it will for ever have the charm of an original work. Indeed, many beautiful parts of the translation are exclusively the property of the English poet, who used a manuscript copy of the German text before its publication by the author. That Coleridge had no power of true dramatic creation is seen in his tragedy of Remorse; for in it he neither excites curiosity nor moves any strong degree of pity. He was, however, a consummate critic of the dramatic productions of others. He first showed that the creator of Hamlet and Othello was not only the greatest genius, but also the most wonderful artist, that ever existed. He was the first to make some approach to the discovery of those laws governing the evolutions of the Shakespearean drama-the first to give us some faint idea of the length, and breadth, and depth, of that sea of truth and beauty.

Coleridge's popular poems, The Ancient Mariner, (304), Christabel, and the fragment called Kubla Khan (303), are of a mystic, unreal character: indeed, Coleridge asserted that the last was actually composed in a dream-an affirmation that may well be believed, for it is a thousand times more unintelligible than the general run of dreams. Like everything that he ever wrote, the versification is exquisite. His language puts on every form, it expresses every sound; he almost writes to the eye and to the ear. In point of completeness, exquisite harmony of feeling, and unsurpassable grace of imagery and language, he has left nothing superior to the charming little poem entitled Love, or Genevieve.

Coleridge takes rank also as a philosopher. The Friend, the Lay Sermons, the Aids to Reflection, and the Church and State, exercised a potent influence upon the intellectual character of his generation. But his chief reputation through life was founded less upon his writings than upon his conversation,* or rather what may

* "I shall never forget the effect his first conversation made upon me at the first meeting. It struck me as something not only out of the ordinary course of things, but as an intellectual exhibition altogether matchless. The party was unusually large, but the presence of Coleridge concentrated all attention towards himself. The viands were unusually costly, and the banquet was at once rich and varied; but there seemed to be no dish like Coleridge's conversation to feed upon-and no information so varied as his own. The orator rolled himself upon his chair, and gave the most unrestrained indulgence to his speech-and how fraught with acuteness and originality was that speech, and in what copious and eloquent periods did it flow!...... For nearly two hours he spoke with unhesitating and uninterruptej fluency."-Thomas Dibdin.

be called his conversational oratory; for it must have resembled those disquisitions of the Greek philosophers of which the dialogues of Plato give some idea. It is in fragments (published posthumously under the title of Literary Remains), in casual remarks scribbled like Sibylline leaves, often on the margin of borrowed books, and in imperfectly-reported conversations, that we must look for proofs of Coleridge's powers. From a careful study of these we shall conceive a high admiration of his genius, and a deep regret at the fragmentary and desultory manifestations of his

powers.

Robert Southey (1774-1843) was born at Bristol, where his father carried on the business of a draper (308-311). At the age of fourteen he was sent to the famous Westminster School. After spending four years there, he was expelled for writing an article against flogging in public schools and publishing it in a periodical conducted by the boys. The following year he went to Oxford, and was entered at Balliol College. His friends wished him to take orders in the church, but his religious opinions prevented him. He lingered at Oxford, until Coleridge appeared with his scheme of "Pantisocracy." Quitting Oxford, Southey attempted to raise funds for the enterprise by authorship, and in 1794 published a small volume of poems, which brought neither fame nor profit. His chief reliance, however, was on his epic poem Joan of Arc, for which Joseph Cottle, the patron of Coleridge, offered him fifty guineas. In 1795, Southey accompanied his uncle to Lisbon, having been secretly married on the morning of his departure. He returned six months afterwards, and at once began a life of patient literary toil. He had from the outset an allowance of one hundred and sixty pounds a year, yet he was constantly on the verge of poverty, and not even his philosophy and hopefulness were always proof against the difficulties of his position. In 1804 he took up his residence in Cumberland, where he continued to reside for the remainder of his life. Coleridge and Wordsworth were already there. From being a sceptic and a republican, Southey became a firm believer in Christianity, and a stanch supporter of the English Church and Constitution. In 1813 he was appointed poet-laureate * and in 1835 received a pension of three

* The honor was offered to Walter Scott at this time, and he declined it.

hundred pounds a year from the government. During the last four years of his life he had sunk into a state of hopeless imbecility. He died March 21, 1843.

