taking into consideration the whole of their work, Tennyson is the
closest to human nature in its noble, common and loving forms, as
Browning is the closest to what is complex, subtle and uncommon in human
nature. The representation both of the simple and of the complex is a
good thing, and both poets have their place and honour. But the
representation of the complex is plainly the more limited in range of
influence, and appeals to a special class of minds rather than to
mankind at large. There are some, indeed, who think that the appeal to
the few, to thinkers alone or high-wrought specialists in various forms
of culture, marks out the greater poet. It is the tendency of literary
castes to think that specialised work is the greatest. "This man," they
say, "is our poet, not the mob's. He stands apart, and his apartness
marks his greatness." These are amusing persons, who practically say,
"We alone understand him, therefore he is great."

Yet a phrase like "apartness makes greatness," when justly applied to a
poet, marks, not his superiority of rank, but his inferiority. It
relegates him at once to a lower place. The greatest poets are loved by
all, and understood by all who think and feel naturally. Homer was
loved by Pericles and by the sausage-seller. Vergil was read with joy by
Mæcenas and Augustus, and by the vine-dressers of Mantua. Dante drew
after him the greatest minds in Italy, and yet is sung to-day by the
shepherds and peasants of the hill-villages of Tuscany. Shakespeare
pleases the most selected spirits of the world and the galleries of the
strolling theatres.

And though Tennyson and Browning are far below these mightier poets, yet
when we apply to them this rule, drawn from what we know to be true of
the greatest, Tennyson answers its demand more closely than Browning.
The highest work which poetry can do is to glorify what is most natural