GENERAL	INDEX
	289
	it,	150	;	Influence	of	democracy
	upon,	151	;	introspection	and	feeble-
	ness	of	modern	poetry,	158	;	not	to
	be	pursued	as	a	profession,	193	;
	character	of	profound	poetry,	'252	;
	the	action	of	the	imagination	in,
	318	;	the	quality	of	vividness	of	ex-
	pression	in,	3,	31	;	great	poets	and
	secondary	intellects	distinguished,
	37	;	schools	of	poetry,	38	;	the	office
	of	language	in,	40	;	the	supreme	func-
	tion	of,	171	n	;	the	question	of	pla-
	giarism	in,	299	;	Romanic	tendency
	to	the	scientific	treatment	of,	308	;
	does	not	spring	from	the	Anglo-
	Saxon	nature,	318;	not	made	from
	the	understanding,	311);	the	good
	fortune	of	early	poets,	335	;	artifice
	unsatisfactory,	4,	8	;	its	decline	un-
	der	French	influence,	21	;	uncon-
	ventionality	essential,	22	;	influence
	of	character	in,	2(il	;	its	true	vital-
	ity,	207	;	the	quality	of	nationality
	in,	270	;	description	in,	272	;	its	first
	duty	to	be	delightful,	273;	the	con-
	ception	of,	in	England,	in	lOili	cci>
	tury.	299	;	importance	of	diction	in,
	308	;	the	sensuous	and	the	sensual
	in,	317	;	value	of	abundance	in,	328	;
	the	question	of	matter	and	form,	j
	357	;	the	difference	between	Fact	|
	and	Truth,	384	;	instructs	not	by
	precept,	but	by	suggestion,	6,	110	;
	also,	3,	128.	See	also,	American,
	Anglo	Norman,	Anglo-Saxon,	Eng-
	lish,	French,	German,	Provencal,
	Romance,	Scotch,	Teutonic	poetry	;
	also,	B	illad	poetry	;	Descriptive
	poetry	;	Dramatic	poetry	;	Epic	poe-
	try	;	Moral	poetry	:	Narrative	poe-
	try	;	Pastoral	poetry	;	Philosophical
	poetry;	Religious	poetry;	Roman-
	tic	poetry	;	Sacred	poetry	;	Sonnet	;
	Troubadours	;	Trouveres.
	Emerson's	criticism	of,	1,	354	;	Ba-
	con's	definition	of,	2,	156;	Lessing
	on	the	cultivation	of,	190	;	Dryden
	on	the	end	and	character	of,	3,	155;
	Fauriel	on	prosaic	passages	in,	102	n	;
	Edw.	Phillips	on,	4,	2	;	Voltaire
	makes	Difficulty	a	tenth	Muse,	8;
	Waller	on	care	in	writing,	14	;	Spen-
	ser's	conception	of,	300;	Words-
	worth's	theories	of,	382,	398,	40G	;
	Sir	John	Harrington	on,	409.
	Poetry	and	prose,	18th	century	ideas
	of	their	relation,	1,	240	;	the	dis-
	tinction	between	them,	2,	190,	220	;
	4,	330	;	danger	of	mixing	them,	3,
	144	;	Coleridge's	distinction.	4,
	384.
	Poggetto,	Cardinal,	4,	141.
	Police	in	Rome,	1,	210.
	Polish,	Waller	on,	4,	14.
	Political	dogmas,	their	tendency	to
	become	dead	formulas,	5,	36.
	Political	economy,	humanity	Its	most
	important	element,	6,	35	;	value	of
	the	study,	92	;	study	of,	177.
	Political	eloquence,	American,	5,	49,
	51.
	Political	evils,	the	cure	of,	3,	236.
	Political	machinery,	6,	183.
	Political	meetings,	6,	182.
	Political	office,	the	qualifications	for,
	3,	235.
	Political	parties,	6,	29	;	blind	to	vicious
	methods	employed	for	their	advan-
	tage,	200.	See	also,	Party	govern-
	ment.
	Political	speculations,	possible	value
	of,	3,	198.
	Political	thinker,	Burke	and	Milton,
	4,	81	;	effect	of	abstract	ideas	on,
	85.
	Political	wisdom	of	Burke,	2,	234.
	Politicians,	Steele	on,	3,	284.	Politi-
	cians	and	statesmen,	4,	179	;	not
	leaders	but	followers	of	public	sen-
	timent,	5,	75	;	the	study	of	political
	economy	recommended	to,	6,	183;
	object	to	the	scholar	in	politics,
	190;	call	learned	men	pedants	and
	doctrinaires,	193	;	required	by	the
	sy.-tem	of	party	government,	212;
	engaged	with	the	local	eddies	of
	prejudice,	220.	See	also,	States-
	men.
	Politics,	subordinate	to	poetry,	4,
	373	;	its	deepest	lesson	taught	by	a
	common	danger,	5,	40	;	difficulty	of
	forecasting	events,	125	;	men	taking
	the	pi	ice	of	principles,	132;	the
	qualities	necessary	for	success	in
	state-craft,	183	;	a	rigid	doctrinaire
	an	unsafe	politician,	189	;	success
	obtained	by	skill	in	taking	advan-
	tage	of	circumstances,	189	;	a	sci-
	ence	demanding	serious	application,
	193;	trifling	considerations	to	be
	taken	into	account,	196	;	loyalty	to
	great	ends,	not	obstinacy	in	preju-
	dice	demanded,	190	;	importance	of
	public	opinion,	199	;	6,	34	;	cause
	and	effect	proportionate,	5,	204	;	the
	sense	of	personal	wrong	as	an	in-
	terpreter	of	abstract	principles,	205	;
	equality	not	conferred	by	man,	237	;
	the	danger	of	accepting	an	easy	ex-
	pedient	at	the	sacrifice	of	a	diffi-
	cult	justice,	238	;	a	disproportionate
	value	set	upon	consistency,	200	;	na-
	tional	opinions	move	slowly,	271	;
	the	secret	of	permanent	leadership
	to	know	how	to	be	moderate,	271	;
	homogeneousness	of	laws	and	insti-
	tutions	necessary	to	strength,	281	;
	the	idea	of	government	precedes
	that	of	liberty,	282	;	party	managers,
	285;	parties	as	the	ladders	of	am-
	bitious	men,	293	;	politicians	and
	statesmen,	294	;	advantages	of	a	bold


PROSE	AND	POETRY	339
	avowed	or	disguised,	treating	of	reflective	subjects	of	all	types.
	Certain	periodicals	deal	almost	entirely	with	Humour	and	Satire
	(e.g.	Punch),	fiction	finds	its	place	in	magazines	and	in	short
	stories	in	many	journals.
	Technical	work	has	its	own	special	organs	(e.g.	Nature,	Engineer-
	ing,	The	Lancet\	and	also	finds	a	place	in	both	newspaper	and
	magazine.	The	prose	drama	often	contains	fiction,	history,	and
	humour.
	395.	POETRY	Up	to	the	present	our	consideration	of	the
	English	language	has	been	based	except	where	otherwise
	specified	on	prose	written	by	the	best	authors	of	the	language.
	Prose	necessarily	forms	the	standard	by	which	a	language	must
	be	regulated,	since	poetry	is	not	only	governed	by	special	rules
	but	also	admits	of	many	irregularities	often	included	under	the
	term	"poetic	licence."	Before	proceeding,	therefore,	to	a
	classification	of	poetry,	it	will	be	convenient	to	consider	what
	are	the	special	characteristics	of	poetry	which	distinguish	it	from
	prose,	and	by	what	laws	it	is	governed.
	At	the	outset	we	may	divide	the	characteristics	peculiar	to
	poetry	into	two	main	classes,	according	as	they	pertain	to
	(1)	Form	the	outward	appearance	and	arrangement	of	poetry.
	(2)	Diction	its	words,	constructions,	and	manner.
	We	shall	deal	with	Form	first.
	396.	PROSODY	is	that	part	of	our	subject	which	deals	with	the
	rules	governing	the	form	of	poetry.
	The	beauty	of	poetry	as	a	work	of	art,	apart	from	its	matter,
	depends	on	the	music,	harmony,	or	Rhythm	of	its	language.	It	may
	be	noted	that	the	excellence	of	the	prose	of	our	greatest	writers
	is	due,	to	some	extent,	to	its	effect	on	the	ear.	Hence	rhythm	is
	not	confined	entirely	to	poetry.
	In	poetry,	however,	the	rhythm	must	be	regular.	This	is
	effected	in	English	poetry	by	the	recurrence	of	pauses	and	of
	emphatic	or	accented	syllables	at	regular	intervals.
	Metre	is	the	mechanical	arrangement	of	the	accents	and	pauses
	in	poetry.	It	has	been	called	"rhythm	reduced	to	law."	We
	hall	now	examine	the	metre	of	various	forms	of	poetrv.


PROSE	AND	POETRY	349
	greater	freedom	in	poetry	than	in	prose.	Several	examples
	from	poetry	have	already	been	given	(Chapter	xxx.).
	(6)	Use	of	Ornament.	The	whole	art	of	poetry,	setting	aside
	the	formal	rules	of	metre	which	govern	it,	consists	in	the	beauty
	of	the	"	word-painting,"	as	we	may	style	it.
	409.	POETICAL	PROSE	We	have	considered	in	what
	respects	poetry	differs	from	prose.	We	may	now	ask,	is	there
	any	form	of	composition	that	lies	between	the	two?	There
	certainly	is	a	considerable	and	ever	-	increasing	amount	of
	prosaic	poetry	which	might	well	be	consigned	to	the	flames.
	But	is	there	such	a	thing	as	poetical	prose?	The	answer	is
	in	the	affirmative.	We	have	already	said	that	much	of	the	best
	of	our	prose	is	rhythmical	to	a	certain	extent	(	396).	This	is
	especially	the	case	with	certain	truly	literary	translations	of
	poetry.	Certain	parts	of	the	Bible,	e.g.	The	Psalms,	portions
	of	Isaiah,	the	song	of	Deborah,	the	Song	of	Solomon,	are	truly
	poetical,	although	translated	in	the	form	of	prose,
	410.	CLASSIFICATION	OF	POETRY	It	would	be	pos-
	sible	to	classify	poetry	under	the	same	headings	as	were	adopted
	for	the	classification	of	prose.	Owing,	however,	to	the	different
	nature	of	poetry,	it	will	be	found	more	convenient	to	group
	poems	as:
	I.	Epic,	II.	Drama,	III.	Narrative,	IV.	Satire,	V.	Lyric,	VI.
	Elegy,	VII.	Descriptive	(including	Pastoral),	VIII.	Miscellaneous.
	I.	The	Epic	ranks	with	the	Drama	as	the	highest	of	all	forms
	of	poetry.	The	subject	of	the	Epic	must	be	a	great	and	complex
	action,	historical	or	legendary.	The	heroes	must	be	great	per-
	sons	with	high	ideals,	and	the	style	of	the	poem	must	be	corre-
	spondingly	dignified.	The	poem,	which	is	usually	of	great	length,
	is	developed	by	a	mixture	of	the	dramatic	and	narrative	elements.
	English	possesses	very	few	epics.	One	of	the	very	earliest	of
	English	poems,	Beowulf,	is	an	Epic	;	but	by	far	the	greatest	in
	the	language	is	Milton's	"	Paradise	Lost"
	II.	The	Drama	is	a	form	of	poetry	dealing	with	action.	In	it
	*	story	of	some	sort	is	worked	out	by	means	of	a	series	of	COD-


Of	Philosophy	in	the	Poets.
	power	of	a	single	man.	I	propose,	therefore,	to
	come	home,	and	to	confine	myself	to	what	relative
	material	we	possess	in	England.	But	here,	too,	the
	compass	is	enormous	;	and	still	further	limitation
	seems	simply	de	rigueur.
	Now,	it	needs	but	a	glance	to	discover	that	Eng
	lish	poetry,	in	the	first	place,	falls	into	three	great
	periods.	There	is	a	period	of,	so	far,	homogeneous
	poetry	down	to	and	inclusive	of	Milton	;	following
	whom,	we	may	say,	there	is	a	second	period,	from
	Dryden	and	Pope	down	to	Cowper	;	and,	lastly,	there
	is	a	third	period,	from	Scott	and	Wordsworth	down
	to	Browning	and	Tennyson.	These	are	well-marked
	periods	;	and	each,	for	its	part,	has	largely,	or	on	the
	whole,	a	quality	of	its	own.	The	poetry	of	the
	first	period,	with	the	kings	in	it	Chaucer,	Spenser,
	Shakespeare,	Milton	is	undoubtedly	to	be	hailed
	as	what	poetry	should	be,	true	poetry,	genuine
	poetry,	the	poetry	of	nature	and	the	soul	;	and	it
	will	always	be	interesting	to	inquire	into	the	causes,
	historical	or	other,	that	could	have	led	such	poetry
	the	poetry,	as	I	say,	of	nature	and	the	soul	to
	have	been	followed	by	a	poetry	so	unlike	itself	as	the
	Queen	Anne	poetry	of	society	and	wit.	The	mighty
	resumption	of	nature	and	the	soul	by	the	poets	that
	directly	preceded	Tennyson	that	is	a	much	more


