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it, I should never have found; and I know, and have experience of it every day, that the mercy of God to the believer is more than sufficient to compensate for the loss of every other blessing. You will believe that my happiness is no dream, because I have told you the foundation on which it is built. What I have written would appear like enthusiasm to many, for we are apt to give that name to every warm affection of the mind in others, which we have not experienced ourselves; but to you, who have so much to be thankful for, and a temper inclined to gratitude, it will not appear so."

To the same lady, a day or two afterwards, he writes--"How naturally does affliction make us Christians and how impossible is it, when all human help is vain, and the whole earth too poor and trifling to furnish us with one moment's peace, how impossible is it then to avoid looking at the gospel! It gives me some concern, though at the same time it increases my gratitude to reflect, that a convert made in Bedlam is more likely to be a stumbling-block to others than to advance their faith. But if it have that effect upon any, it is owing to their reasoning amiss, and drawing their conclusion from false premises. He who can ascribe an amendment of life and manners, and a reformation of the heart itself, to madness, is guilty of an absurdity, that in any other case would fasten the imputation of madness upon himself; for, by so doing, he ascribes a reasonable effect to an unreasonable cause, and a positive effect to a negative. But when Christianity only is to be sacrificed, he that stabs deepest is always the wisest man. You, my dear cousin, yourself, will be apt to think I carry the matter too far; and that in the present warmth of my heart, I make too ample a concession in saying that I am only now a convert. You think I always believed, and I thought so too; but you were deceived, and so was I. I called myself indeed a Christian, but he who knows my heart knows that I never did a right thing, nor abstained from a wrong one, because I was so; but if I did either, it was under the influence of some other motive. And it is such seeming Christians, such pretending believers, that do most mischief in the cause, and furnish the strongest arguments to support the infidelity of its enemies: unless profession and conduct go together, the man's life is a lie, and the validity of what he professes itself, is called in question. The difference between a Christian and an unbeliever, would be so striking, if the treacherous allies of the church would go over at once to the other side, that I am satisfied religion would be no loser by the bargain. You say, you hope it is not necessary for salvation to undergo the same affliction that I have undergone. No! my dear cousin, God deals with his children as a merciful father; he does not, as he himself tells, afflict us willingly. Doubtless there are many, who, having been placed by his good providence out of the reach of evil, and the influence of bad example, have, from their very infancy, been partakers of the grace of his Holy Spirit, in such a manner, as never to have allowed themselves in any grievous offence against him. May you love him more and more, day by day, as every day while you think of him you will find him more worthy of your love, and may you be finally accepted by him for his sake, whose intercession for all his faithful servants cannot but prevail."

In the same letter he thus expresses his gratitude to God for placing him under the care of Dr. Cotton:-"I reckon it one instance of the providence that has attended me through this whole event, that I was not delivered into the hands of some London physician, but was carried to Dr. Cotton. I was not only treated by him with the greatest tenderness while I was ill, and attended with the utmost dili

gence, 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 upon the subject without reserve, I could hardly have found a better person for the purpose. My eager ness and anxiety to settle my opinions upon that long neglected point, made it necessary, that while my mind was yet weak, and my spirits uncertain, I should have some assistance. The doctor was as ready to administer relief to me in this article likewise, and as well qualified to do it, as in that which was more immediately his province. How many physicians would have thought this an irregular appetite, and a symptom of remaining madness! But if it were so, my friend was as mad as myself, and it is well for me that he was so. My dear cousin, you know not half the deliverances I have received; my brother is the only one in the family who does My recovery is indeed a signal one, and my future life must express my thankfulness, for by words I cannot do it."

He now employed his brother to seek out for him an abode somewhere in the neighborhood of Cambridge, as he had determined to leave London, the scene of his former misery; and that nothing might induce him to return thither, he resigned the office of commissioner of bankrupts, worth about 60%. per annum, which he still held. By this means, he reduced himself to an income barely sufficient for his maintenance; but he relied upon the gracious promise of God, that bread should be given him, and water should be sure.

