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the House of Lords was in the gift of Major Cowper, as were also the joint offices of reading clerk, and clerk of the committees. All of them became vacant about the same time, and Major C. offered the two most valuable places to his kinsman. For him it was a splendid offer, and he accepted it at once, without reflecting on his inability to execute a business of so public a nature. But he soon repented, and after a week of misery wrote to his friend, begging that he might resign the places given him, and take, instead, the less lucrative post. The change was made, but it did not bring the relief which he expected. The clerkship of the journals, which had seemed so easy and so desirable, now became an awful terror to his mind. He was bid to expect an examination at the bar of the House, touching his sufficiency. To his sensitive nature the idea of such an ordeal was appalling. Still he made an effort to qualify himself, and for many months went daily to the office, in order to learn its routine. It was a vain attempt. His mind was not in a condition to seek or to receive knowledge. He was distracted with a perpetual fear that he was about to disgrace himself, and injure his benefactor. His mind was the prey of horrible thoughts. Conscious that something about him must be wrong, he applied to the celebrated Dr. Heberden. He was put upon a course of medicine. He made some efforts of a devotional kind. Still he found no relief. "I now," he says, "began to look upon madness as the only chance remaining. I had a strong foreboding that so it would fare with me, and I wished for it earnestly, and looked forward to it with impatient expectation!" "Such forebodings," says one of his biographers, "were indications of the actual disease. The prior and the subsequent manifestations of the disorder prove that it was inherent in his constitution." Of the way in which it was first openly developed, we have his own interesting account. In that narrative, written when he was supposed to be perfectly sane, he evidently had no just idea of the nature of his disorder, or of the time when his mind became incapable of rational and responsible action. He ascribes to demoniac agency all his despairing thoughts and suicidal purposes. The day for his appearance at the bar of the House of Lords was drawing nigh. "Now came," says he,

"the grand temptation; the point to which Satan had all the while been driving me; the dark and hellish purpose of self-murder. I grew more sullen and reserved, fled from all society, even from my most intimate friends, and shut myself up in my chambers. Being reconciled to the apprehension of madness, I began to be reconciled to the apprehension of death." He gives a graphic account of the various attempts which he made by laudanum, by drowning, by a knife, and by hanging, to put an end to his life. By one means or another he was baffled in them all,—thongh in one instance he seems to have come very near the accomplishment of his fatal design. After this failure, he became, he says, afraid of death, and deeply convinced of his guilt.

A few days after this, his madness suddenly assumed a shape in which it was manifest to all. He thus describes the access. "While I traversed the apartment in the most horrid dismay of soul, a strange and horrible darkness fell upon me. If it were possible that a heavy blow could light on the brain, without touching the skull, such was the sensation I felt. I clapped my hand to my forehead, and cried aloud through the pain it gave me. At every stroke my thoughts and expressions became more wild and indistinct; all that remained clear was the sense of sin, and the expectation of punishment. These kept undisturbed possession all through my illness, without interruption or abatement."

He was now sent to St. Albans-about twenty miles from London—and placed under the care of Dr. Cotton,* who kept what would

*NATHANIEL COTTON, born about 1707, after

He had al

studying at Leyden, under the far-famed Boerhaave, returned to England, to engage in general practice. Just then a Dr. Crawley, who had a private establishment at Dunstable for the treatment of insane patients, retired from his labors, and resigned his place to Dr. Cotton. mental disease. To knowledge and skill he added ready given much attention to the varieties of a kind heart, and the most winning manners. His success was great-his fame spread widely— From Dunstable he soon removed to St. Albans. and a great number of persons were entrusted to his care. His asylum was called "The College." In this calm retreat, and thus beneficially employed, he spent the remainder of a long life. He also made himself known as an author. In 1749, he published "Observations on a particular kind of scarlet fever that lately prevailed in and about St. Albans." His "Visions in Verse," appeared not long after. These have been often republished, and have found a place in some of the collections of British Poets. They breathe in every line a spirit of benevolence and piety. Among the dis

sane.

