Allenthalben begnügt man sich noch mit dem Begriff vom Jungen Goethe, wie ihn Ludwig Tieck faszte, der diesen nur bis auf den Vorweimarer Goethe angewandt wissen wollte. Ihm folgte Max Morris, dessen kritische Stoffsammlung mit dem Reisetagebuch Goethes vom 30. Oktober 1775 abschlieszt. So hält auch Karl Alt an der Auffassung Tiecks fest. Das glänzend geschriebene synthetische Werkchen von Karl Viëtor greift ebenfalls über Goethes letzte Frankfurter Tage nicht hinaus. Korff schlieszt den Jungen Goethe, ohne sichere Daten zu geben, mit dem Urfaust ab. Selbst Gundolf macht kaum eine Ausnahme, doch unterscheidet er schärfer zwischen einem Frühweimarer und dem mit der Rückkehr aus Italien wirklich gereiften Goethe. Das trefflichste Beispiel bietet jedoch Eugen Wolffs Untersuchung über die geschichtliche Entwicklung junggoethescher Gedichte, die mit Anfang November 1775 abschlieszt, allerdings schon 1907 erschien. Aber noch Hermann Baumgart in seinem Werk Goethes lyrische Dichtung in ihrer Entwicklung und Bedeutung, Band i, S. 186 f. (Heidelberg, 1931) hält die nachfrankfurter Jahre “zur entscheidenden Epoche” von Goethes Leben, in denen sich “die bleibende Richtung seines Lebens” gebildet habe. Und so könnte man die Liste bewährter Forscher weiter verfolgen, ohne dasz sich das herkömmliche Bild nennenswert ändern würde.

The good ship Rosamond first appeared in an account of Burns's life in the spring of 1828, when Constable & Co. issued a Life of Robert Burns, by J. G. Lockhart, LL.B., as Volume XXIII of their Miscellany of Original and Selected Publications. Inevitably Lockhart had based his biography upon Dr. Currie's, which since its appearance in 1800 had run through many editions, and had carried Burns's fame to virtually all parts of the English-speaking world. But Lockhart, working under the eye of his distinguished father-in-law, was not content merely to rehash old material. Though modestly stating that his purpose was “no more than to compress, within the limits of a single small volume, the substance of materials already open to all the world,” he admitted that “little touches of novelty” might be discovered in his narrative, particularly in the chapters dealing with Burns's later years. Robert Chambers, whom Lockhart characterized as a “diligent local antiquary of Edinburgh, to whom I owe many obligations,” had passed on to the biographer whatever he had gleaned from conversation with Burns's surviving acquaintances; William M'Diarmid, editor of the Dumfries Courier, had supplied other “particulars”; Allan Cunningham, who shared with James Hogg the honor of Lockhart's dedication, was the authority for still more new matter; various unpublished journals and letters were also laid under contribution. The total result was a picture of Burns recognizably like Dr. Currie's, but tricked out with such a wealth of anecdotal novelty that the subscribers to Constable's Miscellany must have been well aware that here in truth was an “original” and not merely a “selected” publication. And in this original publication everything concerning the Rosamond was new.

The year 1825–26, was of very great importance to Carlyle. It marked his emergence from the ethnic or purely humanistic phase of intellectual development, into the phase of transcendental thought. During the year he found for the first time a permanent within the flux. He encountered an unchanging truth through art: “the fiction of the poet,” he said, “is not falsehood but the purest truth.” This culmination is the result of the æsthetic progress traceable through the preceding period.

In a previous article I pointed out that Swift's analysis of Jack the Dissenter had been in part anticipated by earlier satirists. Some references to plays, poems, and prose attacks were then given to substantiate my contention. In this brief bibliography of non-dramatic satire from the Anatomy of Melancholy, 1621, to Tom Brown, ca. 1700, further evidence will be presented that before Swift's time there was a long tradition of satire of the Puritans, and one which in many ways was much like his own attack. Since the work of presenting the dramatic satire of the Puritans has, in part at least, been done, no titles of plays will be included. The bibliography will also confine itself to citation of satires on the Puritans. The year 1621 was chosen as a starting point, for I believe that with the Anatomy of Melancholy there began a new era of satire, and especially of analysis of cause and effect in the problems of religious enthusiasm, a subject upon which Swift wrote some of his best passages. That this bibliography is in any way complete is not claimed; it is hoped, however, that it will present some satires which have been neglected by students of the strife between the Puritans and their satirists, and will also help to clarify the problems of the literary background of A Tale of a Tub and the Discourse on the Mechanical Operation of the Spirit

When, in 1892, Galdós startled Spanish literary circles by his decision to turn dramatist, few of either his supporters or his detractors were aware of the fact that as far back as his student days he had already carried on a serious flirtation with the drama. Certainly in the confused discussions which his dramatic appearance as playwright precipitated in the press of Madrid, no more than an occasional passing reference was made to his previous essays at the theater. It seems that only two newspapers gave adequate space to Galdós' early preparation for the career of a dramatist and these reproduced an article by Eusebio Blasco, originally published in France. Because they are pertinent to our discussion, the principal facts in Blasco's article merit repetition.

