mon as they are, have not, in the least, alienated my affections from Weston. The genius of that place suits me better; it has an air of snug concealment, in which a disposition like mine feels peculiarly gratified; whereas here, I see from every window woods like forests, and hills like mountains, a wilderness in short that rather increases my natural melancholy, and which, were it not for the agreeables I find within, would convince me that mere change of place can avail but little." On the 17th September, 1792, Cowper and Mrs. Unwin left Eartham for their beloved retreat at Weston. Their parting interview with their friends at Eartham, who had heaped upon them every thing that the most affectionate kindness could invent, was deeply interesting to all parties, but particularly affecting to the sensitive mind of Cowper. According to a previous arrangement, the poet and Mrs. Unwin dined, and spent the day with General Cowper, at Kingston, who had come there on purpose to have the pleasure of Cowper's company, probably for the last time. A recollection of this so powerfully affected the poet's mind, that the pleasure of the interview was hardly greater than the pain he felt at parting with his venerable and beloved kinsman. The peculiar and burdened state of Cowper's mind respecting this visit, he thus describes:-The struggles that I had with my own spirit, laboring as I did, under the most dreadful dejection, are never to be told. I would have given the world to have been excused. I went, however, and carried the point against myself, with a heart riven asunder. I have reasons for all this anxiety, which I cannot relate now; the visit, however, passed off well, and I returned with a lighter heart than I have known since my departure from Eartham, and we both enjoyed a good night's rest afterwards." The good providence of God conducted these interesting travellers in safety to their home, where they arrived in the evening of the second day after they set out from Eartham. The unusual excitement occasioned by so long a journey, and by such a profusion of interesting objects, would in ordinary cases, and in minds of almost any form, who had been so long confined to one spot, be very likely to be succeeded by considerable depression. Such | was, however, much more likely to be the case on a mind like Cowper's. Accordingly we find, that when he arrived at Weston, he was for a considerable time, subject to an unusual degree of depression. The following extracts from his letters to his friend Hayley, describe the state of his mind, and show how much he was then under the influence of his depressive malady:-"Chaos, himself, even the chaos of Milton, is not surrounded with more confusion, nor has a mind more completely in a hubbub, than I experience at the present moment. A bad night, succeeded by an east wind, and a sky all in sables, have such an effect on my spirits, that if I did not consult my own comfort more than yours, I should not write to-day, for I shall not entertain you much yet your letter, though containing no very pleasant tidings, has afforded me some relief. It tells me, indeed, that you have been dispirited yourself; all this grieves me, but then there is a warmth of heart, and a kindness in it, that do me good. I will endeavor to repay you in notes of sorrow and despondence, though all my sprightly chords seem broken. In truth, one day excepted, I have not seen the day when I have been cheerful since I left you. My spirits, I think, are almost constantly lower than they were; the approach of winter is perhaps the cause, and if it be, I have nothing better to expect for a long time to come. I began a long letter to you yesterday, and proceeded through two sides of the sheet, but so much of my nervous fever found its way into it, that, looking over it this morning, I determined not to send it. Your wishes to disperse my melancholy would, I am sure, prevail, did that event depend on the warmth and sincerity with which you frame them; but it has baffled both wishes and prayers, and those the most fervent that could be made, so many years, that the case seems hopeless." These frequent, and, indeed, almost continual attacks of depression, combined with the attention that Cowper paid to promote the comfort, and facilitate the recovery of Mrs. Unwin, prevented him entirely from persevering in his literary undertaking. In his letters he makes this a subject of particular regret. The benefits he had derived from his regular habits of study during his translation of Homer, made him anxious to be again regularly employed. To his friend Mr. Rose he thus describes the state of his mind in this respect:—“ I wish that I were as industrious, and as much occupied as you, though in a different way, but it is not so with me. Mrs. Unwin's great debility is of itself a hinderance, such as would effectually disable me. Till she can work and read, and fill up her time as usual, (all which is at present entirely out of her power,) I may