nteen. With
them the revival of religion was at hand. Johnson, the moral reformer,
was twenty-two. Howard was born, and in less than a generation
Wilberforce was to come.

When Cowper was six years old his mother died; and seldom has a child,
even such a child, lost more, even in a mother. Fifty years after her
death he still thinks of her, he says, with love and tenderness every
day. Late in his life his cousin Mrs. Anne Bodham recalled herself to
his remembrance by sending him his mother's picture. "Every creature,"
he writes, "that has any affinity to my mother is dear to me, and you,
the daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from her, I
love you therefore, and love you much, both for her sake and for your
own. The world could not have furnished you with a present so
acceptable to me as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I
received it the night before last, and received it with a trepidation
of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had its
dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it and hung
it where it is the last object which I see at night, and the first on
which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I completed my
sixth year; yet I remember her well, and am an ocular witness of the
great fidelity of the copy, I remember too a multitude of the maternal
tendernesses which I received from her, and which have endeared her
memory to me beyond expression. There is in me, I believe, more of the
Donne than of the Cowper, and though I love all of both names, and have
a thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel the bond of
nature draw me vehemently to your side." As Cowper never married,
there was nothing to take the place in his heart which had been left
vacant by his mother.

My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gayest 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 toll'd 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 p