will oblige me to suppress two pieces that I was rather proud of. They were written two or three years ago; not long after the double repulse sustained by Mr. D'Estaing at Lucia and at Savannah, and when our operations in the western world wore a more promising aspect. Presuming upon such promises, that I might venture to prophesy an illustrious consummation of the war, I did so. But my predictions proving false, the verse in which they were expressed must perish with them. Yours, my dear Sir, W. C. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.* Olney, Dec. 4, 1781 My dear Friend,-The present to the queen of France, and the piece addressed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, my only two political efforts, being of the predictive kind, and both falsified, or likely to be so, by the miscarriage of the royal cause in America, were already condemned when I received your last. I have a poetical epistle which I wrote last summer, and another poem not yet finished, in stanzas, with which I mean TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Dear President, whose art sublime Thus says the Sisterhood:-We come- First strike a curve, a graceful bow, Then slope it to a point below; Your outline easy, airy, light, Fill'd up, becomes a paper kite. Let independence, sanguine, horrid, Blaze like a meteor on the forehead: Beneath (but lay aside your graces) Draw sir and twenty rueful faces, Each with a staring, stedfast eye, Fix'd on his great and good ally. France flies the kite-t is on the wingBritannia's lightning cuts the string. The wind that raised it, ere it ceases, Just rends it into thirteen pieces, Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, And lays them all at George's feet. Iberia, trembling from afar. Renounces the confed'rate war. Her efforts and her arts o'ercome, France calls her shatter'd navies home: Repenting Holland learns to mourn The sacred treaties she has torn; Astonishment and awe profound Are stamp'd upon the nations round; Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose. to supply their places. Henceforth I have done with politics. The stage of national affairs is such a fluctuating scene that an event which appears probable to-day becomes impossible to-morrow; and unless a man were indeed a prophet, he cannot, but with the greatest hazard of losing his labor, bestow his rhymes upon future contingencies, which perhaps are never to take place but in his own wishes and in the reveries of his own fancy. I learned when I was a boy, being the son of a staunch Whig, and a man that loved his country, to glow with that patriotic enthusiasm which is apt to break forth into poetry, or at least to prompt a person, if he has any inclination that way, to poetical endeavors. Prior's pieces of that sort were recommended to my particular notice; and, as that part of the present century was a season when clubs of a political character, and consequently political songs, were much in fashion, the best in that style, some written by Rowe, and I think some by Congreve, and many by other wits of the day, were proposed to my admiration. Being grown up, I became desirous of imitating such bright examples, and while I lived in the Temple produced several half-penny ballads, two or three of which had the honor to be popular. What we learn in childhood we retain long; and the successes we met with about three years ago, when D'Estaing was twice repulsed, once in America and once in the West Indies, having set fire to my patriotic zeal once more, it discovered itself by the same symptoms, and produced effects much like those it had produced before. But, unhappily, the ardor I felt upon the occasion, disdaining to be confined within the bounds of fact, pushed me upon uniting the prophetical with the poetical character, and defeated its own purpose.-I am glad it did. The less there is of that sort in my book the better; it will be more consonant to your character, who patronize the volume, and, indeed, to the constant tenor of my own thoughts upon public matters, that I should exhort my countrymen to repentance, than that I should flatter their pride-that vice for which, perhaps, they are even now so severely punished. We are glad, for Mr. Barham's sake, that he has been happily disappointed. How little does the world suspect what passes in it every day-that true religion is working the same wonders now as in the first ages of the church-that parents surrender up their children into the hands of God, to die at his own appointed moment, and by what death he pleases, without a murmur, and receive them again as if by a resurrection from the dead! The world, however, would be more justly chargeable with wilful blindness than it is, if all professors of the truth exem Easterly winds and a state of confinement within our own walls suit neither me nor Mrs. Unwin; though we are both, to use the Irish term, rather unwell than ill. plified its power in their conduct as conspic- under the influence of a morbid temperauously as Mr. Barham. ment, and with an imagination assailed by the most afflicting images. In the midst of these discouragements his mind burst forth from its prison-house, arrayed n all the charms of wit and humor, sportive without levity, and never provoking a smile at the expense of virtue. Yours, my dear friend, W. C. Mrs. Madan is happy.