and looking at the fire. To this hindrance that other has been added, of which you are aware, a want of spirits, such as I have never known when I was not absolutely laid by, since I commenced an author. How long I shall be continued in these uncomfortable circumstances is known only to Him, who, as he will, disposes of us all."

"I may yet be able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of Paradise Lost for the press, before it will be wanted, and Johnson himself seems to think there will be no haste for the second. But poetry is my favourite employment, and my poetical operations are in the meantime suspended; for while a work, to which I have bound myself, remains unaccomplished, I can do nothing else. Johnson's plan of prefixing my phiz to the edition of my poems is by no means a pleasant one to me, and so I told him in a letter I sent him from Eartham, in which I assured him that my objections to it would not be easily surmounted. But, if you judge that it may really have an effect in advancing the sale, I would not be so squeamish as to suffer the spirit of prudery to prevail on me to his disadvantage. Somebody told an author, I forget whom, that there was more vanity in refusing his picture than in granting it, on which he instantly complied. I do not perfectly feel all the force of the argument, but it shall content me that he did."

To his kinsman he writes :-"The successor of the clerk defunct, for whom I used to write, arrived here this morning, with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an humble petition of his own, entreating me to assist him, as I had assisted his predecessor. I have undertaken the service, although with no little reluctance, being involved in many arrears on other subjects, and very little dependence at present on my ability to write at all. I proceed exactly as when you were here-a letter now and then before breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday, if holi

day it may be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and forecasting the fashion of uncertain evils.' The fever on my spirits has harassed me much, and I have never had so good a night, nor so quiet a rising, since you went, as on this very morning. A relief that I account particularly seasonable and propitious, because I had, in my intentions, devoted this morning to you, and could not have fulfilled those intentions, had I been as spiritless as I generally am. I am glad that Johnson is in no haste for Milton, for I seem myself not likely to address myself presently to that concern with any prospect of success, yet something, now and then, like a secret whisper, assures and encourages me that it will yet be done."

To his friend Hayley he thus writes:-"Yesterday was a day of assignation with myself, a day of which I had said, some days before it came, when that day comes, I will, if possible, begin my dissertations. Accordingly, when it came I prepared to do so; filled a letter case with fresh paper, furnished myself with a pretty good pen, and replenished my ink bottle; but partly from one cause, and partly from another, chiefly, however, from distress and dejection, after writing and obliterating about six lines, in the composition of which I spent near an hour, I was obliged to relinquish the attempt. An attempt so unsuccessful could have no other effect than to dishearten me, and it has had that effect to such a degree, that I know not when I shall find courage to make another. At present I shall certainly abstain from it, since I cannot well afford to expose myself to the danger of a fresh mortification."

Adverting to this subject, he thus again writes to Mr. Hayley, 25 Nov. 1792.--"How shall I thank you enough for the interest you take in my future Miltonic labours, and the assistance you promise me in the performance of them? I will some time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknow

U

ledge your friendship in some of my best verses, the most suitable return one poet can make to another; in the mean time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness.— You wish me warm in my work, and I ardently wish the same, but when I shall be so, God only knows. My melancholy, which seemed a little alleviated for a few days, has gathered about me again, with as black a cloud as ever; the consequence is, absolute incapacity to begin. Yet I purpose, in a day or two, to make another attempt, to which, however, I shall address myself with fear and trembling, like a man, who having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, injured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The consciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burden I am not able to bear. Milton especially is my grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded with continual reproaches for neglecting him. I will, therefore, begin; I will do my best, and if, after all, that best prove good for nothing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they are that I have already; a measure very disagreeable to myself, and to which nothing but necessity shall compel me."

To his friend, Mr. Newton, who had ventured to express his apprehensions lest his Miltonic labours should become too severe, he thus writes, 9 Dec. 1792.-"You need not be uneasy on the subject of Milton; I shall not find that labour too heavy for me, if I have health and leisure. The season of the year is unfavourable to me respecting the former, and Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me less of the latter than the occasion seems to call for. But the business is in no haste; the artists employed to furnish the embellishments are not likely to be very expeditious; and a small portion only of the work will be wanted from me at

once, for the intention is, to deal it out to the public piecemeal. I am, therefore, under no great anxiety on that account. It is not, indeed, an employment that I should have chosen for myself, because poetry pleases and amuses me more, and would cost me less labour, properly so called. All this I felt before I engaged with Johnson, and did, in the first instance, actually decline the service, but he was urgent, and at last I suffered myself to be persuaded. The season of the year, as I have already said, is particularly adverse to me; yet not in itself, perhaps, more adverse than any other; but the approach of it always reminds me of the same season in the dreadful seventy-three, and the more dreadful eighty-six. I cannot help terrifying myself with doleful misgivings and apprehensions; nor is the enemy negligent to seize all the advantage that the occasion gives him. Thus, hearing much from him, and having little or no sensible support from God, I suffer inexpressible things till January is over. And even then, whether increasing years have made me more liable to it, or despair, the longer it lasts, grows naturally darker, I find myself more inclined to melancholy than I was a few years since. God only knows where this will end; but where it is likely to end, unless he interpose powerfully in my favour, all may know."

On another occasion, to the same correspondent, he again writes:-"Oh for the day when your expectations of my final deliverance shall be verified! At present it seems very remote, so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest streak of it is visible in my horizon. The glimpse with which I was favoured about a month ago, has never been repeated, but the depression of my spirits has. The future appears as gloomy as ever, and I seem to myself to be scrambling always in the dark, among rocks and precipices, without a guide, but with an enemy ever at my heels, prepared to push me headlong. Thus I have spent twenty

years, but thus I shall not spend twenty years more: long before that period arrives, the grand question concerning my everlasting weal or woe will be decided."

To a lady, with whom he occasionally corresponded, he thus discloses his feelings:-"I would give you consolation, madam, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by a great dearth of it in my own experience. I too often seek, but cannot find it. I know, however, there are seasons when, look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This it itself an affliction; and the worse, because it makes us think ourselves more unhappy than we are. I was struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley, where you say that you 'will endeavour to take an interest in green leaves again.' This seems the sound of my own voice reflected to me from a distance; I have so often had the same thought and desire. A day scarcely passes, at this season of the year, when I do not contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, and say, 'perhaps I shall never see you clothed again.' Every year, as it passes, makes this expectation more reasonable; and the year with me cannot be very distant, when the event will verify it. Well, may God grant us a good hope of arriving, in due time, where the leaves never fall, and all will be right!"

Notwithstanding his gloomy forebodings, Cowper escaped any very severe attack of depression, in his dreaded month of the ensuing January, and as the spring advanced he became as busily engaged as he had ever been, partly in his Miltonic labours, but chiefly in preparing materials for a second edition of Homer. He had long been carefully revising the work, and had judiciously availed himself of the remarks of his friends, as well as of the criticisms of the reviewers. As soon, therefore, as it was determined to republish it, he made the best use of these materials, and