poetry at Brunswick, an elegant little work, that breathes a spirit of tenderness and piety. The increasing infirmities of Cowper's aged companion, Mrs. Unwin, his filial solicitude to alleviate her sufferings, and the gathering clouds of deeper despondency, that began to settle on his mind in the year 1794, not only rendered it impossible for him to advance in any great original performance, but to use his own expressive words, in the close of his correspondence with his highly valued friend, Mr. Rose, made all composition either of poetry or prose impracticable. Writing to that friend in January, 1794, he says, "I have just ability enough to "transcribe, which is all that I have to do at "present: God knows that I write, at this mo"ment, under the pressure of sadness not to be "described." It was a spectacle, that might awaken compassion in the sternest of human characters, to see the health, the comfort, and the little fortune of a man so distinguished by intellectual endowments, and by moral excellence, perishing most deplorably. A sight so affecting made many friends of Cowper solicitous and importunate, that his declining life should be honorably protected by public munificence. Men of all parties agreed, that a pension might be granted to an author of his acknowledged merit with graceful propriety; and we might apply to him, on this topic, the very expressive words, which the poet Claudian addresses, on a different occasion, to his favorite hero: Suffragia vulgi Jam tibi detulerant, quidquid mox debuit aula. It was devoutedly to be wished, that the declining spirits of Cowper should be speedily animated, and sustained, by assistance of this nature, because the growing influence of melancholy not only filled him with distressing ideas of his own fortune, but threatened to rob him of the power to make any kind of exertion in his own behalf. His situation and his merits were perfectly understood, humanely felt, and honorably acknowledged by persons, who, while they declared that he ought to receive an immediate public support, seemed to possess both the inclination, and the power, to ensure it. But such is the difficulty of doing real good, experienced even by the great and powerful, or so apt are statesmen to forget the pressing exigence of meritorious individuals in the distractions of official perplexity, that month after month elapsed, in which the intimate friends of Cowper confidently, yet vainly, expected, to see him happily rescued from some of the darkest evils impending over him, by an honorable provision for life. Imagination can hardly devise any human condition more truly affecting than the state of the poet at this period. His generous and faithful guardian, Mrs. Unwin, who had preserved him through seasons of the severest calamity, was now, with her faculties and fortune impaired, sinking fast into second childhood. The distress of heart that he felt in beholding the cruel change in a companion so justly dear to him, conspiring with his constitutional melancholy, was gradually undermining the exquisite faculties of his mind. But deprest as he was by these complicated afflictions, Providence was far from deserting this excellent man. His female relation, whose regard he had cultivated as his favorite correspondent, now devoted herself very nobly to the superintendance of a house, whose two interesting inhabitants were rendered, by age and trouble, almost incapable of attending to the ordinary offices of life. Those only, who have lived with the superannuated, and the melancholy, can properly appreciate the value of such magnanimous friendship, or perfectly apprehend what personal sufferings it must cost the mortal who exerts it, if that mortal has received from nature a frame of compassionate sensibility. The lady ` to whom I allude has felt too severely, in her own health, the heavy tax, that mortality is forced to pay for a resolute perseverance in such painful duty. The two last of Cowper's letters to me, that breathe a spirit of mental activity, and cheerful friendship, were written in the close of the year 1793, and in the beginning of the next. They rose from an incident, that it may be proper to relate, before I insert the letters. On my return from Weston, I had given' an account of the poet to his old friend, Lord Thurlow. That learned and powerful critic, in speaking of Cowper's Homer, happened to declare himself not satisfied with his version of Hector's admirable prayer in caressing his child. We both ventured on new translations' of the prayer, which I immediately sent to Cowper, and the following letters will prove with what just and manly freedom of spirit he was at this time able to criticize the composition of his friends, and his own. LETTER CCCCLXV. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. Weston, Dec. 17, 1793. O Jove! and all ye Gods! grant this my son I ROSE this morning, at six o'clock, on purpose to translate this prayer again, and to write to my dear Brother. Here you have it, such as it is, not perfectly according to my own liking, but as well as I could make it, and I think better than either yours, or Lord Thurlow's. You with your six lines have made yourself stiff and ungraceful, and he with his seven has produced as good prose as heart can wish, but no poetry at all. A scrupulous attention to the letter has spoiled you both, you have neither the spirit nor the manner of Homer. A portion of both may be found, I believe, in my version, but not so much as I could wish-it is better however than the printed one. His Lordship's |