64 SYLVAN SECRETS, 



mere stuff indeed, but these people are peo- 

 ple, these heroes are heroes, these villains 

 are villains, and these lovers are genuine old- 

 time sweet-kissing and hard-fighting ones that 

 it does one's soul good to read about once 

 more, after some dozens of modern novels. 



Since Scott no English novelist has sug- 

 gested a comparison with the great drama- 

 tist, unless we consider Bulwer at his very- 

 best. Hugo and Goethe, barring their miser- 

 able egotism, are Shakespeare's equals (at 

 some points, his superiors) ; but they lack his 

 equipoise, his constant suggestion of*a reserve 

 of power. Hugo now and again wallows and 

 flounders, like a whale in shallow water, 

 Goethe struts, scowls, smiles and laughs in 

 turn, and always with the air of feeling his 

 own superiority; but Shakespeare is stead- 

 fast, liberal-faced, never surprised by his 

 own wit and never in need of extrinsic aid. 



If any young writer of to-day could master 

 himself so as to be as self-possessed as 

 Shakespeare was, we might call him a thor- 

 ough-bred author. Vulgar fussiness and 

 anxiety about the fit of one's phases is what 

 one can scarcely avoid in this day of clever 

 stylists and smart analysts ; and yet this was 

 just what all the truly great authors of the 

 past really did. Read Shakespeare's plays 

 and note how like the heavy blows of a la- 

 boring swain are the most telling of his lines. 

 Even he loses when he turns back to polish a 

 verse or remodel a phrase. It was little 

 Horace, not big Homer, who set such high 

 value on the details of verse-making. There 

 are a great many little Horaces now, but 

 where is our grand Homer? 



The study of large models cannot fail to 

 give some feeling of breadth, even to a smalj. 



