given more attention to
prose. The particular question of Chesterton as a poet opens up a more
general one, which is something in the nature of a problem. Would the
great classic poets of the last century have been as great if they had
not written so much poetry? Had Tennyson written but two long poems; had
Browning never written anything but short lyrics; had Wordsworth been
content to write few poems, provided these had been an indication of the
best work of these particular poets, would posterity have granted them
immortality? Will Chesterton go down to posterity as a poet on account
of his fine achievement in his 'Ballad of the White Horse,' or will
people forget him because he has not written more? I am rather afraid
this may be so. Posterity, it is true, likes quality, but it likes it
better with quantity.

But I feel that I am dealing with what I had said it would be well to
avoid--anything to do with the future of Chesterton. What is
Chesterton's position as a poet to-day? He is, I think, one of the
finest of the day; he has a fine sense of humour in poetry; he has great
powers of recasting scenes of long-forgotten centuries; he has a fine
musical rhythm; but he has not, I think, pathos. I think it is a pity
that he does not write epics on events of the day; he might easily find
the Poet Laureate's silence an inspiration; he might write another great
poem; it might be better than any more novels.

It is difficult to say whether or not Chesterton is a playwright. His
one play was a fine one about a fine subject, but I do not think it had
the qualities that would be popular in an ordinary theatre in London.
There is a certain suggestion of a problem about it which is a little
obscure. We are not sure whether Chesterton is in earnest or joking: it
has not probably sufficient action to suit this century, that wishes
aeroplanes to dash through the house on the stage, or two or three
people to meet with violent deaths in three acts. It is in the nature of
a discussion and might be almost anti-Shavian; it would be absurd to
attempt to place Chesterton among contemporary dramatic authors, but it
is not too much to predict that he might quite easily soon be very near
the front rank.

By his critical studies of Browning, Dickens, and Thackeray, Chesterton
has proved that there was a great deal more to be said about these
classic authors than the critics had seemed to think. Chesterton seldom
agreed with those who had