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   <ramheader>

      <filedesc>

         <titlestmt>

            <title>The Germ (1901 Facsimile Reprint, issue 3)</title>

            <editor>William Michael Rossetti</editor>

    

    

         </titlestmt>

         <editionstmt>

            <edition>1</edition>

         </editionstmt>

         <extent/>

   

   

         <notesstmt/>

         <sourcedesc>

            <citnstruct>

               <title>The Germ; thoughts towards nature in poetry, literature and art; being a facsimile

      reprint of the literary organ of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, published in 1850, with an

      introduction by William Michael Rossetti. [1901]</title>

               <editor>William Michael Rossetti</editor>

               <imprint>

                  <publisher>Elliot Stock</publisher>

                  <printer/>

                  <city>London</city>

                  <date compdate="1901">1901</date>

                  <edition/>

                  <prepub/>

                  <pagination>[i-iv], 97-144 + 2.</pagination>

                  <issue>3</issue>

                  <authorization/>

                  <collation/>

                  <note>As originally issued this reprint edition appeared in five separate fascicles, the first
       
       containing WMR's <xref doc="a.ap4.g415.1901.wmr.rad">
                        <title level="es">"Preface"</title>
                     </xref>, the last four containing each of the four numbers of the
       
       original periodical.</note>

               </imprint>

               <scribe/>

               <corrector/>

               <provenance>

                  <location>Alderman Library Special Collections</location>

                  <recnum>ap4.g415</recnum>

                  <note/>

               </provenance>

               <physicaldesc>

                  <binding>

                     <cover>The 1901 edition accidently reverses the back wrappers for the February and March

        issues.</cover>

                     <endpapers/>

                  </binding>

                  <typography>

                     <typeface>

                        <point/>

                        <font/>

                     </typeface>

                     <pagelines>

                        <number/>

                        <length/>

                     </pagelines>

                     <columns/>

                     <margin type="top"/>

                     <margin type="bottom"/>

                     <margin type="right"/>

                     <margin type="left"/>

                     <note/>

                  </typography>

                  <paper/>

                  <watermark/>

                  <size/>

                  <note/>

               </physicaldesc>

            </citnstruct>

         </sourcedesc>

      </filedesc>

      <encodingdesc/>

      <profiledesc>

         <commentaries>

            <head>Commentary</head>

            <section type="intro">

               <head>Introduction</head>

               <p>This is the third (March) number of the four that were originally published.  The facsimile tried to reproduce the original periodical as
      
      closely as possible not only in its textual elements, but in its bibliographical features as
      
      well. The edition was issued in five parts: four close physical facsimiles of each of the four
      
      numbers of the original periodical (in paper covers as the original numbers), plus WMR's important <xref doc="a.ap4.g415.1901.wmr.rad">
                     <title level="es">"Preface"</title>
                  </xref> to the edition. </p>

            </section>

            <section type="texthistcomp">

               <head>Textual History: Composition</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="texthistrev">

               <head>Textual History: Revision</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="prodhist">

               <head>Production History</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="recepthist">

               <head>Reception History</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="icon">

               <head>Iconographic</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="printhist">

               <head>Printing History</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="pictorial">

               <head>Pictorial</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="historical">

               <head>Historical</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="literary">

               <head>Literary</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="translation">

               <head>Translation</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="autobio">

               <head>Autobiographical</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

            <section type="biblio">

               <head>Bibliographic</head>

               <p/>

            </section>

         </commentaries>

      </profiledesc>

      <revisiondesc/>

   </ramheader>

   <text>

      <front>

         <page n="[i]" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3i.tif" width="4480" height="3232"/>

         <pageheader>

            <ornament>An ornamental border frames all the text except the printer's name (G.F. Tupper),

       which lies just beneath it.</ornament>

         </pageheader>

         <titlepage>

            <docedition>No. 3. (<hi rend="i">Price One Shilling</hi>.)</docedition>

            <docdate>

               <hi rend="c">MARCH, 1850.</hi>

               <lb/>

            </docdate>

            <titlepart type="submain">

               <hi rend="b">With an Etching by F. Madox Brown.</hi>

            </titlepart>

            <ornlb>========================================</ornlb>

            <doctitle>

               <titlepart type="main">

                  <hi rend="b">Art and Poetry:</hi>

               </titlepart>

               <titlepart type="submain">

                  <hi rend="b">Being Thoughts towards Nature</hi>

                  <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="b">Conducted principally by Artists.</hi>

               </titlepart>

            </doctitle>

            <ornlb>---*-*---</ornlb>

            <div1 anchor="front.1" type="sonnet" n="30" title="Sonnet" id="a.wmrossetti003.i46"
                  workcode="wmrossetti003">

               <lg n="1" type="quatorzain">

                  <l n="1">When whoso merely hath a little thought</l>

                  <l n="2" indent="2">Will plainly think the thought which is in him,&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="3" indent="2">Not imaging another's bright or dim,</l>

                  <l n="4">Not mangling with new words what others taught;</l>

                  <l n="5">When whoso speaks, from having either sought</l>

                  <l n="6" indent="2">Or only found,&#8212;will speak, not just to skim</l>

                  <l n="7" indent="2">A shallow surface with words made and trim,</l>

                  <l n="8">But in that very speech the matter brought:</l>

                  <l n="9">Be not too keen to cry&#8212;&#8220;So this is all!&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="10" indent="2">A thing I might myself have thought as well,</l>

                  <l n="11" indent="1">But would not say it, for it was not worth!&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="12" indent="2">Ask: &#8220;Is this truth?&#8221; For is it still to tell</l>

                  <l n="13" indent="1">That, be the theme a point or the whole earth,</l>

                  <l n="14">Truth is a circle, perfect, great or small?</l>

               </lg>

            </div1>

            <ornlb>---*-*---</ornlb>

            <docimprint> London: <lb/>

               <hi rend="c">DICKINSON</hi> &amp; Co., 114, <hi rend="c">NEW BOND STREET,</hi>

               <lb/>

               <hi rend="c">AND</hi>

               <lb/>

               <hi rend="c">AYLOTT &amp; JONES, 8, PATERNOSTER ROW.</hi>

               <lb/>

               <lb/>

               <hi rend="sc">G.F Tupper</hi>, Printer, Clement's Lane, Lombard Street.</docimprint>

         </titlepage>

         <epage/>

         <page n="[ii]" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3iii.tif" width="4480" height="3264"/>

         <div0 anchor="front.1" type="table of contents" n="17">

            <divheader>

               <title>

                  <hi rend="c">CONTENTS.</hi>

               </title>

            </divheader>

            <list>

               <item> Cordelia&#8212;<hi rend="i">W. M. Rossetti</hi> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p97">97</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Macbeth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p99">99</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Repining.&#8212;<hi rend="i">Ellen Alleyn</hi> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p111">111</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Sweet Death&#8212;<hi rend="i">Ellen Alleyn</hi> . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p117">117</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Subject in Art, No. II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p118">118</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Carillon.&#8212;<hi rend="i">Dante G. Rossetti</hi>. . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p126">126</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Emblems.&#8212;<hi rend="i">Thomas Woolner</hi> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p127">127</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Sonnet.&#8212;<hi rend="i">W. B. Scott</hi> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <ref target="p128">128</ref>
               </item>

               <item> From the Cliffs.&#8212;<hi rend="i">Dante G. Rossetti</hi> . . . . . . . . <ref target="p129">129</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Fancies at Leisure.&#8212;<hi rend="i">W. M. Rossetti</hi> . . . . . . . . <ref target="p129">129</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Papers of &#8220;The M. S. Society,&#8221; Nos. I. II. &amp; III . . . <ref target="p131">131</ref>
               </item>

               <item> Review, Sir Reginald Mohun.&#8212;<hi rend="i">W.M. Rossetti</hi> . . . . . <ref target="p137">137</ref>
               </item>

            </list>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

         </div0>

         <div0 anchor="front.2" type="advertisement" n="18">

            <p n="1">The Subscribers to this Work are respectfully informed<lb/>that the future Numbers

       will appear on the last day of the<lb/>Month for which they are dated. Also, that a

       supplementary,<lb/>or large-sized Etching will occasionally be given (as with the<lb/>present

       Number.)</p>

         </div0>

         <epage/>

         <div0 anchor="front.3" type="etching" n="19">

            <page n="[iii]" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3iii.tif" width="4480" height="3264"/>

            <pageheader>

               <note>blank page; verso of etching.</note>

            </pageheader>

            <epage/>

            <page n="[iv]" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3v.tif" width="4480" height="3296"/>

            <note>This page is an oversized fold-out.</note>

            <p>

               <figure entity="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3v.tif" id="A.G3IV.1" title="Cordelia" workcode="op56">

                  <head>GONERIL: REGAN: LEAR: FOOL: CORDELIA: FRANCE:</head>

                  <figdesc>Etching by Ford Madox Brown. Cordelia, (at right) lead away by France, points back

         toward Goneril and Regan (at left). Monogram in lower left corner. Image printed in

         landscape as a foldout.</figdesc>

               </figure>

            </p>

         </div0>

      </front>

      <body>

         <div0 anchor="0.1" type="section" n="20">

            <page n="97" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.97.tif" width="4480" height="3328" id="p97"/>

            <pageheader>

               <bibliosig>

                  <hi rend="sc">G</hi>

               </bibliosig>

            </pageheader>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.1" type="lyric" n="31" title="Cordelia" id="a.wmrossetti006.i47"
                  workcode="wmrossetti006">

               <divheader>

                  <title>

                     <hi rend="sc">Cordelia.</hi>

                  </title>

               </divheader>

               <epigraph>

                  <lg n="1" type="stanza">

                     <l n="1"> &#8220;The jewels of our father, with washed eyes </l>

                     <l n="2"> Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are </l>

                     <l n="3"> And, like a sister, am most loth to tell </l>

                     <l n="4"> Your faults, as they are named. Use well our father: </l>

                     <l n="5"> To your professed bosoms I commit him. </l>

                     <l n="6"> But yet, alas!&#8212;stood I within his grace, </l>

                     <l n="7"> I would prefer him to a better place. </l>

                     <l n="8"> So farewell to you both.&#8221; </l>

                  </lg>

               </epigraph>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               <lg n="1" type="sexain">

                  <l n="1">

                     <hi rend="sc">Cordelia</hi>, unabashed and strong,</l>

                  <l n="2" indent="1">Her voice's quite scarcely less</l>

                  <l n="3">Than yester-eve, enduring wrong</l>

                  <l n="4">And curses of her father's tongue,</l>

                  <l n="5" indent="1">Departs, a righteous-souled princess;</l>

                  <l n="6">Bidding her sisters cherish him.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="2" type="sexain">

                  <l n="7">They turn on her and fix their eyes,</l>

                  <l n="8" indent="1">But cease not passing inward;&#8212;one</l>

                  <l n="9">Sneering with lips still curled to lies,</l>

                  <l n="10">Sinuous of body, serpent-wise;</l>

                  <l n="11" indent="1">Her footfall creeps, and her looks shun</l>

                  <l n="12">The very thing on which they dwell.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="3" type="sexain">

                  <l n="13">The other, proud, with heavy cheeks</l>

                  <l n="14" indent="1">And massive forehead, where remains</l>

                  <l n="15">A mark of frowning. If she seeks</l>

                  <l n="16">With smiles to tame her eyes, or speaks,</l>

                  <l n="17" indent="1">Her mouth grows wanton: she disdains</l>

                  <l n="18">The ground with haughty, measured steps.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="4" type="sexain">

                  <l n="19">The silent years had grown between</l>

                  <l n="20" indent="1">Father and daughter. Always she</l>

                  <l n="21">Had waited on his will, and been</l>

                  <l n="22">Foremost in doing it,&#8212;unseen</l>

                  <l n="23" indent="1">Often: she wished him not to see,</l>

                  <l n="24">But served him for his sake alone.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="5" type="sexain">

                  <l n="25">He saw her constant love; and, tho'</l>

                  <l n="26" indent="1">Occasion surely was not scant,</l>

                  <l n="27">Perhaps had never sought to know</l>

                  <l n="28">How she could give it wording. So</l>

                  <l n="29" indent="1">His love, not stumbling at a want,</l>

                  <l n="30">Among the three preferred her first.</l>

               </lg>

               <epage/>

               <page n="98" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.99.tif" width="4480" height="3360"/>

               <lg n="6" type="sexain">

                  <l n="31">Her's is the soul not stubborn, yet</l>

                  <l n="32" indent="1">Asserting self. The heart was rich;</l>

                  <l n="33">But, questioned, she had rather let</l>

                  <l n="34">Men judge her conscious of a debt</l>

                  <l n="35" indent="1">Than freely giving: thus, her speech</l>

                  <l n="36">Is love according to her bond.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="7" type="sexain">

                  <l n="37">In France the queen Cordelia had</l>

                  <l n="38" indent="1">Her hours well satisfied with love:</l>

                  <l n="39">She loved her king, too, and was glad:</l>

                  <l n="40">And yet, at times, a something sad,</l>

                  <l n="41" indent="1">May be, was with her, thinking of</l>

                  <l n="42">The manner of his life at home.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="8" type="sexain">

                  <l n="43">But this does not usurp her mind.</l>

                  <l n="44" indent="1">It is but sorrow guessed from far</l>

                  <l n="45">Thro' twilight dimly. She must find</l>

                  <l n="46">Her duty elsewhere: not resigned&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="47" indent="1">Because she knows them what they are,</l>

                  <l n="48">Yet scarcely ruffled from her peace.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="9" type="sexain">

                  <l n="49">Cordelia&#8212;a name well revered;</l>

                  <l n="50" indent="1">Synonymous with truth and tried</l>

                  <l n="51">Affection; which but needs be heard</l>

                  <l n="52">To raise one selfsame thought endeared</l>

                  <l n="53" indent="1">To men and women far and wide;</l>

                  <l n="54">A name our mothers taught to us.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="10" type="sexain">

                  <l n="55">Like placid faces which you knew</l>

                  <l n="56" indent="1">Years since, but not again shall meet;</l>

                  <l n="57">On a sick bed like wind that blew;</l>

                  <l n="58">An excellent thing, best likened to</l>

                  <l n="59" indent="1">Her own voice, gentle, soft, and sweet;</l>

                  <l n="60">

                     <hi rend="sc">Shakpere's Cordelia</hi>;&#8212;better thus.</l>

               </lg>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            </div1>

            <epage/>

            <page n="99" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.99.tif" width="4480" height="3360" id="p99"/>

            <pageheader>

               <bibliosig>
                  <hi rend="sc">G</hi> 2</bibliosig>

            </pageheader>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.2" type="criticism" n="32" title="Macbeth" id="a.patmore003.i48"
                  workcode="patmore003">

               <divheader>

                  <title id="PN99.1"> Macbeth.*</title>

               </divheader>

               <p n="1">

                  <hi rend="sc">The</hi> purpose of the following Essay is to demonstrate the exist-<lb/>ence

        of a very important error in the hitherto universally adopted<lb/>interpretation of the

        character of Macbeth. We shall prove that<lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">a design of illegitimately obtaining the crown of Scotland had been</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">conceived by Macbeth, and that it had been communicated by him to</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">his wife, prior to his first meeting with the witches, who are commonly</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">supposed to have suggested that design</hi>.</p>

               <p n="2">Most persons when they commence the study of the great<lb/>Shaksperian dramas,

        already entertain concerning them a set of<lb/>traditional notions, generally originated by

        the representations, or<lb/>misrepresentations, of the theatre, afterwards to become

        strength-<lb/>ened or confirmed by desultory reading and corroborative criticism.<lb/>With

        this class of persons it was our misfortune to rank,<lb/>when we first entered upon the <hi rend="i">study</hi> of &#8220;<title level="wrk">

                     <xref doc="a.shakespeare001.005.rad" link="dead">Macbeth</xref>

                  </title>,&#8221; fully be-<lb/>lieving that, in the character of the hero, Shakspere intended

        to<lb/>represent a man whose general rectitude of soul is drawn on to ruin<lb/>by the

        temptations of supernatural agents; temptations which have<lb/>the effect of eliciting his

        latent ambition, and of misdirecting that<lb/>ambition when it has been thus elicited.</p>

               <p n="3">As long as we continued under this idea, the impression produced<lb/>upon us by

         &#8220;<title level="wrk">

                     <xref doc="a.shakespeare001.005.rad" link="dead">Macbeth</xref>

                  </title>&#8221; came far short of that sense of complete<lb/>satisfaction which we were accustomed

        to receive from every other<lb/>of the higher works of Shakspere. But, upon deeper study,

        the<lb/>view now proposed suggested itself, and seemed to render every<lb/>thing as it

        should be. We say that this view suggested <hi rend="i">itself</hi>,<lb/>because it did not

        arise directly from any one of the numerous<lb/>passages which can be quoted in its support;

        it originated in a<lb/>general feeling of what seemed to be wanting to the completion

        of<lb/>the entire effect; a circumstance which has been stated at length<lb/>from the

        persuasion that it is of itself no mean presumption in<lb/>favour of the opinion which it is

        the aim of this paper to establish.</p>

               <p n="4">Let us proceed to examine the validity of a position, which,<pagenote place="f" anchor="y" resp="au" target="PN99.1">

                     <p>* It is proper to state that this article was written, and seen, exactly as it

          at<lb/>present stands, by several literary friends of the writer, a considerable time

          before<lb/>the appearance, in the &#8220;<title level="per">

                           <xref doc="a.westrev.rad" link="dead">Westminster Review</xref>

                        </title>,&#8221; of a Paper advocating a view of<lb/>&#8220;<title level="wrk">

                           <xref doc="a.shakespeare001.005.rad" link="dead">Macbeth</xref>

                        </title>,&#8221; similar to that which is here taken. But although the publication<lb/>of the

          particular view was thus anticipated, nearly all the most forcible argu-<lb/>ments for

          maintaining it were omitted; and the subject, mixed up, as it was, with<lb/>lengthy

          disquisitions upon very minor topics of Shaksperian acting, &amp;c. made<lb/>no very

          general impression at the time.</p>

                  </pagenote>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="100" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.101.tif" width="4480" height="3360"/> if it deserves

        any attention at all, may certainly claim an investigation<lb/>more than usually minute. We

        shall commence by giving an<lb/>analysis of the first Act, wherein will be considered,

        successively,<lb/>every passage which may appear to bear either way upon the point<lb/>in

        question.</p>

               <p n="5">The inferences which we believe to be deducible from the first<lb/>scene can be

        profitably employed only in conjunction with those to<lb/>be discovered in the third. Our

        analysis must, therefore, be entered<lb/>upon by an attempt to ascertain the true character

        of the impres-<lb/>sions which it was the desire of Shakspere to convey by the second.</p>

               <p n="6">This scene is almost exclusively occupied with the narrations of<lb/>the

         &#8220;<quote>bleeding Soldier,</quote>&#8221; and of <hi rend="i">Rosse</hi>. These narrations are

        con-<lb/>structed with the express purpose of vividly setting forth the per-<lb/>sonal

        valour of Duncan's generals, &#8220;<quote>Macbeth and Banquo.</quote>&#8221; Let<lb/>us consider what

        is the <hi rend="i">maximum</hi> worth which the words of<lb/>Shakspere will, at this period

        of the play, allow us to attribute to<lb/>the moral character of the hero:&#8212;a point, let it

        be observed,<lb/>of first-rate importance to the present argument. We find Mac-<lb/>beth, in

        this scene, designated by various epithets, <hi rend="i">all</hi> of which,<lb/>either

        directly or indirectly, arise from feelings of admiration created<lb/>by his courageous

        conduct in the war in which he is supposed<lb/>to have been engaged. &#8220;<quote>Brave</quote>&#8221;

        and &#8220;<quote>Noble Macbeth,</quote>&#8221; &#8220;<quote>Bel-<lb/>lona's Bridegroom,</quote>&#8221;

         &#8220;<quote>Valiant Cousin,</quote>&#8221; and &#8220;<quote>Worthy Gentleman,</quote>&#8221;<lb/>are the general

        titles by which he is here spoken of; but none of<lb/>them afford any positive clue whatever

        to his <hi rend="i">moral</hi> character.<lb/>Nor is any such clue supplied by the scenes in

        which he is pre-<lb/>sently received by the messengers of Duncan, and

        afterwards<lb/>received and lauded by Duncan himself. Macbeth's moral cha-<lb/>racter, up to

        the development of his criminal hopes, remains<lb/>strictly <hi rend="i">negative</hi>.

