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"ought not to have made Othello black; for see in old Bibles—an exact square, enclosed
the hero of a tragedy ought always to be by the rivers Pison, Gihon, Hiddekel, and Eu.
white.” “Milton,” says another critic, “ought phrates, each with a convenient bridge in the
not to have taken Adam for his hero; for the centre-rectangular beds of flowers-a long
hero of an epic poem ought always to be vic- canal neatly bricked and railed in the iree of
lorious."

"Milton," says another, “ought not knowledge, clipped like one of the limes be-
Lo have put so many similes into his first hind the Tuileries, standing in the centre of
book; for the first book of an epic poem ought the grand alley—the snake twined round im
always to be the most unadorned. There are the man on the right hand, the woman on the
no similes in the first book of the Iliad.” | left, and the beasts drawn up in an exact cir.
• Milton,” says another, “ought not to have cle round them. In one sense the picture is
placed in an epic poem such lines as these : correct enough. That is to say, the squares

are correct; the circles are correct; the man
I also erred in overmuch admiring.'”

and woman are in a most correct line with the
And why not? The critic is ready with a reason tree; and the snake forms a most correct
-a lady's reason. “Such lines,” says he, “ spiral.
noi, it must be allowed, unpleasing to the ear;

But if there were a painter so gifted, that he
but the redundant syllable ought to be confined should place in the canvass that glorious para-
to the drama, and not admitted into epic poetry." dise seen by the interior eye of him whose out-
As to the redundant syllable in heroic rhyme, ward sight had failed with long watching and
on serious subjects, it has been, from the time labouring for liberty and truth—if there were
of Pope downward, proscribed by the general a painter who could set before us the mazes of
consent of all the correct school. No maga- the sapphire brook, the lake with its fringe of
zine would have admitted so incorrect a coup- overhung by vines, the forests shining with

myrtles, the flowery meadows, the grottoes let as that of Dayton,

Hesperian fruit and with the plumage of gor"As when we lived untouched with these disgraces, geous birds, the massy shade of that nuptial When as our kingdom was our dear embraces."

bower which showered down roses on the Another law of heroic poetry which, fifty years sleeping lovers-what should we think of a ago, was considered as fundamental, was, that connoisseur who should tell us that this painithere should be a pause-a comma at least, at ing, though finer than the absurd picture of the the end of every couplet. It was also provided old Bible, was not so correci? Surely we that there should never be a full stop except should answer, It is both finer and more corat the end of a couplet. Well do we remem- rect; and it is finer because ii is more correci., ber to have heard a most correct judge of poe

It is not made up of correctly drawn diagrams, try revile Mr. Rogers for the incorrectness of but it is a correct painting, a worthy representathat most sweet and graceful passage,

tion of that which it is intended to represent.

It is not in the fine arts alone that this false
***Twas thine, Maria, thine, without a sigh, correctness is prized by narrow-minded men,
At midnight in a sister's arms to die,
Nursing the young to health."

by men who cannot distinguish means from

ends, or what is accidental from what is essenSir Roger Newdigate is fairly entitled, we tial. Mr. Jourdain admired correctness in think, to be ranked among the great critics of fencing. “You had no business to hit me then. this school. He made a law that none of the You must never thrust in quart till you have poems written for the prize which he estab- thrust in tierce.” M. Tomès liked correctness lished at Oxford should exceed fifty lines. in medical practice. “I stand up for Artemius. This law seems to us to have at least as much that he killed his patient is plain enough. foundation in reason as any of those which But still he acted quite according to rule. A we have mentioned ; nay, much more, for the man dead is a man dead, and there is an eng world, we believe, is pretty well agreed in of the matter. But if rules are to be broken, thinking that the shorter a prize-poem is, the there is no saying what consequences ma: better.

follow.” We have heard of an old Germar: We do not see why we should not make a officer, who was a great admirer of correctness fes more rules of the same kind—why we in military operations. He used to revile Boshould not enact that the number of scenes in naparte for spoiling the science of war, which every act shall be three, or some multiple of had been carried to such an exquisite perfecthree ; that the number of lines in every scene tion by Marshal Daun, “In my youth we used shall be an exact square ; that the dramatis 10 march and countermarch all the summer, persona shall never be more nor fewer than six. without gaining or losing a square league, and teen; and that, in heroic rhymes, every thirty- then we went into winter-quarters. And now sixth line sball have twelve syllables. If we comes an ignorant, hot-headed young mal, were to lay down these canons, and to call who flies about from Boulogne to Ulm, and Pope, Goldsmith, and Addison incorrect wri- from Ulm to the middle of Moravia, and fighıs iers for not having complied with our whims, battles in December. The whole system of ve should act precisely as those critics acı his tactics is monstrously incorrect." The who find incorrectness in the magnificent ima. world is of opinion, in spite of critics like these, gery and the varied music of Coleridge and that the end of fencing is to hit, that the end of Shelley.

medicine is to cure, that the end of war ist The

correctness which the last century conquer, and that those means are the moi prized so much resembled the correctness of correct which best accomplish the ends. those pictures of the garden of Eden which we And has poetry 10 end, no eternal and ipa 16

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mutable principles? Is poetry, like heraldry, flows into the gesture and the face

malways an mere matter of arbitrary regulation? The imperfect, often a deceitful sign of that which heralds tell us that certain scutcheons and is within. The deeper and more complex parts bearings denote certain conditions, and that to of human nature can be exhibited by means put colours on colours, or metals on metals, is of words alone. Thus the objects of ihe imifalse blazonry. If all this were reversed; if tation of poetry are the whole external and the every coat of arms in Europe were new-fash- whole internal universe, the face of nature, the ioned; if it were decreed that or should never vicissitudes of fortune, man as he is in himself, be placed but un argent, or argent but on or; man as he appears in society, all things of that illegitimacy should be denoted by a lozenge, which we can form an image in our minds, by and widowhood by a bend, the new science combining together parts of things which really would be just as good as the old science, be- exist. The domain of this imperial art is cong. cause both the new and the old would be good mensurate with the imaginative facully. for nothing. The mummery of Portcullis and An art essentially imitative ought not surely Rouge Dragon, as it has no other value than to be subjected to rules which tend to make its that which caprice has assigned to it, may well imitations less perfect than they would other. submit to any laws which caprice may impose wise be; and those who obey such rules ought on it. But it is not so with that great imitative to be called, not correct, but incorrect artists. art, to the power of which all ages, the rudest The true way to judge of the rules by which and the most enlightened, bear witness. Since English poetry was governed during the last its first great nasterpieces were produced, century, is to look at the effects which they every thing tat is angeable in this world produced. has been changed. Civilization has been It was in 1780 that Johnson completed his gained, los', gained again. Religions, and Lives of the Poets. He tells us in that work languages, and forms of government, and that since the time of Dryden, English poetry usagrs of private life, and the modes of think- had shown no tendency to relapse into its oriing, all have undergone a succession of revo- ginal savageness; that its language had been lutions. Every thing has passed away but the refined, ils numbers tuned, and its sentiments great features of nature, the heart of man, and improved. It may, perhaps, be doubted wheiher the miracles of that art of which it is the office the nation had any great reason to exult in the to reflect back the heart of man and the fea- refinements and improvements which gave it tures of nature. Those two strange old poems, Douglas for Othello, and the Triumphs of the wonder of ninety generations, still retain Temper for the Faerie Queen. all their freshness. They still command the It was during the thirty years which preceded veneration of minds enriched by the literature the appearance of Johnson's Lives, that the of many nations and ages. They are still, even diction and versification of English poetry n wretched translations, the delight of school-were, in the sense in which the word is comboys. Having survived ten thousand capri- monly used, most correct. Those thirty years cious fashions, having seen successive codes form the most deplorable part of our literary of criticism become obsolete, they still remain, history. They have bequeathed to us scarcely immortal with the immortality of truth, the any poetry which deserves to be remembered. same when perused in the study of an English Two or three hundred lines of Gray, twice as scholar as when they were first chanted at the many of Goldsmith, a few stanzas of Beattie banquets of the Ionian princes.

and Collins, a few strophes of Mason, and a Poetry is, as that most acute of human few clever prologues and satires, were the beings, Aristotle, said, more than two thousand masterpieces of this age of consummate excelyears ago, imitation. It is an art analogous in lence. They may all be printed in one volume, many respects to the art of painting, sculpture, and that volume would be by no means a voand acting. The imitations of the painter, the lume of extraordinary merit. It would contain sculptor, and the actor are, indeed, within cer- no poetry of the highest class, and little which tain limits, more perfect than those of the poet. could be placed very high in the second class. The machinery which the poet employs con- The Paradise Regained, or Comus, would outsists merely of words; and words cannot, even weigh it all. when employed by such an artist as Homer or At last, when poetry nad fallen into such Dante, present to the mind images of visible utter decay that Mr. Hayley was thought a great objects quite so lively and exact as those which poet, it began to appear that the excess of the we carry away from looking on the works of evil was about to work the cure. Men became the brush and the chisel. But, on the other tired of an insipid conformity to a standard hand, the range of poetry is infinitely wider which deriv no authority from nature or reainan that of any other imitative art, or than son. A shallow criticism had taught them to that of all the other imitative arts together. ascribe a superstitious value to the spurious The sculptor can imitate only form; the painter correctness of poetasters. A deeper criticism only form and colour; the actor, until the poet brought them back to the free correctness of supplies him with words, only form, colour, the first great masters. The eternal laws of and motion. Poetry holds the outer world in poetry regained their power, and the temporary cominon with the other arts. The heart of fashions which had superseded those laws man is the province of poetry, and os poetry went after the wig of Lovelace and the hoop alone. The painter, the sculptor, and thc of Clarissa. 2xtor, when the actor is unassisted by the poet, It was in a cold and barren season that the can exhibit no more of human passion and seeds of that rich harvest which we have character than that small portion which over. reaped were first sown. While poetry was

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MOORE'S LIFE OF LORD BYRON. every year becoming more feeble and more manliness of taste which approached to rough. mechanical, while the monotonous versifica- ness. They did not deal in mechanicaı versition which Pope had introduced, no longer re- fication and conventional phrases. They wrote deemed by his brilliant wit and his compact- concerning things, the thought of which set ness of expression, palled on the ear of the their hearts on fire; and thus what they wrote, public, the great works of the dead were every even when it wanted every other grace, had that day attracting more and more of the admiration inimitable grace which sincerity and strong which they deserved. The plays of Shakspeare passion impart to the rudest and most homely were better acted, better edited, and better compositions. Each of them sought for inspiknown than they had ever been. Our noble ration in a noble and affecting subject, fertile old ballads were again read with pleasure, and of images, which had not yet been hackneyed. it became a fashion to imitate them. Many Liberty was the muse of Alfieri ; religion was of the imitations were altogether contemptible. the muse of Cowper. The same truth is found But they showed that men had at least begun in their lighter pieces. They were not among to admire the excellence which they could not those who deprecated the severity, or deplored rival. A literary revolution was evidently at the absence of an unreal mistress in melodious hand. There was a ferment in the minds of commonplaces. Instead of raving about imamen, a vague craving for something new, a ginary Chloes and Sylvias, Cowper wrote of disposition to hail with delight any thing which Mrs. Unwin's knitting-needles. The only love might at first sight wear the appearance of verses of Alfieri were addressed to one whom originality. A reforming age is always fertile he truly and passionately loved. “ Tutte le of impostors. The same excited state of pub- rime amorose che seguono,” says he, “tutte lic feeling which produced the great separation sono per essa, e ben sue, e di lei solamente from the see of Rome, produced also the ex- poiché mai d'altra donna per certo non cantero." cesses of the Anabaptists. The same stir in These great men were not free from affectathe public mind of Europe which overthrew tion. But their affectation was directly opthe abuses of the old French government, pro- posed to the affectation which generally pre. duced the Jacobins and Theophilanthropists. vailed. Each of them has expressed, in strong Macpherson and the Della Cruscans were to and bitter language, the contempt which he the true reformers of English poetry what felt for the effeminate poetasters who were in Cnipperdoling was to Luther, or what Clootz fashion both in England and Italy. Cowper was to Turgot. The public was never more complains that disposed to believe stories without evidence, “ Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, and to admire books without merit. Any thing

The substitute for genius, taste, and wit."
which could break the dull monotony of the He praised Pope; yet he regretted that Pope
correct school was acceptable.

had
The forerunner of the great restoration of “Made poetry a mere mechanic art,
our literature was Cowper. His literary ca-

And every warbler had his tune by heart.”
reer began and ended at nearly the same time Alfieri speaks with similar scorn of the trage
with that of Alfieri. A parallel between Alfieri dies of his predecessors. “Mi cadevano dalle
and Cowper may, at first sight, seem as un- mani per la languidezza, trivialtà e prolissità
promising as that which a loyal Presbyterian dei modi e del verso, senza parlare poi della
minister is said to have drawn, in 1745, be- snervatezza dei pensieri. Or perchè mai questa
Iween George the Second and Enoch. It may nostra divina lingua, sì maschia anco, ed ener-
seem that the gentle, shy, melancholy Calvin- gica, e feroce, in bocca di Dante, dovra elle
ist, whose spirit had been broken by fagging at farci così sbiadata ed eunuca nel dialogo tra-
school, who had not courage to earn a liveli- gico."
hood by reading the titles of bills in the House To men thus sick of the languid manner of
of Lords, and whose favourite associates were their contemporaries, ruggedness seemed a ve-
a blind old lady and an evangelical divine, nial fault, or rather a positive merit. In their
could have nothing in common with the hatred of meretricious ornament, and of what
haughty, ardent, and voluptuous nobleman, the Cowper calls “creamy smoothness,” they erred
horse-jockey, the libertine, who fought Lord on the opposite side. Their style was too aus-
Ligonier in Hyde Park, and robbed the Preten- tere, their versification too harsh. It is not
der of his queen. But though the private lives easy, however, to overrate the service which
of these remarkable men present scarcely any they rendered to literature. Their merit is
points of resemblance, their literary lives bear rather that of demolition than that of construc
a close analogy to each other. They both tion. The intrinsic value of their poems is
found poetry in its lowest state of degradation, considerable. But the example which they set
feeble, artificial, and altogether nerveless of mutiny against an absurd system was in.
They both possessed precisely the talents valuable. The part which they performed was
which fitted them for the task of raising it rather that of Moses than that of Joshua. They
from that deep abasement. They cannot, in opened the house of bondage ; but they did not
strictness, be called great poets. They had enter the promised land.
not in any very high degree the creative During the twenty years which followed the
power,

death of Cowper, the revolution in English “ T'he vision and the faculty divine ;”

poetry was fully consummated. None of the

writers of this perivd, not even Sir Walter but they had great vigour of thought, great Scott, contributed so much to the consummawarmth of feeling, and what, in their circum- tion as Lord Byron. Yet he, Lord Byron, con stances, was above all things important, a tributed to it unwillingly, and with constan

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self-reproach and shame. All his tastes and in- much of his contempt for men, and though he
clinations led him to take part with the school boasted that amidst all the inconstancy of for.
of poetry which was going out, against the tune and of fame he was all-sufficient to him.
school which was coming in. Of Pope him- self, his literary career indicated nothing of
self he spoke with extravagant admiration. that lonely and unsocial pride which he affect-
He did not venture directly to say that the little ed. We cannot conceive him, like Milton or
man of Twickenham was a greater poet than Wordsworth, defying the criticisms of his con-
Shakspeare or Milton. But he hinted pretty temporaries, retorting their scorn, and labour.
clearly that he thought so. Of his contempo- ing on a poem in the full assurance that it
naries, scarcely any had so much of his admi- would be unpopular, and in the full assnrance
ration as Mr. Gifford, who, considered as a that it would be immortal. He has said, 17 the
poet, was merely Pope, without Pope's wit and mouth of one of his heroes in speaking of poli-
fancy; and whose satires are decidedly inferior tical greatness, that “ he must serve who gain
in vigour and poignancy to the very imperfect would sway;" and this he assigns as a reason
juvenile performance of Lord Byron himself. for not entering into political life. He did not
He now and then praised Mr. Wordsworth and consider that the sway which he exercised in
Mr. Coleridge; but ungraciously and without literature had been purchased by servitude-
cordiality. When he attacked them, he brought by the sacrifice of his own laste to the taste of
his whole soul to the work. Of the most elabo- the public.
rate of Mr. Wordsworth's poems he could find He was the creature of his age; and wher-
nothing to say, but that it was "clumsy, and ever he had lived he would have been the
frowsy, and his aversion.” Peter Bellexcited his creature of his age. Under Charles the First
spleen to such a degree that he apostrophized he would have been more quaint than Donne.
the shades of Pope and Dryden, and demanded Under Charles the Second the rants of his
of them whether it were possible that such rhyming plays would have pitted it, boxed it,
trash could evade contempt? In his heart, he and galleried it, with those of any Bayes or
thought his own Pilgrimage of Harold inferior Bilboa. Under George the First the monoto-
to his Imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry-a nous smoothness of his versification and the
feeble echo of Pope and Johnson. This insipid terseness of his expression would have made
performance he repeatedly designed to pub- Pope himself envious.
lish, and was withheld only by the solicitations As it was, he was the man of the last thir-
of his friends. He has distinctly declared his teen years of the eighteenth century and of the
approbation of the unities; the most absurd first twenty-three years of the nineteenth cen-
laws by which genius was ever held in servi. tury. He belonged half to the old and half to
lude. În one of his works, we think in his the new school of poetry. His personal taste
Letter to Mr. Bowles, he compares the poetry led him to the former, his thirst of fame to the
of the eighteenth century to the Parthenon, and latter; his talents were equally suited to both.
that of the nineteenth to a Turkish mosque; His fame was a common ground on which the
and boasts that, though he had assisted his zealots of both sides–Gifford, for example, and
contemporaries in building their grotesque and Shelley—might meet. He was the representa-
barbarous edifice, he had never joined them in tive, not of either literary party, but of both at
defacing the remains of a chaster and more once, and of their conflict, and of the victory
graceful architecture. In another letter, he by which that conflict was terminated. His
compares the change which had recently pass- poetry fills and measures the whole of the
ed on English poetry, to the decay of Latin vast interval through which our literature has
poetry after the Augustan age. In the time of moved since the time of Johnson. It touches
Pope, he tells his friend, it was all Horace with the Essay on Man at the one extremity and the
us. It is all Claudian now.

