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Loraque la document eat trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un aeui clichA, il eat filmA A partir da I'engle aupArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut an baa, an prenant la nombre d'imagea nAceaaaira. Lea diagrammea auivanta iiluatrent la mAthoda. by eriata i*d to ent jne pelure, apon A 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 (Bnglisit ^m of %tittxfii EniTKD BY JOHN MORLEY. COWPEK V.Y GOLDWIN SMITH WITH NOTES AND APPENDIX BY F. H. SYKES. M.A.. Ph.D., Fellutv in Ungliah in the Johns Hopkins University. TORONTO : THE W. J. GAGE COMPANY (limited). 1894. Lf ?f^33P 5-5 (^- m^f LI] ! i \^n LIFE OP COWPER 9 ^-z<^fd;. I I I at an U in re si I pi pc es ni R se se ai s] A ol n ii C si I BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. I I Tho author of this memoir of Cow|)or was l)orn in ]tlca(linj», Berkhhiro, England, on August 13tli, 1823. He was educated at Et >n, and at Clirist Cliuicli, Oxford, displaying a brilliant and vvirsatilo genius, winning in the univoi'sity tlie i>rizes for Latin vorse, Latin essay, and English cssiiy. On his giaduation in 1845, ho was elected follow of University College, and resided foi* a short time in Oxford, acting as tutor in tho aniver- sity. Ho studied law, was admitted to the oar, hut never practised. There was far more attraction for him in tho politicid movements of his time and in the study of history, especially the political history of Englaind. When the move- ment for tho reorganization of tho Universities took shape in a Royal Commission, Goldwin Smith accepted an assistant- seci-etaryship, helj.ing the connnittce so materially that when i\ second Connni^sion was issued he held the j)ost of secretary. In 18.57 Goldwin Smith wms appointed Regius Professoi of Modern History in Oxford, lectured with success, while taking an active part in current i)olitica l»y the contiilmtion of im- portiint articles in support of tho Liberals. His Liberalism showed itself, as well, in the sui)i)orb he gave the North in the American Civil War and in tho aia he lent to the ])rosecution of General Eyre, who had ruthlessly put down the Jamaica i*ebellion. Wlien Mr. Smith came to America on a lecturing tour in 1804, he was received with much enthusiasm. In 1868, Cornell University offered him the chair of English and Con- stitutional Hiotory, which, having resigned his post in Oxford two years before, ho accepted, and came to America. « V vl DIOORAPIIU'AL NOTE. Three ynnrs later Mr. Smith Ktjtth'd in T(»ronto, whoro in a Ifctiutiful lionw, "The (inin^r," iiit ith-iil rosidcncu for tho scholar uiul litt(!nittM>r, hv. Ktill lives. Mr. (iolilwin SiiiitliH works, othor than the present memoir, are uIiuohI ('iitir('ly'lii.sU)rifal and political. Some, like Lectures on the Stiulij of liisUmj, Thin; A'nylish Statesmen^ are voIiniK^s of lectures: some, sueli as Irish //itilori/ and the Irish Question, The t'onilnct of Ihiyland to Jrelnnd, are dexotoil to the great Irish «jtiestioii, over which tliou«L,di a Liln ml he (lilFen-'d most siroii'^ly from Mr. dHadstoue; soiim>, like 'J'he Political Destiny of ChikkIo, Ctinada uiid iha Canadian Question, The Civil War in America, The J'o/itical J/iafort/ oj' t/io United States, deal with special problems of this continent. Of i"ecent yeura the .-jcholariy world has had from his pen some cxcelluut volumes of tianslations from CIreek and Latin. The interests of Canada have always had a warm friend in Mr. (Joldwin .Smith, ile has occupied himself with its i>eriodio press as editor and contributor, and to him the foundation of The Week is dia^; he has tiken an active part in the guidance of our educational system; in independent politics he has been u prondnent, though not a jjojudar iiguro for many yeai*s. A man of keen intelh.'ct, mas er of a faultless stylo, cold, clear, powerful, with all tlu! graces of cultiu'e, with the fearless- ness of moial courage, Mr. Ooldwin Suuth has made a decided impress upon his age. One may miss in his work ti»e tine beliefs and enthusiasms that pos.sesscil Matthew Arnold, and may trace hero and there a tone of j)essin«ism ; but that is the penalty tlu) fastitlious critic must pay for the keenness of bis critical faculty. I , 1 I CONTENTS. BlOORAPmCAL NOTK ON TIU: AlTHOR .... V (^HAPTKJl I. Early Life ^ . , - . • - t CIlAPTKIl li. At IIuntinodon- Thk rN\vi\H Itt ClIAI'TKU III. At Olnky — Mu. Ni;\»T<>.s - - - • . - - 26 CUArTEIl IV. AuTHousmi' — Thi: Moual Satiukh ... - - 33 CHAPTER Y. The Task - - - . - 41 CHAPTER VI. Shout Poems and Tuansi. ations 54 CHAPTER Vil. The Letters ■ - 63 CHAPTER VIII. Close of Life - - - 77 Annotations ... 83 Appendix 117 cr -1 COWPER. CHAPTER I. KARLY LIFK. CowPER is the most important English poet of the period be- tween Pope and the illustrious group headed by Wordsworth, D\ ron, and Shelley, which arose out of the intellectual ferment ot the European Revolution. As a reformer of poetry, who called it back from conventionality to nature, and at the same time as the teacher of a new school of sentiment which acted as a solvent upon the existing moral and social system, he may perhaps him- self be numbered among the precursors of the Revolution, though he was certainly the mildest of them all. As a senti- mentalist he presents a taint analogy to Rousseau, whom in natural temperament he somewhat resembled. He was also the great poet of the religious revival which marked the latter part of the eighteenth century in England, and which was called Evangelicism within the establishment, and Methodism without. In this way he is associated with Wesley and Whitefield, as well as with the philanthropists of the movement, such as Wilberforce, Thornton, and Clarkson. As a poet he touches, on different sides of his character, Goldsmith, Crabbe, and Burns. With Goldsmith and Crabbe he shares the honour of improving English taste in the sense of truthfulness and simplicity. To Burns he felt his affinity, across agulf of social cir- cumstance, and in spite of a dialect not yet made fashionable by Scott. Besides his poetry, he holds a high, perhaps the highest place, among English letter-writers ; and the collection of his letters appended to Southey's biography forms, with the biographical por- tions of his poetry, the materials for a sketch of his life. Southey's biography itself is very helpful, though too prolix and too much filled out with dissertations for common readers. Had its author only done for Cowper what he did for Nelson ! * William Cowper came of the Whig nobility of the robe. His great-uncle, after whom he was named, was the Whig Lord Chan- * Our acknowledgments are also due to Mr. Benham, the writer of the Memoir pre- fixed to the Qlob? Edition of Cowper, 8 cow PER. J cellor of Anne and Georn;e I. His grandfaMier was that Spencer Cowper, jiuige of the Common I'leas, for love of whom the pretty Quakeress drowned hers';lf, and who, by the rancour of party, was indicted for her murder. His father, the Rev. John Cowper, D.D., was Ciiaphun to George II. His mother was a Donne, of the race of the poet, and descended by several lines from Henry III. A Whig and a gentleman he was by birth, a Whig and a gentleman he remained to the end. He was born on the T5th November (old sty'e), 1 73 1, in his father's rectory o*f Beiichampstead. From nature he received, with a large measure of the gifts of genius, a still larger measure of its painful sensibilities. In his portrait by Komney the brow bespeaks intellect, the features feeling and refinement, the eye madness. The stronger parts of character, the combative and propelling forces, he evidently lacked from the be- ginning. For the battle of life he was totally unfit. His judgment in its healthy state was, even on practical questions, sound enough, as his letters abundantly prove ; but his sen'iibility not only ren- dered him incapable of wrestling with a rough world, but kept him always on the verge of madness, and frequently plunrred him into it. To the malady which threw him out of active life we owe not the meanest of English poets. At ii;e age of thirty-two, writing of himself, he says, " I am of a v«."v singular temper, and very unlike all the men that I have ever conversed with. Certainly I am not an absolute fool, but 1 have more weakness than the greatest of all the fools I can recollect at present. In short, if I was as fit for the next world as I am unfit for this — and God forbid I should speak it in vanity — I would not change conditions with any saint in Christendom." Folly produces nothing good, and if Cowper had been an absolute fool, he would not have written good poetry. But he does not exaggerate his own weakness, and that he should have become a power among men is a remarkable triumph of the influences which have given birth to Christian civilization. The world into which the child came was one very adverse to him, and at thf» same time very much in need of him. It was a world frc'ii which the spirit of poetiy seemed to have fled. There ' -^'ild be I o stronger proof of th's than the occupation of the throne of Spense., Sh?'v;;peare, and Milton by the arch-versifier Pope. The Kcvo'ut:-)n cl i688 was glorious, but unlike the Puritan Rev- -!u(it,n whic! '. '■".llowed, and in the political sphere partly ratified, ! w;; ; proft u; dl_. piosaic. Spiritual religion, the source of Puritan gnii der- .,(K of the poetry of Milton, wa-^ almost extinct; there was not much more of it among the Nonconformists, who had now become to a great extent mere Whigs, with a decided Unitarian tendency. The Church was little better than a political force, cul- tivated and manipulated by political leaders for their own purposes. The Bishops were either politicians or theological polemics collect- ing trophies of victory over free-thinkers as titles to higher prefer- ment. The inferior clergy, is a body, were far nearer in character to Trulliber than to Dr. Primrose ; coarse, sordid, neglectful of COWPER. their duties, shamelessly addicted to sinecurism and pluralities, fanatics in their Toryism and in attachment to their corporate privilet^es, cold, rationalistic and almost heathen in their preachings, if they preached at all. The society of the day is mirrored in the pictures of Hogarth, in the works of Fielding and Smollett ; hard and heartless polish was the best of it; and not a little of it was Marriage d, la Mode. Chesterfield, with his soulless culture, his court graces, and his fashionable immoralities, was about the highest type of an EngHsh gentleman ; but the Wilkeses, Pot- ters, and Sandwiches, whose mania for vice culminated in the Hell-fire Club, were more numetous than the Chesterfields. Among the country sr^uires, for one Allworthy or Sir Roger de Coverley there were many Westerns. Among the common people religion was almost extinct, and assuredly no new morality or sentiment, such as Positivists now promise, had taken its place. Sometimes the rustic thought for himself, and scepticism took formal posses- sion of his mind ; but, as we see from one of Cowper's letters, it was a coarse scepticism which desired to be buried with its hounds. Ignor- ance and brutality reigned in the cottage. Drunkenness reigned in palace and cottage alike. Gambling, cock-fighting, and bull-fighting were the amusements of the people. Political life, which, if it had been pure and vigorous, might have made up for the absence of spir- itual influences, was corrupt from the top of the scale to the bottom : its effect on national character is pourtrayed in Hogai'th's Election. That property had its duties as well as its rights, nobody had yet ventured to say or think. The duty of a gentleman towards nis own class was to pay his debts of honour and to fight a duel when- ever he was challenged by one of his own order ; towards the lower class his duty was none. Though the forms of government were elective, and Cowper gives us a description of the candidate at election-time obsequiously soliciting votes, society was intensely aristocratic, and each rank was divided from that below it by a sharp line which precluded brotherhood or sympathy. Says the L hess of Buckingham to Lady Huntingdon, who had asked her to come and hear Whitefield, " I thank ycur ladyship for the in- formation concerning the Methodist preachers ; their doctrines are most repulsive, and strongly tinctured with disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually endeavouring to level all ranks and do away with all distinctions. It is monstrous to be told you have a heart as sinful as the common wretches that crawl on the earth. This is highly offensive and insulting ; and I cannot but wonder that your ladyship should relish any sentiments so much at vari- ance with high rank and good breeding. I shall be most happy to come and hear your favourite preacher." Her Grace's sentiments towards the common wretches that crawl on the earth were shared, we may be sure, by her Grace's waiting-maid. Of humanity there was as little as there was of religion. It was the age of the criminal law which hanged men for petty thefts, of life-long imprisonment for debt, of the stocks and the pillory, of a Temple Bar garnished with the heads of traitors, of the unreformed prison system, of the lO COWPER. ])ress-gang, of unrestrained tyranny and savagery at public schools. That the slave-trade was iniquitous liardly any one suspected ; even men who deemed themselves religious took part in it without scru- ple. Hut a change was at hand, and a still mightier change was in prospect. At the time of Cowper's birth, John Wesley was twenty- ciglit, and Whitcfield was seventeen. With them the revival of religion was at hand. Johnson, the moral reformer, was twenty- two. Howard was born, and in less than a generation Wilberforce was to come. When Cowper w.is six years old his mother died ; and seldom has a child, even such a child, lost more, even in a mother. Fifty years after her death he still thinks of her, he says, with love and tenderness every day. Late in his life his cousin, Mrs. Anne liodliam, recalled herself to his remembrance by sending him his mother's picture. " Every creature," he writes, " that has any affinity to my mother is de'ar to me, and you, the daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from her ; I love you there- fore, and love you much, both for her sake and for your own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable to me as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night before last, and received it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had its dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object which I see at night, and the first on which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I com- pleted my sixth year ; yet I remember her well, and am an ocular witness of the great fidelity of the copy. I remember, too, a mul- titude of the maternal tendernesses which I received from her, and which have endeared her memory to me beyond expression. There is in me, I believe, more of the Donne than of the Cowper, and though I love all of both names, and have a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your side." As Cov.per never married, there was nothing to take the place in his heart which had been left vacant by his mother. •' My mother I when T Icarn'd that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile! — it answers — Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such ?— It was. — Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! CovyrtR^ IX and Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. Wliat ardently I wish'd, I long believed, And disappointed still, was still deceived ; By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-moTrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, I learn'd at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot." In the years that followed no doubt he remembered her too well At six years of age this little mass of timid and quivering sensibil- ity was, in accordance with the cruel custom of the time, sent to a large boarding-school. The change from home to a boarding-school is bad enough now ; it was much worse in those days. " I had hardships," says Cowper, "of various kinds to conflict with, which I felt more sensibly in proportion to the tenderness with which I had been treated at home. But my chief affliction con- sisted in my being singled out from all the other boys by a lad of about fifteen years of age as a proper object upon whom he might let loose the cruelty of his temper. I choose to conceal a particular recital of the many acts of barbarity with which he made it his busi- ness continually to persecute me. It will be sufficient to say that his savage treatment of me impressed such a dread of his figure upon my mind, that I well remember being afraid to lift my eyes upon him higher than to his knees, and that I knew him better by his shoe-buckles than by any other part of his dress. May the Lord pardon him, and may we meet in glory ! " Cowper charges him- self, it may be in the exaggerated style of a self-accusing saint, with having become at school an adept in the art of lying. Southey says this must be a mistake, since at English public schools boys do not learn to lie. But the mistake is on Southey's part ; bullying, such as this child endured, while it makes the strong boys tyrants, makes the weak boys cowards, and teaches them to defend themselves by deceit, the fist of the weak. The recollection of this boarding- school mainly it was that at a later day inspired the plea for a home education in Tirocinium. " Then why resign into a stranger's hand A task as much within your own command. That God and nature, and your interest too. Seem with one voice to delegate to you ? Why hire a lodging in a house unknown For 'one whose tenderest thoughts all hover round your own? This second weaning, needless as it is, How does it lacerate both your heart and his ! The indented stick that loses day by day Notch after notch, till all are sm'ooth'd away. Bears witness long ere his dismission come, With what intense desire he wants his home. But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof Bid fair enough to answer in the proof, ,3 COWPER. Harmless, and safe, and natural as they are, A disappointment waits him even there : Ar-ivc.s <.f the iiappic.Ht kind; but the in* fiuence wliich detracted from its advantages was the one which »-endt'red it hospitable to the wanderer. If Christian piety was carried to a morbid excess beneath its roof, Christian charity jpeni;d Its door. Tlif religious revival was now in full career, with Wesley fof its chief ajjostle, «)r^aniser, and dictator ; Wliiteficld for its ^^reat preacher; Fletcher of Madcley for its typical saint ; Lady Huntinj;- don for its patroness among the aristocracy, and the chief of its "devout women." From the pulpit, but still more from the stand of the field-preacher and through a well-trained army of social propagandists, it was assailing the scepticism, the coldness, the frivolity, the vices of the age. ICnglish society was deeply stirred ; multitudes were converted, while among those who were not con- verted violent and sometimes cruel antagonism was aroused. The party had two wings — the Evangelicals, people of the wealthier class or clergymen of the Church of England, who remained within the Establishment; and the Methodists, people of the lower middle class or jjeasants, the personal converts and followers of Wesley and Whitefleld, who, like their leaders, without a positive secession, soon found themselves organising a separate spiritual life in the freedom of Dissent. In the early stages of the move- ment the Evangelicals were to be counted at most by hundreds, the Methodists by hundreds of thousands. So far as the masses were concerned, it was, in fact, a preaching of Christianity anew. There was a cross division of the party into the Calvinists and those whom the Calvinists called Arminians; Wesley belonging to the latter section, wlrile the most pronoui ced and vehement of the Calvinists was " the fierce Toplady." As a rule, the darker and sterner element, that which delighted in religious terrors and threatenings Was Calvinist, the milder and gentler, that which preached a gospel of love and hope continued to look up to Wesley, and to bear with him the reproach of being Arminian. It is needless to enter into a minute description of Evangelicism and Methodism ; they are not things of the past. If Evangelicism has now been reduced to a narrow domain by the advancing forces of Ritualism on one side, and of Rationalism on the other, Method- ism is still the great Protestant Church, especially beyond the Atlantic. The spiritual fire which they have kindled, the character which they have produced, the moral reforms which they have wrought, the works of charity and philanthropy to which they have given birth, are matters not only of recent memory, but of present experience. Like the great Protestant revivals which had preceded them in England, like the Moravian revival on the Continent, to which they were closely related, they sought to bring the soul into direct communion with its Maker, rejecting the intervention of a priesthood or a sacramental system. Unlike the previous revivals in England, they warred not against the rulers of the Church or MM fcaMMM 33 COIVPER. State, but only against vice or iireligion. Consequently, in the characters which they produced, as compared with those produced by Wydiffism, by the Reformation, and notably by Puritanism, there was less of force and the grandeur connected with it, more of gentleness, mysticism, and religious love. Even Q"'ctism, or sometiung like it, prevailed, especially among the Evangelicals, who were not like the Methodists, engaged in fram'ng a new organisation or in wrestling with the barlaarous vices ot the lower order. No movement of the kind has ever been exempt from dravvl)acks and follies, from extravagance, exaggeration, breaches of good taste in religious matters, unctuousness, and cant -from chimerical attempts to get rid of the flesh and live an angelic life on earth — from delusions about special providences and miracles — from a tendency to overvalue doctrine and undervalue duty — from arrogant assumption of spiritual authority by leaders and preachers — from the self-righteousness which fancies itse'' the object of a divine election, and looks out with a sort of religious complacency from the Ark of Salvation in which it fancies itself securely placed, upon the drowning of an unregenerate world. Still, it will hardly be doubted that in the effects produced by Evangelicism and Methodism the good has outweighed the evil. Had Jansenism prospered as well, France might have had more of reform and less of revolution. The poet of the movement will not be condemned on account of his connexion with it, any more' than Milton is condemned on account of his connexion with Puritanism, provided it be found that he also served art well. Cowper, as -.ve have seen, was already converted. In a letter written at this time to Lady Hesketh, he speaks of himself with great hum'Hty "as a convert made in Bedlam, who is more likely to be a tumbling-: 'ock to others than to advance their faith," thoiij,li he -".dds, with reason enough, "t( it he who can ascribe an amjndmeu': of life and manners, and a reformation of the heart itself, to madness, is guilty of an absurdity that in iny other case woulil fasten the imputation of madness upon li!mseif." It is hence to be presumed that le traced his conversion to his spiritual intercourse with the Evangelical physici.in of St. Alban's, though the seed :-;own by Martin Madan may, perhaps, also have sprung up in his heart when the more propitious season arrived. However that may have been, the two great factors of Cowper's life were the malady which consigned him to poetic seclusion and the conversion to Evangelicism, which gave him his inspiration and his theme. At Huntingdon dwelt the Rev. William Unwin, a clergyman, taking pupils, his wife, much younger than himself, and their son and daughter. It was a typical family of the Revival. Old Mr. Unwin is described by Cowper as a Parson Adams. The son, WiUiam Unwin, was preparing for holy orders. He was a man of some mark, and received tokens of intellectual respect from Paley, though he is best known as the friend to whom many of Cowper's letters are addressed. He it was who, st'*uck by the appearance of the stranger, sought an opportunity of nnaking his acquaintance. tij bl m a( h h| s| al tf COWPER. %l the uced lism, re of I, or Icals, new ower from aches from : life racles uty — and ;'r the iojious itself world. ed by e He found one, after morning church, when Cowper was taking his solitary walk beneath the trees. Under the influence of religious sympathy the acquaintance quickly ripened into friendship ; Cowper at once became one of the Unwin circle, and soon afterward, a vacancy being made by the departure of one of the pupils, he be- came a boarder in the house. This position he had passionately desired on religious grounds ; but in truth, he might well have desired it on economical grounds also, for he had begun to ex- perienre the difficulty and expensiveness, as well as the loneliness, of l)achelor housekeeping, and financial deficit was evidently before him. To Mrs. Unwin he was from the first strongly drawn. " 1 met Mrs. Unwin in the street," he says, "and went home with her. She and I walked together near two hours in the garden, and had a conversation which did me more good than I should have received from an audience with the first prince in Europe. That woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her without being the better for her company." Mrs. Unwin's character is written in her portrait with its prim but pleasant features ; a Puritan and a precisian she was ; but she was not morose or sour, and she nad a boundless capacity for affection. Lady Hesketh, a woman of the world, and a good judge in every respect, says of her at a later period, when she had passed with Cowper through many sad and trying years : " She is very far from grave ; on the contrary, she is cheerful and gay, and laughs de bon C(£ur upon the smallest provocation. Amidst all the little puritanical words which fall from h&r de temps en temps, she seems to have by nature a quiet fund of gaiet ' ; great indeed must it have been, not to have been wholly overc ime by the close confinement in which she has lived, and the anxiety she must have undergone for one whom she certainly loves as well as one human being can love another. I will not say she idolizes him, because that she would think wrong ; but she certainly seems to possess the iruest regard and affection for this excellent creature, and, as I said before, has in the most literal sense of those words, no will or shadow of inclination but what is his. My account of Mrs. Unwin may seem, perhaps, to you, on comparing my letters, contradictory ; but when you consider that I began to write at the first moment that I saw her, you will not wonder. Her character develops itself by degrees ; and though I might lead you to suppose her grave and melancholy, she is not so by any means. When she speaks upon grave subjects, she does express herself with a puritanical tone, and in puritanical expressions, but on all subjects she seems to have a great disposition io cheerfulness and mirth ; and, indeed, had she not, she could not have gone through all she has. I must say, too, that slie seems to be very well read in the English poets, as appears by several little quotations, which she makes from time to time, and has a true taste for what is excellent in that way." When Cowper became an author he paid the highest respect to Mrs. Unwin as an instinctive critic, and called her his Lord Cham- berlain, whose approbation was his sufficient licence for publication. Life in the Unwin family is thus described by the new inmate : 24 COWPER, — *• As to amusements— I mean what the world calls 5?uch— we have none. Tlif place, indeetl, sw.irms with tliem ; and cards and dan- cinij are the professed business of almost all the ,<,'<7//A' inhabitants of Huutinj^don. We refuse to take part in them, or to be access- ories to this way of murdering our time, and by so doing have acquireil the name of Methodists. Having tohl you how we do not spend our lime. I will next say how we do. We breakfast com- monly between eight and nine ; till eleven, we read either the Seripture, or the sermons of some faithful preacher of those holy mysteries ; at eleven we attend divine service, which is performed here twice every day ; aiul from twelve to three we separate, and .imuse ourselves .as we please. During that interval, I cither re.ul in my own apartment, or walk, or riile, or work in the garden. We seldom sit an hour after diuiier, but if the weather permits, adjourn to the garden, where, with Mrs. I'lnvin and her son, 1 have gen- erally t'le pleasure of religious conversation till te.i-time. If it rains or is too windv for walking, we cither C(mverse within doors or sing some hynins of Martin's collecti()n, and by the help of Mrs. I'nwin's harpsichord make up a tolerable concert, in which our hearts, I hope, are the best performers. After tea we sally forth to walk in good earnest. Mrs. Unwin is a good walker, and wc have gener.illy travelled about four miles before we see home again. Wiien the days are short we make this excursion in the former part of the (Lay, between church time and dinner. At night we read and converse as before till supi)er, and conunouly tinish the evening cither with hymns or a sermon, and last of all the family are called to prayers. I need not tell you that such a life as this is consist- ent with the utmost cheerfulness; acconiingly, we arc all happy, and dwell together in unity as brethren.'' Mrs. Cowper. the wife of M.ijor(now Colonel) Cowper, to whom this was written, was herself strongly Evangelical ; Cowper had, in f.ict. unfortunately for him. turned from his other relations and friends to her on that account. She, therefore, would have no ilitViculty in thinking Miat sucli a life was consistent with cheerful- ness, but onlinary leaders will ask how it could fail to bring on uuuher tit of hypcn^hondria. The answer is probably to be found 'U the last wonis of the passage. Overstraineil and ascetic i)iety toinul an antidote in atTection. The Unwins were Puritans and enthusi.ists. but thei'" household was a picture of domestic love. With the name of Mrs. Cowper is connected an incident which oocurreil at this time, and wliich illustrates the jiropensity to sclf- ins[)oction and self-revelation which Cowper hail In common with Rousseau. Huntingdon, like other little town.