BOOK II.

Transcriber's note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

* * * * *

THE WORKS

OF

WILLIAM COWPER.

[Illustration:

_Drawn from the Life by Romney 1782._ _W. Greatbach._

WILLIAM COWPER.

_BORN 1731 DIED 1800._]

THE

LIFE AND WORKS

of

WILLIAM COWPER.

Complete

In one Volume.

[Illustration: J. L. Harding W. Greatbach

The House in which Cowper was born

Berkhamstead.]

London.

WILLIAM TEGG & Co.

THE WORKS

OF

WILLIAM COWPER:

HIS LIFE, LETTERS, AND POEMS.

NOW FIRST COMPLETED BY THE INTRODUCTION OF

COWPER'S PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE.

EDITED BY THE

REV. T. S. GRIMSHAWE, A.M., F.S.A., M.R.S.L.,

VICAR OF BIDDENHAM, BEDFORDSHIRE;

AND AUTHOR OF "THE LIFE OF THE REV. LEGH RICHMOND."

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

LONDON:

WILLIAM TEGG AND Co., CHEAPSIDE.

MDCCCXLIX.

LONDON:

J. HADDON, PRINTER, CASTLE STREET, FINSBURY.

PREFATORY REMARKS.

The very extensive sale of the former editions of the Works of

COWPER, in eight volumes, now comprising an issue of no less than

seventy thousand volumes, has led the publishers to contemplate the

present edition in one volume 8vo. This form is intended to meet

the demands of a numerous class of readers, daily becoming more

literary in taste, and more influential in their character on the

great mass of our population. At a period like the present, when

the great framework of society is agitated by convulsions pervading

nearly the whole of continental Europe, and when so many elements

of evil are in active operation, it becomes a duty of the highest

importance to imbue the public mind with whatever is calculated to

uphold national peace and order, and to maintain among us a due

reverence for laws, both human and divine. The faculty also and

taste for reading now exists to so great an extent, that it assumes

a question of no small moment how this faculty is to be directed;

whether it shall be the giant's power to wound and to destroy, or

like the Archangel's presence to heal and to save? Many readers

require to be amused, but it is no less necessary that they should

be instructed. To seek amusement and nothing further, denotes a

head without wit, and a heart and a conscience without feeling.

An author, if he be a Christian and a patriot, will never forget

to edify as well as to amuse. There are few writers who possess

and employ this happy art with more skill than Cowper. His aim is

evidently to interest his reader, but he never forgets the appeal

to his heart and conscience. It is strange if amidst the flowers

of his poetic fancy, and the sallies of his epistolary humour, the

Rose of Sharon does not insinuate its form, and breathe forth its

sweet fragrance. No one knows better than Cowper how to interweave

the sportiveness of his wit with the gravity of his _moral_, and

yet always to be gay without levity, and grave without dulness. He

is also _thoroughly English_, in the structure of his mind, in the

honest expression of his feelings, in his hatred of oppression, his

ardour for true liberty, his love for his country, and for whatever

concerns the weal and woe of man. Nor does he ever fail to exhibit

National Religion as the only sure foundation for national happiness

and virtue. The works of such a writer can never perish. COWPER

has earned for himself a name which will always rank him among the

household poets of England; while his prose has been admitted by the

highest authority to be as immortal as his verse.[1]

[1] Such is the recorded testimony of Charles James Fox, and

the late Robert Hall. The latter observes as follows:--"The

letters of Mr. Cowper are the finest specimens of the epistolary

style in our language. To an air of inimitable ease they unite

a high degree of correctness, such as could result only from

the clearest intellect, combined with the most finished taste.

There is scarcely a single word capable of being exchanged for

a better, and of literary errors there are none. I have perused

them with great admiration and delight."

In presenting therefore to the class of readers above specified,

as well as to the public generally, this edition of the Works of

Cowper, in a form accessible to all, the Publishers trust that the

undertaking will be deemed to be both seasonable and useful. In

this confidence they offer it with the fullest anticipations of its

success. It remains only to state that it is a reprint of the former

editions without any mutilation or curtailment.

It is gratifying to add that the Portrait, drawn from life by Romney

in 1792, and now engraved by W. Greatbach in the first style of art,

is esteemed by the few persons living who have a vivid recollection

of the person and appearance of the Poet, as the most correct and

happy likeness ever given to the public. The Illustrations, too,

presented with this edition, are procured without regard to cost, so

as to render the entire work, it is hoped, the most complete ever

published.

_December 3, 1848._

DEDICATION.

TO THE DOWAGER LADY THROCKMORTON.

Your Ladyship's peculiar intimacy with the poet Cowper, and your

former residence at Weston, where every object is embellished by his

muse, and clothed with a species of poetical verdure, give you a

just title to have your name associated with his endeared memory.

But, independently of these considerations, you are recorded both

in his poetry and prose, and have thus acquired a kind of double

immortality. These reasons are sufficiently valid to authorize

the present dedication. But there are additional motives,--the

recollection of the happy hours, formerly spent at Weston, in your

society and in that of Sir George Throckmorton, enhanced by the

presence of our common lamented friend, Dr. Johnson. A dispensation

which spares neither rank, accomplishments, nor virtues, has

unhappily terminated this enjoyment, but it has not extinguished

those sentiments of esteem and regard, with which

I have the honour to be,

My dear Lady Throckmorton,

Your very sincere and obliged friend,

T. S. GRIMSHAWE.

_Biddenham, Feb. 28, 1835._

PREFACE.

In presenting to the public this new and complete edition of the

Life, Correspondence, and Poems of Cowper, it may be proper for me

to state the grounds on which it claims to be the only complete

edition that has been, or can be published.

After the decease of this justly admired author, Hayley received

from my lamented brother-in-law, Dr. Johnson, (so endeared by his

exemplary attention to his afflicted relative,) every facility for

his intended biography. Aided also by valuable contributions from

other quarters, he was thus furnished with rich materials for the

execution of his interesting work. The reception with which his

Life of Cowper was honoured, and the successive editions through

which it passed, afforded unequivocal testimony to the industry and

talents of the biographer and to the epistolary merits of the Poet.

Still there were many, intimately acquainted with the character and

principles of Cowper, who considered that, on the whole, a very

erroneous impression was conveyed to the public. On this subject

no one was perhaps more competent to form a just estimate than the

late Dr. Johnson. A long and familiar intercourse with his endeared

relative had afforded him all the advantages of a daily and minute

observation. His possession of documents, and intimate knowledge

of facts, enabled him to discover the partial suppression of some

letters, and the total omission of others, that, in his judgment,

were essential to the development of Cowper's real character. The

cause of this procedure may be explained so as fully to exonerate

Hayley from any charge injurious to his honour. His mind, however

literary and elegant, was not precisely qualified to present a

religious character to the view of the British public, without

committing some important errors. Hence, in occasional parts of his

work, his reflections are misplaced, sometimes injurious, and often

injudicious; and in no portion of it is this defect more visible

than where he attributes the malady of Cowper to the operation of

religious causes.

It would be difficult to express the painful feeling produced

by these facts on the minds of Dr. Johnson and of his friends.

Hayley indeed seems to be afraid of exhibiting Cowper too much _in

a religious garb_, lest he should either lessen his estimation,

alarm the reader, or compromise himself. To these circumstances

may be attributed the defects that we have noticed, and which

have rendered his otherwise excellent production an imperfect

work. The consequence, as regards Cowper, has been unfortunate.

"People," observes Dr. Johnson, "read the Letters with 'the Task'

in their recollection, (and _vice versâ_,) and are perplexed.

They look for the Cowper of each in the other, and find him not;

the correspondency is destroyed. The character of Cowper is thus

undetermined; mystery hangs over it, and the opinions formed of him

are as various as the minds of the inquirers." It was to dissipate

this illusion, that my lamented friend collected the "Private

Correspondence," containing letters that had been previously

suppressed, with the addition of others, then brought to light

for the first time. Still there remains one more important object

to be accomplished: viz., to present to the British public the

_whole Correspondence in its entire and unbroken form, and in its

chronological order_. Then, and not till _then_, will the real

character of Cowper be fully understood and comprehended; and the

consistency of his Christian character be found to harmonize with

the Christian spirit of his pure and exalted productions.

Supplemental to such an undertaking is the task of revising Hayley's

Life of the Poet, purifying it from the errors that detract from its

acknowledged value, and adapting it to the demands and expectations

of the religious public. That this desideratum has been long felt,

to an extent far beyond what is commonly supposed, the Editor has

had ample means of knowing, from his own personal observation,

and from repeated assurances of the same import from his lamented

friend, the Rev. Legh Richmond.[2]

[2] Of the letters contained in the "Private Correspondence"

he emphatically remarked, "Cowper will never be clearly and

satisfactorily understood without them."

The time for carrying this object into effect is now arrived.

The termination of the copyright of Hayley's Life of Cowper, and

access to the Private Correspondence collected by Dr. Johnson,

enable the Editor to combine all these objects, and to present,

for the first time, a _Complete Edition of the Works of Cowper_,

which it is not in the power of any individual besides himself

to accomplish, because all others are debarred access to the

Private Correspondence. Upwards of two hundred letters will be

thus incorporated with the former work of Hayley, in their due and

chronological order.

The merits of "The Private Correspondence" are thus attested in a

letter addressed to Dr. Johnson, by a no less distinguished judge

than the late Rev. Robert Hall.--"It is quite unnecessary to say

that I perused the letters with great admiration and delight. I

have always considered the letters of Mr. Cowper as the finest

specimen of the epistolary style in our language; and _these_ appear

to me of a superior description to the former, possessing as much

beauty, with more piety and pathos. To an air of inimitable ease and

carelessness they unite a high degree of correctness, such as could

result only from the clearest intellect, combined with the most

finished taste. I have scarcely found a single word which is capable

of being exchanged for a better. Literary errors I can discern

none. The selection of words, and the construction of periods,

are inimitable; they present as striking a contrast as can well

be conceived to the turgid verbosity which passes at present for

fine writing, and which bears a great resemblance to the degeneracy

which marks the style of Ammianus Marcellinus, as compared to that

of Cicero or of Livy. In my humble opinion, the study of Cowper's

prose may on this account be as useful in forming the taste of young

people as his poetry. That the Letters will afford great delight

to all persons of true taste, and that you will confer a most

acceptable present on the reading world by publishing them, will not

admit of a doubt."

All that now remains is for the Editor to say one word respecting

himself. He has been called upon to engage in this undertaking both

on public and private grounds. He is not insensible to the honour of

such a commission, and yet feels that he is undertaking a delicate

and responsible office. May he execute it in humble dependence on

the Divine blessing, and in a spirit that accords with the venerated

name of Cowper! Had the life of his endeared friend, Dr. Johnson,

been prolonged, no man would have been better qualified for such an

office. His ample sources of information, his name, and his profound

veneration for the memory of Cowper, (whom he tenderly watched while

living, and whose eyes he closed in death,) would have awakened an

interest to which no other writer could presume to lay claim. It is

under the failure of this expectation, which is extinguished by the

grave, that the Editor feels himself called upon to endeavour to

supply the void; and thus to fulfil what is due to the character of

Cowper, and to the known wishes of his departed friend. Peace be to

his ashes! They now rest near those of his beloved Bard, while their

happy spirits are reunited in a world, where no cloud obscures the

mind, and no sorrow depresses the heart: and where the mysterious

dispensations of Providence will be found to have been in accordance

with his unerring wisdom and mercy.

* * * * *

It is impossible for the Editor to specify the various instances

of revision in the narrative of Hayley, because they are sometimes

minute or verbal, at other times more enlarged. The object has

been to retain the basis of his work, as far as possible. The

introduction of new matter is principally where the interests of

religion, or a regard to Cowper's character seemed to require it;

and for such remarks the Editor is solely responsible.

CONTENTS.

PART THE FIRST.

Page

The family, birth, and first residence of Cowper 1

His verses on the portrait of his mother 1

Epitaph on his mother by her niece 2

The schools that Cowper attended 2

His sufferings during childhood 2

His removal from Westminster to an attorney's office 3

Verses on his early afflictions 4

His settlement in the Inner Temple 4

His acquaintance with eminent authors 4

His translations in Duncombe's Horace 4

His own account of his early life 4

Stanzas on reading Sir Charles Grandison 4

His verses on finding the heel of a shoe 5

His nomination to the office of Reading Clerk in the

House of Lords 5

His nomination to be Clerk of the Journals in the House

of Lords 5

To Lady Hesketh. Journals of the House of Lords. Reflection

on the singular temper of his mind. Aug. 9, 1763 5

His extreme dread of appearing in public 6

His illness, and removal to St. Alban's 6

Change in his ideas of religion 7

His recovery 7

His settlement at Huntingdon to be near his brother 7

The translation of Voltaire's Henriade by the two

brothers 7

The origin of Cowper's acquaintance with the Unwins 7

His adoption into the family 8

His early friendship with Lord Thurlow, and J. Hill,

Esq 8

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Account of his situation at Huntingdon.

June 24, 1765 9

To Lady Hesketh. On his illness and subsequent recovery.

July 1, 1765 9

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Huntingdon and its amusements.

July 3, 1765 10

To Lady Hesketh. Salutary effects of affliction on the

human mind. July 4, 1765 10

To the same. Account of Huntingdon; distance from

his Brother, &c. July 5, 1765 11

To the same. Newton's Treatise on Prophecy; Reflections

of Dr. Young, on the Truth of Christianity. July 12, 1765 12

To the same. On the Beauty and Sublimity of Scriptural

Language. Aug. 1, 1765 12

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Expected excursion. Aug. 14,

1765 13

To Lady Hesketh. Pearsall's Meditations; definition of

faith. Aug. 17, 1765 14

To the same. On a particular Providence; experience

of mercy, &c. Sept. 4, 1765 14

To the same. First introduction to the Unwin family;

their characters. Sept. 14, 1765 15

To the same. On the thankfulness of the heart, its

inequalities, &c. Oct. 10, 1765 16

To the same. Miss Unwin, her character and piety.

Oct. 18, 1765 16

To Major Cowper. Situation at Huntingdon; his perfect

satisfaction, &c. Oct. 18, 1765 17

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On those who confine all merits

to their own acquaintance. Oct. 25, 1765 18

To the same. Agreement with the Rev. W. Unwin.

Nov. 5, 1765 18

To the same. Declining to read lectures at Lincoln's

Inn. Nov. 8, 1765 18

To Lady Hesketh. On solitude; on the desertion of his

friends. March 6, 1766 19

To Mrs. Cowper. Mrs. Unwin, and her son; his cousin

Martin. March 11, 1766 19

To the same. Letters the fruit of friendship; his conversion.

April 4, 1766 20

To the same. The probability of knowing each other in

Heaven. April 17, 1766 20

To the same. On the recollection of earthly affairs by

departed spirits. April 18, 1766 21

To the same. On the same subject; on his own state

of body and mind. Sept. 3, 1766 22

To the same. His manner of living; reasons for his

not taking orders. Oct. 20, 1766 23

To the same. Reflections on reading Marshall. March

11, 1767 24

To the same. Introduction of Mr. Unwin's son; his

gardening; on Marshall. March 14, 1767 24

To the same. On the motive of his introducing Mr.

Unwin's son to her. April 3, 1767 25

To Joseph Hill, Esq. General election. June 16, 1767 27

To Mrs. Cowper. Mr. Unwin's death; doubts concerning

Cowper's future abode. July 13, 1767 26

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Reflections arising from Mr. Unwin's

death. July 16, 1767 26

The origin of Cowper's acquaintance with Mr. Newton. 26

Cowper's removal with Mrs. Unwin to Olney. 27

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Invitation to Olney. Oct. 10, 1767 27

His devotion and charity in his new residence. 27

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On the occurrences during his

visit at St. Alban's. June 16, 1768 27

To the same. On the difference of dispositions; his

love of retirement. Jan. 21, 1769 27

To the same. On Mrs. Hill's late illness. Jan. 29, 1769 28

To the same. Declining an invitation. Fondness for

retirement. July 31, 1769 28

His poem in memory of John Thornton, Esq. 28

His beneficence to a necessitous child. 29

To Mrs. Cowper. His new situation; reasons for mixture

of evil in the world. 1769 29

To the same. The consolations of religion on the death

of her husband. Aug. 31, 1769 30

Cowper's journey to Cambridge on his brother's illness. 30

To Mrs. Cowper. Dangerous illness of his brother.

March 5, 1770 30

The death and character of Cowper's brother. 31

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Religious sentiments of his brother.

May 8, 1770 31

To Mrs. Cowper. The same subject. June 7, 1770 32

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Expression of his gratitude for instances

of friendship. Sept. 25, 1770 33

To the same. Congratulations on his marriage. Aug. 27,

1771 33

To the same. Declining offers of service. June 27, 1772 33

To the same. Acknowledging obligations. July 2, 1772 33

To the same. Declining an invitation to London. Nov. 5,

1772 33

The composition of the Olney Hymns by Mr. Newton and

Cowper. 34

The interruption of the Olney Hymns by the illness of

Cowper 35

His long and severe depression 35

His tame hares, one of his first amusements on his recovery. 35

The origin of his friendship with Mr. Bull. 35

His translations from Madame de la Mothe Guion. 35

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On Mr. Ashley Cooper's recovery

from a nervous fever. Nov. 12, 1776 36

To the same. On Gray's Works. April 20, 1777 36

To the same. On Gray's later epistles. West's Letters.

May 25, 1777 36

To the same. Selection of books. July 13, 1777 36

To the same. Supposed diminution of Cowper's income.

Jan. 1, 1778 37

To the same. Death of Sir Thomas Hesketh, Bart. April

11, 1778 37

To the same. Raynal's works. May 7, 1778 37

To the same. Congratulations on preferment. June 18,

1778 37

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Disapproving a proposed application

to Chancellor Thurlow. June 18, 1778 37

To the same. Johnson's Lives of the Poets. May 26,

1779 38

To the same. Remarks on the Isle of Thanet. July,

1779 38

To the same. Advice on sea-bathing. July 17, 1779 38

To the same. His hot house; tame pigeons; visit to

Gayhurst. Sept. 21, 1779 39

To Joseph Hill, Esq. With the fable of the Pine-apple

and the Bee. Oct. 2, 1779 39

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Johnson's Biography; his treatment

of Milton. Oct. 31, 1779 40

To Joseph Hill, Esq. With a poem on the promotion of

Edward Thurlow. Nov. 14, 1779 40

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Quick succession of human

events; modern patriotism. Dec. 2, 1779 40

To the same. Burke's speech on reform; Nightingale

and Glow-worm. Feb. 27, 1780 41

To Mrs. Newton. On Mr. Newton's removal from Olney.

March 4, 1780 41

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Congratulations on his professional

success. March 16, 1780 42

To the Rev. J. Newton. On the danger of innovation.

March 18, 1780 42

To the Rev. W. Unwin. On keeping the Sabbath.

March 28, 1780 43

To the same. Pluralities in the church. April 6, 1780 43

To the Rev. J. Newton. Distinction between a travelled

man, and a travelled gentleman. April 16, 1780 44

To the same. Serious reflections on rural scenery. May

3, 1780 44

To Joseph Hill, Esq. The Chancellor's illness. May 6,

1780 45

To the Rev. W. Unwin. His passion for landscape

drawing; modern politics. May 8, 1780 45

To Mrs. Cowper. On her brother's death. May 10, 1780 46

To the Rev. J. Newton. Pedantry of commentators;

Dr. Bentley, &c. May 10, 1780 46

To Mrs. Newton. Mishap of the gingerbread baker and

his wife. The Doves. June 2, 1780 47

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Cowper's fondness of praise--Can

a parson be obliged to take an apprentice?--Latin

translation of a passage in Paradise Lost; versification

of a thought. June 8, 1780 47

To the Rev. J. Newton. On the riots in 1780; danger of

associations. June 12, 1780 48

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Latin verses on ditto. June 18,

1780 49

To the same. Robertson's History; Biographia Britannica.

June 22, 1780 49

To the Rev. J. Newton. Ingenuity of slander; lace-makers'

petition. June 23, 1780 50

To the Rev. W. Unwin. To touch and retouch, the secret

of good writing; an epitaph; July 2, 1780 51

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On the riots in London. July 3,

1780 51

To the same. Recommendation of lace-makers' petition.

July 8, 1780 51

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Translation of the Latin verses

on the riots. July 11, 1780 52

To the Rev. J. Newton. With an enigma. July 12, 1780 52

To Mrs. Cowper. On the insensible progress of age. July

29, 1780 53

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Olney bridge. July 27, 1780 54

To the Rev. J. Newton. A riddle. July 30, 1780 54

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Human nature not changed; a

modern, only an ancient in a different dress. August

6, 1780 54

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On his recreations. Aug. 10, 1780 55

To the Rev. J. Newton. Escape of one of his hares.

Aug. 21, 1780 56

To Mrs. Cowper. Lady Cowper's death. Age a friend

to the mind. Aug. 31, 1780 56

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Biographia; verses, parson and

clerk. Sept. 3, 1780 57

To the same. On education. Sept. 7, 1780 57

To the same. Public schools. Sept. 17, 1780 58

To the same. On the same subject. Oct. 5, 1780 59

To Mrs. Newton. On Mr. Newton's arrival at Ramsgate.

Oct. 5, 1780 60

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Verses on a goldfinch starved to

death in his cage. Nov. 9, 1780 60

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On a point of law. Dec. 10,

1780 60

To the Rev. John Newton. On his commendations of

Cowper's poems. Dec. 21, 1780 60

To J. Hill, Esq. With the memorable law-case between

nose and eyes. Dec. 25, 1780 61

To the Rev. W. Unwin. With the same. Dec. 1780 62

To the Rev. John Newton. Progress of Error. Mr. Newton's

works. Jan. 21, 1781 62

To the Rev. W. Unwin. On visiting prisoners. Feb. 6,

1781 63

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Hurricane in West Indies. Feb. 8,

1781 63

To the same. On metrical law-cases; old age. Feb. 15,

1781 64

To the Rev. John Newton. With Table Talk. On classical

literature. Feb. 18, 1781 64

To Mr. Hill. Acknowledging a present received. Feb.

19, 1781 64

To the Rev. John Newton. Mr. Scott's curacies. Feb.

25, 1781 65

To the same. Care of myrtles. Sham fight at Olney.

March 5, 1781 65

To the same. On the poems, "Expostulation," &c. March

18, 1781. 66

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Consolations on the asperity of

a critic. April 2, 1781 67

To the Rev. John Newton. Requesting a preface to

"Truth." Enigma on a cucumber. April 8, 1781 68

To the same. Solution of the enigma. April 23, 1781 68

Cowper's first appearance as an author. 69

The subjects of his first poems suggested by Mrs. Unwin. 69

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Intended publication of his first

volume. May 1, 1781 69

To Joseph Hill, Esq. On the composition and publication

of his first volume. May 9, 1781 70

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Reasons for not showing his

preface to Mr. Unwin. May 10, 1781 70

To the same. Delay of his publication; Vincent Bourne,

and his poems. May 23, 1781 71

To the Rev. John Newton. On the heat; on disembodied

spirits. May 22, 1781 72

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Corrections of his proofs; on

his horsemanship. May 28, 1781 72

To the same. Mrs. Unwin's criticisms; a distinguishing

Providence. June 5, 1781 73

To the same. On the design of his poems; Mr. Unwin's

bashfulness. June 24, 1781 73

Origin of Cowper's acquaintance with Lady Austen. 74

Poetical epistle addressed to that lady by him. 75

Diffidence of the poet's genius. 76

To the Rev. John Newton. His late visit to Olney. Lady

Austen's first visit. Correction in "Progress of Error."

Intended portrait of Cowper. July 7, 1781 76

To the same. Humorous letter in rhyme, on his poetry.

July 12, 1781 77

To the same. Progress of the poem, "Conversation."

July 22, 1781. 77

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Though revenge and a spirit of

litigation are contrary to the Gospel, still it is the duty

of a Christian to vindicate his right. Anecdote of a

French Abbé, A fete champetre. July 29, 1781 77

To Mrs. Newton. Changes of fashion. Remarks on his

poem, "Conversation." Aug. 1781 78

To the Rev. John Newton. Conversion of the green-house

into a summer-parlour. Progress of his work. Aug.

16, 1781 79

To the same. State of Cowper's mind. Lady Austen's

intended settlement at Olney. Lines on cocoa-nuts

and fish. Aug. 21, 1781 80

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Congratulations on the birth of

a son. Remarks on his poem, "Retirement." Lady

Austen's proposed settlement at Olney. Her character.

Aug. 25, 1781 81

To the Rev. John Newton. Progress of the printing of

his poem, "Retirement." Mr. Johnson's corrections.

Aug. 25, 1781 82

To the same. Heat of the weather. Remarks on the

opinion of a clerical acquaintance concerning certain

amusements and music. Sept. 9, 1781 82

To Mrs. Newton. A poetical epistle on a barrel of oysters.

Sept. 16, 1781 83

To the Rev. John Newton. Dr. Johnson's criticism on

Watts and Blackmore. Smoking. Sept. 18, 1781 83

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Thoughts on the sea. Character

of Lady Austen. Sept. 26, 1781 84

To the Rev. John Newton. Religious poetry. Oct. 4,

1781 85

To the same. Brighton amusements. His projected Authorship.

Oct. 6, 1781 85

To the Rev. John Newton. Disputes between the Rev.

Mr. Scott and the Rev. Mr. R. Oct. 14, 1781 86

To Mrs. Cowper. His first volume. Death of a friend.

Oct. 19, 1781 87

Reasons why the Rev. Mr. Newton wrote the Preface to

Cowper's Poems 87

To the Rev. John Newton. Remarks on the proposed

Preface to the Poems. Mr. Scott and Mr. R. Oct. 22,

1781 87

To the Rev. W. Unwin. Brighton dissipation. Education

of young Unwin. Nov. 5, 1781 88

To the Rev. John Newton. Cowper's indifference to

Fame. Anecdote of the Rev. Mr. Bull. Nov. 7, 1781 89

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin. Apparition of Paul Whitehead,

at West Wycombe. Nov. 24, 1781 90

To Joseph Hill, Esq. In answer to his account of his

landlady and her cottage. Nov. 26, 1781 90

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin. Origin and causes of social

feeling. Nov. 26, 1781 91

To the Rev. John Newton. Unfavourable prospect of the

American war. Nov. 27, 1781 92

To the same. With lines on Mary and John. Same date 92

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Advantage of having a tenant who

is irregular in his payments. Sale of chambers. State

of affairs in America. Dec. 2, 1781 93

To the Rev. John Newton. With lines to Sir Joshua

Reynolds. Political and patriotic poetry. Dec. 4, 1781 93

Circumstances under which Cowper commenced his

career as an author 94

Letter to the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 17, 1781. Remarks

on his poems on Friendship, Retirement, Heroism

and Ætna; Nineveh and Britain 95

To the Rev. William Unwin, Dec. 19, 1781. Idea of a

theocracy; the American war 96

To the Rev. John Newton; shortest day, 1781. On a

national miscarriage; with lines on a flatting-mill 96

To the same, last day of 1781. Concerning the printing

of his Poems; the American contest 97

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 5, 1782. Dr. Johnson's

critique on Prior and Pope 97

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 13, 1782. The American

contest 98

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 17, 1782. Conduct of

critics; Dr. Johnson's remarks on Prior's Poems; remarks

on Dr. Johnson's Lives of the Poets; poetry

suitable for the reading of a boy 99

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Jan. 31, 1782. Political reflections 101

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 2, 1782. On his Poems

then printing; Dr. Johnson's character as a critic;

severity of the winter 102

To the Rev. William Unwin, Feb. 9, 1782. Bishop

Lowth's juvenile verses; acquaintance with Lady

Austen 102

Attentions of Lady Austen to Cowper 103

Letter from him to Lady Austen 103

She becomes his next door neighbour 103

To the Rev. William Unwin. On Lady Austen's opinion

of him; attempts at robbery; observations on religious

characters; genuine benevolence 104

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 16, 1782. Charms of

authorship 104

To the Rev. William Unwin, Feb. 24, 1782. On the

publication of his poems; his letter to the Lord Chancellor 105

To Lord Thurlow, Feb. 25, 1782, enclosed to Mr. Unwin 105

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 1782. On Mr. N.'s Preface

to his Poems. Remarks on a Fast Sermon 105

To the same, March 6, 1782. Political Remarks; character

of Oliver Cromwell 106

Decision and boldness of Cromwell 107

To the Rev. William Unwin, March 7, 1782. Remonstrance

against Sunday routs 107

Remarks on the reasons for rejecting the Rev. Mr. Newton's

Preface to Cowper's Poems 107

To the Rev. John Newton, March 14, 1782. On the intended

Preface to his Poems; critical tact of Johnson

the bookseller 108

To Joseph Hill, Esq., March 14, 1782. On the publication

of his Poems 108

To the Rev. William Unwin, March 18, 1782. On his

and Mrs. Unwin's opinion of his Poems 109

Improvements in prison discipline 109

To the Rev. John Newton, March 24, 1782. Case of

Mr. B. compared with Cowper's 110

To the Rev. William Unwin, April 1, 1782. On his

commendations of his Poems 110

To the same, April 27, 1782. Military music; Mr. Unwin's

expected visit; dignity of the Latin language;

use of parentheses 111

To the same, May 27, 1782. Dr. Franklin's opinion of

his poems; remarkable instance of providential deliverance

from dangers; effects of the weather; Rodney's

victory in the West Indies 111

To the same, June 12, 1712. Anxiety of Authors respecting

the opinion of others on their works 112

Reception of the first volume of Cowper's Poems 113

Portrait of the true poet 113

Picture of a person of fretful temper 113

PART THE SECOND.

To the Rev. Wm. Bull, June 22, 1782. Poetical epistle

on Tobacco 114

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin, July 16, 1782. Remarks on

political affairs; Lady Austen and her project 114

To the same, August 3, 1782. On Dr. Johnson's expected

opinion of his Poems; encounter with a viper; Lady Austen;

Mr. Bull; Madame Guion's Poems 116

The Colubriad, a poem 117

Lady Austen comes to reside at the parsonage at Olney 117

Songs written for her by Cowper 117

His song on the loss of the Royal George 118

The same in Latin 118

Origin of his ballad of John Gilpin 118

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Sept. 6, 1782. Visit of Mr. Small 119

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin, Nov. 4, 1782. On the ballad

of John Gilpin; on Mr. Unwin's exertions in behalf

of the prisoners at Chelmsford; subscription for the

widows of seamen lost in the Royal George 119

To the Rev. William Bull, Nov. 5, 1783. On his expected

visit 120

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 11, 1782. On the state of

his health; encouragement of planting; Mr. P----,

of Hastings 120

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 1782. Thanks for a present

of fish; on Mr. Small's report of Mr. Hill and his

improvements 121

To the Rev. William Unwin, Nov. 18, 1782. Acknowledgments

to a beneficent friend to the poor of Olney;

on the appearance of John Gilpin in print 121

To the Rev. William Unwin. No date. Character of

Dr. Beattie and his poems; Cowper's translation of

Madame Guion's poems 122

To Mrs. Newton, Nov. 23, 1782. On his Poems; severity

of the winter; contrast between a spendthrift and an

Olney cottager; method recommended for settling

disputes 122

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Dec. 7, 1782. Recollections of the

coffee-house; Cowper's mode of spending his evenings;

political contradictions 123

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 19, 1783. His occupations;

beneficence of Mr. Thornton to the poor of

Olney 124

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 26, 1783. On the anticipations

of peace; conduct of the belligerent powers 124

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin, Feb. 2, 1783. Ironical congratulations

on the peace; generosity of England to

France 125

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 8, 1783. Remarks on

the peace 125

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Feb. 13, 1783. Remarks on his

poems 126

To the same. Feb. 20, 1783. With Dr. Franklin's

letter on his poems 126

To the same. No date. On the coalition ministry;

Lord Chancellor Thurlow 127

Neglect of Cowper by Lord Thurlow 127

Lord Thurlow's generosity in the case of Dr. Johnson,

and Crabbe, the poet 127

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 24, 1783. On the peace 127

To the Rev. William Bull, March 7, 1783. On the peace;

Scotch Highlanders at Newport Pagnel 128

To the Rev. John Newton, March 7, 1783. Comparison

of his and Mr. Newton's letters; march of Highlanders

belonging to a mutinous regiment 128

To the same. April 5, 1783. Illness of Mrs. C.; new

method of treating consumptive cases 129

To the same. April 20, 1783. His occupations and

studies; writings of Mr. ----; probability of his

conversion in his last moments 129

To the Rev. John Newton, May 5, 1783. Vulgarity in

a minister particularly offensive 130

To the Rev. William Unwin, May 12, 1783. Remarks

on a sermon preached by Paley at the consecration of

Bishop L. 130

Severity of Cowper's strictures on Paley 131

Important question of a church establishment 131

Increase of true piety in the Church of England 131

Language of Beza respecting the established church 132

To Joseph Hill, Esq., May 26, 1783. On the death of his

uncle's wife 132

To the Rev. John Newton, May 31, 1783. On Mrs. C.'s

death 132

To the Rev. William Bull, June 3, 1783. With stanzas

on peace 133

To the Rev. William Unwin, June 8, 1783. Beauties of

the green-house; character of the Rev. Mr. Bull 133

To the Rev. John Newton, June 13, 1783. On his Review

of Ecclesiastical History; the day of judgment;

observations of natural phenomena 133

Extraordinary natural phenomena in the summer of 1783 134

Earthquakes in Calabria and Sicily 134

To the Rev. John Newton, June 17, 1783. Ministers

must not expect to scold men out of their sins 135

Tenderness an important qualification in a minister 135

To the Rev. John Newton, June 19, 1783. On the

Dutch translation of his "Cardiphonia" 135

To the same, July 27, 1783. A country life barren of

incident; Cowper's attachment to his solitude; praise

of Mr. Newton's style as an historian 136

Remarks on the influence of local associations 136

Dr. Johnson's allusion to that subject 137

To the Rev. William Unwin, August 4, 1783. Proposed

inquiry concerning the sale of his Poems; remarks on

English ballads; anecdote of Cowper's goldfinches 137

To the same, Sept. 7, 1783. Fault of Madame Guion's

writings, too great familiarity in addressing the Deity 138

To the Rev. John Newton, Sept. 8, 1783. On Mr. Newton's

and his own recovery from illness; anecdote of

a clerk in a public office; ill health of Mr. Scott;

message to Mr. Bacon 138

To the same, Sept. 15, 1783. Cowper's mental sufferings 139

To the same, Sept. 23, 1783. On Mr. Newton's recovery

from a fever; dining with an absent man; his niche for

meditation 139

To the Rev. William Unwin, Sept. 29, 1783. Effect of

the weather on health; comparative happiness of the

natural philosopher; reflections on air balloons 140

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 6, 1783. Religious animosities

deplored; more dangerous to the interests

of religion than the attacks of its adversaries; Cowper's

fondness for narratives of voyages 141

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Oct. 10, 1783. Cowper declines

the discussion of political subjects; epitaph on sailors

of the Royal George 142

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 13, 1783. Neglect of

American loyalists; extraordinary donation sent to

Lisbon at the time of the great earthquake; prospects

of the Americans 142

To the same, Oct. 20, 1783. Remarks on Bacon's monument

of Lord Chatham 143

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Oct. 20, 1783. Anticipations of

winter 144

Cowper's winter evenings 144

The subject of his poem, "The Sofa," suggested 144

Circumstances illustrative of the origin and progress of

"The Task" 144

Extracts from letters to Mr. Bull on that subject 144

Particulars of the time in which "The Task" was

composed 145

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 3, 1783. Fire at Olney

described 145

To the Rev. William Unwin, Nov. 10, 1783. On the

neglect of old acquaintance; invitation to Olney;

exercise recommended; fire at Olney 146

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 17, 1783. Humorous

description of the punishment of a thief at Olney;

dream of an air-balloon 147

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 23, 1783. On his opinion

of voyages and travels; Cowper's reading 148

To the Rev. William Unwin, Nov. 24, 1783. Complaint

of the neglect of Lord Thurlow; character of

Josephus's History 148

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 30, 1783. Speculations

on the employment of the antediluvians; the Theological

Review 149

To the same, Dec. 15, 1783. Speculations on the

invention of balloons; the East India Bill 150

To the same, Dec. 27, 1783. Ambition of public men;

dismissal of ministers; Cowper's sentiments concerning

Mr. Bacon; anecdote of Mr. Scott 151

To the Rev. William Unwin, no date. Account of Mr.

Throckmorton's invitation to see a balloon filled; attentions

of the Throckmorton family to Cowper and

Mrs. Unwin 152

Circumstances which obliged Cowper to relinquish his

friendship with Lady Austen 153

Hayley's account of this event 153

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 3, 1784. Dearth of

subjects for writing upon at Olney; reflections on the

monopoly of the East India Company 154

To Mrs. Hill, Jan. 5, 1784. Requesting her to send

some books 155

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Jan. 18, 1784. On his political

letters; low state of the public funds 155

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 18, 1784. Cowper's

religious despondency; remark on Mr. Newton's predecessor 156

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 1784. Proposed

alteration in a Latin poem of Mr. Unwin's; remarks on

the bequest of a cousin; commendations on Mr. Unwin's

conduct; on newspaper praise 156

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 25, 1784. Cowper's

sentiments on East India patronage and East India

dominion 157

State of our Indian possessions at that time 158

Moral revolution effected there 158

Latin lines by Dr. Jortin, on the shortness of human life 158

Cowper's translation of them 158

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 1784. On Mr. Newton's

"Review of Ecclesiastical History;" proposed

title and motto; Cowper declines contributing to a

Review 158

To the same, Feb. 10, 1784. Cowper's nervous state;

comparison of himself with the ancient poets; his

hypothesis of a gradual declension in vigour from

Adam downwards 159

To the same, Feb. 1784. The thaw; kindness of a

benefactor to the poor of Olney; Cowper's politics,

those of a reverend neighbour; projected translation

of Caraccioli on self-acquaintance 160

To the Rev. William Bull, Feb. 22, 1784. Unknown

benefactor to the poor of Olney; political profession 160

To the Rev. William Unwin, Feb. 29, 1784. On Mr.

Unwin's acquaintance with Lord Petre; unknown

benefactor to the poor of Olney; diffidence of a modest

man on extraordinary occasions 161

To the Rev. John Newton, March 8, 1784. The Theological

Miscellany; abandonment of the intended

translation of Caraccioli 161

To the same, March 11, 1784. Remarks on Mr. Newton's

"Apology;" East India patronage and dominion 162

To the same, March 15, 1784. Cowper's habitual

despondence; verse his favourite occupation, and why;

Johnson's "Lives of the Poets" 162

To the same, March 19, 1784. Works of the Marquis

Caraccioli; evening occupations 162

To the Rev. William Unwin, March 21, 1784. Cowper's

sentiments on Johnson's "Lives of the Poets;"

characters of the poets 163

To the Rev. John Newton, March 29, 1784. Visit of a

candidate and his train to Cowper; angry preaching of

Mr. S 164

To the same, April 14, 1784. Remarks on divine wrath;

destruction in Calabria 165

Effects of the earthquakes, and total loss of human

lives 165

To the Rev. William Unwin, April 5, 1784. Character

of Beattie and Blair; speculation on the origin of

speech 166

To the same, April 15, 1784. Further remarks on Blair's

"Lectures;" censure of a particular observation in

that book 167

To the same, April 25, 1784. Lines to the memory of a

halybutt 167

To the Rev. John Newton, April 26, 1784. Remarks

on Beattie and on Blair's "Lectures;" economy of the

county candidates, and its consequences 168

To the Rev. William Unwin, May 3, 1784. Reflections

on face-painting; innocent in Frenchwomen, but immoral

in English 168

To the same, May 8, 1784. Cowper's reasons for not

writing a sequel to John Gilpin, and not wishing that

ballad to appear with his Poems; progress made in

printing them 170

To the Rev. John Newton, May 10, 1784. Conversion

of Dr. Johnson; unsuccessful attempt with a balloon

at Throckmorton's 170

Circumstances attending Dr. Johnson's conversion 171

To the Rev. John Newton, May 22, 1784. On Dr.

Johnson's opinion of Cowper's "Poems;" Mr. Bull

and his refractory pupils 171

To the same, June 5, 1784. On the opinion of Cowper's

"Poems" attributed to Dr. Johnson 171

To the Rev. John Newton, June 21, 1784. Commemoration

of Handel; unpleasant summer; character of

Mr. and Mrs. Unwin 172

To the Rev. William Unwin, July 3, 1784. Severity

of the weather; its effects on vegetation 172

To the Rev. John Newton, July 5, 1784. Reference to

a passage in Homer; could the wise men of antiquity

have believed in the fables of the heathen mythology?

