m 1 1 m f'V 1 ■ ■ JflBgi i 11 ilHiy BOC IHH Bi lB KBB BW BfflSm _JHH ii:(^i;;iji;iii;j;.ii;ih} WBWBW $ *° u. ,%■ $ ^. \ > «. ^ ' l > t 'r. , O > s s ; A- t> A *, s tf \^ : %.^'\
^- ■' N ° ' \? s , n ^ ^P ^ % ".T.s- A ,, - %<** . />^2_ ^ V J <° N , 0°\ *« °- v< LONDON : PIIINTED BY STEWART AND CO. OLD BAILEY. TO R. D. ALEXANDER, Esq. F.L.S. THE STEADY, DETERMINED, AND PERSEVERING FRIEND OF HUMANITY, €i)te %iit OF THE AMIABLE, PIOUS, AND HIGHLY-GIFTED, BUT DEEPLY-AFFLICTED POET, COWPER, WHICH OWES ITS EXISTENCE ENTIRELY TO HIS SUGGESTION, to most rigpectfullg tombefc, AS A SLIGHT, BUT SINCERE AND GRATEFUL, TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM, FOR THE NUMEROUS UNMERITED FAVOURS RECEIVED FROM HIM, BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE Many lives of Cowper have already been pub- lished. Why, then, it may be asked, add to their number ? Simply because, in the opinion of com- petent judges, no memoir of him has yet appeared that gives a full, fair, and unbiassed view of his character. It is remarked by Dr. Johnson, the poet's kins- man, in his preface to the two volumes of Cow- per's Private Correspondence, "that Mr. Hayley omitted the insertion of several interesting letters in his excellent Life of the poet, out of kindness to his readers." In doing this, however, amiable and considerate as his caution must appear, the gloomi- ness which he has taken from the mind of Cow- per, has the effect of involving his character in VI PREFACE. obscurity. People read ' The Letters' with ' The Task' in their recollection, (and vice versa,) and are perplexed. They look for the Cowper of each in the other, and find him not. Hence the cha- racter of Cowper is undetermined ; mystery hangs over it; and the opinions formed of him are as various as the minds of the enquirers. In alluding to these suppressed letters, the late highly-esteemed Rev. Legh Richmond once em- phatically remarked — " Cowper's character will never be clearly and satisfactorily understood without them, and they should be permitted to exist for the demonstration of the case. I know the importance of it from numerous conversations I have had both in Scotland and in England, on this most interesting subject. Persons of truly religious principles, as well as those of little or no religion at all, have greatly erred in their estimate of this great and good man." Dr. Johnson's two volumes of Private Corre- spondence satisfactorily supplied this deficiency to all those who have the means of consulting them, and the four volumes by Mr. Hayley. The author of this memoir has attempted not only to bring the substance of these six volumes into one, but to communicate information respecting the poet which cannot be found in either of those works. He is fully aware of the peculiarities of Cowper's case, and has endeavoured to exhibit them as pro- minently as was compatible with his design, with- PREFACE. Vll out giving to the memoir too much of that melan- choly tinge by which the life of its subject was so painfully distinguished. In every instance where he could well accom- plish it, he has made Cowper his own biographer, convinced that it is utterly impossible to narrate any circumstance in a manner more striking, or in a style more chaste and elegant, than Cowper has employed in his inimitable letters. To impart ease and perspicuity to the memoir, and to compress it into as small a compass as was consistent with a full development and faithful re- cord of the most interesting particulars of Cow- per's life, the author has, in a few cases, inserted in one paragraph, remarks extracted from different letters, addressed more frequently, though not in- variably, to the same individual. He has, how- ever, taken care to avoid doing this where it could lead to any obscurity. He has made a free use of all the published records of Cowper within his reach, besides avail- ing himself of the valuable advice of the Rev. Dr. Johnson, Cowper's kinsman, to whom he hereby respectfully tenders his grateful acknowledgments for his condescension and kindness, in undertaking to examine the manuscript, and for the useful and judicious hints respecting it he was pleased to suggest. Without concealing a single fact of real impor- tance, the author has carefully avoided giving that Vlll PREFACE. degree of prominence to any painful circumstance in the poet's life, which would be likely to excite regret in the minds of any of his surviving rela- tives, and which, for reasons the most amiable and perfectly excusable, they might have wished had been suppressed ; and he hopes it will be found that he has admitted nothing that can justly offend the most fastidious. It is particularly the wish of the author to state, that he makes no pretensions to originality in this memoir. He wishes it to be regarded only as a compilation ; and all the merit he claims for it, if, indeed, it has any, is for the arrangement of those materials which were already furnished for his use. He has attempted to make the work interesting to all classes, especially to the lovers of literature and genuine piety, and to place within the reach of general readers, many of whom have neither the means nor the leisure to consult larger works, all that is really interesting respecting that singularly afflicted individual, whose productions, both poetic and prose, can never be read but with delight. October 27, 1832. TABLE OF CONTENTS, CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX. Age. CHAPTER I. Page Cowper's birth, Nov. 15, 1731, O. S -, . 1 His ancestry 1 Mother's character and epitaph 2 Poetic tribute to her memory 3 6 First School ; cruel treatment there 4 Early serious impressions 5 8 Placed under the care of a female oculist 5 9 Enters Westminster school ... 6 Anecdote of him while there 6 18 Acquirements when he left it . 7 Enters an attorney's office . 8 Unsuitableness of the profession for him 8 CHAPTER II. 2 1 Takes a set of chambers in the Temple 11 Want of employment, and state of his mind . . . . . 12 23 Commencement of his dejection 13 24 Visit to Southampton, and its effects 14 25 Return to London ; inconsistency of his conduct .... 15 26 Death of his father — how it affected him 16 31 Obtains an appointment in the House of Lords .... 16 Severe attack of depression 17 CONTENTS. ge. Page 32 Gloomy state of his mind 19 Repairs to Margate ; conduct there 21 Depth of his melancholy on his return ,22 Its lamentable effects 24 1 Powerful awakenings respecting religion 26 Is visited by Rev. Mr. Madan 27 Results of this visit 28 Sudden and violent nervous attack 29 CHAPTER III. Removal to St. Alban's ; painful feelings there .... 32 His brother's visit to him, and its happy results . ... 33 33 Discovery of Divine mercy to his mind 34 The great benefits that followed it 35 Interesting conversation with Dr. Cotton 36 Cowper's close application to the Scriptures 37 Poetic specimen of his first Christian thoughts 37 Great progress he makes in religion 38 His excellent remarks on the benefits of affliction .... 39 Great difference between the Christian and the unbeliever . 40 His affectionate regard for Dr. Cotton, and gratitude to God for placing him under his care 41 34 Leaves St. Alban's ; sensations on the occasion .... 42 CHAPTER IV. Entrance on his residence at Huntingdon 44 Depth of his piety 45 How he employed his time 46 Enjoyment he experienced in religion 47 Pleasure he felt in corresponding on religious subjects . . 48 His great attention to the operations of Providence . . . 51 His attachment to Huntingdon ... 53 Commencement of his acquaintance with the Unwins . . 54 CHAPTER V. Becomes an inmate with the family 58 The happy state of his mind, and the manner in which he had spent his time 59 35 Of Christians knowing each other in Heaven 60 Continued fervour of his piety 65 Watchfulness and care over his heart 67 CONTENTS. XI Age. Page 36 Sudden death of Mr. Unwin , .... 68 37 Commencement of Cowper's intimacy with Mr. Newton . 69 CHAPTER VI. His removal with Mrs. Unwin to Olney 71 Serene and peaceful state of his mind 72 , Sympathy for the poor, and anxiety to afford them relief . 73 ' Poetic tribute to the memory of Mr. Thornton 73 38 Lively interest he took in the spiritual welfare of his cor- respondents, and serious remarks on eternity .... 75 Excellent consolatory remarks 77 Receives tidings of his brother's affliction 78 Cowper's visit to him at Cambridge, and deep concern for his salvation 79 His brother's conversion and death 81 Impressions it made on Cowper's mind 83 39 Cowper's description of his character, and tribute to his me- mory 84 41 Begins, with Mr. Newton, to write the Olney Hymns . . 86 CHAPTER VII. 42 Second attack of depression 89 Impossible that religion could be the cause ..•.-. 91 Some remarks of Hayley animadverted upon 93 Cowper kindly taken under Mr. Newton's care .... 94 47 Undertakes to domesticate some leverets 95 Mr. Newton's removal from Olney 96 Mr. Bull's introduction to Cowper 96 Cowper's playful description of his character . . ■'. . . 97 Begins the translation of Madame Guy on's Songs .... 97 48 Commences writing his original works 99 Describes the state of his mind 101 Remarks on the rapid flight of time 105 49 His opinion respecting the duties of the Sabbath .... 107 CHAPTER VIII. Makes preparation for publishing his first volume . . . .109 Assigns reasons for becoming an author 110 50 Sends the work to the press 112 Great pains he took with his compositions 115 Mr. Newton's preface to the volume 117 Xll CONTENTS. Age. Page Its publication, and how it was received 119 v State of his mind while composing it 120 His ardent and sincere piety 121 4 Describes the objects he had in view in composing it ..13 CHAPTER IX. Commencement of his acquaintance with Lady Austen . .125 Poetical epistle to that lady 126 Lady Austen's removal to Olney ... 129 51 Origin of "John Gilpin" 130 Benefits Cowper derived from Lady Austen's company . .131 -N52 Origin of " The Task " 132 53 Its completion, and the commencement of his " Homer " . 134 Withdrawal from Lady Austin 135 Continuance of depression 136 Gloomy and desponding state of his mind 138 His remarks on the peculiarity of his own case 139 Declines contributing to the " Theological Magazine" . .140 Danger of trifling with our Maker 143 His deep aversion to a formal profession of religion . . .144 False professors of religion more dangerous to its interests than avowed infidels 147 CHAPTER X. 54 Publication of his second volume 149 Humiliating views entertained of himself 151 Commencement of his correspondence with Lady Hesketh . 152 Interesting remarks to that lady 154 Her intended visit to the poet, and his feelings on the occasion 156 Her arrival at Olney, and its happy effects on Cowper's mind 160 His removal to Weston 162 Becomes intimate with the Throckmorton family . . . .163 Remarks on the effects of frequent removals . . . . .165 CHAPTER XI. Description of his religious experience 168 Ill-grounded apprehensions of his friends 170 Reasons for translating "Homer" 173 Immense pains he took with it 176 CONTENTS. Xll Age. Page Diligently employed in its revisal . . . . . . . . . 179 Vexation he experienced from critics 181 CHAPTER XII. 55 Interesting description of his house at Weston 188 Death of Mrs. Un win's son . . . , 190 Cowper's distressing feelings on the occasion 191 Labours again under severe indisposition 193 Commencement of his acquaintance with Mr. Rose . . .194 Continuance of his depression 195 Mr. Rose's second visit to him .196 Recovery of his health 1 97 Renewal of his correspondence with Mr. Newton . . . .198 Justifies himself for undertaking his translation .... 200 56 Vigour with which he prosecuted it 202 Continued desires after religion . . 204 The gloomy state of his mind unremoved 207 CHAPTER XIII. Reasons for declining to write on the " Slave Trade" . . 208 Commencement of his correspondence with Mrs. King . . 209 Interesting extracts from letters to Mrs. King 210 Comparison between us and our ancestors 213 Reflections on the death of Ashly Co wper, Esq 214 Again declines writing on slavery 216 Close attention to his Homer . . 217 Remarks on the season 218 Mr. and Mrs. Newton's visit to Weston . . . . . . .219 His mind not always alike gloomy 220 Amusing imaginary sketch of Mrs. King 321 Mr. Rose's arrival at Weston 222 Lady Hesketh's second visit to the poet 223 57 Indefatigable attention to his translation 224 Excuses for his inattention to his correspondents .... 225 Composes several short poems 226 Anecdote of the Northampton parish clerk 227 Aversion to cruelty 227 Lines on the death of a cock-fighter 228 Concern for Mrs. Unwin, who was much injured by a fall . 232 XIV CONTENTS. Age. CHAPTER XIV. Page Increased attention to his translation 235 58 Revises, to oblige an entire stranger, a volume of hymns for children 238 Serious reflections on the effects of winter 239 Gloomy and painful apprehensions 241 Receipt of his mother's portait . . . . . . • . • • 242 Interesting description of his feelings on the occasion . . 243 Judicious advice to his cousin 245 Translates Van Leer's Latin Letters . 246 Continuance of his melancholy depression 247 Advantages of a rural situation for the cultivation of religion 248 59 Short but very severe nervous attack 249 Sends his Homer to the press 249 Immense labour he had bestowed upon it ... . . 250 Sympathetic remarks to Mr. Newton on the death of his wife 25 1 Solicits Mr. Newton for a more regular correspondence . 252 Unabated attachment to religion 254 CHAPTER XV. Publication of his Homer 255 Remarks respecting it 256 Benefit it had been to him 257 Prepares materials for his edition of Milton 259 Vindication of Milton, and remarks on Paradise Lost . . 260 Unsuccessful attempt to obtain from him original poetry . 261 Commencement of his intimacy with Mr. Hayley . . . 263 60 Mrs. Unwin's first attack of paralysis 264 Continuance of his gloomy apprehensions 265 Mr. Hayley's first visit to Weston 267 Anecdotes respecting Mr. Hayley's first letter to Cowper . 268 Pleasure Cowper derived from Mr. Hayley's visit . . . 269 Mrs. Un win's second paralytic attack 271 Deep concern of Cowper on the occasion 272 Depressed state of his mind 274 Engages to pay Mr. Hayley a visit 275 Anxiety respecting the journey 276 Remarks on Mrs. Unwin's piety 279 Playful feelings on sitting for his portrait 280 CONTENTS. XV Jge. CHAPTER XVI. Page Journey to Eartham 281 Manner in which he and Mr. Hayley employed themselves 283 State of his mind while there 284 Return to Weston, and interview with General Cowper . 285 Effects of the journey on his mind 286 Ineffectual effort at composition 289 Warmth of his affection for Mr. Hayley 290 61 Preparation for the second edition of Homer . . . . . 292 Continuance of his depression 295 Use of affliction 296 Declines a joint literary undertaking . 298 Willing to write with others a poem entitled The Four Ages 301 CHAPTER XVII. Mr. Hayley's second visit to W^eston . 303 Lord Spencer's kind attention to the poet 303 62 Cowper's undiminished regard for Mrs. Unwin, and poetic tribute to her worth 305 Excellent critical remarks 207 Most severe attack of depression 309 Lady Hesketh's kind attention 310 Mr. Greatheed's visit and letter to Mr. Hayley 311 Mr. Hayley and his son's visit to Weston . . . . . .312 63 His Majesty's grant of a pension to the poet 314 Removal into Norfolk in the care of his kinsman . . .316 64 Takes possession of Dunham Lodge 313 Interest he took in Mr. Wakefield's Homer 319 65 Death of Mrs. Unwin 320 Tablet to her memory 321 Dr. Johnson's great attention to the poet 322 Happy results of the Doctor's ingenuity 323 66 Dowager Lady Spencer's visit to the poet 324 67 Stanzas, entitled " The Cast-away" 325 Dr. Johnson's various efforts to afford him relief . . . 326 68 The poet's last letter to Mr. Hayley 327 Is visited by Mr. Rose 328 Disconsolate state of his mind 329 XVI CONTENTS. Age. Page His last words, and death, 25th April, 1800 330 Monumental tablet, and lines to his memory 331 CHAPTER XVIII. Description of his person 333 His manners — his eminent piety 334 Attachment to the Established Church 335 Aversion to bigotry — scholastic attainments 336 "~~1 His productions, compared with his predecessors .... 337 Comparison between him, and Milton and Young . . . 339 His deep experimental piety 340 Was the first who really made poetry the handmaid to religion 341 His religious sentiments 342 His views of friendship, and lines upon it 343 Greatness and independence of his mind 346 His skill in consoling the afflicted 347 Occasional tranquillity and cheerfulness 349 Jeu d'esprit 351 Powers of description 353 Remarks on his original productions 354 Excellence of his epistolary style 356 Aversion to flattery and ostentation 358 Severity of his sarcasms 359 Abhorrence of cruelty 359 His patriotism 360 His uncomplaining disposition 362 Tenderness of his conscience 364 Remarks of an anonymous critic on his productions . . . 365 Lines to his memory .... 368 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. CHAPTER I. His parentage — Loss of his mother — Poetic description of her cha- racter — First school — Cruelty he experienced there — First serious impressions — Is placed under the care of an eminent oculist — Entrance upon Westminster School — Character while there — Removal thence — Entrance upon an attorney's office — Want of employment there — Unfitness for his profession — Early melan- choly impressions. William Cowper was born at Great Berkhamstead, in Hertfordshire, November 15, 1731. His father, Dr. John Cowper, chaplain to King George the Second, was the se- cond son of Spencer Cowper, who was Chief Justice of Cheshire, and afterwards a Judge in the Court of Common Pleas, and whose brother William, first Earl Cowper, was, at the same time, Lord High Chancellor of England. His mother was Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq. of Lud- ham Hall, Norfolk, who had a common ancestry with the celebrated Dr. Donne, Dean of St. Paul's. In reference to this lady, it has been justly ob- served, by one of the poet's best biographers, " That the highest blood in the realm flowed in the veins of the B 2 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. modest and unassuming Cowper; his mother having de- scended through the families of Hippesley of Through- ley, in Sussex, and Pellet, of Bolney, in the same county, from the several noble houses of West, Knollys, Carey, Bullen, Howard, and Mowbray, and so, by four different lines, from Henry the Third, king of England." Though, as the same writer properly remarks, " distinctions of this nature can shed no additional lustre on the memory of Cowper, yet genius, however exalted, disdains not, while it boasts not, the splendour of ancestry ; and royalty itself may be pleased, and perhaps benefited, by discovering its kindred to such piety, such purity, and such talents as his." Very little is known of the habits and disposition of Cowper's mother. From the following epitaph, however, inscribed on a monument, erected by her husband in the chancel of St. Peter's church, Great Berkhamstead, and composed by her niece, who afterwards became Lady Walsingham, she appears to have been a lady of the most amiable temper and agreeable manners : — Here lies, in early years bereft of life, The best of mothers, and the kindest wife, Who neither knew nor practised any art, Secure in all she wished — her husband's heart. Her love to him still prevalent in death, Pray'd Heaven to bless him with her latest breath. Still was she studious never to offend, And glad of an occasion to commend ; With ease would pardon injuries received, Nor e'er was cheerful when another grieved. Despising state, with her own lot content, Enjoyed the comforts of a life well spent; Resigned when Heaven demanded back her breath, Her mind heroic 'midst the pangs of death. Whoe'er thou art that dost this tomb draw near, O, stay awhile, and shed a friendly tear; These lines, though weak, are as herself sincere. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 3 After giving birth to several children, this lady died in child-bed, in her thirty-seventh year; leaving only two sons, John the younger, and William the elder, who is the subject of this memoir. Cowper was only six years old when he lost his mother ; and how deeply he was affected by her early death, may be inferred from the following ex- quisitely tender lines, composed more than fifty years af- terwards, on the receipt of her portrait from a relation in Norfolk : — " My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss : Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss ! I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee far away, And, turning from my nursery- window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such? It was — Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting sound shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of a quick return. What ardently I wished, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By disappointment every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow, even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours When playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, b2 4 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Would softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) Could these few pleasant hours again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart/the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might ; But no — what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storm all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay : So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar. And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life, long since, has anchored at thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed — Me, howling winds drive devious, tempest tost, Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. But, oh ! the thought that thou art safe, and he ! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me : My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth, But higher far my proud pretensions rise — The son of parents passed into the skies ! Deprived thus early of his excellent and most affection- ate parent, he was sent, at this tender age, to a large school at Market-street, Hertfordshire, under the care of Dr. Pit- man. Here he had hardships of different kinds to conflict THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 5 with, which he felt more sensibly, in consequence of the tender manner in which he had been treated at home. His chief sorrow, however, arose from the cruel treatment he met with from a boy in the same school, about fifteen years of age, who on all occasions persecuted him with the most unrelenting barbarity ; and who never seemed pleased except when he was tormenting him. This savage treat- ment impressed such a dread upon Cowper's tender mind of this boy, that he was afraid to lift up his eyes upon him higher than his knees ; and he knew him better by his shoe-buckles than by any other part of his dress. It was at this school, and on one of these painful occa- sions, that the mind of Cowper, which was afterwards to become imbued with religious feelings of the highest order, received its first serious impressions — a circumstance which cannot fail to be interesting to every Christian reader, and the more so as detailed in his own words. " One day, as I was sitting alone on a bench in the school, melancholy, and almost ready to weep at the recol- lection of what I had already suffered, and expecting at the same time my tormentor every moment, these words of the Psalmist came into my mind — ' I will not be afraid of what man can do unto me.' I applied this to my own case, with a degree of trust and confidence in God, that would have been no disgrace to a much more experienced Christian. Instantly I perceived in myself a briskness and a cheerfulness of spirit which I had never before expe- rienced, and took several paces up and down the room with joyful alacrity. Happy had it been for me, if this early effort towards a dependance on the blessed God, had been frequently repeated. But, alas! it was the first and the last, between infancy and manhood." From this school he was removed in his eighth year ; and having at that time specks on both his eyes, which 6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. threatened to cover them, his father, alarmed for the conse- quences, placed him under the care of an eminent female oculist in London ; in whose house he abode nearly two years. In this lady's family, religion was neither known nor practised ; the slightest appearance of it, in any shape, was carefully concealed, even its outward forms were entirely un- observed. In a situation like this, it was not to be expected that young Cowper would long retain those serious im- pressions he had experienced ; nor is it surprising, that before his removal thence he should have lost them entirely. In his ninth year, he was sent to Westminster School, then under the care of Dr. Nicholls; who, though an inge- nious and learned man, was nevertheless a negligent tutor; and one that encouraged his pupils in habits of indolence, not a little injurious to their future welfare. Here he remained seven years, and had frequent reason to complain of the same unkind treatment from some of his schoolfellows, which he had before experienced. His timid, meek, and inoffensive spirit totally unfitted him for the hardships of a public school; and in all probability, the treatment he there received, produced in him an insuperable aversion to this method of instruction. We know but little of the actual progress he made while under the care of Dr. Nicholls ; his subsequent eminence, however, as a scholar, proves that he must have been an attentive pupil, and must have made, at this period, a highly creditable profi- ciency in his studies. While at this school, he was roused a second time to se- rious consideration. Crossing a churchyard late one evening, he saw a glimmering light in rather a remote part of it, which so excited his curiosity, as to induce him to ap- proach it. Just as he arrived at the spot, a grave-digger, who was at work by the light of his lanthorn, threw up a skull-bone, which struck him on the leg. This little inci- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 7 dent alarmed his conscience, and drew from him many painful reflections. The impression, however, was only temporary, and in a short time the event was entirely for- gotten. On another occasion, not long afterwards, he again at this early age, became the subject of religious impressions. It was the laudable practice of Dr. Nicholls to take great pains to prepare his pupils for confirmation. The Doctor acquitted himself of this duty like one who had a deep sense of its importance, and young Cowper was struck by his manner, and much affected by his exhortations. He now, for the first time in" his life, attempted prayer in secret, but being little accustomed to that exercise of the heart, and having very childish notions of religion, he found it a difficult and painful task, and was even then alarmed at his own insensibility. These impressions, how- ever, like those made upon his mind before, soon wore off, and he relapsed into a total forgetfulness of God, with the usual disadvantage of being more hardened, for having been softened to no purpose. This was evidently the case with him, for on being afterwards seized with the small- pox, though he was in the most imminent danger, yet neither in the course of the disease, nor during his reco- very from it, had he any sentiments of contrition, or any thoughts of God or eternity. He, however, derived one advantage from it — it removed, to a great degree, if it did not entirely cure, the disease in his eyes, proving, as he afterwards observed in a letter to Mr. Hayley, ' a better oculist than the lady who had had him under her care.' Such was the character of young Cowper, in his eigh- teenth year, when he left Westminster School. He had made a respectable proficiency in all his studies ; but not- withstanding his previous serious impressions, he seems not to have had any more knowledge of the nature of reli- 8 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. gion, nor even to have discovered any more concern about it, than many other individuals have been known to feel, at an early age, who have never afterwards given it any at- tention. After spending six months at home, he was articled to a solicitor, with whom he was engaged to remain three years. In this gentleman's family, he neither saw nor heard any thing that could remind him of a single Christian duty; and here he might have lived utterly ignorant of the God that made him, had he not been providentially situated near his uncle's, in Southampton-row. At this favourite retreat, he was permitted to spend all his leisure time, and so seldom was he employed, that this was by far the greater part of it. With his uncle's family he passed nearly all his Sundays, and with some part of it he re- gularly attended public worship, but for which, probably, he would otherwise, owing to the force of evil example, have entirely neglected. The choice of a profession for a youth is ever of para- mount importance; if injudiciously made, it not unfre- quently lays the foundation for much future disappoint- ment and sorrow. It would certainly have been difficult, and perhaps impossible, to have selected one more unsuit- able to the mind of Cowper than that of the law. As Mr. Hay ley justly observes, " The law is a kind of soldiership, and, like the profession of arms, it may be said to require for the constitution of its heroes, " A frame of adamant, a soul of fire." " The soul of Cowper had, indeed, its fire, but fire so refined and etherial, that it could not be expected to shine in the gross atmosphere of worldly contention." Reserved to an unusual and extraordinary degree, he was ill qualified to contend with the activity unavoidably con- nected with this profession. Though he possessed the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 9 strongest powers of mind, and a richly-cultivated under- standing, yet were they combined with such extreme sensi- bility, as totally disqualified him for the bustle of a court. An excessive tenderness, associated with a degree of shy- ness, not easily to be accounted for, utterly unfitted him for a profession that would often have placed him before the public, and brought him into contact with individuals not remarkable for such qualities. His extreme modesty, however, while it precluded the possibility of his being suc- cessful in this profession, endeared him inexpressibly to all who had the felicity to enjoy his society. Never was there a mind more admirably formed for communicating to others, in private life, the richest sources of enjoyment; and yet, such were the peculiarities of his nature, that often, while he delighted and interested all around him, he was himself extremely unhappy. The following lines, composed by him about this time, are not less valuable, for the develop- ment they give of the state of his mind at that period, than they are remarkable for their exquisite tenderness and poetic beauty: — " Doomed as I am in solitude to waste The present moments, and regret the past ; Deprived of every joy I valued most, My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost ; Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, The dull effect of humour or of spleen. Still, still I mourn, with each returning day, Him* snatched by fate in early youth away ; And her through tedious years of doubt and pain, Fix'd in her choice, and faithful — but in vain ! O, prone to pity, generous, and sincere, Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear; * Sir William Russell, Bart., a favourite friend of the young poet. 10 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows, Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes ; See me, — ere yet my destined course half done, Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown ! See me neglected on the world's rude coast, Each dear companion of my voyage lost ! Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, And ready tears wait only leave to flow ! Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free, All that delights the happy, palls with me ! THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. H CHAPTER II. Entrance into the Temple — Employment there — Depression of his mind — Religious impressions — Visit to Southampton — Sudden removal of sorrow — Death of his father — Appointment to the office of reading clerk in the House of Lords — Dread of appearing in public — Consequent abandonment of the situation — Is proposed as clerk of the Journals — Feelings on the occasion — Visit to Margate — Return to London — Preparation for entering upon his office — Distressing sensations on the occasion — is compelled to relinquish it for ever — Serious attack of depression — Visit of his brother. At the age of 21, in 1752, Cowper left the solicitor's house, and took possession of a complete set of chambers in the Inner Temple. Here he remained nearly twelve years. And as this may justly be considered the most va- luable part of life, it must ever be regretted that he suf- fered it to pass away so unprofitably. During this im- portant and lengthened period he scarcely did any thing more than compose a few essays and poems, either to gra- tify, or to assist, some literary friend. Prompted by bene- volent motives, he furnished several pieces for a work, en- titled "The Connoisseur," edited by Robert Lloyd, Esq., to whom he was sincerely and warmly attached. The following extract from a most playful poetic epistle, addressed to that gentlemen, will be read with interest, as it shews that he began at that time to feel symptoms of the depressive malady, which afterwards became to him a source of so much misery. 12 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. v " Tis not that I design to rob Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, For thou art born sole heir, and single, Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle ; Nor that I mean, while thus I knit My thread-bare sentiments together, To shew my genius, or my wit, When God and you know I have neither; Or such as might be better shewn, By letting poetry alone. 'Tis not with either of these views That I presume to address the muse ; But to divert a fierce banditti (Sworn foes to every thing, that's witty) ; That with a black infernal train, Make cruel inroads on my brain, And daily threatens to drive thence My little garrison of sense ; The fierce banditti which I mean, Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen." While he remained in the Temple he cultivated the friendship of the most distinguished writers of the day ; and took a lively interest in their publications, as they ap- peared. Instead, however, of applying his richly furnished mind to the composition of some original work, for which, the pieces he incidentally wrote, proved him fully compe- tent, his timid spirit contented itself with occasional dis- plays of its rich and varied capabilities. Translation from ancient and modern poets was one of his most favourite amusements. So far, however, was he from deriving any benefit from these compositions, most of which were mas- terly productions, that he invariably distributed them gra- tuitously among his friends, as they might happen to request them. In this way he assisted his amiable friend and scholar, Mr. Duncombe ; for we find in Duncombe's THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 13 Horace, published by him in 1759, that two of the satires were translated by Cowper. When Cowper entered the Temple 9 he paid little or no attention to religion ; all those serious' impressions which he had once experienced were gone ; and he was left, at that dangerous and critical season of life, surrounded by innumerable most powerful temptations, without any other principles for his guide, than the corrupt affections of our common nature. It pleased God, however, at the very outset, to prevent him from pursuing that rash and ruinous career of wickedness, into which many plunge with heed-, less and awful insensibility. The feelings of his peculiarly sensitive mind on this occasion he thus describes. " Not long after my settlement in the Temple, I was struck with such a dejection of spirits, as none but those who have felt the same can have the least conception of. Day and night I was upon the rack, lying down in horror, and rising up in despair. I presently lost all relish for those studies to which I had before been closely attached ; the classics had no longer any charms for me ; I had need of something more salutary than amusement, but I had no one to direct me where to find it." "At length I met with Herbert's poems; and, gothic and uncouth as they are, I yet found in them a strain of piety which I could not but admire. This was the only author I had any delight in treading. I pored over him all day long ; and though I found not in his work what I might have found — a cure for my malady, yet my mind never seemed so much alleviated as while I was reading it. At length I was advised, by a very near and dear relative, to lay it aside, for he thought such an author more likely to nourish my disorder than to remove it." u In this state of mind I continued near a twelvemonth; when, having experienced the inefficacy of all human 14 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPF.R. means, I at length betook myself to God in prayer. Such is the rank our Redeemer holds in our esteem, that we never resort to him but in the last instance, when all crea- tures have failed to succour us ! My bard heart was at length softened, and my stubborn knees brought to bow. I composed a set of prayers, and made frequent use of them. Weak as my faith was, the Almighty, who will not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, was graciously pleased to listen to my cry, instead of frowning me away in anger." " A change of scene was recommended to me ; and I embraced an opportunity of going with some friends to Southampton, where I spent several months. Soon after our arrival, we walked to a place called Freemantle, about a mile from the town ; the morning was clear and calm ; the sun shone brightly upon the sea, and the country on the border of it was the most beautiful I had ever seen. We sat down upon an eminence, at the end of that arm of the sea which runs between Southampton and the New Forest. Here it was, that on a sudden, as if another sun had been created that instant in the heavens on purpose to dispel sorrow and vexation of spirit, I felt the weight of all my misery taken off; my heart became light and joyful in a moment ; I could have wept with transport had I been alone. I must needs believe that nothing less than the Almighty fiat could have filled me with such inexpressible delight; not by a gradual dawning of peace, but, as it were, with a flash of his life-giving countenance. I felt a glow of gratitude to the Father of mercies for this unex- pected blessing, and ascribed it, at first, to his gracious acceptance of my prayers ; but Satan and my own wicked heart quickly persuaded me that I was indebted for my deliverance to nothing but a change of scene, and the amusing varieties of the place. By this means, he turned THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 15 the blessing into a poison ; teaching me to conclude, that nothing but a continued circle of diversion, and indulgence of appetite, could secure me from a relapse. Acting upon this false and pernicious principle, as soon as I returned to London, I burnt my prayers, and away went all my thoughts of devotion, and of dependence upon God my Saviour. Surely, it was of his mercy that I was not con- sumed. Glory be to his grace !" " I obtained, at length, so complete a victory over my conscience, that all remonstrances from that quarter were in vain, and in a manner silenced, though sometimes, in- deed, a question would arise in my mind, whether it were safe to proceed any farther in a course so plainly and ut- terly condemned in the Scriptures. I saw clearly, that if the gospel were true, such a conduct must inevitably end in my destruction ; but I saw not by what means I could change my Ethiopian complexion, or overcome such an in- veterate habit of rebelling against God." " The next thing that occurred to me, at such a time, was, a doubt whether the gospel were true or false. To this succeeded many an anxious wish for the deckion of this important question; for I foolishly thought that obe- dience would follow, were I but convinced that it was worth while to attend to it. Raving no reason to expect a miracle, and not hoping to be satisfied with any thing less, I acquiesced, at length, in favour of that impious con- clusion, that the only course I could take to secure my present peace, was to wink hard against the prospects of future misery, and to resolve to banish all thoughts of a subject upon which I thought to so little purpose. Never- theless, when I was in the company of deists, and heard the gospel blasphemed, I never failed to assert the truth of it with much vehemence of disputation, for which I was the better qualified, having been always an industrious ]6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. and diligent enquirer into the evidences by which it is ex- ternally supported. I think I once went so far into a con- troversy of this kind as to assert, that I would gladly sub- mit to have my right hand cut off, so that I might but be enabled to live according to the gospel. Thus have I been employed in vindicating the truth of Scripture, while in the very act of rebelling against its dictates. Lamentable inconsistency of a convinced judgment with an unsanctified heart! — an inconsistency, indeed, evident to others as well as to myself ; inasmuch as a deistical companion of mine, with whom I was disputing upon the subject, cut short the matter by alleging, that if what I said were true, I was certainly condemned, by my own showing." In 1756, Cowper sustained a heavy domestic loss, in the death of his excellent father, towards whom he had always felt the strongest parental regard. Such, however, was the depressed state of his mind at this season, that he was much less affected by the solemn event, than he would probably have been had it occurred at any earlier or later period of his life. Perceiving that he should inherit but little fortune from his father, he now found it necessary to adopt some plan to augment his income. It became every day more apparent to his friends, as well as to himself, that his ex- treme diffidence precluded the possibility of his being suc- cessful in his profession. After much anxiety of mind on this subject, he at length mentioned it to a friend, who had two situations at his disposal, the Reading Clerk, and Clerk of the Journals in the House of Lords — situations, either of which Cowper then thought would suit him, and one of which he expressed a desire to obtain, should a vacancy occur. Quite unexpectedly to him, as well as to his friend, both these places, in a short time afterwards, became va- cant ; and as the Reading Clerk's was much the more valu- able of the two, his friend generously offered it to him, I THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ]? which offer he gladly and gratefully accepted, and he was accordingly appointed to it in his thirty-first year. All his friends were delighted with this providential opening: he himself, at first, looked forward to it with pleasure, intending, as soon as he was settled, to unite himself with an amiable and accomplished young lady, one of his first cousins, for whom he had long cherished a tender attachment. These fond hopes, however, were never realized. The situation required him to appear at the bar of the House of Peers ; and the apprehension of this public exhibition quite overwhelmed his meek and gentle spirit. So acute were his distressing apprehensions, that, notwithstanding the previous efforts he made to qua- lify himself for the office, long before the day arrived that he w 7 as to enter upon it, such was the embarrassed and melancholy state of his mind, that he was compelled to relinquish it entirely. His harassed and dejected feelings on this occasion he thus affectingly describes : — " All the considerations by which I endeavoured to compose my mind to its former tranquillity, did but tor- ment me the more, proving miserable comforters, and counsellors of no value. I returned to my chambers, thoughtful and unhappy ; my countenance fell ; and my friend was astonished, instead of that additional cheerful- ness which he mio-ht have so reasonably expected, to find an air of deep melancholy in all I said or did. Having been harassed in this manner, by day and night, for the space of a week, perplexed between the apparent folly of casting away the only visible chance I had of being well provided for, and the impossibility of retaining it, I deter- mined at length to write a letter to my friend, though he lodged, in a manner, at the next door, and we generally spent the day tooether. I did so, and begged him to accept my resignation of the Reading Clerk's place, and to appoint c ]8 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. me to the other situation. I was well aware of the dispro- portion between the value of the appointments, but my peace was gone : pecuniary advantages were not equivalent to what I had lost ; and I flattered myself that the Clerk- ship of the Journals would fall, fairly and easily, within the scope of my abilities. Like a man in a fever, I thought a change of posture would relieve my pain, and, as the event will show, was equally disappointed. My friend, at length, after considerable reluctance, accepted of my resignation, and appointed me to the least profit- able office. The matter being thus settled, something like a calm took place in my mind : I was, indeed, not a little concerned about my character, being aware that it must needs suffer by the strange appearance of my proceeding. This, however, being but a small part of the anxiety I had laboured under, was hardly felt when the rest was taken off. I thought my path towards an easy maintenance was now plain and open, and, for a day or two, was tolerably cheerful: but, behold, the storm was gathering all the while, and the fury of it was not the less violent from this gleam of sunshine." " A strong opposition to my friend's right of nomination began to show itself. A powerful party was formed among the Lords to thwart it, and it appeared plain, that if we succeeded at last, it could only be by fighting our ground by inches. Every advantage, I was told, would be sought for, and eagerly seized, to disconcert us. I was led to ex- pect an examination at the bar of the House, touching my sufficiency for the post I had taken. Being necessarily ignorant of the nature of that business, it became expe- dient that I should visit the office daily, in order to qualify myself for the strictest scrutiny. All the horror of my fears and perplexities now returned ; a thunderbolt would have been as welcome to me as this intelligence. I knew THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 19 that, upon such terms, the Clerkship of the Journals was no place for me. To require my attendance at the bar of the House, that I might there publicly entitle myself to the office, was, in effect, to exclude me from it. In the mean time, the interest of my friend, the causes of his choice, and my own reputation and circumstances, all urged me forward, and pressed me to undertake that which I saw to be impracticable. They whose spirits are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of them- selves, on any occasion, is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horror of my situation — others can have none. My continual misery at length brought on a nervous fever : quiet forsook me by day, and peace by night ; even a finger raised against me seemed more than I could bear." " In this posture of mind, I attended regularly at the office, where, instead of a soul upon the rack, the most active spirits were essential to my purpose. I expected no'assistance from any one there, all the inferior clerks being under the influence of my opponents ; accordingly, I received none. The Journal books were, indeed, thrown open to me, a thing which could not be refused, and from which, perhaps, a man in health, with a head turned to business, might have gained all the information wanted. But it was not so with me. I read without perception, and was so distressed, that had every clerk in the office been my friend, it would have availed me little, for I was not in a condition to receive instruction, much less to elicit it from manuscripts, without direction.'* The following extract from a letter to his amiable cousin Lady Hesketh, written 9th August, 1763, through which runs that happy mixture, of what may not perhaps im- properly be termed, playful seriousness, which distinguishes almost the whole of his epistolary productions, and imparts to them a charm superior to that of almost any other c2 20 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. writer, will illustrate the state of his mind at that period. " Having promised to write to you, I make haste to be as good as my word. I have a pleasure in writing to you at any time, but especially at the present, when my days are spent in reading the Journals, and my nights in dreaming of them, an employment not very agreeable to a head that has long been habituated to the luxury of choosing its subject, and has been as little employed upon business, as if it had grown upon the shoulders of a much wealthier gentleman. But the numscull pays for it now, and will not presently forget the discipline it has under- gone lately. If I succeed in this doubtful piece of pro- motion, I shall have at least the satisfaction to reflect upon, that the volumes I write will be treasured up with the utmost care for ages, and will last as long as the English constitution, a duration which ought to satisfy the vanity of any author. Oh my good cousin ! If I was to open my heart to you, I could shew you strange sights ; nothing, I flatter myself, that would shock you, but a good deal that would make you wonder. I am of a very singular temper, and very unlike all the men that I have ever conversed with. Certainly I am not an absolute fool ; but I have more weakness than the greatest pf all fools I can recollect at present. In short, if I was as fit for the next world as I am unfit for this — and God forbid that I should speak it in vanity — I would not change conditions with any saint in Christendom. Ever since I was born, I have been good at disappointing the most natural expectations. Many years ago, cousin, there was a possibility that I might prove a very different thing from what I am at present. My character is now fixed, and rivetted fast upon me ,* and, between friends, is not a very splendid one, or likely to be guilty of much fascination." Many months was Cowper thus employed, constant in THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 21 the use of means to qualify himself for the office, yet des- pairing as to the issue. At length he says, " The vacation being pretty far advanced, I repaired to Margate. There, by the help of cheerful company, a new scene, and the intermission of my painful employment, I presently began to recover my spirits; though even here, for some time after my arrival, (notwithstanding, perhaps, the preceding day had been spent agreeably, and without any disturbing recollection of my circumstances,) my first reflections, when I awoke in the morning, were horrible and full of wretchedness. I looked forward to the ap- proaching winter, and regretted the flight of every moment which brought it nearer, like a man borne away, by a rapid torrent, into a stormy sea, whence he sees no possibility of returning, and where he knows he cannot subsist. By degrees, I acquired such a facility in turning away my thoughts from the ensuing crisis, that, for weeks together, I hardly adverted to it at all : but the stress of the tempest was yet to come, and was not to be avoided by any resolu- tion of mine to look another way." " How wonderful are the works of the Lord, and his ways past finding out ! Thus was he preparing me for an event which I least of all expected, even the reception of his blessed gospel, working by means which, in all human contemplation, must needs seem directly opposite to that purpose, but which, in his wise and gracious disposal, have, I trust, effectually accomplished it." In October, 1763, Cowper was again required to attend the office, and prepare for the final push. This recalled all his fears, and produced a renewal of all his former mi- sery. On revisiting the scene of his previous ineffectual labours, he felt himself pressed by difficulties on either side, with nothing before him but prospects of gloom and despair. He saw that he must either keep possession of 22 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. the situation to the last extremity, and thus expose him- self to the risk of public rejection for his insufficiency, or relinquish it at once, and thus run the hazard of ruining his benefactor's right of appointment, and losing the only chance he seemed to have of procuring for himself a com- fortable competence for life, and of being united to the in- dividual to whom he was most tenderly and affectionately attached. His terrors on this occasion had become so overwhelm- ing, as to induce that lamented aberration of mind under which he is generally known to have suffered. The dread- ful apprehensions which for so long a time had haunted him day and night, leaving him not a moment's interval of peace, had, at length, wound him up to the highest pitch of mental agony. The anguish of his lacerated spirit was inconceivable. The idea of appearing in public was, to his gentle but amiable mind, even more bitter than death. To his disordered perception there appeared no possibility for him to escape from the horrors of his situation, but by an escape from life itself. Death, which he had always shud- dered at before, he began ardently to wish for now. He could see nothing before him but difficulties perfectly in- surmountable. The supposed ruined state of his pecuniary circumstances — the imagined contempt of his relations and acquaintance — and the apprehended prejudice he should do his patron, urged the fatal expedient upon his shattered intellect, which he now meditated with inexpres- sible energy. At this important crisis, when it pleased God, who giveth not to man an account of his proceedings, to permit a cloud, darker than midnight, to gather round the mind of the poet, so that he saw no possible way of escape but the one above alluded to, and when he peculiarly needed the counsel of some judicious and kind friend, it so happened THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 23 that lie fell successively into the company of two most un- happy sophists, who both advanced claims to the right of self-destruction, and whose fallacious arguments won him over to their pernicious views. This was, unhappily, ren- dered more easy than it otherwise would have been, by his recollection of an impious book which he had read when very young, the arguments of which, though they then ap- peared to him, in their true light, as utterly inconclusive and perfectly contemptible, now came afresh to his dis- ordered mind, and seemed irrefutable : the situation in which he was now placed, inducing him to catch eagerly at any thing that would justify the means of relief to which he wished to resort. How careful ought all to be, who are intrusted with the education of youth, that no pernicious books may fall into their hands ! No evil con- sequences may, perhaps, arise from it at the time, but who can calculate what may be the future results ? The disordered state of Cowper's mind, at this period, will be seen by the following anecdote. Taking up a newspaper for the day, his eye caught a satirical letter which it happened to contain, and though it had no rela- tion whatever to his case, he doubted not but the writer was fully acquainted with his purpose, and, in fact, in- tended to hasten its execution. Wrought up to a degree of anguish almost unbearable, he now experienced a con- vulsive agitation that in a manner deprived him of all his powers. Hurried on by the deplorable inducements above related, and perceiving no possibility of escaping from his misery by any other means, all around him wearing only an aspect of gloom and despair, it will be no wonder to the reader, that before the tremendous day approached, the day on which his tender spirit was to have encountered an examination before the House of Lords, he had made se- veral attempts at the escape above alluded to. Most hap- 24 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. pily, indeed, and most mercifully, for himself and for others, they were only attempts ; for it was the will of a gracious Providence, not only to preserve his life for the exercise of a sound and vigorous mind, but to make that mind an in- strument of incalculable benefit to his country, and, we may almost say, to the world, by advancing and promot- ing the best interests of mankind, morality, and religion. The depths of affliction and sorrow which the amiable sufferer now endured were such, that he might truly say, with the Psalmist, " All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me, I am troubled. I am bowed down greatly, my heart is pained within me, my sorrow is continually before me ; fearfulness and trembling are come upon me. I sink in deep mire where is no standing, T am come into deep waters where the floods overflow me." When at length the long-dreaded day arrived, the approach of which he had feared more than he feared death itself, such were the melancholy results of his distress, that all his friends immediately acquiesced in the propriety of his relinquish- ing the situation for ever. Thus ended his connection with the House of Lords; unhappily, however, his sufferings did not end here. Despair still inflicted on him its dead- liest sting, and he saw not how it could be extracted ; Grief poured its full tide of anguish into his heart, and he could perceive nothing before him but one interminable prospect of misery. " O Providence ! mysterious are thy ways ! Inflexible thine everlasting plans ! The finite power of man can ne'er resist The unseen hand which guides, protects, preserves, Nor penetrate the inscrutable designs Of Him, whose council is his sovereign will. Prosperity's bright sun withdraws his beams, Thick clouds and tempests gather round the sky, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 25 The winds of fierce temptations, and the waves Of trials fell, assault the feeble bark, And drive it headlong 'midst the cragged rocks. We look with wonder on, but seek in vain The deep designs of Heaven herein to scan; The sacred page itself reveals not this. Yet who that knows there is a Power above Would not ' assert eternal Providence, And justify the works of God to man?'" At this period of the poet's history, it appears desirable to remark, in confutation of those who attribute, or at least endeavour to attribute, his malady to his religion, that, viewed either as an originating cause, or in any other light, it can never be proved to have had any connection with it. It will not be denied, that those sacred truths, which, in all cases where they are properly received, prove an unfailing source of the most salutary contemplation to the underanged mind, were in his case, through the dis- torting medium of his malady, converted into a vehicle of intellectual poison. It is, however, as Dr. Johnson well observes, " a most erroneous and unhappy idea to suppose, that those views of Christianity which Cowper adopted, and of which, when enjoying the intervals of reason, after he was brought to the knowledge of them, he was so bright an ornament, had in any degree contributed to excite the malady with which he was afflicted. It is capable of the clearest demonstration that nothing was further from the truth. On the contrary, all those alleviations of sorrow, those delightful anticipations of heavenly rest, those healing consolations to a wounded spirit, of which he was permitted to taste, at the period when uninterrupted reason resumed its sway, were unequivocally to be ascribed to the opera- tion of those very principles and views of religion, which, in the instance before us have been charged with pro- 26 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ducing so opposite an effect. The primary aberration of his mental faculties were wholly to be attributed to other causes," as indeed will satisfactorily appear, by the fol- lowing affecting description he has given of himself at this period. " To this moment I had felt no concern of a spiritual kind : ignorant of original sin ; insensible of the guilt of actual transgression, I understood neither the law nor the gospel — the condemning nature of the one, nor the re- storing mercies of the other. I was as much unacquainted with Christ in all his saving offices as if his name had never reached me. Now, therefore, a new scene opened upon me." (< My sins were set in array against me, and I began to see and feel that I had lived without God in the world. One moment I thought myself shut out from mercy by one chapter, and the next by another. The sword of the Spirit seemed to guard the tree of life against my touch, and to flame against me in every avenue by which I at- tempted to approach it. I particularly remember, that the parable of the barren fig-tree was to me an inconceivable source of anguish. I applied it to my case, with a strong persuasion that it was a curse pronounced on me by the Saviour." "In every volume I opened I found something that struck me to the heart. I remember taking up one ; and the first sentence I saw condemned me. Every thing seemed to preach to me, not the gospel of mercy, but the curse of the law. In a word, I saw myself a sinner alto- gether ; but I saw not yet a glimpse of the mercy of God in Christ Jesus the Lord." Cowper now wrote to his brother to inform him of the afflicting circumstances in which he was placed. His brother immediately paid him a visit, and employed every THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 27 means in his power to alleviate his distress. All his efforts, however, proved unavailing ; he found him almost over- whelmed with despair, pertinaciously maintaining, in spite of all remonstrances to the contrary, that he had been guilty of the unpardonable sin, in not properly improving the mercy of God towards him at Southampton. No fa- vourable construction put upon his conduct, in that in- stance by his brother, nor any argument he employed, af- forded him a moment's alleviation of his distress. He rashly concluded that he had no longer any interest in the atonement, or in the gifts of the Spirit, and that nothing was left for him but the dismal prospect of eternally en- during the wrath of God. His brother, pierced to the heart at the sight of his misery, used every means to comfort him, but all to no purpose, so deeply seated was his de- pression, that it rendered utterly useless all the soothing reflections that were suggested. At this trying period Cowper remembered his friend and relative, the Rev. Martin Madan ; and, though he had always considered him an enthusiast, he was now con- vinced that, if there was any balm in Gilead for him, Mr. Madan was the only person who could administer it. His friend lost no time in paying him a visit; and perceiving the state of his mind, he began immediately to declare unto him the gospel of Christ. He spcke of original sin, of the corruption of every man born into the world ; of the efficacy of the atonement made by Jesus Christ ; of the Redeemer's compassion for lost sinners, and of the full salvation provided for them in the gospel. He then ad- verted to the Saviour's intercession ; described him as a compassionate Redeemer, who felt deeply interested in the welfare of every true penitent, who could sympathize with those who were in distress, and who was able to save unto the uttermost all that come unto God by him. To this 28 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. important information Cowper listened with the greatest attention ; hope seemed to dawn upon his disconsolate mind ; his heart burned within him while he listened to the word of life ; his soul was pierced with a sense of his great ingratitude to so merciful a Saviour; tears of contrition burst from his eyes ; he saw clearly that this was the re- medy his case required ; and felt fully persuaded that this was indeed the gospel of salvation. He, however, wanted that faith, without which he could not recover its blessings. He saw the suitability of this gospel to his cir- cumstances, but saw not yet how one, so vile as he con- ceived himself to be, could hope to partake of its benefits. Mr. Madan urged the necessity of a lively faith in the Redeemer, not as an assent of the understanding only, but as the cordial belief of the heart unto righteousness ; as- sured him, that though faith was the gift of God, yet was it a gift that our heavenly Father was most willing to bestow, not on one only, but on all that sought it by earnest and persevering prayer. Cowper deeply deplored the want of this faith, and could only reply to his friend's remarks, in a brief but very sincere petition, " Most earnestly do I wish it would please God to bestow it on me." His brother, perceiving he had received some benefit fiom this interview, in his desire to relieve the poet's de- pressed mind, wisely overlooked the difference of sentiments on the great Subjects of religion, which then existed between himself and Mr. Madan, and discovered the greatest anxiety, that he should embrace the earliest op- portunity to converse with him again. He now urged Cowper to visit Mr. Madan at his own house, and offered to accompany him thither. After much entreaty Cowper consented ; and though the conversation was not then the means of affording him any permanent relief, it was not without its use. He was easier, but not easy ; the wounded'' THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 29 spirit within him was less in pain, but by no means healed. A long train of still greater terrors than any he had yet endured was at hand ; and when he awoke the next morn- ing, after a few hours' sleep, he seemed to feel a stronger alienation from God than ever. He was now again the subject of the deepest mental anguish ; the sorrows of death seemed to encompass, and the pains of hell to get hold of hiui ; his ears rang with the sound of the torments that seemed to await him; his terrified imagination pre- sented to him many horrible visions, and led him to conceive that he heard many horrible sounds; his heart seemed at every pulse to beat its last; his conscience scared him; the avenger of blood seemed to pursue him ; and he saw no city of refuge into which he could flee ; every moment he expected the earth would open, and swallow him up. He was now suddenly attacked with that nervous affec- tion, of which the peculiar form of his mind seemed to have made him susceptible, which, on several subsequent occa- sions darkened his brightest prospects, and which, ulti- mately overwhelmed his meek and gentle spirit, and caused him to end his days in circumstances the most gloomy and sorrowful. So violent was the attack on this occasion, that his friends instantly perceived the change, and con- sulted on the best manner to dispose of him. Dr. Cotton then kept an establishment at St. Alban's for the reception of such patients. His skill as a physician, his well-known humanity and sweetness of temper, and the acquaintance that had subsisted between him and the afflicted patient, slight as it was, determined them to place him under the doc- tor's care. No determination could have been more wisely taken ; and subsequent events proved it to have been under His superintendence, who orders all things according to the councils of his own will, and who, with the tenderest so- licitude, watches over his people ; managing those events 30 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. which to us appear contingent, on principles of unerring wisdom ; and overruling them for the accomplishment of his gracious and benevolent intentions. " An anxious world may sigh in vain for what Kind Heaven decrees in goodness to withhold ; But the momentous volume of his mind, When seen in yonder world, shall be approved, And all its plans pronounced unerring love/' THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 31 CHAPTER III. His removal to St. Albans — Painful state of his mind there — Receives a visit from his brother — Good effects of it — His recovery — How it was effected — His subsequent happiness — Pleasing conversation with Dr. Cotton — The delightful manner in which he now passed his time — Description of his experience — His gratitude to God — Employs his brother to look out for him a new residence — Leaves St. Albans — Feelings on the occasion. On the 7th December, 1763, he was removed to St. Albans, and placed under the care of Dr. Cotton. And, notwith- standing the skilful and judicious treatment pursued to effect his restoration, he remained in the same gloomy and desponding state for five months. Every means that inge- nuity could devise, and that benevolence and tenderness could prompt, were resorted to for this protracted period in vain. To describe in lengthened detail the state of his mind during this long interval, would justly be deemed injudicious. As Mr. Hayley very properly remarks, " Men- tal derangement is a topic of such awful delicacy, that it is the duty of a biographer, rather to sink in tender silence, than to proclaim with offensive temerity, the minute parti- culars of a calamity to which all human beings are exposed, and, perhaps, in proportion as they have received from nature, those delightful but dangerous gifts — a heart of exquisite tenderness, and a mind of creative energy." This, as Cowper most beautifully sings ; — " This is a sight for pity to peruse, Till she resembles faintly what she views ; This, of all maladies that man infest, Claims most compassion, and receives the least." 32 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, Without, however, entering minutely into particulars, on this painful subject, it will not be deemed improper to men- tion some of the leading facts respecting it, and here we shall allow the poet again to become his own biographer. " The accuser of the brethren was ever busy with me night and day, bringing to my recollection, the commission of long-forgotten sins, and charging upon my conscience, things of an indifferent nature as atrocious crimes. Con- viction of sin and despair of mercy, were the two prominent evils with which I was continually tormented. But, blessed be the God of my salvation for every sigh I drew, and for every tear I shed, since thus it pleased him to judge me here, that I might not be judged hereafter." " After five months' continued expectation that the divine vengeance would plunge me into the bottomless pit, I be- came so familiar with despair, as to have contracted a sort of hardiness and indifference as to the event. I began to persuade myself, that while the execution of the sentence was suspended, it would be for my interest to indulge a less horrible train of ideas, than I had been accustomed to muse upon. I entered into conversation with the doctor, laughed at his stories, and told him some of my own to match them ; still, however, carrying a sentence of irrevo- cable doom in my heart. He observed the seeming alte- ration with pleasure, and began to think my recovery well nigh completed ; but the only thing that could promote and effectuate my cure, was yet wanting; — an experi- mental knowledge of the fedemption which is in Christ Jesus." " About this time my brother came from Cambridge to pay me a visit. Dr. C. having informed him, that he thought me better, he was disappointed at rinding me al- most as silent and reserved as ever. As soon as we were left alone, he asked me how I found myself; I answered, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. 