wearied diligence, whilst leisure and opportunity and will be so; I know it will; I have felt tha were afforded. Amongst his dying words were these :-'Brother, I thought you wrong, yet wanted to believe as you did. I found myself not able to believe, yet always thought I should be one day brought to do so.' From the study of books, he was brought, upon his death-bed, to the study of himself, and there learnt to renounce his righteousness, and his own most amiable character, and to submit himself to the righteousness which is of God by faith. With these views, he was desirous of death: satisfied of his interest in the blessing purchased by the blood of Christ, he prayed for death with earnestness, felt the approaches of it with joy, and died in peace." It afforded Cowper inexpressible delight to witness, in his brother's case, the consoling and animating power of those principles, which he had himself found to be so highly beneficial. This had been the object of his most anxious solicitude, from the period that God was pleased to visit him with the consolations of his grace. From that time he took occasion to declare to his brother what God had done for his soul; and neglected no opportunity of attempting to engage him in conversation of a spiritual kind. On his first visit to him at Cambridge, after he left St. Alban's, his heart being then full of the subject, he poured it out to his brother without reserve, taking care to show him, that what he had received was not merely a new set of notions, but a real impression of the truths of the gospel. His brother listened to his statements at first with some attention, and often labored to convince him, that the difference in their sentiments was much less real than verbal. Subsequently, however, he became more reserved; and though he heard patiently, he never replied, nor ever discovered a desire to converse on the subject. At the commencement of his affliction, little as was the concern he then felt for his spiritual interests, the thoughts of God, and of eternity, would sometimes force themselves upon which I never felt before; and am sure that God has visited me with this sickness, to teach me what I was too proud to learn in health. I never had satisfaction till now, having no ground to rest my hopes upon; but now I have a foundation which nothing can shake. I have peace in myself; and if I live, I hope it will be that I might be a messenger of peace to others. I have learned that in a moment, which I could not have learned by reading many books for many years. The light I have received comes late, but not too late, and it is a comfort to me that I never made the gospel truths a subject of ridicule. This bed would be to me a bed of misery, and it is so; but it is likewise a bed of joy, and a bed of discipline. Was I to die this night, I know I should be happy. This assurance, I hope, is quite consistent with the word of God. It is built upon a sense of my own utter insufficiency, and all-sufficiency of Christ. There is but one key to the New-Testament; there is but one interpreter I cannot describe to you, nor shall I ever be able to describe to you, what I felt when this was given to me. May I make good use of it! How I shudder when I think of the danger I have just escaped! How wonderful is it that God should look upon me! Yet he sees me, and takes notice of all that I suffer. I see him too, and can hear him say, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you peace." He survived this change only a few days, and died happily, rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. An event like this could not fail to make a deep impression upon the tender spirit of Cowper, and his feelings on the occasion were such as are not experienced by ordinary minds. The following letter to his amiable cousin shows clearly the state of his mind:-"You judge rightly of the manner in which I have been affected by the Lord's late dispensation towards my brother. I found it a cause of sorrow that I lost so near a relation, and one so his mind; at every little prospect of recovery, how-deservedly dear to me, and that he left me just when resting description:-" He was a man of a most | As such they are frequently applicable to every becandid and ingenuous spirit; his temper remarka- liever's feelings, and touch, unexpectedly, the most bly sweet, and in his behavior to me he had always secret springs of joy and sorrow, faith, fear, hope, manifested an uncommon affection. His outward love, trial, despondency and triumph. Some al ever, he found it no difficult matter to thrust them out again. It was evident that his mind was very far from being set on things spiritual and heavenly, as on almost every subject but that of religion, he could converse fluently. At every suitable opportunity, Cowper endeavored to give a serious turn to the discourse, but without any apparent success. Having obtained his permission, he prayed with him frequently; still, however, he seemed as careless