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النشر الإلكتروني

THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER.

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The excellent remarks that are to be found in his | reason, because a dream is merely a picture drawn letters, written at this period, show that he had some upon the imagination? I hold not with such lucid intervals, and that occasional gleams of light divinity. To love Christ is the greatest dignity of shot across the darkened horizon of his mind. "It man, be that affection wrought in him how it may." strikes me," (he says on one occasion,) "as a very No person ever formed more correct views of observable instance of providential kindness to man, what really constitutes Christianity than Cowper, that such an exact accordance had been contrived nor could any one ever feel a greater aversion to a between his ear and the sounds with which, at least mere profession of it. In a letter to one of his corin a rural situation, it is almost every moment visit- respondents, the following remarks occur:-" I say ed. All the world is sensible of the uncomfortable amen, with all my heart, to your observations on effect that certain sounds have upon the nerves, and religious characters. Men who profess themselves consequently upon the spirits: and if a sinful world adepts in mathematical knowledge, in astronomy, had been filled with such as would have curdled the or jurisprudence, are generally as well qualified as blood, and have made the sense of hearing a per- they would appear. The reason may be, that petual inconvenience, I do not know that we should they are always liable to detection, should they have had a right to complain. But now the fields, attempt to impose upon mankind, and therefore take the woods, and the gardens, have each their concerts, care to be what they pretend. In religion alone, a and the ear of man is for ever regaled by creatures, profession is often slightly taken up, and slovenly who, while they please themselves, at the same time carried on, because forsooth, candor and charity delight him. Even the ears that are deaf to the require us to hope the best, and to judge favorably gospel, are continually entertained, though without of our neighbor; and because it is easy to deceive appreciating it, by sounds for which they are solely the ignorant, who are a great majority, upon this indebted to its author. There is somewhere in in- subject. Let a man attach himself to a particular finite space, a world that does not roll within the party, contend furiously for what are properly called precincts of mercy, and as it is reasonable, and even evangelical doctrines, and enlist himself under the scriptural, to suppose that there is music in heaven, banner of some popular preacher, and the business is in these dismal regions perhaps the reverse of it is done. Behold a Christian! a saint! a phoenix! In the found-tones so dismal, as to make wo itself more mean time perhaps his heart, his temper, and even his conduct, is unsanctified; possibly less exemplary insupportable, and even to acuminate despair." than that of some avowed infidels. No matter, he can talk, he has the Bible in his pocket, and a head well stored with notions. But the quiet, humble, modest, and peaceable person, who is in his practice what the other is only in his profession, who hates a noise about religion, and therefore makes none, who, knowing the snares that are in the world, keeps himself as much out of it as he can, and never enters it but when duty calls, and even then with fear and trembling-is the Christian that will always stand highest in the estimation of those who bring all characters to the test of true wisdom, and judge of the tree by its fruits."

In another letter on a similar subject, he thus writes:-"It is indeed a melancholy consideration, that the gospel, whose direct tendency is to promote the happiness of mankind in the present as well as in the life to come, which so effectually answers the design of its author, whenever it is well understood, and sincerely believed, should, through the ignorance, the bigotry, the superstition, of its professors, and the ambition of popes and princes, have produced incidentally so much mischief; only furnishing the world with a plausible pretext to worry each other, while they sanctified the worst cause with the specious pretext of zeal for the furtherance of the best. Angels descend from heaven to publish peace between man and his Maker-the Prince of Peace himself comes to confirm and establish it; and war, hatred, and desolation, are the consequence. Thousands quarrel about the interpretation of a book, which none of them understand. He that is slain, dies firmly persuaded that the crown of martyrdom awaits him; and he that slew him, is equally convinced that he has done God service. In reality they are both mistaken and equally unentitled to the honor they have arrogated to themselves. If a multitude of blind men should set out for a certain city, and dispute about the right road till a battle ensued between them, the probable effect would be that none of them would ever reach it: and such a fray, preposterous and shocking in the extreme, would exhibit a picture in some degree resembling the original of which we have been speaking. And why is not the world thus occupied at present? only because they have exchanged a zeal that was no better than madness, for an indifference equally pitiable and absurd. The holy sepulchre has lost

CHAPTER X.

its importance in the eyes of nations, called Chris- | suspect, that has not a spiritual eye to discern it, that tians, not because the light of true wisdom has the fine gentleman might possibly be one whom his delivered them from a superstitious attachment Maker had in abhorrence, and the wretch last to the spot, but because he that was buried in it is mentioned dear to him as the apple of his eye? It no longer regarded by them as the Saviour of the is no wonder that the world, who only look at things world. The exercise of reason, enlightened by as they are connected with the present life, find philosophy, has cured them indeed of the misery of themselves obliged, some of them at least, to doubt an abused understanding, but together with the de-a providence, and others absolutely to deny it; lusion they have lost the substance, and for the sake when almost all the real virtue there is to be found of the lies that were grafted upon it, have quarrelled in it, exists in a state of neglected obscurity, and all with the truth itself. Here, then, we see the ne plus the vices cannot exclude them from the privileges ultra of human wisdom, at least in affairs of re- of worship and honor. But behind the curtain the ligion. It enlightens the mind with respect to non- matter will be explained; very little, however, to essentials, but with respect to that in which the the satisfaction of the great." essence of Christianity consists, leaves it perfectly in the dark. It can discover many errors that in different ages have disgraced the faith, but it is only to make way for one more fatal than them all, Publication of Cowper's second volume of poems. Manner in which which represents that faith as a delusion. Why those evils have been permitted shall be known hereafter. One thing, in the mean time, is certain, that the folly and phrenzy of the professed disciples of the gospel, have been more dangerous to its interests, than all the avowed hostilities of its adversaries, and perhaps for this cause these mischiefs might be suffered to prevail for a season, that its divine original and nature might be the more illustrated, when it should appear that it was able to stand its ground for ages, against that most formidable of all attacks-the indiscretion of its friends. The outrages that have followed this perversion of the truth, have proved, indeed, a stumbling-block to individuals: the wise of this world, with all their wisdom, have not been able to distinguish between the blessing and the abuse of it. Voltaire was offended, and Gibbon has turned his back, but the flock of Christ is still nourished, and still increases, notwithstanding the unbelief of a philosopher is able to convert bread into a stone, and fish into a serpent."

The following very serious reflections occur in a letter to Mr. Newton, about this time, adverting to the sufferings of the poor at Olney, whose distressing circumstances on all occasions excited the tenderest sympathies of the poet :-"The winter sets in with great severity. The rigor of the season, and the advanced price of provisions, are very threatening to the poor. It is well with those that can feed upon a promise, and wrap themselves up warm in the robe of salvation. A good fire-side and a well-spread table are but indifferent substitutes for these better accommodations; so very indifferent, that I would gladly exchange them both for the rags and the unsatisfied hunger of the poorest creature, that looks forward with the hope to a better world, and weeps tears of joy in the midst of penury and distress. What a world is this! How mysteriously governed, and, in appearance, left to itself! One man, having squandered thousands at a gamingtable, finds it convenient to travel; gives his estate to somebody to manage for him; amuses himself a few years in France and Italy; returns, perhaps, wiser than he went, having acquired knowledge, which, but for his follies, he would never have acquired; again makes a splendid figure at home, shines in the senate, governs his country as its minister, is admired for his abilities, and if successful, adored, at least by a party. When he dies he is praised as a demi-god, and his monument records every thing but his vices. The exact contrast of such a picture is to be found in many cottages at Olney. I have no need to describe them, you know the characters I mean: they love God, they trust him, they pray to him in secret, and though he means to reward them openly, the day of recompense is delayed. In the mean time they suffer every thing that infirmity and poverty can inflict upon them. Who would

it was received by the public. His feelings on the occasion. Great self-abasement. Renewal of his correspondence with Lady Hesketh. Acceptance of her proffered assistance. Her projected visit to Olney. Cowper's pleasing anticipations of its results. Her arrival. Cowper's removal from Olney to Weston. His intimacy with the Throckmortons. Happiness it afforded him.

