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The following beautiful lines convey sentiments so much in unison with this extract, that we cannot forbear to insert them at the close of this chapter:

"I am no preacher: let this hint suffice,

The cross once seen is death to every vice;
Else he that hung there suffered all his pain,
Bled, groaned, and agonized, and died in vain.
There, and there only, (though the deist rave,
And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave,)
There, and there only, is the power to save:
There no delusive hope invites despair

man, I yet remember that the waves would preach I call it solecism, because mercy deserved ceases to to me, and that in the midst of worldly dissipation be mercy, and must take the name of justice. This I had an ear to hear them. In the fashionable is the opinion which I said, in my last, the world amusements which you will probably witness for a would not acquiesce in, but except this, I do not time, you will discern no signs of sobriety, or true recollect that I have introduced a syllable into any wisdom. But it is impossible for a man who has a of my pieces that they can possibly object to; and mind like yours, capable of reflection, to observe even this I have endeavored to deliver from docthe manners of a multitude without learning some- trinal dryness, by as many pretty things, in the way thing. If he sees nothing to imitate, he is sure to of trinket and plaything, as I could muster upon see something to avoid. If nothing to congratulate the subject. So that if I have rubbed their gums, his fellow-creatures upon, at least much to excite I have taken care to do it with a coral, and even his compassion. There is not, I think, so melan-that coral embellished by the ribbon to which it is choly a sight in the world, (an hospital is not to be attached, and recommended by the tinkling of all compared to it.) as that of a multitude of persons, the bells I could contrive to annex to it." distinguished by the name of gentry, who, gentle perhaps by nature, and made more gentle by education, have the appearance of being innocent and inoffensive, yet being destitute of all religion, or not at all governed by the religion they profess, are none of them at any great distance from an eternal state, where self-deception will be impossible, and where amusements cannot enter. Some of them we may hope will be reclaimed; it is most probable that many will, because mercy, if one may be allowed the expression, is fond of distinguishing itself by seeking its objects among the most desperate class; but the Scripture gives no encouragement to the warmest charity, to expect deliverance for them all. When I see an afflicted and unhappy man, I say to myself, there is perhaps a man whom the world would envy, if they knew the value of his sorrows, which are possibly intended only to soften his heart, and to turn his affections towards their proper centre. But when I see or hear of a crowd of voluptuaries, who have no ears but for music, no eyes but for splendor, and no tongues but for impertinence and folly-I say, or at least I see occasion to say, this is madness-this, persisted in, must have a tragical conclusion. It will condemn you, not only as Christians, unworthy of the name, but as intelligent creatures-you know by the light of Nature, if you have not quenched it, that there is a God, and that a life like yours cannot be according to his will. I ask no pardon of you for the gravity and gloominess of these reflections, which, with others of a similar complexion, are sure to occur to me when I think of a scene of public diversion like that you have witnessed."

No mockery meets you, no deception there;
The spells and charms that blinded you before,
All vanish there, and fascinate no more."
Progress of Error.

CHAPTER IX.

Commencement of Cowper's acquaintance with Lady Austin. Plea

sure it affords him. Poetic epistle to her. Her removal to Olney. Beneficial influence of her conversational powers on Cowper's mind. Occasion of his writing John Gilpin. Lines composed at Lady Austin's request. Induced by her to commence writing The Task. Principal object he had in view in composing it. Sudden and final separation from Lady Austin. Occasional severity of his depressive malady. Hopes entertained by his friends of his ultimate recovery. His own opinion upon it. Pleasing proofs of the power of religion on his mind. Tenderness of his conscience. Serious reflections. Aversion to religious deception and pretended piety. Bigotry and intolerance, with their opposite vices, levity and indifference, deplored. Sympathy with the sufferings of the poor. Enviable condition of such of them as are pious, compared with the rich who disregard religion.

