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To the labors of versifying I have no objection, but | the total absence of the chief of all. I rejoiced, and to the labors of criticism I am new, and apprehend had great reason to do so, in your coming to Westhat I shall find them wearisome. Should that beton, for I think the Lord came with you. Not, inthe case, I shall be dull, but must be contented to share the censure of being so, with almost all the commentators that have ever existed. I will, however, have no horrida bella, if I can help it. It is, at least, my present purpose to avoid them if possible; for which reason, I shall confine myself merely to the business of an annotator, which is my proper province, and shall sift out of Warton's notes every tittle that relates to the private character, political or religious principles of my author. These are properly subjects for a biographer's handling, but by no means, as it seems to me, for a commentator's."

In reply to a pressing letter from his friend, Mr. Newton, for original composition, written about this time, Cowper thus expresses himself:-"Your demand for more original composition from me will, if I live, and it please God to afford me health, in all probability, be sooner or later gratified. In the mean time you need not, and if you turn the matter over in your thoughts a little you will perceive that you need not, think me unworthily employed in preparing a new edition of Milton. His two principal poems are of a kind that call for an editor who believes the gospel, and is well grounded in evangelical doctrine. Such an editor they have never had, though only such an one can be qualified for

the office."

The peculiarity of Cowper's religious feelings still continued to exist; and it seemed impossible for him to divest himself entirely of those gloomy apprehensions of his own personal interest in the blessings of the gospel, which had harrassed and distressed him for so many years. On every other subject he could write and converse, with ease to himself and with pleasure to others; but the morbid tendency of his mind to despondency, tinged all his remarks with midnight gloom whenever he adverted to this. An instance of this occurred in one of his letters to Mr. Newton about this time. After describing, in his own playful manner, some changes that had recently taken place in the circle of his immediate acquaintance, he thus closes his letter, which, notwithstanding the excellence of the remarks, evinces the existence of considerable depression:-"Such is this variable scene, so variable, that had the reflections I sometimes make upon it a permanent influence, I should tremble at the thought of a new connection, and to be out of the reach of its mutability, lead almost the life of a hermit. It is well with those, who, like you, have God for their companion; death cannot deprive them of him, and he changes not the place of his abode. Other changes, therefore, to them are all supportable; and what you say of your own experience is the strongest possible proof of it. Had you lived without God, you could not have endured the loss you mention. May he preserve me from a similar one, at least till he shall be pleased to draw me to himself again! Then, if ever that day come, it will make me equal to my burden; at present, I can bear nothing well. I, however, generally manage to pass my time comfortably, as much so, at least, as Mrs. Unwin's frequent indisposition, and my no less frequent troubles of mind, will permit. When I am much distressed, any company but her's distresses me more, and makes me doubly sensible of my sufferings, though sometimes, I confess, it falls out otherwise; and by the help of more general conversation, I recover that elasticity of mind which is able to resist the pressure. On the whole, I believe I am situated exactly as I should wish to be, were my situation determined by my own election; and am denied no comfort that is compatible with

deed, to abide with me, nor to restore me to that intercourse which I had with him, and which I enjoyed twenty years ago, but to awaken in me, however, more spiritual feeling than I have experienced, except in two instances, all that time. The comforts that I had received under your ministry in better days, all rushed upon my recollection; and, during two or three transient moments, seemed to be in a degree renewed. You will tell me that, transient as they were, they were yet evidences of a love that is not so; and I am desirous to believe it."

