have delighted. Perceiving truth half hidden and half revealed in the
slow speech and stammering tongue of men who have gone before them, they
have taken up the unfinished form and completed it; they have, as it
were, rescued the soul of meaning from its prison of uninformed crudity,
where it sat like the Prince in the "Arabian Nights," half man, half
marble; they have set it free in its own form, in a shape, namely, which
it could "through every part impress." Shakespere's keen eye suggested
many such a rescue from the tomb--of a tale drearily told--a tale which
no one now would read save for the glorified form in which he has
re-embodied its true contents. And from Tennyson we can produce one
specimen small enough for our use, which, a mere chip from the great
marble re-embodying the old legend of Arthur's death, may, like the hand
of Achilles holding his spear in the crowded picture,

"Stand for the whole to be imagined."

In the "History of Prince Arthur," when Sir Bedivere returns after
hiding Excalibur the first time, the king asks him what he has seen, and
he answers--

"Sir, I saw nothing but waves and wind."

The second time, to the same question, he answers--

"Sir, I saw nothing but the water[1] wap, and the waves wan."

[Footnote 1: The word _wap_ is plain enough; the word _wan_ we cannot
satisfy ourselves about. Had it been used with regard to the water, it
might have been worth remarking that _wan_, meaning dark, gloomy,
turbid, is a common adjective to a river in the old Scotch ballad. And