We have said that the charm of his conversation consisted in its genuineness—its wonderful directness and sincerity. We believe, too, that in the artistic utterance of poetic emotion he was at all times passionately genuine. His proud reserve, his profound melancholy, his unworldliness—may we not say his unearthliness of nature—made his character one very difficult of comprehension to the casual observer. The complexity of his intellect, its incalculable resources, and his masterly control of those resources when brought into requisition for the illustration of some favorite theme, or cherished creation, led to the current belief that its action was purely arbitrary—that he could write without emotion or earnestness at the deliberate dictation of the will. A certain class of his writings undeniably exhibits the faculties of ingenuity and invention in a prominent and distinctive light. But it must not be forgotten that there was another phase of his mind—one not less distinctive and characteristic of his genius—which manifested itself in creations of a totally different