        Hence it is difficult to fathom the meaning of<lb/>those critics, (A. Schlegel at their

        head), who have over and over<lb/>again made the ruin of Macbeth's <phrase id="PN100.1">&#8220;<quote>so many noble qualities</quote>&#8221;*</phrase> the<lb/>subject of their comment.</p>

               <p n="7">In the third scene we have the meeting of the witches, the<lb/>announcement of whose

        intention to re-assemble upon the heath,<lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">there to meet with Macbeth</hi>, forms the certainly most obvious,<lb/>though

        not perhaps, altogether the most important, aim of the short<lb/>scene by which the tragedy

        is opened. An enquiry of much<lb/>interest here suggests itself. Did Shakspere intend that

        in his<lb/>tragedy of &#8220;<title level="wrk">

                     <xref doc="a.shakespeare001.005.rad" link="dead">Macbeth</xref>

                  </title>&#8221; the witches should figure as originators of<lb/>gratuitous destruction, in direct

        opposition to the traditional, and<pagenote place="f" anchor="y" resp="au" target="PN100.1">

                     <p>* <bibl>

                           <author>A. Schlegel</author>'s &#8220;<title level="bk">Lectures on Dramatic

           Literature.</title>&#8221; <pages>Vol. II. p. 208.</pages>

                        </bibl>

                     </p>

                  </pagenote>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="101" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.101.tif" width="4480" height="3360"/> even proverbial,

        character of the <hi rend="i">genus?</hi> By that character such<lb/>personages have been

        denied the possession of any influence what-<lb/>ever over the untainted soul. Has Shakspere

        in this instance re<lb/>tained, or has he abolished, the chief of those characteristics

        which<lb/>have been universally attributed to the beings in question?</p>

               <p n="8">We think that he has retained it, and for the following<lb/>reasons: Whenever

        Shakspere has elsewhere embodied supersti-<lb/>tions, he has treated them as direct and

        unalterable <hi rend="i">facts</hi> of human<lb/>nature; and this he has done because he was

        too profound<lb/>a philosopher to be capable of regarding genuine superstition as<lb/>the

        product of random spectra of the fancy, having absolute<lb/>darkness for the prime condition

        of their being, instead of<lb/>eeing in it rather the zodiacal light of truth, the

        concomitant<lb/>of the uprising, and of the setting of the truth, and a partaker<lb/>in its

        essence. Again, Shakspere has in this very play devoted<lb/>a considerable space to the

        purpose of suggesting the self-same<lb/>trait of character now under discussion, and this he

        appears to<lb/>have done with the express intent of guarding against a mistake,<lb/>the

        probability of the occurrence of which he foresaw, but which,<lb/>for reasons connected with

        the construction of the play, he could<lb/>not hope otherwise to obviate.</p>

               <p n="9">We allude to the introductory portion of the present scene. One<lb/>sister, we

        learn, has just returned from killing <hi rend="i">swine;</hi> another<lb/>breathes forth

        vengeance against a sailor, on account of the un-<lb/>charitable act of his wife; but

         &#8220;<quote>his bark <hi rend="i">cannot be lost,</hi>

                  </quote>&#8221; though it<lb/>may be &#8220;<quote>tempest tossed.</quote>&#8221; The last words are scarcely

        uttered<lb/>before the confabulation is interrupted by the approach of Macbeth,<lb/>to whom

        they have as yet made no direct allusion whatever, through-<lb/>out the whole of this

        opening passage, consisting in all of some five<lb/>and twenty lines. Now this were a

        digression which would be a<lb/>complete anomaly, having place, as it is supposed to have,

        at this<lb/>early stage of one of the most consummate of the tragedies of Shak-<lb/>spere.

        We may be sure, therefore, that it is the chief object of<lb/>these lines to impress the

        reader beforehand with an idea that, in<lb/>the mind of Macbeth, there already exist sure

        foundations for that<lb/>great superstructure of evil, to the erection of which, the

        &#8220;meta-<lb/>physical <hi rend="i">aid</hi>&#8221; of the weird sisters is now to be offered. An

        opinion<lb/>which is further supported by the reproaches of Hecate, who,<lb/>afterwards,

        referring to what occurs in this scene, exclaims,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;All you have done</l>

                        <l n="2">Hath been but for a wayward son,</l>

                        <l n="3">Spiteful, and wrathful, who, as others do,</l>

                        <l n="4">Loves for his own end, not for you.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="102" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.103.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/> Words which seem

        to relate to ends loved of Macbeth before the<lb/>witches had spurred him on to their

        acquirement.</p>

               <p n="10">The fact that in the old chronicle, from which the plot of the<lb/>play is taken,

        the machinations of the witches are not assumed to<lb/>be <hi rend="i">un</hi>-gratuitous,

        cannot be employed as an argument against our<lb/>position. In history the sisters figure in

        the capacity of prophets<lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">merely</hi>. There we have no previous announcement of their inten-<lb/>tion

         &#8220;<quote>to meet with Macbeth.</quote>&#8221; But in Shakspere they are invested<lb/>with all

        other of their superstitional attributes, in order that they<lb/>may become the evil

        instruments of holy vengeance upon evil; of<lb/>that most terrible of vengeance which

        punishes sin, after it has ex-<lb/>ceeded certain bounds, by deepening it.</p>

               <p n="11">Proceeding now with our analysis, upon the entrance of Macbeth<lb/>and Banquo, the

        witches wind up their hurried charm. They are<lb/>first perceived by Banquo. To his

        questions the sisters refuse to<lb/>reply; but, at the command of Macbeth, they immediately

        speak,<lb/>and forthwith utter the prophecy which seals the fate of Duncan.</p>

               <p n="12">Now, assuming the truth of our view, what would be the natural<lb/>behaviour of

        Macbeth upon coming into sudden contact with beings<lb/>who appear to hold intelligence of

        his most secret thoughts; and<lb/>upon hearing those thoughts, as it were, spoken aloud in

        the presence<lb/>of a third party? His behaviour would be precisely that which

        is<lb/>implied by the question of Banquo.<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;Good sir, why do you <hi rend="i">start and seem to fear</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="2">Things which do sound so fair?&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

                  <lb/>If, on the other hand, our view is <hi rend="i">not</hi> true, why, seeing that

        their<lb/>characters are in the abstract so much alike, why does the present<lb/>conduct of

        Macbeth differ from that of Banquo, when the witches<lb/>direct their prophecies to him? Why

        has Shakspere altered the<lb/>narrative of Holinshed, without the prospect of gaining any

        advan-<lb/>tage commensurate to the licence taken in making that alteration?<lb/>These are

        the words of the old chronicle: &#8220;<quote>This (the recontre<lb/>with the witches) was reputed

         at the first but some vain fantastical<lb/>illusion by Macbeth and Banquo, insomuch that

         Banquo would call<lb/>Macbeth in jest king of Scotland; and Macbeth again would

         call<lb/>him in jest likewise the father of many kings.</quote>&#8221; Now it was

        the<lb/>invariable practice of Shakspere to give facts or traditions just as<lb/>he found

        them, whenever the introduction of those facts or tra-<lb/>ditions was not totally

        irreconcileable with the tone of his concep-<lb/>tion. How then (should we still receive the

        notion which we are<lb/>now combating) are we to account for his anomalous practice

        in<lb/>this particular case?</p>

               <epage/>

               <page n="103" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.103.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

               <p n="13">When the witches are about to vanish, Macbeth attempts to<lb/>delay their

        departure, exclaiming,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:</l>

                        <l n="2">By Sinol's death, I know I am thane of Glamis;</l>

                        <l n="3">But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,</l>

                        <l n="4">A prosperous gentleman; <hi rend="i">and, to be king</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="5">

                           <hi rend="i">Stands not within the prospect of belief,</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="6">

                           <hi rend="i">No more than to be Cawdor</hi>. Say, from whence</l>

                        <l n="7">You owe this strange <hi rend="i">intelligence?</hi>&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

                  <lb/>&#8220;<quote>To be king stands not within the prospect of belief, <hi rend="i">no more than</hi>

                     <lb/>

                     <hi rend="i">to be Cawdor</hi>.</quote>&#8221; No! it naturally stands much <hi rend="i">less</hi> within the<lb/>prospect of belief. Here the mind of Macbeth, having long

        been<lb/>accustomed to the nurture of its &#8220;<quote>royal hope,</quote>&#8221; conceives that it

        is<lb/>uttering a very suitable hyperbole of comparison. Had that mind<lb/>been hitherto an

        honest mind the word &#8220;<quote>Cawdor</quote>&#8221; would have<lb/>occupied the place of

         &#8220;<quote>king,</quote>&#8221; &#8220;<quote>king</quote>&#8221; that of &#8220;<quote>Cawdor.</quote>&#8221;

        Observe<lb/>too the general character of this speech: Although the coincidence<lb/>of the

        principal prophecy with his own thoughts has so strong an<lb/>effect upon Macbeth as to

        induce him to, at once, pronounce the<lb/>words of the sisters,

        &#8220;<quote>intelligence;</quote>&#8221; he nevertheless affects to treat<lb/>that prophecy as

        completely secondary to the other in the strength<lb/>of its claims upon his consideration.

        This is a piece of <hi rend="i">over-cautious</hi>

                  <lb/>hypocrisy which is fully in keeping with the tenor of his conduct<lb/>throughout the

        rest of the tragedy.</p>

               <p n="14">No sooner have the witches vanished than Banquo begins to<lb/>doubt whether there

        had been &#8220;<quote>such things there as they did speak<lb/>about.</quote>&#8221; This is the natural

        incredulity of a free mind so circum-<lb/>stanced. On the other hand, Macbeth, whose manner,

        since the<lb/>first announcement of the sisters, has been that of a man in a<lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">reverie</hi>, makes no doubt whatever of the reality of their

        appearance,<lb/>nor does he reply to the expressed scepticism of Banquo, but<lb/>abruptly

        exclaims, &#8220;<quote>your children shall be kings.</quote>&#8221; To this Banquo<lb/>answers,

         &#8220;<quote>you shall be king.</quote>&#8221; &#8220;<quote>And thane of Cawdor too: went<lb/>it not

        so?</quote>&#8221; continues Macbeth. Now, what, in either case, is the<lb/>condition of mind

        which can have given rise to this part of the<lb/>dialogue? It is, we imagine, sufficiently

        evident that the playful<lb/>words of Banquo were suggested to Shakspere by the narration

        of<lb/>Holinshed; but how are we to account for those of Macbeth, other-<lb/>wise than by

        supposing that the question of the crown is now<lb/>settled in his mind by the coincidence

        of the principal prediction,<lb/>with the shapings of his own thoughts, and that he is at

        this<lb/>moment occupied with the <hi rend="i">wholly unanticipated</hi> revelations,

        touch-<lb/>ing the thaneship of Cawdor, and the future possession of the throne<lb/>by the

        offspring of Banquo?</p>

               <epage/>

               <page n="104" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.105.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

               <p n="15">Now comes the fulfilment of the first prophecy. Mark the<lb/>words of these men,

        upon receiving the announcement of Rosse:<quote>

                     <lb/>&#8220;<hi rend="i">Banquo</hi>. What! can the devil speak truth?<lb/>

                     <hi rend="i">Macbeth</hi>. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me<lb/>In borrowed

         robes?&#8221;</quote>

                  <lb/>Mark how that reception is in either case precisely the reverse of<lb/>that given to

        the prophecy itself. Here <hi rend="i">Banquo</hi> starts. But what<lb/>is here done for

        Banquo, by the coincidence of the prophecy with<lb/>the truth, has been already done for

        Macbeth, by the coincidence of<lb/>his thought with the prophecy. Accordingly, Macbeth is

        calm<lb/>enough to play the hypocrite, when he must otherwise have experi-<lb/>enced

        surprise far greater than that of Banquo, because he is much<lb/>more nearly concerned in

        the source of it. So far indeed from being<lb/>overcome with astonishment, Macbeth still

        continues to dwell upon<lb/>the prophecy, by which his peace of mind is afterwards constantly<lb/>disturbed,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;Do you not hope your children shall be kings,</l>

                        <l n="2">When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me</l>

                        <l n="3">Promised no less to them?&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="16">Banquo's reply to this question has been one of the chief sources<lb/>of the

        interpretation, the error of which we are now endeavouring to<lb/>expose. He says,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;That, trusted home,</l>

                        <l n="2">Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,</l>

                        <l n="3">Besides the thane of Cawdor. But, 'tis strange;</l>

                        <l n="4">And often times, to win us to our harm,</l>

                        <l n="5">The instruments of darkness tell us truths,</l>

                        <l n="6">Win us with honest trifles, to betray us</l>

                        <l n="7">In deepest consequence.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="17">Now, these words have usually been considered to afford the clue to<lb/>the <hi rend="i">entire</hi> nature and extent of the supernatural influence brought<lb/>into play

        upon the present tragedy; whereas, in truth, all that they<lb/>express is a natural

        suspicion, called up in the mind of Banquo, by<lb/>Macbeth's remarkable deportment, that <hi rend="i">such</hi> is the character of the<lb/>influence which is at this moment being

        exerted upon the soul of the<lb/>man to whom he therefore thinks proper to hint the warning

        they<lb/>contain.</p>

               <p n="18">The soliloquy which immediately follows the above passage is<lb/>particularly

        worthy of comment:<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;This supernatural soliciting</l>

                        <l n="2">Cannot be ill; cannot be good:&#8212;if ill,</l>

                        <l n="3">Why hath it given me earnest of success,<epage/>

                           <page n="105" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.105.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

                        </l>

                        <l n="4">Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:</l>

                        <l n="5">If good, why do I yield to that suggestion,</l>

                        <l n="6">Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,</l>

                        <l n="7">And make my seated heart knock at my ribs</l>

                        <l n="8">Against the use of nature? Present fears</l>

                        <l n="9">Are less than horrible imaginings.</l>

                        <l n="10">My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,</l>

                        <l n="11">Shakes so my single state of man, that function</l>

                        <l n="12">Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is,</l>

                        <l n="13">But what is not.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="19">The early portion of this passage assuredly indicates that Macbeth<lb/>regards the

        communications of the witches merely in the light of an<lb/>invitation to the carrying out

        of a design pre-existent in his own<lb/>mind. He thinks that the <hi rend="i">spontaneous</hi> fulfilment of the chief<lb/>prophecy is in no way probable; the

        consummation of the lesser<lb/>prophecy being held by him, but as an &#8220;<quote>earnest of

         success</quote>&#8221; to his<lb/>own efforts in consummating the greater. From the latter

        portion<lb/>of this soliloquy we learn the real extent to which

        &#8220;<quote>metaphysical<lb/>aid</quote>&#8221; is implicated in bringing about the crime of Duncan's

        murder.<lb/>It serves to assure Macbeth that <hi rend="i">that</hi> is the &#8220;<quote>nearest

         way</quote>&#8221; to the<lb/>attainment of his wishes;&#8212;a way to the suggestion of which he

        now,<lb/>for the first time, &#8220;<quote>

                     <hi rend="i">yields</hi>,</quote>&#8221; because the chances of its failure have<lb/>been

        infinitely lessened by the &#8220;<quote>earnest of success</quote>&#8221; which he has<lb/>just

        received.</p>

               <p n="20">After the above soliloquy Macbeth breaks the long pause, implied <lb/>in Banquo's

        words, &#8220;<quote>Look how our partner's rapt,</quote>&#8221; by exclaiming,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;If chance will have me king, why chance may crown me,</l>

                        <l n="2" indent="1">Without my stir.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="21">Which is a very logical conclusion; but one at which he would long <lb/>ago have

        arrived, had &#8220;<quote>soliciting</quote>&#8221; meant &#8220;<quote>suggestion,</quote>&#8221; as most

        <lb/>people suppose it to have done; or at least, under those circum- <lb/>stances, he would

        have been satisfied with that conclusion, instead <lb/>of immediately afterwards changing

        it, as we see that he has done, <lb/>when he adds,<quote>

                     <lg n="1" type="couplet">

                        <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;Come what come may,</l>

                        <l n="2">Time and the hour runs through the roughest day!&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

                  <lb/>With that the third scene closes; the parties engaged in it proceed-<lb/>ing forthwith

        to the palace of Duncan at Fores.</p>

               <p n="22">Towards the conclusion of the fourth scene, Duncan names his<lb/>successor in the

        realm of Scotland. After this Macbeth hastily<lb/>departs, to inform his wife of the king's

        proposed visit to their<lb/>castle, at Inverness. The last words of Macbeth are the following,<epage/>

                  <page n="106" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.107.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

                  <quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;The prince of Cumberland!&#8212;That is a step,</l>

                        <l n="2">On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap.</l>

                        <l n="3">For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!</l>

                        <l n="4">Let not light see my black and deep desires;</l>

                        <l n="5">The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,</l>

                        <l n="6">Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="23">These lines are equally remarkable for a tone of settled assurance<lb/>as to the

        fulfilment of the speaker's royal hope, and for an entire<lb/>absence of any expression of

        reliance upon the power of the witches,<lb/>&#8212;the hitherto supposed originators of that

        hope,&#8212;in aiding its<lb/>consummation. It is particularly noticeable that Macbeth

        should<lb/>make no reference whatever, not even in thought, (that is, in<lb/>soliloquy) to

        any supernatural agency during the long period inter-<lb/>vening between the fulfilment of

        the two prophecies. Is it probable<lb/>that this would have been the case had Shakspere

        intended that<lb/>such an agency should be understood to have been the first motive<lb/>and

        mainspring of that deed, which, with all its accompanying<lb/>struggles of conscience, he

        has so minutely pictured to us as having<lb/>been, during that period, enacted? But besides

        this negative argu-<lb/>ment, we have a positive one for his non-reliance upon their

        pro-<lb/>mises in the fact that he attempts to outwit them by the murder of<lb/>Fleance even

        after the fulfilment of the second prophecy.</p>

               <p n="24">The fifth scene opens with Lady Macbeth's perusal of her hus-<lb/>band's narration

        of his interview with the witches. The order of<lb/>our investigation requires the

        postponement of comment upon the<lb/>contents of this letter. We leave it for the present,

        merely cau-<lb/>tioning the reader against taking up any hasty objections to a

        very<lb/>important clause in the enunciation of our view by reminding<lb/>him that, contrary

        to Shakspere's custom in ordinary cases, we are<lb/>made acquainted only with a <hi rend="i">portion</hi> of the missive in question.<lb/>Let us then proceed to consider the soliloquy

        which immediately<lb/>follows the perusal of this letter:<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;I do fear thy nature.</l>

                        <l n="2">It is too full o' the milk of human kindness,</l>

                        <l n="3">To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;</l>

                        <l n="4">Art not without ambition; but without</l>

                        <l n="5">The illness should attend it. That thou wouldst highly,</l>

                        <l n="6">That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false</l>

                        <l n="7">And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis,</l>

                        <l n="8">That which cries this thou must do if thou have it,</l>

                        <l n="9">And that which rather thou dost fear to do,</l>

                        <l n="10">Thou wishest should be undone.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <epage/>

               <page n="107" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.107.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

               <p n="25">It is vividly apparent that this passage indicates a knowledge of<lb/>the character

        it depicts, which is far too intimate to allow of its<lb/>being other than a <hi rend="i">direct</hi> inference from facts connected with pre-<lb/>vious communications upon similar

        topics between the speaker and<lb/>the writer: unless, indeed, we assume that in this

        instance Shak-<lb/>spere has notably departed from his usual principles of

        charac-<lb/>terization, in having invested Lady Macbeth with an amount of<lb/>philosophical

        acuteness, and a faculty of deduction, much beyond<lb/>those pretended to by any other of

        the female creations of the same<lb/>author.</p>

               <p n="26">The above passage is interrupted by the announcement of the<lb/>approach of Duncan.

        Observe Lady Macbeth's behaviour upon<lb/>receiving it. She immediately determines upon what

        is to be done,<lb/>and all without (are we to suppose?) in any way consulting, or<lb/>being

        aware of, the wishes or inclinations of her husband! Observe<lb/>too, that neither does <hi rend="i">she</hi> appear to regard the witches' prophecies<lb/>as anything more than an

        invitation, and holding forth of &#8220;<quote>meta-<lb/>physical <hi rend="i">aid</hi>

                  </quote>&#8221; to the carrying out of an independent project. That<lb/>this should be the case in

        both instances vastly strengthens the<lb/>argument legitimately deducible from each.</p>

               <p n="27">At the conclusion of the passage which called for the last remark, <lb/>Macbeth,

        after a long and eventful period of absence, let it be <lb/>recollected, enters to a wife

        who, we will for a moment suppose, <lb/>is completely ignorant of the character of her

        husband's recent <lb/>cogitations. These are the first words which pass between them,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;<hi rend="i">Macbeth</hi>. My dearest love,</l>

                        <l n="2">Duncan comes here to-night.</l>

                     </lg>

                     <lg n="2">

                        <l n="3">

                           <hi rend="i">L. Macbeth</hi>. And when goes hence?</l>

                     </lg>

                     <lg n="3">

                        <l n="4">

                           <hi rend="i">Macbeth</hi>. To-morrow, as he purposes.</l>

                     </lg>

                     <lg n="4">

                        <l n="5">

                           <hi rend="i">L. Macbeth</hi>. Oh! never</l>

                        <l n="6">Shall sun that morrow see!</l>

                        <l n="7">Your face, my thane, is as a book where men</l>

                        <l n="8">May read strange matters:&#8212;to beguile the time,</l>

                        <l n="9">Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,</l>

                        <l n="10">Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,</l>

                        <l n="11">But be the serpent under it. He that's coming</l>

                        <l n="12">Must be provided for; and you shall put</l>

                        <l n="13">This night's great business into my dispatch,</l>

                        <l n="14">Which shall to all our nights and days to come</l>

                        <l n="15">Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.</l>

                     </lg>

                     <lg>

                        <l n="">

                           <hi rend="i">Macbeth</hi>. We will speak further.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="28">Are these words those which would naturally arise from the<lb/>situation at

        present, by common consent, attributed to the speakers<epage/>

                  <page n="108" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.109.tif" width="4480" height="3296"/> of them? That is

        to say a situation in which <hi rend="i">each speaker is totally</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">ignorant of the sentiments pre-existent in the mind of the other</hi>.

        Are<lb/>the words, &#8220;<quote>we will speak further,</quote>&#8221; those which might in

        nature<lb/>form the whole and sole reply made by a man to his wife's com-<lb/>pletely

        unexpected anticipation of his own fearful purposes? If<lb/>not, if few or none of these

        lines, thus interpreted, will satisfy the<lb/>reader's feeling for common truth, does not

        the view which we have<lb/>adopted invest them with new light, and improved, or

        perfected<lb/>meaning?</p>

               <p n="29">The next scene represents the arrival of Duncan at Inverness, and<lb/>contains

        nothing which bears either way upon the point in question.<lb/>Proceeding, therefore, to the

        seventh and last scene of the first act<lb/>we come to what we cannot but consider to be

        proof positive of the<lb/>opinion under examination. We shall transcribe at length

        the<lb/>portion of this scene containing that proof; having first reminded<lb/>the reader

        that a few hours at most can have elapsed between the<lb/>arrival of Macbeth, and the period

        at which the words, now to be<lb/>quoted, are uttered.<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;<hi rend="i">Lady Macbeth. Was the hope drunk,</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="2">

                           <hi rend="i">Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since,</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="3">

                           <hi rend="i">And wakes it now, to look so green and pale</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="4">

                           <hi rend="i">At what it did so freely?</hi> From this time,</l>

                        <l n="5">Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard</l>

                        <l n="6">To be the same in thine own act and valour,</l>

                        <l n="7">As thou art in desire? Would'st thou have that</l>

                        <l n="8">Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,</l>

                        <l n="9">And live a coward in thine own esteem,</l>

                        <l n="10">Letting, I dare not, wait upon, I would,</l>

                        <l n="11">Like the poor cat in the adage?</l>

                     </lg>

                     <lg n="2">

                        <l n="12">

                           <hi rend="i">Macbeth</hi>. Prithee, peace:</l>

                        <l n="13">I dare do all that may become a man;</l>

                        <l n="14">Who dares do more is none.</l>

                     </lg>

                     <lg n="3">

                        <l n="15">

                           <hi rend="i">Lady Macbeth. What beast was't then</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="16">

                           <hi rend="i">That made you break this enterprise to me?</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="17">

                           <hi rend="i">When you durst do it, then you were a man,</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="18">

                           <hi rend="i">And to be more than what you were you would</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="19">

                           <hi rend="i">Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="20">

                           <hi rend="i">Did then adhere, and yet you would make both.</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="21">They have made themselves, and that their fitness now</l>

                        <l n="22">Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know</l>

                        <l n="23">How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:<epage/>

                           <page n="109" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.109.tif" width="4480" height="3296"/>

                        </l>

                        <l n="24">I would, while it was smiling in my face,</l>

                        <l n="25">Have plucked my nipple from its boneless gums,</l>

                        <l n="26">And dashed the brains out, <hi rend="i">had I so sworn</hi>

                        </l>

                        <l n="27">

                           <hi rend="i">As you have done to this</hi>.&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

               </p>

               <p n="30">With respect to the above lines, let us observe that, the words,<lb/>&#8220;<quote>nor

         time nor place did then adhere,</quote>&#8221; render it evident that they<lb/>hold reference to

        something which passed before Duncan had sig-<lb/>nified his intention of visiting the

        castle of Macbeth. Consequently<lb/>the words of Lady Macbeth can have no reference to the

        previous<lb/>communication of any definite intention, on the part of her husband,<lb/>to

        murder the king; because, not long before, she professes herself<lb/>aware that Macbeth's

        nature is &#8220;<quote>too full of the milk of human kind-<lb/>ness to catch the nearest

        way;</quote>&#8221; indeed, she has every reason to<lb/>suppose that she herself has been the

        means of breaking that enter-<lb/>prise to <hi rend="i">him</hi>, though, in truth, the

        crime had already, as we have<lb/>seen, suggested itself to his thought, &#8220;<quote>whose

         murder was as yet<lb/>fantastical.</quote>&#8221;</p>

               <p n="31">Again the whole tenor of this passage shows that it refers to ver-<lb/>bal

        communication between them. <hi rend="i">But no such communication can</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">have taken place since Macbeth's rencontre with the witches</hi>;

        for,<lb/>besides that he is, immediately after that recontre, conducted to the<lb/>presence

        of the king, who there signifies an intention of proceeding<lb/>directly to Macbeth's

        castle, such a communication would have ren-<lb/>dered the contents of the letter to Lady

        Macbeth completely super-<lb/>fluous. What then are we to conclude concerning these

        problematical<lb/>lines? First begging the reader to bear in mind the tone of

        sophistry<lb/>which has been observed by Schlegel to pervade, and which is<lb/>indeed

        manifest throughout the persuasions of Lady Macbeth, we<lb/>answer, that she wilfully

        confounds her husband's,&#8212;probably vague<lb/>and unplanned&#8212;&#8220;<quote>enterprise</quote>&#8221; of

        obtaining the crown, with that<lb/>&#8220;<quote>nearest way</quote>&#8221; to which she now urges him;

        but, at the same time,<lb/>she obscurely individualizes the separate purposes in the

         words,<lb/>&#8220;<quote>and to be <hi rend="i">more</hi> than what you were, you would be so

         much<lb/>more the man.</quote>&#8221;</p>

               <p n="32">It is a fact which is highly interesting in itself, and one which<lb/>strongly

        impeaches the candour of the majority of Shakspere's<lb/>commentators, that the impenetrable

        obscurity which must have<lb/>pervaded the whole of this passage should never have been

        made<lb/>the subject of remark. As far as we can remember, not a word has<lb/>been said upon

        the matter in any one of the many superfluously<lb/>explanatory editions of our dramatist's

        productions. Censures have<lb/>been repeatedly lavished upon minor cases of obscurity, none

        upon<lb/>this. In the former case the fault has been felt to be Shakspere's,<epage/>

                  <page n="110" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.111.tif" width="4480" height="3296"/> for it has

        usually existed in the expression; but in the latter the<lb/>language is unexceptional, and

        the avowal of obscurity might<lb/>imply the possibility of misapprehension or stupidity upon

        the part<lb/>of the avower.</p>

               <p n="33">Probably the only considerable obstacle likely to act against the <lb/>general

        adoption of those views will be the doubt, whether so <lb/>important a feature of this

        consummate tragedy can have been left <lb/>by Shakspere so obscurely expressed as to be

        capable of remaining <lb/>totally unperceived during upwards of two centuries, within which

        <lb/>period the genius of a Coleridge and of a Schlegel has been applied <lb/>to its

        interpretation. Should this objection be brought forward, we <lb/>reply, in the first place,

        that the objector is &#8216;begging&#8217; his question <lb/>in assuming that the feature under

        examination has remained<lb/>
                  <hi rend="i">totally</hi> unperceived. Coleridge by way of

        comment upon these <lb/>words of Banquo,<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1">&#8220;Good sir, why do you stand, and seem to fear</l>

                        <l n="2">Things that do sound so fair?&#8221;</l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

                  <lb/>writes thus: &#8220;<quote>The general idea is all that can be required of a<lb/>poet&#8212;not a

         scholastic logical consistency in all the parts, so as to<lb/>meet metaphysical objectors.

         * * * * * * * * How strictly true<lb/>to nature it is, that Banquo, and not Macbeth

         himself, directs our<lb/>notice to the effects produced in Macbeth's mind, <hi rend="i">rendered temptible</hi>

                     <lb/>

                     <hi rend="i">by previous dalliance with ambitious thoughts</hi>.</quote>&#8221; Here Coleridge

        denies<lb/>the <hi rend="i">necessity</hi> of &#8220;<quote>logical consistency, so as to meet

         metaphysical<lb/>objectors,</quote>&#8221; although he has, throughout his criticisms upon

        Shaks-<lb/>pere, endeavored, and nearly always with success, to prove the<lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">existence</hi> of that consistency; and so strongly has he felt the want

        of<lb/>it here, that he has, in order to satisfy himself, <hi rend="i">assumed</hi> that

         &#8220;<quote>pre-<lb/>vious dalliance with ambitious thoughts,</quote>&#8221; whose existence it

        has<lb/>been our object to <hi rend="i">prove</hi>.</p>

               <p n="34">But, putting Coleridge's imperfect perception of the truth out of the<lb/>question,

        surely nothing can be easier than to believe <hi rend="i">that</hi> for the<lb/>belief in

        which we have so many precedents. How many beauties,<lb/>lost upon Dryden, were perceived by

        Johnson; How many, hidden<lb/>to Johnson and his cotemporaries, have been brought to light

        by<lb/>Schlegel and by Coleridge.</p>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            </div1>

            <epage/>

            <page n="111" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.111.tif" width="4480" height="3296" id="p111"/>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.3" type="lyric" n="33" title="Repining" id="a.crossetti008.i49"
                  workcode="crossetti008">

               <divheader>

                  <title> Repining. </title>

               </divheader>

               <lg n="1" type="quatrain">

                  <l n="1">

                     <hi rend="sc">She</hi> sat alway thro' the long day</l>

                  <l n="2">Spinning the weary thread away;</l>

                  <l n="3">And ever said in undertone:</l>

                  <l n="4">&#8220;Come, that I be no more alone.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="2" type="stanza">

                  <l n="5">From early dawn to set of sun</l>

                  <l n="6">Working, her task was still undone;</l>

                  <l n="7">And the long thread seemed to increase</l>

                  <l n="8">Even while she spun and did not cease.</l>

                  <l n="9">She heard the gentle turtle-dove</l>

                  <l n="10">Tell to its mate a tale of love;</l>

                  <l n="11">She saw the glancing swallows fly,</l>

                  <l n="12">Ever a social company;</l>

                  <l n="13">She knew each bird upon its nest</l>

                  <l n="14">Had cheering songs to bring it rest;</l>

                  <l n="15">None lived alone save only she;&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="16">The wheel went round more wearily;</l>

                  <l n="17">She wept and said in undertone:</l>

                  <l n="18">&#8220;Come, that I be no more alone.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="3" type="stanza">

                  <l n="19">Day followed day, and still she sighed</l>

                  <l n="20">For love, and was not satisfied;</l>

                  <l n="21">Until one night, when the moonlight</l>

                  <l n="22">Turned all the trees to silver white,</l>

                  <l n="23">She heard, what ne'er she heard before,</l>

                  <l n="24">A steady hand undo the door.</l>

                  <l n="25">The nightingale since set of sun</l>

                  <l n="26">Her throbbing music had not done,</l>

                  <l n="27">And she had listened silently;</l>

                  <l n="28">But now the wind had changed, and she</l>

                  <l n="29">Heard the sweet song no more, but heard</l>

                  <l n="30">Beside her bed a whispered word:</l>

                  <l n="31">&#8220;Damsel, rise up; be not afraid;</l>

                  <l n="32">For I am come at last,&#8221; it said.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="4" type="stanza">

                  <l n="33">She trembled, tho' the voice was mild;</l>

                  <l n="34">She trembled like a frightened child;&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="35">Till she looked up, and then she saw</l>

                  <l n="36">The unknown speaker without awe.</l>

                  <l n="37">He seemed a fair young man, his eyes</l>

                  <l n="38">Beaming with serious charities;<epage/>

                     <page n="112" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.113.tif" width="4480" height="3296"/>

                  </l>

                  <l n="39">His cheek was white, but hardly pale;</l>

                  <l n="40">And a dim glory like a veil</l>

                  <l n="41">Hovered about his head, and shone</l>

                  <l n="42">Thro' the whole room till night was gone.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="5" type="stanza">

                  <l n="43">So her fear fled; and then she said,</l>

                  <l n="44">Leaning upon her quiet bed:</l>

                  <l n="45">&#8220;Now thou art come, I prithee stay,</l>

                  <l n="46">That I may see thee in the day,</l>

                  <l n="47">And learn to know thy voice, and hear</l>

                  <l n="48">It evermore calling me near.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="6" type="stanza">

                  <l n="49">He answered: &#8220;Rise, and follow me.&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="50">But she looked upwards wonderingly:</l>

                  <l n="51">&#8220;And whither would'st thou go, friend <hi rend="i">?</hi> stay</l>

                  <l n="52">Until the dawning of the day.&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="53">But he said: &#8220;The wind ceaseth, Maid;</l>

                  <l n="54">Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="7" type="couplet">

                  <l n="55">She bound her hair up from the floor,</l>

                  <l n="56">And passed in silence from the door.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="8" type="stanza">

                  <l n="57">So they went forth together, he</l>

                  <l n="58">Helping her forward tenderly.</l>

                  <l n="59">The hedges bowed beneath his hand;</l>

                  <l n="60">Forth from the streams came the dry land</l>

                  <l n="61">As they passed over; evermore</l>

                  <l n="62">The pallid moonbeams shone before;</l>

                  <l n="63">And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred;</l>

                  <l n="64">Not even a solitary bird,</l>

                  <l n="65">Scared by their footsteps, fluttered by</l>

                  <l n="66">Where aspen-trees stood steadily.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="9" type="stanza">

                  <l n="67">As they went on, at length a sound</l>

                  <l n="68">Came trembling on the air around;</l>

                  <l n="69">The undistinguishable hum</l>

                  <l n="70">Of life, voices that go and come</l>

                  <l n="71">Of busy men, and the child's sweet</l>

                  <l n="72">High laugh, and noise of trampling feet.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="10" type="stanza">

                  <l n="73">Then he said: &#8220;Wilt thou go and see <hi rend="i">?</hi>&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="74">And she made answer joyfully;</l>

                  <l n="75">&#8220;The noise of life, of human life,</l>

                  <l n="76">Of dear communion without strife,</l>

                  <l n="77">Of converse held 'twixt friend and friend;</l>

                  <l n="78">Is it not here our path shall end <hi rend="i">?</hi>&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="79">He led her on a little way</l>

                  <l n="80">Until they reached a hillock: &#8220;Stay.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <epage/>

               <page n="113" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.113.tif" width="4480" height="3296"/>

               <pageheader>

                  <bibliosig>

                     <hi rend="sc">H</hi>

                  </bibliosig>

               </pageheader>

               <lg n="11" type="stanza">

                  <l n="81">It was a village in a plain.</l>

                  <l n="82">High mountains screened it from the rain</l>

                  <l n="83">And stormy wind; and nigh at hand</l>

                  <l n="84">A bubbling streamlet flowed, o'er sand</l>

                  <l n="85">Pebbly and fine, and sent life up</l>

                  <l n="86">Green succous stalk and flower-cup.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="12" type="stanza">

                  <l n="87">Gradually, day's harbinger,</l>

                  <l n="88">A chilly wind began to stir.</l>

                  <l n="89">It seemed a gentle powerless breeze</l>

                  <l n="90">That scarcely rustled thro' the trees;</l>

                  <l n="91">And yet it touched the mountain's head</l>

                  <l n="92">And the paths man might never tread.</l>

                  <l n="93">But hearken: in the quiet weather</l>

                  <l n="94">Do all the streams flow down together?&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="95">No, 'tis a sound more terrible</l>

                  <l n="96">Than tho' a thousand rivers fell.</l>

                  <l n="97">The everlasting ice and snow</l>

                  <l n="98">Were loosened then, but not to flow;&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="99">With a loud crash like solid thunder</l>

                  <l n="100">The avalanche came, burying under</l>

                  <l n="101">The village; turning life and breath</l>

                  <l n="102">And rest and joy and plans to death.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="13" type="stanza">

                  <l n="103">&#8220;Oh! let us fly, for pity fly;</l>

                  <l n="104">Let us go hence, friend, thou and I.</l>

                  <l n="105">There must be many regions yet</l>

                  <l n="106">Where these things make not desolate.&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="107">He looked upon her seriously;</l>

                  <l n="108">Then said: &#8220;Arise and follow me.&#8221;</l>

                  <l n="109">The path that lay before them was</l>

                  <l n="110">Nigh covered over with long grass;</l>

                  <l n="111">And many slimy things and slow</l>

                  <l n="112">Trailed on between the roots below.</l>

                  <l n="113">The moon looked dimmer than before;</l>

                  <l n="114">And shadowy cloudlets floating o'er</l>

                  <l n="115">Its face sometimes quite hid its light,</l>

                  <l n="116">And filled the skies with deeper night.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="14" type="stanza">

                  <l n="117">At last, as they went on, the noise</l>

                  <l n="118">Was heard of the sea's mighty voice;</l>

                  <l n="119">And soon the ocean could be seen</l>

                  <l n="120">In its long restlessness serene.<epage/>

                     <page n="114" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.115.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

                  </l>

                  <l n="121">Upon its breast a vessel rode</l>

                  <l n="122">That drowsily appeared to nod</l>

                  <l n="123">As the great billows rose and fell,</l>

                  <l n="124">And swelled to sink, and sank to swell.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="15" type="stanza">

                  <l n="125">Meanwhile the strong wind had come forth</l>

                  <l n="126">From the chill regions of the North,</l>

                  <l n="127">The mighty wind invisible.</l>

                  <l n="128">And the low waves began to swell;</l>

                  <l n="129">And the sky darkened overhead;</l>

                  <l n="130">And the moon once looked forth, then fled</l>

                  <l n="131">Behind dark clouds; while here and there</l>

                  <l n="132">The lightning shone out in the air;</l>

                  <l n="133">And the approaching thunder rolled</l>

                  <l n="134">With angry pealings manifold.</l>

                  <l n="135">How many vows were made, and prayers</l>

                  <l n="136">That in safe times were cold and scarce.</l>

                  <l n="137">Still all availed not; and at length</l>

                  <l n="138">The waves arose in all their strength,</l>

                  <l n="139">And fought against the ship, and filled</l>

                  <l n="140">The ship. Then were the clouds unsealed,</l>

                  <l n="141">And the rain hurried forth, and beat</l>

                  <l n="142">On every side and over it.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="16" type="stanza">

                  <l n="143">Some clung together, and some kept</l>

                  <l n="144">A long stern silence, and some wept.</l>

                  <l n="145">Many half-crazed looked on in wonder</l>

                  <l n="146">As the strong timbers rent asunder;</l>

                  <l n="147">Friends forgot friends, foes fled to foes;&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="148">And still the water rose and rose.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="17" type="stanza">

                  <l n="149">&#8220;Ah woe is me! Whom I have seen </l>

                  <l n="150">Are now as tho' they had not been.</l>

                  <l n="151">In the earth there is room for birth,</l>

                  <l n="152">And there are graves enough in earth;</l>

                  <l n="153">Why should the cold sea, tempest-torn,</l>

                  <l n="154">Bury those whom it hath not borne?&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="18" type="stanza">

                  <l n="155">He answered not, and they went on.</l>

                  <l n="156">The glory of the heavens was gone;</l>

                  <l n="157">The moon gleamed not nor any star;</l>

                  <l n="158">Cold winds were rustling near and far,</l>

                  <l n="159">And from the trees the dry leaves fell</l>

                  <l n="160">With a sad sound unspeakable.</l>

               </lg>

               <epage/>

               <page n="115" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.115.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

               <pageheader>

                  <bibliosig>
                     <hi rend="sc">H</hi> 2</bibliosig>

               </pageheader>

               <lg n="19" type="quatrain">

                  <l n="161">The air was cold; till from the South</l>

                  <l n="162">A gust blew hot, like sudden drouth,</l>

                  <l n="163">Into their faces; and a light</l>

                  <l n="164">Glowing and red, shone thro' the night.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="20" type="stanza">

                  <l n="165">A mighty city full of flame</l>

                  <l n="166">And death and sounds without a name.</l>

                  <l n="167">Amid the black and blinding smoke,</l>

                  <l n="168">The people, as one man, awoke.</l>

                  <l n="169">Oh! happy they who yesterday</l>

                  <l n="170">On the long journey went away;</l>

                  <l n="171">Whose pallid lips, smiling and chill,</l>

                  <l n="172">While the flames scorch them smile on still;</l>

                  <l n="173">Who murmur not; who tremble not</l>

                  <l n="174">When the bier crackles fiery hot;</l>

                  <l n="175">Who, dying, said in love's increase:</l>

                  <l n="176">&#8220;Lord, let thy servant part in peace.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="21" type="stanza">

                  <l n="177">Those in the town could see and hear</l>

                  <l n="178">A shaded river flowing near;</l>

                  <l n="179">The broad deep bed could hardly hold </l>

                  <l n="180">Its plenteous waters calm and cold.</l>

                  <l n="181">Was flame-wrapped all the city wall,</l>

                  <l n="182">The city gates were flame-wrapped all.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="22" type="stanza">

                  <l n="183">What was man's strength, what puissance then?</l>

                  <l n="184">Women were mighty as strong men.</l>

                  <l n="185">Some knelt in prayer, believing still,</l>

                  <l n="186">Resigned unto a righteous will,</l>

                  <l n="187">Bowing beneath the chastening rod,</l>

                  <l n="188">Lost to the world, but found of God.</l>

                  <l n="189">Some prayed for friend, for child, for wife;</l>

                  <l n="190">Some prayed for faith; some prayed for life;</l>

                  <l n="191">While some, proud even in death, hope gone,</l>

                  <l n="192">Steadfast and still, stood looking on.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="23" type="stanza">

                  <l n="193">&#8220;Death&#8212;death&#8212;oh! let us fly from death;</l>

                  <l n="194">Where'er we go it followeth;</l>

                  <l n="195">All these are dead; and we alone </l>

                  <l n="196">Remain to weep for what is gone.</l>

                  <l n="197">What is this thing? thus hurriedly </l>

                  <l n="198">To pass into eternity;</l>

                  <l n="199">To leave the earth so full of mirth;</l>

                  <l n="200">To lose the profit of our birth; </l>

                  <l n="201">To die and be no more; to cease, </l>

                  <l n="202">Having numbness that is not peace.<epage/>

                     <page n="116" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.117.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

                  </l>

                  <l n="203">Let us go hence; and, even if thus</l>

                  <l n="204">Death everywhere must go with us,</l>

                  <l n="205">Let us not see the change, but see</l>

                  <l n="206">Those who have been or still shall be.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="24" type="stanza">

                  <l n="207">He sighed and they went on together; </l>

                  <l n="208">Beneath their feet did the grass wither;</l>

                  <l n="209">Across the heaven high overhead</l>

                  <l n="210">Dark misty clouds floated and fled;</l>

                  <l n="211">And in their bosom was the thunder,</l>

                  <l n="212">And angry lightnings flashed out under,</l>

                  <l n="213">Forked and red and menacing;</l>

                  <l n="214">Far off the wind was muttering;</l>

                  <l n="215">It seemed to tell, not understood,</l>

                  <l n="216">Strange secrets to the listening wood.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="25" type="stanza">

                  <l n="217">Upon its wings it bore the scent </l>

                  <l n="218">Of blood of a great armament:</l>

                  <l n="219">Then saw they how on either side</l>

                  <l n="220">Fields were down-trodden far and wide.</l>

                  <l n="221">That morning at the break of day</l>

                  <l n="222">Two nations had gone forth to slay.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="26" type="stanza">

                  <l n="223">As a man soweth so he reaps.</l>

                  <l n="224">The field was full of bleeding heaps;</l>

                  <l n="225">Ghastly corpses of men and horses</l>

                  <l n="226">That met death at a thousand sources;</l>

                  <l n="227">Cold limbs and putrifying flesh;</l>

                  <l n="228">Long love-locks clotted to a mesh</l>

                  <l n="229">That stifled; stiffened mouths beneath</l>

                  <l n="230">Staring eyes that had looked on death.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="27" type="stanza">

                  <l n="231">But these were dead: these felt no more</l>

                  <l n="232">The anguish of the wounds they bore.</l>

                  <l n="233">Behold, they shall not sigh again,</l>

                  <l n="234">Nor justly fear, nor hope in vain.</l>

                  <l n="235">What if none wept above them?&#8212;is</l>

                  <l n="236">The sleeper less at rest for this?</l>

                  <l n="237">Is not the young child's slumber sweet</l>

                  <l n="238">When no man watcheth over it?</l>

                  <l n="239">These had deep calm; but all around</l>

                  <l n="240">There was a deadly smothered sound,</l>

                  <l n="241">The choking cry of agony</l>

                  <l n="242">From wounded men who could not die;<epage/>

                     <page n="117" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.117.tif" width="4480" height="3328" id="p117"/>

                  </l>

                  <l n="243">Who watched the black wing of the raven</l>

                  <l n="244">Rise like a cloud 'twixt them and heaven,</l>

                  <l n="245">And in the distance flying fast</l>

                  <l n="246">Beheld the eagle come at last.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="28" type="stanza">

                  <l n="247">She knelt down in her agony:</l>

                  <l n="248">&#8220;O Lord, it is enough,&#8221; said she:</l>

                  <l n="249">&#8220;My heart's prayer putteth me to shame;</l>

                  <l n="250">&#8220;Let me return to whence I came.</l>

                  <l n="251">&#8220;Thou for who love's sake didst reprove,</l>

                  <l n="252">&#8220;Forgive me for the sake of love.&#8221;</l>

               </lg>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            </div1>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.4" type="lyric" n="34" title="Sweet Death" id="a.crossetti007.i50"
                  workcode="crossetti007">

               <divheader>

                  <title> Sweet Death. </title>

               </divheader>

               <lg n="1" type="octave">

                  <l n="1" indent="2">The sweetest blossoms die.</l>

                  <l n="2">And so it was that, going day by day</l>

                  <l n="3" indent="1">Unto the church to praise and pray,</l>

                  <l n="4">And crossing the green church-yard thoughtfully,</l>

                  <l n="5" indent="2">I saw how on the graves the flowers</l>

                  <l n="6" indent="2">Shed their fresh leaves in showers;</l>

                  <l n="7">And how their perfume rose up to the sky</l>

                  <l n="8" indent="2">Before it passed away.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="2" type="octave">

                  <l n="9" indent="2">The youngest blossoms die.</l>

                  <l n="10">They die, and fall, and nourish the rich earth</l>

                  <l n="11" indent="1">From which they lately had their birth.</l>

                  <l n="12">Sweet life: but sweeter death that passeth by,</l>

                  <l n="13" indent="2">And is as tho' it had not been.</l>

                  <l n="14" indent="2">All colors turn to green:</l>

                  <l n="15">The bright hues vanish, and the odours fly;</l>

                  <l n="16" indent="2">The grass hath lasting worth.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="3" type="octave">

                  <l n="17" indent="2">And youth and beauty die.</l>

                  <l n="18">So be it, O my God, thou God of truth.</l>

                  <l n="19" indent="1">Better than beauty and than youth</l>

                  <l n="20">Are saints and angels, a glad company:</l>

                  <l n="21" indent="2">And Thou, O lord, our Rest and Ease,</l>

                  <l n="22" indent="2">Are better far than these.</l>

                  <l n="23">Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why</l>

                  <l n="24" indent="2">Prefer to glean with Ruth?</l>

               </lg>

            </div1>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            <epage/>

            <page n="118" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.119.tif" width="4480" height="3328" id="p118"/>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.5" type="criticism" n="35" title="The Subject in Art No. II"
                  id="a.jtupper003.i51"
                  workcode="jtupper003">

               <divheader>

                  <title> The Subject in Art. <lb/> No. II. </title>

               </divheader>

               <p n="1">Resuming a consideration of the subject-matter suitable in painting<lb/>and

        sculpture, it is necessary to repeat those premises, and to re-es-<lb/>tablish those

        principles which were advanced or elicited in the first<lb/>number of this essay.</p>

               <p n="2">It was premised then that works of Fine Art affect the beholder<lb/>in the same

        ratio as the <hi rend="i">natural prototypes</hi> of those works would<lb/>affect him; and

        not in proportion to the difficulties overcome in the<lb/>artificial representation of those

        prototypes. Not contending, mean-<lb/>while, that the picture painted by the hand of the

        artist, and then<lb/>by the hand of nature on the eye of the beholder, is, in amount,

        the<lb/>same as the picture painted there by nature alone; but disregarding,<lb/>as

        irrelevant to this investigation, <hi rend="i">all concomitants of fine art wherein</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">they involve an ulterior impression as to the relative merits of the</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">work by the amount of its success,</hi> and, for a like reason,

        disregard-<lb/>ing all emotions and impressions which are not the immediate

        and<lb/>proximate result of an excitor influence of, or pertaining to, the<lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">things artificial</hi>, as a bona fide equivalent of the <hi rend="i">things

         natural</hi>.</p>

               <p n="3">Or the premises may be practically stated thus:&#8212;(1st.) When<lb/>one looks on a

        certain painting or sculpture for the first time, the<lb/>first notion is that of a painting

        or sculpture. (2nd.) In the next<lb/>place, while the objects depicted are revealing

        themselves as real<lb/>objects, the notion of a painting or sculpture has elapsed, and, in

        its<lb/>place, there are emotions, passions,| actions (moral or intellectual)<lb/>according

        in sort and degree to the heart or mind-moving influence<lb/>of the objects represented.

        (3rd.) Finally, there is a notion of a<lb/>painting or sculpture, and a judgment or

        sentiment commensurate<lb/>with the estimated merits of the work.&#8212;The second statement

        gives<lb/>the premised conditions under which Fine Art is about to be<lb/>treated: the 3rd

        statement exemplifies a phase in the being of Fine<lb/>Art under which it is never to be

        considered: and furthermore,<lb/>whilst the mental reflection last mentioned (the judgment

        on the<lb/>work) is being made, it may occur that certain objects, most diffi-<lb/>cult of

        artistic execution, had been most successfully handled: the<lb/>merits of introducing such

        objects, in such a manner, are the merits<lb/>of those concomitants mentioned as equally

        without the scope of<lb/>consideration.</p>

               <p n="4">Thus much for the premises&#8212;next to the re-establishment of<lb/>principles.</p>

               <epage/>

               <page n="119" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.119.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

               <p n="5">1st. The principle was elicited, that Fine Art should regard the<lb/>general

        happiness of man, by addressing those of his attributes<lb/>which are <hi rend="i">peculiarly human</hi>, by exciting the activity of his rational<lb/>and benevolent powers;

        and thereafter:&#8212;2nd, that the Subject in<lb/>Art should be drawn from objects which so

        address and excite him;<lb/>and 3rd, as objects so exciting the mental activity may (in

        propor-<lb/>tion to the mental capacity) excite it to any amount, and so possibly<lb/>in the

        highest degree (the function of Fine Art being <hi rend="i">mental excite-</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">ment</hi>, and that of High Art being the <hi rend="i">highest mental

         excitement</hi>) that<lb/>all objects so exciting mental activity and emotion in the

        highest<lb/>degree, may afford subjects for High Art.</p>

               <p n="6">Having thus re-stated the premises and principles already<lb/>deduced, let us

        proceed to enquire into the propriety of selecting<lb/>the Subject from the past or the

        present time; which enquiry<lb/>resolves itself fundamentally into the analysis of objects

        and<lb/>incidents experienced immediately by the senses, or acquired by<lb/>mental

        education.</p>

               <p n="7">Here then we have to explore the specific difference between the<lb/>incidents and

        objects of to-day, as exposed to our daily observation,<lb/>and the incidents and objects of

        time past, as bequeathed to us by<lb/>history, poetry, or tradition.</p>

               <p n="8">In the first place, there is, no doubt, a considerable <hi rend="i">real</hi>

        difference<lb/>between the things of to-day and those of times past: but as all<lb/>former

        times, their incidents and objects differ amongst themselves,<lb/>this can hardly be the

        cause of the specific difference sought for&#8212;a<lb/>difference between our share of things

        past and things present.<lb/>This real, but not specific difference then, however admitted,

        shall<lb/>not be considered here.</p>

               <p n="9">It is obvious, in the meanwhile, that all which we have of the<lb/>past is stamped

        with an impress of mental assimilation: an impress<lb/>it has received from the mind of the

        author who has garnered it up,<lb/>and disposed it in that form and order which ensure it

        acceptance<lb/>with posterity. For let a writer of history be as matter of fact as<lb/>he

        will, the very order and classification of events will save us the<lb/>trouble of confusion,

        and render them graspable, and more capable<lb/>of assimilation, than is the raw material of

        every-day experience.<lb/>In fact the work of mind is begun, the key of intelligence is

        given,<lb/>and we have only to continue the process. Where the vehicle for<lb/>the

        transmission of things past is poetry, then we have them<lb/>presented in that succession,

        and with that modification of force,<lb/>a resilient plasticity, now advancing, now

        recoiling, insinuating and<lb/>grappling, that ere this material and mental warfare is over,

        we<lb/>find the facts thus transmitted are incorporated with our psychical<epage/>

                  <page n="120" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.121.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/> existence. And in

        tradition is it otherwise?&#8212;Every man tells the<lb/>tale in his own way; and the merits of

        the story itself, or the<lb/>person who tells it, or his way of telling, procures it a

        lodgment in<lb/>the mind of the hearer, whence it is ever ready to start up and

        claim<lb/>kindred with some external excitement.</p>

               <p n="10">Thus it is the luck of all things of the past to come down to us<lb/>with some

        poetry about them; while from those of diurnal ex-<lb/>perience we must extract this poetry

        ourselves: and although all<lb/>good men are, more or less, poets, they are passive or

        recipient<lb/>poets; while the active or donative poet caters for them what they<lb/>fail to

        collect. For let a poet walk through London, and he shall<lb/>see a succession of incidents,

        suggesting some moral beauty by a<lb/>contrast of times with times, unfolding some principle

        of nature,<lb/>developing some attribute of man, or pointing to some glory in The<lb/>Maker:

        while the man who walked behind him saw nothing but<lb/>shops and pavement, and coats and

        faces; neither did he hear the<lb/>aggregated turmoil of a city of nations, nor the noisy

        exponents of<lb/>various desires, appetites and pursuits: each pulsing tremour of<lb/>the

        atmosphere was not struck into it by a subtile ineffable some-<lb/>thing willed forcibly out

        of a cranium: neither did he see the<lb/>driver of horses holding a rod of light in his eye

        and feeling<lb/>his way, in a world he was rushing through, by the motion of<lb/>the end of

        that rod:&#8212;he only saw the wheels in motion, and<lb/>heard the rattle on the stones; and yet

        this man stopped twice at<lb/>a book shop to buy &#8216;a Tennyson,&#8217; or a &#8216;Browning's <title level="wrk">

                     <xref doc="a.browning002.rad" link="dead">Sordello</xref>

                  </title>.&#8217;<lb/>Now this man might have seen all that the poet saw; he walked<lb/>through the

        same streets: yet the poet goes home and writes a<lb/>poem; and he who failed to feel the

        poetry of the things themselves<lb/>detects it readily in the poet's version. Then why, it

        is asked, does<lb/>not this man, schooled by the poet's example, look out for

        himself<lb/>for the future, and so find attractions in things of to-day? He<lb/>does so to a

        trifling extent, but the reason why he does so rarely<lb/>will be found in the former

        demonstration.</p>

               <p n="11">It was shown how bygone objects and incidents come down to us<lb/>invested in

        peculiar attractions: this the poet knows and feels, and<lb/>the probabilities are that he

        transferred the incidents of to-day, with<lb/>all their poetical and moral suggestions, to

        the romantic long-ago,<lb/>partly from a feeling of prudence, and partly that he himself

        was<lb/>under this spell of antiquity, How many a Troubadour, who<lb/>recited tales of king

        Arthur, had his incidents furnished him by<lb/>the events of his own time! And thus it is

        the many are attracted<lb/>to the poetry of things past, yet impervious to the poetry of

        things<lb/>present. But this retrograde movement in the poet, painter, or<epage/>

                  <page n="121" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.121.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/> sculptor (except

        in certain cases as will subsequently appear), if not<lb/>the result of necessity, is an

        error in judgment or a culpable dis-<lb/>honesty. For why should he not acknowledge the

        source of his<lb/>inspiration, that others may drink of the same spring with

        himself;<lb/>and perhaps drink deeper and a clearer draught?&#8212;For the water is<lb/>unebbing

        and exhaustless, and fills the more it is emptied: why<lb/>then should it be filtered

        through his tank <hi rend="i">where</hi> he can teach men<lb/>to drink it at the fountain?</p>

               <p n="12">If, as every poet, every painter, every sculptor will acknow-<lb/>ledge, his best

        and most original ideas are derived from his own<lb/>times: if his great lessonings to

        piety, truth, charity, love, honor,<lb/>honesty, gallantry, generosity, courage, are derived

        from the same<lb/>source; why transfer them to distant periods, and make them <hi rend="i">not</hi>

                  <lb/>

                  <hi rend="i">things of to-day?</hi> Why teach us to revere the saints of old, and

        not<lb/>our own family-worshippers? Why to admire the lance-armed<lb/>knight, and not the

        patience-armed hero of misfortune? Why to<lb/>draw a sword we do not wear to aid and

        oppressed damsel, and not a<lb/>purse which we do wear to rescue an erring one? Why to

        worship<lb/>a martyred St. Agatha, and not a sick woman attending the sick?<lb/>Why teach us

        to honor an Aristides or a Regulus, and not one who<lb/>pays an equitable, though to him

        ruinous, tax without a railing<lb/>accusation? And why not teach us to help what the laws

        cannot<lb/>help?&#8212;Why teach us to hate a Nero or an Appius, and not an<lb/>underselling

        oppressor of workmen and betrayer of women and<lb/>children? Why to love a <hi rend="i">Ladie in bower</hi>, and not a wife's fire-<lb/>side? Why paint or poetically depict the

        horrible race of Ogres<lb/>and Giants, and not show Giant Despair dressed in that

        modern<lb/>habit he walks the streets in? Why teach men what were great<lb/>and good deeds

        in the old time, neglecting to show them any good<lb/>for themselves?&#8212;Till these questions

        are answered absolutory to<lb/>the artist, it were unwise to propose the other question&#8212;Why

        a<lb/>poet, painter or sculptor is not honored and loved as formerly?<lb/>&#8220;As formerly,&#8221;

        says some avowed sceptic in <hi rend="i">old world transcendency</hi>

                  <lb/>and <hi rend="i">golden age affairs</hi>, &#8220;I believe <hi rend="i">formerly</hi> the

        artist was as much<lb/>respected and cared for as he is now. 'Tis true the Greeks

        granted<lb/>an immunity from taxation to some of their artists, who were often<lb/>great men

        in the state, and even the companions of princes. And<lb/>are not some of our poets peers?

        Have not some of our artists<lb/>received knighthood from the hand of their Sovereign, and

        have<lb/>not some of them received pensions?&#8221;</p>

               <p n="13">To answer objections of this latitude demands the assertion of<lb/>certain

        characteristic facts which, tho' not here demonstrated, may<lb/>be authenticated by

        reference to history. Of these, the facts of<epage/>

                  <page n="122" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.123.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/> Alfred's

        disguised visit to the Danish camp, and Aulaff's visit to the<lb/>Saxon, are sufficient to

        show in what respect the poets of that<lb/>period were held; when a man without any safe

        conduct whatever<lb/>could enter the enemy's camp on the very eve of battle, as was

        here<lb/>the case; could enter unopposed, unquestioned, and return unmo-<lb/>lested!&#8212;What

        could have conferred upon the poet of that day so<lb/>singular a privilege? What upon the

        poet of an earlier time that<lb/>sanctity in behoof whereof<quote>

                     <lg n="1">

                        <l n="1"> &#8220;The great Emathian conqueror bid spare </l>

                        <l n="2"> The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower </l>

                        <l n="3"> Went to the ground: and the repeated air </l>

                        <l n="4"> Of sad Electra's poet had the power </l>

                        <l n="5"> To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.&#8221; </l>

                     </lg>

                  </quote>

                  <lb/>What but an universal recognition of the poet as an universal bene-<lb/>factor of

        mankind? And did mankind recognize him as such, from<lb/>some unaccountable infatuation, or

        because his labours obtained for<lb/>him an indefeasible right to that estimate? How came

        it, when a<lb/>Greek sculptor had completed some operose performance, that

        his<lb/>countrymen bore him in triumph thro' their city, and rejoiced in his<lb/>prosperity

        as identical with their own? How but because his art<lb/>had embodied some principle of

        beauty whose mysterious influence<lb/>it was their pride to appreciate&#8212;or he had enduringly

        moulded the<lb/>limbs of some well-trained Athlete, such as it was their interest

        to<lb/>develop, or he had recorded the overthrow of some barbaric invader<lb/>whom their

        fathers had fallen to repel.</p>

               <p n="14">In the middle ages when a knight listened, in the morning, to<lb/>some song of

        brave doing, ere evening he himself might be the hero<lb/>of such song.&#8212;What wonder then

        that he held sacred the function<lb/>of the poet! Now-a-days our heroes (and we have them)

        are left<lb/>unchapleted and neglected&#8212;and therefore the poet lives and dies<lb/>neglected.</p>

               <p n="15">Thus it would appear from these facts (which have been collate-<lb/>rally evolved

        in course of enquiring into the propriety of choosing<lb/>the subject from past or present

        time, and in course of the conse-<lb/>quent analysis) that Art, to become a more powerful

        engine of<lb/>civilization, assuming a practically humanizing tendency (the admit-<lb/>ted

        function of Art), should be made more directly conversant with<lb/>the things, incidents,

        and influences which surround and constitute<lb/>the living world of those whom Art proposes

        to improve, and,<lb/>whether it should appear in event that Art can or can not

        assume<lb/>this attitude without jeopardizing her specific existence, that such

        a<lb/>consummation were desirable must be equally obvious in either<lb/>case.</p>

               <epage/>

               <page n="123" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.123.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

               <p n="16">Let us return now to the former consideration. It was stated<lb/>that the poet is

        affected by every day incidents, which would have<lb/>little or no effect on the mind of a

        general observer: and if you ask<lb/>the poet, who from his conduct may be the supposed

        advocate of<lb/>the past as the fittest medium for poetic eduction, why he em-<lb/>bodied

        the suggestions of to-day in the matter and dress of<lb/>antiquity; he is likely to answer

        as follows.&#8212;&#8220;You have stated<lb/>&#8220;that men pass by that which furnishes me with my subject:

        If I<lb/>&#8220;merely reproduce what they slighted, the reproduction will be<lb/>&#8220;slighted

        equally. It appears then that I must devise some means<lb/>&#8220;of attracting their

        sympathies&#8212;and the medium of antiquity is<lb/>&#8220;the fittest for three several reasons.

        1st.&#8212;Nothing comes down<lb/>&#8220;to us from antiquity unless fraught with sufficient interest of

        some<lb/>&#8220;sort, to warrant it being worthy of record. Thus, all incidents<lb/>&#8220;which we

        possess of the old time being more or less interesting,<lb/>&#8220;there arises an illative

        impression that all things of old really<lb/>&#8220;were so: and all things in idea associated

        with that time,<lb/>&#8220;whether real or fictitious, are afforded a favorable

         entertainment.<lb/>&#8220;<phrase id="PN123.1">Now these associations are neither trivial nor

         fanciful:*</phrase> for I<lb/>&#8220;remember to have discovered, after visiting the British

        Museum<lb/>&#8220;for the first time, that the odour of camphor, for which I had<lb/>&#8220;hitherto no

        predilection, afforded me a peculiar satisfaction,<lb/>&#8220;seemingly suggestive of things

        scientific or artistic; it was in fact<lb/>&#8220;a <hi rend="i">literary smell!</hi> All this was

        vague and unaccountable until<lb/>&#8220;some time after when this happened again, and I was at

        once<lb/>&#8220;reminded of an enormous walrus at the British Museum, and<lb/>&#8220;then remembered how

        the whole collection, from end to end, was<lb/>&#8220;permeated with the odour of camphor! Still,

        despite the <hi rend="i">con-</hi>

                  <lb/>&#8220;<hi rend="i">sciousness</hi> of this, the camphor retains its influence. Now let

        a<lb/>&#8220;poem, a painting, or sculpture, smell ever so little of antiquity, and<lb/>&#8220;every

        intelligent reader will be full of delightful imaginations.<lb/>&#8220;2nd.&#8212;All things ancient are

        mysterious in obscurity:&#8212;veneration,<lb/>&#8220;wonder, and curiosity are the result. 3rd.&#8212;All

        things ancient<lb/>&#8220;are dead and gone:&#8212;we sympathize with them accordingly. All<lb/>&#8220;these

        effects of antiquity, as a means of enforcing poetry, declare it<lb/>&#8220;too powerful an ally

        to be readily abandoned by the poet.&#8221; To<lb/>all this the painter will add that the costume

        of almost any ancient<lb/>time is more beautiful than that of the present&#8212;added to which

        it<lb/>exposes more of that most beautiful of all objects, the human figure.</p>

               <p n="17">Thus we have a formidable array of objections to the choice of<pagenote place="f" anchor="y" resp="au" target="PN123.1">

                     <p>* Here the author, in the person of respondent, takes occasion to narrate<lb/>a real

          fact.</p>

                  </pagenote>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="124" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.125.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/>

                  <hi rend="i">present-day subjects:</hi> and first, it was objected and granted,

        that<lb/>incidents of the present time are well nigh barren in poetic attrac-<lb/>tion for

        the many. Then it was objected, but not granted, that their<lb/>poetic or pictorial

        counterparts will be equally unattractive also: but<lb/>this last remains to be proved. It

        was said, and is believed by the<lb/>author, (and such as doubt it he does not address) that

        all good men<lb/>are more or less poetical in some way or other; while their

        poetry<lb/>shows itself at various times. Thus the business-man in the street has<lb/>other

        to think of than poetry; but when he is inclined to look at a<lb/>picture, or in his more

        poetical humour, will he neglect the pictorial<lb/>counterpart of what he neglected before?

        To test this, show him a<lb/>camera obscura, where there is a more literal transcript of

        present-<lb/>day nature than any painting can be:&#8212; what is the result? He ex-<lb/>presses no

        anxiety to quit it, but a great curiosity to investigate; he<lb/>feels it is very beautiful,

        indeed more beautiful than nature: and<lb/>this he will say is because he does not see

        nature as an artist does.<lb/>Now the solution of all this is easy: 1st. He is in a mood of

        mind<lb/>which renders him accessible to the influences of poetry, which was<lb/>not before

        the case. 2nd. He looks at that steadily which he before<lb/>regarded cursorily; and, as the

        picture remains in his eye, it<lb/>acquires an amount of harmony, in behoof of an intrinsic

        harmony<lb/>resident in the organ itself, which exerts proportionately

        modifying<lb/>influences on all things that enter within it; and of the nervous<lb/>harmony,

        and the beautifully apportioned stimuli of alternating<lb/>ocular spectra. 3rd. There is a

        resolution of discord effected by the<lb/>instrument itself, inasmuch as its effects are

        homogeneous. All<lb/>these harmonizing influences are equally true of the painting;

        and<lb/>though we have no longer the homogeneous effect of the camera, we<lb/>have the

        homogeneous effect of one mind, viz., the mind of the<lb/>artist.</p>

               <p n="18">Thus having disproved the supposed poetical obstacles to the<lb/>rendering of real

        life or nature in its own real garb and time, as<lb/>faithfully as Art can render it,

        nothing need be said to answer the<lb/>advantages of the antique or mediæval rendering;

        since they were<lb/>only called in to neutralize the aforesaid obstacles, which

        obstacles<lb/>have proved to be fictitious. It remains then to consider the <hi rend="i">artistic</hi>

                  <lb/>objection of costume, &amp;c., which consideration ranges under the<lb/>head of <hi rend="i">real differences between the things of past and present times</hi>,<lb/>a

        consideration formerly postponed. But this requiring a patient<lb/>analysis, will

        necessitate a further postponement, and in conclusion,<lb/>there will be briefly stated the

        elements of the argument, thus.&#8212;<lb/>It must be obvious to every physicist that physical

        beauty (which<lb/>this subject involves on the one side [the ancient] as opposed to the<epage/>

                  <page n="125" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.125.tif" width="4480" height="3328"/> want of it on the

        other [the modern]) was in ancient times as<lb/>superior to physical beauty in the modern,

        as psychical beauty in<lb/>the modern is superior to psychical beauty in the ancient.

        Costume<lb/>then, as physical, is more beautiful ancient than modern. Now that<lb/>a certain

        amount of physical beauty is requisite to constitute Fine<lb/>Art, will be readily admitted;

        but what that amount is, must be<lb/>ever undefined. That the maximum of physical beauty

        does not<lb/>constitute the maximum of Fine Art, is apparent from the facts of<lb/>the

        physical beauty of <hi rend="i">Early Christian</hi> Art being inferior to that

        of<lb/>Grecian art; whilst, in the concrete, Early Christian Art is superior<lb/>to Grecian.

        Indeed some specimens of Early Christian Art are<lb/>repulsive rather than beautiful, yet

        these are in many cases the<lb/>highest works of Art.</p>

               <p n="19">In the &#8220;<title level="pic">Plague at Ashdod</title>,&#8221; great physical beauty,

        resulting from<lb/>picturesque costume and the exposed human figure, was so far

        from<lb/>desirable, that it seems purposely deformed by blotches of livid<lb/>color; yet the

        whole is a most noble work of Poussin. Containing<lb/>as much physical beauty as this

        picture, the writer remembers to<lb/>have seen an incident in the streets where a

        black-haired, sordid,<lb/>wicked-headed man, was striking the butt of his whip at the

        neck<lb/>of a horse, to urge him round an angle of the pavement; a smocked<lb/>countryman

        offered him the loan of his mules: a blacksmith stand-<lb/>ing by, showed him how to free

        the wheel, by only swerving the animal<lb/>to the left: he, taking no notice whatever, went

        on striking and<lb/>striking; whilst a woman waiting to cross, with a child in her

        one<lb/>hand, and with the other pushing its little head close to her side,<lb/>looked with

        wide eyes at this monster.</p>

               <p n="20">This familiar incident, affording a subject fraught with more<lb/>moral interest

        than, and as much picturesque matter as, many antique<lb/>or mediæval subjects, is only

        wanting in that romantic attraction<lb/>which, by association, attaches to things of the

        past. Yet, let these<lb/>modern subjects once excite interest, as it really appears they

        can,<lb/>and the incidents of to-day will acquire romantic attractions by the<lb/>same

        association of ideas.</p>

               <p n="21">The claims of ancient, mediæval, and modern subjects will be<lb/>considered in

        detail at a future period.</p>

            </div1>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            <epage/>

            <page n="126" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.127.tif" width="4480" height="3296" id="p126"/>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.6" type="lyric" n="36" title="The Carillon: Antwerp and Bruges"
                  id="a.30-1849.i52"
                  workcode="30-1849">

               <divheader>

                  <title> The Carillon. <lb/> (Antwerp and Bruges.) </title>

               </divheader>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               <epigraph>

                  <p>*<hi rend="sub">*</hi>* In these and others of the Flemish Towns, the <hi rend="i">Carillon</hi>, or chimes<lb/>which have a most fantastic and delicate music, are played

         almost continually<lb/>The custom is very ancient.</p>

               </epigraph>

               <lg n="1" type="sexain">

                  <l n="1">At Antwerp, there is a low wall</l>

                  <l n="2" indent="1">Binding the city, and a moat</l>

                  <l n="3" indent="1">Beneath, that the wind keeps afloat.</l>

                  <l n="4">You pass the gates in a slow drawl</l>

                  <l n="5">Of wheels. If it is warm at all</l>

                  <l n="6" indent="1">The Carillon will give you thought.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="2" type="sexain">

                  <l n="7">I climbed the stair in Antwerp church, </l>

                  <l n="8" indent="1">What time the urgent weight of sound</l>

                  <l n="9" indent="1">At sunset seems to heave it round.</l>

                  <l n="10">Far up, the Carillon did search </l>

                  <l n="11">The wind; and the birds came to perch</l>

                  <l n="12" indent="1">Far under, where the gables wound.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="3" type="sexain">

                  <l n="13">In Antwerp harbour on the Scheldt </l>

                  <l n="14" indent="1">I stood along, a certain space </l>

                  <l n="15" indent="1">Of night. The mist was near my face:</l>

                  <l n="16">Deep on, the flow was heard and felt.</l>

                  <l n="17">The Carillon kept pause, and dwelt</l>

                  <l n="18" indent="1">In music through the silent place.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="4" type="sexain">

                  <l n="19">At Bruges, when you leave the train,</l>

                  <l n="20" indent="1">&#8212;A singing numbness in your ears,&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="21" indent="1">The Carillon's first sound appears</l>

                  <l n="22">Only the inner moil. Again</l>

                  <l n="23">A little minute though&#8212;your brain</l>

                  <l n="24" indent="1">Takes quiet, and the whole sense hears.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="5" type="sexain">

                  <l n="25">John Memmeling and John Van Eyck</l>

                  <l n="26" indent="1">Hold state at Bruges. In sore shame</l>

                  <l n="27" indent="1">I scanned the works that keep their name.</l>

                  <l n="28">The Carillon, which then did strike</l>

                  <l n="29">Mine ears, was heard of theirs alike:</l>

                  <l n="30" indent="1">It set me closer unto them.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="6" type="sexain">

                  <l n="31">I climbed at Bruges all the flight</l>

                  <l n="32" indent="1">The Belfry has of ancient stone.</l>

                  <l n="33" indent="1">For leagues I saw the east wind blown:</l>

                  <l n="34">The earth was grey, the sky was white.</l>

                  <l n="35">I stood so near upon the height</l>

                  <l n="36" indent="1">That my flesh felt the Carillon.</l>

               </lg>

               <closer>

                  <dateline>

                     <hi rend="i">October</hi>, 1849.</dateline>

               </closer>

            </div1>

            <epage/>

            <page n="127" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.127.tif" width="4480" height="3296" id="p127"/>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.7" type="lyric" n="37" title="Emblems" id="a.woolner004.i53"
                  workcode="woolner004">

               <divheader>

                  <title> Emblems. </title>

               </divheader>

               <lg n="1" type="septet">

                  <l n="1">

                     <hi rend="sc">I lay</hi> through one long afternoon,</l>

                  <l n="2" indent="1">Vacantly plucking the grass.</l>

                  <l n="3">I lay on my back, with steadfast gaze</l>

                  <l n="4" indent="1">Watching the cloud-shapes pass;</l>

                  <l n="5">Until the evening's chilly damps</l>

                  <l n="6" indent="1">Rose from the hollows below,</l>

                  <l n="7" indent="1">Where the cold marsh-reeds grow.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="2" type="septet">

                  <l n="8">I saw the sun sink down behind</l>

                  <l n="9" indent="1">The high point of a mountain;</l>

                  <l n="10">Its last light lingered on the weeds</l>

                  <l n="11" indent="1">That choked a shattered fountain,</l>

                  <l n="12">Where lay a rotting bird, whose plumes</l>

                  <l n="13" indent="1">Had beat the air in soaring.</l>

                  <l n="14" indent="1">On these things I was poring:&#8212;</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="3" type="septet">

                  <l n="15">The sun seemed like my sense of life,</l>

                  <l n="16" indent="1">Now weak, that was so strong;</l>

                  <l n="17">The fountain&#8212;that continual pulse</l>

                  <l n="18" indent="1">Which throbbed with human song:</l>

                  <l n="19">The bird lay dead as that wild hope</l>

                  <l n="20" indent="1">Which nerved my thoughts when young.</l>

                  <l n="21" indent="1">These symbols had a tongue,</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="4" type="septet">

                  <l n="22">And told the dreary lengths of years</l>

                  <l n="23" indent="1">I must drag my weight with me;</l>

                  <l n="24">Or be like a mastless ship stuck fast</l>

                  <l n="25" indent="1">On a deep, stagnant sea.</l>

                  <l n="26">A man on a dangerous height alone,</l>

                  <l n="27" indent="1">If suddenly struck blind,</l>

                  <l n="28" indent="1">Will never his home path find.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="5" type="septet">

                  <l n="29">When divers plunge for ocean's pearls,</l>

                  <l n="30" indent="1">And chance to strike a rock,</l>

                  <l n="31">Who plunged with greatest force below</l>

                  <l n="32" indent="1">Receives the heaviest shock.</l>

                  <l n="33">With nostrils wide and breath drawn in,</l>

                  <l n="34" indent="1">I rushed resolved on the race;</l>

                  <l n="35" indent="1">Then, stumbling, fell in the chase.</l>

               </lg>

               <epage/>

               <page n="128" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.129.tif" width="1280" height="942" id="p128"/>

               <lg n="6" type="septet">

                  <l n="36">Yet with time's cycles forests swell</l>

                  <l n="37" indent="1">Where stretched a desert plain:</l>

                  <l n="38">Time's cycles make the mountains rise</l>

                  <l n="39" indent="1">Where heaved the restless main:</l>

                  <l n="40">On swamps where moped the lonely stork,</l>

                  <l n="41" indent="1">In the silent lapse of time</l>

                  <l n="42" indent="1">Stands a city in its prime.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="7" type="septet">

                  <l n="43">I thought: then saw the broadening shade</l>

                  <l n="44" indent="1">Grow slowly over the mound,</l>

                  <l n="45">That reached with one long level slope</l>

                  <l n="46" indent="1">Down to a rich vineyard ground:</l>

                  <l n="47">The air about lay still and hushed,</l>

                  <l n="48" indent="1">As if in serious thought:</l>

                  <l n="49" indent="1">But I scarcely heeded aught,</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="8" type="septet">

                  <l n="50">Till I heard, hard by, a thrush break forth,</l>

                  <l n="51" indent="1">Shouting with his whole voice,</l>

                  <l n="52">So that he made the distant air</l>

                  <l n="53" indent="1">And the things around rejoice.</l>

                  <l n="54">My soul gushed, for the sound awoke</l>

                  <l n="55" indent="1">Memories of early joy:</l>

                  <l n="56" indent="1">I sobbed like a chidden boy.</l>

               </lg>

            </div1>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.8" type="sonnet" n="38" title="Sonnet: Early Aspirations"
                  id="a.wbscott002.i54"
                  workcode="wbscott002">

               <divheader>

                  <title> Sonnet. <lb/> Early Aspirations. </title>

               </divheader>

               <lg n="1" type="quatorzain">

                  <l n="1">

                     <hi rend="sc">How</hi> many a throb of the young poet-heart,</l>

                  <l n="2" indent="1">Aspiring to the ideal bliss of Fame,</l>

                  <l n="3" indent="1">Deems that Time soon may sanctify his claim</l>

                  <l n="4">Among the sons of song to dwell apart.&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="5" indent="1">Time passes&#8212;passes! The aspiring flame</l>

                  <l n="6">Of Hope shrinks down; the white flower Poesy</l>

                  <l n="7">Breaks on its stalk, and from its earth-turned eye</l>

                  <l n="8" indent="1">Drop sleepy tears instead of that sweet dew</l>

                  <l n="9" indent="2">Rich with inspiring odours, insect wings</l>

                  <l n="10">Drew from its leaves with every changing sky,</l>

                  <l n="11" indent="1">While its young innocent petals unsunn'd grew.</l>

                  <l n="12" indent="2">No more in pride to other ears he sings,</l>

                  <l n="13" indent="1">But with a dying charm himself unto:&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="14" indent="2">For a sad season: then, to active life he springs.</l>

               </lg>

            </div1>

            <epage/>

            <page n="129" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.129.tif" width="1280" height="942" id="p129"/>

            <pageheader>

               <bibliosig>

                  <hi rend="sc">I</hi>

               </bibliosig>

            </pageheader>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.9" type="lyric" n="39" title="From the Cliffs: Noon"
                  id="a.43-1849.i55"
                  workcode="43-1849">

               <divheader>

                  <title> From the Cliffs: Noon. </title>

               </divheader>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               <lg n="1" type="septet">

                  <l n="1">The sea is in its listless chime:</l>

                  <l n="2" indent="1">Time's lapse it is, made audible,&#8212;</l>

                  <l n="3" indent="1">The murmur of the earth's large shell.</l>

                  <l n="4">In a sad blueness beyond rhyme</l>

                  <l n="5" indent="1">It ends: sense, without thought, can pass</l>

                  <l n="6" indent="1">No stadium further. Since time was,</l>

                  <l n="7">This sound hath told the lapse of time.</l>

               </lg>

               <lg n="2" type="septet">

                  <l n="8">No stagnance that death wins,&#8212;it hath</l>

                  <l n="9" indent="1">The mournfulness of ancient life,</l>

                  <l n="10" indent="1">Always enduring at dull strife.</l>

                  <l n="11">As the world's heart of rest and wrath,</l>

                  <l n="12" indent="1">Its painful pulse is in the sands.</l>

                  <l n="13" indent="1">Last utterly, the whole sky stands,</l>

                  <l n="14">Grey and not known, along its path.</l>

               </lg>

            </div1>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.10" type="poem group" n="40" title="Fancies at Leisure"
                  id="a.wmrossetti007.i56"
                  workcode="wmrossetti007">

               <divheader>

                  <title> Fancies at Leisure. </title>

               </divheader>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.10.1" type="lyric" n="17" title="Fancies at Leisure I. In Spring"
                     id="a.wmrossetti007.1.i57"
                     workcode="wmrossetti007.1">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> I. In Spring. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <lg n="1" type="octave">

                     <l n="1">The sky is blue here, scarcely with a stain</l>

                     <l n="2">Of grey for clouds: here the young grasses gain</l>

                     <l n="3">A larger growth of green over this splinter</l>

                     <l n="4">Fallen from the ruin. Spring seems to have told Winter</l>

                     <l n="5">He shall not freeze again here. Tho' their loss</l>

                     <l n="6">Of leaves is not yet quite repaired, trees toss</l>

                     <l n="7">Sprouts from their boughs. The ash you called so stiff</l>

                     <l n="8">Curves, daily, broader shadow down the cliff.</l>

                  </lg>

               </div2>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.10.2" type="lyric" n="18" title="Fancies at Leisure II. In Summer"
                     id="a.wmrossetti007.2.i58"
                     workcode="wmrossetti007.2">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> II. In Summer. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <lg n="1" type="octave">

                     <l n="1">How the rooks caw, and their beaks seem to clank!</l>

                     <l n="2" indent="1">Let us just move out there,&#8212;(it might be cool</l>

                     <l n="3">Under those trees,) and watch how the thick tank</l>

                     <l n="4" indent="1">By the old mill is black,&#8212;a stagnant pool</l>

                     <l n="5">Of rot and insects. There goes by a lank</l>

                     <l n="6" indent="1">Dead hairy dog floating. Will Nature's rule</l>

                     <l n="7">Of life return hither no more? The plank </l>

                     <l n="8" indent="1">Rots in the crushed weeds, and the sun is cruel.</l>

                  </lg>

               </div2>

               <epage/>

               <page n="130" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.131.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.10.3" type="sonnet" n="19"
                     title="Fancies at Leisure III. The Breadth of Noon"
                     id="a.wmrossetti007.3.i59"
                     workcode="wmrossetti007.3">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> III. The Breadth of Noon. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <lg n="1" type="quatorzain">

                     <l n="1">Long time I lay there, while a breeze would blow</l>

                     <l n="2" indent="1">From the south softly, and, hard by, a slender</l>

                     <l n="3" indent="1">Poplar swayed to and fro to it. Surrender</l>

                     <l n="4">Was made of all myself to quiet. No</l>

                     <l n="5">Least thought was in my mind of the least woe:</l>

                     <l n="6" indent="1">Yet the void silence slowly seemed to render</l>

                     <l n="7" indent="1">My calmness not less calm, but yet more tender,</l>

                     <l n="8">And I was nigh to weeping.&#8212;&#8216;Ere I go,&#8217;</l>

                     <l n="9">I thought, &#8216;I must make all this stillness mine;</l>

                     <l n="10" indent="1">The sky's blue almost purple, and these three</l>

                     <l n="11">Hills carved against it, and the pine on pine</l>

                     <l n="12" indent="1">The wood in their shade has. All this I see</l>

                     <l n="13" indent="1">So inwardly I fancy it may be</l>

                     <l n="14">Seen thus of parted souls by <hi rend="i">their</hi> sunshine.&#8217;</l>

                  </lg>

               </div2>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.10.4" type="sonnet" n="20"
                     title="Fancies at Leisure IV. Sea-Freshness"
                     id="a.wmrossetti007.4.i60"
                     workcode="wmrossetti007.4">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> IV. Sea-Freshness. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <lg n="1" type="quatorzain">

                     <l n="1">Look at that crab there. See if you can't haul</l>

                     <l n="2" indent="1">His backward progress to this spar of a ship</l>

                     <l n="3" indent="1">Thrown up and sunk into the sand here. Clip</l>

                     <l n="4">His clipping feelers hard, and give him all</l>

                     <l n="5">Your hand to gripe at: he'll take care not fall:</l>

                     <l n="6" indent="1">So,&#8212;but with heed, for you are like to slip</l>

                     <l n="7" indent="1">In stepping on the plank's sea-slime. Your lip&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="8">No wonder&#8212;curves in mirth at the slow drawl</l>

                     <l n="9">Of the squat creature's legs. We've quite a shine</l>

                     <l n="10" indent="1">Of waves round us, and here there comes a wind</l>

                     <l n="11" indent="2">So fresh it must bode us good luck. How long</l>

                     <l n="12">Boatman, for one and sixpence? Line by line</l>

                     <l n="13" indent="1">The sea comes toward us sun-ridged. Oh! we sinned</l>

                     <l n="14" indent="2">Taking the crab out: let's redress his wrong.</l>

                  </lg>

               </div2>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.10.5" type="sonnet" n="21"
                     title="Fancies at Leisure V. The Fire Smouldering"
                     id="a.wmrossetti007.5.i61"
                     workcode="wmrossetti007.5">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> V. The Fire Smouldering. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <lg n="1" type="quatorzain">

                     <l n="1">I look into the burning coals, and see</l>

                     <l n="2" indent="1">Faces and forms of things; but they soon pass,</l>

                     <l n="3" indent="1">Melting one into other: the firm mass</l>

                     <l n="4">Crumbles, and breaks, and fades gradually,</l>

                     <l n="5">Shape into shape as in a dream may be,</l>

                     <l n="6" indent="1">Into an image other than it was:</l>

                     <l n="7" indent="1">And so on till the whole falls in, and has</l>

                     <l n="8">Not any likeness,&#8212;face, and hand, and tree,<epage/>

                        <page n="131" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.131.tif" width="1280" height="942" id="p131"/>

                        <pageheader>

                           <bibliosig>
                              <hi rend="sc">I</hi> 2</bibliosig>

                        </pageheader>

                     </l>

                     <l n="9">All gone. So with the mind: thought follows thought,</l>

                     <l n="10" indent="1">This hastening, and that pressing upon this,</l>

                     <l n="11" indent="2">A mighty crowd within so narrow room:</l>

                     <l n="12" indent="2">And then at length heavy-eyed slumbers come,</l>

                     <l n="13" indent="1">The drowsy fancies grope about, and miss</l>

                     <l n="14">Their way, and what was so alive is nought.</l>

                  </lg>

               </div2>

            </div1>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.11" type="story" n="41" title="Papers of 'The M.S. Society'"
                  id="a.jtupper004.i62"
                  workcode="jtupper004">

               <divheader>

                  <title id="PN131.1"> Papers of &#8220;The M.S. Society.&#8221;*</title>

               </divheader>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.11.1" type="satire" n="22"
                     title="Papers of 'The M.S. Society.' No. I"
                     id="a.jtupper004.1.i63"
                     workcode="jtupper004.1">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> No. I. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <opener> An Incident in the Siege of Troy, seen from a modern Observatory. </opener>

                  <pagenote place="f" anchor="y" resp="ed" target="PN131.1">

                     <p>* The Editor is requested to state that &#8220;M. S.&#8221; does not here mean Manuscript.</p>

                  </pagenote>

                  <lg n="1" type="stanza">

                     <l n="1">Sixteen Specials in Priam's Keep</l>

                     <l n="2" indent="1">Sat down to their mahogany:</l>

                     <l n="3">The League, just then, had made <hi rend="i">busters</hi> cheap,</l>

                     <l n="4" indent="1">And Hesiod writ his &#8220;Theogony,&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="5">A work written to prove &#8220;that, if men would be men,</l>

                     <l n="6">And demand their rights again and again,</l>

                     <l n="7">They might live like gods, have infinite <hi rend="i">smokes</hi>,</l>

                     <l n="8">Drink infinite rum, drive infinite <hi rend="i">mokes</hi>,</l>

                     <l n="9">Which would come from every part of the known</l>

                     <l n="10">And civilized globe, twice as good as their own,</l>

                     <l n="11">And, finally, Ilion, the work-shop should be</l>

                     <l n="12">Of the world&#8212;one vast manufactory!&#8221;</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="2" type="stanza">

                     <l n="13">From arrow-slits, port-holes, windows, what not,</l>

                     <l n="14">Their sixteen quarrels the Specials had shot</l>

                     <l n="15">From sixteen arblasts, their daily task;</l>

                     <l n="16">Why they'd to do it they didn't ask,</l>

                     <l n="17">For, after they'd done it, they sat down to dinner;</l>

                     <l n="18">The sixteen Specials they didn't get thinner;</l>

                     <l n="19">But kept quite loyal, and every day</l>

                     <l n="20">Asked no questions but fired away.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="3" type="stanza">

                     <l n="21">Would you like me to tell you the reason why </l>

                     <l n="22">These sixteen Specials kept letting fly</l>

                     <l n="23">From eleven till one, as the Chronicle speaks?</l>

                     <l n="24">They did it, my boys, to annoy the Greeks,</l>

                     <l n="25">Who kept up a perpetual cannonade</l>

                     <l n="26">On the walls, and threaten'd an escalade.<epage/>

                        <page n="132" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.133.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                     </l>

                     <l n="27">The sixteen Specials were so arranged</l>

                     <l n="28">That the shots they shot were not shots exchanged,</l>

                     <l n="29">But every shot so told on the foe</l>

                     <l n="30" indent="1">The Greeks were obliged to draw it mild:</l>

                     <l n="31">Diomedes&#8212;&#8220;A fix,&#8221; Ulysses&#8212;&#8220;No go&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="32" indent="1">Declared it, the &#8220;king of men&#8221; cried like a child;</l>

                     <l n="33">Whilst the Specials, no more than a fine black Tom</l>

                     <l n="34">I keep to serenade Mary from</l>

                     <l n="35">The tiles, where he lounges every night,</l>

                     <l n="36">Knew nor cared what they did, and were perfectly right.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="4" type="stanza">

                     <l n="37">But the fact was thus: one Helenus,</l>

                     <l n="38">A man much faster than any of us,</l>

                     <l n="39">More fast than a gent at the top of a &#8220;bus,&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="40">More fast than the coming of &#8220;Per col. sus.&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="41">Which Shakespeare says comes galloping,</l>

                     <l n="42">(I take his word for anything)</l>

                     <l n="43">This Helenus had a cure of souls&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="44" indent="1">He had cured the souls of several Greeks,</l>

                     <l n="45">Achilles sole or heel,&#8212;the rolls</l>

                     <l n="46" indent="1">Of fame (not French) say Paris:&#8212;speaks</l>

                     <l n="47" indent="1">Anatomist Quain thereof. Who seeks</l>

                     <l n="48">May read the story from z to a;</l>

                     <l n="49">He has handled and argued it every way;&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="50">A subject on which there's a good deal to say.</l>

                     <l n="51">His work was ever the best, and still is,</l>

                     <l n="52">Because of this note on the Tendo Achillis.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="5" type="stanza">

                     <l n="53">This Helenus was a man well bred,</l>

                     <l n="54" indent="1">He was <hi rend="i">up</hi> in Electricity,</l>

                     <l n="55" indent="1">Fortification, Theology,</l>

                     <l n="56" indent="1">Æsthetics and Pugilicity;</l>

                     <l n="57">Celsus and Gregory he'd read;</l>

                     <l n="58" indent="1">Knew every &#8220;dodge&#8221; of <hi rend="i">glove and fist;</hi>