«^, ivas all eyes and gossip ; the new-comer was a mysterious stranger who kept him- self aloof from the general society, and he naturally became the mark for a little stone-throwing. Young Unwin happening to be passing near " the Tark " on his way from London to Hunting- don, Cowper gave him an introduction to its lady, in a letter ito whom he afterwards disclosed his secret motive. " My dear Cousin, — You sent my friend Unwin home to us charmed with al nl hi COWPER. n ntH ss- ive not warn- four kind reception of him, and with everything he saw at the *iuk. Shall 1 once more j^ive you a peep into my vile and deceitful heart? VVIiat motive do you think lay at the bottom of my con- duct when I desired him to call upon you ? I did not suspect, at first, that pride and vainglory had any share in it ; but quickly after I had recommended the visit to him, I discovered, in that fruitful soil, the very root of the matter. You know I am a stranger here ; all such are suspected characters, unless they bring their credentials with them. To this moment, 1 believe, it is a matter of speculation in the pl.ice, whence I came, and to whom I belong. Though my friend, you may suppose, before 1 was admitted an inmate here, was satisfied that 1 was not a mere vaga- bond, and has, since that time, received more convincing proofs of my s/)onsil>iiity j yet I could not resist the opportunity of furnishing him with ocular demonstration of it, by introducing him to one of my most splendid connexions; that when he hears me called ' that fellow Cowper,' which has hapi)ened heretofore, he may be able, upon uncpiestionaljle evidence, to assert my gentlemannood, and relieve me from the weight of that opprobrious appellation. Oh, priilc ! pride I it deceives with the suljtiety of ;i serpent, and seems to walk erect, though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist and twine itself about to get from under the Cross, which it is the glory of our Christian calling tf» be able to bear with patience and good-will. They who can guess at the heart of a stranger, — and y(Mi csi)cciariy, who are of a compassionate temper, — will be more ready, perhaps, to excuse me, in this instance, than I can be to excuse myself. Hut, in good truth, it was abominable pride of heart, indignation, and vanity, and deserves no better name." Once more, however obsolete Cowper's belief, and the language in which he expresses it may have become for many of us, we must take it as his philosoi)hy of life. At this time, at all events, it was a source of happiness. " The storm being passed, a quiet and peaceful serenity of soul succeeded ;" and the serenity in this case was unquestionably produced in part by faith. " I w.is .1 stricken deer that left the herd Long since; with many an arrow deep infixed My panting side was charged, when I willidrew To seek a trancpiil death in distant shades. There was I fonnd by one who had himself Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore. And in his liands and feet, the cruel scars, With gentle force soliciting the d.irts, He drew thcin forth and healed and bade me live." Cowper thought for a moment of taking orders, but his dread of appearing in public conspired with the good sense which lay be- neath his excessive sensibility to put a veto on the design. He, however, exercised the zeal of a neophyte in proselytism to a greater extent than his own judgment and good taste approved when his enthusiasm had calmed down. a6 CO IV PER. CHAPTER III. AT OLNEY— MR. NEWTON. CowPER had not been two years with the Unwins when Mr. Unwin, the father, was killed by a fall from his horse ; this broke up the household. But between Cowp_i and Mrs. Unwin an in- dissoluble tie had been formed. It seems clear, notwithstanding Southey's assertion to the contrary, that they at one time meditated marriage, possibly as a propitiation to the evil tongues which did not spare even this most innocent connexion ; but they were pre- ventedjfrom fulfilling their intention by a return of Cowper's mal- ady. They became companions for life. Cowper says they were as mother and son to each other ; but Mrs. Unwin was only seven years older than he. To label their connexion is impossible, and to try to do it would be a platitude. In his poems Cowper calls Mrs. Unwin Mary ; she seems always to have called him Mr. Cow- per. It is evident that her son, a strictly virtuous and religious man, never had the slightest misgiving about his mother's position. The pair had to choose a dwelling-place ; they chose Olney, in Buckinghamshire, on the Ouse. The Ouse was "a slow winding river," watering low meadows, from which crept pestilential fogs. Olney was a dull town, or rather village, inhabited by a population of lace-makers, ill-paid, i'ever-stricken, and for the most part as brutal as they were poor. There was not a woman in the place, excepting Mrs. Newton, with whom Mrs. Unwin could associate, or to whom she could look for help in sickness or other need. The house in which the pair took up their abode was dismal, prison like, and tumble-down ; when they Lit it, the competitors for the suc- cession were a cobbler and a publican. It looked upon the Market- place, but it was in the close neighbourhood of Silver End, the worst part of Olney. In winter the cellars were full of water. There were no pleasant walks within easy reach, and '::; winter Cowpers only exercise was pacing thirty yards of gravel, with the dreary supplement of dumb-bells. What was the attraction to this "well," this "abyss," as Cowper himself called it, and as, physi- cally and socially, it was ? The attraction was the presence of the Rev. John Newton, then curate of Olney. The vicar was Moses Brown, an Evangel- ical and a religious writer, who has even deserved a place among the worthies of the revival ; but a family of thirteen children, some of It COIVPER. n whom it appears too closely resembled the sons of EH, had com- pelled him to take advantage of the indulgent character of the ecclesiastical polity of those days by becoming a pluralist and a nonresident, so that the curate had Olney to himself. The patron was the Lord Dartmouth, who, as Cowper says, " wore a coronet and prayed." John Newton was one of the shining lights and foremost leaders and preachers of the revival. His name was great both in tlie Plvangelical churches within the pale of the Establishment, and in the Methodist churches without it. He was a brand plucked from the very heart of the burning. We have a memoir of his life, partly written by himself, in the form of letters, and completed under his superintendence. It is a monument of the age of Smollett and Wesley, not less characteristic than is Cellini'a memoir of the times in which he lived. His father was master of a vessel, and took him to sea when he was eleven. His mother was a pious Dissenter, who was at great pains to store his mind with religious thoughts and pieces. She died when he was young, and his stepmother was not pious. He began to drag his religious anchor, and at length, having read Shaftesbury, left his theological moorings altogether, and drifted into a wide sea of un- godliness, lilasphemy, and recklessness of living. Such at least is the picture drawn by the sinner saved of his own earlier years. Wiiile still but a stripling he fell desperately in love with a girl of thirteen ; his affection for her was as constant as it was roman- tic ; through all his wanderings and sufferings he never ceased to think of her, and after seven years she became his wife. His father frowned on the engagem.ent, and he became estranged from home. He was impressed ; narrowly escaped shipwreck, deserted, and was arrested and flogged as a deserter. Released from the navy, he was taken into the service of a slave-dealer on the coast of Africa, at whose hands, and those of the man's negro mistress, he endured every sort of ill-treatment and contumely, being so starved that he was fain sometimes to devour raw roots to stay his hunger. His constitution must have been of iron to carry him through all that he endured. In the meantime his indomitable mind was engaged in attempts at self-culture ; he studied a Euclid which he had brought with him, drawing his diagrams on the sand ; and he afterwards managed to teach himself Latin by means of a Horace and a Latin Bible, aided by some slight vestiges of the education which he had received at a grammar school. His con- version was brought about by the continued influences of Thomas 11 Kempis, of a very narrow escape, after terrible sufferings, from shipwreck, of the impression made by the sights of the mighty deep on a soul which, in its weather-beaten casing, had retained its native sensibility, and, we may safely add, of the disregarded but not forgotten teachings of his pious mother. Providence was now kind to him ; he became captain of a slave-ship, and made several voyages on the business of trade. That it was a wicked trade he seems to have had no idea; he says he never knew sweeter or more frequent hours of divine communion than on his two last 28 COWPER. voyages to Guinea. Afterwards it occurred to him that though his employment was genteel and profitable, it made him a sort of gaoler, unpleasantly conversant with both chains and shackles; and he besought Providence to fix him in a more humane calling. In answer to his prayer came a fit of apoplex}^, which made it dangerous for him to go to sea again. He obtained an office in the port of Liverpool, but soon he set his heart on becoming a minister of the Church of England. He applied for ordination to the Archbishop of York, but not having the degree required by the rules of the Establishment, 'e received through his Grace's secre- tary " the softest ief"usal ii...iginable." The Archbishop had not had the advantage of perusing Lord Macaulay's remarks on the dif- ference between the policy of the Church ot England and that of the Church of Rome, with regard to the utilization of religious enthusiasts. I" the end Newton was ordained by the Bishop of Lincoln, and tl rew himself with the energy of a new-born apostle upon the irreligion and brutality of Olney. No Carthusian's breast could glow more intensely with the zeal which is the offspring of remorse. Newton was a Calvinist, of course, though it seems not an extreme one ; otherwise he would probably have confirmed Cowpcr in the darkest of hallucinations. His religion was one of mystery and miracle, full of sudden conversions, special provi- dences, and satanic visitations. He himself says that " his name was up about the country for preaching people mad ; " it is true that in the eyes of the profane Methodism itself was madness ; but he goes on to say " whether it is owing to the sedentary life the women live here, poring over their (lace) pillows for ten or twelve hours every day, and breathing confined air in their crowded little rooms, or whatever may be the immediate cause, I suppose we have near a dozen in different degrees disordered in their heads, and most of them I believe truly gracious people." He surmises that " these things are permitted in judgment, that they who seek occasion for cavilling and stumbling may have what they want." Nevertheless there were in him not only force, cour- age, burning zeal for doing good, but great kindness, and even tenderness of heart. " I see in this world," he said, "two heaps of liuman happiness and misery ; now, if I can take but the smallest bit from one heap and add it to the other, I carry a point — if, as I go home, a child has dropped a half-penny, and by giving it another I can wipe away its tears, I feel I have done something." There was even in him a strain, if not of humour, of a shrewdness which was akin to it, and expressed itself in many pithy sayings. '' If two angels came down from heaven to execute a divine com- mand, and one was appointed to conduct an empire and the other to sweep a street in it, they would feel no inclination to change employments." " A Christian should never plead spirituality for being ;i sloven ; if he be but a shoe-cleaner, he should be the best in the parish." " My principal method for defeating heresy is by establishinsj truth. One proposes to fill a bushel with tares; now if I can fill it first with wheat, I shall defy his attempts." That his COIVPER. S9 Calvinism was not very dark or sulphureous, seems to be shown from his repeating with gusto the saying of one of the old women of Olney when some preacher dwelt on the doctrine of predesti- nation — " Ah, I have long settled that point ; for if God had not chosen me before I was born, I am sure he would have seen noth- ing to have chosen me for afterwards." That he had too much sense to take mere profession for religion appears from his de- scribing the Calvinists of Olney as of two sorts, which reminded him of the two baskets of Jeremiah's figs. The iron constitution which had carried him through so many hardships enabled him to continue in his ministry to extreme old age. A friend at length counselled him to stop before he found himself stopped by hemg able to speak no longer. ♦' I cannot stop," he said, raising his voice. " What ! shall the old African blasphemer stop while he can speak ? " At the instance of a common friend, Newton had paid Mrs. Unwin a visit at Huntingdon, after her husband's death, and had at once established the ascendency of a powerful character over her and Cowper. He now beckoned the pair to his side, placed them in the house adjoining his own, and opened a private door between the two gardens, so as to have his spiritual children always beneath his eye. Under this, in the most essential respect, unhappy influence, Cowper and Mrs. Unwin together entered on " a decided course of Christian happiness ; " that is to say, they spent all their days in a round of religious exercises without relax- ation or relief. On fine summer evenings, as the sensible Lady Hesketh saw with dismay, instead of a walk, there was a prayer- meeting. Cowper himself was made to do violence to his intense shyness by leading in prayer. He was also made to visit the poor at once on spiritual missions, and on that of almsgiving, for which Thornton, the religious philanthropist, supplied Newton and his disciples with means. This, which Southey appears to think about the worst part of Newton's regimen, was probably its re- deeming feature. The effect of doing good to others on any mind was sure to be good ; and the sight of real suffering was likely to banish fancied "ills. Cowper in this way gained, at all events, a practical knowledge of the poor, and learned to do them justice, though from a rather too theological point of view. Seclusion from the sinful world was as much a part of the system of Mr. Newton as it was of the system of Saint Benedict. Cowper was almost entirely cut off from intercourse with his friends and people of his own class. He dropped his correspondence even with his beloved cousin, Lady Hesketh, and would probably have dro])ped his correspondence with Hill, had not Hill's assistance in nrioney matters been indispensable. To complete his mental isolation, it appears that, having sold his library, he had scarcely any books. Such a course of Christian happiness as this could only end in one way ; and Newton himself seems to have had the sense to see that a storm was brewing, and that tliere was no way of conjuring it but by contriving some more congenial occupation. So the disciple 30 COWPER. was commanded to employ his poetical gifts in contributing to a liy:nn-book which Newton was compiling. Cowper's Olney hymns liuve not any serious value as poetry. Hymns rarely have. The relations of man with Deity transcend and repel poetical treatment. T!iere is nothing in them on which the creative imagination can be exeri-ised. Hymns can be little more than incense of the won shi|)ping soul. Those of the Latin Church are the best; not be- cause they are better poetry than the rest (for they are not), but because tlieir language is the most sonorous. Cowper's hymns were accepted by the religious body for which they were written, as expressions of its spiritual feeling and desires ; so far they were successful. They are the work of a religious man of culture, and free from anytliing wild, erotic, or unctuous. But, on the other hand, there is nothing in them suited to be the vehicle of lofty de- votion ; nothing, that we can conceive a multitude, or even a prayer- meeting, uplifting to heaven with voice and heart. Southey has pointed to some passages on which the shadow of the advancing malady falls ; but in the main there is a predominance of religious joy and hope. The most despondent hymn of the series is Temp- tation^ the thought of which resembles that of The Castaway. Cowper's melancholy may have been aggravated by the loss of his only brother, who died about this time, and at whose death-bed he was present; though in the narrative which he wrote, joy at John's conversion and the religious happiness of his end seems to exclude the feelings by which hypochondria was likely to be fed. But his mode of life under Newton was enough to account for the return of his disease, which in this sense may be fairly laid to the charge of religion. He again went mad, fancied, as before, that he was rejected of Heaven, ceased to pray as one helplessly doomed, and again attempted suicide. Newton and Mrs. Unwin at first treated the disease as a diabolical visitation, and " with deplorable consistency," to borrow the phrase used by one of their friends in the case of Cowper's desperate abstinence from prayer, abstained from calling in a physician. Of this, again, the' eligion must bear the reproach. In other respects they beha.ed admirably. Mrs. Unwin, shut up for sixteen months with her unhappy part- ner, tended him with unfailing love ; alone she did it, for he could bear no one else about him ; though, to make her part more trvinij, he had conceived the insane idea that she hated him. Seldom has a stronger proof been given of the sustaining power of affection. Assuredly, of whatever Cowper may have afterwards done for his kmd, a gr-at part must be set down to the credit of Mrs. Unwin. " Mary I I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And nndebased by praise of moaner things, That, ere through age or woe I shed mv wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalises whom it sings. COWPER. 31 But thou hast little need. I'herc 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 M;iry, shine. And, since thou own'st that praise, 1 spare thee mine." Newton's friendship, too, was sorely tried. In the inidst of the malady the lunatic took it into his head to transfer himself from his own house to the Vicarage, which he obstinately refused to leave ; and Newton bore this infliction for several months without repining, though he might well pray earnestly for his friend's de- liverance. " The Lord has numbered the days in which I am ap- pointed to wait on him in this dark valley, and he has given us such a love to him, both as a believer and a friend, that I am not weary; but to be sure his deliverance would be to me one of the greatest blessings my thoughts can conceive." Dr. Cotton was at last called m, and under his treatment, evidently directed against a bodily disease, Cowper war. at length restored to sanity. Newton once coniparecl his own walk in the world to that of a physician going througli Bedlam. But he was not skilful in his treatment of the literally insane. He thought to cajole Cowper out of his cherished iiorrors by calling his attention to a case resem- bling his own. The case was that of Simon Browne, a Dissenter, who had conceived the idea that, being under the displeasure of Heaven, he had been entirely deprived of his rational being and left with merely his animal nature. He had accordingly resigned his ministry, and employed himself in compiling a dictionary, which, he said, was doing nothing that could require a reasonable soul. He seens to have thought that theology fell under the same cate- gorv, foi he proceeded to write some theological treatises, which he dedicated to Queen Caroline, calling her Majesty's attention to the singularity of the authorship as the most remarkable phe- nomenon of her reign. Cowper, however, instead of falling into the desired train of reasoning, and being led to suspect the exist- ence of a similar illusion in himself, merely rejected the claim of the pretended rival in spiritual affliction, declaring his own case to be far the more deplorable of the two. Before the decided course of Christian happiness had time again to culminate in madness, fortunately for Cowper, Newton left Olney for St. Mary Woolnoth. He was driven away at last by a quarrel with his barbarous parishioners, the cause of which did him credit. A fire broke out at Olney, and burnt a good many of its straw-thatched cottages. Newton ascribed the extinction of the fire rather to prayer than water, but he took the lead in practi- cal measures of relief, and tried to remove the earthly cause of such visitations by putting an end to bonfires and illuminations on the 5th of November. Threatened with the loss of their Guy Fawkes.the b;»rbarians rose upon him. and he had a narrow escape from their violence. We are reminded of the case of Cotton Mather, 32 COWPER. who, after bcinj» a leader in witch-hurninfr, nearly sacrificed his life in combaUinj( the fanaticism wliicli opposed itself to the intro- duction of inoculation. I.ct it always he rememhered that besides its theological side, the Revival iiad its philanthropic and moral side; that it abolished the slave-trade, and at last slavery; that it wa;;etl war, and effective war, under the standard of the gospel, upon masses of vice and brutality, which had been totally neglected by the torpor of the Ivstablislinieiit ; that among large classes of the people it was the great civilising agency of the time. Newton was succeeded as curate of Olney by his disciple, and a man of somewhat the same cast of mind and character, Thomas Scott, the writer of the Commentary on the l>ihie?.m\ The Force of Truth. 'I'o Scott Cowper seems not to have greatly taken. He comi)lains that, as a preacher, he is always scolding the con«^rega- tion. I'erhaps Newton had foreseen that it would be so, tor he speci.illy conuiundcd the spiritual son whom he was leaving to the care of the it lime from Johnson's Lives the cxist'cnce of Collins. \\v is the otfspring of the Religious Revival rather than of any school of art. His mo.st imjxirtant relation to any of his predecessors is, in fact, one of antagonism to the hard glitter of I'ope. In urging her companion to write poetry, Mrs. Unwin was on the right i)ath ; her puritanism led her astray in the choice of a theme. She suggested The rro^ress of Error tus, a subject for a "Moral Satire." It was unhappily adopted, and J'he J'ro^ress of linor w.