the gift of lively faith in the all-sufficient atonement, and the sweet sense of mercy and pardon purchased by the blood of Christ." Cowper now began to think seriously of becoming a candidate for holy orders. The idea may have been suggested to him by the example of his acquaintance, the Rev. Abraham Maddock, a useful Evangelical minister of Kettering, who, like himself, had till middle life followed the law. He may have remembered, too, that the Rev. Martin Madan, the Rev. W. Romaine, and Mr. Jones of St. Saviour's had also, like Mr. Maddock, forsaken the bar in order to take to the pulpit. We notice, moreover, in Mr. Maddock's diary, that Mr. Madan was about this time frequently in this neighbourhood, and that on his preaching tours Cowper sometimes accompanied him. The intense earnestness of this preacher, his fine and nervous language, and the peculiar gracefulness of his delivery attracted crowds wherever he went. We must note, too, that Cowper was at this time thrown a good deal into the company of Dr. Thomas Haweis, of Aldwincle (fifteen miles from Huntingdon), another prominent Evangelical clergyman, who rivalled in originality and eloquence Mr. Madan himself, and whose preaching, to use the forcible expression of Mr. Newton, resounded through the country like the report of a cannon. By October (1766), however, Cowper had quite given up the idea, for on the 20th of that month he writes to Mrs. Cowper : "I have had many anxious thoughts about taking orders, and I believe every new convert is apt to think himself called upon for that purpose; but it has pleased God, by means which there is no need to particularize, to give me full satisfaction as to the propriety of declining it; indeed, they who have the least idea of what I have suffered from the dread of public exhibitions will readily excuse my never attempting them hereafter. In the meantime, if it please the Almighty, I may be an instrument of turning many to the truth in a private way; and I hope that my endeavours in this way have not been entirely unsuccessful. Had I the zeal of Moses, I should want an Aaron to be my spokesman." 38. Cowper's "Abominable Pride." The younger Unwin happening to be visiting London at this time, Cowper gave him an introduction, and desired him to call at the Park (Hertingfordbury) in his way. "If you knew him," he said to his cousin, "as well as I do you would love him as much. But I leave the young man to speak for himself, which he is very able to do. He is ready possessed of an answer to every question you can possibly ask concerning me, and knows my whole story, from first to last." But after Mr. Unwin's return Cowper's heart smote him; for his motive in causing the visit, which he now explains, urged itself upon him as a base and unworthy one. My dear cousin," he says (April 3, 1767), 'you sent my friend Unwin home to us charmed with your kind reception of him, and with everything he saw at the Park. Shall I once more give you a peep into my vile and deceitful heart? What motive do you think lay at the bottom of my conduct when I desired him to call upon you? I did not suspect, at first, that pride and vainglory had any share in it; but quickly after I had recommended the visit to him I discovered in that fruitful soil the very root of the matter. You know that I am a stranger here; all such are suspected characters, unless they bring their credentials with them. To this moment, I believe, it is a matter of speculation in the place whence I came, and to whom I belong. Though my friend, you may suppose, before I was admitted an inmate here, was satisfied that I was not a mere vagabond, and has since that time received more convincing proofs of my sponsibility, yet I could not resist the opportunity of furnishing him with ocular demonstration of it by introducing him to one of my most splendid connections; that when he hears me called That fellow Cowper, which has happened heretofore, he may be able, upon unquestionable evidence, to assert my gentlemanhood, and relieve me from the weight of that opprobrious appellation. Oh pride! pride! it deceives me with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk erect, though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist and twine itself about to get from under the cross, which it is the glory of our Christian calling to be able to bear with patience and good-will! They who can guess at the heart of a stranger, and you especially, who are of a compassionate temper, will be more ready, perhaps, to excuse me, in this instance, than I can be to excuse myself. But, in good truth, it was abominable pride of heart, indignation, and vanity, and deserves no better name." 39. The Death of the Elder Unwin. For eighteen months all went agreeably at Huntingdon. In addition to the occupations that we have already referred to, Cowper had "become a great florist and shrub-doctor," in which capacity he was assisted by the Major, who sent him packets of seeds, of the kind chiefly that required no great skill in the management, for the reason that, at present, Cowper had "no skill to spare." Having commenced gardening, he studied the arts of pruning, sowing, and planting, and "enterprised everything in that way from melons down to cabbages." "I have a large garden," he tells Hill, "to display my abilities in, and, were we twenty miles nearer London, I might turn higgler, and serve your honour with cauliflowers and broccoli at the best hand." But whilst in the midst of these agreeable occupations came a rude shock. On Sunday morning, July 2, 1767, Mr. Unwin (the father), whilst riding to his church at Graveley, was flung from his horse as he was passing through the town of Godmanchester, and received a bad fracture in the back part of his skull. "At nine o'clock," says Cowper, "he was in perfect health, and as likely to live twenty years as either of us; and before ten was stretched speechless and senseless upon a flock bed, in a poor cottage, where (it being impossible to remove him) he died on Thursday evening. I heard his dying groans, the effect of great agony, for he was a strong man, and much convulsed in his last moments. The few short intervals of sense that were indulged him he spent in earnest prayer, and in expressions of a firm trust and confidence in the only Saviour. To that stronghold we must all resort at last, if we would have hope in our death." Mr. Unwin was buried on the north side of the churchyard of St. Mary's, and over his remains lies a flat stone with rounded edges on a low basement now sunk in the ground. The inscription, which is almost hidden with moss, runs as follows: MORLEY UNWIN, B.D., DIED JULY 2, 1767, To Mrs. Cowper, the poet wrote: "This awful dispensation has left an impression upon our spirits which will not presently be worn off. May it be a lesson to us to watch, since we know not the day nor the hour when our Lord cometh !" "The effect of it upon my circumstances will only be a change of a place of abode. For I shall still, by God's leave, continue with Mrs. Unwin, whose behaviour to me has always been that of a mother to a son. We know not yet where we shall settle, but we trust that the Lord, whom we seek, will go before us and prepare a rest for us." Within a few days of this sad event Mrs. Unwin and Cowper received a visit from the Rev. John Newton, an Evangelical clergyman, who was then curate of Olney. Mr. Newton had been requested to call on Mrs. Unwin by Dr. Richard Conyers, of Helmsley, Yorkshire, a friend of the family, who had |