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of every description, not only by the most lavish and indiscriminate praise of every indi dual he has occasion to mention, but by a general spirit of approbation and indulgence towards every practice and opinion which he has found it necessary to speak of. Among the other symptoms of book making which this publication contains, we can scarcely forbear reckoning the expressions of this too obsequious and unoffending philanthropy.

"I did actually live three years with Mr. Chapman, a solicitor; that is to say, I slept three years in his house; but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days in Southampton Row, as you very well remember. There was I, and the future Lord Chancellor, constantly employed. from morning to night, in giggling, and making giggle, instead of studying the law."-Vol. i. p. 178.

The constitutional shyness and diffidence of Cowper appeared in his earliest childhood, and was not subdued in any degree by the bustle and contention of a Westminster education; where, though he acquired a consid-quences of this requisition are stated by Mr. erable portion of classical learning, he has Hayley, in the following, not very lucid, achimself declared, that "he was never able to count. raise his eye above the shoe-buckles of the elder boys, who tyrannized over him." From this seminary, he seems to have passed, without any academical preparation, into the Society of the Inner Temple, where he continued to reside to the age of thirty-three. Neither his biographer nor his letters give any satisfactory account of the way in which this large and most important part of his life was spent. Although Lord Thurlow was one of his most intimate associates, it is certain that he never made any proficiency in the study of the law; and the few slight pieces of composition, in which he appears to have been engaged in this interval, are but a scanty produce for fifteen years of literary leisure. That a part of those years was very idly spent, indeed, appears from his own account of them. In a letter to his cousin, in 1786, he says,

And in a more serious letter to Mr. Rose, he makes the following just observations.

"The colour of our whole life is generally such as the three or four first years, in which we are our own masters, make it. Then it is that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up for ourselves a series of future successes or disappointments. Had I employed my time as wisely as you, in a situation very similar to yours, I had never been a poet perhaps, but I might by this time have acquired a character of more importance in soci. ety; a situation in which my friends would have been better pleased to see me. But three years misspent in an attorney's office, were almost of course followed by several more equally misspent in the Temple; and the consequence has been, as the Italian epitaph says, Sto qui."-The only use I can make of myself now, at least the best, is to serve in terrorem to others, when occasion may happen to offer, that they may escape (so far as my admonitions can have any weight with them) my folly and my fate."-Vol. i. pp. 333, 334.


Neither the idleness of this period, however, nor the gaiety in which it appears to have been wasted, had corrected that radical defect in his constitution, by which he was disabled from making any public display of his acquisitions; and it was the excess of this diffi

dence, if we rightly understand his biographer, that was the immediate cause of the unfortunate derangement that overclouded the remainder of his life. In his thirty-first year, his friends procured for him the office of reading-clerk to the House of Lords; but the idea of reading in public, was the source of such torture and apprehension to him, that he very soon resigned that place, and had interest enough to exchange it for that of clerk of the journals, which was supposed to require no personal attendance. An unlucky dispute in Parliament, however, made it necessary for him to appear in his place; and the conse

"His terrors on this occasion arose to such an

astonishing height, that they utterly overwhelmed his reason for although he had endeavoured to prepare himself for his public duty, by attending closely at the office for several months, to examine the parliamentary journals, his application was rendered useless by that excess of diffidence, which might previously acquire, it would all forsake him made him conceive, that whatever knowledge he at the bar of the House. This distressing apprehension increased to such a degree, as the time for his appearance approached, that when the day so anxiously dreaded arrived, he was unable to make the experiment. The very friends, who called on him for the purpose of attending him to the House of Lords, acquiesced in the cruel necessity of relinquishing the prospect of a station so severely formidable to a frame of such singular sensibility."


The conflict between the wishes of just affectionate ambition, and the terrors of diffidence, so entirely overwhelmed his health and faculties, that after two learned and benevolent divines (Mr. John Cowper, his brother, and the celebrated Mr. Martin Madan, his first cousin) had vainly endeavoured to establish a lasting tranquillity in his mind, by friendly and religious conversation, it was found necessary to remove him to St. Alban's, where he resided a considerable time, under the care of that eminent physician Dr. Cotton, a scholar and a poet, who added to many accomplishments a peculiar I had the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with sweetness of manners, in very advanced life, when him."-Vol. i. pp. 25, 26.

