and research required to furnish these, occasioned bly the same song to sing-well in body, but sick in Cowper much severe application, as the following spirit; sick nigh unto death. extracts will show:-19th March, 1793. "I am so busy every morning before breakfast, strutting and stalking in Homeric stilts, that you must account it an instance of marvellous grace and favor that I write even to you. Sometimes I am seriously almost crazed with the multiplicity of matters before me, and the little or no time that I have for them; and sometimes I repose myself after the fatigue of that distraction, on the pillow of despair-a pillow which has often served me in time of need, and is become, by frequent use, if not very comfortable, at least convenient. So reposed, I laugh at the world and say-Yes, you may gape, and expect both Homer and Milton from me, but I'll be hanged if ever you get them. In Homer, however, you must know I am advanced as far as the fifteenth book of the Iliad, leaving nothing behind that can reasonably offend the most fastidious; and I design him for a new dress as soon as possible, for a reason which any poet may guess if he will but thrust his hand into his pocket. My time, therefore, the little that I have, is now so entirely engrossed by Homer, that I have at this time a bundle of unanswered letters by me, and letters likely to be so. Thou knowest, I dare say, what it is to have a head weary with thinking mine is so fatigued by breakfast-time, three days out of four, that I am utterly incapable of sitting down to my desk again for any purpose whatever. I rise at six every morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast; the consequence is, that I am so exhausted as to be unable to write when the opportunity offers. You will say, breakfast be fore you work, and then your work will not fatigue you. I answer, perhaps I might, and your counsel would probably prove beneficial; but I cannot spare a moment for eating in the early part of the morn-you, that I can by no means spare you, and I will ing, having no other time for study: all this time is constantly given to Homer, not to correcting and amending him, for that is all over, but in writing notes. Johnson has expressed a wish for some, that the unlearned may be a little illuminated concerning classical story, and the mythology of the ancients; and his behavior to me has been so liberal, that I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek commentators, however, blinds me. But it is no matter, I am the more like Homer. I avail myself of Clarke's excellent annotations, from which I select such as I think likely to be useful, or that recommend themselves by the amusement they afford, of which sorts there are not a few. Barnes also affords me some of both kinds, but not so many, his notes being chiefly paraphrastical or grammatical. My only fear is, lest between them both, I should make my work too voluminous." 'Seasons return, but not to me returns God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day, I could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and During this year, several of Cowper's correspondents were visited either with domestic affliction, or with painful bereavements. On such occasions, all the sensibility and sympathy of his peculiarly tender mind never failed to be called into lively exercise The deep depression of his own mind did not deter him from attempting, at least, to alleviate the distress of others. To Mr. Hayley, who had recently lost a friend, he thus writes:-"I truly sympathize with you under your weight of sorrow, for the loss of our good Samaritan. But be not broken-hearted my friend: remember, the loss of those we love is the condition on which we live ourselves; and that he who chooses his friends wisely, from among the excellent of the earth, has a sure ground to hope concerning them when they die, that a merciful God will make them far happier than they could be here, and that we shall join them soon again: this is solid comfort, could we but avail ourselves of it but I confess the difficulty of doing so always. Sot row is like the deaf adder, that hears not the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely: and I feel so myself for the death of Austen, that my own chief consolation is that I had never seen him. Live yourself, I beseech you, for I have seen so much of live as long as it shall please God to permit. I know you set some value upon me, therefore let that promise comfort you, and give you not reason to say, like David's servants, We know that it would have pleased thee more if all we had died, than this one, for whom thou art inconsolable.' You have still Romney, and Carwardine, and Grey, and me, and my poor Mary, and I know not how many beside as many I suppose as ever had an opportunity of spending a day with you. He who has the most