The following remarks, extracted from a letter In the autumn of 1781, Cowper became acquaintto the same correspondent, while they serve to dis-ed with Lady Austin, whose brilliant wit and unriplay the state of his mind respecting religion, exhibit at the same time the high value which he set upon the leading truths of the gospel:-"When I wrote this poem on Truth, it was indispensably necessary that I should set forth that doctrine which I know to be true; and that I should pass, what I understood to be a just censure, upon opinions and persuasions that stand in direct opposition to it; because, though some errors may be innocent, and even religious errors are not always dangerous, yet in a case where the faith and hope of a Christian are concerned, they must necessarily be destructive; and because neglecting this, I should have betrayed my subject; either suppressing what in my judgment is of the last importance, or giving countenance, by a timid silence, to the very evils it was my design to combat. That you may understand me better, I will subjoin, that I wrote that poem on purpose to inculcate the eleemosynary character of the gospel, as a dispensation of mercy, in the most absolute sense of the word, to the exclusion of all claims of merit on the part of the receiver; consequently to set the brand of invalidity upon the plea of works, and to discover, upon scriptural ground, the absurdity of that notion, which includes a solecism in the very terms of it, that man by repentance and good works may deserve the mercy of his Maker.

valled conversational powers, were admirably adapted to afford relief to a mind like his. This lady was introduced to the retired poet by her sister, the wife of a clergyman, who resided at Clifton, a mile distant from Olney, and who occasionally called upon Mrs. Unwin. Lady Austin came to pass some time with her sister, in the summer of 1781, and Mrs. Unwin, at Cowper's request, invited the ladies to tea. So much, however, was he averse to the company of strangers, that after he had occasioned the invitation, it was with considerable reluctance he was persuaded to join the party; but having at length overcome his feelings, he entered freely into conversation with Lady Austin, and derived so much benefit from her sprightly and animating discourse, that he from that time cultivated her acquaintance with the greatest attention. The opinion Cowper formed of this accomplished and talented lady, may be ascertained by the following extracts from his letters:-" Lady Austin has paid us her first visit, and not content with showing us that proof of her respect, made handsome apologies for her intrusion. She is a lively, agreeable woman; has seen much of the ways of the world, and accounts it a great simpleton, as it is. She laughs, and makes laugh without seeming to labor at it. She has many features in her character which you must ad

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The system of a world's concerns,
From mere minutiæ can educe
Events of most important use;
And bid a dawning sky display
The blaze of a meridian day.
The works of man tend one and all
As needs they must, both great and small,
And vanity absorbs at length

The monuments of human strength;
But who can tell how vast the plan
Which this day's incident began?
Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion
For our dim sighted observation;
It pass'd unnoticed as the bird
That cleaves the yielding air unheard,
And yet may prove, when understood,
An harbinger of endless good.
Not that I deem, or mean to call
Friendship a blessing cheap or small,
But merely to remark that ours,

Like some of nature's sweetest flowers,
Rose from a seed of tiny size
That seemed to promise no such prize:
A transient visit intervening,
And made almost without a meaning,
(Hardly the effect of inclination,
Much less of pleasing expectation!
Produced a friendship, then begun,
That has cemented us in one,

And placed it in our power to prove,
By long fidelity and love,

That Solomon has wisely spoken,

'A three-fold cord is not soon broken.""

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'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope
And the summit of all our desires.

Peace may be the lot of the mind
That seeks it in meekness and love,
But rapture and bliss are confined
To the glorified spirits above!"

