moment the Americans gained their independence England would fall to utter destruction.

The titles of his poems are somewhat misleading. "The Progress of Error," for example, leads us to expect a philosophical disquisition, whereas we find that the sum of this poem is that operas, card-playing, intemperance, gluttony, reading of bad novels, are the causes of Error; that they who hate truth shall be the dupe of lies. Quite true, of course; but who supposes that this is an adequate account of the progress of Error? In like manner "Truth" is not an essay upon Truth in the abstract, but an assertion of the sinfulness of man, the perfection of God, and hence the need of the propitiation of Christ.

*

The author improves in his style by practice. The versification of the "Progress of Error" is harsh, but that of "Expostulation" is highly finished. The latter is throughout a beautiful poem. It is an impassioned address to England to avoid the sin, and the consequent ruin, of the Jews, and is said to have been suggested by a fast-sermon of Newton's. Cowper himself liked it better than those which preceded it. So, too, although "Hope" is based on the same idea as that which forms the subject of "Truth," and contains nothing that has not been said before, it is much more pleasing and kindly in expression. "Charity" really concludes this series of Poems; "Conversation" and "Retirement" are quite distinct from it. "Conversation" is the lightest in tone of all; its versification, too, is delightful, while the whole piece is full of wisdom and goodness. "Retirement" has been called the most poetical piece, being rich in illustration, as well as graceful and picturesque. There is less satire in it than in the other pieces. But taken as a whole, the stinging satire is the most telling feature of the whole series of Poems. The sketches of the fox-hunting clergyman and of the travelling youth in the "Progress of Error," of "the ancient prude” in “Truth,” of the proser in Conversation," and, best of all, of Sir Smug in " 'Hope" are wonderfully pointed and vigorous. The force and severity, joined to good humour and freedom from coarseness and offensiveness, have never been excelled unless by the lamented author of the "Book of Snobs." His language is always well chosen, always the handmaid of the sense. Sometimes he bursts out into impassioned earnestness, as in 'Expostulation," and at the end of “ Hope." But he falls back into placid smoothness. To use his own simile, he always rides Pegasus with a curb. His rhymes are very frequently indeed inexact, more so than those of any English poet.+ It would be hard to find a page without a false rhyme or a prosaic line. He intended to produce variety, but when we find him expressing his belief that he has removed all inaccuracies, we can only say that his ear was at fault.

"I have written it with tolerable ease to myself, and in my own opinion (for an opinion I am bound to have about what I write whether I will or no), with more emphasis and energy than in either of the others."

+ See note on page 3.

Such was his first volume. It appeared in March 1782; its price was 35. He sent copies to a few only of his friends. Among them were the Chancellor and Colman, now manager of the Haymarket theatre. The copy to Thurlow was accompanied by the following letter :

"Olney, Bucks, Feb. 25, 1782.

"MY LORD,-I make no apology for what I account a duty; I should offend against the cordiality of our former friendship should I send a volume into the world, and forget how much I am bound to pay my particular respects to your Lordship upon that occasion. When we parted you little thought of hearing from me again; and I as little that I should live to write to you, still less that I should wait on you in the capacity of an author.

"Among the pieces I have the honour to send, there is one for which I must entreat your pardon. I mean that of which your Lordship is the subject. The best excuse I can make is, that it flowed almost spontaneously from the affectionate remembrance of a connexion that did me so much honour.

"As to the rest, their merits, if they have any, and their defects, which are probably more than I am aware of, will neither of them escape your notice. But where there is much discernment, there is generally much candour; and I commit myself into your Lordship's hands, with the less anxiety, being well acquainted with yours.

"If my first visit, after so long an interval should prove neither a troublesome nor a dull one, but especially if not altogether an unprofitable one, omne tuli punctum.

"I have the honour to be, though with very different impressions of some subjects, yet with the same sentiments of affection and esteem as ever, your Lordship's faithful and most obedient, humble servant, "W. C."

