ad Sordello?" we can only
answer:--Admitted a leading idea, not only metaphysical but subtle
and complicated to the highest degree; how work out this idea, unless
through the finest intricacy of shades of mental development?
Admitted a philosophic comprehensiveness of historical estimate and a
minuteness of familiarity with details, with the added assumption,
besides, of speaking with the very voice of the times; how present
this position, unless by standing at an eminent point, and addressing
thence a not unprepared audience? Admitted an intense aching
concentration of thought; how be self-consistent, unless uttering
words condensed to the limits of language?--And let us at last say:
Read Sordello again. Why hold firm that you ought to be able at once
to know Browning's stops, and to pluck out the heart of his mystery?
Surely, if you do not understand him, the fact tells two ways. But,
if you _will_ understand him, you shall.

We have been desirous to explain and justify the state of feeling in
which we enter on the consideration of a new poem by Robert Browning.
Those who already feel with us will scarcely be disposed to forgive
the prolixity which, for the present, has put it out of our power to
come at the work itself: but, if earnestness of intention will plead
our excuse, we need seek for no other.

The Evil under the Sun

How long, oh Lord?--The voice is sounding still,
Not only heard beneath the altar stone,
Not heard of John Evangelist alone
In Patmos. It doth cry aloud and will
Between the earth's end and earth's end, until
The day of the great reckoning, bone for bone,
And blood for righteous blood, and groan for groan:
Then shall it cease on the air with a sudden thrill;
Not slowly growing fainter if the rod
Strikes one or two amid the evil throng,
Or one oppressor's hand is stayed and numbs,--
Not till the vengeance that is coming comes:
For shall all hear the voice excepting God?
Or God not listen, hearing?--Lord, how long?

_Published Monthly.--Price One Shilling._

Art and Poetry,
Being Thoughts towards Nature.

Conducted principally by Artists.

Of the little worthy the name of writing that has ever been written
upon the principles of Art, (of course excepting that on the mere
mechanism), a very small portion is by Artists themselves; and that
is so scattered, that one scarcely knows where to find the ideas of
an Artist except in