to covet honor as the Friend of Cowper, for, if it is, I fear I may say but too truly in the words of Shakespeare,

"I am the most offending soul alive."

Happy however if I may be able so to conduct, and finish this biographical compilation, that those, who knew and loved him best, may be the most willing to applaud me as his Friend; a title, that my heart prefers to all other distinction!

The immediate success of his first Volume was very far from being equal to its extraordinary merit. For some time it seemed to be neglected by the Public, altho' the first Poem in the collection contains such a powerful image of its Author, as might be thought sufficient not only to excite attention, but to secure attachment: for Cowper had undesignedly executed a masterly portrait of himself, in describing the true Poet: I allude to the following Verses in "Table Talk."

Nature, exerting an unwearied power,

Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower;
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads
The dancing Naiads thro' the dewy meads:
She fills profuse ten thousand little throats
With music, modulating all their notes;

And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds unknown
With artless airs, and concerts of her own:

But

But seldom (as if fearful of expence)
Vouchsafes to Man a Poet's just pretence-
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,

Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought;
Fancy, that from the bow that spans the sky
Brings colours, dipt in Heaven, that never die;
A soul exalted above earth, a mind

An

Skill'd in the characters that form mankind;
And, as the Sun in rising beauty drest
Looks from the dappled orient to the West,
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close,
eye
like his to catch the distant goal,
Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll,
Like his to shed illuminating rays
On every scene and subject it surveys:
Thus grac'd the Man asserts a Poet's name,
And the world cheerfully admits the claim.

The concluding lines may be considered as an omen of that celebrity, which such a Writer, in the process of time, could not fail to obtain.-Yet powerful as the claims of Cowper were to instant admiration and applause, it must be allowed (as an apology for the inattention of the Public) that he hazarded some sentiments in his first Volume, which were very likely to obstruct its immediate success in the world. I particularly allude to his bold eulogy on Whitfield, whom the dramatic satire of Foote, in his Comedy of

the

the Minor, had taught the Nation to deride as a mischievous fanatic. I allude also to a little acrimonious censure, in which he had indulged himself, against one of Whitfield's devout rivals, Mr. Charles Wesley, for allowing sacred music to form a part of his occupation in a sunday evening. Such praise, and such reproof, bestowed on popular enthusiasts, might easily induce many careless Readers, unacquainted with the singular mildness and purity of character, that really belonged to the new Poet, to reject his Book, without giving it a fair perusal, as the production of a Recluse, inflamed with the fierce spirit of bigotry. No supposition could have been wider from the truth; for Cowper was indeed a rare example of true Christian benevolence: yet, as the best of men have their little occasional foibles, he allowed himself, sometimes with his pen, but never, I believe in conversation, to speak rather acrimoniously of several pursuits and pastimes, that seem not to deserve any austerity of reproof. Of this he was aware himself, and confessed it, in the most ingenuous manner, on the following occasion. One of his intimate friends had written, in the first Volume of his Poems, the following passage from the younger Pliny, as descriptive of the Book:

66

Multa tenuiter, multa sublimiter, multa venuste, multa tenere, multa dulciter, multa cum bile." Many passages are delicate, many sublime, many beautiful, many tender, many sweet, many acri

monious.

Cowper

Cowper was pleased with the application, and said, with the utmost candour and sincerity, "The latter part is very true indeed; yes! yes! there are "multa cum bile" many acrimonious.

These little occasional touches of austerity would naturally arise in a life so sequestered; but how just a subject of surprize and admiration is it, to behold an Author starting under such a load of disadvantages, and displaying on the sudden such a variety of excellence! For neglected, as it was, for a few years, the first Volume of Cowper exhibits such a diversity of poetical powers, as have been given very rarely indeed to any individual of the modern, or of the antient world. He is not only great in passages of pathos, and sublimity, but he is equally admirable in wit and humour. After descanting most copiously on sacred subjects, with the animation of a Prophet, and the simplicity of an Apostle, he paints the ludicrous characters of common life with the comic force of Moliere; particularly in his Poem on Conversation, and his exquisite portrait of a fretful temper: a piece of moral painting so highly finished, and so happily calculated to promote good humour, that a transcript of the Verses shall close the First Part of these Memoirs.

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch;

You always do too little, or too much :

You speak with life, in hopes to entertain;
Your elevated voice goes through the brain :

Q

You

You fall at once into a lower key;

That's worse:—the drone-pipe of an humble Bee!
The Southern sash admits too strong a light;
You rise and drop the curtain:-now its night.
He shakes with cold;-you stir the fire, and strive
To make a blaze:—that's roasting him alive.
Serve him with Ven'son, and he chuses Fish;
With Soal—that's just the sort he would not wish.
He takes what he at first profess'd to loath;
And in due time feeds heartily on both:
Yet, still o'erclouded with a constant frown;
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.
Your hope to please him vain on every plan,
Himself should work that wonder, if he can.
Alas! his efforts double his distress;

He likes your's little, and his own still less.
Thus always teazing others, always teaz'd,
His only pleasure is to be displeas'd.

END OF THE FIRST PART.

THE