reception of Lady Austin, and she took possession of it towards the close of 1782. Both Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were so charmed with her society, and she was so delighted with theirs, that it became their custom to dine together, at each other's houses, every alternate day. The effect of Lady Austin's almost irresistible conversational powers proved highly beneficial to the poet's mind, and contributed to During the winter of 1783-4, Cowper spent the remove that painful depression of which he still evenings in reading to these ladies, taking the liberty continued to be the subject, and which would some- himself, and affording the same to them, of inaking times seize him when he was in her company: even remarks on what came under their notice. On these with her unrivalled talents, she was scarcely able, interesting occasions, Lady Austin displayed her at times, to remove the deep and melancholy gloom enchanting, and almost magical powers, with singuwhich still shed its darkening influence over his lar effect. The conversation happened one evening to mind. On one occasion, when she observed him to turn on blank verse, of which she had always expressbe sinking into rather an unusual depression, she ed herself to be passionately fond. Persuaded that exerted, as she was invariably accustomed to do, her Cowper was able to produce, in this measure, a utmost ability to afford him immediate relief. It poem that would eclipse any thing he had hitherto occurred to her she might then probably accomplish written, she urged him to try his powers in that speit, by telling him a story of John Gilpin, which shecies of composition. He had hitherto written only had treasured up in her memory from her child-in rhyme, and he felt considerable reluctance to hood. The amusing incidents of the story itself, make the attempt. After repeated solicitations, and the happy manner in which it was related, had however, he promised her, if she would furnish the the desired effect; it dissipated the gloom of the subject, he would comply with her request. "O!" passing hour, and he informed Lady Austin the she replied, "you can never be in want of a subject, next morning, that convulsions of laughter, brought you can write upon any thing: write upon this sofa." on by the recollection of her story, had kept him The poet obeyed her command, and the world is awake during the greater part of the night, and that thus indebted to this lady for the Task, a poem of he had composed a poem on the subject. Hence matchless beauty and excellence, embracing almost arose the fascinating and amusing ballad of John every variety of style, and every description of subGilpin, which rapidly found its way into all the pe- ject, combining elegance and ease, with sublimity riodical publications of the day, and was admired and grandeur, adapted to impress the heart with by readers of every description. sentiments of the most exalted piety and to make its readers happy in the present life, while it excites in them earnest and longing desires after the felicity and glory of heaven.

Its happy influence on his own mind on subsequent occasions, is adverted to in the following let ter to Mr. Unwin:"You tell me that John Gilpin made you laugh tears, and that the ladies at court In composing this exquisite poem, however, it are delighted with my poems. Much good may ought to be observed that Cowper had a higher obthey do them: may they become as wise as the wri-ject in view than merely to please Lady Austin. er wishes them, and they will then be much happier than he! I know there is, in the greater part of the poems which make up the volume, that wisdom which conneth from above, because it was from above that I received it. May they receive it too! for whether they drink it out of the cistern, or whether it falls upon them immediately from the clouds, as it did on me, it is all one. It is the water of life, which whosoever drinketh, shall thirst nomore. As to the famous horseman above mentioned, he and his feats are an inexhaustible source of amusement. At least we find them so; and seldom meet without refreshing ourselves with the recollection of them. You are perfectly at liberty to do with them as you please, and when printed, send me a copy."

His great aim was to be useful; and, indeed, thi was his leading motive in all his productions, as is evident from the following extract from a letter to Mr. Unwin: "In some passages of the inclosed poem, which I send for your inspection, you will observe me very satirical, especially in my second book. Writing on such subjects I could not be otherwise. I can write nothing without aiming, at least, at usefulness. It were beneath my years to do it, and still more dishonorable to my religion. I know that a reformation of such abuses as I have censured is not to be expected from the efforts of a poet; but to contemplate the world, its follies, its vices, its indifference to duty, and its strenuous attachment to what is evil, and not to reprehend it, were to approve it. From this charge at least I shall be clear, for I have neither tacitly nor expressly flattered either its characters or its customs. My principal purpose has been to allure the reader by character, by scenery, by imagery, and such poetical embellishments, to the reading of what may profit him. Subordinately to this, to combat that predilection in favor of a metropolis, that beggars and exhausts the country, by evacuating it of all its principal inhabitants; and

Lady Austin's intercourse with Mrs. Unwin and Cowper continued, uninterupted, till near the close of 1784; and during all this time, by her sprightly, judicious, and captivating conversation, she was often the means of rousing him from his melancholy depression. To console him, she would often exeit her musical talents on the hapsichord; and at her request, he composed, among others, the following beautiful song, suited to airs she was accustom-collaterally, and as far as is consistent with this ed to play:

“ No longer I follow a sound,
No longer a dream I pursue;
O, happiness! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu!

I have sought thee in splendor and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee and seemed to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.

