sessed by his theme he departed in a passionate
search for conceits. When Dryden became fired he
only wrote more plainly. The metal of his genius
was silver, and the longer it was heated the more
silver it grew. Nausicaa fell in love with Odysseus
because the goddess Athene had shed a strange
grace about his head and shoulders and made him
seem more presentable than he was. No one can be
impressed by Dryden who sees him in disguise. One
must see him as he is: a poet of opinion, a poet of
company, a poet of civilization. It is not to be in-
ferred that he was without passion; no man ever had
more. But his was not the passion that behaves
like ecstasy; he never got outside himself. His pas-
sion was the passion of assurance. His great love
was the love of speaking fully and with finality; his
favorite subjects being personages and books.

Personages he treated from a variety of motives,
but always with honest delight. He celebrated pub-
lic heroes real or supposed, sketched the characters
of men in high places and in low, addressed elabo-
rate compliments to benefactors or friends, de-
scribed minds and actions both in fact and in fable
with an endless relish. Books he treated from a
single motive, admiration for them and their mak-
ers. Dryden was above all things a literary man.
His mind could best be energized by contact with
other minds; he himself could become preoccupied
most easily with other poets. He sat down with
indubitable pleasure to write his addresses to How-
ard, to Roscommon, to Lee, to Motteux, his la-
ments for Oldham and Anne Killigrew, his pro-

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