In the midsummer holidays of 1799, being on a visit to an old and opulent
family of the name of Deverell, in Dereham, Norfolk, I was taken to the
house of an ancient lady (a member of the aforesaid family), to pay my
respects to her, and to drink {103} tea. Two visitors were _particularly_
expected. They soon arrived. The first, if I remember rightly (for my whole
attention was singularly riveted to the _second_), was a pleasant-looking,
lively young man--very talkative and entertaining; his companion was above
the middle height, broadly made, but not stout, and advanced in years. His
countenance had a peculiar charm, that I could not resist. It alternately
exhibited a deep sadness, a thoughtful repose, a fearful and an
intellectual fire, that surprised and held me captive. His manner was
embarrassed and reserved. He spoke but little. Yet _once_ he was roused to
animation; then his voice was full and clear. I have a faint recollection
that I saw his face lighted up with a momentary smile. His hostess kindly
welcomed him as "Mr. Cooper." After tea, we walked for a while in the
garden. I kept close to his side, and once he addressed me as "My little
master." I returned to school; but that variable, expressive, and
interesting countenance I did not forget. In after years, standing, as was
my wont, before the shop windows of the London booksellers (I have not
_quite_ left off this old habit!), reading the title-pages of tomes that I
intensely longed, but had not then the money, to purchase, I recognised at
a shop in St. Paul's Churchyard that well-remembered face, prefixed to a
volume of poems, "written by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq." The
_cap_ (for when I saw "Mr. Cooper" he wore a wig, or his hair, for his age,
was unusually luxuriant) was the only thing that puzzled me. To make
"assurance doubly sure," I hastened to the house of a near relation hard
by, and I soon learnt that "Mr. Cooper" was William Cowper. The welcome
present of a few shillings put me in _immediate_ possession of the coveted
volumes. I will only just add, that I read, and re-read them; that the man
whom, in my early boyhood, I had so mysteriously reverenced, in my youth I
deeply and devotedly admired and loved! Many, many years have since passed
away: but that reverence, that admiration, and that love have experienced
neither diminution nor change.
It was something, said Washington Irving, to have seen even the _dust_ of
Shakspeare. It is something too, good Mr. Editor, to have beheld the face
and to have heard the voice of Cowper.