Excursion at the other.
For the great old masters of the art he had There are several parallel instances in lite-
no very enthusiastic veneration. In his Letter rary history. Voltaire, for example, was the
to Mr. Bowles he uses expressions which connecting link between the France of Louis
clearly indicate that he preferred Pope's Iliad the Fourteenth and the France of Louis the
to the original. Mr. Moore confesses that his Sixteenth-between Racine and Boileau on the
friend was no very fervent admirer of Shak- one side, and Condorcet and Beaumarchais on
speare. Of all the poets of the first class, Lord the other. He, like Lord Byron, put himself at
Byron seems to have admired Dante and Mil- the head of an intellectual revolution, dread.
ton most. Yet in the fourth canto of Childe ing it all the time, murnuring at it, sneering
Harold he places Tasso, a writer not merely at it, yet choosing rather to move before his
inferior to them, but of quite a different order age in any direction than to be left behind
of mind, on at least a footing of equality with and forgotten. Dryden was the connect.
them. Mr. Hunt is, we suspect, quite correct ing link between the literature of the age of
in saying, that Lord Byron could see little or James the First and the literature of the age
no merit in Spenser.

of Anne. Oromazdes and Arimanes fought for But Lord Byron the critic, and Lord Byron him-Arimanes carried him off. But his heart the poet, were two very different men. The ef- was to the last with Oromazdes. Lord Byron fects of his theory may indeed often be traced was in the same manner the mediator between in his practice. But his disposition led him two generations, between two hostile poetical to accommodate himself to the literary taste of sects. Though always sneering at Mr. Words. the age in which he lived; and his talents worth, he was yet, though perhaps uncon would have enabled him to accommodate bim- sciously, the interpreter between Mr. Words melf to the taste of any age. Though he said I worth and the multitude. In the J.yrica

MOORE'S LIFE OF LORD BYRON. Ballads and the Excursion, Mr. Wordsworth ap- it is not the business of the dramatist to ex. peared as the high priest of a worship of which hibit characters in this sharp, antithetical way. Nature was the idol. No poems have ever in- It is not in this way that Shakspeare makes dicated so exquisite a perception of the beauty Prince Hal rise from the rake of Eastcheap of the outer world, or so passionate a love and into the hero of Shrewsbury, and sink again reverence for that beauty. Yet they were not into the rake of Eastcheap. It is not thus that popular; and it is not likely that they ever will Shakspeare has exhibited the union of effemibe popular as the works of Sir Walter Scott nacy and valour in Antony. A dramatist canare popular The feeling which pervaded not commit a great error than that of followthem was too deep for general sympathy. ing those pointed descriptions of character in Their style was often too mysterious for gene- which satirists and historians indulge so much. ral comprehension. They made a few esote- It is by rejecting what is natural that satirists ric disciples, and many scoffers. Lord Byron and historians produce these striking characfounded what may be called an exoteric Lake ters. Their great object generally is to ascribe school of poetry; and all the readers of poetry to every man as many contradictory qualities in England, we might say in Europe, hastened as possible; and this is an object easily aito sit at his feet. What Mr. Wordsworth had tained. By judicious selections and judicious said like a recluse, Lord Byron said like a man exaggeration, the intellect and the disposition

a of the world; with less profound feeling, but of any human being might be described as with more perspicuity, energy, and concise- being made up of nothing but startling conness. We would refer our readers to the last trasts. If the dramatist attempts to create a two cantos of Childe Harold and to Manfred in being answering to one of these descriptions, proof of these observations.