On being informed that his brother had made many unsuccessful attempts to procure him a suitable dwelling, he, one day, poured out his soul in prayer to God, beseeching him, that wherever he should be pleased, in his fatherly mercy, to place him, it might be in the society of those who feared his name, and loved the Lord Jesus in sincerity. This prayer, God was pleased graciously to answer. In the beginning of June, 1765, he received a letter from his brother to say, he had engaged such lodgings for him at Huntingdon, as he thought would suit him. Though this was farther from Cambridge, where his brother then resided, than he wished, yet, as he was now in perfect health, and as his circumstances required a less expensive way of life than his present, he resolved to take them, and arranged his affairs accordingly.

On the 17th of June, 1765, having spent more than eighteen months at St. Alban's, partly in the bondage of despair, and partly in the liberty of the gospel, he took leave of the place, at four in the morning, and set out for Cambridge, taking with him the servant who had attended him while he remained with Dr. Cotton, and who had maintained an affectionate watchfulness over him during the whole of his illness, waiting upon him, on all occasions, with the greatest patience, and invariably treating him with the greatest kindness. The mingled emotions of his mind on leaving the place were painful and pleasing; he regarded it as the place of second nativity; he had here passed from death unto life-had been favored with much leisure to study the word of God-had enjoyed much happiness in conversing upon its great truths with his esteemed physician; and he left it with considerable reluctance; offering up many prayers to God, that his richest blessings might rest upon its worthy manager, and upon all its inmates.

The state of his mind on this occasion he thus affectionately describes:-"I remembered the pollution which is in the world, and the sad share I had in it myself, and my heart ached at the thought of entering it again. The blessed God had endowed me with some concern for his glory, and I was fearful of hearing his name traduced by oaths and blasphe

nies, the common language of this highly-favored | where he had prayed the day before, and found the but ungrateful country; but the promise of God, relief he had there received was but the earnest of 'Fear not, I am with thee,' was my comfort. Í a richer blessing. The Lord was pleased to visit passed the whole of my journey in fervent prayer him with his gracious presence, he seemed to speak to God, earnestly but silently entreating Him to be to him face to face, as a man speaketh to his friend; my guardian and counsellor in all my future jour- He made all His goodness pass before him, and ney through life, and to bring me in safety, when constrained him to say with Jacob, not "how dreadhe had accomplished his purposes of grace and ful," but "how lovely is this place! This is the mercy towards me, to eternal glory." house of God, and the gate of heaven."

CHAPTER IV.

Removal to Huntingdon. Sensations there. Engages in public wor ship for the first time after his recovery. Delight it afforded him. Commences a regular correspondence with some of his friends. Pleasure he experienced in writing on religious subjects. Anxiety of his mind for the spiritual welfare of his former associates. At tributes their continuance in sin chiefly to infidelity. Folly of this.

Beauty of the Scriptures. Absurdity of attributing events to se

cond causes, instead of to the overruling providence of God. Dependence upon Divine direction the best support in affliction.

He remained four months in the lodgings procured for him by his brother, secluded from the bustling and active scenes of life, and receiving only an occasional visit from some of his neighbors. Though he had little intercourse with men, yet he enjoyed much fellowship with God in Christ Jesus. Living by faith, and thus tasting the joys of the ur seen world, his solitude was sweet, his meditations were delightful, and he wanted no other enjoyments. He now regularly corresponded with all his intimate friends, and his letters furnish the clearest

Forms some new connections. Becomes acquainted with the Un-proofs of the happy, and indeed almost enviable,

win family. Happiness he experienced in their company. AFTER Spending a few days with his brother at Cambridge, Cowper repaired to Huntingdon, and entered upon his new abode, on Saturday, the 22d of June, 1765; taking with him the servant he had brought from St. Alban's, to whom he had become strongly attached for the great kindness he had shown him in his affliction. His brother, who had accompanied him thither, had no sooner left him, than finding himself alone, surrounded by strangers, in a strange place, his spirits began to sink, and he felt like a traveller in the midst of an inhospitable desert; without a friend to comfort, or a guide to direct him. He walked forth, towards the close of the day, in this melancholy frame of mind, and having wandered about a mile from the town, he found his heart so powerfully drawn towards the Lord, that on gaining a secret and retired nook in the corner of a field, he kneeled down under a bank, and poured out his complaints unto God. It pleased his merciful Father to hear him; the load was removed from his mind, and he was enabled to trust in Him that careth for the stranger; to roll his burden upon Him, and to rest assured, that wherever God might cast his lot, he would still be his guardian and shield.

