The stone Cowper refers to has disappeared, but a small modern stone in the churchyard bears the same epitaph, the words, however, being used by a widower in reference to his wife.

31. 'Sephus and Lady Hesketh.

On the Monday, the third day after his arrival in Huntingdon, Cowper renewed his intercourse with his old friend 'Sephus (Josephus), as he playfully termed Joseph Hill. Mr. Hill had attended with friendly care to his affairs during the derangement, and Cowper says to him, "The only recompense I can make is to tell you that by the mercy of God I am restored to perfect health, both of mind and body. This I believe will give you pleasure, and I would gladly do anything from which you could receive it."

Cowper had not been long at Huntingdon before he discovered that he was running short of money, and this circumstance, considering his limited income, his debt to Dr. Cotton, which he was anxious to wipe off, his expenses on account of the St. Albans boy and his lackey, and his ignorance of housekeeping, is not surprising. With respect to the last he made the discovery that it is no such easy thing to keep house for two people. "A man," says he, "cannot always live upon sheeps' heads and liver and lights, like the lions in the Tower; and a joint of meat is an endless incumbrance. My butcher's bill for last week amounted to four shillings and tenpence. I set off with a leg of lamb, and was forced to give part of it away to my washer

woman. Then I made an experiment upon a sheep's heart, and that was too little. Next I put three pounds of beef into a pie, and this had like to have been too much, for it lasted three days, though my landlord was admitted to a share in it. In short, I never knew how to pity poor housekeepers before; but now I cease to wonder at that politic cast which their occupation usually gives to their countenance, for it is really a matter full of perplexity."

Having to meet the various expenses of physician, rent, lackey, boy, and housekeeping, Cowper took more interest than he otherwise would have done in the state of his affairs in London; consequently, when he found that the tenant of his chambers in the Temple-the rent from which he had plenty of uses for-was a bad payer, he was obliged to call in the assistance of Hill, whom he knew to be "an old dog " at a troublesome tenant. The expedients which he knew Hill would use having occurred to his mind, he makes reference to them, and—referring to the tenant -winds up his letter with, "Poor toad! I leave him entirely to your mercy." Four months later, however, the toad was still in the hole, in which, apparently, he had lived, and still intended to live, rent free, when Cowper says of him, "I think the Welshman must morris (dance); what think you?" But a month later Hill had gained the day, and Cowper rejoices with him in the victory he has obtained over the Welshman's pocket.

Having heard in August (1765) that his friend had set out for Warwickshire, Cowper lived for a fortnight in continual expectation of seeing him, feeling assured

that he would take Huntingdon on his way back. The journey, however, as it turned out, was not to Warwick, but French Flanders. Being given to understand, nevertheless, that Hill had not relinquished the idea of looking him up, Cowper says, “I am glad that I have still a chance of seeing you, and shall treasure it up amongst my agreeable expectations; " after which he observes slily, "You don't tell me how you escaped the vigilance of the custom-house officers, though I dare say you were knuckle-deep in contrabands, and boots stuffed with all and all manner of unlawful wares and merchandises." Before long the promise was redeemed, the visit to Huntingdon took place; and Cowper once more saw the old friend whom he so happily describes as—

had

your

“An honest man, close-buttoned to the chin,
Broadcloth without and a warm heart within."

Of his other associates at the Temple there was only one that Cowper cared much to think about, namely, Carr, the friend who had been so attentive to him during his illness. Carr, too, was pressed to visit Huntingdon, but on account of an engagement found himself unable to comply.

Poor Lloyd and Bensley had gone to their long home, "cut off in the midst of such a life as it is frightful to reflect upon.' To Colman and Thurlow, though he still continued to have a friendly feeling towards them, Cowper refers only rarely. Thornton's name he never mentions.

In respect to his relatives, the first letter he wrote was one to Lady Hesketh, a letter that obtained an

immediate, a friendly, and comfortable reply, and for some time she was the only relation he corresponded with. These letters, which naturally give details of his recovery, and abound in gratitude for God's goodness, also contain descriptions of Huntingdon and his mode of spending his time.

At the end of August or the beginning of October, Lady Hesketh invited him to pay a visit to her at Freemantle, near Southampton, but though the invitation was willingly accepted, the intention was never carried out.

32. The Knight of the Bloody Spur.

Restored to perfect health both of mind and body, Cowper now took frequent walks, bathed often in the river Ouse, and formed the acquaintance of several of the people of the town. His woollen-draper, the Mr. Peacock already referred to, " a very healthy, wealthy, sensible, 'sponsible man, and extremely civil," had already offered him the use of a cold bath, promised to get him the St. James's Chronicle, and to do him every service in his power; three families received him with utmost civility; and two in particular treated him with as much cordiality as if their pedigree and his had grown upon the same sheepskin. Besides these there were three or four single men, "odd scrambling fellows like himself," who suited his temper to a hair. With the clergy, too, he made friends: the rector of St. Mary's, the Rev. Thomas Hodgson, called upon him, "a good preacher, a conscientious minister, and a

very sensible man." The Rev. Isaac Nicholson, another resident clergyman, "very poor, but very good and very happy," also gained his heart. "He reads prayers here twice every day, all the year round; and travels on foot to serve two churches (Papworth St. Agnes and Yelling) 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." Subsequently Mr. Nicholson held the vicariat of Leighton Bromswold (Hunts) and the curacy of Alconbury, where he died and was buried.

As regards the custom at Huntingdon of reading the prayers every day, it must be mentioned that this was done in compliance with the terms of a bequest of £70 per annum, left by one George Sayer for that purpose.

Being an early riser and an early walker, Cowper made the acquaintance of another early riser and early walker, a total abstainer and a vegetarian-a thin, tall old man-as good as he was thin, who was to be met with every morning of his life at six o'clock "at a fountain of very fine water, about a mile from the town, which is reckoned extremely like the Bristol water. His great piety can be equalled by nothing but his great regularity, for he is the most perfect timepiece in the world."

Cowper and his brother met every week, taking it in turns to make the journey-that is to say, one week John visited Huntingdon, and the next Cowper visited Cambridge-sometimes getting a lift in a neighbour's