We have already informed our readers that Cowper's engagement as the editor of Milton became the means of introducing him to Mr. Hayley. He received the first letter from that gentleman in March, 1792. An incident occurred respecting this letter which ought not to go unrecorded; as it might have proved fatal to that friendship, which became to both the poets a source of the purest enjoyment. Neither of these talented individuals had, at that time, any knowledge of each other. Mr. Hayley had read Cowper's productions with no ordinary emotions of delight, and had consequently conceived the highest respect for their unknown author; and nothing could have occasioned him greater surprise, as well as uneasiness, than to be represented as the opponent of one whom he so highly respected. No sooner was he apprized of it than he wrote to Cowper, generously offering him any materials that he had collected, with as much assistance as it was in his power to afford, and being unacquainted with his address, directed his letter to the care of Johnson, his publisher. Either through the carelessness or inadvertence of Johnson, this letter remained in his hands for a considerable time, and was not delivered to Cowper till six weeks after it had been written. Immediately on receiving it, Cowper wrote to Mr. Hayley, explaining the cause of his long-delayed reply; and from that time, an interchange of many most interesting letters took place, which subsequently led to a friendship the most cordial and ardent, which it was only in the power of death to dissolve. In a letter to Lady Hesketh, Cowper thus adverts to this circumstance:-"Mr. Hayley's friendly and complimentary letter, from some unknown cause, at least to me, slept six weeks in Johnson's custody. It was necessary I should answer it without delay: accordingly I answered it the very evening on which I received it, giving him to understand, among other things, how much vexation the bookseller's folly had cost me, who had detained it so long, especially on account of the distress that I knew it must have occasioned to him also. From his reply, which the return of the post brought me, I learn that in the long interval of my non-correspondence he had suffered anxiety and mortification enough; so much so that I dare say he made twenty vows never to hazard again either letter or compliment to an unknown author. What, indeed, could he imagine less, than that I meant by such obstinate silence to tell him that I valued neither him nor his praises, nor his proffered friendship; in short, that I considered him as a rival, and, therefore, like a true author, hated and despised him. He is now, however, convinced that I love him, as indeed I do, and I account him the chief acquisition that my verse has ever procured me. Brute should I be if I did not, for he promises me every assistance in his power."

To Mr. Hayley, at the commencement of Cowper's correspondence with him, and after the above unpleasant occurrence had been satisfactorily accounted for, and amicably settled, he thus expresses his anxiety that the friendship thus formed might

be lasting:-"God grant that this friendship of ours | may be a comfort to us all the rest of our days, in a world where true friendships are rarities, and especially where, suddenly formed, they are apt soon to terminate. But, as I said before, I feel a disposition of heart towards you that I never felt for one whom I had never seen; and that shall prove itself, I trust, in that event, a propitious omen. It gives me the sincerest pleasure that I hope to see you at Weston: for as to any migrations of mine, they must, I fear, notwithstanding the joy I should feel in being a guest of yours, be still considered in the light of impossibilities. Come, then, my friend, and be welcome, as the country people say here, as the flowers in May. I am happy, I say, in the expectation, but the fear or rather the consciousness, that I shall not answer on a nearer view, makes a trembling kind of happiness, and invests it with many doubts. Bring with you any books that you think may be useful to my commentatorship, for with you for an interpreter, I shall be afraid of none of them. And in truth if you think you shall want them, you must bring books for your own use also, for they are an article with which I am heinously unprovided; being much in the condition of the man whose library Pope describes, as

"No mighty store!

His own works neatly bound, and little more." Mr. Hayley's projected visit, anticipated so fondly, both by himself and by Cowper, took place in May, 1792. The interview between these talented individuals proved reciprocally delightful. Though Cowper was now in his sixty-first year, he felt none of the infirmities of advanced life, but was as active and vigorous, both in mind and body, as his best friends could wish him. Mrs. Unwin had nearly recovered from her late severe attack, and as her health was every day progressively improving, there seemed every probability of their enjoying a long continuance of domestic comfort. Mr. Hayley thus describes the manner in which he was received, and his sensations on the occasion:"Their reception of me was kindness itself; I was enchanted to find that the manners and conversation of Cowper resembled his poetry, charming by unaffected elegance, and the graces of a benevolent spirit. I looked with affectionate veneration and pleasure on the lady, wh), having devoted her life and fortune to the serv ce of this tender and sublime genius, in watching (ver him with maternal vigilance, through so many years of the darkest calamity, appeared to be now enjoying a reward justly due to the noblest exertions of friendship, in contemplating the health, and the renown of the poet, whom she had the happiness to, preserve. It seemed hardly possible to survey hunan nature in a more touching, and a more satisfactory point of view. Their tender affection to each other, their simple, devout gratitude for the mercies which they had experienced together, ar their cor stant but unaffected propensity to impress on the mind and heart of a new friend, the deep sens, which they incessantly felt, of their mutual coligations to each other; afforded me very sing alar gratification."

