LIFE OF COWPER.

thing even of religious sanction-for what is that love which the Holy Spirit, speaking by St. John, so much inculcates, but friendship? -the only love which deserves the name-a love which can toil, and watch, and deny itself, and go to death for its brother. Worldly friendships are a poor weed compared with this, and even this union of spirit in the bond of peace would suffer, in my mind at least, could I think it were only coeval with our earthly mansions. It may possibly argue great weakness in me, in this instance, to stand so much in need of future hopes to support me in the discharge of present duty. But so it is: I am far, I know, very far, from being perfect in Christian love or any other Divine attainment, and am therefore unwilling to forego whatever may help me in my progress.

You are so kind as to inquire after my health, for which reason I must tell you, what otherwise would not be worth mentioning, that I have lately been just enough indisposed to convince me that not only human life in general, but mine in particular, I am stout hangs by a slender thread. enough in appearance, yet a little illness demolishes me. I have had a severe shake, and the building is not so firm as it was. But I bless God for it, with all my heart. If the inner man be but strengthened, day by day, as I hope, under the renewing influences of the Holy Ghost, it will be, no matter how soon the outward is dissolved. He who has, in a manner, raised me from the dead, in a literal sense, has given me the grace, I trust, to be ready at the shortest notice to surrender up to him that life which I have twice received from him. Whether I live or die, I desire it may be to his glory, and it must be to my happiness. I thank God that I have those amongst my kindred to whom I can write, without reserve, my sentiments upon this subject, as I do to you. A letter upon any other subject is more insipid to me than ever my task was when a school-boy, and I say not this in vain glory, God forbid! but to show you what the Almighty, whose name I am unworthy to mention, has done for me, the chief of sinners. Once he was a terror to me, and his service, O what a weariness it was! Now I can say, I love him and his holy name, and am never so happy as when I speak of his mercies to Yours, dear Cousin,

me.

W. C.

Huntingdon, Oct. 20, 1766.

My dear Cousin,-I am very sorry for poor Charles's illness, and hope you will soon have cause to thank God for his comWe have an epidemical plete recovery.

fever in this country likewise, which leaves
behind it a continual sighing, almost to suffo-
cation: not that I have seen any instance of
it, for, blessed be God! our family have
hitherto escaped it, but such was the account
I heard of it this morning.

I am obliged to you for the interest you
take in my welfare, and for your inquiring so
As to amusements, I
particularly after the manner in which my
time passes here.
mean what the world calls such, we have
none: the place indeed swarms with them;
and cards and dancing are the professed
business of almost all the gentle inhabitants
of Huntingdon. We refuse to take part in
them, or to be accessories to this way of
murdering our time, and by so doing have
acquired the name of Methodists. Having
told you how we do not spend our time, I
will next say how we do. We breakfast
commonly between eight and nine; till
eleven, we read either the Scripture, or the
sermons of some faithful preacher of those
holy mysteries; at eleven, we attend divine
service, which is performed here twice every
day; and from twelve to three we separate,
and amuse ourselves as we please. During
that interval I either read in my own apart-
ment, or walk, or ride, or work in the gar-
We seldom sit an hour after dinner,
den.
but if the weather permits adjourn to the
garden, where, with Mrs. Unwin and her
son, I have generally the pleasure of relig-
ious conversation till tea time. If it rains, or
is too windy for walking, we either converse
within doors, or sing some hymns of Mar-
tin's collection, and, by the help of Mrs. Un-
win's harpsichord, make up a tolerable con-
cert, in which our hearts, I hope, are the best
Mrs.
and most musical performers. After tea we
sally forth to walk in good earnest.
Unwin is a good walker, and we have gener-
ally travelled about four miles before we see
home again. When the days are short, we
make this excursion in the former part of
the day, between church-time and dinner.
At night we read and converse, as before,
till supper, and commonly finish the evening
either with hymns or a sermon; and, last of
all, the family are called to prayers. I need
not tell you that such a life as this is con-
sistent with the utmost cheerfulness; ac-
Mrs. Unwin
cordingly, we are all happy, and dwell to-
gether in unity as brethren.
has almost a maternal affection for me, and I
have something very like a filial one fo: her,
and her son and I are brothers. Blessed be
the God of our salvation for such compan-
ions, and for such a life, above all for a heart
to like it!

