myself obliged to him, since I should other wise be in danger of surviving all that I have ever loved-the most melancholy lot that can befall a mortal. God knows what will be my doom hereafter; but precious as life necessarily seems to a mind doubtful of its future happiness, I love not the world, I trust, so much as to wish a place in it when all my beloved shall have left it. you You speak of your late loss in a manner that affected me much; and when I read that part of your ictter, I mourned with you and for you. But surely, I said to myself, no man had ever less reason to charge his conduct to a wife with anything blameworthy. Thoughts of that complexion, however, are no doubt extremely natural on the occasion of such a loss; and a man seems not to have valued sufficiently, when he possesses it no longer, what, while he possessed it, he valued more than life. I am mistaken, too, or you can recollect a time when you had fears, and such as became a Christian, of loving too much; and it is likely that you have even prayed to be preserved from doing so. I suggest this to you as a plea against those self-accusations, which I am satisfied that do not deserve, and as an effectual answer to them all. You may do well too to consider, that had the deceased been the survivor she would have charged herself in the same manner, and, I am sure you will acknowledge, without any sufficient reason. The truth is, that you both loved at least as much as you ought, and, I dare say, had not a friend in the world who did not frequently observe it. To love just enough, and not a bit too much, is not for creatures who can do nothing well. If we fail in duties less arduous, how should we succeed in this, the most arduous of all? I am glad to learn from yourself that you are about to quit a scene that probably keeps your tender recollections too much alive. Another place and other company may have their uses; and, while your church is undergoing repair, its minister may be repaired a'so. charity towards the poor and the stranger on the respect that is due to superiors, ant to our seniors in particular; and on the ex pedience and necessity of prayer and piety toward the gods, a piety mistaken, indeed, in its object, but exemplary for the punctuality of its performance. Thousands, who will not learn from scripture to ask a blessing either on their actions or on their food, may learn it, if they please, from Homer. My Norfolk cousins are now with us. We are both as well as usual; and with our af fectionate remembrances to Miss Catlett, I remain sincerely yours, W. C. for the following letter:-- TO MRS. BODHAM, SOUTH GREEN, MATTISHALL, Weston-Underwood, July 7, 1791. I My dearest Cousin,—Most true it is, however strange, that on the 25th of last month wrote you a long letter, and verily thought I sent it; but, opening my desk the day before yesterday, there I found it. Such a memory have I-a good one never, but at present worse than usual, my head being filled with the cares of publication,* and the bargain that I am making with my bookseller. I am sorry that through this forgetfulness of mine you were disappointed, otherwise should not at all regret that my letter never reached you; for it consisted principally of such reasons as I could muster to induce you to consent to a favorite measure to which you have consented without them. Your kindness and self-denying disinterestedness on this occasion have endeared you to us all, if possible, still the more, and are truly worthy of the Rosef that used to sit smiling on my knee, I will not say how many years ago. Make no apologies, my dear, that thou dost not write more frequently;-write when As to Homer, I am sensible that, except as thou canst, and I shall be satisfied. I am an amusement, he was never worth my med- sensible, as I believe I have already told you, dling with; but, as an amusement, he was to that there is an awkwardness in writing to me invaluable. As such he served me more those with whom we have hardly ever conthan five years; and, in that respect, I know versed; in consideration of which, I feel my not where I shall find his equal. You oblige self not all inclined either to wonder at or me by saying, that you will read him for my to blame your silence. At the same time, be sake. I verily think that any person of a it known to you, that you must not take en. spiritual turn may read him to some advan-couragement from this my great moderation, tage. He may suggest reflections that may lest, disuse increasing the labor, you should ot be unserviceable even in a sermon; for I at last write not at all. know not where we can find more striking exemplars of the pride, the arrogance, and the insignificance of man; at the same time that, by ascribing all events to a divine interpos. ic, he indicates constantly the belief of pvidence insists much on the duty of That I should visit Norfolk at present is not possible. I have heretofore pleaded my engagement to Homer as the reason, and a reason it was, while it subsisted, that was ab *The publication of the translation of Homer. †The name he gave to Mrs. Bodham when a child. solutely insurmountable. But there are still other impediments, which it would neither be pleasant to me to relate, nor to you to know, and which could not well be comprised in a etter. Let it suffice for me to say that, could they be imparted, you would admit the force of them. It shall be our mutual consolation, that, if we cannot meet at Mattishall, at least we may meet at Weston, and that we shall meet here with double satisfaction, being now so numerous. I am sorry that Mr. Venn's* labors below are so near to a conclusion. I have seen few men whom I could have loved more, had opportunity been given me to know him Your sister is well; Kitty,* I think, better better. So, at least, I have thought as often than when she came; and Johnnyt ails as I have seen him. But when I saw him nothing, except that if he eat a little more last, which is some years since, h appeared supper than usual, he is apt to be riotous in then so much broken that I could not have his sleep. We have an excellent physician imagined that he would last so long. Were at Northampton, whom our dear Catharine I capable of envying, in the strict sense of wishes to consult, and I have recommended the word, a good man, I should envy him. it to Johnny to consult him at the same time. and Mr. Berridge, and yourself, who have His nocturnal ailment is, I dare say, within spent, and while they last, will continue to the reach of medical advice; and, because it spend, your lives in the service of the only may happen some time or other to be very Master worth serving; laboring always for hurtful to him, I heartily wish him cured of the souls of men, and not to tickle their ears, it. Light suppers and early rising perhaps as I do. But this I can say-God knows might alone be effectual-but the latter is a how much rather I would be the obscure difficulty that threatens not to be easily sur-tenant of a lath-and-plaster cottage, with a mounted. lively sense of my interest in a Redeemer, than the most admired object of public notice without it. Alas! what is a whole poem, even one of Homer's, compared with a single aspiration that finds its way immediately to God, though clothed in ordinary language, or perhaps not articulated at all! These are my sentiments as much as ever they were, though my days are all running to waste among Greeks and Trojans. The night cometh when no man can work; and, if I am ordained to work to better purpose, that desirable period cannot be very distant. My day is beginning to shut in, as every man's must who is on the verge of sixty. All the leisure that I have had of late for thinking, has been given to the riots at Bir mingham. What a horrid zeal for the church and what a horrid loyalty to government have manifested themselves there! How TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. Weston, July 22, 1791. My dear Friend,-I did not foresee, when I challenged you to a brisker correspondence, that a new engagement of all my leisure was at hand: a new and yet an old one. An interleaved copy of my Homer arrived soon after from Johnson, in which he recom-lit le do they dream that they could not have mended it to me to make any alterations dishonored their idol, the Establishment that might yet be expedient, with a view to more, and that the great Bishop of souls another impression. The alterations that I himseif with abhorrence rejects their ser make are indeed but few, and they are also vice! But I have not time to enlarge, short; not more, perhaps, than half a line in breakfast calls me; and all my post-break. two thousand. But the lines are, I suppose, fast time must be given to poetry. Adieu! nearly forty thousand in all, and to revise Most truly yours, W. C. them critically must consequently be a work of labor. I suspend it, however, for your sake, till the present sheet be filled, and that I may not seem to shrink from my own offer. We are all of one mind respecting you; therefore I send the love of all, though I shall see none of the party till breakfast calls us together. Great preparation is making in the empty house. The spiders have no rest, and hardly a web is to be seen where lately there were thousands. I am, my dearest cousin, with the best respects to Mr. Bodham, most affectionately yours, W. C. Mr. Bean has told me that he saw you at Bedford, and gave us your reasons for not toming our way. It is well, so far as your own comfortable lodging and our gratifica tion were concerned, that you did not; for our house is brimful, as it has been all the summer, with my relations from Norfolk. We should all have been mortified, both you and we, had you been obliged, as you must have been, to seek a residence elsewhere. Miss Johnson, afterwards Mrs. Hewitt. Mr. Johnson. Private correspondence. *The Rev. Henry Venn, successively vicar of Hd dersfield, Yorkshire, and rector of Yelling, Huntingdon shire, eminent for his piety and usefulness. He was the author of "The Complete Duty of Man," the design o which was to correct the deficiencies so justly imputable to "The Whole Duty of Man," by saying the foundation of moral duties in the principles inculcated by the gos pel. There is an interesting and vainable memoir of this excellent man, edited by the Rev. Henry Venn, B.D., bis grandson, which we recommend to the notice of the reader. † Mr. Berridge was vicar of Everton, Beds; a m zealous and pious minister. TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. Weston, August 1791. ly dear Friend, I was much obliged, and till feel nyself much obliged, to Lady Bagot for the visit with which she favored ine. Tad it beer possible that I could have seen Lord Bagot too, I should have been completely happy. Fer, as it happened, I was that morning in better spirits than usual, and, though I arrived late, and after a long walk, and extremely hot, which is a circumstance very apt to disconcert me yet I was not disconcerted half so much as I generally am at the sight of a stranger, especially of a stranger lady, and more especially at the sight of a singer laly of quality. When the servant told me that Lady Bagot was in the parlor, I felt my spirits ten degrees; but, the moment I saw her, at least, when I had been a minute in her company, I felt them rise again, and they soon rose even above their former pitch. I know two ladies of fashion now whose manners have this effect upon me, the lady in question and the Lady Spencer. I am a shy animal, and want much kindness to make me easy. Such I shall be to my dying day. Here sit I, calling myself shy, yet have just published by the bye, two great volumes of poetry. This reminds me of Ranger's observation in the " Suspicious Husband," who says to somebody, I forget whom, "There is a degree of assurance in you modest men that we impudent fellows can never arrive at."