But we must not anticipate by so many years. When only six, William went to a large school at Markgate Street, where he had to undergo a fierce ordeal. Many a stout-hearted boy, possessing the germs of future heroism, might have quailed before the bully who marked the little sensitive, tender-hearted Willie (ready to burst into tears at the first harsh word) as his victim. He tells us himself that he scarcely ever dared to lift his eyes above the level of his tyrant’s shoe-buckle; and, alluding to those days in later life, he said he could not dwell on the cruelty practised on him, but he hoped God would forgive his tormentor, and that they might meet in heaven.
‘Wretch even then, life’s journey just begun.’
It is easy to see how the memory of those days suggested his ‘Tyrocinium.’ Mr. Cowper, finding that the boy was suffering from inflammation of the eyes, sent him to board with an oculist in London, and afterwards to Westminster School, where William improved in health, and took bodily exercise, cricket and football, which proved beneficial to him in more ways than one, making him popular in the school.
He was diligent in his study of the Classics, and wrote good Latin verses. Warren Hastings was his contemporary and friend, and Cowper would never listen in after days to a word against his old school-fellow.
On leaving Westminster, he became articled clerk to an attorney, in obedience to his father’s wishes, he himself disliking the profession of the law. He confesses that at this period he spent most of his time ‘in giggling and making giggle’ his two favourite cousins, Theodora and Harriet, daughters of Ashley Cowper. He ‘feared some day that worthy gentleman would be picked up for a mushroom, being a diminutive man, nearly hidden under the shadow of a white broad-brimmed hat, lined with yellow.’ His fellow-clerk and ally in these giggling matches was the afterwards famous Lord Thurlow, of whom it was said, ‘No man could possibly be as wise as Lord Thurlow looked.’ At all events he was wise enough at this period to combine legal study with flirtation. Cowper prophesied he would one day sit on the Woolsack, and Thurlow promised to do something handsome for his friend whenever that time should come. He redeemed his pledge by the gift of a few strictures and criticisms on the poet’s translation of Homer.
Cowper removed from the attorney’s office to chambers in the Temple, where he studied literature rather than law, and became a member of the Nonsense Club, which was the resort of authors, journalists, editors, and the like. Here he formed many friendships which lasted through life, became a contributor to several periodicals, kept up his classical reading, translated many amatory and sentimental poems, and wrote odes to Delia of a very tender character,—Delia otherwise Theodora Cowper.
The cousins had fallen in love, but the lady’s father would not hear of the marriage, which was a bitter disappointment. The lady remained faithful to her first love, and Cowper, as we know, never married.
A cousin of William’s, Major Cowper, had the patronage of the Clerkship of Journals in the House of Lords; and the future poet, whose finances were very low at the time, one day expressed a hope that the holder of the office might die, in order to make way for him. This uttered wish was afterwards the subject of due remorse to this sensitive spirit: ‘God gave me my heart’s desire, and sent leanness withal into my soul.’ The man died, the office was offered to, and accepted by, Cowper. ‘I was so dazzled,’ he said, ‘by the idea, that I did not reflect on my incapacity for the appointment;’ but as he answered in the affirmative, he felt ‘a dagger strike at his heart.’ He fell a prey to nervous fears and terrors of all kinds, and, even while preparing himself for the duties of his office, began to contemplate with horror the prospect of being examined as to his proficiency at the bar of the House of Lords.
By degrees he became quite mad, and in that state meditated self-destruction. He bought laudanum, he drove to the river-side to drown himself, he pointed a knife at his throat; but his courage always failed him, or, as he thought, some particular interposition saved his life. Twice he suspended himself by the neck long enough to occasion insensibility, but so insecurely as to fall each time, the shock bringing back consciousness. After this last incident he sent for a relative, to whom he confessed everything, and who, comprehending the state of the case, returned the nomination to Major Cowper.
Several of his friends, unacquainted with these sad circumstances, called upon him on the day appointed for his appearance at the House of Lords, but one and all acquiesced in the sad decision that he must be placed under restraint. The asylum chosen was that of Dr. Cotton, a religious and well-educated man, who was of much service to the sufferer by his judicious treatment. William laboured under terrible despondency, fear of eternal punishment, and the deepest feelings of remorse. By the gentle, friendly care of Dr. Cotton, the patient gradually regained his health, both mental and bodily, and took much comfort in reading the Bible,—the very book which, in his fits of madness, he would dash to the ground. One morning, studying the third chapter of Romans, he experienced ‘comfort and strength to believe, feeling the full beams of the Sun of Righteousness shining on me, and relying on the full justification by faith in the blood of Jesus. In a moment I believed, and received the Gospel.’