ingly, whether painful or pleasant, in the extreme; am easily elevated, and easily cast down. The power of a critic freezes my poetical powers, and discourages me to such a degree, that makes me ashamed of my own weakness. Yet I presently recover my confidence again, especially when I have every reason to believe, as in the case you refer to, that a critic's censures are harsh and unreasonable, and arise more from his own wounded and mortified feelings, than from any defect in the work itself."

Notwithstanding the irritation produced in the mind of the poet by the trifling amendments and vexatious criticisms of some whom he had been persuaded to consult, he nevertheless persevered in the translation, with undiminished activity, and gave abundant proof that he possessed that real greatness of mind which alone could enable him to undertake and accomplish a work of so great magnitude. To Lady Hesketh he thus discloses the state of his mind in this respect: "Your anxious wishes for my success delight me, and you may rest assured that I have all the ambition on the subject that you can wish me to feel. I more than admire my author. I often stand astonished at his beauties. I am for ever amused with the translation of him, and I have received a thousand encouragements: these are all so many happy omens, that I hope will be verified by the event. I am not ashamed to confess that, having commenced an author, I am most abundantly desirous to succeed as such. I have (what perhaps you little suspect me of) in my nature an infinite share of ambition. But with it I have, at the same time, as you will know, an equal share of diffidence. To this combination of opposite qualities it has been owing, that, till lately, I stole through life without undertaking anything, yet always wishing to distinguish myself. At last I ventured, ventured too in the only path that, at so late a period, was yet open to me, and am determined, if God have not determined otherwise, to work my way through the obscurity that has been so long my portion, into notice. Everything, therefore, that seems to threaten this my favorite purpose, with disappointment, affects me severely. I suppose that all ambitious minds are in the same predicament. He who seeks distinction must be sensible of disapprobation, exactly in the same proportion as he desires applause. I have thus, my dear cousin, unfolded my heart to you in this particular, without a speck of dissimulation. Some people, and good people too, would blame me, but you will not; and they, I think, would blame with

out just cause. We certainly do not honor God when we bury, or when we neglect to improve, as far as we can, whatever talent he may have bestowed upon us, whether it be little or much. In natural things, as well as spiritual, it is a never-failing truth, that to him who hath, (that is, to him who employs what he hath diligently, and so as to increase it,) more shall be given. Set me down, therefore, my dear cousin, for an industrious rhymer, so long as I shall have ability. For in this only way is it possible for me, so far as I can see, either to honor God, or even to serve myself."

In reply to the apprehensions expressed by some of his correspondents, that the confinement and close application which this work necessarily required, would prove injurious to his health, and be likely to increase his depression, he made the following remarks:-" You may well wonder at my courage, who have undertaken a work of such enormous length; you would wonder more if you knew I translated the whole Iliad, with no other help than a Clavis. But I have since equipped myself for this immense journey, and am revising the work in company with a good commentator. I thank you for the solicitude you express on the subject of my present studies. The work is undoubtedly long and laborious, but it has an end, and proceeding leisurely, with a due attention to air and exercise, it is possible that I may live to finish it. Assure yourself of one thing, that though to a bystander it may seem an occupation surpassing the powers of a constitution never very athletic, and, at present, not a little the worse for wear, I can invent for myself no employment that does not exhaust my spirits more. I will not pretend to account for this; I will only say that it is not the language of predilection for a favorite amusement, but that the fact is really so. I have ever found that those plaything avocations which one may execute almost without any attention, fatigue me, and wear me away, while such as engage me much, and attach me closely, are rather serviceable to me than otherwise."

During the whole of Cowper's residence at Olney, he retained the same sentiments of affectionate sympathy for the sufferings of the poor that he had evinced when he first came among them. And though he had experienced some painful proofs of their insensibility, ingratitude, and unkindness, yet his heart had often been made to rejoice with those whom either his own liberality or the liberality of his friends had enabled him to relieve, Aware that it afforded him so

much pleasure to be employed in communicating happiness to others, his friends often placed at his disposal such things as they felt inclined to contribute. The following interesting extract from a letter to Mr. Unwin, proves how highly he was gratified in being thus benevolently employed:-"I have thought with pleasure of the summer that you have had in your heart, while you have been employed in softening the severity of winter, in behalf of so many who must otherwise have been exposed to it. You never said a better

thing in your life than when you assured Mr. - of the expedience of a gift of bedding to the poor at Olney. There is no one article of this world's comforts, with which, as Falstaff says, they are so heinously unprovided. When a poor woman, and an honest one, whom we know well, carried home two pair of blankets, a pair for herself and husband, and a pair for her six children, that you kindly placed at my disposal, as soon as the children saw them, they jumped out of their straw, caught them in their arms, kissed them, blessed them, and danced for joy. An old woman, a very old one, the first night that she found herself so comfortably covered, could not sleep a wink, being kept awake by the contrary emotions of transport on the one hand, and the fear of not being thankful enough on the other."

