is my creed, that the intellect depends as much, both for the energy and the multitude of its exertions, upon the operations of God's agency upon it, as the heart, for the exercise of its graces, upon the influence of the Holy Spirit. According to this persuasion, I may very reasonably affirm, that it was not God's pleasure that I should proceed in the same track, because he did not enable me to do it. A whole year I waited, and waited in circumstances of mind that made a state of nonemployment peculiarly irksome to me. I longed for the pen, as the only remedy, but I could find no subject: extreme distress of spirit at last drove me, as, if I mistake not, I told you some time since, to lay Homer before me, and translate for amusement. Why it pleased God that I should be hunted into such a business, of such enormous length and labour, by miseries for which He did not see good to afford me any other remedy, I know not. But so it was; and jejune as the consolation may be, and unsuited to the exigencies of a mind that once was spiritual, yet a thousand times have I been glad of it; for a thousand times it has served at least to divert my attention, in some degree, from such terrible tempests as I believe have seldom been permitted to beat upon a human mind. Let my friends, therefore, who wish me some little measure of tranquillity in the performance of the most turbulent voyage that ever Christian mariner made, be contented, that, having Homer's mountains and forests to windward, I escape, under their shelter, from the force of many a gust that would almost overset me: especially when they consider that, not by choice, but by necessity, I make them my refuge. As to fame, and honour, and glory, that may be acquired by poetical feats of any sort, God knows, that if I could lay me down in my grave with hope at my side, or sit with hope at my side in a dungeon all the residue of my days, I would cheerfully wave them all. For the little fame that I have already earned has never saved me from one distressing night, or from one despairing day, since I first acquired it. For what am I reserved, or to what, is a mystery;-I would fain hope, not merely that I may amuse others, or only to be a translator of Homer."

In the same letter, speaking of one of Mr. Newton's former parishioners, he alludes to his own state, and expresses an opinion concerning it, according with that in which his friend.

and Mrs. Unwin had acted upon the former recurrence of his malady." Sally Perry's case," said he, "has given me much concern. I have no doubt that it is distemper. But distresses of mind that are occasioned by distemper, are the most difficult of all to deal with. They refuse all consolation, they will hear no reason. God only, by his own immediate impression, can remove them; as after an experience of thirteen years misery, I can abundantly testify."

The nervous fever, of which he had complained, still affected him when this letter was written; during a whole week his nights were almost sleepless, and after one effort more, he was forced to lay his translation aside. "This," says he, was a sensible mortification to me as you may suppose, and felt the more because, my spirits of course failing with my strength, I seemed to have peculiar need of my old amusement. It seemed hard therefore to be forced to resign it just when I wanted it most. But Homer's battles cannot be fought by a man who does not sleep well, and who has not some little degree of animation in the day time. Last night, however, quite contrary to my expectations, the fever left me entirely, and I slept quietly, soundly, and long. If it please God, that it return not, I shall soon find myself in a condition to proceed. I walk constantly, that is to say Mrs. Unwin and I together; for at these times I keep her continually employed, and never suffer her to be absent from me many minutes. She gives me all her time and all her attention, and forgets that there is another object in the world 1."

Before, however, this letter was concluded, he found it proper to state that the fever, though it sometimes seemed to leave him, was not yet gone, that it was altogether of the nervous kind, and attended now and then with much dejection. “A young gentleman," he proceeds to say, " called here yesterday, who came six miles out of his way to see me. He was on a journey from London to Glasgow, having just left the university there. He came, I suppose, partly to satisfy his own curiosity, but chiefly, as it seemed, to bring me the thanks of the Scotch professors, for my two volumes. His name is Rose, an Englishman. Your spirits being good, you will derive more pleasure from this incident than I can at present, therefore I send it."

10 To Lady Hesketh, 1787.

These were the last lines which Cowper wrote before his malady returned upon him with full force. There is no other account of it than the little which is said in his own letters after his recovery. My indisposition could not be of a worse kind. The sight of any face, except Mrs. Unwin's, was to me an insupportable grievance; and when it has happened that by forcing himself into my hiding-place, some friend has found me out, he has had no great cause to exult in his success. -From this dreadful condition of mind, I emerged suddenly; so suddenly, that Mrs. Unwin, having no notice of such a change herself, could give none to any body; and when it obtained, how long it might last, or how far it might be depended on, was a matter of the greatest uncertainty". The disease appears to have continued about six months before it left him, as thus stated. Mrs. Newton would have come to Mrs. Unwin's assistance during her long and painful attendance upon the maniac; but his impatience of any other person's presence rendered this impossible, and for the same reason, Mr. Newton deferred an intended visit to Olney. "You judged rightly," says Cowper, "when you supposed that even your company would have been no relief to me; the company of my father or my brother, could they have returned from the dead to visit me, would have been none to me.”