-Assurance, indeed! Have you seen 'em? What do you think they are? Nothing less, I can you, than a translation of Homer, of the sublimest poet in the world. That's all. Can I ever have the impudence to call myself shy again? tell You live, I think, in the neighborhood of Birmingham. What must you not have felt on the late alarming occasion! You, I suppose, could see the fires from your windows. We, who only heard the news of them, have trembled. Never sure was religious zeal more terribly manifested or more to the prejudice of its own cause.* Adieu, my dear friend. I am, with Mrs. Unwin's best compliments, Ever yours, W. C. *The riots at Birmingham originated in the imprudent zeal of Dr. Priestley, and his adherents, the Unitarian dissenters, who assembled together at a public dinner, to commemorate the events of the French revolution. Toasts were given of an inflammatory tendency, and handbills were previously circulated of a similar character. The town of Birmingham being distinguished for its loyalty, became deeply excited by these acts. The mob collected in great multitudes, and proceeded to the house of Dr. Priestley, which they destroyed with fire. All his valuable philosophical apparatus and manuripts perished on this occasion. We concur with Cowin lamenting such outrages. TO MRS. KING.* Weston, Aug. 4, 1791. My dear Madam,-Your last letter, which gave us so unfavorable an account of your heaith, and which did not speak much more comfortably of Mr. King's, affected us with much concern. Of Dr. Raitt we may say, in the words of Milton, "His long experience did attain To something like prophetic strain;" for as he foretold to you, so he foretold to Mrs. Unwin, that, though her disorders might not much threaten life, they would yet cleave to her to the last; and she and perfect health must ever be strangers to each other. Such was his prediction, and it has been hitherto accomplished. Either headache or pain in the side has been her constant companion ever since we had the pleasure of seeing you. As for myself, I cannot properly say that I enjoy a good state of health, though in general I have it, because I have it accompanied with fre quent fits of dejection, to which less health and better spirits would, perhaps, be infinitely preferable. But it pleased God that I should be born in a country where melancholy is the national characteristic. To say the truth, I have often wished myself a Frenchman. N. B. I write this in very good spirits. You gave us so little hope in your last, that we should have your company this summer at Weston, that to repeat our invitation seems almost like teasing you. I will only say, therefore, that, my Norfolk friends having left us, of whose expected arrival here I believe I told you in a former letter, we should be happy could you succeed them. We now, indeed, expect Lady Hesketh, but not immediately: she seldom sees Weston till all its summer beauties are fled, and red, brown, and yellow, have supplanted the universal verdure. My Homer is gone forth, and I can devoutly say, "Joy go with it!" What place it holds in the estimation of the generality I cannot tell, having heard no more about it since its publication than if no such work existed. I must except, however, an anonymous eulogium from some man of letters, which I received about a week ago. It was kind in a perfect stranger, as he avows himself to be, to relieve me, at so early a day, from much of the anxiety that I could not but feel on such an occasion. I should be glad to know who ne is, only that I might thank him. Mrs. Unwin, who is at this moment come down to breakfast, joins me in affectionate compliments to yourself and Mr. King; and I am, my dear madam, Most sincerely yours, W. C. * Private correspondence. labor. We were neither of us, as you may imagine, very diligent in our proper business TO THE REV. MR. HURDIS. My dear Sir, I never make a correspondent wait for an answer through idleness, or want of proper respect for him; but if I am silent it is because I am busy, or not well, or because I stay till something occur that may make my letter at least a little better than mere blank paper. I therefore write speedily in reply to yours, being at present neither much occupied, nor at all indisposed, nor forbidden by a dearth of materials. I would heartily second the Bishop of Salisbury* in recommending to you a close pursuit of your Hebrew studies were it not that I wish you to publish what may un I wish always, when I have a new piece inderstand. Do both, and I shall be satisfied. Your remarks, if I may but receive them soon enough to serve me in case of a new edition, will be extremely welcome W. C. hand, to be as secret as you, and there was a time when I could be so. Then I lived the life of a solitary, was not visited by a single neighbor, because I had none with whom I could associate nor ever had an inmate. This was when I dwelt at Olney; but since I have removed to Weston the case is different. Here I am visited by all around me, and study in a room exposed to all manner of inroads. It is on the ground floor, the room in which we dine, and in which I am sure to be found by all who seek me. They find me generally at my desk, and with my work, whatever it be, before me, unless perhaps I have conjured it into its hiding-place before they have had time to enter. This, however, is not always the case; and, consequently, sooner or later, I cannot fail to be detected. Possibly you, who I suppose have