This scene of exquisite enjoymert to all parties, as is frequently the case in a worl 1 like ours, was suddenly exchanged for one of the deepest meancholy and distress. Mr. Hayley has related the painful event with so much tenderness and simplicity, that we cannot do better than to present it to our readers in his own words:-"After passing our morning in social study, we usually walked out together at noon; in returning from one of our rambles round the pleasant village of Weston, we were

met by Mr. Greathead, an accomplished minister of the gospel, who resides at Newport Pagnel, and whom Cowper described to me in terms of cordial esteem. He came forth to meet us, as we drew near the house, and it was soon visible from his countenance and manner, that he had ill news to impart. After the most tender preparation that humanity could devise, he informed Cowper that Mrs. Unwin was under the immediate pressure of a paralytic attack. My agitated friend rushed to the sight of the sufferer; he returned to me in a state that alarmed me in the highest degree for his faculties: his first speech was wild in the extreme; my answer would appear little less so, but it was addressed to the predominant fancy of my unhappy friend, and with the blessing of heaven, it produced an instantaneous calm in his troubled mind. From that moment he rested on my friendship with such mild and cheerful confidence, that his affectionate spirit regarded me as sent providentially to support him in a season of the severest affliction.'

The best means to promote the recovery of Mrs. Unwin, that could have been used under similar circumstances, were resorted to. Happily, they proved to a considerable degree successful, and she gradually recovered both her strength and the use of her faculties. The effect of this attack, however, upon Cowper's tender mind, was in the highest degree painful. This will not perhaps be surprising, when it is recollected how sincerely he was attached to his afflicted inmate, and how deeply he interested himself in every thing that related to her welfare. The following beautiful lines will convey to the reader some idea of the exalted opinion he had formed of her character:

I

"Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew,
An eloquence scarce give to mortals, new
And undebased by meaner things!
That ere through age or wo I shed my wings,
may record thy worth, with honor due
In verse as musical as thou art true-
Verse that immortalizes whom it sings!
But thou hast little need: there is a book,
By seraphs writ, with beams of heavenly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look!
A chronicle of actions just and bright!
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine."

The following extracts from Cowper's correspondence, immediately after this painful event, describe satisfactorily the state of his mind:-"I wish with all my heart, my dearest cousin, that I had not ill news for the subject of this letter: my friend, my Mary, has again been attacked by the same disorder that threatened me last year with the loss of her, of which you were yourself a witness. The present attack has been much the severest. Her speech has been almost unintelligible from the moment that she was struck: it is with difficulty she can open her eyes; and she cannot keep them open, the muscles necessary for that purpose being contracted; and as to self-moving powers from place to place, and the right use of her hand and arm, she has entirely lost them. I hope, however, she is beginning to recover: her amendment is indeed but very slow, as must be expected at her time of life. I am as well myself, and indeed better than you have ever known me in such trouble. It has happened well for me that, of all men living, the man best qualified to assist and comfort me, is here; though, till within these few days, I never saw him, and a few weeks since had no expectation that I ever should. You have already guessed that I mean Hayley-Hayley, who loves me as if he had known me from my cradle. When

he returns to town, as he must, alas! he will pay | added to the number of my correspondents, and to his respects to you. He has, I assure you, been all him I write almost as duly as I rise in the morning. and all to us, on this very afflictive occasion. Love Since I wrote last, Mrs. Unwin has been continuhim, I charge you, dearly, for my sake. Where ally improving in strength, but at so gradual a rate, could I have found a man, except himself, so neces- that I can only mark it by saying that she moves sary to me, in so short a time, that I absolutely every day with less support than the former. On know not how to live without him?" the whole, I believe she goes on as well as can be expected, though not quite so well as to satisfy me."

