and in verse so exquisite, that it may be questioned, if the most passionate love ever gave rise to poetry more tender, or more sublime. Yet, in this place, it appears proper to apprize the Reader, that it was not love, in the common acceptation of the word, which inspired these admirable eulogies. The attachment of Cowper to was an attachment perhaps Mrs. Unwin, the Mary of the Poet! unparalelled. Their domestic union, tho' not sanctioned by the common forms of life, was supported with perfect innocence, and endeared to them both, by their having struggled together, thro' a series of sorrow. A spectator of sensibility, who had contemplated the uncommon tenderness of their attention to the wants and infirmities of each other, in the decline of life, might have said of their singular attachment, L'Amour n'a rien de si tendre, Ni L'Amitie de si doux. As a connexion so extraordinary forms a striking feature in the history of the Poet, the Reader will probably be anxious to investigate its origin and progress.—It arose from the following little incident. The countenance and deportment of Cowper, tho' they indicated his native shyness, had yet very singular powers of attraction. On his first appearance in one of the churches at Huntingdon, he he engaged the notice and respect of an amiable young man, William Cawthorne Unwin, then a student at Cambridge, who, having observed, after divine service, that the interesting Stranger was taking a solitary turn under a row of trees, was irresistbly led to share his walk, and to solicit his acquaintance. They were soon pleased with each other, and the intelligent youth, charmed with the acquisition of such a friend, was eager to communicate the treasure to his parents, who had long resided in Huntingdon. Mr. Unwin, the father, had for some years, been master of a free school in the town; but, as he advanced in life, he quitted that laborious situation, and settling in a large convenient house, in the High-Street, contented himself with a few domestic pupils, whom he instructed in classical literature. This worthy Divine, who was now far advanced in years, had been Lecturer to the two Churches in Huntingdon, before he obtained, from his College at Cambridge, the Living of Grimston. While he lived in expectation of this preferment, he had attached himself to a young lady of lively talents, and remarkably fond of reading. This lady, who, in the process of time, and by a series of singular events, became the friend and guardian of Cowper, was the daughter of Mr. Cawthorne, a draper in Ely. She was married to Mr. Unwin on his succeeding to the preferment, that he ex pected pected from his College, and settled with him on his Living of Grimston, but not liking the situation, and society of that sequestered scene, she prevailed on her husband to establish himself in the town of Huntingdon, where he was known and respected. They had resided there many years, and with their two oniy children, a son and a daughter (whom I remember to have noticed at Cambridge, in the year 1763, as a youth and a damsel of countenances uncommonly pleasing) they formed a chearful, and social family, when the younger Unwin, described by Cowper, as "A Friend, Whose worth deserves the warmest lay, presented to his parents the solitary Stranger, on whose retirement he had benevolently intruded, and whose welfare he became more and more anxious, to promote. An event highly pleasing and comfortable to Cowper soon followed this introduction; he was affectionately solicited by all the Unwins, to relinquish his lonely lodging, and become a part of their family. I am now arrived at that period in the personal history of my friend, when I am fortunately enabled to employ his own descriptive powers in recording the events and characters, that particularly interested him, and in displaying the state of his mind at a re markable markable season of his checkered life. The following are the most early Letters of this affectionate Writer, with which time and chance, with the kindness of his friends and relations, have afforded me the advantage of adorning this Work. Among his juvenile intimates, and correspondents, he particularly regarded two gentlemen, who devoted themselves to different branches of the Law, the present Lord Thurlow, and Joseph Hill, Esqr. whose name appears in the second Volume of Cowper's Poems, prefixed to a few Verses of exquisite beauty; a brief epistle, that seems to have more of the genuine ease, spirit, and moral gaiety of Horace, than any original epistle in the English language! From these two confidential associates of the Poet, in his unclouded years, I expected materials for the display of his early genius; but in the torrent of busy and splendid life, which bore the first of them to a mighty distance from his less ambitious fellow-student of the Temple, the private letters, and verses, that arose from their youthful intimacy have perished. Mr. Hill has kindly favored me with a very copious collection of Cowper's Letters to himself, through a long period of time, and altho' many of them are of a nature, not suited to publication, yet many others will illustrate and embellish these Volumes. The steadiness and integrity of Mr. Hill's regard, for a person so much sequestered from his sight, gives him a peculiar title to stand first among those, whom Cowper has honored by addressing to them his highly interesting and affectionate Letters. Many of these which I shall occasionally introduce in the parts of the narrative to which they belong, may tend to confirm a truth, not unpleasing to the majority of Readers, that the temperate zone of moderate fortune, equally removed from high, and low life, is most favorable to the permanence of friendship. LETTER I. To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr.-Cook's Court, Carey-Street, London. DEAR JOE, Huntingdon, June 24, 1765. The only recompense I can make you for your kind attention to my affairs, during my illness, is to tell you, that by the mercy of God I am restored to perfect health both of mind and body. This, I believe, will give you pleasure, and I would gladly do any thing, from which you could re ceive it. I left St. Alban's on the 17th, and arrived that day at Cambridge, spent some time there with my brother, and came hither on the 22d. I have a lodging that puts me continually in mind of our summer excursions; we have had many worse, and except the size of it (which however is sufficient for a single man) but few better. |