DEAR JOE, Affectionately yours, TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. W. C. 1769. stand in the presence of the great and blessed God. | Happy are you, my dear friend, in being able to I thank him that he has given me such a deep discern the insufficiency of all it can afford to fill impressed persuasion of this awful truth, as a and satisfy the desires of an immortal soul. That thousand worlds would not purchase from me. It God who created us for the enjoyment of himself, gives a relish to every blessing, and makes every has determined in mercy that it shall fail us here, trouble light. in order that the blessed result of all our inquiries after happiness in the creature may be a warm pursuit and a close attachment to our true interests, in fellowship and communion with Him, through the name and mediation of a dear Redeemer. I bless his goodness and grace, that I in the desire after better things, than are to be have any reason to hope I am a partaker with you found in a world polluted with sin, and therefore devoted to destruction. May he enable us both to consider our present life in its only true light, as an opportunity put into our hands to glorify him amongst men, by a conduct suited to his word and will. I am miserably defective in this holy and blessed art, but I hope there is at the bottom of all my sinful infirmities a sincere desire to live just so long as I may be enabled, in some poor measure, to answer the end of my existence in this respect, and then to obey the summons, and attend him in a world where they who are his servants here shall pay him an unsinful obedience for ever. Your dear mother is too good to me, and puts a more charitable construction upon my silence than the fact will warrant. I am not better SIR Thomas crosses the Alps, and Sir Cowper, for that is his title at Olney, prefers his home to any other spot of earth in the world. Horace, observing this difference of temper in different persons, cried out a good many years ago, in the true spirit of poetry, how much one man differs from another!' This does not seem a very sublime exclamation in English, but I remember we were taught to admire it in the original. I My dear friend, I am obliged to you for your invitation: but being long accustomed to retirement, which I was always fond of, I am now more than ever unwilling to revisit those noisy and crowded scenes which I never loved, and which now abhor. I remember you with all the friendship I ever professed, which is as much as I ever entertained for any man. But the strange and uncommon incidents of my life have given an entire new turn to my whole character and conduct, and rendered me incapable of receiving pleasure from the same employments and amusements of which I could readily partake in former days. I love you and yours, I thank you for your continued remembrance of me, and shall not cease to be their and your Affectionate friend and servant, W. C. employed than I should be in corresponding with her. I have that within which hinders me wretchedly in every thing that I ought to do, but is prone to trifle, and let time and every good thing run to waste. I hope however to write to her soon. My love and best wishes attend Mr. Cowper, and all that inquire after me. May God be with you, to bless you, and do you good by all his dispensations; don't forget me when you are speaking to our best friend before his Mercy-seat. Yours ever, N. B. I am not married. W. C. TO MRS. COWPER. MY DEAR COUSIN, TO MRS. COWPER. I HAVE not been behindhand in reproaching myself with neglect, but desire to take shame to myself for my unprofitableness in this, as well as in all other respects. I take the next immediate MY DEAR COUSIN, Olney, August 31, 1769. opportunity however of thanking you for yours, A LETTER from your brother Frederic brought and of assuring you, that instead of being sur-me yesterday the most afflicting intelligence that prised at your silence, I rather wonder that you, has reached me these many years. I pray to God or any of my friends, have any room left for so to comfort you, and to enable you to sustain this careless and negligent a correspondent in your heavy stroke with that resignation to his will, memories. I am obliged to you for the intelligence which none but himself can give, and which he you send me of my kindred, and rejoice to hear gives to none but his own children. How blessed of their welfare. He who settles the bounds of and happy is your lot, my dear friend, beyond the our habitations has at length cast our lot at a common lot of the greater part of mankind; that great distance from each other; but I do not there- you know what it is to draw near to God in prayer, fore forget their former kindness to me, or cease and are acquainted with a Throne of Grace! You to be interested in their well being. You live in have resources in the infinite love of a dear Rethe centre of a world I know you do not delight in.deemer, which are withheld from millions: and the promises of God, which are yea and amen in threatening, by the only physician of value. I Jesus, are sufficient to answer all your necessities, doubt not he will have an interest in your prayers, and to sweeten the bitterest cup which your hea- as he has in the prayers of many. May the Lord venly Father will ever put into your hand. May incline his ear, and give an answer of peace! I he now give you liberty to drink at these wells of know it is good to be afflicted. I trust that you have salvation, till you are filled with consolation and found it so, and that under the teaching of God's peace in the midst of trouble! He has said, when own spirit we shall both be purified. It is the dethou passest through the fire I will be with thee, sire of my soul to seek a better country, where and when through the floods, they shall not over- God shall wipe away all tears from the eyes of his flow thee. You have need of such a word as this, people: and where, looking back upon the ways and he knows your need of it, and the time of ne- by which he has led us, we shall be filled with cessity is the time when he will be sure to