Mr. Hayley left Weston early in June, at which time many pleasing symptoms of Mrs. Unwin's ultimate recovery began to appear. Cowper's letters to his friend after his departure, which were written almost daily, afford ample proofs of the warmth of his affection for him, and of the deep interest he took in promoting Mrs. Unwin's recovery. He thus commences his first letter to Mr. Hayley:"ALL'S WELL! which words I place as conspicuously as possible, and prefix them to my letter, to save you the pain, my friend and brother, of a moment's anxious speculation. Poor Mary proceeds in her amendment, and improves, I think, even at a swifter rate than when you left her. The stronger she grows, the faster she gathers strength, which is perhaps the natural course of recovery. Yesterday was a noble day with her; speech, almost perfecteyes, open almost the whole day, without any effort to keep them so-and her step, wonderfully improved! Can I ever honor you enough for your zeal to serve me? Truly I think not. I am, however, so sensible of the love I owe to you on this account, that I every day regret the acuteness of your feelings for me, convinced that they expose you to so much trouble, mortification, and disappointment. I have, in short, a poor opinion of my destiny, as I told you when you were here; and though I believe, if any man here can do me good, you will, I cannot yet persuade myself that even you will be successful in attempting it. But it is no matter: you are yourself a good which I can never value enough; and, whether rich or poor in other respects, I shall always account myself better provided for than I deserve, with such a friend as you, that I can call my own. Let it please God to continue to me my William and Mary, and I shall be more reasonable than to grumble. I rose this morning, wrapt around with a cloud of melancholy, and with a heart full of fears; but if I see my Mary's amendment a little advanced, I shall be better."

During the last two months I seem to myself to have been in a dream. It has been a most eventful period, and fruitful to an uncommon degree, both in good and in evil. I have been very ill, and suffered excruciating pain: I recovered, and became quite well again. I received within my doors a man, but lately an entire stranger, and who now loves me as his brother, and forgets himself to serve me. Mrs. Unwin has been seized with an illness, that for many days threatened to deprive me of her, and to cast a gloom, an impenetrable one, on all my future prospects. She is now granted to me again. A few days since I should have thought the moon might have descended into my purse as likely as any emolument, and now it seems not impossible. All this has come to pass with such rapidity as events move with in romance indeed, but not often in real life. Events of all sorts creep or fly, exactly as God pleases."

While Mr. Hayley was at Weston, he had persuaded Cowper and Mrs. Unwin to promise him a visit at Eartham, some time in the summer; believing that it would greatly improve Mrs. Unwin's health, and be an agreeable relaxation to Cowper, after the anxiety of mind he had felt respecting his esteemed invalid. Mr. Hayley wrote several pressing invitations to induce them to come as early as possible. The following extracts will show the state of Cowper's mind respecting it. To Mr. Bull he writes, "We are on the eve of a journey, and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we set out for Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hayley, on the other side of London, nobody knows where, a hundred and twenty miles off. Pray for us, my friend, that we may have a safe going and return. It is a tremendous exploit, and I feel a thousand anxieties when I think of it. But a promise made to him when he was here, that we would go if we could, and a sort of persuasion that we can if we will, oblige us to it. The journey and the change of air, together with the novelty to us of the scene to which we are going, may, I hope, be useful to us both; especially to Mrs. Unwin, who has most need of restoratives."

"Of what materials can you suppose me made, if, after all the rapid proofs you have given me of your friendship, I do not love you with all my heart, and regret your absence continually. But you must permit me to be melancholy now and then; or, if To Mr. Newton he thus discloses his feelings on you will not, I must be so without permission; for the subject. "You may imagine that we, who have that sable thread is so interwoven with the very been resident in one spot for so many years, do not thread of my existence as to be inseparable from it, engage in such an enterprise without some anxiety. at least while I exist in the body. Be content, there- Persons accustomed to travel would make themfore: let me sigh and groan, but always be sure selves merry with mine; it seems so disproportionthat I love you. You will be well assured that I ed to the occasion. Once I have been on the point should not have indulged myself in this rhapsody of determining not to go, and even since we fixed about myself and my melancholy, had my present the day, my troubles have been almost insupportastate of mind been of that complexion, or had not ble. But it has been made a matter of much prayer, our poor Mary seemed still to advance in her re- and at last it has pleased God to satisfy me, in some covery. It is a great blessing to us both, that, fee- measure, that his will corresponds with our purble as she is, she has a most invincible courage, pose, and that he will afford us his protection. You, and a trust in God's goodness that nothing shakes. I know, will not be unmindful of us during our abShe is certainly, in some degree, better than she sence from home; but will obtain for us, if your was yesterday; but how to measure the degree prayers can do it, all that we would ask for ourselves I know not, except by saying-that it is just percep--the presence and favor of God, a salutary effect tible."

