What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it : It is no tale; but, should you think, After this the real pathos of Simon Lee cannot fail to fall somewhat flat. And yet it is not seldom that Wordsworth's didactic reflections contain the pith of his sublimest poetry. Beautiful as the tale of the White Doe is æsthetically, it can bear the closing stanzas of precept: 'Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well; Small difference lies between thy creed and This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell; The Pleasure-house is dust-behind, before, But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. She leaves these objects to a slow decay, But, at the coming of the milder day, Up to this point the application of moral ideas has been made with perfect success. The artistic charm has not been broken. But the last stanza falls into the sermonizing style, as though the poet's inspiration failed him, and a pedagogue, with no clear conception of the unalterable order of the material universe, had taken his place : "One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, More deeply, because more calmly, than Shelley, with the passionate enthusiasms of youth subdued to the firm convictions of maturity, he expressed for modern men that creed which, for want of a better word, we designate as Pantheism, but which might be described as the inner soul of Science, the bloom of feeling and enthusiasm destined to ennoble and to poetize our knowledge of the world and of ourselves. In proportion as the sciences make us more intimately acquainted with man's relation to the universe, while the sources of life and thought remain still inscrutable, Wordsworth must take stronger and firmer hold on minds which recognize a mystery in Nature far beyond our ken. What Science is not called on to supply, the fervor and the piety that humanize her truths, and bring them into harmony with permanent emotions of the soul, may be found in all that Wordsworth wrote: "For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power A presence that disturbs me with the joy And the blue sky, and in the mind of man The time might come, indeed may not be distant, when lines like these should be sung in hours of worship by congregations for whom the "cosmic emotion" is a reality and a religion. Taught both by what she shows, and what simple and the permanent in social life. Wordsworth, again, is the poet of the conceals, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride The tone I have attempted to describe, as of some clear upland climate, at once soothing and invigorating, austere but gifted with rare charms for those who have submitted to its influence, this tone, unique in poetry, outside the range, perhaps, of Scandinavian literature, will secure for Wordsworth, in England at any rate, an immortality of love and fame. He is, moreover, the poet of man's dependence upon Nature. He has shown that average human nature may be made to yield the motives sion, glowing with beauty, needing only of the noblest poems, instinct with pasthe insight and the touch of the artist to disengage them from the coarse material of commonplace. "The moving accident is not my trade: To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: Should the day arrive when society. shall be remodelled upon principles of true democracy, when "plain living and high thinking" shall become the rule, when the vulgarity of manners inseparable from decaying feudalism shall have disappeared, when equality shall be rightly apprehended and refinement be the common mark of humble and wealthy homes-should this golden age of a grander civilization dawn upon the nations, then Wordsworth will be recognized as the prophet and apostle of the world's rejuvenescence. He, too, has something to give, a quiet dignity, a nobleness and loftiness of feeling joined to primitive simplicity, the tranquillity of self-respect, the calm of self-assured uprightness, which it would be very desirable for the advocates of fraternity and equality to assimilate. Of science and democracy Wordsworth in his lifetime. was suspicious. It is almost a paradox to proclaim him the poet of democracy and science. Yet there is that in his work which renders it congenial. to the mood of men powerfully influenced by scientific ideas, and expecting from democracy the regeneration of society at no incalculably distant future. After all, Wordsworth is essentially an English poet. He has the limitations no less than the noble qualities of the English character powerfully impressed upon him. I had occasion recently to say that Shelley brought into English literature a new ideality, a new element of freedom and expansion. Mazzini greeted Byron with enthusiastic panegyric as the poet of emancipation. Wordsworth moves in a very different region from that of either Byron or Shelley. He remains a stiff, consistent, immitigable Englishman; and it may be questioned whether his stubborn English temperament, his tough insular and local personality, no less than a certain homeliness in his expression, may not prove an obstacle to