With proof, that we, and our affairs,
Are part of a Jehovah's cares:
For God unfolds by slow degrees
The purport of his deep.decrees;
Sheds every hour a clearer light
In aid of our defective sight;

And spreads, at length, before the soul
A beautiful and perfect whole,
Which busy man's inventive brain
Toils to anticipate in vain.

Say, Anna, had you never known
The beauties of a rose full blown,
Could you, though luminous your eye,
By looking on the bud, descry,
Or guess, with a prophetic power,
The future splendour of the flower?
Just so, th' Omnipotent who turns
The system of a world's concerns,
From mere minutiae can educe
Events of most important use,
And bid a dawning sky display
The blaze of a meridian day.

The works of man tend, one and all,

As needs they must from great to small,

And vanity absorbs at length

The monuments of human strength;
But who can tell how vast the plan
Which this day's incident began?
Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion
For our dim-sighted observation,
It pass'd unnoticed, as the bird
That cleaves the yielding air unheard;
And yet may prove, when understood,
An harbinger of endless good.

Not that I deem, or mean to call,
Friendship a blessing cheap, or small;
But merely to remark, that ours,
Like some of nature's sweetest flowers,
Rose from a seed of tiny size,

That seem'd to promise no such prize;
A transient visit intervening,

And made almost without a meaning,
(Hardly the effect of inclination,
Much less of pleasing expectation,)
Produced a friendship, then begun,
That has cemented us in one;
And placed it in our power to prove,
By long fidelity and love,

That Solomon has wisely spoken:

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A threefold cord is not soon broken."

In this interesting poem the author expresses a lively and devout presage of the superior productions that were to arise in the process of time, from a friendship so unexpected and so pleasing; but he does not seem to have been aware, in the slightest degree, of the evident dangers that must naturally attend an intimacy so.very close

yet perfectly innocent, between a poet and two ladies, who, with very different mental powers, had each reason to flatter herself that she could agreeably promote the studies, and animate the fancy of this fascinating bard."

Genius of the most exquisite kind is sometimes, and perhaps generally, so modest and diffident as to require continual solicitation and encouragement from the voice of sympathy and friendship, to lead it into permanent and successful exertion. Such was the genius of Cowper; and he therefore considered the cheerful and animating society of his new accomplished friend, as a blessing conferred on him by the signal favour of providence. I have reserved the following letters, although of an earlier date than some of their predecessors, because they speak of Lady Austen, and could not, therefore, appear to advantage till the course of my narrative rendered the reader acquainted with that interesting lady. In speaking of Cowper's first volume, and the circumstances of its publication, I had occasion to proceed beyond the period when his friendship with Lady Austen commenced. In my first date of that very important event I have discovered and corrected a little mistake, which probably arose from a slight failure in the recollection of that lady, when she favoured me with the particulars of her intercourse with the poet, whom she so happily inspired. Their acquaintance was said (in the first edition of this book) to have arisen in September, 1781, but the following letters clearly prove that Cowper had been enlivened by the society of this animating friend at an earlier period.

XCVIII.-TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

July 29, 1781. Having given the case you laid before me in your last all due consideration, I proceed to answer it, and in order to clear my way, shall, in the first place, set down my sense of those passages in Scripture, which, on a hasty perusal, seem to clash with the opinion I am going to give-"If a man smite one cheek, turn the other""If he take thy cloak, let him take thy coat also."-That is, I suppose, rather than on a vindictive principle avail yourself of that remedy the law allows you in the way of retaliation, for that was the subject immediately under the discussion of the speaker. Nothing is so contrary to the genius of the Gospel as the gratification of resentment and revenge; but I cannot easily persuade myself to think, that the Author of that dispensation could possibly advise his followers to consult their own peace at the expense of the peace of society, or inculcate an universal abstinence from the use of lawful remedies, to the encouragement of injury and oppression.

St. Paul, again, seems to condemn the practice of going to law, "Why do ye not rather suffer wrong?" &c. But if we look again, we shall find that a litigious temper had obtained, and was prevalent, among the professors of the day. This he condemned, and

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with good reason; it was unseemly to the last degree that the disciples of the Prince of Peace should worry and vex each other with injurious treatment and unnecessary disputes, to the scandal o. their religion in the eyes of the Heathen. But surely he did not mean, any more than his Master in the place above alluded to, that the most harmless members of society should receive no advantage of its laws, or should be the only persons in the world who should derive no benefit from those institutions, without which society cannot subsist. Neither of them could mean to throw down the pale of property and to lay the Christian part of the world open, throughout all ages, to the incursions of unlimited violence and wrong. By this time you are sufficiently aware that I think indisputable right to recover at law, what is so dishonestly withheld you have an from you. The fellow, I suppose, has discernment enough to see a difference between you and the generality of the clergy; and cunning enough to conceive the purpose of turning your meekness and forbearance to good account, and of coining them into hard cash, which he means to put in his pocket. But I would disappoint him, and show him that though a Christian is not to be quarrelsome, he is not to be crushed-and that, though he is but a worm before God, he is not such a worm as every selfish, unprincipled wretch may tread upon at his pleasure.

I lately heard a story, from a lady who spent many years of her life in France, somewhat to the present purpose. sally esteemed for his piety, and especially for the meekness of his An Abbé, univermanners, had yet undesignedly given some offence to a shabby fellow in his parish. The man, concluding he might do as he pleased with so forgiving and gentle a character, struck him on one cheek and bade him turn the other. The good man did so, and when he had received the two slaps, which he thought himself obliged to submit to, turned again and beat him soundly. I do not wish to see you follow the French gentleman's example, but I believe nobody that has heard the story condemns him much for the spirit he showed upon the occasion.