In this melancholy state he continued for upwards of a year, when his mind began slowly to emerge from the depression under which it had laboured, and to seek for consolation in the study of the Scriptures, and other religious occupations. In the city of Huntingdon, to which he had been removed in his illness, he now formed an acquaintance with the family of the Reverend Mr. Unwin, with whose widow the greater part of his after life was passed. The series of letters, which Mr. Hayley has introduced in this place, are altogether of a devotional cast, and bear evident symptoms of continuing depression and anxiety. He talks a great deal of his conversion, of the levity and worldliness of his former life, and of the grace which had at last been vouchsafed to him; and seems so entirely and constantly absorbed in those awful medi tations, as to consider not only the occupations of his earlier days, but all temporal business or amusement, as utterly unworthy of his attention. We do not think it necessary to make

any extract from this part of the publication; pieces. When I can find no other occupation, I and perhaps Mr. Hayley might have spared think; and when I think, I am very apt to do it in some of the methodistical raptures and dissert- rhyme. Hence it comes to pass, that the season ations that are contained in those letters of poetry, unfolds mine, such as they are, and of the year which generally pinches off the flowers without any injury either to the memory of crowns me with a winter garland. In this respect, his friend, or the reputation of his own per- therefore, I and my contemporary bards are by no means upon a par. They write when the delightful influence of fine weather, fine prospects, and a brisk motion of the animal spirits, make poetry almost the language of nature; and I, when icicles depend from all the leaves of the Parnassian laurel, and when a reasonable man would as little expect to succeed in verse, as to hear a black bird whistle. This must be my apology to you for whatever want of fire and animation you may observe in what you will shortly have the perusal of. As to the public, if they like me not, there is no remedy."—Vol. i. pp. 105, 106.


After the death of Mr. Unwin, he retired with his widow to the village of Olney in 1768, where he continued in the same pious and sequestered habits of life till the year 1772, when a second and more protracted visitation of the same tremendous malady obscured his faculties for a melancholy period of eight years; during which he was attended by Mrs. Unwin with a constancy and tenderness of affection, which it was the great business of his after life to repay. In 1780, he began gradually to recover; and in a letter of that year to his cousin, describes himself in this manner:

"You see me sixteen years older, at the least, than when I saw you last; but the effects of time seem to have taken place rather on the outside of my head than within it. What was brown is become grey, but what was foolish remains foolish still. Green fruit must rot before it ripens, if the season is such as to afford it nothing but cold winds and dark clouds, that interrupt every ray of sunshine. My days steal away silently, and march on (as poor mad King Lear would have made his soldiers march) as if they were shod with felt! Not so silently but that I hear them; yet were it not that I am always listening to their flight, having no infirmity that I had not when I was much younger, I should deceive myself with an imagination that I am still young."-Vol. i. pp. 96, 97.

One of the first applications of his returning powers was to the taming and education of the three young hares, which he has since celebrated in his poetry: and, very soon after, the solicitations of his affectionate companion first induced him to prepare some moral pieces for publication, in the hope of giving a salutary employment to his mind. At the age of fifty, therefore, and at a distance from all the excitements that emulation and ambition usually hold out to a poet, Cowper began to write for the public, with the view of diverting his own melancholy, and doing service to the cause of morality. Whatever effect his publications had on the world, the composition of them certainly had a most beneficial one on himself. In a letter to his cousin he says,

"Dejection of spirits, which I suppose may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly employed.-Manual occupations do not engage the mind sufficiently, as I know by experience, having tried many. But composition, especially of verse, absorbs it wholly. I write, therefore, generally three hours in a morning, and in an evening transcribe. I read also, but less than I write.' Vol. i. p. 147.

It happened one afternoon, in those years, when his accomplished friend Lady Austen made a part of his little evening circle, that she observed him sinking into increasing dejection; it was her custom, on these occasions, to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for his immediate relief. She told him the story of John Gilpin (which had been treasured in her memory from her childhood) to dissipate the gloom of the passing hour. Its effects on the fancy of Cowper had the air of enchantment. He informed her the next morning, that convulsions of laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept him waking during the greatest part of the night! and that he had turned it into a ballad. I-So arose the pleasant poem of John Gilpin."Vol. i. pp. 128, 129.