now and then find time to write a letter, but I shall write nothing more. I cannot sit, with my pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is in effect, in solitude, silent, and looking at the fire. To this hinderance that other has been added, of which you are aware, a want of spirits, such as I have never known when I was not absolutely laid by, since I commenced an author. How long I shall be continued in these uncomfortable circumstances is known only to Him, who, as he will, disposes of us all. "I may yet be able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of Paradise Lost for the press, before it will be wanted, and Johnson himself seems to think there will be no haste for the second. But poetry is my favorite employment, and my poetical operations are in the meantime suspended; for while a work, to which I have bound myself, remains unaccomplished, I can do nothing else. Johnson's plan of prefixing my phiz to the edition of my poems is by no means a pleasant one to me, and so I told him in a letter I sent him from Eartham, in which I assured him that my objections to it would not be easily surmounted. But, if you judge that it may really have an effect in advancing the sale, I would not be so squeamish as to suffer the spirit of prudery to prevail on me to his disadvantage. Somebody told an author, I forget whom, that there was more vanity in refusing his picture than in granting it, on which he instantly complied. I do not perfectly feel all the force of the argument, but it shall content me that he did." To his kinsman he writes:-"The successor of the clerk defunct, for whom I used to write, arrived here this morning, with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an humble petition of his own, entreating me to assist him, as I had assisted his predecessor. I have undertaken the service, although with no little reluctance, being involved in many arrears on other subjects, and very little dependence at present on my ability to write at all. I proceed exactly as when you were here-a letter now and then before breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday, if holiday it may be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and forecasting the fashion of uncertain evils. The fever on my spirits has harassed me much, and I have never had so good a night, nor so quiet a rising, since you went, as on this very morning. A relief that I account particularly seasonable and propitious, because I had, in my intentions, devoted this morning to you, and could not have fulfilled those intentions, had I been as spiritless as I generally am. I am glad that Johnson is in no haste for Milton, for I seem myself not likely to address myself presently to that concern with any prospect of success, yet something, now and then, like a secret whisper, assures and encourages me that it will yet be done." felt before I engaged with Johnson, and did, in the first instance, actually decline the service, but he was urgent, and at last I suffered myself to be persuaded. The season of the year, as I have already said, is particularly adverse to me, yet not in itself, perhaps, more adverse than any other; but the approach of it always reminds me of the same season in To his friend Hayley he thus writes:-"Yester- the dreadful seventy-three, and the more dreadful day was a day of assignation with myself, a day of eighty-six. I cannot help terrifying myself with which I had said, some days before it came, when doleful misgivings and apprehensions; nor is the that day comes, I will, if possible, begin my disser- enemy negligent to seize all the advantage that the tations. Accordingly, when it came, I prepared to occasion gives him. Thus, hearing much from do so; filled a letter case with fresh paper, furnish- him, and having little or no sensible support from ed myself with a pretty good pen, and replenished God, I suffer inexpressible things till January is my ink bottle; but partly from one cause, and partly over. And even then-whether increasing years from another, chiefly, however, from distress and have made me more liable to it; or despair, the dejection, after writing and obliterating about six longer it lasts, grows naturally darker-I find lines, in the composition of which I spent near an myself more inclined to melancholy than I was hour, I was obliged to relinquish the attempt. An a few years since. God only knows where this will attempt so unsuccessful could have no other ef- end; but where it is likely to end, unless he interfect than to dishearten me, and it has had that pose powerfully in my favor, all may know." effect to such a degree, that I know not when I shall On another occasion, to the same correspondent, find courage to make another. At present I shall he again writes:-"Oh, for the day when your excertainly abstain from it, since I cannot well af-pectations of my final deliverance shall be verified! ford to expose myself to the danger of a fresh mortification." Adverting to this