"

he was compelled to forego even this trifling exercise. He was now entirely confined to his bed-room; he was, however, still able to sit up to every meal, except breakfast.

His friend Mr. Rose, about this time, paid him a visit. Such, however, was the melancholy change which his complicated maladies had produced upon his mind, that he expressed no pleasure at the arrival of one whom he had previously been accustomed to greet with the most cordial reception. Mr. Rose remained with him till the first week in April, witnessing with much sorrow the sufferings of the afflicted poet, and kindly sympathising with his distressed relations and friends. Little as Cowper had appeared to enjoy his company, he evinced symptoms of considerable regret at his departure.

Both Lady Hesketh, and Mr. Hayley, would have followed the humane example of Mr. Rose, in visiting the dying poet, had they not been prevented by circumstances over which they had no controul. The health of the former, had suffered considerably by her long confinement with Cowper, at the commencement of his last attack, and the latter was detained by the impending death of a darling child.

Mr. Johnson informs us, in his sketch of the poet's life, that, "on the 19th April the weakness of this truly pitiable sufferer had so much increased that his kinsman apprehended his death to be near. Adverting, therefore, to the affliction, as well of body as of mind, which his beloved inmate was then enduring, he ventured to speak of his approaching dissolution as the signal of his deliverance. from both these miseries. After a pause of a few moments, which was less interrupted by the objections of his desponding relative than he had dared to hope, he proceeded to an observation more consolatory still—namely, that in the world to which he was hastening, a merciful Redeemer,

who had prepared unspeakable happiness for all his children, and therefore for him. To the first part of this sentence he had listened with composure, but the concluding words were no sooner uttered than his passionately expressed entreaties that his companion would desist from any further observations of a similar kind, clearly proving that though he was on the eve of being invested with angelic light, the darkness of delusion still veiled his spirit."

On the following day, which was Sunday, he revived a little. Mr. Johnson, on repairing to his room, after he had discharged his clerical duties, found him in bed and asleep. He did not, however, leave the room, but remained watching him, expecting he might, on awaking, require his assistance. Whilst engaged in this melancholy office, and endeavouring to reconcile his mind to the loss of so dear a friend, by considering the gain which that friend would experience, his reflections were suddenly interrupted by the singularly varied tone in which Cowper then began to breath. Imagining it to be the sound of his immediate summons, after listening to it for several minutes, he arose from the foot of the bed on which he was sitting, to take a nearer, and, as he supposed, a last view of his departing relative, commending his soul to that gracious Saviour, whom, in the fulness of mental health, he had delighted to honour. As he put aside the curtains, Cowper opened his eyes, but closed them again without speaking, and breathed as usual. On Monday he was much worse; though, towards the close of day, he revived sufficiently to take a little refreshment. The two following days he evidently continued to sink rapidly. He revived a little on Thursday, but, in the course of the night, he appeared exceedingly exhausted; some refreshment was presented to him by Miss Perowne, but, owing

to a persuasion that nothing could afford him relief, though without any apparent impression that the hand of death was already upon him, he mildly rejected the cordial with these words, the last he was heard to utter: "What can it signify?"

Early on Friday morning, the 25th, a decided alteration for the worse was perceived to have taken place. A deadly change appeared in his countenance. In this insensible state he remained till a few minutes before five in the afternoon, when he gently, and without the slightest apparent pain, ceased to breath, and his happy spirit escaped from his body, in which, amidst the thickest gloom of darkness, it had so long been imprisoned, and took its flight to the regions of perfect purity and bliss. In a manner so mild and gentle did death make its approach, that though his kinsman, his medical attendant, and three others were standing at the foot of the bed, with their eyes fixed upon his dying countenance, the precise moment of his departure was unobserved by any.

"From this mournful period," writes Mr. Johnson, " till the features of his deceased friend were closed from his view, the expression which the kinsman of Cowper observed in them, and which he was affectionately delighted to suppose an index of the last thoughts and enjoyments of his soul in its gradual escape from the depths of despondence, was that of calmness and composure, mingled, as it were, with holy surprise."

He was buried in that part of Dereham Church, called St. Edmund's Chapel, on Saturday, the 2nd May, 1800; and his funeral was attended by several of his relatives. In a literary point of view, his long and painful affliction had ever been regarded as a national calamity; a deep and almost universal sympathy was felt in his behalf; and by all men of learning and of piety, his death was looked upon as an event of no common importance.

As he died without a will, his amiable and beloved relation, Lady Hesketh, kindly undertook to become his administratrix. She raised a tablet monument to his memory with the following inscription: -

IN MEMORY OF

WILLIAM COWPER, Esq.

BORN IN HERTFORDSHIRE,

1731.

BURIED IN THIS CHURCH,

1800.

Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel
Of talents, dignified by sacred zeal,

Here, to devotions's bard, devoutly just,

Pay your fond tribute, due to Cowper's dust!
England, exulting in his spotless fame,

Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name;

Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise

So clear a title to affection's praise :

His highest honours to the heart belong —
His virtues formed the magic of his song.

The following lines have been kindly handed to the author by a friend, in manuscript. He is not sure they have never been in print, though he rather inclines to think such is the case.

And is the spirit of the Poet fled?

Yes, from its earthly tenement 'tis flown;

And death at length has added to the dead

The sweetest minstrel that the world has known.

Too nice, too great, his sympathy of soul;
For, oh! his feelings were so much refined,
That sense became impatient of control,

And darkness seized the empire of his mind.

But when Reflection threw her eagle eye
Athwart the gloom of unpropitious fate,
Faith op'd a splendid vista to the sky,

And gave an earnest of a happier state:

To see, whilst sceptics to the effects of chance
Ascribe creation's ever-varying form;

To see distinctly, at the first slight glance,

Who wings the lightning, and who drives the storm

To brush the cobweb follies from the great,

Which Art, with all her sophistry has spread; Uphold the honour of a sinking state,

And bid Religion raise her drooping head;

Such were the objects of the enraptured bard,
In such his lucid intervals he passed;

And knowing Virtue was her own reward,

Wooed, and revered, and loved her to the last.

Know, then, that Death has added to his list
As sweet a bard as ever swept a lyre:
In Death's despite his memory shall exist
In numbers pregnant with celestial fire.

Yes, Cowper! with thy own expressive lays,

Lays which have haply many a mind illum'd, Thy name shall triumph o'er the lapse of days, And only perish when the world's consumed!