The following day he went to church, for the first time after his recovery. Throughout the whole of the service, his emotions were so powerfully affecting, that it was with much difficulty he could restrain them, so much did he see of the beauty and glory of the Lord while thus worshipping Him in his temple. His heart was full of love to all the congregation, especially to such as seemed serious and attentive. Such was the goodness of God to him, that he gave him the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; and, though he joined not with the congregation in singing the praises of his God, being prevented by the intenseness of his feelings, yet his soul sung within him, and leaped for joy. The parable of the prodigal son was the portion of Scripture read in the gospel appointed for the day. He saw himself in that glass so clearly, and the loving kindness of his slighted and forgotten Lord, that the whole scene was realized by him, and acted over in his heart. And he thus describes his feelings on hearing it:-"When the gospel for the day was read, it seemed more than I could well support. Oh, what a word is the word of God, when the Spirit quickens us to receive it, and gives the hearing ear, and the understanding heart! The harmony of heaven is in it, and discovers clearly and satisfactorily its author."

Immediately after church he repaired to the place

state of his mind, during this period. To Lady Hesketh, in a letter dated July 5, 1765, he thus discloses his feelings:-"I should have written to you from St. Alban's long ago, but was willing to perform quarantine, as well for my own sake, as because I thought my letters would be more satisfactory to you from any other quarter. You will perceive I allowed myself sufficient time for the purpose, for I date my recovery from the latter end of fast July, having been ill seven, and well twelve months. About that time my brother came to see me; I was far from well when he arrived, yet, though he only remained one day, his company served to put to flight a thousand deliriums and delusions which I still labored under.

dence, I like it extremely. Mr. Hodgson, the minis"As far as I am acquainted with my new resiter of the parish, made me a visit yesterday. He is the discharge of his duty; he is well known to Dr. very sensible, a good preacher, and conscientious in Newton, Bishop of Bristol, the author of the Treatise on the Prophecies, the most demonstrable proof of the truth of Christianity, in my mind, that was ever published."

In another letter, a few days afterwards, to the same lady, he thus writes:-"Mentioning Newton's Treatise on the Prophecies brings to my mind an anecdote of Dr. Young, who you know died lately at Welwyn. Dr. Cotton, who was intimate with him, paid him a visit about a fortnight before he was seized with his last illness. The old man was then in perfect health; the antiquity of his person, the gravity of his utterance, and the earnestness with which he discoursed about religion, gave him, in the doctor's eye, the appearance of a prophet. They had been delivering their sentiments on Newton's Treatise, when Young closed the conference thus:-'My friend, there are two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built as upon a rock-first, the fall of man, the redemption of man, and the resurrection of man; these three cardinal articles of our holy religion are such as human ingenuity could never have invented, therefore they must be divine: the other is the fulfilment of prophecy, of which there is abundant demonstration. This proves that the Scripture must be the word of God, and if so, Christianity must be true.'

Cowper now lived in the full enjoyment of religion. Its truths supported his mind, and furnished him with an ample field for meditation; its promises consoled him, freed him from every distressing sensation, and filled him with joy unspeakable and full of glory; its duties regulated all his conduct, and his chief anxiety was to live entirely to the glory of God. The following beautiful lines of

the poet are strikingly descriptive of his feelings at to the truth of Christianity itself, yet he never could

this period:

"I was a stricken deer, that left the herd

Long since; with many an arrow deep enfix'd
My panting sides were charged, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by one who had himself
Been hurt by th' archers: in his sides he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.
With gentle force soliciting the darts,

He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live.
Since then, with few associates, in remote
And silent woods I wander, far from those
My former partners of the peopled scene;
With few associates, and not wishing more,
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and mauners now
Than once; and others of a life to come."

On all affairs connected with religion, Cowper now delighted to think and to converse, and his best letters were those in which he could freely introduce them to his correspondents. In the close of the letter from which we made the above extract, he thus writes:-"My dear cousin, how happy am I in having a friend to whom I can open my heart upon these subjects! I have many intimates in the world, and have had many more than I shall have hereafter, to whom a long letter upon those most important articles would appear tiresome at least, if not impertinent. But I am not afraid of meeting with that reception from you, who have never yet made it your interest that there should be no truth in the word of God. May this everlasting truth be your comfort while you live, and attend you with peace and joy in your last moments. I love you too well not to make this a part of my prayers; and when I remember my friends on these occasions, there is no likelihood that you can be forgotten."