450
	THE	ENGLISH	ESSAYISTS.
	usages	of	private	life,	and	modes	of	thinking,	all
	have	undergone	a	succession	of	revolutions.	Every
	thing	has	passed	away	but	the	great	features	of
	nature,	and	the	heart	of	man,	and	the	miracles
	of	that	art	of	which	it	is	the	office	to	reflect
	back	the	heart	of	man	and	the	features	of	nature.
	Those	two	strange	old	poems,	the	wonder	of
	ninety	generations,	still	retain	all	their	fresh
	ness.	They	still	command	the	veneration	of
	minds	enriched	by	the	literature	of	many	na
	tions	and	ages.	They	are	still,	even	in	wretched
	translations,	the	delight	of	schoolboys.	Having
	survived	ten	thousand	capricious	fashions,	hav
	ing	seen	successive	codes	of	criticism	become
	obsolete,	they	still	remain	immortal	with	the
	immortality	of	truth	the	same	when	perused
	in	the	study	of	an	English	scholar	as	when	they
	were	first	chanted	at	the	banquets	of	the	Ionian
	princes.
	Poetry	is,	as	that	most	acute	of	human	beings
	Aristotle	said	more	than	two	thousand	years
	ago,	imitation.	It	is	an	art	analogous	in	many
	respects	to	the	arts	of	painting,	sculpture,	and
	acting.	The	imitations	of	the	painter,	the
	sculptor,	and	the	actor,	are,	indeed,	within	cer
	tain	limits,	more	perfect	than	those	of	the	poet.
	The	machinery	which	the	poet	employs	consists
	merely	of	words	;	and	words	cannot,	even	when
	employed	by	such	an	artist	as	Homer	or	Dante,
	present	to	the	mind	images	of	visible	objects
	quite	so	lively	and	exact	as	those	which	we
	carry	away	from	looking	on	the	works	of	the
	brush	and	the	chisel.	But,	on	the	other	hand,
	the	range	of	poetry	is	infinitely	wider	than	that
	of	any	other	imitative	art,	or	than	that	of	all
	the	other	imitative	arts	together.	The	sculptor
	can	imitate	only	form;	the	painter	only	form
	and	colour	;	the	actor,	until	the	poet	supplies
	him	with	words,	only	form,	colour,	and	motion.
	Poetry	holds	the	outer	world	in	common	with
	the	other	arts.	The	heart	of	man	is	the	pro
	vince	of	poetry,	and	of	poetry	alone.	The
	painter,	the	sculptor,	and	the	actor,	when	the
	actor	is	unassisted	by	the	poet,	can	exhibit	no
	more	of	human	passion	and	character	than	that
	small	portion	which	overflows	into	the	gesture
	and	the	face	always	an	imperfect,	often	a
	deceitful	sign	of	that	which	is	within.	The
	deeper	and	more	complex	parts	of	human	nature
	can	be	exhibited	by	means	of	words	alone.
	Thus	the	objects	of	the	imitation	of	poetry	are
	the	whole	external	and	the	whole	internal	uni
	verse,	the	face	of	nature,	the	vicissitudes	of
	fortune,	man	as	he	is	in	himself,	man	as	he
	appears	in	society,	all	things	of	which	we	can
	form	an	image	in	our	minds	by	combining	to
	gether	parts	of	things	which	really	exist.	The
	domain	of	this	imperial	art	is	commensurate
	with	the	imaginative	faculty.
	An	art	essentially	imitative	ought	not	surely
	to	be	subjected	to	rules	which	tend	to	make	its
	imitations	less	perfect	than	they	otherwise	would
	be;	and	those	who	obey	such	rules	ought	to	be
	called,	not	correct,	but	incorrect,	artists.	The
	true	way	to	judge	of	the	rules	by	which	English
	poetry	was	governed	during	the	last	century	is
	to	look	at	the	effects	which	they	produced.
	It	was	in	1780	that	Johnson	completed	his
	"	Lives	of	the	Poets."	He	tells	us	in	that	work
	that,	since	the	time	of	Dryden,	English	poetry
	had	shown	no	tendency	to	relapse	into	its
	general	savageness,	that	its	language	had	been
	refined,	its	numbers	tuned,	and	its	sentiments
	improved.	It	may,	perhaps,	be	doubted	whether
	the	nation	had	any	great	reason	to	exult	in	the
	refinements	and	improvements	which	gave	it
	"Douglas"	for	"Othello,"	and	the	"Triumphs
	of	Temper"	for	the	"Fairy	Queen."
	It	was	during	the	thirty	years	which	preceded
	the	appearance	of	Johnson's	"Lives"	that	the
	diction	and	versification	of	English	poetry	were,
	in	the	sense	in	which	the	word	is	commonly
	used,	most	correct.	Those	thirty	years	form
	the	most	deplorable	part	of	our	literary	history.
	They	have	bequeathed	to	us	scarcely	any	poetry
	which	deserves	to	be	remembered.	Two	or	three
	hundred	lines	of	Gray,	twice	as	many	of	Gold
	smith,	a	few	stanzas	of	Beattie	and	Collins,	a
	few	strophes	of	Mason,	and	a	few	clever	pro
	logues	and	satires,	were	the	masterpieces	of	this
	age	of	consummate	excellence.	They	may	all
	be	printed	in	one	volume,	and	that	volume	would
	be	by	no	means	a	volume	of	extraordinary	merit.
	It	would	contain	no	poetry	of	the	very	highest
	class,	and	little	which	could	be	placed	very	high
	in	the	second	class.	The	"	Paradise	Eegained"
	or	"Comus"	would	outweigh	it	all.
	At	last,	when	poetry	had	fallen	into	such	utter
	decay	that	Mr	Hayley	was	thought	a	great	poet,
	it	began	to	appear	that	the	excess	of	the	evil
	was	about	to	work	the	cure.	Men	became	tired
	of	an	insipid	conformity	to	a	standard	which
	derived	no	authority	from	nature	or	reason.	A
	shallow	criticism	had	taught	them	to	ascribe	a
	superstitious	value	to	the	spurious	correctness
	of	poetasters.	A	deeper	criticism	brought	them
	back	to	the	true	correctness	of	the	first	great
	masters.	The	eternal	laws	of	poetry	regained
	their	power,	and	the	temporary	fashions	which
	had	superseded	those	laws	went	after	the	wig	of
	Lovelace	and	the	hoop	of	Clarissa.
	It	was	in	a	cold	and	barren	season	that	the
	seeds	of	that	rich	harvest	which	we	have	reaped
	were	first	sown.	While	poetry	was	every	year
	becoming	more	feeble	and	more	mechanical
	while	the	monotonous	versification	which	Pope
	had	introduced,	no	longer	redeemed	by	his
	brilliant	wit	and	his	compactness	of	expression,
	palled	on	the	ear	of	the	public	the	great	works
	of	the	dead	were	every	day	attracting	more	and
	more	of	the	admiration	which	they	deserved.
	The	plays	of	Shakespeare	were	better	acted,
	better	edited,	and	better	known	than	they	had
	ever	been.	Our	noble	old	ballads	were	again
	read	with	pleasure,	and	it	became	a	fashion	to
	imitate	them.	Many	of	the	imitations	were


224	WORKS	OF	PLOTINOS	[13
	BY	ITS	POWER,	THE	ONE	IS	EVERYWHERE.
	4.	How	does	manifoldness	issue	from	Unity?	Unity
	is	everywhere;	for	there	is	no	place	where	it	is	not;
	therefore	it	fills	everything.	By	Him	exists	manifold-
	ness;	or	rather,	it	is	by	Him	that	all	things	exist.	If	the
	One	were	only	everywhere,	He	would	simply	be	all
	things;	but,	as,	besides,	He	is	nowhere,	all	things	exist
	by	Him,	because	He	is	everywhere;	but	simultaneously
	all	things	are	distinct	from	Him,	because	He	is	nowhere.
	Why	then	is	Unity	not	only	everywhere,	but	also	no
	where?	The	reason	is,	that	Unity	must	be	above	all
	things,	He	must	fill	everything,	and	produce	every
	thing,	without	being	all	that	He	produces.
	THE	SOUL	RECEIVES	HER	FORM	FROM
	INTELLIGENCE.
	5.	The	soul	s	relation	to	intelligence	is	the	same
	as	that	of	sight	to	the	visible	object;	but	it	is	the	inde
	terminate	sight	which,	before	seeing,	is	nevertheless
	disposed	to	see	and	think;	that	is	why	the	soul	bears
	to	intelligence	the	relation	of	matter	to	form.
	WE	THINK	AN	INTELLECTUAL	NATURE	BY
	THINKING	OURSELVES.
	6.	When	we	think,	and	think	ourselves,	we	see	a
	thinking	nature;	otherwise,	we	would	be	dupes	of	an
	illusion	in	believing	we	were	thinking.	Consequently,
	if	we	think	ourselves,	we	are,	by	thinking	ourselves,
	thinking	an	intellectual	nature.	This	thought	presup
	poses	an	anterior	thought	which	implies	no	movement.
	Now,	as	the	objects	of	thought	are	being	and	life,	there
	must	be,	anterior	to	this	being,	another	being;	and
	anterior	to	this	life,	another	life.	This	is	well-known
	to	all	who	are	actualized	intelligences.	If	the	intelli
	gences	be	actualizations	which	consist	in	thinking
	themselves,	we	ourselves	are	the	intelligible	by	the	real


Notice	ofHazlitfs	Lectures	on	EnglisK	Poetry.
	5,56
	turtle	and	venison,	punch	and	chara-
	^paigne,	let	him	adhere	invariably	to
	bread	and	water.	On	these	principles,
	as	I	am	by	nature	the	most	indolent
	f	all	beings,	and	could	luxuriate	in
	absolute	quietism	from	one	year's	end
	to	the	other,	I	resolved	to	become	a
	"	Jumper."	The	method	of	practice
	I	proposed	to	myself	was,	to	jump
	violently	two	or	three	dozen	times	in
	succession,	(accompanying	this	exer-
	cise	with	loud	and	deep	intonations	of
	voice)	then	to	stop,	take	out	pen,	ink,
	and	paper,	and	write	down	a	couplet
	or	stanza.	In	this	way	I	have	already
	finished	a	poetical	romance	in	ten
	books,	besides	minor	pieces	without
	number.	At	first,	I	practised	in	my
	own	library	;	but	the	neighbours	be-
	gan	to	complain	of	violent	and	most
	unaccountable	noises	;	besides,	I	broke
	several	chairs	and	a	table,	and	bruised
	myself	very	much	by	some	severe	falls.
	I	then	tried	to	study	in	the	garden
	which	is	behind	the	house	in	which	I
	reside.	But	a	party	of	ladies	in	a
	neighbouring	balcony	interrupted	my
	progress,	at	first	by	sounds	of	merri-
	ment	imperfect	and	suppressed,	but
	soon	afterwards	with	screams	of	undis-
	guised	laughter.	Some	young	gentle-
	men	also	were	in	a	short	time	added
	to	the	party,	who	joined	in	with	clap-
	ping	of	hands,	and	cries	of	"	bravo	!"
	Disgusted	by	these	illiterate	and	sense-
	less	observers,	(among	whom,	I	am
	sorry	to	say,	was	a	young	lady	of	de-
	cided	beauty,	in	whom	such	conduct
	seemed	to	me	quite	inexcusable)	I	was
	at	last	compelled	to	leave	the	"	haunts
	of	men"	altogether,	and	betake	myself
	to	the	wild	and	lonely	vale	(vulgarly
	called	the	"	Hunter's	Bog")	between
	Arthur's	Seat	and	Salisbury	Craig.
	'Here	I	have	continued	to	prosecute
	my	studies	through	this	winter	with-
	out	molestation.	I	am	surprised	(by
	the	way)	at	your	correspondent	Z.'s
	insensibility	to	the	merit	of	Mr	Leigh
	Hunt's	versification.	To	me	it	seems
	excellent;	and	I	doubt	not	you	will
	perceive	in	my	double	endings	and
	other	irregularities,	a	great	resem-
	blance	to	"	Rimini."	But	remember
	this	is	not	an	effect	of	imitation,	but	a
	genuine	result	of	my	own	peculiar	sys-
	tem.	I	therefore	hereby	give	public
	notice,	that	I	am	the	founder	of	a	new
	School	of	Poetry,	wholly	distinct	from
	the	Romantic	School,	the	Eastern
	School,	the	Lake	School,	and	the
	Cockney	School.	I	am	the	HEAD	of
	CFeb.
	the	Jumping	School,	and	have	already
	caused	twenty-five	gold	and	silver	me*
	dais	to	be	struck	off,	with	the	figure
	of	a	e	'	Jumper"	in	the	act	of	compo-
	sition	on	one	side,	and	a	Greek	in-
	scription	on	the	other.	These	I	shall
	hereafter	distribute	among	my	follow-
	ers,	whom	I	limit	to	twenty-five,	for
	no	other	reason	than	because	I	will
	it,	just	as	the	first	writer	of	a	sonnet
	willed	it	to	be	fourteen	lines.	You
	will	receive	inclosed	a	large	packet	of
	minor	poems,	which	I	request	you	will
	insert	from	time	to	time,	and	am	;
	yours,	c.	H.	R.	M.
	NOTICE	OF	A	COURSE	OF	LECTURES	ON
	ENGLISH	POETRY,	NOW	DELIVER-
	ING	AT	THE	SURREY	INSTITUTION,
	LONDON,	BY	W.	HAZLITT,	ESQ.
	N0	L
	Lecture	First.	On	Poetry	in	general.
	THE	lecture	commenced	by	defining
	poetry	to	be	the	natural	impression	of
	any	object	or	feeling,	which,	by	its	vi-
	vidness,	excites	a	voluntary	movement
	of	imagination	or	passion,	and	produces,
	by	sympathy,	a	certain	nijodulatioji	of
	voice	or	sound	expressing	it.	In	treat-
	ing	of	poetry,	he	proposed	to	speak,
	first,	of	the	subject	matter	of	it,	next,
	of	the	forms	of	expression	to	which	it
	gives	birth,	and	lastly,	of	its	con-
	nexion	with	harmony	of	sound.	Po-
	etry,	he	continued,	relates	to	whatever
	gives	iminediate	pleasure	or	pain	to
	the	human	mind.	It	is	not	a	mere
	frivolous	accomplishment,	the	trifling
	amusement	of	a	few	idle	readers,	or
	leisure	hours,-:-it	has	been	the	study
	and	delight	of	mankind	in	all	ages.
	He	who	has	a	contempt	for	poetry,
	cannot	have	much	respect	for	himself
	or	any	thing	else.	Poetry	is	to	be
	found	every	where.	Wherever	there
	is	a	sense	of	beauty,	or	power,	or	har-
	mony,	there	is	Poetry.	The	materials
	of	poetry	lie	deeper	even	jthan	those	of
	history.	This	latter	treats	only	of	the
	external	forms	and	appearances	of
	things,	but	poetry	is	the	very	sub-
	stance	of	which	our	being	is	made.
	The	passions	and	affections	of	the	hur
	man	mind,	whether	good	or	bad,	are
	all	poetry.	Mr	Hazlitt	went	on	fo
	give	instances	of	the	truth	of	these	po-
	sitions,	and	continued,	if	poetry	is	a


1818.]
	Notice	of	Hazlitt's	Lectures	on	English	Poetry.
	dream,	the	business	of	life	is	much	the
	same.	Poetry,	though	an	imitation	of
	nature,	is	not	a	mere	description	of
	natural	objects	or	feelings	these,	to
	become	poetry,	must	be	heightened	by
	the	imagination.	The	light	of	poetry,
	while	it	shows	us	the	object	on	which
	it	falls,	throws	a	radiance	on	all	around
	it.	It	suggests	forms	and	feelings,
	chiefly	as	they	suggest	other	forms	and
	feelings.	The	poetical	impression	of
	any	object	is,	that	uneasy,	exquisite
	sense	of	beauty	or	power,	that	cannot
	be	contained	within	itself,	that	strives
	to	link	itself	to	some	other	object	of
	kindred	beauty	or	grandeur	;	to	en-
	shrine	itself	in	the	highest	forms	of
	fancy,	and	to	relieve	the	aching	sense
	of	pleasure	or	pain,	by	endeavouring	to
	express	it	in	the	boldest	manner,	and
	by	the	most	striking	examples	of	the
	same	quality	in	other	instances.	Po-
	etry	is	the	language	of	the	imagina-
	tion,	and	the	imagination	is	that	facul-
	ty	which	represents	objects,	not	as
	they	are	in	themselves,	but	as	they	are
	moulded	by	our	thoughts	and	feelings.
	This	language	is,	therefore,	not	the
	less	true	to	nature	because	it	is	false
	in	point	of	fact;	but	so	much	the
	more	true	and	natural,	if	it	conveys
	the	impression	which	the	object,	under
	the	influence	of	passion,	makes	upon
	the	mind.	For	example,	the	imagina-
	tion	will	distort	or	magnify	any	object
	presented	to	the	senses,	when	under
	the	influence	of	fear,	and	convert	it
	into	the	resemblance	of	whatever	is
	most	likely	to	encourage	the	fear.
	Here	followed	numerous	and	striking
	illustrations	of	some	of	the	foregoing
	positions.	Poetry,	continued	the	lec-
	turer,	is	the	highest	eloquence	of	fan-
	cy	and	feeling.	As,	in	describing	nat-
	ural	objects,	it	gives	to	sensible	im-
	pressions	the	forms	of	fancy,	so	it	de-
	scribes	the	feelings	of	pleasure	or	pain,
	by	blending	them	with	the	movements
	of	passion	and	the	forms	of	nature.
	Impassioned	poetry	is	an	emanation	of
	the	intellectual	part	of	our	nature,	as
	well	as	the	sensitive	of	the	desire	to
	know,	the	will	to	act,	and	the	power
	to	feel	;	and	in	order	to	be	perfect,
	ought	to	appeal	to	all	these.	It	is	for
	this	reason	that	the	domestic	tragedies
	of	Moore	and	Lillo	are	less	natural
	than	those	of	Shakspeare	for	they	ap-
	peal	to	the	sensibility	only.	The	plea-
	sure	derived	from	tragic	poetry,	how-
	ever,	springs	from	our	love	of	strong
	excitement	for	objects	of	terror	or
	Vol.	II,
	537
	pity	hold	the	same	controul	over	the
	mind	as	those	of	love	or	beauty.	Po-
	etry	is	the	highest	eloquence	of	pas-
	sion,	the	most	vivid	form	of	expression
	that	can	be	given	to	our	impression	of
	any	thing,	whether	pleasurable	or	pain-
	ful,	whether	mean	or	dignified.	It	is
	the	perfect	coincidence	of	the	word	and
	thought,	with	that	which	we	wish	to
	express.
	Poetry,	then,	being	the	language	of
	imagination	and	passion)	of	fancy	and
	will,	it	is	absurd	to	attempt	to	reduce
	the	language	of	poetry	to	the	standard
	of	common	sense	and	reason.	The
	impressions	of	passion	and	of	indiffer-
	ence	can	never	be	the	same,	therefore
	they	can	never	be	expressed	by	the
	same	language.
	After	numerous	illustrations,	Mr
	Hazlitt	observed,	"	that	the	progress
	of	knowledge	has	undoubtedly	a	ten-
	dency	to	narrow	the	limits	of	the	ima-
	gination,	and	clip	the	wings	of	poetry	j
	for	the	province	of	the	imagination	is
	the	unknown	and	undefined.	The
	progress	of	experimental	philosophy
	has	driven	the	heavens	farther	ofl^	and
	made	them	astronomical	so	that	there
	can	never	be	another	Jacob's	dream."
	Mr	Hazlitt	went	on	to	describe	the
	operations	of	fancy	and	imagination	on
	the	unknown	and	the	undefined,	and
	the	effects	which	knowledge	and	civi-
	lization	have	produced	on	these	opera-
	tions	;	and	then	drew	a	parallel	be-
	tween	poetry	and	painting,	in	which
	he	described	the	former	as	much	more
	poetical	than	the	latter,	because	it	gives
	much	more	scope	to	the	powers	of	the
	imagination	and	incidentally	spoke	of
	the	Greek	statues,	as	seeming,	by	their
	beauty,	to	be	raised	above	the	frailties
	of	our	nature,	and	therefore	not	claim-
	ing	our	sympathy.
	The	subject	matter	of	poetry	Mr
	Hazlitt	described	to	be,	natural	ima-
	gery	or	feeling,	combined	with	passion
	and	fancy	;	and	its	mode	of	convey-
	ance,	the	ordinary	use	of	language
	combined	with	musical	expression.
	He	then	entered,	at	some	length,	into
	the	question,	whether	verse	be	essential
	to	poetry	?	and	named	the	Pilgrim's
	Progress,	Robinson	Crusoe,	and	Boc-
	cacio's	Tales,	as	the	three	works	com-
	ing	the	nearest	to	poetry	without	be-
	ing	so.	They	are	in	fact	poetry	in
	kind,	and	worthy	to	become	so	in
	name,	by	being	"	married	to	immortal
	verse."	Mr	Hazlitt	gave	examples
	from	these	works,	and	then	spoke	*f
	4	C


