Gilpin_ that made Cowper
famous. It is not _The Task_ that keeps him famous to-day. There is, it
seems to me, more of the divine fire in any half-dozen of his good letters
than there is in the entire six books of _The Task_. One has only to read
the argument at the top of the third book, called _The Garden_, in order
to see in what a dreary didactic spirit it is written. Here is the
argument in full:

Self-recollection and reproof--Address to domestic happiness--Some
account of myself--The vanity of many of the pursuits which are
accounted wise--Justification of my censures--Divine illumination
necessary to the most expert philosopher--The question, what is
truth? answered by other questions--Domestic happiness addressed
again--Few lovers of the country--My tame hare--Occupations of a
retired gentleman in the
garden--Pruning--Framing--Greenhouse--Sowing of flower-seeds--The
country preferable to the town even in the winter--Reasons why it
is deserted at that season--Ruinous effects of gaming and of
expensive improvement--Book concludes with an apostrophe to the
metropolis.

It is true that, in the intervals of addresses to domestic happiness and
apostrophes to the metropolis, there is plenty of room here for Virgilian
verse if Cowper had had the genius for it. Unfortunately, when he writes
about his garden, he too often writes about it as prosaically as a
contributor to a gardening paper. His description of the making of a hot
frame is merely a blank-verse paraphrase of the commonest prose. First, he
tells us:

The stable yields a stercoraceous heap,
Impregnated with quick fermenting salts,
And potent to resist the freezing blast;
For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf,
Deciduous, when now November dark
Checks vegetation in the torpid plant,
Expos'd to his cold breath, the task begins.
Warily therefore, and with prudent heed
He seeks a favour'd spot; that where he builds
Th' agglomerated pile his frame may front
The sun's meridian disk, and at the back
Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge
Impervious to the wind.

Having further prepared the ground:

Th' uplifted frame, compact at every joint,
And overlaid with clear translucent glass,
He settles next upon the sloping mount,
Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure
From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls.

The writing of blank verse puts the poet to the