now be called a private asylum for the in- | Here he soon became a boarder in the family At that period the treatment of this of the Unwins. During the two years of his class of sufferers was often most injudicious abode in Huntingdon he seems to have enand injurious. It was fortunate indeed for joyed uninterrupted happiness. The sudden Cowper that he was placed with a man so death of Mr. Unwin, in the summer of 1767, skillful and so kind as Dr. Cotton. When broke up the establishment. It became neceshe had been about five months at St. Albans, sary to find another residence. About that he began to seem more cheerful. Three time the family became acquainted with the months later his brother John, who was a Rev. John Newton, who had been a slave Fellow at Cambridge, came to see him. The trader, but was then the pious curate of visit was beneficial to the sufferer. His com- Olney. Mr. Newton found a house for them pany and his cheering conversation "served" near the vicarage which he occupied. To Bays William, "to put to flight a thousand this homely village of poor lace-weavers, deliriums and delusions, which I still labored Cowper and Mrs. Unwin removed, influenced, under, and the next morning I found myself mainly by their desire to be under the pasa new creature." Soon afterwards he hap- toral care of Mr. Newton. "A sincerer pened to open a Bible, when his eye fell on friend," says Southey, "Cowper could not the 25th verse of the third chapter of Romans. have found. He might have found a more Truly affecting is his warm-hearted account discreet one." We think the biographer is of what followed. "Immediately I received right. It was not, it could not be well for strength to believe, and the full beams of the a man of Cowper's inborn and invincible Sun of Righteousness shone upon me. I shyness and "trembling sensibilities," to be saw the sufficiency of the atonement he had put upon such labor as Mr. Newton at once made, my pardon sealed in his blood, and all marked out for him and worked him up to. the fullness and completeness of his justifica- In that large and needy parish he was emtion. In a moment I believed, and received ployed in almost constant attendance on the the gospel. Unless the Almighty arm sick, the afflicted, and the dying. Nor was had been under me, I think I should have this the worst; Mr. Newton had prayerdied with gratitude and joy." For such a meetings in his parish, and Cowper was redeliverance from so long and so deep a quired to take an active part at the meetings. despair, well might his heart flow out in He acknowledged to his friend Greatheed thankfulness and praise. that hours of mental agitation always preceded the meetings in which he was expected to take the lead. Of the danger to which he was thus subjecting his friend, Mr. Newton, whose nerves were of an iron temper, seems to have been wholly unconscious. His position, in other respects, was not favorable for one of his peculiar temperament. In that rude village, Mrs. Unwin, Mr. and Mrs. Newton were the only persons with whom he could associate. He no longer corresponded with intelligent and pleasant friends. Walking, which had become an important habit of his life, could hardly be enjoyed at Olney, so soft and muddy were its roads for two-thirds of the year. There were few books within his reach, and his narrow means would not allow him to purchase such a luxury.

In Dr. Cotton, at this important juncture, he found more than a physician. "I was not only treated by him with the greatest tenderness while I was ill, and attended with the utmost diligence, but when my reason was restored to me, and I had so much need of a religious friend to converse with, to whom I could open my mind on the subject without reserve, I could hardly have found a fitter person for the purpose."

He remained at St. Albans a year and a half. As he could not bear the thought of returning to London, a home was found for him at Huntingdon. To this damp spot, among the fens of the stagnant Ouse, he retired, taking with him the servant who had been his faithful attendant at St. Albans. tinguished correspondents, were Doctors Young and Doddridge. To the accident, which made Cowper his patient, more than to any thing else, he owes probably the preservation of his fame. It is to be regretted that he left no account of his system-if system he had-in the treatment of the

insane.

In a little more than two years after he settled in Olney, he lost, by death, his brother John. He was with this dear relative during his last illness, and wrote an account of it, which was not published until after the poet's

death, more than thirty years later. That were does not appear. Mr. Newton soon after says, "I believe the medicines he took, though they seemed to agree with his health, rather inflamed his complaint."

