the Minor, had taught the Nation to deride as a mischievous fanatic. I allude also to a little acrimonious censure, in which he had indulged himself, against one of Whitfield's devout rivals, Mr. Charles Wesley, for allowing sacred music to form a part of his occupation in a sunday evening. Such praise, and such reproof, bestowed on popular enthusiasts, might easily induce many careless Readers, unacquainted with the singular mildness and purity of character, that really belonged to the new Poet, to reject his Book, without giving it a fair perusal, as the production of a Recluse, inflamed with the fierce spirit of bigotry. No supposition could have been wider from the truth; for Cowper was indeed a rare example of true Christian benevolence: yet, as the best of men have their little occasional foibles, he allowed himself, sometimes with his pen, but never, I believe in conversation, to speak rather acrimoniously of several pursuits and pastimes, that seem not to deserve any austerity of reproof. Of this he was aware himself, and confessed it, in the most ingenuous manner, on the following occasion. One of his intimate friends had written, in the first Volume of his Poems, the following passage from the younger Pliny, as descriptive of the Book: "Multa tenuiter, multa sublimiter, multa venuste, multa tenere, multa dulciter, multa cum bile." Many passages are delicate, many sublime, many beautiful, many tender, many sweet, many acri

monious.

Cowper

Cowper was pleased with the application, and said, with the utmost candour and sincerity," The latter part is very true indeed; yes! yes! there are "multa cum bile" many acrimonious.

These little occasional touches of austerity would naturally arise in a life so sequestered; but how just a subject of surprize and admiration is it, to behold an Author starting under such a load of disadvantages, and displaying on the sudden such a variety of excellence! For neglected, as it was, for a few years, the first Volume of Cowper exhibits such a diversity of poetical powers, as have been given very rarely indeed to any individual of the modern, or of the antient world. He is not only great in passages of pathos, and sublimity, but he is equally admirable in wit and humour. After descanting most copiously on sacred subjects, with the animation of a Prophet, and the simplicity of an Apostle, he paints the ludicrous characters of common life with the comic force of Moliere; particularly in his Poem on Conversation, and his exquisite portrait of a fretful temper: a piece of moral painting so highly finished, and so happily calculated to promote good humour, that a transcript of the Verses shall close the First Part of these Memoirs.

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch;

You always do too little, or too much:
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain ;
Your elevated voice goes through the brain:

Q

You

You fall at once into a lower key;

That's worse: the drone-pipe of an humble Bee!
The Southern sash admits too strong a light;
You rise and drop the curtain:-now its night.
He shakes with cold;—you stir the fire, and strive
To make a blaze:—that's roasting him alive.
Serve him with Ven'son, and he chuses Fish;
With Soal-that's just the sort he would not wish.
He takes what he at first profess'd to loath;
And in due time feeds heartily on both:
Yet, still o'erclouded with a constant frown;
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.
Your hope to please him vain on every plan,
Himself should work that wonder, if he can.
Alas! his efforts double his distress ;
He likes your's little, and his own still less.
Thus always teazing others, always teaz'd,
His only pleasure is—to be displeas'd.

END OF THE FIRST PART.

THE

THE

LIFE

O F

COW PER.

PART THE SECOND.

Ανήρ ήδιστος αοιδων.

A New æra opens in the history of the Poet from an incident

that gave fresh ardour and vivacity to his fertile imagination.--In September, 1781, he happened to form an acquaintance with a lady highly accomplished herself, and singularly happy in animating and directing the fancy of her poetical friends. The World will perfectly agree with me in this eulogy, when I add, that to this lady we are primarily indebted for the Poem of the Task, for the Ballad of John Gilpin, and for the Translation of Homer. But in my lively sense of her merit, I am almost forgetting my immediate duty, as the Biographer of the Poet, to introduce her circumstantially to the acquaintance of my Reader.

A lady, whose name was Jones, was one of the few neighbours admitted in the residence of the retired Poet. She was the wife of a Clergyman, who resided at the village of Clifton, within a mile

of Olney. Her sister, the widow of Sir Robert Austen, Baronet, came to pass some time with her in the Autumn of 1781; and] as the two ladies chanced to call at a shop in Olney, opposite to the house of Mrs. Unwin, Cowper observed them from his window.— Although naturally shy, and now rendered more so by his very long illness, he was so struck with the appearance of the stranger, that on hearing she was sister to Mrs. Jones, he requested Mrs. Unwin to invite them to tea. So strong was his reluctance to admit the company of strangers, that after he had occasioned this invitation, he was for a long time unwilling to join the little party; but having forced himself at last to engage in conversation with Lady Austen, he was so reanimated by her uncommon colloquial talents, that he attended the ladies on their return to Clifton, and from that time continued to cultivate the regard of his new acquaintance with such assiduous attention, that she soon received from him the familiar and endearing title of Sister Ann.

The great and happy influence, which an incident, that seems at first sight so trivial, produced very rapidly on the imagination of Cowper, will best appear from the following Epistle, which, soon after Lady Austen's return to London for the winter, the Poet addressed to her, on the 17th of December, 1781.

Dear Anna-Between friend and friend,

Prose answers every common end;