Are we never to feel spurred to any poetical pleasure more vigorous than dilly-dallying with Keats while we feast our eyes upon the wideness of the seas? or lazily floating in a lotus land with Tennyson, perhaps, among the meadows of the Musketaquid, in canoes with silken cushions? Beauty and peace are the reward of such poetical pleasures. They fall upon the spirit like the "sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odor," but shall we never return from the land where it is always afternoon? Is it only in such a land as this that we realize the true power of emotion? Rather does it conduce to the slumber of emotion, for progress is the law of feeling as it is the law of life, and many times we feel--yes, feel--with tremendous rushes of enthusiasm like climbing Matterhorns with great iron nails in our shoes, with historical and archæological and philosophical Alpen-stocks in our hands, and when we reach the summit what unsuspected beauties become ours! Then let us hear no more of the critic who wishes Browning had ceased to write in 1868 or at any other date. It may be said of him, not as of Whitman, "he who reads my book touches a man," but "he who reads my poems from start to finish grasps the life and thought of a century." There will be no exaggeration in claiming that these two series of poems form the keystone to Browning's whole work. They are like a final synthesis of the problems of existence which he has previously portrayed and analyzed from myriad points of view in his dramatic presentation of character and his dramatic interpretations of spiritual moods. In "Pauline," before the poet's personality became more or less merged in that of his characters, we obtain a direct glimpse of the poet's own artistic temperament, and may literally acquaint ourselves with those qualities which were to be a large influence in moulding his work. As described by himself, the poet of "Pauline" was "Made up of an intensest life, Of a most clear idea of consciousness Of self, distinct from all its qualities, From all affections, passions, feelings, powers; And thus far it exists, if tracked, in all: But linked in me to self-supremacy, Existing as a center to all things, Most potent to create and rule and call Upon all things to minister to it." This sense of an over-consciousness is the mark of an objective poet--one who sympathizes with all the emotions and aspirations of humanity--interprets their actions through the light of this sympathy, and at the same time keeps his own individuality distinct. The poet of this poem discovers that he can no longer lose himself with enthusiasm in any phase of life; but what does that mean to a soul constituted as his? It means that the way has been cleared for the birth of that greater, broader love of the fully developed artist soul which, while entering into sympathy with all phases of life, finds its true complement only in an ideal of absolute Love.