o
lavish of his imagery as is generally supposed, he seemed to him to be
rather parsimonious in the use of it, always expanding and making the most
of his ideas. This may be true if we compare him with some of our poets,
or perhaps with some of our early prose writers, but not if we compare him
with any of our political writers or parliamentary speakers. There are
some very fine things of Lord Bolingbroke's on the same subjects, but not
equal to Burke's. As for Junius, he is at the head of his class; but that
class is not the highest. He has been said to have more dignity than
Burke. Yes--if the stalk of a giant is less dignified than the strut of a
_petit-maitre_. I do not mean to speak disrespectfully of Junius, but
grandeur is not the character of his composition; and if it is not to be
found in Burke, it is to be found nowhere.

X

MR. WORDSWORTH

Mr. Wordsworth's genius is a pure emanation of the Spirit of the Age. Had
he lived in any other period of the world, he would never have been heard
of. As it is, he has some difficulty to contend with the hebetude of his
intellect, and the meanness of his subject. With him "lowliness is young
ambition's ladder;" but he finds it a toil to climb in this way the steep
of Fame. His homely Muse can hardly raise her wing from the ground, nor
spread her hidden glories to the sun. He has "no figures nor no fantasies,
which busy _passion_ draws in the brains of men:" neither the gorgeous
machinery of mythologic lore, nor the splendid colours of poetic diction.
His style is vernacular: he delivers household truths. He sees nothing
loftier than human hopes; nothing deeper than the human heart. This he
probes, this he tampers with, this he poises, with all its incalculable
weight of thought and feeling, in his hands, and at the same time calms
the throbbing pulses of his own heart, by keeping his eye ever fixed on
the face of nature. If he can make the life-blood flow from the wounded
breast, this is the living colouring with which he paints his verse: if he
can assuage the pain or close up the wound with the balm of solitary
musing, or the healing power of plants and herbs and "skyey influences,"
this is the sole triumph of his art. He takes the simplest elements of
nature and of the human mind, the mere abstract conditions inseparable
from our being, and tries to compound a new system of poetry from them;
and has perhaps succeeded as well as any one could. "_Nihil humani a