11 9

The last visitor whom he had seen before his seizure, happened to be the first also after his recovery. Samuel Rose,.. one of those persons whose memory will always be preserved with Cowper's,.. was the son of Dr. William Rose, who kept a school at Chiswick, published an edition of Sallust, and was largely concerned in the Monthly Review 12. He found Cowper, on his second visit, in a state to derive pleasure from society; and the first letter which Cowper wrote13, was to thank him for this visit, and for sending him Burns's poems. Nothing, he said, but the constraint of obligation could have induced him to write; but though, in his present state of mind, he could taste nothing, he read nevertheless partly from habit, and partly because it was the only thing of which he was ca

11 To Mr. Newton, Oct. 20. 1787. 12 Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, vol. iii. p. 387.-" A gentleman," Mr. Nichols says, "well known in the republic of letters, and highly esteemed for his public spirit, his friendly disposition, his amiable and cheerful temper, and his universal benevolence. 13 July 24, 1787.

8. C.-1.

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pable; and therefore he had read these poems, and had read them twice. He expressed his admiration of them, but remarked, that it would be a pity if the author should not hereafter divest himself of barbarism, and content himself with writing pure English, in which he appeared perfectly qualified to excel; and he subscribed himself, " your obliged and affec

tionate humble servant."

Rose was only twenty years of age, and there must have been something remarkable in the conversation and manners of so young a man to have produced so favourable an impression on so slight an acquaintance. Such impressions are not often fallacious, especially in persons of mature years; and in this instance they were fully confirmed and justified. After six weeks, Cowper, who had not taken up the pen again during that interval, wrote to him a second time. "The little taste," said he, "that I have had of your company, and your kindness in finding me out, make we wish that we were nearer neighbours, and that there were not so great a disparity in our years ;that is to say, not that you were older, but that I were younger. Could we have met in early life I flatter myself that we might have been more intimate than now we are likely to be. But you shall not find me slow to cultivate such a measure of your regard as your friends of your own age can spare me. When your route shall lie through this country, I shall hope that the same kindness which has prompted you twice to call on me will prompt you again, and I shall be happy if on a future occasion I may be able to give you a more cheerful reception than can be expected from an invalid. My health and spirits are considerably improved, and I once more associate with my neighbours. My head, however, has been the worst part of me, and still continues so; is subject to giddiness and pain, maladies very unfavourable to poetical employment; but a preparation of the bark, which I take regularly, has so far been of service to me in those respects as to encourage in me a hope that by perseverance in the use of it I may possibly find myself qualified to resume the translation of Homer.

"When I cannot walk, I read, and read perhaps more than is good for me. But I cannot be idle"."

And now he resumed the correspondence with Lady Hesketh, which for seven months had been left to Mrs. Unwin.

14 Aug. 27, 1787.

"Though it costs me something to write," said he, it would cost me more to be silent. My intercourse with my neighbours being renewed, I can no longer seem to forget how many reasons there are, why you especially should not be neglected,- -no neighbour, indeed, but the kindest of my friends, and ere long, I hope, an inmate.

My health and spirits seem to be mending daily. To what end I know not, neither will conjecture, but endeavour, as far as I can, to be content that they do so. I use exercise, and take the air in the park and wilderness. I read much, but as yet write not. Our friends at the Hall make themselves more and more amiable in our account, by treating us rather as old friends than as friends newly acquired. There are few days in which we do not meet, and I am now almost as much at home in their house as in our own. Mr. Throckmorton, having long since put me in possession of all his grounds, has now given me possession of his library. An acquisition of great value to me, who never have been able to live without books since I first knew my letters, and who have no books of my own. They often inquire after you, and ask me whether you visit Weston this summer. I answer, yes, and I charge you, my dearest cousin, to authenticate my information. Write to me, and tell us when we may expect to see you.-I write but little, because writing is become new to me; but I shall come on by degrees 15.

Lady Hesketh's answer was not delayed, but it gave a melancholy reason wherefore her visit must be postponed. "Come," he replied, "when thou canst come, secure of being always welcome! All that is here is thine, together with the hearts of

those who dwell here. I am only sorry that your journey hither is necessarily postponed beyond the time when I did hope to have seen you; sorry too that my uncle's infirmities are the occasion of it. But years will have their course, and their effect; they are happiest, so far as this life is concerned, who like him escape those effects the longest, and who do not grow old before their time. Trouble and anguish do that for some, which only longevity does for others. A few months since I was older than your father is now, and though I have lately recovered, as Falstaff says, some smatch of my youth, I have but little confidence, in truth none, in so flattering a change, but expect, 15 Aug. 30.