An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true wisdom inspires;

double intention, to have a stroke at vice, vanity, and folly, wherever I find them. What there is of a religious cast in the volume I have thrown towards the end of it, for two reasons: first, that I might not revolt the reader at his entrance; and, secondly, that my best impressions might be made last. Were I to write as many volumes as Lopez de Vega, or Voltaire, not one of them would be without this tincture. If the world like it not, so much the worse for them. I make all the concessions I can that I may please them, but I will not do this at the expense of my conscience. My descriptions are all from nature; not one of them second-handed. My delin

eations of the heart are from my own experience; yet rejoicing, pierced with thorns, yet wreathed not one of them borrowed from books, or in the least degree conjectural."

about with roses: I have the thorn without the rose. My brier is a wintry one; the flowers are The close of the year 1784, witnessed the comple- withered, but the thorn remains. My days are tion of this extensive performance, and the com- spent in vanity, and it is impossible for me to mencement of another of greater magnitude, though spend them otherwise. No man upon earth is of a different description, and less adapted for gene- more sensible of the unprofitableness of such a life ral usefulness-the translation of Homer; under- as mine than I am, or groans more heavily under taken at the united request of Mrs. Unwin and La- the burden; but this too is vanity: my groans will dy Austin. This was a remarkable period in Cow- not bring the remedy, because there is no remeper's life. Circumstances arose, altogether unfore-dy for me. I have been lately more dejected and seen by him, and over which he had no control, more depressed than usual; more harassed by which led to the removal of Lady Austin from Ol- dreams in the night, and more deeply poisoned by ney. He had so often been benefited by her com- them in the following day. I know not what is porpany, had in so many instances been cheered by her tended by an alteration for the worse after eleven vivacity when suffering under the influence of his years of misery, but firmly believe that it is not dedepressive malady, and had received such repeated signed as the introduction of a change for the better. proofs of affability and kindness, that he could not You know not what I suffered while you were here, entertain the thought of parting with her without nor was there any need you should. Your friendconsiderable disquietude. Immediately, however, ship for me would have made you in some degree a on perceiving that separation became requisite for partaker of my woes, and your share in them would the maintenance of his own peace, as well as to in- have been increased by your inability to help me. sure the tranquillity of his faithful and long-tried in- Perhaps, indeed, they took a keener edge, from the mate, Mrs. Unwin, he wisely and firmly took such consideration of your presence. The friend of my steps as were necessary to promote it, though it was heart, the person with whom I had formerly taken at the expense of much mental anguish. sweet counsel, no longer useful to me as a minister, Some of Cowper's biographers have unjustly, and no longer pleasant to me as a Christian, was a specwithout the slightest foundation, attempted to cast tacle which must necessarily add the bitterness of considerable odium upon the character of Mrs. Un- mortification to the sadness of despair. I now see a win, for her conduct in this affair, as if all the blame long winter before me, and am to get through it as of Cowper's separation from Lady Austin were to I can: I know the ground before I tread upon it. It be laid at her door. One has even gone so far as is hollow; it is agitated; it suffers shocks in every to state, that her mind was of such a sombre hue, direction: it is like the soil of Calabria-all whirlthat it rather tended to foster than to dissipate Cow- pool and undulation: but I must reel through it, at per's melancholy: an assertion utterly incapable of least if I be not swallowed up by the way. I have taken proof, and which, were the poet living, he would be leave of the old year, and parted with it just when the first to deny. The fact is, Cowper never felt you did, but with very different sentiments and feelany other attachment to either of these ladies than ings upon the occasion. I looked back upon all the that of pure friendship, and much as he valued the passages and occurrences of it as a traveller looks society of Lady Austin, when he found it necessa-back upon a wilderness, through which he has passry for his own peace, to choose which he should please to retain, he could not hesitate for a moment to prefer the individual who had watched over him with so much tenderness, and probably to the injury of her own health. The whole of his conduct in this affair, and indeed the manner in which he has every where spoken of his faithful inmate, proves this indubitably.

