fpirits as poetry. Of this he was fully fenfible, when he remarked to Mr. Newton, in December in the fame year:

"At this season of the year, and in this gloomy uncomfortable climate, it is no easy matter for the owner of a mind like mine to divert it from fad fubjects, and to fix it upon fuch as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, above all things, is useful to me in this respect. While I am held in pursuit of pretty images, or a pretty way of expreffing them, I forget every thing that is irksome, and like a boy that plays truant, determine to avail myself of the present opportunity to be amused, and to put by the difagreeable recollection that I muft, after all, go home and be whipt again. It will not be long, perhaps, before you will receive a poem, called the Progrefs of Error. That will be fucceeded by another, in due time, called Truth. Don't be alarmed. I ride Pegasus with a curb. He will never run away with me again. I have even convinced Mrs. Unwin that I can manage him, and make him stop when I please.”

This was the first notification to Mr. Newton of his intention to appear as an author, and when he found that Mr. Hill was apprised of his design, he expreffed the greatest surprise; but gave him the following account of his motive:

"My labours are principally the production of the last winter ; all, indeed, except a few of the minor pieces. When I can find no other occupation, I think, and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence it comes to pass that the season of the year which generally pinches off the flowers of poetry, unfolds mine, fuch as they are, and crowns me with a winter garland. In this respect, therefore, I and my contemporary bards are by no means upon a par. They write when the delightful influences of fine weather, fine prospects, and a brisk motion of the animal fpirits make poetry almost the language of nature; and I, when icicles depend from all the leaves of the Parnaffian laurel, and when a reasonable man would as little expect to fucceed in verse, as to hear a black-bird whistle. This must be my apology to you for whatever want of fire and animation you may observe in what you will shortly have the perusal of. As to the public, if they like me not, there is no remedy."

It was chiefly at the request of Mrs. Unwin that Cowper was induced to undertake a poetical piece of any extent. Affection is lynx-eyed in discovering whatever is beneficial to its object,

and in preffing upon her friend an occupation for which nature had peculiarly adapted him, she displayed confiderable judgement. The "Progrefs of Error" was fuggested by her as his theme, and in treating on it, he fays his fole object was to be useful. The Preface was written by Mr. Newton, at that gentleman's special desire, and the volume was published in 1783; but it was for fome time treated with neglect, and it was not until his subsequent productions established his reputation that the beauties of his earlier pieces began to be appreciated.

The next fubject which engaged his attention was his Poem entitled "Truth;" but before he had fairly transcribed it for prefs, he commenced "Expoftulation;" and in a letter to Mr. Newton, in March, 1781, he says: "If a Board of Inquiry were to be established, at which poets were to undergo an examination respecting the motives that induced them to publish, and I were to be fummoned to attend, that I might give an account of mine, I think I could truly fay, what perhaps few poets could, that though I have no objection to lucrative confequences, if any fuch fhould follow, they are not my aim; much lefs is it my ambition to exhibit myself to the world as a genius. What then, fays Mr. President, can poffibly be your motive? I answer with a bow-Amusement. There is nothing but this--no occupation within the compass of my small sphere, Poetry excepted — that can do much towards diverting that train of melancholy thoughts, which, when I am not thus employed, are for ever pouring themfelves in upon me. And if I did not publish what I write, I could not interest myself sufficiently in my own fuccess, to make an amusement of it."

Early in July, 1781, Cowper formed an acquaintance with Lady Auften, a woman of confiderable talents and accomplishments, who poffeffed great influence over him, and, for fome time, added much to the happiness of his retirement. To her the world is mainly indebted for "The Tafk," " Johnny Gilpin," and for the tranflation of Homer, a circumftance which entitles her to be specially commemorated in a life of the Poet. Lady Auften* was the widow of Sir Robert Austen, Baronet,

* Her maiden name was Richardfon. She married Sir Robert Auften very early in life, and paffed fome years in France. Her ladyship subsequently married a Monf. de Tardif, a French gentleman, of poetical talents, and died at Paris on the 12th of August, 1802.

and paying a visit to her fifter Mrs. Jones, the wife of a clergyman, who lived at Clifton, Cowper obferved her at a fhop in Olney. He was fo ftruck with her appearance that he requested Mrs. Unwin to make her acquaintance, which foon ripened into intimacy, and she was afterwards always defignated by him as his "Sifter Anne." Speaking of her firft vifit, in a letter dated July 7, 1781, he says:

Lady Auften, waving all forms, has paid us the first visit; and not content with showing us that proof of her respect, made handsome apologies for her intrufion. We returned the vifit yesterday. She is a lively agreeable woman; has feen much of the world, and accounts it a great fimpleton, as it is. She laughs and makes laugh, and keeps up a converfation without seeming to labour at it."

