Into the merits of that remarkable middle age of the century we cannot enter in much detail. Tennyson holds unimperilled the throne of the poet of the time. That his thought is not especially penetrating, whether he deals with the intricacies of human character, or with the problems of the universe, may be readily admitted. But I am unaware that any poet has yet “got the absolute into a corner,” or solved the problems of the universe. Tennyson, more than people suppose, was, personally, a mystic, with his own mystic experiences; and his philosophy was influenced by them. He “followed the Gleam.” Neither in the _Idylls of the King_ nor in plays, was dramatic rendering of character his forte. His forte was charm, and music, and the interpretation of nature. In these he is the equal of the Mantuan, is the Virgil of the modern world, “golden branch among the shadows.” Moreover, he has infinite variety: from _Mariana_ to _Fatima_ and _Rizpah_; from the _Lotos-Eaters_, which “adds a new charm” after the _Faërie Queene_, to the _Northern Farmer_, from _Ulysses_ to _Crossing the Bar_. The early _Morte d’Arthur_ is of unsurpassed nobility and magic; the last poem, _Crossing the Bar_, is no less pre-eminent in these qualities. Tennyson, in short, had genius; new, as all genius is new, and no occasional defects of taste or temper can impair the splendor and richness of his gift to the world, nor the immortality of his fame. His contemporary, Browning, had the misfortune to attract, by his faults, the people who wish to believe themselves clever, because they labor at appreciating passages which the poet had made obscure. Darkness is not depth, nor is obscurity a merit. From his letters it is plain that Mr. Browning had not the gift of lucid expression; from his poems it is manifest that he had not, in a high degree, the gift of verbal music and of charms. His gift of the grotesque, very real and original, was also his snare. In _Christmas Eve_ and _Easter Day_, with _Men and Women_, we have the true essence of Browning at his best; we have his dramatic lyrics, with their amazing abundance of character and variety of measure. After the first fascinating volume _The Ring and the Book_ became monotonous. One song in _Paracelsus_, to myself, seems worth all the dissection of character in the blank verse. There are many who find a kind of spiritual help in such pieces as _Prospice_. There are thousands who find in _Men and Women_ a sort of intellectual enjoyment (or entertainment) which they can derive from no other poet who ever lived. An energy, life, and sympathy, breaking forth in fresh, unheard-of ways; vocal in strange, piercing, untried measures: these are the imperishable qualities of Browning. Look at his rendering of the Agamemnon: such is his version of life. The poetry of Æschylus is not there: “_carmina desunt_”; but there is a new, odd, unexpected rendering of the tragedy. So poignant and broken, sad, glad, grotesque,