poor friend, Unwin, both in face and figure, more than any one I have seen. But he has not, at least he has not at present, his vivacity.

I have corresponded since I came here with Mrs. Courtenay, and had yesterday a very kind letter from her.

Adieu, my dear; may God bless you. Write to me as soon as you can after the twentieth. I shall then be at Weston, and indulging myself in the hope that I shall ere long see you there also. W. C.

also mentions the interest excited in Cowper's mind by his son, a fine boy of eleven years, whose uncommon talents and engaging qualities endeared him so much to the poet, that he allowed and invited him to criticise his Homer. A specimen of this juvenile criticism will appear in the future correspondence. This interesting boy, with a young companion, employed themselves regularly twice a day in drawing Mrs. Unwin in a commodious garden-chair, round the airy hill at Eartham. "To Cowper and to me," he adds, "it was a very pleasing spectacle to see the benevolent vivacity of blooming youth thus continually laboring for the ease, health, and amusement of disabled age."

The reader will perceive from the last letter, that Cowper, amused as he was with the scenery of Sussex, began to feel the powerful attraction of home.

*This is one of those scarce and curious books which

is not to be procured without difficulty. It is a dramatic representation of the Fall, remarkable, not so much for any peculiar vigor, either in the conception or execution of the plan, as for exhibiting that mode of celebrating sacred subjects, formerly known under the appellation of mysteries. A further interest is also attached to it from the popular persuasion that this work first suggested to Milton the design of his Paradise Lost. There is the same allegorical imagery, and sufficient to form the frame-work of that immortal poem. Johnson, in his Life of Milton, alludes to the report, without arriving at any decided conclusion on the subject, but states, that Milton's original intention was to have formed, not a narrative, but a dramatic work, and that he subsequently began to reduce it to its present form, about the year 1655. Some sketches of this plan are to be seen in the

library of Trinity college, Cambridge. Dr. Joseph Warton and Hayley both incline to the opinion that the Adamo of Andreini first suggested the hint of the Para

dise Lost.

That the Italians claim this honor for their countryman is evident from the following passage from Tiraboschi,

which, to those of our readers who are conversant with that language, will be an interesting quotation. "Certo benche L'Adamo dell Andreini sia in confronto dell Paradiso Perduto ciò che è il Poema di Ennio in confronto a quel di Virgilio, nondimeno non può negarsi che le idee gigantesche, delle quali l'autore Inglese ha abbellito il suo Poema, di Satana, che entra nel Paradiso terrestre, e arde d' invidia al vedere la felicita dell' Uomo, del congresso de Demonj, della battaglia degli Angioli contra Lucifero, e più altre sommiglianti immagini veggonsi nell' Adamo adombrate per modo, che a me sembra molto credibile, che anche il Milton dalle immondezze, se cosi è lecito dire, dell' Andreini raccogliesse l'oro, di cui adorno il suo Poema. Per altro L'Adamo dell' Andreini, benche abbia alcuni tratti di pessimo gusto, ne ha altri ancora, che si posson proporre come modello di excellente poesia."

It is no disparagement to Milton to have been indebted to the conceptions of another for the origin of his great undertaking. If Milton borrowed, it was to repay with largeness of interest. The only use that he made of the suggestion was, to stamp upon it the immortality of his own creative genius, and to produce a work which is destined to survive to the latest period of British literature.

For farther information on this subject, we refer the reader to the "Inquiry into the Origin of Paradise Lost," in Todd's excellent edition of Milton; and in Hayley's Life of Milton will be found Cowper's and Hayley's joint version of the first three acts of the Adamo above mentioned.

In addition to the Adamo of Andreini, Milton is said to have been indebted to the Du Bartas of Sylvester, and to the Adamus Exul of Grotius. Hayley, in his Life of

My dear Catharina,-I am not so uncourteous a knight as to leave your last kind letter, and the last I hope that I shall receive for a long time to come, without an attempt, at least, to acknowledge and to send you Something in the shape of an answer to it; but, having been obliged to dose myself last night with laudanum, on account of a little nervous fever, to which I am always subject, and for which I find it the best remedy, I feel myself this morning particularly under the influence of Lethean vapors, and, consequently, in danger of being uncommonly stupid!

You could hardly have sent me intelligence that would have gratified me more than that of my two dear friends, Sir John and Lady Throckmorton, having departed from Paris two days before the terrible 10th of August. I have had many anxious thoughts on their

Milton, enumerates also a brief list of Italian writers, who may possibly have thrown some suggestions inte the mind of the poet. But the boldest act of imposition ever recorded in the annals of literature, is the charge preferred against Milton by Lauder, who endeavored to prove that he was "the worst and greatest of all plagiaries." He asserted that "Milton had borrowed the substance of whole books together, and that there was scarcely a single thought or sentiment in his poem which he had not stolen from some author or other, notwith standing his vain pretence to things unattempted get in prose or rhyme." In support of this charge, he was base enough to corrupt the text of those poets, whom he pro duced as evidences against the originality of Milton. by interpolating several verses either of his own fabrication or from the Latin translation of Paradise Lost, by Wo liam Hog. This gross libel he entitled an Essay on Milton's Use and Imitation of the Moderns;" and so far imposed on Dr. Johnson, by his representations, as to prevail upon him to furnish a preface to his work. The public are indebted to Dr. Douglas, the Bishop of Salis bury, for first detecting this imposture, in a pamphlet entitled "Milton vindicated from the charge of Plagiarism brought against him by Mr. Lauder." Thus exposed to infamy and contempt, be made a public recantation of his error, and soon after quitted England for the West Indies, where he died in 1771.

* Now Dowager Lady Throckmorton.

† Private correspondence.

account; and am truly happy to learn that they have sought a more peaceful region, while it was yet permitted them to do so. They will not, I trust, revisit those scenes of tumult and horror while they shall continue to merit that description. We are here all of one mind respecting the cause in which the Parisians are engaged; wish them a free people, and as happy as they can wish themselves. But their conduct has not always pleased us; we are shocked at their sanguinary proceedings, and begin to fear, myself in particular, that they will prove themselves unworthy, because incapable of enjoying it, of the inestimable blessing of liberty. My daily toast is, Sobriety and freedom to the French; for they seem as destitute of the former as they are eager to secure the latter. We still hold our purpose of leaving Eartham on the seventeenth; and again my fears on Mrs. Unwin's account begin to trouble me; but they are now not quite so reasonable as in the first instance. If she could bear the fatigue of travelling then, she is more equal to it at present; and, supposing that nothing happens to alarm her, which is very probable, may be expected to reach Weston in much better condition than when she left it. Her improvement, however, is chiefly in her looks, and in the articles of speaking and walking; for she can neither rise from her chair without help, nor walk without a support, nor read, nor use her needle. Give my love to the good doctor, and make him acquainted with the state of his patient, since he, of all men, seems to have the best right to know it.

I am proud that you are pleased with the Epitaph I sent you, and shall be still prouder to see it perpetuated by the chisel. It is all that I have done since here I came, and all that I have been able to do. I wished, indeed, to have requited Romney, for his welldrawn copy of me, in rhyme; and have more than once or twice attempted it; but I find, like the man in the fable, who could leap only at Rhodes, that verse is almost impossible to me, except at Weston.-Tell my friend George that I am every day mindful of him, and always love him; and bid him by no means to vex himself about the tardiness of Andrews.t Remember me affectionately to William, and to Pitcairn, whom I shall hope to find with you at my return; and, should you see Mr. Buchanan, to him also. I have now charged you with commissions enow, and having added Mrs. Unwin's best compliments, and told you that I long to see you again, will conclude myself,

My dear Catharina,
Most truly yours,

W. C.

On Fop, Lady Throckmorton's dog. A stone-mason, who was making a pedestal for an antique bust of Homer.