It is well known that Coleridge had Wordsworth in mind when he wrote his Ode on Dejection—the poem is addressed to Wordsworth, mentions Wordsworth's Lucy Gray, and was first published on the day of Wordsworth's wedding; but that Coleridge's Ode may have been influenced by Wordsworth's great Ode on Intimations of Immortality has been generally overlooked. If the date of Wordsworth's Ode is 1803–1806, as it is often given in the anthologies and histories, such influence is impossible, because we know Coleridge's Dejection was composed April 4, 1802. The date 1803–1806, however, is not accepted by most scholars; Professor John D. Rea emphatically states, “It is known that the date 1803 is wrong; the Ode was begun 1802.” The passage in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, written March 27, 1802, “At breakfast William wrote part of an ode,” refers, it is now believed, to the Ode: Intimations of Immortality. On March 27, 1802, Wordsworth was writing his great Ode; and a week later, on April 4, 1802, Coleridge wrote his.

The study of the reception and the rejection of Goethe in America has attracted many investigators and has yielded a wealth of factual and significant material—the gist of which has recently been set forth in comprehensive perspective by Camillo von Klenze. However, the well has not been exhausted. So far the history of what may be called the integration of Goethean literature and thought in America has been told largely in terms of individual leadership. To be sure, in the first half of the nineteenth century, perhaps up to the appearance of Taylor's Faust (1870), the attitude of a few score outstanding personages tells the better part of the story of Goethe in America. But as time advances the leadership of individuals becomes more and more involved in a complexity of forces, an expansion of fields, and a ramification and crossing of lines of influence and tradition. Toward the close of the century the material—in the American popular magazines, for instance—presents such endlessly involved cross-considerations and such masses of detail that it would seem as if nothing short of the much overstrained statistical method could lead to any desirable perspicuity.

Joseph Ritson's antiquarian interest was of early inception. From his school days in Stockton, he had been interested in history, old songs, and ballads. This interest continued throughout his life. It resulted in a series of publications ranging from the history of certain legal offices, through British topography and royal geneology, to old English and Scottish songs and ballads. In all this work he was careful to use the oldest manuscripts and sources he could find: he showed amazing diligence in searching out original documents. His editing was in accord with modern practice: it did not suffer from the misleading procedure of such editors as Percy. He was extremely critical of the treatment of texts by his contemporaries, and justly deserves to be called the watchdog of English scholarship.

In Box 18 of the “Ludwig Tieck-Nachlass” in the Preussische Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, we find, in Tieck's hand, on six quarto leaves, an unfinished essay entitled Über das Erhabene, dated 1792. It has never been published and is barely touched upon in the voluminous literature on Tieck, although it is not without significance in the long series of critical works for which its author is famed.

The question has recently been raised as to whether or not the order of the publication of the Waverley Novels is also, as Lockhart implies, the order of writing. Dame Una Pope-Hennessy, writing in the New York Saturday Review of Literature for April 23, 1932, (p. 686), appeals to lovers of Scott for help in the solution of the problem of the chronology of his novels. She states her reasons for believing that St. Ronan's Well, though later revised, was written seventeen years before Waverley. In a similar communication published in the London Times Literary Supplement for April 28, 1932, Dame Una Pope-Hennessy outlines the genesis of her skepticism as to the usually accepted chronology of Scott's novels:

L'autobus de Rouen à Beauvais s'arrêta dans une longue plainte de freins fatigués, et les deux voyageurs qu'il transportait ouvrirent à grand peine sa porte étroite et piquée de rouille.

—Pour aller & à, madame? demanda le plus vieux à une paysanne en tablier bleu qui, dans l'ombre d'une porte entre-bâillée, épiait les arrivants.

In an article Poetry of Sensation or of Thought? I attempted to show how Endymion and Hyperion: A Fragment are related to the æsthetic problem that Keats first analyzed in Sleep and Poetry. At that time I suggested that the Odes and Lamia, following as they do the abandoning of Hyperion: A Fragment, are the outpourings of a mind released at last from the self-imposed duty of writing a poetry of humanitarian philosophy and allowed to indulge its creative genius for the poetry of sensation. It was my contention (and still is) that Keats had been trying to force himself, like his own Apollo, to accept “Knowledge enormous” as Beauty—knowledge “of the agony and strife of human hearts”; whereas at least one half of his being was affirming passionately that Feeling, particularly that which passes through the refinery of the creative imagination, is Beauty. It was his acceptance of this side of his nature that produced most of the poems written in the spring of 1819. But during the summer of 1819 Keats plunged once more into the old conflict. It will be the purpose of this paper to show how Lamia and The Fall of Hyperion are related to it.

American triumphs on the sea in the War of 1812 tempered the American mind into a belief in its power to express itself in a literature independent of any foreign influence. Previously America had shown only a faltering confidence in herself as a literary nation. No great protestations of literary strength had appeared in the periodicals. But with America's victory in this second war with the mother country, a new-found note of confidence came into literature. This new confidence was not, however, a nation-wide experience. It was a political phenomenon, Democratic rather than Federal.

In any explanation of the sources for the doctrine of physical determinism, as expressed in modern French literature, the book of Jean-Philibert Dessaignes (1762–1832), Etudes de l'homme moral, fondées sur les rapports de ses facultés avec son organisation, deserves a place. This is because its author was the teacher of Honoré de Balzac at the Collège de Vendôme, and because Balzac later became one of the chief creators of the doctrine in question.