I have had many anxious thoughts about taking orders, and I believe every new convert is apt to think himself called upon for that purpose; but it has pleased God, by

management, for at present I have no skill to spare.

I think Marshall one of the best writers, and the most spiritual expositor of Scripture I ever read. I admire the strength of his argument, and the clearness of his reasonings, upon those parts of our most holy religion which are generally least understood (even by real Christians), as masterpieces of the kind. His section upon the union of the soul with Christ is an instance of what I mean, in which he has spoken of a most mysterious truth, with admirable perspicuity and with great good sense, making it all the while subservient to his main purport, of proving holiness to be the fruit and effect of faith.

I subjoin thus much upon that author, because, though you desired my opinion of him, I remember that in my last I rather left you to find it out by inference than expressed it, as I ought to have done. I never met with a man who understood the plan of salvation better, or was more happy in explaining it. W. C.

TO MRS. COWPER.

with patience and good will! They who can guess at the heart of a stranger, and you especially, who are of a compassionate temper, will be more ready, perhaps, to excuse me, in this instance, than I can be to excuse my self. But, in good truth, it was abominable pride of heart, indignation, and vanity, and deserves no better name. How should such a creature be admitted into those pure and sinless mansions, where nothing shall enter that defileth, did not the blood of Christ, applied by the hand of faith, take away the guilt of sin, and leave no spot or stain behind it? Oh what continual need have I of an Almighty, All-sufficient Saviour? I am glad you are acquainted so particularly with all the circumstances of my story, for I know that your secrecy and discretion may be trusted with anything. A thread of mercy ran through all the intricate maze of those afflictive providences, so mysterious to myself at the time, and which must ever remain so to all who will not see what was the great design of them; at the judgment-seat of Christ the whole shall be laid open. How is the rod of iron changed into a sceptre of love!

I thank you for the seeds; I have committed some of each sort to the ground, whence they will spring up like so many mementoes to remind me of my friends at the Park.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.*

W. C.

Huntingdon, April 3, 1767. My dear Cousin,-You sent my friend Unwin home to us charmed with your kind reception of him, and with everything he saw at the Park. Shall I once more give you a peep into my vile and deceitful heart? What motive do you think lay at the bottom of my conduct, when I desired him to call upon June 16, 1767. you? I did not suspect, at first, that pride Dear Joe,-This part of the world is not and vain-glory had any share in it, but quick-productive of much news, unless the coldness ly after I had recommended the visit to him, of the weather be so, which is excessive for I discovered in that fruitful soil the very root the season. We expect, or rather experience of the matter. You know I am a stranger a warm contest between the candidates for here; all such are suspected characters, un- the county; the preliminary movements of less they bring their credentials with them. bribery, threatening, and drunkenness, being To this moment, I believe, it is matter of already taken. The Sandwich interest seems speculation in the place whence I came and to shake, though both parties are very santo whom I belong. guine. Lord Carysfort is supposed to be in great jeopardy, though as yet, I imagine, a clear judgment cannot be formed; for a man may have all the noise on his side and yet lose his election. You know me to be an uninterested person, and I am sure I am a very ignorant one in things of this kind. I only wish it was over, for it occasions the most detestable scene of profligacy and riot that can be imagined.

Though my friend, you may suppose, before I was admitted an inmate here, was satished that I was not a mere vagabond, and has, since that time, received more convincing proofs of my sponsibility, yet I could not resist the opportunity of furnishing him with ocular demonstration of it, by introducing him to one of my most splendid connections; that when he hears me called, "That fellow Couper," which has happened heretofore, he may be able, upon unquestionable evidence, to assert my gentlemanhood, and relieve me from the weight of that opprobrious appellation. O Pride! Pride! it deceives with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk erect, though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist and twine itself about, to get from under the cross, which it is the glory of our Christian calling to be able to bear

Yours ever,

TO MRS. COWPER.