\H followed l)y r/u//i. Table Talk, Expostulation, ilopcy Charity, Conversation, and Retirement. When the series was published, Table Talk was put first, being supposed to be the lightest and the most attractive to an unregenerate world. The judgment passed upon this set of poems at the time by the Critical Revieiu seems blasphemous to the fond biographer, and is so devoid of modern smartness as to be almost interesting as a literary fossil. IJul it must be deemed essentially just, though the reviewer errs, as many reviewers have erred, in measuring the writer's capacity by the standard of his first performance. " These poems," said the Critical Review, "are written, as we learn from the title-page, by Mr. Cowpcr of the Inner Temple, who seems to be a man of a sober and religious turn of mind, with a benevolent heart, and a serious wish to inculcate the precepts of moralitv ; he is not, however, possessed of any superior abilities or the power of genius requisite for so arduous an undertaking He says what is incontrovertible, and wh.at has been said over and over again with much gravity, but says nothing new, sprightly, or entertaining; travelling on a plain, level, flat road, with great composure almost through the whole long and tedious volume, which is little better than a dull sermon in very indifferent verse on Truth, the Progress of Error, Charity, and some other grave subjects. If this author had followed the advice given by Carac- cioli, and which he has chosen for one of the mottoes prefi.xed to these poems, he would have clothed his indisput.ible truths in some more becoming disguise, and rendered his work much more agreeable. In its present shape we cannot compliment him on its beavty ; for as this bard himself sweetly sings: — " The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear. Falls soporitic on the listless ear." In justice to the bard it ought to be said that he wrote under the eye of the Rev. John Newton, to whom the design had been duly submitted, and who had given his itnprimatur in the shape of a preface which took Johnson, the publisher, aback by its gravity. New^ton would not have sanctioned any poetry which had not a distinctly religious object, and he received an assurance roii'n:k\ 35 iroin the poet that the Hvcly passaj^cs were iiitroducet! only as honey on tlic rim of tlic iiR-dicinal i up, tu cuinintriid its hcahng contents to the hps of a j'jiUly uoild. The Kev. John Newton must have been exceedingly austere it Ije thought that the quantity of honey used was excessive. A genuine desire to make society better is always present in these poems, and its i)reseiice lends them the only interest which they possess except as historical monuments of a religious movement. Of satirical vigour they have scarcely a semblance. There are three kinds of satire, corresponding to as many different views of humanity anil life ; the Stoical, the Cynical, and the Epicurean. Of Stoical satire, with its strenuous hatred of vice and wrong, the type is Juvenal. Of Cvnical satire, springing from bitter contempt of humanity, the tvi)c'is Swift's Ouliiver, while its quintessence is embodied in his 'lines on the i:ay of Judgment. Of Epicurean satire, flowing from a contempt of humanity which is not bitter, and lightly i)laying with tin; weakness and vanities of mankind, Horace is the classical example. To the first two kinds, Cowper's nature was totally alien, and when he attempts anvthing in either of those lines, the only result is a querulous and censorious acerbity, in which his real feelings had no part, and which on mature reflection offended his own liettcr taste. In the Horatian kind he might have excelled, as the episode of the Retired Statesman in one of these poems shows. He might have excelled, that is, if like Horace he had known the world. But he did not know the world. He saw the "great Habel" only " through the loopholes of retreat," and in the columns of his weekly newspaper. Even during the years, long past, which he spent in the world, his experience had been confined to a small literary circle. Society was to him an abstraction on which he discoursed like a pulpiteer. His satiric whip not only has no lash, it is brandished in the air. No man was ever less qualified for the office of a censor; his judgment is at once disarmed, and a breach in his principles is at once made by the slightest personal influence. Bishops are bad ; they are like the Cretans, evil beasts and slow bellies ; but the bishop whose brother Cowper knows is a blessing to the Church. Deans and Canons are lazy sinecurists, but there is a bright ex- ception in the case of the Cowper who held a golden stall at Durham. Grinding India is criminal, but Warren Hastings is ac« acquitted, because he was with Cowper at Westminster. Disci- pline was deplorably relaxed in all colleges except that of which Cowper's brother was a fellow. Pluralities and resignation bonds, the grossest abuses of the Church, were perfectly defensible in the case of any friend or acquaintance of this Church Reformer. Bitter lines against Popery inserted in The Task were struck out, because the writer had made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Throckmorton, who were Roman Catholics. Smoking was detes- table, except when practised by dear Mr. Bull. Even gambling, the blackest sin of fashionable society, is not to prevent Fox, the 5 COWPER. great Whig, from being a ruler in Israel. Besides, in all his social fudgments, Cowper is at a wrong point of view. He is always de- iuded by the idol of his cave. He writes perpetually on the twofold assumption that a life of retirement is more favourable to virtue than a life of action, and that " God made the country, while man made the town. Hoth parts of the assumption are untrue. A life of ac- tion is more favourable to virtue, as a rule, than a life of retirement, and the development of humanity is higher and richer, as a rule, in the town than in the country. If Cowper's retirement was virtuous, it was so because he was actively employed in the exercise of his highest faculties : had he been a mere idler, secluded from his kind, his retirement would not have been virtuous at all. His flight from the world wns rendered necessary by his malady, and respectable by his literary work ; but it was a flight and not a victory. His misconception was fostered and partly produced by a religion which was essentially ascetic, and which, while it gave birth to characters of the highest and most energetic beneficence, repres-^^o^ d salvation too little as the reward of effort, too much as the revv;.rd of passive belief and of spiritual emotion. T!i'^ roost readable of the Moral Satires is Ketiremeni^ in which tiie writer is on his own ground, expressing his genuine feelings, and which is, in fact, a foretaste of The Task. Expos- tulation, a warning to England from the example of the Jews, is the best constructed ; the rest are totally -'anting in unity, and even in connexion. In all there are flashes of epigrammatic smartness. " How shall I speak thee, or thy power address, Thou God of our idola^^-y, the press ? By thee, religion, liherty, and laws Exert their influence, and advance their cause ; By thee, worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befell, Diffused, make earth the vestibule of hell : Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise, Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies, Like Eden's dread probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee." Occasionally there are passages of higher merit. The episode of statesmen in Retirement has been already mentioned. The lines on the two disciples going to Emmaus in Conversation, though little more than a paraphrase of the Gospel narrative, convey pleasantly the Evangel'cal idea of the Divine Friend. Cowper says in one of his Utters that he hn'i been intimate with a man of fine taste who had confessed to him that though he could not subscribe to the truth of Christianity itself, he could never read this passage of St. Li'i e Afithout being deeply affected by it, and feeling that if the rtamp of divinity was impressed upon anything in the Scrip- tures, it was upon that passage. " It happen'd on a solemn eventide, Soon after He that was our surety died. COIVPER. 37 Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event : They spake ot him they loved, of him whose life, Though blameless, had mcurr'd perpetual strife, Wiiose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore, The farther traced enrich'd them still the more ; They thought him, and they justly thought him, one Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done, To exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, And ask'd them with a kind engaging air What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. Tnform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread, And truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, That reaching home, the night, they said is near. We must not now be parted, sojourn here. — The new acquaintance soon became a guest, And made so welcome at their simple feast, He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord! Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say, Did they not burn within us by the way ? " The prude going to morning church in Truth is a good render ing of Hogarth's picture : — " Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show She might be ^oung some forty years ago, Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, Her head erect, her fan upon her lips. Her eyebrows arch'd, her eyes both ^one astray To watch yon amorous couple in their play. With bony and unkerchief'd neck defies The rude inclemency of wintry skies, And sails with lappet-head and mincing airs Daily, at clink of bell, to morning prayers. To thrift and parsimony much inclined. She yet allows herself that boy behind ; The shivering urchin, bending as he goes. With slipshod heels, and dew-drops at his nose, His predecessor's coat advanced to wear. Which future pages are yet doom'd to share ; Carrips her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm" Of personal allusions there are a few ; if the satirist had not been prevented from indulging in them by his taste, he would 38 COW PER. have been debarred by his ignorance. Lord Chesterfield, as the incarnation of the world and the most briUiant servant of the arch'euemy, conies in for a lasiiing under the name of Petroniu!^. " Pctroniufi! all the muses weep for thee, I5ut every tear shall scald thy memory. The graces too, while virtue .it their shrine Lay bleeding under that soft iiand of thine, P'elt each a mortal stab in her own breast, Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. Thou i)olish'd and high-finish'd foe to truth. Gray-beard corrujjter of our listening youth, To purine and skim away the filth of vice. That so refined it might the more entice. Then pour it on the morals ''f thy son To taint his heart, was worthy oi thine oxun?' This is about the nearest approach to Juvenal that the Evangelicai satirist ever makes. In Hope there is a vehement vindication of the memory of Whitefield. It is rather remarkable that there is no mention of Wesley. But Cowper belonged to the Evangelical rather than to the Methodist section. It may be doubted whether the living Whitefield would have been much to his taste. In the versification of the moral satires there are frequent faults, especially in the earlier poems of the series; though Cow- per's power of writing musical verse is attested both by the occa- sional poems and by The Task. With the Moral Satires may be coupled, though written later, Tirocitiium ; or^ a Rcvieiv of Schools. Here Cowper has the ad- vantage of treating a subject which he understood, about which he felt strongly, :;nd desired for a practical purpose to stir the feelings of his readers. He set to work in bitter earnest. " There is a sting." he says, " in verse that prose neither has nor can have; and I do not know that schools in the gross, and especially public schools, have ever been so pointedly condemned before. Hut they are become a nuisance, a pest, an abomination, and it is fit that the eyes and noses of mankind should be opened, if possible, to per- ceive it." His descriptions of the miseries which children in his day endured, and, in spite of all our improvements, must still to some extent endure, in boarding-schools, and of the effects of the system in estranging boys from their parents and deadening home affections, are vivid and true. Of course, the Public School sys- tem was not to be overturned by rhyming, but the author of TirO' cinium awakened attention to its faults, and probably did some- thing towards amending them. The best lines, perhaps, have been already quoted in connexion with the history of the writer's boyhood. There are, however, other telling passages, such at that on the indiscriminate use of emulation as a stimulus : — "Our public hives of puerile resort That are of chief and most approved report, ough Cow- cowrr.K. To such base hopes in many a sordid soul Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. A principle, whose proud pretensions pass Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass, That with a world not often over-nice Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice. Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride. Contributes most perhaps to enhance their fame« And Emulation is its precious name. Boys once on fire with that contentious zeal Feel all the rage that female rivals feel ; The prize of beautv in a woman's eyes Not brighter than I'n theirs the scholar's prize. The spirit of that competition burns With all varieties of ill by turns, Each vainly magnifies his own success, Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, Exults in his miscarriage if he fail, Deems his reward too great if he prevail. And labors to surpass him day and night, Less for improvement than to tickle spite. The spur is powerful, and I grant its force ; It pricks the genius forward in its course, Allows short time for play, and none for sloth. And i;uiil Nature. Mighty winds. That s-iveep thcskut vj some Jar-spreadini; wood Of ttmient ^i;nni>(/i, make initui not unlike The daah of Oiean on his xviniihii;^ shore. And lull the s|)irit while they till the mind; Unnuniber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast (Uittering, all at once. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the softer v«)ice Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip Throui^h the el eft toek, aiiil ehimitii; as they fall Upon loose pebbles y lose themselves at leni^th In matted x^rass that with a In'elier i^recn fiet'avs the see ret of their silent eourse. Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated nature sweeter still, To soothe and satisfy the human car. Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The livelong night : nor these alone, whose notes Nice-fmger'd Art must emulate in vain, IJut c.iwing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still-repeated circles, screaming loud. The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh. Yet heard in scenes where pe\ce forever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake." Affection such as the last lines display for the inharmonious at well as the harmonious, for the uncomely as well as the comely parts of nature, has been made familiar by VVordsworth, but it was new in the time of Cowper. Let us compare a landscape painted by Pope in his Windsor forest, with the lines just quoted, and we shall see the difference between the art of Cowper and that of the Augustan age. " Here waving groves a checkered scene display. And part admit and i>art exclude the day. As some coy nymph her lover's warm address Not quite indulges, nor can quite repress. There interspersed in lawns and opening gbides The trees arise that share each other's shades : Here in full light the russet plains extend. There wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills ascend. E'en the wild heath displays her purple dyes. And midst the desert fruitful fields arise. That crowned with tufted trees and springing corn. Like verdant isles the sable waste adorn." COWPRK. 47 The low Rcrkshirc hills wrapt in clouds on a sunny da^ : a sable desert in the nci^hl)ourliood of Windsor; fruitful fields arisin<( in it, and crowned with tufted trees and sjjrin^ing corn — evidently I'ope saw all this, not on an eminence, in the ruffling wind, but in his study with his back to the window, and the (leorgics or a translation of them before him. Here, again, is a little picture of rural life from the Winter Mornitt}^ Walk. " The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep /// unrecumheut sadness. There they wait Their wonted fodder ; not like hungering man, Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek. And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. He from the stack canft it fai^f^ miftlyhy; The bonrish «lrivtr Ii aniitg o'er his team Votifcmus ami impatient of delay." A spcdmcn «'f more ima^in.itivc and distinitlypoctic.il descrip- tinn is tht! well kimwii i).issa;.'t' on evcnin.:, in writing which Cow per would sctin to have li.id C«>Uin.s in his mind. " Conic, r.v( ninp, once aq.iin, svasnn of peace ; I\(iiTii, >.wct t I.vcniii};. and continue lonj; ! Ah thinks I ste thee in the strcakv wt-st. Willi m.itrc.n->tc|) <.!o\\nioving. whik- the Ni.i^ht 'IickU oil iliy swet-piiii; train; one hand cniphiyL-d In U ttiPL'. l.tl, the nittan of repose On liiid .ind licast, the other charjjed for man With sweet oMivion of the cares »'f day : Not MiiiiptiMiisly adornM. nor neet twinkliiii; on thy hrow Siiltitcs tlicc ; save that the moon is tliine No less than hers, not worn indeed on high With ostentations pnqoantry, hut set With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, Resplendent less, but of an ampler round." Beyond this line Cowpcrdoes not go. .ind had no idea of goinjSf ; he never thinks of Icndinii a soul to material nature as Wordsworth and Shelley do. He is the poetic counterpart of Gainsborough, as the great descriptive jiotts of a later and more spiritual day are the counterparts of Turner. We have said that Cowper's peas- ants are genuine as well as his landscape ; he might have been a more exquisite CraLbe if he had turned his mind that way, instead of writing sermons about a world which to him was little more than an abstraction, distorted, moreover, and discoloured by his religious asceticism. *' Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, Such claim compassion in a night like this. And have a frientl in every feeling heart. Wai m'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, III clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brushwood, bKa/ing clear, But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys, A few small end)ers left, she nurses well ; And, while her infant race, with outspread hands And crowded knees sit cowering o'er the sparks, Retires, content to quake, so they lie warm'd. The man feels least, as more inured than she To winter, and the current in his veins More briskly moved by his severer toil ; Yet he, too, finds his own distress in theirs. CO If'/'/-: a: 49 The tajjcr soon exlinRiiishM, which I saw I)anglc(l along at the cold tinker's end {I t when the dav declined ; and the l)rown loaf vulgcd on the shelf, halt eaten without >aiice Of savoury ciuesc, or Imtler, costlier still : Sleep seems their only rttu^ie : for, alas I Where penury is felt the thought is chained, And sweet colltxpi ial iile:i^ure>> arc hut few! With all this tliriit they thrive not. All the care Ingenious I'arsirnony takes, hut just Saves the small inventory, bed and stool, Skillet, and old carved chest, froni jmhlic sale. They live, ami live without extorted alms From grudging hands: hut other lioast have none To soothe their honest priilc that scorns to hcg, Nor comfort else, i)ut in their mutual love." Here we have the plain, unvarnished record of visitinjis among the poor of Olney. The lust two lines are .simple truth as well as the rest. "In some passages, especially in the second hook, you will ob- serve me very satirical." In the second hook of VV/e /'ask there are some hitter things ahout the clci^'v ; and in the passa;;e pour- traying a fashionable preacher, there is a touch of satiric vigour, or rather of that power of comic description which was one of the writer's gifts. Hut of Cowper as a satirist enougli has been said. •' What there is of a religious cast in the volume I have thrown towards the end of it, for two reasons ; first, that I might not revolt the reader at his entrance ; and, secondly, that my hcst impressions might be made last. Were I to write as many volumes as Lope de Vega or Voltaire, not one of them would be without this tincture. If the world like it not, so much the worse for them. I make all the concessions I can, that I may please them, but I will not please them at the expense of conscience." The passages of 77ie Task penned by conscience, taken together, fo/m a lamentably large pro- portion of the poem. An ordinary reader can be carried through them, if at all, only by his interest in the history of opinion, or by the companionship of the writer, who is always present, as Walton is in his Angler, as White is in his Selbourne. Cowper, however, even at his worst, is a highly cultivated Methodist : if he is some- times enthusiastic, and possibly superstitious, he is never coarse or unctuous. He speaks with contempt of "the twang of the con- venticle." Even his enthusiasm had by this time been somewhat tempered. Just after his conversion he used to preach to every- body. He had found out, as he tells us himself, that this was a mistake, that "the pulpit was for preaching; the garden, the par- lour, and the walk abroad were for friendly and agreeable conver- sation." It may have been his consciousness of a certain change in himself that deterred him from taking Newton into his confidence when we engaged upon The Task. The worst passages are those which betray a fanatical antipathy to natural science, especially that in the third book (150-190). The episode of the judgment so COWPER. of Heaven on the young atheist Misagathus, in the sixth book, ^s also fanatical and repulsive. Puritanism had come into violent collision with the temporal power, and had contracted a character fiercely political and revo- lutionary, Methodism foujLjht only against unbelief, vice, and the coldness of tiie Establishment; it was in no way political, m.ch less revolutionary ; by the recoil from the atheism of the French Revolution, its leaders, including Wesley himself, were drawn rather to the Tory side. Cowper, we have said, a'ways remained in principle what he had been oorn, a Whig, an unrevolutionary Whig, an " Old Whig," to adopt the plirase made canonical by Burke. *' 'Tis liberty alone thnt gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume. And we are weeds without ii. All constraint Except what wisdom lays on evil men Is evil." The sentiment of these lines, which were fa miliar and dear to Cobden, is tempered by judicious professions of loyalty to a king who rules in accordance with the law. At one time Cowper was inclined to regard the government of George III. as a repetition of that of Charles I., absolutist in the State and reactionary in the Church ; but the progress of revolutionary opinions evidently in- creased his loyalty, as it did that of many other Whigs, to the good '•'ory king. We shall presently see, however, that the views of the French Revolution itself expressed in his letters are wonder- fully rational, calm, and free from the political panic and the apoc- alyptic hallucination, both of which we should rather have ex- pected to find in him. He describes himself to Newton as having seen, since his second attack of madness, "an extramundane character with reference to this globe, and though not a native of the moon, not made of the dust of this planet." The Evangelical party has remained down to the present day non-political, and in its own estimation extramundane, taking part in the affairs of the na- tion only when some religious object was directly in view. In speak- ing of the family of nations, an Evangelical poet is of course a preacher of peace and human brotherhood. He has even in some lines of Charity^ which also were dear to Cobden, remarkably an- ticipated the sentiment of modern economists respecting the in- fluence of free trade in making one nation of mankind. The pass- age is defaced by an atrociously bad simile : — " Again — the band of commerce was depign'd, To associate all the branches of mankind. And if a boundless plenty be the robe. Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. Wise to promote whatever end he means, God opens fruitful Nature's various scenes, Each cli.nate needs what other climes produce, And offers something to the general use ; )ok, ^s iporal revo- d the ni.ch rench drawn nained COWPER. jt No land but listens to the common call, And in return receives supply from all. This genial intercourse and mutual aid Cheers what were else an universal shade, Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den, And softens human rock-work into men." No'v and then, however, in reading The Task, we come across a dash of warlike patriotism which, amidst the general philanthropy, surprises and offends the reader's palate, like the taste of garlic in our butter. An innocent Epicurism, tempered by religious asceticism of a mild kind — such is the philosophy of The Task, and such the ideal embodied in the portrait of the happy man with which it concludes. Whatever may be said of the religious asceticism, the E[)icurism required a corrective to redeem it from selfishness and guard it against self-deceit. This solitary was serving humanity in the best way he could, not by his prayers, as in one rather fanatical passage he suggests, but by his literary work ; he had need also to remem- ber that humanity was serving him. The newspaper through which he looks out so complacently into the great " Habel," has been printed in the great liahel itself, and brought by the poor post- man, with his "spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks," to the recluse sitting comfortably by his fireside. The "fragrant lymph" poured by "the fair" for their companion in his cosy seclusion, has been brought over the Sta by the trader, who must encounter the moral dangers of a trader's life, as well as the perils of the stormy wave. It is delivered at the door by " The waggoner who bears The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, With half-shut eyes and puckered cheeks and teeth Presented bare against the storm ; " and whose coarseness and callousness, as he whips his team, are the consequences of the hard calling in which he ministers to the recluse's pleasure and refinement. If town life has its evils, from the city comes all that makes retirement comfortable and civilised. Retirement without the city would have been bookless, and have fed on acorns. Rousseau is conscious of the necessity of some such institution as slavery, byway of basis for his beautiful life according to nature. The celestial purity and felicity of St. Pierre's Paul and Virginia are sustained by the labour of two faithful slaves. A weak point of Cowper's philosophj', taken apart from his own saving activity as a poet, betrays itself in somewhat similar v/ay. " Or if the garden with its many cares All well repaid demand him, he attends The welcome call, conscious how much the hand Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye, 52 COWPER. Oft loitering lazily if not o'erseen •, Or misapplying his unskilful strength But much i)erforms himself, no works indeed That ask robust toui^/i shuivs bred to toil. Servile employ, hiil such as may amuse, ISot tire, demanding rather skill than force.