Know, oh dwarfed descendants of Procustes, that the quality of humor is
not strained, but droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven; and if, after
patient blending with grains of intolerance and egotism, in the mortar
of your minds, it seems to you but that poisonous foam that of old
sorcerers drew, by their incantations, from the moon, we can only smile
with Voltaire at your 'foolish ingenuities,' and recommend to you a new
career. 'Go pype in an ivy lefe,' Monsieur Mustard-seed, or 'blow the
bukkes' horne.'
It is no trifling merit in a work of so extraordinary a character that
the original programme should have been so perfectly carried out. The
poet never relaxes, even into a Corinthian elegance of allusion; his
metaphors are always fresh and ungarnished; they no more shine with the
polish of the court than do those of Panurge. In fact, there is a flavor
of the camp about them, a pleasant suspicion, and more than a suspicion,
of life in the open air, the fresh smell of the up-turned earth, the
odor of clover blossoms. The poet is walking in the _fresco_, and the
sharp winds cut a pathway across every page. Equally remarkable and
pervaded by a most delightful personality are the editorial lucubrations
of the Rev.
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