account, and letters written at the time, show how deeply he was interested in this brother, and especially in the change on religious subjects that took place in his views and feel- About this time his malady re-assumed its ings just before he died. But this event, suicidal type. For several months his conhowever consolitory in some of its aspects, dition required constant watchfulness on the appears to have exerted an unfavorable influ- part of his friends. Mr. Newton, who apence on the mind of the survivor. His pears to have looked upon insanity as a sort melancholy tendencies increased. Mr. New- of demoniacal possession, could find in the ton, perhaps in part as a remedy, urged him fatal delusion of his friend, a new proof of to compose hymns; hence the Olney collec- his religious and submissive spirit. "It tion-the joint work of the two friends-a was," says he, "solely owing to the power collection from which the hymn books of our the enemy had of impressing upon his disday still derive some of their choicest trea- turbed imagination that it was the will of sures. Whether his clerical friend was judi- God he should, after the example of Abracious in the kind of employment thus fur- ham, perform an expiative act of obedience, nished is a point on which the biographers and offer not a son, but himself." "This," differ. His increasing gloom at length deep- says Southey, "was the peculiar impression. ened into decided insanity. This became that fastened upon him at that time, and manifest to all, in January, 1773. For some from which he never seems to have been pertime he refused to enter Mr. Newton's house; fectly relieved, even in his longest and best then, having been persuaded to go there for intervals. He believed that when the will a single night, he could not be induced to of Heaven was made known to him, power leave it. With our light the proper course o accomplish the act of obedience had at seems very clear. He should have been re- the same time been given; but having failed moved at once to St. Albans. So far from to use it, he had been sentenced to a state of this, it was five months after the attack be- desertion and perpetual misery, of a kind fore Mr. Newton visited Dr. Cotton to ask peculiar to himself. He had sunk into a his advice. Dr. Cotton advised that he state of utter hopelessness-an unalterable should be bled, and that the apothecary of persuasion,' says Mr. Greatheed, that the Olney should transmit to him an accurate Lord, after having renewed him in holiness, account of the state of the patient's blood, had doomed him to everlasting perdition.'” and such other observations as he could Though firmly convinced of the doctrine of make. This was done; and Dr. Cotton, on perseverance as a general truth, he supposed the strength of Mr. Newton's description himself to be the only person who had ever and the apothecary's observations, prescribed believed with the heart unto righteousness, certain medicines. We are not told what and yet was excluded from salvation. Bethey were. After he had been taking these lieving, under this view of the case, that for for twelve days, Mr. Newton says of them, him to implore mercy would be opposing the They agree well with him. He eats better determinate counsel of God, he, with a sinand sleeps no worse." A little later he gular and sad consistency, gave up attendwrites, "The medicine evidently agrees with ance on public and domestic worship, and him. He says but little, but goes on prun- desisted from every attempt at private prayer. ing our trees, &c." Three weeks later he A singular instance of the extent to which he says, "Dr. Cotton's medicine has greatly carried this feeling, was related to a friend of strengthened his body, but the repeated use ours by the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport seemed at length to have an inconvenient Pagnel. The father of Mr. Bull was a friend effect upon his spirits. He said they made of Cowper, used often to visit him, and somehim worse, and for several days when the times took with him his son, then a mere hour of taking them returned, it put him in lad. Mr. Bull well remembered that while an agony. Upon his urgent and earnest his father asked a blessing at table, Cowper entreaties he has left them off for a season, signified his non-concurrence by a low whistle. and has been better since-I mean more In May, 1774, we find him still at Mr. quiet and composed." What the medicines Newton's, and resolved not to leave.

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"His

health," says Mr. N., "is better; he works | panied, as I suppose it to be in most inalmost incessantly in the garden, and while stances of the kind, with misapprehensions employed is tolerably easy; but as soon as of things and persons, that made me a very he leaves off, he is instantly swallowed up by untractable patient. I believed that everythe most gloomy apprehensions; though in body hated me, and that Mrs. Unwin hated anything that does not concern his own me most of all:-was convinced that all my peace, he is as sensible, and discovers as food was poisoned, together with ten thouquick a judgment as ever." A fortnight sand other megrims of the same stamp. Dr. later, as he was feeding the chickens, some Cotton was consulted. He replied that he little incident called forth a smile-the first could do no more for me than might be done which had been seen upon his face for more at Olney, but recommended particular vigithan sixteen months. About the same time lance lest I should attempt my life-a cauhe returned willingly to his own house. His tion for which there was the greatest occapower of attending to other objects than his sion. At the same time that I was convinced own hopeless state, gradually returned. of Mrs. Unwin's aversion to me, I could enThough the fatal impression was still on his dure no other companion. The whole manmind, it began in some degree to recover its agement of me consequently devolved upon natural tone. He found pleasure neither in her, and a terrible task she had." company nor books, "but he continued to employ himself in gardening; and understanding his own case well enough to perceive that anything which should engage his attention without fatiguing it must be salutary, he amused himself with some leverets." For twelve years these little creatures enjoyed his tender care, and helped to solace many a weary hour. "He immortalized them in Latin and in English, in verse and in prose. They have been represented in prints. They have been cut upon seals." His account of them was such an account as only a person of exquisite genius, sensibility, and observation, could have given. But who is not familiar with the history, the character, the habits, of Puss, Tiny, and Bess?

"I kept him for his humor's sake,

For he could oft beguile

My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile."

