1

With circumspection and mystery,
The main of the lady's history,
Her frowardness and ingratitude;

And for all the crone's submissive attitude

I could see round her mouth the loose plaits tightening,
And her brow with assenting intelligence brightening,
As though she engaged with hearty good will
Whatever he now might enjoin to fulfil,
And promised the lady a thorough frightening.
And so just giving her a glimpse

Of a purse, with the air of a man who imps
The wing of the hawk that shall fetch the hernshaw,
He bade me take the gypsy mother,

And set her telling some story or other,

Of hill or dale, oakwood or fernshaw,
To while away a weary hour

For the lady left alone in her bower,
Whose mind and body craved exertion,
And yet shrank from all better diversion.'

The old gipsy has an interview with the duchess, and then, as far as we can make out the drift of some very obscure writing, she either entices the duchess away, inducing her to leave this wretched do-nothing life, and join the free roving gipsies, or else, by some necromantic spell, spirits her away. The upshot clearly is, that the duchess departs and returns no more.

It would have cost the poet very little trouble to have made all clear, which in this work is so obscure; but that little trouble he has not chosen to bestow. What is the consequence? The poem leaves no distinct impression. We have waded through columns of rhyme, sometimes pleased with a fine image, sometimes with a vigorous description, often with a strange sense of the writer's power; but we close the book with no desire to recur to it, with no picture on which to dwell. In a word, the substance of the poem has been sacrificed to the mere writing. This will appear idle criticism to our modern poets, no doubt; they only think of 'passages,' and if they have succeeded in writing here and there dozen lines that will look well in extract, they believe they have written a poem. It is not so, however. A poem made out of passages;' it is the musical embodiment of some strong emotion or some deep thought; and however necessary beauty may be to the expression, the thing to be expressed requires equal if not greater labour.

some

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is not

In bringing our rambling observations to a close, we should say that Robert Browning deserves his position from his originality; but although his name has a certain celebrity, he has not

yet won for himself a niche in the temple of his nation's literature. He is rather a thinker than a singer; and yet cannot be accepted as a remarkable thinker. The general conception of his larger works is weak and wavering, but the details exhibit no common powers. Whatever merits he may possess, are, however, damaged by the eccentricity and want of beauty of his style. It is abrupt, harsh, full of familiar turns, and yet not familiar in its general structure; spasmodic in its vehemence, and obscure from mere negligence. We should be loath to charge him with affectation; but it does appear astonishing that any man so well read as Robert Browning, should play such tricks with his style, except for the purpose of aping originality and attracting attention. Originality lies not in being unlike the rest of mankind. That is eccentricity. What is true and beautiful, has always a direct parentage with everything else that is true and beautiful. Originality, therefore, will not be shown in startling the public with a novelty; but in producing that which is at once novel yet familiar: like many other things, and yet distinctly individual, and having such an air of ease and obviousness, that people will wonder it was never done before.

We have been sparing of extracts, as neither the novelty nor the costliness of the works warranted our occupying space with passages to support our opinions. As the effect of this has perhaps been somewhat unfavourable to the poet, we cannot do better than conclude with quoting his much-admired romance:—

HOW HE BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX.

'I

I.

sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and He;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three.

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate bolts undrew;

Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

II.

Not a word to each other, we kept the great pace

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

III.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;
And from Mecheln church steeple we heard the half-chime,
So Joris broke silence, with Yet there is time!"

IV.

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

V.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back,
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence-ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
And the thick heavy spume flakes, which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

VI.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned, and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix"-for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

VII.

So left were we galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalkem a dome spire sprang white,
And "Gallop!" gasped Joris," for Aix is in sight!"

VIII.

"How they'll greet us,"-and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

IX.

Then I cast loose my buff coat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all;
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my

Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped, and stood.

X.

And all I remember is, friends flocking round

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted, by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news to Ghent.'

Art. X. (1.) Die Verfassung der Kirche der Zukunft. Praktische Erläuterungen zu dem Briefwechsel über die deutsche Kirche, das Episcopat und Jerusalem. Mit Vorwort und vol ständingem Briefwechsel herausgegeben von C. C. J. BUNSEN, der Philosophie und der Rechte Doktor. Hamburg, 1845.

(2.) The Constitution of the Church of the Future, a practical explanation of the Correspondence with the Right Honourable William Gladstone, on the German Church, Episcopacy, and Jerusalem, with a Preface, Notes, and the complete Correspondence. By C. C. J. BUNSEN, D. Ph. and D. C. L. Translated from the German under the superintendence of, and with additions by, the Author. London, 1847.

THE second of these two publications is labelled 'The Church of the Future;' but on turning from the label to the title-page we have been disappointed. The CHURCH OF THE FUTURE' is in truth a great idea. It is one of the sublimest themes of prophecy; and whether we attempt to image out the gorgeous though uncertain forms which have been sketched by the prophetic pencil on the evening sky of this world's day, or trace the movements and issues of that mighty power whereby Christ is able even to subdue all things to Himself,' it is impossible to think on such a theme without the most profound and soul-subduing emotions. We fear as we enter into the cloud. But we can confess to no such

feelings when the scene is shifted to the 'constitution,' existing or problematical, 'of the German church,' diocesan 'episcopacy,' and Anglican prelacy at 'Jerusalem.' Principles, and objects, and reasons, and motives, and arrangements, and provisions, and expectations, may all be set forth in minutest detail. All may have the clearness of an ordnance map, or an architect's specification; but how different is the impression it produces! We no longer gaze with awe, or strain our sight till admiration expands into desire, and faith into hope. The true 'Church of the Future,' the heavenly Jerusalem is no longer before us. It is a vision of the earth, earthy, and though kings and prelates take council together, that the work of their hands may be established, the Lord hath said of it, that their stock shall not take root in the earth.' He shall also blow upon it, and it shall wither, and the whirlwind shall take it away as stubble.'

The occasion of the work is intimated in the title-page. Dr. Bunsen's correspondence with Mr. Gladstone occupies fifty-four pages, separately paged, of the translation. It commences with a letter from Mr. Gladstone expressing his regret at some statements in a German publication, issued with the sanction of the Prussian government, respecting the arrangements for the establishment of the new see at Jerusalem; and it is occupied with explanations between the two friends on that subject. The correspondence being afterwards printed for private circulation in Germany, several portions of Dr. Bunsen's letter found their way into the public prints, and gave rise to various misconceptions and misrepresentations of his views.' One object of the book, therefore, and the chief, so far as respects the author himself, is to define and justify his position with regard to episcopacy in general: but, in doing this, he endeavours to show how the episcopacy which he would recommend may be grafted on the existing Presbyterianism of the Rheno-Westphalian provinces. As might be expected, he has written for the meridian of Protestant Ger many. Both matter and style, the latter as much as the former, sup pose German readers. What has induced the chevalier to publish his work in England also we are not informed. To justify himself to the people of this country could clearly have been no part of his object; and most persons who would feel any interest in eitherh is convictions or theories, would, we imagine, be well able to peruse his book in its original form.

be

The work before us, apart from the correspondence, may said to consist of two distinct portions of nearly equal compass: the former comprising a new theory of episcopacy, the latter practical suggestions respecting the setting up of such an episcopacy in Germany. We could not hope to interest our readers in