ways removing,

Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving.

And though, in blindness, he remained unconscious of that guiding,

And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing,

He testified this solemn truth, while frenzy desolatedNor man nor nature satisfy whom only God created.

Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother whilst she blesses

And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses

That turns his fevered eyes around-'My mother! where's my mother?'

As if such tender words and deeds could come from any

other!

ROBERT BROWNING.

The head of what has been termed the psychowho for more than thirty years has been recoglogical school of poetry is MR ROBERT BROWNING, nised as one of our most original and intellectual poets. Latterly, the public-to use his own words

The British Public, ye who like me not

(God love you!), whom I yet have laboured for, have been more indulgent to the poet, and more ready to acknowledge his real merits. Mr Browning first attracted attention in 1836, when he published his poem of Paracelsus. He had previously published anonymously a poem entitled Pauline, a Fragment of a Confession. Paracelsus evinced that love of psychological analysis and that subtle imagination more fully displayed in the author's later works. It is the history of a soul struggling and aspiring after hidden knowledge, power, and happiness

All ambitious, upwards tending,

Like plants in mines, which never saw the sun

but is thwarted and baffled in the visionary pursuit. For an author of twenty-four years of age, this was a remarkable poem. Mr Browning next tried the historical drama. In 1837 his tragedy of Strafford was brought on the stage, the hero It was played several nights, but cannot be said being personated by Macready, a favourite actor.

to have been successful. Mr Horne, in his New Spirit of the Age, characterises it as a 'piece of passionate action with the bones of poetry.' Van Dyck's portrait of Strafford, so well known from copies and engravings, will always, we suspect, eclipse or supersede any pen-and-ink delineation of the splendid apostate. The poet now went to Italy, where he resided several years, and in 1841 he sent forth another psychological poem-'the richest puzzle to all lovers of poetry which was ever given to the world'-a thin volume entitled Sordello. Mr Browning's subsequent works were in a dramatic form and spirit, the most popular being Pippa Passes, forming part of a series called Bells and Pomegranates (1841-44), of which a second collection was published containing some exquisite sketches and monologues. 'Pippa is a girl from a silk-factory, who passes the various persons of the play at certain critical moments, in the course of her holiday, and becomes unconsciously to herself a determining influence on the fortune of each.' In 1843 the poet produced another regular drama, a tragedy entitled A Blot in the Scutcheon, which was acted at Drury Lane with moderate success, and is the best of the author's plays. Next to it is King Victor and King Charles, a tragedy in four acts, in which the characters are well drawn and well contrasted. Altogether Mr Browning has written eight plays and two short dramatic sketches, A Soul's Tragedy and In a Balcony. Some of the others-The Return of the Druses, Colombe's Birthday, and Luria-are superior productions both in conception and execution. Two narrative poems, Christmas Eve and Easter Day, present the author's marked peculiarities-grotesque imagery, insight into the human heart, vivid painting, and careless, faulty versification. In principle, the poet is thoroughly

orthodox, and treats the two great Christian festivals in a Christian spirit. Of the lighter pieces of the author, the most popular is The Pied Piper of Hamelin, a Child's Story, told with inimitable liveliness and spirit, and with a flow of rattling rhymes and quaint fancies rivalling Southey's Cataract of Lodore. This amusing production is as unlike the usual style of its author as John Gilpin is unlike the usual style of Cowper.

In 1855 the reputation of Mr Browning was greatly enhanced by the publication of a collection of poems, fifty in number, bearing the comprehensive title of Men and Women. In 1864 another volume of character sketches appeared, entitled Dramatis Persona; and in 1868 was produced the most elaborate of all his works, The Ring and the Book, an Italian story of the seventeenth century concerning certain assassins

Put to death

By heading or hanging, as befitted ranks, At Rome on February twenty-two, Since our salvation sixteen ninety-eight. The latest works of Mr Browning are Balaustion's Adventure, including a Transcript from Euripides (1871)-which is another recital of the story of Alcestes, supposed to be told by a Greek girl who had witnessed the performance; Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society (1871), a name under which is thinly veiled the name of Louis Napoleon; Fifine at the Fair (1872); Red Cotton Night-cap Country (1873); and Aristophanes Apology, including a Transcript from Euripides, being the last Adventure of Balaustion (1875). Of Aristophanes

Splendour of wit that springs a thunder ball—
Satire-to burn and purify the world,
True aim, fair purpose-

we have this bright pen-and-ink portrait :

And no ignoble presence! on the bulge

Of the clear baldness-all his head one browTrue, the veins swelled, blue network, and there surged

A red from cheek to temple-then retired

As if the dark-leaved chaplet damped a flame-
Was never nursed by temperance or health.
But huge the eyeballs rolled black native fire,
Imperiously triumphant, nostrils wide

Waited their incense; while the pursed mouth's pout
Aggressive, while the beak supreme above,

While the head, face, nay, pillared throat thrown back,

Beard whitening under like a vinous foam-
These made a glory of such insolence,

I thought, such domineering deity

Hephaistos might have carved to cut the brine
For his gay brother's prow, imbrue that path
Which, purpling, recognised the conqueror.
Impudent and majestic: drunk, perhaps,
But that's religion; sense too plainly snuffed:
Still, sensuality was grown a rite.

In 1875 also appeared from the prolific pen of the poet The Inn Album.

A fertile and original author with high and generous aims, Mr Browning has proved his poetic power alike in thought, description, passion, and conception of character. But the effect of even his happiest productions is marred by obscurity, by eccentricities of style and expression, and by the intrusion of familiar phrases and

Hudibrastic rhymes or dry metaphysical discussions. His choice of subjects-chiefly Italianhis stories of monastic life, repulsive crimes, and exceptional types of character-are also against his popularity." The Ring and the Book is prolix : four volumes of blank verse, in which the same tale of murder is told by various interlocutors, with long digressions from old chronicles and other sources-such a work must repel all but devoted poetical readers. These, however, Mr Browning has obtained, and the student who perseveres, digging for the pure untempered gold' of poetry, will find his reward in the pages of this master of psychological monologues and dramatic lyrics.