Cowper's neglect of politics; his hostility to the tax

on candles 173

To the Rev. William Unwin, July 12, 1784. Remarks

on a line in Vincent Bourne's Latin poems; drawing

of Mr. Unwin's house; Hume's "Essay on Suicide" 174

To the same, July 13, 1784. Latin Dictionary; animadversions

on the tax on candles; musical ass 174

To the Rev. John Newton, July 14, 1784. Commemoration

of Handel 175

Mr. Newton's sermon on that subject 175

To the Rev. John Newton, July 19, 1784. The world

compared with Bedlam 176

To the same, July 28, 1784. On Mr. Newton's intended

visit to the Rev. Mr. Gilpin at Lymington; his literary

adversaries 176

To the Rev. William Unwin, Aug. 14, 1784. Reflections

on travelling; Cowper's visits to Weston; difference

of character in the inhabitants of the South Sea

islands; cork supplements; franks 177

Original mode of franking, and reason for the adoption

of the present method 178

To the Rev. John Newton, August 16, 1784. Pleasures

of Olney; ascent of a balloon; excellence of the

Friendly islanders in dancing 178

To the Rev. William Unwin, Sept. 11, 1784. Cowper's

progress in his new volume of poems; opinions of a

visitor on his first volume 178

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Sept. 11, 1784. Character of

Dr. Cotton 179

To the Rev. John Newton, Sept. 18, 1784. Alteration

of franks; Cowper's green-house; his enjoyment of

natural sounds 179

To the Rev. William Unwin, Oct. 2, 1784. Punctuation

of poetry; visit to Mr. Throckmorton 180

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 9, 1784. Cowper maintains

not only that his thoughts are unconnected, but

that frequently he does not think at all; remarks on

the character and death of Captain Cook 181

To the Rev. William Unwin, Oct. 10, 1784. With the

manuscript of the new volume of his Poems, and

remarks on them 182

To the same, Oct. 20, 1784. Instructions respecting

a publisher, and corrections in his Poems 182

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 22, 1784. Remarks on

Knox's Essays 183

To the same. Oct. 30, 1784. Heroism of the Sandwich

islanders; Cowper informs Mr Newton of his intention

to publish a new volume 184

To the Rev. William Unwin, Nov. 1, 1784. Cowper's

reasons for not earlier acquainting Mr. Newton with

his intention of publishing again; he resolves to

include "John Gilpin" 184

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 1784. On the death of Mr.

Hill's mother; Cowper's recollections of his own

mother; departure of Lady Austen; his new volume

of Poems 185

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 27, 1784. Sketch of the

contents and purpose of his new volume 185

To the Rev. William Unwin, Olney, 1784. On the

transmission of his Poems; effect of medicines on the

composition of poetry 185

To the Rev. William Unwin, Nov. 29, 1784. Substance

of his last letter to Mr. Newton 186

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Dec. 4, 1784. Aërial voyages 188

To the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 13, 1784. On the

versification and titles of his new Poems; propriety of

using the word worm for serpent 188

Passages in Milton and Shakespeare in which worm is so

used 189

To the Rev. William Unwin, Dec. 18, 1784. Balloon

travellers; inscription to his new poem; reasons for

complimenting Bishop Bagot 189

To the Rev, John Newton, Christmas-eve, 1784. Cowper

declines giving a new title to his new volume of

Poems; remarks on a person lately deceased 190

General remarks on the particulars of Cowper's personal

history 190

Remarks on the completion of the second volume of

Cowper's Poems 190

Gibbon's record of his feelings on the conclusion of his

History 191

Moral drawn from the evanescence of life 191

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 5, 1785. On the

renouncement of the Christian character; epitaph on

Dr. Johnson 191

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 15, 1785. On delay in

letter-writing; sentiments of Rev. Mr. Newton; Cowper's

contributions to the Gentleman's Magazine; Lunardi's

narrative 192

Explanations respecting Cowper's poem, entitled "The

Poplar Field" 192

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Jan. 22, 1785. Breaking up of

the Frost; anticipations of proceedings in Parliament 193

To the Rev. William Unwin, Feb. 7, 1785. Progress of

Cowper's second volume of Poems; his pieces in the

Gentleman's Magazine; sentiments of a neighbouring

nobleman and gentleman respecting Cowper 193

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 19, 1785. An ingenious

bookbinder; poverty at Olney; severity of the late

winter 194

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Feb. 27, 1785. Inquiry concerning

his health, and account of his own 195

To the Rev. John Newton, March 19, 1785. Uses and

description of an old card table; want of exercise

during the winter; petition against concessions to

Ireland 195

To the Rev. William Unwin, March 20, 1785. Remarks

on a Nobleman's eye; progress of his new volume;

political reflections; celebrity of "John Gilpin" 196

To the Rev. John Newton, April 9, 1785. On the

prediction of a destructive earthquake, by a German

ecclesiastic 197

To the Rev. John Newton, April 22, 1785. On the

popularity of "John Gilpin" 197

To the Rev. William Unwin, April 30, 1785. On the

celebrity of "John Gilpin;" progress of Cowper's

new volume; Mr. Newton's sentiments in regard to

him; mention of some old acquaintances; discovery

of a bird's nest in a gate-post 198

To the Rev. John Newton, May, 1785. Sudden death

of Mr. Ashburner; remarks on the state of Cowper's

mind; reference to his first acquaintance with Newton 199

To the Rev. John Newton, June 4, 1785. Character of

the Rev. Mr. Greatheed; completion of Cowper's new

volume; Bacon's monument to Lord Chatham 200

To Joseph Hill, Esq., June 25, 1785. Cowper's

summer-house; dilatoriness of his bookseller 200

To the Rev. John Newton, June 25, 1785. Allusion to

the mental depression under which Cowper laboured;

Nathan's last moments; complaint of Johnson's delay;

effects of drought; tax on gloves 201

To the Rev. John Newton, July 9, 1785. Mention of

letters in praise of his Poems; conduct of the Lord

Chancellor and G. Colman; reference to the

commemoration of Handel; cutting down of the spinney 202

To the Rev. William Unwin, July 27, 1785. Violent

thunder-storm; courage of a dog; on the love of

Christ 203

To the Rev. John Newton, Aug. 6, 1785. Feelings on

the subject of authorship; reasons for introducing

John Gilpin in his new volume 204

To the Rev. John Newton, Aug. 17, 1785. Reasons

for not writing to Mr. Bacon; Dr. Johnson's Diary;

illness of Mr. Perry 205

Character of Dr. Johnson's Diary 206

Extracts from it 207

Arguments for the necessity of conversion 207

Johnson's neglect of the Sabbath 207

Testimony of Sir William Jones respecting the Holy

Scriptures 208

To the Rev. William Unwin, Aug. 27, 1785. Thanks for

presents; his second volume of Poems; remarks on

Dr. Johnson's Journal; claims of _who_ and _that_ 208

To the Rev. John Newton, Sept. 24, 1785. Recollections

of Southampton; recovery of Mr. Perry; proposed

Sunday School 209

Origin of Sunday Schools 210

Their utility 210

Sentiments of the late Rev. Andrew Fuller on the Bible

Society and on Sunday Schools 210

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Oct. 11, 1785. Cowper excuses

himself for not visiting Wargrave; on his printed epistle

to Mr. Hill 210

Renewal of Cowper's intimacy with his cousin, Lady

Hesketh 211

To Lady Hesketh, Oct. 12, 1785. Recollections revived

by her letter; account of his own situation; allusion

to his uncle's health; necessity of mental employment

for himself 211

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 16, 1785. On the death

of Miss Cunningham; expected removal of the Rev.

Mr. Scott from Olney; Mr. Jones, steward of Lord

Peterborough, burned in effigy 212

To the Rev. William Unwin, Oct. 22, 1785. Progress of

his translation of Homer; course of reading recommended

for Mr. Unwin's son 213

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 5, 1785. On his tardiness

in writing; remarks on Mr. N.'s narrative of

his life; strictures on Mr. Heron's critical opinions of

Virgil and the Bible; lines addressed by Cowper to

Heron 214

Remarks on Heron's "Letters on Literature" 215

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 7, 1785. On the interruptions

experienced by men of business from the idle 215

To Lady Hesketh, Nov. 9, 1785. Reference to his poems;

he signifies his acceptance of her offer of pecuniary

aid; his translation of Homer; description of his

person 215

To the same, without date. His feelings towards her

allusion to his translation of Homer 217

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Nov. 9, 1785. On Bishop

Bagot's Charge 217

To the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 3, 1785. Causes which

led him to undertake the translation of Homer; visit

from Mr. Bagot; renewal of his correspondence with

Lady Hesketh; complains of indigestion 217

To the same, Dec. 10, 1785. On the favourable reports

of his last volume of poems; censure of Pope's Homer 218

To the Rev. William Unwin, Dec. 24, 1785. On his

translation of Homer 219

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Dec. 24, 1785. On his translation

of Homer 219

To the Rev. William Unwin, Dec. 31, 1785. On his

negotiation with Johnson respecting the Translation

of Homer; want of bedding among the poor of Olney 220

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 10, 1786. His consciousness of

defects in his poems; on his Translation of Homer 221

To the Rev. William Unwin, Jan. 14, 1786. On Mr.

Unwin's introduction to Lady Hesketh; specimen of

Cowper's translation of Homer, sent to General Cowper;

James's powder; what is a friend good for? unreasonable

censures 221

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 14, 1786. On his

translation of Homer 222

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Jan. 15, 1786. Explanation

of the delay in the publication of his proposals; allusion

to Bishop Bagot 222

To the same, Jan. 23, 1786. Dr. Maty's intended review

of "The Task;" Dr. Cyril Jackson's opinion of

Pope's Homer 223

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 31, 1786. Acknowledgment of

presents from Anonymous; state of his health; progress

of his translation of Homer; correspondence

with General Cowper 223

To the same, Feb. 9, 1786. Anticipations of a visit from

her; description of the vestibule of his residence 224

To the same, Feb. 11, 1786. He announces that he

has sent off to her a portion of his translation of

Homer; effect of criticisms on his health; promise

of Thurlow to Cowper 225

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 18, 1786. On their

correspondence; his translation of Homer; proposed

mottoes 226

To Lady Hesketh, Feb. 19, 1786. Preparations for her

expected visit; character of Homer; criticism on

Cowper's specimen 226

To the Walter Bagot, Feb. 27, 1786. Condolence

on the death of his wife 227

To Lady Hesketh, March 6, 1786. On elisions in his

Homer; progress of the work 227

To the Rev. W. Unwin, March 13, 1786. Character of

the critic to whom he had submitted his Homer 229

To the Rev. John Newton, April 1, 1786. Expected

visitors 229

To Joseph Hill, Esq., April 5, 1786. Reasons for declining

to make any apology for his translation of

Homer 229

Motives which induced Cowper to undertake a new

version 230

To Lady Hesketh, April 17, 1786. Description of the

vicarage at Olney, where lodgings had been taken for

her; Mrs. Unwin's sentiments towards her; letter

from Anonymous; his early acquaintance with Lord

Thurlow 230

To Lady Hesketh, April 24, 1786. On her letters;

anticipations of her coming; General Cowper 231

To the same, May 8, 1786. On Dr. Maty's censure of

Cowper's translation of Homer; Colman's opinion of

it; Cowper's stanzas on Lord Thurlow; invitation to

Olney; specimen of Maty's animadversions;

recommendation of a house at Weston; blunder of Mr.

Throckmorton's bailiff; recovery of General Cowper 232

To the same, May 15, 1786. Anticipations of her arrival

at Olney; proposed arrangements for the occasion;

presumed motive of Maty's censures; confession

of ambition 233

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, May 20, 1786. His translation

of Homer; reasons for not adopting Horace's

maxim about publishing, to the letter 235

Secret sorrows of Cowper 235

To the Rev. John Newton, May 20, 1786. Cowper's

unhappy state of mind; his connexions 236

Remarks on Cowper's depression of spirit 237

Delusion of supposing himself excluded from the mercy

of God 237

Religious consolation recommended in cases of disordered

intellect 237

To Lady Hesketh, May 25, 1786. Delay of her coming;

visit to a house at Weston; the Throckmortons;

anecdote of a quotation from "The Task;" nervous

affections 238

To the same, May 29, 1786. Delay of her coming;

preparations for it; allusion to his fits of dejection 239

To the same, June 4 and 5, 1786. Cowper rallies her

on her fears of their expected meeting; dinner at Mr.

Throckmorton's 240

To Joseph Hill, Esq., June 9, 1786. Relapse of the Lord

Chancellor; renewal of correspondence with Colman;

the Nonsense Club; expectation of Lady Hesketh's

arrival 241

Arrival of Lady Hesketh at Olney 241

Influence of that event on Cowper 241

Extract from a letter from him to Mr. Bull 241

Description of a thunder-storm, from a letter to the

same 242

Cowper's House at Olney 242

His intimacy with Mr. Newton 242

His pious and benevolent habits 242

He removes from Olney to the Lodge at Weston 242

His acquaintance with Samuel Rose, Esq. and the late

Rev. Dr. Johnson 242

To Joseph Hill, Esq., June 19, 1786. His intended removal

from Olney 242

To the Rev. John Newton, June 22, 1786. His employments;

interruption given to them by Lady Hesketh's

arrival; Newton's Sermons 243

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin, July 3, 1786. Lady Hesketh's

arrival and character; state of his old abode and

description of the new one at Weston; books recommended

for Mr. Unwin's son 243

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, July 4, 1786. Particulars

relative to the translation of Homer 244

To the Rev. John Newton, Aug. 5, 1786. His intended

removal from Olney; its unhealthy situation; his unhappy

state of mind; comfort of Lady Hesketh's presence 245

Cowper's spirits not affected apparently by his mental

malady 246

To the Rev. William Unwin, Aug. 24, 1786. Progress of

his Translation; the Throckmortons 246

To the same, (without date.) His lyric productions;

recollections of boyhood 246

Extract of a letter to the Rev. Mr. Unwin 247

Lines addressed to a young lady on her birth-day 247

Proposed plan of Mr. Unwin for checking sabbath-breaking

and drunkenness 247

To the Rev. Wm. Unwin, (no date.) Cowper's opinion

of the inutility of Mr. Unwin's efforts 247

Exhortation to perseverance in a good cause 248

Hopes of present improvement 248

To the Rev. William Unwin, (no date.) State of the

national affairs 248

To the Rev. William Unwin, (no date.) Character of

Churchill's poetry 249

To the same, (no date.) Cowper's discovery in the Register

of poems long composed and forgotten by him 250

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Aug. 31, 1786. Defence of

elisions; intended removal to Weston 250

To the Rev. John Newton, Sept. 30, 1786. Defence of his

and Mrs. Unwin's conduct 251

Explanatory remarks on the preceding letter 251

Amiable spirit and temper of Newton 251

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 6, 1786. Loss of the MS. of

part of his translation 251

Cowper's removal to Weston 251

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Nov. 17, 1786. On his removal

from Olney; invitation to Weston 253

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 17, 1786. Excuse for

delay in writing; his new residence; affection for his

old abode 253

To Lady Hesketh, Nov. 26, 1786. Comforts of his new residence;

the cliffs; his rambles 254

Unexpected death of the Rev. Mr. Unwin 254

To Lady Hesketh, Dec. 4, 1786. On the death of Mr.

Unwin 255

To the same, Dec. 9, 1786. On a singular circumstance

relating to an intended pupil of Mr. Unwin's 255

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Dec. 9, 1786. Death of Mr. Unwin;

Cowper's new situation at Weston 256

To the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 16, 1786. Death of

Mr. Unwin; forlorn state of his old dwelling 256

To Lady Hesketh, Dec. 21, 1786. Cowper's opinion of

praise; Mr. Throckmorton's chaplain 257

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Jan. 3, 1787. Reason why a

translator of Homer should not be calm; praises of his

works; death of Mr. Unwin 257

Cowper has a severe attack of nervous fever 258

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 8, 1787. State of his health;

proposal of General Cowper respecting his Homer;

letter from Mr. Smith, M.P. for Nottingham; Cowper's

song of "The Rose" reclaimed by him 258

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 13, 1787. Inscription

for Mr. Unwin's tomb; government of Providence in

his poetical labours 258

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 18, 1787. Suspension of his

translation by fever; his sentiments respecting dreams;

visit of Mr. Rose 259

To Samuel Rose, Esq., July 24, 1787. On Burns' poems 260

Remarks on Burns and his poetry 260

Passages from his poems 261

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Aug. 27, 1787. Invitation to

Weston; state of Cowper's health; remarks on Barclay's

"Argenis," and on Burns 261

To Lady Hesketh, August 30, 1787. Improvement in

his health; kindness of the Throckmortons 262

To the same, Sept. 4, 1787. Delay of her coming; Mrs.

Throckmorton's uncle; books read by Cowper 262

To the same, Sept. 15, 1787. His meeting with her

friend, Miss J----; new gravel-walk 263

To the same, Sept. 29, 1787. Remarks on the relative

situation of Russia and Turkey 263

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 2, 1787. Cowper confesses

that for thirteen years he doubted Mr. N.'s

identity; acknowledgments for the kind offers of the

Newtons; preparations for Lady Hesketh's coming 263

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Oct. 19, 1787. State of his

health; strength of local attachments 264

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 20, 1787. His miserable

state during his recent indisposition; petition to Lord

Dartmouth in behalf of the Rev. Mr. Postlethwaite 264

To Lady Hesketh, Nov. 10, 1787. On the delay of her

coming; Cowper's kitten; changes of weather foretold

by a leech 265

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 16, 1787. On his own present

occupation 266

To Lady Hesketh, Nov. 27, 1787. Walks and scenes about

Weston; application from a parish clerk for a copy of

verses; papers in "The Lounger;" anecdote of a beggar

and vermicelli soup 266

To Lady Hesketh, Dec. 4, 1787. Character of the Throckmortons 267

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Dec. 6, 1787. Visit to Mr.

B.'s sister at Chichely; Bishop Bagot; a case of ridiculous

distress 267

To Lady Hesketh, Dec. 10, 1787. Progress of his Homer;

changes in life 268

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Dec. 13, 1787. Requisites in a

translator of Homer 268

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 1, 1788. Extraordinary coincidence

between a piece of his own and one of Mr.

Merry's; "The Poet's New Year's Gift;" compulsory

inoculation for small-pox 269

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Jan. 5, 1788. Translation

of the commencing lines of the Iliad, by Lord

Bagot; revisal of Cowper's translation; the clerk's

verses 270

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 19, 1788. His engagement with

Homer prevents the production of occasional poems;

remarks on a new print of Bunbury's 270

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 21, 1788. Reasons for

not writing to him; expected arrival of the Rev. Mr.

Bean; changes of neighbouring ministers; narrow

escape of Mrs. Unwin from being burned 271

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 30, 1788. His anxiety on account

of her silence 272

To the same, Feb. 1, 1788. Excuse for his melancholy;

his Homer; visit from Mr. Greatheed 272

Causes of Cowper's correspondence with Mrs. King 273

To Mrs. King, Feb. 12, 1788. Reference to his deceased

brother; he ascribes the effect produced by his

poems to God 273

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Feb. 14, 1788. A sense of the

value of time the best security for its improvement;

Mr. C----; brevity of human life illustrated by Homer 273

Commencement of the efforts for the abolition of the

slave trade 274

To Lady Hesketh, Feb. 16, 1788. On negro slavery;

Hannah More's poem on the Slave Trade; extract from

it; advocates of the abolition of slavery; trial of Warren

Hastings 274

To Lady Hesketh, Feb. 22, 1788. Remarks on Burke's

speech impeaching Warren Hastings, and on the duty

of public accusers 276

To the Rev. John Newton, March 1, 1788. Excuse

for a lapse of memory in regard to a letter of Mr.

Bean's 276

To the same, March 3, 1788. Arrival of Mr. Bean at

Olney; Cowper's correspondence with Mrs. King 276

To Mrs. King, March 3, 1788. Brief history of his own

life 277

To Lady Hesketh, March 3, 1788. Catastrophe of a fox-chace;

Cowper in at the death 278

To the same, March 12, 1788. Remarks on Hannah

More's works, and on Wilberforce's book; the Throckmortons 278

Cowper is solicited to write in behalf of the negroes 279

To General Cowper. 1788. Songs written by him on

the condition of negro slaves 279

"The Morning Dream," a ballad 279

Efforts for the abolition of the Slave Trade 280

Wilberforce, the Liberator of Africa 280

Cowper's ballads on Negro slavery 280

The Negro's Complaint 280

The question why Great Britain should be the first to

sacrifice interest to humanity answered by Cowper 280

Lines from Goldsmith's "Traveller," on the English

character 281

Exposition of the cruelty and injustice of the slave trade,

by Granville Sharp 281

Proof of the slow progress of truth 281

Extracts from Cowper's poems on Negro slavery 282

Case of Somerset, a slave, and Lord Mansfield's judgment 282

Final abolition of slavery by Great Britain, and efforts

making for the religious instruction of the Negroes 282

Probability that Africa may be enlightened by their

means 283

Cowper's lines on the blessings of spiritual liberty 283

Letter to Mrs. Hill, March 17, 1788. Thanks for a present

of a turkey and ham; Mr. Hill's indisposition;

inquiry concerning Cowper's library 284

To the Rev. John Newton, March 17, 1788. With a

Song, written at Mr. N.'s request, for Lady Balgonie 284

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, March 19, 1788. Coldness of

the spring; remarks on "The Manners of the Great;"

progress of his Homer 284

To Samuel Rose, Esq., March 29, 1788. He expresses

his wonder that his company should be desirable to

Mr. R.; Mrs. Unwin's character; acknowledges the

receipt of some books; Clarke's notes on Homer; allusion

to his own ballads on Negro slavery 285

To Lady Hesketh, March 31, 1788. He makes mention

of his song, "The Morning Dream;" allusion to Hannah

More on the "Manners of Great" 286

Character of and extracts from Mrs. More's work 286

To Mrs. King, April 11, 1788. Allusion to his melancholy,

and necessity for constant employment; improbability

of their meeting 286

To the Rev. John Newton, April 19, 1788. Remarks on

the conduct of government in regard to the Slavery

Abolition question 287

To Lady Hesketh, May 6, 1788. Smollett's Don Quixote;

he thanks her for the intended present of a box

for letters and papers; renewal of his correspondence

with Mr. Rowley; remarks on the expression, "As

great as two inkle weavers" 288

To Joseph Hill, Esq., May 8, 1788. Lament for the loss

of his library; progress of his Homer 288

To Lady Hesketh, May 12, 1788. Mrs. Montagu and the

Blue-Stocking Club; his late feats in walking 288

To Joseph Hill, Esq., May 24, 1788. Thanks for the present

of prints of the Lacemaker and Crazy Kate;

family of Mr. Chester; progress of Homer; antique

bust of Paris 289

To the Rev. William Bull, May 25, 1788. He declines

the composition of hymns, which Mr. B. had urged

him to undertake 290

To Lady Hesketh, May 27, 1788. His lines on Mr.

Henry Cowper; remarks on Mrs. Montagu's Essay

on the Genius of Shakespeare; antique head of Paris;

remarks on the two prints sent him by Mr. Hill 290

To the same, June 3, 1788. Sudden change of the

weather; remarks on the advertisement of a dancing-master

of Newport-Pagnell 291

To the Rev. John Newton, June 5, 1788. His writing

engagements; effect of the sudden change of the weather

on his health; character of Mr. Bean; visit from

the Powleys; he declines writing further on the slave-trade;

invitation to Weston; verses on Mrs. Montagu 291

To Joseph Hill, Esq., June 8, 1788. On the death of his

uncle, Ashley Cowper 292

To Lady Hesketh, June 10, 1788. On the death of her

father, Ashley Cowper 292

To the same, June 15, 1788. Recollections of her father 293

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, June 17, 1788. Coldness of

the season; reasons for declining to write on slavery;

contrast between the awful scenes of nature and the

horrors produced by human passions 293

To Mrs. King, June 19, 1788. He excuses his silence on

account of inflammation of the eyes; sudden change of

weather; reasons why we are not so hardy as our forefathers;

his opinion of Thomson, the poet 294

To Samuel Rose, Esq., June 23, 1788. Apology for an

unanswered letter; providence of God in regard to the

weather; visitors at Weston; brevity of human life 294

To the Rev. John Newton, June 24, 1788. Difficulties

experienced by Mr. Bean in enforcing a stricter observance

of the Sabbath at Olney; remarks on the slave

trade 295

To Lady Hesketh, June 27, 1788. Anticipations of her

next visit; allusion to Lord Thurlow's promise to

provide for him; anecdote of his dog Beau; remarks

on his ballads on slavery 296

The Dog and the Water Lily 297

To Joseph Hill, Esq, July 6, 1788. He gives Mr. H. notice

that he has drawn on him; allusion to an engagement

of Mr. H.'s 297

To Lady Hesketh, July 28, 1788. Her talent at description;

the lime-walk at Weston; remarks on the "Account of Five

Hundred Living Authors" 297

To the same, August 9, 1788. Visitors at Weston;

motto composed by Cowper for the king's clock 298

To Samuel Rose, Esq., August 18, 1788. Circumstances

of their parting; he recommends Mr. R. to take due

care of himself in his pedestrian journeys; strictures

on Lavater's Aphorisms 298

Remarks on physiognomy, and on the merits of Lavater

as the founder of the Orphan House at Zurich. _Note_ 299

To Mrs. King, August 28, 1788. He playfully guesses

at Mrs. King's figure and features 299

To the Rev. John Newton, Sept. 2, 1788. Reference to

Mr. N.'s late visit; his own melancholy state of mind;

Mr. Bean's exertions for suppressing public houses 300

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Sept. 11, 1788. Remarkable oak;

lines suggested by it; exhortation against bashfulness 300

To Mrs. King, Sept. 25, 1788. Thanks for presents; invitation

to Weston 301

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Sept. 25, 1788. A riddle; superior

talents no security for propriety of conduct; progress

of Homer; Mrs. Throckmorton's bullfinch 302

To Mrs. King, Oct. 11, 1788. Account of his occupations

at different periods of his life 302

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 29, 1788. Declining

state of Jenny Raban; Mr. Greatheed 303

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Nov. 30, 1788. Vincent Bourne;

invitation to Weston 303

To Mrs. King, Dec. 6, 1788. Excuse for not being punctual

in writing; succession of generations; Cumberland's

"Observer" 304

To the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 9, 1788. Mr. Van Lier's

Latin MS.; Lady Hesketh and the Throckmortons;

popularity of Mr. C. as a preacher 304

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Jan. 19, 1789. Local helps to

memory; Sir John Hawkins' book 305

To the same, Jan. 24, 1789. Accidents generally occur

when and where we least expect them 305

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Jan. 29, 1789. Excuse for

irregularity in correspondence; progress of Homer;

allusion to political affairs 305

To Mrs. King, Jan. 29, 1789. Thanks for presents;

Mrs. Unwin's fall in the late frost; distress of the

Royal Family on the state of the King, and anecdote

of the Lord Chancellor 306

To the same, March 12, 1789. Excuse for long silence,

and for not having sent, according to promise, all the

small pieces he had written; his poem on the King's

recovery 306

To the same, April 22, 1789. He informs Mrs. K. that

he has a packet of poems ready for her; his verses on

the Queen's visit to London on the night of the illuminations

for the King's recovery; disappointment on

account of her not coming to Weston; Twinings' translation

of Aristotle 307

To the same, April 30, 1789. Thanks for presents; his

brother's poems 308

To Samuel Rose, Esq., May 20, 1789. Reference to his

lines on the Queen's visit; character of Hawkins

Brown 309

To Mrs. King, May 30, 1789. He acknowledges the receipt

of a packet of papers; reference to his poem on

the Queen's visit 309

To Samuel Rose, Esq., June 5, 1789. He commissions

Mr. R. to buy him a cuckoo-clock; Boswell's Tour to

the Hebrides; Hawkins' and Boswell's Life of Johnson 309

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, June 16, 1789. On his marriage;

allusion to his poem on the Queen's visit 310

To Samuel Rose, Esq., June 20, 1789. He expresses regret

at not receiving a visit from Mr. R.; acknowledges

the arrival of the cuckoo-clock; remark on Hawkins' and

Boswell's Life of Johnson 310

To Mrs. Throckmorton, July 18, 1789. Poetic turn of

Mr. George Throckmorton; news concerning the Hall 310

To Samuel Rose, Esq., July 23, 1789. Importance of

improving the early years of life; anticipations of Mr.

R.'s visit 311

To Mrs. King, August 1, 1789. Grumbling of his correspondents

on his silence; his time engrossed by

Homer; he professes himself an admirer of pictures,

but no connoisseur 311

To Samuel Rose, Esq., August 8, 1789. Mrs. Piozzi's

Travels; remark on the author of the "Dunciad" 312

To Joseph Hill, Esq., August 12, 1789. Unfavourable

weather and spoiled hay; multiplicity of his engagements;

Sunday school hymn 312

To the Rev. John Newton, August 16, 1789. Excuse for

long silence; progress of Homer 313

Remarks on Cowper's observation that authors are responsible

for their writings 313

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Sept. 24, 1789. Coldness of the

season 313

To the same, Oct. 4, 1789. Description of the receipt of

a hamper, in the manner of Homer 314

To the Rev. Walter Bagot (without date). Excuse for

long silence; why winter is like a backbiter; Villoison's

Homer; death of Lord Cowper 314

To the Rev. Walter Bagot (without date). Remarks on

Villoison's Prolegomena to Homer 314

Note on the reveries of learned men 315

To the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 1, 1789. Apology for

not writing; Mrs. Unwin's state of health; reference

to political events 315

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Dec. 18, 1789. Political reflections 316

Character of the French Revolution 316

Burke on the features which distinguish the French Revolution

from that of England in 1688 316

Political and moral causes of the French Revolution 317

Origin of the Revolution in America 317

The Established Church endangered by resistance to the

spirit of the age 318

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Jan. 3, 1790. Excuses for silence;

inquiry concerning Mr. R.'s health; laborious task of

revisal 318

To Mrs. King, Jan. 4, 1790. His anxiety on account of

her long silence; his occupations; Mrs. Unwin's state 319

To the same, Jan. 18, 1790. He contradicts a report that

he intends to quit Weston; reference to his Homer 319

Commencement of Cowper's acquaintance with his cousin

the Rev. John Johnson 320

To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 22, 1790. Particulars concerning

a poem of his cousin Johnson's; anticipations of the

Cambridge critics respecting his Homer 320

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Feb. 2, 1790. He impugns the

opinion of Bentley that the last Odyssey is spurious 320

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 5, 1790. Account of his

painful apprehensions in the month of January 321

To Lady Hesketh, Feb. 9, 1790. Service rendered by

her to his cousin Johnson; Cowper's lines on a transcript

of an Ode of Horace by Mrs. Throckmorton 321

To the same, Feb. 26, 1790. He promises to send her a

specimen of his Homer for the perusal of a lady; his

delight at being presented by a relative with his mother's

picture 322

To Mrs. Bodham, Feb. 27, 1790. He expresses his delight

at receiving his mother's picture from her; lines

written by him on the occasion; recollections of his

mother; invitation to Weston; remembrances of other

maternal relatives 323

To John Johnson, Esq., Feb. 28, 1790. He refers to the

present of his mother's picture; he mentions his invitation

of the family of the Donnes to Weston; inquires

concerning Mr. J.'s poem 324

To Lady Hesketh, March 8, 1790. On Mrs. ---- opinion

of his Homer; his sentiments on the Test Act; passage

from his poems on that subject; ill health of Mrs.

Unwin 324

To Samuel Rose, Esq., March 11, 1790. On the state of

his health: he condemns the practice of dissembling

indispositions 325

To Mrs. King, March 12, 1790. On her favourable

opinion of his poems; his mother's picture and his

poem on the receipt of it 325

To Mrs. Throckmorton, March 21, 1790. He regrets her

absence from Weston; Mrs. Carter's opinion of his

Homer; his new wig 326

To Lady Hesketh, March 22, 1790. His opinion of the

style best adapted to a translation of Homer 326

To John Johnson, Esq., March 23, 1790. Character of

the Odyssey; Cowper professes his affection for Mr. J. 327

To the same, April 17, 1790. Remark on an innocent

deception practised by Mr. J.; Cowper boasts of his

skill in physiognomy, and recommends the study of

Greek 328

To Lady Hesketh, April 19, 1790. His revisal of Homer;

anecdote of a prisoner in the Bastile, and lines on the

subject 328

To the same, April 30, 1790. Message to Bishop Madan;

remarks on General Cowper's approbation of his picture

verses 328

To Joseph Hill, Esq., May 2, 1790. On the approaching

termination of his employment with Homer 329

To Mrs. Throckmorton, May 2, 1790. Humorous account

of a boy sent with letters to her in Berkshire; Cowper's

adventure with a dog 329

To Lady Hesketh, May 28, 1790. He declines the offer

of her services to procure him the place of poet laureat 329

To the same, June 3, 1790. He is applied to by a Welshman

to get him made poet laureat 330

To John Johnson, Esq., June 7, 1790. Advice to Mr. J.

on his future plans and studies; with remarks on Cowper's

strictures on the University of Cambridge 330

Remarks on Cowper's exhortation respecting the divinity

of the glorious Reformation 330

To Samuel Rose, Esq., June 8, 1790. Congratulations on

his intended marriage; proposed riddle 331

To Mrs. King, June 14, 1790. His literary occupations;

state of Professor Martyn's health; ill health of Mrs.

Unwin 331

To Lady Hesketh, June 17, 1790. Grievance of going

a-visiting; his envy of a poor old woman; inscriptions

for two oak plantations 332

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, June 22, 1790. Snakes and

ants of Africa; Bishop Bagot and his mutinous clergy 333

To Mrs. Bodham, June 29, 1790. Anticipations of a

visit from her 333

To Lady Hesketh, July 7, 1790. State of Mrs. Unwin;

remarks on the abolition of ranks by the French 334

To John Johnson, Esq., July 8, 1790. Recommendation

of music as an amusement; expected visit from Mr. J.

and his sister 334

To Mrs. King, July 16, 1790. On their recent visit to

Weston; reference to his own singularities; regrets

for the distance between them 334

To John Johnson, Esq., July 31, 1790. Warning against

carelessness and shyness; proposed employments and

amusements 335

To the Rev. John Newton, Aug. 11, 1790. On the state

of Mrs. Newton's health; he refers to his own state,

and declines the offer of trying the effect of animal

magnetism 336

To Mrs. Bodham, Sept. 9, 1790. He informs her of the

termination of his labours with Homer, and the conveyance

of his translation to London by Mr. Johnson 336

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Sept. 13, 1790. On his marriage;

Cowper's preface to his Homer; solution of the riddle

in a former letter to Mr. R. 337

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Sept. 17, 1790. On the list of

subscribers to his Homer 337

To Mrs. King, Oct. 5, 1790. On her illness; allusion to

a counterpane which she had presented to him; reference

to the list of subscribers to his Homer, and the

time of publication 338

To the Rev. John Newton, Oct. 15, 1790. On the death

of Mrs. Scott; translation of Van Lier's letters; concern

for Mrs. Newton's sufferings 338

To the same, Oct. 26, 1790. His instructions to Johnson,

the bookseller, to affix to the first volume of his

poems the preface written for it by Mr. N.; fall of the

leaves a token of the shortness of human life 338

On Christian submission to the divine will in regard to

life and death 339

To Mrs. Bodham, Nov. 21, 1790. Character of her nephew,

Mr. Johnson; Mrs. Hewitt 340

To John Johnson, Esq., Nov. 26, 1790. On the study

of jurisprudence; visit from the Dowager Lady

Spencer 340

To Mrs. King, Nov. 29, 1790. On the praises of friends;

his obligations to Professor Martyn; progress in printing

his Homer 341

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Nov. 30, 1790. On his professional

exertions in behalf of a friend; revisal of proofs

of his Homer 341

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Dec. 1, 1790. He retorts the

charge of long silence, and boasts of his intention to

write; progress in printing his Homer; his reasons

for not soliciting the laureatship 341

To the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 5, 1790. Dying state of

Mrs. Newton 341

Remarks on the doubts and fears of Christians 342

To John Johnson, Esq., Dec. 18, 1790. Cambridge subscription

for Homer; progress in printing the work 342

To Mrs. King, Dec. 31, 1790. Thanks for the present

of a counterpane; his own indisposition; his poetical

operations 342

Cowper's verses on the visit of Miss Stapleton to Weston 343

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Jan. 4, 1791. On his own

state of health; on the quantity of syllables in verse 343

To the Rev. John Newton, Jan. 20, 1791. On the death

of Mrs. N. 344

To John Johnson, Esq., Jan. 21, 1791. He urges Mr. J.

to come to Weston; caution respecting certain singularities 344

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Feb. 5, 1791. Thanks for subscriptions

from Scotland, and for the present of Pope's Homer 344

To Lady Hesketh, Feb. 13, 1791. Influence of a poet's

reputation on an innkeeper 345

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Feb. 26, 1791. He playfully

gives Mr. B. leave to find fault with his verses; his

sentiments respecting blank verse 345

To John Johnson, Esq., Feb. 27, 1791. Progress in

printing Homer; neglect of his work by Oxford 346

To Mrs. King, March 2, 1791. Apology for forgetting

a promise, owing to his being engrossed by Homer;

success of his subscription at Cambridge; the Northampton

dirge 346

To Joseph Hill, Esq., March 6, 1791. Progress in Printing

his Homer 346

Commencement of Cowper's acquaintance with the Rev.

James Hurdis 347

To the Rev. James Hurdis, March 6, 1791. He compliments

Mr. H. on his poetical productions; thanks

him for offers of service; excuses himself from visiting

him, and invites him to Weston 347

To Joseph Hill, Esq., March 10, 1791. Simile drawn

from French and English prints of subjects in Homer 347

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, March 18, 1791. On Dr.

Johnson's taste for poetry; aptness of Mr. B.'s quotations;

Mr. Chester's indisposition 347

To John Johnson, Esq., March 19, 1791. On the poems

of Elizabeth Bentley, an untaught female of Norwich 348

To Samuel Rose, Esq., March 24, 1791. On his application

to Dr. Dunbar relative to subscriptions to Cowper's

Homer 348

To Lady Hesketh, March 25, 1791. Slight of Horace

Walpole; a night alarm and its effects; remarks on a

book sent by Lady H. 349

To the Rev. John Newton, March 29, 1791. Recollections

of past times; difference between dreams and

realities; reasons why the occasional pieces which he

writes do not reach Mr. N.; expected visit of his

maternal relations; his mortuary verses 349

To Mrs. Throckmorton, April 1, 1791. On the failure of

an attempt in favour of his subscription at Oxford; remarks

on a pamphlet by Mr. T. 350

To John Johnson, Esq., April 6, 1791. Thanks for Cambridge

subscriptions 350

To Samuel Rose, Esq., April 29, 1791. Subscriptions to

his Homer 351

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, May 2, 1791. Progress in

printing Homer; visit from Mr. B.'s nephew; Milton's

Latin poems 351

Dr. Johnson's remark on Milton's Latin poems 351

To the Rev. Mr. Buchanan, May 11, 1791. On a poem

of Mr. B.'s 352

To Lady Hesketh, May 18, 1791. Complaint of her not

writing; letter from Dr. Cogswell, of New York, respecting

his poems 352

To John Johnson, Esq., May 23, 1791. On his translation

of the Battle of the Frogs and the Mice 352

The Judgment of the Poets, a poem, by Cowper, on the

relative charms of May and June 352

To Lady Hesketh, May 27, 1791. Tardiness of the printer

of his Homer 353

To John Johnson, Esq., June 1, 1791. He congratulates

Mr. J. on the period of his labours as a transcriber 353

PART THE THIRD.

Observations on Cowper's version of Homer 353

Reasons of his failure in that work to satisfy public

expectation 354

Comparative specimens of Pope's and Cowper's versions 354

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, June 13, 1791. Completion of

his Homer; their mutual fondness for animals; a woman's

character best learned in domestic life 355

To Samuel Rose, Esq., June 15, 1791. Man an ungrateful

animal; visit from Norfolk relations 356

To Dr. James Cogswell, June 15, 1791. Acknowledgement

of a present of books; his translation of Homer;

books sent by him to Dr. C. 356

To the Rev. John Newton, June 24, 1791. Exhortation

to more frequent correspondence; affectionate remembrance

of Mr. N.; on the recent loss of his wife; value

of Homer 357

To Mrs. Bodham, July 7, 1791. Apology for having

omitted to send a letter which he had written; he declines

visiting Norfolk; state of health of her relatives

then at Weston 358

To the Rev. John Newton, July 22, 1791. His engagement

in making corrections for a new edition of Homer;

decline of the Rev. Mr. Venn; reference to the

riots at Birmingham 359

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Aug. 2, 1791. Visit of Lady

Bagot; riots at Birmingham 359

To Mrs. King, Aug. 4, 1791. State of her health; his

own and Mrs. Unwin's; invitation to Weston; publication

of his Homer 360

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, Aug. 1791. His study being

liable to all sorts of intrusions, he cannot keep his

operations secret; reason for his dissatisfaction with

Pope's Homer; recommendation of Hebrew studies 360

To John Johnson, Esq., Aug. 9, 1791. Causes for his

being then an idle man 361

Cowper undertakes the office of editor of Milton's works 361

Regret expressed that he did not devote to original composition

the time given to translation 361

Origin of Cowper's acquaintance with Hayley 362

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Sept. 21, 1791. He informs him

of his new engagement as editor of Milton 362

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Sept. 21, 1791. Pleasure

afforded by Lord Bagot's testimony in favour of his

Homer; inquiry concerning persons alluded to in an

elegy of Milton's 362

To the Rev. Mr. King, Sept. 23, 1791. On Mrs. K.'s

indisposition 363

To Mrs. King, Oct. 22, 1791. Congratulation on her

recovery; he contends that women possess much more

fortitude than men; he acquaints her with his new

engagement on Milton 363

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Oct. 25, 1791. Visit of Mr.

