l hardships and the slanderous remarks of the vile. The
only drawback on Cowper's indebtedness to Mrs. Unwin was her jealous
wish to restrict him to the society of her own sect of religionists,
that harrowing type of piety represented by John Newton. Otherwise,
he might have enjoyed much more frequent and prolonged periods of
what he cheerily characterized as "absences of Mr. Blue-devil." Lady
Hesketh said of her, "She seems in truth to have no will left on
earth but for his good. How she has supported the constant attendance
she has gone through with the last thirteen years is to me, I
confess, wonderful." Cowper himself said, "It is to her, under
Providence, I owe it that I am alive at all." With a devotion in
which self appeared to be lost, "there she sat, on the hardest and
smallest chair, leaving the best to him, knitting, with the finest
possible needles, stockings of the nicest texture. He wore no others
than of her knitting." After nearly a generation of her fond and
sedulous ministering, repeatedly stricken with paralysis, her mind
decayed, mute, almost blind, as she sat by his side, a pathetic
memento of what she had been, Cowper composed for her that
unsurpassed tribute, his exquisite and imperishable lines, "To Mary":

The twentieth year has well-nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast:
Ah! would that this might be our last,
My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow:
I see thee daily weaker grow;
'Tis my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust, disused, and shine no more,
My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language uttered in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!

Partakers of my sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine,
My Mary!

Yet ah! by constant heed, I know
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!

Lady Hesketh, ever a true angel, came and dwelt with the afflicted
pair. And when Cowper, after four wretched years of separation,
plunged, as he expressed it, in deeps unvisited by any human soul
save his, followed his faithful sister-spirit to a better wor