In a letter dated 11th June, 1792, Cowper thus discloses his state of mind to Lady Hesketh:-"My dearest cousin, thou art ever in my thoughts, whether I am writing to thee or not, and iny correspondence seems to grow upon me at such a rate, that I am not able to address thee so often as I would. In fact, I live only to write letters. Hayley is, as you see,

of our journey, and a safe return."

Anxious to enjoy the pleasure of Cowner's company at Eartham, Mr. Hayley, in his letters to the poet, urged him, by no means to defer his visit till late in the summer. From Cowper's replies we select the following interesting extracts:-"The weather is sadly against my Mary's recovery; it deprives her of many a good turn in the orchard, and fifty

will prove a comfortable viaticum to me all the way. The terrors that I have spoken of, would appear ridiculous to most, but to you they will not, for you are a reasonable creature, and know well that to whatever cause it be owing, (whether to constitution or God's express appointment,) I am hunted by spiritual hounds in the night season. I cannot help it. You will pity me, and wish it were otherwise, and though you may think there is much of the imaginary in it, will not deem it, for that reason, an evil less to be lamented. So much for fears and distresses. Soon I hope they will all have a joyful termination, and I and my Mary be skipping with delight at Eartham."

times have I wished this very day, that Dr. Darwin's | tained for me a degree of confidence, that I trust scheme of giving rudders and sails to the icelands, that spoil all our summers, were actually put into practice. So should we have gentle airs instead of churlish blasts, and those everlasting sources of bad weather, being once navigated into the southern hemisphere, my Mary would recover as fast again. We are both of your mind respecting the journey to Eartham, and think that July, if by that time she have strength for the journey, will be better than August. This, however, must be left to the Giver of all Good. If our visit to you be according to his will, he will smooth our way before us, and appoint the time of it; and I thus speak, not because I wish to seem a saint in your eyes, but because my poor Mary actually is one, and would not set her foot over the threshold, unless she had, or thought she had, God's free permission. With that she would go through floods and fire, though without it she would be afraid of every thing-afraid even to visit you, dearly as she loves, and much as she longs to see you."

In another letter to Mr. Hayley, he writes, "The progress of the old nurse in Terence is very much like the progress of my poor patient in the road to recovery. I cannot indeed say that she moves but advances not, for advances are certainly made, but the progress of a week is hardly perceptible. I know not, therefore, at present, what to say about this long postponed journey; the utmost that it is safe for me to say at this moment, is this--you know that you are dear to us both; true it is that you are so, and equally true, that the very instant we feel ourselves at liberty, we will fly to Eartham. You wish me to settle the time, and I wish with all my heart so to do; living in hopes, meanwhile, that I shall be able to do it soon. But some little time must necessarily intervene. Our Mary must be able to walk alone, to cut her own food, and to feed herself, and to wear her own shoes, for at present she wears mine. All these things considered, my friend and brother, you will see the expediency of waiting a little before we set off to Eartham. We mean, indeed, before that day arrives, to make a trial of her strength; how far she may be able to bear the motion of a carriage, a motion that she has not felt these seven years. I grieve that we are thus circumstanced, and that we cannot gratify ourselves in a delightful and innocent project, without all these precautions; but when we have leaf-gold to handle, we must do it tenderly."

The day was at length fixed for this long-intended journey; and the following letter to Mr. Hayley, written a day or two previously, describes Cowper's feelings respecting it:

"Through floods and flames to your retreat
I win my desp'rate way,
And when we meet, if e'er we meet,
Will echo your huzza!

"You will wonder at the word desperate in the second line, and at the if in the third; but could you have any conception of the fears that I have had to bustle with, of the dejection of spirits I have suffered concerning this journey, you would wonder much that I still courageously persevere in my resolution to undertake it. Fortunately for my intention, it happens that as the day approaches my terrors abate; for had they continued to be what they were a week ago, I must, after all, have disappointed you; and was actually once on the verge of doing it. I have told you something of my nocturnal experiences, and assure you now, that they were hardly ever more terrific than on this occasion. Prayer has, however, opened my passage at last, and ob

