After continuous work was interdicted, he still contributed verse and prose to the periodicals. His essays have been collected by Professor Nichol, under the title 'Thoughts on Art, Philosophy, and Religion.' As a poet Dobell belongs to the so-called "spasmodic school," a school "characterized by an undercurrent of discontent with the mystery of existence, by vain effort, unrewarded struggle, skeptical unrest, and an uneasy striving after some incomprehensible end.... Poetry of this kind is marked by an excess of metaphor which darkens rather than illustrates, and by a general extravagance of language. On the other hand, it manifests freshness and originality, and a rich natural beauty." Dobell's descriptions of scenery are among the finest in English literature. His senses were abnormally acute, like those of a savage, a condition which intensified his appreciation of natural beauty. Possessing a vivid imagination and wide sympathies, he was often over-subtle and obscure. He strove to realize in himself his ideal of a poet, and during his years of ill-health gave himself up to promoting the welfare of his fellow-men; but of his seventeen years of inactivity he says:--"The keen perception of all that should be done, and that so bitterly cries for doing, accompanies the consciousness of all that I might but cannot do." EPIGRAM ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD FORBES Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low. He wooed and won her; and, by love made bold, She showed him more than mortal man should know-- Then slew him lest her secret should be told. HOW'S MY BOY? "Ho, sailor of the sea! How's my boy--my boy?"-- "What's your boy's name, good wife, And in what good ship sailed he?" "My boy John-- He that went to sea-- What care I for the ship, sailor? My boy's my boy to me. "You come back from the sea, And not know my John? I might as well have asked some landsman, Yonder down in the town. There's not an ass in all the parish But knows my John. "How's my boy--my boy? And unless you let me know, I'll swear you are no sailor, Blue jacket or no-- Brass buttons or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no-- "Sure, his ship was the Jolly Briton--" "Speak low, woman, speak low! "And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am proud I'd sing him over the town! Why should I speak low, sailor?"-- "That good ship went down." "How's my boy--my boy? What care I for the ship, sailor? I was never aboard her. Be she afloat or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound Her owners can afford her! I say, how's my John?"-- "Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her."