ther unpublished
fragments by Miss Wordsworth may find a place in this edition. I do not
attach much importance, however, to the recovery of these unpublished
poems. The truth is, as Sir Henry Taylor--himself a poet and critic of
no mean order--remarked [17],

"In these days, when a great man's path to posterity is likely to be
more and more crowded, there is a tendency to create an obstruction,
in the desire to give an impulse. To gather about a man's work all the
details that can be found out about it is, in my opinion, to put a
drag upon it; and, as of the Works, so of the Life."

The industrious labour of some editors in disinterring the trivial works
of great men is not a commendable industry. All great writers have
occasionally written trifles--this is true even of Shakespeare--and if
they wished them to perish, why should we seek to resuscitate them?
Besides, this labour--whether due to the industry of admiring friends,
or to the ambition of the literary resurrectionist--is futile; because
the verdict of Time is sure, and posterity is certain to consign the
recovered trivialities to kindly oblivion. The question which should
invariably present itself to the editor of the fragments of a great
writer is, "_Can these bones live_?" If they cannot, they had better
never see the light. Indeed the only good reason for reprinting the
fragments which have been lost (because the author himself attached no
value to them), is that, in a complete collection of the works of a
great man, some of them may have a biographic or psychological value.
But have we any right to reproduce, from an antiquarian motive, what--in
a literary sense--is either trivial, or feeble, or sterile?

We must, however, distinguish between what is suitable for an edition
meant either to popularise an author, or to interpret him, and an
edition intended to bring together all that is worthy of preservation
for posterity. There is great truth in what Mr. Arnold has lately said
of Byron:

"I question whether by reading everything which he gives us, we are so
likely to acquire an admiring sense, even of his variety and
abundance, as by reading what he gives us at his happier moments.
Receive him absolutely without omission and compromise, follow his
whole outpouring, stanza by stanza, and line by line, from the very
commencement to the very end, and he is capable of being tiresome."
[18]

This is quite true; nevertheless, Englis