any school of
art. His most important relation to any of his predecessors is, in
fact, one of antagonism to the hard glitter of Pope.

In urging her companion to write poetry, Mrs. Unwin was on the right
path, her puritanism led her astray in the choice of a theme. She
suggested _The Progress of Error_ as a subject for a "Moral Satire." It
was unhappily adopted, and _The Progress of Error_ was followed by
_Truth_, _Table Talk_, _Expostulation_, _Hope_, _Charity_,
_Conversation_, and _Retirement_. When the series was published,
_Table Talk_ was put first, being supposed to be the lightest and the
most attractive to an unregenerate world. The judgment passed upon
this set of poems at the time by the _Critical Review_ seems
blasphemous to the fond biographer, and is so devoid of modern
smartness as to be almost interesting as a literary fossil. But it
must be deemed essentially just, though the reviewer errs, as many
reviewers have erred, in measuring the writer's capacity by the
standard of his first performance. "These poems," said the _Critical
Review_, "are written, as we learn from the title-page, by Mr. Cowper
of the Inner Temple, who seems to be a man of a sober and religious
turn of mind, with a benevolent heart, and a serious wish to inculcate
the precepts of morality; he is not, however, possessed of any superior
abilities or the power of genius requisite for so arduous an
undertaking. . . . . He says what is incontrovertible and what has
been said over and over again with much gravity, but says nothing new,
sprightly or entertaining; travelling on a plain level flat road, with
great composure almost through the whole long and tedious volume, which
is little better than a dull sermon in very indifferent verse on Truth,
the Progress of Error, Charity, and some other grave subjects. If this
author had followed the advice given by Caraccioli, and which he has
chosen for one of the mottoes prefixed to these poems, he would have
clothed his indisputable truths in some more becoming disguise, and
rendered his work much more agreeable. In its present shape we cannot
compliment him on its beauty; for as this bard himself sweetly sings:--

"The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear,
Falls soporific on the listless ear."

In justice to the bard it ought to be said that he wrote under the eye
of the Rev. John Newton, to whom the design had been duly submitted,
and who had given his _imprimatur_ in the sha