s case we prefer the child to the father. The essay
On the French Spoken by Those who do not Speak French is also cleverly
written and, indeed, on every subject, except literature, Mr. Matthews is
well worth reading.

On literature and literary subjects he is certainly 'sadly to seek.' The
essay on The Ethics of Plagiarism, with its laborious attempt to
rehabilitate Mr. Rider Haggard and its foolish remarks on Poe's admirable
paper Mr. Longfellow and Other Plagiarists, is extremely dull and
commonplace and, in the elaborate comparison that he draws between Mr.
Frederick Locker and Mr. Austin Dobson, the author of Pen and Ink shows
that he is quite devoid of any real critical faculty or of any fine sense
of the difference between ordinary society verse and the exquisite work
of a very perfect artist in poetry. We have no objection to Mr. Matthews
likening Mr. Locker to Mr. du Maurier, and Mr. Dobson to Randolph
Caldecott and Mr. Edwin Abbey. Comparisons of this kind, though
extremely silly, do not do much harm. In fact, they mean nothing and are
probably not intended to mean anything. Upon the other hand, we really
must protest against Mr. Matthews' efforts to confuse the poetry of
Piccadilly with the poetry of Parnassus. To tell us, for instance, that
Mr. Austin Dobson's verse 'has not the condensed clearness nor the
incisive vigor of Mr. Locker's' is really too bad even for Transatlantic
criticism. Nobody who lays claim to the slightest knowledge of
literature and the forms of literature should ever bring the two names
into conjunction. Mr. Locker has written some pleasant vers de societe,
some tuneful trifles in rhyme admirably suited for ladies' albums and for
magazines. But to mention Herrick and Suckling and Mr. Austin Dobson in
connection with him is absurd. He is not a poet. Mr. Dobson, upon the
other hand, has produced work that is absolutely classical in its
exquisite beauty of form. Nothing more artistically perfect in its way
than the Lines to a Greek Girl has been written in our time. This little
poem will be remembered in literature as long as Thyrsis is remembered,
and Thyrsis will never be forgotten. Both have that note of distinction
that is so rare in these days of violence, exaggeration and rhetoric. Of
course, to suggest, as Mr. Matthews does, that Mr. Dobson's poems belong
to 'the literature of power' is ridiculous. Power is not their aim, nor
is it their effect. They have other qual