and unconcerned as ever. On one occasion, after his brother had, with much difficulty, survived a severe paroxysm of his disorder, he observed to him as he sat by his bed-side, "that, though it had pleased God to visit him with great afflictions, yet mercy was mingled with the dispensation. You have many friends that love you, and are willing to do all they can to serve you, and so, perhaps have many others in the like circumstances; but it is not the lot of every sick man, how much soever he may be beloved, to have a friend that can pray for him." He replied, "That is true; and I hope God will have mercy upon me." His love to Cowper, from that time, became very remarkable; there was a tenderness in it more than was merely natural; and he generally expressed it by calling for blessings upon him in the most affectionate terms, and with a look and manner not to be described. One afternoon, a few days before he died, he suddenly burst into tears, and said, with a loud cry, "O forsake me not!" Cowper went to the bed-side, grasped his hand, and tenderly inquired why he wished him to remain. "O brother," said he, "I am full of what I could say to you; if I live, you and I shall be more like one another than we have been; but whether I live or not, all is well, our sentiments upon the most interesting subject became the same. But it was also a cause of joy, that it pleased God to give me a clear and evident proof that he had changed his heart, and adopted him into the number of his children. For this I hold myself peculiarly bound to thank him, because he might have done all that he was pleased to do for him, and yet have afforded him neither strength nor opportunity to declare it. He told me, that from the time he was first ordained, he began to be dissatisfied with his religious opinions, and to suspect that there were greater things revealed in the Bible, than were generally believed or allowed to be there. From the time when I first visited him, after my release from St. Alban's, he began to read upon the subject. It was at that time I informed him of the views of divine truth, which I had received in that school of affliction. He laid what I said to heart, and began to furnish himself with the best writers on the controverted points, whose works he read with great diligence and attention, carefully comparing them with the Scriptures. None ever truly and ingenuously sought the truth, but they found it. A spirit of earnest inquiry is the gift of God, who never says to any, Seek ye my face in vain. Accordingly, about ten days before his death, it pleased the Lord to dispel all his doubts, to reveal in his heart the knowledge of the Saviour, and to give him that firm and unshaken confidence in the ability and willingness of Christ to save sinners, which is invariably followed by a joy that is unspeakable and full of glory." Of the character of his much beloved brother, whose death filled him with mingled emotions of joy and grief, Cowper has given the following inte conduct, so far as it fell under my notice, or I could " I had a brother once; Notwithstanding the cheerfulness with which Cowper bore up under this painful bereavement, when it first occurred, owing to the happy circumstances related above, with which it was attended, yet there is reason to believe that it made an impression upon his peculiarly sensitive mind, more deep than visible; and it was not soon to be effaced. It unquestionably diminished his attachment to the world, and made him less unwilling to leave it. Writing to his friend, Mr. Hill, at this time, he says:-" I have not done conversing with terrestrial objects, though I should be happy were I able to hold more continual converse with a friend above the skies. He has my heart, but he allows a corner of it for all who show me kindness, and therefore one for you. The storm of 1763, made a wreck of the friendships I had contracted in the course of many years, yours only excepted, which has survived the tempest." lude to infirmities, the most difficult to be described, but often the source of excruciating anguish to the tender conscience. The 72d hymn, Book I. is written with the confidence of inspiration, and the authority of a prophet. The 96th hymn of the same book, is a perfect allegory in miniature, without a failing point, or confusion of metaphor, from beginning to end. Hymn 51, Book III. presents a transformation, which, if found in Ovid, might have been extolled as the happiest of his fictions. Hymn 12, Book II. closes with one of the hardiest figures to be met with out of the Hebrew Scriptures. None but a poet of the highest order could have written it; verses cannot go beyond it, and painting cannot approach it. Hymn 38, Book II. is a strain of most noble simplicity, expressive of confidence the most remote from presumption, and such as a heart at peace with God alone could enjoy and utter. Who can read the 55th hymn, Book II. without feeling as if he could, at that moment, forsake all, take up his cross, and follow his Saviour? The 19th hymn, Book III. is a model of tender pleading, of believing, persevering prayer in trouble; and the following one is a brief parody of Bunyan's finest passage, and is admirable of its kind. The reader might almost imagine himself Christian on his pilgrimage, the triumph and the trance are brought so home to his bosom. Hymn 15, of the same book, is a lyric, of high tone and character, and rendered awfully interesting, by the circumstances under which it was written-in the twilight of departing reason."