ed with weariness and sorrow of heart, reaping no other fruit of his labor than the poor consolation, that, dreary as the desert was, he left it all behind him. The traveller would find even this comfort considerably lessened, if as soon as he passed one wilderness, he had to traverse another of equal length, and equally desolate. In this particular, his experience and mine would exactly tally. I should Aware of the benefit he had received from Lady rejoice indeed that the old year is over and gone, if Austin's company, many of his friends were appre- I had not every reason to expect a new one similar hensive that her removal would be attended with to it. Even the new year is already old in my acconsequences seriously injurious to the poet. Deep, count. I am not, indeed, sufficiently second-sighted however, as was the impression which it made upon to be able to boast, by anticipation, an acquaintance his mind, he bore it with much more fortitude than with the events of it yet unborn, but rest assured could have been expected, as will be seen by the that, be they what they may, not one of them comes manner in which he adverted to it in a letter to Mr. a messenger of good to me. If even death itself Hill:-"We have, as you say, lost a lively and sen- should be of the number, he is no friend of mine: it sible neighbor in Lady Austin, but we have been so is an alleviation of the woes, even of an unenlightlong accustomed to a state of retirement, within one ened man, that he can wish for death, and indulge degree of solitude, and being naturally lovers of still a hope, at least, that in death he shall find deliverlife, we can relapse into our former duality without ance. But, loaded as my life is with despair, I have being unhappy in the change. To me, indeed, a no such comfort as would result from a probability third individual is not necessary, while I can have of better things to come were it once ended. the faithful companion. I have had these twenty far more unhappy than the traveller I have just reyears." ferred to; pass through whatever difficulties, danIt might be imagined, from the production of Cow-gers, or afflictions, I may, I am not a whit nearer per's pen at this period, that he was entirely recov- home, unless a dungeon be called so. This is no ered from his depressive malady; such, however, very agreeable theme, but in so great a dearth of was far from the case. His letters to his correspon-subjects to write upon, and especially impressed as dents prove, that whatever gaiety and vivacity there I am at this moment with a sense of my own condiwas in his writings, there was nothing in his own tion, I could choose no other. The weather is an state of mind that bore any resemblance to such exact emblem of my mind in its present state. emotions; but that, on the contrary, his fits of me- thick fog envelops every thing, and at the same time lancholy wete frequent, and often painfully acute. it freezes intensely. You will tell me, that this cold To his friend, Mr. Newton, he thus feelingly dis- gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful spring, and closes his peculiarly painful sensations:-"My heart endeavor to encourage me to hope for a spiritual resembles not the heart of a Christian, mourning and change resembling it; but it will be lost labor. Na

I am

A

ture revives again; but a soul once slain lives no more. The hedge that has been apparently dead, is not so: it will burst into leaf, and blossom at the appointed time; but no such time is appointed for the stake that stands in it. It is as dead as it seems, and will prove itself no dissembler. The latter end of next month will complete a period of eleven years, in which I have spoken no other language. It is a long time for a man, whose eyes were once opened, to spend in darkness-long enough to make despair an inveterate habit; and such it is to me. My friends, I know, expect that I shall yet enjoy health again. They think it necessary to the existence of divine truth, that he who once had possession of it should never finally lose it. I admit the solidity of this this reasoning in every case but my own, and why not in my own? For causes which to them it appears madness to allege, but which rest upon my mind with a weight of immovable conviction. If I am recoverable, why am I thus? why crippled and made useless in the church, just at the time of life life when my judgment and experience being matured, I might be most useful? Why cashiered and turned out of service, till, according to the course of years, there is not life enough left in me to make amends for the years I have lost; till there is no reasonable hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expense of the fallow? I forestall the answer-God's ways are mysterious, and he giveth no account of his matters-an answer that would serve my purpose as well as theirs that use it. There is a mistery in my destruction, and in time it will be explained.

