is not satisfied, yet the reader is transported.”—(Id. p. 65.) 66 Spenser," observes Coleridge, "has the wit of the southern, with the deeper inwardness of the northern genius. Take especial note of the marvellous independence and true imaginative absence of all particular space or time in the Faerie Queene. It is in the domains neither of history nor geography: it is ignorant of all artificial boundary, all material obstacles; it is truly in land of Faerie, that is, of mental space. The poet has placed you in a dream, a charmed sleep and you neither wish nor have the power to inquire, where you are, or how you got there."—Literary Remains, vol. i. p. 94. : "In reading the Faerie Queene," says Hazlitt, "you see a little withered old man by a wood-side opening a wicket, a giant, and a dwarf lagging far behind, a damsel in a boat upon an enchanted lake, wood-nymphs and satyrs; and all of a sudden you are transported into a lofty palace, with tapers burning, amidst knights and ladies, with dance and revelry, and song, and mask and antique pageantry.' But some people will say that all this may be very fine, but they cannot understand it on account of the allegory. They are afraid of the allegory, as if they thought it would bite them; they look at it as a child looks at a painted dragon, and think that it will strangle them in its shining folds. This is very idle. If they do not meddle with the allegory, the allegory will not meddle with them. Without minding it at all, the whole is as plain as a pike-staff. It might as well be pretended, that we cannot see Poussin's pictures for the allegory, as that the allegory prevents us from understanding Spenser."-Lectures on the English Poets (Templeman's edition, 12mo. p. 67). ARCHIMAGO'S HERMITAGE, AND THE HOUSE OF MORPHEUS. Archimago, a hypocritical magician, lures Una and the Red-cross Knight into his abode ; and while they are asleep, sends to Morpheus, the god of sleep, for a false dream to produce discord between them. A little lowly hermitage it was Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side, Arrived there the little house they fill,2 With fair discourse the evening so they pass, The drooping night thus creepeth on them fast; Sweet slumbering dew; the which to sleep them bids. His magic books and arts of sundry kinds, He seeks out mighty charms to trouble sleepy minds. Then choosing out few words most horrible And forth he call'd out of deep darkness dread 9 To Morpheus' house doth hastily repair.—” In silver dew his ever-drooping head, While sad night over him her mantle black doth spread. Whose double gates he findeth locked fast; The one fair fram'd of burnish'd ivory, The other all with silver overcast; And wakeful dogs before them far do lie, And unto Morpheus comes, whom drownèd deep And more to lull him in his slumber soft, A trickling stream, from high rock tumbling down, The messenger approaching to him spake ; As one then in a dream, whose drier brain He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence break. The sprite then 'gan more boldly him to wake, 66 He that the stubborn sprites can wisely tame; A fit false dream, that can delude the sleepers' sent."11 The god obey'd; and calling forth straightway Deliver'd it to him, and down did lay His heavy head, devoid of careful cark; 1 Welled forth alway. The modulation of this charming stanza is exqui site. Let us divide it into its pauses, and see what A little lowly hermitage it was Down in a dale, | hard by a forest's side, Which from a sacred fountain wellèd forth alway. Mark the variety of the pauses, of the accentua |