WILLIAM COWPER 193 



known how to make it. We keep no bees, but if I lived in a 

 hive, I should hardly hear more of their music. All the bees 

 in the neighbourhood resort to a bed of mignonette opposite 

 to the window, and pay me for the honey they get out of it 

 by a hum, which, though rather monotonous, is as agreeable 

 to my ear as the whistling of my linnets. All the sounds that 

 Nature utters are delightful, at least in this country. — Letter to 

 Rev. Joh7i Newton. {Sept. 18, 1784.) 



My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May, or 

 beginning of June, because before that time my green-house 

 will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only pleasant 

 room belonging to us. When the plants go out, we go in. 

 I line it with mats, and spread the floor with mats ; and there 

 you shall sit with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge 

 of honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine; and I will make you a 

 bouquet of myrtle every day. Sooner than the time I mention, 

 the country will not be in complete beauty. — Letter to Lady 

 Hesketh. {Olney^ February 9, 1786.) 



I write in a nook that I call my boudoir ; it is a summer- 

 house not bigger than a sedan-chair ; the door of it opens into 

 the garden that is now crowded with pinks, roses, and honey- 

 suckles, and the window into my neighbour's orchard. It 

 formerly served an apothecary as a smoking-room ; at present, 

 however, it is dedicated to subHmer uses. — Letter to Hill. 



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