sure interrupted, his correspondence with Mr. Newton. To him he still opened the state of his mind without the least reserve, and it will appear, from the following extracts, that he had lost, in no degree, his relish for the enjoyments of religion, though his mind still continued under the influence of his depressive malady. "Your last letter informed us, that you were likely to be much occupied for some time in writing on a subject that must be interesting to a person of your feelings the Slave Trade. I was unwilling to interrupt your progress in so good a work, and have, therefore, enjoined myself a longer silence than I should otherwise have thought excusable, though, to say the truth, did not our once intimate fellowship in the things of God recur to my remembrance, and present me with something like a warrant for doing it, I should hardly have prevailed upon myself to write at all. Letters such as mine, to a person of a character such as yours, are like snow in harvest; and you will say, that if I will send you a letter that you can answer, I shall make your part of the business easier than it is. This I would gladly do, but though I abhor a vacuum, as much as nature herself is said to do, yet a vacuum I am bound to feel, of all such matter as may merit your perusal. I have lately been engaged in correspondence with a lady whom I never saw. She lives at Perton Hall, near Kimbolton, and is the wife of Dr. King, who has the living. She is evidently a Christian, and a very gracious one. I would that she had you for a correspondent, rather than me. One letter from you would do her more good than a ream of mine. But so it is; and though I despair of communicating to her anything that will be of much advantage, I must write to her this evening. Undeserving as I feel myself to be of divine protection, I am nevertheless receiving almost daily, I might indeed say hourly, proofs of it. A few days ago, Providence interfered to preserve me from the heaviest affliction that I could now suffer the loss of Mrs. Unwin, and in a way too, the most shocking imaginable. Having kindled her fire in the room where she dresses, (an office that she always performs for herself,) she placed the candle on the hearth, and kneeling, addressed herself to her devotions; a thought struck her while thus occupied, that the candle, being short, might possibly catch her clothes, she pinched it out with the tongs, and set it on the table. In a few moments the chamber was so filled with smoke, that her eyes watered, and it was hardly possible to see across it.-Supposing that it proceeded from

the chimney, she pushed the billets backward, and while she did so, casting her eye downward, perceived that her dress was on fire. In fact, before she extinguished the candle, the mischief that she apprehended had begun; and when she related the matter to me, she showed me her clothes, with a hole burnt in them as large as this sheet of paper. It is not possible, perhaps, that so tragical a death could occur to a person actually engaged in prayer, for her escape seems almost a miracle. Her presence of mind, by which she was enabled, without calling for help, or waiting for it, to gather up her clothes, and plunge them, burning as they were, in water, seems as wonderful a part of the occurrence as any. The very report of fire, though distant, has rendered hundreds torpid and incapable of self-succor; how much more was such a disability to be expected, when the fire had not seized a neighbor's house, or begun its devastations on our own, but was actually consuming the apparel that she wore, and seemed in possession of her person!"

The continued gloomy state of Cowper's mind will be seen by the following extract from a letter to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, with whom he corresponded, as nearly as possible, at stated and regular intervals.-January 30, 1788, he thus writes: "It is a fortnight since I heard from you, that is to say, a week longer than you have been accustomed to make me wait for a letter. I do not forget that you have recommended it to me, on occasions somewhat similar, to banish all anxiety, and to ascribe your silence only to the interruptions of company. Good advice, my dear, but not easily taken by a man circumstanced as I am. I have learned in the school of adversity, a school from which I have no expectations that I shall ever be dismissed, to apprehend the worst, and have ever found it the only course in which I can indulge myself, without the least danger of incurring a disappointment. This kind of experience, continued through many years, has given me such an 'habitual bias to the gloomy side of everything, that I never have a moment's ease on any subject to which I am not indifferent. How then can I be easy, when I am left afloat upon a sea of endless conjectures, of which you furnish the occasion? Write, I beseech you, and do not forget that I am now a battered actor upon this turbulent stage, that what little vigor of mind I ever had, of the self-supporting kind I mean, has long since been broken, and, that though I can bear nothing well, yet anything better than a state of ignorance concerning your welfare. I have

spent hours in the night, leaning upon my elbow, and wondering what your silence can mean. I entreat you, once more, to put an end to these speculations, which cost me more animal spirits than I can spare. I love you, my cousin, and cannot suspect, either with or without cause, the least evil, in which you may be concerned, without being quietly troubled! O, trouble! the portion of mortals-but mine in particular-would I had never known thee, or could bid thee farewell for ever! For, I meet thee at every turn, my pillows are stuffed with thee, my very roses smell of thee, and even my cousin, who would, I am sure, cure me of all trouble if she could, is sometimes innocently the cause of trouble to me!"

CHAPTER XIII.