In another letter to Lady Hesketh, dated 1st of August, 1765, he thus adverts to the character of his former associates, and feelingly expresses his anxiety for their spiritual welfare:-"I have great reason to be thankful I have lost none of my acquaintance but those whom I determined not to keep: I am sorry this class is so numerous. What would I not give, that every friend I have in the world were not almost, but altogether Christians? My dear cousin, I am half afraid to talk to you in this style, lest I should seem to indulge a censorious humor, instead of hoping, as I ought, the best of all men. But what can be said against ocular proof, and what is hope when built upon presumption? To use the most holy name in the universe for no purpose, or a bad one, contrary to his own express commandment, to pass the day, and the succeeding days, weeks, and months, and years, without one act of private devotion, one confession of our sins, or one thanksgiving for the numberless blessings we enjoy; to hear the word of God in public with a distracted attention, or with none at all; to absent ourselves voluntarily from the blessed communion, and to live in the total neglect of it; are the common and ordinary liberties which the generality of professors allow themselves: and what is this, but to live without God in the world? Many causes might be assigned for this anti-christian spirit so prevalent among professors, but one of the principal I take to be their utter forgetfulness that the Bible which they have in their possession is, in reality, the WORD OF GOD. My friend, Sir William Russell, was distantly related to a very accomplished man, who, though he never believed the gospel, admired the Scriptures as the sublimest compositions in the world, and read them often. I have myself been intimate with a man of fine taste, who has confessed to me, that though he could not subscribe

read St. Luke's account of our Saviour's appearance to his two disciples going to Emmaus, without being wonderfully affected by it; and he thought, that if the stamp of divinity was any where to be found in Scripture, it was strongly marked and visibly impressed upon that passage. If these men, whose hearts were chilled with the darkness of infidelity, could find such charms in the mere style of Scripture, what must those find whose eyes could penetrate deeper than the letter, and who firmly believed themselves interested in all the invaluable privileges of the gospel? Had this mere man of taste searched a little further, he might have found other parts of the sacred history as strongly marked with the characters of Divinity as that he mentioned. The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented; our Saviour's speech to his disciples, with which he closes his earthly ministration, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass every thing that I ever read, and, like the spirit with which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart. If the Scripture did not disdain all affectation of ornament, one should call such as these its ornamental parts; but the matter of it is that upon which it principally stakes its credit with us, and the style, however excellent, is only one of the many external evidences by which it recommends itself to our belief."

The warmest expressions of his gratitude to God for his distinguishing goodness to him, during his affliction, were frequently employed in his letters. In one, dated 4th September, 1765, he thus writes to his cousin :-" Two of my friends have been cut off during my illness, in the midst of such a life as it is frightful to reflect upon, and here am I, in better health and spirits than I can ever remember to have enjoyed, after having spent months in the apprehension of instant death. How mysterious are the ways of Providence! Why did I receive grace and mercy? Why was I preserved, afflicted for my good, received, as I trust, into favor, and blessed with the greatest happiness I can ever know, or hope for in this life, while these were overtaken by the great arrest, unawakened, unrepenting, and every way unprepared for it? His infinite wisdom, to whose infinite mercy I owe it all, can solve these questions, and none else. A free-thinker, as many a man miscalls himself, would, without doubt, say, 'Sir, you were in great danger, and had, indeed, a most fortunate escape.' How excessively foolish, as well as shocking, is such language! As if life depended upon luck, and all that we are, or can be, all that we have now, or can hope for hereafter, could possibly be referred to accident. To this freedom of thought it is owing, that he, who is thoroughly apprized of the death of the meanest of his creatures, is supposed to leave those whom he has made in his own image, to the mercy of chance; and to this it is likewise owing, that the correction which our heavenly Father bestows upon us, that we may be fitted to receive his blessing, is so often disappointed of its benevolent intention. Fevers, and all diseases, are regarded as accidents; and long life, health, recovery from sickness, as the gift of the physician. No man can be a greater friend to the use of means upon these occasions than myself; for it were presumption and enthusiasm to neglect them. God has endued them with salutary properties on purpose that we might avail ourselves of them. But to impute our recovery to the medicine, and to carry our views no further, is to rob God of his honor. He that thinks thus, may as well fall upon his knees at once, and return thanks to the medicine that cured him, for it was certainly more immediately instrumental in his recovery than either the apothecary or the doctor."

