all. This state of mind was accompanied, as I suppose it to be in most cases of the kind, with misapprehension of things and persons, that made me a very intractable patient. I believed that everybody hated me, and that Mrs. Unwin hated me most of all; was convinced that all my food was poisoned, together with ten thousand. megrims of the same sort. The conviction of his own certain reprobation settled itself more and more deeply in his mind. He believed that God required him to sacrifice his own life, and attempted over and over again to commit suicide. He refused to pray or to attend divine service; nor would he for a time visit Newton at the Rectory; then, having one day been persuaded to go there, he refused to leave; and begged to be allowed to remain. This mental alienation lasted many months, during which Mrs. Unwin devoted herself wholly to his care. No mother, or sister, or wife could have done more for him than she did, and when he was induced to leave the Rectory she took him to her home. Some time before this attack Cowper, at the suggestion of Newton, and with his co-operation, projected the Olney Hymns. Of these Cowper wrote nearly eighty, some of which hold a high place in English Hymnology. The one last written, composed in June, 1773, is the best known of all: LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS. God moves in a mysterious way VOL. VII.-2 Deep in unfathomable mines, He treasures up his bright designs, Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, His purpose will ripen fast, The bud may have a bitter taste, Blind unbelief is sure to err, And he will make it plain. The dozen years following this recovery-up to 1791-were probably the happiest, certainly by far the most active, in the life of Cowper. His abode was still with Mrs. Unwin. He occupied himself with gardening and carpentering, and found his amusement with petting animals: hares, rabbits, guinea-pigs, dogs, and several kinds of birds. His cousin, Lady Hesketh, now took up her residence not far from him; and in time he became acquainted with Lady Austen, a widow, rich, beautiful, and clever, in whose society and friendship he found great delight. He was now about fifty, and up to this time he had written only a few hundred lines of poetry worthy of re membrance. In 1781 he printed anonymously a very poor poem, upon a very unpleasant subject, entitled Antithelyphthora. Mrs. Unwin urged him to choose a worthier theme, suggesting as a subject The Progress of Error. He began at once, and in a few weeks wrote not only that, but Truth, Table Talk, Expostulation, Hope, Charity, Retirement, and Conversation-all of them being moral satires. These were published in a volume in 1782. One evening Lady Austen diverted him by telling the story of the adventurous ride of John Gilpin. Before morning Cowper had put the story into verse. It was printed in a newspaper, and soon became the most popular ballad of the day. Lady Austen not long afterward urged Cowper to try his powers at writing blank verse, giving him as a subject the Sofa on which she happened to be sitting. The result was the poem entitled The Task, which extended far beyond what had been thought of by either the poet or his friend. It was published in 1785, and at once secured for Cowper the undisputed rank of the foremost poet of his time. But before The Task was completed, the fair friendship between Cowper and Lady Austen came to an end. Mrs. Unwin, now past threescore, became strangely jealous of the fascinating Lady Austen, and told Cowper that he must forego one of the two. The claims of gratitude were paramount in the estimation of Cowper, and he wrote a sorrowful farewell letter to Lady Austen, setting forth the circumstances which rendered. it necessary that their innocent intimacy should cease. When The Task was published, the bookseller urged Cowper to undertake a translation of Homer. This was published in 1791, and for it Cowper received £1,000. He was then urged to edit an edition of Milton, to be magnificently illustrated by Fuseli. Cowper translated the Latin and Italian poems of Milton; but did no more. For the end of his mental soundness was close at hand. But one last gleam of earthly happiness had been reserved for him. Early in 1790 he received a visit from John Johnson, a Cambridge undergraduate, a grandson of a brother of Cowper's mother-dead now for three-and-fifty years, but still held in loving remembrance. Returning to his home Johnson told his aunt, Mrs. Bodham, who had been a play-fellow of Cowper's childhood, that she was still held in kindly remembrance by the poet, whereupon she sent to him that portrait of his mother which occasioned the writing of the touching poem, one of the best of all which Cowper wrote. In the next year Mary Unwin had an attack of paralysis, which left her feeble in body, impaired in mind, and querulous in temper. Cowper failed too. He had had another attack of insanity, during which he again attempted suicide. He partially recovered; but strange fancies haunted him. He imagined, when he awoke in the morning, that he heard mysterious voices speaking to him; Mrs. Unwin shared in the delusion; the two fell under the influence of a knavish schoolmaster, who professed to interpret these voices, and managed to get much money for his services. Cowper's grand. nephew, Johnson, being informed of his deplorable condition, came to him, but found him in a state of brooding melancholy. Mrs. Unwin died in 1796. Cowper lived four years longer, for the greater part of the time nearly bereft of understanding; but with now and then a return to reason. The last of these returns took place about a year before he passed into his rest. In March, 1799, he was able to undertake the revision of his Homer; wrote several short poems in Latin and English. The last of these was The Castaway, composed March 20th, founded on a story told by Anson, of a sailor drowning at sea. This poem, comprising a dozen stanzas, thus concludes: THE TWO CASTAWAYS. I therefore purpose not, or dream, To give the melancholy theme But misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allayed, When snatched from all effectual aid, We perished, each alone. But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. A year and a month more of almost unconscious earthly existence was allotted to Cowper, and then he entered into his rest, lacking a few months of the term of three-score years and ten. "From the moment of his death," wrote his kinsman, “until the coffin was closed, the expression into which |