his acceptance as a cosmopolitan poet. I find a curious note on British literature in the Democratic Vistas of a transatlantic writer, a portion of which, though it is long, may here be not unprofitably cited: "I add that, while England is among the greatest of lands in political freedom, or the idea of it, and in stalwart personal character, etc., the spirit of English literature is not great -at least, is not greatest-and its products are no models for us. With the exception of Shakespeare, there is no first-class genius, or approaching to first-class, in that literature artificial beauty (largely from the classics), is which, with a truly vast amount of value and of almost always material, sensual, not spiritual almost always congests, makes plethoric, not frees, expands, dilates-is cold, antidemocratic, loves to be sluggish and stately, and shows much of that characteristic of vulgar persons, the dread of saying or doing something not at all improper in itself, but unconventional, and that may be laughed at. In its best, the sombre pervades it-it is moody, melancholy, and, to give it its due, expresses in characters and plots these qualities in an unrivalled manner. Yet not as the black thunder-storms, and in great normal, crashing passions, as of the Greek dramatists-clearing power; but as in Hamlet, moping, sick, unthe air, refreshing afterward, bracing with certain, and leaving ever after a secret taste for the blues, the morbid fascination, the luxury of woe.' " This is a severe verdict to be spoken by one whose main interest in life appears to be the building up of American To the Americans, destined to be by far personality by means of great literature. the most numerous of "the Englishspeaking public," our poetry cannot remain a matter of indifference, nor can their criticism of it be passed over by us with neglect. They are in the unique position of possessing our language as their mother-tongue, and at the same time of contemplating our literature from a point of view that is the opposite of in sular. Comparing English poetry with the spirit of the American people, whom he knows undoubtedly far better than the refined students of Boston, Walt Whitman comes to the conclusion that there is but little in it that will suit their needs or help them forward on the path of their development. Yet I cannot but think that, had he read Wordsworth, he would have made at least a qualified exception in his favor.* Wordsworth is not "sombre, moody, melancholy," is certainly not afraid of the "unconventional,' does not borrow "artificial beauty" from the classics or elsewhere. In fact the faults here found with English poetry in general are contradicted in an eminent degree by his best poetry. But, though this seems clear enough, it remains true that in Wordsworth we find a ponderosity, a personal and patriotic *This I gather from the modification of the above passage in favor of "the cheerful" name of Walter Scott. egoism, a pompousness, a self-importance in dwelling upon details that have value chiefly for the poet himself or for the neighborhood he lives in, which may not unnaturally appear impertinent or irksome to readers of a different nationality. Will the essential greatness of Wordsworth, whereof so much has been already said, his humanity, his wisdom, his healthiness, his bracing tone, his adequacy to the finer inner spirit of a scientific and democratic age-will these solid and imperishable qualities overcome the occasionally defective utterance, the want of humor and lightness, the obstinate insularity of character, the somewhat repellent intensity of local interest, which cannot but be found in him? tinctions. It is impossible to be otherwise than plain-speaking in his presence. For the rest, it is enough to recite, by way of confession of Wordsworthian faith, a bede-roll of his masterpieces. Lucy Gray, Ruth, the White Doe, Resolution and Independence, Michael, the Daffodils, the Lyricson Lucy, the Solitary Reaper, Yarrow, Laodamia, the Ode to Duty, the Ode on Immortality, Tintern Abbey, the Simplon Pass, with at least twenty of the finest sonnets that have been written in any language. I mention only those poems which take rank in my memory with the perfect of all ages and all nations. In this little volume there are some one hundred and sixty separate poems. A different selection from this number might be made by a score of students, loving and honoring Wordsworth alike, and each selection would have an equal right to confer the title of Wordsworthian on its maker. So comprehensive is the poet's range. So ample, as Mr. Arnold puts it, is the body of his powerful work.