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That, of course, is rather epigram than poetry. It matters, indeed, very little whether we call it by one name or another, so long as we allow it to be effective. But writing of this kind, call it poetry or prose, or a hybrid genus, in which the critic shows through the poet, is not likely to suit the popular mind. It presupposes a whole set of reflections which are the property of a special class. And the same may be said of the particular mood which is specially characteristic of Arnold. In the 'Scholar Gipsy' he laments 'the strange disease of modern life.'

With its sick hurry, its divided aims;

speaks of us 'light half-believers of our casual creeds'; tells how the wisest of us takes dejectedly 'his seat upon the intellectual throne,' and lays bare his sad experience of wretched days, and 'all his hourly varied anodynes'; while we, who are not the wisest, can only pine, wish that the long, unhappy dream would end, and keep as our only friend 'sad patience, too near neighbour to despair.' This note jars upon some people, who prefer, perhaps, the mild resignation of the 'Christian Year.' I fail of