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. John 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 sublimer uses. Letter to Hill. 



N 