appear everlasting wonder, love, and praise. I must add in behalf of those who trust in him. I bear you no more. Yours ever, W. C. TO THE REV. J. NEWTON. self, vile and sinful as I am, and believe and am MY DEAR FRIEND, March 31, 1770. labourer with us in praying my dear brother out I AM glad that the Lord made you a fellow of darkness into light. It was a blessed work: and when it shall be your turn to die in the Lord, and to rest from all your labours, that work shall follow you. I once entertained hopes of his recovery: from the moment when it pleased God to give him light in his soul, there was for four days such a visible amendment in his body as surprised us all. Dr. Glynn himself was puzzled, and bewould fail of their accomplishment. I am well gan to think that all his threatening conjectures satisfied that it was thus ordered, not for his own sake, but for the sake of us, who had been so deeply concerned for his spiritual welfare, that he might be able to give such evident proof of the work of God upon his soul as should leave no doubt behind it. As to his friends at Cambridge, they knew nothing of the matter. He never spoke of these things but to myself, nor to me, when others were within hearing, except that he sometimes would speak in the presence of the nurse. He knew well to make the distinction between those who could understand him, and those who could not; and that he was not in circumstances to maintain such a controversy as a declaration of his new views and sentiments would have exposed him to. Just after his death I spoke of this change to a dear friend of his, a fellow of the college, who My brother continues much as he was. His had attended him through all his sickness with ascase is a very dangerous one. An imposthume siduity and tenderness. But he did not underof the liver, attended by an asthma and dropsy. stand me. My dear cousin, I commit you to the word of his grace, and to the comforts of his holy spirit. Your life is needful for your family; may God in mercy to them prolong it, and may he preserve you from the dangerous effects, which a stroke like this might have upon a frame so tender as yours. grieve with you, I pray for you; could 1 do more, I would, but God must comfort you. Yours, in our dear Lord Jesus, TO MRS. COWPER. W. C. March 5, 1770. The physician has little hope of his recovery. I I now proceed to mention such particulars as I believe I might say none at all; only being a friend can recollect, and which I had not opportunity to he does not formally give him over, by ceasing to insert in my letters to Olney; for I left Cambridge Visit him, lest it should sink his spirits. For my suddenly, and sooner than I expected. He was own part I have no expectation of his recovery, deeply impressed with a sense of the difficulties except by a signal interposition of Providence in he should have to encounter, if it should please answer to prayer. His case is clearly out of the God to raise him again. He saw the necessity of reach of medicine; but I have seen many a sick-being faithful, and the opposition he should expose ness healed, where the danger has been equally himself to by being so. Under the weight of these thoughts he one day broke out in the following prayer, when only myself was with him, 'O Lord, thou art light; and in thee is no darkness TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. May 8, 1770. at all. Thou art the fountain of all wisdom, and DEAR JOE, it is essential to thee to be good and gracious. I Your letter did not reach me till the last post, am a child, O Lord, teach me how I shall con- when I had not time to answer it. I left Camduct myself! Give me the wisdom of the serpent bridge immediately after my brother's death. with the harmlessness of the dove! Bless the souls I am obliged to you for the particular account thou hast committed to the care of thy helpless you have sent me miserable creature, who has no wisdom or know- He to whom I have surrendered myself and all ledge of his own, and make me faithful to them for my concerns hath otherwise appointed, and let his thy mercy's sake! Another time he said, 'How will be done. He gives me much which he withwonderful it is, that God should look upon man; holds from others; and if he was pleased to withand how much more wonderful, that he should look hold all that makes an outward difference between upon such a worm as I am! Yet he does look me and the poor mendicant in the street, it would upon me, and takes the exactest notice of all my still become me to say, his will be done. sufferings. He is present and I see him (I mean It pleased God to cut short my brother's conby faith); and he stretches out his arms towards nexions and expectations here, yet not without me'-and he then stretched out his own-and giving him lively and glorious views of a better he says 'Come unto me, all ye that are weary happiness than any he could propose to himself in and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!' He such a world as this. Notwithstanding his great smiled and wept, when he spoke these words. learning, (for he was one of the chief men in the When he expressed himself upon these sub- university in that respect) he was candid and sinjects, there was a weight and a dignity in his cere in his inquiries after truth. Though he could manner such as I never saw before. He spoke not come into my sentiments when I first acwith the greatest deliberation, making a pause at quainted him with them, nor in the many conver the end of every sentence; and there was some-sations which I afterwards had with him upon thing in his air and in the tone of his voice, inex- the subject, could he be brought to acquiesce in pressibly solemn, unlike himself, unlike what I them as scriptural and true, yet I had no sooner had ever seen in another. left St. Alban's than he began to study with the This hath God wrought. I have praised him deepest attention those points in which we differed, for his marvellous act, and have felt a joy of heart and to furnish himself with the best writers upon upon the subject of my brother's death, such as I them. His