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ENGLISH LITERATURE

'great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt, rather than a deed accomplished." His motive in admitting its faults he expresses thus: "This is not written with the least atom of purpose to forestall criti

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cism of course, but from the desire I have to conciliate men who are competent to look, and who do look with a zealous eye, to the honour of English literature." No man who could write in this manly fashion could be much worried by a spiteful review.

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Keats's third volume, including The Eve of St. Agnes, the fragment Hyperion, and the five great odes - To a Nightingale, On a Grecian Urn, To Psyche, To Autumn, and On Melancholy - appeared in the summer of 1820. The presence of genius here was unmistakable, and was recognized on all hands. Keats, however, was now almost beyond interest in appreciation. The hand of death, in the form of consumption, was already upon him; and in pursuance of his physician's advice, he set out for Rome in September, 1820, hoping for benefit from a winter in the south. Severn, his most devoted friend, accompanied him, and gave him every aid possible; but nothing could avail, and he died February 23, 1821.

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Keats's Artistry and Character. What most impresses the student of Keats is not his mere promise, not chiefly his tragically short career, but the amount of really good poetry he wrote. Byron produced a vastly larger amount in a few more years; so did Shelley. But it is doubtful if either reached the level of Keats's best work as often as Keats did. While they, moreover, had their peculiar merits, neither seems often to have shown the conscientious care for workmanship that Keats showed. Examination of variant readings in The Eve of St. Agnes, for example, reveals a constant search for the right word that marks the true artist. In his devotion to one ideal, the expression of the beautiful, he shows fixedness of purpose that marks lofty character as well.

ROMANTIC PROSE

It is a common saying that the true glory of the Romantic period lies in its poetry rather than in its prose. We have, however, already noted that Coleridge fills a far larger niche in our prose literature than in our poetic; and when we join with his name the names of Lamb and De Quincey, and realize that Macaulay's style was the product of this age, we may well hesitate to disparage its prose, even by comparison. There was room for advance in some directions even on the excellent eighteenth-century prose, which was, on the whole, lacking in color and individuality. These qualities are the distinguishing contributions to English prose of the two greatest Romantic essayists.

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all reference to the tragedy of his life; yet without knowl

EAST INDIA HOUSE.

Scene of Lamb's labors.

edge of that, one has
but an imperfect pic-
ture of Lamb. When
he was twenty-one
years old, his sister
Mary, in a fit of insan-
ity, killed her mother.
In order to save her
from permanent
confinement Lamb,
though ten years her
junior, assumed the
care of her; and he
devoted himself
this task till his death

"Tales

lose asso

is doubtl Mary Lar and while of Literatu than the

Friends ing men Quincey,

Coleridge,

interruptio

Ainger, is death blow

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at the age of fifty-nine. Mary Lamb had recurring attacks of the trouble; but there was always some warning of their approach. One of the most pathetic pictures from these lives is that of the brother and sister walking across the field, hand in hand and with tear-stained faces, to the asylum where she was treated.

on busine

proceeded Coleridge course to

Lamb consterna

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