After the publication of Cowper's second volume, and previous to his removal from Olney, he had renewed his correspondence with some relatives and friends with whom he had formerly been on terms of intimacy, but who seemed almost to have forgotten him, until the popularity of his publications arrested their attention. Among these were General Cowper and Rev. Walter Bagot. Cowper's letters to the latter prove that his attachment to him was not slight and superficial, but deep and fervent. In February, 1786, it pleased God to deprive Mr. Bagot of his amiable and accomplished wife, who was respected and beloved by all who knew her. On this melancholy occasion Cowper wrote to him as follows:-"Alas! alas! my dear, dear friend, may God himself comfort you! I will not be so absurd as to attempt it. By the close of your letter, it should seem that in this hour of great trial, he withholds not his consolations from you. I know by experience that they are neither few nor small; and though I feel for you as I never felt for man before, yet do I sincerely rejoice in this, that, whereas there is but one comforter in the universe, under afflictions such as yours, you both know Him, and know where to seek Him. I thought

you a man the most happily mated that I had ever seen, and had great pleasure in your felicity. Pardon me, if now I feel a wish, that, short as my acquaintance with her was, I had never seen her; I should then have mourned with you, but not as I do now. Mrs. Unwin also sympathizes with you most sincerely, and you neither are, nor will be soon forgotten, in such prayers as we can make. I will not detain you longer now, my poor afflicted friend, than to commit you to the mercy of God, and to bid you a sorrowful adieu. May God be with you, my friend, and give you a just measure of submission to his will, the most effectual remedy for the evils of this changing scene. I doubt not that he has granted you this blessing already, and may he still continue it.”

CHAPTER XII.

Pleasure he enjoyed in his new residence-Sudden death of Mrs. Unwin's son-Cowper's distress on the occasion-Experiences a severe attack of illness-Is compelled to relinquish, for a time, his labors of translation -Mr. Rose's first visit to him-His sudden recovery-Manner of spending his time-Peculiarities of his case-Is dissuaded from resuming his translation-His determination to persevere in it-Applies to it with the utmost diligence-Great care with which he translated it-His admiration of the original-Providential preservation of Mrs. UnwinHis painful depression unremoved.

By the end of November, 1786, Cowper was comfortably settled in his new residence at Weston. The house was delightfully situated, very near that of his friendly and accomplished landlord, Sir John Throckmorton, with whom he was now on terms of intimacy, and who had given him the full use of his spacious and agreeable pleasure grounds. This afforded him an opportunity, at almost all seasons, of taking that degree of exercise in the open air, which he always found so conducive to his health. The following extracts from his first letter to Lady Hesketh, after entering on his new abode, describe the state of his feelings, and prove how truly he enjoyed the change. "November 26, 1786. It

is my birth-day, my beloved cousin, and I determine to employ a part of it that is not destitute of festivity, in writing to you. The dark thick fog that has obscured it, would have been a burthen to me at Olney, but here I have hardly attended to it. The neatness and snugness of our abode, compensates for all the dreariness of the season, and whether the ways are wet or dry, our house, at least, is always warm and commodious. Oh! for you, my cousin, to partake of these comforts with us! I will not begin already to tease you upon that subject, but Mrs. Unwin remembers to have heard from your own lips, that you hate London in the spring: perhaps, therefore, by that time, you may be glad to escape from a scene which will be every day growing more disagreeable, that you may enjoy the comforts of the Lodge. You well know that the best house has a desolate appearance unfurnished. This house accordingly, since it has been occupied by us, and our meubles, is as much superior to what it was when you saw it, as you can imagine; the parlour_is_even elegant. When I say that the parlour is elegant, I do not mean to insinuate that the study is not so. It is neat, warm, and silent, and a much better study than I deserve, if I do not produce in it an incomparable translation of Homer. I think every day of those lines of Milton, and congratulate myself on having obtained, before I am quite superannuated, what he seems not to have hoped for sooner.

"And may at length my weary age

Find out the peaceful hermitage."

For, if it is not an hermitage, at least it is a much better thing, and you must always understand, my dear, that when poets talk of cottages, hermitages, and such like things, they mean a house with six sashes in front, two comfortable parlours, a smart stair-case, and three bed-chambers, of convenient dimensions; in short, exactly such a house as this is." "The Throckmortons continue the most obliging neighbors in the world. One morning last week, they both went with me to the cliffs—a scene, my dear, in which you would delight beyond measure, but which you cannot visit except in the spring, or autumn. The heat of summer, and clinging dirt of winter, would destroy you. What is called the cliff, is no cliff, nor at all like one, but a beautiful terrace, sloping gently down to the base, and from the brow of which, though it is not lofty, you have a view of such a valley, as makes that which you saw from the hills near Olney, and which