There is another passage in which he talks of his performance in so light and easy a manner, and assumes so much of the pleasing, though antiquated language of Pope and Addison, that we cannot resist extracting it.

The success of his first volume, which appeared in the end of the year 1781, was by no means such as to encourage him to proceed to a second; and, indeed, it seems now to be admitted by every body but Mr. Hayley, that it was not well calculated for becoming popular. Too serious for the general reader, it had too much satire, wit, and criticism, to be a favourite with the devout and enthusiastic; the principal poems were also too long and desultory, and the versification throughout was more harsh and negligent, than the public had yet been accustomed to. The book therefore was very little read, till the increasing fame of the author brought all his works into notice; and then, indeed, it was discovered, that it contained many traits of strong and original genius, and a richness of idiomatical phraseology, that has been but seldom equalled in our language.

'My labours are principally the production of last winter; all indeed, except a few of the minor

In the end of this year, Cowper formed an accidental acquaintance with the widow of Sir Thomas Austen, which, in spite of his insuperable shyness, ripened gradually into a mutual and cordial friendship, and was the immediate source of some of his happiest hours, and most celebrated productions.-The facetious history of "John Gilpin" arose from a suggestion of that lady, in circumstances and in a way that marks the perilous and moody state of Cowper's understanding more strikingly perhaps than any general description.

In the course of the year 1783, however, Lady Austen was fortunate enough to direct the poet to a work of much greater importance; and to engage him, from a very accidental circumstance, in the composition of "The Task," by far the best and the most popular of all his performances. The anecdote, which is such as the introduction of that poem has


probably suggested to most readers, is given | translation, about this time, seem to have in this manner by Mr. Hayley. drawn from him the following curious and unaffected delineation of his own thoughts and feelings.

This lady happened, as an admirer of Milton, to be partial to blank verse, and often solicited her poetical friend to try his powers in that species of composition. After repeated solicitation, he promised her, if she would furnish the subject, to comply with her request. Oh!' she replied, you can never be in want of a subject,—you can write upon any-write upon this sofa!' The poet obeyed her command; and, from the lively repartee of familiar conversation, arose a poem of many thousand verses, unexampled, perhaps, both in its origin and excellence."-Vol. i. p. 135.

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This extraordinary production was finished in less than a year, and became extremely popular from the very first month of its publication. The charm of reputation, however, could not draw Cowper from his seclusion; and his solitude became still more dreary about this period, by the cessation of his intercourse with Lady Austen, with whom certain little jealousies on the part of Mrs. Unwin (which the biographer might as well have passed over in silence) obliged him to renounce any farther connection. Besides the Task and John Gilpin, he appears to have composed several smaller poems for this lady, which are published, for the first time, in the work now before us. We were particularly struck with a ballad on the unfortunate loss of the Royal George, of which the following stanzas may serve as a specimen.

menced an author, I am most abundantly desirous "I am not ashamed to confess, that having combition. But with it, I have at the same time, as to succeed as such. I have (what perhaps you little suspect me of) in my nature, an infinite share of amyou well know, an equal share of diffidence. To this combination of opposite qualities it has been owing, that, till lately, I stole through life without undertaking any thing, yet always wishing to disin the only path that, at so late a period, was yet tinguish myself. At last I ventured: ventured, too, open to me; and I am determined, if God hath not determined otherwise, to work my way through the obscurity that hath been so long my portion, into notice."-Vol. i. p. 190.

seems to have become better pleased with As he advanced in his work, however, he the execution of it; and in the year 1790, addresses to his cousin the following candid and interesting observations: though we cannot but regret that we have not some specimens at least of what he calls the quaint and antiquated style of our earlier poets: and are have liked it better than that which he ultinot without our suspicions that we should mately adopted.

"Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last seafight is fought;
His work of glory done.
"It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;

She ran upon no rock.
"His sword was in its sheath;


the success of my translation, though in time past "To say the truth, I have now no fears about I have had many. I knew there was a style somewhere, could I but find it, in which Homer ought to be rendered, and which alone would suit him. Long time I blundered about it, ere I could attain to any decided judgment on the matter. was betrayed, by a desire of accommodating my At first I language to the simplicity of his, into much of the quaintness that belonged to our writers of the fif teenth century. In the course of many revisals, I have delivered myself from this evil. I believe, entirely but I have done it slowly, and as a man separates himself from his mistress, when he is going to marry. I had so strong a predilection in favour of this style, at first, that I was crazed to find that others were not as much enamoured with I obliterated, I groaned bitterly, and said to myself, it as myself. At every passage of that sort, which I am spoiling my work to please those who have no taste for the simple graces of antiquity. But in measure, as I adopted a more modern phraseology, revisal, which I am now making, am not sensible I became a convert to their opinion: and in the last of having spared a single expression of the obsolete kind. I see my work so much improved by this alteration, that I am filled with wonder at my own backwardness to assent to the necessity of it; and

His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down, With twice four hundred men. Vol. i. p. 127. The same year that saw the conclusion of "The Task," found Cowper engaged in the translation of Homer. This laborious undertaking, is said, by Mr. Hayley, to have been first suggested to him by Lady Austen also; though there is nothing in the correspondence he has published, that seems to countenance that idea. The work was pretty far advanced before he appears to have confided the secret of it to any one. In a letter to Mr. Hill, he explains his design in this manner: Knowing it to have been universally the opinion of the literati, ever since they have allowed them-resorting to musty antiquity for his beauties. On selves to consider the matter coolly, that a transla- the contrary, he took a long stride forward, left the tion, properly so called, of Homer, is, notwithstand-language of his own day far behind him, and anticing what Pope has done, a desideratum in the ipated the expressions of a century yet to come." English language, it struck me, that an attempt to supply the deficiency would be an honourable one; -Vol. i. pp. 360, 361. and having made myself, in former years, somewhat critically a master of the original, I was, by this double translation, induced to make the attempt myself. I am now translating into blank verse the last book of the Iliad, and mean to publish by subscription."-Vol. i. p. 154. Some observations that were made by Dr. Maty and others, upon a specimen of his

whose manner I account myself intimately acthe more, when I consider, that Milton, with quainted, is never quaint, never twangs through the nose, but is every where grand and elegant, without

The translation was finished in the year 1791, and published by subscription immediately after. Several applications were made to the University of Oxford for the honour of their subscription, but without success. Their ing."-"It seems not a little extraordinary," answer was, "That they subscribed to nothsays the offended poet on this occasion, "that


persons so nobly patronised themselves on the score of literature, should resolve to give no encouragement to it in return." We think 80 too.

The period that elapsed from the publication of his first volume in 1781, to that of his Homer in 1791, seems to have been by far the happiest and most brilliant part of Cowper's existence. It was not only animated by the vigorous and successful exertions in which he was engaged, but enlivened, in a very pleasing manner, by the correspondence and society of his cousin, Lady Hesketh, who newed, about this time, an intimacy that seems to have endeared the earlier days of their childhood. In his letters to this lady, we have found the most interesting traits of his simple and affectionate character, combined with an innocent playfulness, and vivacity, that charms the more, when contrasted with the gloom and horror to which it succeeded, and by which it was unfortunately replaced. Our limits will not allow us to make many extracts from this part of the publication. We insert, however, the following delightful letter, in answer to one from Lady Hesketh, promising to pay him a visit during the summer.

wonder at his taste, and be so too."-Vol. i. pp. 161–163.

The following is very much in the same style.

cupied by us and our Meubles, is as much superior "This house, accordingly, since it has been oc to what it was when you saw it as you can imagine. The parlour is even elegant. When I say that the parlour is elegant, I do not mean to insinuate that the study is not so. It is neat, warm, and silent, produce in it an incomparable translation of Homer. and a much better study than I deserve, if I do not I think every day of those lines of Milton, and conre-gratulate myself on having obtained, before I am quite superannuated, what he seems not to have hoped for sooner.

And may at length my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage.'

better thing; and you must always understand, For if it is not a hermitage, at least it is a much my dear, that when poets talk of cottages, hermitages, and such like things, they mean a house with six sashes in front, two comfortable parlours, a smart staircase, and three bedchambers of convenient dimensions; in short, exactly such a house as this."—Vol. i. pp. 227, 228.

