"But," thought he, "I may, like a second Teucer, discharge my shafts from behind the shield of my ally; and, admit that he should not prove to be a first-rate poet, I am in no shape answerable for his deficiencies, and the good notes may very probably help off an indifferent text.

But he is--he must be a good poet; he has the real Parnassian abstraction--seldom answers a question till it is twice repeated--drinks his tea scalding, and eats without knowing what he is putting into his mouth.

This is the real aestus, the awen of the Welsh bards, the divinus afflatus that transports the poet beyond the limits of sublunary things.

His visions, too, are very symptomatical of poetic fury--I must recollect to send Caxon to see he puts out his candle to-night--poets and visionaries are apt to be negligent in that respect." Then, turning to his companion, he expressed himself aloud in continuation-- "Yes, my dear Lovel, you shall have full notes; and, indeed, think we may introduce the whole of the Essay on Castrametation into the appendix--it will give great value to the work.

Then we will revive the good old forms so disgracefully neglected in modern times.