COWPER, OR COOPER.
In the midsummer holidays of 1799, being on a visit to an old and opulent family of the name of Deverell, in Dereham, Norfolk, I was taken to the house of an ancient lady (a member of the aforesaid family), to pay my respects to her, and to drink
tea. Two visitors were particularly expected. They soon arrived. The first, if I remember rightly (for my whole attention was singularly riveted to the second), was a pleasant-looking, lively young man—very talkative and entertaining; his companion was above the middle height, broadly made, but not stout, and advanced in years. His countenance had a peculiar charm, that I could not resist. It alternately exhibited a deep sadness, a thoughtful repose, a fearful and an intellectual fire, that surprised and held me captive. His manner was embarrassed and reserved. He spoke but little. Yet once he was roused to animation; then his voice was full and clear. I have a faint recollection that I saw his face lighted up with a momentary smile. His hostess kindly welcomed him as "Mr. Cooper." After tea, we walked for a while in the garden. I kept close to his side, and once he addressed me as "My little master." I returned to school; but that variable, expressive, and interesting countenance I did not forget. In after years, standing, as was my wont, before the shop windows of the London booksellers (I have not quite left off this old habit!), reading the title-pages of tomes that I intensely longed, but had not then the money, to purchase, I recognised at a shop in St. Paul's Churchyard that well-remembered face, prefixed to a volume of poems, "written by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq." The cap (for when I saw "Mr. Cooper" he wore a wig, or his hair, for his age, was unusually luxuriant) was the only thing that puzzled me. To make "assurance doubly sure," I hastened to the house of a near relation hard by, and I soon learnt that "Mr. Cooper" was William Cowper. The welcome present of a few shillings put me in immediate possession of the coveted volumes. I will only just add, that I read, and re-read them; that the man whom, in my early boyhood, I had so mysteriously reverenced, in my youth I deeply and devotedly admired and loved! Many, many years have since passed away: but that reverence, that admiration, and that love have experienced neither diminution nor change.
It was something, said Washington Irving, to have seen even the dust of Shakspeare. It is something too, good Mr. Editor, to have beheld the face and to have heard the voice of Cowper.
George Daniel.