-She will be found ripe, fall when she may. We are sorry you speak doubtfully about a spring visit to Olney. Those doubts must not outlive the winter. W. C. A mind so constituted furnishes a remark. able proof of the wisdom and goodness of God; for it shows that the greatest trials are not without their alleviations, and that in the bitterest cup are to be found the ingredients of mercy. Who can tell how often the mind might lose its equilibrium, or sink under the terposition of that Almighty Power which guides the planets in their orbits, and says to the great water, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." Job xxxviii. 11. We now conclude this portion of our work. The incidents recorded in it cannot fail to ex-pressure of its woes, were it not for the incite interest, and to awaken a variety of reflections. Remarks of this kind will, however, appear more suitable, when all the details of the poet's singular history are brought to a close, and presented in a connected series. In the meantime we cannot but admire that divine wisdom and mercy, which often so remarkably overrules the darkest dispensations From seeming evil still educing good. It might have been anticipated that the morbid temperament of Cowper would either have unfitted him for intellectual exertion, or that his productions would have been tinged with all the colors of distempered mind: but such was not the case. Whether he composed in poetry or prose, the effect upon his mind seems to have been similar to the influence of the harp of David over the spirit of Saul. The inward struggles of the soul yielded to the magic power of song; and the inimitable letter-writer forgot his sorrows in the sallies of his own sportive imagination. The peculiarity of his temperament, so far from restraining his powers, seems from his own account to have quickened them into action. "I write," he says, in one of his letters, "to amuse and forget myself; and yet always with the desire of benefiting others." His object in writing was twofold, and so was his success; for he wrote and forgot himself; and yet wrote in such a manner, as never to be forgotten by others. WE have now conducted Cowper to the threshhold of fame, with all its attendant hopes, fears, and anxieties; a fame resting on the noblest foundation, the application of the powers of genius to improvement of the age in which he lived. The circumstances under which he commenced his career as an Author are singular. They form a profitable subject of inquiry to those who analyze the operations of the human mind; for he wrote in the moments of depression and sorrow, We now resume the correspondence of Cowper which contains some incidental notices of his admired Poems of Friendship and Retirement. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.* Olney, Dec. 17, 1781. My dear Friend,―The poem I had in hand when I wrote last is on the subject of Friendship. By the following post I received a packet from Johnson. The proof-sheet it contained brought our business down to the latter part of "Retirement;" the next will consequently introduce the first of the smaller pieces. The volume consisting, at least fourfifths of it, of heroic verse as it is called, and graver matter, I was desirous to displace the "Burning Mountain"† from the post it held in the van of the light infantry, and throw it into the rear. Having finished “Friendship,” and fearing that, if I delayed to send it, the press would get the start of my intention, and knowing perfectly that, with respect to the subject and the subject matter of it, it contained nothing that you would think exceptionable, I took the liberty to transmit it to Johnson, and hope that the next post will return it to me printed. It consists of between thirty and forty stanzas: a length that qualifies it to supply the place of the two cancelled pieces, without the aid of the epis tle I mentioned. According to the present is rather of a lively cast, though quite sober, arrangement, therefore, "Friendship," which will follow next after " Etna" will close the volume. Modern natRetirement," and uralists, I think, tell us that the volcano forms the mountain. I shall be charged therefore, perhaps, with an unphilosophical error in supposing that Etna was once unconscious * Private correspondence. †The pocin afterwards entitled "Heroism.”