Their departure from Eartham was a scene of affecting interest, and a perfect contrast to the gaiety of their arrival. Anxious to relieve the mind of Hayley from any apprehension for their safety, Cowper addressed to him the following letter from Kingston.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

The Sun, at Kingston, Sept. 18, 1792. My dear Brother,-With no sinister accident to retard or terrify us, we find ourselves at a quarter before one, arrived safe at Kingston. I left you with a heavy heart, and with a heavy heart took leave of our dear Tom,* at the bottom of the chalk-hill. But, soon after this last separation, my troubles gushed from my eyes, and then I was better.

General. I add no more, therefore, than our We must now prepare for our visit to the dearest remembrances and prayers that God may bless you and yours, and reward you an hundred-fold for all your kindness. Tell Tom I shall always hold him dear for his affectionate attentions to Mrs. Unwin. From her heart the memory of him can never be erased. Johnny loves you all, and has his share in all these acknowledgments.

Adieu!

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

W. C.

Weston, Sept. 21, 1792, My dear Hayley,-Chaos himself, even the chaos of Milton, is not surrounded with more confusion, nor has a mind more completely in a hubbub, than I experience at the present moment. At our first arrival, after long absence, we find a hundred orders to servants necessary, a thousand things to be restored to their proper places, and an endless variety of minutia to be adjusted; which, though individually of little importance, are momentous in the aggregate. In these circumstances I find myself so indisposed to writing, that, save to yourself, I would on no account attempt it; but to you I will give such a recital as I can of all that has passed since I sent you that short note from Kingston, knowing that, if it be a perplexed recital, you will consider the cause and pardon it. I will begin with a remark in which I am inclined to think you will agree with me, that there is sometimes more true heroism passing in a corner, and on occasions that make no noise in the world, than has often been exercised by those whom that world esteems her greatest heroes, and on occasions the most illustrious. I hope so at least; for all the heroism I have to boast, and all the opportunities I have of displaying any, are of a private nature. After writing the note, I immediately began to prepare for my ap

* Hayley's son.

TO MRS. KING.*

Oct. 14, 1792.

My dear Madam,-Your kind inquiries af ter mine and Mrs. Unwin's health will not permit me to be silent; though I am and have long been so indisposed to writing, that even a letter has almost overtasked me.

Your last but one found me on the point of setting out for Sussex, whither I went with Mrs. Unwin, on a visit to my friend, Mr. Hayley. We spent six weeks at Eartham, and returned on the nineteenth of September. I had hopes that change of air and change of scene might be serviceable both to my poor invalid and me. She, I hope, has received some benefit; and I am not the worse for it myself; but, at the same time, must acknowledge that I cannot boast of much amendment. The time we spent there could not fail to pass as agreeably as her weakness, and my spirits, at a low ebb, would permit. Hayley is one of the most agreeable men, as well as one of the most cordial friends. His house is elegant; his library large, and well chosen; and he is surrounded by the most delightful scenery. But I have made the experiment only to prove, what indeed I knew before, that creatures are physicians of little value, and that health and cure are from God only. Henceforth, therefore, I shall wait for those blessings from Him, and expect them at no other hand. In the meantime, I have the comfort to be able to tell you that Mrs. Unwin, on the whole, is restored beyond the most sanguine expectations I had when I wrote last; and that, as to myself, it is not much other wise with me than it has been these twenty years; except that this season of the year is always unfavorable to my spirits.

I rejoice that you have had the pleasure of another interview with Mr. Martyn; and am glad that the trifles I have sent you afforded him any amusement. This letter has already given you to understand that I am at present no artificer of verse; and that, consequently, I have nothing new to communicate. When I have, I shall do it to none more readily than to yourself.

My dear madam,
Very affectionately yours, W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. *

Oct. 18, 1792.