subject, he thus again writes to Mr. Hayley, 25th November, 1792:- How shall I thank you enough for the interest you take in my future Miltonic labors, and the assistance you promise me in the performance of them? I will some time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknowledge your friendship in some of my best verses the most suitable return one poet can make another; in the mean time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness. You wish me warm in my work, and I ardently wish the same, but when I shall be so, God only knows. My melancholy, which seemed a little alleviated for a few days, has gathered about me again, with as black a cloud as ever; the consequence is, absolute incapacity to begin. Yet I purpose, in a day or two, to make another attempt, to which, however, I shall address myself with fear and trembling, like a man, who having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, injured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The consciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burden I am not able to bear. Milton, especially, is my grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded with continual reproaches for neglecting him. I will therefore begin; I will do my best, and if, after all, that best prove good for nothing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they are, that I have already-a measure very disagreeable to myself, and to which nothing but necessity shall compel me." To his friend, Mr. Newton, who had ventured to express his apprehension lest his Miltonic labors should become too severe, he thus writes, 9th December, 1792:-"You need not be uneasy on the subject of Milton; I shall not find that labor too heavy for me, if I have health and leisure. The season of the year is unfavorable to me respecting the former, and Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me less of the latter than the occasion seems to call for. But the business is in no haste: the artists employed to furnish the embellishments are not likely to be very expeditious: and a small portion only of the work will be wanted from me at once, for the intention is to deal it out to the public piece-meal. I am, therefore, under no great anxiety on that account. It is not, indeed, an employment that I should have chosen for myself, because poetry pleases and amuses me more, and would cost me less labor, properly so called. All this I At present it seems very remote so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest streak of it is visible in my horizon. The glimpse with which I was favored about a month ago, has never been repeated, but the depression of my spirits has. The future appears as gloomy as ever, and I seem to myself to be scrambling always in the dark, among rocks and precipices, without a guide, but with an enemy ever at my heels, prepared to push me headlong. Thus I have spent twenty years, but thus I shall not spend twenty years more: long before that period arrives, the grand question concerning my everlasting weal or wo will be decided." To a lady, with whom he occasionally corresponded, he thus discloses his feelings:-" I would give you consolation, madam, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by a great dearth of it in my own experience. I too often seek, but cannot find it. I know, however, there are seasons when, look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This is itself an affliction; and the worse, because it makes us think ourselves more unhappy than we are. I was struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley, where you say that you will endeavor to take an interest in green leaves again.' This seems the sound of my own voice reflected to me from a distance; I have so often had the same thought and desire. A day scarcely passes, at this season of the year, when I do not contemplate the trees as soon to be stript, and say, 'perhaps I shall never see you clothed again.' Every year, as it passes, makes this expectation more reasonable; and the year with me cannot be very distant, when the event will verify it. Well, may God grant us a good hope of arriving, in due time, where the leaves never fall, and all will be right!" Notwithstanding his gloomy forebodings, Cowper escaped any very severe attack of depression in his dreaded month of the ensuing January, and as the spring advanced, he became as busily engaged as he had ever been, partly in his Miltonic labors, but chiefly in preparing materials for a second edition of Homer. He had long been carefully revising the work, and had judiciously availed himself of the remarks of his friends, as well as of the criticisms of the reviewers. As soon, therefore, as it was determined to republish it, he made the best use of these materials, and in a few weeks prepared the work a second time for the press, in its new and much improved form. It was, however, thought advisable, in the second edition, to publish notes for the assistance of unlearned readers; and