a civil message in return, and soon afterwards they met. After a few minutes' awkwardness they were all as friendly as ever. Before long she had taken up her residence in the vicarage at Olney. And now began the most sunny period in Cowper's life. His letters are full of fun and frolic, and comparatively free from melancholy. The trio were constantly together, engaged in quiet amusements, "Lady Austen playing on the harpsichord," as he says in one letter, "Mrs. Unwin and himself playing battledore and shuttlecock, and the little dog under the chair howling to admiration." "In the morning," says another letter, "I walk with one or other of the ladies, and in the afternoon wind thread. Thus did Hercules, and thus probably did Samson, and thus do I."
When low spirits overtook him, Lady Austen's sprightliness was generally able to exorcise them. One afternoon when he was in this condition, she told him the story of John Gilpin. He lay awake half the night convulsed with laughter, and by the next morning had turned it into a ballad. It was sent to Unwin, who sent it on to the Public Advertiser, where it appeared anonymously. It attracted no special notice, until three years afterwards it came under the eye of Richard Sharp—"Conversation Sharp" as he was commonly known to the literary society of the period. He showed it to Henderson, a first-class actor of the time, who was then giving public readings at Freemasons' Hall. He read "John Gilpin," and electrified the audience, Mrs. Siddons among them. The ballad was reprinted again and again, and the famous horseman was seen in all the printshops. Some "other smaller pieces were owing to Lady Austen, being written for her to sing. But they were trifles indeed compared with the poem which placed him in the first place among the authors of his time, namely, "The Task."
Lady Austen had often begged him to try his hand at blank verse. "I will," he answered one day, "if you will give me a subject." "Oh, you can write upon any subject," said she: "write upon this Sofa." And so he began; hence the great poem, and hence its title. It was begun in the summer of 1783, and completed in about twelve months. But before it was finished another breach had taken place between him and Lady Austen, and this time it was final. Of this separation we have notices from two hands—very slight, it is true, but pointing to a definite conclusion. The first is Cowper's. In a letter to Unwin, dated July 12, 1784, after discussing other topics, he writes:
"You are going to Bristol. A lady, not long since our near neighbour, is probably there; she was there very lately. If you should chance to fall into her company, remember, if you please, that we found the connexion on some accounts an inconvenient one; that we do not wish to renew it; and conduct yourself accordingly. A character with which we spend all our time should be made on purpose for us; too much or too little of any ingredient spoils all. In the instance in question, the dissimilitude was too great not to be felt continually, and conse-
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