Pressing invitations of his friends to write a poem on the Slave TradeReasons for declining it-Correspondence with Mrs. King-Particular description of his feelings-Death of Sir Ashley Cowper-Description of his character-Great severity of Cowper's depresssion-Is again urged to write on the Slave Trade-Again declines it--Assigns particu. lar reasons for it-His indefatigable application to Homer--Notice he took of passing events-Mr. and Mrs. Newton's visit to Weston-The pleasure it afforded Cowper-Lady Hesketh's visit-Completion of the Iliad, and commencement of the Odyssey-His unwearied application to Homer not allowed to divert his attention from religion-Occasional composition of original poetry-Readiness to listen to any alteration that might be suggested in his productions.

MANY of Cowper's friends were anxious to have him employ his admirable powers in a poem on the abolition of slavery, and Lady Hesketh wrote him several pressing invitations on the subject; to which he gave the following reply. "I have now three letters of yours, my dearest cousin, before me, all written in the space of a week, and must be, indeed, insensible of kindness, did I not feel yours on this occasion. I cannot describe to you, neither could you comprehend it if

I could, the manner in which my mind is sometimes impressed with melancholy on particular subjects. Your late silence was such a subject. I heard, saw, and felt, a thousand terrible things, which had no real existence, and was haunted by them night and day, till they at last extorted from me that doleful epistle, which I have since wished had been burnt before I sent it. But the cloud has passed, and, as far as you are concerned, my heart is once more at rest. Before you gave me the hint contained in your last letters, I had once or twice, as I lay on my bed, watching the break of day, ruminated on the subject which you kindly recommended to me. Slavery, or a release from slavery, such as the poor negroes have endured, or perhaps both these topics together, appeared to me a theme so important at the present juncture, and at the same time so susceptible of practical management, that I more than once perceived myself ready to start in that cause, could I have allowed myself to desert Homer for so long a time as it would have cost me to do them justice. While I was pondering these things, the public prints informed me that Miss More was on the point of publication, having actually finished what I had not begun. The sight of her advertisement convinced me that my best course would be that to which I felt myself most inclined; to persevere, without turning aside to attend to any other call, however alluring, in the business I have in hand. It occurred to me likewise, that I have lately borne my testimony in favor of my black brethren, and that I was one of the earliest, if not the first, of those who have, in the present day, expressed their detestation of the diabolical trade in question. On all these accounts I judged it best to be silent. I shall be glad to see Hannah More's poem; she is a favorite writer with me, and has more nerve and energy, both in her thoughts and language, than half the rhymers in the kingdom."

"A

It will be seen by the last extract made from Cowper's letters to Mr. Newton, that he had now commenced a correspondence with Mrs. King, and as his letters to that lady are highly interesting, we shall make such use of them as will be descriptive of the state of his mind at that period. letter from a lady who was once intimate with my brother, could not fail of being most acceptable to me. 1 lost him just at a moment when those truths which have recommended my volumes to your approbation, were become his daily sustenance, as they had long been mine. But the will of God was done. I have sometimes thought that had his life

been spared, being made brothers by a stricter tie than ever, in the bonds of the same faith, hope, and love, we should have been happier in each other than it was in the power of mere natural affection to make us. But it was his blessing to be taken from a world in which he had no longer any wish to continue; and it will be mine, if, while I live in it, my time may be not altogether wasted: in order to effect that good end, I wrote what I am happy to find has given you pleasure to read. But for that pleasure, Madam, you are indebted neither to me nor my muse; but (as you are well aware) to Him who alone can make divine truths palatable, in whatever vehicle conveyed. It is an established philosophical axiom, that nothing can communicate what it has not in itself; but in the effects of Christian communion, a very strong exception is found to this general rule, however self-evident it may seem. A man, himself destitute of all spiritual consolation, may, by occasion, impart it to others. Thus I, it seems, who wrote those very poems, to amuse a mind oppressed with melancholy, and who have myself derived from them no other benefit, (for mere success in authorship will do me no good,) have nevertheless, by so doing, comforted others, at the same time that they administer to me no consolation. But I will proceed no farther in this strain, lest my prose should damp a pleasure that my verse has happily excited. On the contrary, I will endeavor to rejoice in your joy, and especially, because I have myself been the instrument of conveying it."

"I owe you many acknowledgments, dear Madam, for that unreserved communication both of your history and of your sentiments, with which you honored me in your last. It gives me great pleasure to learn that you are so happily circumstanced, both in respect of situation and frame of mind. With your view of religious subjects, you could not indeed, speaking properly, be pronounced unhappy in any circumstances; but to have received from above, not only that faith which reconciles the heart to affliction, but many outward comforts also, and especially that greatest of all earthly comforts, a comfortable home, is happiness indeed. May you long enjoy it! As to health or sickness, you have learned already their true value, and know well that the former is no blessing, unless it be sanctified, and that the latter is the greatest we can receive, when we are enabled to make a proper use of it."

"The melancholy that I have mentioned to you, and con

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