a snug study, would find it impracticable to attend to anything closely in an apartment exposed as mine, but use has made it familiar to me, and so familiar, that neither servants going and coming disconcert me; nor even if a lady, with an oblique glance of her eye, catches two or three lines of my MSS., do I feel myself inclined to blush, though natuThe active mind of Cowper, and the neces rally the shyest of mankind. sity of mental exertion, in order to arrest the You did well, I believe, to cashier the sub-terrible incursions of his depressing malady ject of which you gave me a recital. It cer- soon led him to contract a new literary entainly wants those agrémens which are nec-gagement. A splendid edition of Milton was essary to the success of any subject in verse. at that time contemplated, intended to rival It is a curious story, and so far as the poor the celebrated Shakspeare of Boydell; and to young lady was concerned a very affecting combine all the adventitious aid that editorial one; but there is a coarseness in the char talent, the professional skill of a most disacter of the hero that would have spoiled all. tinguished artist, and the utmost embellish write on. In fact, I find it myself a much easier matterment of type could command, to ensure sucto write, than to get a convenient theme to cess. Johnson, the bookseller, invited the cc-operation of Cowper, in the responsibl office of Editor. For such an undertaking he was unquestiona' ly qualified, by his refined critical taste and discernment, and by his profound veneration for this first of modern epic poets. Cowper readily entered into this pro I am obliged to you for comparing me as you go both with Pope and with Homer. It is impossible in any other way of management to know whether the translation be well executed or not, and if well, in what degree. first became dissatisfied with Pope. More than thirty years since, and when I was a young Templar, I accompanied him with his original, line by line, through both poems. A fellow student of mine, a person of fine classical taste, joined himself with me in the It was in the course of such a process that Iject, and by his admirable translations of the Latin and Italian poems of Milton, justly added to the fame which he had already ac quired. But to those who know how to uppreciate his poetic rowers, and his noble ardor in proclaiming the most imporant Dr. 1-ouglas. I shall be glad if my reviewers, whosoever they may be, will be at the pains to read me as you do. I want no praise that I am no entitled to, but of that to which I am entitled I should be loath to lose a tittle, having worked hard to earn it. TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. God bless you, my dearest Johnny, truths, it must ever be a source of unfeigned regret that the hours given to translation, and especially to Homer, were not dedicated to the composition of some original work. Who would not have hailed with delight another poem, rivalling all the beauties and moral excellences of "The Task," and endearing to the mind, with still higher claims, the sweet poet of nature, and the graceful yet sublime teacher of heavenly truth and wisdom? The grief is this-that, sunk in Homer's mine, It was this literary engagement that first laid the foundation of that intercourse, which commenced at this time between Cowper and Hayley; an intercourse which seems to have ripened into subsequent habits of friendship. As their names have been so much associated together, and Hayley eventually became the poet's biographer, we shall record the circumstances of the origin of their intimacy in Hayley's own words. As it is to Milton that I am in a great measure indebted for what I must ever regard as a signal blessing, the friendship of Cowper, the reader will pardon me for dwelling a little on the circumstances that produced it; circumstances which often lead me to repeat those sweet verses of my friend, on the casual origin of our most valuable attach ments. TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ. The Lodge, Sept. 14, 1791. My dear Friend,-Whoever reviews me wil in fact have a laborious task of it, in the per formance of which he ought to move leisurely and to exercise much critical discernment. In the meantime, my courage is kept up by the arrival of such testimonies in my favor as give me the greatest pleasure; coming from therefore, to hope that our periodical judges quarters the most respectable. I have reason, will not be very averse to me, and that pertaste and letters is pleased, another man so haps they may even favor me. If one man of critics of a different description grumble, they qualified can hardly be displeased; and if will not however materially hurt me. You, who know how necessary it is to me to be employed, will be glad to hear that I have been called to a new literary engagement, and that I have not refused it. A Milton, that is to rival, and, if possible, to exceed in splendor, Boydell's Shakspeare, is in contemplation, and I am in the editor's office. Fuseli is the painter. My business will be to select notes from others, and to write original notes; to translate the Latin and Italian poems, and to give a correct text. I shall have years allowed me to do it in. W. C. TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT. Weston, Sept. 21, 1791. My dear Friend,-Of all the testimonies in favor of my Homer that I have received, none has given me so sincere a pleasure as that of Lord Bagot. It is an unmixed pleasure, and without a drawback; because I know him to be perfectly, and in all respects, whether erudition or a fine taste be in question, so well qualified to judge me, that I can neither expect nor wish a sentence more valuable thar εισόκ' ἀϋτμὴ Ἐν στήθεσσι μένει, καὶ μοι φίλα γούνατ' όρωρει· his |