visits were not very frequent; and, in general, I had but little intercourse, except with my God in Christ Jesus. It was he who made my solitude sweet, and the wilderness to bloom and blossom as the rose; and my meditation of him was so delightful that, if I had few other comforts, neither did I want any. One day, however, towards the expiration of this period, I found myself in a state of desertion. That communion which I had so long been able to maintain with the Lord was suddenly interrupted. I began to dislike my solitary situation, and to fear I should never be able to weather out the winter in so lonely a dwelling. Suddenly a thought struck me, which I shall not fear to call a suggestion of the good providence which had brought me to Huntingdon. A few months before, I had formed an acquaintance with the Rev. Mr. Unwin's family. His son, though he had heard that I rather declined society than sought it, and though Mrs. Unwin herself dissuaded him from visiting me on that account, was yet so strongly inclined to it, that, notwithstanding all objections and arguments to the contrary, he one day engaged himself, as we were coming out of church, after morning prayers, to drink tea with me that afternoon. To my inexpressible joy, I found him one whose notions of religion were spiritual and lively; one whom the Lord had been training up from his infancy for the service of the temple. We opened our hearts to each other at the first interview, and, when we parted, I immediately retired to my chamber, and prayed the Lord, who had been the author to be the guardian of our friendship, and to grant to it fervency and perpetuity, even unto death: and I doubt not that my gracious Father heard this also. prayer That I The Sunday following I dined with him. afternoon, while the rest of the family was withdrawn, I had much discourse with Mrs. Unwin. am not at liberty to describe the pleasure I had in conversing with her, because she will be one of the first who will have the perusal of this narrative. Let it suffice to say, I found we had one faith, and had been baptized with the same baptism. When I returned home, I gave thanks to God, who had so graciously answered my prayers, by bringing me into the society of Christians. She has since been a means in the hand of God of supporting, quickening, and strengthening me, in my walk with him. It was long before I thought of any other con-' nexion with this family, than as a friend and neighbour. On the day, however, above mentioned, while I was revolving in my mind the nature of my situation, and beginning, for the first time, to find an irksomeness in such retirement, suddenly it occurred to me, that I might probably find a place in Mr. Unwin's family as a boarder. A young gentleman, who had lived with him as a pupil, was the day before gone to Cambridge. It appeared to me, at least, possible, that I might be allowed to succeed him. the moment this thought struck me, such a tumult of anxious solicitude seized me, that for From two or three days I could not divert my mind to any other subject. I blamed and condemned myself for want of submission to the Lord's will; but still the language of my mutinous and disobedient heart was, "Give me the blessing, or else I die." About the third evening after I had determined upon this measure, I, at length, made shift to fasten my thoughts upon a theme which had no manner of connexion with it. While I was pursuing my meditations, Mr. Unwin and family quite out of sight, my attention was suddenly called home again by the words which had been continually playing in my mind, and were, at length, repeated with such importunity that I could not help regarding them:— "The Lord God of truth will do this." I was effectually convinced, that they were not of my own production, and accordingly I received from them some assurance of success; but my unbelief and fearfulness robbed me of much of the comfort they were intended to convey; though I have since had many a blessed experience of the same kind, for which I can never be sufficiently thankful. I immediately began to negociate the affair, and in a few days it was entirely concluded. I took possession of my new abode, Nov. 11, 1765. I have found it a place of rest prepared for me by God's own hand, where he has blessed me with a thousand mercies, and instances of his fatherly protection; and where he has given me abundant means of furtherance in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus, both by the study of his own word, and com munion with his dear disciples. May nothing but death interrupt our union! Peace be with the reader, through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen! Painful as this Memoir is in some of its earlier details, yet we know nothing more simple and beautiful in narrative, more touching and ingenuous in sentiment, than its happy sequel and consummation. It resembles the storm that desolates the plain, but which is afterwards succeeded by the glowing beauties of the renovated landscape. No document ever furnished an ampler refutation of the remark that ascribes his malady to the operation of religious causes. On the contrary, it appears that his first relief, under the tyranny of an unfeeling schoolboy, was in the exercise of prayer, and that some of his happiest moments, in the enjoyment of the Divine presence, were experienced in the frame of mind which he describes, when at Southamptonthat in proportion as he forgot the heavenly Monitor, his peace vanished, his passions resumed the ascendency, and he presented an unhappy compound of guilt and wretchedness. The history of his malady is developed in his own Memoir with all the clearness of the most circumstantial evidence. A morbid temperament laid the foundation; an extreme susceptibility exposed him to continual nervous irritation; and early disappointments deepened the impression. At length, with a mind unoccupied by study, and undisciplined by self-command-contemplating a "public exhibition of himself as mortal VOL. V. X poison," he sunk under an offer which a more buoyant spirit would have grasped as an object of honourable ambition. In this state religion found him, and administered the happy cure. That a morbid temperament was the originating cause of his depression is confirmed by an affecting passage in one of his poems. In the beautiful and much admired lines on his mother's picture, there is the following pathetic remark: My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, In dwelling on these predisposing causes, the Editor thinks it right to state, in the most unequivocal man ner, that there is not the remotest reason for supposing that any hereditary malady existed in the family of Cowper sufficient to account for this afflicting dispensation. There was an inflammatory action of the blood, and peculiar irritability of the nervous system, which a wise and salutary selfcontrol and the early influence of religious principles might have subdued, or at least modified. Employment, also, or the active exercise of the faculties, seems indispensable to health and happiness. He who lives without an allotted occupation is seldom either wise, virtuous, or happy. The mind recoils upon itself, and is consumed by its own fires. Providence, after the Fall, in mercy, not less * * Cowper adopted a profession, but never pursued it with perseverance. |