-Fortnightly Review. plebeians. I had amused myself for several days in observing the luxurious appurtenances by which they were protected against discomfort the piles of cushions and cloaks, the baskets of dainties, the novels and magazines to pass away the time, and the profound attention which they met with from the conductors and station-masters on the line. The rest of us were a miscellaneous crowd SOME years ago I was travelling by railway, no matter whence or whither. I was in a second-class carriage. We had been long on the road, and had still some distance before us, when one evening our journey was brought unexpectedly to an end by the train running into a siding. The guards opened the doors, we were told that we could proceed no fur--commercial people, lawyers, artists, ther, and were required to alight. The passengers were numerous and of all ranks and sorts. There were third-class, second, first, with saloon carriages for several great persons of high distinction. We had ministers of state, judges on circuit, directors, leading men of business, idle young men of family who were out amusing themselves, an archbishop, several ladies, and a duke and duchess with their suite. These favored travellers had Pullman cars to themselves, and occupied as much room as was allotted to scores of men of letters, tourists moving about for pleasure or because they had nothing to do; and in the third-class carriages, artisans and laborers in search of work, women looking for husbands or for service, or beggars flying from starvation in one part of the world to find it follow them like their shadows, let them go where they pleased. All these were huddled together, feeding hardly on such poor provisions as they carried with them or could pick up at the stopping-places. No more consideration was shown them than if they had been so many cattle. But they were merry, enough: songs and sounds of laughter came from their windows, and, notwithstanding all their conveniences, the languid-looking fine people in the large compartments seemed to me to get through their journey with less enjoyment after all than their poor fellow travellers. These last appeared to be of tougher texture, to care less for being jolted and shaken, to be betterhumored and kinder to one another. They had found life go hard with them wherever they had been, and could be as happy in one place as in another. The intimation that our journey was for the present at an end came on most of us as an unpleasant surprise. The grandees got out in a high state of indignation. They called for their servants, but their servants did not hear them, or laughed and passed on. The conductors had forgotten to be obsequious. All classes on the platform were suddenly on a level. A beggar-woman hustled the duchess as she was standing astonished because her maid had left her to carry her own bag. The patricians were pushed about among the crowd with no more concern than if they had been common mortals. They demanded loudly to see the station-master. The minister complained angrily of the delay; an important negotiation would be imperilled by his detention, and he threatened the company with the displeasure of his department. A consequential youth who had just heard of the death of his elder brother was flying home to take his inheritance. A great lady had secured, as she had hoped, a brilliant match for her daughter; her work over, she had been at the baths to recover from the dissipation of the season. Difficulty had risen unlooked for, and unless she was at hand to remove it, the worst consequences might be feared. A banker declared that the credit of a leading commercial house might fail unless he could be at home on the day fixed for his return: he alone could save it. A solicitor had the evidence in his portmanteau which would determine the succession to the lands and title of an ancient family. An elderly gentleman was in despair about his young wife whom he had left at home; he had made a will by which she was to lose his fortune if she married again after his death, but the will was lying in his desk unsigned. The archbishop was on his way to a synod where the great question was to be discussed whether gas might be used at the altar instead of candles. The altar candles were blessed before they were used, and the doubt was whether gas could be blessed. The right reverend prelate conceived that if the gas tubes were made in the shape of candles the difficulty could be got over, but he feared that without his moderating influence the majority might come to a rash decision. All these persons were clamoring at their various anxieties with the most naïve frankness, the truth coming freely out, whatever it might be. One distinguishedlooking lady in deep mourning, with a sad gentle face, alone was resigned and hopeful. It seemed that her husband had been stopped not long before at the same station. She thought it possible that she might meet him again. The station-master listened to the complaints with composed indifference. He told the loudest that they need not alarm themselves. The State would survive the absence of the minister. The minister, in fact, was not thinking of the State at all, but of the party triumph which he expected; and the peerage which was to be his reward, the stationmaster said would now be of no use to him. The youth had a second brother who would succeed instead of him, and the tenants would not be inconvenienced by the change. The fine lady's daughter would marry to her own liking instead of her mother's, and would be all the happier for it. The commercial