For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Living Age will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. Proclaiming that Law is now putting a stopper So the Landlords galore, And down on the Land Act like Cataracts pour, SONG. STAY, sweet day, for thou art fair, Fair, and full, and calm; Blest in Hope's pure balm. Stay, what chance and change may wait Now is all so glad and bright; Ab, she cannot, may not stop; Then with heart, and head, and will, Prize the pause,in wrong and ill, Prize the passing day. All The Year Round. A WIND FROM THE SEA.. THE blue above, the sheep-shorn grass beneath, Over the shoulder of the Down we sped, And saw the picture of the world outspread Then with my tears a kindling triumph strove, While the World says, -"We've heard all this And, in the hungry, shaping tooth thereof, shindy before!" Punch. Feel it at work to make my soul divine. EMILY PFEIFFER. From The Contemporary Review. OLD AND NEW CANONS OF POETICAL CRITICISM. II. IN a former paper I endeavored to show that poetry cannot be said to be a criticism of life in any customary signification of the word criticism and of the word life; that were there no other objection to such a definition, when advanced as a measure of the relative greatness of a poet, it must perforce succumb to the difficulty that no consensus exists as to what is a true and sound criticism of life; and finally that, though a poet may occupy himself with criticism of life, he curtails his chance, if he does so to any considerable extent, of being a great poet. Furthermore, in the course of the argument, it appeared that the reason why poets legitimately may, and frequently do, criticise life, is that criticism of life bas, in due course of human evolution, become part, but only part, of life itself; and that the reason why poets do and may occupy themselves with this part, as with every part, of life, is that poetry is a representation of life in other words, a representation of "whatever men perceive, feel, think, or do." Thus far, therefore, we seem to have got that poetry is a representation of life. Everybody, however, will at once perceive that, though this may serve as the kernel of a correct definition of the peculiar function of poetry, it is only the kernel, and some fresh qualities have to be added to it, before it can become, in our hands, a fruitful canon of criticism. necessary, To sur rhythm or verse. Unfortunately, in these days of generous but somewhat uncircumspect enthusiasms, we frequently hear of prose-poetry. Now, at the risk of seeming to differ from some eminent authorities, I must venture to suggest that prosepoetry is, in the words of Polonius, “a vile phrase." Is there, in fact, such a thing as prose-poetry? There is such a thing as poetical prose, just as there is such a thing as prosaic verse. render these distinctions is to leave the road open to the introduction of all sorts of monsters and hybrids: I should say that even poetical prose is a thing to be written very sparingly. It is occasionally a striking and welcome adornment to the prosaic prose which is the foundation, and should be the normal manner, of a really good prose style. Pages upon pages of poetical prose satiate, cloy, and sicken; and every man of delicate literary palate turns from the loaded banquet with a feeling of nausea. It was, doubtless, in order to excuse this deviation from literary traditions of good taste and good sense, that the phrase "prose-poetry was invented. To the clear, harmonious, definitely partitioned Hellenic mind, prose poetry would have seemed an abomination to be classed with the barbarous idols of Egypt, or the deformed monsters of Etruria.* The nucleus, then, of our definition of poetry that poetry is a representation of life must be enlarged, and we thus advance to the proposition that poetry is a representation of life in verse or rhythm. There is no difficulty, however, in showing that this again is not enough. Let us take an instance of representation of life in verse, which, I submit, is not poetry, from a poet who has written lyrical poetry of the very highest order; for the instance will thus, perhaps, be more instructive, and there will be less likelihood of prejudice influencing the judgment either of the writer or the reader. The extract is from Wordsworth, and is taken from "Simon Lee, the Old Huntsman: First and foremost, the representation must be a representation in language, aud not only in language, but in verse or rhythm. The proviso, that it be a representation in language, is in order to distinguish poetry from painting, which is likewise a representation of life, but a representation in color, or in silent form. About this there can be no difficulty, for everybody will at once recognize it as indisputable. The time was when it would have been equally superfluous to insist upon the qualification that more than one great imaginative novelist has sigthat poetry is a representation of life innally failed in the realm of poetry proper. That this is no arbitrary nor fanciful distinction, may, I think, be gathered conclusively from the fact And he is lean and he is sick; One prop he has, and only one : Oft working by her husband's side, And though you with your utmost skill these two compositions both professing to be poems, but one being poetry, and the other being merely verse. Everybody at once feels the immeasurable distance between them, since it is not a difference of degree, but a difference in kind. What is the difference? In the description of the Transfiguration in St. Matthew, we are told that "Peter, James, and John his brother, were brought up into a high mountain apart," and that “a bright cloud overshadowed them." Applying, with becoming reverence, that sacred scene, I would say, that poetry is a transfiguration, which takes place only at a certain elevation, and during which those who perceive it are overshadowed by a cloud, but a cloud that is bright. Let us test this by applying it to "Simon Lee, the Huntsman," and to "The Reverie of Poor Susan." In the first case, no transfiguration occurs. Wordsworth describes the lean, dwindled, and crooked body, the thin, dry legs, the thick and swollen ankles, of the man, and the At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight industry of his stout wife, just as anybody And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they The mist and the river, the hill and the shade; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colors have all passed away from her might have seen, and anybody could describe them. There they were, and he who passed might write about them, if he chose, after that particular fashion. is no cloud about them, bright or otherThey stand upon the low ground; there wise; and we are conscious of no elevation in the portraiture of them that is presented to us. The consequence is that, though they are described in verse, they are not described in poetry. In "The Reverie of Poor Susan," on the contrary, everything is transfigured, while retaining, in every particular, its reality — nay, whilst its very reality is made more real to us. Wood Street is transfigured; the thrush is transfigured; Lothbury and Cheapside are transfigured; mist, river, hill, stream, and shade are transfigured; Susan is transfigured; and we who read are transfigured. The "bright cloud" is over it all. We are on "a high mountain apart." How is it done? I really do not know, any more than Peter, James, and John his brother, knew. But I think I know when It is not necessary to descant upon it is done, and so, I fancy, do most peo. eyes. ple; and though we may be unable to ana- | there is an analogy, and a striking anallyze the process, we have names for it, ogy, between descriptive poetry and what and we call it the ideal, elevation, trans- men perceive, between lyrical poetry and figuration; more commonly, imagination. what they feel, between reflective poetry Having then, in our minds, a sense of and what they think, and between epic the analogy, almost the identity, between and dramatic poetry and what they do? transfiguration and imagination, may we The parallel is so patent, that to state is, not take another step forward and say I think, to establish it. that "poetry is an imaginative represén- Let us then treat perception, emotion, tation of life, in verse or rhythm"? Such, thought, action, on the one hand, and deat least, is the definition of the peculiar scriptive, lyrical, reflective, epic and dra essence and the special function of po-matic poetry, on the other, as convertible etry I propose to advance for acceptance. terms, and as equally well representing It may seem a very simple one; but pos- "whatever men perceive, feel, think, or sibly, on examination, it may turn out to do;" and let us watch the operation of be as comprehensive as is necessary, and transfiguring imagination - the remainder quite as complex as anything ever is to of our definition upon each and all of which a definite and available meaning is these in turn. attached. It may, moreover, strike some persons as not possessing much novelty. But a definition is no worse for being old, if it happens to be true, more especially should it help to expose the weakness of definitions that are new, but happen to be false. At any rate, let us have it plainly and unmistakably before us. Is there such a thing as poetry which shall be the literal and unadorned representation of our perceptions? I should say that, accurately speaking, there is not. Verse, it may be; poetry, it will not be. Let us see, by illustration, if this be not so; and again let us have recourse to Wordsworth, since his name is so dearly loved and so deeply reverenced by us all, and thus there will be less chance of prejudice influencing the judgment, when passages are adduced from which trans following lines are from the opening passage of "The Excursion: " Does there exist any well-known classi-figuration would seem to be absent. The fication of poetry corresponding with the classification of life, "whatever men perceive, feel, think, or do"? To vary the wording of the question, without varying its substance- Are there different kinds of poetry analogous to the functions of perception, emotion, thought, and action? I think there are. Every one is familiar with the terms, descriptive, lyrical, reflective, and epic and dramatic poetry; and there is no form of poetry which cannot be assigned to one or more of these divisions. Now, is it not the fact that * Thus, for example, narrative poetry, which is a recital of simple and individual facts, and has nothing in common with the complex dignity of epic poetry .g., most of Crabbe's and many of Wordsworth's poems belong to the division descriptive poetry. Again, didactic and satiric poetry belongs to reflective poetry. As a rule, so-called didactic and satiric poetry is not poetry at all, but only verse, however good may be that verse. Occasionally, as in the finest passages of Pope, it be comes transfigured by imagination, and then it is poetry of a high order; though, as we shall see later, at best but poetry of a secondary rank. Southward the landscape indistinctly glared Through a pale steam; but all the northern downs, 'Twas summer, and the sun had mounted high: In clearest air ascending, showed far off Determined and unmoved, with steady beams |