These are the reflections of one

Himself grown sober in the vale of years.

Even in the poem on the Receipt of his Mother's Picture, where his memory lingers with so much fondness on his early infancy, while rejoicing that she has long ago—

reached the shore

Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,

he does not forget to add that her

loved consort on the dangerous tide

Of life long since has anchored by her side.

Cowper had advanced into his thirty-second year with a rapidly-decreasing patrimony, when the patronage of his relation, Major Cowper, afforded him an opportunity of passing the remainder of his days in comfortable independence. Offices of clerk of the Journals in the House of Lords, and reading clerk and clerk of the private committees, were both vacated about the same period; the first by death, the second by resignation. "He called me out of my chambers," writes the poet," and having invited me to take a turn with him in the garden, there made me an offer of the two most profitable places; intending the other for his friend Mr. Arnold. Dazzled by so splendid a proposal, and not immediately reflecting upon my incapacity to execute a business of so public a nature, I at once accepted it; but at the same time (such was the will of Him whose hand was in the whole matter) seemed to receive a dagger in my heart." Every moment, he complained, added to the smart of his wound. At length, thinking, he said, like a man in a fever, that a change of

position would relieve his pain, he entreated his friend to appoint him to the less valuable situation of Mr. Arnold. "The matter being thus settled, something like a calm took place" in his mind. But a fierce tempest was already gathering. An opposition to Major Cowper's right of nomination began to manifest itself, and the poet anticipated a summons to the bar of the House, to undergo an examination respecting his fitness for the office. The thought was agony to him. "They whose spirits," he said, “are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of themselves, on any occasion, is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my situation; others can have none." Week after week he pored over the Journals, to no purpose; quiet forsook him by day, and peace by night; a finger raised against him overcame his spirit. This dreadful state of suffering continued more than half a year. The vacation allowed of his escape to Margate; here he enjoyed an interval of repose, but the decline of Autumn turned his thoughts once more to the miseries of the Temple. Again he felt himself "pressed by necessity on either side, with nothing but despair in the prospect." The skill of Dr. Heberden, whom he consulted, could not retard the progress of the malady that was gradually overwhelming his intellect and his happiness. As the hour of trial drew nigh, he began to meditate on self-destruction; his own pen has recorded the anguish of his mind:—

"One evening in the month of November, 1763, as soon as it was dark, affecting as cheerful and unconcerned an air as possible, I went into an apothecary's shop, and asked for a half-ounce phial of laudanum. The man seemed to observe me narrowly; but if he did, I managed my voice and countenance so as to deceive him.

The day that required my attendance at the bar not being yet come, and about a week distant, I kept my bottle close in my side pocket, resolved to use it when I could be convinced there was no other way of escaping. The day before the above-mentioned period arrived, being at Richard's Coffee-House at breakfast, I read a newspaper, and in it a letter, which the farther I perused it the more it engaged my attention. I cannot now recollect the purport of it; but before I finished, it appeared demonstrably true to me that it was a libel, or satire on me. The author seemed to be acquainted with my purpose of self-murder, and to have written that letter on purpose to hasten and secure the execution of it. My mind at this time probably began to be disordered. However it was, I was certainly given up to a strong delusion. I said within myself,-Your cruelty shall be gratified-you shall have your revenge; and flinging down the paper in a fit of strong passion, rushed hastily out of the house, directing my steps towards the fields, where I intended to find some place to die in.'

A

This affecting narrative need not be prolonged. The intensity of his agony continued to deepen, until his removal to a private asylum at St. Albans, under the care of Dr. Cotton, was deemed necessary by his friends. more fortunate selection could not have been made. The physician was distinguished by the fervour of his piety, the sweetness of his temper, and the gentleness of his manners. Cowper did not forget to record his virtues : Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays

That make superior skill his second praise.-Hope. His mind was in a state of terrible anarchy, and five months were passed in one unbroken dream of despair. By degrees, the blackness of horror began to disperse,

but he still "carried a sentence of irrevocable doom in his heart." A visit from his brother was attended by the happiest results. "As soon as we were left alone," writes Cowper, "he asked me how I found myself; I answered, 'As much better as despair can make me.' We went together into the garden. Here, on my expressing a settled assurance of sudden judgment, he protested to me that it was all a delusion. I burst into tears and cried out,-' If it be a delusion, then am I the happiest of beings.' Something like a ray of hope was now shot into my heart. Something seemed to whisper to me every moment,-Still there is mercy."

66

The period of his recovery was now approaching, but the circumstances attending it cannot be told in such affecting language as his own. I flung myself into a chair near the window, and seeing a Bible there, ventured once more to apply to it for comfort and instruction. The first verse I saw was the 25th of the 3rd chapter of the Romans; "Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God.' Immediately I received strength to believe, and the full beams of the Sun of Righteousness shone upon I saw the sufficiency of the atonement He had made, my pardon sealed in His blood, and all the fulness and completeness of His justification. In a moment I believed and received the Gospel. Whatever my friend, Madan, had said to me, so long before, revived in all its clearness, with demonstration of the Spirit and with power. Unless the Almighty arm had been under me, I think I should have died with gratitude and joy. My eyes filled with tears, and my voice choked with transport; I could only look up to heaven in silent tears, over

me.

whelmed with love and wonder." His religious joy flowed into verse; the following poem he called a Specimen of his First Christian Thoughts. It was the earliest song of the harp that had hung so long upon the willow

tree.

How blest thy creature is, O God,

When with a single eye

He views the lustre of thy word,
The day-spring from on high!

Through all the storms that veil the skies,
And frown on earthly things,
The Sun of Righteousness he eyes
With healing on his wings.

Struck by that light, the human heart,

A barren soil no more,

Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad,
Where serpents lurked before!

The soul, a dreary province once
Of Satan's dark domain,

Feels a new empire formed within,
And owns a heavenly reign.

The glorious orb, whose golden beams
The fruitful year control,

Since first, obedient to thy word

He started from the goal,

Has cheered the nations with the joys

His orient rays impart ;

But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone

Can shine upon the heart.

His resolution to withdraw entirely from active life inspired a still more beautiful strain of gratitude to God. It breathes a fragrant freshness after the storm.

Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,

From strife and tumult far;

From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.