ceived at Wilton, the home of the Herberts. After his second marriage
he moved to Dorking and there settled. He died in or before the year
1645. In the letters of administration granted to his widow (November,
1645) he is described as "late of Dorking, in the county of Surrey,
Esquire." But there is no entry of his death in the registers at Dorking
or Horsham: so perhaps he went back to lay his bones in his beloved Devon.
A William Browne was buried at Tavistock on March 27th, 1643. This may or
may not have been our author. "Tavistock,--Wilton,--Dorking," says Mr.
Bullen,--"Surely few poets have had a more tranquil journey to the
Elysian Fields."

An amiable poet.

As with his life, so with his poetry--he went about it quietly,
contentedly. He learned his art, as he confesses, from Spenser and
Sidney; and he took it over ready-made, with all the conventions and
pastoral stock-in-trade--swains languishing for hard-hearted nymphs,
nymphs languishing for hard-hearted swains; sheep-cotes, rustic
dances, junketings, anadems, and true-love knots; monsters invented
for the perpetual menace of chastity; chastity undergoing the most
surprising perils, but always saved in the nick of time, if not by an
opportune shepherd, then by an equally opportune river-god or
earthquake; episodes innumerable, branching off from the main stem of
the narrative at the most critical point, and luxuriating in endless
ramifications. Beauty, eluding unwelcome embraces, is never too hotly
pressed to dally with an engaging simile or choose the most agreeable
words for depicting her tribulation. Why indeed should she hurry? It
is all a polite and pleasant make-believe; and when Marina and Doridon
are tired, they stand aside and watch the side couples, Fida and
Remond, and get their breath again for the next figure. As for the
finish of the tale, there is no finish. The narrator will stop when he
is tired; just then and no sooner. What became of Marina after Triton
rolled away the stone and released her from the Cave of Famine? I am
sure I don't know. I have followed her adventures up to that point
(though I should be very sorry to attempt a _precis_ of them without
the book) through some 370 pages of verse. Does this mean that I am
greatly interested in her? Not in the least. I am quite content to
hear no more about her. Let us have the lamentations of Celadyne for a
change--though "for a change" is much too strong an expression. The
author is quit