Chester; poem of Lord Bagot's; condemnation of a

remark of Wharton's respecting Milton 364

To John Johnson, Esq., Oct. 31, 1791. His delight to

hear of the improved health of Mr. J. and his sister;

his own state of health; his new engagement 364

To Joseph Hill, Esq., Nov. 14, 1791. On compound

epithets; progress in his translation of Milton's Latin

poems 365

To the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 16, 1791. Apology for

not sending a poem which Mr. N. had asked for; Mr.

N.'s visit to Mrs. Hannah More; her sister's application

for Cowper's autograph; Cowper regrets that he

had never seen a mountain; his engagement on Milton 365

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Dec. 5, 1791. Expectation of

a new edition of his Homer; he defends a passage in

it; his engagement upon Milton 366

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, Dec. 10, 1791. His engagement

upon Milton 366

To Samuel Rose, Esq., Dec. 21, 1791. Sudden seizure

of Mrs. Unwin 366

Cowper's affliction on occasion of Mrs. Unwin's attack 367

To Mrs. King, Jan. 26, 1792. He describes the circumstances

of Mrs. Unwin's alarming seizure; he asserts

that women surpass men in true fortitude; his engagements 367

To the Rev. Walter Bagot, Feb. 14, 1792. On the indisposition

of Mr. B. and his children; he professes

his intention to avail himself of all remarks in a new

edition of his Homer; course which he purposes to

pursue in regard to Milton; his correspondence with

the Chancellor 368

To Thomas Park, Esq., Feb. 19, 1792. Acknowledgment

of the receipt of books sent by him; he signifies

his acceptance of the offer of notices relative to Milton 368

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 20, 1792. Lines written

by him for Mrs. Martha More's Collection of Autographs;

his reply to the demand of more original composition;

remarks on the settlement at Botany Bay,

and African colonization 369

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, Feb. 21, 1792. Reasons for

deferring the examination of Homer; progress made

in Milton's poems 369

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, March 2, 1792. He expresses

his obligations for Mr. H.'s remarks on Homer; he

permits the tragedy of Sir Thomas More to be inscribed

to him 370

To the Rev. John Newton, March 4, 1792. Departure

of the Throckmortons from Weston; his dislike of

change 370

To Mrs. King, March 8, 1792. On her late indisposition;

testimonies concerning his Homer 371

To Thomas Park, Esq., March 10, 1792. On Mr. P.'s

professional pursuits; he disclaims a place among the

literati; and asks for a copy of Thomson's monumental

inscription 371

To John Johnson, Esq., March 11, 1792. He mentions

having heard a nightingale sing on new year's day,

departure of Lady Hesketh; expected visit of Mr. Rose 372

Verses addressed to "The Nightingale which the author

heard on new year's day, 1792" 372

To the Rev. John Newton, March 18, 1792. He assures

Mr. N. that, though reduced to the company of Mrs.

Unwin alone, they are both comfortable 372

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, March 23, 1792. Remarks on

Mr. H.'s Tragedy of Sir Thomas More 373

To Lady Hesketh, March 25, 1752. Cause of the delay

of a preceding letter to her; detention of Mr. Hayley's

letter to Cowper, at Johnson the bookseller's 373

To Thomas Park, Esq., March 30, 1792. Remarks on a

poem of Mr. P.'s 374

To Samuel Rose, Esq., March 30, 1792. Spends his

mornings in letter writing 374

To the same, April 5, 1792. Vexatious delay of printers;

supposed secret enemy 374

To William Hayley, Esq., April 6, 1792. Expected visit

of Mr. H.; Cowper introduces Mrs. Unwin, and advises

him to bring books with him, if he should want

any 375

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis, April 8, 1792. Apology for

delay in writing; reference to Mr. H.'s sisters; and

to an unanswered letter 375

To Joseph Hill, Esq., April 15, 1792. Thanks for a remittance;

satirical stanzas on a blunder in his Homer;

progress in Milton 376

To Lady Throckmorton, April 16, 1792. Lady thieves;

report of his being a friend to the slave trade; means

taken by him to refute it 376

Sonnet addressed to William Wilberforce, Esq., and

published by Cowper in contradiction of the report

above-mentioned 377

Remarks on a report respecting Cowper's sentiments

relative to the Slave Trade 377

Reflections on Popularity 377

Letter to the Rev. J. Jekyll Rye. April 16, 1792. Cowper

asserts the falsehood of a report that he was

friendly to the Slave Trade 377

To the Printers of the Northampton Mercury; on the

same subject, with a Sonnet addressed to Mr. Wilberforce 378

Remarks on the relative merits of rhyme and blank

verse, with reference to a translation of Homer 378

Cowper's sentiments on the subject, and on translation

in general 379

To the Lord Thurlow. On the inconvenience of rhyme

in translation 379

Lord Thurlow to William Cowper, Esq. On the value

of rhyme in certain kinds of poems; on metrical

translations; close translation of a passage in Homer 380

To the Lord Thurlow. Vindication of Cowper's choice

of blank verse for his translation of Homer; his version

of the passage given by Lord T. 381

Lord Thurlow to William Cowper, Esq. On his translation

of Homer 382

To the Lord Thurlow. On the same subject 382

Passages from Cowper's translation 382

Facts respecting it 383

To Mr. Johnson, the bookseller. Feb. 11, 1790. Cowper

acknowledges his obligations to Mr. Fuseli, for his

remarks on his translation of Homer 383

To the same. Sept. 7, 1790. On the same subject 383

Indignant remonstrance of Cowper's, addressed to Johnson

on the alteration of a line in one of his poems 384

To Thomas Park, Esq. April 27, 1792. Remarks on

some Poems of Mr. P.'s, and on his own literary engagements 384

Marriage of Mr. Courtenay to Miss Stapleton 385

To Lady Hesketh. May 20, 1792. On the marriage of

Mr. Courtenay; Dr. Madan's promotion to a Bishopric;

complimentary Sonnet produced by Cowper, addressed

to Mr. Wilberforce; Lines to Warren Hastings,

Esq. 385

To John Johnson, Esq. May 20, 1792. On the postponement

of his Ordination, &c. 386

Hayley's visit to Cowper, and his account of it 386

Sonnet addressed by Cowper to Mrs. Unwin 386

Mrs. Unwin's paralytic attack 386

Kind attentions of Hayley 387

To Lady Hesketh. May 24, 1792. Seizure and state of

Mrs. Unwin 387

To the same. May 26, 1792. State of Mrs. Unwin 387

Lines addressed to Dr. Austen 388

To Mrs. Bodham. June 4, 1792. On the postponement

of Mr. Johnson's Ordination 388

To William Hayley, Esq. June 4, 1792. State of Mrs.

Unwin 388

To the same. June 5, 1792. On the same subject 388

To the same. June 7, 1792. On the same subject 389

To the same. June 10, 1792. On the same subject;

Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin 389

Origin of Darwin's Poem of the "Botanic Garden" 389

To Lady Hesketh. June 11, 1792. On his growing correspondence;

improvement in Mrs. Unwin's health;

events of the past two months; arrival of Mr. Johnson 390

To William Hayley, Esq. June 19, 1792. State of Mrs.

Unwin; Ice-islands and cold summers; proposed visit

to Hayley at Eartham 390

Remarks on a supposed change in the climate, with passages

from Cowper's translation of a Poem of Milton's

on that subject 391

To William Hayley, Esq. June 27, 1792. Intended

journey to Eartham; Catharina, on her marriage to

George Courtenay, Esq. 391

To the same. July 4, 1792. Suspension of his literary

labours; his solicitude for Mrs. Unwin; his visit to

Weston Hall 392

To the same. July 15, 1792. On the proposed journey

to Eartham; translations from Milton; portrait of

Cowper by Abbot 392

To Thomas Park, Esq. July 20, 1792. On the obstacles

to his literary engagements; reference to Cowper's

drawings, and to the Olney Hymns 392

To William Hayley, Esq. July 22, 1792. Preparations

for the journey to Eartham 393

To the Rev. William Bull. July 25, 1792. On his sitting

to Abbot for his portrait; his intended journey

to Eartham 393

To William Hayley, Esq. July 29, 1792. His terror at

the proposed journey; resemblance of Abbot's portrait 394

To the Rev. John Newton. July 30, 1792. State of

Mrs. Unwin; intended journey to Eartham; recollections

awakened by Mr. N.'s visit to Weston 394

To the Rev. Mr. Greatheed. Aug. 6, 1792. Account of

his journey to Eartham, and situation there 395

To Mrs. Courtenay. Aug. 12, 1792. Particulars of the

journey to Eartham, and description of the place 395

To Samuel Rose, Esq. Aug. 14, 1792. Invitation to

Eartham 396

To the same. Aug. 18, 1792. Cowper wishes him to

join the party at Eartham 396

To Mrs. Courtenay. Aug. 25, 1792. Epitaph on Fop;

arrangements for the return to Weston; state of himself

and Mrs. Unwin 396

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. Aug. 26, 1792. On the death

of his sister; invitation to Eartham 397

To Lady Hesketh. Aug. 26, 1792. Company at Eartham;

his own state and Mrs. Unwin's; portrait of

Cowper by Romney 397

To Mrs. Charlotte Smith. Sept. 1792. Sympathy of

himself and Hayley in her misfortunes: remark on an

expression in her letter; state of Mrs. Unwin 398

To Lady Hesketh. Sept. 9, 1792. Reasons for preferring

Weston to Eartham; state of Mrs. Unwin; arrangements

for their return; character of Mr. Hurdis 398

Cowper's occupations at Eartham 399

Account of Andreini's Adamo, which suggested to Milton

the design of his Paradise Lost 399

To Mrs. Courtenay. Sept. 10, 1792. Reference to the

French Revolution; state of Mrs. Unwin; remembrances

to friends at Weston 400

Departure from Eartham 400

To William Hayley, Esq. Sept. 18, 1792. Cowper's

feelings on his departure 400

To the same. Sept. 21, 1792. Particulars of his journey

and arrival at Weston 401

To the same. Oct. 2, 1792. Unsuccessful attempt at

writing 401

To the same. Oct. 13, 1792. Cowper's impatience for

the arrival of Hayley's portrait; his intention of paying

a poetical tribute to Romney 401

To Mrs. King. Oct. 14, 1792. Reference to the visit to

Eartham 402

To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 18, 1792. His employments

at Eartham; and indisposition at Weston,

urged as an excuse for not writing; reference to his

visit to Hayley 402

To John Johnson, Esq. Oct. 19, 1792. On his expected

visit; Cowper's unfitness for writing 403

To John Johnson, Esq. Oct. 22, 1792. Reflections on

J.'s sitting for his picture 403

To William Hayley, Esq. Oct. 28, 1792. Cowper complains

of his unfitness for literary labour, and the

grievance that Milton is to him; sonnet addressed to

Romney 403

To John Johnson, Esq. Nov. 5, 1792. Cowper's opinion

of his Homer 404

To Samuel Rose, Esq. Nov. 9, 1792. Hindrances to his

literary labours; Mrs. Unwin's situation and his own

depression of spirits; he consents to the prefixing his

portrait to a new edition of his poems 404

To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 11, 1792. Apology

for not writing to him; his gloomy state of mind 405

To John Johnson, Esq. Nov. 20, 1792. Thanks him for

his verses; his engagement to supply the new clerk of

Northampton with an annual copy of verses; reference

to his indisposition 405

To William Hayley, Esq. Nov. 25, 1792. Acknowledgment

of his friendship; his acceptance of the office of

Dirge-writer to the new clerk of Northampton 405

To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 9, 1792, Reasons for

not being in haste with Milton; injurious effect of the

season on his spirits 406

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 16, 1792. Political reflections

with reference to the question of Parliamentary

Reform, reformation of the Church, and the rights of

Catholics and Dissenters 406

First agitation of the question of Parliamentary Reform 407

To Thomas Park, Esq. Dec. 17, 1792. Obstacles to his

writing while at Mr. Hayley's, and since his return

home; on Johnson's intention of prefixing his portrait

to his poems 407

Anecdote of Mrs. Boscawen 407

To William Hayley, Esq. Dec. 26, 1792. The year '92 a

most melancholy one to him 408

To Thomas Park, Esq. Jan. 3, 1793. Introduction of

Mr. Rose to him; Cowper refers to a remedy recommended

by Mr P. for inflammation of the eyes; his

share in the Olney Hymns 408

To William Hayley, Esq. Jan. 20, 1793. Cowper's solicitude

respecting his welfare; arrival of Hayley's

picture 408

To the same. Jan. 29, 1793. On the death of Dr.

Austen 409

To John Johnson, Esq. Jan. 31, 1793. Thanks for

pheasants, and promises of welcome to a bustard 409

To Samuel Rose, Esq. Feb. 5, 1793. Revisal of Homer 409

To Lady Hesketh. Feb. 10, 1793. Necessity for his

taking laudanum; he rallies her on her political opinions 410

To Samuel Rose, Esq. Feb. 17, 1793. Remarks on a

criticism on his Homer in the Analytical Review 410

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. Feb. 22, 1793. He congratulates

Mr. H. on the prospect of his being elected

Poetry Professor at Oxford; observations in natural

history 410

To William Hayley, Esq. Feb. 24, 1793. Complains of

inflamed eyes as a hindrance to writing; revisal of

Homer; dream about Milton 411

Milton's Vision of the Bishop of Winchester 411

To the Rev. Walter Bagot. March 4, 1793. His ailments

and employments; reference to the French Revolution 411

Letter from Thomas Hayley (son of William Hayley,

Esq.) to William Cowper, Esq. containing criticisms

on his Homer 412

To Mr. Thomas Hayley. March 14, 1793. In answer to

the preceding 413

To William Hayley, Esq. March 19, 1793. Complains

of being harassed by a multiplicity of business; his

progress in Homer; reference to Mazarin's epitaph 413

Last moments of Cardinal Mazarin 413

To Samuel Rose, Esq. March 27, 1793. On the conclusion

of an engagement with Johnson for a new edition

of his Homer 413

To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 29, 1793. Reference to

his pecuniary circumstances; preparations for a new

edition of his Homer; remarks on an intended canal 414

To John Johnson, Esq. April 11, 1793. On sending his

pedigree to the Herald's College; liberality of Johnson

the bookseller; on Mr. J.'s determination to enter the

church 414

Illustrious ancestry of Cowper 414

To William Hayley, Esq. April 23, 1793. His engagement

in writing notes to Homer 415

To the Rev. John Newton. April 25, 1793. He urges

business as an excuse for the unfrequency of his letters;

his own and Mrs. Unwin's state; his exchange

of books with Dr. Cogshall of New York; reference

to the epitaph on the Rev. Mr. Unwin 415

To the Rev. Walter Bagot. May 4, 1793. On the death

of Bishop Bagot 416

To Samuel Rose, Esq. May 5, 1793. Apology for silence;

his engagement in writing notes to his Homer;

intended revisal of the Odyssey 416

To Lady Hesketh. May 7, 1793. His correspondence

prevented by Homer; Whigs and Tories 416

To Thomas Park, Esq. May 17, 1793. Chapman's translation

of Homer; Cowper's horror of London and dislike

of leaving home; epitaph on the Rev. Mr. Unwin;

his poems on Negro Slavery 417

To William Hayley, Esq. May 21, 1793. Employment

of his time; insensible advance of old age; "Man as

he is" attributed erroneously to the pen of Hayley;

notes on Homer 417

To Lady Hesketh. June 1, 1793. Desiring her to fix a

day for coming to Weston; lines on Mr. Johnson's

arrival at Cambridge 418

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. June 6, 1793. Uses of affliction;

suspension of his literary labours; proposed

revisal of his Homer 418

To the Rev. John Newton. June 12, 1793. State of

Mrs. Unwin's and his own health; reference to a new

work of Mr. N.'s 418

To William Hayley, Esq. June 29, 1793. Sonnet addressed

to Mr. H.; Cowper declines engaging in a

work proposed by Mr. H.; "The Four Ages" 419

To the same. July 7, 1793. He promises to join Mr.

H. in the production of "The Four Ages;" reference

to his oddities; embellishments of his premises 419

Antique bust of Homer presented to Cowper by Mr.

Johnson 420

Cowper's poetical Tribute for the gift 420

To Thomas Park, Esq. July 15, 1793. Chapman's translation

of the Iliad; Hobbes's translation; Lady Hesketh;

his literary engagements 420

To Mrs. Charlotte Smith. July 25, 1793. On her poem

of "The Emigrants," which was dedicated to Cowper 421

To the Rev. Mr. Greatheed. July 27, 1793. He thanks

Mr. G. for the offer of part of his house; reasons for

declining it; promised visits 421

To William Hayley, Esq. July 27, 1793. Anticipations

of a visit from Mr. H.; head of Homer and proposed

motto for it; question concerning the cause of Homer's

blindness; garden shed 422

To the Rev. John Johnson. Aug. 2, 1793. On his ordination;

Flaxman's designs to the Odyssey 423

To Lady Hesketh. Aug. 11, 1793. Miss Fanshaw; present

from Lady Spencer of Flaxman's designs 423

Explanation respecting Miss Fanshaw; verses by her;

Cowper's reply; his lines addressed to Count Gravina 423

To William Hayley, Esq. Aug. 15, 1793. Epigram on

building; inscription for an hermitage; Flaxman's

designs; plan of an Odyssey illustrated by them; inscription

for the bust of Homer 423

To Mrs. Courtenay. Aug. 20, 1793. Story of Bob Archer

and the fiddler; Flaxman's designs to Homer 424

To Samuel Rose, Esq. Aug. 22, 1793. Allusion to

scenery on the south coast of England; his literary

occupations 425

To William Hayley, Esq. Aug. 27, 1793. Question respecting

Homer's blindness; Flaxman's illustrations

of Homer; recollections of Lord Mansfield; erection

of Homer's bust 425

To Lady Hesketh. Aug. 29, 1793. On her intended

visit to Weston; Miss Fanshaw 425

To the Rev. Mr. Johnson. Sept. 4, 1793. His agreeable

surprise on the appearance of a sun-dial, a present

from Mr. J.; revisal of his Homer 426

To William Hayley, Esq. Sept. 8, 1793. Flaxman's designs

to Homer; anticipations of Mr. H.'s visit 426

To Mrs. Courtenay. Sept. 15, 1793. His improvements

at Weston; the sun-dial; Pitcairne 427

To the Rev. Mr. Johnson. Sept. 29, 1793. Visits devourers

of time; expected visiters at Weston 427

To William Hayley, Esq. Oct. 5, 1793. Demands upon

his time; expected visiters; reference to H.'s Life of

Milton 427

To the same. Oct. 18, 1793. Anticipations of his visit

to Weston 428

To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22, 1793. Apology for

not writing; reference to a late journey of Mr. N.'s;

thanks for his last publication 428

To the Rev. J. Jekyll Rye. Nov. 3, 1793. Thanks for

his support of Mr. Hurdis; reference to the application

of the clerk of Northampton 428

Hayley's second visit to Weston 429

Invitation to Cowper and his guests from Lord Spencer

to Althorpe, to meet Gibbon the historian, declined by

him 429

To Mrs. Courtenay. Nov. 4, 1793. He complains of

being distracted with business; Hayley's visit; epidemic

fever; Mrs. Unwin 429

State of Cowper and Mrs. Unwin as described by Hayley 429

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 5, 1793. Lady Hesketh's

visit to Wargrave; his house at Weston, and prospects

from it 430

To the Rev. Walter Bagot. Nov. 10, 1793. Thanks him

for his support of Mr. Hurdis; reference to the French

Revolution 430

To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. Nov. 24, 1793. Congratulations

on his election to the professorship of poetry at

Oxford; Hayley's visit; his Life of Milton; revisal of

his Homer; invitation to Weston 430

To Samuel Rose, Esq. Nov. 29, 1793. Expected visit

from him and Mr. (the late Sir Thomas) Lawrence;

subject from Homer proposed by the latter for his

pencil; a companion to it suggested by Cowper; intention

of Lawrence to take Cowper's portrait for

engraving 431

To the same. Dec. 8, 1793. Thanks him for books; history

of Jonathan Wild; character of "Man as he is" 432

To William Hayley, Esq. Dec. 8, 1793. Inquiries concerning

his Life of Milton; his own literary occupations 432

Suspension of Cowper's literary labours, and decline of

his mental powers 432

Results of Cowper's literary labours on the works of

Milton 432

Specimens of his translation of the Latin poem addressed

by Milton to his father 433

Hayley's remarks on that poem 434

Passages from Cowper's notes on Milton 434

Fuseli's Milton Gallery 436

Origin of Hayley's acquaintance with Cowper 436

Hayley's first letter, with a sonnet addressed to Cowper 436

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 10, 1793. On a sprain received

by Mr. H.; revisal of Homer; inquiry concerning

Lord Howe's fleet 436

The idea of the projected poem of "The Four Ages,"

suggested by Mr. Buchanan 437

To the Rev. Mr. Buchanan. May 11, 1793. Complimenting

Mr. B. on the sketch which he furnished for

the poem 437

Increasing infirmities of Mrs. Unwin, and their effect on

Cowper 437

His affecting situation at this period 437

Dissatisfaction of Lord Thurlow with a passage in Cowper's

Homer, and his and Hayley's attempts to improve

upon it 438

To William Hayley, Esq. Dec. 17, 1793. With a new

version of the passage above mentioned; criticisms on

their performances; his own notions of the principles

of translation 438

To the same. Jan. 5, 1794. New translation of the

before-mentioned passage; remarks on translation,

and particularly of Homer 438

To the same, from the Rev. William Greatheed. April

8, 1794. He acquaints Mr. H. with the alarming situation

of Cowper, and urges his coming to Weston 439

Hayley repairs to Weston 440

Lady Hesketh obtains the advice of Dr. Willis 440

Grant of a pension of 300_l._ per annum, by his Majesty,

to Cowper 440

Plan for the removal of Cowper and Mrs. Unwin to

Norfolk 441

Cowper's sensations on leaving Weston 441

Lines "To Mary," the last original production composed

by him at Weston 441

Journey from Weston to North Tuddenham, in Norfolk 441

Stay at Tuddenham 441

Removal to Mundsley, a village on the coast 442

Letter from Cowper to the Rev. Mr. Buchanan, describing

his present situation, and soliciting news of Weston 442

Cowper becomes settled at Dunham Lodge, near Swaffham 442

He is induced by the appearance of Wakefield's edition

of Pope's Homer, to engage in the revisal of his own

version 443

Death of Mrs. Unwin 443

Her Funeral and Inscription 443

Cowper's malady renders him insensible to her loss 443

Successful effort of Mr. Johnson to engage him to return

to the revisal of Homer, which he had discontinued 444

Hayley's testimony to the affectionate offices rendered to

Cowper by Mr. Johnson 444

Trial of the effect of frequent change of place 444

Visit from Dowager Lady Spencer 445

Attempts of Mr. Johnson to amuse him 445

Letter from Cowper to Lady Hesketh, referring to his

melancholy situation 445

He finishes the revisal of his Homer 445

"The Cast-away," his last original production 445

His removal to Dereham 446

His translations of Latin and Greek epigrams, and of

some of Gay's Fables into Latin 446

New version of a passage in his Homer, being the last

effort of his pen 446

Appearance of dropsy 446

His last illness 446

His death 447

His burial, and inscription by Hayley 447

Remarks on the mental delusion under which he laboured

to the last 447

Memoir of the early Life of Cowper, written by himself 449

Remarks on the preceding Memoir 460

Death of Cowper's friend, Sir William Russel 461

Cowper's attachment to his Cousin, Miss Theodora Jane

Cowper 461

Nervous attacks, and their presumed causes 462

Distinguishing features in his malady 462

His depression did not prevent the free exercise of his

mental powers 462

It was not perceptible to others 463

It was not inconsistent with a rich vein of humour 463

His own picture of his mental sufferings 463

His religious views not the occasion of his wretchedness,

but a support under it 464

Sketch of the character, and account of the last illness of

the late Rev. John Cowper, by his brother 465

Narrative of Mr. Van Lier 474

Notices of Cowper's friends 474

The Rev. W. Cawthorne Unwin 474

Joseph Hill, Esq. 475

Samuel Rose, Esq. 475

Lady Austen 476

Rev. Walter Bagot 476

Sir George Throckmorton 477

Rev. Dr. Johnson 477

Rev. W. Bull 477

Particulars concerning the person and character of Cowper 477

Cowper's personal character illustrated by extracts from

his Works 478

Poetical portraits drawn by him 479

His poem on the Yardley Oak 481

Description of the Tree 481

Original poem on the subject, by the late Samuel Whitbread,

Esq. 481

Cowper's moderation amidst literary fame 482

Anecdote of Dr. Parr 482

Cowper's sensibility to unjust censure 482

Letter to John Thornton, Esq. on a severe criticism of

his first volume of poems in the "Analytical Review" 482

His excellence as an epistolary writer 482

Character of his Latin poems 483

The Wish, an English version by Mr. Ostler 483

Sublime piety and morality of Cowper's works 483

Beneficial influence of his writings on the Church of

England 485

Concluding remarks 486

Essay on the genius and poetry of Cowper, by the Rev.

J. W. Cunningham, A.M. 489

THE POEMS.

Preface to the Poems 499

Table Talk 501

The Progress of Error 507

Truth 512

Expostulation 516

Hope 522

Charity 528

Conversation 533

Retirement 540

The Task, in Six Books:--

Book I. The Sofa 547

II. The Time-Piece 553

III. The Garden 559

IV. The Winter Evening 566

V. The Winter Morning Walk 572

VI. The Winter Walk at Noon 579

Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. 587

Tirocinium; or, a Review of Schools 587

The Yearly Distress, or Tithing Time at Stock, in Essex 594

Sonnet addressed to Henry Cowper, Esq. 595

Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin 595

On Mrs. Montagu's Feather Hangings 595

Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk,

during his solitary Abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez 596

On observing some Names of little note in the Biographia

Britannica 596

Report of an adjudged Case 597

On the Promotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq. to the Lord

High Chancellorship of England 597

Ode to Peace 597

Human Frailty 597

The Modern Patriot 598

On the Burning of Lord Mansfield's Library, &c. 598

On the same 598

The Love of the World Reproved 598

On the Death of Mrs. (now Lady) Throckmorton's Bullfinch 599

The Rose 599

The Doves 599

A Fable 600

Ode to Apollo 600

A Comparison 600

Another, addressed to a Young Lady 601

The Poet's New Year's Gift 601

Pairing-time anticipated 601

The Dog and the Water Lily 601

The Winter Nosegay 602

The Poet, the Oyster, and the Sensitive Plant 602

The Shrubbery 602

Mutual Forbearance necessary to the Married State 603

The Negro's Complaint 603

Pity for Poor Africans 604

The Morning Dream 604

The Diverting History of John Gilpin 604

The Nightingale and Glow-worm 607

An Epistle to an afflicted Protestant Lady in France 607

To the Rev. W. Cawthorne Unwin 607

To the Rev. Mr. Newton 608

Catharina 608

The Moralizer corrected 608

The Faithful Bird 609

The Needless Alarm 609

Boadicea 610

Heroism 611

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk 611

Friendship 612

On a mischievous Bull, which the Owner of him sold at

the Author's instance 614

Annus memorabilis, 1789. Written in Commemoration

of his Majesty's happy recovery 614

Hymn for the use of the Sunday School at Olney 615

Stanzas subjoined to a Bill of Mortality for the year 1787 615

The same for 1788 616

The same for 1789 616

The same for 1790 616

The same for 1792 617

The same for 1793 617

On a Goldfinch starved to Death in his Cage 617

The Pineapple and the Bee 618

Verses written at Bath, on finding the Heel of a Shoe 618

An Ode, on reading Richardson's History of Sir Charles

Grandison 618

An Epistle to Robert Lloyd, Esq. 619

A Tale, founded on a Fact, which happened in Jan. 1779 619

To the Rev. Mr. Newton, on his Return from Ramsgate 620

Love Abused 620

A Poetical Epistle to Lady Austen 620

The Colubriad 621

Song. On Peace 621

Song--"When all within is Peace" 622

Verses selected from an occasional Poem entitled "Valediction" 622

Epitaph on Dr. Johnson 622

To Miss C----, on her Birthday 622

Gratitude 622

Lines composed for a Memorial of Ashley Cowper, Esq. 623

On the Queen's Visit to London 623

The Cockfighter's Garland 624

To Warren Hastings, Esq. 625

To Mrs. Throckmorton 625

To the Immortal Memory of the Halibut, on which I

dined 625

Inscription for a Stone erected at the sowing of a Grove

of Oaks 625

Another 625

To Mrs. King 625

In Memory of the late John Thornton, Esq. 626

The Four Ages 626

The Retired Cat 626

The Judgment of the Poets 627

Yardley Oak 628

To the Nightingale which the Author heard sing on New

Year's Day 629

Lines written in an Album of Miss Patty More's 629

Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq. 629

Epigram on Refining Sugar 630

To Dr. Austin, of Cecil Street, London 630

Catharina: on her Marriage to George Courtenay, Esq. 630

Epitaph on Fop, a dog belonging to Lady Throckmorton 630

Sonnet to George Romney, Esq. 630

Mary and John 630

Epitaph on Mr. Chester, of Chicheley 630

To my Cousin, Anne Bodham 631

Inscription for a Hermitage in the Author's Garden 631

To Mrs. Unwin 631

To John Johnson, on his presenting me with an antique

Bust of Homer 631

To a young Friend 631

On a Spaniel called Beau, killing a young bird 631

Beau's Reply 631

To William Hayley, Esq. 632

Answer to Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss

Catharine Fanshawe 632

On Flaxman's Penelope 632

To the Spanish Admiral Count Gravina 632

Inscription for the Tomb of Mr. Hamilton 632

Epitaph on a Hare 632

Epitaphium Alterum 633

Account of the Author's Treatment of his Hares 633

A Tale 634

To Mary 635

The Castaway 635

To Sir Joshua Reynolds 636

On the Author of "Letters on Literature" 636

The Distressed Travellers; or, Labour in Vain 636

Stanzas on Liberties taken with the Remains of Milton 637

To the Rev. William Bull 637

Epitaph on Mrs. Higgins 638

Sonnet to a Young Lady on her Birth-day 638

On a Mistake in his Translation of Homer 638

On the Benefit received by his Majesty from Sea-bathing 638

Addressed to Miss ---- on reading the Prayer for Indifference 638

From a Letter to the Rev. Mr. Newton 639

The Flatting Mill 639

Epitaph on a free but tame Redbreast 640

Sonnet addressed to W. Hayley, Esq. 640

An Epitaph 640

On receiving Hayley's Picture 640

On a Plant of Virgin's Bower 640

On receiving Heyne's Virgil 640

Stanzas by a Lady 641

Cowper's Reply 641

Lines addressed to Miss T. J. Cowper 641

To the same 641

On a sleeping Infant 641

Lines 641

Inscription for a Moss-house in the Shrubbery at Weston 641

Lines on the Death of Sir William Russel 642

On the high price of Fish 642

To Mrs. Newton 642

Verses printed by himself on a flood at Olney 642

Extract from a Sunday-school Hymn 642

On the receipt of a Hamper (in the manner of Homer) 643

On the neglect of Homer 643

Sketch of the Life of the Rev. John Newton 643

OLNEY HYMNS.

Preliminary Remarks on the Olney Hymns 652

Hymn I. Walking with God 656

II. Jehovah-Jireh. The Lord will provide 656

III. Jehovah-Rophi. I am the Lord that healeth thee 656

IV. Jehovah-Nissi. The Lord my Banner 657

V. Jehovah-Shalom. The Lord send Peace 657

VI. Wisdom 657

VII. Vanity of the World 657

VIII. O Lord, I will praise thee 658

IX. The contrite Heart 658

X. The future Peace and Glory of the Church 658

XI. Jehovah our Righteousness 658

XII. Ephraim repenting 659

XIII. The Covenant 659

XIV. Jehovah-Shammah 659

XV. Praise for the Fountain opened 659

XVI. The Sower 659

XVII. The House of Prayer 660

XVIII. Lovest thou me? 660

XIX. Contentment 660

XX. Old Testament Gospel 661

XXI. Sardis 661

XXII. Praying for a Blessing on the Young 661

XXIII. Pleading for and with Youth 661

XXIV. Prayer for Children 661

XXV. Jehovah-Jesus 662

XXVI. On opening a Place for social Prayer 662

XXVII. Welcome to the Table 662

XXVIII. Jesus hasting to suffer 662

XXIX. Exhortation to Prayer 663

XXX. The Light and Glory of the Word 663

XXXI. On the Death of a Minister 663

XXXII. The shining Light 663

XXXIII. Seeking the Beloved 663

XXXIV. The Waiting Soul 664

XXXV. Welcome Cross 664

XXXVI. Afflictions sanctified by the Word 664

XXXVII. Temptation 664

XXXVIII. Looking upwards in a Storm 664

XXXIX. The Valley of the Shadow of Death 665

XL. Peace after a Storm 665

XLI. Mourning and Longing 665

XLII. Self-Acquaintance 665

XLIII. Prayer for Patience 666

XLIV. Submission 666

XLV. The happy Change 666

XLVI. Retirement 666

XLVII. The hidden Life 667

XLVIII. Joy and Peace in Believing 667

XLIX. True Pleasures 667

L. The Christian 667

LI. Lively Hope and Gracious Fear 668

LII. For the Poor 668

LIII. My Soul thirsteth for God 668

LIV. Love constraining to Obedience 668

LV. The Heart healed and changed by Mercy 668

LVI. Hatred of Sin 669

LVII. The new Convert 669

LVIII. True and false Comforts 669

LIX. A living and a dead Faith 669

LX. Abuse of the Gospel 669

LXI. The narrow Way 670

LXII. Dependence 670

LXIII. Not of Works 670

LXIV. Praise for Faith 670

LXV. Grace and Providence 670

LXVI. I will praise the Lord at all times 671

LXVII. Longing to be with Christ 671

LXVIII. Light shining out of darkness 671

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA

MOTHE GUION.

Brief Account of Madame Guion, and of the Mystic

Writers 672

The Nativity 677

God neither known nor loved by the World 679

The Swallow 679

The Triumph of Heavenly Love desired 679

A Figurative Description of the Procedure of Divine

Love 679

A Child of God longing to see him beloved 680

Aspirations of the Soul after God 680

Gratitude and Love to God 680

Happy Solitude--Unhappy Men 680

Living Water 680

Truth and Divine Love rejected by the World 681

Divine Justice amiable 681

The Soul that Loves God finds him everywhere 682

The Testimony of Divine Adoption 682

Divine Love endures no rival 682

Self-Diffidence 683

The Acquiescence of Pure Love 683

Repose in God 683

Glory to God alone 683

Self-Love and Truth incompatible 684

The Love of God, the End of Life 684

Love faithful in the Absence of the Beloved 684

Love pure and fervent 684

The entire Surrender 685

The perfect Sacrifice 685

God hides his People 685

The Secrets of Divine Love are to be kept 685

The Vicissitudes experienced in the Christian Life 686

Watching unto God in the Night Season 687

On the same 688

On the same 688

The Joy of the Cross 689

Joy in Martyrdom 689

Simple Trust 689

The necessity of Self-Abasement 690

Love increased by Suffering 690

Scenes favourable to Meditation 691

TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF

MILTON.

Elegy I. To Charles Deodati 691

II. On the Death of the University Beadle at Cambridge 692

III. On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester 692

IV. To his Tutor, Thomas Young 693

V. On the Approach of Spring 694

VI. To Charles Deodati 695

VII. 696

Epigrams. On the Inventor of Guns 697

To Leonora singing at Rome 697

To the same 697

The Cottager and his Landlord. A Fable 697

To Christina, Queen of Sweden, with Cromwell's Picture 697

On the Death of the Vice-Chancellor, a Physician 697

On the Death of the Bishop of Ely 698

Nature unimpaired by Time 698

On the Platonic Idea as it was understood by Aristotle 699

To his Father 699

To Salsillus, a Roman poet, much indisposed 700

To Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa 701

On the Death of Damon 701

An Ode, addressed to Mr. John Rouse, Librarian of the

University of Oxford 704

Sonnet--"Fair Lady! whose harmonious name" 705

Sonnet--"As on a hill-top rude, when closing day" 705

Canzone--"They mock my toil" 705

Sonnet--To Charles Deodati 705

Sonnet--"Lady! it cannot be but that thine eyes" 705

Sonnet--"Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground" 705

Simile in Paradise Lost 706

Translation of Dryden's Epigram on Milton 706

TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE.

The Glowworm 706

The Jackdaw 706

The Cricket 706

The Parrot 707

The Thracian 707

Reciprocal Kindness the Primary Law of Nature 707

A Manual more ancient than the Art of Printing 708

An Enigma--"A needle, small as small can be" 708

Sparrows self-domesticated in Trinity Coll. Cambridge 708

Familiarity dangerous 709

Invitation to the Redbreast 709

Strada's Nightingale 709

Ode on the Death of a Lady who lived one hundred years 709

The Cause won 710

The Silkworm 710

The Innocent Thief 710

Denner's Old Woman 710

The Tears of a Painter 710

The Maze 711

No Sorrow peculiar to the Sufferer 711

The Snail 711

The Cantab 711

TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES.

From the Greek of Julianus 712

On the same by Palladas 712

An Epitaph 712

Another 712

Another 712

Another 712

By Callimachus 712

On Miltiades 712

On an Infant 712

By Heraclides 712

On the Reed 712

To Health 712

On Invalids 713

On the Astrologers 713

On an Old Woman 713

On Flatterers 713

On a true Friend 713

On the Swallow 713

On late acquired Wealth 713

On a Bath, by Plato 713

On a Fowler, by Isidorus 713

On Niobe 713

On a good Man 713

On a Miser 713

Another 713

Another 713

On Female Inconstancy 714

On the Grasshopper 714

On Hermocratia 714

From Menander 714

On Pallas bathing, from a Hymn of Callimachus 714

To Demosthenes 714

On a similar Character 714

On an ugly Fellow 714

On a battered Beauty 714

On a Thief 714

On Pedigree 715

On Envy 715

By Moschus 715

By Philemon 715

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES OF GAY.

Lepus multis Amicus 715

Avarus et Plutus 716

Papilio et Limax 716

EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN.

On one ignorant and arrogant 716

Prudent Simplicity 716

To a Friend in Distress 716

Retaliation 716

"When little more than Boy in Age" 717

Sunset and Sunrise 717

TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL, OVID, HORACE, AND HOMER.

The Salad, by Virgil 717

Translation from Virgil, Æneid, Book VIII. Line 18 718

Ovid. Trist. Book V. Eleg. XII. 721

Hor. Book I. Ode IX. 722

Hor. Book I. Ode XXXVIII. 722

Hor. Book II. Ode X. 722

A Reflection on the foregoing Ode 722

Hor. Book II. Ode XVI. 723

The Fifth Satire of the First Book of Horace 723

The Ninth Satire of the First Book of Horace 725

Translation of an Epigram from Homer 726

COWPER'S LATIN POEMS.

Montes Glaciales, in Oceano Germanico natantes 726

On the Ice Islands seen floating in the German Ocean 727

Monumental Inscription to William Northcot 727

Translation 727

In Seditionem Horrendam 727

Translation 727

Motto on a Clock, with Translation by Hayley 728

A Simile Latinised 728

On the Loss of the Royal George 728

In Submersionem Navigii, cui Georgius Regale Nomen

inditum 728

In Brevitatem Vitæ Spatii Hominibus concessi 728

On the Shortness of Human Life 729

The Lily and the Rose 729

Idem Latine redditum 729

The Poplar Field 729

Idem Latine redditum 730

Votum 730

Translation of Prior's Chloe and Euphelia 730

Verses to the Memory of Dr. Lloyd 730

The same in Latin 730

Papers, by Cowper, inserted in "The Connoisseur" 731

THE

LIFE OF COWPER.

PART THE FIRST.

