well to guard against both, for of both, I believe, you have a considerable share as well as myself. We long to see you again, and are only concerned at the short stay you propose to make with us. If time should seem to you as short at Weston, as it seems to us, your visit here will be gone "as a dream when one awaketh, or as a watch in the night." It is a life of dreams, but the pleasantest one naturally wishes longest. I shall find employment for you, having made already some part of the fair copy of the Odyssey a foul one. I am revising it for the last time, and spare nothing that I can mend. The Iliad is finished. If you have Donne's poems, bring them with you, for I have not seen them many years, and should like to look them over.* You may treat us too, if you please, with a little of your music, for I seldom hear any, and delight much in it. You need not fear a rival, for we have but two fiddles in the neighborhood-one a gardener's, the other a tailor's: terrible performers both! W. C. Mrs. Newton was at this time in very declining health. It is to this subject that Cowper alludes in the following letter. * Dr. Donne, Dean of St. Paul's, and Chaplain to King James the First, belonged to that class of writers, whom poets Their great object seemed to be to display their wit and learning, and to astonish by what was brilliant, rather than to please by what was natural and simple. Notwithstanding this defect, the poetry of Donne, though harsh and unmusical, abounds in powerful thoughts, and discovers a considerable share of learning. His divinity was drawn from the pure fountain of Revelation, of which he drank copiously and freely. Of his fervent zeal and piety, many instances are recorded in that inimitable piece of biography, Izaak Walton's Lives. subjoin a specimen of his poetry, composed during a severe fit of sickness, and which, on his recovery, was set to music, and used to be often sung to the organ by the choristers of St. Paul's, in his own hearing. Johnson, in his Life of Cowley, describes as metaphysical HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. Wilt thon forgive that sin where I begun, 2. Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sin their door? Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallow'd in a score? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more. 3. I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun We Divine Poems. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.* The Lodge, Aug. 11, 1790. My dear Friend,-That I may not seem unreasonably tardy in answering your last kind letter, I steal a few minutes from my customary morning business, (at present the translation of Mr. Van Lier's Narrative,) to inform you that I received it safe from the hands of Judith Hughes, whom we met in the middle of Hill-field. Desirous of gaining the earliest intelligence possible concerning Mrs. Newton, we were going to call on her, and she was on her way to us. It grieved us much that her news on that subject corresponded so little with our earnest wishes of Mrs. Newton's amendment. But if Dr. Benamert still gives hope of her recovery, it is not, I trust, without substantial reason for doing so; much less can I suppose that he would do it contrary to his own persuasions, because a thousand reasons, that must influence, in such a case, the conduct of a humane and sensible physician, concur to forbid it. If it shall please God to restore her, no tidings will give greater joy to us. In the meantime, it is our comfort to know that in any event you will be sure of sup ports invaluable, and that cannot fail you though, at the same time, I know well that with your feelings, and especially on so af fecting a subject, you will have need of the full exercise of all your faith and resignation. To a greater trial no man can be called, than that of being a helpless eye-witness of the sufferings of one he loves and loves tenderly. This I know by experience; but it is long since I had any experience of those communications from above, which alone can enable us to acquit ourselves, on such an occasion, as we ought. But it is otherwise with you, and I rejoice that it is so. With respect to my own initiation into the secret of animal magnetism, I have a thousand doubts. Twice, as you know, I have been overwhelmed with the blackest despair; and at those times everything in which I have been at any period of my life concerned has afforded to the enemy a handle against me. I tremble, therefore, almost at every step I take, lest on some future similar occasion it should yield him opportunity, and furnish him with means to torment ine. Decide for me, if you can; and in the meantime, present, if you please, my respectful compliments and very best thanks to Mr. Holloway, for his most obliging offer. I am, perhaps, the only man living who would hesitate a moment, whether, on such easy terms, he should * Private correspondence. † Dr. Benamer was a pious and excellent man, whose honse was the resort of religious persons at that time, who went there for the purpose of edification. Mr. Newton was a regular attendant on these occasions. ↑ Newton had suggested the propriety of Cowper trying the effect of animal magnetism, in the hopes of mitigating his disorder, but he declined the offer. or should not accept it. But if he finds an- or even to have thought of doing it. It hapother like me, he will make a greater discov-pened that one day, as we chatted by the fireery than even that which he has already made of the principles of this wonderful art. For I take it for granted, that he is the gentleman whom you once mentioned to me as indebted only to his own penetration for the knowledge of it. The termination of a laborious literary untertaking is an eventful period in an author's life. The following letter announces the termination of Cowper's Homeric version, and its conveyance to the press. TO MRS. BODHAM. side, I expressed a wish that I could hear of some trusty body going to London, to whose care I might consign my voluminous labors. the work of five years. For I purpose never to visit that city again myself, and should have been uneasy to have left a charge, of so much importance to me, altogether to the care of a stage-coachman. Johnny had no sooner heard my wish than, offering himself to the service, he fulfilled it; and his offer was made in such terms, and accompanied with a countenance and manner expressive of so much alacrity, that, unreasonable as I thought it at first to give him so much trou ble, I soon found that I should mortify him by a refusal. He is gone therefore with a box full of poetry, of which I think nobody will plunder him. He has only to say what it is, and there is no commodity I think a freebooter would covet less. W. C. The marriage of his friend, Mr. Rose, was too interesting an event not to claim Cowper's warm congratulations. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. The Lodge, Sept. 13, 1790. My dear Friend,-Your letter was particu larly welcome to me, not only because it came after a long silence, but because it brought me good news-news of your marriage, and consequently, I trust, of your happiness. May that happiness be durable as your lives, and may you be the Felices ter et amplius of whom Horace sings so sweetly! This is my sincere wish, and, though expressed in prose, shall serve as your epithalamium. You comfort me when you say that your marriage will not deprive us of the sight of you hereafter. If you do not wish that I should regret your union, you must make that assurance good as Weston, Sept. 9, 1790. My dearest Cousin,-I am truly sorry to be forced after all to resign the hope of seeing you and Mr. Bodham at Weston this year; the next may possibly be more propitious, and I heartily wish it may. Poor Catharine's* unseasonable indisposition has also cost us a disappointment which we much regret. And, were it not that Johnny has made shift to reach us, we should think our-often as you have opportunity. selves completely unfortunate. But him we have, and him we will hold as long as we can, so expect not very soon to see him in Norfolk. He is so harmless, cheerful, gentle, and good-tempered, and I am so entirely at my ease with him, that I cannot surrender him without a needs must, even to those who have a superior claim upon him. He left us yesterday morning, and whither do you think he is gone, and on what errand? Gone, as sure as you are alive, to London, and to convey my Homer to the bookseller's. But he will return the day after to-morrow, and I mean to part with him no more till necessity shall force us asunder. Suspect me not, my cousin, of being such a monster as to have imposed this task myself on your kind nephew, *The Rev. J. Johnson's sister. After perpetual versification during five years, I find myself at last a vacant man, and reduced to read for my amusement. My Homer is gone to the press, and you will imagine that I feel a void in consequence. The proofs however will be coming soon, and I shall avail myself with all my force, of this last opportunity to make my work as perfect as I wish it. I shall not therefore be long time destitute of employment, but shall have sufficient to keep me occupied all the winter and part of the ensuing spring, for Johnson purposes to publish either in March, April, or May-my very preface is finished. It did not cost me much trouble, being neither long nor learned. I have spoken my mind as freely as decency would permit on the subject of Pope's version, allowing him at the same time all the LIFE OF COWPER. merit to which I think him entitled. I have given my reasons for translating in blank verse, and hold some discourse on the mechanism of it, chiefly with a view to obviate the prejudices of some people against it. I expatiate a little on the manner in which I think Homer ought to be rendered, and in which I have endeavored to render him myself, and anticipated two or three cavils to which I foresee that I shall be liable from the ignorant or uncandid, in order, if possible, to prevent them. These are the chief heads of my preface, and the whole consists of about twelve pages. It is possible, when I come to treat with Johnson about the copy, I may want some person, to negotiate for me, and knowing no one so intelligent as yourself in books, or so well qualified to estimate their just value, I shall beg leave to resort to and rely on you as my negotiator. But I will not trouble you unless I should see occasion. My cousin was the bearer of my MSS. to London. He went on purpose, and returns to-morrow. Mrs. Unwin's affectionate felicitations added to my own, conclude me, Dear friend, Sincerely yours, W. C. ness or indifference to me, I should be selfish I wish heartily that my verses had been I have lately received from my bookseller a copy of my subscribers' names, and do not find among them the name of Mr. Professor Martyn. I mention it because you informed me, some time since, of his kind intention to number himself among my encouragers on this occasion, and because I am unwilling to lose, for want of speaking in time, the honor It is possible, too," that he may have subscribed, and that his nonThe trees of a colonnade will solve my that his name will do me. appearance may be owing merely to Johnson's having forgot to enter his name. Perhaps you will have an opportunity to ascertain the matter. The catalogue will be printed soon, and published in the " Analytical Review,” as the last and most effectual way of advertising in question will be particularly serviceable to my translation, and the name of the gentleman me in the first edition of it. riddle.* TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.† The Lodge, Sept 17, 1790. My dear Friend, I received last night a copy of my subscribers' names from Johnson, in which I see how much I have been indebted to yours and to Mrs. Hill's solicitations. Ac- me. your Till ev'ry rubric-post be crimson'd o'er Most truly yours, TO MRS. KING.† W. C. Weston, Oct. 5, 1790. My dear Madam,-I am truly concerned that you have so good an excuse for your silence. Were it proposed to my choice, My whole work is in the bookseller's hands, and ought by this time to be in the press. The next spring is the time appointed for the publication. It is a genial season, when people who are ever good-tempered at all are sure to be so; a circumstance well worthy of an author's attention, especially of mine, who am just going to give a thump on the outside of the critics' hive, that will probably alarm them all. Mrs. Unwin, I think, is on the whole rather improved in her health since we had the pleasure of your short visit; I should say the pleasure of your visit, and the pain of its shortness. I am, my dearest madam, Most truly yours, W. C. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.† The Lodge, Oct. 15, 1790. My dear Friend,-We were surprised and * Mrs. King presented the poet with a counterpane, in Whether you should omit to write through ill-patchwork, of her own making. In acknowledgment, What are they which stand at a distance from each other, and meet without ever moving? ? Private correspondence. he addressed to her the verses beginning, "The bard, if e'er he feel at all, Must sure be quicken'd by a call," &c. &c. ↑ Private correspondence. grieved at Mrs. Scott's* sudden departure; grieved, you may suppose, not for her, but for him, whose loss, except that in God he has an all-sufficient good, is irreparable. The day of separation between those who have loved long and well is an awful day, inasmuch as it calls the Christian's faith and submission to the severest trial. Yet I account those happy, who, if they are severely tried, shall yet be supported, and carried safely through. What would become of me on a similar occasion! I have one comfort, and only one; bereft of that, I should have nothing left to lean on; for my spiritual props have been long struck from under me. I have no objection at all to being known as the translator of Van Lier's Letters when they shall be published. Rather, I am ambitious of it as an honor. It will serve to prove, that, if I have spent much time to little purpose in the translation of Homer, some small portion of my time has, however, been well disposed of. The honor of your preface prefixed to my poems will be on my side; for surely to be known as the friend of a much-favored minister of God's word is a more illustrious distinction, in reality, than to have the friendship of any poet in the world to boast of. We sympathize truly with you under all your tender concern for Mrs. Newton, and with her in all her sufferings from such various and discordant maladies. Alas! what a difference have twenty-three years made in us and in our condition! for just so long is it since Mrs. Unwin and I came into Buckinghamshire. Yesterday was the anniversary of that memorable era. Farewell. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.† W. C. The Lodge, Oct. 26, 1790. My dear Friend,-We should have been happy to have received from you a more favorable account of Mrs. Newton's health. Yours is indeed a post of observation, and of observation the most interesting. It is well that you are enabled to bear the stress and intenseness of it without prejudice to your own health, or impediment to your ministry. The last time I wrote to Johnson, I made known to him your wishes to have your preface printed, and affixed, as soon as an opportunity shall offer; expressing, at the same time, my own. desires to have it done.f *The wife of the Rev. Thomas Scott, the author of one of the best Commentaries on the Bible ever published. Mr. Scott was preacher at the Lock Hospital at this time. † Private correspondence. We here subjoin the letter which Cowper addressed to Johnson, the bookseller, on this occasion. Weston, Oct. 3, 1790. Mr. Newton having again requested that the Preface which he wrote for my first volume may be prefixed to Whether I shall have any answer to my proposal is a matter of much uncertainty; for he is always either too idle or too busy, I know not which, to write to me. Should you happen to pass his way, perhaps it would not be amiss to speak to him on the subject; for it is easier to carry a point by six words spoken, than by writing as many sheets about it. I have asked him hither, when my cousin Johnson shall leave us, which will be in about a fortnight; and should he come will enforce the measure myself. A yellow shower of leaves is falling continually from all the trees in the country. A few moments only seem to have passed since they were buds; and in a few moments more they will have disappeared. It is one advantage of a rural situation, that it affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, that do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for a man conversant with such scenes as surround me, not to advert daily to the shortness of his existence here, admonished of it, as he must be, by ten thousand objects. There was a time when I could contemplate my present state, and consider myself as a thing of a day with pleasure; when I numbered the seasons as they passed in swift rotation, as a schoolboy numbers the days that interpose between the next vacation, when he shall see his parents, and enjoy his home again. But to make so just an estimate of a life like this is no longer in my power. The consideration of my short continuance here, which was once grateful to me, now fills me with regret. I would live and live always, and am become such another wretch as Mæcenas was, who wished for long life, he cared not at what expense of suffer ings. The only consolation left me on this subject is, that the voice of the Almighty can in one moment cure me of this mental infirmity. That he can, I know by experience; and there are reasons for which I ought to believe that he will. But from hope to despair is a transition that I have made so often, that I can only consider the hope that may come, and that sometimes I believe will, as a short prelude of joy to a miserable conclusion of sorrow that shall never end. Thus are my brightest prospects clouded, and thus, to me, is hope itself become like a withered flower, that has lost both its hue and its fra grance. I ought not to have written in this dismal strain to you, in your present trying situa tion, nor did I intend it. You have more need to be cheered than to be saddened; but a dearth of other themes constrained me to it, I am desirous to gratify him in a particular that so emphatically bespeaks his friendship for me; and, should my books kee another edition, shall be obliged to ❘ you if you will add it accordingly. W. C. choose myself for a subject, and of myself I can write no otherwise. Adieu, my dear friend. We are well: and, notwithstanding all that I have said, I am myself as cheerful as usual. Lady Hesketh is here, and in her company even I, except now and then for a moment, forget my sorrows. I remain sincerely yours, W. C. case. The purport of this letter is painful, but it is explained by the peculiarity of Cowper's The state of mind which the Christian ought to realize, should be a willingness to remain or to depart, as may seem best to the supreme Disposer of events; though the predominating feeling (where there is an assured and lively hope) will be that of the apostle, viz., that "to be with Christ is far better." The question is, how is this lively hope and assurance to be obtained? How is the sense of guilt, and the fear of death and judgment, to be overcome? The Gospel proclaims the appointed remedy. "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world." "I, even I, am He, which blotteth out all thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins." "If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, and he is the propitiation for our sins." The cordial reception of this great gospel truth into the heart, the humble reliance upon God's pardoning mercy, through the blood of the cross, will, by the grace of God, infallibly lead to inward joy and peace. "Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ. By whom also we have access by faith unto this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God." The same divine grace that assures peace to the conscience, will also change and renew the heart, and plant within it those holy principles and affections that will lead to newness of life. The promise of the blood to pardon, and the Spirit to teach and to sanctify, are the two great fundamental doctrines of the Gospel. please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little biassed in our favor; and another to write what may please everybody; because they who have no connexion or even knowledge of the author will be sure to find fault if they can. My advice, however, salutary and necessary as it seemed to me, was such as I dare not have given to a poet of less diffidence than he. Poets are to a proverb irritable, and he is the only one I ever knew who seems to have no spark of that fire about him. He has left us about a fortnight, and sorry we were to lose him; but had he been my son he must have gone, and I could not have regretted him more. If his sister be still with you, present my love to her, and tell her how much I wish to see them at Weston together. Mrs. Hewitt probably remembers more of my childhood than I can recollect either of hers or my own; but this I recollect, that the days of that period were happy days compared with most I have seen since. There are few, perhaps, in the world, who have not cause to look back with regret on the days of infancy; yet, to say, the truth, I suspect some deception in this. For infancy itself has its cares, and though we cannot now conceive how trifles could affect us much, it is certain that they did. Trifles they appear now, but such they were not then. TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. (MY BIRTH-DAY.) W. C. Weston, Friday, Nov. 26, 1790. My dearest Johnny,-I am happy that you have escaped from the claws of Euclid into the bosom of Justinian. It is useful, I suppose, to every man to be well grounded in the principles of jurisprudence, and I take it to be a branch of science that bids much fairer to enlarge the mind, and give an accuracy of reasoning, than all the mathematics in the world. Mind your studies, and you will soon be wiser than I can hope to be." We had a visit on Monday from one of the first women in the world; in point of character, I mean, and accomplishments, the dow ager Lady Spencer!* I may receive, perhaps, some honors hereafter, should my translation speed according to my wishes, and the pains I have taken with it; but shall never receive any that I shall esteem so highly. She is indeed worthy to whom I should dedicate, and, may but my Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall have nothing to fear from the critics. Yours, my dear Johnny, W. C. *The mother of the late Earl Spencer, and of the Duchess of Devonshire, and the person to whom he dedi cated his version of the Odyssey. |