ShewritestoherfriendthatthesecontributorstothequarterlypressaregreatlyfearedinliteraryLondon，andthereisinherletterasenseoftremorandexhaustion。Andwhatnightsdidtheheadsofthecriticsundergoafterthemeeting？Lewes，whoseownromancesareallcondoned，allforgivenbytimeandoblivion，whogaveherlessons，whotoldhertostudyJaneAusten？Theothers，whosereviewsdoubtlessdidtheirproportionatepartinstillfurtherhuntingandharryingthetiredEnglishoftheirday？AndbeforeHarrietMartineausheboreherselfreverently。HarrietMartineau，albeitawomanofmasculineunderstanding（wemayimaginewehearhercontemporariesgiveherthetitle），couldnotthreadherwaysafelyinandoutoftwoorthreenegatives，butwrote——aboutthisveryCharlotteBronte："Ididnotconsiderthebookacoarseone，thoughIcouldnotanswerforitthattherewerenotraitswhich，onasecondleisurelyreading，Imightnotdislike。"Mrs。
　　Gaskellquotesthepassagewithnoconsciousnessofanythingamiss。
　　AsforLewes’svanishedlessonuponthemethodsofJaneAusten，itservedoneonlysufficientpurpose。Itselfisnotquotedbyanyonealive，butCharlotteBronte’srejoinderaddsonetoourlittletreasuryofherincomparablepages。Iftheyweretwenty，theyaretwenty-onebytheadditionofthis，writteninalong-neglectedletterandsavedforusbyMr。Shorter’sresearch，forIbelievehisistheonlyrecord："Whatseeskeenly，speaksaptly，movesflexibly，itsuitshertostudy；butwhatthrobsfastandfull，thoughhidden，whatbloodrushesthrough，whatistheunseenseatoflifeandthesentienttargetofdeath——thatMissAustenignores。"
　　WhentheauthorofJaneEyrefalteredbeforesixauthors，moreorless，atdinnerinLondon，wasitthewriterofhersecond-classEnglishwhowasshy？orwasittheauthorofthepassagesheretofollow？——andthereforeoneforwhomthenationaltonguewasmuchthebetter？Therecanbelittledoubt。TheCharlotteBrontewhousedtheEnglishofaworldlongcorruptedby"onegoodcustom"——thegoodcustomofGibbon’sLatinitygrownfatallypopular——couldatanytimeholdupherheadamongstherreviewers；forhertherewasnosensitiveinteriorsolitudeinthatsociety。ShewhocoweredwastheCharlottewhomadeRochesterrecall"thesimpleyetsagaciousgrace"ofJane’sfirstsmile；shewhowrote："Ilookedatmylove；
　　itshiveredinmyheartlikeasufferingchildinacoldcradle"；
　　whowrote："Toseewhataheavyliddayslowlylifted，whatawanglancesheflunguponthehills，youwouldhavethoughtthesun’sfirequenchedinlastnight’sfloods。"Thisnewgeniuswassolitaryandafraid，andtouchedtothequickbytheeyesandvoiceofjudges。Inherworsestyletherewasno"quick。"Latin-English，whetherscholarlyorunscholarly，isthemediatetongue。AnunscholarlyLatin-Englishisproofagainsttheworld。ThescholarlyLatin-Englishwherefromitisdisastrouslyderivedis，initsownnoblermeasure，adefenceagainstmoreaugustassaultsthanthoseofcriticism。InthestrengthofitdidJohnsonholdparleywithhisprofoundersorrows——holdparley（byhisphrase），maketerms（byhisdefinition），givethematlastlodgingandentertainmentaftersentenceandtreaty。
　　AndthemeanerofficeofprotectionagainstreviewersandtheworldwasdoubtlessdonebythemeanerLatinity。Theauthorofthephrase"Thechildcontractedapartialityforhistoys"hadnoneedtofearanyauthorsshemightmeetatdinner。AgainstCharlotteBronte’ssorrowsherworsemannerofEnglishneverstandsforamoment。
　　Thosevainphrasesfallfrombeforeherfaceandherbaredheart。
　　Totheheart，totheheartshetooktheshaftsofhergriefs。Shetellsthemthereforeasshesufferedthem，vitallyandmortally。"A
