buting the private, yet extensive bounty of an opulent, and exemplary merchant.

Cowper, before he quitted St. Albans, assumed the charge of a necessitous child, to extricate him from the perils of being educated by very profligate parents; he put him to school at Huntingdon, removed him on his own removal to Olney, and finally settled him as an apprentice in St. Albans.

The warm, benevolent, and chearful enthusiasm of Mr. Newton induced his friend Cowper to participate so abundantly in his devout occupation, that the Poet's time and thoughts were more and more engrossed by religious pursuits. He wrote many Hymns, and occasionally directed the prayers of the poor. Where the nerves are tender, and the imagination tremblingly alive, any little excess, in the exercise of the purest piety, may be attended with such perils to corporeal, and mental health, as men, of a more firm and hardy fibre, would be far from apprehending. Perhaps the life, that Cowper led, on his settling in Olney, had a tendency to encrease the morbid propensity of his frame, though it was a life of admirable sanctity.

Absorbed as he was in devotion, he forgot not his distant friends, and particularly his amiable Relation and Correspondent of the Park-House, near Hartford. The following Letter to that lady has no date, but it was probably written soon after his esta

blishment

blishment at Olney: The remarkable memento in the Postscript was undoubtedly introduced to counteract an idle rumour, arising from the circumstance of his having settled himself under the roof of a female friend, whose age, and whose virtues, he considered as sufficient securities to ensure her reputation.

I have not been behind hand 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 opportunity however of thanking you for yours, and of assuring you that instead of being surprized at your silence, I rather wonder that you, or any of my friends, have any room left for so careless and negligent a correspondent in your memories. I am obliged to you for the intelligence you send me of my kindred, and rejoice to hear of their welfare. He who settles the bounds of our habitations, has at length cast our lot at a great disstance from each other, but I do not therefore forget their former kindness to me, or cease to be interested in their well being. You live in the centre of a world I know you do not delight in. Happy are you my dear friend, in being able to discern the insufficiency of all it can afford, to fill and satisfy the desires of an immortal soul. That God who created us for the enjoyment of himself, has determined in mercy that it shall fail us here, in order that the blessed

result

result of all our enquiries after happiness in the creature, may be a warm pursuit, and a close attachment to our true interest, in fellowship and communion with Him, through the name and mediation of a dear Redeemer. I bless his goodness and grace that I have any reason to hope I am a partaker with you in the desire after better things, than are to be 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 Your dear Mother is too good to me, and puts a more charitable construction upon my silence than the fact will warrant. not better 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.

ever.

I am

My love and best wishes attend Mr. Cowper, and all that enquire after me. May God be with you to bless you, and do

you

good

good by all his dispensations; don't forget me when you are speaking to our best Friend before his Mercy-seat.

N. B.

I am not married.

Yours ever,

WM. COWPER.

In the year 1769, the Lady to whom the preceeding Letters are addressed, was involved in domestic affliction, and the following, which the Poet wrote to her on the occasion, is so full of genuine piety, and true pathos, that it would be an injury to his memory to suppress it.

LETTER XVII1.

To Mrs. COWPER.

Olney, Aug. 31, 1769.

DEAR COUSIN,

A Letter from your brother Frederic brought me yesterday the most afflicting intelligence that has reached me these many years. I pray to God to comfort you, and to enable you to sustain this heavy stroke with that resignation to his will, which none but Himself can give, and which he gives to none but his own children. How blessed and happy is your lot, my dear Friend, beyond the common lot of the greater part of mankind; that you know what it is to draw near to God in prayer, and are acquainted with a Throne of Grace! You have resources in the infinite love of a dear Redeemer, which are witheld from millions: and the promise of God, which are yea and amen in Jesus, are sufficient to answer all your necessities, and to sweeten the bitterest cup which your heavenly

heavenly Father will ever put into your hand.

May He now give

you liberty to drink at these wells of salvation, till you are filled with consolation and peace in the midst of trouble. He has said, when thou passest through the fire I will be with thee, and when through the floods, they shall not overflow thee. You have need of such a word as this, and he knows your need of it, and the time of necessity is the time when he will be sure to appear in behalf of those who trust him. I bear you and yours upon my heart before him night and day, for I never expect to hear of a distress which shall call upon me with a louder voice to pray for the sufferer. I know the Lord hears me for myself, vile and sinful as I am, and believe, and am sure, that he will hear me for you also. He is the friend of the widow, and the father of the fatherless, even God in his holy habitation; in all our afflictions he is afflicted, and chastens us in mercy. Surely he will sanctify this dispensation to you, do you great and everlasting good by it, make the world appear like dust and vanity in your sight, as it truly is, and open to your view the glories of a better country, where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor pain, but God shall wipe away all tears from your eyes for ever. Oh that comfortable word! have chosen thee in the furnaces of affliction," so that our very sorrows are evidences of our calling, and he chastens us because we are his children.

"I

My dear Cousin, I commit you to the word of his Grace, and