COWPER's second volume of poems, the publication of which had been delayed much longer than was expected, appeared, at length, in the summer of 1785. His first volume, though it had not met with that success which might have been expected, had nevertheless been extensively circulated, and was spoken of highly by some of the first literary characters of the age. It had therefore raised the expectations of the public, and had thus made way for its successor, which no sooner made its appearance than it was eagerly sought after, and met with a rapid and extensive sale. High as had been the expectations of his friends, they fell far short of what he had accomplished in that brilliant display of real poetical talent everywhere to be found in the Task. The singularity of the title made its first appearance somewhat repulsive: its various and matchless beauties were, however, soon discovered, and it speedily raised the reputation of Cowper to the highest summit of poetic genius, and placed him among the first class of poets.

In a letter to Mr. Newton, he describes his feelings on this occasion in such a manner as proves him to have been influenced by nothing like selfish or ambitious motives; but by principles far more noble and exalted:-"I found your account of what you experienced in your state of maiden authorship very entertaining, because very natural. I suppose no man ever made his first sally from the press without a conviction that all eyes and ears would be engaged to attend him, at least without a thousand anxieties lest they should not. But, however arduous and interesting such an enterprise may be in the first instance, it seems to me that our feelings on the occasion soon become obtuse. I can answer at least for one. Mine are by no means what they were when I published my first volume. I am even so indifferent to the matter, that I can truly assert myself guiltless of the very idea of my book sometimes for whole days together. God knows that my mind, having been occupied more than twelve years in the contemplation of the most distressing subjects, the world, and its opinions of what I write, is become as unimportant to me as the whistling of a bird in a bush. Despair made amusement necessary, and I found poetry the most agreeable amusement. Had I not endeavored to perform my best, it would not have amused me at all. The mere blotting of so much paper would have been but indifferent sport. God gave me grace also to wish that I might not write in vain. Accordingly, I have mingled much truth with some trifles; and such truths as deserved at least to be clad as well

and as handsomely as I could clothe them. If the world approve me not, so much the worse for them, but not for me; I have only endeavored to serve them, and the loss will be their own. And as to their commendations, if I should chance to win them, I feel myself equally invulnerable there. The view that I have had of myself, for many years, has been so truly humiliating, that I think the praises of all mankind could not hurt me. God knows that I speak my present sense of the matter at least most truly, when I say, that the admiration of creatures like myself seems to me a weapon the least dangerous that my worst enemy could employ against me. I am fortified against it by such solidity of real self-abasement, that I deceive myself most egregiously if I do not heartily despise it. Praise belongeth to God; and I seem to myself to covet it no more than I covet divine honors. Could I assuredly hope that God would at last deliver me, I should have reason to thank him for all that I have suffered, were it only for the sake of this single fruit of my affliction that it has taught me how much more contemptible I am in myself than I ever before suspected, and has reduced my former share of self-knowledge (of which at that time I had a tolerable good opinion) to a mere nullity, in comparison to what I have acquired since. Self is a subject of inscrutable misery and mischief, and can never be studied to so much advantage as in the dark; for as the bright beams of the sun seem to impart a beauty to the most unsightly objects, so the light of God's countenance, vouchsafed to a fallen creature, so sweetens him and softens him for the time, that he seems both to others and to himself, to have nothing selfish or sordid about him. But the heart is a nest of serpents, and will be such while it continues to beat. If God cover the mouth of that nest with his hand, they are hush and snug; but if he withdraw his hand, the whole family lift up their heads and hiss, and are as active and venomous as ever. This I always professed to believe from the time that I had embraced the truth, but I never knew it as I know it now. To what end 1 have been made to know it as I do, whether for the benefit of others or for my own, or for both, or for neither, will appear hereafter."

