to cast it, without anxiety! Had I chosen for myuse of this privilege as I am sure they intend I self, it is impossible I could have fixed upon a should; but perhaps this awkwardness will wear place so agreeable to me in all respects. I so off hereafter. It was my earnest request before I much dreaded the thought of having a new acleft St. Alban's, that wherever it might please quaintance to make, with no other recommendaProvidence to dispose of me, I might meet with tion than that of being a perfect stranger, that I such an acquaintance as I find in Mrs. Unwin. heartily wished no creature here might take the How happy it is to believe, with a steadfast assur- least notice of me. Instead of which, in about ance, that our petitions are heard even while we two months after my arrival, I became known to are making them--and how delightful to meet all the visitable people here, and do verily think n with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant the most agreeable neighbourhood I ever saw. of them! Surely it is a gracious finishing given to Here are three families who have received me 1 I have neither lost the use of my fingers nor my memory, though my unaccountable silence might incline you to suspect that I had lost both. The history of those things which have, from time to time, prevented my scribbling, would not only be insipid but extremely voluminous; for which reasons they will not make their appearance at present, nor probably at any time hereafter. If my neglecting to write to you were a proof that I had never thought of you, and that had been really the case, five shillings apiece would have been much too little to give for the sight of such a monster! those means, which the Almighty has Iven pleased with the utmost civility; and two in particular ૨ 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 disagreeable that had not an Unwin belonging to it. have treated me with as much cordiality, as if their suits me exactly; go when I will, I find a house pedigrees and mine had grown upon the same full of peace and cordiality in all its parts, and I sheep-skin. Besides these, there are three or four am sure to hear no scandal, but such discourse single men who suit my temper to a hair. The instead of it as we are all better for. You rememtown is one of the neatest in England; the coun- ber Rousseau's description of an English morning; try is fine for several miles about it; and the roads, such are the mornings I spend with these good peowhich are all turnpike, and strike out four or five ple; and the evenings differ from them in nothing, 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 John- This incident convinces me of the truth of an son would express it; sometimes I get a lift in a observation I have often made, that when we cirneighbour's chaise, but generally ride. As to my cumscribe our estimate of all that is clever within own personal condition, I am much happier than the limits of our own acquaintance (which I at the day is long, and sunshine and candlelight see least have been always apt to do,) we are guilty me perfectly contented. I get books in abund- of a very uncharitable censure upon the rest of the ance, as much company as I choose, a deal of com- world, and of a narrowness of thinking disgracefortable leisure, and enjoy better health, I think, ful to ourselves. Wapping and Redriff may conthan for many years past. What is there want-tain some of the most amiable persons living, and ing to make me happy? Nothing, if I can but such as one would go to Wapping and Redriff to be as thankful as I ought; and I trust that He make acquaintance with. You remember Mr. who has bestowed so many blessings upon me, will Gray's stanzagive 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. 'Full many a gem of purest ray serene W. C. TO LADY HESKETH. DEAR JOE, TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. Huntingdon, March 6, 1766. MY DEAR COUSIN, October 25, 1765. I HAVE for some time past imputed your silence I AM afraid the month of October has proved to the cause which you yourself assign for it, viz. rather unfavourable to the belle assemblée at to my change of situation: and was even sagaSouthampton; high winds and continual rains cious enough to account for the frequency of your being bitter enemies to that agreeable lounge, letters to me, while I lived alone, from your attenwhich you and I are equally fond of. I have very tion to me in a state of such solitude as seemed to cordially betaken myself to my books, and my make it an act of particular charity to write to fireside; and seldom leave them unless for exer- me. I bless God for it, I was happy even then; cise. I have added another family to the number solitude has nothing gloomy in it if the soul points of those I was acquainted with when you were upwards. St. Paul tells his Hebrew converts, here. Their name is Unwin-the most agreeable ye are come (already come) to Mount Sion, to people imaginable; quite sociable, and as free from an innumerable company of angels, to the general the ceremonious civility of country gentlefolks as assembly of the first-born, which are written in any I ever met with. They treat me more like a heaven, and to Jesus the mediator of the new conear relation than a stranger, and their house is venant.' When this is the case, as