to a man as by what he does. We do not understand the universe; therefore, though we contemplate the actions of men with more intuitive comprehension, more awe and curiosity is aroused by the working of external agencies as it affects men's lives. Science has not yet explained any force, not even those which we intuitively comprehend because we feel them in motion within; the imagination therefore freely lends a conditional credence to stories of spirits and phantoms, and the knowledge that our forbears were fully contented with them powerfully seconds their appeal.
Still the shooting of an albatross remains a trifling action compared with its results and with the length of the poem, and Hart Leap Well assuredly treats a like theme with more proportion. Yet small actions sometimes have gigantic effects; a sudden shout may dislodge an avalanche, therefore we cannot regard such proportion as essential to a work of art. The only fault with which I can reproach Coleridge's masterpiece was due to Wordsworth's prompting.
"He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small:
For the dear God, who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."
Though these words come quite convincingly from the old sailor, by their position they seem in part addressed to us by the poet, and acquire a tinge of æsthetic impertinence. Besides their insistence detracts from that passionate fondness for the Albatross which caused the lonely spirit to follow the ship nine fathom deep, by treating his action as a cog in the machinery of providence. Apart from this slight strain introduced at Wordsworth's suggestion, we are lifted and absorbed by the story with a delicate completeness unrivalled by any poem of equal or greater length since written. Michael and The Ruined Cottage, profoundly organised though they are, attain nothing like