　　greatchangeapproached。Afflictioncameinthatshapewhichtoanticipateisdread；tolookbackon，grief。MysisterEmilyfirstdeclined。Neverinallherlifehadshelingeredoveranytaskthatlaybeforeher，andshedidnotlingernow。Shemadehastetoleaveus。""Irememberedwherethethreewerelaid——inwhatnarrow，darkdwellings。""Doyouknowthisplace？No，youneversawit；butyourecognizethenatureofthesetrees，thisfoliage——thecypress，thewillow，theyew。Stonecrosseslikethesearenotunfamiliartoyou，norarethesedimgarlandsofeverlastingflowers。Hereistheplace。""Thenthewatcherapproachesthepatient’spillow，andseesanewandstrangemouldingofthefamiliarfeatures，feelsatoncethattheinsufferablemomentdrawsnigh。"Inthesamepassagecomesanothersinglewordofgenius，"thesoundthatsowastesourstrength。"And，fineas"wastes，"isthe"wronged"ofanothersentence——"somewrongedandfetteredwildbeastorbird。"
　　Itiseasytogathersuchwords，moredifficulttoseparatethebestfromsuchamingledpageasthaton"Imagination"："Aspirit，softerandbetterthanhumanreason，haddescendedwithquietflighttothewaste"；and"Myhungerhasthisgoodangelappeasedwithfoodsweetandstrange"；and"ThisdaughterofHeavenrememberedmeto-
　　night；shesawmeweep，andshecamewithcomfort；’Sleep，’shesaid，’sleepsweetly——Igildthydreams。’""Wasthisfeelingdead？
　　Idonotknow，butitwasburied。SometimesIthoughtthetombunquiet。"
　　Perhapsthemost"eloquent"pagesareunluckilythosewhereinwemissthefriction——frictionofwatertotheoar，frictionofairtothepinion——frictionthatsensiblyprovestheuse，thebuoyancy，theactoflanguage。SometimesaneasyeloquenceresemblestheeasylaboursofthedaughtersofDanaus。Todrawwaterinasieveisaneasyart，rapidandrelaxed。
　　Butnolaxityisever，Ithink，tobefoundinherbriefpassagesoflandscape。"Thekeen，stillcoldofthemorningwassucceeded，laterintheday，byasharpbreathingfromtheRussianwastes；thecoldzonesighedoverthetemperatezoneandfrozeitfast。""Nottillthedestroyingangeloftempesthadachievedhisperfectworkwouldhefoldthewingswhosewaftwasthunder，thetremorofwhoseplumeswasstorm。""Thenightisnotcalm：theequinoxstillstrugglesinitsstorms。Thewildrainsofthedayareabated：thegreatsingleclouddisappearsandrollsawayfromHeaven，notpassingandleavingaseaallsapphire，buttossedbuoyantbeforeacontinued，long-sounding，high-rushingmoonlighttempest……NoEndymionwillwatchforhisgoddessto-night：therearenoflocksonthemountains。"See，too，thisocean："TheswayofthewholeGreatDeepaboveaherdofwhalesrushingthroughthelividandliquidthunderdownfromthefrozenzone。"AndthispromiseofthevisionaryShirley："Iamtobewalkingbymyselfondeck，ratherlateofanAugustevening，watchingandbeingwatchedbyafullharvestmoon：somethingistorisewhiteonthesurfaceofthesea，overwhichthatmoonmountssilent，andhangsglorious……IthinkIhearitcrywithanarticulatevoice……Ishowyouanimagefairasalabasteremergingfromthedimwave。"
　　CharlotteBronteknewwelltheexperienceofdreams。Sheseemstohaveundergonetheinevitabledreamofmourners——thehumandreamoftheLabyrinth，shallIcallit？theuncertainspiritualjourneyinsearchofthewaitingandsequestereddead，whichistheobscuresubjectofthe"Eurydice"ofCoventryPatmore’sOdes。Thereisthelatelydead，inexile，remote，betrayed，foreign，indifferent，sad，forsakenbysomevaguemaliceorneglect，soughtbytroubledloveastray。
　　InCharlotteBronte’spagethereisanautumnalandtempestuousdream。"Anamelessexperiencethathadthehue，themien，theterror，theverytoneofavisitationfrometernity……Sufferingbrewedintemporalorcalculablemeasuretastesnotasthissufferingtasted。"Finally，isthereanyneedtocitethepassageofJaneEyrethatcontainstheavowal，thevigilinthegarden？
