man of letters; his book on Shakspeare's Predecessors showed a
marvellous knowledge of the Elizabethan period, and he is a recognised
authority on the Italian Renaissance. The last is not the least of his
qualifications. Without a full appreciation of the meaning of the
Humanistic movement it is impossible to understand the great struggle
between the Classical form and the Romantic spirit which is the chief
critical characteristic of the golden age of the English drama, an age
when Shakespeare found his chief adversary, not among his contemporaries,
but in Seneca, and when Jonson armed himself with Aristotle to win the
suffrages of a London audience. Mr. Symonds' book, consequently, will be
opened with interest. It does not, of course, contain much that is new
about Jonson's life. But the facts of Jonson's life are already well
known, and in books of this kind what is true is of more importance than
what is new, appreciation more valuable than discovery. Scotchmen,
however, will, no doubt, be interested to find that Mr. Symonds has
succeeded in identifying Jonson's crest with that of the Johnstones of
Annandale, and the story of the way the literary Titan escaped from
hanging, by proving that he could read, is graphically told.

On the whole, we have a vivid picture of the man as he lived. Where
picturesqueness is required, Mr. Symonds is always good. The usual
comparison with Dr. Johnson is, of course, brought out. Few of 'Rare
Ben's' biographers spare us that, and the point is possibly a natural one
to make. But when Mr. Symonds calls upon us to notice that both men made
a journey to Scotland, and that 'each found in a Scotchman his
biographer,' the parallel loses all value. There is an M in Monmouth and
an M in Macedon, and Drummond of Hawthornden and Boswell of Auchinleck
were both born the other side of the Tweed; but from such analogies
nothing is to be learned. There is no surer way of destroying a
similarity than to strain it.

As for Mr. Symonds' estimate of Jonson's genius, it is in many points
quite excellent. He ranks him with the giants rather than with the gods,
with those who compel our admiration by their untiring energy and huge
strength of intellectual muscle, not with those 'who share the divine
gifts of creative imagination and inevitable instinct.' Here he is
right. Pelion more than Parnassus was Jonson's home. His art has too
much effort about it, too much definite intention. His s