trust that He, who has bestowed so many blessings on me, will give me gratitude to crown them all. I thank God for all the pleasing circumstances here, for my health of body, and perfect serenity of mind. To recollect the past, and compare it with the present, is all that I need to fill me with gratitude; and to be grateful is to be happy. I am far from thinking myself sufficiently grateful, or from indulging the hope that I shall ever be so in the present life. The warmest heart, perhaps, only feels by fits, and is often as insensible as the coldest. This, at least, is frequently the case with mine, and much oftener than it should be."

No one ever watched more carefully the provi- | company as I choose, a deal of comfortable leisure, dence of God than Cowper. His views of it were and enjoy better health, I think, than for many years just and scriptural, as is abundantly evident by the past. What is there wanting to make me happy? above remarks, and, if possible, more clearly evinc-Nothing, if I can but be as thankful as I ought; and I ed by the following extracts from the same excellent letter:-"My dear cousin, a firm persuasion of the superintendence of Providence over all our concerns, is absolutely necessary to our happiness.Without it we cannot be said to believe in the Scripture, or practise any thing like resignation to his will. If I am convinced that no affliction can befall me without the permission of God, I am convinced likewise that he sees, and knows, that I am afflicted; believing this, I must, in the same degree, believe that if I pray to him for deliverance he hears me; I must needs know likewise, with equal assurance, that if he hears, he will deliver me: I may rest well assured that he has none but the most benevolent intention in declining it. He made us, not because we could add to his happiness, which was always perfect, but that we might be happy ourselves; and will he not in all his dispensations towards us, even in the minutest, consult that end for which he made us? To suppose the contrary, is to affront every one of his attributes, and to renounce utterly our dependence upon him. In this view it will appear plainly, that the line of duty is not stretched too tight, when we are told that we ought to accept every thing at his hands as a blessing, and to be thankful even when we smart under the rod of iron with which he sometimes rules us. With out this persuasion, every blessing, however we may think ourselves happy in the possession of it, loses its greatest recommendation, and every affliction is intolerable. Death itself must be welcome to him who has this faith; and he who has it not must aim at it, if he is not a madman." The excellence of these extracts from Cowper's correspondence will, it is hoped, be admitted by every reader as a sufficient apology for the interruption they may occasion to our narrative. They might be greatly enlarged; but it is not intended to admit any, except such as will, in some degree at least, serve to describe his character.

Among the families with whom Cowper was on terms of intimacy, there were none so entirely congenial to his taste as that of the Rev. Mr. Unwin. This worthy divine, who was now far advanced in years, had formerly been master of a free school in Huntingdon. On obtaining, however, from his college at Cambridge, the living of Grimston, he married Miss Cawthorne, the daughter of a very respectable draper in Ely, by whom he had two children, a son and a daughter. Disliking their residence at Grimston, they removed to Huntingdon, where they had now resided for many years.

C. that afternoon. This was perfectly agreeable to Cowper, who, in one of his letters some time afterwards, thus describes his new-made acquaintance:

Cowper became acquainted with this interesting family, which was afterwards, almost to the close of his life, a source of comfort to him, in the following rather singular manner. The Unwins frequently noticed Mr. C. and remarked the degree of piety and intelligence he seemed to possess; this induced them to wish for farther acquaintance with the interesting stranger: his manners, however, were so reserved, that an introduction to him seemed wholly out of their reach. After waiting some time, with no apparent prospect of success, their eldest son, Mr. W. Unwin, though dissuaded from it by his mother, lest it should be thought too intrusive, ventured to speak to Mr. Cowper one day, when they were coming out of church, after morning It was not to be expected that a person like Cow-prayers, and to engage himself to take tea with Mr. per could remain long unnoticed, how reserved soever was his conduct. Accordingly, he had been at Huntingdon only a short time before he was visited by several persons, and introduced into several families, all eminently distinguished for their respectability, and general consistency of conduct. This soon endeared him to the place, and he thus communicated his sentiments respecting it to his correspondents:-"The longer I live here the better I like the place, and the people who belong to it. I am upon very good terms with five families, all of whom receive me with the utmost cordiality. You may recollect that I had but very uncomfortable expectations of the accommodations I should meet with in Huntingdon. How much better is it to take our lot, where it shall please Providence to cast it, without anxiety! Had I chosen for myself, it is impossible I could have fixed upon a place so agreeable to me in all respects. I so much dreaded the thought of having a new acquaintance to make with no other recommendation than that of being a perfect stranger, that I heartily wished no creature here might take the least notice of me. Instead of which, in about two months after my arrival, I became known to all the visitable people here, and do verily think it the most agreeable neighborhood I ever saw. My brother and I meet every week by an alternate reciprocation of intercourse, as Sam Johnson would express it. As to my own personal condition, I am much happier than the day is long; and sunshine and candle-light alike, see me perfectly contented. I get books in abundance, as much

"To my inexpressible joy, I found him one, whose notions of religion were spiritual and lively; one, whom the Lord had been training up from his infancy for the temple. We opened our hearts to each other at the first interview; and when we parted, I immediately retired to my chamber, and prayed the Lord, who had been the author, to be the guardian of our friendship, and to grant to it fervency and perpetuity, even unto death; and I doubt not that my gracious Father heard this prayer." A friendship thus formed was not likely to be soon interrupted; accordingly it continued with unabated affection through life, and became to both parties a source of much real enjoyment. Well would it be for Christians, were they, in making choice of their friends, to follow the example of Cowper! Entering upon it by earnest prayer to God for his blessing, they might then hope to derive all those invaluable benefits from it, which it is adapted and designed to convey.

The following Sabbath Cowper dined with the Unwins, and was treated with so much cordiality and real affection, that he ever after felt the warmest attachment to this interesting family. In his letters on the subject he thus writes: "The last acquaintance I have made here is of the race of the Unwins, consisting of father and mother, son and daughter; they are the most agreeable people ima ginable; quite sociable, and as free from the cere.

118

monious civility of country gentlefolks as I ever met
with. They treat me more like a near relation than
a stranger, and their house is always open to me.
The old gentleman carries me to Cambridge in his
chaise; he is a man of learning and good sense, and
as simple as parson Adams. His wife has a very
uncommon understanding, has read much to excel-
lent purpose, and is more polite than a dutchess; she
treats me with an affection so truly Christian, that I
could almost fancy my own mother restored to life
again, to compensate me for all my lost friends and
broken connections. She has a son, in all respects,
worthy of such a mother, the most amiable young
man I ever knew; he is not yet arrived at that time
of life when suspicion recommends itself to us in
the form of wisdom, and sets every thing but our
own dear selves at an immeasurable distance from
our esteem and confidence. Consequently he is
known almost as soon as seen, and having nothing
in his heart that makes it necessary for him to keep
it barred and bolted, opens it to the perusal even of
a stranger. His natural and acquired endowments
are very considerable, and as to his virtues, I need
only say that he is a Christian. Miss Unwin re-
sembles her mother in her great piety, who is one
of the most remarkable instances of it I ever knew.
They are altogether the most cheerful and engag-
ing family it is possible to conceive. They see but
little company, which suits me exactly; go when I
will, I find a house full of peace and cordiality in
all its parts, and am sure to hear no scandal, but
such discourse instead of it as we are all the better
for. Now I know them, I wonder that I liked Hun-
tingdon so well before, and am apt to think I should
find every place disagreeable that had not an Un-
win belonging to it."

CHAPTER V.

Cowper becomes an inmate of Mr. Unwin's family. Is much delighted with their society. Describes the manner in which they spent their time. His opinion respecting the knowledge which Christians will have of each other in Heaven. What will engage their thoughts there. Just views of Christian friendship. Strength of his religious affections. Humbling views of himself. Melancholy Death of Mr. Unwin. Cowper's reflections upon it. Mr. Newton's unexpected but providential visit to Mrs. Unwin. Cowper's determination to remain with the family. Their removal from Huntingdon to Olney.

