I write thus to you that you may not think me a forlorn and wretched creature; which you might be apt to do, considering my very distant removal from every, friend I have in the world: a circumstance, which before this calamity befel me, would undoubtedly have made me so. But my affliction has taught me a road to happiness, which, without it, I should never have found; and I know, and experience every day, that the mercy of God to him who believes himself the object of it, is more than sufficient to compensate for the loss of every other blessing.

You may now inform all those who, you think, are really interested in my welfare, that they have no need to be apprehensive on the score of my happiness at present. And you yourself will believe that my happiness is no dream, because I have told you the foundation on which it is built. What I have written, would appear like enthusiasm to many; for we are apt to give that name to every warm affection of the mind in others, which we have not experienced in ourselves: but to you, who have so much to be thankful for, and a temper inclined to gratitude, it will not appear so.-I beg you will give my love to sir Thomas; and believe that I am much obliged to you both, for inquiring after me at St. Albans.

Yours ever,

William Cowper.

LETTER III.

To lady Hesketh.

Huntingdon, July 4, 1765.

Being just emerged from the Ouse, I sit down

to thank you, my dear cousin, for your friendly and comfortable letter.

How naturally does affliction make us Christians!

When all human help is vain, and the whole earth too poor and trifling to furnish us with one moment's peace, how impossible is it then to avoid looking at the Gospel!

I reckon it one instance of the Providence that has attended me throughout this whole affliction, that instead of being delivered into the hands of one of the London physicians, (who were so much nearer, that I wonder I was not,) I was carried to Dr. Cotton. I was not only treated by him with the greatest tenderness, while I was ill, and attended with the utmost diligence; but when my reason was restored to me, and I had so much need of a religious friend to converse with, to whom I could open my mind without reserve, I could hardly have found a fitter person for the purpose. My eagerness and anxiety to settle my opinions on religious subjects, made it necessary that while my mind was yet weak, and my spirits were uncertain, I should have some assistance. The doctor was as ready to administer relief to me in this article likewise, and as well qualified to do it, as in that which was more immediately his province. How many physicians would have thought this an irregular appetite, and a symptom of remaining madness! But if it were so, my friend was as mad as myself; and it is well for me that he was so.

My dear cousin, you know not half the deliverances I have received: my brother is the only one in the family who does. My recovery is indeed a signal one. My future life must express my thankfulness; for by words I cannot do it.

I pray God to bless

you, and my friend sir Thomas. Yours ever,

William Cowper.

My dear cousin,

LETTER IV.

To lady Hesketh.

July 12, 1765.

You are very good to me; and if you will only continue to write at such intervals as you find convenient, I shall receive all that pleasure, which I proposed to myself from our correspondence. I am not so unreasonable as to expect you should perform this act of friendship so frequently as myself; for you live in a world swarming with engagements, and my hours are almost all my own. You must every day be employed in doing what is expected from you by a thousand others; and I have nothing to do but what is most agreeable to myself.

Our mentioning Newton's treatise on the Prophecies, brings to my mind an anecdote of Dr. Young, who, you you know, died lately at Welwyn. Dr. Cotton, who was intimate with him, payed him a visit about a fortnight before he was seized with his last illness. He then seemed to be in perfect health. The antiquity of his person, the gravity of his utterance, and the earnestness with which he discoursed about religion, gave him, in the doctor's eye, the appearance of a prophet. They had been delivering their sentiments upon this book of Newton's, when Young closed the conference thus: "My friend, there are two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built as upon a rock. The fall of man, the redemption of man, and the resurrection of man, the three cardinal articles of our religion, are such as human ingenuity could never have invented; therefore, they must be Divine. The other argument is this: if the prophecies have been fulfilled, (of which there is

abundant demonstration,) the Scripture must be the Word of God; and if the Scripture is the Word of God, Christianity must be true."

This treatise on the Prophecies proves the truth of religion, in a manner that never has been, nor ever can be controverted. But I leave you to the book itself. There are parts of it, which may possibly afford you less entertainment than the rest; but in the main it is so interesting, and you are so fond of what is so, that I am sure you will like it.

My dear cousin, how happy am I in having a friend, to whom I can open my heart upon these subjects! I have many intimates in the world, and I have had many more than I shall have hereafter, to whom a long letter, upon these most important articles, would appear tiresome at least, if not impertinent. But I am not afraid of meeting with that reception from you, who have never yet made it your interest, that there should be no truth in the Word of God. May this everlasting truth be your comfort while you live; and attend you, with peace and joy, in your last moments! I love you too well not to make this a part of my prayers; and when I remember my friends on these occasions, there is no likelihood that you can be forgotten.

Yours, ever,

William Cowper.

P. S. Cambridge.-I add this postscript at my brother's rooms. He desires to be affectionately remembered to you; and if you are in town about a fortnight hence, when he proposes to be there himself, he will take a breakfast with you.

My dear cousin,

LETTER V.

To lady Hesketh.

Huntingdon, Aug. 1, 1765.

If I were to measure your obligation to write, by my own desire to hear from you, I should call you an idle correspondent if a post went by without bringing a letter: but I am not so unreasonable; on the contrary, I think myself very happy in hearing from you upon your own terms, as you find most convenient.

Your short history of my family is a very acceptable part of your letter. If they really interest themselves in my welfare, it is a mark of their great charity for one who has been a disappointment and a vexation to them, ever since he has been of consequence enough to be either. My friend the major's behaviour to me, after all he suffered by my abandoning his interest and my own, in so miserable a manner, is a noble instance of generosity, and true greatness of mind: and indeed, I know no man in whom those qualities are more conspicuous; one needs only furnish him with an opportunity to display them, and they are always ready to show themselves in his words and actions, and even in his countenance, at a moment's warning. I have great reason to be thankful: I have lost none of my acquaintance, but those whom I determined not to keep. I am sorry this class is so numerous. What would I not

give that every friend I have in the world, were not almost but altogether a Christian! My dear cousin, I am half afraid to talk in this style, lest I should seem to indulge a censorious humour; instead of hoping, as I ought, the best for all men. But what can be said