** We are told in The Task that there is no sin in allowing our own happiness to be enhanced by contrast with the less happy condition of others : if we ;ue doing our best to increase the hap- piness of others, there is none. Cowper, as \ e have said before, was doing this to the utmost of his limited caj icity. Both in the Moral Satires and in The Task, there are sweeping denunciations of amusements which we now justly deem innocent, and without which, or something equivalent to them, the wrinkles on the brow of care could not be smoothed, nor life preserved from dulness and moroseness. There is fanaticism in this, no doubt; but in justice to the Methodist as well as to the Puritan, let it be remembered that the stage, card parties, and even dancing, once had in them something from which even the most liberal morality might recoil. In his writings generally, but especially in 77/^? Task, Cowper, besides being an apostle of virtuous retirement and evangelical piety, is, by his general tone, an apostle of sensibility. The Task is a perpetual protest not only against the fashionable vices and the irreligion but against the hardness of the world ; and in a world which worshipped Chesterfield the protest was not needless, nor was it ineffective. Among the most tangible characteristics of this special sensibility is the tendency of its brimmifig love of human- kind to overflow upon animals ; and of this there are marked in- stances in some passages of The Task. " I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm." Of Cowper's sentimentalism (to use the word in a neutral sense), part flowed from his own temperament, part was Evangelical, but part belonged to an element which was European, which produced the Noiivelle Heloise and the Sorrows of Werther, and which was found among the Jacobins in sinister companionship with the cruel frenzy of the Revolution. Cowper shows us several times that he had been a re .der of Rousseau, nor did he fail to produce in his time a measure of the same effect which Rousseau produced ; though there have been so many sentimentalists since, and the vein has been so much worked, that it is difficult to carry ourselves back in imagination to the day in which Parisian ladies could forego balls to read the Notivelle Heloise, or the stony heart of people of the world could be melted by The Task. In his versification, as in his descriptions, Cowper flattered COWPER. S3 himself that he imitated no one. But he manifestly imitates the softer passages of Milton, whose music he compares in a raptur- ous passage of one of his letters to that of a fine organ. To produce melody and variety, he, like Milton, avails himself fully of all the resources of a composite language. Blank verse confined to short Anglo-Saxon words is- apt to strike the ear, not like the swell of an organ, but like the tinkle of a musical-box. Tfte Task made Cowper famous. He was told that he had sixty readers at the Hague alone. The interest of his relations and friends in him revived, and those of whom he had heard noth- ing for many years emulously renewed their connexion. Colman and Thurlow reopened their correspondence with him, Colman writing to him "like a brother." Disciples — young Mr. Rose, for instance — came to sit at his feet. Complimentary letters were sent to him, and poems submitted to his judgment. His portrait was taken by famous painters. Literary lion-hunters began to fix their eyes upon him. His renown spread even to Olney. The clerk of All Saints', Northampton, came over to ask him to write the verses annually appended to the bill of mortality for that par- ish. Cowper suggested that " there were several men of genius in Northampton, particularly Mr. Cox, the statuary, who, as every- body knew, was a first-rate maker of verses." " Alas ! " replied the clerk, " 1 have heretofore borrowed help from him, but he is a gentleman of so much reading that the people of our town cannot understand him." The compliment was irresistible, and for seven years the author of The 'Task wrote the mortuary verses for All Saints', Northampton. Amusement, not profit, was Cowper's aim ; he rather rashly gave away his copyright to his publisher, and his success does not seem to have brought him money in a direct way ; but it brought him a pension of 300/. in the end. In the meantime it brought him presents, and among them an annual gift of 50/. from an anonymous hand, the first instalment being accompanied by a pretty snuff-box ornamented with a picture of the three hares. From the gracefulness of the gift, Southey infers that it came from a woman, and he conjectures that the woman was Theodora. 54 COWPER. CHAPTER VI. SHORT POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. The Task was not quite finished when the influence which had inspired it was withdrawn. Among the little mysteries and scandals of literary history is the rupture between Cowperand Lady Austen. Soon after the commencement of their friendship there had been a "fracas," of whicli Cowper gives an account in a letter to William Unwin. *' My letters have already apprised you of that close and intimate connexion tliat took place between the lady you visited in Queen Anne Street and us. Nothing could be more promising, though sudden i,i the commencement. She treated us vyith as much unreservedness of communication, as if we had been in the same house and educated together. At her departure, she herself pro- posed a correspondence, and, because writing does not agree with your mother, proposed a correspondence with me. This sort of mtercourse had not been long maintained before I discovered, by some slight intimations of it, that she had conceived displeasure at somewhat I had written, though I cannot now recollect it ; con- scious of none but the most upright, inoffensive intentions, I yet apologised for the passage in question, and the flaw was healed again. Our correspondence after this proceeded smoothly for a considerable time ; but at length, having had repeated occasion to observe that she expressed a sort of romantic idea of our merits, and built such expectations of felicity upon our friendship, as we were sure that nothing human could possibly answer, I wrote to remind her that we were mortal, to recommend her not to think more highly of us than the subject would warrant, and intimating that when we embellish a creature with colors taken from our own fancy, and, so adorned, admire and praise it beyond its real merits, we make it an idol, and have nothing to expect in the end but that it will deceive our hopes, and that we shall derive nothing from it but a painful conviction of our errot. Your mother heard me read the letter; she read it herself, and honoured it with her warm appro- bation. But it gave mortal offence ; it received, indeed, an answer, but such an one as I could by no means reply to ; and there ended (for it was impossible it should ever be renewed) a friendship that bid fair to be lasting ; being formed with a woman whose seeming stability of temper, whose knowledge of the world and great ex- cow PER. 55 perience of its folly, but, above all, whose sense of relij^ion and seriousness of mind (for with all that gaiety she is a great thinker) induced us !)oth, in spite of that cautious reserve that marked our characters, to trust her, to love and value her, and to open our hearts for her reception. It may be necessary to add that, by her own desire, I wrote to her und' r the assumed relation of a brother, and she to me as my sister. Cciijumus in auras'^ It is impossible to read this without suspecting that there was more of " romance " on one side than there was either of romance or of consciousness of the situation on the other. On that occasion the reconciliation, though "impossible," took place, the lady sending, by way of olive branch, a pair of ruffles, which it was known she had begun to work before the quarrel. The second rupture was final. Hayley, who treats the matter with sad solemnity, tells us that Cowper's letter of farewell to Lady Austen, as she assured him herself, was ad- mirable, though unluckily, not being gratified by it at the time, she had thrown it into the fire. Cowper has himself given us, in a let- ter to Lady Hesketh, with refcence to the final rupture, a version of the whole affair : — " There came ? lady into this country, by name and title Lady Austen, the widow » iie !;>te Sir Robert Aus- ten. At first siie lived with her sister about a mile from Olney; but in a few 'veeks took lodgings at the Vicarage here. Between the Vicarage and the back of our house are interposed our garden, an orchard, and the garden belonging to the Vicarage. She had lived city. much in France, was very sensible, and had infinite viva- She took a great liking to us, and we to her. She had been used to a great deal of company, and we, fearing tha she would feel such a transition into silent retirement irksome, con- trived to give her our agreeable company often. Becoming con- tinually more and more intimate, a practice at length obtained of our dining with each other alternately every day, Sundays ex- cepted. In order to facilitate our communication, we made doors in the two garden-walls aforesaid, by which means we consideraby shortened the way from one house to the other, and could meet when we pleased without entering the town at all — a measure the rather expedient, because the town is abominably dirty, and s,he kept no carriage. On her first settlement in our neighbourhood I made it my own particular business (for at that time I was not em- ployed in writing, having published my first volume and not begun my second) to pay my devoirs to her ladyship every morning at eleven. Customs very soon became laws. I began T/ie Task, for she was the lady who gave me the Sofa for a subject. Being onco engaged in the work, I began to feel the inconvenience of my morning' attendance. We had seldom breakfasted ourselves till ten; and the intervening hour was all the time I could find in the whole day for writing, and occasionally it would happen that the half of that hour was all that I could secure for the purpose. But there was no remedy. Long usage had made that which was at first o|> tional a point of good manners, and consequently of necessity, and I was forced to neglect Jhe Task to attend upon the Muse M 56 cowrER. who had inspired the subject. Hut she had ill-health, and before I had quite finished the work wasobli^'cd to repair to Hristol." Evi- dently this was not the whole account of tl)e maticr, or there would have been no need for a formal letter of farewell. We are very .sorry to find the revered Mr. Alexander Knox saying, in his cor- respondence with IJishop Jebb, that he had a severer idea of Lady Austen than he should wish to put into writinjj for publication, and that he almost suspected she was a very artful woman. On the other hand, the unsentimental Mr. Scott is reported to have said, ♦' Who can be surprised that two women should be continually in the society of one man and not quarrel, sooner or later, with each other.'"' Considenng what Mrs. Unwin had been to Cowper, and what he had been to her, a little jealousy on her part would not have been highly criminal. liut, as Southey observes, we shall soon see two women continually in the society of this very man without quarrelling with each other. That Lady Austen's behaviour to Mrs. Unwin was in the highest degree affectionate^ Cowper has himself assured us. Whatever the cause may have been, this bird of paradise, having alighted for a moment in Olney, took wing and was seen no more. Her place as a companion was supplied, and more than sup- plied, by Lady Hcsketh, like her a woman of the world, and almost as bright and vivacious, but with more sense and stability of char- acter, and who, moreover, could be treated as a sister without any danger of misunderstanding. The renewal of the intercourse be- tween Cowper and the merry and affectionate play-fellow of his early days, had been one of the best fruits borne to him by The Task, ox perhaps we should rather say by yohn Gilpin; for on reading that ballad she first became aware that her cousin had emerged from the dark seclusion of his truly Christian happiness, and might again be capable of intercourse with her sunny nature. Full of real happiness for Cowper were her visits to Olney ; the announcement of her coming threw him into a trepidation of delight. And how was this new rival received by Mrs, Unwin ? " There is something," says Lady Hesketh, in a letter which has been already quoted, " truly affection.i'.d and sincere in Mrs. Unwin's manner. No one can express more heartily than she does her joy to have me at Olney ; and as this must b-' for his sake, it is an additional proof of her regard and esteem for him." She could even cheer- fully yield precedence in trifles, which is the greatest trial of all. " Our friend," says Lady Hesketh, "delights in a large table and a large chair. There are two of the latter comforts in my parlour. I am sorry to say that he and I always spread ourselves out in them, leaving poor Mrs. Unwin to find all the comfort she can in a small one, half as high again as ours, and considerably harder than marble. However, she protests it is what she likes, that she pre- fers a high chair to a low one, and a hard to a soft one ; and I hope she is sincere ; indeed, I am persuaded she is. She never gave the slightest reason for doubting her sincerity ; so Mr. Scott's coarse theory of the " two women " falls to the ground ; though, as COIVPER. 11 [fore I Evi- I would very |is cor- Lady in, and )n the le said, [ally in |li each jr, and Id not shall y man aviour ler has is bird Lady Hesketh was not Lady Austen, room is still left for the more delicate and intereslin;jj hypothesis. By Lady Heskcth's care Cowper \va: at last taken out of the "well " at Olney and transferred, with his partner, to a house at Weston, a place in the neighjjourliood, but on higher ground, more cheerful, and in better air. Tiie house at Weston belonged to Mr. Throckmorton, of Weston Hall, with whom and .Mrs. Throckmor- ton, Cowper had become so intimate that tlicy were already his Mr. and Mrs. Frog. It is a proof of his freedom from fanatical bitter- ness that he was rather drawn to thrni by their being Roman Catholics, and having suffered rude treatment from the Protestant boors of the neighbourhood. Weston Hall had its grounds, with the colonnade of chestnuts, the "sportive light" of which still "dances " on the pages of The Task ; with the Wilderness, — " Whose well-rolled walks, With curvature of slow and easy sweep, Deception innocent, give ample space To narrow bounds — " with the Grove, — " Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms We may discern the thresher at his task. Thump after thump resounds the constant flail That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff. The rustling straw sends up a fragrant mist Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam." A pretty little vignette, which the threshing-machine has now made antique. There were ramblings, picnics, and little dinner- parties. Lady Hesketh kept a carriage. Gayhurst, the seat of Mr. Wright, was visited, as well as Weston Hall ; the life of the lonely pair was fast becoming social. The Rev. John Newton was absent in the flesh, but he was present in the spirit, thanks to the tattle of Olney. To show that he was, he addressed to .Mrs. Unwin a letter of remonstrance on the serious change which had taken place in the habits of his spiritual children. It was an- swered by her companion, who in repelling the censure mingles the dignity of self-respect with a just apprecij^tion of the censor's motives, in a style which showed that although he was sometimes mad, he was not a fool. Having succeeded in one great poem, Cowper thought of writing another, and several subjects were started — The Mediterranean, The Four Ages of Man, Yardley Oak. The Mediterranean would not have suited him well if it was to be treated historically, for of history he was even more ignorant than most of those who have had the benefit of a classical education, being capable of believing that the Latin element of our language had cr ne in with the Roman con- quest. Of the ^(jwr/^^^i- he wrote a fragment. Oi Yardley Oak\\^ wrote the opening ; it was, apparently, to have been a survey of the il'. 58 COIVI'ER. countries in connexion with an immemorial oak which stood in a nciglibourint; cliace. lUil lie was fi)rcc(l to say that tl)e mind of r was not A fountain l)Ut a cistern, and liis was a l)roli'o>\m\ The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk, 'The Poplaf Field, The Shruhhery. the Lines on a i'ouni; Lady, and those To Mary, will hold their places forever in tlie treasury of English Lyrics. In its humble way The A'eedless Alarm is one of the most perfect of lunnan compositions. Cowper hail reason to complain of /l%sop for liaviny; written his fables l)efore him. One great charm of these little j^eces is their perfect sjjontaneity. Many of them were never j^ublished; and generally they have the air of beingthe .simple effusions of the moment, gay or sad. When Cowper was in good spirits his joy, intensified l)y sensibility and past suffering, played like a fountain of light on all the little incidents of his quiet life. An ink-glass, a flatting mill, alialibut served up for dinner, the killing of a snake in thegarden, the arrival of a friend wet after a journey, a cat shut up in a drawer, sufficed to elicit a little jet of poetical delight, the highest and brightest jet of being yohn Gilpin. Lady Austen's voice and touch still faindy live in two or three pieces which were written for her harpsichord. Some of the short poems, on the other hand, are poured from the darker urn, and the finest of them all is the saddest. There is no need of illustrations unless it be to call attention to a secondary quality less noticed ihan those of more importance. That which used to be specially called " wit," the faculty of ingenious and unexpected combination, such as is shown in tiic similes of Htidibras was possessed by Cowper in large measure. "A friendship that in frequent fits Of controversial rage emits The si)arks of disputation, Like iiand-in-hand insurance plates, Most unavoidably creates The thought of conflagration, ** Some fickle creatures boast a soul True as a needle to the pole, Their humour yet so various — They manifest their whole life through The needle's deviadons too, , Their love is so precarious. i *' The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete ; Plebeians must surrender, And yield so much to noble folk, is combining fire with smoke, Obscurity with splendour, in a r birth [tainly "name the fse To "Some are so placid and serene (As Irish l)ngs are always green), They sleep secure from waking; And are indeed a bog, that l>ears Your unparticipatcd cares Unmoved and without quaking. *' Courtier and patriot cannot mix Their heterogeneous politics Without an effervescence. Like that of salts with lemon juice, Which does not yet like that produce A friendly coalescence." Faint presapfes of Byron are heard in such a poem as The Shrub- bery ; and of Wordsworth in such a poem as tliat To a ]'ounq Lady. But of the lyrical depth and passion of the great Revolution poets Cowper is wholly devoid. His soul was stirred by no movement so mighty, if it were even capable of the impulse. Tenderness he has, and pathos as well as playfulness ; has has unfailing grace and ease ; he has clearness like that of a trout-stream. P'ashions, even our fashions, change. The more metaphysical poetry of our time has indeed too much in it, besides the metaphysics, to be in any danger of being ever laid on the shelf with the once admired con- ceits of Cowley ; vet it may one day in part lose, while the easier and more limpid kind of poetry may in part regain, its charm. The opponents of the Slave Trade tried to enlist this winning voice in the service of their cause. Cowper disliked the task, but he wrote two or three anti-Slave-Trade ballads. The Slave Trader in the Dumps, with its ghastly array of horrors dancing a jig to a ballad metre, justifies the shrinking of an artist from a subject hardly fit for art. If the cistern which had supplied The Task was exhausted, the rill of occasional poems still ran freely, fed by a spring which, so long as life presented the most trivial object or incident, could not fail. Why did not Cowper go on writing these charming pieces, which he evidently produced with the greatest facility ? Instead of this, he took, under an evil star, to translating Homer. The translation of Homer into verse is the Polar Expedition of litera- ture, always failing, yet still desperately renewed. Homer defies modern reproduction' His primeval simplicity is a dew of the dawn which can never be re-distilled. His primeval savagery is almost equally unpresentable. What civilized poet can don the barbarian sufficiently to revel, or seem to revel, in the ghastly details of carn- age,in hideous wounds described with surgical gusto, in the butchery of captives in cold blood,or even in those particulars of the shambles and the spit which to the troubadour of barbarism seem as delight- ful as the images of the harvest and the vintage ? Poetry can be translated into poetry only by taking up the ideas of the original into the mind of the translator, which is very difficult when the translator and the original are separated by a gulf of thought and Co cown:K. fcclirijLr, and when the ;julf is very wide, becomes impossible. There is iKithiiij;; for It in the CISC (»f Homer but a prose transhilion. Kven in prose to find perfect equivalents for some of the Homeric phrases is not easy. Whatever the chronolo^jical date of tlie Homeric poems may be, tlieir political and psycholofjical date may be jjretty well fixed, politically they belonjj, as the episode of 'i'hersitcs shows, to the rise of democracy and to its first collision with aris- tocracy, which Homer reacious cavern, clustcrlning l'r(«fu>c; four fountains of scrcnist lvni]>h, Their siiinoiiH course pursiiinjj side by side, Stravcd all .iruiiiul, and evcrvwhcre a|)i)earcd Meadows of softest verdure purpled o'er With viokls ; it was a scene to till A (jod from heaven with wonder and delight." There are faults in this, and even lilundcrs. notahly in the natu- ral history ; and " screnest lymph " is a sad departure from Homeric siinplicity. Still, on the whole, the passajje in the translation charms, and its charin is tolerably identical with that of the orij^inal. \t\ .nore martial and stirring passaj^es the failure is more signal, and here especially we feel that if I'oj^e's rhyming couplets are sorry equivalents for the Homeric hexameter, blank verse is superior to them only in a negative way. The real ecjuivalent, if any, is the romance metre of Scott, parts of whose j)oems, notably the last can- to of Mannioii and some passages in the Lay of the Last Minstrel^ are about the most Homeric things in our language. Cowper brought such poetic gifts to his work that his failure might have deterred others from making the same hopeless attempt. Hut a failure his work is ; the translation is no more a counterpart of the original, than the Ouse creeping through its meadows is the counterpart of the ^T-^gean rolling before a fresh wind and under a bright sun. Pope delights school-boys ; Cowper delights nol)ody, though, on the rare occasions when he is taken from the shelf, he cominends himself, in a certain measure, to the taste and judgment of cultivated men. In his translations of Horace, both those from the Satires and those from the Odes, Cowper succeeds far better. Horace requires in his translator little of the fire which Cowper lucked. In the Odes he requires grace, in the Satires urbanity and playfulness, all of which Cowper had in abundance. Moreover, Horace is separated from us by no intellectual gulf. He belongs to what Dr. Arnold called the modern period of ancient history. Nor is Cowper's translation of part of the eighth book of Virgil's y^neid bad, in spite of the heaviness of the blank verse, Virgil, like Horace, is within his intellectual range. As though a translation of the whole of the Homeric poems had not been enough to bury his finer faculty, and prevent him from giving us any more of the minor poems, the publishers seduced him into undertaking an edition of Milton, which was to eclipse all its predecessors in splendour. Perhaps he may have been partly entrapped by a chivalrous desire to rescue his idol from the dispar- agement cast on it by the tasteless anJ illiberal Johnson. The project, after weighing on his mind and spirits for some time, was abandoned, leaving as its traces only translations of Milton's Latin poems, and a few notes on Paradise Lost, in which there is too iHuch of religion, too little of art. Lady Hesketh had her eye on the Laureateship, and piobrtbiy i 1 ?i 62 coirrF.A\ w with \\\A\ view pcrsnarl-d her cousin to write loy.il verses on the rc(«)v«.'ry of (ic'or;^*' III. He wrote the verses, hut to the hint of tiif i,;uiir;itcshi|) he said, " Heaven jjuard my brows from the wreath you mention, whatever wreath hesicie may hereafter adorn them. It would l)e a leaden extinguisher clapt on my jjenius, and I should never more j)ro P' Pt S w cl ti Xi i i ti >n the I'lint of (wreath icm. tl I should he not COWi'LR. «3 CHAPTER VII. THE LETTEHS. SouTHEY, no mean judge in such a matter, calls Cowper the best of English letter-writers. If the first place is shared with him by any one it is by Byron, rather than by (iray, whose letters are pieces of fine writin<;, addressed to literary men, or Horace Wal- pole, whose letters are memoirs, the English counterpart of St. Simon. The letters both of Gray and VValpole, are manifestly written for publication, liiose of Cowper have the true epistolary charm. They are conversation, perfectly artless, and at the same time autobiography, perfectly ;;eiiuine ; whereas all formal autobiog* raphy is cooked. ' They are tiie vehicles of the writer's thoughts and feelings, and the mirror of his life. We have the strongest proofs that they were not written for publication. In many of them there are outpourings of wretchedness wliich could not possibly have been intended for any heart but that to wiiich they were ad- dressed, while others contain medical details which no one would have thought of presenting to the public eye. Some, we know, were answers to letters received but a moment before ; and Southey says that the manuscripts are very free from erasures. Though Cowper kept a note-book for subjects, which no doubt were scarce with him, it is manifest that he did not premeditate. Grace of form he never lacks, but this was a part of his nature, improved by his classical training. The character and the thoughts presentea are those of a recluse who was sometimes a hypochondriac; the life is life at Olney. But simple self-revelation is always interesting, and a garrulous playfulness with great happiness of expression can lend a certain charm even to things most trivial and commonplace. There is also a certain pleasure in being carried back to the quiet days before railways and telegraphs, when people passed their whole lives on the same spot, and life moved always in the same tranquil round. In truth, it is to such days that letter-writing, as a species of literature, belongs ; telegrams and postal cards have almost killed it now. The large collection of Cowper's letters is probably seldom taken from the shelf ; and the " Elegant Extracts " select those letters which are most sententious, and therefore least characteristic. Two or three specimens of the other style may not be unwelcome <54 COW PER. i ^ 1 ^ \} f * 1 , i' or needless as elements of a Ijiographical sketch ; though speci- mens hardly do justice to a scries of which the charm, such as it is, is evenly diftused, not gathered into centres of brilliancy like Madarn de Sdvignd's letter on the Orleans Marriage. Here is a letter written m the highest spiritc to Lady Hesketh. " OIney, Feb. 9th, 1786. "My deakest Cousin, — I have been impatient to tell you that I am impatient to see you again. Mrs. Unwin partakes with me in all my feelings upon this subject, and longs also to see you. I should have told you so by the last post, but have been so com- pletely occupied by this tormenting specimen, that it was impossii)le to do it. I sent the General a letter on Monday, that would dis- tress and alarm him ; I sent him another yesterday, that will, I hope, quiet him again. Johnson has apologised very civilly for the multitude of his friend'.s strictures; and his friend has promised to confine himself \\\ future to a comparison of me with the original, so tliat, I doiibt not, we shall jog on merrily together. And now, my dear, let me tell you once more that your kindness in promising us a visit has charmed us both. ! shall see you again. I shall hear your voice. We shall take walks together. I will show you my prospects — the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse and its banks, every- thing that I have described. I anticipate the pleasure of those days not very far distant, and feel a part of it at this moment. Talk not of an inn ! Mention it not for your life ! We have never had so many visitors but we could easily accommodate them all; though we have received Unwin, and his wife, and his sister, and his son all at once. My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May, or beginning of June, because before that time my greenhouse will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only pleasant room belong- ing to us. When the plants go out, we go in. I line it with mats, and spread the floor with mats ; and there you shall sit with a bed of mignonette at your side, and a hedge of honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine ; and I will make you a bouquet of myrtle every day. Sooner than the time I mention the country will not be in complete beauty. " And I will tell you what you shall find at your first entrance. Tmpriiiiis, as soon as you have entered the vestibule, if you cast a look on either side of you, you shall see on the right hand a box of my making. It is the box in which have been lodged all my hares, and IP which lodges Puss at present; but he, poor fellow, is worn out witi' age, and promises to die before you can see him. On the right hand sv.