In another letter, in a graver humour, he says


Many thanks for the cuckow, which arrived perfectly safe, and goes well, to the amusement and amazement of all who hear it. Hannah lies awake to hear it; and I am not sure that we have not others in the house that admire his music as much as she."—Vol. i. p. 331.

"I am almost the only person at Weston, known to you, who have enjoyed tolerable health this "I shall see you again!-I shall hear your voice-winter. In your next letter give us some account we shall take walks together: I will show you my of your own state of health, for I have had my prospects, the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse, and its anxieties about you. The winter has been mild; banks, every thing that I have described. I antici- but our winters are in general such, that, when a pate the pleasure of those days not very far distant, friend leaves us in the beginning of that season, I and feel a part of it at this moment. Talk not of always feel in my heart a perhaps, importing that an inn; mention it not for your life. We have we have possibly met for the last time, and that the never had so many visitors, but we could easily acrobins may whistle on the grave of one of us before commodate them all, though we have received the return of summer. 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 green-house will not be ready to receive us; and it is the only pleasant room belonging 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 jesmine; 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. Imprimis, 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 "The French, who, like all lively folks, are exmaking. It is the box in which have been lodged treme in every thing, are such in their zeal for all my hares, and in which lodges puss at present. freedom; and if it were possible to make so noble But he, poor fellow, worn out with age, and pro- a cause ridiculous, their manner of promoting it mises to die before you can see him. On the right could not fail to do so. Princes and peers reduced hand stands a cupboard, the work of the same to plain gentlemanship, and gentles reduced to a author. It was once a dove-cage, but I transform-level with their own lackeys, are excesses of which ed it. Opposite to you stands a table, which I also they will repent hereafter. Difference of rank and made; but a merciless servant having scrubbed it subordination are, I believe, of God's appointment, until it became paralytic, it serves no purpose now and, consequently, essential to the well-being of but of ornament; and all my clean shoes stand society: but what we mean by fanaticism in reliunder it. On the left hand, at the farther end of gion, is exactly that which animates their politics; this superb vestibule, you will find the door of the and, unless time should sober them, they will, parlour into which I shall conduct you, and where after all, be an unhappy people. Perhaps it deI will introduce you to Mrs. Unwin (unless we serves not much to be wondered at, that at their should meet her before),-and where we will be as first escape from tyrannic shackles, they should happy as the day is long! Order yourself, my act extravagantly, and treat their kings as they have cousin, to the Swan at Newport, and there you sometimes treated their idols. To these, however, shall find me ready to conduct you to Olney. they are reconciled in due time again; but their "My dear, I have told Homer what you say respect for monarchy is at an end. They want about casks and urns: and have asked him whether nothing now but a little English sobriety, and that he is sure that it is a cask in which Jupiter keeps they want extremely. I heartily wish them some his wine. He swears that it is a cask, and that it wit their anger; for it were great pity that so will never be any thing better than a cask to eternity. many millions should be miserable for want of it." So if the god is content with it, we must even-Vol. i. p. 379.

calmness of a sequestered and good-natured In the following passage, we have all the man, and we doubt whether there was another educated and reflecting individual to be found in the kingdom, who could think and speak so dispassionately of the events which were passing in 1792.

Homer was scarcely finished, when a proposal was made to the indefatigable translator, to engage in a magnificent edition of Milton, for which he was to furnish a version of his Latin and Italian poetry, and a critical commentary upon his whole works. Mr. Hayley had, at this time, undertaken to write a life of Milton and some groundless reports, as to an intended rivalry between him and Cowper, led to a friendly explanation, and to a very cordial and affectionate intimacy. In the year 1792, Mr. Hayley paid a visit to his newly acquired friend at Weston; and happened to be providentially present with him when the agony which he experienced from the sight of a paralytic attack upon Mrs. Unwin, had very nearly affected his understanding. The anxious attention of his friend, and the gradual recovery of the unfortunate patient, prevented any very calamitous effect from this unhappy occurrence: But his spirits appear never to have recovered the shock; and the solicitude and apprehension which he constantly felt for his long tried and affectionate companion, suspended his literary exertions, aggravated the depression to which he had always been occasionally liable, and rendered the remainder of his life a very precarious struggle against that overwhelming malady by which it was at last obscured. In the end of summer, he returned Mr. Hayley's visit at Eartham; but came back again to Weston, with spirits as much depressed and forebodings as gloomy as ever. His constant and tender attention to Mrs Unwin, was one cause of his neglect of every thing else. "I cannot sit," he says in one of his letters, "with my pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is, in effect, in solitude-silent, and looking in the fire." A still more powerful cause was, the constant and oppressive dejection of spirits that now began again to overwhelm him. "It is in vain," he says, "that I have made several attempts to write since I came from Sussex. Unless more comfortable days arrive, than I have now the confidence to look for, there is an end of all writing with me! I have no spirits. When Rose came, I was obliged to prepare for his coming, by a nightly dose of laudanum."

