the Sussex hills, in comparison of which all that I have seen elsewhere are dwarfs; but I only was alarmed; Mrs. Unwin had no such sensations, but was always cheerful from the beginning of our expedition to the end of it. At Barnet we found the inn so noisy that I was almost driven to despair by the dread that she would get no rest, but I was happily disappointed. She slept about four hours, and seemed as much refreshed as if she had slept twice as many. At Ripley we had a silent inn, and rested well. The next day, but late, we arrived at Eartham, and now begin to feel ourselves, under the hospitable roof of our amiable friend, well requited for all the fatigue, the heat, and the clouds of dust that we endured in the journey.

I had one glimpse, at least I was willing to hope that it was a glimpse, of heavenly light by the way; an answer I suppose to many fervent prayers of yours. Continue to pray for us, and when any thing occurs worth communicating let us know it.

Mrs. Unwin is in charming spirits, to which the incomparable air and delightful scenes of Eartham have much contributed; but our thanks are always due to the Giver of all good, for these and all his benefits, for without His blessing Paradise itself would not cheer the soul that knows him.

Adieu. I am yours, with many thanks for all your spiritual aids,

Mrs. Unwin sends her kind remembrances.

WM. COWPER.

DEAR SIR,

I should not have left you so long without a written notice of our return, had I not found on my arrival several letters that required immediate answers; beside which I have been obliged to write many others, to give our distant friends, and Mr. Hayley in particular, as early an account as possible of the success of our journey.

As to the reviewers, I determined before I published, that whatever treatment I might receive from them, I would never touch the pen in my own vindication; and am equally resolved that no friend of mine shall ever do it with my consent. They have belied me. The learned will know that they have; but

to convince the unlearned of it would be impossible. Therefore let them rest.

Saturday, Sept. 29, 1792.

I am, dear Sir, yrs,

WM. COWPER.

I should not suppose Mr. Whitbread a likely man to interest himself at all on such a subject, or that it would be worth your while to present your verses to him.

DEAR SIR,

Could I have sent you any thing but complaints, I should have written either yesterday or the day before. But to what end is it that I complain except to distress and discourage you?

I sat down to my work on Monday with a fixed purpose to begin. Determined too not to relinquish it for any slight impediments that might present themselves. But it was in vain. Perpetual and unavoidable interruptions were partly the reason, but much more an absolute inability. My spirits are not good enough nor my mind collected enough for composition of any kind. How should they be so, when I never wake without words that are a poignard* in my bosom, and the pain of which I feel all the day—Mrs. Unwin's approaching and sudden death the constant subject of them? In vain I pray to be delivered from these distressing experiences. They are only multiplied upon me the more, and the more pointed.

*Sic orig.