* The benevolent heart of Cowper was delighted in a high degree to co-operate with a man of Mr. Newton's talents and piety, in promoting the advancement of religion in his neighborhood. It is deeply to be regretted, that when he had only composed sixty-eight hymns, all of which were uncommonly excellent, and were afterwards published by Mr. Newton, in the Olney collection, he was laid aside from the interesting employment by serious indisposition. It pleased God, for reasons inscrutable to us, and which it would be impious to arraign, to visit the afflicted poet with a renewed attack of his former hypochondriacal complaint, more protracted, and not less violent, than the one he had before experienced. Just on the eve of the attack he com menced the following sublime hymn: "God moves in a mysterious way Deep in unfathomable mines It appears not improbable that his friend, Mr. Newton, might have witnessed, in the morbid tendency of his mind to melancholy, of which he then discovered symptoms, some traces of the deep and extensive wound which his mind had received by this event, though his efforts to conceal it were incessant. Hence, he wisely engaged him in a literary undertaking, congenial to his taste, suited to his admirable talents, and, perhaps, more adapted to alleviate his distress than any other that could have been selected. Mr. Newton had felt the want of a volume of evangelical hymns, on experimental subjects, suited for public and private worship; he mentioned the subject to Cowper, and pressed him to undertake it, and the result was, a friendly compact to supply the volume between them, with an understanding that Cowper was to be the principal composer. He entered upon this work with great pleasure; and though he does not appear, previous to this, to have employed his poetical talents for a considerable time, yet the admirable hymns he composed, show with what ease he could write upon the doctrinal, experimental, or practical parts of Christianity. One of our best living poets, whose writings more frequently remind us of Cowper's than any we have ever read, in an essay on the poet's productions, remarks:-" Of these hymns, it must suffice to say, that, like all his best compositions, they are principally communings with his own * Essay on Cowper's Productions, by James Mont heart, or avowals of personal Christian experience. gomery. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take' Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, His purposes all ripen fast, The bud may have a bitter taste, Blind unbelief is sure to err, CHAPTER. VII. Great severity of Cowper's mental depression. His presentiment of it. Its consequences. Remarks upon its probable cause. Absurdity of attributing it, in any degree, to religion. Mrs. Unwin's great atten tion to him. His aversion to the company of strangers. Symptoms of him. Mr. Newton's removal from Olney Introduction of Mr. Bull, his recovery. Domesticates three leverets. Amusement they afford to Cowper. His translation of Madame de la Guyon's poems, at Mr. Bull's request. Commences his original productions, at the suggestion of Mrs. Unwin. Renews his correspondence with Mr. and Mrs. New ton. Describes the state of his mind. We are again arrived at another of those melancholy periods of Cowper's life, over which it must be alike the duty of the biographer, and the wish of the reader, to cast a veil. Mental aberration, whoever may be the subject of it, excites the tenderest commiseration of all; but if there be a time when it may be contemplated with emotions more truly distressing than another, it is when it attacks those who are endowed with talents the most brilliant, with dispositions the most amiable, and with piety the most ardent and unobtrusive. Such was eminently the case in the present instance. To see a mind like Cowper's enveloped in the thickest gloom of despondency, and for several years, in the prime of life, remaining in a state of complete inactivity and misery, must have been distressing in no ordinary de gree. mind, which could formerly soar on the wings of faith and love, to the utmost limits of Christian knowledge and enjoyment, now sunk into the lowest depths of depression, and here seemed as if it would remain immovably fixed; rejecting, with deplorable firmness, every species of consolation that was attempted to be administered. Various causes have been assigned, by different writers, for