the commencement of the Poem he marks both the season, and

the year, in the tender address to his companion.

"Whose arm this twentieth Winter I perceive

Fast lock'd in mine."

These expressions had induced me to suppose that the Task was begun in the winter of 1784, but a variety of circumstances convinced me that the passage which I had cited, as marking the æra of its commencement, was added in the course of a revisal, and probably in the following year.

I select a series of passages from Cowper's Letters to his friend Mr. Bull, in which the Poet has described his own progress in his most interesting composition.

August 3, 1783-"Your sea-side situation, your beautiful prospects, your fine rides, and the sight of the palaces, which you have seen, we have not envied you; but are glad, that you have enjoyed them. Why should we envy any man? Is not our greenhouse a cabinet of perfumes? It is at this moment fronted with carnations and balsams, with mignonette and roses, with jessamine and woodbine, and wants nothing but your pipe to make it truly Arabian ;-a wilderness of sweets! The Sofa is ended, but not finished, a paradox, which your natural acumen, sharpened by habits of logical attention, will enable you to reconcile in a mo

ment.

ment. Do not imagine, however, that I lounge over it-on the contrary, I find it severe exercise, to mould and fashion it to my mind!"

Feb. 22, 1784, "I congratulate you on the thaw-I suppose it is an universal blessing, and probably felt all over Europe. I myself am the better for it, who wanted nothing, that might make the frost supportable; what reason, therefore, have they to rejoice, who being in want of all things, were exposed to its utmost rigour?-The ice in my ink, however, is not yet dissolved—It was long before the frost seized it, but at last it prevailed-The Sofa has consequently received little or no addition since-It consists at present of four Books, and part of a fifth: when the sixth is finished, the work is accomplished, but if I may judge by my present inability, that period is at a considerable distance.

The following extract not only mentions the completion of his great Work, but gives a particular account of his next produc

tion.

November 8, 1784-"The Task, as you know, is gone to the Press since it went I have been employed in writing another Poem, which I am now transcribing, and which, in a short time, I design shall follow. It is entitled Tirocinium, or a Review of Schools: the business and purpose of it are, to censure the want of discipline, and the scandalous inattention to morals, that obtain

VOL. I.

T

in

in them; especially in the largest; and to recommend private tuition as a mode of education preferable on all accounts; to call upon fathers to become tutors of their own sons, where that is practicable; to take home to them a domestic tutor, where it is not; and if neither can be done, to place them under the care of such a man, as he, to whom I am writing; some rural Parson, whose attention is limited to a few."

The Year 1784, was a memorable period in the life of the Poet, not only as it witnessed the completion of one extensive work, and the commencement, of another, (his Translation of Homer) but as it terminated his intercourse with that highly pleasing and valuable friend, whose alacrity of attention and advice, had induced him to engage in both.

Delightful and advantageous as his friendship with Lady Austen had proved, he now began to feel, that it grew impossible to preserve that triple cord, which his own pure heart had led him to suppose, not speedily to be broken. Mrs. Unwin, though by no means destitute of mental accomplishments, was eclipsed by the brilliancy of the Poet's new friend, and naturally became un-easy under the apprehension of being so, for to a woman of sensibility, what evil can be more afflicting, than the fear of losing all mental influence over a man of genius and virtue, whom she has. been long accustomed to inspirit and to guide?

Cowper

Cowper perceived the painful necessity of sacrificing a great portion of his present gratifications. He felt, that he must relinquish that antient friend, whom he regarded as a venerable parent; or the new associate, whom he idolized, as a sister of a heart and mind peculiarly congenial to his own. His gratitude for past ser vices of unexampled magnitude, and weight, would not allow him to hesitate, and with a resolution of delicacy, that do the highest honour to his feelings, he wrote a farewell Letter to Lady Austen, explaining, and lamenting the circumstances, that forced him to renounce the society of a friend, whose enchanting talents and kindness had proved so agreeably instrumental to the revival of his spirits, and to the exercise of his fancy.

The Letters addressed to Mr. Hill at this period, express in a most pleasing manner, the sensibility of Cowper.

LETTER XXXVII.

To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Sept. 11, 1784.

I have never seen Dr. Cotton's book, concerning which your Sisters question me, nor did I know, 'till you mentioned it, that he had written any thing newer than his Visions; I have no doubt that it is so far worthy of him, as to be pious and sensible, and I believe, no man living is better qualified

to write on such subjects, as his title seems to announce. Some years have passed since I heard from him, and considering his great age, it is probable that I shall hear from him no more, but I shall always respect him. He is truly a Philosopher, according to my judgment of the character, every tittle of his knowledge in natural subjects, being connected in his mind, with the firm belief of an Omnipotent Agent.

Yours, &c.

W. C.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

LETTER XXXVIII.

To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr.

To condole with you on the death of

a Mother aged 87 would be absurd-Rather therefore, as is reasonable, I congratulate you on the almost singular felicity of having enjoyed the company of so amiable, and so near a relation so long. Your lot and mine in this respect have been very different, as indeed in almost every other. Your Mother lived to see you rise, at least to see you comfortably established in the world. Mine dying when I was six years old, did not live to see me sink in it. You may remember with pleasure while you live, a blessing vouchsafed to you so long, and I, while I live, must regret a comfort, of which I was deprived so carly. I can truly say that not a week passes, (perhaps I might with equal veracity say a day) in which I do not