things that have been ever said on the future state are contained in the 'In Memoriam.' By the bye, the Times has attacked the poem; allowed it much merit, but criticised severely. Part of the criticism is just, and part miserably small. The use of such antiquated words as 'Burgeon,'' Gnarr,' may be objectionable. Be it so. Well, two words in a poem are not quite fatal to a claim of genius. The charge of irreverence is utterly false And dear as sacramental wine! To dying lips, is all he said— that is on things divine. The reviewer is very severe on this. But does human friendship convey no grace of God to the soul? Do holiest remembrances of God's saintliest reveal nothing of God? If they do, how exquisite here the word 'sacramental' is, as applied to them! Oh, most foolish Thunderer! Then he is very merry about the shadow waiting for the keys 'to choke me from my proper scorn,' talks of Hobbs and locks unpickable. Blind beetle! the shadow, death, has been identified in a previous page; the reader is in possession of the metaphor. Tennyson prays that he may be hidden in this shadow from his own scorn before he -'forgets,' I think, for I have not the passage before me. The reviewer objects to the word 'cloke,' because shadows do not cloke. Nor does light clothe; but if the poor man had read 'robed in light,' he would have thought it quite correct, because it is a common expression. Another- That each who seems a separate whole Should move his rounds, and fusing all "Of the two mysteries, the shadow with the cloke is probably the easier;' so says the reviewer, who, in this, as well as other places, evidently copies almost whole sentences from Macaulay's castigation of Robert Montgomery; but this critic is not a These lines have been altered and not improved : 'And dear to me as sacred wine,' &c.-ED. Macaulay. Now to the passage. The subject is the possibility of the loss of personal consciousness in the hereafter, and of being resolved into the consciousness of the universe. Possibly the unhappy wight did not know that this is a theory largely held by foreign metaphysicians. It is quite clear that he never read the deep wondrous Hindoo mythology, at the very root of which this conception lies. The 'skirts of self' are simply the outskirts of individuality—that which marks off the conscious Entity from the All-an expression which requires thought, no doubt; but, then, the theory which he is opposing is not quite as easy as the articles of the daily newspapers, with which this gentleman is familiar; and I do not see why Mr. Tennyson is to be expected to make the statement of it intelligible at first reading to a penny-a-liner. Then comes the criticism about the whole being exaggerated, and expressed sometimes in terms of amatory fondness. Exaggeration is, of course, to be tried by the affections of a paid littérateur or politician! A statist art thou, in the van Of public conflicts trained and bred; Then mayst thou think upon the dead. Of course it is exaggerated love to those who feel feebly. Then, as to the amatory tenderness: this, too, is ignorance of human nature; the friendship of a schoolboy is as full of tenderness, and jealousy, and passionateness, as even love itself. I remember my own affection for G. R. M. How my heart beat at seeing him; how the consciousness of his listening while I was at reading or translating annihilated the presence of the master; how I fought for him; how, to rescue him at prisoners' base, turned the effect of mere play into a ferocious determination, as if the captivity were real; how my blood crept cold with delight when he came to rescue me, or when he praised me. And this miserable quill-driver, in the very spirit of flunkeyism, calls this poem exaggerated, because all the poetry of the affections is made ludicrous by remembering that this Amaryllis was a barrister at the Chancery bar. If the Chancery bar, or any other accident of a man's environment, destroys the real poetry of life, then the human soul has no worth but that which comes from its trappings—an idea which I reckon about the most decisive proof of a vulgar soul which can be found. As to the tenderness, too, he is obliged to include Shakspeare in the accusation. Now, it may be a very presumptuous thing to say, but it is just conceivable that Shakspeare knew as much about what is human and true, and what is the true mode of expressing it in words, as this writer. CXXIII. That is a striking passage which you quote, about the Jews having believed and swindled since the days of Jacob. It shows how separable devotedness may be from morality; there being religious men who are immoral, and moral men who are unreligious, the former chiefly amongst southern temperaments, the latter amongst the northerns. That, too, about Socrates: I am certain that most Englishmen would have hemlocked him, just as the Jews built the sepulchres of the old prophets, and in the spirit of their fathers stoned the prophets and crucified the Prophet of their own day: thus allowing the deeds of their fathers. I read Hartley Coleridge's life with pain and instruction. Something wrong in the blood, both father and son wanting will. 'Coleridge,' said someone of the father, ‘is a good man—a very good man; but, somehow, as soon as a duty presents itself in a practical way, he cannot do it.' On the subject of binding and loosing, I do not know how I can explain it better; but remember 'loosing from sin' implies making a severance between it and the soul; 'binding it,' means identifying it with the character. You seem to look upon it as only relating to a forgiveness which is irrespective of character, and so the forgiveness of man is no doubt an uncertain pledge of God's forgiveness. Now I show a fact: that man does actually bind and loose-does fix sin upon the character-does by this treatment take the burden off and free from it henceforth. No one can deny that fact. It may be very dreadful, or very glorious, but here it is, and we cannot divest ourselves of our power, we can use it or abuse it. We may, representatively show mercy when we ought to show God's wrath, and vice versâ, but effects follow whether we will or not. Of course there are counteracting circumstances mercifully interposed; otherwise, the unjust judgments of men, singly and collectively, would be in every case final, which would be hideous indeed. A man unjustly condemned and shunned may be wise and strong enough not to accept it in any sense as mirroring God's award; but to a weak and ill-informed conscience, even when innocent, it does so far represent it as to make him an outcast, and at last degraded. 'Give a dog an ill name,' &c. Much more, then, does it carry this power when the guilt is real. The Church, which is Christian society, and every Christian individual, are to perceive this power instead of disclaiming it, and to use it for God, and truly, instead of untruly. CHAPTER X. 1852. Feelings and Interests of Mr. Robertson in January 1852-His Pleasure in Ornithology-His resolute Work-Character of his Sermons-His Humility, Gentleness-His proud Sternness and Indignation-Two Anecdotes in Illustration-His Efforts in behalf of the Mechanics' Institute-The Two Lectures on the 'Influence of Poetry on the Working Classes '-Their Results upon the Working Men-Letters of Mr. Drummond and Lord Carlisle upon the Lectures and the Replies-Criticism by the South Church Union'— Reply on the Points, that Severance from all Parties and Maxims is a First Principle in seeking after Truth;' that 'Poetry is always most cultivated in Effeminate Ages'-Visit to Cheltenham-Sermons preached at Lewes Assizes—Address presented by the Young Men of his Congregation-His Speech on the Occasion-His Confirmation Class-The Elections at Brighton in 1852-Proposition to open the Crystal Palace on Sunday—Sermon and Letters on the Subject-Orthodox Attacks-Close of the Year. Letters from January 24, 1852, to December 1852. T1 HE only record of Robertson's life and pursuits during the first month of this year is the following letter to a friend in S. America : 60, Montpelier Road, Brighton, January, 1852. What shall I say of your bitter loss? There is nothing to be said. God is Love. All is well and all is right. These are the old, simple, primary truths; but time alone can teach you and me how true. Do you know Tennyson's 'In Memoriam'? It is the most precious work published this century—written in |