much of a poet's rapture and whirl of soul; indeed, much more of the fervour and fine frenzy of the poet than of the scientific calmness of the critical chirurgeon. A man of deep passion and strong imagination, he is by his very nature prone to exaggerate. Yet we pardon the involuntary falsehood for the eagerness after truth. It would be ridiculous to expect rigid mathematical fidelity from one of "such impetuous blood," thrilled to his very heart of hearts by the sentiments he is criticising, stirred to the inmost depths of his being by the beauty he would fain persuade us he is analyzing. William Hazlitt was violent; immoderate; at times, let it be granted, even scurrilous; yet he yearned intensely after ideal perfection, his eye was rich in all poetic beauty, his spirit revelled in the great world of imagination which lay around him in the creations of his favourite bards; and it was little marvel if he projected upon actual life the shadows of those gigantic passions and clouds of spiritual gloom. His essays are most to be valued, perhaps, for their extraordinary vividness of style; an energy which places the conceptions before the reader's eye in life-like distinctness of outline; a rich prodigality, rather than faithful accuracy, of illustration; the eloquence of nervous boldness rather than modulated flow. He is never dull; perpetually urged on by a sleepless intellectual activity. This more than atones for his dis

regard of finish; and thus his essays can be said to be artistic, as pictures of Salvator and Rembrandt are which are confessedly deficient in accuracy. Every page sparkles; though its sparkle is certainly not that of the curiously cut and scrupulously polished jewel, but rather of the rough and heavy ore. He is more studious of his effects than of the means employed to produce them; and although this may seem but negative praise, nevertheless the effects are there, bold, rapid, and surprising. I would especially notice his essay On a Sun-Dial and that On the Conversation of Lords, as peculiarly indicating the character of his mind— earnest and vehement, and withal sombre, as the cloud charged with the lightning; yet, as the cloud often fringed with the deep crimson of sunset, so also at times rich and warm, and toned with inexpressible softness. Rather let us say, a wreck, storm-buffeted, and torn by the pitiless waves; yet, as it plunges in the ocean-trough, and reels. darkly to and fro, we see by glimpses the stateliness of naked mast and shattered prow, and commiserate the beauty and the grace of its forlorn majesty.

The Essays of Elia are, I think, a conclusive proof of the theory I have already stated,-that it matters not how commonplace the subject treated may be, if only the essay itself fulfil the conditions of a work of art. Lamb deals only with the or

C

much of a poet's rapture and whirl of soul; indeed, much more of the fervour and fine frenzy of the poet than of the scientific calmness of the critical chirurgeon. A man of deep passion and strong imagination, he is by his very nature prone to exaggerate. Yet we pardon the involuntary falsehood for the eagerness after truth. It would be ridiculous to expect rigid mathematical fidelity from one of "such impetuous blood," thrilled to his very heart of hearts by the sentiments he is criticising, stirred to the inmost depths of his being by the beauty he would fain persuade us he is analyzing. William Hazlitt was violent; immoderate; at times, let it be granted, even scurrilous; yet he yearned intensely after ideal perfection, his eye was rich in all poetic beauty, his spirit revelled in the great world of imagination which lay around him in the creations of his favourite bards; and it was little marvel if he projected upon actual life the shadows of those gigantic passions and clouds of spiritual gloom. His essays are most to be valued, perhaps, for their extraordinary vividness of style; an energy which places the conceptions before the reader's eye in life-like distinctness of outline; a rich prodigality, rather than faithful accuracy, of illustration; the eloquence of nervous boldness rather than modulated flow. He is never dull; perpetually urged on by a sleepless intellectual activity. This more than atones for his dis

regard of finish; and thus his essays can be said to be artistic, as pictures of Salvator and Rembrandt are which are confessedly deficient in accuracy. Every page sparkles; though its sparkle is certainly not that of the curiously cut and scrupulously polished jewel, but rather of the rough and heavy ore. He is more studious of his effects than of the means employed to produce them; and although this may seem but negative praise, nevertheless the effects are there, bold, rapid, and surprising. I would especially notice his essay On a Sun-Dial and that On the Conversation of Lords, as peculiarly indicating the character of his mindearnest and vehement, and withal sombre, as the cloud charged with the lightning; yet, as the cloud often fringed with the deep crimson of sunset, so also at times rich and warm, and toned with inexpressible softness. Rather let us say, a wreck, storm-buffeted, and torn by the pitiless waves; yet, as it plunges in the ocean-trough, and reels. darkly to and fro, we see by glimpses the stateliness of naked mast and shattered prow, and commiserate the beauty and the grace of its forlorn majesty.

The Essays of Elia are, I think, a conclusive proof of the theory I have already stated,-that it matters not how commonplace the subject treated may be, if only the essay itself fulfil the conditions of a work of art. Lamb deals only with the or

dinary world of his own every-day life; yet he throws a sunshine upon everything he approaches. His style has none of the breadth and volume of the river, flowing with full sound between its stately banks; it leaps, and chatters, and dashes, and sparkles, like the little wilful brook amidst the hills. It is perfectly inimitable, as it is essentially characteristic of the man. Its pleasant quaintness is not affectation; it is the natural utterance of a mind which has brooded habitually over the old literature of England, and found therein its most congenial resting-place. It is as though a man should go into a distant province, and unconsciously assume the accent of its inhabitants. Sir Thomas Browne and Izaak Walton, Margaret of Newcastle, and Drayton, and Marlowe, were dearer to him than the most conspicuous names of his day. His delight was in sauntering through the noisy thoroughfares of city-life,—a spectator, not an actor; fluttering about old bookstalls; catching strange glimpses of human mirth and woe; now stammering out an innocent pun in the green-room of "Imperial Drury;" anon lounging in meditative calm on the terrace of the Inner Temple. He is, we grant you, an arrant, incorrigible trifler; but his gaiety has a touch of sadness in it. His humour is a fine pathetic humour, with nothing in it boisterous or clownish. It is always the intellec

1 Wordsworth and Coleridge excepted.-E. J. A.