Neither Thurlow nor Colman acknowledged the gift; and Hill, who of course was much with Thurlow, and had mentioned Cowper's name to him, never heard a word from him on this subject. Colman, too, on publishing his translation of the Ars Poetica soon after, hurt Cowper's feelings by not sending him a copy. Some months after, the poor Poet, who had hitherto hoped against hope, gave vent to his wounded feelings in his indignant “Valediction."*

Striving to be unconcerned, he now watched to see his volume running the gauntlet of the critics. The Critical Review immediately fell foul of the volume. Southey has disinterred and gibbeted the article, which is evidently the work of some pert and ignorant youth-"nothing more nor less than a pompous noodle," as Thackeray said of one of his critics. A few excerpts will suffice:- —“Not possessed of any abilities or power of genius;" "weak and languid verses; "neither novelty, spirit, or animation;" "flat and tedious;" "no better than a dull sermon;"" very indifferent verse; 'coarse, vulgar, and unpoetical." Other magazines, the Gentleman's and the London, spoke in approbation; and Dr. Benjamin Franklin delighted the Poet by writing to Mr. Thornton, who sent him the volume, a discriminating and highly favourable opinion. The Monthly, the chief of the reviews, delayed a long time, but at length spoke in praise. But though the critics admitted him as a poet, they could not make him a popular one. People apparently made up their minds that he was a very good sort of a man, who wrote nice verses on the Evangelical side, -and troubled themselves no more about him. The volume did not sell. Another lady became the means of making him popular.

Lady Austen was the widow of a baronet, and sister-in-law of a clergyman named Jones, residing at Clifton, near Olney, with whom Cowper had a slight acquaintance. In the summer of 1781, whilst he was preparing his first volume for press, Cowper saw the two sisters shopping in the street at Olney. He was so struck with Lady Austen's appearance that he persuaded Mrs. Unwin to invite them to tea. They came; then he was so shy that Mrs. Unwin had difficulty in bringing him to meet them. But as soon as they met all reserve vanished, and they were 'like old friends together." Lady Austen and he soon came to address each other as "William and "Sister Ann." For a while all went delightfully. She was lively and full of anecdote, and sang and played well; and she was pleased with him, the well-bred, interesting, thoughtful man. The party dined, walked, pic-nicked together constantly, and Lady Austen announced her intention of taking a house at Olney, as the lease of her town house was nearly out. When she returned to town in October, both Cowper and Mrs. Unwin felt the blank. The "Poetical Epistle" at p. 337 was addressed to her during this absence, and may be read with interest here. It will be seen that he anticipated great results from the new acquaintance, though what they are to be does not exactly appear. It was written in December 1781, yet in the following February a fracas had taken place which nearly brought the acquaintance to an end. The circumstances are unknown, the only account being contained in a letter from Cowper to Unwin. "The lady, in her correspondence," he says, 'expressed a sort of romantic idea of our merits, and built such expectations of felicity upon our friendship, as we were sure that nothing human can possibly answer, and I wrote to her not to think more lightly of us than the subject would warrant; and intimating that when we embellish a creature with colours taken from our own fancy, and so adorned, admire and praise it beyond its real merits, we make it an idol, and have nothing to expect in the end but that it will deceive our hopes, and that we shall derive nothing from it but a painful conviction of our error. Your mother heard me read the letter; she read it herself, and honoured it with her warm approbation. But it gave mortal offence. It received, indeed, an answer, but such a one as I could by no means reply to." What are we to make of all this? Had Lady Austen fallen in love with him, and been repelled in this letter of his at Mrs. Unwin's instigation? Or was Mrs. Unwin jealous without cause? If so, no wonder that Lady Austen was angry. Probability, considering events which followed, inclines to the former view. That it was a quarrel between the ladies especially, appears from an expression of Hayley, who had seen the correspondence. He calls it "a trifling feminine discord.”

66

Meanwhile Cowper might with advantage have learned from this, that two persons who are not brother and sister had better not call themselves so. However,

the breath was soon healed. She sent him some worked ruffles as a present, got

a civil message in return, and soon afterwards they met. After a few minutes' awkwardness they were all as friendly as ever. Before long she had taken up her residence in the vicarage at Olney. And now began the most sunny period in Cowper's life. His letters are full of fun and frolic, and comparatively free from melancholy. The trio were constantly together, engaged in quiet amusements, "Lady Austen playing on the harpsichord," as he says in one letter, "Mrs. Unwin and himself playing battledore and shuttlecock, and the little dog under the chair howling to admiration." "In the morning," says another letter, "I walk with one or other of the ladies, and in the afternoon wind thread. Thus did Hercules, and thus probably did Samson, and

thus do I."