The family of COWPER appears to have held, for several centuries,

a respectable rank among the merchants and gentry of England. We

learn from the life of the first Earl Cowper, in the Biographia

Britannica, that his ancestors were inhabitants of Sussex, in the

reign of Edward the Fourth. The name is found repeatedly among the

sheriffs of London; and William Cowper, who resided as a country

gentleman in Kent, was created a baronet by King Charles the

First, in 1641.[3] But the family rose to higher distinction in

the beginning of the last century, by the remarkable circumstance

of producing two brothers, who both obtained a seat in the House

of Peers by their eminence in the profession of the law. William,

the elder, became Lord High Chancellor in 1707. Spencer Cowper,

the younger, was appointed Chief Justice of Chester in 1717, and

afterwards a Judge in the Court of Common Pleas, being permitted by

the particular favour of the king to hold those two offices to the

end of his life. He died in Lincoln's Inn, on the 10th of December,

1728, and has the higher claim to our notice as the immediate

ancestor of the poet. By his first wife, Judith Pennington (whose

exemplary character is still revered by her descendants), Judge

Cowper left several children; among them a daughter, Judith, who

at the age of eighteen discovered a striking talent for poetry, in

the praise of her contemporary poets Pope and Hughes. This lady,

the wife of Colonel Madan, transmitted her own poetical and devout

spirit to her daughter Frances Maria, who was married to her cousin

Major Cowper; the amiable character of Maria will unfold itself in

the course of this work, as the friend and correspondent of her more

eminent relation, the second grandchild of the Judge, destined to

honour the name of Cowper, by displaying, with peculiar purity and

fervour, the double enthusiasm of poetry and devotion. The father

of the subject of the following pages was John Cowper, the Judge's

second son, who took his degrees in divinity, was chaplain to King

George the Second, and resided at his Rectory of Great Berkhamstead,

in Hertfordshire, the scene of the poet's infancy, which he has thus

commemorated in a singularly beautiful and pathetic composition on

the portrait of his mother.

[3] This gentleman was a writer of English verse, and, with rare

munificence, bestowed both an epitaph and a monument on that

illustrious divine, the venerable Hooker. In the edition of

Walton's Lives, by Zouch, the curious reader may find the epitaph

written by Sir William Cowper.

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more;

Children not thine have trod my nursery floor:

And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day,

Drew me to school along the public way,

Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt

In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capt,

'Tis now become a history little known,

That once we call'd the past'ral house our own.

Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair

That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,

Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd

A thousand other themes less deeply traced.

Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,

That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;

Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,

The biscuit or confectionary plum;

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed

By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd;

All this, and, more endearing still than all,

Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall;

Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks

That humour interpos'd too often makes:

All this, still legible in memory's page,

And still to be so to my latest age,

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay

Such honours to thee as my numbers may.

The parent, whose merits are so feelingly recorded by the filial

tenderness of the poet, was Ann, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq., of

Ludham Hall, in Norfolk. This lady, whose family is said to have

been originally from Wales, was married in the bloom of youth to

Dr. Cowper: after giving birth to several children, who died in

their infancy, and leaving two sons, William, the immediate subject

of this memorial, born at Berkhamstead on the 26th of November,

1731, and John (whose accomplishments and pious death will be

described in the course of this compilation), she died in childbed,

at the early age of thirty-four, in 1737. Those who delight in

contemplating the best affections of our nature will ever admire

the tender sensibility with which the poet has acknowledged his

obligations to this amiable mother, in a poem composed more than

fifty years after her decease. Readers of this description may find

a pleasure in observing how the praise so liberally bestowed on

this tender parent, at so late a period, is confirmed (if praise

so unquestionable may be said to receive confirmation) by another

poetical record of her merit, which the hand of affinity and

affection bestowed upon her tomb--a record written at a time when

the poet, who was destined to prove, in his advanced life, her most

powerful eulogist, had hardly begun to show the dawn of that genius

which, after many years of silent affliction, rose like a star

emerging from tempestuous darkness.

The monument of Mrs. Cowper, erected by her husband in the chancel

of St. Peter's church at Berkhamstead, contains the following

verses, composed by a young lady, her niece, the late Lady

Walsingham.

Here lies, in early years bereft of life,

The best of mothers, and the kindest wife:

Who neither knew nor practis'd any art,

Secure in all she wish'd, her husband's heart.

Her love to him, still prevalent in death,

Pray'd Heav'n 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 receiv'd,

Nor e'er was cheerful when another griev'd;

Despising state, with her own lot content,

Enjoy'd the comforts of a life well spent;

Resign'd, 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, tho' weak, are as herself sincere.

The truth and tenderness of this epitaph will more than compensate

with every candid reader the imperfection ascribed to it by its

young and modest author. To have lost a parent of a character so

virtuous and endearing, at an early period of his childhood, was

the prime misfortune of Cowper, and what contributed perhaps in

the highest degree to the dark colouring of his subsequent life.

The influence of a good mother on the first years of her children,

whether nature has given them peculiar strength or peculiar delicacy

of frame, is equally inestimable. It is the prerogative and the

felicity of such a mother to temper the arrogance of the strong, and

to dissipate the timidity of the tender. The infancy of Cowper was

delicate in no common degree, and his constitution discovered at a

very early season that morbid tendency to diffidence, to melancholy

and despair, which darkened as he advanced in years into periodical

fits of the most deplorable depression.

The period having arrived for commencing his education, he was sent

to a reputable school at Market-street, in Bedfordshire, under the

care of Dr. Pitman, and it is probable that he was removed from it

in consequence of an ocular complaint. From a circumstance which he

relates of himself at that period, in a letter written in 1792, he

seems to have been in danger of resembling Milton in the misfortune

of blindness, as he resembled him, more happily, in the fervency of

a devout and poetical spirit.

"I have been all my life," says Cowper, "subject to inflammations of

the eye, and in my boyish days had specks on both, that threatened

to cover them. My father, alarmed for the consequences, sent me to a

female oculist of great renown at that time, in whose house I abode

two years, but to no good purpose. From her I went to Westminster

school, where, at the age of fourteen, the small-pox seized me, and

proved the better oculist of the two, for it delivered me from them

all: not however from great liableness to inflammation, to which I

am in a degree still subject, though much less than formerly, since

I have been constant in the use of a hot foot-bath every night, the

last thing before going to rest."

It appears a strange process in education, to send a tender child,

from a long residence in the house of a female oculist, immediately

into all the hardships attendant on a public school. But the mother

of Cowper was dead, and fathers, however excellent, are, in general,

utterly incompetent to the management of their young and tender

offspring. The little Cowper was sent to his first school in the

year of his mother's death, and how ill-suited the scene was to his

peculiar character is evident from the description of his sensations

in that season of life, which is often, very erroneously, extolled

as the happiest period of human existence. He has been frequently

heard to lament the persecution he suffered in his childish

years, from the cruelty of his schoolfellows, in the two scenes

of his education. His own forcible expressions represented him at

Westminster as not daring to raise his eye above the shoe-buckle

of the elder boys, who were too apt to tyrannize over his gentle

spirit. The acuteness of his feelings in his childhood, rendered

those important years (which might have produced, under tender

cultivation, a series of lively enjoyments) mournful periods of

increasing timidity and depression. In the most cheerful hours of

his advanced life, he could never advert to this season without

shuddering at the recollection of its wretchedness. Yet to this

perhaps the world is indebted for the pathetic and moral eloquence

of those forcible admonitions to parents, which give interest and

beauty to his admirable poem on public schools. Poets may be said

to realize, in some measure, the poetical idea of the nightingale's

singing with a thorn at her breast, as their most exquisite songs

have often originated in the acuteness of their personal sufferings.

Of this obvious truth, the poem just mentioned is a very memorable

example; and, if any readers have thought the poet too severe in his

strictures on that system of education, to which we owe some of the

most accomplished characters that ever gave celebrity to a civilized

nation, such readers will be candidly reconciled to that moral

severity of reproof, in recollecting that it flowed from severe

personal experience, united to the purest spirit of philanthropy and

patriotism.

The relative merits of public and private education is a question

that has long agitated the world. Each has its partizans, its

advantages, and defects; and, like all general principles, its

application must greatly depend on the circumstances of rank, future

destination, and the peculiarities of character and temper. For the

full development of the powers and faculties of the mind--for the

acquisition of the various qualifications that fit men to sustain

with brilliancy and distinction the duties of active life, whether

in the cabinet, the senate, or the forum--for scenes of busy

enterprize, where knowledge of the world and the growth of manly

spirit seem indispensable; in all such cases, we are disposed to

believe, that the palm must be assigned to public education.

But, on the other hand, if we reflect that brilliancy is oftentimes

a flame which consumes its object, that knowledge of the world is,

for the most part, but a knowledge of the evil that is in the world;

and that early habits of extravagance and vice, which are ruinous in

their results, are not unfrequently contracted at public schools; if

to these facts we add that man is a candidate for immortality, and

that "life" (as Sir William Temple observes) "is but the parenthesis

of eternity," it then becomes a question of solemn import, whether

integrity and principle do not find a soil more congenial for their

growth in the shade and retirement of private education? The one

is an advancement for time, the other for eternity. The former

affords facilities for making men great, but often at the expense

of happiness and conscience. The latter diminishes the temptations

to vice, and, while it affords a field for useful and honourable

exertion, augments the means of being wise and holy.

We leave the reader to decide the great problem for himself. That he

may be enabled to form a right estimate, we would urge him to suffer

time and eternity to pass in solemn and deliberate review before him.

That the public school was a scene by no means adapted to the

sensitive mind of Cowper is evident. Nor can we avoid cherishing the

apprehension that his spirit, naturally morbid, experienced a fatal

inroad from that period. He nevertheless acquired the reputation of

scholarship, with the advantage of being known and esteemed by some

of the aspiring characters of his own age, who subsequently became

distinguished in the great arena of public life.

With these acquisitions, he left Westminster at the age of eighteen,

in 1749; and, as if destiny had determined that all his early

situations in life should be peculiarly irksome to his delicate

feelings, and tend rather to promote than to counteract his

constitutional tendency to melancholy, he was removed from a public

school to the office of an attorney. He resided three years in the

house of a Mr. Chapman, to whom he was engaged by articles for that

time. Here he was placed for the study of a profession which nature

seemed resolved that he never should practise.

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

ethereal, that it could not be expected to shine in the gross

atmosphere of worldly contention. Perhaps there never existed a

mortal, who, possessing, with a good person, intellectual powers

naturally strong and highly cultivated, was so utterly unfit to

encounter the bustle and perplexities of public life. But the

extreme modesty and shyness of his nature, which disqualified him

for scenes of business and ambition, endeared him inexpressibly to

those who had opportunities to enjoy his society, and discernment to

appreciate the ripening excellences of his character.

Reserved as he was, to an extraordinary and painful degree,

his heart and mind were yet admirably fashioned by nature for

all the refined intercourse and confidential enjoyment both of

friendship and love: but, though apparently formed to possess

and to communicate an extraordinary portion of moral felicity,

the incidents of his life were such, that, conspiring with the

peculiarities of his nature, they rendered him, at different times,

the victim of sorrow. The variety and depth of his sufferings in

early life, from extreme tenderness of feeling, are very forcibly

displayed in the following verses, which formed part of a letter to

one of his female relatives, at the time they were composed. The

letter has perished, and the verses owe their preservation to the

affectionate memory of the lady to whom they were addressed.

Doom'd, as I am, in solitude to waste

The present moments, and regret the past;

Depriv'd 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[4] snatch'd by fate in early youth away;

And her[5]--thro' 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 refus'd the wretch a tear;

Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows,

Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes;

See me--ere yet my destin'd course half done,

Cast forth a wand'rer 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!

[4] Sir William Russel, the favourite friend of the young poet.

[5] Miss Theodora Cowper.

Having concluded the term of his engagement with the solicitor,

he settled himself in chambers in the Inner Temple, as a regular

student of law; but, although he resided there till the age

of thirty-three, he rambled (according to his own colloquial

account of his early years) from the thorny road of his austere

patroness, Jurisprudence, into the primrose paths of literature

and poetry. During this period, he contributed two of the Satires

in Duncombe's Horace, which are worthy of his pen, and indications

of his rising genius. He also cultivated the friendship of

some literary characters, who had been his schoolfellows at

Westminster, particularly Colman, Bonnell Thornton, and Lloyd.

Of these early associates of Cowper, it may be interesting to

learn a brief history. Few men could have entered upon life with

brighter prospects than Colman. His father was Envoy at the Court

of Florence, and his mother was sister to the Countess of Bath.

Possessed of talents that qualified him for exertion, with a

classical taste perceptible in his translation of Horace's Art

of Poetry, and of the works of Terence, he relinquished the bar,

to which he had been called, and became principally known for

his devotedness to theatrical pursuits. His private life was not

consistent with the rules of morality; and he closed his days, after

a protracted malady, by dying in a Lunatic Asylum in Paddington, in

the year 1794.

To Bonnell Thornton, jointly with Colman, we owe the Connoisseur,

to which Cowper contributed a few numbers. Thornton also united

with Colman and Warner in a translation of Plautus. But his

talents, instead of being profitably employed, were chiefly marked

by a predilection for humour, in the exercise of which he was

not very discreet; for the venerated muse of Gray did not escape

his ridicule, and the celebrated Ode to St. Cecilia was made the

occasion of a public burlesque performance, the relation of which

would not accord with the design of this undertaking. He who aims at

nothing better than to amuse and divert, and to excite a laugh at

the expense of both taste and judgment, proposes to himself no very

exalted object. Thornton died in the year 1770, aged forty-seven.

Lloyd was formerly usher at Westminster School, but feeling the

irksomeness of the situation, resigned it, and commenced author. His

Poems have been repeatedly re-published. His life presented a scene

of thoughtless extravagance and dissipation. Overwhelmed with debt,

and pursued by his creditors, he was at length confined in the Fleet

Prison, where he expired, the victim of his excesses, at the early

age of thirty-one years.

We record these facts,--1st. That we may adore that mercy which,

by a timely interposition, rescued the future author of the Task

from such impending ruin:--2ndly, To show that scenes of gaiety and

dissipation, however enlivened by flashes of wit, and distinguished

by literary superiority, are perilous to character, health, and

fortune; and that the talents, which, if beneficially employed,

might have led to happiness and honour, when perverted to unworthy

ends, often lead prematurely to the grave, or render the past

painful in the retrospect, and the future the subject of fearful

anticipation and alarm.

Happily, Cowper escaped from this vortex of misery and ruin. His

juvenile poems discover a contemplative spirit, and a mind early

impressed with sentiments of piety. In proof of this assertion, we

select a few stanzas from an ode written, when he was very young, on

reading Sir Charles Grandison.

To rescue from the tyrant's sword

The oppress'd;--unseen, and unimplor'd,

To cheer the face of woe;

From lawless insult to defend

An orphan's right--a fallen friend,

And a forgiven foe:

These, these, distinguish from the crowd,

And these alone, the great and good,

The guardians of mankind.

Whose bosoms with these virtues heave,

Oh! with what matchless speed, they leave

The multitude behind!

Then ask ye from what cause on earth

Virtues like these derive their birth?

Derived from Heaven alone,

Full on that favour'd breast they shine,

Where faith and resignation join

To call the blessing down.

Such is that heart:--but while the Muse

Thy theme, O RICHARDSON, pursues,

Her feebler spirits faint:

She cannot reach, and would not wrong,

That subject for an angel's song,

The hero, and the saint.

His early turn to moralize on the slightest occasion will appear

from the following verses, which he wrote at the age of eighteen;

and in which those who love to trace the rise and progress of

genius will, I think, be pleased to remark the very promising

seeds of those peculiar powers, which unfolded themselves in the

richest maturity at a remoter period, and rendered that beautiful

and sublime poem, THE TASK, the most instructive and interesting

of modern compositions. Young as the poet was when he produced the

following lines, we may observe that he had probably been four

years in the habit of writing English verse, as he has said in one

of his letters, that he began his poetical career at the age of

fourteen, by translating an elegy of Tibullus. I have reason to

believe that he wrote many poems in his early life; and the singular

merit of this juvenile composition is sufficient to make the friends

of genius regret that an excess of diffidence prevented him from

preserving the poetry of his youth.

VERSES,

WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE, 1748.

Fortune! I thank thee: gentle goddess! thanks!

Not that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny

She would have thank'd thee rather hadst thou cast

A treasure in her way; for neither meed

Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes

And bowel-racking pains of emptiness,

Nor noon-tide feast, nor evening's cool repast,

Hopes she from this--presumptuous, tho', perhaps,

The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might.

Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon

Whatever, not as erst the fabled cock,

Vain-glorious fool! unknowing what he found,

Spurn'd the rich gem thou gav'st him. Wherefore ah!

Why not on me that favour (worthier sure)

Conferr'dst thou, goddess? Thou art blind, thou say'st;

Enough--thy blindness shall excuse the deed.

Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale

From this thy scant indulgence!--even here,

Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found;

Illustrious hints, to moralize my song!

This pond'rous heel of perforated hide

Compact, with pegs indented, many a row,

Haply,--for such its massy form bespeaks,--

The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown

Upbore: on this supported, oft he stretch'd,

With uncouth strides along the furrow'd glebe,

Flatt'ning the stubborn clod, 'till cruel time,

(What will not cruel time?) on a wry step,

Sever'd the strict cohesion; when, alas!

He who could erst with even, equal pace,

Pursue his destin'd way with symmetry

And some proportion form'd, now, on one side,

Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,

Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!

With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on.

Thus fares it oft with other than the feet

Of humble villager. The statesman thus,

Up the steep road where proud ambition leads,

Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds

His prosp'rous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,

While policy prevails, and friends prove true:

But that support soon failing, by him left

On whom he most depended, basely left,

Betray'd, deserted: from his airy height

Headlong he falls, and, through the rest of life,

Drags the dull load of disappointment on.

Of a youth, who, in a scene like Bath, could produce such a

meditation, it might fairly be expected that he would

"In riper life, exempt from public haunt,

Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing."

Though extreme diffidence, and a tendency to despond, seemed early

to preclude Cowper from the expectation of climbing to the splendid

summit of the profession he had chosen; yet, by the interest of

his family, he had prospects of emolument in a line of life that

appeared better suited to the modesty of his nature and to his

moderate ambition.

In his thirty-first year he was nominated to the offices of Reading

Clerk and Clerk of the private Committees in the House of Lords--a

situation the more desirable, as such an establishment might enable

him to marry early in life; a measure to which he was doubly

disposed by judgment and inclination. But the peculiarities of his

wonderful mind rendered him unable to support the ordinary duties of

his new office; for the idea of reading in public proved a source

of torture to his tender and apprehensive spirit. An expedient was

devised to promote his interest without wounding his feelings.

Resigning his situation of Reading Clerk, he was appointed Clerk of

the Journals in the same House of Parliament. Of his occupation,

in consequence of this new appointment, he speaks in the following

letter to a lady, who will become known and endeared to the reader

in proportion to the interest he takes in the writings of Cowper.

TO LADY HESKETH.

The Temple, August 9, 1763.

My dear Cousin,--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 undergone lately.

If I succeed in this doubtful piece of promotion, I shall have at

least this 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, who has a spark of love for his country.

Oh, my good Cousin! if I was to open my heart to you, I could show

you strange sights; nothing I flatter myself that would shock you,

but a great 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 weaknesses than

the greatest of all the 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 I should speak it in vanity, I would not change conditions

with any saint in Christendom.

My destination is settled at last, and I have obtained a furlough.

Margate is the word, and what do you think will ensue, Cousin? I

know what you expect, but 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 riveted

fast upon me, and, between friends, is not a very splendid one, or

likely to be guilty of much fascination.

Adieu, my dear Cousin! so much as I love you, I wonder how it has

happened I was never in love with you. Thank Heaven that I never

was, for at this time I have had a pleasure in writing to you, which

in that case I should have forfeited. Let me hear from you, or I

shall reap but half the reward that is due to my noble indifference.

Yours ever, and evermore,

W. C.

* * * * *

It was hoped from the change of his station that his personal

appearance in parliament might not be required, but a parliamentary

dispute made it necessary for him to appear at the bar of the House

of Lords, to entitle himself publicly to the office.

Speaking of this important incident in a sketch, which he once

formed himself, of passages in his early life, he expressed what

he endured at the time in these remarkable words: "They whose

spirits are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of

themselves is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my

situation--others can have none."

His terrors on this occasion arose to such an astonishing

height, that they utterly overwhelmed his reason; for, although

he had endeavoured to prepare himself for his public duty, by

attending closely at the office for several months, to examine the

parliamentary journals, his application was rendered useless by

that excess of diffidence, which made him conceive that, whatever

knowledge he might previously acquire, it would all forsake him at

the bar of the House. This distressing apprehension increased to

such a degree, as the time for his appearance approached, that,

when the day so anxiously dreaded arrived, he was unable to make

the experiment. The very friends who called on him for the purpose

of attending him to the House of Lords, acquiesced in the cruel

necessity of his relinquishing the prospect of a station so severely

formidable to a frame of such singular sensibility.

The conflict between the wishes of honourable ambition and the

terrors of diffidence so entirely overwhelmed his health and

faculties, that, after two learned and benevolent divines (Mr.

John Cowper, his brother, and the celebrated Mr. Martin Madan,

his first cousin) had vainly endeavoured to establish a lasting

tranquillity in his mind by friendly and religious conversation, it

was found necessary to remove him to St. Alban's, where he resided

a considerable time, under the care of that eminent physician, Dr.

Cotton, a scholar and a poet, who added to many accomplishments a

peculiar sweetness of manners, in very advanced life, when I had the

pleasure of a personal acquaintance with him.

The misfortune of mental derangement is a topic of such awful

delicacy, that I consider it to be the duty of a biographer rather

to sink, in tender silence, than to proclaim, with circumstantial

and offensive temerity, the minute particulars 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 is a sight for pity to peruse,

Till she resembles, faintly, what she views;

Till sympathy contracts a kindred pain,

Pierc'd with the woes that she laments in vain.

This, of all maladies, that man infest,

Claims most compassion, and receives the less.

. . . . . .

But with a soul that ever felt the sting

Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing.

. . . . .

. . . . . .

'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose,

Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes.

Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight,

Each yielding harmony, disposed aright;

The screws revers'd, (a task, which, if He please,

God, in a moment, executes with ease),

Ten thousand, thousand strings at once go loose;

Lost, till He tune them, all their power and use.

. . . . . .

No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels;

No cure for such, till God, who makes them, heals.

And thou, sad sufferer, under nameless ill,

That yields not to the touch of human skill,

Improve the kind occasion, understand

A Father's frown, and kiss the chast'ning hand!

It is in this solemn and instructive light, that Cowper himself

teaches us to consider the calamity of which I am now speaking; and

of which, like his illustrious brother of Parnassus, the younger

Tasso, he was occasionally a most affecting example. Providence

appears to have given a striking lesson to mankind, to guard both

virtue and genius against pride of heart and pride of intellect,

by thus suspending the affections and the talents of two most

tender and sublime poets, who resembled each other, not more in

the attribute of poetic genius than in the similarity of the

dispensation that quenched its light and ardour.

From December, 1763, to the following July, the sensitive mind

of Cowper appears to have laboured under the severest suffering

of morbid depression; but the medical skill of Dr. Cotton, and

the cheerful, benignant manners of that accomplished physician,

gradually succeeded, with the blessing of Heaven, in removing the

indescribable load of religious despondency, which had clouded

the faculties of this interesting man. His ideas of religion were

changed from the gloom of terror and despair to the brightness of

inward joy and peace.

This juster and happier view of evangelical truth is said to have

arisen in his mind, while he was reading the third chapter of Saint

Paul's Epistle to the Romans. The words that rivetted his attention

were the following:

"_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._" Rom. iii. 25.

It was to this passage, which contains so lucid an exposition of the

Gospel method of salvation, that, under the divine blessing, the

poet owed the recovery of a previously disordered intellect and the

removal of a load from a deeply oppressed conscience--he saw, by

a new and powerful perception, how sin could be pardoned, and the

sinner be saved--that the way appointed of God was through the great

propitiation and sacrifice upon the cross--that faith lays hold of

the promise, and thus becomes the instrument of conveying pardon and

peace to the soul.

It is remarkable how God, in every age, from the first promulgation

of the Gospel to the present time, and under all the various

modifications of society, barbarian, Scythian, bond or free, has put

his seal to this fundamental doctrine of the Gospel.

Whether we contemplate man amid the polished scenes of civilized and

enlightened Europe, or the rude ferocity of savage tribes--whether

it be the refined Hindoo, or the unlettered Hottentot, whose mind

becomes accessible to the power and influences of religion, the

cause and the effect are the same. It is the doctrine of the cross

that works the mighty change. The worldly wise may reject this

doctrine,--the spiritually wise comprehend and receive it. But,

whether it be rejected, with all its tremendous responsibilities,

or received with its inestimable blessings, the truth itself still

remains unchanged and unchangeable, attested by the records of every

church and the experience of every believing heart--"_the cross is

to them that perish foolishness, but unto us which are saved it is

the power of God_." 1 Cor. i. 18.

It is impossible not to admire the power, and adore the mercy, that

thus wrought a double deliverance in the mind of Cowper by a process

so remarkable. Devout contemplation became more and more dear to

his reviving spirit. Resolving to relinquish all thoughts of a

laborious profession, and all intercourse with the busy world, he

acquiesced in a plan of settling at Huntingdon, by the advice of his

brother, who, as a minister of the Gospel, and a fellow of Bene't

College, Cambridge, resided in that University; a situation so

near to the place chosen for Cowper's retirement, that it afforded

to these affectionate brothers opportunities of easy and frequent

intercourse. I regret that all the letters which passed between

them have perished, and the more so as they sometimes corresponded

in verse. John Cowper was also a poet. He had engaged to execute a

translation of Voltaire's Henriade, and in the course of the work

requested, and obtained, the assistance of William, who translated,

as he informed me himself, two entire cantos of the poem. This

fraternal production is said to have appeared in a magazine of the

year 1759. I have discovered a rival, and probably an inferior

translation, so published, but the joint work of the poetical

brothers has hitherto eluded all my researches.

In June, 1765, the reviving invalid removed to a private lodging

in the town of Huntingdon, but Providence soon introduced him into

a family, which afforded him one of the most singular and valuable

friends that ever watched an afflicted mortal in seasons of

overwhelming adversity; that friend, to whom the poet exclaims in

the commencement of the Task,

And witness, dear companion of my walks,

Whose arm, this twentieth winter, I perceive

Fast locked in mine, with pleasure, such as love,

Confirmed by long experience of thy worth,

And well tried virtues, could alone inspire;

Witness a joy, that thou hast doubted long!

Thou knowest my praise of Nature most sincere;

And that my raptures are not conjured up

To serve occasions of poetic pomp,

But genuine, and art partner of them all.

These verses would be alone sufficient to make every poetical reader

take a lively interest in the lady they describe; but these are far

from being the only tribute which the gratitude of Cowper has paid

to the endearing virtues of his female companion. More poetical

memorials of her merit will be found in these volumes, and in verse

so exquisite, that it may be questioned if the most passionate lover

ever gave rise to poetry more tender or more sublime.

Yet, in this place, it appears proper to apprize the reader, that it

was not love, in the common acceptation of the word, which inspired

these admirable eulogies. The attachment of Cowper to Mrs. Unwin,

the Mary of the poet, was an attachment perhaps unparalleled. Their

domestic union, though not sanctioned by the common forms of life,

was supported with perfect innocence, and endeared to them both,

by their having struggled together through a series of sorrow.

A spectator of sensibility, who had contemplated the uncommon

tenderness of their attention to the wants and infirmities of each

other in the decline of life, might have said of their singular

attachment,

L'Amour n'a rien de si tendre,

Ni l'Amitié de si doux.

As a connexion so extraordinary forms a striking feature in the

history of the poet, the reader will probably be anxious to

investigate its origin and progress.--It arose from the following

little incident.

The countenance and deportment of Cowper, though they indicated his

native shyness, had yet very singular powers of attraction. On his

first appearance in one of the churches of Huntingdon, he engaged

the notice and respect of an amiable young man, William Cawthorne

Unwin, then a student at Cambridge, who, having observed, after

divine service, that the interesting stranger was taking a solitary

turn under a row of trees, was irresistibly led to share his walk,

and to solicit his acquaintance.

They were soon pleased with each other, and the intelligent youth,

charmed with the acquisition of such a friend, was eager to

communicate the treasure to his parents, who had long resided in

Huntingdon.

Mr. Unwin, the father, had for some years been master of a free

school in the town; but, as he advanced in life, he quitted the

laborious situation, and, settling in a large convenient house in

the High-street, contented himself with a few domestic pupils, whom

he instructed in classical literature.

This worthy divine, who was now far advanced in years, had been

lecturer to the two churches at Huntingdon, before he obtained from

his college at Cambridge the living of Grimston. While he lived in

expectation of this preferment, he had attached himself to a young

lady of lively talents, and remarkably fond of reading. This lady,

who, in the process of time, and by a series of singular events,

became the friend and guardian of Cowper, was the daughter of Mr.

Cawthorne, a draper in Ely. She was married to Mr. Unwin, on his

succeeding to the preferment that he expected from his college, and

settled with him on his living of Grimston; but, not liking the

situation and society of that sequestered scene, she prevailed on

her husband to establish himself in Huntingdon, where he was known

and respected.

They had resided there many years, and, with their two only

children, a son and a daughter, they formed a cheerful and social

family, when the younger Unwin, described by Cowper as

"A friend,

Whose worth deserves the warmest lay

That ever Friendship penn'd,"

presented to his parents the solitary stranger, on whose retirement

he had benevolently intruded, and whose welfare he became more and

more anxious to promote. An event highly pleasing and comfortable

to Cowper soon followed this introduction; he was affectionately

solicited by all the Unwins to relinquish his lonely lodging, and to

become a part of their family.

We are now arrived at that period in the personal history of Cowper,

when we are fortunately enabled to employ his own descriptive powers

in recording the events and characters that particularly interested

him, and in displaying the state of his mind at a remarkable season

of his chequered life. The following are among the earliest letters

of this affectionate writer, which the kindness of his friends and

relatives has supplied towards the execution and embellishment of

this work.

Among his juvenile intimates and correspondents, he particularly

regarded two gentlemen, who devoted themselves to different

branches of the law, the first Lord Thurlow, and Joseph Hill,

Esq., whose name appears in Cowper's Poems, prefixed to a few

verses of exquisite beauty, a brief epistle, that seems to have

more of the genuine ease, spirit, and moral gaiety of Horace,

than any original epistle in the English language. From these two

confidential associates of the poet, in his unclouded years, we

might have expected materials for the display of his early genius;

but, in the torrent of busy and splendid life, which bore the first

of them to a mighty distance from his less ambitious fellow-student

of the Temple, the private letters and verses that arose from their

youthful intimacy have perished.

The letters to Mr. Hill are copious, and extend through a long

period of time, and although many of them were of a nature not

suited to publication, yet many others will illustrate and embellish

this volume. The steadiness and integrity of Mr. Hill's regard for

a person so much sequestered from his sight gives him a particular

title to be distinguished among those whom Cowper has honoured, by

addressing to them his highly interesting and affectionate letters.

Many of these, which we shall occasionally introduce in the parts

of the narrative to which they belong, may tend to confirm a truth,

not unpleasing to the majority of readers, that the temperate zone

of moderate fortune, equally removed from high and low life, is most

favourable to the permanence of friendship.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Huntingdon, June 24, 1765.

Dear Joe,--The only recompence I can make you for your kind

attention to my affairs, during my illness, is to tell you that, by

the mercy of God, I am restored to perfect health, both of mind and

body. This, I believe, will give you pleasure, and I would gladly do

anything from which you could receive it.

I left St. Alban's on the 17th, and arrived that day at Cambridge,

spent some time there with my brother, and came hither on the 22nd.

I have a lodging that puts me continually in mind of our summer

excursions; we have had many worse, and except the size of it (which

however is sufficient for a single man) but few better. I am not

quite alone, having brought a servant with me from St. Alban's, who

is the very mirror of fidelity and affection for his master. And,

whereas the Turkish Spy says, he kept no servant because he would

not have an enemy in his house, I hired mine because I would have a

friend. Men do not usually bestow these encomiums on their lackeys,

nor do they usually deserve them, but I have had experience of mine,

both in sickness and in health, and never saw his fellow.

The river Ouse, I forget how they spell it, is the most agreeable

circumstance in this part of the world; at this town it is, I

believe, as wide as the Thames at Windsor; nor does the silver

Thames better deserve that epithet, nor has it more flowers upon

its banks, these being attributes which, in strict truth, belong

to neither. Fluellin would say, they are as like as my fingers to

my fingers, and there is salmon in both. It is a noble stream to

bathe in, and I shall make that use of it three times a week, having

introduced myself to it for the first time this morning.

I beg you will remember me to all my friends, which is a task will

cost you no great pains to execute--particularly remember me to

those of your own house, and believe me

Your very affectionate

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, July 1, 1765.

My dear Lady Hesketh,--Since the visit you were so kind 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

experience, 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 consummate gratitude.

Terrible as this chastisement is, I acknowledge in it the hand of an

infinite justice; nor is it at all more difficult for me to perceive

in it the hand of an infinite mercy likewise: when I consider the

effect it has had upon me, I am exceedingly thankful for it, and,

without hypocrisy, esteem it the greatest blessing, next to life

itself, I ever received from the divine bounty. I pray God that

I may ever retain this sense of it, and then I am sure I shall

continue to be, as I am at present, really happy.

I write thus to you, that you may not think me a forlorn and

wretched creature; which you might be apt to do, considering my

very distant removal from every friend I have in the world--a

circumstance which, before this event befell me, would undoubtedly

have made me so; but my affliction has taught me a road to

happiness, which, without it, I should never have found; and I know,

and have experience of it every day, that the mercy of God, to him

who believes himself the object of it, is more than sufficient to

compensate for the loss of every other blessing.

You may now inform all those whom you think really interested in

my welfare, that they have no need to be apprehensive on the score

of my happiness at present. And you yourself 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 in ourselves; but

to you, who have so much to be thankful for, and a temper inclined

to gratitude, it will not appear so.

I beg you will give my love to Sir Thomas, and believe that I am

obliged to you both for inquiring after me at St. Alban's.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[6]

[6] Private correspondence.

Huntingdon, July 3, 1765.

Dear Joe,--Whatever you may think of the matter, it is no such easy

thing to keep house for two people. A man cannot always live like

the lions in the Tower; and a joint of meat, in so small a family,

is an endless incumbrance. In short, I never knew how to pity poor

housekeepers before; but now I cease to wonder at that politic cast

which their occupation usually gives to their countenance, for it is

really a matter full of perplexity.

I have received but one visit since here I came. I don't mean that

I have refused any, but that only one has been offered. This was

from my woollen-draper; a very healthy, wealthy, sensible, sponsible

man, and extremely civil. He has a cold bath, and has promised me

a key of it, which I shall probably make use of in the winter. He

has undertaken, too, to get me the St. James's Chronicle three

times a-week, and to show me Hinchinbrook House, and to do every

service for me in his power; so that I did not exceed the truth, you

see, when I spoke of his civility. Here is a card-assembly, and a

dancing-assembly, and a horse-race, and a club, and a bowling-green;

so that I am well off, you perceive, in point of diversions;

especially as I shall go to 'em, just as much as I should if I lived

a thousand miles off. But no matter for that; the spectator at a

play is more entertained than the actor; and in real life it is much

the same. You will say, perhaps, that if I never frequent these

places, I shall not come within the description of a spectator; and

you will say right. I have made a blunder, which shall be corrected

in the next edition.

You are old dog at a bad tenant; witness all my uncle's and your

mother's geese and gridirons. There is something so extremely

impertinent in entering upon a man's premises, and using them

without paying for 'em, that I could easily resent it if I would.

But I rather choose to entertain myself with thinking how you will

scour the man about, and worry him to death, if once you begin with

him. Poor wretch! I leave him entirely to your mercy.

My dear Joe, you desire me to write long letters. I have neither

matter enough nor perseverance enough for the purpose. However, if

you can but contrive to be tired of reading as soon as I am tired of

writing, we shall find that short ones answer just as well; and, in

my opinion, this is a very practicable measure.

My friend Colman has had good fortune: I wish him better fortune

still; which is, that he may make a right use of it. The tragedies

of Lloyd and Bensley are both very deep. If they are not of use to

the surviving part of the society, it is their own fault.

I was debtor to Bensley seven pounds, or nine, I forget which. If

you can find out his brother, you will do me a great favour if you

will pay him for me; but do it at your leisure.

Yours and theirs,[7]

W. C.

[7] The author is supposed to mean Mrs. Hill and her two

daughters. The word _theirs_ cannot so well refer to the last

antecedent, the persons who stand in that relation with it being

both dead at the time he wrote, as is evident from the context.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, July 4, 1765.

Being just emerged from the Ouse, I sit down to thank you, my dear

cousin, for your friendly and comfortable letter. What could you

think of my unaccountable behaviour to you in that visit I mentioned

in my last? I remember I neither spoke to you nor looked at you.

The solution of the mystery indeed followed soon after, but at the

same time it must have been inexplicable. The uproar within was even

then begun, and my silence was only the sulkiness of a thunder-storm

before it opens. I am glad, however, that the only instance in

which I knew not how to value your company was when I was not in my

senses. It was the first of the kind, and I trust in God it will be

the last.

How naturally does affliction make us Christians! and how impossible

it is, 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 convert made in Bedlam is more likely to be a stumbling-block

to others than to advance their faith. But, if it has that effect

upon any, it is owing to their reasoning amiss, and drawing their

conclusions from false premises. He who can ascribe an amendment of

life and manners and a reformation of the heart itself to madness,

is guilty of an absurdity that in any other case would fasten the

imputation of madness upon himself; for, by so doing, he ascribes 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 my heart, I make too ample a concession in

saying, that I am _only now_ a convert. You think I always believed,

and I thought so too, but you were deceived, and so was I. I called

myself indeed a Christian, but He who knows my heart, knows that I

never did a right thing, nor abstained from a wrong one, because I

was so. But, if I did either, it was under the influence of some

other motive. And it is such seeming Christians, such pretending

believers, that do most mischief to the cause, and furnish the

strongest arguments to support the infidelity of its enemies: unless

profession and conduct go together, the man's life is a lie, and

the validity of what he professes itself is called in question.

The difference between a Christian and an unbeliever would be so

striking, if the treacherous allies of the church would go over at

once to the other side, that I am satisfied religion would be no

loser by the bargain.

I reckon it one instance of the providence that has attended me

throughout this whole event, that, instead of being delivered into

the hands of one of the London physicians--who were so much nearer,

that I wonder I was not--I 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 fitter 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 have thought this an irregular

appetite and a symptom 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, but a greater, if possible, went before it. My

future life must express my thankfulness, for by words I cannot do

it.

I pray God to bless you, and my friend Sir Thomas.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, July 5, 1765.

My dear Lady Hesketh,--My pen runs so fast you will begin to wish

you had not put it in motion, but you must consider we have not

met, even by letter, almost these two years, which will account, in

some measure, for my pestering you in this manner; besides my last

was no answer to yours, and therefore I consider myself as still in

your debt. To say truth, I have this long time promised myself a

correspondence with you as one of my principal pleasures.

I should have written to you from St. Alban's long since, but was

willing to perform quarantine first, both for my own sake, and

because I thought my letters would be more satisfactory to you

from any other quarter. You will perceive I allowed myself a very

sufficient time for the purpose, for I date my recovery from the

25th of last July, having been ill seven months, and well twelve

months. It was on that day my brother came to see me; I was far

from well when he came in; yet, though he only stayed one day with

me, his company served to put to flight a thousand deliriums and

delusions which I still laboured under, and the next morning found

myself a new creature. But to the present purpose.

As far as I am acquainted with this place, I like it extremely. Mr.

Hodgson, the minister of the parish, made me a visit the day before

yesterday. He is very sensible, a good preacher, and conscientious

in the discharge of his duty. He is very well known to Dr. Newton,

Bishop of Bristol, the author of the Treatise on the Prophecies,

one of our best bishops, and who has written the most demonstrative

proof of the truth of Christianity, in my mind, that ever was

published.

There is a village, called Hertford, about a mile and a half from

hence. The church there is very prettily situated upon a rising

ground, so close to the river that it washes the wall of the

churchyard. I found an epitaph there the other morning, the two

first lines of which being better than any thing else I saw there, I

made shift to remember. It is by a widow on her husband.

"Thou wast too good to live on earth with me,

And I not good enough to die with thee."

The distance of this place from Cambridge is the worst circumstance

belonging to it. My brother and I are fifteen miles asunder, which,

considering that I came hither for the sake of being near him, is

rather too much. I wish that young man was better known in the

family. He has as many good qualities as his nearest kindred could

wish to find in him.

As Mr. Quin very roundly expressed himself upon some such occasion,

"here is very plentiful accommodation, and great happiness of

provision." So that if I starve, it must be through forgetfulness

rather than scarcity.

