and important works. At first I designed to write of the difficulties which they have experienced, consciously or unconsciously, some of these pertaining to the youth of the country, and to the fact that, as in the growth of a sister-art, landscape-painting usually must precede the rise of a true figure-school. I might touch upon the lack of inspiring theme and historic halo, of dramatic contrast and material, and of a public that can appreciate the structure, no less than the sweetness and quality, of a noble poem. With various exceptions, there has been a want of just criticism; and even now a defect with many of the poets themselves is a cloudy understanding of their true mission and of what poetry really is. Beyond the charm of freshness, no great success in verse is attainable without that judicial knowledge of the poet's art which is the equivalent of what is indispensable to the painter, the sculptor, and the musician, in their respective depart

ments.

But with regard to the causes of the success and failure of our own poets I easily perceived that some of the most important were not special, but general: belonging to the period, and equally affecting the verse of the motherland. This led me to make a study of a few British poets: first of one, Landor, whose metrical work did not seem, upon the whole, a full expression of his unusual genius; then of others, notably Tennyson, who more obviously represent the diverse elements of their time. In order to formulate my own ideas of poetry and criticism, it seemed to me

that I could more freely and graciously begin by choosing a foreign paradigm than by entering upon the home-field, and that none could be so good for this purpose as the poetry of Great Britain, there being none so comprehensive, and none with which myself and my readers are more familiar. Affection, reverence, national feeling, or some less worthy emotion, may be thought to prevent an American from writing without prejudice of Bryant, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, and the rest; doubtless there are considerations which sometimes render British journalists disinclined to review Tennyson and Browning with that indifferent spirit which characterizes their judgment of eminent American poets. Lastly, upon a survey of the last forty years, I saw that what I term the Victorian period is nearly at an end, and that no consecutive and synthetic examination of its schools and leaders had yet been made. This led me to go on and to complete the present work.

It follows that these essays are not written upon a theory. The author has no theory of poetry, and no particular school to uphold. I favor a generous eclecticism, or universalism, in Art, enjoying what is good, and believing that, as in Nature, the question is not whether this or that kind be the more excellent, but whether a work is excellent of its kind. Certain qualities, however, distinguish what is fine and lasting. The principles upon which I rely may be out of fashion just now, and not readily accepted. They are founded, nevertheless, in the Miltonic

canon of poetry, from which simplicity no more can be excluded than sensuousness and passion. The spirit of criticism is intellectual; that of poetry (although our curiously reasoning generation often has forgotten it) is normally the offspring of emotion, secondly, it may be, of thought. I find that the qualities upon which I have laid most stress, and which at once have opened the way to commendation, are simplicity and freshness, in work of all kinds; and, as the basis of persistent growth, and of greatness in a masterpiece, simplicity and spontaneity, refined by art, exalted by imagination, and sustained by intellectual power. Simplicity does not imply poverty of thought, there is a strong simplicity belonging to an intellectual age; a clearness of thought and diction, natural to true poets, whose genius is apt to be in direct ratio with their possession of this faculty, and inversely as their tendency to cloudiness, confusion of imagery, obscurity, or "hardness" of style. It may almost be said that everything really great is marked by simplicity. The poet's office is to reveal plainly the most delicate phases of wisdom, passion, and beauty. Even in the world of the ideal we must have clear imagination and language: the more life-like the dream, the longer it will be remembered.

The traits, therefore, which I have deprecated earnestly are in the first place obscurity and hardness, and these either natural,—implying defective voice and insight, or affected, — implying conceit and poor judgment; and sec

ondly that excess of elaborate ornament, which places decoration above construction, until the sense of originality is lost-if, indeed, it ever has existed. Both obscurity and super-ornamentation are used insensibly to disguise the lack of imagination, just as a weak and florid singer hides with trills and flourishes his inability. to strike a simple, pure note, or to change without a sliding scale.

But among true poets of the recent schools some have gone to the other extreme, putting the thought too far above the art, and have neglected melody and finish altogether, as if despising accomplishments now so widely diffused. This also is a fault common in an advanced period, especially in one eminent for speculative and metaphysical research. I have not overlooked this heresy, although steadfastly opposing meretricious efforts to attract notice by grotesque, fantastic, and other artificial means. If such methods prevail in an over-ripe country they should not in our own, and I point to them as errors which American poetry, as it gathers strength, should be able easily to avoid. And thus seeing how poorly charlatanism and effrontery can make up for patient, humble endeavor and experience in art, we must discern and revere, on the other hand, those gifts of inspiration which endow the born poet, and without which no amount of toil and learning can insure the favor of the Muses. As to the latter requirements, the instinct of the world, that would not recognize Bulwer and still pays tribute to Burns, is almost

unerring; as to the former, it often is for a while deceived; so I have found occasion to write of dilettanteism, lack of apprenticeship, and of the assumption of those who would clutch the laurel "with a single bound." Finally, the intellectual activity of our time constantly demands a reviewer's notice; and passion, rare in an idyllic period, must be sought out and welcomed at every visible turn.

The spirit of the following chapters has now been indicated. I have made few quotations, depending on the reader's means of acquaintance with the poetry of his time. In treating the abstract portion of my subject, where some generalization has seemed requisite, I have tried to state my meaning in brief and open terms. Much originality is not claimed for either manner or thought. My effort simply has been to illustrate, through analysis of the careers of various poets, what already is widely understood among philosophical critics. No single sketch has been colored to suit the author's ideas, but each poet has been judged upon his own merits; yet I think the general effect to be as stated.

I trust that it may not prove a wholly thankless office, since it certainly is not one frequently undertaken, to write a purely critical volume, exclusively devoted to the literature of another land. Criticism, like science, latterly has found a more interested public than of old. The catholic reviewer will not shut his eyes to the value of new modes, but even that conventional criticism, which holds to accepted canons, has its use as a counterpoise to license