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mechanics ; He follows a sedentary trade, and he is never see him at table. He carries his own larder accordingly represented as conceited, serious, and about with him, and he is himself .a tun of man.' fantastical. He is ready to underiake any thing and His pulling out ihe bottle in the field of battle is a every thing, as if it was as much a matter of course joke to show his contempt for glory accompanied as the motion of his loom and shutile. He is for play; with danger, his systematic adherence to his Epi. ing the tyrant, the lover, the lady, the lion. · He will curean philosophy in the most trying circumstances. roar that it shall do any man's heart good to hear Again, such is his deliberate exaggeration of his bim;' and this being objected to as improper, he own vices, that it does not seem quite certain still has a resource in his good opinion of himself, whether the account of his hostess' bill, found in and 'will roar you an 'were any nightingale' his pocket, with such an out-of-the-way charge for Snug the Joiner is the moral man of ihe piece, capons and sack with only one half-penny-worth who proceeds by measurement and discretion in of bread, was not put there by himself, as a trick to all things. You see him with his rule and com- humour the jest upon his favourite propensities, and passes in his hand. * Have you the lion's part as a conscious caricature of himself. written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am “ The secret of Falstaff's wit is for the most part slow of study. – You may do it extempore,' says a masterly presence of mind, an absolute self-pos. Quince, 'for it is nothing but roaring. Starve session, which nothing can disturb. His repariees ling the Tailor keeps the peace, and objects to the are involuntary suggestions of his self-love; instinclion and the drawn sword.. I believe we must tive evasions of every thing that threatens to inter, leave the killing out when all's done.' Starveling, rupt the career of his triumphant jollity and however, does not start the objections himself, but self.complacency. His very size floats him out of seconds them when made by others, as if he had all his difficulties in a sea of rich conceits ; and he no spirit to express his fears without encourage turns round on the pivot of his convenience, with meni. It is too much to suppose all this intentional : every occasion and at a moment's warning. His but it very luckily falls out so.”—pp. 126, 127. natural repugnance to every unpleasant thought or
circumstance, of itself makes light of objections, Mr. H. admires Romeo and Juliet rather too and provokes the most extravagant and licentious much—though his encomium on it is about answers in his own justification. His indifference the most eloquent part of his performance: to truth puts no check upon his invention; and the But we really cannot sympathise with all the more improbable and unexpected his contrivances conceits and puerilities that occur in this play; of ihem, the anticipation of their effect acting as a
are, the more happily does he seem to be delivered for instance, this exhortation to Night, which stimulus to the gaiety of his fancy. The success of Mr. H. has extracted for praise !-.
one adventurous sally gives him spirits to undertake
another: he deals always in round numbers, and "Give me my Romeo-and when he shall die,
his exaggerations and excuses are open, palpable, Take him and cut him out in litile stars,
monstrous as the father that begeis ihern. And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
pp. 189—192. Chat all the world will be in love with Night,"&c.
It is time, however, to make an end of this. We agree, however, with less reservation, We are not in the humour to discuss points in his rapturous encomium on Lear—but can of learning with this author; and our readers afford no extracts. The following speculation now see well enough what sort of book he on the character of Falstaff is a striking, and, has written. We shall conclude with his reon the whole, a favourable specimen of our marks on Shakespeare's style of Comedy, inauthor's manner.
