was melodramatic, was a distressing consideration. Seriously, however,
on reconsidering the objection, I see no sense in it. A thing may be
melodramatic, or any other _atic_ that a man pleases; so that it
be strongly suggestive, poetic, pathetic, it has a right to its own
peculiar place in the world of art. If artists had had their way in
the creation of this world, there would have been only two or three
kinds of things in it; the first three or four things that God created
would have been enacted into fixed rules for making all the rest.

But they let the works of nature alone, because they know there is no
hope for them, and content themselves with enacting rules in
literature and art, which make all the perfection and grace of the
past so many impassable barriers to progress in future. Because the
ancients kept to unity of idea in their groups, and attained to most
beautiful results by doing so, shall no modern make an antithesis in
marble? And why has not a man a right to dramatize in marble as well
as on canvas, if he can produce a powerful and effective result by so
doing? And even if by being melodramatic, as the terrible word is, he
can shadow forth a grand and comforting religious idea--if he can
unveil to those who have seen only the desolation of death, its glory,
and its triumph--who shall say that he may not do so because he
violates the lines of some old Greek artist? Where would Shakspeare's
dramas have been, had he studied the old dramatic unities?

So, you see, like an obstinate republican, as I am, I defend my right
to have my own opinion about this monument, albeit the guide book,
with its usual diplomatic caution, says, "It is in very questionable
taste."

We went for our dinner to the White Hart, the very inn which