friends, must necessarily lose the most; and he whose friends are numerous as yours, may the better spare a part of them. It is a changing, transient scene: yet a little while and this poor dream of life will be over with all of us. The living, and they who live unhappy, they are indeed the subjects of sorrow." To his esteemed friend, Rev. Mr. Hurdis, who, In a letter to Mr. Newton, written 12th June, as above related, had lost one beloved sister, and 1793, Cowper thus expresses himself respecting the was in great danger of losing another, he thus state of his own mind, and that of Mrs. Unwin:- writes, June, 1793-"I seize a passing moment, "You promise to be contented with a short line, merely to say that I feel for your distresses, and sinand a short one you must have, hurried over in the cerely pity you, and I shall be happy to learn from little interval I have happened to find, between the your next that your sister's amendment has superconclusion of my morning task and breakfast. Study seded the necessity you feared of a journey to Lonhas this good effect, at least-it makes me an ear- don. Your candid account that your afflictions ly riser, a wholesome practice from which I have have broken your spirits and temper, I can perfectly never swerved since March. The scanty opportu- understand, having labored much in that fire mynity I have, I shall employ in telling you what you self, and perhaps more than any man. It is in such principally wish to be told, the present state of mine a school that we must learn, if we ever truly learn and Mrs. Unwin's health. In her I cannot perceive it, the natural depravity of the human heart, and of any alteration for the better; and must be satisfied, our own in particular, together with the consequence I believe, as indeed I have great reason to be, if that necessarily follows such wretched premisesshe does not alter for the worse. She uses the or- our indispensable need of the atonement, and our inchard-walk daily, but always supported between expressible obligations to Him who made it. This two, and is still unable to employ herself as former-reflection cannot escape a thinking mind, looking ly. But she is cheerful, seldom in much pain, and back on those ebullitions of fretfulness and impahas always strong confidence in the mercy and tience to which it has yielded in a season of great faithfulness of God. As to myself, I have invaria-1 affliction." Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, Oh, for permission from the skies to share, But I am bankrupt now, and doomed henceforth Early in the spring of this year, 1793, Cowper's | of his mind, exhibits, at the same time, so much of esteemed relative, Rev. John Johnson, after much that amiable modesty by which he was always dismature and solemn deliberation, had resolved to tinguished, that it cannot be read without interest take holy orders. Cowper had always regarded him with the most paternal affection, and had wished that he should enter upon the important office of a Christian minister, with a high sense of the greatness of the work, and with suitable qualifications for a proper discharge of its solemn duties. In accordance with these wishes, when Mr. Johnson, in a previous year, had relinquished his intentions of taking orders at that time, Cowper had thus addressed him :-" My dearest of all Johnnys, I am not sorry that your ordination is postponed. A year's learning and wisdom, added to your present stock, will not be more than enough to satisfy the demands of your function. Neither am I sorry that you find it difficult to fix your thoughts to the serious point at all times. It proves, at least, that you attempt, and wish to do it, and these are good symptoms. Wo to those who enter on the ministry of the gospel without having previously asked, at least, from God, a mind and spirit suited to their occupation, and whose experience never differs from itself, because they are always alike vain, light, and inconsiderate. It is therefore matter of great joy to me to hear you complain of levity, as it indicates the existence of anxiety of mind to be freed from it." The gratification it afforded Cowper to find that his beloved relative entered into the ministry with scriptural views and feelings is thus expressed:-"What you say of your determined purpose, with God's help, to take up the cross, and despise the shame, gives us both great pleasure: in our pedigree is found one, at least, who did it before you. Do you the like, and you will meet him in heaven, as sure as the Scripture is the word of God. The quarrel that the world has with evangelical men and doctrines, they would have with a host of angels in human form, for it is the quarrel of owls with sun-ed in the experience of any friend you have or ever shine; of ignorance with divine illumination. The Bishop of Norwich has won my heart by