The protracted indisposition of Mrs. Unwin, and the preparation which Cowper thought it necessary to make for his journey, had entirely diverted his mind from his literary undertaking. To Mr. Hayley, on this point, he thus writes:-"I know not how you proceed in your Life of Milton, but I suppose not very rapidly, for while you were here, and since you left us, you have had no other theme but me. As for myself, except my letters, and the nuptial song I sent you in my last, I have literally done nothing, since I saw you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing way, though a great deal in another; that is to say, in attending my poor Mary, and endeavoring to nurse her up for a journey to Eartham. In this I have hitherto succeeded tolerably well, and I had rather carry this point completely, than be the most famous editor of Milton the world has ever seen, or shall see. As to this affair, I know not what will become of it. I wrote to Johnson a week since, to tell him that the interruption of Mrs. Unwin's illness still continued, and being likely to continue, I knew not when I should be able to proceed The translations I said were finished, except the revisal of a part. I hope, or rather wish, that a, Eartham I may recover that habit of study, which, inveterate as it once seemed, I now seem to have lost-lost to such a degree, that it is even painful for me to think of what it will cost me to acquire it again."

About this time, at the request of a much esteemed relative, Cowper sat to Abbot, the painter, for his portrait; and the following playful manner in which he adverts to the circumstance, exhibits the peculiarity of his case, and shows, that though he was almost invariably suffering under the influence of deep depression, he frequently wrote to his correspondents in a strain the most sprightly and cheerful:-"How do you imagine I have been occupied these last ten days? In sitting, not on cockatrice eggs, nor yet to gratify a mere idle humor, nor because I was too sick to move, but because my cousin Johnson has an aunt who has a longing desire of my picture, and because he would, therefore, bring a painter from London to draw it. For this purpose I have been sitting, as I say, these ten days; and likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the am heartily glad that my sitting time is over. The room where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me where they know I am not.

Abbot is painting me so true,
That (trust me) you would stare,
And hardly know, at the first view,
If I were here, or there.

Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton, instead of being here to contemplate this prodigy of art, which, therefore, you can never see, for it goes to London next Monday to be suspended awhile at Abbot's and then proceeds to Norfolk, where it will be suspended for ever."

CHAPTER XVI.

Journey to Eartham. Incidents of it. Safe arrival. Description of

its beauties. Employment there. Reply to a letter from Mr. Hur

passionate sensibility with which Cowper watched over his aged invalid. With the most singular and most exemplary tenderness of attention, he incesdis, on the death of his sister. State of Cowper's mind at Eartham. santly labored to counteract every infirmity, bodily His great attention to Mrs. Unwin. Return to Weston. Interview and mental, with which sickness and age had conwith General Cowper. Safe arrival at their beloved retreat. Vio-spired to load the interesting guardian of his afflictlence of his depressive malady. Regrets the loss of his studious ed life." habit. Ineffectual efforts to obtain it. Warmth of his affection for

Mr. Hayley. Dread of January. Prepares for a second edition of Homer. Commences writing notes upon it. Labor it occasioned him. His close application. Continuance of his depression. Judicious consolatory advice he gives to his friends. Letter to Rev.

J. Johnson on his taking orders. Pleasure it afforded him to find that his relative entered upon the work with suitable feelings. Reply to Mr. Hayley respecting a joint literary undertaking. COWPER and Mrs. Unwin set out for Eartham in the beginning of August, 1792. It pleased God to conduct them thither in safety; and though considerably fatigued with their journey, they were much less so than they had anticipated. Cowper's letters to his friends after his arrival describe his feelings on the occasion, in a manner the most pleasing:"Here we are, at Eartham, in the most elegant mansion that I have ever inhabited, and surrounded by the most beautiful pleasure-grounds that I have ever seen; but which, dissipated as my powers of thought are at present, I will not undertake to describe. It shall suffice me to say, that they occupy three sides of a hill, which in Buckinghamshire might well pass for a mountain, and from the summit of which is beheld a most magnificent landscape, bounded by the sea, and in one part by the Isle of Wight, which may also be seen plainly from the window of the library, in which I am writing. It pleased God to carry us both through the journey with far less difficulty and inconvenience than I expected; I began it indeed with a thousand fears, and when we arrived the first evening at Barnet, found myself oppressed in spirit to a degree that could hardly be exceeded. I saw Mrs. Unwin weary, as well she might be, and heard such noises, both within the house and without, that I concluded she would get no rest. But I was mercifully disappointed. She rested, though not well, yet sufficiently. Here we found our friend Rose, who had walked from his house in Chancery-lane, to meet us, and to greet us with his best wishes. At Kingston, where we dined the second day, I found my old and much valued friend, General Cowper, whom I had not seen for thirty years, and but for this journey should never have seen again. When we arrived at Ripley, where we slept the second night, we were both in a better condition of body and of mind than on the day preceding. Here we found a quiet inn, that housed, as it happened, that night, no company but ourselves: we slept well and rose perfectly refreshed, and, except some terrors that I felt at passing over the Sussex Hills at moonlight, met with little to complain of, till we arrived, about ten o'clock, at Eartham. Here we are as happy as it is in the power of earthly good to make us. It is almost a paradise in which we dwell; and our reception has been the kindest that it was possible for friendship and hospitality to contrive."