　　Thosearenotwordstobeforgotten。Sometellyouthatafinestylewillgiveyouthememoryofasceneandnotoftherecordingwordsthataretheauthor’smeans。Andothersagainwouldhavethephrasetoberememberedforemost。Here，then，inJaneEyre，arebothmemoriesequal。Thenightisperceived，thephraseisanexperience；bothhavetheirplaceinthereader’sirrevocablepast。
　　"CustomintervenedbetweenmeandwhatInaturallyandinevitablyloved。""Jane，doyouhearthatnightingalesinginginthewood？"
　　"Awaftofwindcamesweepingdownthelaurelwalk，andtrembledthroughtheboughsofthechestnut；itwanderedawaytoaninfinitedistance……Thenightingale’svoicewasthentheonlyvoiceofthehour；inlisteningIagainwept。"
　　WhereasCharlotteBrontewalked，withexultationandenterprise，upontheroadofsymbols，undertheguidanceofherownvisitinggenius，Emilyseldomwentoutuponthosefaravenues。Shewasonewhopractisedimagerysparingly。Herstylehadthekeyofaninnerprosewhichseemstoleaveimagerybehindinthewayofapproaches——
　　theapparelledandarrayedapproachesandritualofliterature——andsotogofurtherandtobeadmittedamongsimplerealitiesandantitypes。
　　CharlotteBrontealsoknewthatsimplegoal，butshelovedherimagery。InthepassageofJaneEyrethattellsofthereturntoThornfieldHall，inruinsbyfire，shebespeaksherreader’sromanticattentiontoanimagewhichintruthisnotallgolden。
　　Shehasmoments，ontheotherhand，ofpurenarrative，whereofeachwordissuchakeyasIspokeofbutnow，andunlocksaninnerandaninnerplaindoorofspiritualrealities。Thereis，perhaps，noauthorwho，simplytellingwhathappened，tellsitwithsogreatasignificance："Jane，didyouhearthatnightingalesinginginthewood？"and"Shemadehastetoleaveus。"Buthercharacteristiccallingistoimages，thoseavenuesandtemplesoracular，andtothevisionofsymbols。
　　Youmayhearthepoetofgreatimagerypraisedasagreatmystic。
　　Nevertheless，althoughagreatmysticalpoetmakesimages，hedoesnotdosoinhisgreatestmoments。Heisagreatmystic，becausehehasafullvisionofthemysteryofrealities，notbecausehehasaclearinventionofsimilitudes。
　　Ofmanythousandkissesthepoorlast，andNowwithhislove，nowinthecoldegravearelinesontheyondersideofimagery。Soisthislinealso：
　　Sadwiththepromiseofadifferentsun，andPiteouspassionkeenathavingfound，Afterexceedingill，alittlegood。
　　Shakespeare，ChaucerandPatmoreyieldusthesegreatexamples。
　　Imageryisforthetimewhen，asintheselines，theshockoffeeling（whichmustneedspass，astheheartbeatsandpauses）isgoneby：
　　Thyheartwithdeadwingedinnocencefilled，Evenasanestwithbirds，Aftertheoldonesbythehawkarekilled。
　　IcitetheselinesofPatmore’sbecauseoftheirimageryinapoemthatwithoutthemwouldbeinsupportablyclosetospiritualfacts；
　　andbecauseitseemstoprovewithwhatayieldinghandatplaythepoetofrealitiesholdshissymbolsforawhile。Agreatwriterisbothamajorandaminormystic，intheself-samepoem；nowsuddenlyclosetohismystery（whichishisgreatermoment）andanonmakingitmysteriouswithimagery（whichisthemomentofhismostbeautifullines）。
　　Thestudentpassesdelightedthroughtheseveralcourtsofpoetry，fromtheoutertotheinner，fromrichestomoreimaginativeriches，andfromdecorationtomorecomplexdecoration；andprepareshimselfforthegreateropulenceoftheinnermostchamber。Butwhenhecrossesthelastthresholdhefindsthismid-mostsanctuarytobeahypaethraltemple，andinitscustodyandcareasimpleearthandaspaceofsky。
　　EmilyBronteseemstohaveanearlyunparalleledunconsciousnessofthedelays，thecharms，thepausesandpreparationsofimagery。Herstrengthdoesnotdallywiththeparenthesis，andhersimplicityisignorantofthoserites。Herlesserwork，therefore，isplainnarrative，andhergreaterworkisnomore。Onthehitherside——thedailyside——ofimagerysheisstillastrongandsolitarywriter；ontheyondersideshehaswrittensomeofthemostmysteriouspassagesinallplainprose。Andwithwhatdirectandincommunicableart！
