queen—leads it away from the central passion. It is a pretty poem, with charming descriptions, but sentimental, which Tristram and Iseult never were. The most important part of it is where his ancient love comes to visit him. There, if anywhere, Arnold should be vitally clear, and in the subject. He is miles and miles away from the time, the temper, the characters, and the passion of the matter in hand. The conventions of modern society and morality rule the irritating speeches of the lovers. Its ending is curious. Iseult of Brittany is left with her two children, and goes out to walk with them, just like a modern widow in a sentimental novel, along the cliffs, and tells stories to the boys. Among the rest she tells the story of Merlin and Vivien, and with this, which has nothing in the world to do with the subject, the poem closes. This dragging in of a new tale is the most inartistic thing that Arnold ever did, nor is the tale well told. Indeed, it is scarcely told at all. Three-fourths of this closing part are natural description, but natural description of great charm and clear vision, quite modern in feeling, and strangely apart from the atmosphere which surrounds the story of Tristram. It reads as if Arnold, unable to invent fresh matter, fell back on his remembrance of a visit to Brittany, and inserted a description of the landscape, in order to fill up his space. Tristram and Iseult must be a youthful piece of work, and I am the more driven to that opinion by its distant imitation of Coleridge and Byron, notes of both of whom sound