W. C.

Huntingdon, July 13, 1767. My dear Cousin,-The newspaper has told you the truth. Poor Mr. Unwin, being flung from his horse as he was going to his church

* Private correspondence.

on Sunday morning, received a dreadful frac-likely to live twenty years as either of us, ture on the back part of the skull, under which he languished till Thursday evening, and then died. This awful dispensation has left an impression upon our spirits which will not be presently worn off. He died in a poor cottage, to which he was carried immediately after his fall, about a mile from home, and his body could not be brought to his house till the spirit was gone to him who gave it. May it be a lesson to us to watch, since we know not the day, nor the hour, when our Lord cometh!

The effect of it upon my circumstances will only be a change of the place of my abode. For I shall still, by God's leave, continue with Mrs. Unwin, whose behavior to me has always been that of a mother to a son. We know not where we shall settle, but we trust that the Lord, whom we seek, will go before us and prepare a rest for us. We have employed our friend Haweis,* Dr. Conyers,† of Helmsley, in Yorkshire, and Mr. Newton, of Olney, to look out a place for us, but at present are entirely ignorant under which of the three we shall settle, or whether under either. I have written to my aunt Madan, to desire Martin to assist us with his inquiries. It is probable we shall stay here till Michaelmas. W. C.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

and before ten was stretched speechless and senseless upon a flock bed, in a poor cottage, where (it being impossible to remove him) he died on Thursday evening. I heard his dying groans, the effect of great agony, for he was a strong man, and much convulsed in his last moments. The few short intervals of sense that were indulged him he spent in earnest prayer, and in expressions of a firm trust and confidence in the only Saviour. To that stronghold we must all resort at last, if we would have hope in our death; when every other refuge fails, we are glad to fly to the only shelter to which we can repair to any purpose; and happy is it for us, when, the false ground we have chosen for ourselves being broken under us, we find ourselves obliged to have recourse to the rock which can never be shaken; when this is our lot, we receive great and undeserved mercy.

Our society will not break up, but we shall settle in some other place, where, is at present uncertain. Yours,

W. C.

These tender and confidential letters describe, in the clearest light, the singularly peaceful and devout life of this amiable writ er, during his residence at Huntingdon, and the melancholy accident which occasioned his removal to a distant county. Time and July 16, 1767. Dear Joe,-Your wishes that the newsprovidential circumstances now introduced to the notice of Cowper, the zealous and paper may have misinformed you are vain. Mr. Unwin is dead, and died in the manner associate for many years, after having advenerable friend who became his intimate there mentioned. At nine o'clock on Sun-vised and assisted him in the important conday morning he was in perfect health, and as

Church."

* Dr. Haweis was a leading character in the religious world at this time, and subsequently the superintendent of Lady Huntingdon's chapels, and of the Seminary for Students founded by that lady. His principal works are a "Commentary on the Bible," and "History of the + Dr. Conyers. The circumstances attending the death of this truly pious and eminent servant of God are too affecting not to be deemed worthy of being recorded. He had ascended the pulpit of St. Paul's, Deptford, of which he was rector, and had just delivered his text, "Ye shall see my face no more," when he was seized with a sudden fainting, and fell back in his pulpit: he recovered, however, sufficiently to proceed with his sermon, and to give the concluding blessing, when he again fainted away, was carried home, and expired without a affecting manner of his death is thus happily adverted to

groan, in the sixty-second year of his age, 1786. The

in the following beautiful lines:

Sent by their Lord on purposes of grace,
Thus angels do his will, and see his face;
With outspread wings they stand, prepar'd to soar,
Declare their message, and are seen no more.
Underneath is a Latin inscription, of which the follow-
ing is the translation.

The

cern of fixing his future residence.
Rev. John Newton, then curate of Olney, in
Buckinghamshire, had been requested by the
late Dr. Conyers (who, in taking his degree
in divinity at Cambridge, had formed a friend-
ship with young Mr. Unwin, and learned from
him the religious character of his mother) to
seize an opportunity, as he was passing
through Huntingdon, of making a visit to
that exemplary lady. This visit (so impor-
tant in its consequences to the future history
of Cowper) happened to take place within a
few days after the calamitous death of Mr.
Unwin. As a change of scene appeared de-
sirable both to Mrs. Unwin and to the in-
teresting recluse whom she had generously
requested to continue under her care, Mr.
Newton offered to assist them in removing
to the pleasant and picturesque county in
which he resided. They were willing to en-
ter into the flock of a pious and devoted
pastor, whose ideas were so much in har-
mony with their own. He engaged for them
a house at Olney, where they arrived on the
14th of October, 1767. He thus alludes to

his new residence in the following extract of here are as scarce as cucumbers at Christa letter to Mr. Hill.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.*

Olney, October 20, 1767.

mas.