cility were beginning to be painfully visible; nor can nature present a spectacle more truly pitiable, for dominion, which it knows not either how to than imbecility in such a shape, eagerly grasping retain, or how to relinquish."-Vol. ii. pp. 161, 162.

From a part of these evils, however, the poet was relieved, by the generous compassion of Lady Hesketh, who nobly took upon herself the task of superintending this melancholy household. We will not withhold from our readers the encomium she has so well earned from the biographer.

"Those only, who have lived with the superannuated and melancholy, can properly appreciate the value of such magnanimous friendship; or perfectly apprehend, what personal sufferings it must cost the mortal who exerts it, if that mortal has received from nature a frame of compassionate sensibility. The lady, to whom I allude, has felt but too severely, in her own health, the heavy tax that mortality is forced to pay for a resolute perseverance in such painful duty."-Vol. ii. p. 177.

It was impossible, however, for any care or attention to arrest the progress of that dreadful depression, by which the faculties of this excellent man were destined to be extinguished. In the beginning of the year 1794, he became utterly incapable of any sort of exertion, and ceased to receive pleasure from the company or conversation of his friends. Neither a visit from Mr. Hayley, nor his Majesty's order for a pension 3001. a-year, was able to rouse him from that languid and melancholy state into which he had gradually been sinking; and, at length, it was thought necessary to remove him from the village of Weston to Tuddenham in Norfolk, where he could be under the immediate superintendence of his kinsman, the Reverend Mr. Johnson. After a long cessation of all correspondence, he addressed the following very moving lines to the clergyman of the favourite village, to which he was no more to return:

"I will forget, for a moment, that to whomso ever I may address myself, a letter from me can no otherwise be welcome, than as a curiosity. To you, sir, I address this, urged by extreme penury thing of what is doing, and has been done, at of employment, and the desire I feel to learn some. Weston (my beloved Weston!) since I left it? No situation, at least when the weather is clear and bright, can be pleasanter than what we have here; which you will easily credit, when I add, that it imparts something a little resembling pleaton!-If Mr. Gregson and the Courtney's are sure even to me.-Gratify me with news of Westhere, mention me to them in such terms as you see good. Tell me if my poor birds are living! never see the herbs I used to give them, without a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, forgetting that I am not at home.

Pardon this intrusion."

In the course of the year 1793, he seems to have done little but revise his translation of Homer, of which he meditated an improved edition. Mr. Hayley came to see him a second time at Weston, in the month of November; and gives this affecting and pro-I phetic account of his situation

"He possessed completely at this period all the admirable faculties of his mind, and all the native tenderness of his heart; but there was something indescribable in his appearance, which led me to apprehend, that, without some signal event in his favour, to re-animate his spirits, they would gradually sink into hopeless dejection. The state of his aged infirm companion, afforded additional ground for increasing solicitude. Her cheerful and beneficent spirit could hardly resist her own accumulated maladies, so far as to preserve ability sufficient to watch over the tender health of him whom she had mentioned her name! At intervals, in the watched and guarded so long. Imbecility of body and mind must gradually render this tender and summer, he continued to work at the revisal heroic woman unfit for the charge which she had of his Homer, which he at length finished in so laudably sustained. The signs of such imbe- 1799; and afterwards translated some of

In summer 1796, there were some faint glimmerings of returning vigour, and he again applied himself, for some time, to the revisal of his translation of Homer. In December, Mrs. Unwin died; and such was the severe depression under which her companion then laboured, that he seems to have suffered but little on the occasion. He never afterwards

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