name is frequently on men's lips as a great poet, is even more generally neglected; and the “Divine Comedy” of Dante, though presented by Carey and other translators in an attractive English garb, is only read by a few lovers of Italian literature. That great and original powers are not readily appreciated is clear from the admission of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Who acknowledges in his “Discourses” that he was greatly disappointed on first viewing the masterpieces of Italian art; and that he devoted six months to their study before he discovered their superlative excellencies. This admission by no mean master of his art proves, if proof were required, that we cannot reasonably expect to appreciate excellencies of the higher order of minds without some little study on our own part. And in reference to this difficulty we may recall with advantage what Ruskin considers due from readers to great writers. In “Sesame and Lilies” he says, “The metal you are in search of being the author's mind, or meaning, his words are as the rock which you have to crush and smelt in order to get at it. And your pickaxes are your own care, wit, and learning; your smelting-furnace is your own thoughtful soul. Do not hope to get at any good author's meaning without these tools and thatfire.” The question, then, is: Is it worth while, for the sake of Browning's thoughts, to devote some degree of study to the language in which he has clothed them? Men of taste and judgment say distinctly that it is. The greatness of his thought and his wondrous insight into the workings of man's spirit are acknowledged, by the learned few, and these undoubtedly fix the true position in literature of great writers. The masses simply echo the opinion formed by the superior intelligence of highly educated minds, without comprehending the worth or feeling the beauties they praise. Browning lived to see a first edition of some early poems, unsaleable at the time they issued from the press, realise at auction no less a sum than £25. From this we may fairly conclude that the popularity of his writings will surely though slowly extend, and receive a more general recognition than has yet been accorded to them.

But there is another objection which to my mind fully accounts for his unpopularity, and which cannot be removed or overcome. I refer to the subject-matter of his poems. He depicts the inward workings of man's spirit, and his power to do so was great and varied. From his earliest literary production to the last he ever dwells upon that one subject. The soul, he declared, is the only thing worth study, and to that study he devoted his life. To the few who take a deep and absorbing interest in psychological studies these elaborate poems on the subject dearest to their hearts are held in the highest estimation—beyond all praise But

such studies are entirely unsuited to the habits of the everyday man, whose whole thoughts are engrossed by business or pleasure, and who can discern no attractiveness in an analysis of the secret motives which prompt to action, and shape and guide men's lives.

This want of interest in the subject of the poems themselves, and not the obscure phraseology in which the thought is expressed, appears to me the true cause of Browning's writings not being more generally read. The subjects chosen are, possibly—as some contend-not suited to poetry, which is to work upon the feelings of men. Be this as it may, Browning is not popular in the general acceptation of the term. “I should have been gratified,” he says, “with moderate success, but I am not discouraged at the want of it.” And this from a reason of his own. The value of all life-work, he held, was not the estimate put on it by others, but by its power to influence and mould for higher purposes the character and disposition of the worker. And so he was content to work on, trusting to time to do him justice.

If we glance over the leading events in the world's history we note, with singular interest, the advent of a certain order or class of minds which comes to the front at special periods, and makes the deepest impression on its own age, and not unfrequently many after ages. These periods are generally periods of unrest, when the human mind, either from gross ignorance or over-refinement and pride of intellect, is full of doubt and unbelief as to the existence after death of man's spirit. Browning was endowed with a mind of that order, with its noble aspirations, and its power of viewing, not through a glass darkly, but as a reality constantly and clearly seen as in broad daylight—the spiritual nature of man, the true import of his life and its manifold duties. Such minds are moved also by an irresistible impulse to impress their belief upon mankind. The earnestness and singular freedom and fearlessness with, which this is done evidences the sincerity of their convictions. These distinguishing qualities have frequently been portrayed, and would appear to have been fully developed, in Browning.

In the present highly sceptical age we might expect to find, as in reality we do find, some of our poets speaking on the momentous questions of life and death, and the meaning of life, with great force and eloquence. Conspicuous amongst these are Tennyson and Browning. The one charming the ear of the masses by the music of his verse, the other claiming the serious attention of a select few by his deep original thought and keen spiritual insight.

The poetical faculty, allied as it was of old with the prophetic, is perhaps the grandest conferred upon man. It

is truly divine. As we gaze upon the wondrous beauty of the world, with all its fair and glorious forms, and realise the marvellous simplicity of the laws which sustain and govern the universe, we can understand in part the pride and joy of Aprile, the poet, in “Paracelsus,” when he exultantly exclaims—

God is the perfect poet,
Who in creation acts His own conceptions.