　　"’Letmealone，letmealone，’saidCatherine。’IfI’vedonewrong，I’mdyingforit。Youleftmetoo……Iforgiveyou。Forgiveme！’’Itishardtoforgive，andtolookatthoseeyesandfeelthosewastedhands，’heanswered。’Kissmeagain，anddon’tletmeseeyoureyes！Iforgivewhatyouhavedonetome。Ilovemymurderer——butYOURS！HowcanI？’Theyweresilent，theirfaceshidagainsteachother，andwashedbyeachother’stears。""SomuchtheworseformethatIamstrong，"criesHeathcliffinthesamescene。
　　"DoIwanttolive？Whatkindoflivingwillitbewhenyou——OhGod，wouldyouliketolivewithyoursoulinthegrave？"
　　CharlotteBronte’snoblestpassagesareherownspeechorthespeechofonelikeherselfactingthecentralpartinthedreamsanddramasofemotionthatshehadkeptfromhergirlhood——theunavowedcustomoftheordinarygirlbyhersosplendidlyavowedinaconfidencethatcomprisedtheworld。Emilyhadnosuchconfessionstopublish。
　　Shecontrived——buttheworddoesnotbefithersingularspiritofliberty，thatknewnothingofstealth——toremoveherselffromtheworld；asherpersonleftnopen-portrait，soher"I"isnotheardhere。Shelendshervoiceindisguisetohermenandwomen；thefirstnarratorofhergreatromanceisayoungman，thesecondaservantwoman；thisoneorthatamongtheactorstakesupthestory，andhergreatwordssoundattimesinpaltrymouths。Itisthenthatforamomentherreaderseemsabouttocomeintoherimmediatepresence，butbyafictionshedeniesherselftohim。Toasomewhattrivialgirl（oragirlwhowouldbetrivialinanyotherbook，butEmilyBronteseemsunabletocreateanythingconsistentlymeagre）——
　　toIsabellaLintonshecommitsoneofhermostmemorablepassages，andonewhichhastherareimage，oneofaterrifyinglittlecompanyofvisionsamidterrifyingfacts："Hisattentionwasroused，Isaw，forhiseyesraineddowntearsamongtheashes……Thecloudedwindowsofhellflashedforamomenttowardsme；thefiendwhichusuallylookedoutwassodimmedanddrowned。"ButinHeathcliff’sownspeechthereisnoveilorcircumstance。"I’mtoohappy；andyetI’mnothappyenough。Mysoul’sblisskillsmybody，butdoesnotsatisfyitself。""Ihavetoremindmyselftobreathe，andalmosttoremindmyhearttobeat。""Beingalone，andconscioustwoyardsoflooseearthwasthesolebarrierbetweenus，Isaidtomyself：’I’llhaveherinmyarmsagain。’Ifshebecold，I’llthinkitisthisnorthwindthatchillsme；andifshebemotionless，itissleep。"Whatart，moreover，whatknowledge，whatafreshearfortheclashofrepetition；whatachimeinthatphrase："IdreamtIwassleepingthelastsleepbythatsleeper，withmyheartstopped，andmycheekfrozenagainsthers。"
　　EmilyBrontewasnostudentofbooks。Itwasnotfromamongthefruitsofanyotherauthor’slabourthatshegatheredtheseeminentwords。ButIthinkIhavefoundthesuggestionofthisactionofHeathcliff’s——thedisinterment。NotinanyinspiringancientIrishlegend，ashasbeensuggested，didEmilyBrontefindherincident；
　　shefoundit（butshemade，anddidnotfind，itsbeauty）inamerecostumeromanceofBulwerLytton，whomCharlotteBronte，asweknow，didnotadmire。AndEmilyshowednosignatallofadmirationwhenshedidhimsomuchhonourastoborrowtheactionofhisstudio-
　　bravo。
　　Heathcliff’sloveforCatherine’spastchildhoodisoneoftheprofoundsurprisesofthisunparalleledbook；itistocallherchildishghost——theghostofthelittlegirl——whenshehasbeenadeadadultwomantwentyyearsthattheinhumanloveropensthewindowofthehouseontheHeights。Somethingisthisthatthereaderknewnothowtolookfor。Anotherthingknowntogeniusandbeyondareader’shopeisthetempestuouspurityofthosepassions。
　　Thiswildqualityofpurityhasacounterpartinthebriefpassagesofnaturethatmakethesummers，thewaters，thewoods，andthewindyheightsofthatmurderousstoryseemsosweet。The"beck"
