more on the things of a common and simple life.

In Young we have the type of that deficient human sympathy, that
impiety toward the present and the visible, which flies for its
motives, its sanctities, and its religion, to the remote, the vague and
unknown: in Cowper we have the type of that genuine love which
cherishes things in proportion to their nearness, and feels its
reverence grow in proportion to the intimacy of its knowledge.

This warm human sympathy is all she cares for in religion.

See how a lovely, sympathetic nature manifests itself in spite of creed
and circumstance! Where is the poem that surpasses the _Task_ in the
genuine love it breathes, at once toward inanimate and animate
existence--in truthfulness of perception and sincerity of
presentation--in the calm gladness that springs from a delight in
objects for their own sake, without self-reference--in divine sympathy
with the lowliest pleasures, with the most shortlived capacity for
pain? Here is no railing at the earth's "melancholy map," but the
happiest lingering over her simplest scenes with all the fond
minuteness that belongs to love; no pompous rhetoric about the
inferiority of the brutes, but a warm plea on their behalf against
man's inconsiderateness and cruelty, and a sense of enlarged happiness
from their companionship in enjoyment; no vague rant about human misery
and human virtue, but that close and vivid presentation of particular
deeds and misdeeds, which is the direct road to the emotions. How
Cowper's exquisite mind falls with the mild warmth of morning sunlight
on the commonest objects, at once disclosing every detail and investing
every detail with beauty! No object is too small to prompt his song--
not the sooty film on the bars, or the spoutless teapot holding a bit
of mignonette that serves to cheer the dingy town lodging with a "hint
that nature lives;" and yet his song is never trivial, for he is alive
to small objects, not because his mind is narrow, but because his
glance is clear and his heart is large.

Her contributions to the _Westminster Review_ indicate that Marian Evans
had read much and well, and that she was possessed of a thoroughly
cultivated mind and much learning. To their preparation she gave herself
diligently, writing slowly, after a careful study of her subject and much
thought devoted to a f