the labor I 'Seasons return, but not to me returns God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day, could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and accompany him through the whole passage on the subject of a blindness more deplorable than his; but time fails me." and research required to furnish these, occasioned bly the same song to sing-well in body, but sick in Cowper much severe application, as the following spirit; sick nigh unto death. extracts will show:-19th March, 1793. "I am so busy every morning before breakfast, strutting and stalking in Homeric stilts, that you must account it an instance of marvellous grace and favor that write even to you. Sometimes I am seriously almost crazed with the multiplicity of matters before me, and the little or no time that I have for them; and sometimes I repose myself after the fatigue of that distraction, on the pillow of despair-a pillow which has often served me in time of need, and is become, by frequent use, if not very comfortable, at During this year, several of Cowper's correspondleast convenient. So reposed, I laugh at the world ents were visited either with domestic affliction, or and say-Yes, you may gape, and expect both Ho- with painful bereavements. On such occasions, all mer and Milton from me, but I'll be hanged if ever the sensibility and sympathy of his peculiarly tenyou get them. In Homer, however, you must know der mind never failed to be called into lively exercise. I am advanced as far as the fifteenth book of the The deep depression of his own mind did not deter Iliad, leaving nothing behind that can reasonably him from attempting, at least, to alleviate the disoffend the most fastidious; and I design him for a tress of others. To Mr. Hayley, who had recently new dress as soon as possible, for a reason which lost a friend, he thus writes:-"I truly sympathize any poet may guess if he will but thrust his hand into with you under your weight of sorrow, for the loss his pocket. My time, therefore, the little that I of our good Samaritan. But be not broken-hearted have, is now so entirely engrossed by Homer, that I my friend: remember, the loss of those we love is have at this time a bundle of unanswered letters by the condition on which we live ourselves; and that me, and letters likely to be so. Thou knowest, I he who chooses his friends wisely, from among the dare say, what it is to have a head weary with excellent of the earth, has a sure ground to hope thinking mine is so fatigued by breakfast-time, concerning them when they die, that a merciful three days out of four, that I am utterly incapable of God will make them far happier than they could be sitting down to my desk again for any purpose here, and that we shall join them soon again: this is whatever. I rise at six every morning, and fag till solid comfort, could we but avail ourselves of it, near eleven, when I breakfast; the consequence is, but I confess the difficulty of doing so always. Sorthat I am so exhausted as to be unable to write when row is like the deaf adder, that hears not the voice the opportunity offers. You will say, breakfast be of the charmer, charm he never so wisely: and I fore you work, and then your work will not fatigue feel so myself for the death of Austen, that my own you. I answer, perhaps I might, and your counsel chief consolation is that I had never seen him. Live would probably prove beneficial; but I cannot spare yourself, I beseech you, for I have seen so much of a moment for eating in the early part of the morn-you, that I can by no means spare you, and I will ing, having no other time for study: all this time is constantly given to Homer, not to correcting and amending him, for that is all over, but in writing notes. Johnson has expressed a wish for some, that the unlearned may be a little illuminated concerning classical story, and the mythology of the ancients; and his behavior to me has been so liberal, that I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek commentators, however, blinds me. But it is no matter, I am the more like Homer. I avail myself of Clarke's excellent annotations, from which I select such as I think likely to be useful, or that recommend themselves by the amusement they afford, of which sorts there are not a few. Barnes also affords me some of both kinds, but not so many, his notes being chiefly paraphrastical or grammatical. My only fear is, lest between them both, Ijects of sorrow." should make my work too voluminous." live as long as it shall please God to permit. I know To his esteemed friend, Rev. Mr. Hurdis, who, In a letter to Mr. Newton, written 12th June, as above related, had lost one beloved sister, and 1793, Cowper thus expresses himself respecting the was in great danger of losing another, he thus state of his own mind, and that of Mrs. Unwin:- writes, June, 1793-"I seize a passing moment, "You promise to be contented with a short line, merely to say that I feel for your distresses, and