I had the relation from Lady Austen, sister to Mrs. Jones, wife of the minister at Clifton. She is a most agreeable woman, and has fallen in love with your mother and me; insomuch, that I do not know but she may settle at Olney. Yesterday se'nnight we all dined together in the Spinnie-a most delightful retirement, belonging to Mrs. Throckmorton of Weston. Lady Austen's lackey, and a lad that waits on me in the garden, drove a wheelbarrow full of eatables and drinkables to the scene of our Fête Champêtre. A board, laid over the top of the wheelbarrow, served us for a table; our diningroom was a root-house, lined with moss and ivy. servants, who had dined under the great elm upon the ground, at a At six o'clock, the little distance, boiled the kettle, and the said wheelbarrow served us for a tea-table. We then took a walk into the wilderness, about half a mile off, and were at home again a little after eight, having

spent the day together from noon till evening, without one cross occurrence, or the least weariness of each other, a happiness few parties of pleasure can boast of.

Yours, with our joint love,

XCIX.-TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

W. C.

August 25, 1781. We rejoice with you sincerely in the birth of another son, and in the prospect you have of Mrs. Unwin's recovery; may your three children, and the next three when they shall make their appearance, prove so many blessings to their parents, and make you wish you had twice that number. But what made you expect daily that you should hear from me? Letter for letter is the law of all corre spondence whatsoever; and because I wrote last I have indulged myself for some time in expectation of a sheet from you. Not that I govern myself entirely by the punctilio of reciprocation, but having been pretty much occupied of late, I was not sorry to find myself at liberty to exercise my discretion, and furnished with a good excuse if I chose to be silent.

I expected, as you remember, to have been published last spring, and was disappointed. The delay has afforded me an opportunity to increase the quantity of my publication by about a third; and if my Muse has not forsaken me, which I rather suspect to be the case, may possibly yet add to it. I have a subject in hand which promises me a great abundance of poetical matter, but which, for want of a something I am not able to describe, I cannot at present proceed with. The name of it is "Retirement," and my purpose to recom mend the proper improvement of it, to set forth the requisites for that end, and to enlarge upon the happiness of that state of life when managed as it ought to be. In the course of my journey through this ample theme, I should wish to touch upon the characters, the deficiencies, and the mistakes of thousands who enter on a scene of retirement, unqualified for it in every respect, and with such designs as have no tendency to promote either their own happiness, or that of others. But as I have told you before, there are times when I am no more a poet than I am a mathematician; and when such a time occurs I always think it better to give up the point than to labour it in vain. I shall yet again be obliged to trouble you for franks; the addition of three thousand lines, or near that number, having occasioned a demand which I did not always foresee; but your obliging friend and your obliging self, having allowed me the liberty of application, I make it without apology. The solitude, or rather, the duality of our condition at Olney, seems drawing to a conclusion. You have not forgot, perhaps, that the building we inhabit consists of two mansions. And because you have only seen the inside of that part of it which is in our occupation, I therefore inform you that the other end of it is by far the most superb as well as the most com

modious. Lady Austen has seen it, has set her heart upon it, is going to fit it up and furnish it, and if she can get rid of the remaining two years of the lease of her London house, will probably enter upon in a twelvemonth. You will be pleased with this intelligence, because I have already told you that she is a woman perfectly wellbred, sensible, and in every respect agreeable; and above all, because she loves your mother dearly. It has in my eyes (and I doubt not it will have the same in yours) strong marks of providential interposition. A female friend, and one who bids fair to prove herself worthy of the appellation, comes recommended by a variety of considerations to such a place as Olney. Since Mr. Newton went, and till this lady came, there was not in the kingdom a retirement more absolutely such than ours. We did not want company, but when it came, we found it agreeable. A person that has seen much of the world and understands it well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of conversation, introduces a sprightliness into such a scene as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the worse for being a little enlivened. In case of illness too, to which all are liable, it was rather a gloomy prospect, if we allowed ourselves to advert to it, that there was hardly a woman in the place from whom it would have been reasonable to have expected either comfort or assistance. The present curate's wife is a valuable person, but has a family of her own, and, though a neighbour, is not a very near one. But if this plan is effected, we shall be in a manner one family, and I suppose never pass a day without some intercourse with each other.

Your mother sends her warm affections, and welcomes into the world the new-born William.

Yours, my dear friend,

C.-TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

W. C.

MY DEAR FRIEND, February 9, 1782. I thank you for Mr. Lowth's verses. They are so good, that had I been present when he spoke them, I should have trembled for the boy, lest the man should disappoint the hopes such early genius had given birth to. It is not common to see so lively a fancy so correctly managed, and so free from irregular exuberance, at so unexperienced an age; fruitful, yet not wanton, and gay without being tawdry. When schoolboys write verse, if they have any fire at all, it generally spends itself in flashes and transient sparks, which may indeed suggest an expectation of something better hereafter, but deserve not to be much commended for any real merit of their own. Their wit is generally forced and false, and their sublimity, if they affect any, bombast. I remember well when it was thus with me, and when a turgid, noisy, unmeaning speech in a tragedy, which I should now laugh at, afforded me raptures, and filled me with wonder. It is not, in general, till reading and observation have settled