Fare thee well, my good and dear cousin.

Ever yours, W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

July 12, 1765.

My dear Cousin,--You are very good to me, and if you will only

continue to write at such intervals as you find convenient, I shall

receive all that pleasure which I proposed to myself from our

correspondence. I desire no more than that you would never drop

me for any length of time together, for I shall then think you

only write because something happened to put you in mind of me, or

for some other reason equally mortifying. I am not, however, so

unreasonable as to expect you should perform this act of friendship

so frequently as myself, for you live in a world swarming with

engagements, and my hours are almost all my own. You must every day

be employed in doing what is expected from you by a thousand others,

and I have nothing to do but what is most agreeable to myself.

Our mentioning Newton's treatise on the Prophecies brings to my

mind an anecdote of Dr. Young, who you know died lately at Welwyn.

Dr. Cotton, 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 upon this book

of Newton, when Young closed the conference thus:--"My friend,

there are two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built

as upon a rock: the fall of man, the redemption of man, and the

resurrection of man, the three cardinal articles of our religion,

are such as human ingenuity could never have invented, therefore

they must be divine; the other argument is this. If the prophecies

have been fulfilled (of which there is abundant demonstration), the

Scripture must be the word of God, and if the Scripture is the word

of God, Christianity must be true."

This treatise on the prophecies serves a double purpose; it not

only proves the truth of religion, in a manner that never has been,

nor ever can be controverted; but it proves likewise, that the

Roman Catholic is the apostate, and the anti-Christian church, so

frequently foretold both in the Old and New Testaments. Indeed so

fatally connected is the refutation of Popery with the truth of

Christianity, when the latter is evinced by the completion of the

prophecies, that, in proportion as light is thrown upon the one,

the deformities and errors of the other are more plainly exhibited.

But I leave you to the book itself; there are parts of it which may

possibly afford you less entertainment than the rest, because you

have never been a school-boy, but in the main it is so interesting,

and you are so fond of that which is so, that I am sure you will

like it.

My dear cousin, how happy am I in having a friend, to whom I can

open my heart upon these subjects! I have many intimates in the

world, and have had many more than I shall have hereafter, to whom

a long letter upon these most important articles would appear

tiresome at least, if not impertinent. But I am not afraid of

meeting with that reception from you, who have never yet made it

your interest 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.

Yours ever,

W. C.

P.S.--Cambridge. I add this postscript at my brother's rooms. He

desires to be affectionately remembered to you, and if you are in

town about a fortnight hence, when he proposes to be there himself,

will take a breakfast with you.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, August 1st, 1765.

My dear Cousin,--If I was to measure your obligation to write

by my own desire to hear from you, I should call you an idle

correspondent if a post went by without bringing a letter, but I am

not so unreasonable; on the contrary, I think myself very happy in

hearing from you upon your own terms, as you find most convenient.

Your short history of my family is a very acceptable part of your

letter; if they really interest themselves in my welfare,[8] it is

a mark of their great charity for one who has been a disappointment

and a vexation to them ever since he has been of consequence enough

to be either. My friend the major's behaviour to me, after all he

suffered by my abandoning his interest and my own, in so miserable

a manner, is a noble instance of generosity and true greatness

of mind: and, indeed, I know no man in whom those qualities are

more conspicuous; one need only furnish him with an opportunity

to display them, and they are always ready to show themselves in

his words and actions, and even in his countenance, at a moment's

warning. 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 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 in this style, lest I should

seem to indulge a censorious humour, instead of hoping, as I ought,

the best for all men. But what can be said against ocular proof, and

what is hope when it is 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 thanksgiving 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, though our Saviour has charged it upon us with an

express injunction--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 may be assigned for this

Anti-christian spirit, so prevalent among Christians, but one of the

principal I take to be their utter forgetfulness that they have the

word of God in their possession.

[8] Cowper's pecuniary resources had been seriously impaired by

his loss of the Clerkship of the Journals in the House of Lords,

and by his subsequent resignation of the office of Commissioner

of Bankrupts. At the kind instigation of Major Cowper, his

friends had been induced to unite in rendering his income more

adequate to his necessary annual expenditure.

My friend, Sir William Russel, was distantly related to a very

accomplished man, who, though he never believed the Gospel, admired

the Scriptures as the sublimest compositions in the world, and

read them often. I have been intimate myself with a man of fine

taste, who has 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 the two disciples

going to Emmaus without being wonderfully affected by it, and he

thought that, if the stamp of divinity was any where to be found in

Scripture, it was strongly marked and visibly impressed upon that

passage. If these men, whose hearts were chilled with the darkness

of infidelity, could find such charms in the mere style of the

Scripture, what must they find there whose eye penetrates deeper

than the letter, and who firmly believe themselves interested in all

the valuable privileges of the Gospel? "He that believeth on me is

passed from death unto life," though it be as plain a sentence as

words can form, has more beauties in it for such a person than all

the labours antiquity can boast of. If my poor man of taste, whom I

have just mentioned, had 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 tenderest

affection; surpass every thing that I ever read, and, like the

Spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart. If

the Scripture did not disdain all affectation of ornament, one

should call these, and such as these, the ornamental parts of it,

but the matter of it is that upon which it principally stakes its

credit with us, and the style, however excellent and peculiar to

itself, is the only one of those many external evidences by which it

recommends itself to our belief.

I shall be very much obliged to you for the book you mention; you

could not have sent me any thing that would have been more welcome,

unless you had sent me your own meditations instead of them.

Yours,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[9]

[9] Private correspondence.

August 14th, 1765.

Dear Joe,--Both Lady Hesketh and my brother had apprized me of

your intention to give me a call; and herein I find they were

both mistaken. But they both informed me, likewise, that you were

already set out for Warwickshire; in consequence of which latter

intelligence, I have lived in continual expectation of seeing you,

any time this fortnight. Now, how these two ingenious personages

(for such they are both) should mistake an expedition to French

Flanders for a journey to Warwickshire, is more than I, with all

my ingenuity, can imagine. I am glad, however, that I have still a

chance of seeing you, and shall treasure it up amongst my agreeable

expectations. In the mean time, you are welcome to the British

shore, as the song has it, and I thank you for your epitome of your

travels. You don't tell me how you escaped the vigilance of the

custom-house officers, though I dare say you were knuckle-deep in

contrabands, and had your boots stuffed with all and all manner of

unlawful wares and merchandizes.

You know, Joe, I am very deep in debt to my little physician at St.

Alban's, and that the handsomest thing I can do will be to pay him

_le plutôt qu'il sera possible_, (that is vile French, I believe,

but you can, now, correct it.) My brother informs me that you have

such a quantity of cash in your hands on my account, that I may

venture to send him forty pounds immediately. This, therefore, I

shall be obliged if you will manage for me; and when you receive

the hundred pounds, which my brother likewise brags you are shortly

to receive, I shall be glad if you will discharge the remainder of

that debt, without waiting for any further advice from your humble

servant.

I am become a professed horseman, and do hereby assume to myself

the style and title of the Knight of the Bloody Spur. It has cost

me much to bring this point to bear; but I think I have at last

accomplished it. My love to all your family.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, August 17, 1765.

You told me, my dear cousin, that I need not fear writing too often,

and you perceive I take you at your word. At present, however, I

shall do little more than thank you for your Meditations, which

I admire exceedingly; the author of them manifestly loved the

truth with an undissembled affection, had made great progress

in the knowledge of it, and experienced all the happiness that

naturally results from that noblest of all attainments. There is

one circumstance which he gives us frequent occasion to observe in

him, which I believe will ever be found in the philosophy of every

true Christian. I mean the eminent rank which he assigns to faith

among the virtues, as the source and parent of them all. There is

nothing more infallibly true than this; and doubtless it is with

a view to the purifying and sanctifying nature of a true faith,

that our Saviour says "He that believeth in me hath everlasting

life," with many other expressions to the same purpose. Considered

in this light, no wonder it has the power of salvation ascribed to

it. Considered in any other, we must suppose it to operate like an

oriental talisman, if it obtains for us the least advantage; which

is an affront to Him, who insists upon our having it, and will on no

other terms admit us to his favour. I mention this distinguishing

article in his Reflections, the rather because it serves for a

solid foundation to the distinction I made in my last, between the

specious professor and the true believer, between him whose faith is

his Sunday suit and him who never puts it off at all--a distinction

I am a little fearful sometimes of making, because it is a heavy

stroke upon the practice of more than half the Christians in the

world.

My dear cousin, I told you I read the book with great pleasure,

which may be accounted for from its own merit, but perhaps it

pleased me the more because you had travelled the same road before

me. You know there is no such pleasure as this, which would want

great explanation to some folks, being perhaps a mystery to those

whose hearts are a mere muscle, and serve only for the purposes of

an even circulation.

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Sept. 4th, 1765.

Though I have some very agreeable acquaintance at Huntingdon, my

dear cousin, none are so agreeable as the arrival of your letters.

I thank you for that which I have just received from Droxford and

particularly for that part of it, where you give me an unlimited

liberty upon the subject I have already so often written upon.

Whatever interests us deeply, as naturally flows into the pen as

it does from the lips, when every restraint is taken away, and we

meet with a friend indulgent enough to attend to us. How many, in

all that variety of characters with whom I am acquainted, could I

find, after the strictest search, to whom I could write as I do to

you? I hope the number will increase: I am sure it cannot easily

be diminished. Poor ----! I have heard the whole of his history,

and can only lament what I am sure I can make no apology for. Two

of my friends have been cut off, during my illness, 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 almost remember to have

enjoyed before, after having 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 favour, 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 it? His infinite wisdom, to whose infinite

mercy I owe it all, can solve these questions, and none besides

him. If a freethinker, as many a man miscalls himself, could be

brought to give a serious answer to them, he would certainly say,

"Without doubt, Sir, you were in great danger; you had a narrow

escape; a most fortunate one, indeed." How excessively foolish,

as well as shocking! As if life depended upon luck, and all that

we are or can be, all that we have or hope for, could possibly be

referred to accident. Yet to this freedom of thought it is owing

that He, who, as our Saviour tells us, 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 therefore 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

intention, and that men despise the chastening of the Almighty.

Fevers and all diseases are accidents, and long life, recovery at

least from sickness, is 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, otherwise that part of his creation were

in vain. But to impute our recovery to the medicine, and to carry

our views no further, is to rob God of his honour, and is saying in

effect that he has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by

giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of

his own reach. 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 instrumental in his recovery than either the

apothecary or the doctor. My dear cousin, a firm persuasion of the

superintendence of Providence over all 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

permission 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 assurance, that if he hears he will

also deliver me, if that will upon the whole be most conducive to

my happiness; and, if he does not deliver me, I may be 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 always 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 (which we are not always aware of) affronting every one of

his attributes; and, at the same time, the certain consequence

of disbelieving his care for us is that we 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 while 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 it, loses its greatest

recommendation, and every affliction is intolerable. Death itself

must be welcome to him who has this faith, and he who has it not

must aim at it, if he is not a madman. You cannot think how glad

I am to hear you are going to commence lady, and mistress of

Freemantle.[10] I know it well, and could go to it from Southampton

blindfold. You are kind to invite me to it, and I shall be so

kind to myself as to accept the invitation, though I should not,

for a slight consideration, be prevailed upon to quit my beloved

retirement at Huntingdon.

Yours ever,

W. C.

[10] Freemantle, a villa near Southampton.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, Sept. 14, 1765.

My dear Cousin,--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 no less than five families, besides two or three odd scrambling

fellows like myself. The last acquaintance I made here is with

the race of the Unwins, consisting of father and mother, son and

daughter, the most comfortable, social folks you ever knew. The

son is about twenty-one years of age, one of the most unreserved

and amiable young men I ever conversed with. He is not yet arrived

at that time of life when suspicion recommends 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. The father is a clergyman, and

the son is designed for orders. The design however is quite his own,

proceeding merely from his being, and having always been, sincere

in his belief and love of the Gospel. Another acquaintance I have

lately made is with a Mr. Nicholson, a north-country divine, very

poor, but very good, and very happy. He reads prayers here twice a

day, all the year round, and travels on foot to serve two churches

every Sunday through the year, his journey out and home again being

sixteen miles. I supped with him last night. He gave me bread and

cheese, and a black jug of ale of his own brewing, and doubtless

brewed by his own hands. Another of my acquaintance is Mr. ----, a

thin, tall, old man, and as good as he is thin. He drinks nothing

but water, and eats no flesh, partly (I believe) from a religious

scruple (for he is very religious), and partly in the spirit of a

valetudinarian. He is to be met with every morning of his life, at

about six o'clock, at a fountain of very fine water, about a mile

from the town, which is reckoned extremely like the Bristol spring.

Being both early risers, and the only early walkers in the place, we

soon became acquainted. His great piety can be equalled by nothing

but his great regularity; for he is the most perfect timepiece in

the world. I have received a visit likewise from Mr. ----. He is

very much a gentleman, well-read, and sensible. I am persuaded, in

short, that if I had had the choice of all England where to fix my

abode, I could not have chosen better for myself, and most likely I

should not have chosen so well.

You say, you hope it is not necessary for salvation to undergo the

same afflictions that I have undergone. No! my dear cousin, God

deals with his children as a merciful father; he does not, as he

himself tells us, afflict willingly the sons of men. Doubtless there

are many, who, having been placed by his good providence out of the

reach of any great evil and the influence of bad example, have, from

their very infancy, been partakers of the grace of his Holy Spirit,

in such a manner 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 upon him, you will find him more worthy

of your love; and may you be finally accepted by him for his sake

whose intercession for all his faithful servants cannot but prevail!

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, Oct. 10, 1765.

My dear Cousin,--I should grumble at your long silence, if I did

not know that one may love one's friends very well, though one

is not always in a humour to write to them. Besides, I have the

satisfaction of being perfectly sure that you have at least twenty

times recollected the debt you owe me, and as often resolved to pay

it: and perhaps, while you remain indebted to me, you think of me

twice as often as you would do if the account was clear. These are

the reflections with which I comfort myself under the affliction of

not hearing from you; my temper does not incline me to jealousy,

and, if it did, I should set all right by having recourse to what I

have already received from you.

I thank God for your friendship, and for every friend I have; 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 I have need of to fill me with gratitude; and

to be grateful is to be happy. Not that I think myself sufficiently

thankful, or that I ever shall be so in this 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

oftener than it should be. But the mercy that can forgive iniquity

will never be severe to mark our frailties; to that mercy, my dear

cousin, I commend you, with earnest wishes for your welfare, and

remain your ever affectionate

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, Oct. 18, 1765.

I wish you joy, my dear cousin, of being safely arrived in port from

the storms of Southampton. For my own part, who am but as a Thames'

wherry, in a world full of tempest and commotion, I know so well the

value of the creek I have put into, and the snugness it affords me,

that I have a sensible sympathy with you in the pleasure you find

in being once more blown to Droxford. I know enough of Miss Morley

to send her my compliments, to which, if I had never seen her, her

affection for you would sufficiently entitle her. If I neglected to

do it sooner, it is only because I am naturally apt to neglect what

I ought to do; and if I was as genteel as I am negligent, I should

be the most delightful creature in the universe. I am glad you

think so favourably of my Huntingdon acquaintance; they are indeed

a nice set of folks, and suit me exactly. I should have been more

particular in my account of Miss Unwin, if I had had materials for

a minute description. She is about eighteen years of age, rather

handsome and genteel. In her mother's company she says little,

not because her mother requires it of her, but because she seems

glad of that excuse for not talking, being somewhat inclined to

bashfulness. There is the most remarkable cordiality between all the

parts of the family, and the mother and daughter seem to doat upon

each other. The first time I went to the house, I was introduced

to the daughter alone; and sat with her near half an hour before

her brother came in, who had appointed me to call upon him. Talking

is necessary in a _tete-a-tete_, to distinguish the persons of the

drama from the chairs they sit on: accordingly, she talked a great

deal, and extremely well; and, like the rest of the family, behaved

with as much ease and address as if we had been old acquaintance.

She resembles her mother in her great piety, who is one of the most

remarkable instances of it I have ever seen. They are altogether

the cheerfullest and most engaging family-piece it is possible to

conceive. Since I wrote the above, I met Mrs. Unwin in the street,

and went home with her. She and I walked together near two hours

in the garden, and had a conversation which did me more good than

I should have received from an audience of the first prince in

Europe. That woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her without

being the better for her company. I am treated in the family as if

I was a near relation, and have been repeatedly invited to call

upon them at all times. You know what a shy fellow I am; I cannot

prevail with myself to make so much use of this privilege as I am

sure they intend I should, but perhaps this awkwardness will wear

off hereafter. It was my earnest request, before I left St. Alban's,

that, wherever it might please Providence to dispose of me, I might

meet with such an acquaintance as I find in Mrs. Unwin. How happy

it is to believe, with a stedfast assurance, that our petitions are

heard, even while we are making them!--and how delightful to meet

with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant of them! Surely

it is a gracious finishing given to those means which the Almighty

has been pleased to make use of for my conversion. After having been

deservedly rendered unfit for any society, to be again qualified

for it, and admitted at once into the fellowship of those whom God

regards as the excellent of the earth, and whom, in the emphatical

language of Scripture, he preserves as the apple of his eye, is a

blessing, which carries with it the stamp and visible superscription

of divine bounty--a grace unlimited as undeserved; and, like its

glorious Author, free in its course, and blessed in its operation!

My dear cousin! health and happiness, and, above all, the favour of

our great and gracious Lord attend you! while we seek it in spirit

and in truth we are infinitely more secure of it than of the next

breath we expect to draw. Heaven and earth have their destined

periods; ten thousand worlds will vanish at the consummation of all

things; but the word of God standeth fast, and they who trust in him

shall never be confounded.

My love to all who inquire after me.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO MAJOR COWPER.

Huntingdon, Oct. 18, 1765.

My dear Major,--I have neither lost the use of my fingers nor my

memory, though my unaccountable silence might incline you to

suspect that I had lost both. The history of those things which

have, from time to time, prevented my scribbling would not only

be insipid, but extremely voluminous, for which reasons they will

not make their appearance at present, nor probably at any time

hereafter. If my neglecting to write to you were a proof that I

had never thought of you, and that had been really the case, five

shillings apiece would have been much too little to give for the

sight of such a monster! but I am no such monster, nor do I perceive

in myself the least tendency to such a transformation. You may

recollect that I had but very uncomfortable 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 agreeable neighbourhood I ever saw.

Here are three families who have received me with the utmost

civility, and two in particular have treated me with as much

cordiality as if their pedigree and mine had grown upon the same

sheep-skin. Besides these, there are three or four single men,

who suit my temper to a hair. The town is one of the neatest in

England; the country is fine for several miles about it; and the

roads, which are all turnpike, and strike out four or five different

ways, are perfectly good all the year round. I mention this latter

circumstance chiefly because my distance from Cambridge has made

a horseman of me at last, or at least is likely to do so. My

brother and I meet every week, by an alternate reciprocation of

intercourse, as Sam Johnson would express it; sometimes I get a lift

in a neighbour's chaise, but generally ride. 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 upon me, will give me gratitude to crown them all. I

beg you will give my love to my dear cousin Maria, and to everybody

at the Park. If Mrs. Maitland is with you, as I suspect by a

passage in Lady Hesketh's letter to me, pray remember me to her very

affectionately. And believe me, my dear friend, ever yours,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

October 25, 1765.

Dear Joe,--I am afraid the month of October has proved rather

unfavourable to the belle assemblée at Southampton, high winds

and continual rains being bitter enemies to that agreeable lounge

which you and I are equally fond of. I have very cordially betaken

myself to my books and my fireside; and seldom leave them unless

for exercise. I have added another family to the number of those I

was acquainted with when you were here. Their name is Unwin--the

most agreeable people imaginable; quite sociable, and as free from

the ceremonious civility of country gentle-folks as any 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. His wife has a very uncommon

understanding, has read much, to excellent purpose, and is more

polite than a duchess. The son, who belongs to Cambridge, is a most

amiable young man, and the daughter quite of a piece with the rest

of the family. 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 better for. You remember Rousseau's

description of an English morning;[11] such are the mornings I

spend with these good people, and the evenings differ from them in

nothing, except that they are still more snug and quieter. Now I

know them, I wonder that I liked Huntingdon so well before I knew

them, and am apt to think I should find every place disagreeable

that had not an Unwin belonging to it.

[11] See his Emilius.

This incident convinces me of the truth of an observation I have

often made, that when we circumscribe our estimate of all that is

clever within the limits of our own acquaintance (which I at least

have been always apt to do) we are guilty of a very uncharitable

censure upon the rest of the world, and of a narrowness of thinking

disgraceful to ourselves. Wapping and Redriff may contain some of

the most amiable persons living, and such as one would go to Wapping

and Redriff to make acquaintance with. You remember Gray's stanza,

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The deep unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Full many a rose is born to blush unseen,

And waste its fragrance on the desert air.

Yours, dear Joe,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[12]

[12] Private correspondence.

Nov. 5, 1765.

Dear Joe,--I wrote to you about ten days ago,

Soliciting a quick return of gold,

To purchase certain horse that likes me well.

Either my letter or your answer to it, I fear, has miscarried.

The former, I hope; because a miscarriage of the latter might be

attended with bad consequences.

I find it impossible to proceed any longer in my present course

without danger of bankruptcy. I have therefore entered into an

agreement with the Rev. Mr. Unwin to lodge and board with him. The

family are the most agreeable in the world. They live in a special

good house, and in a very genteel way. They are all exactly what I

would wish them to be, and I know I shall be as happy with them as I

can be on this side of the sun. I did not dream of this matter till

about five days ago: but now the whole is settled. I shall transfer

myself thither as soon as I have satisfied all demands upon me here.

Yours ever, W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[13]

[13] Private correspondence.

Nov. 8, 1765.

Dear 'Sephus,--Notwithstanding it is so agreeable a thing to read

law lectures to the students of Lyons' Inn,[14] especially to the

reader himself, I must beg leave to waive it. Danby Pickering must

be the happy man; and I heartily wish him joy of his deputyship.

As to the treat, I think if it goes before the lecture, it will be

apt to blunt the apprehension of the students; and, if it comes

after, it may erase from their memories impressions so newly made.

I could wish therefore, that, for their benefit and behoof, this

circumstance were omitted. But, if it be absolutely necessary, I

hope Mr. Salt, or whoever takes the conduct of it, will see that it

be managed with the frugality and temperance becoming so learned a

body. I shall be obliged to you if you will present my respects to

Mr. Treasurer Salt, and express my concern at the same time that he

had the trouble of sending me two letters upon this occasion. The

first of them never came to hand.

[14] The office of readership to this society had been offered to

Cowper, but was declined by him.

I shall be obliged to you if you will tell me whether my exchequer

is full or empty, and whether the revenue of last year is yet come

in, that I may proportion my payments to the exigencies of my

affairs.

My dear 'Sephus, give my love to your family, and believe me much

obliged to you for your invitation. At present I am in such an

unsettled condition, that I can think of nothing but laying the

foundation of my future abode at Unwin's. My being admitted there

is the effect of the great good nature and friendly turn of that

family, who, I have great reason to believe, are as desirous to do

me service as they could be after a much longer acquaintance. Let

your next, if it comes a week hence, be directed to me there.

The greatest part of the law-books are those which Lord Cowper gave

me. Those, and the very few which I bought myself, are all at the

major's service.

Stroke Puss's back the wrong way, and it will put her in mind of her

master.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO LADY HESKETH.

Huntingdon, March 6, 1766.

My dear Cousin,--I have for some time past imputed your silence

to the cause which you yourself assign for it, viz. to my change

of situation; and was even sagacious enough to account for the

frequency of your letters to me while I lived alone, from your

attention to me in a state of such solitude as seemed to make it

an act of particular charity to write to me. I bless God for it, I

was happy even then; solitude has nothing gloomy in it if the soul

points upwards. St. Paul tells his Hebrew converts, "Ye are come

(already come) to Mount Sion--to an innumerable company of angels,

to the general assembly of the firstborn, 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 had

never spoken it, there is an end of the melancholy and dulness of

life at once. You will not suspect me, my dear cousin, of a design

to understand this passage literally. But this however it certainly

means, that a lively faith is able to anticipate, in some measure,

the joys of that heavenly society which the soul shall actually

possess hereafter.

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 temper and conduct which he is pleased to require in 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, not only in the passages I have cited, but in

many others? If we have no communion with God here, surely we can

expect none hereafter. 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 thought, word, and deed, is no faith, nor

will it obtain for us any spiritual blessing here or hereafter. Let

us see therefore, my dear cousin, 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.

I am obliged to Mrs. Cowper for the book, which, you perceive,

arrived safe. I am willing to consider it as an intimation on her

part, that she would wish me to write to her, and shall do it

accordingly. My circumstances are rather particular, such as call

upon my friends, those, I mean, who are truly such, to take some

little notice of me, and will naturally make those who are not such

in sincerity, rather shy of doing it. To this I impute the silence

of many with regard to me, who, before the affliction that befel me,

were ready enough to converse with me.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER,[15]

[15] The wife of Major Cowper, and sister of the Rev. Martin

Madan, minister of Lock Chapel.

Huntingdon, March 11, 1766.

My dear Cousin--I am much obliged to you for Pearsall's Meditations,

especially as it furnishes me with an occasion of writing to you,

which is all I have waited for. My friends must excuse me if I

write to none but those who lay it fairly in my way to do so. The

inference I am apt to draw from their silence is, that they wish

_me_ to be silent too.

I have great reason, my dear cousin, to be thankful to the gracious

Providence that conducted me to this place. The lady, in whose

house I live, is so excellent a person, and regards me with a

friendship so truly Christian, that I could almost fancy my own

mother restored to life again, to compensate to me for all the

friends I have lost, and all my connexions broken. She has a son at

Cambridge, in all respects worthy of such a mother, the most amiable

young man I ever knew. His natural and acquired endowments are very

considerable, and as to his virtues, I need only say that he is a

Christian. It ought to be a matter of daily thanksgiving to me that

I am admitted into the society of such persons, and I pray God to

make me and keep me worthy of them.

Your brother Martin has been very kind to me, having written to me

twice in a style which, though it was once irksome to me, to say the

least, I now know how to value. I pray God to forgive me the many

light things I have both said and thought of him and his labours.

Hereafter I shall consider him as a burning and a shining light,

and as one of those who, having turned many to righteousness, shall

shine hereafter as the stars for ever and ever.

So much for the state of my heart: as to my spirits, I am cheerful

and happy, and, having peace with God, have peace with myself. For

the continuance of this blessing I trust to Him who gives it, and

they who trust in Him shall never be confounded.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, April 4, 1766.

My dear Cousin,--I agree with you that letters are not essential to

friendship, but they seem to be a natural fruit of it, when they are

the only intercourse that can be had. And a friendship producing

no sensible effects is so like indifference, that the appearance

may easily deceive even an acute discerner. I retract however all

that I said in my last upon this subject, having reason to suspect

that it proceeded from a principle which I would discourage in

myself upon all occasions, even a pride that felt itself hurt upon

a mere suspicion of neglect. 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 sullenness or self-consequence

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 enemies, though they continue such. The deceitfulness of the

natural heart is inconceivable; I know well that I passed upon

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, 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 God, even the God who is become my salvation, the hail

of affliction and rebuke for sin 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 quiet and peaceful

serenity of soul succeeded, such as ever attends the gift of living

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 his hands made me whole.

My dear Cousin, I make no apology for entertaining you with the

history of my conversion, because I know you to be a Christian in

the sterling import of the appellation. This is however but a very

summary account of the matter, neither would a letter contain the

astonishing particulars of it. If we ever meet again in this world,

I will relate them to you by word of mouth; if not, they will serve

for the subject of a conference in the next, where I doubt not I

shall remember and record them with a gratitude better suited to the

subject.

Yours, my dear Cousin, affectionately,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, April 17, 1766.

My dear Cousin,--As in matters unattainable by reason and unrevealed

in the Scripture, it is impossible to argue at all; so, in matters

concerning which reason can only give a probable guess, and the

Scripture has made no explicit discovery, it is, though not

impossible to argue at all, yet impossible to argue to any certain

conclusion. This seems to me to be the very case with the point

in question----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 that looks at least like a slight intimation of it; but

because a conjecture can never amount to a proof, and a slight

intimation 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

the 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.

As to arguments founded upon human reason only, it would be easy

to muster up a much greater number on the affirmative side of the

question than it would be worth my while to write or yours to read.

Let us see, therefore, what the Scripture says, or seems to say,

towards the proof of it; and of this kind of argument also I shall

insert but a few of those, which seem to me to be the fairest and

clearest for the purpose. For, after all, a disputant on either side

of this question is in danger of that censure of our blessed Lord's,

"Ye do err, not knowing the Scripture, nor the power of God."

As to parables, I know it has been said in the dispute concerning

the intermediate state that they are not argumentative; but,

this having been controverted by very wise and good men, and the

parable of Dives and Lazarus having been used by such to prove an

intermediate state, I see not why it may not be as fairly used for

the proof of any other matter which it seems fairly to imply. In

this parable we see that Dives is represented as knowing Lazarus,

and Abraham as knowing them both, and the discourse between them is

entirely concerning 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 the soul that is saved, surely the heirs of

salvation shall know and recollect each other.

In the first epistle to the Thessalonians, the second chapter, and

nineteenth verse, Saint Paul says, "What is our hope, or joy, or

crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord

Jesus Christ at his coming? For ye are our glory and our joy."

As to the hope which the apostle had formed concerning them, he

himself refers the accomplishment of it to the coming of Christ,

meaning that then he should receive the recompence of his labours

in their behalf; his joy and glory he refers likewise to the same

period, both which would result from the sight of such numbers

redeemed by the blessing of God upon his ministration, when he

should present them before the great Judge, and say, in the words of

a greater than himself, "Lo! I and the children whom 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?

See also the fourth chapter of that epistle, verses 13, 14, 16,

which I have not room to transcribe. Here the apostle comforts them

under their affliction for their deceased brethren, exhorting them

"not to sorrow as without hope;" and what is the hope, by which

he teaches them to support their spirits? Even this, "That them

which sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him." In other words,

and by a fair paraphrase surely, telling them they are only taken

from them for a season, and that they should receive them at their

resurrection.

If you can take off the force of these texts, my dear cousin, you

will go a great way towards shaking my opinion: if not, I think they

must go a great way towards shaking yours.

The reason why I did not send you my opinion of Pearsall was,

because I had not then read him; I have read him since, and like

him much, especially the latter part of him; but you have whetted

my curiosity to see the last letter by tearing it out; unless you

can give me a good reason why I should not see it, I shall inquire

for the book the first time I go to Cambridge. Perhaps I may be

partial to Hervey for the sake of his other writings, but I cannot

give Pearsall the preference to him, for I think him one of the most

scriptural writers in the world.

Yours,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, April 18, 1766.

My dear Cousin,--Having gone as far as I thought needful to justify

the opinion of our meeting and knowing each other hereafter, I find

upon reflection that I have done but half my business, and that

one of the questions you proposed remains entirely unconsidered,

viz. "Whether the things of our present state will not be of too

low and mean a nature to engage our thoughts or make a part of our

communications in heaven."

The common and ordinary occurrences of life, no doubt, and even the

ties of kindred and of all temporal interests, will be entirely

discarded from amongst that happy society, and, possibly, even the

remembrance 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, as you say, in reference

to the Scripture, will be all in all. But does not that expression

mean that, being admitted to so near an approach to our heavenly

Father and Redeemer, our whole nature, the soul, and all its

faculties, will be employed in praising and adoring him? Doubtless,

however, this will be the case, and if so, will it not furnish

out a glorious theme of thanksgiving to recollect "the rock whence

we were hewn, and the hole of the pit whence we 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 corruption 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: 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, surely 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. The twenty-four

elders, in the fifth of the Revelations, give glory to God for their

redemption out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation.

This surely implies a retrospect to their respective conditions upon

earth, and that each remembered out of what particular kindred and

nation he had been redeemed, and, if so, then surely the minutest

circumstance of their redemption did not escape their memory. They

who triumph over the Beast, in the fifteenth chapter, sing the song

of Moses, the servant of God; and what was that song? A sublime

record of Israel's deliverance and the destruction of her enemies in

the Red Sea, typical, no doubt, of the song, which the redeemed in

Sion shall sing to celebrate their own salvation and the defeat of

their spiritual enemies. This again implies a recollection of the

dangers they had before encountered, and the supplies of strength

and ardour they had, in every emergency, received from the great

Deliverer out of all. These quotations do not, indeed, prove that

their warfare upon earth includes a part of their converse with each

other; but they prove that it is a theme not unworthy to be heard,

even before the throne of God, and therefore it cannot be unfit for

reciprocal communication.

But you doubt whether there is _any_ communication between the

blessed at all, neither do I recollect any Scripture that proves

it, or that bears any relation to the subject. But reason seems

to require it so peremptorily, that a society without social

intercourse seems to be a solecism and a contradiction in terms; and

the inhabitants of those regions are called, you know, in Scripture,

an innumerable _company_, and an _assembly_, which seems to convey

the idea of society as clearly as the word itself. Human testimony

weighs but little in matters of this sort, but let it have all the

weight it can. I know no greater names in divinity than Watts and

Doddridge: they were both of this opinion, and I send you the words

of the latter.

"Our _companions in glory_ may probably assist us by their wise and

good observations, when we come to make the _providence of God_

here upon earth, under the guidance and direction of our Lord Jesus

Christ, the _subject of our mutual converse_."

Thus, my dear cousin, I have spread out my reasons before you for an

opinion, which, whether admitted or denied, affects not the state

or interest of our soul. May our Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier,

conduct us into his own Jerusalem, where there shall be no night,

neither any darkness at all, where we shall be free, even from

innocent error, and perfect in the light of the knowledge of God in

the face of Jesus Christ.

Yours faithfully,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, Sept. 3, 1766.

My dear Cousin,--It is reckoned, you know, a great achievement to

silence an opponent in disputation, and your silence was of so

long a continuance, that I might well begin to please myself with

the apprehension of having accomplished so arduous a matter. To be

serious, however, I am not sorry that what I have said concerning

our knowledge of each other in a future state has a little inclined

you to the affirmative. For though the redeemed of the Lord shall

be sure of being as happy in that state as infinite 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 life, or never to meet them at all, amounts, though

not altogether, yet nearly to the same thing. Remember them, I

think she needs must. To hear that they are happy, will indeed be

no small addition to her 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; that we must remain eternally ignorant

whether they that were flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone,

partake with us of celestial glory, or are disinherited of their

heavenly portion, must shed a dismal gloom over all our present

connexions. 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 Christ, 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 with this life,

I think I should have no inclination to cultivate and improve such

a fugitive business. 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 is that love

which the Holy Spirit, speaking by St. John, so much inculcates,

but friendship?--the only love which deserves the name--a love

which can toil, and watch, and deny itself, and go to death for its

brother. Worldly friendships are a poor weed compared with this,

and even this union of 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 Christian love or any other Divine

attainment, and am therefore unwilling to forego whatever may help

me in my progress.

You are so kind as to inquire after my health, for which reason I

must tell you, what otherwise 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 severe 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 strengthened, day by day, as I hope, under the

renewing influences of the Holy Ghost, it will be, no matter how

soon the outward 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. Whether I live or die,

I desire it may be to his glory, and it must be to my happiness. I

thank God that I have those amongst my kindred to whom I can write,

without reserve, my sentiments upon this subject, as I do to you.

A letter upon any other subject is more insipid to me than ever my

task was when a school-boy, and I say not this in vain glory, God

forbid! but to show you 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, O 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.

Yours, dear Cousin,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, Oct. 20, 1766.

My dear Cousin,--I am very sorry for poor Charles's illness,

and hope you will soon have cause to thank God for his complete

recovery. We have an epidemical fever in this country likewise,

which leaves behind it a continual sighing, almost to suffocation:

not that I have seen any instance of it, for, blessed be God! our

family have hitherto escaped it, but such was the account I heard of

it this morning.

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 of those holy mysteries; at eleven, we

attend divine service, which is performed here twice every day; and

from twelve to three we separate, and amuse ourselves as we please.

During that interval I either read in my own apartment, or walk, or

ride, or work in the garden. We seldom sit an hour after dinner, but

if the weather permits adjourn to the garden, where, with Mrs. Unwin

and her son, I have generally the pleasure of religious 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. Unwin's harpsichord, make up a tolerable

concert, in which our hearts, I hope, are the best and most musical

performers. After tea we sally forth to walk in good earnest. Mrs.

Unwin is a good walker, and we have generally travelled about four

miles before we see home again. When the days are short, we make

this excursion in the former part of the day, between church-time

and dinner. At night we read and converse, as before, till supper,

and commonly finish the evening either with hymns or 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;

accordingly, 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 like it!

I have had many anxious thoughts about taking orders, and I believe

every new convert is apt to think himself called upon for that

purpose; but it has pleased God, by means which there is no need to

particularize, to give me full satisfaction as to the propriety of

declining it; indeed, they who have the least idea of what I have

suffered from the dread of public exhibitions will readily excuse my

never attempting them hereafter. In the mean time, if it please the

Almighty, I may be an instrument of turning many to the truth, in a

private way, and hope that my endeavours in this way have not been

entirely unsuccessful. Had I the zeal of Moses, I should want an

Aaron to be my spokesman.

Yours ever, my dear Cousin,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, March 11, 1767.

My dear Cousin,--To find those whom I love, clearly and strongly

persuaded of evangelical truth, gives me a pleasure superior to

any this world can afford me. Judge, then, whether your letter,

in which the body and substance of a saving faith is so evidently

set forth, could meet with a lukewarm reception at my hands, or

be entertained with indifference! Would you know the true reason

of my long silence? Conscious that my religious principles are

generally excepted against, and that the conduct they produce,

wherever they are heartily maintained, is still more the object of

disapprobation than those principles themselves, and remembering

that I had made both the one and the other known to you, without

having any clear assurance that our faith in Jesus was of the same

stamp and character, I could not help thinking it possible that you

might disapprove both my sentiments and practice; that you might

think the one unsupported by Scripture, and the other whimsical, and

unnecessarily strict and rigorous, and consequently would be rather

pleased with the suspension of a correspondence, which a different

way of thinking upon so momentous a subject as that we wrote upon

was likely to render tedious and irksome to you.

I have told you the truth from my heart; forgive me these injurious

suspicions, and never imagine that I shall hear from you upon this

delightful theme without a real joy, or without prayer to God to

prosper you in the way of his truth, his sanctifying and saving

truth. The book you mention lies now upon my table. Marshall[16]

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 complete; 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 of God; in short, that he hath opened

the kingdom of heaven _to all believers_: 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.

[16] "Marshall on Sanctification" This book is distinguished by

profound and enlarged views of the subject on which it treats. It

was strongly recommended by the pious Hervey whose testimony to

its merits is prefixed to the work.

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 (till almighty grace subdues them)

is determined never to allow. May the Almighty reveal his Son in

our hearts, continually, more and more, and teach us to increase in

love towards him continually, for having _given_ us the unspeakable

riches of Christ.

Yours faithfully,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

March 14, 1767.

My dear Cousin,--I just add a line, by way of postscript to my last,

to apprize you of the arrival of a very dear friend of mine at the

Park, on Friday next, the son of Mr. Unwin, whom I have desired

to call on you in his way from London to Huntingdon. If you knew

him as well as I do, you would love him as much. But I leave the

young man to speak for himself, which he is very able to do. He is

ready possessed of an answer to every question you can possibly ask

concerning me, and knows my _whole story_ from first to last. I give

you this previous notice, because I know you are not fond of strange

faces, and because I thought it would, in some degree, save him the

pain of announcing himself.

I am become a great florist and shrub-doctor. If the major can make

up a small packet of seeds, that will make a figure in a garden,

where we have little else besides jessamine and honeysuckle; such a

packet I mean as may be put into one's fob, I will promise to take

great care of them, as I ought to value natives of the Park. They

must not be such, however, as require great skill in the management,

for at present I have no skill to spare.

I think Marshall one of the best writers, and the most spiritual

expositor of Scripture I ever read. I admire the strength of his

argument, and the clearness of his reasonings, upon those parts of

our most holy religion which are generally least understood (even

by real Christians), as masterpieces 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 admirable

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 subjoin thus much upon that author, because, though you desired my

opinion of him, I remember that in my last I rather left you to find

it out by inference than expressed it, as I ought to have done. I

never met with a man who understood the plan of salvation better, or

was more happy in explaining it.

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, April 3, 1767.

My dear Cousin,--You sent my friend Unwin home to us charmed with

your kind reception of him, and with every thing he saw at the Park.

Shall I once more give you a peep into my vile and deceitful heart?