^nds a cupboard, the work of the same author ; it was once a dove-cage, but I transformed it. Opposite to you stands a table, which I also made ; but a merciless servant having scrubbed it until it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now but cf orna- ment; and all my clean shoes stand under it. On the left hand, at the fu.ther end of this superb vestibule, you will find the door of the parlour, into which I will conduct you, and where I will intro- duce you to Mrs. Unwin, unless we should meet her before, and COWPER. 65 )eci. it is, dam etter where we will be as happy as the day is long. Order yourself, my cousin, to the Swan at Newport, and there you shall find me ready to conduct you to Olney. " My dear, I have told Homer what you say about casks and urns, and have asked him whether he is sure that it is a cask in which Jupiter keeps his wine. He swears that it is a cask, and that it will never be anything better than a cask to eternity. So, "f the god is content with it, we must even wonder at his taste, and be so too. "Adieu! my dearest, dearest cousin. VV. C." Here, by way of contrast, is a letter written in the lowest spirits possible to Mr, Newton. It displays literary grace inalienable even m the depths of hypochondria. It also shows plainly the connex- ion of hypochondria with the weather. January was a month to the return of which the suHcrer always looked for\vard with dread as a mysterious season of evil. It was a season, especially at Olney, of thick fog combined with bitter frosts. To Cowper this state of the atmosphere appeared the emblem of his mental state ; we see in it the cause. At the close the letter slides from spiritual despair to the worsted-merchant, showing that, as we remarked before, the language of despondency had become habitual, and does not always flow from a soul really in the depths of woe. To THE Rev. John Newton. "Jan. r3th, 1784. " My dear Friend,— I too have taken leave of the old year, and parted with it just when you did, but with very different sentiments and feelings upon the occasion. I looked back upon all the pas- sa^^es and occurrences of it, as a traveller looks back upon a wil- derness through which he has passed with weariness and sorrow of heart reapint^no other fruit of his labour than the poor consolation tnat, dreary as the desert was, he has left it all behind him. The traveller would find even this comfort considerably lessened if, as soon as he had passed one wilderness, another of equal length, and equally desolate, should expect him. In this particular, his expe- rience and mine would exactlv tally. I should rejoice, indeed, that the old year is over and gone,' if I had not every reason to prophesy a new one similar to it. i. t ♦ • "The new year is already old in my account, l am not, in- deed sufficiently second-sighted to be able to boast by anticipation an acquaintance with the events of it yet unborn, but rest con- vinced that, be they what they may, not one of them comes a mes- sencrer of good to me. If even death itself should be of the num- ber.*he is no friend of mine. It is an alleviation of the woes even of an unenlightened man, that he can wish foi death, and indulge a hope, at leasl, that in death he shall find deliverance. But loaded as mv life is with despair, I have no such comfort as would result from a supposed probability of better things to come, were it once 66 COWPER. II \ i. ended. For, more unhappy than the traveller with whom I set out, pass through what difficulties I may, through whatever dangers and afflictions, I am not a whit nearer the home, unless a dungeon may be called so. Ihis is no very agreeable theme ; but in so great a dearth of subjects to write upon, and especially impressed as I am at this moment with a sense of my own condition, I could choose no other. The weather is an exact emblem of my mind in its pres- ent state. A thick fog envelopes everything, and at the same time it freezes intensely. You will tell me that this cold gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful spring, and endeavour to encourage me to hope for a spiritual change resembling it ; — but it will be lost labour. Nature revives again ; but a soul once slain lives no more. The hedge that has been apparently dead, is not so ; it will burst into leaf and blossom at the appointed time ; but no such time is ap- pointed for the stake that stands in it. It is as dead as it seems, and will prove itself no dissembler. The latter end of next month will complete a period of eleven years in which I have spoken no other language. It is a long time for a man, whose eyes were once opened, to spend in darkness ; long enough to make despair an inveterate habit; and such it is in me. My friends, I know, expect that I shall see yet again. They think it necessary to the existence of divine truth, that he who once had possession of it should never finally lose it. I admit the solidity of this reasoning in every case but my own. And why not in my own ? For causes which to them it appears madness to allege, but which rest upon my mind with a weight of immovable conviction. If I am recover- able, why aitj I thus ? — why crippled and made useless in the Church, just at that time of life when, my judgment and experience being matured, I might be most useful ? — why cashiered and turned out of service, till, according to the course of nature, there is not life enough left in me to make amends for the years I have lost — till there is no reasonable hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expense of the fallow ? I forestall the answer : — God's ways are mysterious, and He giveth no account of His matters— an answer that would serve my purpose as well as theirs to use it. There is a mystery in my destruction, and in time it shall be explained. " I am glad you have found so much hidden treasure ; and Mrs. Unwin desires me to tell you that you did her no more than justice in believing that she would rejoice in it. It is not easy to surmise the reason why the reverend doctor, your predecessor, concealed it. Being a subject of a free government, and I suppose full of the divinity most in fashion, he could not fear lest his riches should expose him to persecution. Nor can I suppose that he held it any disgrace for a dignitary of the Church to be wealthy, at a time when Churchmen in general spare no pains to become so. But the wisdom of some men has a droll sort of knavishness in it, much like that of a magpie, who hides what he finds with a deal of con- trivance, merely for the pleasure of doing it. " Mrs. Unwin is tolerably well. She wishes me to add that she shall be obliged to Mrs. Newton, if, when an opportunity offers, * . t out, and may eat a I am loose pres. time II be le to Dour, The into ap- ems, lonih in no were spair COIVPER. 67 she will give the worsted-merchant a jog. We congratulate you that Eliza does not grow worse, which 1 know you expected would be the case in the course of the winter. Present our love to her. Remember us to Sally Johnson, and assure yourself that wj re- mam as warmly as ever, Yours, W. C, *' M. U." In the next specimen we shall see the faculty of imparting in- terest to the most trivial incident by the way of telling it. The incident in this case is one which also forms the subject of the little poem called The Colubriad. To THE Rev. William Unwin. " Aug. 3rd, 1782. " My dear Friend,— Entertaining some hope that Mr. New- ton's next letter would furnish me with the means of satisfying your inquiry on the subject of Dr. Johnson's opinion, I have till now delayed my answer to your last , but the information is not yet come, Mr, Newton having intermitted a week more than usual since his last writing. When 1 receive it, favourable or not, it shall be communicated to you ; but I am not very sanguine in my ex- pectations from that quarter. Very learned and very critical heads are hard to please. He may, perhaps, treat me with levity foe the sake of my subject and design, but the composition, I think, will hardly escape his censure. Though all doctors may not be of the same mind, there is one doctor at least, whom I have lately dis- covered, my professed admirer. He too, like Johnson, was with difficulty persuaded to read, having an aversion to all poetry ex- cept the Nis;hi Thoughts; which, on a certain occasion, when being confined on board a ship, he had no other employment, he got by heart. He was, however, prevailed upon, and read me several times over; so that if my volume had sailed with him, instead of Dr. Young's, I might, perhaps, have occupied that shelf in his memory which he then allotted to the Doctor : his name is Renny, and he lives at Newport Pagnel. "It is a sort of paradox, tjut it is true : we are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger. Both sides of this apparent contradiction were lately verified in my experience. Passing from the greenhouse to the barn, I saw three kittens (for we have so many in our retinue) looking with fixed attention at something, which lay on the threshold of a door, coiled up. I took but little notice of then at first ; but a loud hiss engaged me to attend more closely, when behold — a viper ! the largest I re- member to have seen, rearing itself, darting its forked tongue, and ejaculating the aforementioned hiss at the nose of a kitten, almost in contact with his lips. I ran into the hall for a hoe with a long handle, with which I intended to assail him, and returning in a few 68 COW PER. fi i. '■( ' seconds missed him , he was gone, and feared had escaped me Still, however, the kitten s.it watching immovably upon the samj spot. 1 concluded, therefore, that, shding Ijetvveen the door and th . threshold, he had found his way out of the garden into the yard I went round immediately, and there found him in close conversation with the old cat, whose curiosity being excited by so r.ovel an appearance, inc'ined her to pat his head repeatedly with her for ; foot ; with her claws, however, sheathed, and not in anger, but in the way of philosopnical inquiry and examination. To pre- vent !.er falling a victim to so laudable an exercise of her talents, I interposed in a moment with the hoe, and performed an act of decapitation, which, though not immediately mortal, proved so in the end. Had he slid into the passages, where it is dark, or had he, when in the ^ard, met with no mterruption from the cat, and secreted himself m any of the outhouses, it is hardly possible but that some of the family must have been bitten ; he might have been trodden upon without being perceived, and have slipped away before the sufferer could have well distmguished what foe had wounded him. Three years ago we discovered one \\\ tho same place, which the barber slew with a trowel, "Our proposed removal to Mr. Small's was, as you suppose, a jest, or rather a joco-serious matter. We never looked upon it as entirely feasible, yet we saw in it something so like practicability, that we did not esteem it altogether unworthy of our attention. It was one of those projects which people of lively imaginations play with, and admire for a few days, and then break in pieces. Lady Austen returned on Thursday from Lor don, where she spent the last fortnight, and whither she was called by an unexpected opportunity to dispose of the remainder of her lease. She has now, therefore, no longer any connexion with the great city; she has none on earth whom she calls friends but us, and no house but at Olney. Her abode is to be at the Vicarage, where she has hired as much room as she wants, which she will embellish with her own furni' ture, and which she will occupy, as soon as the minister's wife has produced another child, which is expected to make its entry in October. "Mr. Bull, a dissenting minister of Newport, a learned, inge^ nious, good-natured, pious friend of ours, who sometimes visits us, and whom we visited last week, has put into my hands three vol- umes of French poetry, composed by Madame Guyon ; — a quietist, say you, and a fanatic ; I will have nothing to do with her. It is very well, you are welcome to have nothing to do with her, but in the meantime her verse is the only French verse I ever read that I found agreeable ; there is a neatness in it equal to that which we applaud with so much reason in the compositions of Prior. I have translated several of them, and shall proceed in my translations till I have filled a Lilliputian paper-book I happen to have by me, which, when filled, I shall present to Mr. Bull. He is her passion- ate admirer, rode twenty miles to see her picture in the house of a stranger, which stranger politely insisted on his acceptance of it. COWPER. 69 and it now hangs over his parlour chimney. It is a striking por- trait, too characteristic not to be a strong rcsemhlanco, and were it encompassed with a glory, instead of l)eing dressed in a nun's hood, miyht pass for the face of an angel. "Our meadows are covered with .\ winter-flood in August; the rushes witli which our bottomless chairs were to have been bot- tomed, and much hay, wiiicli was not carried, are gone down the river on a voyage to Ely, and it is even uncertain whether tliey will ever return. .SVV transit j^li>rta tinindi ! " 1 am glad you have found a curate ; may he answer ! Am happy in Mrs. Bouveric's continued approbation ; it is worth while to write for such a reader. Yours, W. C." The power of imparting interest to commonplace incidents is so great that we read with a sort of excitement a minute account of the conversion of an old card-table into a writing and dining table, with the causes and consequences of tiiat momentous event; curiosity having been first cunningly aroused by the suggestion that the clerical friend to whom the letter is addressed might, if tne mystery were not explained, be haunted by it when he was getting into his pulpit, at which time, as he had told Cowper, perplexing questions were apt to come into his mind. A man who lived by himself could have little but himself to write about. Yet in these letters there is hardly a touch of offensive egotism. Nor is tjiere any querulousness, except that of religious despondency. From those weaknesses Cowper was free. Of his proneness to self-revelation we have had a specimen already. The minorantiquities of the generations imme .".iately preceding ours are becoming rare, as compared with those of remote ages, because nobody thinks it worth while to preserve them. It is al- most as easy to get a personal memento of Priam or Nimrod as it is tc get a harpsichord, a spinning-wheel, a tinder-box, or a scratch- back. An Egyptian wig is attainable, a wig of the Georgian era is hardly so, mnch less a tie of the Regency. So it is with the scenes of common life a century or two ago. They are being lost, because they were familiar. Here are two of them, however, which have limned themselves with the distinctness of the camera-obscura on the page of a chronicler of trifles. To THE Rev John Newton. Nov. 17th, 1783. " My dear Friexi),— The country around is much alarmed with apprehensions of fire. Two have happened since that of Olney. One t Hitchin, where the damage is said to amount to eleven thousand pounds ; and another, at a place not far from Hitchin, of which I have not yet learnt the name. Letters have been dropped at Bedford, threalenii.g to burn the town: and the inhabi- tants have been so intimidated as to have place a guard in many parts of it, several nights past. Since our conflagration here, we ; m 't m 70 COIVPER. have sent two woman and a boy to tlic justice for depredation; S.K. for stealing a piece of l)ccf, which, in licr excuse, she said she intended to take care of. This lady, whom you well remember, escaped for w;int of evidence; not that evidence was wanting, but our men of (iotham judged it unnecessary to send it. With her went the -.voman I mentioned before, who, it seems, has made some sort of profession, but upon this occasion allowed herself a latitude of conduct raMier inconsistent with it, havinjj filled her apron with wearin/,'-apparel, which she likewise intended to take care of. She would have gone to the county gaol, had William Raban, the baker's son, who prosecuted, insisted upon it; but he, good-nalurediy, though I think weakly, interposed in her favour, and begged her off. The young gentleman who accompanied these fair ones is the junior son of Molly lioswell. He had stolen some iron-work, the property of Griggs the butcher. Being convictec"., he was ordered to be whipped, which operation he underwent at the cart's tail, from the stone-house to the high arch, and back He "icemed to show great fortitude, but it was all an im- again. position upon the public. The beadle, who performed it, had filled his left hand with yellow ochre, through which, after every stroke, he drew the lash of his whip, leaving the appearance of a wound upon the skin, but in reality not hurting him at all. This being perceived by Mr. Constable H., who followed the beadle, he applied his cane, without any such management or precaution, to the shoulders of the too merciful executioner. The scene immediately became more interesting. The beadle could by no means be pre- vailed upon to strike hard, which provoked the constable to strike harder ; and this double flogging continued, till a lass of Silver- End, pitying the pitiful beadle thus suffering under the hands of the pitiless constable, joined the procession, and placing herself immediately behind the latter, seized him by his capillary club, and pulling him backwards by the same, slapped his face with a most Amazon fury. This concatenation of events has taken up more of my paper than T intended it should, but I could not forbear to inform you how the beadle thrashed the thief, the constable the beadle, and the lady the constable, and how the thief was the only person concerned who suffered nothing. Mr. Teedon has been here, and is gone again. He came to thank qne for some left-ofT clothes. In answer to our inquiries after his health, he replied that he had a slow fever, which made him take all possible care not to inflame his blood. I admitted his prudence, but in his par- ticular instance could not very clearly discern the need of it. Pump water will not heat him much ; and, to speak a little in his own style, more inebriating fluids are to him, I fancy, not very at- tainable. He brought us news, the truth of which, however, I do not vouch for, that the town of Bedford was actually on fire yester- day, and the flames not extinguished when the bearer of the tidings left it. " Swift observes, when he is giving his reasons why the preacher is elevated always above his hearers, that, let the crowd be as COIVPER. ^1 great as it will below there Is always room enougli overhead. If the French philosophers can carry their art oi flying to tlie perfection they desire, the observation may be reversed, the crowd will be overhead, and they will have most room who stay below. I can assure you, however, upon my own experience, that this way of travelling is very delightful. I dreamt a night or two since that I drove myself througli the upper regions in a balloon and pair, with the greatest ease and security. Having finished the tour I intended, I made a short turn, and with one flourish of my whip, descended ; my horses prancing and curvetting with an infinite share of spirit, but without the least danger, cillier to me or my vehicle. The time, we may suppose, is at hand, and seems to be prognosticated by my dream, when these airy excursions will be universal, when judges will fly the circuit, and bish.ops their visit.a- tions ; and when the tour of Europe will be performed with much greater speed, and with ecpial advantage, by all who travel merely for the sake of having it to say that they have made. " I beg you will accept for yourself and yours our unfeigned love, and remember me affectionately to Mr. Bacon, when you see him. Yours, my dear friend, " Wm. Cowper." To THE Rev. John Newton. " March 29th, 1784. " My dear Friend, — It being his Majesty's pleasure that I should yet have another '"^portunity to write before he dissolves the Parliament, I avail myself of it with all possible alacrity. I thank you for your last, which was not the less welcome for coming, like an extraordinary gazette, at a time when it was not expected. ** As when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water finds its way into creeks and holes of rocks, which in its calmer state it never reaches, in like manner the effect of these turbulent times is felt even at Orchard Side, where, in general, we live as undisturbed by the political element as shrimps or cockles that have been acci- dentally deposited in some hollow beyond the water-mark, by the usual dashing of the waves. We were sitting yesterday after din- ner, the two ladies and myself, very composedly, and without the least apprehension of any such intrusion in our snug parlour, one lady knitting, the other netting, and the gentleman winding worsted, when to our unspeakable surprise a mob appeared before the win- dow ; a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys bellowed, and the maid announced Mr. Grenville. Puss was unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his good friends at his heels, was refused admittance at the grand entry, and referred to the back door, as the only possible way of approach. *' Candidates are creatures not very susceptible of affronts, and would rather, I suppose, climb in at the window than be absolutely excluded. In a minute, the yard, the kitchen, and the parlour were filled. Mr. Grenville, advancing toward me, shook me by the hand 72 COWPER. J" li f. IT ]; SB liir with a degree of cordiality that was extremely seducing. As soon as he, and as many more as could find cliairs, were seated, he be- gan to open the intent of his visit I toid him 1 had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit. I asaured him I had no influence, which he was not equally inclined to believe, anfl the less, no doubt, because Mr. Ashburncr, the draper, addressing himself to me at this moment, informed me that I had a great deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first ;i.s.s«;rtion by saying, that if I had any I was "tterly at a loss to imagine where it could be, or wherein ifc consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr. Grenville squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He kissed, likewise, the maid in the kitchen, and seemed, upon the -vhole, a most loving, kissin'r, kind-hearted gentleman. Hf* ia very young, fenteel, and handsome. He has a pair of \ ^.c " "iyes in his ead, which not being sufficient as it should ■ m x- the many nice and difiicult purposes of a senator, he has a Iiird a' '- which he suspended from his buttonhole. The boys halloo'd ; lue dogs barked ; puss scampered; the hero, with his long train of obsequi- ous followers, withdrew. We made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and in a short time settled into our former tranquility, never probably to be thus iriterrupted more. I thought myself, however, happy in being a'^ie to affirm truly that I had not that in- fluence for which he sued ; and which, had I been possessed of it, with my present views of the dispute between the Crown and the Commons, I must have refused him, for he is on the side of the former. It is comfortable to be of no consequence in a world where one cannot exercise any without disobliging somebody. The town, however, seems to be much at his service, and if he be equally suc- cessful throughout the country, he will undoubtedly gain his elec- tion. Mr. Ashburner, perhaps, was a little mortified, because it was evident that I owed the honour of this visit to his misrepresen- tation of mv importance. But had he thought proper to assure Mr. Grenville that I had three heads, I should not, I suppose, have been bound to produce them. " Mr. Scott, who you say was so much admired in your pulpit, would be equally admired in his own, at least by all capable judges, were he not so apt to be angry with his congregation. This hurt him, and had he the understanding and eloquence of Paul himself, would still hurt him. He seldom, hardly ever indeed, preaches a gentle, well-tempered sermon, but I hear it highly commended ; but warmth of temper, indulged to a degree that may be called scold- ing, defeats the end of preaching. It is a misapplication of his powers, which it also cripples, and tears away his hearers. But he is a good man, and may perhaps outgrow it. " Many thanks for the worsted, which is excellent. We are as well as a spring hardly less severe than the severest winter will give us leave to be. With our united love, we conclude ourselves yours and Mrs. Newton's affectionate and faithful, W. C. M. U." COWPER, 75 In i7- tom of moilcst consciousness, and a tacit confession of what all know to he true, that French faces have, in fact, neither red nor white of their own. This humble acknowledgment of a defect looks the more like a virtue, being found among a people not re- markable for humility. Again, before we can prove the practice to be immoral, we must prove immorality in the design of those who use it ; either that they intend a deception, or to kindle unlawful desires in the beholders. Hut t'le French ladies, so far as their purpose comes in question, must be acquitted of both these charges. ♦Nobody supposes their colour to be natural for a moment, any more than he would if it were blue or green ; and this unambiguous judgment of the matter is owing to two causes : first, to the univer- sal knowledge we have, that French women are naturally either brown or yellow, with very few exceptions ; and secondly, to the inartificial manner in which they paint; for they do not, as I am most satisfactorily informed, even attempt an imitation of nature, but besmear themselves hastily, and at a venture, anxious only to lay on enough. Where, therefore, there is no wanton intention, nor a wish to deceive, I can discovei no immorality. IJut in Eng- land. I am afraid our painted ladies ire not clearly entitled to the same apology. They even imitate nature with such exactness that the whole public is sometimes divided into parties, who litigate with great warmth the question whether painted or not? This was remarlcably the case with a Miss B , whom I well remember. Her roses and lilies were never discovered to be spurious till she attained an age that made the suppositionof their being natural im- possible. This anxiety to be not merely red and white, which is all they aim at in France, but to be thought very beautiful, and much more beautiful than Nature has made them, is a symptom not very favourable to the idea we would wish to entertain of the chas- tity, purity, and modesty of our countrywomen. That they are guilty of a design to deceive, is certain. Otherwise why so much art? and if to deceive, wherefore and with what purpose? Cer- tainly either to gratify vanity of the silliest kind, or, which is still more criminal, to decoy and enveigle, and carry on more success- fully the business of temptation. Here, therefore, my opinion splits itself