On the 12th of July he wrote the following humorous letter to Mr. Newton:

"MY VERY Dear Friend,

"I AM going to fend, what when you have read, you may scratch your head, and fay, I fuppofe, there's nobody knows, whether what I have got, be verfe or not :-by the tune and the time, it ought to be rhyme, but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such a ditty before? The thought did occur, to me and to her, as Madam and I, did walk not fly, over hills and dales, with spreading fails, before it was dark, to Wefton Park.

"The news at Oney, is little or noney, but fuch as it is, I send it, viz. Poor Mr. Peace, cannot yet cease, addling his head, with what you faid, and has left parish church, quite in the lurch, having almost swore, to go there no more.

"Page and his wife, that made fuch a ftrife, we met them twain, in Dog lane,* we gave them the wall, and that was all. For Mr. Scot, we have seen him not, except as he pafs'd, in a wonderful hafte, to fee a friend, in Silver end,† Mrs. Jones propofes, e'er July closes, that fhe and her fifter, and her Jones Mister, and we that are here, our courfe fhall fteer, to dine in the Spinney, but for a guinea, if the weather should hold, fo hot and fo cold, we had better by far, stay where we are.

Close by Cowper's houfe at Olney. † A lane adjoining Cowper's house.

For the

Sir J. Throckmorton's.

grafs there grows, while nobody mows (which is very wrong), so rank and long, that so to speak, 'tis at least a week, if it happens to rain, e'er it dries again.

"I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I cou'd, in hopes to do good; and if the reviewer, should say, ' to be fure, the gentleman's mufe wears Methodist shoes, you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard for the tafte and fashions, and ruling paffions, and hoydening play of the modern day; and though the affume a borrowed plume, and now and then wear a tittering air, 'tis only her plan to catch, if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new conftruction: fhe has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may come, with a fugar-plum.' -His opinion in this will not be amifs; 'tis what I intend my principal end; and if I fucceed, and folks fhould read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I fhall think I am paid, for all I have faid, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as far from hence, to the end of my sense, and, by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year.

"I have heard before of a room with a floor laid upon springs, and fuch like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string or any fuch thing; and now I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and, as you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penn'd; which that you may do, ere Madam and you are quite worn out with jigging about, I take my leave; and here you receive a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me W. C.

"P. S. When I concluded, doubtless you did think me right, as well you might, in saying what I faid of Scot; and then it was true, but now it is due to Him to note, that fince I felf and He has vifited we."

wrote, Him

He was at this time employed on his poem on Charity, which he confidered would be a proper fequel to "Hope;" and on the 22nd of the fame month he told Mr. Newton he was

« in

the middle of an affair called, Converfation,' which, as Table Talk' ferves, in the prefent volume, by way of introductory fiddle to the band that follows, I defign fhall perform the fame office in a fecond."

Neither conftant occupation nor fociety was capable of entirely removing Cowper's conftitutional dejection of fpirits; and though his letters at this period evince much cheerfulness, and occafionally sportive vivacity, the feeds of his malady were far from eradicated. To Mr. Newton, in Auguft, 1781, he observed: "My thoughts are clad in a fober livery, for the most part as grave as that of a bishop's fervant's. They turn too upon spiritual subjects, but the tallest fellow, and the loudeft amongst them all, is he who is continually crying, with a loud voice, Actum eft de te, periifti. You wish for more attention, I for lefs. Diffipation itself would be welcome to me, fo it were not a vicious one; but however earnestly invited, it is coy, and keeps at a distance. Yet with all this diftreffing gloom upon my mind, I experience, as you do, the flipperiness of the present hour, and the rapidity with which time escapes me. Every thing around us, and every thing that befalls us, conftitutes a variety, which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has ftill a thievish propenfity, and steals from us days, months, and years, with such unparalleled address, that even while we say they are here, they are gone. From infancy to manhood is rather a tedious period, chiefly, I suppose, because at that time we act under the control of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our own. But thence downward into the vale of years, is such a declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect upon the steepnefs of it, and then find ourselves at the bottom."

About this time Lady Auften became the tenant of the parfonage in Olney: as it communicated by a door in the garden wall with the Poet's refidence, a conftant intercourse fubfifted between the two families; and they dined alternately with each other. Her Ladyfhip's mufical acquirements induced Cowper to write several songs for her, and for three years his happiest hours were spent in her fociety.

His letters to Mr. Newton, in the autumn of 1781, related chiefly to the publication of his Poems, and their progress through the prefs. Of "Retirement" he gave him the subjoined account : "I have already begun and proceeded a little way in a poem