will
talk about them," "Imaginary Conversations," 2d series, Conversation XV.
Landor's contempt for German literature is significant.

[14] "Selections from Newman," Introduction, pp. xlvii-xlviii.

[15] Racine observes that good sense and reason are the same in all ages.
What is the result of this generalization? Heroes can be transported
from epoch to epoch, from country to country, without causing surprise.
Their Achilles is no more a Greek than is Porus an Indian; Andromache
feels and talks like a seventeenth-century princess: Phaedra experiences
the remorse of a Christian.--_Pellissier, "Literary Movement in France,"_
p. 18.

In substituting men of concrete, individual lives for the ideal figures
of tragic art, romanticism was forced to determine their physiognomy by a
host of local, casual details. In the name of universal truth the
classicists rejected the coloring of time and place; and this is
precisely what the romanticists seek under the name of particular
reality.--_Ibid._ p. 220. Similarly Montezuma's Mexicans in Dryden's
"Indian Emperor" have no more national individuality than the Spanish
Moors in his "Conquest of Granada." The only attempt at local color in
"Aurungzebe"--an heroic play founded on the history of a contemporary
East Indian potentate who died seven years after the author--is the
introduction of the _suttee_, and one or two mentions of elephants.

[16] See "Les Orientales" (Hugo) and Nerval's "Les Nuits de Rhamadan" and
"La Legende du Calife Hakem."

[17] The rules a nation, born to serve, obeys;
And Boileau still in right of Horace sways.
--_Pope, "Essay on Criticism,"_

[18] These critical verse essays seem to have been particularly affected
by this order of the peerage; for, somewhat later, we have one, "On
Unnatural Flights in Poetry," by the Earl of Lansdowne--"Granville the
polite."

[19] "Epistle to Sacheverel."

[20] "Essay on Addison."

[21] Sweet hour of twilight!--in the solitude
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er,
To where the last Caesarian fortress stood,
Evergreen forest! which Boccaccio's lore
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me,
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee!
--_Don Juan_

[22] I must entirely agree with Monsieur Boileau, that one verse of Vergil
is worth all the _clinquant