surely it was always open to me. The old gentleman carries with them, or the Spirit of Truth had never spoken me to Cambridge in his chaise. He is a man of it, there is an end of the melancholy and dullness learning and good sense, and as simple as parson of a solitary life at once. You will not suspect Adams. His wife has a very uncommon under- me, my dear cousin, of a design to understand this standing, has read much to excellent purpose, and passage literally. But this, however, it certainly is more polite than a duchess. The son who be-means; that a lively faith is able to anticipate in longs to Cambridge, is a most amiable young man, some measure the joys of that heavenly society, and the daughter quite of a piece with the rest of which the soul shall actually possess hereafter. the family. They see but little company, which Since I have changed my situation, I have found still greater cause of thanksgiving to the Father to this place. The lady in whose house I live is of all mercies. The family with whom I live are Christians; and it has pleased the Almighty to bring me to the knowledge of them, that I may want no means of improvement in that temper and conduct which he is pleased to require in all his servants. 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 compen sate 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. My dear cousin! one half of the christian world would call this madness, fanaticism, and folly: but are not all these things warranted by the word of God, not only in the passages I have cited, but in many others? If we have no communion with God here, surely we can expect none hereafter. A faith that does not place our conversation in heaven; that does not warm the heart, and purify Your brother Martin has been very kind to me, it too; that does not, in short, govern our thought, having written to me twice in a style which, though word, and deed, is no faith, nor will it obtain for it was once irksome to me, to say the least, I now us any spiritual blessing here or hereafter. Let know how to value. I pray God to forgive me the us see therefore, my dear cousin, that we do not de- many light things I have both said and thought seive ourselves in a matter of such infinite moment. of him and his labours. Hereafter I shall consiThe world will be ever telling us that we are good der him as a burning and a shining light, and as enough; and the world will vilify us behind our one of those who, having turned many unto backs. But it is not the world which tries the righteousness, shall shine hereafter as the stars heart; that is the prerogative of God alone. My for ever and ever.' dear cousin! I have often prayed for you behind your back, and now I pray for you to your face. There are many who would not forgive me this wrong; but I have known you so long, and so well, that I am not afraid of telling you how sincerely I wish for your growth in every christian grace, in every thing that may promote and secure your everlasting welfare. 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, W. C. Huntingdon, at the Rev. Mr. Unwin's, March 12, 1785. TO MRS. COWPER. MY DEAR COUSIN, I am obliged to Mrs. Cowper for the book, which you perceive arrived safe. I am willing to consider it as an intimation on her part that she would wish me to write to her, and shall do it accordingly. My circumstances are rather particular, such as call upon my friends, those I mean who I AGREE with you that letters are not essential are truly such, to take some little notice of me; to friendship; but they seem to be a natural fruit and will naturally make those who are not such of it, when they are the only intercourse that can in sincerity rather shy of doing it. To this I im-be had. And a friendship producing no sensible pute the silence of many with regard to me, who, before the affliction that pefel me, were ready enough to converse with me. Yours ever, TO MRS. COWPER. MY DEAR COUSIN, W. C. effects is so like indifference, that the appearance may easily deceive even an acute discerner. I retract, however, all that I said in my last upon this subject, having reason to suspect that it proceeded from a principle which I would discourage in myself upon all occasions, even a pride that felt itself hurt upon a mere suspicion of neglect. I have so much cause for humility, and so much need of it too, and every little sneaking resentment is such I AM much obliged to you for Pearsall's Medi- an enemy to it, that I hope I shall never give quartations, especially as it furnishes me with an occa-ter to any thing that appears in the shape of sulsion of writing to you, which is all I have waited lenness, or self-consequence, hereafter. Alas! if for. My friends must excuse me, if I write to none my best Friend, who laid down his life for me, were but those who lay it fairly in my way to do so. to remember all the instances in which I have neThe inference I am apt to draw from their silence glected him, and to plead them against me in jungis, that they wish me to be silent too. ment, where should I hide my guilty head in the I have great reason, my dear cousin, to be thank-day of recompense? I will pray, therefore, for ful to the gracious Providence that conducted me blessings upon my friends, even though they cease o be so; and upon my enemies, though they