sinand a short one you must have, hurried over in the cerely pity you, and I shall be happy to learn from little interval I have happened to find, between the your next that your sister's amendment has superconclusion of my morning task and breakfast. Study seded the necessity you feared of a journey to Lonhas this good effect, at least-it makes me an ear- don. Your candid account that your afflictions ly riser, a wholesome practice from which I have have broken your spirits and temper, I can perfectly never swerved since March. The scanty opportu- understand, having labored much in that fire my nity I have, I shall employ in telling you what you self, and perhaps more than any man. It is in such principally wish to be told, the present state of mine a school that we must learn, if we ever truly learn and Mrs. Unwin's health. In her I cannot perceive it, the natural depravity of the human heart, and of any alteration for the better; and must be satisfied, our own in particular, together with the consequence I believe, as indeed I have great reason to be, if that necessarily follows such wretched premisesshe does not alter for the worse. She uses the or- our indispensable need of the atonement, and our inchard-walk daily, but always supported between expressible obligations to Him who made it. This two, and is still unable to employ herself as former-reflection cannot escape a thinking mind, looking ly. But she is cheerful, seldom in much pain, and back on those ebullitions of fretfulness and impahas always strong confidence in the mercy and tience to which it has yielded in a season of great faithfulness of God. As to myself, I have invaria- affliction." of his mind, exhibits, at the same time, so much of But I am bankrupt now, and doomed henceforth Early in the spring of this year, 1793, Cowper's esteemed relative, Rev. John Johnson, after much mature and solemn deliberation, had resolved to take holy orders. Cowper had always regarded him with the most paternal affection, and had wished that he should enter upon the important office of a Christian minister, with a high sense of the greatness of the work, and with suitable qualifications for a proper discharge of its solemn duties. In accordance with these wishes, when Mr. Johnson, in a previous year, had relinquished his intentions of taking orders at that time, Cowper had thus addressed him :-" My dearest of all Johnnys, I am not sorry that your ordination is postponed. A year's learning and wisdom, added to your present stock, will not be more than enough to satisfy the demands of your function. Neither am I sorry that you find it difficult to fix your thoughts to the serious point at all times. It proves, at least, that you attempt, and wish to do it, and these are good symp-dear brother, I will say in prose. There are other toms. Wo to those who enter on the ministry of impediments to the plan you propose, which I could the gospel without having previously asked, at least, not comprise within the bounds of a sonnet. My from God, a mind and spirit suited to their occupa- poor Mary's infirm condition makes it impossible tion, and whose experience never differs from itself, for me, at present, to engage in a work such as you because they are always alike vain, light, and in- propose. My thoughts are not sufficiently free; nor considerate. It is therefore matter of great joy to have I, nor can I, by any means find opportunity; me to hear you complain of levity, as it indicates added to it, comes a difficulty which, though you the existence of anxiety of mind to be freed from it." are not at all aware of it, presents itself to me unThe gratification it afforded Cowper to find der a most forbidding appearance. Can you guess that his beloved relative entered into the ministry it? No, not you: neither, perhaps, will you be able with scriptural views and feelings is thus express- to imagine that such a difficulty can possibly exist. ed:-" What you say of your determined purpose, If your hair begins to bristle, stroke it down again; with God's help, to take up the cross, and despise for there is no need why it should erect itself. It the shame, gives us both great pleasure: in our pe- concerns me, not you. I know myself too well not digree is found one, at least, who did it before you. to know that I am nobody in verse, unless in a corDo you the like, and you will meet him in heaven, ner and alone, and unconnected in my operations. as sure as the Scripture is the word of God. The This is not owing to want of love to you, my broquarrel that the world has with evangelical men and ther, or the most consummate confidence in you doctrines, they would have with a host of angels in I have both in a degree that has not been exceedhuman form, for it is the quarrel of owls with sun-ed in the experience of any friend you have or ever shine; of ignorance with divine illumination. The had. But I am so made up-I will not enter into a Bishop of Norwich has won my heart by his kind philosophical