Trusting in God with all her heart and mind,
This woman proved magnanimously kind,
Endured affliction's desolating hail,

And watched a poet through misfortune's vale,
Her spotless dust, angelic guards defend!
It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend!
That single title in itself is fame,

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 would undoubtedly have proved to him one of the severest shocks he had ever experienced. Such, however, was the influence of his melancholy depression, that he never afterwards adverted to the event, even in the most distant way, nor did he even make the slightest inquiries respecting her funeral. A more striking proof of the intense anguish of his own sufferings cannot possibly be given. Dreadful, indeed, must have been those feelings that could have produced an insensibility so great in his tender mind, for the loss of such a friend!

In the summer of 1797, Cowper's health appeared in some measure to improve, and in the following September, at the earnest entreaty of his kinsman, he again resumed the revisal of his Homer; and, notwithstanding the severity of his mental anguish, he persevered in it, with some occasional interruption, till the eighth of May, 1799, on which day he completed the work. It was evidently owing to the rare talents exerted by Mr. Johnson on the mind of Cowper, that he was induced to bring this great work to a successful close. And it would have been exceedingly difficult, if not utterly impossible, to have found an individual who could, with so much tenderness, have exerted an influence so beneficial over the distressed mind of the poet. He was, however, indefatigable in his efforts to divert his mind from the melancholy depression which spread its pernicious influence over his soul. And, during the whole of the summer of 1798, he endeavored, by frequent change of scene, sometimes residing for a week or two at Mundesley, and then returning to Dereham, to restore the mind of his revered relative to its proper tone. And though he had not the satisfaction to see his efforts crowned with complete success, yet he was pleased to perceive them prove in some degree, at least, beneficial to the interesting sufferer. In his sketch of Cowper's life, pub

lished in the last edition of the poet's works, he "records it as a subject of much gratitude, that a merciful providence should again have appointed his afflicted relative the employment alluded to, as, more than anything else, it diverted his mind from a contemplation of its miseries, and seemed to extend his breathing, which was at other times short, to a depth of respiration more compatible with ease."

The happy means pursued by Mr. Johnson to induce Cowper to complete the revisal of his Homer, and its successful result, ought not to go unrecorded. He thus relates it in the excellent sketch above referred to:-"His kinsman resolved, if it were possible, to reinstate him in the revisal of his Homer. One morning, therefore, after breakfast, in the month of September, 1797, he placed the commentaries on the table one by one, namely, Villoison, Barnes, and Clarke, opening them all, together with the poet's translation, at the place where he had left off a twelvemonth before; but, talking with him as he paced the room, upon a very different subject, namely, the impossibility of the things befalling him, which his imagination had represented; when, as his companion had wished, Cowper said to him, 'And are you sure that I shall be here till the book you are reading is finished.' Quite sure, replied his kinsman, and that you will also be here to complete the revisal of your Homer, pointing to the books, if you will resume it to-day. As he repeated these words, he left the room, rejoicing in the well-known token of their having sunk deep into the poet's mind, namely, his seating himself on the sofa, taking up one of the books, and saying, in a low and plaintive voice, I may as well do this, for I can do nothing else.""

In July, 1798, the Dowager Lady Spencer paid the afflicted poet a visit. Had he been in the enjoyment of health, he would undoubtedly have received her with the greatest respect and affection, and the conversation between them would have been equally pleasing to both parties; such, however, was his melancholy depression, that he seemed not to derive any pleasure from the visit, and on no occasion could he be prevailed upon to converse with his distinguished visitor with any apparent pleasure.

While residing at Mundesley, in October, 1798, Cowper felt himself so far relieved from his depressive malady as to undertake, without solicitation, to write to Lady Hesketh. The following extract from this letter, will show the severity of his mental anguish, even at that period:-"You describe delightful scenes, but you describe them to one, who, if he W

even saw them, could receive no delight from them, who has a faint recollection, and so faint as to be like an almost forgotten dream, that once he was susceptible of pleasure from such causes. The country that you have had in prospect, has been always famed for its beauties; but the wretch who can derive no gratification from a view of nature, even under the disadvantage of her most ordinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any. In one day,-in one minute, I should rather have said, she became an universal blank to me, and though from a different cause, yet with an effect as difficult to remove as blindness itself."

Mr. Johnson again removed from Mundesley to Dereham, towards the end of October, and pursuing their journey, on this occasion, with himself, Miss Perowne, and Cowper, in the post-chaise, they were overturned. Cowper discovered no particular alarm on the occasion, and through the blessing of Providence, they all escaped unhurt.