Southey's industry was prodigious. His life was very quiet, and all his time was given to literary labor. One of his letters to a friend tells how his days were spent :-" Three pages of history after breakfast; then to transcribe and copy for the press, or to make any selections and biographies, or what else suits my humor till dinner-time. From dinner-time till tea I read, write letters, see the newspaper, and very often indulge in a siesta. After tea I go to poetry, and correct and re-write and copy till I am tired; and then turn to anything else till supper. And this is my life." The list of his writings amounts to one hundred and nine volumes. In addition to these he contributed to the Annual Review fifty-two articles, to the Foreign Quarterly three, to the Quarterly ninety-four. The composition of these works was a small part of the labor they involved: they are all full of research.

Southey's success as a poet fell far short of his ambition. Joan of Arc, a juvenile production, was received with favor by most of the critical journals on account of its republican doctrines. Madoc, completed in 1799, was not given to the world till 1805. Upon this poem he was contented to rest his fame. It is founded on one of the legends connected with the early history of America. Madoc, a Welsh prince of the twelfth century, is represented as making the discovery of the Western world. His contests with the Mexicans, and the ultimate conversion of that people from their cruel idolatry, form its main action. Though the poem is crowded with scenes of more than possible splendor,-of more than human cruelty, courage, and superstition,-the effect is singularly languid. Thalaba was published in 1801, and the Curse of Kehama in 1810. The first is a tale of Arabian enchantment, full of magicians, dragons, and monsters; and in the second the poet has selected for his groundwork the still more unmanageable mythology of the Hindoos. The poems are written in irregular and wandering rhythm-the Thalaba altogether without rhyme; and the language · abounds in an affected simplicity, and in obtrusions of vulgar and puerile phraseology. Kehama was followed, at an interval of four years, by Roderick, the Last of the Goths, a poem in blank verse more modest and credible than its predecessors.

The tone of Southey's poems is too uniformly ecstatic and agonizing. His personages, like his scenes, have something unreal, phantom-like, dreamy about them. His robe of inspiration sits gracefully and majestically upon him, but it is too voluminous in its folds, and too heavy in its texture, for the motion of real existence.

Southey's prose works are very numerous and valuable on account of their learning. The Life of Nelson (311), written to furnish young seamen with a simple narrative of the exploits of England's greatest naval hero, has perhaps never been equalled for the perfection of its style. In his principal works-The Book of the Church, The Lives of the British Admirals, The Life of Wesley, a History of Brazil, and a History of the Peninsular War-we find the same clear, vigorous English; we find also the strong prejudice and violent political and literary partiality, which detract from his many excellent qualities as a writer and as a man.

THE

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE MODERN NOVELISTS.

HE department of English literature which has been cultivated during the latter half of the last and the first half of the present century with the greatest assiduity and success, is prose fiction. To give an idea of the fruitfulness of this branch of our subject, it will be advisable to classify the authors and their productions under the two general divisions of fiction as they were set forth in a preceding chapter, viz.: I. Romances properly so called, i. e., the narration of picturesque and romantic adventures; II. Novels, or pictures of real life and society.

I. ROMANCES.-The impulse to this branch of composition was first given by Horace Walpole (1717-1797) (326), the fastidious dilettante and brilliant chronicler of the court scandal of his day; a man of singularly acute penetration, of sparkling epigrammatic style, but devoid of enthusiasm and elevation. He retired early from political life, and shut himself up in his little fantastic Gothic castle of Strawberry Hill, to collect armor, medals, manuscripts, and painted glass; and to chronicle with malicious assiduity, in his vast and brilliant correspondence, the absurdities, follies, and weaknesses of his day. The Castle of Otranto is a short tale, written with great rapidity and without preparation. It was the first successful attempt to take the Feudal Age as the period, and the passion of mysterious, superstitious terror as the motive to the action of an interesting fiction. The manners are totally absurd and unnatural, the character of the heroine being one of those inconsistent portraits in which the sentimental languor of the eighteenth century is superadded to the gentlewoman of the Middle Ages-in short, one of those contradictions to be found in all the romantic fictions before Scott.