| to the language of a heart hopeless and deserted, is that I can never give much more than half my attention to what is started by others, and very rarely start any thing myself. You will easily perceive that a mind thus occupied, is but indifferently qualified for the consideration of theological matters. The most useful, and the most delightful topics of that kind, are to me forbidden fruit: I tremble as I approach them. It has happened to me sometimes that I have found myself imperceptibly drawn in and made a party in such discourse. The consequence has been dissatisfaction and self-reproach. You will tell me, perhaps, that I have written upon those subjects in verse, and may therefore in prose. But there is a difference. The search after poetical expression, the rhymes and the numbers, are all affairs of some difficulty: they amuse, indeed, but are not to be attained without study, and engross, perhaps, a larger share of the attention than the subject itself." In the spring of 1785, his friends became more sanguine in their expectations of his ultimate recovery, and they felt persuaded it would take place at no very distant period. It appears also, by the following extract, that Cowper was not himself wholly destitute of hope on the subject. Writing to Mr. Newton, he says:-"1 am sensible of the tenderness and affectionate kindness with which you recollect our past intercourse, and express your hopes of my future restoration. I, too, within the last eight months have had my hopes, though they have been of short duration, cut off, like the foam upon the waters. Some previous adjustments, indeed, are necessary before a lasting expectation of comfort can take place "I could easily, were it not a subject that would, in me. There are those persuasions in my mind, make us melancholy, point out to you some essential which either entirely forbid the entrance of hope, or difference between the state of the person you if it enter, immediately eject it. They are incompatimentioned and my own, which would prove mine ble with any such inmate, and must be turned out to be by far the most deplorable of the two. I sup- themselves before so desirable à guest can possibly pose no man would despair if he did not appre- have secure possession.. This, you say, will be done. hend something singular in the circumstances of his It may be, but it is not done yet; nor has a single step own story, something that discriminates it from that in the course of God's dealings with me been taken of every other man, and that induces despair as an towards it. If I mend, no creature ever mended so inevitable consequence. You may encounter his un- slowly, that recovered at last. I am like a slug, or happy persuasion with as many instances as you a snail, that has fallen into a deep well; slug as he please, of persons who, like him, having renounced is, he performs his descent with a velocity proporall hope, were yet restored, and may thence infertioned to his weight; but he does not crawl up agai that he, like them, shall meet with a season of resto- quite so fast. Mine was a rapid plunge; but my reration-but it is in vain. Every such individual turn to daylight, if I am indeed returning, is leisureaccounts himself an exception to all rules, and, there- ly enough. Were I such as I once was, I should say fore, the blessed reverse that others have experienced that I have a claim upon your particular notice, affords no ground of comfortable expectation to him. which nothing ought to supersede. Most of your But you will say, it is reasonable to conclude that as connections you may fairly be said to have formed all your predecessors in this vale of misery and hor- by your own act; but your connection with me was ror have found themselves delightfully disappointed, the work of God. The kine that went up with the so may you. I grant the reasonableness of it-it would ark from Bathshemesh, left what they loved behind be sinful, perhaps, as well as uncharitable to reason them, in obedience to an impression which to them otherwise-but an argument hypothetical in its nature, was perfectly dark and unintelligible. Your_jourhowever rationally conducted, may lead to a false ney to Huntingdo was not less wonderful. He, inconclusion; and in this instance so will yours. But deed, who sent you, knew well wherefore, but you I forbear, and will say no more, though it is a sub- knew not. That dispensation, therefore, would furject on which I could write more than the mail could nish me as long as we can both remember it, with a carry. I must deal with you as I deal with poor Mrs. plea for some distinction at your hands, had I occaUnwin, in all our disputes about it-cutting all con- sion to use and urge it, which I have not. But I troversy short by the event." am altered since that time; and if your affection for me had ceased, you might very reasonably justify your change by mine. I can say nothing for myself at present; but this I can venture to foretell, that should the restoration of which my friends assure me obtain, I shall undoubtedly love those who haye continued to love me, even in a state of transformation from my former self, much more than ever."

To a request from Mr. Newton that Cowper would favor the editor of the Theological Magazine with an occasional essay, he thus writes:-"I converse, you say, upon other subjects than that of despair, and may therefore write upon others. Indeed, my friend, I am a man of very little conversation upon any subject. From that of despair, I abstain as much as possible, for the sake of my company; but I will venture to say that it is never out of my mind one minute in the whole day. I do not mean to say that I am never cheerful. I am often so; always, indeed, when my nights have been undisturbed for a season. But the effect of such continual listening

It is gratifying to know, that, while such was the melancholy state of Cowper's mind, and while he steadily refused all religious comfort, come whence it might, he nevertheless afforded the most pleasing. proofs, by his amiable and consistent conduct, of the firm hold which religion still had of his affections.

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