I visited St. Alban's about a fortnight since in person, and I visit it every day in thought. The recollection of what passed there, and mind continually, and make the circumstances the consequences that followed it, fill my of a poor, transient, half-spent life, so insipid and unaffecting, that I have no heart to think

I have no map to consult at present, but, by what remembrance I have of the situation of this place in the last I saw, it lies at the northernmost point of the county. We are or write much about them. Whether the just five miles beyond Newport Pagnell. I nation is worshipping Mr. Wilkes, or any am willing to suspect that you make this in- other idol, is of little moment to one who quiry with a view to an interview, when time hopes and believes that he shall shortly stand shall serve. We may possibly be settled in in the presence of the great and blessed God. our own house in about a month, where so I thank him that he has given me such a deep, good a friend of mine will be extremely wel-impressed, persuasion of this awful truth as come to Mrs. Unwin. We shall have a bed a thousand worlds would not purchase from and a warm fire-side at your service, if you can come before next summer; and if not, a and makes every trouble light. It gives me a relish to every blessing, parlor that looks the north wind full in the Affectionately yours, face, where you may be as cool as in the groves of Valambrosa.

Yours, my dear 'Sephus,

Affectionately ever, W. C.

It would have been difficult to select a situation apparently more suited to the existing circumstances and character of Cowper than the scene to which he was now transferred. In Mr. Newton were happily united the qualifications of piety, fervent, rational, and cheerfal-the kind and affectionate feelings that inspire friendship and regard-a solid judgment, and a refined taste the power to edify and please, and the grace that knows how to improve it to the highest ends. He lived in the midst of a flock who loved and esteemed him, and who saw in his ministrations the credentials of heaven, and in his life the exemplification of the doctrines that he taught.

me.

W. C.

In entering on the correspondence of the ensuing year, we find the following impres sive letter addressed to Mr. Hill.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.* *

Olney, Jan. 21, 1769. Dear Joe,-I rejoice with you in your rehands of one from whose hands you will not covery, and that you have escaped from the always escape. Death is either the most formidable, or the most comfortable thing we have in prospect, on this side of eternity. To be brought near to him, and to discern neither of these features in his face, would argue a degree of insensibility, of which I be a thinking man. will not suspect my friend, whom I know to down to the side of the grave, and you have You have been brought of the invisible world; who opens and none been raised again by Him who has the keys do not forget to return thanks to Him on can shut, who shuts and none can open. I he has spared, may be devoted to his service. your behalf, and to pray that your life, which "Behold! I stand at the door and knock," is the word of Him, on whom both our mortal and immortal life depend, and, blessed be his name, it is the word of one who wounds only cious. The language of every such dispensathat he may heal, and who waits to be gration is, "Prepare to meet thy God." It speaks with the voice of mercy and goodness, for, without such notices, whatever preparation we might make for other events, we should make none for this. My dear friend, I desire and pray that, when this last enemy shall come to execute an unlimited commission upon us, we may be found ready, being Dear Joe,-I thank you for so full an an- established and rooted in a well-grounded swer to so empty an epistle. If Olney fur-faith in His name, who conquered and trinished anything for your amusement, you umphed over him upon his cross. hould have it in return, but occurrences

The time of Cowper, in his new situation, seems to have been chiefly devoted to relig ious contemplation, to social prayer, and to active charity. To this first of Christian virtues, his heart was eminently inclined, and Providence very graciously enabled him to exercise and enjoy it to an extent far superior to what his own scanty fortune allowed means. The death of his father, 1756, failed to place him in a state of independence, and the singular cast of his own mind was such, that nature seemed to have rendered it impossible for him either to covet or to acquire riches. His happy exemption from worldly passions is forcibly displayed in the following letter.

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

Olney, June 16, 1768.

• Private correspondence.

Yours ever,

* Private correspondence.

W.C