　　thatwasaudiblebeyondthehillsafterrain，the"heathonthetopofWutheringHeights"whereon，inherdreamofHeaven，Catherine，flungoutbyangryangels，awokesobbingforjoy；thebirdwhosefeathersshe——deliriouscreature——plucksfromthepillowofherdeathbed（"This——Ishouldknowitamongathousand——it’salapwing’s。Bonnybird；wheelingoverourheadsinthemiddleofthemoor。Itwantedtogettoitsnest，forthecloudshadtouchedtheswellsanditfeltraincoming"）；theonlytwowhitespotsofsnowleftonallthemoors，andthebrooksbrim-full；theoldapple-
　　trees，thesmellofstocksandwallflowersinthebriefsummer，thefewfir-treesbyCatherine’swindow-bars，theearlymoon——Iknownotwherearelandscapesmoreexquisiteandnatural。Andamongthesignsofdeathwhereisanyfresherthanthewindowseenfromthegardentobeswingingopeninthemorning，whenHeathclifflaywithin，deadanddrenchedwithrain？
　　Noneofthesethingsarepresentedbyimages。Noristhatsignalpassagewherewiththebookcomestoaclose。Beitpermittedtociteithereagain。Ithastakenitsplace，itisamongtheparagonsofourliterature。Ourlanguagewillnotlapseorderogatewhilethisprosestandsforappeal："Ilingered……underthatbenignsky；watchedthemothsflutteringamongtheheathandharebells，listenedtothesoftwindbreathingthroughthegrass，andwonderedhowanyonecouldeverimagineunquietslumbersforthesleepersinthatquietearth。"
　　Finally，ofEmilyBronte’sfacetheworldholdsonlyanobviouslyunskilledreflection，andofheraspectnorecordworthhaving。
　　Wildfugitive，shevanished，sheescaped，shebrokeaway，exiledbytheneglectofhercontemporaries，banishedbytheirdisrespectoutlawedbytheircontempt，dismissedbytheirindifference。AndsuchanonewassheasmightratherhavepronounceduponthesethesentencepassedbyCoriolanusundersentenceofexpulsion；shemighthavedriventheworldfrombeforeherfaceandcastitoutfromherpresenceashecondemnedhisRomans："Ibanishyou。"
　　CHARMIAN
　　"SheisnotCleopatra，butsheisatleastCharmian，"wroteKeats，consciousthathisdamselwasnotinthevanwardofthepageantofladies。OnemaydivinethathecountedthewayswhereinshewasnotCleopatra，thetoucheswherebyshefellshortofanddifferedfrom，nay，inwhichshemimicked，theQueen。
　　Inlikemannermanyofushaveforsomeyearspastboastedofourappreciationoftheinferiorbeauty，thesubstitute，thewaitinggentlewomanofcorruptorcorruptibleheart；Keatsconfessed，butdidnotboast。Itisavauntnow，anemulation，whoshalldiscoverherbeauty，whoshalldiscernher。
　　Sheismostconspicuousintheatmosphereinsmoke"effects，"inthe"lurid，"the"mystery"；sucharetheperfervidwords。ButletustakethenaturalandauthenticlightasoursymbolofCleopatra，hersprightlyport，herinfinitejest，herbluestvein，hervariety，herlaugh。"OEasternstar！"
　　Menincitieslookupwardnotmuchmorethananimals，andthese——
　　exceptthedogwhenhebaysthemoon——lookskywardnotatall。Theeventsoftheskydonotcomeandgoforthecitizens，donotvisiblyapproachandwithdraw，threatenandpardon；theymerelyhappen。Andevenwhenthesunsocondescendsastofacethemattheleveloftheirownhorizon（sayfromthewesternendoftheBayswaterRoad），whenhesearchesouttheeyesthathaveneglectedhimallday，findsawaybetweentheirnarrowinglids，looksstraightintotheirunwelcomingpupils，exploresthecarefulwrinkles，singlesandnumbersthedullhairs，even，Isay，tosuddensunsetinourdimclimate，theLondonermakesnoreply；hewouldratherlookintopuddlesthanintothepoolsoflightamongclouds。
　　Yetthelightisascharacteristicofacountryasisitslandscape。
　　SothatIwouldtravelforthesakeofacharacterofearlymorning，foraqualityofnoonday，oratoneofafternoon，oranaccidentofmoonrise，oracolourofdusk，atleastasfarasforamountain，acathedral，rivers，ormen。Thelightismoreimportantthanwhatitilluminates。WhenMr。Tomkins——apersonofDickens’searliestinvention——callshisfellow-boardersfromthebreakfast-tabletothewindow，andwithemotionshowsthemtheeffectofsunshineupontheleftsideofaneighbouringchimney-pot，heisfarfromcuttingthegrotesquefigurethatthehumouristintendedtopointouttobanter。
　　Iamnotsurethatthechimney-potwiththepurelightuponitwasnotmorebeautifulthanawholeblackGreekorawholeblackGothicbuildingintheadulteratedlightofacustomaryLondonday。Noristhepleasurethatmanywriters，andacertainnumberofpainters，tellustheyowetosuchadulterationanythingotherthanasignofderogation——inaword，apleasureinthesecondarything。
　　Arewethebetterartistsforourpreferenceofthewaiting-woman？
　　Itisastrangeclaim。Thesearchforthebeautyoftheless-
　　beautifulisamodernenterprise，ingeniousinitsminorpranks，insolentinitsgreater。Anditschiefignobilityistheloveofmarred，defiled，disordered，dulled，andimperfectskies，theskiesofcities。
　　Somewilltellusthattheunveiledlightistooclearorsharpforart。Somuchtheworseforart；butevenonthatpleathelimitationsofartarebetterrespectedbynaturalmist，cloudygloomofnaturalrain，naturaltwilightbeforenight，ornaturaltwilight——Corot’s——beforeday，thanbytheartificialdimnessofourunlovelytowns。Those，too，whopraisethe"mystery"ofsmokearepraisingratheramystificationthanamystery；andmustbeunawareoftheprofoundermysteriesoflight。Lightisallmysterywhenyoufacethesun，andeveryparticleoftheinnumerableatmospherecarriesitsinfinitesimalshadow。
　　Moreover，itisonlyinsomepartsoftheworldthatweshouldaskforevennaturalveils。InCaliforniawemay，notbecausethelightistooluminous，butbecauseitisnottender。ClearandnottenderinCalifornia，tenderandnotclearinEngland；lightinItalyandinGreeceisbothtenderandclear。
　　Whenonecomplainsoftheill-luckofmodernutilities，thesympatheticlistenerisapttoagree，buttoagreewronglybydenouncingtheelectriclightassomethingmoderntobedeplored。
　　Buttheelectriclightistheonesuccessofthelastcentury。Itisneveroutofharmonywithnaturalthings——villages，ancientstreetsofcities，whereitmakesthemostbeautifulofallstreet-
　　lighting，swungfromhousetooppositehouseinGenoaorRome。Withnoshock，exceptashockofpleasure，doesthejudicioustraveller，enteringsomesmallsub-alpinehamlet，findtheelectriclight，fairly，sparinglyspaced，slungfromtreetotreeoverthelittleroad，andnoteitagaininthefrugalwine-shop，andsolitaryandclearoverthechurchportal。
　　Yet，forsooth，ifyieldingtothesuggestionsofyourrestlesshobby，youdenounce，inanycompany，thespoilingofyourItaly，thehearer，callingupa"mumpingvisnomy，"thinksheechoesyourcomplaintbyhissigh，"Ah，yes——theelectriclight；youmeetiteverywherenow；somodern，sodisenchanting。"Itis，onthecontrary，enchanting。Itisasnaturalaslightning。ByallmeansletallthewaterfallsinalltheAlpsbe"harnessed，"asthelamentationruns，iftheirservitudegivesuselectriclight。Forthusthepowerofthewaterfallkindlesalovelylamp。Allthistobedonebythesimpleforceofgravitation——thepowerfulfallofwater。"Wonderful，allthatwatercomingdown！"criedthetouristatNiagara，andtheIrishmansaid，"Whywouldn’tit？"Herecognisedthesimplicityofthatpower。Itisasecond-ratepassion——thatforthewaterfall，andoftenexactinginregardtovisitorsfromtown。
　　"Itrudgedunwillingly，"saysDr。Johnson，"andwasnotsorrytofinditdry。"Itwasvery，verysecond-rateofanAmericanadmirerofscenerytonameawaterfallintheYosemiteValley（anditbearsthenameto-day）the"BridalVeil。"HisIndianpredecessorhadcalledit，becauseitwasmostaudibleinmenacingweather，"TheVoiceoftheEvilWind。"Infact，yourcascadeisdearertoeverysentimentalistthanthesky。Standingnearthefolding-overplaceofNiagara，atthetopofthefall，Ilookedacrosstheperpetualrainbowofthefoam，andsawthewholefurtherskydefloweredbytheformless，edgeless，languid，abhorrentmurkofsmokefromthenearesttown。MuchratherwouldIseethatwaterputtousethantheskysooutraged。Asitis，onlybypickingone’swaybetweencitiescanonewalkunder，orasitwerein，apuresky。ThehorizoninVeniceisthickandochreous，andnoonecares；theskyofMilanisdefiledallround。InEnglandImustchooseapathalertly；andsodoesnowandthenawary，fortunate，fastidiouswindthathassofoundhisexact，unchartedway，betweenthissmokeandthat，astoclearmeacleanmoonrise，andheavenlyheavens。
　　TherewasanominousprophecytoCharmian。"Youshalloutlivetheladywhomyouserve。"ShehasoutlivedherineverycityinEurope；
　　butonlyforthetimeofsettingstraighthercrown——thelastservility。ShecouldnotlivebutbycomparisonwiththeQueen。
　　THECENTURYOFMODERATION
　　Afteralongliteraryrevolt——oneoftherecurrencesofimperishableRomance——againsttheeighteenth-centuryauthors，areactionwasdue，andithascomeaboutroundly。WeareguidedbacktoadmirationofthemeasureandmoderationandshapelinessoftheAugustanage。Andindeeditiswellenoughthatweshouldcompare——notnecessarilycheck——someofourhabitsofthoughtandversebythemediocrityofthoughtandperfectproprietyofdictionofPope’sbestcontemporaries。Ifthiswereall！Buttheeighteenthcenturywasnotcontentwithitssureandcertaingenius。Suddenlyandrepeatedlyitaspiredtoa"noblerage。"Itisnottothewildlightheartsoftheseventeenthcenturythatwemustlookforextremeconceitsandforextravagance，buttothelaterage，tothefaultless，tothefrigid，dissatisfiedwiththeirownpropriety。
　　Therewerestraws，Iconfess，inthehairoftheolderpoets；theeighteenth-centurymenstuckstrawsintheirperiwigs。
　　Thattime——surpassingandcorrectingthecenturythenjustpastin"taste"——wasresolvedtomakealowlegtonoage，antiqueormodern，inthechapterofthepassions——nay，toshowtheway，tofirethenations。Addisontaughthimself，ashishero"taughtthedoubtfulbattle，""wheretorage。"AndinthelateryearsofthesameliterarycenturyJohnsonhimselfsummonedthelapsedandalienandreluctantfury。Takesuchawordas"madded"——"themaddedland"；thereindeedisawordcreatedforthenoblerage，astheeighteenthcenturyunderstoodit。Lookyou，Johnsonhimselfcouldlodgethefuryinhisresponsiblebreast：
　　Anddubioustitleshakesthemaddedland。
　　Thereisnoauthorofthattimeofmoderationandgoodsensewhodoesnotthusmoreorlesseatacrocodile。Itisnotnecessarytogotothebadpoets；weneedgonolowerthanthegood。
　　AndgaspingFuriesthirstforbloodinvain，saysPopeseriously（butthesenseofburlesqueneverleavesthereader）。AlsoTherepurplevengeancebath’dingoreretires。
　　IntheonlypassageoftheDunciadmeanttobepoeticandnotironicandspiteful，hehas"thepantinggales"ofagardenhedescribes。
　　Matchmesuchanabsurdityamongthe"conceits"oftheagepreceding！
　　Anobleandingeniousauthor，socalledbyhighauthoritybutleftanonymous，pretends（itisalwayspretendingwiththesepeople，neverfinefictionorafranklie）thatonthetombofVirgilhehadhadavisionofthatdeceasedpoet：
　　CrownedwitheternalbaysmyravishedeyesBeheldthepoet’sawfulformarise。
　　VirgiltellsthenobleandingeniousonethatifPopewillbutwriteuponsomegraverthemes，EnvytoblackCocytusshallretireAndhowlwithfuriesintormentingfire。
　　"Genius，"saysanotherauthoritativewriterinprose，"iscausedbyafuriousjoyandprideofsoul。"
　　If，leavingthegreatnames，wepassinreviewtheworsepoetswefind，inPope’sessay"OntheArtofSinkinginPoetry，"thingslikethese，gatheredfromthegravewritingsofhiscontemporaries：
　　Inflamingheapstheragingoceanrolls，Whoselividwavesinvolvedespairingsouls；
　　Theliquidburningsdreadfulcoloursshew，Somedeeplyred，andothersfaintlyblue。
　　Andawar-horse！
　　Hiseye-ballsburn，hewoundsthesmokingplain，Andknotsofscarletribbondeckhismane。
　　Andademon！
　　Provokingdemonsallrestraintremove。
　　Hereismoreeighteenth-century"propriety"：
　　Thehillsforgetthey’refixed，andintheirfrightCastofftheirweight，andeasethemselvesforflight。
　　Thewoods，withterrorwinged，out-flythewind，Andleavetheheavy，pantinghillsbehind。
　　Again，fromNatLee’sAlexandertheGreat：
　　WhenGlory，likethedazzlingeagle，stoodPerchedonmybeaverintheGranicflood；
　　WhenFortune’sselfmystandardtremblingbore，AndthepaleFatesstood’frightedontheshore。
　　Oftheselines，withanothercouplet，Dr。Warburtonsaidthatthey"containnotonlythemostsublimebutthemostjudiciousimagerythatpoetrycouldconceiveorpaint。"Andherearelinesfromatragedy，formeanonymous：
　　ShouldthefierceNorth，uponhisfrozenwings，Bearhimaloftabovethewonderingclouds，AndseathiminthePleiads’goldenchariot，Thenceshouldmyfurydraghimdowntotortures。
　　Again：
　　Kiss，whileIwatchthyswimmingeye-ballsroll，Watchthylastgasp，andcatchthyspringingsoul。
　　Itwastheageofcommon-sense，wearetold，andtruly；butofcommon-sensenowandthendissatisfied，common-sensehereandthereambitious，common-senseofadistinctivelyadultkindtakingonaninnocenttone。IfindthislittleaffectationinPope’sword"sky"
　　whereasimplerpoetwouldhave"skies"or"heavens。"Popehas"sky"morethanonce，andalwayswithalittlefalseairofsimplicity。Andoneinstanceoccursinthatmasterlyandmostbeautifulpoem，the"ElegyonanUnfortunateLady"：
　　Istherenobrightreversioninthesky？
　　"Yes，myboy，wemayhopeso，"isthereader’simplicitmentalaside，ifthereaderbeamanofhumour。Letme，however，suggestnodisrespecttowardsthislovelyelegy，ofwhichthelasteightlineshaveaninimitablegreatness，atendernessandpassionwhichthe"EpistleofEloisa"makesconvulsivemovementstoattainbutneverattains。Andyethowcouldone，byanexample，placethesplendidseventeenthcenturyincloser——inslighteryetmoresignificant——comparisonwiththeeighteenththanthus？HereisBenJonson：
　　Whatbeckoningghost，besprentwithAprildew，Hailsmesosolemnlytoyonderyew？
　　AndthisisPope’simprovement：
　　WhatbeckoningghostalongthemoonlightshadeInvitesmysteps，andpointstoyonderglade？
　　ButPopefollowsthisinsipidcoupletwithtwolinesasexquisitelyandnoblymodulatedasanythingIknowinthatnationalmetre：
　　’Tisshe！butwhythatbleedingbosomgored，Whydimlygleamsthevisionarysword？
　　Thatindeedis"music"inEnglishverse——thecounterpartofagreatmelody，notofatune。
　　Theeighteenthcenturymatcheditsdesireforwildnessinpoetrywithalikecravingingardens。Thesymmetricalandarchitecturalgarden，somagnificentinItaly，andstatelythoughmorerigidandlessgloriousinFrance，wasscornedbytheeighteenth-centurypoet-
　　gardeners。Why？Becauseitwas"artificial，"andtheeighteenthcenturymusthave"nature"——naypassion。ThereseemstobesomeplanofpassioninPope’sgrotto，stuckwithsparandlittleshells。
　　Trulytheageofthe"RapeoftheLock"andthe"Elegy"wasanageofgreatwitandgreatpoetry。Yetitwasuntruetoitself。I
　　thinknoothercenturyhascherishedsopersistentaself-consciousincongruity。Asthecenturyofgoodsenseandgoodcoupletsitmighthavekeptuncompromisedthedignitywehonour。Butsuchinappropriateprankshavecometopassinhistorynowandagain。
　　TheBishopofHereford，inmerryBarnsdale，"dancedinhisboots"；
　　buthewascoercedbyRobinHood。