About two years after his return to his own house he began again to correspond with some of his old friends. In this way we learn that his love of literature had revived. His never-failing friend, Hill, occasionally sent him books, which he read with avidity and keen discrimination. In 1779, Mr. Newton, despairing of success among the people of Olney, a large majority of whom appear to have been irreclaimably ignorant and perverse, removed to London. From a letter to his friend Thornton written shortly before he left, it seems that Cowper's derangement was not the only case in his parish. "I believe," he writes, "that my name is up about the country for preaching the people mad, for whether it is owing to the sedentary life the women live here, poring over their pillows for ten or twelve hours every day, and breathing confined air in their crowded little rooms, or whatever may be the immediate cause, I suppose we have near a dozen, in different degrees, disordered in their heads, and most of them, I believe, truly gracious people." He closes with saying, "I trust there is nothing in my preaching that tends to cast those down who ought to be comforted." Cowper must have sorely missed this intelligent, constant, and devoted friend. And yet in his peculiar condition it

Of his condition during this second attack of his malady, Cowper several years afterwards gave the following interesting account to his cousin, Lady Hesketh. "Know then, that in the year 1773, the same scene that was acted at St. Albans, opened upon me again at Olney, only covered with a still deeper shade of melancholy, and ordained to be of much longer duration. I was suddenly reduced from my wonted rate of understand-was perhaps well for him that the separation ing to an almost childish imbecility. I did not, indeed, lose my senses, but I lost the power to exercise them. I could return a rational answer even to a difficult question; but a question was necessary, or I never spoke at all. This state of mind was accom

took place. Mr. Newton was a good reasoner, but did not know how to reason with an insane man. Nay, more, had he remained in Olney, it may be doubted whether the poet would ever have been developed in Cowper. From what afterwards occurred

we know that the good vicar would never have encouraged those literary efforts which furnished to this poor sufferer years of tranquilizing employment,—and which placed his name in the foremost rank of those who have pleased, instructed, and blessed the world.

About this time we find him getting up a small-green house and pinery, which he glazed with his own hands. For a while also he amused himself with drawing. Occasionally he wrote verses. The report of an adjudged case-in which Nose and Eyes contend about the spectacles—a piece which has been familiar to every schoolboy for the last seventy years, was written at this time. Mrs. Unwin perceiving that this exercise was beneficial to him, urged him to undertake some larger and more important work. She even suggested a topic. He took her advice. In the course of four months he wrote as many short poems. These, under the titles of Truth, Table Talk, Expostulation, and the Progress of Error, with several smaller pieces, were published in the autumn of 1781. Thus, at the ripe age of fifty, this melancholy and most interesting recluse made his first appearance before the world. The reception of his book was sufficiently favorable to encourage his labors, and a second volume was soon under way. Although praise from the wise and good was far from being unwelcome to him, he thus explains to Mr. Newton his primary object in these efforts. "At this season of the year, and in this gloomy climate, it is no easy matter to the owner of a mind like mine, to divert it from sad subjects, and fix it upon such as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, above all things, is useful to me in this respect. While I am held in pursuit of petty images, or a pretty way of expressing them, I forget everything 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 disagreeable recollection that I must, after all, go home and be whipped again."

who has seen much of the world, and accounts it a great simpleton-as it is. She laughs, and makes laugh; and keeps up a conversation without seeming to labor at it." To Mr. Unwin, he wrote, " A person who has seen much of the world, and understands it well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of conversation, introduces a sprightliness into such a scene as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the worse for being a little enlivened." It was indeed, just what that scene required, and while this bright spirit continued to cheer it, the effect on Cowper was evidently happy. She knew how to interest and amuse him. She gave direction to his thoughts, and suggested topics for his pen. "Had it not been for Mrs. Unwin," says Southey," he would probably never have appeared in his own person as an author; had it not been for Lady Austen, he would never have been a popular one." "For a while, Lady Austen's conversation had as happy an effect upon the melancholy spirit of Cowper as the harp of David upon Saul. Whenever the cloud seemed to be coming over him, her sprightly powers were exerted to dispel it." One afternoon, finding him more than usually depressed, she told him the story of John Gilpin. It was a tale which she had heard in her childhood, and it amused him highly. The next morning he informed her that for thinking and laughing at the story he had been unable to sleep, and that he had turned it into a ballad. That ballad soon became famous. Who has not read it? Who has not laughed over it? Alluding to it in one of his letters, sometime afterwards, he said, "If I trifle, and merely trifle, it is because I am reduced to it by necessity; a melancholy that nothing else so effectually disperses, engages me sometimes in the arduous task of being merry by force. And strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote, have been written in the saddest mood, and but for that saddest mood, perhaps, had never been written at all." The experience of Cowper in this regard does not stand alone, as the history of literature abundantly shows.

In the summer of this year he accidentally made a new acquaintance, too influential in its results to be omitted in our narrative. The widow of an English baronet, who had been living for some time in France, came to visit a sister then in Olney. Lady Austen, as Cowper described her at that time to Mr." Newton, was a lively, agreeable woman, any; write upon the sofa." So began 'The

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Lady Austen was fond of blank verse, and often urged Cowper to try his hand at it. At length he promised compliance if she would give him a theme. That," she replied, 'you can never want. You can write upon

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