activity of mind-more, probably, than there ever was in the world before—and knowledge grows “from more to more ;" but these may hinder, not promote, a care for poetry. To care for poetry, indeed, a culture is needed, not always included in education or given by experience; perceptions and powers not possessed by intelligent or by able men simply as part of their intelligence or ability. Busy men are very apt to be out of tune for poetry, and men who care for knowledge only, or for affairs only, or who, by the daily custom of their lives, restlessly seek the "uses" of things only-such men, by force of their very virtues, are but little capable of sympathy with an art that seems to serve none of their ends, and to belong to another world than that in which their lives are spent.

And yet, though these and other things in the circumstances and spirit of the time may have made against a general and deliberate regard for poetic art, there have not been wanting many proofs of a real regard for poetry in our midst. And this regard has surely grown and deepened during the past decade. Other evidences besides the sale and circulation of books attest and illustrate this. The work of Robert Browning is, in fact, a capital instance and a striking illustration of it. In the recent history of English letters, no case serves so well to prove this deepened interest in poetry, to ascertain its quality, or to test its sincerity.

That this is so, and why it is so, the history of

Brownings work will show us. For what, in this regard, is its history? For years it remained unread or misread-read by a few only of those who read poetry, misunderstood by many of those who read it. No small part even of the critical opinion of the country was against it or puzzled by it. For nearly thirty years this was the general temper in regard to it. Since 1870, however, much of that has been changed. By that date criticism had discerned the value and recognized the power, if it had not in all cases grasped the principles, of the poet's work. His circle of readers grew, slowly at first, and only among the more educated and thoughtful, more widely afterwards, until the poet has at length won exceptional attention. A new thing in the history of letters has,. in fact, happened in his case: societies have been formed during a poet's lifetime for the careful study of the poet's works. Now, these societies, a growth as they are of the present decade, may seem to the future historian of our century's literature rather curious phenomena. But whatever, as to certain points, the judgment of our future critic may be, he will at least understand this-that the rise of these societies was a landmark in the history of the poet's writings and influence; that his work had then secured cordial acceptance in its full extent as an original and precious addition to the body of English poetry.

To the poet himself this acceptance, so accomplished, must be as grateful as it is honourable. Years ago he chose his path. He has kept to it; he has

made the work that his genius inspired, that his mind approved. He did this for years with slight response and encouragement. A few friends and critics, and a very few readers, confirmed his judgment. He soon found that, far from pleasing, his work only bewildered and offended many who tried to read it. He did not wish it to be so, did not see why it was so. Some efforts to approach it he made. Mainly he tried to speak out and to speak clearly, and waited. He made his work stronger, fuller, surer, satisfied that in due time it would be accepted-knowing that this was his way to acceptance. And after a lifetime of such work, resolute and faithful, he sees himself recognized for the poet he is, his work understood and heartily valued. This is the reality of fame-that fame which for many has been but a voice and a shadow-esteem and use rewarding the integrity and fidelity of genius. A long life has enabled the poet to do and see this. It must seem to him like the judgment of posterity, at this point of a century which began for him so long ago. Wisdom and genius have ever been "justified" of their works, yet only at times has it been given to the teacher or worker in the long and mellow evening light to see the "justification." When power, persistence, and truth are well helped by time, then may the thinker or poet find himself approved, and his work taking its place in that hierarchy of powers by which the thought and passion of man will be ruled for long years to come.

To some this slow growth of regard will seem in itself an objection and proof of defect. Of all writing, they say, poetry ought to appeal most readily to those whom it concerns. And yet it has not been so, nor is it in the nature of all poetry that it should be. There are, in fact, two kinds of literature in this respect -the literature that, from a fine simplicity and generality, meets with immediate acceptance; and that which, because more original or deeper, meets with slower and, it may be, remote acceptance. The work of many good poets has had to pass through a time of waiting. The new experience, the freer and ampler passion or thought, and the style framed to express these, must be known and mastered by help of the writings themselves. And the work that meets acceptance only after waiting is by that assured of a fuller significance.

A generation has come and gone between Browning's first work and his due acceptance. His work has a fulness of interest such as it had not for readers of the poet's own generation. What is the meaning of this? Change of fashion? Persistence of the poet? Rise of a "party" devoted to him? Or some coincidence of interests merely?

By such phrases it is sought sometimes to explain, or rather to put aside explanation of, such facts. But the facts of literature are vital facts in the full sense of the words. The roots of all literature are to be found in life. It is originated and maintained, not merely touched and modified, by the passions and

beliefs, by the principles and hopes, of men. Το regard it as casual, decorative, and superfluous, and not as vital, is to take it not only superficially, but falsely. Like other vital facts, even when they seem to lie apart, and to have merely special relations, the facts of literature are in wide relations, are animated by the larger forces and borne upon the greater currents of man's work and life. And the more alive literature is with passion and thought, the more sensitive it is to every touch of man's experience, the greater must be the vital significance it carries. Of no part or kind of literature, then, can this be so true as of the greater poetry. There especially may be found, by such as can read them, those " open secrets of the life of men which will go far to help us to understand the very spirit of that life.

And so it happens that the poetry that an age, or any important section of an age, cares for, finds really expressive and true, must tell much of the age itself. There are significant relations and correspondences between such poetry and the age for which it has vital interest-relations that explain the interest of the poetry, and throw light on the elements and conditions of the secular life; that poetry is, in fact, a better clue to the emotions and beliefs, to the dominant and deeper passions and ideas, of the age than anything else in its records. Since, then, the poetry of Robert Browning has greater interest and fuller pertinence to-day than it had thirty years ago, it must be because the time and phase of life upon which we