his kind and liberal behavior to you, and if I knew him I would tell him so. I am glad that your auditors find your voice strong, and your utterance distinct; glad, too, that your doctrine has hitherto made you no enemies. You have a gracious Master, who, it seems, will not suffer you to see war in the beginning. It will be a wonder, however, if you do not find out, sooner or later, that sore place in every heart, which can ill endure the touch of apostolic doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, and you will hear of it. I say not this to terrify you, but to prepare you for what is likely to happen, and which, troublesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be wished; for, in general, there is little good done by preachers till the world begins to abuse them. But understand me right. I do not mean that you should give them unnecessary provocation, by scolding and railing at them, as some, more zealous than wise, are apt to do. That were to deserve their anger. No: there is no need of it. The self-abasing doctrines of the gospel will, of themselves, create you enemies; but remember this for your comfort-they will also, in due time, transform them into friends, and make them love you as if they were your own children. God give you many such as, if you are faithful to his cause, I trust he will." About this time, Mr. Hayley appears to have applied to Cowper for his assistance, in a joint literary undertaking of some magnitude, with himself and two other distinguished literary characters. Anxious, however, as Cowper was on all occasions to oblige his friend, he could not give his consent to this measure. His reply, given partly in poetry and partly in prose while it shows the peculiar state "What remains for me to say on this subject, my dear brother, I will say in prose. There are other impediments to the plan you propose, which I could not comprise within the bounds of a sonnet. My poor Mary's infirm condition makes it impossible for me, at present, to engage in a work such as you propose. My thoughts are not sufficiently free; nor have I, nor can I, by any means find opportunity; added to it, comes a difficulty which, though you are not at all aware of it, presents itself to me under a most forbidding appearance. Can you guess it? No, not you: neither, perhaps, will you be able to imagine that such a difficulty can possibly exist. If your hair begins to bristle, stroke it down again; for there is no need why it should erect itself. It concerns me, not you. I know myself too well not to know that I am nobody in verse, unless in a corner and alone, and unconnected in my operations. This is not owing to want of love to you, my brother, or the most consummate confidence in you I have both in a degree that has not been exceedhad. But I am so made up-I will not enter into a philosophical analysis of my strange constitution, in order to detect the true cause of the evil; but, on a general view of the matter, I suspect that it proceeds from that shyness which has been my effectual and almost total hinderance on many other important occasions, and which I should feel, I well know, on this, to a degree that would perfectly cripple me. No! I shall neither do nor attempt any thing of consequence more, unless my poor Mary get better; nor even then, unless it should please God to give me another nature. I could not thus act in concert with any man, not even with my own father or brother, were they now alive! Small game must serve me at present, and till I have done with Homer and Milton. The utmost that I aspire to, and Heaven knows with how feeble a hope, is to write, at some future and better opportunity, when my hands are free, The Four Ages. Thus I have opened my heart unto thee." On another occasion he thus plaintively writes:-"I find that much study fatigues me, which is a proof that I am somewhat stricken in years. Certain it is, that ten or sixteen years ago I could have done as much, and did actually do much more, without suffering the least fatigue, than I can possibly accomplish now. How insensibly old age steals on us, and how often it is actually arrived before we suspect it! Accident alone; some occurrence that suggests a comparison of our former with our present selves, affords the discovery. Well, it is always good to be undeceived, especially in an article of such importance." To a person less intimately acquainted with Cowper than Mr. Hayley was, the above reply would have been amply sufficient to have prevented him from making any further application of a similar nature. He, however, was not to be thus easily di incessantly employed, either on Homer or Milton, pleasing himself with the society of his young kinsman, from Norfolk, and his esteemed friend Mr. Rose, who had arrived from the seat of Lord Spencer, in Northamptonshire, with an invitation from his Lordship to Cowper and his guests, to pay him a visit. All Cowper's friends strongly recommended him to avail himself of this mark of respect from an accomplished nobleman whom he cordially respected. Their entreaties, however, were entirely in vain; his constitutional shyness again prevailed, and he commissioned his friends, Rose and Hayley, to make an apology to his Lordship, for declining so honorable an invitation. verted from his purpose. Of the talents of Cowper | per in the enjoyment of apparent health; and though he had justly formed the highest opinion, and had wisely concluded, that if they could only be again brought fairly and fully into exercise, in the composition of original poetry, the result would be every thing that could be wished. Immediately, therefore, on receiving the above letter, he proffered Cowper his own assistance, and the assistance of two other esteemed friends, in composing the pro- | jected poem, "The Four Ages," and proposed that it should be their joint production. His principal object was, unquestionably, to induce Cowper to employ his unrivalled talents. The pleasure he anticipated in having such a coadjutor, gratifying as it must have been to his feelings, was only a secondary consideration. Averse as Cowper was to The manner in which Cowper employed his time the former proposal, he immediately consented to during the continuance of his friend Mr. Hayley at this, and the following extract will show what were Weston, is pleasingly described in the following his feelings on the occasion:-"I am in haste to tell extract from a letter to Mrs. Courtenay, 4th Noyou how much I am delighted with your projected vember, 1793:-"I am a most busy man, busy to a quadruple alliance, and to assure you that, if it degree that sometimes half distracts me; but if please God to afford me health, spirits, ability, and complete distraction be occasioned by having the leisure, I will not fail to devote them all to the pro-thoughts too much and too long attached to any duction of my quota in "The Four Ages." You single point, I am in no danger of it, with such perare very kind to humor me as you do, and had need petual whirl are mine whisked about from one subbe a little touched yourself with all my oddities,ject to another. When two poets meet, there are that you may know how to administer to mine. All fine doings, I can assure you. My 'Homer' finds whom I love do so, and I believe it to be impossible work for Hayley, and his 'Life of Milton' work to love heartily those who do not. People must not for me; so that we are neither of us one moment do me good in their way, but in my own, and then idle. Poor Mrs. Unwin in the mean time sits quiet they do me good indeed. My pride, my ambition, in her corner, occasionally laughing at us both, and and my friendship for you, and the interest I take not seldom interrupting us with some question or in my own dear self, will all be consulted and gra- remark, for which she is continually rewarded by tified, by an arm-in-arm appearance with you in me with a 'hush!' Bless yourself, my dear Cathepublic; and I shall work with more zeal and assi- rina, that you are not connected with a poet, espeduity at Homer; and when Homer is finished, at Milton, with the prospect of such a coalition before cially that you have not two to deal with!" me. I am at this moment, with all the imprudence natural to poets, expending nobody knows what, in embellishing my premises, or rather the premises of my neighbor Courtenay, which is more poetical still. Your project, therefore, is most opportune, as any project must needs be, that has so direct a tendency to put money into the pocket of one so likely to want it. "Ah, brother poet! send me of your shade, And bid the zephyrs hasten to my aid; Or, like a worm unearthed at noon, I go, Despatched by sunshine to the shades below" During Mr. Hayley's visit, he saw, with great concern, that the infirmities of Mrs. Unwin were rapidly sinking her into a state of the most pitiable imbecility. Unable any longer to watch over the tender health of him whom she had guarded for so many years, and unwilling to relinquish her autho rity, her conduct at this period presented that painful spectacle, which we are occasionally called to witness, of declining nature seeking to retain that power which it knows not how to use nor how to resign. The effect of these increasing infirmities on her whom Cowper justly regarded as the guar It is deeply to be regretted that the pleasing anti-dian of his life, added to apprehensions which he cipations of both Mr. Hayley and Cowper, respecting this joint production, were never realized. Had this poem been written, it would in all probability, have been equal to any that had ever been published. Cowper was, however, at this time, rapidly sinking into that deep and settled melancholy which it now becomes our painful duty to relate, and in which he continued during the remaining period of his life, notwithstanding the united and indefatiga ble exertions of his friends to afford him relief. CHAPTER XVII. Mr. Hayley's second visit to Weston. Finds Cowper busily engaged. Great apprehensions respecting him. Mrs. Unwin's increasing infirmities. Cowper's feelings on account of it. Vigor of his own mind at this period. Severe attack of depression. Deplorable condition to which he was now reduced. Management of his affairs kindly undertaken by Lady Hesketh. Mr. Hayley's anxieties respecting him. Is invited by Mr. Greathead to pay Cowper an other visit. Complies with the invitation. Arrival at Weston. How he is received by Cowper. Inefficiency of the means employed to remove his depression. Handsome pension allowed him by His Majesty. His removal from Weston to Norfolk, under the care of the Rev. J. Johnson. Death of Mrs. Unwin. How it af fected Cosper. Recovers sufficiently to resume his application to Homer. Finishes his notes. Letter to Lady Hesketh descriptive of his feelings, Composes some original poeins. Translates some of Gay's fables into Latin. Rapid decay of his strength. Last illness. Death. now began to feel that his increasing expenses, occasioned by Mrs. Unwin's protracted illness, would involve him in difficulties, filled him with the greatest uneasiness; and the depressing influence it had upon his mind, became painfully evident to all his friends. So visibly was such the case, that Mr. Hayley felt fully persuaded that, unless some speedy and important change took place in Cowper's circumstances, his tender mind would inevitably sink under the multiplicity of its cares. To effect this desirable object, as far as was in his power, he embraced the earliest opportunity, after leaving Weston, of having an interview with Lord Spencer, and of stating to him the undisguised condition of the afflicted poet. His lordship entered feelingly into the case, and shortly afterwards mentioned it to his majesty. It was owing to this that his majesty, some time afterwards, granted to Cowper such a pension as was sufficient to secure to him a comfortable competence for the remainder of his life. It is, however, deeply to be regretted that this seasonable and well-merited bounty was not received till the poet's mind was enveloped in that midnight gloom from which it never afterwards wholly emerged. The increasing infirmities of Mrs. Unwin did In the beginning of November, 1793, Mr. Hayley not, in the slightest degree, diminish Cowper's remade his second visit to Weston. He found Cow-gard for her; on the contrary, they seemed rather to augment it, as the following beautiful poem, written about this time, will show: Cowper retained his admirable powers in their full vigor, during the whole of 1793, and till the middle of January, of the following year. His letters, written subsequently to Mr. Hayley's visit, though but few, afford unquestionable proofs, that his talents had not suffered the slightest diminution. The following extract, in reply to some remarks on a disputed passage in his Homer, will show that his faculties were then unimpaired. To Mr. Hayley, 5th January, 1794, he writes:-"If my old friend would look into my preface, he would find a principle laid down there which perhaps it would not be easy to invalidate, and which, properly attended to, would equally secure a translation from stiffness, and from wildness. The principle I mean is this Close, but not so close as to be servile! free, but not so free as to be licentious! A superstitious fidelity loses the spirit, and a loose deviation the sense of the translated author-a happy moderation in either case is the only possible way of preserving both. "Imlac, in Rasselas, says-I forget to whom, 'You have convinced me that it is impossible to be a poet.' In like manner, I might say to his Lordship, you have convinced me that it is impossible to be a translator-to be one, on his terms at least, is, I am sure, impossible. On his terms, I would defy Homer himself, were he alive, to translate the Paradise Lost into Greek. Yet Milton had Homer much in his eye when he composed that poem. Whereas, Homer never thought of me, or my translation. There are minutiae in every language, which, transIlated into another, would spoil the version. Such extreme fidelity is, in fact, unfaithful. Such close resemblance takes away all likeness. The original is elegant, easy, natural; the copy is clumsy, constrained, and unnatural. To what is this owing? To the adoption of terms not congenial to your purpose, and of a context, such as no man writing an original would make use of. Homer is every thing that a poet should be. A translation of him, so made, will be every thing a translation of Homer should not be; because it will be written in no language under