—Vide Poems. pentance by means we are little aware of, and at a time when we least expect it. Our best love attends yourself and Mrs. Newton, and we rejoice that you feel no burthens but those you bear in common with the liveliest and most favored Christians. It is a happiness in poor Peggy's case, that she can swallow five shillings' worth of physic in a day, but a person must be in her case to be duly sensible of it. of intestine fires, and as lofty as at present in its present state of profligacy and profanebefore the commencement of the eruptions.ness, but may, nevertheless, be led to reIt is possible, however, that the rule, though just in some instances, may not be of universal application; and, if it be, I do not know that a poet is obliged to write with a philosopher at his elbow, prepared always to bend down his imagination to mere matters of fact. You will oblige me by your opinion; and tell me, if you please, whether you think an apologetical note may be necessary; for I would not appear a dunce in matters that every Review reader must needs be apprized of. I say a note, because an alteration of the piece is impracticable; at least without cutting off its head, and setting on a new one; a task I should not readily undertake, because the lines which must, in that case, be thrown out, are some of the most poetical inter exactly into your idea of a present theothe performance. Yours, my dear Sir, W. C. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.* cracy, because mine amounts to no more than Possessing greater advantages, and being equally dissolute with the most abandoned of the neighboring nations, we are certainly more criminal than they. They cannot see, and we will not. It is to be expected, therefore, that when judgment is walking through the earth, it will come commissioned with the heaviest tidings to the people chargeable with the most perverseness. In the latter part of the Duke of Newcastle's administration, all faces gathered blackness. The people, as they walked the streets, had, every one of them, a countenance like what we may suppose to have been the prophet Jonah's, when he cried, "Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be destroyed." But our Nineveh too repented, that is to say, she was affected in a manner somewhat suitable to her condition. She was dejected; she learned an humbler language, and seemed, if she did not trust in God, at least to have renounced her confidence in herself. A respite ensued; the expected ruin was averted; and her prosper- I see but one feature in the face of our naity became greater than ever. Again she tional concerns that pleases me;-the war became self-conceited and proud, as at the with America, it seems, is to be conducted on first; and how stands it with our Nineveh a different plan. This is something, when now! Even as you say; her distress is infi- a long series of measures, of a certain de nite, her destruction appears inevitable, and scription, has proved unsuccessful, the adop her heart as hard as the nether millstone. tion of others is at least pleasing, as it enThus, I suppose, it was when ancient Nine-courages a hope that they may possibly prove veh found herself agreeably disappointed; wiser and more effectual: but, indeed, withshe turned the grace of God into lascivious-out discipline, all is lost. Pitt himself could ness, and that flagrant abuse of mercy exposed her, at the expiration of forty years, to the complete execution of a sentence she had only been threatened with before. A similarity of events, accompanied by a strong similarity of conduct, seems to justify our expectations that the catastrophe will not be very different. But, after all, the designs of Providence are inscrutable, and, as in the case of individuals, so in that of nations, the same causes do not always produce the same effects. The country indeed cannot be saved have done nothing with such tools; but he TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.* My dear Friend, I might easily make this letter a continuation of my last, another national miscarriage having furnished me with a fresh illustration of the remarks we have both been making. Mr. S* who has most obligingly supplied me with franks throughout my whole concern with Johnson, accompanied the last parcel he sent me with a note dated from the House of Commons, in which he seemed happy to give me the earliest intelligence of the capture of the French transports by Admiral Kempenfelt, and of a close engagement between the two fleets, so much to be expected. This note was written on Monday, and reached me by Wednesday's post; but, alas! the same post brought us the newspaper that informed us of his being forced to fly before a much superior enemy, and glad to take shelter in the port he had left so lately. This event, I suppose, will have worse consequences than the mere disappointment; will furnish Opposition, as all our ill success has done, with the fuel of dissention, and with the means of thwarting and perplexing administration. Thus, all we purchase with the many millions expended yearly is distress to ourselves, instead of our enemies, and domestic quarrels instead of victories abroad. It takes a great many blows to knock down a great nation; and, in the case of poor England, a great many heavy ones have not been wanting. They make us reel and stagger indeed, but the blow is not yet struck that is to make us fall upon our knees. That fall would save us; but, if we fall upon our side at last, we are undone. So much for politics. I enclose a few lines on a thought which struck me yesterday. If you approve of them, you know what to do with them. I should think they might occupy the place of an introduction, and should call them by that name, if I did not judge the name I have given them necessary for the information of the reader. A flatting-mill is not met with in every street, and my book will, perhaps fall into the hands of many who do not know that such a mill was ever invented. It happened to me, however, to spend much of my time in one, when I was a boy, when I frequently amused myself with watching the operation I describe. Yours, my dear Sir, W. C. The reader will admire the sublimity of the following letter in allusion to England and America. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. Olney. The last day of 1781. brought me yours, brought me a packet from Johnson. We have reached the middle of the Mahometan Hog. By the way, your lines, which, when we had the pleasure of seeing you here, you said you would furnish him with, are not inserted in it. I did not recollect, till after I had finished the "Flatting-Mill," that it bore any affinity to the motto taken from Caraccioli. The resemblance, however, did not appear to me to give any impropriety to the verses, as the thought is much enlarged upon, and enlivened by the addition of a new comparison. But if it is not wanted, it is superfluous, and if superfluous, better omitted. I shall not bumble Johnson for finding fault with "Friendship," though I have a better opinion of it myself; but a poet is of all men the most unfit to be judge in his own cause. Partial to all his productions, he is always most partial to the youngest. But, as there is a sufficient quantity without it, let that sleep too. If I should live to write again, I may possibly take up that subject a second time, and clothe it in a different dress. It abounds with excellent matter, and much more than I could find room for in two or three pages. I consider England and America as once one country. They were so, in respect of interest, intercourse, and affinity. A great earthquake has made a partition, and now the Atlantic Ocean flows between them. He that can drain that ocean, and shove the two shores together, so as to make them aptly coincide, and meet each other in every part, can unite them again. But this is a work for Omnipotence and nothing less than Omnipotence can heal the breach between us. dispensation is evidently a scourge to England; but is it a blessing to America?* Time This * Cowper, though a Whig, vindicates the American war, keenly as he censures the inefficiency with which it was conducted. The subject has now lost much of its interest, and is become rather a matter of historical record. Such is the influence of the lapse of time on the intenseness of political feeling! The conduct of France, at this crisis, is exhibited with a happy poignancy of wit. "True we have lost an empire-let it pass. Cowper subsequently raises the question how far the attainment of Independence was likely to exercise a salutary influence on the future prospects of America. He anticipates an unfavorable issue. Events, however, have such rapid strides towards Imperial greatness? Where not fulfilled this prediction. What country has made shall we find a more boundless extent of territory, a more rapid increase of population, or ampler resources for a commerce that promises to make the whole world tributary to its support? Besides, why should not the descendants prove worthy of their sires? Why should a great experiment in legislation and government suspend the natural course of political and moral causes? May My dear Friend,-Yesterday's post, which the spiritual improvement of her religious privileges • Mr. Smith, afterwards Lord Carrington. ↑ The lines alluded to are entitled "The Flatting-Mill, an Illustration." + Private correspondence. keep pace with the career of her national greatness! What we most apprehend for America is the danger of internal dissension. If corruption be the disease of monarchies, faction is the bane of republics. We add one more reflection, with sentiments of profound regret, and of most indefatigable industry and labor Writers, who find it necessary to make such strenuous and painful exertions, are generally as phlegmatic as they are correct; but Pope was, in this respect, exempted from the com unwearied application of a plodding Flemish painter, who draws a shrimp with the most minute exactness, he had all the genius of one of the first masters. Never, I believe, were such talents and such drudgery united. But I admire Dryden most, who has suc may prove it one, but at present it does not seem to wear an aspect favorable to their privileges, either civil or religious. I cannot doubt the truth of Dr. W.'s assertion; but the French, who pay but little regard to treaties that clash with their convenience, with-mon lot of authors of that class. With the out a treaty, and even in direct contradiction to verbal engagements, can easily pretend a claim to a country which they have both bled and paid for; and, if the validity of that claim be disputed, behold an army ready landed, and well-appointed, and in possession of some of the most fruitful provinces, pre-ceeded by mere dint of genius, and in spite pared to prove it. A scourge is a scourge at one end only. A bundle of thunderbolts, such as you have seen in the talons of Jupiter's eagle, is at both ends equally tremendous, and can inflict a judgment upon the West, at the same moment that it seems to intend only the chastisement of the East. Yours, my dear Sir, W. C. Dr. Johnson's celebrated work, "The Lives of the Poets," had at this time made its appearance, and some of the following letters refer to that subject. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. Olney, Jan. 5, 1782. My dear Friend,-Did I allow myself to plead the common excuse of idle correspond of a laziness and carelessness almost peculiar to himself. His faults are numberless, and so are his beauties. His faults are those of a great man, and his beauties are such (at least sometimes) as Pope, with all his touching and retouching, could never equal. So far, therefore, I have no quarrel with Johnson. But I cannot subscribe to what he says of Prior. In the first place, though my memory may fail me, I do not recollect that he takes any notice of his Solomon, in my mind the best poem, whether we consider the subject of it or the execution, that he ever wrote.* In the next place, he condemns him for introducing Venus and Cupid into his love verses, and concludes it impossible his pas sion could be sincere, because when he would when Prior wrote, those deities were not so express it, he has recourse to fables. But, ents, and esteem it a sufficient reason for not writing that I have nothing to write obsolete as they are at present. His cotemabout, I certainly should not write now. But porary writers, and some that succeeded him, I have so often found, on similar occasions, did not think them beneath their notice. when a great penury of matter has seemed Tibullus, in reality, disbelieved their existence to threaten me with an utter impossibility of as much as we do; yet Tibullus is allowed hatching a letter, that nothing is necessary to be the prince of all poetical inamoratos, but to put pen to paper, and go on, in order though he mentions them in almost every to conquer all difficulties; that, availing my-which the Doctor seems to have forgotten. page. There is a fashion in these things self of past experience, I now begin with the But what shall we say of his rusty-fusty remost assured persuasion that, sooner or later, marks upon Henry and Emma? I agree with one idea naturally suggesting another, I shall him, that, morally considered, both the knight come to a most prosperous conclusion. and his lady are bad characters, and that each exhibits an example which ought not to be followed. The man dissembles in a way that would have justified the woman had she renounced him, and the woman resolves to follow him at the expense of delicacy, prothe critic calls it a dull dialogue, who but a priety, and even modesty itself. But when In the last Review," I mean in the last but one, I saw Johnson's critique upon Prior and Pope. I am bound to acquiesce in his opinion of the latter, because it has always been my own. I could never agree with those who preferred him to Dryden, nor with others (I have known such, and persons of taste and discernment too) who could not allow him to be a poet at all. He was certainly a mechanical maker of verses, and, in every line he ever wrote, we see indubitable marks borrow the muse of Cowper to convey our meaning and our wishes. critic will believe him? There are few readwho cannot remember how that enchanting ers of poetry of either sex in this country piece has bewitched them, who do not know that, instead of finding it tedious, they have been so delighted with the romantic turn of *This remark is inaccurate. Prior's Solomon is distinctly mentioned, though Johnson observes that it fails in exciting interest. His concluding remarks are, however, highly honorable to the merit of that work. "He that shall peruse it will be able to mark many passages, to which he may recur for instruction or delight; many from which the poet may learn to write, and the philosopher to reason."-Life of Prior.-EDITOR. |