As soon as Cowper had finished the revisal of his Homer, Mr. Johnson laid before him the papers containing the commencement of his projected poem-The Four Ages. He, however, declined undertaking it, as a work far too important for him to attempt in his present situation. Several other literary projects, of easier accomplishment, were then suggested to him by his kinsman, who was aware of the great benefit he had derived from employment, and was seriously apprehensive that the want of it would add to his depression: all of them, however, were objected to by the poet, who at length replied, that he had just thought of six Latin verses, and if he could do anything, it must be in pursuing something of that description. He, however, gratified his friends by occasionally employing the powers of his astonishing mind, which still remained in full vigor, in the composition of some short original poems. In this way he produced the poem entitled Montes Glaciales, founded upon an incident, which he had heard read from the Norwich paper, several months previous; to which, at the time, owing to his depression, he appeared to pay no attention. This poem he afterwards, at the request of Miss Perowne, translated into Latin. Translation was his principal amusement; sometimes from Latin and Greek into English, and occasionally from English into Latin. In this way he translated several of Gay's Fables, and communicated to them, in their new dress, all that ease and vivacity which they have in the original. Thus elegantly employed, he continued, with some intermissions, almost to the close of his life.

The last original poem he composed was entitled The Cast-away, and was founded upon an incident, related in Anson's Voyage, of a mariner who was washed overboard in the Atlantic, and lost, which he remembered to have read in that work many years ago, and which, according to the following stanzas, selected from it, he appears to have regarded as an illustration of his own case:

"Obscurest night involved the sky,
The Atlantic billows roared,
When such a destined wretch as I,
Washed headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.

He long survives who lives an hour
In ocean self-upheld,

And so long he, with unspent power,
His destiny repelled;

And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cry'd ‘Adieu!'

No poet wept him, but the page
Of narrative sincere,

That tells his name, his worth, his age,

Is wet with Anson's tear:

And tears, by bards or heroes shed,
Alike immortalize the dead.

I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate!

To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date.

But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allay'd,

No light propitious shone,

When snatched from all effectual aid,

We perished, each alone;

But I beneath a rougher sea,

And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he!"

Anxious as all his friends now were, that he should be constantly employed, as this proved the best remedy for his depression, they were frequently pained to see him reduced to a state of hopeless inactivity, owing to the severity of his

mental anguish. At these seasons, what suited him best was Mr. Johnson's reading to him, which he was accustomed to do, almost invariably for a length of time, every day. And so industriously had he persevered in this method of relieving the poet's mind, that after having exhausted numerous works of fiction, which had the power of attracting his attention, he began to read to his afflicted relative the poet's own works. Cowper evinced no disapprobation to this till the reader arrived at the history of John Gilpin, when he entreated his relative to desist.

It became evident towards the close of 1799, that his bodily strength was rapidly declining, though his mental powers, notwithstanding the unmitigated severity of his depression, remained unimpaired. In January, 1800, Mr. Johnson observed in him many symptoms which he thought very unfavorable. This induced him to call in additional medical advice. His complaint was pronounced to be, not as has been generally stated, dropsical, but a breaking up of the constitution. Remedies, however, were tried, and he was recommended to take as much gentle exercise as he could bear. To this recommendation he discovered no particular aversion, and Mr. Johnson took him for a ride in a post-chaise as often as circumstances would permit; it was, however, with considerable difficulty he could be prevailed upon to use such medicines as it was thought necessary to employ.

About this time his friend Mr. Hayley wrote to him, expressing a wish that he would new-model a passage in his translation of the Iliad, where mention is made of the very ancient sculpture in which Dædalus had represented the Cretan dance for Ariadne. "On the 31st January," says Mr. Hayley, "I received from him his improved version of the lines in question, written in a firm and delicate hand. The sight of such writing from my long-silent friend, inspired me with a lively, but too sanguine hope, that I might see him once more restored. Alas! the verses which I surveyed as a delightful omen of future letters from a correspondent so inexpressibly dear to me, proved the last effort of his pen."

Cowper's weakness now very rapidly increased, and by the end of February it had become so great as to render him incapable of enduring the fatigue of his usual ride, which was hence discontinued. In a few days he ceased to come down stairs, though he was still able, after breakfasting in bed, to adjourn to another room, and to remain there till the evening. By the end of the ensuing March, he was compelled to forego even this trifling exercise. He was now en