of me with the original, so that, I doubt not, we shall jog on merrily together.  And now, my dear, let me tell you once more, that your kindness in promising us a visit has charmed us both!  I shall see you again.  I shall hear your voice.  We shall take walks together.  I will show you my prospects, the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse and its banks, everything that I have described.  I anticipate the pleasure of those days not very far distant, and feel a part of it at this moment.  Talk not of an inn!  Mention it not for your life!  We have never had so many visitors, but we could easily accommodate them all, though we have received Unwin, and his wife, and his sister, and his son all at once.  My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May, or beginning of June, because before that time my greenhouse 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.

And I will tell you what you shall find at your first entrance.  Imprimis, as soon as you have entered the vestibule, if you cast a look on either side of you, you shall see on the right hand a box of my making.  It is the box in which have been lodged all my hares, and in which lodges Puss at present; but he, poor fellow, is worn out with age, and promises to die before you can see him.  On the right hand stands a cupboard, the work of the same author; it was once a dove-cage, but I transformed it.  Opposite to you stands a table, which I also made; but a merciless servant having scrubbed it until it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now but of ornament; and all my clean shoes stand under it.  On the left hand, at the farther end of this superb vestibule, you will find the door of the parlour, into which I will conduct you, and where I will introduce you to Mrs. Unwin, unless we should meet her before, and where we will be as happy as the day is long.  Order yourself, my Cousin, to the Swan at Newport, and there you shall find me ready to conduct you to Olney.

My dear, I have told Homer what you say about casks and urns, and have asked him whether he is sure that it is a cask in which Jupiter keeps his wine.  He swears that it is a cask, and that it will never be anything better than a cask to eternity.  So if the god is content with it, we must even wonder at his taste, and be so too.

Adieu! my dearest, dearest Cousin.

TO THE SAME

Commissions and thanks

The Lodge, 24 Dec. 1786.