troduced in the account of the Twelfth Night. "Wie is often a meagre substitute for pleasure. “This is justly considered as one of the most de. able sensation ; an effusion of spleen and petty lightful of Shakespeare's comedies. It is full of spile at the comforts of others, from feeling none in sweetness and pleasantry. It is perhaps too gooditself. Falstaff's wit is an emanation of a fine con natured for comedy. It has little satire, and no stitution ; an exuberance of good-humour and good; spleen. h aims ai the ludicrous rather than the nature; an overflowing of his love of laughter, and ridiculous. It makes us laugh at the follies of good-fellowship ; a giving vent 10 his heart's ease mankind; not despise them, and still less bear any and over-conteniment with bimself and others. ill.will towards them. Shakespeare's comic genius He would not be in character if he were not so fat resembles the bee rather in its power of extracting as he is ; for there is the greatest keeping in the sweets from weeds or poisons, than in leaving a boundless luxury of his imagination and the pam sting behind it. He gives the most amusing exag. pered self-indulgence of his physical appetites. He geration of the prevailing foibles of his characters, manures and nourishes his mind with jests, as he but in a way that they themselves, instead of being does his body with sack and sugar. He carves out offended at, would almost join in to humour; he his jokes, as he would a capon, or a haunch of rather contrives opportunities for them to show penison, where there is cut and come again: and themselves off in the happiest lights, than renders lavishly pours out upon them the oil of gladness. them contemptible in the perverse construction of His tongue drops fainess, and in the chambers of the wit or malice of others. his brain it snow 3 of meat and drink.' He keeps “There is a certain stage of society, in which up perpetual holiday and open house, and we live people become conscious of their peculiarities and with him in a round of invitations to a rump and absurdities, affect to disguise what ihey are, and set dozen.-Yet we are not left to suppose that he was up pretensions to what they are not. This gives a mere sensualist. All this is as much in imagina rise to a corresponding style of comedy, the object tion as in reality. His sensuality does not engross of which is to detect the disguises of self-love, and and stupify his other faculties, but ascends me to make reprisals on these preposterous assumptions into the brain, clears away all the dull, crude va- of vanity, by marking the contrast between the real pours that environ it, and makes it full of nimble, and the affected character as severely as possible, fiery, and delectable shapes.' His imagination and denying to those, who would impose on us for keeps up the ball long after his senses have done what they are not, even the merit which they have. with it. He seems to have even a greater enjoy. This is the comedy of artificial life, of wit and sament of the freedom from restraint, of good cheer, tire, such as we see in Congreve, Wycherley, Vanof his ease, of his vanity, in the ideal and exagge- brugh, &c. But there is a period in the progress rated descriptions which he gives of them, ihan of manners anterior to this, in which the foibles and in fact. He never fails to enrich his discourse follies of individuals are of nature's planting, not the with allusions to eating and drinking; but wel growth of art or study; in which they are therefore unconscious of them themselves, or care not who Maria, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. knows them, if they can but have their whim out; For instance, noihing can fall much lower ihan this iud in which, as there is no attempt at imposition, last character in intellect or morals: yet how are his the specialors rather receive pleasure from humour weaknesses nursed and dandled by Sir Toby into Ing the inclinations of the persons they laugh at, something 'high fantastical;' when on Sir Andrew's than wish to give them pain by exposing their ab. commendation of himself for dancing and fencing, surdiiy. This may be called the comedy of na. Sir Toby answers,— Wherefore are these bings ture; and it is the comedy which we generally find hid? Wherefore have these gifis a curtain before in Shakespeare. Whether the analysis here given them? Are they like to take dust, like Mrs. Moll's be just or not, the spirit of his comedies is evidently picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a quiie distinct from that of the authors above men. galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very tioned; as it is in its essence the same with that of walk should be a jig! I would not so much as make Cervantes, and also very frequenily of Molière, water but in a cinque-pace. What dost thou mean? though he was more systematic in his extravagance Is this a world to hide virtues in? I did think by than Shakespeare. Shakespeare's comedy is of a the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was framed pastoral and poetical cast. Folly is indigenous to under the star of a galliard !'-How Sir Toby, Sir ihe soil, and shoots out with native, happy, un. Andrew, and the Clown afterwards chirp over their checked luxuriance. Absurdily has every encour: cups! how they'rouse the night owl in a caich, agement afforded it; and nonsense has rooin 10 able to draw three ouls out of one weaver!' Whai flourish in. Nothing is stunted by the churlish, icy can be better than Sir Toby's unanswerable answer hand of indifference or severity. The poet runs riot to Malvolio, Dost thou think, because thou art in a conceit, and idolizes a quibble. His whole ob- virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ?'ject is to turn the meanest or rudest objects to a | In a word, ihe best turn is given to everything, in. pleasurable account. And yet the relish which he stead of the worst. There is a constant infusion of has of a pun, or of the quaint humour of a low the romantic and enthusiastic, in proportion as the character, does not interfere with the delight with characters are natural and sincere: whereas, in the which he describes a beautiful image, or the most more artificial style of comedy, everything gives refined love. The clown's forced jesis do not spoil way to ridicule and indifference; there being noth. the sweetness of the character of Viola. The same ing left but affectation on one side, and incredulity house is big enough to hold Malvolio, the Countess on the other."-pp. 255—259.