116	MOSSES	FROM	AN	OLD	MANSE.
	his	conversation,	especially	when	warmed	by	a	flask	or
	two	of	Tuscan	wine.	Giovanni,	conceiving	that	men
	of	science,	inhabitants	of	the	same	city,	must	needs	be
	on	familiar	terms	with	one	another,	took	an	opportu
	nity	to	mention	the	name	of	Dr.	Rappaccini.	But	the
	professor	did	not	respond	with	so	much	cordiality	as
	he	had	anticipated.
	"Ill	would	it	become	a	teacher	of	the	divine	art	of
	medicine,"	said	Professor	Pietro	Baglioni,	in	answer
	to	a	question	of	Giovanni,	"	to	withhold	due	and	well-
	considered	praise	of	a	physician	so	eminently	skilled
	as	Rappaccini	;	but,	on	the	other	hand,	I	should	an
	swer	it	but	scantily	to	my	conscience	were	I	to	permit
	a	worthy	youth	like	yourself,	Signor	Giovanni,	the	son
	of	an	ancient	friend,	to	imbibe	erroneous	ideas	respect
	ing	a	man	who	might	hereafter	chance	to	hold	your
	life	and	death	in	his	hands.	The	truth	is,	our	wor
	shipful	Dr.	Rappaccini	has	as	much	science	as	any
	member	of	the	faculty	with	perhaps	one	single	ex
	ception	in	Padua,	or	all	Italy	;	but	there	are	certain
	grave	objections	to	his	professional	character."
	"	And	what	are	they	?	"	asked	the	young	man.
	"	Has	my	friend	Giovanni	any	disease	of	body	or
	heart,	that	he	is	so	inquisitive	about	physicians	?	"	said
	the	professor,	with	a	smile.	"	But	as	for	Rappaccini,
	it	is	said	of	him	and	I,	who	know	the	man	well,
	can	answer	for	its	truth	that	he	cares	infinitely	more
	for	science	than	for	mankind.	His	patients	are	inter
	esting	to	him	only	as	subjects	for	some	new	experi
	ment.	He	would	sacrifice	human	life,	his	own	among
	the	rest,	or	whatever	else	was	dearest	to	him,	for	the
	Bake	of	adding	so	much	as	a	grain	of	mustard	seed	to
	the	great	heap	of	his	accumulated	knowledge."
	"	Methinks	he	is	an	awful	man	indeed,"	remarked


FOREWOKDS.
	THE	Ancient	Cookeries	edited	in	this	volume	have	been	copied	from
	Harleian	MSS.	279	and	4016,	in	the	British	Museum.	The	first
	MS.	was	copied,	and	partly	prepared	for	the	press,	by	the	late	Mr.
	Faulke	Watling,	of	the	University	of	Oxford,	but	his	untimely
	death	prevented	his	seeing	it	through	the	Press.	This	MS.	is
	divided	into	three	Parts,	the	first,	headed	Kalendare	de	Potages	dyuers,
	containing	153	recipes	:	the	second	Part,	Kalendare	de	Leche	Metys,
	has	64	recipes,	and	the	third	Part,	Dyuerse	bake	metis,	41	recipes.
	This	MS.,	besides	the	Cookery,	contains	the	Bills	of	Fare	of	several
	Banquets	which	are	noticed	more	fully	below.	The	date	of	this	MS.
	is	about	1430	or	1440,	and	has	been	given	a	little	too	early	on	pages
	1	and	5.	This	has	been	collated	with	Ashmole	MS.	1439,	in	the
	Bodleian,	noted	as	A.	in	the	text.	For	the	second	MS.	it	was	origi
	nally	intended	to	publish	Douce	MS.	55,	in	the	Bodleian	Library,
	but	this	was	found	imperfect,	and	was	replaced	by	Harleian	MS.
	4016.	They	are	similar	books,	and	contain	the	same	recipes	in
	nearly	the	same	words,	the	latter	having	a	few	that	are	not	in	the
	former,	and	vice	versa.	The	Harleian	Cookery	has	182	Recipes,
	while	the	Douce	Cookery	has	184.	The	two	have	been	collated,	and
	are	of	about	the	same	date,	c.	1450.	Two	Banquets	are	prefixed	to
	this	MS.,	which	are	also	more	fully	noticed	below.	Several	of	the
	recipes	of	the	Douce	MS.	are	appended	at	page	115.
	Some	recipes	for	sauces,	taken	from	Ashmole	MS.	1439,	are	given
	at	page	108.	This	MS.	is	about	the	same	date	as	Harleian	MS.	279,
	and	has	the	same	Feasts	added,	though	some	of	the	leaves	are	missing.
	These	recipes	are	followed	by	others	taken	from	two	odd	leaves	in
	Laud	MS.	553,	in	the	Bodleian	Library	;	see	page	112.
	The	first	English	Cookery	Book	seems	to	be	that	of	Neckarn,	in


GLOSSARY	AND	INDEX.
	127
	Cyuele,	113.
	Cyuey,	cyvey,	49	;	Conyng,	Maw-
	*lard,	in	gely	or	in	cyuey,	14,	see
	NAPIER,	p.	79,	"	Cony	or	malard	in
	cevy,"	WARNER	II.	No.	51,	"Mallard
	in	cyuey	"	;	Harys	in	Cyueye,	18,
	Tenche	in	c.,	23,	see	NAPIER,	p.	80,
	Conyngys	in	cyueye,	20.	Mod.	Fr.
	Civet	or	Give'.	Stew	with	chives.
	Dace,	20.
	Darioles,	53,	Dariolles,	75	;	Daryoles,
	47,	55,	56	;	see	Douce	MS.,	No.	71,
	L.C.C.,	p.	38,	"Darials,"	F.	of	C.,
	No.	183,	"	Daryols"	NAPIER,	p.	56,
	"	Daryolites"	WARNER,	p.	66,	"	Da-
	ryalys."	See	COTGR.,	"	Darioles,
	Small	pasties	filled	with	flesh,	hearbes,
	and	spices,	mingled	and	mixed	to
	gether."
	Dates,	sb.,	33,	88,	94	;	Datis,	24,	53	;
	Datys,	12,	15,	16,	19,	D.	in	comfy	te,
	63.
	Defaute,	sb.,	of	def.,	22,	in	def.,	29	;
	in	defawte,	20,	for	d.,	41.	Default.
	Degre,	sb.,	36.	Degree;	pitch	(of
	colour).
	Del,	Dele,	sb.,	21,	to	del	jolkys	of
	eyron,	21	;	A	gode	dele	Salt,	15,	i.e.
	of	Salt.	Deal	;	portion.
	Departe,	vb.t.,	21	;	Gely	Departed,
	69,	compare	the	Kecipe	on	p.	31	;
	Departyd,	31.	Depart	;	part	into
	shares	;	split.
	Dewte,	vb.t.,	43.
	Deye,	sb.,	36,	37,	56.	Dairy-maid:
	see	CHAUCER.
	Deye,	vb.,	52.	Die.
	Dise,	vb.t.,	69.	Dice	;	cut	into	Dice.
	Disshful,	112.
	Disson,	sb.,	67.	Dozen.
	Diteyne,	110.	Dittany.
	Diting,	sb.,	105.	Dighting;	prepara
	tion.
	Do,	vb.t.,	do	away,	10;	Do	aboue,
	put	above,	112	;	Do	it	in	a	faire
	vessel,	Put	it	in,	112	;	Do	fer-to,
	Add	thereto,	13,	14,	110,	112;	Do
	medle,	Make	meddle,	or	mix,	82	;
	Don,	10,	Done,	do.
	Doble,	vb.t.,	39.	Double;	fold	over.
	Doderellys,	61,	Dotterels.
	Dogfr,	73,	Dough	:	see	Dow.
	Doke,	64,	Duck.
	Dore,	vb.t.,	38,	40.	Glaze;	compare
	next	word,	and	Endore.	.
	Dorre,	Soppes,	90,	Soupes	dorrees,
	114,	Soupes	Dorroy,	11,	Soupes
	dorye,	11	;	i.e.	Sops	endored,	or
	glazed	with	almond	milk.	Dorry,	sb.,
	11.	See	Endore.
	Doucete,	adj.,	33	;	Dowcet,	7,	29,	30.
	Fr.	Doucet,	sweetish.
	Doucete^,	50;	Doucettes,	55,	D.	a-
	forcyd,	55	;	Doucetys,	64	;	Doucettys
	4	;	Dowcet	Ryal,	62,	Dowcetys,	55	:
	"	Doucet	;	A	lytell	flawne,"	PALS
	GRAVE.	Cheesecake.
	Douuft,	adv.,	7.	Down.
	Doust,	sb.,	112;	Douste,	110,	113.
	Dust.
	Dow,	1	sb.,	42,	43,	stronge	Dow,	49.
	Dough.
	Draf,	sb.,	22;	of	Almaundys,	16.
	Draft	7	;	refuse.
	Dragge,	sb.,	11.	Dredge.
	Draw,	vb.t.,	7,	8,	Draw	vp,	7,	Strain	;
	Draw	]?orw	straynowre,	5,	8,	9,	Draw
	uppe	J?orw	strayn.,	20	;	draue,	106.
	Drawe,	vb.t.,	9.	Draw;	eviscerate.
	Drawyd,	adj.,	5.	Drawn	(through
	strainer).
	Drawyn	grwel,	10,	see	Douce	MS.,
	No.	33	:	A.	reads	here	"	Brawne
	gruelle."	Drawyn	Eyroun,	42,	44.
	Drawn	(through	strainer).
	Dregge,	sb.,	99;	Dragge,	11.	Dredge.
	Dresse,	vb.t.,	d.	forth,	13,	yn,	14;
	Dressyst	yn,	15.	Dress	;	serve	in	to
	table.
	Dressing	knyfe,	93	:	see	Dressoure
	knyf.
	Dressoure,	sb.,	24,	28,	30,	31,	34,
	Dresser	:	Dressoure	knyf,	53,	Dresser
	knife,	apparently	knife	for	trimming
	meat	for	the	table	;	called	Dressing
	knyfe	in	Douce	MS.,	and	above.
	Dropey,	2	;	Chykons	in	dropeye,	30	;
	see	F.	of	C.,	No.	19,	"	Drepee,"	which
	is	the	recipe	for	the	sauce.
	Dropping,	sb.,	77,	99.	Dripping.
	Drow	in	Sonne,	38,	Dry	in	sun.


Account	of	Mackenzie's	System	of	the	Weather.
	COct,
	86
	ing	themselves	in	groups.	The	na-	In	the	preceding	scale,	the	number
	ture	of	this	progression	will	be	under-	of	the	series	of	excesses	and	deficien-
	stood	from	the	annexed	table.,	consist-	cies	of	both	winds	is	exactly	equal,
	ing	of	three	columns.	The	first	column
	contains	the	Years	of	Observation,	the
	first	of	which	commenced	in	1802-3,
	or	on	the	1st	November	1802.	The
	second	column	contains	the	Excesses
	and	Deficiencies	of	the	west	wind,	and
	the	third	the	Excesses	and	Deficiencies
	of	the	east	wind.	Upon	comparing
	these	E's	and	D's,	it	appears,	that	in	the
	east	wind	column	the	Excesses	are
	grouped	in	the	following	manner,	EEE,
	EE,	E,	and	the	Deficiencies,	which	are
	interposed	between	them	in	the	fol-
	lowing	manner,	viz.	D,	DD,	DDD,
	DDDD.	In	the	west	wind	column	the
	progression	is	E,	EEEE,	EEE,	EE,
	and	DD,	D,	DDD.	Now	it	is	a	very
	remarkable	fact,	that	by	following	out
	these	progressions	the	series	returns
	into	itself	in	54	years,	forming	a	per-
	fect	cycle.*
	FORM	OF	THE	SYSTEM.
	WIND.
	Year.	Wesi.East.
	1.	...	E.	D.
	WIXD.
	Year.	West.	East.
	28.	...~1T	D.
	2.	...	D.	E.
	3.	...	D.	E.
	4.	...	E.	E.
	5.	...	E.	D.
	6.	...	E.	D.
	7.	...	E.	E.
	8.	...	D.	E.
	9.	...	E.	D.
	10.	...	E.	D.
	11.	...	E.	D.
	12.	...	D.	ET
	13.	...	D.	~Dl
	14.	...	D.	D.
	15.	...	ET	D.
	16.	...	E.	D.
	29.	...	E.	E.
	30.	.:.	E.	E.
	31.	...	D.	E.
	32.	...	D.	D.
	33.	...	E.	D
	34.	...	E.	D.
	35.	...	D.	D.
	36.	...	E.	E.
	37.	...	D.	E.
	38.	...	D.	D.
	39.	..	D.	E.
	40.	...	E.	D.
	41.	...	E.	D.
	42.	...	E.	E.
	43.	...	E.	E.
	44.	...	D.	E.
	45.	...	D.	D.
	46.	...	E.	D.
	47.	...	E.	D.
	48.	...	E.	E.
	49.	...	D.	E.
	50.	...	E.	D.
	51.	...	E.	D.
	52.	...~D:	D.
	53.	...	D.	D.
	54.	...	D.	E.
	IT.	...	D.	E.
	18.	...	D.	E.
	19.	...	E.	E.
	20.	...	D.	D.
	21.	...	E.	E.
	22.	...	E.	E.
	23.	...	E.	"57
	24.	...	E.	D.
	25.	...	D.	E.
	26.	...	D.	D.
	27.	...	D.	D.
	By	this	systematic	arrangement,	the	55th
	year	is	the	same	with	the	first,	and	the	56th
	the	same	with	the	second,	and	so	on.
	*	It	is	singular,	that	this	period	of	54
	years	should	be	thrice	the	Chaldaic	period
	of	eclipses	of	18	years	11	days.
	viz-	24	groups	of	each	;	but	if	we
	reckon	them	individually,	we	shall
	find,	that	the	excesses	east	are	24,	and
	the	excesses	west	30	;	and	that	the	defi-
	ciencies	east	are	30,	while	the	deficien-*
	cies	west	are	only	24.	Hence	the	east
	wind	is	one-fourth	less	in	excess,	and
	one-fourth	more	in	deficiency	than	the
	west	;	that	is,	it	blows	one-half	less
	frequently	than	the	west,	or	the	two
	winds	are	to	one	another	as	2	to	3,	a
	result	which	harmonizes	in	a	very	sin-
	gular	manner	with	the	ratio	of	135	to
	216,	deduced	by	Mr	Mackenzie	from
	14	years'	observation.
	Although	it	is	absolutely	necessary,
	from	the	nature	of	the	cycle,	that	the
	excesses	and	deficiencies	of	the	east
	and	west	wind	shall	return	every	54
	years	;	yet	it	by	no	means	follows,	that
	the	weather	in	any	one	cycle	shall	in
	every	respect	resemble	the	weather	in
	any	other	cycle.	The	time	of	excess
	and	deficiency	of	both	winds	may	be
	constantly	varying,	and	may	be	per-
	forming	another	periodical	change	of
	greater	or	less	extent.
	"	It	must	therefore	become	desirable/*
	says	Mr	Mackenzie,	"	to	ascertain	how	far
	one	revolution	of	the	system	of	the	weather
	corresponds	with	another	in	every	particu-
	lar	;	and	if	journals,	conducted	upon	a	suf-
	ficiently	circumstantial	plan,	can	be	found,
	something	of	a	solution	of	this	point	may	be
	accomplished."
	We	have	thus	endeavoured	to	give
	our	readers	some	notion	of	the	general
	system	delivered	by	Mr	Mackenzie.
	This,	however,	forms,	a	very	small	por-
	tion	of	his	work,	which	contains	also
	Particular	Rules	of	the	Weather,	de-
	duced	from	observation	;	the	History
	of	the	Weather	from	1802;	the	Laws
	of	the	Wind	;	and	the	Distribution	of
	the	annual	series	of	the	Wind	upon
	the	seasons.	As	it	is	in	the	power	of
	every	person	to	examine,	by	their	own
	experience,	the	accuracy	of	the	rules
	for	the	weather,	we	shall	lay	before
	our	readers	some	of	the	most	import-
	ant.
	1.	An	extraordinary	wet	winter	is
	followed	by	average	rain	in	the	sum-
	mer	succeeding.
	2.	An	extraordinary	dry	winter	is
	followed	by	an	average	summer.
	3.	After	a	winter	with	a	rate	of	ruin
	moderately	under	average,	and	ano-
	ther	immediately	after	at	average,	the
	succeeding	is	moderately	above	average.