I am tempted to place before you to-night Browning's vision or view of life by two considerations—first, because I believe his writings are but little known here; and, secondly, because it is alleged they have proved a source of comfort and consolation to many persons depressed by the trials of this life and the uncertainty attending the life to come. The few minutes at my disposal will enable me only to give a bare and, I fear, most imperfect outline of those views; but I shall endeavour to emphasize the salient points presented by the leading ideas by a line or two from his own poems, assuming always that they are personal as well as poetical utterances.

“Man,” says Browning, “is a being created for two lives—a finite life and an infinite life; and to live wisely we must take due account of both, neglecting neither the one nor the other.” The concerns of this life, “since flesh must live,” necessarily claim a portion of our time and attention, but to occupy our entire earthly life in accumulating material wealth, and to be content with the pleasures and enjoyments of a mere animal existence, is, in his estimation and from his point of view, strange and unaccountable. A man by the develop-ment of the brute instinct of cunning within him may succeed in some ignoble pursuit, for every energy of his being is enlisted in gaining what he desires.

The low man seeks a little thing to do,
Sees it and does it.

He is capable of better things, but he does not desire them. He dwells on no elevating thought, makes no effort to rise in the scale of being, and has his reward. In the utmost contentment of heart he lives on in spiritual sloth and indolence

—left in
God's contempt apart, with ghastly smooth life.

On the other hand, the man who seeks life plainly in its twofold capacity, who, moved by a spiritual ambition, strives to elevate himself to a higher level in the scale of being and prepare his soul for the approaching change, frequently fails.

This high man, with a great thing to pursue,
Dies ere he knows it.

This is not failure, Browning contends, but only apparent

failure. In the spirit world it is success, for the true wisdom of life is to bear and overcome trials and temptations, to prove and strengthen the soul for its independent existence.

Browning was an optimist of the most pronounced type, declaring his belief that all things in this world were ordered for the best and in the true interests of man. If there is pain in the world, and who can deny it ? then, he asks,—

Put pain from out the world, what room were left
For thanks to God, for love to man?

If there is evil overpowering the good in many instances so far as we can discern, he urges,—

Shall we receive good at the hand of God,
And evil not receive.

And even when he views the close by suicide of an unhappy life his large charity and great human sympathy enable him to say hopefully—

That what began best can't end worst,
Nor what God blessed once prove accurst.

His religion has been designated the religion of love. Heaven, he says, is love. Love is the source of and permeates all creation. Power and love he holds to be one and the same. Power existed, he knows, from the first; and he declares that—

Life has made clear to me
That, strive but for closer view,
Love were as plain to see.

Paracelsus, in the poem under that name, strives to attain knowledge, the power of doing good to his race; the poet Aprile seeks love from and to all animate and inanimate things; and at the end of life they discern clearly that they have failed, for power in the one case has not been strengthened by love; in the other love exists without the power of doing good. The two combined is the spirit of the universe.

We often hear regret expressed that no certain knowledge of man's destiny after the close of this life has been vouchsafed to us, but Browning holds there would be no gain to the individual by such knowledge. The certainty of a future state would destroy the very purpose of our existence here. Many of his poems are illustrative of this view, the most elaborate study in this direction being the epistle containing the strange medical experience of Karshesh, the Arab physician. The New Testament story of the raising of Lazarus had for Browning an intense interest, not so much from the facts or narrative of the event as from the effect it would have upon the after-life of Lazarus. He was concerned to know what would be the feelings, thoughts, and actions of a man under such circumstances. This novel view of the case proved very attractive to him, and occupied his thoughts

frequently, the question ever returning to his mind for consideration. What would be the effect upon a man if he were to die, rise again, and return to ordinary duties of every-day life? How would it be if—

Heaven open'd to a soul while yet on earth,
Earth forced on a soul's use while seeing heaven?

That was the question he pondered over and endeavoured to realise. He thereupon, pursuing his usual dramatic method, as in “Cleon” and other poems, imagines an Arab physician on his travels to have met Lazarus at Bethany some years after his resurrection, to have held converse with him, and to have marked with the greatest interest his bearing and conduct as he takes up his after-life. In writing to his former master in the profession the physician gives an account among other professional matters, of this singular case, remarking—

Tis but a case of mania-subinduced
By epilepsy, at the turning-point
Of trance prolonged unduly some three days;

and holds that by some drug, spell, stroke of art (unknown to him, and which were well to know) the evil was sub-dued, and the man restored once more to health. Continuing his narrative of the occurrence, he gives the information obtained from Lazarus direct: “And first the man's own firm conviction rests that he was dead (in fact, they buried him)—that he was dead and then restored to life by a Nazarene physician of his tribe. Sayeth, the same bade ‘Rise,’ and he did rise.” And in describing Lazarus's bearing and conduct he writes, “He looks like one who had seen life beyond the grave and had returned with its impression constantly before him—‘the spiritual life around the earthly life.’” The grown man eyes the world like a child; meditates with folded hands; seldom speaks except when spoken to; cares gently even for the birds and the flowers; submits himself to the heavenly will; is moved to indignation by the folly and sin of men; he acts not in accordance with his earthly surroundings, but in reference to his future state—

His heart and brain move there, his feet stay here.