mind was kept open to conviction for never felt but in my own conversion. He is now five years, during all which time he laboured in before the throne; and yet a little while and we this pursuit with unwearied diligence, as leisure shall meet, never more to be divided. and opportunity were afforded. Amongst his dyYours, my very dear friend, with my affection- ing words were these, 'Brother, I thought you ate respects to yourself and yours. WILLIAM COWPER. wrong, yet wanted to believe as you did. I found myself not able to believe, yet always thought I should be one day brought to do so.' From the Postscript. A day or two before his death he study of books, he was brought upon his deathgrew so weak and was so very ill, that he required bed to the study of himself, and there learnt to continual attendance, so that he had neither renounce his righteousness, and his own most strength nor opportunity to say much to me. On- amiable character, and to submit himself to the ly the day before he said he had a sleepless, but a righteousness which is of God by faith. With composed and quiet night. I asked him, if he these views he was desirous of death. Satisfied of had been able to collect his thoughts. He re- his interest in the blessing purchased by the blood plied, 'All night long I have endeavoured to of Christ, he prayed for death with earnestness, think upon God and to continue in prayer. I had felt the approaches of it with joy, and died in great peace and comfort; and what comfort I had peace. Yours, my dear friend, W. C. came in that way.' When I saw him the next morning at seven o'clock he was dying, fast asleep, and exempted, in all appearance, from the sense of those pangs which accompany dissolution. I shall be glad to hear from you, my dear friend, MY DEAR COUSIN, when you can find time to write, and are so inclined. The death of my beloved brother teems with many useful lessons. May God seal the instruction upon our hearts! TO MRS. COWPER. Olney, June 7, 1770. I AM am obliged to you for sometimes thinking of an unseen friend, and bestowing a letter upon me. It gives me pleasure to hear from you, especially to find that our gracious Lord enables you to weather out the storms you meet with, and honoured by any who would give her credit for a to cast anchor within the veil. secret intercourse of this kind with the prince of darkness. W. C. You judge rightly of the manner in which I have been affected by the Lord's late dispensation Mrs. Unwin is much obliged to you for your towards my brother. I found in it cause of sor-kind inquiry after her. She is well, I thank God, row, that I had lost so near a relation, and one so as usual, and sends her respects to you. Her son deservedly dear to me, and that he left me just is in the ministry, and has the living of Stock, in when our sentiments upon the most interesting Essex. We were last week alarmed with an acsubject became the same; but much more cause count of his being dangerously ill; Mrs. Unwin of joy, that it pleased God to give me clear and went to see him, and in a few days left him out evident proof that he had changed his heart, and of danger. adopted him into the number of his children. For this I hold myself peculiarly bound to thank him, because he might have done all that he was pleased to do for him, and yet have afforded him neither strength nor opportunity to declare it. I DEAR JOE, doubt not that he enlightens the understandings, and works a gracious change in the hearts of many in their last moments, whose surrounding friends are not made acquainted with it. TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. Sept. 25, 1770. I HAVE not done conversing with terrestrial objects, though I should be happy were I able to hold more continual converse with a friend above the skies. He has my heart, but he allows a corner in it for all who show me kindness, and therefore one for you. The storin of sixty-three made a wreck of the friendships I had contracted in the course of many years, yours excepted, which has survived the tempest. W. C.* TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. June 8, 1778. DEAR UNWIN, He told me that from the time he was first ordained he began to be dissatisfied with his religious opinions, and to suspect that there were greater things concealed in the Bible, than were generally believed or allowed to be there. From the time when I first visited him after my release I thank you for your repeated invitation. Sinfrom St. Alban's, he began to read upon the sub-gular thanks are due to you for so singular an ject. It was at that time I informed him of the instance of your regard. I could not leave Olney, views of divine truth which I had received in that unless in a case of absolute necessity, without school of afiliction. He laid what I said to heart, much inconvenience to myself and others. and began to furnish himself with the best writers upon the controverted points, whose works he read with great diligence and attention, comparing them all the while with the Scripture. None ever truly and ingenuously sought the truth but they found it. A spirit of earnest inquiry is the gift of God, who never says to any, Scek ye my face I FEEL myself much obliged to you for your in vain. Accordingly, about ten days before his kind intimation, and have given the subject of it death, it pleased the Lord to dispel all his doubts, all my best attention, both before I received your and to reveal in his heart the knowledge of the letter and since. The result is, that I am perSaviour, and to give him firm and unshaken peace suaded it will be better not to write. I know the in the belief of his ability and willingness to save. man and his disposition well; he is very liberal in As to the affair of the fortune-teller, he never men- his way of thinking, generous and discerning. tioned it to me, nor was there any such paper He is well aware of the tricks that are played upon found as you mention. I looked over all his pa- such occasions, and after fifteen years interruppers before I left the place, and had there been tion of all intercourse between us, would