con- try and shrewdness of argument, those passages tinue such. The deceitfulness of the natural in the scripture which seem to favour the opinion; heart is inconceivable. I know well that I passed but still, no certain means having been afforded upon my friends for a person at least religiously us, no certain end can be attained; and after all inclined, if not actually religious; and what is that can be said, it will still be doubtful whether more wonderful, I thought myself a Christian, we shall know each other or not. when I had no faith in Christ, when I saw no As to arguments founded upon human reason beauty in him that I should desire him; in short, only, it would be easy to muster up a much greatwhen I had neither faith nor love, nor any christ-er number on the affirmative side of the question, ian grace whatever, but a thousand seeds of rebel- than it would be worth my while to write, or yours lion instead, evermore springing up in enmity to read. Let us see, therefore, what the scripture against him. But blessed be God, even the God says, or seems to say, towards the proof of it; and who is become my salvation, the hail of affliction, of this kind of argument also I shall insert but a and rebuke for sin, has swept away the refuge of few of those which seem to me to be the fairest lies. It pleased the Almighty in great mercy to and clearest for the purpose. For after all, a disset all my misdeeds before me. At length, the putant on either side of this question is in danger storm being past, a quiet and peaceful serenity of of that censure of our blessed Lord's, 'Ye do err, soul succeeded, such as ever attends the gift of not knowing the scripture, nor the power of God.' lively faith in the all-sufficient atonement, and the As to parables, I know it has been said, in the sweet sense of mercy and pardon purchased by the dispute concerning the intermediate state, that they blood of Christ. Thus did he break me, and bind are not argumentative; but this having been conme up; thus did he wound me, and his hands troverted by very wise and good men, and the pamade me whole. My dear cousin, I make no apo-rable of Dives and Lazarus having been used by logy for entertaining you with the history of my such to prove an intermediate state, I see not why conversion, because I know you to be a Christian it may not be as fairly used for the proof of any in the sterling import of the appellation. This is other matter which it seems fairly to imply. In however but a very summary account of the mat- this parable we see that Dives is represented as ter, neither would a letter contain the astonishing knowing Lazarus, and Abraham as knowing them particulars of it. If we ever meet again in this both, and the discourse between them is entirely world, I will relate them to you by word of mouth; concerning their respective characters and circumif not, they will serve for the subject of a confer-stances upon earth. Here, therefore, our Saviour ence in the next, where I doubt not I shall remem-seems to countenance the notion of a mutual ber and record them with a gratitude better suited to the subject. Yours, my dear cousin, affectionately, W. C. TO MRS. COWPER. MY DEAR COUSIN, April 17, 1766. knowledge and recollection; and if a soul that has perished shall know the soul that is saved, surely the heirs of salvation shall know and recollect cach other. In the first epistle to the Thessalonians, the second chapter, and nineteenth verse, St. Paul says, 'What is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus As in matters unattainable by reason, and un-Christ at his coming? For ye are our glory and revealed in the Scripture, it is impossible to argue our joy.' at all; so in matters concerning which reason can As to the hope which the apostle has formed only give a probable guess, and the scripture has concerning them, he himself refers the accomplishmade no explicit discovery, it is, though not im- ment of it to the coming of Christ, meaning that possible to argue at all, yet impossible to argue to then he should receive the recompense of his laany certain conclusion. This seems to me to be bours in their behalf; his joy and glory he refers the very case with the point in question-reason is likewise to the same period, both which would reable to form many plausible conjectures concerning sult from the sight of such numbers redeemed by the possibility of our knowing each other in a fu- the blessing of God upon his ministration, when ture state; and the scripture has, here and there, he should present them before the great Judge, and favoured us with an expression that looks at least say, in the words of a greater than himself, Lo! like a slight intimation of it; but because a con- I, and the children whom thou hast given me.' Jecture can never amount to a proof, and a slight This seems to imply that the apostle should know jutimation can not be construed into a positive as- the converts, and the converts the apostle, at least sertion, therefore I think we can never come to at the day of judgment; and if then, why not any absolute conclusion upon the subject. We afterwards? may indeed reason about the plausibility of our See also the fourth chapter of that epistle, verses Conjectures, and we may discuss, with great indus-13, 14, 16, which I have not room to transcribe |