as in fact it has proved, a most agreeable surprise.
For I can truly boast of an affection for you that
neither years nor intercepted intercourse have at all
abated. I need only recollect how much I valued
you once, and with how much cause, immediately
to feel a revival of the same value; if that can be
said to revive, which at the most has only been dor-
mant for want of employment. But I slander it
when I say that it has slept. A thousand times have
I recollected a thousand scenes, in which our two
selves have formed the whole of the drama, with
the greatest pleasure; at times, too, when I had no
reason to suppose that I should ever hear from you
again. The hours that I have spent with you, were
among the pleasantest of my former days, and are
therefore chronicled in my mind so deeply as to fear
no erasure. You say that you have often heard of
me; that puzzles me. I cannot imagine from what
quarter; but it is no matter. I must tell you, how-
ever, my dear cousin, that your information has
been a little defective. That I am happy in my
situation is true; I live, and have lived these twenty
years, with Mrs. Unwin, to whose affectionate care
of me, during the far greater part of that time, it is,
under Divine Providence, owing that I live at all.
But I do not account myself happy in having been
for thirteen of those years in a state of mind that has
made all that care and attention necessary; an at-
tention and a care, that have injured her health,
and which, had she not been uncommonly support-
ed, must have brought her to the grave. But I will
pass to another subject; it would be cruel to particu-
farize only to give pain, neither should I by any
means give a sable hue to the first letter of a corres-
pondence so unexpectedly renewed. I must, how-
ever tell you, my dear cousin, that dejection of spirits,
which I suppose may have prevented many a man
from becoming an author, has made me one. I find
con-stant employment necessary, and therefore take
care to be constantly employed. Manual occupations
do not engage the mind sufficiently, as I know by ex-
perience, having tried many. But composition,
especially of verse, absorbs it wholly. I write, there-
fore, generally three hours in the morning, and in
the evening I transcribe. I read also, but less than
I write, for I must have bodily exercise, and there-
fore never pass a day without it.

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While Cowper looked upon his publication with "I do not seek new friends, not being altogether so much indifference, his friends regarded it with very opposite feelings. Its rapid and extensive cir- sure that I should find them, but have unspeakable culation, not only delighted those who were inti- pleasure in being beloved by an old one. I hope mately associated with him, and had been witnesses that our correspondence has now suffered its last into the acute anguish of his mind, during his depres- terruption, and that we shall go down together to the sive malady, but it also gratified several of his for- grave, chattering and chirping as happily as such a mer associates and correspondents, and induced scene as this will permit. I am happy that my them to renew their communications with the poet. poems have pleased you. My volume has afforded Among these was Lady Hesketh, who was so charm- me no such pleasure at any time, either while I was ed with productions of his pen, that on her return writing it, or since its publication, as I have derived from abroad, where she had spent several years from yours and my uncle's favorable opinion rewith her husband, she renewed her correspondence specting it. I make certain allowances for partiality, with Cowper, and as she was now a widow and was and for that peculiar quickness of taste, with which handsomely provided for, she generously offered to you both relish what you like; and after all drawrender him any assistance he might want. Cow-backs upon those accounts duly made, find myselfrich per's reply to an affectionate letter she wrote him, shows the warmth of his affection towards those whom he loved. He thus writes:-"My dear cousin, it is no new thing for you to give pleasure. But I will venture to say that you do not often give more than you gave me this morning. When I came down to breakfast and found on the table, a letter franked by my uncle, and when opening that frank, I found that it contained a letter from you, I said within myself, this is just as it should be. We are all grown young again, and the days that I thought I should see no more, are actually returned. You perceive, therefore, that you judged well when you conjectured that a line from you would not be disagreeable to me. It could not be otherwise than

in the measure of your approbation that still remains.
But above all I honor John Gilpin, since it was he who
first encouraged you to write. I made him on pur-
pose to laugh at, and he served his purpose well; but
I am now indebted to him for a more valuable ac-
quisition than all the laughter in the world amounts
to, the recovery of my intercourse with you, which
is to me inestimable. I am glad that I always loved
you as I did. It releases me from any occasion to
suspect that my present affection for you is indebted
for its existence to any selfish considerations. No,
I am sure I love you disinterestedly, and for your
own sake, because I never thought of you with any
other sensations than those of the truest affection,
even while I was under the persuasion, that I should