                     </l>

                     <l n="59">Was a capital curate, (I think I've said)</l>

                     <l n="60" indent="1">And Transcendental Anatomist:</l>

                     <l n="61">

                        <hi rend="i">Well up</hi> in Materia Medica,</l>

                     <l n="62" indent="1">

                        <hi rend="i">Right up</hi> in Toxicology,</l>

                     <l n="63">And Medical Jurisprudence, that sell!</l>

                     <l n="64" indent="1">And the <hi rend="i">dead sell</hi> Physiology:</l>

                     <l n="65">Knew what and how much of any potation</l>

                     <l n="66">Would get him through any examination:</l>

                     <l n="67">With credit not small, had passed the Hall</l>

                     <l n="68">And the College&#8212;&#8212;and they couldn't <hi rend="i">pluck</hi> him at all.<epage/>

                        <page n="133" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.133.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                     </l>

                     <l n="69">He'd written on Rail-roads, delivered a lecture</l>

                     <l n="70" indent="1">Upon the Electric Telegraph,</l>

                     <l n="71">Had played at single-stick with Hector,</l>

                     <l n="72" indent="1">And written a paper on half-and-half.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="6" type="stanza">

                     <l n="73">With those and other works of note</l>

                     <l n="74">He was not at all a &#8220;<hi rend="i">people's man</hi>,&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="75">Though public, for the works he wrote</l>

                     <l n="76">Were not that sort the people can</l>

                     <l n="77">Admire or read; they were Mathematic</l>

                     <l n="78">The most part, some were Hydrostatic;</l>

                     <l n="79">But Algebraic, in the main,</l>

                     <l n="80">And full of a, b, c, and n&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="81">And other letters which perplex&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="82">The last was full of double x!</l>

                     <l n="83">In fact, such stuff as one may easily</l>

                     <l n="84">Imagine, didn't go down greasily,</l>

                     <l n="85">Nor calculated to produce</l>

                     <l n="86">Such heat as &#8220;cooks the public goose,&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="87">And does it of so brown a hue</l>

                     <l n="88">Men wonder while they relish too.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="7" type="stanza">

                     <l n="89">It therefore was that much alone</l>

                     <l n="90">He studied; and a room is shown</l>

                     <l n="91">In a coffee-house, an upper room,</l>

                     <l n="92">Where none but hungry devils come,</l>

                     <l n="93">Wherein 'tis said, with animation</l>

                     <l n="94">He read &#8220;Vestiges of Creation.&#8221;</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="8" type="stanza">

                     <l n="95">Accordingly, a month about</l>

                     <l n="96">After he'd <hi rend="i">chalked up</hi> steak and stout</l>

                     <l n="97">For the last time, he gave the world</l>

                     <l n="98">A pamphlet, wherein he unfurled</l>

                     <l n="99">A tissue of facts which, soon as blown,</l>

                     <l n="100">Ran like wildfire through the town.</l>

                     <l n="101">And, first of all, he plainly showed</l>

                     <l n="102">A capital error in the mode</l>

                     <l n="103">Of national defences, thus&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="104">&#8220;The Greek one thousand miles from us,&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="105">Said he, (for nine hundred and ninety-nine</l>

                     <l n="106">The citadel stood above the brine</l>

                     <l n="107">In perpendicular height, allowing</l>

                     <l n="108">For slope of glacis, thereby showing</l>

                     <l n="109">An increase of a mile,) &#8220;'tis plain</l>

                     <l n="110">The force that shot and shell would gain,<epage/>

                        <page n="134" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.135.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                     </l>

                     <l n="111">By gravitation, with their own,</l>

                     <l n="112">Would fire the ground by friction alone;</l>

                     <l n="113">Which, being once in fusion schooled</l>

                     <l n="114">Ere cool, as <hi rend="i">Fire-mist had cooled</hi>&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="115">Would gain a motion, which must soon,</l>

                     <l n="116">Just as the earth detached the moon</l>

                     <l n="117">And gave her locomotive birth,</l>

                     <l n="118">Detach some twenty miles of earth,</l>

                     <l n="119">And send it swinging in the air,</l>

                     <l n="120">The Devil only could tell where!</l>

                     <l n="121">Then came the probability</l>

                     <l n="122">With what increased facility</l>

                     <l n="123">The Greeks, by this projectile power,</l>

                     <l n="124">Might land on Ilion's highest tower,</l>

                     <l n="125">All safe and sound, in battle array,</l>

                     <l n="126">With howitzers prepared to play,</l>

                     <l n="127">And muskets to the muzzles rammed;&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="128">Why, the town would be utterly smashed and jammed,</l>

                     <l n="129">And positively, as the phrase is</l>

                     <l n="130">Vernacular, be &#8220;sent to blazes&#8221;!</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="9" type="stanza">

                     <l n="131">In the second place, he then would ask,</l>

                     <l n="132">(And here he took several members to task,</l>

                     <l n="133">And wondered&#8212;&#8220;he really must presume</l>

                     <l n="134">To wonder&#8221; a statesman like&#8212;you know whom&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="135">Who ever evinced the deepest sense</l>

                     <l n="136">Of a crying sin in any expense,</l>

                     <l n="137">Should so besotted be, and lost</l>

                     <l n="138">To the fact that now, at public cost,</l>

                     <l n="139">Powder was being day by day</l>

                     <l n="140">Wantonly wasted, blown away);&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="141">Yes, he would ask, &#8220;with what intent</l>

                     <l n="142">But to perch the Greeks on a battlement</l>

                     <l n="143">From which they might o'erlook the town,</l>

                     <l n="144">The easier to batter it down,</l>

                     <l n="145">Which he had proved must be the case</l>

                     <l n="146">(If it hadn't already taken place):</l>

                     <l n="147">He called on his readers to fear and dread it,</l>

                     <l n="148">

                        <hi rend="i">Whilst he wrote it,&#8212;whilst they read it!</hi>&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="149">&#8220;How simple! How beautifully simple,&#8221; said he,</l>

                     <l n="150">&#8220;And obvious was the remedy!</l>

                     <l n="151">Look back a century or so&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="152">And there was the ancient Norman bow,<epage/>

                        <page n="135" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.135.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                     </l>

                     <l n="153">A weapon (he gave them leave to laugh)</l>

                     <l n="154">Efficient, better, cheaper by half:</l>

                     <l n="155">(He knew quite well the age abused it</l>

                     <l n="156">Because, forsooth, the Normans used it)</l>

                     <l n="157">These, planted in the citadel,</l>

                     <l n="158">Would reach the walls say,&#8212;very well;</l>

                     <l n="159">There, having spent their utmost force,</l>

                     <l n="160">They'd drop down right, as a matter of course,</l>

                     <l n="161">A thousand miles! Think&#8212;a thousand miles!</l>

                     <l n="162">What was the weight for driving piles</l>

                     <l n="163">To this? He calculated it&#8212;</l>

                     <l n="164">'Twould equal, when both Houses sit,</l>

                     <l n="165">The weight of the entire building,</l>

                     <l n="166">Including Members, paint, and gilding;</l>

                     <l n="167">But, if a speech or the address</l>

                     <l n="168">From the throne were given, something less,</l>

                     <l n="169">Because, as certain snores aver,</l>

                     <l n="170">The House is then much heavier.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="10" type="stanza">

                     <l n="171">Now this, though very much a rub like</l>

                     <l n="172">For Ministers, convinced the public;</l>

                     <l n="173">And Priam, who liked to hear its brays</l>

                     <l n="174">To any tune but &#8220;the Marseillaise,&#8221;</l>

                     <l n="175">Summoned a Privy Council, where</l>

                     <l n="176">'Twas shortly settled to confer</l>

                     <l n="177">On Helenus a sole command</l>

                     <l n="178">Of Specials.&#8212;He headed that daring band!</l>

                  </lg>

                  <lg n="11" type="stanza">

                     <l n="179">And sixteen Specials in Priam's keep</l>

                     <l n="180" indent="1">Got up from their mahogany;</l>

                     <l n="181">They smoked their pipes in silence deep</l>

                     <l n="182" indent="1">Till there was such a fog&#8212;any</l>

                     <l n="183">Attempt to discover the priest in the smother</l>

                     <l n="184">Had bothered old Airy and Adams and t'other</l>

                     <l n="185">And&#8212;Every son of an <hi rend="i">English</hi> mother.</l>

                  </lg>

                  <closer>

                     <dateline>

                        <hi rend="i">June</hi>, 1848. </dateline>

                  </closer>

                  <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               </div2>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.11.2" type="story" n="23"
                     title="Papers of 'The M.S. Society.' No. II"
                     id="a.jtupper004.2.i64"
                     workcode="jtupper004.2">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> No. II. <lb/> Swift's Dunces. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <epigraph>

                     <p> &#8220;<quote>When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this

           sign,<lb/>that the <hi rend="sc">Dunces</hi> are all in confederacy against

           him.</quote>&#8221;&#8212;<hi rend="i">Swift</hi>. </p>

                  </epigraph>

                  <p n="1">How shall we know the dunces from the man of genius, who is<lb/>no doubt our

         superior in judgment, yet knows himself for a fool&#8212;<lb/>by the proverb?</p>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="136" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.137.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                  <note>The letter &#8220;f&#8221; at the end of the first line of the first paragraph is printed slightly

         above the rest of the characters.</note>

                  <p n="2">At least, my dear Doctor, you will let me, with the mass of<lb/>readers, have

         clearer wits than the dunces&#8212;then why should I not<lb/>know what you are as soon as, or

         sooner than Bavius, &amp;c.&#8212;unless<lb/>a dunce has a good nose, or a natural instinct

         for detecting wit. </p>

                  <p n="3">Now I take it that these people stigmatized as dunces are but<lb/>men of

         ill-balanced mental faculties, yet perhaps, in a great degree,<lb/>superior to the average

         of minds. For instance, a poet of much<lb/>merit, but more ambition, has written the

         &#8220;Lampiad,&#8221; an epic;<lb/>when he should not have dared beyond the Doric reed: his

         ambi-<lb/>tious pride has prevented the publication of excellent pastorals,<lb/>therefore

         the world only knows him for his failure. This, I say, is a<lb/>likely man to become a

         detractor; for his good judgment shows<lb/>the imperfections of most works, his own

         included; his ambition<lb/>(an ill-combination of self-conscious worth and spleen) leads

         him<lb/>to compare works of the highest repute; the works of contem-<lb/>poraries; and his

         own. In all cases where success is most difficult,<lb/>he will be most severe; this

         naturally leads him to criticise the<lb/>very best works.</p>

                  <p n="4">He has himself failed; he sees errors in successful writers; he<lb/>knows he

         possesses certain merits, and knows what the perfection<lb/>of them should be. This is the

         ground work of envy, which makes<lb/>a man of parts a comparative fool, and a confederate

         against<lb/>&#8220;true genius.&#8221;</p>

               </div2>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.11.3" type="story" n="24"
                     title="Papers of The M.S. Society No. III"
                     id="a.jtupper004.3.i65"
                     workcode="jtupper004.3">

                  <divheader>

                     <title> No. III. <lb/> Mental Scales. </title>

                  </divheader>

                  <p n="1">I make out my case thus&#8212;</p>

                  <p n="2">There is an exact balance in the distribution of causes of pleasure<lb/>and pain:

         this has been satisfactorily proved in my next paper,<lb/>upon &#8220;Cause and Effect,&#8221;

         therefore I shall take it for granted.<lb/>What, then, is there but the mind to determine

         its own state of<lb/>happiness, or misery: just as the motion of the scales depends

         upon<lb/>themselves, when two equal weights are put into them. The balance<lb/>ought to be

         truly hung; but if the unpleasant scale is heavier, then<lb/>the motion is in favor of the

         pleasant scale, and vice versa. Whether<lb/>the beam stands horizontally, or otherwise,

         does not matter (that<lb/>only determines the key): draw a line at right angles to it, then

         put<lb/>in your equal weights; if the angle becomes larger on the unpleasant<lb/>scale's

         side of the line, happiness is the result, if on the other, misery.</p>

                  <p n="3">It requires but a slight acquaintance with mechanics to see that<lb/>he who would

         be happy should have the unpleasant side heavier.<lb/>I hate corollaries or we might have a

         group of them equally appli-<lb/>cable to Art and Models.</p>

                  <closer>

                     <dateline>

                        <hi rend="i">June</hi>, 1848. </dateline>

                  </closer>

               </div2>

            </div1>

            <epage/>

            <page n="137" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.137.tif" width="1280" height="942" id="p137"/>

            <div1 anchor="0.1.12" type="section" n="42" title="Review" id="a.wmrossetti008.i66"
                  workcode="wmrossetti008">

               <divheader>

                  <title> Reviews. </title>

               </divheader>

               <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               <div2 anchor="0.1.12.1" type="criticism" n="25"
                     title="Review: Some Account of the Life and Adventures of Sir         Reginald Mohun, Bart. Done in Verse by George John Cayley. Canto 1st"
                     id="a.wmrossetti008.i67"
                     workcode="wmrossetti008">

                  <divheader>

                     <title>

                        <xref doc="a.cayley002.rad" link="dead">

                           <hi rend="i">Some Account of the Life and Adventures of Sir Reginald Mohun,</hi>

                        </xref>

                        <lb/>

                        <hi rend="i">Bart. Done in Verse by George John Cayley. Canto</hi> 1<hi rend="i">st.</hi>

                        <lb/>

                        <hi rend="i">Pickering.</hi> 1849.</title>

                  </divheader>

                  <p n="1">Inconsistency, whether in matters of importance or in trifles,<lb/>whether in

         substance or in detail, is never pleasant. We do not here<lb/>impute to this poem any

         inconsistency between one portion and<lb/>another; but certainly its form is at variance

         with its subject and<lb/>treatment. In the wording of the title, and the character of

         typo-<lb/>graphy, there is a studious archaism: more modern the poem itself<lb/>could

         scarcely be.</p>

                  <p n="2">&#8220;<title level="wrk">

                        <xref doc="a.cayley002.rad" link="dead">Sir Reginald Mohun</xref>

                     </title>&#8221; aims, to judge from the present sample,<lb/>at depicting the easy intercourse of

         high life; and the author enters<lb/>on his theme with a due amount of sympathy. It is in

         this respect,<lb/>if in any, that the mediæval tone of the work lasts beyond the

         title<lb/>page. In Mr. Cayley's eyes, the proof of the comparative prosperity<lb/>of

         England is that<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;Still Queen Victoria sits upon her throne;</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Our aristocracy still keep alive,</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">And, on the whole, may still be said to thrive,&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="4">Tho' now and then with ducal acres groan</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">The honored tables of the auctioneer.</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">Nathless, our aristocracy is dear,</l>

                           <l n="7">Tho' their estates go cheap; and all must own</l>

                           <l n="8">That they still give society its tone.&#8221;&#8212;p. 16.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                     <lb/>He proceeds in these terms:<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;Our baronets of late appear to be</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Unjustly snubbed and talked and written down;</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">Partly from follies of Sir Something Brown,</l>

                           <l n="4">Stickling for badges due to their degree,</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">And partly that their honor's late editions</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">Have been much swelled with surgeons and physicians;</l>

                           <l n="7">For &#8216;honor hath small skill in surgery,&#8217;</l>

                           <l n="8">And skill in surgery small honor.&#8221;&#8212;p. 17.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                     <lb/>What &#8220;<quote>honor</quote>&#8221; is here meant? and against whom is the

         taunt<lb/>implied?&#8212;against the &#8220;<quote>surgeons and physicians,</quote>&#8221; or against

         the<lb/>depreciation of them. Surely the former can hardly have been in-<lb/>tended. The

         sentence will bear to be cleared of some ambiguity, or<lb/>else to be cleared off

         altogether.</p>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="138" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.139.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                  <p n="3">Our introduction to Sir Reginald Mohun, Lord of Nornyth Place, <lb/>and of

          &#8220;<quote>an income clear of 20,000 pounds,</quote>&#8221; and to his friends <lb/>Raymond St.

         Oun, De Lacy, Wilton, Tancarville, and Vivian&#8212; <lb/>(for the author's names are

         aristocratic, like his predilections)&#8212;is <lb/>effected through the medium of a stanza, new,

         we believe, in ar- <lb/>rangement, though differing but slightly from the established

         octave, <lb/>and of verses so easy and flowing as to make us wonder less at the

         <lb/>promise of<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;provision plenty</l>

                           <l n="2">For cantos twelve, or may be, four and twenty,&#8221;</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                     <lb/>than at Mr. Cayley's assertion that he<quote>

                        <lb/>&#8220;Can never get along at all in prose.&#8221;</quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="4">The incidents, as might be expected of a first canto, are neither<lb/>many nor

         important, and will admit of compression into a very small<lb/>compass.</p>

                  <p n="5">Sir Reginald, whose five friends had arrived at Nornyth Place late<lb/>on the

         preceding night, is going over the grounds with them in a<lb/>shooting party after a late

         breakfast. St. Oun expresses a wish to<lb/>&#8220;<quote>prowl about the place</quote>&#8221; in

         preference, not feeling in the mood for<lb/>the required exertion.<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;&#8216;Of lazy dogs the laziest ever fate</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Set on two useless legs you surely are,</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">And born beneath some wayward sauntering star</l>

                           <l n="4">To sit for ever swinging on a gate,</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">And laugh at wiser people passing through.&#8217;</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">So spake the bard De Lacy: for they two</l>

                           <l n="7">In frequent skirmishes of fierce debate</l>

                           <l n="8">Would bicker, tho' their mutual love was great.&#8221;&#8212;p. 35.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="6">Mohun, however, sides with St. Oun, and agrees to escort him in<lb/>his rambles

         after the first few shots. He accordingly soon resigns<lb/>his gun to the keeper Oswald,

         whose position as one who<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;came into possession</l>

                           <l n="2">Of the head-keepership by due succession</l>

                           <l n="3">Thro' sire and grandsire, who, when one was dead,</l>

                           <l n="4">Left his right heir-male keeper in his stead,&#8221;</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                     <lb/>Mr. Cayley evidently regards with some complacence. The friends<lb/>enter a boat:

         here, while sailing along a rivulet that winds through<lb/>the estate, St. Oun falls to

         talking of wealth, its value and insuf-<lb/>ficiency, of death, and life, and fame; and

         coming at length to ask<lb/>after the history of Sir Reginald's past life, he suggests

          &#8220;<quote>this true<lb/>epic opening for relation:</quote>&#8221;<epage/>

                     <page n="139" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.139.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                     <quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">

                              <hi rend="i">&#8220;&#8216;The sun, from his meridian heights declining</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="2">

                              <hi rend="i">Mirrored his richest tints upon the shining</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="3">

                              <hi rend="i">Bosom of a lake. In a light shallop, two</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="4" indent="1">

                              <hi rend="i">Young men, whose dress,</hi> etcaetera, <hi rend="i">proclaims,</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">Etcætera,&#8212;so would write G.P.R. James&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="6">

                              <hi rend="i">Glided in silence o'er the waters blue,</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="7">

                              <hi rend="i">Skirting the wooded slopes. Upward they gazed</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="8">

                              <hi rend="i">On Nornyth's ancient pile, whose windows blazed</hi>

                           </l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="2" type="octave">

                           <l n="9">

                              <hi rend="i">&#8220;&#8216;In sunset rays, whose crimson fulgence streamed</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="10">