analysis of my strange constitution, and liberal behavior to you, and if I knew him I in order to detect the true cause of the evil; but, on would tell him so. I am glad that your auditors find a general view of the matter, I suspect that it proyour voice strong, and your utterance distinct; glad, ceeds from that shyness which has been my effectual too, that your doctrine has hitherto made you no and almost total hinderance on many other imporenemies. You have a gracious Master, who, it tant occasions, and which I should feel, I well know, seems, will not suffer you to see war in the begin- on this, to a degree, that would perfectly cripple me. ning. It will be a wonder, however, if you do not | No! I shall neither do nor attempt any thing of confind out, sooner or later, that sore place in every sequence more, unless my poor Mary get better; nor heart, which can ill endure the touch of apostolic even then, unless it should please God to give me doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, another nature. I could not thus act in concert with and you will hear of it. I say not this to terrify any man, not even with my own father or brother, you, but to prepare you for what is likely to happen, were they now alive! Small game must serve me and which, troublesome as it may prove, is yet de- at present, and till I have done with Homer and voutly to be wished; for, in general, there is little Milton. The utmost that I aspire to, and Heaven good done by preachers till the world begins to knows with how feeble a hope, is to write, at some abuse them. But understand me right. I do not future and better opportunity, when my hands are mean that you should give them unnecessary pro- free, The Four Ages. Thus I have opened my heart vocation, by scolding and railing at them, as some, unto thee." On another occasion he thus plaintivemore zealous than wise, are apt to do. That were ly writes:-"I find that much study fatigues me, to deserve their anger. No: there is no need of it. which is a proof that I am somewhat stricken in The self-abasing doctrines of the gospel will, of years. Certain it is, that ten or sixteen years ago I themselves, create you enemies; but remember this could have done as much, and did actually do much for your comfort-they will also, in due time, trans-more, without suffering the least fatigue, than I can form them into friends, and make them love you as if they were your own children. God give you many such as, if you are faithful to his cause, I trust he will.” About this time, Mr. Hayley appears to have applied to Cowper for his assistance, in a joint literary undertaking of some magnitude, with himself and two other distinguished literary characters. Anxious, however, as Cowper was on all occasions to oblige his friend, he could not give his consent to this measure. His reply, given partly in poetry and partly in prose while it shows the peculiar state possibly accomplish now. How insensibly old age steals on us, and how often it is actually arrived before we suspect it! Accident alone; some occurrence that suggests a comparison of our former with our present selves, affords the discovery. Well, it is always good to be undeceived, especially in an article of such importance." To a person less intimately acquainted with Cowper than Mr. Hayley was, the above reply would have been amply sufficient to have prevented him from making any further application of a similar nature. He, however, was not to be thus easily di incessantly employed, either on Homer or Milton, pleasing himself with the society of his young kins man, from Norfolk, and his esteemed friend Mr. Rose, who had arrived from the seat of Lord Spencer, in Northamptonshire, with an invitation from his Lordship to Cowper and his guests, to pay him a visit. All Cowper's friends strongly recommended him to avail himself of this mark of respect from an accomplished nobleman whom he cordially respected. Their entreaties, however, were entirely in vain; his constitutional shyness again prevailed, and he commissioned his friends, Rose and Hayley, to make an apology to his Lordship, for declining so honorable an invitation. verted from his purpose. Of the talents of Cowper | per in the enjoyment of apparent health; and though he had justly formed the highest opinion, and had wisely concluded, that if they could only be again brought fairly and fully into exercise, in the composition of original poetry, the result would be every thing that could be wished. Immediately, therefore, on receiving the above letter, he proffered Cowper his own assistance, and the assistance of two other esteemed friends, in composing the projected poem, "The Four Ages," and proposed that it should be their joint production. His principal object was, unquestionably, to induce Cowper to employ his unrivalled talents. The pleasure he anticipated in having such a coadjutor, gratifying as it must have been to his feelings, was only a secondary consideration. Averse as Cowper was