into two opposite sides upon the same question. I can sui> pose a French woman, though painted an incn deep, to be a virtu ous, discreet, excellent character ; and in no instance should I think the worse of one because sjie was painted. But an English belle must pardon me if I have not the same charity for her. She is at least an impostor, whether she cheats me or not, because she means to do so ; and it is well if that be all the censure that she deserves. " This brings me to my second class of ideas upon this topic ; and here I feel that I should be fearfully puzzled were I called 7^> cow PER. \A ' 1 1 -\- Uf' in upon to recommend the practice on the score of convenience. If a husband chose that his wife lihuuld paint, perhaps it might be her duty, as well as her interest, to comply. IJut I think he would not much consult his own, for reasons that will follow. In the tir.st place, she would admire herself the more ; and in the next, if she managed the matter well, she miclit be more admired by others ; an acquisition that might bring Tier virtue uniier trials, to which otherwise it might never have been exposed. In no other case, however can I imagine the practice in this country to be either ex|)edieiil or convenient. As a general one it certainly is not ex- pedient, l)ecause, in general, Engiisl; women have no occasion for It. A swarthy complexion is a rarity here ; and the sex, especially since inoculation has been so much in use, have very little cause to complain that nature has not been kind to them in the article of complexion. They may hitle and sjxtil a good one, but they cannot, at least they hardly can, give themselves a better. But even if they could, there is yet a tragedy in the sequel which should make them tremble. " I understand that in France, though the use of rouge be gen- eral, the use of white paint is far from being so. In England, she that uses one commonly uses both. Now, all white paints, or lotions, or whatever they may be called, arc mercurial ; consequently poisonous, consequently ruinous, in time, to the constitution. The Miss IJ above mentioned w.is a miserable witness of this truth it being certain that her Hesh fell from her bones before she died. Lady Coventry was hardly a less melancholy proof of it; and a London physician, perhaps, were he at liberty to blab, could publish a bill of female mortality, of a length that would astonish us. " For these reast)ns I utterly condemn the practice, as it obtains in England ; and for a reason superior to all these, I must disap- prove of it. I cannot, indeed, discover that Scripture forbids it in so many words. Hut that anxious solicitude about the person, which such an artifice evidently betrays, is, I am sure, contrary to the tenor and spirit of it throughout.' Show me a woman with a painted face, and I will show you a woman whose heart is set on things of the earth, and not on things above. " But this observation of mine applies to it only when it is an imitative art. For, in the use of French women, I think it is as innocent as in the use of a wild Indian, who draws a circle round her face, and makes two spots, perhaps blue, perhaps white, in the middle of it. Such are my thoughts upon the matter. " Vive I'aleqiie. " Yours ever, " W. C." These letters have been chosen as illustrations of Cowpers epistolary style, and for that purpose they have been given entire. But they are also the best pictures of his character ; and his char- acter is everything. The events of his life worthy of record might all be comprised in a dozen pages. CO^yj^/iJi. n CHAPTER VIIL CLOSK OF LIFE. CowPER says there could not have been a happier trio on earth than Lady Hesketh, Mrs. Unwin, and himself. Nevertheless, after his removal to Weston, he again went mad, and once more at- tempted self-destruction. His malady was constitutional, and it settled down upon him as his years increased, and his strength failed. He was now sixty. The Olney physicians, instead of hus- banding his vital power, had wasted it away scciotdutfi artcm by purging, bleeding, and emetics. He had overworked himself on his fatal translation of Homer, under the burden of which he moved, as he says himself, like an ass overladen with sand-bags. He had been getting up to work at six, and not breakfasting till eleven. And now the life from which his had for so many years been fed, itself began to fail. Mrs. Unwin was stricken with jjaralysis ; the stroke was slight, but of its nature there was no iloubt. Her days of bodily life were numbered : of mental life there remained to her a still shorter span. Her excellent son. William Unwin, had died of a fever soon after the removal of the pair to Weston. He had been engaged in the work of his j^ofession as a clergyman, and we do not hear of his being often at Olney. But he was in con- stant correspondence with Cowper, in whose heart as well as in that of Mrs. Unwin, his death must have left a great void, and his support was withdrawn just at the moment when it was about to become most necessary. Happily, just at this juncture a new and a good friend appeared. Hayley was a mediocre poet, who had for a time obtained distinc- tion above his merits. Afterwards jiis star had declined, but having an excellent heart, he had not been in tlie least soured by the downfall of his reputation. He was addicted to a pompous rotundity of style ; perhaps he was rather absurd ; but he was thoroughly good-natured, very anxious to make himself useful, and devoted to Cowper, to whom, as a | 'et, he looked up with an ad- miration unalloyed by any other feel. 'g. 15oth of them, as it ha|> pened, were engaged on Milton, and an attempt had been made to set them by the ears ; but Hayley to'-k advantage of it to intro- duce himself to Cowper with an effusion of the warmest esteem. He was at Weston when Mrs. Unwin was attacked with paralysis, and displayed his resource by trying to cure her with an electric- yg COWPER. machine. At Earthar,, on the coast of Sussex, he had, by an ex- penditure beyond his means, made for himself a little paradise, where it was his delight to gather a distinguished circle. To this place he gave the pair a pressing invitation, which was accepted in the vain hope that a change might do Mrs. Unwin good. From Weston to Eartham was a three days' journey, an enter- prise not undertaken without much trepidation and earnest prayer. It was safely accomplished, however^ the enthusiastic Mr. Rose walking to meet his poet and philosopher on the way Hayley had tried to get T hurlow to meet Cowper. A sojourn in a country house with the tremendous Thurlow, the onlv talker for whom Johnson condescended to prepare himself, would have been rather an overpowering pleasure ; and perhaps, after all, it was as well that Hayley could only get Cowper's disciple, Hurdis, afterwards professor of poetry at Oxford, and Charlotte Smith. At Eartham, Cowper's portrait was painted by Rcmney. " Romney, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvas not the form alone And semblance, but, however faintly shown The mind's impression too on every face. With strokes that lime ought never tc ' rase, Thou hast so pencilled mine that though I own The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superior grace ; But this I mark, that symptoms none of woe In thy incomparable work appear : Well : I am satisfied it should be so. Since on maturer thought the cause is clear ; For in my looks what sorrow coukl'st thou sec When I was Hayley's guest and sat to thee." Southey observes that it was likely enough there would be no melancholy in the portrait, but that Hayley and Romney fell into a singular error in mista'^.ing for "the light of genius " what Leigh Hunt calls "a fire fiercer than that either of intellei:t or fancy, gleaming from the raised and protruded eye." Hayley evidently did his utmost to make his guest happy. They spent the hours in literary rhat, and compared notes about Milton. The first days were days of enjoyment. But soon the recluse began to long for his nook at Weston. Even the exten- siveness of the view at Eartham made his mind ache, and increased his melancholy. To Weston the pair returned ; the paralytic, of course, none the better for her journey. Her mind as well as her body was now rapidly giving way. We quote as biography that ^^hich is too well known to be quoted as poetry. TO MARY. The twentieth year is well-nigh past Since first our sky was overcast : — Ah, would that this might be the last! My Mary I COWPER, Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow : — 'Twas my distress that brought thee low. My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary I For though thou gladly woukUt fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, ^ ^ My Mary ! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art, Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream : Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For jould I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently press'd, press gently mine, My Mary I Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, That now at every step thou movest, Upheld by two ; yet still thou lovest, '^ ^ My Mary 1 And still to love, though press'd with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary ! But ah ! by constant heed T know, How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary I n , 83 COH^rEK. '• No poet wr|)t liim ; but the page Of narrat,,:: sinctic. That tells his n...i/.-, hi-- worth, his age, Is wet vviu) APioiiV tear : And tcarh bv bards or heroes shed Alike iiJi.aorUlise the dead. •* I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, 'I'o give the melancholy thetne A more cndi'ring date : Hut misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case. " No voice divine the storm allay'd, No light propitious shone, When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd, each alone : But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.** The despair wliich finds vent in verse is hardly despair. Poetry can never be tlie direct expression of emotion ; it must be the pro« duct of reflection combined with an exercise of the faculty of com- position which in itself is pleasant. Still, l^ie Castaway ought to be an antidote to religious depression, since it is the work of a man of whom it would be absurdity to think as really estranged from the spirit of good, who had himself done good to the utmost of his powers. Cowper died very peacefully on the morning of April 25, I Sod, and was buried in Dereham Church, where there is a monu- ment to him with an inscription by Hayley, which, if it is not good poetry, is a tribute of sincere affection. Any one whose lot it is to write upon the life and works of Cowper must feel that there is an immense difference between the Miterest which attaches to him, and that which attaches to any one atnong the far greater poets of the succeeding age. Still tliere i- something about him so attractive, his voice has such a silver tone, lie retains, even in his ashes, such a faculty of winning friends, that his biographer and critic may be easily beguiled into giving him too high a place. He belongs to a particular religious move- ment, with tlie vitality of which the interest of a great part of his works has departed or is departing. Still more emphatically and in a still more important sense does he belong to Christianity. In no natural struggle for existence would he have been the survivor ; by no natural process of selection would he ever have been picked out as a vessel of honour. If the shield which for eighteen cen- turies Christ, by His teaching and His death, has spread over the weak things of thi.'' >'.'orld, should fail, and might should again become the title to existence and the measure of worth, Cowper will be cast aside as a specimen of (>;'.picable infirmity, and all who have said anything in his praise will be treated with the same scorn. T^OTES r.'^Tnr HE LIFE OF COWrER, MM tl ai ii tl Q V fj t: fi n NOTES TO COWPER. [References to Cowi)cr's pociiiH are made aocordiiiK to thi; (MoIk' edition, tidied liy the Kev. William IJenliniii, Macmillan and Co., IsVo. His tranalationH fr.^in the (Jreek ami his letters are referred to aeeordinj; to Southey's edition of CowjHits works, liohii. 1854.] chaptp:r I. 7. 1. Cowper. The pronunciation of the poet's name has been th(! subject of much discussion, especially to he found in iVt»^.s dud (Jncrirs. It is conclusive from one communication (N. iL- (,>., I. iv. I'M), where the origin of the family is discussed, that the early spelling of the family name was "Cooper," and from another (N. tL V-, f. vii. 102) that the poet himself was called ' ' Cooper " by those who knew him : from which we may safely hold that the pronunciation of the poet's uanie ia more properly Coo'per. 7, 7. European Revolution. Of which the chief movement was the French Revolution (Green, 8horf History, x. iii.). 7, 13. Rousseau (>'oo 'W'). Jean-Jact^ues Rousseau (1712-1778), author of the Nuuvdle Heloisr', Emih', Coiifctisioai^, etc., was the lir.st of the modern French writers to give imaginative expression to i)assionate sentiments of love and nature, and couseciueutly contributed most to the awakening of literature from the lethargy of the Classical period. See 32, 7 f., 72, 10 ff. 7, 17. establishment. of England, lOpiscopacy. The established church, or state church 7, 18. WTesley . ■ ■ ■ Clarkson. Grcen'.s admirable skutcli of the rise of Methodism (chapter x. of the Short ilidonj) shoulil lie rc;id in con- nection with this chapter. He treats there also of the new philanthropy that accompanied it, led by Wilberforce and (^lark.'son against tiic slave- B [83J 84 fOWPKlt. 1 1' trade, ami by John Ilowanl aj^ainst tliu itii([uitiea of priaon-lifu. JoLn Thornton (I7'-'I-I7!>0) wan a rich philanthroitic merchant, irieml an*l counacUor «tf Wilhcrforcc. One of tlio many forms of his yiMitTofity waa to Imy np livings, wliicli In* ])r(.sintc(l to "truly religious" ministers. Newton (see p. -S) owti] his eomfortahle life to liim, with many another poor clergymaii. H<' was well known to CVnvper, who praiacd liia virtues in a poem to his memory. (**, 17. "Ilonniey has drawn mo in crayons (and in tiie opinion of ail lirre, at Kartham), with his l)est haml, and witii the most exact re^emblauoo po8.sil)Ie." — Cowper to Lady Jlesketli, Aug. '20, 17!>-. 8, 22. "I am of a very singular temper," !)!)), author especially of The Faci-le (Jiicrn, a work of lavish ])eauty of exprc.s.sion and serene majesty of thouglit. 8, 38. Pope. Alexander Pope (1088-1741), aullior of an E-o^n;/ on Criticin;>i, an Esi^ct;/ on Man, The Dunciad, etc. The term "arch- versilier" voices the reaction of tlie Koniautic revival against the universal ailmiration with which Pope's work was once ngarded. P>ut the term does not sum ui) Popes merits. If pcrfecl vcrsilication, the most brilliant satire, and the most impressive declamation mean anything, the English Horace was jven more than an arch-veraiiicr. 8, 47. polemics. Here di.'piitants, controversialists. 8, 50. TruUibor. (tntH'i Jny). Parson TruUiber, in Fielding's novel of Joseph Andrcios, depicts an indolent, ignorant, and sellish clergyman. 8, 50. Dr. Primrose. The vicar in (loldsmith's Vicar of WdLe- fuld, -devout, charitable to the poor, full of divine wisdom, but unpractical in liis gtnlle simplemiudedness. 9, 1. sinecurism {^'inc l-nr'i^m). Condition of hoMing a posi- ti()u that yields cnmlumcut without entailing dutsics. 9, 1. pluralities. Condition of holding more tlian one ecclesias- tical oUire — or rather enjoying the income of more than on(>. 80 cow PER. !l 0, 5. Hoerarth. WilUam Hogarth (169717r»4), pnintcr and ciignivtr, «cl«lir;itn, that tlic religion of Humanity — human life conceived as a (Jreat l>eing, and as such to l)n w'orshippetl and served — oilers the prospect of a happier and better life in place of Christianity. 9, 24. Election. See note I), 5. 9, 34. Lady Huntingdon. See 21, 10. Lady Selina Shirley (1707-1791), married in 17'2S to the Karl of Huntingdon, was the most celebrated woman of the Methodist revival. She cliosc as one of her chaplains the celebrated preacher, (ieorge WliitlieM (1714-1770), whose principles of (/'alvinistic Methodism she adojitetl. iler work was most extensive, providing for tiio training of preachers, tlie founding of chapels, anil organizing of missions. 9, 49. Temple Bar. A st(me gateway separating until 1S78 the Strand fiom Fleet Street, London. The heads an/ thf I'ocIk, and the prose romance, /I'a.s.sr^n.s. His work and his conversations (as pre- served in Doswcll's Li/() show the solid judgment t)f the man, "ho, gifted with a caustic wit and great intcllectuiil force, became the literary autocrat of England. n ^ .:^^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I lAi|2£ 115 itt m m m £? Uft 12.0 u u& ||l.25 |U ,^6 ^ 6" FholDgra[^ Sdaices Corporation 33 WfBT MAIN STIliT WflSTIR.N.Y. KSM (716) •72-4503 BT MAIN STMiT ITIi.N.Y. K5M 1«)I72-4S03 38 COWPttU 10, 1& Bvery oreatnre, efeo. Qooted from Oowper*! ktter to Mrs. Bodham, Feb. 27, 1790. 11, 16. I bad hardships, etc. Quoted from Gowper*! own Memoir. 11,37* Tirocinium (tlr 6 an"i um). A Latin word meaning inroperly the firgt military servioe (of a tyro) ; hence, the beginning of anything. Cowper finds the title appropriate for a poem oriticising the school-life of his day. See 38, 47. 11,88. Then why resign, etc Tirocinium, 98, 41, 12, 16. Westminster Sohoo]. St. Peter's School, West- minster, a fatnous school, endowed by Queen Elizabeth, at which many great men have been educated ; — poets such as Ben Jonson, Herbert, Dryden, Soathey^ statesmen like Vane and Russell ; the architect Christopher Wren, the philosopher Locke, the historian Gibbon. 12, 20. Public Schools Commission. A commission issued in 1861 to investigate the condition of the great English public schools. The report of the commissioners who visited the school, examined witnesses, etc., was issued in 1864. A review of the report is in Fi'aser's Magazine, June and Sept, 1864. 12, 34. St. Margaret's. A parish chnrch a few yards north of Westminster Abbey. 12, 87. Vincent Bourne (1697-1747). A Cambridge man (A.M., 1721), fellow of Trinity College, usher in Westminster School during most of the remaining years of his life. His work embraces short l^atin poems, translations into Latin of English poems, and epitaphs in Latin and English. He is praised for the originality and variety of his thought, for his delicate humour and fine inspiration, for the purity of his Latin, and for a versification, the facility and harmony of which are not surpassed by any modern writer of Latin poetry. 12, 39. "I love the memory," eta Cowper's letter to the Rev. Wni. Unwiu, May 23, 1781. 12, 40. TibuUuS. (« hni' hts) (b.C. 57-18). The chief of the Latin elegiac poets, a tender, though at times even effeminate writer, moved by keen feeling for the pleasures of nature and country life. g i - li I I iii i i i ii mi i f iii i i ii f i*iMii ii nm M iii K i O ii HT vom. 89 1 12, 40. Propertius (pro jter' aw) (b.o. 66-16). A Latm dpgi.io poet of manly and independent character. 12, 41. AusoniUB {O aa' ni w). Bom in Bordeaux in the early part of the fourth century, Anaonins became tutor to Oratian, son of the emperor Valentinian. He wrote Epigrams, Idyllia, etc., which, though much esteemed by his contemporaries, arc now regantcd OS forced and trifling in style and character. He died about a.d. 304. 12, 41. Ovid. The great Ti ilj Ml Minw l"..p.|. I ,._ 1^ J MpUfl 90 cowpiuk. 13, 43. Templars. A general name for stndenti of kw, efeo., resiiling in the Temple. \ 14. 8. Lyons Inn. Lyon'a Inn, in Newcastle street, Stnmd, waa one of the buildings belonging to the inner Temple. A * reader* ship ' there would simply moan lecturing on law to students. 14> 10. Nonsense Club. "A club of (seven) Westminster men, who dined together every Thursday." Cowper to the Rev. Wm. Unwir April 30, 1786. 14. 10. Westminster men. Former studoits of the West* minster School. (See note 12, 16). 14. 12. Bonnell Thornton (1724-1768). Thornton fell in with Coluian at Oxford. Together they published the review called "The Connoisseur" (1754-6), containiag their witty essays on morals and literature. Thornton helped to found the " St. James's Chronicle," and undertook with Colman and Warner to translate Plautus. He wrote as well a few poems. Intemperance shortened his days as with other members of the Nonsense Club. The famous Exhibition of Signs, which the club undertook was his idea. To satirize the exhibition ot the Royal Academy, the Nonsense Club opened on the same day as the former its ' Exhibition made by the Society of Sign Painters of all the curious signs that can be found in city and country, with original designs which can be regarded as specimens of the native genius ~of the nation.' Hogarth helped with his brush to make the signs still more humorous. 14, 12. Colman. George Colman (1733*1794) was manager of the Covent-Garden and Haymarket theatres, at which he presented his popular comedies of " Polly Honeycomb " and " The Clandestine Mar* riage." His disciples were Lloyd, Thornton, etc 14> 15. Terence. A great Roman writer of comedies (b.c. 195* 159), remarkable not only for dramatic merit but for purity of style. 14. 16. Plautus. The greatest comic poet of Rome (b.c. 254* 184), author of a largu number of comedies, which were immensely popular among the Romans. 14, 17. Lloyd. Robert Lloyd (1733-1764), was bom at Westmin- ster and became usher in the school there. He wrote with other works a poem, ' ' The Actor," and a comic opera, " The Capricious Lovers. " His 8 c "T""""^^^H^ ^^"■^""■•"■•fii NOTES. M life WM so diisifMited that he wasted his reaoarces, was thrown into prifton for debt, and emerged only to die an early death. 14, 19. Ghurohill. Charles Churchill (1731-1764), educated at Westoiinster School, became curate of St. John's, Westminster. Uia dissolute life brought about a separation from his wife and the loss of his parish. His best works are satirical, such as The Rok'uuI, The AuJior ; some like i^tr/A' seem to advocate open profligacy. A friend of Wilkes, he contributed not a little to the pages of the Nvrlh Briton. 14, 22. Wilkes. John Wilkes (1727-1797). like ChurchiU, was a man of ability and education, but of such dissolute life that he hod to separate from his wife. His founding of the North Briton (17C2) and his attack on the ministry of the Duke of Grafton and on the King arc well-known matters of history. (Green, chap, x., sec. ii.) 14, 23. Signs. See note 14, 12. 14,24. Gray. Thomas Gray (1716-1771) was educated at Eton and at Cambridge, and spent most of his life in that university in tho con- genial atmosphere of friends and books. His Elegy and Pindaric Odea have given him a permanent place in literature as a master of a con- densed, imaginative, and highly finished style. 14. 24. Mason. William Mason (1725-1797), was fellow in Pembroke College, Cambridge, at a time when it was also the residence of Gray, with whom he entered into close friendship and whose biographer he afterwards became. Though in holy orders (he became chaplain to the king), Axv..^n was skilled in music and painting, while his poetry is still in some esteem. His chief works are the two' tragedies of "Elfr.da" and " Caractacus," a long descriptive poem, "The English Garde 1," together with odes, elegies, and a "Life of Thomas Gray." 14, 36. Spectator. A daily paper published by Addison and Steele in 1711-1712 and 1714. Each issue was an essay, written with such easy grare and delightful freshness that the papers of the Spectator have become classics in our language. 14. 38. Phillips. John PhiUips (or with one T, 1676-1708), educated at Westminster School and Oxford, took orders, but was a devoted student of literature. His Splendid Shilling (1703), in which he gives to a poverty-stricken wretch liviug in a garret the language of the gotls, was pronounced by the Tatler "the best burlesque poem in the British language." His Cyder imitates the Oeoryica of Virgil. Cowper's ' imitation ' is " Verses on Finding tho Heel of a Shoe," Globe ed. p. 1. .■ rv ■ 93 cownm. "**» to the memory of a «,»» «# ' A man of lettei, and nil ' *^'» ' «^ n,o« thL. one^The^:^' ^*'^''-'» wept .inem«elvescon«piouou,the«|- «'46. "When "■**'*» "«''«'."2^' victory over the liW^ '" """y oniol«.in.»«. '' " "»™nt 32^ Mother s P^t^^e out of ^Jrf2 1 ^7^ n?"^ ^" '^« *»>' 29. Oaius Oftii \o, 40. Bohemians ri. «"lfromAuli.T7^^- ^"^ tt» Greek ««.. N0TB8. 93 Imoe, nor wm sppeMed tiU Iphigenia (^flyenfa), the daughter of Amnemnon, had been offered up to her ai a lacrifioe. (See Toimysoii'a Dream of Fair Women.) 16, 1. hypoohondria {hip o koa' drt a). Morbid melancholy and depression of spirits, usually aooompanied by deranged ideas on the subject of the patient's health. 16, 16. Southampton Water. A bea^.tiful inlet at the head of which is Southampton. It stretches inland eleven miles from the junction of the Solent and Spithcad. 16, 30. clerk of the Journals. The clerk in charge of the records of the proceedings of the House of Lords. 16, 32. patentee. One who has authority or right conferred by a patent (document). The right of presentation of the office to the in- tended occupant rested with Major Cowper. 17, 9. To ^er Wharf. the Tower of London. A long wharf facing the Thames at 17t 31. Oowper tells us. In the memoir of the Early Life of W. Cowper, published 1816. This memoir contains a full account of Cowpei''s early insanity. 17, 37. the unpardonable sin. See Matt. 12, 31. 17, 40. balm . . • in Gilead* Oilead was famous for spices and gums. This balm was either a precious resin of medicinal value exuded from the tree known as the Balsam of Gilead or a healing gum from the Lentisk bush. The proverbial use of the term arises from the words in Jer. 8. 22. 17, 49. Sapphics {safica). Poems written in the metre used by the Greek lyric poetess Sappho, who flourished about GOO B.ii. The metre consists of a strophe of three lines in Sapphic measure (— w — v^w . ), followed by one Adonic line {—^^ — C/)« The Sapphics of Cowper, entitled, "Lines written under the Influence of Delirium " (p. 23 in the Globe ed. ), begin : ' Hatred and vengeance,— my eternal portion Scarce can endure delay of execution,— Wait with impatient reodinesa to seize my S^ul in a moment.' 18, 5. St. Alban's. A small town in Hertfordshire, twenty- oue miles n. w. of London. P s wmm mmim 94 COWPKR. r \ CHAPTER n. 19i 17. quondam. A Latin adverb {quon' dam) meaning 'formerly/ 'in former timns,' but wed adjectively in English, — * former, ' 19, 22. Mentor. The trusty friend of Ulysaes, who departing for the Trojau war, gave into his charge his household and the education of his son Telcm'achus. Heuce the term Mentor is often used to indicate a trusty counsellor and guide of youth. 20, 8. Huntinflfdon. A smtJl town on the loft bank of the Ouse, lying twenty miles — " within a long ride " — w. V. w. of Cam- bridge. 20, 22. " odd soramblingr' fellows" Quoted from a letter to JiOdy Hesketh, Sept. 14, 1765. 20, 24. char-parson. A word used, I believe, only by the author ; made like ' char- woman'; it means a person who took occasional services without having a regular cure. 20, 25. non-residence. A term used particularly of clergy- men who do not livo in the parish of which they have charge. 21, 28. Calvlnists. Followers of the doctrines of the French divine John Calvin i[i509-1564). He was a prolific writer, a great contro- , versialist, the man who did most to systematise the doctrine and organize the discipline of the various Protestant churches of the Reformation. The cardinal points of Calvinism are Predestination and Irresistible (irace, according to which (1) God elects certain individuals to be saved ; (2) for these alone he designs redemption ; (3) the sinner is himself incapable of true reper.tance and faith ; (4) the grace of God effects the sal- vation of the elect ; (5> the regenerated ones can never wholly fall from grace. The Church of England has generally been Calvinistic, but during the eighteenth century Arminianism was favoured by its chief divines. 