                              <hi rend="i">Across the flood: wrapped in deep thought they seemed.</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="11">

                              <hi rend="i">&#8216;You are pensive, Reginald,&#8217; at length thus spake</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="12" rend="i" indent="1">The helmsman: &#8216;ha! it is the mystic power</l>

                           <l n="13" rend="i" indent="1">Fraught by the sacred stillness of the hour:</l>

                           <l n="14">

                              <hi rend="i">Forgive me if your reverie I break,</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="15">

                              <hi rend="i">Craving, with friendship's sympathy, to share</hi>

                           </l>

                           <l n="16">

                              <hi rend="i">Your spirit's burden, be it joy or care.&#8217;&#8221;</hi>&#8212;pp. 48, 49.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="7">Sir Reginald Mohun's story is soon told.&#8212;Born in Italy, and<lb/>losing his mother

         at the moment of his birth, and his father and<lb/>only sister dying also soon after, he is

         left alone in the world.<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;&#8216;My father was a melancholy man,</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Having a touch of genius, and a heart,</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">But not much of that worldly better part</l>

                           <l n="4">Called force of character, which finds some plan</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">For getting over anguish that will crush</l>

                           <l n="6">Weak hearts of stronger feeling. He began</l>

                           <l n="7" indent="1">To pine; was pale; and had a hectic flush</l>

                           <l n="8" indent="1">At times; and from his eyelids tears would gush.</l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="2" type="octave">

                           <l n="9">&#8220;&#8216;Some law of hearts afflicted seems to bind</l>

                           <l n="10" indent="1">A spell by which the scenes of grief grew dear;</l>

                           <l n="11" indent="1">He never could leave Italy, tho' here</l>

                           <l n="12">And there he wandered with unquiet mind,&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="13" indent="1">Rome, Florence, Mantua, Milan; once as far</l>

                           <l n="14">As Venice; but still Naples had a blind</l>

                           <l n="15" indent="1">Attraction which still drew him thither. There</l>

                           <l n="16" indent="1">He died. Heaven rest his ashes from their care.</l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="3" type="octave">

                           <l n="17">&#8220;&#8216;He wrote, a month or so before he died,</l>

                           <l n="18" indent="1">To Wilton's father; (he is Earl of Eure,</l>

                           <l n="19" indent="1">My mother's brother); saying he was sure</l>

                           <l n="20">That he should soon be gone, and would confide</l>

                           <l n="21" indent="1">Us to his guardian care. My uncle came</l>

                           <l n="22">Before his death. We stood by his bedside.</l>

                           <l n="23" indent="1">He blessed us. We, who scarcely knew the name</l>

                           <l n="24" indent="1">Of death, yet read in the expiring flame</l>

                        </lg>

                        <epage/>

                        <page n="140" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.141.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                        <lg n="4" type="octave">

                           <l n="25">&#8220;&#8216;Of his sunk eyes some awful mystery,</l>

                           <l n="26" indent="1">And wept we knew not why. There was a grace</l>

                           <l n="27" indent="1">Of radiant joyful hope upon his face,</l>

                           <l n="28">Most unaccustomed, and which seemed to be</l>

                           <l n="29" indent="1">All foreign to his wasted frame; and yet</l>

                           <l n="30">So heavenly in its consolation we</l>

                           <l n="31" indent="1">Smiled through the tears with which our lids were wet.</l>

                           <l n="32" indent="1">His lips were cold, as, whispering, &#8216;Do not fret</l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="5" type="octave">

                           <l n="33">&#8220;&#8216;When I am gone,&#8217; he kissed us: and he took </l>

                           <l n="34" indent="1">Our uncle's hands, which on our heads he laid,</l>

                           <l n="35" indent="1">And said: &#8216;My children, do not be afraid</l>

                           <l n="36">Of Death, but be prepared to meet him. Look;</l>

                           <l n="37" indent="1">Here is your mother's brother; he to her</l>

                           <l n="38">As Reginald to Eve.&#8217; His thin voice shook.&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="39" indent="1">&#8216;Eve was your Mother's name.&#8217; His words did err,</l>

                           <l n="40" indent="1">As dreaming; and his wan lips ceased to stir.&#8217;&#8221;&#8212;pp. 55-57.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="8">(We have quoted this passage, not insensible to its defects,&#8212;some<lb/>common-place

         in sentiment and diction; but independently of the<lb/>good it does really contain, as

         being the only one of such a character<lb/>sustained in quality to a moderate length.)</p>

                  <p n="9">Reginald and his cousin Wilton grew up together friends, though<lb/>not bound by

         common sympathies. The latter has known life early,<lb/>and &#8220;<quote>earned experience

          piecemeal:</quote>&#8221; with the former, thought has<lb/>already become a custom.</p>

                  <p n="10">Thus far only does Reginald bring his retrospect; his other<lb/>friends come up,

         and they all return homeward. Here, too, ends<lb/>the story of this canto; but not without

         warranting some surmise<lb/>of what will furnish out the next. There is evidence of

         observation<lb/>adroitly applied in the talk of the two under-keepers who take<lb/>charge

         of the boat.<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;They said: &#8216;Oh! what a gentleman to talk</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Is that there Lacy! What a tongue he've got!</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">But Mr. Vivian <hi rend="i">is</hi> a pretty shot.</l>

                           <l n="4">And what a pace his lordship wish to walk!</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">Which Mr. Tancarville, he seemed quite beat:</l>

                           <l n="6">But he's a pleasant gentleman. Good lawk!</l>

                           <l n="7" indent="1">How he do make me laugh! Dang! this 'ere seat</l>

                           <l n="8" indent="1">Have wet my smalls slap thro'. Dang! what a treat!</l>

                        </lg>

                        <epage/>

                        <page n="141" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.141.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                        <lg n="2" type="octave">

                           <l n="9">&#8220;&#8216;There's company coming to the Place to morn:</l>

                           <l n="10" indent="1">Bess housemaid told me. Lord and Lady&#8212;&#8212;: dash</l>

                           <l n="11" indent="1">My wigs! I can't think on. But there's a mash</l>

                           <l n="12">O' comp'ny and fine ladies; fit to torn</l>

                           <l n="13" indent="1">The heads of these young chaps. Why now I'd lay</l>

                           <l n="14">This here gun to an empty powder-horn</l>

                           <l n="15" indent="1">Sir Reginald be in love, or that-a-way.</l>

                           <l n="16" indent="1">He looks a little downcast-loikish,&#8212;eh?&#8217;&#8221;&#8212;pp.62, 63.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="11">It will be observed that there is no vulgarity in this vulgarism: <lb/>indeed, the

         gentlemanly good humour of the poem is uninterrupted. <lb/>This, combined with neatness of

         handling, and the habit of not over- <lb/>doing, produces that general facility of

         appearance which it is no <lb/>disparagement, in speaking of a first canto, to term the

         chief result <lb/>of so much of these life and adventures as is here &#8220;done into verse.&#8221;

         <lb/>It may be fairly anticipated, however, that no want of variety in the c<lb/>onception,

         or of success in the pourtrayal, of character will need to <lb/>be complained of:

         meanwhile, a few passages may be quoted to con- <lb/>firm our assertions. The two first

         extracts are examples of mere <lb/>cleverness; and all that is aimed at is attained. The

         former follows <lb/>out a previous comparison of the world with a &#8220;<quote>huge churn.</quote>&#8221;<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;Yet some, despising life's legitimate aim,</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Instead of butter, would become &#8220;the cheese;&#8221;</l>

                           <l n="3">A low term for distinction. Whence the name</l>

                           <l n="4" indent="1">I know not: gents invented it; and these</l>

                           <l n="5">Gave not an etymology. I see no</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">Likelier than this, which with their taste agrees;</l>

                           <l n="7">The <hi rend="i">caseine</hi> element I conceive to mean no</l>

                           <l n="8">Less than the <hi rend="i">beau ideal</hi> of the Casino.&#8221;&#8212;p. 12.</l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="2" type="octave">

                           <l n="9">&#8220;Wise were the Augurers of old, nor erred</l>

                           <l n="10" indent="1">In substance, deeming that the life of man&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="11" indent="1">(This is a new reflection, spick and span)&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="12">May be much influenced by the flight of birds.</l>

                           <l n="13" indent="1">Our senate can no longer hold their house</l>

                           <l n="14" indent="1">When culminates the evil star of grouse;</l>

                           <l n="15">And stoutest patriots will their shot-belts gird</l>

                           <l n="16">When first o'er stubble-field hath partridge whirred.&#8221;&#8212;p.25.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="12">In these others there is more purpose, with a no less definite<lb/>conciseness:<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;Comes forth the first great poet. Then a number</l>

                           <l n="2">Of followers leave much literary lumber.<epage/>

                              <page n="142" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.143.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                           </l>

                           <l n="3">He cuts his phrases in the sapling grain</l>

                           <l n="4" indent="1">Of language; and so weaves them at his will.</l>

                           <l n="5">They from his wickerwork extract with pain</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">The wands now warped and stiffened, which but ill</l>

                           <l n="7">Bend to their second-hand employment.&#8221;&#8212;pp. 4, 5.</l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="2">

                           <l n="8" indent="1">&#8220;What's life? A riddle;</l>

                           <l n="9">Or sieve which sifts you thro' it in the middle.&#8221;&#8212;p.45.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="13">The misadventures of the five friends on their road to Nornyth are <lb/>very

         sufficiently described:<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;The night was cold and cloudy as they topped</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">A moorland slope, and met the bitter blast,</l>

                           <l n="3">So cutting that their ears it almost cropped;</l>

                           <l n="4" indent="1">And rain began to fall extremely fast.</l>

                           <l n="5">A broken sign-post left them in great doubt</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">About two roads; and, when an hour was passed,</l>

                           <l n="7">They learned their error from a lucid lout;</l>

                           <l n="8">Soon after, one by one, their lamps went out.&#8221;&#8212;p.29.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="14">There remains to point out one fault,&#8212;and that the last fault the <lb/>occurrence

         of which could be looked for, after so clearly expressed <lb/>an intention as this:<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;But, if an Author takes to writing fine,</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">(Which means, I think, an artificial tone),</l>

                           <l n="3">The public sicken and won't read a line.</l>

                           <l n="4">I hope there's nothing of this sort in mine.&#8221;&#8212;p. 6.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="15">A quotation or two will fully explain our meaning: and we would<lb/>seriously ask

         Mr. Cayley to reflect whether he has always borne his<lb/>principle in mind, and avoided

          &#8220;<quote>writing fine;</quote>&#8221; whether he has not<lb/>sometimes fallen into high-flown

         common-place of the most undis-<lb/>guised stamp, rendered, moreover, doubly inexcusable

         and out of<lb/>place by being put into the mouth of one of the personages of the<lb/>poem;

         It is Sir Reginald Mohun that speaks; and truly, though<lb/>not thrust forward as a

          &#8220;<quote>wondrous paragon of praise,</quote>&#8221; he must be<lb/>confessed to be,<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;Judging by specimens the author quotes,</l>

                           <l n="2">An utterer of most ordinary phrases,&#8221;</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                     <lb/>not words only and sentences, but real <hi rend="i">phrases</hi>, in the more

         distinct<lb/>and specific sense of the term.<epage/>

                     <page n="143" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.143.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                     <quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1" indent="2">&#8220;&#8216;There, while yet a new born thing,</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Death o'er my cradle waved his darksome wing;</l>

                           <l n="3">My mother died to give me birth: forlorn</l>

                           <l n="4" indent="1">I came into the world, a babe of woe,</l>

                           <l n="5">Ill-omened from my childhood's early morn;</l>

                           <l n="6" indent="1">Yet heir to what the idolators of show</l>

                           <l n="7" indent="1">Deem life's good things, which earthly bliss bestow.</l>

                        </lg>

                        <lg n="2" type="octave">

                           <l n="8">&#8220;&#8216;The riches of the heart they call a dream;</l>

                           <l n="9" indent="1">Love, hope, faith, friendship, hollow phantasies:</l>

                           <l n="10" indent="1">Living but for their pockets and their eyes,</l>

                           <l n="11">They stifle in their breasts the purer beam</l>

                           <l n="12" indent="1">Of sunshine glanced from heaven upon their clay,</l>

                           <l n="13">To be its light and warmth. This is a theme</l>

                           <l n="14" indent="1">For homilies: and I will only say,</l>

                           <l n="15" indent="1">The heart feeds not on fortune's baubles gay.&#8217;&#8221;&#8212;p. 51.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="16">Sir Reginald's narrative concludes after this fashion:<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;&#8216;But what is this? A dubious compromise;</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Twilight of cloudy zones, whereon the blaze</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">Of sunshine breaks but seldom with its rays</l>

                           <l n="4">Of heavenly hope, towards which the spirit sighs</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">Its aspirations, and is lost again</l>

                           <l n="6">'Mid doubts: to grasp the wisdom of the skies</l>

                           <l n="7" indent="1">Too feeble, tho' convinced earth's bonds are vain,</l>

                           <l n="8" indent="1">Cowering faint-hearted in the festering chain.&#8217;&#8221;&#8212;p. 60.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="17">A similar instance of conventionality constantly repeated is the<lb/>sin of

         inversion, which is no less prevalent, throughout the poem,<lb/>in the conversational than

         in the narrative portions. In some cases<lb/>the exigencies of rhyme may be pleaded in

         palliation, as for &#8220;<quote>Cam's<lb/>marge along</quote>&#8221; and &#8220;<quote>breezy willows

         cool,</quote>&#8221; which occur in two con-<lb/>secutive lines of a speech; but there are many

         for which no such<lb/>excuse can be urged. Does any one talk of &#8220;<quote>sloth

         obscure,</quote>&#8221; or<lb/>of &#8220;<quote>hearts afflicted?</quote>&#8221; Or what reason is there for

          preferring<lb/>&#8220;<quote>verses easy</quote>&#8221; to <hi rend="i">easy verses?</hi> Ought not

         the principle laid down<lb/>in the following passage of the introduction to be followed

         out, not<lb/>only into the intention, but into the manner and quality also, of

         the<lb/>whole work?<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1" indent="1">&#8220;&#8216;I mean to be <hi rend="i">sincere</hi> in this my lay:</l>

                           <l n="2">That which I think I shall write down without</l>

                           <l n="3" indent="1">A drop of pain or varnish. Therefore, pray,</l>

                           <l n="4">Whatever I may chance to rhyme about,</l>

                           <l n="5">Read it without the shadow of a doubt.&#8217;&#8221;&#8212;p. 12.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <epage/>

                  <page n="144" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3x1.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

                  <p n="18">Again, the Author appears to us to have acted unwisely in<lb/>occasionally

         departing from the usual construction of his stanzas, as<lb/>in this instance:<quote>

                        <lg n="1" type="octave">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;&#8216;But, as I said, you know my history;</l>

                           <l n="2">And your's&#8212;not that you made a mystery</l>

                           <l n="3">Of it, nor used reserve, yet, being not</l>

                           <l n="4" indent="1">By nature an Autophonophilete,</l>

                           <l n="5" indent="1">(A word De Lacy fashioned and called me it)&#8212;</l>

                           <l n="6">Your's you have never told me yet. And what</l>

                           <l n="7">Can be a more appropriate occasion</l>

                           <l n="8">Than this true epic opening for relation?&#8217;&#8221;&#8212;p. 48.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                     <lb/>Here the lines do not cohere so happily as in the more varied dis-<lb/>tribution of

         the rhymes; and, moreover, as a question of principle,<lb/>we think it not advisable to

         allow of minor deviations from the<lb/>uniformity of a prescribed metre.</p>

                  <p n="19">It may be well to take leave of Mr. Cayley with a last quotation<lb/>of his own

         words,&#8212;words which no critic ought to disregard:<quote>

                        <lg n="1">

                           <l n="1">&#8220;I shall be deeply grateful to reviews,</l>

                           <l n="2" indent="1">Whether they deign approval, or rebuke,</l>

                           <l n="3">For any hints they think may disabuse</l>

                           <l n="4">Delusions of my inexperienced muse.&#8221;&#8212; p.8.</l>

                        </lg>

                     </quote>

                  </p>

                  <p n="20">If our remarks have been such as to justify the Author's wish for<lb/>sincere

         criticism, our object is attained; and we look forward for<lb/>the second canto with

         confidence in his powers.</p>

                  <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

               </div2>

               <epage/>

            </div1>

         </div0>

      </body>

      <back>

         <page n="[x1]" image="a.ap4.g415.1901.v3x1.tif" width="1280" height="942"/>

         <div0 anchor="back.1" type="advertisement" n="21">

            <divheader>

               <title>

                  <hi rend="b">Contents of the Germ, No. 1.</hi>

               </title>

            </divheader>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

            <list>

               <item>My Beautiful Lady: by <hi rend="i">Thomas Woolner</hi>................................1</item>

               <item>Of my Lady in Death: by <hi rend="i">Thomas Woolner</hi>..............................5</item>

               <item>The Love of Beauty: by <hi rend="i">F. Madox Brown</hi>..............................10</item>

               <item>The Subject in Art, (No. 1.)....................................... 11</item>

               <item>The Seasons........................................................ 19</item>

               <item>Dream Land: by <hi rend="i">Ellen Allyn</hi>.........................................20</item>

               <item>Songs of one Household, (My Sister's Sleep): by <hi rend="i">Dante G. Rossetti</hi>. 21</item>

               <item>Hand and Soul: by <hi rend="i">Dante G. Rossetti</hi>................................23</item>

               <item>

                  <hi rend="sc">Reviews</hi>: The &#8220;<title level="wrk">Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich</title>&#8221;: by

         <hi rend="i">Wm. M. Rossetti</hi>...... 34</item>

               <item>Her First Season: by <hi rend="i">Wm. M. Rossetti</hi>...............................46</item>

               <item>A Sketch From Nature............................................... 47</item>

               <item>An End: by <hi rend="i">Ellen Allyn</hi>.............................................48</item>

            </list>

            <ornlb>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</ornlb>

         </div0>

         <div0 anchor="back.2" type="errata" n="22">

            <divheader>

               <title>

                  <hi rend="c">ERRATA.</hi>

               </title>

            </divheader>

            <p>Page 19, line 3, for <hi rend="i">his</hi>, read <hi rend="i">its</hi>.<lb/>Page 19, line

       10, for <hi rend="i">comes</hi>, read <hi rend="i">falls</hi>.</p>

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                  <hi rend="i">Published Monthly, price 1s.</hi>

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               <title>

                  <hi rend="b">The Germ.</hi>

               </title>

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            <p n="1">

               <hi rend="sc">This</hi> Periodical will consist of original Poems, Stories to<lb/>develope

       thought and principle, Essays concerning Art and<lb/>other subjects, and analytic Reviews of

       current Literature&#8212;<lb/>particularly of Poetry. Each number will also contain an<lb/>Etching;

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       that place to which its present develop-<lb/>ment in the literature of this country so

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            <p n="3">The endeavour held in view throughout the writings on<lb/>Art will be to encourage

       and enforce an entire adherance to<lb/>the simplicity of nature; and also to direct

       attention, as an<lb/>auxiliary medium, to the comparatively few works which Art<lb/>has yet

       produced in this spirit. It need scarcely be added<lb/>that the chief object of the etched

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