the melancholy aberration of mind of which Cowper was now, and at other seasons of his life, the subject; but none are so irreconcilable to every thing like just and legitimate reasoning, as the attempt to ascribe it to religion. That unjust views of the character of God, and of the nature of the gospel, may never have been the predisposing causes of great and severe mental depression, we are not disposed to deny, though we think this a case of very rare occurrence, and one in which the subject of it must be in a state of great ignorance respecting the fundamental truths of religion. Ought this, however, when it does happen, to be identified with religion, of which, at the best, it can only be regarded as a mere caricature? There was evidently, in the case of Cowper, nothing that bore the slightest resemblance to this. Making some allowances for expressions occasionally employed by him peculiar to the system which he had embraced, perhaps it will not be saying too much to affirm, that no individual ever entertained more scriptural views of the gospel dispensation in all its parts, and of the perfections and attributes of its great Author, than this excellent man. The letters he wrote to his correspondents, and the hymns he composed, prior to this second attack, prove unquestionably that his views of religion were at the remotest distance from what can be termed visionary or enthusiastic; on the contrary, they were perfectly scriptural and evangelical, and were, consequently, infinitely more adapted to support than to depress his mind. A short time previous to the afflictive visitation, Cowper appears to have received some presentiment of its approach, and during a solitary walk in the fields, as was hinted above, he composed that beautiful hymn in the Olney collection with which we closed our last chapter. On this occasion, acute as may have been his feelings, he must have experienced an unshaken confidence in God; for it is scarcely possible to read this admirable production, however dark and distressing the dispensations of Divine Providence towards us may be, without enjoying the same delightful emotions. About the same time, he composed the hymn entitled "Temptation," the following lines from which will show how pow-ciples of Christian obedience, he was so submissive erfully his mind was then exercised: "The billows swell, the winds are high, O Lord, the pilot's part perform, Amidst the roaring of the sea, Is all that saves me from despair." He now relapsed into a state very much resembling that which had previously occasioned his removal to St. Alban's. This second attack occurred in 1773: he remained in the same painful and melancholy condition, without even a single alleviation of his sufferings, for the protracted period of five years; and it was five years more before he wholly recovered the use of his admirable powers. His The living poet whom we have before quoted, remarks:-"With regard to Cowper's malady, there scarcely needs any other proof that it was not occasioned by his religion than this, that the error on which he stumbled was in direct contradiction to his creed. He believed that he had been predestinated to life, yet under his delusion imagined that God, who cannot lie, repent, or change, had, in his sole instance, and in one moment, reversed his own decree, which had been in force from all eternity. At the same time, by a perversion of the purest prin to what he erroneously supposed was the will of God, that, to have saved himself from the very destruction which he dreaded, he would not avail himself of any of the means of grace, even presuming they might have been efficacious, because he believed they were forbidden to him. Yet, in spite of the selfevident impossibility of his faith affecting a sound mind with such a hallucination-though a mind previously diseased might as readily fall into that as the other; in spite of chronology, his first aberration having taken place before he had 'tasted the good word of God;' in spite of geography, that calamity having befallen him in London, where he had no acquaintance with persons holding the reprobated doctrines of election and sovereign grace; and in spite of fact, utterly undeniable, that the only effectual consolations which he experienced under his first or subsequent attacks of depression, arose from the truths of the gospel;-in spite of all these unanswerable confutations of the ignorant and malignant falsehood, the enemies of Christian truth persevere in repeating, 'that too much religion made poor Cowper mad. If they be sincere, they are themselves under the strongest delusion; and will be well if it prove not, on their part, a wilful one-it will be well if they have not reached that last per- | was indefatigable in his efforts to administer conso versity of human reason, to believe a falsehood of their own invention." The remarks of Mr. Hayley, in his admirable life of the poet, page 144, vol. 1, are, we think, liable to some objection. He