never hear from you again. But with my present feel-justed; and now I have nothing to do but to wish ings superadded to those that I always had for you, I find it no easy matter to do justice to my sensations. I perceive myself in a state of mind, similar to that of the traveller described in Pope's Messiah, who, as he passes through a sandy desert, starts at the sudden and unexpected sound of a waterfall.-Your very generous offer of assistance has placed me in a situation new to me, and in which I feel myself somewhat puzzled how to behave. When I was once asked if I wanted any thing, and given delicately to understand that the inquirer was ready to supply all my occasions, I thankfully and civilly, but positively, declined the favor. I neither suffer nor have suffered such inconveniences, as I had not much rather endure, than come under an obligation to a person who is almost a stranger to me. But to you I answer otherwise. I know you thoroughly, and the liberality of your disposition, and have that consummate confidence in the sincerity of your wish to serve me, that delivers me from all awkward constraint, and from all fear of trespassing by acceptance. To you, therefore, I reply, yes. Whensoever and whatsoever, and in what manner soever, you please, and add moreover, that my affection for the giver is such as will increase to me ten-fold the satisfaction I shall have in receiving. You must not, however, strain any points to your own inconvenience or hurt; there is no need of it; but indulge yourself in communicating (no matter what) that you can spare without missing it, since by so doing you will be sure to add to the comforts of my life, one of the sweetest that I can enjoy-a token and a proof of your affection.. At the same time, that I would not grieve you by putting a check upon your bounty, I would be as careful not to abuse it, as if I were a miser, and the question were, not about your money but my own."

for June; and June, my dear cousin, was never so wished for since June was made. I shall have a thousand things to hear, and a thousand to say, and they will all rush into my mind together, till it will be so crowded with things impatient to be said, that for some time I shall say nothing. But no matter-sooner or later they will all come out. After so long a separation, a separation which oflate seemed so likely to last for life, we shall meet each other as alive from the dead; and, for my own part, I can truly say, that I have not a friend in the other world whose resurrection would give me greater pleasure.

"If you will not quote Solomon, my dearest consin, I will. He says, and as beautifully as truly, Hope deferred maketh the heart sick, but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life! I feel how much reason he had on his side when he made this observation, and I am myself really sick of your delay. Well, the middle of June will not always be a thousand years off; and when it comes, I shall hear you, and see you too; and shall not care a single farthing if you do not touch a pen for a month. From this very morning, 15th May, 1786, I begin to date the last month of our long separation; and confidently, and most comfortably hope, that before the fifteenth of June shall present itself, we shall have seen each other. Is it not so? and will it not be one of the most extraordinary eras of my extraordinary life? A year ago, we neither corresponded, nor expected to meet in this world. But this world is a scene of marvellous events, many of them more marvellous than fiction itself would dare to hazard: (blessed be God!) they are not all of the distressing kind. Now and then, in the course of an existence, whose hue is for the most part sable, a day turns up that makes amends for many sighs, and many subjects of comThe happiest consequences resulted from the re-plaint. Such a day shall I account the day of your newal of Cowper's correspondence with this accomplished and excellent lady. After an interchange of some of the most interesting letters that were ever written, she proposed at length to pay the sequestered poet a visit at Olney, and made arrangements accordingly.