( February, 1822.) Sardanapalus, a Tragedy. The Two Foscari, a Tragedy. Cain, a Mystery. By Lord Byron.
8vo. pp. 440. Murray. London: 1822.* It must be a more difficult thing to write a scenity, or deforms with rant, the genuine good play- -or even a good dramatic poem- passion and profligacy of Antony and Cleopatra than we had imagined. Not that we should, -or intrudes on the enchanted solitude of a priori, have imagined it to be very easy : Prospero and his daughter, with the tones of But it is impossible not to be struck with the worldly gallantry, or the caricatures of affected fact, that, in comparatively rude times, when simplicity. Otway, with the sweet and mel. the resources of the art had been less care- low diction of the former age, had none of its fully considered, and Poetry certainly had not force, variety, or invention. Its decaying fires collected all her materials, success seems to burst forth in some strong and irregular flashes, have been more frequently, and far more in the disorderly scenes of Lee; and sunk at easily obtained. From the middle of Eliza- last in the ashes, and scarcely glowing embers, beth's reign till the end of James', the drama of Rowe. formed by far the most brilliant and beautiful Since his time—till very lately—the school part of our poetry, -and indeed of our litera- of our ancient dramatists has been deserted : ture in general. From that period to the and we can scarcely say that any new one Revolution, it lost a part of its splendour and has been established. Instead of the irregular originality; but still continued to occupy the and comprehensive plot—the rich discursive most conspicuous and considerable place in dialogue—the ramblings of fancy—the magic our literary annals. For the last century, its creations of poetry—the rapid succession of has been quite otherwise. Our poetry has incidents and characters—the soft, flexible, ceased almost entirely to be dramatic; and, and ever-varying diction—and the flowing, though men of great name and great talent continuous, and easy versification, which char. have occasionally adventured into this once acterised those masters of the golden time, fertile field, they have reaped no laurels, and we have had tame, formal, elaborate, and left no trophies behind them. The genius of stately compositions—meagre stories—few Dryden appears nowhere to so little advantage personages-characters decorous and consist. as in his tragedies; and the contrast is truly ent, but without nature or spirit-a guarded, humiliating when, in a presumptuous attempt timid, classical diction-ingenious and me to heighten the colouring, or enrich the sim- thodical disquisitions—turgid or senientious plicity of Shakespeare, he bedaubs with ob- declamations and a solemn and monolonous
strain of versification. Nor can this be as* I have thought it best to put all my Dramatical cribed, even plausibly, to any decay of genius criticisms in one series : and, therefore, I take the among us; for the most remarkable failures tragedies of Lord Byron in this place—and apart have fallen on the highest talents. We have from his other poetry.
already hinted at the miscarriages of Dryden. The exquisite taste and fine observation of imitations, of Schiller and Kotzebue, caricaAddison, produced only the solemn mawkish- tured and distorted as they were by the aberness of Cato. The beautiful fancy, the gor- rations of a vulgar and vitiated taste, had still geous diction, and generous affections of so much of the raciness and vigour of the old Thomson, were chilled and withered as soon English drama, from which they were avow'as he touched the verge of the Drama; where edly derived, that they instantly became more his name is associated with a mass of verbose popular in England than any thing that her puerility, which it is difficult to conceive could own artists had recently produced; and served ever have proceeded from the author of the still more effectually to recal our affections to Seasons and the Castle of Indolence. Even their native and legitimate rulers. Then folthe mighty intellect, the eloquent morality, lowed republications of Massinger, and Beauand lofty style of Johnson, which gave too mont and Fletcher, and Ford, and their tragic and magnificent a tone to his ordinary contemporaries—and a host of new tragedies, writing, failed altogether to support him in his all writien in avowed and elaborate imitation attempt to write actual tragedy; and Irene is of the ancient models. Miss Baillie, we rather not only unworthy of the imitator of Juvenal think, had the merit of leading the way in this and the author of Rasselas and the Lives of return to our old allegiarce-and then came the Poets, but is absolutely, and in itself, a volume of plays by Mr. Chenevix, and a nothing better than a tissue of wearisome succession of single plays, all of considerable and unimpassioned declamations. We have