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The manner in which he spent his time while as sociated with this exemplary family, and the high degree of enjoyment he there experienced, will be seen by the following extracts from his correspondence with his two amiable cousins, Lady Hesketh and Mrs. Cowper. To the former he thus writes: "My dear Cousin-The frequency of your letters to me, while I lived alone, was occasioned, I am sure, by your regard for my welfare, and was an act of particular charity. I bless God, however, that I was happy, even then; solitude has nothing gloomy in it, if the soul points upwards. St. Paul tells his Hebrew converts, Ye are come,' (already come) to Mount Sion, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly of the first born, which are written in heaven, and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant.' When this is the case, as surely as it was with them, or the Spirit of truth would never have spoken it, there is an end to the melancholy and dulness of life at once. You will not suspect me, my dear cousin, of a design to understand this passage literally; but this, however, it certainly means, that a lively faith is able to anticipate, in some measure, the joys of that heavenly society which the soul shall actually possess hereafter.

"Since I have changed my situation, I have found still greater cause of thanksgiving to the Father of all mercies. The family with whom I live are Christians, and it has pleased the Almighty to bring me to the knowledge of them, that I may want no means of improvement in that temper and conduct which he requires of all his servants. My dear cousin! one half of the Christian world would call this madness, fanaticism, and folly; but are not these things warranted by the word of God. If we have no communion with God here, surely we can expect none hereafter. A faith that does not place our conversation in heaven; that does not warm

govern our thoughts, words and deeds, is not Chris-
the heart and purify it too; that does not in short,
tian faith, nor can we procure by it any spiritual
blessing, here or hereafter. Let us therefore see
The world will be ever telling us
that we do not deceive ourselves in a matter of such
infinite moment.
that we are good enough, and the world will vilify
us behind our backs: but it is not the world which
tries the heart-that is the prerogative of God alone.
My dear cousin! I have often prayed for you be-
hind your back, and now I pray for you to your face.
There are many who would not forgive me this
wrong, but I have known you so long, and so well,
that I am not afraid of telling you how sincerely I
wish for your growth in every Christian grace, in
every thing that may promote and secure your ever
lasting welfare."

TOWARDS the end of October, 1765, Cowper began to fear that his solitary and lonely situation would not be agreeable to him during the winter; and finding his present method of living, though he was strictly economical, rather too expensive for his limited income, he judged it expedient to look out for a family, with which he might become an inTo his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus writes:mate, where he might enjoy the advantage of social and familiar intercourse, and be subject to a less "I am obliged to you for the interest you take in expensive establishment. It providentially occur-my welfare, and for your inquiring so particularly red to him, that he might probably be admitted, on after the manner in which my time passes here. As He knew to amusements-I mean what the world calls such such terms, into Mr. Unwin's family. that a young gentleman, who had lived with them as a pupil, had just left them for Cambridge, and it appeared not improbable, that he might be allowed to succeed him, not as a pupil, but as an inmate. This subject occasioned him a tumult of anxious solicitude, and for some days he could not possibly divert his attention from it. He at length made it the subject of earnest prayer to his Heavenly Father, that he would be pleased to bring this affair to such an issue, as would be most calculated to promote His own glory; and he had the satisfaction, in a short time, to receive a gracious answer to his petitions. A few days afterwards he mentioned the subject to Mrs. Unwin, a satisfactory arrangement was very speedily made with the family, and he entered upon his new abode the eleventh of November 1765.

we have none; the place, indeed, swarms with them, and cards and dancing are the professed business of almost all the gentle inhabitants of Huntingdon. We refuse to take part in them, or to be accessories to this way of murdering our time, and by so doing have acquired the name of Methodists. Having told you how we do not spend our time, I will next say how we do. We breakfast commonly between eight and nine; till eleven, we read either the Scripture or the sermons of some faithful preacher; at eleven, we attend divine service, which is performed here every day; and from twelve to three, we separate and amuse ourselves as we please. During that interval, I read in my own apartment, or walk, or ride, or work in the garden. We seldom sit an hour after dinner, but, if the weather permits, adjourn into the garden, where, with Mrs. U. and her

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