all music was mere impertinent noise to him,
nothing in it perceptible but the mere march or time. Nor in his way
of conception and utterance, in the verses he wrote, was there any
contradiction, but a constant confirmation to me, of that fatal
prognostic;--as indeed the whole man, in ear and heart and tongue, is
one; and he whose soul does not sing, need not try to do it with his
throat. Sterling's verses had a monotonous rub-a-dub, instead of tune;
no trace of music deeper than that of a well-beaten drum; to which
limited range of excellence the substance also corresponded; being
intrinsically always a rhymed and slightly rhythmical _speech_, not a
_song_.

In short, all seemed to me to say, in his case: "You can speak with
supreme excellence; sing with considerable excellence you never can. And
the Age itself, does it not, beyond most ages, demand and require clear
speech; an Age incapable of being sung to, in any but a trivial manner,
till these convulsive agonies and wild revolutionary overturnings
readjust themselves? Intelligible word of command, not musical psalmody
and fiddling, is possible in this fell storm of battle. Beyond all ages,
our Age admonishes whatsoever thinking or writing man it has: Oh, speak
to me some wise intelligible speech; your wise meaning in the shortest
and clearest way; behold I am dying for want of wise meaning, and
insight into the devouring fact: speak, if you have any wisdom! As to
song so called, and your fiddling talent,--even if you have one, much
more if you have none,--we will talk of that a couple of centuries
hence, when things are calmer again. Homer shall be thrice welcome; but
only when Troy is _taken_: alas, while the siege lasts, and battle's
fury rages everywhere, what can I do with the Homer? I want Achilleus
and Odysseus, and am enraged to see them trying to be Homers!"--

Sterling, who respected my sincerity, and always was amenable enough to
counsel, was doubtless much confused by such contradictory diagnosis of
his case. The question, Poetry or Prose? became more and more pressing,
more and more insoluble. He decided, at last, to appeal to the public
upon it;--got ready, in the late autumn, a small select Volume of his
verses; and was now busy pushing it through the press. Unfortunately,
in the mean while, a grave illness, of the old pulmonary sort, overtook
him, which at one time threatened to be dangerous. This is a glance
again into his interior household in t