externals. His insight was into the soul of things. His translations from the Greek brought out his imperfect form in a most instructive way. While he reproduced their spirit very effectually, he was hopelessly inadequate in representing their form. It was as if Greek temples had been transformed into Gothic cathedrals. The sense of rugged power is always with us, rarely or never the impression of god-like grace. He was of the Titans, not of the Gods.
Standing by his open grave, we give the last thought to the man we have lost as well as the poet. His warm geniality made him a universal favourite in society. If to some it seems incongruous to think of the vates sacer at the five o'clock tea-table, it must be remembered that the spiritual influence of such a nature would radiate through the very class that needs idealising. With him has gone a spiritual force of the first magnitude. The firm friend, the free giver, the sympathiser in all the higher forms of the nation's life, the inspirer of painting, music, and the higher criticism—all these are gone in Robert Browning the man. And notwithstanding all deductions of faulty form, of infelicitous choice of subject and medium, a large body of work remains of Browning the poet in which these imperfections were reduced to a
