and I hope what I have now to say on "The Poetry of Cowper," will be welcomed with equal kindness.

These two great and good men, Milton and Cowper, were in some respects alike, though in others they were very much unlike one another. They are each highly distinguished and favourite poets. Milton belongs to the very highest class, and if Cowper occupies a lower place, it is still one of very great eminence. Milton's poetry is profoundly admired, that of Cowper is very sincerely loved. They are each secure of immortality. Cowper was a bard of no ordinary excellency, beauty, and power; but he would have shrunk from comparison with our geatest epic poet, as his sensitive nature shrunk from a prominent and foremost place in the stern battle-field of life. Milton was made to command and to conquer-to do hard, earnest, manly work. He was an entire stranger to nervous fear. His mind was never prostrated. He deeply loved his study and his books, and serene converse with the spirit of the woods, the meadows, and the waters. He loved the haunts of the Muses; but if duty called him, he could leave " a quiet solitude fed by peaceful thoughts," and, putting the trumpet to his mouth, he could" blow a dolorous, and a jarring blast ;" and, approaching the helm of his country's affairs, became Latin Secretary in earnest and stirring times, for "the greatest man that ever ruled England." Cowper was, alas! unable to maintain mental quiet when called upon to occupy a subordinate place in the British legislature. Milton was equally at home at the counciltable of glorious, old Oliver, or in his own study. Cowper's congenial home was the quiet town of Olney. It was there that he was most in his element, in the midst of domestic comforts, feeding his tame hares, cultivating flowers, writing his inimitable letters, and his pensive and beautiful poetry. The following characteristic lines give us a clear insight into Cowper's gentle and shrinking soul

""Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,
To peep at such a world; to see the stir

Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;.
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates
At a safe distance; where the dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjured ear."

Both were true patriots-both loved their country— both had a strong sympathy with the oppressed and the suffering-both hurled their anathemas at the heads of tyrants-both were men of piety and men of God. They were each, in a subordinate but important sense, prophets to their own and succeeding ages. Milton reminds us of Isaiah; Cowper brings to our minds the "weeping prophet." Their piety, though equally sincere, reflects the peculiar temperaments of each. Milton's was akin to the glowing and seraphic ardour of Abdiel, the dreadless angel; Cowper's was that of the "stricken deer that left the herd." They were each blessed with pious and excellent parents; and while Milton pays special homage to the memory of his father, not forgetting his good mother-Cowper remembers with characteristic tenderness and gratitude the affectionate fondness of his mother. How finely and tenderly does Cowper pour out his heart's sympathies in those most touching of his verses-the Lines written on the receipt of his Mother's Picture. As the piece so finely exhibits the character of the man, and manifests feelings that Uncle Joseph would like his young friends to cherish, I shall here quote some short extracts from it, earnestly commending the whole poem to your attention. We can fancy the poet's pensive eyes reverently fixed on the portrait of his sainted mother, as he thus begins his immortal tribute to her memory and worth

"O that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,

'Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!'

My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,

Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss-
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes."

He then runs over, with touching beauty and pathetic tenderness, the various acts that his tenacious memory had cherished up of her maternal care and love. He follows his sainted mother to the world of bliss where she is gone, and where her husband had followed her; and, anticipating a meeting there, though his hopes are not unclouded, he says—

"My boast is not, that I deduce my birth

From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise—
The son of parents pass'd into the skies."

We think of Milton, as the sublimest and grandest; of Cowper, as the most amiable and tender of the sons of men. They have, we doubt not, met in that brighter and more glorious world; and are united in singing a new song."

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I shall now, my young friends, endeavour to give you a short sketch of the life of Cowper, as I did in the case of Milton. One reads a man's books with greater interest when acquainted with his character and life. There are some who never read the preface of a book. Uncle Joseph never omits it. He likes to see what kind of a bow an author makes to his readers. He also likes to see what the writer himself thinks of his own production, and to learn from the preface what he can of the man whose book he is about to read. Now then, my dear friends, for something about Cowper. This letter, while remembering that he was a poet, and giving some specimens of his poetry, will be, after all, little more than a preface to the next letter, in which I shall endeavour to point out some of the principal characteristics of the Poetry of Cowper.

William Cowper was born on the 26th of November, 1731, at Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire. His father, the Rev. John Cowper, D.D., was incumbent of the rectory of Berkhampstead, and also one of the royal chaplains of George II. He was a child of the most affectionate disposition, and he possessed in his mother all that such a child could desire. She was an exceedingly amiable woman, had a most tender affection for her son, which was very sincerely reciprocated on his part. But, alas! for him, when he was two days short of being six years old, he sustained an irreparable loss, and felt, in her death, his first great sorrow. Sad indeed were his feelings on that day, and for many after days also. See the pensive boy standing at the window of the rectory, watching the slow-moving funeral procession, and listening with a saddened heart to the bell, whose solemn toll his imagination still heard after forty years had rolled away. In the poem from which I have quoted above, he says, in thought, addressing his dear mother

“I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!”

The loss of a mother at that tender age is a very heavy one to any child. It was peculiarly so to one needing, as little William Cowper needed, all a mother's fondness, and all a mother's care. The poem from which I have just quoted, shows how deeply he loved his mother; so also does the following extract from a letter to the cousin who had sent him his mother's portrait-"Every creature that bears an affinity to my dear mother, is dear to me; and you, the daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from her. I love you, therefore, and love you much, both for her sake and for your own. The world could not have furnished me with a present so acceptable to me, as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirit akin to what I should

have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object I see at night, and, of course, the first on which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I completed my sixth year, yet I remember her well, and am an ocular witness to the great fidelity of the copy. I remember too, a multitude of the maternal tendernesses which I received from her, and which have endeared her memory to me beyond expression."

The early days of our poet are sketched with inimitable beauty in the poem already referred to, especially so far as his mother's memory was mixed up with them. One of his biographers has very beautifully said, that "No more beautiful or characteristic example of the peculiar truth and power of Cowper's poetical style could be selected than the touching piece of autobiography referred to. The very simplest and most homely occurrences of the parlour and the nursery supply him with elements with which to weave the most touching numbers. The childish sports, the morning's refreshments and ablutions, the daily visit to school, under gardener Robin's care, and the nightly retirement to rest, all live before us with the vivid reality of a sweet domestic picture."

But, alas! how soon and how completely was that picture spoiled to young Cowper. The first direct consequence that followed the rude shock which dissipated so pleasing a dream of infantile happiness, was the transference of the youthful Cowper to the uncongenial scenes of a public school. His shy and timid nature was ill prepared for coping with the ordinary trials of such a situation. He was also unfortunately the object of a very cruel persecution from a boy of fourteen or fifteen. He bore his sufferings in private without complaining, and let it be remembered, that his dread of this young person was such, that whenever he approached him, he shuddered with horror, and could never venture to lift up his meek and timid eyes to look him in the face. Indeed, he tells us that his dread of him was such that he could never look higher than the young man's knees.