heaven. It will be English, and it will be Greek, and therefore it will be neither. He is the man, whoever he may be, (I do not pretend to be that man myself)-he is the man best qualified as a translator of Homer, who has drenched, and steeped, and soaked himself in the effusions of his genius, till he has imbibed their color to the bone, and who, when he is thus dyed, through and through, distinguishing what is essentially Greek, from what may be habited in English, rejects the former, and is faithful to the latter, as far as the purposes of fine poetry will permit, and no farther; this, I think, may be easily proved. Homer is every where remarkable for ease, dignity, energy of expression, grandeur of conception, and a majestic flow of numbers. If we copy him so closely as to make every one of these excellent properties of his absolutely unattainable, which will certainly be the effect of too close a copy, instead of translating him, we murder him. Therefore, after all that his Lordship has said, I still hold freedom to be an indispensable. Freedom, I mean, with respect to the expression; freedom so limited as never to leave behind the matter, but at the same time indulged with a sufficient scope, to secure the spirit, and as much as possible of the manner; I say as much as possible, because an English manner must differ from a Greek one, in order to be graceful, and for this there is no remedy. Can an ungraceful, awkward translator of Homer be a good one? No: but a graceful, easy, natural, faithful version of him-will not that be a good one? Yes. Allow me but this, and I insist upon it, that such a one may be produced on my principles, and can be produced on no other. Reading his Lordship's sentiments over again, I am inclined to think that in all I have said, I have only given him back the same in other terms. He disallows both the absolute free, and the absolute close; so do I, and if I understand myself, have said so in my preface. He wishes to recommend a medium, though he will not call it so; so do I; only we express it differently. What is it then that we dispute about? I confess my head is not good enough today to discover." This was almost the last letter Cowper wrote to Mr. Hayley, and, with a very few exceptions, the last that he ever wrote at all. Shortly after he had forwarded this, he experienced a more severe attack of depression than he had ever before felt, which paralyzed all his powers, and continued almost wholly unmitigated, through the remaining period of his life. The situation to which he was now reduced, was deeply affecting; imagination can scarcely picture to itself a scene of wretchedness more truly deplorable. Mrs. Unwin's infirmi "The coldness of these blasts, even in the hottest | Perceiving that the poet's attention was arrested, it days, has been such, that, added to the irritation of the salt spray, with which they are always charged, they have occasioned me an inflammation of the eyelids, which threatened, a few days since, to confine me entirely; but by absenting myself as much as possible from the beach, and guarding my face with an umbrella, that inconvenience is in some degree abated. My chamber commands a very near view of the ocean, and the ships, at high water, approach the coast so closely, that a man, furnished with better eyes than mine, might, I doubt not, discern the sailors from the window. No situation, at least when the weather is clear, can be more plea- | sant; which you will easily credit, when I add, that it imparts something a little resembling pleasure, even to me. Gratify me with news of Weston! If Mr. Gregor, and your neighbors the Courtenays, are there, mention me to them in such terms as you see good. Tell me, if my poor birds are living? never see the herbs I used to give them, without a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, forgetting that I am not at home." was vigilantly cherished by the utmost efforts of Mr. Johnson; and from that time Cowper regularly engaged in a revisal of his own version, and for some weeks produced almost sixty new lines a-day. He continued this occupation so steadily, and with so much deliberation, that all his friends began to rejoice at the prospect of his almost immediate recovery. Their hopes, however, were of short duration. In a few weeks he again relapsed into the same state of hopeless depression. In the ensuing autumn, Mr. Johnson again made trial of a change of air and scene, and removed the family to the delightful village of Mundesley. No apparent benefit, however, resulted from this change, and towards the close of October, 1796, it was thought desirable to remove the family to Mr. Johnson's house at Dereham, and to remain there during the winter, as the Lodge was at too great a distance from Mr. Johnson's churches. In the beginning of October, 1795, Mr. Johnson took the