merit, from Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Maturin, Mr. named the most celebrated names in our Wilson, Mr. Barry Cornwall, and Mr. Milman. literature, since the decline of the drama, al. The first and the last of these names are the most to our own days; and if they have neither most likely to be remembered ; but none of lent any new honours to the stage, nor bor- them, we fear, will ever be ranked with the rowed any from it, it is needless to say, that older worthies; nor is it conceivable that any those who adventured with weaker powers age should ever class them together. had no better fortune. The Mourning Bride We do not mean, however, altogether to of Congreve, the Revenge of Young, and the deny, that there may be some illusion, in our Douglas of Home (we cannot add the Mys- habitual feelings, as to the merits of the great terious Mother of Walpole-even to please originals-consecrated as they are, in our Lord Byron), are almost the only tragedies of imaginations, by early admiration, and assothe last age that are familiar to the present; ciated, as all their peculiarities, and the mere and they are evidently the works of a feebler accidents and oddities of their diction now and more effeminate generation-indicating, are, with the recollection of their intrinsic exas much by their exaggerations as by their cellences. It is owing to this
, we suppose, timidity, their own consciousness of inferiority that we can scarcely venture to ask ourselves, to their great predecessors—whom they af- steadily, and without an inward startling and fected, however, not to imitate, but to supplant. feeling of alarm, what reception one of ShakeBut the native taste of our people was not speare's irregular plays—the Tempest for exthus to be seduced and perverted, and when ample, or the Midsummer Night's Dreamthe wits of Queen Anne's time had lost the would be likely to meet with, if it were now authority of living authors, it asserted itself to appear for the first time, without name, by a fond recurrence to its original standards, notice, or preparation? Nor can we pursue and a resolute neglect of the more regular the hazardous supposition through all the posand elaborate dramas by which they had been sibilities to which it invites us, without somesucceeded. Shakespeare, whom it had long thing like a sense of impiety and profanation. been the fashion to decry and even ridicule, Yet, though some little superstition may minas the poet of a rude and barbarous age* was gle with our faith, we must still believe it to reinstated in his old supremacy: and when be the true one. Thongh time may have his legitimate progeny could no longer be hallowed many things that were at first but found at home, his spurious issue were hailed common, and accidental associations imparted with rapture from foreign countries, and in- a charm to much that was in itself indifferent, rited and welcomed with the most eager we cannot but believe that there was an origmnthusiasm on their arrival. The German inal sanctity, which time only matured and
extended-and an inherent charm from which Ti is not a lisile remarkable to find such a man Goldsmith joining in this pitiful sneer.
he association derived all its power. And iar of Wakefield, he constantly represents his when we look candidly and calmly to the famous town ladies. 'Miss Carolina Amelia Wilhel. works of our early dramatists, it is impossible, mina Skeggs, and the other, as discoursing about we think, to dispute, that after criticism has *** high life, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses !" done its worst on them-after all deductions And, in a more serious passage, he introduces a for impossible plots and fantastical characters, player as astonishing the Vicar, by informing him thai " Dryden and Rowe's manner were quite out
unaccountable forms of speech, and occasional of fashionour taste has gone back a whole century: extravagance, indelicacy, and horrors—there Fletcher, Ben Jonson, and, above all, the plays of is a facility and richness about them, both of Shakespeare, are the only things that go down." thought and of diction-a force of invention,
How!" says the Vicar, is it possible that the and a depth of sagacity-an originality of present age can be pleased with that antiquated dia, conception, and a play of fancy-a nakedness lect, that obsolete humour, and those overcharged and energy of passion, and, above all, a co too?" No writer of name, who was not aiming ai piousness of imagery, and a sweetness and a paradox, would vensure to say this now.
flexibility of verse, which is altogether unri
2 B 2
valled, in earlier or in later times ;-and places | excessive simplicity. It is in vain to expect the them, in our estimation, in the very highest praises of such people; for they never praise; and foremost place among ancient or modern -and it is truly very little worth while to poets.
