From the nature of English satire up to the eighteenth century, we do not expect, nor do we find, much interest in this phase of it. Then comes Young,[54] reviving the Horatian caution: “Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother’s heart?” And Cowper[55] completes the portrait: “Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame; He hides behind a magisterial air His own offenses, and strips others bare; Affects, indeed, a most humane concern, That men, if gently tutor’d, will not learn; That mulish folly, not to be reclaimed By softer methods, must be made ashamed;” De Quincey[56] uses Pope as a horrible example of this failing, contrasting him with the indignant Juvenal: “Pope, having no such internal principle of wrath boiling in his breast, * * * was unavoidably a hypocrite of the first magnitude when he affected (or sometimes really conceited himself) to be in a dreadful passion with offenders as a body. It provokes fits of laughter * * * to watch him in the process of brewing the storm that spontaneously will not come; whistling, like a mariner, for a wind to fill his satiric sails; and pumping up into his face hideous grimaces in order to appear convulsed with histrionic rage. * * * As it is, the short puffs of anger, the uneasy snorts of fury in Pope’s satires, give one painfully the feeling of a locomotive-engine with unsound lungs.” Whether these strictures are just or not, the principle back of them is sound; and more pithily summed up by Landor’s[57] “Nobody but an honest man has a right to scoff at anything.” Browning[58] carries the idea a step farther, and sounds a warning to dwellers in glass houses: “Have you essayed attacking ignorance, Convicting folly, by their opposites, Knowledge and wisdom? Not by yours for ours, Fresh ignorance and folly, new for old, Greater for less, your crime for our mistake!” The demand for kindliness of temper may seem paradoxical, but for that very reason it is the more insistent. Being under suspicion of unkindness, vindictive spite, retaliation, satire must either admit the charge or prove the contrary, for the real paradox lies in the highest moral claim being made for the literary _genre_ of the greatest immoral possibilities. However, until the modern humanitarian cult came in, it seemed content to admit the charge. After Horace, with a few isolated exceptions, as Swift[59] and Cowper,[60] satire seemed rather to cherish malice and glory in rudeness, often mistaking peevish scolding for noble scorn. Its keynote was “A flash of that satiric rage,” or, according to Hall, “The Satire should be like the porcupine, That shoots sharp quills out in each angry line.” Byron was the last example of both the professional, concentrated form and the truculent mood. Tennyson[61] voices the new spirit of his century: