to this way of murdering our time, and by so doing have acquired the name of Methodists. Having told you how we do not spend our time, I will next say how we do. We breakfast commonly between eight and nine; till eleven we read either the Scriptures or the sermons of some faithful preacher of those holy mysteries; at eleven we attend Divine Service, which is performed here twice every day; and from twelve to three we separate and amuse ourselves as we please. During that interval I either read in my own apartment, or walk, or ride, or work in the garden.[1] We seldom sit an hour after dinner, but, if the weather permits, adjourn to the garden, where, with Mrs. Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of religious conversation till tea-time. If it rains, or is too windy for walking, we either converse within-doors, or sing some hymns of Martin's[2] collection, and by the help of Mrs. Unwin's harpsichord make up a tolerable concert, in which our hearts, I hope, are the best and most musical performers. After tea we sally forth to walk in good earnest. Mrs. Unwin is a good walker, and we have generally travelled about four miles before we see home again. When the days are short, we make this excursion in the former part of the day, between church-time and dinner. At night we read and converse, as before, till supper, and commonly finish the evening either with hymns or a sermon, and, last of all, the family are called to prayers. I need not tell you that such a life as this is consistent with the utmost cheerfulness; accordingly we are all happy, and dwell together in unity as brethren."
We must give one more extract—a proof of his sensitiveness, or rather of his high-minded conscientiousness. William Unwin was going to London, and Cowper gave him an introduction to Mrs. Cowper. In writing afterwards to thank her for her courteous reception of his friend, he goes on to denounce his own vile and deceitful heart. He had wanted Unwin to call on her, because there were people who looked down upon him, and had even gone the length of calling him "that fellow Cowper;" so he could not resist the opportunity of furnishing the Unwins with ocular demonstration of his high connexion. Upon this discovery of his own heart he bursts out:
"Oh Pride! Pride! it deceives with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk erect, though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist and twine itself about to get from under the Cross which it is the glory of our Christian calling to be able to bear with patience and good-will. They who can guess at the heart of a stranger, and you especially, who are of a compassionate temper, will be more ready, perhaps, to excuse me, in this instance, than I can be to excuse myself. But, in good truth, it was abominable pride of heart, indignation, and vanity, and deserves no better name. How should such a creature be admitted into those pure and sinless mansions, where nothing shall enter that defileth, did not the blood of Christ, applied by the hand of faith, take away the guilt of sin, and leave no spot or stain behind it? Oh what continual need have I of an Almighty, All-sufficient Saviour!"(April 3, 1767.)
- ↑ He says in another letter: “I am become a great florist and shrub-doctor. If the Major can make up a small packet of seeds for a garden where there is little but jessamine and honeysuckle, I will promise to take great care ot them."
- ↑ Martin Madan, Mrs. Cowper's brother. He had some musical skill. The popular tune Helmsley, “Lo! He comes with clouds descending," was composed by him.
