PREFACE.

I HAVE not sought to play the critic in the following pages. I have not the skill or the inclination for such a task; and I cannot feel it would be worth the while, if I had. For the power of the creative artist in prose or poetry I have a reverence which would forbid my sitting in judgment on his work. By his own capacities and his own methods he must stand or fall. If he is faithful to them, the critic can ask of him nothing more. His methods may be judged; but, in so far as the poet is true to his own personal genius, he should have only our love and admiration.

I do not write as a professional critic, for I have little other than feelings of contempt for that profession and the methods by which it

contrives to live. It is easy to find faults in the best of authors, and to pick flaws in the works of the masters of literature. But of wholesome and pure-hearted admiration the world never has too much; and, sad to say, in literature enthusiasm is seen too seldom. For my part, I enjoy praising, and the giving to him who is worthy my enthusiastic admiration. That I thus unfit myself for the critic's task I am well aware; but I will forego the critic for the sake of the delightful luxury of praising.

I have written of Tennyson, Ruskin, and Browning for no other reason than that I have greatly enjoyed reading their books. I have found them true companions and guides, and the best of friends. I have written of them in a sympathetic spirit, and with a desire to find that in them which is most worthy and most characteristic of their genius. In each I have found some pregnant truth and some luminous interpretation of life. By the highest expression. and capacity of each I have sought to recognize him, and to give him the just meed of reverence. In loving any one of them I have not found my

admiration for the others to grow less, for each gives me something I do not find elsewhere. I enjoy the pages of Browning at the same time that I enjoy those of Tennyson; but not from the same causes. I can turn from the one to the other without disappointment or regret, because seeking to meet them on their own ground, and to give them the sympathetic appreciation they demand. I am of the opinion that this is the first and highest quality in the critic; and if he does not possess it he is wholly unworthy the name. Nothing else can take the place of it or make anybody capable of rightly judging the work of a great author. To impregnate one's mind with the poet's thought and emotion, and to surround one's self with his atmosphere, is absolutely necessary to any right conception or appreciation of his work. If that is not done, all talk about him is wasted words and the announcement of superficial faults.

The critic is too often the man of a cold and analytic mind, incapable of sympathy and enthusiasm. He holds his author at arm's length, and scrutinizes him as he would a fossil. The result

is about as appreciative and profitable; and it is a mere waste of effort. If I have failed because of not adopting this method, I am content to have it so; for I would not succeed, through being unable to love the authors of whom I write. Enthusiasm for one's subject is necessary to all good writing; and he who is enamored of any subject soon finds others to appreciate it with him.

My purpose in the first of the following essays has been to point out the true nature of the poet's art. There is a growing tendency at the present time to adopt a merely external and superficial interpretation of poetry, and to see in it nothing more than a jingling together of words. Against that conception of it, which is working the most evil results with our younger poets, I have wished to enter my protest. I do not suppose that any word of mine will be heard far; but I may help a few readers to find what is best in the poetry of the present time. He who is not a poet himself must be content to accept that which comes from others. If it is a true expression of genius, he has no cause to complain should it not answer to his own theories. When

certain current tendencies mislead younger men, however, he cannot feel quite at ease; for he would see every man in whom there is promise doing the best of which he is capable. That which cripples and betrays the poet is a cause for serious alarm and for indignant protest.

I am not foolish enough to suppose that I can stem the drift of opinion on this or any other subject. One might as well try to sweep back the ocean with a broom as to try to resist the stronger tendencies of thought in any age. They must run their course, and make prominent the truths they represent; and then give way to the fresher currents of the newer time; but there may be a singer here or there who has not found himself in sympathy with the drift of the time, and who may be led into harmony with those deeper and wiser tendencies which have in them life and power.

Having described the true compass and quality of the poetic art, I turn for illustration to three of the greatest living writers. The remarkable contrast in the genius and the methods of Tennyson and Browning make them admirably adapted to