My dear Friend,-I thought that the wonder had been all on my side, having been employed in wondering at your silence, as long as you at mine. Soon after our arrival at Eartham, I received a letter from you, which I answered, if not by the return of the

* Private correspondence.

post, at least in a day or two. Not that I should have insisted on the ceremonial of letter for letter, during so long a period, could I have found leisure to double your debt; but while there, I had no opportunity for writing, except now and then a short one; for we breakfasted early, studied Milton as soon as breakfast was over, and continued in that employment till Mrs. Unwin came forth from her chamber, to whom all the rest of my time was necessarily devoted. Our return to Weston was on the nineteenth of last month, according to your information. You will naturally think that, in the interval, I must have had sufficient leisure to give you notice of our safe arrival. But the fact has been otherwise. I have neither been well myself, nor is Mrs. Unwin, though better, so much improved in her health as not still to require my continual assistance. My disorder has been the old one, to which I have been subject so many years, and especially about this season-a nervous fever; not, indeed, so oppressive as it has sometimes proved, but sufficiently alarming both to Mrs. Unwin and myself, and such as made it neither easy nor proper for me to make much use of my pen while it continued. At present I am tolerably free from it; a blessing for which I believe myself partly indebted to the use of James's powder, in small quantities; and partly to a small quantity of laudanum, taken every night; but chiefly to a manifes tation of God's presence vouchsafed to me a few days since; transient, indeed, and dimly seen through a mist of many fears and troubles, but sufficient to convince me, at least while the Enemy's power is a little restrained, that he has not cast me off forever.

Our visit was a pleasant one; as pleasant as Mrs. Unwin's weakness and the state of my spirits, never very good, would allow. As to my own health, I never expected that it would be much improved by the journey: nor have I found it so. Some benefit, indeed, I hoped; and, perhaps, a little more than I found. But the season was, after the first fortnight, extremely unfavorable, stormy, and wet; and the prospects, though grand and magnificent, yet rather of a melancholy cast, and consequently not very propitious to

me.

The cultivated appearance of Weston suits my frame of mind far better than wild hills that aspire to be mountains, covered with vast unfrequented woods, and here and there affording a peep between their summits at the distant ocean. Within doors all was would have its effect; and, though delightful hospitality and kindness, but the scenery in the extreme to those who had spirits to bear it, was too gloomy for me. Yours, my dear friend, Most sincerely,

W. C.

TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ.

Weston, Oct. 19, 1792.

ever since.

It would be well for the reading part of the world, if the writing part were, many of them, as dull as I am. Yet even this small produce, which my sterile intellect has hardly yielded at last, may serve to convince you that in point of spirits I am not worse.

In fact, I am a little better. The powders and the laudanum together have, for the present at least, abated the fever that consumes them; and in measure as the fever abates, I acquire a less discouraging view of things, and with it a little power to exert myself.

In the evenings I read Baker's Chronicle to Mrs. Unwin, having no other history, and hope in time to be as well versed in it as his admirer, Sir Roger de Coverley.

which, however, I shall address myself with fear and trembling, like a man who, having sprained his wrist, dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, injured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as much enfeebled as if I had. The consciousness that there is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burden I am not able to bear. Milton especially is my grievance, and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost as goaded with continual reproaches for neg lecting him. I will therefore begin: I will do my best; and if, after all, that best prove good for nothing, I will even send the notes, worthless as they are, that I have made already; a measure very disagreeable to my self, and to which nothing but necessity shall compel me. I shall rejoice to see those new samples of your biography,* which you give me to expect.

Allons! Courage! Here comes something, however; produced after a gestation as long as that of a pregnant woman. It is the debt long unpaid, the compliment due to Romney; and if it has your approbation, I will send it, or you may send it for me. I must premise, however, that I intended nothing less than a sonnet when I began. I know not why, but I said to myself, it shall not be a sonnet; accordingly I attempted it in one sort of measure, then in a second, then in a third, till I had made the trial in half a dozen different kinds of shorter verse, and behold it is a sonnet at last. The fates would have

it so.

TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ.
Romney! expert infallibly to trace,
On chart or canvas, not the form alone,
And semblance, but, however faintly shown,
The mind's impression too on every face,
With strokes, that time ought never to erase:
The subject worthless, I have never known
Thou hast so pencill'd mine, that though I own
The artist shining with superior grace.
But this I mark, that symptoms none of woe,
In thy incomparable work appear:

Well! I am satisfied it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought the cause is clear;
For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see,
While I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee?