avoided even a hint. He sent the volume to Unwin, desiring him to offer it to his former publisher Johnson; if he should refuse, or stroke his chin and look up to the ceiling and cry “Humph!" then to take it to Longman, or to Nichols, the printer of the Gentleman's Magazine. However, Johnson spared Unwin any further trouble, for he accepted it directly. At length* Cowper announced the volume to Newton. He did so in a constrained manner, betraying his feeling that his friend had some ground of complaint. Newton had evidently lost considerable hold of his affections. His letters to him are colder, and he makes no allusion to him in his manifold letters to Unwin at this period. The day following his announcement to Newton, Cowper writes to Unwin: "I wrote to Mr. Newton by the last post to tell him I was gone to press again. He will be surprised, and perhaps not pleased. But I think he cannot complain, for he

keeps his own authorly secrets without participating them with me. Newton was evidently much mortified, though he wrote back a kind answer. He asked to see the proof-sheets, but Cowper, "for many reasons,' as he told Unwin, refused them. He sent him, however, a title, list of headings, and specimen extract. Newton sent back a carping criticism, objecting to title, headings, metre, and phraseology. And Cowper returned answer, verbally civil, but steeped in irony.§

His publisher, as before, wanted more matter to make up the volume. Cowper accordingly completed "Tirocinium," which he had begun two years previously and laid aside. He also wrote the Epistle to Hill, partly with the hope of giving him an agreeable surprise, partly from the feeling that, having mentioned by name several of his friends, it would be unjustifiable to omit one whose conduct towards him had been so helpful and generous. He

It was written at a single sitting. then proposed to add "John Gilpin." Johnson,doubted, and Cowper left it to his judgment, but it was eventually resolved to put it in. They thought, and rightly, that a poem which had become so famous (for it was while "The Task" was in the press that Henderson made the hit with it that has been previously described), and of which the author's name had not yet transpired, would stimulate curiosity and recommend the volume. It was therefore not only inserted, but put in the title. Besides, Cowper was desirous of showing that, though he wrote seriously, he could be sometimes merry. Above all, it would refute the Critical reviewer, who had charged him with a vain attempt at humour.

The new volume was published in June 1785, and public opinion immediately placed its author at the head of the poets of the age. The first volume had sold so slowly, that it was judged desirable to make no mention of it in the new title-page (see p. 181); but an advertisement of the previous volume, was inserted at the end. People were attracted to the new book solely by the name of "John Gilpin," eager to see the other works of

with table of contents,

* October 30, 1784. + November 29.
§ December 13 and 24, 1784.

Lines 729-817 of the last book (p. 279).

Letter to Hill, Oct. 11, 1785.

one who had made such a sensation. They were astonished to find a volume of serious poetry, but not the less delightful. When once opened, "The Task " needed no other recommendation, and more than that, it led them to seek out the previously neglected volume. The success was triumphant ; a new edition was called for, and next year the two volumes were published together.

The great beauties of "The Task," and its pure and elevated feeling, can hardly be said to make it a poem of the highest class. The very method of its origin was some bar to success. The author began it without a definite purpose; in fact, changed his views as he went along, for he began it to please Lady Austen, and continued in such a way as to please Mrs. Unwin.* The graceful address to Mrs. Unwin in the First Book, lines 144-162, may very probably have been inserted as a compliment, to wipe away any unpleasantness after the rupture with Lady Austen, but, on the other hand, it is not impossible that the author's leaving "The Sofa' for other subjects may synchronize with the breach. It is curious to mark his mode of transition. He hopes he shall never have to lie on the sofa through gout, because he likes walking. When he walks, he sees rural scenes. And thereupon he goes off into rural scenes, and the Sofa is quite done with and forgotten. Of course it is the scenery of Olney which occupies him wholly, and the description of his walks is as beautiful as any poetry can make it. Towards the end of the First Book he again changes his subject, for the purpose of moralizing. The country and the life therein are contrasted with the town, and this affords the opening for satire, which is just touched in the end of the First Book, but forms the staple of the Second. And splendid satire it is, full of vigour, and energy, and point, sometimes mere good-humoured badinage, sometimes full of burning indignation. It is satire of a different kind from that of his former poems; it is less bilious, more free from personality. Yet, Antæus-like, the author loses all his power when he ceases to touch his proper sphere. His faculty of keen observation enables him to lash effectively the false pretensions and follies which he sees. But his reflections upon the world without are of the poorest kind. He foresees the end of the world close at hand. He rails at the natural philosopher who attempts to discover the causes of physical calamities, such as earthquakes and diseases; at the historian who takes the trouble to investigate the motives of remarkable men; at the geologist and the astronomer. For the last especially there is nothing but contempt. It would be hard to find a more foolish and mischievous piece of rant than that contained in "The Garden," lines 150-190. But no man ought to sit in judgment as he has done who lives in retirement. have already spoken of his censoriousness. It came from his want of knowledge of men. The hard and revolting view of religion which he took from his theological friends was not corrected by any experience of those at whom he railed. His indiscriminate abuse of pursuits that did not interest him might just as fairly be See p. 285, lines 1,006-1,011.

*

We

applied to his own; fiddling or chess-playing, to say nothing of natural history studies, need not be less innocent than growing cucumbers or making rabbithutches. It is strange that he did not see that his vaunted method of securing peace of mind failed in his own case. He mocked at the folly of others for seeking happiness in other pursuits than the simple ones in which he was engaged, and yet he was supremely unhappy" the whole time. A more charitable method, if he had been taught it, might have wrought a happy change upon him.

66

It is not until we come to the Third Book, “The Garden," that the plan of the poem becomes definite. As the author expresses it, he has been winding

Now, however, he settles quietly down to his subject of domestic happiness. Many flit to and fro in vain quest of happiness ; he lives at home engaged in simple occupations. And here we come to one of the chief excellences of the volume, that which was lacking in the first volume, and which now had the chief part in winning popularity. "The Task" is all about himself. He takes you into his confidence, and his artless blank verse seems more like a flowing and melodious conversation with some dear friend than a service of the Muses. His religious thoughts and meditations, his friends, his ill-health, his walks, his tame hares, he tells you all about them in a simple straightforward way, as though he were quite aware that he is able to interest you in every one of them. There is not a piece of description anywhere in which he himself is not in the foreground of the landscape, though he never seems intrusive or egotistical. There are some fine pieces of description in "The Garden," and the satire upon the gaieties and extravagances of London life is pungent and well-deserved. But his attempt to make poetry out of minute directions for the raising of a cucumber is not very successful.

"The Winter Evening" is delightful throughout; the interest never flags at all. It is the best of his poems. The description of the old postman, of the approach of evening, of the Poet's "brown study," of the suffering poor, are all perfect. "The Winter Morning Walk," too, begins with pictures equally good,--the slanting winter sun, the feeding of the cattle, the woodman toiling through the snow, with "pipe in mouth and dog at heels." But the greater part of this poem is occupied with a disquisition on Liberty, which the author brings in oddly. The icicles remind him of the Russian ice-palace, which leads on to the amusements of monarchs, and these to a discussion on monarchy in general, which affords the Poet an opportunity of stating his moderate Whig views.

Though necessarily traversing the same subjects as Thomson, and writing in the same metre, Cowper is not at all like him. Thomson is sometimes sublime. But he knows less of his subject than Cowper, and is often vague, indistinct, and untrue. Cowper never is. Every picture is clear and minute. As he says in one of his letters, he describes only what he sees, and takes nothing at second-hand. As

he had never seen a mountain or a lake in his life, never listened to the roar of a torrent, nor slept at sea, nor visited a foreign country, and knew next to nothing of his own, it is not to be wondered at that he was wedded to his own haunts as closely as a snail to its shell, and not a trait of beauty escaped his notice. Ignorance of any other language is said to give a great reader unusual command of his own; and Cowper's case was like this. Grand scenery would have weakened his powers; he was not physically capable of enjoying it. Bodily and mental powers alike were best suited by the Buckinghamshire lanes and pastures. One may know what Olney scenery is like by “The Task” better than by a set of photographs. Nor is this minuteness the work of a mere close observer; he observes as an artist. The

*

description of the flowers in " The Garden," lines 560-595, is very pretty and natural; but that in "The Winter Walk at Noon," lines 141-180, is far more than this. The author is not there describing what is before him, but his imagination sees the flowers as they will be in the coming summer, and the group of colours is as rich and warm as ever was painted by artist. Towards the end of the poem he aims at a higher flight than he has ever aimed at before, and foretells the final victory of the Kingdom of God (pp. 280-282). Herein he reaches, for the first and only time, sublimity.