says "So fearfully and wonderfully are we made, that man in all conditions ought, perhaps, to pray that he never may be led to think of his Creator and of his Redeemer, either too little or too much, since human misery is often seen to arise equally, from an utter neglect of all spiritual concerns, and from a wild extravagance of devotion." It is surely needless to observe, that the devotion of Cowper was as much unlike what could, with any degree of propriety, be termed wild or extravagant, as can well be imagined. To what description of devotion Mr. Hayley would apply these epithets we cannot tell, but surely not to that which is scripturally evangelical, which was eminently the character of Cowper's and which is of a nature so heavenly and spiritual, so perfectly adapted to the circumstances of mankind, and withal so soothing and consoling, that it can never be carried to excess. The more powerfully its influence is felt upon the mind, lation to his depressed spirit. He once entertaimec him fourteen months at the vicarage, and, with untired perseverance, labored incessantly to dissipate the dark cloud that had gathered over his mind; but to every consolatory suggestion he was utterly deaf, concluding that God had rejected him, and that, consequently, it was sinful for him even to wish for mercy. How awful are the effects of mental disorganization! how easily does it convert that into poison which was designed for solid food! how highly ought we to prize, and how thankful ought we to be, for the uninterrupted enjoyment of our mental powers! After enduring an accumulation of anguish, almost inconceivable, for the long space of five years, unalleviated by a single glimpse of comfort, the interesting sufferer began at length gradually to recover. He listened to the advice of Mrs. Unwin, and allowed her, occasionally at least, to divert his mind from those melancholy considerations by which he had so long been burdened. It now occurred to Mrs. Unwin that he might probably find it beneficial to be employed in some amusing occupation. She suggested this to some of her neighbors, who all deplor the more extensive must be the enjoyment it pro-ed the poet's case, felt a lively interest in his welfare, duces, unless when it pleases God, as in the case of Cowper, to disorganize the mental powers, and thereby unfit it for the reception of that comfort which it would otherwise experience. Mental disorganization may undoubtedly arise from an almost infinite variety of causes, many of which, as in the poet's case, must for ever elude our search, though they are all under the control of that God, who is the giver of life and its preserver. Real religion, however, which consists in a cordial reception of the truth in the heart, can never produce it in the remotest degree; evangelical devotion cannot be too intense, nor can we know too much of our Creator and Redeemer. Contemplating the Divine Being apart from the gospel of Christ, or through the distorting medium of our own fancies, may possibly, in some cases, produce depression; viewing him as he is presented to our minds in the Scriptures, in all the plenitude of his goodness and benevolence, is sure to be productive of consequences directly opposite. Instead of there being any danger likely to arise from having our thoughts too much employed upon the character of God, we think a scripturally comprehensive view of his perfections the best possible preservative from despair. To represent an excess of devotion as the cause of Cowper's malady, in however slight a degree, is obviously opposed to every consistent view of religion, and is assigning that for its cause which was infinitely more likely to become its only effectual cure. The melancholy condition to which Cowper was now reduced, afforded Mrs. Unwin an opportunity of proving the warmth of her affection for, and the sincerity of her attachment to, the dejected poet. He now required to be watched with the greatest care, vigilance, and perseverance; and it pleased God to endow her with all that tenderness, fortitude, and firmness of mind, which were requisite for the proper discharge of duties so important. Her incessant care over him, during the long fit of his depressive malady, could only be equalled by the pleasure she experienced on seeing his pure and powerful mind gradually emerge from that awful state of darkness in which it had been enveloped, into the clear sunshine of liberty and peace: she hailed his approach to convalescence, slowly as it advanced, with the mingled emotions of gratitude and praise. Cowper, throughout the whole of this severe attack, was inaccessible to all, except his friend Mr. Newton who, during the whole of its continuance, watched over him with the greatest tenderness, and and would gladly have done any thing in their power, that was the least likely to mitigate his distress. The children of one of his neighbors had recently given them, for a plaything, a young leveret; it was at that time