world as this. Notwithstanding his great learning (for he was one of the chief men in the university, in that respect) he was candid, and sincere, in his enquiries after truth. Though he could not come into my sentiments, when I first acquainted him with them, nor in the many conversations, which I afterward had with him, upon the subject, could he be brought to acquiesce in them as scriptural, and true, yet I had no sooner left St, Alban's, than he began to study, with the deepest attention, those points, in which we differed, and to furnish himself with the best writers upon them. His mind was kept open to conviction for five years, during all which time, he laboured in this pursuit, with unwearied diligence, as leisure and opportunity were afforded. Amongst his dying words were these, "Brother, I thought

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you wrong, yet wanted to believe, as you did. "found myself not able to believe, yet always

thought I should be one day brought to do so." From the study of books, he was brought, upon his death-bed, to the study of himself, and there learnt to renounce his righteousness, and his own most a miable character, and to submit himself to the righteousness which is of God by faith. With these views he was desirous of death. Satisfied of his inter

est in the blessing purchased by the blood of Christ, he prayed for death with earnestness, felt the approaches of it with joy, and died in peace.

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

The exquisite sensibilty of Cowper, could not fail to suffer deeply on the loss of such a Brother; bnt it is the peculiar blessing, of a religious turn of mind, that it serves as an antidote against the corrosive influence of sorrow. Devotion, if it had no other beneficial effect on the human character, would be still inestimable to man, as a medicine for the anguish he feels, in losing the objects of his affection, How far it proved so in the present case, the reader will be enabled to judge, by a Letter, in which Cowper describes his sensations on this awful event, to one of his favourite correspondents.

LETTER XXXIII.

To Mrs. COWPER.

Olney, June 7, 1770.

MY DEAR COUSIN,

I am obliged to you for some

times 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 to cast anchor within the veil.

You judge rightly of the manner, in which I have been affected, by the Lord's late dispensation towards my Brother. I found in it cause of sorrow, that I lost so near a relation, and one so deservedly dear to me, and that he left me just when our sentiments, upon the most interesting subject, became the same: But much more cause of joy, that it pleased God to give me clear and evident proof, that he had changed his heart, and adopted him into the number of his chidren. 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 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.

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 from St. Alban's, he began to read upon the subject. It was at that time I informed him of the views of divine truth, which I had received in that school of affliction. He laid what I said to heart, 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, seek ye my face in vain. Accordingly, about ten days before his death, it pleased the Lord to dispell all his doubts, to reveal in his heart the knowledge of the Saviour, and to give him firm and unshaken peace, in the belief of his ability and willingness to save. As to the affair of the fortune-teller, he never mentioned it to me, nor was there any such paper found, as you mention. I looked over all his papers before I left the place, and had there been such a one, must have discovered it. I have heard the report from other quarters, but no other particulars, than that the woman foretold him, when he

should die. I suppose there may be some truth in the matter, but whatever he might think of it, before his knowledge of the truth, and however extraordinary her predictions might really be, I am satisfied that he had then received far other views of the wisdom and majesty of God, than to suppose, that he would entrust his secret counsels to a 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 honoured by any, who would give her credit for a secret intercourse of this kind with the Prince of Darkness.

Mrs. Unwin is much obliged to you for your kind enquiry after her. She is well, I thank God, as usual, and sends her respects to you. Her Son is in the ministry, and has the living of Stock, in Essex. We were last week alarmed with an account of his being dangerously ill; Mrs. Unwin went to see him, and in a few days left him out of danger.

W. C.

The Letters of the afflicted poet, to this amiable and sympathetic relation, have already afforded to my rea