One of the first results of the success of "The Task" was the renewal of intimacy between the Poet and his relations. He had said to Unwin at the time of publication, "I have had more comfort in the connexions that I have formed within the last twenty years, than in the more numerous ones that I had before. Memorandum, the latter are almost all Unwins or Unwinisms." Several causes had concurred to break off the intimacy between him and his relatives. Lady Hesketh had been repelled by the religious tone of his letters at Huntingdon, and although she retained an unwavering feeling of kindness towards him, she suffered the correspondence to drop when she left England with her husband in 1767. She was now a widow, Sir Thomas having died in 1782. Her father and General Cowper had continued their allowance to him with kindly feeling enough, but with pity, as for one who was useless in the world. He did not send any of them his first volume. But "The Task" and "John Gilpin " soon found its way to them, and Cowper was nearly wild with delight when, on coming down to breakfast one morning, he found a letter in the well-remembered hand of Lady Hesketh, franked by his uncle Ashley. It broke a silence of nineteen years. Her letter is not in existence; scarcely any addressed to Cowper are. In his answer he declares that she has made them all young again, and brought back their happy days as freshly as ever. But he rejoices in her letter most of all because it gives him an opportunity of telling her that neither years nor interrupted intercourse have abated his affection for her. He does not mention

It has been said, I forget by whom, that "he is to Buckinghamshire what Cuyp is to Holland."

Theodora, but says that any father is happy who has three such daughters as his uncle has.*

The correspondence thus begun was continued busily. Lady Hesketh soon inquired into his money matters, and offered him assistance. He replied with frankness. He had always been poor, he said, but Mrs. Unwin, whose income had been double his, had shared alike with him. But latterly her income had become reduced, and they had been obliged to forego some of their wonted comforts. He therefore freely accepted her proffered kindness. "I know you

thoroughly, and have that consummate confidence in the sincerity of your wish to serve me, that delivers me from all awkward restraint, and from all fear of trespassing by acceptance. To you, therefore, I reply, yes. Whensoever, and whatsoever, and in what manner soever you please; and add, moreover, that my affection for the giver is such as will increase to tenfold the satisfaction that I shall have in receiving. . . . . Strain no points to your own inconvenience or hurt, for there is no need of it, but indulge yourself in communicating (no matter what) that you can spare without missing it."+ How liberally she responded to this will presently appear; and she gave him additional pleasure by causing him to renew his correspondence with the General.

Very soon he entrusts to her "a great secret, so great that she must not even whisper it to her cat." He is engaged in translating Homer, and has done twenty

one books of the Iliad.

He had always been fond of Homer. In the Temple he had gone all through it with Pope's translation, and had been thoroughly dissatisfied, discovering, as he said, that there was nothing in the world of which Pope was so destitute as a taste for Homer. Homer and a Clavis were the only Greek books he had kept since. Three or four days after finishing "Tirocinium," whilst suffering from an insupportable attack of melancholy, he took up the "Iliad" as a diversion. With no other thought than this he translated the first twelve lines, and on the next attack did some more. Finding the work pleasant, he soon took it up as a regular employment, and worked at it assiduously. He had been engaged just twelve months with it when he made the announcement to Lady Hesketh. He soon after removed his injunction of secresy, and asked her to get him subscribers. He also communicated his design to Newton, not without apprehension of objections, but determined not to heed them if any came. However, Newton approved. Cowper, moreover, inserted a long letter, signed "Alethes," in the Gentleman's Magazine, pulling Pope's translation to pieces, and maintaining that a translation ought to be in blank verse, because otherwise the translator must be continually obliged to depart from the meaning of the original in order to bring in his rhymes. He ended by saying, that while Homer is grand and sublime, Pope

* October 12, 1785.

+ November 9, 1785.

November 12, 1784.