disarm their censure. It is only the praises It is in these particulars that the inferiority of the real lovers of poetry that ever give it of their recent imitators is most apparent–in true fame or popularity-and these are little the want of ease and variety-originality and affected by the cavils of the fastidious. Yet grace. There is, in all their attempts, what the genius of most modern writers seems to ever may be their other merits or defects, an be rebuked under that of those pragmatical air of anxiety and labour—and indications, by and insignificant censors. They are so much far too visible, at once of timidity and ambi- afraid of faults, that they will scarcely venture tion. This may arise, in part, from the fact upon beauties; and seem more anxious in of their being, too obviously and consciously, general to be safe, than original. They dare imitators. They do not aspire so much to not indulge in a florid and magnificent way of rival the genius of their originals, as to copy writing, for fear of being charged with bomtheir manner. They do not write as they bast by the cold-blooded and malignant. They would have written in the present day, but as must not be tender, lest they should be laughthey imagine they themselves would have ed at for puling and whining; nor discursive written two hundred years ago. They revive and fanciful like their great predecessors, the antique phraseology, repeat the venerable under pain of being held out to derision, as oaths, and emulate the quaint familiarities of ingenious gentlemen who have dreamed that that classical period—and wonder that they the gods have made them poetical! are not mistaken for new incarnations of its Thus, the dread of ridicule, which they departed poets! One great cause why they have ever before their eyes, represses all the are not, is, that they speak an unnatural dia- emotions, on the expression of which their lect, and are constrained by a masquerade success entirely depends; and in order to habit; in neither of which it is possible to escape the blame of those to whom they can display that freedom, and those delicate traits give no pleasure, and through whom they can of character, which are the life of the drama, gain no fame, they throw away their best and were among the chief merits of those who chance of pleasing those who are capable of once exalted it so highly. Another bad effect relishing their excellences, and on whose ad. of imitation, and especially of the imitation miration alone their reputation must at all of unequal and irregular models in a critical events be founded. There is a great want of age, is, that nothing is thought fit to be copied magnanimity, we think, as well as of wisdom, but the exquisite and shining passages ;- in this sensitiveness to blame, and we are from which it results, in the first place, that convinced that no modern author will ever all our rivalry is reserved for occasions in write with the grace and vigour of the older which its success is most hopeless; and, in ones, who does not write with some portion the second place, that instances, even of occa- of their fearlessness and indifference to censional success, want their proper grace and sure. Courage, in short, is at least as neces. effect, by being deprived of the relief, shading, sary as genius to the success of a work of and preparation, which they would naturally imagination; sincewithout this, it is imhave received in a less fastidious composition; possible to attain that freedom and self-posand, instead of the warm and native and ever- session, without which no talents can ever varying graces of a spontaneous effusion, the have fair play, and, far less, that inward conwork acquires the false and feeble brilliancy fidence and exaltation of spirit which must of a prize essay in a foreign tongue-a collec- accompany all the higher acts of the undertion of splendid patches of different texture standing. The earlier writers had probably and pattern.
less occasion for courage to secure them these At the bottom of all this—and perhaps as advantages; as the public was far less critical its most efficient cause-there lurks, we sus- in their day, and much more prone to admirapect, an unreasonable and undue dread of tion than to derision : But we can still trace criticism ;-not the deliberate and indulgent in their writings the indications both of a criticism which we exercise, rather for the proud consciousness of their own powers and encouragement of talent than its warning- privileges, and of a brave contempt for the but the vigilant and paltry derision which is cavils to which they might expose themperpetually stirring in idle societies, and but selves. In our own times, we know but one too continually present to the spirits of all who writer who is emancipated from this slavish aspire to their notice. There is nothing so awe of vulgar detraction—this petty timidity certain, we take it, as that those who are the about being detected in blunders and faults; most alert in discovering the faults of a work and that is the illustrious author of Waverley, of genius, are the least touched with its beau- and the other novels that have made an era ties. Those who admire and enjoy fine poetry, in our literature as remarkable, and as likely in short, are quite a different class of persons to be remembered, as any which can yet be from those who find out its flaws and defects traced in its history. We shall not now say —who are sharp at detecting a plagiarism or how large a portion of his success we ascribe a grammatical inaccuracy, and laudably in- to this intrepid temper of his genius; but we dustrious in bringing to light an obscure pas- are confident that no person can read any one sage-sneering at an exaggerated one-or of his wonderful works, without feeling that wondering at the meaning of some piece of their author was utterly careless of the re
proach of small imperfections; disdained the As Plays, we are afraid we must also say inglorious labour of perpetual correctness, and that the pieces before us are wanting in interhas consequently imparted to his productions est, character, and action :-at least we must that spirit and ease and variety, which re- say this of the three last of them—for there is minds us of better times, and gives lustre and interest in Sardanapalus—and beauties beeffect to those rich and resplendent passages sides, that make us blind to its other defects. to which it left him free to aspire.
