this idea is not sanctioned by the best authorities, who consider it more probable that the work never was completed by its author. Judging by the time occupied in the composition of the first six books, the period allowed is quite too short for the completion of six more. The fourth, fifth, and sixth books are confessedly inferior to the original three; and it is thence concluded that the poet found the subject, as planned, too heavy for him; and wisely forbore to attempt the entire development of an allegory which, judging by what we have, would have stretched out almost to the "crack of doom,"* wearying the reader in proportion as it overtasked the writer.† Spenser, with all his dignified sense of power, was a modest man, not likely to overrate his own ability; and with taste equal to the strength of his imagination, he was as little likely to be blind to the falling off observable in the poem. He would naturally note the period when labor began to take the place of impulse; and, the Queen being his first great effort, he would not probably overrate his creations, as did Milton, when self-esteem had been fed to the uttermost by the transcendant merit of the work on which he had expended the flower of his strength. These, and other considerations, added to the entire lack of testimony as to the existence of more of the poem than we now possess, are deemed conclusive as to its having been completed beyond the sixth book.

A few sad words will now conclude this unsatisfactory account of the third name in English literature. The disastrous flight from Ireland, the poverty which ensued upon the loss of the Irish property, and, above all, the death of the child by so dreadful

* One Canto of the Faëry Queen is as long as some books of the Iliad or Æneid; one Book therefore, consisting of twelve cantos, is as large as an ordinary epic.

† Sir John Stradling says, however, that part of Spenser's MSS. were burnt, and the "Legend of Constancie" was actually published in 1609, as a part of those which had been saved.

SPENSER AND THE FAERY QUEEN.

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an accident, would seem to have been too much for the sensitive heart of the poet. Some have imagined him as suffering the extreme of destitution after his return to London, but this seems

impossible. Where was Gabriel Harvey? Where Raleigh, who, though grasping, was generous too? And Essex who gave him a splendid funeral, and appeared at it himself as a mourner? Spenser must have lived at least a year in London, and these and other friends must have been acquainted with his condition. His pension. of fifty pounds was larger than it seems to us now, and he had done nothing to forfeit the favor of the queen, but much to glorify her reign. We will not, therefore, adopt the painful suggestion that Spenser's fate resembled that of so many poets, in the penurious misery of its close. There is no hint of his having been accused of prodigality; his life was characterized by a high and pure morality, and no student of his character and works can doubt that as a husband and father the poet, gave way to the man. We choose, therefore, the more tolerable

belief that his "poverty was only such as contrasted with the comfort and abundance of his beloved home; his misery the loss of that home, and the sight of the dear ones on whose account he had chiefly prized it. Yet we fear his premature death must be ascribed to the wrench from so much that he loved, the interruption of his darling occupations, and the sense that the world was to be begun anew for the support of those so dear to him, acting upon a heart too finely strung to endure the rude blasts of fortune. So says the concurrent voice of authority and tradition, and we must receive the truth, mournful as it is. To one who was born and lived a poet, in the highest and most comprehensive sense of the term, we must not look for stoical or even practical philosophy.

He died, not as "a shock of corn fully ripe," but like the rich grain storm-blasted. His remains were laid in Westminster Abbey, and near those of "Father Chaucer," it is said at

his own request. Poets bore the pall that covered him, and threw into the grave tributary verses with the pens that wrote them. The noble Essex appeared as chief mourner, and we love his memory for the comely act. England's best and fairest wept for the romantic poet. He was not unappreciated during his life; but at his death he was ranked among the true-born sons of heaven.

