isposition; and the roughness of his schoolfellows increased his
weakness in this respect. He studied law, and was admitted to the bar, but
never practiced his profession. When he was about thirty years of age, he
was appointed to a clerkship in the House of Lords, but could not summon
courage to enter upon the discharge of its duties. He was so disturbed by
this affair that he became insane, sought to destroy himself, and had to
be consigned to a private asylum. Soon after his recovery, he found a
congenial home in the family of the Rev. Mr. Unwin. On the death of this
gentleman, a few years later, he continued to reside with his widow till
her death, a short time before that of Cowper. Most of this time their
home was at Olney. His first writings were published in 1782. He wrote
several beautiful hymns, "The Task," and some minor poems. These, with his
translations of Homer and his correspondence, make up his published works.
His life was always pure and gentle; he took great pleasure in simple,
natural objects, and in playing with animals. His insanity returned from
time to time, and darkened his life at its close. When six years of age,
he lost his mother; and the following selection is part of a touching
tribute to her memory, written many years later.
###

Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly since I heard them last.
My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss,
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers--Yes!

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day;
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away;
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such? It was. Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more.

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return;
What ardently I wished, I long believed;
And, disappointed still, was still deceived;
By expectation, every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow, even when a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent,
I learned at last submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'