about three months old. Understanding better how to teaze the poor creature, than to feed it, and soon becoming weary of their charge, they readily consented that their father, who saw it pining, and growing leaner every day, should offer it to Cowper's acceptance. Beginning then to be glad of any thing that would engage his attention without fatiguing it, he was willing enough to take the prisoner under his protection, perceiving that, in the management of such an animal, and in the attempt to tame it, he should find just that sort of employment which his case required. It was soon known among his neighbors that he was pleased with the present; and the consequence was, that in a short time, he had as many leverets offered him, as would have stocked a paddock. He undertook the care of three, which he named Puss, Tiney, and Bess. The choice of their food, and the diversity of their dispositions, afforded him considerable amusement, and their occasional diseases excited his sympathy and tenderness. One remained with him during the whole of his abode at Olney, and was afterwards celebrated in his unrivalled poem, the Task; and, at its decease, honored with a beautiful epitaph from his pen; another lived with him nearly nine years; but the third did not long survive the restraints of its confined situation. An admirably written narrative of these animals, from his own pen, was inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine of that day, which has since been published at the end of almost every edition of his works. For a considerable period, Cowper's only companions were Mrs. Unwin, Mr. and Mrs. Newton, and his three hares. About this time, it pleased God to remove Mr. Newton to another scene of labor. Deeply interested in the welfare of his afflicted friend, and aware of his aversion to the visits of strangers, Mr. Newton thought it advisable, before he left Olney, to introduce to his interesting but most afflicted friend, the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnel. After some difficulty, Mr. Newton triumphed over Cowper's extreme reluctance to see strangers, and Mr. Bull visited him regularly once a fortnight, and gradually acquired his cordial and confidential esteem. Of this gentleman, Cowper, in one of his letters, gives the following playful and amusing description "You are not acquainted with the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport-perhaps it is as well for you that you are not. You would regret still more than you do, that there are so many miles interposed between us. He spends part of the day with us to-morrow. A dissenter, but a liberal one; a man of letters and of genius; master of a fine imagination, or rather not master of it; an imagination which, when he finds himself in the company he loves, and can confide in, runs away with him into such fields of speculation, as amuse and enliven every other imagination that has the happiness to be of the party. At other times, he has a tender and delicate sort of melancholy in his disposition, not less agreeable in its way. No men are better qualified for companions in such a world as this, than men of such a temperament. Every scene of life has two sides, a dark and a bright one; and the mind that has an equal mixture of meancholy and vivacity, is best of all qualified for the contemplation of either. He can be lively without levity, and pensive without dejection. Such a man is Mr. Bull: but-he smokes tobacco-nothing is perfect." Mr. Bull, who probably regarded the want of some regular employment as one of the predisposing causes of Cowper's illness, prevailed upon him to translate several spiritual songs, from the poetry of Madame de la Mothe Guyon, the friend of the mild and amiable Fenelon. The devotion of these songs is not of that purely unexceptionable character which might be wished; and if devotional excitement had been the cause of Cowper's malady, no recommendation could have been more injudicious. The result, however, was beneficial to the poet, instead of being injurious, proving irresistibly that devotion had a soothing, rather than an irritating effect upon his mind. Much as Cowper admired these songs, for that rich vein of pure and exalted devotion, which runs through the whole of them, he was not insensible to their defects, as will appear by the following remarks:-"The French poetess is certainly chargeable with the fault you mention, though I think it not so glaring in the piece I sent you. I have endeavored, indeed, in all the translations I have made, to cure her of the evil, either by the suppression of exceptionable passages, or by a more sober manner of expression. Still, however, she will be found to have conversed familiarly with God, but I hope not fulsomely, nor so as to give reasonable disgust to a religious reader. That God should deal familiarly with them, or, which is the same thing, that he should permit man to deal familiarly with him, seems not very difficult to conceive, or