translate such a one, must have discovered it. I have heard my letter into this language-pray remember the the report from other quarters, but no other parti- poor. This would disgust him, because he would culars than that the woman foretold him when he think our former intimacy disgraced by such an should die. I suppose there may be some truth in oblique application. He has not forgotten me, the matter, but whatever he might think of it be- and if he had, there are those about him who can fore his knowledge of the truth, and however ex- not come into his presence without reminding him traordinary her predictions might really be, I am of me, and he is also perfectly acquainted with my satisfied that he had then received far other views circumstances. It would perhaps give him pleaof the wisdom and majesty of God, than to sup- sure to surprise me with a benefit; and if he pose that he would entrust his secret counsels to a vagrant, who did not mean, I suppose, to be understood to have received her intelligence from the Fountain of Light, but thought herself sufficiently was afflicted. * The subsequent chasm in the Letters of this Volume was occasioned by a long and severe illness with which the writer ineans me such a favour, I should disappoint him who want money as much as any mandarin in by asking it. China? Rousseau would have been charmed to I repeat my thanks for your suggestion; you have seen me so occupied, and would have exsee a part of my reasons for thus conducting my-claimed with rapture, "that he had found the self; if we were together I could give you more.* Emilius who (he supposed) had subsisted only in Yours affectionately, W. C. his own idea." I would recommend it to you to follow my example. You will presently qualify yourself for the task, and may not only amuse yourself at home, but may even exercise your skill in mending the church windows; which, as it would save money to the parish, would conduce, together with your other ministerial accomplishments, to make you extremely popular in the place. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. May 26, 1779. I AM obliged to you for the Poets; and though I little thought I was translating so much money out of your pocket into the bookseller's, when I turned Prior's poem into Latin, yet I must needs I have eight pair of tame pigeons. When I say that, if you think it worth while to purchase first enter the garden in a morning, I find them the English Classics at all, you can not possess perched upon the wall, waiting for their breakfast; yourself of them upon better terms. I have looked for I feed them always upon the gravel-walk. If into some of the volumes, but not having yet finish-your wish should be accomplished, and you should ed the Register, have merely looked into them. A find yourself furnished with the wings of a dove, few things I have met with, which if they had I shall undoubtedly find you amongst them. Only been burned the moment they were written, it be so good, if that should be the case, to announce would have been better for the author, and at yourself by some means or other. For I imagine least as well for his readers. There is not much your crop will require something better than tares of this, but a little too much. I think it a pity to fill it. the editor admitted any; the English muse would have lost no credit by the omission of such trash. Some of them again seem to me to have but a very disputable right to a place among the Classics; and I am quite at a loss when I see them in such company, to conjecture what is Dr. Johnson's idea or definition of classical merit. But if he inserts the poems of some who can hardly be said to deserve such an honour, the purchaser may comfort himself with the hope that he will exclude none W. C. that do. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. AMICO MIO, Sept. 21, 1779. BE pleased to buy me a glazier's diamond pencil. I have glazed the two frames designed to receive my pine plants. But I can not mend the kitchen windows, till by the help of that implement I can reduce the glass to its proper dimensions. If I were a plumber I should be a complete glazier; and possibly the happy time may I come, when I shall be seen trudging away to the neighbouring towns with a shelf of glass hanging at my back. If government should impose anotax upon that commodity, I hardly know a business in which a gentleman might more successfully employ himself. A Chinese, of ten times my fortune, would avail himself of such an opportunity without scruple; and why should not I, The allusion in this letter is to Lord Thurlow, who was fromoted to the Lord High Chancellorship of England in the early part of the month in which it was written. Your mother and I last week made a trip in a post chaise to Gayhurst, the seat of Mr. Wright, about four miles off. He understood that I did not much affect strange faces, and sent over his servant on purpose to inform me that he was going into Leicestershire, and that, if I chose to see the gardens, I might gratify myself without danger of seeing the proprietor. I accepted the invitation, and was delighted with all I found there. The situation is happy, the gardens elegantly disposed. the hot-house in the most flourishing state, and the orange-trees the most captivating creatures of the kind I ever saw. A man, in short, had need have the talents of Cox or Langford, the auctioneers, to do the whole scene justice. Our love attends you all. Yours, W. C. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 31, 1779. I WROTE my last letter merely to inform you that had nothing to say, in answer to which you have said nothing. I admire the propriety of your conduct, though I am a loser by it. I will endeavour to say something now, and shall hope for something in return. I have been well entertained with Johnson's biography, for which I thank you; with one exception, and that a swinging one, I think he has acquitted himself with his usual good sense and sufficiency. His treatment of Milton is unmerciful to the last degree. He has belaboured that great poet's character with the most industrious |