1819.]
	On	Public	Lectures	on	Works	of	Imagination.
	taste.	But	this	is	the	growth	of	the
	genuine	native	love,	which	may	be
	wild	and	erring	to	be	sure,	though,	as
	we	conceive,	no	more	to	be	set	right
	than	produced	by	men	lecturing	upon
	it	for	the	only	kind	of	cure	lies	in
	all	instruction,	in	every	association
	that	teaches	self-suspicion,	self-govern-
	ment,	and	sobriety	of	mind	in	short,
	in	all	mental	discipline.
	We	may,	in	farther	prosecution	of
	this	view	of	the	subject,	remark,	that
	instruction	in	poetry	must	be	in-
	tended	either	to	impart	a	taste	for
	poetry,	or	to	correct	it.	Now,	as	to
	giving,	implanting,	diffusing,	a	taste
	for	poetry,	such	a	taste	is	a	feeling,
	an	affection	of	the	imagination,	and	of
	the	passions	;	an	application	of	natural
	sensibility	to	its	peculiar	object.	Know-
	ledge	and	skill	may	be	imparted	by
	instruction	;	but	emotion,	enjoyment,
	fervour,	seem	by	their	very	nature,	ex-
	cluded	from	its	province.	The	love
	of	poetry,	in	truth,	belongs	to	sensibi-
	lity,	not	to	intellect.	The	only	legi-
	timate	object	then,	we	might	say,	the
	only	intelligible	object	of	instruction
	in	poetry^	is	to	rectify	the	taste.	How
	then	is	this	to	be	done	?	In	the	first
	place,	it	supposes	a	taste	to	be	recti-
	fied,	it	presumes	a	love	of	poetry,
	and	a	very	considerable	acquaintance
	with	its	productions.	It	not	only	sup-
	poses	a	love,	but	that	such	love	has
	grown	up	into	too	wild	luxuriance.
	To	correct	all	this	will	be	important,
	only	in	as	far	as	poetry	itself	is	an	ob-
	ject	of	importance	to	the	mind.	Now
	poetry	may	have	an	undue	and	dan-
	gerous	importance,	by	taking	too	much
	of	a	practical	hold	on	the	sensibilities	;
	by	entering	into,	exciting,	and	dis-
	turbing,	the	feelings	that	belong	to	real
	life.	This	is	a	danger,	that	does,	be-
	yond	all	doubt,	attend	poetry,	with
	young	and	susceptible	minds.	Most
	surely	it	is	not	to	be	guarded	against
	by	instruction	in	poetry,	by	any	de-
	velopement	of	canons	of	criticism,	by
	leading	the	over-excited	mind	to	blend
	more	of	its	power,	and	its	more	subtle
	faculties	with	an	object	already	too
	dear,	not	surely	by	heightening	the
	dignity	and	importance	of	poetry,	by
	calling	the	reason	itself	to	its	study,
	and	setting	the	chief	faculty	of	life	to
	minister	to	the	play	of	fancy,	and
	the	cravings	of	distempered	sensibility.
	Much	rather	is	it	to	be	done,	by	closing
	the	volumes	altogether,	and	recalling
	the	distempered	mind	to	the	discipline
	165
	of	severer	studies,	to	simpler,healthier
	pleasures,	and	to	the	service	of	real
	life.
	But	poetry	may	have	importance	to
	the	mind	also,	as	the	character	of	that
	mind,	and	the	external	circumstances
	of	its	condition,	permit	the	study	of
	the	arts	of	imagination	lawfully	to	be
	made	an	important	pursuit.	To	such
	a	mind	it	is	evident,	that	a	just	regu-
	lation	of	taste	does	become	important	;
	because	so	much	of	its	powers	is
	given	to	the	pursuit,	that	no	less	is
	therein	implied,	than	a	just	regulation
	of	the	intellectual	faculties.	By	what
	means	then,	is	a	youthful	or	more	ad-
	vancing	mind,	to	which	the	just	study
	of	poetry,	and	the	just	regulation	of
	the	action	of	so	many	powers,	is	an
	object	of	real	importance,	by	what
	means	is	such	a	mind	to	get	the
	benefit	of	such	regulation	?	By	in-
	struction	in	poetry,	as	a	part	of
	systematic	education?	Rather	by
	universal	instruction.	As	far	as	the
	mind	itself	is	to	be	formed	and	govern-
	ed,	by	ail	those	serious	and	dignified
	studies	which	call	the	higher	faculties
	into	strenuous	and	ardent	exertions	;
	and	as	far	as	poetry	itself	is	concerned,
	by	setting	before	it	the	highest	models,
	and	leaving	them	to	work	their	own
	effect.	The	study	of	poetry	will	itself
	receive	the	influence	of	such	general
	high	intellectual	instruction.	For	the
	light	which	is	in	the	mind,	will	fall
	upon	all	its	works.	It	will	itself	turn
	thought,	intelligence,	knowledge,	upon
	that	which	is	to	itself	an	important	and
	cherished	pursuit.	In	every	mind,
	the	love	of	poetry,	in	whatever	degree
	it	exist,	is	of	the	nature	of	feeling	and
	passion.	It	is	of	the	things	therefore,
	which	belong,	we	might	almost	say,
	to	the	privacy	of	the	mind	;	to	the
	things	which	it	keeps	to	itself,	and
	into	which	another	cannot	penetrate.
	To	intrude	upon	it,	to	interrogate
	it,	to	lay	it	out	in	public	examina-
	tion,	is	not	to	rectify	but	to	destroy
	it.	It	is	lowering	the	dignity	of	the
	mind,	and	weakening	its	self-depend-
	ence,	to	bring	the	inquisition	of	instruc-
	tion	into	such	parts	of	it.	The	mind
	that	is	ardent	in	these	pursuits,	must	in
	youth	be	wrong	by	enthusiasm,	it
	can	only	get	right	by	the	self-correction
	of	its	muturer	years.
	It	sufficiently	appears,	then,	that
	the	principle	on	which	all	public	in-
	struction	in	poetry	is	founded,	is	in
	nature	false	;	and	the	lectures	which,


10	SOLDIERS'	ADJUSTED	COMPENSATION.
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	That	is	true.	The	scheme	of	the	bill	is	this	:	It	is
	an	attempt	to	approximately	adjust	the	compensation	of	the	men	who
	served	in	the	World	War.	As	the	needs	of	those	men	were	very
	diverse,	the	plan	was	to	provide	either	for	a	payment	in	cash	or	an
	advance	in	the	shape	of	an	adjusted	service	certificate.	That	part
	of	this	bill	was	put	in	by	the	House	of	Representatives;	it	was	not
	in	the	original	bill	propounded	by	the	Legion.	It	is	in	the	nature	of
	an	insurance	for	the	men.	It	provides	for	no	cash	payment,	but
	gives	the	men	a	certificate	payable	in	20	years	if	he	lives,	and	pay-
	able	on	his	death	should	he	die;	and	it	is	the	amount	of	his	adjusted
	pay	plus	interest	compounded	for	20	years.
	Senator	McCuMBER.	After	three	years	he	may	borrow	90	per	cent
	of	it?
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	Yes.
	Senator	McCuMBER.	And	after	five	years	80	per	cent	?
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	Yes.	In	addition	to	that	insurance	feature	of	it,
	it	has	the	feature	that	Senator	McCumber	has	just	spoken	of,	being
	the	basis	of	the	loan	to	the	service	man	from	the	Government.
	The	next	alternative	was	the	alternative	of	taking	his	adjusted
	compensation	in	the	shape	of	vocational	training	with	the	Vocational
	Training	Board	already	in	existence.
	The	next	is	the	land-settlement	feature,	which	is	part	of	a	project
	to	settle	the	ex-service	men	upon	the	lands	in	the	West	mainly,	and
	to	aid	them	in	acquiring	their	land	by	giving	them	their	adjusted
	service	pay	in	the	shape	of	an	advance	toward	that	payment	for
	their	land.
	Now,	then,	in	order	that	the	obligation	to	the	country	might	be
	performed,	and	to	see	that	the	adjusted	service	pay	was	used	in	pro-
	ductive	channels	as	far	as	possible,	the	American	Legion	devised	the
	plan	of	making	those	service-pay	adjustments	taken	in	the	produc-
	tive	channels	of	a	greater	value.
	Senator	SIMMONS.	Pardon	me	just	one	moment:	You	consider	this
	as	an	optional	plan.	But	if	all	the	veterans	would	see	fit	to	take	cash
	would	they	all	be	entitled	to	cash	?
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	Under	the	bill	they	would.	But	the	answer	to
	that	is	they	will	not	all	accept	the	option	that	way.
	Senator	WATSON.	Have	you	any	idea	how	many	will	avail	them-
	selves	of	these	options	?	Is	there	any	way	to	determine	that	?
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	There	is	no	way,	Senator	Watson,	to	determine	that.
	Senator	WATSON.	Have	you	ever	sought	to	determine	it	?
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	That	is	only	a	matter	for	judgment	and	estimation.
	Senator	WATSON.	Certainly.
	Mr.	BETTMAN.	Our	best	judgment	is	that	the	number	who	will	take
	cash	is	small.	I	was	just	about	to	say	that	those	four	avenues	of	ad-
	justed	compensation	vocational	training	aid,	land	project,	and	the
	insurance,	etc.,	are	so	sweetened	in	this	bill	40	per	cent	that	is,	a	man
	will	get,	say,	$1.25	a	day	if	he	takes	it	in	cash,	but	if	he	takes	it	in
	any	of	those	other	four	forms	he	will	get	$1.25	plus	40	per	cent	of
	$1.25.	The	idea	was	to	encourage	the	men	to	take	it	in	the	produc-
	tive	channels,	to	take	it	as	home	aid	or	as	a	part	of	payment	in	acquir-
	ing	a	home	in	the	West,	or	as	vocational	training.
	To	come	back	to	your	question,	Senator	Watson,	it	is	the	opinion
	of	many	men	who	have	thought	of	this	question	that	in	view	of	the


384	MISCELLANEOUS	PAPERS
	From	to	Mme.	Brillon,	Passy.
	Recommending	M.	[Frangois	Philippe]	Charpentier,	a	skilful
	machinist,	who	could	make	Dr.	Franklin	s	printing	presses.	L.	i	p.
	(In	French.)	LXXI,	I32a.
	From	to	.
	Has	received	letters	from	Aleppo,	reporting	that	the	English	have
	lost	Madras.	N.	I	p.	(In	French.)	LXXI,	132!).
	Note	of	the	Bills	of	Exchange	drawn	upon	John	Adams.
	Mem.	2	p.	LXIV,	9,	10.
	List	of	Bills	that	have	been	drawn	upon	[Henry]	Laurens	and
	Accepted	by	John	Adams.
	Mem.	4	p.	LXIV,	n.
	List	of	Bills	of	Exchange	drawn	by	[Francis]	Hopkinson	on
	Henry	Laurens	and	Accepted	by	John	de	Neufville	&	Son.
	Mem.	i	p.	LXIV,	12.
	Bills	of	Exchange.
	LXIV,	89;	LXVII,	99a,	b,	122.
	Bills	of	Lading.
	LXVII,	99C,	100-102.
	Recipes	for	Cooking,	for	Making	Spruce	Beer,	etc.
	Mem.	1	6	p.	(In	French.)	XLIX,	72a.
	Recipe	for	Making	Orange	Shrub.
	Mem.	i	p.	XLIX,	72b.
	Recipe	for	Making	Raisin	Wine.
	Mem.	i	p.	XLIX,	72C.
	Recipe	for	Making	Crown	Soap.
	Mem.	4	p.	XLIX,	72d.
	Recipe	for	Making	Soup	Tablets	in	the	English	Style.
	Mem.	3	p.	(In	French.	Press	copy.)	LVI(i),	81.


ON	HYSTERIA	49
	them	all,"	says	Dr.	Tardieu,	"is	an	instinctive
	tendency	to	simulation,	together	with	an	inveterate
	habit	of	telling	lies	without	interest	or	purpose,	but
	simply	for	the	sake	of	saying	what	is	untrue."	We
	may	add	that	they	often	falsify	the	truth	in	order
	to	make	an	appearance,	to	bring	themselves	under
	notice	from	motives	of	vanity.	1
	Again,	there	is	to	be	noticed	in	hysteria	a	notable
	loss	of	affection.	There	is	often	complete	indiffer-
	ence	to	everything	that	does	not	minister	to	their
	love	of	self.	Sufferers	from	hysteria	are	on	the
	"	border	line	of	reason	and	madness,"	and	with	little
	warning	they	pass	from	one	extreme	to	the	opposite	:
	from	love	to	hatred,	gentleness	to	violence,	from
	refinement	to	vulgarity,	from	prayer	to	blasphemy,
	from	chastity	to	immorality,	from	a	state	of	darkest
	melancholy	to	that	of	thrilling	joy,	or	vice	versa	:
	the	person	that	they	worship	to-day,	to-morrow
	they	will	pursue	with	implacable	hatred,	in	which
	they	are	ungovernable.	They	are	capable	of	almost
	any	excess	to	satisfy	their	hatred	at	times	and	in
	circumstances	where	it	could	not	have	been	foreseen.
	They	break	out,	for	instance,	in	calumnies,	they
	send	anonymous	letters,	bear	all	kinds	of	false
	testimony;	they	have	even	been	known	to	wound
	themselves	severely	in	parts	of	the	body	rendered
	insensible	by	their	affliction,	and	then	accuse	the
	persons	for	whom	they	have	an	aversion	of	having
	attacked	them.	Nothing	seems	to	restrain	them.
	Their	accusations	often	attack	the	moral	standing
	of	others.	Priests	and	doctors	by	reason	of	their
	1	This	is	accounted	for	also	by	auto-suggestion	—	a	mental
	phenomenon	quite	frequent	amongst	hysterical	people.
	4


xii	"THE	SUSSEX	MUSE''	117
	General	of	the	day,	Lord	Chichester	:	"	I	return	the	pamphlet
	declaration.	The	writer	of	the	first	is	son	of	Mr.	Shelley,
	member	for	the	Rape	of	Bramber,	and	is	by	all	accounts	a
	most	extraordinary	man.	I	hear	he	has	married	a	servant,	or
	some	person	of	very	low	birth	;	he	has	been	in	Ireland	for	some
	time,	and	I	heard	of	his	speaking	at	the	Catholic	Convention.
	Miss	Hitchener,	of	Hurstpierpoint,	keeps	a	School	there,	and
	is	well	spoken	of;	her	Father	keeps	a	Publick	House	in	the
	Neighbourhood,	he	was	originally	a	Smuggler	and	changed	his
	name	from	Yorke	to	Hitchener	before	he	took	the	Public
	House.	I	shall	have	a	watch	upon	the	daughter	and	discover
	whether	there	is	any	Connection	between	her	and	Shelley."
	There	Shelley's	connection	with	Sussex	may	be	said	to	end.
	Yet	a	poet,	whether	he	will	or	no,	is	shaped	by	his	early	sur-
	roundings.	In	some	verses	by	Mr.	C.	W.	Dalmon	called	"The
	Sussex	Muse,"	I	find	the	influence	of	Shelley's	surroundings
	on	his	mind	happily	recorded	:
	"	When	Shelley's	soul	was	carried	through	the	air
	Toward	the	manor	house	where	he	was	born,
	I	danced	along	the	avenue	at	Denne,
	And	praised	the	grace	of	Heaven,	and	the	morn
	Which	numbered	with	the	sons	of	Sussex	men
	A	genius	so	rare	!
	So	high	an	honour	and	so	dear	a	birth,
	That,	though	the	Horsham	folk	may	little	care
	To	laud	the	favour	of	his	birthplace	there,
	My	name	is	bless'd	for	it	throughout	the	earth.
	I	taught	the	child	to	love,	and	dream,	and	sing
	Of	witch,	hobgoblin,	folk	and	flower	lore	;
	And	often	led	him	by	the	hand	away
	Into	St.	Leonard's	Forest,	where	of	yore
	The	hermit	fought	the	dragon	to	this	clay,
	The	children,	ev'ry	Spring,
	Find	lilies	of	the	valley	blowing	where
	The	fights	took	place.	Alas	!	they	quickly	drove
	My	darling	from	my	bosom	and	my	love,
	And	snatched	my	crown	of	laurel	from	his	hair.