What motive do you think lay at the bottom of my conduct, when I

desired him to call upon you? I did not suspect, at first, that

pride and vain-glory had any share in it, but quickly after I had

recommended the visit to him, I discovered in that fruitful soil the

very root of the matter. You know I am a stranger here; all such

are suspected characters; unless they bring their credentials with

them. To this moment, I believe, it is matter of speculation in the

place whence I came and to whom I belong.

Though my friend, you may suppose, before I was admitted an inmate

here, was satisfied that I was not a mere vagabond, and has, since

that time, received more convincing proofs of my _sponsibility_, yet

I could not resist the opportunity of furnishing him with ocular

demonstration of it, by introducing him to one of my most splendid

connexions; that when he hears me called, "_That fellow Cowper_,"

which has happened heretofore, he may be able, upon unquestionable

evidence, to assert my gentlemanhood, and relieve me from the

weight of that opprobrious appellation. O Pride! Pride! it deceives

with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk 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! They who

can guess at the heart of a stranger, and you especially, who are

of a compassionate temper, will be more ready, perhaps, to excuse

me, in this instance, than I can be to excuse myself. But, in good

truth, it was abominable pride of heart, indignation, and vanity,

and deserves no better name. How should such a creature be admitted

into those pure and sinless mansions, where nothing shall enter

that defileth, did not the blood of Christ, applied by the hand of

faith, take away the guilt of sin, and leave no spot or stain behind

it? Oh what continual need have I of an Almighty, All-sufficient

Saviour! I am glad you are acquainted so _particularly_ with _all_

the circumstances 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!

I thank you for the seeds; I have committed some of each sort to the

ground, whence they will spring up like so many mementoes to remind

me of my friends at the Park.

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[17]

[17] Private correspondence.

June 16, 1767.

Dear Joe,--This part of the world is not productive of much news,

unless the coldness of the weather be so, which is excessive for the

season. We expect, or rather experience a warm contest between the

candidates for the county; the preliminary movements of bribery,

threatening, and drunkenness, being already taken. The Sandwich

interest seems to shake, though both parties are very sanguine. Lord

Carysfort is supposed to be in great jeopardy, though as yet, I

imagine, a clear judgment cannot be formed; for a man may have all

the noise on his side and yet lose his election. You know me to be

an uninterested person, and I am sure I am a very ignorant one in

things of this kind. I only wish it was over, for it occasions the

most detestable scene of profligacy and riot that can be imagined.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Huntingdon, July 13, 1767.

My dear Cousin,--The newspaper has told you the truth. Poor Mr.

Unwin, being flung from his horse as he was going to his church on

Sunday morning, received a dreadful fracture on the back part of

the skull, under which he languished till Thursday evening, and

then died. This awful dispensation has left an impression upon our

spirits which will not be presently worn off. He died in a poor

cottage, to which he was carried immediately after his fall, about a

mile from home, and his body could not be brought to his house till

the spirit was gone to him who gave it. May it be a lesson to us to

watch, since we know not the day, nor the hour, when our Lord cometh!

The effect of it upon my circumstances will only be a change of the

place of my abode. For I shall still, by God's leave, continue with

Mrs. Unwin, whose behaviour to me has always been that of a mother

to a son. We know not 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 employed our friend Haweis,[18] Dr. Conyers,[19] of Helmsley,

in Yorkshire, and Mr. Newton, of Olney, to look out a place for us,

but at present are entirely ignorant under which of the three we

shall settle, or whether under either. I have written to my aunt

Madan, to desire Martin to assist us with his inquiries. It is

probable we shall stay here till Michaelmas.

W. C.

[18] Dr. Haweis was a leading character in the religious world

at this time, and subsequently the superintendent of Lady

Huntingdon's chapels, and of the Seminary for Students founded by

that lady. His principal works are a "Commentary on the Bible,"

and "History of the Church."

[19] Dr. Conyers.--The circumstances attending the death of this

truly pious and eminent servant of God are too affecting not to

be deemed worthy of being recorded. He had ascended the pulpit

of St. Paul's, Deptford, of which he was rector, and had just

delivered his text, "Ye shall see my face no more," when he was

seized with a sudden fainting, and fell back in his pulpit: he

recovered, however, sufficiently to proceed with his sermon, and

to give the concluding blessing, when he again fainted away, was

carried home, and expired without a groan, in the sixty-second

year of his age, 1786. The affecting manner of his death is thus

happily adverted to in the following beautiful lines:--

Sent by their Lord on purposes of grace,

Thus angels do his will, and see his face;

With outspread wings they stand, prepar'd to soar,

Declare their message, and are seen no more.

Underneath is a Latin inscription, of which the following is the

translation.

I have sinned.

I repented. I believed.

I have loved. I rest.

I shall rise again.

And, by the grace of Christ

However unworthy,

I shall reign.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

July 16, 1767.

Dear Joe,--Your wishes that the newspaper may have misinformed

you are vain. Mr. Unwin is dead, and died in the manner there

mentioned. At nine o'clock on Sunday morning he was in perfect

health, and as likely to live twenty years as either of us, and

before ten was stretched speechless and senseless upon a flock

bed, in a poor cottage, where (it being impossible to remove him)

he died on Thursday evening. I heard his dying groans, the effect

of great agony, for he was a strong man, and much convulsed in

his last moments. 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 stronghold

we must all resort at last, if we would have hope in our 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 being

broken under us, we find ourselves obliged to have recourse to

the rock which can never be shaken: when this is our lot, we

receive great and undeserved mercy.

Our society will not break up, but we shall settle in some other

place, where, is at present uncertain.

Yours,

W. C.

* * * * *

These tender and confidential letters describe, in the clearest

light, the singularly peaceful and devout life of this amiable

writer, during his residence at Huntingdon, and the melancholy

accident which occasioned his removal to a distant county. Time

and providential circumstances now introduced to the notice of

Cowper, the zealous and venerable friend who became his intimate

associate for many years, after having advised and assisted him

in the important concern of fixing his future residence. The

Rev. John Newton, then curate of Olney, in Buckinghamshire,

had been requested by the late Dr. Conyers (who, in taking his

degree in divinity at Cambridge, had formed a friendship with

young Mr. Unwin, and learned from him the religious character of

his mother) to seize an opportunity, as he was passing through

Huntingdon, of making a visit to that exemplary lady. This

visit (so important in its consequences to the future history

of Cowper) happened to take place within a few days after the

calamitous death of Mr. Unwin. As a change of scene appeared

desirable both to Mrs. Unwin and to the interesting recluse whom

she had generously requested to continue under her care, Mr.

Newton offered to assist them in removing to the pleasant and

picturesque county in which he resided. They were willing to

enter into the flock of a pious and devoted pastor, whose ideas

were so much in harmony with their own. He engaged for them a

house at Olney, where they arrived on the 14th of October, 1767.

He thus alludes to his new residence in the following extract of

a letter to Mr. Hill.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[20]

[20] Private correspondence.

Olney, October 20, 1767.

I have no map to consult at present, but, by what remembrance I

have of the situation of this place in the last I saw, it lies

at the northernmost point of the county. We are just five miles

beyond Newport Pagnell. I am willing to suspect that you make this

inquiry with a _view_ to an _interview_, when time shall serve. We

may possibly be settled in our own house in about a month, where so

good a friend of mine will be extremely welcome to Mrs. Unwin. We

shall have a bed and a warm fire-side at your service, if you can

come before next summer; and if not, a parlour that looks the north

wind full in the face, where you may be as cool as in the groves of

Valombrosa.

Yours, my dear 'Sephus,

Affectionately ever,

W. C.

* * * * *

It would have been difficult to select a situation apparently more

suited to the existing circumstances and character of Cowper than

the scene to which he was now transferred. In Mr. Newton were

happily united the qualifications of piety, fervent, rational, and

cheerful--the kind and affectionate feelings that inspire friendship

and regard--a solid judgment, and a refined taste--the power to

edify and please, and the grace that knows how to improve it to

the highest ends. He lived in the midst of a flock who loved and

esteemed him, and who saw in his ministrations the credentials of

heaven, and in his life the exemplification of the doctrines that he

taught.

The time of Cowper, in his new situation, seems to have been chiefly

devoted to religious contemplation, to social prayer, and to active

charity. To this first of Christian virtues, his heart was eminently

inclined, and Providence very graciously enabled him to exercise and

enjoy it to an extent far superior to what his own scanty fortune

allowed means. The death of his father, 1756, failed to place him

in a state of independence, and the singular cast of his own mind

was such, that nature seemed to have rendered it impossible for

him either to covet or to acquire riches. His happy exemption from

worldly passions is forcibly displayed in the following letter.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, June 16, 1768.

Dear Joe,--I thank you for so full an answer to so empty an epistle.

If Olney furnished any thing for your amusement, you should have

it in return, but occurrences here are as scarce as cucumbers at

Christmas.

I visited St. Alban's about a fortnight since in person, and I visit

it every day in thought. The recollection of what passed there, and

the consequences that followed it, fill my mind continually, and

make the circumstances of a poor, transient, half-spent life, so

insipid and unaffecting, that I have no heart to think or write much

about them. Whether the nation is worshipping Mr. Wilkes, or any

other idol, is of little moment to one who hopes and believes that

he shall shortly stand in the presence of the great and blessed God.

I thank him, that he has given me such a deep, impressed, persuasion

of this awful truth as a thousand worlds would not purchase from

me. It gives me a relish to every blessing, and makes every trouble

light.

Affectionately yours,

W. C.

* * * * *

In entering on the correspondence of the ensuing year, we find the

following impressive letter addressed to Mr. Hill.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[21]

[21] Private correspondence.

Olney, Jan. 21, 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 the most comfortable

thing we have in prospect, on this side of eternity. To be brought

near to him, and to discern neither of these features 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 side of the grave, and you have been raised 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. "Behold! I stand at the door

and knock," is the word of Him, on 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

upon us, we may be found ready, being established and rooted in a

well-grounded faith in His name, who conquered and triumphed over

him upon his cross.

Yours ever,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[22]

[22] Private correspondence.

Olney, Jan. 29, 1769.

My dear Joe,--I have a moment to spare, to tell you that your letter

is just come to hand, and to thank you for it. I do assure you,

the gentleness and candour of your manner engages my affection to

you very much. You answer with mildness to an admonition, which

would have provoked many to anger. I have not time to add more,

except just to hint that, if I am ever enabled to look forward

to death with comfort, which, I thank God, is sometimes the case

with me, 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. He is always

formidable to me, but when I see him disarmed of his sting, by

having sheathed it in the body of Christ Jesus.

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, July 31, 1769.

Dear Joe,--Sir Thomas crosses the Alps, and Sir Cowper, for that is

his title at Olney, prefers his home to any other spot of earth in

the world. Horace, observing this difference of temper in different

persons, cried out a good many years ago, in the true spirit of

poetry, "How much one man differs from another!" This does not seem

a very sublime exclamation in English, but I remember we were taught

to admire it in the original.

My dear friend, I am obliged to you for your invitation: but, being

long accustomed to retirement, which I was always fond of, I am

now more than ever unwilling to revisit those noisy and crowded

scenes, which I never loved, and which I now abhor. I remember you

with all the friendship I ever professed, which is as much as ever

I entertained for any man. But the strange and uncommon incidents

of my life have given an entire new turn to my whole character and

conduct, and rendered me incapable of receiving pleasure from the

same employments and amusements of which I could readily partake in

former days.

I love you and yours, I thank you for your continued remembrance of

me, and shall not cease to be their and your

Affectionate friend and servant,

W. C.

* * * * *

Cowper's present retirement was distinguished by many private acts

of beneficence, and his exemplary virtue was such that the opulent

sometimes delighted to make him their almoner. In his sequestered

life at Olney, he ministered abundantly to the wants of the poor,

from a fund with which he was supplied by that model of extensive

and unostentatious philanthropy, the late John Thornton, Esq., whose

name he has immortalized in his Poem on Charity, still honouring

his memory by an additional tribute to his virtues in the following

descriptive eulogy, written immediately on his decease, in the year

1790.

Poets attempt the noblest task they can,

Praising the Author of all good in man;

And next commemorating worthies lost,

The dead, in whom that good abounded most.

Thee therefore of commercial fame, but more

Fam'd for thy probity, from shore to shore--

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 misspent 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

Suffer'd 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 hadst an industry in doing good,

Restless as his who toils and sweats for food.

Av'rice in thee was the desire of wealth

By rust unperishable, 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 have given:

And though God made thee of a nature prone

To distribution, boundless, of thy own;

And still, by motives of religious force,

Impell'd thee more to that heroic course;

Yet was thy liberality discreet,

Nice in its choice, and of a temp'rate heat;

And, though in 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 th' 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.

This simple and sublime eulogy was a just tribute of respect to the

memory of this distinguished philanthropist; and, among the happiest

actions of this truly liberal man, we may reckon his furnishing to a

character so reserved and so retired as Cowper the means of enjoying

the gratification of active and costly beneficence; a gratification

in which the sequestered poet had delighted to indulge, before his

acquaintance with Mr. Newton afforded him an opportunity of being

concerned in distributing the private, yet extensive, bounty of an

opulent and exemplary merchant.

Cowper, before he quitted St. Alban's, assumed the charge of a

necessitous child, to extricate him from the perils of being

educated by very profligate parents; he sent him to a school at

Huntingdon, transferred him, on his removal, to Olney, and finally

settled him as an apprentice at Oundle, in Northamptonshire.

The warm, benevolent, and cheerful piety of Mr. Newton, induced his

friend Cowper to participate so abundantly in his parochial plans

and engagements, that the poet's time and thoughts were more and

more engrossed by devotional objects. He became a valuable auxiliary

to a faithful parish priest, superintended the religious exercises

of the poor, and engaged in an important undertaking, to which we

shall shortly have occasion to advert.

But in the midst of these pious duties he forgot not his distant

friends, and particularly his amiable relation and correspondent,

of the Park-house, near Hertford. The following letter to that

lady has no date, but it was probably written soon after his

establishment at Olney. The remarkable memento in the postscript

was undoubtedly introduced to counteract an idle rumour, arising

from the circumstance of his having settled himself under the roof

of a female friend, whose age and whose virtues he considered to be

sufficient securities to ensure her reputation as well as his own.

TO MRS. COWPER.

My dear Cousin,--I have not been behindhand in reproaching

myself with neglect, but desire to take shame to myself for my

unprofitableness in this, as well as in all other respects. I

take the next immediate opportunity, however, of thanking you for

yours, and of assuring you that, instead of being surprised at your

silence, I rather wonder that you or any of my friends have any room

left for so careless and negligent a correspondent in your memories.

I am obliged to you for the intelligence you send me of my kindred,

and rejoice to hear of their welfare. He who settles the bounds of

our habitations has at length cast our lot at a great distance from

each other, but I do not therefore forget their former kindness to

me, or cease to be interested in their well being. You live in the

centre of a world I know you do not 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 our inquiries after happiness in the creature may be a warm

pursuit and a close attachment to our true interests, in fellowship

and communion with Him, through the name and mediation of a dear

Redeemer. I bless his goodness and 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 with 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 sincere desire

to live just so long as I may be enabled, in some poor measure, to

answer 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. Your dear mother

is too good to me, and puts a more charitable construction upon my

silence than the fact will warrant. I am not better employed than

I should be in corresponding with her. I have that within which

hinders me wretchedly in every thing that I ought to do, and is

prone to trifle, and let time and every good thing run to waste. I

hope however to write to her soon.

My love and best wishes attend Mr. Cowper, and all that inquire

after me. May God be with you, to bless you and to do you good by

all his dispensations; do not forget me when you are speaking to our

best Friend before his mercy seat.

Yours ever,

W. C.

N.B. _I am not married._

* * * * *

In the year 1769, the lady to whom the preceding letters are

addressed was involved in domestic affliction; and the following,

which the poet wrote to her on the occasion, is so full of genuine

piety and true pathos, that it would be an injury to his memory to

suppress it.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Olney, Aug. 31, 1769.

My dear Cousin,--A letter from your brother Frederick brought me

yesterday the most afflicting intelligence that has reached me these

many years. I pray to 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 common 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 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 waters I will be with thee, and through

the rivers, they shall not overflow thee."[23] You have need of

such a word as this, and he knows your need of it, and the time of

necessity 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 sure, that he 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

chastens us in mercy. Surely he will sanctify this dispensation to

you, do you great and everlasting good by it, make the world appear

like dust and vanity in your sight, as it truly is, and open 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. Oh that comfortable word! "I have

chosen thee in the furnace of affliction;"[24] so that our very

sorrows are evidences of our calling, and he chastens us because we

are his children.

[23] Isaiah xliii. 2.

[24] Isaiah xlviii. 10.

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 with you, I pray for you; could I

do more I would, but God must comfort you.

Yours, in our dear Lord Jesus,

W. C.

* * * * *

In the following year the tender feelings of Cowper were called

forth by family affliction that pressed more immediately on himself;

he was hurried to Cambridge by the dangerous illness of his brother,

then residing as a fellow in Bene't College. An affection truly

fraternal had ever subsisted between the brothers, and the reader

will recollect what the poet has said, in one of his letters,

concerning their social intercourse while he resided at Huntingdon.

In the first two years of his residence at Olney, he had been

repeatedly visited by Mr. John Cowper, and how cordially he returned

that kindness and attention the following letter will testify, which

was probably written in the chamber of the invalid.

TO MRS. COWPER.

March 5, 1770.

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 hope of his recovery, I believe 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 his recovery, except by

a signal interposition of Providence in answer to prayer. His case

is clearly beyond 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 that you have found it so, and that under

the teaching of God's own Spirit we shall both be purified. It is

the desire of my soul to seek a better country, where God shall

wipe away all tears from the eyes of his people; and where, looking

back upon the ways by which he has led us, we shall be filled with

everlasting wonder, love, and praise.

I must add no more.

Yours ever,

W. C.

* * * * *

The sickness and death of his learned, pious, and affectionate

brother, made a very strong impression on the tender heart and

mind of Cowper--an impression so strong, that it induced him to

write a narrative of the remarkable circumstances which occurred

at the time. He sent a copy of this narrative to Mr. Newton. The

paper is curious in every point of view, and so likely to awaken

sentiments of piety in minds where it may be most desirable to have

them awakened, that Mr. Newton subsequently communicated it to the

public.[25]

[25] For this interesting document, see p. 465

Here it is necessary to introduce a brief account of the

interesting person whom the poet regarded so tenderly. John

Cowper was born in 1737. Being designed for the church, he

was privately educated by a clergyman, and became eminent for

the extent and variety of his erudition in the university of

Cambridge. The remarkable change in his views and principles is

copiously displayed by his brother, in recording the pious close

of his life. Bene't College, of which he was a fellow, was his

usual residence, and it became the scene of his death, on the

20th of March, 1770. Fraternal affection has executed a perfectly

just and graceful description of his character, both in prose and

verse. We transcribe both as highly honourable to these exemplary

brethren, who may indeed be said to have dwelt together in unity.

"he was a man" (says the poet in speaking of his deceased

brother) "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 could learn it by the report of

others, was perfectly decent and unblamable. 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 proficiency in it, that he had but few

rivals in that of a classical kind. 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 however as he was, he was easy and cheerful in his

conversation, 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!"

Another interesting tribute to his memory will be found in the

following letter.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, May 8, 1770.

Dear Joe,--Your letter did not reach me till the last post, when

I had not time to answer it. I left Cambridge immediately after

my brother's death.

I am obliged to you for the particular account you have sent me

* * * * He, to whom I have surrendered myself and all my concerns

has otherwise appointed, and let his will be done. He gives me

much which he withholds from others, and if he was pleased to

withhold all that makes an outward difference between me and the

poor mendicant in the street, it would still become me to say,

his will be done.

It pleased God to cut short my brother's connexions 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 come into my sentiments when I first acquainted

him with them, nor, in the many conversations which I afterward

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.

Alban's than he began to study, with the deepest attention, those

points in which we differed, 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, as leisure and opportunity were afforded.

Amongst his dying words were these: "Brother, I thought you

wrong, yet wanted to believe as you did. I found myself not able

to believe, yet always 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 learned to renounce his

righteousness 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 approach of it with joy, and died in

peace.

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

* * * * *

It is this simple yet firm reliance on the merits of the Saviour,

and on his atoning blood and righteousness, that can alone

impart true peace to the soul. Such was the faith of patriarchs,

prophets, and apostles; and such will be the faith of all who

are taught of God. Works do not go before, but follow after;

they are not the cause, but the effect; the fruits of faith, and

indispensable to glorify God, to attest the power and reality of

divine grace, and to determine the measure of our everlasting

reward.

Cowper's feelings on this impressive occasion are still further

disclosed in the following letter.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Olney, June 7, 1770.

My dear Cousin,--I am obliged to you for sometimes thinking of

an unseen friend, and bestowing a letter upon me. It gives me

pleasure to hear from you, especially to find that our gracious

Lord enables you to weather out the storms you meet with, and to

cast anchor within the veil.

You judge rightly of the manner in which I have been affected

by the Lord's late dispensation towards my brother. I found in

it cause of sorrow that I had 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

much more cause of joy, that it pleased God to give me 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. I doubt not that he enlightens

the understandings, and works a gracious change in the hearts of

many, in their last moments, whose surrounding friends are not

made acquainted with it.

He told me that, from the time he was first ordained, he began

to be dissatisfied with his religious opinions, and to suspect

that there were greater things concealed 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 upon the controverted

points, whose works he read with great diligence and attention,

comparing them all the while with the Scripture. None ever truly

and ingenuously sought the truth, but they found it. A spirit

of earnest inquiry 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 firm and

unshaken peace, in the belief of his ability and willingness to

save. As to the affair of the fortune-teller, he never mentioned

it to me, nor was there any such paper found as you mention. I

looked over all his papers before I left the place, and, had

there been such a one, must have discovered it. I have heard the

report from other quarters, but no other particulars than that

the woman foretold him when he should die. I suppose there may

be some truth in the matter, but, whatever he might think of it

before his knowledge of the truth, and however extraordinary

her predictions might really be, I am satisfied that he had

then received far other views of the wisdom and majesty of God,

than to suppose that he would entrust his secret counsels to a

vagrant, who did not mean, I suppose, to be understood to have

received her intelligence from the fountain of light, but thought

herself sufficiently honoured by any who would give her credit

for a secret intercourse of this kind with the prince of darkness.

Mrs. Unwin is much obliged to you for your kind inquiry after

her. She is well, I thank God, as usual, and sends her respects

to you. Her son is in the ministry, and has the living of Stock

in Essex. We were last week alarmed with an account of his being

dangerously ill; Mrs. Unwin went to see him, and in a few days

left him out of danger.

W. C.

* * * * *

The letters of the poet to this amiable relative afford a

pleasing insight into the recesses of his pious and sympathizing

mind; and, if they have awakened the interest which they are so

calculated to excite, the reader will feel concerned to find a

chasm of ten years in this valuable correspondence; the more so

as it was chiefly occasioned by a cause which it will soon be our

painful office to detail in the course of the ensuing passages.

In the autumn of the year in which he sustained the loss of his

excellent brother, he wrote the following letter to Mr. Hill.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[26]

[26] It is impossible to read this and the four following Letters

of Cowper to Mr. Hill, as well as a preceding one in page 27, and

not to remark their altered tone and diminished cordiality of

feeling. The forgetfulness of former ties and pursuits is often,

we know, made a subject of reproach against religious characters.

How then is Cowper to be vindicated? Does religion pervert the

feelings? We believe, on the contrary, that it purifies and

exalts them; but it changes their current, and fixes them on

higher and nobler objects. Cowper's mind, it must be remembered,

had experienced a great moral revolution, which had imparted a

new and powerful impression to his views and principles. In this

state of things Mr. Hill (lamenting possibly the change) solicits

his return to London, and to his former habits and associations.

But the relish for these enjoyments was gone; they had lost their

power to charm and captivate. "I am now more than ever," says

Cowper, "unwilling to revisit those noisy and crowded scenes,

which I never loved, and which I now abhor; the incidents of my

life have given an entire new turn to my whole character and

conduct, and rendered me incapable of receiving pleasure from

the same employments and amusements of which I could readily

partake in former days." (See page 28.) Hill reiterates the

invitation, and Cowper his refusal. Thus one party was advancing

in spirituality, while the other remained stationary. The bond

was therefore necessarily weakened, because identity of feeling

must ever constitute the basis of all human friendships and

intercourse; and the mind that has received a heavenly impulse

cannot return with its former ardour to the pursuit of earthly

objects. It cannot ascend and descend at the same moment. Such,

however, was the real worth and honesty of Mr. Hill, that their

friendship still survived, and a memorial of it is recorded in

lines familiar to every reader of Cowper.

"An honest man, close button'd to the chin,

Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within."

Olney, Sept. 25, 1770.

Dear Joe,--I have not done conversing with terrestrial objects,

though I should be happy were I able to hold more continual

converse with a Friend above the skies. He has my heart, but he

allows a corner in it for all who shew me kindness, and therefore

one for you. The storm of sixty-three made a wreck of the

friendships I had contracted in the course of many years, yours

excepted, which has survived the tempest.

I thank you for your repeated invitation. Singular thanks are due

to you for so _singular_ an instance of your regard. I could not

leave Olney, unless in a case of absolute necessity, without much

inconvenience to myself and others.

W. C.

* * * * *

The next year was distinguished by the marriage of his friend Mr.

Hill, to a lady of most estimable character, on which occasion

Cowper thus addressed him.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, August 27, 1771.

Dear Joe,--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 church, the subject of

derision to an unthinking world, but the glory and happiness of

all his people.

I join with your mother and sisters in their joy upon the present

occasion, and beg my affectionate respects to them and to Mrs.

Hill unknown.

Yours ever,

W. C.

* * * * *

We do not discover any further traces of his correspondence

in the succeeding year than the three following letters. The

first proves his great sense of honour and delicate feeling in

transactions of a pecuniary nature.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[27]

[27] Private correspondence.

Olney, June 27, 1772.

My dear Friend,--I only write to return you thanks for your kind

offer--_Agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ_. But I will endeavour to go

on without troubling you. Excuse an expression that dishonours your

friendship; I should rather say, it would be a trouble to myself,

and I know you will be generous enough to give me credit for the

assertion. I had rather want many things, any thing, indeed, that

this world could afford me, than abuse the affection of a friend.

I suppose you are sometimes troubled upon my account. But you need

not. I have no doubt it will be seen, when my days are closed, that

I served a Master who would not suffer me to want any thing that was

good for me. He said to Jacob, I will surely do thee good; and this

he said, not for his sake only, but for ours also, if we trust in

him. This thought relieves me from the greatest part of the distress

I should else suffer in my present circumstances, and enables me to

sit down peacefully upon the wreck of my fortune.

Yours ever, my dear friend,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[28]

Olney, July 2, 1772.

My dear Friend,--My obligations to you sit easy upon me, because I

am sure you confer them in the spirit of a friend. 'Tis pleasant to

some minds to confer obligations, and it is not unpleasant to others

to be properly sensible of them. I hope I have this pleasure--and

can, with a true sense of your kindness, subscribe myself,

Yours,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[28]

[28] Private correspondence.

Olney, Nov. 5, 1772.

Believe me, my dear friend, truly sensible of your invitation,

though I do not accept it. My peace of mind is of so delicate a

constitution, that the air of London will not agree with it. You

have my prayers, the only return I can make you for your many acts

of still-continued friendship.

If you should smile, or even laugh, at my conclusion, and I were

near enough to see it, I should not be angry, though I should be

grieved. It is not long since I should have laughed at such a

recompence myself. But, glory be to the name of Jesus, those days

are past, and, I trust, never to return!

I am yours, and Mrs. Hill's,

With much sincerity,

W. C.

* * * * *

The kind and affectionate intercourse which subsisted on the part

of Cowper and his beloved pastor, has already been adverted to in

the preceding history. It was the commerce of two kindred minds,

united by a participation in the same blessed hope, and seeking to

improve their union by seizing every opportunity of usefulness.

Friendship, to be durable, must be pure, virtuous, and holy. All

other associations are liable to the caprice of passion, and to

the changing tide of human events. It is not enough that there be

a natural coincidence of character and temperament, a similarity

of earthly pursuit and object; there must be materials of a

higher fabric, streams flowing from a purer source. There must be

the impress of divine grace stamping the same common image and

superscription on both hearts. A friendship founded on such a basis,

strengthened by time and opportunity, and nourished by the frequent

interchange of good offices, is perhaps the nearest approximation to

happiness attainable in this chequered life.

Such a friendship is beautifully portrayed by Cowper, in the

following passage in his Poem on Conversation; and it is highly

probable that he alludes to his own feelings on this occasion, and

to the connexion subsisting between himself and Newton.

True bliss, if man may reach it, is compos'd

Of hearts in union mutually disclos'd;

And, farewell else all hope of pure delight!

Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright:

Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd name,

Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame:

. . . . . . . . . . .

But souls, that carry on a blest exchange

Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range,

And, with a fearless confidence, make known

The sorrows sympathy esteems its own;

Daily derive increasing light and force

From such communion in their pleasant course;

Feel less the journey's roughness and its length,

Meet their opposers with united strength,

And, one in heart, in interest, and design,

Gird up each other to the race divine.

It is to the friendship and intercourse formed between these two

excellent men, that we are indebted for the origin of the Olney

Hymns. These hymns are too celebrated in the annals of sacred poetry

not to demand special notice in a life of Cowper, who contributed

to that collection some of the most beautiful and devotional

effusions that ever enriched this species of composition. They

were the joint production of the divine and the poet, and intended

(as the former expressly says in his preface) "as a monument to

perpetuate the remembrance of an intimate and endeared friendship."

They were subsequently introduced into the parish church of Olney,

with the view of raising the tone and character of church psalmody.

The old version of Sternhold and Hopkins, previously used, and

still retained in many of our churches, was considered to be too

antiquated in its language, and not sufficiently imbued with the

characteristic features of the Gospel dispensation, to be adapted

to the advancing spirit of religion. It was to supply this defect

that the above work was thus introduced, and the acceptance with

which it was received fully justified the expectation. Viewed in

this light, it is a kind of epoch in the history of the Established

Church. Other communities of Christians had long employed the

instrumentality of hymns to embody the feelings of devotion; but

our own church had not felt this necessity, or adopted the custom;

prejudice had even interposed, in some instances, to resist their

introduction, till the right was fully established by the decision

of law.[29] The prejudices of past times are, however, at length,

rapidly giving way to the wishes and demands of modern piety; and

we can now appeal to the versions of a Stewart, a Noel, a Pratt, a

Bickersteth, and many others, as a most suitable vehicle for this

devotional exercise. The Olney Hymns are entitled to the praise of

being the precursors of this improved mode of psalmody, jointly with

the Collection of the Rev. M. Madan, at the Lock, and that of Mr.

Berridge, at Everton.

[29] The Rev. T. Cotterill, formerly of Sheffield, and in

much esteem for his piety and usefulness, was the first who

established this right by a judicial proceeding.

But, independently of this circumstance, they present far higher

claims. They portray the varied emotions of the human heart in

its conflicts with sin, and aspirations after holiness. We there

contemplate the depression of sorrow and the triumph of hope; the

terrors inspired by the law and the confidence awakened by the

Gospel; and, what may be considered as the genuine transcript of the

poet's own mind, especially in the celebrated hymn, ("God moves in

a mysterious way," &c.,) we see depicted, in impressive language,

the struggles of a faith trying to penetrate into the dark and

mysterious dispensations of God, and at length reposing on his

unchangeable faithfulness and love. These sentiments and feelings,

so descriptive of the exercises of the soul, find a response in

every awakened heart; and the church of Christ will never cease

to claim its property in effusions like these till the Christian

warfare is ended, and the perceptions of erring reason and sense are

exchanged for the bright visions of eternity.

The undertaking commenced about the year 1771, though the collection

was not finally completed and published till 1779. The total number

contributed by Cowper was sixty-eight hymns. They are distinguished

by the initial letter of his name. It was originally stipulated

that each should bear their proportion in this joint labour, till

the whole work was accomplished. With this understanding, the pious

design was gradually proceeding in its auspicious course, when, by

one of those solemn and mysterious dispensations from which neither

rank, nor genius, nor moral excellence can claim exemption, it

pleased Him whose "way is in the deep," and whose "footsteps are

not known," and of whom it is emphatically said, "that clouds and

darkness are round about him," though "righteousness and judgment

are the habitation of his throne," to suspend the powers of this

interesting sufferer, and once more to shroud them in darkness.

In contemplating this event, in the peculiarity of its time,

character, and consequences, well may we exclaim, "Lord, what is

man!" and, while the consciousness of the infinite wisdom and mercy

of God precludes us from saying, "What doest Thou?" we feel that it

must be reserved for eternity to develop the mysterious design of

these dispensations.

It was in the year 1773 that this afflicting malady returned. Cowper

sank into such severe paroxysms of religious despondency, that he

required an attendant of the most gentle, vigilant, and inflexible

spirit. Such an attendant he found in that faithful guardian, whom

he had professed to love as a mother, and who watched over him

during this long fit of a most depressing malady, extended through

several years, with that perfect mixture of tenderness and fortitude

which constitutes the characteristic feature of female services. I

wish to pass rapidly over this calamitous period, and shall only

observe that nothing could surpass the sufferings of the patient or

excel the care of the nurse. Her unremitting attentions received the

most delightful of rewards in seeing the pure and powerful mind, to

whose restoration she had so greatly contributed, not only gradually

restored to the common enjoyments of life, but successively endowed

with new and marvellous funds of diversified talents, and a

vigorous application of them.

The spirit of Cowper emerged by slow degrees from its deep

dejection; and, before his mind was sufficiently recovered to employ

itself on literary composition, it sought and found much relief

and amusement in domesticating a little group of hares. On his

expressing a wish to divert himself by rearing a single leveret, the

good-nature of his neighbours supplied him with three. The variety

of their dispositions became a source of great entertainment to

his compassionate and contemplative spirit. One of the trio he has

celebrated in the Task, and a very animated and minute account of

this singular family, humanized, and described most admirably by

himself in prose, appeared first in the Gentleman's Magazine, and

was subsequently inserted in the second volume of his poems. These

interesting animals had not only the honour of being cherished and

celebrated by a poet, but the pencil has also contributed to their

renown.

His three tame hares, Mrs. Unwin, and Mr. Newton, were, for a

considerable time, the only companions of Cowper; but, as Mr. Newton

was removed to a distance from his afflicted friend by preferment in

London,[30] (to which he was presented by that liberal encourager

of active piety, Mr. Thornton,) before he left Olney, in 1780, he

humanely triumphed over the strong reluctance of Cowper to see a

stranger, and kindly introduced him to the regard and good offices

of the Rev. Mr. Bull of Newport-Pagnell. This excellent man, so

distinguished by his piety and wit, and honoured by the friendship

of John Thornton, from that time considered it to be his duty to

visit the invalid once a fortnight, and acquired, by degrees, his

cordial and confidential esteem.

[30] He was presented to the living of St. Mary Woolnoth, in the

city.--ED.

The affectionate temper of Cowper inclined him particularly to exert

his talents at the request of his friends, even in seasons when such

exertion could hardly have been made without a painful degree of

self-command.

At the suggestion of Mr. Newton, we have seen him writing a series

of hymns: at the request of Mr. Bull, he translated several

spiritual songs, from the poetry of Madame de la Mothe Guyon, the

tender and mystical French writer, whose talents and misfortunes

drew upon her a long series of persecution from many acrimonious

bigots, and secured to her the friendship of the mild and pious

Fenelon!

We shall perceive, as we advance, that the more distinguished works

of Cowper were also written at the express desire of persons whom

he particularly regarded; and it may be remarked, to the honour

of friendship, that he considered its influence as the happiest

inspiration; or, to use his own expressive words,

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,

Should be the poet's heart:

Affection lights a brighter flame

Than ever blazed by art.

The poetry of Cowper is itself an admirable illustration of this

maxim; and perhaps the maxim may point to the principal source of

that uncommon force and felicity with which this most feeling poet

commands the affection of his reader.

In delineating the life of an author, it seems the duty of biography

to indicate the degree of influence which the warmth of his heart

produced on the fertility of his mind. But those mingled flames

of friendship and poetry, which were to burst forth with the most

powerful effect in the compositions of Cowper, were not yet kindled.

His depressing malady had suspended the exercise of his genius for

several years, and precluded him from renewing his correspondence

with the relation whom he so cordially regarded in Hertfordshire,

except by brief letters on pecuniary concerns.

We insert the following as discovering symptoms of approaching

convalescence.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[31]

Olney, Nov. 12, 1776.

Dear Friend,--One to whom fish is so welcome as it is to me, can

have no great occasion to distinguish the sorts. In general,

therefore, whatever fish are likely to think a jaunt into the

country agreeable will be sure to find me ready to receive them.

Having suffered so much by nervous fevers myself, I know how to

congratulate Ashley upon his recovery. Other distempers only batter

the walls; but _they_ creep silently into the citadel and put the

garrison to the sword.

You perceive I have not made a squeamish use of your obliging

offer. The remembrance of past years, and of the sentiments

formerly exchanged in our evening walks, convinces me still that

an unreserved acceptance of what is graciously offered is the

handsomest way of dealing with one of your character.

Believe me yours,

W. C.

As to the frequency, which you leave to my choice too, you have no

need to exceed the number of your former remittances.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[31]

[31] Private correspondence.

Olney, April--I fancy the 20th, 1777.

My dear Friend,--Thanks for a turbot, a lobster, and Captain

Brydone;[32] a gentleman, who relates his travels so agreeably,

that he deserves always to travel with an agreeable companion. I

have been reading Gray's Works, and think him the only poet since

Shakspeare entitled to the character of sublime. Perhaps you

will remember that I once had a different opinion of him. I was

prejudiced. He did not belong to our Thursday society, and was an

Eton man, which lowered him prodigiously in our esteem. I once

thought Swift's Letters the best that could be written; but I like

Gray's better. His humour, or his wit, or whatever it is to be

called, is never ill-natured or offensive, and yet, I think, equally

poignant with the Dean's.

I am yours affectionately,

W. C.

[32] "Brydone," author of Travels in Sicily and Malta. They are

written with much interest, but he indulges in remarks on the

subject of Mount Etna which rather militate against the Mosaic

account of the creation.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[33]

[33] Private correspondence.

Olney, May 25, 1777.

My dear Friend,--We differ not much in our opinion of Gray. When I

wrote last, I was in the middle of the book. His later Epistles, I

think, are worth little, _as such_, but might be turned to excellent

account by a young student of taste and judgment. As to West's

Letters, I think I could easily bring your opinion of them to square

with mine. They are elegant and sensible, but have nothing in them

that is characteristic, or that discriminates them from the letters

of any other young man of taste and learning. As to the book you

mention, I am in doubt whether to read it or not. I should like

the philosophical part of it, but the political, which, I suppose,

is a detail of intrigues carried on by the Company and their

servants,[34] a history of rising and falling nabobs, I should have

no appetite to at all. I will not, therefore, give you the trouble

of sending it at present.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

[34] Cowper here alludes to the celebrated work of the Abbé

Raynal, entitled "Philosophical and Political History of the

Establishments and Commerce of Europeans in the two Indies."

This book created a very powerful sensation, being written with

great freedom of sentiment and boldness of remark, conveyed in

an eloquent though rather declamatory style. Such was the alarm

excited in France by this publication, that a decree passed the

Parliament of Paris, by which the work was ordered to be burnt.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[31]

Olney, July 13, 1777.

My dear Friend,--You need not give yourself any further trouble

to procure me the South Sea Voyages. Lord Dartmouth, who was here

about a month since, and was so kind as to pay me two visits, has

furnished me with both Cook's and Forster's. 'Tis well for the poor

natives of those distant countries that our national expenses cannot

be supplied by cargoes of yams and bananas. Curiosity, therefore,

being once satisfied, they may possibly be permitted for the future

to enjoy their riches of that kind in peace.

If, when you are most at leisure, you can find out Baker upon the

Microscope, or Vincent Bourne's Latin Poems, the last edition, and

send them, I shall be obliged to you--either, or both, if they can

be easily found.

I am yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[35]

Olney, Jan. 1, 1778.

My dear Friend,--Your last packet was doubly welcome, and Mrs.

Hill's kindness gives me peculiar pleasure, not as coming from a

stranger to me, for I do not account her so, though I never saw her,

but as coming from one so nearly connected with yourself. I shall

take care to acknowledge the receipt of her obliging letter, when

I return the books. Assure yourself, in the mean time, that I read

as if the librarian was at my elbow, continually jogging it, and

growling out, Make haste. But, as I read aloud, I shall not have

finished before the end of the week, and will return them by the

diligence next Monday.

I shall be glad if you will let me know whether I am to understand

by the sorrow you express that any part of my former supplies is

actually cut off, or whether they are only more tardy in coming in

than usual. It is useful, even to the rich, to know, as nearly as

may be, the exact amount of their income; but how much more so to

a man of my small dimensions! If the former should be the case, I

shall have less reason to be surprised than I have to wonder at the

continuance of them so long. Favours are favours indeed, when laid

out upon so barren a soil, where the expense of sowing is never

accompanied by the smallest hope of return. What pain there is in

gratitude, I have often felt; but the pleasure of requiting an

obligation has always been out of my reach.

