does not impose upon us. He has lost all his sternness and bardic furor, and but conceives the deed which the other has prepared to perform. It is a step from the forest and crag to the fireside,—from the hut of the Gael or Stonehenge with its circles of stones to the house of the Englishman. No hero stands at the door, prepared to break forth into song or heroic actions, but a homely Englishman who has begun to cultivate the comforts of a roof; or a studious gentleman who practises the art of song. He possibly may not receive us. There is not room for all mankind about his hearth. He does not love all things, but a few.
I see there a yellow fireside blaze, and hear the crackling fuel, and expect such heroism as consists with a comfortable life.
In the oldest poems only the most simple and enduring features of humanity are seen; such essential parts of a man as Stonehenge exhibits of a temple. We see the circles of stone, and the upright shafts of the man; we cannot tell whether this was civilized or savage; truly it was neither. For these simple, necessary traits are before and after civiliza-
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