33 as much better as despair can make me. We went toge- ther into the garden. Here, on my expressing a settled as- surance of sudden judgment, he protested to me that it was all a delusion ; and protested so strongly, that I could not help giving some attention to him. I burst into tears, and cried out, If it be a delusion, then am I the happiest of beings. Something like a ray of hope, was now shot into my heart ; but still I was afraid to indulge it. We dined together, and I spent the afternoon in a more cheer- ful manner. Something seemed to whisper to me, every moment, still there is mercy. Even after he left me, this change of sentiment gathered ground continually ; yet, my mind was in such a fluctuating state, that I can only call it a vague presage of better things at hand, without being able to assign any reason for it." " A few days after my arrival at St. Albans, I had thrown aside the Bible as a book in which I had no longer any in- terest or portion. The only instance in which I can recollect reading a single chapter ; was about two months before my recovery. Having found a Bible on the bench in the gar- den, I opened it upon the 11th of John, where the miracle of Lazarus being raised from the dead is described ; and I saw so much benevolence, goodness, and mercy, in the Saviour's conduct, that I almost shed tears at the relation, little thinking that it was an exact type of the mercy, which Jesus was on the point of extending towards myself. I sighed, and said, Oh, that I had not rejected so good a Redeemer, that I had not forfeited all his favour ! Thus was my hard heart softened ; and though my mind was not yet enlightened, God was gradually preparing me for the light of his countenance, and the joys of his salvation." " The cloud of horror which had so long hung over my mind began rapidly to pass away, every moment came fraught with hopes. I felt persuaded that I was not utterly D 34 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. doomed to destruction. The way of salvation was still, however, hid from my eyes ; nor did I see it clearer than before my illness. I only thought, that if it pleased God to spare me, I would lead a better life ; and that I would yet escape hell, if a religious observance of my duty would secure me from it. Thus, may the terror of the Lord make a Pharisee ; but only the sweet voice of mercy in the gospel can make a Christian." " But the happy period, which was to shake off my fetters, and afford me a clear discovery of the free mercy of God in Christ Jesus, was now arrived. I flung myself into a chair, near the window, and seeing a Bible there, ventured once more to apply to it for comfort and instruction. The first verse I saw, was, the 25th of the 3rd of Romans : ' Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God.' Immediately I received strength to believe, and the full beams of the sun of righteousness shone upon me. I saw the sufficiency of the atonement he had made for my pardon and complete justification. In a moment I believed, and received the peace of the gospel. Whatever my friend Madan had said to me, long before, revived in all its clearness, with the demonstration of the spirit, and with power." " Unless the Almighty arm had been under me, I think I should have been overwhelmed with gratitude and joy. My eyes filled with tears, and my voice choked with trans- port. I could only look up to heaven in silent fear, over- whelmed with love and wonder. But the work of the Holy Spirit is best described in his own words : — it is ' Joy un- speakable and full of glory.' Thus was my heavenly Father in Christ Jesus, pleased to give me the full assurance of faith ; and, out of a strong, unbelieving heart, to raise up a child unto Abraham. How glad should I now have been THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 35 to have spent every moment in prayer and thanksgiving ! I lost no opportunity of repairing to a throne of grace ; but flew to it with an earnestness irresistible, and never to be satisfied. Could I help it? Could I do otherwise than love and rejoice in my reconciled Father in Christ Jesus ? The Lord had enlarged my heart, and I could now cheer- fully run in the way of his commandments." " For many succeeding weeks tears would be ready to flow if I did but speak of the gospel, or mention the name of Jesus. To rejoice day and night was all my employ- ment ; too happy to sleep much, I thought it but lost time that was thus spent. Oh, that the ardour of my first love had continued ! But I have known many a lifeless and unhallowed hour since ; long intervals of darkness, inter- rupted by short returns of peace and joy in believing." His excellent physician, ever watchful and apprehensive for his welfare, now became alarmed, lest the sudden tran- sition, from despair to joy, should wholly overpower his mind ; but the Lord was his strength and his song, and had become his salvation. Christ was now formed in his heart the hope of glory ; his fears were all dispelled ; despair, with its horrid train of evils, was banished from his mind ; a new and delightful scene now opened before him; he became the subject of new affections, new desires, and new joys ; in a word, old things were passed away, and all things were become new. God had brought him up out of the horrible pit, and out of the miry clay, and had put a new song into his mouth, even praise to his God. He felt the full force of that liberty, of which he afterwards sosweetly sung— " A liberty unsung By poets, and by senators unpraised, E'en liberty of heart, derived from heaven ; Bought with his blood who gave it to mankind, And sealed with the same token !" n 2 36 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. The apprehensions of Dr. C. soon subsided ; he saw with delight undoubted proofs of his patient's perfect recovery, became satisfied with the soundness of his cure, and sub- sequently had much sweet communion with him in con- versing about the great things of salvation. He now vi- sited him every morning, as long as he remained under his care, which was near twelve months after his recovery, and the gospel was invariably the delightful theme of their conversation. The patient and the physician became thus every day more endeared to each other; and Cowper often afterwards looked back upon this period, as among the happiest days he had ever spent. His time no longer hung heavily upon his hands ; but every moment of it that he could command was employed in seeking to acquire more comprehensive views of the gospel. The Bible became his constant companion ; from this pure fountain of truth he drank of that living water, which was in him a well of water, springing up into ever- lasting life. Conversation on spiritual subjects afforded him a high degree of enjoyment. Many delightful seasons did he spend thus employed, while he remained with his beloved physician. His first transports of joy having sub- sided, a sweet serenity of spirit succeeded, uninterrupted by any of those distressing sensations which he had before experienced ; prayer and praise were his daily employment; his heart overflowed with love to his Redeemer, and his meditation of him was sweet. In his own expressive and beautiful lines, he felt — " Ere yet mortality's fine threads gave way, A clear escape from tyrannizing sin, And full immunity from penal woe." His application to the study of the Scriptures must at this time have been intense ; for in the short space of THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 37 twelve months he acquired comprehensive and scriptural views of the great plan of redemption ; and, in addi- tion to this, his conceptions of real Christian experi- ence, as distinguished from delusion and hypocrisy, were accurate and striking, and such as one would only have expected from an experienced Christian. He now com- posed two hymns, which exhibit an interesting proof of the scriptural character of those religious views he had then embraced. These hymns he himself styles specimens of his first Christian thoughts. Delightful specimens indeed they are ; and the circumstances under which they were composed will greatly enhance their value in the minds of those to whom they have long been endeared by their own intrinsic excellence. The first is upon Revelations xxi. 5.; the second is entitled Retirement. The following lines of it are so touchingly beautiful, so correctly descriptive of the overflowings of his heart in solitude, while he walked with God, and was a stranger in the earth, having left his own connections, and not yet found new ones in the church ; and breathe throughout in strains so pure, tender, and un- reserved, the language of the Christian's first love, that they cannot fail to be read with deep interest. " The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree ; And seem by thy sweet bounty made For those who follow thee. There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God. There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise." 38 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. His letters, written about this period, as well as those of a subsequent date, abound with proofs of his deep ac- quaintance with Christian experience. The following re- marks are taken from a letter to Mrs. Cowper. "The deceitfulness of the natural heart is inconceivable. I know well that I passed among my friends for a person at least religiously inclined, if not actually religious; and what is more wonderful, I thought myself a Christian when I had no faith in Christ, and when I saw no beauty in him that I should desire him; in short, when I had neither faith, nor love, nor any Christian grace whatever, but a thousand seeds of rebellion instead, evermore springing up in enmity against him; but, blessed be the God of my sal- vation, the hail of affliction and rebuke has swept away the refuge of lies. It pleased the Almighty, in great mercy, to set all my misdeeds before me. At length the storm being past, a quick and peaceful serenity of soul succeeded, such as ever attends the gift of a lively faith in the all-sufficient atonement, and the sweet sense of mercy and pardon purchased by the blood of Christ. Thus did he break me and bind me up ; thus did he wound me and make me whole. This, however, is but a summary account of my conversion; neither would a volume contain the astonishing particulars of it. If we meet again in this world I will relate them to you ; if not, they will serve for the subject of a conference in the next, where, I doubt not, we shall remember, and record them with a gratitude better suited to the subject." In another letter to his amiable and accomplished cousin, Lady Hesketh, he thus writes. " Since the visit you were so kind as to pay me in the Temple, (the only time I ever saw you without pleasure,) what have I not suffered ? And since it has pleased God to restore me to the use of my reason, what have I not enjoyed? You know by expe- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 39 rience how pleasant it is to feel the first approaches of health after a fever • but, oh ! the fever of the brain ! to feel the quenching of that fire, is indeed a blessing which I think it impossible to receive without the most consum- mate gratitude. Terrible as this chastisement is, I ac- knowledge in it the hand of infinite justice ; nor is it at all ' more difficult for me to perceive in it the hand of infinite mercy ; when I consider the effect it has had upon me, I am exceedingly thankful for it, and esteem it the greatest blessing, next to life itself, I ever received from the divine bounty. I pray God I may ever retain the sense of it, and then I am sure I shall continue to be, as I am at present, really happy. My affliction has taught me a road to hap- piness, which, without it, I should never have found ; and I know, and have experience of it every day, that the mercy of God to the believer is more than sufficient to compensate for the loss of every other blessing. You will believe that my happiness is no dream, because I have told you the foundation on which it is built. What I have written would appear like enthusiasm to many, for we are apt to give that name to every warm affection of the mind in others, which we have not experienced ourselves; but to you, who have so much to be thankful for, and a temper inclined to gratitude, it will not appear so." To the same lady, a day or two afterwards, he writes — " How naturally does affliction make us Christians ! and how impossible is it, when all human help is vain, and the whole earth too poor and trifling to furnish us with one moment's peace, how impossible is it then to avoid looking at the gospel. It gives me some concern, though at the same time it increases my gratitude to reflect, that a con- vert made in Bedlam is more likely to be a stumbling block to others than to advance their faith. But if it have that effect upon any, it is owing to their reasoning amiss, and 40 i in; i IFE OF u [LL1 \m COWPER. drawing their conclusion from false premises. He who can ascribe an amendment of life and manners, and a re- formation of the heart itself, to madness, is guilty of an absurdity, that m any other case would fasten the impu- tation of madness upon himself; for, by so doing, he as- scribes a reasonable effect to an unreasonable cause, and a positive effect to a negative. But when Christianity only is to be sacrificed, he that stabs deepest is always the wisest man. You, my dear cousin yourself, will be apt to think I carry the matter too far: and that in the present warmth of m\ hearth, 1 make too ample a concession in saying that I am only voir a convert. You think I always believed, and 1 thought so too; but you were deceived, and so was I. 1 called myself indeed a Christian, but he who knows my heart knows thai 1 never did a right thing, nor abstained from a wrong one, because 1 was so; but if I did either, it was under the influence of some other motive. And it is such seeming Christians, such pretending be- lievers, that do most mischief in the cause, and furnish the strongest arguments to support tin infidelity of its enemi< unless profession and conduct go together, the man's life is a lie, and the validity of what lie professes itself, is called in question. The difference between a Christian and an unbeliever, would be so striking, if the treacherous allies of the chinch would go over at once to the other side, that 1 am satisfied religion would be no loser by the bargain; \ cm say, you hope it is not necessary for salvation to un- dergo the same affliction that 1 have undergone. No! my dear Cousin, God deals with Ins children as a merciful father : he does not, as he himself tells us, afflict willingly. Doubtless there are many, who, having been placed by his good providence out of the reach of evil, and the influence of bad example, have, from their very infancy, been par- takers of the grace of his Hoi) Spirit, in such a manner, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 41 as never to have allowed themselves in any grievous offence against him. May you love him more and more, day by day, as every day while you think of him you will find him more worthy of your love, and may you be finally ac- cepted by him for his sake, whose intercession for all his faithful servants cannot but prevail." In the same letter he thus expresses his gratitude to God for placing him under the care of Dr. Cotton : — " I reckon it one instance of the providence that has attended me through this whole event, that I was not delivered into the hands of some London physician, but was carried to Dr. Cotton. I was not only treated by him with the greatest tenderness while I was ill, and attended with the utmost diligence, but when my reason was restored to me, and I had so much need of a religious friend to converse with, to whom I could open my mind upon the subject without reserve, I could hardly have found a better person for the purpose. My eagerness and anxiety to settle my opinions upon that long neglected point, made it necessary, that while my mind was yet weak, and my spirits uncertain, I should have some assistance. The doctor was as ready to administer relief to me in this article likewise, and as well qualified to do it, as in that which was more immediately his province. How many physicians would haye thought this an irregular appetite, and a sympton of remaining madness! But if it were so, my friend was as mad as myself, and it is well for me that he was so. My dear Cousin, you know not half the deliverances I have received ; my brother is the only one in the family who does. My recovery is indeed a signal one, and my future life must express my thankfulness, for by words I cannot do it." He now employed his brother to seek out for him an abode somewhere in the neighbourhood of Cambridge, as he had determined to leave London, the scene of his 42 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. former misery; and that nothing might induce him to return thither, he resigned the office of commissioner of bankrupts, worth about £60. per annum, which he still held. By this means, he reduced himself to an income barely sufficient for his maintenance ; but he relied upon the gracious promise of God, that bread should be given him, and water should be sure. On being informed that his brother had made many un- successful attempts to procure him a suitable dwelling, he, one day, poured out his soul in prayer to God, beseeching him, that wherever he should be pleased, in his fatherly mercy, to place him, it might be in the society of those who feared his name, and loved the Lord Jesus in sincerity. This prayer, God was pleased, graciously to answer. In the beginning of June, 1765, he received a letter from bis brother, to say, he had engaged such lodgings for him at Huntingdon, as he thought would suit him. Though this was farther from Cambridge, where his brother then re- sided, than he wished, yet, as he was now in perfect health, and as his circumstances required a less expensive way of life than his present, he resolved to take them, and arranged his affairs accordingly. On the 17th June, 1765, having spent more than eigh- teen months at St. Albans, partly in the bondage of des- pair, and partly in the liberty of the gospel, he took leave of the place, at four in the morning, and set out for Cam- bridge, taking with him the servant who had attended him while he remained with Dr. Cotton, and who had main- tained an affectionate watchfulness over him during the whole of his illness, waiting upon him, on all occasions, with the greatest patience, and invariably treating him with the greatest kindness. The mingled emotions of his mind on leaving the place were painful and pleasing : he regarded it as the place of his second nativity: he had THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 43 here passed from death unto life — had been favoured with much leisure to study the word of God — had enjoyed much happiness in conversing upon its great truths with his esteemed physician ; and he left it with considerable reluctance ; offering up many prayers to God, that his richest blessings might rest upon its worthy manager, and upon all its inmates. The state of his mind on this occasion he thus affection- ately describes : — " I remembered the pollution which is in* the world, and the sad share I had in it myself, and my \ heart ached at the thought of entering it again. The blessed God had endowed me with some concern forhisglory, and I was fearful of hearing his name traduced by oaths and blasphemies, the common language of this highly-fa- voured but ungrateful country ; but the promise of God, i Fear not, I am with thee,' was my comfort. I passed the whole of my journey in fervent prayer to God, earnestly but silently intreating Him to be my guardian and coun- sellor in all my future journey through life, and to bring me in safety, when he had accomplished his purposes of grace and mercy towards me, to eternal glory." ■ 44 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. CHAPTER IV. Removal to Huntingdon — Sensations there — Engages in public wor- ship for the first time after his recovery — Delight it afforded him — Commences a regular correspondence with some of his friends — Pleasure he experienced in writing on religious subjects — Anxiety of his mind for the spiritual welfare of his former asso- ciates — Attributes their continuance in sin chiefly to infidelity — Folly of this — Beauty of the Scriptures — Absurdity of attributing events to second causes, instead of to the overruling providence of God — Dependence upon Divine direction the best support in afflic- tion — Forms some new connections — Becomes acquainted with the Unwin family — Happiness he experienced in their company. After spending a few days with his brother at Cambridge, Cowper repaired to Huntingdon, and entered upon his new abode, on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1765 ; taking with him the servant he had brought from St. Albans, to whom he had become strongly attached for the great kindness he had shown him in his affliction. His brother, who had ac- companied him thither, had no sooner left him, than, finding himself alone, surrounded by strangers, in a strange place, his spirits began to sink, and he felt like a traveller in the midst of an inhospitable desert ; without a friend to com- fort, or a guide to direct him. He walked forth, towards the close of the day, in this melancholy frame of mind, and having wandered about a mile from the town, he found his heart so powerfully drawn towards the Lord, that on gaining a secret and retired nook in the corner of a field, he kneeled down under a bank, and poured out his complaints unto God. It pleased his merciful Father to THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 45 hear him ; the load was removed from his mind, and he was enabled to trust in Him that careth for the stranger ; to roll his burden upon Him, and to rest assured, that wherever God might cast his lot, he would still be his guardian and shield. The following day he went to church, for the first time after his recovery. Throughout the whole of the service, his emotions were so powerfully affecting, that it was with much difficulty he could restrain them, so much did he see of the beauty and glory of the Lord while thus worship- ping Him in his temple. His heart was full of love to all the congregation, especially to such as seemed serious and attentive. Such was the goodness of God to him, that he gave him the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness ; and, though he joined not with the congregation in singing the praises of his God, being prevented by the intenseness of his feelings, yet his soul sung within him, and leaped for joy. The parable of the pro- digal son was the portion of scripture read in the gospel appointed for the day. He saw himself in that glass so clearly, and the loving kindness of his slighted and for- gotten Lord, that the whole scene was realized by him, and acted over in his heart. And he thus describes his feelings on hearing it : — " When the gospel for the day was read, it seemed more than I could well support. Oh, what a word is the word of God, when the spirit quickens us to receive it, and gives the hearing ear, and the under- standing heart ! The harmony of heaven is in it, and dis- covers clearly and satisfactorily its author." Immediately after church he repaired to the place where he had prayed the day before, and found the relief he had there received was but the earnest of a richer blessino-. The Lord was pleased to visit him with his gracious pre- sence ; he seemed to speak to him face to face, as a man 46 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. speaketh to his friend ; He made all His goodness pass before him, and constrained him to say, with Jacob, not " how dreadful/' but " how lovely is this place ! This is the house of God, and the gate of heaven." He remained four months in the lodgings procured for him by his brother, secluded from the bustling and active scenes of life, and receiving only an occasional visit from some of his neighbours. Though he had little intercourse with men, yet he enjoyed much fellowship with God in Christ Jesus. Living by faith, and thus tasting the joys of the unseen world, his solitude was sweet, his meditations were delightful, and he wanted no other enjoyments. He now regularly corresponded with all his intimate friends, and his letters furnish the clearest proofs of the happy, and indeed, almost enviable state of his mind, during this period. To Lady Hesketh, in a letter dated July 5, 1765, he thus discloses his feelings : — "I should have written to you from St. Albans long ago, but was willing to perform quarantine, as well for my own sake, as because I thought my letters would be more satisfactory to you from any other quarter. You will perceive I allowed myself a suffi- cient time for the purpose, for I date my recovery from the latter end of last July, haying been ill seven, and well /twelve months. About that time, my brother came to see / me ; I was far from well when he arrived, yet, though he only remained one day, his company served to put to flight a thousand deliriums and delusions which I still laboured under." u As far as I am acquainted with my new residence, I like it extremely. Mr. Hodgson, the minister of the parish, made me a visit yesterday. He is very sensible, a good preacher, and conscientious in the discharge of his duty : he is well known to Dr. Newton, Bishop of Bristol, the author of the treatise on the Prophecies, the most demon- \ THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 47 strati ve proof of the truth of Christianity, in my mind, that was ever published." In another letter, a few days afterwards, to the same lady, he thus writes; — " Mentioning Newton's treatise on the Prophecies brings to my mind an anecdote of Dr. Young, who you know died lately at Welwyn. Dr. Cot- ton, who was intimate with him, paid him a visit about a fortnight before he was seized with his last illness. The old man was then in perfect health ; the antiquity of his person, the gravity of his utterance, and the earnestness with which he discoursed about religion, gave him, in the doctor's eye, the appearance of a prophet. They had been delivering their sentiments on Newton's treatise, when Young closed the conference thus — i 'My friend, there are two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built as upon a rock: first, the fall of man, the redemption of man, and the resurrection of man ; these three cardinal articles of our holy religion are such as human ingenuity could never have invented, therefore they must be divine : the other is the fulfilment of prophecy, of which there is abundant demonstration. This proves that the scripture must be the word of God, and if so, Christianity must be true." Cowper now lived in the full enjoyment of religion. Its truths supported his mind, and furnished him with an ample field for meditation ; its promises consoled him, freed him from every distressing sensation, and filled him with joy unspeakable and full of glory; its duties regulated all his conduct, and his chief anxiety was to live entirely to the glory of God. The following beautiful lines of the poet are strikingly descriptive of his feelings at this period : — " I was a stricken deer, that left the herd Long since ; with many an arrow deep enfix'd My panting sides was charged, when I withdrew To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 48 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. There was T found by one who had himself Been hurt by th' archers : in his sides he bore, And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting the darts, He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. Since then, with few associates, in remote And silent woods I wander, far from those 'My former partners of the peopled scene; With few associates, and not wishing more, Here much I ruminate, as much I may, With other views of men and manners now Than once; and others of a life to come." On all affairs connected with religion, Cowper now de- lighted to think and to converse, and his best letters were those in which he could freely introduce them to his cor- respondents. In the close of the letter from which we made the above extract, he thus writes : — u My dear cousin, how happy am I in having a friend to whom I can open my heart upon these subjects ! I have many inti- mates in the world, and have had many more than I shall have hereafter, to whom a long letter upon those most im- portant articles would appear tiresome at least, if not im- pertinent. But I am not afraid of meeting with that reception from you, who have never yet made it your inte- rest that there should be no truth in the word of God. May this everlasting truth be your comfort while you live, and attend you with peace and joy in your last moments. I love you too well not to make this a part of my prayers ; and when I remember my friends on these occasions, there is no likelihood that you can be forgotten." In another letter to Lady Hesketh, dated 1st of August, / 1765, he thus adverts to the character of his former asso- / ciates, and feelingly expresses his anxiety for their spiritual welfare : — "I have great reason to be thankful I have lost \ none of my acquaintance but those whom I determined not to keep : I am sorry this class is so numerous. What THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 49 would I not give, that every friend I have in the world were not almost, but altogether Christians. My dear cousin, I am half afraid to talk to you in this style, lest I should seem to indulge a censorious humour, instead of hoping, as I ought, the best of all men. But what can be said against ocular proof, and what is hope when built upon presumption ? To use the most holy name in the universe for no purpose, or a bad one, contrary to his own express commandment, to pass the day and the succeeding days, weeks, and months, and years, without one act of private devotion, one confession of our sins, or one thanks- giving for the numberless blessings we enjoy ; to hear the word of God in public with a distracted attention, or with none at all ; to absent ourselves voluntarily from the blessed communion, and to live in the total neglect of it, are the common and ordinary liberties, which the generality of professors allow themselves : and what is this, but to live without God in the world. Many causes might be as- signed for this anti-christian spirit so prevalent among professors, but one of the principal I take to be their utter forgetfulness, that the Bible which they have in their pos- session, is, in reality, the Word of God. My friend, Sir William Russell, was distantly related to a very accom- plished man, who, though he never believed the gospel, admired the scriptures as the sublimest compositions in the world, and read them often. I have myself been intimate with a man of fine taste,whohas confessed to me, that though he could not subscribe to the truth of Christianity itself, yet he never could read St. Luke's account of our Saviour's appearance to his two disciples going to Emmaus, without being wonderfully affected by it : and he thought, that if the stamp of Divinity was anywhere to be found in scrip- ture, it was strongly marked and visibly impressed upon that passage. If these men, whose hearts were chilled E 50 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER with the darkness of infidelity, could find such charms in the mere style of scripture, what must those find whose eyes could penetrate deeper than the letter, and who firmly believed themselves interested in all the invaluable privi- leges of the gospel ? Had this mere man of taste searched a little further, he might have found other parts of the sacred history as strongly marked with the characters of Divinity as that he mentioned. The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented ; our Saviour's speech to his disciples, with which he closes his earthly ministration, full of the sublimest dignity and ten- derest affection, surpass every thing that I ever read, and, like the spirit with which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart. If the scripture did not disdain all affecta- tion of ornament, one should call such as these its orna- mental parts ; but the matter of it is that upon which it principally stakes its credit with us, and the style, however excellent, is only one of the many external evidences by which it recommends itself to our belief." The warmest expressions of his gratitude to God for his distinguishing goodness to him, during his affliction, were frequently employed in his letters. In one, dated 4th September, 1765, he thus writes to his cousin: — " Two of my friends have been cut off during my ill- ness, in the midst of such a life as it is frightful to reflect upon, and here am I, in better health and spirits, than I can ever remember to have enjoyed, after hav- ing spent months in the apprehension of instant death. How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! Why did I receive grace and mercy ? Why was I preserved, afflicted for my good, received, as I trust, into favor, and blessed with the greatest happiness I can ever know, or hope for in this life, while these were overtaken by the great arrest, unawakened, unrepenting, and every way unprepared for THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 51 it ? His infinite wisdom, to whose infinite mercy I owe it all, can solve these questions, and none else. A freethinker, as many a man miscals himself, would, without doubt, say, ' Sir, you were in great danger, and had, indeed, a most fortunate escape.' How excessively foolish, as well as shocking, is such language ! As if life depended upon luck, and all that we are, or can be, all that we have now, or can hope for hereafter, could possibly be referred to accident. To this freedom of thought it is owing, that he, who is thoroughly apprized of the death of the meanest of his creatures, is supposed to leave those whom he has made in his own image, to the mercy of chance ; and to this it is likewise owing, that the correction which our Heavenly Father bestows upon us, that we may be fitted to receive his blessing, is so often disappointed of its benevolent in- tention. Fevers, and all diseases, are regarded as acci- dents ; and long life, health, and recovery from sickness, as the gift of the physician. No man can be a greater friend to the use of means upon these occasions than myself; for it were presumption and enthusiasm to neglect them. God has endued them with salutary properties on purpose that we might avail ourselves of them. But to impute our re- covery to the medicine, and to carry our views no further, is to rob God of his honour. He that thinks thus, may as well fall upon his knees at once, and return thanks to the medicine that cured him, for it was certainly more imme- diately instrumental in his recovery than either the apo- thecary or the doctor." No one ever watched more carefully the providence of\ God than Cowper. His views of it were just and scrip- J tural, as is abundantly evident by the above remarks, and, if possible, more clearly evinced by the following extracts from the same excellent letter : — " My dear cousin, a firm persuasion of the superintendence of Providence over all e2 52 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. our concerns, is absolutely necessary to our happiness. Without it we cannot be said to believe in the Scripture, or practise any thing like resignation to his will. If I am convinced that no affliction can befall me without the per- mission of God, I am convinced likewise that he sees, and knows, that I am afflicted ; believing this, I must, in the same degree, believe that, if I pray to him for deliverance, he hears me ; I must needs know likewise, with equal as- surance, that if he hears, he will also deliver me, should this be most conducive to my happiness ; and if he does not deliver me, I may rest well assured that he has none but the most benevolent intention in declining it. He made us, not because we could add to his happiness, which was falways perfect, but that we might be happy ourselves; and will he not in all his dispensations towards us, even in the minutest, consult that end for which he made us? To suppose the contrary, is to affront every one of his attri- butes, and to renounce utterly our dependence upon him. In this view it will appear plainly, that the line of duty is not stretched too tight, when we are told that we ought to accept every thing at his hands as a blessing, and to be thankful even when we smart under the rod of iron with which he sometimes rules us. Without this persuasion, every blessing, however we may think ourselves happy in the possession of it, loses its greatest recommendation, and every affliction is intolerable. Death itself must be wel- come to him who has this faith ; and he who has it not must aim at it, if he is not a madman." The excellence of these extracts from Cowper's correspondence will, it is hoped, be admitted by every reader as a sufficient apology for the interruption they may occasion to our narrative' They might be greatly enlarged ; but it is not intended to admit any, except such as will, in some degree at least, serve to describe his character. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 53 It was not to be expected that a person like Cowper could remain long unnoticed, how reserved soever was his conduct. Accordingly, he had been at Huntingdon only a short time before he was visited by several persons, and introduced into several families, all eminently distinguished for their respectability, and general consistency of conduct. This soon endeared him to the place, and he thus commu- nicated his sentiments respecting it to his correspondents : — "The longer I live here the better I like the place, and the people who belong to it. I am upon very good terms with five families, all of whom receive me with the utmost cordiality. You may recollect that I had but very uncom- fortable expectations of the accommodations I should meet with at Huntingdon. How much better is it to take our lot, where it shall please Providence to cast it, without anxiety ! Had I chosen for myself, it is impossible I could have fixed upon a place so agreeable to me in all respects. I so much dreaded the thought of having a new acquaintance to make, with no other recommendation than that of being a perfect stranger, that I heartily wished no creature here might take the least notice of me. Instead of which, in about two months after my arrival I became known to all the visitable people here, and do verily think it the most agree- able neighbourhood I ever saw. My brother and I meet every week by an alternate reciprocation of intercourse, as Sam Johnson would express it. As to my own personal condition, I am much happier than the day is long ; and sunshine and candle-light alike, see me perfectly contented. I get books in abundance, as much company as I choose, a deal of comfortable leisure, and enjoy better health, I think, than for many years past. What is there wanting to make me happy ? Nothing, if I can but be as thankful as I ought; and I trust that He, who has bestowed so many blessings on me, will give me gratitude to crown 54 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. thein all. I thank God for all the pleasing circumstances here, for my health of body, and perfect serenity of mind. To recollect the past, and compare it with the present, is all that I need to fill me with gratitude ; and to be grateful is to be happy. 1 am far from thinking myself sufficiently grateful, or from indulging the hope that I shall ever be so in the present life. The warmest heart, perhaps, only feels by fits, and is often as insensible as the coldest. This, at least, is frequently the case with mine, and much oftener than it should be." Among the families with whom Cowper was on terms of intimacy,, there were none so entirely congenial to his taste as that of the Reverend Mr. Unwin. This worthy divine, who was now far advanced in years, had formerly been master of a free school in Huntingdon. On obtaining, however, from his college at Cambridge, the living of Grimston, he married Miss Cawthorne, the daughter of a very respectable draper in Ely, by whom he had two children, a son and a daughter. Disliking their residence at Grimston, they removed to Huntingdon, where they had now resided many years. Cowper became acquainted with this interesting family, which was afterwards, almost to the close of his life, a source of comfort to him, in the following rather singular manner. The Unwins frequently noticed Mr. C. and re- marked the degree of piety and intelligence he seemed to possess ; this induced them to wish for a further acquaint- ance with the interesting stranger : his manners, however, were so reserved, that an introduction to him seemed wholly out of their reach. After waiting some time, with no ap- parent prospect of success, their eldest son, Mr. W. Unwin, though dissuaded from it by his mother, lest it should be thought too intrusive, ventured to speak to Mr. Cowper one day, when they were coming out of church, after THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 55 morning prayers, and to engage himself to take tea with Mr. C. that afternoon. This was perfectly agreeable to Cowper, who, in one of his letters some time afterwards, thus describes his new-made acquaintance : — "To my in- expressible joy, I found him one, whose notions of religion were spiritual and lively; one, whom the Lord had been training up from his infancy for the temple. We opened our hearts to each other at the first interview ; and when he parted, I immediately retired to my chamber, and prayed the Lord, who had been the author, to be the guar- dian of our friendship, and to grant to it fervency and per- petuity, even unto death • and I doubt not that my gra- cious Father heard this prayer." A friendship thus formed was not likely to be soon interrupted ; accordingly it con- tinued with unabated affection through life, and became to both parties a source of much real enjoyment. Well would it be for Christians, were they, in making choice of their friends, to follow the example of Cowper ! Entering upon it by earnest prayer to God for his blessing, they might then hope to derive all those invaluable benefits from it, which it is adapted and designed to convey. The following sabbath Cowper dined with the Un- win's, and was treated with so much cordiality and real affection, that he ever after felt the warmest attachment to this interesting family. In his letters on the subject he thus writes : — u The last acquaintance I have made here is of the race of the Unwins, consisting of father and mother, son and daughter; they are the most agreeable people imaginable ; quite sociable, and as free from the ceremo- nious civility of country gentlefolks as I ever met with. They treat me more like a near relation than a stranger, and their house is always open to me. The old gentleman carries me to Cambridge in his chaise,* he is a man of learning and good sense, and as simple* as parson Adams. 56 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. His wife has a very uncommon understanding, has read much to excellent purpose, and is more polite than a duchess ; she treats me with an affection so truly Christian, that I could almost fancy my own mother restored to life again, to compensate me for all my lost friends, and broken connections. She has a son, in all respects, worthy of such a mother, the most amiable young man I ever knew ; he is not yet arrived at that time of life when suspicion recom- mends itself to us in the form of wisdom, and sets every thing but our own dear selves at an immeasurable distance from our esteem and confidence. Consequently he is known almost as soon as seen ; and having nothing in his heart that makes it necessary for him to keep it barred and bolted, opens it to the perusal even of a stranger. His na- tural and acquired endowments are very considerable, and as to his virtues, I need only say that he is a Christian. Miss Unwin resembles her mother in her great piety, who is one of the most remarkable instances of it I ever knew. They are altogether the 1 most cheerful and engaging family it is possible to conceive. They see but little company, which suits me exactly ; go when I will, I find a house full of peace and cordiality in all its parts, and am sure to hear no scandal, but such discourse instead of it as we are all the better for. Now I know them, I wonder that I liked Huntingdon so well before, and am apt to think I should find every place disagreeable that had not an Unwin be- longing to it." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 57 CHAPTER V. Cowper becomes an inmate with Mr. Unwinds family — Is much de- lighted with their society — Describes the manner in which they spent their time — His opinion respecting the knowledge which Christians will have of each other in heaven — What will engage their thoughts there — Just views of Christian friendship — Strength of his religious affections — Humbling views of himself — Melan- choly death of Mr. L T nwin — Cowper's reflections upon it — Mr. Newton's unexpected but providential visit to Mrs. Unwin — Cow- per's determination to remain with the family — Their removal from Huntingdon to Olney. Towards the end of October, 1765, Cowper began to fear that his solitary and lonely situation, would not be agree- able to him during the winter ; and rinding his present me- thod of living, though he was strictly economical, rather too expensive for his limited income, he judged it expedient to look out for a family, with which he might become an inmate, where he might enjoy the advantage of social and familiar intercourse, and be subject to a less expensive establishment. It providentially occurred to him, that he might probably be admitted, on such terms, into Mr. Unwind family. He knew that a young gentleman, who had lived with them as a pupil, had just left them for Cambridge, and it appeared not improbable, that he might be allowed to succeed him, not as a pupil, but as an inmate. This subject occasioned him a tumult of anxious solicitude, and for some days, he could not possibly divert his attention from it. He at length, made it the subject of earnest prayer to his Heavenly Father, that he would be pleased to bring 58 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. this affair to such an issue, as would be most calculated to promote his own glory; and he had the satisfaction, in a short time, to receive a gracious answer to his petitions. A few days afterwards he mentioned the subject to Mrs. Unwin, a satisfactory arrangement was very speedily made with the family, and he entered upon his new abode, the eleventh of November, 1765. The manner in which he spent his time while associated with this exemplary family, and the high degree of enjoy- ment he there experienced, will be seen by the following extracts from his correspondence with his two amiable cousins, Lady Hesketh and Mrs. Cowper. To the former he thus writes : — " My dear Cousin, — The frequency of your letters to me, while I lived alone, was occasioned, I am sure, by your re- gard for my welfare, and was an act of particular charity. I bless God, however, that I was happy even then ; soli- tude has nothing gloomy in it, if the soul points upwards. St. Paul tells his Hebrew converts, ' Ye are come,' (al- ready come) ' to Mount Sion, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly of the first born, which are written in heaven, and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant/ When this is the case, as surely it was with them, or the Spirit of truth would never have spoken it, there is an end to the melancholy and dulness of life at once. You will not suspect me, my dear cousin, of a de- sign to understand this passage literally ; but this, how- ever, it certainly means, that a lively faith is able to anti- cipate, in some measure, the joys of that heavenly society which the soul shall actually possess hereafter. u Since I have changed my situation, I have found still greater cause of thanksgiving to the Father of all mercies. The family with whom I live are Christians, and it has pleased the Almighty to bring me to the knowledge of them, that I may want no means of improvement in that THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 59 temper and conduct which he requires of all his servants. My dear cousin ! one-half of the Christian world would call this madness, fanaticism, and folly ; but are not these things warranted by the word of God. If we have no com- munion with God here, surely we can expect none here- after. A faith that does not place our conversation in heaven ; that does not warm the heart, and purify it too ; that does not, in short, govern our thoughts, words, and deeds, is not Christian faith, nor can we procure by it any spiritual blessing, here or hereafter. Let us therefore see that we do not deceive ourselves in a matter of such infinite moment. The world will be ever telling us that we are good enough, and the world will vilify us behind our backs : but it is not the world which tries the heart — that is the prerogative of God alone. My dear cousin ! I have often prayed for you behind your back, and now I pray for you to your face. There are many who would not forgive me this wrong, but I have known you so long, and so well, that I am not afraid of telling you how sincerely I wish for your growth in every Christian grace, in every thing that may promote and secure your everlasting welfare." To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus writes : — "I am obliged to you for the interest you take in my welfare, and for your inquiring so particularly after the manner in which my time passes here. As to amusements — I mean what the world calls such — we have none; the place, indeed, swarms with them, and cards and dancing are the professed business of almost all the gentle inhabitants of Huntingdon. We refuse to take part in them, or to be accessaries 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 scripture or the sermons of some faithful preacher ; at eleven, we attend divine service, which is performed here 60 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. every day; and from twelve to three, we separate, and amuse ourselves as we please. During that interval, I read in my own apartment, or walk, or ride, or work in the gar- den. We seldom sit an hour after dinner, but if the wea- ther permits, adjourn into the garden, where, with Mrs. Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of reli- gious 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 collection, and by the help of Mrs. Unwinds harpsichord, make up a tolerable concert, in which our hearts are the best and the most musical per- formers. After tea, we sally forth to take a walk in good earnest, and we have generally travelled four miles before we see home again. At night, we read and converse till supper, and commonly finish the evening either with hymns, or with 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; accord- ingly, we are all happy, and dwell together in unity as brethren. Mrs. Unwin has almost a maternal affection for me, and I have something very like a filial one for her, and her son and I are brothers. Blessed be the God of our salvation for such companions, and for such a life ; above all, for a heart to relish it/' It was during his residence with this family, while they resided at Huntingdon, that he wrote some of those excel- lent letters to Mrs. Cowper, with extracts from which it is our intention to enrich this part of his memoirs. Speaking of the knowledge which Christians will have of each other hereafter, he remarks — " Reason is able to form many plausible conjectures concerning the possibility of our knowing each other in a future state ; and the scripture has, here and there, favoured us with an expression thatlooks at least like a slight intimation of it ; but because a con- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 61 jecture can never amount to a proof, and a slight intima- tion cannot be construed into a positive assertion, therefore I think we can never come to any absolute conclusion upon the subject. We may, indeed, reason about the plausibility of our conjectures, and we may discuss, with great industry and shrewdness of argument, those passages in the scripture which seem to favour this opinion ; but still no certain means having been afforded us, no certain end can be attained ; and after all that can be said, it will still be doubtful whether we shall know each other or not. Both reason and scripture, however, furnish us with a great number of arguments on the affirmative side. In the parable of Dives and Lazarus, Dives is represented as knowing Lazarus, and Abraham as knowing them both, and the discourse between them is entirely con- cerning their respective characters and circumstances upon earth. Here, therefore, our Saviour seems to countenance the notion of a mutual knowledge and recollection ■ and if a soul that has perished shall know a soul that is saved, surely the heirs of salvation shall know and recollect each other. 11 Paul, in the first epistle to the Thessalonians, encourages the faithful and laborious minister of Christ to expect that a knowledge of those who had been converted by their in- strumentality would contribute greatly to augment their felicity in a future state, when each minister should appear before the throne of God, saying, ( Here am I, with the children thou hast given me.' This seems to imply, that the apostle should know the converts, and the converts the apostle, at least at the day of judgment, and if then, why not afterwards ? In another letter, the following excellent remarks occur respecting what will engage our thoughts and form part of our communications in heaven : — "The common and ordi- nary occurrences of life, no doubt, and even the ties of 62 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. kindred, and of all temporal interests, will be entirely dis- carded from that happy society, and possibly even the re- membrance of them done away : but it does not therefore follow that our spiritual concerns, even in this life, will be forgotten, neither do I think that they can ever appear trifling to us, in any the most distant period of eternity. God will then be all in all ; our whole nature, the soul, and all its faculties, will be employed in praising and adoring him; and if so, will it not furnish us with a theme of thanksgiving, to recollect 'The rock whence we were hewn, and the hole of the pit whence \ve were digged?' — To recollect the time when our faith, which, under the tuition and nurture of the Holy Spirit, has produced such a plentiful harvest of immortal bliss, was as a grain of mustard-seed, small in itself, promising but little fruit, and producing less ? — to recollect the various attempts that were made upon it by the world, the flesh, and the devil* and its various triumphs over all, by the assistance of God, through our Lord Jesus Christ ? At present, whatever our convictions may be of the sinfulness and corruptions of our nature, we can make but a very imperfect estimate either of our weakness or our guilt. Then, no doubt, we shall understand the full value of the wonderful salvation wrought out for us by our exalted Redeemer ; and it seems reasonable to suppose, that in order to form a just idea of our redemption, we shall be able to form a just one of the danger we have escaped ; when we know how weak and frail we were, we shall be more able to render due praise and honour to his strength who fought for us ; when we know completely the hatefulness of sin in the sight of God, and how deeply we were tainted by it, we shall know how to value the blood by which we were cleansed as we ought." In the following letter to the same lady, he says : — "I THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. @3 am not sorry that what I have said concerning our know- ledge of each other, in a future state, has a little inclined you to the affirmative. For though the redeemed of the Lord will be sure of being as happy in that state, as infi- nite power, employed by infinite goodness, can make them, and therefore, it may seem immaterial, whether we shall, or shall not, recollect each other hereafter ; yet, our present happiness, at least, is a little interested in the question. A parent, a friend, a wife, must needs, I think, feel a little heart-ache at the thought of an eternal separation from the objects of her regard : and not to know them when she meets them in another state, or never to meet them at all, amounts, though not altogether, yet nearly to the same, thing. Remember and recognize them, I have no doubt s we shall ; and to believe that they are happy will, indeed, be no small addition to our own felicity ; but to see them so^ will surely be a greater. Thus, at least, it appears to our present human apprehension; consequently, therefore, to think, that when we leave them, we lose them for ever, and must remain eternally ignorant, whether those, who were flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone, partake with us of celestial glory, or are disinherited of their heavenly por- tion, must shed a dismal gloom over all our present con- nexions. For my own part, this life is such a momentary thing, and all its interests have so shrunk in my estimation, since, by the grace of our Lord Jesus, I became attentive to the things of another ; that, like a worm in the bud of all my friendships and affections, this very thought would eat out the heart of them all, had I a thousand ; and were their date to terminate in this life, I think I should have no inclination to cultivate, and improve, such a fugitive busi- ness. Yet friendship is necessary to our happiness here, and built upon Christian principles, upon which only it can stand, is a thing even of religious sanction — for what 64 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, is that love, which the Holy Spirit speaking by St. John, so much inculcates, but friendship ? The only love which deserves the name, is a love which can enable the Chris- tian to toil, and watch, and deny himself, and risk, even , exposure to death, for his brother. Worldly friendships are a poor weed compared with this ; and even this union \ of the spirit in the bond of peace, would suffer, in my mind at least, could I think it were only coeval with our earthly mansions. It may possibly argue great weakness in me, in this instance, to stand so much in need of future hopes, to support me in the discharge of present duty, but so it is. I am far, I know, very far, from being perfect in Chris- tian love, or any other divine attainment, and am, there- fore, unwilling to forego, whatever may help me on my progress." The anxiety of his mind respecting religion, and the pro- gress he had made, and was still making in it, will appear from the following extract. " You are so kind as to enquire after my health, for which reason I must tell you what other- wise would not be worth mentioning, that I have lately been just enough indisposed to convince me, that not only human life in general, but mine in particular, hangs by a slender thread. I am stout enough in appearance, yet a little illness demolishes me. I have had a serious shake, and the building is not so firm as it was. But I bless God for it, with all my heart. If the inner man be but strength- ened day by day, as I hope, under the renewing influences of the Holy Spirit, it will be, no matter how soon the out- ward is dissolved. He who has, in a manner, raised me from the dead, in a literal sense, has given me the grace, I trust, to be ready, at the shortest notice, to surrender up to him that life, which I have twice received from him. Whither I live or die, I desire it may be to his glory, and then it must be to my happiness. I thank God, that I have THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 65 those amongst my kindred, to whom I can write, without reserve, my sentiments on this subject. A letter upon any other subject, is more insipid to me than ever my task was? when a school-boy. I say not this in vain glory, God for- bid ! but to shew what the Almighty, whose name I am unworthy to mention, has done for me, the chief of sinners. Once he was a terror to me ; and his service, oh, what a weariness it was ! Now I can say, I love him, and his Holy name, and am never so happy as when I speak of his mercies to me." To the same correspondent he again writes. " To find those whom I love, clearly and strongly persuaded of evan- gelical truth, gives me a pleasure superior to any this world can afford. Judge then, whether your letter, in which the body and substance of saving faith is so evidently set forth, could meet with a lukewarm reception at my- hands, or be entertained with indifference ! Do not imagine that I shall ever hear from you upon this delightful theme, without real joy, or without prayer to God to prosper you in the way of his truth. The book you mention, lies now upon my table ; Marshall is an old acquaintance of mine ; I have both read him, and heard him read with pleasure and edification. The doctrines he maintains are, under the influence of the spirit of Christ, the very life of my soul, and the soul of all my happiness. That Jesus is a present Saviour from the guilt of sin, by his most precious blood, and from the power of it by his Spirit ; that, corrupt and wretched in ourselves, in Him, and in Him only, we are com- plete ; that being united to Jesus by a lively faith, we have a solid and eternal interest, in his obedience and sufferings, to justify us before the face of our Heavenly Father ; and that all this inestimable treasure, the earnest of which is in grace, and its consummation in glory, is given, freely given to us by God ; in short, that he hath freely opened 66 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. the kingdom of Heaven to all believers; are truths which cannot be disproved, though they have been disputed. These are the truths, which, by the grace of God, shall ever be dearer to me than life itself; shall ever be placed next my heart, as the throne, whereon the Saviour himself shall sit, to sway all its motions, and reduce that world of iniquity and rebellion to a state of filial and affectionate obedience to the will of the most Holy." u These, my dear Cousin, are the truths to which, by nature, we are enemies ; they debase the sinner, and exalt the Saviour, to a degree, which the pride of our hearts? while unsubdued by grace, is determined never to allow. May the Almighty reveal his Son in our hearts, continually more and more, and teach us ever to increase in love to- wards him for having given us the unspeakable riches of Christ." In the following letter to the same lady he again writes : —" I think Marshall one of the best writers, and the most spiritual expositors of Scripture I ever read. I admire the strength of his argument, and the clearness of his reason- ings, upon those points of our most holy religion which are generally least understood (even by real Christians) as master-pieces of the kind. His section upon the union of the soul with Christ is an instance of what I mean ; in which he has spoken of a most mysterious truth, with ad- mirable perspicuity, and with great good sense, making it all the while subservient to his main purport, of proving holiness to be the fruit and effect of faith. I never met with an author who understood the plan of salvation better, or was more happy in explaining it." That Cowper inspected very closely, and watched very narrowly his own heart, will appear by the following extract from a letter to the same lady: — " Oh pride! pride! it deceives with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 67 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. Those who can guess at the heart of a stranger, and you especially, who are of a compas- sionate temper, will be more ready to excuse me than I can be to excuse myself. But, in good truth, I am too fre- quently guilty of the abominable vice. How should such a creature be admitted into those pure and sinless man- sions where nothing shall enter that defileth ; did not the blood of Christ, applied by faith, take away the guilt of sin, and leave no spot or stain behind it ! O what conti- nual need have I of an almighty, all-sufficient Saviour ! I am glad you are acquainted so •particularly with all the cir- cumstances of my story, for I know that your secrecy and discretion may be trusted with any thing. A thread of mercy ran through all the intricate maze of those afflictive providences, so mysterious to myself at the time, and which must ever remain so to all who will not see what was the great design of them; at the judgment-seat of Christ the whole shall be laid open. How is the rod of iron changed into a sceptre of love !" u I have so much cause for humility, and so much need of it too, and every little sneaking resentment is such an enemy to it, that I hope I shall never give quarter to any thing that appears in the shape of sullen n ess or self-conse- quence hereafter. Alas ! if my best Friend, who laid down his life for me, were to remember all the instances in which I have neglected him, and to plead them against me in judgment, where should I hide my guilty head in the day of recompence ? I will pray therefore for blessings upon my friends though they cease to be so, and upon my ene- mies, though they continue such." Cow per had now been an inmate with the Unwin family a f2 68 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. little more than eighteen months ; and the above extracts, taken from his confidential letters, describe the happy frame of his mind, and the great progress he made in divine know- ledge, during this period. Living in the enjoyment of the divine presence himself, and associated with those who ex- perienced the same invaluable privilege, he tranquilly pur- sued the even tenor of his Christian course with undiverted attention, and with holy zeal ; nor did there appear the slightest reason to suppose that any alteration was likely to take place in his circumstances, or in the circumstances of the family. He might fairly have calculated upon the uninterrupted continuance, for many years, of the same dis- tinguished privileges ; but the dispensations of Divine Pro~ vidence are sometimes awfully mysterious. Events unfore- seen, and unexpected, are often occurring, which give a bias to our affairs quite different to any that we had ever conceived. Such was the melancholy occurrence which happened in this family, about this time, and which, at no distant period, led to Cowper's removal from Huntingdon. Mr. Unwin, proceeding to his church, one Sunday morn- ing, in July, 1767, was flung from his horse, and received a dreadful fracture on the back part of his skull, under which he languished till the following Thursday, and then died. Cowper, in relating this melancholy event to his cousin, remarks : — " This awful dispensation has left an impression upon our spirits which will not presently be worn off. May it be a lesson to us to watch, since we know not the day, nor the hour, when our Lord cometh. At nine o'clock last Sunday morning Mr. Unwin was in perfect health, and as likely to live twenty years as either of us, and by the following Thursday he was a corpse. The few short intervals of sense that were indulged him, he spent in earnest prayer, and in expressions of a firm trust and confidence in the only Saviour. To that strong hold THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 69 we must resort at last, if we would have hope in death ; when every other refuge fails, we are glad to fly to the only shelter to which we can repair to any purpose ; and happy is it for us, when the false ground we have chosen for ourselves, breaks under us, and we find ourselves obliged to have recourse to that Rock which can never be shaken; when this is our lot, we receive great and undeserved mercy." " The effect of this very distressing event will only be a change of my abode ; for I shall still, by God's leave, con- tinue with Mrs. Unwin, whose behaviour to me has always been that of a mother to a son. We know not yet where we shall settle, but we trust that the Lord, whom we seek, will go before us, and prepare a rest for us. We have em- ployed our friends, Mr. Hawes, Dr. Conyers, and Mr. Newton, to look out a place for us, but at present are en- tirely ignorant under which of the three we shall settle, or whether under any one of them." Just after this melancholy event had occurred, and while the family were in the midst of their distress, Mr. Newton, then curate of Olney, while on his way home from Cam- bridge, providentially called upon Mrs. Unwin. The late Dr. Conyers had learned from Mrs. Un win's son, the change that had taken place in her mind, on the subject of reli- gion; and he accordingly requested Mr. Newton to embrace the earliest opportunity of having some con- versation with her on the subject. His visit could not possibly have been made at a more seasonable juncture. Mrs. Unwin was now almost overwhelmed with sorrow; and, though the strength of her Christian principles, pre- served her from losing that confidence in the Almighty, which can alone support the mind under such distressing circumstances, yet, both she and Mr. Cowper, stood in need of some judicious Christian friend, to administer to them 70 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. the consolations of the gospel. Their Heavenly Father could not have sent them one more capable of binding up their wounds, and soothing their sorrow, than Mr. Newton. He knew when, instrumentally, to pour the oil of consola- into their wounded spirits ; and his providential visit, proved as useful as it was seasonable. He invited them to fix their future abode at Olney, whither they repaired, in the following October, to a house he had provided for them, so near the vicarage in which he lived, that by opening a door in the garden wall, they could exchange mutual visits, without entering the street. Mrs. Unwin kept the house, and Cowper continued to board with her, as he had done during her husband's life. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 71 CHAPTER VI. Commencement of Cowper's intimacy with Mr. Newton — Pleasure it afforded him — His charitable disposition — Means provided for its indulgence, by the munificence of the late J. Thornton, Esq. — Mr. Thornton's death — Cowper's poetic tribute to his memory — Remarks on the insufficiency of earthly objects to afford peace to the mind — His great anxiety for the spiritual welfare of his corres- pondents — Consolatory remarks addressed to his cousin — Severe affliction of his brother — Cowper's great concern on his behalf — — Happy change that takes place in his brother's sentiments on religious subjects — His death — Cowper's reflections on it — Deep impression it made upon his mind — Description of his brother's character — Engages with Mr. Newton to write the Olney Hymns — Marriage of Mr. Unwin's son and daughter — Cowper's severe indisposition. Great as were the advantages enjoyed by Cowper, while inmated with the Unwin family at Huntingdon, they were not to be compared with those which he experienced in his new situation at Olney. He spent his time nearly in the same manner as at Huntingdon, having the additional ad- vantage of frequent religious intercourse with his friend, Mr. Newton, with whom he was now upon terms of the closest intimacy. The amiable manners, and exemplary piety of Cowper greatly endeared him to all with whom he was acquainted. He gladly availed himself of the benefits of religious conversation with the pious persons in Mr, Newton's congregation, and was particularly attentive to those among them, who were in circumstances of poverty. He regularly visited the sick, and, to the utmost extent of 72 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. his power, afforded them relief. He attended the social meetings for prayer established by Mr. Newton ; and at such seasons, when he was occasionally required to conduct the service, agitated as were his feelings before he com- menced, he no sooner began, than he poured forth his heart unto God in earnest intercession, with a devotion equally simple, sublime, and fervent, affording to all who were present on these occasions proofs of the unu- sual combination of elevated genius, exquisite sensibility, and profound piety, by which he was pre-eminently dis- tinguished. His conduct in private was consistent with the solemnity and fervor of these social devotional engage- ments. Three times a day he prayed, and gave thanks unto God, in retirement, besides the regular practice of domestic worship. His familiar acquaintance with, and experimental knowledge of the gospel, relieved him from all terror and anxiety of mind ; his soul was stayed upon God ; the divine promise and faithfulness were his support; and he lived in the enjoyment of perfect peace. His hymns, most of which were composed at this period, prove that he was no stranger to those corrupt dispositions, which the best of men have to bewail, and which have so strong a tendency to draw away the mind from God. Against these dispositions, however, he was constantly upon the watch, and by the cultivation of devotional habits, with the gracious aid of the Divine Spirit, he suppressed every irregular desire, restrained every corrupt inclination, and ultimately came off successful in his spiritual warfare. The first few years of his residence at Olney, may perhaps, be regarded as the happiest of his life. Associated inti- mately with his beloved friend, Mr. Newton, and availing himself of his valuable assistance, in his efforts to acquire divine knowledge, his heart became established in the truth, and he experienced that degree of confidence in God, which THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 73 alone can ensure peace of mind, and real tranquillity. Aware of the pleasure which he took in visiting the poor, in his neighbourhood, and contributing to their relief, Mr. New- ton procured for him, a liberal annual allowance of cash, for the purpose of distribution, from the late excellent, John Thornton, Esq. It is almost needless to add, that becom- ing the almoner of this distinguished philanthropist, was to Cowper a source of the greatest enjoyment. No indivi- dual was ever more alive to the cry of distress ; he seemed, indeed, to possess almost an excess of this amiable sensibi- lity. Nothing gladdened his heart more than to be the means, of drying up the widow's tears, and assuaging the orphan's grief; which the liberality of this great philanthropist, allowed him often to accomplish. The de- cease of Mr. Thornton took place in 1790, and Cowper has immortalized his memory, by the following beautiful and sublime eulogy : — " Thee, Thornton, worthy in some page to shine As honest, and more eloquent than mine, I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, The world, no longer thy abode, not thee : Thee to deplore were grief mis-spent indeed ; It were to weep, that goodness has its meed, That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, And glory for the virtuous when they die. What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard, Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford, Sweet as the privilege of healing woe, Suffered by virtue, combating below. That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means To illumine with delight the saddest scenes, Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn As midnight, and despairing of a morn. Thou had'st an industry in doing good, Restless as his who toils and sweats for food : 74 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth, By rust imperishable, or by stealth ; And if the genuine worth of gold depend On application to its noblest end, Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven, Surpassing all that mine or mint has given ; And though God made thee of a nature prone To distribution, boundless, of thy own. And still, by motives of religious force, Impelled thee more to that heroic course, Yet was thy liberality discreet, Nice in its choice, and of a temperate heat ; And, though an act unwearied, secret still As, in some solitude, the summer rill Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen. Such was thy charity ; no sudden start, After long sleep, of passion in the heart ; But stedfast principle, and in its kind Of close alliance with the eternal mind, Traced easily to its true source above, To Him whose works bespeak his nature, love. Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make This record of thee for the gospel's sake, That the incredulous themselves may see Its use and power exemplified in thee." Owing to some cause, for which we are unable to account, Cowper's correspondence with his friends became much less frequent after his settlement at Olney, than it had been formerly : probably it might be attributed, in some degree at least, to his close intimacy with Mr. Newton, for they were seldom seven waking hours, apart from each other. The same vein of genuine and unaffected piety, however, runs through those letters which he did write, and they abound with remarks of uncommon excellence. To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus expresses his feelings : — • " You live in the centre of a world, I know you do not THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 75 delight in. Happy are you, my dear friend, in being able to discern the insufficiency of all it can afford, to fill and satisfy the desires of an immortal soul. That God, who created us for the enjoyment of himself, has determined in mercy that it shall fail us here, in order that the blessed result of all our enquiries after happiness in the creature, may be a warm pursuit, and a close attachment to our true interests, in fellowship with him, through the mediation of our dear Redeemer. I bless his goodness, and his grace, that I have any reason to hope I am a partaker with you in the desire after better things, than are to be found in a world polluted by sin, and therefore, devoted to destruction. May he enable us both to consider our present life in its only true light, as an opportunity put into our hands to glorify him amongst men, by a conduct suited to his word and will. I am miserably defective in this holy and blessed art, but I hope there is, at the bottom of all my sinful infirmities, a desire to live just so long as I may be enabled to answer, in some measure, at least, the end of my existence, in this respect ; and then to obey the summons, and attend him in a world, where they who are his servants here, shall pay him an unsinful obedience for ever." The lively interest which Cowper took, in the spiritual welfare of his correspondents, will appear in the following letter to his esteemed friend, Joseph Hill, Esq., dated 21st January 1769: — " Dear Joe: I rejoice with you in your recovery, and that you have escaped from the hands of one, from whose hands you will not always escape. Death is either the most formidable, or most comfortable thing, we have in prospect, on this side of eternity. To be brought near to him, and to discern neither of these fea- tures in his face, would argue a degree of insensibility, of which I will not suspect my friend, whom I know to be a thinking man. You have been brought down to the sides 76 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. of the grave, and you have been raised up again by him, who has the keys of the invisible world ; who opens, and none can shut, who shuts and none can open. I do not forget to return thanks to him on your behalf, and to pray that your life, which he has spared, may be devoted to his service. i Behold ! I stand at the door, and knock/ is the word of him, in whom both our mortal and immortal life depend, and blessed be his name ; it is the word of one who wounds only that he may heal, and who waits to be gracious. The language of every such dispensation is, ' Prepare to meet thy God/ It speaks with the voice of mercy and goodness, for without such notices, whatever preparation we might make for other events, we should make none for this. My dear friend, I desire and pray, that when this last enemy shall come to execute an unlimited commission on us, we may be found ready, being established and rooted in a well-grounded faith in his name who conquered death, and triumphed over him on the cross. If I am ever enabled to look forward to death with comfort, which I thank God is sometimes the case, I do not take my view of it from the top of my own works and deservings, though God is witness, that the labour of my life is to keep a conscience void of offence towards him. Death is always formidable to me, but when I see him disarmed of his sting by having it sheathed in the body of Christ Jesus." To the same friend, on another occasion, he thus writes : — " I take a friend's share in all your concerns, so far as they come to my knowledge, and consequently, did not receive the news of your marriage with indifference. I wish you and your bride all the happiness that belongs to the state; and the still greater felicity of that state, which marriage is only a type of. All those connexions shall be dissolved ; but there is, an indissoluble bond between Christ and his THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 77 church, the subject of derision to an unthinking world, but the glory and happiness of all his people." No one knew better how to administer consolation to those who were in distress, and certainly no one ever took a greater delight in doing it than Cowper. To his amiable cousin, Mrs. Cowper, who had been called to sustain a severe domestic affliction, he writes as follows : — tc A letter from your brother, brought me yesterday, the most afflict- ing intelligence that has reached me these many years, I pray God to comfort you, and to enable you to sustain this heavy stroke with that resignation to his will, which none but himself can give, and which he gives to none but his own children. How blessed and happy is your lot, my dear friend, beyond the lot of the greater part of mankind : that you know what it is to draw near to God in prayer, and are acquainted with a throne of grace ! You have resources in the infinite love of a dear Redeemer, which are withheld from millions : and the promises of God, which are, yea and amen in Christ Jesus, are sufficient to answer all your necessities, and to sweeten the bitterest cup which your Heavenly Father will ever put into your hand. May he now give you liberty to drink at these wells of salvation till you are filled with consolation and peace, in the midst of trouble. He has said, When thou passest through the fire, I will be with thee, and when through the floods, they shall not overflow thee. You have need of such a word as this, and he knows your need of it ; and the time of neces- sity is the time when he will be sure to appear in behalf of those who trust in him. I bear you and yours upon my heart before him, night and day. For I never expect to hear of distress, which shall call upon me with a louder voice to pray for the sufferer. I know the Lord hears me for myself, vile and sinful as I am, and believe, and am 78 . THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. sure, that lie will hear me for you also. He is the friend of the widow, and the father of the fatherless, even God in his holy habitation ; in all our afflictions he is afflicted ; and when he chastens us, it is in mercy. Surely he will sanctify this dispensation to you, do you great and ever- lasting good by it, make the world appear like dust and vanity in your sight, as it truly is, and opeu to your view the glories of a better country, where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor pain ; but God shall wipe away all tears from your eyes for ever. O that comfort- able word ! * I have chosen thee in the furnace of afflic- tion ;' so that our very sorrows are evidences of our calling, and he chastens us because we are his children. My dear cousin, I commit you to the word of his grace, and to the comforts of his Holy Spirit. Your life is needful for your family ; may God, in mercy to them, prolong it, and may he preserve you from the dangerous effects which a stroke like this might have upon a frame so tender as yours. I grieve for you, I pray for you, could I do more I would, but God must comfort you." Cowper had scarcely forwarded this consolatory and truly Christian letter, when he was himself visited with a trial so severe as to call into exercise all that confidence in the Almighty which he had endeavoured to excite in the mind of his amiable relative. He received a letter from his brother, then residing as a Fellow in Bene't College, Cambridge, between whom and himself there had always existed an affection truly fraternal, stating that he was se- riously indisposed. No brothers were ever more warmly interested in each other's welfare. At the commencement of Cowper's affliction, which led to his removal to St. Albans, his brother had watched over him with the tender- est solicitude ; and it was doubtless owing, in a great de- gree, to this tenderness, that Cowper was placed under the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 79 care of Dr. Cotton. While he remained at St. Albans, his brother visited him, and, as has been related above, became the means of contributing materially to his recovery. On Cowper's removal to Huntingdon, these affectionate bro- thers adopted a plan for a frequent and regular interchange of visits, so that they were seldom many days without see- ing each other, though the distance between their places of abode was fifteen miles ; and, even after Cowper's re- moval to Olney, his brother, during the first two years, paid him several visits ; they seemed, indeed, mutually delighted with an opportunity of being in each other's company. Cowper, on hearing of his brother's illness, immediately repaired to Cambridge. To his inexpressible grief he found him in a condition that left little or no hopes of his recovery. In a letter to Mrs. Cowper, he thus describes his case : — " My brother continues much as he was. His case is a very dangerous one — an imposthume of the liver, attended by an asthma, and dropsy. The physician has little hopes of his recovery ; indeed, I might say none at all, only, being a friend, he does not formally give him over by ceasing to visit him, lest it should sink his spirits. For my own part, I have no expectation of it, except by a signal interposition of Providence in answer to prayer. His case is clearly out of the reach of medicine, but I have seen many a sickness healed, where the danger has been equally threatening, by the only Physician of value. I doubt not he will have an interest in your prayers, as he has in the prayers of many. May the Lord incline his ear, and give an answer of peace. I know it is good to be afflicted ; I trust you have found it so, and that under the teaching of the spirit of God, we shall both be purified. It is the de- sire of my soul to seek a better country, where God shall wipe away all tears from the eyes of his people, and where, 80 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. looking back upon the ways by which he has led us, we shall be filled with everlasting wonder, love, and praise." Finding his brother on the verge of the grave, Cowper discovered the greatest anxiety respecting his everlasting welfare. He knew that his sentiments on some of the most important truths of religion had been long unsettled ; and, fully aware that while such was the case, he could ex- perience no solid enjoyment in the present life, whatever might be his condition in future, he laboured diligently to give him those views of the gospel, which he had himself found, so singularly beneficial ; nor did he labour in vain. He had the unspeakable gratification to witness the com- plete triumph of the truth, and its consolatory influence upon the mind of his beloved brother, in his dying moments. Writing to Mr. Hill, he says : — "It pleased God to cut short my brother's connections and expectations here, yet, not without giving him lively and glorious views, of a better happiness, than any he could propose to himself in such a world as this. Notwithstanding his great learning, (for he was one of the chief men in the university in that respect,) he was candid and sincere in his inquiries after truth. Though he could not agree to my sentiments when I first acquainted him with them, nor in many conversations, which I afterwards had with him upon the subject, could he be brought to acquiesce in them as scriptural and true, yet I had no sooner left St. Albans, than he began to study with the deepest attention those points on which we dif- fered, and to furnish himself with the best writers upon them. His mind was kept open to conviction for five years, during all which time he laboured in this pursuit with unwearied diligence, whilst leisure and opportunity were afForded. Amongst his dying words were these: — 1 Brother, I thought you wrong, yet wanted to believe as you did. I found myself not able to believe, yet always THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 81 thought I should be one day brought to do so.' From the study of books he was brought, upon his death-bed, to the study of himself, and there learnt to renounce his righteous- ness, and his own most amiable character, and to submit himself to the righteousness which is of God by faith. With these views, he was desirous of death : satisfied of his interest in the blessing purchased by the blood of Christ, he prayed for death with earnestness, felt the ap- proaches of it with joy, and died in peace." It afforded Cowper inexpressible delight, to witness, in his brother's case, the consoling and animating power of those principles, which he had himself found to be so highly beneficial. This had been the object of his most anxious solicitude, from the period that God was pleased to visit him with the consolations of his grace. From that time he took occasion to declare to his brother what God had done for his soul; and neglected no opportunity of attempting to engage him in conversation of a spiritual kind. On his first visit to him at Cambridge, after he left St. Alban's, his heart being then full of the subject, he poured it out to his brother without reserve, taking care to shew him, that what he had received was not merely a new set of notions, but a real impression of the truths of the gospel. His brother listened to his statements at first with some attention, and often laboured to convince him, that the difference in their sentiments was much less real than verbal. Subsequently, however, he became more re- served ; and though he heard patiently, he never replied, nor ever discovered a desire to converse on the subject. At the commencement of his affliction, little as was the concern he then felt for his spiritual interests, the thoughts of God, and of eternity, would sometimes force themselves upon his mind ; at every little prospect of recovery, how- ever, he found it no difficult matter to thrust them out 82 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. again. It was evident that his mind was very far from being set on things spiritual and heavenly, as on almost every subject, but that of religion, he could converse flu- ently. At every suitable opportunity Cowper endeavoured to give a serious turn to the discourse, but without any ap- parent success. Having obtained his permission, he prayed with him frequently ; still, however, he seemed as careless and unconcerned as ever. On one occasion, after his brother had, with much diffi- culty, survived a severe paroxysm of his disorder, he ob- served to him, as he sat by his bed-side, " that, though it had pleased God to visit him with great afflictions, yet mercy was mingled with the dispensation. You have many friends that love you, and are willing to do all they can to serve you, and so, perhaps, have many others in the like circumstances; but it is not the Lot of every sick man, how much soever he may be beloved, to have a friend that can pray for him." He replied, " That is true ; and I hope God will have mercy upon me." His love to Cowper, from that time, became very remarkable ; there was a tender- ness in it more than was merely natural ; and he generally expressed it by calling for blessings upon him in the most affectionate terms, and with a look and manner not to be described. One afternoon, a few days before he died, he suddenly burst into tears, and said, with a loud cry, " O forsake me not !" Cowper went to the bed-side, grasped his hand, and tenderly enquired why he wished him to remain. " O, brother," said he, u I am full of what I could say to you ; if I live, you and I shall be more like one another than we have been ; but, whether I live, or not, all is well, and will be so ; I know it well; I have felt that which I never felt before ; and am sure that God has visited me with this sickness, to teach me what I was too proud to learn in health. I never had satisfaction till now, having THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 83 no ground to rest my hopes upon ; but now I have a foun- dation which nothing can shake. I have peace in myself; and if I live, I hope it will be that I might be a messenger of peace to others. I have learned that in a moment, which I could not have learned by reading many books for many years. The light I have, received comes late, but not too late, and it is a comfort to me that I never made the gospel-truths a subject of ridicule. This bed would be to me a bed of misery, and it is so ; but it is likewise a bed of joy, and a bed of discipline. Was I to die this night, I know I should be happy. This assurance, I hope, is quite consistent with the word of God. It is built upon a sense of my own utter insufficiency, and all-sufficiency of Christ. There is but one key to the New Testament ; there is but one interpreter. I cannot describe to you, nor shall I ever be able to describe to you, what I felt when this was given to me. May I make a good use of it ! How I shudder when I think of the danger I have just escaped! How wonderful is it that God should look upon me ! Yet he sees me, and takes notice of all that I suffer. I see him too, and can hear him say, Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you peace." He survived this change only a few days, and died happily, rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. An event like this, could not fail to make a deep impres- sion upon the tender spirit of Cowper, and his feelings on the occasion, were such as are not experienced by ordinary minds. The following letter to his amiable cousin shows clearly the state of his mind: — " You judge rightly of the manner in which I have been affected by the Lord's late dispensation towards my brother. I found it a cause of sorrow that I lost so near a relation, and one so deservedly dear to me, and that he left me just when our sentiments upon the most interesting subject became the same. But g2 84 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. it was also a cause of joy, that it pleased God to give me a clear and evident proof that he had changed his heart, and adopted him into the number of his children. For this I hold myself peculiarly bound to thank him, because he might have done all that he was pleased to do for him, and yet have afforded him neither strength nor opportunity to declare it. He told me, that from the time he was first ordained, he began to be dissatisfied with his religious opi- nions, and to suspect that there were greater things revealed in the Bible, than were generally believed or allowed to be there. From the time when I first visited him, after my release from St. Alban's, he began to read upon the subject. It was at that time I informed him of the views of divine truth, which I had received in that school of affliction. He laid what I said to heart, and began to furnish himself with the best writers on the controverted points, whose works he read with great diligence and attention, carefully comparing them with the Scriptures. None ever truly, and ingenuously sought the truth, but they found it. A spirit of earnest enquiry is the gift of God, who never says to any, Seek ye my face, in vain. Accordingly, about ten days before his death, it pleased the Lord to dispel all his doubts, to reveal in his heart the knowledge of the Saviour, and to give him that firm and unshaken confidence in the ability and willingness of Christ to save sinners, which is inva- riably followed by a joy that is unspeakable and full of glory." Of the character of his much beloved brother, whose death filled him with mingled emotions of joy and grief, Cowper has given the following interesting description :• — " He was a man of a most candid and ingenuous spirit ; his temper remarkably sweet, and in his behaviour to me he had always manifested an uncommon affection. His outward conduct, so far as it fell under my notice, or I THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 85 could learn it by the report of others, was perfectly decent and unblameable. There was nothing vicious in any part of his practice, but being of a studious, thoughtful turn, he placed his chief delight in the acquisition of learning, and made such progress in it, that he had but few rivals. He was critically skilled in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages ; was beginning to make himself master of the Syriac, and perfectly understood the French and Italian, the latter of which he could speak fluently. Learned, how- ever, as he was, he was easy and cheerful in his conversa- tion, and entirely„free from the stiffness which is generally contracted by men devoted to such pursuits.'' . . . " I had a brother once ; Peace to the memory of a man of worth ! A man of letters and of manners too ! Of manners, sweet, as virtue always wears, When gay good humour dresses her in smiles ! He grac'd a college, in which order yet Was sacred, and was honoured, lov'd, and wept By more than one, themselves conspicuous there." Notwithstanding the cheerfulness with which Cowper bore up under this painful bereavement, when it first oc- curred, owing to the happy circumstances related above, with which it was attended, yet there is reason to believe that it made an impression upon his peculiarly sensitive mind, more deep than visible ; and that was not soon to be effaced. It unquestionably diminished his attachment to the world, and made him less unwilling to leave it. Writing to his friend, Mr. Hill, at this time, he says : — " I have not done conversing with terrestrial objects, though I should be happy were I able to hold more continual con- verse with a friend above the skies. He has my heart, but he allows a corner of it for all who shew me kindness, and therefore one for you, I The storm of 1763, made a wreck 86 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. of the friendships I had contracted, in the course of many years, yours only excepted, which has survived the tem- pest." It appears not improbable that his friend, Mr. Newton, might have witnessed, in the morbid tendency of his mind to melancholy, of which he then discovered symptoms, some traces of the deep and extensive wound which his mind had received by this event, though his efforts to conceal it were incessant. Hence, he wisely engaged him in a literary undertaking, congenial to his taste, suited to his admirable talents, and, perhaps, more adapted to alle- viate his distress than any other that could have been se- lected. Mr. Newton had felt the want of a volume of evan- gelical hymns, on experimental subjects, suited for public and private worship ; he mentioned the subject to Cowper, and pressed him to undertake it, and the result was, a friendly compact to supply the volume between them, with an understanding that Cowper was to be the principal com- poser. He entered upon this work with great pleasure ; and though he does not appear previous to this, to have employed his poetical talents for a considerable time, yet the admi- rable hymns he composed, shew with what ease he could write upon the doctrinal, experimental, or practical parts of Christianity. One of our best living poets, whose writings more frequently remind us of Cowper's than any we have ever read, in an essay on the poet's productions, remarks : — • " Of these hymns, it must suffice to say, that, like all his best compositions, they are principally communings with his own heart, or avowals of personal Christian experience.. As such they are frequently applicable to every believer's feelings, and touch, unexpectedly, the most secret springs of joy and sorrow, faith, fear, hope, love, trial, despondency, and triumph. Some allude to infirmities, the most difficult to be described, but often the source of excruciating an- THE -LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 87 guish to the tender conscience. The 72d hymn, Book I. is written with the confidence of inspiration, and the autho- rity of a prophet. The 96th hymn, of the same book, is a perfect allegory in miniature, without a failing point, or confusion of metaphor, from beginning to end. Hymn 51, Book III. presents a transformation, which, if found in Ovid, might have been extolled as the happiest of his fictions. Hymn 12, Book II. closes with one of the hardiest figures to be met with out of the Hebrew Scriptures. None but a poet of the highest order could have written it ; verses cannot go beyond it, and painting cannot approach it. Hymn 38, Book II. is a strain of noble simplicity, expressive of confidence the most remote from presump- tion, and such as a heart at peace with God alone could enjoy or utter. Who can read the 55th hymn, Book II. without feeling as if he could, at that moment, forsake all, take up his cross, and follow his Saviour ? The 19th hymn, Book III. is a model of tender pleading, of believing, persevering prayer in trouble ; and the following one is a brief parody of Bunyan's finest passage, and is admirable of its kind. The reader might almost imagine himself Christian on his pilgrimage, the triumph and the trance are brought so home to his bosom. Hymn 15, of the same book, is a lyric of high tone and character, and rendered awfully interesting, by the circumstances under which it was written — in the twilight of departing reason."* The benevolent heart of Cowper was delighted in a high degree to co-operate with a man of Mr. Newton's talents and piety, in promoting the advancement of religion in his neighbourhood. It is deeply to be regretted, that when he had only composed sixty-eight hymns, all of which were uncommonly excellent, and were afterwards published by Mr. Newton in the Olney Collection, he was laid aside * Essay on Cowper's Productions, by James Montgomery. 88 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. from the interesting employment by serious indisposition. It pleased God, for reasons inscrutable to us, and which it would be impious to arraign, to visit the afflicted poet, with a renewed attack of his former hypochondriacal complaint, more protracted, and not less violent, than the one he had before experienced. Just on the eve of the attack he com- posed the following sublime hymn — " God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform ; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ! The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace ; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes all ripen fast, Unfolding every hour ; The bud may have a bitter taste But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain ; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 89 CHAPTER VII. Great severity of Cowper's mental depression — His presentiment of it — Its consequences — Remarks upon its probable cause — Absur- dity of attributing it, in any degree, to religion — Mrs. Unwin's great attention to him — His aversion to the company of strangers Symptoms of his recovery — Domesticates three leverets — Amuse- ment they afforded him — Mr. Newton's removal from Olney — Introduction of Mr. Bull to Cowper — His translation of Madame de la Guyon's poems, at Mr. Bull's request — Commences his ori- ginal productions, at the suggestion of Mrs. Unwin — Renews his correspondence with Mr. and Mrs. Newton — Describes the state of his mind. We are again arrived at another of those melancholy pe- riods of Cowper's life, over which it must be alike the duty of the biographer, and the wish of the reader, to cast a veil. Mental aberration, whoever may be the subject of it, excites the tenderest commiseration of all ; but if there be a time when it may be contemplated with emotions more truly distressing than another, it is when it attacks those who are endowed with talents the most brilliant, with disposi- tions the most amiable, and with piety the most ardent and unobtrusive. Such was eminently the case in the present instance. To see a mind like Cowper's, enveloped in the thickest gloom of despondency, and for several years, in the prime of life, remaining in a state of complete inactivity and misery, must have been distressing in no ordinary degree. A short time previous to the afflictive visitation, Cowper appears to have received some presentiment of its approach, 90 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. and during a solitary walk in the fields, as was hinted above, he composed that beautiful hymn in the Olney collection with which we closed our last chapter. On this occasion, acute as may have been his feelings, he must have expe- rienced an unshaken confidence in God ; for it is scarcely possible to read this admirable production, however dark and distressing the dispensations of Divine Providence towards us may be, without enjoying the same delightful emotions. About the same time, he composed the hymn, entitled i Temptation/ the following lines from which will show how powerfully his mind was then exercised. " The billows swell, the winds are high, Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; Out of the depths to thee I call, My fears are great, my strength is small. O Lord, the pilot's part perform, And guide and guard me through the storm ; Defend me from each threatening ill, Controul the waves, say c Peace, be still.' Amidst the roaring of the sea, My soul still hangs her hope on thee ; Thy constant love, thy faithful care, Is all that saves me from despair/' He now relapsed into a state, very much resembling that, which had previously occasioned his removal to St. Alban's. This second attack occurred in 1773; he remained in the same painful and melancholy condition, without even a single alleviation of his sufferings, for the protracted period of five years ; and it was five years more, before he wholly recovered the use of his admirable powers. His mind, which could formerly soar on the wings of faith and love, to the utmost limits of Christian knowledge and enjoy- ment, now sunk into the lowest depths of depression ; and THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 91 here seemed as if it would remain immoveably fixed : re- jecting, with deplorable firmness, every species of consola- tion that was attempted to be administered. Various causes have been assigned, by different writers, for the melancholy aberration of mind of which Cowper was now, and at other seasons of his life, the subject; but none are so irreconcilable to every thing like just and legi- timate reasoning, as the attempt to ascribe it to religion. That unjust views of the character of God, and of the na- ture of the gospel, may never have been the predisposing causes of great and severe mental depression, we are not disposed to deny ; though we think this a case of very rare occurrence, and one in which the subject of it must be in a state of great ignorance respecting the fundamental truths of religion. Ought this, however, when it does happen, to be identified with religion, of which, at the best, it can only be regarded as a mere caricature? There was evidently, in the case of Cowper, nothing that bore the slightest resemblance to this. Making some allow- ances for expressions occasionally employed by him pecu- liar to the system which he had embraced, perhaps it will not be saying too much to affirm, that no individual ever entertained more scriptural views of the gospel dispensa- tion, in all its parts, and of the perfections and attributes of its great Author, than this excellent man. The letters he wrote to his correspondents, and the hymns he com- posed, prior to this second attack, prove unquestionably that his views of religion were at the remotest distance from what can be termed visionary or enthusiastic : on the contrary, they were perfectly scriptural and evangelical, and were consequently, infinitely more adapted to support, than to depress his mind. The living poet whom we have before quoted, remarks : — " With regard to Cowper's malady, there scarcely needs 92 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. any other proof that it was not occasioned by his religion than this, that the error on which he stumbled was in di- rect contradiction to his creed. He believed that he had been predestinated to life, yet under his delusion imagined that God, who cannot lie, repent, or change, had, in his sole instance, and in one moment, reversed his own decree, which had been in force from all eternity. At the same time, by a perversion of the purest principles of Christian obedience, he was so submissive to what he erroneously supposed was the will of God, that, to have saved himself from the very destruction which he dreaded, he would not avail himself of any of the means of grace, even presum- ing they might have been efficacious, because he believed they were forbidden to him. Yet, in spite of the self- evident impossibility, of his faith, affecting a sound mind, with such a hallucination ; though a mind previously dis- eased, might as readily fall into that as any other; in spite of chronology, his first aberration having taken place before he had ' tasted the good word of God ;' in spite of geo- graphy, that calamity having befallen him in London, where he had no acquaintance with persons holding the reprobated doctrines of election and sovereign grace ; and in spite of fact, utterly undeniable, that the only effectual consolations which he experienced under his first or subse- quent attacks of depression, arose from the truths of the gospel; — in spite of all these unanswerable confutations of the ignorant and malignant falsehood, the enemies of Christian truth persevere in repeating, ' that too much re- ligion made poor Cowper mad/ If they be sincere, they are themselves under the strongest delusion ; and it will be well, if it prove not, on their part, a wilful one — it will be well, if they have not reached that last perversity of human reason, to believe a falsehood of their own in- vention." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 93 The remarks of Mr. Hayley, in his admirable life of the poet, page 144, vol. 1, are, we think, liable to some objec- tion. He says — " So fearfully and wonderfully are we made, that man in all conditions ought, perhaps, to pray that he never may be led to think of his Creator and of his Redeemer, either too little or too much, since human misery is often seen to arise equally, from an utter neglect of all spiritual concerns, and from a wild extravagance of devo- tion." It is surely needless to observe, that the devotion of Cowper was as much unlike what could, with any degree of propriety, be termed wild or extravagant, as can well be imagined. To what description of devotion Mr. Hayley would apply these epithets we cannot tell, but surely not to that which is scripturally evangelical, which was emi- nently the character of Cowper's, and which is of a nature so heavenly and spiritual, so perfectly adapted to the cir- cumstances of mankind, and withal so soothing and con- soling, that it can never be carried to excess. The more powerfully its influence is felt upon the mind, the more extensive must be the enjoyment it produces, unless when it pleases God, as in the case of Cowper, to disorganize the mental powers, and thereby unfit it for the reception of that comfort which it would otherwise experience. Mental disorganization may undoubtedly arise from an almost infinite variety of causes, many of which, as in the poet's case, must for ever elude our search, though they are all under the controul of that God who is the giver of life and its preserver. Real religion, however, which consists in a cordial reception of the truth in the heart, can never produce it in the remotest degree : evangelical devotion cannot be too intense, nor can we know too much of our Creator and Redeemer. Contemplating the Divine Being apart from the gospel of Christ, or through the distort- 94 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM 'COWPER. ing medium of our own fancies, may possibly, in some cases, produce depression, viewing him as he is presented to our minds in the scriptures, in all the plenitude of his goodness and benevolence, is sure to be productive of con- sequences directly opposite. Instead of there being any danger likely to arise from having our thoughts too much employed upon the character of God, we think a scrip- turally comprehensive view of his perfections the best pos- sible preservative from despair. To represent an excess of devotion as the cause of Cowper's malady, in however slight a degree, is obviously opposed to every consistent view of religion, and is assigning that for its cause which was infinitely more likely to become its only effectual cure. The melancholy condition to which Cowper was now reduced, afforded Mrs. Unwin an opportunity of proving the warmth of her affection for, and the sincerity of her attachment to, the dejected poet. He now required to be watched with the greatest care, vigilance, and perseverance; and it pleased God to endow her with all that tenderness, fortitude, and firmness of mind, which were requisite for the proper discharge of duties so important. Her inces- sant care over him, during the long fit of his depressive malady, could only be equalled by the pleasure she expe- rienced, on seeing his pure and powerful mind, gradually emerge from that awful state of darkness, in which it had been enveloped ; into the clear sunshine of liberty and peace : she hailed his approach to convalescence, slowly as it advanced, with the mingled emotions of gratitude and praise. Cowper, throughout the whole of this severe attack, was inaccessible to all, except his friend Mr. Newton, who, during the whole of its continuance, watched over him with the greatest tenderness, and was indefatigable in his efforts to administer consolation to his depressed spi- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 95 rit. He once entertained him fourteen months at the vicarage, and, with untired perseverance, laboured inces- santly to dissipate the dark cloud that had gathered over his mind ; but to every consolatory suggestion he was ut- terly deaf, concluding that God had rejected him, and that, consequently, it was sinful for him even to wish for mercy. How awful are the effects of mental disorganization ! how easily does it convert that into poison which was designed for solid food ! how highly ought we to prize, and how thankful ought we to be, for the uninterrupted enjoyment of our mental powers ! After enduring an accumulation of anguish, almost in- conceivable, for the long space of five years, unalleviated by a single glimpse of comfort, the interesting sufferer be- gan at length gradually to recover. He listened to the advice of Mrs. Unwin, and allowed her, occasionally at least, to divert his mind from those melancholy considera- tions by which he had so long been burdened. It now occurred to Mrs. Unwin, that he might probably find it beneficial to be employed in some amusing occupation. She suggested this to some of her neighbours, who all de- plored the poet's case, felt a lively interest in his welfare, and would gladly have done any thing in their power, that was the least likely to mitigate his distress. The children of one of his neighbours had recently given them, for a plaything, a young leveret ; it was at that time about three months old. Understanding better how to teaze the poor creature than to feed it, and soon becoming weary of their charge, they readily consented that their father, who saw it pining, and growing leaner every day, should offer it to Cowper's acceptance. Beginning then to be glad of any thing that would engage his attention with- out fatiguing it, he was willing enough to take the prisoner under his protection, perceiving that, in the management of 96 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. such an animal, and in the attempt to tame it, he should find just that sort of employment which his case required. It was soon known among his neighbours that he was pleased with the present ; and the consequence was, that in a short time, he had as many leverets offered him, as would have stocked a paddock. He undertook the care of three, which he named Puss, Tiney, and Bess. The choice of their food, and the diversity of their dispositions, af- forded him considerable amusement, and their occasional diseases excited his sympathy and tenderness. One re- mained with him during the whole of his abode at Olney, and was afterwards celebrated in his unrivalled poem, the Task ; and at its decease, honoured with a beautiful epi- taph from his pen ; another lived with him nearly nine years ; but the third did not long survive the restraints of its confined situation. An admirably written narrative of these animals, from his own pen, was inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine of that day, which has since been published at the end of almost every edition of his works. For a considerable period, Cowper's only companions were Mrs. Unwin, Mr. and Mrs. Newton, and his three hares. About this time, it pleased God to remove Mr. Newton, to another scene of labour. Deeply interested in the welfare of his afflicted friend, and aware of his aversion to the visits of strangers, Mr. Newton thought it advisable, before he left Olney, to introduce to his interesting but most afflicted friend, the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnel. After some difficulty, Mr. Newton triumphed over Cowper's extreme reluctance to see strangers, and Mr. Bull visited him regu- larly once a fortnight, and gradually acquired his cordial and confidential esteem. Of this gentleman, Cowper, in one of his letters, gives the following playful and amusing description : — "You are not acquainted with the Rev. Mr, Bull, of Newport — THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 97 perhaps it is as well for you that you are not. You would regret still more than you do, that there are so many miles interposed between us. He spends part of the day with us to-morrow. A dissenter, but a liberal one ; a man of letters and of genius ; master of a fine imagination, or rather not master of it ; an imagination which, when he finds himself in the company he loves, and can confide in, runs away with him into such fields of speculation, as amuse and en- liven every other imagination that has the happiness to be of the party. At other times, he has a tender and delicate sort of melancholy in his disposition, not less agreeable in its way. No men are better qualified for companions in such a world as this, than men of such a temperament. Every scene of life has two sides, a dark and a bright one ; and the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and vivacity, is best of all qualified for the contemplation of either. He can be lively without levity, and pensive '") without dejection. Such a man is Mr. Bull: but — he \ smokes tobacco — nothing is perfect." Mr. Bull, who probably regarded the want of some re- gular employment as one of the predisposing causes of Cowper's illness, prevailed upon him to translate several spiritual songs, from the poetry of Madame de la Mothe Guyon, the friend of the mild and amiable Fenelon. The devotion of these songs is not of that purely unexception- able character which might be wished ; and if devotional excitement had been the cause of Cowper's malady, no recommendation could have been more injudicious. The result, how ever, was beneficial to the poet, instead of being injurious, proving irresistibly that devotion had a sooth- ing, rather than an irritating effect upon his mind. Much as Cowper admired these songs, for that rich vein of pure and exalted devotion, which runs through the whole of them, he was not insensible to their defects, as will 98 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. appear by the following remarks : — " The French poetess is certainly chargeable with the fault you mention, though I think it not so glaring in the piece sent you. I have en- deavoured, indeed, in all the translations I have made, to cure her of the evil, either by the suppression of exception- able passages, or by a more sober manner of expression. Still, however, she will be found to have conversed fami- liarly with God, but I hope not fulsomely, nor so as to give reasonable disgust to a religious reader. That God should deal familiarly with man, or, which is the same thing, that he should permit man to deal familiarly with him, seems not very difficult to conceive, or presumptuous to suppose, when some things are taken into consideration. Woe to the sinner, however, that shall dare to take a liberty with him that is not warranted by his word, or to which he himself has not encouraged him. When he assumed man's nature, he re- vealed himself as the friend of man. He conversed freely with him while he was upon earth, and as freely with him after his resurrection. I doubt not, therefore, that it is possible to enjoy an access to him even now, unincumbered with ceremonious awe, easy, delightful, and without con- straint. This, however, can only be the lot of those who make it the business of their lives to please him, and to cultivate communion with him ; and then I presume there can be no danger of offence, because such a habit of the soul is his own creation, and near as we come, we come no nearer to him than he is pleased to draw us : if we address him as children, it is because he tells us he is our Father ; if we unbosom ourselves to him as our friend, it is because he calls us friends ; if we speak to him in the language of love, it is because he first used it, thereby teaching us that it is the language he delights to hear from his people. But I confess, that through the weakness, the folly, and corruption of human nature, this privilege, like all other THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 99 Christian privileges, is liable to abuse. There is a mixture of evil in every thing we do ; indulgence encourages us to encroach, and while we exercise the rights of children, we become childish. Here, I think, is the point in which my authoress failed, and here it is that I have particularly guarded my translation, not afraid of representing her as dealing with God familiarly but foolishly, irreverently, and without due attention to his majesty, of which she is some- what guilty. A wonderful fault for such a woman to fall into, who spent her life in the contemplation of his glory, who seems to have been always impressed with a sense of it, and sometimes quite absorbed by the views she had of it." Mrs. Unwin, who still watched over her patient with the tenderest anxiety, saw, with inexpressible delight, the first efforts of his mind, after his long and painful depression ; and perceiving that translation had a good effect, she wisely urged him to employ his mind in composing some original poem, which she thought more likely to become beneficial. Cowper now listened to her advice, and felt so powerfully the obligations under which he was laid to her, for her con- tinued attention and kindness, that he cheerfully complied with her request. The result exceeded her most sanguine expectations. A beautiful poem was produced, entitled Table Talk ; another, called the Progress of Error, was shortly composed ; Truth, as a pleasing contrast, followed it; this was succeeded by others of equal excellence, proving that the poet's mind had now completely emerged from that darkness in which it had so long been confined by his depressive malady. It is interesting to observe, that Cowper's poems were almost invariably composed at the suggestion of friends. He wrote hymns, to oblige Mr. Newton ; translated Madam Guyon's songs, to gratify his friend Mr. Bull, and com- h 2 100 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. posed the greater part of his poems, to please Mrs. Unwin. The influence of friendship on his tender mind, was power- fully affecting ; and he ever regarded it as his happiest in- spiration. It kindled the warmth of his heart, into a flame, intense and ardent, stimulated into activity the rich, but dormant powers of his mind, and produced those bursts of poetic feeling and beauty, which abound in his unrivalled compositions. Cowper regained his admirable talent for composition, both in poetry and in prose, and renewed his correspon- dence with some of his more intimate friends, long before his mind was wholly convalescent ; and his letters, written at this period, afford the best clue to the painful peculiari- ties of his case. On every other subject but that of his own feelings, his remarks are in the highest degree pleasing ; and there was often a sprightliness and vivacity about them, that seemed to indicate a state of mind at the re- remotest distance from painful ; but whenever he adverted to his own case, it was in a tone the most plaintive and melancholy. Immediately after the removal of his esteemed friends, Mr. and Mrs. Newton, he commenced a correspondence with them, which he regularly kept up during almost the whole of his life. To Mrs. Newton, soon after this event, he thus describes his feelings on the occasion. " The vicar- age-house became a melancholy object as soon as Mr. New- ton had left it ; when you left it, it became more melancholy ; now it is actually occupied by another family, I cannot even look at it without being shocked. As I walked in the garden last evening, I saw the smoke issue from the study chimney, and said to myself, that used to be a sign that Mr. Newton was there ; but it is so no longer. The walls of the house know nothing of the change that has taken place, the bolt of the chamber door sounds THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 101 just as it used to do, and when Mr. P goes up stairs, for aught I know, or ever shall know, the fall of his foot can hardly perhaps, be distinguished from that of Mr. Newton. But Mr. Newton's foot will never be heard upon that stair- case again. These reflections, and such as these, occurred to me on this occasion. If I were in a condition to leave Olney, I certainly would not stay in it. It is no attach- ment to the place that binds me here, but an unfitness for every other. I lived in it once, but now I am buried in it, and have no business with the world on the outside of my sepulchre ; my appearance would startle them, and theirs would be shocking to me." In a letter to Mr. Newton, 3d May, 1780, he thus writes, "You indulge me in such a variety of subjects, and allow me such a latitude of excursion, in this scribbling employ- ment, that I have no excuse for silence. I am much obliged to you for swallowing such boluses, as I send you, for the sake of my gilding, and verily believe, I am the only man alive, from whom they would be welcome, to a palate like yours. I wish I could make them more splendid than they are, more alluring to the eye, at least, if not more pleasing to the taste, but my leaf-gold is tarnished, and has received such a tinge from the vapours that are ever brood- ing over my mind, that I think it no small proof of your partiality to me, that you will read my letters. If every human being upon earth could think for one quarter of an hour, as I have thought for many years, there might per- haps be many miserable men among them, but not one un- awakened one would be found, from the Arctic to the An tar- tic circle. At present, the difference between them and me, is greatly to their advantage. I delight in baubles, and know them to be so, for rested in, and viewed without a reference to their author, what is the earth, what are the planets, what is the sun itself, but a bauble ? Better for 102 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEIL a man never to have seen them, or to see them with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, than not to be able to say, u The maker of all these wonders is my friend !" Their eyes have never been opened, to see that they are trifles, mine have been, and will be, till they are closed for ever." " T live in a world abounding with incidents, upon which many grave, and perhaps some profitable observations, might be made; but these incidents never reaching my unfortunate ears, both the entertaining narrative, and the reflections it might suggest, are to me annihilated and lost. I look back on the past week, and say, what did it pro- duce ? I ask the same question of the week preceding, and duly receive the same answer from both — nothing ! A situation like this, in which I am as unknown to the world, as I am ignorant of all that passes in it — in which I have nothing' to do but to think, would exactly suit me, were my subjects of meditation as agreeable as my leisure is uninterrupted : my passion for retirement is not at all abated, after so many years spent in the most sequestered state, but rather increased ; a circumstance, I should esteem wonderful, to a degree not to be accounted for, consider- ing the condition of my mind, did I not know that we think as we are made to think, and of course, approve and prefer, as Providence, who appoints the bounds of our habi- tation, chooses for us. Thus, I am both free, and a prisoner at the same time. The world is before me ; I am not shut up in the Bastile ; there are no moats about my castle, no locks upon my gates, of which I have not the keys ; but an invisible, uncontroulable agency, a local attachment, an inclination, more forcible than I ever felt, even to the place of my birth, serves me for prison walls, and for bounds, which I cannot pass. In former years I have known sorrow, and before I had ever tasted of spiritual THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 103 trouble. The effect was, an abhorrence of the scene in which I had suffered so much, and a weariness of those objects which I had so long looked at with an eye of des- pondency and dejection. But it is otherwise with me now. The same cause subsisting, and in a much more powerful degree, fails to produce its natural effect. The very stones in the garden walls, are my intimate acquaintance. I should miss almost the minutest object, and be disagreea- bly affected by its removal, and am persuaded, that were it possible I could leave this incommodious nook for a twelvemonth, I should return to it again with raptures, and be transported with the sight of objects, which, to all the world beside, would be, at least indifferent; some of them, perhaps, such as the ragged thatch, and the tottering walls, disgusting. But so it is, and it is so, because here is to be my abode, and because such is the appointment of Him who placed me in it. It is the place of all the world I love the most, not for any happiness it affords me, but because here I can be miserable with most convenience to myself, and with least disturbance to others." In a letter to Mrs. Unwin's son, with whom he had now commenced a correspondence, he thus describes his feel- ings. " So long as I am pleased with an employment, I am capable of unwearied application, because my feelings are all of the intense kind ; I never received a little plea- sure from anything in my life ; if I am delighted, it is in the extreme. The unhappy consequences of this temperature is, that my attachment to my occupation seldom outlives the novelty of it, That nerve of my imagination that feels the touch of any particular amusement, twangs under the energy of the pressure with so much vehemence, that it soon becomes sensible of weariness and fatigue." Writing to Mr. Newton, 12th July, 1780, he thus again adverts to his own case. " Such nights as I frequently 104 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. spend, are but a miserable prelude to the succeeding day, and indispose me, above all things, to the business of writing. Yet with a pen in my hand, if I am able to write at all, I find myself gradually relieved ; and as I am glad of any employment that may serve to engage my attention, so especially I am pleased with an opportunity of convers- ing with you, though it be but upon paper. This occupa- tion, above all others, assists me in that self-deception, to which I am indebted for all the little comfort I enjoy; things seem to be as they were, and I almost forget that they can never be so again. If I have strength of mind, I have not strength of body for the task, which, you say some would impose upon me. I cannot bear much think- ing. The meshes of that fine net-work, the brain, are composed of such mere spinner's threads in me, that when a long thought finds its way, into them, it buzzes, and twangs, and bustles about, at such a rate, as seems to threaten the whole contexture/' To the same correspondent he writes on another occasion. " Your sentiments, with respect to me, are exactly like Mrs. Unwin's. She, like you, is perfectly sure of my de- liverance, and often tells me so ; I make herbut one answer, and sometimes none at all. That answer gives her no pleasure, and would give you as little ; therefore, at this time I suppress it. It is better on every account that they who interest themselves so deeply in that event, should believe the certainty of it, than that they should not. It is a comfort to them, at least, if it be none to me, and as I could not, if I would, so neither would I, if I could, deprive them of it. If human nature may be compared to a piece of tapestry, (and why not ?) when human nature, as it sub- sists in me, though it is sadly faded on the right side, re- tains all its colour on the wrong. At this season of the year, and in this gloomy and uncomfortable climate, it is no THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 105 easy matter for the owner of a mind like mine, to divert it from sad subjects, and fix it upon such as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, above all things, is useful to me, in this respect. While I am held in pursuit of pretty images, or a pretty way of expressing them, I forget every thing that is irksome, and, like a boy that plays truant, determine to avail himself of the present opportunity to be amused, regardless of future consequences. It will not be long per- haps, before you will receive a poem, called the Progress of Error; that will be succeeded by another, indue time, called Truth. Dont be alarmed. I ride Pegasus with a curb. He will never runaway with me again. I have even convinced Mrs. Unwin, that I can manage him, and make him stop, when I please." On another occasion he gives the following curious and playful description of himself. " I can compare this mind of mine to nothing that resembles it more, than to a board, that is under the carpenter's plane, (I mean while I am writing to you) the shavings are my uppermost thoughts ; after a few strokes of the tool, it acquires a new surface ; this again, upon a repetition of his task, he takes off, and a new surface still succeeds. Whether the shavings of the present day, will be worth your acceptance, I know not ; I am, unfortunately, made neither of cedar nor of mahogany, but Tr uncus ficulnus, inutile lignum, consequently, though I should be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, it will be but rubbish at last." To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus plaintively des- cribes his feelings: — " My days steal away silently, and: ^ march on, (as poor mad Lear would have made his soldiers march) as if they were shod with felt ; not so silently but that I hear them, yet were it not that I am always listen- ] ing to their flight, having no infirmity that I had not J when I was much younger, I should deceive myself with 106 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. an imagination that I am still young. I am fond of writing, as an amusement, but do not alwaj^s find it one. Being rather scantily furnished with subjects that are good for anything, and corresponding only with those who have no relish for such as are good for nothing, I often find myself reduced to the necessity, the disagreeable necessity, of writing about myself. This does not mend the matter much; for though, in a description of my own condition, I discover abundant materials to employ my pen upon, yet as the task is' not very agreeable to me> so, I am suffi- ciently aware, that it is likely to prove irksome to others. A painter, who should confine himself, in the exercise of his art, to the drawing of his own picture, must be a won- derful coxcomb indeed, if he did not soon grow sick of his occupation, and be peculiarly fortunate if he did not make others as sick as himself." Notwithstanding Cowper's depressive malady, yet his views of religion, even at that period, remained unaltered, and were as much distinguished for their excellence as ever. Writing to his friend, Mr. Unwin, the following judicious remarks occur, respecting keeping the sabbath : — u With respect to the advice you are required to give to a young lady, that she may be properly instructed in the manner of keeping the sabbath, I just subjoin a few hints that have occurred to me on the occasion. I think the sabbath may be considered, first, as a commandment, no less binding upon Christians than upon Jews. The spi- ritual people among them did not think it enough, merely to abstain from manual occupations on that day, but en- tering more deeply into the meaning of the precept, al- lotted those hours, they took from the world, to the culti- vation of holiness in their own souls ; which ever was, and ever will be, incumbent upon all, who have the Scripture in their hands, and is of perpetual obligation, both upon THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 107 Jews and Christians; the commandment enjoins it, and the prophets have enforced it; and, in many instances, the breach of it has been punished with a providential severity, that has made bystanders tremble. Secondly, it may be considered as a privilege, which you will know how to dilate upon better than I can tell you ; thirdly, as a sign of that covenant by which believers are entitled to a rest that yet remain eth ; fourthly, as the sine qua non of the Christian character, and, upon this head; I should guard against being misunderstood to mean no more than two attendances upon public worship, which is a form, observed by thousands, who never kept a sabbath in their lives. Consistence is necessary to give substance and solidity to the whole. To sanctify the day at church, and to trifle it away out of church, is profanation, and vitiates all. After all, I should say to my catechumen, Do you love the day, or do you not ? If you love it, you will never enquire how far you may safely deprive yourself of the enjoyment of it. If you do not love it, and you find yourself in conscience obliged to acknowledge it, that is an alarming symptom, and ought to make you tremble. If you do not love it, then it is a weariness to you, and you wish it over. The ideas of labour and rest, are not more opposite to each other than the idea of a sabbath, and that dislike and disgust, with which it fills the souls of thousands, to be obliged to keep it, it is worse than bodily labour." To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he again writes : — " I know not what impressions time may have made upon your person, for while his claws, (as our grannams called them), strike deep furrows in some faces, he seems to sheath them with much tenderness, as if fearful of doing in- jury to others. But, though an enemy to the body, he is a friend to the mind, and you have doubtless found him so. Though, even in this respect, his treatment 108 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. of us depends upon what he meets with at our hands, if we use him well, and listen to his admonitions, he is a friend indeed ; but otherwise, the worst of enemies, who takes from us daily, something that we valued, and gives us nothing better in its stead. It is well with them, who, like you, can stand a tip- toe on the mountain top of human life, look down with pleasure upon the valley they have passed, and sometimes -stretch their wings in joyful hope of a happy flight into eternity. Yet a little while, and your hope will be accomplished. The course of a rapid river is the justest of all emblems, to express the variableness of our scene below. Shakespeare says, none ever bathed himself twice in the same stream ; and it is equally true, that the world upon which we close our eyes at night, is never the same as that upon which we open them in the morning." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 109 CHAPTER VIII. Makes preparations for publishing his first volume — Reasons assigned for it — Beneficial effects of composition on his mind — His com- parative indifference to the success of his volume — Great care, ne- vertheless, with which he composed it — His readiness to avail himself of the assistance and advice of his friends — The interest which Mr. Newton took in his publication — Writes the preface for the volume — Cowper's judicious reply to some objections that had been made to it — Publication of the volume — Manner in which it was received — Continuance of Cowper's depression — State of his mind respecting religion — His warm attachment to the leading truths of the gospel — Ardent desires to make his volume the means of conveying them to others. More than seven years had now elapsed since the com- mencement of Cowper's distressing malady ; and though he was not yet perfectly recovered, he had, at length, gra- dually acquired the full exercise of those mental powers for which he was so highly distinguished. Having now employed his muse, with the happiest effect, for nearly two years, he had composed a sufficient number of lines to form a respectable volume. Mrs. Unwin had wit- nessed with delight the productions of his pen, and she now wisely urged him to make them public. He was, at first, exceedingly averse to the measure ; but, after some consideration, he at length yielded to her sugges- tions, and made preparations to appear as an author. His letters to his correspondents on the subject are highly in- teresting ; and afford a full developement of the design he HO THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. had in view in appearing before the public. To Mr. Unwin he thus writes : — " Your mother says I must write, and must admits of no apology ; I might otherwise plead that I have nothing to say, that I am weary, that I am dull, that it would be more convenient for you, as well as for myself, that I should let it alone. But all these pleas, and whatever pleas besides, either disinclination, indolence, or necessity, might suggest, are overruled, as they ought to be, the moment a lady adduces her irrefragable argument, you must. Urged by her entreaties, I have at length sent a volume to the press; the greater part of it is the produce of the last winter. Two-thirds of the volume will be oc- cupied by four pieces. It contains, in all, about two thou- sand five hundred lines; and will be known, in due time, by the names of Table Talk, The Progress of Error, Truth, Expostulation, with an addition of some smaller poems, all of which, I believe, have passed under your notice. Alto- gether they will furnish a volume of tolerable bulk, that need not be indebted to an intolerable breadth of margin, for the importance of its figure." In this undertaking he was encouraged by his friend, Mr. Newton, with whom he corresponded on the subject, and to whom he thus discloses his mind : — " If a board of enquiry were to be established, at which poets were to undergo an examination respecting the motives that in- duced them to publish, and I were to be summoned to attend, that I might give an account of mine, I think I could truly say, what perhaps few poets could, that though I have no objection to lucrative consequences, if any such should follow, they are not my aim ; much less is it my ambition to exhibit myself to the world as a genius. What then, says Mr. President, can possibly be your motive ? I answer, with a bow, amusement. There is no occupation within the compass of my small sphere, poetry excepted, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 1 1 that can do much towards diverting that train of melan- choly forebodings, which, when I am not thus employed, are for ever pouring themselves in upon me. And if I did not publish what I write, I could not interest myself suffi- ciently in my own success to make an amusement of it. My own amusement, however, is not my sole motive. I am merry that I may decoy people into my company, and grave that they may be the better for it. Now and then I put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the opportunity that disguise procures me, to drop a word in favour of re- ligion. In short, there is some froth, and here and there a bit of sweet-meat, which seems to entitle it justly to the name of a certain dish the ladies call a trifle. I did not choose to be more facetious, lest I should consult the taste of my readers at the expence of my own approbation; nor more serious than I have been, lest I should forfeit theirs. A poet in my circumstances has a difficult part to act ; one minute obliged to bridle his humour, if he has any, the next, to clap a spur to the sides of it. Now ready to weep, from a sense of the importance of his subject, and on a sudden constrained to laugh, lest his gravity should be mistaken for dulness." Writing to his amiable correspondent, Mrs. Cowper, 19th October, 1781, he says : — " I am preparing a volume of poems for the press, which I imagine will make its ap- pearance in the course of the winter. It is a bold under- taking at this time of day, when so many writers of the greatest abilities have gone before, who seem to have an- ticipated every valuable subject, as well as all the graces of poetical embellishment, to step forth into the world in the character of a bard ; especially when it is considered that luxury, idleness, and vice, have debauched the public taste^nd that scarcely anything but childish fiction, or what has a tendency to excite a laugh, is welcome. I 112 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. thought, however, that I had stumbled upou some subjects that had never been poetically treated, and upon some others, to which I imagined it would not be difficult to give an air of novelty, by the manner of treating them. My sole drift is to be useful ; a point which, however, I knew I should in vain aim at, unless I could be likewise entertaining. I have therefore fixed these two strings to my bow ; and by the help of both, have done my best, to send my arrow to the mark. My readers will hardly have begun to laugh, before they will be called upon to correct that levity, and peruse me with a more serious air. I cast a side-long glance at the good-liking of the world at large, more for the sake of their advantage and instruction than their praise. They are children; if we give them physic, we must sweeten the rim of the cup with honey. As to the effect, I leave that in his hands, who alone can produce it ; neither prose, nor verse, can reform the manners of a dissolute age, much less can they inspire a sense of reli- gious obligation, unless assisted, and made efficacious by the power who superintends the truth he has vouchsafed to impart." To his warm friend, Mr. Hill, he thus amusingly adverts to his publication : — "I am in the press, and it is in vain to deny it. My labours are principally the production of the last winter ; all, indeed, except a few of the minor pieces. When I can find no other occupation, I think, and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence it comes to pass that the season of the year, which gene- rally pinches off the flowers of poetry, unfolds mine, such as they are, and crowns me with a winter garland. In this respect, therefore, I and my contemporary bards are by no means upon a par. They write when the delightful influ- ences of fine weather, fine prospects, and a brisk motion of the animal spirits, make poetry almost the language of THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 [3 nature ; and I, when icicles depend from all the leaves of the Parnassian laurel, and when a reasonable man would as little expect to succeed in verse, as to hear a black-bird whistle. This must be my apology to you, for whatever want of fire and animation you may observe in what you will shortly have the perusal of. As to the public, if they like me not, there is no remedy. A friend will weigh and consider all disadvantages, and make as large allowances as an author can wish, and larger, perhaps, than he has any right to expect, but not so the world at large ; what- ever they do not like, they will not by an apology be per- suaded to forgive ; it would be in vain to tell them that I wrote my verses in January, for they would immediately reply, Why did you not write them in May ? A question that might puzzle a wiser head than we poets are gene- rally blessed with." It might have been supposed, that the vigorous exercise of the mental powers which the composition of poetry, like that of Cowper's, required, would have increased this de- pressive malady, instead of diminishing it. His, however, was a peculiar case, and he found it of great advantage, as we learn in a letter to Mr. Newton, where he says : — " I have never found an amusement, among the many that I have been obliged to have recourse to, that so well an- swered the purpose for which I used it, as composition. The quieting and composing effect of it was such, and so totally absorbed have I sometimes been in my rhyming occupation, that neither the past, nor the future, (those themes which to me are so fruitful in regret at other times) had any longer a share in my contemplation. For this reason I wish, and have often wished since the fit left me, that it would seize me again, but hitherto I have wished it in vain. I see no want of subjects, but I feel a total disability to discuss them. Whether it is thus with other 1 114 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, writers, or not, I am ignorant, but I should suppose my case, in this respect, a little peculiar. The voluminous writers at least, whose vein of fancy seems always to have been rich in proportion to their occasions, cannot have been so unlike, and so unequal to themselves. There is this difference between my poetship and the generality of them; they appear to have been ignorant how much they stood indebted to an Almighty power for the exercise of those talents they supposed to be their own. Whereas I know, and know most perfectly, that my power to think, whatever it be, and consequently my power to compose, is, as much as my outward form, afforded to me by the same hand that makes me, in any respect, differ from a brute." The commencement of authorship is generally a period of much painful anxiety ; few persons have ventured on such an undertaking without experiencing considerable excitement ; and in a mind like Cowper's, it might have been supposed that such would have been the case in a remarkable degree. No person, however, ever ventured before the public, in the character of an author, with less anxiety. Writing to Mr. Unwin, he says : — " You ask me how I feel on the occasion of my approaching publication ? Perfectly at ease. If I had not been pretty well assured beforehand, that my tranquillity would be but little en- dangered by such a measure, I would never have engaged in it, for I cannot bear disturbance. I have had in view two principal objects; first, to amuse myself, and then to compass that point in such a manner, that others might possibly be the better for my amusement. If I have suc- ceeded, it will give me pleasure ; but if I have failed, I shall not be mortified to the degree that might perhaps be expected. The critics cannot deprive me of the pleasure I have in reflecting, that so far as my leisure has been em- ployed in writing for the public, it has been employed THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 115 conscientiously, and with a view to their advantage. There is nothing agreeable, to be sure, in being chronicled for a dunce; but I believe there lives not a man upon earth who would be less affected by it than myself." Indifferent as he was to the result of his publications, he was far from being careless in their composition. Per- haps no author ever took more pains with his productions, or sought more carefully to make them worthy of public approbation. In one of his letters, adverting to this sub- ject, he says — i( To touch, and retouch, is, though some writers boast of negligence, and others would be ashamed to show their foul copies, the secret of almost all good writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it myself, and if you would take as much pains as I do, you would not need to ask for my corrections. With the greatest indifference to fame, which you know me too well to sup- pose me capable of affecting, I have taken the utmost pains to deserve it. This may appear a mystery, or a para- dox, in practice, but it is true. I considered that the taste of the day is refined, and delicate to excess, and that to disgust that delicacy of the taste by a slovenly inattention to it, would be to forfeit at once, all hope of being useful ; and for this reason, though I have written more verse this year than perhaps any man in England, I have finished, and polished, and touched and retouched, with the utmost care. Whatever faults I may be chargeable with as a poet, I cannot accuse myself of negligence ; I never suffer a line to pass till I have made it as good as I can ; and though some may be offended at my doctrines, I trust none will be disgusted by slovenly inaccuracy, in the numbers, the rhymes, or the language. If, after all, I should be con- verted into waste paper, it may be my misfortune, but it will not be my fault ; and I shall bear it with perfect serenity." i 2 ] 16 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. In the character of Cowper there was nothing like an overweening confidence in his own powers. No person was ever more willing to avail himself of the advice of his friends, nor did any one ever receive advice more grate- fully. Not satisfied with bestowing upon his productions the greatest pains himself, he occasionally submitted them to the correction of others, and his correspondence affords many proofs of his readiness to profit by the slightest hint. To Mr. Newton he thus writes : " I am much obliged to you for the pains you have taken with my poems, and for the manner in which you have interested yourself in their appearance. Your favourable opinion affords me a comfortable presage with respect to that of the public ; for though I make allowance for your parti- ality to me, yet I am sure you would not suffer me, unad- monished, to add myself to the number of insipid rhymers with whose productions the world is already too much pestered. I forgot to mention, that Johnson uses the dis- cretion my poetship has allowed him, with much discern- ment. He has suggested several alterations, or rather marked several defective passages, which I have corrected ; much to the advantage of the poems. In the last sheet he sent me, he noticed three such, which I reduced to better order. In the foregoing sheet I assented to his criti- cisms in some instances, and chose to abide by the original expression in others ; whenever he has marked such lines as did not please him, I have, as often as I could, paid all possible respect to his animadversions. Thus we jog on together comfortably enough ; and perhaps it would be as well for authors in general, if their booksellers, when men of some taste, were allowed, though not to tinker the work themselves, yet to point out the flaws, and humbly to re- commend an improvement. I have also to thank you, and ought to have done it in the first place, for having recom- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. l ] 7 mended to me the suppression of some lines, which I am now more than ever convinced, would at least have done me no honour." The great interest Mr. Newton took in Cowper's pub- lication, induced the poet to request him to compose the preface ; and his correspondence with Mr. Newton on the subject is alike honourable to his judgment and his feel- ings; and affords a striking display of the strong hold which religion had upon his affections. He thus introduces the subject to Mr. Newton, " With respect to the poem called Truth, it is so true that it can hardly fail of giving offence to an unenlightened reader. I think, therefore, that in order to obviate in some measure those prejudices that will naturally erect their bristles against it, an ex- planatory preface, such as you, (and nobody else so well as you) can furnish me with, will have every grace of pro- priety to recommend it ; or if you are not averse to the task, and your avocations will allow you to undertake it, and if you think it will be still more proper, I should be glad to be indebted to you for a preface to the whole. I admit that it will require much delicacy, but am far from appre- hending that you will rind it difficult to succeed. You can draw a hair-stroke, where another man would make a blot, as broad as a sixpence." The preface composed by Mr. Newton, though it was in the highest degree satisfactory to Cowper, and was ad- mitted by him to be every thing that he could wish, was nevertheless thought by others to be of too sombre a cast, to introduce a volume of poems, pre-eminently distinguished for their vivacity and eloquence. Adverting to this objec- tion, and to the suggestion of the publisher to suppress it, Cowper thus writes : — " If the men of the world are so merrily disposed, in the midst of a thousand calamities, that they will not deign to read a preface, of three or four ] 18 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWrER. pages, because the purport of it is serious, they are far gone, indeed, in the last stage of a frenzy. I am, however, willing to hope, that such is not the case ; curiosity is an universal passion. There are few persons who think a book worth reading, but feel a desire to know something about the writer of it. This desire will naturally lead them to peep into the preface, where they will soon find, that a little perseverance will furnish them with some in- formation on the subject. If therefore your preface finds no readers, I shall take it for granted that it is, because the book itself is accounted not worth their notice. Be that as it may, it is quite sufficient that I have played the antic myself for their diversion ; and that, in a state of dejection such as they are absolute strangers to, I have sometimes put on an air of cheerfulness and vivacity, to which I myself am in reality a stranger, for the sake of winning their attention to more useful matter. I cannot endure the thought, for a moment, that you should descend to my level on the occasion, and court their favour in a style not more unsuitable to your function, than to the constant and consistent strain of your whole character and conduct. Though your preface is of a serious cast, it is free from all offensive peculiarities, and contains none of those obnoxious doctrines at which the world is too apt to be angry. It asserted nothing more than every rational creature must admit to be true — that divine and earthly things can no longer stand in competition with each other, in the judgment of any man, than while he continues ignorant of their respective value ; and that the moment the eyes are opened, the latter are always cheerfully re- linquished for the former. It is impossible for me however to be so insensible to your kindness in writing the preface, as not to be desirous of defying all contingencies, rather than entertain a wish to suppress it. It will do me honour, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. H9 indeed, in the eyes of those whose good opinion is worth having, and if it hurts me in the estimation of others I can- not help it ; the fault is neither yours, nor mine, but theirs. If a minister's is a more splendid character than a poet's, and I think nobody that understands their value can hesitate in deciding that question, then undoubtedly, the advantage of having our names united in the same volume, is all on my side." Cowper's first volume was published in the spring of 1782. Its success, at first, fell far short of what might have been anticipated from its extraordinary merit. It was not long, however, before the more intelligent part of the reading public appreciated its value. It soon found its way into the hands of all lovers of literature. Abounding with some of the finest passages that are to be met with, either in antient or modern poetry, it was impossible that it should remain long unnoticed. By mere readers of taste, it was read for the beauty and elegance of its composi- tion ; by many, it was eagerly sought after for the spright- liness, vivacity, and wit, with which it abounded : — by Christians, of all denominations, it was read with unfeigned pleasure, for the striking and beautiful descriptions it con- tained, of doctrinal, practical, and experimental Christi- anity. Tt would scarcely be supposed that the author of a volume of poems like this, exhibiting such a diversity of powers as could not fail to charm the mind, delight the imagination, and improve the heart, could have remained, during the whole time he was composing it, in a state of great and painful depression. Such however was the peculiarity of Cowper's malady, that a train of melancholy thoughts seemed ever to be pouring themselves in upon his mind, which neither himself nor his friends were ever able to account for, satisfactorily. Writing to his friend 120 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Mr. Newton, who had recently paid him a visit, he thus discloses the state of his mind : — " My sensations at your departure were far from pleasant. When we shall meet again, and in what circumstances, or whether we shall meet or not, is an article to be found no where but in that providence which belongs to the current year, and will not be understood till it is accomplished. This I know, that your visit was most agreeable to me, who, though I live in the midst of many agreeables, am but little sensible of their charms. But when you came, I determined, as much as possible, to be deaf to the suggestions of despair; that if I could contribute but little to the pleasure of the opportunity, I might not dash it with unseasonable melan- choly, and like an instrument with a broken string, inter- rupt the harmony of the concert." It is gratifying to observe, that neither the attention which Cowper paid to his publication, nor the depressive malady with which he was afflicted, could divert his atten- tion from the all-important concerns of religion. A tone of deep seriousness, and genuine Christian feeling, per- vades many of his letters written about this time. To Mr. Newton he thus writes : — " You wish you could employ your time to better purpose, yet are never idle, in all that you do ; whether you are alone, or pay visits, or re- ceive them; whether you think or write, or walk, or sit still, the state of your mind is such as discovers even to yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, that there is a prin- ciple at the bottom, whose determined tendency is towards the best things. I do not at all doubt the truth of what you say, when you complain of that crowd of trifling thoughts that pesters you without ceasing ; but then you always have a serious thought standing at the door of your imagination, like a justice of the peace, with the Riot Act in his hand, ready to read it and disperse the mob. Here THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 121 lies the difference between you and me. You wish for more attention, I for less. Dissipation itself would be welcome to me, so it were not a vicious one ; but however earnestly invited, it is coy and keeps at a distance. Yet with all this distressing gloom upon my mind, I experience, as you do, the slipperiness of the present hour, and the rapidity with which time escapes me. Every thing around us, and every thing that befals us, constitues a variety, which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has still a thievish propensity ; and steals from us days, months, and years, with such unparalleled suddeness, that even while we say they are here, they are gone. From infancy to manhood, is rather a tedious period, chiefly, I suppose, because at that time, we act under the controul of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our own. But thence down- ward into the vale of years, is such a declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect upon the steepness of it and then find ourselves at the bottom." The following extracts from his correspondence with Mr. Unwin, who at that time, was on a visit at Brighthelmstone, will show the deep tone of seriousness that pervaded his mind : — " I think with you, that the most magnificent object under heaven is the great deep ; and cannot but feel an unpolite species of astonishment, when I consider the multitudes that view it without emotion, and even without reflection. In all its varied forms, it is an object, of all others, the most suitable to affect us with lasting impres- sions of the awful power that created and controuls it. I am the less inclined to think this negligence excusable, because, at a time of life, when I gave as little attention to religion as any man, I yet remember that the waves would preach to me, and that in the midst of worldy dissipation I had an ear to hear them. In the fashionable amuse- ments which you will probably witness for a time, you 122 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. will discern no signs of sobriety, or true wisdom. But it is impossible for a man who has a mind like yours, capable of reflection, to observe the manners of a multitude with- out learning something. If he sees nothing to imitate, he is sure to see something to avoid. If nothing to con- gratulate his fellow-creatures upon, at least much to excite his compassion. There is not, I think, so melancholy a sight in the world, (an hospital is not to be compared to it), as that of a multitude of persons, distinguished by the name of gentry, who, gentle perhaps by nature, and made more gentle by education, have the appearance of being innocent and inoffensive, yet being destitute of all religion, or not at all governed by the religion they profess, are none of them at any great distance from an eternal state, where self-deception will be impossible, and where amuse- ments cannot enter. Some of them we may hope will be reclaimed, it is most probable that many will, because mercy, if one may be allowed the expression, is fond of distinguishing itself by seeking its objects among the most desperate class ; but the Scripture gives no encouragement to the warmest charity, to expect deliverance for them all. When I see an afflicted and unhappy man, I say to my- self, there is perhaps a man, whom the world would envy, if they knew the value of his sorrows, which are possibly intended only to soften his heart, and to turn his affections towards their proper centre. But when I see, or hear of a crowd of voluptuaries, who have no ears but for music, no eyes but for splendour, and no tongues but for imperti- nence and folly — I say, or at least I see occasion to say, this is madness — this, persisted in, must have a tragical conclusion. It will condemn you, not only as Christians, unworthy of the name, but as intelligent creatures — you know by the light of nature, if you have not quenched ir, that there is a God, and that a life like yours cannot be THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 123 according to his will. I ask no pardon of you for the gravity and gloominess of these reflections, which, with others of a similar complexion, are sure to occur to me when I think of a scene of public diversion like that you have witnessed.'' The following remarks, extracted from a letter to the same correspondent, while they serve to display the state of his mind respecting religion, exhibit at the same time, the high value which he set upon the leading truths of the gospel : — " When I wrote the poem on Truth, it was indispensably necessary that I should set forth that doctrine which I know to be true ; and that I should pass, what I un- derstood to be a just censure, upon opinions and persuasions that stand in direct opposition to it ; because, though some errors may be innocent, and even religious errors are not always dangerous, yet in a case where the faith and hope of a Christian are concerned, they must necessarily be destructive ; and because neglecting this, I should have betrayed my subject; either suppressing what in my judge- ment is of the last importance, or giving countenance by a timid silence, to the very evils it was my design to com- bat. That you may understand me better, I will subjoin ; that I wrote that poem on purpose to inculcate the eleemo- synary character of the gospel, as a dispensation of mercy, in the most absolute sense of the word, to the exclusion of all claims of merit on the part of the receiver ; conse- quently to set the brand of invalidity upon the plea of works, and to discover, upon scriptural ground, the ab- surdity of that notion, which includes a solecism in the very terms of it, that man by repentance and good works, may deserve the mercy of his Maker. I call it a solecism, because mercy deserved ceases to be mercy, and must take the name of justice. This is the opinion which I said, in my last, the world would not acquiesce in, but except this, 124 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. I do not recollect that I have introduced a syllable into any of my pieces, that they can possibly object to ; and even this I have endeavoured to deliver from doctrinal dryness, by as many pretty things, in the way of trinket and plaything, as I could muster upon the subject. So that if I have rubbed their gums, 1 have taken care to do it with a coral, and even that coral embellished by the ribbon to which it is attached, and recommended by the tinkling of all the bells I could contrive to annex to it." The following beautiful lines convey sentiments so much in unison with this extract, that we cannot forbear to insert them at the close of this chapter : — " I am no preacher ; let this hint suffice, The cross once seen is death to every vice ; Else he that hung there suffered all his pain, Bled, groaned, and agonized, and died in vain. There, and there only, (though the deist rave, And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave,) There, and there only, is the power to save ; There no delusive hope invites despair, No mockery meets you, no deception there, The spells and charms that blinded you before, All vanish there, and fascinate no more." Progress of Error, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. \2l CHAPTER IX. Commencement of Cowper's acquaintance with Lady Austin — Pleasure it afforded him — Poetic epistle to her — Her removal to Olney — Beneficial influence of her conversational powers on Cowper's mind — Occasion of his writing John Gilpin — Lines composed at Lady Austin's request — Induced by her to commence writing The Task — Principal object he had in view in composing it — Sudden and final separation from Lady Austin — Occasional seve- rity of his depressive malady — Hopes entertained by his friends of his ultimate recovery — His own opinion upon it — Pleasing proofs of the power of religion on his mind — Tenderness of his conscience — Serious reflections — Aversion to religious deception and pre- tended piety — Bigotry and intolerance, with their opposite vices, levity and indifference, deplored — Sympathy with the sufferings of the poor — Enviable condition of such of them as are pious, com- pared with the rich who disregard religion. In the autumn of 1781, Cowper became acquainted with Lady Austin, whose brilliant wit and unrivalled conversa- tional powers, were admirably adapted to afford relief to a mind like his. This lady was introduced to the retired poet by her sister, the wife of a clergyman, who resided at Clifton, a mile distant from Olney, and who occasionally called upon Mrs. Unwin. Lady Austin came to pass some time with her sister, in the summer of 1781, and Mrs. Unwin, at Cowper's request, invited the ladies to tea. So much, however, was he averse to the company of strangers, that after he had occasioned the invitation, it was with considerable reluctance he was persuaded to join the party ; but having at length overcome his feelings, he entered ]26 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. freely into conversation with Lady Austin, and derived so much benefit from her sprightly and animating discourse, that he from that time cultivated her acquaintance with the greatest attention. The opinion Cowper formed of this accomplished and talented lady, may be ascertained by the following extracts from his letters : — " Lady Austin has paid us her first visit, and not content with shewing us that proof of her respect, made handsome apologies for her intrusion. She is a f lively, agreeable woman ; has seen much of the world, and accounts it a great simpleton, as it is. She laughs, and \ makes laugh, without seeming to labour at it. She has many features in her character which you must admire, but one in particular, on account of the rarity of it, will engage your attention and esteem. She has a degree of gratitude in her composition, so quick a sense of obligation, ^as is hardly to be found in any rank of life. Discover but / a wish to please her, and she never forgets it ; not only I thanks you, but the tears will start into her eyes at the re- ■V- collection of the smallest service. With these fine feelings she has the most harmless vivacity you can imagine : half an hour's conversation with her will convince you that she is one of the most intelligent, pious, and agreeable ladies you ever met with." The following lines, part of a poetical epistle, addressed by Cowper to Lady Austin, will shew how much he was delighted with his new friend : — " Dear Anna, — between friend and friend Prose answers every common end ; Serves, in a plain and homely way, To express the occurrence of the day, Our health, the weather, and the news, What walks we take, what books we choose, And all the floating thoughts we find Upon the surface of the mind. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 127 But when a poet takes the pen, Far more alive than other men, He feels a gentle tingling come Down to his fingers and his thumb, Deriv'd from nature's noblest part, The centre of a glowing heart ! And this is what the world, who knows No flights above the pitch of prose, His more sublime vagaries slighting, Denominates an itch for writing. No wonder I, who scribble rhyme To catch the triflers of the time, And tell them truths divine and clear, Which couched in prose they will not hear, Should feel that itching and that tingling With all my purpose intermingling, To your intrinsic merit true, When call'd to address myself to you. Mysterious are His ways whose power Brings forth that unexpected hour, When minds that never met before Shall meet, unite, and part no more : It is the allotment of the skies, The hand of the supremely wise, That guides and governs our affections, And plans and orders our connections, Directs us in our distant road, And marks the bounds of our abode. This page of Providence quite new, And now just opening to our view, Employs our present thoughts and pains, To guess and spell what it contains ; But day by day, and year by year, Will make the dark enigma clear, And furnish us, perhaps, at last, Like other scenes already past, With proof that we and our affairs Are part of a Jehovah's cares : For God unfolds by slow degrees The purport of his deep decrees, 128 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Sheds every hour a clearer light, In aid of our defective sight, And spreads, at length, before the soul, A beautiful and perfect whole, Which busy man's inventive brain Toils to anticipate in vain. Say, Anna, had you never known The beauties of a rose full blown ; Could you, though luminous your eye, By looking on the bud descry, Or guess, with a prophetic power, The future splendour of the flower ? Just so the Omnipotent, who turns The system of a world's concerns, From mere minutiffi can educe Events of most important use ; And bid a dawning sky display The blaze of a meridian day. The works of man tend one and all, As needs they must, both great and small, And vanity absorbs at length The monuments of human strength ; But who can tell how vast the plan Which this day's incident began ? Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion For our dim-sighted observation ; It pass'd unnoticed as the bird That cleaves the yielding air unheard, And yet may prove, when understood, An harbinger of endless good. Not that I deem or mean to call Friendship a blessing cheap or small, But merely to remark that ours, Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, Rose from a seed of tiny size That seemed to promise no such prize : A transient visit intervening, And made almost without a meaning, (Hardly the effect of inclination, Much less of pleasing expectation !) THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 129 Produced a friendship, then begun, That has cemented us in one, And placed it in our power to prove, By long fidelity and love, That Solomon has wisely spoken, 1 A three-fold cord is not soon broken.' " Lady Austin was not less delighted with her new ac- quaintance than Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were with her. She had previously determined to leave London, and had been looking out for a residence in the country, not far distant from his sister's. The house immediately adjoining that in which Cowper resided, was at liberty; she accord- ingly hired it, and took possession of it in the course of the ensuing summer. Cowper thus adverts to this circum- stance, in a letter to Mr. Newton :— "A new scene is open ing upon us, which, whether it perform what it promises, or not, will add fresh plumes to the wings of time, at least while it continues to be a subject of contemplation. Lady Austin, very desirous of retirement, especially of a retire- ment near her sister, an admirer of Mr. Scot as a preacher, and of your two humble servants, myself and Mrs. Unwin, is come to a determination to settle here ; and has chosen the house formerly occupied by you, for her future resi- dence. I am highly pleased with the plan, upon Mrs. Unwin's account, who, since Mrs. Newton's departure, has been nearly destitute of all female connection, and has not, in any emergency, a woman to speak to. It Jias, in my view, and I doubt not it will have the same in yours, strong marks of a providential interposition. A female friend, who bids fair to prove herself worthy of the appel- lation, comes, recommended by a variety of considerations, to such a place as Olney. Since your removal, there was not in the kingdom a retirement more absolutely such than ours. We did not covet company, but when it came we K 130 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. found it agreeable. A person that understands the world well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of conversation, introduces a sprightliness into such a scene as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the worse for being a little enlivened. In case of illness too, to which we are all liable, it was rather a gloomy prospect, if we allowed ourselves to advert to it, that there was hardly a woman in the place from whom it would have been rea- sonable to have expected either comfort or assistance. 1 ' Preparations were made at the vicarage for the recep- tion of Lady Austin, and she took possession of it towards the close of 1782. Both Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were so charmed with her society, and she was so delighted with their's, that it became their custom to dine together, at each other's houses, every alternate day. The effect of Lady Austin's almost irresistible conversational powers proved highly beneficial to the poet's mind, and contri- buted to remove that painful depression of which he still continued to be the subject; and which would sometimes seize him when he was in her company : even with her unrivalled talents, she was scarcely able, at times, to re- move the deep and melancholy gloom which still shed its darkening influence over his mind. On one occasion, when she observed him to be sinking into rather an un- usual depression, she exerted, as she was invariably accus- tomed to do, her utmost ability to afford him immediate relief. It occurred to her that she might then probably accomplish it, by telling him a story of John Gilpin, which she had treasured up in her memory from her childhood. The amusing incidents of the story itself, and the happy manner in which it was related, had the desired effect ; it dissipated the gloom of the passing hour, and he informed Lady Austin the next morning, that convulsions of laughter, brought on by the recollection of her story, had kept him THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 131 awake during the greater part of the night, and that he had composed a poem on the subject. Hence arose the fascinating and amusing ballad of John Gilpin, which ra- pidly found its way into all the periodical publications of the day, and was admired by readers of every de- scription. Its happy influence on his own mind on subsequent oc- casions is adverted to in the following letter to Mr. Unwin : — " You tell me that John Gilpin made you laugh tears, and that the ladies at court are delighted with my poems. Much good may they do them; may they be- come as wise as the writer wishes them, and they will then be much happier than he! I know there is, in the greater part of the poems which make up the volume, that wisdom which cometh from above, because it was from above that I received it. May they receive it too ! for whether they drink it out of the cistern, or whether it falls upon them immediately from the clouds, as it did on me, it is all one. It is the water of life, which whosoever drinketh shall thirst no more. As to the famous horseman above men- tioned, he and his feats are an inexhaustible source of amusement. At least we find them so ; and seldom meet without refreshing ourselves with the recollection of them. You are perfectly at liberty to do with them as you please, and when printed send me a copy." Lady Austin's intercourse with Mrs. Unwin and Cowper continued, uninterrupted, till near the close of 1784; and during all this time, by her sprightly, judicious, and cap- tivating conversation, she was often the means of rousing him from his melancholy depression. To console him, she would often exert her musical talents on the harpsichord ; and at her request, he composed, among others, the fol- lowing beautiful song, suited to airs she was accustomed to play: k2 132 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. " No longer I follow a sound, No longer a dream I pursue ; O, happiness ! not to be found, Unattainable treasure, adieu ! I have sought thee in splendour and dress, In the regions of pleasure and taste ; I have sought thee, and seemed to possess, But have proved thee a vision at last. An humble ambition and hope The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind That seeks it in meekness and love ; But rapture and bliss are confined To the glorified spirits above !" During the winter of 1783-4 Cowper spent the evenings in reading to these ladies, taking the liberty himself, and affording the same to them, of making remarks on what came under their notice. On these interesting occasions Lady Austin displayed her enchanting, and almost magical powers, with singular effect. The conversation happened one evening to turn on blank verse, of which she had always expressed herself to be passionately fond. Per- suaded that Cowper was able to produce, in this measure, a poem, that would eclipse anything he had hitherto written, she urged him to try his powers in that species of composition. He had hitherto written only in rhyme, and he felt considerable reluctance to make the attempt. After repeated solicitations, however, he promised her, if she would furnish the subject, he would comply with her request. " Oh ! " she replied, " you can never be in want of a subject, you can write upon anything; write upon this sofa." The poet obeyed her command, and the world is thus in- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 133 debted to this lady for The Task, a poem of matchless beauty and excellence, embracing almost every variety of style, and every description of subject, combining elegance and ease, with sublimity and grandeur, adapted to impress the heart* with sentiments of the most exalted piety, and to make its readers happy in the present life, while it ex- cites in them earnest and longing desires after the felicity and glory of heaven. In composing this exquisite poem, however, it ought to be observed that Cowper had a higher object in view than merely to please Lady Austin. His great aim was to be useful ; and, indeed, this was his leading motive in all his productions, as is evident from the following extract from a letter to Mr. Unwin : — " In some passages of the enclosed poem, which I send for your inspection, you will observe me very satirical, especially in my second book. Writing on such subjects I could not be otherwise. I can write j nothing without aiming, at least, at usefulness. It were beneath my years to do it, and still more dishonourable to to my religion. I know that a reformation of such abuses, as I have censured, is not to be expected from the efforts of a poet; but to contemplate the world, its follies, its vices, its indifference to duty, and its strenuous attachment to what is evil, and not to reprehend it, were to approve it. From this charge at least I shall be clear, fori have neither tacitly, nor expressly, flattered either its characters or its customs. My principal purpose has been, to allure the reader by character, by scenery, by imagery, and such po- etical embellishments, to the reading of what may profit him. Subordinately to this, to combat that predilection in favour of a metropolis, that beggars and exhausts the country, by evacuating it of all its principal inhabitants ; and collaterally, and as far as is consistent with this double intention, to have a stroke at vice, vanity, and 134 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER folly, wherever I find them. What there is of a religious cast, in the volume, I have thrown towards the end of it, for two reasons j first, that I might not revolt the reader at his entrance; and, secondly, that my best impressions might be made last. Were I to write as many volumes as Lopez de Vega, or Voltaire, not one of them would be with- out this tincture. If the world like it not, so much the worse for them. I make all the concessions I can that I may please them, but I will not do this at the ex pence of my conscience. My descriptions are all from nature, not one of them second-handed. My delineations of the heart are from my own experience ; not one of them borrowed from books, or in the least degree conjectural." The close of the year 1784, witnessed the completion of this extensive performance, and the commencement of ano- ther of greater magnitude, though of a different descrip- tion, and less adapted for general usefulness, the transla- tion of Homer ; undertaken at the united request of of Mrs. Unwin and Lady Austin. This was a remarkable period in Cowper's life. Circumstances arose, altogether unforeseen by him, and over which he had no control, which led to the removal of Lady Austin from Olney. He had so often been benefited by her company, had in so many instances been cheered by her vivacity when suffering under the influence of his depressive malady, and had re- ceived such repeated proofs of her affability and kindness, that he could not entertain the thought of parting with her without considerable disquietude. Immediately, however, on perceiving that a separation became requisite for the mainte- nance of his own peace, as well as to ensure the tranquillity of his faithful and long-tried inmate, Mrs. Unwin, he wisely and firmly, took such steps as were necessary to promote it, though it was at the expence of much mental anguish. Some of Cowper's biographers have, unjustly, and with- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 135 out the slightest foundation, attempted to cast considerable odium upon the character of Mrs. Unwin, for her conduct in this affair, as if all the blame of Cowper's separation from Lady Austin were to be laid at her door. One has even gone so far as to state, that her mind was of such a sombre hue, that it rather tended to foster, than to dissi- pate, Cowper's melancholy. An assertion utterly incapable of proof, and which, were the poet living, he would be the first to deny. The fact is, that Cowper never felt any other attachment to either of these ladies than that of pure friendship, and much as he valued the society of Lady Austin, when he found it necessary, for his own peace, to choose which he should please to retain, he could not hesi- tate for a moment to prefer the individual who had watched over him with so much tenderness, and probably to the injury of her own health. The whole of his conduct in this affair, and indeed, the manner in which he has every- where spoken of his faithful inmate, proves this indubitably. Aware of the benefit he had received from Lady Austin's company, many of his friends were apprehensive that her removal would be attended with consequences seriously injurious to the poet. Deep, however, as was the impres- sion which it made upon his mind, he bore it with much more fortitude than could have been expected, as will be seen by the manner in which he adverted to it in a letter to Mr. Hill : — " We have, as you say, lost a lively and sensible neighbour in Lady Austin, but we have been so long accustomed to a state of retirement, within one degree of solitude, and being naturally lovers of still life, we can relapse into our former duality without being unhappy in the change. To me, indeed, a third individual is not ne- cessary, while I can have the faithful companion I have had these twenty years." It might be imagined, from the production of Cowper's 136 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEFL pen at this period, that he was entirely recovered from his depressive malady, such, however, was far from the case. His letters to his correspondents prove, that whatever gaiety and vivacity there was in his writings, there was nothing in his own state of mind that bore any resemblance to such emotions ; but that, on the contrary, his fits of me- lancholy were frequent, and often painfully acute. To his friend, Mr. Newton, he thus feelingly discloses his pecu- liarly painful sensations: — " My heart resembles not the heart of a Christian, mourning and yet rejoicing, pierced with thorns, yet wreathed about with roses ; I have the thorn without the rose. My brier is a wintry one, the flowers are withered, but the thorn remains. My days are spent in vanity, and it is impossible for me to spend them otherwise. No man upon earth is more sensible of the un- profitableness of such a life as mine than I am, or groans more heavily under the burden ; but this too is vanity ; my groans will not bring the remedy, because there is no remedy for me. I have been lately more dejected and more distressed than usual ; more harassed by dreams in the night, and more deeply poisoned by them in the fol- lowing day. I know not what is portended by an altera- tion for the worse after eleven years of misery ; but firmly believe, that it is not designed as the introduction of a change for the better. You know not what I suffered while you were here, nor was there any need you should. Your friendship for me would have made you in some degree a partaker of my woes, and your share in them would have been increased by your inability to help me. Perhaps, indeed, they took a keener edge, from the consideration of your presence. The friend of my heart, the person with whom I had formerly taken sweet counsel, no longer useful to me as a minister, no longer pleasant to me as a Chris- tian, was a spectacle that must necessarily add the bitter- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 137 ness of mortification to the sadness of despair. I now see a long winter before me, and am to get through it as I can ; I know the ground before I tread upon it. It is hollow ' 7 it is agitated ; it suffers shocks in every direction ; it is like the soil of Calabria— all whirlpool and undulation ; but I must reel through it, at least if I be not swallowed up by the way. I have taken leave of the old year, and parted with it just when you did, but with very different sentiments and feelings upon the occasion. I looked back upon all the passages and occurrences of it as a traveller looks back upon a wilderness, through which he has passed with weariness and sorrow of heart, reaping no other fruit of his labour than the poor consolation, that, dreary as the desert was, he left it all behind him. The traveller would find even this comfort considerably lessened, if, as soon as he passed one wilderness, he had to traverse another of equal length, and equally desolate. In this particular his experience and mine would exactly tally. I should rejoice indeed that the old year is over and gone, if I had not every reason to expect a new one similar to it. Even the new year is already old in my account. I am not, indeed, sufficiently second-sighted, to be able to boast, by antici- pation, an acquaintance with the events of it yet unborn, but rest assured that, be they what they may, not one of them comes a messenger of good to me. If even death itself should be of the number, he is no friend of mine ; it is an alleviation of the woes, even of an unenlightened man, that he can wish for death, and indulge a hope, at least, that in death he shall find deliverance. But, loaded as my life is with despair, I have no such comfort as would result from a probability of better things to come were it once ended. I am far more unhappy than the traveller I have just referred to; pass through whatever difficulties, dangers, or afflictions, I may, I am not a whit nearer home* 138 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. unless a dungeon be called so. This is no very agreeable theme, but in so great a dearth of subjects to write upon, and especially impressed as I am at this moment with a sense of my own condition, I could choose no other. The weather is an exact emblem of my mind in its present state. A thick fog envelopes every thing, and at the same time it freezes intensely. You will tell me, that this cold gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful spring, and endea- vour to encourage me to hope for a spiritual change resem- bling it, but it will be lost labour. Nature revives again ; but a soul once slain lives no more. The hedge that has been apparently dead is not so ; it will burst into leaf, and blossom at the appointed time, but no such time is ap- pointed for the stake that stands in it. It is as dead as it seems, and will prove itself no dissembler. The latter end of next month will complete a period of eleven years, in which I have spoken no other language. It is a long time for a man, whose eyes were once opened, to spend in dark- ness; long enough to make despair an inveterate habit; and such it is in me. My friends, I know, expect that I shall yet enjoy health again. They think it necessary to the existence of divine truth, that he who once had pos- session of it should never finally lose it. 1 admit the so- lidity of this reasoning in every case but my own, and why not in my own ? For causes which to them it appears madness to allege, but which rest upon my mind, with a weight of immoveable conviction. If I am recoverable, why am I thus ? why crippled, and made useless in the church, just at the time of life when my judgment and experience, being matured, I might be most useful. Why cashiered, and turned out of service, till, according to the course of years, there is not life enough left in me to make amends for the years I have lost ; till there is no reasonable hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expence of the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 139 fallow? I forestall the answer— God's ways are myste- rious, and he giveth no account of his matters— an answer that would serve my purpose as well as theirs that use it. 'There is a mystery in my destruction, and in time it will be explained." I could easily, were it not a subject that would make us melancholy, point out to you some essential difference between the state of the person you mentioned and my own, which would prove mine to be by far the most de- plorable of the two. I suppose no man would despair if he did not apprehend something singular in the circum- stances of his own story, something that discriminates it from that of every other man, and that induces despair as an inevitable consequence. You may encounter his un- happy persuasion with as many instances as you please, of persons who, like him, having renounced all hope, were yet restored, and may thence infer that he, like them, shall meet with a season of restoration — but it is in vain. Every such individual accounts himself an exception to all rules, and, therefore, the blessed reverse that others have experienced, affords no ground of comfortable ex- pectation to him. But you will say, it is reasonable to conclude that as all your predecessors in this vale of misery and horror have found themselves delightfully dis- appointed, so may you. I grant the reasonableness of it; it would be sinful, perhaps, as well as uncharitable to reason otherwise; but an argument hypothetical in its nature, however rationally conducted, may lead to a false conclusion ; and in this instance so will yours. But I for- bear, and will say no more, though it is a subject on which I could write more than the mail could carry. I must deal with you as I deal with poor Mrs. Unwin, in all our disputes about it. Cutting all controversy short by the event." 140 THE L1F E OF WILLIAM COWPER. To a request from Mr. Newton that Cowper would favour the editor of the Theological Magazine with an occasional essay, he thus writes : — "I converse, you say, upon other subjects than that of despair, and may therefore write upon others. Indeed, my friend, I am a man of very little conversation upon any subject. From that of despair, I abstain as much as possible, for the sake of my company, but I will venture to say that it is never out of my mind one minute in the whole day. I do not mean to say that I am never cheerful. I am often so ; always, indeed, when my nights have been undisturbed for a season. But the effect of such continual listening to the language of a heart hopeless and deserted, is, that I can never give much more than half my attention to what is started by others, and very rarely start anything myself. You will easily perceive that a mind thus occupied, is but indifferently qualified for the consideration of theological matters. The most useful, and the most delightful topics of that kind, are to me forbidden fruit : I tremble as I ap- proach them. It has happened to me sometimes that I have found myself imperceptibly drawn in and made a party in such discourse. The consequence has been dis- satisfaction and self-reproach. You will tell me, perhaps, that I have written upon those subjects in verse, and may therefore in prose. But there is a difference. The search after poetical expression, the rhymes, and the numbers, are all affairs of some difficulty, they amuse indeed, but are not to be attained without study, and engross, perhaps, a larger share of the attention than the subject itself.'' In the spring of 1785, his friends became more sanguine in their expectations of his ultimate recovery, and they felt persuaded, it would take place at no very distant period. It appears also, by the following extract, that Cowper was not himself, wholly destitute of hope, on the subject. Writ- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 141 ing to Mr. Newton, he says : — " I am sensible of the ten- derness and affectionate kindness with which you recollect our past intercourse, and express your hopes of my future restoration. I too, within the last eight months, have had my hopes, though they have been of short duration, cut off; like the foam upon the waters. Some previous adjustments, indeed are necessary before a lasting expecta- tion of comfort can take place in me. There are those persuasions in my mind, which either entirely forbid the entrance of hope, or, if it enter, immediately eject it. They are incompatible with any such inmate, and must be turned out themselves before so desirable a guest can possibly have secure possession. This you, say, will be done. It may be ; but it is not done yet ; nor has a single step in the course of God's dealings with me been taken towards it. If I mend, no creature ever mended so slowly, that re- covered at last. I am like a slug, or a snail, that has fallen into a deep well ; slug as he is, he performs his descent with a velocity proportioned to his weight ; but he does not crawl up again quite so fast. Mine was a rapid plunge ; but my return to daylight, if I am indeed returning, is leisurely enough. Were I such as I once was, I should say that I have a claim upon your particular notice, which nothing ought to supersede. Most of your other connec- tions you may fairly be said to have formed by your own act; but your connection with me was the work of God. The kine that went up with the ark from Bathshemesh, left what they loved behind them, in obedience to an impression which to them was perfectly dark and unin- telligible. Your journey to Huntingdon was not less won- derful. He indeed, who sent you, knew well wherefore, but you knew not. That dispensation, therefore, would furnish me as long as we can both remember it, with a plea for some distinction at your hands, had I occasion to use 142 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. and urge it, which I have not. But I am altered since that time ; and if your affection for me had ceased, you might very reasonably justify your change by mine. I can say nothing for myself at present ; but this I can venture to foretel, that should the restoration of which my friends assure me obtain, I shall undoubtedly love those who have continued to love me, even in a state of transformation from my former self, much more than ever." It is gratifying to know, that, while such was the melancholy state of Cowper's mind, and while he steadily refused all religious comfort, come whence it might, he nevertheless afforded the most pleasing proofs by his amiable and consistent conduct, of the firm hold which re- ligion still had of his affections. The excellent remarks that are to be found in his letters, written at this period, show that he had some lucid intervals, and that occasional gleams of light shot across the darkened horizon of his mind. " It strikes me," (he says on one occasion), as a very observable instance of providential kindness to man, that such an exact accordance had been contrived between his ear and the sounds with which, at least in a rural situ- ation, it is almost every moment visited. All the world is sensible of the uncomfortable effect that certain sounds have upon the nerves, and consequently upon the spirits : and if a sinful world had been filled with such as would have curdled the blood, and have made the sense of hear- ing a perpetual inconvenience, I do not know that we should have had a right to complain. But now the fields, the woods, and the gardens, have each their concerts, and the ear of man is for ever regaled by creatures, who, while they please themselves, at the same time delight him. Even the ears that are deaf to the gospel, are continually entertained, though without appreciating it, by sounds, for THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 143 which they are solely indebted to its author. There is somewhere in infinite space, a world that does not roll within the precincts of mercy, and as it is reasonable, and even scriptural to suppose, that there is music in heaven, in these dismal regions perhaps the reverse of it is found ; tones so dismal, as to make woe itself more in- supportable, and even to acuminate despair." In a letter to Mr. Newton, the following serious reflec- tions occur : — " People that are but little acquainted with the terrors of divine wrath, are not much afraid of trifling with their Maker. But for my own part, I would sooner take Empledocles , leap, and fling myself into mount Etna, than I would do it in the slightest instance, were I in cir- cumstances to make an election. In the scripture we find a broad and clear exhibition of mercy, it is displayed in every page. Wrath is in comparison, but slightly touched upon, because it is not so much a discovery of wrath as of forgiveness. But had the displeasure of God been the principal subject of the book, and had it circumstantially set forth that measure of it only which may be endured in this life, the Christian world would perhaps, have been less comfortable; but I believe presumptuous meddlers with the gospel would have been less frequently met with." To Mr. Unwin he thus writes : — u Take my word for it, the word of a man singularly qualified to give his evidence in this matter, who having enjoyed the privilege some years, has been deprived of it more, and has no hope that he shall live to recover it. Those that have found a God, and are permitted to worship him, have found a treasure, of which, highly as they may prize it, they have but very scanty and limited conceptions. These are my Sunday morning speculations — the sound of the bells suggested them, or rather gave them such an emphasis, that they 144 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. forced their way into my pen in spite of me ; for though I do not often commit them to paper, they are never absent from my mind." " You express sorrow, that your love of Christ was ex- cited in you, by a picture. Could the most insignificant thing suggest to me the thought that Christ is precious, I would not despise the thought. The meanness of the in- strument cannot debase the nobleness of the principle. He that kneels to a picture of Christ is an idolater ; but he in whose heart, the sight of such a picture kindles a warm remembrance of the Saviour's suffering, must be a Christian. Suppose that I dream as Gardiner did, that Christ walks before me, that he turns and smiles upon me, and fills my soul with ineffable love and joy. Will a man tell me, that I am deceived, that I ought not to love or rejoice in him for such a reason, because a dream is merely a picture drawn upon the imagination ? I hold not with such divinity. To love Christ is the greatest dignity of man, be that affection wrought in him how it may." No person ever formed more correct views of what really constitutes Christianity than Cowper, nor could any one ever feel a greater aversion to a mere profession of it. In a letter to one of his correspondents, the following remarks occur : — " I say amen, with all my heart, to your observa- tions on religious characters, Men who profess themselves adepts in mathematical knowledge, in astronomy, or juris- prudence, are generally as well qualified as they would ap- pear. The reason may be, that they are always liable to detection, should they attempt to impose upon mankind, and therefore take care to be what they pretend. In re- ligion alone, a profession is often slightly taken up, and slovenly carried on, because forsooth, candour and charity require us to hope the best, and to judge favourably of our neighbour ; and because it is easy to deceive the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. J 45 ignorant, who are a great majority, upon this subject. Let a man attach himself to a particular party, contend furi- ously for what are properly called evangelical doctrines, and enlist himself under the banner of some popular preacher, and the business is done. Behold a Christian ! a saint ! a phoenix ! In the meantime perhaps his heart, his temper, and even his conduct, is unsanctified; possibly less exemplary than that of some avowed infidels. No matter, he can talk, he has the Bible in his pocket, and a head well stored with notions. But the quiet, humble, modest, and peaceable person, who is in his practice what the other is only in his profession, who hates a noise about religion, and therefore makes none, who, knowing the snares that are in the world, keeps himself as much out of it as he can, and never enters it but when duty calls, and even then with fear and trembling — is the Christian that will always stand highest in the estimation of those who bring all characters to the test of true wisdom, and judge of the tree by its fruits." In another letter, on a similar subject, he thus writes : — " It is indeed a melancholy consideration, that the gospel, whose direct tendency is to promote the happiness of man- kind in the present, as well as in the life to come, which so effectually answers the design of its author, whenever it is well understood and sincerely believed, should, through the ignorance, the bigotry, the superstition of its profes- sors, and the ambition of popes and princes, have produced incidentally so much mischief; only furnishing the world with a plausible pretext to worry each other, while they sanctified the worst cause with the specious pretext of zeal, for the furtherance of the best. Angels descend from heaven to publish peace between men and his Maker — the Prince of Peace himself comes to confirm and estab- lish it j and war, hatred, and desolation are the consequence. 146 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Thousands quarrel about the interpretation of a book, which none of them understand. He that is slain, dies firmly persuaded that the crown of martyrdom awaits him ; he that slew him, is equally convinced that he has done God service. In reality they are both mistaken and equally unentitled to the honour they have arrogated to themselves. If a multitude of blind men should set out for a certain city, and dispute about the right road till a battle ensued between them, the probable effect would be that none of them would ever reach it ; and such a fray, preposterous and shocking in the extreme, would exhibit a picture in some degree resembling the original of which we have been speaking. And why is not the world thus occupied at present? only because they have exchanged a zeal that was no better than madness for an indifference equally pitiable and absurd. The holy sepulchre has lost its im- portance in the eyes of nations, called Christians, not be- cause the light of true wisdom has delivered them from a superstitious attachment to the spot, but because he that was buried in it is no longer regarded by them as the Saviour of the world. The exercise of reason, enlightened by philosophy, has cured them indeed of the misery of an abused understanding, but together with the delusion they have lost the substance, and for the sake of the lies that were grafted upon it, have quarrelled with the truth itself. Here then we see the ne plus ultra of human wisdom, at least in affairs of religion. It enlightens the mind with respect to non-essentials, but with respect to that in which the essence of Christianity consists, leaves it perfectly in the dark. It can discover many errors that in different ages have disgraced the faith, but it is only to make way for one more fatal than them all, which represents that faith as a delusion. Why those evils have been permitted shall be known hereafter. One thing, in the meantime, is THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 147 certain, that the folly and frenzy of the professed disciples of the gospel, have been more dangerous to its interests, than all the avowed hostilities of its adversaries, and per- haps for this cause, these mischiefs might be suffered to prevail for a season, that its divine original and nature might be the more illustrated, when it should appear that it was able to stand its ground for ages, against that most formidable of all attacks — the indiscretion of its friends. The outrages that have followed this perversion of the truth, have proved, indeed a stumbling-block to indivi- duals ; the wise of this world, with all their wisdom, have not been able to distinguish between the blessing and the abuse of it. Voltaire was offended, and Gibbon has turned his back, but the flock of Christ is still „ nourished, and still increases, notwithstanding the unbelief of a philoso- pher is able to convert bread into a stone, and fish into a serpent." The following very serious reflections occur, in a letter to Mr. Newton, about this time, adverting to the sufferings of the poor at Olney, whose distressing circumstances on all occasions excited the tenderest sympathies of the poet : — " The winter sets in with great severity. The rigour of the season, and the advanced price of provisions, are very threatening to the poor. It is well with those that can feed upon a promise and wrap themselves up warm in the robe of salvation. A good fire-side and a well-spread table are but indifferent substitutes for these better accom- modations ; so very indifferent, that I would gladly'ex- change them both for the rags and the unsatisfied hunger of the poorest creature, that looks forward with hope to a better world, and weeps tears of joy in the midst of penury and distress. What a world is this ! How mysteriously governed, and, in appearance, left to itself. One man, having squandered thousands at a gaming-table, finds it l2 148 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. convenient to travel ; gives his estate to somebody to ma- nage for him ; amuses himself a few years in France and Italy; returns, perhaps, wiser than he went, having ac- quired knowledge, which, but for his follies, he would never have acquired ; again makes a splendid figure at home, shines in the senate, governs his country as its minister, is admired for his abilities, and if successful, adored, at least, by a party. When he dies he is praised as a demigod, and his monument records every thing but his vices. The exact contrast of such a picture is to be found in many cottages at Olney. I have no need to de- scribe them, you know the characters I mean ; they love God, they trust him, they pray to him in secret, and though he means to reward them openly, the day of recompence is delayed. In the meantime they suffer every thing that infirmity and poverty can inflict upon them. Who would suspect, that has not a spiritual eye to discern it, that the fine gentleman might possibly be one whom his Maker had in abhorrence, and the wretch last mentioned, dear to him as the apple of his eye ? It is no wonder that the world, who only look at things as they are connected with the present life, find themselves obliged, some of them at least, to doubt a providence, and others absolutely to deny it ; when almost all the real virtue there is to be found in it, exists in a state of neglected obscurity, and all the vices cannot exclude them from the privilege of worship and honour. But behind the curtain the matter will be ex- plained ; very little, however, to the satisfaction of the great." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 149 CHAPTER X. Publication of Cowper's second volume of poems — Manner in which it was received by the public — His feelings on the occasion — Great self-abasement — Renewal of his correspondence with Lady Hesketh — Acceptance of her proffered assistance — Her projected visit to Olney — Cowper's pleasing anticipations of its results — Her arrival — Cowper's removal from Olney to Weston — His intimacy with the Throckmortons — Happiness it afforded him. Cowper's second volume of poems, the publication of which had been delayed much longer than was expected, appeared, at length, in the summer of 1785. His first volume, though it had not met with that success which might have been expected, had nevertheless, been exten- sively circulated, and was spoken of highly by some of the first literary characters of the age. It had, therefore, raised the expectations of the public and had thus made way for its successor, which no sooner made its appearance than it was eagerly sought after, and met with a rapid and an extensive sale. High as had been the expectations of his friends, they fell far short of what he had accomplished in that brilliant display of real poetical talent every where to be found in the Task. The singularity of the title made its first appearance somewhat repulsive ; its various and matchless beauties were however soon discovered, and it speedily raised the reputation of Cowper to the highest summit of poetic genius, and placed him among: the first class of poets. 150 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. In a letter to Mr. Newton, he describes his feelings on this occasion, in such a manner as proves him to have been influenced by nothing like selfish or ambitious motives ; but by principles far more noble and exalted : — " I found your account of what you experienced in your state of maiden authorship very entertaining, because very natural. I suppose no man ever made his first sally from the press without a conviction that all eyes and ears would be engaged to attend him, at least without a thousand anxi- eties lest they should not. But, however arduous and interesting such an enterprise may be in the first instance, it seems to me that our feelings on the occasion soon be- come obtuse. I can answer at least for one. Mine are by no means what they were when I published my first volume. I am even so indifferent to the matter, that I can truly assert myself guiltless of the very idea of my book some- times for whole days together. God knows that my mind having been occupied more than twelve years in the con- templation of the most distressing subjects, the world, and its opinion of what I write, is become as unimportant to me as the whistling of a bird in a bush. Despair made amusement necessary, and I found poetry the most agree- able amusement. Had I not endeavoured to perform my best, it would not have amused me at all. The mere blotting of so much paper would have been but indifferent sport. God gave me grace also to wish that I might not write in vain. Accordingly I have mingled much truth with some trifle ; and such truths as deserved at least to be clad as well and as handsomely as I could clothe them. If the world approve me not, so much the worse for them, but not for me, I have only endeavoured to serve them, and the loss will be their own. And as to their commend- ations, if I should chance to win them, I feel myself equally THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 151 invulnerable there. The view that I have had of myself, for many years, has been so truly humiliating, that I think the praises of all mankind could not hurt me. God knows that I speak my present sense of the matter at least most truly, when I say, that the admiration of creatures like myself seems to me a weapon the least dangerous that my worst enemy could employ against me. I am fortified against it by such solidity of real self-abasement, that I deceive myself most egregiously, if I do not heartly despise it. Praise belongeth to God ; and I seem to myself to covet it no more than I covet divine honours. Could I assur- edly hope that God would at last deliver me, I should have reason to thank him for all that I have suffered, were it only for the sake of this single fruit of my affliction — that it has taught me how much more contemptible I am in myself than I ever before suspected, and has reduced my former share of self-knowledge (of which at that time I had a tolerable good opinion) to a mere nullity, in com- parison to what I have acquired since. Self is a subject of inscrutable misery and mischief, and can never be studied to so much advantage as in the dark; for as the bright beams of the sun seem to impart a beauty to the most unsightly objects, so the light of God's countenance, vouchsafed to a fallen creature, so sweetens him and softens him for the time, that he seems both to others and to him- self, to have nothing selfish or sordid about him. But the heart is a nest of serpents, and will be such while it con- tinues to beat. If God cover the mouth of that nest with his hand, they are hush and snug ; but if he withdraw his hand the whole family lift up their heads and hiss, and are as active and venomous as ever. This I always professed to believe from the time that I had embraced the truth, but I never knew it as I know it now. To what end I 152 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. have been made to know it as I do, whether for the benefit of others or for my own, or for both, or for neither, will appear hereafter." While Cowper looked upon his publication with so much indifference, his friends regarded it with very opposite feel- ings. Its rapid and extensive circulation, not only de- lighted those who were intimately associated with him, and had been witnesses to the acute anguish of his mind, during his depressive malady, but it also gratified several of his former associates and correspondents, and induced them to renew their communications with the poet. Among these was Lady Hesketh, who was so charmed with pro- ductions of his pen, that on her return from abroad, where she had spent several years with her husband, she renewed her correspondence with Cowper, and as she was now a widow and was handsomely provided for, she generously offered to render him any assistance he might want. Cow- per's reply to an affectionate letter she wrote him, shows the warmth of his affection towards those whom he loved. He thus writes : — " My dear Cousin, It is no new thing for you to give pleasure. But I will venture to say that you do not often give more than you gave me this morn- ing. When I came down to breakfast and found on the table, a letter franked by my uncle, and when opening that frank, I found that it contained a letter from you, I said within myself, This is just as it should be. We are all grown young again, and the days that I thought I should see no more are actually returned. You perceive, therefore, that you judged well when you conjectured that a line from you would not be disagreeable to me. It could not be otherwise than as in fact it has proved, a most agreeable surprise. For I can truly boast of an affection for you that neither years nor intercepted intercourse have at all abated. I need only recollect how much I valued you THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 53 once, and with how much cause, immediately to feel a re- vival of the same value ; if that can be said to revive, which at the most has only been dormant for want of em- ployment. But I slander it when T say that it has slept. A thousand times have I recollected a thousand scenes, in which our two selves have formed the whole of the drama, with the greatest pleasure at times too, when I had no reason to suppose that I should ever hear from you again. The hours that I have spent with you, were among the pleasantest of my former days, and are therefore chronicled in my mind so deeply as to fear no erasure. You say that you have often heard of me ; that puzzles me. I cannot imagine from what quarter; but it is no matter. I must tell you however, my dear cousin, that your information has been a little defective. That I am happy in my situa- tion is true ; I live, and have lived these twenty years, with Mrs. Unwin, to whose affectionate care of me, during the far greater part of that time, it is, under Divine Pro- vidence owing that I live at all. But I do not account myself happy in having been for thirteen of those years in a state of mind that has made all that care and attention necessary. An attention and a care, that have injured her health, and which, had she not been uncommonly sup- ported, must have brought her to the grave. But I will pass to another subject; it would be cruel to particularize only to give pain, neither should I by any means give a sable hue to the first letter of a correspondence so unex- pectedly renewed. I must, however, tell you, my dear cousin, that dejection of spirits, which, I suppose, may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, has made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly employed. Manual occupations do not engage the mind sufficiently, as I know by experience, having tried many. But composition, espc- 154 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. cially of verse, absorbs it wholly. I write therefore generally three hours in the morning, and in the evening I transcribe. I read also, but less than I write, for I must have bodily exercise, and therefore never pass a day without it. " I do not seek new friends, not being altogether sure that I should find them, but have unspeakable pleasure in being beloved by an old one. J hope that our correspond- ence has now suffered its last interruption, and that we shall go down together to the grave, chattering and chirp- ing as happily as such a scene as this will permit. T am happy that my poems have pleased you. My volume has afforded me no such pleasure at any time, either while I was writing it, or since its publication, as I have derived from yours and my uncle's favourable opinion respecting it. I make certain allowances for partiality, and for that peculiar quickness of taste, with w T hich you both relish what you like, and after all drawbacks upon those ac- counts, duly made, find myself rich in the measure of your approbation, that still remains. But above all I honour John Gilpin, since it was he who first encouraged you to write. I made him on purpose to laugh at, and he served his purpose well ; but I am now indebted to him for a more valuable acquisition than all the laughter in the world amounts to, the recovery of my intercourse with you, which is to me inestimable. I am glad that I always loved you as I did. It releases me from any occasion to suspect that my present affection for you is indebted for its ex- istence to any selfish considerations. No, I am sure I love you disinterestedly, and for your own sake, because I never thought of you with any other sensations, than those of the truest affection, even while I was under the persuasion, that I should never hear from you again. But with my present feelings superadded to those that I always had for you, I find it no easy matter to do justice to my sensa- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 155 tions. I perceive myself in a state of mind, similar to that of the traveller described in Pope's Messiah, who, as he passes through a sandy desert, starts at the sudden and unexpected sound of a water-fall. Your very generous offer of assistance has placed me in a situation new to me, and in which I feel myself somewhat puzzled how to be- have. When I was once asked if I w r anted any thing, and given delicately to understand that the inquirer was ready to supply all my occasions, I thankfully and civilly, but positively declined the favour. I neither suffer nor have suffered such inconveniences, as I had not much rather endure, than come under an obligation to a person, who is almost a stranger to me. But to you I answer otherwise. I know you thoroughly, and the liberality of your disposi- tion, and have that consummate confidence in the sincerity of your wish to serve me, that delivers me from all awk- ward constraint, and from all fear of trespassing by ac- ceptance. To you therefore I reply, yes. Whensoever and whatsoever, and in what manner soever, you please, and add moreover, that my affection for the giver is such as will increase to me tenfold the satisfaction I shall have in receiving. You must not, however, strain any points to your own inconvenience or hurt ; there is no need of it ; but indulge yourself in communicating (no matter what) that you can spare without missing it, since by so doing you will be sure to add to the comforts of my life, one of the sweetest that I can enjoy— -a token and a proof of your affection. At the same time that I would not grieve you by putting a check upon your bounty, I would be as careful not to abuse it, as if I were a miser, and the ques- tion were, not about your money but my own." The happiest consequences resulted from the renewal of Cowpers correspondence with this accomplished and ex- cellent lady. After an interchange of some of the most 156 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. interesting letters that were ever written, she proposed at length to pay the sequestered poet a visit at Olney, and made arrangements accordingly. The following extracts from Cowper's letters to her on this accasion will be read with pleasure, as a faithful record of the delight he antici- pated from this interview : — "I have been impatient to tell you, that I am impatient to see you again. Mrs. Unwin partakes with me in all my feelings. Let me assure you, 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, every thing that I have described. I anticipate the pleasure of those days not very far distant, and feel a part of it this moment. My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May or the 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 nets, and spread the floor with mats; and there you shall sit, with abed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine ; and I will make you a bouquet of myrtle every day. We now talk of nobody but you — what we will do with you when we get you, where you shall walk, where you shall sleep, in short every thing that bears the remotest relation to your well-being at Olney occupies all our talking time, which is all that I do not spend at Troy. Mrs. Unwin has already secured for you an apartment, or rather two, just such as we could wish. The house in which you will find them is within thirty yards of our own, and opposite to it. The whole affair is thus commodiously adjusted; and now I have nothing to do but to wish for June ; and June, my cousin, was never so wished for since June was made. I shall have a thousand things to hear, and a thousand to THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ] 57 say, and they will all rush into my mind together, till it will be so crowded with things impatient to be said, that for some time I shall say nothing. But no matter — sooner or later they will all come out. After so long a separation, a separation, which of late seemed so likely to last for life, we shall meet each other as alive from the dead ; and, for my own part, I can truly say, that I have not a friend in the other world whose resurrection would give me greater pleasure. " " If you will not quote Solomon, my dearest cousin, I will. He says, and as beautifully as truly, ' Hope deferred maketh the heart sick, but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life !' I feel how much reason he had on his side when he made this observation, and am myself really sick of your delay. Well, the middle of June will not always be a thousand years off; and when it comes, I shall hear you, and see you too, and shall not care a single farthing if you do not touch a pen for a month. From this very morning, 15th May, 1786, I begin to date the last month of our long separation ; and confidently, and most com- fortably hope, that before the fifteenth of June shall pre- sent itself, we shall have seen each other. Is it not so? and will it not be one of the most extraordinary eras of my extraordinary life ? A year ago we neither corresponded, nor expected to meet in this world. But this world is a scene of marvellous events, many of them more marvellous than fiction itself would dare to hazard; (blessed be God!) they are not all of the distressing kind. Now and then, in the course of an existence, whose hue is for the most part sable, a day turns up that makes amends for many sighs, and many subjects of complaint. Such a day shall I ac- count the day of your arrival at Olney. Wherefore is it (canst thou tell me) that, together with all these delightful sensations, to which the sight of a long absent dear friend 158 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. gives birth, there is a mixture of something painful, flutter- ings and tumults, and I know not what accompaniments of our pleasure, that are in fact perfectly foreign from the occasion ? Such I feel when I think of our meeting, and such, I suppose, feel you; and the nearer the crisis ap- proaches, the more I am sensible of them. I know before- hand that they will increase with every turn of the wheels that shall convey you to Olney; and when we actually meet, the pleasure, and this unaccountable pain together, will be as much as I shall be able to support. I am utterly at a loss for the cause, and can only resolve it into that appointment, by which it has been foreordained that all human delights shall be qualified and mingled with their contraries. But a fig; for them all! Let us resolve to combat with, and to conquer them. They are dreams ; they are illusions of the judgment. Some enemy that hates the happiness of human kind, and is ever industrious to dash, if he cannot destroy it, works them in us, and they being so perfectly unreasonable as they are, is a proof of it. Nothing that is such can be the work of a good agent. This I know too by experience, that, like all other illusions, they exist only by force of imagination, are in- debted for their prevalence to the absence of their object, and in a few moments after their appearance cease. So then this is a settled point, and the case stands thus. You will tremble as you draw near to Olney, and so shall I ; but we will both recollect that there is no reason why we should, and this recollection will, at least, have some little effect in our favour. We will likewise both take the com- fort of what we know to be true, that the tumult will soon cease, and the pleasure long survive the pain, even as long, I trust, as we ourselves shall survive it. Assure your- self, my dear cousin, that both for your sake, since you make a point of it, and for my own, I will be as philoso- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. J59 phically careful as possible, that these fine nerves of mine shall not be beyond measure agitated when you arrive. In truth, there is a much greater probability that they will be benefited, and greatly too. Joy of heart, from whatever occasion it may arise, is the best of all nervous medicines ; and I should not wonder, if such a turn given to my spirits should have even a lasting effect, of the most advantageous kind, upon them. You must not imagine neither, that I am, on the whole, in any great degree, subject to nervous affections : occasionally I am, and have been these many years, much liable to dejection ; but, at intervals, and sometimes for an interval of weeks, no creature would suspect it. For I have not, that which commonly is a symptom of such a case belonging to me : I mean occa- sional extraordinary elevation. When I am in the best health, my tide of animal sprightliness flows with great equality, so that I am never, at any time, exalted in pro- portion as I am sometimes depressed. My depression has a cause, and if that cause were to cease, I should be as cheerful thenceforth, and perhaps for ever, as any man need be." " Your visit is delayed too long, to my impatience, at least it seems so, who find ths spring, backward as it is, too forward, because many of its beauties will have faded before you will have an opportunity to see them. We took our customary walk yesterday, and saw, with regret, the la- burnums, syringas, and guelder roses, some of them blown, and others just upon the point of blowing, and could not help observing, that all these will be gone before Lady Hesketh comes. Still, however, there will be roses, and jasmine, and honey-suckle, and shady walks, and cool al- coves, and you will partake them with us. But I want you to have a share of every thing that is delightful here, and cannot bear that the advance of the season should 160 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. steal away a single pleasure before you come to enjoy it. I will venture to say, that even you were never so much expected in your life." u I regret that I have made your heart ache so often, my dear cousin, with talking about my fits of dejection. Some- thing has happened that has led me to the subject, or I would have mentioned them more sparingly. Do not sup- pose that I treat you with reserve; there is nothing in which I am concerned that you shall not be made ac- quainted with. But the tale is too long for a letter : I will only add, for your present satisfaction, that the cause is not exterior, that it is not within the reach of human aid, and that yet I have a hope myself, and Mrs. Unwin a strong persuasion of its removal. I am indeed even now, and have been for a considerable time, sensible of a change for the better, and expect, with good reason, a comfortable lift from you. Guess then, my beloved cousin, with what wishes I look forward to the time of your arrival, from whose coming I promise myself not only pleasure, but peace of mind, at least an additional share of it. At present it is an uncertain and transient guest with me; but the joy with which I shall see, and converse with you, at Olney, may, perhaps, make it an abiding one." It is seldom that pleasure, anticipated with such warmth of feeling, fully answers our expectations. Human en- joyments almost invariably seem much more valuable in prospect than in possession. Cowper's interview with his cousin, however, was altogether an exception, and proved a source of more real delight to both parties than either of them had expected. As might naturally be supposed, after a separation of three-and-twenty years, they both ex- perienced the full force of those emotions, which Cowper had so well described in his letters, and their first meeting was, indeed, painfully pleasing ; every sensation, however, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 161 that was in any degree painful, soon subsided, and gave place to such only as were pure and delightful. Mrs. Unwin was pleased with the sweetness of temper, agree- able manners, and cheerful conversation of Lady Hesketh, and her ladyship was no less delighted with the mild, ami- able, and affectionate conduct of her new companion ; while Cowper's heart was gladdened to have the advantage of daily intercourse with another highly cultivated mind." The happy effect this change had upon Cowper's spirits will be seen by the following extracts from his correspond- ence : — " My dear cousin's arrival, as it could not fail to do, has made us happier than we ever were at Olney. Her great kindness, in giving us her company, is a cordial that I shall feel the effect of, not only while she is here, but while I live. She has been with us a fortnight. She pleases every body, and is, in her turn, pleased with every thing she finds here ; is always cheerful and good tempered; and knows no pleasure equal to that of communicating pleasure to us, and to all around her. This disposition in her is the more comfortable, because it is not the humour of the day, a sudden flash of benevolence and goodness, oc- casioned merely by a change of scene, but it is her natural turn, and has governed all her conduct ever since I knew her first. We are consequently happy in her society, and shall be happier still to have you partake with us in our joy. I am fond of the sound of bells, but was never more pleased with those of Olney than when they rang her into her new habitation. She is, as she ever was, my pride and my joy ; and I am delighted with every thing that means to do her honour. Her first appearance was too much for me ; my spirits, instead of being gently raised, broke down with me, under the pressure of too much joy, and left me flat, or rather melancholy, throughout the day, to a degree that was mortifying to myself, and alarming to M 162 ^HE LIFE »F WILLIAM COWPER. her. But I have made amends for this torture since : and, in point of cheerfulness, have far exceeded her expectations, for she knew that sable had been my suit for many years. By :.-: irlp we get change of air and of scene, though still resident at Olney ; and by her means, have intercourse with some families in this country, with whom, but for b could never have been acquainted. Her presence here would at anytime, even in her happiest days, have been a comfort to me ; but in the present day I am doubly sensible of its value. She leaves nothing- unsaid, nothing undone, that she thinks will be conducive to our well being; and so far as she is concerned, I have nothing to wish, but that I could believe her sent hither in mercy to myself; then I shoald be thankful." Lady Hesketh had not long been at Olney before she became dissatisfied with the poet's residence. She thought it a situation altogether unsuitable for a person subject to depression. Cowper himself had often entertained the same opinion respecting it ; and both he and Mrs. Unwin had frequently wished for a change, and had, indeed, been looking out for a house more agreeable to their taste. At that time a very commodious cottage, pleasantly situated in the village of Weston Underwood, a mile and a half distant from Olney, belonging to Sir John Throckmorton, was un- occupied. It occurred to Cowper, that this would be a very agreeable summer residence for his cousin ; and on his mentioning it to her, she immediately engaged it, not for herself only, but for the future residence of the poet and his amiable companion, with whom she had now made up her mind to become a frequent, if not a constant asso- 7 Th e i : H : : g extracts will best describe Cowper's feelings on this occasion : — "I shall now communicate news that will give you pleasure. When you first contem- plated the front of our abode, you were shocked. In your THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 163 eyes it had the appearance of a prison, and you sighed at the thought that your mother lived in it. Your view of it was not only just, but prophetic. It had not only the aspect of a place built for the purposes of incarceration, but has actually served that purpose, through a long, long period, that we have been the prisoners ; but a gaol deli- very is at hand. The bolts and bars are to be loosed, and we shall escape. A very different mansion, both in point of appearance and accommodation, expects us; and the expense of living in it w T ill not be much greater than we are subjected to in this. It is situated at Weston, one of the prettiest villages in England, and belongs to Mr. Throckmorton, afterwards Sir John Throckmorton. We all three dine with him to-day by invitation, and shall survey it in the afternoon, point out the necessary repairs and finally adjust the treaty. I have my cousin's promise that she will never let another year pass without a visit to us, and the house is large enough to take us, and our suite, and her also, with as many of her's as she shall choose to bring. The change will, I hope, prove advantageous, both to your mother and to me, in all respects. Here we have no neighbourhood ; there we shall have much agreeable neighbours in the Throckmortons. Here we have a bad air in the winter, impregnated with the fishy smelling fumes of the marsh miasma; there we shall breathe in an atmosphere untainted. Here we are confined from Sep- tember to March, and sometimes longer ; there we shall be upon the very verge of pleasure grounds, upon which we can always ramble, and shall not wade through almost im- passable dirt to get at them. Both your mother's consti- tution and mine have suffered materially by such close and long confinement; and it is high time, unless we intend to retreat into the grave, that we should seek out a more wholesome residence. So far is well; the rest is left to Heaven." m 2 164 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. To his friend Mr. Newton, he thus writes : — " You have heard of our intended removal. The house that is to re- ceive us is in a state of preparation, and when finished, will be both smarter and more commodious than our present abode. But the circumstance that recommends it chiefly is its situation. Long confinement in the winter, and indeed, for the most part in the autumn too, has hurt us both. A gravel walk, thirty yards long, affords but in- different scope to the locomotive faculty ; yet it is all that we have had to move in for eight months in the year, during thirteen years that I have been a prisoner. Had I been confined in the Tower, the battlements of it would have furnished me with a larger space. You say well, that there was a time when I was happy at Olney ; and I am now as happy at Olney, as I expect to be any where, without the presence of God. Change of situation is with me no otherwise an object, than as both Mrs. Unwin's health and my own happen to be concerned in it. We are both I believe partly indebted for our respective maladies, to an atmosphere encumbered with raw vapours, issuing from flooded meadows, and we have perhaps fared the worse for sitting so often, and sometimes for several suc- cessive months, over a cellar, filled with water. These ills we shall escape in the uplands ; and as we may reasonably hope, of course, their consequences. But as for happiness, he that once had communion with his Maker, must be more frantic than ever I was yet, if he can dream of finding it at a distance from him. I no more expect happiness at Wes- ton than here, or than I should expect it in company with felons and outlaws in the hold of a ballast-lighter. Animal spirits, however, have their value, and are especially de- sirable to him who is condemned to carry a burden which at any rate will tire him, but which without their aid, can- not fail to crush him." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 165 On the 15th November, 1786, Cowper entered upon his new abode. The following extracts from his letters de- scribe his sensations on the occasion : — " There are some things that do not exactly shorten the life of man, yet seem to do so, and frequent removals from place to place are of that number. For my own part, at least, I am apt to think, if I had been more stationary, I should seem to myself to have lived longer. My many changes of habitation have divided my time into many short periods • and when I look back upon them they appear only as the stages of a day's journey, the first of which is at no great distance from the last. I lived longer at Olney than any where. There in- deed I lived till mouldering walls and a tottering house warned me to depart. I have accordingly taken the hint, and two days since arrived, or rather took up my abode, at Weston. You perhaps have never made the experiment, but 1 can assure you that the confusion that attends a transmi- gration of this kind is infinite, and has a terrible effect in deranging the intellect. When God speaks to a chaos, it becomes a scene of order and harmony in a moment ; but when his creatures have thrown one house into confusion by leaving it, and another by tumbling themselves and their goods into it, not less than many days' labour and contri- vance are necessary to give them their proper places. And it belongs to furniture of all kinds, however convenient it may be in its place, to be a nuisance out of it. We find ourselves here in a comfortable house. Such it is in itself; and my cousin, who has spared no expence in dressing it up for us, has made it a genteel one. Such, at least, it will be, when its contents are a little harmonized. She left us on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, Mrs. Unwin and I took possession of our new abode. I could not help giving a last look to my old prison, and its precincts ; and though I cannot easily account for it, having been miserable there ]Q6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. so many years, felt something like a heart-ache, when I took my leave of a scene, that certainly in itself had nothing to engage affection. But I recollected that I had once been happy there, and could not, without tears in my eyes, bid adieu to a place in which God had so often found me. The human mind is a great mystery ; mine, at least, ap- pears to be such upon this occasion. I found that I not only had a tenderness for that ruinous abode, because it had once known me happy in the presence of God, but that even the distress I had there suffered, for so long a time, on account of his absence, had. endeared it to me as much. I was weary of every object, had long wished for a change, yet could not take leave without a pang at parting. What consequences are to attend our removal, God only knows. I know well that it is not in the power of situation to effect a cure of melancholy like mine. The change, however, has been entirely a providential one ; for much as I wished it, I never uttered that wish, except to Mrs. Unwin. When I learned that the house was to be let, and had seen it, I had a strong desire that Lady Hesketh should take it for herself, if she should happen to like the country. That desire, indeed, is not exactly fulfilled, and yet, upon the whole, is exceeded. We are the tenants ; but she assures us that we shall often have her for a guest, and here is room enough for us all. You, I hope, my dear friend, and Mrs. Newton, will want no assurances to convince you that you will always be received here with the sincerest welcome, more welcome than you have been you cannot be, but better accommodated you may and will be." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. J 67 CHAPTER XI. Extracts from his correspondence — Description of the deep seriousness that generally pervaded his mind — His remarks to justify his re- moval from Olney — Vindicates himself and Mrs. Unwin from unjust aspersions — Reasons for undertaking the translation of Homer — His opinion of Pope's — Unremitting attention to his own — Immense pains he bestowed upon it — His readiness to avail himself of the assistance of others — Vexation he experienced from a multiplicity of critics — Just remarks upon criticism — Determi- nation to persevere in his work — Justifies himself for undertaking it — Pleasure he took in relieving the poor — Renewal of his cor- respondence with General Cowper and the Rev, Dr. Bagot — Con- solatory letter to the latter. The extracts we have already made from Cowper's cor- respondence prove, unquestionably, that the leading bias of his mind was towards the all-important concerns of religion. As an exhibition, however, of the state of his mind in this respect, at least, up to the close of 1786, the period of his removal to Weston, we think the fol- lowing extracts cannot fail to be interesting. To Mr. Newton he writes as follows: — " Those who enjoy the means of grace, and know how to use them well, will thrive anywhere ; others no where. More than a few, who were formerly ornaments of this garden, which you once watered, here flourished, and have seemed to wi- ther, and become, as the apostle James strongly expresses it — twice dead — plucked up by the roots; others trans- planted into a soil, apparently less favourable to their growth, either find the exchange an advantage, or at least, 168 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. are not injured by it. Of myself, who had once both leaves and fruit, but who have now neither, I say nothing, or only this — that when I am overwhelmed with despair, I repine at my barrenness, and think it hard to be thus blighted ; but when a glimpse of hope breaks in upon me, I am then contented to be the sapless thing I am, knowing that he who has commanded me to wither, can command me to flourish again when he pleases. My experiences, however, of this latter kind, are rare and transient. The light that reaches me cannot be compared either to that of the sun, or of the moon ; it is a flash in a dark night, during which the heavens seem opened only to shut again. 1 should be happy (and when I say this, I mean to be un- derstood in the fullest and most emphatical sense of the word) if my frame of mind were such as to permit me to study the important truths of religion. But Adam's ap- proach to the tree of life, after he had sinned, was not more effectually prohibited by the flaming sword that turned every way, than mine to its great Antitype has been now almost these thirteen years, a short interval of three or four days, which passed about this time twelvemonth, alone excepted. For what reason I am thus long excluded, if I am ever again to be admitted, is known to God only. I can say but this, that if he is still my father, his paternal severity has, toward me, been such as to give me reason to account it unexampled. For though others have suffered deser- tion, yet few, I believe, for so long a time, and perhaps none a desertion accompanied with such experience. But they have this belonging to them : that as they are not fit for recital, being made up merely of infernal ingredients, so neither are they susceptible of it, for I know no language in which they could be expressed. They are as truly things which it is not possible for man to utter, as those were which Paul heard and saw in the third heaven. If THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 169 the ladder of Christian experience reaches, as I suppose it does, to the very presence of God, it has nevertheless its foot in the abyss. And if Paul stood, as no doubt he did, on the topmost stave of it, I have been standing, and still stand, on the lowest, in this thirteenth year that has passed since I descended. In such a situation of mind, encom- passed by the midnight of absolute despair, and a thousand times filled with unspeakable horror, I first commenced an author. Distress drove me to it ; and the impossibility of existing without some employment, still recommends it. I am not, indeed, so perfectly hopeless as I was, but I am equally in need of an occupation, being often as much, and sometimes even more, worried than ever. I cannot amuse myself as I once could with carpenters' or with gardeners* tools, or with squirrels and guinea-pigs. At that time I was a child ; but since it has pleased God, whatever else he withholds from me, to restore to me a man's mind, I have put away childish things. Thus far, therefore, it is plain that I have not chosen, or prescribed to myself, my own way, but have been providentially led to it ; perhaps I might say, with equal propriety, compelled and scourged into it: for certainly could I have made my choice, or were I permitted to make it even now, those hours which I spend in poetry I would spend with God. But it is evi- dently his will that I should spend them as I do, because every other way of employing them he himself continues to make impossible. The dealings of God with me are to myself utterly unintelligible. I have never met, either in books, or in conversation, with an experience at all similar to my own. More than twelve months have now passed since I began to hope, that having walked the whole breadth of the bottom of this Red Sea, I was beginning to climb the opposite shore, and I prepared to sing the song of Moses. But I have been disappointed ; those hopes 170 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. have been blasted ; those comforts have been wrested from me. I could not be so duped even by the arch-enemy himself as to be made to question the divine nature of them, but I have been made to believe (which you will say is being duped still more) that God gave them to me in derision, and took them away in vengeance. Such, how- ever, is, and has been my persuasion many a long day ; and when I shall think on this subject more comfortably, or as you will be inclined to tell me, more rationally and scripturally, I know not. In the meantime I embrace, with alacrity, every alleviation of my case, and with the more alacrity, because, whatever proves a relief of my distress is a cordial to Mrs. Unwin, whose sympathy with me, through the whole of it, has been such, that, despair excepted, her burthen has been as heavy as mine." Some of his friends, and Mr. Newton among the rest, on being apprized of his intended removal from Olney, ex- pressed apprehensions that it would introduce him to com- pany, uncongenial to his taste, if not detrimental to his piety. Adverting to these objections, he thus writes to his esteemed correspondent: — " If in the course of such an occupation as I have been driven to by despair, or by the inevitable consequence of it, either my former connections are revived, or new ones occur, these things are as much a part of the dispensation of Providence as the leading points themselves. If his purposes in thus directing me are gracious, he will take care to prove them such in the issue • and, in the meantime, will preserve me (for he is able to do that, in one condition of life as well as in another) from all mistakes that might prove pernicious to myself, or give reasonable offence to others. I can say it, as truly as it was ever spoken, Here I am ; let him do with me as seemeth to him good. At present, however, I have no con- nections, at which either you, I trust, or any who love me, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 171 and wish me well, have occasion to conceive alarm. Much kindness indeed I have experienced at the hands of several, some of them near relations, others not related to me at all, but I do not know that there is among them a single person from whom I am likely to catch contamination. I can say of them all, with more truth than Jacob uttered, when he called kid venison, " The Lord thy God brought them unto me." I could shew you among them two men, whose lives, though they have but little of what we call evan- gelical light, are ornaments to a Christian country, men who fear God more than some who profess to love him. But I will not particularize further on such a subject. Be they what they may, our situations are so distant, and we are likely to meet so seldom, that were they, as they are not, persons even of exceptionable manners, their manners would have little to do with me. We correspond, at pre- sent, only on the subject of what passed at Troy three thousand years ago ; and they are matters that, if they can do no good, will at least hurt nobody." "Your letter to Mrs. Unwin concerning our conduct, and the offence taken at it in our neighbourhood, gave us both a great deal of concern, and she is still deeply affected by it. Of this you may assure yourself, that if our friends in London have been grieved, it is because they have been misinformed, which is the more probable, because the bearers of intelligence hence to London are not always very scrupulous concerning the truth of their reports ; and that if any of our serious neighbours have been astonished, they have been so without the slightest occasion. Poor people are never well employed even when they judge one another ; but when they undertake to scan the motives, and estimate the behaviour, of those whom Providence has raised a little above them, they are utterly out of their province and their depth. They often see us get into 172 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Lady Hesketh's carriage, and rather uncharitably suppose that it always carries us into a scene of dissipation, which, in fact, it never does. We visit, indeed, at Mr. Throck- morton's, and at Gayhurst, rarely, however, at the latter, on account of the greater distance ; frequently, though not very frequently, at Weston, both because it is nearer, and because our business in the house, that is making ready for our reception, often calls us that way. What good we can get or can do in these visits, is another question, which they, I am sure, are not qualified to solve. Of this we are both sure, that under the guidance of Providence we have formed these connections, that we should have hurt the Christian cause rather than have served it, by a prudish abstinence from them ; and that St. Paul himself, con- ducted to them as we have been, would have found it ex- pedient to have done as we have done. It is always impossible to conjecture to much purpose, from the begin- nings of a providential event, how it will terminate. If we have neither received nor communicated any spiritual good at present, while conversant with our new acquaint- ance, at least no harm has befallen on either side ; and it were too hazardous an assertion, even for our censorious neighbours to make, that the cause of the gospel can never be served in any of our future interviews with them, be- cause it does not appear to have been served at present. In the mean time, I speak a strict truth as in the sight of God, when I say that we are neither of us at all more ad- dicted to gadding than heretofore. We both naturally love seclusion from company, and never go into it without putting a force upon our own dispositions ; at the same time I will confess, and you will easily conceive, that the melancholy incident to such close confinement as we have so long endured, finds itself a little relieved by such amuse- ments as a society so innocent affords. You may look THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 173 round the christian world, and find few, I believe, of our station, who have so little intercourse as we with the world, that is not christian. We place all the uneasiness that you have felt for us on the subject, to the account of that cordial friendship of which you have long given us a proof. But you may be assured, that notwithstanding all rumours to the contrary, we are exactly what we were when you saw us last : — I, miserable on account of God's departure from me, which I believe to be final ; and she seeking his return to me in the path of duty, and by con- tinual prayer." After the publication of Cowper's second volume of poems, and indeed, for some considerable time before its actual appearance, he was diligently engaged in producing a new translation of Homer's unrivalled poems. His rea- sons for undertaking a work of so great magnitude, and that required such immense labour : and the spirited man- ner with which he brought it to a close, shall be related as nearly as possible in his own words. Writing to Mr. Newton, he thus describes the commencement of this great undertaking : " I am employed in writing a narrative, but not so useful as that you have just published. Employ- ment, however, with the pen, is through habit become es- sential to my well being ; and to produce always original poems, especially of considerable length, is not so easy. For some weeks after I had finished the Task, and sent away the last sheet corrected, I was through necessity idle, and suffered not a little in my spirits for being so. One day, being in such distress of mind as was hardly support- able, I took up the Iliad ; and merely to direct attention, and with no more preconception of what I was then en- tering upon, than I have at this moment of what I shall be doing this day twenty years hence, translated the first twelve lines of it. The same necessity pressed me again, 174 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. I had recourse to the same expedient, and translated more. Every day bringing its occasion for employment with it, every day consequently added something to the work ; till at last I began to reflect thus : — The Iliad and the Odyssey together consists of about forty thousand verses. To trans- late these forty thousand verses will furnish me with occu- pation for a considerable time. I have already made some progress, and find it a most agreeable amusement. Homer, in point of purity, is a most blameless writer, and though he was not an enlightened man, has interspersed many great and valuable truths throughout both his poems. In short, he is in all respects a most venerable old gentleman, by an acqunintance with whom no man can disgrace him- self ; the literati are all agreed to a man, that although Pope has given us two pretty poems, under Homer's title, there is not to be found in them the least portion of Homer's spirit, nor the least resemblance of his manner. I will try, therefore, whether I cannot copy him more happily myself. I have at least the advantage of Pope's faults and failings, which like so many beacons upon a dangerous coast, will serve me to steer by, and will make my chance for success more probable, These, and many other con- siderations, but especially a mind that abhorred a vacuum as its chief bane, impelled me so effectually to the work, that ere long, I mean to publish proposals for a subscrip- tion of it, having advanced so far as to be warranted in doing so." In another letter to the same correspondent, the follow- ing just and critical remarks on Pope's translation occur. " Your sentiments of Pope's Homer agree perfectly with those of every competent judge with whom I have at any time conversed about it. I never saw a copy so unlike the original. There is not, I believe, in all the world to be found, an uninspired poem so simple as are both those of THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 175 Homer ; nor in all the world a poem more bedizened with ornaments than Pope's translation of them. Accordingly, the sublime of Homer in the hands of Pope becomes bloated and tumid, and his description tawdry. Neither had Pope the faintest conception of those exquisite discri- minations of character for which Homer is so remarkable. All his persons, and equally upon all occasions, speak in an inflated and strutting phraseology, as Pope has ma- naged them; although in the original, the dignity of their utterance, even when they are most majestic, consists prin- cipally in the simplicity of their sentiments, aud of their language. Another censure I must pass upon our Anglo- Grecian, out of many that obtrude themselves upon me, but for which I have now neither time nor room to spare, which is, that with all his great abilities, he was defective in his feelings to a degree, that some passages in his own poems make it difficult to acoount for. No writer more pathetic than Homer, because none more natural ; and because none less natural than Pope, in his version of Homer, therefore, than he, none less pathetic. One of the great faults of Pope's translation is, that it is licen- tious. To publish, therefore, a translation that should be at all chargeable with the same fault, would be useless. Whatever will be said of mine, when it does appear, it shall never be said that it is not faithful. I thank you heartily both for your wishes and prayers, that should a disappoint- ment occur, I may not be too much hurt by it. Strange as it may seem to say it, and unwilling as I should be to say it to any person less candid than yourself, I will ne- vertheless say that I have not entered upon this work, un- connected as it must needs appear with the cause of God, without the direction of his providence, nor have I been altogether unassisted by him in the performance of it. Time will show to what it ultimately tends. I am inclined 176 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. to think that it has a tendency, to which I myself am at present a perfect stranger. Be that as it may, he knows my frame, and will consider that I am dust, and dust too that has been so trampled under foot, and beaten, that a storm less violent than an unsuccessful issue of such a business might occasion, would be sufficient to blow me quite away. As I know not to what end this my present occupation may finally lead, so neither did I know when I wrote it, or at all suspect, one valuable end, at least, that was to be answered by the Task. It has pleased God to prosper it ; and being composed in blank verse, it is likely to prove as seasonable an introduction to a blank verse Homer, by the same hand, as any that could have been devised ; yet when I wrote the last line of the Task, I as little suspected that I should ever engage in a version of the old Asiatic tale, as you do now." Having undertaken a work that required so much labour, he bestowed upon it the utmost pains, and allowed nothing to divert his attention from it. In his correspondence the following remarks occur. " The little time that I can de- vote to any other purpose than that of poetry, is, as you may suppose, stolen. Homer is urgent; much is done, and much still remains undone, and no school-boy is more attentive to the performance of his daily task than I am. — In truth, my time is very much occupied ; and the more so, because I not only have a long and laborious work in hand, — for such it would prove at any rate, — but because I make it a point to bestow my utmost attention to it, and to give it all the finishing that the most scrupulous accuracy can command. As soon as breakfast is over, I retire to my nutshell of a summer-house, which is my verse manufac- tory, and here I abide seldom less than three hours, and not often more. In the afternoon I return to it again; and all the daylight that follows, except what is sometimes de- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 177 voted to a walk, is given to Homer. It is well for me, that a course which is now become necessary, is so much my choice. Assure yourself, therefore, that when at any time it happens that I am in arrears in my correspondence with you, neither neglect nor idleness is the cause. I have a daily occupation of forty lines to translate, a task which I never excuse myself from, when it is possible to perform it. Equally sedulous I am in the matter of transcribing, so that between both, my mornings and evenings are, for the most part, completely engaged. Add to this, that though my spirits are seldom so bad but I can write verse, they are often at so low an ebb as to make the production of a letter impossible. I am now in the twentieth book of Homer, and shall assuredly proceed, because the farther I go the more I find myself justified in the undertaking ; and in due time, if I live, shall assuredly publish. In the whole I shall have composed about forty thousand verses, about which forty thousand verses, I shall have taken great pains, on no occasion suffering a slovenly line to escape me. I leave you to guess, therefore, whether, such a labour once achieved, I shall not determine to turn it to some account, and to gain myself profit by it if I can ; if not, at least, some credit for my reward. Till I had made such a progress in my present undertaking as to put it out of all doubt, that, if I lived, I should proceed in, and finish it, I kept the mat- ter to myself. It would have done me little honour to have told my friends, that I had an arduous enterprize in hand, if afterwards I must have told them that I had drop- ped it. Knowing it to have been universally the opinion of the literati, ever since they have allowed themselves to consider the matter coolly, that a translation, properly so called, of Homer, is, notwithstanding what Pope has done, a desideratum in the English language ; it struck me that an attempt to supply the deficiency would be an honour- 178 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. able one, and having made myself, in former years, some what critically, master of the original, I was by this dou- ble consideration, induced to make the attempt myself. — I am now translating into blank verse the last book of the Illiad, and mean to publish by subscription. I wish that all English readers had an unsophisticated and unadulter- ated taste, and could relish real simplicity. But, I am well aware, that in this respect, I am under a disadvantage, and that many, especially many ladies, missing many pretty turns of expression that they have admired in Pope, will account my translation, in those particulars, defective. But, I comfort myself with the thought that in reality it is no defect ; on the contrary, that the want of all such em- bellishments as do not belong to the original, will be one of its principal merits, with persons really capable of relish- ing Homer. He is the best poet that ever lived for many reasons, but for none more than that majestic plainness that distinguishes him from all others. As an accomplished person moves gracefully without thinking of it, in like man- ner, the dignity of Homer seems to have cost him no labour. It was natural to him to say great things, and to say them well, and little ornaments were beneath his notice." The following extract will show that no person ever ap- peared before the public in a work of any literary import- ance, with more correct views of its legitimate claims under such circumstances. " I thank you for your friendly hints and precautions, and shall not fail to give them the guid- ance of my pen. I respect the public, and I respect myself, and had rather want bread than expose myself wantonly to the condemnation of either. I hate the affectation so frequently found in authors, of negligence and slovenliness, and in the present case am sensible how necessary it is to shun them, when I undertake the vast and invidious labour of doing better than Pope has done before me. I thank THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ]79 you for all that you have said and done in my cause, and before-hand for all that you shall say and do hereafter. I am sure that there will be no deficiency on your part. On my own part I assure you that no pains shall be wanted to make the work as complete as possible. I am now in a scene of perfect tranquillity and the profoundest silence, kicking up the dust of heroic narrative and besieging Troy again. I told you that I had almost finished the transla- tion of the Iliad, and I verily thought so. But I was never more mistaken. By the time when I had reached the end of the poem, the first book of my version was a twelve- month old. When I came to consider it, after having laid it by so long, it did not satisfy me ; I set myself to mend it, and did so. But still it appeared to me improvable, and that nothing would so effectually secure that point as to give the whole book a new translation. With the excep- tion of a very few lines, I have so done, and was never, in my life so convinced of the soundness of Horace's advice to publish nothing in haste ; so much advantage have I de- rived from doing that twice which I thought I had accom- plished notably at once. He, indeed, recommends nine years imprisonment of your verses before you send them abroad ; but the ninth part of that time, is, I believe, as much as there is need of to open a man's eyes upon his own defects, and to secure him from the danger of premature self-approbation. Neither ought it to be forgotten, that nine years make so wide an interval between the cup and the lip, that a thousand things may fall out between. New engagements may occur, which may make the finishing of that which a poet has begun impossible. In nine years he may rise into a situation, or he may sink into one, utterly incompatible with his purpose. His constitution may break in nine years, and sickness may disqualify him for improving what he enterprized in the clays of his health. — n 2 180 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. His inclination may change, and he may find some other employment more agreeable ; or another poet may enter upon the same work, and get the start of him. Therefore, my friend Horace, though I acknowledge your principle to be good, I must confess the practice you would ground it upon is carried to an extreme. The rigour that I exercised upon the first book, I intend to exercise upon all that fol- low, and have now actually advanced into the middle of the seventh, nowhere admitting more than one line in fifty of the first translation. You must not imagine that I had been careless and hasty in the first instance. In truth, 1 had not ; but, in rendering so excellent a poet as Homer into our language, there are so many points to be attended to, both in respect of language and numbers, that a first attempt must be fortunate indeed if it does not call aloud for a second. You saw the specimen, and you saw (1 am sure) one great fault in it ; T mean the harshness of some of the elisions. I do not altogether take the blame of these to myself, for into some of them I have been absolutely driven and hunted by a series of reiterated objections, made by a critical friend, whose scruples and delicacies teazed me almost out of all patience." With a view to make his translation as perfect as possi- ble, Cowper, before he committed it to the press, availed himself of the assistance of several eminent critics, from some of whom he derived considerable assistance, which, at every convenient opportunity, he very readily and grate- fully acknowledged. The remarks of others, however, to whose notice he had been persuaded to submit parts of his manuscript, were so frivolous and perfectly hypercritical, as to occasion him considerable vexation. Of this, the closing remarks of the last, and the whole of the following extract will afford ample proof. " The vexation and per- plexity that attends a multiplicity of criticisms by various THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 181 hands, many of which are sure to be futile, many of them unfounded, and some of them contradictory to others, is inconceivable, except by the author, whose ill-fated work happens to be the subject of them. This also appears to me self-evident, that if a work have passed under the re- view of one man of taste and learning, and have had the good fortune to please him, his approbation gives security for that of all others qualified like himself. I speak thus, after having just escaped such a storm of trouble, occa- sioned by endless remarks, hints, suggestions, and objec- tions, as drove me almost to despair, and to the very verge of a resolution to drop my undertaking for ever. With in- finite difficulty, I at last sifted the chaff from the wheat, availed myself of what appeared to me just, and rejected the rest, but not till the labour and anxiety had nearly un- done all that one judicious critic had been doing for me. — I assure you, I can safely say, that vanity and self-import- ance had nothing to do in all this distress that I suffered. It was merely the effect of an alarm that I could not help taking, when T compared the great trouble I had with a few lines only thus handled, with that which I foresaw such handling of the whole must necessarily give me. I felt beforehand that my constitution would not bear it. Though Johnson's friend has teased me sadly, I verily believe that I shall have no more such cause to complain of Mm. We now understand one another, and I firmly believe that I might have gone the world through before I had found his equal in an accurate and familiar acquaint- ance with the original. Though he is a foreigner, he has a perfect knowledge of the English language, and can con- sequently appreciate its beauties, as well as discover its defects. " The animadversions of the critic you sent me, hurt me more than they would have done, had they come from a ]32 TH E LI FE OF WILLIAM COWPER. person from whom I might have expected such treatment. In part they appeared to me unjust, and in part illnatured ; and, the man himself being an oracle in almost every body's account, I apprehended that he had done me much mis- chief. Why he says that the translation is far from exact is best known to himself. For I know it to be as exact as is compatible with poetry ; and prose translations of Homer are not wanted. The world has one already. I am greatly pleased with the amendments of a friend, to whom I sent a specimen, which he has returned amended with so much taste and candour, and accompanied with so many expres- sions of kindness, that it quite charmed me. He has chiefly altered the lines incumbered with elisions, and I will just take this opportunity to tell you, because I know you to be as much interested in what I write as myself, that some of the most offensive of these elisions were occasioned by mere criticism. I was fairly hunted into them by vexatious objections, made without end by , and his friends, and altered, and altered, till at last I scarcely cared how I altered. I am not naturally insensible, and the sensibilities I had by nature have been wonderfully enhanced by a long series of shocks, given to a frame of nerves that was never very athletic. I feel accordingly, whether painful or plea- sant, in the extreme ; am easily elevated, and easily cast down. The power of a critic freezes my poetical powers, and discourages me to such a degree, that makes me ashamed of my own weakness. Yet I presently recover my confidence again, especially when I have every reason to believe, as in the case you refer to, that a critic's cen- sures are harsh and unreasonable, and arise more from his own wounded and mortified feelings, than from any defect in the work itself." Notwithstanding the irritation produced in the mind of the poet by the trifling amendments and vexatious criticisms THE LIFEJOF WILLIAM COWPER. 183 of some whom he had been persuaded to consult, he never- theless persevered in the translation, with undiminished activity, and gave abundant proof that he possessed that real greatness of mind which alone could enable him to undertake and accomplish a work of so great magnitude. To Lady Hesketh he thus discloses the state of his mind in this respect. * Your anxious wishes for my success de- light me, and you may rest assured that I have all the ambition on the subject that you can wish me to feel. I more than admire my author. I often stand astonished at his beauties. I am for ever amused with the translation of him, and I have received a thousand encouragements : these are all so many happy omens, that I hope will be verified by the event. I am not ashamed to confess that, having commenced an author, I am most abundantly de- sirous to succeed as such. I have (what perhaps you little suspect me of) in my nature an infinite share of ambition. But with it, I have at the same time, as you will know, an equal share of diffidence. To this combination of opposite qualities it has been owing, that till lately, I stole through life without undertaking any thing, yet always wishing to distinguish myself. At last I ventured, ventured too in the only path that, at so late a period, was yet open to me, and am determined, if God have not determined otherwise, to work my way through the obscurity that has been so long my portion, into notice. Every thing, therefore, that seems to threaten this my favourite purpose, with disap- pointment, affects me severely. I suppose that all ambitious minds are in the same predicament. He who seeks distinc- tion must be sensible of dispprobation, exactly in the same proportion as he desires applause. I have thus, my dear cousin, unfolded my heart to you in this particular, without a speck of dissimulation. Some people, and good people too, would blame me, but you will not ; and they, I think, 184 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. would blame without just cause. We certainly do not honour God when we bury, or when we neglect to improve, as far as we can, whatever talent he may have bestowed upon us, whether it be little or much. In natural things, as well as spiritual, it is a never-failing truth, that to him who hath, (that is to him who employs what he hath dili- gently, and so as to increase it) more shall be given. Set me down, therefore, my dear cousin, for an industrious rhymer, so long as I shall have ability. For in this only way is it possible for me, so far as I can see, either to honour God, or to serve men, or even to serve myself." In reply to the apprehensions expressed by some of his correspondents, that the confinement and close application which this work necessarily required, would prove inju- rious to his health, and be likely to increase his depression, he made the following remarks. u You may well wonder at my courage, who have undertaken a work of such enor- mous length, you would wonder more if you knew I trans- lated the whole Iliad, with no other help than a Clavis. But I have since equipped myself for this immense jour- ney, and am revising the work in company with a good commentator. I thank you for the solicitude you express on the subject of my present studies. The work is un- doubtedly long and laborious, but it has an end, and pro- ceeding leisurely, with a due attention to air and exercise, it is possible that I may live to finish it. Assure yourself of one thing, that though to a bystander, it may seem an occupation surpassing the powers of a constitution never very athletic, and, at present, not a little the worse for wear, I can invent for myself no employment that does not exhaust my spirits more. I will not pretend to ac- count for this, I will only say that it is not the language of predilection for a favourite amusement, but that the fact is really so. I have ever found that those plaything avo- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEIt. 185 cations which one may execute almost without any atten- tion, fatigue me, and wear me away, while such as engage me much, and attach me closely, are rather serviceable to me than otherwise." During the whole of Cowper's residence at Olney, he retained the same sentiments of affectionate sympathy for the sufferings of the poor that he had evinced when he first came among them. And though he had experienced some painful proofs of their insensibility, ingratitude, and unkindness, yet his heart had often been made to rejoice with those, whom, either his own liberality, or the liberality of his friends had enabled him to relieve. Aware that it afforded him so much pleasure to be employed in com- municating happiness to others, his friends often placed at his disposal such things as they felt inclined to distribute. The following interesting extract from a letter to Mr. Un- win, proves how highly he was gratified in being thus benevolently employed. " I have thought with pleasure of the summer that you have had in your heart, while you have been employed in softening the severity of winter, in behalf of so many who must otherwise have been exposed to it. You never said a better thing in your life than when you assured Mr. of the expedience of a gift of bed- ding to the poor at Olney. There is no one article of this world's comforts, with which, as Falstaff says, they are so heinously unprovided. When a poor woman, and an honest one, whom we know well, carried home two pair of blankets, a pair for herself and husband, and a pair for her six children, that you kindly placed at my disposal, as soon as the children saw them, they jumped out of their straw, caught them in their arms, kissed them, blessed them, and danced for joy. An old woman, a very old one, the first night that she found herself so comfortably co- vered, could not sleep a wink, being kept awake by the 136 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. contrary emotions of transport on the one hand, and the fear of not being thankful enough on the other." After the publication of Cowper's second volume, and previous to his removal from Olney, he had renewed his correspondence with some relatives and friends with whom he had formerly been on terms of intimacy, but who seemed almost to have forgotten him, until the popularity of his publications arrested their attention. Among these were General Cowper, and Rev. Walter Bagot. Cowper's letters to the latter prove that his attachment to him was not slight and superficial, but deep and fervent. In February, 1786, it pleased God to deprive Mr. Bagot of his amiable and accomplished wife, who was respected and beloved by all who knew her. On this melancholy occasion Cowper wrote to him as follows : " Alas ! alas ! my dear, dear friend, may God himself comfort you ! I will not be so absurd as to attempt it. By the close of your letter, it should seem that in this hour of great trial, he withholds not his consolations from you. I know by experience that they are neither few nor small ; and though I feel for you as I never felt for man before, yet do I sincerely rejoice in this, that, whereas there is but one comforter in the uni- verse, under afflictions such as yours, you both know Him, and know where to seek Him. I thought you a man the most happily mated that I had ever seen, and had great pleasure in your felicity. Pardon me, if now I feel a wish, that, short as my acquaintance with her was, I had never seen her, I should then have mourned with you, but not as I do now. Mrs. Unwin also sympathizes with you most sincerely, and you neither are, nor will be soon forgotten, in such prayers as we can make. I will not detain you longer now, my poor afflicted friend, than to commit you to the mercy of God, and to bid you a sorrowful adieu. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ]87 May God be with you, my friend, and give you a just measure of submission to his will, the most effectual remedy for the evils of this changing scene. I doubt not that he has granted you this blessing already, and may he still continue it." 188 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. CHAPTER XII. Pleasure he enjoyed in his new residence — Sudden death of Mrs. Un- wind son — Cowper's distress on the occasion — Experiences a severe attack of illness — Is compelled to relinquish, for a time, his labours of translation — Mr. Rose's first visit to him — His sudden recovery — Manner of spending his time — Peculiarities of his case — Is dissuaded from resuming his translation — His determination to persevere in it — Applies to it with the utmost diligence — Great care with which he translated it — His admiration of the original — Providential preservation of Mrs. Unwin — His painful depression unremoved. By the end of November, 1786, Cowper was comfortably settled in his new residence at Weston. The house was delightfully situated, very near that of his friendly and accomplished landlord, Sir John Throckmorton, with whom he was now on terms of intimacy, and who had given him the full use of his spacious and agreeable pleasure grounds. This afforded him an opportunity, at almost all seasons, of taking that degree of exercise in the open air, which he always found so conducive to his health. The following extracts from his first letter to Lady Hesketh, after en- tering on his new abode, describes the state of his feelings, and proves how truly he enjoyed the change. " November 26, 1826. It is my birth-day, my beloved cousin, and I determine to employ a part of it that is not destitute of festivity, in writing to you. The dark thick fog that has obscured it, would have been a burthen to me at Olney, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 189 but here I have hardly attended to it. The neatness and snugness of our abode, compensates for all the dreariness of the season, and whether the ways are wet or dry, our house at least, is always warm and commodious. Oh ! for you my cousin, to partake of these comforts with us ! I will not begin already to tease you upon that subject, but Mrs. Unwin remembers to have heard from your own lips, that you hate London in the spring, perhaps, therefore, by that time, you may be glad to escape from a scene which will be every day growing more disagreeable, that you may enjoy the comforts of the Lodge. You well know that the best house has a desolate appearance unfurnished. This house accordingly, since it has been occupied by us, and our meubles, is as much superior to what it was when you saw it, as you can imagine ; the parlour is even elegant. When I say that the parlour is elegant, I do mean to insi- nuate that the study is not so. It is neat, warm, and silent, and a much better study than I deserve, if I do not produce in it an incomparable translation of Homer. I think every day of those lines of Milton, and congratulate myself on having obtained, before I am quite superannuated, what he seems not to have hoped for sooner." " And may at length my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage." " For if it is not a hermitage, at least it is a much better thing, and you must always understand, my dear, that when poets talk of cottages, hermitages, and such like things, they mean a house with six sashes in front, two comfortable parlours, a smart stair-case, and three bed- chambers, of convenient dimensions ; in short, exactly such a house as this." The Throckmortons continue the most obliging neigh- bours in the world. One morning last week, they both went with me to the cliffs — a scene, my dear, in which 190 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. you would delight beyond measure, but which you cannot visit except in the spring, or autumn. The heat of sum- mer and clinging dirt of winter would destroy you. What is called the cliff, is no cliff, nor at all like one, but a beau- tiful terrace, sloping gently down to the base, and from the brow of which, though it is not lofty, you have a view of such a valley, as makes that which you saw from the hills near Olney, and which I have had the honour to celebrate, an affair of no consideration." " Wintry as the weather is, do not suspect that it con- fines me. I ramble daily, and every day change my ramble. Wherever I go, I find short grass under my feet, and when I have travelled perhaps, five miles, come home with shoes not at all too dirty for a drawing room." Cowper was scarcely settled in his new abode, and had hardly had time to participate of its enjoyments, before an event occurred, which plunged both him and Mrs. Unwin into the deepest distress. It pleased God, who does every thing according to his will, with angels as well as with men, all whose dispensations, mysterious as some of them may appear, are conducted on principles of unerring wis- dom, and infinite benevolence, to remove from this scene of toil and labour, to regions of peace and happiness, Mrs. Unwin's son, in the prime of life, and in a manner the most sudden and unexpected. Cowper had always loved him as a brother, and had most unreservedly communi- cated his mind to him, on all occasions. Their attachment to each other was mutually strong, cordial, and affection- ate. The loss of such a friend could not fail to make a deep impression on the poet's mind, and the following ex- tracts will show how much he felt on the occasion. " I find myself here situated exactly to my mind. Weston is one of the prettiest villages in England, the walks about it arc at all seasons of the year delightful. We had just be- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 191 gun to enjoy the pleasantness of our new situation, to find at least as much comfort in it as the season of the year would permit, when affliction found us out in our retreat, and the news reached us of the death of Mr. Unwin. He had taken a western tour with Mr. Henry Thornton, and on his return, at Winchester, was seized with a putrid fever, which sent him to his grave. He is gone to it, however, though young, as fit for it as age itself could have made him. Regretted indeed, and always to be regretted, by those who knew him ; for he had every thing that makes a man valuable, both in his principles and in his manners, but leaving still this consolation to his surviving friends ; that he was desirable in this world, chiefly because he was so well prepared for a better." u The death of one whom I valued as I did Mr. Unwin, is a subject on which I could say much, and with much feeling. But habituated as my mind has been these many years to melancholy themes, I am glad to excuse myself the contemplation of them as much as possible. I will only observe that the death of so young a man, whom I saw so lately in good health, and whose life was so desir- able on every account, has something in it peculiarly dis- tressing. I cannot think of the widow and the children he has left without an heart ache that I remember not to have felt before. We may well say that the ways of God are mysterious : in truth they are so, and to a degree that only such events can give us any conception of. Mrs. Unwin's life has been so much a life of affliction, that whatever occurs to her in that shape, has not, at least, the terrors of novelty to embitter it. She is supported under this, as she has been under a thousand others, with a sub- mission of which I never saw her deprived for a moment." " Though my experience has long since taught me that this world is a world of shadows, and that it is the more ]92 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. prudent, as well as the more christian course, to possess the comforts that we find in it, as if we possessed them not, it is no easy matter to reduce this doctrine to practice. We forget that that God who gave them, may, when he pleases, take them away ; and that, perhaps, it may please him to take them away at a time when we least expect it, and are least disposed to part with them. Thus it has happened in the present case. There never was a moment in Unwin's life when there seemed to be more urgent want of him than the moment in which he died. He had at- tained to an age, when, if they are at any time useful, men become more useful to their families, their friends, and the world. His parish began to feel, and to be sensible of the value of his ministry; his children were thriving under his own tuition and management. The removal of a man in the prime of life, of such a character, and with such connec- tions, seems to make a void in society that can never be filled. God seemed to have made him just what he was, that he might be a blessing to others, and when the influ- ence of his character and abilities began to be felt, removed him. These are mysteries that we cannot contemplate without astonishment, but which will nevertheless be ex- plained hereafter, and must in the mean time, be revered in silence. It is well for Mrs. Unwin that she has spent her life in the practice of an habitual acquiescence in the dispensation of Providence, else I know that this stroke would have been heavier, after all, that she has suffered upon another account, than she could have borne. She derives, as she well may, great consolation from the thought that he lived the life, and died the death of a christian. The consequence is, if possible more certain than the most mathematical conclusion, that therefore he is happy." Cowper had scarcely given vent to his feelings on the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 193 melancholy occurrence of Mr. Unwin's decease, when he was himself again visited by severe indisposition. His depressive malady returned, with all its baleful conse- quences, and prevented him for more than six months, either from doing any thing with his translation of Homer, or carrying on his correspondence with his friends, or even from enjoying the conversation of those with whom he was most intimately associated, and whom he loved most affectionately. It is highly probable, that the painful feelings, occasioned by a too frequent recurrence to the ap- parently disastrous consequences, that must be the result of his friend's removal, occasioned this attack. His mind bore up under the first shock with comparative firmness, but his intense feelings, perhaps, pictured its remote ef- fects in colours much more gloomy than were ever likely to be realized. Such seems to have been the case with him at the death of his brother. He attended him in his dying hours, saw him gradually sink into the arms of death, ar- ranged all the affairs of his funeral, and then, when other persons less susceptible of feeling, would in all probability have forgotten the event, his apprehensive mind invested it with imaginary horrors that were to him insupportable. This affliction of Cowper's commenced in the early part of January, 1787. In his letters to his cousin, he thus adverts to the first symptoms of it. " I have had a little nervous fever lately that has somewhat abridged my sleep, and though I find myself better to-day than I have been since it seized me, yet I feel my head lightish, and not in the best order for writing.' 1 In the next letter to the same correspondent, written about a week afterwards — the last he wrote to any of his correspondents until his re- covery, he again adverts to the progress of his complaint. " I have been so much indisposed with the nervous fever, that I told you in my last had seized me, my nights, during o 194 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. the whole week, may be said to have been almost sleepless. The consequence has been that, except the translation of about thirty lines at the conclusion of the thirteenth book, I have been forced to abandon Homer entirely. This was a sensible mortification to me as you may suppose, and felt the more, because my spirits of course failing with my strength, I seemed to have peculiar need of my old amuse- ment. It seemed hard, therefore, to be forced to resign it, just when I wanted it most. But Homer's battles cannot be fought by a man who does not sleep well, and who has not some little degree of animation in the day time. Last night, however, quite contrary to my expectation, the fever left me entirely, and I slept soundly, quietly, and long. If it please God that it return not, I shall soon find myself in a condition to proceed. I walk constantly, that is to say, Mrs. Unwin and I together : for at these times I keep her continually employed, and never suffer her to be absent from me many minutes. She gives me all her time, and all her attention, and forgets that there is another object in the world besides myself." .About this time, that intimacy between Cowper and Sa- muel Rose, Esq., which subsequently ripened into a friend- ship that nothing but death could dissolve, commenced. At the close of the letter from which we made our last ex- tract, Cowper thus adverts to the circumstance. " A young gentleman called here yesterday, who came six miles out of his way to see me. He was on a journey to London from Glasgow, having just left the university there. He came, I suppose, partly to satisfy his own curiosity, but chiefly, as it seemed, to bring me the thanks of some of the Scotch professors for my two volumes. His name is Rose, an Englishman, Your spirits being good, you will derive more pleasure from this incident than I can at pre- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 195 sent, therefore I send it." Notwithstanding the depression of mind which Cowper was beginning again to experience, when this unexpected interview between him and Mr. Rose took place, and his consequent aversion to the visits of any one, but especially strangers, yet he was so highly pleased with his new friend, that he commenced a correspondence with him immediately on recovering his health ; and he ever regarded it as a providential circumstance, and a token of the goodness of God towards him, in giving him a friend and a correspondent, who, in some measure, at least, supplied the loss he had experienced by the death of Mr. Unwin. In February, 1787, Cowper's depressive malady had so greatly increased that his mind became again en- veloped in the deepest gloom. The following extracts from his letters, written after his recovery, which took place in the ensuing autumn, will best describe the pain- ful and distressing state to which he was reduced : — " My indisposition could not be of a worse kind. Had I been afflicted with a fever, or confined by a broken bone, neither of these cases would have made it impos- ble that we should meet. I am truly sorry that the im- pediment was insurmountable while it lasted, for such, in fact, it was. The sight of any face, except Mrs. Unwin's, was to me an insupportable grievance ; and when it has happened, that by forcing himself into my hiding place, some friend has found me out, he has had no great cause to exult in his success, as Mr. Bull could tell you. From this dreadful condition of mind, I emerged suddenly ; so suddenly that Mrs. Unwin, having no notice of such a change herself, could give none to any body : and when it obtained, how long it might last, and how far it might be depended upon, was a matter of the greatest uncer- tainty. It afreets me on the recollection with the more o2 ]96 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. concern, because it has deprived me of an interview with you, and has prevented you from visiting others who would have been very glad to see you." In the midst of Cowper's severe attack, his friend, Mr. Rose, paid him another visit, and was greatly distressed to find him reduced to such a degree of wretchedness, that he could not be prevailed upon to converse with him on any subject. Cowper, as soon as he began to feel the slightest symptoms of recovery, recollected the great sym- pathy and disinterested kindness of his new friend, and he took care to present him with the first productions of his pen. In the last week of July, 1787, he thus addressed him : — tl This is the first time I have written this six months ; and nothing but the constraint of obligation could induce me to write now. I cannot be so wanting to myself as not to endeavour, at least, to thank you, both for the visits with which you have favoured me, and the poem that you have sent me. In my present state of mind I taste nothing, nevertheless I read, — partly from habit, and partly because it is the only thing I am capable of." A month afterwards he again wrote to the same corres- pondent. " I have not yet taken up my pen, except to write to you. The little taste that I have had of your company, and your kindness in finding me out, make me wish that we were nearer neighbours, and that there were not so great a disparity in our years ; that is to say, not that you were older, but that I was younger. Could we have met early in life, I flatter myself that we might have been more intimate than now we are likely to be. But you shall not find me slow to cultivate such a measure of your regard as your friends of your own age can spare me. I hope the same kindness, which has prompted you twice to call on me, will prompt you again ; and I shall be happy, if, on a future occasion, I shall be able to give THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. I97 you a more cheerful reception than can be expected from an invalid. My health and spirits are considerably im- proved, and I once more associate with my neighbours. My head, however, has been the worst part of me, and still continues so; is subject to giddiness and pain, maladies very unfavourable to poetical employment : but I feel some encouragement to hope that I may possibly, before long, find myself able to resume the translation of Homer. When I cannot walk, I read, and read perhaps more than is good for me. But I cannot be idle. The only mercy that I shew myself in this respect is, that I read nothing that requires much closeness of application." Cowper was now recovered sufficiently to resume his correspondence with Lady Hesketh, and the following ex- tracts will throw some additional light on the gradually improving state of his health, and on the manner in which he then spent his time. " My dear cousin, though it costs me something to write, it would cost me more to be silent. My intercourse with my neighbours being renewed, I can no longer forget how many reasons there are, why you es- pecially should not be neglected ; no neighbour, indeed, but the kindest of my friends, and ere long, I hope an inmate. My health and spirits seem to be mending daily. To what end I know not, neither will conjecture, but endeavour, as far as I can, to be content that they do so. I use exercise, and take the air in the park ; I read much ; have lately read Savary's Travels in Egypt; Memoirs of Baron du Tott; Fenn's Original Letters; the Letters of Frederick of Bohemia; and am now reading Memoirs d'Henri de Lor- raine, Due de Guise. I have also read Barclay's Argenis, a Latin romance, and the best romance that was ever writ- ten. All these, together with Madan's letters to Priestly, and several pamphlets, I have read within these two months. So that you will say I am a great reader. I, 198 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. however, write but little, because writing is become new to me ; but I shall come on by degrees, and hope to regain the use of my pen before long. Oar friends at the Hall make themselves more and more amiable in our account, by treating us rather as old friends, than as friends newly acquired. There are few days in which we do not meet, and I am now almost as much at home in their house as in my own. I have the free use of their library, an acqui- sition of great value to me, as I cannot live without books. By this means, I have been so well supplied, that I have not yet even looked at the Lounger, which you were so kind as to send me. His turn comes next, and I shall probably begin him to-morrow." Cowper's correspondence with Mr. Newton, had now been suspended for some months. In the beginning of the ensu- ing October he renewed it ; and the following extracts will afford some interesting information respecting the peculiarity of his case. " My Dear Friend — After a long but necessary interruption of our correspondence, I return to it again, in one respect, at least, better qualified for it than before ; I mean by a belief of your identity, which for thirteen years, strange and unaccountable as it may appear, I did not be- lieve. The acquisition of this light, if light it may be called, which leaves me as much in the dark as ever, on the most interesting subjects, releases me, however, from the most disagreeable suspicion that I am addressing myself to you as the friend whom I loved and valued so highly in my better days, while in fact you are not that friend but a stranger. I can now write to you without seeming to act a part, and without having any need to charge myself with dissimulation ; a charge from which, in that state of mind, and under such an uncomfortable persuasion, I knew not how to exculpate myself, and which, as you will easily conceive, not seldom made my correspondence with you a THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 199 burden. Still, indeed, it wants, and is likely to want, that best ingredient, which alone can make it truly pleasant, either to myself or you — that spirituality which once en- livened all our intercourse. You will tell me, no doubt, that the knowledge I have gained is an earnest of more, and more valuable information too ; and that the dispersion of the clouds in part, promises, in due time, their complete dispersion. I should be happy to believe it ; but the power to do so is at present far from me. Never was the mind of man benighted to a degree that mine has been. The storms that have assailed me would have overset the faith of every man that ever had any ; and the very re- membrance of them, even after they have been long passed by, makes hope impossible. Mrs. Unwin, whose poor bark is still held together, though much shattered by being tossed and agitated so long at the side of mine, does not forget yours and Mrs. Newton's kindness on this last oc- casion. Mrs. Newton's offer to come to her assistance, and your readiness to have rendered us the same service, could you have hoped for any salutary effect of your presence neither Mrs. Unwin nor myself undervalue, nor shall pre- sently forget. But you j udged right when you supposed that even your company would have been no relief to me ; the company of my father or my brother, could they have been returned from the dead to visit me, would have been none. We are now busied in preparing for the reception of Lady Hesketh, whom we expect here shortly. Mrs. Unwin's time has, of course, been lately occupied to a degree that made writing to her impracticable; and she excused her- self the rather, knowing my intentions to take her office. It does not, however, suit me to write much at a time. This last tempest has left my nerves in a worse condition than it found them; my head especially, though better informed, is more infirm than ever; I will therefore only 200 TH E LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEH. add, that I rejoice to hear Mrs. Cowper has been so com- fortably supported under her heavy trial. She must have severely felt the loss of her son. She has an affectionate heart towards her children, and could not but be sensible of the bitterness of such a cup. But God's presence sweetens every bitter. Desertion is the only evil that a christian cannot bear." Cowper's friends were all delighted to see him again in full possession of his mental powers; and, as many of them attributed his last attack to the irritation and fatigue occa- sioned by his translation of Homer, they endeavoured to dissuade him from pursuing it, and recommended him to confine his attention to original poetry. Cowper was not, however, to be diverted from his purpose without an irre- fragable proof of its injurious tendency, and he had formed a very different opinion on the subject to that of his friends. In a letter to Mr. Newton, he particularly adverts to it. — " I have many kind friends, who, like yourself, wish that, instead of turning my endeavours to a translation of Homer, I had proceeded in the way of original poetry. But I can truly say, that it was ordered otherwise, not by me, but by that God who governs all my thoughts, and directs all my intentions as he pleases. It may seem strange, but it is true, that after having written a volume, in general, with great ease to myself, I found it impossible to write another page. The mind of man is not a fountain, but a cistern ; and mine, God knows, a broken one. It is my creed, that the intellect depends as much, both for the energy and the multitude of its exertions, upon the operations of God's agency upon it, as the heart, for the exercise of its graces, upon the influence of the Holy Spirit. According to this persuasion, I may very reasonably affirm, that it was not God's good pleasure that I should proceed in the same track, because he did not enable me to do it. A whole THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 201 year I waited, and waited in circumstances of mind that made a state of mere employment peculiarly irksome to me. I longed for the pen as the only remedy, but I could find no subject : extreme distress at last, drove me, as, if I mis- take not, I told you some time since, to lay Homer before me, and translate for amusement. Why it pleased God that I should be hunted into such a business, of such enormous length and labour, by miseries for which he did not see good to afford me any other remedy, I know not. But so it was; and jejune as the consolation may be, and unsuited to the exigencies of a mind that once was spi- ritual, yet a thousand times have I been glad of it, for a thousand times it has served, at least, to divert my atten- tion in some degree, from such terrible tempests as I be- lieve have seldom been permitted to beat upon a human mind. Let my friends, therefore, who wish me some little measure of tranquillity in the performance of the most tur- bulent voyage that ever Christian mariner made, be con- tented, that having Homer's mountains and forests to wind- ward, I escape, under their shelter, from many a gust of melancholy depression that would almost overset me, espe- cially when they consider that, not by choice, but by necessity, I make them my refuge. As to the fame, and honour, and glory, that may be acquired by poetical feats of any sort, God knows, that if I could lay me down in my grave with hope at my side, or sit with this companion in a dungeon all the residue of my days, I would cheerfully wave them all. For, the little fame that I have already earned, has never saved me from one distressing night, or from one despairing day, since I first acquired it. For what I am reserved, or to what, is a mystery ; I would fain hope, not merely that I may amuse others, or only to be a translator of Homer." Ten months had now elapsed since Cowper had laid 202 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. aside his translation, and as Johnston, the publisher, had been informed of his recovery, he wrote to require him to persevere in the work with as little delay as possible. — Cowper immediately recommenced the undertaking, and again entered upon it with all his former spirit and activity. The following extracts will shew that his affliction had not deprived him of the vigour of his mind, or produced in him the slightest disinclination to engage in this laborious work. " I am as heretofore occupied with Homer ; my present occupation is the revisal of all I have done, which is the first fifteen books. I stand amazed at my own increasing dexterity in the business, being verily persuaded that as far as I have gone, I have improved the work to double its value. I will assure you, that it engages, unavoidably, my whole attention. The length of it, the spirit of it, and the exactness requisite to its due performance, are so many most interesting subjects of consideration to me, who find that my best attempts are only introductory to others, and, that what to-day I supposed finished, to-morrow I must begin again. Thus it fares with a translator of Homer. — To exhibit the majesty of such a poet in a modern language, is a task that no man can estimate the difficulty of till he attempts it. To paraphrase him loosely, to hang him with trappings that do not belong to him, all this is compara- tively easy. But to represent him with only his own or- naments, and still to preserve his dignity, is a labour, that if I hope in any measure to achieve it, I am sensible can only be achieved by the most assiduous and most unremit- ting attention; a perseverance that nothing can discourage, a minuteness of observation that suffers nothing to escape, and a determination not to be seduced from the straight line that lies before us, by any images which fancy may present. There are perhaps, few arduous undertakings that are not, in fact, more arduous than we at first supposed THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 9Q3 them. As we proceed, difficulties increase upon us, but our hopes gather strength also, and we conquer difficulties, which, could we have foreseen them, we should never have had the boldness to encounter. You possess by nature all that is necessary to success in the profession you have chosen. What remains is in your own power. They say of poets, that they must be born such ; so must mathema- ticians, so must great generals, so must lawyers, and so indeed must men of all denominations, or it is not possible that they should excel. But with whatever faculties we are born, and to whatever studies our genius may direct us, studies they must still be. I am persuaded that Milton did not write his Paradise Lost, nor Homer his Uliad, nor Newton his Principia, without immense labour. Nature gave them a bent to their respective pursuits, and that strong propensity, I suppose, is what we mean by genius. The rest they gave themselves." " My first thirteen books of Homer have been criticised in London ; have been by ine accommodated to these criti- cisms; returned to London in their improved state, and sent back to Weston with an imprimantur. This would satisfy some poets less anxious than myself about what they expose in public, but it has not satisfied me. I am now revising them again, by the light of my own critical taper, and make more alterations than at the first. But are they improvements ? you will ask. Is not the spirit of the work endangered by all this correctness? I think and hope that it is not. Being well aware of the possibility of such a cata- strophe, I guard particularly against it. W~here I find a servile adherence to the original would render the passage less animated than it would be, I still, as at the first, allow myself a liberty. On all other occasions, I prune with an unsparing hand, determined that there shall not be found in the whole translation an idea that is not Homer's. My 204 T HE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ambition is, to produce the closest copy possible, and at the same time, as harmonious as I can possibly make it. — This being my object, you will no longer think, if indeed you have thought it at all, that I am unnecessarily, and overmuch industrious. The original surpasses every thing ; it is of an immense length, is composed in the best language ever used upon earth, and deserves, indeed demands, all the labour that any translator, be he who he may, can pos- sibly bestow upon it. At present, mere English readers know no more of Homer in reality, than if he had never been translated. That consideration indeed it was, which mainly induced me to the undertaking; and if after all, either through idleness or dotage, upon what I have already done, I leave it chargeable with the same incorrectness as my predecessors, or, indeed, with any other that I may be able to amend, I had much better have amused myself other- wise. I am now in the nineteenth book of the Illiad, and on the point of displaying such feats of heroism, performed by Achilles, as make all other achievements trivial. I may well exclaim, Oh, for a muse of fire ! especially, having not only a great host to cope with, but a great river also; much, however, may be done when Homer leads the way. What would I give if he were now living, and within my reach ' I, of all men living, have the best excuse for indulging such a wish, unreasonable as it may seem, for I have no doubt that the fire of his eyes, and the smile of his lips, would put me, now and then, in possession of his full meaning more effectually than any commentator ! " This close application of Cowper's to the translation of Homer, was not allowed to suspend, though it in some measure interrupted, his correspondence with Mr. Newton. To him he still opened the state of his mind without the least reserve, and it will appear, from the following extracts, that he had lost, in no degree, his relish for the enjoyments THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 205 of religion, though his mind still continued under the in- fluence of his depressive malady. " Your last letter in- formed us, that you were likely to be much occupied for some time in writing on a subject that must be interesting to a person of your feelings — the Slave Trade. I was un- willing to interrupt your progress in so good a work, and have, therefore, enjoined myself a longer silence than I should otherwise have thought excusable, though, to say the truth, did not our once intimate fellowship in the things of God recur to my remembrance, and present me with something like a warrant for doing it, I should hardly have prevailed upon myself to write at all. Letters such as mine, to a person of a character such as yours, are like snow in harvest; and you will say, that if I will send you a letter that you can answer, I shall make your part of the busi- ness easier than it is. This I would gladly do; but though Labhor a vacuum, as much as nature herself is said to do, yet a vacuum I am bound to feel, of all such matter as may merit your perusal. I have lately been engaged in corres- pondence with a lady whom I never saw. She lives at Perton Hall, near Kimbolton, and is the wife of Dr. King, who has the living. She is evidently a Christian, and a very gracious one. I would that she had you for a corres- pondent, rather than me. One letter from you would do her more good than a ream of mine. But so it is; and though I despair of communicating to her any thing that will be of much advantage, I must write to her this even- ing. Undeserving as I feel myself to be of divine protec- tion, I am nevertheless receiving almost daily, I might in- deed say hourly, proofs of it. A few days ago, Providence interfered to preserve me from the heaviest affliction that I could now suffer — the loss of Mrs. Unwin, and in a way too, the most shocking imaginable. Having kindled her fire in the room where she dresses, (an office that she al- 206 THE L1FE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. ways performs for herself,) she placed the candle on the hearth, and kneeling, addressed herself to her devotions ; a thought struck her while thus occupied, that the candle, being short, might possibly catch her clothes, she pinched it out with the tongs, and set it on the table. In a few moments the chamber was so filled with smoke, that her eyes watered, and it was hardly possible to see across it. — Supposing that it proceeded from the chimney, she pushed the billets backward, and while she did so, casting her eye downward, perceived that her dress was on fire. In fact, before she extinguished the candle, the mischief that she apprehended had begun ; and when she related the matter to me, she shewed me her clothes, with a hole burnt in them as large as this sheet of paper. It is not possible? perhaps, that so tragical a death could occur to a person actually engaged in prayer, for her escape seems almost a miracle. Her presence of mind, by which she was enabled, without calling for help, or waiting for it, to gather up her clothes, and plunge them, burning as they were, in water, seems as wonderful a part of the occurrence as any. The very report of fire, though distant, has rendered hundreds torpid and incapable of self-succour; how much more was such a disability to be expected, when the fire had not seized a neighbour's house, or begun its devastations on our own, but was actually consuming the apparel that she wore, and seemed in possession of her person." The continued gloomy state of Cowper's mind will be seen by the following extract from a letter to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, with whom he corresponded, as nearly as possible, at stated and regular intervals, — January 30, 1788, he thus writes. " It is a fortnight since I heard from you, that is to say, a week longer than you have been accus- tomed to make me wait for a letter. I do not forget that you have recommended it to me, on occasions somewhat si- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER; 207 milar, to banish all anxiety, and to ascribe your silence only to the interruptions of company. Good advice, my dear, but not easily taken by a man circumstanced as I am. I have learned in the school of adversity, a school from which I have no expectations that I shall ever be dismissed, to apprehend the worst, and have ever found it the only course in which I can indulge myself, without the least danger of incurring a disappointment. This kind of expe- rience, continued through many years, has given me such an habitual bias to the gloomy side of every thing, that I never have a moment's ease on any subject to which I am not indifferent. How then can I be easy, when I am left afloat upon a sea of endless conjectures, of which you fur- nish the occasion. Write, I beseech you, and do not for- get that I am now a battered actor upon this turbulent stage, that what little vigour of mind I ever had, of the self-supporting kind I mean, has long since been broken, and, that though I can bear nothing well, yet any thing- better than a state of ignorance concerning your welfare. I have spent hours in the night, leaning upon my elbow, and wondering what your silence can mean. I entreat you, once more, to put an end to these speculations, which cost me more animal spirits thun I can spare. I love you, my cousin, and cannot suspect either with or without cause, the least evil, in which you may be concerned, without being quietly troubled ! O, trouble ! the portion of mortals — but mine in particular. Would I had never known thee, or could bid thee farewell for ever ! for, I meet thee at every turn, my pillows are stuffed with thee, my very roses smell of thee, and even my cousin, who would, I am sure, cure me of all trouble if she could, is sometimes innocently the cause of trouble to me !" 