d of his very imperfections and glories in his folly. What does this
creature know of virtue, who finds it _by leaning on his own soul_,
forsooth? What does he know of God, who, in looking for him, can see but
himself, steeped in sin, bloated and swollen with monstrous pride, and
strutting before the world and the creator as a maker of systems, a
layer down of morals, and a preacher of beauty and truth?...

[Some of the] characters are excellently drawn; how much better than
"_their lips spake of sentiment, and their eyes applied it_!" How soon
these philosophers begin ogling! how charmingly their unceasing gabble
about beauty and virtue is exemplified in their actions! Mr. Bulwer's
philosophy is like a French palace--it is tawdry, shady, splendid; but,
_gare aux nez sensibles_! one is always reminded of the sewer. "Their
lips spoke sentiment, and their eyes applied it." O you naughty, naughty
Mr. Bulwer!

WILLIAM JOHN FOX

The dedicatory inscription in the volume of _The Monthly Repository_, in
which the following review appears, will indicate--in a few words--the
motives inspiring the editor, W. J. Fox, in his journalistic career:--
"To the Working People of Great Britain and Ireland; who, whether they
produce the means of physical support and enjoyment, or aid the progress
of moral, political, and social reform and improvement, are
fellow-labourers for the well-being of the entire community."

* * * * *

_Pauline_ was published, when Browning was 21, at his aunt's expense. It
secured only _one_ favourable notice, here printed; while the author and
his sister deliberately destroyed the unsold copies.

W. J. FOX ON BROWNING

[From _The Monthly Repository_, 1833]

_Pauline; A Fragment of a Confession_. London, Saunders & Otley. 1833

The most deeply interesting adventures, the wildest vicissitudes, the
most daring explorations, the mightiest magic, the fiercest conflicts,
the brightest triumphs, and the most affecting catastrophes, are those
of the spiritual world....

The knowledge of mind is the first of sciences; the records of its
formation and workings are the most important of histories; and it is
eminently a subject for poetical exhibition. The annals of a poet's mind
are poetry. Nor has there ever been a genuine bard, who was not himself
more poetical than any of his productions. They are emanations of his
essence. He himself is, or has been, all that he trul