“The bard beholds the work achieved, And, as he sees the shadow rise Sublime before his wondering eyes, Starts at the image his own mini conceived.” FIVE centuries ago there might have been seen in the streets of old London, one of those gifted mortals who are now and then sent into the world by the Father of spirits, to stamp their name upon the age in which they live, and to enshrine its memory amidst the splendours of their own genius. With a deep and luminous insight into the scenes of nature, the works of art and the ways of men, did there look forth from those large bright eyes of his a poetic soul of an order high and rare. As he passed along the highways of his native city, to which…
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