he fails; because he reverses an imperfect Lord Byron, like Mr. Wordsworth, had no- analytical process. He produces, not a man, thing dramatic in his genius. He was, indeed, but a personified epigram. Very eminent writhe reverse of a great dramatist; the very an- ters have fallen into this snare. Ben Jonson tithesis to a great dramatist. All his charac- has given us an Hermogenes taken from the ters—Harold looking back on the western sky lively lines of Horace; but the inconsistency from which his country and the sun are reced- which is so amusing in the satire appears uning together; the Giaour, standing apart in the natural and disgusts us in the play. Sir Walgloom of the side-aisle, and casting a haggard ter Scott has committed a far more glaring scowl from under his long hood at the crucifix error of the same kind in the novel of Peveril. and the censer; Conrad, leaning on his sword Admiring, as every reader must admire, the by the watch-tower; Lara, smiling on the keen and vigorous lines in which Dryden sadancers; Alp, gazing steadily on the fatal tirized the Duke of Buckingham, he attempted cloud as it passes before the moon; Manfred, to make a Duke of Buckingham to suit themwandering among the precipices of Berne; a real living Zimri; and he made, not a man, Azo, on the judgment-seat; Ugo, at the bar; but the most grotesque of all monsters. A Lambro, frowning on the siesta of his daughter writer who should attempt to introduce into a and Juan; Cain, presenting his unacceptable play or a novel such a Wharton as the Whar offering-all are essentially the same. The ton of Pope, or a Lord Hervey answering to varieties are varieties merely of age, situation, Sporus, would fail in the same manner. and costume. If ever Lord Byron attempted But to return to Lord Byron: his women, to exhibit men of a different kind, he always like his men, are all of one breed. Haidee is made them either insipid or unnatural. Selim a half-savage and girlish Julia; Julia is a civilis nothing. Bonnivart is nothing. Don Juan ized and matronly Haidee. Leila is a wedded in the first and best cantos is a feeble copy of Zuleika-Zuleika a virgin Leila. Gulnare and the Page in the Marriage of Figaro. Johnson, Medora appear to have been intentionally opthe man whom Juan meets in the slave-mar- posed to each other. Yet the difference is a kel, is a most striking failure. How differently difference of situation only. A slight change would Sir Walter Scott have drawn a bluff, of circumstance would, it should seem, have fearless Englishman in such a situation! The sent Gulnare to the lute of Medora, and armed portrait would have seemed to walk out of the Medora with the dagger of Gulnare. canvass.

It is hardly too much to say that Lord Byron Sardanapalus is more hardly drawn than could exhibit only one man and only one woany dramatic personage that we can remem- man-a man proud, moody, cynical, with deber. His heroism and his effeminacy, his con- fiance on his brow, and misery in his heart; a tempt of death, and his dread of a weighty hel- scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, ye met, his kingly resolution to be seen in the capable of deep and strong affection;—a womar foremost ranks, and the anxiety with which he all softness and gentleness, loving to caress and calls for a looking-glass that he may be seen to be caressed, but capable of being transforme to advantage, are contrasted with all the point by love into a tigress. of Juvenal. Indeed, the hint of the character Even these two characters, his only twseems to have been taken from what Juvenal characters, he could not exhibit dramaticallo says of Otho,

He exhibited them in the manner, not of Shal 4 Speculum civilis sarcina belli.

speare, but of Clarendon. He analyzed there Nimirum summi ducis est occidere Galbam.

He made them analyze themselves, but he d. Et curare culem; summi constantia civis

not make them show themselves. He tells u Bebriaci campo spolium affectare Palati, Et pressum in faciem digitis extendere panem."

for example, in many lines of great force a

spirit, that the speech of Lara was bitterly sa These are excellent lines in a satire. But I castic, that he talked little of his travels, tis

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