Thirty years after his death, Anne, Countess of Dorset, erected a monument to his memory. Queen Elizabeth is said to have ordered one, but some envious soul-not Burghley, for he died a year before the poet-intercepted the intended benignity. Browne, in "Britannia's Pastorals," ascribes the failure to "curst avarice" of some "factor" employed by the Queen, and tells us the tribute was to have been

"A pyramis, whose head, like wingéd fame,

Should pierce the clouds, yea, seem the stars to kiss;"

and he curses bitterly the wretch who "robbed our Colin of his monument." The countess's monument was defaced during the civil wars, and restored to its present condition, at the expense of Pembroke College, in 1778. The inscription, which was at first in Latin, calls Spenser "facile princeps" of the poets of his time. The English one which replaced this when the tablet was restored, declares that his divine spirit needs no other witness than the works which he left behind him; an opinion in which we of this age heartily concur, believing that no poet ever left more evident testimony of his love for virtue and religion, and his desire that all men should be persuaded to be 'holy, and just, and true," as the best and only means of happi

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ness.

It has been well said of Milton, who owned Spenser for a master in art, that his "genius had angelic wings, and fed on manna," and we may say as much of Spenser, however he may

differ in tone from the sterner poet. With imagination and fancy almost boundless, his reverence for goodness,—not heathen but Christian goodness,―reigns paramount; and his verse performs the highest office of poetry-that of making virtue attractive, by showing that it is truly its own exceeding great reward. In person, Spenser was small and delicate, and in his dress precise, as became a man of taste. His face, well known from several portraits, has all the sweetness and delicacy that we require as accordant with the tone of his poetry. The mild, almondshaped eye, brow slightly elevated, the mouth compressed just enough to suggest the idea that there was felt some need of patience, give an impression of dreamy repose not without pensiveness. The forehead is lofty, but less expanded than that of Shakspeare or Milton; and the whole countenance indicative more of an exalted tone than of great force of character. This aspect is in accordance with the fact that Spenser enjoyed a universal good-will scarcely compatible with any decided strength of determination, or pursuit of objects in which other men might be competitors. This good-will is abundantly proved in many ways; but chiefly by a complete exemption from satire, although the most unbridled satire was the fashion of the day, and Spenser's most intimate friend, Gabriel Harvey, was pursued even to premature grey hairs by the malice of Nash. Considering the praise that was lavished upon Spenser by the best judges of the times, who compared him with Homer, and indeed went to the most extravagant lengths in contriving modes of encomium, we must ascribe the total silence of the tongue of satire, which dared even to attack Shakspeare himself, to a peculiar gentleness in Spenser's nature which softened all men's hearts towards him. "With what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you again."

As to the exalted moral character and tendency of the writings of Spenser, there has been but one voice from his own day to the

present. Milton calls him "Our sage, serious Spenser, whom I dare be known to think a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas,' and this sentiment has been echoed, in some form or other, by all who have given an opinion on the subject. Equally uniform has been the testimony to the dazzling splendor of Spenser's genius, which, for originality and grandeur of conception, has been placed by the first critics in the same rank with that of Homer, Dante and Shakspeare. Homer created a mythology, but his gods, like his men, were "of the earth, earthy." Dante showed new worlds of horror and of light, but tyrannical or vindictive human passions reigned paramount in both, too often leaving impressions of disgust rather than pleasure. The tone of Spenser's poetry is unworldly, abstracted, contemplative, in the highest degree; conversant ever with high themes, however lowly and simple the images used to illustrate them; touching the deepest strings of the universal heart, to bring out such sweet and tender music as is to be found only there; making plain the things which belong unto our peace, by the light of no common day." His grace and delicacy may be called superhuman, so completely do they seem to belong to a sphere above ours. The creative poetic faculty so abounded in him, that his successors in art have gone to him as to a fountain. Cowley and Dryden delighted to acknowledge their obligations to him, and hosts of inferior poets have imitated him without acknowledgment. He is peculiarly the poet of poets, as Charles Lamb called him, and who better qualified than Lamb to characterize "Faërie Spenser ?” Leigh Hunt, another enthusiast in the art of arts, says, "Spenser's great characteristic is poetic luxury. If you go to him for a story, you will be disappointed; if for a style classical or concise, the point is conceded; if for pathos, you must weep for personages half real and too beautiful; if for mirth, you must laugh out of good breeding, and because it pleaseth the great sequestered man to be facetious. But if you love poetry well enough to