Affectionately yours,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[35]

[35] Private correspondence.

Olney, April 11, 1778.

My dear Friend,--Poor Sir Thomas![36] I knew that I had a place in

his affections, and, from his own information many years ago, a

place in his will; but little thought that after a lapse of so many

years I should still retain it. His remembrance of me, after so long

a season of separation, has done me much honour, and leaves me the

more reason to regret his decease.

[36] Sir Thomas Hesketh, Baronet, of Rufford Hall, in Lancashire.

I am reading the Abbé with great satisfaction,[37] and think him the

most intelligent writer upon so extensive a subject I ever met with;

in every respect superior to the Abbé in Scotland.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

[37] Raynal.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[38]

Olney, May 7, 1778.

My dear Friend,--I have been in continual fear lest every post

should bring a summons for the Abbé Raynal, and am glad that I have

finished him before my fears were realized. I have kept him long,

but not through neglect or idleness. I read the five volumes to Mrs.

Unwin; and my voice will seldom serve me with more than an hour's

reading at a time. I am indebted to him for much information upon

subjects which, however interesting, are so remote from those with

which country folks in general are conversant, that, had not his

works reached me at Olney, I should have been for ever ignorant of

them.

I admire him as a philosopher, as a writer, as a man of

extraordinary intelligence, and no less extraordinary abilities to

digest it. He is a true patriot. But then the world is his country.

The frauds and tricks of the cabinet and the counter seem to be

equally objects of his aversion. And, if he had not found that

religion too had undergone a mixture of artifice, in its turn,

perhaps he would have been a Christian.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[38]

[38] Private correspondence.

Olney, June 18, 1778.

My dear Friend,--I truly rejoice that the Chancellor has made you

such a present, that he has given such an additional lustre to it

by his manner of conferring it, and that all this happened before

you went to Wargrave, because it made your retirement there the

more agreeable. This is just according to the character of the man.

He will give grudgingly in answer to solicitation, but delights in

surprising those he esteems with his bounty. May you live to receive

still further proofs that I am not mistaken in my opinion of him!

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, June 18, 1778.

Dear Unwin,--I feel myself much obliged to you for your intimation,

and have given the subject of it all my best attention, both before

I received your letter and since. The result is, that I am persuaded

it will be better not to write. I know the man and his disposition

well; he is very liberal in his way of thinking, generous, and

discerning. He is well aware of the tricks that are played upon such

occasions, and, after fifteen years' interruption of all intercourse

between us, would translate my letter into this language--pray

remember the poor.[39] This would disgust him, because he would

think our former intimacy disgraced by such an oblique application.

He has not forgotten me, and, if he had, there are those about him

who cannot come into his presence without reminding him of me, and

he is also perfectly acquainted with my circumstances. It would,

perhaps, give him pleasure to surprise me with a benefit, and if he

means me such a favour, I should disappoint him by asking it.

I repeat my thanks for your suggestion: you see a part of my reasons

for thus conducting myself; if we were together, I could give you

more.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, May 26, 1779.

I am obliged to you for the Poets, and, though I little thought

that I was translating so much money out of your pocket into the

bookseller's, when I turned Prior's poem into Latin, yet I must

needs say that, if you think it worth while to purchase the English

Classics at all, you cannot possess yourself of them upon better

terms. I have looked into some of the volumes, but, not having yet

finished the Register, have merely looked into them. A few things I

have met with, which, if they had been burned the moment they were

written, it would have been better for the author, and at least as

well for his readers. There is not much of this, but a little is

too much. I think it a pity the editor admitted any; the English

muse would have lost no credit by the omission of such trash. Some

of them, again, seem to me to have but a very disputable right to

a place among the Classics, and I am quite at a loss, when I see

them in such company, to conjecture what is Dr. Johnson's idea or

definition of classical merit. But, if he inserts the poems of some

who can hardly be said to deserve such an honour, the purchaser may

comfort himself with the hope that he will exclude none that do.

W. C.

[39] Mr. Unwin had suggested to Cowper the propriety of an

application to Lord Thurlow for some mark of favour; which the

latter never conferred, and which Cowper was resolved never to

solicit.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.[40]

Olney, July,--79.

My dear Friend,--When I was at Margate, it was an excursion of

pleasure to go to see Ramsgate. The pier, I remember, was accounted

a most excellent piece of stone-work, and such I found it. By this

time, I suppose, it is finished, and surely it is no small advantage

that you have an opportunity of observing how nicely those great

stones are put together, as often as you please, without either

trouble or expense.

* * * * *

There was not, at that time, much to be seen in the Isle of Thanet,

besides the beauty of the country and the fine prospects of the

sea, which are no where surpassed, except in the Isle of Wight,

or upon some parts of the coast of Hampshire. One sight, however,

I remember, engaged my curiosity, and I went to see it--a fine

piece of ruins, built by the late Lord Holland at a great expense,

which, the day after I saw it, tumbled down for nothing. Perhaps,

therefore, it is still a ruin; and, if it is, I would advise you by

all means to visit it, as it must have been much improved by this

fortunate incident. It is hardly possible to put stones together

with that air of wild and magnificent disorder which they are sure

to acquire by falling of their own accord.

I remember (the last thing I mean to remember upon this occasion)

that Sam Cox, the counsel, walking by the sea-side, as if absorbed

in deep contemplation, was questioned about what he was musing

on. He replied, "I was wondering that such an almost infinite and

unwieldy element should produce _a sprat_."

Our love attends your whole party.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.[40]

[40] Private correspondence.

Olney, July 17, 1779.

My dear Friend,--We envy you your sea-breezes. In the garden we feel

nothing but the reflection of the heat from the walls, and in the

parlour, from the opposite houses. I fancy Virgil was so situated,

when he wrote those two beautiful lines:

... Oh quis me gelidis in vallibus Hæmi

Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbrâ!

The worst of it is that, though the sunbeams strike as forcibly upon

my harp-strings as they did upon his, they elicit no such sounds,

but rather produce such groans as they are said to have drawn from

those of the statue of Memnon.

As you have ventured to make the experiment, your own experience

will be your best guide in the article of bathing. An inference

will hardly follow, though one should pull at it with all one's

might, from Smollett's case to yours. He was corpulent, muscular,

and strong; whereas, if you were either stolen or strayed, such

a description of you in an advertisement would hardly direct an

inquirer with sufficient accuracy and exactness. But, if bathing

does not make your head ache, or prevent you sleeping at night, I

should imagine it could not hurt you.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Sept. 21, 1779.

_Amico mio_, be pleased to buy me a glazier's diamond pencil. I

have glazed the two frames, designed to receive my pine plants.

But I cannot mend the kitchen windows, till, by the help of that

implement, I can reduce the glass to its proper dimensions. If I

were a plumber, I should be a complete glazier, and possibly the

happy time may come, when I shall be seen trudging away to the

neighbouring towns with a shelf of glass hanging at my back. If

government should impose another tax upon that commodity, I hardly

know a business in which a gentleman might more successfully employ

himself. A Chinese, of ten times my fortune, would avail himself

of such an opportunity without scruple; and why should not I, who

want money as much as any mandarin in China? Rousseau would have

been charmed to have seen me so occupied, and would have exclaimed

with rapture "that he had found the Emilius who, he supposed, had

subsisted only in his own idea." I would recommend it to you to

follow my example. You will presently qualify yourself for the task,

and may not only amuse yourself at home, but may even exercise your

skill in mending the church windows; which, as it would save money

to the parish, would conduce, together with your other ministerial

accomplishments, to make you extremely popular in the place.

I have eight pair of tame pigeons. When I first enter the garden in

the morning, I find them perched upon the wall, waiting for their

breakfast, for I feed them always upon the gravel walk. If your wish

should be accomplished, and you should find yourself furnished with

the wings of a dove, I shall undoubtedly find you amongst them. Only

be so good, if that should be the case, to announce yourself by

some means or other. For I imagine your crop will require something

better than tares to fill it.

Your mother and I, last week, made a trip in a post-chaise to

Gayhurst, the seat of Mr. Wright, about four miles off. He

understood that I did not much affect strange faces, and sent

over his servant, on purpose to inform me that he was going into

Leicestershire, and that if I chose to see the gardens I might

gratify myself without danger of seeing the proprietor. I accepted

the invitation, and was delighted with all I found there. The

situation is happy, the gardens elegantly disposed, the hot-house

in the most flourishing state, and the orange-trees the most

captivating creatures of the kind I ever saw. A man, in short, had

need have the talents of Cox or Langford, the auctioneers, to do the

whole scene justice.

Our love attends you all.

Yours,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[41]

[41] Private correspondence.

Olney, Oct. 2, 1779.

My dear Friend,--You begin to count the remaining days of the

vacation, not with impatience, but through unwillingness to see the

end of it. For the mind of man, at least of most men, is equally

busy in anticipating the evil and the good. That word _anticipation_

puts me in remembrance of the pamphlet of that name, which, if you

purchased, I should be glad to borrow. I have seen only an extract

from it in the Review, which made me laugh heartily and wish to

peruse the whole.

The newspaper informs me of the arrival of the Jamaica fleet. I hope

it imports some pine-apple plants for me. I have a good frame, and

a good bed prepared to receive them. I send you annexed a fable, in

which the pine-apple makes a figure, and shall be glad if you like

the taste of it. Two pair of soles, with shrimps, which arrived last

night, demand my acknowledgments. You have heard that when Arion

performed upon the harp the fish followed him. I really have no

design to fiddle you out of more fish; but, if you should esteem my

verses worthy of such a price, though I shall never be so renowned

as he was, I shall think myself equally indebted to the Muse that

helps me.

THE PINE APPLE AND THE BEE.

"The pine-apples," &c.[42]

My affectionate respects attend Mrs. Hill. She has put Mr. Wright to

the expense of building a new hot-house: the plants produced by the

seeds she gave me having grown so large as to require an apartment

by themselves.

Yours,

W. C.

[42] Vide Cowper's Poems.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Oct. 31, 1779.

My dear Friend,--I wrote my last letter merely to inform you that

I had nothing to say, in answer to which you have said nothing. I

admire the propriety of your conduct, though I am a loser by it. I

will endeavour to say something now, and shall hope for something in

return.

I have been well entertained with Johnson's biography, for which I

thank you: with one exception, and that a swingeing one, I think he

has not acquitted himself with his usual good sense and sufficiency.

His treatment of Milton is unmerciful 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 discovered 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 prattlement 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 prejudice, against the harmony of Milton's. Was there

ever any thing so delightful as the music of the Paradise Lost? It

is like that of a fine organ; has the fullest and 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.

I could talk a good while longer, but I have no room. Our love

attends you.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[43]

[43] Private correspondence.

Olney, Nov. 14, 1779.

My dear Friend,--Your approbation of my last Heliconian present

encourages me to send you another. I wrote it, indeed, on purpose

for you; for my subjects are not always such as I could hope would

prove agreeable to you. My mind has always a melancholy cast, and

is like some pools I have seen, which, though filled with a black

and putrid water, will nevertheless, in a bright day, reflect the

sunbeams from their surface.

ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, &c.[44]

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

[44] Vide Cowper's Poems.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Dec. 2, 1779.

My dear Friend,--How quick is the succession of human events! The

cares of to-day are seldom the cares of to-morrow; and when we lie

down at night, we may safely say to most of our troubles--"Ye have

done your worst, and we shall meet no more."

This observation was suggested to me by reading your last letter,

which, though I have written since I received it, I have never

answered. When that epistle passed under your pen, you were

miserable about your tithes, and your imagination was hung round

with pictures, that terrified you to such a degree as made even the

receipt of money burthensome. But it is all over now. You sent away

your farmers in good humour, (for you can make people merry whenever

you please,) and now you have nothing to do but to chink your purse

and laugh at what is past. Your delicacy makes you groan under that

which other men never feel, or feel but lightly. A fly that settles

upon the tip of the nose is troublesome; and this is a comparison

adequate to the most that mankind in general are sensible of upon

such tiny occasions. But the flies that pester you always get

between your eye-lids, where the annoyance is almost insupportable.

I would follow your advice, and endeavour to furnish Lord North with

a scheme of supplies for the ensuing year, if the difficulty I find

in answering the call of my own emergencies did not make me despair

of satisfying those of the nation. I can say but this: if I had ten

acres of land in the world, whereas I have not one, and in those ten

acres should discover a gold mine, richer than all Mexico and Peru,

when I had reserved a few ounces for my own annual supply I would

willingly give the rest to government. My ambition would be more

gratified by annihilating the national incumbrances than by going

daily down to the bottom of a mine, to wallow in my own emolument.

This is patriotism--you will allow; but, alas! this virtue is for

the most part in the hands of those who can do no good with it!

He that has but a single handful of it catches so greedily at the

first opportunity of growing rich, that his patriotism drops to the

ground, and he grasps the gold instead of it. He that never meets

with such an opportunity holds it fast in his clenched fists, and

says--"Oh, how much good I would do if I could!"

Your mother says--"Pray send my dear love." There is hardly room to

add mine, but you will suppose it.

Yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Feb. 27, 1780.

My dear Friend,--As you are pleased to desire my letters, I am

the more pleased with writing them; though, at the same time, I

must needs testify my surprise that you should think them worth

receiving, as I seldom send one that I think favourably of myself.

This is not to be understood as an imputation upon your taste or

judgment, but as an encomium upon my own modesty and humility,

which I desire you to remark well. It is a just observation of Sir

Joshua Reynolds, that, though men of ordinary talents may be highly

satisfied with their own productions, men of true genius never

are. Whatever be their subject, they always seem to themselves to

fall short of it, even when they seem to others most to excel;

and for this reason--because they have a certain sublime sense

of perfection, which other men are strangers to, and which they

themselves in their performances are not able to exemplify. Your

servant, Sir Joshua! I little thought of seeing you when I began,

but as you have popped in you are welcome.

When I wrote last, I was a little inclined to send you a copy of

verses, entitled the Modern Patriot, but was not quite pleased with

a line or two, which I found it difficult to mend, therefore did

not. At night I read Mr. Burke's speech in the newspaper, and was so

well pleased with his proposals for a reformation, and the temper

in which he made them, that I began to think better of his cause,

and burnt my verses. Such is the lot of the man who writes upon

the subject of the day; the aspect of affairs changes in an hour

or two, and his opinion with it; what was just and well-deserved

satire in the morning, in the evening becomes a libel; the author

commences his own judge, and, while he condemns with unrelenting

severity what he so lately approved, is sorry to find that he has

laid his leaf-gold upon touchwood, which crumbled away under his

fingers. Alas! what can I do with my wit? I have not enough to do

great things with, and these little things are so fugitive, that,

while a man catches at the subject, he is only filling his hand with

smoke. I must do with it as I do with my linnet: I keep him for

the most part in a cage, but now and then set open the door, that

he may whisk about the room a little, and then shut him up again.

My whisking wit has produced the following, the subject of which

is more important than the manner in which I have treated it seems

to imply, but a fable may speak truth, and all truth is sterling;

I only premise that, in the philosophical tract in the Register, I

found it asserted, that the glow-worm is the nightingale's food.[45]

[45] This letter contained the beautiful fable of the Nightingale

and the Glow-worm.

An officer of a regiment, part of which is quartered here, gave one

of the soldiers leave to be drunk six weeks, in hopes of curing him

by satiety; he _was_ drunk six weeks, and is so still, as often as

he can find an opportunity. One vice may swallow up another, but no

coroner, in the state of Ethics, ever brought in his verdict, when a

vice died, that it was--_felo de se_.

Thanks for all you have done, and all you intend; the biography will

be particularly welcome.

Yours,

W. C.

TO MRS. NEWTON.[46]

[46] Private correspondence.

Olney, March 4, 1780.

Dear Madam,--To communicate surprise is almost, perhaps quite, as

agreeable as to receive it. This is my present motive for writing

to you rather than to Mr. Newton. He would be pleased with hearing

from me, but he would not be surprised at it; you see, therefore, I

am selfish upon the present occasion, and principally consult my own

gratification. Indeed, if I consulted yours, I should be silent, for

I have no such budget as the minister's, furnished and stuffed with

ways and means for every emergency, and shall find it difficult,

perhaps, to raise supplies even for a short epistle.

You have observed, in common conversation, that the man who coughs

the oftenest (I mean if he has not a cold), does it because he has

nothing to say. Even so it is in letter-writing: a long preface,

such as mine, is an ugly symptom, and always forebodes great

sterility in the following pages.

The vicarage-house became a melancholy object as soon as Mr. Newton

had left it; when you left it, it became more melancholy: now it

is actually occupied by another family, even I cannot look at it

without being shocked. As I walked in the garden this 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 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 could hardly, perhaps, be

distinguished from that of Mr. Newton. But Mr. Newton's foot will

never be heard upon that staircase again. These reflections, and

such as these, occurred to me upon the occasion.... If I were in a

condition to leave Olney too, I certainly would not stay in it. It

is no attachment 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.

Such are my thoughts about the matter. Others are more deeply

affected, and by more weighty considerations, having been many

years the objects of a ministry which they had reason to account

themselves happy in the possession of....

We were concerned at your account of Robert, and have little doubt

but he will shuffle himself out of his place. Where he will find

another is a question not to be resolved by those who recommended

him to this. I wrote him a long letter a day or two after the

receipt of yours, but I am afraid it was only clapping a blister

upon the crown of a wig-block.

My respects attend Mr. Newton and yourself, accompanied with much

affection for you both.

Yours, dear Madam,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[47]

[47] Private correspondence.

Olney, March 16, 1780.

My dear Friend,--If I had had the horns of a snail, I should have

drawn them in the moment I saw the reason of your epistolary

brevity, because I felt it too. May your seven reams be multiplied

into fourteen, till your letters become truly Lacedæmonian, and are

reduced to a single syllable. Though I shall be a sufferer by the

effect, I shall rejoice in the cause. You are naturally formed for

business, and such a head as yours can never have too much of it.

Though my predictions have been fulfilled in two instances, I do not

plume myself much upon my sagacity; because it required but little

to foresee that Thurlow would be Chancellor, and that you would

have a crowded office. As to the rest of my connexions, there too I

have given proof of equal foresight, with not a jot more reason for

vanity.

* * * * *

To use the phrase of all who ever wrote upon the state of Europe,

the political horizon is dark indeed. The cloud has been thickening,

and the thunder advancing many years. The storm now seems to

be vertical, and threatens to burst upon the land, as if with

the next clap it would shake all to pieces.--As for me, I am no

Quaker, except where military matters are in question, and there

I am much of the same mind with an honest man, who, when he was

forced into the service, declared he would not fight, and gave this

reason--because he saw nothing worth fighting for. You will say,

perhaps, is not liberty worth a struggle? True: but will success

ensure it to me? Might I not, like the Americans, emancipate myself

from one master only to serve a score, and with laurels upon my brow

sigh for my former chains again?

Many thanks for your kind invitation. Ditto to Mrs. Hill, for the

seeds--unexpected, and therefore the more welcome.

You gave me great pleasure by what you say of my uncle.[48] His

motto shall be

Hic ver perpetuum atque alienis mensibus æstas.

I remember the time when I have been kept waking by the fear that he

would die before me; but now I think I shall grow old first.

Yours, my dear friend, affectionately,

W. C.

[48] Ashley Cowper, Esq.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, March 18, 1780.

I am obliged to you for the communication of your correspondence

with ----. It was impossible for any man, of any temper whatever,

and however wedded to his own purpose, to resent so gentle and

friendly an exhortation as you sent him. Men of lively imaginations

are not often remarkable for solidity of judgment. They have

generally strong passions to bias it, and are led far away from

their proper road, in pursuit of petty phantoms of their own

creating. No law ever did or can effect what he has ascribed to

that of Moses: it is reserved for mercy to subdue the corrupt

inclinations of mankind, which threatenings and penalties, through

the depravity of the heart, have always had a tendency rather to

inflame.

The love of power seems as natural to kings as the desire of liberty

is to their subjects; the excess of either is vicious and tends to

the ruin of both. There are many, I believe who wish the present

corrupt state of things dissolved, in hope that the pure primitive

constitution will spring up from the ruins. But it is not for man,

by himself man, to bring order out of confusion: the progress from

one to the other is not natural, much less necessary, and, without

the intervention of divine aid, impossible; and they who are for

making the hazardous experiment would certainly find themselves

disappointed.

Affectionately yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, March 28, 1780.

My dear Friend,--I have heard nothing more from Mr. Newton, upon

the subject you mention; but I dare say, that, having been given

to expect the benefit of your nomination in behalf of his nephew,

he still depends upon it. His obligations to Mr. ---- have been so

numerous and so weighty, that, though he has in a few instances

prevailed upon himself to recommend an object now and then to his

patronage, he has very sparingly, if at all, exercised his interest

with him in behalf of his own relations.

With respect to the advice you are required to give 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 upon

the occasion, not because I think you want them, but because it

would seem unkind to withhold them. The sabbath then, I think,

may be considered, first, as a commandment no less binding upon

modern Christians, than upon ancient Jews, because the spiritual

people amongst them did not think it enough to abstain from manual

occupations upon that day, but, entering more deeply into the

meaning of the precept, allotted those hours they took from the

world to the cultivation of holiness in their own souls, which ever

was, and ever will be, a duty incumbent upon all who ever heard

of a sabbath, and is of perpetual obligation both upon Jews and

Christians; (the commandment, therefore, enjoins it; the prophets

have also enforced it; and in many instances, both scriptural and

modern, the breach of it has been punished with a providential and

judicial severity, that may make by-standers tremble:) secondly,

as a privilege, which you well 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 remaineth; fourthly, as a

_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 complied with

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, could I ask my catechumen

one short question--"Do you love the day, or do you not? If you love

it, you will never inquire how far you may safely deprive yourself

of the enjoyment of it. If you do not love it, and you find yourself

obliged in conscience 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 was 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."

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, April 6, 1780.

My dear Friend,--I never was, any more than yourself, a friend

to pluralities; they are generally found in the hands of the

avaricious, whose insatiable hunger after preferment proves them

unworthy of any at all. They attend much to the regular payment

of their dues, but not at all to the spiritual interests of their

parishioners. Having forgot their duty, or never known it, they

differ in nothing from the laity, except their outward garb and

their exclusive right to the desk and pulpit. But when pluralities

seek the man instead of being sought by him, and when the man is

honest, conscientious, and pious, careful to employ a substitute,

in those respects, like himself; and, not contented with this, will

see with his own eyes that the concerns of his parishes are decently

and diligently administered; in that case, considering the present

dearth of such characters in the ministry, I think it an event

advantageous to the people, and much to be desired by all who regret

the great and apparent want of sobriety and earnestness among the

clergy.[49] A man who does not seek a living merely as a pecuniary

emolument has no need, in my judgment, to refuse one because it is

so. He means to do his duty, and by doing it he earns his wages. The

two rectories being contiguous to each other, and following easily

under the care of one pastor, and both so near to Stock that you

can visit them without difficulty as often as you please, I see no

reasonable objection, nor does your mother. As to the wry-mouthed

sneers and illiberal misconstructions of the censorious, I know no

better shield to guard you against them than what you are already

furnished with--a clear and unoffended conscience.

[49] A happy change has occurred since this period, and the

revival of piety in the Church of England must be perceptible to

every observer.--ED.

I am obliged to you for what you said upon the subject of

book-buying, and am very fond of availing myself of another man's

pocket, when I can do it creditably to myself and without injury to

him. Amusements are necessary in a retirement like mine, especially

in such a sable state of mind as I labour under. The necessity of

amusement makes me sometimes write verses--it made me a carpenter, a

bird-cage maker, a gardener--and has lately taught me to draw, and

to draw too with such surprising proficiency in the art, considering

my total ignorance of it two months ago, that, when I show your

mother my productions, she is all admiration and applause.

You need never fear the communication of what you entrust to us

in confidence. You know your mother's delicacy on this point

sufficiently, and as for me, I once wrote a Connoisseur[50] upon the

subject of secret-keeping, and from that day to this I believe I

have never divulged one.

[50] His meaning is, he contributed to the "Connoisseur" an essay

or letter on this subject.

We were much pleased with Mr. Newton's application to you for a

charity sermon, and what he said upon that subject in his last

letter, "that he was glad of an opportunity to give you that proof

of his regard."

Believe me yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, April 16, 1780.

Since I wrote last, we have had a visit from ----. I did not feel

myself vehemently disposed to receive him with that complaisance

from which a stranger generally infers that he is welcome. By his

manner, which was rather bold than easy, I judged that there was

no occasion for it, and that it was a trifle which, if he did not

meet with, neither would he feel the want of. He has the air of a

travelled man, but not of a travelled gentleman; is quite delivered

from that reserve which is so common an ingredient in the English

character, yet does not open himself gently and gradually, as men of

polite behaviour do, but bursts upon you all at once. He talks very

loud, and when our poor little robins hear a great noise, they are

immediately seized with an ambition to surpass it----the increase of

their vociferation occasioned an increase of his, and his in return

acted as a stimulus upon theirs--neither side entertained a thought

of giving up the contest, which became continually more interesting

to our ears during the whole visit. The birds however survived

it, and so did we. They perhaps flatter themselves they gained a

complete victory, but I believe Mr. ---- could have killed them both

in another hour.

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, May 3, 1780.

Dear Sir,--You indulge me in such a variety of subjects, and allow

me such a latitude of excursion in this scribbling employment,

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 brooding

over my mind, that I think it no small proof of your partiality

to me that you will read my letters. I am not fond of long-winded

metaphors; I have always observed that they halt at the latter end

of their progress, and so does mine. I deal much in ink, indeed, but

not such ink as is employed by poets and writers of essays. Mine

is a harmless fluid, and guilty of no deceptions but such as may

prevail, without the least injury, to the person imposed on. I draw

mountains, valleys, woods, and streams, and ducks, and dab-chicks.

I admire them myself, and Mrs. Unwin admires them, and her praise

and my praise put together are fame enough for me. Oh! I could spend

whole days and moonlight nights in feeding upon a lovely prospect!

My eyes drink the rivers as they flow. If every human being upon

earth could think for one quarter of an hour as I have done for

many years, there might, perhaps, be many miserable men among them,

but not an unawakened one would be found from the arctic to the

antarctic 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, 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 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, "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. They think a

fine estate, a large conservatory, a hothouse, rich as a West Indian

garden, things of consequence, visit them with pleasure, and muse

upon them with ten times more. I am pleased with a frame of four

lights, doubtful whether the few pines it contains will ever be

worth a farthing; amuse myself with a green-house, which Lord Bute's

gardener could take upon his back, and walk away with; and when I

have paid it the accustomed visit, and watered it, and given it air,

I say to myself--"This is not mine, 'tis a plaything lent me for the

present, I must leave it soon."

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, May 6, 1780.

My dear Friend,--I am much obliged to you for your speedy answer

to my queries. I know less of the law than a country attorney,

yet sometimes I think I have almost as much business. My former

connexion with the profession has got wind, and though I earnestly

profess, and protest, and proclaim it abroad, that I know nothing of

the matter, they cannot be persuaded to believe, that a head once

endowed with a legal perriwig can ever be deficient in those natural

endowments it is supposed to cover. I have had the good fortune to

be once or twice in the right, which, added to the cheapness of

a gratuitous counsel, has advanced my credit to a degree I never

expected to attain in the capacity of a lawyer. Indeed, if two

of the wisest in the science of jurisprudence may give opposite

opinions on the same point, which does not unfrequently happen,

it seems to be a matter of indifference, whether a man answers by

rule or at a venture. He that stumbles upon the right side of the

question, is just as useful to his client as he that arrives at the

same end by regular approaches, and is conducted to the mark he aims

at by the greatest authorities.

* * * * *

These violent attacks of a distemper so often fatal are very

alarming to all who esteem and respect the Chancellor as he

deserves. A life of confinement and of anxious attention to

important objects, where the habit is bilious to such a terrible

degree, threatens to be but a short one; and I wish he may not be

made a text for men of reflection to moralize upon; affording a

conspicuous instance of the transient and fading nature of all human

accomplishments and attainments.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, May 8, 1780.

My dear Friend,--My scribbling humour has of late been entirely

absorbed in the passion for landscape-drawing. It is a most amusing

art, and, like every other art, requires much practice and attention.

Nil sine multo

Vita labore dedit mortalibus.

Excellence is providentially placed beyond the reach of indolence,

that success may be the reward of industry, and that idleness may

be punished with obscurity and disgrace. 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_

pleasure from any thing in my life; if I am delighted, it is in

the extreme. The unhappy consequences of this temperament is, that

my attachment to any 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.

Hence I draw an unfavourable prognostic, and expect that I shall

shortly be constrained to look out for something else. Then perhaps

I may string the harp again, and be able to comply with your demand.

Now for the visit you propose to pay us, and propose _not_ to pay

us, the hope of which plays upon your paper, like a jack-o-lantern

upon the ceiling. This is no mean simile, for Virgil (you remember)

uses it. 'Tis here, 'tis there, it vanishes, it returns, it

dazzles you, a cloud interposes, and it is gone. However just the

comparison, I hope you will contrive to spoil it, and that your

final determination will be to come. As to the masons you expect,

bring them with you--bring brick, bring mortar, bring every thing,

that would oppose itself to your journey--all shall be welcome. I

have a green-house that is too small, come and enlarge it; build

me a pinery; repair the garden-wall, that has great need of your

assistance; do any thing, you cannot do too much; so far from

thinking you and your train troublesome, we shall rejoice to see

you, upon these or upon any other terms you can propose. But, to be

serious--you will do well to consider that a long summer is before

you--that the party will not have such another opportunity to meet

this great while--that you may finish your masonry long enough

before winter, though you should not begin this month, but that you

cannot always find your brother and sister Powley at Olney. These

and some other considerations, such as the desire we have to see

you, and the pleasure we expect from seeing you all together, may,

and I think ought, to overcome your scruples.

From a general recollection of Lord Clarendon's History of the

Rebellion, I thought, (and I remember I told you so,) that there

was a striking resemblance between that period and the present.

But I am now reading, and have read three volumes of, Hume's

History, one of which is engrossed entirely by that subject. There

I see reason to alter my opinion, and the seeming resemblance has

disappeared upon a more particular information. Charles succeeded

to a long train of arbitrary princes, whose subjects had tamely

acquiesced in the despotism of their masters till their privileges

were all forgot. He did but tread in their steps, and exemplify

the principles in which he had been brought up, when he oppressed

his people. But, just at that time, unhappily for the monarch, the

subject began to see, and to see that he had a right to property and

freedom. This marks a sufficient difference between the disputes of

that day and the present. But there was another main cause of that

rebellion, which at this time does not operate at all. The king was

devoted to the hierarchy; his subjects were puritans and would not

bear it. Every circumstance of ecclesiastical order and discipline

was an abomination to them, and, in his esteem, an indispensable

duty; and, though at last he was obliged to give up many things,

he would not abolish episcopacy, and till that were done his

concessions could have no conciliating effect. These two concurring

causes were, indeed, sufficient to set three kingdoms in a flame.

But they subsist not now, nor any other, I hope, notwithstanding

the bustle made by the patriots, equal to the production of such

terrible events.[51]

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

[51] To those who contemplate the course of modern events,

and the signs of the times, there may be a doubt whether the

sentiment here expressed is equally applicable in the present

age. May the union of good and wise men be the means, under the

Providence of God, of averting every threatening danger.

* * * * *

The correspondence of the poet with his cousin Mrs. Cowper was at

this time resumed, after an interval of ten years. She was deeply

afflicted by the loss of her brother, Frederic Madan, an officer

who died in America, after having distinguished himself by poetical

talents as well as by military virtues.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Olney, May 10, 1780.

My dear Cousin,--I do not write to comfort you; that office is not

likely to be well performed by one who has no comfort for himself;

nor to comply with an impertinent ceremony, which in general might

well be spared upon such occasions; but because I would not seem

indifferent to the concerns of those I have so much reason to

esteem and love. If I did not sorrow for your brother's death, I

should expect that nobody would for mine; when I knew him, he was

much beloved, and I doubt not continued to be so. To live and die

together is the lot of a few happy families, who hardly know what a

separation means, and one sepulchre serves them all; but the ashes

of our kindred are dispersed indeed. Whether the American Gulf has

swallowed up any other of my relations, I know not; it has made many

mourners.

Believe me, my dear cousin, though after a long silence, which,

perhaps, nothing less than the present concern could have prevailed

with me to interrupt, as much as ever,

Your affectionate kinsman,

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, May 10, 1780.

My dear Friend,--If authors could have lived to adjust and

authenticate their own text, a commentator would have been a

useless creature. For instance--if Dr. Bentley had found, or opined

that he had found, the word _tube_, where it seemed to present

itself to you, and had judged the subject worthy of his critical

acumen, he would either have justified the corrupt reading, or have

substituted some invention of his own, in defence of which he would

have exerted all his polemical abilities, and have quarrelled with

half the literati in Europe. Then suppose the writer himself, as in

the present case, to interpose, with a gentle whisper, thus--"If

you look again, doctor, you will perceive, that what appears to

you to be _tube_ is neither more nor less than the monosyllable

_ink_, but I wrote it in great haste, and the want of sufficient

precision in the character has occasioned your mistake; _you_ will

be satisfied, especially when you see the sense elucidated by the

explanation."--But I question whether the doctor would quit his

ground, or allow any author to be a competent judge in his own case.

The world, however, would acquiesce immediately, and vote the critic

useless.

James Andrews, who is my Michael Angelo, pays me many compliments

on my success in the art of drawing, but I have not yet the vanity

to think myself qualified to furnish your apartment. If I should

ever attain to the degree of self-opinion requisite to such an

undertaking, I shall labour at it with pleasure. I can only say,

though I hope not with the affected modesty of the above-mentioned

Dr. Bentley, who said the same thing,

Me quoque dicunt

Vatem pastores; sed non ego credulus illis.

A crow, rook, or raven, has built a nest in one of the young

elm-trees at the side of Mrs. Aspray's orchard. In the violent storm

that blew yesterday morning, I saw it agitated to a degree that

seemed to threaten its immediate destruction, and versified the

following thoughts upon the occasion.[52]

W. C.

[52] Cowper's fable of the Raven concluded this letter.

TO MRS. NEWTON.[53]

[53] Private correspondence.

Olney, June 2, 1780.

Dear Madam,--When I write to Mr. Newton, he answers me by letter;

when I write to you, you answer me in fish. I return you many

thanks for the mackerel and lobster. They assured me, in terms

as intelligible as pen and ink could have spoken, that you still

remember _Orchard-side_; and, though they never spoke in their

lives, and it was still less to be expected from them that they

should speak being dead, they gave us an assurance of your affection

that corresponds exactly with that which Mr. Newton expresses

towards us in all his letters.--For my own part, I never in my

life began a letter more at a venture than the present. It is

possible that I may finish it, but perhaps more than probable that

I shall not. I have had several indifferent nights, and the wind

is easterly; two circumstances so unfavourable to me in all my

occupations, but especially that of writing, that it was with the

greatest difficulty I could even bring myself to attempt it.

You have never yet perhaps been made acquainted with the unfortunate

Tom F--'s misadventure. He and his wife, returning from Hanslope

fair, were coming down Weston-lane; to wit, themselves, their horse,

and their great wooden panniers, at ten o'clock at night. The horse

having a lively imagination and very weak nerves, fancied he either

saw or heard something, but has never been able to say what. A

sudden fright will impart activity and a momentary vigour even to

lameness itself. Accordingly he started, and sprang from the middle

of the road to the side of it, with such surprising alacrity, that

he dismounted the gingerbread baker and his gingerbread wife in a

moment. Not contented with this effort, nor thinking himself yet

out of danger, he proceeded as fast as he could to a full gallop,

rushed against the gate at the bottom of the lane, and opened it for

himself, without perceiving that there was any gate there. Still he

galloped, and with a velocity and momentum continually increasing,

till he arrived in Olney. I had been in bed about ten minutes,

when I heard the most uncommon and unaccountable noise that can

be imagined. It was, in fact, occasioned by the clattering of tin

pattypans and a Dutch oven against the sides of the panniers. Much

gingerbread was picked up in the street, and Mr. Lucy's windows

were broken all to pieces. Had this been all, it would have been

a comedy, but we learned the next morning, that the poor woman's

collar-bone was broken, and she has hardly been able to resume her

occupation since.

What is added on the other side, if I could have persuaded myself

to write sooner, would have reached you sooner; 'tis about ten days

old....

THE DOVES.[54]

[54] Vide Cowper's Poems.

The male dove was smoking a pipe, and the female dove was sewing,

while she delivered herself as above. This little circumstance may

lead you perhaps to guess what pair I had in my eye.

Yours, dear madam,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, June 8, 1780.

My dear Friend,--It is possible I might have indulged myself in

the pleasure of writing to you, without waiting for a letter

from you, but for a reason which you will not easily guess. Your

mother communicated to me the satisfaction you expressed in my

correspondence, that you thought me entertaining, and clever, and

so forth. Now you must know I love praise dearly, especially from

the judicious, and those who have so much delicacy themselves as

not to offend mine in giving it. But then, I found this consequence

attending, or likely to attend, the eulogium you bestowed--if my

friend thought me witty before, he shall think me ten times more

witty hereafter--where I joked once, I will joke five times, and,

for one sensible remark, I will send him a dozen. Now this foolish

vanity would have spoiled me quite, and would have made me as

disgusting a letter-writer as Pope, who seems to have thought that

unless a sentence was well-turned, and every period pointed with

some conceit, it was not worth the carriage. Accordingly he is to

me, except in a very few instances, the most disagreeable maker of

epistles that ever I met with. I was willing therefore to wait till

the impression your commendation had made upon the foolish part of

me was worn off, that I might scribble away as usual, and write my

uppermost thoughts, and those only.

You are better skilled in ecclesiastical law than I am.--Mrs.

P. desires me to inform her, whether a parson can be obliged to

take an apprentice. For some of her husband's opposers, at D----,

threaten to clap one upon him. Now I think it would be rather

hard if clergymen, who are not allowed to exercise any handicraft

whatever, should be subject to such an imposition. If Mr. P. was a

cordwainer or a breeches-maker all the week, and a preacher only

on Sundays, it would seem reasonable enough in that case that he

should take an apprentice if he chose it. But even then, in my poor

judgment, he ought to be left to his option. If they mean by an

apprentice a pupil whom they will oblige him to hew into a parson,

and, after chipping away the block that hides the minister within,

to qualify him to stand erect in a pulpit--that, indeed, is another

consideration. But still we live in a free country, and I cannot

bring myself even to suspect that an English divine can possibly be

liable to such compulsion. Ask your uncle, however; for he is wiser

in these things than either of us.

I thank you for your two inscriptions, and like the last the best;

the thought is just and fine--but the two last lines are sadly

damaged by the monkish jingle of _peperit_ and _reperit_. I have not

yet translated them, nor do I promise to do it, though at some idle

hour perhaps I may. In return, I send you a translation of a simile

in the Paradise Lost. Not having that poem at hand, I cannot refer

you to the book and page, but you may hunt for it, if you think it

worth your while. It begins--

"So when from mountain tops the dusky clouds

Ascending," &c.

Quales aërii montis de vertice nubes

Cum surgunt, et jam Boreæ tumida ora quiêrunt,

Cælum hilares abdit, spissâ caligine, vultus:

Tùm si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore,

Et croceo montes et pascua lumine tingat,

Gaudent omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros,

Balatuque ovium colles, vallesque resultant.

If you spy any fault in my Latin, tell me, for I am sometimes in

doubt; but, as I told you when you was here, I have not a Latin book

in the world to consult, or correct a mistake by, and some years

have passed since I was a school-boy.

AN ENGLISH VERSIFICATION OF A THOUGHT THAT POPPED INTO MY HEAD ABOUT

TWO MONTHS SINCE.

Sweet stream! that winds through yonder glade--

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid!--

Silent, and chaste, she steals along,

Far from the world's gay, busy throng,

With gentle yet prevailing force,

Intent upon her destin'd course:

Graceful and useful all she does,

Blessing and blest where'er she goes;

Pure-bosomed, as that watery glass,

And heav'n reflected in her face:

Now this is not so exclusively applicable to a maiden as to be the

sole property of your sister Shuttleworth. If you look at Mrs.

Unwin, you will see that she has not lost her right to this just

praise by marrying you.

Your mother sends her love to all, and mine comes jogging along by

the side of it.

Yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, June 12, 1780.

Dear Sir,--We accept it as an effort of your friendship, that you

could prevail with yourself, in a time of such terror and distress,

to send us repeated accounts of yours and Mrs. Newton's welfare. You

supposed, with reason enough, that we should be apprehensive for

your safety, situated as you were, apparently within the reach of

so much danger. We rejoice that you have escaped it all, and that,

except the anxiety which you must have felt both for yourselves

and others, you have suffered nothing upon this dreadful occasion.

A metropolis in flames, and a nation in ruins, are subjects of

contemplation for such a mind as yours, that will leave a lasting

impression behind them.[55] It is well that the design died in the

execution, and will be buried, I hope, never to rise again, in

the ashes of its own combustion. There is a melancholy pleasure

in looking back upon such a scene, arising from a comparison

of possibilities with facts; the enormous bulk of the intended

mischief, with the abortive and partial accomplishment of it: much

was done, more indeed then could have been supposed practicable in a

well-regulated city, not unfurnished with a military force for its

protection. But surprise and astonishment seem, at first, to have

struck every nerve of the police with a palsy, and to have disarmed

government of all its powers.[56]

[55] The event here alluded to was a crisis of great national

danger. It originated in the concessions granted by Parliament

to the Roman Catholics, in consequence of which a licentious

mob assembled in great multitudes in St. George's Fields,

and excited the greatest alarm by their unbridled fury. They

proceeded to destroy all the Romish chapels in London and its

vicinity. The prisons of Newgate, the Fleet, and King's Bench,

were attacked, and exposed to the devouring flame. The Bank

itself was threatened with an assault, when a well-disciplined

band, called the London Association, aided by the regular troops,

dispersed the multitude, but not without the slaughter of about

two hundred and twenty of the most active ringleaders. The whole

city presented a melancholy scene of riot and devastation; and

the houses of many private individuals were involved in the ruin.

The house of Lord Chief Justice Mansfield was the particular

object of popular fury. Lord George Gordon, who acted a prominent

part on this occasion, was afterwards brought to trial, and his

defence undertaken by Mr. Kenyon, afterwards well known by the

title of Lord Kenyon. Various facts and circumstances having

been adduced in favour of Lord George Gordon, his lordship was

acquitted. It is instructive to contemplate the tide of human

passions and events, and to contrast this spirit of religious

persecution with the final removal of Catholic disabilities at a

later period.

[56] Cowper alludes to this afflicting page in our domestic

history, in his Table Talk:--

When tumult lately burst his prison door,

And set plebeian thousands in a roar;

When he usurp'd authority's just place,

And dared to look his master in the face.

When the rude rabble's watch-word was--Destroy,

And blazing London seem'd a second Troy.

I congratulate you upon the wisdom that withheld you from

entering yourself a member of the Protestant Association. Your

friends who did so have reason enough to regret their doing it,

even though they should never be called upon. Innocent as they

are, and they who know them cannot doubt of their being perfectly

so, it is likely to bring an odium on the profession they make

that will not soon be forgotten. Neither is it possible for a

quiet, inoffensive man to discover on a sudden that his zeal has

carried him into such company, without being to the last degree

shocked at his imprudence. _Their_ religion was an honourable

mantle, like that of Elijah, but the majority wore cloaks of Guy

Fawkes's time, and meant nothing so little as what they pretended.

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, June 18, 1780.

Reverend and dear William,--The affairs of kingdoms and

the concerns of individuals are variegated alike with the

chequer-work of joy and sorrow. The news of a great acquisition

in America[57] has succeeded to terrible tumults in London, and

the beams of prosperity are now playing upon the smoke of that

conflagration which so lately terrified the whole land. These

sudden changes, which are matter of every man's observation,

and may therefore always be reasonably expected, serve to hold

up the chin of despondency above water, and preserve mankind in

general from the sin and misery of accounting existence a burden

not to be endured--an evil we should be sure to encounter, if

we were not warranted to look for a bright reverse of our most

afflictive experiences. The Spaniards were sick of the war at the

very commencement of it; and I hope that by this time the French

themselves begin to find themselves a little indisposed, if not

desirous of peace, which that restless and meddling temper of

theirs is incapable of desiring for its own sake. But is it true

that this detestable plot was an egg laid in France, and hatched

in London, under the influence of French corruption?--_Nam te

scire, deos quoniam propius contingis, oportet._ The offspring

has the features of such a parent, and yet, without the clearest

proof of the fact, I would not willingly charge upon a civilized

nation what perhaps the most barbarous would abhor the thought

of. I no sooner saw the surmise, however, in the paper, than I

immediately began to write Latin verses upon the occasion. "An

odd effect," you will say, "of such a circumstance;"--but an

effect, nevertheless, that whatever has at any time moved my

passions, whether pleasantly or otherwise, has always had upon

me. Were I to express what I feel upon such occasions in prose,

it would be verbose, inflated, and disgusting. I therefore have

recourse to verse, as a suitable vehicle for the most vehement

expressions my thoughts suggest to me. What I have written, I

did not write so much for the comfort of the English as for

the mortification of the French. You will immediately perceive

therefore that I have been labouring in vain, and that this

bouncing explosion is likely to spend itself in the air. For I

have no means of circulating what follows through all the French

territories; and unless that, or something like it, can be done,

my indignation will be entirely fruitless. Tell me how I can

convey it into Sartine's pocket, or who will lay it upon his

desk for me. But read it first, and, unless you think it pointed

enough to sting the Gaul to the quick, burn it.

[57] The surrender of Charles-Town, in South Carolina, to Admiral

Arbuthnot and General Sir Henry Clinton.

IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM, CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI

NUPER EXORTAM.

Perfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore,

Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude petit.

Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit

Undique privatas patriciasque domos.

Nequicquàm conata sua, foedissima sperat

Posse tamen nostrâ nos superare manu.

Gallia, vana struis! Precibus nunc utere! Vinces,

Nam mites timidis, supplicibusque sumus.

I have lately exercised my ingenuity in contriving an exercise for

yours, and have composed a riddle which, if it does not make you

laugh before you have solved it, will probably do it afterwards. I

would transcribe it now, but am really so fatigued with writing,

that, unless I knew you had a quinsy, and that a fit of laughter

might possibly save your life, I could not prevail with myself to do

it.

What could you possibly mean, slender as you are, by sallying out

upon your two walking sticks at two in the morning, in the midst

of such a tumult? We admire your prowess, but cannot commend your

prudence.

Our love attends you all, collectively and individually.

Yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, June 22, 1780.

My dear Friend,--A word or two in answer to two or three questions

of yours, which I have hitherto taken no notice of. I am not in a

scribbling mood, and shall therefore make no excursions to amuse

either myself or you. The needful will be as much as I can manage at

present--the playful must wait another opportunity.

I thank you for your offer of Robertson, but I have more reading

upon my hands at this present writing than I shall get rid of in a

twelvemonth, and this moment recollect that I have seen it already.

He is an author that I admire much, with one exception, that I think

his style is too laboured. Hume, as an historian, pleases me more.

I have just read enough of the Biographia Britannica to say that I

have tasted it, and have no doubt but I shall like it. I am pretty

much in the garden at this season of the year, so read but little.

In summer-time I am as giddy-headed as a boy, and can settle to

nothing. Winter condenses me, and makes me lumpish and sober; and

then I can read all day long.

For the same reasons, I have no need of the landscapes at present;

when I want them I will renew my application, and repeat the

description, but it will hardly be before October.

Before I rose this morning, I composed the three following Stanzas;

I send them because I like them pretty well myself; and, if you

should not, you must accept this handsome compliment as an amends

for their deficiencies. You may print the lines, if you judge them

worth it.[58]

[58] Verses on the burning of Lord Chief Justice Mansfield's

house, during the riots in London.

I have only time to add love, &c. and my two initials.

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, June 23, 1780.

My dear Friend,--Your reflections upon the state of London, the sins

and enormities of that great city, while you had a distant view of

it from Greenwich, seem to have been prophetic of the heavy stroke

that fell upon it just after. Man often prophesies without knowing

it--a spirit speaks by him, which is not his own, though he does not

at that time suspect that he is under the influence of any other.

Did he foresee what is always foreseen by Him who dictates, what he

supposes to be his own, he would suffer by anticipation as well as

by consequence, and wish perhaps as ardently for the happy ignorance

to which he is at present so much indebted, as some have foolishly

and inconsiderately done for a knowledge that would be but another

name for misery.

And why have I said all this, especially to you who have hitherto

said it to me? not because I had the least desire of informing a

wiser man than myself, but because the observation was naturally

suggested by the recollection of your letter, and that letter,

though not the last, happened to be uppermost in my mind. 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 mahogany, but _Truncus ficulnus, inutile lignum_--consequently,

though I should be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, it will be

but rubbish to the last.

It is not strange that you should be the subject of a false report,

for the sword of slander, like that of war, devours one as well as

another; and a blameless character is particularly delicious to

its unsparing appetite. But that you should be the object of such

a report, you who meddle less with the designs of government than

almost any man that lives under it, this is strange indeed. It is

well, however, when they who account it good sport to traduce the

reputation of another invent a story that refutes itself. I wonder

they do not always endeavour to accommodate their fiction to the

real character of the person; their tale would then, at least, have

an air of probability, and it might cost a peaceable good man much

more trouble to disprove it. But perhaps it would not be easy to

discern what part of your conduct lies more open to such an attempt

than another, or what it is that you either say or do, at any time,

that presents a fair opportunity to the most ingenious slanderer

to slip in a falsehood between your words or actions, that shall

seem to be of a piece with either. You hate compliment, I know,

but, by your leave, this is not one--it is a truth--worse and

worse--now I have praised you indeed--well you must thank yourself

for it, it was absolutely done without the least intention on my

part, and proceeded from a pen, that, as far as I can remember,

was never guilty of flattery, since I knew how to hold it. He that

slanders me, paints me blacker than I am, and he that flatters

me, whiter--they both daub me, and when I look in the glass of

conscience, I see myself disguised by both--I had as lief my tailor

should sew gingerbread-nuts on my coat instead of buttons as that

any man should call my Bristol stone a diamond. The tailor's trick

would not at all embellish my suit, nor the flatterer's make me

at all the richer. I never make a present to my friend of what I

dislike myself. Ergo, (I have reached the conclusion at last,) I did

not mean to flatter you.

We have sent a petition to Lord Dartmouth, by this post, praying him

to interfere in parliament in behalf of the poor lace-makers. I say

we, because I have signed it.----Mr. G. drew it up. Mr. ---- did not

think it grammatical, I therefore would not sign it. Yet I think,

Priscian himself would have pardoned the manner for the sake of the

matter. I dare say if his lordship does not comply with the prayer

of it, it will not be because he thinks it of more consequence to

write grammatically than that the poor should eat, but for some

better reason.

My love to all under your roof.

Yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, July 2, 1780.

_Carissime_, I am glad of your confidence, and have reason to

hope I shall never abuse it. If you trust me with a secret, I

am hermetically sealed; and if you call for the exercise of my

judgment, such as it is, I am never freakish or wanton in the use

of it, much less mischievous and malignant. Critics, I believe,

do not often stand so clear of those vices as I do. I like your

epitaph, except that I doubt the propriety of the word _immaturus_;

which, I think, is rather applicable to fruits than flowers; and

except the last pentameter, the assertion it contains being rather

too obvious a thought to finish with; not that I think an epitaph

should be pointed like an epigram. But still there is a closeness

of thought and expression necessary in the conclusion of all these

little things, that they may leave an agreeable flavour upon the

palate. Whatever is short should be nervous, masculine, and compact.

Little men are so; and little poems should be so; because, where the

work is short, the author has no right to the plea of weariness,

and laziness is never admitted as an available excuse in any thing.

Now you know my opinion, you will very likely improve upon my

improvement, and alter my alterations for the better. To touch and

re-touch 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 have no need

to ask for my corrections.

HIC SEPULTUS EST

INTER SUORUM LACRYMAS

GULIELMUS NORTHCOT,

GULIELMI ET MARIÆ FILIUS

UNICUS, UNICE DILECTUS,

QUI FLORIS RITU SUCCISUS EST SEMIHIANTIS,

APRILIS DIE SEPTIMO,

1780, ÆT. 10.

Care, vale! Sed non æternum, care, valeto!

Namque iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero.

Tum nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros,

Nec tu marcesces, nec lacrymabor ego.[59]

[59] These lines of Mr. Unwin, and here retouched by Cowper's

pen, bear a strong resemblance to the beautiful Epitaph composed

by Bishop Lowth, on the death of his beloved daughter, which seem

to have suggested some hints, in the composition of the above

epitaph to Northcote.

Cara, vale, ingenio præstans, pietate, pudore,

Et plus quam natæ nomine cara, vale.

Cara Maria, vale: at veniet felicius ævum,

Quando iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero.

Cara redi, lætâ tum dicam voce, paternos

Eja age in amplexus, cara Maria, redi.

Having an English translation of it by me, I send it though it

may be of no use.

Farewell! "But not for ever," Hope replies,

Trace but his steps, and meet him in the skies!

There nothing shall renew our parting pain,

Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again.

The stanzas that I sent you are maiden ones, having never been

seen by any eye but your mother's and your own.

If you send me franks, I shall write longer letters.--_Valete,

sicut et nos valemus! Amate, sicut et nos amamus!_

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[60]

[60] Private correspondence.

Olney, June 3, 1780.

Mon Ami,--By this time, I suppose, you have ventured to take your

fingers out of your ears, being delivered from the deafening shouts

of the most zealous mob that ever strained their lungs in the cause

of religion. I congratulate you upon a gentle relapse into the

customary sounds of a great city, which, though we rustics abhor

them, as noisy and dissonant, are a musical and sweet murmur,

compared with what you have lately heard. The tinkling of a kennel

may be distinguished now, where the roaring of a cascade would

have been sunk and lost. I never suspected, till the newspapers

informed me of it, a few days since, that the barbarous uproar had

reached Great Queen Street. I hope Mrs. Hill was in the country, and

shall rejoice to hear that, as I am sure you did not take up the

protestant cudgels[61] upon this hair-brained occasion, so you have

not been pulled in pieces as a papist.

W. C.

[61] The alarm taken at the concessions made in favour of the

Catholics was such, that many persons formed themselves into an

association, for the defence of Protestant principles.--ED.

* * * * *

The next letter to Mr. Hill affords a striking proof of Cowper's

compassionate feelings towards the poor around him.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, July 8, 1780.

Mon Ami,--If you ever take the tip of the chancellor's ear between

your finger and thumb, you can hardly improve the opportunity to

better purpose, than if you should whisper into it the voice of

compassion and lenity to the lace-makers. I am an eye-witness to

their poverty, and do know that hundreds in this little town are

upon the point of starving; and that the most unremitting industry

is but barely sufficient to keep them from it. I know that the

bill by which they would have been so fatally affected is thrown

out, but Lord Stormont threatens them with another; and if another

like it should pass, they are undone. We lately sent a petition to

Lord Dartmouth; I signed it, and am sure the contents are true.

The purport of it was to inform him, that there are very near one

thousand two hundred lace-makers in this beggarly town, the most of

whom had reason enough, while the bill was in agitation, to look

upon every loaf they bought as the last they should ever be able

to earn. I can never think it good policy to incur the certain

inconvenience of ruining thirty thousand, in order to prevent a

remote and possible damage, though to a much greater number. The

measure is like a scythe, and the poor lace-makers are the sickly

crop, that trembles before the edge of it. The prospect of a peace

with America is like the streak of dawn in their horizon; but this

bill is like a black cloud behind it, that threatens their hope of a

comfortable day with utter extinction.

I do not perceive, till this moment, that I had tacked two similes

together, a practice which, though warranted by the example of

Homer, and allowed in an Epic Poem, is rather luxuriant and

licentious in a letter; lest I should add another, I conclude.

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, July 11, 1780.

I account myself sufficiently commended for my Latin exercise,

by the number of translations it has undergone. That which you

distinguished in the margin by the title of "better" was the

production of a friend, and, except that, for a modest reason, he

omitted the third couplet, I think it a good one. To finish the

group, I have translated it myself; and, though I would not wish you

to give it to the world, for more reasons than one, especially lest

some French hero should call me to account for it, I add it on the

other side. An author ought to be the best judge of his own meaning;

and, whether I have succeeded or not, I cannot but wish, that where

a translator is wanted, the writer was always to be his own.

False, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart,

France quits the warrior's for the assassin's part;

To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys,

Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze.

Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone,

She hires the worst and basest of our own.

Kneel, France! a suppliant conquers us with ease,

We always spare a coward on his knees.[62]

[62] These lines are founded on the suspicion, prevalent at

that time, that the fires in London were owing to French gold,

circulated for the purposes of corruption.

I have often wondered that Dryden's illustrious epigram on

Milton,[63] (in my mind the second best that ever was made) has

never been translated into Latin, for the admiration of the learned

in other countries. I have at last presumed to venture upon the task

myself. The great closeness of the original, which is equal, in that

respect, to the most compact Latin I ever saw, made it extremely

difficult.

Tres tria, sed longè distantia, sæcula vates

Ostentant tribus è gentibus eximios.

Græcia sublimem, cum majestate disertum

Roma tulit, felix Anglia utrique parem.

Partubus ex binis Natura exhausta, coacta est,

Tertius ut fieret, consociare duos.

[63]

Three poets in three distant ages born,

Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.

The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd;

The next in majesty, in both the last.

The force of Nature could no further go,

To make a third she joined the other two.

I have not one bright thought upon the chancellor's recovery;

nor can I strike off so much as one sparkling atom from that

brilliant subject. It is not when I will, nor upon what I will,

but as a thought happens to occur to me; and then I versify,

whether I will or not. I never write but for my amusement; and

what I write is sure to answer that end, if it answers no other.

If, besides this purpose, the more desirable one of entertaining

you be effected, I then receive double fruit of my labour,

and consider this produce of it as a second crop, the more

valuable because less expected. But when I have once remitted a

composition to you, I have done with it. It is pretty certain

that I shall never read it or think of it again. From that moment

I have constituted you sole judge of its accomplishments, if it

has any, and of its defects, which it is sure to have.

For this reason I decline answering the question with which you

concluded your last, and cannot persuade myself to enter into a

critical examen of the two pieces upon Lord Mansfield's loss,[64]

either with respect to their intrinsic or comparative merit, and,

indeed, after having rather discouraged that use of them which

you had designed, there is no occasion for it.

W. C.

[64] Lord Chief Justice Mansfield incurred the loss, on this

occasion, of one of the most complete and valuable collections

of law books ever known, together with manuscripts and legal

remarks, the result of his own industry and professional

knowledge.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.[65]

[65] Private correspondence.

Olney, July 12, 1780.

My dear Friend,--Such nights as I frequently 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 conversing with

you, though it be but upon paper. This occupation 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 never can be so again.

We are both obliged to you for a sight of Mr. ----'s letter. The

friendly and obliging manner of it will much enhance the difficulty

of answering it. I think I can see plainly that, though he does not

hope for your applause, he would gladly escape your censure. He

seems to approach you smoothly and softly, and to take you gently by

the hand, as if he bespoke your lenity, and entreated you at least

to spare him. You have such skill in the management of your pen that

I doubt not you will be able to send him a balmy reproof, that shall

give him no reason to complain of a broken head. How delusive is

the wildest speculation, when pursued with eagerness, and nourished

with such arguments as the perverted ingenuity of such a mind as

his can easily furnish! Judgment falls asleep upon the bench, while

Imagination, like a smug, pert counsellor, stands chattering at the

bar, and, with a deal of fine-spun, enchanting sophistry, carries

all before him.

If I had strength of mind, I have not strength of body for the

task which, you say, some would impose upon me. I cannot bear much

thinking. The meshes of that fine network, the brain, are composed

of such mere spinners' 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. No--I must needs

refer it again to you.

My enigma will probably find you out, and you will find out my

enigma, at some future time. I am not in a humour to transcribe

it now. Indeed I wonder that a sportive thought should ever knock

at the door of my intellects, and still more that it should gain

admittance. It is as if harlequin should intrude himself into

the gloomy chamber where a corpse is deposited in state. His

antic gesticulations would be unseasonable at any rate, but more

especially so if they should distort the features of the mournful

attendants into laughter. But the mind, long wearied with the

sameness of a dull, dreary prospect, will gladly fix its eyes on

anything that may make a little variety in its contemplations,

though it were but a kitten playing with her tail.

You would believe, though I did not say it at the end of every

letter, that we remember you and Mrs. Newton with the same affection

as ever: but I would not therefore excuse myself from writing what

it gives you pleasure to read. I have often wished indeed, when

writing to an ordinary correspondent, for the revival of the Roman

custom--_salutis_ at top, and _vale_ at bottom. But as the French

have taught all Europe to enter a room and to leave it with a most

ceremonious bow, so they have taught us to begin and conclude our

letters in the same manner. However, I can say to you,

_Sans ceremonie_,

Adieu, _mon ami_!

W. C.

The poet's affectionate effort in renewing his correspondence with

Mrs. Cowper, to whom he had been accustomed to pour forth his heart

without reserve, appears to have had a beneficial effect on his

reviving spirits. His pathetic letter to that lady was followed,

in the course of two months, by a letter of a more lively cast, in

which the reader will find some touches of his native humour, and a

vein of pleasantry peculiar to himself.

TO MRS. COWPER.

July 20, 1780.

My dear Cousin,--Mr. Newton having desired me to be of the party, I

am come to meet him. You see me sixteen years older, at the least,

than when I saw you last; but the effects of time seem to have taken

place rather on the outside of my head than within it. What was

brown is become grey, but what was foolish remains foolish still.

Green fruit must rot before it ripens, if the season is such as to

afford it nothing but cold winds and dark clouds, that interrupt

every ray of sunshine. 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 listening to their flight, having no infirmity

that I had not when I was much younger, I should deceive myself with

an imagination that I am still young.

I am fond of writing as an amusement, but do not always 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 sufficiently

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 wonderful coxcomb if he did not soon

grow sick of his occupation, and be peculiarly fortunate if he did

not make others as sick as himself.

Remote as your dwelling is from the late scene of riot and

confusion, I hope that, though you could not but hear the report,

you heard no more, and that the roarings of the mad multitude did

not reach you. That was a day of terror to the innocent, and the

present is a day of still greater terror to the guilty. The law was,

for a few moments, like an arrow in the quiver, seemed to be of no

use, and did no execution; now it is an arrow upon the string, and

many who despised it lately are trembling as they stand before the

point of it.

I have talked more already than I have formerly done in three

visits--you remember my taciturnity, never to be forgotten by those

who knew me; not to depart entirely from what might be, for aught I

know, the most shining part of my character, I here shut my mouth,

make my bow, and return to Olney.

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, July 27, 1780.

My dear Friend,--As two men sit silent, after having exhausted

all their topics of conversation; one says, "It is very fine

weather," and the other says, "Yes;"--one blows his nose, and

the other rubs his eye-brows; (by the way, this is very much in

Homer's manner;) such seems to be the case between you and me.

After a silence of some days, I wrote you a long something, that (I

suppose) was nothing to the purpose, because it has not afforded

you materials for an answer. Nevertheless, as it often happens in

the case above-stated, one of the distressed parties, being deeply

sensible of the awkwardness of a dumb duet, breaks silence again,

and resolves to speak, though he has nothing to say, so it fares

with me. I am with you again in the form of an epistle, though,

considering my present emptiness, I have reason to fear that your

only joy upon the occasion will be, that it is conveyed to you in a

frank.

When I began, I expected no interruption. But, if I had expected

interruptions without end, I should have been less disappointed.

First came the barber; who, after having embellished the outside

of my head, has left the inside just as unfurnished as he found

it. Then came Olney bridge, not into the house, but into the

conversation. The cause relating to it was tried on Tuesday at

Buckingham. The judge directed the jury to find a verdict favourable

to Olney. The jury consisted of one knave and eleven fools. The

last-mentioned followed the afore-mentioned as sheep follow a

bell-wether, and decided in direct opposition to the said judge:

then a flaw was discovered in the indictment:--the indictment was

quashed, and an order made for a new trial. The new trial will be in

the King's Bench, where said knave and said fools will have nothing

to do with it. So the men of Olney fling up their caps, and assure

themselves of a complete victory. A victory will save me and your

mother many shillings, perhaps some pounds, which, except that it

has afforded me a subject to write upon, was the only reason why

I said so much about it. I know you take an interest in all that

concerns us, and will consequently rejoice with us in the prospect

of an event in which we are concerned so nearly.

Yours affectionately,

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, July 30, 1780.

My dear Sir,--You may think perhaps that I deal more liberally with

Mr. Unwin, in the way of poetical export, than I do with you, and I

believe you have reason. The truth is this: if I walked the streets

with a fiddle under my arm, I should never think of performing

before the window of a privy councillor or a chief justice, but

should rather make free with ears more likely to be open to such

amusement. The trifles I produce in this way are indeed such trifles

that I cannot think them seasonable presents for you. Mr. Unwin

himself would not be offended if I was to tell him that there is

this difference between him and Mr. Newton; that the latter is

already an apostle, while he himself is only undergoing the business

of incubation, with a hope that he may be hatched in time. When my

Muse comes forth arrayed in sables, at least in a robe of graver

cast, I make no scruple to direct her to my friend at Hoxton. This

has been one reason why I have so long delayed the riddle. But lest

I should seem to set a value upon it that I do not, by making it an

object of still further inquiry, here it comes.

I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,

And the parent of numbers that cannot be told,

I am lawful, unlawful--a duty, a fault,

I am often sold dear--good for nothing when bought,

An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,

And yielded with pleasure--when taken by force.

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Aug. 6, 1780.

My dear Friend,--You like to hear from me--this is a very good

reason why I should write--but I have nothing to say--this seems

equally a good reason why I should not; yet if you had alighted

from your horse at our door this morning, and, at this present

writing, being five o'clock in the afternoon, had found occasion to

say to me--"Mr. Cowper, you have not spoke since I came in; have

you resolved never to speak again?"--it would be but a poor reply,

if, in answer to the summons I should plead inability as my best

and only excuse. And this, by the way, suggests to me a seasonable

piece of instruction, and reminds me of what I am very apt to

forget when I have any epistolary business in hand; that a letter

may be written upon anything or nothing, just as that anything

or nothing happens to occur. A man that has a journey before him

twenty miles in length, which he is to perform on foot, will not

hesitate and doubt whether he shall set out or not, because he does

not readily conceive how he shall ever reach the end of it; for he

knows that, by the simple operation of moving one foot forward first

and then the other, he shall be sure to accomplish it. So it is in

the present case, and so it is in every similar case. A letter is

written, as a conversation is maintained or a journey performed,

not by preconcerted or premeditated means, a new contrivance, or

an invention never heard of before; but merely by maintaining a

progress, and resolving, as a postilion does, having once set out,

never to stop till we reach the appointed end. If a man may talk

without thinking, why may he not write upon the same terms? A grave

gentleman of the last century, a tie-wig, square-toe, Steinkirk

figure, would say, "My good sir, a man has no right to do either."

But it is to be hoped that the present century has nothing to do

with the mouldy opinions of the last; and so, good Sir Launcelot,

or St. Paul, or whatever be your name, step into your picture-frame

again, and look as if you thought for another century, and leave us

moderns in the mean time to think when we can, and to write whether

we can or not, else we might as well be dead as you are.

When we look back upon our forefathers, we seem to look back upon

the people of another nation, almost upon creatures of another

species. Their vast rambling mansions, spacious halls, and painted

casements, the gothic porch, smothered with honeysuckles, their

little gardens, and high walls, their box-edgings, balls of holly,

and yew-tree statues, are become so entirely unfashionable now, that

we can hardly believe it possible that a people who resembled us so

little in their taste should resemble us in any thing else. But in

every thing else I suppose they were our counterparts exactly, and

time, that has sewed up the slashed sleeve, and reduced the large

trunk hose to a neat pair of silk stockings, has left human nature

just where it found it. The inside of the man at least has undergone

no change. His passions, appetites, and aims, are just what they

ever were. They wear perhaps a handsomer disguise than they did in

the days of yore, for philosophy and literature will have their

effect upon the exterior; but in every other respect a modern is

only an ancient in a different dress.

Yours,

W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[66]

[66] Private correspondence.

Olney, Aug. 10, 1780.

My dear Sir,--I greet you at your castle of Buen Retiro, and wish

you could enjoy the unmixed pleasures of the country there. But

it seems you are obliged to dash the cup with a portion of those

bitters you are always swallowing in town. Well--you are honourably

and usefully employed, and ten times more beneficially to society

than if you were piping to a few sheep under a spreading beech,

or listening to a tinkling rill. Besides, by the effect of long

custom and habitual practice, you are not only enabled to endure

your occupation, but even find it agreeable. I remember the time

when it would not have suited you so well to have devoted so large

a part of your vacation to the objects of your profession; and you,

I dare say, have not forgot what a seasonable relaxation you found,

when lying at full stretch upon the ruins of an old wall, by the

sea side, you amused yourself with Tasso's Jerusalem and the Pastor

Fido. I recollect that we both pitied Mr. De Grey, when we called

at his cottage at Taplow, and found, not the master indeed, but his

desk, with his white-leaved folio upon it, which bespoke him as much

a man of business in his retirement as in Westminster Hall. But

by these steps he ascended the bench.[67] Now he may read what he

pleases, and ride where he will, if the gout will give him leave.

And you, who have no gout, and probably never will, when your hour

of dismission comes, will, for that reason, if for no other, be a

happier man than he.

I am, my dear friend,

Affectionately yours,

W. C.

P. S.--Mr. ---- has not thought proper to favour me with his book,

and, having no interest in the subject, I have not thought proper

to purchase it. Indeed I have no curiosity to read what I am sure

must be erroneous before I read it. Truth is worth every thing that

can be given for it; but a mere display of ingenuity, calculated

only to mislead, is worth nothing.

[67] This distinguished lawyer was a connexion of Cowper's,

having married Mary, daughter of William Cowper, of the Park,

near Hertford, Esq. After having successively passed through

the offices of Solicitor and Attorney General, he was advanced

to the dignity of Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas,

and subsequently elevated to the Peerage by the title of Baron

Walsingham.

* * * * *

The following letter shows the sportiveness of his imagination on

the minutest subjects.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

Olney, Aug. 21, 1780.

The following occurrence ought not to be passed over in silence, in

a place where so few notable ones are to be met with. Last Wednesday

night, while we were at supper, between the hours of eight and nine,

I heard an unusual noise in the back parlour, as if one of the hares

was entangled and endeavouring to disengage herself. I was just

going to rise from table when it ceased. In about five minutes a

voice on the outside of the parlour door inquired if one of my hares

had got away. I immediately rushed into the next room, and found

that my poor favourite puss had made her escape. She had gnawed in

sunder the strings of a lattice work, with which I thought I had

sufficiently secured the window, and which I preferred to any other

sort of blind, because it admitted plenty of air. From thence I

hastened to the kitchen, where I saw the redoubtable Thomas Freeman,

who told me that, having seen her just after she dropped into the

street, he attempted to cover her with his hat, but she screamed out

and leaped directly over his head. I then desired him to pursue as

fast as possible, and added Richard Coleman to the chace, as being

nimbler, and carrying less weight than Thomas; not expecting to see

her again, but desirous to learn, if possible, what became of her.

In something less than an hour, Richard returned, almost breathless,

with the following account: that, soon after he began to run, he

left Tom behind him, and came in sight of a most numerous hunt of

men, women, children, and dogs; that he did his best to keep back

the dogs, and presently outstripped the crowd, so that the race was

at last disputed between himself and puss: she ran right through the

town, and down the lane that leads to Dropshot. A little before she

came to the house, he got the start and turned her; she pushed for

the town again, and soon after she entered it sought shelter in Mr.

Wagstaff's tan-yard, adjoining to old Mr. Drake's. Sturges's harvest

men were at supper, and saw her from the opposite side of the way.

There she encountered the tan-pits full of water, and, while she was

struggling out of one pit, and plunging into another, and almost

drowned, one of the men drew her out by the ears, and secured her.

She was then well washed in a bucket to get the lime out of her

coat, and brought home in a sack at ten o'clock.

This frolic cost us four shillings, but you may believe that we

did not grudge a farthing of it. The poor creature received only

a little hurt in one of her claws and one of her ears, and is now

almost as well as ever.

I do not call this an answer to your letter, but such as it is I

send it, presuming upon that interest which I know you take in my

minutest concerns, which I cannot express better than in the words

of Terence, a little varied--_Nihil mei a te alienum putas._

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

Olney, Aug. 31, 1780.

My dear Cousin,--I am obliged to you for your long letter, which did

not seem so, and for your short one, which was more than I had any

reason to expect. Short as it was, it conveyed to me two interesting

articles of intelligence,--an account of your recovering from a

fever, and of Lady Cowper's death. The latter was, I suppose, to be

expected, for, by what remembrance I have of her Ladyship, who was

never much acquainted with her, she had reached those years that are

always found upon the borders of another world. As for you, your

time of life is comparatively of a youthful date. You may think of

death as much as you please, (you cannot think of it too much,) but

I hope you will live to think of it many years.

It costs me not much difficulty to suppose that my friends, who

were already grown old when I saw them last, are old still, but

it costs me a good deal sometimes to think of those who were at

that time young as being older than they were. Not having been an

eye-witness of the change that time has made in them, and my former

idea of them not being corrected by observation, it remains the

same; my memory presents me with this image unimpaired, and, while

it retains the resemblance of what they were, forgets that by this

time the picture may have lost much of its likeness, through the

alteration that succeeding years have made in the original. 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 injury, to others. But, though an enemy to the person, he

is a friend to the mind, and you have found him so; though even in

this respect his treatment 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-tiptoe

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.

When you can favour me with a little account of your own family,

without inconvenience, I shall be glad to receive it, for, though

separated from my kindred by little more than half a century

of miles, I know as little of their concerns as if oceans and

continents were interposed between us.

Yours, my dear cousin,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Sept. 3, 1780.

My dear Friend,--I am glad you are so provident, and that, while you

are young, you have furnished yourself with the means of comfort in

old age. Your crutch and your pipe may be of use to you, (and may

they be so!) should your years be extended to an antediluvian date;

and, for your perfect accommodation, you seem to want nothing but a

clerk called Snuffle, and a sexton of the name of Skeleton, to make

your ministerial equipage complete.

I think I have read as much of the first volume of the Biographia

as I shall ever read. I find it very amusing; more so, perhaps,

than it would have been, had they sifted their characters with more

exactness, and admitted none but those who had in some way or other

entitled themselves to immortality by deserving well of the public.

Such a compilation would perhaps have been more judicious, though

I confess it would have afforded less variety. The priests and

monks of earlier and the doctors of later days, who have signalized

themselves by nothing but a controversial pamphlet, long since

thrown by and never to be perused again, might have been forgotten,

without injury or loss to the national character for learning or

genius. This observation suggested to me the following lines, which

may serve to illustrate my meaning, and at the same time to give my

criticism a sprightlier air.

O fond attempt to give a deathless lot

To names ignoble, born to be forgot!

In vain recorded in historic page,

They court the notice of a future age;

Those twinkling, tiny lustres of the land,

Drop one by one, from Fame's neglecting hand;

Lethean gulphs receive them as they fall,

And dark Oblivion soon absorbs them all.

So, when a child (as playful children use)

Has burnt to cinder a stale last year's news,

The flame extinct, he views the roving fire,

There goes my lady, and there goes the 'squire,

There goes the parson--O illustrious spark!

And there--scarce less illustrious--goes the clerk!

Virgil admits none but worthies into the Elysian fields; I cannot

recollect the lines in which he describes them all, but these in

particular I well remember:

Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo,

Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes.

A chaste and scrupulous conduct like this would well become the

writer of national biography. But enough of this.

Our respects attend Miss Shuttleworth, with many thanks for her

intended present. Some purses derive all their value from their

contents, but these will have an intrinsic value of their own;

and, though mine should be often empty, which is not an improbable

supposition, I shall still esteem it highly on its own account.

If you could meet with a second-hand Virgil, ditto Homer, both Iliad

and Odyssey, together with a Clavis, for I have no Lexicon, and all

tolerably cheap, I shall be obliged to you if you will make the

purchase.

Yours,

W. C.

* * * * *

The three following letters are interesting, as containing Cowper's

sentiments on the subject of education.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Sept. 7, 1780.

My dear Friend,--As many gentlemen as there are in the world, who

have children, and heads capable of reflecting upon the important

subject of their education, so many opinions there are about it,

and many of them just and sensible, though almost all differing

from each other. With respect to the education of boys, I think

they are generally made to draw in Latin and Greek trammels too

soon. It is pleasing no doubt to a parent to see his child already

in some sort a proficient in those languages, at an age when most

others are entirely ignorant of them; but hence it often happens

that a boy, who could construe a fable of Æsop at six or seven

years of age, having exhausted his little stock of attention and

diligence in making that notable acquisition, grows weary of his

task, conceives a dislike for study, and perhaps makes but a very

indifferent progress afterwards. The mind and body have, in this

respect, a striking resemblance to each other. In childhood they are

both nimble, but not strong; they can skip, and frisk about with

wonderful agility, but hard labour spoils them both. In maturer

years they become less active, but more vigorous, more capable

of a fixed application, and can make themselves sport with that

which a little earlier would have affected them with intolerable

fatigue, I should recommend it to you, therefore, (but after all

you must judge for yourself,) to allot the two next years of little

John's scholarship to writing and arithmetic, together with which,

for variety's sake, and because it is capable of being formed

into an amusement, I would mingle geography, (a science which,

if not attended to betimes, is seldom made an object of much

consideration,) essentially necessary to the accomplishment of a

gentleman, yet, as I know (by sad experience) imperfectly, if at

all, inculcated in the schools. Lord Spencer's son, when he was four

years of age, knew the situation of every kingdom, country, city,

river, and remarkable mountain in the world. For this attainment,

which I suppose his father had never made, he was indebted to a

plaything; having been accustomed to amuse himself with those maps

which are cut into several compartments, so as to be thrown into

a heap of confusion, that they may be put together again with an

exact coincidence of all their angles and bearings, so as to form a

perfect whole.

If he begins Latin and Greek at eight, or even at nine years of age,

it is surely soon enough. Seven years, the usual allowance for these

acquisitions, are more than sufficient for the purpose, especially

with his readiness in learning; for you would hardly wish to have

him qualified for the university before fifteen, a period in my

mind much too early for it, and when he could hardly be trusted

there without the utmost danger to his morals. Upon the whole, you

will perceive that, in my judgment, the difficulty, as well as the

wisdom, consists more in bridling in and keeping back a boy of his

parts than in pushing him forward. If therefore, at the end of the

two next years, instead of putting a grammar into his hand, you

should allow him to amuse himself with some agreeable writers upon

the subject of natural philosophy for another year, I think it would

answer well. There is a book called Cosmotheoria Puerilis, there are

Derham's Physico- and Astro-theology, together with several others

in the same manner, very intelligible even to a child, and full of

useful instruction.

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Olney, Sept. 17, 1780.

My dear Friend,--You desire my further thoughts on the subject of

education. I send you such as had for the most part occurred to me

when I wrote last, but could not be comprised in a single letter.

They are indeed on a different branch of this interesting theme,

but not less important than the former.

I think it your happiness, and wish you to think it so yourself,

that you are in every respect qualified for the task of instructing

your son, and preparing him for the university, without committing

him to the care of a stranger. In my judgment, a domestic education

deserves the preference to a public one, on a hundred accounts,

which I have neither time nor room to mention. I shall only touch

upon two or three, that I cannot but consider as having a right to

your most earnest attention.

In a public school, or indeed in any school, his morals are sure

to be but little attended to, and his religion not at all. If he

can catch the love of virtue from the fine things that are spoken

of it in the classics, and the love of holiness from the customary

attendance upon such preaching as he is likely to hear, it will

be well; but I am sure you have had too many opportunities to

observe the inefficacy of such means to expect any such advantage

from them. In the mean time, the more powerful influence of bad

example and perhaps bad company, will continually counterwork these

only preservatives he can meet with, and may possibly send him

home to you, at the end of five or six years, such as you will be

sorry to see him. You escaped indeed the contagion yourself, but

a few instances of happy exemption from a general malady are not

sufficient warrant to conclude that it is therefore not infectious,

or may be encountered without danger.

You have seen too much of the world, and are a man of too much

reflection, not to have observed, that in proportion as the sons

of a family approach to years of maturity they lose a sense of

obligation to their parents, and seem at last almost divested of

that tender affection which the nearest of all relations seems

to demand from them. I have often observed it myself, and have

always thought I could sufficiently account for it, without laying

all the blame upon the children. While they continue in their

parents' house, they are every day obliged, and every day reminded

how much it is their interest as well as duty, to be obliging and

affectionate in return. But at eight or nine years of age, the

boy goes to school. From that moment he becomes a stranger in his

father's house. The course of parental kindness is interrupted. The

smiles of his mother, those tender admonitions, and the solicitous

care of both his parents, are no longer before his eyes--year after

year he feels himself more and more detached from them, till at last

he is so effectually weaned from the connexion, as to find himself

happier any where than in their company.

I should have been glad of a frank for this letter, for I have said

but little of what I could say upon the subject, and perhaps I may

not be able to catch it by the end again. If I can, I shall add to