534 C O W P E B gaiety. Tn 1754 lie was called to the bar, but, instead of following his profession, he seems to have yielded himself up to the charms of literature and social intercourse. About this time his father died, leaving him a small patri mony. In 1759 he removed to the Inner Temple, where law -was still deserted for literature. He devoted much of his time to the study of Homer, and, in conjunction with his brother, translated some of the books of the Henriade. This appears to have been the gayest part of Cowper s life. He had formed literary acquaintances amongst whom were many of his old schoolfellows ; he became a member of the Nonsense Club, and occasionally contributed prose and verse to the periodicals of the day. While in Mr Chapman s office, Cowper was a frequent visitor at the house of his uncle, Mr Ashley Cowper, in Southampton Row, the attraction being his fair cousin. Miss Theodora Jane Cowper was the younger of two daughters (the elder of whom, afterwards Lady Hesketh, is well known as the poet s constant correspondent for many years), and by her brilliant beauty and fascinating manners won the heart of her shy relative. Excited by her presence and sparkling spirits, Cowper became cheerful and even gay, his bashfulness began to wear off ; he mixed in company, and occasionally attempted to shine in conver sation. He became fastidious in his attire, a critic in ruffles, a haunter of looking-glasses. Seeing how matters were tending, Mr Cowper opposed their contemplated union on prudential considerations. His daughter pooh-poohed his fears. He asked what she would do if she married her cousin 1 " Do, sir," answered the high-spirited girl, <; Wash all day, and ride out on the great dog at night." Mr Cowper afterwards changed his position, and objected to their marriage on the score of nearness of connection. The lovers pled, but he was inexorable. Miss Cowper thought it her duty to obey her father. They parted and never met again. During this courtship, Cowper addressed several poems to his cousin, which exhibit all the gentleness and tender ness of his nature. They are unlike the love-poems of every other poet. They have no fervour, no emotion, no fire. Perhaps Cowper s nature was incapable of strong and devouring passion. The memory of his love and his disappointment seems to have been soon and painlessly effaced. With the lady it was different ; she could not so easily forget. The little poems which, in his brief dream of passion, he had addressed to her, she carefully treasured up. Unknown to him, her hand was unwearied in its kind and delicate attentions. She never forgot him, and although surviving his death many years, died unmarried. Cowper s pecuniary resources being at this time slender, he became naturally anxious to obtain suitable employ ment. An influential kinsman presented him with the lucrative office of clerk to the committees of the House of Lords. Some difficulty, however, being raised as to his relative s right of appointment, an examination at the bar of the House was demanded to test Cowper s fitness for the performance of his duties. Although the prospect of such a public appearance must have been exceedingly painful to him, he resolved to prepare for the ordeal. He attended regularly at the office, and thus describes the result : "The journal books were thrown open to me a thing which could not be refused, and from which, perhaps, a man in health and with a head turned to business might have gained all the information he wanted ; but it was not so with me ; I read without perception, and was so distressed that had every clerk in the office been my friend it could have availed me little, for I was not in a condition to receive instruction, much less to elicit it out of manu scripts without direction." The dreadful trial that awaited him filled his days, and re-appeared in dreams. He found no rest. At a tavern he met some miserable men, and suicide became the subject of conversation. The idea was new to him, and held him with a horrid fascination from which he could not escape. He was pursued and goaded by imaginary voices, until at last in a paroxysm of madness he attempted self-destruction. The garter by which he was suspended broke, and he fell heavily to the ground. His laundress hearing the fall, and thinking him in a fit, ran to his assistance ; but by the time she reached him he had crept into bed. His mind now became a prey to the keenest remorse. The wrath of God seemed hanging over him on account of his sin. In these circumstances, every thought of his official employment was, of course, abandoned ; measures were adopted for his security, and in 1763 he was placed under the care of Dr Cotton of St Albans. After remaining two years at St Albans he removed to Huntingdon. Here he first met the Unwins, and so charmed was he with their society, that in a short time he became the inmate of their home. On the death of Mr Unwin in 1767 the family removed to Olney; and on the recommendation of Mr Newton, the curate of the parish, Cowper accompanied them. About this time his brother died; and in the winter of 1773 his malady returned. Through his long illness he was attended by Mrs Unwin with the most affectionate care. To beguile tho tedium of recovery, he occupied himself with carpentry and gardening, and in domesticating his famous hares. Up till this time he had only written a few hymns ; he now, at Mrs Unwin s suggestion, commenced a poem on the Progress of Error. Composition, once begun, was so ardently pro secuted that in a few months his first volume, consisting, with the poem already mentioned, of Table Talk, Conversa tion, Truth, Expost^dation, Hope, Charity, and Retirement, was ready for the press. It attracted little attention. One critic declared that " Mr Cowper was certainly a good pious man, but without one spark of poetic fire." In 1781 he met Lady Austen, and the casual acquaintance soon ripened into the warmest intimacy. Her lively spirits chased from his mind the demon of melancholy. He wrote songs which she set to music and sang to the harpsichord. It is said that observing him one evening in a fit of depression, she related the story of John Gilpin, with which he was so delighted that after retiring to rest he turned it into verse, arid repeated it with great glee when they met next morning at the breakfast-table. The Task, undertaken at the suggestion of his new friend, was begun in the winter of 1783 and published in 1785. Its success was complete, and his reputation was at once established. Never, perhaps, in England had poetry been at so low an ebb as at this time. The brilliant point and antithesis of Pope had degenerated into the inflated diction of Darwin and the feeble sentimentalities of Hayley. Cowper s hearty and natural verse extinguished these weaklings for ever. Although Cowper cannot be placed in the first rank of English poets, yet few are attended with such retinues of love and blessing. His verse is a transparent medium through which you look into a gentle and most lovable human spirit, and you come to know him as thoroughly as if you had lived in the same house with him for years. His muse does not sit apart in sublime seclusion she comes down into the ways of men, mingles in their every day concerns, and is interested in crops and rural affairs. You see by the slight tan on her cheek that she has been much in the harvest-fields. Cowper rather talks than sings. His blank verse makes no pretensions to majesty ; it is colloquial sometimes in its bareness, yet in its artless flow is ever delightful as the conversation of a beloved and gifted companion.
Cowper brought back nature to poetry, and his influence