two interesting invalids to his own residence at Dereham, where they remained about a month, when they removed to Dunham Lodge, which was then unoccupied, and was pleasantly situated in a park, a few miles from Swaffham, and which from that time became their settled residence. Here they were constantly attended by two of the most interesting females that could possibly have been selected, Miss Johnson and Miss Perowne. The latter took so lively an interest in Cowper's welfare, and exerted so much ingenuity, in attempting to produce some alleviation of his sufferings, that he ever afterwards honored her with his peculiar regard, and preferred her attendance to that of every other individual by whom he was surrounded; and she continued her kind attention to him to the close of his life. The providence of God (as Mr. Hayley justly remarks) was strikingly displayed to wards Cowper, in supplying him with attendants, during the whole of his life, peculiarly suited to the exigencies of mental dejection. In the following December, it became evident that Mrs. Unwin's life was rapidly drawing to a close; she had been gradually sinking for a considerable time; and on the seventeenth day of this month, in the 72d year of her age, she peacefully, and without a groan, or a sigh, resigned her happy spirit into the hands of God. Her life had been eminently distinguished by the most fervent and unaffected piety, which she had displayed in circumstances the most trying and afflicting, and her end was peace. The day before she expired, Cowper, as he had long been accustomed to do at regular periods, spent a short time with his afflicted and long-tried friend; and though to his inmates he appeared so absorbed in his own mental anguish, as to take little, if any, notice of her condition, it was evident afterwards that he clearly perceived how fast she was sinking; for, as a faithful servant of himself and his afflicted friend, was opening the window of his chamber the following morning, he addressed her in a tone the most plaintive and affecting, "Sally, is there life above stairs?" a convincing proof that the acuteness of his own anguish had not prevented him from bestowing great attention to the sufferings of his aged friend. He saw her, for the last time, Cowper's melancholy depression still remained about an hour before she expired; and, notwithunalleviated. In June, 1795, however, an incident standing the intensity of his own distress, he wa: occurred, which for a time, though it removed not much affected, though he clearly perceived that she his dejection, revived the spirits of his friends, and enjoyed the utmost tranquillity. He saw the corpse cheered them with the hope of his ultimate recovery. once after her decease; and after looking at it atMr. Johnson invariably procured copies of all such tentively for a short time, he suddenly withdrew, new publications as were likely to interest the mind under the influence of the strongest emotions. She of Cowper; and as Cowper had discontinued the was buried in Dereham church, on the 23d Decemuse of his pen, and manifested considerable disin-ber, 1796, and a marble tablet was raised to her clination to read himself, Mr. Johnson kindly un- memory, with the following inscription: dertook to read these publications to his relative whenever suitable opportunities offered. About this time, Mr. Wakefield published his edition of Pope's Homer. It occurred to Mr. Johnson, who always readily embraced the slightest incident that seemed likely to diminish the anguish of his afflicted relative, that this work might probably excite the poet's attention sufficiently to rouse him, in some degree, from his dejection. He immediately, therefore, procured a copy, and ingeniously placed it in a conspicuous part of a large unfrequented room, through which he knew Cowper would have to pass, in his way from Mrs. Unwin's apartments, and in which, he was aware, it was Cowper's practice, daily, to take some turns, observing previously to his afflicted relative, that the work contained some occasional comparison of Pope with Cowper. The plan succeeded far beyond Mr. Johnson's expectation: to his agreeable surprise, he discovered, the next day, that Cowper had not only found the passages to which he had adverted, but had corrected his translation at the suggestion of some of them. IN MEMORY OF WIDOW OF THE REV. MORLEY UNWIN, AND MOTHER OF THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORN UNWIN, BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 1796. Trusting in God with all her heart and mind, And watched a poet through misfortune's vale, For all who read his verse revere her name." Had Cowper been in the enjoyment of health, and had his mind been entirely free from his gloomy forebodings at the time of Mrs. Unwin's decease, so tender and lively were his feelings, that it |