Dire rebel though he was,

Yet with a noble nature and great gifts
Was he endow'd-courage, discretion, wit,
An equal temper and an ample soul,
Rock-bound and fortified against assaults
Of transitory passion, but below

Built on a surging subterranean fire
That stirred and lifted him to high attempts.
So prompt and capable, and yet so calm,
He nothing lacked in sovereignty but the right,
Nothing in soldiership except good fortune.

It is most assuredly a splendid poem, and from the time of its first publication in 1834, has been praised by all classes of readers.

There is no man of letters whose life seems to me to be so enviable as Henry Taylor's. He was devoid of ambition, that "last infirmity of noble minds," and consequently could look upon life with serenity and contentment. He could say, as he did most truthfully in two pleasing

stanzas:

It may be folly-they are few

Who think it so-to laugh or blame;
But single sympathies to me

Are more than fame.

The glen, and not the mountain top,

I love, and though its date be brief,
I snatch the rose you send and drop
The laurel leaf.

He was born in the county of Durham, England, October 18, 1800, the same month and year in which Macaulay was born. He was a younger son, his father being a farmer, but notably fond of books and study. Henry was educated at home, browsing at large in his father's library-not a bad way of bringing up boys. At fourteen he tried a year at sea as a midshipman, but returned cured. Until he was twenty-one or twenty-two he read, studied and wrote both poetry and prose at home, and one day sent an article reviewing " Moore's Melodies" to the Quarterly Review. It was accepted, and he concluded to adopt a literary life. He went to London to pursue that calling, made a good impression on the friends he had introductions to, and through the kind offices of Sir Henry Holland, obtained an appointment as clerk in the British Colonial office with an excellent salary. This gave him an opportunity to cultivate the muses without having to think much about his daily bread. He entered this office in January, 1824, and remained continuously in the service, receiving promotions, of course, until September, 1872. During this long and unostentatious civil career he proved to be one of the most valued of public servants, and the great officials, nominally over him, constantly advised

with him in regard to affairs in his department. In his fortieth year he married a daughter of Lord Monteagle, and his domestic life proved very happy. At the age of sixty-five he commenced writing his autobiography, which he brought down to the year 1875. It was published in 1885, and is a most charming book, which I can heartily recommend to all my readers. He died a year later at the age of eighty-six. It was his good fortune to know all the men best worth knowing in England during his lifetime, and his autobiography and letters give many pleasing glimpses of them.

What strikes one most in his career is the calmness and serenity of the man. His works show that he was a man of extraordinary ability, and he was so regarded by all who knew him. His chief prose work is "The Statesman," which is full of all that sort of knowledge that a politician should have in order to gain power. He was himself a far-seeing statesman and man of affairs. Had he so minded, he could have won great distinction, if not permanent renown, in the field of English politics. And yet he deliberately evaded it, and continued a mere subordinate official through life. In 1878, after he had retired, he wrote to Lady Russell :

Your mother may think I am a Tory, because I voted for a man of that party in the last election. It was the only occasion on which I ever did vote for anybody, and at the next election I mean to vote for a man of the other party; the character of the man, and not the party which he belongs to, being in both cases the ground of my vote.

After the publication of "Van Artevelde," Taylor's fame as a poet was established. The felicitous subject, the exquisite style, the picturesqueness of the story, and the striking aphorisms attracted wide attention and fame, and it has held its place very well in England even to this day. As late as 1875 Taylor wrote to Lady Pollock : "Old Philip' goes on just as he has done for forty years, selling about two hundred copies per annum." In 1877 he published a complete revised edition of all his works. They are contained in six volumes. Other dramatic poems of his are "Isaac Comnenus," "Edwin, the Fair," and "The Virgin Widow." The last two have considerable merit, though the scene of them is laid in the least poetic part of Anglo-Saxon history.

"Van Artevelde," however, is about all that is worth reading of these volumes. It is the highest literature, and will long preserve the name of Henry Taylor.

JOANNA BAILLIE,

A FORGOTTEN DRAMATIST.

(1762-1851.)

EVERY now and then we see the name of Joanna Baillie mentioned, and the wonder is expressed if any of her once celebrated works are now read.

It is extremely doubtful, except by the very curious and the very persistent, but there was a time when her works were in the hands of everybody and her fame overshadowed that of Wordsworth and Coleridge, of Southey and Shelley.

Walter Scott declared her to be second to Shakespeare, and Byron said she was the only woman who had ever written tragedy.

Scott, Southey, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Lamb, Byron, Shelley, and Keats were her contemporaries, and all joined in praising her. In the early years of the nineteenth century she was considered greater than any of these, not only by the public at large, but by the critics. She survived them