to The manner in which Cowper employed his time the former proposal, he immediately consented to during the continuance of his friend Mr. Hayley at this, and the following extract will show what were Weston, is pleasingly described in the following his feelings on the occasion:-"I am in haste to tell extract from a letter to Mrs. Courtenay, 4th Noyou how much I am delighted with your projected vember, 1793:-"I am a most busy man, busy to a quadruple alliance, and to assure you that, if it degree that sometimes half distracts me; but if please God to afford me health, spirits, ability, and complete distraction be occasioned by having the leisure, I will not fail to devote them all to the pro- thoughts too much and too long attached to any duction of my quota in "The Four Ages." You single point, I am in no danger of it, with such perare very kind to humor me as you do, and had need petual whirl are mine whisked about from one subbe a little touched yourself with all my oddities, ject to another. When two poets meet, there are that you may know how to administer to mine. All fine doings, I can assure you. My 'Homer' finds whom I love do so, and I believe it to be impossible work for Hayley, and his 'Life of Milton' work to love heartily those who do not. People must not for me; so that we are neither of us one moment do me good in their way, but in my own, and then idle. Poor Mrs. Unwin in the mean time sits quiet they do me good indeed. My pride, my ambition, in her corner, occasionally laughing at us both, and and my friendship for you, and the interest I take not seldom interrupting us with some question or in my own dear self, will all be consulted and gra- remark, for which she is continually rewarded by tified, by an arm-in-arm appearance with you in me with a 'hush!' Bless yourself, my dear Cathepublic; and I shall work with more zeal and assi-rina, that you are not connected with a poet, espe duity at Homer; and when Homer is finished, at cially that you have not two to deal with!" Milton, with the prospect of such a coalition before me. I am at this moment, with all the imprudence natural to poets, expending nobody knows what, in embellishing my premises, or rather the premises of my neighbor Courtenay, which is more poetical still. Your project, therefore, is most opportune, as any project must needs be, that has so direct a tendency to put money into the pocket of one so likely to want it. 'Ah, brother poet! send me of your shade, During Mr. Hayley's visit, he saw, with great concern, that the infirmities of Mrs. Unwin were rapidly sinking her into a state of the most pitiable imbecility. Unable any longer to watch over the tender health of him whom she had guarded for so many years, and unwilling to relinquish her authoity, her conduct at this period presented that painful spectacle, which we are occasionally called to witness, of declining nature seeking to retain that power which it knows not how to use nor how to resign. The effect of these increasing infirmities on her whom Cowper justly regarded as the guarIt is deeply to be regretted that the pleasing anti-dian of his life, added to apprehensions which he cipations of both Mr. Hayley and Cowper, respecting this joint production, were never realized. Had this poem been written, it would in all probability, have been equal to any that had ever been published. Cowper was, however, at this time, rapidly sinking into that deep and settled melancholy which it now becomes our painful duty to relate, and in which he continued during the remaining period of his life, notwithstanding the united and indefatiga ble exertions of his friends to afford him relief. CHAPTER XVII. Mr. Hayley's second visit to Weston. Finds Cowper busily engaged. firmities. Cowper's feelings on account of it. Vigor of his own mind at this period. Severe attack of depression. Deplorable fairs kindly undertaken by Lady Hesketh. Mr. Hayley's anxieties respecting him. Is invited by Mr. Greathead to pay Cowper another visit. Complies with the invitation. Arrival at Weston. How he is received by Cowper. Inefficiency of the means employ Great apprehensions respecting him. Mrs. Unwin's increasing in condition to which he was now reduced. Management of his af ed to remove his depression. Handsome pension allowed him by care of the Rev. J. Johnson. Death of Mrs. Unwin. How it ac fected Cowper. Recovers sufficiently to resume his application to Homer. Finishes his notes. Letter to Lady Hesketh descriptive of his feelings. Composes some original poetns. Translates some of Gay's fables into Latin. Rapid decay of his strength. Last His Majesty. His removal from Weston to Norfolk, under the illness. Death. To effect this now began to feel that his increasing expenses, oc- The increasing infirmities of Mrs. Unwin did In the beginning of November, 1793, Mr. Hayley not, in the slightest degree, diminish Cowper's remade his second visit to Weston. He found Cow-gard for her; on the contrary, they seemed rather |