presumptuous to suppose, when some things are taken into consideration. Wo to the sinner, however, that shall dare to take a liberty with him that is not warranted by his word, or to which he himself has not encouraged him. When he assumed man's nature, he revealed himself as the friend of man. He conversed freely with him while he was upon earth, and as freely with him after his resurrection. I doubt not, therefore, that it is possible to enjoy an access to him even now, unencumbered with ceremonious awe, easy, delightful, and without restraint. This, however, can only be the lot of those who make it the business of their lives to please him, and to cultivate communion with him; and then I presume there can be no danger of offence, because such a habit of the soul is his own creation, and near as we come, we come no nearer to him than he is pleased to draw us; if we address him as children, it is because he tells us he is our Father: if we unbosom ourselves to him as our friend, it is because he calls us friends; if we speak to him in the language of love, it is because he first used it, thereby teaching us that it is the language he delights to hear from his people. But I confess, that through the weakness, the folly, and corruption of human nature, this privilege, like all other Christian privileges, is liable to abuse. There is a mixture of evil in every thing we do; indulgence encourages us to encroach, and while we exercise the rights of children, we become childish. Here, I think, is the point in which my authoress failed, and here it is that I have particularly guarded my translation, not afraid of representing her as dealing with God familiarly, but foolishly, irreverently, and without due attention to his majesty, of which she is somewhat guilty. A wonderful fault for such a woman to fall into, who spent her life in the contemplation of his glory, who seems to have been always impressed with a sense of it, and sometimes quite absorbed by the views she had of it." Mrs. Unwin, who still watched over her patient with the tenderest anxiety, saw with inexpressible delight, the first efforts of his mind, after his long and painful depression; and perceiving that translation had a good effect, she wisely urged him to employ his mind in composing some original poem, which she thought more likely to become beneficial. Cowper now listened to her advice, and felt so powerfully the obligations under which he was laid to her, for her continued attention and kindness, that he cheerfully complied with her request. The result exceeded her most sanguine expectation. A beautiful poem was produced, entitled Table Talk; another, called the Progress of Error, was shortly composed; TRUTH, as a pleasing contrast, followed it; this was succeeded by others of equal excellence, proving that the poet's mind had now completely emerged from that darkness in which it had so long been confined by his depressive malady. It is interesting to observe, that Cowper's poems were almost invariably composed at the suggestion of friends. He wrote hymns to oblige Mr. Newton; translated Madame Guyon's songs, to gratify his friend Mr. Bull, and composed the greater part of his poems, to please Mrs. Unwin. The influence of friendship on his tender mind, was powerfully affecting; and he ever regarded it as his happiest inspiration. It kindled the warmth of his heart into a flame, intense and ardent, stimulated into activity the rich, but dormant powers of his mind, and produced those bursts of poetic feeling and beauty, which abound in his unrivalled compositions. Cowper regained his admirable talent for composition, both in poetry and in prose, and renewed his correspondence with some of his more intimate friends, long before his mind was wholly convalescent; and his letters, written at this period, afford the best clue to the painful peculiarities of his case. On every other subject but that of his own feelings, his remarks are in the highest degree pleasing; and there was often a sprightliness and vivacity about them, that seemed to indicate a state of mind at the remotest distance from painful; but whenever he adverted to his own case, it was in a tone the most plaintive and melancholy. Immediately after the removal of his esteemed friends, Mr. and Mrs. Newton, he commenced a correspondence with them, which he regularly kept up during almost the whole of his life. To Mrs. Newton, soon after this event, he thus describes his feelings on the occasion. "The vicarage-house became a melancholy object as soon as Mr. Newton had left it; when you left it, it became more melancholy; now it is actually occupied by another family, I cannot even look at it without being shocked. As I walked in the garden last evening, I saw the smoke issue from the study chimney, and said to myself, that used to be a sign that Mr. Newton was there; but it is so no longer. The walls of the house know nothing of the change that has taken place, the bolt of the chamber door sounds |