Hence Browning concludes that certainty about the life to come would render duty impossible, and that such knowledge has been wisely withheld from us for man's good simply.

Every great teacher has placed before the world very high ideals for imitation. The perfection specified and to be striven for is not always attainable by human nature even at its best, but it enables us to aim high, though we may fall far short of what we strive to accomplish. Browning teaches no less,—

A man's reach should exceed his grasp
Or what is heaven for?

He was convinced that these strivings for better things were the much-needed discipline of the soul. His poems illustrative of this view are very suggestive of the higher aims of life, and the necessity for them.

Browing's idea of death is very characteristic, clear, and pronounced. To him death was not extinction, but simply a change from one form of life to another—progress being essential to life,—

Never dream
That what once lived shall ever die.

To him it was growth or expansion of the spiritual portion of our nature freed from the material elements of the body. “There is no such thing as death,” he exclaims. “Never say of me that I am dead”; and this he repeats in evervarying measures. To all those who have derived spiritual benefit and comfort from his poems, and all in whom they raise pleasant thoughts of him, he adds,—

Know my last state is happy, free from doubt
Or touch of fear.

During the Victorian age science has made, beyond doubt, great strides along many lines of research and inquiry; the human mind has expanded under the stimulus, and new thoughts and views are opened up in every direction. The world is under the greatest obligations to such men as Darwin and Huxley, Spencer and Tyndall, Wallace, and others prominent in the science roll, for their life-labours have conferred manifold benefits on the human race. But the crowning service rendered to the world by science is, so it seems to me, the enlargement of our conception of the universe. From the days when men thought the earth an immense plain and the stars points of light shining through holes in the sky to our present-day enlarged conception of the universe, with its myriads of worlds around us, how vast, how marvellous the change. The discoveries of science are frequently in advance and in apparent contradiction of the religious faith of the day; but time rectifies that, enlightens the mind, disperses the mists of superstition, purges away the idolatries of the world, and leaves us with a greater and juster idea of the Supreme Mind. But these benefactors of their race represent only one-half of human nature and its order, the physical. The dual nature of man is taken little notice of; the mind, the conscience, the spiritual portion are left without an effort being made to interpret them. It is necessary, however, to consider the other half, if we desire to obtain a just appreciation of the whole. It is along this frequently neglected line of inquiry that Browning's thoughts incessantly travelled. We cannot, of course, form any conception of a soul—what it is like—for no living mortal has seen one. It is only when it becomes

disentangled from the mechanism of the body that we may expect to see it in completeness, with the impress upon it of its earthly experience. But as the bodily eye is not constructed to discern a spirit (so I deem), to obtain cognisance of it we must be in the spirit world ourselves, and discern it by a spirit sense. But the soul makes its presence in the body known and felt by its workings. So certain was Browning of its existence that his biographer suggests this line from one of his poems as his most appropriate epitaph:—

He at least believed in soul, was very sure of God.

Browning possessed in no ordinary degree the scientific spirit of patient research and minute analysis. He threw himself, as it were, into the very mind he represents, showing it from within, laying bare the thoughts, passions, and secrets of that mental life, the very soul he depicts. This is the study which lent interest to his life, and to which we are indebted for those profoundly interesting psychological pictures which give in a marvellous manner the workings of man's soul. He did not consider the mysteries of the human mind and human thought impenetrable, but to be reached by men of science, and in accordance with scientific methods. Nor need we despair of something in this direction being eventually done, when such works as Kidd's “Social Evolution,” Drummond's “Ascent of Man,” Professor Romanes's “Thoughts on Religion,” and the like, are given to the world. The analysis of the mind or its movements, imperfectly known at present, will approach nearer and nearer to exactness. The principles that should guide us in the inquiry will become better known, and lead to important discoveries. Such inquiries will be taken up by men of skill and proper training, till possibly we may—

—have this plain result to show
How we feel, hard-and-fast as what we know.

Tennyson has frequently been called “the poet of the age,” and from the large circle of his readers and admirers he may perhaps be justly considered so. But the music of his verse, like other bygone music, having supplied the requirements of the age, will probably cease to command attention for any lengthened period. But the admirers of Browning claim for him a more enduring fame. He depicts man's thoughts, and loves, and hates, the aspirations of our spiritual nature, the trials and disappointments of this life—all, in fact, that makes humanity. He has not inaptly been styled “the dramatist of the soul,” and as such they anticipate he will take a position in the world's estimation second only to Shakespeare.

Nothing can show more clearly the characteristics and