arrival at Olney. Wherefore is it (canst thou tell me?) that, together with all these delightful sensations, to which the sight of a long absent dear friend gives birth, there is a mixture of something painful, flutterings and tumults, and I know not what accompaniments of our pleasure, that are in fact perThe following extracts from Cowper's letters to fectly foreign from the occasion? Such I feel when her on this occasion will be read with pleasure, as a I think of our meeting, and such, I suppose, feel faithful record of the delight he anticipated from you; and the nearer the crisis approaches, the more this interview:-"I have been impatient to tell you, I am sensible of them. I know beforehand that they that I am impatient to see you again. Mrs. Unwin will increase with every turn of the wheels that partakes with me in all my feelings. Let me as- shall convey you to Olney; and when we actually sure yon, that your kindness in promising us a visit, meet, the pleasure, and this unaccountable pain tohas charmed us both. I shall see you again, I shall gether, will be as much as I shall be able to suphear your voice. We shall take walks together. I port. I am utterly at a loss for the cause, and can will show you my prospects-the hovel, the alcove, only resolve it into that appointment, by which it the Ouse, and its banks, every thing that I have de- has been foreordained that all human delights shall scribed. I anticipate the pleasure of those days not be qualified and mingled with their contraries. But very far distant, and feel a part of it this moment. a fig for them all! Let us resolve to combat with, My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May, and to conquer them. They are dreams; they are or the beginning of June, because before that time illusions of the judgment. Some enemy that hates my green-house will not be ready to receive us, and the happiness of human kind, and is ever industriit is the only pleasant room belonging to us. When ous to dash, if he cannot destroy it, works them in the plants go out, we go in. I line it with nets, and us, and they being so perfectly unreasonable as they spread the floor with mats; and there you shall sit, are, is a proof of it. Nothing that is such can be with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge the work of a good agent. This I know too by exof honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine; and I will perience, that, like all other illusions, they exist only make you a bouquet of myrtle every day. We now by force of imagination, are indebted for their pretalk of nobody but you-what we will do with you valence to the absence of their objects, and in a few when we get you, where you shall walk, where you moments after their appearance cease. So then this shall sleep, in short, every thing that bears the re- is a settled point, and the case stands thus. You motest relation to your well-being at Olney occupies will tremble as you draw near to Olney, and so shall all our talking time, which is all that I do not spend I; but we will both recollect that there is no reason at Troy. Mrs. Unwin has already secured for why we should, and this recollection will at least you an apartment, or rather two, just such as we have some little effect in our favor. We will likecould wish. The house in which you will find wise both take the comfort of what we know to be them is within thirty yards of our own, and opposite true, that the tumult will soon cease, and the pleato it. The whole affair is thus commodiously ad-sure long survive the pain, even as long, I trust,

as we ourselves shall survive it. Assure yourself, | Cowper had so well described in his letters, and my dear cousin, that both for your sake, since you their first meeting was, indeed, painfully pleasing; make a point of it, and for my own, I will be as phi- every sensation, however, that was in any degree losophically careful as possible, that these fine nerves painful, soon subsided, and gave place to such only of mine shall not be beyond measure agitated when as were pure and delightful. Mrs. Unwin was you arrive. In truth, there is a much greater proba- pleased with the sweetness of temper, agreeable bility that they will be benefited, and greatly, too. manners, and cheerful conversation of Lady HesJoy of heart, from whatever occasion it may arise, keth, and her ladyship was no less delighted with is the best of all nervous medicines; and I should the mild, amiable, and affectionate conduct of her not wonder, if such a turn given to my spirits should new companion; while Cowper's heart was gladhave even a lasting effect, of the most advantageous dened to have the advantage of daily intercourse kind, upon them. You must not imagine neither, with another highly cultivated mind. that I am, on the whole, in any great degree, subject to nervous affections: occasionally I am, and have been these many years, much liable to dejection; but, at intervals, and sometimes for an interval of weeks, no creature would suspect it. For I have not that which commonly is a symptom of such a case, belonging to me: I mean, occasional extraordinary elevation. When I am in the best health, my tide of animal sprightliness flows with great equality, so that I am never, at any time, exalted in proportion as I am sometimes depressed. My depression has a cause, and if that cause were to cease, I should be as cheerful thenceforth, and perhaps for ever, as any man need be.

The happy effect this change had upon Cowper's spirits will be seen by the following extracts from his correspondence:-" My dear cousin's arrival, as it could not fail to do, has made us happier than we ever were at Olney. Her great kindness, in giving us her company, is a cordial that I shall feel the effect of, not only while she is here, but while I live. She has been with us a fortnight. She pleases every body, and is, in her turn, pleased with every thing she finds here; is always cheerful and good tempered; and knows no pleasure equal to that of communicating pleasure to us, and to all around her. The disposition in her is the more comfortable, because it is not the humor of the day, a sudden Your visit is delayed too long, to my impatience, flash of benevolence and goodness, occasioned at least it seems so, who find the spring, backward merely by a change of scene, but it is her natural as it is, too forward, because many of its beauties turn, and has governed all her conduct ever since I will have faded before you will have an opportunity knew her first. We are consequently happy in her to see them. We took our customary walk yester- society, and shall be happier still to have you parday, and saw, with regret, the laburnums, syriangas, take with us in our joy. I am fond of the sound of and guelder roses, some of them blown, and others bells, but was never more pleased with those of just upon the point of blowing, and could not help Olney than when they rang her into her new habiobserving, that all these will be gone before Lady tation. She is, as she ever was, my pride and my Hesketh comes. Still, however, there will be roses, joy; and I am delighted with every thing that means and jasmine, and honey suckles, and shady walks, to do her honor. Her first appearance was too and cool alcoves, and you will partake them with much for me; my spirits, instead of being gently us. But I want you to have a share of every thing raised, broke down with me, under the pressure of that is delightful here, and cannot bear that the ad- too much joy, and left me flat, or rather melanchovance of the season should steal away a single | ly, throughout the day, to a degree that was mortipleasure before you come to enjoy it. I will ven-fying to myself, and alarming to her. But I have ture to say, that even you were never so much expected in your life.

"I regret that I have made your heart ache so often, my dear cousin, with talking about my fits of dejection. Something has happened that has led me to the subject, or I would have mentioned them more sparingly. Do not suppose that I treat you with reserve; there is nothing in which I am concerned that you shall not be made acquainted with. But the tale is too long for a letter: I will only add, for your present satisfaction, that the cause is not exterior, that it is not within the reach of human aid, and that yet I have a hope myself, and Mrs. Unwin a strong persuasion of its removal. I am indeed even now, and have been for a considerable time, sensible of a change for the better, and expect, with good reason, a comfortable lift from you. Guess then, my beloved cousin, with what wishes I look forward to the time of your arrival, from whose coming I promise myself not only pleasure, but peace of mind, at least an additional share of it. At present it is an uncertain and transient guest with me; but the joy with which I shall see, and converse with you, at Olney, may, perhaps, make it an abiding one.""

It is seldom that pleasure, anticipated with such warmth of feeling, fully answers our expectations. Human enjoyments almost invariably seem much more valuable in prospect than in possession. Cowper's interview with his cousin, however, was altogether an exception, and proved a source of more real delight to both parties than either of them had expected. As might naturally be supposed, after a separation of three-and-twenty years, they both experienced the full force of those emotions, which

made amends for this torture since; and, in point of cheerfulness, have far exceeded her expectations, for she knew that sable had been my suit for many years. By her help we get change of air and of scene, though still resident at Olney; and by her means, have intercourse with some families in this country, with whom, but for her, we could never have been acquainted. Her presence here would at any time, even in her happiest days, have been a comfort to me; but in the present day I am doubly sensible of its value. She leaves nothing unsaid, nothing undone, that she thinks will be conducive to our well-being; and so far as she is concerned, I have nothing to wish, but that I could believe her sent hither in mercy to myself;-then I should be thankful."

Lady Hesketh had not long been at Olney before she became dissatisfied with the poet's residence. She thought it a situation altogether unsuitable for a person subject to depression. Cowper himself had often entertained the same opinion respecting it: and both he and Mrs. Unwin had frequently wished for a change, and had, indeed, been looking out for a house more agreeable to their taste. At that time a very commodious cottage, pleasantly situated in the village of Weston Underwood, a mile and a half distant from Olney, belonging to Sir John Throckmorton, was unoccupied. It occurred to Cowper, that this would be a very agreeable summer residence for his consin; and on his mentioning it to her, she immediately engaged it, not for herself only, but for the future residence of the poet and his amiable companion, with whom she had now made up her mind to become a frequent, if not a constant associate. The following extracts

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