B.]	ELEMENTARY	CONCEPTIONS.	281
	2.	An	examination,	on	the	other	hand,	into	the	aim	or	func
	tion	of	poetry	involves	the	vexed	question	of	all	arts	:	Is	its
	purpose	aesthetic	or	ethical,	or	both	?	Materials	for	the	answer
	to	this	question	are	furnished	above,	7-9	and	13-15.	If	it
	be	determined	that	the	purpose	is	purely	aesthetic,	an	array	of
	specific	questions	confronts	the	student.	What,	for	instance,
	is	the	history	of	the	aesthetic	exposition	of	poetry	?	(See
	Bosanquet,	Schasler,	or	Knight,	and	other	references	in	9
	and	15,	for	the	development	of	aesthetic	interest	before	Kant.)
	The	statement	is	made	that	Hegel	is	the	most	pronounced
	exponent	of	the	purely	aesthetic	theory	of	poetry.	But	Burke
	and	Kaimes	in	the	purgation	theory	of	tragedy,	Kant	with
	his	demarcation	of	aesthetic	consciousness	in	the	Kritik	der
	Urtheilskraft	(1790),	Schiller	with	his	doctrine	of	aesthetic
	culture	and	his	development	of	the	Kantian	theory	in	the
	doctrines	of	aesthetic	semblance	and	the	play-impulse,	Goethe
	with	his	belief	in	the	characteristic	as	the	excellent	in	art,
	and	Schelling	with	his	treatment	of	the	ideal	nature	of	poetry,
	had	prepared	the	way	for	Hegel's	definition	of	the	aesthetic
	purpose	of	poetry	as	of	all	art	;	and	it	will	be	observed	that
	Wordsworth	("	the	end	of	Poetry	is	to	produce	excitement	in
	coexistence	with	an	overbalance	of	pleasure,"	Preface	to	Lyri
	cal	Ballads,	1800),	Coleridge	in	his	antithesis	between	poetry
	and	science,	Sir	Henry	Taylor,	Dallas,	and	Pater,	follow	in
	the	steps	of	these	masters.
	In	the	next	place,	the	value	of	current	conceptions	of	the,
	aesthetic	function	of	poetry	may	be	considered.	First,	of
	the	more	popular,	those,	for	instance,	presented	by	Poe	in	his
	Poetic	Principle	;	by	Theodore	Watts	in	his	article	in	the
	Encycl.	Brit.	;	by	Shelley	in	his	Defense	of	Poetry	;	by	Leigh
	Hunt	;	by	Principal	Shairp	(the	aim	of	poetry	is	to	express	the
	glow	of	emotion,	the	thrill	of	joy)	;	by	Goldsmith	(poetry	is
	"	so	contrived	and	executed	as	to	soothe	the	ear,	surprise	and
	delight	the	fancy,	mend	and	melt	the	heart,	elevate	the	mind,


B.~\	SCHEME	OF	INVESTIGATION.	289
	B.	THE	THEORETICAL	SIDE.	i.	The	Relation	of	Art	to	Science,
	Philosophy,	Ethics,	and	Religion.	The	distinction	between
	poetry	and	the	other	arts	;	the	boundaries	of	poetry	and	paint
	ing	;	of	poetry	and	music,	etc.	The	distinction	between	poetry
	and	history.	Aristotle,	Poetics,	9	;	Sidney,	Defense	of	Poesy
	(Cook's	ed.,	p.	18)	;	Bosanquet,	Hist.	Aesth.,	p.	59	;	Butcher,
	Aristotle's	Theory	of	Poetry,	chaps.	Ill	and	XI.	Is	poetry	a
	term	applicable	to	all	the	arts	?	(Plato,	Aristotle,	Lessing,
	Kant,	Schiller,	Coleridge,	Wordsworth,	Mill.)	Is	not	the
	distinction	between	poetry	and	other	literature	of	power	that
	of	the	absolute	and	the	relative,	prose	and	verse	being	less
	or	more	appropriate	instruments	of	poetry,	and	poetry	(or
	absolute	literature)	being	the	emotive	expression	or	suggestion
	of	an	aesthetic	interpretation	of	things,	by	means	of	the	rhyth
	mical	and	imaginative	language	proper	to	the	subject?
	2.	The	Materials	of	Poetry.	(a]	Of	Idea	(Aristotle,	Poetics,
	9	;	15	;	18	:	6	;	24;	25.	Butcher's	Aristotle's	Theory	of
	Poetry,	chapters	on	Poetic	Truth	and	Universality.	Kant's
	Critique	of	Judgment,	Schiller's	Aesthetic	Letters,	Eckermann's
	Conversations	of	Goethe	(Bohn),	p.	258,	Coleridge,	Biographia
	Literaria,	2	:	41).
	(b)	Of	Form.	The	word	basis,	the	sentence	basis,	the	rhetori
	cal	and	logical	bases	;	pitch,	stress,	quantity,	and	tone	;	rhythm	;
	speech-tunes	;	cadences	;	rhythms	of	nature	;	imagery	and
	verse,	which	the	more	essential	?	The	sensuous	element	in
	relation	to	the	imaginative.	(See	22-24.	Lanier,	Ellis,
	Schipper,	Gurney,	Kawczynski.)
	(c)	Of	Organism.	Whether	the	organic	structure	contains
	elements	not	present	in	the	materials	either	of	idea	or	form.
	If	the	organism	is	not	the	sum,	is	it	the	product	of	idea	and
	form	?
	3.	How	the	Materials	are	Manipulated.	The	question
	should	be	looked	at	from	;	(a)	the	physical	point	of	view	;
	(&)	the	psychological	;	(<:)	the	ethical;	and	the	following


290	LITERARY	CRITICISM.	[19,77.
	subjects	will	demand	consideration	:	(i)	the	faculties	aroused
	and	employed	by	the	poetic	impulse	;	(2)	the	effect	of	mood
	and	imaginative	training	upon	the	appreciation	of	poetry	;
	(3)	the	relation	of	poetic	truth,	beauty,	and	'	accent	'	to	other
	truth,	beauty,	and	'	accent	'	(Arnold)	;	(4)	the	signification
	of	proportion,	harmony,	aesthetic	economy	(Spencer,	Dewey),
	and	rhythm	;	(5)	the	relation	of	rhythm	to	idea	;	(6)	the
	relation	of	metre	and	rhythm	to	each	other	and	to	language	;
	(7)	the	difference	between	rhythmical	prose	and	rhythmical
	verse	;	(8)	whether	verse	is	a	quality	of	poetry,	or	an	instru
	ment	;	whether	rhythmical	prose	may	be	used	by	poetry,	and
	.whether	unmetrical	or	unrhythmical	verbal	expression	could	be
	so	used	;	(9)	the	difference	of	effect	between	imaginative
	verse	and	imaginative	prose	(Gurney),	and	whether	the	charm
	of	rhythm	and	metre	lies	in	the	illusion	that	they	create	;
	(10)	whether	poetry	is	imaginative	language	plus	metrical
	form	;	or	whether	the	effect	is	the	product	of	the	ear	pleasure
	and	the	mind	pleasure	(Gurney)	;	(n)	whether	poetry	is	a
	"	heightened	form	of	prose	"	;	(12)	whether	poetry	can	be	turned
	into	prose,	still	retaining	the	poetic	flavor,	or	be	translated,	as
	poetry,	from	one	language	into	another	;	(13)	whether	poetry
	is	representative	or	presentative,	imitative	or	creative,	pene
	trative,	<	magical	'	(Gurney),	or	suggestive.	See	Plato,	Aristotle,
	Plotinus,	etc.,	on	Imitation,	9	above,	Kant,	Lessing,	Goethe,
	Schiller,	Hegel,	Wordsworth,	Arnold,	Austin,	Gurney,	Everett,
	and	others	;	(14)	whether	all	theories	of	poetry	may	be
	reduced	to	the	creative-imitative	classification.
	4.	The	Purpose	of	Poetry.	(a)	Aesthetic.	Whether	the
	pleasure	conveyed	by	poetry	is	essential	to	the	purpose,	or	acci
	dental.	Does	the	pleasure	of	the	reader	lie	in	the	momentary
	relief	from	worldly	care,	from	the	sense	of	actuality	?	in	the
	opportunity	afforded	the	emotions	to	'	discharge	'	themselves
	impersonally	?	in	the	aesthetic	contemplation	of	the	signifi
	cance	of	life	?	Does	the	author	aim	at	giving	pleasure	to	others,


300	LITERARY	CRITICISM.	[20.
	After	discussing	inadequate	methods	of	defining	poetry,	the
	author	passes	in	review	the	definitions	of	Aristotle,	Bacon,
	Wordsworth,	Arnold,	Austin,	etc.,	and	advances	to	moot	points
	of	criticism,	such	as	the	function	of	language,	the	relation	of
	poetry	to	science,	to	oratory,	to	morality,	the	choice	of	subjects,
	and	the	ideal	in	poetry.	He	emphasizes	the	aesthetic	aim
	and	effect	of	poetry,	and	would,	in	that	respect,	appear	to
	sympathize	with	Austin	rather	than	with	Matthew	Arnold.
	The	work	is	a	useful	discussion	of	the	question,	Is	Poetry
	*	imitative,'	or	is	it	'	effusive	?	'	According	to	Bain,	poetry
	neither	interprets	nor	penetrates	the	natural,	but	assimilates
	it	with	some	aspect	of	humanity.	The	definition	on	p.	257,
	"	Poetry	is	a	fine	art,	operating	by	means	of	thought	conveyed
	in	language,"	requires	for	its	interpretation	a	definition	of	fine
	art,	and	for	its	validity,	a	theory	of	the	relation	of	rhythmical
	language	to	aesthetic	thought.
	BATTEUX,	L'ABBE	CHARLES.	Des	quatre	poetiques	d'Aristote,
	d'Horace,	de	Vida,	et	de	Despreaux.	2	vols.	Paris	:
	1771.
	See	21,	B	4,	below	for	a	list	of	the	other	French	poetics
	of	the	century.
	BAUMGART,	H.	Handbuch	der	Poetik.	Stuttg.	:	1887.
	One	of	the	most	learned,	trustworthy,	and	exhaustive	of	the
	recent	contributions	to	the	science.	It	should	have	a	place	in
	the	library	of	every	critic.
	BAYNE,	PETER.	Two	Great	Englishwomen	.	.	.	with	an	Essay
	on	Poetry.	Lond.	:	1881.
	Pp.	i-lxxviii.
	As	the	author's	object	is	to	make	a	definition	of	poetry	that
	will	give	Mrs.	Browning	the	highest	claim	to	consideration,	he
	immediately	falls	foul	of	Mr.	Arnold's	criticism	of	life.	Lyric
	poetry	is	for	Mr.	Bayne	"	the	essential	poetry."


20.]	REFERENCES.	307
	A	series	of	University	Extension	Lectures,	simple	in	manner
	and	suggestive.	Adopting	the	realistic	principles,	the	author
	bases	his	argument	upon	Plato,	but	can	hardly	be	said	to	grasp
	Plato's	conclusions	concerning	art	and	poetry.	The	chapters	on
	Art	Creation,	The	Classical	School,	and	Wordsworth,	will	be	of
	service	to	the	beginner.
	COURTHOPE,	W.	J.	The	Liberal	Movement	in	English	Litera
	ture.	Lond.	:	1885.
	Pp.	3-32	Definition	of	Poetry,	pp.	71-108	Wordsworth's	Theory
	of	Poetry,	pp.	197-240	Prospects	of	Poetry.
	This	work	is	valuable,	even	though	its	judgments	are	not
	always	trustworthy.	Mr.	Courthope	disavows	all	intention	of
	prejudicing	his	argument	by	the	use	of	political	terms,	but	his
	treatment	of	the	romantic	movement	shows	that	conservatism,
	whether	political	or	literary,	means	all	that	is	desirable	in	civili
	zation.	Consequently,	although	he	indicates	in	his	Introduc
	tory	Chapter,	pp.	3-32,	the	weak	point	in	Bowles's	axioms	of
	poetry,	he	fails	to	appreciate	the	general	soundness	of	that
	poet's	criticism	upon	Pope	and	the	Classical	School.	The
	poetic	theories	of	Arnold	and	Swinburne	are	criticised	with
	apparent	candor,	but	are	disposed	of	in	such	a	way	as	to	show
	that	the	author	understands	neither	of	them.	Macaulay's
	dictum	concerning	the	decline	of	poetry	is	adopted	on	altogether
	insufficient	historical	proof	;	and	Wordsworth's	theory	of	poetry
	is	deliberately	misstated.	It	is	hard	to	see	that	Mr.	Courthope
	recognizes	any	genuine	standard	of	poetic	excellence.	His
	apparently	simple	definition	of	poetry	(pp.	30,	31),	the	art	of
	producing	pleasure	by	the	just	expression	of	imaginative	thought
	and	feeling	in	metrical	language,'	is	invalidated	by	a	dualistic
	conception	of	the	relation	of	idea	to	form.	(Cf.	his	essay	in
	Nineteenth	Century,	41	:	270	Life	in	Poetry	:	Poetical	Expres
	sion.)	The	chapter	on	the	Prospects	of	Poetry	is,	like	the	rest
	of	the	book,	eminently	readable,	but	indicative	of	the	author's


308	LITERARY	CRITICISM.	[20.
	inability	to	see	two	sides	of	a	question.	The	romantic	move
	ment	is	in	his	opinion	an	aberration	an	obsession	of
	poetry.
	The	author's	History	of	English	Poetry,	now	appearing,	will
	afford	him	scope	for	illustration	of	these	peculiarities.
	DALLAS,	E.	S.	Poetics	;	an	Essay	on	Poetry.	Lond.	:	1852.
	DALLAS,	E.	S.	The	Gay	Science.	2	vols.	Lond.	:	1866.
	The	Gay	Science	of	the	Troubadours	was	poetry	;	of	Mr.
	Dallas,	it	is	criticism.	For,	holding	with	the	Troubadours	that
	the	aim	of	poetry,	as	of	all	art,	is	pleasure,	he	makes	criticism
	the	science	of	the	laws	under	which	pleasure	is	produced.	He
	discusses	skilfully,	though	sometimes	inconclusively,	the	more
	notable	theories	of	poetry.	His	quest	for	the	fundamental
	unity	of	art	is	scientific	in	intention,	but	is	vitiated	by	a	mis
	construction	of	Aristotle's	theory	of	imitation,	and	a	radical
	misapprehension	of	Hegel's	theory	of	manifestation	('Art	is
	the	manifestation	of	the	Beautiful	').	It	may	be	questioned
	whether	Mr.	Dallas	does	not	also	confound	the	aim	of	poetry
	with	its	nature.	In	vol.	I	the	chapters	on	the	Hidden	Soul,
	The	Play	of	Thought,	and	The	Secrecy	of	Art,	are	decidedly
	suggestive.	They	anticipate	in	a	popular	way	a	theory	of	art
	which	is	now	being	worked	out	scientifically	by	certain	of	the
	physiological	psychologists.	His	theory	of	the	unconscious
	pleasure	evoked	by	art	requires	to	be	tested	by	a	larger	selec
	tion	from	poetry	than	that	adduced	to	confirm	the	argument.
	According	to	him,	poetry	is	the	imaginative,	harmonious,	and
	unconscious	activity	of	the	soul	;	the	art	of	giving	imaginative
	pleasure.	Vol.	II,	chaps.	XIII	and	XIV,	and	passages	in	the
	section	on	the	Pursuit	of	Pleasure	and	the	World	of	Fiction
	display	to	advantage	the	author's	rich	and	entertaining	style.
	He	asserts	that	in	poetry	a	synthetic	reproduction	of	truth	is
	subsumed	under	the	category	of	poetic	imagination.	He	holds,
	therefore,	to	the	Baconian	theory.


20.]	REFERENCES.	309
	Many	of	these	theories	will	be	found	in	Mr.	Dallas's	shorter
	and	earlier	works	on	Poetics,	Masson's	review	of	which	will	be
	found	in	No.	Brit.	Rev.	19	:	297	Theories	of	Poetry,	and	in	his
	Essays,	as	below.
	DAVIDSON,	JAS.	W.	The	Poetry	of	the	Future.	N.	Y.	:	1888.
	"	Aims	to	show	that	the	one	essential	characteristic	of	verse
	-	the	language	of	poetry	in	English	is	rhythm."
	DE	VERE,	AUBREY.	Essays,	chiefly	Literary	and	Ethical.
	Lond.	:	1889.
	P.	10	Definition	of	Poetry.
	DE	VERE,	AUBREY.	Essays,	chiefly	on	Poetry.	2	vols.	Lond.	:
	1887.
	"	Poetry	has	ever	recognized	these	two	great	offices,	distinct
	though	allied,	the	one,	that	of	representing	the	actual	world	;
	the	other,	that	of	creating	an	ideal	region,	into	which	spirits
	whom	this	world	has	wearied	may	retire.	...	A	perfect	poet
	ought	to	discharge	both	these	great	offices	of	poetry	"	(Two
	Schools	of	Poetry).	De	Vere	is,	in	creation	and	criticism,	an
	ardent	admirer	and	follower	of	Wordsworth.
	DEWEY,	JOHN.	Andover	Rev.	16	:	92	Poetry	and	Philosophy.
	A	comparison	of	Arnold	and	Browning.	The	author's	thesis
	is	that	the	best	poetry	is	that	which	is	informed	by	the	soundest
	philosophy.
	DIXON,	WM.	M.	English	Poetry	from	Blake	to	Browning.
	Lond.:	1894.
	Pp.	1-25	Poetry	and	its	Relation	to	Life.
	The	substance	of	the	author's	definition	(p.	6)	is	as	follows	:
	Poetry	is	impassioned	language,	appropriate	to	higher	moods
	("	intenser	spiritual	life	than	the	one	in	which	we	hourly
	move	"),	ordered	or	marshaled	in	a	rhythmically	effective	way.


20.]	REFERENCES.	339
	The	remarks	on	the	relation	of	verse	to	poetry	;	of	poetry	to
	history	;	of	classic	to	romantic	poetry	;	and	of	ancient	tragedy
	to	modern,	are	fresh	and	suggestive.	The	reader	who	picks
	his	way	with	discrimination	through	aphorisms	and	fallacies
	will	find	in	Schopenhauer	no	insignificant	contribution	to
	poetics.
	SCHOPENHAUER,	A.	The	Art	of	Literature.	Trans,	by	B.
	Saunders.	Lond.	:	1891.
	SCUDDER,	VIDA	D.	And.	Rev.	8	:	225,	351	The	Effect	of
	the	Scientific	Temper	in	Modern	Poetry.
	SELKIRK,	J.	B.	Ethics	and	Aesthetics	of	Modern	Poetry.
	Lond.	:	1878.
	The	chapters	are	principally	from	Blackwood's	Magazine	and
	Cornhill.	They	treat	somewhat	discursively	of	the	position
	assumed	by	modern	poetry	in	the	face	of	modern	scepticism,
	modern	creeds,	modern	mysticism,	aesthetics,	and	culture.	The
	poets	most	carefully	considered	are	Clough,	Swinburne,	Arnold,
	Tennyson,	and	Browning.	The	author's	style	is	marked	by
	grace	and	perspicacity.
	SHAIRP,	J.	C.	Studies	in	Philosophy	and	Poetry.	N.	Y.	:
	1872.	Lond.	:	1878.
	SHAIRP,	J.	C.	The	Poetic	Interpretation	of	Nature.	Lond.	:
	1877.
	SHAIRP,	J.	C.	Aspects	of	Poetry.	Boston:	1882.
	The	Aspects	of	Poetry	is	a	very	important	book.	,	In	the
	chapter	entitled	The	Province	of	Poetry	(pp.	1-30)	is	a	discus
	sion	of	the	unconsciousness	of	the	poetic	impulse,	of	the	part
	played	by	imagination,	and	of	the	purely	aesthetic,	and	indirect
	ethical,	purpose.	The	author	is	not	in	doubt	concerning	the
	theory	of	moral	indifference	in	art.	He	correlates	high	poeti-


340	LITERARY	CRITICISM.	[20.
	cal	effect	and	high	moral	ideal.	(Cf.	Arnold's	"	criticism	of
	life.")	In	pp.	56-104,	the	Spiritual	Side	of	Poetry,	and	the
	Poet	as	a	Revealer,	the	author	emphasizes	the	ethical	aspect	of
	the	art.	Compare	Wordsworth's	statement	of	the	poetic	or
	prophetic	function.	The	chapter	on	Style	in	Modern	English
	poetry	must	be	read	as	a	commentary	upon	Wordsworth's	Pref
	aces.	Compare	with	it,	Bagehot's	article	on	the	Pure,	the
	Ornate,	and	the	Grotesque.	In	Studies	in	Poetry,	the	essay
	on	Wordsworth,	The	Man	and	the	Poet,	throws	additional
	light	on	the	bases	and	functions	of	poetry.	The	volume	on
	the	Poetic	Interpretation	of	Nature	should	be	read	in	connection
	with	Professor	Veitch's	Nature	in	Scottish	poetry.	Together
	they	form	an	admirable	introduction	to	the	literary	history	of
	the	love	of	nature.
	SHELLEY,	P.	B.	Works.	Ed.	by	H.	B.	Forman.	8	vols.
	Lond.	:	1880.
	Vol.	VII,	pp.	99-144	Defense	of	Poetry,	pp.	145,	146	Three	Frag
	ments	on	Beauty.
	SHELLEY,	P.	B.	A	Defense	of	Poetry.	Ed.	by	A.	S.	Cook.
	Boston	:	1891.	(Contains	also	Peacock's	Four	Ages	of
	Poetry.)
	A	sympathetic	and	creative	rather	than	a	comprehensive	or
	an	analytic	discussion	of	the	subject.	The	interest	centres
	upon	the	educative,	legislative,	and	theological,	as	well	as	the
	artistic	function,	ascribed	to	the	poet	(vide	p.	104).	Con
	sideration	should	be	given	to	the	statement	that	although
	poetry	has	always	aimed	at	a	harmonious	recurrence	of	sound,
	still	"	the	distinction	between	poets	and	prose	writers	is	a	vulgar
	error";	also	to	the	explanation	(p.	109)	of	the	pleasure	which
	poetry	gives	to	maker	as	well	as	auditor	;	also	to	the	alleged
	immorality	of	poetry,	to	the	poetic	quality	of	Christianity,	and
	to	the	so-called	definition	(p.	138),	'	Poetry	is	the	record	of	the
	best	and	happiest	moments	of	the	happiest	and	best	minds,'


346	LITERARY	CRITICISM.	[20.
	The	following	is	a	list	of	the	more	important	contemporary
	reviews	of	Wordsworth's	theory	of	poetry	:	Edinb.	Rev.	2	:	283,
	6	:	i,	7	:	16,	ii	:	214,	19	:	270,	466,	24	:	i,	25	1355,	27	:	58,	277,
	28	:	488,	37	:	449	;	Blackw.	i	:	261,	2	:	201,	5	:	130,	26	:	453	;
	Quarterly	Rev.	14:	201,	52:317;	Eraser's	6	:	607,	42	:	119	;
	Dublin	Univ.	5	:	680	;	North	Am.	Rev.	18	:	356.	See	also
	Coleridge,	Biographia	Literaria.
	See	notes	on	Arnold,	Austin,	Bagehot,	Courthope,	Gurney,
	Pater,	Swinburne.	See	also	Brunswick's	Wordsworth's	Theorie
	der	Poetischen	Kunst	(Progr.	Halle	:	1884).
	MISCELLANEOUS	REFERENCES.	Of	magazine	articles,	not
	already	mentioned,	the	following	deserve	attention	:	Vida	D.
	Scudder,	Andover	Rev.	8:225,	351	Effect	of	the	Scientific
	Temper	in	Modern	Poetry	;	Blackwood,	6	:	363	Progressive
	Changes	in	Poetical	Style,	n	:	153	How	far	is	Poetry	an	Art	?
	27	:	706	Art	of	Poetry,	38	:	829	Philosophy	of	Poetry,	132	:	158
	Poetry	of	the	Future	;	Wm.	Knight,	Brit.	Q.	(Am.	ed.)	57	:	92
	A	Theory	of	Poetry	;	E.	Dowden,	Contemp.	2	:	535	Poetical
	Feeling	for	Nature	(cf.	his	Studies	in	Literature)	;	V.	Lee,
	Contemp.	39	:	682	Morality	in	Poetry	(Repr.	in	Belcaro)	;	F.	T.
	Palgrave,	Fortn.	12	:	163	Scientific	Study	of	Poetry;	J.	A.
	Symonds,	Fortn.	32	:	686	M.	Arnold	on	Poetry	;	P.	Bourget,
	Fortn.	49:	568	Science	et	Poesie;	E.	Gosse,	Forum,	7:175
	What	is	a	Great	Poet?	Herrig's	Archiv,	10	:	112	Sprache	d.
	Poesie	u.	Poesie	d.	Sprache,	45	:	35	Ueber	d.	aesthet.-psychol.
	Beurtheilung	e.	Dichters,	45	:	58	Ueber	Wesen	u.	Zweck	d.
	Kunst	u.	d.	Poesie	;	A.	Bettelheim,	Nation	(Berlin),	1891,	p.	746
	Eine	neue	Theorie	der	Dichtkunst	;	A.	Tilley,	Macm.	44:	268
	Two	Theories	of	Poetry,	53	:	184	The	Poetic	Imagination	;
	E.	A.	Sonnenschein,	Macm.	53	:	5	Culture	and	Science	;	F.	T.
	Palgrave,	Macm.	53	^32	Province	and	Study	of	Poetry;	F.	T.
	Whittaker,	Macm.	53	:	428	Musical	and	Picturesque	Elements
	in	Poetry;	M.-J.	Guyau,	Rev.	Philos.	17	:	179,	258	L'Esthetique


vii	AIMS	AND	IDEALS	265
	atheist,	nor	is	he	satisfied,	with	the	agnostic,	to	boast
	that	he	knows	nothing	as	to	the	religious	problem.
	He	simply	says	that,	whatever	higher	paths	may	yet
	be	known,	the	historic	conception	of	Humanity	and
	its	practical	providence	offers	all	the	essential	elements
	of	a	religious	faith.
	This	does	not	satisfy	the	Theist,	and	the	forms	of
	Theism	are	infinitely	vague,	indefinite,	mystical,	or
	even	verbal,	almost	as	numerous	as	the	individual
	theists.	A	well-known	man	of	letters	thus	summed
	up	his	creed	:	"	He	fancied	there	was	a	sort	of	a
	something	!	"	Any	of	us	might	say	that,	and	not
	find	it	a	working	religion.	It	is	the	very	definiteness,
	the	undeniable	reality	of	Humanity,	its	close	touch
	upon	every	phase	of	human	life,	that	repels	so	many
	anxious	wanderers	in	the	limitless	wilderness	of
	Theology.	In	these	days	of	shallow	spiritualism,	the
	weaker	brethren	will	cling	to	anything	that	is	cloudy,
	unintelligible,	transcendental.	And	their	practical
	Gods	too	often	are	Mammon	and	Moloch.
	Much	less	is	Positivism	an	attack	on	Christianity.
	It	is	the	rational	development	of	Christianity,	its
	incorporation	with	science	and	philosophy.	Not,
	certainly,	with	the	miraculous	and	supernatural
	dogmas	of	Christendom,	but	with	the	humanity	of
	the	Gospel	in	its	spiritual	ideal,	and	the	moral	and
	social	ideals	of	the	Christian	churches.	No	doubt,	the
	Christian	ideal	is	but	a	fractional	part	of	the	Positivist
	ideal,	just	as	the	Christian	ideal	is	only	in	touch	with
	a	fractional	part	of	human	nature	and	man	s	life	on
	earth.	But	so	far	as	this	Christian	ideal	is	honestly
	human,	and	essentially	permanent,	Positivism	is
	destined	to	give	it	a	vast	development.	But	this	is
	not	enough	for	those	who	still	hanker	after	the
	Athanasian	Creed	or	the	Westminster	Confession,	or
	even	some	more	inscrutable	label.


PRINTEES'	INKS	:	VEHICLES.	195
	..G-.oyn.eau	's	Recipe.	I.	Linseed	oil,	979	parts;	resin,	735
	parts	;	syrup,	245	kilos.	;	litharge,	125	kilos.
	2.	Linseed	oil,	400	kilos.	;	resin,	380	kilos.	;	syrup,	490
	kilos.	;	litharge,	60	kilos.
	3.	Linseed	oil,	980	kilos.;	resin,	958	kilos.;	syrup,	980
	kilos.	;	litharge,	122	kilos.
	The	oil	is	mixed	with	the	litharge,	while	a	slow	fire	is	kept
	up	under	the	kettle,	until	the	oil	begins	to	swell	and	to	show
	a	froth.	In	the	meantime	the	resin	is	melted	with	a	little
	linseed	oil,	and	added	to	the	oil	when	the	latter	has	ceased
	to	froth.	Then	the	mass	is	well	stirred,	and	when	it	has
	somewhat	cooled	the	syrup	is	added.
	Savage's	Recipe.	32	kilos,	of	copaiva	balsam	are	mixed
	with	12	kilos,	of	resin	soap.
	Knecht's	Recipe.	5	kilos,	of	Venice	turpentine,	15	kilos,
	of	castor	oil,	and	1	kilo,	of	white	wax	are	mixed	well	together
	over	the	waterbath.
	Rosl's	Recipe.	9	kilos,	thick	turpentine,	10	kilos,	of	soft
	soap,	and	4	kilos,	of	oleine	are	mixed	together	hot.
	Resin	Soap	Vehicle	for	Gold	Printing.	This	composition
	consists	of	a	solution	of	resin	soap	with	glue	and	glycerine.
	It	is	made	as	follows	:
	We	dissolve	50	kilos,	of	soda	in	150	kilos,	of	water	in	a
	copper	kettle,	and	raise	it	to	the	boil.	We	then	gradually
	add	with	continual	stirring	100	kilos,	of	powdered	colo-
	phony,	and	then	keep	up	the	boiling	for	two	or	three	hours,
	or	at	least	until	the	liquid	becomes	clear	and	quite	transparent.
	We	then	allow	the	liquid	to	cool,	and	pour	it	off	from	the
	tough	brown	resin	lying	at	the	bottom.	We	then	add	100
	kilos,	and	15	kilos,	of	soaked	glue	and	heat	up	till	everything
	is	dissolved.	The	vehicle	thus	prepared	dries	quickly.	If	it
	is	wanted	to	dry	slowly,	it	is	additioned	with	from	10	to	20
	kilos,	of	glycerine	of	28	B.
	Thenius's	Recipe.	Take	25	kilos,	linseed	oil,	3	kilos,	of
	fine	litharge,	and	boil	until	the	linseed	oil,	on	cooling,	begins


INDEX
	619
	Chronicle	of	Jocelin	of	Brakelond,	268,
	553;	of	Robert	of	Gloucester,	482;
	Chronicles,	112;	Chronicles	of	Eng-
	land,	France	and	Spain,	by	Froissart,
	13;	Chronicles	of	London,	ed.	C.	L.
	Kingsford,	186-200;	Chronicles	of	the
	Crusades,	by	G.	Villehardouin	and
	J.	de	Joinville,	375.
	Churches	as	refuge	from	pursuers,	22.
	Cicero,	161,	394,	439.
	Circulation	of	books,	.445.
	Cities,	dislike	of	among	the	early	Ger-
	mans,	14,	214,	228;	rise	of	in	Eng-
	land,	301;	customs	in	mediaeval
	England,	302-324.
	City	of	Legion	(Caerleon),	4.
	Civilization	in	Europe	during	the	Middle
	Ages,	by	G.	B.	Adams,	19.
	Claudian,	late	Latin	poet,	405.
	Clement,	St.,	66.
	Clerical	opposition	to	miracle	plays,
	525-543.
	Clerk,	7,	193,	277,	354,	390,	410,	415,
	419,	448-450,	519.
	Clerk's	Tale	by	Chaucer,	608.
	Cnut,	King	of	England,	142,	145.
	Coat	of	arms,	8;	of	mail,	ibid.
	Codex	Aureus	Inscription,	77-79.
	Cosnred,	ancestor	of	Alfred	the	Great,
	119.
	Coifi,	chief	pagan	priest	at	the	court	of
	Edwin	of	Northumbria,	36,	37,	56.
	Collection	of	Antidotes,	438.
	Colman,	English	ecclesiastic,	50-55.
	Columba,	St.,	46,	54,	55.
	Comminian,	Latin	writer,	68.
	Compayre,	Gabriel,	Abelard	and	the
	Origin	and	Early	History	of	Uni-
	versities,	387.
	Conant,	M.	P.,	Oriental	Tale	in	Eng-
	land	in	the	Eighteenth	Century,	375.
	Confessio	Amantis	by	Gower,	599,	601,
	602,	604,	608.
	Constantine	(the	Great),	Roman	Em-
	peror,	42,	319.
	Constantinus,	King	of	Scots,	85.
	Constitutions	of	Clarendon,	161,	222.
	Constitutum	Constantini,	319.
	Converse,	Florence,	Long	Will,	351.
	Conwalh,	King	of	the	West	Saxons,
	57.
	Cook,	31.
	Cook,	A.	S.,	ed.	Crist	of	Cynewulf,	118;
	tr.	Asser,	Life	of	Alfred,	ibid.
	Copying	manuscripts,	69,	135,	139,
	505,	506.
	Corinth,	52.
	Cornish,	F.	W.,	Chivalry,	364.
	Coronation	Charter	of	Henry	I,	203-205.
	Corporate	character	of	medieval	life,
	262.
	Corpus	Poetieum	Boreale,	ed.	G.	Vig-
	fusson	and	F.	Y.	Powell,	72.
	Cost	of	the	Corpus	Christi	pageant	at
	York,	521.
	Coulton,	G.	G.,	A	Mediaeval	Garner,
	254,	441,	563.
	Counselor,	31,	32.
	Covetousness,	confession	of,	242-247.
	Cowper,	William,	The	Task,	300.
	Craig,	Hardin,	233.
	Cranmer,	Thomas,	Remains	and	Letters,
	484.
	Crecy,	battle	of,	181-184.
	Creoda,	ancestor	of	Alfred	the	Great,
	119.
	Crete,	94.
	Cronica	Tripartita,	by	Gower,	604.
	Cross,	A.	L.,	A	History	of	England	and
	Greater	Britain,	143,	157,	172,	180,
	184,	185,	197,	250,	301.
	Crusades,	289	(?),	333,	375-381,	382,
	457.
	Cudam,	ancestor	of	Alfred	the	Great,
	119.
	Cunebert,	110.
	Cunningham,	William,	An	Essay	on
	Western	Civilization	in	Its	Economic
	Aspects,	21;	Growth	of	English	In-
	dustry	and	Commerce,	227.
	Cura	Pastoralis,	by	Gregory	the	Great,
	131.
	Cursor	Mundi,	482,	517,	518,	553.
	Customs	of	Newcastle-upon-Tyne,	302.
	Cuthbert,	St.,	102,	436;	bishop	of
	Lindisfarne,	111;	pupil	of	Bede,	114.
	Cuthwin,	pupil	of	Bede,	114;	ancestor
	of	Alfred	the	Great,	119.
	Cynegils,	King	of	the	West	Saxons,	98.
	Cynewulf,	Old	English	poet,	80-82,	118.
	Cynric,	ancestor	of	Alfred	the	Great,	11	9.
	Cyprian,	St.,	433.


TESTS	OF	LYRIC.
	narrative	and	lyric,	and	much	of	the	composite
	poetry	of	the	present	century	which	is	usually
	classed	as	lyrical	is	rather	idyllic	in	form	and
	spirit	1	Didactic	poetry	and	satiric	poetry,	finally,
	the	two	leading	poetic	types	of	the	English
	'classical'	period,	are	also	the	two	pre-eminently
	anti-lyrical	forms,	and	consequently	under	no
	classification	can	they	be	properly	ranked	as	any
	part	of	that	literary	residuum	sometimes	2	called
	'lyrical	poetry'.
	Conformance	to	the	external	marks	of	any	re
	cognized	lyric	kind	constitutes	perhaps	'a	lyric',
	pro	forma]	but	such	is	not	the	criterion	of	'the
	lyrical	'.	Quality,	on	the	contrary,	quality	and
	inspiration,	are	the	subtle	tests	of	all	lyrical	writing.
	Lyric	poetry	is	pre-eminently	the	outcome	of	"	the
	best	and	happiest	moments	of	the	happiest	and
	best	minds".	Apply	this	test	never	so	strictly,
	and	it	is	still	amazing	what	extent	and	variety	of
	product	remains	from	the	two	great	periods	of
	English	poetry.	And	outside	of	these	periods	also,
	there	are	important	lyrical	gleanings,	especially	in
	the	poetry	of	the	pre-Elizabethan	period.
	The	Anglo-Saxon	poetry,	which,	like	all	primi
	tive	poetry,	is	mostly	of	an	indeterminate	and	un-
	differentiated	species,	is	streaked	here	and	there
	by	lyricism.	It	presents	perhaps	no	lyric	in	the
	A	The	Idyl	of	course	is	of	classical	origin.	The	species	in	modern
	poetry	is	discussed	in	the	interesting	essay,	entitled	"A	Comparison	of
	Elizabethan	with	Victorian	Poetry",	by	the	late	Mr.	J.	A.	Symonds
	(in	his	Essays	Speculative	and	Suggestive,	399	f.	).	See	also	his	Greek
	Poets,	ch.	xx.
	3	As,	for	example,	by	Landor	(	Works,	iv.	56):	"all	that	portion	of
	our	metre,	which,	wanting	a	definite	term,	is	ranged	under	the	capitulary
	of	lyric	".


ESSAYS	IN	CRITICISM	i
	our	study	of	poetry.	In	the	present	work	it	is
	the	course	of	one	great	contributory	stream	to
	the	world-river	of	poetry	that	we	are	invited	to
	follow.	We	are	here	invited	to	trace	the	stream
	of	English	poetry.	But	whether	we	set	ourselves,
	as	here,	to	follow	only	one	of	the	several	streams
	that	make	the	mighty	river	of	poetry,	or	whether
	we	seek	to	know	them	all,	our	governing	thought
	should	be	the	same.	We	should	conceive	of	^
	poetry	worthily,	and	more	highly	than	it	has
	been	the	custom	to	conceive	of	it.	We	should
	conceive	of	it	as	capable	of	higher	uses,	and	called
	to	higher	destinies,	than	those	which	in	general
	men	have	assigned	to	it	hitherto.	More	and
	more	mankind	will	discover	that	we	have	to	turn
	to	poetry	to	interpret	life	for	us,	to	console	us,
	to	sustain	us.	Without	poetry,	our	science	will
	appear	incomplete	;	and	most	of	what	now	passes
	with	us	for	religion	and	philosophy	will	be
	replaced	by	poetry.	Science,	I	say,	will	appear
	incomplete	without	it.	For	finely	and	truly
	does	Wordsworth	call	poetry	'	the	impassioned
	expression	which	is	in	the	countenance	of	all
	science	'	;	and	what	is	a	countenance	without
	its	expression	?	Again,	Wordsworth	finely	and
	truly	calls	poetry	'	the	breath	and	finer	spirit	of
	all	knowledge	'	:	our	religion,	parading	evidences
	such	as	those	on	which	the	popular	mind	relies
	now	;	our	philosophy,	pluming	itself	on	its
	reasonings	about	causation	and	finite	and	infinite
	being	;	what	are	they	but	the	shadows	and


AUGUST	-23.	347
	of	lu	ll,	are	flying	thick	around	us	j	such	as	strong	temp-
	tat	iuns,	horrid	thoughts	of	God,	debasing	thoughts	of
	Christ,	distressing	and	despairing	ones	of	the	hope	of	sal
	vation	by	him.	O	how	do	these	fiery	darts	of	the	enemy
	tend	to	burn	up	the	peace,	hope,	consolation	and	joy	of
	tho	soul.
	tc	Ah,"	says	Satan,	"	you	a	child	of	God	;	you	a	be
	liever	in	Christ	j	you	an	heir	of	glory}	your	faith	is
	fancy,	your	hope	delusion	j	you	are	an	accursed	sinner
	in	all	you	do	;	you	had	better	give	over	your	profession,
	give	up	your	hope,	and	enjoy	yourself	in	the	world,	foi
	all	your	expectations	are	only	vain!"	What	can	the
	poor	sinner	say	I	How	repel,	how	quench	such	fiery
	darts	.	Only	by	taking	"the	shield	of	faith	;"	holding	up
	the	work	of	Jesus	against	them	all	:	"My	Saviour	s	blood
	atoned	for	my	sins	;	his	blood	cleanseth	from	all	sin	;
	all	manner	of	sin	and	blasphemy	shall	be	forgiven	;	in
	his	righteousness	I	am	justified	from	all	things;	there
	is	now	no	condemnation	to	me,	for	I	am	in	Christ	Jesus.
	Who	shall	lay	any	thing	to	the	charge	of	God	s	elect	("
	AUGUST	23.	And	take	the	helmet	of	salvation.	Ephes.	4	:	17.
	It	is	excellently	said	by	Gurnal	in	his	Christian	Ar
	mor	:	"Resolve	for	hardships,	or	lay	down	thine	arms.
	Few	come	at	the	beat	of	Christ	s	drum	to	his	standard.
	Many	that	enlist	by	external	profession	under	him,	after
	u	while	drop	away	and	leave	his	colors.	It	is	suffering
	work	they	refuse.	Many	men	are	more	tender	of	their
	body	than	of	their	conscience	;	they	had	rather	the
	Gospel	had	provided	armor	to	defend	their	bodies
	from	death	and	danger	than	their	souls	from	sin	and
	Satan."
	All	this	is	because	they	have	not	on	"	the	helmet	of
	salvation."	What	is	this	1	For	an	helmet,	"	the	hope
	of	salvation."	1	Thess.	5:8.	Do	not	all	naturally	hope


236	LYLY	AS	A	PLAYWRIGHT
	limitations	of	his	own	invention,	compel	the	dramatist	to	lean	largely
	on	established	fact,	leading	him	to	borrow	his	matter	whence	he	can,
	but	modify	it	as	he	pleases.	So	emerges	the	idea	of	constructed
	Plot,	with	the	further	liberty	of	introducing	such	ornament,	of	wit,	of
	learning,	of	eloquence,	of	poetry,	as	his	own	information	and	capa
	city,	or	the	slow	growth	of	taste,	render	possible.
	So	then	we	find	that,	by	1580,	the	same	tendency	to	character
	ization	which	had	led	the	English	stage	from	the	Bible	and	the
	Hagiology	to	the	personification	of	human	qualities	has	brought	it
	back	again	to	actual	men	and	women,	to	whose	representation
	it	returns	with	the	fuller	grasp	and	power	of	portraiture	engendered
	by	the	school	through	which	it	has	passed.	It	has	learned,	mean
	while,	to	draw	its	material	from	a	far	wider	range,	to	lay	under
	contribution	the	whole	field	of	classical	history	and	mythology,	as
	well	as	the	incidents	of	contemporary	life,	in	Court	and	countryside,
	in	the	tavern	and	the	street	;	while	it	is	beginning	to	exhibit,	in	its
	reproduction	of	what	it	has	read	or	observed,	something	of	the
	ideality	and	poetry	that	mark	the	creative	artist.	English	Drama
	had	entered	on	the	period	of	the	Moral-Plays	the	conventional
	interpreter	to	an	illiterate	populace	of	fixed	religious	traditions,	from
	whose	beauty	and	sanctity	it	often	derogated	in	the	process.	It
	issued	from	that	period	still	hampered,	indeed,	by	conventions,	but
	wielder	of	a	new	power	of	conscious	invention	;	with	some	notion	of
	grouping,	some	intelligence	of	motive,	and	ambitious	to	impart
	dignity	and	seriousness	by	its	own	treatment	rather	than	to	owe	them
	merely	to	the	august	character	of	its	established	themes.	It	aims
	now,	chiefly,	at	depicting	many-sided	life	:	yet	in	abandoning	religion
	and	instruction	as	its	main	object,	it	has	not	ceased	to	be	instructive.
	Didactic	purpose	may	have	vanished,	but	didactic	results	remain	:
	perhaps	it	would	be	truer	to	say	that	didactic	purpose	is	still	present,
	and	must	ever	be	present	if	the	work	is	to	be	noble	and	impressive	;
	but	it	has	learned	to	instil	its	lesson	silently,	not	to	force	it	down	the
	throat,	it	consents	to	teach	under	the	conditions	of	amusing	and
	interesting.	Since	human	life	interests	mainly	as	it	is	the	embodi
	ment	and	result	of	human	characteristics,	the	stage	becomes	the
	school	of	human	character	;	and	the	drama,	though	an	amusement,
	remains	ethical.
	But	in	These	are	the	effects	perceptible	to	one	who	reviews	the	long
	jnttufis	P	eriod	1380-1580	as	a	whole	t	but	in	truth,	though	a	modern
	still	unde-	observer	can	trace	the	process	distinctly,	the	results	of	this	silent
	tided


1898.]
	Looking	West.
	861
	had	resolved	to	give	their	old	an-
	tagonist	the	honours	of	a	State
	funeral,	and	he	is	to	be	interred	in
	Westminster	Abbey.	This	is	of
	course;	and	the	greatest	honour
	that	awaits	his	memory	will	be
	seen	in	such	a	thronging	of	the
	streets	and	churches	on	the	day
	of	fcis	funeral	as	never	has	been
	witr	essed	since	the	great	Duke	of
	Wellington	was	buried.
	The	war	waged	against	Spain
	by	the	United	States	goes	on	;	but
	its	interest	for	all	but	the	com-
	batants	is	nearly	lost	in	the	light
	of	the	great	discovery	that	springs
	out	of	it.	We	still	hear	of	the
	war	as	a	war	of	humanity,	and	so
	it	will	be	called	on	all	convenient
	occasions.	But	its	true	character
	is	by	this	time	pretty	clearly	re-
	vealod	;	and	I	suppose	that	few
	good	judgments	doubt	now	that
	the	hurried	attack	on	Spain	was
	the	outflood	of	a	long-rising	ambi-
	tion	to	figure	in	the	world	as	a
	concjuering	Power	and	take	the
	imperial	stamp	of	all	great	nations.
	Even	the	most	significant	events
	are	soon	forgotten,	or	we	might
	remember	that	we	have	seen	the
	swelling	of	this	flood	before.	How
	long	is	it	since	the	Venezuelan
	trouble	looked	so	ugly,	and	why	did
	it	take	so	unexpected	an	appear-
	ance	?	The	Venezuelan	trouble
	culminated	only	two	or	three	years
	ago	;	and	the	ugliness	of	it,	as	will
	be	f(	und	recorded	in	all	the	news-
	papers	of	the	time,	was	the	in-
	stantaneous	flaming	out,	all	over
	the	United	States,	of	a	passion	for
	war	with	England.	It	was	the
	most	remarkable	thing	about	the
	whole	affair.	Within	a	few	days
	^fr>	the	publication	of	Mr	Cleve-
	land	s	message,	which	started	these
	fires,	the	New	York	correspondent
	of	the	'Times'	warned	us	over
	and	over	again	that	we	were	on
	the	brink	of	a	terrific	danger,	so
	intense	was	the	enthusiasm	of	the
	American	people	for	war.	The
	same	spirit,	this,	which	is	now
	loosed	and	in	full	operation,	after
	a	more	discreet	and	much	easier
	start	than	conflict	with	England
	would	have	been.
	That	the	great	underlying
	motive	of	the	rupture	with	Spain
	was	this	slow-growing	and	most
	natural	ambition	we	made	out	with
	a	long	telescope	months	ago,	duly
	recording	the	observation	in	this
	place.	It	now	conies	into	every
	calculation	of	the	future	course	of
	events,	as	a	disturbing	factor	of
	vast	importance	and	as	yet	in-
	determinable.	No	one	can	pre-
	tend	to	say	with	any	approach	to
	confidence	what	aspect	the	world
	will	take	ten	years,	five	years,
	two	years	hence,	as	a	result	of
	America's	appearance	in	the	arena
	as	a	fighting	Power.	With	us,	at
	the	moment,	there	seems	to	be	but
	one	expectation	:	the	result	will	be
	an	Anglo-American	alliance	against
	the	world.	It	is	a	fascinating	and
	for	many	reasons	a	most	natural
	conjecture,	and	with	us,	at	any
	rate,	a	true	desire;	but	nothing
	can	be	more	thoughtless	than	to
	count	on	it	as	an	inevitable	event.
	Of	course	we	all	know	why	the	wish
	for	an	American	alliance	is	so	strong
	in	ourselves,	but	few	of	us	seem	to
	remember	that	it	is	not	a	reason	of
	much	concern	to	the	United	States.
	If	on	the	other	side	of	the	Atlantic
	a	real	desire	for	England's	friend-
	ship	springs	up,	it	grows	from	a
	need,	or	a	supposed	need,	which
	presses	upon	the	Americans	very
	closely	without	touching	us.	The
	fear	of	Continental	interference
	between	themselves	and	Spain
	is	what	inclines	America	to
	listen	to	suggestions	of	alliance
	with	Great	Britain.	The	fear	re-
	moved,	all	thought	of	such	an


560
	A	Nf.w	Game-	Law	for	Norway.
	[Oct.
	ated.	If	carried	into	effect,	this
	new	regulation	will	be	of	very	con-
	siderable	advantage	for	the	increase
	of	game	throughout	a	large	part	of
	Norway.
	Clauses	four	and	five	are	as
	follows	:
	"In	Private	Almennings	the	rights
	to	sport	and	capture	of	game	belong
	to	the	owner	of	the	Almennings.	If
	there	are	more	owners	than	one	of
	the	Almenning,	the	regulations	in	the
	preceding	clause	hold	good.	I	n	Parish
	Almennings	the	rights	to	sport	and
	capture	of	game	belong	to	those	who
	have	lights	of	ownership	in	the	Al-
	menning	:	these	are	to	be	administered
	by	a	committee	of	the	Almenning,
	after	rules	approved	of	by	the	king
	or	his	authorised	nominee."
	The	term	"	Almenning"	means
	what	has	originally	been	common
	land;	when	"private,"	it	has	subse-
	quently	been	purchased	by	an	in-
	dividual,	and	when	"	parish,"	it
	has	been	purchased	by	the	parish.
	The	State	Almennings	referred	to
	in	the	next	clause	are	lands	which
	were	originally	common,	but	have
	been	bought	up	by	the	State,
	and	have	therefore	become	State
	property.
	The	sixth	clause	is	perhaps	the
	most	important	one	in	the	pro-
	posed	Act	:	to	a	certain	extent
	it	concerns	foreigners,	but	it	con-
	tains	several	regulations	that	en-
	tirely	change	the	position	of	the
	Norwegians	themselves	with	regard
	to	sporting	rights	:
	"In	State	Almennings	sport	and
	capture	of	game	shall	be	free	for
	every	Norwegian	citizen	at	a	yearly
	payment	which	will	be	determined
	by	the	king	or	his	authorised	nom-
	inee.	This	payment	for	sport	with
	dog	shall	not	be	higher	than	20
	kroner,	and	for	sport	without	dog,
	as	well	as	for	setting	traps	and	snares,
	not	higher	than	5	kroner	per	annum.
	From	this	is	excepted	sport	after	elk,
	red-deer,	or	roe-deer	;	how	this	sport
	is	to	be	carried	on	shall	be	determined
	by	the	king	or	his	authorised	nominee.
	Payments	must	be	made	before	the
	discharge	of	a	gun	in	advance	for	a
	sporting-card,	which	is	made	out	in
	the	man's	name,	and	is	available	for
	the	calendar	year.	These	are	to	be
	issued	by	the	committee	of	the	Al-
	menning,	jointly	with	the	forest-
	ranger	concerned.	Sporting	-	cards	*
	must	be	carried	and	shown	in	the
	sport	territory	whenever	any	one
	demands	them.	Persons	who	have
	been	convicted	of	breach	of	the	game-
	laws,	or	of	any	common	penal	law,
	cannot	obtain	such	a	sporting-	card.
	Of	the	payment	thus	made,	one-half
	goes	to	the	State	exchequer	and	one-
	half	to	the	exchequer	of	the	district
	concerned.	If	more	districts	than
	one	have	rights	in	the	Almenning,
	the	share	of	the	payment	going	to
	the	districts	shall	be	divided	according
	to	the	taxation	roll	of	the	property
	rights."
	How	this	clause	so	greatly	affects
	foreigners	had	better	be	left	unex-
	plained	for	the	moment,	as	its
	treatment	properly	falls	under	the
	twelfth	clause	of	the	Act	:	the
	modifications,	however,	introduced
	into	the	present	practice	as	regards
	Norwegian	citizens,	demand	atten-
	tion.	At	the	present	moment
	there	is	no	money-payment	of	any
	kind	whatever	exigible	from	a
	Norwegian	for	the	rights	of	sport
	and	capture	of	game	generally	on
	the	State	Almennings,	which	ex-
	tend	to	hundreds	of	thousands	of
	acres	though	there	is	a	payment
	due	for	hunting	after	elk	and	red-
	deer,	which	varies	according	to
	the	district	concerned,	and	accord-
	ing	to	the	number	of	these	that
	may	be	come	across.	As	a	nat-
	ural	result	the	game,	with	the
	exception	of	elk	and	red-deer,	have
	been	shot	down	to	a	very	great
	extent	;	and	in	the	interests	of
	their	preservation	a	measure	sue!	*
	as	proposed	in	this	clause	has	been	r
	rendered	necessary.	There	is	con-
	siderable	amount	of	opposition	to
	this	proposal	as	it	stands,	and	some
	modification	may	be	made	when


I/O	THE	WILL	TO	POWER.
	discouragement	of	the	feeling	of	antagonism,.	The
	struggle	against	resentment	almost	seems	the
	Buddhist	s	first	duty	;	thus	only	is	his	peace	of	soul
	secured.	To	isolate	oneself	without	bitterness,
	this	presupposes	the	existence	of	a	surprisingly
	mild	and	sweet	order	of	men,	saints.	.	.	.
	*
	The	Astuteness	of	moral	castration.	How	is	war
	waged	against	the	virile	passions	and	valuations	?
	No	violent	physical	means	are	available	;	the	war
	must	therefore	be	one	of	ruses,	spells,	and	lies	in
	short,	a	"	spiritual	war."
	First	recipe	:	One	appropriates	virtue	in	general,
	and	makes	it	the	main	feature	of	one	s	ideal	;	the
	older	ideal	is	denied	and	declared	to	be	the	reverse
	of	all	ideals.	Slander	has	to	be	carried	to	a	fine
	art	for	this	purpose.
	Second	recipe	:	A	type	of	man	is	set	up	as	a
	general	standard	;	and	this	is	projected	into	all
	things,	behind	all	things,	and	behind	the	destiny
	of	all	things	as	God.
	Third	recipe	:	The	opponents	of	one	s	ideal	are
	declared	to	be	the	opponents	of	God	;	one	arro
	gates	to	oneself	a	right	to	great	pathos,	to	power,
	and	a	right	to	curse	and	to	bless.
	Fourth	recipe:	All	suffering,	all	gruesome,
	terrible,	and	fatal	things	are	declared	to	be	the
	results	of	opposition	to	one	s	ideal	all	suffering	is
	punishment	even	in	the	case	of	one	s	adherents
	(except	it	be	a	trial,	etc.).
	Fifth	recipe	:	One	goes	so	far	as	to	regard
	Nature	as	the	reverse	of	one	s	ideal,	and	the	lengthy


CARING	FOR	FOODS	2$
	foods,	and	will	keep	the	foods	from	spoiling.	Some
	of	these	are	sold	in	drug	stores	or	by	agents	and
	are	used	by	housekeepers,	especially	in	canning
	fruits.	Though	some	of	these	substances	are	harm-
	less,	it	has	been	proved	that	others	are	poisonous,
	and	their	use	in	foods	is	unnecessary	and	unwise.
	Questions	:	i.	What	causes	foods	to	spoil?	2.	What	are
	bacteria?	3.	How	can	food	be	kept	from	spoiling?	4.
	Mention	some	ways	by	which	bacteria	get	into	food.	5.
	What	is	the	first	great	point	in	caring	for	food?	6.	Why	do
	foods	keep	longer	when	they	are	kept	cold?	7.	Where
	should	foods	be	kept?	8.	What	is	the	second	great	point
	in	the	care	of	foods?	9.	How	can	the	bacteria	in	foods	be
	killed?	10.	How	can	the	germs	on	milk	vessels	and	food
	vessels	be	killed?	n.	Why	should	this	be	done?	12.	How
	do	disease	germs	often	get	into	food?	13.	Is	it	wise	or	un-
	wise	to	use	food	preservatives?
	Suggestions	and	topics	for	development	:	The	importance	of
	proper	care	of	food	and	food	receptacles.	Fill	small,	clean	bottles
	or	jars	with	milk	or	cooked	fruits.	Keep	one	in	a	warm	room,	the
	other	in	the	coldest	place	possible.	Let	the	children	notice	which
	sours	first.	When	both	have	become	sour,	empty	the	bottles,	scald
	one	carefully,	rinse	the	other	with	cold	water,	and	refill.	Put	them
	away	together	and	let	the	children	watch	for	signs	of	souring.
	Good	and	bad	methods	of	caring	for	milk.	The	importance	of
	keeping	free	from	germs	the	milk	given	to	a	baby.	The	care	of
	school	lunches.	Foods	purchased	by	school	children	that	are	likely
	to	contain	large	numbers	of	bacteria.	Practical	methods	of	keep-
	ing	flies	out	of	a	kitchen.	How	to	destroy	flies	and	cockroaches.
	Obtain	from	the	Secretary	of	Agriculture,	Washington,	D.	C,
	Farmers'	Bulletins	155,	How	Insects	Affect	Health;	74,	Milk	as	a
	Food;	and	375,	Care	of	Food	in	the	Home.	These	are	free.	Many
	practical	suggestions	for	the	care	of	foods	will	te	found	in	them.


5r	I1MJT3	FELTQX
	TK-nen:	rner	v	e~t
	said	TD	iterr	:
	"ran	IIETT	ror	n	jursd	me	~riiar	ins	s
	IBDST	HErTfr	worm,	oic	rnat	I	.rre	na?	rr^	twr
	rm	End	DCETII,	sn	i?	taimf	ir
	rrrerr	eDUElrr	:	EEC	rhar	Gnz
	to	ins	earmrr	miidrer	^	end	rnar	all
	"	And	iiEi^e	I	rnrriiicsd	T*nr	of	al	riis^	T
	IL-^T-V	laurnrsr.	*	IT	s:
	imr	1	shrmid	unr	IIET^
	irD^	fnr	IL	Bur	^rnr	are	-rs
	ETUI	iiErre	uoc	iruTnsBed	me	I^-OEX	.
	u	D^&gt;	I	fvsr	rTrrsr	ynn,	rben,	^.nsf	7	*	ask
	in?	hiack	ir^v	mar	nsr
	nr	surrnse	arm	zisnVsssirr^.
	,"	said	-R:s,iacinj:	imr
	re^	am	smiinir-	root	rite	cinud	sr	s?	XT
	ir	awar	:	*	n-iier	-rnn	i*r*vr	unor	me	Ik:^
	1	arr.	iirrfe	afraid	v^ni:	^cil	icar	ute^	al	in
	*	N	^v/	said	fCTrimi
	siiall	iicr^	-rnir	ciirik^	:	TT	hf	hsarsr	nr
	C,	a:-	srifer	an^chsr	kind	of	r
	r	SETTTU;	,	ne	5RBK	ter	7^	iim,	anc	srrrr?
	fcis?	her.	^iiib	^nse^	iaucnmc	ai\d
	ncz,	*	The
	:	:r	WG?
	ek	rhar	he	sur^sded	ir	7.ntu:hmc..	it


Fancy	and	Imagination
	This	theory	will	bear,	we	think,	the	most	rigorous
	tests	which	can	be	made	applicable	to	it,	and	will	be
	acknowledged	as	tenable	by	all	who	are	themselves
	imaginative.	If	we	carefully	examine	those	poems,	or
	portions	of	poems,	or	those	prose	romances,	which
	mankind	have	been	accustomed	to	designate	as	"	imag
	inative	"	(for	an	instinctive	feeling	leads	us	to	employ
	properly	the	term	whose	full	import	we	have	still	never
	been	able	to	define),	it	will	be	seen	that	all	so	desig
	nated	are	remarkable	for	the	suggestive	character
	which	we	have	discussed.	They	are	strongly	mystic,
	in	the	proper	sense	of	the	word.	We	will	here	only	call
	to	the	reader's	mind	the	Prometheus	Vinctus	of	^Eschy-
	lus;	the	Inferno	of	Dante;	the	Destruction	of	Nttman^
	tia	by	Cervantes;	the	Comas	of	Milton;	the	Ancient
	Mariner	t	the	Christabel,	and	the	Kubla	Khan	of	Coler
	idge;	the	Nightingale	of	Keats;	and,	most	especially,
	the	Sensitive	Plant	of	Shelley,	and	the	Undine	of	De	la
	Motte	Fouque*.	These	two	latter	poems	(for	we	call
	them	both	such)	are	the	finest	possible	examples	of	the
	purely	ideal.	There	is	little	of	fancy	here,	and	every
	thing	of	imagination.	With	each	note	of	the	lyre	is
	heard	a	ghostly,	and	not	always	a	distinct,	but	an
	august	and	soul-exalting,	echo.	In	every	glimpse	of
	beauty	presented,	we	catch,	through	long	and	wild
	vistas,	dim	bewildering	visions	of	a	far	more	ethereal
	beauty	beyond.	But	not	so	in	poems	which	the	world
	has	always	persisted	in	terming	fanciful.	Here	the


William	Ellery	Channing
	Socrates	Smith	does	not	receive	his	double	quantum	of
	thirty	days	because	he	is	called	Socrates,	but	because
	he	is	called	Socrates	Smith.	Mr.	Napoleon	Buonaparte
	Jones	is	not	in	the	weekly	receipt	of	a	flogging	on
	account	of	being	Mr.	Napoleon	Buonaparte,	but
	simply	on	account	of	being	Mr.	Napoleon	Buonaparte
	Jones.	Here,	indeed,	is	a	clear	distinction.	It	is	the
	surname	which	is	to	blame,	after	all.	Mr.	Smith	must
	drop	the	Smith.	Mr.	Jones	should	discard	the	Jones.
	No	one	would	ever	think	of	taking	Socrates	Socrates
	solely	to	the	watchhouse;	and	there	is	not	a	bully
	living	who	would	venture	to	cowskin	Napoleon	Buona
	parte	per	se.	And	the	reason	is	plain.	With	nine
	individuals	out	of	ten,	as	the	world	is	at	present	hap
	pily	constituted,	Mr.	Socrates	(without	the	Smith)
	would	be	taken	for	the	veritable	philosopher	of	whom
	we	have	heard	so	much,	and	Mr.	Napoleon	Buonaparte
	(without	the	Jones)	would	be	received	implicitly	as	the
	hero	of	Austerlitz.	And	should	Mr.	Napoleon	Buona
	parte	(without	the	Jones)	give	an	opinion	upon	mili
	tary	strategy,	it	would	be	heard	with	the	profoundest
	respect.	And	should	Mr.	Socrates	(without	the	Smith)
	deliver	a	lecture	or	write	a	book,	what	critic	so	bold	as
	not	to	pronounce	it	more	luminous	than	the	logic	of
	Emerson,	and	more	profound	than	the	Orphicism	of
	Alcott	?	In	fact,	both	Mr.	Smith	and	Mr.	Jones,	in
	the	case	we	have	imagined,	would	derive,	through
	their	own	ingenuity,	a	very	material	advantage.	But
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