21, 29. Arminians. Followers of the doctrines of the Dutch Protestant divine Arminius (1530-1609). The five points of Arminianism are ( 1 ) conditional predestination ; (2) universal redemption by Christ's death, through which all believers are saved ; (.3) salvation by the grace of the Holy Spirit, with man's cooperation ; (4) All good in man come by the grace of God, but this grace may be resisted ; (5) Falling from a state of grace is possible. The last point famished a great cause of contention with the Calvinists. r ^m^'i.:^ '^. i. i iiii.1 1 i mii i ini II HOTBS. 96 21, 81. Toplady. Augu»tu« Montagno Toplaly (1740—1778), English CAlvinistio divine, vioar uf Broad Henbury, Devon. Uo wrote oontroveraial worlu, and is still remembered as the author of many hymns still sang in Protastant chnrohes. 21, 8t>. Ritualism. A name given to a movement Ijegun in the Episcopal Church in I8G3, ten<'iing to tbo incruaso of ceremonial in the church services, by the use of special veatmeuts, lighted candles, incense, processions, and to a deeper sense of and feeling for their meaning. 21, 30. Rationalism. A method of treating theology in which the reason must have a supreme place. Motlcrn nationalism, for instance, holds that in the Bible amidst its mass of fable and error, is the word of God, which the reason of man must discover. 21, 40. beyond the Atlantic, in America. 2^1, 45. Protestant revivals. The revivals of Wydif, of the Reformation, and of Puritanism. 21, 46. Moravian revival. A few followers of the Protestant John Huss (1373-1415), expelled from Bohemia and Moravia, bettlud ia Saxony (1722) and organized a simple and pious religious community that has spread throughout the world. 22, 5. Quietism. Perfection that consists in un Jisturbed con- templation, in which the soul absorbs heavenly light. Moliuos in Spain, Madame Guyon in France, Fox in England, the Jansenists in France, and Pietists in Germany are the chief exponents in modern times of this mysticism. 22, 22. Jansenism. The doctrines of the Dutch philosopher, Cornelius Jansen (15S5-16.S8). His chief work Atigustinus opposed the theological teaching of the Jesuits and was warmly defended by the teachers of the French community of Port Royal. The dispute of Jansenists and Jesuits raged violently in Franco during many yea: J, but the former were at last for tho most part suppressed, many being forced to emigrate to Holland, where the sect still exists. 22, 20. "as a convert," etc. Letter to Lady Hesketh, July 4, 1765. 22, 20. Bedlam. A corrupt pronunciation of Bethlehem, a hospital for lunatics in London. The term Bedlam has come to \te a common name for a ma.l-housc . ■rr 96 COWPML 22, 45. Parson Adams. A charming olmracter in FWldtng'a JoHeph Amtrewa—BimpiemiadoiX, pure in houI, profound in Iwaming, devoted to truth with such muscular enthuaiaam that he comes into no smaU trouble. Gowpor'a words are contained in a letter to lus old friend Joseph Hill, Oct. 23, 1705 : " The old gentleman is a maa of lei miug and sense, and as simple as Parson Adams." . 22, 47. Paley. William Paley (1743- 1805). the famous English tlivine, author of works in philosophy and theology — /forte PautUuBt Keidencea of ChnntUmittj, XiUural Theolo;t;t, uto., — which were accounted great triumphs over tho sceptical philosophy of his day and won their author substantial preferment. 23, 12. "I met Mrs. Unwin," etc. Quoted from a letter to Lady Hesketh, Oct. 18, 17G5. 23, 23. " She is very tor ftrom grave," etc. Latly Hesketh's letter, from whi-sh this descriptiuii i:i taken, is quote sons of Eli. "His sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not." 1 Sam. iii., 13. 27, 5. wore a coronet. The honorary head-dress of the English nobility, which Lord Dartmouth in his right as second earl of Dartmouth could wear. Lord Dartmouth (1713*1801 ), was a states- man of some importance, but more marked as a man of piety and as a f rici.d of the Countess of Hnntingtiou and the Methodists. His attach- ment to the new sect brought him the name of < Psalm-singer,' bu^ ^o won him Cowper's praise : ' And one who wears a coronet and prays.' r-Tmth, I. 378, ■-r mm 98 oowm. 27, 14. O^mnHtckeUni). BeiiTMra'to CeUini (1000-1702) wm ftn lUluA aoalptor and maUl-worker who united fpreat artiatio akill with extraordinary paisiona. Hia life waa a chequered one, paaaed meetly in flitting from one Italian city to another to eacape the difflcultiea which arose from a quarrelaome nature and the abeenoe of any acruples on the aubject of murder. Hia autobiography, VHa di B. Cellini, ia a faa* cinating book, ahowing a wonderfully clear picture of the vanity, credulity and evil principles of the man, whom though you despise you cannoi but like, at the same time that it paints the low social and moral characteristics of his age. An interesting ossay on him is BirreU's in ObUer Dicta. 27, 19. Shaftesbury. Anthony Ckwper, third earl of Shaftes- bury (1671-1713)i a very great philosopher and prose writer. His works are known under the general title of " Characteristics of Id en. Manners, Opinions, and Times," and embrace essays on various ])hiloBophio topics, which he treats always with a lofty spirit and auber judgment. Bis opposition to certain aspects of popular Christianity have given him the undeserved reputation in the popular mind of being a writer hostile to religion. (Ency. Brit.) 27,28. impressed. ' Carried offby an (im)press-gang.* Impress- ment consisted in seizing by moans of an armed body of men not only sailors and watermen, but even landsmen, when the state needed men for naval service. 27, 41. Thomas k Eempis. Cf. 32, 38. He was bom in Kempen (hence his name), Kheuish Prussia, in 1379, and spent his life aa an Augustinian monk in the convent of Agnetenberg, where he died in 1471. His character and works wcro greatly esteemed by his contem- poraries, and one composition attributed to him, Tlie Imitaiion of Christ, concentrates " all that is elevating, passionate, profoundly pious in all the older mystics. No book, after the Holy Scripture, has been so often reprinted." 28. 12. Lord Macaulay's remarks. Forming several para- graphs of his essay, Ban x's Jluttory of the Popts (Edin. Bev., 1840). 28, 17. Carthusian. The Carthusian monks form an order established in 1806 in the solitude of La Chartreuse, France. They exercised the severest asceticism iu their lines and devoted themselves to works of charity and hospitality. 28, 33. cavillingr. ' faultfinding.' mSsC 20, 0. Jeremiah's flgs. 8«o Jer. 24 iff. 2ia 40. Saint Benedict. St Reoodict (480-543) thoaght h« oonld find • refuge from the sinful world only in soliUry modiUtion. He left Rome to dwell in * cavern ; founded » niooMtery in the wild diatriot of Monte G*^ino ; and eataLUahed a atrict rule of monkiah life, that served as regulation for all weatern monaatic inatitutiuaa, which rose from the example he set. 29, 44. Hill. Bee 19, 20, and Cowper's poem, An EpUlie tQ Joseph Hill (Globe ed. p. 286f.), which ooncludea t 'An honett nun, cloae buttoned to tho chin, Broadoloth without, Mid a warm heart within.' SO. 20. The Oastaway. Quoted on p. 80 ; Globe ed. p. 400. SO, 43. Mary, I want a 1]^^ with other strings. The ■oiuiet entitled "To Mra. Unwin," Globe ed. p. 390. 31, 17. Dr. Ootton. See 18. 5 : * No Cotton whose humanity sheds rays, That nukde superior skill his second praise.' —Hope, 20, 6. 31, 40. St. Mary Woolnoth. A church 'at the anglo where Lombard Street and King William Street diverge,' London. In it Newton, after a reotorate of twenty-eight years, was buried, as a tablet there commemoratea. 31, 47. Quy Fawkes. An English conspirator in the Gun* powder Plot, hanged 1006, and regularly burnt in effigy by loyal Englishmen on each 5th of November. 31, 40. Ootton Mather. A famous New England divine (1663- 1729). After graduating from Harvard with a reputation for asceticism and ability, he entered the ministry. He investigated the phenomenon of Salem witchcraft, writing an account of his investigations in Mem' orable Providences relating to Witchcraft and Possessions (1685), a work whose sombre superstition waa the cause of much persecution and bloodshed. 32. 11. Thomas Scott. Thomas Scott (1747-1821), was a Lincolnshire man who became curate of Olney in 1781 and rector of Aston-Sandford in 1801. " f ' J?**': ^Wm^mmm iS^^S^^feiii :■&:;■ S.M f i= SSSSiaSSBQBB Mi 100 COWPBR. 32, 17. Rev. William Bull. The nev. William BuU (1738- 1814) wan an independent minister. He made the acquaintance of Newton and oooaaionally preached in Olney at the latter's prayer meetings. It wai for these meetings that Cowper wrote his hymns (.30, 2). BuU is commemorated in many plitces of Cowper's verse : To tfte Rev. William Bull (Globe ed. p. 345), etc 32, 23. Oaris'sime Tauro'rum. Lat., * dearest of Bulls.' 32, 29. Madame Guyon* Jeanne- Marie Bouvier de la Motte, Madame Gnyon (1618-1717), was a celebrated mystic. Early in life she was devoted to religion, and on her husband's death entered on a fervent religious crusuvie, travelling throughout France, ' exercising everywhere a great influence ovt^r feeble and dreamy minds, making proselytes to the myttical doctrines she preached.' Her doctrine, as in Torrentt gpirituels, was the merging of the soul in God, who is no longer outside but containing it, and the soul free from desire, indifferent to the world, is identical with God. Her doctrines brought on her long and bitter persecutions from the clergy, aad imprisonment in the Bastille. She seems to have been at times the prey of an excited imagination, but always a passionate advocate of a pure and holy life. Her " quietism " consisted in holding that ''rest may be found in the mind reposing itself upon the love of God." Her works are somewhat numerous ; some give expression in verse to her mystical emotions ; all are looked upon by Voltaire, from the poiut of view of literature, as worthless. 32,33. Nirvan'a. The word means 'extinction,' 'blown out' as a candle, and forms the goal of the religion of Buddha. Complete Nirvana is impossible until death. Me. while let us sit cross-legged, plunged in trance, losing one feeling after another, until as the raindrop merges into the ocean, we merge into a state * where there are neither ideas, nor the idea of the absence of an idea,' the Nirvana of this life. 32, 35. reprobation. The predestination of a certain number of the human race as reprobates, or objects of condemnation and punishment by God. 32, 37. F^nelon. Francois de la Mothe df F^nelon (1651-1716), archbishop of Caml rai, a man eminent in piety and in literary genius. He supported Madame Guyon (note 32, 29) during the time of her persecution. His works are most voluminous, some dealing with the controversy ovo** Quietism ^note 22, 5), others like Tdl^inague, purely literary and pedagogic ; othera sacred oratory of a splendid kind. ipp mm^mm mmi''mmm KOTKS. 101 CHAPTER IV. 33, 7. "steroor? jeOUS" {ater 16 ra 'ahius). Quoted from a minute deacription of the preparations for the growing of cucumbera, Tlie Task, "The Garden," 1. 463. * The stable yields a sterconceous heap,' The word is made from the L. stercua, dang. 33» 11 • Elysian. Exceedingly delightful. {Elysium^ in clos* sical mythology, was the dwelling-place of happy souls after duath. ) 33, 14. pets of literature. Cowper's hares live in his Epitaph on a Hare (Globe eiL p. 324) ; Epitaphium AUerum (GIoIm) od. p. 325); The Tosh, "The Garden," 334ff. etc. He contributed an " Account of the Troatment of his Hares " to the Oentleman's Maga- zine, in Southey's ed., iv., 422 flF. Cf. 73, 22. 33, 14, "Sailor." The author no dorbt means "Boatswain," Lord Byron's favourite dog. See Moore's Life of Byron, i., 114, 134, 221, vii., 292 (1833 ed.). 33, 36. Churchill. See note 14, 19. 34, 3. Prior. Matthew Prior (1664-1721), educated at West- minster and Gambridge, rose by his talent as a diplomatist and writer to be an oinder-secretary of state. His verses have a wit, a grace, a neatness and a finish, which link him with the lighter Latin poets on the one hand, and with the best French writers of familiar verse on the other. 34, 6. Collins. Cf. 48, 6. Wilbam Collins (1721-1759), author of odes, such as To Evening, The Passions, and How Sleep the Brave, which in language and feeling are among the best comi>ositions of our language. 34, 8. Pope. Cf. 8, 38 ; 46, 39. ,Windsor Forest, published in 1713, was once much admired for its descriptions of nature. 34, 35. CBTaxSGioll {ka ra tshO IS) . Antoine do Caraccioli (1721- 1803) travelled ir. It!ily, Germany and in Poland, where ho wjis made colonel. His works are lives of Clement XIV., Benedict .XIV., etc. The motto referred to is : "Nous sommes n^s pour la v^rit^, et nous ne pouvons souffrir son abord. Lea figures, les paraboles, les embl^nies, sent toujours des ornements ndcessaires, pour qu'elle puiesc s'tumoncer. Et soit qu'on craigne qu'elle ne ducouvre trop brusqucment lo defaut qu 'on voudrait cacher, ou qu'enfm elle n' instruise avcc trop peu do management, on vent, en la recevant, qu 'elle soit deguis^c " (un the e !>■ rs--' * r^ ■l^P^IWfPl «.«HI®>:««9Ki'*«^«miM-.S* 102 COWPiB. title page of the edition, 1782). " We are born for truth and we cannot suffer her approach. Figures, parables, symbols are always ornaments requisite for her to use to make known her coming. Whether people fear that she will disclose too bluntly the fault they would like to hide, or that in short she will enlighten with too little tact* they wish when receiving her to receive her in disguise. " It is from a volume of the excellent Garaccioli called JouUsanee de ani-mSme." — Cowper to the Rev. John Newton, Nov. 7, 1781. Cowper's estimate of the philosophic wisdom and goodness of the man and of the excessive refinements of his logic are preseived in Hayley's ♦' Life," I., 361. 34, 41. The dear haranfiruo. Error, 1. 19f. Quoted from the Progress of 35, 11. The StoicaL The Stoical philosophy of Zeno (about B.C. 308) and his disciples: " Men should be free from passion, unmoved by joy or grief, and submit without complaint to the unavoidable neces- sity by which all things are governed." 35,11. Csniical. TheCynicalphilosuphyof Antisthenes(bom444 B.C.) of Athens and his disciples: "Virtue is the only good; the essence of virtue is self-control ; pleasure is an evil if sought for its own sake, so that riches, arts, etc. are to be despised." 35, 12. Epicure'an. The philosophy of the school of Epicu'nis (341-270 B.C.) : "Fieasure is the only possible end of rational action, and ultimate pleasure is to be free from disturbance." 35, 13. Juvenal. One of the greatest Latin satirists (40*125 a. D. ). His satires lash the vices of his day with wonderful force and wit. 35, 14. Swift's Gulliver. The Travels of Lemuel Gulliver, by Jonathan Swift (1667-1741), the great dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin. It is of interest as a romance, but the romauce to Swift was only a vehicle for satirizing the manner of his own times, which he does with mer- ciless vigour and at times coarseness. 35,15 quintessence (^totn to«'en«). 'The pure and concentrated essence' (Originally in philosophy the fifth (L. quintus) essence, neither earth, air, fire, nor water, but something bright and incorruptible beyond these). e NOTES. 103 35, 15. Day of Judfirment. Swift's poem ao entiiled, voi. xiv., p. 260, e"ctc. London. The quotation is from The Task, "The Winter Kvening," 1. 90 If. 35, 35. Bishops are bcid, etc. See Cowper'a letter to the Rev. Wm. Unwin, Dec. 18, 1784, concerning Bishop Bagot. 35, 36. Cretans. Paul quoting the poet Epimenides says of the, Cretans that they are "alway liars, evil beasts, slow bellies," Titus, 1. Vi. 35, 30. grolden stall. Fixed seats often elaborately carved,- in the choir or chancel of a cathedral or church, are termed "stalls." These are occupied chiefly by the clergy. Spencer Cowper, son of the Jjord Chancellor, was Dean of Durham, 1745-1774. The reference is to Truth,— * Humility may clothe an English dean ; That grace was Cowper's -his confesscil by ail- Though placed in golden Durhani's second stall.' Truth, 118 ir. 101 COWPBR. 85, 40. Warren Haatinga. See To Warren Hastings, Globe ed., p. 383. 35, 43. Gowper's brother. See The Task, ''Time Pieee,** GOOff. 35, 43. Gowper's brother. See 14, 40, and note. 35, 46. Imes agamst Popery. See Gowper's works, ed. Benham, p. 517f. 35, 48. smokinfiT. etc. See Comwmtion, 245ff. But Cowper scarcely excuses Mr. Bnirs smoking ; of. his letter to tho Rev. Wm. Unwin, June 8, 1783. He excuses it in Newton, letter of Sept. 18, 1781. 35. 50. Fox. Charles James Fox (1749-1806), the statesman and orator, rival of the younger Pitt, and "the greatest debater the world ever saw" (Burke). See C!owper's letter to the Rev. John Newton, Feb., 1784. 36.3. idol of his cave. A phrase of Francis Bacon (156M62C). In the effort to attain truth the philosopher must sweep away the phan- toms of the human mind, idols {eiddla) of the tribe, or of the cave, eta, that is, false notions incident to humanity in general, or errors incident to the peculiar constitution of the individual, as his tendency to look on sjiecial objects with particular satisfaction, etc. '36, 5. "God mada the country," etc. Quoted from 2%e Task, " The Sofa," 1. 749. 36, 26. How shall I speak thee. Quoted from 77t3 Progress of Error, 1. 460ff. 36, 33. ESnunauS- A village some eight miles from Jerusalem, towards which two disciples were going when Christ appeared to them. Luke 24. ISff. 36, 40. one of his letters. To Lady Hesketh, Aug. 1, 1765. 37, 32. Hogarth's picture. See note 9, 5. "This is a de- scription to tho minutest detail, of the two prominent figures in Hogarth's Morning." — Benham, Globe ed., p. 517. 37, 33. "Yon ctncient prude.'* Quoted from Truth, 1. 131ff. 37,41. lappet-head. A head-dress made vHh lappets, or smoLi ornamental flaps. 38.4. "Petroniue." Quoted from Truth, 1.335 if. Petronius was a profligate 'Beau Brummell,' master of court elegances to the Emperor Nero. He killed himself A.O. 66. 39, 41. Anti-Thelyp'thora. See Globe ed., p. 390. Martin Madan had published in 17S1 two large volumes, to which he added a N0TR8. 105 ■ap pl e m ent ThdffMun-a ; or a JYeatite om Marriaye, in which ho endeavoured to show that polygamy is sanctioned by heaven. Cowper's poem ifetirixes Madan'a view. 39, 43. pasquinade. A lampoon or satire. 39, 47. Franklin. Benjamin Franklin (17OG-170O), American printer, statesman, scientist, and author. 39, 49. Cobden. Cf. SO, 19. Richard Gobden (1804-1866), the English Liberal statebman and* economist, and chief advocate of the repeal of the corn laws, and other measures for freeing British trade. 39, 50. passage in Gharity, Quoted on p. 50. 40, 10. temper the wind ..to the ehoru lamb. The phrase is from Sterne's Sentimental Journey, but it comes originally from the French. 40, 12. Fleet Street. One of the greatest business streets of London, between Ludgavo and the Strand. CHAPTER V. 41, 16. verses addressed to her. The lines beginning, "Dear Anna— between friend and friend," Globe ed., p. S37. 41, 20. " that part," etc. Quoted from Cowper's letter to the Rev. John Newton, Aug. 21, 1781. 41, 22. salons {mlon'ig)). The "salon" is an apartment in which, after the custom of French life, it was usual to receive for conversation brilliant and fashionable circles of society. 41,30. From a scenei etc. A quotation from a letter to Mrs. Unwin. 41, 36. Thus did Hercules. An allusion to a legend of Hercules, according to which ho was promised recovery from illness if he served three years for money. He became a servant of Omphale, queen of Lydia, and lived efifeminately at her court — spinning wool and at times wearing a woman's dress ; while Omphale donned his lion's skin. 41, 37. Scunson. Judges, chapters 14, 15, 16. 42, 2. The story of John Gilpin. " Lady Austen. . .told him the story of John Gilpin (which had been treasured in her memory from childhood) to dissipate the gloom of the passing hour." — Hay ley. 106 COWPER. II., 57* " The original of John Gilpin is said to have been a Ur. Beyer, a linendraper living at the corner of Paternoster Kow nnd Gheapaide. He died in 1791."— Benbam, p. 524. 42, 10. de profUn'dis. The opening words of the Latin Tul* gate version of Ps. 129. ! : De profundis clamavi ad te Domine. Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord. 42, 14. Royal Gteorgre. Wrecked while under repairs off Ports- mouth, 1782, with a loss of vine hundred lives. See Oowpei't* poems, p. 348. 42, 22. "commanded," etc. The Task, "The Sofa," I I. " For the Fair commande the song." 42, 33. If the work cannot boast. A quotation from a letter to the Rev. Wm. Unwin, Oct. 10, 1784. 42, 48. ice paJace, etc. A description in 77(0 Task, " The Winter Morning Walk," 1. ]27ff., of the ice-palace built on the batiks oi the Neva by the Empress Anna, 1740. 43, 12. "intimate deligrhts." Quoted from The Taai, " Winter." See 60, 31. 43, 18. AlcOBUS (nla^us). A great lyric poet of Greece who flourished at Mytele'ne about the beginning of the sixth century b v. His works, of which fragments remain, were odes lamenting national dissensions and personal misfortunes or voicing hatred of tyrants or praise of love and wine. The quotation descriptive of him is translated from Horace, Odes, i. xxxii., Off. 43, 21. Bnnelagrh. Rotunda and gardens on the site of the villa and gardens of Earl Ranelagh, ofifering to the London public from 1742 to 1803 a very popular place of amusement. Promenade concerts and masquerades were the chief attractions. 43, 21. Basset Table. Basset waa a card game, very like faro, a favourite with the gamblers of the eighteenth century. now stir, etc. From The Task, '* Winter Evening," 1. 43, 28. 36ff. 43, 32. That cheer but not inebriate. It has been pointed out that this expression is really due to Bishop Berkeley (1684-1753) : (Tar water) "is of a nature so mild and benign and proportioned to the human constitution, as to warm witL'mt heating and to cheer and not inebriate." Siris, 11217. We may well bo grateful to Cowpcr for find* ing the true purpose of the phrase. is;.! IIP nmmwmM mmmw^i^fW^ im Norn. 107 44, 50. Thomson. Jume* Thomson (I700>n48), author of The Smmn»t Ctutle of Indolence, etc. He k tiie grt ftt rival of Cktwper in depicting mral s^nei. 44, 63. "he iras always an admirer," etc. From Cowper'a iBfcler to 13ie Rev. William Ball, Augaat 3, 1783. 45, 5. fiUse Aroadianism. A matic pastoral simplicity affected in imitation of antiquity by the Italian writers of the seven- teenth century and copied by English writers of the eighteenth. It was characterized by the introduction of shepherds with classical names as the personages of poetry, attributing to them all the court refinements of the age of Louis XIV. Pope's Pastorals belong to this class. 45, 17. "And witness," etc. Quoted from The Task, "The Sofa,"l. 144fr. 46, 42. Overthwort. "Across." 46, 4. champaicrn {chUm pan'). Flat, open country. (Fr. ; champagne, country. ) 48.6. Nor rural sifirhts. Tfte TVwl-, "The Sofa," 1. 181ff. 46, 41. Augrustan a^e. The Queen Anne period of English lliterature, boasting such names as Swift, Pope, Ad 12. skillet. A small metal vessel used in., atewing, etc (O. F. CHcueUetle, esculle, Lat. acutella, a small dish. ) 40, 20. In some passages. <■ .. This and the quotation in the following paragraph are from Cowper's letter to the Rev. Wm. Unwin, October 10, 1784. 49, 29. Lope de Veg& (lo'pa dd vd'ga). The Spanish poet and dramatist (1062-163.5), author of some two thouMnd dramas. 49, 30. Voltaire. Cf, 17, 44. 49, 37. Walton. Isaac Walton (1593-1683), author of lives of Donue, Wotton, etc. , but esi)ecially kuown for his pastoral treatise on angling, The Complete Angler, or the Contemplative Man's Recreation, in which the author, fuU of quaint sayings and charming quotations, is the Angloi. 49, 38. White. The Rev. GUbert White (1720-1793), English niituralist, author of a work on natural history. The Natural History oi Selborne. It consists of letters descnptVe of the parish of Selbome, Hampshire, of which the author was rector, and lives by its easy charm* ing style. 49, 41. " twang of the conventicle." Quoted from The Toaifc, "The Time-Piece," 1. 436 flf. * To me is odiouii as the nasal twang Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, ■Misled by custom, strain c-elestial themes Through the pressed nostril, speotacle-bcstrid.' 60, 11. "Old whig "...Burke. Cf. 74, 19, 27. On the troubles arising from the French Revolution, the chief Whig families joiued with the Tories to oppose all changes. These Whigs were the • Old Whigs.' GO, 27- apocalyptic hallucination. Visions characterized by wild flights of the imagination, somewhat, according to the author, resembling the revelation to John. « 60, 30. "an eztramundane charact(»r." Quoted from Cowper's letter to the Rev. John Newton, March 11, 1764. *Extra- ^undone' (Lat. extra, beyond, mundus, world), 'belonging to a region outside of this world. ' X \ ^■yp,.(|ypj!lPH.«ii- , ' //iii.inp"'p»i fit M0TK8. 109 51, 90. Babol* A frequent comparison for London. Quoted from The Task, "The Winter Evening," see p. 59. 51, 22. "spattered boots," etc. Quoted from The Taak^ " The \Vinter Evening," 1. ff. 51, 28. "fragrait lymph." 'Tea.' The word 'lymph' (Fr. lyinphf, Lat. lifmpfta, water, eRpecially clear spring water), was a favourite naipe for any liquid that eighteenth century writers, who disdained a simple vocabulary, wished to praise. 'Sweet oonverae, sipping calm the fragrant lymph.' —The Ta»k, "The Garden," 1. 891. 61, 28. The wa ^grone^, etc. From The Task, " The Winter Evening." 1. .350(1. 51, 40. St. Pierre. Bemardin de Saint Pierre (1737-1814), vain, Utopian, yet with a genuine feeling for nature, which he was the first to portray in its personal relations with man. His one work of genius is Paul et Virginie, in which arc painted upon a background of rich tropi- c(d vegetation the idyllic tigures of two sweet natural lovers. 61, 44. Or if my erarden, etc. Quoted from The Task, "The Garden," 1. 397 ft 52, 31. " I would not enter," etc. Quoted from TJte Task, " Winter Walk at Noon," 1. 560 ft 52, 38. Sorrows ofWerther {vdr ter). Die Leiden des Jungen Werthers, The Sorrows of young Werther, by Goethe ( 1749-1832). This German story, completed in 1772, was an epoch-making book. A simple story of a man's unfortunate love, it was the quintessence of the senti- mentalism of Rousseau, and evoked a wave of sentiment throut;hout Europe. 52, 39. Jacobins. Members of a powerful club of supporters of the French Revolution, taking its name from their meeting place, a hall in a former Jacobin monastery, Paris. It supported Robespierre, and for a long time held an authority in Paris and in France superior to the National Assembly itself. 53, 3. passage in one of his letters. "Was there e^ r anything so delightful as the music of the Paradise Lost? It it aku< that of a fine organ ; has the fullest and the deepest tones of majec'y. with all the softness and elegance of the Dorian hutc. Variety without end, and never equalled, unless perhaps by Virgil." — Letter to the Rev, Wm. Unwiii, Oct. 31, 1770, s 110 COWPBB. 