house was already insolvent, and the longer it lasted the more innocent people would be ruined by it. The boy whom the lawyer intended to make into a rich baronet was now working industriously at school, and would grow up a useful man. lf a great estate fell in to him he would be idle and dissolute. The old man might congratulate himself that he had escaped so soon from the scrape into which he had fallen. His wife would marry an adventurer, and would suffer worse from inheriting his fortune. The archbishop was commended for his anxiety. His solution of the candle problem was no doubt an excellent one; but his clergy were now provided with a harmless subject to quarrel over, and if it was adopted they might fall out over something else which might be seriously mischievous. "Do you mean, then, that you are not going to send us forward at all?" the minister inquired sternly. "You will see," the station-master answered with a curious short laugh. I observed that he looked more gently at the lady in mourning. She had said nothing, but he knew what was in her mind, and though he held out no hope in words that her wish would be gratified, he smiled sadly, and the irony passed out of his face. The crowd, meanwhile, were standing about the platform whistling tunes or amusing themselves, not ill-naturedly, at the distress of their grand companions. Something considerable was happening. But they had so long experienced the ups and downs of things that they were prepared for what fortune might send. They had not expected to find a Paradise where they were going, and one place might be as good as another. They had nothing belonging to them except the clothes they stood in and their bits of skill in their different trades. Wherever men were, there would be need of cobblers and tailors and smiths and carpenters. If not, they might fall on their feet somehow if there was work to be done of any sort. Presently a bell rang, a door was flung open, and we were ordered into a waitingroom, where we were told that our luggage was to be examined. It was a large, barely-furnished apartment like the salle d'attente at the Northern Railway Station at Paris. A rail ran across, behind which we were all penned; opposite to us was the usual long table, on which were piled boxes, bags, and portmanteaus, and behind them stood a row of officials, in a plain uniform with gold bands round their caps, and the dry peremptory manner which passengers accustomed to deference so particularly dislike. At their backs was a screen extending across the room, reaching half way to the ceiling; in the rear of it there was apparently an office. We each looked to see that our particular belongings were safe, but we were surprised to find that we could recognize none of them. Packages there were in plenty, alleged to be the property of the passengers who had come in by the train. : They were arranged in the three classes -first, second, and third-but the proportions were inverted most of it was labelled as the luggage of the travellers in fustian, who had brought nothing with them but what they carried in their hands; a moderate heap stood where the second-class luggage should have been, and some of superior quality, but none of us could make out the shapes of our own trunks. As to the grand ladies and gentlemen, the innumerable articles which I had seen put as theirs into the van were nowhere to be found. A few shawls and cloaks lay upon the planks, and that was all. There was a loud outcry, but the officials were accustomed to it, and took no notice. The stationmaster, who was still in charge of us, said briefly that the saloon luggage would be sent forward in the next train. The late owners would have no more use for it, and it would be delivered to their friends. The late owners! Were we no longer actual owners, then? My individual loss was not great, and, besides, it might be made up to me, for 1 saw my name on a strange box on the table, and being of curious disposition, the singularity of the adventure made it interesting to me. The consternation of the rest was indescribable. The minister supposed that he had fallen among Communists, who disbelieved in property, and was beginning a speech on the elementary conditions of society, when silence was called, and the third-class passengers were ordered to advance, that their boxes might be opened. Each man had his own carefully docketed. The lids flew off, and within, instead of clothes and shoes and dressing apparatus and money and jewels and such like, were simply samples of the work which he had done in his life. There was an account-book also, in which was entered the number of days which he had worked, the number and size of the fields, etc., which he had drained and inclosed and ploughed, the crops which he had reaped, the walls which he had built, the metal which he had dug out and smelted and fashioned into articles of use to mankind, the leather which he had tanned, the clothes which he had woven-all entered with punctual exactness; and on the opposite page the wages which he had received, and the share which had been allotted to |