While at Eartham, Cowper and Mr. Hayley employed the morning hours that they could bestow upon books, in revising and correcting Cowper's translation of Milton's Latin and Italian poems. In the afternoon, they occasionally amused themselves by forming together a rapid metrical version of Andreini's Adamo. Cowper's tender solicitude for Mrs. Unwin, however, rendered it impossible for them to be very attentive to these studies. Adverting to the anxiety of Cowper respecting Mrs. Unwin, Mr. Hayley thus writes:-"I have myself no language sufficiently strong or sufficiently tender, to express my just admiration of that angelic, com

Cowper had been at Eartham but a few days, when he received a letter from his friend, Mr. Hurdis, informing him of the loss he had sustained by the death of a beloved sister. His compassionate heart immediately prompted him to write the following reply:-"Your kind, but very affecting letter, found me not at Weston, to which place it was directed, but in a bower of my friend Hayley's garden, at Eartham, where I was sitting with Mrs. Unwin. We both knew, the moment we saw it, from whom it came, and observing a red seal, both comforted ourselves that all was well at Burwash; but we soon felt that we were called not to rejoice, but to mourn with you: we do, indeed, sincerely mourn with you; and, if it will afford you any consolation to know it, you may be assured that every eye here has testified what our hearts have suffered for you. Your loss is great, and your disposition, I perceive, such as exposes you to feel the whole weight of it. I will not add to your sorrow by a vain attempt to assuage it; your own good sense, and the piety of your principles, will, of course, suggest to you the most powerful motives of acquiescence in the will of God. You will be sure to recollect, that the stroke, severe as it is, is not the stroke of an enemy, but of a Friend and a Father; and will find, I trust, hereafter, that like a Father he has done you good by it. Thousands have been able to say, and myself as loud as any of them, it has been good for me that I have been afflicted; but time is necessary to work us to this persuasion, and in due time it will, no doubt, be yours."

The following extracts from letters to Lady Hesketh, dated Eartham, describe his feelings while he remained there:-"I know not how it is, my dearest cousin, but in a new scene like this, surrounded by strange objects, I find my powers of thinking dissipated to a degree that makes it difficult for me even to write a letter, and even a letter to you; but such a letter as I can, I will, and I have the fairest chance to succeed this morning-Hayley, Romney, and Hayley's son, being all gone to the sea for bathing. The sea, you must know, is nine miles off, so that, unless stupidity prevent, I shall have opportunity to write, not only to you, but to poor Hurdis also, who is broken-hearted for the loss of his favorite sister, lately dead. I am, without the least dissimulation, in good health; my spirits are about as good as you have ever seen them; and if increase of appetite, and a double portion of sleep, be advantageous, such are the benefits I have received from this migration. As to that gloominess of mind which I have felt these twenty years, it cleaves to me even here; and could I be translated to paradise, unless I left my body behind me, would cleave to me even there also. It is my companion for life, and nothing will ever divorce us. Mrs. Unwin is evidently the better for her jaunt, though by no means as she was before her last attack, still wanting help when she would rise from her seat, and a support in walking, but she is able to take more exercise than when at home, and move with rather a less tottering step. God knows what he designs for me; but when I see those who are dearer to me than myself, distempered and enfeebled, and myself as strong as in the days of my youth, I tremble for the solitude in which a few years may place me."

"This is, as I have already told you, a delightful place: more beautiful scenery I have never beheld, nor expect to behold: but the charms of it, uncom

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