08, 9. the Haffue. In Holland, the ntidenM of the ooori 58, 18. Mr. Re- Gf. 100, 14. "Samuel Roee, the aon of Dr. William Kose, a sohooi ^er at Cheswick, coming up from Glasgow University to Lonilcu, turned aside for the express purpose of seeing the poet of Olney, and bringing him the thanks of some Scotch professors. The poet took warmly to him, and wrote him several judicious letter* of advice about his studies. Rose gave bim a copy of the newly published poems of Burns, which he read through twice to his great delight. The friendship between them l^came so cordial that he stood godfatlier to one of Rose's children ; and when a pension of £300 a year was conferred upon him by the Crown, Rose was appointed his trustee." — Benham, Letters of Cowper, xvii. 58, 21. the statuary. One who makes statues. The qaotatioo is from Cowper's letter to Lady Hesketh, Nov. 27, 1787. CHAPTER VI. 64, 7. letter to William Unwin. Feb. o, 1782. 55, 7. Oeu fUmus in auras. "As smoke into the air." The Liatin is a quotation from Virgil, jEne'ul, v. 740. 55, 17. letter to Lady Hesketh. Jan. 16, 1786. 55, 40' devoirs (div tcawra'J. Fr., lit. 'duties'; rettdre »e» devoirs, pay one's respects by calling on. 56, 5. Mr. Alexander Knox (1767-1831). Ho was a friend of Wesley and author of political essays. His Thirty Years' Correspond- ence with Bishop Jebb (1755-1833) (see 76, 27) show the influence he had over that prelate, and through him over the beginning of the Oxford movement of Newman, Pnsey, and Keble. 56, 35. letter already quoted. On p. 23. 57, 4. "WeU." See 26, 34. 57, 5. Weston. About a mile from Olney ; it is " one of the prettiest villages in England,"— Cowper to Unwin, July 3, 1786. 57, 8. his Mr. and Mrs. PrOgr- That is, Cowper corresponds with them, ndtlrcssing them familiarly as Mr. and Mrs. Frog. See his letter to Mrs. Throckmorton, May 10, 1790. . .H I lUi i J...ifcV 'i1H^nmr ii»i* > a v»ftf < a i^, ni t t m< m i JM ..I M Morn. Ill 57, 18. "Bportiy« light" From Tkt Tast, "Th© 84.fa," I. 945ir, ik'scribiug Mr. Throokiii«rton'i garden, of which Cowiwr had thu key anil lilwrty. The namva "wilUerneaa" and "grovo" dia« tiuguiah different parta of it. , • tin ii|iortire It the IlKht Shot throUKh Iho IwuKhH, it daiicva on tht!> out four milei* from Olney." — Cowper to thu Kev. Wm. Unwin, Sept. 21, 1779. 58, 20. An ink-crlass. Ode to Apollo, Globe ed., p. 3ir. 58, 20. a flattiner mill. 'A mill for rolling metal into thin sheets.' Sec The FluUhiy Mill, Globe ed., p. 339. 58, 20. a halibut. To the Immortal Memory of the Halibut, Olobu cd., p. 355. 58, 31. Hudibras. A poem by Samu-l Butler {1612-1680), ridiculing the Puritans in a burlcsfjue of wonder ^i variety. 58, S3. A friendship etc. Quoted from Friemhhip, 1. 103 ff. 68, 36. hand-in-hand insurance plates. •• The • Hand-in- Baud,' which still issues these plates is the oldest of the insurance companies, dating from 1606." — Benham, p. 525. 59, 23. Cowley. Abraliam Cowley (1618- 1667), author of a series of poems calletl 7 he Mistress, of Pindaric Odes, and an epic The Davideis. His poetiy is hurt by false taste, the first named scries being replete with forced ligurcs and ideas ( ' conceits ') that wore admired in his day. GO, 6. episode of Thersitea Thersi'tes, bandy-legged, lame, ill-favoured, given to reviling of the kings, turned his upbraidings on Agamemnon, and was chastised for it at the hands of Ulysses. — J/iad, ii. GO, 11. Andromache (androm' ake). She was wife to the Trojan Hector, whom she dearly loved. Her lament is in Iliad, xxiv. 112 OOWPBK. 60( 11. Adinon epos. (ioUwiu Smitli U oviilontly qunt!;ig without tho txiok. Tho text i« nvtuvov not nAuvv mi<1 ttvouni witlitmt variant rMuling, //. 24. 744. irvKivdf moani tbiok Simon. l^n\» crutii! (rovonuiicut of France. Ilia mcuioirH, %vhilu of tho greatest hiHt<»ricnI value, are likewise of the greatest literary value ; he re|ieople8 Ver* sallies, giving life, colour, form, t), author of u series of letters (illcd with such vivacity, wit, and picturcsfiue grace, that she has been called tho most charming letts away the glory of tho world.' 69, 30. Priam. King of Troy at tho time of its siege by the (i reeks. 69, 30. Nimrod. Nimrod, the Cushite, founder of Babylon. Gen. 10. 8-10. G9, 31. scratch-back. "A toy which imitates tho sound of tearing cloth, used by drawing it across the back of unsuspecting persons." 69, 33 Regency. The time of the regency of the Prince of Wales (1811-1820), during tlie liii.-vl insanity cf (ieorge III. lU COWPER. 69, 36. cam'era Obscu'ra. An apparatus by which the itnagva (»f uxteruol objects are thrown by means of a lens upon a white surface within a ' darkened chamber ' (camera obscura). so that their outlines may be traced. 70> 5. men of Gotham. Gotham is a village in Nottingham- shire, whose sayings and doings have become proverbial for foolishness. 70. 28. Silver-End. See 26, 29. 70, 33. Amazon fury. A passion appropriate to an Amazon, ((jk. Amazon, one uf a fabulous race of women warrio.s in Scythia.) 71,2. the French philosophers. A reference to the brothers rtienne and JoReph Montgolfier, who on June 5th, 1783, sent up the first balloon, which set the scientists thinking and evoked great national i uthusiasm. 72, 25. he dispute between the Crown and the Commons. The 8trug>;le (1784) in which the country was engaged was that of I'itt, eupporteii by the king and by the people, against an adverse majority in a corrupt and unrepresentative Commons. — Green, X., iii. 73, 44. Kaunitz. Wenzelius, Prince Von Kaunitz (171 1-1794), a great statesman, Austrian ambassador at Paris: His power was so great that he was called 'the European coach-driver.' '«'4, 15. Priestley. Joseph Priestley (1733-1804), a dissenting minister, scientist, and philosophic writer. He opposed Burke's Jfejlec- tions on the French Bevolution, and was honoured by the French Republic with the title of citizen, which brought on him, in the excited state of political feeling, the hatred of the English mob. They broke into his house, destroyed books, instruments, etc. His last years were spent in America. 74, 22. "extramundane." Cf. 50, 30. 76, 42. vi've vale 'que. The Latin salutation, ' Farewell and be happy.' CHAPTEU VIII. 77, 9. secun'dum ar'tem. Lat., * according to rule,' •scientilically.' 77, 36. Hayley. William Ilayley (1745-1820) was a native of Chester. He made Cowper's acquaintance on hearing that the latter contemplated editing Milton. Hayley v'as then living at Eastham, T/here he was visited by Cowpor, and he himself was often at Weston, MOTES. 115 78, 14. Htirdis. The Bev. John Hurdis (1763-1801) was rector of Bishopsgatc in Sussex, proftefor of poetry in Oxford, and author of The Village Curate, and a tragedy of Sir Thomaa More. 78, 16. Charlotte Smith. Miss Smith, who died in 1806, waa the author of various novels in which Cowper took pleasure,— 77l€ Old Manor Home, TJie Emigrant, etc. 78, 17. Rotnney. See note 8, 12, whence it Is clear that Cow- per was simply drawn in crayons, not "painted." 78, 33. Leigh Hunt. Leigh Hunt (1784 1859), poet and critic. 80, 35. Swaflham. It and East Dereham aro small towns in Norfolk. 80, 48. Anson's Voyagre. Admiral George Anson was ordered during the war with Spain in 1739 to harass Spanish interests in South America. With seven vessels he doubled Cape Horn, and after capturing many rich prizes, returned to England circumnavigating the glebe. His voyage was important in navigation, and has received lasting commemura- tion in Anson's Voyage Round the World, written under Lord Anson's Bujiervision, and from his materials, by the Rev. Mr. Walter, or by B. liobius. The x>assage on which The Castaway is founded describes the rounding of Cape Horn, and reads in Walter's account: "We were obli^ jd to make use of an expedient . . this was putting the helm a-wcather, and manning the fore-shrouds. But though this method proved successful for the end intended, yet, in the execution of it, one of our ablest seamen was canted overboard : we perceived, that, notwith- standing the prodigious agitation of the waves, he swam very strong, and it was with the utmost concern that we found ourselves incapable of assisting him. Indeed, •<^q were the more grieved at his unhappy fate, as wc lost sight of him struggling with the waves, and conceived, from the manner in which he swam, that he might continue sensible, for a considerable tiir.^ longer, of the horror attending his irretrievable situation."- Anson's Voyage, in Knox's Collection, iii., 297. 82, 29. inscription by Hayley. Quoted in Southey's Cowper, ii., 155. In Mkmory of Wilmam Cowper. Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel Of tfilents dignified by sacred zeal, Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just Pay your foud tribute duo to Cowpcr's dust 1 England, exulting in his spotless fame, 116 COWPKK. Ranks with her dearest sons his fAvourite name Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise So clear a title to affection's praise ; His highest honours to the heart belong, His virtues form'd the magic of his song. 82, 36. even in his ashes. An echo of Gray and Chaucer. ' E'en in our ashes live their wonled fires.' ' Yet in our ashen cold is Are yreken.' Prologue to the Reves Tak, 1. 28. 82, 44. vessel of honour. Cf. Rom. 9. 21 j 2 TL 2, 21. APPENDIX. A COURSE OP ESSAY WORK BASED ON SCOTTS " KKNILWOttTtf ooLDWiN sjimrs "life of cow per." ANU INTRODUCTION. The two works prescribed as a basis for esaay work open up very large fields of composition. Kenilworth brings back the reign of Elizabeth, and we are introduced to a wondcrfuUy complex picture of that sovereign's rule. The well-known names of Raleigh, Leicester, Burleigh, become living figures, we plunge into the intrigues of the court, view the greatness and littleness of its sovereign, and follow the fortunes of the beautiful and unhappy Amy Ilobsart. The Life of Cowper, on the other hand, deals with forces that are still working, and names that still have potency. The religious movement, of whicli he is the greatest poet, is an ever-increasing power, and the reaction from the cold formality of the school of Pope and the city poets to nature and the simpler affeotious of life, of which his poetry is an early and powerful exponent, is still a vital element in literature. His life, though not full of incident, is interesting, for it was so simple and true that it appeals to us in many ways. His interest in his garden, in his hafes, in his friends, in the beauty of rural scenes— these all touch human hearts, and stir our own affections. But while in Kenilworth we have the worldly court society and a life of action, here wc have domestic and rural life and the world of books. We have therefore in these two works an introduction to many facts, persons, scenes, books, some old and well-known, some new and unknown. Before plunging into the work of composition on the mass of material that is presented him, the student must clearly see the direction and manner in which he must guide his work. Composition involves two elements — thought and expression. Ti le elements are a duality, yet an inseparable duality. Improve the thou({ht and you better the expression ; clarify the expression and the » [117] 118 OOWPSR. thought becomes more effective. But while this is tme, it is likdwioa true that the attention of the mind can be consciously directed to one or the other of the elements, and that one element may be specially trained by one kind of study, and the other by another. For the oulti* vation of thought, books furnish the most convenient and perhaps the greatest of means. So many acute thinkers and keen observers have lived in this world and have reconled their thoughts and observations in books, that one of our first duties as rational beings is to assimilate wifh what speed and power we may, the thoughts and observations of God-gifted men. So doing, wo rise on the shoulders of the past and widely and truly survey the present. Knowing the thoughts and sympathies of many minds, wo shall gradually attain to a justness and openness of mind and a taste for high thinking and for perfect expression that characterise the man who reads widely and welL It is given to few to be original, to have a mind spontaneously sug- gesting new thought, new combinations of thought. Yet we all wish to achieve originality. Now, originality that is worth anything is not to be had by abstention from the work of others. Every great poet, painter, or musician works with the spirits of the great dead moulding his thought and guiding his irngers. He has developed his own nature and trained its powers by intercourse with the work of the past. Similarly we may, in our feeble way, seek to assimilate the thoughts we read, and by thinking up to their level, living up to and through them, come to have the right to do with them as we please. When we have won the power of using the ideas of others in combinations of our own making, we do acquire a property-right in those ideas, and can without risk of copying put all books under contribution. We may then say with Moli^re, je pretids mon bien, oil je le trouve, I take my own wherever I find it. But originality in a higher sense than that of the assimilation of thought and the use of it in new combinations, is possible with books. Ideas are like seeds in the mind, they have a germinating power. Plant a great idea, leave it, and lo ! when you return, it has become the centre of a group of thoughts that have unconsciously gathered ibout it fron^ your o^^Ti experience. This is the utmost that we can consciously do to train ourselves to be original thinkers. Let us, therefore, read our authors with pencil and memory for whatever ideas of nature and human life they express that seem to us true and beautiful. We shall then be on the highway to that greatest of mental powers, originality of thorght. 120 COWPER. graphs, and the punctuation of his sentences. Often mistakes are made in these matters from iguorance, but more frequently they arise from the husk of auy feoliug for form and finish in one's work. Good tasta makes us ashamed, too, of anything like a bombastic, inflated, stilted style, bidiling us write sensibly, naturally, as sensible, healthy, people should. It casts out slang — the wends that seek to choke the true words. It makes us eschew those trito quotations that, by too frequent use, have lost the grace and perfume with which they once could brighten dull prose. If in addition to attending these matters, the student will strive to write clearly and with whatever strength of expression he can in his hours of greatest mental vigor bring to bear, he will find a pleasure in his work, and a satisfaction when he reads it aloud to himself or to a sensible friend. In tintps of discouragement he should remember two things : First, that our language is a perfect instru* ment of expression — perfected by centuries of use, by multitudes of people and especially by many great geniuses, so that there is no thought he can think for which there is not a perfect and complete expression. Second, that r. power to write well, because it is based on a power to think justly on nature and human life, is, according to the testimony of the ages, that power which humanity cherishes as the most precious of all its faculties. KINDS OF COMPOSITION. The interest that we find in Kenilworth and the Life of Cowper arises from a variety of causes. It is now an interest in the appearance and character of the personages that the writer evokes ; now in the scenes and places in which these personages play their part ; and again it is the story of their deeds and accomplishments that calls forth our interest and absorbs our attention. These different kinds of interest are not neces- sarily kept apart and distinct ; rather they are intermingled, giving place in turn to one another, so that out of the blended skein of personage, scene, and incident arises the variegated and beautifully woven fabric of the novel or biography. Yet this variety is not complex but simple in its character ; we can easily notice that it consiists (a) either in what people, places or things are, or appear to the eye or mind to be ; (6) or in what people do : in other words, in (a) the description of individual scenes, objects or persons ; or (h) the narration of the successive details of the incidents that constitute the life of the personages of the story. As one or other of these predominates in the woven fabric of the novel or APP8NDIX. I'Jt biogmphy, ifi gives a characteristic quality to tho writing as Deacripllon or NamU'wn. The interest we have in a man's actions preccJes our interest in his eharact!.r or appearance. This truth is apparent when wo think how eagerly chiKlren listen to stories in which the characters have a very shadowy existence indeed, but in which the incidents make an in- telligible appeal to the imagination ; and how wearisome thoy lind elaborate descriptions. This points clearly to a principle, that Narra- tive is the eosiec and more fascinating side of composition. Let us look for a moment at Narration. NARRATION. Narration Defined. Narration is the representation by wortls of tho successive details that make up an incident or series of incidents — more briefly, tho story of actitm. Scott is, as wc all know, a master of incident, his novels are full of admirable narratives, because he himself loved action, brave, stirring, heroic action. Let us see what we can learn from some of his narratives that will help us to understand a little of the art of the Wizard of the North. Let us take an example. A Study in Narration : The Duel of Tressilian \nd Varnby. (Keiiilworth, Chap. IV.) Tressilian attempts to leave the grounds of Cumnor Hall, when Varney enters at the postern-door ; thus wo have the meeting. Their mutual recognition is followed by questions from each of the other's pres- ence ; these indicate the hard feeling of one to the other, and are provocative of a light. Tressilian draws, and a^'ter a moment Varney also. Varney's vigour gives him at first the advantage ; then it is counter-balanced by his opponent's determined spirit of revenge and his trained skill in the use of the rapier. Varney, outdone in skill, tries to use his greater strength by closing with his enemy. His device would have l)een fatal to 'J'res- silian but for the latter's watchfulness, who parried the blow intended to despatch him, and then, using his Cornish skill as a wrestler, threw Varney to the ground and had him at his mercy. Lambourne appears to interfere on behalf of Varney, and Tressilian, seeing the iiseless- ness of a tight against two, turns on his heel and departs. Introductory Details. Details : Conclusion (Denouement) \ 122 OOWPIR. S&iuence of DetaiU. — In this roagh analy«is we notioe fintthai the various particulars in the combat are presented from point to point ii;i the order of their occurrence. Hence the prime law in narration : — Rule 1.— Details in narrative must be presented, point by point, in tlie order of llieir occurrence, in order of tinu;. CotTelation of Details. — The details that Scott brings forward have likewise a close interdependence. The circumstances that bring to- gethor Tressilian and Varuey and their mortal hatred induce the fight, while the unfrequented nature of the garden facilitaten it. Thus the combat itself is naturally accounted for. Again, the nature of the light — Varney's vigour, counterbalanced by Tressilian's skill ; his device of closing with his adversary, foiled by the latter's watchfulness; the struggle that followed, ending through Tressilian's dexterity as a wrestler in the fall of Varney ; the appearance of Lambourne, attracted by tlie sound of blows, just at the critical moment, — all these details of the light are so arranged tiiat the actual issue of the combat docs not seem forced, but is made to appear the natural, probable outcome of the conditions that the author brings forward. In brief, we see that the details are so chosen that each has a direct bearing on the theme ; they have an interdependence such that every incident seems naturally to grow from that which precedes it or from the character, training, skill, etc. of the actors ; aud they are of such a nature, taken in all, that they justify, as cause and effect, the outcome of the incident. Hence : — Rule 2. — Details must be interdependent, each contrimling to tlw, main effect of the narrative. Mich incident must appear to spring from tfie incideiUs that precede it, or arise naturally from the characters of t/te actors ; the incidents must afford a sufficient cause/or the results attributed to tJieni. Economy of Details. — Examining the passage from another po'nt of view, we notice that the details are not numerous, but are few and well chosen. The narration is centred in a few leading particulars : Varney's vigour against Tressilian's skill, and his device of closing with his opponent against the latter's dexterity in wrestling. Thus the reader is not wearied with a large number of minor incidents, which, of course, nuist have taken place in the actual fight. These are repre- sented by terms that suggest them: "Vigour, which for a moment," " hard pressed in his turn, " ' ' one of Tressilian's passes, " etc. Hence : — A^PBNDIZ. 133 Rule 8.— iSeoNomiw the dttaUn; alrile otK the in^gi^eant otitfa; moM the detailH of amall importame ; ami give prpminence by partkutar refertnot only totlte chief incldtiUs. The Climax of Interest. — Narrative is nothing as art unless the narrator is able to evoke an ever-increasing interest in the fate of the hero. As we follow the incidents of the narrative we note the skill of the narrator in deepening step by step this plot-interest. We are predis^Kwcd in Tressilian's favour ; this is added to by his bearing in the dialogue. Then in the duel — the tide of battle first in favour of the one, then of the other, swaying back to Vamey, returning finally to Tresailian — ^in this alternation of fear and hope, the interest in the narrative constantly rises, till just at the critical moment, when Vamey is to be despatched, Lomboume appears to end the duel. Though disappointed, wc feel that Vamey's doom is only temporarily averted. We see, therefore, that the reader nmst be lead on from incident to incident until the culminating point of the story is attained — until the il^nottement is reached, and the outcome calms and satisBes his excitement. More- over, no hint is given, as wo progress through the story, of the nature of the outcome. Every hint of the fate — good or bad — that is to befall the hero is carefully suppressed, so as to pique the interest and arouse the imagination. The details of the narrative rise in significance, or, as we say, the plot thickens, until the d^ouement is reached. Rule 4. — Excite ctiriosity by mthholding the issue of the incident tul the last moment. Have the subsidiary details throw higher light tipon the actions of the chief personages. Aii'ange the main details in the order of increasing importance, so that the interest is greatest as the ddnouement is reached. This denouement must satisfy our interest in tlie fate of the personages of the iMrrative. I. II. in. IV. V. VI. VII. Studies and Exercisks in Narratiox. Kenilworth, Tressilian's and Lamboume's Visit to Tony Foster. Tressilian's Encounter with Wayland Smith. Wayland and the Jewish Chemist. Raleigh's First Meeting with Queen Elizabeth. Wavland and Sussex. Elizabeth's Visit to Sussex. Wayland in Cumnor Hall. 124 oowm. Vni. The Flight of the Connteaa. IX, Queen Kliiabeth'i Visit to Kenilworth. X. The Countess Amy's Interview with EUi XI. The Fate of the Countess of Leicester. iboih. L\ft of Cowper, In biography the plot-interest cannot be used to the same extent at in the novel, sinoe the limits of truth cannot bo exceeded. Yet it may not be neglected, as it is the chief means of holding the interest throngh a long story. In the case of the successful man of letters, it should not be difficult to narrate his life in such a way that the story of the incidents of his early years should fix our interest in the man ; the success of bis labours add to it ; and the completion of his work and yean give a well- rounded conclusion to the narrative. XII. Cowper's Early Life. Parentage ; social connections ; hereditary gifts ; character* istics of nature ; school days. XIII. Cowper in Law. Entrance on the study of the law; Ashley Cowper's; the Inner Temple ; the Nonsense Club. XIV. Cowper's Insanity. Circumstances precipitating the first attack (the clerkship of the Journals, etc. ) ; its nature, whether religions or physical ; subsequent attacks ; general results on his writings. XV. Cowper at Huntingdon. Conditions of his life on his recovery from his first attack of insanity ; settlement in Huntingdon ; friends and acquaint- ances there ; religious associations ; Mr. and Mrs. Unwin. XVI. Cowper nt Olney. Reasons for removal ; Mr. Unwin's death ; the Rev. John Newton ; nature of their surroundings ; Olney hymns ; departure of Newton ; Thomas Scott ; incitement to authorship. XVII. Cowper's Literary Career. (Only the general outlines of the story need here be taken up, leav)::g the consideration of individual works till later.) APPIMDII. 1S5 IniteMon of Phillips ; laiirM ; ||i« T«»k ; wmm pnema and tnuiiUtiona ; general effect on Cowp«r'» iirwition in tba worid of lettera. XVIII. Cowper at Weston— Cloaing Years. The family group— Cowper, Mrs. Uawin. IjuXy Hcskfth ; death of William Unwin ; Hayley ; Teedun ; death of Mrs. Unwin ; death of Cowpor ; general comments on the character of the iaoideots in his life. DESCRIPTION. Deicriiithn i)^nMf.— Description portrays in words individual scones, objects, or persons ; it portra^^s in an order of space, and thereby ditfers from narration, which represents details in an order of time. It will be noted at the oatset that the descriptive element plays an important part in every narrative. By description wo can give tho back -ground and setting of the incidents, create the spirit and atmosphere in which the personages are to move, arouse interest in the characters of the story, and afford a relief from the monotony of a purely narrative interest. The description may be at times varied by introducing persons who are represented as seeing the objects or persons descritjed ; indeed, often the most effective mode of presenting description is to introduce it through the conversation of the actors. The set description is easiest^ the incidental suggestion most artistic. In KenUtDorth, tho action lies within tho bounds of the life of the nobility and the Court, so that we have naturally behind tho personages of the story the background of parks, castles, halls, etc., in which the action takes place. Tony Foster appears within the shadows of Cumnor Hall ; Leicester, l^fore the magnificence of Kenil worth Castle ; Elj-'abeth, amidst the splendour of her retinue or a royal progress. Let us examine briefly one of ihe many descriptions that intersperse the narrative in Kenilworlh, 12d COWPKH. A Study im Iibsokiptio!! t Kisilwortb Oaitia {KenUworth, Chap. XXV.) (i) rJie Theme. (u) Oeneral /ntrwluclioHt yiviHif the. yv.Hcral vffvct. (Ui) TheDttaUa. (iv) 7Vi« ConcluviuH. {Ttiu )>lot-int€>re8l in, of ooiirtHi, almost quieaooul in I>viicri|ilioii.) The priucely cMtle appMn in sighlk Its magDitiMnue is suggested. Outer wall, inclosing stables and pleasure- garden ; base-oourt. The oastle itself, a huge pile of buildings (general effect) surrounding a court-yard ; its chief feature the keep (dotads). The en- virons of the castle, the lake, the chase. Comments on the picture of the present desolation of the castle, furnish oy con- trast a completion of the picture of its ancient magnificence. Wu notice, then, that this description involves a methodical presenta- tion of the scene, following tlie scheme of (i) Tlieme, (ii) General JiUrotludion, (iii) Details, (iv) Summary or ConcluHion. Some such plan OS this is of great advantage to a writer as he composea. * It guides him uright in the selection of details ; for with a deHnit't plan of work before him irrelevant particulars wiU scarcely occur to him, or, if they do by chance occur, they will at once be recognized as incongruous. More- over he will be able most easily to amplify l