In our next chapter we shall come upon a critic, who was a famous editor--adroit, strong, waspish, bookish, and ignoble. We shall encounter a king, too--of whom we have thus far only had glimpses--who was jolly--excellently limbed and conditioned physically--a man “of an infinite jest,” too, and yet as arrant a dastard--by all old-fashioned moral measures of character--as Falstaff himself. Again we shall follow traces of a great poet--but never a favorite one--who has left markings of his career, strong and deep; a man who had a Greek’s delight in things of beauty, and a Greek’s subtlety of touch; but one can fancy a faun’s ears showing their tips upon his massive head, and (without fancy) grow conscious of a heathenism clouding his great culture. Other two poets of lighter mould we shall meet;--more gracious, lighter pinioned--prettily flitting--iridescent--grace and sparkle in their utterances, but leaving no strong markings “upon the sands of time.” CHAPTER IV. We have wandered much in our two last chapters beyond what may be reckoned strictly English lands, into that pleasant region lying between the Tweed and the Firth of Forth; and it was north of the heights of Lammermuir and of the Pentland Hills, and in that delightful old city which is dominated by the lesser heights of the Salisbury crags, the Castle Rock, and Calton Hill, that we found the builders of that great _Review_, which in its livery of buff and blue still carries its original name. I traced the several careers of Sydney Smith, Lord Brougham, and Judge Jeffrey; the first of these, from a humble village curacy, coming to be one of the most respected literary men of England, and an important official of St. Paul’s Cathedral; if his wit had been less lively he might have risen to a bishopric. Brougham was, first, essayist, then advocate, then Parliamentary orator, then Reformer, then Lord High Chancellor--purging the courts of much legal trumpery--always a scold and quarreller, and gaining in the first year of William IV. his barony of Brougham and Vaux: hence the little squib of verse, which will help to keep his exact title in mind: “Why is Lord Brougham like a sweeping man That close by the pavement walks? Because when he’s done all the sweep that he can He takes up his _Broom_ and _Valks_!” As for Jeffrey, he became by his resolute industry and his literary graces and aptitudes one of the most admired and honored critics of Great Britain. _Gifford and His Quarterly._ Our start-point to-day is on the Thames--in that devouring city of London, which very early in the century was laying its tentacles of growth on all the greenness that lay between Blackwall and Bayswater, and which--athwart the Thames shores--strode blightingly from Clapham to Hackney.