208 T HE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. CHAPTER XIII. Pressing invitations of his friends to write a poem on the Slave Trade — Reasons for declining it — Correspondence with Mrs. King — Par- ticular description of his feelings — Death of Sir Ashley Cowper — Description of his character — Great severity of Cowper's depres- sion — Is again urged to write on the Slave Trade — Again declines it — Assigns particular reasons for it — His indefatigable application to Homer — Notice he took of passing events — Mr. and Mrs. New- ton's visit to Weston — The pleasure it afforded Cowper — Lady Hesketh's visit — Completion of the Iliad, and commencement of the Odyssey — His unwearied application to Homer not allowed to divert his attention from religion — Occasional composition of original poetry — Readiness to listen to any alteration that might be suggested in his productions. Many of Cowper's friends were anxious to have him em- ploy his admirable powers in a poem on the abolition of slavery, and Lady Hesketh wrote him several pressing invi- tations on the subject; to which he gave the following re- ply. " I have now three letters of yours, my dearest cousin, before me, all written in the space of a week, and must be, indeed, insensible of kindness, did I not feel yours on this occasion. I cannot describe to you, neither could you comprehend it if I could, the manner in which my mind is sometimes impressed with melancholy on particular sub- jects. Your late silence was such a subject. I heard, saw, and felt, a thousand terrible things, which had no real existence, and was haunted by them night and day, till they at last extorted from me that doleful epistle, which THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 209 I have since wished had been burnt before I sent it. But the cloud has passed, and 9 as far as you are concerned, my heart is once more at rest. Before you gave me the hint contained in your last letters, I had once or twice, as I lay on my bed, watching the break of day, ruminated on the subject which you kindly recommended to me. Slavery, or a release from slavery, such as the poor negroes have endured, or perhaps both these topics together, appeared to me a theme so important at the present juncture, and at the same time so susceptible of practical management, that I more than once perceived myself ready to start in that cause, could I have allowed myself to desert Homer for so long a time as it would have cost me to do them justice. While I was pondering these things, the public prints in- formed me that Miss More was on the point of publication, having actually finished what I had not began. The sight of her advertisement convinced me that my best course would be that to which I felt myself most inclined ; to persevere without turning aside to attend to any other call, however alluring, in the business I have in hand. It oc- curred to me likewise, that I have lately borne my testi- mony in favour of my black brethren, and that I was one of the earliest, if not the first, of those who have, in the present day, expressed their detestation of the diabolical trade in question. On all these accounts I judged it best to be silent. I shall be glad to see Hannah More's poem ; she is a favourite writer with me, and has more nerve and energy, both in her thoughts and language, than half the rhymers in the kingdom." It will be seen by the last extract made from Cowper's letters to Mr. Newton, that he had now commenced a cor- respondence with Mrs. King, and as his letters to that lady are highly interesting, we shall make such use of them as will be descriptive of the state of his mind at that 210 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. period. " A letter from a lady who was once intimate with my brother, could not fail of being most acceptable to me. I lost him just at a moment when those truths which have recommended my volumes to your approbation, were become his daily sustenance, as they had long been mine. But the will of God was done. I have sometimes thought that had his life been spared, being made brothers by a stricter tie than ever, in the bonds of the same faith, hope, and love, we should have been happier in each other than it was in the power of mere natural affection to make us. But it was his blessing to be taken from a world in which he had no longer any wish to continue ; and it will be mine, if, while I live in it, my time may not be altoge- ther wasted : in order to effect that good end, I wrote what I am happy to find has given you pleasure to read. But for that pleasure, Madam, you are indebted neither to me nor to my muse ; but (as you are well aware) to Him who alone can make divine truths palatable, in whatever vehicle con- veyed. It is an established philosophical axiom, that no- thing can communicate what it has not in itself; but in the effects of christian communion, a very strong exception is found to this general rule, however self-evident it may seem. A man, himself destitute of all spiritual consolation, may by occasion, impart it to others. Thus I, it seems, who wrote those very poems, to amuse a mind oppressed with melancholy, and who have myself derived from them no other benefit, (for mere success in authorship will do me no good,) have nevertheless, by so doing, comforted others, at the same time that they administer to me no consola- tion. But I will proceed no further in this strain, lest my prose should damp a pleasure that my verse has happily excited. On the contrary, I will endeavour to rejoice in your joy, and especially, because I have myself been the instrument of conveying it." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 211 " I owe you many acknowledgments, dear Madam, for that unreserved communication both of your history and of your sentiments, with which you honoured me in your last, it gives me great pleasure to learn that you are so happily circumstanced, both in respect of situation and frame of mind. With your view of religious subjects, you could not indeed, speaking properly, be pronounced un- happy in any circumstances ; but to have received from above, not only that faith which reconciles the heart to affliction, but many outward comforts also, and especially that greatest of all earthly comforts, a comfortable home, is happiness indeed. May you long enjoy it ! As to health or sickness, you have learned already their true value, and know well that the former is no blessing, unless it be sanc- tified, and that the latter is one of the greatest we can re- ceive, when we are enabled to make a proper use of it." " The melancholy that I have mentioned to you, and concerning which you are so kind as to inquire, is of a kind, so far as I know, peculiar to myself. It does not at all affect the operations of my mind, on any subject to which I can attach it, whether serious or ludicrous, or whatever it may be, for which reason I am almost always employed either in reading or writing, when I am not engaged in conversation. A vacant hour is my abhorrence ; because, when I am not occupied, I suffer under the whole influence of my unhappy temperament. I thank you for your recommendation of a medicine from which you have derived benefit yourself; but there is hardly anything that I have not proved, however beneficial it may have been found to others, in my own case, utterly useless. I have, therefore, long since bid adieu to all hope from human means — the means excepted of perpetual employment. I will not say that we shall never meet, because it is not for a creature, who knows not what will be to-morrow, to assert p2 212 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. anything positively concerning the future. Things more unlikely I have seen come to pass ; and things which, if I had expressed myself on them at all, I should have said were impossible. But, being respectively circumstanced as we are, there seems no present probability of it. You speak of insuperable hindrances, and 1 also have hin- drances that would be equally difficult to surmount. One is, that I never ride ; that I am not able to perform so long a journey on foot ; and that chaises do not roll within the sphere of that economy which my circumstances oblige me to observe. If this were not of itself a sufficient excuse, when I decline so obliging an invitation as yours, I could mention yet other obstacles. But to what end ? One impracticability makes as effectual a barrier as a thousand : it will be otherwise in other worlds : either we shall not bear about us a body, or it will be more easily transportable than this. The world in which we live is indeed, as you say, a foolish world, and is likely to continue such, till the Great Teacher himself shall vouchsafe to make it wiser. I am persuaded that time alone will never mend it. But there is doubtless a day appointed when" there will be a more general manifestation of the beauty of holiness, than mankind have ever yet beheld. When that period shall arrive, there will be an end of profane representations, whether of heaven or hell, on the stage, of which you complain — the great realities of religion will supersede them." " You must think me a tardy correspondent, unless you have charity enough to suppose that I have met with other hindrances than those of indolence and inattention. With these I cannot charge myself, for t am never idle by choice ; and inattentive to you I certainly have not been. My silence has been occasioned by a malady to which I have all my life been subject — an inflammation of the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 213 eyes. The last sudden change of weather, from excessive heat to a wintry degree of cold, occasioned it, and at the same time gave me a pinch of the rheumatic kind, from both which disorders I have but just recovered. I do not suppose that our climate has been much altered since the days of our forefathers, the Picts ; but certainly the human constitution, in this country, has altered very much. In- ured as we are from our cradles to every vicissitude, in a climate more various than any other, and in possession of all that modern refinement has been able to contrive for our security, we are yet as subject to blights as the tenderest blossoms of spring ; and we are so well admonished of every change in the atmosphere by our bodily feelings, as hardly to have any need of a weather-glass to mark them. For this we are, no doubt, indebted to the multitude of our accommodations ; for it was not possible to retain the hardiness that originally belonged to our race, under the delicate management to which, for many ages, we have been accustomed. It is observable, however, that though we have by these means lost much of our pristine vigour, our days are not the fewer. We live as long as those whom, on account of the sturdiness of their frame, the poets supposed to have been r the progeny of oaks. Perhaps, too, they had but little feeling, and for that reason might be imagined to be so descended ; for a very robust, athletic habit, seems inconsistent with much sen- sibility. But sensibility is the sine qua non of real hap- piness. If, therefore, our lives have not been shortened, and if our feelings have been rendered more exquisite, as our habit of body has become more delicate, on the whole we have no cause to complain, but are rather gainers by our degeneracy." In the beginning of June, 1788, an event occurred,, which, though it had been long expected by Cowper and 214 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. by all his friends, could not fail to make a deep impression upon his peculiarly sensitive mind. This was the death of his esteemed and venerable relation Ashly Cowper, Esq., Clerk of the Parliaments, and brother to Cowper's father, the last moments of whose life his daughter, Lady Hesketh, had watched over with the tenderest solicitude. In reply to an affectionate letter from his friend Mr. Hill, apprizing him of the event, he thus writes : — " Your letter brought me the first intelligence of the event it mentions. My last from Lady Hesketh gave me reason enough to expect it ; but the certainty of it was unknown to me till I learned it by your information. If gradual decline, the consequence of great age, be a sufficient preparation of the mind to en- counter such a loss, our minds were certainly prepared to meet it : yet to you I need not say that no preparation can supersede the feelings of the heart on such occasions. While our friends yet live, inhabitants of the same world with ourselves, they seem still to live to us — we are sure that they often think of us ; and, however improbable it may seem, it is never impossible that we may see each other once again. But the grave, like a great gulph, swallows all such expectations, and in the moment when a beloved friend sinks into it, a thousand tender recollections awaken a regret that will be felt in spite of all reasonings, and let our warnings have been what they may. My dear uncle's death awakened in me many reflections, which, for a time, sunk my spirits. A man like him would have been mourned had he doubled the age he reached. At any age his death would have been felt as a loss that no survivor could repair. And though it was not probable that, for my own part, I should ever see him more, yet the conscious- ness that he still lived, was a comfort to me. Let it com- fort us now, that we have lost him only at a time when nature could afford him to us no longer ; that as his life THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 215 was blameless, so was his death without anguish, and that he is gone to heaven. I know not that human life, in its most prosperous state, can present anything to our wishes half so desirable as such a close of it." In another letter, he again writes : — u We have indeed lost one who has not left his like in the present genera- tion of our family ; and whose equal, in all respects, no .future generation of it will probably produce. I often think what a joyful interview there has been between him and some of his friends who went before him. The truth of the matter is, my dear, they are happy ones, and we shall never be entirely so ourselves till we have joined the party. Can there be anything so worthy of our warmest wishes as to enter on an eternal, unchangeable state, in blessed fellowship and communion with those whose society we valued most, and for the best reasons, while they con- tinued with us ? A few steps more through a vain, foolish world, and this happiness will be yours. But I earnestly hope the end of thy journey is not near. For of all that live, thou art one whom I can least spare ; for thou also art one who shall not leave thy equal behind thee." The state of Cowper's mind at this period will be dis- covered by the following extract from a letter to his friend Mr. Bull, who appears to have solicited him for some original hymns, to be used by him probably on some public occasion. " Ask possibilities, and they shall be performed ; but ask not hymns from a man suffering with despair as I do. I would not sing the Lord's song were it to save my life, banished as I am, not to a strange land, but to a remoteness from his presence, in comparison with which the distance from east to west is no distance — is vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either in prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame of mind which I am con- scious does not belong to me ; least of all can I venture to 216 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COVVPER. use the language of absolute resignation, lest, only coun- terfeiting, I should, for that very reason, be taken strictly at my word, and lose all my remaining comfort. Can there not be found, among the translations of Madame Guion, somewhat that might serve the purpose ? I should think there might. Submission to the will of Christ, my memory tells me, is a theme that pervades them all. If so, your request is performed already ; and if any alteration in them should be necessary, I will, with all my heart, make it. I have no objection to giving the graces of a foreigner an English dress, but insuperable ones to all false pretences and affected exhibitions of what I do not feel." Several of Cowper's correspondents, at this time, again strongly urged him to write a poem on the Slave Trade. The following extracts will shew that he was unwilling to give a refusal, though he could by no means prevail upon himself to accede to their wishes. '.'. Twice or thrice, before your request came, have I been solicited to write a poem on the cruel, odious, and disgusting subject of Negro Slavery. But besides that it would be in some sort treason against Homer to abandon him for any other matter, I felt myself so much hurt in my spirits the moment I entered on the contemplation of it, that I have at last determined, absolutely, to have nothing more to do with it. There are some scenes of horror on which my imagination has dwelt not without some complacency ; but then they are such scenes as God, not man, produces. In earthquakes, high winds, tempestuous seas, there is a grand as well as a terrible. But when man is tempted to disturb, there is such meanness in the design, and such cruelty in the exe- cution, that I both hate and despise the whole operation, and feel it a degradation of poetry to employ her in the description of it. I hope, also, that the generality of my countrymen have more generosity in their nature than to THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 217 want the fiddle of verse to go before them in the per- formance of an act to which they are invited by the loudest calls of humanity. I shall rejoice if your friend, influenced by what you told him of my present engagements, shall waive his aplication to me for a poem on this revolting subject. I account myself honoured by his intention to solicit one, and it would give me pain to refuse him, which inevitably I shall be constrained to do. The more I have considered it, the more I have convinced myself that it is not a promising theme for verse, at least to me. General censure on the iniquity of the practice will avail nothing. The world has been overwhelmed with such remarks al- ready, and to particularize all the horrors of it, were an employment for the mind, both of the poet and of his readers, of which they would necessarily soon grow weary. For my own part, I cannot contemplate the subject very nearly, without a degree of abhorrence that affects my spirits, and sinks them below the pitch requisite for suc- cess in verse. Lady Hesketh recommended it to me some months since, and then I declined it for those reasons, and for others which I need not now mention." The close attention that Cowper found it necessary to pay to his Homer, left him, at this period, but little time for any other engagement. Adverting to this, he thus writes to Mr. Newton : — " It is a comfort to me that you are so kind as to make allowance for me, in consequence of my being so busy a man. The truth is, that could I write with both hands, and with both at the same time, — verse with one, and prose with the other, — I should not, even so, be able to despatch both my poetry and my arrears of cor- respondence faster than T have need. The only opportuni- ties that T can find for conversing with distant friends are in the early hour, (and that sometimes reduced to half a one,) before breakfast. Neither am I exempt from hind- 218 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ranees, which, while they last, are insurmountable, especi- ally one, by which I have been occasionally a sufferer all my life — an inflammation of the eyes ; which has often dis- abled me from all sorts of scribbling. When I tell you that an unanswered letter troubles my conscience, in some de- gree, like a crime, you will think me endued with a most heroic patience, who have so long submitted to that trouble on account of yours, not answered yet. But the truth is, that I have been much engaged. Homer, you know, affords me constant employment, besides which I have rather, what may be called, — considering the privacy in which I have long lived, — a numerous correspondence: to one of my friends in particular, a near and much loved relation, I write weekly, and sometimes twice in the week ; nor are these my only excuses; the sudden changes of the weather have much affected me, and have often made me wholly incapable of writing." The summer of 1788 was remarkably hot and dry, and to show the manner in which it affected Cowper's mind we give the following extract from a letter to one of his corres- pondents : — " It has pleased God to give us rain, without which, this part of the country at least, must soon have become a desert. The goodness and power of God are never, (I believe,) so universally acknowledged as at the end of a long drought. Man is naturally a self-sufficient animal, and in all concerns that seem to be within the sphere of his own ability, thinks little, or not at all, of the need he always has of protection and furtherance from above. But he is sensible that the clouds will not assem- ble at his bidding, and that though they do assemble, they will not fall in showers, because he commands them. — When, therefore, at, last the blessing descends, you shall hear, even in the streets, the most irreligious and thought- less with one voice exclaim, — Thank God! Confessing THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 219 themselves indebted to his power, and willing, at least as far as words go, to give Him the glory. I can hardly doubt, therefore, that the earth is sometimes parched, and the crops endangered, in order that the multitude may not want a memento to whom they owe them ; nor absolutely forget the power on which we all depend for all things. The summer is leaving us at a rapid rate, as indeed do all the seasons, and though I have marked their flight often, I know not which is the swiftest. Man is never so deluded as when he dreams of his own duration. The answer of the old patriarch to Pharaoh may be adopted by every man at the close of the longest life. — ' Few and evil have been the days of the years of my pilgrimage.' Whether we look back from fifty, or from twice fifty, the past ap- pears equally a dream ; and we can only be said truly to have lived, while we have been profitably employed. Alas, then ! making the necessary deductions, how short is life ! Were men in general to save themselves all the steps they take to no purpose, or to a bad one, what numbers, who are now active and thoughtless, would become sedentary and serious." In the latter part of July, 1788, Mr. and Mrs. Newton paid Cowper a visit at Weston ; and the pleasure it afforded him, will, with the state of his mind on the occasion, be seen by the following extract from a letter addressed to Mr. Newton, after his return. — u I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe, especially when I reflect that you performed your journey on a day so fatal, as I under- stand, to others travelling the same road. I found those comforts in your visit which have formerly sweetened all our interviews, in part restored. I knew you, knew you for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out of the wilderness into the pasture, where the Chief Shepherd feeds his flock, and felt my sentiments of affectionate 220 TH E LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. friendship for you the same as ever. But one thing was still wanting, and that thing the crown of all. I shall find it in God's time if it be not lost for ever. When I say this, I say it trembling : for at what time soever comfort may come, it will not come without its attendant evil ; and whatever good things may occur in the interval, I have sad forebodings of the event, having learned by experience that I was born to be persecuted with peculiar fury, and as- sured by believing, that such as my lot has been, it will be to the end. This belief is connected in my mind with an observation I have often made, and is, perhaps, founded in great part upon it, — -that there is a certain style of dispen- sations maintained by Providence, in the dealings of God with every man, which, however the incidents of his life may vary, and though he may be thrown into different situ- ations, is never exchanged for another. The style of dis- pensation peculiar to myself has hitherto been that of sudden, violent, unlooked-for change. When I have thought myself falling into the abyss, I have been caught up again ; when I have thought myself on the threshold of a happy eternity, I have been thrust down to hell. The rough and the smooth of such a lot, taken together, should perhaps, have taught me never to despair; but through an unhappy propensity in my nature to forebode the worst, they have, on the contrary, operated as an admonition to me, never to hope. A firm persuasion that I can never durably enjoy a comfortable state of mind, but must be depressed in proportion as I have been elevated, withers my joys in the bud, and, in a manner, entombs them be- fore they are born : for I have no expectation but of sad vicissitude, and ever believe that the last shock of all will be fatal." It might be supposed, from the gloomy state of Cowper's mind, as described by his letters, that no person could feel THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 221 any real enjoyment in his society, and that his friends who visited him, did so, not so much for their own sake as for his. The fact, however, was, that all who had once been favoured with his company, were particularly anxious to enjoy it again ; for though he was never what might be termed brilliant in conversation, yet he was always interest- ing; and his amiable, polite, and unaffected manners, asso- ciated with his rich intellectual acquirements, which he had the happy talent of displaying, in a manner perfectly unobtrusive, made him the charm of the social circle. His anxiety to promote the happiness of those with whom he might happen to be associated, gave to his conversation an air of cheerfulness, and sometimes even of sprightliness and vivacity, altogether different to that which generally per- vaded his correspondence : and the same amiable solicitude for the welfare of others, caused him sometimes to write to his correspondents, in a style the most playful and agreeable. Of this we have an instance, in a letter to Mrs. King, writ- ten about this time. — "You express some degree of wonder that I found you out to be sedentary, at least, much a stayer within doors, without any sufficient data for my direction. Now, if I should guess your figure and stature with equal success, you will deem me not only a poet, but a conjuror. Yet, in fact, I have no pretensions of that sort. I have only formed a picture of you in my own imagination, as we ever do of a person of whom we think much, but whom we have never seen. Your height, I conceive, to be about five feet five inches, which, though it would make a short man, is yet height enough for a woman. If you in- sist on an inch or two more, I have no objection. You are not very fat, but somewhat inclined to be so, and unless you allow yourself a little more air and exercise, will incur some danger of exceeding your present dimensions before you die. Let me, therefore, once more recommend to you, 222 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. to walk a little more, at least in your garden, and to amuse yourself with pulling up here and there a weed, for it will be an inconvenience to you to be much fatter than you are, especially when your strength will be naturally on the de- cline. I have given you a fair complexion, a slight tinge of the rose on your cheeks, dark brown hair, and, if the fashion would give you leave to show it, an open and well- formed forehead. To all this I add a pair of eyes not quite black, but approaching nearly to that hue, and very ani- mated. I have not absolutely determined on the shape of your nose, or the form of your mouth, but should you tell me that 1 have in other respects drawn a tolerable likeness, have no doubt but I can describe them too. I assure you that though I have a great desire to read Lavater, I have never seen his volumes, nor have I availed myself in the least of any of his rules on this occasion. Ah, Madam ! if with all this sensibility of yours, which exposes you to so much sorrow, and necessarily must expose you to it in a world like this, I have had the good fortune to make you smile, I have then painted you, whether with a strong re- semblance, or with none at all, to very good purpose. " During the time that Mr. and Mrs. Newton were on their visit at Weston, Cowper's friend, Mr. Samuel Rose, arrived there also. Cowper was highly pleased with this circum- stance, as it served to enliven his social circle, and afforded him an opportunity to introduce his young friend to Mr. Newton, whose advice and influence, might probably be of considerable advantage to him at a future period. To a per- son, easily diverted from his purpose, the company of friends whom he so highly esteemed, would have been thought a sufficient excuse for the suspension of every literary engage- ment. Cowper, however, laboured indefatigably at his translation, and instead of laying it aside because of his friends' visits, he gladly availed himself of their advice THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 223 and assistance. We learn from the following remarks, ex- tracted from a letter to his cousin, written about this time, that Cowper would not allow his friend Rose to pay him an idle visit: — " My dear cousin, the Newtons are still here, and will continue with us, I believe, till the 15th of the month. Here is also my friend, Mr. Rose, a valu- able young man, who, attracted by the effluvia of my genius, found me out in my retirement last January twelvemonth. I have not permitted him to be idle, but have made him transcribe for me the twelfth book of the Iliad. He brings me the compliments of several of the literati, with whom he is acquainted in town; and tells me that from- Dr. Maclain, whom he saw lately, he learns that my book is in the hands of sixty different persons at the Hague, who are all enchanted with it; not forgetting the said Dr. Maclain himself, who tells him that he reads it every day, and is always the better for it. I desire to be thankful for this encouraging information, and am willing to ascribe it to its only legitimate cause, the blessing of God upon my feeble efforts." Shortly after Mr. Rose, and Mr. and Mrs. Newton, left Weston, the vacuum which the absence of their agreeable company made in Cowper's enjoyments, was supplied by the arrival of his cousin, Lady Hesketh, whose cheerful conversation contributed greatly to his comfort, and who diminished much of the labour of his translation by tran- scribing the manuscript, so that a fair copy might be forwarded to the printer's. In September, 1788, he finished the Iliad, and thus describes his feelings on the occasion, in a letter to his friend, Mr. Rose : — " The day on which you shall receive this, I beg you will remember to drink one glass at least, to the success of the Iliad, which I finished the day before yesterday, and yesterday began the Odyssey. It will be some time before I shall perceive myself travelling 224 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. in another road ; the objects around me are at present so much the same, Olympus and a council of gods meet me at my first entrance. To tell you the truth, I am weary of heroes and deities, and with, reverence be it spoken, shall be glad for variety's sake to change their company for that of a Cyclops." Cowper's time was now so much employed, in his trans- lation, that he had but little opportunity for keeping up his correspondence, and the letters he wrote at this period, abound with apologies for his apparent neglect. He still, however, found time to advert to passing events, sufficiently to prove that the best of his mind remained decidedly serious. To Mrs. King he thus writes : — " Mrs. Battison, your late relative at Bedford, being dead, I was afraid you would have no more calls there ; but the marriage so near at hand, of the young lady you mention, with a gentle- man of that place, gives me hope again, that you may occasionally approach us, as heretofore ; and that on some of those occasions you will perhaps find your way to Weston. The deaths of some and the marriages of others, make a new world of it every thirty years. Within that space of time, the majority are displaced and a new generation has succeeded. Here and there one is permitted to stay a little longer, that there may not be wanting a few grave dons like myself, to make the observation. The thought struck me very forcibly the other day, on reading a paper which came hither in the package of some books from London. It contained news from Hertfordshire, and informed me, among other things, that at Great Berkham- stead, the place of my birth, there is hardly a family left, of all those with whom, in my early days, I was so familiar. The houses, no doubt remain, but the greater part of their former inhabitants are now to be found by their grave- stones. And it is certain that I might pass through a town THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 225 in which I was once a sort of principal figure, unknowing and unknown. They are happy who have not taken up their rest in a world fluctuating as the sea, and passing away with the rapidity of a river. I wish from my heart, that you and Mr. King, may long continue, as you have already long continued, exceptions from the general truth of this remark." Lady Hesketh remained at Weston through the greater part of the winter of 1788-9, and contributed much to revive Cowper's drooping spirits, and to cheer and animate him in his important undertaking; which seemed to en- gage more of his time the nearer it approached to a finish. The close attention which he found it indispensably neces- sary to bestow upon it, compelled him almost entirely to relinquish his correspondence. And, as a letter from him was esteemed a treasure by all his friends, many of whom began to make complaints of being neglected ; he was often compelled, in those he did write, to advert to these complaints. We find him thus excusing himself for his apparent neglect : — " The post brings me no letters that do not grumble at my silence. Had not you, therefore, taken me to task as roundly as others, I should perhaps, have concluded that you were more indifferent to my epistles than the rest of my correspondents ; of whom one says : * I shall be glad when you have finished Homer ; then possibly you will find a little leisure for an old friend.' Another says, ' I don't choose to be neglected, unless you equally neglect every one else.' Thus I hear of it with both ears, and shall, till I appear in the shape of two great quarto volumes, the composition of which, I confess en- grosses me to a degree that gives my friends, to whom I feel myself much obliged for their anxiety to hear from me, but too much reason to complain. Johnson told Mr. Martyn the truth, when he said I had nearly completed Q 226 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Homer, but your inference from that truth is not altogether so just as most of your conclusions are. Instead of find- ing myself the more at leisure, because my long labour draws to a close, I find myself the more occupied. As when a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he be jaded, slacken his pace, but quickens it : even so it fares with me. The end is in view ; I seem almost to have reached the mark, and the nearness of it inspires me with fresh alacrity. But be it known to you that I have still two books of the Odyssey before me, and when they are finished, shall have almost the whole eight-and-forty to revise, Judge then, my dear Madam, if it is yet time for me to play or to gratify myself with scribbling to those I love. No, it is necessary that waking I should be all ab- sorpt in Homer, and that sleeping I should dream of nothing else." Busily engaged, however, as Cowper was with his trans- lation, he found time to compose several short, but beauti- ful poems, on various subjects, as they happened to occur to his mind. These were eagerly sought after by his cor- respondents, and were forwarded to them respectively, as opportunities offered, accompanied generally with the poet's acknowledgements of their comparative insignifi- cance, at least in his own esteem. Several of these pro- ductions were written to oblige his friends, for whom Cow- per always had the highest regard, and whom he felt pleased on all occasions to accommodate ; others were written at the request of strangers, whom he was not unwilling, when it lay fairly in his way, to oblige. On one occasion, the parish clerk of Northampton, applied to him for some verses, to be annexed to some bills of mortality, which he was ac- customed to publish at Christmas. This singular incident, so illustrative of Cowper's real generosity, he relates in the THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 227 following most interesting and sprightly manner: — " On Monday morning last, Sam brought me word that there was a man in the kitchen, who desired to speak with me. I ordered him in. A plain, decent, elderly looking figure, made its appearance, and being desired to sit, spoke as follows : * Sir I am clerk of the parish of All Saints, in Northampton ; brother of Mr. C. the upholsterer. It is customary for the person in my office to annex to a bill of mortality, which he publishes at Christmas, a copy of verses. You would do me a great favour, Sir, if you would furnish me with one.' To this I replied : Mr. C. you have several men of genius in your town, why have you not applied to some of them ? There is a namesake of yours in particular, Mr. C. the statuary, who every body knows is a first rate maker of verses. He surely is the man, of all the world, for your purpose. ' Alas ! Sir,' replied he, 1 I have heretofore borrowed help from him, but he is a gentleman of so much reading, that the people of our town cannot understand him.' I confess I felt all the force of the compliment implied in this speech, and was almost ready to answer, perhaps, my good friend, they may find me unintelligible for the same reason. But on asking him whether he had walked over to Weston on purpose to im- plore the assistance of my muse, and on his replying in the affirmative, I felt my mortified vanity a little consoled, and pitying the poor man's distress, which appeared to be con- siderable, promised to supply him. The waggon has ac- cordingly gone this day to Northampton, loaded in part with my effusions in the mortuary style. A fig for poets who write epitaphs upon individuals, I have written one that serves two hundred persons." On another occasion, Cowper thus writes to Mr. Hill, adverting to the numerous entreaties he sometimes received Q2 228 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. for the assistance of his muse. " My muse were a vixen, if she were not always ready to fly in obedience to your commands. But what can be done ? I can write nothing in the few hours that remain to me of this day, that will be fit for your purpose ; and, unless I could dispatch what I write by to-morrow's post, it would not reach you in time. I must add, too, that my friend the vicar of the next parish, engaged me the day before yesterday, to furnish him by next Sunday with a hymn to be sung on the occasion of his preaching to the children of the Sunday-school ; of which hymn I have not yet produced a syllable. I am somewhat in the case of Lawyer Dowling, in Tom Jones ; and could I split myself into as many poets as there are muses, I could find employment for them all." These numerous engagements, however, did not prevent the poet from recording his sentiments respecting any cir- cumstance that occurred which he thought deserving no- tice. About this time the following melancholy event happened, which drew from him lines expressive of his entire abhorrence of cruelty, by whomsoever perpetrated, and whether practised upon man or upon the lower order of animals. John A , Esq., a young gentleman of large fortune, who was passionately fond of cock-fighting, came to his death in the following awful manner. He had a favourite cock, upon which he had won many large sums. The last bet he laid upon it he lost, which so enraged him, that he had the bird tied to a spit, and roasted alive, before a large fire. The screams of the suffering animal were so affecting, that some gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so exasperated Mr. A , that he seized the poker, and with the most furious vehemence de- clared that he would kill the first man who interfered ; but in th6 midst of his passionate assertions, awful to relate, he THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 229 fell down dead upon the spot. Cowper was so deeply af- fected by the circumstance, that he composed a poetic obituary on the occasion, which was inserted in the Gen- tleman's Magazine for May, 1789, from which we extract the following lines. " This man (for since the howling wild Disclaims him, man he must be styled) Wanted no good below : Gentle he was, if gentle birth Could make him such, and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow. Can such be cruel? such can be Cruel as hell, and so was he ; A tyrant entertain'd With barb'rous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight, 'Twixt birds to battle trained. One feathered champion he possessed, His darling far beyond the rest, Which never knew disgrace, Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow The life blood of his fiercest foe — The Caesar of his race. It chanced, at last, when, on a day, He pushed him to the desp'rate fray, His courage droop'd, he fled; The master stormed, the prize was lost, And, instant, frantic at the cost, He doom'd his favourite dead. He seized him fast, and from the pit Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit, And, Bring me cord, he cried ; 230 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. The cord was brought, and at his word. To that dire implement, the bird, Alive, and struggling, tied. The horrid sequel asks a veil, And all the terrors of the tale That can be, shall be sunk ; Led by the sufferer's screams aright, His shock'd companions view the sight, And him with pity, drunk. All, suppliant, beg a milder fate, For the old warrior at the grate : He, deaf to pity's call, Whirl'd round him, rapid as a wheel, His culinary club of steel, Death menacing on all. But vengeance hung not far remote, For while he stretched his clamorous throat, And heaven and earth defied ; Big with a curse too closely pent, That struggled vainly for a vent, He totter'd, reel'd, and died. 'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, To point the judgment of the skies ; But judgments plain as this, That, sent for men's instruction, bring A written label on their wing, 'Tis hard to read amiss." It was Cowper's intention, after finishing his translation, to publish a third volume of original poems, which was to contain, in addition to a poem he intended to compose, similar to the Task, entitled " The Four Ages," all the mi- nor unpublished productions of his pen. And it is deeply THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 231 to be regretted that he was not permitted to carry this de- sign into completion, as the interesting subject of the dif- ferent stages of man's existence would have been admira- bly adapted for a complete developement of his poetic talents. The readiness of Cowper to listen to any alterations in his productions, suggested by his correspondents, ought not to go unrecorded. To the Rev. Walter Bagot he thus writes. u My verses on the Queen's visit to London, either have been printed, or soon will be in the world. The finishing to which you objected I have altered, and have substituted two new stanzas in the room of it. Two others also I have struck out, another friend having ob- jected to them. I think I am a very tractable sort of a poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the noses of their children because they were said to be too long, as thus dock their compositions, in compliance with the opinions of others. I beg that when my life shall be written hereafter, my authorship's ductibility of temper may not be forgotten." 232 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. CHAPTER XIV. Mrs. Unwin much injured by a fall — Cowper's anxiety respecting her — Continues incessantly engaged in his Homer — Expresses regret that it should, in some measure, have suspended his correspondence with his friends — Revises a small volume of poems for children — State of his mind — Receives, as a present from Mrs. Rodham, a portrait of his mother — Feelings on the occasion — Interesting description of her character — His affectionate attachment to her — Translates a series of Latin letters from a Dutch minister of the gospel — Continuance of his depression — Is attacked with a ner- vous fever — Completion of his translation — Death of Mrs. New- ton — His reflections on the occasion — Again revises his Homer — His unalterable attachment to religion. In the commencement of 1789, a circumstance occurred, which occasioned Cowper considerable uneasiness. Mrs. Unwin, his amiable inmate, and faithful companion, re- ceived so severe an injury by a fall, which she got when walking on a gravel path, covered with ice, that she was confined to her room for several weeks. Though she nei- ther dislocated any joint, nor broke any bones, yet such was the effect of the fall, that it crippled her completely, and rendered her as incapable of assisting herself as a child. It happened providentially, that Lady Hesketh was at Weston, when this painful event occurred. By her kind attention to Mrs. Unwin, and her no less tender care over her esteemed relative, lest his mind should be too deeply affected by this afflicting occurrence, she contri- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 233 buted greatly to the recovery of the former, and to the support of the latter. It was, however, several weeks be- fore Mrs. Unwin recovered her strength sufficiently to attend to her domestic concerns. Her progress too, when she began to amend, was so slow, as to be almost imper- ceptible, and her lengthened affliction, notwithstanding the precautionary measures adopted by herself, and by Lady Hesketh to prevent it, tended, in a great degree, to depress the mind of Cowper. Early in the ensuing spring, Lady Hesketh was com- pelled to return to town. Mrs. Unwin had not then wholly recovered her strength, she was, however, so far conva- lescent, as to resume the management of her domestic con- cerns, and to pay the same kind attention to the poet's comfort as had distinguished all her former conduct to- wards him. The greater part of the year 1789, Cowper was incessantly engaged, principally in translating Homer • but occasionally, and indeed frequently, in composing ori- ginal poems for the gratification of his friends, or in the more difficult employment of revising the productions of less gifted poets. The few letters he wrote at this time abound with apologies for his seeming negligence, and with descriptions of the manner in which he employed his time. To one of his correspondents he thus writes. " I know that you are too reasonable a man to expect any thing like punctuality of correspondence from a translator of Homer, especially from one who is a doer also of many other things at the same time ; for I labour hard, not only to acquire a little fame for myself, but to win it for others, men of whom I know nothing, not even their names, who send me their poetry, that by translating it out of prose into verse, I may make it more like poetry than it was. I begin to perceive that if a man will be an author, he must live neither to himself nor to his friends so much as to 234 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. others whom he never saw nor shall see. I feel myself in no small degree unworthy of the kind solicitude which you express concerning me and my welfare, after a silence so much longer than you had reason to expect. I should in- deed account myself inexcusable, had I not to allege in my defence, perpetual engagements of such a kind as could by no means be dispensed with. Had Homer alone been in question, Homer should have made room for you ; but I have had other work in hand at the same time, equally pressing and more laborious. Let it suffice to say, that I have not wilfully neglected you for a moment, and that you have never been out of my thoughts a day together. Hav- ing heard all this, you will feel yourself disposed not only to pardon my long silence, but to pity me for the causes of it. You may if you please believe likewise, for it is true, that I have a faculty of remembering my friends even when I do not write to them, and of loving them not one jot the less, though I leave them to starve for want of a letter from me." In a letter to Mr. Newton, 16th August, 1789, Cowper thus describes the situation in which he was then placed, and the state of his mind at the time. Mrs. Newton and you are both kind and just in believing that I do not love you the less when I am long silent ; perhaps a friend of mine who wishes to be always in my thoughts, is never so effectually possessed of the accomplishment of that wish, as when I have been long his debtor; for then I think of him, not only every day, but day and night ; and indeed all day long. But I confess at the same time that my thoughts of you will be more pleasant to myself, when I shall have exonerated my conscience by giving you the letter, so long your due. Therefore, here it comes, — little worth your having, but payment such as it is, that you have a right to expect, and that is essential to my own THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 235 tranquillity, That the Iliad and the Odyssey should have proved the occasion of my suspending my correspondence with you, is a proof how little we see the consequences of what we publish. Homer, I dare say, hardly at all sus- pected, that at the fag end of time, two personages would appear, one ycleped, Sir Newton, and the other Sir Cow- per, who loving each other heartily, would nevertheless suffer the pains of an interrupted intercourse, — his poems the cause. So, however, it has happened ; and though it would not, I suppose, extort from the old bard a single sigh, if he knew it, yet to me it suggests the serious reflec- tion above mentioned. An author by profession had need narrowly to watch his pen, lest a line should escape it, which by possibility may do mischief, when he has been long dead and buried. What we have done when we have written a book, will never be known till the day of judg- ment : then the account will be liquidated, and all the good that it has occasioned, and all the evil, will witness, either for or against us. I am now in the last book of the Odyssey, yet have still I suppose, half a year's work be- fore me. The accurate revisal of two such voluminous poems can hardly cost me less. I rejoice, however, that the goal is in prospect ; for though it has cost me years to run this race, it is only now that I begin to have a glimpse of its termination. That I shall never receive any propor- tionable pecuniary recompense for my long labours, is pretty certain ; and as to any fame that I may possibly gain by it, that is a commodity that daily sinks in value, in measure as the consummation of all things approaches. In the day when the lion shall dandle the kid, and a little child shall lead them, the world will have lost all relish for the fabulous legends of antiquity, and Homer and his translator may budge off the stage together." Some months afterwards, to the same correspondent 236 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Cowper thus writes. " On this fine first of December, under an unclouded sky, and in a room full of sunshine, I address myself to the payment of a debt, long in arrear, but never forgotten by me, however I may have seemed to forget it. I will not waste time in apologies, I have but one, and that one will suggest itself unmentioned. I will only add that you are the first to whom I write, of several to whom I have not written many months, who all have claims upon me ; and who, I flatter myself, are all grum- bling at my silence. In your case, perhaps I have been less anxious than in the case of some others ; because, if you have not heard from myself, you have heard from Mrs. Unwin. From her you have learned that I live, that I am as well as usual, and that I translate Homer : three short items, but in which is comprised the whole detail of my present history. Thus I fared when you were here ; thus I have fared ever since you were here ; and thus, if it please God, I shall continue to fare for some time longer : for, though the work is done, it is not finished ; a riddle which you, who are a brother of the press, will solve easily. I have been the less anxious on your behalf, because I have had frequent opportunities to hear from you ; and have always heard that you are in good health, and happy. Of Mrs. Newton too, I have heard more favourable accounts of late, which has given us both the sincerest pleasure. Mrs. Un win's case is, at present, my only subject of unea- siness, that is not immediately personal, and properly my own. She has almost constant head-aches ; almost a con- stant pain in her side, which nobody understands ; and her lameness, within the last half year, is very little amended. But her spirits are good, because supported by comforts which depend not on the state of the body ; and I do not know that with all her pain, her appearance is at all al- tered, since we had the happiness to see you here, unless THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 237 indeed it be altered a little for the better. I have thus given you as circumstantial an account of ourselves as I could : the most interesting matter, I verily believe, with which I could have filled my paper, unless I could have made spiritual mercies to myself the subject. In my next perhaps I shall find time to bestow a few lines on what is doing in France, and in the Austrian Netherlands ; though, to say the truth, I am much better qualified to write an essay on the seige of Troy, than to descant on any of these modern revolutions. I question if, in either of the coun- tries just mentioned, full of bustle and tumult as they are, there be a single character, whom Homer, were he living, would deign to make his hero. The populace are the he- roes now, and the stuff of which gentlemen heroes are made, seems to be all expended." The year 1790, found Cowper still indefatigably engaged in preparing his translation for the press. In a letter to Mrs. King, 4th January, he thus writes. " Your long si- lence has occasioned me a thousand anxious thoughts about you. So long it has been, that whether I now write to a Mrs. King at present on earth, or already in heaven, I know not. I have friends whose silence troubles me less, though I have known them longer ; because, if I hear not from themselves, I yet hear from others, that they are still living, and likely to live. But if your letters cease to bring me news of your welfare, from whom can I gain the desir- able intelligence ? The birds of the air will not bring it, and third person there is none between us by whom it might be conveyed. Nothing is plain to me in this subject, but that either you are dead, or very much indisposed, or which would perhaps affect me with as deep a concern, though of a different kind, very much offended. The latter of those suppositions I think the least probable, conscious as I am of an habitual desire to offend nobody, especially a 238 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER lady, and a lady too who has laid me under so many obli- gations. But all the three solutions above mentioned are very uncomfortable ; and if you live, and can send me one that will cause me less pain than either of them, I conjure you by the charity and benevolence which I know influ- ence you on all occasions, to communicate it without delay. It is possible, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, that you are not become perfectly indifferent to me, and to what concerns me. I will therefore add a word or two on the subject which once interested you, and which is, for that reason, worthy to be mentioned, though truly for no other. I am well, and have been so (uneasiness on your part excepted) both in mind and body ever since I wrote to you last. I have still the same employment ; Homer in the morning, and Homer in the evening, as constant as the day goes round. In the spring I hope to send the Iliad and the Odyssey to the press. So much for me and my occupations." It would scarcely be supposed that a person performing such an Herculean task as that of translating Homer, would have troubled himself to compose, or even to revise, a vo- lume of hymns for children. The following extract, how- ever, will show that, anxious as Cowper was to finish his Homer, he could nevertheless, allow his attention to be, in a great measure, diverted from it, at least for a time, when he thought he could employ his talents usefully. " I have long been silent, but you have had the charity, I hope, and believe, not to ascribe my silence to a wrong cause. The truth is, I have been too busy to write to any body, having been obliged to give my early mornings to the re- visal and correction of a little volume of hymns for children, written by I know not whom ; this task I finished yester- day, and while it was in hand, wrote only to my cousin, and to her rarely. From her, however, I knew that you THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 239 would hear of my well being, which made me less anxious about my debts to you than I could have been otherwise. The winter has been mild ; but our winters are in general such, that when a friend leaves us in the beginning of that season, I always feel in my heart a perhaps, importing that we may possibly have met for the last time, and that the robins may whistle on the grave of one of us before the re- turn of summer. Though I have been employed as des- cribed above, I am still thrumming Homer's lyre • that is to say, I am still employed in my last revisal ; and to give you some idea of the intenseness of my toils, I will inform you that it cost me all the morning yesterday, and all the evening, to translate a single simile to my mind. The tran- sitions from one member of the subject to another, though easy and natural in the Greek, turn out often so intolerably awkward in an English version, that almost endless labour, and no little address, are requisite to give them grace and elegance. The under parts of the poem, (those, I mean, which are merely narrative,) I find the most difficult. — These can only be supported by the diction, and on these, for that reason, I have bestowed the most abundant labour. Fine similies, and fine speeches, are more likely to take care of themselves ; but the exact process of slaying a sheep and dressing it, is not so easy in our language, and in our measure to dignify. But T shall have the comfort, as I before said, to reflect, that whatever may be hereafter laid to my charge, the sin of idleness will not, — justly, at least, it never will. In the mean time, I must be allowed to say, that not to fall short of the original in every thing, is impossible. I thank you for your German clavis, which has been of considerable use to me ; I am indebted to it for a right understanding of the manner in which Achilles pre- pared pork, mutton, and goats' flesh, for the entertainment of his friends, on the night when they came deputed by 240 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Agamemnon to negociate a reconciliation. A passage of which nobody in the world is perfectly master, myself only, and Schaulfelbergerus excepted, nor ever was, except when Greek was a living language." About this time, Mrs. King appears to have been in- formed that it was Cowper's intention to leave Weston, and that Mrs. Unwin had been making inquiries after a house at Huntingdon. Adverting to this report, in a letter to that lady, he thus writes. — " The report that informed you of enquiries made by Mrs. Unwin, after a house at Huntingdon, was unfounded. We have no thought of quitting Weston, unless the same Providence that led us hither should lead us away. It is a situation the most eligible, perfectly agreeable to us both, and to me in parti- cular, who write much, and walk much, and, consequently, love silence and retirement. If it has a fault, it is, that it seems to threaten us with a certainty of never seeing you. But may we not hope that when a milder season shall have improved your health, we may yet, notwithstanding the distance, be favoured with Mr. King's and your company? A better season will likewise improve the roads, and exactly in proportion as it does so, will, in effect, lessen the inter- val between us. I know not if Mr. Martyn be a mathe- matician, but most probably he is a good one, and he can tell you that this is a proposition mathematically true, though rather paradoxical in appearance." In a letter to Mr. Newton, 5 February 1790, Cowper again plaintively describes the state of his mind. — " Your kind letter deserved a speedier answer, but you know my excuse, which were I to repeat always, my letters would resemble the fag end of a newspaper, where we always find the price of stocks, detailed with little or no variation. When January returns, you have your feelings concerning me, and such as prove the faithfulness of your friendship. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 241 I have mine also concerning myself, but they are of a cast different from yours. Yours have a mixture of sympathy and tender solicitude, which makes them, perhaps, not altogether unpleasant. Mine, on the contrary, are of an unmixed nature, and consist simply, and merely, of the most alarming apprehensions. Twice has that month re- turned upon me, accompanied by such horrors, as I have no reason to suppose ever made part of the experience of any other man. I, accordingly, look forward to it, and meet it with a dread not to be imagined. I number the nights as they pass, and in the morning bless myself that another night is gone, and no harm has happened. This may argue, perhaps, some imbecility of mind, and, indeed, no small degree of it; but it is natural, I believe, and so natural as to be necessary and unavoidable. I know that God is not governed by secondary causes, in any of his operations; and that, on the contrary, they are all so many agents, in his hand, which strike only when he bids them. I know, consequently, that one month is as dangerous to me as another; and that in the middle of summer, at noon- day, and in the clear sunshine, I am, in reality, unless guarded by Him, as much exposed as when fast asleep at midnight, and mid-winter. But we are not always the wiser for our knowledge, and I can no more avail myself of mine, in this case, than if it were in the head of any other man, and not in my own. I have heard of bodily aches and ails, that have been particularly troublesome when the season returned in which the hurt that occasioned them was received. The mind, I believe, (with my own, how- ever, I am sure it is so,) is liable to similar periodical affec- tion. But February is come; January, my terror, is passed; and some shades of the gloom that attended his presence have passed with him. I look forward with a little cheer- fulness to the buds and the leaves that will soon appear, R 242 ™E LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. and say to myself, till they turn yellow, I will make myself easy. The year will go round, and January will approach, I shall tremble again, and I know it ; but in the mean time I will be as comfortable as I can. Thus, with respect to peace of mind, such as it is, that I enjoy. I subsist, as the poor are vulgarly said to do, from hand to mouth ; and of a Christian, such as you once knew me, am, by a strange transformation, become an epicurean philosopher, bearing this motto on my mind, — Quid sit futurum eras, fuge qu&rere." Towards the end of this month, Cowper received as a present, from Mrs. Bodham, a cousin of his, then residing in Norfolk, his mother's portrait. The following extracts will show the powerful impression which this circumstance made upon his tender mind : — " My dearest Rose, * whom I thought withered and fallen from the stalk, but whom I find still alive : nothing could give me greater pleasure than to know it, and to learn it from yourself. I loved you dearly when you were a child, and love you not a jot the less for having ceased to be so. Every creature that bears any affinity to my mother is dear to me, and you, the daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from her. I love you, therefore, and love you much, both for her sake, and for your own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable to me as the picture you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night before last, and received it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits, somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and, of course, the first that I open my eyes upon in the morning. She died when I had completed my sixth year, * Mrs. Bodham's name is Anne, but Cowper always called her Rose, when a child, and was aware that she would remember his doing so. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 243 yet I remember her well, and am an ocular witness of the great fidelity of the copy. I remember too, a multitude of the maternal tendernesses which I received from her, and which have endeared her memory to me beyond expression. There is, I believe, in me, more of the Donne than of the Cowper, and though I love all of both names, and have a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your side. I was thought, in the days of my childhood, much to resem- ble my mother, and in my natural temper, of which, at the age of fifty-eight, I must be supposed a competent judge, can trace both her, and my late uncle, your father. Some- what of his irritability, and a little, I would hope, both of his, and of her , I know not what to call it, without seeming to praise myself, which is not my intention; but speaking to you, I will even speak out, and say goodnature. Add to all this, I deal much in poetry, as did our venerable ancestor, the Dean of St. Paul's, and I think I shall have proved myself a Donne at all points. The truth is, what- ever I am, and wherever I am, I love you all." To Lady Hesketh he thus adverts to the circumstance. " I am delighted with Mrs. Bodham's kindness in giving me the only picture of my mother that is to be found, I suppose, in all the world. I had rather possess it than the richest jewel in the British crown, for I loved her with an affection, that her death, fifty years since, has not in the least abated. I remember her too, young as I was when she died, well enough to know that it is a very exact re- semblance of her, and as such it is to me invaluable. — Every body loved her, and with an amiable character so impressed on all her features, every body was sure to do so. To John Johnson, Esq., 28th February, 1790, he thus records his feelings on this occasion. " I was never more pleased in my life than to learn, and to learn from herself, r2 244 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. that my dearest Rose is still alive. Had she not engaged me to love her by the sweetness of her character when a child, she would have done it effectually now, by making me the most acceptable present in the world, my own dear mother's picture. I am perhaps the only person living who remembers her, but I remember her well, and can at- test on my own knowledge, the truth of the resemblance. Amiable and elegant as the countenance is, such exactly was her own ; she was one of the tenderest parents, and so just a copy of her, is therefore to me invaluable. I wrote yesterday to my Rose, to tell her all this, and to thank her for her kindness in sending it ! Neither do I forget your kindness, who intimated to her that I should be happy to possess it. She invites me into Norfolk, but alas ! she might as well invite the house in which I dwell ; for, all other considerations and impediments apart, how is it pos- sible that a translator of Homer should lumber to such a distance. But though I cannot comply with her kind invi- tation, I have made myself the best amends in my power, by inviting her, and all the family of Donnes, to Weston." To Mrs. King, on the same interesting occasion, he writes, " I have lately received from a female cousin of mine in Norfolk, whom I have not seen these five-and-twenty years, a picture of my own mother. She died when I wanted two days of being six years old ; yet I remember her perfectly, find the picture a strong resemblance of her, and because her memory has been ever precious to me, I have written a poem on the receipt of it ; a poem which, one excepted, I had more pleasure in writing than any that I ever wrote. That one was addressed to a lady whom I expect in a few minutes to come down to break- fast, and who has supplied to me the place of my own mo- ther — my own invaluable mother, these six-and-twenty THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 245 years. Some sons may be said to have had many fathers, but a plurality of mothers is not common." In May of this year, 1790, Cowper thus describes the manner in which he was employed. " I am still at my old sport — Homer all the morning, and Homer all the evening. Thus have I been held in constant employment, I know not exactly how many, but I believe these six years, an interval of eight months excepted. It is now become so familiar to me to take Homer from my shelf at a certain hour, that I shall, no doubt, continue to take him from my shelf at the same time, even after I have ceased to want him. That period is not far distant. I am now giving the last touches to a work, which had I foreseen the difficulty of it, I should never have meddled with ; but which, having at length nearly finished it to my mind, I shall discontinue with regret." Perhaps no one was ever better qualified to give sound and judicious advice to persons in various conditions in life than Cowper, and no one certainly ever gave it more cheerfully, or in a manner more perfectly unassuming. An instance of this occurred in a letter which he wrote in June of this year, to his cousin, John Johnson, Esq., who was then pursuing his studies at Cambridge, who had re- cently been introduced to him, and for whom he enter- tained the most affectionate regard. " You never pleased me more than when you told me you had abandoned your mathematical pursuits. It grieved me to think that you were wasting your time merely to gain a little Cambridge fame; not scarcely worth your having. I cannot be con- tented that your renown should thrive nowhere but on the banks of the Cam. Conceive a nobler ambition, and ne- ver let your honour be circumscribed by the paltry dimen- sions of a University. It is well that you have already, as 246 THE LIFE °F WILLIAM COWPER. you observe, acquired sufficient information in that science to enable you to pass creditably such examinations as I suppose you must hereafter undergo. Keep what you have gotten, and be content ; more is needless. You could not apply to a worse than I am to advise you concerning your studies. I was never a regular student myself, but lost the most valuable part of my life in an attorney's office, and in the Temple. I will not therefore give myself airs, and affect to know what I know not. The affair is of great importance to you, and you should be directed by a wiser than I. To speak, however, in very general terms on the subject, it seems to me that your chief concern is with his- tory, natural philosophy, logic, and divinity ; as to meta- physics, I know but little about them. But the very little I do know has not taught me to admire them. Life is too short to afford time even for serious trifles ; pursue what you know to be attainable,; make truth your object, and your studies will make you a wise man." In the summer of 1790, much as Cowper's time was oc- cupied in giving the finishing touch to his Homer, he ne- vertheless, at the suggestion of some friend, undertook to translate a series of Latin letters, received from a Dutch minister of the gospel, at the Cape of Good Hope. This occupation, though it left him but little time for writing to his numerous correspondents, afforded him considerable pleasure. There was a congeniality in it to the prevailing disposition of his mind, and in a letter to Mr. Newton, who requested him to publish these letters, he thus writes. " I have no objection at all to being known as the trans- lator of Van Leer's letters, when they shall be published. Rather, I am ambitious of it as an honour. It will serve to prove that if I have spent much time to little purpose in the translation of Homer, some small portion of my time has, however, been well disposed of." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 247 It will have been perceived, from the extracts we have already made, that Cowper's gloomy peculiarity of mind still prevailed, at least occasionally, to a painful extent. It is true, he adverts to it in his letters, at this time, less frequently than formerly; he introduces it, however, suf- ficiently often to show, that it had undergone no diminu- tion, and that it was suppressed only by the intense appli- cation which his engagements required. The following extracts from his letters written towards the close of 1790, will describe the state of his mind in this respect, at that period. " I have singularities of which I believe, at pre- sent you know nothing ; and which would fill you with wonder if you knew them. I will add, however, injustice to myself, that they would not lower me in your good opinion ; though perhaps they might tempt you to question the sound- ness of my upper story. Almost twenty years have I been thus unhappily circumstanced ; and the remedy is in the hands of God only. That I make you this partial com- munication on the subject, conscious at the same time that you are well worthy to be entrusted with the whole, is merely because the recital would be too long for a letter, and painful both to me and to you. But all this may vanish in a moment, and if it please God, it shall. In the mean time, my dear Madam, remember me in your prayers, and mention me at those times, as one whom it has pleased God to afflict with singular visitations. Twice I have been overwhelmed with the blackest despair ; and at those times, every thing in which I have been at any time of my life concerned, has afforded to the enemy a handle against me. I tremble, therefore, almost at every step I take, lest on some future similar occasion, it should yield him opportu- nity, and furnish him with means to torment me/' On another occasion he thus whites : — " A yellow shower \>f leaves is now continually falling from all the trees in the 248 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. country. A few moments only seem to have passed since they were buds ; and in a few moments more they will have disappeared ! It is one advantage of a rural situation, that it affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, that do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for a man, conversant with such scenes as surround me, not to advert daily to the shortness of his existence here, ad- monished of it, as he must be, by ten thousand objects. There was a time when I could contemplate my present state, and consider myself as a thing of the day with pleasure 7 when I numbered the seasons, as they passed in swift rotation, as a schoolboy numbers the days that in- terpose between the next vacation, when he shall see his parents, and enjoy his home again. But to make so just an estimate of a life like this, is no longer in my power. The consideration of my short continuance here, which was once grateful to me, now fills me with regret. I would live, and live always, and am become such another wretch as Maecenas was, who wished for long life — he cared not at what expense of sufferings. The only consolation left me on this subject is, that the voice of the Almighty can, in one moment, cure me of this mental infirmity. That He can, I know by experience ; and there are reasons for which I ought to believe that he will. But from hope to despair is a transition that I have made so often, that I can only consider the hope that may come, and that sometimes I believe will, as a short prelude of joy, to a miserable conclusion of sorrow, that shall never end. Thus are my brightest prospects clouded ; and thus, to me, is hope itself become like a withered flower, that has lost both its hue and its fragrance. I ought not to have written in this dismal strain to you, nor did I intend it ; you have more need to be cheered than saddened ; but a dearth of other themes constrained me to choose myself for a subject, and of myself I can write no otherwise." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 249 Early in December, 1790, Cowper had a short but severe attack of that nervous fever to which he was very subject, and which he dreaded above all others, because it generally preceded a most severe paroxysm of melancholy. Happily, on this occasion, it lasted only for a short time ; and in a letter to Mrs. King, dated the last day of the year, he thus records his feelings on the occasion : — "I have lately been visited with an indisposition much more formidable than that which I mentioned to you in my last — a nervous fever, a disorder to which I am subject, and which I dread above all others, because it comes attended by a me- lancholy perfectly insupportable. This is the first day of my complete recovery, the first in which I have perceived no symptoms of my terrible malady. I wish to be thankful to the Sovereign Dispenser both of health and of sickness, that, though I have felt cause enough to tremble, He gives me now encouragement to hope that I may dismiss my fears, and expect an escape from my depressive malady. The only drawback to the comfort I now feel, is the intel- ligence contained in yours, that neither Mr. King nor yourself are well. I dread always, both for my own health and for that of my friends, the unhappy influences of a year worn out. But, my dear Madam, this is the last day of it, and I resolve to hope that the new year shall obliterate all the disagreeables of the old one. J can wish nothing more warmly, than that it may prove a propitious year for you." In the autumn of this year Cowper had sent his u Homer " to the press ; and through the whole of the ensuing winter he was closely employed in correcting the proof-sheets, and making such alterations as he still thought desirable. The time which this consumed, and the indefatigable industry with which he engaged in it, will be seen by the following extracts : — " My poetical operations, I mean of the occasional kind, have lately been 250 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. pretty much at a stand. I told you, I believe, in my last, that " Homer," in the present stage of the process, oc- cupied me more intensely than ever. He still continues to do so, and threatens, till he shall be completely finished, to make all other composition impracticable. I am sick and ashamed of myself that I forgot my promise, but it is actually true that I did forget it. You, however, I did not forget ; nor did I forget to wonder and be alarmed at your silence, being myself perfectly unconscious of my arrears. All this, together with various other trespasses of mine, must be set down to the account of Homer ; and, wherever he is, he is bound to make his apology to all my corre- spondents, but to you in particular. True it is, that if Mrs. Unwin did not call me from that pursuit, I should forget, in the ardour with which I persevere in it, both to eat and to drink, if not to retire to rest ! This zeal has increased in me regularly as I have proceeded, and in an exact ratio, as a mathematician would say, to the progress I have made towards the point at which I have been aiming. You will believe this, when I tell you that, not contented with my previous labours, I have actually revised the whole work, and have made a thousand alterations in it since it has been in the press. I have now, however, tolerably well satisfied myself at least, and trust that the printer and I shall trundle along merrily to the conclusion." In the commencement of 1791, Cowper's long-tried friend, Mr. Newton, lost his wife. She died some time in January, after many months' severe suffering, borne with exemplary fortitude and patience. She had always taken a lively interest in Cowper's welfare ; and, when she re- sided at Olney, had frequently assisted Mrs. Unwin in the arduous duty of watching over the poet, during his painful mental depression. Her decease, therefore, was sure to THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 251 affect him deeply; and the following extracts from his letters to Mr. Newton, on this trying occasion, will not fail to be interesting : — ° Had you been a man of the world, I should have held myself bound, by the law of ceremonies, to have sent you long since my tribute of condolence. I have sincerely mourned with you ; and though you have lost a wife, and I only a friend, yet do I understand too well the value of such a friend as Mrs. Newton, not to have sympathized with you very nearly. But you are not a man of the world ; neither can you, who have the scripture, and the Giver of the scripture to console you, have any need of aid from others, or expect it from such spiritual imbecility as mine." '•' It affords me sincere pleasure that you enjoy serenity of mind, after your great loss. It is well in all circum- stances, even in the most afflictive, with those who have God for their comforter. You do me justice in giving entire credit to my expressions of friendship for you. No day passes in which I do not look back to the days that are fled, and consequently none in which I do not feel myself affectionately reminded of you, and of her whom you have lost for a season. I cannot even see Olney spire from any of the fields in the neighbourhood, much less can I enter the town, and still less the vicarage, without ex- periencing the force of those mementoes, and recollecting a multitude of passages to which you and yours were parties. The past would appear a dream, were the re- membrance of it less affecting. It was, in the most im- portant respects, so unlike my present moment, that I am sometimes almost tempted to suppose it a dream ! But the difference between dreams and realities long since elapsed, seems to consist chiefly in this: that a dream, however painful or pleasant at the time, and perhaps for a few ensuing hours, passes like an arrow through the air, leaving 252 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. no trace of its flight behind it ; but our actual experiences make a lasting impression. We review those which in- terested us much when they occurred, with hardly less interest than in the first instance ; and whether few years or many have intervened, our sensibility makes them still present — such a mere nullity is time, to a creature to whom God gives a feeling heart and the faculty of recollection. " In June, 1791, having completed his long and arduous undertaking — the translation of " Homer," he thus writes to Mr. Newton on the occasion : — " Considering the mul- tiplicity of your engagements, and the importance, no doubt, of most of them, I am bound to set the higher value on your letters ; and, instead of grumbling that they come so seldom, to be thankful to you that they come at all. You are now going into the country, where I presume you will have less to do ; and I am rid of " Homer :" let us try, therefore, if in the interval between the present hour and the next busy season (for I too, if I live, shall probably be occupied again), we can contrive to exchange letters more frequently than for some time past. You do justice to me, and to Mrs. Unwin, when you assure your- self that to hear of your health, will give us pleasure. I know not, in truth, whose health and well-being could give us more. The years that we have seen together will never be out of our remembrance; and, so long as we remember them, we must remember you with affection. In the pulpit, and out of the pulpit, you have laboured in every possible way to serve us ; and we must have a short memory indeed for the kindness of a friend, could we by any means become forgetful of yours. It would grieve me more than it does, to hear you complain of the effects of time, were not I also myself the subject of them. While he is wearing out you and other dear friends of mine, he THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 253 spares not me; for which I ought to account myself obliged to him, since I should otherwise be in danger of surviving all that I have ever loved — the most melancholy lot that can befal a mortal. God knows what will be my doom hereafter ; but precious as life necessarily seems to a mind doubtful of its future happiness, I love not the world, I trust, so much, as to wish a place in it when all my beloved shall have left it. As to Homer, I am sensible that, except as an amusement, he was never worth my meddling with ; but, as an amusement, he was to me in- valuable. As such, he served me more than five years ; and in that respect I know not, at present, where I shall find his equal. You oblige me by saying, that you will read him for my sake. I verily believe that any person of a spiritual turn may read him to some advantage. He may suggest reflections that may not be unserviceable, even in a sermon ; for I know not where we can find more striking examples of the pride, the arrogance, and the insignificance of man ; at the same time that, by ascribing all events to a divine interposition, he inculcates constantly the belief of a Providence; insists much on the duty of charity towards the poor and the stranger ; on the respect that is due to superiors, and to our seniors in particular ; and on the expedience and necessity of prayer and piety towards the gods ; a piety mistaken indeed in its object, but exemplary for the punctuality of its performance. — Thousands who will not learn from scripture to ask a blessing, either on their actions or on their food, may learn it, if they please, from Homer." It appears from the above extract that Cowper had no expectations of again seeing his Homer until it was actually before the public. Johnson, the publisher, however, unex- pectedly to him, sent him an interleaved copy, and recom- mended him to revise it again before it was fully committed 254 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. to the press. On this occasion, he thus writes to his friend Mr. Newton : — " I did not foresee, when I challenged you to a brisker correspondence, that a new engagement of all my leisure time was at hand, — a new, and yet an old one. An interleaved copy of my Homer arrived soon after from Johnson, in which he recommended it to me to make any alterations that might yet be expedient, with a view to an- other impression. The alterations that I make are, indeed, but few, and they are also short ; not more, perhaps, than half a line in two thousand. But the lines are, T suppose, nearly forty thousand in all ; and to revise them critically must consequently be a work of time and labour. I sus- pend it, however, for your sake, till the present sheet be filled, and that I may not seem to shrink from my own offer. Were I capable of envying, in the strict sense of the word, a good man, I should envy Mr. Venn, and Mr. Berridge, and yourself, who have spent, and while they last, will continue to spend, your lives in the service of the only Master worth serving; labouring always for the souls of men, and not to tickle their ears, as I do. But this I can say, God knows how much rather I would be the ob- scure tenant of a lath and plaster cottage, with a lively sense of my interest in a Redeemer, than the most admired object of public notice without it. Alas ! what is a whole poem, even one of Homer's, compared with a single aspira- tion that finds its way immediately to God, though clothed in ordinary language, or perhaps, not articulated at all. — These are my sentiments as much as ever they were, though my days are all running to waste among Greeks and Tro- jans. The night cometh when no man can work; and if I am ordained to work to better purpose, that desirable period cannot be far distant. My day is beginning to shut in, as every man's must, who is on the verge of sixty." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 255 CHAPTER XV. Publication of his Homer — Anxiety respecting it — To whom dedicated — Benefits he had derived from it — Feels the want of employment — Prepares materials for a splendid edition of Milton's poetic works — Vindicates his character — Attempts of his friends to dis- suade him from his new engagement — His replies — The com- mencement of his acquaintance with Mr. Hayley — Pleasure it afforded Mr. Hayley — Mrs. Unwin's first attack of paralysis — Manner in which it affected Cowper — Remarks on Milton's labours — Reply to Mr. Newton's letter for original composition — Continuance of his depression — First letter from Mr. Hayley — L'npleasant circumstance respecting it — Mr. Hayley's first visit to Weston — Kind manner in which he was received — Mrs. Unwin's second severe paralytic attack — Cowper's feelings on the occasion — Mr. Hayley's departure — Cowper's warm attachment to him — Reflections on the recent changes he had witnessed — Promises to visit Eartham — Makes preparations for the journey — Peculiarity of his feelings on the occasion. On the 1st July 1791, Cowper's Homer appeared. — After so many years incessant toil, it was not to be ex- pected that he would feel otherwise than anxious respect- ing the reception it met with from the public. He had laboured indefatigably to produce a faithful and free trans- lation of the inimitable original, and he could not be in- different to the result. To Mrs. King; he thus writes on the occasion: — u My Homer is gone forth, and I can sin- cerely say, — joy go with it! What place it holds in the estimation of the generality I cannot tell, having heard no more about it since its publication than if no such work 256 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. existed. I must except, however, an anonymous eulogium from some man of letters, which I received about a week ago. It was kind in a perfect stranger, as he avows him- self to be, to relieve me in some degree, at least, at so early a day, from, much of the anxiety that I could not but feel on such an occasion: I should be glad to know who he is, only that I might thank him/' Cowper, very properly, dedicated the Illiad to his noble relative Earl Cowper, and the Odyssey to the dowager Countess Spencer, whom, in one of his letters he thus des- cribes: — u We had a visit on Monday from one of the first women in the world; I mean, in point of character and accomplishments, — the Dowager Lady Spencer! I may receive, perhaps, some honours hereafter, should my trans- lation speed according to my wishes, and the pains I have taken with it; but shall never receive any that I esteem so highly; she is indeed, worthy, to whom I should dedicate, and may but my Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall have nothing to fear from the critics." Whether it arose from the unreasonable expectations of the public, or from the utter impossibility of conveying all the graces and the beauties of these unrivalled poems, in a translation, it is certain that the volumes, when they ap- peared, did not give that satisfaction, either to the author, or to his readers, which had been anticipated. It would, perhaps, be difficult, if not impossible, to assign a better reason, for the imperfection of Cowper's translation, if im- perfection it deserves to be called, than that mentioned by his justly admired biographer, Mr. Hayley. — " Homer is so exquisitely beautiful in his own language, and he has been so long an idol in every literary mind, that any copy of him, which the best of modern poets can execute, must probably resemble in its effect, the portrait of a graceful woman, painted by an excellent artist for her lover; the TFIE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 257 lover, indeed, will acknowledge great merit in the work, and think himself much indebted to the skill of such an artist, but he will never acknowledge, as in truth he never can feel, that the best of resemblances exhibits all the grace that he discerns in the beloved original. So fares it with the admirers of Homer ; his very translators them- selves, feel so perfectly the power of this predominant af- fection, that they gradually grow discontented with their own labour, however approved in the moment of its sup- posed completion. This was so remarkably the case with Cowper, that in process of time we shall see him employed upon what may almost be called his second translation, so great were the alterations he made in a deliberate revisal of the work, for a second edition. And in the preface to that edition, he has spoken of his own labour with the most frank and ingenuous veracity. Yet of the first edition it may, I think, be fairly said, that it accomplished more than any of his poetical predecessors had achieved before him. It made the nearest approach to that sweet majestic simplicity which forms one of the most attractive features in the great prince and father of poets." If Cowper had derived no other benefit from his trans- lation, than that of constant employment, for so long a time, when he stood so much in need of it, it would have been to him invaluable, as the best and most effectual remedy for that inordinate sensibility to which he was subject. Besides this, however, it procured him other advantages of paramount importance; it improved the general state of his health; it introduced him to a circle of literary friends, whom he would otherwise never have known, and who, when they once knew him, could not fail to * feel affectionately interested in his welfare; it brought him into closer contact with those with whom he had pre- viously been acquainted, by inducing him to avail him- 258 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. self of their kind offers and assistance in the transcribing way, # which to a mind like his could not fail to become a source of almost uninterrupted enjoyment ; it established his reputation as a most accomplished scholar, and unques- tionably ranked him among the highest class of poets. A living writer has well remarked, that " to Cowper's translation of Homer, we are beholden, not only for the pleasure, which a perusal will be sure to afford to reason- able and patient readers, but we may attribute to its happy possession of his mind all the beautiful and inimitable letters which appear in his correspondence, during the pro- gress of that work. The toil of daily turning over the thoughts of the greatest of poets, in every form of Eng- lish that his ingenuity could devise, occupied, for many years, that very portion of his time which, with a person of no profession, and having no stated duties to perform, lies heaviest upon the spirit. The salutary exercise of his morning studies made him relish with keener zest the re- laxation of his social hours, .or those welcome opportunities of epistolary converse with the absent, in which it is evident that much of the little happiness allowed to him lay ; he is never more at home, consequently never more amiable, sprightly, and entertaining, and even poetical, than in his correspondence, when he pours out all the treasures of his mind and the affections of his heart, upon the paper which is to be the speaking representative of himself to those he loves. It has often been regretted that instead of this labour in vain, as the translation of Homer has sometimes seemed to many, he had not spent an equal portion of time and talent on original composi- * It is said that Broome assisted Pope very largely in his translation of Homer ; but Cowper had no assistant in that way. All the Throckmorton family, Lady Hesketh, Mrs. Johnson, and many others, helped him as transcribers, and only as such. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 259 tion. The regret is at least as much bestowed in vain, as was that labour, for there is no well-founded reason to sup- pose, from the momentary jeopardy in which he lived, of being plunged into sudden, irretrievable despondence, that if he had been otherwise employed, he could have main- tained even that small share of health and cheerfulness which he enjoyed." It was not to be expected that a mind like Cowper's could remain for any lengthened period unemployed. Ac- customed as he had long been to intense application, when he had completed his great work, he immediately felt the want of some other engagement To a mind less active than his, replying to his correspondents, which had now become most extensive, would have been employment amply suffi- cient — especially as he was considerably in arrears with them, owing to his previous labours. This, however, was not enough for Cowper. He wanted something more worthy of his powers; something that required more vigour of thought, and demanded more severe application. Several of his friends again urged him for original com- position, and in all probability they would have been suc- sessful, had he not, about this time, received a letter from his publisher, of whose judgment and integrity he had always entertained a high opinion, recommending him to prepare materials for a splendid edition of Milton. To this pro- posal Cowper immediately assented. He had always ex- pressed himself delighted with Milton's poetry, and on one occasion, in a letter to his friend Mr. Unwin, had thus ven- tured to defend his character from the severe censures cast upon him by Johnson, in his " Lives of the Poets :" — " I have been well entertained with Johnson's biography, for which I thank you ; with one exception, and that a swinging one, I think he has acquitted himself with his usual good sense and sufficiency. His treatment of Milton is unmerci- s 2 260 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. ful to the last degree. He has belaboured that great poet's character with the most industrious cruelty. As a man, he has hardly left him the shadow of one good quality. Churlishness in his private life, and a rancorous hatred of every thing royal in his public, are the two colours with which he has smeared all the canvas. If he had any virtues, they are not to be found in the Doctor's picture of him, and it is well for Milton, that some sourness in his temper is the only vice, with which his memory has been charged ; it is evident enough, that if his biographer could have dis- covered more, he would not have spared him. As a poet he has treated him with severity enough, and has plucked one or two of the most beautiful feathers out of his muse's wing, and trampled them under his great foot. He has passed sentence of condemnation upon Lycidas, and has taken occasion from that charming poem, to expose to ridicule (what is indeed ridiculous enough) the childish prattlings of pastoral compositions, as if Lycidas was the prototype and pattern of them all. The liveliness of the description, the sweetness of the numbers, the classical spirit of antiquity that prevails in it, go for nothing. I am convinced by the way, that he has no ear for poetical numbers, or that it was stopped by prej udice against the harmony of Milton's. Was there ever any thing so de- lightful as the music of the Paradise Lost ? It is like that of a fine organ ; has the fullest and the deepest tones of majesty, with all the softness and elegance of the Dorian flute. Variety without end, and never equalled, unless perhaps by Virgil. Yet the Doctor has little or nothing to say upon this copious theme, but talks something about the unfitness of the English language for blank-verse, and how apt it is, in the mouth of some readers, to degenerate into declamation." Cowper had no sooner made up his mind on the subject THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 261 of his new engagement, than he communicated it to his correspondents. To one he writes, " I am deep in a new literary engagement, being retained by my bookseller as editor of an intended most magnificent edition of Milton's Poetical Works. This will occupy me as much as Homer did, for a year or two to come ; and when I have finished it, I shall have run through all the degrees of my profes- sion, as author, translator, and editor. I know not that a fourth could be found ; but if a fourth can be found, I dare say I shall find it. I am now translating Milton's Latin poems. I give them, as opportunity offers, all the variety of measures that I can. Some I render in heroic rhymes, some in stanzas, some in seven, some in eight syl- lable measure, and some in blank verse. They will altoge- ther, I hope, make an agreeable miscellany for the English reader. They are certainly good in themselves, and cannot fail to please, but by the fault of their translator." One of his most esteemed correspondents, the Hev. Walter Bagot, attempted to dissuade him from entering upon his new engagement, and urged him to publish in a third vo- lume, what original pieces he had already composed, added to a translation of Milton's Latin and Italian poems. Had this plan been suggested to him earlier, he would, in all pro- bability, have pursued it, as he thus writes to his friend on the subject. " As to Milton, the die is cast. I am engaged, have bargained with Johnson, and cannot recede. I should otherwise have been glad to do as you advise, to make the translation of his Latin and Italian poems, part of another volume, for with such an addition, I have nearly as much verse in my budget, as would be required for the purpose." From some expressions in a letter to Rev. Mr. Hurdis, the author of The Village Curate, with whom Cowper had en- tered into a correspondence, a few months previous to this, 262 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. and to whom he had written several most interesting let- ters ; it would appear as if he entered upon his new en- gagement, rather precipitately, and without due considera- tion. " I am much obliged to you for wishing that I were employed in some original work, rather than in translation. To tell the truth, I am of your mind ; and unless I could find another Homer, I shall promise (I believe) and vow, when I have done with Milton, never to translate again. But my veneration for our great countryman is equal to what I feel for the Grecian ; and consequently I am happy, and feel myself honourably employed, whatever I do for Milton. I am now translating his Epitaphium Damonis ; a pastoral, in my judgment, equal to any of Virgil's Buco- lics, but of which Dr. Johnson (so it pleased him) speaks, as I remember, contemptuously. But he who never saw any beauty in a rural scene, was not likely to have much taste for a pastoral. In pace quiescat /" Among other consequences resulting from his new un- dertaking, one of the most gratifying to himself was, its becoming the means of introducing him to an acquaintance with his esteemed friend, and future biographer, Mr. Hay- ley. This important event in Cowper's life, — so it after- wards proved, — is related with so much beauty and simpli- city by Mr. Hayley, in his life of Cowper, and reflects a lustre so bright on both the biographer and the poet, that we cannot do better than give it in his own words. Mr. Hayley thus relates the circumstance. " As it is to Milton that I am in a great measure indebted for what I must ever regard as a signal blessing, the friendship of Cowper, the reader will pardon me for dwelling a little on the cir- cumstances that produced it: circumstances which often lead me to repeat those sweet verses of my friend, on the casual origin of our valuable attachments." " Mysterious are His ways whose power Brings forth that unexpected hour, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 263 When minds that never met before Shall meet, unite, and part no more : It is the allotment of the skies, The hand of the supremely wise, That guides and governs our affections, And plans and orders our connections." " These charming lines strike with peculiar force on my heart, when I recollect that it was an idle endeavour to make us enemies, which gave rise to our intimacy, and that I was providentially conducted to Weston at a season when my presence there afforded peculiar comfort to my affectionate friend, under the pressure of a very heavy do- mestic affliction which threatened to overwhelm his very tender spirits. The entreaty of many persons whom I wished to oblige, had engaged me to write a life of Milton, before I had the slightest suspicion that my work could interfere with the projects of any man ; but I was soon surprised and concerned in hearing that I was represented in a newspaper as an antagonist of Cowper. I imme- diately wrote to him on the subject, and our correspondence soon endeared us to each other in no common degree. The series of his letters to me I value, not only as memorials of a most dear and honourable friendship, but as exquisite examples of epistolary excellence." The above interesting extract will have informed the reader that Mr. Hayley paid Cowper a visit at Weston ; this visit, however, so gratifying to both parties, did not take place till the beginning of May, 1792. In the De- cember previous, Cowper met with one of the heaviest do- mestic calamities he had ever experienced. Mrs. Unwin, his affectionate companion, who had watched over him, with so much tenderness and anxiety, for so many years, was suddenly attacked with strong symptoms of paralysis. In a letter to his friend, Mr. Rose, dated 21st December, 264 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1791, Cowper thus relates this painful event: — "On Sa- turday last, while I was at my desk, near the window, and Mrs. Unwin at the fire-side opposite to it, I heard her sud- denly exclaim, 'Oh! Mr. Cowper, don't let me fall!' I turned, and saw her actually falling, and started to her side just in time to prevent her. She was seized with a violent giddiness, which lasted, though with some abate- ment, the whole day, and was attended with some other very, very alarming symptoms. At present, however, she is relieved from the vertigo, and seems, in all respects, better. She has been my faithful and affectionate nurse for many years, and consequently has a claim on all my attentions. She has them, and will have them, as long as she wants them, which will probably be, at the least, a considerable time to come. I feel the shock, as you may suppose, in every nerve. God grant that there may be no repetition of it. Another such a stroke upon her would, I think, overset me completely ; but, at present, I hold up bravely." Notwithstanding the interruption of Cowper's studies, occasioned by Mrs. Un win's indisposition, and by the ex- treme slowness of her recovery, he had now become so much accustomed to regular employment, and had derived from it so many advantages, that he could not possibly remain inactive. In the month of February we find him thus employed. " Milton, at present, engrosses me alto- gether. His Latin pieces I have translated, and have begun with the Italian. These are few, and will not detain me long. I shall proceed immediately to deliberate upon, and to settle the plan of my commentary, which I have hitherto had but little time to consider. I look forward to it, for this reason, with some anxiety. I trust, at least, that this anxiety will cease, when I have once satisfied myself about the best manner of conducting it. But, after THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 265 all, I seem to fear more the labour to which it calls me, than any great difficulty with which it likely to be at- tended. To the labours of versifying I have no objection, but to the labours of criticism I am new, and apprehend that I shall find them wearisome. Should that be the case I shall be dull, but must be contented to share the censure of being so, with almost all the commentators that have ever existed. I will, however, have no horrida bella, if I can help it. It is, at least, my present purpose to avoid them if possible ; for which reason, I shall confine myself merely to the business of an annotator, which is my proper province, and shall sift out of Warton's notes every tittle that relates to the private character, political or reli- gious principles of my author. These are properly sub- jects for a biographer's handling, but by no means, as it seems to me, for a commentator's." In reply to a pressing letter from his friend, Mr. Newton, for original composition, written about this time, Cowper thus expresses himself: — " Your demand for more original composition from me will, if I live, and it please God to afford me health, in all probability, be sooner or later gra- tified. In the meantime you need not, and if you turn the matter over in your thoughts a little, you will perceive that you need not, think me unworthily employed in pre- paring a new edition of Milton. His two principal poems are of a kind that call for an editor who believes the gospel, and is well grounded in evangelical doctrine. Such an editor they have never had, though only such an one can be qualified for the office." The peculiarity of Cowper's religious feelings still con- tinued to exist ; and it seemed impossible for him to divest himself entirely of those gloomy apprehensions, of his own personal interest in the blessings of the gospel, which had harassed and distressed him for so many years. On every 266 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. other subject he could write, and converse, with ease to himself, [and with pleasure to others ; but the morbid ten- dency of his mind to despondency, tinged all his remarks with midnight gloom whenever he adverted to this. An instance of this occurred in one of his letters to Mr. Newton about this time. After describing, in his own playful manner, some changes that had recently taken place in the circle of his immediate acquaintance, he thus closes his letter, which, notwithstanding the excellence of the re- marks, evinces the existence of considerable depression. " Such is this variable scene, so variable, that, had the re- flections I sometimes make upon it a permanent influence, I should tremble at the thought of a new connexion ; and to be out of the reach of its mutability, lead almost the life of a hermit. It is well with those, who, like you, have God for their companion ; death cannot deprive them of him, and he changes not the place of his abode. Other changes, therefore, to them are all supportable ; and what you say of your own experience is the strongest possible proof of it. Had you lived without God, you could not have endured the loss you mention. May he preserve me from a similar one ; at least, till he shall be pleased to draw me to himself again. Then, if ever that day come, it will make me equal to my burden ; at present, I can bear no- thing well. I, however, generally manage to pass my time comfortably, as much so, at least, as Mrs. Unwin's frequent indisposition, and my no less frequent troubles of mind, will permit. When I am much distressed, any company but her's distresses me more, and makes me doubly sen- sible of my sufferings, though sometimes, I confess, it falls out otherwise; and by the help of more general conversa- tion, I recover that elasticity of mind which is able to resist the pressure. On the whole, I believe, I am situated ex- actly as I should wish to be, were my situation determined THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 267 by my own election ; and am denied no comfort that is com- patible with the total absence of the chief of all. I rejoiced, and had great reason to do so, in your coming to Weston, for I think the Lord came with you. Not, indeed, to abide with me, nor to restore me to that intercourse which I had with him, and which I enjoyed twenty years ago, but to awaken in me, however, more spiritual feeling than I have experienced, except in two instances, all that time. The comforts that I had received under your ministry in better days, all rushed upon my recollection ; and, during two or three transient moments, seemed to be in a degree renewed. You will tell me that, transient as they were, they were yet evidences of a love that is not so; and I am desirous to believe it." We have already informed our readers, that Cowper's engagement as the editor of Milton, became the means of introducing him to Mr. Hayley. He received the first letter from that gentleman in March, 1792. An incident occurred respecting this letter which ought not to go un- recorded ; as it might have proved fatal to that friendship, which became to both the poets, a source of the purest enjoyment. Neither of these talented individuals, had, at that time, any knowledge of each other. Mr. Hayley had read Cowper's productions with no ordinary emotions of delight, and had consequently conceived the highest re- spect for their unknown author; and nothing could have occasioned him greater surprise, as well as uneasiness, than to be represented as the opponent of one whom he so highly respected. No sooner was he apprised of it than he wrote to Cowper, generously offering him any materials that he had collected, with as much assistance as it was in his power to afford, and being unacquainted with his ad- dress, directed his letter to the care of Johnson, his publisher. Either through the carelessness or inadvertence 268 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. of Johnson, this letter remained in his hands for a con- siderable time, and was not delivered to Cowper till six weeks after it had been written. Immediately on receiving it Cowper wrote to Mr. Hayley, explaining the cause of his long delayed reply, and from that time, an interchange of many most interesting letters took place, which subse- quently led to a friendship the most cordial and ardent, which it was only in the power of death to dissolve. In a letter to Lady Hesketh, Cowper thus adverts to this circum- stance : — " Mr. Hayley's friendly and complimentary letter, from some unknown cause, at least to me, slept six weeks in Johnson's custody. It was necessary I should answer it without delay, accordingly I answered it the very evening on which I received it, giving him to understand, among other things, how much vexation the bookseller's folly had cost me, who had detained it so long, especially on account of the distress that I knew it must have occasioned to him also. From his reply, which the return of the post brought me, I learn that in the long interval of my non-correspon- dence he had suffered anxiety and mortification enough; so much so that I dare say he made twenty vows never to hazard again either letter or compliment to an unknown author. What, indeed, could he imagine less, than that I meant by such obstinate silence to tell him that I valued neither him nor his praises, nor his proffered friendship ; in short, that I considered him as a rival, and, therefore, like a true author, hated and despised him. He is now, however, convinced that I love him, as indeed I do, and I account him the chief acquisition that my verse has ever procured me. Brute should I be if I did not, for he promises me every assistance in his power." To Mr. Hayley, at the commencement of Cowper's corres- pondence with him, and after the above unpleasant occur- rence had been satisfactorily accounted for, and amicably THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 269 settled, he thus expresses his anxiety that the friendship thus formed might be lasting : — " God grant that this friendship of ours maybe a comfort to us all the rest of our days, in a world where true friendships are rarities, and especially, where suddenly formed, they are apt soon to terminate. But, as I said before, I feel a disposition of heart towards you that I never felt for one whom I had never seen ; and that shall prove itself, I trust, in the event, a propitious omen. It gives me the sincerest plea- sure that I hope to see you at Weston ; for as to any migrations of mine, they must, I fear, notwithstanding the joy I should feel in being a guest of yours, be still con- sidered in the light of impossibilities. Come, then, my friend, and be as welcome, as the country people say here, as the flowers in May. I am happy, I say, in the expecta- tion, but the fear or rather the consciousness, that I shall not answer on a nearer view, makes it a trembling kind of happiness, and invests it with many doubts. Bring with you any books that you think may be useful to my com- mentatorship, for with you for an interpreter, I shall be afraid of none of them. And in truth if you think you shall want them, you must bring books for your own use also, for they are an article with which I am heinously un- provided; being much in the condition of the man whose library Pope describes, as — " No mighty store ! His own works neatly bound, and little more." Mr. Hayley's projected visit, anticipated so fondly, both by himself and by Cowper, took place in May 1792. — The interview between these talented individuals proved reciprocally delightful. Though Cowper was now in his sixty-first year, he felt none of the infirmities of advanced life, but was as active and vigorous, both in mind and body, 270 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. as his best friends could wish him. Mrs. Unwin had nearly recovered from her late severe attack, and as her health was every day progressively improving, there seemed every probability of their enjoying a long continuance of domestic comfort. Mr. Hayley thus describes the manner in which he was received, and his sensations on the occa- sion. — " Their reception of me was kindness itself; I was enchanted to find that the manners and conversation of Cowper resembled his poetry, charming by unaffected elegance, and the graces of a benevolent spirit. I looked with affectionate veneration and pleasure on the lady, who, having devoted her life and fortune to the service of this tender and sublime genius, in watching over him with maternal vigilance, through so many years of the darkest calamity, appeared to be now enjoying a reward justly due to the noblest exertions of friendship, in contemplating the health, and the renown of the poet, whom she had the happiness to preserve. It seemed hardly possible to survey human nature in a more touching, and a more satisfactory point of view. Their tender attention to each other, their simple, devout gratitude for the mercies which they had experienced together, and their constant but unaffected propensity to impress on the mind and heart of a new friend, the deep sense which they incessantly felt, of their mutual obligations to each other ; afforded me very singu- lar gratification." This scene of exquisite enjoyment to all parties, as is frequently the case in a world like ours, was suddenly exchanged for one of the deepest melancholy and distress. Mr. Hayley has related the painful event with so much tenderness and simplicity, that we cannot do better than present it to our readers in his own words. — " After pass- ing our mornings in social study, we usually walked out together at noon; in returning from one of our rambles THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 271 round the pleasant village of Weston, we were met by Mr. Greethead, an accomplished minister of the gospel, who resides at Newport Pagnel, and whom Cowper described to me in terms of cordial esteem. He came forth to meet us, as we drew near the house, and it was soon visible from his countenance and manner, that he had ill news to impart. After the most tender preparation that humanity could devise, he informed Cowper, that Mrs. Unwin was under the immediate pressure of a paralytic attack. My agitated friend, rushed to the sight of the sufferer; he returned to me in a state that alarmed me in the highest degree for his faculties : his first speech was wild in the extreme ; my answer would appear little less so, but it was addressed to the predominant fancy of my unhappy friend, and with the blessing of heaven, it produced an instantaneous calm in his troubled mind. From that moment he rested on my friendship with such mild and cheerful confidence, that his affectionate spirit regarded me as sent providentially to support him in a season of the severest affliction." The best means to promote the recovery of Mrs. Unwin, that could have been used under similar circumstances, were resorted to. Happily, they proved to a considerable degree successful, and she gradually recovered both her strength and the use of her faculties. The effect of this attack, however, upon Cowper's tender mind, was in the highest degree painful. This will not perhaps be surpris- ing, when it is recollected how sincerely he was attached to his afflicted inmate, and how deeply he interested him- self in every thing that related to her welfare. The follow- ing beautiful lines will convey to the reader some idea of the exalted opinion he had formed of her character." " Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew, 272 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things ! That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth, with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true — Verse that immortalizes whom it sings ! But thou hast little need : there is a book, By seraphs writ, with beams of heavenly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look ! A chronicle of actions just and bright ! There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine." The following extracts from Cowper's correspondence, immediately after this painful event, describe satisfactorily the state of his mind : — "I wish with all my heart, my dearest cousin, that I had not ill news for the sub- ject of this letter : my friend, my Mary, has again been attacked by the same disorder that threatened me last year with the loss of her, of which you were your- self a witness. The present attack has been much the severest. Her speech has been almost unintelligible from the moment that she was struck : it is with difficulty she can open her eyes ; and she cannot keep them open, the muscles necessary for that purpose being contracted ; and as to self-moving powers from place to place, and the right use of her hand and arm, she has entirely lost them. I hope, however, she is beginning to recover : her amendment is indeed but very slow, as must be expected at her time of life. I am as well myself, and indeed better than you have ever known me in such trouble. It has happened well for me that, of all men living, the man best qualified to assist and comfort me, is here ; though, till within these few days, I never saw him, and a few weeks since had no expectation that I ever should. You have already guessed that I mean Hayley — Hayley, who loves me as if he had THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 273 known me from my cradle. When he returns to town, as he must, alas ! he will pay his respects to you. He has, I assure you, been all in all to us, on this very afflictive occasion. Love him, I charge you, clearly, for my sake. Where could I have found a man, except himself, so ne- cessary to me, in so short a time, that I absolutely know not how to live without him ? " Mr. Hayley left Weston early in June, at which time many pleasing symptoms of Mrs. Unwin's ultimate re- covery began to appear. Cowper's letters to his friend after his departure, which were written almost daily, afford ample proofs of the warmth of his affection for him, and of the deep interest he took in promoting Mrs. Unwin's recovery. He thus commences his first letter to Mr. Hayley: — " All's well ! which words I place as con- spicuously as possible, and prefix them to my letter, to save you the pain, my friend and brother, of a moment's anxious speculation. Poor Mary proceeds in her amend- ment, and improves, I think, even at a swifter rate than when you left her. The stronger she grows, the faster she gathers strength, which is perhaps the natural course of recovery. Yesterday was a noble day with her : speech, almost perfect — eyes, open almost the whole day, without any effort to keep them so — and her step, wonderfully improved ! Can I ever honour you enough for your zeal to serve me ? Truly I think not. 1 am, however, so sensible of the love I owe you on this account, that I every day regret the acuteness of your feelings for me, convinced that they expose you to much trouble, mortification, and dis- appointment. I have, in short, a poor opinion of my destiny, as I told you when you were here ; and though I believe, if any man living can do me good, you will, I cannot yet persuade myself that even you will be successful in attempting it. But it is no matter : you arc yourself a T 274 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEU. good which I can never value enough; and, whether rich or poor in other respects, I shall always account myself better provided for than I deserve, with such a friend as you, that I can call my own. Let it please God to con- tinue to me my William and Mary, and I shall be more reasonable than to grumble. I rose this morning, wrapt round with a cloud of melancholy, and with a heart full of fears ; but if I see my Mary's amendment a little advanced, I shall be better." " Of what materials can you suppose me made, if, after all the rapid proofs you have given me of your friendship, I do not love you with all my heart, and regret your ab- sence continually. But you must permit me to be me- lancholy now and then ; or, if you will not, I must be so without your permission • for that sable thread is so inter- woven with the very thread of my existence as to be in- separable from it, at least while I exist in the body. Be content, therefore : let me sigh and groan, but always be sure that I love you. You will be well assured that I should not have indulged myself in this rhapsody about myself and my melancholy, had my present state of mind been of that complexion, or had not our poor Mary seemed still to advance in her recovery. It is a great blessing to us both, that, feeble as she is, she has a most invincible courage, and a trust in God's goodness that nothing shakes. She is certainly, in some degree, better than she was yester- day ; but how to measure the degree I know not, except by saying — that it is just perceptible." • In a letter dated 11th June, 1792, Cowper thus dis- closes his state of mind to Lady Hesketh. " My dearest cousin, thou art ever in my thoughts, whether I am writing to thee or not, and my correspondence seems to grow upon me at such a rate, that I am not able to address thee so often as I would. In fact, I live only to write letters. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 275 Hayley is, as you see, added to the number of my corres- pondents, and to him I write almost as duly as I rise in the morning. Since I wrote last, Mrs. Unwin has been continually improving in strength, but at so gradual a rate, that I can only mark it by saying that she moves every day with less support than the former. On the whole, I believe she goes on as well as can be expected, though not quite so well as to satisfy me." " During the last two months I seem to myself to have been in a dream. It has been a most eventful period, and fruitful to an uncommon degree, both in good and in evil. I have been very ill, and suffered excruciating pain. I recovered, and became quite well again. I received within my doors a man, but lately, an entire stranger, and who now. loves me as his brother, and forgets himself to serve me. Mrs. Unwin has been seized with an illness, that for many days threatened to deprive me of her, and to cast a gloom, an impenetrable one, on all my future pros- pects. She is now granted to me again. A few days since I should have thought the moon might have des- cended into my purse as likely as any emolument, and now it seems not impossible. All this has come to pass with such rapidity as events move with in romance indeed, but not often in real life. Events of all sorts creep or fly ex- actly as God pleases.' 7 While Mr. Hayley was at Weston, he had persuaded Cowper and Mrs. Unwin to promise him a visit at Eartham, some time in the summer. Believing it would greatly im- prove Mrs. Unwin's health, and be an agreeable relaxation to Cowper, after the anxiety of mind he had felt respecting his esteemed invalid. Mr. Hayley wrote several pressing invitations to induce them to come as early as possible. The following extracts will shew the state of Cowper's mind respecting it. To Mr. Bull he writes, " We are on t2 276 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. the eve of a journey, and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we set out for Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hayley, on the other side of London, nobody knows where, a hundred and twenty miles off. Pray for us, my friend, that we may have a safe going and return. It is a tremendous exploit, and I feel a thousand anxieties when I think of it. But a promise made to him when he was here, that we would go if we could, and a sort of per- suasion that we can if we will, oblige us to it. The jour- ney and the change of air, together with the novelty to us of the scene to which we are going, may, I hope, be useful to us both ; especially to Mrs. Unwin, who has most need of restoratives." To Mr. Newton he thus discloses his feelings on the subject. " You may imagine that we, who have been re- sident in one spot for so many years, do not engage in such an enterprise without some anxiety. Persons accus- tomed to travel would make themselves merry with mine; it seems so disproportion ed to the occasion. Once I have been on the point of determining not to go, and even since we fixed the day, my troubles have been almost insup- portable. But it has been made a matter of much prayer, and at last it has pleased God to satisfy me, in some mea- sure, that his will corresponds with our purpose, and that he will afford us his protection. You, I know, will not be unmindful of us during our absence from home ; but will obtain for us, if your prayers can do it, all that we would ask for ourselves — the presence and favour of God, a salu- tary effect of our journey, and a safe return." Anxious to enjoy the pleasure of Cowper's company at Eartham, Mr. Hayley, in his letters to the poet, urged him, by no means to defer his visit till late in the summer. From Cowper's replies we select the following interesting extracts. " The weather is sadly against my Mary's re- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 277 covery ; it deprives her of many a good turn in the orchard , and fifty times have I wished this very day, that Dr. Dar- win's scheme of giving rudders and sails to the icelands, that spoil all our summers, were actually put into practice. So should we have gentle airs instead of churlish blasts, and those everlasting sources of bad weather, being once navigated into the southern hemisphere, my Mary would recover as fast again. We are both of your mind respect- ing the journey to Eartham, and think that July, if by that time she have strength for the journey, will be better than August. This, however, must be left to the Giver of all Good. If our visit to you be according to his will, he will smooth our way before us, and appoint the time of it ; and I thus speak not because I wish to seem a saint in your eyes, but because my poor Mary actually is one, and would not set her foot over the threshold, unless she had, or thought she had, God's free permission. With that she would go through floods and fire, though without it she would be afraid of every thing — afraid even to visit you, dearly as she loves, and much as she longs to see you." In another letter to Mr. Hayley, he writes, " The pro- gress of the old nurse in Terence is very much like the progress of my poor patient in the road of recovery. I cannot indeed say that she moves but advances not, for advances are certainly made, but the progress of a week is hardly perceptible. I know not, therefore, at present, what to say about this long postponed journey ; the utmost that it is safe for me to say at this moment is this, — you know that you are dear to us both ; true it is that you are so, and equally true, that the very instant we feel our- selves at liberty, we will fly to Eartham. You wish me to settle the time, and I wish with all my heart so to do ; living in hopes, meanwhile, that I shall be able to do it soon. But some little time must necessarily intervene; 278 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Our Mary must be able to walk alone, to cut her own food, and to feed herself, and to wear her own shoes, for at pre- sent she wears mine. All these things considered, my friend and brother, you will see the expediency of waiting a little before we set off to Eartham. We mean, indeed, before that day arrives, to make a trial of her strength ; how far she may be able to bear the motion of a carriage, a motion that she has not felt these seven years. I grieve that we are thus circumstanced, and that we cannot gra- tify ourselves in a delightful and innocent project, without all these precautions ; but when we have leaf-gold to handle, we must do it tenderly." The day was at length fixed for this long intended journey ; and the following letter to Mr. Hayley, written a day or two previously, describes Cowper's feelings respect- ing it : — " Through floods and flames to your retreat I win my desp'rate way, And when we meet, if e'er we meet, Will echo your huzza ! " " You will wonder at the word desperate in the second line, and at the if in the third ; but could you have any concep- tion of the fears I have had to bustle with, of the dejection of spirits that I have suffered concerning this journey, you would wonder much that I still courageously persevere in my reso- lution to undertake it. Fortunately for my intention, it hap- pens that as the day approaches my terrors abate ; for had they continued to be what they were a week ago, I must, after all, have disappointed you ; and was actually once, on the verge of doing it. I have told you something of my nocturnal experiences, and assure you now, that they were hardly ever more terrific than on this occasion. Prayer has, however, opened my passage at last, and obtained for THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 279 me a degree of confidence, that I trust will prove a com- fortable viaticum to me all the way. The terrors that I have spoken of would appear ridiculous to most, but to you they will not, for you are a reasonable creature, and know well that to whatever cause it be owing (whether to con- stitution or to God's express appointment) I am hunted by spiritual hounds in the night season. I cannot help it. You will pity me, and wish it were otherwise ; and though you may think there is much of the imaginary in it, will not deem it, for that reason, an evil less to be lamented. So much for fears and distresses. Soon I hope they will all have a joyful termination, and I and my Mary be skipping with delight at Eartham." The protracted indisposition of Mrs. Unwin, and the preparation which Cowper thought it necessary to make for his journey, had entirely diverted his mind from his liter- ary undertaking. To Mr. Hayley, on this point, he thus writes : — " I know not how you proceed in your Life of Milton, but I suppse not very rapidly, for while you were here, and since you left us, you have had no other theme but me. As for myself, except my letters and the nuptial song I sent you in my last, I have literally done nothing, since I saw you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing way, though a great deal in another ; that is to say, in attending my poor Mary, and endeavouring to nurse her up for a journey to Eartham. In this I have hitherto succeeded tolerably well, and I had rather carry this point completely than be the most famous editor of Milton the world has ever seen, or shall see. As to this affair, I know not what will become of it. I wrote to Johnson a week since to tell him, that the interruption of Mrs. Unwin's illness still con- tinuing, and being likely to continue, I knew not when I should be able to proceed. The translations I said were finished, except the revisal of a part. I hope, or rather 280 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. wish, that at Eartham I may recover that habit of study which, inveterate as it once seemed, I now seem to have lost — lost to such a degree, that it is even painful for me to think of what it will cost me to acquire it again." About this time, at the request of a much esteemed re- lative, Cowper sat to Abbot, the painter, for his portrait ; and the following playful manner in which he adverts to the circumstance, exhibits the peculiarity of his case, and shews, that though he was almost invariably suffering under the influence of deep depression, he frequently wrote to his correspondents, in a strain the most sprightly and cheerful: — " How do you imagine I have been occupied these last ten days ? In sitting, not on cockatrice eggs, nor yet to gratify a mere idle humour, nor because I was too sick to move, but because my cousin Johnson has an aunt who has a longing desire of my picture, and because he would, therefore, bring a painter from London to draw it. For this purpose I have been sitting, as I say, these ten days ; and am heartily glad that my sitting time is over. The likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the room where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me where they know I am not." " Abbot is painting me so true, That (trust me) you would stare And hardly know, at the first view, If I were here, or there." Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton, instead of being here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, which, therefore, you can never see, for it goes to London next Monday, to be suspended awhile at Abbot's, and then pro- ceeds into Norfolk, where it will be suspended for ever." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 281 CHAPTER XVI. Journey to Eartham — Incidents of it — Safe arrival — Description of its beauties — Employment there — Reply to a letter from Mr. Hurdis, on the death of his sister — State of Cowper's mind at Eartham — His great attention to Mrs. Unwin — Return to Weston — Interview with General Cowper — Safe arrival at their beloved retreat — Violence of his depressive malady — Regrets the loss of his studious habit — Ineffectual efforts to obtain it — Warmth of his affection for Mr. Hayley — Dread of January — Prepares for a se- cond edition of Homer — Commences writing notes upon it — Labour it occasioned him — His close application — Continuance of his depression — Judicious consolatory advice he gives to his friends — Letter to Rev. J. Johnson on his taking orders — Pleasure it afforded hiin to find that his relative entered upon the work with suitable feelings — Reply to Mr. Hayley respecting a joint literary undertaking. Cowper and Mrs. Unwin set out for Eartham in the be- ginning of August, 1792. It pleased God to conduct them thither in safety ; and though considerably fatigued with their journey, they were much less so than they had anticipated. Cowper's letters to his friends after his arrival, describe his feelings on the occasion, in a manner the most pleasing : — " Here we are, at Eartham, in the most elegant mansion that I have ever inhabited, and sur- rounded by the most beautiful pleasure grounds that I have ever seen ; but which, dissipated as my powers of thought are at present, I will not undertake to describe. It shall 282 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. suffice me to say that they occupy three sides of a hill, which in Buckinghamshire might well pass for a mountain, and from the summit of which is beheld a most magnifi- cent landscape, bounded by the sea, and in one part by the Isle of Wight, which may also be seen plainly from the window of the library, in which I am writing. It pleased God to carry us both through the journey with far less difficulty and inconvenience than I expected ; I began it indeed with a thousand fears, and when we arrived the first evening at Barnet, found myself oppressed in spirit to a degree that could hardly be exceeded. I saw Mrs. Unwin weary, as well she might be, and heard such noises, both within the house and without, that I concluded she would get no rest. But I was mercifully disappointed. She rested, though not well, yet sufficiently. Here we found our friend Rose, who had walked from his house in Chancery-lane, to meet us, and to greet us with his best wishes. At Kingston, where we dined, the second day, I found my old and much valued friend, General Cowper, whom I had not seen for thirty years, and but for this journey should never have seen again : when we arrived at Ripley, where we slept the second night, we were both in a better condition of body and of mind, than on the day preceding. Here we found a quiet inn, that housed, as it happened, that night, no company but ourselves ; we slept well and rose perfectly refreshed, and except some terrors that I felt at passing over the Sussex Hills at moonlight, met with little to complain of, till we arrived about ten o'clock, at Eartham. Here we are as happy as it is in the power of earthly good to make us. It is almost a paradise in which we dwell ; and our reception has been the kindest that it was possible for friendship and hospitality to con- trive." While at Eartham, Cowper and Mr. Hayley employed THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 283 the morning hours that they could bestow upon books, in revising and correcting Cowper's translation of Milton's Latin and Italian Poems. In the afternoon they occasion- ally amused themselves by forming together a rapid metrical version of Andreini's Adamo. Cowper's tender solicitude for Mrs. Unwin, however, rendered it impossible for them to be very attentive to these studies. Adverting to the anxiety of Cowper respecting Mrs. Unwin, Mr. Hayley thus writes : — " I have myself no language sufficiently strong or sufficiently tender, to express my just admiration of that angelic, compassionate sensibility with which Cow- per watched over his aged invalid. With the most singu- lar and most exemplary tenderness of attention, he in- cessantly laboured to counteract every infirmity, bodily and mental, with which sickness and age had conspired to load the interesting; guardian of his afflicted life." Cowper had been at Eartham but a few days, when he received a letter from his friend, Mr. Hurdis, informing him of the loss he had sustained by the death of a beloved sister. His compassionate heart immediately prompted him to write the following reply : — '* Your kind, but very affect- ing letter, found me not at Weston, to which place it was directed, but in a bower of my friend Hayley's garden, at Eartham, where I was sitting with Mrs. Unwin. We both knew, the moment we saw it, from whom it came ; and observing a red seal, both comforted ourselves that all was well at Bur wash ; but we soon felt that we were called not to rejoice, but to mourn with you ; we do, indeed, sincerely mourn with you ; and, if it will afford you any consolation to know it, you may be assured that every eye here has testified what our hearts have suffered for you. Your loss is great, and your disposition, I perceive, such as exposes you to feel the whole weight of it. I will not add to your sorrow by a vain attempt to assuage it ; your own good 284 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. sense, and the piety of your principles, will, of course, suggest to you the most powerful motives of acquiescence in the will of God. You will be sure to recollect, that the stroke, severe as it is, is not the stroke of an enemy, but of a Friend and a Father ; and will find, I trust, hereafter, that, like a Father, he has done you good by it. Thou- sands have been able to say, and myself as loud as any of them, it has been good for me that I have been afflicted ; but time is necessary to work us to this persuasion ; and in due time it will, no doubt, be yours." The following extracts from letters to Lady Hesketh, dated Eartham, describe his feelings while he remained there : — "I know not how it is, my dearest cousin, but in a new scene like this, surrounded by strange objects, I find my powers of thinking dissipated to a degree, that makes it difficult for me even to write a letter, and even a letter to you ; but such a letter as I can, I will, and I have the fairest chance to succeed this morning ; Hayley, Romney, and Hayley's son, being all gone to the sea for bathing. The sea, you must know, is nine miles off, so that, unless stupidity prevent, I shall have opportunity to write, not only to you, but to poor Hurdis also, who is broken-hearted for the loss of his favourite sister, lately dead. I am, without the least dissimulation, in good health ; my spi- rits are about as good as you have ever seen them; and if increase of appetite, and a double portion of sleep, be ad- vantageous, such are the benefits I have received from this migration. As to that gloominess of mind which I have felt these twenty years, it cleaves to me even here ; and could I be translated to paradise, unless I left my body behind me, would cleave to me even there also. It is my companion for life, and nothing will ever divorce us. Mrs. Un win is evidently the better for her jaunt, though by no means as she was before her last attack, still wanting THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 285 help when she would rise from her seat, and a support in walking, but she is able to take more exercise than when at home, and move with rather a less tottering step. God knows what he designs for me ; but when I see those who are dearer to me than myself, distempered and enfeebled, and myself as strong as in the days of my youth, I tremble for the solitude in which a few years may place me" " This is, as I have already told you, a delightful place; more beautiful scenery I have never beheld, nor expect to behold; but the charms of it, uncommon as they are, have not, in the least, alienated my affections from Weston. The genius of that place suits me better ; it has an air of snug concealment, in w T hich a disposition like mine feels peculiarly gratified ; whereas here, I see from every window woods like forests, and hills like mountains, a wilderness in short, that rather increases my natural melancholy, and which, were it not for the agreeables I find within, would convince me that mere change of place can avail but little." On the 17th September, 1792, Cowper, and Mrs. (Jnwin, left Eartham, for their beloved retreat at Weston. Their parting interview with their friends at Eartham, who had heaped upon them every thing that the most affectionate kindness could invent, was deeply interesting to all parties, but particularly affecting to the sensitive mind of Cowper. According to a previous arrangement, the poet and Mrs. Unwin dined, and spent the day with General Cowper, at Kingston, who had come there on purpose to have the pleasure of Cowper's company, probably for the last time. A recollection of this so powerfully affected the poet's mind, that the pleasure of the interview was hardly greater than the pain he felt at parting with his venerable and beloved kinsman. The peculiar and burdened state of Cowper's mind respecting this visit, he thus describes : — " The strug- gles that I had with my own spirit, labouring, as I did, 286 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER under the most dreadful dejection, are never to be told. I would have given the world to have been excused. I went, however, and carried my point against myself, with a heart riven asunder. I have reason for all this anxiety, which I cannot relate now ; the visit, however, passed off well, and I returned with a lighter heart than I had known since my departure from Eartham, and we both enjoyed a good night's rest afterwards." The good providence of God conducted these interest- ing travellers in safety to their home, where they arrived in the evening of the second day after they set out from Eartham. The unusual excitement occasioned by so long a journey, and by such a profusion of interesting objects, would, in ordinary cases, and in minds of almost any form, who had been so long confined to one spot, be very likely to be succeeded by considerable depression. Such was, however, much more likely to be the case on a mind like Cowper's. Accordingly we find, that when he arrived at Weston, he was, for a considerable time, subject to an un- usual degree of depression. The following extracts from his letters to his friend Hayley, describe the state of his mind, and shew how much he was then under the influ- ence of his depressive malady : — "Chaos, himself, even the chaos of Milton, is not surrounded with more con- fusion, nor has a mind more completely in a hubbub, than I experience at the present moment. A bad night, suc- ceeded by an east wind, and a sky all in sables, have such an effect on my spirits, that if I did not consult my own comfort more than yours, I should not write to-day, for I shall not entertain you much : yet your letter, though containing no very pleasant tidings, has afforded me some relief. It tells me, indeed, that you have been dispirited yourself; all this grieves me, but then there is warmth of heart, and a kindness in it, that do me good. I will THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 287 endeavour not to repay you in notes of sorrow and dis- pondence, though all my sprightly chords seem broken. In truth, one day excepted, I have not seen the day when I have been cheerful since I left you. My spirits, I think, are almost constantly lower than they were ; the approach of winter is perhaps the cause, and if it be, I have nothing better to expect for a long time to come. I began a long letter to you yesterday, and proceeded through two sides of the sheet, but so much of my ner- vous fever found its way into it, that, looking over it this morning, I determined not to send it. Your wishes to disperse my melancholy would, I am sure, prevail, did that event depend on the warmth and sincerity with which you frame them ; but it has baffled both wishes and prayers, and those the most fervent that could be made, so many years, that the case seems hopeless." These frequent, and, indeed, almost continual attacks of depression, combined with the attention that Cowper paid to promote the comfort, and facilitate the recovery of Mrs. Unwin, prevented him entirely from persevering in his li- terary undertaking. In his letters he makes this a subject of particular regret. The benefits he had derived from his regular habits of study during his translation of Homer, made him anxious to be again regularly employed. To his friend Mr. Rose he thus describes the state of his mind in this respect ; — " I wish that I were as industrious, and as much occupied as you, though in a different way, but it is not so with me. Mrs. Unwin's great debility is of itself a hindrance, such as would effectually disable me. Till she can work and read, and fill up her time as usual, (all which is at present entirely out of her power) I may now and then find time to write a letter, but I shall write nothing more. I cannot sit, with my pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is in effect, in solitude, silent, 288 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. and looking at tlie fire. To this hindrance that other has been added, of which you are aware, a want of spirits, such as I have never known when I was not absolutely laid by, since I commenced an author. How long I shall be con- tinued in these uncomfortable circumstances is known only to Him, who, as he will, disposes of us all." " I may yet be able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of Paradise Lost for the press, before it will be wanted, and Johnson himself seems to think there will be no haste for the second. But poetry is my favourite employment, and my poetical operations are in the meantime suspended ; for while a work, to which I have bound myself, remains un- accomplished, I can do nothing else. Johnson's plan of prefixing my phiz to the edition of my poems is by no means a pleasant one to me, and so I told him in a letter I sent him from Eartham, in which I assured him that my objections to it would not be easily surmounted. But, if you judge that it may really have an effect in advancing the sale, T would not be so squeamish as to suffer the spirit of prudery to prevail on me to his disadvantage. Some- body told an author, I forget whom, that there was more vanity in refusing his picture than in granting it, on which he instantly complied. I do not perfectly feel all the force of the argument, but it shall content me that he did." To his kinsman he writes : — " The successor of the clerk defunct, for whom I used to write, arrived here this morn- ing, with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an humble petition of his own, entreating me to assist him, as I had assisted his predecessor. I have undertaken the service, although with no little reluctance, being involved in many arrears on other subjects, and very little depend- ence at present on my ability to write at all. I proceed exactly as when you were here — a letter now and then be- fore breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday, if holi- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 289 day it may be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and 'forecasting the fashion of uncertain euz'/s.' The fever on my spirits has harassed me much, and I have never had so good a night, nor so quiet a rising, since you went, as on this very morning. A relief that I account particularly seasonable and propitious, because I had, in my intentions, devoted this morning to you, and could not have fulfilled those intentions, had I been as spiritless as I generally am. I am glad that Johnson is in no haste for Milton, for I seem myself not likely to address myself presently to that concern with any prospect of success, yet something, now and then, like a secret whisper, assures and encourages me that it will yet be done/' To his friend Hayley he thus writes : — " Yesterday was a day of assignation with myself, a day of which I had said, some days before it came, when that day comes, I will, if possible, begin my dissertations. Accordingly, when it came I prepared to do so ; filled a letter case with fresh paper, furnished myself with a pretty good pen, and replenished my ink bottle ; but partly from one cause, and partly from another, chiefly, however, from distress and de- jection, after writing and obliterating about six lines, in the composition of which I spent near an hour, I was obliged to relinquish the attempt. An attempt so unsuc- cessful could have no other effect than to dishearten me, and it has had that effect to such a degree, that I know not when I shall find courage to make another. At present I shall certainly abstain from it, since I cannot well afford to expose myself to the danger of a fresh mortification.'