There is, however, throughout, a want of Lord Byron, in some respects, may appear dramatic effect and variety; and we suspect not to have been wanting in intrepidity. He there is something in the character or habit has not certainly been very tractable to ad- of Lord Byron's genius which will render this vice, nor very patient of blame. But this, in unattainable. He has too little sympathy with him, we fear, is not superiority to censure, the ordinary feelings and frailties of humanity, but aversion to it; and, instead of proving to succeed well in their representation—"His that he is indifferent to detraction, shows soul is like a star, and dwells apart.” It does only, that the dread and dislike of it operate not “hold the mirror up to nature," nor catch with more than common force on his mind. the hues of surrounding objects; but, like a A critic, whose object was to give pain, would kindled furnace, throws out its intense glare desire no better proof of the efficacy of his in- and gloomy grandeur on the narrow scene flictions, than the bitter scorn and fierce de- which it irradiates. He has given us, in his fiance with which they are encountered ; and other works, some glorious pictures of nature the more vehemently the noble author' pro- --some magnificent reflections, and some intests that he despises the reproaches that imitable delineations of character: But the have been bestowed on him, the more certain same feelings prevail in them all; and his it is that he suffers from their severity, and portraits in particular, though a little varied would be glad to escape, if he cannot over- in the drapery and attitude, seem all copied bear, them. But however this may be, we from the same original. His Childe Harold, think it is certain that his late dramatic efforts his Giaour, Conrad, Lara, Manfred, Cain, and have not been made carelessly, or without Lucifer-are all one individual. There is the anxiety. To us, at least, they seem very elab- same varnish of voluptuousness on the surorate and hard-wrought compositions; and face—the same canker of misanthropy at the this indeed we take to be their leading char- core, of all he touches. He cannot draw the acteristic, and the key to most of their pe- changes of many-coloured life, nor transport culiarities.
himself into the condition of the infinitely diConsidered as Poems, we confess they ap, versified characters by whom a stage should pear to us to be rather heavy, verbose, and be peopled. The very intensity of his feelinelegant—deficient in the passion and energy ings—the loftiness of his views—the pride of which belongs to the other writings of the his nature or his genius-withhold him from noble author-and still more in the richness this identification; so that in personating the of imagery; the originality of thought, and heroes of the scene, he does little but repeat the sweetness of versification for which he himself. It would be better for him, we used to be distinguished. They are for the think, if it were otherwise. We are sure it most part solemn. prolix, and ostentatious – would be better for his readers. He would lengthened out by large preparations for catas- get more fame, and things of far more worth trophes that never
arrive, and tantalizing us than fame, if he would condescend to a more with slight specimens and glimpses of a extended and cordial sympathy with his felhigher interest
, scattered thinly up and down low-creatures; and we should have more many, weary pages of declamation. Along variety of fine poetry, and, at all events, betwith the concentrated pathos and homestruck ter tragedies. We have no business to read Bentiments of his former poetry, the noble him a homily on the sinfulness of pride and author seems also, we cannot imagine why, uncharity ; but we have a right to say, that to have discarded the spirited and melodious it argues a poorness of genius
to keep always versification in which they were embodied, to the same topics and persons; and that the and to have formed to himself a measure world will weary at last of the most energetic equally remote from the spring and vigour of pictures of misanthropes and madmen-outhis former compositions, and from the soft- laws and their mistresses! ness and flexibility of the ancient masteis of A man gifted as he is, when he aspires at the drama. There are some sweet lines, and dramatic fame, should emulate the greatest many of great weight and energy; but the of dramatists.' Let Lord Byron then think general march of the verse is cumbrous and of Shakespeare-and consider what a noble unmusical. His lines do not vibrate like range of character, what a freedom from manpolished lances, at once strong and light, in nerism and egotism, there is in him! How clumsy batons in a bloodless affray. Instead little to have thought about himself; how on the graceful familiarity and idiomatical seldom to have repeated or glanced back at fall into clumsy prose, in they approaches to indeed should he ? Nature was still open hallodies of Shakespeare, they are apt, too, to his own most successful inventions Why low and common images, that harmonize but must have had constant atractions for himpassages, are occasionally deformed by ness and variety that still delight his readers