elopment of painting, have always been accompanied, if not
occasioned, by the discovery of some new instrument or some fresh medium,
so, in the case of any important literary movement, half of its strength
resides in its language. If it does not bring with it a rich and novel
mode of expression, it is doomed either to sterility or to imitation.
Dialect, archaisms and the like, will not do. Take, for instance,
another poem of Mr. Sharp's, a poem which he calls The Deith-Tide:

The weet saut wind is blawing
Upon the misty shore:
As, like a stormy snawing,
The deid go streaming o'er:--
The wan drown'd deid sail wildly
Frae out each drumly wave:
It's O and O for the weary sea,
And O for a quiet grave.

This is simply a very clever pastiche, nothing more, and our language is
not likely to be permanently enriched by such words as 'weet,' 'saut,'
'blawing,' and 'snawing.' Even 'drumly,' an adjective of which Mr. Sharp
is so fond that he uses it both in prose and verse, seems to me to be
hardly an adequate basis for a new romantic movement.

However, Mr. Sharp does not always write in dialect. The Son of Allan
can be read without any difficulty, and Phantasy can be read with
pleasure. They are both very charming poems in their way, and none the
less charming because the cadences of the one recall Sister Helen, and
the motive of the other reminds us of La Belle Dame sans Merci. But
those who wish thoroughly to enjoy Mr. Sharp's poems should not read his
preface; just as those who approve of the preface should avoid reading
the poems. I cannot help saying that I think the preface a great
mistake. The work that follows it is quite inadequate, and there seems
little use in heralding a dawn that rose long ago, and proclaiming a
Renaissance whose first-fruits, if we are to judge them by any high
standard of perfection, are of so ordinary a character.

* * * * *

Miss Mary Robinson has also written a preface to her little volume,
Poems, Ballads, and a Garden Play, but the preface is not very serious,
and does not propose any drastic change or any immediate revolution in
English literature. Miss Robinson's poems have always the charm of
delicate music and graceful expression; but they are, perhaps, weakest
where they try to be strong, and certainly least satisfying where they
seek to satisfy. Her fanciful flower-crowned Muse, with her tripping
steps and prett