ite the same degree. Not only are the examples of poetic heredity
rare, but there are still fewer, certainly in the history of English
literature, in which the son or the daughter has equalled the parent in
poetic capacity.

The case of the Colmans and the Dibdins is one of literary rather than
poetic faculty. In each instance the father and son wrote verse, much of
it excellent in its way, but assuredly not of the first order. The one
name will always be associated with admirably humorous performances,
while the other will continue to shine resplendent on the roll of
writers of sea-songs. But work of that sort is a matter of knack rather
than of inspiration, and 'poetry' is a word hardly to be mentioned in
remote connection with it. Very different are the circumstances when we
come to the children of Samuel Taylor Coleridge--to Hartley and to
Sara, and to Hartley in particular. Sara had less than a half share of
the poetic patrimony. She penned very pleasant rhymes for children, and
some still linger in the collections; but they are not of singular
merit. Much better than these are the lyrics which are to be found
scattered through her prose romance, 'Phantasmion'--lyrics which
undoubtedly have imaginative value. They are much less known than they
deserve to be, though a few of them have recently been reprinted. They
are not, however, to be compared with the best that Hartley furnished.
Sara had ideas, but her mode of expression inclined to the turgid.
Hartley was clearer and smoother in his style, and now and then, as in
some of his sonnets, and especially in the lines beginning,

'She is not fair to outward view,
As many maidens be,'

he actually attained perfection. The last-named gem is likely to last as
long as anything written by the elder Coleridge.

Mrs. Norton and Lady Dufferin are instances of ability descending from
grandfather to granddaughters, and of ability, moreover, which, as
regards poetical writing, grew and improved in the process of descent.
The author of 'The Duenna' produced a number of neat and lively rhymes,
but, great as Sheridan was as a dramatist, he was certainly not a poet.
Now, his granddaughters were really poets, though by no means of the
front rank. Scarcely any of Mrs. Norton's verse is now habitually read,
but some of it is well worth reading. On the other hand, Lady Dufferin,
who published much less than her sister did, is much better remembered,
if only because she wa