ily. He had, while at Westminster, become intimate with Edward Thurlow, who was afterwards promoted to the Woolsack; and, in addition to this, contracted several attachments with characters whose influence might have greatly accelerated his future advancement in the world. It was, therefore, natural that the hopes of his friends should be elevated to a high degree, nor is it surprising that they should suffer themselves to be blinded to those impediments which were likely to disappoint their expectations. Their delusion was not, however, of long duration. No reasonings, no entreaties, could overcome the aversion of Mr. Cowper, for what he denominated public life; he even solicited madness, as a relief from the importunities of his friends, who, convinced of the folly of any longer persisting against nature and inclination, at length relinquished their entreaties, and permitted him to retire into that seclusion, the desire of which was the ruling passion of his breast. At this crisis appears to have commenced Mr. Cowper's serious attention to the ways of God. Having been educated in the knowledge of the holy scriptures, and preserved from that fool-hardy arrogance which urges unhappy youths to infidelity, he had uniformly retained a reverence for the word of God. His manners were in general decent and amiable; and the course of pleasure, in which he indulged himself, being customary with persons in similar circumstances, he had remained insensible of his state as a sinner in the sight of God. His mind was now, for the first time, convinced of the evil of sin, as a transgression of the law of God. Instead of finding relief from reading, every book he opened, of whatever kind, seemed to him adapted to increase his distress; which became so pungent as to deprive him of his usual rest, and to render his broken slumbers equally miserable with his waking hours. While in this state, he was visited by the late Rev. Martin Madan, who was related to him. By explaining from the scriptures the doctrine of original sin, Mr. Madan convinced him, that all mankind were on the same level with himself before God; the atonement and righteousness of Christ were set forth to him, as the remedy which his case required; and the necessity of faith in Christ, in order to experience the blessings of this salvation, excited his earnest desire for the attainment. These important truths were a temporary source of consolation; but the next day he sunk into melancholy and despair. Growing at length, however, familiar with his situation, he suffered it to be alleviated by conversation with Dr. Cotton, a pious and humane physician at St. Alban's, under whose care he had been happily placed. He began to take some pleasure in sharing daily the domestic worship which was laudably practised by the Doctor; and he found relief from his despair, by reading in the scriptures, that "God hath set forth Jesus Christ as a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God." Rom. iii. 25. While meditating upon this passage, he obtained, in a few minutes, a clear view of the gospel, which was attended with unspeakable joy. Many of his subsequent days were occupied with praise and prayer, and his heart overflowed with love to his crucified Redeemer. A hymn, which he wrote under these delightful impressions, will best describe the comfort he enjoyed. (See No. 43, at the end of vol. 11.) The first transports of his joy, which almost prevented his necessary sleep, having subsided, were followed by a sweet serenity of spirit, which he was enabled to retain, notwithstanding reviving struggles of corruption. The comfort he enjoyed in the profitable conversation of his beloved physician, induced him to prolong his stay at St. Alban's, for twelve months after his recovery. Having determined upon renouncing his profession of the law, he retired to Huntingdon, where he lived in the most intimate friendship with the Rev. Mr. Unwin, to whom he dedicated his Tirocinium; and, two or three years afterwards, on the death of Mr. Unwin, he removed to Olney, in Buckinghamshire, accompanied by that gentleman's widow. Here he contracted a friendship with the Rev. Mr. Newton, (now Rector of St. Mary Woolnorth, London) and indulged, amidst rural scenes, those religious pleasures and occupations, which experience had taught him to value far above all that the polite or the busy world could afford. Another of his hymns expresses what he felt when entering on his retirement. (See No. 44, at the end of vol. 11.) Mr. Cowper's walk with God in private was consistent with the solemnity and fervour of his social engagements. Like the prophet Daniel, and the royal psalmist, he "kneeled three times a-day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God," in retirement, beside the regular practice of domestic worship. His mind was stayed upon God; and, for an unusual course of years, it was kept in perfect peace. The corrupt dispositions, which have so strong a hold upon the human heart, appeared to be peculiarly suppressed in him; and when in any degree felt, they were lamented and resisted by him. His Hymns, mostly written during this part of his life, describe both the general tenor of his thoughts, and their occasional wanderings, with a force of expression dictated by the liveliness of his feelings. While his attainments in the love of God were thus eminent, his Christian love to fellow-believers, and to all around him, was highly exemplary. To a conduct void of offence to any individual, and marked with peculiar kindness to all who feared God, was added a beneficence fully proportioned to his ability, and exercised with the greatest modesty and discretion. The consolation, which, after having endured the severest distress, he at that time derived from a life of faith in the Son of God, who loved him, and gave himself for him, he thus describes, in an affecting allegory. "I was a stricken deer, that left the herd With gentle force soliciting the darts, He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live." THE TASK, B. iii. The degree and the uninterrupted duration of his spiritual comforts had, perhaps, exceeded the usual experience of pious people. But he now conceived some presentiment of a sad reverse; and, during a solitary walk in the fields, he composed a hymn, strongly expressive of his sensations. (See No. 32, at the end of vol. 11.) The bright, yet serene lustre, which had usually marked his road, was now succeeded by impenetrable darkness. After the clearest views of the love of God, and the expansion of heart which he had enjoyed in his ways, his mind became obscured, confused, and dismayed. That vivid imagination, which often attained the utmost limits of the sphere of reason, did but too easily transgress them; and his spirits, no longer sustained upon the wings of faith and hope, sunk, with their weight of natural depression, into the abyss of despair. In this state his mind became fixed; yet he ever cherished an unshaken submission to what he imagined the Divine pleasure. Gradually habituated, as at a former period, to his situa tion, he became accessible to a few intimate friends in succession, who laboured to excite his thoughts to activity on dif ferent subjects. Thus originated most of those Poems, which, when published, charmed and surprised both the literary and religious world. Sometimes his mind was led so far from his distress, as to indulge in playful essays; but these intervals were extremely transient. In general his Poems are the evident dictates of that reverence for God, that esteem for the Gospel, and that benevolence toward fellow-creatures, which characterized his familiar conversation. Of the general condition of his mind, during the last seven years of his abode in the vicinity of Olney, which certainly were the most tranquil that he passed in the latter part of his life, the best judgment may be formed from his own expressions, in a poem written towards the close of that interval, part of which we have already quoted. It was occasioned by the unexpected acquisition of a small portrait of his mother, whom he had lost more than half a century before, but had never ceased to remember with the warmest gratitude and the fondest affection. Having described her's and his father's passage through this life to a heavenly world, under the figure of a voyage speedily terminated, he naturally reverts, in the same metaphorical language, to the distressing contrast which his own situation and prospects presented. "But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, That thought is joy, arrive what may to me." The principal pleasure that he appeared capable of receiving was, indeed, that which he derived from the happiness of others. Instead of being provoked to discontent and envy, by contrasting their comforts with his own afflictions, there evidently was not a benefit that he knew to be enjoyed by others, which did not afford him sensible satisfaction; not a suffering they endured, that did not add to his pain. To the happiness of those who were privileged with opportunities of shewing their esteem for him, he was most tenderly alive. The ad |