Mr Browning is a native of Camberwell in Surrey, born in 1812, and educated at the London University. He is also an honorary Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford. In November 1846 he was married, as already stated, to Miss Elizabeth Barrett. Of Mr Browning's many descriptions of the sunny south,' the following is a favourable specimen, and Miss Mitford states that it was admired by Mr Ruskin for its exceeding truthfulness:

Picture of the Grape-harvest.

But to-day not a boat reached Salerno,
So back to a man

Came our friends, with whose help in the vineyards
Grape-harvest began :

In the vat half-way up on our house-side
Like blood the juice spins,

While your brother all bare-legged is dancing
Till breathless he grins,

Dead-beaten, in effort on effort

To keep the grapes under,

For still when he seems all but master,
In pours the fresh plunder

From girls who keep coming and going
With basket on shoulder,

And eyes shut against the rain's driving,
Your girls that are older-

For under the hedges of aloe,

And where, on its bed

Of the orchard's black mould, the love-apple
Lies pulpy and red,

All the young ones are kneeling and filling
Their laps with the snails,

Tempted out by the first rainy weather-
Your best of regales,

As to-night will be proved to my sorrow,
When, supping in state,

We shall feast our grape-gleaners-two dozen,
Three over one plate-

Macaroni, so tempting to swallow,

In slippery strings,

And gourds fried in great purple slices,

That colour of kings.

Meantime, see the grape-bunch they've brought you-
The rain-water slips

O'er the heavy blue bloom on each globe
Which the wasp to your lips

Still follows with fretful persistence.
Nay, taste while awake,

This half of a curd-white smooth cheese-ball,
That peels, flake by flake,

Like an onion's, each smoother and whiter;
Next sip this weak wine

From the thin green glass flask, with its stopper,
A leaf of the vine;

And end with the prickly pear's red flesh,
That leaves through its juice
The stony black seeds on your pearl teeth.

At last the people in a body

To the Town Hall came flocking:

''Tis clear,' cried they, 'our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation-shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you 're old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease?
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,

Or, sure as fate, we 'll send you packing!'
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

An hour they sat in council,

At length the Mayor broke silence :
'For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell ;
I wish I were a mile hence!

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I've scratched so, and all in vain;
O for a trap, a trap, a trap!'

Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber-door but a gentle tap!

'Bless us,' cried the Mayor, 'what's that?' (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little, though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister, Than a too-long-opened oyster,

Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
For a plate of turtle green and glutinous),
'Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?
Anything like the sound of a raɩ
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!'

V.

'Come in!'-the Mayor cried, looking bigger : And in did come the strangest figure.

His queer long coat from heel to head
Was half of yellow and half of red;
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in—
There was no guessing his kith and kin!

He advanced to the Council-table :

And, 'Please your honours,' said he, 'I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm

On creatures that do people harm,

The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.'

(And here they noticed round his neck

A scarf of red and yellow stripe,

To match with his coat of the self-same check; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;

And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying, As if impatient to be playing

Upon this pipe, as low it dangled

Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

'Yet,' said he, 'poor piper as I am,

In Tartary I freed the Cham,

Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;

I eased in Asia the Nizam

Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats :
And, as for what your brain bewilders,
If I can rid your town of rats,

Will you give me a thousand guilders?' 'One? fifty thousand ! '-was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

VII.

Into the street the Piper stept,

Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then, like a musical adept,

To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the house the rats came tumbling.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-
Followed the Piper for their lives.

From street to street he piped advancing,
And step by step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished
-Save one, who, stout as Julius Cæsar,
Swam across, and lived to carry

(As he the manuscript he cherished)

To Rat-land home his commentary,

Which was 'At the first shrill notes of the pipe,

I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,

And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
Into a cider-press's gripe;

And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter casks;
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery

FROM 1830

Is breathed) called out: "O rats, rejoice!
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
To munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!"
And just as a bulky sugar puncheon,
All ready staved, like a great sun shone
Glorious scarce an inch before me,

Just as methought it said, "Come, bore me!"
-I found the Weser rolling o'er me.'

VIII.

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
'Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles!
Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats!'-when suddenly up the face
Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
With a, 'First, if you please, my thousand guilders!'

IX.

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;
So did the Corporation too.

For Council dinners made rare havoc
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
And half the money would replenish
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!

'Beside,' quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink,
'Our business was done at the river's brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what 's dead can't come to life, I think.
So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you something to drink,
And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty;
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!'

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry

To the children merrily skipping by-
And could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However he turned from south to west,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.

'He never can cross that mighty top!
He 's forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!'

When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,

As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;

And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last,

The door in the mountain-side shut fast.

Did I say all? No! one was lame,

And could not dance the whole of the way;

And in after-years, if you would blame

His sadness, he was used to say:

'It's dull in our town since my playmates left;

I can't forget that I 'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see,

Which the Piper also promised me;
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town, and just at hand,

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new ;

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings;
And horses were born with eagle's wings;
And just as I became assured

My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped, and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!'

XIV.

Alas, alas for Hamelin !

There came into many a burgher's pate
A text which says, that heaven's gate
Opes to the rich at as easy rate

As the needle's eye takes a camel in!
The Mayor sent east, west, north, and south,
To offer the Piper by word of mouth,

Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,

And bring the children all behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never

Should think their records dated duly,
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear:
'And so long after what happened here
On the twenty-second of July,