* Adverting to this subject, he thus again writes to Mr. Hayley, 25 Nov. 1792. — u How shall I thank you enough for the interest you take in my future Miltonic labours, and the assistance you promise me in the performance of them? I will some time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknow- u 290 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ledge your friendship in some of my best verses, the most suitable return one poet can make to another; in the mean time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness. — You wish me warm in my work, and I ardently wish the same, but when I shall be so, God only knows. My me- lancholy, which seemed a little alleviated for a few days, has gathered about me again, with as black a cloud as ever; the consequence is, absolute incapacity to begin. Yet I purpose, in a day or two, to make another attempt, to which, however, I shall address myself with fear and trembling, like a man, who having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, in- jured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The consciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burden I am not able to bear. Milton especially is my grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded with continual reproaches for neglecting him. I will, therefore, begin ; I will do my best, and if, after all, that best prove good for nothing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they are that I have already ; a measure very disagreeable to myself, and to which nothing but necessity shall compel me." To his friend, Mr. Newton, who had ventured to express his apprehensions lest his Miltonic labours should become too severe, he thus writes, 9 Dec. 1792. — u You need not be uneasy on the subject of Milton ; I shall not find that labour too heavy for me, if I have health and leisure. The season of the year is unfavourable to me respecting the for- mer, and Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me less of the latter than the occasion seems to call for. But the business is in no haste ; the artists employed to furnish the embellishments are not likely to be very expeditious ; and a small portion only of the work will be wanted from me at THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 291 once, for the intention is, to deal it out to the public piece- meal. I am, therefore, under no great anxiety on that account. It is not, indeed, an employment that I should have chosen for myself, because poetry pleases and amuses me more, and would cost me less labour, properly so called. All this I felt before I engaged with Johnson, and did, in the first instance, actually decline the service, but he was urgent, and at last I suffered myself to be persuaded. The season of the year, as I have already said, is particularly adverse to me; yet not in itself, perhaps, more adverse than any other; but the approach of it always reminds me of the same season in the dreadful seventy- three, and the more dreadful eighty- six. I cannot help terrifying myself with doleful misgivings and apprehensions; nor is the enemy negligent to seize all the advantage that the occasion gives him. Thus, hearing much from him, and having little or no sensible support from God, I suffer inexpressible things till January is over. And even then, whether increasing years have made me more liable to it, or despair, the longer it lasts, grows naturally darker, I find myself more inclined to melancholy than I was a few years since. God only knows where this will end; but where it is likely to end, unless he interpose powerfully in my favour, all may know." On another occasion, to the same correspondent, he again writes: — " Oh for the day when your expectations of my final deliverance shall be verified ! At present it seems very remote, so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest streak of it is visible in my horizon. The glimpse with which I was favoured about a month ago, has never been repeated, but the depression of my spirits has. The future appears as gloomy as ever, and I seem to myself to be scrambling always in the dark, among rocks and precipices, without a guide, but with an enemy ever at my heels, pre- pared to push me headlong. Thus I have spent twenty u2 292 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. years, but thus I shall not spend twenty years more : long before that period arrives, the grand question concerning ray everlasting weal or woe will be decided." To a lady, with whom he occasionally corresponded, he thus discloses his feelings: — "I would give you consola- tion, madam, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by a great dearth of it in my own experience. I too often seek, but cannot find it. I know, however, there are seasons when, look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This it itself an af- fliction; and the worse, because it makes us think our- selves more unhappy than we are. I was struck by an ex- pression in your letter to Hayley, where you say that you i will endeavour to take an interest in green leaves again.' This seems the sound of my own voice reflected to me from a distance; I have so often had the same thought and de- sire. A day scarcely passes, at this season of the year, when I do not contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, and say, c perhaps I shall never see you clothed again.' Every year, as it passes, makes this expectation more rea- sonable; and the year with me cannot be very distant, when the event will verify it. Well, may God grant us a good hope of arriving, in due time, where the leaves never fall, and all will be right !" Notwithstanding his gloomy forebodings, Cowper es- caped any very severe attack of depression, in his dreaded month of the ensuing January, and as the spring advanced he became as busily engaged as he had ever been, partly in his Miltonic labours, but chiefly in preparing materials for a second edition of Homer. He had long been carefully revising the work, and had judiciously availed himself of the remarks of his friends, as well as of the criticisms of the reviewers. As soon, therefore, as it was determined to republish it, he made the best use of these materials, and THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 293 in a few weeks prepared the work a second time for the press, in its new and much improved form. It was, how- ever, thought advisable, in the second edition, to publish notes, for the assistance of unlearned readers ; and the labour and research required to furnish these, occasioned Cowper much severe application, as the following extracts will shew: — 19 March, 1793. " I am so busy every morn- ing before breakfast, strutting and stalking in Homeric stilts, that you must account it an instance of marvellous grace and favour that I write even to you. Sometimes I am seriously almost crazed with the multiplicity of matters before me, and the little or no time that I have for them; and sometimes I repose myself after the fatigue of that distraction, on the pillow of despair; a pillow which has often served me in time of need, and is become, by frequent use, if not very comfortable, at least, convenient. So re- posed, I laugh at the world and say, — Yes, you may gape, and expect both Homer and Milton from me, but I'll be hanged if ever you get them. In Homer, however, you must know, I am advanced as far as the fifteenth book of the Iliad, leaving nothing behind that can reasonably of- fend the most fastidious; and I design him for a new dress as soon as possible, for a reason which any poet may guess if he will but thrust his hand into his pocket. My time, therefore, the little that I have,is now so entirely engrossed by Homer, that I have, at this time, a bundle of un- answered letters by me, and letters likely to be so. Thou knowest, I dare say, what it is to have a head weary with thinking ; mine is so fatigued by breakfast time, three days out of four, that I am utterly incapable of sitting down to my desk again for any purpose whatever. I rise at six every morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast; the consequence is, that I am so exhausted as not to be able to write when the opportunity offers. You will say, 294 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. breakfast before you work, and then your work will not fatigue you. I answer, perhaps I might, and your counsel would probably prove beneficial; but I cannot spare a moment for eating in the early part of the morning, having no other time for study ; all this time is constantly given to Homer, not to correcting and amending him, for that is all over, but in writing notes. Johnson has expressed a wish for some, that the unlearned may be a little illumin- ated concerning classical story, and the mythology of the ancients; and his behaviour to me has been so liberal, that I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek commentators, however, blinds me. But it is no matter, I am the more like Homer. I avail myself of Clarke's excel- lent annotations, from which I select such as I think likely to be useful, or that recommend themselves by the amuse- ment they afford, of which sorts there are not a few. — Barnes also affords me some of both kinds, but not so many, his notes being chiefly paraphrastical or grammatical. My only fear is, lest between them both, I should make my work too voluminous." In a letter to Mr. Newton, written 12th June, 1793, Cowper thus expresses himself respecting the state of his own mind, and that of Mrs. Unwin. " You promise to be contented with a short line, and a short one you must have, hurried over in the little interval I have happened to find, between the conclusion of my morning task and breakfast. Study has this good effect, at least: it makes me an early riser, a wholesome practice from which I have never swerved since March. The scanty opportunity I have, I shall employ in telling you what you principally wish to be told, the present state of mine and Mrs. Un- win's health. In her I cannot perceive any alteration for the better ; and must be satisfied, I believe, as indeed I have great reason to be, if she does not alter for the worse. I THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 295 She uses the orchard-walk daily, but always supported between two, and is still unable to employ herself as for- merly. But she is cheerful, seldom in much pain, and has always strong confidence in the mercy and faithfulness of God. As to myself, I have invariably the same song to sing — well in body, but sick in spirit ; sick, nigh unto death." ' Seasons return, but not to me returns God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day, Or sight of cheering truth, or pardon seal'd, Or joy, or hope, or Jesus' face divine, But clouds or / I could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and accompany him through the whole passage on the subject of a blindness more deplorable than his ; but time fails me." During this year, several of Cowper's correspondents were visited either with domestic affliction, or with painful bereavements. On such occasions, all the sensibility and sympathy of his peculiarly tender mind never failed to be called into lively exercise. The deep depression of his own mind, did not deter him from attempting at least, to alleviate the distress of others. To Mr. Hayley, who had recently lost a friend, he thus writes : — " I truly sympathize with you under your weight of sorrow, for the loss of our good Samaritan. But be not broken- hearted my friend ; remember, the loss of those we love is the condition on which we live ourselves ; and that he who chooses his friends wisely, from among the excellent of the earth, has a sure ground to hope concerning them when they die, that a merciful God will make them far happier than they could be here, and that we shall join them soon again : this is solid comfort, could we but avail ourselves of it, but I confess the difficulty of doing so 296 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEH. always. Sorrow is like the deaf adder, that hears not the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely ; and I feel so myself for the death of Austen, that my own chief con- solation is, that I had never seen him. Live yourself, I beseech you, for I have seen so much of you, that I can by no means spare you, and I will live as long as it shall please God to permit. I know you set some value upon me, therefore let that promise comfort you, and give us not reason to say, like David's servants, i We know that it would have pleased thee more if all we had died, than this one, for whom thou art inconsolable.' You have still Romney, and Carwardine, and Grey, and me, and my poor Mary, and I know not how many beside ; as many I sup- pose as ever had an opportunity of spending a day with you. He who has the most friends, must necessarily lose the most ; and he whose friends are numerous as yours, may the better spare a part of them. It is a changing transient scene : yet a little while, and this poor dream of life will be over with all of us. The living, and they who live unhappy, they are indeed the subjects of sorrow.' , To his esteemed friend, Rev. Mr. Hurdis, who, as above related, had lost one beloved sister, and was in great danger of losing another, he thus writes, June, 1793. " I seize a passing moment, merely to say that I feel for your distresses, and sincerely pity you, and I shall be happy to learn from your next that your sister's amend- ment has superseded the necessity you feared of a journey to London. Your candid account that your afflictions have broken your spirits and temper, I can perfectly un- derstand, having laboured much in that tire myself, and perhaps more than any man. It is in such a school that we must learn, if we ever truly learn it, the natural depra- vity of the human heart, and of our own in particular, to- gether with the consequence that necessarily follows such THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 297 wretched premises; our indispensable need of the atone- ment, and our inexpressible obligations to Him who made it. This reflection cannot escape a thinking mind, looking back on those ebullitions of fretfulness and impatience to which it has yielded in a season of great affliction." Early in the spring of this year, 1793, Cowper's esteemed relative, Rev. John Johnson, after much mature and solemn deliberation, had resolved to take holy orders. Cowper had always regarded him with the most paternal affection, and had wished that he should enter upon the important office of a christian minister, with a high sense of the great- ness of the work, and with suitable qualifications for a proper discharge of its solemn duties. In accordance with these wishes, when Mr. Johnson, in a previous year, had relinquished his intentions of taking orders at that time, Cowper had thus addressed him. " My dearest of all Johnnys, I am not sorry that your ordination is postponed. A year's learning and wisdom, added to your present stock, will not be more than enough to satisfy the demands of your function. Neither am I sorry that you find it difficult to fix your thoughts to the serious point at all times. It proves, at least, that you attempt, and wish to do it, and these are good symptoms. Woe to those who enter on the ministry of the gospel without having previously asked, at least from God, a mind and spirit suited to their occu- pation, and whose experience never differs from itself, be- cause they are always alike vain, light, and inconsiderate. It is therefore matter of great joy to me to hear you com- plain of levity, as it indicates the existence of anxiety of mind to be freed from it." The gratification it afforded Cowper to find that his be- loved relative entered into the ministry with scriptural views and feelings, is thus expressed. " What you say of your determined purpose, with God's help, to take up the 298 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. cross, and despise the shame, gives us both great pleasure : in our pedigree is found one, at least, who did it before you. Do you the like, and you will meet him in heaven, as sure as the scripture is the word of God. The quarrel that the world has with evangelic men and doctrines, they would have with a host of angels in human form, for it is the quarrel of owls with sunshine ; of ignorance with divine illumination. The Bishop of Norwich has won my heart by his kind and liberal behaviour to you, and if I knew him I would tell him so. I am glad that your auditors find your voice strong, and your utterance distinct ; glad, too, that your doctrine has hitherto made you no enemies. You have a gracious Master, who, it seems, will not suffer you to see war in the beginning. It will be a wonder, however, if you do not find out, sooner or later, that sore place in every heart, which can ill endure the touch of apostolic doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, and you will hear of it. I say not this to terrify you, but to prepare you for what is likely to happen, and which, troublesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be wished ; for, in general, there is little good done by preachers till the world begins to abuse them. But understand me right. I do not mean that you should give them unneces- sary provocation, by scolding and railing at them, as some, more zealous than wise, are apt to do. That were to de- serve their anger. No ; there is no need of it. The self- abasing doctrines of the gospel will, of themselves, create you enemies ; but remember this for your comfort — they will also, in due time, transform them into friends, and make them love you as if they were your own children. God give you many such ; as, if you are faithful to his cause, I trust he will." About this time Mr. Hayley appears to have applied to Cowper for his assistance, in a joint literary undertaking of THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 299 some magnitude, with himself and two other distinguished literary characters. Anxious, however, as Cowper was on all occasions to oblige his friend, he could not give his consent to this measure. His reply, given partly in poetry and partly in prose, while it shews the peculiar state of his mind, exhibits-, at the same time, so much of that amiable modesty by which he was always distinguished, that it cannot be read without interest. " Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, Worthier to stand for ever if they could, Than any built of stone, or yet of wood, For back of royal elephant to bear ! Oh, for permission from the skies to share, Much to my own, though little to thy good, With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !) A partnership of literary ware ! But I am bankrupt now, and doomed henceforth To drudge in descant dry, or other's lays — Bards, I acknowledge, of unequall'd worth ! But what is commentator's happiest praise? That he has furnished lights for other eyes, Which they who need them use, and then despise." u What remains for me to say on this subject, my dear brother, I will say in prose. There are other impediments to the plan you propose, which I could not comprise within the bounds of a sonnet. My poor Mary's infirm condition makes it impossible for me, at present, to engage in a work such as you propose. My thoughts are not sufficiently free ; nor have I, nor can I, by any means find opportunity ; added to it comes a difficulty w T hich, though you are not at all aware of it, presents itself to me under a most forbidding appearance. Can you guess it ? No, not you : neither, perhaps, will you be able to imagine that such a difficulty can possibly exist. If your hair begins to bristle, stroke it down again ; for there is no need 300 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COVVPER. why it should erect itself. It concerns me, not you. 1 know myself too well not to know that I am nobody in verse, unless in a corner and alone, and unconnected in my operations. This is not owing to want of love to you, my brother, or the most consummate confidence in you — I have both in a degree that has not been exceeded in the experience of any friend you have, or ever had. But I am so made up — 1 will not enter into a philosophical analysis of my strange constitution, in order to detect the true cause of the evil ; but, on a general view of the matter, I suspect that it proceeds from that shyness which has been my effectual and almost total hindrance on many other important occasions, and which I should feel, I well know, on. this, to a degree that would perfectly cripple me. No ! I shall neither do, nor attempt, anything of consequence more, unless my poor Mary get better : nor even then, unless it should please God to give me another nature. I could not thus act in concert with any man, not even with my own father or brother, were they now alive ! Small game must serve me at present, and till I have done with Homer and Milton. The utmost that I aspire to, and Heaven knows with how feeble a hope, is to write, at some future and better opportunity, when my hands are free, The Four Ages. Thus I have opened my heart unto thee." On another occasion he thus plaintively writes: — " I find that much study fatigues me, which is a proof that I am somewhat stricken in years. Certain it is that, ten or sixteen years ago, I couid have done as much, and did actually do much more, without suffering the least fatigue, than I can possibly accomplish now. How insensibly old age steals on us, and how often it is actually arrived before we suspect it ! Accident alone ; some occurrence that suggests a comparison of our former with our present selves, affords the discovery. Well, it is always good to be undeceived, especially in an article of such importance." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 301 To a person less intimately acquainted with Cowper than Mr. Hayley was, the above reply would have been amply sufficient to have prevented him from making any further application of a similar nature. He, however, was not to be thus easily diverted from his purpose. Of the talents of Cowper he had justly formed the highest opinion, and had wisely concluded, that if they could only be again brought fairly and fully into exercise, in the composition of original poetry, the result would be everything that could be wished. Immediately, therefore, on receiving the above letter, he proffered Cowper his own assistance, and the assistance of two other esteemed friends, in composing the projected poem, u The Four Ages," and proposed that it should be their joint production. His principal object was, unquestionably, to induce Cowper to employ his un- rivalled talents. The pleasure he anticipated in having such a coadjutor, gratifying as it must have been to his feelings, was only a secondary consideration. Averse as Cowper was to the former proposal, he immediately con- sented to this, and the following extract will shew what were his feelings on the occasion : — "I am in haste to tell you how much I am delighted with your projected quadruple alliance, and to assure you that, if it please God to afford me health, spirits, ability, and leisure, I will not fail to devote them all to the production of my quota in " The Four Ages." You are very kind to humour me as you do, and had need be a little touched yourself with all my oddities, that you may know how to adminster to mine. All whom I love do so, and I believe it to be im- possible to love heartily those who do not. People must not do me good in their way, but in my own, and then they do me good indeed. My pride, my ambition, and my friendship for you, and the interest I take in my own dear self, will all be consulted and gratified, by an arm-in-arm appearance with you in public ; and I shall work with 302 THE L1FE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. more zeal and assiduity at Homer; and when Homer is finished, at Milton, with the prospect of such a coalition before me. I am at this moment, with all the imprudence natural to poets, expending nobody knows what, in em- bellishing my premises, or rather the premises of my neighbour Courtenay, which is more poetical still. Your project, therefore, is most opportune, as any project must needs be, that has so direct a tendency to put money into the pocket of one so likely to want it." " Ah, brother poet ! send me of your shade, And bid the zephyrs hasten to my aid ; Or, like a worm unearthed at noon, I go, Dispatched by sunshine to the shades below." It is deeply to be regretted that the pleasing anticipations of both Mr. Hayley and Cowper, respecting this joint pro- duction, were never realized. Had this poem been written, it would, in all probability, have been equal to any that had ever been published. Cowper was, however, at this time, rapidly sinking into that deep and settled melancholy which it now becomes our painful duty to relate, and ih which he continued during the remaining period of his life, notwithstanding the united and indefatigable exertions of his friends to afford him relief. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 3Q3 CHAPTER XVII. Mr. Hayley's second visit to Weston — Finds Cowper busily engaged — Great apprehensions respecting him — Mrs. Unwin's increasing- infirmities — Cowper's feelings on account of it — Vigour of his own mind at this period — Severe attack of depression — Deplo- rable condition to which he was now reduced — Management of his affairs kindly undertaken by Lady Hesketh — Mr. Hayley's anxieties respecting him — Is invited by Mr. Greathead to pay Cowper another visit — Complies with the invitation — Arrival at Weston — How he is received by Cowper — Inefficiency of the means employed to remove his depression — Handsome pension allowed him by his Majesty — His removal from Weston to Norfolk, under the care of the Rev. J. Johnson — Death of Mrs. Unwin — How it affected Cowper — Recovers sufficiently to resume his ap- plication to Homer — Finishes his notes — Letter to Lady Hesketh descriptive of his feelings — Composes some original poems — Translates some of Gay's fables into Latin — Rapid decay of his strength — Last illness — Death. In the beginning of November, 1793, Mr. Hayley made his second visit to Weston. He found Cowper in the en- joyment of apparent health ; and though incessantly em- ployed, either on Homer or Milton, pleasing himself with the society of his young kinsman, from Norfolk, and his esteemed friend Mr. Rose, who had arrived from the seat of Lord Spencer, in Northamptonshire, with an invitation from his lordship to Cowper and his guests, to pay him a visit. All Cowper's friends strongly recommended him to avail himself of this mark of respect from an accomplished nobleman whom he cordially respected. Their entreaties, 304 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. however, were entirely in vain ; his constitutional shyness again prevailed, and he commissioned his friends, Rose and Hayley, to make an apology to his Lordship for declining so honourable an invitation. The manner in which Cowper employed his time during the continuance of his friend Mr. Hayley at Weston, is pleasingly described in the following extract from a letter to Mrs. Courtenay, 4th Nov. 1793 : — "lam a most busy man, busy to a degree that sometimes half distracts me : but if complete distraction be occasioned by having the thoughts too much and too long attached to any single point, I am in no danger of it, with such perpetual whirl are mine whisked about from one subject to another. When two poets meet, there are fine doings, I can assure you. My' Homer' finds work for Hayley, and his ' Life of Milton ' work for me ; so that we are neither of us one moment idle. Poor Mrs. Unwin in the mean time sits quiet in her corner, occasionally laughing at us both, and not seldom interrupting us with some question or remark, for which she is continually rewarded by me with a * Hush ! ' Bless yourself, my dear Catherina, that you are not connected with a poet, especially that you have not two to deal with ! " During Mr. Hayley's visit, he saw, with great concern, that the infirmities of Mrs. Unwin were rapidly sinking her into a state of the most pitiable imbecility. Unable any longer to watch over the tender health of him whom she had guarded for so many years, and unwilling to re- linquish her authority, her conduct at this period presented that painful spectacle, which we are occasionally called to witness, of declining nature seeking to retain that power which it knows not how to use, nor how to resign. The effect of these increasing infirmities on her whom Cowper justly regarded as the guardian of his life, added to appre- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 305 hensions which he now began to feel that his increasing expenses, occasioned by Mrs. Unwin's protracted illness, would involve him in difficulties, filled him with the great- est uneasiness ; and the despressing influence it had upon his mind, became painfully evident to all his friends. So visibly was such the case, that Mr. Hayley felt fully per- suaded that, unless some speedy and important change took place in Cowper's circumstances, his tender mind would inevitably sink under the multiplicity of its cares. To effect this desirable object, as far as was in his power, he embraced the earliest opportunity, after leaving Weston, of having an interview with Lord Spencer, and of stating to him the undisguised condition of the afflicted poet. His lordship entered feelingly into the case, and shortly after- wards mentioned it to his majesty. It was owing to this that his majesty, some time afterwards, granted to Cowper such a pension as was sufficient to secure to him a comforta- ble competence for the remainder of his life. It is how- ever deeply to be regretted that this seasonable and well- merited bounty was not received till the poet's mind was enveloped in that midnight gloom from which it never afterwards wholly emerged. The increasing infirmities of Mrs. Unwin did not, in the slightest degree, diminish Cowper's regard for her ; on the contrary, they seemed rather to augment it, as the following beautiful poem, written about this time, will show : — TO MARY. " The twentieth year is well nigh past Since first our sky was overcast, And would that this might be the last, My Mary ! Thy spirits have a fainter glow ; I see thee daily weaker grow ; 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! 306 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK, Thy needles once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore ; Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, My Mary ! But well thou play'dst the huswife's part, And all thy threads, with magic art, Have wound themselves about my heart. My Mary ! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream ; Yet me they charm whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign, Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary ! Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, That now, at every step thou mov'st, Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st, My Mary ! And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary ! THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 307 But, ah ! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary ! And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary ! Cowper retained his admirable powers in their full vigour, during the whole of 1793, and till the middle of January, of the following year. His letters, written subsequently to Mr. Hayley's visit, though but few, afford unquestionable proofs, that his talents had not suffered the slightest dimi- nution. The following extract, in reply to some remarks on a disputed passage in his Homer, will show that his fa- culties were then unimpaired. To Mr. Hayley, 5th January, 1794, he writes. " If my old friend would look into my preface, he would find a principle laid down there which perhaps it would not be easy to invalidate, and which, pro- perly attended to, would equally secure a translation from stiffness, and from wildness. The principle I mean is this — ' Close, but not so close as to be servile ! free, but not so free as to be licentious ! A superstitious fidelity loses the spirit, and a loose deviation the sense of the translated author— a happy moderation in either case is the only pos- sible way of preserving both." " Imlac, in Rasselas, says — I forget to whom, ' You have convinced me that it is impossible to be a poet.' In like manner, I might say to his Lordship, you have convinced me that it is impossible to be a translator, to be one, on his terms at least, is, I am sure, impossible. On his terms, I would defy Homer himself, were he alive, to translate the Paradise Lost into Greek. Yet Milton had Homer much in his eye when he composed that poem. Whereas, Homer x 2 308 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. never thought of me, or my translation. There are minutiae in every language, which, translated into another, would spoil the version. Such extreme fidelity is, in fact, un- faithful. Such close resemblance takes away all likeness. The original is elegant, easy, natural ; the copy is clumsy, constrained, unnatural. To what is this owing? To the adoption of terms not congenial to your purpose, and of a context, such as no man writing an original would make use of. Homer is every thing that a poet should be. A translation of him, so made, will be every thing a transla- tion of Homer should not be. Because it will be written in no language under heaven. It will be English, and it will be Greek, and therefore it will be neither. He is the man, whoever he may be, (I do not pretend to be that man myself) — he is the man best qualified as a translator of Homer, who has drenched, and steeped, and soaked him- self in the effusions of his genius, till he has imbibed their colour to the bone, and who, when he is thus dyed, through and through, distinguishing what is essentially Greek, from what may be habited in English, rejects the former, and is faithful to the latter, as far as the purposes of fine poetry will permit, and no farther ; this, I think, may be easily proved. Homer is everywhere remarkable for ease, dignity, energy of expression, grandeur of concep- tion, and a majestic flow of numbers. If we copy him so closely as to make every one of these excellent properties of his absolutely unattainable, which will certainly be the effect of too close a copy, instead of translating, we murder him. Therefore, after all his Lordship has said, I still hold freedom to be an indispensable. Freedom, I mean, with respect to the expression ; freedom so limited as never to leave behind the matter, but at the same time indulged with a sufficient scope, to secure the spirit, and as much as possible of the manner ; I say as much as possible, because THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 309 an English manner must differ from a Greek one, in order to be graceful, and for this there is no remedy. Can an ungraceful awkward translator of Homer be a good one ? No ; but a graceful, easy, natural, faithful version of him, will not that be a good one ? Yes : allow me but this, and I insist upon it, that such a one may be produced on my principles, and can be produced on no other. Reading his Lordship's sentiments over again, I am inclined to think that in all I have said, I have only given him back the same in other terms. He disallows both the absolute free, and the absolute close ; so do I, and if I understand myself, have said so in my preface. He wishes to recommend a medium, though he will not call it so ; so do I ; only we express it differently. What is it then that we dispute about? I confess my head is not good enough to-day to discover." This was almost the last letter Cowper wrote to Mr. Hayley, and with a very few exceptions, the last that he ever wrote at all. Shortly after he had forwarded this, he experienced a more severe attack of depression than he had ever before felt, which paralyzed all his powers, and con- tinued almost wholly unmitigated, through the remaining period of his life. The situation to which he was now re- duced, was deeply affecting ; imagination can scarcely pic- ture to itself a scene of wretchedness more truly deplorable. Mrs. Unwin's infirmities had reduced her to a state of second childhood ; a deep-seated melancholy, which no- thing could remove, preyed upon Cowper's mind, and caused him to shun the sight of all except the individual who was utterly incapable of rendering him any assistance ; his domestic expenses were daily increasing, and as his capabilities of preventing it were now entirely suspended, there was every probability of his being involved in con- siderable embarrassment. The providence of God, how- 310 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ever, which had watched over, and preserved him during the whole of his life, and had appeared on his hehalf in several instances of peculiar distress, in a manner truly striking and affecting, did not abandon him in his present painful emergency. Lady Hesketh, his amiable cousin, and favourite correspondent, now generously undertook the arduous task of watching over the melancholy poet and his feeble associate. The painful duties of this import- ant office, which every one who is at all acquainted with the great anxiety of mind required in all cases of mental aberration, will admit to be in no ordinary degree arduous, she discharged with the utmost christian tenderness and affection. Nor did she discover any disposition to relin- quish her charge, though it made considerable inroads upon her health, owing to the confinement and exertion it required, until an opportunity offered of placing these interesting invalids under the care of those who she knew would feel the greatest pleasure in laying themselves out for their comfort. Hearing nothing from Cowper for several days beyond the time when he was accustomed to write, Mr. Hayley began to fear that his apprehensions respeeting his friend's health were realized. He did not, however, receive the painful intelligence of his relapse until some time afterwards, when he was informed of it by a letter from Lady Hes- keth, detailing the particulars of his distressing case. About this time the Rev. Mr. Greatheed, with whom Cow- per had long been on terms of intimacy, and whom he very highly esteemed, paid him a visit. Such, however, was the distressing state to which Cowper was now re- duced, that he refused to see any one, but his own domes- tics, on whatever friendly terms he might have been with them formerly. The hopes that hrs friends had cherished, of his recovery, in some degree, at least, as the summer THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 3] 1 advanced, were now entirely cut off; and they were all fully persuaded that unless some improvement took place in the state of his mind, the worst consequences were to be apprehended. The best advice had been taken without the slightest benefit, and the case began to appear alto- gether hopeless. It occurred to Lady Hesketh that pro- bably the presence of Mr. Hayley would cheer the poet's mind, and rouse him from his present state of almost absolute 4k/spair. She suggested (his to Mr. Greatheed, but said she could not venture to mention the subject in her letters to Mr. Hayley, as it appeared unreasonable to request a person to come so great a distance with so little real chance of success. Mr. Greatheed immediately wrote the follow- ing letter to Mr. Hayley, on the subject, which describes the melancholy condition to which Cowper was then re- duced, and the great anxiety of mind manifested by his friends on his behalf: — u Dear Sir, Lady Hesketh's cor- respondence has acquainted you with the melancholy re- lapse of our dear friend at Weston ; but I am uncertain whether you know that within the last fortnight, he has re- fused food of every kind, except now and then a very small piece of toasted bread, dipped generally in water, some- times mixed with a little wine. This her Ladyship in- forms me, was the case till last Saturday, since then he has eaten a little at each family meal. He persists in re- fusing to take such medicines as are indispensable to his state of body. In such circumstances his long continuance in life cannot be expected. How devoutly to be wished is the alleviation of his sufferings and distress ! You, dear Sir, who know so well the worth of our beloved and ad- mired friend, sympathise with us in this affliction, and de- precate his loss doubtless in no ordinary degree. You have already most effectually expressed and proved the warmth of your friendship. I cannot think that any thing 312 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. but your society would have been sufficient, during the infirmity under which his mind has long been oppressed, to have supported him against the shock of Mrs. Unwin's paralytic attack. I am certain that nothing else could have prevailed upon him to undertake the journey to Eartham. You have succeeded where his other friends knew they could not, and where they apprehended no one could. How natural, therefore, is it for them to look to you, as most likely to be instrumental, under the blessing of God, to bring him relief in the present distressing and alarming crisis. It is, indeed, not a little unreasonable to ask any person to take such a journey, to witness so melan- choly a scene, with an uncertainty of the desired success, increased as the present difficulty is, by dear Mr. Cowper's aversion to all company. On these accounts Lady Hes- keth does not ask it of you, rejoiced as she would be at your arrival. Am not I, dear Sir, a very presumptuous person, who, in the face of all opposition, dare do this? I am emboldened by these two powerful supporters — conscience, and experience. Were I at Eartham, I would certainly undertake the journey I have presumed to recommend, for the bare possibility of restoring Mr. Cowper to himself, to his friends, and to the public." Mr. Hayley was too affectionately attached to Cowper, to hesitate for a moment, what steps he should take on the receipt of this letter. The remotest probability of his being useful to his afflicted friend, was amply sufficient to have induced him to undertake a much longer journey than this, to whatever dangers and inconveniences it might have exposed him. He accordingly made immediate arrangements for a visit to Weston, where he arrived a few days afterwards, with his talented son, a youth of great promise, to whom* Cowper was most affectionately attached. Little or no benefit, however, resulted from this visit. The THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 313 suffering invalid was loo deeply overwhelmed by his de- pressive malady to shew even the slightest symptoms of satisfaction at the appearance of one whom he had ever been accustomed to welcome with such affectionate de- light. His acute anguish had nearly extinguished all the finest faculties of his mind, and annihilated, at least for a time, all the best affections of his heart. He seemed to shrink from every human creature, and if he allowed any one, except his own domestics, to approach him, it was with so much obvious reluctance and aversion, that no benefit could be expected to arise from the interview. The only exception was in the case of Mr. Hayley's son, in whose company he would occasionally, for a short time, seem pleased ; which Mr. Hayley " attributed partly to the peculiar charm which is generally found in the man- ners of tender ingenuous children ; and partly to that uncommon sweetness of character which had inspired Cow- per w T ith a degree of parental partiality towards this highly promising youth." The united efforts, however, of both father and son, could not produce the slightest alleviation of Cowper's sufferings. Shortly after Mr. Hayley's arrival at Weston, Lady Hes- keth embraced the opportunity of leaving her interesting invalids for a few days in his charge, that she might, by a personal interview, consult the eminent Dr. Willis, who had prescribed so successfully in the case of his Majesty George III., on the subject of Cowper's malady. Lord Thurlow had written to the Doctor in Cowper's behalf, and at his and Lady Hesketh's request, he was induced to visit the interesting sufferer at Weston. Here again, however, the expectations of his friends were greatly disappointed ; as the Doctor's skill on this occasion proved wholly unsuc- cessful. Mr. Hayley remained at Weston for some weeks, ex- 314 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. erting all the means that ingenuity could invent, or that affection could dictate, to afford some relief to his suffering friend ; he had, however, the mortification to perceive that his well-directed efforts were entirely useless. The circum- stances in which Cowper was now placed, were exceedingly unfavourable to mental relief. Associated with one whose daily increasing infirmities were rapidly reducing her to a state of the most affecting imbecility ; the constant sight of which was of itself, almost sufficient to have produced melancholy in a tender mind like Cowper's, it was hardly probable that, under such circumstances, he should recover from his most depressive malady. And yet to have sepa- rated him from the being with whom he had been so long associated, would have been an act of cruelty, which he would not, in all probability, have survived. All that could be done was to mitigate, as much as possible, the sufferings of each individual, and to persevere in the use of such means, as would be most likely, under such cir- cumstances, to promote the poet's recovery, leaving the event at His disposal who, in a manner altogether unex- pected, had formerly appeared for him on several distres- sing occasions. One morning in April, 1794, while Mr. Hayley was at Weston, musing, as he and Lady Hesketh were sometimes accustomed to do, over the melancholy scene of Cowper's sufferings, with aching; and almost broken hearts, at the utter inefficacy of every measure that had been taken to afford him relief, they were suddenly almost overjoyed at the receipt of a letter from Lord Spencer, announcing it to be his Majesty's gracious intention to allow Cowper the grant of such a pension for life as would secure to him an honourable competence. The only subject of regret, at this pleasing circumstance, was that he whom it was chiefly intended to benefit, and who, if he had been free THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 315 from his depressive malady, would have been gratified in the highest degree at this instance of royal generosity, was in a condition that rendered it impossible for him to receive, even the faintest glimmering of joy on the occasion. It was, however, fondly hoped by his friends, that he would ultimately recover, and that the day would at length arrive, when he would be able gratefully to acknowledge this princely beneficence. Well was it, indeed, for his friends, that they supported their minds by indulging these hopes of amendment. Had they known that he was doomed to pass six years in the same depressed and melancholy con- dition, with scarcely a single alleviation, and was, at the expiration of that lengthened period, to leave the world under the influence of this midnight gloom, they would themselves have almost become the subjects of despair. Such, however, was the case ; and it is doubtful, though Cowper subsequently recovered in some slight degree from his depression, whether he was ever in a condition fully to appreciate the value of his Majesty's grant. Mr. Hayley's departure from Weston, which was now become to him as much a scene of suffering, as it had formerly been of enjoyment, he thus afTectingly records: — " After devoting a few weeks at Weston, I was under the painful necessity of forcing myself away from my unhappy friend, who, though he appeared to take no pleasure in my society, expressed extreme reluctance to let me depart. I hardly ever endured an hour more dreadfully distressing than the hour in which I left him. Yet the anguish of it would have been greatly increased, had 1 been conscious that he was destined to years of this dark depression, and that I should see him no more. I still indulged the hope, from the native vigour of his frame, that as he had formerly struggled through longer fits of the depressive malady, his darkened minS)would yet emerge from this calamitous 316 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. eclipse, and shine forth again with new lustre. These hopes were considerably increased at a subsequent period : but, alas ! they were delusive ! for though he recovered sufficient command of his faculties to write a few occasional poems, and to retouch his ' Homer,' yet the prospect of his perfect revovery was never realized ; and I had beheld the poet of unrivalled genius, the sympathetic friend, and the delightful companion, for the last time ! " Cowper remained in the same most distressing state, from the time of Mr. Hayley's departure, which was in the spring of 1794, till the summer of 1795. During the whole of this time he was most affectionately watched over by his amiable cousin : she procured for him the best medical advice, and employed every means that promised the slightest chance of proving beneficial. All these, however, were ineffectual to lighten that ponderous burden which incessantly pressed upon and weighed down his spirits. He had now been eighteen months in this de- plorable state, and, instead of becoming better, if any alteration had taken place at all, it was evidently for the worse. Lady Hesketh's health was beginning to fail, owing to the intense anxiety of mind she had experienced for so long a period ; and it became at length desirable to try what effect a change of air and of scene would have upon him. Almost all his friends recommended this measure, which was no sooner determined upon, than his highly esteemed relative of Norfolk, the Reverend J.Johnson, who had been several weeks at Weston, assisting Lady Hesketh, voluntarily and generously undertook the charge of both these suffering but interesting individuals. Their removal from Weston to North Tuddenham, in Norfolk, took place under the immediate guidance of Mr. Johnson, on the 28th July, 1795. They performed their journey in safety and ease in three days. Here they were accommodated with a corarao- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 317 dious parsonage-house, by the kindness of the Rev. Leonard Shelford, with whom Mr. Johnson had previously made arrangements for their reception, fearing lest the activity and bustle that occasionally prevailed in the vicinity of his own house, situated in the market-place at East Dereham, should harass and perplex the tender mind of Cowper. They continued in their new residence only a very short time. In the following August Mr. Johnson conducted them to Mundesley, a village on the Norfolk coast, hoping that a situation by the sea-side might prove amusing to Cowper, and become ultimately the means of reviving his spirits. Here they remained till the following October, without appearing to derive any benefit whatever. While in this situation Cowper, who had long discontinued all correspondence with his friends, ventured to w 7 rite the following letter to the Reverend Mr. Buchanan, which, while it shews the melancholy depression under which he still laboured, proves that he was not without some occa- sional intermissions of pleasure : — "I will forget for a moment that, to whomsoever I may address myself, a letter from me can no otherwise be welcome than as a curiosity. To you, Sir, I address this, urged to it by extreme penury of employment, and the desire I feel to learn something of what is doing, and has been done, at Weston (my beloved Weston) since I left it. " The coldness of these blasts, even in the hottest days, has been such, that, added to the irritation of the salt spray, with which they are always charged, they have occasioned me an inflammation in the eyelids, which threatened, a few days since, to confine me entirely ; but by absenting myself as much as possible from the beach, and guarding my face with an umbrella, that inconvenience is in some degree abated. My chamber commands a very near view of the ocean, and the ships, at high water, ap- 318 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. proach the coast so closely, that a man, furnished with better eyes than mine, might I doubt not discern the sailors from the window. No situation, at least when the weather is clear, can be more pleasant ; which you will easily credit, when I add, that it imparts something a little resembling pleasure, even to me. Gratify me with news of Weston ! If Mr. Gregor, and your neighbours the Cour- tenays, are there, mention me to them in such terms as you see good. Tell me, if my poor birds are living? I never see the herbs I used to give them, without a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, for- getting that I am not at home." In the beginning of October, 1795, Mr. Johnson took the two interesting invalids to his own residence at Dere- ham, where they remained about a month, when they re- moved to Dunham Lodge, which was then unoccupied, and was pleasantly situated in a park, a few miles from Swaff- ham, and which from that time became their settled resi- dence. Here they were constantly attended by two of the most interesting females that could possibly have been se- lected, Miss Johnson and Miss Perowne. The latter took so lively an interest in Cowper's welfare, and exerted so much ingenuity, in attempting to produce some alleviation of his sufferings, that he ever afterwards honoured her with his peculiar regard, and preferred her attendance to that of every other individual by whom he was surounded ; and she continued her kind attention to him to the close of his life. The providence of God (as Mr. Hayley justly remarks) was strikingly displayed towards Cowper, in sup- plying him with attendants, during the whole of his life, peculiarly suited to the exigencies of mental dejection." Cowper's melancholy depression still remained unallevi- ated. In June, 1796, however, an incident occurred, which for a time, though it removed not his dejection, revived the TFIE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 319 spirits of his friends, and cheered them with the hope of his ultimate recovery. Mr. Johnson invariably procured copies of all such new publications as were likely to interest the mind of Cowper ; and as Cowper had discontinued the use of his pen, and manifested considerable disinclination to read himself, Mr. Johnson kindly undertook to read these publications to his relative whenever suitable oppor- tunities offered. About this time Mr. Wakefield published his edition of Pope's Homer. It occurred to Mr. Johnson, who always readily embraced the slightest incident that seemed likely to diminish the anguish of his afflicted rela- tive, that this work might probably excite the poet's at- tention sufficiently to rouse him, in some degree, from his dejection. He immediately, therefore, procured a copy, and ingeniously placed it in a conspicuous part of a large unfrequented room, through which he knew Cowper would have to pass, in his way from Mrs. Unwin's apartments, and in which, he was aware, it was Cowper's practice, daily, to take some turns, observing previously to his af- flicted relative, that the work contained souie occasional comparison of Pope with Cowper. The plan succeeded far beyond Mr. Johnson's expectation : to his agreeable sur- prise, he discovered, the next day, that Cowper had not only found the passages to which he had adverted, but had corrected his translation at the suggestion of some of them. Perceiving that the poet's attention was arrested, it was vigilantly cherished by the utmost efforts of Mr. Johnson ; and from that time Cowper regularly engaged in a revisal of his own version, and for some weeks produced almost sixty new lines a-day. He continued this occupation so steadily, and with so much deliberation, that all his friends began to rejoice, at the prospect of his almost immediate recovery. Their hopes, however, were of short duration. In a few weeks he again relapsed into the same state of 320 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. hopeles depression. In the ensuing autumn, Mr. Johnson again made trial of a change of air, and of scene, and re- moved the family to the delightful village of Mundesley. No apparent benefit, however, resulted from this change, and towards the close of Oct. 1796, it was thought desirable to remove the family to Mr. Johnson's house at Dereham, and to remain there during the winter, as the Lodge was at too great a distance from Mr. Johnson's churches. In the following December it became evident that Mrs. Unwin's life was rapidly drawing to a close ; she had been gradually sinking for a considerable time ; and on the se- venteenth day of this month, in the 72d year of her age, she peacefully, and without a groan, or a sigh, resigned her happy spirit into the hands of God. Her life had been eminently distinguished by the most fervent and unaffected piety, which she had displayed in circumstances the most trying and afflicting, and her end was peace. The day before she expired, Cowper, as he had long been accus- tomed to do at regular periods, spent a short time with his afflicted and long-tried friend ; and though to his inmates he appeared so absorbed in his own mental anguish, as to take little, if any notice of her condition, it was evident afterwards that he clearly perceived how fast she was sink- ing ; for, as a faithful servant of himself and his afflicted friend, was opening the window of his chamber the follow- ing morning, he addressed her in a tone the most plaintive and affecting, il Sally, is there life above stairs !" a con- vincing proof that the acuteness of his own anguish had not prevented him from bestowing great attention to the sufferings of his aged friend. He saw her, for the last time, about an hour before she expired; and, notwithstanding the intensity of his own distress, he was much affected, though he clearly perceived that she enjoyed the utmost tranquillity. He saw the corpse once after her decease ; THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 321 and after looking at it attentively for a short time, he sud- denly withdrew, under the influence of the strongest emo- tions. She was buried in Dereham church, on the 23d December, 1796, and a marble tablet was raised to her memory, with the following inscription : IN MEMORY OF MARY, WIDOW OF THE REV. MORLEY UNWIN, AND MOTHER OF THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORN UNWIN, BORN AT ELY, 1724. BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 1796. Trusting in God with all her heart and mind, This woman proved-magnanimously kind, Endured affliction's desolating hail, And watched a poet through misfortune's vale. Her spotless dust, angelic guards defend ! It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend ! That single title in itself is fame, For all who read his verse revere her name." Had Cowper been in the enjoyment of health, and had his mind been entirely free from his gloomy forebodings, at the time of Mrs. Unwin's decease, so tender and lively were his feelings, that it would undoubtedly have proved him one of the severest shocks he had ever experienced. Such, however, was the influence of bis melancholy depres- sion, that he never afterwards adverted to the event, even in the most distant way, nor did he even make the slightest enquiries respecting her funeral. A more striking proof of the intense anguish of his own sufferings cannot possibly be given. Dreadful, indeed, must have been those feel- ings that could have produced an insensibility so great in his tender mind, for the loss of such a friend ! • 322 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. In the summer of 1797, Cowper's health appeared in some measure to improve, and in the following September, at the earnest entreaty of his kinsmen, he again resumed the revisal of his Homer; and, notwithstanding the severity of his mental anguish, he persevered in it, with some occa- sional interruption, till the eighth of May, 1799, on which day he completed the work. It was evidently owing to the rare talents exerted by Mr. Johnson on the mind of Cowper, that he was induced to bring this great work to a successful close. And it would have been exceedingly difficult, if not utterly impossible, to have found an indi- vidual who could, with so much tenderness, have exerted an influence so beneficial over the distressed mind of the poet. He was, however, indefatigable in his efforts to divert his mind from the melancholy depression which spread its pernicious influence over his soul. And, dur- ing the whole of the summer of 1798, he endeavoured, by frequent change of scene, sometimes residing for a week or two at Mundesley, and then returning to Dereham, to restore the mind of his revered relative to its proper tone. And though he had not the satisfaction to see his efforts crowned with complete success, yet he was pleased to per- ceive them prove in some degree, at least, beneficial to the interesting sufforer In his sketch of Cowper's life, published in the last edition of the poet's works, he " records it as a subjectof much gratitude, that a merciful Providence should again have appointed his afflicted relative the employment alluded to, as, more than any thing else, it diverted his mind from a contemplation of its miseries, and seemed to extend his breathing, which was at other times short, to a depth of respiration more compatible with ease." The happy means pursued by Mr. Johnson to induce Cowper to complete the revisal of his Homer, and its suc- cessful . result, ought not to go unrecorded. He thus re- THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 323 lates it in the excellent sketch above referred to : — " His kinsman resolved, if it were possible, to reinstate him in the revisal of his Homer. One morning, therefore, after break- fast, in the month of September, 1797, he placed the com- mentaries on the table one by one, namely, Villoison, Barnes, and Clarke, opening them all, together with the poet's translation, at the place where he had left off a twelvemonth before ; but, talking with him as he paced the room, upon a very different subject, namely, the im- possibility of the things befalling him, which his imagina- tion had represented ; when, as his companion had wished, Cowper said to him, ' And are you sure that I shall be here till the book you are reading is finished.' Quite sure, re- plied his kinsman, and that you will also be here to com- plete the revisal of your Homer, pointing to the books, if you will resume it to-day. As he repeated these words, he left the room, rejoicing in the well-known token of their having sunk deep into the poet's mind, namely, his seating himself on the sofa, taking up one of the books, and saying, in a low and plaintive voice, 1 1 may as well do this, for I can do nothing else.' " In July 1798, the Dowager Lady Spencer paid the af- flicted poet a visit. Had he been in the enjoyment of health, he would undoubtedly have received her with the greatest respect and affection, and the conversation between them would have been equally pleasing to both parties ; such, however, was his melancholy depression, that he seemed not to derive any pleasure from the visit, and on no occasion could he be prevailed upon to converse with his distinguished visitor with any apparent pleasure. While residing at Mundesley, in October 1798, Cowper felt himself so far relieved from his depressive malady as to undertake, without solicitation, to write to Lady Hes- keth. The following extract from this letter, will show the y2 324 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. severity of his mental anguish, even at that period: — " You describe delightful scenes, but you describe them to one, who, if he even saw them, could receive no delight from them, who has a faint recollection, and so faint as to be like an almost forgotten dream, that once he was sus- ceptible of pleasure from such causes. The country that you have had in prospect, has been always famed for its beauties ; but the wretch who can derive no gratification from a view of nature, even under the disadvantage of her most ordinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any. In one day, — in one minute, I should rather have said, — she became an universal blank to me, and though from a different cause, yet with an effect as difficult to remove as blindness itself." Mr. Johnson again removed from Mundesley to Dereham, towards the end of October, and pursuing their journey, on this occasion, with himself, Miss Perowne, and Cowper, in the post chaise, they were overturned. Cowper discovered no particular alarm on the occasion, and through the bless- ing of Providence, they all escaped unhurt. As soon as Cowper had finished the revisal of his Homer, Mr. Johnson laid before him the papers containing the commencement of his projected poem — The Four Ages. He, however, declined undertaking it, as a work far too im- portant for him to attempt in his present situation. Several other literary projects, of easier accomplishment, were then suggested to him by his kinsman, who was aware of the great benefit he had derived from employment, and was seriously apprehensive that the want of it would add to his depression : all of them, however, were objected to by the poet, who, at length, replied, that he had just thought of six Latin verses, and if he could do any thing it must be in pursuing something of that description. He, however, gratified his friends, by occasionally employing the powers THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 325 of his astonishing mind, which still remained in full vigour, in the composition of some short original poems. In this way he produced the poem entitled Montes Glaciales, founded upon an incident, which he had heard read from the Norwich paper, several months previous; to which, at the time, owing to his depression, he appeared to pay no attention. This poem he afterwards, at the request of Miss Perowne, translated into Latin. Translation was his prin- cipal amusement; sometimes from Latin and Greek into English, and occasionally from English into Latin. In this way he translated several of Gay's Fables, and communi- cated to them, in their new dress, all that ease and vivacity which they have in the original. Thus elegantly employed, he continued, with some intermissions, almost to the close of his life. The last original poem he composed was entitled The Cast-away, and was founded upon an incident, related in Anson's Voyage, of a mariner who was washed overboard in the Atlantic, and lost, which he remembered to have read in that work many years ago, and which, according to the following stanzas, selected from it, he appears to have regarded as an illustration of his own case. " Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roared, When, such a destined wretch as I, Washed headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever left. He long survives who lives an hour In ocean self-upheld, And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repelled; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cry'd 'Adieu !' 326 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. No poet wept him, but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear : And tears, by bards or heroes shed, Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate ! To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date. But misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allay'd, No light propitious shone, When snatched from all effectual aid, We perished, each alone ; But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulphs than he! Anxious as all his friends now were, that he should be constantly employed, as this proved the best remedy for his depression, they were frequently pained to see him re- duced to a state of hopeless inactivity, owing to the seve- rity of his mental anguish. At these seasons, what suited him best, was, Mr. Johnson's reading to him, which he was accustomed to do, almost invariably for a length of time, every day. And so industriously had he persevered in this method of relieving the poet's mind, that after having ex- hausted numerous works of fiction, which had the power of attracting his attention, he began to read to his afflicted relative the poet's own works. Cowper evinced no disap- probation to this till the reader arrived at the history of John Gilpin, when he entreated his relative to desist. It became evident towards the close of 1799, that his bodily strength was rapidly declining, though his mental THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 327 powers, notwithstanding the unmitigated severity of his depression, remained unimpaired. In January 1800, Mr. Johnson observed in him many symptoms which he thought very unfavourable. This induced him to call in additional medical advice. His complaint was pronounced to be, not as has been generally stated, dropsical, but a break- ing up of the constitution. Remedies, however, were tried, and he was recommended to take as much gentle exercise as he could bear. To this recommendation he dis- covered no particular aversion, and Mr. Johnson took him for a ride in a post chaise, as often as circumstances would permit; it was, however, with considerable difficulty he could be prevailed upon to use such medicines as it was thought necessary to employ. About this time his friend Mr. Hayley wrote to him, ex- pressing a wish that he would new-model a passage in his translation of the Iliad, where mention is made of the very ancient sculpture in which Dsedalus had represented the Cretan dance for Ariadne. c< On the 31st January," says Mr. Hayley, u I received from him his improved version of the lines in question, written in a firm and delicate hand. The sight of such writing from my long-silent friend, in- spired me with a lively, but too sanguine hope, that I might see him once more restored. Alas ! the verses which I surveyed as a delightful omen of future letters from a cor- respondent so inexpressibly dear to me, proved the last effort of his pen." Cowper's weakness now very rapidly increased, and by the end of February it had become so great as to render him incapable of enduring the fatigue of his usual ride, which was hence discontinued. In a few days he ceased to come down stairs, though he was still able, after break- fasting in bed, to adjourn to another room, and to remain there till the evening. By the end of the ensuing March, 328 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. he was compelled to forego even this trifling exercise. He was now entirely confined to his bed-room; he was, how- ever, still able to sit up to every meal, except breakfast. His friend Mr. Rose, about this time, paid him a visit. Such, however, was the melancholy change which his com- plicated maladies had produced upon his mind, that he expressed no pleasure at the arrival of one whom he had previously been accustomed to greet with the most cordial reception. Mr. Rose remained with him till the first week in April, witnessing with much sorrow the sufferings of the afflicted poet, and kindly sympathising with his distressed relations and friends. Little as Cowper had appeared to enjoy his company, he evinced symptoms of considerable regret at his departure. Both Lady Hesketh, and Mr. Hayley, would have fol- lowed the humane example of Mr. Rose, in visiting the dying poet, had they not been prevented by circumstances over which they had no controul. The health of the for- mer, had suffered considerably by her long confinement with Cowper, [at the commencement of his last attack, and the latter was detained by the impending death of a darling child. Mr. Johnson informs us, in his sketch of the poet's life, that, " on the 19th April the weakness of this truly piti- able sufferer had so much increased that his kinsman ap- prehended his death to be near. Adverting, therefore, to the affliction, as well of body as of mind, which his beloved inmate was then enduring, he ventured to speak of his approaching dissolution as the signal of his deliverance from both these miseries. After a pause of a few moments, which was less interrupted by the objections of his despond- ing relative than he had dared to hope, he proceeded to an observation more consolatory still — namely, that in the world to which he was hastening, a merciful Redeemer, THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 329 who had prepared unspeakable happiness for all his chil- dren, and therefore for him — — . To the first part of this sentence he had listened with composure, but the conclud- ing words were no sooner uttered than his passionately ex- pressed entreaties that his companion would desist from any further observations of a similar kind, clearly proving that though he was on the eve of being invested with angelic light, the darkness of delusion still veiled his spirit." On the following day, which was Sunday, he revived a little. Mr. Johnson, on repairing to his room, after he had discharged his clerical duties, found him in bed and asleep. He did not, however, leave the room, but re- mained watching him, expecting he might, on awaking, require his assistance. Whilst engaged in this melan- choly office, and endeavouring to reconcile his mind to the loss of so dear a friend, by considering the gain which that friend would experience, his reflections were suddenly in- terrupted by the singularly varied tone in which Cowper then began to breath. Imagining it to be the sound of his immediate summons, after listening to it for several minutes, he arose from the foot of the bed on which he was sitting, to take a nearer, and, as he supposed, a last view of his departing relative, commending his soul to that gracious Saviour, whom, in the fulness of mental health, he had delighted to honour. As he put aside the curtains, Cowper opened his eyes, but closed them again without speaking, and breathed as usual. On Monday he was much worse ; though, towards the close of day, he revived sufficiently to take a little refreshment. The two following days he evidently continued to sink rapidly. He revived a little on Thursday, but, in the course of the night, he appeared exceedingly exhausted ; some refresh- ment was presented to him by Miss Perownc, but, owing 330 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. to a persuasion that nothing could afford him relief, though without any apparent impression that the hand of death was already upon him, he mildly rejected the cordial with these words, the last he was heard to utter : " What can it signify V 7 Early on Friday morning, the 25th, a decided alteration for the worse was perceived to have taken place. A deadly change appeared in his countenance. In this insensible state he remained till a few minutes before five in the af- ternoon, when he gently, and without the slightest appa- rent pain, ceased to breath, and his happy spirit escaped from his body, in which, amidst the thickest gloom of darkness, it had so long been imprisoned, and took its flight to the regions of perfect purity and bliss. In a man- ner so mild and gentle did death make its approach, that though his kinsman, his medical attendant, and three others were standing at the foot of the bed, with their eyes fixed upon his dying countenance, the precise moment of his departure was unobserved by any. " From this mournful period," writes Mr. Johnson, " till the features of his deceased friend were closed from his view, the expression which the kinsman of Cowper ob- served in them, and which he was affectionately delighted to suppose an index of the last thoughts and enjoyments of his soul in its gradual escape from the depths of de- spondence, was that of calmness and composure, mingled, as it were, with holy surprise/' He was buried in that part of Dereham Church, called St. Edmund's Chapel, on Saturday, the 2nd May, 1800 ; and his funeral was attended by several of his relatives. In a literary point of view, his long and painful affliction had ever been regarded as a national calamity; a deep and almost universal sympathy was felt in his behalf; and by all men of learning and of piety, his death was looked upon as an event of no common importance. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 33] As he died without a will, his amiable and beloved re- lation, Lady Hesketh, kindly undertook to become his ad- ministratrix. She raised a tablet monument to his memory with the following inscription : — IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. BORN IN HERTFORDSHIRE, 1731. BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 1800. Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel Of talents, dignified by sacred zeal, Here, to devotions's bard, devoutly just, Pay your fond tribute, due to Cowper's dust ! England, exulting in his spotless fame, Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name ; Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise So clear a title to affection's praise : His highest honours to the heart belong — His virtues formed the magic of his song. The following lines have been kindly handed to the author by a friend, in manuscript. He is not sure they have never been in print, though he rather inclines to think suGh is the case. And is the spirit of the Poet fled ?. Yes, from its earthly tenement 'tis flown ; And death at length has added to the dead The sweetest minstrel that the world has known. Too nice, too great, his sympathy of soul ; For, oh ! his feelings were so much refined, That sense became impatient of control, And darkness seized the empire of his mind. 332 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. But when Reflection threw her eagle eye Athwart the gloom of unpropitious fate, Faith op'd a splendid vista to the sky, And gave an earnest of a happier state : To see, whilst sceptics to the effects of chance Ascribe creation's ever-varying form ; To see distinctly, at the first slight glance, Who wings the lightning, and who drives the storm To brush the cobweb follies from the great, Which Art, with all her sophistry has spread ; • Uphold the honour of a sinking state, And bid Religion raise her drooping head ; Such were the objects of the enraptured bard, In such his lucid intervals he passed ; And knowing Virtue was her own reward, Wooed, and revered, and loved her to the last. Know, then, that Death has added to his list As sweet a bard as ever swept a lyre : In Death's despite his memory shall exist In numbers pregnant with celestial fire. Yes, Cowper ! with thy own expressive lays, Lays which have haply many a mind illum'd, Thy name shall triumph o'er the lapse of days, And only perish when the world's consumed ! THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 333 CHAPTER XVIII. Description of his person, his manners, his disposition, his piety — His attachment to the Established Church — ■ His attainments — Origi- nality of his poetry — His religious sentiments — The warmth of his friendship — His attachment to the British constitution — His industry and perseverance — Happy manner in which he could console the afflicted — His occasional intervals of enjoyment — Character as a writer — Powers of description — Beauty of his letters — His aversion to flattery, to affectation, to cruelty — His love of liberty, and dread of its abuse — Strong attachment to, and intimate acquaintance with the scriptures — Pleasure with which he sometimes viewed the works of creation — Contentment of his mind — Extract from an anonymous critic — Poetic tribute to his memory. It is scarcely necessary to add any thing on the subject of Cowper's character, after the ample delineation that has already been given of it in this memoir ; we shall, however, subjoin the following brief remarks, which could not so conveniently be introduced in any other part of the nar- rative. Cowper was of the middle stature ; he had a fine, open, and expressive countenance • that indicated much thought- fulness, and almost excessive sensibility. His eyes were more remarkable for the expression of tenderness than of penetration. The general expression of his countenance partook of that sedate cheerfulness, which so strikingly characterizes all his original productions, and which never 334 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. failed to impart a peculiar charm to his conversation. His limbs were more remarkable for strength than for delicacy of form. He possessed a warm temperament; and he says of himself, in a letter to his cousin Mrs. Bodham, dated February 27, 1790, that he was naturally "somewhat irri- table/' but, if he was, his religious principle had so sub- dued that tendency, that a near relation, who was inti- mately acquainted with him the last ten years of his life, never saw his temper ruffled in a single instance. His manners were generally somewhat shy and reserved, particularly to strangers ; when, however, he was in per- fect health, and in such society as was quite congenial to his taste, they were perfectly free and unembarrassed ; his conversation was unrestrained and cheerful, and his whole deportment was the most polite and graceful, espe- cially to females, towards whom he conducted himself, on all occasions, with the strictest delicacy and propriety. Much as Cowper was admired by those who knew him only as a writer, or as an occasional correspondent, he was infi- nitely more esteemed by his more intimate friends ; indeed, the more intimately he was known, the more he was be- loved and revered. Nor was this affectionate attachment so much the result of his brilliant talents, as it was of the real goodness of his disposition, and gentleness of his con- duct. Cowper was emphatically, in the strictest and most scriptural sense of the term, a good man. His goodness, however, was not the result of mere effort, unconnected with christian principles, nor did it arise from the absence of those evil dispositions of which all have reason, more or less, to complain ; on the contrary, all his writings prove that he felt and deplored the existence of evil affections, and was only able to suppress them by a cordial reception of the gospel of Christ, and the diligent use of those means THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 335 enforced under that pure and self-denying dispensation. Nor was the goodness of Covvper a mere negative goodness, inducing him only to avoid doing evil ; it is evident, from many passages, both in his poetic and prose productions, that he ever looked upon his talents, not as his own, but as belonging to Him from whom he had received them. Un- der the influence of this impression, all his best and most important original productions were unquestionably written. Desirous of communicating to his fellow-men the same invaluable benefits which he had himself received from the simple yet sublime truths of Christianity, and incapable of attempting it in any other way than that of becoming an author, he took up his pen and produced those unrivalled poems, which, while they delight the mere literary reader for their elegance, beauty, and sublimity, are no less inte- resting to the christian for the accurate and striking de- lineations of real religion, with which they abound. As long as the English language exists, they will most eagerly be sought after, both by the scholar and by the christian. Cowper was warmly attached to the religion of the es- tablished church, in which he had been trained up, and which, like his friend Mr. Newton, he calmly and delibe- rately preferred to any other. His attachment, however, was not that of the narrow-minded bigot which blinds the mind to the excellencies of every other religious commu- nity ; on the contrary, it was the attachment of the firm and steady friend of religious liberty, in the most liberal sense of the term. Of a sectarian spirit he was ever the open and avowed opponent. He sincerely and very highly respected the conscientious of all parties. In one of his let- ters to Mr. Newton, adverting to a passage in his writings that was likely to expose him to the charge of illiberality, he thus writes. " When I wrote the passage in question, I was not at all aware of any impropriety in it. I am, how- 336 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEIl. ever, glad you have condemned it ; and though I do not feel as if I could presently supply its place, shall be willing to attempt the task, whatever labour it may cost me j and rejoice that it will not be in the power of the critics, what- ever else they may charge me with, to accuse me of bigotry, or a design to make a certain denomination odious at the hazard of the public peace. I had rather my book should be burnt, than a single line guilty of such a tendency should escape me." Cowper's attainments as a scholar were highly respect- able ; he was master of four languages, besides his own : Greek, Latin, Italian, and French ; and though his reading was by no means so extensive as that of some, it was turned to better account, as he was a most thoughtful and attentive reader, and it was undoubtedly amply sufficient for every purpose, with a genius so brilliant and a mind so original as his. The productions of Cowper were eminently and entirely his own ; he had neither borrowed from nor imitated any one. He copied from none either as to his subjects, or the manner of treating them. All was the creation of his own inventive genius. Adverting to this circumstance, in one of his letters, he thus writes : — "I reckon it among my principal advantages as a composer of verses that I have not read an English poet these thirteen years, and but one these twenty years. Imitation even of the best models is my aversion ; it is a servile and mechanical trick, that has enabled many to usurp the name of author, who could not have written at all if they had not written upon the pattern of some original. But when the ear, and the taste have been much accustomed to the style and manner of others, it is almost impossible to avoid it, and we imitate, in spite of ourselves, just in the same proportion as we admire.' , Cowper's mode of expressing his thoughts was entirely THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 337 original. His blank-verse is not the blank-verse of Milton, or of any other poet. His numbers, his pauses, his diction, are all of his own growth, without transcription, and with- out imitation. If he thinks in a peculiar train, it is always as a man of genius, and, what is better still, as a man of ardent and unaffected piety. His predecessors had circum- scribed themselves, both in the choice and management of their subjects, by the observance of a limited number of models, who were thought to have exhausted all the legiti- mate resources of the art. > '-W v %P :M£k^ %^ ) N c <* ", "5 ,0 - ', '^ v \\' Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide " X$$P#//h. -, ' ■N^ lift. WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION , 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724) 779-2111 p i. *;*%. .o- 8 ! &% s <-* ■V •> ? ■«, ^ \* .0 ^_ # x '"*. 0' .0" x- Wtffl Bffl 5MD KKH mat LIBRARY OF CONGRESS H ■ ssfl 1 : ' V/tff wwm HHH. ■H 1 I ^fl !."):>i ■ ■ i E; , k(: 1, (KHn ■ 1 .: wx ^H ffmwgB UflBDD ■ ^H ■Hgr HM ■H — i ■HH I i mm m UAfnufiQBSOQH BBBfl^m WSSSm MSfe^