When low spirits overtook him, Lady Austen's sprightliness was generally able to exorcise them. One afternoon when he was in this condition, she told him the story of John Gilpin. He lay awake half the night convulsed with laughter, and by the next morning had turned it into a ballad. It was sent to Unwin, who sent it on to the Public Advertiser, where it appeared anonymously. It attracted no special notice, until three years afterwards it came under the eye of Richard Sharp —“Con· versation Sharp" as he was commonly known to the literary society of the period. He showed it to Henderson, a first-class actor of the time, who was then giving public readings at Freemasons' Hall. He read "John Gilpin,” and electrified the audience, Mrs. Siddons among them. The ballad was reprinted again and again, and the famous horseman was seen in all the printshops. Some other smaller pieces were owing to Lady Austen, being written for her to sing. But they were trifles indeed compared with the poem which placed him in the first place among the authors of his time, namely, "THE TASK."

Lady Austen had often begged him to try his hand at blank verse. "I will," he answered one day, "if you will give me a subject." "Oh, you can write upon any subject," said she: "write upon this Sofa." And so he began; hence the great poem, and hence its title. It was begun in the summer of 1783, and com. pleted in about twelve months. But before it was finished another breach had taken place between him and Lady Austen, and this time it was final. Of this separation we have notices from two hands-very slight, it is true, but pointing to a definite conclusion. The first is Cowper's. In a letter to Unwin, dated July 12, 1784, after discussing other topics, he writes:

"You are going to Bristol. A lady, not long since our near neighbour, is probably there; she was there very lately. If you should chance to fall into her company, remember, if you please, that we found the connexion on some accounts an inconvenient one; that we do not wish to renew it; and conduct yourself accordingly. A character with which we spend all our time should be made on purpose for us; too much or too little of any ingredient spoils all. In the instance in question, the dissimilitude was too great not to be felt continually, and conse

quently made our intercourse unpleasant. We have reason, however, to believe that she has given up all thoughts of a return to Olney."

And eighteen months after, he writes to Lady Hesketh as follows:

"There came a lady into this country, by name and title Lady Austen, the widow of the late Sir Robert Austen. At first she lived with her sister, about a mile from Olney; but in a few weeks took lodgings at the vicarage here. Between the vicarage and the back of our house are interposed our garden, an orchard, and the garden belonging to the vicarage. She had lived much in France, was very sensible, and had infinite vivacity. She took a great liking to us, and we to her. She had been used to a great deal of company, and we fearing that she would find such a transition into silent retirement irksome, contrived to give her our agreeable company often. Becoming continually more and more intimate, a practice obtained at length of our dining with each other alternately every day, Sundays excepted. In order to facilitate our communication, we made doors in the two garden walls abovesaid, by which means we considerably shortened the way from one house to the other, and could meet when we pleased without entering the town at all; a measure the rather expedient, because the town is abominably dirty, and she kept no carriage. On her first settlement in our neighbourhood, I made it my own particular business (for at that time I was not employed in writing, having published my first volume and not begun my second) to pay my devoirs to her ladyship every morning at eleven. Customs very soon

become laws. I began The Task; for she was the lady who gave me the Sofa for a subject. Being once engaged in the work, I began to feel the inconvenience of my morning attendance. We had seldom breakfasted ourselves till ten; and the intervening hour was all the time that I could find in the whole day for writing, and occasionally it would happen that the half of that hour was all that I could secure for the purpose. But there was no remedy. Long usage had made that which at first was optional a point of good manners, and consequently of necessity, and I was forced to neglect The Task, to attend upon the Muse who had inspired the subject. But she had ill health, and before I had quite finished the work was obliged to repair to Bristol. Thus, as I told you, my dear, the cause of the many interruptions that I mentioned was removed, and now, except the Bull that I spoke of [Mr. Bull], we seldom have any company at all. After all that I have said upon this matter, you will not completely understand me, perhaps, unless I account for the remainder of the day. I will add, therefore, that having paid my morning visit, I walked; returning from my walk, I dressed: we then met and dined, and parted not till between ten and eleven at night.”

This is Cowper's account of the fracas. The other is by Hayley, and shall be given at full length.

"The year 1784 was a memorable period in the life of the poet, not only as it witnessed the completion of one extensive performance, and the commencement of